Mary Barton Page #50

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								

Mary," with an emphasis on you, "some more of the wonders of the
sea, sin' you're not too wise to believe me. I have seen a fish fly."

This did stagger Mary. She had heard of mermaids as signs of inns,
and as sea-wonders, but never of flying fish. Not so Job. He put down
his pipe, and nodding his head as a token of approbation, he said

"Ay, ay! young man. Now you're speaking truth."

"Well now! you'll swallow that, old gentleman. You'll credit me when
I say I've seen a crittur half fish, half bird, and you won't credit
me when I say there be such beasts as mermaids, half fish, half
woman. To me, one's just as strange as t'other."

"You never saw the mermaid yoursel," interposed Margaret, gently. But
"love me, love my dog," was Will Wilson's motto, only his version was
"believe me, believe Jack Harris;" and the remark was not so soothing
to him as it was intended to have been.

"It's the Exocetus; one of the Malacopterygii Abdominales," said Job,
much interested.

"Ay, there you go! You're one o' them folks as never knows beasts
unless they're called out o' their names. Put 'em in Sunday clothes
and you know 'em, but in their work-a-day English you never know
nought about 'em. I've met wi' many o' your kidney; and if I'd ha'
known it, I'd ha' christened poor Jack's mermaid wi' some grand
gibberish of a name. Mermaidicus Jack Harrisensis; that's just like
their new-fangled words. D'ye believe there's such a thing as the
Mermaidicus, master?" asked Will, enjoying his own joke uncommonly,
as most people do.

"Not I! Tell me about the--"

"Well!" said Will, pleased at having excited the old gentleman's
faith and credit at last. "It were on this last voyage, about a day's
sail from Madeira, that one of our men--"

"Not Jack Harris, I hope," murmured Job.

"Called me," continued Will, not noticing the interruption, "to see
the what d'ye call it--flying fish I say it is. It were twenty feet
out o' water, and it flew near on to a hundred yards. But I say, old
gentleman, I ha' gotten one dried, and if you'll take it, why, I'll
give it you; only," he added, in a lower tone, "I wish you'd just gie
me credit for the Mermaidicus."

I really believe if the assuming faith in the story of the mermaid
had been made the condition of receiving the flying fish, Job Legh,
sincere man as he was, would have pretended belief; he was so much
delighted at the idea of possessing this specimen. He won the
sailor's heart by getting up to shake both his hands in his vehement
gratitude, puzzling poor old Alice, who yet smiled through her
wonder; for she understood the action to indicate some kindly feeling
towards her nephew.

Job wanted to prove his gratitude, and was puzzled how to do it.
He feared the young man would not appreciate any of his duplicate
Araneides; not even the great American Mygale, one of his most
precious treasures; or else he would gladly have bestowed any
duplicate on the donor of a real dried Exocetus. What could he do
for him? He could ask Margaret to sing. Other folks beside her old
doating grandfather thought a deal of her songs. So Margaret began
some of her noble old-fashioned songs. She knew no modern music (for
which her auditors might have been thankful), but she poured her rich
voice out in some of the old canzonets she had lately learnt while
accompanying the musical lecturer on his tour.

Mary was amused to see how the young sailor sat entranced; mouth,
eyes, all open, in order to catch every breath of sound. His very
lids refused to wink, as if afraid in that brief proverbial interval
to lose a particle of the rich music that floated through the room.
For the first time the idea crossed Mary's mind that it was possible
the plain little sensible Margaret, so prim and demure, might have
power over the heart of the handsome, dashing, spirited Will Wilson.

Job, too, was rapidly changing his opinion of his new guest. The
flying fish went a great way, and his undisguised admiration for
Margaret's singing carried him still further.

It was amusing enough to see these two, within the hour so barely
civil to each other, endeavouring now to be ultra-agreeable. Will,
as soon as he had taken breath (a long, deep gasp of admiration)
after Margaret's song, sidled up to Job, and asked him in a sort of
doubting tone,

"You wouldn't like a live Manx cat, would ye, master?"

"A what?" exclaimed Job.

"I don't know its best name," said Will, humbly. "But we call 'em
just Manx cats. They're cats without tails."

Now Job, in all his natural history, had never heard of such animals;
so Will continued,

"Because I'm going, afore joining my ship, to see mother's friends in
the island, and would gladly bring you one, if so be you'd like to
have it. They look as queer and out o' nature as flying fish, or"--he
gulped the words down that should have followed. "Especially when
you see 'em walking a roof-top, right again the sky, when a cat, as
is a proper cat, is sure to stick her tail stiff out behind, like a
slack-rope dancer a-balancing; but these cats having no tail, cannot
stick it out, which captivates some people uncommonly. If yo'll allow
me, I'll bring one for Miss there," jerking his head at Margaret. Job
assented with grateful curiosity, wishing much to see the tail-less
phenomenon.

"When are you going to sail?" asked Mary.

"I cannot justly say; our ship's bound for America next voyage, they
tell me. A mess-mate will let me know when her sailing-day is fixed;
but I've got to go to th' Isle o' Man first. I promised uncle last
time I were in England to go this next time. I may have to hoist the
blue Peter any day; so, make much of me while you have me, Mary."

Job asked him if he had ever been in America.

"Haven't I? North and South both! This time we're bound to North.
Yankee-Land, as we call it, where Uncle Sam lives."

"Uncle who?" said Mary.

"Oh, it's a way sailors have of speaking. I only mean I'm going to
Boston, U. S., that's Uncle Sam."

Mary did not understand, so she left him and went to sit by Alice,
who could not hear conversation unless expressly addressed to her.
She had sat patiently silent the greater part of the night, and now
greeted Mary with a quiet smile.

"Where's yo'r father?" asked she.

"I guess he's at his Union; he's there most evenings."

Alice shook her head; but whether it were that she did not hear, or
that she did not quite approve of what she heard, Mary could not
make out. She sat silently watching Alice, and regretting over her
dimmed and veiled eyes, formerly so bright and speaking; as if Alice
understood by some other sense what was passing in Mary's mind, she
turned suddenly round, and answered Mary's thought.

"Yo're mourning for me, my dear; and there's no need, Mary. I'm as
happy as a child. I sometimes think I am a child, whom the Lord is
hushabying to my long sleep. For when I were a nurse-girl, my missis
alway telled me to speak very soft and low, and to darken the room
that her little one might go to sleep; and now all noises are hushed
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