It was during the week that followed the holiday so gloriously celebrated that Captain Jerry made a mess of it, and all with the best intentions in the world. Elsie had had a hard day at the school, principally owing to the perversity of the irrepressible Josiah, whose love for deviltry was getting the better of his respect for the new teacher. The boy had discovered that Elsie never reported his bad conduct to Captain Perez, and, therefore, that the situation was not greatly different from what it had been during the reign of Miss Nixon.
On this particular day he had been a little worse than usual, and, as uneasiness and mischief in a schoolroom are as catching as the chickenpox, Elsie came home tired and nervous. Captain Eri and Mrs. Snow were certain that this increasing nervousness on the part of their guest was not due to school troubles alone, but, at any rate, nervous she was, and particularly nervous, and, it must be confessed, somewhat inclined to be irritable, during the supper and afterward, on this ill-starred night.
The beginning of the trouble was when Ralph Hazeltine called. Mrs. Snow was with her patient in the upper room, Captain Eri was out, and Captain Perez and Captain Jerry were with Elsie in the dining room. The electrician was made welcome by the trio—more especially by the captains, for Miss Preston was in no mood to be over-effusive—and a few minutes of general conversation followed. Then Captain Jerry, in accordance with his plan of campaign, laid down his newspaper, coughed emphatically to attract the attention of his partner, and said, “Well, I guess I'll go out and look at the weather for a spell. Come on, Perez.”
“Why, Captain Jerry!” exclaimed Elsie, “you were out looking at the weather only ten minutes ago. I don't think it has changed much since then. Why don't you stay here and keep us company?”
“Oh, you can't never tell about the weather 'long this coast. It's likely to change most any time. Besides,” with a wink that expressed comprehension unlimited, “I reckon you and Mr. Hazeltine don't care much 'bout the company of old fogies like me and Perez. Two's company and three's a crowd, you know. Ho, ho, ho!”
“Captain Jerry, come back this minute!”
But the Captain chuckled and shook out of the door, followed by the obedient Perez, who, having pledged fealty, stuck to his colors whatever might happen.
At another time, Elsie would probably have appreciated and enjoyed the joke as much as anyone, but this evening it did not appeal to her in the least. Ralph put in a very uncomfortable half-hour, and then cut his visit short and departed. It was rather sharp and chilly outside, but the breeze felt like a breath from the tropics compared with the atmosphere of that dining room.
It certainly was Captain Jerry's unlucky evening, for he left Perez chatting with a fisherman friend, who had left a favorite pipe in his shanty and had come down to get it, and entered the house alone. He had seen the electrician go, and was surprised at the brevity of his call, but he was as far from suspecting that he himself was the indirect cause of the said brevity as a mortal could be.
He came into the dining room, hung his cap on the back of a chair, and remarked cheerfully, “Well, Elsie, what did you send your company home so quick for? Land sake! twelve o'clock wa'n't none too late for me when I was young and goin' round to see the girls.”
But Miss Preston did not smile. On the contrary, she frowned, and when she spoke the Captain had a vague feeling that someone had dropped an icicle inside his shirt collar.
“Captain Jerry,” said the young lady, “I want to have a talk with you. Why do you think it necessary to get up and leave the room whenever Mr. Hazeltine calls? You do it every time, and to-night was no exception, except that by what you said you made me appear a little more ridiculous than usual. Now, why do you do it?”
The Captain's jaw fell. He stared at his questioner to see if she was not joking, but, finding no encouragement of that kind, stammered, “Why do I do it? Why?”
“Yes, why?”
“Why, 'cause I thought you wanted me to.”
“Iwanted you to! Why should you think that, please?”
“Well, I don't know. I thought you two would ruther be alone. I know, when I used to go to see my wife 'fore we was married, I—”
“Please, what has that got to do with Mr. Hazeltine's visits here?”
“Why, why, nothin', I s'pose, if you say so. I jest thought—”
“What right have you to suppose that Mr. Hazeltine is calling on me more than any other person or persons in this house?”
This was something of a poser, but the Captain did his best. He sat on the edge of a chair and rubbed his knee, and then blurted out, “Well, I s'pose I—that is, we thought he was, jest 'cause he nat'rally would; that's 'bout all. If I'd thought—why, see here, Elsie, don't YOU think he's comin' to see you?”
This was a return thrust that was hard to parry, but, although the young lady's color heightened just a bit, she answered without much hesitation:
“I don't know that I do. At any rate, I have given you no authority to act on any such assumption, and I DON'T want you to put me again in the ridiculous position you did this evening, and as you have done so often before. Why, his visits might be perfect torture to me, and still I should have to endure them out of common politeness. I couldn't go away and leave him alone.”
Captain Jerry's face was a study of chagrin and troubled repentance.
“Elsie,” he said, “I'm awful sorry; I am so. If I'd thought I was torturin' of you, 'stead of makin' it pleasant, I'd never have done it, sure. I won't go out again; I won't, honest. I hope you won't lay it up against me. I meant well.”
Now, if Captain Perez had delayed his entrance to that dining room only two or three minutes longer, if he had not come in just in time to prevent Elsie's making the explanatory and soothing answer that was on her tongue, events would probably have been entirely different, and a good deal of trouble might have been saved. But in he came, as if some perverse imp had been waiting to give him the signal, and the interview between Captain Jerry and the young lady whom he had unwittingly offended broke off then and there.
Elsie went upstairs feeling a little conscience-stricken, and with an uneasy idea that she had said more than she should have. Captain Perez took up the newspaper and sat down to read. As for Captain Jerry, he sat down, too, but merely to get his thoughts assorted into an arrangement less like a spilled box of jackstraws. The Captain's wonderful scheme, that he had boasted of and worked so hard for, had fallen to earth like an exploded airship, and when it hit it hurt.
His first idea was to follow the usual procedure, and take the whole matter to Captain Eri for settlement, but the more he considered this plan the less he liked it. Captain Eri was an unmerciful tease, and he would be sure to “rub it in,” in a way the mere thought of which made his friend squirm. There wasn't much use in confiding to Captain Perez, either. He must keep the secret and pretend that everything was working smoothly.
Then his thoughts turned to Hazeltine, and when he considered the wrong he had done that young man, he squirmed again. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Ralph felt exactly as Elsie did about his interference. Captain Jerry decided that he owed the electrician an apology, and determined to offer it at the first opportunity.
And the opportunity came the very next morning, for Mrs. Snow wanted some clams for dinner, and asked him to dig some for her. The best clams in the vicinity were those in the flat across the bay near the cable station, and the Captain took his bucket and hoe and rowed over there. As he was digging, Ralph came strolling down to the shore.
Mr. Hazeltine's “Good-morning” was clear and hearty. Captain Jerry's was hesitating and formal. The talk that followed was rather one-sided. Finally, the Captain laid down his hoe, and came splashing over to where his friend was standing.
“Mr. Hazeltine,” he said confusedly, “I kind of feel as if I ought to beg your pardon. I'm awful sorry I done what I did, but, as I said to Elsie, I meant well, and I'm sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Why, for leavin' you and her alone so when you come to the house. You see, I never thought but what you'd both like it, and 'twa'n't till she raked me over the coals so for doin' it that I realized how things was.”
“Raked you over the coals? I'm afraid I don't understand.”
It is unnecessary to repeat the whole of the long and tangled conversation that ensued. The Captain tried to explain, tumbled down, metaphorically speaking, got up again, and started off on another tack. In his anxiety to make his position perfectly clear, he quoted from Elsie's remarks of the previous evening, and then, thinking perhaps he had gone too far, tried to smooth these over by more explanations. Repeating this process several times got him into such a snarl that he scarcely knew what he was saying. When the agony was over Ralph had received the impression that Miss Preston had said his visits were a perfect torture to her, that she objected to being left alone with him, that she held Captain Jerry responsible for these things, and that the latter was sorry for something or other, though what it was he, Ralph, didn't know or care particularly. To the Captain's continued apologies he muttered absently that it was “all right,” and walked slowly away with his hands in his pockets. Captain Jerry was relieved by this expression of forgiveness. He felt that the situation wasn't what he would like to have it, but, at any rate, he had done his duty. This was a great consolation.
Ralph didn't call that evening or the next. When he did drop in it was merely to inquire concerning John Baxter's progress, and to chat for a moment with the captains. His next visit was a week later, and was just as brief and formal.
If Elsie noticed this sudden change she said nothing. There might have been some comment by the others, had not a new sensation so occupied their minds as to shut out everything else. This sensation was caused by Josiah Bartlett, who ran away one night, with his belongings tied up in a brown paper parcel, leaving a note saying that he had gone to enlist in the Navy and wasn't coming back any more.
There were lively times the next morning when the note was found. Captain Perez was for harnessing up immediately and starting off to find the lost one, hit or miss. Captain Eri soon showed him the folly of this proceeding and, instead, hurried to the railway station and sent a telegram describing the fugitive to the conductor of the Boston train. It caught the conductor at Sandwich, and the local constable at Buzzard's Bay caught the boy. Josiah was luxuriously puffing a five-cent cigar in the smoking car, and it was a crest-fallen and humiliated prodigal that, accompanied by the a fore-mentioned constable, returned to Orham that night.
But the stubbornness remained, and the next day Perez sought Captain Eri in a troubled frame of mind.
“Eri,” he said dejectedly, “I don't know what I'm goin' to do with that boy. He's too many for ME, that boy is. Seems he's been plannin' this runnin' away bus'ness for more 'n a month; been doin' errands and odd jobs 'round town and savin' up his money on purpose. Says he won't go back to school again, no matter what we do to him, and that he's goin' to git into the Navy if it takes ten year. He says he'll run away again fust chance he gits, and he WILL, too. He's got the sperit of the Old Scratch in him, and I can't git it out. I'm clean discouraged and wore out, and I know that he'll do somethin' pretty soon that 'll disgrace us all.”
“Humph!” exclaimed his friend. “Stuffy as all that, is he? You don't say! He ain't a bad boy, that is a REEL bad boy, either.”
“No, that's jest it. He ain't reel bad—yit. But he will be if he ain't fetched up pretty sudden. 'Course, I know what he needs is to be made to mind fust, and then preached to afterwards. And I know that nat'rally I'm the one that ought to do it, but I jest can't—there! If I should start out to give him the dressin' down he needs, I'd be thinkin' of his mother every minute, and how I promised to treat him gentle and not be cross to him. But SOMETHIN'S got to be done, and if you can help me out any way I'll never forgit it, Eri.”
Captain Eri scratched his chin. “Humph!” he grunted reflectively. “He couldn't git into the Navy, he's too young. More likely to be a stowaway on a merchantman and then roustabout on a cattle boat, or some such thing. Even if he lied 'bout his age and did git to be a sort of a ship's boy on a sailin' vessel, you and me know what that means nowadays. I presume likely 'twould end in his bein' killed in some rumshop scrimmage later on. Let—me—see. Bound to be a sailor, is he?”
“He's dead sot on it.”
“More fool he. Comes from readin' them ridic'lous story books, I s'pose. He ain't been on the water much sence he's been down here, has he?”
“Not more 'n once or twice, except in a dory goin' to the beach, or somethin' like that.”
“That's so, that's what I thought. Well, Perez, I'll tell you. The boy does need breakin' in, that's a fact, and I think maybe I could do it. I could use a young feller on my boat; to go coddin' with me, I mean. Let me have the boy under me—no meddlin' from anybody—for a couple of months. Let him sign reg'lar articles and ship 'long of me for that time. Maybe I could make a white man of him.”
“I don't b'lieve he'd do it.”
“I cal'late I could talk him into it. There's some butter on my tongue when it's necessary.”
“You'd have to promise not to lay a hand on him in anger. That's what I promised his mother.”
“All right, I promise it now. That's all right, Perez. You and me are old shipmates, and bound to help each other out. Just trust him to me, and don't ask too many questions. Is it a trade? Good! Shake.”
They shook hands on it, and then Captain Eri went in to talk to the unreconciled runaway. That young gentleman, fresh from his triumph over his uncle, at first refused to have anything to do with the scheme. He wasn't going to be a “cheap guy fisherman,” he was going into the Navy. The Captain did not attempt to urge him, neither did he preach or patronize. He simply leaned back in the rocker and began spinning sailor yarns. He told of all sorts of adventures in all climates, and with all sorts of people. He had seen everything under the sun, apparently, and, according to him, there was no life so free and void of all restraint as that of an able seaman on a merchant ship, or, preferably, on a fisherman; but one point he made clear, and that was that, unless the applicant had had previous training, his lot was likely to be an unhappy one.
“Of course,” he said, as he rose to go, “it was my idea to sort of train you up so's you could be ready when 'twas time to ship, but long's you don't want to, why it's all off.”
“I'll go with you, Cap!” said Josiah, whose eyes were shining.
“Good! That's the talk! You might as well sign articles right away. Wait till I git 'em ready.”
He brought pen, ink, and paper, and proceeded to indite a formidable document to the effect that “Josiah Bartlett, able seaman,” was to ship aboard the catboat Mary Ellen for a term of two months. Wages, five dollars a month.
“You see,” he said, “I've put you down as able seaman 'cause that's what you'll be when I git through with you. Now sign.”
So Josiah signed, and then Captain Eri affixed his own signature with a flourish.
“There!” exclaimed the Captain, bringing his big palm down on the back of the “able seaman” with a thump that brought water into the eyes of that proud youth, “You're my man, shipmate. We sail to-morrer mornin' at four, rain or shine. I'll call you at quarter of. Be ready.”
“You bet, old man!” said Josiah.
Captain Perez met his friend as they came out of the parlor.
“Now, Eri,” he whispered, “be easy as you can with him, won't you?”
The Captain answered in the very words of his crew.
“You bet!” he said fervently, and went away whistling. Captain Perez slept better that night.
Promptly at a quarter to four the next morning Captain Eri rapped on the parlor door. Josiah, who had been dressed since three, appeared almost instantly. They walked down to the shore together, and the Captain's eyes twinkled as he noted the elaborate roll in the boy's walk.
The Mary Ellen was anchored between the beaches, and they rowed off to her in a dory. It was pitch-dark, and cold and raw. Lanterns showed on two or three of the other boats near by, and, as Josiah and the Captain pulled up the eelgrass-covered anchor, a dim shape glided past in the blackness. It was the You and I, bound out. Ira Sparrow was at the helm, and he hailed the Mary Ellen, saying something about the weather.
“It 'll be kind of ca'm for a spell,” replied Captain Eri, “but I wouldn't wonder if we had some wind 'fore night. Here you, fo'mast hand,” he added, turning to Josiah, “stand by to git the canvas on her.”
The mainsail was soon hoisted, and the catboat moved slowly out of the bay.
“Gee! it's dark,” exclaimed Josiah, “what are you goin' way off here for? Why don't you go straight out?”
“I gin'rally take the short cut through the narrers,” replied the Captain, “but I thought you mightn't like the breakers on the shoals, so I'm goin' 'round the p'int flat.”
“Huh! I ain't a-scared of breakers. Can't be too rough for me. Wisht 'twould blow to beat the band.”
“Maybe 'twill by and by. Pretty toler'ble slick now, though.”
It was after sunrise when they reached the ledge where codfish most do congregate. The land was a mere yellow streak on the horizon. The stiff easterly blow of the day before had left a smooth, heavy swell that, tripping over the submerged ledge, alternately tossed the Mary Ellen high in air and dropped her toward the bottom. It was cold, and the newly risen December sun did not seem to have much warmth in it. Anchor over the side, the Captain proposed breakfast.
The “able seaman” did not feel very hungry, but he managed to swallow a hard-boiled egg and a sandwich, and then, just to show that he had reached the dignity of manhood, leaned back against the side of the cockpit, lit a cigarette, and observed cheerfully, “This is hot stuff, ain't it, Cap?”
Captain Eri wiped the crumbs from his mouth, leisurely produced his pipe, and proceeded to fill it with tobacco shaved from a chunky plug.
“What d'you smoke them things for?” he asked contemptuously, referring to the cigarette. “Nobody but dudes and sissies smoke that kind of truck. Here, take this pipe, and smoke like a man.”
Josiah looked askance at the proffered pipe.
“Oh, no!” he said magnanimously, “you'll want it yourself. I'll get along with these things till I git ashore; then I'll buy a pipe of my own.”
“Never you mind 'bout me. I've got two or three more below there, some'eres. Take it and light up.”
The “able seaman” took the reeking, nicotine soaked affair, placed it gingerly between his teeth, held a match to the bowl and coughingly emitted a cloud of ill-smelling smoke. The pipe wheezed and gurgled, and the Mary Ellen rocked and rolled.
“Now, then,” said Captain Eri, “we've sojered long enough. Go below, and bring up the bait bucket and the lines.”
Josiah staggered into the little cabin, reappeared with the heavy cod lines and the bucket of mussels, and watched while the Captain “baited up.”
“All ready!” said the skipper. “Two lines apiece, one over each side. Watch me.”
The cod bit almost immediately, and for ten minutes the work was exciting and lively. The Captain, watching from the corner of his eye, noticed that his assistant's pipe was wheezing less regularly, and that his lines were thrown over more and more listlessly. At length he said, “Haven't stopped smokin' so quick, have you? What's the matter—gone out? Here's a match.”
“I guessed I've smoked enough for now. I can't fish so well when I'm smokin'.”
“Bosh! If you want to be a reel sailor you must smoke all the time. Light up.”
Reluctantly the boy obeyed, and puffed with feverish energy. Also he swallowed with vigor. The cod smelt fishy; so did the bait, and the catboat rolled and rolled. Suddenly Josiah pulled in his lines, and took the pipe from his lips.
“What's the matter?” inquired the watchful skipper.
“I—I guess I won't fish any more, Cap. Kind of slow sport, ain't it? Guess I'll go in there and take a snooze.”
“I guess you won't! You shipped to fish, and you're goin' to fish. Pick up them lines.”
The boy sullenly turned toward the cabin door. Was he, who had just declared himself independent of school restraint, he who had once been the thorn in the flesh of every policeman in the —th ward, to be ordered about by this Cape Cod countryman! “Aw, go chase yourself!” he said contemptuously. A minute after, when he picked himself up from the heap of slimy fish in the bottom of the boat, he saw the Captain standing solidly on one cowhide-shod foot, while the other was drawn easily back and rested on its toe. When Josiah recovered his breath, the burst of bad language with which he assailed his companion did credit to his street bringing up. It was as short as it was fierce, however, and ended amid the cod and the mussels from the overturned bait bucket. But, as the Captain said afterwards, he was “spunky” and rose again, incoherent with rage.
“You—you—I'll kill you!” he shrieked. “You promised not to touch me, you lyin' old—”
He tried to get out of the way, but didn't succeed, and this time merely sat up and sobbed as Captain Eri said in even tones:
“No, I'm not lyin'. I promised not to lay a hand on you in anger, that's all. Fust place, I don't kick with my hands, and, second place, I ain't angry. Now, then, pick up them lines.”
The “able seaman” was frightened. This sort of treatment was new to him. He judged it best to obey now and “get square” later on. He sulkily picked up the codlines, and threw the hooks overboard. Captain Eri, calmly resuming his fishing, went on to say, “The fust thing a sailor has to l'arn is to obey orders. I see you've stopped smokin'. Light up.”
“I don't want to.”
“Well, I want you TO. Light up.”
“I won't. Oh, yes, I will!”
He eyed the threatening boot fearfully and lit the awful pipe with shaking fingers. But he had taken but a few puffs when it went over the side, and it seemed to Josiah that the larger half of himself went with it. The Captain watched the paroxysm grimly.
“Sick, hey?” he grunted, “and not a capful of wind stirrin'. You're a healthy sailor! I thought I'd shipped a man, but I see 'twas only a sassy baby. My uncle Labe had a good cure for seasickness. You take a big hunk of fat salt pork, dip it in molasses, and—”
“Oh, d-o-n-'t!” Another spasm.
“Dip it in molasses,” repeated Captain Eri.
“Don't, Cap! PLEASE don't!”
“Another thing a sailor learns is not to call his skipper 'Cap.' A fo'mast hand always says 'Aye, aye, sir,' when his off'cer speaks to him. Understand that?”
“Y-e-s. Oh, Lord!”
“WHAT?”
“Ye—I mean aye, aye.”
“Aye, aye, WHAT?”
“Aye, aye, SIR! OH, dear me!”
“That's better. Now pick up them lines.”
Well, 'twas a dreadful forenoon for Josiah; one not to be forgotten. The boat rolled unceasingly, his head ached, and pulling the heavy cod made his back and shoulders lame; also, he was wet and cold. The other boats scattered about the fishing grounds pulled up their anchors and started for home, but Captain Eri did not budge. At noon he opened his lunch basket again, and munched serenely. The sight of the greasy ham sandwiches was too much for the “able seaman.” He suffered a relapse and, when it was over, tumbled on the seat which encircled the cockpit and, being completely worn out, went fast asleep. The Captain watched him for a minute or two, smiled in a not unkindly way, and, going into the cabin, brought out an old pea jacket and some other wraps with which he covered the sleeper. Then he went back to his fishing.
When Josiah awoke the Mary Ellen was heeled over on her side, her sail as tight as a drumhead. The wind was whistling through the cordage, and the boat was racing through seas that were steel-blue and angry, with whitecaps on their crests. The sun was hidden by tumbling, dust-colored clouds. The boy felt weak and strangely humble; the dreadful nausea was gone.
Captain Eri, standing at the tiller, regarded him sternly, but there was the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.
“Feelin' better?” he asked.
“Ye—aye, aye, sir.”
“Humph! Want to smoke again. Pipe right there on the thwart.”
“No, thank you, sir.”
It was some time before anything more was said. Josiah was gazing at the yellow sand-cliffs that, on every tack, grew nearer. At length the Captain again addressed him.
“Perez ever tell you 'bout our fust v'yage? Never did, hey? Well, I will. Him and me run away to sea together, you know.”
And then Captain Eri began a tale that caused the cold shivers to chase themselves from Josiah's big toe to the longest hair on his head. It was the story of two boys who ran away and shipped aboard an Australian sailing packet, and contained more first-class horrors than any one of his beloved dime novels. As a finishing touch the narrator turned back the grizzled hair on his forehead and showed a three-inch scar, souvenir of a first mate and a belaying pin. He rolled up his flannel shirtsleeve and displayed a slightly misshapen left arm, broken by a kick from a drunken captain and badly set by the same individual.
“Now,” he said in conclusion, “I cal'late you think I was pretty hard on you this mornin', but what do you figger that you'd have got if you talked to a mate the way you done to me?”
“Don't know. S'pose I'd have been killed,—sir.”
“Well, you would, mighty nigh, and that's a fact. Now, I'll tell you somethin' else. You wanted to enlist in the Navy, I understand. You couldn't git in the Navy, anyway, you're too young, but s'pose you could, what then? You'd never git any higher 'n a petty officer, 'cause you don't know enough. The only way to git into the Navy is to go through Annapolis, and git an education. I tell you, education counts. Me and Perez would have been somethin' more 'n cheap fishin' and coastin' skippers if we'd had an education; don't forgit that.”
“I guess I don't want to be a sailor, anyway, sir. This one trip is enough for me, thank you.”
“Can't help that. You shipped 'long with me for two months, and you'll sail with me for two months, every time I go out. You won't run away again neither, I'll look out for that. You'll sail with me and you'll help clean fish, and you'll mind me and you'll say 'sir.' You needn't smoke if you don't want to,” with a smile. “I ain't p'tic'lar 'bout that.
“Then,” went on the Captain, “when the two months is up you'll be your own master again. You can go back to 'Web' Saunders and 'Squealer' Wixon and 'Ily' Tucker and their tribe, if you want to, and be a town nuisance and a good-for-nuthin'. OR you can do this: You can go to school for a few years more and behave yourself and then, if I've got any influence with the Congressman from this district—and I sort of b'lieve I have, second-handed, at any rate—you can go to Annapolis and learn to be a Navy officer. That's my offer. You've got a couple of months to think it over in.”
The catboat swung about on her final tack and stood in for the narrows, the route which the Captain had spoken of as the “short cut.” From where Josiah sat the way seemed choked with lines of roaring, frothing breakers that nothing could approach and keep above water. But Captain Eri steered the Mary Ellen through them as easily as a New York cabdriver guides his vehicle through a jam on Broadway, picking out the smooth places and avoiding the rough ones until the last bar was crossed and the boat entered the sheltered waters of the bay.
“By gum!” exclaimed the enthusiastic “able seaman.” “That was great—er—sir!”
“That's part of what I'll l'arn you in the next two months,” said the Captain. “'Twon't do you any harm to know it when you're in the Navy neither. Stand by to let go anchor!”
If Josiah expected any relaxation in Captain Eri's stern discipline he was disappointed, for he was held to the strict letter of the “shipping articles.” The Captain even went to the length of transferring Perez to the parlor cot and of compelling the boy to share his own room. This was, of course, a precaution against further attempts at running away. Morning after morning the pair rose before daylight and started for the fishing grounds. There were two or three outbreaks on the part of the “able seaman,” but they ended in but one way, complete submission. After a while Josiah, being by no means dull, came to realize that when he behaved like a man he was treated like one. He learned to steer the Mary Ellen, and to handle her in all weathers. Also, his respect for Captain Eri developed into a liking.
Captain Perez was gratified and delighted at the change in his grandnephew's behavior and manners, and was not a little curious to learn the methods by which the result had been brought about. His hints being fruitless, he finally asked his friend point-blank. Captain Eri's answer was something like this:
“Perez,” he said, “do you remember old man Sanborn, that kept school here when you and me was boys? Well, when the old man run foul of a youngster that was sassy and uppish he knocked the sass out of him fust, and then talked to him like a Dutch uncle. He used to call that kind of treatment 'moral suasion.' That's what I'm doin' to Josiah; I'm 'moral suasionin' him.”
Captain Perez was a little anxious concerning the first part of this course of training, but its results were so satisfactory that he asked no more questions. The fact is, Captain Perez' mind was too much occupied with another subject just at this time to allow him to be over-anxious. The other subject was Miss Patience Davis.
Miss Davis, her visit with her brother being over, was acting as companion to an old lady who lived in a little house up the shore, a mile or so above the station. This elderly female, whose name was Mayo, had a son who kept a grocery store in the village and was, therefore, obliged to be away all day and until late in the evening. Miss Patience found Mrs. Mayo's crotchets a bit trying, but the work was easy and to her liking, and she was, as she said, “right across the way, as you might say, from Luther.” The “way” referred to was the stretch of water between the outer beach and the mainland.
And Captain Perez was much interested in Miss patience—very much so, indeed. His frequent visits to the Mayo homestead furnished no end of amusement to Captain Eri, and also to Captain Jerry, who found poking fun at his friend an agreeable change from the old programme of being the butt himself. He wasn't entirely free from this persecution, however, for Eri more than once asked him, in tones the sarcasm of which was elaborately veiled, if his match-making scheme had gotten tired and was sitting down to rest. To which the sacrifice would reply stoutly, “Oh, it's comin' out all right; you wait and see.”
But in his heart Captain Jerry knew better. He had been wise enough to say nothing to his friends concerning his interviews with Elsie and Ralph, but apparently the breaking-off between the pair was final. Hazeltine called occasionally, it is true, but his stays were short and, at the slightest inclination shown by the older people to leave the room, he left the house. There was some comment by Eri and Mrs. Snow on this sudden change, but they were far from suspecting the real reason. Elsie continued to be as reticent as she had been of late; her school work was easier now that Josiah was no longer a pupil.
Christmas was rather a failure. There were presents, of course, but the planned festivities were omitted owing to a change in John Baxter's condition. From growing gradually better, he now grew slowly, but surely, worse. Dr. Palmer's calls were more frequent, and he did not conceal from Mrs. Snow or the captains his anxiety. They hid much of this from Elsie, but she, too, noticed the change, and was evidently worried by it. Strange to say, as his strength ebbed, the patient's mind grew clearer. His speech, that in his intervals of consciousness had heretofore dealt with events of the past, was now more concerned with recent happenings. But Captain Eri had never heard him mention the fire.
One afternoon in January Mrs. Snow and Captain Eri were together in the sick room. The rest of the household was absent on various errands; Captain Perez paying a visit to the life-saver's sister and Elsie staying after school to go over some examination papers. There was snow on the ground, and a “Jinooary thaw” was causing the eaves to drip, and the puddles in the road to grow larger. The door of the big stove was open, and the coals within showed red-hot. Captain Baxter was apparently asleep.
“Let me see,” said Mrs. Snow musingly, in a low tone. “I've been here now, two, three, over four months. Seems longer, somehow.”
“Seems almost as if you'd always been here,” replied Captain Eri. “Queer how soon we git used to a change. I don't know how we got along afore, but we did some way or other, if you call it gittin' along,” he added with a shrug. “I should hate to have to try it over again.”
“It's always seemed funny to me,” remarked the lady, “that you men, all sailors so—and used to doin' for yourselves, should have had such a time when you come to try keepin' house. I should have expected it if you was—well, doctors, or somethin' like that—used to havin' folks wait on you, but all sea captains, it seems queer.”
“It does, don't it? I've thought of that myself. Anybody'd think we was the most shif'less lot that ever lived, but we wa'n't. Even Jerry—and he's the wust one of the three when it comes to leavin' things at loose ends—always had a mighty neat vessel, and had the name of makin' his crews toe the mark. I honestly b'lieve it come of us bein' on shore and runnin' the shebang on a share and share alike idee. If there'd been a skipper, a feller to boss things, we'd have done better, but when all hands was boss—nobody felt like doin' anything. Then, too, we begun too old. A feller gits sort of sot in his ways, and it's hard to give in to the other chap.
“Now, take that marryin' idee,” he went on. “I laughed at that a good deal at fust and didn't really take any stock in it, but I guess 'twas real hoss sense, after all. Anyhow, it brought you down here, and what we'd done without you when John was took sick,Idon't know. I haven't said much about it, but I've felt enough, and I know the other fellers feel the same way. You've been so mighty good and put up with so many things that must have fretted you like the nation, and the way you've managed—my!”
The whole-souled admiration in the Captain's voice made the housekeeper blush like a girl.
“Don't say a word, Cap'n Eri,” she protested. “It's been jest a pleasure to me, honest. I've had more comfort and—well, peace, you might say, sence I've been in this house than I've had afore for years.”
“When I think,” said the Captain, “of what we might have got for that advertisement, I swan it makes my hair curl. Advertisin' that way in that kind of a paper, why we might have had a—a play actress, or I don't know what, landed on us. Seems 's if there was a Providence in it: seems 's if you was kind of SENT—there!”
“I don't know what you must think of me answerin' an advertisement for a husband that way. It makes me 'shamed of myself when I think of it, I declare. And in that kind of a paper, too.”
“I've wondered more times than a few how you ever got a hold of that paper. 'Tain't one you'd see every day nat'rally, you know.”
Mrs. Snow paused before she answered. Then she said slowly, “Well, I'm s'prised you ain't asked that afore. I haven't said much about myself sence I've been here, for no p'tic'lar reason that I know of, except that there wasn't much to tell and it wasn't a very interestin' yarn to other folks. My husband's name was Jubal Snow—”
“You don't say!” exclaimed the Captain. “Why, Jerry used to know him.”
“I shouldn't wonder. Jubal knew a lot of folks on the Cape here. He was a good husband—no better anywheres—and he and I had a good life together long as he was well. I've sailed a good many v'yages with him, and I feel pretty nigh as much at home on the water as I do on land. Our trouble was the same that a good many folks have; we didn't cal'late that fair weather wouldn't last all the time, that's all.
“It wasn't his fault any more than 'twas mine. We saved a little money, but not enough, as it turned out. Well, he was took down sick and had to give up goin' to sea, and we had a little place over in Nantucket, and settled down on it. Fust along, Jubal was able to do a little farmin' and so on, and we got along pretty well, but by and by he got so he wa'n't able to work, and then 'twas harder. What little we'd saved went for doctor's bills and this, that, and t'other. He didn't like to have me leave him, so I couldn't earn much of anything, and fin'lly we come to where somethin' had to be done right away, and we talked the thing over and decided to mortgage the house. The money we got on the mortgage lasted until he died.
“He had a little life insurance, not enough, of course, but a little. He was plannin' to take on more, but somehow it never seemed as if he could die, he so big and strong, and we put it off until he got so he couldn't pass the examination. When the insurance money come I took it to Jedge Briar, a mighty good friend of Jubal's and mine and the one that held the mortgage on the house, and I told him I wanted to pay off the mortgage with it, so's I'd have the house free and clear. But the Jedge advised me not to, said the mortgage was costin' me only six per cent., and why didn't I put the money where 'twas likely to be a good investment that would pay me eight or ten per cent.? Then I'd be makin' money, he said. I asked him to invest it for me, and he put it into the Bay Shore Land Company, where most of his own was.”
“Sho! I want to know!” broke in the Captain. “He did, hey! Well, I had some there, too, and so did Perez. Precious few fam'lies on the Cape that didn't.”
“Yes, he thought 'twas the safest and best place he knew of. The officers bein' sons of Cape people and their fathers such fine men, everybody said 'twas all right. I got my dividends reg'lar for a while, and I went out nussin' and did sewin' and got along reel well. I kept thinkin' some day I'd be able to pay off the mortgage and I put away what little I could towards it, but thenIwas took sick and that money went, and then the Land Company went up the spout.”
The Captain nodded. The failure of the company had brought poverty to hundreds of widows. Mrs. Snow's case was but another instance.
“Let me see,” said the lady. “Where was I? Oh, yes! the Land Company's failin'. Well, it failed and the insurance money went with it. It was discouragin', of course, but I had my house, except for the mortgage, and I had my health again, and, if I do say it, I ain't afraid of work, so I jest made up my mind there was no use cryin' over spilt milk, and that I must git along and begin to save all over again. Then Jedge Briar died and his nephew up to Boston come into the property. I was behind in my payments a little, and they sent me word they should foreclose the mortgage, and they did.”
“Well, I swan! The mean sculpins! Didn't you have NOBODY you could go to; no relations nor nothin'?”
“I've got a brother out in Chicago, but he married rich and his wife doesn't care much for her husband's relations. I never saw her but once, and then one of the first things she asked me was if it was true that there was more crazy people in Nantucket than in any other place of its size on earth, and afore I could answer she asked me what made 'em crazy. I told her I didn't know unless it was answerin' city folks' questions. She didn't like that very well, and I haven't heard from Job—that's my brother—for a long time. All my other near relations are dead.
“So they foreclosed the mortgage, and gave me notice to move out. I packed my things, and watered my flowers—I had quite a pretty flower garden—for the last time, and then come in and set down in the rocker to wait for the wagon that was goin' to move me. I got to thinkin' how proud Jubal and me was when we bought that house and how we planned about fixin' it up, and how our baby that died was born in it, and how Jubal himself had died there, and told me that he was glad he was leavin' me a home, at any rate; and I got so lonesome and discouraged that I jest cried, I couldn't help it. But I've never found that cryin' did much good, so I wiped my eyes and looked for somethin' to read to take up my mind. And that Chime paper was what I took up.
“You see, there'd been a big excursion from Boston down the day before, and some of the folks come down my way to have a sort of picnic. Two of 'em, factory girls from Brockton, they was, come to the house for a drink of water. They were gigglin', foolish enough critters, but I asked 'em in, and they eat their lunches on my table. They left two or three story papers and that Chime thing when they went away.
“Well, I looked it over, and almost the first thing I saw was that advertisement signed 'Skipper.' It didn't read like the other trashy things in there, and it sounded honest. And all of a sudden it come over me that I'd answer it. I was lonesome and tired and sort of didn't care, and I answered it right off without waitin' another minute. That's all there is to tell. When I come here to be housekeeper I wrote the folks that's takin' care of my furniture—they're reel kind people; I was goin' to board there if I had stayed in Nantucket—to keep it till I come back. There! I meant to tell you this long ago, and I don't know why I haven't.”
The Captain knew why she hadn't. It was easy to read between the lines the tale of the years of disappointment and anxiety. Such stories are not easy to tell, and he respected the widow more than ever for the simple way in which she had told hers.
“That Land Company bus'ness,” he said, “carried off a good lot of Cape Cod money. I never saw but one man that I thought was glad it busted, and that was old Caleb Weeks, over to Harniss. The old man was rich, but closer 'n the bark of a tree—he'd skin a flea for the hide and taller—and used to be a hard case into the bargain. One time they had a big revival over there and he got religion. The boys used to say what caught Caleb was the minister's sayin' salvation was free. Well, anyhow, he got converted and j'ined the church. That was all right, only while the fit was fresh he pledged himself to give five hundred dollars to help build the new chapel. When he cooled down a little he was sorry, and every time they'd hint at his comin' down with the cash, he'd back and fill, and put it off for a spell. When the Land Company went up he was the only happy one in town, 'cause he said he'd lost all his money. Course, under the circumstances, they couldn't ask him to pay, so he didn't. From what I hear he lost as much as fifty dollars.”
They both laughed, and Mrs. Snow was about to answer when she was interrupted.
“Eri,” said a weak voice. “Eri.”
The Captain started, turned sharply, and saw the sick man watching him, his eyes fixed and unwavering.
“Eri,” said John Baxter again, “come here.”
Mrs. Snow hurried to her patient, but the latter impatiently bade her let him alone.
“Not you,” he said, “I want Eri.”
Captain Eri stooped down beside the bed.
“What is it, John?” he asked.
“Eri s'pose God called you to break man's law and keep his, what would you do?”
The Captain glanced anxiously at the house-keeper. Then he said soothingly:
“Oh, that's all right, John. Don't worry 'bout that. You and me settled that long ago. How are you feelin' now?”
“I know, I know,” with the monotonous persistence of those whose minds are wandering,—and then cleanly once more, “Eri, I've been called.”
“Ssh-h! That's all right, John; that's all right. Don't you want Mrs. Snow to fix your piller? P'raps you'd lay a little easier, then. Now, Mrs. Snow, if you'll jest turn it while I lift him. So; that's better now, ain't it, shipmate, hey?” But the sick man muttered an unintelligible something, and relapsed once more into the half-doze, half-stupor that was his usual state.
Captain Eri sighed in relief.
“That was queer, wa'n't it?” he observed.
“He's had two or three of those spells in the last day or two,” was the answer.
The Captain wondered what his friend might have said during those “spells,” but he was afraid to inquire. Instead, he asked, “What did the doctor say when he was here this mornin'?”
“Nothin' very hopeful. I asked him plain what he thought of the case, and he answered jest as plain. He said Cap'n Baxter had failed dreadful in the last week, and that he wouldn't be s'prised if he dropped off most any time. Then again, he said he might live for months.”
“I see, I see.”
They were silent for a while, watching the sick man, whose sleep, or stupor, was not as tranquil as usual. Two or three times his eyes opened, and he muttered audibly.
“I never saw him so restless afore,” commented Captain Eri anxiously.
“He was so last night.”
“Did Elsie see him?”
“No, I was alone here, and she was asleep in the next room. I got up and shut the door.”
The Captain glanced keenly at the housekeeper, but her face was placid and inscrutable. He shifted uneasily and then said, “Elsie's late to-night, ain't she? I wonder what's keepin' her.”
“School work, I s'pose. She's workin' harder 'n she ought to, I think.”
“FIRE!”
The word was shouted, and the room rang with it. John Baxter, whose weakness had hitherto been so great that he could not turn himself in bed, was leaning on his elbow and pointing with outstretched finger to the open stove door.
“Fire!” he shouted again. “It's blazin'! It's burnin'! It's wipin' the plague spot from the earth. I hear you, Lord! I'm old, but I hear you, and your servant's ready. Where will it be to-morrer? Gone! burnt up! and the ways of the wicked shan't prevail.”
They forced him back on the pillow, but he fought them fiercely for a moment or two. After they thought they had quieted him, he broke out again, talking rapidly and clearly.
“I hear the call, Lord,” he said. “I thank thee for showin' it to me in your Book. 'And they burnt all their cities wherein they dwelt, and all their goodly castles, with fire.' With fire! With fire!”
“Ssh-h! There, there, John! Don't talk so,” entreated the Captain.
“Where's the kerosene?” continued the old man. “And the matches? Now softly, softly. The shavin's. It's dark. Here, in the corner. Ah, ha! ah, ha! 'And all their goodly castles with fire!' Now, Web Saunders, you wicked man! Now! Burn! I've done it, Lord! I've done it!”
“Hush!” almost shouted the agonized Captain Eri. “Hush, John! Be still!”
“There, there, Cap'n Baxter,” said Mrs. Snow soothingly, laying her hand on the sick man's forehead. Somehow, the touch seemed to quiet him; his eyes lost their fire, and he muttered absently that he was tired. Then the eyes closed and he lay still, breathing heavily.
“Land of love!” exclaimed the Captain. “That was awful! Hadn't I better go for the doctor?”
“I don't think so, unless he gits worse. He had jest such a turn, as I told you, last night.”
“Did he talk like he did jest now?”
“Jest the same.”
“'Bout the same things?”
“Yes.”
The Captain gasped. “Then you knew!” he said.
“That he set the billiard room afire? Yes. I've always rather suspicioned that he did, and last night, of course, made me sure of it.”
“Well, well! You haven't said nothin' 'bout it to anybody?”
“Of course not.”
“No, 'course you haven't. You must excuse me—I'm kind of upset, I guess. Dear! dear! Did you thinkIknew it?”
“I sort of guessed that you did.”
“Well, I did. I've known it ever sence that night he was found. He had his coat on when I found him, and 'twas all burnt, and there was an empty kerosene bottle in his pocket. I hid the coat, and threw the bottle away, and turned him so he was facin' towards the saloon 'stead of from it. And I lied when I told the doctor that he was jest as he fell. There! the murder's out! Now, what do you think of me?”
“Think? I think you did exactly right.”
“You DO?”
“I sartinly do.”
“Well, I snum! I've been over that thing time and time again, and I've felt like I was sort of a firebug myself sometimes. I've heard folks layin' it to fust one and then the other, and cal'latin' that Web did it himself to git the insurance, and all the time I've known who really did do it, and haven't said anything. I jest couldn't. You see, John and me's been brothers almost. But I didn't s'pose anybody else would see it the same way.”
“Cap'n Eri, do you s'pose I blame you for tryin' to keep your best friend out of trouble that he got into by bein'—well—out of his head. Why, land of mercy! He ain't no more to be held responsible than a baby. You did what I'd have done if I'd been in your place, and I respect you for it.”
The Captain's voice shook as he answered:
“Marthy Snow,” he said, “you're the kind of woman that I'd like to have had for a sister.”
It was perhaps a half-hour later when Captain Eri started for the schoolhouse to bring Elsie home. John Baxter had not wakened, and Mrs. Snow said she was not afraid to remain alone with him. The thaw had turned to a light rain and the Captain carried an umbrella. It was dark by this time, and when he came in sight of the schoolhouse he saw a light in the window.
One of the scholars—a by no means brilliant one—whose principal educational achievement was the frequency with which he succeeded in being “kept after school,” was seated on the fence, doing his best to whittle it to pieces with a new jackknife.
“Hello, sonny!” said the Captain. “Miss Preston gone yit?”
“No, she ain't,” replied the boy, continuing to whittle. “She's up there. Mr. Saunders is there, too.”
“Saunders? WEB SAUNDERS?”
“Yup. I see him go in there a little while ago.” Captain Eri started toward the schoolhouse at a rapid pace; then he suddenly stopped; and then, as suddenly, walked on again. All at once he dropped his umbrella and struck one hand into the palm of the other with a smack.
When he reached the door, he leaned the umbrella in the corner and walked up the stairs very softly, indeed.