The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
It was of course not Parson Rambone but the Parson Chowne who aroused my
desire of knowledge so strongly. And even here I was met at first by
failure and disappointment. The men would only shake their hands and
say "Ah, he is a queer one!" or, "Well, well, we can't expect all folk
to be alike, you know;" or even some of the ruder spirits, "You had
better go yourself and ask him"--a most absurd suggestion, for never yet
had I seen a man less fit to encourage impertinence. Far more ready
would I have been to displease even his great comrade, the Reverend John
Rambone; and no one who saw them together could doubt which of the two
was the master. My true course was clearly to bide my time, and, as
chairman, to enhance the goodwill and geniality of the evening. And this
I was ready enough to do--ay, and in the vein for it--bearing in mind
the wisdom of enjoying to the utmost such favourable circumstances, to
be on the free boot, and well received in a place entirely new to me,
where I found myself so much ahead of everybody in matter of mind, and
some of them glad to acknowledge it; also where no customer could be
waiting to reproach me, nor even a justice of the peace well versed in
my countenance; moreover, blessed as I was with a sense of pity for
these natives, and a largeness of goodwill to them, such a chance had
never crossed me since the day my wife did.
Ikey and I had a good laugh also at that surly Bethel Jose, who had
shown himself so much above the fair in mind, yet was there in body.
None but Bang, the boy, had been left for captain and crew of the Rose
of Devon, and before it was dark we had found Bang shooting, at four
shots a-penny, for cocoa-nut slices, with ginger-beer poured over them.
Now fortune stood my friend that night, for before we began to find
ourselves in a condition at all uproarious, I managed to loosen the
tongues of these natives by means of some excellent stories. Recalling
the fame of my grandfather (that long David Llewellyn, who made on his
harp three unconquered ballads, and won the first prize at all the
Eisteddfods held during his life for Englynion), I could not accept it
as my business to play second fiddle. Therefore, being in a happy mood,
I was enabled to recount such stories as made these Devonshire folk open
their mouths like a man at a great rock-oyster, while their experience
was in contention with faith and perhaps good manners. And as their
nature is obstinate and most unwilling to be outdone, they found
themselves driven down at last to tell the most wonderful things they
knew, or else to be almost nobodies. And putting aside what their
grandfathers might have seen or heard or even done--which is a mistake
to dwell upon--all their stories worth curve of the ear were of Parson
Chowne, and no other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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