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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #55714 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55714)
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stevenson at Manasquan, by Charlotte Eaton
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
-almost no restrictions whatsoever.  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/license
-
-
-Title: Stevenson at Manasquan
-
-Author: Charlotte Eaton
-
-Contributor: Francis Joseph Dickie
-
-Illustrator: George Steele Seymour
-
-Release Date: October 9, 2017 [EBook #55714]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEVENSON AT MANASQUAN ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by ellinora, David E. Brown and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
-file was produced from images generously made available
-by The Internet Archive)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-  The Little Bookfellow Series
-
-  Stevenson at Manasquan
-
-
-
-
-Other Titles in this series:
-
- ESTRAYS. Poems by Thomas Kennedy, George Seymour, Vincent Starrett,
- and Basil Thompson.
-
- WILLIAM DE MORGAN, A POST-VICTORIAN REALIST, by Flora Warren Seymour.
-
- LYRICS, by Laura Blackburn.
-
-
-[Illustration: PEN AND INK SKETCH OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, BY WYATT
-EATON
-
-_Kind permission of Mr. S. S. McClure_]
-
-
-
-
-  Stevenson at Manasquan
-
-  By
-  Charlotte Eaton
-
-  With a Note on the Fate of the Yacht
-  "Casco" by Francis Dickie and Six Portraits
-  from Stevenson by George Steele Seymour
-
-  [Illustration]
-
-  CHICAGO
-  THE BOOKFELLOWS
-  1921
-
-
-
-
-_Three hundred copies of this book by Charlotte Eaton, Bookfellow No.
-550, Francis Dickie, Bookfellow No. 716, and George Steele Seymour,
-Bookfellow No. 1, have been printed. Mrs. Eaton's memoir is an
-elaboration of one previously published by Thomas Y. Crowell Co. of New
-York under the title "A Last Memory of Robert Louis Stevenson"; Mr.
-Dickie's notes have appeared in the New York World, and Mr. Seymour's
-"Portraits" have appeared in "Contemporary Verse" and "The Star" of San
-Francisco._
-
-  _Copyright, 1921, by
-  Flora Warren Seymour_
-
-  THE TORCH PRESS
-  CEDAR RAPIDS
-  IOWA
-
-
-
-
-STEVENSON AT MANASQUAN
-
-
-When I came face to face with Robert Louis Stevenson it was the
-realization of one of my most cherished dreams.
-
-This was at Manasquan, a village on the New Jersey coast, where he had
-come to make a farewell visit to his old friend Will Low, the artist.
-Mr. Low had taken a cottage there that summer while working on his
-series of Lamia drawings for Lippincott's, and Stevenson, hearing that
-we were on the other side of the river, sent word that he would come to
-see us on the morrow.
-
-"Stevenson is coming," was announced at the breakfast-table as calmly
-as though it were a daily occurrence.
-
-_Stevenson coming to Manasquan!_
-
-I was in my 'teens, was an enthusiastic student of poetry and
-mythology, and Stevenson was my hero of romance. Was it any wonder the
-intelligence excited me?
-
-My husband, the late Wyatt Eaton, and Stevenson, were friends in their
-student days abroad, and it was in honor of those early days that I was
-to clasp the hand of my favorite author.
-
-It was in the mazes of a contradance at Barbizon, in the picturesque
-setting of a barn lighted by candles, that their first meeting took
-place, where Mr. Eaton, though still a student in the schools of
-Paris, had taken a studio to be near Jean François Millet, and hither
-Stevenson had come, with his cousin, known as "Talking Bob," to take
-part in the harvest festivities among the peasants.
-
-These were the halcyon days at Barbizon, when Millet tramped the
-fields and the favorite haunts of Rousseau and Corot could be followed
-up through the Forest of Fontainebleau, before Barbizon had become
-a resort for holiday makers, or the term "Barbizon School" had been
-thought of.
-
-Now, of all places in the world, the quaint little Sanborn Cottage on
-the river-bank, where we were stopping, seemed to me the spot best
-suited for a first meeting with Stevenson. The Sanborns were very
-little on the estate and the place had a neglected look. Indeed, more
-than that, one might easily have taken it for a haunted or abandoned
-place--with its garden choked with weeds, and its window-shutters
-flaunting old spider-webs to the breeze.
-
-It was, of course, the fanciful, adventure-loving Stevenson that I
-looked forward to seeing, and I was not disappointed; and while others
-spoke of the flight of time with its inevitable changes, I felt sure
-that, to me, he would be just Stevenson who wrote the things over which
-I had burned the midnight oil.
-
-He came promptly at the hour fixed, appearing on the threshold as frail
-and distinguished-looking as a portrait by Velasquez. He had walked
-across the mile-long bridge connecting Brielle and Manasquan, ahead of
-the others, for the bracer he always needed before joining even a small
-company.
-
-Shall I ever forget the sensation of delight that thrilled me, as he
-entered the room--tall, emaciated, yet radiant, his straight, glossy
-hair so long that it lay upon the collar of his coat, throwing into
-bold relief his long neck and keenly sensitive face?
-
-His hands were of the psychic order, and were of marble whiteness, save
-the thumb and first finger of the right hand, that were stained from
-constant cigarette rolling--for he was an inveterate smoker--and he
-had the longest fingers I have ever seen on a human being; they were,
-in fact, part of his general appearance of lankiness, that would have
-been uncanny, but for the geniality and sense of _bien être_ that he
-gave off. His voice, low in tone, had an endearing quality in it, that
-was almost like a caress. He never made use of vernacularism and was
-without the slightest Scotch accent; on the contrary, he spoke his
-English like a world citizen, speaking a universal tongue, and always
-looked directly at the person spoken to.
-
-I have since heard one who knew him (and they are becoming scarce now)
-call him the man of good manners, or "the mannerly Stevenson," and this
-is the term needed to complete my first impression, for more than the
-traveller, the scholar or the author, it was the _mannerly Stevenson_
-that appeared in our midst that day. He moved about the room to a
-ripple of repartée that was contagious, putting every one on his
-mettle--in fact, his presence was a challenge to a _jeu d'esprit_ on
-every hand. How self-possessed he was, how spiritual! his face glowing
-with memories of other days.
-
-He had just come from Saranac, Saranac-in-the-Adirondacks, that had
-failed to yield him the elixir of life he was seeking, where he had
-spent a winter of such solitude as even his courageous wife was unable
-to endure.
-
-His good spirits were doubtless on the rebound after good work
-accomplished, for there, in "his hat-box on the hill," as he called his
-quarters at Baker's, were written his "Christmas Sermons," "The Lantern
-Bearer," and the opening chapters of "The Master of Ballantrae." In
-this "very decent house" he would talk old Mr. Baker to sleep on stormy
-nights, and the good old farmer, never suspecting that Stevenson was
-"anybody in particular," snored his responses to those flights in fact
-and fancy for which there are those who would have given hundreds of
-dollars to have been in the old farmer's place. But it was the very
-carelessness of Mr. Baker that helped along the talking spell. This
-is often the case with authors; they will pour out their precious
-knowledge into the ears of some inconsequential person, a tramp as
-likely as not, picked up by the way; the non-critical attitude of the
-illiterate seems to help the thinker in forming a sequence of ideas;
-this explains, too, why the artist values the lay criticism--it hits
-directly at any false note in a picture, thus saving the painter much
-unnecessary delay.
-
-Sometimes Dr. Trudeau, also an exile of the mountains, would drop
-in professionally on these stormy evenings and would stay until
-about midnight, having entirely forgotten the nature of his visit.
-Stevenson had this faculty of making friends of those who served him.
-To the restaurant keeper of Monterey, Jules Simoneau, who trusted him
-when he was penniless and unknown, he presented a set of his books,
-leather-bound, each volume autographed, and this worthy man has since
-refused a thousand dollars for the set. "Well," he explained, "I do not
-need the money, and I value the gift for itself." I think this friend
-of Stevenson's must feel like Father Tabb in the library of his friend
-when he said:
-
-  "To see, when he is dead,
-  The many books he read,
-  And then again, to note
-  The many books he wrote;
-  How some got in, and some got out.
-  'Tis very strange to think about."
-
-But to return to our story.
-
-Stevenson's Isle-of-the-blest was calling to him, and hope lay that
-way, where life was elementary and where a man with but one lung to his
-account might live indefinitely. Not that he feared to die. Oh, no! It
-takes more courage sometimes to live, but it was hard to give up at
-forty, when one just begins to enter into the knowledge of one's own
-powers. A blind lady once said to me, in speaking of a mutual friend,
-"When Mr. B. comes, I feel as if there was a _sprite_ in the room," and
-this is the way I felt about Stevenson, for during those moments of
-serious discussion when most people are tense, he moved actively about,
-and his philosophies were humanized by his warm, brown eyes and merry
-exclamations.
-
-Another reason for the sprite feeling, was that he was consciously
-living in the past that day, and each face was like reseeing a
-milestone long passed, on some half-forgotten journey.
-
-It was this sense of detachment that, more than anything else, gave
-us the feeling that he was already beyond our mortal ken, that he was
-living at once in the visible and in the invisible, one to whom the
-passing of time had little significance. I think this is true, more or
-less, of all those who are marked for a brief earthly career.
-
-By this time the other members of the family had arrived. His mother,
-Lloyd Osbourne, and Mrs. Strong, his step-children; "Fanny," his
-wife, was in California, looking after some property interests she
-had there, and provisioning the yacht chartered for the voyage to the
-South Seas. In all his enterprises she was his major-domo, and her
-devotion no doubt helped to prolong his life. Their mutual agreement on
-all financial matters reminded me of a remark made by mine host at a
-country inn, who, in speaking of his wife, said, "She is my very best
-investment," and so was Mrs. Stevenson to her husband, _Lewis_, for so
-the family called him, and never Robert Louis. I am inclined to think
-that yoking of contrasts is an important part in Nature's economy of
-things. Ella Wheeler Wilcox said to me that she owed her success to
-Robert--her husband--because in all her undertakings he went before
-and smoothed the way; but Mr. Wilcox's version of the case is another
-story. "I keep an eye on Ella," said he, "to prevent her from giving
-away too much money."
-
-Stevenson was now seated before the grate, the flickering light from
-the wood fire illuminating his pale face to transparency. Now and then
-he relapsed into silence, gazing into the fire with the rapt look of
-one who sees visions.
-
-"Are you seeing a Salamander," I asked, "or do the sparks flying upward
-make you think of the golden alchemy of Lescaris?"[A]
-
-"A Salamander," he replied, smiling. "Yes, a carnivorous fire-dweller
-that eats up man and his dreams forever."
-
-"Gracious! But you are going to worse things than Salamanders, the
-Paua,[B] they will get you, if you don't watch out."
-
-And then, suddenly becoming conscious of my temerity in interrupting
-the thread of his reflections, to cover my embarrassment, I ran
-upstairs for my birthday-book.
-
-An autograph!
-
-Of course. And he wrote it, reading out the quotation that filled in
-part of the space. It was one of Emerson's Kantisms, something about
-not going abroad, unless you can as readily stay at home (I forget the
-exact words). It was decidedly malapropos and called out much merriment.
-
-  "Oh, stay at home, dear heart, and rest;
-  Home-keeping hearts are happiest."
-
-Somebody quoted, to which another replied:
-
-  "Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits."
-
-The autograph has long since disappeared, but how often have I
-thought with regret of the amused expression in Stevenson's eyes at
-the Salamander fancy! What tales of witchery might have been spun
-from those themes worthy of the magic of his pen, the fire-dwelling
-man-eater, or the discovery of the Greek shepherd!
-
-Stevenson was amused over our enthusiasm, and the eagerness of some of
-the younger members of the company to lionize him.
-
-"And what do you consider your brightest failure?" inquired our host.
-
-"'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,'" he replied, without a moment's hesitation,
-adding, "that is the worst thing I ever wrote."
-
-"Yet you owe it to your dream-expedition," some one reminded him.
-
-"The dream-expedition?" he repeated. "Yes, that was perhaps a
-compensation for the bad things."
-
-Benjamin Franklin has said that success ruins many a man. The success
-of "Trilby" killed Du Maurier, and many authors have had their heads
-turned for far less than the Jekyll and Hyde furore that swept the
-country at that time. But the Mannerly Stevenson carried his honors
-lightly. Smiling over the popularity of the "worst thing he ever
-wrote," he revealed that quality in his own nature that was finer than
-anything he had given to print, the soul whose indomitable courage
-could bear the brunt of adverse circumstance, and even contumely, and
-hold its own integrity, becoming a law unto itself.
-
-Here was the man who had passed himself off as one of a group of
-steerage passengers on that memorable trip across the Atlantic on his
-way to Monterey in quest of the woman he loved, the man whose life was
-more vital in its _love-motif_ than any of his own romances, the man
-who, in spite of ill-health and uncertainty of means, yet paid the
-price for his heart's desire.
-
-"See here," said a lusty fellow, lurching up to him one day on deck.
-"You are not one of us, you are a gentleman in hard luck."
-
-"But," added Stevenson triumphantly, in telling the
-story, "it was not until the end of the voyage that they found me out."
-
-This points the saying that it was the great washed that Stevenson
-fought shy of, and not the greater unwashed, with whom he was always on
-the friendliest terms.
-
-He talked delightfully, too, on events connected with his journey
-across the plains, which he made in an emigrant train, associating with
-Chinamen, who cooked their meals on board, and slept on planks let down
-from the side of the cars.
-
-"The air was thick," said he, "and an Oriental thickness, at that."
-
-But this period of his life was a painful subject for his mother, who
-was present, and some of his best stories were omitted on her account.
-
-He told us, however, about being nearly lynched for throwing away a
-lighted match on the prairie. "And all the fuss," said he, "before
-I was made aware of the nature of my crime." Both his mother and
-Sydney Colvin had done their best to make him accept enough money, as
-a loan, to make this trip comfortable. But he had refused. He was,
-he explained, "doing that which neither his family nor friends could
-approve," and he would therefore accept no financial aid.
-
-"Just before starting," said he, "being in need of money, I called at
-the _Century_ office, where I had left some manuscript with the request
-for an early decision, but was politely shown the door."
-
-Consternation seized us at this announcement, for all present knew the
-editor for a man of sympathy and heart. But Stevenson himself came to
-our relief with, "But Mr. Gilder was abroad that year."
-
-After the lapse of more than a quarter of a century, it might not come
-amiss to recount another little incident at the same office.
-
-I mentioned one day to Mr. Gilder that some notes by Mr. Eaton written
-during his last illness had been rejected. "You don't mean to tell me
-that anything by Wyatt was rejected at this office," said he, and going
-into an inner room, returned in a few minutes with a goodly check.
-"There," said he, as he put it in my hand, "Send in the notes at your
-convenience."
-
-Stevenson laughed good-naturedly over the dilemmas the editors of
-western papers threw him into, by their tardiness in paying space rates
-for the stories and essays that now rank among his finest productions.
-Indeed one wonders whether he would have survived the hardships of
-those Monterey days, had not the good Jules Simoneau found him "worth
-saving," a circumstance for which he is accorded the palm by posterity
-rather than for the flavor of his tamales.
-
-In many ways it is given to the humble to minister to the needs of the
-great. A distinguished author once said to me: "I could never have
-arrived without the help of my poor friends."
-
-As Stevenson went from reminiscence to reminiscence, we felt that from
-this period of his vivid obscurity might have been drawn material
-for some of his most stirring romances, and we were rewarded as good
-listeners by the discovery of that which he thought his best work,
-namely, the little story called "Will o' the Mill."
-
-"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Sanborn, his eyes beaming, "if you live to be as
-old as Methuselah, with all the world's lore at your finger-ends, you
-could never improve on that simple little story."
-
-We teased Stevenson a good deal on the hugeness of his royalties
-on "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," which, besides having had what the
-publishers call a "run," was bringing in a second goodly harvest from
-its dramatization, by which his voyage to the South Seas had become a
-reality.
-
-Remembering his remark that his idea of Purgatory was a perpetual high
-wind, I asked him: "Why have you chosen an island for your future
-habitat; or, if an island, why not Nevis in the West Indies, where one
-is in the perpetual doldrums, so to speak?" "There will be no more
-wind on Samoa than just enough to turn the page of the book one is
-reading," he replied; and windless Nevis was British, you see, and his
-first necessity was to get away where nobody reads. Like Jubal, son of
-Lamech, who felt himself hemmed in by hearing his songs repeated in a
-land where everybody sang, so he was shadowed by the Jekyll
-and Hyde mania in a land where everybody read.
-
-The very essence of his isolation is felt in a playful little fling at
-a Mr. Nerli, an artist, who went out there to paint his portrait, as
-well as the boredom everyone experiences in sitting to a painter:
-
-  "Did ever mortal man hear tell, of sae singular a ferlie,
-  Of the coming to Apia here, of the painter, Mr. Nerli?
-  He came; and O for a human found, of a' _he_ was the pearlie,
-  The pearl of a' the painter folk, was surely Mr. Nerli.
-  He took a thraw to paint mysel'; he painted late and early;
-  O now! the mony a yawn I've yawned in the beard of Mr. Nerli.
-  Whiles I would sleep, an' whiles would wake, an' whiles was mair than
-    surly,
-  I wondered sair, as I sat there, forninst the eyes of Nerli.
-  O will he paint me the way I want, as bonnie as a girlie?
-  Or will he paint me an ugly type, and be damned to Mr. Nerli!
-  But still and on, and whiche'er it is, he is a Canty Kerlie,
-  The Lord proteck the back and neck of honest Mr. Nerli."
-
-Which shows that he was not altogether free from bothers even after
-reaching his "port o' dreams" in running away from Purgatorial winds,
-only to be held up by a paint-brush! Also, as most of us when excited
-fall back upon our early idiom, so Stevenson, in jest or lyric mood,
-drifted into the dialect of his fathers.
-
-We found, much to our surprise, that Stevenson knew every nook and
-cranny of the Sanborn estate, and told us of his trespassings--in their
-absence--in search of fresh eggs for his breakfast, having observed
-that the hens had formed nomadic habits, laying in the wood-pile and in
-odd corners all over the grounds. This was during a former visit when
-he stayed at Wainwright's, a landmark that has since been wiped out by
-fire.
-
-"One day, as I walked by," said he--meaning the Sanborn place--"I heard
-a hen cackling in that triumphant way that left no doubt as to her
-having performed her duty to the species. I vaulted the fence for that
-particular egg and found it, still warm, with others, on its bed of
-soft chips. After that, I had an object in my long, solitary walks. New
-laid eggs for all occasions! And why not," he asked merrily, "seeing
-there was no other proprietor than Chanticleer Peter, who had been the
-victim of neglect so long that he would crow me a welcome, and in time
-became so tame that he would spring on my knee and eat crumbs from my
-fingers?"
-
-The Sanborns were in Europe that year and, all things considered, is it
-any wonder that he took the place for being abandoned?
-
-"Nothing but my instinct for the preservation of property kept me from
-smashing all the windows for exercise," said he.
-
-"I am glad _thee_ was good to Peter, said Mrs. Sanborn. Her extinct
-brood was a pain still rankling in her bosom. She found Peter frozen
-stiff on the bough on which he was roosting, after his hens had
-disappeared by methods too elemental to explain.
-
-They had left no servants in charge, and neighbors there were none to
-restrain the attacks of marauders, and they were prize leghorns, too.
-She almost wailed.
-
-What a shame!
-
-Well might all bachelors who are threatened with a wintry solitude take
-warning by unhappy Peter.
-
-But he is not without the honor due to martyrdom--is Peter, for Mrs.
-Sanborn had him stuffed, and presented him to "Fanny," who took him to
-California, where he survived the great San Francisco earthquake.
-
-"He must have been our mascot," said Lloyd Osbourne to me long after,
-"for the fire that followed the earthquake came just as far as the gate
-and no farther."
-
-Since the cup that cheers is not customary in Quaker homes our hostess
-proposed an egg-nog by way of afternoon collation and all entered with
-zest into the mixing of the decoction. One brought the eggs, another
-the sugar-bowl, while our host went to the cellar for that brand of
-John Barleycorn that transmutes every beverage to a toast.
-
-Now, while Stevenson came to regard new-laid eggs as the natural manna
-of the desert, he had his doubts as to the feasibility of egg-nog,
-seeing that milk is a necessary constituent. He did not know, you see,
-that a little White Alderney cow was chewing the end of salt-meadow
-grasses in the woods nearby, and, even as he doubted, Mrs. Sanborn and
-her Ganymedes had brought in a jug of the white fluid, topped with a
-froth like sea-foam.
-
-"It's nectar for the gods on Olympus," said I--meaning the milk.
-
-"True Ambrosia of the meadows," agreed Mrs. Sanborn.
-
-"Well, this is Elysium, and _we_ are the gods to-day."
-
-Elysium-on-Manasquan.
-
-"To be more exact," said Stevenson, "it should be Argos; it was there
-they celebrated the cow, as we are now celebrating----"
-
-"Tidy," said Mrs. Sanborn.
-
-"Io," corrected Stevenson, waving his fork, for he, too, was helping to
-beat the eggs:
-
-"Argos-on-Manasquan."
-
-He lingered over the name Manasquan as though he enjoyed saying it.
-
-"The first thing that impressed me in travelling in America," said he,
-"was your Indian names for towns and rivers. Temiscami, Coghnawaga,
-Ticonderoga, the very sound of them thrills one with romantic fancies.
-Why do you not revive more of these charming Indian names?"
-
-"We are too young yet to appreciate our legendary wealth," said Mr.
-Sanborn, with an emphasis on the "legendary."
-
-"_Qui s'excuse, s'accuse_," reminded Mrs. Low, who was a French woman.
-
-"Quite right," assented Mr. Sanborn, "it is not precedent we lack, but
-valuations."
-
-"To return to Argos," said Mrs. Sanborn--the peace-maker--"I always
-feel in the presence of a divine mystery when I milk Tidy. No one could
-be guilty of a frivolous thing before the calm eye of that little cow."
-
-Mrs. Sanborn possessed the reverent spirit of the pre-Raphaelites which
-burned modestly in its Quaker shrine or flared up like lightning as
-occasion required; and she delighted in the deification of her little
-cow. And why not? Had not Tidy's worshipped ancestors nourished kings
-of antiquity, and given idols to their temples, and stood she not
-to-day as perfect a symbol of maternity?
-
-I do not now remember whether it was referring to Samoa as Stevenson's
-"port o' dreams" that brought up the discussion of dreams. To some
-one who asked him if he believed that dreams came true, he replied,
-"Certainly, they are just as real as anything else."
-
-"Well, it's what one believes that counts, isn't it, and one can form
-any theory in a world where dreams are as real as other things, and is
-it the same with ideals?" somebody ventured.
-
-"Ideals," said Stevenson, "are apt to stay by you when material things
-have taken the proverbial wings, and are assets quite as enduring as
-stone fences."
-
-"And was it a want of faith in the durability of stone fences, or
-ignorance of their dream-assets, that accounts for the way that Cato
-and Demosthenes solved their problems?" was the next question, but as
-this high strain was interrupted by more frivolity, my thoughts again
-reverted to the solidity of Stevenson's dreams, that now furnished his
-inquiring soul with new fields for exploitation, as well as a dominant
-interest to fill up the measure of his earthly span.
-
-He regretted leaving the haunts of man, he told us, particularly the
-separation from his friends, which was satisfactory, coming, as it
-did, from the man who coined the truism that the way to have a friend
-is to be one.
-
-But this was his fighting chance, "and a fellow has to die fighting,
-you know." What was civilization anyway to one who needed only sunshine
-and negligée? Thus in no other than a tone of pleasantry did he refer
-to his condition, and never have I seen a face or heard a voice so
-exempt from bitterness. He told me, in fact, that he was unable to
-breathe in a room with more than four people in it at a time. This
-sounds like an exaggeration, or one of the vagaries of the sick, yet
-things that seem trifles to the well, can be tragic to the nervous
-sufferer. Mrs. Low has told me that at a dinner of only five or six
-covers Stevenson would frequently get up and throw open a window to
-breathe in enough ozone to enable him to get through the evening.
-
-He was embarking to the lure of soft airs and long, subliminal
-solitudes, accepting gracefully the one hope held out, when the crowded
-habitations of cities had become a torture. We felt the pity of the
-enforced exile of so companionable a spirit, but we did not voice it,
-feeling constrained to live up to the standard of cheerfulness he had
-so valiantly set for us.
-
-Mr. Eaton, who boasted that, in him, a good sea captain had been
-spoiled to make a bad painter, encouraged Stevenson to talk freely of
-his plans, and he dwelt at some length on the beauty and seaworthiness
-of the yacht _Casco_, that had been chartered for the voyage. This sea
-theme led, of course, to the inevitable fish stories, and after some
-mythological whale had been swallowed by some non-Biblical Jonah, I
-remarked, in the lull that followed, "Maybe the waters of the South
-Seas will yield you up a heroine."
-
-A laugh went around at this, for some present thought I had said a
-"herring." But Stevenson had no doubt as to my meaning. "I am always
-helpless," said he, "when I try to describe a woman; but then," he
-added, brightly, "how should I hope to understand a woman, when God,
-who made her, cannot?" As straws show how the wind blows, so this
-little joke throws light on Stevenson 's state of mind toward womankind
-in general. During this heroine discussion, he remarked that he was
-always "unconscionably bored" by the conversation of young girls. He
-had no desire, it seems, to mould the young idea to his taste, as
-Horace, when he said:
-
-  "Place me where the world is not habitable,
-  Where the Day-God's Chariot too near approaches,
-  Yet will I love Lalagé, see her sweet smile,
-  Hear her sweet prattle."
-
-Even as a school-boy he was unable to mingle with lads of his own age.
-This, doubtless, is another of the precocities of the early-doomed, who
-feel that every moment of life they have must be lived to the full. A
-well-known artist, Who was suffering with tuberculosis, once said to
-me, in describing his working hours at the studio, "I must make every
-touch tell, and every moment count." So to Stevenson the rounded out
-sympathies of maturity were more attractive than the sweet prattle of
-girlhood, because, like the painter, with his paint, he, with his life,
-had to _make every moment count_. This, of course, explains his having
-chosen a woman so much older than himself as a life-companion; a woman
-in whom he could find a response on his own mental plane.
-
-In the following little poem, which is perhaps his best known tribute
-to his wife, he embodies in cameo clearness my own early impression of
-the intrinsic qualities of her character:
-
-  "Trusty, dusky, vivid true,
-  With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
-    Steel-true and blade-straight,
-  The great artificer
-    Made my mate.
-
-  Honor, anger, valor, fire;
-  A love that life could never tire;
-    Death quench or evil stir,
-  The mighty master
-    Gave to her.
-
-  Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
-  A fellow-farer true through life,
-    Heart-whole and soul-free,
-  The august father
-    Gave to me."
-
-It was at the Lows' Apartment in New York that I first met Mrs.
-Stevenson. I called one afternoon to see Mrs. Low, who was convalescing
-from an illness. She sent word that she would be able to see me in
-half an hour, and I was shown into the living-room, where, meditating
-by the fire, sat Mrs. Stevenson. She seemed exceedingly picturesque to
-me, in a rich black satin gown, her hair tied back by a black ribbon in
-girlish fashion and falling in three ringlets down her back.
-
-She told me stories of her first arrival in New York that were as
-amusing as some of Stevenson's prairie experiences. She engaged a
-messenger-boy to pioneer her through the great stone jungle, not from
-fear of pickpockets or the like, but to save her from a helplessly
-lost feeling she always had when alone on the streets of a strange
-city. On arriving, she went directly to the old St. Stephen's Hotel on
-University Place and Eleventh Street, registering thus:
-
-"Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson (wife of the author of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
-Hyde)."
-
-To those of the friends who smiled over it, she explained that, being
-ill at the time, she had a horror of dying unknown in a hotel room and
-being sent to the morgue.
-
-I replied to this by telling her how my mother, being alone at a large
-London hotel for a night, insisted on having one of the chambermaids
-sleep with her, no doubt from the same sense of hopeless wandering in a
-similar Dædalian Labyrinth.
-
-Years after, some autograph collector hunted up that old St. Stephen's
-register and cut the name from the page, which reminded me of a little
-story I once told Mrs. Low.
-
-As a boy Mr. Eaton one day mounted the pulpit of the church in the
-little village of Phillipsburg, P. Q., Canada, where he was born, and
-made a drawing on one of the fly-leaves of the Bible. When it was later
-told in the village that he had exhibited at the Paris Salon, someone
-cut the leaf from the Book of Books.
-
-When one starts story telling to a good listener, little incidents
-dart through the brain that for long have lain dormant, and to pass
-the time, I told Mrs. Stevenson that on the day Mr. Eaton finished his
-portrait of President Garfield for the Union League Club, he asked the
-newly landed Celtic maid if she would wash his brushes for him (an
-office that he generally performed for himself), to which she exclaimed
-joyfully, "To think that I have lived to see the day that I washed the
-brushes that painted the President of the United States!"
-
-What the artist regarded as an added chore to her already full labors,
-was to her willing hands a pride and an honor. It may be a truism that
-a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but there certainly
-seems to be a good deal in a view-point. In looking back, I know that I
-grasped, that day, something of what the later years proved her to the
-world, for I read her then, as a highly gifted woman who had submerged
-her own personality in the greater gifts and personal claims of her
-invalid husband and in a recent reading of her Samoan notes there
-was imparted to me, by means too subtle to explain, those glimpses
-that insight bestows, that are called reading between the lines--a
-realization of the hardship of much of her life in the South Seas. I
-felt distinctly the under-current of troubled restlessness beneath the
-apparent good time of an unusual environment.
-
-[Illustration: WYATT EATON AS A STUDENT
-
-_Photo by Kurtz, N. Y._]
-
-To the woman who loves becoming toilets and the vivacity and movement
-of life in literary and social centres, and who, moreover, possesses
-the useful hands and right instincts both in artistic and domestic
-relationships, the long sojourns in desolate places, the doing with
-makeshifts and the like that these entail, are a real deprivation,
-and a persistent irritation that calls for the counteraction of an
-exceptional degree of poise and self-mastery.
-
-Nothing, in short, emphasizes this sense of her isolation, to my mind,
-so strongly as Stevenson himself in describing her quarters on board
-the schooner _Equator_, as a "beetle-haunted most unwomanly bower,"
-and this simultaneously with the reminder that it will be long before
-her eyes behold again the familiar scenes of rural beauty dear to her
-memory.
-
-The pen sketch of Stevenson forming the frontispiece was drawn by
-Mr. Eaton in a few minutes from memory. I regret to say that it is
-reproduced from a reproduction, the original (owned by Mr. S. S.
-McClure) could not be found, when wanted, Mr. McClure being in France
-at the time, but we were glad to obtain one of these copies, now
-becoming rare.
-
-I have never seen a portrait of Stevenson that equalled his appearance
-that day. The bas-relief by Saint Gaudens approximates it somewhat
-in ethereal thinness, but the _verve_, the glow, the vital spark, are
-lacking even in that.
-
-It has always been a satisfaction to me that our meeting was on an
-occasion when his illness was least apparent. My memory of his face has
-nothing of that pain-worn expression so often seen in photographs.
-
-The afternoon of the day we received his message, I caught a glimpse
-of him at a distance from my window. He was coming up from the Inlet,
-where, no doubt, he had gone to take a plunge. There was a briskness
-about his movements that seemed like the unconscious enjoyment of sound
-health, and in appearance he certainly was as romantic a figure as any
-of his own characters. Whenever I read "In the Highlands," I see him as
-he appeared at that moment, treading through a maze of bright sabatia
-and sweet clover, the mental picture, as it were, becoming a part of
-that beautiful and touching poem:
-
-  In the highlands, in the country places,
-  Where the old plain men have rosy faces,
-  And the young fair maidens quiet eyes;
-  Where essential silence cheers and blesses,
-  And for ever in the hill-recesses
-  Her more lovely music broods and dies.
-
-  O to mount again where erst I haunted;
-  Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted,
-  And the low green meadows bright with sward;
-  And when even dies, the million-tinted,
-  And the night has come, and planets glinted,
-  Lo! the valley hollow, lamp-bestarred.
-
-  O to dream, O to awake and wander
-  There, and with delight to take and render,
-  Through the trance of silence, quiet breath;
-  Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses,
-  Only the mightier movement sounds and passes;
-  Only winds and rivers, life and death.
-
-I felt the poetry of the day more poignantly as the hour for parting
-approached, and when the sun began to wane, I went out on the lawn
-to see the place under the spell of the lengthened shadows and the
-mellow sun-rays that turn the tree-trunks to burnished gold. This has
-always been my favorite hour, this charmed hour before sunset, when
-we can almost feel the earth's movement under our feet--an hour that
-transcends in poetry anything that can be imagined by the finite mind.
-
-I walked up and down under the cedars bordering the river, to quiet
-my emotion. It was there, too, under the cedars, that a remark of Mr.
-Eaton's, in describing to me his first meeting with Stevenson, flashed
-across my memory: "He combined the face of a boy with the distinguished
-bearing of a man of the world."
-
-And I thought, as I saw him then, merrily recalling the scenes and
-escapades of student life, "How well the distinguished man of the world
-had succeeded in keeping the heart of a boy!"
-
-A passage in Mr. Low's book, "A Chronicle of Friendships," that recalls
-that day most vividly, is this: "Stevenson never once excused himself
-from our company on the plea of having work to do." For so it was with
-us; he seemed to have no cares or preoccupations, but to be content to
-be there, enjoying the conversation and the pleasantness of the passing
-hour.
-
-I had a cosy quarter of an hour with his mother after my walk, and off
-by ourselves, in a corner, away from interruption, she spoke of her
-son's childhood. In her eyes, he was still the "bonnie wee laddie" who
-scouted about in his make-believe worlds among the chairs and tables
-in the drawing-room while she entertained her friends, and we repeated
-bits from "A Child's Garden of Verses."
-
-I think that if there is any clue to the character of a great man we
-must look to his mother. Mrs. Stevenson embodied the idea of her son's
-peculiar charm; there was the same triumphal youthfulness, and her
-cheeks were round and rosy like a ripe apple.
-
-I think of the mother now, after so many years, as the crowning
-influence of the day, quiet and reticent, but always felt, and honored
-by all as became the mother of our welcome guest.
-
-In her letters, written in the Marquesas to her sister in Scotland,
-she carries out this impression of habitual freshness of spirit, and
-her humor is subtle and optimistic: "Nothing gives me more pleasure
-or a better appetite than an obstacle overcome." She shows herself
-the life of "The Silver Ship," as the people of Fakarava dubbed the
-_Casco_, and never a word of criticism or complaint is penned at any
-inconvenience or annoyance endured by the way. Indeed, one marvels at
-her tranquillity in the midst of so many complications--just as one
-wondered at the simplicity of Queen Victoria in her diary. One of the
-chief delights in the perusal of these letters is the questions they
-project into the mind of the reader. Is it a style, a native virtue, a
-mannerism, a fad, or what?
-
-For example, she never suspects that the French man-o'-war in one of
-the bays may account for some of the good behavior of the natives, or
-that their bounty in cocoanuts and bread-fruit may be tendered with an
-eye to the novelties to be had in exchange, but accepts all in good
-faith, as part of their native generosity.
-
-And what a joy it is to see her taking holy communion with these
-people, so lately reclaimed from cannabalism, and taking the ceremony
-"_au grand serieux_"! Thus, a missionary within, a
-warship without, the amenities of religion and society are enjoyed to
-the full.
-
-One lays down these letters and laughs, many a time, where no laughter
-was intended. Certainly, she was a good mixer as well as the born
-mother of a genius.
-
-Stevenson's death is an anomaly no less pathetic than his life, for
-in eluding extinction by consumption, he probably achieved a still
-earlier end by apoplexy. I had the account from Mrs. Low, who received
-it directly from "Fanny" by letter. Mrs. Stevenson was mixing a salad
-of native ingredients of which Stevenson was very fond, when he joined
-her in the kitchen, complaining that he was not very well, and sitting
-down, laid his head on her shoulder, where in about twenty minutes he
-expired.
-
-I said at the beginning that I was not disappointed in the personality
-of Stevenson, but it would be nearer the mark to say that my
-anticipations fell far short of the reality.
-
-It is often the case in meeting literary celebrities that one has the
-feeling that they are first authors, and after that men. Rodin, the
-French sculptor, focuses this idea by saying that "many are artists
-at the expense of some qualities of manhood." With Stevenson one was
-clearly in the presence of a man, and after that the scholar and the
-gentleman.
-
-Was it not this fine distinction that, in spite of woolen shirt and a
-third-class transportation, awoke the suspicions of his companions of
-the steerage, that prompted the already quoted remark, "You are not one
-of us?"
-
-And on that memorable journey across the plains, seeking the woman of
-his choice, resolved, though penniless and unknown, to make her his
-wife in spite of every obstacle, the truth that the frailty of the body
-is no criterion for the strength of the spirit is well brought out. It
-was, in fact, this quality of initiative that constituted his chief
-charm--the quality that, above all others, made us so spontaneous in
-his presence and so proud of his achievement.
-
-We knew that we were seeing him at his best, surrounded by his old
-friends, and with the light of the memory of his youthful ambitions on
-his face. We knew, too, that the parting would be a life-long one, and
-that we would never look upon his like again. This regret each knew to
-be uppermost in the mind of the others, but when the good-byes began,
-we made no sign that it was to be more than the absence of a day.
-
-Nevertheless, the tensity of the last moments of parting was keenly
-felt. Stevenson had planned to spend his last night at Wainwright's,
-and Lloyd Osbourne was to row him across the river. Mr. Eaton and
-I went down to the river-bank to see them off and to wave our last
-_adieux_.
-
-The rumble of carriage-wheels in the distance, and the reverberations
-of footsteps and voices on the old wooden bridge grew fainter and
-died away, before the little boat was pushed off; and then, these two
-friends, Robert Louis Stevenson and Wyatt Eaton, both at the zenith of
-their life and powers, and both hovering so closely on the brink of
-eternity, sent their last messages to each other, across the distance,
-until the little boat had glided away, on the ebb-tide, a mere speck in
-the gray transparency of the twilight.
-
-
-
-
-FATE OF THE _CASCO_
-
-
-There are ships that, like certain people, seem created for an
-unusual and distinguishing destiny, and are unable long to survive
-the destruction of those peculiar conditions that have given them
-their dominating qualities, animation and color. Mr. Francis Dickie of
-Vancouver, B. C., has described with a vivid pen the
-later adventures and slow foundering of the _Casco_.
-
-This gentleman has kindly given me permission to reprint it here. Our
-sympathy goes out to the beautiful yacht in her lonely buffetings and
-chill decay, but though stricken and vanished, we know that she will
-live long in romance and in song as "The Silver Ship."
-
-
-FATE OF THE _CASCO_
-
-by
-
-FRANCIS DICKIE
-
-Forty miles from Nome, Alaska, breaking under the Arctic winter on the
-shores of bleak King Island, lies the skeleton of a wrecked top-mast
-schooner.
-
-Early in June, 1919, a small crew of adventurous spirits had turned
-her nose out through the Behring Sea, headed for the Lena River and
-Anadyn--and gold. She was small and old, this yacht, but what are
-thirty-three years when a craft has the proper tradition for daring,
-hazardous adventure?
-
-September storms swept upon the _Casco_, pounding her teak sides with
-unfamiliar Northern blasts. Fog, cold, night--and she lay shuddering on
-the rocks, snow-beaten, ice-broken, abandoned by her crew.
-
-So ships pass and become smooth driftwood on scattered beaches. But
-sometimes the magic of long adventure will gather around an abandoned
-hull, and form a rich memory to tempt the eternal wanderlust of man.
-What is an old ship but a floating castle built upon the memories of
-the men who have helmed her? Sometimes she plies the same dull course
-throughout her existence. Sometimes she changes trade with surprising
-chances. So it was with the _Casco_--now a glittering pleasure yacht,
-whim of an old millionaire, now stripped of gaudy trappings and bent
-to the grim will of seal hunter and opium trader.
-
-In the opening of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel, "The Wrecker," with
-red ensign waving, sailing into the port of Tai-o-hae in the Marquesas,
-the _Casco_ takes her place in fiction. But she is far more romantic as
-she has sailed in fact.
-
-"Winged by her own impetus and the dying breeze, the _Casco_ skimmed
-under cliffs, opened out a cove, showed us a beach and some green
-trees, and flitted by again, bowing to the swell ... from close aboard
-arose the bleating of young lambs; a bird sang on the hillside; the
-scent of the land and of a hundred fruits or flowers flowed forth to
-meet us; and presently"--
-
-Presently they sailed among the Isles of Varien, sunny and welcoming in
-the South Seas.
-
-Stevenson wrote this in the cabin of the _Casco_, in the summer of
-'88. His always delicate health had broken completely under the San
-Francisco climate. Friends had urged a cruise to the South Seas, he had
-gladly acquiesced, and looked around for a ship. There was a subtle
-romantic call for the author of "Treasure Island" in a voyage on a ship
-of his own choosing and direction under the soft skies of the tropics.
-
-The _Casco_ had been built by an eccentric California millionaire, Dr.
-Merritt, for cruising along the coast, and no money had been spared in
-her fittings. She was a seventy-ton fore-and-aft schooner, ninety-five
-feet long, with graceful lines, high masts, white sails and decks,
-shiny brasswork, and a gaudy silk-hung saloon. She was not perhaps
-too staunch a cruiser. "Her cockpit was none too safe, her one pump
-was inadequate in size and almost worthless; the sail plan forward was
-meant for racing and not for cruising; and even if the masts were still
-in good condition, they were quite unfitted for hurricane weather."
-
-Nevertheless, negotiations were opened with Dr. Merritt. That
-gentleman had read of Stevenson. He had conceived him as an erratic,
-irresponsible soul who wrote poetry and let everything else go to
-the devil. He'd be blamed, he said, if he'd let any scatter-brained
-writer use his precious yacht. Finally, a meeting between the two was
-effected; and, speedily charmed by Stevenson's manner, he decided to
-let him have the _Casco_. Therefore, with Capt. Otis as skipper, four
-deck hands, "three Swedes and the inevitable Finn," and a Chinese cook,
-the Stevensons sailed June 28, 1888, for the Marquesas.
-
-Stevenson's health rapidly improved in the first weeks of the voyage.
-He was charmed by the Southern islands and began making notes and
-gathering data from the natives for later books. He wrote parts of "The
-Master of Ballantrae" and of "The Wrong Box," and spent much of his
-time studying the intricate personality of his skipper, whose portrait
-afterward appeared in the pages of "The Wrecker."
-
-After months of idle cruising, it was discovered that the _Casco's_
-masts were dangerously rotten. Repairs were immediately necessary.
-Meantime Stevenson became less and less well. When the ship was
-again in commission and took them to Hawaii, he realized the
-impossibility of his returning to America, and, sending
-the _Casco_ back to San Francisco, started upon the exile that was to
-terminate in his death.
-
-Thereafter, the _Casco_ changed hands frequently, exploring the
-mysteries of seal-hunting, opium-smuggling, coast-trading and
-gold-adventure, among other things. In the early nineties, she was
-known, because of her swiftness, quickness and ease of handling at
-the wheel, to be the best of a hundred and twenty ships engaged in
-the extinction of the pelagic seal. But when, in 1898, the sealers
-found themselves impoverished by their own ruthlessness, the _Casco_,
-her decks disfigured with blood and her hold rotten from the drip of
-countless salty pelts, was discarded and left to rot on the mud flats
-of Victoria. Too much of the spirit of adventure, however, lurked in
-the tall masts of the _Casco_ to let her waste away to such an ugly
-ending. When the smuggling of Chinese and opium was at its height, up
-and down the coast there were whisperings of the daring work of the
-smuggler _Casco_. The revenue officers knew positively that she was
-laden with illicit Oriental cargo, and with Chinese immigrants; but she
-escaped them again and again, her old speed and lightness returning.
-Once, however, the wind failed her, and the revenue launch hauled
-alongside. Search for contraband was instituted; but not a Chinaman
-appeared, not a trace of opium. Fooled!--and they climbed down
-sheepishly into their launch. Later it developed that while the revenue
-men were still far astern, the crew had weighted the sixty Chinamen and
-dumped them overboard along with the opium!
-
-[Illustration: THE CASCO, JUST BEFORE IT WAS WRECKED ON KING ISLAND
-
-_Kind permission of_ MR. L. W. PEDROSE]
-
-From the swift romance of opium running the _Casco_ turned drudge. She
-carried junk between Victoria and Vancouver; she was
-a training ship for the Boy Sea Scouts of Vancouver; she was a coasting
-trader in 1917 when the shipping boom gave value to even her little
-hulk; and in between times she lay on mud flats.
-
-In the spring of 1919 came the stories of gold in Northern Siberia.
-With high hopes of fortunes to be made, the Northern Mining and Trading
-Company sprang into existence, and the _Casco_ was chartered to dare
-the far Northern seas and icy gaps.
-
-So she died at sea, as all good ships should, with the storm at her
-back and the mists over her, with snow as a shroud, and brooding
-icebergs to mourn. She lies cold and stately, with her memories of
-tropical splendor, high adventure, and light romance--this little ship
-whose cabin knew Stevenson.
-
-
-
-
-
-PORTRAITS FROM STEVENSON
-
-by
-
-GEORGE STEELE SEYMOUR
-
-
-TREASURE ISLAND
-
-  Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the treasure ship's a-sailing,
-    The lure of life is calling us beyond the shining sea,
-  The distant land of mystery her beauty is unveiling,
-    And shall we then be lagging when there's work for you and me?
-
-  The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins,
-    She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow,
-  Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins,
-    When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?
-
-  Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed,
-    With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey,
-  Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed--
-    When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away?
-      Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!
-
-
-ALAN BRECK
-
-  Is't you, Alan? You of the ready sword
-    And nimble feet, and keen, courageous eye,
-    Quick to affront, and yet more quick to spy
-  Aught that might touch your own dear absent lord!
-  Hero and clown! How it sets every chord
-    Athrill to see your feathered hat draw nigh,
-    And all your brave, fantastic finery!
-  Romance no stranger picture doth afford.
-
-  For I have met you in the House of Fear,
-    Have watched you cross the torrent of Glencoe
-      And climbed with you the rugged mountain-side.
-  We are old comrades, and I hold most dear
-    This loyal friend and yet more loyal foe
-      Who bore a kingly name with kingly pride.
-
-
-ELLIS DUCKWORTH
-
-  Was there a rustle of the leafy bed?
-    Heard you no footstep in the matted grass?
-    Down the deep glade where fearsome shadows pass
-  What is it lurks so still? What secret dread
-  Troubles the tangled branches overhead?
-    An ye be foe to this good man, alas!
-    No art shall save you though ye walk in brass.
-  Swift to your heart shall the Black Death be sped.
-
-  The woods are still--for that was years ago--
-    And now no baleful presence haunts the glade,
-      No train-band rules the highway as of yore.
-  Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low.
-    Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid,
-      And the black arrow speeds its way no more.
-
-
-SAINT IVES
-
-  Viscomte, your health. Confusion to the foe.
-    The noble lord your uncle--bless his name!
-    And may your wicked captors die in shame.
-  I kiss your hand; I kiss your forehead--so!
-  The castle cliff is steep, but down below
-    Both fortune and the lady Flora wait.
-    Oh, you will meet them, I anticipate,
-  Your hand upon your heart, and bowing low.
-
-  The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight.
-    Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag.
-    What's that! A chest of florins in the drag
-  Gone! And the rascally postboy taken flight!
-    Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ...
-    Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.
-
-
-PRINCE FLORIZEL
-
-  Try these perfectos, gentlemen. The flavour
-    I recommend. A smoke-royal. With white wines
-  You'll find them fragrantest. That spicy savour
-    Comes only in stock from the Isle of Pines.
-  Here are cigarettes, Turkish and Egyptian,
-    Such as no other merchant has to sell,
-  And Trichinopoly of the same description
-    I smoked when I was called Prince Florizel.
-
-  That was before I stooped to trade plebeian,
-    Left my exalted home and wandered far,
-  Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean,
-    Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar.
-  Till Louis looked from out the empyrean
-    And in the dust of Mayfair found a star.
-
-
-THE EBB TIDE
-
-  Green palm-tops bending low by silent seas
-    Like heads in prayer--
-  Life's turmoil nor its multiplicities
-    Are there.
-
-  But only calms and potencies hold sway
-    That will not be denied,
-  Come with the surge of dawn and drift away
-    With the ebb tide.
-
-
-
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[A] Lescaris was a Greek shepherd who discovered the secret of
-transmuting the baser metals to fine gold.
-
-[B] Paua--Native name for the Tridacna Gigus, a huge clam. When it
-closes on any one, his only escape is by losing the limb.
-
-
-
-
-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
-
-Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
-
-Inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been
-  standardized.
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg's Stevenson at Manasquan, by Charlotte Eaton
-
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stevenson at Manasquan, by Charlotte Eaton
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
-almost no restrictions whatsoever.  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/license
-
-
-Title: Stevenson at Manasquan
-
-Author: Charlotte Eaton
-
-Contributor: Francis Joseph Dickie
-
-Illustrator: George Steele Seymour
-
-Release Date: October 9, 2017 [EBook #55714]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEVENSON AT MANASQUAN ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by ellinora, David E. Brown and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
-file was produced from images generously made available
-by The Internet Archive)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/></div>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-
-
-
-
-<p class="center">The Little Bookfellow Series</p>
-
-<h1>Stevenson at Manasquan</h1>
-
-
-
-
-<p class="center"><span class="large"><strong>Other Titles in this series:</strong></span></p>
-
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-
-<p><span class="smcap">Estrays.</span> Poems by Thomas Kennedy, George
-Seymour, Vincent Starrett, and Basil Thompson.</p>
-
-<p><span class="smcap">William De Morgan, a Post-Victorian Realist</span>,
-by Flora Warren Seymour.</p>
-
-<p><span class="smcap">Lyrics</span>, by Laura Blackburn.</p></div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt=""/></div>
-
-<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Pen and Ink Sketch of Robert Louis Stevenson, by
-Wyatt Eaton</span></p>
-
-<p class="center"><i>Kind permission of Mr. S. S. McClure</i></p>
-
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="titlepage">
-<p><span class="xlarge">Stevenson at Manasquan</span></p>
-
-<p>By<br />
-Charlotte Eaton</p>
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-<p>With a Note on the Fate of the Yacht
-"Casco" by Francis Dickie and Six Portraits
-from Stevenson by George Steele Seymour</p></div>
-
-<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt=""/></div>
-
-<p>CHICAGO<br />
-THE BOOKFELLOWS<br />
-1921</p>
-</div>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-
-<p><i>Three hundred copies of this book by Charlotte Eaton,
-Bookfellow No. 550, Francis Dickie, Bookfellow No. 716,
-and George Steele Seymour, Bookfellow No. 1, have been
-printed. Mrs. Eaton's memoir is an elaboration of one
-previously published by Thomas Y. Crowell Co. of New
-York under the title "A Last Memory of Robert Louis
-Stevenson"; Mr. Dickie's notes have appeared in the
-New York World, and Mr. Seymour's "Portraits" have
-appeared in "Contemporary Verse" and "The Star" of
-San Francisco.</i></p>
-
-<p class="center">
-<i>Copyright, 1921, by<br />
-Flora Warren Seymour</i></p>
-
-<p class="right">THE TORCH PRESS<br />
-CEDAR RAPIDS<br />
-IOWA</p>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
-<h2 class="nobreak">STEVENSON AT MANASQUAN</h2></div>
-
-
-<p>When I came face to face with Robert Louis
-Stevenson it was the realization of one of my
-most cherished dreams.</p>
-
-<p>This was at Manasquan, a village on the New
-Jersey coast, where he had come to make a farewell
-visit to his old friend Will Low, the artist.
-Mr. Low had taken a cottage there that summer
-while working on his series of Lamia drawings
-for Lippincott's, and Stevenson, hearing that we
-were on the other side of the river, sent word
-that he would come to see us on the morrow.</p>
-
-<p>"Stevenson is coming," was announced at the
-breakfast-table as calmly as though it were a
-daily occurrence.</p>
-
-<p><i>Stevenson coming to Manasquan!</i></p>
-
-<p>I was in my 'teens, was an enthusiastic student
-of poetry and mythology, and Stevenson was my
-hero of romance. Was it any wonder the intelligence
-excited me?</p>
-
-<p>My husband, the late Wyatt Eaton, and Stevenson,
-were friends in their student days abroad,
-and it was in honor of those early days that I
-was to clasp the hand of my favorite author.</p>
-
-<p>It was in the mazes of a contradance at Barbizon,
-in the picturesque setting of a barn lighted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
-by candles, that their first meeting took place,
-where Mr. Eaton, though still a student in the
-schools of Paris, had taken a studio to be near
-Jean François Millet, and hither Stevenson had
-come, with his cousin, known as "Talking Bob,"
-to take part in the harvest festivities among the
-peasants.</p>
-
-<p>These were the halcyon days at Barbizon,
-when Millet tramped the fields and the favorite
-haunts of Rousseau and Corot could be followed
-up through the Forest of Fontainebleau, before
-Barbizon had become a resort for holiday makers,
-or the term "Barbizon School" had been
-thought of.</p>
-
-<p>Now, of all places in the world, the quaint
-little Sanborn Cottage on the river-bank, where
-we were stopping, seemed to me the spot best
-suited for a first meeting with Stevenson. The
-Sanborns were very little on the estate and the
-place had a neglected look. Indeed, more than
-that, one might easily have taken it for a haunted
-or abandoned place&mdash;with its garden choked
-with weeds, and its window-shutters flaunting
-old spider-webs to the breeze.</p>
-
-<p>It was, of course, the fanciful, adventure-loving
-Stevenson that I looked forward to seeing,
-and I was not disappointed; and while others
-spoke of the flight of time with its inevitable
-changes, I felt sure that, to me, he would be just
-Stevenson who wrote the things over which I
-had burned the midnight oil.</p>
-
-<p>He came promptly at the hour fixed, appearing
-on the threshold as frail and distinguished-looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
-as a portrait by Velasquez. He had
-walked across the mile-long bridge connecting
-Brielle and Manasquan, ahead of the others, for
-the bracer he always needed before joining even
-a small company.</p>
-
-<p>Shall I ever forget the sensation of delight
-that thrilled me, as he entered the room&mdash;tall,
-emaciated, yet radiant, his straight, glossy hair
-so long that it lay upon the collar of his coat,
-throwing into bold relief his long neck and keenly
-sensitive face?</p>
-
-<p>His hands were of the psychic order, and were
-of marble whiteness, save the thumb and first
-finger of the right hand, that were stained from
-constant cigarette rolling&mdash;for he was an inveterate
-smoker&mdash;and he had the longest fingers
-I have ever seen on a human being; they were, in
-fact, part of his general appearance of lankiness,
-that would have been uncanny, but for the
-geniality and sense of <i>bien être</i> that he gave off.
-His voice, low in tone, had an endearing quality
-in it, that was almost like a caress. He never
-made use of vernacularism and was without the
-slightest Scotch accent; on the contrary, he
-spoke his English like a world citizen, speaking
-a universal tongue, and always looked directly
-at the person spoken to.</p>
-
-<p>I have since heard one who knew him (and
-they are becoming scarce now) call him the man
-of good manners, or "the mannerly Stevenson,"
-and this is the term needed to complete my first
-impression, for more than the traveller, the
-scholar or the author, it was the <i>mannerly Stevenson</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
-that appeared in our midst that day. He
-moved about the room to a ripple of repartée
-that was contagious, putting every one on his
-mettle&mdash;in fact, his presence was a challenge
-to a <i>jeu d'esprit</i> on every hand. How self-possessed
-he was, how spiritual! his face glowing
-with memories of other days.</p>
-
-<p>He had just come from Saranac, Saranac-in-the-Adirondacks,
-that had failed to yield him
-the elixir of life he was seeking, where he had
-spent a winter of such solitude as even his courageous
-wife was unable to endure.</p>
-
-<p>His good spirits were doubtless on the rebound
-after good work accomplished, for there, in "his
-hat-box on the hill," as he called his quarters at
-Baker's, were written his "Christmas Sermons,"
-"The Lantern Bearer," and the opening chapters
-of "The Master of Ballantrae." In this
-"very decent house" he would talk old Mr.
-Baker to sleep on stormy nights, and the good
-old farmer, never suspecting that Stevenson was
-"anybody in particular," snored his responses
-to those flights in fact and fancy for which
-there are those who would have given hundreds
-of dollars to have been in the old farmer's place.
-But it was the very carelessness of Mr. Baker
-that helped along the talking spell. This is often
-the case with authors; they will pour out their
-precious knowledge into the ears of some inconsequential
-person, a tramp as likely as not,
-picked up by the way; the non-critical attitude
-of the illiterate seems to help the thinker in
-forming a sequence of ideas; this explains, too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
-why the artist values the lay criticism&mdash;it hits
-directly at any false note in a picture, thus saving
-the painter much unnecessary delay.</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes Dr. Trudeau, also an exile of the
-mountains, would drop in professionally on
-these stormy evenings and would stay until about
-midnight, having entirely forgotten the nature
-of his visit. Stevenson had this faculty of making
-friends of those who served him. To the
-restaurant keeper of Monterey, Jules Simoneau,
-who trusted him when he was penniless and
-unknown, he presented a set of his books, leather-bound,
-each volume autographed, and this
-worthy man has since refused a thousand dollars
-for the set. "Well," he explained, "I do not
-need the money, and I value the gift for itself."
-I think this friend of Stevenson's must feel like
-Father Tabb in the library of his friend when
-he said:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">"To see, when he is dead,</div>
-<div class="verse">The many books he read,</div>
-<div class="verse">And then again, to note</div>
-<div class="verse">The many books he wrote;</div>
-<div class="verse">How some got in, and some got out.</div>
-<div class="verse">'Tis very strange to think about."</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<p>But to return to our story.</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson's Isle-of-the-blest was calling to
-him, and hope lay that way, where life was elementary
-and where a man with but one lung to
-his account might live indefinitely. Not that
-he feared to die. Oh, no! It takes more courage
-sometimes to live, but it was hard to give up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
-at forty, when one just begins to enter into the
-knowledge of one's own powers. A blind lady
-once said to me, in speaking of a mutual friend,
-"When Mr. B. comes, I feel as if there was a
-<i>sprite</i> in the room," and this is the way I felt
-about Stevenson, for during those moments of
-serious discussion when most people are tense,
-he moved actively about, and his philosophies
-were humanized by his warm, brown eyes and
-merry exclamations.</p>
-
-<p>Another reason for the sprite feeling, was that
-he was consciously living in the past that day,
-and each face was like reseeing a milestone long
-passed, on some half-forgotten journey.</p>
-
-<p>It was this sense of detachment that, more
-than anything else, gave us the feeling that he
-was already beyond our mortal ken, that he was
-living at once in the visible and in the invisible,
-one to whom the passing of time had little significance.
-I think this is true, more or less, of all
-those who are marked for a brief earthly career.</p>
-
-<p>By this time the other members of the family
-had arrived. His mother, Lloyd Osbourne, and
-Mrs. Strong, his step-children; "Fanny," his
-wife, was in California, looking after some property
-interests she had there, and provisioning
-the yacht chartered for the voyage to the South
-Seas. In all his enterprises she was his major-domo,
-and her devotion no doubt helped to prolong
-his life. Their mutual agreement on all
-financial matters reminded me of a remark made
-by mine host at a country inn, who, in speaking
-of his wife, said, "She is my very best investment,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
-and so was Mrs. Stevenson to her husband,
-<i>Lewis</i>, for so the family called him, and
-never Robert Louis. I am inclined to think that
-yoking of contrasts is an important part in
-Nature's economy of things. Ella Wheeler Wilcox
-said to me that she owed her success to
-Robert&mdash;her husband&mdash;because in all her undertakings
-he went before and smoothed the
-way; but Mr. Wilcox's version of the case is
-another story. "I keep an eye on Ella," said
-he, "to prevent her from giving away too much
-money."</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson was now seated before the grate,
-the flickering light from the wood fire illuminating
-his pale face to transparency. Now and
-then he relapsed into silence, gazing into the fire
-with the rapt look of one who sees visions.</p>
-
-<p>"Are you seeing a Salamander," I asked, "or
-do the sparks flying upward make you think of
-the golden alchemy of Lescaris?"<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p>
-
-<p>"A Salamander," he replied, smiling. "Yes,
-a carnivorous fire-dweller that eats up man and
-his dreams forever."</p>
-
-<p>"Gracious! But you are going to worse
-things than Salamanders, the Paua,<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> they will
-get you, if you don't watch out."</p>
-
-<p>And then, suddenly becoming conscious of my
-temerity in interrupting the thread of his reflections,
-to cover my embarrassment, I ran upstairs
-for my birthday-book.</p>
-
-
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>An autograph!</p>
-
-<p>Of course. And he wrote it, reading out the
-quotation that filled in part of the space. It
-was one of Emerson's Kantisms, something about
-not going abroad, unless you can as readily stay
-at home (I forget the exact words). It was decidedly
-malapropos and called out much merriment.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">"Oh, stay at home, dear heart, and rest;</div>
-<div class="verse">Home-keeping hearts are happiest."</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<p>Somebody quoted, to which another replied:</p>
-
-<p class="center">"Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits."</p>
-
-<p>The autograph has long since disappeared,
-but how often have I thought with regret of the
-amused expression in Stevenson's eyes at the
-Salamander fancy! What tales of witchery
-might have been spun from those themes worthy
-of the magic of his pen, the fire-dwelling man-eater,
-or the discovery of the Greek shepherd!</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson was amused over our enthusiasm,
-and the eagerness of some of the younger members
-of the company to lionize him.</p>
-
-<p>"And what do you consider your brightest
-failure?" inquired our host.</p>
-
-<p>"'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,'" he replied,
-without a moment's hesitation, adding, "that is
-the worst thing I ever wrote."</p>
-
-<p>"Yet you owe it to your dream-expedition,"
-some one reminded him.</p>
-
-<p>"The dream-expedition?" he repeated. "Yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
-that was perhaps a compensation for the bad
-things."</p>
-
-<p>Benjamin Franklin has said that success ruins
-many a man. The success of "Trilby" killed
-Du Maurier, and many authors have had their
-heads turned for far less than the Jekyll and
-Hyde furore that swept the country at that time.
-But the Mannerly Stevenson carried his honors
-lightly. Smiling over the popularity of the
-"worst thing he ever wrote," he revealed that
-quality in his own nature that was finer than
-anything he had given to print, the soul whose
-indomitable courage could bear the brunt of adverse
-circumstance, and even contumely, and
-hold its own integrity, becoming a law unto itself.</p>
-
-<p>Here was the man who had passed himself off
-as one of a group of steerage passengers on that
-memorable trip across the Atlantic on his way to
-Monterey in quest of the woman he loved, the
-man whose life was more vital in its <i>love-motif</i>
-than any of his own romances, the man who, in
-spite of ill-health and uncertainty of means, yet
-paid the price for his heart's desire.</p>
-
-<p>"See here," said a lusty fellow, lurching up
-to him one day on deck. "You are not one of
-us, you are a gentleman in hard luck."</p>
-
-<p>"But," added Stevenson triumphantly, in telling
-the story, "it was not until the end of the
-voyage that they found me out."</p>
-
-<p>This points the saying that it was the great
-washed that Stevenson fought shy of, and not
-the greater unwashed, with whom he was always
-on the friendliest terms.</p>
-
-
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>He talked delightfully, too, on events connected
-with his journey across the plains, which he
-made in an emigrant train, associating with
-Chinamen, who cooked their meals on board, and
-slept on planks let down from the side of the
-cars.</p>
-
-<p>"The air was thick," said he, "and an Oriental
-thickness, at that."</p>
-
-<p>But this period of his life was a painful subject
-for his mother, who was present, and some
-of his best stories were omitted on her account.</p>
-
-<p>He told us, however, about being nearly
-lynched for throwing away a lighted match on
-the prairie. "And all the fuss," said he, "before
-I was made aware of the nature of my
-crime." Both his mother and Sydney Colvin
-had done their best to make him accept enough
-money, as a loan, to make this trip comfortable.
-But he had refused. He was, he explained,
-"doing that which neither his family nor friends
-could approve," and he would therefore accept
-no financial aid.</p>
-
-<p>"Just before starting," said he, "being in
-need of money, I called at the <i>Century</i> office,
-where I had left some manuscript with the request
-for an early decision, but was politely
-shown the door."</p>
-
-<p>Consternation seized us at this announcement,
-for all present knew the editor for a man of
-sympathy and heart. But Stevenson himself
-came to our relief with, "But Mr. Gilder was
-abroad that year."</p>
-
-<p>After the lapse of more than a quarter of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
-century, it might not come amiss to recount another
-little incident at the same office.</p>
-
-<p>I mentioned one day to Mr. Gilder that some
-notes by Mr. Eaton written during his last illness
-had been rejected. "You don't mean to
-tell me that anything by Wyatt was rejected at
-this office," said he, and going into an inner
-room, returned in a few minutes with a goodly
-check. "There," said he, as he put it in my
-hand, "Send in the notes at your convenience."</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson laughed good-naturedly over the
-dilemmas the editors of western papers threw
-him into, by their tardiness in paying space
-rates for the stories and essays that now rank
-among his finest productions. Indeed one wonders
-whether he would have survived the hardships
-of those Monterey days, had not the good
-Jules Simoneau found him "worth saving," a
-circumstance for which he is accorded the palm
-by posterity rather than for the flavor of his
-tamales.</p>
-
-<p>In many ways it is given to the humble to minister
-to the needs of the great. A distinguished
-author once said to me: "I could never have
-arrived without the help of my poor friends."</p>
-
-<p>As Stevenson went from reminiscence to
-reminiscence, we felt that from this period of
-his vivid obscurity might have been drawn material
-for some of his most stirring romances,
-and we were rewarded as good listeners by the
-discovery of that which he thought his best work,
-namely, the little story called "Will o' the Mill."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Sanborn, his eyes beaming,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
-"if you live to be as old as Methuselah, with
-all the world's lore at your finger-ends, you
-could never improve on that simple little story."</p>
-
-<p>We teased Stevenson a good deal on the hugeness
-of his royalties on "Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
-Hyde," which, besides having had what the publishers
-call a "run," was bringing in a second
-goodly harvest from its dramatization, by which
-his voyage to the South Seas had become a reality.</p>
-
-<p>Remembering his remark that his idea of Purgatory
-was a perpetual high wind, I asked him:
-"Why have you chosen an island for your future
-habitat; or, if an island, why not Nevis in the
-West Indies, where one is in the perpetual doldrums,
-so to speak?" "There will be no more
-wind on Samoa than just enough to turn the
-page of the book one is reading," he replied;
-and windless Nevis was British, you see, and his
-first necessity was to get away where nobody
-reads. Like Jubal, son of Lamech, who felt
-himself hemmed in by hearing his songs repeated
-in a land where everybody sang, so he was
-shadowed by the Jekyll and Hyde mania in a
-land where everybody read.</p>
-
-<p>The very essence of his isolation is felt in a
-playful little fling at a Mr. Nerli, an artist, who
-went out there to paint his portrait, as well as
-the boredom everyone experiences in sitting to
-a painter:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">"Did ever mortal man hear tell, of sae singular a ferlie,</div>
-<div class="verse"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>Of the coming to Apia here, of the painter, Mr. Nerli?</div>
-<div class="verse">He came; and O for a human found, of a' <i>he</i> was the pearlie,</div>
-<div class="verse">The pearl of a' the painter folk, was surely Mr. Nerli.</div>
-<div class="verse">He took a thraw to paint mysel'; he painted late and early;</div>
-<div class="verse">O now! the mony a yawn I've yawned in the beard of Mr. Nerli.</div>
-<div class="verse">Whiles I would sleep, an' whiles would wake, an' whiles was mair than surly,</div>
-<div class="verse">I wondered sair, as I sat there, forninst the eyes of Nerli.</div>
-<div class="verse">O will he paint me the way I want, as bonnie as a girlie?</div>
-<div class="verse">Or will he paint me an ugly type, and be damned to Mr. Nerli!</div>
-<div class="verse">But still and on, and whiche'er it is, he is a Canty Kerlie,</div>
-<div class="verse">The Lord proteck the back and neck of honest Mr. Nerli."</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<p>Which shows that he was not altogether free
-from bothers even after reaching his "port o'
-dreams" in running away from Purgatorial
-winds, only to be held up by a paint-brush!
-Also, as most of us when excited fall back upon
-our early idiom, so Stevenson, in jest or lyric
-mood, drifted into the dialect of his fathers.</p>
-
-<p>We found, much to our surprise, that Stevenson
-knew every nook and cranny of the Sanborn
-estate, and told us of his trespassings&mdash;in
-their absence&mdash;in search of fresh eggs for
-his breakfast, having observed that the hens had
-formed nomadic habits, laying in the wood-pile
-and in odd corners all over the grounds. This
-was during a former visit when he stayed at
-Wainwright's, a landmark that has since been
-wiped out by fire.</p>
-
-<p>"One day, as I walked by," said he&mdash;meaning
-the Sanborn place&mdash;"I heard a hen cackling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
-in that triumphant way that left no doubt as to
-her having performed her duty to the species.
-I vaulted the fence for that particular egg and
-found it, still warm, with others, on its bed of
-soft chips. After that, I had an object in my
-long, solitary walks. New laid eggs for all occasions!
-And why not," he asked merrily, "seeing
-there was no other proprietor than Chanticleer
-Peter, who had been the victim of neglect
-so long that he would crow me a welcome, and
-in time became so tame that he would spring
-on my knee and eat crumbs from my fingers?"</p>
-
-<p>The Sanborns were in Europe that year and,
-all things considered, is it any wonder that he
-took the place for being abandoned?</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing but my instinct for the preservation
-of property kept me from smashing all the windows
-for exercise," said he.</p>
-
-<p>"I am glad <i>thee</i> was good to Peter, said
-Mrs. Sanborn. Her extinct brood was a pain
-still rankling in her bosom. She found Peter
-frozen stiff on the bough on which he was roosting,
-after his hens had disappeared by methods
-too elemental to explain.</p>
-
-<p>They had left no servants in charge, and
-neighbors there were none to restrain the attacks
-of marauders, and they were prize leghorns, too.
-She almost wailed.</p>
-
-<p>What a shame!</p>
-
-<p>Well might all bachelors who are threatened
-with a wintry solitude take warning by unhappy
-Peter.</p>
-
-<p>But he is not without the honor due to martyrdom&mdash;is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
-Peter, for Mrs. Sanborn had him
-stuffed, and presented him to "Fanny," who
-took him to California, where he survived the
-great San Francisco earthquake.</p>
-
-<p>"He must have been our mascot," said Lloyd
-Osbourne to me long after, "for the fire that
-followed the earthquake came just as far as the
-gate and no farther."</p>
-
-<p>Since the cup that cheers is not customary in
-Quaker homes our hostess proposed an egg-nog
-by way of afternoon collation and all entered
-with zest into the mixing of the decoction. One
-brought the eggs, another the sugar-bowl, while
-our host went to the cellar for that brand of
-John Barleycorn that transmutes every beverage
-to a toast.</p>
-
-<p>Now, while Stevenson came to regard new-laid
-eggs as the natural manna of the desert, he
-had his doubts as to the feasibility of egg-nog,
-seeing that milk is a necessary constituent. He
-did not know, you see, that a little White Alderney
-cow was chewing the end of salt-meadow
-grasses in the woods nearby, and, even as he
-doubted, Mrs. Sanborn and her Ganymedes had
-brought in a jug of the white fluid, topped with
-a froth like sea-foam.</p>
-
-<p>"It's nectar for the gods on Olympus," said
-I&mdash;meaning the milk.</p>
-
-<p>"True Ambrosia of the meadows," agreed
-Mrs. Sanborn.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, this is Elysium, and <i>we</i> are the gods
-to-day."</p>
-
-<p>Elysium-on-Manasquan.</p>
-
-
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>"To be more exact," said Stevenson, "it
-should be Argos; it was there they celebrated the
-cow, as we are now celebrating&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p>"Tidy," said Mrs. Sanborn.</p>
-
-<p>"Io," corrected Stevenson, waving his fork,
-for he, too, was helping to beat the eggs:</p>
-
-<p>"Argos-on-Manasquan."</p>
-
-<p>He lingered over the name Manasquan as
-though he enjoyed saying it.</p>
-
-<p>"The first thing that impressed me in travelling
-in America," said he, "was your Indian
-names for towns and rivers. Temiscami,
-Coghnawaga, Ticonderoga, the very sound of
-them thrills one with romantic fancies. Why do
-you not revive more of these charming Indian
-names?"</p>
-
-<p>"We are too young yet to appreciate our
-legendary wealth," said Mr. Sanborn, with an
-emphasis on the "legendary."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Qui s'excuse, s'accuse</i>," reminded Mrs. Low,
-who was a French woman.</p>
-
-<p>"Quite right," assented Mr. Sanborn, "it is
-not precedent we lack, but valuations."</p>
-
-<p>"To return to Argos," said Mrs. Sanborn&mdash;the
-peace-maker&mdash;"I always feel in the presence
-of a divine mystery when I milk Tidy. No one
-could be guilty of a frivolous thing before the
-calm eye of that little cow."</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Sanborn possessed the reverent spirit of
-the pre-Raphaelites which burned modestly in
-its Quaker shrine or flared up like lightning as
-occasion required; and she delighted in the deification<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
-of her little cow. And why not? Had
-not Tidy's worshipped ancestors nourished kings
-of antiquity, and given idols to their temples,
-and stood she not to-day as perfect a symbol
-of maternity?</p>
-
-<p>I do not now remember whether it was referring
-to Samoa as Stevenson's "port o'
-dreams" that brought up the discussion of
-dreams. To some one who asked him if he believed
-that dreams came true, he replied, "Certainly,
-they are just as real as anything else."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, it's what one believes that counts, isn't
-it, and one can form any theory in a world where
-dreams are as real as other things, and is it the
-same with ideals?" somebody ventured.</p>
-
-<p>"Ideals," said Stevenson, "are apt to stay
-by you when material things have taken the
-proverbial wings, and are assets quite as enduring
-as stone fences."</p>
-
-<p>"And was it a want of faith in the durability
-of stone fences, or ignorance of their
-dream-assets, that accounts for the way that
-Cato and Demosthenes solved their problems?"
-was the next question, but as this high strain
-was interrupted by more frivolity, my thoughts
-again reverted to the solidity of Stevenson's
-dreams, that now furnished his inquiring soul
-with new fields for exploitation, as well as a
-dominant interest to fill up the measure of his
-earthly span.</p>
-
-<p>He regretted leaving the haunts of man, he
-told us, particularly the separation from his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
-friends, which was satisfactory, coming, as it
-did, from the man who coined the truism that
-the way to have a friend is to be one.</p>
-
-<p>But this was his fighting chance, "and a
-fellow has to die fighting, you know." What
-was civilization anyway to one who needed only
-sunshine and negligée? Thus in no other than
-a tone of pleasantry did he refer to his condition,
-and never have I seen a face or heard a voice so
-exempt from bitterness. He told me, in fact,
-that he was unable to breathe in a room with
-more than four people in it at a time. This
-sounds like an exaggeration, or one of the vagaries
-of the sick, yet things that seem trifles to the
-well, can be tragic to the nervous sufferer. Mrs.
-Low has told me that at a dinner of only five or
-six covers Stevenson would frequently get up
-and throw open a window to breathe in enough
-ozone to enable him to get through the evening.</p>
-
-<p>He was embarking to the lure of soft airs and
-long, subliminal solitudes, accepting gracefully
-the one hope held out, when the crowded habitations
-of cities had become a torture. We felt the
-pity of the enforced exile of so companionable a
-spirit, but we did not voice it, feeling constrained
-to live up to the standard of cheerfulness
-he had so valiantly set for us.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Eaton, who boasted that, in him, a good
-sea captain had been spoiled to make a bad painter,
-encouraged Stevenson to talk freely of his
-plans, and he dwelt at some length on the beauty
-and seaworthiness of the yacht <i>Casco</i>, that had
-been chartered for the voyage. This sea theme<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
-led, of course, to the inevitable fish stories, and
-after some mythological whale had been swallowed
-by some non-Biblical Jonah, I remarked,
-in the lull that followed, "Maybe the waters of
-the South Seas will yield you up a heroine."</p>
-
-<p>A laugh went around at this, for some present
-thought I had said a "herring." But Stevenson
-had no doubt as to my meaning. "I am
-always helpless," said he, "when I try to describe
-a woman; but then," he added, brightly,
-"how should I hope to understand a woman,
-when God, who made her, cannot?" As straws
-show how the wind blows, so this little joke
-throws light on Stevenson 's state of mind toward
-womankind in general. During this heroine
-discussion, he remarked that he was always "unconscionably
-bored" by the conversation of
-young girls. He had no desire, it seems, to
-mould the young idea to his taste, as Horace,
-when he said:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">"Place me where the world is not habitable,</div>
-<div class="verse">Where the Day-God's Chariot too near approaches,</div>
-<div class="verse">Yet will I love Lalagé, see her sweet smile,</div>
-<div class="verse">Hear her sweet prattle."</div>
-</div></div>
-
-<p>Even as a school-boy he was unable to mingle
-with lads of his own age. This, doubtless, is
-another of the precocities of the early-doomed,
-who feel that every moment of life they have
-must be lived to the full. A well-known artist,
-Who was suffering with tuberculosis, once said to
-me, in describing his working hours at the
-studio, "I must make every touch tell, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
-every moment count." So to Stevenson the
-rounded out sympathies of maturity were more
-attractive than the sweet prattle of girlhood,
-because, like the painter, with his paint, he,
-with his life, had to <i>make every moment count</i>.
-This, of course, explains his having chosen a
-woman so much older than himself as a life-companion;
-a woman in whom he could find a response
-on his own mental plane.</p>
-
-<p>In the following little poem, which is perhaps
-his best known tribute to his wife, he embodies
-in cameo clearness my own early impression of
-the intrinsic qualities of her character:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">"Trusty, dusky, vivid true,</div>
-<div class="verse">With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Steel-true and blade-straight,</div>
-<div class="verse">The great artificer</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Made my mate.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Honor, anger, valor, fire;</div>
-<div class="verse">A love that life could never tire;</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Death quench or evil stir,</div>
-<div class="verse">The mighty master</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Gave to her.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,</div>
-<div class="verse">A fellow-farer true through life,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Heart-whole and soul-free,</div>
-<div class="verse">The august father</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Gave to me."</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-<p>It was at the Lows' Apartment in New York
-that I first met Mrs. Stevenson. I called one
-afternoon to see Mrs. Low, who was convalescing
-from an illness. She sent word that she would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
-be able to see me in half an hour, and I was
-shown into the living-room, where, meditating
-by the fire, sat Mrs. Stevenson. She seemed
-exceedingly picturesque to me, in a rich black
-satin gown, her hair tied back by a black ribbon
-in girlish fashion and falling in three ringlets
-down her back.</p>
-
-<p>She told me stories of her first arrival in New
-York that were as amusing as some of Stevenson's
-prairie experiences. She engaged a messenger-boy
-to pioneer her through the great stone
-jungle, not from fear of pickpockets or the like,
-but to save her from a helplessly lost feeling she
-always had when alone on the streets of a strange
-city. On arriving, she went directly to the old
-St. Stephen's Hotel on University Place and
-Eleventh Street, registering thus:</p>
-
-<p>"Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson (wife of the
-author of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde)."</p>
-
-<p>To those of the friends who smiled over it,
-she explained that, being ill at the time, she had
-a horror of dying unknown in a hotel room and
-being sent to the morgue.</p>
-
-<p>I replied to this by telling her how my mother,
-being alone at a large London hotel for a night,
-insisted on having one of the chambermaids
-sleep with her, no doubt from the same sense of
-hopeless wandering in a similar Dædalian Labyrinth.</p>
-
-<p>Years after, some autograph collector hunted
-up that old St. Stephen's register and cut the
-name from the page, which reminded me of a
-little story I once told Mrs. Low.</p>
-
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>As a boy Mr. Eaton one day mounted the pulpit
-of the church in the little village of Phillipsburg,
-P. Q., Canada, where he was born, and
-made a drawing on one of the fly-leaves of the
-Bible. When it was later told in the village
-that he had exhibited at the Paris Salon, someone
-cut the leaf from the Book of Books.</p>
-
-<p>When one starts story telling to a good listener,
-little incidents dart through the brain that
-for long have lain dormant, and to pass the time,
-I told Mrs. Stevenson that on the day Mr. Eaton
-finished his portrait of President Garfield for the
-Union League Club, he asked the newly landed
-Celtic maid if she would wash his brushes for
-him (an office that he generally performed for
-himself), to which she exclaimed joyfully, "To
-think that I have lived to see the day that I
-washed the brushes that painted the President
-of the United States!"</p>
-
-<p>What the artist regarded as an added chore
-to her already full labors, was to her willing
-hands a pride and an honor. It may be a truism
-that a rose by any other name would smell as
-sweet, but there certainly seems to be a good
-deal in a view-point. In looking back, I know
-that I grasped, that day, something of what the
-later years proved her to the world, for I read
-her then, as a highly gifted woman who had
-submerged her own personality in the greater
-gifts and personal claims of her invalid husband
-and in a recent reading of her Samoan notes
-there was imparted to me, by means too subtle
-to explain, those glimpses that insight bestows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
-that are called reading between the lines&mdash;a
-realization of the hardship of much of her life
-in the South Seas. I felt distinctly the under-current
-of troubled restlessness beneath the apparent
-good time of an unusual environment.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_029.jpg" alt=""/></div>
-
-<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Wyatt Eaton as a Student</span></p>
-
-<p class="center"><i>Photo by Kurtz, N. Y.</i></p>
-
-<p>To the woman who loves becoming toilets and
-the vivacity and movement of life in literary
-and social centres, and who, moreover, possesses
-the useful hands and right instincts both in artistic
-and domestic relationships, the long sojourns
-in desolate places, the doing with makeshifts
-and the like that these entail, are a real
-deprivation, and a persistent irritation that calls
-for the counteraction of an exceptional degree of
-poise and self-mastery.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing, in short, emphasizes this sense of her
-isolation, to my mind, so strongly as Stevenson
-himself in describing her quarters on board the
-schooner <i>Equator</i>, as a "beetle-haunted most unwomanly
-bower," and this simultaneously with
-the reminder that it will be long before her
-eyes behold again the familiar scenes of rural
-beauty dear to her memory.</p>
-
-<p>The pen sketch of Stevenson forming the frontispiece
-was drawn by Mr. Eaton in a few
-minutes from memory. I regret to say that it is
-reproduced from a reproduction, the original
-(owned by Mr. S. S. McClure) could not be
-found, when wanted, Mr. McClure being in
-France at the time, but we were glad to obtain
-one of these copies, now becoming rare.</p>
-
-<p>I have never seen a portrait of Stevenson
-that equalled his appearance that day. The bas-relief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
-by Saint Gaudens approximates it somewhat
-in ethereal thinness, but the <i>verve</i>, the
-glow, the vital spark, are lacking even in that.</p>
-
-<p>It has always been a satisfaction to me that
-our meeting was on an occasion when his illness
-was least apparent. My memory of his face has
-nothing of that pain-worn expression so often
-seen in photographs.</p>
-
-<p>The afternoon of the day we received his message,
-I caught a glimpse of him at a distance
-from my window. He was coming up from the
-Inlet, where, no doubt, he had gone to take a
-plunge. There was a briskness about his movements
-that seemed like the unconscious enjoyment
-of sound health, and in appearance he certainly
-was as romantic a figure as any of his own
-characters. Whenever I read "In the Highlands,"
-I see him as he appeared at that moment,
-treading through a maze of bright sabatia
-and sweet clover, the mental picture, as it were,
-becoming a part of that beautiful and touching
-poem:</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">In the highlands, in the country places,</div>
-<div class="verse">Where the old plain men have rosy faces,</div>
-<div class="verse">And the young fair maidens quiet eyes;</div>
-<div class="verse">Where essential silence cheers and blesses,</div>
-<div class="verse">And for ever in the hill-recesses</div>
-<div class="verse">Her more lovely music broods and dies.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">O to mount again where erst I haunted;</div>
-<div class="verse">Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted,</div>
-<div class="verse">And the low green meadows bright with sward;</div>
-<div class="verse">And when even dies, the million-tinted,</div>
-<div class="verse">And the night has come, and planets glinted,</div>
-<div class="verse">Lo! the valley hollow, lamp-bestarred.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">O to dream, O to awake and wander<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></div>
-<div class="verse">There, and with delight to take and render,</div>
-<div class="verse">Through the trance of silence, quiet breath;</div>
-<div class="verse">Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses,</div>
-<div class="verse">Only the mightier movement sounds and passes;</div>
-<div class="verse">Only winds and rivers, life and death.</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-<p>I felt the poetry of the day more poignantly
-as the hour for parting approached, and when
-the sun began to wane, I went out on the lawn
-to see the place under the spell of the lengthened
-shadows and the mellow sun-rays that turn the
-tree-trunks to burnished gold. This has always
-been my favorite hour, this charmed hour before
-sunset, when we can almost feel the earth's
-movement under our feet&mdash;an hour that transcends
-in poetry anything that can be imagined
-by the finite mind.</p>
-
-<p>I walked up and down under the cedars bordering
-the river, to quiet my emotion. It was
-there, too, under the cedars, that a remark of
-Mr. Eaton's, in describing to me his first meeting
-with Stevenson, flashed across my memory:
-"He combined the face of a boy with the distinguished
-bearing of a man of the world."</p>
-
-<p>And I thought, as I saw him then, merrily recalling
-the scenes and escapades of student life,
-"How well the distinguished man of the world
-had succeeded in keeping the heart of a boy!"</p>
-
-<p>A passage in Mr. Low's book, "A Chronicle
-of Friendships," that recalls that day most
-vividly, is this: "Stevenson never once excused
-himself from our company on the plea of
-having work to do." For so it was with us;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
-he seemed to have no cares or preoccupations,
-but to be content to be there, enjoying the conversation
-and the pleasantness of the passing
-hour.</p>
-
-<p>I had a cosy quarter of an hour with his mother
-after my walk, and off by ourselves, in a corner,
-away from interruption, she spoke of her
-son's childhood. In her eyes, he was still the
-"bonnie wee laddie" who scouted about in his
-make-believe worlds among the chairs and tables
-in the drawing-room while she entertained her
-friends, and we repeated bits from "A Child's
-Garden of Verses."</p>
-
-<p>I think that if there is any clue to the character
-of a great man we must look to his mother.
-Mrs. Stevenson embodied the idea of her son's
-peculiar charm; there was the same triumphal
-youthfulness, and her cheeks were round and
-rosy like a ripe apple.</p>
-
-<p>I think of the mother now, after so many years,
-as the crowning influence of the day, quiet and
-reticent, but always felt, and honored by all as
-became the mother of our welcome guest.</p>
-
-<p>In her letters, written in the Marquesas to her
-sister in Scotland, she carries out this impression
-of habitual freshness of spirit, and her
-humor is subtle and optimistic: "Nothing gives
-me more pleasure or a better appetite than an
-obstacle overcome." She shows herself the life
-of "The Silver Ship," as the people of Fakarava
-dubbed the <i>Casco</i>, and never a word of criticism
-or complaint is penned at any inconvenience or
-annoyance endured by the way. Indeed, one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
-marvels at her tranquillity in the midst of so
-many complications&mdash;just as one wondered at
-the simplicity of Queen Victoria in her diary.
-One of the chief delights in the perusal of these
-letters is the questions they project into the
-mind of the reader. Is it a style, a native virtue,
-a mannerism, a fad, or what?</p>
-
-<p>For example, she never suspects that the
-French man-o'-war in one of the bays may account
-for some of the good behavior of the natives,
-or that their bounty in cocoanuts and
-bread-fruit may be tendered with an eye to the
-novelties to be had in exchange, but accepts all
-in good faith, as part of their native generosity.</p>
-
-<p>And what a joy it is to see her taking holy
-communion with these people, so lately reclaimed
-from cannabalism, and taking the ceremony "<i>au
-grand serieux</i>"! Thus, a missionary within, a
-warship without, the amenities of religion and
-society are enjoyed to the full.</p>
-
-<p>One lays down these letters and laughs, many
-a time, where no laughter was intended. Certainly,
-she was a good mixer as well as the born
-mother of a genius.</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson's death is an anomaly no less pathetic
-than his life, for in eluding extinction by
-consumption, he probably achieved a still earlier
-end by apoplexy. I had the account from Mrs.
-Low, who received it directly from "Fanny" by
-letter. Mrs. Stevenson was mixing a salad of
-native ingredients of which Stevenson was very
-fond, when he joined her in the kitchen, complaining
-that he was not very well, and sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
-down, laid his head on her shoulder, where in
-about twenty minutes he expired.</p>
-
-<p>I said at the beginning that I was not disappointed
-in the personality of Stevenson, but it
-would be nearer the mark to say that my anticipations
-fell far short of the reality.</p>
-
-<p>It is often the case in meeting literary celebrities
-that one has the feeling that they are first
-authors, and after that men. Rodin, the French
-sculptor, focuses this idea by saying that "many
-are artists at the expense of some qualities of
-manhood." With Stevenson one was clearly in
-the presence of a man, and after that the scholar
-and the gentleman.</p>
-
-<p>Was it not this fine distinction that, in spite
-of woolen shirt and a third-class transportation,
-awoke the suspicions of his companions of the
-steerage, that prompted the already quoted remark,
-"You are not one of us?"</p>
-
-<p>And on that memorable journey across the
-plains, seeking the woman of his choice, resolved,
-though penniless and unknown, to make
-her his wife in spite of every obstacle, the truth
-that the frailty of the body is no criterion for
-the strength of the spirit is well brought out.
-It was, in fact, this quality of initiative that
-constituted his chief charm&mdash;the quality that,
-above all others, made us so spontaneous in his
-presence and so proud of his achievement.</p>
-
-<p>We knew that we were seeing him at his best,
-surrounded by his old friends, and with the light
-of the memory of his youthful ambitions on his
-face. We knew, too, that the parting would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
-a life-long one, and that we would never look
-upon his like again. This regret each knew to
-be uppermost in the mind of the others, but when
-the good-byes began, we made no sign that it
-was to be more than the absence of a day.</p>
-
-<p>Nevertheless, the tensity of the last moments
-of parting was keenly felt. Stevenson had
-planned to spend his last night at Wainwright's,
-and Lloyd Osbourne was to row him across the
-river. Mr. Eaton and I went down to the river-bank
-to see them off and to wave our last <i>adieux</i>.</p>
-
-<p>The rumble of carriage-wheels in the distance,
-and the reverberations of footsteps and voices on
-the old wooden bridge grew fainter and died
-away, before the little boat was pushed off; and
-then, these two friends, Robert Louis Stevenson
-and Wyatt Eaton, both at the zenith of their life
-and powers, and both hovering so closely on the
-brink of eternity, sent their last messages to each
-other, across the distance, until the little boat
-had glided away, on the ebb-tide, a mere speck
-in the gray transparency of the twilight.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
-<h2 class="nobreak">FATE OF THE <i>CASCO</i></h2></div>
-
-
-<p>There are ships that, like certain people, seem
-created for an unusual and distinguishing destiny,
-and are unable long to survive the destruction
-of those peculiar conditions that have given
-them their dominating qualities, animation and
-color. Mr. Francis Dickie of Vancouver, B. C.,
-has described with a vivid pen the later adventures
-and slow foundering of the <i>Casco</i>.</p>
-
-<p>This gentleman has kindly given me permission
-to reprint it here. Our sympathy goes out
-to the beautiful yacht in her lonely buffetings
-and chill decay, but though stricken and vanished,
-we know that she will live long in romance
-and in song as "The Silver Ship."</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<p class="center"><span class="large"><strong>FATE OF THE <i>CASCO</i></strong></span></p>
-
-<p class="center">by</p>
-
-<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Francis Dickie</span></p>
-
-
-<p>Forty miles from Nome, Alaska, breaking
-under the Arctic winter on the shores of bleak
-King Island, lies the skeleton of a wrecked top-mast
-schooner.</p>
-
-<p>Early in June, 1919, a small crew of adventurous
-spirits had turned her nose out through
-the Behring Sea, headed for the Lena River and
-Anadyn&mdash;and gold. She was small and old,
-this yacht, but what are thirty-three years when
-a craft has the proper tradition for daring, hazardous
-adventure?</p>
-
-<p>September storms swept upon the <i>Casco</i>,
-pounding her teak sides with unfamiliar Northern
-blasts. Fog, cold, night&mdash;and she lay shuddering
-on the rocks, snow-beaten, ice-broken,
-abandoned by her crew.</p>
-
-<p>So ships pass and become smooth driftwood
-on scattered beaches. But sometimes the magic
-of long adventure will gather around an abandoned
-hull, and form a rich memory to tempt the
-eternal wanderlust of man. What is an old
-ship but a floating castle built upon the memories
-of the men who have helmed her? Sometimes
-she plies the same dull course throughout
-her existence. Sometimes she changes trade
-with surprising chances. So it was with the
-<i>Casco</i>&mdash;now a glittering pleasure yacht, whim
-of an old millionaire, now stripped of gaudy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
-trappings and bent to the grim will of seal
-hunter and opium trader.</p>
-
-<p>In the opening of Robert Louis Stevenson's
-novel, "The Wrecker," with red ensign waving,
-sailing into the port of Tai-o-hae in the Marquesas,
-the <i>Casco</i> takes her place in fiction. But
-she is far more romantic as she has sailed in fact.</p>
-
-<p>"Winged by her own impetus and the dying
-breeze, the <i>Casco</i> skimmed under cliffs, opened
-out a cove, showed us a beach and some green
-trees, and flitted by again, bowing to the swell
-... from close aboard arose the bleating of
-young lambs; a bird sang on the hillside; the
-scent of the land and of a hundred fruits or flowers
-flowed forth to meet us; and presently"&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>Presently they sailed among the Isles of
-Varien, sunny and welcoming in the South Seas.</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson wrote this in the cabin of the <i>Casco</i>,
-in the summer of '88. His always delicate health
-had broken completely under the San Francisco
-climate. Friends had urged a cruise to the
-South Seas, he had gladly acquiesced, and looked
-around for a ship. There was a subtle romantic
-call for the author of "Treasure Island" in a
-voyage on a ship of his own choosing and direction
-under the soft skies of the tropics.</p>
-
-<p>The <i>Casco</i> had been built by an eccentric California
-millionaire, Dr. Merritt, for cruising
-along the coast, and no money had been spared
-in her fittings. She was a seventy-ton fore-and-aft
-schooner, ninety-five feet long, with graceful
-lines, high masts, white sails and decks, shiny
-brasswork, and a gaudy silk-hung saloon. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
-was not perhaps too staunch a cruiser. "Her
-cockpit was none too safe, her one pump was
-inadequate in size and almost worthless; the
-sail plan forward was meant for racing and not
-for cruising; and even if the masts were still in
-good condition, they were quite unfitted for
-hurricane weather."</p>
-
-<p>Nevertheless, negotiations were opened with
-Dr. Merritt. That gentleman had read of Stevenson.
-He had conceived him as an erratic,
-irresponsible soul who wrote poetry and let
-everything else go to the devil. He'd be blamed,
-he said, if he'd let any scatter-brained writer
-use his precious yacht. Finally, a meeting between
-the two was effected; and, speedily
-charmed by Stevenson's manner, he decided to
-let him have the <i>Casco</i>. Therefore, with Capt.
-Otis as skipper, four deck hands, "three Swedes
-and the inevitable Finn," and a Chinese cook,
-the Stevensons sailed June 28, 1888, for the
-Marquesas.</p>
-
-<p>Stevenson's health rapidly improved in the
-first weeks of the voyage. He was charmed by
-the Southern islands and began making notes
-and gathering data from the natives for later
-books. He wrote parts of "The Master of Ballantrae"
-and of "The Wrong Box," and spent
-much of his time studying the intricate personality
-of his skipper, whose portrait afterward
-appeared in the pages of "The Wrecker."</p>
-
-<p>After months of idle cruising, it was discovered
-that the <i>Casco's</i> masts were dangerously rotten.
-Repairs were immediately necessary.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
-Meantime Stevenson became less and less well.
-When the ship was again in commission and
-took them to Hawaii, he realized the impossibility
-of his returning to America, and, sending the
-<i>Casco</i> back to San Francisco, started upon the
-exile that was to terminate in his death.</p>
-
-<p>Thereafter, the <i>Casco</i> changed hands frequently,
-exploring the mysteries of seal-hunting,
-opium-smuggling, coast-trading and gold-adventure,
-among other things. In the early nineties,
-she was known, because of her swiftness,
-quickness and ease of handling at the wheel, to
-be the best of a hundred and twenty ships engaged
-in the extinction of the pelagic seal. But
-when, in 1898, the sealers found themselves impoverished
-by their own ruthlessness, the <i>Casco</i>,
-her decks disfigured with blood and her hold
-rotten from the drip of countless salty pelts,
-was discarded and left to rot on the mud flats of
-Victoria. Too much of the spirit of adventure,
-however, lurked in the tall masts of the <i>Casco</i> to
-let her waste away to such an ugly ending.
-When the smuggling of Chinese and opium was
-at its height, up and down the coast there were
-whisperings of the daring work of the smuggler
-<i>Casco</i>. The revenue officers knew positively that
-she was laden with illicit Oriental cargo, and
-with Chinese immigrants; but she escaped them
-again and again, her old speed and lightness
-returning. Once, however, the wind failed her,
-and the revenue launch hauled alongside. Search
-for contraband was instituted; but not a Chinaman
-appeared, not a trace of opium. Fooled!&mdash;and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
-they climbed down sheepishly into their
-launch. Later it developed that while the revenue
-men were still far astern, the crew had
-weighted the sixty Chinamen and dumped them
-overboard along with the opium!</p>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_043.jpg" alt=""/></div>
-
-<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Casco, Just Before It was Wrecked on
-King Island</span></p>
-
-<p class="center"><i>Kind permission of</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. L. W. Pedrose</span></p>
-
-<p>From the swift romance of opium running
-the <i>Casco</i> turned drudge. She carried junk between
-Victoria and Vancouver; she was a training
-ship for the Boy Sea Scouts of Vancouver;
-she was a coasting trader in 1917 when the
-shipping boom gave value to even her little
-hulk; and in between times she lay on mud flats.</p>
-
-<p>In the spring of 1919 came the stories of gold
-in Northern Siberia. With high hopes of fortunes
-to be made, the Northern Mining and Trading
-Company sprang into existence, and the
-<i>Casco</i> was chartered to dare the far Northern
-seas and icy gaps.</p>
-
-<p>So she died at sea, as all good ships should,
-with the storm at her back and the mists over
-her, with snow as a shroud, and brooding icebergs
-to mourn. She lies cold and stately, with
-her memories of tropical splendor, high adventure,
-and light romance&mdash;this little ship whose
-cabin knew Stevenson.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
-<h2 class="nobreak">PORTRAITS FROM STEVENSON</h2></div>
-
-<p class="center">by</p>
-
-<p class="center"><span class="smcap">George Steele Seymour</span></p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
-
-<h3>TREASURE ISLAND</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the treasure ship's a-sailing,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">The lure of life is calling us beyond the shining sea,</div>
-<div class="verse">The distant land of mystery her beauty is unveiling,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">And shall we then be lagging when there's work for you and me?</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow,</div>
-<div class="verse">Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey,</div>
-<div class="verse">Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed&mdash;</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away?</div>
-<div class="verse indent1">Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>ALAN BRECK</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Is't you, Alan? You of the ready sword</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">And nimble feet, and keen, courageous eye,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Quick to affront, and yet more quick to spy</div>
-<div class="verse">Aught that might touch your own dear absent lord!</div>
-<div class="verse">Hero and clown! How it sets every chord</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Athrill to see your feathered hat draw nigh,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">And all your brave, fantastic finery!</div>
-<div class="verse">Romance no stranger picture doth afford.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">For I have met you in the House of Fear,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Have watched you cross the torrent of Glencoe</div>
-<div class="verse indent1">And climbed with you the rugged mountain-side.</div>
-<div class="verse">We are old comrades, and I hold most dear</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">This loyal friend and yet more loyal foe</div>
-<div class="verse indent1">Who bore a kingly name with kingly pride.</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>ELLIS DUCKWORTH</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Was there a rustle of the leafy bed?</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Heard you no footstep in the matted grass?</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Down the deep glade where fearsome shadows pass</div>
-<div class="verse">What is it lurks so still? What secret dread</div>
-<div class="verse">Troubles the tangled branches overhead?</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">An ye be foe to this good man, alas!</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">No art shall save you though ye walk in brass.</div>
-<div class="verse">Swift to your heart shall the Black Death be sped.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">The woods are still&mdash;for that was years ago&mdash;</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">And now no baleful presence haunts the glade,</div>
-<div class="verse indent1">No train-band rules the highway as of yore.</div>
-<div class="verse">Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low.</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid,</div>
-<div class="verse indent1">And the black arrow speeds its way no more.</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>SAINT IVES</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Viscomte, your health. Confusion to the foe.</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">The noble lord your uncle&mdash;bless his name!</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">And may your wicked captors die in shame.</div>
-<div class="verse">I kiss your hand; I kiss your forehead&mdash;so!</div>
-<div class="verse">The castle cliff is steep, but down below</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Both fortune and the lady Flora wait.</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Oh, you will meet them, I anticipate,</div>
-<div class="verse">Your hand upon your heart, and bowing low.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight.</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag.</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">What's that! A chest of florins in the drag</div>
-<div class="verse">Gone! And the rascally postboy taken flight!</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ...</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>PRINCE FLORIZEL</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Try these perfectos, gentlemen. The flavour</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">I recommend. A smoke-royal. With white wines</div>
-<div class="verse">You'll find them fragrantest. That spicy savour</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Comes only in stock from the Isle of Pines.</div>
-<div class="verse">Here are cigarettes, Turkish and Egyptian,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Such as no other merchant has to sell,</div>
-<div class="verse">And Trichinopoly of the same description</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">I smoked when I was called Prince Florizel.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">That was before I stooped to trade plebeian,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Left my exalted home and wandered far,</div>
-<div class="verse">Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean,</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar.</div>
-<div class="verse">Till Louis looked from out the empyrean</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">And in the dust of Mayfair found a star.</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h3>THE EBB TIDE</h3>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">Green palm-tops bending low by silent seas</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Like heads in prayer&mdash;</div>
-<div class="verse">Life's turmoil nor its multiplicities</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">Are there.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">But only calms and potencies hold sway</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">That will not be denied,</div>
-<div class="verse">Come with the surge of dawn and drift away</div>
-<div class="verse indent2">With the ebb tide.</div>
-</div></div></div>
-
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="footnotes">
-
-<p class="center"><span class="large">FOOTNOTES:</span></p>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Lescaris was a Greek shepherd who discovered the
-secret of transmuting the baser metals to fine gold.</p></div>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-
-<p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Paua&mdash;Native name for the Tridacna Gigus, a huge
-clam. When it closes on any one, his only escape is by
-losing the limb.</p></div></div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="transnote">
-<p class="center"><span class="large">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</span></p>
-
-<p>Inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
-</div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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