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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cruise of the Shining Light + +Author: Norman Duncan + +Release Date: August 15, 2009 [EBook #29696] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUISE OF THE SHINING LIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-cvr.jpg' alt='' title='' width='326' height='386' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='The Cruise of the Shining Light, by Norman Duncan' src='images/illus-tpg.jpg' /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class="container"> +<div class="box"> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Copyright, 1907, by <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Harper & Brothers</span>.</p> +<hr class='p10' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Published April, 1907.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:20px;font-size:smaller;'>TO<br />MY ELDER BROTHER</p> +<p class='tp' >ROBERT KENNEDY DUNCAN</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;font-size:smaller;'>THIS BOOK IS<br />AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>CHAP.</span></td> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>NICHOLAS TOP</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_NICHOLAS_TOP'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>AT THE SIGN OF THE ANCHOR AND CHAIN</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_AT_THE_SIGN_OF_THE_ANCHOR_AND_CHAIN'>10</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE CATECHISM AT TWIST TICKLE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_THE_CATECHISM_AT_TWIST_TICKLE'>27</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>ON SINISTER BUSINESS</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_ON_SINISTER_BUSINESS'>38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>TAP-TAP ON THE PAVEMENT</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_TAPTAP_ON_THE_PAVEMENT'>45</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE FEET OF CHILDREN</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_FEET_OF_CHILDREN'>54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>TWIN ISLANDS</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_TWIN_ISLANDS'>69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A MAID O’ WHISPER COVE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_A_MAID_O_WHISPER_COVE'>75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_AN_AFFAIR_OF_THE_HEART'>89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>IMPORTED DIRECT</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_IMPORTED_DIRECT'>104</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE GRAY STRANGER</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_THE_GRAY_STRANGER'>120</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>NEED O’ HASTE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_NEED_O_HASTE'>138</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>JUDITH ABANDONED</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_JUDITH_ABANDONED'>154</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_THE_TWENTYTHIRD_PSALM'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A MEASURE OF PRECAUTION</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_A_MEASURE_OF_PRECAUTION'>174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>GREEN PASTURES: AN INTERLUDE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_GREEN_PASTURES_AN_INTERLUDE'>188</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>RUM AND RUIN</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_RUM_AND_RUIN'>203</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A LEGACY OF LOVE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_A_LEGACY_OF_LOVE'>219</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A WORD OF WARNING</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_A_WORD_OF_WARNING'>230</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>NO APOLOGY</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_NO_APOLOGY'>243</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>FOOL’S FORTUNE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_FOOLS_FORTUNE'>247</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>GATHERING WINDS</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_GATHERING_WINDS'>264</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE TIDE-RIP</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_THE_TIDERIP'>276</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>JOHN CATHER’S FATE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_JOHN_CATHERS_FATE'>290</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>TO SEA</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_TO_SEA'>305</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE DEVIL’S TEETH</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVI_THE_DEVILS_TEETH'>323</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE CRUISE OF THE SHINING LIGHT</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.4em;font-style:italic;'>The Cruise of the<br />SHINING LIGHT</p> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='I_NICHOLAS_TOP' id='I_NICHOLAS_TOP'></a> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>NICHOLAS TOP</h3> +</div> +<p>My uncle, Nicholas Top, of Twist Tickle, was of +a cut so grotesque that folk forgot their manners +when he stumped abroad. Bowling through the +streets of St. John’s, which twice a year he tapped with +staff and wooden leg, myself in leading––bowling +cheerily, with his last rag spread, as he said, and be +damned to the chart––he left a swirling wake of amazement: +craning necks, open mouths, round eyes, grins so +frank, the beholders being taken unaware, that ’twas +simple to distinguish hearts of pity from savage ones.</p> +<p>Small wonder they stared; my uncle was a broad, +long-bodied, scowling, grim-lipped runt, with the arms +and chest of an ape, a leg lacking, three fingers of the +left hand gone at the knuckles, an ankle botched in the +mending (the surgery his own), a jaw out of place, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +round head set low between gigantic shoulders upon a +thick neck: the whole forever clad in a fantastic miscellany +of water-side slops, wrinkled above, where he +was large, flapping below, where he was lean, and +chosen with a nautical contempt for fit and fashion, but +with a mysteriously perverse regard for the value of a +penny.</p> +<p>“An’ how much, lad,” says he, in the water-side slop-shops, +“is a penny saved?”</p> +<p>’Twas strange that of all men he should teach me +this old-fashioned maxim as though ’twere meant for +my own practice. ’Twas well enough for him, it +seemed; but ’twas an incumbrance of wisdom in the +singular case of the lad that was I.</p> +<p>“A penny made, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>“Co’––rect!” says he, with satisfaction.</p> +<p>There was more to be wondered at: beginning at my +uncle’s left ear, which was itself sadly puckered and +patched, a wide, rough scar, of changing color, as his +temper went, cut a great swath in his wiry hair, curving +clear over the crown of his head. A second scar, of +lesser dimension and ghastly look, lay upon his forehead, +over the right eyebrow, to which though by +nature drooping to a glower, it gave a sharp upward +twist, so that in a way to surprise the stranger he +was in good humor or bad, cynical or sullen, according +to the point of approach.</p> +<p>There were two rolls of flabby flesh under his chin, +and a puff of fat under each of his quick little eyes; +and from the puffs to the lower chin, which was half +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +submerged in the folds of a black cravat, the broad, +mottled expanse was grown wild with short gray beard, +save where, on the left cheek, a ragged scar (the third) +kept it bare and livid. ’Twas plain the man had +blundered into some quarrel of wind and sea, whence +he had been indifferently ejected, in the way of +the sea, to live or die, as might chance: whereof––doubtless +to account for his possession of me––he +would tell that my father had been lost in the adventure.</p> +<p>“Swep’ away by the third big sea,” says he, his +face wan with the terror of that time, his body shrunk +in the chair and so uneasy that I was moved against +my will to doubt the tale. “May God A’mighty forgive +un the deed he done!”</p> +<p>“Was it a sore, wicked thing my father did?”</p> +<p>“God forgive un––an’ me!”</p> +<p>“Is you sure, Uncle Nick?”</p> +<p>“God forgive un!”</p> +<p>“You’re not likin’ my poor father,” I complained, +“for the sinful thing he done.”</p> +<p>“’Tis a sinful wicked world us dwells in,” says he. +“An’ I ’low, b’y,” says he, in anxious warning, “that +afore you goes t’ bed the night.... Pass the bottle. +Thank ’e, lad ... that afore you goes t’ bed the night +you’d best get a new grip on that there little anchor +I’ve give ye t’ hang to.”</p> +<p>“An’ what’s that?” says I.</p> +<p>“The twenty-third psa’m,” says he, his bottle tipped, +“for safety!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span></div> +<p>My uncle would have (as he said) no dealings with +a glass. There was none in the places familiar to his +eyes; and when by chance, in the tap-rooms of the +city, he came face to face with himself, he would start +away with a fervent malediction upon the rogue in the +mirror, consigning him to perdition without hope of +passage into some easier state.</p> +<p>’Twas anathema most feeling and complete.</p> +<p>“Hist!” cries I. “You’re never so bad as <i>that</i>, +Uncle Nick!”</p> +<p>“None worse,” says he, “than that there ol’ lost +rascal!”</p> +<p>I did not believe it.</p> +<p>“I isn’t took a steady look at my ol’ figger-’ead,” he +was used to saying, with his little eyes widened to excite +wonder, “this five year! In p’int o’ looks,” says he, +smirking, vain as you please, “I’m t’ windward o’ most +o’ the bullies when I trims my beard. Ah, lad, they’s a +raft o’ bar-maids an’ water-side widows would wed ol’ +Nicholas Top. An’ why? ’Tain’t money, God knows! +for Nicholas Top haves none. Nar a dollar that a lone +water-side widow could nose out! An’ if ’tisn’t money,” +says he, “why, Lord love us! ’tis <i>looks</i>. It can’t be +nothin’ else. ’Tis looks or money with the widows; +they cares not which. Come, now, lad,” says he, +“would you ’low it <i>could</i> be otherwise than looks?”</p> +<p>I must wag my head.</p> +<p>“Lord love us, Dannie!” says he, so vain––so innocently +vain of the face he would not see––that my lips +twitch with laughter to think of it. “You an’ them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +water-side widows is got a wonderful judgment for +looks!”</p> +<p>By this I was flattered.</p> +<p>“Now, look you!” says he, being now in his cups and +darkly confidential with me, “I’m havin’, as I says, no +dealin’ with a glass. An’ why? Accordin’ t’ the water-side +widows ’tis not ill-favor o’ face. Then why? I’m +tellin’ you: ’Tis just because,” says he, tapping the +table with his forefinger, “Nick Top isn’t able t’ look +hisself in the eye.... Pass the bottle. Thank ’e, +lad.... There you haves it!” says he, with a pitiful +little catch of the breath. “Nicholas Top haves a +wonderful bad eye!”</p> +<p>I must nod my assent and commiseration.</p> +<p>“In p’int o’ beauty,” says my uncle, “Nicholas Top +is perfeckly content with the judgment o’ water-side +widows, which can’t be beat; but for these five year, +Lord help un! he’ve had no love for the eye in his +very own head.”</p> +<p>’Twas said in such chagrin and depth of sadness that +I was moved to melancholy.</p> +<p>“His own eye, lad,” he would repeat, “in his very +own head!”</p> +<p>My uncle, I confess, had indeed a hint too much of +the cunning and furtive about both gait and glance to +escape remark in strange places. ’Twas a pity––and +a mystery. That he should hang his head who might +have held it high! At Twist Tickle, to be sure, he +would hop hither and yon in a fashion surprisingly +light (and right cheerful); but abroad ’twas either +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +swagger or slink. Upon occasions ’twas manifest to +all the world that following evil he walked in shame +and terror. These times were periodic, as shall be +told: wherein, because of his simplicity, which was +unspoiled––whatever the rascality he was in the way +of practising––he would betray the features of hang-dog +villany, conceiving all the while that he had cleverly +masked himself with virtue.</p> +<p>“Child,” says he, in that high gentleness by which +he was distinguished, “take the old man’s hand. Never +fear t’ clasp it, lad! Ye’re abroad in respectable company.”</p> +<p>I would clasp it in childish faith.</p> +<p>“Abroad,” says he, defiantly, “in highly respectable +company!”</p> +<p>Ah, well! whether rogue or gentleman, upon whom +rascality was writ, the years were to tell. These, at +any rate, were the sinister aspects of Nicholas Top, of +Twist Tickle, whose foster-child I was, growing in +such mystery as never was before, I fancy, and thriving +in love not of the blood but rich and anxious as +love may be: and who shall say that the love which is +of the blood––a dull thing, foreordained––is more discerning, +more solicitous, more deep and abiding than +that which chances, however strangely, in the turmoil +and changes of the life we live? To restore confidence, +the old dog was furnished with an ample, genial belly; +and albeit at times he drank to excess, and despite the +five years’ suspicion of the eye in his very own head, +his eyes were blue and clear and clean-edged, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +little lights of fun and tenderness and truth twinkling +in their depths. I would have you know that as a +child I loved the scarred and broken old ape: this with +a child’s devotion, the beauty of which (for ’tis the way +of the heart) is not to be matched in later years, whatever +may be told. Nor in these days, when I am full-grown +and understand, will I have a word spoken in his +dishonor.</p> +<p>Not I, by Heaven!</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I came to Twist Tickle, as I am informed, on the +wings of a southeasterly gale: which winds are of mean +spirit and sullenly tenacious––a great rush of ill weather, +overflowing the world, blowing gray and high and cold. +At sea ’twas breaking in a geyser of white water on the +Resurrection Rock; and ashore, in the meagre shelter +of Meeting House Hill, the church-bell clanged fearsomely +in a swirl of descending wind: the gloaming of +a wild day, indeed! The <i>Shining Light</i> came lurching +through the frothy sea with the wind astern: a flash +of white in the mist, vanishing among the careering +waves, doughtily reappearing––growing the while into +the stature of a small craft of parts, making harbor +under a black, tumultuous sky. Beyond the Toads, +where there is a turmoil of breaking water, she made +a sad mess of it, so that the folk of the Tickle, watching +the strange appearance from the heads, made sure she +had gone down; but she struggled out of the spray +and tumble, in the end, and came to harbor unscathed +in the place where Nicholas Top, himself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +the skipper and crew, was born and fished as a +lad.</p> +<p>They boarded him, and (as they tell) he was brisk +and grim and dripping upon the deck––with the lights +dancing in his eyes: those which are lit by the mastery +of a ship at sea.</p> +<p>“Ay, mates,” says he, “I’m come back. An’,” says +he, “I’d thank ye t’ tread lightly, for I’ve a wee passenger +below, which I’ve no wish t’ have woke. He’s by +way o’ bein’ a bit of a gentleman,” says he, “an’ I’d +not have ye take a liberty.”</p> +<p>This made them stare.</p> +<p>“An’ I’d not,” my uncle repeated, steadily, glancing +from eye to eye, “have ye take a liberty.”</p> +<p>They wondered the more.</p> +<p>“A bit of a gentleman!” says my uncle, in savage +challenge. “A bit of a gentleman!”</p> +<p>He would tell them no more, nor ever did; but in +imperturbable serenity and certainty of purpose builded +a tight little house in a nook of Old Wives’ Cove, within +the harbor, where the <i>Shining Light</i> might lie snug; +and there he dwelt with the child he had, placidly +fishing the grounds with hook and line, save at such +times as he set out upon some ill-seeming business to +the city, whence he returned at ease, it seemed, with +himself and his errand, but something grayer, they +say, than before. The child he reared was in the +beginning conscious of no incongruity, but clothed the +old man with every grace and goodly quality, in faith +and understanding, as children will: for these knowing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +ones, with clearer sight than we, perceive neither guile +nor weakness nor any lack of beauty in those who foster +them––God be thanked!––whatever the nature and +outward show may be. There is a beauty common to +us all, neither greater nor less in any of us, which these +childish hearts discover. Looking upon us, they are +blind or of transcendent vision, as you will: the same +in issue––so what matter?––since they find no ugliness +anywhere. ’Tis the way, it may be, that God looks +upon His world: either in the blindness of love forgiving +us or in His greater wisdom knowing that the sins of +men do serve His purpose and are like virtue in His +plan.</p> +<p>But this is a mystery....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +<a name='II_AT_THE_SIGN_OF_THE_ANCHOR_AND_CHAIN' id='II_AT_THE_SIGN_OF_THE_ANCHOR_AND_CHAIN'></a> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>AT THE SIGN OF THE ANCHOR AND CHAIN</h3> +</div> +<p>The Anchor and Chain is a warm, pleasantly noisy +place by the water-side at St. John’s, with a not +ungrateful reek of rum and tobacco for such outport +folk as we; forever filled, too, with big, twinkling, +trumpeting men, of our simple kind, which is the sort +the sea rears. There for many a mellow hour of the +night was I perched upon a chair at my uncle’s side, +delighting in the cheer which enclosed me––in the pop +of the cork, the inspiriting passage of the black bottle, +the boisterous talk and salty tales, the free laughter––but +in which I might not yet, being then but seven +years old, actively partake.</p> +<p>When in the first of it my uncle called for his dram, +he would never fail to catch the bar-maid’s hand, +squeeze it under the table, with his left eyelid falling +and his displaced jaw solemnly ajar, informing her the +while, behind his thumb and forefinger, the rest of +that hand being gone, that I was a devil of a teetotaler: +by which (as I thought, and, I’ll be bound, he +knew well I would think) my years were excused and +I was admitted to the company of whiskered skippers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +upon a footing of equality. ’Tis every man’s privilege, +to be sure, to drink rum or not, as he will, without loss +of dignity.</p> +<p>If his mates would have me drink a glass with them +my uncle would not hinder.</p> +<p>“A nip o’ ginger-ale,” says I, brash as a sealing-captain.</p> +<p>’Twas the despair of my uncle. “Lord love us!” +says he, looking with horror upon the bottle.</p> +<p>“T’ you, sir,” says I, with my glass aloft, “an’ t’ the +whole bally crew o’ ye!”</p> +<p>“Belly-wash!” groans my uncle.</p> +<p>And so, brave and jolly as the rest of them, forgetting +the doses of jalap in store for me when I was got +back to the Tickle, I would now have my ninny (as +they called it). Had the bar-maids left off kissing me––but +they would not; no, they would kiss me upon +every coming, and if I had nothing to order ’twas a +kiss for my virtue, and if I drank ’twas a smack for +my engaging manliness; and my only satisfaction was +to damn them heartily––under my breath, mark you! +lest I be soundly thrashed on the spot for this profanity, +my uncle, though you may now misconceive his character, +being in those days quick to punish me. But +such are women: in a childless place, being themselves +childless, they cannot resist a child, but would kiss +queer lips, and be glad o’ the chance, because a child +is lovely to women, intruding where no children are.</p> +<p>As a child of seven I hated the bar-maids of the +Anchor and Chain, because they would kiss me against +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +my will when the whiskered skippers went untouched. +But that was long ago....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I must tell that at the Anchor and Chain my uncle +blundered in with Tom Bull, of the <i>Green Billow</i>, the +owner and skipper thereof, trading the ports of the +West Coast, then coast-wise, but (I fancy) not averse +to a smuggling opportunity, both ways, with the French +Islands to the south of us; at any rate, ’twas plain, +before the talk was over, that he needed no lights to +make the harbor of St.-Pierre, Miquelon, of a dark +time. ’Twas a red-whiskered, flaring, bulbous-nosed +giant, with infantile eyes, containing more of wonder +and patience than men need. He was clad in yellow +oil-skins, a-drip, glistening in the light of the lamps, +for he was newly come in from the rain: a bitter night, +the wind in the northeast, with a black fog abroad (I +remember it well)––a wet, black night, the rain driving +past the red-curtained windows of the Anchor and +Chain, the streets swept clean of men, ourselves light-hearted +and warm, indifferent, being ashore from the +wind, the cloudy night, the vicious, crested waves of +the open, where men must never laugh nor touch a +glass.</p> +<p>They must have a dram together in a stall removed +from the congregation of steaming men at the long +bar. And when the maid had fetched the bottle, Tom +Bull raised it, regarded it doubtfully, cocked his head, +looked my shamefaced uncle in the eye.</p> +<p>“An’ what might this be?” says he.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<p>“’Tis knowed hereabouts, in the langwitch o’ waterside +widows,” replies my uncle, mildly, “as a bottle o’ +Cheap an’ Nasty.”</p> +<p>Tom Bull put the bottle aside.</p> +<p>“<i>Tis</i> cheap, I’ll be bound,” says my uncle; “but +’tis not so wonderful nasty, Tom,” he grieved, “when +’tis the best t’ be had.”</p> +<p>“Skipper Nicholas,” says Tom, in wonder, “wasn’t +you give aforetime t’ the use o’ Long Tom?”</p> +<p>My uncle nodded.</p> +<p>“Dear man!” Tom Bull sighed.</p> +<p>My uncle looked away. Tom Bull seemed now first +to observe his impoverished appearance, and attacked +it with frankly curious eyes, which roamed without +shame over my uncle’s shrinking person; and my uncle +winced under this inquisition.</p> +<p>“Pour your liquor,” growls he, “an’ be content!”</p> +<p>Tom Bull grasped the bottle, unafraid of the contents, +unabashed by the rebuke. “An’ Skipper Nicholas,” +asks he, “where did you manage t’ pick up the young +feller?”</p> +<p>My uncle would not attend.</p> +<p>“Eh?” Tom Bull persisted. “Where did you come +across o’ he?”</p> +<p>“This,” says my uncle, with a gentle tug at my ear, +“is Dannie.”</p> +<p>“Ay; but whose young one?”</p> +<p>“Tom Callaway’s son.”</p> +<p>“Tom Callaway’s son!” cries Tom Bull.</p> +<p>There was that about me to stir surprise; with those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +generous days so long gone by, I will not gainsay it. +Nor will I hold Tom Bull in fault for doubting, though +he stared me, up and down, until I blushed and turned +uneasy while his astonished eyes were upon me.</p> +<p>“Tom Callaway’s son!” cries he again.</p> +<p>That I was.</p> +<p>“The same,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>Forthwith was I once more inspected, without reserve––for +a child has no complaint to make in such +cases––and with rising wonder, which, in the end, +caused Tom Bull to gape and gasp; but I was now less +concerned with the scrutiny, being, after all, long used +to the impertinence of the curious, than with the phenomena +it occasioned. My uncle’s friend had tipped +the bottle, and was now become so deeply engaged +with my appearance that the yellow whiskey tumbled +into his glass by fits and starts, until the allowance was +far beyond that which, upon information supplied me +by my uncle, I deemed proper (or polite) for any man +to have at one time. The measurement of drams was +in those bibulous days important to me––of much more +agreeable interest, indeed, than the impression I was +designed to make upon the ’longshore world.</p> +<p>“No such nonsense!” exclaims Tom Bull. “Tom +Callaway died ’ithout a copper t’ bury un.”</p> +<p>“Tom Callaway,” says my uncle, evasively, “didn’t +have no <i>call</i> t’ be buried; he was drown-ded.”</p> +<p>My uncle’s old shipmate sipped his whiskey with +absent, but grateful, relish, his eyes continuing to +wander over so much of me as grew above the table, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +which was little enough. Presently my uncle was subjected +to the same severe appraisement, and wriggled +under it in guilty way––an appraisement of the waterside +slops: the limp and shabby cast-off apparel which +scantily enveloped his great chest, insufficient for the +bitter rain then sweeping the streets. Thence the glance +of this Tom Bull went blankly over the foggy room, +pausing nowhere upon the faces of the folk at the bar, +but coming to rest, at last, upon the fly-blown rafters +(where was no interest), whence, suddenly, it dropped +to my hand, which lay idle and sparkling upon the +sticky table.</p> +<p>“Tom Callaway’s son!” he mused.</p> +<p>My hand was taken, spread down upon the calloused +palm of Tom Bull, in disregard of my frown, and for a +long time the man stared in puzzled silence at what +there he saw. ’Twas very still, indeed, in the little +stall where we three sat; the boisterous laughter, the +shuffling and tramp of heavy boots, the clink of glasses, +the beating of the rain upon the windows seemed far +away.</p> +<p>“I’d not be s’prised,” says Tom Bull, in the low, +hoarse voice of awe, “if them there was di’monds!”</p> +<p>“They is,” says my uncle, with satisfaction.</p> +<p>“Di’monds!” sighs Tom Bull. “My God!”</p> +<p>’Twas boredom––the intimate inspection, the question, +the start of surprise. ’Twas all inevitable, so +familiar––so distastefully intrusive, too. ’Twas a boredom +hard to suffer, and never would have been borne +had not the occasion of it been my uncle’s delight. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +’Twas always the same: Diamonds? ay, diamonds! +and then the gasped “My God!” They would pry +into this, by the Lord! and never be stopped by my +scowl and the shrinking of my flesh. It may be that +the parade my misguided guardian made of me invited +the intimacy, and, if so, I have no cry to raise against +the memory of it; but, whatever, they made free with +the child that was I, and boldly, though ’twas most +boresome and ungrateful to me. As a child my hand +was fingered and eyed by every ’longshore jack, coast-wise +skipper, and foreign captain from the Turkey +Cock to the sign of The King George. And wherever +I went upon the streets of St. John’s in those days there +was no escape: the glitter of me stopped folk in their +tracks––to turn and stare and wonder and pass muttering +on.</p> +<p>“Three in that one, Tom,” adds my uncle.</p> +<p>’Twas a moment before Tom Bull had mastered his +amazement. “Well, well!” cries he. “Di’monds! +Three in that one! Lord, Lord, think o’ that! This +wee feller with all them di’monds! An’ Skipper Nicholas,” +says he, drawing closer to my beaming uncle, +“this here red stone,” says he, touching the ring on my +third finger, “would be a jool? A ruby, like as not?”</p> +<p>“’Tis that,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>“An’ this here?” Tom Bull continues, selecting my +little finger.</p> +<p>“Well, now, Tom,” says my uncle, with gusto, for +he delighted in these discussions, “I ’low I better tell +you ’bout that. Ye see, lad,” says he, “that’s a seal-ring, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +Tom. I’m told that gentlemen wears un t’ stamp +the wax o’ their corr-ee-spondence. ’Twas Sir Harry +that give me the trick o’ that. It haves a D for Daniel, +an’ a C for Callaway; an’ it haves a T in the middle, +Tom, for Top. I ’lowed I’d get the Top in somewheres, +so I put it in atween the D an’ the C t’ have +it lie snug: for I’m not wantin’ this here little Dannie +t’ forget that Top was t’ the wheel in his younger +days.” He turned to me, and in a voice quite broken +with affection, and sadly hopeless, somehow, as I +recall, “Dannie, lad,” says he, “ye’ll never forget, +will ye, that Top was t’ the wheel? God bless ye, +child! Well, Tom,” turning now to his shipmate, +“ye’re a man much sailed t’ foreign parts, an’ ye +wouldn’t think it ungenteel, would ye, for a lad like +Dannie t’ wear a seal-ring? No? I’m wonderful glad +o’ that. For, Tom,” says he, most earnestly, “I’m +wantin’ Dannie t’ be a gentleman. He’s just <i>got</i> t’ be +a gentleman!”</p> +<p>“A gentleman, Nick?”</p> +<p>“He’ve <i>got</i> t’ be a gentleman!”</p> +<p>“You’ll never manage that, Nick Top,” says Tom +Bull.</p> +<p>“Not manage it!” my uncle indignantly complained. +“Why, look, Tom Bull––jus’ <i>look</i>––at them there jools! +An’ <i>that’s</i> on’y a poor beginnin’!”</p> +<p>Tom Bull laid my hand very gingerly upon the +table, as though ’twere a thing not lightly to be handled +lest it fall to pieces in his grasp. He drew my left hand +from my pocket and got it under the light.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span></div> +<p>“Two pearls,” says my uncle, “’longside a emerald. +Aft o’ that you’ll be like t’ find two more di’monds. +Them’s first-water Brazil, Tom.”</p> +<p>Tom Bull inquiringly touched my watch-guard.</p> +<p>“Eighteen karat,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>Tom Bull drew the watch from its pocket and let it +lie glittering in his hand; the jewels, set shyly in the +midst of the chasing, glowed in the twilight of the +stall.</p> +<p>“Solid,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>Tom Bull touched my velvet jacket with the tip of +his finger.</p> +<p>“Imported direck,” says my uncle, “from Lon’on. +Direck, Tom––is you hearin’ me?––direck from Lon’on. +Not,” says he, with quick consideration, “that we’ve +no respeck for home talent. My, my, no! Dannie +haves a matter o’ thirteen outfits done right here in +St. John’s. You beat about Water Street for a +week, Tom, an’ you’ll <i>sight</i> un. Fill your glass, Tom! +We’re well met this night. Leave me talk t’ you, lad. +Leave me talk t’ ye about Dannie. Fill up, an’ may +the Lord prosper your smugglin’! ’Tis a wild night +without. I’m glad enough t’ be in harbor. ’Tis a +dirty night; but ’tis not blowin’ <i>here</i>, Tom––an’ that’s +the bottle; pour your dram, lad, an’ take it like a +man! God save us! but a bottle’s the b’y t’ make a +fair wind of a head wind. Tom,” says he, laying a +hand on my head––which was the ultimate expression +of his affection––“you jus’ ought t’ clap eyes on this +here little ol’ Dannie when he’ve donned his Highland +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +kilts. He’s a little divil of a dandy then, I’m tellin’ +you. Never a lad o’ the city can match un, by the +Lord! Not match my little Dannie! Clap eyes,” says +he, “on good ol’ little Dannie! Lord save ye, but +of all the young fellers you’ve knowed he’s the finest +figger of a lad––”</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick!” I cried, in pain––in pain to be excused +(as shall be told).</p> +<p>“Hush, lad!” croons he. “Never mind!”</p> +<p>I could not help it.</p> +<p>“An’ talkin’ about outfits, Tom,” says my uncle, +“this here damn little ol’ Dannie, bein’ a gentleman, +haves his <i>best</i>––from Lon’on. Ye can’t blame un, +Tom; they <i>all</i> doos it.”</p> +<p>’Twas all hands t’ the pumps for poor Tom Bull. +“Dear man!” he gasped, his confusion quite accomplished.</p> +<p>“An’ <i>paid</i> for,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>Tom Bull looked up.</p> +<p>“’Tis all,” says my uncle, solemnly jerking thumb +down towards the bowels of the earth, “paid for!”</p> +<p>Tom Bull gulped the dregs of his whiskey.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>By-and-by, having had his glass––and still with the +puzzle of myself to mystify his poor wits––Tom Bull +departed. My uncle and I still kept to the stall, for +there was an inch of spirits in my uncle’s glass, and +always, though the night was late and stormy, a large +possibility for new company. ’Twas grown exceeding +noisy in a far corner of the place, where a foreign +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +captain, in from the north (Fogo, I take it), loaded +with fish for Italian ports, was yielding to his liquor; +and I was intent upon this proceeding, wondering +whether or not they would soon take to quarrelling, +as often happened in that tap-room, when Tom Bull +softly came again, having gone but a step beyond the +threshold of the place. He stepped, as though aimlessly, +to our place, like a man watched, fearing the +hand of the law; and for a time he sat musing, toying +with the glass he had left.</p> +<p>“Skipper Nicholas,” says he, presently, “I ’low +Dannie Callaway haves a friend t’ buy un all them +jools?”</p> +<p>“This here little ol’ Dannie,” says my uncle, with +another little reassuring tug at my ear, “haves no +friend in all the world but me.”</p> +<p>’Twas true.</p> +<p>“Not one?”</p> +<p>“Nar a friend in all the world but ol’ Nick Top o’ +Twist Tickle.”</p> +<p>“An’ <i>you</i> give un them jools?”</p> +<p>“I did.”</p> +<p>There was a pause. Tom Bull was distraught, my +uncle quivering; and I was interested in the rain on +the panes and in the foreign captain who was yielding +to his liquor like a fool or a half-grown boy. I conceived +a contempt for that shaven, scrawny skipper––I +remember it well. That he should drink himself +drunk like a boy unused to liquor! Faugh! ’Twas +a sickening sight. He would involve himself in some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +drunken brawl, I made sure, when even I, a child, +knew better than to misuse the black bottle in this +unkind way. ’Twas the passage from Spain––and the +rocks of this and the rocks of that––and ’twas the +virtues of a fore-and-after and the vices of an English +square rig for the foremast. He’d stand by the square +rig; and there were Newfoundlanders at his table to +dispute the opinion. The good Lord only knew what +would come of it! And the rain was on the panes, and +the night was black, and the wind was playing devil-tricks +on the great sea, where square-rigged foremasts +and fore-and-afters were fighting for their lives. A +dirty night at sea––a dirty night, God help us!</p> +<p>“Skipper Nicholas,” says Tom Bull, in an anxious +whisper, “I’m tied up t’ Judby’s wharf, bound out at +dawn, if the wind holds. I ’low you is in trouble, lad, +along o’ them jools. An’ if you wants t’ cut an’ run––”</p> +<p>In the pause my uncle scowled.</p> +<p>––“The little <i>Good Omen</i>,” says Tom Bull, under +his breath, “is your’n t’ command!”</p> +<p>’Twas kind of intention, no doubt, but done in folly––in +stupid (if not befuddled) misconception of the old +man’s mettle. My uncle sat quite still, frowning into +his glass; the purple color crept into the long, crescent +scar of his scalp, his unkempt beard bristled like a +boar’s back, the flesh of his cheeks, in composure of a +ruddy hue, turned a spotty crimson and white, with +the web of veins swelling ominously. All the storm +signals I had, with the acumen of the child who suffers +unerring discipline, mastered to that hour were at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +mast-head, prognosticating a rare explosion of rage. +But there was no stirring on my uncle’s part; he continued +to stare into his glass, with his hairy brows +drawn quite over his eyes.</p> +<p>The blundering fellow leaned close to my uncle’s ear. +“If ’tis turn-tail or chokee for you, along o’ them +jools,” says he, “I’ll put you across––”</p> +<p>My uncle’s eyes shifted to his staff.</p> +<p>––“T’ the Frenchmen––”</p> +<p>My uncle’s great right hand was softly approaching +his staff.</p> +<p>––“Well,” says the blundering Tom Bull, “give the +old girl a wind with some slap to it, I’ll put you across +in––”</p> +<p>My uncle fetched him a smart crack on the pate, so +that the man leaped away, in indignation, and vigorously +rubbed his head, but durst not swear (for he +was a Methodist), and, being thus desperately situated, +could say nothing at all, but could only petulantly +whimper and stamp his foot, which I thought a mean +thing for a man to do in such circumstances. “A +poor way,” says he, at last, “t’ treat an old shipmate!” +I thought it marvellously weak; my uncle would have +had some real and searching thing to say––some slashing +words (and, may be, a blow). “An you isn’t a +thief,” cries Tom Bull, in anger, “you <i>looks</i> it, anyhow. +An’ the rig o’ that lad bears me out. Where’d +you come by them jools? Eh?” he demanded. +“Where’d you come by them di’monds and pearls? +Where’d you come by them rubies an’ watches? <i>You</i>––Nick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +Top: Twist Tickle hook-an’-line man! Buyin’ +di’monds for a pauper,” he snorted, “an’ drinkin’ +Cheap an’ Nasty! Them things don’t mix, Nick Top. +Go be hanged! The police ’ll cotch ye yet.”</p> +<p>“No,” says my uncle, gently; “not yet.”</p> +<p>Tom Bull stamped out in a rage.</p> +<p>“No,” my uncle repeated, wiping the sweat from +his brow, “Tom Bull forgotten; the police ’ll not cotch +me. Oh no, Dannie!” he sighed. “They’ll not cotch +me––not yet!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Then out of the black night came late company like +a squall o’ wind: Cap’n Jack Large, no less! newly in +from Cadiz, in salt, with a spanking passage to make +water-side folk stare at him (the <i>Last Hope</i> was the +scandal of her owners). He turned the tap-room into +an uproar; and no man would believe his tale. ’Twas +beyond belief, with Longway’s trim, new, two-hundred-ton +<i>Flying Fish</i>, of the same sailing, not yet +reported! And sighting Nicholas Top and me, Cap’n +Jack Large cast off the cronies he had gathered in the +tap-room progress of the night, and came to our stall, +as I expected when he bore in from the rain, and +sent my uncle’s bottle of Cheap and Nasty off with +contempt, and called for a bottle of Long Tom (the +best, as I knew, the Anchor and Chain afforded), +which must be broached under his eye, and said he +would drink with us until we were turned out or dawn +came. Lord, how I loved that man, as a child, in +those days: his jollity and bigness and courage and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +sea-clear eyes! ’Twas grand to feel, aside from the +comfort of him, that he had put grown folk away to +fondle the child on his knee––a mystery, to be sure, +but yet a grateful thing. Indeed, ’twas marvellously +comfortable to sit close to him. But I never saw him +again: for the <i>Last Hope</i> went down, with a cargo of +mean fish, in the fall of the next year, in the sea between +St. John’s and the West Indies.</p> +<p>But that night––</p> +<p>“Cap’n Jack,” says I, “you quit that basket.”</p> +<p>He laughed.</p> +<p>“You quit her,” I pleaded. “But ecod, man!” +says I, “please quit her. An you don’t I’ll never see +you more.”</p> +<p>“An’ you’ll never care,” cries he. “Not <i>you</i>, Master +Callaway!”</p> +<p>“Do you quit her, man!”</p> +<p>“I isn’t able,” says he, drawing me to his knee; +“for, Dannie,” says he, his blue eyes alight, “they +isn’t ar another man in Newf’un’land would take that +basket t’ sea!”</p> +<p>I sighed.</p> +<p>“Come, Dannie,” says he, “what’ll ye take t’ +drink?”</p> +<p>“A nip o’ ginger-ale,” says I, dolefully.</p> +<p>Cap’n Jack put his arm around the bar-maid. +“Fetch Dannie,” says he, “the brand that comes +from over-seas.”</p> +<p>Off she went.</p> +<p>“Lord love us!” groans my uncle; “that’s two.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div> +<p>“’Twill do un no harm, Nick,” says Cap’n Jack. +“You just dose un well when you gets un back t’ the +Tickle.”</p> +<p>“I will,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>He did....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And we made a jovial night of it. Cap’n Jack +would not let me off his knee. Not he! He held me +close and kindly; and while he yarned of the passage +to my uncle, and interjected strange wishes for a wife, +he whispered many things in my ear to delight me, +and promised me, upon his word, a sailing from St. +John’s to Spanish ports, when I was grown old enough, +if only I would come in that basket of a <i>Lost Hope</i>, +which I maintained I never would do. ’Twas what +my uncle was used to calling a lovely time; and, as +for me, I wish I were a child again, and Cap’n Jack +were come in from the rain, and my uncle tipping +the bottle of Long Tom (though ’twere a scandal). +Ay, indeed I do! That I were a child again, used to +tap-room bottles, and that big Cap’n Jack had come +in from the gale to tell me I was a brave lad in whom +he found a comfort neither of the solid land nor of +water-side companionship. But I did not think of +Cap’n Jack that night, when my uncle had stowed me +away in my bed at the hotel; but, rather, in the long, +wakeful hours, through which I lay alone, I thought +of Tom Bull’s question, “Where’d ye get them +jools?”</p> +<p>I had never before been troubled––not once; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +always I had worn the glittering stones without question.</p> +<p>“Where’d ye get them jools?”</p> +<p>I could not fall asleep: I repeated the twenty-third +psalm, according to my teaching; but still I could not +fall asleep....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +<a name='III_THE_CATECHISM_AT_TWIST_TICKLE' id='III_THE_CATECHISM_AT_TWIST_TICKLE'></a> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>THE CATECHISM AT TWIST TICKLE</h3> +</div> +<p>Of an evening at Twist Tickle Nicholas Top would +sit unstrung and wistful in his great chair by the +west window, with the curtains drawn wide, there +waiting, in deepening gloom and fear, for the last light +to leave the world. With his head fallen upon his +breast and his eyes grown fixed and tragical with far-off +gazing, he would look out upon the appalling sweep +of sea and rock and sky, where the sombre wonder of +the dusk was working more terribly than with thunder: +clouds in embers, cliffs and mist and tumbling water +turning to shadows, vanishing, as though they were +not. In the place of a shining world, spread familiar +and open, from its paths to the golden haze of its +uttermost parts, there would come the cloud and +mystery and straying noises of the night, wherein lurk +and peer and restlessly move whatsoever may see in the +dark.</p> +<p>Thus would he sit oppressed while night covered the +world he knew by day. And there would come up +from the sea its voice; and the sea has no voice, but +mysteriously touches the strings within the soul of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +a man, so that the soul speaks in its own way, each +soul lifting its peculiar message. For me ’twas sweet +to watch the tender shadows creep upon the western +fire, to see the great gray rocks dissolve, to hear +the sea’s melodious whispering; but to him (it seemed) +the sea spoke harshly and the night came with +foreboding. In the silence and failing light of the +hour, looking upon the stupendous works of the Lord, +he would repeat the words of the prophet of the Lord:</p> +<p>“<i>For behold the Lord will come with fire, and with his +chariots like a whirlwind, to render his anger with fury, +and his rebuke with the flames of fire.</i>” And again, with +his hand upon his forehead and his brows fallen hopelessly, +“<i>With his chariots like a whirlwind, to render +his anger with fury, and his rebuke with the flames of +fire.</i>” Still repeating the awful words, his voice broken +to a terrified whisper, “<i>His rebuke with the flames of +fire!</i>” And in particular moods, when the prophets, +however sonorous, were inadequate to his need, my +uncle would have recourse to his own pithy vocabulary +for terms with which to anathematize himself; but +these, of course, may not be written in a book.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When the dusk was come my uncle would turn +blithely from this melancholy contemplation and call +for a lamp and his bottle. While I was about this +business (our maid-servant would not handle the bottle +lest she be damned for it), my uncle would stump the +floor, making gallant efforts to whistle and trill: by +this exhorting himself to a cheerful mood, so that when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +I had moved his great chair to the table, with the lamp +near and turned high, and had placed a stool for his +wooden leg, and had set his bottle and glass and little +brown jug of cold water conveniently at hand, his face +would be pleasantly rippling and his eyes all a-twinkle.</p> +<p>“Up with un, Dannie!” says he.</p> +<p>’Twas his fancy that he had gout in the tip of his +wooden leg. I must lift the ailing bit of timber to the +stool with caution.</p> +<p>“Ouch!” groans he. “Easy, lad!”</p> +<p>’Twas now in place.</p> +<p>“All ship-shape an’ cheerful,” says he. “Pass the +bottle.”</p> +<p>He would then stand me up for catechism; and to +this task I would come with alacrity, and my heels +would come together, and my shoulders square, and +my hands go behind my back, as in the line at school. +’Twas a solemn game, whatever the form it took, +whether dealing with my possessions, hopes, deportment, +or what-not; and however grotesque an appearance +the thing may wear, ’twas done in earnest by us +both and with some real pains (when I was stupid or +sleepy) to me. ’Twas the way he had, too, of teaching +me that which he would have me conceive him to be––of +fashioning in my heart and mind the character he +would there wear. A clumsy, forecastle method, and +most pathetically engaging, to be sure! but in effect +unapproached: for to this day, when I know him as +he was, the man he would appear to be sticks in my +heart and will not be supplanted. Nor would I willingly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +yield the wistful old dog’s place to a gentleman +of more brilliant parts.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” he would begin, in the manner of a +visiting trustee, but yet with a little twitch and flush +of embarrassment, which must be wiped away with +his great bandanna handkerchief––“Dannie, lad,” he +would begin, “is ol’ Nicholas Top a well-knowed figger +in Newf’un’land?”</p> +<p>“He’s knowed,” was the response I had been taught, +“from Cape Race t’ Chidley.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“Standin’ by.”</p> +<p>So far so good; my uncle would beam upon me, as +though the compliment were of my own devising, until +’twas necessary once more to wipe the smile and blush +from his great wet countenance.</p> +<p>“Is it righteous,” says he, “t’ stand by?”</p> +<p>“’Tis that.”</p> +<p>He would now lean close with his poser: “Does it +say so in the Bible? Ah ha, lad! Does it say so +<i>there</i>?”</p> +<p>“’Twas left out,” says I, having to this been scandalously +taught, “by mistake!”</p> +<p>’Twas my uncle’s sad habit thus to solve his ethical +difficulties. To a gigantic, thumb-worn Bible he would +turn, the which, having sought with unsuccess until +his temper was hot, he would fling back to its place, +growling: “Them ol’ prophets was dunderheads, anyhow; +they left out more’n they put in. Why, Dannie,” +in vast disgust, “you don’t find the mention of barratry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +from jib-boom t’ taffrail! An’ you mean t’ set there +an’ tell me them prophets didn’t make no mistake? +No, sir! I ’low they was well rope’s-ended for neglect +o’ dooty when the Skipper cotched un in the other +Harbor.” But if by chance, in his impatient haste, +he stumbled upon some confirmation of his own philosophy, +he would crow: “There you got it, Dannie! +Right under the thumb o’ me! Them ol’ bullies was +wise as owls.” ’Twas largely a matter of words, no +doubt (my uncle being self-taught in all things); +and ’tis possible that the virtue of standing by, indirectly +commended, to be sure, is not specifically +and in terms enjoined upon the righteous. However––</p> +<p>“Come, now!” says my uncle; “would you say that +ol’ Nicholas Top was <i>famous</i> for standin’ by?”</p> +<p>’Twas hard to remember the long response. “Well,” +I must begin, in a doubtful drawl, every word and +changing inflection his own, as I had been taught, +“I wouldn’t go <i>quite</i> t’ the length o’ that. Ol’ Nicholas +Top wouldn’t claim it hisself. Ol’ Nicholas Top on’y +claims that he’s <i>good</i> at standin’ by. His cronies do +’low that he can’t be beat at it by ar a man in Newf’un’land; +but Nicholas wouldn’t go t’ the length o’ <i>sayin’</i> +so hisself. ‘Ol’ Nick,’ says they, ‘would stand by if +the ship was skippered by the devil and inbound on +a fiery wind t’ the tickle t’ hell. Whatever Nick says +he’ll <i>do</i>,’ says they, ‘is all the same as <i>did</i>; an’ if he +says he’ll stand by, he’ll stick, blow high or blow low, +fog, ice, or reefs. “Be jiggered t’ port an’ weather!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +says he.’<a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[1]</a> But sure,” I must conclude, “ol’ Nicholas +wouldn’t say so hisself. An’ so I wouldn’t go t’ the +length o’ holdin’ that he was famous for standin’ by. +Take it by an’ all, if I was wantin’ sea room, I’d stick +t’ <i>well knowed</i> an’ be done with it.”</p> +<p>“Co’-rect!” says my uncle, with a smack of satisfaction. +“You got that long one right, Dannie. An’ +now, lad,” says he, his voice turning soft and genuine +in feeling, “what’s the ol’ sailorman tryin’ t’ make out +o’ <i>you</i>?”</p> +<p>“A gentleman.”</p> +<p>“An’ why?”</p> +<p>Then this disquieting response:</p> +<p>“’Tis none o’ my business.”</p> +<p>’Twould have been logical had he asked me: “An’, +Dannie, lad, what’s a gentleman?” But this he never +did; and I think, regarding the thing from this distance, +that he was himself unable to frame the definition, +so that, of course, I never could be taught it. But +he was diligent in pursuit of this knowledge; he sat +with open ears in those exclusive tap-rooms where +“the big bugs t’ St. John’s” (as he called them) +congregated; indeed, the little gold watch by which +Skipper Tom Bull’s suspicion had been excited at the +Anchor and Chain came to me immediately after the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +Commissioner of This had remarked to the Commissioner +of That, within my uncle’s hearing––this at the +Gold Bullet over a bottle of Long Tom––that a watch +of modest proportions was the watch for a gentleman +to wear (my other watches had been chosen with an +opposite idea). And my uncle, too (of which anon), +held in high regard that somewhat questionable light +of morality and deportment whom he was used to +calling ol’ Skipper Chesterfield. But “What is a gentleman?” +was omitted from my catechism.</p> +<p>“An’ is this ol’ Nicholas Top a liar?” says my uncle.</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Is he a thief?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Smuggler?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Have he ever been mixed up in burglary, murder, +arson, barratry, piracy, fish stealin’, or speckalation?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>To indicate his utter detachment from personal +interest in the question to follow, my uncle would +wave his dilapidated hand, as though leaving me free +to answer as I would, which by no means was I.</p> +<p>“An’ of how much,” says he, “would he rob his +neighbor that he might prosper?”</p> +<p>’Twas now time for me to turn loud and indignant, +as I had been taught. Thus: my head must shoot out +in truculent fashion, my brows bend, my lips curl away +from my teeth like a snarling dog’s, my eyes glare; +and I must let my small body shake with explosive +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +rage, in imitation of my uncle, while I brought the +table a thwack with all my force, shouting:</p> +<p>“Not a damn copper!”</p> +<p>“Good!” says my uncle, placidly. “You done that +very well, Dannie, for a lad. You fetched out the +damn quite noisy an’ agreeable. Now,” says he, “is +Nicholas Top a rascal?”</p> +<p>’Twas here we had trouble; in the beginning, when +this learning was undertaken, I must be whipped to +answer as he would have me. Ay, and many a night +have I gone sore to bed for my perversity, for in respect +to obedience his severity was unmitigated, as +with all seafaring men. But I might stand obstinate +for a moment––a moment of grace. And upon the +wall behind his chair, hanging in the dimmer light, +was a colored print portraying a blue sea, spread with +rank upon rank of accurately measured waves, each +with its tiny cap of foam, stretching without diminution +to the horizon, upon which was perched a full-rigged +ship, a geometrical triumph; and from this vessel came +by small-boat to the strand a company of accurately +moulded, accurately featured, accurately tailored fellows, +pulling with perfect accuracy in every respect. +I shall never forget the geometrical gentleman upon +that geometrically tempestuous sea, for as I stood sullen +before my uncle they provided the only distraction +at hand.</p> +<p>“Come, Daniel!” says he, in a little flare of wrath; +“is he a rascal?”</p> +<p>“Well,” says I, defiantly, “I’ve heard un lied about.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></div> +<p>“Wrong!” roars my uncle. “Try again, sir! Is ol’ +Nicholas Top a rascal?”</p> +<p>There was no help for it. I must say the unkind +words or be thrashed for an obstinate whelp.</p> +<p>“A damned rascal, sir!” says I.</p> +<p>“Co’-<i>rect</i>!” cries my uncle, delighted.<a name='FNanchor_0002' id='FNanchor_0002'></a><a href='#Footnote_0002' class='fnanchor'>[2]</a></p> +<p>And now, presently, my uncle would drawl, “Well, +Dannie, lad, you might ’s well measure out the other,” +and when I had with care poured his last dram would +send me off to bed. Sometimes he would have me say +my prayers at his knee––not often––most when high +winds, without rain, shook our windows and sang +mournfully past the cottage, and he was unnerved by +the night. “The wind’s high the night,” says he, with +an anxious frown; “an’ Dannie,” says he, laying a +hand upon my head, “you might ’s well overhaul that +there</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“‘<i>Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,<br /> +Bless Thy little lamb to-night,</i>’</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></div> +<p>afore you turns in. ’Twill do you good, an’ ’twon’t +manage t’ do me no harm.” And this done I would +off to bed; but had no sooner bade him good-night, +got my gruff response, and come to the foot of the +stair, than, turning to say good-night again, I would +find myself forgot. My uncle would be sunk dejectedly +in his great chair, his scarred face drawn and +woful. I see him now––under the lamp––a gray, +monstrous, despairing man, a bottle beside him, the +familiar things of the place in shadow. The old feeling +of wonder and regret returns. I sigh––as then, a +child, bound up to a lonely chamber in the night, I +sighed.</p> +<p>“Good-night, sir!”</p> +<p>There was no response; but he would look in upon +me on the way to bed––into the little room where +I lay luxuriously, in the midst of those extravagant +comforts which so strangely came to me. And more +often than not he would haul this way and that upon +the covers until, as though by some unhappy accident, +I was awakened.</p> +<p>“God bless you, Dannie,” says he.</p> +<p>“Good-night, sir.”</p> +<p>’Twas all he wanted––a good wish spoken in the +night. To his own bare room he would then be off, a +bit uncertain (I recall) in the management of his +wooden leg.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Under my window, at the foot of a short cliff which +fell roughly into the open cove, as shall be told, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +sea broke. While sleep waited ’twas my habit to listen +to the waves upon the rocks: in that brief and mystical +interval when many truths take shape, definite and +lovely, as in a mist, but are forgot before dawn stirs +us, nor can be remembered. Of still moonlit nights; +of windless dusks, with the swell of past storms sullenly +remaining; in clammy, breathless weather; with fresh +winds blowing our craft to and fro on their way in +search of the fish; in blackest gales, when the men of +Twist Tickle kept watch for wrecks upon the heads––forever +I listened to the voice of the sea before I fell +asleep. But the sea has no voice, but may only play +upon the souls of men, which speak from the uttermost +depths, each soul in its own way: so that the sea +has a thousand voices, and listening men are tranquil +or not, as may chance within them, without mystery. +Never since those far-off days, when the sea took my +unspoiled soul as a harp in its hands, have I been +secure in the knowledge of truth, untroubled by bewilderment +and anxious questions. Untroubled by +love, by the fear of hell, ’twas good to be alive in a +world where the sea spoke tenderly below the window +of the room where sleep came bearing dreams.</p> +<p>And my uncle? God knows! The harp was warped, +and the strings of the harp were broken and out of +tune....</p> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[1]</span></a> +<p>’Twas really “damned t’ port an’ weather” my uncle +would have me say; but I hesitate to set it down, lest the +more gentle readers of my simple narrative think ill of +the man’s dealings with a child, which I would not have +them do.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0002' id='Footnote_0002'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0002'><span class='label'>[2]</span></a> +<p>Of course, the frequent recurrence of this vulgarity in +my narrative is to be regretted. No one, indeed, is more +sensible of the circumstance than I. My uncle held the +word in affectionate regard, and usefully employed it: +’tis the only apology I have to offer. Would it not be +possible for the more delicate readers of my otherwise inoffensive +narrative to elide the word? or to supply, on the +spur of the moment, an acceptable equivalent, of which, +I am told, there is an infinite variety? or (better still) to +utter it courageously? I am for the bolder course: ’tis a +discipline rich in cultural advantages. But ’tis for the +reader, of course, to choose the alternative.</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +<a name='IV_ON_SINISTER_BUSINESS' id='IV_ON_SINISTER_BUSINESS'></a> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>ON SINISTER BUSINESS</h3> +</div> +<p>Our pilgrimages to St. John’s, occurring twice a +year, were of a singular description: not only in the +manner of our progress, which was unexampled, in view +of our relationship and condition, but in the impenetrable +character of our mission and in the air of low rascality +it unfailingly wore. For many days before our departure +from Twist Tickle by the outside boat, my uncle +would quit the Green Bull grounds, where he fished +with hook and line, would moor his punt fore and aft, +and take to the bleak hills of Twin Islands, there (it +seemed) to nurse some questionable design: whence +at dusk he would emerge, exhausted in leg and spirit, +but yet with strength to mutter obscure imprecations +as he came tapping up the gravelled walk from the +gate, and with the will to manage a bottle and glass in +the kitchen.</p> +<p>“The bottle!” cries he. “Ecod! the dog’ll never +scare ol’ Nick Top. Dannie, the bottle!”</p> +<p>While I fled for this he would sit growling by the +table; but before I was well returned the humor would +be vanishing, so that sometimes I guessed (but might +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +be mistaken) he practised this rage and profanity to +play a part.</p> +<p>“Ol’ Nick Top,” says he, “is as saucy a dog as +you’ll find in the pack!”</p> +<p>’Twas said with a snap.</p> +<p>“A saucy ol’ dog!” snarls he. “An’ Lord love ye! +but he’s able t’––t’––t’ <i>bite</i>!”</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” says I, “you’re all wore out along o’ +walkin’ them hills.”</p> +<p>“Wore out!” cries he, an angry flash in his wide +little eyes. “<i>Me</i> wore out?... Pass the bottle.... +Ye’d never think it, lad, an ye could see me t’ St. +John’s,” says he, “at the––”</p> +<p>The revelation came to a full stop with the tipping of +the square black bottle.</p> +<p>“Where’s that?” says I.</p> +<p>“’Tis a wee water-side place, lad,” says he, with +a grave wink, “where ol’ Nick Top’s the sauciest dog +in the pack!”</p> +<p>I would pass the water for his liquor.</p> +<p>“An’ here,” cries he, toasting with solemn enthusiasm, +“is wishin’ all water-side rascals in”––’twas now a long +pull at the glass––“jail!” says he. “’Twould go agin +my conscience t’ wish un worse. I really isn’t able!”</p> +<p>By these wanderings on the hills the slow, suspicious +wits of our folk of Twist Tickle were mystified and +aroused to superstitious imaginings. ’Twas inevitable +that they should pry and surmise––surmising much +more than they dared pry. They were never bold, +however, in the presence of my uncle, whether because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +of their courteous ways or because of his quick temper +and sulphurous tongue, in respect to meddling, I am +not able to say; but no doubt they would have troubled +us a deal had my uncle even so much as admitted by +the set of his eyelid (which he never would do) that +there was a mystery concerning us. The lads of the +place lurked upon the hills when the business went +forward, continuing in desperate terror of my uncle at +such times. They learned, notwithstanding their fright, +that he trudged far and hard, at first smiling with the +day, then muttering darkly, at last wrathfully swishing +the spruce with his staff; but not one of them could +follow to the discovery of the secret, whatever it might +be, so that, though ’twas known the old man exchanged +a genial humor for an execrable one, the why +and wherefore were never honestly fathomed.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Came, at last, the day before our departure, upon +which my wardrobe for the journey must be chosen +from the closets and chests, inspected, scrupulously +packed––this for travel, that for afternoon, this, again, +for dinner––tweed and serge and velvet: raiment for +all occasions, for all weathers, as though, indeed, I +were to spend time with the governor of the colony. +Trinkets and cravats presented pretty questions for +argument, in which my uncle delighted, and would +sustain with spirit, watching rather wistfully, I recall, +to see my interest wax; and my interest would sometimes +wax too suddenly for belief, inspired by his +melancholy disappointment, so that he would dig me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +in the ribs with his long forefinger and laugh at me +because he had discovered my deception. My uncle +was a nice observer (and diligent) of fashion, and a +stickler for congruity of dress, save in the matter of +rings and the like, with which, perhaps, he was in the +way of too largely adorning me.</p> +<p>“Ye’ll be wearin’ the new Turkish outfit aboard +ship, Dannie?” says he.</p> +<p>I would not.</p> +<p>“Lon’on <i>Haberdasher</i> come out strong,” says he, at +a coax, “on Turkish outfits for seven-year-olds.”</p> +<p>’Twas not persuasive.</p> +<p>“Wonderful pop’lar across the water.”</p> +<p>“But,” I would protest, “I’m not likin’ the queer +red cap.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Dannie,” says he, “I fears ye’ll never be much +of a gentleman if ye’re careless o’ the fashion. Not in +the fashion, out o’ the world! What have ol’ Skipper +Chesterfield t’ say on that p’int? Eh, lad? What +have the bully ol’ skipper t’ say––underlined by Sir +Harry? A list o’ the ornamental accomplishments, +volume II., page 24. ‘T’ be extremely clean in your +person,’ says he, ‘an’ perfeckly well dressed, accordin’ +t’ the fashion, be that what it will.’ There you haves +it, lad, underlined by Sir Harry! <i>‘Be that what +it will.’</i> But ye’re not likin’ the queer red cap, eh? +Ah, well! I ’low, then, ye’ll be havin’ t’ don the +kilt.”</p> +<p>This I would hear with relief.</p> +<p>“But I ’low,” growls he, “that Sir Harry an’ Skipper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +Chesterfield haves the right of it: for they’re both +strong on manners––if weak on morals.”</p> +<p>Aboard ship I was put in the cabin and commanded +to bear myself like a gentleman: whereupon I was +abandoned, my uncle retreating in haste and purple +confusion from the plush and polish and glitter of the +state-room. But he would never fail to turn at the +door (or come stumping back through the passage); +and now heavily oppressed by my helplessness and +miserable loneliness and the regrettable circumstances +of my life––feeling, it may be, some fear for me and +doubt of his own wisdom––he would regard me anxiously. +To this day he lingers thus in my memory: +leaning forward upon his short staff, half within the +bright light, half lost in shadow, upon his poor, fantastic, +strangely gentle countenance an expression of +tenderest solicitude, which still would break, against +his will, in ripples of the liveliest admiration at my +appearance and luxurious situation, but would quickly +recover its quality of concern and sympathy.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” he would prescribe, “you better overhaul +the twenty-third psa’m afore turnin’ in.”</p> +<p>To this I would promise.</p> +<p>“‘The Lard is my shepherd,’” says he. “‘I shall +not want.’ Say it twice,” says he, as if two doses were +more salutary than one, “an’ you’ll feel better in the +mornin’.”</p> +<p>To this a doleful assent.</p> +<p>“An’ ye’ll make good use o’ your time with the +gentlefolk, Dannie?” says he. “Keep watch on ’em, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +lad, an’ ye’ll l’arn a wonderful lot about manners. +‘List o’ the necessary ornamental accomplishments +(without which no man livin’ can either please or rise +in the world), which hitherto I fear ye want,’” quotes +he, most glibly, “‘an’ which only require your care an’ +attention t’ possess.’ Volume II., page 24. ‘A distinguished +politeness o’ manners an’ address, which +common-sense, observation, good company, an’ imitation +will give ye if ye will accept it.’ There you haves +it, Dannie––underlined by Sir Harry! Ye got the +sense, ye got the eye, an’ here’s the company. Lord love +ye, Dannie, the Commissioner o’ Lands is aboard with +his lady! No less! An’ I’ve heared tell of a Yankee +millionaire cruisin’ these parts. They’ll be wonderful +handy for practice. Lay alongside, Dannie––an’ +imitate the distinguished politeness: for ol’ Skipper +Chesterfield cracks up imitation an’ practice most +wonderful high!”</p> +<p>The jangle of the bell in the engine-room would now +interrupt him. The mail was aboard: the ship bound +out.</p> +<p>“An’ Dannie,” says my uncle, feeling in haste for +the great handkerchief (to blow his nose, you may be +sure), “I’m not able t’ <i>think</i> o’ you bein’ lonely. I’m +for’ard in the steerage, lad––just call that t’ mind. +An’ if ye find no cure in that, why, lad”––in a squall +of affectionate feeling, his regard for gentility quite +vanished––“sink me an’ that damn ol’ Chesterfield +overside, an’ overhaul the twenty-third psa’m!”</p> +<p>“Ay, sir.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></div> +<p>“You is safe enough, lad; for, Dannie––”</p> +<p>’Twas in the imperative tone, and I must instantly +and sharply attend.</p> +<p>––“I’m for’ard, standin’ by!”</p> +<p>He would then take himself off to the steerage for +good; and ’twas desperately lonely for me, aboard the +big ship, tossing by night and day through the rough +waters of our coast.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +<a name='V_TAPTAP_ON_THE_PAVEMENT' id='V_TAPTAP_ON_THE_PAVEMENT'></a> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>TAP-TAP ON THE PAVEMENT</h3> +</div> +<p>My uncle would not have speech with me again, +lest his rough look and ways endanger the social +advantages he conceived me to enjoy in the cabin, but +from the lower deck would keep sly watch upon me, +and, unobserved of others, would with the red bandanna +handkerchief flash me messages of affection and +encouragement, to which I must not for the life of me +respond. Soon, however, ’twas my turn to peer and +wish; for, perceiving at last that I was not ill (the +weather being fair), and that I had engaged the companionship +of gentlefolk––they were quick enough, +indeed, these St. John’s folk and spying wanderers, to +attach themselves to the mystery of old Nick Top’s +child––my uncle would devote himself to his own concerns +with unhappy result.</p> +<p>The manner of his days of preparation upon the +hills of Twin Islands would return: the ill temper and +cunning and evil secretiveness, joined now with the +hang-dog air he habitually wore in the city. And these +distressful appearances would by day and night increase, +as we passed the Funks, came to Bonavist’ Bay, left +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +the Bacalieu light behind and rounded the Brandy +Rocks, until, instead of a rotund, twinkling old sea-dog, +with a gargoylish countenance, with which the +spirit had nothing to do, there landed on the wharf at +the city a swaggering, wrathy pirate, of devilish cast +and temper, quick to flush and bluster, mighty in +profanity, far gone in drink.</p> +<p>Thence to the hotel, in this wise: my uncle, being +clever with his staff and wooden leg and vastly strong, +would shoulder my box, make way through the gang-plank +idlers and porters with great words, put me +grandly in the lead, come gasping at a respectful distance +behind, modelling his behavior (as he thought) +after that of some flunky of nobility he had once +clapped eyes on; and as we thus proceeded up the +hill––a dandy in tartan kilt and velvet and a gray ape +in slops––he would have a quick word of wrath for +any passenger that might chance to jostle me. ’Twas +a conspicuous progress, craftily designed, as, long afterwards, +I learned; we were not long landed, you may be +sure, before the town was aware that the mystery of +Twist Tickle was once more come in by the <i>Lake</i>: old +Skipper Nicholas Top and the lad with the rings, as +they called me!</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Having come now to the hotel (this by night), where +would be a cheerful fire awaiting us in my comfortable +quarters, my uncle would unstrap my box and dispose +its contents in clean and handy places, urging me the +while, like a mother, to make good use of my opportunity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +to observe the ways of gentlefolk, especially as +practised in the dining-room of the hotel, that I might +expeditiously master polite manners, which was a thing +Skipper Chesterfield held most seriously in high opinion. +I must thus conduct myself (he said), rather than idly +brood, wishing for his company: for a silk purse was +never yet made of a sow’s ear but with pain to all +concerned. “An’ Dannie,” says he, jovially, when he +had clapped the last drawer shut and put my nightclothes +to warm at the fire, “if you was t’ tweak that +there bell-pull––”</p> +<p>I would gladly tweak it.</p> +<p>“Thank ’e, Dannie,” says my uncle, gently. “It’ll +be the best Jamaica––a nip afore I goes.”</p> +<p>In response to this would come old Elihu Wall, +whom in private I loved, exaggerating every obsequious +trick known to his kind to humor my uncle. I +must then act my part, as I had been taught, thus: +must stride to the fire, turn, spread my legs, scowl, +meditatively ply a tooth-pick (alas! my groping uncle), +become aware of old Elihu Wall, become haughtily +conscious of my uncle, now in respectful attitude upon +his foot and wooden leg; and I must scowl again, in a +heavier way, as though angered by this interruption, +and rub my small quarters, now heated near beyond +endurance, and stare at the ceiling, and, dropping my +eyes sharply upon Elihu Wall, say with a haughty +sniff, a haughty curl of the lip:</p> +<p>“Elihu”––with a superior jerk towards my uncle––“fetch +this man a dram o’ your best Jamaica!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></div> +<p>’Twas not hard to do––not hard to learn: for my +uncle was unceasing in solicitous and patient instruction, +diligent in observation, as he cruised in those +exclusive places to which (somehow) he gained admittance +for my sake and a jolly welcome for his own. +And ’twas a grateful task, too, to which I heartily +gave my interest, for I loved my uncle. ’Twas his way +of teaching me not only the gentlemanly art of dealing +with menials, as he had observed it, but, on his part, as +he stood stiff and grave, the proper attitude of a servant +towards his master. In these days, long distant from +the first strange years of my life, I am glad that I was +not wilful with him––glad that I did not obstinately +resist the folly and boredom of the thing, as I was inclined +to do. But, indeed, it must not be counted +to me for virtue; for my uncle had a ready hand, though +three fingers were missing, and to this day I remember +the odd red mark it left (the thumb, forefinger, and +palm), when, upon occasion, it fell upon me.</p> +<p>“Elihu,” says I, “fetch this man a dram o’ your +best Jamaica!”</p> +<p>Upon the disappearance of Elihu Wall, my uncle and +I would resume intimate relations.</p> +<p>“You done well, Dannie!” cries he, gleefully rubbing +his hands. “I never knowed Sir Harry t’ do it +better.”</p> +<p>We were both mightily proud.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, presently, with gleeful interest, +“give un a good one when he gets back. Like a gentleman, +Dannie. Just t’ show un what you can do.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></div> +<p>Enter Elihu Wall.</p> +<p>“What the devil d’ye mean?” says I, in wrath. +“Eh? What the devil d’ye mean?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” says Elihu Wall. “Sorry, sir. <i>Very</i>, +sir.”</p> +<p>“Devil take your sorrow!” says I.</p> +<p>I would then slip the old fellow a bit of silver, as I +was bidden, and he would obsequiously depart.<a name='FNanchor_0003' id='FNanchor_0003'></a><a href='#Footnote_0003' class='fnanchor'>[3]</a></p> +<p>“You done well, Dannie!” cries my uncle again, in +delight. “Lord! but ’twas grand! You done wonderful +well! I never knowed Sir Harry t’ do it better. +I wisht ol’ Chesterfield was here t’ see. Ecod!” +he chuckles, with a rub at his nose, gazing upon me +with affectionate admiration, in which was no small +dash of awe, “you done it well, my lad! I’ve heard +Sir Harry say <i>more</i>, mark you! but I’ve never knowed +un t’ do it better. <i>More</i>, Dannie, but t’ less purpose. +Ah, Dannie,” says he, fondly, “they’s the makin’s of +a gentleman in <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>I was pleased––to be sure!</p> +<p>“An’ I ’low, by an’ all,” my uncle would boast, +scratching his head in high gratification, “that I’m +a-fetchin’ ye up very well!”</p> +<p>’Twas hard on old Elihu Wall––this unearned abuse. +But Elihu and I were fast friends, nevertheless: he +sped many a wearisome hour for me when my uncle +was upon his grim, mysterious business in the city; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +and I had long ago told him that he must not grieve, +whatever I said––however caustic and unkind the +words––because my uncle’s whims must be humored, +which was the end to be served by us both. With this +assurance of good feeling, old Elihu Wall was content. +He took my insolence in good part, playing the game +cheerfully: knowing that the hard words were uttered +without intention to wound, but only in imitation of +gentlemen, from whom Elihu Wall suffered enough, +Heaven knows! (as he confided to me) not to mind what +I might say.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I must tell that, once, taken with pain, having overeaten +myself, left alone in the hotel at St. John’s, I +got out of bed and sought my uncle’s lodgings, which +I was never permitted to see. ’Twas a rough search +for a sick child to follow through in the night, ending +by the water-side––a dismal stair, leading brokenly +to a wretched room, situate over a tap-room too +low for frequency by us, where women quarrelled +with men. Here my uncle sat with his bottle, not +yet turned in. He was amazed when I entered, but +scolded me not at all; and he gave me brandy to +drink, until my head swam, and took me to sleep +with him, for the only time in all my life. When +I awoke ’twas to disgust with the bed and room in +which I lay––with the smell and dirt of the place––the +poverty and sordidness, to which I was not +used.</p> +<p>I complained of the housing my uncle had.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” says my uncle, sighing unhappily, +“the old man’s poor, an’ isn’t able t’ help it.”</p> +<p>Still I complained.</p> +<p>“Don’t, Dannie!” says he. “I isn’t able t’ bear it. +An’ I’m wishin’ you’d never found out. The old +man’s poor––wonderful poor. He’s on’y a hook-an’-line +man. For God’s sake ask un no questions!”</p> +<p>I asked him no questions....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Every morning while at St. John’s, my uncle and I +must walk the lower streets: my hand in his, when I was +a child, and, presently, when I was grown into a lad, +myself at his heels. Upon these occasions I must be +clad and conduct myself thus and so, with utmost +particularity: must be combed and brushed, and carry +my head bravely, and square my shoulders, and turn +out my toes, and cap my crown so that my unspeakably +wilful hair, which was never clipped short, as I +would have it, would appear in disarray. Never once +did I pass the anxious inspection without needing a +whisk behind, or, it may be, here and there, a touch +of my uncle’s thick finger, which seemed, somehow, +infinitely tender at that moment.</p> +<p>“I’m wantin’ ye, Dannie,” says he, “t’ look like a +gentleman the day. They’ll be a thing come t’ pass, +come a day.”</p> +<p>There invariably came a thing to pass––a singular +thing, which I conceived to be the object of these +pilgrimages; being this: that when in the course of +our peregrinations we came to the crossing of King +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +Street with Water he would never fail to pause, tap-tap +a particular stone of the walk, and break into +muttered imprecations, continuing until folk stared +and heads were put out of the windows. In so far as +one might discern, there was nothing in that busy +neighborhood to excite the ill-temper of any man; +but at such times, as though courting the curious remark +he attracted, my uncle’s staff would strike the +pavement with an angry pat, his head wag and nod, +his eyes malevolently flash, and he would then so +hasten his steps that ’twas no easy matter to keep pace +with him, until, once past, he would again turn placid +and slow.</p> +<p>“There you haves it, Dannie!” he would chuckle. +“There you haves it!”</p> +<p>’Twas all a mystery.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>My uncle must once get very drunk at St. John’s––this +for a day and a night, during which I must not +leave my quarters. These were times of terror––and +of loneliness: for it seemed to my childish mind that +when my uncle was drunk I had no friend at all. But +’twas all plain sailing afterwards––a sober, cheerful +guardian, restless to be off to Twist Tickle. My uncle +would buy new outfits for me at the shops, arrange the +regular shipment of such delicacies as the St. John’s +markets afforded according to the season, seek gifts +with which to delight and profit me, gather the news +of fashion, lie in wait for dropped hints as to the manners +and customs of gentlemen, procure his allowance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +of whiskey for the six months to come: in every way +providing for my happiness and well-being and for +such meagre comfort as he would allow himself.</p> +<p>Then off to Twist Tickle: and glad we were of it +when the <i>Lake</i> got beyond the narrows and the big, +clean, clear-aired sea lay ahead!</p> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0003' id='Footnote_0003'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0003'><span class='label'>[3]</span></a> +<p>My uncle would instantly have thrashed me had I approached +an oath (or any other vulgarity) in conversation +upon ordinary occasions.</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +<a name='VI_THE_FEET_OF_CHILDREN' id='VI_THE_FEET_OF_CHILDREN'></a> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>THE FEET OF CHILDREN</h3> +</div> +<p>Once of a still night at Twist Tickle (when I +was grown to be eleven) my uncle abandoned his +bottle and came betimes to my room to make sure +that I was snug in my sleep. ’Twas fall weather without, +the first chill and frosty menace of winter abroad: +clear, windless, with all the stars that ever shone +a-twinkle in the far velvet depths of the sky beyond the +low window of my room. I had drawn wide the curtains +to let the companionable lights come in: to stare, +too, into the vast pool of shadows, which was the sea, +unquiet and sombre beneath the serenity and twinkling +splendor of the night. Thus I lay awake, high on the +pillows, tucked to my chin: but feigned a restful slumber +when I caught the sigh and downcast tread of his +coming.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” he whispered, “is you awake?”</p> +<p>I made no answer.</p> +<p>“Ah, Dannie, isn’t you?”</p> +<p>Still I would not heed him.</p> +<p>“I wisht you was,” he sighed, “for I’m wonderful +lonely the night, lad, an’ wantin’ t’ talk a spell.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></div> +<p>’Twas like a child’s beseeching. I was awake at +once––wide awake for him: moved by the wistfulness +of this appeal to some perception of his need.</p> +<p>“An’ is you comfortable, Dannie, lyin’ there in your +own little bed?”</p> +<p>“Ay, sir.”</p> +<p>“An’ happy?”</p> +<p>“Grand, sir!” said I.</p> +<p>He crept softly to my bed. “You don’t mind?” he +whispered. I drew my feet away to make room. He +sat down, and for a moment patted me with the tenderness +of a woman. “You don’t mind?” he ventured +again, in diffidence. I did not mind (but would not +tell him so); nay, so far was I from any objection that +I glowed with content in this assurance of loving protection +from the ills of the world. “No?” said he. +“I’m glad o’ that: for I’m so wonderful old an’ lonely, +an’ you’re sort o’ all I got, Dannie, t’ fondle. ’Tis +pleasant t’ touch a thing that’s young an’ not yet +smirched by sin an’ trouble. ’Tis some sort o’ cure +for the souls o’ broken folk, I’m thinkin’. An’ you +don’t mind? I’m glad o’ that. You’re gettin’ so wonderful +old yourself, Dannie, that I was a bit afeared. +A baby yesterday an’ a man the morrow! You’re near +growed up. ’Leven year old!” with a wry smile, in +which was no pride, but only poignant regret. “You’re +near growed up.” Presently he withdrew a little. +“Ay,” said he, gently; “you is housed an’ clad an’ +fed. So much I’ve managed well enough.” He paused––distraught, +his brows bent, his hand passing aimlessly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +over the scars and gray stubble of his head. +“You’re happy, Dannie?” he asked, looking up. +“Come, now, is you sure? You’d not be makin’ game +o’ the old man, would you, Dannie? You’d not tell +un you <i>was</i> when you <i>wasn’t</i>, would you? Is you +sure you’re happy? An’ you’re glad, is you, t’ be +livin’ all alone at Twist Tickle with a ol’ feller like +Nick Top?”</p> +<p>“Wonderful happy, sir,” I answered, used to the +question, free and prompt in response; “happy, sir––with +you.”</p> +<p>“An’ you is sure?”</p> +<p>I was sure.</p> +<p>“I’m glad o’ that,” he continued, but with no relief +of the anxious gloom upon his face. “I’m glad you is +comfortable an’ happy. I ’low,” said he, “that poor +Tom Callaway would like t’ get word of it. Poor Tom! +Poor ol’ Tom! Lord love you, lad! he was your father: +an’ he loved you well––all too well. I ’low he’d be +wonderful <i>glad</i> just t’ know that you was comfortable +an’ happy––an’ good. You is good, isn’t you? Oh, I +knows you is! An’ I wisht Tom Callaway could know. +I wisht he could: for I ’low ’twould perk un up a bit, +in the place he’s to, t’ get wind of it that his little Dannie +was happy with ol’ Nick Top. He’ve a good deal +t’ bear, I’m thinkin’, where he’s to; an’ ’twould give +un something t’ distract his mind if he knowed you +was doin’ well. But, Dannie, lad,” he pursued, with a +lively little flash of interest, “they’s a queer thing about +that. Now, lad, mark you! ’tis easy enough t’ send +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +messages Aloft; but when it comes t’ gettin’ a line or +two o’ comfort t’ the poor damned folk Below, they’s +no mortal way that I ever heared tell on. Prayer,” +says he, “wings aloft, far beyond the stars, t’ the ear o’ +God Hisself; an’ I wisht––oh, I wisht––they was the +same sort o’ telegraph wire t’ hell! For,” said he, sadly, +“I’ve got some news that I’d kind o’ like t’ send.”</p> +<p>I could not help him.</p> +<p>“I’m <i>tired</i>!” he complained, with a quick-drawn +sigh. “I’m all wore out; an’ I wisht I could tell Tom +Callaway.”</p> +<p>I, too, sighed.</p> +<p>“But I ’low,” was my uncle’s woe-begone conclusion, +“that that there poor ol’ Tom Callaway ’ll just have t’ +wait till I sees un.”</p> +<p>’Twas with a start of horror that I surmised the +whereabouts of my father’s soul.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>We were but newly come from St. John’s: a long +sojourn in the water-side tap-rooms––a dissipation protracted +beyond the habit (and will) of my uncle. I +had wearied, and had wondered, but had found no +explanation. There was a time when the rage and +stagger of his intoxicated day had been exceeded past +my remembrance and to my terror. I forgave him the +terror: I did, I am sure! there was no fright or humiliation +the maimed ape could put upon me but I +would freely forgive, remembering his unfailing affection. +’Twas all plain now: the course of his rascality +had not run smooth. I divined it; and I wished, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +recall, lying there in the light of the untroubled stars, +that I might give of myself––of the ease and placid outlook +he preserved for me––some help to his distress and +melancholy. But I was a child: no more than a child––unwise, +unhelpful, in a lad’s way vaguely feeling the +need of me from whom no service was due: having +intuitive discernment, but no grown tact and wisdom. +That he was scarred, two-fingered, wooden-legged, a +servant of the bottle, was apart: and why not? for I +was nourished by the ape that he was; and a child +loves (this at least) him who, elsewhere however repugnant, +fosters him. I could not help with any spoken +word, but still could have him think ’twas grateful to +me to have him sit with me while I fell asleep; and +this I gladly did.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>My uncle looked up. “Dannie,” said he, “you +don’t mind me sittin’ here for a spell on your little +bed, do you? Honest, now?”</p> +<p>’Twas woful supplication: the voice a child’s voice; +the eyes––dimly visible in the starlight––a child’s beseeching +eyes.</p> +<p>“Jus’ for a little spell?” he pleaded.</p> +<p>I said that I was glad to have him.</p> +<p>“An’ you isn’t so wonderful sleepy, is you?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” I yawned.</p> +<p>He sighed. “I’m glad,” said he. “An’ I’m grateful +t’ you, lad, for bein’ kind t’ ol’ Nick Top. He +ain’t worth it, Dannie––<i>he’s</i> no good; he’s jus’ a ol’ +fool. But I’m lonely the night––most wonderful lonely. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +I been thinkin’ I was sort o’ makin’ a mess o’ +things. You <i>is</i> happy, isn’t you, Dannie?” he asked, +in a flash of anxious mistrust. “An’ comfortable––an’ +good? Ah, well! maybe: I’m glad you’re thinkin’ +so. But I ’low I isn’t much on fetchin’ you up. I’m +a <i>wonderful</i> poor hand at that. I ’low you’re gettin’ +a bit beyond me. I been feelin’ sort o’ helpless an’ +scared; an’ I was wishin’ they was somebody t’ lend +a hand with the job. I overhauled ol’ Chesterfield, +Dannie, for comfort; but somehow I wasn’t able t’ +put my finger on a wonderful lot o’ passages t’ tie to. +He’ve wonderful good ideas on the subjeck o’ manners, +an’ a raft of un, too; but the ideas he’ve got on souls, +Dannie, is poor an’ sort o’ damned scarce. So when +I sot down there with the bottle, I ’lowed that if I come +up an’ you give me leave t’ sit on the side o’ your little +bed for a spell, maybe you wouldn’t mind recitin’ that +there little piece you’ve fell into the habit o’ usin’ afore +you goes t’ bed. That wee thing about the Shepherd. +You wouldn’t mind, would you, just sort o’ givin’ it a +light overhaulin’ for me? I’d thank you, Dannie, an +you would be so kind; an’ I’ll be as quiet as a mouse +while you does it.”</p> +<p>“The tender Shepherd?”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said he; “the Shepherd o’ the lambs.”</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“‘<i>Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me;<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Bless thy little lamb to-night;<br /> +Through the darkness be Thou near me;<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Keep me safe till morning light.</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span><br /> +<br /> +“‘<i>All this day Thy hand has led me,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And I thank Thee for Thy care;<br /> +Thou hast warmed me, clothed and fed me:<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Listen to my evening prayer.</i><br /> +<br /> +“‘<i>Let my sins be all forgiven;<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Bless the friends I love so well;<br /> +Take us all at last to heaven,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Happy there with Thee to dwell.</i>’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>And now the lower stars were paling in a far-off flush +of light. I had been disquieted, but was by this waxing +glow made glad that the sea and rock of the world +were to lie uncovered of their shadows while yet I was +awake. ’Twas a childish prayer––too simple in terms +and petition (as some may think) for the lad that was +I to utter, grown tall and broad and lusty for my years; +but how sufficient (I recall) to still the fears of night! +They who are grown lads, like the lad that was I, got +somewhat beyond the years of tenderness, cling within +their hearts to all the lost privileges of love they must +by tradition affect to despise. My prayer for the little +lamb that was I presented no aspect of incongruity to +my uncle; it left him silent and solemnly abstracted: +the man being cast into a heavy muse upon its content, +his head fallen over his breast, as was his habit, and +his great gray brows drawn down. How still the night––how +cold and clear: how unfeeling in this frosty +calm and silence, save, afar, where the little stars +winked their kindly cognizance of the wakeful dwellers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +of the earth! I sat up in my bed, peering through the +window, to catch the first glint of the moon and to +watch her rise dripping, as I used to fancy, from the +depths of the sea.</p> +<p>“But they stray!” my uncle complained.</p> +<p>’Twas an utterance most strange. “Uncle Nick,” I +asked, “what is it that strays?”</p> +<p>“The feet o’ children,” he answered.</p> +<p>By this I was troubled.</p> +<p>“They stray,” he repeated. “Ay; ’tis as though the +Shepherd minded not at all.”</p> +<p>“Will my feet stray?”</p> +<p>He would not answer: and then all at once I was +appalled––who had not feared before.</p> +<p>“Tell me!” I demanded.</p> +<p>He reached out and touched my hand––a fleeting, +diffident touch––and gently answered, “Ay, lad; your +feet will stray.”</p> +<p>“No, no!” I cried.</p> +<p>“The feet of all children,” said he. “’Tis the way +o’ the world. They isn’t mothers’ prayers enough in +all the world t’ change the Shepherd’s will. He’s wise––the +Shepherd o’ the lambs.”</p> +<p>“’Tis sad, then,” I expostulated, “that the Shepherd +haves it so.”</p> +<p>“Sad?”</p> +<p>“Ay––wondrous sad.”</p> +<p>“I’m not able t’ think ’tis sad,” said he. “’Tis wise, +Dannie, I’m thinkin’, t’ have the lads wander in strange +paths. I’d not have un suffer fear an’ sorrow, God +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +knows! not one poor lad of all the lads that ever was. +I’d suffer for their sins meself an’ leave un go scot free. +Not one but I’d be glad t’ do it for. But still ’tis wise, +I’m thinkin’, that they should wander an’ learn for +theirselves the trouble o’ false ways. I wisht,” he added, +simply, “that they was another plan––some plan +t’ save un sorrow while yet it made un men. But I +can’t think o’ none.”</p> +<p>“But an they’re lost?”</p> +<p>He scratched his head in a rush of anxious bewilderment. +“Why, Dannie,” cries he, “it cannot be! Lost? +Some poor wee lads lost? <i>You</i> lost, Dannie? My +God! <i>You</i>, Dannie––you that lies there tender an’ +kind an’ clean o’ soul in your little bed? You that said +the little prayer t’ the tender Shepherd? <i>You</i> lost! +God! it <i>could</i> not be. What’s this you’re tellin’ me? +I’m not able t’ blaspheme the Lord God A’mighty in +a way that’s vile as that. Not you, lad––not you! +Am I t’ curse the God that would have it so?” cries he, +in wrath. “Am I t’ touch your young body here in +the solemn night, am I t’ look into your unspoiled eyes +by day, an’ feel that you fare into the dark alone, a +child, an’ without hope? <i>Me</i> think that? Ol’ Nick +Top? Not I! Sin? Ay; <i>you’ll</i> sin. God knows so +well as I you’ll sin. He made you, lad, an’ knows full +well. You’ll be sore hurt, child. For all he learns o’ +righteousness, Dannie, a man suffers; an’ for all he +learns o’ sin he pays in kind: ’tis all the same––he +learns o’ good an’ evil an’ pays in the same coin o’ +sorrow. I’m not wishin’ you sorrow: I’m wishin’ you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +manhood. You’ll wander, like all lads, as God knows, +who made un an’ the world they walks in; but the +Shepherd will surely follow an’ fetch home all them +that stray away upon hurtful roads accordin’ t’ the will +He works upon the sons o’ men. They’s no bog o’ sin +in all the world He knows not of. He’ll seek the poor +lads out, in patience an’ love; an’ He’ll cure all the +wounds the world has dealt un in dark places, however +old an’ bleared an’ foul they’ve growed t’ be, an’ He’ll +make un clean again, rememberin’ they was little lads, +once––jus’ like you. <i>Why, by God! Dannie,</i>” cried +he, “<i>I’d do as much meself!</i>”</p> +<p>“Ay,” quoth I; “but the parsons says they’re lost +for good an’ all.”</p> +<p>“Does they?” he asked, his eyes blank.</p> +<p>“Deed so––an’ often!”</p> +<p>“Ah, well, Dannie!” said he, “bein’ cut off from the +discussion o’ parsons by misdeeds, I’m not able t’ say. +But bein’ on’y a lost soul I’m ’lowed t’ think; an’ I’ve +thunk a idea.”</p> +<p>I wondered concerning it.</p> +<p>“Which is, speakin’ free an’ easy,” said he, “that +they lie!”</p> +<p>“’Twill be hard,” I argued, “’t save un all.”</p> +<p>“’Twould be a mean poor God,” he replied, “that +couldn’t manage a little thing like that.”</p> +<p>My uncle’s soul, as I had been taught (and but a +moment gone informed), was damned.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” I inquired, “will the Shepherd find +you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></div> +<p>“Me?” cries he.</p> +<p>“Ay,” I persisted; “will he not seek till he finds +you, too?”</p> +<p>“Hist!” he whispered. “I’m damned, Dannie, for +good an’ all.”</p> +<p>“You?”</p> +<p>“Good Lord, yes!” said he, under his breath. “Hist! +Certain sure, I is––damned t’ hell for what I’m doin’.”</p> +<p>At this distant day I know that what he did was all +for me, but not on that moonlit night of my childhood.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” said I.</p> +<p>“I’m damned for it, anyhow,” he answered. “Say +no more, Dannie.”</p> +<p>I marvelled, but could make nothing of it at all. +’Tis strange (I have since thought) that we damn ourselves +without hesitation: not one worthy man in all +the world counting himself deserving of escape from +those dreadful tortures preached for us by such apostles +of injustice as find themselves, by the laws they have +framed, interpreting without reverence or fear of +blunder, free from the common judgment. Ay, we +damn ourselves; but no man among us damns his +friend, who is as evil as himself. And who damns his +own child? ’Tis no doubt foolish to be vexed by +any philosophy comprehending what is vulgarly +called hell; but still (as I have thought) this is a reasonable +view: there is no hell in the philosophy of +a mother for her own child; and as by beneficent +decree every man is the son of his mother, consequently +there is no hell; else ’twould make such unhappiness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +in heaven. Ah, well! I looked out of the +window where were the great works of the Lord: His +rock and sea and sky. The moon was there to surprise +me––half risen: the sea shot with a glistening pathway +to the glory of the night. And in that vast uncertain +and inimical place, far out from shore, there rode a +schooner of twenty tons, dawdling unafraid, her small +sails spread for a breeze, in hope. Whither bound? +Northward: an evil coast for sailing-craft––cruel waters: +rock and fog and ice and tempestuous winds. Thither +bound, undaunted, with wings wide, abroad in the +teeth of many perils, come wreck or not. At least +(I thought) she had ventured from snug harbor.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” said my uncle, “you’re all alone in the +world.”</p> +<p>Alone? Not I! “Why, sir,” said I, “I’ve <i>you!</i>”</p> +<p>He looked away.</p> +<p>“Isn’t I?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“No, lad,” he answered; “you isn’t.”</p> +<p>’Twas the first step he had led me from dependence +upon him. ’Twas as though he had loosened my hand +a little from its confident clasp of his own. I was +alarmed.</p> +<p>“Many’s the lad,” said he, “that thinks he’ve his +mother; an’ many’s the mother that thinks she’ve her +lad. But yet they is both alone––all alone. ’Tis the +queerest thing in the world.”</p> +<p>“But, Uncle Nick, I <i>haves</i> you!”</p> +<p>“No,” he persisted; “you is all alone. Why, Lord! +Dannie, you is ’leven. What does I know about <i>you</i>?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></div> +<p>Not enough.</p> +<p>“An’ what does <i>you</i> know about <i>me</i>?”</p> +<p>I wondered.</p> +<p>“All children is alone,” said he. “Their mothers +doesn’t think so; but they is. They’re alone––all +alone. They got t’ walk alone. How am I t’ help +you, Dannie? What can I <i>do</i> for you? Of all the +wisdom I’ve gathered I’d give you all an’ go beggared, +but you cannot take one jot. You must walk alone; +’tis the way o’ the world. An’, Dannie, could I say t’ +the evil that is abroad, ‘Stand back! Make way! +Leave this child o’ mine t’ walk in holiness!’ I would not +speak the word. ’Twould be hard t’ stand helpless +while you was sore beset. I’m not knowin’ how I’d +bear it. ’Twould hurt me, Dannie, God knows! But +still I’d have you walk where sin walks. ’Tis a man’s +path, an’ I’d have you take it, lad, like a man. I’d +not have you come a milk-sop t’ the Gate. I’d have +you come scathless, an that might be with honor; +but I’d have you come a man, scarred with a man’s +scars, an need be. You walk alone, Dannie, God help +you! in the world God made: I’ve no knowledge o’ +your goings. You’ll wander far on they small feet. +God grant you may walk manfully wherever they +stray. I’ve no more t’ hope for than just only that.”</p> +<p>“I’ll try, sir,” said I.</p> +<p>My uncle touched me again––moving nearer, now, +that his hand might lie upon me. “Dannie,” he whispered, +“if you must sin the sins of us––”</p> +<p>“Ay, sir?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></div> +<p>“They’ll be some poor folk t’ suffer. An’ Dannie––”</p> +<p>I was very grave in the pause.</p> +<p>“You’ll not forget t’ be kind, will you,” he pleaded, +“t’ them that suffer for your sins?”</p> +<p>“I will not sin,” I protested, “t’ the hurt of any +others.”</p> +<p>He seemed not to hear. “An’ you’ll bear your own +pain,” he continued, “like a man, will you not?”</p> +<p>I would bear it like a man.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” said he. “That’s very good!”</p> +<p>The moon was now risen from the sea: the room full +of white light.</p> +<p>“They is a Shepherd,” said my uncle. “God be +thanked for that. <i>He’ll</i> fetch you home.”</p> +<p>“An’ you?” said I.</p> +<p>“Me? Oh no!”</p> +<p>“He’ll remember,” said I, confidently, “that you +was once a little lad––jus’ like me.”</p> +<p>“God knows!” said he.</p> +<p>I was then bade go to sleep....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Presently I fell asleep, but awoke, deep in the night, +to find my uncle brooding in a chair by my bed. The +moon was high in the unclouded heaven. There was +no sound or stirring in all the world––a low, unresting, +melancholy swish and sighing upon the rocks below +my window, where the uneasy sea plainted of some woe +long forgot by all save it, which was like a deeper stillness +and silence. The Lost Soul was lifted old and +solemn and gray in the cold light and shadow of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +night. I was troubled: for my uncle sat in the white +beam, striking in at my window, his eyes staring from +cavernous shadows, his face strangely fixed and woful––drawn, +tragical, set in no incertitude of sorrow and +grievous pain and expectation. I was afraid––’twas +his eyes: they shook me with fear of the place and +distance from which it seemed he gazed at me. ’Twas +as though a gulf lay between, a place of ghostly depths, +of echoes and jagged rock, dark with wind-blown +shadows. He had brought me far (it seemed) upon a +journey, leading me; and having now set my feet in +other paths and turned my face to a City of Light, +lifted in glory upon a hill, was by some unworthiness +turned back to his own place, but stayed a moment +upon the cloudy cliff at the edge of darkness, with the +night big and thick beyond, to watch me on my way.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” said I, “’tis wonderful late in the +night.”</p> +<p>“Ay, Dannie,” he answered; “but I’m wantin’ sore +t’ sit by you here a spell.”</p> +<p>“I’ll not be able,” I objected, “t’ go t’ sleep.”</p> +<p>“’Twill do no hurt, lad,” said he “if I’m wonderful +quiet. An’ I’ll be quiet––wonderful quiet.”</p> +<p>“But I’m <i>wantin’</i> t’ go t’ sleep!”</p> +<p>“Ah, well,” said he, “I’ll not trouble you, then. I +would not have you lie awake. I’ll go. Good-night. +God bless you, lad!”</p> +<p>I wish I had not driven him away....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +<a name='VII_TWIN_ISLANDS' id='VII_TWIN_ISLANDS'></a> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>TWIN ISLANDS</h3> +</div> +<p>In all this time I have said little enough of Twist +Tickle, never a word (I think) of Twin Islands, +between whose ragged shores the sheltering tickle +winds; and by your favor I come now gratefully to +the task. ’Tis a fishing outport: a place of rock and +sea and windy sky––no more than that––but much +loved by the twelvescore simple souls of us, who asked +for share of all the earth but salt-water and a harbor +(with the winds blowing) to thrive sufficient to ourselves +and to the world beyond. Had my uncle sought +a secret place to foster the child that was I––which yet +might yield fair wage for toil––his quest fortuitously +ended when the <i>Shining Light</i> ran dripping out of the +gale and came to anchor in the quiet water of the +tickle. But more like ’twas something finer that moved +him: in that upheaval of his life, it may be, ’twas a +wistful turning of the heart to the paths and familiar +waters of the shore where he lived as a lad. Had the +<i>Shining Light</i> sailed near or far and passed the harbor +by, the changed fortunes of––but there was no +sailing by, nor could have been, for the great wind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +upon whose wings she came was passionate, too, and +fateful.</p> +<p>If ’tis a delight to love, whatever may come of it (as +some hold), I found delight upon the grim hills of +Twin Islands....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They lie hard by the coast, but are yet remote: +Ship’s Run divides them from the long blue line of +main-land which lifts its barren hills in misty distance +from our kinder place. ’Tis a lusty stretch of gray +water, sullen, melancholy, easily troubled by the winds, +which delight, it seems, sweeping from the drear seas +of the north, to stir its rage. In evil weather ’tis wide +as space; when a nor’easter lifts the white dust of the +sea, clouding Blow-me-down-Billy of the main-land in +a swirl of mist and spume, there is no departure; nor +is there any crossing (mark you) when in the spring of +the year a southerly gale urges the ice to sea. We of +Twin Islands were cut off by Ship’s Run from all the +stirring and inquisitive world.</p> +<p>According to Tumm, the clerk of the <i>Quick as Wink</i>, +which traded our harbor, Twin Islands are t’ the west’ard +o’ the Scarf o’ Fog, a bit below the Blue Gravestones, +where the <i>Soldier o’ the Cross</i> was picked up +by Satan’s Tail in the nor’easter o’ the Year o’ the +Big Shore Catch. “Oh, I knows un!” says he. “You +opens the Tickle when you rounds Cocked Hat o’ the +Hen-an’-Chickens an’ lays a course for Gentleman +Cove, t’other side o’ the bay. Good harbor in dirty +weather,” says he: “an’, ecod! my lads, a hearty folk.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +This is forbidding enough, God knows! as to situation; +but though the ancient islands, scoured by wind and +rain, are set in a misty isolation and show gray, grimly +wrinkled faces to the unkind sea, betraying no tenderness, +they are green and genial in the places within: +there are valleys; and the sun is no idler, and the lean +earth of those parts is not to be discouraged.</p> +<p>“God-forsaken place, Nick!” quoth Tom Bull, at the +Anchor and Chain.</p> +<p>“How was you knowin’ that, Tom?” says my uncle. +“You isn’t never <i>been</i> there.”</p> +<p>“<i>Sounds</i> God-forsaken.”</p> +<p>“So does hell.”</p> +<p>“Well, hell <i>is</i>.”</p> +<p>“There you goes again, Tom Bull!” cries my uncle, +with a sniff and wrathful twitch of the lip. “There you +goes again, you dunderhead––jumpin’ t’ conclusions!”</p> +<p>Tom Bull was shocked.</p> +<p>“Hell God-forsaken!” growls my uncle. “They’s +more hard labor for the good Lord t’ do in hell, Tom +Bull, than any place I knows on; an’ I ’low He’s +right there, kep’ double watches on the jump, a-doin’ +of it!”</p> +<p>Twist Tickle pursues an attenuated way between +the Twins, broadening into the harbor basin beyond +the Pillar o’ Cloud, narrowing at the Finger and Thumb, +widening, once more, into the lower harbor, and escaping +to the sea, at last, between Pretty Willie and the +Lost Soul, which are great bare heads. You get a +glimpse of the Tickle from the deck of the mail-boat: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +this when she rounds the Cocked Hat and wallows off +towards Gentleman Cove. ’Tis but a niggardly glimpse +at best, and vastly unfair to the graces of the place: a +white house, wee and listlessly tilted, gripping a rock, +as with expiring interest; a reach of placid water, deep +and shadowy, from which rise the hills, gray, rugged, +splashed with green; heights beyond, scarfed with +clinging wisps of mist.</p> +<p>The white houses are builded in a fashion the most +disorderly at the edge of the tickle, strung clear from +the narrows to the Lost Soul and straying somewhat +upon the slopes, with the scrawny-legged flakes clinging +to the bare declivities and the stages squatted at +the water-side; but some houses, whose tenants are +solitary folk made morose by company, congregate in +the remoter coves––where the shore is the shore of the +open sea and there is no crowd to trouble––whence +paths scramble over the hills to the Tickle settlement. +My uncle’s cottage sat respectably, even with some +superiority, upon a narrow neck of rock by the Lost +Soul, outlooking, westerly, to sea, but in the opposite +direction dwelling in a way more intimate and fond +upon the unruffled water of Old Wives’ Cove, within +the harbor, where rode the <i>Shining Light</i>.</p> +<p>“An’ there she’ll lie,” he was used to saying, with a +grave and mysteriously significant wink, “until I’ve +sore need o’ she.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said they, “or till she rots, plank an’ +strand.”</p> +<p>“An she rots,” says my uncle, “she may rot: for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +she’ll sail these here waters, sound or rotten, by the +Lord! an I just put her to it.”</p> +<p>Unhappy, then, perhaps, Twin Islands, in situation +and prospect; but the folk of that harbor, who deal +barehanded with wind and sea to catch fish, have this +wisdom: that a barren, a waste of selfish water, a low, +soggy sky have nothing to do with the hearts of men, +which are independent, in love and hope and present +content, of these unfeeling things. We were seafaring +men, every jack of the place, with no knowledge of a +world apart from green water, which forever confronted +us, fashioning our lives; but we played the old +comedy as heartily, with feeling as true and deep, the +same fine art, as you, my gentlefolk! and made a +spectacle as grateful to the gods for whom the stage +(it seems) is set.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And there is a road from the Tickle to the sea––to +an outer cove, high-cliffed, frothy, sombre, with many +melancholy echoes of wind and breakers and listless +human voices, where is a cluster of hopeless, impoverished +homes. ’Tis a wilful-minded path, lingering +indolently among the hills, artful, intimate, wise with +age, and most indulgently secretive of its soft discoveries. +It is used to the lagging feet of lovers. There are valleys +in its length, and winding, wooded stretches, kindly +places; and there are arching alders along the way to +provide a seclusion yet more tender. In the moonlight +’tis a path of enchantment––a way (as I know) of pain +and high delight: of a wandering hope that tantalizes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +but must in faith, as we are men, be followed to its +catastrophe. I have suffered much of ecstasy and +despair upon that path. ’Tis the road to Whisper +Cove.</p> +<p>Judith dwelt at Whisper Cove....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +<a name='VIII_A_MAID_O_WHISPER_COVE' id='VIII_A_MAID_O_WHISPER_COVE'></a> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>A MAID O’ WHISPER COVE</h3> +</div> +<p>Fourteen, then, and something more: a footloose +lad of Twist Tickle––free to sail and wander, +to do and dream, to read the riddles of my years, +blithe and unalarmed. ’Tis beyond the will and wish +of me to forget the day I lay upon the Knob o’ Lookout, +from afar keeping watch on the path to Whisper +Cove––the taste of it, salty and cool, the touch of it +upon my cheek and in my hair, the sunlight and scampering +wind: the simple haps and accidents, the perception, +awakening within me, and the portent. ’Twas +blowing high and merrily from the west––a yellow +wind from the warm west and from the golden mist +and low blue line of coast at the other side of the +bay. It rippled the azure floor between, and flung the +spray of the breakers into the sunshine, and heartily +clapped the gray cliff, and pulled the ears of the +spruce, and went swinging on, in joyous mood, to the +gray spaces of the great sea beyond Twin Islands. I +shall not forget: for faith! the fates were met in conspiracy +with the day to plot the mischief of my life. +There was no warning, no question to ease the issue +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +in my case: ’twas all ordained in secret; and the lever +of destiny was touched, and the labor of the unfeeling +loom went forward to weave the pattern of my days.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Judith (as I know) washed her mother’s face and +hands with conscientious care: ’twas her way. Doubtless, +in the way she had, she chattered, the while, a +torrent of affectionate reproof and direction, which gave +no moment for promise or complaint, and at last, with +a raised finger and a masterful little flash of the eye, +bade the flighty woman keep out of mischief for the +time. What then, ’tis easy to guess: she exhausted +the resources of soap and water in her own adornment +(for she smelled of suds in the cabin of the <i>Shining +Light</i>), and set out by the path from Whisper Cove to +Twist Tickle, with never a glance behind, but a prim, +sharp outlook, from shyly downcast eyes, upon all the +world ahead. A staid, slim little maid, with softly +fashioned shoulders, carried sedately, her small head +drooping with shy grace, like a flower upon its slender +stalk, seeming as she went her dainty way to perceive +neither scene nor incident of the passage, but yet +observing all in swift, sly little flashes.</p> +<p>“An’ a-ha!” thinks I, “she’s bound for the <i>Shining +Light</i>!”</p> +<p>It was blowing: on the edge of the cliff, where the +path was lifted high above the sea, winding through +sunlit space, the shameless old wind, turned skyward +by the gray cliff, made bold, in the way the wind knows +and will practise, wherever it blows. The wind cared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +nothing for the tragic possibility of a lad on the path: +Judith was but a fluttering rag in the gust. At once––’twas +a miracle of activity––her face reappeared in a +cloud of calico and tawny hair. She looked fearfully +to the path and yellow hills; and her eyes (it must be) +were wide with the distress of this adventure, and there +were blushes (I know) upon her cheeks, and a flash of +white between her moist red lips. Without hint of the +thing (in her way)––as though recklessly yielding to +delight despite her fears––she lifted her hands and +abandoned the pinafore to the will of the wind with a +frightened little chuckle. ’Twas her way: thus in a +flash to pass from nay to yea without mistrust or lingering. +Presently, tired of the space and breeze, she +dawdled on in the sunshine, idling with the berries +and scrawny flowers by the way, and with the gulls, +winging above the sea, until, as with settled intention, +she vanished over the cliff by the goat-path to Old +Wives’ Cove, where rode the <i>Shining Light</i>, sound +asleep under a blanket of sunshine in the lee of the +Lost Soul.</p> +<p>I followed.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In the cabin of the <i>Shining Light</i>, cross-legged on +the table, in the midst of the order she had accomplished, +her hands neatly folded in her lap, Judith sat +serene. She had heard my clatter on the gang-plank, +my shuffle and heavy tread on the deck. ’Twas I, she +knew: there was no mistaking, God help me! the fall +of my feet on road or deck. It may be that her heart +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +for a moment fluttered to know that the lad that was +I came at last. She has not told me: I do not know. +But faith! my own was troublesome enough with a +new and irritating uneasiness, for which was no accounting.</p> +<p>I feigned astonishment. “Hello!” quoth I; “what +you doin’ here?”</p> +<p>She turned away––the eager expectation all fled from +her face: I saw it vanish.</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I.</p> +<p>She sniffed: ’twas a frank sniff of contempt––pain, +like a half-heard sob, mixed with the scorn of it.</p> +<p>“What you doin’ here?”</p> +<p>I stood reproached; she had achieved it in a glance––a +little shaft of light, darting upon me, departing, having +dealt its wound.</p> +<p>“Well, maid,” cries I, the smart of her glance and +silence enraging me, “is you got no tongue?”</p> +<p>She puckered her brows, pursed her lips; she sighed––and +concerned herself with her hair-ribbon, quite +placid once more. ’Twas a trick well known to me. +’Twas a trick aggravating to the temper. ’Twas a +maid’s trick––an ensnaring, deadly trick. ’Twas a +trick ominous of my imminent confusion.</p> +<p>“Eh?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Dannie, child,” she admonished, gently, “God hates +a liar!”</p> +<p>I might have known.</p> +<p>“T’ make believe,” cries she, “that I’d not be here! +How could you!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div> +<p>“’Tis not a lie.”</p> +<p>“’Tis a white lie, child,” she chided. “You’ve come, +Dannie, poor lad! t’ be a white liar. ’Tis a woful +state––an’ a parlous thing. For, child, if you keeps +on––”</p> +<p>She had paused. ’Twas a trick to fetch the question. +I asked it.</p> +<p>“You’ll be a blue one,” says she. “An’ then––”</p> +<p>“What then?”</p> +<p>“Blue-black, child. An’ then––”</p> +<p>I waited.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dannie, lad!” cries she, her little hands clasped, +a pitiful quaver in her voice, so that I felt consigned to +woe, indeed, for this misdoing, “you’ll be a liar as +black as––”</p> +<p>There was no more of it.</p> +<p>“You dare not say it!” I taunted.</p> +<p>I did not wish that she should: not I! but still, being +a lad, would have her come close enough to sauce the +devil. But I would not have her say that word. Indeed, +I need not have troubled. ’Twas not in her mind +to be so unmaidenly, with a lad at hand to serve her +purpose.</p> +<p>“No,” says she, “I dare not; but you, Dannie, bein’ +a lad––”</p> +<p>Her voice trailed off expectantly.</p> +<p>“Black as hell?”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>“Come, maid,” says I, “you’ve called me a liar.”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t wantin’ to.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></div> +<p>“No odds,” says I. “An’ if I’m a liar,” says I, “I +’low I’m a fool for it?”</p> +<p>“You is.”</p> +<p>“Then, my maid,” cries I, in triumph, “you’ll be +keepin’ me company in hell! You’ve called me a fool. +‘An’ whoso calleth his brother a fool––’”</p> +<p>“Oh no,” says she, quite undisturbed. “’Tis not so.”</p> +<p>“Not so?”</p> +<p>“Why, no, child! Didn’t you know?”</p> +<p>“But it <i>says</i> so!”</p> +<p>“Dannie, child,” says she, with unruffled superiority, +“I come down from heaven one year an’ five months +after God sent you. An’ God <i>told</i> me, Dannie, just +afore I left Un at the Gate, that He’d changed His +mind about that.”</p> +<p>The particular color of this stupendous prevarication +I am still unable to determine....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Here in the cabin of the <i>Shining Light</i> was my workshop. +On the bench, stout-hulled and bravely masted, +was a bark to be rigged. My fingers itched to be +dealing with the delicate labor. ’Twas no time now, +thought I, all at once, to dally with the child. The +maid was a sweet maid, an amiably irritating maid, +well enough, in her way, to idle with; but the building +of the ship was a substantial delight, subject to the +mastery of a man with hands and a will, the end a +sure achievement––no vague, elusive thing, sought in +madness, vanishing in the grasp. I would be about +this man’s-work. Never was such a ship as this ship +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +should be! And to the work went Judith and I. But +presently, as never happened before, I was in some +strange way conscious of Judith’s nearness. ’Twas a +soft, companionable presence, indeed! I bungled the +knots, and could no longer work my will upon the +perverse spars, but had rather dwell upon her slender +hands, swiftly, capably busy, her tawny hair, her sun-browned +cheeks and the creamy curve of her brow, the +blue and flash and fathomless depths of her eyes. I +remembered the sunlight and freshening breeze upon +the hills, the chirp and gentle stirring of the day, the +azure sea and far-off, tender mist, the playful breakers, +flinging spray high into the yellow sunshine. ’Twas +no time now, thought I, to be busied with craft in the +gloomy cabin of the <i>Shining Light</i>, which was all well +enough in its way; ’twas a time to be abroad in the +sunlit wind. And I sighed: not knowing what ailed +me, but yet uneasy and most melancholy. The world +was an ill place for a lad to be (thinks I), and all the +labor of it a vanity....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Now the afternoon was near spent. My hands were +idle––my eyes and heart far astray from the labor of +the time. It was very still and dreamful in the cabin. +The chinks were red with the outer glow, and a stream +of mote-laden sunlight, aslant, came in at the companionway.</p> +<p>It fell upon Judith.</p> +<p>“Judy,” I whispered, bending close, “I ’low I might +as well––might as well have––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></div> +<p>She looked up in affright.</p> +<p>“Have a kiss,” said I.</p> +<p>“Oh no!” she gasped.</p> +<p>“Why not? Sure I’m able for it!”</p> +<p>“Ay,” she answered, in her wisdom yielding this; +“but, Dannie, child, ’tisn’t <i>’lowed</i>.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>Her eyes turned round with religious awe. “God,” +said she, with a solemn wag, “wouldn’t like it.”</p> +<p>“I’d never stop for that.”</p> +<p>“May be,” she chided; “but I ’low, lad, we ought +t’ ’blige Un once in a while. ’Tis no more than kind. +An’ what’s a kiss t’ lack? Pooh!”</p> +<p>I was huffed.</p> +<p>“Ah, well, then!” said she, “an your heart’s set on +it, Dannie, I’ve no mind t’ stop you. But––”</p> +<p>I moved forward, abashed, but determined.</p> +<p>“But,” she continued, with an emphasis that brought +me to a stop, “I ’low I better ask God, t’ make sure.”</p> +<p>’Twas the way she had in emergencies.</p> +<p>“Do,” said I, dolefully.</p> +<p>The God of the lad that was I––the God of his +childish vision, when, in the darkness of night, he lifted +his eyes in prayer, seeking the leading of a Shepherd––was +a forbidding God: white, gigantic, in the shape of +an old, old man, the Ancient of Days, in a flowing robe, +seated scowling upon a throne, aloft on a rolling cloud, +with an awful mist of darkness all roundabout. But +Judith, as I knew, visualized in a more felicitous way. +The God to whom she appealed was a rotund, florid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +old gentleman, with the briefest, most wiry of sandy +whiskers upon his chops, a jolly double chin, a sunburned +nose, kindly blue eyes forever opened in mild +wonder (and a bit bleared by the wind), the fat figure +clad in broadly checked tweed knickerbockers and a +rakish cap to match, like the mad tourists who sometimes +strayed our way. ’Twas this complacent, benevolent +Deity that she made haste to interrogate in +my behalf, unabashed by the spats and binocular, the +corpulent plaid stockings and cigar, which completed +his attire. She spread her feet, in the way she had at +such times; and she shut her eyes, and she set her +teeth, and she clinched her hands, and thus silently +began to wrestle for the answer, her face all screwed, +as by a taste of lemon.<a name='FNanchor_0004' id='FNanchor_0004'></a><a href='#Footnote_0004' class='fnanchor'>[4]</a></p> +<p>Presently my patience was worn.</p> +<p>“What news?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“Hist!” she whispered. “He’s lookin’ at me through +His glasses.”</p> +<p>I waited an interval.</p> +<p>“What now, Judy?”</p> +<p>“Hist!” says she. “He’s wonderful busy makin’ up +His mind. Leave Un be, Dannie!”</p> +<p>’Twas trying, indeed! I craved the kiss. Nor by +watching the child’s puckered face could I win a hint +to ease the suspense that rode me. Upon the will of +Judith’s Lord God Almighty in tweed knickerbockers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +surely depended the disposition of the maid. I wished +He would make haste to answer.</p> +<p>“Judy, maid,” I implored, “will He never have +done?”</p> +<p>“You’ll be makin’ Un mad, Dannie,” she warned.</p> +<p>“I can wait no longer.”</p> +<p>“He’s scowlin’.”</p> +<p>I wished I had not interrupted.</p> +<p>“I ’low,” she reported, “He’ll shake His head in a +minute.”</p> +<p>’Twas a tender way to break ill news.</p> +<p>“Ay,” she sighed, opening her eyes. “He’ve gone +an’ done it. I knowed it. He’ve said I hadn’t better +not. I’m wonderful sorry you’ve t’ lack the kiss, +Dannie. I’m wonderful sorry, Dannie,” she repeated, +in a little quiver of pity, “for <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>She was pitiful: there’s no forgetting that compassion, +its tearful concern and wistfulness. I was bewildered. +More wishful beseeching must surely have +softened a Deity with a sunburned nose and a double +chin! Indeed, I was bewildered by this fantasy of +weeping and nonsense. For the little break in her +voice and the veil of tears upon her eyes I cannot +account. ’Twas the way she had as a maid: and concerning +this I have found it folly to speculate. Of the +boundaries of sincerity and pretence within her heart +I have no knowledge. There was no pretence (I think); +’twas all reality––the feigning and the feeling––for +Judith walked in a confusion of the truths of life with +visions. There came a time––a moment in our lives––when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +there was no feigning. ’Twas a kiss besought; +and ’twas kiss or not, as between a man and a maid, +with no Almighty in tweed knickerbockers conveniently +at hand to shoulder the blame. Ah, well, Judith! the +golden, mote-laden shaft which transfigured your childish +loveliness into angelic glory, the encompassing +shadows, the stirring of the day without, the winds of +blue weather blowing upon the hills, are beauties faded +long ago, the young denial a pain almost forgot. The +path we trod thereafter, Judith, is a memory, too: the +days and nights of all the years since in the streaming +sunlight of that afternoon the lad that was I looked +upon you to find the shadowy chambers of your eyes +all misty with compassion.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Dannie,” she ventured, softly, “you’re able t’ take +it.”</p> +<p>“Ay––but will not.”</p> +<p>“You’re wonderful strong, Dannie, an’ I’m but a +maid.”</p> +<p>“I’ll wrest no kisses,” said I, with a twitch of scorn, +“from maids.”</p> +<p>She smiled. ’Twas a passing burst of rapture, +which, vanishing, left her wan and aged beyond her +years.</p> +<p>“No,” she whispered, but not to me, “he’d <i>not</i> do +that. He’d not––do that! An’ I’d care little enough +for the Dannie Callaway that would.”</p> +<p>“You cares little enough as ’tis,” said I. “You +cares nothing at all. You cares not a jot.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div> +<p>She smiled again: but now as a wilful, flirting maid. +“As for carin’ for <i>you</i>, Dannie,” she mused, dissembling +candor, “I <i>do</i>––an’ I don’t.”</p> +<p>The unholy spell that a maid may weave! The +shameless trickery of this!</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you,” she added, “the morrow.”</p> +<p>And she would keep me in torture!</p> +<p>“There’ll be no to-morrow for we,” I flashed, in a +passion. “You cares nothing for Dannie Callaway. +’Tis my foot,” I cried, stamping in rage and resentment. +“’Tis my twisted foot. I’m nothin’ but a +cripple!”</p> +<p>She cried out at this.</p> +<p>“A limpin’ cripple,” I groaned, “t’ be laughed at by +all the maids o’ Twist Tickle!”</p> +<p>She began now softly to weep. I moved towards the +ladder––with the will to abandon her.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” she called, “take the kiss.”</p> +<p>I would not.</p> +<p>“Take two,” she begged.</p> +<p>“Maid,” said I, severely, “what about your God?”</p> +<p>“Ah, <i>but</i>––” she began.</p> +<p>“No, no!” cries I. “None o’ that, now!”</p> +<p>“You’ll not listen!” she pouted.</p> +<p>“’Twill never do, maid!”</p> +<p>“An you’d but hear me, child,” she complained, “I’d +’splain––”</p> +<p>“<i>What about your God?</i>”</p> +<p>She turned demure––all in a flash. “I’ll ask Un,” +said she, most piously. “You––you––you’ll not run +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +off, Dannie,” she asked, faintly, “when I––I––shuts +my eyes?”</p> +<p>“I’ll bide here,” says I.</p> +<p>“Then,” says she, “I’ll ask Un.”</p> +<p>The which she did, in her peculiar way. ’Twas a +ceremony scandalously brief and hurried. Once I +caught (I thought) a slit in her eye––a peep-hole through +which she spied upon me. Presently she looked up +with a shy little grin. “God says, Dannie,” she reported, +speaking with slow precision, the grin now +giving place to an expression of solemnity and highest +rapture, “that He ’lows He didn’t know what a fuss +you’d make about a little thing like a kiss. He’ve been +wonderful bothered o’ late by overwork, Dannie, an’ +He’s sorry for what He done, an’ ’lows you might overlook +it this time. ‘You tell Dannie, Judy,’ says He, +‘that he’ve simply no idea what a God like me haves t’ +put up with. They’s a woman t’ Thunder Arm,’ says +He, ‘that’s been worryin’ me night an’ day t’ keep her +baby from dyin’, an’ I simply can’t make up my mind. +She’ll make me mad an she doesn’t look out,’ says He, +‘an’ then I’ll kill it. An’ I’ve the heathen, Judy––all +them heathen––on my mind. ’Tis enough t’ drive any +God mad. An’ jus’ now,’ says He, ‘I’ve got a wonderful +big gale blowin’ on the Labrador, an’ I’m near drove +deaf,’ says He, ‘by the noise them fishermen is makin’. +What with the Labradormen an’ the woman t’ Thunder +Arm an’ the heathen ’tis fair awful. An’ now comes +Dannie,’ says He, ‘t’ make me sick o’ my berth! You +tell Dannie,’ says he, ‘t’ take the kiss an’ be done with it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +Tell un t’ go ahead,’ says He, ‘an’ not be afeared o’ me. +I isn’t in favor o’ kissin’ as a usual thing,’ says He, +‘for I’ve always ’lowed ’twas sort o’ silly; but if <i>you</i> +don’t mind, Judy,’ says He, ‘why, <i>I</i> can turn my head.’”</p> +<p>’Twas not persuasive.</p> +<p>“’Tis a white kiss,” said she, seeking, in her way, +to deck the thing with attractions.</p> +<p>I would not turn.</p> +<p>“’Tis all silk.”</p> +<p>It budged me not, though I craved the kiss with a +mounting sense of need, a vision of despair. It budged +me not: I would not be beguiled.</p> +<p>“An’ oh, Dannie!” she besought, with her hands +appealing, “’tis <i>awful</i> expensive!”</p> +<p>I returned.</p> +<p>“Take it,” she sobbed.</p> +<p>I pecked her lips.</p> +<p>“Volume II., page 26!” roared my uncle, his broad +red face appearing at that moment in the companionway. +“You done well, Dannie! ’Tis quite t’ the taste +o’ Skipper Chesterfield. You’re sailin’ twelve knots by +the log, lad, on the course you’re steerin’!”</p> +<p>So I did not have another; but the one, you may +believe! had done the mischief.</p> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0004' id='Footnote_0004'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0004'><span class='label'>[4]</span></a> +<p>I am informed that there are strange folk who do not +visualize after the manner of Judith and me. ’Tis a wonder +how they conceive, at all!</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +<a name='IX_AN_AFFAIR_OF_THE_HEART' id='IX_AN_AFFAIR_OF_THE_HEART'></a> +<h2>IX</h2> +<h3>AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART</h3> +</div> +<p>My uncle’s errand, speedily made known, for +Judith’s restoration, was this: to require my +presence betimes at tea that evening, since (as he +said) there was one coming by the mail-boat whom +he would have me favorably impress with my appearance +and state of gentility––a thing I was by no means +loath to do, having now grown used to the small delights +of display. But I was belated, as it chanced, +after all: for having walked with Judith, by my uncle’s +hint, to the cairn at the crest of Tom Tulk’s Head, +upon the return I fell in with Moses Shoos, the fool +of Twist Tickle, who would have me bear him company +to Eli Flack’s cottage, in a nook beyond the +Finger, and lend him comfort thereafter, in good or +evil fortune, as might befall. To this I gave a glad +assent, surmising from the significant conjunction of +smartened attire and doleful countenance that an affair +of the heart was forward. And ’twas true; ’twas +safely to be predicted, indeed, in season and out, of +the fool of our harbor: for what with his own witless +conjectures and the reports of his mates, made in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +unkind banter, his leisure was forever employed in +the unhappy business: so that never a strange maid +came near but he would go shyly forth upon his quest, +persuaded of a grateful issue. ’Twas heroic, I thought, +and by this, no less than by his attachment, he was +endeared to me.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I sniffed a change of wind as we fell in together. +’Twould presently switch to the south (I fancied); +and ’twould blow high from the sou’east before the +night was done. The shadows were already long; +and in the west––above the hills which shut the sea +from sight––the blue of mellow weather and of the +day was fading. And by the lengthened shadows I +was reminded that ’twas an untimely errand the fool +was upon. “’Tis a queer time,” said I, “t’ be goin’ t’ +Eli’s. Sure, Moses, they’ll be at the board!”</p> +<p>“Dear man! but I’m wonderful crafty, Dannie,” he +explained, with a sly twitch of the eye. “An they’re +at table, lad, with fish an’ brewis sot out, I’m sure t’ +cotch the maid within.”</p> +<p>“The maid?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“Ay, lad; ’tis a maid. I’m told they’s a new baggage +come t’ Skipper Eli’s for a bit of a cruise.”</p> +<p>I caught a bashful flush mounting to his ears and the +rumble of a chuckle in his throat.</p> +<p>“She’ve come from Tall Pine Harbor,” said he, +“with a cask o’ liver; an’ I’m told she’ve her heart +dead sot on matrimony.”</p> +<p>“Larry Hull’s maid?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></div> +<p>“No, lad; ’tis not she. She’ve declined. Las’ fall, +Dannie, bein’ wind-bound in a easterly gale, I cotched +she at Skipper Jonathan Stark’s. No; she’ve declined.”</p> +<p>“’Tis Maria Long, then,” said I.</p> +<p>“No, lad; she’ve declined, too.”</p> +<p>“Elizabeth Wutt?”</p> +<p>“She’ve declined.”</p> +<p>“’Tis not the Widow Tootle!”</p> +<p>“No; <i>she’ve</i> declined,” he answered, dismally. +“But,” he added, with a sudden access of cheerfulness, +“she come wonderful <i>near</i> it. ’Twas a close call for +she! She ’lowed, Dannie, that an my beard had been +red she might ha’ went an’ done it, takin’ chances with +my wits. She might, says she, put up with a lack o’ +wit; but a beard o’ proper color she must have for +peace o’ mind. You sees, Dannie, Sam Tootle had a +red beard, an’ the widow ’lowed she’d feel strange with +a yellow one, bein’ accustomed t’ the other for twenty +year. She’ve declined, ’tis true; but she come wonderful +<i>near</i> t’ sayin the word. ’Twas quite encouragin’,” +he added, then sighed.</p> +<p>“You keep on, Moses,” said I, to hearten him, “an’ +you’ll manage it yet.”</p> +<p>“Mother,” he sighed, “used t’ ’low so.”</p> +<p>We were now come to a rise in the road, whence, +looking back, I found the sky fast clouding up. ’Twas +a wide view, falling between the black, jagged masses +of Pretty Willie and the Lost Soul, cast in shadow––a +reach of blood-red sea, with mounting clouds at the +edge of the world, into which the swollen sun had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +dropped, to set the wind-blown tatters in a flare of red +and gold. ’Twas all a sullen black below, tinged with +purple and inky blue; but high above the flame and +glow of the rags of cloud there hung a mottled sky, +each fleecy puff a touch of warmer color upon the pale +green beyond. The last of our folk were bound in +from the grounds, with the brown sails spread to a +rising breeze, the fleet of tiny craft converging upon +the lower-harbor tickle; presently the men would be +out of the roughening sea, pulling up the harbor to the +stage-heads, there to land and split the catch. Ay, a +change of wind, a switch to the sou’east, with the +threat of a gale with rain; ’twould blow before dark, +no doubt, and ’twas now all dusky in the east, where +the sky was cold and gray. Soon the lamps would be +alight in the kitchens of our harbor, where the men +folk, cleansed of the sweat of the sea, would sit warm +and dry with their wives and rosy lads and maids, +caring not a whit for the wind and rain without, since +they had what they had within.</p> +<p>“I’m knowin’ no other maid at Tall Pine Harbor,” +said I, “that’s fit t’ wed.”</p> +<p>“’Tis a maid o’ the name o’ Pearl,” he confided; +“an’ I’m told she’s fair on looks.”</p> +<p>“Pearl what, Moses?”</p> +<p>“I disremember, Dannie,” he answered, a bit put +out. “The lads told me, out there on the grounds +the day, when I got wind of her bein’ here, but I’ve +clean forgot. It won’t matter, anyhow, will it, lad? +for, sure, I’m able t’ <i>ask</i>.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></div> +<p>“An’ you’ve hopes?”</p> +<p>He trudged on, staring straight ahead, now silent +and downcast. “Well, no, Dannie,” he answered, at +last, “not what you might call <i>hopes</i>. So many, +Dannie, haves declined, that I’d be s’prised t’ cotch +one that wouldn’t slip the hook. But not havin’ cast +for this one, lad, I’ve not give up. I’m told they’s no +wonderful demand for the maid on accounts of temper +and cross-eyes; an’ so I was sort of allowin’ she <i>might</i> +have a mind t’ try a fool, him bein’ the on’y skipper t’ +hand. Mother used t’ say if I kep’ on she ’lowed I’d +haul one out in the end: an’ I ’low mother knowed. +She never ’lowed I’d cotch a perfeck specimen, in p’int +o’ looks, for them, says she, mates accordin’ t’ folly; +but she did say, Dannie, that the maid I wed would +come t’ know me jus’ the way mother knowed me, an +t’ love me jus’ the way mother loved me, for my goodness. +’Twas kind o’ mother t’ think it: nobody else, +Dannie, was ever so kind t’ me. I wonder why <i>she</i> +was! Would you say, Dannie,” he asked, turning +anxiously, “that a cross-eyed maid <i>could</i> be fair on +looks? Not,” he added, quickly, “that I’d care a +wonderful sight: for mother used t’ say that looks +wiped off in the first washin’, anyhow.”</p> +<p>I did not answer.</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t say, would you, lad,” he went on, +“that <i>I</i> was fair on looks?”</p> +<p>An ungainly little man, this Moses Shoos: stout +enough about the chest, where a man’s strength needs +lie, big-shouldered, long-armed, but scrawny and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +crooked in the legs and of an inconfident, stumbling +gait, prone to halt, musing vacantly as he went. He +was bravely clad upon his courtship: a suit of homespun +from the <i>Quick as Wink</i>, given in fair dealing, +as to quality, by Tumm, the clerk, but with reservations +as to fit––everywhere (it seemed) unequal to its +task, in particular at the wrists and lean shanks. His +visage was in the main of a gravely philosophical cast, +full at the forehead, pensive about the eyes, restless-lipped, +covered upon cheeks and chin with a close, +curly growth of yellow beard of a color with his hair: +’twas as though, indeed, he carried a weight of thought––of +concern and helpless sympathy for the woes of +folk. ’Twas set with a child’s eyes: of the unfaded +blue, inquiring, unafraid, innocent, pathetic, reflecting +the emotion of the moment; quick, too, but in no way +to shame him, to fill with tears. He spoke in a colorless +drawl, with small variation of pitch: a soft, low +voice, of clear timbre, with a note of melancholy insistently +sounding, whatever his mood. I watched him +stumble on; and I wondered concerning the love his +mother had for him, who got no other love, but did +not wonder that he kept her close within his heart, for +here was no mystery.</p> +<p>“Eh, Dannie?” he reminded me, with a timid little +smile, in which was yet some glint of vanity.</p> +<p>“Oh, ay!” I answered; “you’re fair on looks.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said he, in fine simplicity; “mother used t’ +say so, too. She ’lowed,” he continued, “that I was +a sight stronger on looks ’n any fool she ever knowed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +It might have been on’y mother, but maybe not. The +lads, Dannie, out there on the grounds, is wonderful +fond o’ jokin’, an’ <i>they</i> says I’ve a power o’ looks; but +mother,” he concluded, his voice grown caressive and +reverent, “wouldn’t lie.”</p> +<p>It gave me a familiar pang––ay, it <i>hurt</i> me sore––to +feel this loving confidence vibrate upon the strings +within me, and to know that the echo in my heart was +but an echo, after all, distant and blurred, of the +reality of love which was this fool’s possession.</p> +<p>“An’ she said that?” I asked, in poignant envy.</p> +<p>“Oh, ay!” he answered. “Afore she knowed I was +a fool, lad, she ’lowed she had the best kid t’ Twist +Tickle.”</p> +<p>“An’ after?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“It didn’t seem t’ make no difference, Dannie, not +a jot.”</p> +<p>I wisht I had a mother.</p> +<p>“I wisht, Dannie,” said he, in a break of feeling for +me, “that <i>you</i> had a mother.”</p> +<p>“I wisht I had,” said I.</p> +<p>“I wisht,” said he, in the way of all men with mothers, +as God knows why, “that you had one––just like mine.”</p> +<p>We were come to the turn in the road, where the path +descended at haphazard, over the rocks and past the +pigpen, to the cottage of Eli Flack, builded snugly in +a lee from the easterly gales. For a moment, in the +pause, the fool of Twist Tickle let his hand rest upon +my shoulder, which never before had happened in all +our intercourse, but withdrew it, as though awakened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +from this pitying affection to a sense of his presumption, +which never, God witness! did I teach him.</p> +<p>“Tis a grand sunset,” said he. “Look, Dannie; +’tis a sunset with gates!”</p> +<p>’Twas so: great black gates of cloud, edged with +glowing color, with the quiet and light of harbor +beyond.</p> +<p>“With gates!” he whispered.</p> +<p>’Twas the fancy of a fool; nay, ’twas the fancy (as +chanced his need) of some strange wisdom.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” said he, “they’s times when I sees +mother’s face peerin’ at me from them clouds––her +own dear face as ’twas afore she died. She’s keepin’ +watch from the windows o’ heaven––keepin’ watch, +jus’ like she used t’ do. You’ll never tell, will you, +lad? You’ll not shame me, will you? They’d laugh, +out there on the grounds, an you told: for they’re so +wonderful fond o’ laughter––out there on the grounds. +I lives, somehow,” said he, brushing his hand in bewilderment +over his eyes, “in the midst o’ laughter, +but have no call t’ laugh. I wonder why, for mother +didn’t laugh; an’ I wonder why <i>they</i> laughs so much. +They’d laugh, Dannie, an you told un she was keepin’ +watch; an’ so you will not: for I’ve growed, somehow, +wonderful tired o’ laughter––since mother died. But +’tis so: I knows ’tis so! I sees her face in the light o’ +sunsets––just as it used t’ be. She comes t’ the gate, +when the black clouds arise t’ hide the mystery we’ve +no call t’ know, an’ the dear Lord cares not what we +fathom; an’ I sees her, Dannie, from my punt, still +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +keepin’ watch upon me, just like she done from the +window, afore she went an’ died. She was a wonderful +hand, somehow, at keepin’ watch at the window. +She’d watch me go an’ watch me come. I’ve often +wondered why she done it. I’ve wondered, Dannie, +an’ wondered, but never could tell why. Why, Dannie, +I’ve knowed her t’ run out, by times, an’ say: ‘Come, +dear, ’tis time you was within. Hush, lad, never care. +They’ll never hurt you, dear,’ says she, ‘when you’re +within––with me.’ An’, Dannie, t’ this day I’m feared +t’ look into the sky, at evening, when I’ve been bad, +lest I sees her saddened by my deeds; but when I’m +good, I’m glad t’ see her face, for she smiles, lad, just +like she used t’ do from the window––afore they buried +her.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said I; “I’ve no doubt, Moses––nar a doubt +at all.”</p> +<p>The wind had risen; ’twas blowing from south by +sou’east in meaning gusts: gusts intent upon riot, without +compassion, loosed and conscious of release to work +the will they had. The wind cares nothing for the +needs of men; it has no other feeling than to vent its +strength upon the strength of us––the lust (it seems to +me) for a trial of passion, not knowing the enlistment +of our hearts. ’Tis by the heart alone that we outlive +the sea’s angry, crafty hate, for which there is no cause, +since we would live at peace with it: for the heart +remembers the kitchens of our land, and, defiant or +not, evades the trial, repressed by love, as the sea +knows no repression. ’Twas blowing smartly, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +the promise of greater strength––’twas a time for reefs; +’twas a time for cautious folk, who loved their young, +to walk warily upon the waters lest they be undone. +The wind is a taunter; and the sea perversely incites in +some folk––though ’tis hardly credible to such as follow +her by day and night––strange desire to flaunt abroad, +despite the bitter regard in which she holds the sons of +men. I was glad that the folk of our harbor were +within the tickle: for the sea of Ship’s Run, now turned +black, was baring its white teeth. ’Twas an unkind +place to be caught in a gale of wind; but our folk were +wise––knowing in the wiles of the sea––and were not +to be trapped in the danger fools despise.</p> +<p>“I’m on’y a fool,” said Moses Shoos; “but, Dannie, +mother ’lowed, afore she died, that I was wonderful +good t’ she. ‘Moses, lad,’ says mother, on that day, +‘fool or no fool, looks or not, you been wonderful good +t’ me. I could never love you more; an’ I wouldn’t +trade you, lad, for the brightest man o’ Twist Tickle. +Does you hear me, dear?’ says she. ‘I wants you t’ +remember. I loves you,’ says she; ‘an’ fool or no fool, +I’d never trade you off, you’ve been so good t’ me.’”</p> +<p>“T’ be sure not!” cries I.</p> +<p>“Not mother,” said he; “not––<i>my</i> mother!”</p> +<p>I reminded him that ’twas time to be about his courtship, +for the light was fading now, and ’twould soon +be dark.</p> +<p>“Ay,” said he; “mother ’lowed ’twasn’t good for +man t’ be alone. An’ I ’low she knowed.”</p> +<p>I watched him down the hill....</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></div> +<p>I was but a motherless lad––not yet grown wise, +but old enough, indeed, to want a mother––in some +dim way (which even yet is not clear to my heart’s +ignorance, nor ever will be, since I am born as I am) +sensitive to feel the fathomless, boundless lack, poignantly +conscious that my poor vision, at its clearest, +was but a flash of insight. I used to try, I know, as a +child, lying alone in the dark, when my uncle was gone +to bed, to conjure from the shadows some yearning +face, to feel a soft hand come gratefully from the hidden +places of my room to smooth the couch and touch +me with a healing touch, in cure of my uneasy tossing, +to hear a voice crooning to my woe and restlessness; +but never, ache and wish as I would, did there come +from the dark a face, a hand, a voice which was my +mother’s; nay, I must lie alone, a child forsaken in the +night, wanting that brooding presence, in pain for which +there was no ease at all in all the world. I watched the +fool of Twist Tickle go gravely in at the kitchen door, +upon his business, led by the memory of a wisdom +greater than his own, beneficent, continuing, but not +known to me, who was no fool; and I envied him––spite +of his burden of folly––his legacy of love. ’Twas +fallen into dusk: the hills were turning shapeless in +the night, the glow all fled from the sky, the sea gone +black. But still I waited––apart from the rock and +shadows and great waters of the world God made––a +child yearning for the face and hand and tender guidance +of the woman who was his own, but yet had +wandered away into the shades from which no need +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +could summon her. It seemed to me, then, that the +mothers who died, leaving sons, were unhappy in their +death, nor ever could be content in their new state. I +wanted mine––I wanted her!––wanted her as only a +child can crave, but could not have her––not though I +sorely wanted her....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He came at last––and came in habitual dignity––punctiliously +closing the door behind him and continuing +on with grave steps.</p> +<p>“You here, Dannie?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Ay, Moses; still waitin’.”</p> +<p>“’Tis kind, lad.”</p> +<p>“I ’lowed I’d wait, Moses,” I ventured, “t’ find +out.”</p> +<p>“’Tis grown thick,” said he. “’Twill blow from +the east with fog an’ rain. You’re bound home, +Dannie?”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said I; “’tis far past tea-time.”</p> +<p>We got under way.</p> +<p>“’Twill blow an uncivil sort o’ gale from the east,” +he remarked, in a casual way. “We’ll have Sunk +Rock breakin’ the morrow. ’Twill not be fit for +fishin’ on the Off-an’-On grounds. But I ’low I’ll go +out, anyhow. Nothin’ like a spurt o’ labor,” said he, +“t’ distract the mind. Mother always said so; an’ +she knowed.”</p> +<p>“The maid would not have you, Moses?”</p> +<p>“Mother always ’lowed,” he answered, “that ’twas +wise t’ distract the mind in case o’ disappointment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +I ’low I’ll overhaul the splittin’-table when I gets t’ +home. She needs a scrubbin’.”</p> +<p>We came to the rise in the road.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said he, “’lowed that if ever I come in +from Whisper Cove t’ build at Twist Tickle, she’d +have the house sot here. I ’low I’ll put one up, some +time, t’ have it ready ag’in’ the time I’m married. +Mother ’lowed ’twas a good thing t’ be forehanded +with they little things.” The note of melancholy, always +present, but often subdued, so that it sounded +below the music of his voice, was now obtrusive: a +monotonous repetition, compelling attention, insistent, +an unvarying note of sadness. “Ay,” he continued; +“mother ’lowed ’twas a good thing t’ have a view. +She’d have it sot here, says she, facin’ the west, if ever +I got enough ahead with the fish t’ think o’ buildin’. +She’d have it sot, says she, so she could watch the +sunset an’ keep a eye on the tickle t’ see my punt +come in. She was wonderful on sunsets, was mother; +an’ she was sort o’ sot, somehow, on keepin’ watch on +me. Wonderful good o’ she, wasn’t it, Dannie, t’ want +t’ keep watch––on me?” Again the note of melancholy, +throbbing above the drawl––rising, indeed, into +a wail. “So,” said he, “I ’low I’ll just put up a house, +by-an’-by, for the wife I’m t’ have; an’ I’ll have it here, +I’m thinkin’, for mother ’lowed my wife would want +it with a view o’ the tickle, t’ watch my punt come in. +Think she will, Dannie? Think she will?”</p> +<p>The mail-boat blew in the narrows.</p> +<p>“I must haste!” said I.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></div> +<p>“An you must haste, Dannie,” said he, “run on. +I’ll not make haste, for I’m ’lowin’ that a little spell o’ +thinkin’ about mother will sort o’ do me good.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I ran on, fast as my legs would carry me (which was +not very fast). ’Twas the departing whistle; the mail-boat +had come and gone––I saw her lights, shining +warmly in the dark, grow small as she fared out through +the narrows to the sea. It began to rain in great drops; +overhead ’twas all black––roundabout a world of looming +shadows, having lights, like stars, where the cottages +were set on the hills. I made haste on my way; +and as I pattered on over the uneven road to the neck +of land by the Lost Soul, I blamed myself right heartily, +regretting my uncle’s disappointment, in that the expected +guest would already have arrived, landed by +way of my uncle’s punt. And, indeed, the man was +there, as I learned: for my uncle met me on the gravelled +path of our garden, to bid me, but not with ill-temper, +begone up-stairs and into clean linen and +fitting garments, which were laid out and waiting (he +said) on my bed. And when, descending in clean and +proper array, bejewelled to suit the occasion, by my +uncle’s command, I came to the best room, I found +there a young man in black, scarce older, it seemed, +than myself.</p> +<p>“This here young man, Dannie,” says my uncle, +with a flourish, “is your tutor.”</p> +<p>I bowed.</p> +<p>“Imported direck,” adds my uncle, “from Lon’on.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></div> +<p>My tooter? It sounded musical: I wondered what +the young man blew––but shook hands, in the Chesterfieldian +manner (as best I had mastered it), and expressed +myself (in such Chesterfieldian language as I +could recall in that emergency) as being delighted to +form an acquaintance so distinguished.</p> +<p>“Well done!” cries my uncle, past containing his +pride in the Chesterfieldian achievement. “Sir Harry +hisself couldn’t beat it!”</p> +<p>The young man laughed pleasantly.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +<a name='X_IMPORTED_DIRECT' id='X_IMPORTED_DIRECT'></a> +<h2>X</h2> +<h3>IMPORTED DIRECT</h3> +</div> +<p>I laughed, too, unable to help it, and my uncle +guffawed, in his large way; and then we all laughed +like tried friends together: so that ’twas plain, being +thus at once set upon agreeable terms, with no shyness +or threat of antipathy to give ill ease, that we three +strange folk were well-met in the wide world. ’Twas +cosey in the best room: a lively blaze in the fireplace, +the room bright with lamplight, warm with the color +of carpet and tapestried mahogany, spotless and grand, +as I thought, in every part; ay, cosey enough, with +good company well-met within, the risen wind clamoring +through the night, the rain lashing the black panes, +the sea rumbling upon the rocks below, and, withal, +a savory smell abroad in goodly promise. My uncle, +grown fat as a gnome in these days, grotesquely fashioned, +miscellaneously clothed as ever, stood with legs +wide upon the black wolf’s-skin, his back to the fire, +his great hands clasped over his paunch, lying as upon +a shelf; regarding the direct importation and myself, +the rise of my admiration, the room, the whole world, +indeed, visible and invisible, with delight so boyish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +that ’twas good to watch the play of satisfaction upon +his fantastic countenance, which now rippled and +twinkled from his black cravat to his topmost scars +and bristles. Well-met were we three folk; ay, no +doubt: I was in a glow of content with this new fortune.</p> +<p>’Tis strange how the affections fall....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>My tutor, John Cather, as his name turned out to +be, was older than I, after all––my elder by five years, +I fancied, with age-wise ways and a proud glance to +overawe my youth, were need of it to come: a slight, +dark-skinned man, clean-featured, lean-cheeked, full-lipped, +with restless dark eyes, thin, olive-tinted hands, +black hair, worn overlong, parted in the manner of a +maid and falling upon his brow in glossy waves, which +he would ruffle into disorder, with the air of knowing +what he was about. He was clad all in black, for the +reason, he said, that he aspired to holy orders: well-kept +black, edged with linen of the whitest, and not +ill cut, according to my uncle’s fashion-plates, but +sadly worn at the seams and everywhere brushed near +threadbare. Now sprawled, hands pocketed, in a great-chair +under the lamp, indolent with accomplished grace +(it seemed), one long leg thrown languidly over the +other, the slender foot never at rest, he was postured +with that perfection of ease and gentility into which my +uncle, watchful observer of the manners of the world +he walked in, had many a time endeavored to command +me, but with the most indifferent success. I listened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +to my tutor’s airy, rambling chit-chat of the day’s adventures, +captivated by the readiness and wit and +genial outlook; the manner of it being new to my experience, +the accompaniment of easy laughter a grateful +enlightenment in a land where folk went soberly. And +then and there––I remember, as ’twere an hour gone, +the gale and the lamplight and the laughter of that +time––I conceived for him an enduring admiration.</p> +<p>Taken by an anxious thought I whispered in my +uncle’s ear, having him bend his monstrous head close +for secrecy.</p> +<p>“Eh?” says he.</p> +<p>I repeated the question.</p> +<p>“Steerage, lad,” he answered. “Tut!” he growled, +“none o’ that, now! ’Twill be steerage.”</p> +<p>It grieved me to know it.</p> +<p>“An’ now, Dannie, lad,” quoth my uncle, aloud, +with a thirsty rubbing of the hands and a grin to match, +“fetch the bottle. The bottle, b’y! ’Tis time for +growed men t’ pledge the v’y’ge. A bit nippy, parson +man? The bottle, Dannie!”</p> +<p>“Bottle?” cries my tutor. “Why, really, you know, +Skipper Nicholas, I––”</p> +<p>“Is you much give t’ the use o’ fo’c’s’les, parson?” +my uncle interrupted.</p> +<p>My tutor was not.</p> +<p>“Then,” says my uncle, grimly, “you’ll be wantin’ +a drap.”</p> +<p>’Twas true enough, by my uncle’s mysterious perversity: +a drop would be wanted, indeed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></div> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” he commanded, “fetch that there +bottle!”</p> +<p>Cather tossed his head, with a brief little laugh, and +then, resigned to my uncle’s idiosyncrasy––divining the +importance of it––gave me a quick nod of permission: +the which I was glad to get, aware, as I was, of the +hospitable meaning of my uncle’s invitation and his +sensitiveness in respect to its reception. So I got the +ill-seeming black bottle from the locker, the tray and +glasses and little brown jug from the pantry, the napkin +from Agatha, in a flutter in the kitchen, and having +returned to the best room, where the tutor awaited +the event in some apparent trepidation, I poured my +uncle’s dram, and measured an hospitable glass for +Cather, but with less generous hand, not knowing his +capacity, but shrewdly suspecting its inferiority. The +glasses glittered invitingly in the light of the fire and +lamp, and the red liquor lay glowing within: an attractive +draught, no doubt––to warm, upon that windy +night, and to appetize for the belated meat.</p> +<p>“T’ you, parson!” says my uncle.</p> +<p>I touched the tutor’s elbow.</p> +<p>“Water?” says he, in doubt. “Is it the custom?”</p> +<p>“Leave un be, Dannie.”</p> +<p>“Whatever the custom,” my tutor began, “of +course––”</p> +<p>“’Tis wise,” I ventured; minded to this by the +man’s awkward handling of the glass.</p> +<p>“For shame, Dannie!” cries my uncle. “Leave the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +parson take his liquor as he will. ’Tis easy t’ see he +likes it neat.”</p> +<p>Cather was amused.</p> +<p>“T’ you, parson!” says my uncle.</p> +<p>The tutor laughed as he raised the glass of clear +rum. I watched him with misgiving, alive to all the +signs of raw procedure––the crook of his elbow, the +tilt of the glass, the lift of his head. “To you, sir!” +said he: and resolutely downed it. ’Twas impressive +then, I recall, to observe his face––the spasm of shock +and surprise, the touch of incredulity, of reproachful +complaint, as that hard liquor coursed into his belly. +’Twas over in a moment––the wry mouth of it, the +shudder––’twas all over in a flash. My tutor commanded +his features, as rarely a man may, into stoical +disregard of his internal sensations, and stood rigid, +but calm, gripping the back of his chair, his teeth set, +his lips congealed in an unmeaning grin, his eyes, +which ran water against his will, fixed in mild reproach +upon my beaming uncle, turning but once, I +recall, to my solicitous self. With no unseemly outbreak––with +but an inconsequent ahem and a flirt of +his handkerchief over his lips––he returned to his composure. +He would never again drink rum with my +uncle, nor any other liquor, through all the years of our +intimate connection; but this mattered not at all, since +he had in the beginning pledged the old man’s health +with honor to himself. I was glad, however, that on +the windy night of our meeting he was no more +put out; for I wished him safe within my uncle’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +regard, and knew, as I knew my uncle and the standards +of our land, that he had by this gallant conduct +achieved the exalted station. ’Twas a test of adaptability +(as my uncle held), and of manhood, too, of +which, as a tenet, taught me by that primitive philosopher, +I am not able, bred as I am, to rid myself to this +very day.</p> +<p>“Parson,” said my uncle, solemnly, advancing upon +the tutor, “ye <i>done</i> it, and ye done it <i>well</i>! Shake, shipmate––shake!”</p> +<p>The bell tinkled.</p> +<p>“Is that dinner?” cries my tutor. “Jove! but I <i>am</i> +on edge.”</p> +<p>We moved into the dining-room, myself pitying the +man in a heartfelt way for his stomach’s sake. ’Twas +unkind in my uncle to sharpen his appetite with red +rum.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>My uncle stumped ahead, his wooden leg as blithe +as the sound one, and was waiting in his humble quarters, +with a gnome-like leer of expectation, when we +entered. Neither my watch, set with its shy jewels, +nor my sparkling fingers, nor the cut and quality and +fit of my London-made clothes, which came close to +perfection, nor anything concerning me, had caused +my tutor even so much as to lift an eyebrow of surprise; +but the appearance of the table, laid in the usual way, +gave him an indubitable fit of amazement: for, as was +our custom on the neck of land by the Lost Soul, at +the one end, where sat the luxurious Dannie Callaway, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +by no will of his own, was the glitter of silver, the flash +and glow of delicate china, a flower or more from our +garden, exquisite napery, the bounties of the kindly +earth, whatever the cost; but at the other (the napery +abruptly ceasing at the centre of the table because of +the wear and tear that might chance) was set out, upon +coarse ware, even to tin, fare of common description, +forecastle fare, fisherman fare, unrelieved by any grace +of flower or linen or glitter of glass, by any grace at +all, save the grace of a black bottle, which, according +to my experience, was sufficient to my uncle and such +rough folk as dined with him. ’Twas no cause for +surprise to me, to whom the enigma had been familiar +from the beginning; but my tutor, come suddenly +against the puzzle, was nonplussed, small blame to +him.</p> +<p>“Parson,” says my uncle, “<i>you</i>––goes steerage!”</p> +<p>My tutor started, regarded my uncle with a little jerk +of astonishment; and his eyebrows went high––but +still conveyed no more than polite inquiry. “I beg +your pardon?” he apologized.</p> +<p>“Steerage, parson!” my uncle repeated. “Steerage +passage, sir, the night!”</p> +<p>“Really!”</p> +<p>“’Tis the same as sayin’,” I made haste to explain, +“that you dines along o’ Uncle Nick at <i>his</i> end.”</p> +<p>The tutor was faintly amused.</p> +<p>“Steerage the night, parson; cabin the morrow,” +said my uncle. “Ye’ll live high, lad, when ye’re put +in the cabin. Lord love ye, parson! but the feedin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +there is fair scandalous. ’Twould never do t’ have the +news of it go abroad. An’ as for the liquor! why, +parson,” he proceeded, tapping my tutor on the breast, +to impress the amazing disclosure, while we stood +awkwardly, “Dannie haves a locker o’ wine as old as +your grandmother, in this here very room, waitin’ for +un t’ grow up; an’ he’ll broach it, parson, like a gentleman––he’ll +broach it for you, when you’re moved +aft. But bein’ shipped from the morrow, accordin’ t’ +articles, signed, sealed, an’ delivered,” he added, gravely, +“’twouldn’t be just quite right, accordin’ t’ the lay +o’ fac’s you’re not in the way o’ knowin’, t’ have ye +feed along o’ Dannie the night. ’Twouldn’t be right, +’twouldn’t be honest, as I sees it in the light o’ them +fac’s; <i>not</i>,” he repeated, in a whisper, ghostly with the +awe and mystery of it, so that the tutor stared alarmed, +“accordin’ t’ them damned remarkable fac’s, as I <i>sees</i> +un! But I’ve took ye in, parson––<i>I’ve</i> took ye in!” he +cried, with a beaming welcome, to which my tutor +instantly responded. “Ye’ll find it snug an’ plenty in +the steerage, an’ no questions asked. No questions,” +he repeated, with a wink of obscure meaning, “asked. +They’s junk an’ cabbage, lad, with plum-duff t’ top off +with, for a bit of a treat, an’ rum––why parson! as for +the rum, ’tis as free as water! Sit ye,” says he, “an’ +fall to!” his face all broken into smiles. “Fall to, parson, +an’ spare nothin’. Better the salt-junk o’ toil,” +he improvised, in bold imitation of the Scripture, to +my tutor’s further astonishment, “than the ice-cream +o’ crime!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>My tutor helplessly nodded.</p> +<p>“Ol’ Nick Top,” says my uncle, “is on’y a hook-an’-line +man, an’ fares hard, as fishermen must; but +little ol’ Dannie Callaway, sittin’ there in that little +cabin o’ his, is a damn little gentleman, sir, an’ feeds +off the best, as them big-bugs will.”</p> +<p>We fell to.</p> +<p>“Wild night,” my tutor remarked.</p> +<p>’Twas blowing wildly, indeed: the wind come to the +east––sweeping in from the vast gray sea, with black +rain to fling at the world. The windows rattled as the +gusts went crying past the cottage. But a warm glow, +falling from the lamp above the table, and the fire, +crackling and snorting in the grate, put the power of +the gale to shame. ’Twas cosey where we sat: warm, +light, dry, with hunger driven off––a cosey place on a +bitter night: a peace and comfort to thank the good +God for, with many a schooner off our coast, from +Chidley to the Baccalieu light, riding out the gale, in +a smother of broken water, with a rocky shore and a +flash of breakers to leeward. Born as I am––Newfoundlander +to the marrow of my body and the innermost +parts of my soul––my heart puts to sea, unfailingly, +whatever the ease and security of my place, +when the wind blows high in the night and the great +sea rages. ’Tis a fine heritage we have, we outport +Newfoundlanders––this feeling for the toss and tumult +and dripping cold of the sea: this sympathy, born of +self-same experience. I’d not exchange it, with the +riches of cities to boot, for the thin-lipped, gray, cold-eyed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +astuteness, the pomp and splendid masks, of the +marts and avenues I have seen in my time. I’d be +a Newfoundlander, outport born, outport bred, of +outport strength and tenderness of heart, of outport +sincerity, had I my birth to choose....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, peering inquisitively into +the cabin, “how d’ye like that there fresh beef?”</p> +<p>’Twas good.</p> +<p>“He likes it!” cries my uncle, delighted. “Parson, +he likes it. Hear un? He likes it. An’ ’tis paid for, +parson––paid for! Dannie,” says he, again leaning +forward, eyes bent upon my plates, “how d’ye like them +there fresh greens? Eh, lad?”</p> +<p>They were very good.</p> +<p>“An’ paid for, parson––all paid for!”</p> +<p>My tutor, poor man! stared agape, his knife and +fork laid by; for my uncle, become now excited and +most indiscreet, was in a manner the most perplexing––and +in some mysterious indication––pointing, thumb +down, towards the oil-cloth that floored the room, or +to the rocks beneath, which the wind ran over, the +house being set on spiles, or to the bowels of the earth, +as you may choose. ’Twas a familiar thing to me––the +mystery of the turned thumb and spasmodic indication, +the appearance, too, at such times, of my uncle’s +eyes: round, protruding, alight with wicked admiration, +starting from the scars and bristles and disfigurements +of his face, but yet reflecting awe, as of some +unholy daring, to be mightily suffered for in due time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +But ’twas not familiar to my tutor, nor, doubtless, had +ever occurred to his imagination, sophisticated as he +may have thought it; he could do nothing but withstand +the amazement as best he might, and that in +a mean, poor way, as he gazed alternately upon my +uncle’s flushed and deeply stirred countenance and upon +my own saddened, aged face, speaking its ancient bewilderment. +I pitied his disquietude, rather: for he +was come from abroad to our coast––and could not +understand.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” my uncle anxiously inquired, “<i>can</i> it +be that you likes them there fresh carrots?”</p> +<p>It could easily be.</p> +<p>“An’ paid for!” my uncle ejaculated, with no abatement +of delight. “Parson,” he proceeded, proudly, +“good feed that there young gentleman has in the +cabin, eh?”</p> +<p>My tutor agreed.</p> +<p>“None better in the world, eh?” the old man went +on. “<i>You</i> couldn’t do no better, could you?”</p> +<p>My tutor said that no man could.</p> +<p>“An’ paid for,” says my uncle, thumbing down. +“Paid for, every bite!” He turned to me. “Dannie,” +says he, “how d’ye like them there new potatoes?”</p> +<p>They were more than palatable.</p> +<p>“Hear that, parson!” cries my uncle. “He likes un! +Imported direck, sir, from Bermuda,” says he, with all +the vanity of riches. “Ever feed so high yourself, parson? +Consignment arrived,” says he, “per S.S. <i>Silvia</i>. +You’ll see it in the <i>Herald</i> an you looks.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></div> +<p>“Really!” my tutor exclaimed, for lack of something +better.</p> +<p>“Fac’,” says my uncle; “an’ paid for––skin an’ +eye!”</p> +<p>My tutor gave it up––permitted himself no longer to +be troublesomely mystified; but after a quick glance +from steerage to cabin, flashed with amused comprehension +of the contrast, threw back his head with a +little laugh quite detached from our concerns, and presently, +innured to the grotesquery, busied himself with +relish upon his salt-junk. Thereafter, the rum buzzing +in his head, he ran on in a vivacious way upon all things +under the sun, save himself, so that the windy night +seemed very far away, indeed, and the lamplight and +fire to lend an inspiration to his nimble tongue, until, +in a lull of the engaging discourse, he caught my uncle +peering greedily into the cabin, all but licking his lips, +his nostrils distended to the savor, his flooded eyes +fixed upon the fresh beef and vegetables in manifest +longing, every wrinkle and muscle of his broad face off +guard. My tutor––somewhat affected, I fancy, by this +display––turned to me with a little frown of curiosity, +an intrusive regard, it seemed to me, which I might in +all courtesy fend off for the future. ’Twas now time, +thinks I, to enlighten him with the knowledge I had: +a task I had no liking for, since in its accomplishment +I must stir my uncle unduly.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” says I, “’tis like Mr. Cather will be +havin’ a cut off my roast.”</p> +<p>“The parson?” my uncle demanded.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<p>“Ay,” says I, disregarding his scowl; “a bit o’ roast +beef.”</p> +<p>“Not he!” snaps my uncle. “Not a bite!”</p> +<p>I nerved myself––with a view wholly to Cather’s information. +“Uncle Nick,” I proceeded, my heart +thumping, such was the temerity of the thing, “’tis a +dirty night without, an’ here’s Mr. Cather just joined +the ship, an’ I ’low, now, the night, Uncle Nick, that +maybe you––”</p> +<p>“Me?” roars my uncle, in a flare of rage and horror. +“<i>Me</i> touch it? ME!”</p> +<p>The vehemence of this amazed my tutor, who could +supply no cause for the outburst; but ’twas no more +than I had expected in the beginning.</p> +<p>“Me!” my uncle gasped.</p> +<p>There was a knock at the door....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ay, a knock at the door! ’Twas a thing most unexpected. +That there should come a knock at the +door! ’Twas past believing. ’Twas no timid tapping; +’twas a clamor––without humility or politeness. Who +should knock? There had been no outcry; ’twas then +no wreck or sudden peril of our people. Again it rang +loud and authoritative––as though one came by right +of law or in vindictive anger. My uncle, shocked all at +once out of a wide-eyed daze of astonishment, pushed +back from the board, in a terrified flurry, his face purpled +and swollen, and blundered about for his staff; +but before he had got to his feet, our maid-servant, on +a fluttering run from the kitchen, was come to the door. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +The gale broke in––rushing noises and a swirl of wet +wind. We listened; there was a voice, not the maid-servant’s––thin, +high-tempered, lifted in irascible demand––but +never a word to be distinguished in that obscurity +of wind and rain. ’Twas cold, and the lamp was +flaring: I closed the door against this inrush of weather.</p> +<p>My wretched uncle beckoned the tutor close, a finger +lifted in caution; but still kept looking at me––and all +the while stared at me with eyes of frightened width––in +a way that saw me not at all. “Parson,” he whispered, +“they wasn’t ar another man landed by the +mail-boat the day, was they?”</p> +<p>The tutor nodded.</p> +<p>“Ye wouldn’t say, would ye,” my uncle diffidently +inquired, “that he’d be from St. John’s by the cut of +um?”</p> +<p>“A gray little man from St. John’s.”</p> +<p>“I ’low then,” says my uncle, “that he talked a wonderful +spell about a lad, didn’t um?”</p> +<p>My tutor shook his head.</p> +<p>“Nar a word––about <i>any</i> lad?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure not.”</p> +<p>My uncle tapped the tip of his nose.</p> +<p>“A red mole,” said my tutor.</p> +<p>And now my uncle poured himself a great dram of +rum. ’Twas a cataract of liquor! Never such a +draught had I known him dare––not in his most abandoned +hours at the Anchor and Chain. ’Twas beyond +him to down it at a gulp; ’twas in two gulps that he +managed it, but with no breath between––and then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +pushed the glass away with a shudder of disgust. Presently––when +the liquor had restored his courage and +begun to fetch the color to his pallid face––he got his +staff in his fist and stumbled off in a high bluster, muttering +gross imprecations as he went. The door slammed +behind him; we heard no more––never a sound of +growl or laugh from the best room where he sat with +the gray little man from St. John’s. ’Twas not a great +while he stayed; and when he came again––the stranger +having gone––he drew up to the board with all his good-humor +and ease of mind regained. The rum had thickened +his tongue and given a wilful turn to his wooden +leg: no more. There was not a hint of discomposure +anywhere about him to be descried; and I was glad of +this, for I had supposed, being of an imaginative turn, +that all the mystery of the luxury that was mine was at +last come to its dreadful climax.</p> +<p>“A ol’ shipmate, Dannie,” my uncle genially explained.</p> +<p>’Twas hard to believe.</p> +<p>“Sailed along o’ that there ol’ bully t’ Brazilian +ports,” says he, “thirty year ago.”</p> +<p>I wondered why my uncle had not called for +his bottle to be brought in haste to the best +room.</p> +<p>“Still storming,” the tutor ventured.</p> +<p>“Blowin’ high,” I remarked.</p> +<p>“I ’low I’ll stay ashore, the morrow,” says my uncle, +“an’ have a spurt o’ yarnin’ along o’ that there ol’ +bully.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></div> +<p>But the gray little man from St. John’s––the gray +little red-moled man––was no old shipmate (I knew), +nor any friend at all, else my uncle would have had him +hospitably housed for the night under our roof.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +<a name='XI_THE_GRAY_STRANGER' id='XI_THE_GRAY_STRANGER'></a> +<h2>XI</h2> +<h3>THE GRAY STRANGER</h3> +</div> +<p>We sat late by the fire in the best room: into which +I must fairly lug my perverse old uncle by the +ears––for (says he) the wear an’ tear of a wooden leg +was a harsh thing for a carpet to abide, an’ parlor +chairs (says he) was never made for the hulks o’ sea-farin’ +folk. ’Twas late, indeed, when he sent young +Cather off to bed, with a warning to be up betimes, or +go hungry, and bade me into the dining-room, as was +our custom, to set out his bottle and glass. I turned +the lamp high, and threw birch on the fire, and lifted +his gouty wooden leg to the stool, and got his bottle +and little brown jug, wondering, all the while, that my +uncle was downcast neither by the wind nor the singular +intrusion of the gray stranger. ’Twas a new thing in +my life––a grateful change, for heretofore, in black +gales, blowing in the night, with the thunder of waters +under the window, it had been my duty to stand by, +giving the comfort of my presence to the old man’s +melancholy and terror. ’Twas the company of the +tutor, thinks I, and I was glad that the congenial +fellow was come from a far place, escape cut off.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></div> +<p>“Wonderful late,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>“No,” said I; “not late for windy nights.”</p> +<p>“Too late for lads,” says he, uneasily.</p> +<p>I poured his glass of rum.</p> +<p>“Think you, Dannie,” my uncle inquired, “that he’ve +the makin’s of a fair rascal?”</p> +<p>“An’ who?” says I, the stranger in mind.</p> +<p>“The tutor.”</p> +<p>“I’m hopin’ <i>not</i>!” I cried.</p> +<p>“Ay,” says my uncle, an eye half closed; “but think +you he <i>would</i> make a rascal––with clever management?”</p> +<p>“’Twould never come t’ pass, sir.”</p> +<p>My uncle sipped his rum in a muse.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” I complained, “leave un be.”</p> +<p>“’Tis a hard world, Dannie,” he replied.</p> +<p>“Do you leave un be!” I expostulated.</p> +<p>My uncle ignored me. “He’ve a eye, Dannie,” says +he, immersed in villanous calculation; “he’ve a dark +eye. I ’low it <i>might</i> be managed.”</p> +<p>’Twas an uncomfortable suspicion thus implanted; +and ’twas an unhappy outlook disclosed––were my +uncle to work his will upon the helpless fellow.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick, you’ll not mislead un?”</p> +<p>“Bein’ under oath,” my uncle answered, with the +accent and glance of tenderest affection, “I’ll keep on, +Dannie, t’ the end.”</p> +<p>I poured the second dram of rum and pushed it +towards him. ’Twas all hopeless to protest or seek +an understanding. I loved the old man, and forgave +the paradox of his rascality and loyal affection. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +young man from London must take his chance, as +must we all, in the fashioning hands of circumstance. +’Twas not to be conceived that his ruin was here to be +wrought. My uncle’s face had lost all appearance of +repulsion: scar and color and swollen vein––the last +mark of sin and the sea––had seemed to vanish from +it; ’twas as though the finger of God had in passing +touched it into such beauty as the love of children may +create of the meanest features of our kind. His glass +was in his marred, toil-distorted hand; but his eyes, +grown clear and sparkling and crystal-pure––as high of +purpose as the eyes of such as delight in sacrifice––were +bent upon the lad he had fostered to my age. I dared +not––not the lad that was I––I dared not accuse him! +Let the young man from London, come for the wage he +got, resist, if need were to resist. I could not credit +his danger––not on that night. But I see better now +than then I saw.</p> +<p>“I ’low he’ll do,” said my uncle, presently, as he set +down his glass. “Ay, lad; he’ll do, if I knows a eye +from a eye.”</p> +<p>“Do what?”</p> +<p>“Yield,” he answered.</p> +<p>“T’ what?”</p> +<p>“Temptation.”</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” I besought, “leave the man be!”</p> +<p>“What odds?” he answered, the shadow of gloom +come upon his face. “I’m cleared for hell, anyhow.”</p> +<p>’Twas a thing beyond me, as many a word and +wicked deed had been before. I was used to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +wretched puzzle––calloused and uncaring, since through +all my life I still loved the man who fostered me, and +held him in esteem. We fell silent together, as often +happened when my uncle tippled himself drunk at +night; and my mind coursed in free flight past the +seeming peril in which my tutor slept, past the roar of +wind and the clamor of the sea, beyond the woes of the +fool who would be married, to the cabin of the <i>Shining +Light</i>, where Judith sat serene in the midst of the order +she had accomplished. I remembered the sunlight and +the freshening breeze upon the hills, the chirp and gentle +stirring of the day, the azure sea and the far-off, +tender mist, the playful breakers, flinging spray into +the yellow sunshine. I remembered the companionable +presence of the maid, her slender hands, her tawny +hair, her sun-browned cheeks and the creamy curve of +her brow, the blue and flash and fathomless depths of +her eyes. I remembered the sweet, moist touch of her +lips: I remembered––in that period of musing, when +my uncle, fallen disconsolate in his chair, sipped his +rum––the kiss that she gave me in the cabin of the +<i>Shining Light</i>.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, “what you thinkin’ +about?”</p> +<p>I would not tell.</p> +<p>“’Tis some good thing,” says he. “I’d like wonderful +well t’ know.”</p> +<p>I could but sigh.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, in his wisdom, “you’ve growed +wonderful fond o’ Judy, isn’t you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<p>“I’m t’ wed Judy,” I answered.</p> +<p>’Twas with no unkindness––but with a sly twinkle +of understanding––that he looked upon me.</p> +<p>“When I grows up,” I added, for his comfort.</p> +<p>“No, no!” says he. “You’ll never wed Judith. A +gentleman? ’Twould scandalize Chesterfield.”</p> +<p>“I will,” said I.</p> +<p>“You’ll <i>not</i>!” cries he, in earnest.</p> +<p>“But I will!”</p> +<p>The defiance still left him smiling. “Not accordin’ +t’ Chesterfield,” says he. “You’ll be a gentleman, +Dannie, when you grows up, an’ you’ll not be wantin’ +t’ wed Judy.”</p> +<p>“Not <i>wantin’</i> to?”</p> +<p>“No, no; you’ll not be wantin’ to.”</p> +<p>“Still,” says I, “will I wed Judy.”</p> +<p>“An’ why?”</p> +<p>“Because,” said I, “I’ve kissed her!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>My uncle would have his last glass alone (he said); +and I must be off to bed and to sleep; ’twas grown late +for me (said he) beyond the stretch of his conscience to +endure. Lord love us! (said he) would I never be t’ +bed in season? Off with me––an’ t’ sleep with me! +’Twould be the worse for me (said he) an he caught +me wakeful when he turned in. The thing had an odd +look––an odd look, to be sure––for never before had +the old man’s conscience pricked him to such fatherly +consideration upon a night when the wind blew high. +I extinguished the hanging lamp, smothered the smouldering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +coals, set his night-lamp at hand, and drowsily +climbed the stairs, having given him good-night, with a +hearty “Thank ’e, sir, for that there tutor!” He bawled +after me an injunction against lying awake; and I +should presently have gone sound asleep, worn with the +excitements of the day, had I not caught ear of him on +the move. ’Twas the wary tap and thump of his staff +and wooden leg that instantly enlisted my attention; +then a cautious fumbling at the latch of the door, a +draught of night air, a thin-voiced, garrulous complaint +of the weather and long waiting.</p> +<p>“Hist, ye fool!” says my uncle. “Ye’ll wake the +lad.”</p> +<p>“Damn the lad!” was the prompt response. “I wish +he were dead.”</p> +<p>My uncle laughed.</p> +<p>“Dead!” the stranger repeated. “Dead, Top! And +you, too––you hound!”</p> +<p>’Twas an anathema spoken in wrath and hatred.</p> +<p>“I’m thinkin’,” says my uncle, “that ye’re an unkind +man.”</p> +<p>The stranger growled.</p> +<p>“Save your temper, man,” my uncle admonished. +“Ye’ll need the last rag of it afore the night’s +by.”</p> +<p>The man cried out against the threat.</p> +<p>“I’m tellin’ ye,” says my uncle––and I heard his +broad hand come with a meaning clap on the stranger’s +shoulder––“that ye’ll be wakin’ the lad.”</p> +<p>“The lad! the lad!” the stranger whined. “Is there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +nothing in the world for you, Top, but that club-footed +young whelp?”</p> +<p>I heard it! I heard the words! My door was ajar––my +room at the head of the stair––my ears wide and +anxious. I heard the words! There was no mistaking +what this intruder said. “The club-footed young +whelp!” says he. “Is there nothing in the world for +you, Top, but that club-footed young whelp?” He +said it––I remember that he said it––and to this day, +when I am grown beyond the years of childish sensitiveness, +I resent the jibe.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” my uncle answered. “Nothing in the +world, sir,” he repeated, lovingly, as I thought, “but +only that poor club-footed child!”</p> +<p>Sir? ’Twas a queer way to address, thinks I, this +man of doubtful quality. Sir? I could not make it +out.</p> +<p>“You sentimental fool!”</p> +<p>“Nay, sir,” my uncle rejoined, with spirit. “An +they’s a fool in the company, ’tis yourself. I’ve that +from the lad, sir, that you goes lacking––ay, an’ will +go, t’ the grave!”</p> +<p>“And what, Top,” the stranger sneered, “may this +thing be?”</p> +<p>“Ye’ll laugh, sir,” my uncle replied, “when I tells +you ’tis his love.”</p> +<p>The man did laugh.</p> +<p>“For shame!” cried my uncle.</p> +<p>He was taking off his wraps––this stranger. They +were so many that I wondered. He was a man of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +quality, after all, it might be. “I tell you, Top,” said +he, “that the boy may be damned for all I care. I +said damned. I <i>mean</i> damned. There isn’t another +form of words, with which I am acquainted, sufficient +to express my lack of interest in this child’s welfare. +Do you understand me, Top? And do you realize––you +obstinate noddy!––that my heart’s in the word? +You and I, Top, have business together. It’s a dirty +business. It was in the beginning; it is now––a dirty +business for us both. I admit it. But can’t we do it +reasonably? Can’t we do it alone? Why introduce +this ill-born whelp? He’s making trouble, Top; and +he’ll make more with every year he lives. Let him +shift for himself, man! I care nothing about him. +What was his father to me? What was his mother? +Make him a cook on a trader. Make him a hand on a +Labradorman. Put him before the mast on a foreign +craft. What do I care? Let him go! Give him a +hook and line. A paddle-punt is patrimony enough +for the like of him. Will you never listen to reason? +What’s the lad to you? Damn him, say I! Let him––”</p> +<p>“For that,” my uncle interrupted, in a passion, “I’ll +hurt ye! Come soon, come late, I’ll hurt ye! Hear +me?” he continued, savagely. “I’ll hurt ye for them +evil wishes!”</p> +<p>I had expected this outbreak. My uncle would not +hear me damned in this cruel way without protest.</p> +<p>“Top,” says the stranger, with a little laugh of scorn, +“when <i>you</i> hurt <i>me</i>––I’ll know that the chieftest knave +of the St. John’s water-side has turned fool!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></div> +<p>“When I hurts ye, man,” my uncle answered, “I’ll +hurt ye sore!”</p> +<p>Again the man laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah, man!” my uncle growled, “but ye’ll squirm +for that when the time comes!”</p> +<p>“Come, come, Top!” says the stranger, in such a +whine of terror, in such disgusting weakness and +sudden withdrawal of high boasting, in such a failure +of courage, that I could hardly credit the thing. +“Come, come, Top!” he whined. “You’ll do nothing +rash, will you? Not <i>rash</i>, Top––not rash!”</p> +<p>“I’ll make ye squirm, sir,” says my uncle, “for +damnin’ Dannie.”</p> +<p>“But you’ll do nothing rash, man, will you?”</p> +<p>My uncle would not heed him.</p> +<p>“I’m a reasonable man, Top,” the stranger protested. +“You know I’m not a hard man.”</p> +<p>They moved, now, into the dining-room, whence no +word of what they said came to my ears. I listened, +lying wide-eared in the dark, but heard only a rumble +of voices. “And you, too––you hound!” the man had +said; and ’twas spoken in the hate that forebodes +murder. My uncle? what had that childlike, tenderhearted +old rascal accomplished against this man to +make the penalty of ungodly wrath a thing meet to the +offence? “And you, too––you hound!” I lay in grave +trouble and bewilderment, fearing that this strange +guest might work his hate upon my uncle, in some explosion +of resentment, before my arm could aid against +the deed. There was no sound of laughter from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +below––no hint of conviviality in the intercourse. Voices +and the clink of bottle and glass: nothing mellow in +the voices, nothing genial in the clink of glass––nothing +friendly or hospitable. ’Twas an uneasy occupation +that engaged me; no good, as I knew, came from a +surly bout with a bottle of rum. ’Twas still blowing +high; the windows rattled, the sea broke in thunder +and venomous hissing upon the rocks, the wind screamed +its complaint of obstruction; ’twas a tumultuous +night, wherein, it seems to me, the passions of men +are not overawed by any display of inimical power, +but break restraint in evil company with the weather. +The voices below, as I hearkened, rose and fell, like +the gusts of a gale, falling to quiet confidences, lost in +the roar of the night, swiftly rising to threat and angry +counter-threat.</p> +<p>It ended in a cry and a crash of glass....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I was by this brought out of bed and pattering down +the stair to my uncle’s help. It seemed they did not +hear me, or, having heard, were enraged past caring +who saw them in this evil case. At the door I came to +a stand. There was no encounter, no movement at +all, within the room; ’twas very quiet and very still. +There had fallen upon the world that pregnant silence, +wherein men wait appalled, which follows upon the +irrevocable act of a quarrel. A bottle of rum was overturned +on the table, and a glass lay in splinters on the +hearth at my uncle’s back, as though cast with poor +aim. The place reeked with the stench of rum, which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +rose from a river of liquor, overflowing the table, dripping +to the floor: a foul and sinister detail, I recall, of +the tableau. My uncle and the gray little man from +St. John’s, leaning upon their hands, the table between, +faced each other all too close for peaceful issue of the +broil. Beyond was my uncle’s hand-lamp, where I +had set it, burning serenely in this tempest of passion. +The faces were silhouetted in profile against its quiet +yellow light. Monstrous shadows of the antagonists +were cast upon the table and ceiling. For the first +time in my life I clapped eyes on the man from St. +John’s; but his face was in shadow––I saw dimly. +’Twas clean-shaven and gray: I could tell no more. +But yet, I knew, the man was a man of some distinction––a +gentleman. ’Twas a definite impression I had. +There was that about him––clothes and carriage and +shaven face and lean white hands––that fixed it in my +memory.</p> +<p>I was not observed.</p> +<p>“Out there on the Devil’s Teeth,” my uncle impassively +began, “when I laid hold––”</p> +<p>“But,” the stranger protested, “I have nothing to do +with that!”</p> +<p>“Out there on the Devil’s Teeth, that night,” my +uncle repeated, “when the seas was breakin’ over, an’ +the ice begin t’ come, an’ I laid hold o’ that there +Book––”</p> +<p>“Hear me, Top! Will you <i>not</i> hear me?”</p> +<p>“Out there on the Devil’s Teeth,” my uncle patiently +reiterated, “when the crew was drownin’ t’ le’ward, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +an’ ’twas every man for his own life, an’ the ice begin +t’ come, an’ I laid hold o’ that there––”</p> +<p>The stranger struck the table with his palm. “Hear +me!” he implored. “I have nothing––nothing––to do +with the Devil’s Teeth!”</p> +<p>“Out there on the Devil’s Teeth, when I took the +oath––”</p> +<p>“You stupid fool!”</p> +<p>“When I took the oath,” my uncle resumed, “I +knowed ’twould be hard t’ stand by. I knowed that, +sir. I done the thing with open eyes. I’ll never plead +ignorance afore the Lord God A’mighty, sir, for the +words I spoke that night. I’ve stood by, as best I +could; an’ I’ll keep on standin’ by, sir, t’ the end, as +best I’m able. God help me, sir!” he groaned, leaning +still closer to the gray face of his enemy. “Ye think +ye’re in hard case, yourself, sir, don’t ye? Do ye never +give a thought t’ <i>me?</i> Dirty business, says you, betwixt +you an’ me! Ay; dirty business for Nick Top. But +he’ll stand by; he’ll stand by, sir, come what may––t’ +the end! I’m not complainin’, mark ye! not complainin’ +at all. The lad’s a good lad. I’m not complainin’. +He’ve the makin’s of a better man than you. +Oh no! I’m not complainin’. Out there on the Devil’s +Teeth, that night, when the souls o’ them men was goin’ +Aloft an’ Below, accordin’ t’ their deserts, does ye think +I was a fool? Fool! I tells ye, sir, I knowed full well +I give my soul t’ hell, that night, when I laid my hand +on the Book an’ swore that I’d stand by. An’ I <i>will</i> +stand by––stand by the lad, sir, t’ the end! He’s a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +good lad––he’ll make a better man than you––an’ I’ve +no word o’ complaint t’ say.”</p> +<p>“The lad, the lad! Do <i>I</i> care for the lad?”</p> +<p>“No, God forgive ye!” my uncle cried, “not you +that ought.”</p> +<p>“That ought, you fool?”</p> +<p>“Ay; that ought.”</p> +<p>The man laughed.</p> +<p>“I’ll not have ye laugh,” said my uncle, “at Dannie. +Ye’ve tried my patience enough with scorn o’ that +child.” He tapped the table imperatively, continuing +with rising anger, and scowled in a way I had learned +to take warning from. “No more o’ that!” says he. +“Ye’ve no call t’ laugh at the lad.”</p> +<p>The laughter ceased––failed ridiculously. It proved +my uncle’s mastery of the situation. The man might +bluster, but was in a moment reduced.</p> +<p>“Top,” said the stranger, leaning forward a little, +“I have asked you a simple question: <i>Will</i> you or +<i>won’t</i> you?”</p> +<p>“I will not!”</p> +<p>In exasperation the man struck my uncle on the cheek.</p> +<p>“I’ll not hurt ye for that!” said my uncle, gently. +“I’ll not hurt ye, man, for that!”</p> +<p>He was struck again. “There will come an extremity,” +the stranger calmly added, “when I shall +find it expedient to have you assassinated.”</p> +<p>“I’ll not hurt ye for the threat,” said my uncle. +“But man,” he cried, in savage anger, “an you keeps +me from workin’ my will with the lad––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></div> +<p>“The lad, the lad!”</p> +<p>“An you keeps me from workin’ my will with that +good lad––”</p> +<p>“I say to you frankly: Damn the lad!”</p> +<p>My uncle struck the stranger. “Ye’ll mend your +manners!” cried he. “Ye’ve forgot your obligations, +but ye’ll mend your manners!”</p> +<p>I marvelled that these men should strike each other +with impunity. The like was never known before. +That each should patiently bear the insult of the other! +I could not make it out. ’Twas strange beyond experience. +A blow––and the other cheek turned! Well +enough for Christians––but my vicious uncle and this +evil stranger! That night, while I watched and listened +unperceived from the hall, I could not understand; +but now I know that a fellowship of wickedness +was signified.</p> +<p>“I’ll not hurt you, Top,” the stranger mocked, “for +the blow.”</p> +<p>My uncle laughed.</p> +<p>“Are you laughing, Top?” the stranger sneered. +“You are, aren’t you? Well,” says he, “who laughs +last laughs best. And I tell you, Top, though you +may seem to have the best laugh now, I’ll have the +last. And you won’t like it, Top––you won’t be happy +when you hear me.”</p> +<p>My uncle laughed again. I wish he had not +laughed––not in that unkind way.</p> +<p>“Anyhow,” said the stranger, “take that with my +compliments!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></div> +<p>’Twas a brutal blow with the closed fist. I cried +out. My uncle, with the sting and humiliation of the +thing to forbear, was deaf to the cry; but the gray +little man from St. John’s, who knew well enough he +would have no buffet in return, turned, startled, and +saw me. My uncle’s glance instantly followed; whereupon +a singular thing happened. The old man––I recall +the horror with which he discovered me––swept the +lamp from the table with a swing of his hand. It +hurtled like a star, crashed against the wall, fell shattered +and extinguished. We were in darkness––and +in silence. For a long interval no word was spoken; +the gale was free to noise itself upon our ears––the +patter of rain, the howl of the wind, the fretful breaking; +of the sea.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” says my uncle, at last, “is that you?”</p> +<p>“Ay, sir.”</p> +<p>“Then,” says he, tenderly, “I ’low you’d best be t’ +bed. I’m feared you’ll be cotchin’ cold, there in the +draught, in your night-gown. Ye’re so wonderful +quick, lad, t’ cotch cold.”</p> +<p>“I’ve come, sir,” says I, “t’ your aid.”</p> +<p>The stranger tittered.</p> +<p>“T’ your aid, sir!” I shouted, defiantly.</p> +<p>“I’m not needin’ ye, Dannie. Ye’re best in bed. +’Tis so wonderful late. I ’low ye’ll be havin’ the croup +again, lad, an you don’t watch out. An’ ye mustn’t +have the croup; ye really mustn’t! Remember the +last time, Dannie, an’ beware. Ah, now! ye’ll never +have the croup an ye can help it. Think,” he pleaded, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +“o’ the hot-water cloths, an’ the fear ye put me to. +An’ Dannie,” he added, accusingly, “ye know the +ipecac is all runned out!”</p> +<p>“I’ll stand by, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>“’Tis kind o’ you!” my uncle exclaimed, with infinite +graciousness and affection. “’Tis wonderful kind! +An’ I’m glad ye’re kind t’ me now––with my ol’ shipmate +here. But you isn’t needed, lad; so do you go +t’ bed like the good b’y that you is. Go t’ bed, Dannie, +God bless ye!––go t’ bed, an’ go t’ sleep.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” I complained; “but I’m not wantin’ t’ leave +ye with this man.”</p> +<p>“True, an’ I’m proud of it,” says he; “but I’ve no +means o’ curin’ the croup. An’ Dannie,” says he, +“I’m more feared o’ the croup than o’ the devil. Do +you go t’ bed.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go,” I answered, “an you wills it.”</p> +<p>’Twas very dark in the dining-room; there was no +sight of the geometrical gentlemen on that geometrically +tempestuous sea to stay a lad in his defiance.</p> +<p>“Good lad!” said my uncle. “God bless ye!”</p> +<p>On the landing above I encountered my tutor, half-dressed, +a candle in hand. ’Twas a queer figure he +cut, thinks I––an odd, inconsequent figure in a mysterious +broil of the men of our kind. What was this +cockney––this wretched alien––when the passions of +our coast were stirring? He would be better in bed. +An eye he had––age-wise ways and a glance to overawe +my youth––but what was he, after all, in such a +case as this? I was his master, however unlearned I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +might be; his elder and master, to be sure, in a broil +of our folk. Though to this day I respect the man for +his manifold virtues, forgetting in magnanimity his +failings, I cannot forgive his appearance on that night: +the candle, the touselled hair, the disarray, the lean +legs of him! “What’s all this?” he demanded. “I +can’t sleep. What’s all this about? Is it a burglar?”</p> +<p>It made me impatient––and no wonder!</p> +<p>“What’s this, you know?” he repeated. “Eh? +What’s all this row?”</p> +<p>“Do you go t’ bed!” I commanded, with a stamp, +quite out of temper. “Ye’re but a child! Ye’ve no +hand in this!”</p> +<p>He was dutiful....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>By-and-by my uncle came to my room. He would +not enter, but stood at the door, in much embarrassment, +all the while looking at the flame of his candle. +“Dannie, lad,” he inquired, at last, “is you comfortable?”</p> +<p>“Ay, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>“An’ happy?”</p> +<p>“Ay, sir.”</p> +<p>“An’ is you content,” says he, “all alone with ol’ +Nick Top at Twist Tickle?”</p> +<p>I was content.</p> +<p>“You isn’t upsot, is you, by the capers o’ my ol’ +shipmate?”</p> +<p>I answered as he wished. “No, sir,” said I.</p> +<p>“Oh no,” says he; “no need o’ bein’ upsot by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +<i>that</i> ol’ bully. He’ve wonderful queer ways, I’ll not +deny, but ye’re not in the way o’ knowin’, Dannie, +that he’ve not a good heart. I ’low ye’ll maybe take +to un, lad––when you comes t’ know un better. I +hopes ye will. I hopes ye’ll find it easy t’ deal with +un. They’s no need <i>now</i> o’ bein’ upsot; oh my, no! +But, Dannie, an I was you,” says he, a bit hopelessly, +“times bein’ what they is, an’ life uncertain––an I was +you, lad––afore I went t’ sleep I––I––I ’low I’d overhaul +that there twenty-third psa’m!”</p> +<p>He went away then....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +<a name='XII_NEED_O_HASTE' id='XII_NEED_O_HASTE'></a> +<h2>XII</h2> +<h3>NEED O’ HASTE</h3> +</div> +<p>When I awoke ’twas to a gray morning. The wind +had fallen to half a gale for stout craft––continuing +in the east, the rain gone out of it. Fog had come +upon the islands at dawn; ’twas now everywhere settled +thick––the hills lost to sight, the harbor water black and +illimitable, the world all soggy and muffled. There was +a great noise of breakers upon the seaward rocks. A +high sea running without (they said); but yet my uncle +had manned a trap-skiff at dawn (said they) to put a +stranger across to Topmast Point. A gentleman ’twas +(said they)––a gray little man with a red mole at the +tip of his nose, who had lain the night patiently enough +at Skipper Eli Flack’s, but must be off at break o’ day, +come what might, to board the outside boat for St. +John’s at Topmast Harbor. He had gone in high good-humor; +crackin’ off along o’ Skipper Nick (said Eli) +like he’d knowed un all his life. An’ Nick? why, ecod! +Nick was crackin’ off, too. Never <i>knowed</i> such crackin’ +off atween strangers. You could hear the crew laughin’ +clear t’ the narrows. ’Twould be a lovely cruise! +Rough passage, t’ be sure; but Nick could take a skiff +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +through <i>that</i>! An’ Nick would <i>drive</i> her, ecod! you’d +see ol’ Nick wing it back through the narrows afore the +night was down if the wind held easterly. <i>He’d</i> be the +b’y t’ put she to it!</p> +<p>I scanned the sky and sea.</p> +<p>“Ay,” quoth Eli, of the gale; “she haven’t spit out +all she’ve got. She quit in a temper, at dawn,” says he, +“an’ she’ll be back afore night t’ ease her mind.”</p> +<p>’Twas a dismal prospect for my uncle.</p> +<p>“But ’twould be a clever gale at flirtin’,” Eli added, +for my comfort, “that could delude an’ overcome ol’ +Nick!”</p> +<p>My tutor would go walking upon the roads and heads +of our harbor (said he) to learn of this new world into +which he had come in the dark. ’Twas gray and windy +and dripping on the hills; but I led him (though his +flimsy protection against the weather liked me not) over +the Whisper Cove road to the cliffs of Tom Tulk’s Head, +diligently exercising, as we went, for my profit and his +befitting entertainment, all the Chesterfieldian phrases +’twas in me to recall. ’Twas easy to perceive his delight +in this manner of speech: ’twas a thing so manifest, +indeed, such was the exuberance of his laughter and so +often did he clap me on the back, that I was fairly +abashed by the triumph, and could not for the life of me +continue, but must descend, for lack of spirit, to the +common tongue of our folk, which did him well enough, +after all, it seemed. It pleased him mightily to be set +on the crest and brink of that great cliff, high in the +mist, the gray wind blowing by, the black sea careering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +from an ambush of fog to break in wrathful assault upon +the grim rocks below. ’Twas amazing: the slender +figure drawn in glee to breast the gale, the long arms +opened to the wind, the rapt, dark face, the flashing +eyes, the deep, eager breaths like sighs of rapture. A +rhapsody: the rush and growl and frown of the world +(said he)––the sombre colors, the veil of mist, the everlasting +hills, rising in serenity above the turmoil and +evanescent rage. To this I listened in wonder. I had +not for myself discovered these beauties; but thereafter, +because of this teaching, I kept watch.</p> +<p>Came, then, out of the mist, Judith, upon accustomed +business. “Dannie, lad,” she asked me, not shy of the +stranger, because of woful anxiety, “you’ve not seed my +mother hereabouts, is you?”</p> +<p>I grieved that I had not.</p> +<p>“She’ve been gone,” said Judith, with a helpless +glance, sweeping the sombre, veiled hills, “since afore +dawn. I waked at dawn, Dannie, an’ she were gone +from the bed––an’ I isn’t been able t’ find she, somehow. +She’ve wandered off––she’ve wandered off again––in +her way.”</p> +<p>I would help, said I.</p> +<p>“You’re kind, Dannie,” said she. “Ay, God’s sake, +lad! you’re wondrous kind––t’ me.”</p> +<p>My tutor tipped the sad little face, as though by right +and propriety admitted long ago, and for a moment +looked unabashed into Judith’s eyes––an engaging +glance, it seemed, for Judith was left unresisting and +untroubled by it. They were eyes, now, speaking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +anxious fear and weariness and motherly concern, the +brows drawn, the tragic little shadows, lying below, +very wide and blue.</p> +<p>“You are a pretty child,” said my tutor, presently; +“you have very beautiful eyes, have you not? But you +knew it long ago, of course,” he added, smiling in a way +most captivating, “didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>I remember the day––the mist and wind and clamoring +sea and solemn hills, the dour, ill-tempered world +wherein we were, our days as grass (saith the psalmist). +Ay, an’ ’tis so. I remember the day: the wet moss +underfoot; the cold wind, blowing as it listed; the petulant +sea, wreaking an ancient enmity, old and to continue +beyond our span of feeling; the great hills of Twin +Islands hid in mist, but yet watching us; the clammy +fog embracing us, three young, unknowing souls. I +shall not forget––cannot forget––the moment of that first +meeting of the maid Judith with John Cather. ’Twas +a sombre day, as he had said––ay, a troubled sea, a +gray, cold, sodden earth!</p> +<p>“And has nobody told you that you were pretty?” +my tutor ran on, in pleasant banter.</p> +<p>She would not answer; but shyly, in sweet self-consciousness, +looked down.</p> +<p>“No?” he insisted.</p> +<p>She was too shy of him to say.</p> +<p>“Not even one?” he persisted, tipping up the +blushing little face. “Not even one?”</p> +<p>I thought it very bold.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></div> +<p>“Come, now,” says he. “There is a boy. You are +so very pretty, you know. You are so very, very pretty. +There must be a boy––a sweetheart. Surely there is +at least one lad of taste at Twist Tickle. There is +a sweetheart; there must be a sweetheart. I spell it +with a D!” cries he, triumphantly, detecting the horrified +glance that passed between Judy and me. And +he clapped me on the back, and stroked Judith’s +tawny hair, his hand bold, winning; and he laughed +most heartily. “His name,” says he, “is Daniel!”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Judith, quite frankly.</p> +<p>My tutor laughed again; and I was glad that he did––in +that kind way. I was glad––’twas a flush of warm +feeling––that my tutor and Judith were at once upon +terms of understanding. I was glad that Judith smiled, +glad that she looked again, with favor, in interested +speculation, into the dark eyes which smiled back at +her again. I would have them friends––’twas according +to my plan....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>At mid-day the wrath of the sea began to fail. The +racing lop, the eager, fuming crests––a black-and-white +confusion beneath the quiet, gray fog––subsided into +reasonableness. ’Twas wild enough, wind and sea, +beyond the tickle rocks; but still ’twas fishing weather +and water for the courageous.</p> +<p>The fool of Twist Tickle came to our gate. “Mother +always ’lowed,” says he, “that when a man <i>could</i> he +<i>ought</i> t’; an’ mother knowed.”</p> +<p>“You’re never bound out, Moses!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>“Well,” he drawled, “mother always ’lowed that +when a man <i>could</i> pick up a scattered fish an’ <i>wouldn’t</i>, +he were a mean sort o’ coward.”</p> +<p>“An’ you’ll be takin’ <i>me</i>?”</p> +<p>“I was ’lowin’,” he answered, “that us <i>might</i> get out +an’ back an us tried.”</p> +<p>’Twas a brave prospect. Beyond the tickle in a +gale o wind! ’Twas irresistible––to be accomplished +with the fool of Twist Tickle and his clever punt. I +left the pottering Cather to put ship-shape his cabin +(as he now called it) for himself––a rainy-day occupation +for aliens. In high delight I put out with Moses +Shoos to the Off-and-On grounds. Man’s work, this! +’Twas hard sailing for a hook-and-line punt––the reel +and rush and splash of it––but an employment the most +engaging. ’Twas worse fishing in the toss and smother +of the grounds; but ’twas a thrilling reward when the +catch came flopping overside––the spoil of a doughty +foray. We fished a clean half-quintal; then, late in +the day, a rising wind caught us napping in Hell Alley. +It came on to blow from the east with fury. There was +no beating up to the tickle in the teeth of it; ’twas a +task beyond the little punt, drive her to it as we would. +When dusk came––dusk fast turning the fog black––the +fool turned tail and wisely ran for Whisper Cove. +’Twas dark when we moored the punt to the stage-head: +a black night come again, blowing wildly with rain––great +gusts of wind threshing the trees above, screaming +from cliff to cliff. There were lights at Judith’s: ’twas +straightway in our minds to ask a cup of tea in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +kitchen; but when we came near the door ’twas to the +discovery of company moving in and out.</p> +<p>There were women in the kitchen.</p> +<p>“’Tis Judith’s mother, Dannie,” Aunt Esther All +whispered. “’Tis on’y she. ’Tis on’y Elizabeth.”</p> +<p>We had found her on the hills that morning.</p> +<p>“She’ve come t’ die all of a suddent. ’Tis another +of her spells. Oh, Lord! she’ve come t’ die.”</p> +<p>There was no solemnity in this outer room.</p> +<p>“She’ve woful need o’ salvation,” Aunt Esther pattered. +“She’s doomed, lad, an she doesn’t repent. +Parson Stump ought t’ be fetched t’ work on she.”</p> +<p>There was grief––somewhere there was grief. I heard +a sob; it came from a child’s breast. And there followed, +then, some strange, rambling words of comfort +in Elizabeth’s voice––a plea, it was, to never mind. +Again a sob––Judith’s grief.</p> +<p>“’Tis Judith,” Aunt Esther sighed. “She’ve gone +an’ give way.”</p> +<p>The child’s heart would break!</p> +<p>“Mother always ’lowed, Dannie,” Moses whispered, +“that they ought t’ be a parson handy––when It come.”</p> +<p>’Twas beyond the power of the fool to manage: who +was now a fool, indeed––white and shivering in this +Presence. I would fetch the parson, said I––and +moved right willingly and in haste upon the errand. +Aunt Esther followed me beyond the threshold. She +caught my arm with such a grasp that I was brought +up in surprise. We stood in the wind and rain. The +light from the kitchen fell through the doorway into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +the black night. Aunt Esther’s lean, brown face, as +the lamp betrayed, was working with eager and shameless +curiosity. They had wondered, these women of +Whisper Cove, overlong and without patience, to know +what they wished to know but could not discover. +“She’ve been wantin’ Skipper Nicholas,” says she. +“She’ve been callin’ for Skipper Nicholas. She’ve been +singin’ out, Dannie, like a wretch in tarture. Tell un +t’ come. She’ve been wantin’ un sore. She’ve a thing +on her mind. Tell un not t’ fail. ’Tis something she’ve +t’ tell un. ‘I wants Skipper Nicholas!’ says she. +‘Fetch Nicholas! I wants a word with he afore I die.’ +Hist!” Aunt Esther added, as though imparting some +delight, “I ’low ’tis the secret.”</p> +<p>I asked her concerning this secret.</p> +<p>“It haves t’ do,” says she, “with Judith.”</p> +<p>“An’ what’s that?”</p> +<p>She whispered.</p> +<p>“For shame!” I cried.</p> +<p>“Ay, but,” says she, “you isn’t a woman!”</p> +<p>“’Tis gossips’ employment, woman!”</p> +<p>“’Tis a woman’s wish t’ know,” she answered.</p> +<p>The thing concerned Judith: I was angered....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And now the door was shut in my face. ’Twas +opened––closed again. The fool fled past me to his +own place––scared off by the footsteps of Death, in the +way of all fools. I was in haste––all at once––upon the +road from Whisper Cove to Twist Tickle in a screaming +gale of wind and rain. I was in Judith’s service: I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +made haste. ’Twas a rough road, as I have said––a +road scrambling among forsaken hills, a path made +by chance, narrow and crooked, wind-swept or walled +by reaching alders and spruce limbs, which were wet +and cold and heavy with the drip of the gale. Ah, but +was I not whipped on that night by the dark and the +sweeping rain and the wind on the black hills and the +approach of death? I was whipped on, indeed! The +road was perverse to hurrying feet: ’twas ill going for +a crooked foot; but I ran––splashing through the puddles, +stumbling over protruding rock, crawling over the +hills––an unpitying course. Why did the woman cry +out for my uncle? What would she confide? Was it, +indeed, but the name of the man? Was it not more +vital to Judith’s welfare, imperatively demanding disclosure? +I hastened. Was my uncle at home? For +Elizabeth’s peace at this dread pass I hoped he had +won through the gale. In rising anxiety I ran faster. +I tripped upon a root and went tumbling down Lovers’ +Hill, coming to in a muddy torrent from Tom Tulk’s +Head. Thereafter––a hundred paces––I caught sight +of the lights of the Twist Tickle meeting-house. They +glowed warm and bright in the scowling night that +encompassed me....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>’Twas district-meeting time at Twist Tickle. The +parsons of our Bay were gathered to devise many kindnesses +for our folk––the salvation of souls and the +nourishment of bodies and the praise of the God of us +all. ’Twas in sincerity they came––there’s no disputing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +it––and in loving-kindness, however ingenuously, they +sought our welfare. When I came from the unkind +night into the light and warmth of that plain temple, +Parson Lute, of Yellow Tail Tickle, whom I knew and +loved, was seeking to persuade the shepherds of our +souls that the spread of saving grace might surely be +accomplished, from Toad Point to the Scarlet Woman’s +Head, by means of unmitigated doctrine and more artful +discourse. He was a youngish man, threadbare and +puckered of garment––a quivering little aggregation of +bones and blood-vessels, with a lean, lipless, high-cheeked +face, its pale surface splashed with freckles; green eyes, +red-rimmed, the lashes sparse and white; wide, restless +nostrils. “Brethren,” said he, with a snap of the +teeth, his bony hand clinched and shaking above +his gigantic head, “con-<i>vict</i> ’em! Anyhow. In any +way. By any means. <i>Save</i> ’em! That’s what we +want in the church. Beloved,” he proceeded, his voice +dropping to a hissing whisper, “save ’em. <i>Con</i>-vict +’em!” His head shot forward; ’twas a red, bristly head, +with the hair growing low on the brow, like the spruce +of an overhanging cliff. “It’s the only <i>way</i>,” he concluded, +“to save ’em!” He sat down. “I’m hungry +for souls!” he shouted from his seat, as an afterthought; +and ’twas plain he would have said more had not a +spasmodic cough put an end to his ecstasy.</p> +<p>“Praise God!” they said.</p> +<p>“’Low I got a cold,” Parson Lute gasped, his voice +changed now by the weakness of an ailing man.</p> +<p>I feared to interrupt; but still must boldly knock.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></div> +<p>“One moment, brethren!” Parson Stump apologized. +“Ah, Daniel!” he cried; “is that you? What’s amiss, +boy? You’ve no trouble, have you? And your uncle––eh? +you’ve no trouble, boy, have you?” The brethren +waited in silence while he tripped lightly over the +worn cocoanut matting to the rear––perturbed, a little +frown of impatience and bewilderment gathering between +his eyes. The tails of his shiny black coat +brushed the varnished pine pews, whereto, every Sunday, +the simple folk of our harbor repaired in faith. +Presently he tripped back again. The frown of bewilderment +was deeper now––the perturbation turned +anxious. For a moment he paused before the brethren. +“Very awkward,” said he, at last. “Really, I’m very +sorry.” He scratched his head, fore and aft––bit his +lip. “I’m called to Whisper Cove,” he explained, pulling +at his nose. “I’m sorry to interrupt the business of +the meeting, just at this time, but I do not see how it +can be got around. I s’pose we’d better adjourn until +such a time as I––”</p> +<p>The chairman would hear of no adjournment.</p> +<p>“But,” Parson Stump complained, “I’m the secretary!”</p> +<p>“We’ll go right on, brother.”</p> +<p>“I can’t very well <i>stay</i>, brethren,” said Parson Stump, +chagrined. “It’s a case of––of––of spiritual consolation.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” ejaculated Parson Lute.</p> +<p>“And I––”</p> +<p>“Now, Brother Wile,” the chairman interrupted, +“we’re ready to hear <i>you</i>.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></div> +<p>“One moment,” said Parson Lute, rising. He struggled +to suppress his cough. “Excuse me,” he gasped. +And, “I don’t quite see, brethren,” he proceeded, “how +this meeting can get along without the services of +Brother Stump. It seems to me that this meeting <i>needs</i> +Brother Stump. I am of opinion that Brother Stump +owes it to the cause in general, and to the clergy of this +district in particular, to report this discussion to the +conference. It is my conviction, brethren, that Brother +Stump––by his indefatigable industry, by his thorough +acquaintance with the matters under discussion, by his +spiritual insight into problems of this character, by his +talent for expression––ought to be present through the +whole of this discussion, in its entirety, and ought to +present the views of this body to the conference <i>in +person</i>.” And, “Look here, Brother Stump,” he concluded, +turning, “why can’t <i>I</i> make this call for you?”</p> +<p>“Well, of course, you <i>could</i>, Brother Lute,” Parson +Stump admitted, his face beginning to clear, “but really +I––”</p> +<p>“Oh, come now, brother!”</p> +<p>“Brother Lute,” said Parson Stump, with sincere +affection, “I don’t like to think of you on the road to +Whisper Cove to-night. I tell you, it––it––goes against +the grain. You’re not well, brother. You’re not well +at all. And it’s a long way––and there’s a gale of wind +and rain outside––”</p> +<p>“Come, come, now!”</p> +<p>“A <i>dirty</i> night,” Parson Stump mused.</p> +<p>“But it’s the Lord’s business!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div> +<p>“Of course,” Parson Stump yielded, “if you <i>would</i> +be so kind, I––”</p> +<p>Parson Lute’s face brightened. “Very well,” said +he. “It’s all settled. Now, may I have a word with +you? I’ll need some pointers.” To the five brethren: +“One moment, brethren!”</p> +<p>They moved towards the rear, and came to rest, +heads close, within my hearing. Parson Lute put his +arm over Parson Stump’s shoulder. “Now,” said he, +briskly, rubbing his hands in a business-like way, +“pointers, brother––pointers!”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, brother!” Parson Stump agreed. “Well, +you’ll find my oil-skins hanging in the hall. Mrs. Stump +will give you the lantern––”</p> +<p>“No, no! I don’t mean that. Who is this person? +Man or woman?”</p> +<p>“Maid,” said Parson Stump.</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>Parson Stump whispered in Parson Lute’s ear. +Parson Lute raised his eyebrows. He was made sad––and +sighed. He was kind, was this parson, and sweetly +wishful for the goodness and welfare of all the erring +sons and daughters of men.</p> +<p>“Has the woman repented?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I fear not. In fact––no; she has not.”</p> +<p>At once the battle-light began to shine in Parson +Lute’s green eyes. “I see,” he snapped.</p> +<p>“Rather difficult case, I fear,” said Parson Stump, +despondently. “She––well, she––she isn’t quite right. +Poor creature! Do you understand? A simple person. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +Not idiotic, you know. Not born that way, of course. +Oh no! born with all her senses <i>quite</i> intact. She was +beautiful as a maid––sweet-natured, lovely in person, +very modest and pious––very merry, too, and clever. +But before the child came she––she––she began to wait. +Do you understand? To wait––to wait for the return +of––of some one. She said––I remember that she said––that +he would come. She was really quite sure of it. +And she waited––and waited. A promise, no doubt; +and she had faith in it. For a long time she had faith +in it. Rather pitiful, I think. I used to see her about +a good deal. She was always waiting. I would meet +her on the heads, in all weathers, keeping watch for +schooners. The clerk of a trading-schooner, no doubt; +but nobody knows. Waiting––waiting––always waiting! +Poor creature! The man didn’t come back, of +course; and then she got––well––flighty. Got flighty––quite +flighty. The man didn’t come back, of course, you +know; and she had waited––and waited––so long, so very +long. Really, a very difficult case, brother! Something +snapped and broken––something missing––something +gone, you know. Poor creature! She––she––well, +she waited too long. Couldn’t <i>stand</i> it, you see. It +seems she loved the man––and trusted him––and, well, +just loved him, you know, in the way women will. +And now she’s flighty––<i>quite</i> flighty. A difficult case, +I fear, and––”</p> +<p>“I see,” Parson Lute interrupted. “An interesting +case. Very sad, too. And you’ve not been able to +convict her of her sin?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div> +<p>Parson Stump shook his head.</p> +<p>“No impression whatever?”</p> +<p>“No, brother.”</p> +<p>“How,” Parson Lute demanded, with a start, “does +she––ah––subsist?”</p> +<p>“She fishes, brother, in quiet weather, and she is +helped, though it is not generally known, by a picturesque +old character of the place––a man not of the +faith, a drunkard, I fear, but kind-hearted and generous +to the needy.”</p> +<p>“The woman ever converted before?”</p> +<p>“Twice, brother,” Parson Stump answered; “but +not now in a state of grace. She is quite obstinate,” +he added, “and she has, I fear, peculiar views––<i>very</i> +peculiar, I fear––on repentance. In fact, she loves the +child, you see; and she fears that a confession of her +sin––a confession of repentance, you know––might give +the world to think that her love had failed––that she +wished the child––well––unborn. She would not appear +disloyal to Judith, I fear, even to save her soul. A +peculiar case, is it not? A difficult case, I fear.”</p> +<p>“I see,” said Parson Lute, tapping his nose reflectively. +“The child is the obstacle. A valuable hint in +that. Well, I may be able to do something, with God’s +help.”</p> +<p>“God bless you, brother!”</p> +<p>They shook hands....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>My uncle was returned from Topmast Harbor. I +paused but to bid him urgently to the bedside of Elizabeth, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +then ran on to rejoin the parson at the turn of +the road. By night, in a gale of wind and rain from +the east, was no time for Parson Lute, of Yellow Tail +Tickle, to be upon the long road to Whisper Cove. +But the rough road, and the sweep of the wind, and +the steep ascents, and the dripping limbs, and the forsaken +places lying hid in the dark, and the mud and +torrents, and the knee-deep, miry puddles seemed not +to be perceived by him as he stumbled after me. He +was praying aloud––importunately, as it is written. He +would save the soul of Elizabeth, that man; the faith, the +determination were within him. ’Twas fair pitiful the +way he besought the Lord. And he made haste; he +would pause only at the crests of the hills––to cough and +to catch his breath. I was hard driven that night––straight +into the wind, with the breathless parson forever +at my heels. I shall never forget the exhibition of +zeal. ’Twas divinely unselfish––’twas heroic as men +have seldom shown heroism. Remembering what occurred +thereafter, I number the misguided man with +the holy martyrs. At the Cock’s Crest, whence the +road tumbled down the cliff to Whisper Cove, the wind +tore the breath out of Parson Lute, and the noise of +the breakers, and the white of the sea beyond, without +mercy, contemptuous, confused him utterly.</p> +<p>He fell.</p> +<p>“Tis near at hand, sir!” I pleaded with him.</p> +<p>He was up in a moment. “Let us press on, Daniel,” +said he, “to the salvation of that soul. Let us press on!”</p> +<p>We began the descent....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +<a name='XIII_JUDITH_ABANDONED' id='XIII_JUDITH_ABANDONED'></a> +<h2>XIII</h2> +<h3>JUDITH ABANDONED</h3> +</div> +<p>I left the parson in the kitchen to win back his +breath. He was near fordone, poor man! but still +entreatingly prayed, in sentences broken by consumptive +spasms, for wisdom and faith and the fire of the +Holy Ghost in this dire emergency. When I entered +the room where Elizabeth lay, ’twas to the grateful discovery +that she had rallied: her breath came without +wheeze or gasp; the labored, spasmodic beating of her +heart no longer shook the bed. ’Twas now as though, +I thought, they had troubled her with questions concerning +her soul or her sin; for she was turned sullen––lying +rigid and scowling, with her eyes fixed upon the +whitewashed rafters, straying only in search of Judith, +who sat near, grieving in dry sobs, affrighted.</p> +<p>And ’twas said that this Elizabeth had within the +span of my short life been a maid most lovely! There +were no traces of that beauty and sprightliness remaining. +I wondered, being a lad, that unkindness should +work a change so sad in any one. ’Twas a mystery.... +The room was cold. ’Twas ghostly, too––with +Death hovering there invisible. Youth is mystified +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +and appalled by the gaunt Thing. I shivered. Within, +the gale sighed and moaned and sadly whispered; +’twas blowing in a melancholy way––foreboding some +inevitable catastrophe. Set on a low ledge of the cliff, +the cottage sagged towards the edge, as if to peer at +the breakers; and clammy little draughts stole through +the cracks of the floor and walls, crying as they came, +and crept about, searching out the uttermost corners, +with sighs and cold fingers.</p> +<p>’Twas a mean, poor place for a woman to lie in +extremity.... And she had once been lovely––with +warm, live youth, with twinkling eyes and modesty, +with sympathy and merry ways to win the love o’ folk! +Ay; but ’twas wondrous hard to believe.... ’Twas a +mean station of departure, indeed––a bare, disjointed +box of a room, low-ceiled, shadowy, barren of comfort, +but yet white and neat, kept by Judith’s clever, conscientious, +loving hands. There was one small window, +outlooking to sea, black-paned in the wild night, whipped +with rain and spray. From without––from the vastness +of sea and night––came a confused and distant +wail, as of the lamentation of a multitude. Was this +my fancy? I do not know; but yet it seemed to me––a +lad who listened and watched––that a wise, pitying, +unnumbered throng lamented.</p> +<p>I could not rid my ears of this wailing....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Elizabeth had rallied; she might weather it out, +said the five wives of Whisper Cove, who had gathered +to observe her departure.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></div> +<p>“If,” Aunt Esther qualified, “she’s let <i>be</i>.”</p> +<p>“Like she done las’ time,” William Buttle’s wife +whispered. “I ’low our watchin’s wasted. Ah, this +heart trouble! You never knows.”</p> +<p>“<i>If</i>,” Aunt Esther repeated, “she’s let be.”</p> +<p>We waited for the parson.</p> +<p>“Have Skipper Nicholas come?” Elizabeth asked.</p> +<p>“No, maid; ’tis not he, maid.” They would still +taunt her! They would still taunt her, in the way of +virtuous women; ’twas “Maid! Maid!” until the heart +of a man of honor––of a man of any sort––was fair sickened +of virtue and women. “’Tis the parson,” said +they.</p> +<p>Elizabeth sighed. “I wants a word along o’ Skipper +Nicholas,” said she, faintly, “when he’ve come.”</p> +<p>Parson Lute softly entered from the kitchen, wiping +the rain from his face and hands, stepping on tiptoe +over the bare floor. He was worn and downcast. No +inspiration, it seemed, had been granted in answer to +his praying. I loved him, of old, as did all the children +of Twist Tickle, to whom he was known because of +gentlest sympathy, shown on the roads in fair weather +and foul at district-meeting time; and I was glad that +he had come to ease the passage to heaven of the +mother of Judith. The five women of Whisper Cove, +taken unaware by this stranger, stood in a flutter of +embarrassment. They were not unkind––they were +curious concerning death and the power of parsons. +He laid a kind hand on Judith’s head, shook hands +with the women, and upon each bestowed a whispered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +blessing, being absently said; and the wives of Whisper +Cove sat down and smoothed their skirts and folded +their hands, all flushed and shaking with expectation. +They wondered, no doubt, what he would accomplish––salvation +or not: Parson Stump had failed. Parson +Lute seemed for a moment to be unnerved by the +critical attitude of his audience––made anxious for his +reputation: a purely professional concern, inevitably +habitual. He was not conscious of this, I am sure; +he was too kind, too earnest in service, to consider his +reputation. But yet he must <i>do</i>––when another had +failed. The Lord had set him a hard task; but being +earnest and kind, he had no contempt, no lack of love, +I am sure, for the soul the Lord had given him to +lose or to save––neither gross wish to excel, nor gross +wish to excuse.</p> +<p>“Daughter,” he whispered, tenderly, to Elizabeth.</p> +<p>Elizabeth threw the coverlet over her head, so that +only the tangled fringe of her hair was left to see; and +she began to laugh––a coquettish trifling. Parson Lute +gently uncovered the head.</p> +<p>“You isn’t Parson Stump,” Elizabeth tittered.</p> +<p>“Turn your face this way,” said Parson Lute.</p> +<p>She laughed.</p> +<p>“This way,” said Parson Lute.</p> +<p>“Go ’way!” Elizabeth laughed. “Go on with you!” +She hid her flaming face. “You didn’t ought t’ see me +in bed!” she gasped. “Go ’way!”</p> +<p>“My child,” said Parson Lute, patiently, “turn your +face this way.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></div> +<p>She would not. “Go ’way!” said she.</p> +<p>“This way!” Parson Lute repeated.</p> +<p>It had been a quiet, slow command, not to go unheeded. +The five women of Whisper Cove stiffened with +amazement. Here, indeed, was a masterful parson! +Parson Stump had failed; but not this parson––not +this parson, who could command in the name of the +Lord! They exchanged glances––exchanged nudges. +Elizabeth’s laughter ceased. All the women of Whisper +Cove waited breathless. There was silence; the commotion +was all outside––wind and rain and breakers, +a far-off passion, apart from the poor comedy within. +The only sound in the room was the wheezing of the +girl on the bed. Elizabeth turned; her brows were +drawn, her eyes angry. Aunt Esther All, from her place +at the foot of the bed, heard the ominous wheeze of +her breath and observed the labor of her heart; and +she was concerned, and nudged William Buttle’s wife, +who would not heed her.</p> +<p>“’Tis not good for her,” Aunt Esther whispered.</p> +<p>“You leave me be!” Elizabeth complained.</p> +<p>Parson Lute took her hand.</p> +<p>“You quit that!” said Elizabeth.</p> +<p>“Hush, daughter,” the parson pleaded.</p> +<p>Into the interval of silence a gust of rain intruded.</p> +<p>“Have Nicholas come?” Elizabeth asked. “Haven’t +he come yet?”</p> +<p>Aunt Esther shook her head.</p> +<p>“I wants un,” said Elizabeth, “when he’ve come.”</p> +<p>The parson began now soothingly to stroke the great, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +rough hand he held; but at once Elizabeth broke into +bashful laughter, and he dropped it––and frowned.</p> +<p>“Woman,” he cried, in distress, “don’t you know +that you are dying?”</p> +<p>Elizabeth’s glance ran to Judith, who rose, but sat +again, wringing her hands. The mother turned once +more to the parson; ’twas an apathetic gaze, fixed upon +his restless nostrils.</p> +<p>“How is it with your soul?” he asked.</p> +<p>’Twas a word spoken most graciously, in the perfection +of pious desire, of reverence, of passionate concern +for the future of souls; but yet Elizabeth’s glance +moved swiftly to the parson’s eyes, in a rage, and +instantly shifted to his red hair, where it remained, +fascinated.</p> +<p>“Are you trusting in your Saviour’s love?”</p> +<p>I accuse myself for speaking, in this bold way, of +the unhappy question; but yet, why not? for ’twas +asked in purest anxiety, in the way of Parson Lute, +whom all children loved.</p> +<p>“Are you clinging,” says he, “to the Cross?”</p> +<p>Elizabeth listlessly stared at the rafters.</p> +<p>“Have you laid hold on the only Hope of escape?”</p> +<p>The child Judith––whose grief was my same agony––sobbed +heart-brokenly.</p> +<p>“Judith!” Elizabeth called, her apathy vanished. +“Poor little Judith!”</p> +<p>“No, my daughter,” the parson gently protested. +“This is not the time,” said he. “Turn your heart +away from these earthly affections,” he pleaded, his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +voice fallen to an earnest whisper. “Oh, daughter, +fix your eyes upon the Cross!”</p> +<p>Elizabeth was sullen. “I wants Judith,” she complained.</p> +<p>“You have no time, now, my daughter, to think of +these perishing human ties.”</p> +<p>“I <i>wants</i> Judith!”</p> +<p>“Mere earthly affection, daughter! ‘And if a +man’––”</p> +<p>“An’ Judith,” the woman persisted, “wants <i>me</i>!”</p> +<p>“Nay,” the parson softly chided. He was kind––patient +with her infirmity. ’Twas the way of Parson +Lute. With gentleness, with a tactful humoring, he +would yet win her attention. But, “Oh,” he implored, +as though overcome by a flooding realization of the +nature and awful responsibility of his mission, “can +you not think of your soul?”</p> +<p>“Judith, dear!”</p> +<p>The child arose.</p> +<p>“No!” said the parson, quietly. “No, child!”</p> +<p>The wind shook the house to its crazy foundations +and drove the crest of a breaker against the panes.</p> +<p>“I wants t’ <i>tell</i> she, parson!” Elizabeth wailed. “An +I wants she––jus’ <i>wants</i> she––anyhow––jus’ for love!”</p> +<p>“Presently, daughter; not now.”</p> +<p>“She––she’s my <i>child</i>!”</p> +<p>“Presently, daughter.”</p> +<p>Judith wept again.</p> +<p>“Sir!” Elizabeth gasped––bewildered, terrified.</p> +<p>“Not now, daughter.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<p>All the anger and complaint had gone out of Elizabeth’s +eyes; they were now filled with wonder and +apprehension. Flashes of intelligence appeared and +failed and came again. It seemed to me, who watched, +that in some desperate way, with her broken mind, she +tried to solve the mystery of this refusal. Then ’twas +as though some delusion––some terror of her benighted +state––seized upon her: alarm changed to despair; she +rose in bed, but put her hand to her heart and fell +back.</p> +<p>“He better stop it!” Aunt Esther All muttered.</p> +<p>The four wives of Whisper Cove bitterly murmured +against her.</p> +<p>“He’s savin’ her soul,” said William Buttle’s wife.</p> +<p>They were interested, these wives, in the operation; +they resented disturbance.</p> +<p>“Well,” Aunt Esther retorted, “I ’low, anyhow, he +don’t know much about heart-trouble.”</p> +<p>Parson Lute, unconscious of this watchful observation, +frankly sighed. The hearts of men, I know, +contain no love more sweet and valuable than that +which animated his desire. He mused for an interval. +“Do you know the portion of the wicked?” he asked, +in loving-kindness, without harshness whatsoever.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>It seemed she would appease him. She was ingratiating, +now, with smile and answer. “Hell, sir,” she +answered.</p> +<p>“Are you prepared for the change?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>’Twas a familiar question, no doubt. Elizabeth’s +conversion had been diligently sought. But the lean +face of Parson Lute, and the fear of what he might +do, and the solemn quality of his voice, and his sincere +and simple desire seemed so to impress Elizabeth +that she was startled into new attention.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” she said.</p> +<p>It appeared to puzzle Parson Lute. He had been +otherwise informed by Parson Stump. The woman +was <i>not</i> in a state of grace.</p> +<p>“You have cast yourself upon the mercy of God?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Then how, my daughter, can you say that you are +prepared?”</p> +<p>There was no answer.</p> +<p>“You have made your peace with an offended God?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“But you say that you are prepared?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“You have repented of your sin?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>Parson Lute turned impatient. “And yet,” he demanded, +“you expect to go to heaven?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“<i>What</i>!” cried Parson Lute.</p> +<p>“No, sir,” she said.</p> +<p>Parson Lute was incredulous. “To hell?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Eh?”</p> +<p>“To <i>hell</i>?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></div> +<p>Elizabeth hesitated. By some direct and primitively +human way her benighted mind had reached its determination. +But still she hesitated––frightened somewhat, +it may be, by the conventionality of Whisper +Cove and Twist Tickle.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” said she. “Most men goes there.”</p> +<p>“But you,” said he, in amaze, “are not a man!”</p> +<p>“Judith’s father were,” she answered; “an’ I’m +wantin’––oh, I’m wantin’––t’ see un once again!”</p> +<p>The five wives of Whisper Cove gasped....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The outer door was flung open. Came a rush of +wind––the noise and wet and lusty stirring of the night. +It broke harshly in upon us; ’twas a crashing discord +of might and wrath and cruel indifference––a mocking +of this small tragedy. The door was sharply closed +against the gale. I heard the wheeze and tread of my +uncle in the kitchen. He entered––his broad face grave +and anxious and grieved––but instantly fled, though I +beckoned; for Parson Lute, overcome, it may be, by +the impiety of Elizabeth, was upon his knees, fervently +praying that the misguided soul might yet by some +miraculous manifestation of grace be restored to +propriety of view and of feeling. ’Twas a heartfelt +prayer offered in faith, according to the enlightenment +of the man––a confession of ignorance, a plea of human +weakness, a humble, anxious cry for divine guidance +that the woman might be plucked as a brand from the +burning, to the glory of the Lord God Most Tender and +Most High. Came, in the midst of it, a furious outburst; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +the wind rose––achieved its utmost pitch of +power. I looked out: Whisper Cove, low between the +black barriers, was churned white; and beyond––concealed +by the night––the sea ran tumultuously. ’Twas +a big, screaming wind, blowing in from the sea, unopposed +by tree or hill. The cottage trembled to the +gusts; the timbers complained; the lamp fluttered in +the draught. Great waves, rolling in from the open, +were broken on the rocks of Whisper Cove. Rain and +spray, driven by the gale, drummed on the roof and +rattled like hail on the window. And above this angry +clamor of wind and sea rose the wailing, importunate +prayer for the leading of the God of us all....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When the parson had got to his feet again, Aunt +Esther All diffidently touched his elbow. “Nicholas +have come, sir,” said she.</p> +<p>“Nicholas?”</p> +<p>“Ay; the man she’ve sent for.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth caught the news. “I wants un,” she +wheezed. “Go ’way, parson! I wants a word along +o’ Nicholas all alone.”</p> +<p>“She’ve a secret, sir,” Aunt Esther whispered.</p> +<p>Judith moved towards the door; but the parson +beckoned her back, and she stood doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Mister Top! Mister Top!” Elizabeth called, desperate +to help herself, to whom no heed was given.</p> +<p>In the fury of the gale––the rush past of wind and +rain––the failing voice was lost.</p> +<p>“I ’low,” Aunt Esther warned, “’twould be wise, sir––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></div> +<p>“Have the man wait in the kitchen.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth lay helplessly whimpering.</p> +<p>“But, sir,” Aunt Esther protested, “she’ve––”</p> +<p>“Have the man wait in the kitchen,” the parson +impatiently repeated. “There is no time now for these +worldly arrangements. No, no!” said he. “There is +no time. The woman <i>must</i> be convicted!” He was +changed: despondency had vanished––humility gone +with it. In the eye of the man––the gesture––the risen +voice––appeared some high authority to overawe us. +He had the habit of authority, as have all parsons; but +there was now some compelling, supernatural addition +to weaken us. We did not dare oppose him, not one +of us––not my uncle, whose head had been intruded, +but was now at once withdrawn. The parson had +come out of his prayer, it seemed, refreshed and inspired; +he had remembered, it may be, that the child +was the obstacle––the child whom Elizabeth would not +slight to save her soul. “The woman must be saved,” +said he. “She must be saved!” he cried, striking his +fist into his palm, his body all tense, his teeth snapped +shut, his voice strident. “The Lord is mighty and +merciful––a forgiving God.” ’Twas an appeal (he +looked far past the whitewashed rafters and the moving +darkness of the night); ’twas a returning appeal––a +little failure of faith, I think. “The Lord has heard +me,” he declared, doggedly. “He has not turned away. +The woman must––she <i>shall</i>––be saved!”</p> +<p>“Ay, but,” Aunt Esther expostulated; “she’ve been +sort o’ wantin’ t’ tell––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></div> +<p>The parson’s green eyes were all at once bent in a +penetrating way upon Aunt Esther; and she backed +away, biting at her nails––daring no further protest.</p> +<p>“Judith, my child,” said the parson, “do you go to +the kitchen.”</p> +<p>“No, no!” Judith wailed. “I’m wantin’ t’ stay.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth stretched out her arms.</p> +<p>“It distracts your mother’s attention, you see,” said +the parson, kindly. “Do you go, my dear.”</p> +<p>“I <i>will</i> not go!”</p> +<p>“Judith!” Elizabeth called.</p> +<p>The parson caught the child’s arm.</p> +<p>“You leave me be!” Judith flashed, her white little +teeth all bare.</p> +<p>“Do you go,” said the parson, coldly, “to the kitchen.”</p> +<p>“He’d better mind what he’s about!” Aunt Esther +complained.</p> +<p>Elizabeth was now on her elbow, staring in alarm. +Her breast was significantly heaving, and the great +vein of her throat had begun to beat. “Don’t send +she away, parson!” she pleaded. “She’s wantin’ her +mother. Leave she be!”</p> +<p>The parson led Judith away.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake, parson,” Elizabeth gasped, “leave +she come! What you goin’ t’ do with she?” She made +as though to throw off the coverlet and follow; but she +was unable, and fell back in exhaustion. “Judith!” +she called. “Judith!”</p> +<p>The kitchen door was closed upon Judith; the obstacle +had been removed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>“Don’t hurt she, parson,” Elizabeth entreated, seeming, +now, to be possessed of a delusion concerning the +parson’s purpose. “She’ve done no harm, sir. She’ve +been a good child all her life.”</p> +<p>“Elizabeth,” said the parson, firmly, “repent!”</p> +<p>“What you done with my Judith?”</p> +<p>“Repent!”</p> +<p>Elizabeth’s heart began to work beyond its strength. +“For God’s sake, parson!” she gasped; “you’ll not +hurt she, will you?”</p> +<p>“Repent, I say!”</p> +<p>“I’ll repent, parson. What you goin’ t’ do with +Judy? Don’t hurt she, parson. I’ll repent. Oh, +bring she back, parson! I’ll repent. For God’s sake, +parson!” It may be that despair gave her cunning––I +do not know. The deception was not beyond her: +she had been converted twice––she was used to the +forms as practised in those days at Twist Tickle. She +wanted her child, poor woman! and her mind was +clouded with fear: she is not to be called evil for the +trick. Nor is Parson Lute to be blamed for following +earnestly all that she said––praying, all the while, that +the issue might be her salvation. She had a calculating +eye on the face of Parson Lute. “I believe!” she cried, +watching him closely for some sign of relenting. “Help +thou my unbelief.” The parson’s face softened. “Save +me!” she whispered, exhausted. “Save my soul! I repent. +Save my soul!” She seemed now to summon all +her strength, for the parson had not yet called back the +child. “Praise God!” she screamed, seeking now beyond +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +doubt to persuade him of her salvation. “I repent! +I’m saved! I’m saved!”</p> +<p>“Praise God!” Parson Lute shouted.</p> +<p>Elizabeth swayed––threw up her hands––fell back +dead.</p> +<p>“I tol’ you so,” said Aunt Esther, grimly.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<a name='XIV_THE_TWENTYTHIRD_PSALM' id='XIV_THE_TWENTYTHIRD_PSALM'></a> +<h2>XIV</h2> +<h3>THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM</h3> +</div> +<p>Faith, but ’twas a bitter night! Men were drowning +on our coast––going to death in the wreck of +schooners. The sea broke in unmasked assault upon +the great rocks of Whisper Cove; the gale worried the +cottage on the cliff. But ’twas warm in the kitchen: +the women had kept the fire for the cup o’ tea to follow +the event; ’twas warm, and the lamp made light and +shadow, and the kettle bubbled and puffed, the wood +crackled, the fire snored and glowed, all serenely, in +disregard of death, as though no mystery had come +to appal the souls of us.</p> +<p>My uncle had Judith on his knee.</p> +<p>“I’m not able,” she sobbed.</p> +<p>“An’ ye’ll not try?” he besought. “Ye’ll not even +try?”</p> +<p>We were alone: the women were employed in the +other room; the parson paced the floor, unheeding, his +yellow teeth fretting his finger-nails, his lean lips moving +in some thankful communication with the God he served.</p> +<p>“Ah, but!” says my uncle, “ye’ll <i>surely</i> come t’ live +along o’ me!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></div> +<p>“No, no! I’ll be livin’ where I’ve always lived––with +mother.”</p> +<p>“Ye cannot live alone.”</p> +<p>“Ay; but I’m able t’ live alone––an’ fish alone––like +mother done.”</p> +<p>“’Twas not her wish, child,” says my uncle. “She’d +have ye live along o’ me. ‘Why, Judy,’ she’d have ye +know, ‘do ye live along o’ he. Do ye trust, little maid,’ +she’d have ye t’ know, ‘that there ol’ Nick Top. He’ve +a powerful bad look t’ the eye in his head,’ she’d say, +‘an’ he’ve the name o’ the devil; but Lord love ye!’ +she’d say, ‘he’ve a heart with room t’ contain ye, an’ a +warm welcome t’ dwell within. He’ve took good care +o’ little ol’ Dannie,’ she’d say, ‘an’ he’ll take good care +o’ <i>you</i>. He’ll never see ye hurt or wronged or misguided +so long as he lives. Not,’ she’d say, ‘that there +damned ol’ rascal!’ An’ if ye come, Judy, dear,” my +uncle entreated, “I won’t see ye wronged––I won’t!” +My uncle’s little eyes were overrunning now––the little +eyes he would not look into. The parson still paced +the floor, still unheeding, still muttering fervent prayer +of some strange sort; but my uncle, aged in sinful ways, +was frankly crying. “Ye’ll come, Judy, will ye not?” +he begged. “Along o’ ol’ Nick Top, who would not +see ye wronged? Ah, little girl!” he implored––and +then her head fell against him––“ye’ll surely never +doubt Nick Top. An’ ye’ll come t’ he, an’ ye’ll sort +o’ look after un, will ye not?––that poor ol’ feller!”</p> +<p>Judith was sobbing on his breast.</p> +<p>“That poor, poor ol’ feller!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></div> +<p>She wept the more bitterly.</p> +<p>“Poor little girl!” he crooned, patting her shoulder. +“Ah, the poor little girl!”</p> +<p>“I’ll go!” cried Judith, in a passion of woe and +gratitude. “I’ll go––an’ trust an’ love an’ care for +you!”</p> +<p>My uncle clasped her close. “‘<i>The Lard is my +shepherd,</i>’” says he, looking up, God knows to what! +his eyes streaming, “‘<i>I shall not want. He maketh +me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside +the still waters.</i>’” By the wind, by the breaking of +the troubled sea, the old man’s voice was obscured. +“‘<i>Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow +of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: thy +rod and thy staff they comfort me.</i>’” Judith still sobbed, +uncomforted; my uncle stroked her hair––and again +she broke into passionate weeping. “‘<i>Thou preparest +a table before me in the presence of my enemies: thou +anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.</i>’” +Returned, again, in a lull of the gale, my fancy that I +caught the lamentation of a multitude. “‘<i>Surely goodness +and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: +and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.</i>’”</p> +<p>“Bless God!” cried the parson. “Bless God, +brother!”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said my uncle, feelingly, “bless God!”</p> +<p>The parson wrung my uncle’s hand.</p> +<p>“That there psa’m don’t seem true, parson, b’y,” +says my uncle, “on a night like this here dirty night, +with schooners in trouble at sea. Ever been t’ sea in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +a gale o’ wind, parson? Ah, well! it don’t seem true––not +in a gale o’ wind, with this here poor, lonely little +maid’s mother lyin’ there dead in the nex’ room. It +jus’ don’t seem true!”</p> +<p>Parson Lute, poor man! started––stared, pained, +anxious; in doubt, it may be, of the Christian congeniality +of this man.</p> +<p>“It don’t seem true,” says my uncle, “in the face of +a easterly gale an’ the death o’ mothers. An’, look you, +parson,” he declared, “I’ll be––well, parson, I’ll jus’ be +<i>jiggered</i>––if it do! There you haves it!”</p> +<p>“Brother,” the parson answered, accusingly, “it is +in the Bible; it must be true.”</p> +<p>“’Tis <i>where</i>?” my uncle demanded, confounded.</p> +<p>“In the Bible, sir.”</p> +<p>“An’ it––it––must be––”</p> +<p>“True, sir.”</p> +<p>My uncle sighed; and––for I know his loving-kindness––’twas +a sigh that spoke a pain at heart.</p> +<p>“It must be true,” reiterated the wretched parson, +now, it seemed, beset by doubt. “It <i>must</i> be +true!”</p> +<p>“Why, by the dear God ye serve, parson!” roared +my uncle, with healthy spirit, superior in faith, “I +<i>knows</i> ’tis true, Bible or St. John’s noospaper!”</p> +<p>Aunt Esther put her gray head in at the door. “Is +the kettle b’ilin’?” says she.</p> +<p>The kettle was boiling.</p> +<p>“Ah!” says she––and disappeared.</p> +<p>“‘<i>Though I walk,</i>’” the parson repeated, his thin, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +freckled hands clasped, “‘<i>through the valley of the +shadow of death!</i>’”</p> +<p>There was no doctor at Twist Tickle: so the parson +lay dead––poor man!––of the exposure of that night, +within three days, in the house of Parson Stump....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +<a name='XV_A_MEASURE_OF_PRECAUTION' id='XV_A_MEASURE_OF_PRECAUTION'></a> +<h2>XV</h2> +<h3>A MEASURE OF PRECAUTION</h3> +</div> +<p>With the threats of the gray stranger in mind, my +uncle now began without delay to refit the <i>Shining +Light</i>: this for all the world as though ’twere a timely +and reasonable thing to do. But ’twas neither timely, +for the fish were running beyond expectation off Twist +Tickle, nor reasonable, for the <i>Shining Light</i> had +been left to rot and foul in the water of Old Wives’ +Cove since my infancy. Whatever the pretence he +made, the labor was planned and undertaken in anxious +haste: there was, indeed, too much pretence––too +suave an explanation, a hand too aimless and unsteady, +an eye too blank, too large a flow of liquor––for +a man who suffered no secret perturbation.</p> +<p>“In case o’ accident, Dannie,” he explained, as though +’twere a thing of no importance. “Jus’ in case o’ accident. +I wouldn’t be upset,” says he, “an I was you.”</p> +<p>“Never you fear,” says I.</p> +<p>“No,” says he; “you’ll stand by, Dannie!”</p> +<p>“That I will,” I boasted.</p> +<p>“Ye can’t delude <i>me</i>,” says he. “I knows <i>you</i>. I +bet ye <i>you’ll</i> stand by, whatever comes of it.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></div> +<p>’Tis quite beyond me to express my gratification. +’Twas a mysterious business altogether––this whim to +make the <i>Shining Light</i> ready for sea. I could make +nothing of it at all. And why, thinks I, should the old +craft all at once be troubled by all this pother of block +and tackle and hammer and saw? ’Twas beyond me to +fathom; but I was glad to discover, whatever the puzzle, +that my uncle’s faith in the lad he had nourished was +got real and large. ’Twas not for that he bred me; but +’twas the only reward––and that a mean, poor one––he +might have. And he was now come near, it seemed, +to dependence upon me; there was that in his voice to +show it––a little trembling, a little hopelessness, a little +wistfulness: a little weakening of its quality of wrathful +courage.</p> +<p>“<i>You’ll</i> stand by,” he had said; and, ay, but it fair +saddened me to feel the appeal of his aging spirit to +my growing years! There comes a time, no doubt, in +the relationship of old and young, when the guardian +is all at once changed into the cherished one. ’Tis a +tragical thing––a thing to be resolved, to be made merciful +and benign, only by the acquiescence of the failing +spirit. There is then no interruption––no ripple upon +the flowing river of our lives. As for my uncle, I fancy +that he kept watch upon me, in those days, to read his +future, to discover his achievement, in my disposition. +Stand by? Ay, that I would! And being young I +sought a deed to do: I wished the accident might befall +to prove me.</p> +<p>“Accident?” cries I. “Never you fear!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div> +<p>“I’ll not fear,” says he, “that ye’ll not stand by.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” I complained; “but never you fear at all!”</p> +<p>“I’ll not fear,” he repeated, with a little twinkle of +amusement, “that ye’ll not stand by, as best ye’re +able.”</p> +<p>I felt now my strength––the greatness of my body +and the soaring courage of my soul. This in the innocent +way of a lad; and by grace of your recollection I +shall not be blamed for it. Fourteen and something +more? ’Twas a mighty age! What did it lack, thinks +I, of power and wisdom? To be sure I strutted the +present most haughtily and eyed the future with as +saucy a flash as lads may give. The thing delighted my +uncle; he would chuckle and clap me on the back and +cry, “That’s very good!” until I was wrought into a +mood of defiance quite ridiculous. But still ’tis rather +grateful to recall: for what’s a lad’s boasting but the +honest courage of a man? I would serve my uncle; +but ’twas not all: I would serve Judith. She was now +come into our care: I would serve her.</p> +<p>“They won’t nothin’ hurt <i>she</i>!” thinks I.</p> +<p>I am glad to recall that this boyish love took a turn +so chivalrous....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When ’twas noised abroad that my uncle was to +refit the <i>Shining Light</i>, Twist Tickle grew hilarious. +“Laugh an you will, lads,” says my uncle, then about +the business of distributing genial invitations to the +hauling-down. “’Tis a gift o’ the good Lord t’ be able +t’ do it. The ol’ girl out there haven’t a wonderful lot +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +to admire, an’ she’s nowhere near t’ windward o’ forty; +but I’ll show ye, afore I’m through, that she’ll stand by +in a dirty blow, an I jus’ asks she t’ try. Ye’ll find, +lads,” says he, “when ye’re so old as me, an’ sailed t’ +foreign parts, that they’s more to a old maid or a water-side +widow than t’ many a lass o’ eighteen. The ol’ +girl out there haves a mean allowance o’ beauty, but +she’ve a character that isn’t talked about after dark; +an’ when I buys her a pair o’ shoes an’ a new gown, +why, ecod! lads, ye’ll think she’s a lady. ’Tis one way,” +says he, “that ladies is <i>made</i>.”</p> +<p>This occurred at Eli Flack’s stage of an evening when +a mean, small catch was split and the men-folk were +gathered for gossip. ’Twas after sunset, with fog drifting +in on a lazy wind: a glow of red in the west. Our +folk were waiting for the bait-skiff, which had long been +gone for caplin, skippered, this time, by the fool of +Twist Tickle.</p> +<p>“Whatever,” says my uncle, “they’ll be a darn o’ +rum for ye, saved and unsaved, when she’ve been +hauled down an’ scraped. An’ will ye come t’ the +haulin’-down?”</p> +<p>That they would!</p> +<p>“I knowed ye would,” says my uncle, as he stumped +away, “saved an’ unsaved.”</p> +<p>The bait-skiff conch-horn sounded. The boat had +entered the narrows. ’Twas coming slowly through the +quiet evening––laden with bait for the fishing of to-morrow. +Again the horn––echoing sweetly, faintly, +among the hills of Twin Islands. ’Twas Moses Shoos +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +that blew; there was no mistaking the long-drawn +blast.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ah, well! she needed the grooming, this <i>Shining +Light</i>, whatever the occasion. ’Twas scandalous to +observe her decay in idleness. She needed the grooming––this +neglected, listless, slatternly old maid of a +craft. A craft of parts, to be sure, as I had been told; +but a craft left to slow wreck, at anchor in quiet water. +Year by year, since I could remember the days of my +life, in summer and winter weather she had swung with +the tides or rested silent in the arms of the ice. I had +come to Twist Tickle aboard, as the tale of my infancy +ran, on the wings of a nor’east gale of some pretensions; +and she had with heroic courage weathered a dirty blow +to land me upon the eternal rocks of Twin Islands. For +this––though but an ancient story, told by old folk to +engage my presence in the punts and stages of our +harbor––I loved her, as a man, Newfoundland born and +bred, may with propriety love a ship.</p> +<p>There are maids to be loved, no doubt, and ’tis very +nice to love them, because they are maids, fashioned in +a form most lovely by the good Lord, given a heart most +childlike and true and loving and tenderly dependent, +so that, in all the world, as I know, there is nothing so +to be cherished with a man’s last breath as a maid. I +have loved a maid and speak with authority. But there +is also a love of ships, though, being inland-born, you +may not know it. ’Tis a surpassing faith and affection, +inspired neither by beauty nor virtue, but wilful and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +mysterious, like the love of a maid. ’Tis much the +same, I’m thinking: forgiving to the uttermost, prejudiced +beyond the perception of any fault, savagely loyal. +’Twas in this way, at any rate, that my uncle regarded +the <i>Shining Light</i>; and ’twas in this way, too, with some +gentler shades of admiration, proceeding from an apt +imagination, that I held the old craft in esteem.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, presently, as we walked +homeward, “ye’ll ’blige me, lad, by keepin’ a eye on +the mail-boat.”</p> +<p>I wondered why.</p> +<p>“You keep a eye,” he whispered, winking in a way +most grave and troubled, “on that there little mail-boat +when she lands her passengers.”</p> +<p>“For what?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Brass buttons,” says he.</p> +<p>’Twas now that the cat came out of the bag. Brass +buttons? ’Twas the same as saying constables. This +extraordinary undertaking was then a precaution against +the accident of arrest. ’Twas inspired, no doubt, by the +temper of that gray visitor with whom my uncle had +dealt over the table in a fashion so surprising. I wondered +again concerning that amazing broil, but to no +purpose; ’twas ’beyond my wisdom and ingenuity to +involve these opposite natures in a crime that might +make each tolerable to the other and advantage them +both. ’Twas plain, at any rate, that my uncle stood +in jeopardy, and that of no trivial sort: else never would +he have employed his scant savings upon the hull of the +<i>Shining Light</i>. It grieved me to know it. ’Twas most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +sad and most perplexing. ’Twas most aggravating, too: +for I must put no questions, but accept, in cheerful +serenity, the revelations he would indulge me with, and +be content with that.</p> +<p>“An’ if ye sees so much as a single brass button comin’ +ashore,” says he, “ye’ll give me a hail, will ye not, whereever +I is?”</p> +<p>This I would do.</p> +<p>“Ye never can tell,” he added, sadly, “what’s in the +wind.”</p> +<p>“I’m never allowed t’ know,” said I.</p> +<p>He was quick to catch the complaint. “Ye’re growin’ +up, Dannie,” he observed; “isn’t you, lad?”</p> +<p>I fancied I was already grown.</p> +<p>“Ah, well!” says he; “they’ll come a time, lad, God +help ye! when ye’ll know.”</p> +<p>“I wisht ’twould hasten,” said I.</p> +<p>“I wisht ’twould never come at all,” said he.</p> +<p>’Twas disquieting....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Work on the <i>Shining Light</i> went forward apace and +with right good effect. ’Twas not long––it might be a +fortnight––before her hull was as sound as rotten plank +could be made with gingerly calking. ’Twas indeed +a delicate task to tap the timbers of her: my uncle must +sometimes pause for anxious debate upon the wisdom +of venturing a stout blow. But copper-painted below +the water-line, adorned above, she made a brave showing +at anchor, whatever she might do at sea; and there +was nothing for it, as my uncle said, but to have faith, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +which would do well enough: for faith, says he, could +move mountains. When she had been gone over fore +and aft, aloft and below, in my uncle’s painstaking way––when +she had been pumped and ballasted and cleared +of litter and swabbed down and fitted with a new suit +of sails––she so won upon our confidence that not one +of us who dwelt on the neck of land by the Lost Soul +would have feared to adventure anywhere aboard.</p> +<p>The fool of Twist Tickle pulled a long face.</p> +<p>“Hut, Moses!” I maintained; “she’ll do very well. +Jus’ look at her!”</p> +<p>“Mother always ’lowed,” says he, “that a craft was +like a woman. An’ since mother died, I’ve come t’ +learn for myself, Dannie,” he drawled, “that the more +a woman haves in the way o’ looks the less weather +she’ll stand. I’ve jus’ come, now,” says he, “from +overhaulin’ a likely maid at Chain Tickle.”</p> +<p>I looked up with interest.</p> +<p>“Jinny Lawless,” says he. “Ol’ Skipper Garge’s +youngest by the third.”</p> +<p>My glance was still inquiring.</p> +<p>“Ay, Dannie,” he sighed; “she’ve declined.”</p> +<p>“You’ve took a look,” I inquired, “at the maids o’ +Long Bill Hodge o’ Sampson’s Island?”</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>“An’ they’ve––”</p> +<p>“<i>All</i> declined,” says he.</p> +<p>“Never you care, Moses,” said I. “Looks or no +looks, you’ll find the <i>Shining Light</i> stand by when <i>she</i> +puts to sea.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></div> +<p>“I’ll not be aboard,” says he.</p> +<p>“You’re not so sure about that!” quoth I.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t ship,” he drawled. “I’d never put t’ +sea on she: for mother,” he added, “wouldn’t like t’ +run the risk.”</p> +<p>“You dwell too much upon your mother,” said I.</p> +<p>“She’s all I got in the way o’ women,” he answered. +“All I got, Dannie––yet.”</p> +<p>“But when you gets a wife––”</p> +<p>“Oh,” he interrupted, “Mrs. Moses Shoos won’t +mind <i>mother</i>!”</p> +<p>“Still an’ all,” I gravely warned him, “’tis a foolish +thing t’ do.”</p> +<p>“Well, Dannie,” he drawled, in a way so plaintive +that I found no answer to his argument, “I <i>is</i> a fool. +I’m told so every day, by men an’ maids, wherever I +goes; an’ I jus’ can’t help <i>bein’</i> foolish.”</p> +<p>“God made you,” said I.</p> +<p>“An’ mother always ’lowed,” said Moses, “that He +knowed what He was up to. An’, Dannie,” says he, +“she always ’lowed, anyhow, that <i>she</i> was satisfied.”</p> +<p>’Twas of a Sunday evening––upon the verge of twilight: +with the light of day still abroad, leaving the +hills of Twin Islands clear-cut against the blue sky, +but falling aslant, casting long shadows. Came, then, +straggling from the graveyard in the valley by Thunder +Head, the folk of our harbor. ’Twas all over, it seemed; +they had buried old Tom Hossie. Moses and I sat +together on the hill by Old Wives’ Cove, in the calm of +the day and weather: there was no wind stirring––no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +drip of oar to be heard, no noise of hammer, no laughter +of children, no cry or call of labor. They had buried +old Tom Hossie, whom no peril of that coast, savagely +continuing through seventy years, had overcome or +daunted, but age had gently drawn away. I had +watched them bear the coffin by winding paths along +the Tickle shore and up the hill, stopping here to rest +and there to rest, for the way was long; and now, sitting +in the yellow sunshine of that kind day, with the fool of +Twist Tickle for company, I watched them come again, +their burden deposited in the inevitable arms. I wondered +if the spirit of old Tom Hossie rejoiced in its escape. +I wondered if it continued in pitiable age or had returned +to youth––to strength for action and wish for love. I +wondered, with the passionate curiosity of a lad, as I +watched the procession of simple folk disperse, far off, +to supper and to the kisses of children, if the spirit of +old Tom Hossie had rather sail the seas he had sailed +and love the maids of our land or dwell in the brightest +glory painted for us by the prophets. I could, then, +being a lad, conceive no happier world than that in +which I moved, no joy aside from its people and sea +and sunlight, no rest apart from the mortal love of +Judith; but, now, grown older, I fancy that the spirit +of old Tom Hossie, wise with age and vastly weary of +the labor and troublous delights of life, hungered and +thirsted for death.</p> +<p>The church bell broke upon this morbid meditation.</p> +<p>“Hark!” says Moses. “’Tis the first bell.”</p> +<p>’Twas a melodious call to worship––throbbing sweetly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +across the placid water of our harbor, beating on, liquidly +vibrant, to rouse the resting hills of Twin Islands.</p> +<p>“You’ll be off, Moses?”</p> +<p>“Ay,” says he; “for mother always ’lowed ’twas good +for a man t’ go t’ church, an’ I couldn’t do nothin’, +Dannie, that mother wouldn’t like. I seem, lad, t’ hear +her callin’, in that bell. ‘Come––dear!’ says she, ‘Come––dear! +Come––dear!’ Tis like she used t’ call me +from the door. ‘Come, dear,’ says she; ‘you’ll never +be hurt,’ says she, ‘when you’re within with me.’ So +I ’low I’ll go t’ church, Dannie, where mother would +have me be. ‘You don’t <i>need</i> t’ leave the parson scare +you, Moses,’ says she; ‘all you got t’ do, dear,’ says she, +‘is t’ remember that your mother loves you. You’re so +easy to scare, poor lad!’ says she; ‘but never forget +<i>that</i>’ says she, ‘an’ you’ll never be feared o’ God. In +fair weather,’ says she, ‘a man may need no Hand t’ +guide un; but in times o’ trouble,’ says she, ‘he’ve jus’ +got t’ have a God. I found that out,’ says she, ‘jus’ +afore you was born an’ jus’ after I knowed you was a +fool. So I ’low, Moses,’ says she, ‘you’d best go t’ +church an’ make friends with God, for then,’ says she, +‘you’ll not feel mean t’ call upon Him when the evil +days comes. In times o’ trouble,’ says mother, ‘a man +jus’ can’t help singin’ out for aid. An’ ’tis a mean, poor +man,’ says she, ‘that goes beggin’ to a Stranger.’ Hark +t’ the bell, Dannie! Does you not hear it? Does you +not hear it call the folk t’ come?”</p> +<p>’Twas still ringing its tender invitation.</p> +<p>“’Tis jus’ like the voice o’ mother,” said the fool of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +Twist Tickle. “Like when she used t’ call me from +the door. ‘Come, dear!’ says she. Hark, Dannie! +Hear her voice? ‘Come––dear! Come––dear! Come––dear!’”</p> +<p>God help me! but I heard no voice....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Well, now, my uncle was in no genial humor while +the work on the <i>Shining Light</i> was under way: for from +our house, at twilight, when he paced the gravelled path, +he could spy the punts come in from the grounds, gunwale +laden, every one. ’Twas a poor lookout, said he, +for a man with thirty quintal in his stage and the season +passing; and he would, by lamplight, with many sighs +and much impatient fuming, overhaul his accounts, as +he said. ’Tis a mystery to me to this day how he managed +it. I’ve no inkling of the system––nor capacity to +guess it out. ’Twas all done with six round tin boxes +and many sorts of shot; and he would drop a shot here +and drop a shot there, and empty a box and fill one, and +withdraw shot from the bags to drop in the boxes, and +pick shot from the boxes to stow away in the bags, all +being done in noisy exasperation, which would give way, +presently, to despair, whereupon he would revive, drop +shot with renewed vigor, counting aloud, the while, upon +his seven fingers, until, in the end, he would come out +of the engagement grimly triumphant. When, however, +the <i>Shining Light</i> was ready for sea, with but an anchor +to ship for flight, he cast his accounts for the last time, +and returned to his accustomed composure and gentle +manner with us all.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></div> +<p>I lingered with him over his liquor that night; and I +marked, when I moved his lamp near, that he was older +than he had been.</p> +<p>“You’re all wore out, sir,” said I.</p> +<p>“No, Dannie,” he answered; “but I’m troubled.”</p> +<p>I put his glass within reach. For a long time he disregarded +it: but sat disconsolate, staring vacantly at the +floor, fallen into some hopeless muse. I turned away; +and in a moment, when I looked again, I found his eyes +bent upon me, as if in anxious appraisement of my +quality.</p> +<p>“Ye <i>will</i> stand by,” he cried, “will ye not?”</p> +<p>“I will!” I swore, in instant response.</p> +<p>“Whatever comes t’ your knowledge?”</p> +<p>“Whatever comes!”</p> +<p>He held his glass aloft––laughed in delighted defiance––tossed +off the liquor. “Ecod!” cries he, most heartily; +“’tis you an’ me, ol’ shipmate, ag’in the world! +Twelve year ago,” says he, “since you an’ me got under +way on this here little cruise in the <i>Shining Light</i>. +’Twas you an’ me then. ’Tis you an’ me now. ’Twill +be you an’ me t’ the end o’ the v’y’ge. Here’s t’ fair +winds or foul! Here’s t’ the ship an’ the crew! Here’s +t’ you an’ here’s t’ me! Here’s t’ harbor for our souls!”</p> +<p>’Twas inspiring. I had never known the like to come +from my uncle. ’Twas a thrilling toast. I wished I +had a glass.</p> +<p>“For it may be, lad,” says my uncle, “that we’ll +have t’ put t’ sea!”</p> +<p>But for many a month thereafter the <i>Shining Light</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +lay at anchor where then she swung. No brass buttons +came ashore from the mail-boat: no gray stranger intruded +upon our peace. Life flowed quietly in new +courses: in new courses, to be sure, with Judith and +John Cather come into our house, but still serenely, as +of old. The <i>Shining Light</i> rose and fell, day by day, +with the tides of that summer, kept ready for our flight. +In the end, she put to sea; but ’twas not in the way my +uncle had foreseen. ’Twas not in flight; ’twas in pursuit. +’Twas a thing infinitely more anxious and momentous. +’Twas a thing that meant much more than +life or death. In these distant days––from my chair, +here, in our old house––by the window of my room––I +look out upon the water of Old Wives’ Cove, whence the +<i>Shining Light</i> has for many years been missing; and I +remember the time she slipped her anchor and ran to +sea with the night coming down and a gale of wind +blowing lustily up from the gray northeast.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +<a name='XVI_GREEN_PASTURES_AN_INTERLUDE' id='XVI_GREEN_PASTURES_AN_INTERLUDE'></a> +<h2>XVI</h2> +<h3>GREEN PASTURES: AN INTERLUDE</h3> +</div> +<p>In all this time Judith dwelt with us by the Lost Soul. +When my uncle fetched her from Whisper Cove, he +gravely gave her into the care of our maid-servant, long +ago widowed by the sea, who had gone childless all her +life, and was now come to the desolate years, when she +would sit alone and wistful at twilight, staring out into +the empty world, where only hopelessly deepening +shadows were, until ’twas long past time to light the +lamp. In the child that was I she had found no ease +or recompense, because of the mystery concerning me, +which in its implication of wickedness revolted her, and +because of my uncle’s regulation of her demeanor in my +presence, which tolerated no affectionate display; but +when Judith came, orphaned and ill-nourished, the +woman sat no longer in moods at evening, but busied +herself in motherly service of the child, reawakened in +the spirit. ’Twas thus to a watchful, willing guardianship, +most tenderly maternal in solicitude and self-sacrifice, +that Judith was brought by wise old Nick Top of +Twist Tickle.</p> +<p>My uncle would have no misunderstanding.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></div> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” says I, “you’ll be havin’ a chair set +for Judy in the cabin?”</p> +<p>“No, lad,” he answered; “not for little Judy.”</p> +<p>I expostulated most vigorously.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” said he, with a gravity that left me +no stomach for argument, “the maid goes steerage +along o’ me. This here little matter o’ Judy,” he added, +gently, “belongs t’ me. I’m not makin’ a lady o’ she. +She haves nothin’ t’ do––nothin’ t’ do, thank God!––with +what’s gone afore.”</p> +<p>There was no word to say.</p> +<p>“An ye’re wantin’ t’ have Judy t’ dinner, by times,” +he continued, winking a genial understanding of my +love-lorn condition, “I ’low it might be managed by +a clever hand.”</p> +<p>I asked him the way.</p> +<p>“Slug-shot,” says he.</p> +<p>’Twas the merest hint.</p> +<p>“Remove,” says he, darkly, “one slug-shot from the +box with the star, an’ drop it,” says he, his left eye +closed again, “in the box with the cross.”</p> +<p>And there I had it!</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>You must know that by my uncle’s severe direction +I must never fail to appear at table in the evening save +in the perfection of cleanliness as to face and hands and +nails and teeth. “For what,” says he, “have Skipper +Chesterfield t’ say on that p’int––underlined by Sir +Harry? Volume II., page 24. A list o’ the ornamental +accomplishments. ‘<i>T’ be extremely clean in your person.</i>’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +There you haves it––underlined by Sir Harry!” +He would examine me keenly, every nail and tooth of +me, accepting neither excuse nor apology, and would +never sit with me until I had passed inspection. In the +beginning, ’twas my uncle’s hand, laid upon me in +virtuous chastisement, that persuaded me of the propriety +of this genteel conduct; but presently, when I +was grown used to the thing, ’twas fair impossible for +me to approach the meat, in times of peace with place +and weather, confronting no peril, hardship, laborious +need, or discomfort, before this particular ornamental +accomplishment had been indubitably achieved with +satisfaction to my uncle and to myself.</p> +<p>My uncle had, moreover, righteously compelled, with +precisely similar tactics as to the employment of his +right hand, an attire in harmony with the cleanliness +of my person. “For what,” says he, “have bully ol’ +Skipper Chesterfield t’ say on that there little p’int? +What have that there fashionable ol’ gentleman t’ hold––underlined +by Sir Harry? Volume II, page 24. ‘A +list o’ the ornamental accomplishments (without which +no man livin’ can either please or rise in the world), +which hitherto I fear ye wants,’” quotes he, most glibly, +“‘an’ which only require your care an’ attention t’ possess.’ +Volume II., page 24. ‘<i>An’ perfeckly well dressed, +accordin’ t’ the fashion, be that what it will.</i>’ There +you haves it,” says he, “an’ underlined by Sir Harry +hisself!” ’Twas a boresome thing, to be sure, as a +lad of eleven, to come from boyish occupations to this +maidenly concern for appearances: but now, when I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +am grown older, ’tis a delight to escape the sweat and +uniform of the day’s work; and I am grateful to the +broad hand that scorched my childish parts to teach +me the value and pleasures of gentility.</p> +<p>At the same time, as you may believe, I was taught +a manner of entering, in the way, by the hints of Sir +Harry and the philosophy of the noble Lord Chesterfield, +of a gentleman. It had to do with squared shoulders, +the lift of the head, a strut, a proud and contemptuous +glance. Many a night, as a child, when I fair +fainted of vacancy and the steam and smell of salt pork +was an agony hardly to be endured, I must prance in +and out, to please my fastidious uncle, while he sat +critical by the fire––in the unspeakable detachment of +critics from the pressing needs (for example) of a man’s +stomach––and indulged his artistic perceptions to their +completest satisfaction. He would watch me from his +easy-chair by the fire as though ’twere the most delectable +occupation the mind of man might devise: leaning +forward in absorption, his ailing timber comfortably +bestowed, his great head cocked, like a canary-bird’s, +his little eyes watchful and sparkling.</p> +<p>“Once again, Dannie,” says he. “Head throwed +higher, lad. An’ ye might use yer chest a bit more.”</p> +<p>Into the hall and back again.</p> +<p>“Fair,” says he. “I’ll not deny that ye’re doin’ +better. But Sir Harry, lad,” says he, concerned, with a +rub at his weathered nose, “uses more chest. Head +high, lad; shoulders back, chest out. Come now! An’ +a mite more chest.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div> +<p>This time at a large swagger.</p> +<p>“Very good,” says he, in a qualified way. “But +could ye not scowl t’ more purpose?”</p> +<p>’Twas fair heroic to indulge him––with the room full +of the smell of browned meat. But, says I, desperately, +“I’ll try, sir.”</p> +<p>“Jus’ you think, Dannie,” says he, “that that there +ol’ rockin’-chair with the tidy is a belted knight o’ the +realm. Come now! Leave me see how ye’d deal with +<i>he</i>. An’ a mite more chest, Dannie, if ye’re able.”</p> +<p>A withering stare for the rocking-chair––superior to +the point of impudence––and a blank look for the unfortunate +assemblage of furniture.</p> +<p>“Good!” cries my uncle. “Ecod! but I never knowed +Sir Harry t’ do it better. That there belted rockin’-chair +o’ the realm, Dannie, would swear you was a +lord! An’ now, lad,” says he, fondly smiling, “ye may +feed.”<a name='FNanchor_0005' id='FNanchor_0005'></a><a href='#Footnote_0005' class='fnanchor'>[5]</a></p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></div> +<p>This watchful cultivation, continuing through years, +had flowered in a pretty swagger, as you may well believe. +In all my progress to this day I have not observed +a more genteelly insolent carriage than that +which memory gives to the lad that was I. I have now +no regret: for when I am abroad, at times, for the +health and pleasure of us all, ’tis a not ungrateful thing, +not unamusing, to be reminded, by the deferential service +and regard this ill-suited manner wins for the outport +man that I am, of those days when my fond uncle +taught me to scowl and strut and cry, “What the devil +d’ye mean, sir!” to impress my quality upon the saucy +world. But when Judith came into our care––when +first she sat with us at table, crushed, as a blossom, by +the Hand that seems unkind: shy, tender-spirited, alien +to our ways––’twas with a tragical shock I realized the +appearance of high station my uncle’s misguided effort +and affection had stamped me with.</p> +<p>She sat with my uncle in the steerage; and she was +lovely, very gentle and lovely, I recall, sitting there, +with exquisitely dropping grace, under the lamp––in the +shower of soft, yellow light: by which her tawny hair +was set aglow, and the shadows, lying below her great, +blue eyes, were deepened, in sympathy with her appealing +grief. Came, then, this Dannie Callaway, in his +London clothes, arrived direct per S.S. <i>Cathian</i>: came +this enamoured young fellow, with his educated stare, +his legs (good and bad) long-trousered for the first time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +in his life, his fingers sparkling, his neck collared and +his wrists unimpeachably cuffed, his chest “used” in +such a way as never, God knows! had it swelled before. +’Twas with no desire to indulge his uncle that he had +managed these adornments. Indeed not! ’Twas a +wish, growing within his heart, to compass a winning +and distinguished appearance in the presence of the +maid he loved.</p> +<p>By this magnificence the maid was abashed.</p> +<p>“Hello!” says I, as I swaggered past the steerage.</p> +<p>There was no response.</p> +<p>“Is you happy, child,” says I, catching the trick of +the thing from my uncle, “along o’ ol’ Nick Top an’ me +an’ John Cather?”</p> +<p>My tutor laughed.</p> +<p>“Eh, Judy?” says I.</p> +<p>The maid’s glance was fallen in embarrassment upon +her plate.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, severely, “ye better get +under way with your feedin’.”</p> +<p>The which, being at once hungry and obedient, I +did: but presently, looking up, caught the poor maid +unself-conscious. She no longer grieved––no longer +sat sad and listless in her place. She was peering +greedily into the cabin, as my uncle was wont to do, +her slim, white neck something stretched and twisted +(it seemed) to round a spreading cluster of buttercups. +’Twas a moving thing to observe. ’Twas not a shocking +thing; ’twas a thing melting to the heart––’twas a +thing, befalling with a maid, at once to provide a lad +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +with chivalrous opportunity. The eyes were the great, +blue eyes of Judith––grave, wide eyes, which, beneficently +touching a lad, won reverent devotion, flushed +the heart with zeal for righteousness. They were +Judith’s eyes, the same, as ever, in infinite depth of +shadow, like the round sky at night, the same in light, +like the stars that shine therein, the same in black-lashed +mystery, like the firmament God made with His +own hand. But still ’twas with a most marvellously +gluttonous glance that she eyed the roast of fresh meat +on the table before me. ’Twas no matter to <i>me</i>, to be +sure! for a lad’s love is not so easily alienated: ’tis an +actual thing––not depending upon a neurotic idealization: +therefore not to be disillusioned by these natural +appearances.</p> +<p>“Judy,” says I, most genially, “is you ever tasted +roast veal?”</p> +<p>She was much abashed.</p> +<p>“Is you never,” I repeated, “tasted roast veal?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” she whispered.</p> +<p>“‘<i>Sir</i>!’” cries I, astounded. “‘Sir!’” I gasped. +“Maid,” says I, now in wrathful amazement forgetting +her afflicted state, “is you lost your senses?”</p> +<p>“N-n-no, sir,” she stammered.</p> +<p>“For shame!” I scolded. “T’ call me so!”</p> +<p>“Daniel,” my uncle interjected, “volume II., page +24. ‘<i>A distinguished politeness o’ manners.</i>’”</p> +<p>By this my tutor was vastly amused, and delightedly +watched us, his twinkling glance leaping from face to +face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></div> +<p>“I’ll not have it, Judy!” I warned her. “You’ll vex +me sore an you does it again.”</p> +<p>The maid would not look up.</p> +<p>“Volume II., page 25,” my uncle chided. “Underlined +by Sir Harry. ‘<i>An’ this address an’ manner should +be exceedin’ly respeckful.</i>’”</p> +<p>“Judy!” I implored.</p> +<p>She ignored me.</p> +<p>“An you calls me that again, maid,” I threatened, in +a rage, “you’ll be sorry for it. I’ll––”</p> +<p>“Holy Scripture!” roared my uncle, reaching for his +staff. “‘<i>Spare the rod and spoil the child.</i>’”</p> +<p>I was not to be stopped by this. ’Twas an occasion +too promising in disaster. She had sirred me like a +house-maid. Sir? ’Twas past believing. That Judith +should be so overcome by fine feathers and a roosterly +strut! ’Twas shocking to discover the effect of my +uncle’s teaching. It seemed to me that the maid must +at once be dissuaded from this attitude of inferiority +or my solid hope would change into a dream. Inferiority? +She must have no such fancy! Fixed within +her mind ’twould inevitably involve us in some catastrophe +of feeling. The torrent of my wrath and supplication +went tumbling on: there was no staying it. +My uncle’s hand fell short of his staff; he sat stiff and +agape with astonished admiration: perceiving which, +my tutor laughed until my hot words were fair extinguished +in the noise he made. By this my uncle +was set laughing: whence the infection spread +to me. And then Judith peeped at me through the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +cluster of buttercups with the ghost of a roguish +twinkle.</p> +<p>“I’ll call you Dannie,” says she, slyly––“t’ save you +the lickin’!”</p> +<p>“Daniel,” cries my uncle, delighted, “one slug-shot. +Box with the star t’ the box with the cross. Judy,” says +he, “move aft alongside o’ that there roast veal!”</p> +<p>’Twas the beginning and end of this seeming difference +of station....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>John Cather took us in hand to profit us. ’Twas in +the learning he had––’twas in every genteel accomplishment +he had himself mastered in the wise world he came +from––that we were instructed. I would have Judy for +school-fellow: nor would I be denied––not I! ’Twas +the plan I made when first I knew John Cather’s business +in our house: else, thinks I, ’twould be a mean, +poor match we should make of it in the end. I would +have her: and there, says I, with a toss and a stamp, to +my uncle’s delight, was an end of it! It came about in +this way that we three spent the days together in agreeable +employment: three young, unknowing souls––two +lads and a maid. In civil weather, ’twas in the sunlight +and breeze of the hills, ’twas in shady hollows, +’twas on the warm, dry rocks, which the breakers could +not reach, ’twas on the brink of the cliff, that Cather +taught us, leaving off to play, by my uncle’s command, +when we were tired of study; and when the wind blew +with rain, or fog got the world all a-drip, or the task was +incongruous with sunshine and fresh air (like multiplication), +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +’twas within doors that the lesson proceeded––in +my library, which my uncle had luxuriously outfitted +for me, when still I was an infant, against this very +time.</p> +<p>“John Cather,” says I, one day, “you’ve a wonderful +tongue in your head.”</p> +<p>’Twas on the cliff of Tom Tulk’s Head. We had +climbed the last slope hand in hand, with Judith between, +and were now stretched out on the brink, resting +in the cool blue wind from the sea.</p> +<p>“A nimble tongue, Dannie,” he replied, “I’ll admit.”</p> +<p>“A wonderful tongue!” I repeated. “John Cather,” +I exclaimed, in envious admiration, “you’ve managed +t’ tell Judy in ten thousand ways that she’s pretty.”</p> +<p>Judith blushed.</p> +<p>“I wisht,” says I, “that <i>I</i> was so clever as that.”</p> +<p>“I know still another way,” said he.</p> +<p>“Ay; an’ a hundred more!”</p> +<p>“Another,” said he, softly, turning to Judith, who +would not look at him. “Shall I tell you, Judith?”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“No?” said he. “Why not?”</p> +<p>The answer was in a whisper––given while the maid’s +hot face was still turned away. “I’m not wantin’ you +to,” she said.</p> +<p>“Do, maid!” I besought her.</p> +<p>“I’m not wantin’ him to.”</p> +<p>“’Tis your eyes, I’ll be bound!” said I. “’Twill be +so clever that you’ll be glad to hear.”</p> +<p>“But I’m not <i>wantin’</i> him to,” she persisted.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div> +<p>My tutor smiled indulgently––but with a pitiful little +trace of hurt remaining. ’Twas as though he must +suffer the rebuff with no offended question. In the +maid ’twas surely a wilful and bewildering thing to +deny him. I could not make it out: but wished, in +the breeze and sunlight of that day, that the wound +had not been dealt. ’Twas an unkind thing in Judith, +thinks I; ’twas a thing most cruel––thus to coquette +with the friendship of John Cather.</p> +<p>“Ah, Judy,” I pleaded, “leave un have his way!”</p> +<p>She picked at the moss.</p> +<p>“Will ye not, maid?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid!” she whispered in my ear.</p> +<p>“An’ you’d stop for that!” I chided, not knowing +what she meant: as how should a lad?</p> +<p>It seemed she would.</p> +<p>“’Tis an unkind thing,” says I, “t’ treat John Cather +so. He’ve been good,” says I, “t’ <i>you</i>, Judy.”</p> +<p>“Dannie!” she wailed.</p> +<p>“Don’t, Dannie!” Cather entreated.</p> +<p>“I’d have ye listen, Judy,” said I, in earnest, kind +reproach, “t’ what John Cather says. I’d have ye heed +his words. I’d have ye care for him.” Being then a +lad, unsophisticated in the wayward, mercilessly selfish +passion of love, ignorant of the unmitigated savagery of +the thing, I said more than that, in my folly. “I’d have +ye love John Cather,” says I, “as ye love me.” ’Tis a +curious thing to look back upon. That I should snarl +the threads of our destinies! ’Tis an innocency hard +to credit. But yet John Cather and I had no sensitive +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +intuition to warn us. How should we––being men? +’Twas for Judith to perceive the inevitable catastrophe; +’twas for the maid, not misled by reason, schooled by +feeling into the very perfection of wisdom, to control +and direct the smouldering passion of John Cather and +me in the way she would, according to the power God +gives, in infinite understanding of the hearts of men, to +a maid to wield. “I’d have ye love John Cather,” says +I, “as ye love me.” It may be that a lad loves his +friend more than any other. “I’d have ye t’ know, +Judy,” says I, gently, “that John Cather’s my friend. +I’d have ye t’ know––”</p> +<p>“Dannie,” Cather interrupted, putting an affectionate +hand on my shoulder, “you don’t know what you’re +saying.”</p> +<p>Judith turned.</p> +<p>“I do, John Cather,” says I. “I knows full well.”</p> +<p>Judith’s eyes, grown all at once wide and grave, +looked with wonder into mine. I was made uneasy––and +cocked my head, in bewilderment and alarm. +’Twas a glance that searched me deep. What was this? +And why the warning? There was more than warning. +’Twas pain I found in Judith’s great, blue eyes. What +had grieved her? ’Twas reproach, too––and a flash of +doubt. I could not read the riddle of it. Indeed, my +heart began to beat in sheer fright, for the reproach and +doubt vanished, even as I stared, and I confronted a +sparkling anger. But presently, as often happened +with that maid, tears flushed her eyes, and the long-lashed +lids fell, like a curtain, upon her grief: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +whereupon she turned away, troubled, to peer at the sea, +breaking far below, and would not look at me again. +We watched her, John Cather and I, for an anxious +space, while she sat brooding disconsolate at the edge +of the cliff, a sweep of cloudless sky beyond. The slender, +sweetly childish figure––with the tawny hair, I recall, +all aglow with sunlight––filled the little world of +our thought and vision. There was a patch of moss +and rock, the green and gray of our land––there was +Judith––there was an infinitude of blue space. John +Cather’s glance was frankly warm; ’twas a glance proceeding +from clear, brave, guileless eyes––springing from +a limpid soul within. It caressed the maid, in a fashion, +thinks I, most brotherly. My heart warmed to the man; +and I wondered that Judith should be unkind to him +who was our friend.</p> +<p>’Twas a mystery.</p> +<p>“You will not listen, Judith?” he asked. “’Tis a +very pretty thing I want to say.”</p> +<p>Judith shook her head.</p> +<p>A flash of amusement crossed his face. “Please do!” +he coaxed.</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>“I’m quite proud of it,” says he, with a laugh in his +fine eyes. He leaned forward a little, and made as if +to touch her, but withdrew his hand. “I did not know,” +says he, “that I was so clever. I have it all ready. I +have every word in place. I’d like to say it––for my own +pleasure, if not for yours. I think it would be a pity to +let the pretty words waste themselves unsaid. I––I––hope +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +you’ll listen. I––I––really hope you will. And +you will not?”</p> +<p>“No!” she cried, sharply. “No, no!”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“No!” she repeated; and she slipped her hand into +mine, and hid them both snugly in the folds of her +gown, where John Cather could not see. “God wouldn’t +like it, John Cather,” says she, her little teeth all bare, +her eyes aflash with indignation, her long fingers so +closely entwined with mine that I wondered. “He +wouldn’t <i>’low</i> it,” says she, “an He knowed.”</p> +<p>I looked at John Cather in vague alarm.</p> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0005' id='Footnote_0005'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0005'><span class='label'>[5]</span></a> +<p>This Sir Harry Airworthy, K.C.M.G., I must forthwith +explain, was that distinguished colonial statesman whose +retirement to the quiet and bizarre enjoyments of life was +so sincerely deplored at the time. His taste for the picturesque +characters of our coast was discriminating and insatiable. +’Twas no wonder, then, that he delighted in my uncle, +whose familiar companion he was in St. John’s. I never +knew him, never clapped eyes on him, that I recall; he died +abroad before I was grown presentable. ’Twas kind in him, +I have always thought, to help my uncle in his task of transforming +me, for ’twas done with no personal responsibility +whatsoever in the matter, but solely of good feeling. I +owed him but one grudge, and that a short-lived one, going +back to the year when I was seven: ’twas by advice o’ Sir +Harry that I was made to tub myself, every morning, in +the water of the season, be it crusted with ice or not, with +my uncle listening at the door to hear the splash and gasp.</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +<a name='XVII_RUM_AND_RUIN' id='XVII_RUM_AND_RUIN'></a> +<h2>XVII</h2> +<h3>RUM AND RUIN</h3> +</div> +<p>In these days at Twist Tickle, his perturbation +passed, my uncle was most blithe: for the <i>Shining +Light</i> was made all ready for sea, with but an +anchor to slip, sails to raise, for flight from an army +of St. John’s constables; and we were a pleasant +company, well fallen in together, in a world of fall +weather. And, says he, if the conduct of a damned +little Chesterfieldian young gentleman was a labor +t’ manage, actin’ accordin’ t’ that there fashionable +ol’ lord of the realm, by advice o’ Sir Harry, whatever +the lad in the case, whether good or bad, why, +then, a maid o’ the place, ecod! was but a pastime t’ +rear, an’ there, says he, you had it! ’Twas at night, +when he was come in from the sea, and the catch was +split, and we sat with him over his rum, that he beamed +most widely. He would come cheerily stumping from +his mean quarters above, clad in the best of his water-side +slops, all ironed and brushed, his great face glossy +from soap and water, his hair dripping; and he would +fall into the arms of his great-chair by the fire with a +genial grunt of satisfaction, turning presently to regard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +us, John Cather and Judy and me, with a grin so wide +and sparkling and benevolently indulgent and affectionate––with +an aspect so patriarchal––that our hearts +would glow and our faces responsively shine.</p> +<p>“Up with un, Dannie!” says he.</p> +<p>I would lift the ailing bit of timber to the stool with +gingerly caution.</p> +<p>“Easy, lad!” groans he. “Ouch! All ship-shape,” +says he. “Is you got the little brown jug o’ water?”</p> +<p>’Twould surely be there.</p> +<p>“Green pastures!” says he, so radiantly red, from his +bristling gray stubble of hair to the folds of his chin, +that I was reminded of a glowing coal. “There you +haves it, Dannie!” cries he. “I knowed they was some +truth in that there psa’m. Green pastures! ‘<i>He +maketh me t’ lie down in green pastures.</i>’ Them ol’ +bullies was wise as owls.... Pass the bottle, Judy. +Thank ’e, maid. Ye’re a wonderful maid t’ blush, +thank God! for they’s nothin’ so pretty as that. I’m +a old, old man, Judy; but t’ this day, maid, ’tis fair +painful t’ keep from kissin’ red cheeks, whenever I +sees un. Judy,” says he, with a wag, his hand on the +bottle, “I’d rather be tempted by mermaids or angels––I +cares not which––than by a mortal maid’s red +cheeks! ’Twould be wonderful easy,” says he, “t’ resist +a angel.... Green pastures! Eh, Dannie, b’y? +Times is changed, isn’t they? Not like it used t’ be, +when you an’ me sot here alone t’ drink, an’ you was +on’y a wee little lad. I wisht ye was a wee little lad +again, Dannie; but Lord love us!” cries he, indignant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +with the paradox, “when ye <i>was</i> a wee little lad I wisht +ye was growed. An’ there you haves it!” says he, dolefully. +“There you haves it!... I ’low, Dannie,” says +he, anxiously, his bottle halted in mid-air, “that <i>you’d</i> +best pour it out. I’m a sight too happy, the night,” +says he, “t’ be trusted with a bottle.”</p> +<p>’Tis like he would have gone sober to bed had I not +been there to measure his allowance.</p> +<p>“Ye’re not so wonderful free with the liquor,” he +pouted, “as ye used t’ be.”</p> +<p>’Twas Judy who had put me up to it.</p> +<p>“Ye might be a <i>drop</i> more free!” my uncle accused.</p> +<p>’Twas reproachful––and hurt me sore. That I should +deny my uncle who had never denied me! I blamed +the woman. ’Tis marvellous how this frailty persists. +That Judith, Twist Tickle born, should deliberately +introduce the antagonism––should cause my uncle to +suffer, me to regret! ’Twas hard to forgive the maid +her indiscretion. I was hurt: for, being a lad, not a +maid of subtle perceptions, I would not have my uncle +go lacking that which comforted his distress and melancholy. +Faith! but I had myself been looking forward +with a thirsty gullet to the day––drawn near, as I +thought––when I should like a man drink hard liquor +with him in the glow of our fire: as, indeed, had he, by +frank confession, indiscreetly made when he was grown +horrified or wroth with my intemperance with ginger-ale.</p> +<p>“God save ye, Dannie!” he would expostulate, most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +heartily, most piously; “but I <i>wisht</i> ye’d overcome the +bilge-water habit.”</p> +<p>I would ignore him.</p> +<p>“’Tis on’y a matter o’ <i>will</i>,” says he. “’Tis nothin’ +more than that. An’ I’m fair ashamed,” he groaned, +in sincere emotion, “to think ye’re shackled, hand an’ +foot, to a bottle o’ ginger-ale. For shame, lad––t’ come +t’ such a pass.” He was honest in his expostulation; +’twas no laughing matter––’twas an anxiously grave +concern for my welfare. He disapproved of the beverage––having +never tasted it. “<i>You</i>,” cries he, with a +pout and puff of scorn, “an’ your bilge-water! In irons +with a bottle o’ ginger-ale! Could ye but see yourself, +Dannie, ye’d quit quick enough. ’Tis a ridiculous picture +ye make––you an’ your bottle. ’Twould not be hard +t’ give it up, lad,” he would plead. “Ye’ll manage it, +Dannie, an ye’d but put your mind to it. Ye’d be +nervous, I’ve no doubt, for a spell. But what’s that? +Eh, what’s that––ag’in your health?”</p> +<p>I would sip my ginger-ale unheeding.</p> +<p>“An’ what about Chesterfield?” says he.</p> +<p>“I’ll have another bottle, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>“Lord love us!” he would complain, in such distress +that I wish I had not troubled him with this passion. +“Ye’re fair bound t’ ruin your constitution with +drink.”</p> +<p>Pop went the cork.</p> +<p>“An’ here’s <i>me</i>” says he, in disgusted chagrin, +“tryin’ t’ make a gentleman out o’ ye!”</p> +<p>Ah, well! ’twas now a mean, poor lookout for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +cosey conviviality I had all my life promised myself with +my uncle. Since the years when late o’ nights I occupied +the arms and broad knee of Cap’n Jack Large at +the Anchor and Chain––with a steaming comfort within +and a rainy wind blowing outside––my uncle and I had +dwelt upon the time when I might drink hard liquor +with him like a man. ’Twould be grand, says my +uncle, to sit o’ cold nights, when I was got big, with a +bottle o’ Long Tom between. A man grown––a man +grown able for his bottle! For him, I fancy, ’twas a +vision of successful achievement and the reward of it. +Lord love us! says he, but the talk o’ them times would +be lovely. The very thought of it, says he––the thought +o’ Dannie Callaway grown big and manly and helpfully +companionable––fair warmed him with delight. But +now, at Twist Tickle, with the strong, sly hands of +Judith upon our ways, with her grave eyes watching, +now commending, now reproaching, ’twas a new future +that confronted us. Ay, but that maid, dwelling responsibly +with us men, touched us closely with control! +’Twas a sharp eye here, a sly eye there, a word, a twitch +of her red lips, a lift of the brow and dark lashes––and +a new ordering of our lives. ’Tis marvellous how she +did it: but that she managed us into better habits, by +the magic mysteriously natural to a maid, I have neither +the wish nor the will to gainsay. I grieved that she +should deprive my uncle of his comfort; but being a +lad, devoted, I would not add one drop to my uncle’s +glass, while Judith sat under the lamp, red-cheeked in +the heat of the fire, her great eyes wishful to approve, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +her mind most captivatingly engaged, as I knew, with +the will of God, which was her own, dear heart! though +she did not know it.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says she, in private, “God wouldn’t ’low +un more’n a quarter of a inch at a time.”</p> +<p>“’Twas in the pantry while I got the bottle.”</p> +<p>“An’ how,” quoth I, “is you knowin’ that?”</p> +<p>“Why, child,” she answered, “God tol’ me so.”</p> +<p>I writhed. ’Twas a fancy so strange the maid had: +but was yet so true and reverent and usefully efficient––so +high in leading to her who led us with her into pure +paths––that I must smile and adore her for it. ’Twas +to no purpose, as I knew, to thresh over the improbability +of the communication: Judith’s eyes were round +and clear and unwavering––full of most exalted truth, +concern, and confidence. There was no pretence anywhere +to be descried in their depths: nor evil nor subterfuge +of any sort. And it seems to me, now, grown as I +am to sager years, that had the Guide whose hand she +held upon the rough road of her life communed with +His sweet companion, ’twould have been no word of +reproach or direction he would whisper for her, who +needed none, possessing all the wisdom of virtue, dear +heart! but a warning in my uncle’s behalf, as she would +have it, against the bottle he served. The maid’s whimsical +fancy is not incomprehensible to me, neither tainted +with irreverence nor untruth: ’twas a thing flowering +in the eyrie garden of her days at Whisper Cove––a +thing, as I cannot doubt, of highest inspiration.</p> +<p>“But,” I protested, glibly, looking away, most wishful, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +indeed, to save my uncle pain, “I isn’t able t’ +measure a quarter of a inch.”</p> +<p>“<i>I</i> could,” says she.</p> +<p>“Not with the naked eye, maid!”</p> +<p>“Well,” says she, “you might try, jus’ t’ please God.”</p> +<p>To be sure I might: I might pour at a guess. But, +unhappily (and it may be that there is some philosophy +in this for a self-indulgent world), I was not in awe of +Judith’s fantastic conception of divinity, whatever I +thought of my own, by whom, however, I was not conjured. +Moreover, I loved my uncle, who had continued +to make me happy all my life, and would venture far +in the service of his comfort. The twinkling, benevolent +aspect of the maid’s Deity could not compel a lad +to righteousness: I could with perfect complacency +conduct myself perversely before it. And must we +then, lads and men, worship a God of wrath, quick to +punish, niggardly in fatherly forgiveness, lest we stray +into evil ways? I do not know. ’Tis beyond me to +guess the change to be worked in the world by a new +conception of the eternal attributes.</p> +<p>“An’ will you not?” says she.</p> +<p>It chanced, now, that she held the lamp near her +face, so that her beauty was illumined and transfigured. +’Twas a beauty most tender––most pure and elfin and +religious. ’Tis a mean, poor justification, I know, to +say that I was in some mysterious way––by the magic +resident in the beauty of a maid, and virulently, wickedly +active within its sphere, which is the space the +vision of a lad may carry––that I was by this magic incapacitated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +and overcome. ’Tis an excuse made by +fallen lads since treason was writ of; ’tis a mere excuse, +ennobling no traitorious act: since love, to be sure, has +no precedence of loyalty in hearts of truth and manful +aspiration. Love? surely it walks with glorious modesty +in the train of honor––or is a brazen baggage. But, +as it unhappily chanced, whatever the academic conception, +the maid held the lamp too close for my salvation: +so close that her blue, shadowy eyes bewildered me, and +her lips, red and moist, with a gleam of white teeth +between, I recall, tempted me quite beyond the endurance +of self-respect. I slipped, indeed, most sadly in +the path, and came a shamefaced, ridiculous cropper.</p> +<p>“An’ will you not,” says she, “pour but a quarter +of a inch t’ the glass?”</p> +<p>“I will,” I swore, “for a kiss!”</p> +<p>’Twas an outrageous betrayal of my uncle.</p> +<p>“For shame!” cries she.</p> +<p>“I will for a kiss,” I repeated, my soul offered on a +platter to the devil, “regardless o’ the consequences.”</p> +<p>She matched my long words with a great one caught +from my tutor. “God isn’t inclined,” says she, with a +toss, “in favor o’ kisses.”</p> +<p>And there you had it!</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When we sat late, our maid-servant would indignantly +whisk Judith off to bed––crying out upon us for our +wickedness.</p> +<p>“Cather,” my uncle would drawl, Judith being gone, +“ye’re all wore out along o’ too much study.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></div> +<p>“Not at all, Skipper Nicholas!” cries my tutor.</p> +<p>“Study,” says my uncle, in solemn commiseration, +“is a bitter thing t’ be cotched by. Ye’re all wore out, +parson, along o’ the day’s work.”</p> +<p>My tutor laughed.</p> +<p>“Too much study for the brain,” says my uncle, +sympathetically, his eye on the bottle. “I ’low, parson, +if I was you I’d turn in.”</p> +<p>Cather was unfailingly obedient.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, with reviving interest, +“have he gone above?”</p> +<p>“He have,” says I.</p> +<p>“Take a look,” he whispered, “t’ see that Judy’s +stowed away beyond hearin’.”</p> +<p>I would step into the hall––where was no nightgowned +figure listening on the stair––to reassure him.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, wickedly gleeful, “how’s the +bottle?”</p> +<p>I would hold it up to the lamp and rattle its contents. +“’Tis still stout, sir,” says I. “’Tis a wonderful bottle.”</p> +<p>“Stout!” cries he, delighted. “Very good.”</p> +<p>“Still stout,” says I; “an’ the third night!”</p> +<p>“Then,” says he, pushing his glass towards me, “I +’low they’s no real need o’ puttin’ me on short allowance. +Be liberal, Dannie, b’y––be liberal when ye pours.”</p> +<p>I would be liberal.</p> +<p>“’Tis somehow sort o’ comfortable, lad,” says he, +eying me with honest feeling, “t’ be sittin’ down here +with a ol’ chum like you. ’Tis very good, indeed.”</p> +<p>I was glad that he thought so.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div> +<p>And now I must tell that I loved Judith. ’Tis +enough to say so––to write the bare words down. I’m +not wanting to, to be sure: for it shames a man to +speak boldly of sacred things like this. It shames a +lad, it shames a maid, to expose the heart of either, save +sacredly to each other. ’Tis all well enough, and most +delightful, when the path is moonlit and secluded, when +the warmth and thrill of a slender hand may be felt, +when the stars wink tender encouragement from the +depths of God’s own firmament, when all the world is +hushed to make the opportunity: ’tis then all well +enough to speak of love. There is nothing, I know, to +compare in ecstasy with the whisper and sigh and clinging +touch of that time––to compare with the awe and +mystery and solemnity of it. But ’tis sacrilegious and +most desperately difficult and embarrassing, I find, at +this distant day, to write of it. I had thought much +upon love, at that wise age––fifteen, it was, I fancy––and +it seemed to me, I recall, a thing to cherish within +the heart of a man, to hide as a treasure, to dwell upon, +alone, in moments of purest exaltation. ’Twas not a +thing to bandy about where punts lay tossing in the lap +of the sea; ’twas not a thing to tell the green, secretive +old hills of Twin Islands; ’twas not a thing to which the +doors of the workaday world might be opened, lest the +ribaldry to which it come offend and wound it: ’twas a +thing to conceal, far and deep, from the common gaze +and comment, from the vulgar chances, the laugh and +cynical exhaustion and bleared wit of the life we live. +I loved Judith––her eyes and tawny hair and slender +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +finger-tips, her whimsical way, her religious, loving soul. +I loved her; and I would not have you think ’twas any +failure of adoration to pour my uncle an honest dram +of rum when she was stowed away in innocency of all +the evil under the moon. ’Tis a thing that maids have +nothing to do with, thinks I; ’tis a knowledge, indeed, +that would defile them....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, once, when we were left +alone, “he’ve begun t’ fall.”</p> +<p>I was mystified.</p> +<p>“The parson,” he explained, in a radiant whisper; +“he’ve begun t’ yield.”</p> +<p>“T’ what?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Temptation. He’ve a dark eye, lad, as I ’lowed +long ago, an’ he’ve begun t’ give way t’ argument.”</p> +<p>“God’s sake, Uncle Nick!” I cried, “leave the poor +man be. He’ve done no harm.”</p> +<p>He scratched his stubble of hair, and contemplatively +traced a crimson scar with his forefinger. “No,” he +mused, his puckered, weathered brow in a doubtful +frown; “not so far. But,” he added, looking cheerily +up, “I’ve hopes that I’ll manage un yet.”</p> +<p>“Leave un alone,” I pleaded.</p> +<p>“Ay,” says he, with a hitch of his wooden leg; “but +I <i>needs</i> un.”</p> +<p>I protested.</p> +<p>“Ye don’t s’pose, Dannie,” he complained, in a +righteous flash, “that I’m able t’ live forever, does +ye?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div> +<p>I did not, but heartily wished he might; and by this +sincere expression he was immediately mollified.</p> +<p>“Well,” says he, his left eyelid drooping in a knowing +way, his whole round person, from his topmost bristle +to his gouty wooden toe, braced to receive the shock of +my congratulation, “I’ve gone an’ worked that there +black-an’-white young parson along! Sir Harry hisself,” +he declared, “couldn’t have done it no better. Nor ol’ +Skipper Chesterfield, neither,” says he.</p> +<p>’Twas a pity.</p> +<p>“No,” he boasted, defiantly; “nor none o’ them wise +ol’ bullies of old!”</p> +<p>I sighed.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, with the air of imparting a grateful +secret, “I got that there black-an’-white young parson +corrupted. I got un,” he repeated, leaning forward, +his fantastic countenance alight with pride and satisfaction––“I +got un corrupted! I’ve got un t’ say,” says +he, “that ’tis sometimes wise t’ do evil that good may +come. An’ when a young feller says that,” says he, +with a grave, grave nodding, so that his disfigurements +were all most curiously elongated, “he’ve sold his poor, +mean soul t’ the devil.”</p> +<p>“I wisht,” I complained, “that you’d leave the poor +man alone.”</p> +<p>“Why, Dannie,” says my uncle, simply, “he’s paid +for!”</p> +<p>“Paid for!” cries I.</p> +<p>“Ay, lad,” he chided; “t’ be sure, that there young +black-an’-white parson is paid for.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></div> +<p>I wondered how that might be.</p> +<p>“Paid for!” my uncle repeated, in a quivering, indrawn +breath, the man having fallen, all at once, into +gloom and terror. “’Tis all paid for!”</p> +<p>Here again was the disquieting puzzle of my childish +years: my uncle, having now leaned forward to come +close to me, was in a spasmodic way indicating the +bowels of the earth with a turned thumb. Down, down: +it seemed he pointed to infinite depths of space and woe. +Down, down––continuing thus, with a slow, grevious +wagging of the great, gray head the sea had in the brutal +passion of some wild night maltreated. The familiar +things of the room, the simple, companionable furniture +of that known place, with the geometrically tempestuous +ocean framed beyond, were resolved into a background +of mysterious shadows as I stared; there was nothing +left within the circle of my vision but a scared gargoyle, +leaning into the red glow of the fire. My uncle’s round +little eyes protruded––started from the bristles and +purpling scars and brown flesh of his broad face––as +many a time before I had in sad bewilderment watched +them do. Paid for––all the pride and comfort and +strange advantages of my life! All paid for in the +black heart of this mystery! And John Cather, too! +I wondered again, with an eye upon my uncle’s significantly +active thumb, having no courage to meet his +poignant glance, how that might be. According to my +catechism, severely taught in other years, I must ask no +questions, but must courteously await enlightenment at +my uncle’s pleasure; and ’twas most marvellously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +hard––this night of all the nights––to keep my soul unspotted +from the sin of inquisitiveness.</p> +<p>“Paid for,” my uncle repeated, hoarse with awe, “by +poor Tom Callaway!”</p> +<p>’Twas kind in my father, thinks I, to provide thus +bounteously for my welfare.</p> +<p>“Poor Tom!” my uncle sighed, now recovering his +composure. “Poor, poor ol’ Tom––in the place he’s +to!”</p> +<p>“Still an’ all, Uncle Nick,” I blundered, “I wisht +you’d leave my tutor be.”</p> +<p>“Ye’re but a child!” he snapped. “Put the stopper +in the bottle. ’Tis time you was in bed.”</p> +<p>’Twas an unexpected rebuke. I was made angry +with him, for the only time in all my life; and to revenge +myself I held the bottle to the lamp, and deliberately +measured its contents, before his astonished eyes, +so that, though I left it with him, he could not drink +another drop without my knowing it; and I stoppered +the bottle, as tight as I was able, and left him to get his +wooden toe from the stool with the least agony he could +manage, and would not bank the fire or light his night-lamp. +I loved my tutor, and would not have him corrupted; +’twas a hateful thought to conceive that he +might come unwittingly to ruin at our hands. ’Twas +a shame in my old uncle, thinks I, to fetch him to +despair. John Cather’s soul bargained for and bought! +’Twas indeed a shame to say it. There was no evil in +him when he came clear-eyed from the great world beyond +us; there should be no evil in him when he left us, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +whenever that might be, to renew the life he would not +tell us of. I looked my uncle in the eye in a way that +hurt and puzzled him. I wish I had not; but I did, as +I pounded the cork home, and boldly slipped the screw +into my pocket. He would go on short allowance, that +night, thinks I: for his nails, broken by toil, would never +pick the stopper out. And I prepared, in a rage, to fling +out of the room, when––</p> +<p>“Dannie!” he called.</p> +<p>I halted.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” says he, gently. “It never happened +afore, little shipmate, betwixt you an’ me. What’s +this?” he begged. “I’m troubled.”</p> +<p>I pulled the cork of his bottle, and poured a dram, +most liberally, to delight his heart; and I must turn my +face away, somehow, to hide it from him, because of +shame for this mean doubt of him, ungenerous and ill-begotten.</p> +<p>“I’m troubled,” he repeated. “What’s this, lad?”</p> +<p>I could not answer him.</p> +<p>“Is I been unkind, Dannie?”</p> +<p>“No,” I sobbed. “’Tis that I’ve been wicked t’ +<i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>He looked at me with eyes grown very grave. “Ah!” +says he, presently, comprehending. “That’s good,” +says he, in his slow, gentle way. “That’s very good. +But ye’ll fret no more, will ye, Dannie? An’ ye’ve +growed too old t’ cry. Go t’ bed, lad. Ye’re all wore +out. I’ll manage the lamp alone. God bless ye. Go +t’ bed.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></div> +<p>I waited.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” he repeated, in a muse, staring deep +into the red coals in the grate. “That’s very good.”</p> +<p>I ran away––closed my door upon this wretched behavior, +but could not shut its ghastly sauciness and +treachery from the chambers of my memory. The +habit of faith and affection was strong: I was no longer +concerned for my friend John Cather, but was mightily +ashamed of this failure in duty to the grotesque old +hook-and-line man who had without reserve of sacrifice +or strength nourished me to the lusty years of that +night. As I lay in bed, I recall, downcast, self-accusing, +flushed with shame, I watched the low clouds scud +across the starlit sky, and I perceived, while the torn, +wind-harried masses rushed restlessly on below the +high, quiet firmament, that I had fallen far away from +the serenity my uncle would teach me to preserve in +every fortune.</p> +<p>“I’ll not fail again!” thinks I. “Not I!”</p> +<p>’Twas an experience profitable or unprofitable, as you +shall presently judge.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +<a name='XVIII_A_LEGACY_OF_LOVE' id='XVIII_A_LEGACY_OF_LOVE'></a> +<h2>XVIII</h2> +<h3>A LEGACY OF LOVE</h3> +</div> +<p>Moses Shoos, I recall, carried the mail that winter. +’Twas a thankless task: a matter of thirty +miles to Jimmie Tick’s Cove and thirty back again. +Miles hard with peril and brutal effort––a way of sleet +and slush, of toilsome paths, of a swirling mist of snow, +of stinging, perverse winds or frosty calm, of lowering +days and the haunted dark o’ night––to be accomplished, +once a week, afoot and alone, by way of barren and +wilderness and treacherous ice. ’Twas a thankless task, +indeed; but ’twas a task to which the fool of Twist +Tickle addressed himself with peculiar reverence.</p> +<p>“Mother,” says he, “always ’lowed that a man ought +t’ serve his Queen: an’ mother knowed. ‘Moses,’ says +she, afore she died, ‘a good man haves just <i>got</i> t’ serve +the Queen: for an good men don’t,’ says she, ‘the poor +Lady is bound t’ come t’ grief along o’ rascals. Poor, +<i>poor</i> Lady!’ says she. ‘She’ve a wonderful lot t’ put +up with along o’ stupid folk an’ rascals. I’m not knowin’ +how she bears it an’ lives. ’Tis a mean, poor dunderhead, +with heart an’ brains in his gullet,’ says she, ‘that +wouldn’t serve the Queen. God save the Queen!’ says +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +mother. ‘What’s a man worth,’ says she, ‘that on’y +serves hisself?’”</p> +<p>Not much, thinks I!</p> +<p>“An’ mother knowed,” says Moses, softly. “Ay, +Dannie,” he declared, with a proud little grin, “I bet +you <i>mother</i> knowed!”</p> +<p>’Twas this exalted ideal of public service, fashioned +in the wisdom of the simple by the amazing mother who +bore him, that led the fool, as by the hand, from a +wilderness of snow and night and bewildered visions, +wherein no aspiration of his own shaped itself, to the +warm hearth of Twist Tickle and the sleep of a child +by night.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Once I watched him stagger, white and bent with +weather and labor, from the ice of Ship’s Run, his bag +on his back, to the smoking roofs of Twist Tickle, +which winter had spread with a snowy blanket and tucked +in with anxious hands. ’Twas a bitter day, cold, +windy, aswirl with the dust of snow, blinding as a mist. +I sat with Judith in the wide, deeply cushioned window-seat +of my lib’ry, as my uncle called the comfortable, +book-shelved room he had, by advice o’ Sir Harry, provided +for my youth. John Cather was not about; and +I caressed, I recall, the long, slender fingers of her hand, +which unfailingly and without hesitation gave themselves +to my touch. She would never deny me that, this +maid; ’twas only kisses she would hold me from. She +would snuggle close and warmly, when John Cather +was not about, but would call her God to witness that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +kisses were prohibited where happiness would continue.</p> +<p>“’Tis not <i>’lowed</i>, child,” says she.</p> +<p>Her cheek was so close, so round and soft and delicately +tinted, that I touched my lips to it, quite unable +to resist.</p> +<p>“I don’t mind <i>that</i>,” says she.</p> +<p>’Twas vastly encouraging.</p> +<p>“’Twas so brotherly,” she added.</p> +<p>“Judy,” I implored, “I’m in need of another o’ that +same kind.”</p> +<p>“No, no!” she cried. “You’d never find the spot!”</p> +<p>’Twas with the maid, then, I sat in the window-seat +of my warm room, content with the finger-tips I might +touch and kiss as I would, lifted into a mood most holy +and aspiring by the weight of her small head upon my +shoulder, the bewildering light and mystery of her great, +blue eyes, the touch and sweet excitement of her tawny +hair, which brushed my cheek, as she well knew, this +perverse maid! John Cather was not about, and the +maid was yielding, as always in his absence; and I was +very happy. ’Twas Moses we observed, all this time, +doggedly staggering, upon patriotic duty, from the white, +swirling weather of that unkind day, in the Queen’s +service, his bag on his back.</p> +<p>“He’ve his mother t’ guide un,” says she.</p> +<p>“An’ his father?”</p> +<p>“’Tis said that he was lost,” she answered, “in the +Year o’ the Big Shore Catch; but I’m knowin’ nothin’ +about that.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></div> +<p>I remembered the secret Elizabeth would impart to +my uncle Nicholas.</p> +<p>“<i>My</i> father,” says Judith, in challenge, “was a very +good man.”</p> +<p>I was not disposed to deny it.</p> +<p>“A very good man,” she repeated, eying me sharply +for any sign of incredulity.</p> +<p>’Twas her fancy: I might indulge it.</p> +<p>“I ’low, Dannie,” says she, “that he was a wonderful +handsome man, though I never seed un. God’s sake!” +cries she, defiantly, “he’d be hard t’ beat for looks in +this here harbor.” She was positive; there was no uncertainty––’twas +as though she had known him as +fathers are known. And ’twas by no wish of mine, +now, that our hands came close together, that her eyes +were bent without reserve upon my own, that she snuggled +up to my great, boyish body: ’twas wholly a wish +of the maid. “’Twas blue eyes he had,” says she, “an’ +yellow hair an’ big shoulders. He was a parson, Dannie,” +she proceeded. “I ’low he must have been. +He––he––<i>was</i>!” she declared; “he was a great, big parson +with blue eyes.” I would not be a parson, thinks +I, whatever the maid might wish. “An’ he ’lowed,” +she continued, pursuing her wilful fancy, “that he’d +come back, some day, an’ love my mother as she knowed +he could.” We watched Moses Shoos come across +the harbor ice and break open the door of the postmaster’s +cottage. “But he was wrecked an’ drowned,” +says Judith, “an’ ’twas an end of my mother’s hope. +’Twas on’y that,” says she, “that she would tell Skipper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +Nicholas on the night she died. ’Twas just the wish +that he would bring me up, as he’ve fetched up you, +Dannie,” she added: “jus’ that––an’ the name o’ my +father. I’m not sorry,” says she, with her head on my +shoulder, “that she never told the name.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth carried her secret into the greater mystery +to which she passed; ’twas never known to us, nor to +any one....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Moses,” says I, in delight, when the news got +abroad, “I hears you got the contract for the mail?”</p> +<p>“I is,” says he.</p> +<p>“An’ how in the name o’ Heaven,” I demanded, “did +you manage so great a thing?”</p> +<p>There had been competition, I knew: there had been +consideration and consultation––there had been the philosophy +of the aged concerning the carrying of mail in +past years, the saucy anarchy of the young with regard +to the gruelling service, the chatter of wishful women +upon the spending value of the return, the speculatively +saccharine brooding of children––there had been much +sage prophecy and infinitely knowing advice––there had +been misleading and secrecy and sly devising––there +had been envy, bickering, disruption of friendship––there +had been a lavish waste and disregard of character––there +had been all this, as I knew, and more pitiable +still, in competition for the weekly four dollars of government +money. ’Twas a most marvellous achievement, +thinks I, that the fool of Twist Tickle had from +this still weather of reason and tempest of feeling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +emerged with the laurel of wisdom (as my tutor said) +to crown him. ’Twas fair hard to credit! I must know +the device––the clever political trick––by which the wags +and wiseacres of Twist Tickle had been discomfited. +’Twas with this hungry curiosity that I demanded of +the fool of Twist Tickle how he had managed so great +a thing.</p> +<p>“Eh, Moses,” says I; “how <i>was</i> it?”</p> +<p>“Dannie,” he gravely explained, “’tis very simple. +My bid,” says he, impressively, “was the lowest.”</p> +<p>“An’ how much was that, Moses?”</p> +<p>“Mother,” he observed, “didn’t hold a wonderful lot +with half measures.”</p> +<p>’Twas no answer to my question.</p> +<p>“She always ’lowed,” says he, with a mystifyingly +elaborate wave and accent, “that <i>doin’</i> was better than +<i>gettin’</i>.”</p> +<p>I still must wait.</p> +<p>“‘Moses,’ says she,” he pursued, “‘don’t you mind +the price o’ fish; you <i>cotch</i> un. Fish,’ says she, ‘is +fish; but prices goes up an’ down, accordin’ t’ the folly +o’ men. You <i>do</i>,’ says she; ‘an’ you leave what you +<i>gets</i> t’ take care of itself.’ An’ I ’low,” says Moses, +gently, a smile transfiguring his vacant face, “that +mother knowed.”</p> +<p>’Twas all, it seemed to me, a defensive argument.</p> +<p>“An’ mother ’lowed, afore she died,” he added, looking +up to a gray sky, wherein a menace of snow +dwelt, “that a good man would save his Queen from +rascals.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div> +<p>“Ay,” I complained; “but what was the bid that +won from Eli Flack?”</p> +<p>“The bid?”</p> +<p>“Ay; the bid.”</p> +<p>“Not expensive,” says he.</p> +<p>“But how much, Moses?”</p> +<p>“Well, Dannie,” he answered, with a sigh and a rub +of his curly, yellow beard, “I ’lowed mother wouldn’t +charge much for servin’ the Queen: for,” says he, enlivened, +“’twould be too much like common labor t’ +carry Her Majesty’s mail at a price. An’ I bid,” he +added, eying me vaguely, “accordin’ t’ what I ’lowed +mother would have me do in the Queen’s service. +<i>Fac’ is, Dannie</i>,” says he, in a squall of confidence, +“<i>I ’lowed I’d carry it free!</i>”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>’Twas this contact with the world of Jimmie Tick’s +Cove that embarked the fool upon an adventurous +enterprise. When, in the spring of that year, the sea +being open, the <i>Quick as Wink</i> made our harbor, the +first of all the traders, Tumm, the clerk, was short-handed +for a cook, having lost young Billy Rudd overboard, +in a great sea, beating up in stress of weather +to the impoverished settlement at Diamond Run. ’Twas +Moses, the choice of necessity, he shipped in the berth +of that merry, tow-headed lad of tender voice, whose +songs, poor boy! would never again be lifted, o’ black +nights in harbor, in the forecastle of the <i>Quick as Wink</i>. +“Ay, Dannie,” says Moses, “you’d never think it, maybe, +but I’m shipped along o’ Tumm for the French +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +shore an’ the Labrador ports. I’ve heared tell a wonderful +lot about Mother Burke, but I’ve never seed the +ol’ rock; an’ I’ve heared tell a wonderful lot about +Coachman’s Cove an’ Conch an’ Lancy Loop an’ the +harbors o’ the straits shores, but I’ve never seed un +with my own eyes, an’ I’m sort o’ wantin’ t’ know how +they shapes up alongside o’ Twist Tickle. I ’low,” +says he, “you don’t find many harbors in the world like +Twist Tickle. Since I been travellin’ t’ Jimmie Tick’s +Cove with the mail,” he continued, with a stammer and +flush, like a man misled from an austere path by the +flesh-pots of earth, “I’ve cotched a sinful hankerin’ t’ +see the world.”</p> +<p>I wished he had not.</p> +<p>“But mother,” he added, quickly, in self-defence, +“always ’lowed a man <i>ought</i> t’ see the world. So,” +says he, “I’m shipped along o’ Tumm, for better or for +worse, an’ I’m bound down north in the <i>Quick as Wink</i> +with the spring supplies.”</p> +<p>’Twas a far journey for that sensitive soul.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” he asked, in quick alarm, a fear so sudden +and unexpected that I was persuaded of the propriety +of my premonition, “what you thinkin’ about? Eh, +Dannie?” he cried. “What you lookin’ that way for?”</p> +<p>I would not tell him that I knew the skipper of the +<i>Quick as Wink</i>, whose butt the fool must be.</p> +<p>“You isn’t ’lowin’,” Moses began, “that mother––”</p> +<p>“Not at all, Moses!” says I.</p> +<p>’Twas instant and complete relief he got from this +denial. “We sails,” says he, with all a traveller’s importance, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +“at dawn o’ to-morrow. I’ll be gone from +Twist Tickle by break o’ day. I’ll be gone t’ new +places––t’ harbors I’ve heared tell of but never seed +with my own eyes. I’m not quite knowin’,” says he, +doubtfully, “how I’ll get along with the cookin’. Mother +always ’lowed,” he continued, with a greater measure of +hope, “that I was more’n fair on cookin’ a cup o’ tea. +‘Moses,’ says she, ‘you can brew a cup o’ tea so well as +any fool I ever knowed.’ But that was on’y mother,” +he added, in modest self-deprecation. “Jus’ mother.”</p> +<p>I wished again that the fool had not fallen into the +mercilessly facetious company of Skipper Saucy Bill +North of the schooner <i>Quick as Wink</i>.</p> +<p>“An’, Dannie,” says Moses, “I’m scared I’ll fail with +all but the tea.”</p> +<p>’Twas come near the evening of that mellow Sunday. +On the Whisper Cove road and the greening hills of +Twin Islands, where Moses and I had walked in simple +companionship, the birds had been mating and nesting +in the thick sunshine of the afternoon. Chirp and flutter +and shrill song! ’Twas a time for the mating of +birds. The haste and noise and pomposity of this busy +love-making! The loud triumph and soft complaint of +it! All the world of spruce and alder and sunlit spaces +had been a-flutter. But the weather was now fallen +gloomy, the sky overcast, the wind blowing in from the +black, uneasy sea, where floes and gigantic bergs of ice +drifted, like frozen ghosts, cold and dead and aimlessly +driven; and the hopeful sunshine had left the hills, and +the piping and chirping were stilled, and I heard no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +more fluttering wings or tender love-songs. The fool +of Twist Tickle paused in the road to stare vacantly +northward. ’Twas there dark with menacing clouds––thick, +sombre clouds, tinged with a warning blue, rising +implacably above the roughening black of the sea. He +wondered, it may be, in his dull, weakling way, concerning +the coasts beyond the grave curtain, which he +must discover––new coasts, dealing with us variously, +as we disclose them to our hearts. I watched him with +misgiving. To be sure, the skipper of the <i>Quick as +Wink</i> was an unkind man, cynical and quick to seek +selfish laughter, whatever the wound he dealt; but +Tumm, our friend and the genial friend of all the +world, thinks I, more hopefully, would not have the +poor fool wronged.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says Moses, turning, “I’m scared my +cookin’ won’t quite fit the stomachs o’ the crew o’ the +<i>Quick as Wink</i>.”</p> +<p>“Ay, Moses,” says I, to hearten him; “but never a +good man was that didn’t fear a new task.”</p> +<p>He eyed me doubtfully.</p> +<p>“An’,” I began, “your mother, Moses––”</p> +<p>“But,” he interrupted, “mother wasn’t quite t’ be +trusted in all things.”</p> +<p>“Not trusted!” I cried.</p> +<p>“You’ll not misunderstand me, Dannie?” he besought +me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll +not misunderstand, will you? But mother wasn’t quite +t’ be trusted,” says he, “when it come t’ the discussion,” +says he, pausing to permit a proper appreciation of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +learned word, which he had appropriated from my +tutor’s vocabulary, “o’ my accomplishments.”</p> +<p>It had never occurred before.</p> +<p>“For mother,” he explained, “was somehow wonderful +fond o’ me.”</p> +<p>The church-bell called him.</p> +<p>“Hear her voice, Dannie?” said he. “Hear her voice +in that there bell? ‘Come––dear!’ says she. ‘Come––dear! +Come––dear!’ Hear it ring out? ‘Come––dear! +Come––dear! Come––dear!’”</p> +<p>I bade him God-speed with a heart that misgave me.</p> +<p>“I’ll answer,” said he, his face lifted to the sky, “to +that voice!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The clouds in the west broke, and through the rift a +shaft of sunlight shot, glad to be free, and touched our +world of sea and rock with loving finger-tips, but failed, +as I turned homeward, hearing no voice of my unknown +mother in the wandering call of the bell; and all the +world went gray and sullenly mute, as it had been....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +<a name='XIX_A_WORD_OF_WARNING' id='XIX_A_WORD_OF_WARNING'></a> +<h2>XIX</h2> +<h3>A WORD OF WARNING</h3> +</div> +<p>Presently my uncle and I made ready to set +out for St. John’s upon the sinister business which +twice a year engaged his evil talents at the wee waterside +place wherein he was the sauciest dog in the pack. +There was now no wandering upon the emotionless +old hills of Twin Islands to prepare him, no departure +from the fishing, no unseemly turning to +the bottle, to factitious rage; but he brooded more +despairingly in his chair by the window when the +flare of western glory left the world. At evening, +when he thought me gone upon my pleasure, I +watched him from the shadows of the hall, grave +with youth, wishing, all the while, that he might +greet the night with gratitude for the mercy of it; and +I listened to his muttering––and I saw that he was +grown old and weak with age: unequal, it might be, +to the wickedness he would command in my service. +“<i>For behold the Lord will come with fire, and with his +chariots like a whirlwind, to render his anger with fury, +and his rebuke with the flames of fire.</i>” For me ’twas +still sweet to watch the tender shadows creep upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +western fire, to see the great gray rocks dissolve, to hear +the sea’s melodious whispering; but to him the sea +spoke harshly and the night came with foreboding. +I wished that he would forsake the evil he followed +for my sake. I would be a club-footed, paddle-punt +fisherman, as the gray little man from St. John’s had +said, and be content with that fortune, could my uncle +but look into the eyes of night without misgiving.</p> +<p>But I must not tell him so....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>We left John Cather behind.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nick,” says I, “I ’low we’d best have un +along.”</p> +<p>“An’ why?” cries he.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” says I, honestly puzzled.</p> +<p>He looked at me quizzically. “Is you sure?” he +asked. His eyes twinkled. “Is you sure you doesn’t +know?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” I answered, frowning. “I don’t +know at all.”</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, significantly, “’tisn’t time yet for +John Cather t’ go t’ St. John’s. You got t’ take your +chance.”</p> +<p>“What chance?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” says he.</p> +<p>I scowled.</p> +<p>“But,” says he, “an I was you I wouldn’t fear on no +account whatever. No,” he repeated, “<i>I</i> wouldn’t fear––an +I was you.”</p> +<p>So John Cather was left with Judy and the watchful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +maid-servant who loved her, having no child of her own, +when my uncle and I fared out of the tickle upon the +outside boat. I was troubled in the dark and wash and +heave of that night, but could not for the life of me tell +why. John Cather had bade me good-bye with a heartening +laugh and clap on the shoulder. ’Twas with +gratitude––and sure persuasion of unworthiness––that I +remembered his affection. And Judy had given me a +sisterly kiss of farewell which yet lingered upon my lips +so warmly that in my perplexity I was conscious of it +lying there and must like a thirsty man feel the place her +moist mouth had touched. ’Twas grief, thinks I, because +of parting with my friend John Cather; and I +puzzled no longer, but devoted myself to the accomplishment +of manners, as I had been taught, and now attended +with interest, having grown old and wise. ’Twas +rainy weather, windy, with the sea in an ugly pother off +the rocks of our hard coast. ’Twas wet, blustering +weather, indeed, all the hapless time we were gone from +Twist Tickle: the tap-rooms of St. John’s, I recall, disagreeably +steamed and reeked. My uncle put me to +bed that night with a motherly injunction to recite the +twenty-third psalm for safety against the perils of the +sea and the machinations of wicked men, and to regard +the precepts of the noble Lord Chesterfield for guidance +in more difficult waters: the man being quite sober for +the first time in all my life upon these occasions of +departure.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” says he, “you cling t’ that there little +anchor I’m give ye t’ hold to.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>I asked him mechanically what that was.</p> +<p>“The twenty-third psa’m,” says he.</p> +<p>To this I promised.</p> +<p>“An’, Dannie,” says he, drawing the great bandanna +handkerchief from his trousers-pocket to blow his nose, +“don’t ye be gettin’ lonely: for Dannie––”</p> +<p>I must sharply attend.</p> +<p>“I’m for’ard,” he declared, “standin’ by!”</p> +<p>He could not perceive, poor man! that I was no longer +to be dealt with as a child.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There befell me in the city a singular encounter. +’Twas of a soggy, dismal day: there was a searching +wind abroad, I recall, to chill the marrow of impoverished +folk, a gray light upon all the slimy world, a dispiriting +fog flowing endlessly in scowling clouds over the +hills to thicken and eddy and drip upon the streets and +harbor. It being now at the crisis of my uncle’s intoxication, +I was come from my hotel alone, wandering +without aim, to speed the anxious hours. Abreast of +the familiar door of the Anchor and Chain, where long +ago I had gratefully drunk with Cap’n Jack Large, I +paused; and I wondered, as I stared at the worn brass +knob, now broken into beads of cold sweat with the +weather, whether or not I might venture some persuasion +upon my perverse uncle, but was all at once plucked +by the tail of my coat, and turned in a rage to resent +the impudence. ’Twas but a scrawny, brass-buttoned +boy, however, with an errand for the lad with the +rings, as they called me. I followed, to be sure, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +was by this ill-nourished messenger led to the crossing +of King Street with Water, where my uncle was used +to tap-tapping the pavement. Thence in a moment we +ascended to a group of office-rooms, on the opposite +side of the street, wherein, having been ceremoniously +ushered, I found the gray stranger who had called me +a club-footed, ill-begotten young whelp, on that windy +night at Twist Tickle, and had with meaning complacency +threatened my uncle’s assassination.</p> +<p>I had not expected it.</p> +<p>“Ha!” snaps he. “Here you are, eh?”</p> +<p>To my amazement.</p> +<p>“You know me?” he demanded.</p> +<p>I did not know his quality, which seemed, however, +by the state he dwelt in, by the deference he commanded +from the scrawny, brass-buttoned, ill-nourished, tragically +obsequious child who had fetched me, to be of +distinction.</p> +<p>“Sit down,” he bade me.</p> +<p>I would not.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” cries he. “You’ve manners as brief as +your memory.”</p> +<p>’Twas a vivid recollection that had shorn my manner +to the bare. My uncle had not been quick enough to +sweep the lamp from the table: I remembered this man. +’Twas he who had of that windy night most cruelly +damned me; ’twas he who had struck my uncle.</p> +<p>“I’ve not forgot you, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>He was gray: he was indeed most incredibly gray––gray +of hair and eye and brow and flesh, gray of mood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +and outlook upon the world, forever dwelling, as it +seemed, in a gray fog of suspicion and irascibility. I +was gone over, from pate to shrinking club-foot, with +more intimate and intelligently curious observation than +ever a ’longshore jack or coast-wise skipper had achieved +in the years when I wore rings. Never before had I suffered +a stare more keen and unabashed: ’twas an assurance +stripped of insolence by some tragical need and +right. He sat beyond a broad, littered table, leaning +forward upon it, his back to the riley light, his drawn +face nestled within the lean, white hands of him; and +’twas now a brooding inspection I must bear––an unself-conscious +thing, remote from my feeling, proceeding +from eyes as gray as winter through narrow slits that +rapidly snapped shut and flashed open in spasmodic +winking. He was a man of fashion, of authority, of +large affairs, it seemed––a gentleman, according to my +uncle’s code and fashion-plates. But he was now by +my presence so wretchedly detached from the great +world he moved in that for a moment I was stirred to +pity him. What had this masterful little man, thinks +I, to fear from Dannie Callaway of Twist Tickle?</p> +<p>Enough, as it turned out; but ’twas all an unhappy +mystery to me on that drear, clammy day.</p> +<p>“Come, sir!” says I, in anger. “You’ve fetched me +here?”</p> +<p>He seemed not to hear.</p> +<p>“What you wantin’ of me?” I brusquely asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” says he, sighing; “you are here, aren’t you?” +He fingered the papers on his table in a way so desultory +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +and weak that once more I was moved to pity him. +Then, with blank eyes, and hopelessly hanging lip, a +lean finger still continuing to rustle the forgotten documents, +he looked out of the window, where ’twas all +murky and dismal, harbor and rocky hill beyond obliterated +by the dispiriting fog. “I wish to warn you,” +he continued. “You think, perhaps,” he demanded, +looking sharply into my eyes, “that you are kin of mine?”</p> +<p>I had no such dreadful fear, and, being an unkind +lad, frankly told him.</p> +<p>“You dream,” he pursued, “that you were born to +some station?”</p> +<p>I would not have him know.</p> +<p>“Daniel,” says he, with a faint twinkle of amusement +and pity, “tell me of that wretched dream.”</p> +<p>’Twas a romantic hope that had lingered with me +despite my wish to have it begone: but I would not tell +this man. I had fancied, as what lad would not? but +with no actual longing, because of love for Judith, that +the ultimate revelation would lift me high in the world. +But now, in the presence of this gray personage, under +his twinkle and pitying grin, the fancy forever vanished +from me. ’Twas comforting to know, at any rate, that +I might wed Judith without outrage. There would be +small difficulty, then, thinks I, in winning the maid; +and ’twas most gratifying to know it.</p> +<p>“Daniel,” says he, in distress, “has that rascally Top +misled you to this ridiculously romantic conclusion?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>“You are the son,” he declared, with thin-lipped deliberation, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +by which I was persuaded and sorely chagrined, +“of Tom Callaway, who was lost, with all hands +but the chiefest rascal it has been my lot to encounter, +in the wreck of the <i>Will-o’-the-Wisp</i>. Tom Callaway, +master: he was your father. Your mother,” he continued, +“was a St. John’s water-side maid––a sweet and +lovely wife, who died when you were born. I was myself +not indifferent to her most pure and tender charms. +There is your pedigree,” says he, his voice fallen kind. +“No mystery, you see––no romance. Tom Callaway, +master: he was your father. This man Top,” he +snapped, “this vulgar, drunken, villanous fellow, into +whose hands you have unhappily fallen and by whose +mad fancies you will inevitably be ruined, is the sole +survivor of the <i>Will-o’-the-Wisp</i>, with which your father +very properly went down. He is nothing to you––nothing––neither +kith nor kin! He is an intruder upon you: +he has no natural right to your affection; nor have you +a natural obligation to regard him. He has most +viciously corrupted you into the fantastic notion that +you are of gentle and fortunate birth. With what heart, +in God’s name!” the gray man cried, clapping his lean +hands in a passion, “he will face you when he must disclose +the truth, I cannot conceive. Mad! The man is +stark mad: for tell you he must, though he has in every +way since your childhood fostered within you a sense of +honor that will break in contempt upon him! Your +attitude, I warn you, will work wretchedness to you +both; you will accuse and flout him. Daniel,” the man +solemnly asked, “do you believe me?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div> +<p>I was glad to know that my mother had been both +sweet and lovely. ’Twas a conception I had long cherished. +’Twas what Judith was––both sweet and lovely.</p> +<p>“You will accuse him, I warn you!” he repeated.</p> +<p>Still gray weather, I observed through the grimy +panes: fog sweeping by with a northeast wind. For a +moment I watched the dripping passengers on the opposite +pavement.</p> +<p>“Well,” says the gray stranger, with a harsh little +laugh, “God help Top when the tale is told!”</p> +<p>I should never, of course, treat my uncle with unkindness.</p> +<p>“My boy,” he most earnestly besought me, “will you +not heed me?”</p> +<p>“I’ll hear you, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Attend, then,” says he. “I have brought you here +to warn you, and my warning is but half spoken. +Frankly, in this I have no concern for your happiness, +with which I have nothing to do: I have been moved +to this ungrateful and most dangerous interview by a +purely selfish regard for my own career. Do you know +the word? A political career of some slight importance,” +he added, with a toss of the head, “which is now +menaced, at a most critical moment, by that merciless, +wicked old pirate whom you have shamelessly been +deceived into calling your uncle Nicholas. To be frank +with you, you are, and have been for several years, an +obstacle. My warning, however, as you will believe, is +advanced upon grounds advantageous to yourself. Put +the illusions of this designing old bay-noddie away from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +you,” says he, now accentuating his earnestness with a +lean, white forefinger. “Rid yourself of these rings and +unsuitable garments: they disgrace you. When the +means of their possession is disclosed to you––when the +wretched crime of it is made known––you will suffer +such humiliation as you did not dream a man could +feel. Put ’em away. Put ’em out of sight and mind. +Send that young man from London back to the business +he came from. A tutor! Your tutor! Tom Callaway’s +son with an English tutor! You are being made a +ghastly fool of; and I warn you that you will pay for +every moment of the illusion. Poor lad!” cries he, in +genuine distress. “Poor lad!”</p> +<p>It might be: I had long thought so.</p> +<p>“And as for this grand tour abroad,” he began, with +an insolently curling lip, “why, for God’s sake! don’t +be a––”</p> +<p>“Sir!” I interrupted, in a rage.</p> +<p>There had been talk of a trip abroad: it seemed I +was bound upon it, by advice of Sir Harry, to further my +education and to cure my foot of its twist.</p> +<p>“Well,” the gray personage laughed, “being what +you are, remembering what I have with candor and +exact honesty told you, if you can permit this old +pirate––”</p> +<p>I stopped him. I would have no more of it––not I, +by Heaven!</p> +<p>“This extortionate old––”</p> +<p>“I’ll not hear it!” I roared.</p> +<p>“In this fine faith,” sneers he, “I find at least the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +gratifying prospect of being some day privileged to +observe Top broil as on a griddle in hell.”</p> +<p>’Twas most obscure.</p> +<p>“I refer,” says he, “to the moment of grand climax +when this pirate tells you where your diamonds came +from. Your diamonds?” he flashed. “You may get +quit of your diamonds; but the fine gentleman this low +villain has fashioned of a fishing-skipper’s whelp will +all your days keep company at your elbow. And you +won’t love Top for this,” says he, with malevolent satisfaction; +“you won’t love Top!”</p> +<p>I walked to the window for relief from him. ’Twas +all very well that he should discredit and damn my +uncle in this way; ’twas all very well that he should +raise spectres of unhappiness before me: but there, on +the opposite pavement, abroad in the foggy wind, +jostled by ill-tempered passengers, was this self-same old +foster-father of mine, industriously tap-tapping the pavement +with his staff, as he had periodically done, whatever +the weather, since I could remember the years of +my life. I listened to the angry tapping, watched the +urchins and curious folk gather for the show; and I was +moved to regard the mystifying spectacle with an indulgent +grin. The gray stranger, however, at that instant +got ear of the patter of the staff and the clamor of +derision. He cried upon me sharply to stand from the +window; but I misliked this harsh manner of authority, +and would not budge: whereupon he sprang upon me, +caught me about the middle, and violently flung me back. +’Twas too late to avert the catastrophe: my uncle had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +observed me, and was even then bound across the street, +flying all sail, to the terrified confusion of the exalted +political personage whose career he menaced. ’Twas a +pitiable spectacle of fright and helpless uncertainty the +man furnished, seeming at one moment bent on keeping +my uncle out, whom he feared to admit, at another to +wish him well in, whom he dared not exclude.</p> +<p>“The man’s stark mad!” he would repeat, in his panic +of gesture and pacing. “The man’s stark mad to risk +this!”</p> +<p>My uncle softly closed the door behind him. “Ah, +Dannie!” says he. “You here?” He was breathless, +and gone a ghastly color; there was that about his scars +and eyes, too, to make me wonder whether ’twas rage or +fear had mastered him: I could not tell, but mightily +wished to determine, since it seemed that some encounter +impended. “Ye’re an unkind man,” says he, in a +passionless way, to the gray stranger, who was now +once more seated at his desk, fingering the litter of +documents. “Ye’ve broke your word t’ me. I must +punish ye for the evil ye’ve done this lad. I’ll not ask +ye what ye’ve told un till I haves my way with ye; but +then,” he declared, his voice betraying a tremor of indignation, +“I’ll have the talk out o’ ye, word for word!” +The gray stranger was agitated, but would not look up +from his aimlessly wandering hand to meet my uncle’s +lowering, reproachful eyes. “Dannie,” says my uncle, +continuing in gentle speech, “pass the cushion from the +big chair. Thank ’e, lad. I’m not wantin’ the man t’ +hurt his head.” He cast the cushion to the floor. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +“Now, sir,” says he, gently, “an ye’ll be good enough +t’ step within five-foot-ten o’ that there red cushion, I’ll +knock ye down an’ have it over with.”</p> +<p>The man looked sullenly out of the window.</p> +<p>“Five-foot-ten, sir,” my uncle repeated, with some +cheerfulness.</p> +<p>“Top,” was the vicious response, “you invite assassination.”</p> +<p>My uncle put his hand on my shoulder. “’Tis not +fit for ye t’ see, lad,” says he. “Ye’d best be off t’ +the fresh air. ’Tis so wonderful stuffy here that ye’ll +be growin’ pale an ye don’t look out. An’ I’m not +wantin’ ye t’ see me knock a man down,” he repeated, +with feeling. “I’m not wantin’ ye even t’ <i>think</i> that +I’d do an unkind thing like that.”</p> +<p>I moved to go.</p> +<p>“Now, sir!” cries my uncle to the stranger.</p> +<p>As I closed the door behind me the man was passing +with snarling lips to the precise spot my uncle had +indicated....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +<a name='XX_NO_APOLOGY' id='XX_NO_APOLOGY'></a> +<h2>XX</h2> +<h3>NO APOLOGY</h3> +</div> +<p>My uncle knocked on my door at the hotel and, +without waiting to be bidden, thrust in his great, +red, bristling, monstrously scarred head. ’Twas an intrusion +most diffident and fearful: he was like a mischievous +boy come for chastisement.</p> +<p>“You here, Dannie?” he gently inquired.</p> +<p>“Come in, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>’Twas awkwardly––with a bashful grin and halting, +doubtful step––that he stumped in.</p> +<p>“Comfortable?” he asked, looking about. “No complaint +t’ make ag’in this here hotel?”</p> +<p>I had no complaint.</p> +<p>“Not troubled, is you?”</p> +<p>I was not troubled.</p> +<p>“Isn’t bothered, is you?” he pursued, with an inviting +wink. “Not bothered about nothin’, lad, is you?”</p> +<p>Nor bothered.</p> +<p>“Come now!” cries he, dissembling great candor and +heartiness, “is you got any questions t’ ask ol’ Nick +Top?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” I answered, quite confidently.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” says my uncle, unable to contain his +delight, with which, indeed, his little eyes brimmed over, +“an ye’d jus’ be so damned good as t’ tweak that +there––”</p> +<p>I pulled the bell-cord.</p> +<p>“A nip o’ the best Jamaica,” says he.</p> +<p>Old Elihu Wall fetched the red dram.</p> +<p>“Lad,” says my uncle, his glass aloft, his eyes resting +upon me in pride, his voice athrill with passionate conviction, +“here’s t’ <i>you</i>! That’s good o’ you,” says he. +“That’s very good. I ’low I’ve fetched ye up very well. +Ecod!” he swore, with most reverent and gentle intention, +“ye’ll be a gentleman afore ye knows it!”</p> +<p>He downed the liquor with a grin that came over his +lurid countenance like a burst of low sunshine.</p> +<p>“A gentleman,” he repeated, “in spite o’ Chesterfield!”</p> +<p>When my uncle was gone, I commanded my reflections +elsewhere, prohibited by honor from dwelling upon +the wretched mystery in which I was enmeshed. They +ran with me to the fool of Twist Tickle. The weather +had turned foul: ’twas blowing up from the north in a +way to make housed folk shiver for their fellows at sea. +Evil sailing on the Labrador! I wondered how the +gentle weakling fared as cook of the <i>Quick as Wink</i>. I +wondered in what harbor he lay, in the blustering night, +or off what coast he tossed. I wondered what trouble +he had within his heart. I wished him home again: +but yet remembered, with some rising of hope, that his +amazing legacy of wisdom had in all things been sufficient +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +to his need. Had he not in peace and usefulness +walked the paths of the world where wiser folk had gone +with bleeding feet? ’Twas dwelling gratefully upon +this miracle of wisdom and love, a fool’s inheritance, +that I, who had no riches of that kind, fell asleep, without +envy or perturbation, that night.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>’Twas not long I had to wait to discover the fortune +of the fool upon that voyage. We were not three days +returned from the city when the <i>Quick as Wink</i> slipped +into our harbor. She had been beating up all afternoon; +’twas late of a dark night when she dropped +anchor. John Cather was turned in, Judith long ago +whisked off to bed by our maid-servant; my uncle and +I sat alone together when the rattle of the chain apprised +us that the schooner was in the shelter of the Lost +Soul.</p> +<p>By-and-by Moses came.</p> +<p>“You’ve been long on the road,” says I.</p> +<p>“Well, Dannie,” he explained, looking at his cap, +which he was awkwardly twirling, “I sort o’ fell in with +Parson Stump by the way, an’ stopped for a bit of a +gossip.”</p> +<p>I begged him to sit with us.</p> +<p>“No,” says he; “but I’m ’bliged t’ you. Fac’ is, +Dannie,” says he, gravely, “I isn’t got time.”</p> +<p>My uncle was amazed.</p> +<p>“I’ve quit the ship,” Moses went on, “not bein’ much +of a hand at cookin’. I’ll be t’ home now,” says he, +“an’ I’d be glad t’ have you an’ Skipper Nicholas +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +drop in, some day soon, when you’re passin’ Whisper +Cove.”</p> +<p>We watched him twirl his cap.</p> +<p>“You’d find a wonderful warm welcome,” says he, +“from Mrs. Moses Shoos!”</p> +<p>With that he was gone.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +<a name='XXI_FOOLS_FORTUNE' id='XXI_FOOLS_FORTUNE'></a> +<h2>XXI</h2> +<h3>FOOL’S FORTUNE</h3> +</div> +<p>“Close the door, Dannie,” says Tumm, in the +little cabin of the <i>Quick as Wink</i>, late that night, +when the goods were put to rights, and the bottle was +on the counter, and the schooner was nodding sleepily +in the spent waves from the open sea. “This here +yarn o’ the weddin’ o’ Moses Shoos is not good for everybody +t’ hear.” He filled the glasses––chuckling all the +time deep in his chest. “We was reachin’ up t’ Whoopin’ +Harbor,” he began, being a great hand at a story, “t’ +give the <i>Quick as Wink</i> a night’s lodgin’, it bein’ a +wonderful windish night; clear enough, the moon sailin’ +a cloudy sky, but with a bank o’ fog sneakin’ round +Cape Muggy like a fish-thief. An’ we wasn’t in no +haste, anyhow, t’ make Sinners’ Tickle, for we was the +first trader down this season, an’ ’twas pick an’ choose +for we, with a clean bill t’ every harbor from Starvation +Cove t’ the Settin’ Hen. So the skipper he says we’ll +hang the ol’ girl up t’ Whoopin’ Harbor ’til dawn; an’ +we’ll all have a watch below, says he, with a cup o’ tea, +says he, if the cook can bile the water ’ithout burnin’ it. +Now, look you! Saucy Bill North is wonderful fond +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +of his little joke; an’ ’twas this here habit o’ burnin’ the +water he’d pitched on t’ plague the poor cook with, +since we put out o’ Twist Tickle on the v’y’ge +down.</p> +<p>“‘Cook, you dunderhead!’ says the skipper, with a +wink t’ the crew, which I was sorry t’ see, ‘you been an’ +scarched the water agin.’</p> +<p>“Shoos he looked like he’d give up for good on the +spot––just like he <i>knowed</i> he was a fool, an’ <i>had</i> knowed +it for a long, long time––sort o’ like he was sorry for we +an’ sick of hisself.</p> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says the skipper, ‘you went an’ done it agin. +Yes, you did! Don’t you go denyin’ of it. You’ll kill +us, cook,’ says he, ‘if you goes on like this. They isn’t +nothin’ worse for the system,’ says he, ‘than this here +burned water. The almanacs,’ says he, shakin’ his +finger at the poor cook, ‘’ll tell you <i>that!</i>’</p> +<p>“‘I ’low I did burn that water, skipper,’ says the +cook, ‘if you says so. But I isn’t got all my wits,’ says +he; ’an’ God knows I’m doin’ my best!’</p> +<p>“‘I always did allow, cook,’ says the skipper, ‘that +God knowed more’n I ever thunk.’</p> +<p>“‘An’ I never <i>did</i> burn no water,’ says the cook, +‘afore I shipped along o’ you in this here ol’ flour-sieve +of a <i>Quick as Wink.</i>’</p> +<p>“‘This here <i>what?</i>’ snaps the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘This here ol’ basket,’ says the cook.</p> +<p>“‘Basket!’ says the skipper. Then he hummed a bit +o’ ‘Fishin’ for the Maid I Loves,’ ’ithout thinkin’ much +about the toon. ‘Cook,’ says he ‘I loves you. You is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +on’y a half-witted chance-child,’ says he, ‘but I loves +you like a brother.’</p> +<p>“‘Does you, skipper?’ says the cook, with a nice, soft +little smile, like the poor fool he was. ‘I isn’t by no +means hatin’ you, skipper,’ says he. ‘But I can’t <i>help</i> +burnin’ the water,’ says he, ‘an’ I ’low it fair hurts me +t’ get blame for it. I’m sorry for you an’ the crew,’ +says he, ‘an’ I wisht I hadn’t took the berth. But when +I shipped along o’ you,’ says he, ‘I ’lowed I <i>could</i> cook, +for mother always told me so, an’ I ’lowed she knowed. +I’m doin’ my best, anyhow, accordin’ t’ how she’d have +me do, an’ I ’low if the water gets scarched,’ says he, +‘the galley fire’s bewitched.’</p> +<p>“‘Basket!’ says the skipper. ‘Ay, ay, cook,’ says he. +‘I just <i>loves</i> you.’</p> +<p>“They wasn’t a man o’ the crew liked t’ hear the +skipper say that; for, look you! the skipper doesn’t +know nothin’ about feelin’s, an’ the cook has more +feelin’s ’n a fool can make handy use of aboard a tradin’ +craft. There sits the ol’ man, smoothin’ his big, red +beard, singin’ ‘I’m Fishin’ for the Maid I Loves,’ while +he looks at poor Moses Shoos, which was washin’ up +the dishes, for we was through with the mug-up. An’ +the devil was in his eyes––the devil was fair grinnin’ in +them little blue eyes. Lord! it made me sad t’ see it, +for I knowed the cook was in for bad weather, an’ he +isn’t no sort o’ craft t’ be out o’ harbor in a gale o’ +wind like that.</p> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘Ay, sir?’ says the cook.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></div> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says the skipper, ‘you ought t’ get married.’</p> +<p>“‘I on’y wisht I could,’ says the cook.</p> +<p>“‘You ought t’ try, cook,’ says the skipper, ‘for the +sake o’ the crew. We’ll all die,’ says he, ‘afore we +sights ol’ Bully Dick agin,’ says he, ‘if you keeps on +burnin’ the water. You <i>got</i> t’ get married, cook, t’ the +first likely maid you sees on the Labrador,’ says he, ‘t’ +save the crew. She’d do the cookin’ for you. It’ll be +the loss o’ all hands,’ says he, ‘an you don’t. This here +burned water,’ says he, ‘will be the end of us, cook, an +you keeps it up.’</p> +<p>“‘I’d be wonderful glad t’ ’blige you, skipper,’ says +the cook, ‘an’ I’d like t’ ’blige all hands. ’Twon’t be +by my wish,’ says he, ‘that anybody’ll die o’ the grub +they gets, for mother wouldn’t like it.’</p> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says the skipper, ‘shake! I knows a <i>man,</i>’ +says he, ‘when I sees one. Any man,’ says he, ‘that +would put on the irons o’ matrimony,’ says he, ‘t’ ’blige +a shipmate,’ says he, ‘is a better man ’n me, an’ I loves +un like a brother.’</p> +<p>“The cook was cheered up considerable.</p> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says the skipper, ‘I ’pologize. Yes, I do, +cook,’ says he, ‘I ’pologize.’</p> +<p>“‘I isn’t got no feelin’ ag’in’ matrimony,’ says the +cook. ‘But I isn’t able t’ get took. I been tryin’ every +maid t’ Twist Tickle,’ says he, ‘an’ they isn’t one,’ says +he, ‘will wed a fool.’</p> +<p>“‘Not <i>one</i> maid t’ wed a fool!’ says the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘Nar a one,’ says the cook.</p> +<p>“‘I’m s’prised,’ says the skipper.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></div> +<p>“‘Nar a maid t’ Twist Tickle,’ says the cook, ‘will +wed a fool, an’ I ’low they isn’t one,’ says he, ‘on the +Labrador.’</p> +<p>“‘It’s been done afore, cook,’ says the skipper, ‘an’ +I ’low ’twill be done agin, if the world don’t come to +an end t’ oncet. Cook,’ says he, ‘I <i>knows</i> the maid t’ +do it.’</p> +<p>“‘I’d be wonderful glad t’ find <i>she</i>,’ says the cook. +‘Mother,’ says he, ‘always ’lowed a man didn’t ought +t’ live alone.’</p> +<p>“‘Ay, b’y,’ says the skipper, ‘I got the girl for <i>you</i>. +An’ she isn’t a thousand miles,’ says he, ‘from where +that ol’ basket of a <i>Quick as Wink</i> lies at anchor,’ says +he, ‘in Whoopin’ Harbor. She isn’t what you’d call +handsome an’ tell no lie,’ says he, ‘but––’</p> +<p>“‘Never you mind about that, skipper,’ says the cook.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ says the skipper, ‘she isn’t handsome, as handsome +goes, even in these parts, but––’</p> +<p>“‘Never you mind, skipper,’ says the cook: ‘for +mother always ’lowed that looks come off in the first +washin’.’</p> +<p>“‘I ’low that Liz Jones would take you, cook,’ says +the skipper. ‘You ain’t much on wits, but you got a +good-lookin’ figure-head; an’ I ’low she’d be more’n +willin’ t’ skipper a craft like you. You better go +ashore, cook, when you gets cleaned up, an’ see what +she says. Tumm,’ says he, ‘is sort o’ shipmates with +Liz,’ says he, ‘an’ I ’low he’ll see you through the worst +of it.’</p> +<p>“‘Will you, Tumm?’ says the cook.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></div> +<p>“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I’ll see.’</p> +<p>“I knowed Liz Jones from the time I fished Whoopin’ +Harbor with Skipper Bill Topsail in the <i>Love the Wind</i>, +bein’ cotched by the measles thereabouts, which she +nursed me through; an’ I ’lowed she <i>would</i> wed the +cook if he asked her, so, thinks I, I’ll go ashore with +the fool t’ see that she don’t. No; she isn’t handsome––not +Liz. I’m wonderful fond o’ yarnin’ o’ good-lookin’ +maids, as you knows, Skipper Nicholas, sir; but +I can’t say much o’ Liz: for Liz is so far t’ l’eward o’ +beauty that many a time, lyin’ sick there in the fo’c’s’le +o’ the <i>Love the Wind</i>, I wished the poor girl would turn +inside out, for, thinks I, the pattern might be a sight +better on the other side. I <i>will</i> say she is big and +well-muscled; an’ muscles, t’ my mind, counts enough +t’ make up for black eyes, but not for cross-eyes, much +less for fuzzy whiskers. It ain’t in my heart t’ make +sport o’ Liz; but I <i>will</i> say she has a bad foot, for she +was born in a gale, I’m told, when the <i>Preacher</i> was +hangin’ on off a lee shore ’long about Cape Harrigan, +an’ the sea was raisin’ the devil. An’, well––I hates t’ +say it, but––well, they call her ‘Walrus Liz.’ No; she +isn’t handsome, she haven’t got no good looks; but once +you gets a look into whichever one o’ them cross-eyes +you is able to cotch, you see a deal more’n your own +face; an’ she <i>is</i> well-muscled, an’ I ’low I’m goin’ t’ tell +you so, for I wants t’ name her good p’ints so well as her +bad. Whatever––</p> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says I, ‘I’ll go along o’ you.’</p> +<p>“With that Moses Shoos fell to on the dishes, an’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +’twasn’t long afore he was ready to clean hisself; which +done, he was ready for the courtin’. But first he got +out his dunny-bag, an’ he fished in there ’til he pulled +out a blue stockin’, tied in a hard knot; an’ from the +toe o’ that there blue stockin’ he took a brass ring. +‘I ’low,’ +says he, talkin’ to hisself, in the half-witted way he has, +‘it won’t do no hurt t’ give her mother’s ring. +“Moses,” says mother, +“you better take the ring off my finger. It isn’t no weddin’-ring,” says she, +“for I never was what you might call wed by a real parson in the fashionable way, but on’y accordin’ t’ the customs o’ the land,” says she, +“an’ I got it from the Jew t’ make believe I was wed in the way they does it in these days; for it didn’t do nobody no hurt, an’ it sort o’ pleased me. You better take it, Moses, b’y,” says she, +“for the dirt o’ the grave would only spile it,” says she, +“an’ I’m not wantin’ it no more. Don’t wear it at the fishin’, dear,” says she, +“for the fishin’ is wonderful hard,” says she, +“an’ joolery don’t stand much wear an’ tear.” +‘Oh, mother!’ says the cook, +‘I done what you wanted!’ +Then the poor fool sighed an’ looked up at the skipper. +‘I ’low, skipper,’ says he, +‘’twouldn’t do no hurt t’ give the ring to a man’s wife, would it? For mother wouldn’t mind, would she?’</p> +<p>“The skipper didn’t answer that.</p> +<p>“‘Come, cook,’ says I, ‘leave us get under way,’ for +I couldn’t stand it no longer.</p> +<p>“So the cook an’ me put out in the punt t’ land at +Whoopin’ Harbor, with the crew wishin’ the poor cook +well with their lips, but thinkin’, God knows what! in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +their hearts. An’ he was in a wonderful state o’ fright. +I never <i>seed</i> a man so took by scare afore. For, look +you! poor Moses thinks she might have un. ‘I never +had half a chance afore,’ says he. ‘They’ve all declined +in a wonderful regular way. But now,’ says he, +‘I ’low I’ll be took. I jus’ <i>feels</i> that way; an’, Tumm, +I––I––I’m scared!’ I cheered un up so well as I could; +an’ by-an’-by we was on the path t’ Liz Jones’s house, +up on Gray Hill, where she lived alone, her mother bein’ +dead an’ her father shipped on a bark from St. John’s +t’ the West Indies. An’ we found Liz sittin’ on a rock +at the turn o’ the road, lookin’ down from the hill at the +<i>Quick as Wink</i>; all alone––sittin’ there in the moonlight, +all alone––thinkin’ o’ God knows what!</p> +<p>“‘Hello, Liz!’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘Hello, Tumm!’ says she. ‘What vethel’th that?’</p> +<p>“‘That’s the <i>Quick as Wink</i>, Liz,’ says I. ‘An’ here’s +the cook o’ that there craft,’ says I, ‘come up the hill t’ +speak t’ you.’</p> +<p>“‘That’s right,’ says the cook. ‘Tumm, you’re +right.’</p> +<p>“‘T’ thpeak t’ <i>me</i>!’ says she.</p> +<p>“I wisht she hadn’t spoke quite that way. Lord! it +wasn’t nice. It makes a man feel bad t’ see a woman +put her hand on her heart for a little thing like +that.</p> +<p>“‘Ay, Liz,’ says I, ‘t’ speak t’ you. An’ I’m thinkin’, +Liz,’ says I, ‘he’ll say things no man ever said afore––t’ +you.’</p> +<p>“‘That’s right, Tumm,’ says the cook. ‘I wants t’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +speak as man t’ man,’ says he, ‘t’ stand by what I says,’ +says he, ‘accordin’ as mother would have me do!’</p> +<p>“Liz got off the rock. Then she begun t’ kick at the +path; an’ she was lookin’ down, but I ’lowed she had +an eye on Moses all the time. ‘For,’ thinks I, ‘she’s +sensed the thing out, like all the women.’</p> +<p>“‘I’m thinkin’,’ says I, ‘I’ll go up the road a bit.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh no, you won’t, Tumm,’ says she. ‘You thtay +right here. Whath the cook wantin’ o’ me?’</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ says the cook, ‘I ’low I wants t’ get married.’</p> +<p>“‘T’ get married!’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘T’ get married,’ says the cook, ‘accordin’ as mother +would have me; an’ I ’low you’ll do.’</p> +<p>“‘Me?’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘Liz,’ says he, as solemn as church, ‘I means you.’</p> +<p>“It come to her all of a suddent––an’ she begun t’ +breathe hard, an’ pressed her hands against her breast +an’ shivered. But she looked away t’ the moon, an’ +somehow that righted her.</p> +<p>“‘You better thee me in daylight,’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘Don’t you mind about that,’ says he. ‘Mother +always ’lowed that sort o’ thing didn’t matter: an’ she +knowed.’</p> +<p>“She put a finger under his chin an’ tipped his face +t’ the light.</p> +<p>“‘You ithn’t got all your thentheth, ith you?’ says +she.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ says he, ‘bein’ born on Hollow-eve,’ says he, +‘I <i>isn’t</i> quite got all my wits. But,’ says he, ‘I wisht I +had. An’ I can’t do no more.’</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>“‘An’ you wanth t’ wed me?’ says she. ‘Ith you +sure you doth?’</p> +<p>“‘I got mother’s ring,’ says the cook, ‘t’ prove it.’</p> +<p>“‘Tumm,’ says Liz t’ me, ‘<i>you</i> ithn’t wantin’ t’ get +married, ith you?’</p> +<p>“‘No, Liz,’ says I. ‘Not,’ says I, ‘t’ you.’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ says she. ‘Not––t’ me.’ She took me round +the turn in the road. ‘Tumm,’ says she, ‘I ’low I’ll +wed that man. I wanth t’ get away from here,’ says +she, lookin’ over the hills. ‘I wanth t’ get t’ the thouthern +outporth, where there’th life. They ithn’t no life +here. An’ I’m tho wonderful tired o’ all thith! +Tumm,’ says she, ‘no man ever afore athked me t’ +marry un, an’ I ’low I better take thith one. He’th +on’y a fool,’ says she, ‘but not even a fool ever come +courtin’ me, an’ I ’low nobody but a fool would. On’y +a fool, Tumm!’ says she. ‘But <i>I</i> ithn’t got nothin’ t’ +boatht of. God made me,’ says she, ‘an’ I ithn’t mad +that He done it. I ’low He meant me t’ take the firth +man that come, an’ be content. I ’low <i>I</i> ithn’t got no +right t’ thtick up my nothe at a fool. For, Tumm,’ says +she, ‘God made that fool, too. An’, Tumm,’ says she, +‘I wanth thomethin’ elthe. Oh, I wanth thomethin’ +elthe! I hateth t’ tell you, Tumm,’ says she, ‘what it +ith. But all the other maidth hath un, Tumm, an’ I +wanth one, too. I ’low they ithn’t no woman happy +without one, Tumm. An’ I ithn’t never had no +chanth afore. No chanth, Tumm, though God knowth +they ithn’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do,’ says she, ‘t’ get +what I wanth! I’ll wed the fool,’ says she. ‘It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +ithn’t a man I wanth tho much; no, it ithn’t a man. +Ith––’</p> +<p>“‘What you wantin’, Liz?’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘It ithn’t a man, Tumm,’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘No?’ says I. ‘What is it, Liz?’</p> +<p>“‘Ith a baby,’ says she.</p> +<p>“God! I felt bad when she told me that....”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Tumm stopped, sighed, picked at a knot in the table. +There was silence in the cabin. The <i>Quick as Wink</i> +was still nodding to the swell––lying safe at anchor in a +cove of Twist Tickle. We heard the gusts scamper over +the deck and shake the rigging; we caught, in the intervals, +the deep-throated roar of breakers, far off––all +the noises of the gale. And Tumm picked at the knot +with his clasp-knife; and we sat watching, silent, all. +And I felt bad, too, because of the maid at Whooping +Harbor––a rolling waste of rock, with the moonlight +lying on it, stretching from the whispering mystery of +the sea to the greater desolation beyond; and an uncomely +maid, alone and wistful, wishing, without hope, +for that which the hearts of women must ever desire....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Ay,” Tumm drawled, “it made me feel bad t’ +think o’ what she’d been wantin’ all them years; an’ +then I wished I’d been kinder t’ Liz.... An’, ‘Tumm,’ +thinks I, ‘you went an’ come ashore t’ stop this here +thing; but you better let the skipper have his little joke, +for ’twill on’y s’prise him, an’ it won’t do nobody else +no hurt. Here’s this fool,’ thinks I, ‘wantin’ a wife; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +an’ he won’t never have another chance. An’ here’s +this maid,’ thinks I, ‘wantin’ a baby; an’ <i>she</i> won’t +never have another chance. ’Tis plain t’ see,’ thinks I, +‘that God A’mighty, who made un, crossed their courses; +an’ I ’low, ecod!’ thinks I, ‘that ’twasn’t a bad idea He +had. If He’s got to get out of it somehow,’ thinks I, +‘why, <i>I</i> don’t know no better way. Tumm,’ thinks I, +‘you sheer off. Let Nature,’ thinks I, ‘have course an’ +be glorified.’ So I looks Liz in the eye––an’ says +nothin’.</p> +<p>“‘Tumm,’ says she, ‘doth you think he––’</p> +<p>“‘Don’t you be scared o’ nothin’,’ says I. ‘He’s a +lad o’ good feelin’s,’ says I, ‘an’ he’ll treat you the best +he knows how. Is you goin’ t’ take un?’</p> +<p>“‘I wathn’t thinkin’ o’ that,’ says she. ‘I wathn’t +thinkin’ o’ <i>not</i>. I wath jutht,’ says she, ‘wonderin’.’</p> +<p>“‘They isn’t no sense in that, Liz,’ says I. ‘You +just wait an’ find out.’</p> +<p>“‘What’th hith name?’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘Shoos,’ says I. ‘Moses Shoos.’</p> +<p>“With that she up with her pinny an’ begun t’ cry like +a young swile.</p> +<p>“‘What you cryin’ for, Liz?’ says I.</p> +<p>“I ’low I couldn’t tell what ’twas all about. But she +was like all the women. Lord! ’tis the little things that +makes un weep when it comes t’ the weddin’.</p> +<p>“‘Come, Liz,’ says I, ‘what you cryin’ about?’</p> +<p>“‘I lithp,’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘I knows you does, Liz,’ says I; ‘but it ain’t nothin’ +t’ cry about.’</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></div> +<p>“‘I can’t say Joneth,’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ says I; ‘but you’ll be changin’ your name,’ +says I, ‘an’ it won’t matter no more.’</p> +<p>“‘An’ if I can’t say Joneth,’ says she, ‘I can’t thay––’</p> +<p>“‘Can’t say what?’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘Can’t thay Thooth!’ says she.</p> +<p>“Lord! No more she could. An’ t’ say Moses +Shoos! An’ t’ say Mrs. Moses Shoos! Lord! It give +me a pain in the tongue t’ think of it.</p> +<p>“‘Jutht my luck,’ says she; ‘but I’ll do my betht.’</p> +<p>“So we went back an’ told poor Moses Shoos that he +didn’t have t’ worry no more about gettin’ a wife; an’ +he said he was more glad than sorry, an’, says he, she’d +better get her bonnet, t’ go aboard an’ get married right +away. An’ she ’lowed she didn’t want no bonnet, but +<i>would</i> like to change her pinny. So we said we’d as lief +wait a spell, though a clean pinny wasn’t <i>needed</i>. An’ +when she got back, the cook said he ’lowed the skipper +could marry un well enough ’til we overhauled a real +parson; an’ she thought so, too, for, says she, ’twouldn’t +be longer than a fortnight, an’ <i>any</i> sort of a weddin’, +says she, would do ’til then. An’ aboard we went, the +cook an’ me pullin’ the punt, an’ she steerin’; an’ the +cook he crowed an’ cackled all the way, like a half-witted +rooster; but the maid didn’t even cluck, for she +was too wonderful solemn t’ do anything but look at the +moon.</p> +<p>“‘Skipper,’ said the cook, when we got in the fo’c’s’le, +‘here she is. <i>I</i> isn’t afeared,’ says he, ‘an’ <i>she</i> isn’t +afeared; an’ now I ’lows we’ll have you marry us.’</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></div> +<p>“Up jumps the skipper; but he was too much s’prised +t’ say a word.</p> +<p>“‘An’ I’m thinkin’,’ says the cook, with a nasty little +wink, such as never I seed afore get into the eyes o’ +Moses Shoos, ‘that they isn’t a man in this here fo’c’s’le,’ +says he, ‘will <i>say</i> I’m afeared.’</p> +<p>“‘Cook,’ says the skipper, takin’ the cook’s hand, +‘shake! I never knowed a man like you afore,’ says +he. ‘T’ my knowledge, you’re the on’y man in the +Labrador fleet would do it. I’m proud,’ says he, ‘t’ +take the hand o’ the man with nerve enough t’ marry +Walrus Liz o’ Whoopin’ Harbor.’</p> +<p>“But ’twas a new Moses he had t’ deal with. The +devil got in the fool’s eyes––a jumpin’ little brimstone +devil, ecod! I never knowed the man could look that +way.</p> +<p>“‘Ay, lad,’ says the skipper, ‘I’m proud t’ know the +man that isn’t afeared o’ Walrus––’</p> +<p>“‘Don’t you call her that!’ says the cook. ‘Don’t +you do it, skipper!’</p> +<p>“I was lookin’ at Liz. She was grinnin’ in a holy +sort o’ way. Never seed nothin’ like that afore––no, +lads, not in all my life.</p> +<p>“‘An’ why not, cook?’ says the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘It ain’t her name,’ says the cook.</p> +<p>“‘It ain’t?’ says the skipper. ‘But I been sailin’ the +Labrador for twenty year,’ says he, ‘an’ I ’ain’t never +heared her called nothin’ but Walrus––’</p> +<p>“‘Don’t you do it, skipper!’</p> +<p>“The devil got into the cook’s hands then. I seed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +his fingers clawin’ the air in a hungry sort o’ way. An’ +it looked t’ me like squally weather for the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘Don’t you do it no more, skipper,’ says the cook. +‘I isn’t got no wits,’ says he, an’ I’m feelin’ wonderful +queer!’</p> +<p>“The skipper took a look ahead into the cook’s eyes. +‘Well, cook,’ says he, ‘I ’low,’ says he, ‘I won’t.’</p> +<p>“Liz laughed––an’ got close t’ the fool from Twist +Tickle. An’ I seed her touch his coat-tail, like as if she +loved it, but didn’t dast do no more.</p> +<p>“‘What you two goin’ t’ do?’ says the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘We ’lowed you’d marry us,’ says the cook, ‘’til we +come across a parson.’</p> +<p>“‘I will,’ says the skipper. ‘Stand up here,’ says he. +‘All hands stand up!’ says he. ‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘get +me the first Book you comes across.’</p> +<p>“I got un a Book.</p> +<p>“‘Now, Liz,’ says he, ‘can you cook?’</p> +<p>“‘Fair t’ middlin’,’ says she. ‘I won’t lie.’</p> +<p>“’Twill do,’ says he. ‘An’ does you want t’ get +married t’ this here dam’ fool?’</p> +<p>“‘An it pleathe you,’ says she.</p> +<p>“‘Shoos,’ says the skipper, ‘will you let this woman +do the cookin’?’</p> +<p>“‘Well, skipper,’ says the cook, ‘I will; for I don’t +want nobody t’ die o’ my cookin’ on this here v’y’ge, an’ +I <i>knows</i> that mother wouldn’t mind.’</p> +<p>“‘An’ will you keep out o’ the galley?’</p> +<p>“‘I ’low I’ll <i>have</i> to.’</p> +<p>“‘An’ look you! cook, is you sure––is you <i>sure</i>,’ says +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +the skipper, with a shudder, lookin’ at the roof, ‘that +you wants t’ marry this here––’</p> +<p>“‘Don’t you do it, skipper!’ says the cook. ‘Don’t +you say that no more! By the Lord!’ says he, ‘I’ll kill +you if you does!’</p> +<p>“‘Is you sure,’ says the skipper, ‘that you wants t’ +marry this here––woman?’</p> +<p>“‘I will.’</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ says the skipper, kissin’ the Book, ‘I ’low +me an’ the crew don’t care; an’ we can’t help it, anyhow.’</p> +<p>“‘What about mother’s ring?’ says the cook. ‘She +might’s well have that,’ says he, ‘if she’s careful about +the wear an’ tear. For joolery,’ says he t’ Liz, ‘don’t +stand it.’</p> +<p>“‘It can’t do no harm,’ says the skipper.</p> +<p>“‘Ith we married, thkipper?’ says Liz, when she got +the ring on.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ says the skipper, ‘I ’low that knot’ll hold ’til +we puts into Twist Tickle, where Parson Stump can +mend it, right under my eye. For,’ says he, ‘I got a +rope’s-end an’ a belayin’-pin t’ <i>make</i> it hold,’ says he, +‘’til we gets ’longside o’ <i>some</i> parson that knows more +about matrimonial knots ’n me. We’ll pick up your +goods, Liz,’ says he, ‘on the s’uthard v’y’ge. An’ I +hopes, ol’ girl,’ says he, ‘that you’ll be able t’ boil the +water ’ithout burnin’ it.’</p> +<p>“‘Ay, Liz,’ says the cook, ‘I been makin’ a awful fist +o’ b’ilin’ the water o’ late.’</p> +<p>“She give him one look––an’ put her clean pinny to +her eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></div> +<p>“‘What you cryin’ about?’ says the cook.</p> +<p>“‘I don’t know,’ says she; ‘but I ’low ’tith becauthe +now I knowth you <i>ith</i> a fool!’</p> +<p>“‘She’s right, Tumm,’ says the cook. ‘She’s got it +right! Bein’ born on Hollow-eve,’ says he, ‘I couldn’t +be nothin’ else. But, Liz,’ says he, ‘I’m glad I got you, +fool or no fool.’</p> +<p>“So she wiped her eyes, an’ blowed her nose, an’ give +a little sniff, an’ looked up an’ smiled.</p> +<p>“‘I isn’t good enough for you,’ says the poor cook. +‘But, Liz,’ says he, ‘if you kissed me,’ says he, ‘I +wouldn’t mind a bit. An’ they isn’t a man in this here +fo’c’s’le,’ says he, lookin’ round, ‘that’ll say I’d mind. +Not one,’ says he, with the little devil jumpin’ in his +eyes.</p> +<p>“Then she stopped cryin’ for good.</p> +<p>“‘Go ahead, Liz!’ says he. ‘I ain’t afeared. Come +on!’ says he. ‘Give us a kiss!’</p> +<p>“‘Motheth Thooth,’ says she, ‘you’re the firtht man +ever athked me t’ give un a kith!’</p> +<p>“She kissed un. ’Twas like a pistol-shot. An’, +Lord! her poor face was shinin’....”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In the cabin of the <i>Quick as Wink</i> we listened to the +wind as it scampered over the deck; and my uncle and +I watched Tumm pick at the knot in the table.</p> +<p>“He don’t <i>need</i> no sense,” said Tumm, looking up, at +last; “for he’ve <i>had</i> a mother, an’ he’ve <i>got</i> a memory.”</p> +<p>’Twas very true, I thought.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +<a name='XXII_GATHERING_WINDS' id='XXII_GATHERING_WINDS'></a> +<h2>XXII</h2> +<h3>GATHERING WINDS</h3> +</div> +<p>’Twas by advice of Sir Harry, with meet attention +to the philosophy of Lord Chesterfield in respect +to the particular accomplishments essential to one who +would both please and rise in the world, that my uncle +commanded the grand tour to further my education and +to cure my twisted foot. “’Tis the last leg o’ the beat, +lad;” he pleaded; “ye’ll be a gentleman, made t’ order, +accordin’ t’ specifications, when ’tis over with; an’ I’ll +be wonderful glad,” says he, wearily, “when ’tis done, +for I’ll miss ye sore, lad––ecod! but I’ll miss ye sore.” +Abroad, then, despite the gray warning, went John +Cather and I, tutor and young gentleman, the twain not +to be distinguished from a company of high birth. +’Twas a ghastly thing: ’twas a thing so unfit and +grotesque that I flush to think of it––a thing, of all my +uncle’s benefits, I wish undone and cannot to this day +condone. But that implacable, most tender old ape, +when he bade us God-speed on the wharf, standing +with legs and staff triangularly disposed to steady him, +rippled with pride and admiration to observe the genteel +performance of our departure, and in the intervals of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +mopping his red, sweaty, tearful countenance, exhibited, +in unwitting caricature, the defiant consciousness of +station he had with infinite pains sought to have me +master.</p> +<p>“Made t’ order, lad,” says he, at last, when he took +my hand, “accordin’ t’ the plans an’ specifications o’ +them that knows, an’ quite regardless of expense.”</p> +<p>I patted him on the shoulder.</p> +<p>“I wisht,” says he, with a regretful wag, “that Tom +Callaway could see ye now. You an’ your tooter! If +on’y Tom Callaway <i>could</i>! I bet ye ’twould perk un +up a bit in the place he’s to! ’Twould go a long way +towards distractin’ his mind,” says he, “from the fire +an’ fumes they talks so much about in church.”</p> +<p>You will be good enough to believe, if you please, that +there were sympathetic tears in my uncle’s eyes....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Upon this misguided mission we were gone abroad +two years and a fortnight (deducting one day): and +pursuing it we travelled far. And we came to magnificent +cities, and beheld the places and things that are +written of in books, and ate of curious foods, and observed +many sorts of people and singular customs, and +fell in with strange companions, and sojourned in many +houses; but from the spectacle of the world I caught no +delight, nor won a lesson, nor gained in anything, save, +it may be, in knowledge of the book of my own heart. +As we went our way in new paths, my mind dwelt +continually with Judith, whom I loved; the vision of +her face, wistful and most fair in the mirage of Twist +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +Tickle, and the illusion of her voice, whispering from +the vacant world, were the realities of these wanderings––the +people and palaces a fantasy. Of this I said +nothing to John Cather, who was himself cast down by +some obscure ailment of the spirit, so that I would not +add to his melancholy with my love-sickness, but rather +sought by cheerful behavior to mitigate the circumstances +of his sighs, which I managed not at all. And +having journeyed far in this unhappy wise, we came +again to the spacious sea and sky and clean air of Twist +Tickle, where Judith was with my uncle on the neck of +land by the Lost Soul, and the world returned to its +familiar guise of coast and ocean and free winds, and +the <i>Shining Light</i>, once more scraped and refitted +against the contingencies of my presence, awaited the +ultimate event in the placid waters of Old Wives’ +Cove....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Judith was grown to womanly age and ways and +perfected in every maidenly attraction. When she +came shyly from the shadows of the house into the +glowing sunset and spring weather of our landing, I +stopped, amazed, in the gravelled walk of our garden, +because of the incredible beauty of the maid, now first +revealed in bloom, and because of her modesty, which +was yet slyly aglint with coquetry, and because of the +tender gravity of her years, disclosed in the first poignant +search of the soul I had brought back from my +long journeying. I thought, I recall, at the moment of +our meeting, that laboring in a mood of highest exaltation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +God had of the common clay fashioned a glory of +person unsuspected of the eager, evil world out of which +I had come: I rejoiced, I know, that He had in this +bleak remoteness hidden it from the eyes of the world. +I fancied as she came––’twas all in a flash––that into +this rare creation He had breathed a spirit harmonious +with the afflatus of its conception. And being thus +overcome and preoccupied, I left the maid’s coy lips +escape me, but kissed her long, slender-fingered hand, +which she withdrew, at once, to give to John Cather, +who was most warm and voluble in greeting. I was by +this hurt; but John Cather was differently affected: it +seemed he did not care. He must be off to the hills, +says he, and he must go alone, instantly, at the peril +of his composure, to dwell with his mind, says he, upon +the thoughts that most elevated and gratified him. I +watched him off upon the Whisper Cove road with +improper satisfaction, for, thinks I, most ungenerously, +I might now, without the embarrassment of his presence, +which she had hitherto rejected, possess Judith’s +lips; but the maid was shy and perverse, and would +have none of it, apprising me sweetly of her determination.</p> +<p>By this I was again offended.</p> +<p>“Judy,” says my uncle, when we were within, “fetch +the bottle. Fetch the bottle, maid!” cries he; “for ’tis +surely an occasion.”</p> +<p>Judith went to the pantry.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” my uncle inquired, leaning eagerly close +when she was gone from the room, “is ye been good?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span></div> +<p>’Twas a question put in anxious doubt: I hesitated––wondering +whether or not I had been good.</p> +<p>“Isn’t ye?” says he. “Ye’ll tell <i>me</i>, won’t ye? I’ll +love ye none the less for the evil ye’ve done.”</p> +<p>Still I could not answer.</p> +<p>“I’ve been wantin’ t’ know,” says he, his three-fingered +fist softly beating the table, shaking in an intense +agitation of suspense. “I’ve been waitin’ an’ +waitin’ for months––jus’ t’ hear ye say!”</p> +<p>I was conscious of no evil accomplished.</p> +<p>“Ye’ve a eye, Dannie!” says he.</p> +<p>I exposed my soul.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says he, emphatically; “that’s very +good. I ’low I’ve fetched ye up very well.”</p> +<p>Judith came with the bottle and little brown jug: she +had displaced me from this occupation.</p> +<p>“O’ course,” says my uncle, in somewhat doubtful +and ungenerous invitation, “ye’ll be havin’ a little darn +ol’ rum with a ol’ shipmate. Ye’ve doubtless learned +manners abroad,” says he.</p> +<p>’Twas a delight to hear the fond fellow tempt me +against his will: I smiled.</p> +<p>“Jus’ a little darn, Dannie,” he repeated, but in no +convivial way. “Jus’ a little nip––with a ol’ shipmate?”</p> +<p>I laughed most heartily to see Judith’s sisterly concern +for me.</p> +<p>“A wee drop?” my uncle insisted, more confidently.</p> +<p>“I’m not used to it, sir,” says I.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></div> +<p>“That’s good,” he declared; “that’s very good. Give +the devil his due, Dannie: I’ve fetched ye up very +well.”</p> +<p>’Twas with delight he challenged a disputation....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>After this ceremony I sat with Judith on the peak of +the Lost Soul. My uncle paced the gravelled walk, in +the gathering dusk below, whence, by an ancient courtesy, +he might benignantly spy upon the love-making. +We were definite against the lingering twilight: I smiled +to catch the old man pausing in the path with legs spread +wide and glowing face upturned. But I had no smile +for the maid, poor child! nor any word to say, save only +to express a tenderness it seemed she would not hear. +’Twas very still in the world: there was no wind stirring, +no ripple upon the darkening water, no step on the +roads, no creak of oar-withe, no call or cry or laugh of +humankind, no echo anywhere; and the sunset clouds +trooped up from the rim of the sea with ominous stealth, +throwing off their garments of light as they came, advancing, +grim and gray, upon the shadowy coast. +Across the droch, lifted high above the maid and me, +his slender figure black against the pale-green sky, +stood John Cather on the brink of Tom Tulk’s cliff, +with arms extended in some ecstasy to the smouldering +western fire. A star twinkled serenely in the depths of +space beyond, seeming, in the mystery of that time, to +be set above his forehead; and I was pleased to fancy, +I recall, that ’twas a symbol and omen of his nobility. +Thus the maid and I: thus we four folk, who played +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +the simple comedy––unknowing, every one, in the departing +twilight of that day.</p> +<p>I reproached the maid. “Judith,” says I, “you’ve +little enough, it seems, to say to me.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing,” she murmured, “for a maid to +say.”</p> +<p>“There is much,” I chided, “for a man to hear.”</p> +<p>“Never a word, Dannie, lad,” she repeated, “that a +maid may tell.”</p> +<p>I turned away.</p> +<p>“There is a word,” says she, her voice fallen low and +very sweet, soft as the evening light about us, “that a +lad might speak.”</p> +<p>“And what’s that, Judith?”</p> +<p>“’Tis a riddle,” she answered; “and I fear, poor +child!” says she, compassionately, “that you’ll find it +hard to rede.”</p> +<p>’Twas unkind, I thought, to play with me.</p> +<p>“Ah, Dannie, child!” she sighed, a bit wounded and +rebuffed, it seems to me now, for she smiled in a way +more sad and tenderly reproachful than anything, as +she looked away, in a muse, to the fading colors in the +west. “Ah, Dannie,” she repeated, her face grown +grave and wistful, “you’ve come back the same as you +went away. Ye’ve come back,” says she, with a brief +little chuckle of gratification, “jus’ the same!”</p> +<p>I thrust out my foot: she would not look at it.</p> +<p>“The self-same Dannie,” says she, her eyes steadfastly +averted.</p> +<p>“I’ve <i>not</i>!” I cried, indignantly. That the maid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +should so flout my new, proud walk! ’Twas a bitter +reward: I remembered the long agony I had suffered +to please her. “I’ve <i>not</i> come back the same,” says I. +“I’ve come back changed. Have you not seen my +foot?” I demanded. “Look, maid!” I beat the rock +in a passion with that new foot of mine––straight and +sound and capable for labor as the feet of other men. +It had all been done for her––all borne to win the love +I had thought withheld, or stopped from fullest giving, +because of this miserable deformity. A maid is a maid, +I had known––won as maids are won. “Look at it!” +cries I. “Is it the same as it was? Is it crooked any +more? Is it the foot of a man or a cripple?” She +would not look: but smiled into my eyes––with a mist +of tears gathering within her own. “No,” I complained; +“you will not look. You would not look when I walked +up the path. I wanted you to look; but you would not. +You would not look when I put my foot on the table +before your very eyes. My uncle looked, and praised +me; but you would not look.” ’Twas a frenzy of indignation +I had worked myself into by this time. I +could not see, any more, the silent glow of sunset color, +the brooding shadows, the rising masses of cloud, darkening +as they came: I have, indeed, forgotten, and +strangely so, the appearance of sea and sky at that +moment. “You would not look,” I accused the maid, +“when I leaped the brook. I leaped the brook as other +men may leap it; but you would not look. You would +not look when I climbed the hill. Who helped you up +the Lost Soul turn? Was it I? Never before did I do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +it. All my life I have crawled that path. Was it the +club-footed young whelp who helped you?” I demanded. +“Was it that crawling, staggering, limping travesty +of the strength of men? But you do not care,” I complained. +“You do not care about my foot at all! Oh, +Judith,” I wailed, in uttermost agony, “you do not +care!”</p> +<p>I knew, then, looking far away into the sea and cloud +of the world, that the night was near.</p> +<p>“No,” says she.</p> +<p>“Judith!” I implored. “Judith ... Judith!”</p> +<p>“No,” says she, “I cannot care.”</p> +<p>“Just <i>say</i> you do,” I pleaded, “to save me pain.”</p> +<p>“I will not tell you otherwise.”</p> +<p>I was near enough to feel her tremble––to see her red +lips draw away, in stern conviction, from her white little +teeth.</p> +<p>“You do not care?” I asked her.</p> +<p>“I do not care.”</p> +<p>’Twas a shock to hear the words repeated. “Not +care!” I cried out.</p> +<p>“I do not care,” says she, turning, all at once, from +the sullen crimson of the sky, to reproach me. “Why +should I care?” she demanded. “I have never cared––never +cared––about your foot!”</p> +<p>I should have adored her for this: but did not know +enough.</p> +<p>“Come!” says she, rising; “there is no sunset now. +’Tis all over with. The clouds have lost their glory. +There is nothing to see. Oh, Dannie, lad,” says +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +she––“Dannie, boy, there is nothing here to see! We must +go home.”</p> +<p>I was cast down.</p> +<p>“No glory in the world!” says she.</p> +<p>“No light,” I sighed; “no light, at all, Judith, in this +gloomy place.”</p> +<p>And we went home....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>For twelve days after that, while the skirt of winter +still trailed the world, the days being drear and gray, +with ice at sea and cold rain falling upon the hills, John +Cather kept watch on Judith and me. ’Twas a close +and anxiously keen surveillance. ’Twas, indeed, unremitting +and most daring, by night and day: ’twas a +staring and peering and sly spying, ’twas a lurking, +’twas a shy, not unfriendly, eavesdropping, an observation +without enmity or selfish purpose, ceasing not at +all, however, upon either, and most poignant when the +maid and I were left together, alone, as the wretched +man must have known, in the field of sudden junctures +of feeling. I remember his eyes––dark eyes, inquiring +in a kindly way––staring from the alders of the Whisper +Cove road, from the dripping hills, from the shadowy +places of our house: forever in anxious question upon +us. By this I was troubled, until, presently, I divined +the cause: the man was disquieted, thinks I, to observe +my happiness gone awry, but would not intrude even +so much as a finger upon the tangle of the lives of the +maid and me, because of the delicacy of his nature and +breeding. ’Twas apparent, too, that he was ill: he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +would go white and red without cause, and did mope or +overflow with a feverish jollity, and would improperly +overfeed at table or starve his emaciating body. But +after a time, when he had watched us narrowly to his +heart’s content, he recovered his health and amiability, +and was the same as he had been. Judith and I were +then cold and distant in behavior with each other, but +unfailing in politeness: ’twas now a settled attitude, +preserved by each towards the other, and betraying no +feeling of any sort whatever.</p> +<p>“John Cather,” says I, “you’ve been ill.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “You are a dull fellow!” says he, in +his light way. “’Tis the penalty of honesty, I suppose; +and nature has fined you heavily. I have not been ill: +I have been troubled.”</p> +<p>“By what, John Cather?”</p> +<p>“I fancied,” he answered, putting his hands on my +shoulders, very gravely regarding me as he spoke, “that +I must sacrifice my hope. ’Twas a hope I had long +cherished, Dannie, and was become like life to me.” +His voice was fallen deep and vibrant and soft; and +the feeling with which it trembled, and the light in the +man’s eyes, and the noble poise of his head, and the +dramatic arrangement of his sentences, so affected me +that I must look away. “Miserable necessity!” says +he. “A drear prospect! And with no more than a +sigh to ease the wretched fate! And yet,” says he, +quite heartily, “the thing had a pretty look to it. +Really, a beautiful look. There was a fine reward. +A good deed carries it. Always remember that, Dannie––and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +remember that I told you. There was a fine +reward. No encouragement of applause, Dannie––just +a long sigh in secret: then a grim age of self-command. +By jove! but there was a splendid compensation. A +compensation within myself, I mean––a recollection of +at least one heroically unselfish act. There would have +been pain, of course; but I should never have forgotten +that I had played a man’s part––better than a man’s +part: a hero’s part, a god’s part. And that might have +been sufficiently comforting: I do not know––perhaps. +I’ll tell you about it, Dannie: the thing was to have +been done,” he explained, in sincere emotion, every +false appearance gone from him, “for whom, do you +think?”</p> +<p>I did not know.</p> +<p>“For a friend,” says he.</p> +<p>“But John Cather,” says I, “’twas too much to +require of you.”</p> +<p>His eyes twinkled.</p> +<p>“You’ve no trouble now, have you?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Not I!” cries he. “I have read a new fortune for +myself. Trouble? Not I! I am very happy, Dannie.”</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says I; “that’s very good!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +<a name='XXIII_THE_TIDERIP' id='XXIII_THE_TIDERIP'></a> +<h2>XXIII</h2> +<h3>THE TIDE-RIP</h3> +</div> +<p>Next day ’twas queer weather. ’Twas weather +unaccountable, weather most mysteriously bent, +weather that laughed at our bewilderment, as though +’twere sure of wreaking its own will against us by some +trick recently devised. Never before had I known a +time so subtly, viciously, confidently to withhold its +omens. Queer weather, indeed! here, in early spring, +with drift-ice still coming in vast floes from the north, +queer weather to draw the sweat from us, while a midsummer +blue loom of the main-land hung high and +fantastically shaped in the thick air. Breathless, ominously +colored weather! Why, the like, for stillness and +beggarly expression of intention, had never been known +to Twist Tickle: they talked with indignation of it on +Eli Flack’s stage; ’twas a day that bred wrecks, said +they. Ay, and ’twas an outrage upon the poor fishermen +of that coast: what was a man to do, said they––what +was he to do with his salmon-gear and cod-traps––in +this evil, wilful departure from traditional procedure? +And what did the weather mean? would it blow wet or +dry? would it come with snow? would the wind jump +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +off shore or from the northeast? and how long, in the +name o’ Heaven, would the weather sulk in distance +before breaking in honest wrath upon the coast? ’Twas +enough, said they, to make a man quit the grounds; +’twas enough, with <i>this</i> sort o’ thing keepin’ up, t’ make +a man turn carpenter or go t’ Sydney!</p> +<p>All this I heard in passing.</p> +<p>“Ah, well, lads,” says my uncle, “ye’ll find winter +skulkin’ jus’ over the horizon. An’ he’ll be down,” he +added, confidently, “within a day or two.”</p> +<p>I led John Cather to the brink of Tom Tulk’s cliff, +where, in the smoky sunshine, I might talk in secret with +him. ’Twas in my mind to confide my perplexity and +miserable condition of heart, without reserve of feeling +or mitigation of culpable behavior, and to lean upon +his wisdom and tactful arts for guidance into some +happier arrangement with the maid I loved. It seemed +to me, I recall, as I climbed the last slope, that I had +been, all my life, an impassive lover, as concerned the +welfare of the maid: that I had been ill-tempered and +unkind, marvellously quick to find offence, justified in +this cruel and stupid conduct by no admirable quality +or grace or achievement––a lad demanding all for nothing. +I paused, I recall, at the cairn, to sigh, overcome +and appalled by this revelation; and thereupon I felt +such a rush of strenuous intention in my own behalf––a +determination to strive and scheme––that I had scarce +breath to reach the edge of the cliff, and could not, for +the life of me, begin to narrate my desperate state to +John Cather. But John Cather was not troubled by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +my silence: he was sprawled on the thick moss of the +cliff, his head propped in his hands, smiling, like the +alien he was, upon the ice at sea and the untimely blue +loom of the main-land and the vaguely threatening color +of the sky. I could not begin, wishful as I might be +for his wise counsel: but must lie, like a corpse, beyond +all feeling, contemplating that same uneasy prospect. +I wished, I recall, that I might utter my errand with +him, and to this day wish that I had been able: but then +could not, being overwhelmed by this new and convincing +vision of all my communion with the maid.</p> +<p>“By Jove!” John Cather ejaculated.</p> +<p>“What is it?” cries I.</p> +<p>“I must tell you,” says he, rising to his elbow. “I +can keep it no longer.”</p> +<p>I waited.</p> +<p>“I’m in love,” he declared. “Dannie,” cries he, “I––I’m––<i>in +love</i>!”</p> +<p>And now a peculiar change came upon the world, of +which I must tell: whatever there had been of omen or +beauty or curious departure from the natural appearance +of sea and sky––whatever of interest or moment +upon the brooding shore or abroad on the uttermost +waters beyond it––quite vanished from my cognizance. +’Twas a drear day and place I dwelt in, a very dull +world, not enlivened by peril or desirable object or the +difficulty of toil, not excused or in any way made tolerable +by a prospect of sacrificial employment. I had been +ill brought up to meet this racking emergency. What +had there been, in all my life, fostered in body and happiness, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +expanding in the indulgent love and pitiably misdirected +purpose of my uncle, to fit me for this denial of +pure and confident desire? I tried, God knows I tried! +summoning to my help all the poor measure of nobility +the good Lord had endowed me with and my uncle had +cultivated––I tried, God knows! to receive the communication +with some wish for my friend’s advancement +in happiness. In love: ’twas with Judith––there was +no other maid of Twist Tickle to be loved by this handsome, +learned, brilliantly engaging John Cather. Nay, +but ’twas all plain to me now: my deformity and perversity––my +ridiculously assured aspiration towards the +maid. I had forgot John Cather––the youth and person +of him, his talents and winning accomplishments of +speech and manner.</p> +<p>“And there she comes!” cries he.</p> +<p>’Twas Judith on the Whisper Cove road.</p> +<p>“You’ll wish me luck, Dannie?” says he, rising. +“I’ll catch her on the way. I’ll tell her that I love her. +I can wait no longer. Wish me luck!” says he. “Wish +me luck!”</p> +<p>I took his hand.</p> +<p>“Wish me luck!” he repeated.</p> +<p>“I wish you luck,” says I.</p> +<p>“Thanks,” says he: and was off.</p> +<p>I lied in this way because I would not have Judith +know that I grieved for her, lest she suffer, in days to +come, for my disappointment....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I was faint and very thirsty, I recall: I wished that I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +might drink from a brook of snow-water. ’Twas Calling +Brook I visualized, which flows from the melting +ice of cold, dark crevices, musically falling, beneath a +canopy of springing leaves, to the waters of Sister Bight. +I wished to drink from Calling Brook, and to lie down, +here alone and high above the sea, and to sleep, without +dreaming, for a long, long time. I lay me down on the +gray moss. I did not think of Judith and John Cather. +I had forgotten them: I was numb to the passion and +affairs of life. I suffered no agony of any sort; ’twas +as though I had newly emerged from unconsciousness––the +survivor of some natural catastrophe, fallen by act +of God, conveying no blame to me––a survivor upon +whom there still lingered a beneficent stupor of body. +Presently I discovered myself in a new world, with +which, thinks I, brisking up, I must become familiar, +having no unmanly regret, but a courageous heart to +fare through the maze of it; and like a curious child I +peered about upon this strange habitation. Near by +there was a gray, weathered stone in the moss: I reached +to possess it––and was amazed to find that my hand +neither overshot nor fell short, but accurately performed +its service. I cast the stone towards heaven: ’twas a +surprise to see it fall earthward in obedience to some +law I could not in my daze define––some law I had with +impatient labor, long, long ago, made sure I understood +and would remember. I looked away to sea, stared +into the sky, surveyed the hills: ’twas the self-same world +I had known, constituted of the same materials, cohering +in the self-same way, obedient to the self-same laws, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +fashioned and adorned the same as it had been. ’Twas +the self-same world of sea and sky and rock, wherein I +had so long dwelt––a world familiar to my feet and eyes +and heart’s experience: a world of tree-clad, greening +hills, of known paths, of children’s shouting and the +chirp and song of spring-time. But there had come a +change upon its spirit: nay! thinks I, quite proud of +the conceit, its spirit had departed––the thing had died +to me, and was become without meaning, an inimical +mystery. Then I felt the nerves of my soul tingle with +awakening: then I suffered very much.</p> +<p>And evening came....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>By-and-by, having heartened myself with courageous +plans, I stepped out, with the feet of a man, upon the +Whisper Cove road. I had it in mind to enjoy with +Judith and John Cather the tender disclosure of their +love. I would kiss Judith, by Heaven! thinks I: I +would kiss her smile and blushes, whatever she thought +of the deed; and I would wring John Cather’s fragile +right hand until his teeth uncovered and he groaned for +mercy. ’Twas fearsome weather, then, so that, overwrought +in the spirit as I was, I did not fail to feel the +oppression of it and the instinctive alarm it aroused. +’Twas very still and heavy and sullen and uneasy, ’twas +pregnant of fears, like a moment of suspense: I started +when an alder branch or reaching spruce limb struck +me. In this bewildering weather there were no lovers +on the road; the valleys, the shadowy nooks, the +secluded reaches of path, lay vacant in the melancholy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +dusk. ’Twas not until I came to the last hill, whence +the road tumbled down to a cluster of impoverished +cottages, listlessly clinging to the barren rock of Whisper +Cove, that I found Judith. John Cather was not about: +the maid was with Aunt Esther All, the gossip, and was +now so strangely agitated that I stopped in sheer amazement. +That the child should be abject and agonized +before the grim, cynical tattler of Whisper Cove! That +she should gesticulate in a way so passionate! That she +should fling her arms wide, that she should cover her +face with her hands, that she should in some grievous +disturbance beat upon her heart! I could not make +it out. ’Twas a queer way, thinks I, to express the +rapture of her fortune; and no suspicion enlightened +me, because, I think, of the paralysis of despair upon +my faculties.</p> +<p>I approached.</p> +<p>“Go ’way!” she cried.</p> +<p>I would not go away: ’twas Aunt Esther, the gossip, +that went, and in a rout––with a frightened backward +glance.</p> +<p>“Go ’way!” Judith pleaded. “I’m not able to bear +it, Dannie. Oh, go back!”</p> +<p>’Twas an unworthy whim, and I knew it to be so, +whatever the vagaries of maids may be, however natural +and to be indulged, at these crises of emotion. She had +sent John Cather away, it seemed, that she might be for +a space alone, in the way of maids at such times, as I +had been informed; and she would now deny to me the +reflection of her happiness.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></div> +<p>“’Tis unkind,” I chided, “not to share this thing +with me.”</p> +<p>She started: I recall that her eyes were round and +troubled with incomprehension.</p> +<p>“I’ve come to tell you, Judith,” says I, “that I do +not care.”</p> +<p>’Twas a brave lie: I am proud of it.</p> +<p>“’Tis kind,” she whispered.</p> +<p>We were alone. ’Twas dusk: ’twas dusk, to be sure, +of a disquieting day, with the sky most confidently foreboding +some new and surprising tactics in the ancient +warfare of the wind against us; but Judith and I, being +young and engaged with the passion of our years, had +no consciousness of the signs and wonders of the weather. +The weather concerns the old, the satisfied and disillusioned +of life, the folk from whom the romance of being +has departed. What care had we for the weather? +’Twas dusk, and we were alone at the turn of the road––a +broad, rocky twist in the path, not without the softness +of grass, where lovers had kissed in parting since fishing +was begun from Twist Tickle and Whisper Cove. By +the falling shades and a screen of young leaves we were +hid from the prying eyes of Whisper Cove. ’Twas from +me, then, that the maid withdrew into a deeper shadow, +as though, indeed, ’twas not fit that we should be together. +I was hurt: but fancied, being stupid and self-centred, +that ’twas a pang of isolation to which I must grow used.</p> +<p>“Why, Judy,” says I, “don’t, for pity’s sake, do that! +Why, maid,” I protested, “I don’t care. I’m glad––I’m +just <i>glad</i>!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div> +<p>“Glad!” she faltered, staring.</p> +<p>“To be sure I’m glad,” I cried.</p> +<p>She came close to me.</p> +<p>“I don’t care,” says I.</p> +<p>“You do not care!” she muttered, looking away. +“You do not care!” she repeated, in a voice that was +the faintest, most drear echo of my own.</p> +<p>“Not I!” I answered, stoutly. “Not a whit!”</p> +<p>She began to cry.</p> +<p>“Look up!” I besought her. “I do not care,” I declared +again, seeking in this way to ease her pity of me. +“I do <i>not</i> care!”</p> +<p>’Twas a strange thing that happened then: first she +kissed the cuff of my coat, in the extravagant way of a +maid, and then all at once clapped her hands over her +eyes, as though to conceal some guilt from a righteous +person. I perceived this: I felt the shame she wished +to hide, and for a moment wondered what that shame +might be, but forgot, since the eyes were mine neither +to have read nor to admire, but John Cather’s. And +what righteousness had I? None at all that she should +stand ashamed before me. But there she stood, with +her blue eyes hid––a maid in shame. I put my finger +under her chin and tried to raise her face, but could +not; nor could I with any gentleness withdraw her +hands. She was crying: I wondered why. I stooped +to peer between her fingers, but could see only tears +and the hot color of her flushes. I could not fathom +why she cried, except in excess of happiness or in adorable +pity of me. The wind rose, I recall, as I puzzled; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +’twas blowing through the gloaming in a soothing breeze +from the west, as though to put the fears of us to sleep. +A gentle gust, descending to our sheltered place, +rustled the leaves and played with the maid’s tawny +hair; and upon this she looked up––and stepped into +the open path, where, while her tears dried and her +drooping helplessness vanished, she looked about the +sky, and felt of the wind, to discover its direction and +promise of strength. ’Twas a thing of tragical significance, +as it seems to me now, looking back from the +quiet mood in which I dwell; but then, having concern +only to mitigate the maid’s hysteria, following upon the +stress of emotion I conceived she had undergone, this +anxious survey of the weather had no meaning. I +watched her: I lingered upon her beauty, softened, +perfected, enhanced in spiritual quality by the brush +of the dusk; and I could no longer wish John Cather +joy, but knew that I must persist in the knightly endeavor.</p> +<p>“The wind’s from the west,” says she. “A free wind.”</p> +<p>“For Topmast Harbor,” says I; “but a mean breeze +for folk bound elsewhere.”</p> +<p>“A free wind for Topmast Harbor,” she repeated.</p> +<p>“No matter,” says I.</p> +<p>“’Tis a great thing,” she replied, “for them that are +bound to Topmast Harbor.”</p> +<p>’Twas reproachfully spoken.</p> +<p>“You’ll be going home now, maid,” I entreated. +“You’ll leave me walk with you, will you not?”</p> +<p>She looked down in a troubled muse.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></div> +<p>“You’ll leave me follow, then,” says I, “to see that +you’ve no fear of the dark. ’Twill be dark soon, +Judith, and I’m not wanting you to be afraid.”</p> +<p>“Come!” cries she. “I <i>will</i> walk with you––home!”</p> +<p>She took my hand, and entwined her long fingers +with mine, in the intimate, confiding way she was used +to doing when we were a lad and a maid on the dark +roads. Many a time, when we were lad and maid, had +Judith walked forward, and I backward, to provide +against surprise by the shapes of night; and many a +dark time had she clutched my hand, nearing the lights +of Twist Tickle, to make sure that no harm would befall +her. And now, in this childish way, she held me; and +she walked with me twenty paces on the path to Twist +Tickle, whereupon she stopped, and led me back to that +same nook of the road, and doggedly released me, and +put an opposing hand on my breast.</p> +<p>“Do you bide here,” says she; “and when I call, do +you go home.”</p> +<p>“An you wish it,” I answered.</p> +<p>’Twas not more than twenty paces she walked towards +the impoverished cottages of Whisper Cove: then +turned, and came again to me. I wondered why she +stood in this agony of indecision: but could not tell, +nor can be blamed for the mystification, relentlessly as +I blame myself.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” she moaned, looking up, “I can go nowhere!”</p> +<p>“You may go home, maid,” says I. “’Tis a queer +thing if you may not go home.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span></div> +<p>“’Tis an unkind thing.”</p> +<p>“Come!” I pleaded. “’Twill so very soon be dark +on the road; and I’m not wantin’ you t’ wander in the +dark.”</p> +<p>“I cannot,” says she. “I just cannot!”</p> +<p>“Judith,” I chided, “you may. ’Tis an unseemly +thing in you to say.”</p> +<p>“But I cannot bear it, Dannie!”</p> +<p>“I would cry shame upon you, Judith,” I scolded, +“were <i>I</i> not so careful of your feelings.”</p> +<p>She seemed now to command herself with a resolution +of which tender maids like Judith should not be capable: +’tis too lusty and harsh a thing. I stood in awe of it. +“Dannie,” says she, “do you go home. I’ll follow an +I can. And if I do not come afore long, do you tell un +to think that I spend the night with the wife of Moses +Shoos. You may kiss me, Dannie, lad,” says she, “an +you cares t’ do it.”</p> +<p>I did care: but dared not.</p> +<p>“I’m wishin’ for it,” says she.</p> +<p>“But,” I protested, “is you sure ’tis right?”</p> +<p>“’Tis quite right,” she answered. “God understands.”</p> +<p>“I’d be glad,” says I.</p> +<p>“You may kiss me, then.”</p> +<p>I kissed her. ’Tis a thing I regret: ’twas a kiss so +lacking in earnest protraction––so without warmth and +vigor. ’Twas the merest brushing of her cheek. I +wish I had kissed her, like a man, in the fulness of +desire I felt; but I was bound, in the last light of that +day, to John Cather, in knightly honor.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></div> +<p>“’Twas very nice,” says she. “I wisht you’d do it +again.”</p> +<p>I did.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Dannie,” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Judith!” I cried. “Judith! For shame, to thank +me!”</p> +<p>“And now,” says she, “you’ll be off on the road. +You’ll make haste, will you not? And you’ll think, +will you not, that I spend the night with Mrs. Shoos? +You’ll not fret, Dannie: I’d grieve to think that you +fretted. I’d not have you, for all the world, trouble +about me. Not you,” she repeated, her voice falling. +“Not you, Dannie––dear. You’ll be off, now,” she +urged, “for ’tis long past time for tea. And you’ll tell +un all, will you not, that I talked o’ spendin’ the night +with Mrs. Moses Shoos at Whisper Cove?”</p> +<p>“An you wish it, Judith.”</p> +<p>“Good-night!”</p> +<p>I pressed away....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When I came to our house on the neck of land by +the Lost Soul, I turned at the threshold to survey the +weather. I might have saved myself the pains and +puzzle of that regard. The print of sea and sky was +foreign: I could make nothing of it. ’Twas a quiet +sea, breaking, in crooning lullaby, upon the rocks below +my bedroom window. It portended no disturbance: I +might sleep, thinks I, with the soft whispering to lull me, +being willing for the magic shoes of sleep to take me far +away from this agony as never man was before. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +wind was blowing from the west: but not in gusts––a +sailing breeze for the timid. I was glad that there was +no venomous intention in the wind: ’twas a mild and +dependable wind, grateful to such as fared easterly in +the night. I wished that all men might fare that way, +in the favoring breeze, but knew well enough that the +purposes of men are contrary, the one to the other, +making fair winds of foul, and foul of fair, so that there +was no telling, of any event, whatever the apparent +nature of it, whether sinister or benign, the preponderance +of woe or happiness issuing from it. Over all a +tender sky, spread with soft stretches of cloud, and set, +in its uttermost depths, with stars. ’Twas dark enough +now for the stars to shine, making the most of the +moon’s absence, which soon would rise. Star upon +star: a multitude of serenely companionable lights, so +twinkling and knowing, so slyly sure of the ultimate +resolution of all the doubts and pains and perplexities +of the sons of men! But still there was abroad an oppression: +a forewarning, in untimely heat and strain, +of disastrous weather. ’Twas that I felt when I turned +from the contemplation of the stars to go within, +that I might without improper delay inform our maid-servant +of Judith’s intention.</p> +<p>Then I joined my uncle....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +<a name='XXIV_JOHN_CATHERS_FATE' id='XXIV_JOHN_CATHERS_FATE'></a> +<h2>XXIV</h2> +<h3>JOHN CATHER’S FATE</h3> +</div> +<p>’Twas with a start that I realized the lateness of +the hour. Time for liquor! ’Twas hard to believe. +My uncle sat with his bottle and glass and little +brown jug. The glass was empty and innocent of +dregs; the stopper was still tight in the bottle, the jug +brimming with clear water from our spring. He had +himself fetched them from the pantry, it seemed, and +was now awaiting, with genial patience, the arrival of +company to give an air of conviviality to the evening’s +indulgence. I caught him in a smiling muse, his eye +on the tip of his wooden leg; he was sailed, it seemed, +to a clime of feeling far off from the stress out of which +I had come. There was no question: I was not interrogated +upon the lapse of the crew, as he called John +Cather and Judy and me, from the politeness of attendance +at dinner, which, indeed, he seemed to have forgotten +in a train of agreeable recollections. He was in +a humor as serene and cheerfully voluble as ever I met +with in my life; and when he had bade me join him at +the table to pour his first dram, he fell to on the narrative +of some adventure, humorously occurring, off the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +Funks, long, long ago, in the days of his boyhood. I +did not attend, nor did I pour the dram: being for the +time deeply occupied with reflections upon the square, +black bottle on the table before me––the cure of moods +my uncle had ever maintained it would work.</p> +<p>I got up resolved.</p> +<p>“Where you goin’, Dannie?” says my uncle, his voice +all at once vacant of cheerfulness.</p> +<p>“To the pantry, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Ah!” says he. “Is it ginger-ale, Dannie?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says he, blankly; “that’s very good. +For Judy,” he added, “is fell into the habit o’ tipplin’ +by day, an’ the ginger-ale is all runned out.”</p> +<p>I persevered on my way to the pantry.</p> +<p>“Dannie!” he called.</p> +<p>I turned.</p> +<p>“Is you quite sure, lad,” he asked, with an anxious +rubbing of his stubble of gray beard, “that ’tisn’t +ginger-ale?”</p> +<p>“I’m wanting a glass, sir,” I replied, testily. “I see +but one on the table.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” he ejaculated. “A glass!”</p> +<p>I returned with the glass.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, feigning a relief he dared +not entertain, “you was wantin’ a drop o’ water, wasn’t +you?” He pushed the little brown jug towards me. +“I <i>’lowed</i> ’twas water,” says he, hopefully, “when you +up an’ spoke about gettin’ a glass from the pantry.” +He urged the jug in my direction. “Ay,” he repeated, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +not hopefully now at all, but in a whisper more like +despair, “I jus’ <i>’lowed</i> ’twas a drop o’ water.”</p> +<p>The jug remained in its place.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” he entreated, with a thick forefinger still +urging the jug on its course, “you is thirsty, I <i>knows</i> +you is!”</p> +<p>I would not touch the jug.</p> +<p>“You been havin’ any trouble, shipmate?” he gently +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” I groaned. “Trouble, God knows!”</p> +<p>“Along o’ Judy?”</p> +<p>’Twas along o’ Judy.</p> +<p>“A drop o’ water,” says he, setting the glass almost +within my hand, “will do you good.”</p> +<p>’Twas so anxiously spoken that my courage failed +me. I splashed water into the glass and swallowed it.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says he; “that’s very good.”</p> +<p>I pushed the glass away with contempt for its virtue +of comfort; and I laughed, I think, in a disagreeable +way, so that the old man, unused to manifestations as +harsh and irreligious as this, started in dismay.</p> +<p>“Good,” he echoed, staring, unconvinced and without +hope; “that’s very good.”</p> +<p>And now, a miserable determination returning, I +fixed my eyes again on the square, black bottle of rum. +’Twas a thing that fairly fascinated my attention. The +cure of despair was legendary, the palatable quality a +thing of mere surmise: I had never experienced either; +but in my childhood I had watched my uncle’s fearsome +moods vanish, as he downed his drams, one by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +one, giving way to a grateful geniality, which sent my +own bogies scurrying off, and I had fancied, from the +smack of his lips, and from the eager lifting of the +glasses at the Anchor and Chain, the St. John’s tap-room +we frequented, that a drop o’ rum was a thing +to delight the dry tongue and gullet of every son of +man. My uncle sat under the lamp: I remember his +countenance, aside from the monstrous scars and disfigurements +which the sea had dealt him––its anxious +regard of me, its intense concern, its gathering purpose, +the last of which I did not read at that moment, but +now recall and understand. ’Twas quiet and orderly +in the room: the geometrical gentlemen were there +riding the geometrically tempestuous sea in a frame +beyond my uncle’s gargoylish head, and the tidied +rocking-chair, which I was used to addressing as a +belted knight o’ the realm, austerely abode in a shadow. +I was in some saving way, as often happens in our lives, +conscious of these familiar things, to which we return +and cling in the accidents befalling us and in the +emergencies of feeling we must all survive. The room +was as our maid-servant had left it, bright and warm +and orderly: there was as yet no disarrangement by +the conviviality we were used to. ’Tis not at all my +wish to trouble you with the despair I suffered that +night, with Judith gone from me: I would not utter +it––’twas too deep and unusual and tragical to disturb +a world with. But still I stared at that square, black +bottle of rum, believing, as faith may be, in the surcease +it contained.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></div> +<p>I watched that bottle.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says my uncle, with a wish, no doubt, for +a diversion, “is the moon up?”</p> +<p>I walked to the window. “’Tis up,” I reported; +“but ’tis hid by clouds, an’ the wind’s rising.”</p> +<p>“The wind rising?” says he. “’Twill do us no +harm.”</p> +<p>Of course, my uncle did not know which of us was +at sea.</p> +<p>“The wind,” he repeated, “will do no harm.”</p> +<p>I sat down again: and presently got my glass before +me, and reached for the square, black bottle of rum. I +could stand it no longer: I could really stand it no +longer––the pain of this denial of my love was too +much for any man to bear.</p> +<p>“I’ll have a drop,” says I, “for comfort.”</p> +<p>My uncle’s hand anticipated me.</p> +<p>“Ah!” says he. “For comfort, is it?”</p> +<p>Unhappily, he had the bottle in his hand. ’Twas +quite beyond my reach––done with any courtesy. I +must wait for him to set it down again. The jug was +close enough, the glass, too; but the bottle was in +watchful custody. My uncle shook the bottle, and +held it to the lamp; he gauged its contents: ’twas still +stout––he sighed. And now he set it on the table, +with his great, three-fingered hand about the neck of +it, so that all hope of possession departed from me: +’twas a clutch too close and meaning to leave me room +for hope. I heard the wind, rising to a blow, but had +no fret on that account: there was none of us at sea, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +thank God! we were all ashore, with no care for what +the wind might do. I observed that my uncle was +wrought up to a pitch of concern to which he was not +used. He had gone pale, who was used, in exaltation +of feeling, to go crimson and blue in the scars of him; +but he had now gone quite white and coldly sweaty, in +a ghastly way, with the black bottle held up before him, +his wide little eyes upon it. I had never before known +him to be in fact afraid; but he was now afraid, and I +was persuaded of it, by his pallor, by his trembling +hand, by the white and stare of his eyes, by the drooping +lines of his poor, disfigured face. He turned from the +bottle to look at me; but I could not withstand the +poignancy of his regard: I looked away––feeling some +shame, for which I could not account to myself. And +then he sighed, and clapped the black bottle on the +table, with a thump that startled me; and he looked +towards me with a resolution undaunted and determined. +I shall never forget, indeed, the expression he +wore: ’twas one of perfect knightliness––as high and +pure and courageous as men might wear, even in those +ancient times when honorable endeavor (by the tales of +John Cather) was a reward sufficient to itself.</p> +<p>I shall never forget: I could not forget.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, listlessly, “’tis wonderful warm +in here. Cast up the window, lad.”</p> +<p>’Twas not warm. There was no fire; and the +weather had changed, and the wind came in at the +open door, running in cold draughts about the house. +’Twas warm with the light of the lamp, to be sure; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +’twas cosey and grateful in the room: but the entering +swirl of wind was cold, and the emotional situation was +such in bleakness and mystery as to make me shiver.</p> +<p>I opened the window.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” he sighed. “How’s the tide?”</p> +<p>“’Tis the ebb, sir.”</p> +<p>“Could ye manage t’ see Digger Rock?” he inquired.</p> +<p>The moon, breaking out, disclosed it: ’twas a rock +near by, submerged save at low-tide––I could see it.</p> +<p>“Very good,” says he. “Could ye hit it?”</p> +<p>“I’ve nothing to shy, sir.”</p> +<p>“But an you had?” he insisted.</p> +<p>My tutor entered the hall. I heard him go past the +door. ’Twas in a quick, agitated step, not pausing to +regard us, but continuing up the stair to his own room. +I wondered why that was.</p> +<p>“Eh, Dannie?” says my uncle.</p> +<p>“I might, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Then,” says he, “try it with this bottle!”</p> +<p>I cast the bottle.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says he. “Ye’re a wonderful shot, +Dannie. I heared un go t’ smash. That’s good; that’s +<i>very</i> good!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>We sat, my uncle and I, for an hour after that, I +fancy, without managing an exchange: I would address +him, but he would not hear, being sunk most despondently +in his great chair by the empty, black grate, with +his eyes fixed in woe-begone musing upon the toes of +his ailing timber; and he would from time to time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +insinuate an irrelevant word concerning the fishing, +and, with complaint, the bewildering rise and fall of +the price of fish, but the venture upon conversation was +too far removed from the feeling of the moment to +engage a reply. Presently, however, I commanded myself +sufficiently to observe him with an understanding +detached from my own bitterness; and I perceived +that he sat hopeless and in fear, as in the days when I +was seven, with his head fallen upon his breast and his +eyes grown tragical, afraid, but now in raw kind and +infinite measure, of the coming of night upon the world +he sailed by day. I heard nothing from my tutor––no +creak of the floor, no step, no periodical creaking of his +rocking-chair. He had not, then, thinks I, cast off his +clothes; he had not gone to reading for holy orders, as +was, at intervals, his custom––he had thrown himself on +his bed. But I neither cared nor wondered: I caught +sight of my uncle’s face again––half amazed, wholly +despondent, but yet with a little glint of incredulous +delight playing, in brief flashes, upon it––and I could +think of nothing else, not even of Judith, in her agony +of mysterious shame upon the Whisper Cove road, +nor of her disquieting absence from the house, nor of +the rising wind, nor of the drear world I must courageously +face when I should awake from that night’s +sleep.</p> +<p>I considered my uncle.</p> +<p>“Do ye go t’ bed, Dannie,” says he, looking up at +last. “Ye’ve trouble enough.”</p> +<p>I rose, but did not wish to leave him comfortless in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +the rising wind. I had rather sit with him, since he +needed me now, it seemed, more than ever before.</p> +<p>“Ye’ll not trouble about me, lad?”</p> +<p>I would not be troubled.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says he. “No need o’ your troublin’ +about <i>me</i>. Ol’ Nick Top’s able t’ take care o’ <i>his</i>self! +That’s very good.”</p> +<p>I started away for bed, but turned at the door, as was +my custom, to wish my uncle good-night. I said nothing, +for he was in an indubitable way not to be disturbed––having +forgotten me and the affection I sought +at all times to give him. He was fallen dejectedly in +his chair, repeating, “<i>For behold the Lord will come with +fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind, to render his +anger with fury, and his rebuke with the flames of fire.</i>” +I paused at the door to watch him, and I saw that his +maimed hand wandered over the table until it found +his glass, and that he caught and raised the glass, and +that he set it down again, and that he pushed the empty +thing away.</p> +<p>I saw all that....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And I went to bed; but I did not go to sleep. In the +first place, I could not, and, for better reason, my tutor +got astir the moment my door was closed. I heard his +cautious descent to the dining-room. The man had +been waiting to get me out of the way; but I heard him +go down, and that right easily, in the fall of his stockinged +feet, and in the click of his door-latch, and in the +creak of the stair. I cast my clothes off in haste, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +lay wide awake in my bed––as who would not?––listening +to the ominous murmur of voices from below. My +tutor, it seemed, was placid and determined; my uncle +was outraged. I heard the old man’s voice rise in a +rage, fall to a subdued complaint, patter along in beseeching. +It seemed ’twas all to no purpose; my tutor +was obdurate, and my uncle yielded to his demands, +however unwillingly. There was the mutter of agreement, +there was the click of my uncle’s strong-box, there +was the clink of gold coin. I listened for the pop of a +new cork; but I did not hear it: I heard the jug +of spring water exchange hands––no more than that. +’Twas very queer. But I was not concerned with it, +after all. Let my uncle and John Cather deal with each +other as they would, in any way engaging the clink of +gold from my uncle’s strong-box; ’twas for me, unconcerned, +to look out of my window, to discover the +weather. And this I did; and I found the weather +threatening––very dark, with the moon hid by clouds, +and blowing up in a way promising a strength of wind +not to be disregarded by folk who would put to sea.</p> +<p>The end of this was that John Cather and my uncle +came above. My tutor went straightway to his room, +with steps that hastened past my door; but my uncle +paused, pushed the door cautiously ajar, thrust in his +head.</p> +<p>“Is you asleep, Dannie?” says he.</p> +<p>“No, sir. I’m wonderful wide awake.”</p> +<p>“Ah, well!” he whispered, in such a way that I perceived +his triumphant glee, though I could not see his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +face for the darkness of my room; “you might as well +turn over an’ go t’ sleep.”</p> +<p>“An’ why, sir?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Like a babe, Dannie,” says he, addressing me with +fondness, as though I were a little child again––“jus’ +like a babe.”</p> +<p>He walked to my window and looked out to sea.</p> +<p>“Dirty weather the morrow, sir,” I ventured.</p> +<p>“The lights o’ the mail-boat!” he exclaimed. “She’ve +left Fortune Harbor. Ecod, b’y!”</p> +<p>He withdrew at once and in haste, and I heard him +stump off to my tutor’s quarters, where, for a long time +after that, there occurred many and mysterious noises. +I could not understand, but presently made the puzzle +out: John Cather was packing up. ’Twas beyond +doubt; the thump and creak, the reckless pulling of +drawers, steps taken in careless hurry and confusion, +the agitation of the pressing need of haste, all betrayed +the business in hand. John Cather was packing up: +he was rejected of Judith––he was going away! It hurt +me sorely to think that the man would thus in impulsive +haste depart, after these years of intimate companionship, +with a regard so small for my wishes in the matter. +Go to sleep like a babe? I could not go to sleep at all; +I could but lie awake in trouble. John Cather was +packing up; he was going away! My uncle helped +him with his trunks down the stairs and to the stage-head, +where, no doubt, my uncle’s punt was waiting to +board the belated mail-boat––the mean little trunk John +Cather had come with, and the great leather one I had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +bought him in London. I was glad, at any rate, that +my gifts––the books and clothes and what-not I had +bought him abroad––were not to be left to haunt me. +But that John Cather should not say good-bye! I could +not forgive him that. I waited and waited, lying awake +in the dark, for him to come. And come he did, when +the trunks were carried away and the whistle of the +mail-boat had awakened our harbor. He pushed my +door open without knocking, knowing well enough that +I was wide awake. ’Twas then dark in my room; he +could not see me.</p> +<p>“Where are your matches?” says he.</p> +<p>I told him, but did not like the manner of his speech. +’Twas in a way to rouse the antagonism of any man, +being most harsh and hateful.</p> +<p>“I can’t find them,” he complained.</p> +<p>“You’ll find them well enough, John Cather,” I +chided, “an you looks with patience.”</p> +<p>He had no patience, it seemed, but continued to fumble +about, and at last, with his back turned to me, +got my lamp lighted. For a moment he stood staring +at the wall, as though he lacked the resolution to +turn. And when he wheeled I knew that I looked +upon the countenance of a man who had been broken +on the wheel; and I was very much afraid. John +Cather was splashed and streaked with the mud of the +hills. ’Twas not this evidence of passionate wandering +that alarmed me; ’twas his pallor and white lips, his +agonized brows, the gloomy depth to which his bloodshot +eyes had withdrawn.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></div> +<p>“Now,” says he, “I want to look at you.”</p> +<p>I did not want to be looked at.</p> +<p>“Sit up!” he commanded.</p> +<p>I sat up in bed.</p> +<p>“Put the blanket down,” says he. “I have come, I +say, to look at you.”</p> +<p>I uncovered to my middle.</p> +<p>“And <i>this</i>,” says he, “is the body of you, is it?”</p> +<p>The lamp was moved close to my face. John Cather +laughed, and began, in a way I may not set down, to +comment upon me. ’Twas not agreeable. I tried to +stop him. ’Twas unkind to me and ’twas most injurious +to himself. He did us vile injustice. I stopped +my ears against his raving, but could not shut it out. +“And this is the body of you! This is the body of you!” +Here was not the John Cather who had come to us +clear-eyed and buoyant and kindly out of the great +world; here was an evil John Cather––the John Cather +of a new birth at Twist Tickle. ’Twas the man our +land and hearts had made him; he had here among us +come to his tragedy and was cast away. I knew that the +change had been worked by love––and I wondered that +love could accomplish the wreck of a soul. I tried to +stop his ghastly laughter, to quiet his delirium of brutality; +and presently he was still, but of exhaustion, +not of shame. Again he brought the lamp close to my +face, and read it, line upon line, until it seemed he +could bear no longer to peruse it. What he saw there I +do not know––what to give him hope or still to increase +the depth of his hopelessness. He betrayed no feeling; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +but the memory of his pale despair continues with me +to this day, and will to the end of my years. Love has +never appeared to me in perfect beauty and gentleness +since that night; it can wear an ugly guise, achieve a +sinister purpose, I know.</p> +<p>John Cather set the lamp on the table, moving in a +preoccupation from which I had been cast out.</p> +<p>“John Cather!” I called.</p> +<p>My uncle shouted from below.</p> +<p>“John!” I urged.</p> +<p>“Parson,” my uncle roared, “ye’ll lose your passage!”</p> +<p>Cather blew out the light.</p> +<p>“John,” I pleaded, “you’ll not go without saying +good-bye?”</p> +<p>He stopped on the threshold; but I did not hear him +turn. I called him again; he wheeled, came stumbling +quickly to my bed, caught my hand.</p> +<p>“Forgive me, Dannie!” he groaned. “My heart is +broken!”</p> +<p>He ran away: I never saw him again....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And now, indeed, was the world gone all awry! +What had in the morning of that day been a prospect +of joy was vanished in a drear mist of broken hopes. +Here was John Cather departed in sore agony, for +which was no cure that ever I heard of or could conceive. +Here was John Cather gone with the wreck of +a soul. A cynical, purposeless, brooding life he must +live to his last day: there was no healing in all the +world for his despair. Here with us––to whom, in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +years of our intercourse, he gave nothing but gladness––his +ruin had been wrought. ’Twas not by wish of us; +but there was small comfort in the reflection, since John +Cather must suffer the same. Here was John Cather +gone; and here, presently, was my uncle, pacing the +floor below. Up and down, up and down: I thought +the pat of his wooden leg would go on forever––would +forever, by night and day, express the restlessness of +thirst. And here was Judy, abroad, in trouble I could +not now divine––’twas a thing most strange and disturbing +that she should stand in distress before me. I +had accounted for it, but could not now explain––not +with John Cather gone. I was mystified, not agitated +by alarms. I would meet the maid on the Whisper Cove +road in the morning, thinks I, and resolve the puzzle. +I would discover more than that. I would discover +whether or not I had blundered. But this new hope, +springing confidently though it did, could not thrive in +the wretchedness of John Cather’s departure. I was +not happy.</p> +<p>My uncle roughly awoke me at dawn.</p> +<p>“Sir?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Judy,” says he, “haves disappeared.”</p> +<p>He held me until he perceived that I had commanded +myself....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +<a name='XXV_TO_SEA' id='XXV_TO_SEA'></a> +<h2>XXV</h2> +<h3>TO SEA</h3> +</div> +<p>Judith had vanished! Our maid-servant, astir in +the child’s behalf before dawn, in her anxious way, +was returned breathless from Whisper Cove with the +report. There was no Judith with the wife of Moses +Shoos: nor had there been that night. ’Twas still but +gray abroad––a drear dawn: promising a belated, sullen +day. We awoke the harbor to search the hills, the +ledges of the cliffs, the surf-washed shore. ’Twas my +uncle hither, the maid-servant thither, myself beyond. +Clamorous knocking, sudden lights in the cottages, +lights pale in the murky daylight, and a subdued gathering +of our kind men-folk: I remember it all––the winged +haste, the fright of them that were aroused, the shadows +and the stumbling of the farther roads, the sickly, sleepy +lights in the windows, the troubled dawn. We dispersed: +day broadened, broke gray and glum upon Twin Islands––but +discovered no lost maid to us.</p> +<p>’Twas whispered about, soon, that the women had +spoken evil of Judith in our harbor; and pursuing this +ill-omened rumor, in a rage I could not command, I +came at last upon the shameful truth: the women had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +spoken scandal of the maid, the which she had learned +from Aunt Esther All, the Whisper Cove gossip. The +misfortune of gentle Parson Stump, poor man! who had +in the ear of Eli Flack’s wife uttered a sweetly jocular +word concerning Judith and the honorable intention of +John Cather, who walked with her alone on the roads, +about his love-making. But, unhappily, the parson +being absent-minded, ’twas into the dame’s deaf ear +he spoke, and his humor became, in transmission, by +pure misfortune, an evil charge.</p> +<p>There was then no help for it, old wives being +what they are: authorized by the gentle parson, depending +upon the report of a dame of character, the +tittle-tattle spread and settled like a mist, defiling +Judith to the remotest coves of Twin Islands. And +Judith was vanished! I knew then, in the gray noon +of that day, why the child had cried in that leafy nook +of the Whisper Cove road that she could go nowhere.</p> +<p>I cursed myself.</p> +<p>“Stop, Dannie!” cries my uncle. “She’s still on the +hills––somewheres there, waitin’ t’ be sought out an’ +comforted an’ fetched home.”</p> +<p>I thought otherwise.</p> +<p>“She’ve lied down there,” says he, “t’ cry an’ wait +for me an’ you.”</p> +<p>I watched him pace the garden-path.</p> +<p>“An’ I’m not able, the day, for sheer want o’ rum,” +he muttered, “t’ walk the hills.”</p> +<p>I looked away to the sombre hills, where she might +lie waiting for him and me; but my glance ran far beyond, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +to the low, gray sky and to a patch of darkening +sea. And I cursed myself again––my stupidity and +ease of passion and the mean conceit of myself by +which I had been misled to the falsely meek conclusion +of yesterday––I cursed myself, indeed, with a live wish +for punishment, in that I had not succored the maid +when she had so frankly plead for my strength. John +Cather? what right had I to think that she had loved +him? On the hills? nay, she was not there; she was +not on the hills, waiting for my uncle and me––she was +gone elsewhere, conserving her independence and self-respect, +in the womanly way she had. My uncle +fancied she was a clinging child: I knew her for a +proud and impulsively wilful woman. With this gossip +abroad to flout her, she would never wait on the hills for +my uncle and me: ’twas the ultimate pain she could not +bear in the presence of such as loved and trusted her; +’twas the event she had feared, remembering her mother, +all her life long, dwelling in sensitive dread, as I knew. +She would flee the shame of this accusation, without +fear or lingering, unable to call upon the faith of us. +’Twas gathering in my mind that she had fled north, +as the maids of our land would do, in the spring, with +the Labrador fleet bound down for the fishing. ’Twas +a reasonable purpose to possess her aimless feet. She +would ship on a Labradorman: she might, for the +wishing––she would go cook on a north-bound craft +from Topmast Harbor, as many a maid of our coast +was doing. And by Heaven! thinks I, she had.</p> +<p>Her mother’s punt was gone from Whisper Cove.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></div> +<p>“She’ve lied down there on the hills,” my uncle protested, +“t’ cry an’ wait. Ye’re not searchin’, Dannie, +as ye ought. She’ve <i>jus’</i> lied down, I tell ye,” he +whimpered, “t’ wait.”</p> +<p>’Twas not so, I thought.</p> +<p>“She’ve her mother’s shame come upon her,” says +he, “an’ she’ve hid.”</p> +<p>I wished it might be so.</p> +<p>“Jus’ lied down an’ hid,” he repeated.</p> +<p>“No, no!” says I. “She’d never weakly hide her +head from this.”</p> +<p>He eyed me.</p> +<p>“Not Judith!” I expostulated.</p> +<p>“She’d never bear her mother’s shame, Dannie,” says +he. “She’d run away an’ hide. She––she––<i>told</i> me so.”</p> +<p>I observed my uncle: he was gone with the need of +rum––exhausted and unnerved: his face all pallid and +splotched. ’Twas a ghastly thing to watch him stump +the gravelled walk of our garden in the gray light of that +day.</p> +<p>“Uncle Nicholas, sir,” says I, for the moment forgetting +the woe of Judith’s hapless state in this new +alarm, “do you come within an’ have a dram.”</p> +<p>“Ye’re not knowin’ <i>how</i> t’ search,” he complained. +“Ye’re but a pack o’ dunderheads!”</p> +<p>“Come, sir!” I pleaded.</p> +<p>“Is ye been t’ Skeleton Droch?” he demanded. +“She’ve a habit o’ readin’ there. No!” he growled, +in a temper; “you isn’t had the <i>sense</i> t’ go t’ Skeleton +Droch.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></div> +<p>“A dram, sir,” I ventured, “t’ comfort you.”</p> +<p>“An’ ye bide here, ye dunderhead!” he accused.</p> +<p>I put my hand on his shoulder: he flung it off. I +took his arm: he wrenched himself free in an indignant +passion.</p> +<p>“Ye’re needin’ it, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake, child!” he cried; “do you go find +the maid an’ leave me be. God knows I’ve trouble +enough without ye!”</p> +<p>The maid was not at Skeleton Droch: neither on the +hills, nor in the hiding-places of the valleys, nor lying +broken on the ledges of the cliffs, nor swinging in the +sea beneath––nor was she anywhere on the land of Twin +Islands or in the waters that restlessly washed the boundary +of gray rock. ’Twas near evening now, and a +dreary, angrily windy time. Our men gathered from +shore and inland barren––and there was no Judith, nor +cold, wet body of Judith, anywhere to be found. ’Twas +unthinkingly whispered, then, that the maid had fled +with John Cather on the mail-boat: this on Tom Tulk’s +Head, in its beginning, and swiftly passed from tongue +to tongue. Being overwrought when I caught the +surmise––’twas lusty young Jack Bluff that uttered +it before me––I persuaded the youth of his error, +which, upon rising, he admitted, as did they all of that +group, upon my request, forgiving me, too, I think, the +cruel abruptness of my argument, being men of feeling, +every one. The maid was not gone with John Cather, +she was not on the hills of Twin Islands; she was then +fled to Topmast Harbor for self-support, that larger +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +settlement, whence many Labradormen put out at this +season for the northerly fishing. And while, sheltered +from the rising wind, the kind men-folk of our harbor +talked with my uncle and me on Eli Flack’s stage, there +came into the tickle from Topmast Harbor, in quest of +water, a punt and a man, being bound, I think, for +Jimmie Tick’s Cove. ’Twas by him reported that a +maid of gentle breeding had come alone in a punt to +Topmast in the night. And her hair? says I. She had +hair, and a wonderful sight of it, says he. And big, blue +eyes? says I. She <i>had</i> eyes, says he; an’ she had a +nose, so far as he could tell, which had clapped eyes on +the maid, an’ she had teeth an’ feet, himself being able +to vouch for the feet, which clipped it over the Topmast +roads quite lively, soon after dawn, in search of a +schooner bound down the Labrador.</p> +<p>I knew then into what service the <i>Shining Light</i> +should be commissioned.</p> +<p>“Ay, lad,” says my uncle.</p> +<p>“And will you ship, sir?”</p> +<p>“Why, Lord love us, shipmate!” he roared, indignantly, +to the amazement of our folk; “is ye thinkin’ +I’m past my labor?”</p> +<p>I nodded towards Whisper Cove.</p> +<p>“The man,” he agreed.</p> +<p>It came about thus that I sought out Moses Shoos, +wishing for him upon this high adventure because of +his chivalry. Nay, but in Twist Tickle, whatever the +strength and courage and kindliness of our folk, there +was no man so to be desired in a crucial emergency. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +The fool of the place was beyond purchase, beyond +beseeching: kept apart by his folly from every unworthy +motive to action. He was a man of pure leading, +following a voice, a vision: I would have him upon +this sacred adventure in search of the maid I loved. +’Twas no mean errand, no service to be paid for; ’twas +a high calling––a ringing summons, it seemed to me, +to perilous undertakings, rewarded by opportunity for +peril in service of a fond, righteous cause. Nay, but +I would have this unspoiled fool: I would have for +companion the man who put his faith in visions, could +I but win him. I believed in visions––in the deep, +limpid, mysterious springs of conduct. I believed in +visions––in the unreasoning progress, an advance in the +way of life not calculated, but made in unselfish faith, +with eyes lifted up from the vulgar, swarming, assailing +advantages of existence. My uncle and the fool and I! +there was no peril upon the sea to daunt us: we would +find and fetch, to her own place, in perfect honor, +the maid I loved. And of all this I thought, whatever +the worth of it, as I ran upon the Whisper +Cove road, in the evening of that gray, blustering +day.</p> +<p>Moses was within.</p> +<p>“Here you is,” he drawled. “I ’lowed you’d come. +How’s the weather?”</p> +<p>“’Twill blow big guns, Moses,” I answered; “and +I’ll not deceive you.”</p> +<p>“Well, well!” he sighed.</p> +<p>And would he go with us?</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span></div> +<p>“I been waitin’ for you, Dannie,” says he. “I been +sittin’ here in the kitchen––waitin’.”</p> +<p>’Twas a hopeful word.</p> +<p>“If mother was here,” he continued, “she’d have +’lowed I’d better wait. ‘You wait for Dannie,’ mother +would have ’lowed, ‘until he comes.’ An’ so I <i>been</i> +waitin’.”</p> +<p>Well, there I was.</p> +<p>“That was on’y mother,” he added; “an’, o’ course, +I’m married now.”</p> +<p>Walrus Liz of the Labrador came in. I rose––and +was pleasantly greeted. She sat, then, and effaced herself.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Moses Shoos,” says Moses, with a fond look +upon that woman of ill-favor and infinite tenderness, +“haves jus’ <i>got</i> t’ be consulted.”</p> +<p>I was grown hopeless––remembering Tumm’s story +of the babies.</p> +<p>“In a case like this,” Moses confided, “mother always +’lowed a man <i>ought</i> to.”</p> +<p>“But your wife?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Oh, my goodness, Dannie!” cries he. “For shame!”</p> +<p>“Tell me quickly, Moses.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Moses Shoos,” he answered, with gravest +dignity, “<i>always</i> ’lows, agreein’ with me––that <i>mother</i> +knowed!”</p> +<p>’Twas in this way that Moses Shoos shipped on the +<i>Shining Light</i>....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Shortly now, by an arrangement long made and persistently +continued, we had the <i>Shining Light</i> ready for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +sea––provisioned, her water-casks full. I ran through +the house upon a last survey; and I found my uncle at +the pantry door, his bag on his back, peering into the +dark interior of the little room, in a way most melancholy +and desirous, upon the long row of bottles of rum. +He sighed, closed the door with scowling impatience, +and stumped off to board the ship: I was not heroic, +but subtracted one from that long row, and stowed it +away in a bag I carried. We dropped the anchor of +the <i>Shining Light</i>, and beat out, through the tickle, +to the wide, menacing sea, with the night coming down +and a gale of wind blowing lustily up from the gray +northeast. ’Twas thus not in flight the <i>Shining Light</i> +continued her cruise, ’twas in pursuit of the maid I +loved: a thing infinitely more anxious and momentous––a +thing that meant more than life or death to me, with +the maid gone as cook on a Labrador craft. ’Twas +sunset time; but there was no sunset––no fire in the +western sky: no glow or effulgent glory or lurid threat. +The whole world was gone a dreary gray, with the +blackness of night descending: a darkening zenith, a +gray horizon lined with cold, black cloud, a coast without +tender mercy for the ships of men, a black sea +roughening in a rage to the northeast blasts. ’Twas all +hopeless and pitiless: an unfeeling sea, but troubled, +it seemed to me, by depths of woe and purpose and +difficulty we cannot understand. We were bound for +Topmast Harbor, on a wind favorable enough for courageous +hearts; and my uncle had the wheel, and the +fool of Twist Tickle and I kept the deck to serve him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +He did not call upon us to shorten sail, in answer to the +old schooner’s complaint; and I was glad that he did +not, as was the fool also....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>’Twas night when we put into Topmast Harbor; but +my uncle and the fool and I awoke the place without +regard for its way-harbor importance or number of +houses. There was no maid there, said they; there +had been a maid, come at dawn, but she was fortunately +shipped, as she wished to be. What maid was +that? They did not know. Was she a slender, tawny-haired, +blue-eyed, most beauteous maid? They did +but sleepily stare. I found a man, awakened from +sound slumber, who remembered: ay, there was a +maid of that description, who had shipped for cook +on the <i>Likely Lass</i>. And whence the <i>Likely Lass</i>? +Bonavist’ Bay, says he, put in for rest: a seventy-tonner, +put out on the favoring wind. And was there +another woman aboard? Ecod! he did not know: +’twas a craft likely enough for any maid, other +woman aboard or not. And so we set out again, in +the night, dodging the rocks of that tickle, by my uncle’s +recollection, and presently found ourselves bound +north, in search of the <i>Likely Lass</i>, towards a sea +that was bitter with cold and dark and wind, aboard +a schooner that was far past the labor of dealing with +gusts and great waves.</p> +<p>And in the night it came on to blow very hard from +the east, with a freezing sleet, which yet grew colder, +until snow mixed with it, and at last came in stifling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +clouds. It blew harder: we drove on, submerged in +racing froth to the hatches, sheathed in ice, riding +on a beam, but my uncle, at the wheel, standing +a-drip, in cloth of ice, as long ago he had stood, +in the first of the cruise of the <i>Shining Light</i>, would +have no sail off the craft, but humored her northward +in chase of the <i>Likely Lass</i>. ’Twas a reeling, +plunging, smothered progress through the breaking sea, +in a ghostly mist of snow swirling in the timid yellow of +our lights, shrouding us as if for death in the rush and +seethe of that place. There was a rain of freezing spray +upon us––a whipping rain of spray: it broke from the +bows and swept past, stinging as it went. ’Twas as +though the very night––the passion of it––congealed +upon us. There was no reducing sail––not now, in this +cold rage of weather. We were frozen stiff and white: +’twas on the course, with a clever, indulgent hand to lift +us through, or ’twas founder in the crested waves that +reached for us.</p> +<p>“Dannie!” my uncle shouted.</p> +<p>I sprang aft: but in the roar of wind and swish and +thud of sea could not hear him.</p> +<p>“Put your ear close,” he roared.</p> +<p>I heard that; and I put my anxious ear close.</p> +<p>“I’m gettin’ kind o’ cold,” says he. “Is ye got a fire +in the cabin?”</p> +<p>I had not.</p> +<p>“Get one,” says he.</p> +<p>I got a fire alight in the cabin. ’Twas a red, roaring +fire. I called my uncle from the cabin door. The old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +man gave the wheel to the fool and came below in a +humor the most genial: he was grinning, indeed, under +the crust of ice upon his beard; and he was rubbing his +stiff hands in delight. He was fair happy to be abroad +in the wind and sea with the <i>Shining Light</i> underfoot.</p> +<p>“Ye got it warm in here,” says he.</p> +<p>“I got more than that, sir,” says I. “I got a thing +to please you.”</p> +<p>Whereupon I fetched the bottle of rum from my bag.</p> +<p>“Rum!” cries he. “Well, well!”</p> +<p>I opened the bottle of rum.</p> +<p>“Afore ye pours,” he began, “I ’low I’d best––God’s +sake! What’s that?”</p> +<p>’Twas a great sea breaking over us.</p> +<p>“Moses!” my uncle hailed.</p> +<p>The schooner was on her course: the fool had clung +to the wheel.</p> +<p>“Ice in that sea, Dannie,” says my uncle. “An’ ye +got a bottle o’ rum! Well, well! Wonderful sight o’ +ice t’ the nor’ard. Ye’ll find, I bet ye, that the fishin’ +fleet is cotched fast somewheres long about the straits. +An’ a bottle o’ rum for a cold night! Well, well! I +bet ye, Dannie,” says he, “that the <i>Likely Lass</i> is +gripped by this time. An’ ye got a bottle o’ rum!” +cries he, in a beaming fidget. “Rum’s a wonderful +thing on a cold night, lad. Nothin’ like it. I’ve tried +it. Was a time,” he confided, “when I was sort o’ +give t’ usin’ of it.”</p> +<p>I made to pour him a dram.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></div> +<p>“Leave me hold that there bottle,” says he. “I +wants t’ smell of it.”</p> +<p>’Twas an eager sniff.</p> +<p>“<i>’Tis</i> rum,” says he, simply.</p> +<p>I raised the bottle above the glass.</p> +<p>“Come t’ think of it, Dannie,” says he, with a wistful +little smile, “that there bottle o’ rum will do more good +where you had it than where I’d put it.”</p> +<p>I corked the bottle and returned it to my bag.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” he sighed; “that’s very good!”</p> +<p>I made him a cup o’ tea....</p> +<p>When I got the wheel, with Moses Shoos forward +and my uncle gone asleep below, ’twas near dawn. We +were under reasonable sail, running blindly through the +night: there were no heroics of carrying-on––my uncle +was not the man to bear them. But we were frozen +stiff––every block and rope of us. And ’twas then blowing +up with angrier intention; and ’twas dark and very +cold, I recall––and the air was thick with the dust of +snow, so that ’twas hard to breathe. Congealing drops +of spray came like bullets: I recall that they hurt me. +I recall, too, that I was presently frozen to the deck, and +that my mitts were stuck to the wheel––that I became +fixed and heavy. The old craft had lost her buoyant +will: she labored through the shadowy, ghostly crested +seas, in a fashion the most weary and hopeless. I +fancied I knew why: I fancied, indeed, that she had +come close to her last harbor. And of this I soon made +sure: I felt of her, just before the break of day, discovering, +but with no selfish perturbation, that she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +exhausted. I felt of her tired plunges, of the stagger +of her, of her failing strength and will; and I perceived––by +way of the wheel in my understanding hands––that +she would be glad to abandon this unequal struggle +of the eternal youth of the sea against her age and +mortality. And the day broke; and with the gray light +came the fool of Twist Tickle over the deck. ’Twas a +sinister dawn: no land in sight––but a waste of raging +sea to view––and the ship laden forward with a shameful +burden of ice.</p> +<p>Moses spoke: I did not hear him in the wind, because, +I fancy, of the ice in my ear.</p> +<p>“Don’t hear ye!” I shouted.</p> +<p>“She’ve begun t’ leak!” he screamed.</p> +<p>I knew that she had.</p> +<p>“No use callin’ the skipper,” says he. “All froze up. +Leave un sleep.”</p> +<p>I nodded.</p> +<p>“Goin’ down,” says he. “Knowed she would.”</p> +<p>My uncle came on deck: he was smiling––most placid, +indeed.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” he shouted. “Day, eh?”</p> +<p>“Leakin’,” says Moses.</p> +<p>“Well, well!”</p> +<p>“Goin’ down,” Moses screamed.</p> +<p>“Knowed she would,” my uncle roared. “Can’t last +long in this. What’s that?”</p> +<p>’Twas floe ice.</p> +<p>“Still water,” says he. “Leave me have that there +wheel, Dannie. Go t’ sleep!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></div> +<p>I would stand by him.</p> +<p>“Go t’ sleep!” he commanded. “I’ll wake ye afore +she goes.”</p> +<p>I went to sleep: but the fool, I recall, beat me at it; +he was in a moment snoring....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When I awoke ’twas broad day––’twas, indeed, late +morning. The <i>Shining Light</i> was still. My uncle and +the fool sat softly chatting over the cabin table, with +breakfast and steaming tea between. I heard the roar +of the wind, observed beyond the framing door the +world aswirl and white; but I felt no laboring heave, +caught no thud and swish of water. The gale, at any +rate, had not abated: ’twas blowing higher and colder. +My uncle gently laughed, when I was not yet all awake, +and the fool laughed, too; and they ate their pork and +brewis and sipped their tea with relish, as if abiding in +security and ease. I would fall asleep again: but got +the smell of breakfast in my nose, and must get up; and +having gone on deck I found in the narrow, white-walled +circle of the storm a little world of ice and writhing +space. The <i>Shining Light</i> was gripped: her foremast +was snapped, her sails hanging stiff and frozen; she +was listed, bedraggled, incrusted with ice––drifted high +with snow. ’Twas the end of the craft: I knew it. +And I went below to my uncle and the fool, sad at heart +because of this death, but wishing very much, indeed, +for my breakfast. ’Twas very warm and peaceful in +the cabin, with pork and brewis on the table, my uncle +chuckling, the fire most cheerfully thriving. I could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +hear the wind––the rage of it––but felt no stress of +weather.</p> +<p>“Stove in, Dannie,” says my uncle. “She’ll sink +when the ice goes abroad.”</p> +<p>I asked for my fork.</p> +<p>“Fill up,” my uncle cautioned. “Ye’ll need it afore +we’re through.”</p> +<p>’Twas to this I made haste.</p> +<p>“More pork than brewis, lad,” he advised. “Pork +takes more grindin’.”</p> +<p>I attacked the pork.</p> +<p>“I got your bag ready,” says he.</p> +<p>Then I had no cause to trouble....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>’Twas deep night, the gale still blowing high with +snow, when the wind changed. It ran to the north––shifted +swiftly to the west. The ice-pack stirred: we +felt the schooner shiver, heard the tumult of warning +noises, as that gigantic, lethargic mass was aroused to +unwilling motion by the lash of the west wind. The +hull of the <i>Shining Light</i> collapsed. ’Twas time to be +off. I awoke the fool––who had still soundly slept. +The fool would douse the cabin fire, in a seemly way, +and put out the lights; but my uncle forbade him, +having rather, said he, watch the old craft go down +with a warm glow issuing from her. Presently she was +gone, all the warmth and comfort and hope of the world +expiring in her descent: there was no more a <i>Shining +Light</i>; and we three folk were cast away on a broad +pan of ice, in the midst of night and driving snow. Of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +the wood they had torn from the schooner against this +time, the fool builded a fire, beside which we cowered +from the wind; and soon, the snow failing and the night +falling clear and starlit, points of flickering light appeared +on the ice beyond us. There were three, I recall, +diminishing in the distance; and I knew, then, +what I should do in search of Judith when the day +came. Three schooners cast away beyond us; one +might be the <i>Likely Lass</i>: I would search for Judith, +thinks I, when day came. ’Twas very long in coming, +and ’twas most bitter cold and discouraging in +its arrival: a thin, gray light, with no hopeful hue +of dawn in the east––frosty, gray light, spreading reluctantly +over the white field of the world to a black +horizon. I wished, I recall, while I waited for broader +day, that some warm color might appear to hearten us, +some tint, however pale and transient, to recall the +kindlier mood of earth to us; and there came, in answer +to my wishing, a flush of rose in the east, which waxed +and endured, spreading its message, but failed, like a +lamp extinguished, leaving the world all sombre and +inimical, as it had been.</p> +<p>I must now be off alone upon my search: my wooden-legged +uncle could not travel the ice––nor must the fool +abandon him.</p> +<p>“I ’lowed ye would, lad,” says he, “like any other +gentleman.”</p> +<p>I bade them both good-bye.</p> +<p>“Three schooners cast away t’ the nor’ard,” says +he. “I’m hopin’ ye’ll find the <i>Likely Lass</i>. Good-bye, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +Dannie. I ’low I’ve fetched ye up very well. Good-bye, +Dannie.”</p> +<p>I was moved away now: but halted, like a dog between +two masters.</p> +<p>“Good-bye!” he shouted. “God bless ye, Dannie––God +bless ye!”</p> +<p>I turned away.</p> +<p>“God bless ye!” came faintly after me.</p> +<p>That night I found Judith with the crew of the <i>Likely +Lass</i>, sound asleep, her head lying, dear child! on the +comfortable breast of the skipper’s wife. And she was +very glad, she said, that I had come....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +<a name='XXVI_THE_DEVILS_TEETH' id='XXVI_THE_DEVILS_TEETH'></a> +<h2>XXVI</h2> +<h3>THE DEVIL’S TEETH</h3> +</div> +<p>’Twill not, by any one, be hard to recall that the +great gale of that year, blowing unseasonably with +snow, exhausted itself in three days, leaving the early +birds of the Labrador fleet, whose northward flitting +had been untimely, wrecked and dispersed upon the +sea. In the reaction of still, blue weather we were +picked up by the steamer <i>Fortune</i>, a sealing-craft commissioned +by the government for rescue when surmise of +the disaster grew large; but we got no word of my uncle +and the fool of Twist Tickle until the fore-and-after +<i>Every Time</i> put into St. John’s with her flag flying half-mast +in the warm sunshine. ’Twas said that she had +the bodies of men aboard: and ’twas a grewsome truth––and +the corpses of women, too, and of children. She +brought more than the dead to port: she brought the +fool, and the living flesh and spirit of my uncle––the old +man’s body ill-served by the cold, indeed, but his soul, +at sight of me, springing into a blaze as warm and strong +and cheerful as ever I had known. ’Twas all he needed, +says he, t’ work a cure: the sight of a damned little +grinnin’ Chesterfieldian young gentleman! Whatever +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +the actual effect of this genteel spectacle, my uncle was +presently on his feet again, though continuing much +broken in vigor; and when he was got somewhat +stronger we set out for Twist Tickle, to which we came, +three days later, returning in honor to our own place.</p> +<p>The folk were glad that we were all come back to +them....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I loved Judith: I loved the maid with what exalted +wish soul and body of me understood––conceiving her +perfect in every grace and spiritual adornment: a maid +lifted like a star above the hearts of the world. I considered +my life, and counted it unworthy, as all lives +must be before her: I considered my love, but found no +spot upon it. I loved the maid: and was now grown +to be a man, able, in years and strength and skill of +mind and hand, to cherish her; and I would speak to +her of this passion and dear hope, but must not, because +of the mystery concerning me. There came, then, an +evening when I sought my uncle out to question him; +’twas a hushed and compassionate hour, I recall, the +sunset waxing glorious above the remotest sea, and the +night creeping with gentle feet upon the world, to spread +its soft blanket of shadows.</p> +<p>I remembered the gray stranger’s warning.</p> +<p>“Here I is, lad,” cries my uncle, with an effort at +heartiness, which, indeed, had departed from him, and +would not come again. “Here I is––havin’ a little dram +o’ rum with Nature!”</p> +<p>’Twas a draught of salt air he meant.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span></div> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, in overwhelming uneasiness, his +voice become hoarse and tremulous, “ye got a thing on +your mind!”</p> +<p>I found him very old and ill and hopeless; ’twas with +a shock that the thing came home to me: the man was +past all labor of the hands, got beyond all ships and +winds and fishing––confronting, now, with an anxious +heart, God knows! a future of dependence, for life and +love, upon the lad he had nourished to the man that +was I. I remembered, again, the warning of that gray +personage who had said that my contempt would gather +at this hour; and I thought, as then I had in boyish +faith most truly believed, that I should never treat my +uncle with unkindness. ’Twas very still and glowing +and beneficent upon the sea; ’twas not an hour, thinks +I, whatever the prophecy concerning it, for any pain to +come upon us. My uncle was fallen back in a great +chair, on a patch of greensward overlooking the sea, +to which he had turned his face; and ’twas a kindly +prospect that lay before his aged eyes––a sweep of softest +ocean, walled with gentle, drifting cloud, wherein +were the fool’s great Gates, wide open to the glory +beyond.</p> +<p>“I’m wishing, sir,” said I, “to wed Judith.”</p> +<p>“’Tis a good hope,” he answered.</p> +<p>I saw his hand wander over the low table beside him: +I knew what it sought––and that by his will and for my +sake it must forever seek without satisfaction.</p> +<p>“Sir,” I implored, “I’ve no heart to ask her!”</p> +<p>He did not answer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></div> +<p>“And you know why, sir,” I accused him. “You +know why!”</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, “ye’ve wished for this hour.”</p> +<p>“And I am ready, sir.”</p> +<p>He drew then from his pocket a small Bible, much +stained and wrinkled by water, which he put on the +table between us. “Dannie, lad,” says he, “do ye now +go t’ your own little room, where ye was used t’ lyin’, +long ago, when ye was a little lad.” He lifted himself +in the chair, turned upon me––his eyes frankly wet. +“Do ye go there,” says he, “an’ kneel, like ye used t’ +do in the days when ye was but a little child, an’ do ye +say, once again, for my sake, Dannie, the twenty-third +psa’m.”</p> +<p>I rose upon this holy errand.</p> +<p>“‘<i>The Lord is my shepherd,</i>’” my uncle repeated, +looking away to the fool’s great Gates, “‘<i>I shall not +want.</i>’”</p> +<p>That he should not.</p> +<p>“‘<i>He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he +leadeth me beside the still waters.</i>’”</p> +<p>And so it should be.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” my uncle burst out, flashing upon me with +a twinkle, as when I was a lad, “I ’low I’ve fetched ye +up very well: for say what ye will, ’twas a wonderful +little anchor I give ye t’ hold to!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I went then to the little bed where as a child I lay +waiting for sleep to come bearing fairy dreams. ’Twas +still and dusky in the room: the window, looking out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +upon the wide, untroubled waters, was a square of +glory; and the sea whispered melodiously below, as it +had done long, long ago, when my uncle fended my +childish heart from all the fears of night and day. I +looked out upon the waste of sea and sky and rock, +where the sombre wonder of the dusk was working, +clouds in embers, cliffs and water turning to shadows; +and I was comforted by this returning beauty. I repeated +the twenty-third psalm, according to my teaching, +reverently kneeling, as I was bid; and my heart +responded, as it has never failed to do. I remembered: +I remembered the windless dusks and fresh winds and +black gales through which as a child I had here serenely +gone to sleep because my uncle sat awake and watchful +below. I remembered his concern and diffident caresses +in the night when I had called to him to come: I remembered +all that he had borne and done to provide the happiness +and welfare he sought in loving patience to give +the child he had. Once again, as when I was a child, +the sea and sunset took my soul as a harp to stir with +harmonious chords of faith; and I was not disquieted +any more––nor in any way troubled concerning the disclosure +of that black mystery in which I had thrived to +this age of understanding. And ’twas in this mood––this +grateful recollection of the multitudinous kindnesses +of other years––that I got up from my knees to return to +my uncle.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” says he, having been waiting, it seemed, +to tell me this, first of all, “ye’ll remember––will ye +not?––for your guidance an’ comfort, that ’tis not a tie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +o’ blood betwixt you an’ ol’ Nick Top. He’s no kin +t’ shame ye: he’s on’y a chance acquaintance.”</p> +<p>The tale began at the waning of the evening +glory....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Your father an’ me, lad,” said my uncle, “was shipmates +aboard the <i>Will-o’-the-Wisp</i> when she was cast +away in a nor’east gale on the Devil’s Teeth, near twenty +year ago: him bein’ the master an’ me but a hand +aboard. How old is you now, Dannie? Nineteen? +Well, well! You was but six months come from above, +lad, when that big wind blowed your father’s soul t’ hell; +an’ your poor mother was but six months laid away. +We was bound up from the Labrador that night, with +a cargo o’ dry fish, picked up ’long shore in haste, t’ fill +out a foreign bark at Twillingate. ’Twas late in the fall +o’ the year, snow in the wind, the sea heapin’ up in mountains, +an’ the night as black as a wolf’s throat. Your +father was crowdin’ on, Dannie, in the way he had, bein’ +a wonderful driver, an’ I ’lowed he was fetchin’ too close +t’ the Harborless Shore for safety; but I wouldn’t tell un +so, lad, for I didn’t know un so well as I knows you, +bein’ on’y a hand aboard, ye see, with a word or two t’ +le’ward of what ye might call a speakin’ acquaintance +with the skipper. I ’lowed he’d strike the Rattler; but +he cleared the Rattler, by good luck, an’ fetched up at +dawn on the Devil’s Teeth, a mean, low reef o’ them +parts, where the poor <i>Will-o’-the-Wisp</i> broke her back +an’ went on in splinters with the sea an’ wind. ’Twas +over soon, Dannie; ’twas all over soon, by kindness o’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +Providence: the ol’ craft went t’ pieces an’ was swep’ +on t’ le’ward by the big black waves.”</p> +<p>In the pause my uncle’s hand again searched the low +table for the glass that was not there.</p> +<p>“I’m not wantin’ t’ tell ye,” he muttered.</p> +<p>I would not beg him to stop.</p> +<p>“Me an’ your father, Dannie,” he continued, presently, +dwelling upon the quiet sunset, now flaring with the +last of its fire, “somehow cotched a grip o’ the rock. +’Twas a mean reef t’ be cast away on, with no dry part +upon it: ’twas near flush with the sea, an’ flat an’ broad +an’ jagged, slimy with sea-weed; an’ ’twas washed over +by the big seas, an’ swam in the low roll o’ the black +ones. I ’low, Dannie, that I was never afore cotched +in such a swirl an’ noise o’ waters. ’Twas wonderful––the +thunder an’ spume an’ whiteness o’ them big waves +in the dawn! An’ ’twas wonderful––the power o’ them––the +wolfish way they’d clutch an’ worry an’ drag! +’Twas a mean, hard thing t’ keep a grip on that smoothed +rock; but I got my fingers in a crack o’ the reef, an’ managed +t’ hold on, bein’ stout an’ able, an’ sort of savage +for life––in them old days. Afore long, your poor father +crep’ close, lad, an’ got his fingers in the same crack. +’Twas all done for you, Dannie, an’ ye’ll be sure t’ bear +it in mind––will ye not?––when ye thinks o’ the man +hereafter. I seed the big seas rub un on the reef, an’ cut +his head, an’ break his ribs, as he come crawlin’ towards +me. ’Twas a long, long time afore he reached the place. +Ye’ll not forget it––will ye lad?––ye’ll surely not forget +it when ye thinks o’ the man that was your father.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span></div> +<p>I looked at the sward, soft and green with summer, +and roundabout upon the compassionate shadows of +evening.</p> +<p>“‘Nick,’ says your father,” my uncle continued, +“‘does ye hear them men?’</p> +<p>“They was all gone down, poor souls! I knowed.</p> +<p>“‘Nine men o’ the crew,’ says he, ‘drownin’ there t’ +le’ward.’</p> +<p>“’Twas o’ Mary Luff’s son I thought, that poor lad! +for I’d fetched un on the v’y’ge.</p> +<p>“‘I hear un callin’,’ says he.</p> +<p>“’Twas but a fancy: they was no voices o’ them +drowned men t’ le’ward.</p> +<p>“‘Nick,’ says he, ‘I didn’t mean t’ wreck her here. +I was ’lowin’ t’ strike the Long Cliff, where they’s a +chance for a man’s life. Does ye hear me, Nick?’ says +he. ‘I didn’t mean t’ do it <i>here</i>!’</p> +<p>“‘Skipper,’ says I, ‘was ye meanin’ t’ wreck that there +ship?’</p> +<p>“‘Not here,’ says he.</p> +<p>“‘Was ye meanin’ t’ <i>do</i> it?’ says I.”</p> +<p>My uncle paused.</p> +<p>“Go on, sir,” said I.</p> +<p>“Dannie,” said he, “they come, then, three big seas, +as seas will; an’ I ’low”––he touched the crescent scar––“I +got this here about that time.”</p> +<p>’Twas quite enough for me.</p> +<p>“‘Skipper,’ says I,” my uncle continued, “‘what did +ye go an’ do it for?’</p> +<p>“‘I got a young one t’ St. John’s,’ says he.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span></div> +<p>“‘’Tis no excuse,’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘Ay,’ says he, ‘but I was ’lowin’ t’ make a gentleman +of un. He’s the on’y one I got,’ says he, ’an’ his +mother’s dead.’</p> +<p>“‘’Twas no way t’ go about it,’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘Ye’ve no lad o’ your own,’ says he, ‘an’ ye don’t +know. They was a pot o’ money in this, Top,’ says he. +‘I was ’lowin’ t’ make a gentleman o’ my young one an +I lived through; but I got t’ go––I got t’ go t’ hell an’ +leave un. They’s ice in these big seas,’ says he, ‘an +I’ve broke my left arm, an’ can’t stand it much longer. +But you’ll live it out, Top; you’ll live it out––I knows +ye will. The wind’s gone t’ the nor’west, an’ the sea’s +goin’ down; an’ they’ll be a fleet o’ Labrador craft up +the morrow t’ pick you up. An’ I was ’lowin’, Top,’ +says he, ‘that you’d take my kid an’ fetch un up as his +mother would have un grow. They isn’t no one else t’ +do it,’ says he, ‘an’ I was ’lowin’ you might try. I’ve +broke my left arm,’ says he, ‘an’ got my fingers froze, +or I’d live t’ do it myself. They’s a pot o’ money in +this, Top,’ says he. ‘You tell the owner o’ this here +ship,’ says he, ‘an’ he’ll pay––he’ve got t’ pay!’</p> +<p>“I had no wish for the task, Dannie––not bein’ much +on nursin’ in them days.</p> +<p>“‘I got t’ go t’ hell for this, Top,’ says your father, +‘an’ I ’lowed ye’d ease the passage.’</p> +<p>“‘Skipper, sir,’ says I, ‘is ye not got a scrap o’ +writin’?’</p> +<p>“He fetched out this here little Bible.</p> +<p>“‘Top,’ says he, ‘I ’lowed I’d have a writin’ t’ make +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +sure, the owner o’ this here ship bein’ on’y a fish speculator; +an’ I got it in this Bible.’</p> +<p>“‘Then,’ says I, ‘I’ll take that young one, Tom Callaway, +if I weathers this here mess.’</p> +<p>“‘Ay,’ says he, ‘but I’m not wishin’ t’ go t’ hell for +<i>that</i>.’</p> +<p>“’Twas come broad day now.</p> +<p>“‘An I’m but able, Tom Callaway,’ says I, ‘I’ll make +a gentleman of un t’ ease your pains.’</p> +<p>“‘Would ye swear it?’ says he.</p> +<p>“I put my hand on the Book; an’ I knowed, Dannie, +when I made ready t’ take that oath, out there on the +Devil’s Teeth, that I’d give my soul t’ hell for the +wickedness I must do. I done it with my eyes wide +open t’ the burden o’ evil I must take up; an’ ’twas +sort o’ hard t’ do, for I was by times a Christian man, +Dannie, in them ol’ days, much sot on church an’ prayer +an’ the like o’ that. But I seed that your poor father +was bent on makin’ a gentleman out o’ you t’ please +your dead mother’s wishes, an’ I ’lowed, havin’ no +young un o’ my own, that I <i>didn’t</i> know much about the +rights of it; an’ I knowed he’d suffer forever the pains +o’ hell for what he done, whatever come of it, an’ I +’lowed ’twould be a pity t’ have the murder o’ seven +poor men go t’ waste for want o’ one brave soul t’ face +the devil. ‘Nick,’ thinks I, while your father, poor, +doomed man! watched me––I can see here in the dusk +the blood an’ water on his white face––‘Nick,’ thinks I, +‘an you was one o’ them seven poor, murdered men, +ye’d want the price o’ your life paid t’ that wee young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +one. From heaven or hell, Nick, accordin’ t’ which +place ye harbored in,’ thinks I, ‘ye’d want t’ watch that +little life grow, an’ ye’d like t’ say t’ yourself, when +things went ill with ye,’ thinks I, ‘that the little feller +ye died for was thrivin’, anyhow, out there on earth.’ +An’ I ’lowed, for your wee sake, Dannie, an’ for the +sake o’ the seven poor, murdered men, whose wishes I +read in the dead eyes that looked into mine, an’ for the +sake o’ your poor, fond father, bound soon for hell, that +I’d never let the comfort o’ my mean soul stand in the +way o’ fetchin’ good t’ your little life out o’ all this woe +an’ wickedness. I ’lowed, Dannie, then an’ there, on +the Devil’s Teeth, that could I but manage to endure, +I’d stand by your little body an’ soul t’ the end, whatever +become o’ me.”</p> +<p>’Twas but a tale my uncle told: ’twas not an extenuation––not +a plea.</p> +<p>“‘Tide’s risin’, Nick,’ says your father. ‘I can’t +stand it much longer with my broken arm an’ froze +fingers. Nick,’ says he, ‘will ye swear?’</p> +<p>“I was afraid, Dannie, t’ swear it.</p> +<p>“‘Won’t ye?’ says he. ‘He’ve his mother’s eyes––an’ +he’ll be a wonderful good lad t’ you.’</p> +<p>“I couldn’t, Dannie.</p> +<p>“‘For God’s sake, Nick!’ says he, ‘swear it, an’ ease +my way t’ hell.’</p> +<p>“‘I swear!’ says I.</p> +<p>“‘Then,’ says he, ‘you turn the screws on the owner +o’ that there ship. The writin’ is all you needs. You +make a gentleman o’ my lad, God bless un! accordin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +t’ the wishes of his mother. Give un the best they is in +Newf’un’land. Nothin’ too good in all the world for +Dannie. You bear in mind, Nick,’ says he, ‘that I’m +roastin’ in hell,’ says he, ‘<i>payin</i>’ for his education!’”</p> +<p>My uncle’s hand approached the low table, but was +in impatience withdrawn; and the old man looked away––northward: +to the place, far distant, where the sea +still washed the Devil’s Teeth.</p> +<p>“I’ve bore it in mind,” he muttered.</p> +<p>Ay! and much more than that: the wreck of his own +great soul upon my need had clouded twenty years of life +with blackest terror of the unending pains of perdition.</p> +<p>“’Tis a lovely evening, Dannie,” he sighed. “’Tis so +still an’ kind an’ beautiful. I’ve often ’lowed, in weather +like this, with the sea at peace an’ a red sky givin’ +promise o’ mercy for yet one day,” said he, “that I’d +like t’ live forever––jus’ live t’ fish an’ be an’ hope.”</p> +<p>“I wisht ye might!” I cried.</p> +<p>“An’ t’ watch ye grow, Dannie,” said he, turning +suddenly upon me, his voice fallen low and tremulous +with affectionate feeling and pride. “Life,” says he, so +earnestly that I was made meek by the confession, “held +nothin’ at all for me but the Christian hope o’ heaven +until ye came; an’ then, when I got ye, ’twas filled full +o’ mortal, unselfish, better aims. I’ve loved ye well, +lad, in my own delight,” says he. “I’ve loved ye in a +wishful way,” he repeated, “quite well.”</p> +<p>I was humble in this presence....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Your father,” my uncle resumed, “couldn’t stand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +the big seas. I cotched un by the jacket, an’ held un +with me, so long as I was able, though he ’lowed I might +as well let un go t’ hell, without drawin’ out the fear o’ +gettin there. ‘On’y a minute or two, Nick,’ says he. +‘Ye might as well let me get there. I’m cold, froze up, +an’ they’s more ice comin’ with this sea,’ says he; ‘they +was a field o’ small ice up along about the Sissors,’ says +he, ‘an’ I ’low it haves come down with the nor’east +wind. The sea,’ says he, ‘will be full of it afore long. +Ye better let me go,’ says he. ‘’Tisn’t by any means +pleasant here, an’ the on’y thing I wants, now that ye’ve +took the oath,’ says he, ‘is t’ get warm. Ye better let +me go. I got t’ go, anyhow,’ says he, ‘an’ a hour or two +don’t make no difference.’ An’ so, with the babe that +was you in mind, an’ with my life t’ save for your sake, +I let un go t’ le’ward, where the seven murdered men +had gone down drowned. ’Twas awful lonesome without +un, when the tide got high an’ the seas was mean +with chunks o’ ice. Afore that,” my uncle intensely +declared, “I was admired o’ water-side widows, on account +o’ looks; but,” says he, touching his various disfigurements, +“I was broke open here, an’ I was broke +open there, by bein’ rubbed on the rocks an’ clubbed +by the ice at high-tide. When I was picked up by +Tumm, o’ the <i>Quick as Wink</i> (bein’ bound up in fish), +I ’lowed I might as well leave the cook, which is now +dead, have his way with the butcher-knife an’ sail-needle; +an’ so I come t’ St. John’s as ye sees me now, +not a wonderful sight for looks, with my leg an’ fingers +gone, but ready, God knows! t’ stand by the young un +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +I was livin’ t’ take an’ rear. Ye had been, all through +it, Dannie,” he added, simply, “the thing that made me +hold on; for when your father was gone t’ le’ward, an’ +I begun t’ think o’ ye, a wee babe t’ St. John’s, I got t’ +love ye, lad, as I’ve loved ye ever since.</p> +<p>“’Tis a lovely evening,” he added; “’tis a wonderful +civil and beautiful time, with all them clouds, like coals +o’ fire, in the west.”</p> +<p>’Twas that: an evening without guile or menace––an +hour most compassionate.</p> +<p>“The owner o’ the <i>Will-o’-the-Wisp</i>,” says my uncle, +“wasn’t no Honorable in them days; he was but a St. +John’s fish speculator with a taste for low politics. But +he’ve become a Honorable since, on the fortune he’ve +builded from that wreck, an’ he’s like t’ end a knight o’ +the realm, if he’ve money enough t’ carry on an’ marry +the widow he’s after. ’Twas not hard t’ deal with un––leastways, +’twas not hard when I loaded with rum, +which I was used t’ doin’, Dannie, as ye know, afore I +laid ’longside of un in the wee water-side place he’d +fetch the money to. No, no! ’Twas not easy: I’d not +have ye think it––’twas hard, ’twas bitter hard, Dannie, t’ +be engaged in that dirty business. I’d not have ye black +your soul with it; an’ I was ’lowin, Dannie, afore the +parson left us, t’ teach un how t’ manage the Honorable, +t’ tell un about the liquor an’ the bluster, t’ show un how +t’ scare the Honorable on the Water Street pavement, t’ +teach un t’ threaten an’ swear the coward’s money from +his pocket, for I wasn’t wantin’ <i>you</i>, Dannie, t’ know +the trial an’ wickedness o’ the foul deed, bein’ in love +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +with ye too much t’ have ye spoiled by sin. I ’low I had +that there young black-an’-white parson near corrupted: +I ’low I had un worked up t’ yieldin’ t’ temptation, lad, +when he up an’ left us, along o’ Judy. An’ there’s the +black-an’-white parson, gone God knows where! an’ +here’s ol’ Nick Top, sittin’ on the grass at evenin’, laid +by the heels all along o’ two days o’ wind on the ice!”</p> +<p>“And so you brought me up?” says I.</p> +<p>“Ay, Dannie,” he answered, uneasily; “by blackmail +o’ the Honorable. I got t’ go t’ hell for it, but I’ve +no regrets on that account,” says he, in a muse, “for +I’ve loved ye well, lad; an’ as I sit here now, lookin’ +back, I knows that God was kind t’ give me you t’ work +an’ sin for. I’ll go t’ hell––ay, I’ll go t’ hell! Ye must +never think, lad, when I gets down there, that I’m sorry +for what I done. I’ll not be sorry––not even in hell––for +I’ll think o’ the years when you was a wee little lad, +an’ I’ll be content t’ remember. An’ do you go away, +now, lad,” he added, “an’ think it over. Ye’ll not judge +me now; ye’ll come back, afore long, an’ then judge +me.”</p> +<p>I moved to go.</p> +<p>“Dannie!” he called.</p> +<p>I turned.</p> +<p>“I’ve gone an’ tol’ Judy,” says he, “lest she learn t’ +love ye for what ye was not.”</p> +<p>’Twas no matter to me....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>This, then, was the heart of my mystery! I had been +fed and adorned and taught and reared in luxury by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +murder of seven men and the merciless blackmail of an +ambitious villain. What had fed me, warmed me, +clothed me had been the product of this horrible rascality. +And my father was the murderer, whom I had +dreamed a hero, and my foster-father was the persecutor, +whom I had loved for his kindly virtue. And paid +for!––all paid for in my father’s crime and damnation. +This––all this––to make a gentleman of the ill-born, +club-footed young whelp of a fishing skipper! I laughed +as I walked away from this old Nick Top: laughed to +recall my progress through these nineteen years––the +proud, self-righteous stalking of my way.</p> +<p>’Twas a pretty figure I had cut, thinks I, with my +rings and London clothes, in the presence of the Honorable, +with whom I had dealt in pride and anger! +’Twas a pretty figure I had cut, all my life––the whelp +of a ruined, prostituted skipper: the issue of a murderous +barratry! What protection had the defenceless +child that had been I against these machinations? +What protest the boy, growing in guarded ignorance? +What appeal the man in love, confronted by his origin +and shameful fostering? Enraged by this, what I +thought of my uncle’s misguided object and care I +may not here set down, because of the bitterness and +injustice of the reflections; nay, but I dare not recall +the mood and wicked resentment of that time.</p> +<p>And presently I came to the shore of the sea, where +I sat down on the rock, staring out upon the waters. +’Twas grown dark then, of a still, religious night, with +the black sea lapping the rocks, infinitely continuing in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +restlessness, and a multitude of stars serenely twinkling +in the uttermost depths of the great sky. ’Twas of this +I thought, I recall, but cannot tell why: that the sea +was forever young, unchanging in all the passions of +youth, from the beginning of time to the end of it; that +the mountains were lifted high, of old, passionless, inscrutable, +of unfeeling snow and rock, dwelling above +the wish of the world; that the sweep of prairie, knowing +no resentment, was fruitful to the weakest touch; that +the forests fell without complaint; that the desert, hopeless, +aged, contemptuous of the aspirations of this day, +was of immutable bitterness, seeking some love long lost +to it nor ever to be found again; but that the sea was as +it had been when God poured it forth––young and lusty +and passionate––the only thing in all the fleeting world +immune from age and death and desuetude.</p> +<p>’Twas strange enough; but I knew, thank God! when +the rocking, crooning sea took my heart as a harp in its +hands, that all the sins and errors of earth were of +creative intention and most beautiful, as are all the +works of the God of us all. Nay, but, thinks I, the sins +of life are more lovely than the righteous accomplishments. +Removed by the starlit sky, wherein He dwells––removed +because of its tender distance and beauty +and placidity, because of its compassion and returning +gift of faith, removed by the vast, feeling territory of +sensate waters, whereupon He walks, because they express, +eternally, His wrath and loving kindness––carried +far away, in the quiet night, I looked back, and I understood, +as never before––nor can I ever hope to know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +again––that God, being artist as we cannot be, had +with the life of the world woven threads of sin and error +to make it a pattern of supernal beauty, that His purpose +might be fulfilled, His eyes delighted.</p> +<p>And ’twas with the healing of night and starry sky +and the soft lullaby of the sea upon my spirit––’twas +with this wide, clear vision of life, the gift of understanding, +as concerned its exigencies––that I arose and +went to my uncle....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>I met Judith on the way: the maid was hid, waiting +for me, in the deep shadow of the lilacs and the perfume +of them, which I shall never forget, that bordered +the gravelled path of our garden.</p> +<p>“You’ve come at last,” says she. “He’ve been waiting +for you––out there in the dark.”</p> +<p>“Judith!” says I.</p> +<p>She came confidingly close to me.</p> +<p>“I’ve a word to say to you, maid,” says I.</p> +<p>“An’ you’re a true man?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“’Tis a word,” says I, “that’s between a man an’ a +maid. ’Tis nothing more.”</p> +<p>She held me off. “An’ you’re true,” she demanded, +“to them that have loved you?”</p> +<p>“As may or may not appear,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Ah, Dannie,” she whispered, “I cannot doubt you!”</p> +<p>I remember the scent of the lilacs––I remember the +dusk––the starlit sky.</p> +<p>“I have a word,” I repeated, “to say to you.”</p> +<p>“An’ what’s that?” says she.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></div> +<p>“’Tis that I wish a kiss,” says I.</p> +<p>She put up her dear red lips.</p> +<p>“Ay,” says I, “but ’tis a case of no God between us. +You know what I am and have been. I ask a kiss.”</p> +<p>Her lips still invited me.</p> +<p>“I love you, Judith,” says I, “and always have.”</p> +<p>Her lips came closer.</p> +<p>“I would be your husband,” I declared.</p> +<p>“Kiss me, Dannie,” she whispered.</p> +<p>“And there is no God,” says I, “between us?”</p> +<p>“There is no God,” she answered, “against us.”</p> +<p>I kissed her.</p> +<p>“You’ll do it again, will you not?” says she.</p> +<p>“I’ll kiss your sweet tears,” says I. “I’ll kiss un +away.”</p> +<p>“Then kiss my tears.”</p> +<p>I kissed them away.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says she; “that’s very good. An’ +now?”</p> +<p>“I’ll speak with my uncle,” says I, “as you knowed +I would.”</p> +<p>I sought my uncle.</p> +<p>“Sir,” says I, “where’s the writing?”</p> +<p>“’Tis in your father’s Bible,” he answered.</p> +<p>I got it from the Book and touched a flaring match to +it. “’Tis the end of <i>that</i>, sir,” says I. “You an’ me, +sir,” says I, “will be shipmates to the end of the voyage.”</p> +<p>He rose.</p> +<p>“You’re not able, sir,” says I.</p> +<p>“I is!” he declared.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></div> +<p>’Twas with difficulty he got to his feet, but he managed +it; and then he turned to me, though I could see +him ill enough in the dark.</p> +<p>“Dannie, lad,” says he, “I ’low I’ve fetched ye up +very well. Ye is,” says he, “a––”</p> +<p>“Hush!” says I; “don’t say it.”</p> +<p>“I will!” says he.</p> +<p>“Don’t!” I pleaded.</p> +<p>“You <i>is</i>,” he declared, “a gentleman!”</p> +<p>The night and the abominable revelations of it were +ended for my uncle and me in this way....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And so it came about that the Honorable was troubled +no more by our demands, whatever the political necessities +that might assail him, whatever the sins of other +days, the black youth of him, that might fairly beset +and harass him. He was left in peace, to follow his career, +restored to the possessions my uncle had wrested +from him, in so far as we were able to make restitution. +There was no more of it: we met him afterwards, in +genial intercourse, but made no call upon his moneybags, +as you may well believe. My uncle and I made +a new partnership: that of Top & Callaway, of which +you may have heard, for the honesty of our trade and +the worth of the schooners we build. He is used to +taking my hand, upon the little finger of which I still +wear the seal-ring he was doubtful of in the days when +Tom Bull inspected it. “A D for Dannie,” says he, +“an’ a C for Callaway, an’ betwixt the two,” says he, +“lyin’ snug as you like, is a T for Top! An’ that’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +the way I lies,” says he, “ol’ Top betwixt the Dannie an’ +the Callaway. An’ as for the business in trade an’ +schooners that there little ol’ damned Chesterfieldian +young Dannie haves builded from a paddle-punt, with +Judy t’ help un,” says he, “why don’t ye be askin’ me!” +And the business I have builded is good, and the wife I +have is good, and the children are good. I have no +more to wish for than my uncle and wife and children. +’Tis a delight, when the day’s work is done, to sit at +table, as we used to do when I was a child, with the +geometrical gentleman framed in their tempestuous sea +beyond, and to watch my uncle, overcome by Judith’s +persuasion, in his old age, sip his dram o’ hot rum. +The fire glows, and the maid approves, and my uncle, +with his ailing timber comfortably bestowed, beams +largely upon us.</p> +<p>“Jus’ a nip,” says he. “Jus’ a wee nip o’ the best +Jamaica afore I goes t’ bed.”</p> +<p>I pour the dram.</p> +<p>“For the stomach’s sake, Dannie,” says he, with a +gravity that twinkles against his will, “accordin’ t’ the +Apostle.”</p> +<p>And we are glad that he has that wee nip o’ rum t’ +comfort him....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>’Twas blowing high to-day. Tumm, of the <i>Quick as +Wink</i>, beat into harbor for shelter. ’Twas good to know +that the genial fellow had come into Twist Tickle. I +boarded him. ’Twas very dark and blustering and +dismally cold at that time. The schooner was bound +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +down to the French shore and the ports of the Labrador. +I had watched the clouds gather and join and forewarn +us of wind. ’Twas an evil time for craft to be abroad, +and I was glad that Tumm was in harbor. “Ecod!” +says he, “I been up t’ see the fool. They’ve seven,” +says he. “Ecod! think o’ that! I ’low Walrus Liz o’ +Whoopin’ Harbor got all she wanted. Seven!” cries he. +“Seven kids! Enough t’ stock a harbor! An’ they’s +talk o’ one o’ them,” says he, “bein’ trained for a +parson.” I think the man was proud of his instrumentality. +“I’ve jus’ come from the place,” says he, +“an’ he’ve seven, all spick an’ span,” says he, “all +shined an’ polished like a cabin door-knob!” I had +often thought of it, and now dwelt upon it when I left +him. I remembered the beginnings of our lives, and +I knew that out of the hopelessness some beauty had +been wrought, in the way of the God of us all: which +is the moral of my tale.</p> +<p>“Think o’ that!” cries Tumm, of the <i>Quick as Wink</i>.</p> +<p>I did think of it.</p> +<p>“Think o’ that!” he repeated.</p> +<p>I had left Tumm below. I was alone. The night +was still black and windy; but of a sudden, as I looked +up, the clouds parted, and from the deck of the <i>Quick +as Wink</i> I saw, blind of vision as I was, that high over +the open sea, hung in the depth and mystery of space, +there was a star....</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0811 --> +<!-- timestamp: Wed Aug 12 07:55:03 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cruise of the Shining Light, by Norman Duncan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUISE OF THE SHINING LIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 29696-h.htm or 29696-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/9/29696/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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