Perhaps some of you have never heard about the 'Buccas,' or 'Knockers,' as some people call them, the busy little people about the same size as piskies, who are said to be the souls of the Jews who used to work in the tin mines in Cornwall.
The Buccas live always in rocks, mines, or wells, and they work incessantly pickaxing, digging, sifting, etc., from one year's end to the other, except on Christmas Day, Easter Day, All Saints' Day, and the Jews' Sabbath. On those days their little tools are laid aside, and all is quiet, but on every other you can, if you listen, hear them hammer, hammer, dig, dig, and their tongues chattering all the time.
A lot of these little people lived and worked within the sides of a well in one particular part of Cornwall, the name of which I will not tell you, for in the first place you would not be able to pronounce it if I did; and in the second, you might be tempted to go there and disturb them, which would make them angry, and bring all kinds of ill-luck and trouble upon yourself.
The story I am going to tell you is of someone who did disturb them, and pried upon them after laughing at them. The name of the youth was Barker, a great, idle, hulking fellow, who lived in the neighbourhood of the well where these little Buccas dwelt.
Now this Barker often heard the neighbours talking about the Buccas, and praising their industry, and, like most idle people, he disliked hearing others praised for doing what he knew he ought to do but would not. So, to annoy the neighbours, and the Buccas, too, he declared he "didn't believe there wasn't no such things. Seeing was believing, and when they showed him a Bucca 'twould be soon enough for him to b'lieve there was such things." And he repeated this every time the little men were mentioned.
"'Tis nowt but dreams," he sneered, "there ba'nt no Buccas in Fairy Well, no more nor I'm a Bucca."
"You a Bucca!" cried the neighbours, "why, they wouldn't own such a lazy good-for-nothing. They does more work in a morning than you'd get through in a year, you who never does a hand's-turn for anybody and haven't sense enough to earn your own bread!"
"I've sense enough to find out if there's any such things as Buccas in that there well, and I'll go there and watch and listen till I finds out something, and if there's Buccas there I'll catch one!"
So away he went to spend his time idly lying amidst the tall grass and ferns which grew thickly around the well. This sort of job suited him to a nicety, for the sun was warm and pleasant, and he did no work, for, said he, if he was to work he wouldn't be able to hear any sounds that might come from below. And for once he spoke the truth.
Day after day Barker went and lay by the Fairy Well, and at first he heard never a sound but the birds singing, and the bees humming, and his own breathing. By and by, though, other sounds began to make themselves heard by him, noises of digging and hammering, and numbers of little voices talking and laughing merrily.
Barker could not at first make out what they said, but he could understand that they were always busy. Instead, though, of taking them as an example, the lazy fellow only said to himself gleefully that if others worked so hard, there was the less need for him to do so!
Having discovered that his neighbours were right, and that there really were such people as Buccas, you would have thought that he would have hurried home to tell of his discoveries; but no, he liked the lazy life, lying in the sun by the well, doing nothing. So he kept quiet about his discovery, and every day started off for his favourite spot, making the excuse that he was still watching for Buccas.
As the days passed by he began to understand what the little workmen said, and he gathered from their talk that they worked in sets, and that each set worked for eight hours,—which was, of course, the origin of the Eight Hours Day we hear so much about. He also found that when they had finished they hid away their tools, and every day in a fresh place. I cannot tell you why they hid them, or from whom, unless it was those other 'little people,' the Fairies and Piskies, who love to be up to mischief when they are not doing good. It could not have been from each other that they hid the things, for they talked together about the hiding-places.
One evening, when the day's work was coming to an end, Barker heard the usual discussion begin. "I shall hide mine in this cleft in the rock," said one.
"Very well, then I will hide mine under the ferns."
"Oh," said a third, "I shall leave mine on Barker's knee."
You may be sure it gave Barker quite a shock to hear his own name spoken in those mysterious regions, it frightened him, too, but before he could stir his big, lazy body and run away,—as he meant to do,—he felt three hard blows, bang! whack! bang! and then a heavy weight fell crash upon his knee.
Barker roared and bellowed like a great calf, for the pain was very great, and he was a big coward.
"Take it away! take it away!" he cried, but the only answer was peal upon peal of mocking laughter. "Oh my poor knee, oh my poor knee, I'm lame for life! Take away them tools! Oh my, oh my!" but the more he screamed, the more the Buccas laughed. They laughed and laughed until they were tired, then they vanished, and Master Barker was left to make his way home as best he could. He did not want to tell the neighbours how he got his stiff knee, but pretended he had had a fall; the neighbours, though, soon found out, and pretty well he was laughed at for a long time wherever he went.
Never again did Barker doubt the existence of the Buccas, never again did he speak disrespectfully of them, nor could he forget the lesson he had been taught, for to his dying day he had a stiff knee, and nothing would cure it.
Now, if ever you hear of anyone having 'Barker's knee' you will know that he has spoken rudely of the Buccas, and that the Buccas have paid him out.
One lovely summer evening many, many years ago, an old man named Lutey was standing on the seashore not far from that beautiful bit of coast called the Lizard.
On the edge of the cliff above him stood a small farm, and here he lived, spending his time between farming, fishing, and, we must admit it, smuggling, too, whenever he got a chance. This summer evening he had finished his day's work early, and while waiting for his supper he strolled along the sands a little way, to see if there was any wreckage to be seen, for it was long since he had had any luck in that way, and he was very much put out about it.
This evening, though, he was no luckier than he had been before, and he was turning away, giving up his search as hopeless, when from somewhere out seaward came a long, low, wailing cry. It was not the melancholy cry of a gull, but of a woman or child in distress.
Lutey stopped, and listened, and looked back, but, as far as he could see, not a living creature was to be seen on the beach but himself. Even though while he listened the sound came wailing over the sand again, and this time left no doubt in his mind. It was a voice. Someone was in trouble, evidently, and calling for help.
Far out on the sands rose a group of rocks which, though covered at high water, were bare now. It was about half ebb, and spring tide, too, so the sea was further out than usual, so far, in fact, that a wide bar of sand stretched between the rocks and the sea. It was from these rocks that the cry seemed to come, and Lutey, feeling sure that someone was out there in distress, turned and walked back quickly to see if he could give any help.
As he drew near he saw that there was no one on the landward side, so he hurried round to the seaward,—and there, to his amazement, his eyes met a sight which left him almost speechless!
Lying on a ledge at the base of the rock, partially covered by the long seaweed which grew in profusion over its rough sides, and partially by her own hair, which was the most glorious you can possibly imagine, was the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever lighted upon. Her skin was a delicate pink and white, even more beautiful than those exquisite little shells one picks up sometimes on the seashore, her clear green eyes sparkled and flashed like the waves with the sun on them, while her hair was the colour of rich gold, like the sun in its glory, and with a ripple in it such as one sees on the sea on a calm day.
This wonderful creature was gazing mournfully out at the distant sea, and uttering from time to time the pitiful cry which had first attracted Lutey's attention. She was evidently in great distress, but how to offer her help and yet not frighten her he knew not, for the roar of the sea had deadened the sound of his footsteps on the soft sand, and she was quite unconscious of his presence.
Lutey coughed and hem'd, but it was of no use—she could not or did not hear; he stamped, he kicked the rock, but all in vain, and at last he had to go close to her and speak.
"What's the matter, missie?" he said. "What be doing all out here by yourself?" He spoke as gently as possible, but, in spite of his gentleness, the lovely creature shrieked with terror, and diving down into the deep pool at the base of the rock, disappeared entirely.
At first Lutey thought she had drowned herself, but when he looked closely into the pool, and contrived to peer through the cloud of hair which floated like fine seaweed all over the top of it, he managed to distinguish a woman's head and shoulders underneath, and looking closer he saw, he was sure, a fish's tail! His knees quaked under him, at that sight, for he realized that the lovely lady was no other than a mermaid!
She, though, seemed as frightened as he was, so he summoned up his courage to speak to her again, for it is always wise to be kind to mermaids, and to avoid offending them, for if they are angry there is no knowing what harm they may do to you.
"Don't be frightened, lady," he said coaxingly; "I wouldn't hurt 'ee for the world, I wouldn't harm a living creature. I only wants to know what your trouble is."
While he was speaking, the maiden had raised her head slightly above the water, and now was gazing at him with eyes the like of which he had never seen before. "I 'opes she understands Carnish," he added to himself, "for 'tis the only langwidge I'm fluent in."
"Beautiful sir," she replied in answer to his thoughts, "we sea-folk can understand all languages, for we visit the coast of every land, and all the tribes of the world sail over our kingdom, and oft-times come down through the waters to our home. The greatest kindness you can do me is to go away. You are accustomed to women who walk, covered with silks and laces. We could not wear such in our world, sporting in the waves, swimming into caverns, clambering into sunken ships. You cannot realize our free and untrammelled existence."
"Now, my lovely lady," said old Lutey, who did not understand a half of what she was saying, "don't 'ee think anything about such trifles, but stop your tears and tell me what I can do for 'ee. For, for sure, I can help 'ee somehow. Tell me how you come'd here, and where you wants to get to."
So the fair creature floated higher in the water, and, gradually growing braver, she presently climbed up and perched herself on the rock where Lutey had first seen her. Her long hair fell about her like a glorious mantle, and she needed no other, for it quite covered her. Holding in her hand her comb and mirror, and glancing from time to time at the latter, she told the old man her story.
"Only a few hours ago," she said sadly, "I was sporting about with my husband and children, as happy as a mermaiden could be. At length, growing weary, we all retired to rest in one of the caverns at Kynance, and there on a soft couch of seaweed my husband laid himself down to sleep. The children went off to play, and I was left alone. For some time I watched the crabs playing in the water, or the tiny fish at the bottom of the pools, but the sweet scent of flowers came to me from the gardens of your world, borne on the light breeze, and I felt I must go and see what these flowers were like whose breath was so beautiful, for we have nothing like it in our dominions. Exquisite sea-plants we have, but they have no sweet perfume.
"Seeing that my husband was asleep, and the children quite happy and safe, I swam off to this shore, but when here I found I could not get near the flowers; I could see them on the tops of the cliffs far, far beyond my reach, so I thought I would rest here for a time, and dress my hair, while breathing in their sweetness.
"I sat on, dreaming of your world and trying to picture to myself what it was like, until I awoke with a start to find the tide far out, beyond the bar. I was so frightened I screamed to my husband to come and help me, but even if he heard me he could not get to me over that sandy ridge; and if he wakes before I am back, and misses me, he will be so angry, for he is very jealous. He will be hungry, too, and if he finds no supper prepared he will eat some of the children!"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Lutey, quite horrified, "he surely wouldn't never do such a dreadful thing!"
"Ah, you do not know Mermen," she said sorrowfully. "They are such gluttons, and will gobble up their children in a moment if their meals are a little late. Scores of my children have been taken from me. That is how it is," she explained, "that you do not oftener see us sea-folk. Poor children, they never learn wisdom! Directly their father begins to whistle or sing, they crowd about him, they are so fond of music, and he gets them to come and kiss his cheek, or whisper in his ear, then he opens wide his mouth, and in they go.—Oh dear, what shall I do! I have only ten little ones left, and they will all be gone if I don't get home before he wakes!"
"Don't 'ee take on so, my dear. The tide will soon be in, and then you can float off as quick as you like."
"Oh, but I cannot wait," she cried, tears running down her cheeks. "Beautiful mortal, help me! Carry me out to sea, give me your aid for ten minutes only, and I will make you rich and glorious for life. Ask of me anything you want, and it shall be yours."
Lutey was so enthralled by the loveliness of the mermaid, that he stood gazing at her, lost in wonder. Her voice, which sounded like a gentle murmuring stream, was to him the most lovely music he had ever heard. He was so fascinated that he would have done anything she asked him. He stooped to pick her up.
"First of all, take this," she said, giving him her pearl comb, "take this, to prove to you that you have not been dreaming, gentle stranger, and that I will do for you what I have said. When you want me, comb the sea three times with this, and call me by my name, 'Morwenna,' and I will come to you. Now take me to the sea."
Stooping again he picked her up in his arms. She clung tightly to him, twining her long, cool arms around his neck, until he felt half suffocated. "Tell me your wishes," she said sweetly, as they went along; "you shall have three. Riches will, of course, be one."
"No, lady," said Lutey thoughtfully, "I don't know that I'm so set on getting gold, but I'll tell 'ee what I should like. I'd dearly love to be able to remove the spells of the witches, to have power over the spirits to make them tell me all I want to know, and I'd like to be able to cure diseases."
"You are the first unselfish man I have met," cried the mermaid admiringly, "you shall have your wishes, and, in addition, I promise you as a reward, that your family shall never come to want."
In a state of great delight, Lutey trudged on with his lovely burthen, while she chatted gaily to him of her home, of the marvels and the riches of the sea, and the world that lay beneath it.
"Come with me, noble youth," she cried, "come with me to our caves and palaces; there are riches, beauty, and everything mortal can want. Our homes are magnificent, the roofs are covered with diamonds and other gems, so that it is ever light and sparkling, the walls are of amber and coral. Your floors are of rough, ugly rocks, ours are of mother-of-pearl. For statuary we have the bodies of earth's most beautiful sons and daughters, who come to us in ships, sent by the King of the Storms. We embalm them, so that they look more lovely even than in life, with their eyes still sparkling, their lips of ruby-red, and the delicate pink of the sea-shell in their cheeks. Come and see for yourself how well we care for them, and how reposeful they look in their pearl and coral homes, with sea-plants growing around them, and gold and silver heaped at their feet. They crossed the world to get it, and their journeys have not been failures. Will you come, noble stranger? Come to be one of us whose lives are all love, and sunshine, and merriment?"
"None of it's in my line, I'm thinking, my dear," said Lutey. "I'd rather come across some of the things that have gone down in the wrecks, wines and brandy, laces and silks; there's a pretty sight of it all gone to the bottom, one time and another, I'm thinking."
"Ah yes! We have vast cellars full of the choicest wines ever made, and caves stored with laces and silks. Come, stranger, come, and take all you want."
"Well," answered the old smuggler, who was thinking what a fine trade he could do, if only he could reach those caves and cellars, "I must say I'd like to, 'tis very tempting, but I should never live to get there, I'm thinking. I should be drownded or smothered before I'd got half-way."
"No, oh no, I can manage that for you. I will make two slits under your chin, your lovely countenance will not suffer, for your beard will hide them. Such a pair of gills is all you want, so do not fear. Do not leave me, generous-hearted youth. Come to the mermaid's home!" They were in the sea by this time, and the breakers they wanted to reach were not far off. Lutey felt strangely tempted to go with this Siren; her flashing green eyes had utterly bewitched him by this time, and her promises had turned his head. She saw that he was almost consenting, almost in her power. She clasped her long, wet, finny fingers more closely round his neck, and pressed her cool lips to his cheeks.
Another instant, and Lutey would have gone to his doom, but at that moment there came from the shore the sound of a dog barking as though in distress. It was the barking of Lutey's own dog, a great favourite with its master. Lutey turned to look. At the edge of the water the poor creature stood; evidently frantic to follow its master, it dashed into the sea and out again, struggling, panting. Beyond, on the cliff, stood his home, the windows flaming against the sun, his garden, and the country round looking green and beautiful; the smoke was rising from his chimney, —ah, his supper! The thought of his nice hot meal broke the spell, and he saw his danger.
"Let me go, let me go!" he shrieked, trying to lower the mermaid to the ground. She only clung the more tightly to him. He felt a sudden fear and loathing of the creature with the scaly body, and fish's tail. Her green eyes no longer fascinated him. He remembered all the tales he had heard of the power of mermaids, and their wickedness, and grew more and more terrified.
"Let me go!" he yelled again, "unwind your gashly great tail from about my legs, and your skinny fingers from off my throat, or I'll—I'll kill you!" and with the same he whipped his big clasp-knife from his pocket.
As the steel flashed before the mermaid's eyes she slipped from him and swam slowly away, but as she went she sang, and the words floated back to Lutey mournfully yet threateningly. "Farewell, farewell for nine long years. Then, my love, I will come again. Mine, mine, for ever mine!"
Poor Lutey, greatly relieved to see her disappear beneath the waves, turned and waded slowly back to land, but so shaken and upset was he by all that had happened, that it was almost more than he could accomplish. On reaching the shore he just managed to scramble to the shed where he kept many of the treasures he had smuggled from time to time, but having reached it he dropped down in a deep, overpowering sleep.
Poor old Ann Betty Lutey was in a dreadful state of mind when supper-time came and went and her husband had not returned. He had never missed it before. All through the night she watched anxiously for him, but when breakfast-time came, and still there was no sign of him, she could not rest at home another minute, and started right away in search of him.
She did not have to search far, though. Outside the door of the shed she found the dog lying sleeping, and as the dog was seldom seen far from his master, she thought she would search the shed first,—and there, of course, she found her husband.
He was still sound asleep. Ann Betty, vexed at once at having been frightened for nothing, shook him none too gently. "Here, Lutey, get up to once, do you hear!" she cried crossly. "Why ever didn't 'ee come in to supper,—such a beautiful bit of roast as I'd got, too! Where've 'ee been? What 'ave 'ee been doing? What 'ave 'ee been sleeping here for?"
Lutey raised himself into a sitting position. "Who are you?" he shouted. "Are you the beautiful maiden come for me? Are you Morwenna?"
"Whatever are you talking about? You haven't called me beautiful for the last thirty years, and I ain't called Morwenna. I'm Ann Betty Lutey, your own lawful wife, and if you don't know me, you must be gone clean out of your mind."
"Ann Betty Lutey," said the old man solemnly, "if you're my lawful wife you've had a narrow escape this night of being left a widow woman, and you may be thankful you've ever set eyes on me again."
"Come in and have some breakfast," said Ann Betty Lutey sternly, "and if you ain't better then I'll send for the doctor. It's my belief your brain is turned."
Lutey got up obediently and went in to his breakfast; indeed, he was glad enough of it, for he was light-headed from want of food. His breakfast did him good. Before he had finished it he was able to tell his wife about his adventure the night before, and he told it so gravely and sensibly that Ann Betty believed every word of it, and no longer thought his brain was turned.
Indeed, she was so much impressed by his story that before many hours had passed she had gone round to every house in the parish spreading the news, and to prove the truth of it she produced the pearl comb.
Then, oh dear, the gossiping that went on! It really was dreadful! The women neglected their homes, their children, and everything else for the whole of that week; and for months after old Lutey was besieged by all the sick and sorry for miles and miles around, who came to him to be cured. He did such a big business in healing people, that not a doctor for miles round could earn a living. Everyone went to old Lutey, and when it was found that he had power over witchcraft, too, he became the most important man in the whole country.
Lutey had been so rude and rough to the mermaiden when he parted from her, that no one would have been surprised if she had avenged herself on him somehow, and punished him severely. But no, she was true to all her promises. He got all his wishes, and neither he nor his descendants have ever come to want. Better far, though, would it have been for him had it been otherwise, for he paid dearly enough for his wishes in the end.
Nine years from that very time, on a calm moonlight night, Lutey, forgetting all about the mermaid and her threats, arranged to go out with a friend to do a little fishing. There was not a breath of wind stirring, and the sea was like glass, so that a sail was useless, and they had to take to the oars. Suddenly, though, without any puff of wind, or anything else to cause it, the sea rose round the boat in one huge wave, covered with a thick crest of foam, and in the midst of the foam was Morwenna!
Morwenna! as lovely as ever, her arms outstretched, her clear green eyes fixed steadily, triumphantly on Lutey. She did not open her lips, or make a sign, she only gazed and gazed at her victim.
For a moment he looked at her as though bewildered, then like one bereft of his senses by some spell, he rose in the boat, and turned his face towards the open sea. "My time is come," he said solemnly and sadly, and without another word to his frightened companion he sprang out of the boat and joined the mermaid. For a yard or two they swam in silence side by side, then disappeared beneath the waves, and the sea was as smooth again as though nothing had happened.
From that moment poor Lutey has never been seen, nor has his body been found. Probably he now forms one of the pieces of statuary so prized by the mermaiden, and stands decked with sea-blossoms, with gold heaped at his feet. Or, maybe, with a pair of gills slit under his chin, he swims about in their beautiful palaces, and revels in the cellars of shipwrecked wines. The misfortunes to his family did not end, though, with Lutey's disappearance, for, no matter how careful they are, how far they live from the sea, or what precautions they take to protect themselves, every ninth year one of old Lutey's descendants is claimed by the sea.
There was once upon a time a good old Cornish family of the name of Rosewarne. Well-born, well-to-do gentlepeople they were, who had always lived in their own fine old house on their own estate, and never knew what it was to want any comfort or luxury.
The family in time, though, grew larger than their income, and their pride and their dignity were greater than either, so that in trying to support the large family according to their larger dignity, the poor little income got quite swallowed up and the whole family of Rosewarne became involved in poverty and great difficulties.
Mr. Rosewarne, the father of the last of the family to live on the property, employed for his lawyer and man of business an attorney called Ezekiel Grosse, and, as so often happens, as fast as Mr. Rosewarne went down in the world, his lawyer went up.
Ezekiel grew rich, no one knew how, and prospered in every way; Mr. Rosewarne grew poor, and lost in every way. Nothing on the property paid, and at last, to his great grief and never-ceasing regret, Mr. Rosewarne had to sell his beloved home and everything belonging to him. Then, who should come forward to buy it, as soon as ever it was put up for sale, but his own lawyer, Ezekiel Grosse!
Everybody wondered, and most people declared that Ezekiel could not have made such a large sum honestly by his business; that he must have other and less straight methods of getting money. Anyhow, whether he made it honestly, or dishonestly, he had enough to buy the estate he coveted, and as soon as the old family could turn out, he himself took up his abode in the fine old house, and a very proud man he was.
If, though, he was a proud man as he sat in the spacious library, or wandered through the lofty rooms and noble old hall, he could not have been a very happy one, and very little enjoyment could he have got out of his new possession, for, from the very hour he entered and took up his abode there, such unearthly and mysterious noises, such fearful screams and gruesome groans worried and haunted and dogged him, as made his hair stand on end, and nearly scared him out of his wits. A ghost, too, appeared in the park as soon as night fell.
As Ezekiel crossed the park he would be suddenly confronted by a white, worn face and a pair of great, ghastly, luminous eyes. It would rise up from the ground in front of him, or pop round trees and bushes at him, or, on raising his eyes, he would find it confronting him over a hedge. And before very long the ghost, not content with making noises in the house, and haunting the park, took it into his head to enter the house, and make that his permanent home.
When Ezekiel came face to face with him indoors, he thought he was not such a terrible ghost after all, and much of his fear left him, for the ghost to look at seemed only an infirm old man. Indeed the lawyer found him less terrifying than the horrible uncanny sounds which seemed to come from nowhere, and could not be accounted for.
By and by, though, the ghost's visits were repeated so often, and he began to make such mysterious signs and movements, that the surly lawyer soon lost patience, and before long grew so seriously angry that he determined to put an end to the annoyance and rid himself of his tormentor once and for all.
The very next night as Ezekiel sat alone in his office looking over some papers, and making up his accounts, the ghost glided into the room as usual, and taking up his position opposite, at once began to make the usual mysterious and extraordinary signs. The lawyer was very irritable, he had lost an important case, and was out of spirits, he was unusually nervous, too. For a while he bore the presence of the ghost and his extraordinary behaviour with a certain amount of patience, then suddenly he lost his temper.
"For pity's sake tell me what it is you want with me, and be done with it, can't you?" he cried angrily.
The ghost immediately stopped his gesticulations, and spoke. "Ezekiel Grosse," said he, in a hollow, ghostly voice, "Ezekiel Grosse, follow me. I can show you buried gold, the wealth for which thou longest."
Now no man in the world loved gold better than did the attorney, but he was anything but a brave man, and even he himself knew that he was not a good one, and the thought of going alone with this uncanny guide, to some desolate spot where no one could see or hear him if he called for help, made his teeth chatter and his knees tremble.
He hesitated, and gazed searchingly at the little old ghost, but to save his life he could not utter a word. He nearly suffocated with longing to possess the secret and know where the treasure lay, but he dared not ask; and all the time the spectre stood staring at him with unwinking scornful eyes, as if the sight of the cowardly, trembling man gave him unfeigned pleasure.
At length, beckoning Ezekiel to follow him, he turned and walked towards the door. Then Ezekiel, fearful of losing the secret and the wealth, threw aside every feeling but greed, and sprang to follow—at least, he tried to spring, but so firmly was he secured to his chair he could not budge.
"Come," said the ghost imperatively.
Ezekiel tried again, but great as was his longing to find the gold, he could not obey.
"Gold," whispered the ghost in a whining, craven tone, "don't you hear me, man? Gold!"
"Where?" gasped the lawyer, making another desperate struggle.
"Come with me, and you shall see," answered the spectre, moving further through the doorway; and the lawyer struggled like a madman to get free from the chair and to follow.
"Come, man, come," shrieked the ghost in a perfectly awful voice. "Ezekiel Grosse, I command thee." And with that Ezekiel, by a power stronger than his own, was forced to rise and to follow the old man wheresoever he led him.
Out through the hall they went, down through the park, and on and on by ways the attorney did not know, until at last they arrived at a little dell. The night was pitchy dark, and nothing could Ezekiel see but the ghostly figure gliding along ahead of him, all lit by a weird phosphorescent light. In the dell was a small granite cairn, and here the ghost stopped and looked around for the attorney.
"Ezekiel Grosse," said he, when Ezekiel had come up and was standing on the other side of the cairn. "Ezekiel Grosse, thou longest for gold. So did I! I won the prize, but I found no pleasure in it. Beneath those stones lies treasure enough to make thee richer than thou hast ever dreamed of. Dig for it, it is yours. Obtain it and keep it all to yourself, and be one of the rich men of the earth, and when thou art happiest I will come and look upon you."
With that the spectre disappeared, and Ezekiel, overcome with fright and amazement, was left alone by the cairn.
"Well," he said at last, recovering his courage, "I don't care if you are ghost or devil, I will soon find out if you are telling me lies or not!" A harsh laugh sounded through the darkness, as though in answer to his brave words, and once again the attorney trembled with fear.
He did not begin his search that night, but taking careful note of the exact spot, he returned to his house to think over all that had happened; and what he decided was that he was not going to let any squeamishness stand in the way of a fortune.
"I'll tip over that old cairn," he said, with a great show of coolness, "and I'll search every foot of ground under it and around it, and it shall not be my fault if the treasure is not found!"
So, a night or two later, armed with a crowbar and other tools, away he started secretly, and found his way again to the lonely dell, where he soon dispersed the stones of the cairn and began his digging. The ground was hard and flinty, and the work anything but easy, but he had not far to dig before he came across something, something hard and round, which increased his excitement until it nearly suffocated him.
Feverishly he dug and dug, and cleared away the earth until at last he had laid bare a large metallic urn sunk deep in the ground, an urn so large and heavy that though he used his utmost strength, and his strength by that time was almost that of a madman, he could not move it, much less carry it home with him; and having brought no light he could not even examine it. So all he could do that night was to cover it over again with earth, and replace the stones on the top so that no one, coming upon it, should guess that the cairn had been touched. Ezekiel scarcely knew how to live through the next twenty-four hours, and as soon as it was dark on the following evening he crept out of his house, with a dark lantern concealed beneath his cloak.
He knew his way to the dell so well now that he reached there very quickly, and with very little trouble he threw down the cairn and laid bare the urn again. By the light of the lantern he soon forced open the lid, in spite of the trembling of his eager, covetous fingers. The lid off he went to plunge his hand in boldly, when to his unspeakable delight he found the thing full to the brim of gold coins of all sorts and sizes, and from all countries, coins of the rarest and most valuable description!
Glancing round every now and then to see that he was not followed, or that no one had come upon him accidentally, he loaded every pocket in his clothing with his treasure, then he buried the urn, rebuilt the cairn, and hurried back to his house anxious to conceal his wealth in a place of safety.
From that time forward, whenever he could get out without arousing the suspicions of his servants, he went night after night to the cairn, until he had brought away every coin, and had them all carefully hidden in Rosewarne House.
And now, his treasure safe, himself the richest man in the county, Ezekiel Grosse began to feel perfectly happy. He built new wings on to the old house, he laid out the gardens, and made improvements everywhere; even in his own clothing and his personal appearance.
The people round could not help noticing the changes that were taking place, the money that was being spent, and the improvements that were being made. You may be quite sure, too, that the attorney took care to parade his wealth, for, having money, a fine house, fine clothes, and carriages and servants, indeed, everything but friends, he began to want friends too, and people to whom to show off his grandeur.
And before very long, though everyone knew his character, and what he had been and what he had done, the neighbouring gentry began to seek his acquaintance, and many of them declared themselves his friends.
After that the attorney broke forth in quite a new way, he began to give entertainments more lavish and splendid than anything of the kind ever known in the county. Everyone flocked to him, people plotted and struggled to get invitations from him. They quite ignored the fact that but a little while before he had been a poor rogue of an attorney whom they all despised, and that he had come by his wealth by means which no one had been able to fathom. They all seemed to be bewitched, to be under some spell.
High revels were constantly held at Rosewarne House, now, and the gayest and liveliest of all the people gathered there was the master himself. He was as happy at this time as a man could be, and a great part of his happiness was due to the fact that he had never set eyes on his ghostly visitor since the night he conducted him to the treasure in the dell.
Months went by, the feastings and gaieties grew more and more splendid, the hospitality more and more profuse, those who had not his acquaintance, craved it, and everyone bowed before the 'Lord of Rosewarne,' as in time he came to be called.
Indeed, he went about as though he were the lord of the whole county, and everyone his inferior. He travelled always in a chaise and four, he kept numberless carriages, horses, servants. He was elected to every high position in the county, and he was never tired of preaching of the beauty of honesty and uprightness, and our duty to our poorer brethren.
So things went on until one Christmas Eve, when there was gathered at Rosewarne a large company of the most beautiful and well-born of all the families in Cornwall. Such a gathering had seldom been seen as was gathered that night in the great hall for the ball Ezekiel Grosse was giving; and in the kitchen was an equally large party engaged in the same form of enjoyment.
Food and wine were provided in lavish profusion, everything was on a most sumptuous scale. Merriment ran high, everyone was in the gayest of spirits, and gayest of all was Ezekiel. Now he felt the power of wealth, now he was positive that all other things were as nothing to it; for had it not made him the most popular, the most important, the most welcomed and sought-after man in the county?
All had just reached the very highest pitch of mirth and excitement that could be reached, when a sudden chill, as though the hand of death were on them, fell on the company! The dancing ceased, no one quite knew why, and the dancers looked at each other uneasily, each frightened by the other's pallor.
Then, suddenly, whence, or how come, no one knew,—in the middle of the hall they saw a little old man standing gazing at the host with eyes from which darted a hatred which was perfectly venomous. Everyone wanted to ask who he was, and how he had come, but no one dared. They looked at Ezekiel Grosse, expecting him in his usually haughty way to demand what right he had there;—but Ezekiel Grosse stood like a figure hewn out of stone.
It all took place in about a minute, and then the old man vanished in the same mysterious way that he had come.
As soon as he had gone, the host, who a moment before had been petrified with terror, as quickly recovered himself, and burst into uproarious laughter. It was forced laughter, though, unnatural mirth, as most of those present could not help feeling.
"Ha, ha! my friends. What do you think of my little surprise? How do you like my Father Christmas? Cleverly managed, was it not? But you all look rather alarmed by his sudden movements. I hope my little joke has not frightened you. Hand round the wine and punch there, then we will on with the dancing again!"
Try as he would, though, he could not put new life into the evening's festivities, the mirth was dead, the pleasure overcast, for there was still that strange deathlike chill in the air. The guests, frightened, and convinced that something was wrong, made various excuses and one by one took their departure.
From that evening everything was changed. Ezekiel Grosse and his entertainments were never the same again. He never acknowledged any difference, and he gave more parties, and issued more invitations than ever, but at every feast, every dance, every entertainment of any sort, there was always one uninvited guest, a little wizened, weird old man, who sat back in his chair and never spoke to anyone, but gazed all the time at Ezekiel with stern, uncanny eyes which frightened all who caught sight of them. Indeed, the effect he had on the guests was extraordinary; under the chill of his presence they could not talk, or eat or drink, or keep up any appearance of enjoyment.
Ezekiel was the bravest of them. He tried to encourage them to talk and laugh,—talking and laughing loudly himself all the time, but all was unnatural. His apologies for his strange visitor were numerous. He was an old friend who liked to come to him and see new faces and young life, but was too old to do more than look on. He was deaf and dumb, that was why his conduct was so strange. Sometimes the little old man sat unmoved while these stories were told, at other times, though, he would spring up, and with a burst of mocking laughter would disappear no one knew how.
By and by, of course, Ezekiel Grosse's friends began to leave him. They declined his invitations, and omitted to include him in theirs, so that in a comparatively short time he had not a single friend remaining of all those he had spent so much upon.
Disappointed and miserable, he soon became the wreck of his old self. Alone in his luxurious house now, save for his old clerk John Cull, he could never be said to be quite alone, either, for wherever he went, or whatever he did, the spectre haunted him persistently. Under this persecution the attorney became a brokendown, miserable man, with every feature stamped with terror. For a long time he bore with the merciless ghost without complaining, but at last he came to an end of his endurance. In heart-rending terms, with tears and piteous pleading, he begged the old man to go away and leave him. He had been punished sufficiently, he said. But his prayers were poured into deaf ears. The spectre absolutely refused to go, and for some time stuck to his word. Then, at last he consented, on one condition, and that was that Ezekiel should give up all his wealth to someone the spectre should name.
"Who am I to give it to?" gasped Ezekiel humbly.
"To John Cull, the man you have overworked and underpaid for years. John Cull, your clerk and dependent."
Ezekiel Grosse had been given wealth, happiness, friends, only to be deprived of all, to be lowered in the eyes of all men, with not one to pity him. This was the punishment designed by the frightful spectre, who was no more nor less than an ancestor of the family Ezekiel Grosse had robbed, the Rosewarnes. He had planned to punish the lawyer by whose wickedness his family had been robbed and made homeless, and he carried through his plan.
Poor Ezekiel Grosse did not live long in his disappointment and shame. He was found dead one day, with strange marks upon him, and people who saw it say that when he died the weird little spectre stood beside him with a pleased smile on his face. As soon as it was dark, he disappeared, and the story goes that he took Ezekiel's body with him, for from that day to this it has never been seen.