FullReads

But if we were comfortable then, you should have seen us at the end of our two months, when the boat came off with the relief, and took us on shore. John and Robert Pendlurian were the names of the relief; brothers they were, oldsters of about fifty-five and fifty; and John Pendlurian, the elder, a widow-man same as my father, but with a daughter at home. Living in the Islands, of course I’d known Bathsheba ever since we’d sat in infant-school; and what more natural than to ask after her health, along with the other news? But Old John got to look sly and wink at my father when we came to this question, out of the hundred others. And the other two would take it up and wink back solemn as mummers. I never lost my temper with the old idiots: ’twasn’t worth while.

But the treat of all was to set foot on the quay-steps, and the people crowding round and shaking your hand and chattering; and everything ashore going on just as you’d left it, and you not wishing it other, and everybody glad to see you all the same; and the smell of the gardens and the stinking fish at the quay-corner–you might choose between them, but home was in both; and the nets drying; and to be out of oilskins and walking to meeting-house on the Sunday, and standing up there with the congregation, all singing in company, and the women taking stock of you till the newness wore off; and the tea-drinking, and Band of Hopes, and courants, and dances. We had all the luck of these; for the two Pendlurians, being up in years and easily satisfied so long as they were left quiet, were willing to take their holidays in the dull months, beginning with February and March. And so I had April and May, when a man can always be happy ashore; and August and September, which is the best of the fishing and all the harvest and harvest games; and again, December and January, with the courants and geesy-dancing, and carols and wassail-singing. Early one December, when he came to relieve us, Old John said to me in a haphazard way, “It’s all very well for me and Robert, my lad; for us two can take equal comfort in singin’ ‘Star o’ Bethl’em‘ ashore or afloat; but I reckon ’tis somebody’s place to see that Bathsheba don’t miss any of the season’s joy an’ dancin’ on our account.”

Now, Bathsheba had an unmarried aunt–Aunt Hessy Pendlurian we called her–that used to take her to all the parties and courants when Old John was away at sea. So she wasn’t likely to miss any of the fun, bein’ able to foot it as clever as any girl in the Islands. She had the love of it, too–foot and waist and eyes all a-dancing, and body and blood all a-tingle as soon as ever the fiddle spoke. Maybe this same speech of Old John’s set me thinking. Or, maybe I’d been thinking already–what with their May-game hints and the loneliness out there. Anyway, I dangled pretty close on Bathsheba’s heels all that Christmas. She was comely–you understand–very comely and tall, with dark blood, and eyes that put you in mind of a light shining steady upon dark water. And good as gold. She’s dead and gone these twelve years–rest her soul! But (praise God for her!) I’ve never married another woman nor wanted to.

There, I’ve as good as told you already! When the time came and I asked her if she liked me, she said she liked no man half so well: and that being as it should be, the next thing was to put up the banns. There wasn’t time that holiday: like a fool, I had been dilly-dallying too long, though I believe now I might have asked her a month before. So the wedding was held in the April following, my father going out to the Gunnel for a couple of days, so that Old John might be ashore to give his daughter away. The most I mind of the wedding was the wonder of beholding the old chap there in a long-tailed coat, having never seen him for years but in his oilskins.