CHAPTER XII

Upliftings

The next day was one of cloudless sunshine – a day on which the busy farmers worked hard amongst their green crops, so as to have their hands free for the harvest which was fast approaching, a day on which the sailors set their sails to welcome the breeze, a day on which the crisp waves danced and the seagulls called to each other on the bay; but a day at Tregildas when a spell of silence seemed to have fallen upon everything, a sort of sabbath stillness which no footsteps on the dusty road disturbed, no trundling cart, no straying horses, but only the sparrows cheeped and the swallows twittered under the eaves. Sometimes an adventurous pig would escape from his unwonted durance, and trot down the village road, wondering most likely, what had become of the friends whom he was accustomed to rub ears with. But he was quickly followed and shooed back to his sty. Truth to tell, the day had been an irksome one to the animals and the children, as also to Captain Jack, who was tired of looking out through his window at the deserted road and listening to Marged Jones’s continual singing. One after another, and all in a minor key, she went through her whole repertory of hymns, until at last, irritated beyond endurance, her lodger took refuge in the sandy garden, and from thence, stepping over the low hedge of southernwood, roamed down to the breezy cliffs, from which he searched the horizon in vain for a sight of the Liliwen.

He was afraid to turn his steps towards the moor lest he should meet Nance, for her strange conduct of the night before had disturbed and startled him. ‘Poor Nance,’ he thought, ‘what has come over her? ’Tis folly to think she could prefer me to such a man as Gildas Rees, and he her husband too. What has come over her? I have been joking too much, and talking too much nonsense with her! I think she’d give up everything, to sail away with me in the Liliwen. Poor thing. Her heart is sore, and so is mine: what if we did sail away together? No one would have a right to grumble. Gildas has turned against her, Gwenifer will have none of me. If it was Gwenifer now!’ and he sighed as he strolled up and down the cliff, with his hands in the pockets of his wide trousers. ‘Poor Nance,’ he thought again, ‘I can’t be harsh to her.’ His eyes strayed over the moor to the little brown cot, whose whitewashed walls the evening sunlight was beginning to gild. Gwenifer! If she would only listen to his suit! What a different man he would be! and he sat down on the heather, to think out what he would be. Well – happy, content, and – oh strong, like Gildas Rees, and then he laughed at his own childishness. ‘In my deed,’ he said, ‘though I am such a hulking fellow, I believe I am only a child after all, else why would I be so restless, so easily led to any nonsense, as my mother used to say. Ach-y-fi, I am tired of myself! Yes, if any one wants the Diwygiad, ’tis Jack Davies, captain of the Liliwen.’

Down below the cliffs the sea splashed over the hard rocks, flinging its spray up into the sunset light; the breeze swept gently by him, he heard the seabirds calling over the water, and, throwing himself back on the soft grass, in a few minutes fell into a deep sleep. No wonder that he slept, for kind Mother Nature lulled him to rest with her soothing song of wind and wave. In all the crystal clearness of that evening air, no sign was there of any watcher over him; yet, riding hard upon the wings of destiny, powerful and fateful influences were reaching out towards Captain Jack. The lark rose singing from her nest beside him, and yet he slept; the grasses bent and brushed his face, still he slept on – until at last with a start he awoke and sat up, to see the sun just sinking behind the sea, leaving a shining path of gold upon the waters, at which he stared in bewilderment. The bark of a dog reached his ears, ‘Cardi,’ Jerri’s dog. He knew it well! And surely there was the sound of a horse and cart. Hurriedly he looked at his watch, and seeing it was eight o’clock, realised that he had slept long, that Evan Roberts was to preach at Brynzion, and that he must hasten there if he was to gain an entrance.

On reaching the village he found the roadway thronged, as it had been the night before, with hundreds of eager men and women who had thought it no trouble to walk many miles from their homes on the chance of being able to hear Evan Roberts, or at least to catch a glimpse of him.

The chapel was full to overflowing, the courtyard too, and the surrounding slope. It was impossible any one could hear the evangelist, except those who were inside the chapel; but they could join in the singing, and perhaps the Spirit would visit them in the open air! So they adjourned to the flat on which the kiln stood, and there in the twilight they held their prayer meeting, with only the pale blue sky of evening over them.

When the singing from the chapel swept out on the breeze they joined their voices to the swelling strains, and the evangelist, standing in the pulpit, caught the sound through the open doorway, and was cheered and uplifted into a fervour of spiritual warmth which spread to the crowd around him. His clear earnest eyes scanned the throng of eager faces, he saw the rough hands clasped in nervous tension, and with the spiritual intuition of a ‘Sensitive,’ he seemed to feel the unrest of their souls, to hear the cry of their most secret longings; and moved to the heart by their expectant faces, he set himself to answer their call.

Outside, Captain Jack, having arrived at the doorway, found himself firmly wedged in the crowd, and almost despaired of gaining an entrance into the chapel; but when he desired anything, be it good or bad, he was not easily turned from his purpose, so by dint of sheer determination he thrust himself sideways through the human mass, and made his way into the centre of the building, where he was content to stand in the crowd, rejoicing to find himself near enough to see and hear with ease. Amongst the sea of human faces turned towards the pulpit, his would not have been noticeable had it not been for the determined manner in which he had worked his way through the crowd; but this seemed to have attracted the notice of the preacher, who, as soon as the sailor had come to a standstill, caught sight of the eager face, the bronzed skin, the light blue eyes so deeply shaded by their long lashes, and remembered the man who had led the refrain in the moonlight.

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes; it was only momentary, but Captain Jack caught it as he stood there, his eyes fixed earnestly upon the evangelist. The look of recognition was followed by a smile, and the same wave on the hand with which he had shown his appreciation of the singing the night before. A fleeting smile, a transient look, perhaps, but one that laid hold of the sailor’s warm impressionable heart. ‘He knows me! He remembers me!’ he thought, and during the ensuing three hours’ service those blue eyes never wavered in their fixed and serious gaze; that restless heart never lost its deep interest in the simple words with which the evangelist riveted the attention of his hearers.

Often had they heard more fervid eloquence, more ardent appeals, from that pulpit. What was it, then, in the plain unadorned language of this simple son of the soil that spoke to their inner consciousness, and seemed to call to his hearers with a voice of awakening power? What but the Spirit of God, that poured itself into this earnest prayerful soul, and sent through him its message of love to the sad, the struggling, the sinning denizens of this lower world. What if the words in which that message was clothed by the imperfect human medium sometimes grated on ears sophisticated and tastes refined! What if they spoke of a narrow creed, a crude theology! How should this affect the heavenly message which burnt in the evangelist’s heart?

Leaning over the pulpit, he preached not, but spoke to his listeners – one human soul conversing with his fellow travellers on the road of life, clothing his thoughts in simple words and graphic similes. His sympathetic voice reached every corner of the chapel, and spoke to it alone; his clear magnetic gaze compelled the attention, and seemed to read the very thoughts of those who hung so hungrily upon his words.

‘Friends,’ he said, ‘have any of you seen, as I have, a balloon, just ready to commence its aerial flight? It has been made for that flight; every cord, every yard of silk, has been joined, and fitted together, for that purpose. It was the design of its maker that it should soar above the earth, should rise to higher altitudes than ours, to purer air, to clearer skies. And see! Though it is still bound to the ground, it begins to answer to its maker’s designs, for a cord or two have been loosened! It rocks! it sways! it rises! but falls again to earth; and why? Because one cord still keeps it bound, one rope remains unsevered; and so that wonderful machine, with its graceful curves of use and beauty, remains attached to the earth, a useless object, a thing that does not fulfil the intentions of its maker! Alas, how sad! But see! The last cord is cut! the last restraining bond is broken! and lo! now it strains, it trembles, it rises, it soars above the clouds of earth, away, away towards the light. Do you see the simile, dear friends? Do you understand why the sight of that balloon bore in upon my heart the thought of you, of me, of all poor sin-bound creatures! Intended by our Maker to rise above the sordid cares, the gloom, the sorrows of earth, but fast bound to it by cords that keep us swaying between earth and heaven. Sometimes we rise a little, we feel the heavenly breezes, we reach towards the clear blue sky; but still we linger on attached to earth. Perhaps we have cut away and cast from us some of the cords that bound us, some of the sins that kept us grovelling on earth; and still we do not rise above the world, and why? Because one cord remains unsevered – one secret sin, the hardest of all, to overcome! Sever it! cut that cord! fling it from you, and behold! how you spurn the sordid things of earth! You rise above them, and away, away you soar, to clearer air, to bluer skies. God speed you on your way!’ And kneeling down, the evangelist broke into passionate pleadings, which seemed to reach the very hearts of his hearers. The upturned faces flushed and worked with some strong yearning; and as if with one impulse the whole congregation burst into a volume of song, drowning the prayers of the evangelist, who rose from his knees and joined his voice to the impassioned harmony, in one of the old soul-stirring hymns which have so strong a hold upon the emotions of the Welsh; and as he sang with deep feeling, he looked round upon the crowd, and once again his eyes and Captain Jack’s met in a long and searching gaze – a look that on the one hand seemed to ask, ‘Friend, what is wrong with you?’ and on the other to answer, ‘I don’t know, but all is wrong with me; give me peace, and give me happiness!’ while the singing still went on, each verse repeated twice and thrice with increasing fervour.

At last it ceased, and a breathless silence fell upon the meeting – the very air seemed full of a throbbing expectation; until from some mysterious depths there floated in upon their consciousness a power, an influence, indescribable, but strongly felt as if an invisible presence were amongst them. The Spirit! for whose advent they had prayed so long. The Spirit! who had raised so many of their friends from sin to righteousness, from darkness to light, had come; and Brynzion was no longer despised and rejected!

Suddenly the spell of silence was broken, cries of penitence, songs of rejoicing, shouts of joy filled the air; and in their midst Captain Jack stood transfixed, bewildered, moved to his very soul. What was this mysterious influence that flowed in upon the roving sailor’s heart compelling him with irresistible power to turn away from the darkness of the past, and set his face towards the light, the peace, the purity which the words of the evangelist revealed. With a cry, as if of physical pain, Captain Jack succumbed to the strange power that fell upon his spirit; and although those who stood round him saw nothing of it, nor heard his cry of pain in that tumultuous sea of excitement, yet to him that single moment was the turning point, the climax, in his life of recklessness. They saw only his pale and haggard face, the look of startled anxiety, the beads of sweat upon his forehead; and recognising the signs of a spiritual upheaval, they endeavoured to make way for him, and to help him to reach the large square pew below the pulpit reserved for the newly converted. As yet it was empty, save for the presence of the evangelist, who had descended into it, and now stood looking at the moving mass of people. In a quiet voice that sometimes changed to one of almost anguished persuasion, he spoke of Him who stood waiting for them, even now; whose tender voice was calling to them; whose feet had trod the rough roads of Judea; who had lain sleepless under the starry sky of night, and had poured forth his soul in prayers and vigils for the sinful and sorrowful. Almost Captain Jack could see the face of heavenly beauty, could hear the pleading tones, ‘Come unto me… and I will give you rest.’

But it was not to reach the evangelist that he was making such strenuous efforts. In the sailor’s heart a strong reaction had set in, a tide of opposing feelings which made him shrink from the publicity of the ‘sêt fawr.’ Yes, he thought, he would turn from his evil ways, he would change his life, but would not be forced into a public confession of his sins; and with a wrench he broke away from this strange ‘power’ that was painting his past in such lurid colours, and drawing him, with bands that were irresistible, away from his old familiar moorings. He struggled, almost fought his way through the close-packed congregation, and, at last reaching the doorway, staggered out into the cool night air. A few moments he stood panting and inhaling long breaths of the pure sea-breeze, then, turning his face towards the moor, he hurried away, away, alone under the stars, where he could face this mysterious power that was holding his heart in its grip. But it was only to find that, walk he never so far, nor so fast, neither moor nor mountain, nor time, nor distance, could bear him away from the cry of an awakened conscience; and so absorbed was he in his self-communings that he had not observed that his steps had taken him close to Gwenifer’s cottage, and he started when he saw the glimmer of light in her tiny window.

Gwenifer! Oh for a touch of her little brown hand upon his forehead! Oh for a look into her calm brown eyes! Never had he longed so much for her presence, never had he felt so unworthy of it. No! he would not even approach the window, nor seek one glance at her face until – when, he knew not, for, as he turned towards the bay, he caught sight of a light that rose and fell with the heaving tide, and, peering through the starlight at the black hulk, he recognised the Liliwen and her mast light. ‘Thank God!’ he exclaimed aloud. ‘Out there on the sea I shall be safe. No more loitering on land for me, for it is full of pitfalls and temptations for a fool of a sailor’; and running down to Maldraeth, he scrambled round the base of the crags to avoid passing through the village, and, reaching Tregildas beach, unmoored Jerri’s boat, and springing into it sculled towards the wavering light, with a feverish longing to leave the land behind him. When he reached the silent ship, he shouted ‘Hoi, Hoi’ and hearing the mate’s answering ‘Halloa,’ felt more like himself than he had for some time. There was no further greeting than a smiling, ‘Well, cap’n,’ from the mate, and an answering, ‘Well’ from the captain, as he climbed on board; but later on, they descended to the cabin together, and by the light of the tallow candle discussed their business affairs – the cost of repairs, the nature of the cargo, etc., etc.. Suddenly John Davies looked critically at his friend.

‘Well indeed, cap’n, you are not looking first-class. That’s what I say; it’s no good being too long on land. It’s all right for a bit, but dei anwl! when I have been a fortnight ashore, I can’t sleep, and I can’t eat, and I’m quite ready for the ropes and the sails again.’

‘That’s it,’ said the captain, ‘I haven’t slept well this week past; what with the dogs barking at night and the cocks crowing in the morning, ’twas impossible.’

‘And how’s the Diwygiad getting on at Tregildas? ’Spose you haven’t been converted yet, cap’n?’ said the mate, with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Converted, no!’ said Captain Jack, ‘I am the same bad lot as ever, I’m afraid! Hark ye, mate, there’s something in it. As sure as I am sitting here, there’s something comes into those meetings besides the people.’

‘Well, so I suppose,’ said the mate, who was an observant and by no means callous man, in spite of his boisterous manner. ‘They’ve been praying so long for the Spirit that they’ve got an answer perhaps – if not, where’s the sense of praying? Stands to reason.’ But the captain seemed disinclined for further conversation.

‘Will I scull in and take Jerri’s boat in tow?’ said the mate at last, seeing that his friend had what he called one of his ‘moods’ upon him.

‘Yes, go you, and I’ll go to bed, and see if I can sleep on sea, whatever,’ said the captain. ‘If I fail ’twill be the first time in my life,’ and with scant ceremony he ‘turned in.’ But in spite of the familiar lapping of the waves on the ship’s side, and the soothing sound of the breeze in the rigging, he lay awake in his bunk, and the pale dawn was beginning to grow rosy beyond the brown Scethryg moor before he fell asleep.