289XXXVIITHE GIRL IN CANSO
That was Saturday evening. The crew of the Johnnie had been told just after the race by the skipper that he would not need them again until Monday. Scattering on that, some going to Boston, they could not be got together again until Monday morning, and it was not until Monday noon that we got away.
We fitted out as though for a Cape Shore seining trip, and that’s what we were to do in case we missed the Flamingo or could not persuade her skipper or Maurice himself that he ought to leave her and come back on the Johnnie Duncan. It was Clancy who had the matter in charge. Indeed, it was only Clancy who knew what it was really all about.
We had a good run-off before a stiff westerly that gradually hauled to the north, and Tuesday night late saw us in Halifax Harbor. It was too late to do anything that night, but Clancy went ashore to find out what he could. Before sunrise he was back with word to break out the anchor and put to sea. He had word of the Flamingo.
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“That girl of Dave’s––it seems she’s moved to Canso with her folks, and Dave’s gone there. He’s probably there before this––maybe left again. She’s an old plug, the Flamingo, but she ought’ve made Canso before this. He only stayed a few hours here and left Monday.”
It was bang, bang, bang all the way to Canso, with Clancy swearing at Withrow and the Flamingo and Dave Warner and the girl in the case––one after the other and sometimes all together. “Blast Withrow and that crazy fool Dave Warner, too. And why in the devil couldn’t her folks stayed in Gloucester––or in Halifax, at least. They ought’ve put a few sticks of dynamite in her and blown her to pieces ages ago. She’s forty years old if she’s a day––her old planks rotten. They won’t keep her afloat over-night if they’re out in this. Why d’y’s’pose people leave a good lively little city like Halifax to go to a place like Canso? Why?”
Andie Howe happened to be within hearing, and “Maybe the rent’s cheaper,” suggested Andie.
“Maybe it is––and maybe if you don’t talk sense I’ll heave you over the rail some fine day. Better give her a grain more fore-sheet. Man, but it’s a wicked night.”
We made Canso after the worst day and night we had had in the Johnnie Duncan since she was291launched. Outside Canso Harbor it looked bad. We didn’t think the skipper would try to enter the harbor that black night, but he did. “Got to go in and get news,” said Clancy, and in we went. It was as black as could be––squalls sweeping down––and Canso is not the easiest harbor in the world to make at night.
I went ashore with Clancy to hear what the young woman might have to say. We found her in a place run by her father, a sort of lodging house and “pub,” with herself serving behind the bar––a bold-looking young woman, not over-neat––and yet attractive in her way––good figure, regular features, and good color. “There, Joe, if you brought a girl like that home your mother would probably die of a broken heart, but there’s the kind that a foolish man like Dave Warner would sell his soul for.” Then Clancy explained while we were waiting for her to see us privately, “I don’t know if she’ll remember me, but I met her two or three times in Gloucester.”
When she came in she recognized Clancy right away. “How do you do, Captain Clancy?”
“How do you do, Miss Luce? My friend, Mr. Buckley. Now what we’ve come for––but first, suppose we have a little something by way of sociability. A little fizzy stuff, say, and some good cigars, Miss Luce.”
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She brought the wine and the cigars. Clancy pulled the cork, filled both glasses, pushed one glass toward the young woman and drew one to himself.
“But, Captain, your friend hasn’t any.”
“My friend,” said Clancy, “doesn’t drink. The last thing the doctor said to him before we came away was, ‘Don’t touch a drop of liquor or your life will pay the forfeit.’ You see, Miss Luce, he’s been a dissipated youth––drink––and having been dissipated and coming of delicate people, it’s affected his health.”
“You don’t tell me? I’m sure he doesn’t look it.”
“No, he don’t––that’s a fact. But so it is.”
“Stomach?” she asked me.
“No––heart,” answered Clancy for me. “What they call an aneurism. You know what an aneurism is, of course?”
“Yes-yes––oh, yes–––”
“Of course. Well, he’s got one of them.”
“That’s too bad. So he only smokes instead?”
“That’s all. Here, Joe, smoke up.”
“My, I always thought smoking was bad for the heart.”
“It is––for everything except aneurisms. Smoking’s the death of aneurisms. Have another cigar, Joe. And Miss Luce, shall we exchange a health?”
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“But I never drank anything in all my life.”
“Of course not. But you will now, won’t you? Consider the occasion and I’m sure you won’t let me drink alone. And I’ve come so far to see you, too––only of course not––Well, here’s to your good health, and may you live long and–––”
The rest of it was smothered in the gurgle. And nobody would ever think to see the way she put down hers that Miss Luce had never had a drink of wine before.
“And now, Miss Luce, may I ask how long it has been since your friend Dave Warner left–––”
“Oh-h––Dave Warner? He’s no friend of mine.”
“Isn’t he? Well, he’s no particular friend of mine, either. But a friend of mine––of both of us, Joe here, too––is with Dave––Maurice Blake. Any word of him?”
“Oh, yes. A good-looking fellow, nice eyes and hair and nice manners. I do like to see refined manners in people. Now if it was him–––”
“If it was him, you wouldn’t have told him to go to sea and the devil take him–––”
“I’d have you know, Captain Clancy, I don’t swear.”
“Swear? You, Miss Luce? Dear me, whatever made you think I thought that? But let’s294have another taste of wine. But of course you didn’t encourage Dave to stay ashore here?”
“Him?––I guess not. When he said he didn’t care if he never came back, I told him I was sure I didn’t––and out he went.”
“O woman, gentle woman,” murmured Clancy in his glass, “especially real ladies. But Dave never did know how to talk to a lady.”
“I should say he didn’t.”
“No, not Dave. And so his money gone he’s–––”
“Money? Why, he never had any money.”
“Well, that’s bad. Not even enough to open a bottle of wine to drink a lady’s health?”
“Bottle of wine? No, nor a thimbleful of tuppenny ale.”
“That was bad, Miss Luce. Dave ought’ve come better heeled–––
‘And so his money gone he puts out to sea––It may happen to you or happen to me.’
‘And so his money gone he puts out to sea––It may happen to you or happen to me.’
‘And so his money gone he puts out to sea––
It may happen to you or happen to me.’
And which way did he say he was going?”
“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask, though one of the men with him said something about going to the Grand Banks.”
“Grand Banks, eh? That’s comforting––it isn’t more than a couple of days’ sail from here to the nearest edge of it, and twenty-odd thousand or more square miles of shoal water to hunt over295after you get there. Had they taken their bait aboard, did you hear, Miss Luce?”
“Yes, they had. That was yesterday afternoon late. His vessel was leaking then, I heard him say to that nice-looking man––Maurice Blake his name, did you say? A nice name Maurice, isn’t it? Well, he said to Maurice going out the door, ‘Well, we’ll put out and I callate––I don’t know how she’ll get out but out we’ll go to-night.’ ‘The sooner you go the better it will suit me,’ Blake said, and they went off together.”
“And how was Mr. Blake?”
“How do you mean? How did he act? My, I never saw such a man. Wouldn’t open his head all night––wouldn’t drink, but just sat and smoked like your friend there. Anything the matter with him?”
“With Maurice? Oh, in the way of aneurisms? Not that I know of. Oh, yes, he has heart-trouble too, come to think. But I must be getting back to the vessel.”
“So soon?”
“Yes, we’ve got to go to sea. I’m like Dave Warner in that I’m going to sea too.”
“But nobody’s driving you away.” She had her eyes on Clancy’s face then.
He didn’t look up––only stared into his glass.
She was silent for a full minute. Clancy said296nothing. “Nobody’s driving you away,” she said again.
At that Clancy looked at her. “There’s no telling,” he said at first, and then hastily, “Oh, no––of course nobody’s driving me to sea.”
“Then what’s your hurry?”
I got up and went to the door then. I heard the sound of a scraping chair and then of Clancy standing up. A moment’s quiet and then it was: “No, dear, I can’t stay––nobody’s driving me away, I know that. I’m sure you wouldn’t––not with your heart. And you’ve a good heart if you’d only give it a chance. But I can’t stay.”
“And why not? You won’t, you mean. Well, I never thought you werethatkind of a man.”
“No? Well, don’t go to giving me any moral rating. Don’t go to over-rating me––or maybe you’d call it under-rating. But you see, it’s my friend that’s calling.”
“And you’re going out in this gale?”
“Gale. I’d go if it was a hundred gales. Good-by––and take care of yourself, dear.”
“And will you come back if you don’t find him?”
“Lord, Lord, how can I say? Can anybody say who’s coming back and who isn’t?”
He went by me and out the door. She looked after him, but he never turned––only plunged out of the house and into the street and I right after him.
297XXXVIIITHE DUNCAN GOES TO THE WEST’ARD
Getting back to the vessel Clancy was pretty gloomy. “That’s settled. We can’t chase them as far to the east’ard as the big banks––a three hundred mile run to the nearest edge of it and tens of thousands of square miles to hunt over after we’d got there. And it would be child’s work anyway to ask Maurice to leave her on the bank. Who’d take his place even if Dave would stand for it? ’Twould mean laying up a dory or taking his dory-mate too. Maurice wouldn’t leave her anyway, even if he believed he’d never get home––no real fisherman would. And yet there it is––Dave in a devil of a mood, and a vessel according to all reports that won’t live out one good easterly. And there’s a crazy crew aboard her that won’t make for the most careful handling of a vessel. Oh, Lord, I don’t see anything for it, but, thank the Lord, Maurice has been behaving himself––and that in spite of how blue he must have been feeling. By this time he’s cert’nly made up his mind he’s with a pretty bad crowd, but maybe he’s glad of a298little excitement. What I don’t understand is how Dave ever left old man Luce’s place without breaking up the furniture before going away. Gen’rally that’s his style. Maybe Maurice being along had something to do with it––a pretty able man in close quarters is Maurice. Yes, he must be glad of the excitement, but Lord, that won’t save him from being lost. Oh, oh, and now what’ll we do? Let’s see, the Flamingo’s on the way to the Banks, and that’s the end of that chase. We’ve got to wait now and see that she comes home––or don’t come home––one or the other. I told that girl that I was going to put out––put out if it blew a hundred gales. And so I would if any good would come of it, but putting out to sea a day like this because you bragged you would––risking your vessel and crew, or making hard work for them if nothing else––that ain’t good sense, is it? Besides, I had to tell her something to get away without setting up to be a model of virtue. What else could I do? Women are the devil––sometimes––aren’t they, Joe? There’s some are. I suppose it wouldn’t do any great harm to head her for home. I don’t believe there’s going to be much more fish going to be seined this fall––and wouldn’t she make a passage of it in this easterly? Oh, Lord, it would be the race all over again, only ten times as long a drag.”
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While he sat there in the cabin, smoking and meditating, letting us into his thoughts every now and then, the voices of some of our crew were heard on deck.
We all went up and got the word that was being passed around. A coast steamer had just come to anchor in the harbor with the report that just outside––about ten miles to the west’ard––was a vessel, dismasted and clean-swept, and dragging toward the rocks. They could not help her themselves––too rough––a hurricane outside––to launch a boat was out of the question. They didn’t mind taking a chance, they said, but to attempt her rescue would be suicide.
It looked like a pretty hard chance going out in that gale, but Clancy didn’t wait. “Nobody else seems to be hurrying to get out, and we being the able-est looking craft in the harbor, I callate it’s up to us to go.” He got the exact location of the distressed vessel from the coaster, and then it was up anchor, make sail, and out we went.
There were people who called Clancy a fool for ordering out his vessel and risking his crew that day––men in that very harbor––and maybe he was. But for myself, I want that kind of a fool for my skipper. The man that will take a chance for a stranger will take a bigger chance for his own by and by.
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We saw her while we were yet miles away, down to the west’ard––near Whitehead and with the cruel stretch of rocks under her lee quarter. Even with plenty of sea-room she could not have lasted long, and here with these ledges to catch her she looked to be in for a short shrift. We had a good chance to get a look at her as we bore down. Everything was gone from her deck, even the house and rail. There was not as much loose wood on deck as would make a tooth-pick. Afterwards we learned that two seas hove her down so that they had to cut the spars away to right her, and then just as she was coming up another monster had caught her and swept her clean––not only swept clean, but stove in her planks and started some of her beams so that she began to leak in a fashion that four men to the pumps could just manage to keep up with.
We could just see them––the men to the pumps working desperately––with the others lashed to the stumps of the masts and the stanchions which were left when the rail went. Her big hawser had parted and her chain was only serving to slightly check her way toward the rocks.
With spars and deck gear gone and her hull deep in the water, a vessel is not so easily distinguished. But there was something familiar in this one. We had seen her before. All at once it301flashed on half a dozen of us––“the Flamingo!” we said. “God! that’s luck!” said Clancy.
She lay in a sort of inlet that was wide open to the gale, rocks on the better part of three sides of her, north, south and west. She was then within all but striking distance of the rocks, and the seas, high and wicked, were sweeping over her. It looked like a bad place to work out of if we should get close in, but Clancy held on.
“Not much lee-room, but plenty of water under her keel anyway,” and himself to the wheel, sailed the Johnnie around the Flamingo. He hailed Maurice as he went by, waved his hand to the others, and hove a line aboard. They took the line, hauled in the hawser at the end of it, made that fast to the windlass, and then we started off with her in tow.
We were doing pretty well, what with plenty of wind and the Johnnie buckling down to her work like she was a steamer, till the hawser parted and back toward the rocks went the Flamingo again.
“No use,” said Clancy, “sea’s too much for any line we got. We’ll try it with the seine-boat. Who’ll go in the seine-boat and try to take them off? Think quick, but mind what it means.”
Every man of the crew of the Johnnie Duncan said, “Here!” The cook even came out of the forec’s’le and put in his “And me, too, skipper.”
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“You’re good men,” said Clancy,––“damn good men,” and looked us up and down. We felt proud, he said it in such a way. “But you’re taking your lives in your hands and some of you got wives and children––mothers or something. Who hasn’t anybody depending on him? Which of you hasn’t any woman somewhere, or little brothers or sisters?”
About twelve of the sixteen men standing on the deck of the Johnnie Duncan said “Me!”
“Three-quarters of you, at least,” said Clancy, “are damn liars. Over with the seine-boat and be careful nobody gets hurt.”
Somebody did get hurt, though. Andie Howe got his foot smashed and was helped below. Clancy gave the rest of us a scolding in advance. “You’re not hurt yet, but some of you will be––like Andie––if you don’t watch out. You’d think that some of you were out on some little pond up in the country somewhere launching a canoe off one of those club-house floats. Keep an eye out for those seas when they board. And watch out for that deckload or some of you’ll have a head cut off. A man killed or a man washed over the rail––what’s the difference––it’s a man lost. Look out now––watch, you Steve––damn you, watch out! Over with it!”
And over it went and with it leaped two men303before it could sag away, while the rest of us stood by the rail watching our chance.
“Nelson,” called Clancy, “come away from that rail! Steve, come away!––come away, I say, and no back talk. Pat, you can go––jump in––watch your chance or it’s the last of you. Eddie, you can go, and you Bill, and you Frenchy. Joe! stand away from that rail or I’ll put you in the hold and batten the hatches on you. Now, that’s better. And that’s enough––six men to the oars and one to steer.”
“And who’ll steer?” asked somebody.
“You’ll know in a minute,” said Clancy, and he leaped for the seine-boat and made it, and grabbed the steering oar. “Stand by––push off! Fend off in the vessel there! Steve, if anything happens––you know––you’re to take the Johnnie home. Give way, fellows. Now! Watch out!––now––now then, around with her––end on, and there she is like a bird! And now drive her!”
“A bird!” said Clancy––but a wild-looking bird––fifty feet she looked to be going into the air one moment and down out of sight the next, and water slamming aboard her so that we thought she was swamped half a dozen times. Two had to leave the oars and go to bailing, while Clancy with an arm and shoulders and back and swinging304waist like––well, like nothing a man ever had before––kept her end to it.
“Good luck!” we called.
“Never fear––we’ll bring ’em back!” said Clancy.
“Or stay with them,” we thought.
But he didn’t stay with them. It was a ticklish job, but Clancy got away with it. He didn’t dare to go too near the Flamingo, for that meant that the seas would pitch the seine-boat up and dash it to kindling wood against her hull. What he did do was to go as near the Flamingo as he could and keep her clear, then heave a line aboard and call to her crew one after the other to make it fast around themselves and jump overboard. It took some nerve to make that jump––from the rigging of the Duncan we watched them––saw them shiver and draw up––these were men accustomed to face danger––reckless men––but the shiver was over in a breath, and then over the rail and into that sea––a game fight––and they were hauled into the seine-boat. Some of them we thought would never make it, for it was an awful sea.
As fast as one of the Flamingo’s men made the seine-boat he was set to work bailing out or taking a haul at the oars, for it was a difficult matter in that sea to keep the seine-boat at the right distance from the Flamingo. But they got them all––ten305of them. Two were hauled in unconscious, but came to after awhile.
To get aboard the Johnnie again was almost as bad as to get into the seine-boat from the Flamingo. But we managed it. Long Steve was swept over while we were at it, but we got him back with the help of Maurice Blake and another of the Flamingo’s crowd. By smart clever work they grabbed Steve before he could go down and hauled him into the seine-boat.
When they were all safe aboard the Duncan Clancy shook hands with Maurice. “I call that luck, Maurice––to come out to save a stranger and find you’ve saved your own. And now whose trick to the wheel––you, Joe? Put her on the off-shore tack till we’re well clear of that headland––maybe we c’n make it in one leg. No? Then a short tack and have an eye out for the ledges––not too close. And Maurice, go below––you and Dave and all hands of you, and we’ll get out dry clothes for you. Man, but you must be cold and hungry, but the cook’s getting coffee and grub ready. And for the Duncan’s crew––on deck all hands and put the tops’ls to her. For, Maurice-boy, we’re going home––going home, Maurice––where there’s people waiting for you. Hang on a while longer, Joe, and I’ll take her myself.”
No need to tell me to hang on. If I hadn’t hung306on or been lashed to the wheel I could never have kept my feet, for at this time it was so bad that they had passed a line from my waist to the windward bitt and I was up to my waist with every dive of her.
“Lord, she’s a dog, ain’t she! If old man Duncan could see her now! Remember Tom O’Donnell singing that song the other night:
‘West half-no’the and drive her––we’re abreast now of Cape Sable––’Tis an everlasting hurricane, but here’s the craft that’s able.’
‘West half-no’the and drive her––we’re abreast now of Cape Sable––’Tis an everlasting hurricane, but here’s the craft that’s able.’
‘West half-no’the and drive her––we’re abreast now of Cape Sable––
’Tis an everlasting hurricane, but here’s the craft that’s able.’
We’re not abreast of Cape Sable yet, but it won’t take us too many hours at this clip. And here’s the craft that’s able. Man, wouldn’t it be fine if Tom O’Donnell himself was with us and the pair of us racing home? Let me take the wheel, Joe. And go for’ard and have a mug-up for yourself––and have a care going, Joe, for it’s leaping she is now and seas that’d lift you a cable’s length to looard if ever they caught you fair. That’s it––oh, but if your mother could see you now, Joe, it’s never to sea you’d come again.”
I made my way for’ard. A dash between the house and windward rail, a shoot for the mainmast and holding on there for awhile. Another dive for the gripes on the dories, another shoot between rail and dories, a grip of the bow gripes, a swing307around and I was at the forec’s’le hatch. Here I thought I heard him call and looked aft.
He had a leg either side of the wheel, standing full height and sawing the spokes a bit up and down to get the feel of her. The life line was trailing from his waist to the bitt––the clear white sea was up to his middle and racing over the taffrail. He had cast away his mitts the better to grip the spokes, and even as I looked he took off his sou’wester and sent it scaling. The wind taking hold of it must have carried it a quarter a mile to leeward. Watching it go, himself looking out under the boom, he laughed––laughed––such a roar of a laugh––stamped his feet and began to sing:
“Oh, I love old Ocean’s smile,I love old Ocean’s frowning––My love’s for Ocean all the while,My prayer’s for death by drowning.”
“Oh, I love old Ocean’s smile,I love old Ocean’s frowning––My love’s for Ocean all the while,My prayer’s for death by drowning.”
“Oh, I love old Ocean’s smile,
I love old Ocean’s frowning––
My love’s for Ocean all the while,
My prayer’s for death by drowning.”
The devil was in him then. “Did you call me, skipper?” I sang out.
“Did I? Did I? Lord, Joe, I don’t know. Maybe I did. I feel like calling from here to Gloucester, and if I did I bet they’d hear me. God, Joe, but it’s good to be alive, isn’t it?––just to be alive. Whew! but I wish I had a few more sou’westers––just to see ’em scale. But what was it I wanted––but is the cook there?”
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“He is––I c’n hear him talking.”
“Then go below and tell him, Joe––tell him to mouse his pots and kettles, for with sail alow and sail aloft, with her helmsman lashed and her house awash, in a living gale and the devil’s own sea, the Johnnie Duncan’s going to the west’ard.”
And she certainly went.
309XXXIXTHE HEART OF CLANCY
That trip ended seining for the Duncan that year. Everything went well with our friends, after we got home. It was late in the season, and Maurice Blake was to stay ashore to get married, for one thing. He had made a great season of it and could afford to. So the Johnnie Duncan was fitted out for fresh halibuting and Clancy took her.
I went with him. I remember very well that I had no idea of going winter fishing when the seining season ended, but, somehow or other when Clancy came to get a crew together I was looking for a chance.
So we put out, and on the rocks of Cape Ann, near Eastern Point lighthouse, on the day we sailed on our first halibuting trip, were Maurice Blake and Alice Foster, my cousin Nell and Will Somers, to wave us good luck. Clancy hauled the vessel close in to get a better look and they waved us until I suppose they could see us no longer. Of course they should have been able to make us out long310after we had lost sight of them, we being a tall-sparred, white-sailed vessel; and Clancy must have had that in mind, for long after all signs of them had been lost to us he kept the glasses pointed to the rocks. He turned at last with a “Well, I suppose they’re all happy now, Joe?”
“They ought to be,” I said.
“Yes, they ought to be,” he repeated, and then again, “they ought to be,” and went for’ard.
He stayed for’ard a long time, saying no word, but leaning over the windlass and looking out ahead. Nobody disturbed him. Once or twice when the sheets needed trimming––and in a deep sleep I think Clancy would know that––he turned and gave the word, but the bare word and no more. He had his spells we all knew, when he didn’t want anybody near him, and so he wanted to be alone, I suppose. And there he stayed, with what spray came over the bow splashing him, but he paying no attention.
At supper call he moved, but not to go below and eat––only to shift to walking the quarter, and walking the quarter he stayed until near midnight. He went below then after giving a few words of instruction to the watch––went below and got out his pipe. From my bunk, the middle port bunk in the cabin, I watched him rummaging for tobacco in his stateroom and then his coming out with his311pipe and his filling and lighting it slowly and thoughtfully, and then his sitting and smoking under the cabin lamp.
Looking over when he had finished that pipeful––I had not drawn my curtain––he caught my eyes on him. He smiled, but said nothing––only lit another pipeful, and kept on smoking.
I fell asleep watching him––fell asleep and woke again. He must have been watching me, for his eyes were on mine when I looked for him again. He smiled and shook his pipe out, and made as though to turn in.
But he didn’t turn in. He took off his jersey, loosened the collar of his flannel shirt, cast off his slip-shods––stopped––looked into his bunk, came back, filled and lit another pipeful and began to talk to me. I thought I was sleepy, but in five minutes I didn’t think so. Joking, laughing, telling stories––in ten minutes he had me roaring. Before long he had everybody in the cabin awake and roaring, too. Men, coming off watch and into the cabin to warm up, or for one thing or another, listened and stayed. He kept that up all the rest of the night––until after six o’clock in the morning, and only the cook called to breakfast there’s no telling when he would have stopped. And not until he was going for’ard to eat did I get a glimpse of what it was he had been thinking of during all312those earlier hours of the night. The sun, I remember, was streaking the sky ahead of us––he stopped just as he was about to drop into the forec’s’le and pointed it out.
“A sunrise, Joe, on a fine October morning out to sea––beautiful––beautiful––but just one thing wrong about it. And what is it?––you don’t see? Well, Joe, it’s over the bow. A sunrise, Joe, is most beautiful when it’s over the stern––and why? ’Cause then you’re going home––of course. Going home, Joe––if you’ve got a home to go to. Look to it, Joe, that you’ve got a home of your own to go to before you’re much older. Somebody to work for––somebody waiting for you––a wife, Joe––wife and children––or you’re in for some awful lonesome times.”
That was Clancy––watch-mate, bunk-mate, dory-mate once, and now my skipper––Clancy, who could be any man’s friend, the man that everybody jumped to shake hands with, and yet never a bit of use to himself. And I couldn’t but half wonder at that, and kept my eyes on him when, with one foot on the top step of the companionway, he turned and looked around again.
“And if you can’t get anybody, skipper?”
“Then it’s hard––though most likely you’ve deserved it.”
“But you haven’t deserved it?”
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“Deserved it? Yes, and ten times over.”
“That’s pretty rough.”
“Rough? No, it’s right. When you do wrong you’ve got to make up for it. It’s all in the big scheme of the universe. You’ve got to strike a balance some time––somewhere. And the sooner the better. Be thankful if you have to settle it right away, Joe. If you don’t and it drags along––then it’s worse again, and the Lord help those that come after you––those that have to take up life where you’ve left it off. The Lord have mercy on the heirs of your brain and heart and soul, boy. What you hand them they’ve got to take. Yes, sir, you’ll pay for it somewhere––you yourself, or, what’s worse, those you care for will have to pay––in this world or another––whatever it is we’re coming to, a better or a worse world, it’s there and waiting us. Be thankful, as I said, Joe, if you have to settle for it here––settle for it yourself alone.”
All around, above and below, ahead and astern, he looked, a long, long look astern––his foot on the step, and singing softly, almost to himself:
“And if I come to you, my love,And my heart free from guile,Will you have a glance for me––Will you on me smile?
“And if I come to you, my love,And my heart free from guile,Will you have a glance for me––Will you on me smile?
“And if I come to you, my love,
And my heart free from guile,
Will you have a glance for me––
Will you on me smile?
314
Oh, Lord! pipe-dreams––pipe-dreams. Let’s go below, Joe, and have a bite to eat.”
So below we went; and her sails lit up by the morning sun, her decks wet by the slapping sea, sheets off and sailing free, the Johnnie Duncan clipped her way to the east’ard.