At Wellcombe was an old man, Antony Cleverdon, from whom Mr. Hawker learned many charms, some of which he has given in his Footprints of Former Men. This old man, commonly called Uncle Tony, was a source of great amusement to the vicar, who delighted to visit and converse with him.
“Sir,” said Uncle Tony to him one day, “there is one thing I want to ask you, if I may be so free, and it is this: Why should a merrymaid (the local name for mermaid), that will ride upon the waters in such terrible storms, never lose her looking-glass and comb?”
“Well, I suppose,” answered the vicar, “that, if there are such creatures, Tony, they must wear their looking-glasses and combs fastened on somehow—like fins to a fish.”
“See!” said Tony, chuckling with delight, “what a thing it is to know the Scriptures like your reverence: I never should have found it out. But there’s another point, sir, I should like to know, if you please: I’ve been bothered about it in my mind hundreds of times. Here be I, that have gone up and down Wellcombe cliffs and streams fifty years come next Candlemas, and I’ve gone and watched the water by moonlight and sunlight, days and nights, on purpose, in rough weather and smooth (even Sundays too, saving your presence)—and my sight as good as most men’s—and yet I never could come to see a merrymaid in all my life! How’s that, sir?”
“Are you sure, Tony,” the vicar rejoined, “that there are such things in existence at all?”
“Oh, sir, my old father seen her twice! He was out once by night for wreck (my father watched the coast like many of the old people formerly), and it came to pass that he was down by the Duck Pool on the sand at low-water tide, and all at once he heard music in the sea. Well, he croped on behind a rock, like a coast-guard man watching a boat, and got very near the noise. He couldn’t make out the words, but the sound was exactly like Bill Martin’s voice that singed second counter in church: at last he got very near, and there was the merrymaid very plain to be seen, swimming about on the waves like a woman bathing, and singing away. But my father said it was very sad and solemn to hear—more like the tune of a funeral hymn than a Christmas carol, by far—but it was so sweet that it was as much as he could do to hold back from plunging into the tide after her. And he an old man of sixty-seven, with a wife and a houseful of children at home! The second time was down here by Wellcombe Pits. He had been looking out for spars: there was a ship breaking up in the Channel, and he saw some one move just at half-tide mark. So he went on very softly, step and step, till he got nigh the place; and there was the merrymaid sitting on a rock—the bootifullest merrymaid that eye could behold—and she was twisting about her long hair, and dressing it just like one of our girls getting ready for her sweetheart on a Sunday. The old man made sure he should greep hold of her round the waist, before ever she found him out; and he had got so near that a couple of paces more, and he would have caught her, as sure as tithe or tax, when, lo and behold, she looked back and glimpsed him! So in one moment she dived head foremost off the rock, and then tumbled herself topsy-turvy about in the water, and cast a look at my poor father, and grinned like a seal!”
CHAPTER VII
Condition of the Church last Century—Parson Radford—The Death of a Pluralist—Opposition Mr. Hawker met with—The Bryanites—Hunting the Devil—Bill Martin’s Prayer-meeting—Mr. Pengelly and the Candle-end—Cheated by a Tramp—Mr. Hawker and the Dissenters—Mr. B——’s Pew—A Special Providence over the Church—His Prayer when threatened with the Loss of St. John’s Well—Objections to Hysterical Religion—Mr. Vincent’s Hat—Regard felt for him by old Pupils—“He did not appreciate me”—Modryb Marya—A Parable—A Carol—Love of Children—Angels—A Sermon, “Here am I”.
The condition of the Church in the diocese of Exeter at the time when John Wesley appeared was piteous in the extreme. Non-residence was the rule: the services of the sanctuary were performed in the most slovenly manner, the sacraments were administered rarely and without due reverence in too many places, and pastoral visitation was neglected. The same state of things continued, only slightly improved, to the time when Mr. Hawker began his ministrations at Morwenstow.