"So my lord, who was on the rock above you, said."

"Oh, Duncan, it was a sad sight! I hope, cousin, I shall never be compelled to witness a similar scene.

"It is a sickening and a degrading calling, this of ours, in which victory has no honour, and triumph no glory. While it is a merry life and profitable to those engaged in it, it is surrounded with scenes which are shocking to behold."

"As our master has such a large estate, Duncan, why does he carry on so hazardous and so dangerous a calling?"

"The secret is this, he loves gold, and his heart is set on attaining riches; and to secure them he'll take away any man's life if it stands between him and the prize he covets."

"I should think he shook in his shoes when those men were down here. Was he not alarmed, Duncan?"

"Our master was, Mac, certainly alarmed; but, take my word, he'll go on just in the same way. He is just like the little animal which, when once it tastes the blood of its victim, never gives up pursuit until it has secured the prey. The lord of Dunraven will, in my opinion, continue wrecking until some great calamity befalls his house or his family."

The subsequent doings of Mr. Vaughan fully established the opinion of Duncan. Although he had been in imminent danger of having his crime discovered, yet, when those who conducted the inquiry had left the vicinity, the lord of Dunraven, with renewed energy and more resolute determination, carried on his nefarious calling. In each succeeding winter, vessels were wrecked in Dunraven Bay which had been decoyed thither by the false lights he had caused to be placed in the tower.

From these wrecks he realized large sums. Had he been permitted to pursue his satanic designs for a few years longer, he would have become the richest man in the vale of Glamorgan.

In consequence of the great losses ship-owners had sustained by reason of these wrecks, and the terror which the scenes of Dunraven had inspired, both owners and masters of vessels trading up and down the Bristol Channel were alarmed, and were in constant apprehensions lest they should experience the same disaster which had unhappily befallen so many of their brethren. Captain ap William, however, was not deterred from pursuing his seafaring calling by these disasters, though his wife, previously to his starting on every voyage, warned him of the danger of following so hazardous a pursuit. Yet, in spite of those warnings, and the urgent solicitations of his wife to remain at home, he continued going to sea.

It was after one of these wrecks, when more than ordinary violence had been used by the men of Dunraven, that the captain and his wife were walking from St. Bride's along the carriage way to Dunraven. This was their favourite walk, and it was, moreover, a.s.sociated with many a happy scene in days of yore. After pursuing their walk for some time in silence, Mrs. ap William began to weep.

"Why those tears, Myfanwy?" asked her husband.

"I weep, John," she replied, "in thought of the prospect of our separation. Oh, you will not leave me again, will you?"

"Indeed, wife, I must."

"But where is the necessity for you to risk your life again? We have enough to keep us in independence and comfort."

"I have promised my employers to go on this one voyage."

"Can't they get another captain to take charge of the ship?"

"Doubtless they could, but they won't trust every man with my vessel."

"Oh, I wish you would stay at home! Indeed, indeed, I fear, if you leave me, I shall never see you again. Last night I dreamt, and in my dream I fancied I saw your body being taken from the sea, your hair clotted, and your face covered with blood. Oh, I do fear, if you again leave me, I shall never see you alive!"

"Do not be alarmed for my safety, Myfanwy. Life is as safe on the ocean as on the land. The same Providence watches over the seaman as the landsman. He being at the helm, He controlling and guiding the destiny of us all, will be my friend, even should danger threaten me. So cheer up, thou treasure of my heart, and since you are so urgent that I should give up my calling, I now promise that on my return from this one voyage I will remain at home."

"I can urge you no further, John. During your absence I'll pray for your safe return."

The following morning Captain John ap William took his departure. He joined his ship at Bristol, and from that port he sailed for the city of Lisbon with a cargo of West of England goods. From thence he sailed to London, thence to Hamburg, and after several voyages between the two last-mentioned cities, chartered his ship to the Mediterranean, and took a valuable cargo at Ma.r.s.eilles for Bristol.

During her husband's absence, Myfanwy felt constant anxiety on his behalf, an anxiety intensified owing to the sad havoc among shipping at Dunraven Bay. As it was now winter, her feeling of apprehension increased in intensity, as she daily expected his return. October had come and gone, but he had not returned, nor had she received, for several weeks, a letter from him. November had come in more than usually stormy.

All over the country trees had been uprooted, houses were blown down, and on the rocks above Dunraven Bay, and below Southerndown, the winds were so terrible that persons were in the imminent risk of being blown over if they went within even fifty yards of the precipice. On Friday morning the hurricane increased in its fury. As the evening approached, the storm became fearful, while the tumultuous waves increased in violence, foaming, then wildly raving, then receding in circling eddies for awhile, into their gloomy bosom; then, again, returning with renewed force and augmented fury. Upon their tumultuous and angry surges a large vessel, heavily laden, was being driven towards the bay of Dunraven by the fierce tempest. If that fine ship, which bore on her bosom the rich merchandise of continental skill and industry, be dashed against the desperate a.s.semblage of rocks, crags, and shoals surrounding the bay-imagination with its utmost stretch could form but a very imperfect idea of so direful and so appalling a spectacle. As the villagers gazed upon the tumultuous billows, they saw the ship, which had battled many a stormy breeze, uplifted on the briny surge, then plunging headlong down the repelling rock. In that terrible collision, a hole nearly three feet square, was made in the bottom, through which the sea rushed in with terrible force, on which she began to sink. When this was discovered, the crew, in wild despair, called to the men on the beach to come and help them. They, however, moved not, but waited the issue with the most stolid indifference. Amid that cry of despairing anguish the sea rolled in with increased violence and fury, the waves dashing over the fast-sinking ship, and carrying along with them the unfortunate crew.

Presently there was seen clinging to a frail board a young man, comely in form and handsomely dressed. Having fastened himself to this, the wreckers heard him beseeching them, in most piteous cries to come and help him. However, to that cry no attention was paid. Seeing this, he, with a voice which moved even the hard hearts of the wreckers, called out, "Oh, my father, my father! if you love your son, who has been a dutiful and a faithful son to you-if there be in your bosom any affection for him who has only lived to promote your welfare and interest; who, in your declining years, has laboured and striven, and thereby has succeeded in redeeming the manor of Dunraven from its heavy inc.u.mbrance-send the men to save me from a watery grave!" That cry the lord of Dunraven heard. It pierced his very soul. His countenance was marked with anguish, blended with despair. All he could say was, "It is my own son Walter, and I have caused his death!" He then fell down in a fit. When the wreckers heard their master's exclamation they, as one man, took to the sea. Towards the drowning man they pressed forward with great energy, and at last succeeded in touching the frail board. At that moment there was a terrible sea, which, in receding, carried away the young lord of Dunraven and the whole of the wreckers, except Mac the Devil, who succeeded in gaining the sh.o.r.e. The Lord of Dunraven, when he recovered from the swoon, learned all that had happened, even of his son's death. From that night Mr. Vaughan was never seen at Dunraven Castle. He went forth, bowed down with age and with sin, a wandering ghost, seeking rest but finding none. No one ever heard that he was sorry on account of the crimes he had committed against heaven and earth.

In a few years afterwards news came to Wales that in an encounter with a highwayman, in the North of England, the once great lord of Dunraven was slain, and his body was thrown over the rocks into the sea. In his pockets were found papers which led to his identification. As his money had been taken by the robber, he was buried at the expense of the parish in which his body was found. Such was the life and such the end of a man who sought riches by robbery, and gold by the sacrifice of human life.

Indeed, he lived a miserable life, and died a miserable death.

As regards the other persons of this history but little remains to be told. Mac, on that night, disappeared from the scene. But every nook and corner of the coast was watched and carefully guarded night and day.

The people of the neighbourhood expressed their confidence that Mac was still in the locality, in his old hiding-place. After watching for a fortnight, during which there were no signs of his appearance, they were almost persuaded to give up the affair. However, they resolved still to continue guarding the coast for another week. The day before that week expired, one of the watchers saw in the sea, coming out from between two rocks, a man diving. Evidently he had come from some subterranean cavern, with an outlet under the water. This man was Mac the Devil. He was there and then taken, and lodged in gaol. At the following a.s.sizes he was found guilty of murder and was condemned to die. Before his death he confessed all, and left behind him a record of his exploits, and a detailed account of his connection with the lord of Dunraven. Before that record was read, Mr. Vaughan had breathed his last.

But what became of Captain John? It was his vessel that went down, and it was young Vaughan's cargo with which she was laden. On the morning subsequent to the wreck he was found on the seash.o.r.e in Dunraven Bay, with his body much bruised, and his face covered with blood. He was, however, still alive, and thanks to the careful nursing of his wife and medical skill, he soon recovered, and gave up going to sea. Ever afterwards he lived at home. He became an excellent farmer, and saved money. He lived to a good old age, and left behind a numerous family, who were as distinguished for their virtue as they were for their industry. In this world he moreover lived as he wished to die, leaving behind him a pattern of religiousness which his children, and their children after them, followed. Thus, while the end of the good captain was happy and peaceful, that of the lord of Dunraven was full of anguish, while he met with a doom which it is terrible to contemplate.

PARSON JONES, AND HIS CONQUESTS OVER THE ARCH-FIEND OF PANDEMONIUM.

[The following strange stories of Cambrian life contain not an _ideal_ but a _real_ picture of society in days of yore. For obvious reasons, some of the names of the _dramatis personae_ are not given, but the family of Jones being so large, _the man_ will not be recognised by the retention of the name he actually bore. Further, it is believed that the whole of his relations are dead. He had two nieces that survived him, who on his death were by no means _young ladies_. They then quitted Wales, never more to return. One more word only need be added, namely, that Mr. Jones's fame as a preacher was universal, and the belief that he had power over Satan was firmly entertained by all, though he himself repudiated the possession of such power. Mr. Jones lived to nearly a hundred years of age, and died about thirty years ago.]

Hail! all hail! to thee, thou ill.u.s.trious dead! Though thy spirit has long since left the regions of earth, and has pa.s.sed into the _Gwlad well_, yet thy memory is fresh and green, and thy deeds of charity, thy una.s.suming piety, thy faithful preaching of the Cross, thy example of saintly resignation, as well as thy holy sanct.i.tude, still live in the hearts and memories of those who were privileged to listen, sabbath after sabbath, to the glorious truths which fell from thy lips, and who, moreover, were permitted to gaze upon and witness the holy ripening of thy nature for a bright and a glorious immortality. Of thee might it be truly said, that thy enemies were few, and thy friends and well-wishers legion. The reason of this was obvious. While others laboured for earthly honour and a perishable renown, the aspiration and desire of thy soul was to do the work of Him in whose armour thou wast clothed, and to be recognised, and honoured, and acknowledged of thy Father at the Judgment of the Great Day. Thy departure to that better land was to thee a happy departure. On thy spirit leaving its tabernacle of clay, it took its flight, amid the songs of angelic choirs, to that world wherein the Lamb shall ever lead it to perennial springs and fountains of blessedness, and where every tear shall be wiped away by the Redeemer.

But though the change to thee was a welcome one, oh, how _un_welcome was it to thy sorrowing children on earth, who were left behind in the wilderness! Though many, many years have pa.s.sed away since the day of thy departure to join the choirs above, during which I have mixed much with the busy world,-have seen the upheaving of peoples, revolution following revolution, and have witnessed parts of Europe deluged with the blood of some of its best and most patriotic sons,-yet I well remember, as if it were but as yesterday, the sorrowful tidings of thy death, when all joined in saying, "That a prince and a great man had that day fallen in Israel." Nevertheless, amid our pensive sorrow and grief, which almost rent many a stout heart; all were yet cheered and solaced with the thought, that though the dark cloud of the future obscured our vision, preventing our beholding the face of the dear departed, nevertheless he was reposing joyfully in the eternal sunshine, and reclining on the bosom of his Lord.

Now, though Parson Jones was a good and holy man, yet young and old, rich and poor, the youth in his teens as well as those over whose heads seventy summers had pa.s.sed, not only admitted, but actually declared, that he was a strange mortal. His life and character were to them an enigma. While the outward-the rational man-was clear and plain, yet the inner life-the hidden and mysterious workings of the intellectual and spiritual man-was above their comprehension and beyond their ken. Though they owned that their beloved pastor held communion with Heaven, yet many affirmed, and positively believed, that he had constant intercourse with the Evil One. Though they devoutly entertained the opinion that he held uninterrupted converse with Him who was the desire of all nations, yet they clung to the opinion that he had fellowship with him who reigns over the abode of woe. While they believed that their dear friend possessed that faith by which mountains are removed, and by means of which the rolling and angry billows are hushed into calm repose on the bosom of the vast and mighty deep, nevertheless, the tale went from cottage to cottage, and from hamlet to hamlet, and was told and retold, with deep seriousness, in high and in low places, that Parson Jones could raise and lay the devil. And if legions of ministering angels hovered round his path, imparting to him comfort, solace, and joy, it was almost universally believed that he had consultations with the grim spirits of the nethermost regions. Hence they concluded that he was not only all-powerful with Heaven, but that Satan himself, with all his servants and allies, would fly at his bidding. In consequence of this belief, Parson Jones had, at his parsonage, a constant succession of visitors.

If the busy housewife was unsuccessful in her churning, Parson Jones must be at once consulted, as he only, in the vicinity, had power to break the spell, and drive to their place those evil spirits which interfered with the beneficial operations of mankind. If the farmer found his cattle ailing, of course the good parson's advice was at once sought, which in all case was readily obtained, the belief being that he only in that neighbourhood could counteract and overcome the evil influence of the witches, who, by their malevolence and wicked arts, sought to bring destruction and ruin upon him and his household. Again, if a house in the locality were haunted, the sleepers being awakened from their slumbers of the night by unearthly cries, by groans and terrible noises, we need hardly say the good vicar was sent for; and after one of his visits, the simple-hearted people of the troubled dwelling believed, and positively affirmed, that he had put his imperial Satanic majesty in his snuff-box! And from that night their home was never disturbed by the presence of a spiritual visitor, and they congratulated themselves on having permanently got rid of the disturber of their peace and repose, feeling certain that the possessor of the snuff-box would see to it that the lid would be kept securely fastened. These acts of Parson Jones were not done in a corner; hence the news of his victory over the Evil One spread far and wide; but while a few gave no credence to the tales that were told, yet the people-the ma.s.ses, both rich and poor, the wise and the unlearned-believed in the stories which were told of the good vicar's doings.

As my father's residence was adjacent to the vicarage, as he and the worthy parson were sworn friends, and as the latter had a strong personal liking to me, as also a deep interest in my future welfare and prospects, I having on several occasions acquainted him with my strong aversion to my father's pursuits, and that I intended to seek my fortune in the wide, wide world-these and other matters brought me into frequent contact with our common friend, at whose house I was a constant and ever welcome visitor. There was, however, another reason why I was so often found at his hospitable dwelling, which, in pa.s.sing, I will just mention. From my earliest school days I had imbibed a strong thirst for knowledge, while the sciences of astronomy, algebra, Euclid, and trigonometry, had for me peculiar, and I might add, fascinating charms. In pursuing those studies, however, I often met with difficulties, which, unaided, and without the a.s.sistance of a teacher, I failed to overcome. The good parson being well informed of my pursuits, and being anxious to render me all the a.s.sistance in his power, arranged that I was to spend every Monday evening at his residence, where, in his study, he would quietly explain the problems and calculations I had failed to solve. As a teacher he was so successful that, after going quietly over my calculations, and explaining where I had gone wrong, he invariably managed to make the whole matter as clear to my perception as that two and two make four.

Mr. Jones was deeply read in the science of astronomy, and on his perceiving that I was weekly making considerable progress in a science he so deeply loved,-a science, too, which he regarded as more sublime than any other, inasmuch as it proclaimed the power, the wisdom, and the greatness of Him who binds the sweet influences of the Pleiades and loosens the bands of Orion, who can bring forth Mazzaroth in his season and guides Arcturus with his sons,-it was no wonder, considering the ident.i.ty of our common feeling and inclination, that I became a nightly visitor at the parsonage. During those visits I learned much respecting other branches of knowledge with which, previously, I was but little acquainted. Thus, wide fields of human knowledge appeared to open before me, the possession of which was the deep aspiration of my soul.

But I must own that my visits to the parsonage afforded me an interest beyond that of scientific and literary pursuits. Night after night there were other visitors at the good man's house, who came there to tell tales about apparitions, ghosts, the doings of the witches, and the various forms in which his imperial majesty of Pandemonium had appeared to them.

To these marvellous stories I always listened with deep interest, as from my youngest days I had been taught by my nurse to believe in the existence of ghosts. The people of the neighbourhood believed that the parson had power over the evil spirits when they troubled men, hence the reason of his a.s.sistance having been so frequently sought. Many a tale I have heard in the vicar's little study; but for the present I shall only record the following strange stories.

It was a stormy night in the month of January, when I was with Mr. Jones in his study. After sitting there some time, over a problem in the Sixth Book of Euclid, the door gently opened, and in walked Mrs. Lloyd, the wife of a neighbouring farmer, who, at the request of Mr. Jones, took a seat by the fire. When she entered the room I observed that she was deeply agitated, the cause of which we soon learnt. As soon as she had warmed herself and dried her garments, my friend and benefactor, in the kindest possible way, asked the reason of her having come out on so stormy and so boisterous a night.

"I'm k.u.m to see yoo, Mr. Jones," she said, "and to tell yoo the sad calamity which has happened at our house."

"I hope Mr. Lloyd is not ill?"

"Oh no, parson; leastwise he was well in body when I left whome, but sorely troubled in mind."

"What is the matter, my good friend?" inquired Mr. Jones.

"Oh, sir! it's too dreadful. I kunna tell yoo. I s'pose I must, for I'm k.u.m here on purpose."

"Unless you tell me the cause of your trouble, ma'am, I cannot give you advice."

"You know, parson, Moll McGee, of Cwmdu, dunna yoo?"

"Yes, ma'am; I know that person very well."

"Yoo know, dunna yoo, Mr. Jones, that she's a witch."