Singer from the Sea , livre ebook

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130 pages

English

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. DENAS PENELLES. 'Tell me, my old friend, tell me why You sit and softly laugh by yourself.' 'It is because I am repeating to myself, Write! write Of the valiant strength, The calm, brave bearing Of the sons of the sea.' - FRENCH ROWING SONG And that is why I have written this book Of the things that live in your noble hearts. You are really the authors of it. I have only put into words The frank simplicity of your sailor life. - GUILLAUME DE LA LAUDELLE.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819916307
Langue	English

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CHAPTER I.
DENAS PENELLES. "'Tell me, my old friend, tell mewhy You sit and softly laugh by yourself.' 'It is because I amrepeating to myself, Write! write Of the valiant strength, Thecalm, brave bearing Of the sons of the sea.'" – FRENCH ROWING SONG"And that is why I have written this book Of the things that livein your noble hearts. You are really the authors of it. I have onlyput into words The frank simplicity of your sailor life." –GUILLAUME DE LA LAUDELLE.
From Padstow Point to Lundy Race is one of thewildest and grandest portions of the Cornish coast, and on it thereis always somewhere a tossing sea, a stiff breeze above, and asucking tide below. Great cliffs hundreds of feet high guard it,and from the top of them the land rolls away in long ridges, brownand bare. These wild and rocky moors, full of pagan altars, stonecrosses, and memorials of the Jew, the Phoenician, and theCornu-British, are the land of our childhood's fairy-folk – thehome of Blunderbore and of Jack the Giant Killer, and the fargrander "Fable of Bellerus old, And the great vision of the GuardedMount."
But it is the Undercliff which has the perennialcharm for humanity, for all along its sloping face there arebewildering hummocks and hollows, checkered with purple rocks andelder-trees. Narrow footpaths curve in and out and up and downamong the fields and farms, the orchards and the glimmering glades,and there the foxgloves grow so tall that they lift their dappledbells level with the eyes.
Further down are queer, quiet towns, hundreds ofyears old, squeezed into the mouths of deep valleys – valleys fullof delicate ferns and small wild roses and the white heath, aflower peculiar to the locality. And still lower – on the veryshingle – are the amphibious-looking cottages of the fishermen.They are surrounded by nets and boats and lobster-pots. Noisychildren paddle in the flowing tide, and large, brown, handsomewomen sit on the door-steps knitting the blue guernsey shirts andstockings which their husbands wear.
Such a lonely, lovely spot is the little village ofSt. Penfer. It is so hidden in the clefts of the rocks that unlessone had its secret and knew the way of its labyrinth down thecliff-breast it would be hard to find it from the landward side.But the fishermen see its white houses and terraced gardens andhear the sweet-voiced bells of its old church calling to them whenthey are far off upon the ocean. And well they know their cottagesclustered on the shingle below, and all day they may be seen amongthem, mending their boats, or painting their boats, or standingwith their hands in their pockets looking at their boats, fingeringthe while the bit of mountain ash which they carry there to keepaway ill-luck.
John Penelles was occupied on the afternoon of thatSaturday which comes between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.His boat was rocking on the tide-top and he seemed to be looking ather. But his bright blue eyes saw nothing seaward; he was mentallywatching the flowery winding way up the cliff to St. Penfer. If hisdaughter Denas was coming down it he would hear her footsteps inhis heart. And why did she not come? She had been away four hours,and who knew what evil might happen to a girl in four hours? Whentoo late to forbid her visit to St. Penfer, it had suddenly struckhim that Roland Tresham might be home for the Easter holidays, andhe disliked the young man. He had an intuitive dislike for him,founded upon that kind of "I know" which is beyond reasoning with,and he had told Denas that Roland Tresham was not for her to listento and not for her to trust to. "But there, then, 'tis dreadful!dreadful! What foolishness a little maid will believe in!" hemuttered. "I have never known but one woman who can understandreason, and it isn't often she will listen to it. Women! women!women! God bless them!"
He was restless with his thoughts by the time theyarrived at this point, but it still took him a few minutes todecide upon some action and then put his great bulk into motion.For he was a large man, even among Cornish fishermen, and his feetwere in his heavy fishing-boots, and his nature was slow andirresolute until his mind was fully made up. Then nothing couldmove him or turn him, and he acted with that irresistible celeritywhich springs from an invincible determination.
His cottage was not far off, and he went there. Ashe approached, a woman rose from the steps and, with her knittingin her hand, went inside. She was putting the kettle on the fire ashe entered, and she turned her head to smile upon him. It was adelightful smile, full of love and pleasure, and she accompanied itwith a little nod of her head that meant any good thing he liked toask of her. "Aw, my dear," he said, "I do think the little maid isa sight too long away." "She do have a long walk, John dear. St.Penfer isn't at the door-step, I'm sure." "You see, Joan, it islike this: Denas she be what she is, thank God! but Roland Tresham,he be near to the quality, and they do say a great scholar, and canspeak langwidges; and aw, my dear, if rich and poor do ridetogether the poor must ride behind, and a wayless way they takethrough and over. I have seen that often and often." "We mustn't bequick to think evil, John, must we? I'm sure Denas do know herplace and her right, and she isn't one to be put down below it. Youdo take a sight of trouble you aren't asked to take, father." "DoI, my dear?" "To be sure you do. And they that go seeking troubleare very like to find it. Is Roland Tresham home again?" "Not as Iknow by certain. I haven't heard tell so." "There, now! How peopledo go thinking wrong of others instead of themselves! That isn'tthe Bible way, is it, father?" "To be sure it isn't, Joan. But wearen't living among Bible people, my dear, are we now?" "Well, Idon't know that, father. Fisher-folk feature one another all theworld over as much as their lines and boats do. I think we couldfind all those Galilean fishers among the fishers of Penfer. I do,really – plenty of Peters and sons of Zebedee, I'll warrant. Arenot John and Jacob Tenager always looking to be high up in thechapel? And poor Cruffs and Kestal, how they do deny all the weekthrough what they say on Sunday! And I know one quiet, modestAndrew who never grumbles, but is alway content and happy when hisbrothers are favoured above him." And she looked and smiled at herhusband with such loving admiration that the big fisherman felt theglow of the look and smile warm his heart and flush his cheeks, andhe hastened to the tea-table, and was glad to be silent and enjoythe compliment his dear Joan had given him.
For Joan Penelles was not only a good wife, she wasa pious, truthful, sensible, patient woman. The days of heryouthful beauty were over, but her fine face left the heartsatisfied with her. There was room in her eyes, light upon herface, strength and mature grace in her tall figure – the grace of awoman who has grown up like a forest tree in fresh air and windsand liberty – the physical grace that never comes by thedancing-master. And her print dress and white kerchief and neatlybraided hair seemed as much a part of her charm as the thatchedroof, the yellow stone-wort, and the dainty little mother ofmillions creeping over the roof and walls were a part of thepicturesque cottage. The beauty of Joan Penelles was the beauty offitness in every part, of health, of good temper, of a certainspiritual perception. Penelles loved her with a sure affection; hetrusted in her. In every strait of his life he went to her forcomfort or advice. He could not have imagined a single day withoutJoan to direct it.
For his daughter Denas he had a love perhaps notstronger, but quite different in kind. Denas was his only livingchild. Denas loved the sea. Penelles could remember her small pinkfeet in the tide, when they were baby feet scarce able to standalone. As she grew older she often begged to go to sea with thefishers, and on warm summer nights she had lain in the boat, andtalked to him and his mates, and sung them such wild, sweet songsthat the men vowed she charmed the fish into the nets. For they hadalways wondrous takes when Denas leaned over the gunwale, and insweet, piercing notes sang the old fishing-call: "Come, gray fish!gray fish! Come from the gray cold sea! Fathoms, fathoms deep isthe wall of net. Haddock! haddock! herring! herring! Halibut! bass!whatever you be, Fish! fish! fish! come pay your debt."
And while the men listened to the shrill, imperativevoice mingling with the wash of the waves, and watched the child'slong yellow hair catching the glory of the moonlight, they let herlead them as she would. She did not fear storms. It was her fatherwho feared them for her, though never after one night when she wastwelve years old. "You cannot go to-night, Denas," he said; "thetide is late and the wind is contrary." "Well, then," the littlemaid answered with decision, "the contrary wind be God's wind.'Twas whist poor speed the fishers were once making – toiling androwing – and the wind contrary, when He came walking on the waterand into the boat, and then, to be sure, all was quiet enough."
There were no words to dispute this position, andDenas went with the fishers, and sat singing like a spirit whilethe boat kissed the wind in her teeth. And anon the tide turned,and the wind changed, and there was a lull, and so the nets werewell shot, and they came back to harbour before the breeze just atcock-light – that is, when the cocks begin to crow for thedawning.
Thus petted and loved, the pretty girl made her wayinto all hearts, and when she said one day that she wanted to go tothe school at St. Penfer and learn all about the strange seas andthe strange lands that were in the world, her father and motherwere quite thrilled by her great ambition. But she had her desire,and for three years she went to the private school at St. Penfer,and among the girls gathered there made many friends. Chief amongthese was Elizabe