Fairy List
Greenies
He
had already begun to fancy that he could distinguish in the soughing of
the wind and the creaking of the boughs unearthly cries and fiendish
shouts of glee; but as he approached the dreaded stream his courage
almost entirely failed him, and it required a great effort to keep from
turning his back to it, and running away in the direction of the little
village at the foot of Parlick. It struck him, however, that he had
come a long distance; that if he did go back to the Patten Arms the
company would be dispersed, and the inmates asleep, and, what was more
effective than all, that if he could only cross the bridge he would be
safe, the Greenies, Boggarts, and Feorin not having power over any one
who had passed over the water.
THE ENCHANTED FISHERMAN.
HERE
are few views in the north of England more beautiful than that which is
seen from Morecambe, as the spectator looks over the beautiful bay,
with its crescent coast-line of nearly fifty miles in extent. At low
water the dazzling sands, streaked by silvery deceptive channels,
stretch to the distant glimmering sea, the music of whose heavings
comes but faintly on the gentle breeze; but at tide-time a magnificent
expanse of rolling waves sweeps away to Peel, and is dotted over with
red-sailed fishing boats and coasters. Far to the north the huge
heather-covered Furness Fells stand sentinel-like over the waters, and
above them, dimly seen through the faint blue haze, tower the grand
mountains of the magic lake country. The scene is full of a sweet
dream-like beauty; but there are times when the beautiful is swallowed
in the majestic, as the mists come creeping over the sea, obscuring the
coasts, and hiding everything save the white caps of the waves gleaming
in the darkness, through which the muttering diapasons of the wind, as
though in deep distress, sound mysteriously; or when, in winter, the
moon is hidden by scudding clouds, and the huge rollers, driven before
the breeze, dash themselves to death, as upon the blast come the solemn
boom of a signal gun, and the faint cries of those in danger on the
deep.
Years ago, however, before the little village of Poulton
changed its name, and began to dream of becoming a watering-place, with
terraces and hotels, instead of the picturesque, tumble-down huts of
the fishermen, against which, from time immemorial, the spray had been
dashed by the salt breezes, the only people who gazed upon the lovely
prospect were, with the exception of an occasional traveller, the
families of the toilers of the sea, and the rough-looking men
themselves. These hardy fellows, accustomed to a wild life, and whose
days from childhood had been spent on or by the sea, loved the deep
with as much tenderness as a strong man feels towards a weak and
wayward maiden, for they were familiar with its every mood, with the
soothing wash of its wavelets when the sunbeams kissed the foam-bells,
as they died on the white sands, and with the noise of the thunder of
the breakers chased up the beach by the roaring gales.
One
evening a number of these men were seated in the cosy kitchen of the
John-o'-Gaunt, listening to 'Owd England' as he narrated some of his
strange experiences.
'I moind,' said he, 'when I was nobbut a
bit of a lad, Tum Grisdale bein' dreawnt; an' now as we 're tawkin'
abeaut th' dangers o' th' sonds, yo'll mebbi hearken to th' tale. Poor
Tum was th' best cockler i' Hest Bank, an' as ust to th' sands as a
choilt is to th' face o' its mother; but for o that he wir dreawnt on
'em after o. I can co to moind yet—for young as I wor I're owd enough
to think a bit when owt quare happent, an' th' seet o' th' deead bodies
th' next ebb wir wi' me day an' neet fur lung afterwart—th' day when
Tum an' his missis an' th' two lasses seet eawt o' seein' some
relations o' th' missis's soide, as livt i' th' Furness country yon,
th' owd mon an' th' dowters i' th' shandray, an' th' missis ridin' upo'
th' cowt at th' soide. It wir a gradely bonnie afternoon, at th' back
eend o' th' year. Th' day as they should o come back wir varra misty;
an' abaat th' edge o' dark, just as here an' theear a leet wir
beginnin' to twinkle i' th' windows, an' th' stars to peep aat, th'
noise ov a cart comin' crunchin' o'er th' beach tuk mi feyther to th'
door. "Why, yon's owd Tum Grisdale cart back ageean," he cried eaut.
An' he dartit eawt o' th' dur, an' me after, as fast as I could. A
creawd o' folk an' childer soon gathert reawnt, wonderin' what wir up;
but neawt could bi larnt, for though th' lasses as seet eawt, as breet
an' bonnie as posies o gillivers, wir theear i' th' shandray, they wir
too freetent an' dazed, an' too wake wi' th' weet an' cowd, to say a
whord. One thing, however, wir sewer enough, th' owd folk hedn't come
back; an' altho' th' toide then hed covert th' track, an' wir shinin'
i' th' moonleet, wheear th' mist could bi sin through, just as if it
hedn't mony a Hest Bank mon's life to answer for, a lot o' young
cocklers wir for startin' off theear an' then i' search on 'em. Th'
owder an' mooar expayrienced, heawiver, wodn't hear on it. Two lives i'
one day wir quoite enough, they said; so they o waitit till th' ebb,
an' then startit, me, loile as i'wir, among th' rest, for mi feyther
wir too tekken up i' talking to send me whoam. It wir a sad outin', but
it wir loively compaart wi' t' comin' back, for when we tornt toart
Hest Bank, th' strungest o' th' lads carriet owd Tum an' his missis,
for we hedn't getten far o'er th' sonds afooar we feawnt th' poor owd
lass, an' not far off, i' th' deep channel, owd Tum hissel. They wir
buriet i' th' owd church-yart, an' one o' th' lasses wir laid aside on
'em, th' freet hevin' bin too mich for her. When t' tother sister
recovert a bit, an' could bide to talk abaat it, hoo said as they geet
lost i' th' mist, an' th' owd mon left 'em i' th' shandray while he
walkt a bit to foind th' channel. When he didn't come back they geet
freetent, but t' owd woman wodn't stir fray th' spot till they heeart
t' watters comin', an' then they went a bit fur, but could find nowt o'
Tum, though they thowt neaw an' then they could heear him sheautin' to
'em. Th' sheawts, heawiver, geet fainter an' fainter, an' at last stopt
o' together. Givin' thersels up for lost, they left th' reins to th'
mare an' t' cowt. Th' poor owd lass wir quoite dāz't at th' absence o'
Tum; an' as th' cowt wir swimmin' across th' channel hoo lost her howd,
an' wir carriet away. Th' lasses knew neawt no mooar, th' wench olus
said, till th' fowk run deawn to th' cart uppo' th' beach. Hor as wir
left, hoo wir olus quare at after; an' hoo uset to walk alung t' bay at
o heawers just at th' toide toime, yo' known, an' it wir pitiful t'
heear her when th' woint wir a bit sriller nor usal, sayin' as hoo
could heear her owd fayther's voice as he sheauted when hee'd wander't
fray 'em an' couldn't foint way to 'em through t' mist. Hoo afterwarts
went to sarvice at Lankister, to a place as th' paason fun' for her, i'
th' idea o' th' change dooin' her good; but it worn't lung afooar th'
news come as hoo wir i' th' 'sylum, an' I heeart as hoo deed theear
some toime after.'
No sooner had the grey-headed old fisherman
finished his story than one of the auditors said, 'Hoo met weel fancy
hoo heeart th' voice ov her fayther, for monnie a neet, an' monnie
another hev I heeart that cry mysen. Yo' may stare, bud theear's mooar
saands to be heeard i' th' bay nor some o' yo' lads known on; an' I'm
no choilt to be freetent o' bein' i' th' dark. Why nobbut th' neet
afooar last I heeart a peal o' bells ringin' under th' watter.'12 There
was a moment of surprise, for Roger Heathcote was not a likely man to
be a victim to his own fancies, or to be influenced by the
superstitions which clung to his fellows. Like the rest of his
companions, he had spent the greatest portion of his life away from
land; and either because he possessed keener powers of observation than
they, or loved nature more, and therefore watched her more closely, he
had gradually added to his store of knowledge, until he had become the
recognised authority on all matters connected with the dangerous
calling by which the men-folk of the little colony earned daily bread
for their families. As he was by no means addicted to yarns, looks of
wonder came over the faces of the listeners; and in deference to the
wishes of Old England, who pressed him as to what he had heard and
seen, Roger narrated the adventure embodied in this story.13
The fisherman's little boat was dancing lightly on the rippling waters of the bay.
The
night was perfectly calm, the moon shining faintly through a thin mist
which rested on the face of the deep. It was nearly midnight, and Roger
was thinking of making for home, when he heard the sweet sounds of a
peal of bells. Not without astonishment, he endeavoured to ascertain
from what quarter the noises came, and, strange and unlikely as it
seemed, it appeared that the chimes rang up through the water, upon
which, with dreamy motion, his boat was gliding. Bending over the side
of the skiff he again heard with singular distinctness the music of the
bells pealing in weird beauty. For some time he remained in this
attitude, intently listening to the magical music, and when he arose,
the mist had cleared off, and the moon was throwing her lovely light
upon the waters, and over the distant fells. Instead, however, of
beholding a coast with every inch of which he was acquainted, Roger
gazed upon a district of which he knew nothing. There were mountains,
but they were not those whose rugged outlines were so vividly impressed
upon his memory. There was a beach, but it was not the one where his
little cottage stood with its light in the window and its background of
wind-bent trees. The estuary into which his boat was gliding was not
that of the Kent, with its ash and oak-covered crags. Everything seemed
unreal, even the streaming moonlight having an unusual whiteness, and
Roger rapidly hoisted his little sails, but they only flapped idly
against the mast, as the boat, in obedience to an invisible and unknown
agency, drifted along the mysterious looking river. As the fisherman
gazed in helpless wonder, gradually the water narrowed, and in a short
time a cove was gained, the boat grating upon the gleaming sand. Roger
at once jumped upon the bank, and no sooner had he done so, than a
number of little figures clad in green ran towards him from beneath a
clump of trees, the foremost of them singing—
To the home of elf and fay,
To the land of nodding flowers,
To the land of Ever Day
Where all things own the Fay Queen's powers,
Mortal come away!
and the remainder dancing in circles on the grass, and joining in the refrain—
To the home of elf and fay,
To the land of Ever Day,
Mortal come away!
The
song finished, the little fellow who had taken the solo, tripped
daintily to Roger, and, with a mock bow, grasped one of the fingers of
the fisherman's hand, and stepped away as though anxious to lead him
from the water.
Assuming that he had come upon a colony of Greenies,
and feeling assured that such tiny beings could not injure him, even if
anxious to do so, Roger walked on with his conductor, the band dancing
in a progressing circle in front of them, until a wood was reached,
when the dancers broke up the ring and advanced in single file between
the trees. The light grew more and more dim, and when the cavalcade
reached the entrance to a cavern, Roger could hardly discern the Greenies.
Clinging to the little hand of his guide, however, the undaunted
fisherman entered the cave, and groped his way down a flight of mossy
steps. Suddenly he found himself in a beautiful glade, in which
hundreds of little figures closely resembling his escort, and wearing
dainty red caps, were disporting themselves and singing—
Moonbeams kissing odorous bowers
Light our home amid the flowers;
While our beauteous King and Queen
Watch us dance on rings of green.
Rings of green, rings of green,
Dance, dance, dance, on rings of green.
No
sooner had the fisherman entered the glade than the whole party crowded
round him, but as they did so a strain of enchanting music was heard,
and the little beings hopped away again, and whirled round in a
fantastic waltz. Roger himself was so powerfully influenced by the
melody that he flung himself into the midst of the dancers, who
welcomed him with musical cries, and he capered about until sheer
fatigue forced him to sink to rest upon a flowery bank. Here, after
watching for a while the graceful gambols of the Greenies, and soothed
by the weird music, the sensuous odours, and the dreamy light, he fell
into a deep sleep. When he awoke from his slumber the fairies had
vanished, and the fisherman felt very hungry. No sooner, however, had
he wished for something to eat than on the ground before him there
appeared a goodly array of delicacies, of which, without more ado,
Roger partook.
'I'm in luck's way here,' he said to himself;
'It's not every day of the week I see a full table like this. I should
like to know where I am, though.' As the wish passed his lips he saw
before him a beautiful little being, who said in a sweet low voice—
In the land of nodding flowers,
Where all things own the Fay Queen's powers!
The fisherman no sooner saw the exquisite face of the dainty Greenie
than he forgot altogether the rosy-cheeked wife at home, and fell
hopelessly over head and ears in love with the sweet vision. Gazing
into her beautiful eyes he blurted out, 'I don't care where it is if
you are there.' With a smile the queen, for it was indeed the queen,
seated herself at his side. 'Dost thou, Mortal, bow to my power?' asked
she. 'Ay, indeed, do I to the forgetfulness of everything but thy bonny
face,' answered Roger; upon which the queen burst into a hearty fit of
laughter, so musical, however, that for the life of him the fisherman
could not feel angry with her. 'If the king were to hear thee talking
thus thou wouldst pay dearly for thy presumption,' said the Fay, as she
rose and tripped away to the shadow of the trees. The enraptured Roger
endeavoured to overtake her before she reached the oaks, but without
success; and though he wandered through the wood for hours, he did not
again catch a glimpse of her. He gained an appetite by the freak
however, and no sooner had he wished for food again than dishes of rich
viands appeared before him.
'I wish I could get money at this
rate,' said the fisherman, and the words had hardly left his lips when
piles of gold ranged themselves within his reach. Roger rapidly filled
his pockets with the glittering coins, and even took the shoes from off
his feet, and filled them also, and then slung them round his neck by
the strings.
'Now, if I could but get to my boat,' thought he,
'my fortune would be made,' and accordingly he began to make his way in
what he believed to be the direction of the river. He had not proceeded
very far, however, when he emerged upon an open space surrounded by
tall foxgloves,14 in all the beautiful bells of which dreamy-eyed
little beings were swinging lazily as the quiet zephyr rocked their
perfumed dwellings. Some of the Greenies were quite baby fairies not so
large as Roger's hand, but none of them seemed alarmed at the presence
of a mortal. A score of larger ones were hard at work upon the sward
stitching together moth and butterfly wings for a cloak for their
Queen, who, seated upon a mushroom, was smiling approvingly as she
witnessed the industry of her subjects. Roger felt a sudden pang as he
observed her, for although he was glad once more to behold the
marvellous beauty of her face, he was jealous of a dainty dwarf in a
burnished suit of beetles' wing cases and with a fantastic peaked cap
in which a red feather was coquettishly stuck, for this personage he
suspected was the King, and forgetting his desire to escape with the
gold, and at once yielding to his feelings, he flung himself on the
luxuriant grass near the little being whose weird loveliness had thrown
so strange a glamour over him, and without any thought or fear as to
the consequences he at once bent himself and kissed one of her dainty
sandalled feet. No sooner had he performed this rash act of devotion
than numberless blows fell upon him from all sides, but he was unable
to see any of the beings by whom he was struck. Instinctively the
fisherman flung his huge fists about wildly, but without hitting any of
the invisible Greenies, whose tantalising blows continued to fall upon
him. At length, however, wearying of the fruitless contest, he roared
out, 'I wish I were safe in my boat in the bay,' and almost
instantaneously he found himself in the little skiff, which was
stranded high and dry upon the Poulton beach. The shoes which he had so
recently filled with glittering pieces of gold and suspended round his
neck were again upon his feet, his pockets were as empty as they were
when he had put out to sea some hours before, and somewhat dubious and
very disgusted, in a few minutes he had crept off to bed.
When
the strange tale of the fisherman's wonderful adventure with the hill
folk was ended, the unbelievers did not hesitate to insinuate that
Roger had not been out in the bay at all, and that the land of nodding
flowers might be found by anyone who stayed as long and chalked up as
large a score at the John-o'-Gaunt as he had done on the night when he
heard the submerged bells and had so unusual a catch.
Others,
however, being less sceptical, many were the little boats that
afterwards went on unsuccessful voyages in search of the mysterious
estuary and the colony of Greenies, and a year afterwards, when a
sudden gale swept over the restless face of the deep and cast Roger's
boat bottom upwards upon the sandy beach, many believed that the
fisherman had again found the land of Ever Day.
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