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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +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. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..59804c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55714 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55714) diff --git a/old/55714-8.txt b/old/55714-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dbe2631..0000000 --- a/old/55714-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1567 +0,0 @@ -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 - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEVENSON AT MANASQUAN *** - -***** This file should be named 55714-8.txt or 55714-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/1/55714/ - -Produced by ellinora, David E. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/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—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—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—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 <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—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—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—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."</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—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.</p> - -<p>"One day, as I walked by," said he—meaning -the Sanborn place—"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—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—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——"</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—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."</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—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—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—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—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—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—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>—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"—</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!—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—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—</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—for that was years ago—</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—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—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—</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—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> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Stevenson at Manasquan, by Charlotte Eaton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEVENSON AT MANASQUAN *** - -***** This file should be named 55714-h.htm or 55714-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/1/55714/ - -Produced by ellinora, David E. 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