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Updated: May 17, 2025
When I had finished my narrative there was a long silence. Finally Uncle Loveday spoke "It's a remarkable story a very remarkable story," he said, slowly and thoughtfully. "In all my life I have never heard so strange a tale. But the man must be caught. He cannot have gone far, if, as you say, he was here at Lantrig only the night before last.
To this my son Ezekiel I give and bequeath the Farm and House of Lantrig, with all my Worldly Goods, and add my earnest hope that this may suffice to support both him and his Descendants in Godliness and Contentment, knowing how greatly these excell the Wealth of this World and the Lusts of the Flesh.
Oh! do you know do you think " My words died away in terrified entreaty; but he seemed not to hear me. Still gazing out on the sea, he said "Sailed in the Belle Fortune, barque of 600 tons, or thereabouts, bound for Port of Bristol? Oh, ay, I knew him knew him well. And might this here place be Lantrig?" "Our house is on the cliff above the next cove," I replied.
First of all, two ships in which my father had many shares were lost at sea; then the cattle were seized with plague, and the stock gradually dwindled away to nothing. Finally, my father's bank broke or, as we say in the West, "went scat!" and we were left all but penniless, with the prospect of having to sell Lantrig, being without stock and lacking means to replenish it.
As his eyes met the writing, his hand dropped, and he sank back a very picture of amazement in his chair. "My God!" "What's the matter?" "It's your father's handwriting!" I looked at this last witness cast up by the sea and read, "The Journal of Ezekiel Trenoweth, of Lantrig." It was indeed my father's Journal, thus miraculously preserved to us from the sea.
Captain Merrydew raised the hue and cry, but the sailor Georgio Rhodojani was never seen again from the moment when his evil face leered in through the window of Lantrig. A reward was offered, and more than once Polkimbra was excited with the news of his arrest, but it all came to nothing.
"From Amos Trenoweth, of Lantrig, in the Parish of Polkimbra and County of Cornwall; to such descendant of mine as may inherit my wealth.
It must be almost time. Along the old track I ran, still clutching my bundle, over the frozen ruts, stumbling, slipping, but with set teeth and straining muscles, skirted the hill above Polkimbra with just a glimpse of the cottage roofs shining in the hollow below, and raced along the cliffs towards Lantrig.
But this I mention only because it happened, as I learn, before my father's going, and not for any connection with my story. We must have lived a very quiet life at Lantrig, even as lives go on our Western coast. I remember my mother now as she went softly about the house contriving and scheming to make the two ends of our small possessions meet.
Nor was I less amazed to watch the habits of this marvellous folk, many of them to me shocking, and to see the cows that abound everywhere and do the work of horses. But of all this I will tell if Heaven be pleased to grant me a safe return to Lantrig. Let me now recount my business with Mr. Elihu Sanderson.
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