The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
Hereupon I had a great mind not to go; but being assured upon all sides
that this would be a most dangerous thing, as well as supported,
perhaps, by my native resolution and habits of inquiry, I nailed my
colours to the mast, and mounted the cart by the larboard slings. It was
a long and tiresome journey, quite up into a wilderness; and, for the
latter part of it, the track could not have been found, except by means
of a rough stone flung down here and there. But the driver told me that
Parson Chowne took the whole of it three times a-week at a gallop, not
being able to live without more harm than this lonely place afforded.
Finding this fellow more ahead of his wits than most of those Devonshire
yokels are, I beguiled the long journey by letting him talk, and now and
then putting a question to him. He was full, of course, like all the
town, of poor Captain Vellacott's misadventure, and the terrible spell
put upon his new horse, which had seemed in the morning so quiet and
docile. This he pretended at first to explain as the result of a compact
formed some years back between his reverence and the devil. For Parson
Chowne had thoroughly startled and robbed the latter of all self-esteem,
until he had given in, and contracted to be at his beck and call (like a
good servant) until it should come to the settlement. And poor Parson
Jack was to be thrown in, though not such a very bad man sometimes; it
being thoroughly understood, though not expressed between them, that
Parson Chowne was to lead him on, step by step, with his own pilgrimage.
All this I listened to very quietly, scarce knowing what to say about
it. However, I asked the driver, as a man having intimate knowledge of
horses, whether he really did believe that they (like the swine of the
Gadarenes) were laid open to infection from even a man with seven devils
in him; and the more so as these had been never cast out, according to
all that appeared of him. At this he cracked his whip and thought, not
being much at theology; and not having met, it may be, until now, a man
so thoroughly versed in it. I gave him his time to consider it out; but
the trouble seemed only to grow on him, until he laid down his whip and
said, not being able to do any more, "Horses is horses, and pigs is
pigs, every bit the same as men be men. If the Lord made 'em both, the
devil had the right to take 'em both."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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