"TORQUAY, 30th October.
....Do you remember the letters I wrote you from Moor Farm nearly three years ago? To-day I rode over there.I stopped at Brixham on the way for lunch, and walked down to the quay.There had been a shower--but the sun was out again, shining on the sea, the brown-red sails, and the rampart of slate roofs.
A trawler was lying there, which had evidently been in a collision.
The spiky-bearded, thin-lipped fellow in torn blue jersey and sea-boots who was superintending the repairs, said to me a little proudly:
"Bane in collision, zurr; like to zee over her?" Then suddenly screwing up his little blue eyes, he added:
"Why, I remembers yu.Steered yu along o' the young lady in this yer very craft."It was Prawle, Zachary Pearse's henchman.
"Yes," he went on, "that's the cutter."
"And Captain Pearse?"
He leant his back against the quay, and spat."He was a pra-aper man; I never zane none like 'en.""Did you do any good out there?"
Prawle gave me a sharp glance.
"Gude? No, t'was arrm we done, vrom ztart to finish--had trouble all the time.What a man cude du, the skipper did.When yu caan't du right, zome calls it 'Providence'! 'Tis all my eye an' Betty Martin!
What I zay es, 'tis these times, there's such a dale o' folk, a dale of puzzivantin' fellers; the world's to small."With these words there flashed across me a vision of Drake crushed into our modern life by the shrinkage of the world; Drake caught in the meshes of red tape, electric wires, and all the lofty appliances of our civilization.Does a type survive its age; live on into times that have no room for it? The blood is there--and sometimes there's a throw-back....All fancy! Eh?
"So," I said, "you failed?"
Prawle wriggled.
"I wudden' goo for to zay that, zurr--'tis an ugly word.Da-am!" he added, staring at his boots, "'twas thru me tu.We were along among the haythen, and I mus' nades goo for to break me leg.The capt'n he wudden' lave me.'One Devon man,' he says to me, 'don' lave anotherr.' We werr six days where we shuld ha' been tu; when we got back to the ship a cruiser had got her for gun-runnin'.""And what has become of Captain Pearse?"
Prawle answered, "Zurr, I belave 'e went to China, 'tis onsartin.""He's not dead?"
Prawle looked at me with a kind of uneasy anger.
"Yu cudden' kell 'en! 'Tis true, mun 'll die zome day.But therr's not a one that'll show better zport than Capt'n Zach'ry Pearse."I believe that; he will be hard to kill.The vision of him comes up, with his perfect balance, defiant eyes, and sweetish smile; the way the hair of his beard crisped a little, and got blacker on the cheeks; the sort of desperate feeling he gave, that one would never get the better of him, that he would never get the better of himself.
I took leave of Prawle and half a crown.Before I was off the quay Iheard him saying to a lady, "Bane in collision, marm! Like to zee over her?"After lunch I rode on to Moor.The old place looked much the same;but the apple-trees were stripped of fruit, and their leaves beginning to go yellow and fall.One of Pasiance's cats passed me in the orchard hunting a bird, still with a ribbon round its neck.John Ford showed me all his latest improvements, but never by word or sign alluded to the past.He inquired after Dan, back in New Zealand now, without much interest; his stubbly beard and hair have whitened; he has grown very stout, and I noticed that his legs are not well under control; he often stops to lean on his stick.He was very ill last winter; and sometimes, they say, will go straight off to sleep in the middle of a sentence.
I managed to get a few minutes with the Hopgoods.We talked of Pasiance sitting in the kitchen under a row of plates, with that clinging smell of wood-smoke, bacon, and age bringing up memories, as nothing but scents can.The dear old lady's hair, drawn so nicely down her forehead on each side from the centre of her cap, has a few thin silver lines; and her face is a thought more wrinkled.The tears still come into her eyes when she talks of her "lamb."Of Zachary I heard nothing, but she told me of old Pearse's death.
"Therr they found 'en, zo to spake, dead--in th' sun; but Ha-apgood can tell yu," and Hopgood, ever rolling his pipe, muttered something, and smiled his wooden smile.
He came to see me off from the straw-yard."'Tis like death to the varrm, zurr," he said, putting all the play of his vast shoulders into the buckling of my girths."Mister Ford--well! And not one of th' old stock to take it when 'e's garn....Ah! it werr cruel; my old woman's never been hersel' since.Tell 'ee what 'tis--don't du t' think to much."I went out of my way to pass the churchyard.There were flowers, quite fresh, chrysanthemums, and asters; above them the white stone, already stained:
"PASIANCE
WIFE OF ZACHARY PEARSE
'The Lord hatb given, and the Lord hatb taken away."'
The red cows were there too; the sky full of great white clouds, some birds whistling a little mournfully, and in the air the scent of fallen leaves....
May, 1900.
