Daft Bess

BY

KATE BURNLEY BELT

Up and down the little pier they paced in quarter-deck fashion, each with his hands tucked deep down in the pockets of his sea-blanket coat, and his oilskin cap pulled well over his ears.

They were very silent in their walk, these three old men, who had watched the breakers come and go at Trewithen for over sixty years, and handled the ropes when danger threatened. Trewithen Cove had sheltered many a storm-driven ship within their memories, and there were grave-mounds in the churchyard on the cliff still unclaimed and unknown that had been built up by their hands.

Up and down, to and fro they went in the face of the flying spray, in spite of the deepening mist that was creeping up over the darkening sea.

Benjamin Blake--once the handiest craftsman in the cove--was the first to break the silence.

''Tis a sa-ad night at sea, mates!' he shouted, and the roar of the waves nearly drowned the sound of his voice.

'Iss, tu be zure, Benjamin Blake!' shouted Tom Pemberthy in answer, 'an' 'twill be a ba-ad job fer more'n wan boat, I reckin, 'gainst marnin'!'

Then Joe Clatworthy, whose opinions were valued highly in the settlement of all village disputes, so that he had earned for himself the nickname of 'Clacking Joe,' stood still as they once more turned their backs on the threatening sea, and said his say.

One Dark Night

'A tell ee wot 'twill be, mates,' he said solemnly and slowly. 'You mark my wurrds ef it dawn't cum truthy too,--there'll be terble loss uv li-ife out there tu-night,' and he waved his hand towards the blackening sea, 'an' us'll hev tu dig a fuu more graves, I reckin', cum marnin'!'

'The Lard hev murcy!' said Benjamin Blake, and the three resumed their walk again.

Half an hour afterwards they were making their way along the one little street of which Trewithen boasted to their homes; for a storm--the roughest they had known for years--had burst overhead, and a man's life is a frail thing in the teeth of a gale.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the top of the cliff and beyond Trewithen churchyard by the length of a field there stood a tiny cottage, in which lived Jacob Tresidder, fisherman, and his daughter Bess.

'Daft Bess' the children called her as they played with her on the sands, though she was a woman grown, and had hair that was streaked with white.

She was sitting now by the dying fire in the little kitchen listening to the storm without; the hands of the grandfather clock were nearing the midnight hour, and Jacob Tresidder lay in a sound sleep upstairs hearing nought. She was of the type of fisher-maid common to the depths of Cornwall. The soft rich colouring of her skin reminded one more of the sunny south, and her big brown eyes had always a glow in them.

To-night they were more luminous than ever as she sat by the fire watching the sparks flicker and die, as if the dawn of some hidden knowledge were being borne to them on the breath of the storm. The roar of the sea as it dashed up the face of the cliff seemed to soothe her, and she would smile and turn her ear to catch the sound of its breaking on the beach below.

And yet, seven years before, 'Daft Bess' had been the brightest and prettiest girl in Trewithen, and the admiration of every lad in the country round! And Big Ben Martyn, who had a boat of his own, had been the pride of every girl! But he only cared for Bess and she for him. All their lives they had been together and loved,--and a simple, truthful love can only produce its own affinity, though in its travail it pass through pain and suffering, and, maybe, the laying down of life!

Ben Martyn was twenty-five, and his own master, when he asked Bess, who had just turned twenty, to be his wife.

'The cottage be waitin', Bess, my gurrl!' he whispered as they sat on the cliff in the summer night; she knitting as usual, and he watching the needles dart in and out. They were very silent in their love, these two, who had been lovers ever since they could paddle.

''Tis so lawnly betimes!' he pleaded.

And Bess set his longing heart at rest.

'So soon as vather can spare I, Ben,' she said; and she laid her knitting on the rock beside them, and drew his sea-tanned face close down beside her own. 'Ee dawn't seek fer I more'n I seek fer ee, deary!' and kissed him.

Thus they plighted their troth.

Then came the winter and the hard work. And one dark stormy night, when the waves rose and fought till they nearly swept Trewithen out of sight, Ben Martyn was drowned.

He had been trying to run his boat into the shelter of the cove and failed, and in the morning his battered body lay high and dry on the quiet beach among the wreckage.

THE ROCK SHE CLUNG TO GAVE WAY.

For weeks Bess lay in a high fever; and then, when the strain was greater than her tortured mind could bear, and she had screamed loud and long, something snapped in her brain and gave relief. But it left her without a memory, and with the ways and speech of a little child.

Her mind was a blank! She played with the seaweed and smiled, till the women's hearts were like to break for her, and the words stuck in the men's throats as they looked at her and talked.

'She be mazed, poor maid!' they said gently lest she should hear them. ''Twould break Ben's heart ef ee knawed 'ur was so!'

That was seven long years ago. And to-night Bess seemed loth to leave the fire, but sat hugging her knees in a restless fashion, and staring at the blackening embers in a puzzled way. A tremendous blast struck the cottage, and nearly shook the kitchen window out of its fastenings. The wind came shrieking through the holes in the shutter like a revengeful demon, and retreated again with a melancholy groan.

It pleased Bess, and she hugged her knees the tighter, and turned her head and waited for the next loud roar. It came, and then another, and another, till it seemed almost impossible for the little cottage to hold out against its fury!

Then 'Daft Bess' sprang from her seat with a cry of gladness, and ran out into the night!

Along the path of the cliff she ran as fast as her bare feet would carry her, struggling and buffeting with the wind and spray till she reached the 'cutting' down to the beach.

It was only a broken track where the rocks sloped and jagged a little, and not too safe at the best of times. She tried to get a foothold, but the wind was too strong, and she was driven back again and again. Then it lulled a little, and she began to descend.

Half-way down there was an ugly turn in the path, and she waited for a gust to pass before taking it. The wind was stronger than ever out here on the front of the cliff, but she held tight to the jagged rock above.

Round it swept, tearing loose bits of rock and soil from every corner, till her face was cut by the sharpness of the flints!

Close against the cliff it blew until she was almost breathless, when the rock she clung to gave way, and she fell down and down!

       *       *       *       *       *

Jacob Tressider was awake. He had heard a noise like the breaking of delf in the kitchen below, and he wondered if Bess had heard it too. He got out of bed and dressed himself, and then came down the ladder which did service for a staircase to see what was amiss. The flags in the kitchen were strewn with broken plates, and the front kitchen door swung loosely on its hinges.

He called Bess, but there was no answer! He went into her room, the bed was untouched since day! Then he pulled on his great sea-boots and cap and went out to look for her.

The day was dawning when they brought her in and laid her on the bed of her little room more dead than alive. She was soaked through and through, and the seaweed still clung about her hair. Jacob Tresidder stood watching her like a man in a dream as she lay there white and silent.

'Us be mighty sore fer ee, so us be!' said old Benjamin Blake, who had helped to bring her home. 'But teddin fer yew nor I, Jacob, tu go fornenst His will.' And he went out crying like a child.

There was a slight movement of the quiet figure on the coverlid, and Jacob Tresidder's heart stopped beating for a moment as he watched his daughter's brown eyes open once more! They wandered wonderingly to where he was, and rested there, and a faint smile crossed the dying lips.

Then he bowed his head between his hands as he knelt beside her, for he knew that God had given her back her memory again; and his sobs were the sobs of a thankful heart.

'Vather!' she whispered, and with an effort she stretched the hand nearest to him and touched his sleeve. ''Tis--all right--now--I be gwine--tu--Ben.'

The dying eyes glowed with love; then with a restful sigh the life passed out.

       *       *       *       *       *

They had battened down the last spadeful of new-dug earth, and once again there was a storm-bred mound in Trewithen churchyard.

The three old comrades stood together in silence looking down on it, making little or no attempt to hide the sorrow that was theirs.

Then Tom Pemberthy said, drawing his hand across his tear-dimmed eyes: 'Us'll miss ur simple wa-ays, sure 'nuff!'

But it was given to 'Clacking Joe' to speak the final words ere they turned their faces homewards.

''Twas awnly right that we laid ur 'longside o' Ben! When ur was a little chile ur shrimped with 'n! an' when ur was a gert maiden ur walked out with 'n! Please God, ur'll be the furrst tu spake tu 'n--cum the aftermath!'