No More Learning

Between 1857 and 1870, Baring-Gould had published nine volumes,
the best known of these being Curious Myths of the Middle Ages. '
From 1870 to 1890 his name appeared as author on the title-page
of forty-three books: sermons, lectures, essays, archæological treatises,
memoirs, curiosities of literature, histories, and fiction; sixteen novels,
tales, and romances being included. From 1890 to 1896 he published
seventeen more novels, and many of his books have passed through
several editions. His most successful novels are Mehalah; a Tale of
the Salt Marshes, (In the Roar of the Sea,' 'Red Spider,' Richard
Cable, and Noémi; a Story of Rock-Dwellers. '
In an essay upon his fiction, Mr. J. M. Barrie writes in The Con-
temporary Review (February, 1890):-
“Of our eight or ten living novelists who are popular by merit, few have
greater ability than Mr. Baring-Gould. His characters are bold and forcible
figures, his wit is as ready as his figures of speech are apt. He has a power-
ful imagination, and is quaintly fanciful. When he describes a storm, we can
see his trees breaking in the gale. So enormous and accurate is his general
information that there is no trade or profession with which he does not seem
familiar. So far as scientific knowledge is concerned, he is obviously better
equipped than any contemporary writer of fiction. Yet one rises from his
books with a feeling of repulsion, or at least with the glad conviction that
his ignoble views of life are as untrue as the characters who illustrate them.
Here is a melancholy case of a novelist, not only clever but sincere, undone
by want of sympathy.
The author's want of sympathy prevents
(Mehalah's) rising to the highest art; for though we shudder at the end,
there the effect of the story stops. It illustrates the futility of battling with
fate, but the theme is not allowable to writers with the modern notion of a
Supreme Power.
But Mehalah) is still one of the most powerful
romances of recent years. "


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
1531
ST. PATRICK'S PURGATORY
From (Curious Myths of the Middle Ages)
I
N that charming mediæval romance Fortunatus and his Sons,'
which by the way is a treasury of popular mythology, is an
account of a visit paid by the favored youth to that cave of
mystery in Lough Derg, the Purgatory of St. Patrick.
Fortunatus, we are told, had heard in his travels of how two
days' journey from the town Valdric, in Ireland, was a town,
Vernic, where was the entrance to the Purgatory; so thither he
went with many servants. He found a great abbey, and behind
the altar of the church a door, which led into the dark cave
which is called the Purgatory of St. Patrick. In order to enter
it, leave had to be obtained from the abbot; consequently Leo-
pold, servant to Fortunatus, betook himself to that worthy and
made known to him that a nobleman from Cyprus desired to
enter the mysterious cavern. The abbot at once requested Leo-
pold to bring his master to supper with him. Fortunatus bought
a large jar of wine and sent it as a present to the monastery,
and followed at the meal-time.
“Venerable sir! ” said Fortunatus, "I understand the Purga-
tory of St. Patrick is here: is it so ?
The abbot replied, “It is so indeed. Many hundred years
ago, this place, where stand the abbey and the town, was a
howling wilderness. Not far off, however, lived a venerable
hermit, Patrick by name, who often sought the desert for the
purpose of therein exercising his austerities. One day he lighted
on this cave, which is of vast extent. He entered it, and wan-
dering on in the dark, lost his way, so that he could no more
find how to return to the light of day. After long ramblings
through the gloomy passages, he fell on his knees and besought
Almighty God, if it were His will, to deliver him from the great
peril wherein he lay. Whilst Patrick thus prayed, he was ware
of piteous cries issuing from the depths of the cave, just such as
would be the wailings of souls in purgatory.
The hermit rose
from his orison, and by God's mercy found his way back to the
surface, and from that day exercised greater austerities, and after
his death he was numbered with the saints. Pious people, who
had heard the story of Patrick's adventure in the cave, built this
cloister on the site. "


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1532
SABINE BARING-GOULD
Then Fortunatus asked whether all who ventured into the
place heard likewise the howls of the tormented souls.
The abbot replied, “Some have affirmed that they have heard
a bitter crying and piping therein; whilst others have heard and
seen nothing. No one, however, has penetrated as yet to the
furthest limits of the cavern. "
Fortunatus then asked permission to enter, and the abbot
cheerfully consented, only stipulating that his guest should keep
near the entrance and not ramble too far, as some who had
ventured in had never returned.
Next day early, Fortunatus received the Blessed Sacrament
with his trusty Leopold; the door of the Purgatory was unlocked,
each was provided with a taper, and then with the blessing of
the abbot they were left in total darkness, and the door bolted
behind them. Both wandered on in the cave, hearing faintly the
chanting of the monks in the church, till the sound died away.
They traversed several passages, lost their way, their candles
burned out, and they sat down in despair on the ground, a prey
to hunger, thirst, and fear.
The monks waited in the church hour after hour; and the
visitors of the Purgatory had not returned. Day declined, ves-
pers were sung, and still there was no sign of the two who in
the morning had passed from the church into the cave. Then
the servants of Fortunatus began to exhibit anger, and to insist
on their master being restored to them. The abbot was fright-
ened, and sent for an old man who had once penetrated far
into the cave with a ball of twine, the end attached to the door-
handle. This man volunteered to seek Fortunatus, and provi-
dentially his search was successful. After this the abbot refused
permission to any one to visit the cave.
In the reign of Henry II. lived Henry of Saltrey, who wrote
a history of the visit of a Knight Owen to the Purgatory of St.
Patrick, which gained immense popularity, . was soon trans-
lated into other languages, and spread the fable through mediæval
Europe.
In English there are two versions.
two versions. In one
of these, Owayne Miles, the origin of the purgatory is thus
described:
«Holy byschoppes some tyme ther were,
That tawgte me of Goddes lore.
In Irlonde preched Seyn Patryke;
In that londe was non hym lyke:


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
1533
He prechede Goddes worde full wyde,
And tolde men what shullde betyde.
Fyrste he preched of Heven blysse,
Who ever go thyder may ryght nowgt mysse:
Sethen he preched of Hell pyne,
Howe wo them ys that cometh therinne:
And then he preched of purgatory,
As he fonde in hisstory;
But yet the folke of the contré
Beleved not that hit mygth be;
And seyed, but gyf hit were so,
That eny non myth hymself go,
And se alle that, and come ageyn,
Then wolde they beleve fayn. ”
Vexed at the obstinacy of his hearers, St. Patrick besought
the Almighty to make the truth manifest to the unbelievers;
whereupon
“God spakke to Saynt Patryke tho
By nam, and badde hym with Hym go:
He ladde hym ynte a wyldernesse,
Wher was no reste more no lesse,
And shewed that he might se
Inte the erthe a pryvé entré:
Hit was yn a depe dyches ende.
(What mon,' He sayde, (that wylle hereyn wende,
And dwelle theryn a day and a nyght,
And hold his byleve and ryght,
And come ageyn that he ne dwelle,
Mony a mervayle he may of telle.
And alle tho that doth thys pylgrymage,
I shalle hem graunt for her wage,
Whether he be sqwyer or knave,
Other purgatorye shalle he non have. ) »
Thereupon St. Patrick, he ne stynte ner day ne night,” till
he had built there a "fayr abbey,” and stocked it with pious
canons. Then he made a door to the cave, and locked the door,
and
gave the key to the keeping of the prior. The Knight
Owain, who had served under King Stephen, had lived a life
of violence and dissolution; but filled with repentance, he sought
by way of penance St. Patrick's Purgatory. Fifteen days he
spent in preliminary devotions and alms-deeds, and then he
heard mass, was washed with holy water, received the Holy


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
1534
Sacrament, and followed the sacred relics in procession, whilst
the priests sang for him the Litany, as lowde as they mygth
crye. ” Then Sir Owain was locked in the cave, and he groped
his way onward in darkness, till he reached a glimmering light;
this brightened, and he came out into an underground land,
where was a great hall and cloister, in which were men with
shaven heads and white garments. These men informed the
knight how he was to protect himself against the assaults of
evil spirits. After having received this instruction, he heard
"grete dynn,” and
«Then come ther develes on every syde,
Wykked gostes, I wote, fro Helle,
So mony that no tonge mygte telle:
They fylled the hows yn two rowes;
Some grenned on hym and some mad mowes. ”
He then visits the different places of torment. In one, the
souls are nailed to the ground with glowing hot brazen nails; in
another they are fastened to the soil by their hair, and are
bitten by fiery reptiles. In another, again, they are hung over
fires by those members which had sinned, whilst others are
roasted on spits. In one place were pits in which were molten
metals. In these pits were men and women, some up to their
chins, others to their breasts, others to their hams. The knight
was pushed by the devils into one of these pits and was dread-
fully scalded, but he cried to the Savior and escaped. Then
he visited a lake where souls were tormented with great cold;
and a river of pitch, which he crossed on a frail and narrow
bridge. Beyond this bridge was a wall of glass, in which opened
a beautiful gate, which conducted into Paradise. This place so
delighted him that he would fain have remained in it had he
been suffered, but he was bidden return to earth and finish
there his penitence. He was put into a shorter and pleasanter
way back to the cave than that by which he had come; and the
prior found the knight next morning at the door, waiting to be
let out, and full of his adventures. He afterwards went on a
pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and ended his life in piety.
Froissart tells us of a conversation he had with one Sir Will-
iam Lisle, who had been in the Purgatory. “I asked him of
what sort was the cave that is in Ireland, called St. Patrick's
Purgatory, and if that were true which was related of it. He


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
1535
replied that there certainly was such a cave, for he and another
English knight had been there whilst the king was at Dublin,
and said that they entered the cave, and were shut in as the
sun set, and that they remained there all night and left it next
morning at sunrise. And then I asked if he had seen the
strange sights and visions spoken of. Then he said that when
he and his companion had passed the gate of the Purgatory of
St. Patrick, that they had descended as though into a cellar,
and that a hot vapor rose towards them and so affected their
heads that they were obliged to sit down on the stone steps.
And after sitting there awhile they felt heavy with sleep, and
so fell asleep, and slept all night. Then I asked if they knew
where they were in their sleep, and what sort of dreams they
had had; he answered that they had been oppressed with many
fancies and wonderful dreams, different from those they were
accustomed to in their chambers; and in the morning when they
went out, in a short while they had clean forgotten their dreams
and visions; wherefore he concluded that the whole matter was
fancy. "
The next to give us an account of his descent into St. Pat-
rick's Purgatory is William Staunton of Durham, who went down
into the cave on the Friday next after the feast of Holyrood, in
the year 1409.
"I was put in by the Prior of St. Matthew, of the same Pur-
gatory, with procession and devout prayers of the prior, and the
convent gave me an orison to bless me with, and to write the
first word in my forehead, the which prayer is this, Jhesu
Christe, Fili Dei vivi, miserere mihi peccatori. And the prior
taught me to say this prayer when any spirit, good or evil, ap-
peared unto me, or when I heard any noise that I should be
afraid of. ” When left in the cave, William fell asleep, and
dreamed that he saw coming to him St. John of Bridlington
and St. Ive, who undertook to conduct him through the scenes
of mystery.
After they had proceeded a while, William was
found to be guilty of a trespass against Holy Church, of which
he had to be purged before he could proceed much further. Of
this trespass he was accused by his sister, who appeared in the
way. "I make my complaint unto you against my brother that
here standeth; for this man that standeth hereby loved me, and
I loved him, and either of us would have had the other accord-
ing to God's law, as Holy Church teaches, and I should have


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
gotten of me three souls to God, but my brother hindered us
from marrying. " St. John of Bridlington then turned to Will-
iam, and asked him why he did not allow the two who loved
one another to be married. “I tell thee there is no man that
hindereth man or woman from being united in the bond of God,
though the man be a shepherd and all his ancestors and the
woman be come of kings or of emperors, or if the man be come
of never so high kin and the woman of never so low kin, if
they love one another, but he sinneth in Holy Church against
God and his deed, and therefore he shall have much pain and
tribulations. " Being assoiled of this crying sin, St. John takes
William to a fire "grete and styngkyng,” in which he sees peo-
ple burning in their gay clothes. “I saw some with collars of
gold about their necks, and some of silver, and some men I saw
with gay girdles of silver and gold, and harnessed with horns
about their necks, some with mo jagges on their clothes than
whole cloth, others full of jingles and bells of silver all over set,
and some with long pokes on their sleeves, and women with
gowns trailing behind them a long space, and some with chap-
lets on their heads of gold and pearls and other precious stones.
And I looked on him that I saw first in pain, and saw the
collars and gay girdles and baldries burning, and the fiends
dragging him by two fingermits. And I saw the jagges that
men were clothed in turn all to adders, to dragons, and to
toads, and many other orrible bestes,' sucking them, and biting
them, and stinging them with all their might, and through every
jingle I saw fiends smite burning nails of fire into their flesh.
I also saw fiends drawing down the skin of their shoulders like
to pokes, and cutting them off, and drawing them to the heads
of those they cut them from, all burning as fire. And then I
saw the women that had side trails behind them, and the side
trails cut off by the fiends and burned on their head; and some
took of the cutting all burning and stopped therewith their
mouths, their noses, and their ears. I saw also their gay chap-
lets of gold and pearls and precious stones turned into nails of
iron, burning, and fiends with burning hammers smiting them
into their heads. " These were proud and vain people. Then
he saw another fire, where the fiends were putting out people's
eyes and pouring molten brass and lead into the sockets, and
tearing off their arms and the nails of their feet and hands,
and soldering them on again. This was the doom of swearers.


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
1537
William saw other fires wherein the devils were executing tor-
tures varied and horrible on their unfortunate victims. We need
follow him no further.
At the end of the fifteenth century the Purgatory in Lough
Derg was destroyed by orders of the Pope, on hearing the
report of a monk of Eymstadt in Holland, who had visited it,
and had satisfied himself that there was nothing in it more
remarkable than in any ordinary cavern. The Purgatory was
closed on St. Patrick's Day, 1497; but the belief in it was not so
speedily banished from popular superstition. Calderon made it
the subject of one of his dramas; and it became the subject of
numerous popular chap-books in France and Spain, where during
last century it occupied in the religious belief of the people pre-
cisely the same position which is assumed by the marvelous
visions of heaven and hell sold by hawkers in England at the
present day.
THE CORNISH WRECKERS
From "The Vicar of Morwenstow)
W*
"HEN the Rev. R. S. Hawker came to Morwenstow in 1834,
he found that he had much to contend with, not only in
the external condition of church and vicarage, but also in
that which is of greater importance.
« The farmers of the parish were simple-hearted and respect-
able; but the denizens of the hamlet, after receiving the wages
of the harvest time, eked out a precarious existence in the win-
ter, and watched eagerly and expectantly for the shipwrecks that
were certain to happen, and upon the plunder of which they
surely calculated for the scant provision of their families. The
wrecked goods supplied them with the necessaries of life, and
the rended planks of the dismembered vessel contributed to the
warmth of the hovel hearthstone.
“When Mr. Hawker came to Morwenstow, 'the cruel and
covetous natives of the strand, the wreckers of the seas and
rocks for flotsam and jetsam,'' held as an axiom and an injunc-
tion to be strictly obeyed: -
« (Save a stranger from the sea,
And he'll turn your enemy!
III-97


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1538
SABINE BARING-GOULD
«The Morwenstow wreckers allowed a fainting brother to
perish in the sea before their eyes without extending a hand of
safety,— nay, more, for the egotistical canons of a shipwreck,
superstitiously obeyed, permitted and absolved the crime of mur-
der by shoving the drowning man into the sea,' to be swallowed
by the waves. Cain! Cain! where is thy brother? And the
wrecker of Morwenstow answered and pleaded in excuse, as in
the case of undiluted brandy after meals, 'It is Cornish custom. '
The illicit spirit of Cornish custom was supplied by the smuggler,
and the gold of the wreck paid him for the cursed abomination
of drink. ”
One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners, Peter Barrow, had been
for full forty years a wrecker, but of a much more harmless
description: he had been a watcher of the coast for such objects
as the waves might turn up to reward his patience. Another
was Tristam Pentire, a hero of contraband adventure, and agent
for sale of smuggled cargoes in bygone times.
With a merry
twinkle of the eye, and in a sharp and ringing tone, he loved to
tell such tales of wild adventure and of "derring do,” as would
make the foot of the exciseman falter and his cheek turn pale.
During the latter years of last century there lived in Well-
combe, one of Mr. Hawker's parishes, a man whose name is still
remembered with terror — Cruel Coppinger. There are people
still alive who remember his wife.
Local recollections of the man have molded themselves into
the rhyme -
“Will you hear of Cruel Coppinger?
He came from a foreign land:
He was brought to us by the salt water,
He was carried away by the wind! ”
His arrival on the north coast of Cornwall was signalized by
a terrific hurricane. The storm came up Channel from the south-
west. A strange vessel of foreign rig went on the reefs of Harty
Race, and was broken to pieces by the waves. The only man
who came ashore was the skipper. A crowd was gathered on the
sand, on horseback and on foot, women as well as men, drawn
together by the tidings of a probable wreck. Into their midst
rushed the dripping stranger, and bounded suddenly upon the
crupper
of a young damsel who had ridden to the beach to see
the sight. He grasped her bridle, and shouting in some foreign


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
1539
tongue, urged the double-laden animal into full speed, and the
horse naturally took his homeward way. The damsel was Miss
Dinah Hamlyn. The stranger descended at her father's door, and
lifted her off her saddle. He then announced himself as a Dane,
named Coppinger. He took his place at the family board, and
there remained until he had secured the affections and hand of
Dinah. The father died, and Coppinger at once succeeded to the
management and control of the house, which thenceforth became
a den and refuge of every lawless character along the coast. All
kinds of wild uproar and reckless revelry appalled the neighbor-
hood day and night. It was discovered that an organized band
of smugglers, wreckers, and poachers made this house their ren-
dezvous, and that “Cruel Coppinger” was their captain. In those
days, and in that far-away region, the peaceable inhabitants were
unprotected There was not a single resident gentleman of prop-
erty and weight in the entire district. No revenue officer durst
exercise vigilance west of the Tamar; and to put an end to all
such surveillance at once, the head of a gauger was chopped off
by one of Coppinger's gang on the gunwale of a boat.
Strange vessels began to appear at regular intervals on the
coast, and signals were flashed from the headlands to lead them
into the safest creek or cove. Amongst these vessels, one, a full-
rigged schooner, soon became ominously conspicuous.
for long the chief terror of the Cornish Channel. Her name was
The Black Prince. Once, with Coppinger on board, she led a
revenue-cutter into an intricate channel near the Bull Rock,
where, from knowledge of the bearings, The Black Prince
escaped scathless, while the king's vessel perished with all on
board. In those times, if any landsman became obnoxious to
Coppinger's men, he was seized and carried on board The
Black Prince, and obliged to save his life by enrolling himself
in the crew.
In 1835, an old man of the age of ninety-seven
related to Mr. Hawker that he had been so abducted, and after
two years' service had been ransomed by his friends with a large
sum. "And all,” said the old man very simply, because I hap-
pened to see one man kill another, and they thought I would
mention it. ”
Amid such practices, ill-gotten gold began to flow and ebb in
the hands of Coppinger. At one time he had enough money to
purchase a freehold farm bordering on the sea. When the day
of transfer came, he and one of his followers appeared before
She was


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1540
SABINE BARING-GOULD
man
the lawyer and paid the money in dollars, ducats, doubloons,
and pistoles. The man of law demurred, but Coppinger with an
oath bade him take this or none. The document bearing Cop-
pinger's name is still extant. His signature is traced in stern
bold characters, and under his autograph is the word “Thuro”
(thorough) also in his own handwriting.
Long impunity increased Coppinger's daring. There were
certain bridle roads along the fields over which he exercised
exclusive control. He issued orders that no
was to pass
over them by night, and accordingly from that hour none ever
did. They were called "Coppinger's Tracks. ” They all con-
verged at a headland which had the name of Steeple Brink.
Here the cliff sheered off, and stood three hundred feet of per-
pendicular height, a precipice of smooth rock towards the beach,
with an overhanging face one hundred feet down from the brow.
Under this was a cave, only reached by a cable ladder lowered
from above, and made fast below on a projecting crag.
It
received the name of Coppinger's Cave. ” Here sheep were
tethered to the rock, and fed on stolen hay and corn till slaugh-
tered; kegs of brandy and hollands were piled around; chests of
tea; and iron-bound sea-chests contained the chattels and reve-
nues of the Coppinger royalty of the sea.
But the end arrived.
Money became scarce, and more than
one armed king's cutter was seen day and night hovering off the
land. So he “who came with the water went with the wind. ”
His disappearance, like his arrival, was commemorated by a
storm.
A wrecker who had gone to watch the shore, saw, as the sun
went down, a fnll-rigged vessel standing off and on. Coppinger
came to the beach, put off in a boat to the vessel, and jumped
on board. She spread canvas, stood off shore, and with Cop-
pinger in her was seen no more. That night was one of storm.
Whether the vessel rode it out, or was lost, none knew.
In 1864 a large ship was seen in distress off the coast. The
Rev. A. Thynne, rector of Kilkhampton, at once drove to Mor-
wenstow. The vessel was riding at anchor a mile off shore,
west of Hartland Race. He found Mr. Hawker in the greatest
excitement, pacing his room and shouting for some things he
wanted to put in his greatcoat-pockets, and intensely impatient
because his carriage was not round. With him was the Rev. W.


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SABINE BARING-GOU'LD
1541
Valentine, rector of Whixley in Yorkshire, then resident at
Chapel in the parish of Morwenstow.
“What are you going to do ? ” asked the rector of Kilkhamp-
ton: “I shall drive at once to Bude for the lifeboat. ”
“No good! ” thundered the vicar, "no good comes out of the
west. You must go east. I shall go to Clovelly, and then, if
that fails, to Appledore. I shall not stop till I have got a life-
boat to take those poor fellows off the wreck. ”
“Then,” said the rector of Kilkhampton, "I shall go to Bude,
and see to the lifeboat there being brought out. ”
“Do as you like; but mark my words, no good comes of
turning to the west. Why,” said he, in the primitive church
they turned to the west to renounce the Devil. ”
His carriage came to the door, and he drove off with Mr.
Valentine as fast as his horses could spin him along the hilly,
wretched roads.
Before he reached Clovelly, a boat had put off with the mate
from the ship, which was the Margaret Quail, laden with salt.
The captain would not leave the vessel; for, till deserted by him,
no salvage could be claimed. The mate was picked up on the
way, and the three reached Clovelly.
Down the street proceeded the following procession — the
street of Clovelly being a flight of stairs:-
First, the vicar of Morwenstow in a claret-colored coat, with
long tails flying in the gale, blue knitted jersey, and pilot-boots,
his long silver locks fluttering about his head. He was appeal-
ing to the fishermen and sailors of Clovelly to put out in their
lifeboat to rescue the crew of the Margaret Quail.
The men
stood sulky, lounging about with folded arms, or hands in their
pockets, and sou’-westers slouched over their brows. The women
were screaming at the tops of their voices that they would not
have their husbands and sons and sweethearts enticed away to
risk their lives to save wrecked men. Above the clamor of their
shrill tongues and the sough of the wind rose the roar of the
vicar's voice: he was convulsed with indignation, and poured
forth the most sacred appeals to their compassion for drowning
sailors.
Second in the procession moved the Rev. W. Valentine, with
purse full of gold in his hand, offering any amount of money to
the Clovelly men, if they would only go forth in the lifeboat to
the wreck.


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SABINE BARING-GOULD
Third came the mate of the Margaret Quail, restrained by
no consideration of cloth, swearing and damning right and left,
in a towering rage at the cowardice of the Clovelly men.
Fourth came John, the servant of Mr. Hawker, with bottles
of whisky under his arm, another inducement to the men to
relent and be merciful to their imperiled brethren.
The first appeal was to their love of heaven and to their
humanity; the second was to their pockets, their love of gold;
the third to their terrors, their fear of Satan, to whom they were
consigned; and the fourth to their stomachs, their love of grog.
But all appeals were in vain. Then Mr. Hawker returned to
his carriage, and drove away farther east to Appledore, where
he secured the lifeboat. It was mounted on a wagon; ten horses
were harnessed to it; and as fast as possible it was conveyed
to the scene of distress.
But in the mean while the captain of the Margaret Quail,
despairing of help and thinking that his vessel would break up
under him, came off in his boat with the rest of the crew, trust-
ing rather to a rotten boat, patched with canvas which they had
tarred over, than to the tender mercies of the covetous Clovellites,
in whose veins ran the too recent blood of wreckers.
The only
living being left on board was a poor dog.
No sooner was the captain seen to leave the ship than the
Clovelly men lost their repugnance to go to sea. They manned
boats at once, gained the Margaret Quail, and claimed three
thousand pounds for salvage.
There was an action in court, as the owners refused to pay
such a sum; and it was lost by the Clovelly men, who however
got an award of twelve hundred pounds. The case turned some-
what on the presence of the dog on the wreck; and it was argued
that the vessel was not deserted, because a dog had been left on
board to keep guard for its masters. The owner of the cargo
failed; and the amount actually paid to the salvors was six hun-
dred pounds to two steam-tugs (three hundred pounds each), and
three hundred pounds to the Clovelly skiff and sixteen men.
Mr. Hawker went round the country indignantly denouncing
the sailors of Clovelly, and with justice. It roused all the right-
eous wrath in his breast. And as may well be believed, no love
was borne him by the inhabitants of that little fishing village.
They would probably have made a wreck of him had he ven-
tured among them.


## p. 1543 (#341) ###########################################

1543
JANE BARLOW
(18-)
Che general reader has yet to learn the most private and
sacred events of Miss Jane Barlow's life, now known only to
herself and friends. She is the daughter of Dr. Barlow of
Trinity College, and lives in the seclusion of a cottage at Raheny, a
hamlet near Dublin. Her family has been in Ireland for generations,
and she comes of German and Norman stock. As some one has said,
the knowledge and skill displayed in depicting Irish peasant life,
which her books show, are hers not through
Celtic blood and affinities, but by a sym-
pathetic genius and inspiration.
The publication of her writings in book
form was preceded by the appearance of
some poems and stories in the magazines,
the Dublin University Review of 1885 con-
taining Walled Out; or, Eschatology in a
Irish Idyls) (1892), and Bogland
Studies) (of the same year), show the same
pitiful, sombre pictures of Irish peasant
life about the sodden-roofed mud hut and
«pitaties” boiling, which only a genial,
impulsive, generous, light-hearted, half JANE BARLOW
Greek and half-philosophic people could
make endurable to the reader or attractive to the writer. The innate
sweetness of the Irish character, which the author brings out with
fine touches, makes it worth portrayal. “It is safe to say,” writes a
critic, “that the philanthropist or the political student interested in
the eternal Irish problem will learn more from Miss Barlow's twin
volumes than from a dozen Royal Commissions and a hundred Blue
Books. » Her sympathy constantly crops out, as, for instance, in the
mirthful tale of Jerry Dunne's Basket,' where -

Bog.
«Andy Joyce had an ill-advised predilection for seeing things which he
called (dacint and proper) about him, and he built some highly superior
sheds on the lawn, to the bettering, no doubt, of his cattle's condition. The
abrupt raising of his rent by fifty per cent. was a broad hint which most
men would have taken; and it did keep Andy ruefully quiet for a season
or two. Then, however, having again saved up a trifle, he could not
resist the temptation to drain the swampy corner of the farthest river-field,


## p. 1544 (#342) ###########################################

1544
JANE BARLOW
which was as kind a bit of land as you could wish, only for the water lying
on it, and in which he afterward raised himself a remarkably fine crop of
white oats. The sight of them (done his heart good, he said, exultantly,
nothing recking that it was the last touch of farmer's pride he would ever
feel. Yet on the next quarter-day the Joyces received notice to quit, and
their landlord determined to keep the vacated holding in his own hands;
those new sheds were just the thing for his young stock. Andy, in fact, had
done his best to improve himself off the face of the earth. ”
The long story which Miss Barlow has published, Kerrigan's
Quality' (1894), is told with her distinguishing charm, but the book
has not the close-knit force of the Idyls. Miss Barlow herself pre-
fers the “Bogland Studies,' because, she says, they are a sort of
poetry. ”
«I had set my heart too long upon being a poet ever to
give up the idea quite contentedly; (the old hope is hardest to be
lost. A real poet I can never be, as I have, I fear, nothing of the
lyrical faculty; and a poet without that is worse than a bird without
wings, so, like Mrs. Browning's Nazianzen, I am doomed to look at
the lyre hung out of reach. ) »
Besides the three books nan d, Miss Barlow has published Mockus
of the Shallow Waters) (1893); (The End of Elfintown' (1894); (The
Battle of the Frogs and Mice in English (1894); Maureen's Fairing
and other Stories) (1895); and (Strangers at Lisconnel, a second
series of Irish Idyls' (1895). In the last book we again have the
sorrows and joys of the small hamlet in the west of Ireland, where
«the broad level spreads away and away to the horizon before and
behind and on either side of you, very sombre-hued, yet less black-
a-vised than more frequent bergs,” where in the distance the mount-
ains “loom upon its borders much less substantial, apparently, in
fabric than so many spirals of blue turf smoke, and where the
curlew's cry
set a whole landscape to melancholy in one
chromatic phrase. ”
can
THE WIDOW JOYCE'S CLOAK
From (Strangers at Lisconnel)
ST
till, although the Tinkers' name has become a byword among
us through a long series of petty offenses rather than any
one flagrant crime, there is a notable misdeed on record
against them, which has never been forgotten in the lapse of
many years. It was perpetrated soon after the death of Mrs.
Kilfoyle's mother, the Widow Joyce, an event which is but dimly
recollected now at Lisconnel, as nearly half a century has gone by.


## p. 1545 (#343) ###########################################

JANE BARLOW
1545
She did not very long survive her husband, and he had left his
roots behind in his little place at Clonmena, where, as we know,
he had farmed not wisely but too well, and had been put out of
it for his pains to expend his energy upon our oozy black sods
and stark-white bowlders. But instead he moped about, fretting
for his fair green fields, and few proudly cherished beasts, -
especially the little old Kerry cow. And at his funeral the
neighbors said, “Ah, bedad, poor man, God help him, he niver
held up his head agin from that good day to this. ”
When Mrs. Joyce felt that it behooved her to settle her
affairs, she found that the most important possession she had to
dispose of was her large cloak. She had acquired it at the pros-
perous time of her marriage, and it was a very superior specimen
of its kind, in dark-blue cloth being superfine, and its ample
capes and capacious hood being double-lined and quilted and
stitched in a way which I cannot pretend to describe, but which
made it a most substantial and handsome garment. If Mrs.
Joyce had been left entirely to her own choice in the matter, I
think she would have bequeathed it to her younger daughter
Theresa, notwithstanding that custom clearly designated Bessy
Kilfoyle, the eldest of the family, as the heiress. For she said
to herself that poor Bessy had her husband and childer to con-
sowl her, any way, but little Theresa, the crathur, had ne'er such
a thing at all, and wouldn't have, not she, God love her. “And
the back of me hand to some I could name. ” It seemed to her
that to leave the child the cloak would be almost like keeping a
warm wing spread over her in the cold wide world; and there
was no fear that Bessy would take it amiss.
But Theresa herself protested strongly against such a disposi-
tion, urging for one thing that sure she'd be lost in it entirely
if ever she put it on; a not unfounded objection, as Theresa was
several sizes smaller than Bessy, and even she fell far short of
her mother in stature and portliness. Theresa also said confi-
dently with a sinking heart, But sure, anyhow, mother jewel,
what matter about it? 'Twill be all gone to houles and flitters
and thraneens, and so it will, plase goodness, afore there's any
talk of anybody else wearin' it except your own ould self. ” And
she expressed much the same conviction one day to her next-
door neighbor, old Biddy Ryan, to whom she had run in for the
loan of a sup of sour milk, which Mrs. Joyce fancied. Το
Biddy's sincere regret she could offer Theresa barely a skimpy


## p. 1546 (#344) ###########################################

1546
JANE BARLOW
noggin of milk, and only a meagre shred of encouragement; and
by way of eking out the latter with its sorry substitute, consola-
tion, she said as she tilted the jug perpendicularly to extract its
last drop:-
“Well, sure, me dear, I do be sayin' me prayers for her
every sun goes over our heads that she might be left wid you
this great while yet; 'deed, I do so. But ah, acushla, if we could
be keepin' people that-a-way, would there be e'er a funeral iver
goin' black on the road at all at all ? I'm thinkin' there's scarce
a one livin', and he as ould and foolish and little-good-for as you
plase, but some crathur'ill be grudgin' him to his grave, that's
himself may be all the while wishin' he was in it. Or, morebe-
token, how can we tell what quare ugly misfortin' thim that's
took is took out of the road of, that we should be as good as
biddin' thim stay till it comes to ruinate them ? So it's prayin'
away I am, honey,” said old Biddy, whom Theresa could not
help hating heart-sickly. “But like enough the Lord might know
better than to be mindin' a word I say. ”,
And it seemed that He did; anyway, the day soon came when
the heavy blue cloak passed into Mrs. Kilfoyle's possession.
At that time it was clear, still autumn weather, with just a
sprinkle of frost white on the wayside grass, like the wraith of
belated moonlight, when the sun rose, and shimmering into rain-
bow stars by noon. But about a month later the winter swooped
suddenly on Lisconnel: with wild winds and cold rain that made
crystal-silver streaks down the purple of the great mountain-
heads peering in over our bogland.
So one perishing Saturday Mrs. Kilfoyle made up her mind
that she would wear her warm legacy on the bleak walk to Mass
next morning, and reaching it down from where it was stored
away among the rafters wrapped in an old sack, she shook it
respectfully out of its straight-creased folds. As she did so she
noticed that the binding of the hood had ripped in one place,
and that the lining was fraying out, a mishap which should be
promptly remedied before it spread any further. She was not
a very expert needlewoman, and she thought she had better run
over the way to consult Mrs. O'Driscoll, then a young matron,
esteemed the handiest and most helpful person in Lisconnel.
"It's the nathur of her to be settin' things straight wherever
she goes,” Mrs. Kilfoyle said to herself as she stood in her
doorway waiting for the rain to clear off, and looking across the


## p. 1547 (#345) ###########################################

JANE BARLOW
1547
road to the sodden roof which sheltered her neighbor's head.
It had long been lying low, vanquished by a trouble which even
she could not set to rights, and some of the older people say
that things have gone a little crookeder in Lisconnel ever since.
The shower was a vicious one, with the sting of sleet and
hail in its drops, pelted about by gusts that ruffled up the
puddles into ripples, all set on end, like the feathers of a fright-
ened hen. The hens themselves stood disconsolately sheltering
under the bank, mostly on one leg, as if they preferred to keep
up the slightest possible connection with such a very damp and
disagreeable earth. You could not see far in any direction for
the fluttering sheets of mist, and a stranger who had been com-
ing along the road from Duffclane stepped out of them abruptly
quite close to Mrs. Kilfoyle's door, before she knew that there
was anybody near.
He was
a tall, elderly man, gaunt and
grizzled, very ragged, and so miserable-looking that Mrs. Kil-
foyle could have felt nothing but compassion for him had he
not carried over his shoulder a bunch of shiny cans, which was
to her mind as satisfactory a passport as a ticket of leave. For
although these were yet rather early days at Lisconnel, the
Tinkers had already begun to establish their reputation. So
when he stopped in front of her and said, "Good-day, ma'am,”
she only replied distantly, “It's a hardy mornin',” and hoped
he would move on. But he said, "It's cruel could, ma'am," and
continued to stand looking at her with wide and woful eyes, in
which she conjectured -erroneously, as it happened — hunger
for warmth or food. Under these circumstances, what could be
done by a woman who was conscious of owning a redly glowing
hearth with a big black pot, fairly well filled, clucking and
bobbing upon it ? To possess such wealth as this, and think
seriously of withholding a share from anybody who urges the
incontestable claim of wanting it, is a mood altogether foreign
to Lisconnel, where the responsibilities of poverty are no doubt
very imperfectly understood. Accordingly Mrs. Kilfoyle said to
the tattered tramp, "Ah, thin, step inside and have a couple of
hot pitaties. ” And when he accepted the invitation without much
alacrity, as if he had something else on his mind, she picked for
him out of the steam two of the biggest potatoes, whose earth-
colored skins, cracking, showed a fair flouriness within; and she
shook a little heap of salt, the only relish she had, onto the


## p. 1548 (#346) ###########################################

1548
JANE BARLOW
chipped white plate as she handed it to him, saying, “Sit you
down be the fire, there, and git a taste of the heat. ”
Then she lifted her old shawl over her head, and ran out to
see where at all Brian and Thady were gettin' their deaths on
her under the pours of rain; and as she passed the Keoghs'
adjacent door - which was afterward the Sheridans', whence their
Larry departed so reluctantly — young Mrs. Keogh called her to
come in and look at "the child,” who, being a new and unique
possession, was liable to develop alarmingly strange symptoms,
and had now “woke up wid his head that hot, you might as
well put your hand on the hob of the grate. ” Mrs. Kilfoyle
stayed only long enough to suggest, as a possible remedy, a drop
of two-milk whey. “But ah, sure, woman dear, where at all 'ud
we come by that, wid the crathur of a goat scarce wettin' the
bottom of the pan? ” and to draw reassuring omens from the
avidity with which the invalid grabbed at a sugared crust. In
fact, she was less than five minutes out of her house; but when
she returned to it, she found it empty. First, she noted with a
moderate thrill of surprise that her visitor had gone away leav-
ing his potatoes untouched; and next, with a rough shock of
dismay, that her cloak no longer lay on the window seat where
she had left it. From that moment she never felt any real
doubts about what had befallen her, though for some time she
kept on trying to conjure them up, and searched wildly round
and round and round her little room, like a distracted bee
strayed into the hollow furze-bush, before she sped over to Mrs.
O’Driscoll with the news of her loss.
It spread rapidly through Lisconnel, and brought the neigh-
bors together exclaiming and condoling, though not in great
force, as there was a fair going on down beyant, which nearly
all the men and some of the women had attended.
This was
accounted cruel unlucky, as it left the place without any one
able-bodied and active enough to go in pursuit of the thief. A
prompt start might have overtaken him, especially as he was
said to be a thrifle lame-futted”; though Mrs. M'Gurk, who had
seen him come down the hill, opined that «'twasn't the sort of
lameness 'ud hinder the miscreant of steppin' out, on'y a quare
manner of flourish he had in a one of his knees, as if he was
gatherin' himself up to make an offer at a grasshopper's lep, and
then thinkin' better of it. ”


## p. 1549 (#347) ###########################################

JANE BARLOW
1549
Little Thady Kilfoyle reported that he had met the strange
man a bit down the road, “leggin' it along at a great rate, wid
a black rowl of somethin' under his arm that he looked to be
crumplin' up as small as he could,” — the word “crumpling ”
went acutely to Mrs. Kilfoyle's heart, - and some long-sighted
people declared that they could still catch glimpses of a receding
figure through the hovering fog on the way toward Sallinbeg.
"I'd think he'd be beyant seein' afore now,” said Mrs. Kil-
foyle, who stood in the rain, the disconsolate centre of the group
about her door; all women and children except old Johnny Keogh,
who was
so bothered and deaf that he grasped new situations
slowly and feebly, and had now an impression of somebody's
house being on fire. «He must ha' took off wid himself the
instiant me back was turned, for ne'er a crumb had he touched
of the pitaties. ”
"Maybe he'd that much shame in him," said Mrs. O'Driscoll.
« They'd a right to ha' choked him, troth and they had,” said
Ody Rafferty's aunt.
"Is it chokin'? ” said young Mrs. M'Gurk, bitterly. "Sure the
bigger thief a body is, the more he'll thrive on whatever he gits;
you might think villiny was as good as butter to people's pitaties,
you might so.
Shame how are you?
Liker he'd ate all he could
swally in the last place he got the chance of layin' his hands on
anythin'.
“Och, woman alive, but it's the fool you were to let him out
of your sight,” said Ody Rafferty's aunt. “If it had been me, I'd
niver ha' took me eyes off him, for the look of him on'y goin' by
made me flesh creep upon me bones. ”
« 'Deed was I,” said Mrs. Kilfoyle, sorrowfully, “a fine fool.
And vexed she'd be, rael vexed, if she guessed the way it was
gone on us, for the dear knows what dirty ould rapscallions 'ill
get the wearin' of it now. Rael vexed she'd be. ”
This speculation was more saddening than the actual loss of
the cloak, though that bereft her wardrobe of far and away its
most valuable property, which should have descended as an heir-
loom to her little Katty, who, however, being at present but
three months old, lay sleeping happily unaware of the cloud that
had come over her prospects.
"I wish to goodness a couple of the lads 'ud step home wid
themselves this minit of time,” said Mrs. M'Gurk. « They'd come
up wid him yet, and take it off of him ready enough. And


## p. 1550 (#348) ###########################################

1550
JANE BARLOW
smash his ugly head for him, if he would be givin' them any
impidence. ”
“Aye, and 'twould be a real charity — the mane baste; -or
sling him in one of the bog-houles,” said the elder Mrs. Keogh,
a mild-looking little old woman. “I'd liefer than nine nine-
pennies see thim comin' along. But I'm afeard it's early for
thim yet. ”
Everybody's eyes turned, as she spoke, toward the ridge of
the Knockawn, though with no particular expectation of seeing
what they wished upon it. But behold, just at that moment
three figures, blurred among the gray rain-mists, looming into
view.
“Be the powers,” said Mrs. M'Gurk, jubilantly, “it's Ody
Rafferty himself.
To your sowls! Now you've a great good
chance, ma'am, to be gettin' it back. He's the boy 'ill leg it over
all before him ” — for in those days Ody was lithe and limber-
“and it's hard-set the thievin' Turk 'ill be to get the better of
him at a racin' match - Hi — Och. ” She had begun to hail him
with a call eager and shrill, which broke off in a strangled croak,
like a young cock's unsuccessful effort. «Och, murdher, murdher,
murdher,” she said to the bystanders, in a disgusted undertone.
"I'll give you me misfort'nit word thim other two is the pólis. ”
Now it might seem on the face of things that the arrival of
those two active and stalwart civil servants would have been
welcomed as happening just in the nick of time; yet it argues an
alien ignorance to suppose such a view of the matter by any
means possible. The men in invisible green tunics belonged com-
pletely to the category of pitaty-blights, rint-warnin's, fevers, and
the like devastators of life, that dog a
or less all
through it, but close in on him, a pitiful quarry, when the bad
seasons come and the childer and the old crathurs are starvin'
wid the hunger, and his own heart is broke; therefore, to accept
assistance from them in their official capacity would have been a
proceeding most reprehensibly unnatural. To put a private quarrel
or injury into the hands of the peelers were a disloyal making of
terms with the public foe; a condoning of great permanent
wrongs for the sake of a trivial temporary convenience.