The Quantum Revolution A Historical Perspective 1st Edition Kent A. Peacock
- 1. The Quantum Revolution A Historical Perspective 1st Edition Kent A. Peacock pdf download https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-quantum-revolution-a- historical-perspective-1st-edition-kent-a-peacock/ Explore and download more ebooks or textbooks at ebookfinal.com
- 2. We have selected some products that you may be interested in Click the link to download now or visit ebookfinal.com for more options!. The dark matter problem A historical perspective Robert H. Sanders https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-dark-matter-problem-a-historical- perspective-robert-h-sanders/ Jungians A Comparative and Historical Perspective 1st Edition Thomas B Kirsch https://ebookfinal.com/download/jungians-a-comparative-and-historical- perspective-1st-edition-thomas-b-kirsch/ Erwin Schrodinger and the Quantum Revolution 1st Edition John Gribbin https://ebookfinal.com/download/erwin-schrodinger-and-the-quantum- revolution-1st-edition-john-gribbin/ Investigating Education in Germany Historical studies from a British perspective 1st Edition David Phillips https://ebookfinal.com/download/investigating-education-in-germany- historical-studies-from-a-british-perspective-1st-edition-david- phillips/
- 3. Charitable giving and tax policy a historical and comparative perspective First Edition Fack https://ebookfinal.com/download/charitable-giving-and-tax-policy-a- historical-and-comparative-perspective-first-edition-fack/ Comprehending Antisemitism through the Ages A Historical Perspective An End to Antisemitism 3 1st Edition Armin Lange https://ebookfinal.com/download/comprehending-antisemitism-through- the-ages-a-historical-perspective-an-end-to-antisemitism-3-1st- edition-armin-lange/ Quantum mechanics and quantum information A guide through the quantum world 1st Edition Fayngold M. https://ebookfinal.com/download/quantum-mechanics-and-quantum- information-a-guide-through-the-quantum-world-1st-edition-fayngold-m/ The French Revolution in Global Perspective 1st Edition Suzanne Desan https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-french-revolution-in-global- perspective-1st-edition-suzanne-desan/ The Building of the First Temple A Study in Redactional Text Critical and Historical Perspective 1st Edition Peter Dubovský https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-building-of-the-first-temple-a- study-in-redactional-text-critical-and-historical-perspective-1st- edition-peter-dubovsky/
- 5. The Quantum Revolution A Historical Perspective 1st Edition Kent A. Peacock Digital Instant Download Author(s): Kent A. Peacock ISBN(s): 9780313334481, 031333448X Edition: 1 File Details: PDF, 3.48 MB Year: 2007 Language: english
- 6. The Quantum Revolution: A Historical Perspective Kent A. Peacock Greenwood Press
- 8. Titles in Greenwood Guides to Great Ideas in Science Brian Baigrie, Series Editor Electricity and Magnetism: A Historical Perspective Brian Baigrie Evolution: A Historical Perspective Bryson Brown The Chemical Element: A Historical Perspective Andrew Ede The Gene: A Historical Perspective Ted Everson The Cosmos: A Historical Perspective Craig G. Fraser Planetary Motions: A Historical Perspective Norriss S. Hetherington Heat and Thermodynamics: A Historical Perspective Christopher J. T. Lewis The Quantum Revolution: A Historical Perspective Kent A. Peacock Forces in Physics: A Historical Perspective Steven Shore
- 9. The Quantum Revolution A Historical Perspective Kent A. Peacock Greenwood Guides to Great Ideas in Science Brian Baigrie, Series Editor Greenwood Press Westport, Connecticut • London
- 10. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Peacock, Kent A., 1952– The quantum revolution : a historical perspective / Kent A. Peacock. p. cm. — (Greenwood guides to great ideas in science, ISSN 1559–5374) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978–0–313–33448–1 (alk. paper). 1. Quantum theory— History—Popular works. I. Title. QC173.98.P43 2008 530.1209—dc22 2007039786 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 2008 by Kent A. Peacock All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2007039786 ISBN-13: 978–0–313–33448–1 ISSN: 1559–5374 First published in 2008 Greenwood Press, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.greenwood.com Printed in the United States of America The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48–1984). 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
- 11. Contents List of Illustrations vii Series Foreword ix Preface xi Acknowledgments xiii Introduction: Why Learn the History of Quantum Mechanics? xv 1 The Twilight of Certainty 1 2 Einstein and Light 15 3 The Bohr Atom and Old Quantum Theory 29 4 Uncertain Synthesis 45 5 Dualities 63 6 Elements of Physical Reality 79 7 Creation and Annihilation 93 8 Quantum Mechanics Goes to Work 107 9 Symmetries and Resonances 119 10 “The Most Profound Discovery of Science” 133 11 Bits, Qubits, and the Ultimate Computer 149 12 Unfinished Business 161 Timeline 175 Glossary 185 Further Reading 195 References 211 Index 213
- 13. list of Illustrations 1.1 Max Planck. 2 1.2 Light Waves. 4 1.3 The Electromagnetic Spectrum. 5 1.4 Planck’s Law. 14 2.1 Fluctuations and Brownian Motion. 17 2.2 Spacetime According to Minkowski. 20 3.1 Spectral Lines. 30 3.2 Niels Bohr. 36 3.3 Energy Levels in the Bohr Atom. 38 4.1 Werner Heisenberg. 51 4.2 Erwin Schrödinger. 54 4.3 Typical Electron Orbitals. 56 4.4 Heisenberg’s Microscope. 60 5.1 Paul Dirac. 66 5.2 The Dirac Sea. 68 5.3 The Double Slit Experiment. 74 6.1 Niels Bohr and Albert Einstein. 80 6.2 Schrödinger’s Cat. 82 6.3 The EPR Apparatus. 89 7.1 Feynman Diagrams. 101 7.2 There Is Only One Electron in the Universe! 102 7.3 Richard P. Feynman. 103 8.1 Barrier Penetration. 108 8.2 Lise Meitner. 110 8.3 The Laser. 115
- 14. 9.1 Typical Bubble Chamber Tracks. 121 9.2 Table of “Elementary” Particles in the Standard Model. 126 10.1 David Bohm. 134 10.2 John S. Bell. 138 10.3 The Aspect Experiment. 140 10.4 Bob Phones Alice on the Bell Telephone. 144 11.1 Classical Turing Machine. 150 11.2 Quantum Turing Machine. 151 11.3 Quantum Teleportation. 158 12.1 The Hawking Effect. 169 12.2 The Unruh Effect. 169 12.3 Stephen Hawking. 170 viii List of Illustrations
- 15. Series Foreword The volumes in this series are devoted to concepts that are fundamental to different branches of the natural sciences—the gene, the quantum, geologi- cal cycles, planetary motion, evolution, the cosmos, and forces in nature, to name just a few. Although these volumes focus on the historical development of scientific ideas, the underlying hope of this series is that the reader will gain a deeper understanding of the process and spirit of scientific practice. In particular, in an age in which students and the public have been caught up in debates about controversial scientific ideas, it is hoped that readers of these volumes will better appreciate the provisional character of scientific truths by discovering the manner in which these truths were established. The history of science as a distinctive field of inquiry can be traced to the early seventeenth century when scientists began to compose histories of their own fields. As early as 1601, the astronomer and mathematician Johannes Kepler composed a rich account of the use of hypotheses in astronomy. During the ensuing three centuries, these histories were increasingly integrated into elementary textbooks, the chief purpose of which was to pinpoint the dates of discoveries as a way of stamping out all too frequent propriety disputes, and to highlight the errors of predecessors and contemporaries. Indeed, histori cal introductions in scientific textbooks continued to be common well into the twentieth century. Scientists also increasingly wrote histories of their disci- plines—separate from those that appeared in textbooks—to explain to a broad popular audience the basic concepts of their science. The history of science remained under the auspices of scientists until the establishment of the field as a distinct professional activity in the middle of the twentieth century. As academic historians assumed control of history of science writing, they expended enormous energies in the attempt to forge a distinct and autonomous discipline. The result of this struggle to position the history of science as an intellectual endeavor that was valuable in its own right,
- 16. and not merely in consequence of its ties to science, was that historical studies of the natural sciences were no longer composed with an eye toward educat- ing a wide audience that included nonscientists, but instead were composed with the aim of being consumed by other professional historians of science. And as historical breadth was sacrificed for technical detail, the literature be- came increasingly daunting in its technical detail. While this scholarly work increased our understanding of the nature of science, the technical demands imposed on the reader had the unfortunate consequence of leaving behind the general reader. As Series Editor, my ambition for these volumes is that they will combine the best of these two types of writing about the history of science. In step with the general introductions that we associate with historical writing by scien- tists, the purpose of these volumes is educational—they have been authored with the aim of making these concepts accessible to students—high school, college, and university—and to the general public. However, the scholars who have written these volumes are not only able to impart genuine enthusiasm for the science discussed in the volumes of this series, they can use the research and analytic skills that are the staples of any professional historian and phi- losopher of science to trace the development of these fundamental concepts. My hope is that a reader of these volumes will share some of the excitement of these scholars—for both science, and its history. Brian Baigrie University of Toronto Series Editor Series Foreword
- 17. Preface This book is a short version of the story of quantum mechanics. It is meant for anyone who wants to know more about this strange and fascinating theory that continues to transform our view of the physical world. To set forth quantum physics in all its glorious detail takes a lot of mathematics, some of it quite complicated and abstract, but it is possible to get a pretty accurate feeling for the subject from a story well told in words and pictures. There are almost no mathematical formulas in this book, and what few there are can be skimmed without seriously taking away from the storyline. If you would like to learn more about quantum mechanics, the books and Web pages I describe in “Fur- ther Reading” can lead you as far into the depths of the subject as you wish to go. One thing this book does not do is to present a systematic account of all of the interpretations that have been offered of quantum mechanics. That would take another book at least as long. However, certain influential interpretations of quantum theory (such as the Copenhagen Interpretation, the causal inter- pretation, and the many-world theory) are sketched because of their historical importance. Quantum mechanics is often said to be the most successful physical theory of all time, and there is much justification for this claim. But, as we shall see, it remains beset with deep mysteries and apparent contradictions. Despite its tremendous success, it remains a piece of unfinished business. It is the young people of today who will have to solve the profound puzzles that still remain, and this little work is dedicated to them and their spirit of inquiry.
- 19. Acknowledgments My own research in foundations of quantum mechanics has been supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Uni- versity of Lethbridge and the University of Western Ontario. For valuable dis- cussions, suggestions, guidance, and support in various ways I thank Brian Baigrie, Bryson Brown, James Robert Brown, Jed Buchwald, Kevin deLaplante, Kevin Downing, Brian Hepburn, Jordan Maclay, Ralph Pollock, and (espe- cially) Sharon Simmers.
- 21. Introduction: Why Learn the History of Quantum Mechanics? This book tells the story of quantum mechanics. But what is quantum mechan- ics? There are very precise and technical answers to this question, but they are not very helpful to the beginner. Worse, even the experts disagree about exactly what the essence of quantum theory really is. Roughly speaking, quantum me- chanics is the branch of physical science that deals with the very small—the atoms and elementary particles that make up our physical world. But even that description is not quite right, since there is increasing evidence that quantum mechanical effects can occur at any size scale. There is even good reason to think that we cannot understand the origins of the universe itself without quantum theory. It is more accurate, although still not quite right, to say that quantum mechanics is something that started as a theory of the smallest bits of matter and energy. However, the message of this book is that the growth of quantum mechanics is not finished, and therefore in a very important sense we still do not know what it really is. Quantum mechanics is revolutionary because it overturned scientific concepts that seemed to be so obvious and so well confirmed by experience that they were beyond reasonable question, but it is an incomplete revolution because we still do not know precisely where quantum mechanics will lead us—nor even why it must be true! The history of a major branch of science like quantum physics can be viewed in several ways. The most basic approach to see the history of quantum me- chanics is as the story of the discovery of a body of interrelated facts (whatever a “fact” is), but we can also view our story as a history of the concepts of the theory, a history of beautiful though sometimes strange mathematical equa- tions, a history of scientific papers, a history of crucial experiments and mea- surements, and a history of physical models. But science is also a profoundly human enterprise; its development is conditioned by the trends and accidents of history, and by the abilities, upbringing, and quirks of its creators. The history of science is not just a smooth progression of problems being solved
- 22. one after the other by highly competent technicians, who all agree with each other about how their work should be done. It is by no means clear that it is inevitable that we would have arrived where we are now if the history of sci- ence could be rerun. Politics, prejudice, and the accidents of history play their part (as we shall see, for instance, in the dramatic story of David Bohm). Thus, the history of quantum mechanics is also the story of the people who made it, and along the way I will sketch brief portraits of some of these brilliant and complex individuals. Quantum mechanics is one of the high points in humanity’s ongoing attempt to understand and cope with the vast and mysterious universe in which we find ourselves, and the history of modern physics—with its failures and triumphant insights—is one of the great stories of human accomplishment of our time. Why Would Anyone Be Interested in History of Science? Learning a little history of science is one of the most interesting and painless ways of learning a little of the science itself, and knowing something about the people who created a branch of science helps to put a human face on the succession of abstract scientific concepts. Furthermore, knowing at least the broad outlines of the history of science is simply part of general cultural literacy, since we live in a world that is in- fluenced deeply by science. Everyone needs to know something about what science is and how it developed. But the history of modern physics, especially quantum physics, presents an especially interesting puzzle to the historian. In the brief period from 1900 to 1935 there occurred one of the most astonishing outbursts of scientific creativity in all of history. Of course, much has been done in science since then, but with the perspective of hindsight it seems that no other historical era has crammed so much scientific creativity, so many discoveries of new ideas and techniques, into so few years. Although a few outstanding individuals dominate—Albert Einstein (of course!), Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg, Wolfgang Pauli, Paul Dirac, and Erwin Schrödinger stand out in particular—they were assisted in their work by an army of highly tal- ented scientists and technicians. This constellation of talented people arose precisely at a time when their societies were ready to provide them with the resources they needed to do their work, and also ready to accept the advances in knowledge that they deliv- ered. The scientists who created quantum theory were (mostly) not embattled heretics like Galileo, because they did not have to be—their work usually was supported, encouraged, and welcomed by their societies (even if their societies were at times a bit puzzled as to what that work meant). The period in which quantum mechanics was created is thus comparable to a handful of other brilliant episodes in history—such as ancient Athens in her glory, or the England of Elizabeth I—when a multitude of historical factors somehow combined to allow the most talented people to do the best work of which they were capable. xvi Introduction
- 23. Introduction xvii Exactly why do these amazing outbursts of creativity occur? And what could we do to make them happen more regularly? These questions certainly can’t be answered in this modest book, but the history of quantum mechanics is an outstanding case study for this large and very important problem. Why Should Scientists Learn History of Science? For the general public, history of science is an important part of culture; for the scientist, history of science is itself a sometimes neglected research tool (Feyerabend 1978). It may seem odd to suggest that knowing the history of a science can aid research in that science. But the history of science has par- ticular value as a research tool precisely because it allows us to see that some of the assumptions on which present-day science is based might have been otherwise—and perhaps, in some cases, should have been. Sometimes, when science is presented in elementary textbooks and taught in high school or col- lege, one is given the impression that every step along the way was inevitable and logical. In fact, science often has advanced by fits and starts, with numer- ous wrong turns, dead ends, missed opportunities, and arbitrary assumptions. Retracing the development of science might allow us to come at presently insoluble problems from a different angle. We might realize that somewhere along the line we got off track, and if we were to go back to that point and start over we might avoid the problems we have now. Science is no different than any other sort of problem-solving activity in that, if one is stuck, there often can be no more effective way of getting around the logjam than going back and rethinking the whole problem from the beginning. The history of science also helps to teach modern-day scientists a certain degree of humility. It is sobering to learn that scientific claims that are now treated as near-dogma (for instance, the theory of continental drift or the fact that meteors are actual rocks falling from the sky) were once laughed at by conventional science, while theories such as Newtonian mechanics that were once regarded as unquestionable are now understood to be merely approxi- mately correct, if not completely wrong for some applications. Many of the new ideas of quantum mechanics were found to be literally unbelievable, even by their creators, and in the end they were accepted not because we understood them or were comfortable with them, but because nature told us that they were true. The history of quantum theory can also teach us much about the process of scientific discovery. How did Planck, Schrödinger, Heisenberg, or Dirac arrive at their beautiful equations? It may seem surprising to someone not familiar with theoretical physics to realize that there is no way of deducing the key equations of new theories from facts about the phenomena or from previously accepted theories. Rather, many of the most important developments in mod- ern physics started with what physicists call an Ansatz, a German word that literally means “a start,” but which in physics can also be taken as an inspired insight or lucky guess. The new formulas are accepted because they allow a
- 24. xviii Introduction unified deduction of facts that had previously been considered to be unrelated and because they lead to new predictions that get confirmed by experiment. So we often end up with a scientific law expressed in mathematical form that works very well in the sense that we can learn how to use it to predict what will happen in concrete physical situations, but we do not understand why it can make those predictions. It just works, so we keep using it and hope that some day we will understand it better. We now have a branch of physics, quantum mechanics, which is the most powerful and effective theory of physics ever developed in the sense that it gives unprecedented powers of prediction and intervention in nature. Yet it remains mysterious, for despite the great success of quantum mechanics, we must admit in all humility that we don’t know why it must be true, and many of its predictions seem to defy what most people think of as “common sense.” Quantum mechanics was, as this history will show, a surprise sprung on us by nature. To the story of how this monumental surprise unfolded we now turn.
- 25. 1 The Twilight of Certainty Max Chooses a Career The time had come for Max Planck to make a career choice. He was fascinated by physics, but a well-meaning professor at the University of Munich told him that he should turn to music as a profession because there were no more im- portant discoveries to be made in physics. The year was 1875. Young Max was an exceptionally talented pianist, and the advice that he should become a musician seemed reasonable. But he stubbornly chose phys- ics anyway. Max was motivated not so much by a yearning to make great dis- coveries, as an aspiring young scientist might be today, but rather by an almost religious desire to understand the laws of nature more deeply. Perhaps this motivation had something to do with his upbringing, for his ancestors included pastors and jurists, and his father was a professor of law at the University of Kiel. As a student he was especially impressed by the recently discovered First Law of Thermodynamics, which states that the energy books must always balance—the total amount of energy in a physical system never changes even though that energy can appear in many different forms. To Planck, the First Law seemed to express the ideal of science in its purest form, for it was a law that did not seem (to him!) to be a mere descriptive convenience for humans, but rather something that held true exactly, universally, and without qualifica- tion. It is ironic that the deeply conservative Planck would become the one to trigger quantum mechanics, the most revolutionary of all scientific develop- ments. As we shall see, however, Planck was also possessed of unusual intel- lectual integrity, and the great discovery he was eventually to make had much to do with the fact that he was among those relatively rare people who can change their minds when the evidence demands it.
- 26. Discovering Diverse Content Through Random Scribd Documents
- 27. “Now you show yourself to be the sensible man wot I’ve ever took you for,” replied the rat-faced, “and here’s my little plan according. To-morrow, being the wedding-day, you begs leave to have a word with the bride. You suggests a barrel of apples for her acceptance with your werry best compliments, and if you make so bold as to ask, does the lady stay at Boo-lone, or does she travel? Mistress Bluett, as is to be, answers according, and you congratulates her on her opportoonities of a seafaring life. “You says you have a favour to ask her, and you knows of a poor sail-maker at Boo-lone; and might you make so bold as to beg Mrs. Bluett to let a sack of sail-yarn, odd pieces and leavings, in short, a package o’ mixed goods, go on board the captain’s vessel, and be left at Boo-lone? You’d take it werry pleasant of her if she’d be agreeable, and you tip her a little tale of the hunchback and his mother, and the hard life they have of it, and how you knows of ’em through being so werry particular to recognise the King’s laws in the matter of liquor, your sister’s husband being in the trade. One thing and another, you’ll have this bale o’ goods all ready, and your speech about it said, just about the moment of starting, when folks’ thoughts are swinging like bees in a wind, and they’re already more in the place they’re going to, than where they’re standing at the time. And what with the good-byes and the God-bless-yous, and the village crowding down to see them off, and you or me carrying the package, and the lad all the time inside it, as tight as a cauliflower, and thanks to you and starvation weighing about half his size, and so on to the boat with a jack-knife in his pocket to cut his way out again, according to instructions and stripes.” The whining voice ceased, and the two men sat in silence. Then Crumblejohn moved uneasily in his chair. “A power o’ talking, Rat,” he said, “you’ve allowed me, a power of talking.” “And it’s talking you’ve got to do this time, Crumblejohn; don’t you make any mistake. You’ve got this lot out of the cave all right, and you’ve got the vaults filled up in time before the company. But if we
- 28. have another run of goods before we get this lot up-country, there’ll be more trouble than you nor me can do away with. I haven’t read Dan’l’s letters in his coat pocket for nothing, when he was washing himself at the pump.” Crumblejohn enjoyed this immensely. “Ye don’t tell me he carries his orders about with him for all the world to see? A wal’able servant of the Crown, ’pon my honour. Rat, you’re a wily one.” “And wily-er than you’d suppose, for Dan’l warn’t such an innercent as you’d be ready to think. He didn’t keep his letters so careless neither. But I’ve been watching him, and what I learned when he was at the pump ’s only a trifle to what I’ve learned by signs and tokens.” The inn-keeper knocked the ashes from his pipe. Then he rose from his chair, ponderously. “I wish you hadn’t given me such a power o’ talking, Rat; wish I mayn’t break my neck over it, wish I mayn’t break my neck.” He walked across the sanded floor and unlocked the door cautiously, and the rat-faced man slipped past him into the night. But how did he manage to muffle his footsteps, so that Crumblejohn heard no sound of him upon the road?
- 29. CHAPTER XXI Five and twenty ponies Trotting through the dark, Brandy for the parson, Baccy for the clerk, Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, And watch the wall, my darling, While the gentlemen go by! r. kipling. N the day on which the last run of goods had been cellared, Master Crumblejohn stood looking with pride, at the swift succession of casks that were being rolled briskly along his stone passage. He wore a leather apron, a good stock collar, and his hair tied in a queue, with a black ribbon in his neck. He had big buckles to his shoes and a canary waistcoat, and a brown coat upon his back. Everybody knew the history of his liquor. In these days of a thriving back-hand trade with the wines, many houses that stood fairly with the Justices, got their supply in a manner that would have brought humbler folk to punishment. But if inquiry was pushed in regard to the “Mariner’s Rest,” the landlord had a good book to show the authorities. Everything in his cellar was duly entered and paid for; he would show the King himself round if his Majesty chose to call. This was a favourite jest of Master Crumblejohn’s when in lighter mood, and it would be said with a nodding head to clinch matters, and between quiet puffs of a long clay-pipe. It was hardly the fault of the excisemen if they didn’t know of a certain trap-door in the cellar, a door sufficiently hidden to be unguessed, which led down to a vault below the basement. Now this
- 30. was how the illicit trade was carried on. There had to be people party to it on each side of the water, and a fishing boat or lugger, for the transport of the goods. Most of the innkeepers, and a great many others, were in sympathy with the smugglers, and the practice was spread in so fine a network of collusion all over the country, that it was a matter of great difficulty for the authorities to cope with it at all. When the liquor first came over, it was deposited in some cave, or buried in some sandy cove along the coast. Here it was left till notice was sent by the various receiving-houses that they were ready for the housing of the kegs. Then, when the attention of the authorities had been drawn off to some other quarter, night parties would be set on foot; and where the countryside was sufficiently lonely, the kegs were carried upon men’s shoulders and received by the landlord, and hidden in his vault. In some places these lawless gangs were both armed and mounted, and thus conveyed the goods far into the interior, distributing them among the various receiving- houses by the way. There was hardly a house that had not its place of concealment, which could accommodate either kegs, bales, or the smugglers themselves, as the case might be. Sometimes the kegs would be stuffed in hay trusses, and carried disguised as fodder along the road, to be lodged secretly by the light of a stable lanthorn again, in some straw ricks farther inland. You probably know the story of the Wiltshire men who hid the kegs in the dew-pond? They were surprised one moonlight night, standing with rakes in their hands by the excisemen. Suspicion was at once aroused, and they were questioned. “What are you doing there?” “We be raaken the moon out of the water, Masters.” And the excisemen rode on, thanking their stars they were not as these country loons. But the answer showed that on occasion stupidity may be used as a cloak to cover guile.
- 31. Now, in the case of Crumblejohn’s gang of smugglers, they stored their kegs, or ankers, in a cave. Here they left their liquor as short a time as possible, lest it should be discovered by those on the look- out. But this cave led up to the vaults of the inn-cellars, and very swiftly could these kegs be rolled along the tunnelled passage in the cliff. A boy was working strenuously at the keg-rolling, Oliver Charlock by name. He was the odd boy and general servant of the establishment, and had more kicks and fewer crusts than were his share. Crumblejohn stood looking at him as he worked; if he stayed but a moment to stretch his back, or to rest his arms, he was reminded of his business. “Do you think I keep servants, giving them board and bed, to see them a-lolling back agin’ my walls and postës, a-playing the fine gentleman abroad? No, no, Oliver Charlock, you remember what you’re here for, and where you comes from; and let me see all them kegs in their places, or back you goes to your field, and finds another master.” Oliver was nobody’s child, and had been picked up in a field of charlock. Just where the rough margin of the field joins the yellow flowers, he had been found by the old parson ten years before the time of which I speak. But when the Rectory changed hands, and the old housekeeper died, who had reared him, he was left friendless. Then Crumblejohn had taken him as an extra lad at the Mariner’s, and henceforth life opened for him at a different page. He slept in a rat-riddled garret on a worn-out wool-sack on the floor. He rose at dawn and worked till the bats were out, bearing hard words for his services. Repeatedly was he admonished by Mr. Crumblejohn to recall where he came from, and other sour-faced remarks. As nobody knew his origin, least of all the boy himself, this might seem a useless question; but for Crumblejohn it held point in tending to depress any growth of self-esteem in Oliver, and was calculated to nip incipient ideas as to wages in the bud.
- 32. “Little warmint what had nobody to chuck a crust to ’im, found in a furrer of a field. I gives ’im board, and I gives ’im bed, and I expects such-like to work for their wittels.” And work Oliver Charlock did, and not only at keg-rolling. When the vigilance of the authorities forbade the more usual signal of a fire being lit on some prominent point inland, he had been sent before now as emissary between the English smugglers, and Lambkin, in France. Lambkin was a man named Thurot. He was a Channel Islander, and you may read of him as rising to great prominence in the smuggling annals of his day. He was known also as O’Farrell, and was an Irish commodore in the French service for a time. He was but twenty-two when he met his death, yet he was a terror, we read, to the mercantile fleet of this kingdom. Whatever opinion we may hold as to his right or wrong doing, there is a light about his name, because he led a life of great romance, and daring. Before leaving, Thurot had arranged with his confederates the place of the intended run of goods. Now, however, that Ratface suspected Daniel Maidment was spying on them, it became imperative to get the message over in some dependable manner, to intimate a change of place for beaching this next run. So a rag message had been written, and Oliver had to bear it, and as Crumblejohn stood watching the keg-rolling, it was with the comfortable assurance of some anxiety having been removed. Very soon he would be standing there, watching yet another lot rolling into his capacious cellars. Already the gold chinked in his imagination, that was to fill his pockets so well; and the rings of smoke from his clay pipe rose, to float up and fade lingeringly, before his meditative eye. But the “best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley,” and there was something in store for Master Crumblejohn, the mere possibility of which, his slow wits had never dreamed.
- 33. CHAPTER XXII WO days later there were few people situated more uncomfortably than Oliver Charlock, of the “Mariner’s Rest.” For he was in a hamper, a variety of sail-cloth, and oddments of material packed on the top of him, and his knees into his chin. Scant air, no place for shifting, sometimes knocked this way, sometimes bundled that; shoved, huddled, bumped, and stowed, wherever man’s hand chose to shove him, or in whatever direction the ship rolled. The discomfort grew to such sickening pain that his senses almost left him, while his partial suffocation threatened momentarily to be complete. But at last he was on the Boulogne Quay; he knew it, for the bale had been left quiet. He cut his way through the cords and fastenings; he loosed his sacking and finally threw open the hamper lid. The fresh sea-wind fanned his forehead; at first that seemed all he needed, or knew. To move was such agony, it must be done only by degrees. And it was good to lie still with the air on his face, and to see the clouds float by. It was about five or six o’clock in the morning. Looking towards the town he saw evidence of the fish-market of Boulogne. Women walked here and there with shrimp baskets on their shoulders, and some trawlers and fishing-smacks were coming in. The high French houses of the old town looked like ghosts of houses in the grey dawn, and the sands stretched away unbrokenly, in opalescent light. Oliver stepped out freed from his prison, and walked lamely towards the town. He knew his work pretty well; he had no need to think about it. He had merely to walk about on the quay, or mingle among the people in the fish-market, and sooner or later the man he knew as Lambkin would come up and take from him the written rag. The message was written on a rag, because had he been searched,
- 34. no letter would have been found upon him, and this rag was wrapped round his finger or his wrist as it might be, and generally had some stray drops of blood on it, as if it bound up a slight wound. But on this occasion the hours passed, and there appeared no Lambkin; and now the Boulogne fish-market was in full activity. Groups of peasants chattering, old women gesticulating, everybody talking, nobody listening, bargaining, chaffering, dealing, and vending, going on among a vivid crowd. Look at the picture, and you will see this busy scene. Oliver wandered among the throng for a little, buying some food at an old woman’s gingerbread stall, for Crumblejohn had provided him with a few French coins. Now that his stiffness was lessened and his hunger appeased, he was enjoying himself. It was good not to be cleaning boots, and mopping the stone floors of the Mariner’s Tavern; laying the fires, and opening the windows to let out the spent air of last night’s company, the fumes of stale tobacco and spilt beer; now, all the scent of the morning was about him, and the tang of the sea breeze. Soon his eyes were attracted by a small hunchbacked boy who was sitting at a little table. He had a pointed wicker cage with a pair of doves in it, and on his table were many simple contrivances of home- made nature. These were set out on a small square of red baize. The people smiled at the hunchback as they passed him, and soon Oliver saw that he was preparing to give a show. The fish-market was now over, and some people from the town were walking on the quay. For these the hunchback waited, and soon he had a small crescent- shaped crowd.
- 35. THE FISH MARKET, BOULOGNE He took the doves out of their cage, and spoke lovingly to them, kissing their soft necks. They pattered with pink feet over the table cooing and bowing, and he put some peas before them, which they picked up eagerly with slender bills. “These doves, ladies and gentlemen,” the hunchback began in French, “are the celebrated Joli and Jou-Jou of Boulogne. Long have they been the delight of visitors to our pretty town. Once more they bow before you, and beg you, in all courtesy to watch their well- known performance in the chaise, in the ring, and on the pole.” With a bow he finished his speech to the onlookers, and commenced with deft fingers to arrange a small trapeze. He placed a dove on it, and then attaching the upright posts so that they could not turn over, he set the bird swinging on the bar. Nothing could have exceeded the innocence of the performance, for the birds did nothing at all wonderful, or in any sense trained, but the air of the
- 36. showman and the simplicity of the performance must have endeared it to any one of feeling in the crowd. “Joli, now wilt thou attend to thy master, and place thy pink feet firmly upon the ring? Thou knowest it is but a little time, my Joli, and thou shalt be, once more, pecking the peas.” He lifted the dove from the table, while it made every movement of revolt, but only foolish feathered revolt, swiftly quelled. Slowly round and round the bird revolved in the ring, staying there simply because it had not the wit or will to flutter out of it, and the hunchback swung the ring quicker and quicker so that the onlookers murmured applause. Then it was Jou-Jou’s turn to be harnessed to a tiny charette made from a wooden box, painted in red and blue. Joli sat within while Jou-Jou pattered round drawing it, guided by the hunchback’s hand. Soon Oliver heard an English voice among the spectators. “Oh, look at those doves, Papa,” it said. “I want to stop and look.” A very smartly dressed little girl pressed forward, brushing aside other people. She had an eager face, and looked discontented. “What do you call the doves, boy?” she asked in French, in a sharp voice. “Joli and Jou-Jou, mademoiselle.” “Who taught them to do their tricks, boy?” “It is I who taught them, mademoiselle.” “I want to buy them; will you tell me how much money they would cost?” “They are not for sale, mademoiselle.” “But if I want them?” said the little girl imperiously; “and if I give gold for them, of course they will be for sale. Here, Papa,” she cried out suddenly.
- 37. “I want these doves, please; you know you said you would give me my birthday present in advance, and I don’t want the goat-carriage now. I’m sure the little boy will be glad to get two gold pieces; we will give him one for each dove; look how ill and starved he appears! and his clothes, I never saw such tatters. You can send the doves round to the Hotel d’Angleterre, do you hear, boy? and we shall give you two, perhaps three, whole gold pieces.” She opened her eyes very wide, and nodded her head at him, so busy in her shrill speech that she was quite blind to the expression on the face before her. You have no doubt read the Fairchild Family? Well, when I tell you she was first cousin to Miss Augusta Noble, and very like her too, wearing the same kind of clothes in the same arrogant manner, you will be able to conjure her before the mind’s eye very accurately indeed. “You will get perhaps three whole gold pieces!” she repeated, “but be sure to be there before to-morrow at noon, for we leave on the day following. “Papa,” she cried, springing towards her father, “I’m sure to get them, I know I shall: and they can go in my nice, new, great, big aviary.” In a turmoil of noisy, selfish conversation, she took her excited little person off the scene, bustling through the crowd, and taking her own world with her, in the manner of children who will sometimes burst into a room speaking, never thinking to see if people are talking, or reading aloud within. And so she went away down the quay, leaving a sense of disturbance behind her. Evidently bound to grow up, poor thing, into one of those people who cause every one to live in a draught around them. Oliver stood for some time listening. He had no further orders than to remain on the quay in such a manner as that he might readily be seen. He decided he would stay here at all events till sunset, should the French agent by some chance have been delayed. So he stood
- 38. watching the little hunchback’s quick movements as he caged his doves, packed his tressle-table, and walked away towards the town. And now Oliver was left to watch the clouds and sea-gulls, and to wonder what life would feel like, if it were happy and free. The slow hours passed, and he grew hungrier and thirstier. He sought through his pockets and found a crust. And then because he had passed such an uncomfortable night, and he was tired, he lay down, with his head on a coil of rope, and looked drowsily at the wide and glimmering sea. Here and there, hidden away in his memory, there lingered some stray phrases and couplets learnt long ago. These he treasured, though he hardly knew he did so, for the sense of comfort they bestowed— “Thou whose nature cannot sleep On my temples sentry keep. While I rest my soul advance, Make my sleep a holy trance. These are my drowsy days, in vain, I do but wake to sleep again. O, come that hour when I shall never Sleep again, but wake for ever.” The light faded. Grey clouds banked themselves where the sun was westering, prodigal of his gold. Oliver slept. He was woken by a hand laid upon his shoulder, and stumbling to his feet, he saw the man Thurot, standing beside him.
- 39. CHAPTER XXIII Read rascal in the motions of his back, And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee. tennyson. HEN Ratface left the “Mariner’s Rest” that evening, he walked skirting the hedgerow, his thoughts busy with a new plan. For some time he had been suspicious of Daniel Maidment, but now, reading the evil of his own character into that of another, he suspected him of an intention to betray the smugglers to the excisemen. He had read the letter from the sweetheart, and seen the pencilled address on the slip of paper in Daniel’s pocket. It conveyed no meaning to him that this bit of paper was torn across, and all but in two. Like most of us he judged others by his own knowledge of himself; and so he decided to anticipate Daniel, and turn King’s evidence himself. He saw many signs around him of an increase of vigilance on the part of the authorities. Crumblejohn’s muddle- headedness and Thurot’s dare-devilry in conjunction, made him decide now was the time for him to leave the smuggling gang. There would be a good reward, so he argued, and he’d risked his neck often enough with them, and now if somebody was to get the money, that somebody must be he. So he went straight away to the address given, a walk of some twelve miles through the night, and slept through the early hours of the morning, in a cart-shed in the farmsteading. About nine o’clock next day he was ringing the door-bell of the supervisor of Customs for the counties of Sussex and Kent. Before the coastguards were organised, the inland branch of preventive service was carried on by the riding officers, one of whom
- 40. we have seen speaking to Daniel Maidment, as he dug in his garden that day. At this time, a stretch of some two hundred miles of coast-line would be given in charge of fifty riding officers, and utterly inadequate until reinforced by soldiers, this force proved to be. For by lighting false signals, nothing was easier than to draw the riding officers off on some wild-goose chase, while the smugglers beached their cargo undisturbed. It was not long before Ratface was shown into a room where the riding officer was seated, writing. “Your business?” “My business is to tell you what you and your men have been wanting some time to know, sir. And if you makes it worth my while, I’ll give you information what’ll help you to clap your hands upon as pretty a shipload of ankers and half-ankers, as you’ve ever heard on.” “Where do you come from?” “Stowe i’ the Knowe.” “Do you come from Daniel Maidment?” “Ah, I thought I should hear that name now. No; Dan’l ain’t a pertickler friend of mine.” “What is your information?” “My information is accordin’ to the information money.” “And that again, as you must know, depends on the value of goods seized, and not on this alone. A full seizure reward cannot be earned without a good proportion of smugglers being captured. Twenty pounds for every smuggler taken, and full seizure money if the boat, as well as goods, be ours. Where is this intended run to be made?”
- 41. “On the night of the 18th, as soon after dusk as possible, at the Grey Rock, off Knapper’s Head.” “And who are the chief smugglers concerned?” “Obadiah Crumblejohn of the ‘Mariner’s Rest,’ Thurot, known as Lambkin, freighter and owner of the smuggling galley Lapwing, to row sixteen oars. Cargo, brandy and silks.” The revenue officer made full notes, then he looked at Ratface as he stood blinking those restless eyes of his, scraping a lean cheek with his maimed hand. The officer rang the bell, and the door was opened by a servant, who showed Ratface out. “There is something in our appearance being an index to what we are,” thought the officer, as his eyes followed Ratface. “Certainly, the other day, I went to the wrong house.” Then he turned to the notes that he had taken, and his glance lingered on the entry of Thurot’s name.
- 42. CHAPTER XXIV Where now are these? Beneath the cliff they stand To show the freighted pinnace where to land; To load the ready steed with guilty haste; To fly in terror o’er the pathless waste; Or, when detected in their straggling course, To foil their foes by cunning, or by force, Or yielding part which equal knaves demand To gain a lawless passport through the land. crabbe. T is a soft moonless night in October. The darkness seems filled with that calmest and most sufficing of all sounds, the sea, breaking on a sandy shingle, with the long-drawn hush of the retreating wave. Yet if you listen you may hear another sound. A footfall on the sand occasionally, and the sound of men’s voices, lowered. For Crumblejohn and Ratface have sent round the message that tub-carriers, a full force of them, will be wanted on this night of the 18th, at Grey Rock, off Knapper’s Head. And the tub-carriers are already assembled, numbering about twenty-five villagers, and half as many boys. A light flares up against the night-sky at some point along the coast, far away. It stars the darkness, a crumb of light. Then it grows slenderly, and sinks once more to waver upward, and then the night engulphs it all but a creeping thread of light that holds it own. “You can light that pipe o’ yourn, master.” “Whoi doänt yon light bleäze then? Be ’ee sure they gave the right beacon word? Who done it? Whose work wer to see to yon?”
- 43. “It was Ratface that see’d to that. That’s why he beänt here to- night. He’ll see the light’s all right.” Even as the words are spoken the spark broadens, and shoots up into a tongue of flame. And now the caution of the tub-carriers appears to lessen; pipes are lit, with a hand to shade the glow, and there is a restless movement of swingles changing hands, or being laid down upon the sand beside their owners. These are the flail-like implements, that with the long ash bludgeons, are the weapons of the yokel’s defence. Crumblejohn has a large retinue, a goodly force on which he may depend. Beside the villagers, there is the riding force of smugglers, a company of some thirty or more; innkeepers, tradesmen, farmers, who band together to ride with the goods far inland. The villagers, he may call out with little or no trouble, and as porters of the kegs they are enough; but to-night the riding gang has been summoned, Ratface was to see to this, for this run of goods is exceptional, and only mounted men can manage the bales of silks and other goods. A dark object looms near. There is the sound of muffled oars, a word is passed along to the carriers, and almost before the boat-keel grates the beach, she is surrounded. Each man seizes and slings a brace of kegs around him; there are words of command from the freighters, a sound of trampling feet, of shipping oars, and the hurried breathing of an eager crowd, working in the dark. And then a lighter sound, the jingle of bridles, and horses hoofs upon the sand. “The mounted gang,” mutters Crumblejohn, as he stands upon the shingle, looking down upon the tangled crowd of jostling men. Here and there he sees a lantern, and the light of one bald, flaring torch, held high in the prow of the boat by Thurot. The torch flares vividly, the flame is taken sideways by the wind. It throws its jagged shadows; the sea crawls grey round the beached boat. And then a pistol-shot cracks out upon the air, followed by another, and another, and the man who stands high in the boat with
- 44. the torch uplifted, falls heavily among the crowd. “God ...”—it is Crumblejohn who stumbles forward; “God....” The air rings now with the sound of fire-arms, there is a stampede among the villagers—they are caught and bound. One man in a mask runs here and there in the crowd, a demon of agility. He is followed by a man on horseback, and wherever he leads, the smugglers are thickest. He passes the villagers, he lets these go by; but of the sixteen men that were in the galley, he has crept, and run, and striven among them, and always at his heels the man on horseback, whose followers secure the chief men. They overpower them, three to one, wherever the man in the mask has given the signal. And the swingles, the ash bludgeons, these have been turned against the men who bore them, wrenched from their hands. And where a stand among the men has been attempted, the mounted officers have ridden them down. The night, so dark and quiet, has been given over to confusion. Oliver Charlock crouches low in the smuggling boat. And now the tumult lessens. Most of the villagers have fled, and ten men of those who had manned the Lapwing stand bound upon the beach. Crumblejohn has long since staggered off, and subsided, blue with fright, in a ditch, to be picked up by the Excise men some fifty yards or more from the scene of the encounter, to be marched more briskly than his failing senses would have thought possible, along the road, hands bound, to his own Inn. And Thurot, the gallant Thurot, with arms flung wide on either side of him, lies dead, in his faded uniform, beside a blackened torch. But there is another corpse. It lies distressfully. The form is contorted, so that you may barely see the masked face. Yet it should not be difficult to identify this body. There is a finger lacking to the right hand.
- 45. CHAPTER XXV O day, pass gently that art here again, Turn memory’s spear, and may thy vespers close Upon a twilight odorous of the rose, Drooping her petals in the falling rain. There is no virtue in remembered pain, The past is sleeping. Watching its repose I shudder, lest those weary lids unclose, And I be folded in its coils again. NE evening the children were gathered in the drawing- room, and Miss Ross sat among them working at her tambour frame. She wore a slender gold thimble set with corals, and in a slanting, almost obliterated handwriting, the posie, “Use me, nor lose me,” was writ around its base. This thimble had been her mother’s, and when her work was done for the evening, she would shut it away in a narrow case that held her scissors, and needlecase, and bodkin; and this case was lined with velvet that had faded to the colour of silver weed when the wind reverses it. “We should feel indebted to Mrs. Inchbald,” she was saying, “for telling us so spirited a tale. I found my share of entertainment in watching your faces the while. Bimbo, I take it, will do well in life to set himself a fine example, for his sympathies are sufficiently fluid to shape themselves according to their groove. Let him see that they flow in a fine mould. While Mrs. Inchbald spoke of Ratface, his chin receded, his eyes narrowed, and I momentarily expected his ears to change their position on his head. Later, when she sketched for us the brave Thurot, his very shoulders broadened, his eye lightened, and his jaw set square. None of you, I noticed, found it in your heart to compliment her on the picture of Miss Augusta Noble’s cousin, the spoilt child.”
- 46. “I wish I’d asked her, though,” said Christopher, “what they did to smugglers when they were caught.” “I can tell you,” said Miss Ross. “They were forced for five years into the service, as either soldiers or sailors; but as they nearly always deserted, this was changed, and smugglers were sent to prison instead. As for the smuggling vessels, when these were taken, they were sawn through in three places.” Bimbo groaned aloud. “Nothing nice happens nowadays,” he said. “No smuggling, no highwaymen, no pirates; nothing. People go about in top hats.” “There are burglars still,” said Clare. “I was much afraid of robbers when I was a child,” said Miss Ross. “When the nurses withdrew, and I was left alone to go to sleep, I became immediately so convinced of the presence of a robber close to me, that I invented a way of softening his heart. I took to saying my prayers aloud. ‘O bless my mother and father,’ I would say, ‘and teach me to live dutifully towards them in word and deed; bless my brothers and sisters, my playmates and friends;’ and then, slightly raising my voice, I would say, ‘and O, bless the thief now in the room.’ I used to think he could not possibly harm me if he heard himself prayed for, and I did not stop here. I would explain to God that I felt he only stole because he hadn’t thought much about it, and that if God blessed him and made him happy, he would give it up. And so my thoughts being distracted by inventing excuses for the robber, my fear would gradually decline, and I would fall asleep.
- 48. “But I have never found among grown people,” she continued, “a just appreciation of this torture children may undergo in their fear of being alone in the dark. It is better in your days, my dears, I have noticed this. You may have night lights, and your doors are left wide; but in my generation these qualms were all brushed aside.” “Do go on telling us about when you were little,” said Clare. “There’s hardly any story I like better than when grown-up people will do that.” “I was not an amusing child,” answered Miss Ross, “and nothing very much happened to me. But I suppose children are the same in all ages, as to what they like and what they think about, and in the manner to them in which life appears. Have you ever looked back at the house you live in from a distance, and caught yourself saying, ‘I must just run back, and find the house without me.’ The instant recognition of its being an impossibility is less real than the impulse itself. “I used to think, too, if I only could see when my eyes were shut everything would appear different. So I would lie pretending to be asleep, and then suddenly jerk my eyes open, thinking I should catch everything strangely changed. But there invariably was the cupboard and the dressing-table, and all the familiar objects just as they had been. I endowed them with a sense of mockery at my efforts, and of being immeasurably subtler than I. So I would lie quite still, and stealthily lift a lid. But no, they were always the same. This did not convince me they did not move. On the contrary, I would say to myself with a sense of vexed despair, ‘I shall never, never know what things look like when I’m not seeing them.’” Clare said, “Mummie believes, you know, that if you think about a thing a great deal—something, I mean, that isn’t really alive, as we are—that you endow it with a sort of image of life, and that strange things can happen in this way. Gems that have been thought magical, and idols that have been worshipped for centuries, have their being. That is why she would never like to have a Buddha in her house; she would think it would feel neglected. It would suffer and
- 49. be cold, and its suffering would stream from it, and affect others. Besides, the wrongfulness it would be, to treat something that a great many people think sacred, merely as an ornament, or a curiosity.” “I had a brooch once,” said Miss Ross, “that had a life of its own. It had many other things to do beside being my brooch, that was quite certain. I first found out it was a person by its evidently hearing what I said. It was a gold brooch, fashioned like an instep, or a curved willow leaf, and the pin worked on a principle evolved ages ago by some primitive race. ‘Never,’ said I one morning, in a moment of impatience—‘never will I again use such a clumsy pin as this. It tears lace, and once inserted in any material it is almost impossible to dislodge.’ I was pricked to the bone. “This brooch would go away for days to attend to its own business; and when I’d given up looking for it, there I would find it on my pincushion, looking me in the eye. Even my maid, a most unimaginative woman, appeared to be conscious of its ways. “‘I see your brooch has come back, Miss,’ she would say. Finally it chose a worthier home. “I was travelling with my parents in Italy, driving through Tuscany in our private coach. We stayed for some weeks in Florence, and during that time I used to attend Mass in one of the great churches there. I became acquainted with the old priest who officiated. One day as I was leaving the church, he said to me, ‘Signora, have you seen the gift that has been made? The blue robe that has been presented to the Madonna?’ “I re-entered the church with him, and he led me to the Lady Chapel, and my eyes rested on the carved figure representing the Virgin Mary. To celebrate the Easter festival, some one had presented new robes. I looked from the kindly face of the old priest, filled as it was with fond devotion, to the pensive face of the carved figure with the outstretched hands.
- 50. “And there, where the folds of the blue mantle were gathered full upon the breast, I saw my brooch. “I stepped forward. ‘Ah, you notice that,’ said the Father. ‘Yes, for three weeks now we await the owner to appear. We have had notices written, and placards put about, but no one has claimed it. And so, till the festival is over, I have placed it where you see it. It is a gold brooch, therefore worthy to clasp the new robe.’ “I kept silence. I would not have cared to take it from where it now was. “I turned to go. A ray from one of the lighted candles glinted on the surface of the gold. Clearly, thought I, a signal of recognition. I knew its ways. “I let the old priest move a few paces in front of me, and quickly stepping back I touched it twice with my hand in token of farewell. I was filled with fear lest the priest should turn and see me, for however crazy one may be in these matters, one doesn’t like others to think one so.” “No,” said Clare. “I know that. If somebody comes in when I’ve been talking to myself, or saying lines out loud when I’m alone, I always quickly turn it into a cough of some description. It never sounds in the least like one, though.” “Have you always named things that belong to you?” asked Miss Ross. “Nothing can really live to you unless it has got a name.” “Yes,” said the children, “Mummie has names for things. She used to think when she was little that her feet were boys, and that they were called Owen and Barber. And she had an umbrella called Harvey, for years.” “It’s right to have fancies about things,” said Miss Ross. “I will tell you one that I read once long ago. “The writer said, ‘When I have risen to walk abroad in the fresh new air of summer, in the hour of dawn when mankind is still at rest, the face of Nature has taken to me a new aspect, the unity of all
- 51. things in creation appears revealed. It has seemed to me that I have surprised a great secret. “‘I have seen Nature at such times depicted in the vast form of some great goddess, a woman of Titanic form. The races of mankind are her children, and according to the features of the land they live in, so are they placed upon her mother form. Those who live upon the plains dwell on the great palms of her hands; those whose dwellings are placed among the embosoming hills have her breast for their shelter. The lakes are her eyes and the great forests her hair, the rivers are her veins and the rain her tears, and she sighs in the sound of the Sea. “‘The rainbows are her thoughts, and the mists rising from the quiet meadows are her meditations and her prayers. Her laughter is in the sound of brooks, and she breathes in the warmth that exhales from the earth, after it is dusk in Summer. The lightning is her anger, and in the thunder she finds utterance, and the darkness of the night is her great mantle over the land.’” Miss Ross ceased speaking, and there was silence for a time. Then Christopher said: “And what are the earthquakes?” “Perhaps when she yawns,” said Bim. Children often save people trouble by giving themselves a reply. Miss Ross had a large white book on her lap, she was turning the pages. “I like this book of your Mother’s,” she said; “these phrases are from the writings of an old herbalist, and he speaks of the lime-leaf that ‘in Autumn becomes wan, and spotted as the doe.’ “‘The wyche-elme whose gold is let loose on the wind after night frostes, and cold dawnes. “‘The delicate jargonell that keeps the sweets of France in old, warm, English gardens.’ “And further on he writes of ‘the sloe whose excellent purple blood makes so fine a comfort.’
- 52. “He speaks of the ‘green smockt filberte,’ and finally talks in this pleasant manner of the nature of mushrooms. “‘Many do fear the goodly musherooms as poysonous damp weeds. But this doth in no ways abate the exceeding excellence of God’s Providence, that out of the grass and dew where nothing was, and where only the little worm turned in his sporte, come, as at the shaking of bells, these delicate meates.’ “The older you grow, children,” Miss Ross said, looking up from the book, “the more pleasure you will find in comfortable words. In well- adjusted phrase, and in lines that have beauty in their sound as in their imagery. I have found nourishment for the soul in the positive satisfaction to be derived from words. With how slow steps, O Moon, thou climb’st the skies, How silently, and with how wan a face,’ and— A world of leafage, murmurous and a-twinkle The green, delicious, plentitude of June.’ And these lines seem to me full of music. O, Philomela fair, O, take some gladness, That here is juster cause for plaintful sadness. Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth. Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.” “These are only a few of the many fragments I have in my memory.” “But poetry is nearly always so sad,” said Bimbo. “I like things with jokes in them.” “I know you do,” said Miss Ross, and her face was lovely when she smiled. “I know exactly what you feel like. When you get up in the morning you feel the whole day is not long enough for all you mean
- 53. to do in it, the whole world is your playground. And when you glow after the cold bath there is nothing you don’t feel ready for, from wittling a stick, to building an empire. And you’re downstairs and out early, and ‘away to the meadows, the meadows again,’ with your rod and your line, and your bait at your belt, and your family see no more of you till dinner-time.” The children gave a deep breath, for this made them think of water-meadows and minnow-fishing, marsh-marigolds in golden clumps, and deep, clear runlets. “This is the fun of being young,” said Miss Ross, “prize it.” “And what is the fun of being old?” asked Bimbo. “Many people have asked that before you, but all those who see the right aspects of youth may be trusted, I think, to grow old properly. Good taste is the highest degree of sensibility. And nowhere so clearly as in growing old, is good taste more subtly evidenced. “The great thing is to feel. Let every bit of you be alive, even though you may suffer. The only sin is indifference.” “Is it people’s fault when they are indifferent, or can’t they help it?” asked Clare. “Oh, there are folk who will close their eyes and sit in the very market-place of the universe, with their fingers in their ears.” “Then a bullock runs into them, I suppose,” said Bim; “and they pick themselves up from the dust, saying, ‘What have I done to deserve it?’” “Yes,” added Clare, “or they will say, ‘See, we were promised music to dance to, and where are the sweet strains?’” All the older children would have shrunk from an allusion to the great grief of which the beautiful face before them bore so deep an impress, but one of the younger ones said: “I’m so surprised that you, who are so sad to look at, should have such nice laughing eyes all the same when you speak, and seem so
- 54. Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to specialized publications, self-development books, and children's literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system, we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading. Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and personal growth! ebookfinal.com