The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
We brought the Rose of Devon to her moorings on the south side of the
river, about two miles short of Barnstaple, where a little bend and
creek is, and a place for barges, and "Deadman's Pill" was the name of
it. What could a dead man want with a pill, was the very first thing I
asked them; but they said that was no concern of theirs; there were
pills up and down the river for miles, as well as a town called
Pill-town. The cleverest man that I came across said that it must be by
reason of piles driven in where the corners were to prevent the washing,
and he showed me some piles, or their stumps, to prove it, and defied
all further argument. For the time I was beaten, until of a sudden, and
too late to let him know, I saw like a stupid that it must be no other
than our own word "Pwll," which differs much from an English "pool,"
because it may be either dry or wet, so long as it lies in a hollow. And
with that I fell a-thinking of poor Bardie and Pwll Tavan. To be quit of
remorse, and to see the world, I accepted old Ikey's invitation to
Barnstaple fair for the very next day. We could not begin to discharge
our limestone, as even that obstinate Fuzzy confessed, upon a sacred day
like that. Fuzzy himself had a mind for going, as we half suspected,
although he held his tongue about it; and my under-mate told me to let
him alone, and see what would come of it.
The town is a pleasant and pretty one, and has always been famous for
thinking itself more noble than any other; also the fair was a fine
thing to see, full of people, and full of noise, and most outrageous
dialect; everybody in fine broad humour, and no fighting worth even
looking at. This disappointed me; for in Wales we consider the off-day
market a poor one, unless at least some of the women pull caps. I tried,
however, not to miss it, having seen in foreign countries people meeting
peaceably. Of this I could have had no intention to complain to poor
Ikey Hutchings. However, he took it as if I had, and offered to find me
a man from Bratton, or himself, to have a square with me, and stake
half-a-crown upon it. He must have found early cause for repentance, if
I had taken him at his word; but every one would have cried shame upon
me against such a poor little fellow. And so we pushed on, and the
people pushed us.
After a little more of this, and Ikey bragging all the time, though I
saw nothing very wonderful, we turned the corner of a narrow street, and
opened into a broader one. Here there seemed to be no bullocks, such as
had made us keep springs on our cables, but a very amazing lot of
horses, trotting about, and parading, and rushing, most of them with
their tails uphoisted, as if by discharging tackle. Among them stood
men, making much of their virtues, and sinking their faults (if they had
any), and cracking a whip every now and then, with a style of applause
toward them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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