I Saw Three Ships and Other Winter Tales written by Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch

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As Young Zeb drew near he saw that they wore pig-tails and round shiny
hats: and, as he noticed this, his face, which had been pale for the
last five minutes, grew ashen-white. He halted for a moment, and then
went on again, meaning to pass the signboard and wait on the quay for
the ferry.

There were half a dozen sailors in front of the "Four Lords." Three sat
on a bench beside the door, and three more, with mugs of beer in their
hands, were skylarking in the middle of the roadway.

"Hi!" called out one of those on the bench, as Zeb passed. And Zeb
turned round and came to a halt again.

"What is it?"

"Where 're ye bound, mate?"

"For the ferry."

"Then stop an' drink, for the boat left two minutes since an' won't be
back for another twenty."

Zeb hung on his heel for a couple of seconds. The sailor held out his
mug with the friendliest air, his head thrown back and the left corner
of his mouth screwed up into a smile.

"Thank 'ee," said Zeb, "I will; an' may the Lord judge 'atween us."

"There's many a way o' takin' a drink," the sailor said, staring at him;
"but split me if yours ain't the rummiest _I_'ve run across."

"Oh, man, man," Zeb answered, "I wasn' thinkin' o' _you!_"

Back by the cliff's edge the hollibubber had finished his day's work and
was shouldering his shovel to start for home, when he spied a dark
figure coming eastwards along the track; and, putting up a hand to ward
off the level rays of the sun, saw that it was the young man who had
passed him at noonday. So he set down the shovel again, and waited.

Young Zeb came along with his head down. When he noticed the
hollibubber standing in the path he started like a man caught in a
theft.

"My son, ye 've come to lift a weight off my heart. God forgi'e me
that, i' my shyness, I let 'ee go by wi'out a word for your trouble."

"All the country seems to know my affairs," Zeb answered with a scowl.

The hollibubber's grey eyes rested on him tenderly. He was desperately
shy, as he had confessed: but compassion overcame his shyness.

"Surely," said he, "all we be children o' one Father: an' surely we may
know each other's burdens; else, not knowin', how shall we bear 'em?"

"You'm too late, hollibubber."

Zeb stood still, looking out over the purple sea. The old man touched
his arm gently.

"How so?"

"I've a-sold my soul to hell."

"I don't care. You'm alive an' standin' here, an' I can save 'ee."

"Can 'ee so?" Zeb asked ironically.

"Man, I feel sure o't." His ugly earnest face became almost grand in
the flame of the sunset. "Turn aside, here, an' kneel down; I will
wrestle wi' the Lord for thee till comfort comes, if it take the long
night."

"You'm a strange chap. Can such things happen i' these days?"

"Kneel and try."

"No, no, no," Zeb flung out his hands. "It's too late, I tell 'ee.
No man's words will I hear but the words of Lamech--'I ha' slain a man
to my wounding, an' a young man to my hurt.' Let me go--'tis too late.
Let me go, I say--"

As the hollibubber still clung to his arm, he gave a push and broke
loose. The old man tumbled beside the path with his head against the
potato fence. Zeb with a curse took to his heels and ran; nor for a
hundred yards did he glance behind.

When at last he flung a look over his shoulder, the hollibubber had
picked himself up and was kneeling in the pathway. His hands were
clasped and lifted.

"Too late!" shouted Zeb again, and dashed on without a second look.

CHAPTER IX.

YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.

At half-past nine, next morning, the stranger sat in the front room of
the cottage vacated by the Lewarnes. On a rough table, pushed into a
corner, lay the remains of his breakfast. A plum-coloured coat with
silver buttons hung over the back of a chair by his side, and a
waist-coat and silver-laced hat to match rested on the seat.
For the wedding was to take place in an hour and a half.

He sat in frilled shirt, knee-breeches and stockings, and the sunlight
streamed in upon his dark head as he stooped to pull on a shoe.
The sound of his whistling filled the room, and the tune was, "Soldier,
soldier, will you marry me?"

His foot was thrust into the first shoe, and his forefinger inserted at
the heel, shoe-horn fashion, to slip it on, when the noise of light
wheels sounded on the road outside, and stopped beside the gate.
Looking up, he saw through the window the head and shoulders of Young
Zeb's grey mare, and broke off his whistling sharply.

_Rat-a-tat!_

"Come in!" he called, and smiled softly to himself.

The door was pushed open, and Young Zeb stood on the threshold, looking
down on the stranger, who wheeled round quietly on his chair to face
him. Zeb's clothes were disordered, and looked as if he had spent the
night in them; his face was yellow and drawn, with dark semicircles
underneath the eyes; and he put a hand up against the door-post for
support.

"To what do I owe this honour?" asked the stranger, gazing back at him.

Zeb pulled out a great turnip-watch from his fob, and said--

"You'm dressin?"

"Ay, for the wedding."

"Then look sharp. You've got a bare five-an'-twenty minnits."

"Excuse me, I'm not to be married till eleven."

"Iss, iss, but _they_'re comin' at ten, sharp."

"And who in the world may 'they' be?"

"The press-gang."

The stranger sprang up to his feet, and seemed for a moment about to fly
at Zeb's throat.

"You treacherous hound!"

"Stand off," said Zeb wearily, without taking his hand from the
door-post. "I reckon it don't matter what I may be, or may not be, so
long as you'm dressed i' ten minnits."

The other dropped his hands, with a short laugh.

"I beg your pardon. For aught I know you may have nothing to do with
this infernal plot except to warn me against it."

"Don't make any mistake. 'Twas I that set the press-gang upon 'ee,"
answered Zeb, in the same dull tones.

There was silence between them for half a minute, and then the stranger
spoke, as if to himself--

"My God! Love has made this oaf a man!" He stood for a while, sucking
at his under-lip, and regarding Zeb gloomily. "May I ask why you have
deliberately blown up this pretty mine at the eleventh hour?"

"I couldn't do it," Zeb groaned; "Lord knows 'twas not for love of you,
but I couldn't."

"Upon my word, you fascinate me. People say that evil is more easily
learnt than goodness; but that's great nonsense. The footsteps of the
average beginner are equally weak in both pursuits. Would you mind
telling me why you chose this particular form of treachery, in
preference (let us say) to poison or shooting from behind a hedge?
Was it simply because you risked less? Pardon the question, but I have
a particular reason for knowing."

"We're wastin' time," said Zeb, pulling out his watch again.

"It's extraordinary how a fool will stumble on good luck. Why, sir, but
for one little accident, the existence of which you could not possibly
have known, I might easily have waited for the press-gang, stated the
case to them, and had you lugged off to sea in my place. Has it
occurred to you, in the course of your negotiations, that the wicked
occasionally stumble into pits of their own digging? You, who take part
in the psalm-singing every Sunday, might surely have remembered this.
As it is, I suppose I must hurry on my clothes, and get to church by
some roundabout way."

"I'm afeard you can't, without my help."

"Indeed? Why?"

"'Cause the gang is posted all round 'ee. I met the lot half an hour
back, an' promised to call 'pon you and bring word you was here."

"Come, come; I retract my sneers. You begin to excite my admiration.
I shall undoubtedly shoot you before I'm taken, but it shall be your
comfort to die amid expressions of esteem."

"You'm mistaken. I came to save 'ee, if you'll be quick."

"How?"

"I've a load of ore-weed outside, in the cart. By the lie o' the
cottage none can spy ye while you slip underneath it; but I'll fetch a
glance round, to make sure. Underneath it you'll be safe, and I'll
drive 'ee past the sailors, and send 'em on here to search."

"You develop apace. But perhaps you'll admit a flaw in your scheme.
What on earth induced you to imagine I should trust you?"

"Man, I reckoned all that. My word's naught. But 'tis your one
chance--and I would kneel to 'ee, if by kneelin' I could persuade 'ee.
We'll fight it out after; bring your pistols. Only come!"

The stranger slipped on his other shoe, then his waistcoat and jacket,
whistling softly. Then he stepped to the chimney-piece, took down his
pistols, and stowed them in his coat-pockets.

"I'm quite ready."

Zeb heaved a great sigh like a sob; but only said:--

"Wait a second while I see that the coast's clear."

In less than three minutes the stranger was packed under the
evil-smelling weed, drawing breath with difficulty, and listening, when
the jolting allowed, to Zeb's voice as he encouraged the mare.
Jowters' carts travel fast as a rule, for their load perishes soon, and
the distance from the coast to the market is often considerable.
In this case Jessamy went at a round gallop, the loose stones flying
from under her hoofs. Now and then one struck up against the bottom of
the cart. It was hardly pleasant to be rattled at this rate, Heaven
knew whither. But the stranger had chosen his course, and was not the
man to change his mind.

After about five minutes of this the cart was pulled up with a scramble,
and he heard a voice call out, as it seemed, from the hedge--

"Well?"

"Right you are," answered Young Zeb;

"He's in the front room, pullin' on his boots. You'd best look slippy."

"Where's the coin?"

"There!" The stranger heard the click of money, as of a purse being
caught. "You'll find it all right."

"H'm; best let me count it, though. One--two--three--four. I feels it
my dooty to tell ye, young man, that it be a dirty trick. If this
didn't chime in wi' my goodwill towards his Majesty's service, be danged
if I'd touch the job with a pair o' tongs!"

"Ay--but I reckon you'll do't, all the same, for t'other half that's to
come when you've got en safe an' sound. Dirty hands make clean money."

"Well, well; ye've been dirtily sarved. I'll see 'ee this arternoon at
the 'Four Lords.' We've orders to sail at five, sharp; so there's no
time to waste."

"Then I won't detain 'ee. Clk, Jessamy!"

The jolting began again, more furiously than ever, as the stranger drew
a long breath. He waited till he judged they must be out of sight, and
then began to stir beneath his load of weed.

"Keep quiet," said Zeb; "you shall get out as soon as we're up the
hill."

The cart began to move more slowly, and tilted back with a slant that
sent the stranger's heels against the tail-board. Zeb jumped down and
trudged at the side. The hill was long, and steep from foot to brow; and
when at length the slope lessened, the wheels turned off at a sharp
angle and began to roll softly over turf.

The weight and smell of the weed were beginning to suffocate the man
beneath it, when Zeb called out "Woa-a!" and the mare stopped.

"Now you can come out."

The other rose on his knees, shook some of his burden off, and blinked
in the strong sunlight.

The cart stood on the fringe of a desolate tract of downs, high above
the coast. Over the hedge to the right appeared a long narrow strip of
sea. On the three remaining sides nothing was visible but undulating
stretches of brown turf, except where, to northward, the summits of two
hills in the heart of the county just topped the rising ground that hid
twenty intervening miles of broken plain.

"We can leave the mare to crop. There's a hollow, not thirty yards off,
that'll do for us."

Zeb led the way to the spot. It was indeed the fosse of a
half-obliterated Roman camp, and ran at varying depth around a cluster
of grassy mounds, the most salient of which--the praetorian--still
served as a landmark for the Porthlooe fishing boats. But down in the
fosse the pair were secure from all eyes. Not a word was spoken until
they stood together at the bottom.

Here Zeb pulled out his watch once more. "We'd best be sharp," he said;
"you must start in twenty minnits to get to the church in time."

"It would be interesting to know what you propose doing." The stranger
sat down on the slope, picked a strip of sea-weed off his breeches, and
looked up with a smile.

"I reckon you'll think it odd."

"Of that I haven't a doubt."

"Well, you've a pair o' pistols i' your pockets, an' they're loaded, I
expect."

"They are."

"I'd a notion of askin' 'ee, as a favour, to give and take a shot with
me."

The stranger paused a minute before giving his answer.

"Can you fire a pistol?"

"I've let off a blunderbust, afore now, an' I suppose 'tis the same
trick."

"And has it struck you that your body may be hard to dispose of?
Or that, if found, it may cause me some inconvenience?"

"There's a quag on t'other side o' the Castle[1] here. I han't time to
go round an' point it out; but 'tis to be known by bein' greener than
the rest o' the turf. What's thrown in there niver comes up, an' no man
can dig for it. The folks'll give the press-gang the credit when I'm
missin'--"

"You forget the mare and cart."

"Lead her back to the road, turn her face to home, an' fetch her a cut
across th' ears. She always bolts if you touch her ears."

"And you really wish to die?"

"Oh, my God!" Zeb broke out; "would I be standin' here if I didn'?"

The stranger rose to his feet, and drew out his pistols slowly.

"It's a thousand pities," he said; "for I never saw a man develop
character so fast."

He cocked the triggers, and handed the pistols to Zeb, to take his
choice.

"Stand where you are, while I step out fifteen paces." He walked slowly
along the fosse, and, at the end of that distance, faced about.
"Shall I give the word?"

Zeb nodded, watching him sullenly.

"Very well. I shall count three slowly, and after that we can fire as
we please. Are you ready?--stand a bit sideways. Your chest is a
pretty broad target--that's right; I'm going to count.
_One--two--three--_"

The word was hardly spoken before one of the pistols rang out. It was
Zeb's; and Heaven knows whither his bullet flew. The smoke cleared away
in a blue, filmy streak, and revealed his enemy standing where he stood
before, with his pistol up, and a quiet smile on his face.

Still holding the pistol up, the stranger now advanced deliberately
until he came to a halt about two paces from Zeb, who, with white face
and set jaw, waited for the end. The eyes of the two men met, and
neither flinched.

"Strip," commanded the stranger. "Strip--take off that jersey."

"Why not kill me without ado? Man, isn't this cruel?"

"Strip, I say."

Zeb stared at him for half a minute, like a man in a trance; and began
to pull the jersey off.

"Now your shirt. Strip--till you are naked as a babe."

Zeb obeyed. The other laid his pistol down on the turf, and also
proceeded to undress, until the two men stood face to face, stark naked.

"We were thus, or nearly thus, a month ago, when you gave me my life.
Does it strike you that, barring our faces, we might be twin brothers?
Now, get into my clothes, and toss me over your own!"

"What's the meanin' o't?" stammered Zeb, hoarsely.

"I am about to cry quits with you. Hurry; for the bride must be at the
church by this."

"What's the meanin' o't?" Zeb repeated.

"Why, that you shall marry the girl. Steady--don't tremble. The banns
are up in your name, and you shall walk into church, and the woman shall
be married to Zebedee Minards. Stop, don't say a word, or I'll repent
and blow your brains out. You want to know who I am, and what's to
become of me. Suppose I'm the Devil; suppose I'm your twin soul, and in
exchange for my life have given you the half of manhood that you lacked
and I possessed; suppose I'm just a deserter from his Majesty's fleet, a
poor devil of a marine, with gifts above his station, who ran away and
took to privateering, and was wrecked at your doors. Suppose that I am
really Zebedee Minards; or suppose that I heard your name spoken in
Sheba kitchen, and took a fancy to wear it myself. Suppose that I shall
vanish to-day in a smell of brimstone; or that I shall leave in irons in
the hold of the frigate now in Troy harbour. What's her name?"

He was dressed by this time in Zeb's old clothes.

"The _Recruit_."

"Whither bound?"

"Back to Plymouth to-night, an' then to the West Indies wi' a convoy."

"Hurry, then; don't fumble, or Ruby'll be tired of waiting. You'll find
a pencil and scrap of paper in my breast pocket. Hand them over."

Zeb did so, and the stranger, seating himself again on the slope, tore
the paper in half, and began to scribble a few lines on each piece.
By the time he had finished and folded them up, Zeb stood before him
dressed in the plum-coloured suit.

"Ay," said the stranger, looking him up and down, and sucking the pencil
contemplatively; "she'll marry you out of hand."

"I doubt it."

"These notes will make sure. Give one to the farmer, and one to Ruby,
as they stand by the chancel rails. But mainly it rests with you.
Take no denial. Say you've come to make her your wife, and won't leave
the church till you've done it. She's still the same woman as when she
threw you over. Ah, sir, we men change our natures; but woman is always
Eve. I suppose you know a short cut to the church? Very well.
I shall take your cart and mare, and drive to meet the press-gang, who
won't be in the sweetest of tempers just now. Come, what are you
waiting for? You're ten minutes late as it is, and you can't be married
after noon."

"Sir," said Zeb, with a white face; "it's a liberty, but will 'ee let me
shake your hand?"

"I'll be cursed if I do. But I'll wish you good luck and a hard heart,
and maybe ye'll thank me some day."

So Zeb, with a sob, turned and ran from him out of the fosse and towards
a gap in the hedge, where lay a short cut through the fields. In the
gap he turned and looked back. The stranger stood on the lip of the
fosse, and waved a hand to him to hurry.

[1] Camp.

CHAPTER X.

THE THIRD SHIP.

We return to Ruan church, whence this history started. The parson was
there in his surplice, by the altar; the bride was there in her white
frock, by the chancel rails; her father, by her side, was looking at his
watch; and the parishioners thronged the nave, shuffling their feet and
loudly speculating. For the bridegroom had not appeared.

Ruby's face was white as her frock. Parson Babbage kept picking up the
heavy Prayer-book, opening it, and laying it down impatiently.
Occasionally, as one of the congregation scraped an impatient foot, a
metallic sound made itself heard, and the buzz of conversation would
sink for a moment, as if by magic.

For beneath the seats, and behind the women's gowns, the whole pavement
of the church was covered with a fairly representative collection of
cast-off kitchen utensils--old kettles, broken cake-tins, frying-pans,
saucepans--all calculated to emit dismal sounds under percussion.
Scattered among these were ox-bells, rook-rattles, a fog-horn or two,
and a tin trumpet from Liskeard fair. Explanation is simple: the
outraged feelings of the parish were to be avenged by a shal-lal as
bride and bridegroom left the church. Ruby knew nothing of the storm
brewing for her, but Mary Jane, whose ears had been twice boxed that
morning, had heard a whisper of it on her way down to the church, and
was confirmed in her fears by observing the few members of the
congregation who entered after her. Men and women alike suffered from
an unwonted corpulence and tightness of raiment that morning, and each
and all seemed to have cast the affliction off as they arose from their
knees. It was too late to interfere, so she sat still and trembled.

Still the bridegroom did not come.

"A more onpresidented feat I don't recall," remarked Uncle Issy to a
group that stood at the west end under the gallery, "not since 'Melia
Spry's buryin', when the devil, i' the shape of a black pig, followed us
all the way to the porch."

"That was a brave while ago, Uncle."

"Iss, iss; but I mind to this hour how we bearers perspired--an' she
such a light-weight corpse. But plague seize my old emotions!--we'm
come to marry, not to bury."

"By the look o't 'tis' neither marry nor bury, Nim nor Doll," observed
Old Zeb, who had sacrificed his paternal feelings and come to church in
order to keep abreast with the age; "'tis more like Boscastle Fair,
begin at twelve o'clock an' end at noon. Why tarry the wheels of his
chariot?"

"'Tis possible Young Zeb an' he have a-met 'pon the road hither,"
hazarded Calvin Oke by a wonderful imaginative effort; "an' 'tis
possible that feelings have broke loose an' one o' the twain be
swelterin' in his own bloodshed, or vicey-versey."

"I heard tell of a man once," said Uncle Issy, "that committed murder
upon another for love; but, save my life, I can't think 'pon his name,
nor where 't befell."

"What an old store-house 'tis!" ejaculated Elias Sweetland, bending a
contemplative gaze on Uncle Issy.

"Mark her pale face, naybours," put in a woman; "an' Tresidder, he looks
like a man that's neither got nor lost."

"Trew, trew."

"Quarter past the hour, I make it," said Old Zeb, pulling out his
timepiece.

Still the bridegroom tarried.

Higher up the church, in the front pew but one, Modesty Prowse said
aloud to Sarah Ann Nan Julian--

"If he doesn' look sharp, we'll be married before she after all."

Ruby heard the sneer, and answered it with a look of concentrated spite.
Probably she would have risked her dignity to retort, had not Parson
Babbage advanced down the chancel at this juncture.

"Has anyone seen the bridegroom to-day?" he inquired of Tresidder.
"Or will you send some one to hurry him?"

"Be danged if I know," the farmer began testily, mopping his bald head,
and then he broke off, catching sound of a stir among the folk behind.

"Here he be--here he be at last!" cried somebody. And with that a hush
of bewilderment fell on the congregation.

In the doorway, flushed with running and glorious in bridal attire,
stood Young Zeb.

It took everybody's breath away, and he walked up the nave between
silent men and women. His eyes were fastened on Ruby, and she in turn
stared at him as a rabbit at a snake, shrinking slightly on her father's
arm. Tresidder's jaw dropped, and his eyes began to protrude.

"What's the meanin' o' this?" he stammered.

"I've come to marry your daughter," answered Zeb, very slow and
distinct. "She was to wed Zebedee Minards to-day, an' I'm Zebedee
Minards."

"But--"

"I've a note to hand to each of 'ee. Better save your breath till
you've read 'em."

He delivered the two notes, and stood, tapping a toe on the tiles, in
the bridegroom's place on the right of the chancel-rails.

"Damnation!"

"Mr. Tresidder," interrupted the parson, "I like a man to swear off his
rage if he's upset, but I can't allow it in the church."

"I don't care if you do or you don't."

"Then do it, and I'll kick you out with this very boot."

The farmer's face was purple, and big veins stood out by his temples.

"I've been cheated," he growled. Zeb, who had kept his eyes on Ruby,
stepped quickly towards her. First picking up the paper that had
drifted to the pavement, he crushed it into his pocket. He then took
her hand. It was cold and damp.

"Parson, will 'ee marry us up, please?"

"You haven't asked if she'll have you."

"No, an' I don't mean to. I didn't come to ax questions--that's your
business--but to answer."

"Will you marry this man?" demanded the parson, turning to Ruby.

Zeb's hand still enclosed hers, and she felt she was caught and held for
life. Her eyes fluttered up to her lover's face, and found it
inexorable.

"Yes," she gasped out, as if the word had been suffocating her.
And with the word came a rush of tears--helpless, but not altogether
unhappy.

"Dry your eyes," said Parson Babbage, after waiting a minute; "we must
be quick about it."

So it happened that the threatened shal-lal came to nothing.
Susan Jago, the old woman who swept the church, discovered its forgotten
apparatus scattered beneath the pews on the following Saturday, and
cleared it out, to the amount (she averred) of two cart-loads.
She tossed it, bit by bit, over the west wall of the churchyard, where
in time it became a mound, covered high with sting-nettles. If you poke
among these nettles with your walking-stick, the odds are that you turn
up a scrap of rusty iron. But there exists more explicit testimony to
Zeb's wedding within the church--and within the churchyard, too, where
he and Ruby have rested this many a year.

Though the bubble of Farmer Tresidder's dreams was pricked that day,
there was feasting at Sheba until late in the evening. Nor until eleven
did the bride and bridegroom start off, arm in arm, to walk to their new
home. Before them, at a considerable distance, went the players and
singers--a black blur on the moonlit road; and very crisply their music
rang out beneath a sky scattered with cloud and stars. All their songs
were simple carols of the country, and the burden of them was but the
joy of man at Christ's nativity; but the young man and maid who walked
behind were well pleased.

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