Ryecroft smiles, further interrogating:
"What have you heard of her?"
"That she be a tidy young lady. Wonderful fond o' field sport, such as hunting and that like. Fr' all, I may say that up to this day, I never set eyes on her afore."
The Hussar officer has been long enough in Herefordshire to have learnt the local signification of "tidy" synonymous with "well-behaved." That Miss Wynn is fond of field sports flood pastimes included he has gathered from herself while rowing her up the river.
One thing strikes him as strange that the waterman should not be acquainted with every one dwelling on the river's bank, at least for a dozen miles up and down. He seeks an explanation.
"How is it, Jack, that you, living but a short league above, don't know all about these people?"
He is unaware that Wingate though born on the Wye's banks, as he has told him, is comparatively a stranger to its middle waters his birthplace being far up in the shire of Brecon. Still that is not the solution of the enigma, which the young waterman gives in his own way,
"Lord love ye, sir! That shows how little you understand this river. Why, captain, it crooks an' crooks, and goes wobblin' about in such a way, that folks as lives less'n a mile apart knows no more o' one the other than if they wor ten. It comes o' the bridges bein' so few and far between. There's the ferry boats, true; but people don't take to 'em more'n they can help 'specially women seein' there be some danger at all times, and a good deal o't when the river's aflood. That's frequent, summer well as winter."
The explanation is reasonable; and, satisfied with it, Ryecroft remains for a time wrapt in a dreamy reverie, from which he is aroused as his eyes rest upon
a house a quaint antiquated structure, half timber, half stone, standing not on the river's edge, but at some distance from it up a dingle. The sight is not new to him; he has before noticed the house struck with its appearance, so different from the ordinary dwellings.
"Whose is it, Jack?" he asks.
"B'longs to a man, name o' Murdock."
"Odd looking domicile!"
"Ta'nt a bit more that way than he be if half what they say 'bout him be true."
"Ah! Mr. Murdock's a character, then?"
"Ay; an' a queery one."
"In what respect? what way?"
"More'n one a goodish many."
"Specify, Jack."
"Well; for one thing, he a'nt sober to say half o' his time."
"Addicted to dipsomania."
"'Dicted to getting dead drunk. I've seen him so, scores o' 'casions."
"That's not wise of Mr. Murdock."
"No, captain; 'ta'nt neyther wise nor well. All the worse, considerin' the place where mostly he go to do his drinkin'."
"Where may that be?"
"The Welsh Harp up at Rogue's Ferry."
"Rogue's Ferry? Strange appellation! What sort of place is it? Not very nice, I should say if the name be at all appropriate."
"It's parfitly 'propriate, though I b'lieve it wa'nt that way bestowed. It got so called after a man the name o' Rugg, who once keeped the Welsh Harp and the ferry too. It's about two mile above, a little ways back. Besides the tavern, there be a cluster o' houses, a bit scattered about, wi' a chapel an' a grocery shop one as deals truckways, an' a'nt partickler as to what they take in change stolen goods welcome as any ay, welcomer, if they be o' worth. They got plenty o' them, too. The place be a regular nest o' poachers, an' worse than that a good many as have sarved their spell in the Penitentiary."
"Why, Wingate, you astonish me! I was under the impression your Wyeside was a sort of Arcadia, where one only met with innocence and primitive simplicity."
"You won't meet much o' either at Rogue's Ferry. If there be an uninnocent set on earth it's they as live there. Them Forest chaps we came 'cross a'nt no ways their match in wickedness. Just possible drink made them behave as they did some o' 'em. But drink or no drink it be all the same wi' the Ferry people maybe worse when they're sober. Any ways they're a rough lot."
"With a place of worship in their midst! That ought to do something towards refining them."
"Ought; and would, I daresay, if 'twar the right sort which it a'nt. Instead, o' a kind as only the more corrupts 'em being Roman."
"Oh! A Roman Catholic chapel. But how does it corrupt them?"
"By makin' 'em believe they can get cleared of their sins, hows'ever black they be. Men as think that way a'nt like to stick at any sort of crime 'specially if it brings 'em the money to buy what they calls absolution."
"Well, Jack, it's very evident you're no friend, or follower, of the Pope."
"Neyther o' Pope nor priest. Ah! captain; if you seed him o' the Rogue's Ferry Chapel, you wouldn't wonder at my havin' a dislike for the whole kit o' them."
"What is there 'specially repulsive about him?"
"Don't know as there be anythin' very special, in partickler. Them priests all look 'bout the same such o' 'em as I've ever set eyes on. And that's like stoats and weasels, shootin' out o' one hole into another. As for him we're speakin' about, he's here, there, an' everywhere; sneakin' along the roads an' paths, hidin' behind bushes like a cat after birds, an' poppin' out where nobody expects him. If ever there war a spy meaner than another it's the priest of Rogue's Ferry."