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LITTLE NOVELS BY
FAVOURITE AUTHORS
Man Overboard!
F. MARION CRAWFORD


Man Overboard!
Man Overboard!
BY
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
F. Marion Crawford
AUTHOR OF "THE UPPER BERTH," "CECILIA,"
AUTHOR OF "THE UPPER BERTH," "CECILIA,"
"THE WITCH OF PRAGUE," ETC.
"THE WITCH OF PRAGUE," ETC.

New York
NYC
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
MACMILLAN
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
London: Macmillan & Co.
1903
1903
All rights reserved
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1903, By F. MARION CRAWFORD.
Copyright, 1903, By F. Marion Crawford.
Copyright, 1903, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Copyright, 1903, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped April, 1903.
Set up and electrotyped April 1903.
Norwood Press
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
Norwood, MA, USA
ILLUSTRATIONS
Portrait of F. Marion Crawford | Frontispiece |
FACING PAGE | |
"He let go of the knife, and the point stuck into the deck" | 54 |
"One of his wet, shiny arms was round Mamie's waist" | 92 |
MAN OVERBOARD
Yes—I have heard "Man overboard!" a good many times since I was a boy, and once or twice I have seen the man go. There are more men lost in that way than passengers on ocean steamers ever learn of. I have stood looking over the rail on a dark night, when there was a step beside me, and something flew past my head like a big black bat—and then there was a splash! Stokers often go like that. They go mad with the heat, and they slip up on deck and are gone before anybody can stop them, often without being seen or heard. Now and then a passenger will do it, but he [Pg 8]generally has what he thinks a pretty good reason. I have seen a man empty his revolver into a crowd of emigrants forward, and then go over like a rocket. Of course, any officer who respects himself will do what he can to pick a man up, if the weather is not so heavy that he would have to risk his ship; but I don't think I remember seeing a man come back when he was once fairly gone more than two or three times in all my life, though we have often picked up the life-buoy, and sometimes the fellow's cap. Stokers and passengers jump over; I never knew a sailor to do that, drunk or sober. Yes, they say it has happened on hard ships, but I never knew a case myself. Once in a long time a man is fished out when it is just too late, and dies in the boat before you can get him aboard, and—well, I don't know that I ever told that story since it happened—I knew a fellow who went over, and came back dead. I didn't see him after he came back; [Pg 9]only one of us did, but we all knew he was there.
Yes—I’ve heard “Man overboard!” a lot since I was a kid, and a couple of times I’ve seen it happen. More men are lost like that than passengers on ocean liners ever find out about. I’ve stood looking over the railing on a dark night, when someone stepped up beside me, and something flew past my head like a big black bat—and then there was a splash! Stokers often go that way. They lose their minds from the heat, slip up on deck, and are gone before anyone can stop them, often without being seen or heard. Occasionally, a passenger will do it, but he usually has what he thinks is a pretty good reason. I’ve seen a man empty his revolver into a crowd of emigrants up front, and then he went over like a rocket. Of course, any officer who respects himself will do what he can to rescue a man if the weather isn’t too severe to risk the ship; but I don’t think I remember seeing a man come back once he’s gone more than two or three times in my life, though we’ve often retrieved the life-buoy, and sometimes the guy’s cap. Stokers and passengers jump over; I’ve never known a sailor to do that, drunk or sober. Yes, they say it has happened on tough ships, but I’ve never seen it myself. Once in a while a man is pulled out just too late, dying in the boat before you can get him on board, and—well, I don’t think I’ve ever shared that story since it happened—I knew a guy who went over and returned dead. I didn’t see him after he came back; [Pg 9] only one of us did, but we all knew he was there.
No, I am not giving you "sharks." There isn't a shark in this story, and I don't know that I would tell it at all if we weren't alone, just you and I. But you and I have seen things in various parts, and maybe you will understand. Anyhow, you know that I am telling what I know about, and nothing else; and it has been on my mind to tell you ever since it happened, only there hasn't been a chance.
No, I’m not going to give you "sharks." There’s no shark in this story, and honestly, I probably wouldn’t share it at all if we weren’t alone, just you and me. But you and I have experienced a lot, and maybe you’ll get it. Anyway, you know that I’m sharing what I know and nothing more; it’s been on my mind to tell you ever since it happened, but I just haven’t had the chance.
It's a long story, and it took some time to happen; and it began a good many years ago, in October, as well as I can remember. I was mate then; I passed the local Marine Board for master about three years later. She was the Helen B. Jackson, of New York, with lumber for the West Indies, four-masted schooner, Captain Hackstaff. She was an old-fashioned one, even then—no steam donkey, and all to do by hand. There were still sailors in the coasting trade in those days, you remember. She wasn't a hard ship, for the old man was better[Pg 10] than most of them, though he kept to himself and had a face like a monkey-wrench. We were thirteen, all told, in the ship's company; and some of them afterwards thought that might have had something to do with it, but I had all that nonsense knocked out of me when I was a boy. I don't mean to say that I like to go to sea on a Friday, but I have gone to sea on a Friday, and nothing has happened; and twice before that we have been thirteen, because one of the hands didn't turn up at the last minute, and nothing ever happened either—nothing worse than the loss of a light spar or two, or a little canvas. Whenever I have been wrecked, we had sailed as cheerily as you please—no thirteens, no Fridays, no dead men in the hold. I believe it generally happens that way.
It's a long story, and it took a while to unfold; it all started many years ago in October, as well as I can recall. I was a mate back then; I passed the local Marine Board for master about three years later. The ship was the Helen B. Jackson, from New York, carrying lumber to the West Indies, a four-masted schooner captained by Hackstaff. Even then, she was old-fashioned—no steam power, everything done by hand. You remember there were still sailors working the coasting trade in those days. She wasn’t a tough ship, since the captain was better[Pg 10] than most of them, even though he kept to himself and had a face like a monkey wrench. There were thirteen of us in the ship’s company; some thought that might have played a role in what happened, but I had that superstitious nonsense knocked out of me as a kid. I’m not saying I like going to sea on a Friday, but I have done it, and nothing went wrong; and twice before that we had been thirteen because one of the crew didn’t show up at the last minute, and nothing happened then either—just the loss of a light spar or two, or a bit of canvas. Every time I ended up getting wrecked, we had sailed as happily as could be—no thirteens, no Fridays, no dead men in the hold. I think it usually works that way.
I dare say you remember those two Benton boys that were so much alike? It is no wonder, for they were twin brothers. They shipped with us as boys on the old Boston Belle, when you were[Pg 11] mate and I was before the mast. I never was quite sure which was which of those two, even then; and when they both had beards it was harder than ever to tell them apart. One was Jim, and the other was Jack; James Benton and John Benton. The only difference I ever could see was, that one seemed to be rather more cheerful and inclined to talk than the other; but one couldn't even be sure of that. Perhaps they had moods. Anyhow, there was one of them that used to whistle when he was alone. He only knew one tune, and that was "Nancy Lee," and the other didn't know any tune at all; but I may be mistaken about that, too. Perhaps they both knew it.
I bet you remember those two Benton boys who looked so much alike? It's not surprising since they were twin brothers. They joined us as kids on the old Boston Belle, when you were[Pg 11] first mate and I was just starting out. I could never quite tell them apart even back then; and when they both grew beards, it was even harder. One was Jim, and the other was Jack; James Benton and John Benton. The only difference I could see was that one seemed a bit cheerier and more talkative than the other; but honestly, I couldn't be sure. Maybe they just had different moods. Anyway, one of them used to whistle when he was by himself. He only knew one song, and that was "Nancy Lee," while the other didn’t know any songs at all; but I might be wrong about that, too. Maybe they both knew it.
Well, those two Benton boys turned up on board the Helen B. Jackson. They had been on half a dozen ships since the Boston Belle, and they had grown up and were good seamen. They had reddish beards and bright blue eyes and freckled faces; and they were quiet fellows,[Pg 12] good workmen on rigging, pretty willing, and both good men at the wheel. They managed to be in the same watch—it was the port watch on the Helen B., and that was mine, and I had great confidence in them both. If there was any job aloft that needed two hands, they were always the first to jump into the rigging; but that doesn't often happen on a fore-and-aft schooner. If it breezed up, and the jibtopsail was to be taken in, they never minded a wetting, and they would be out at the bowsprit end before there was a hand at the downhaul. The men liked them for that, and because they didn't blow about what they could do. I remember one day in a reefing job, the downhaul parted and came down on deck from the peak of the spanker. When the weather moderated, and we shook the reefs out, the downhaul was forgotten until we happened to think we might soon need it again. There was some sea on, and the boom was off and the gaff was slamming. One of those[Pg 13] Benton boys was at the wheel, and before I knew what he was doing, the other was out on the gaff with the end of the new downhaul, trying to reeve it through its block. The one who was steering watched him, and got as white as cheese. The other one was swinging about on the gaff end, and every time she rolled to leeward he brought up with a jerk that would have sent anything but a monkey flying into space. But he didn't leave it until he had rove the new rope, and he got back all right. I think it was Jack at the wheel; the one that seemed more cheerful, the one that whistled "Nancy Lee." He had rather have been doing the job himself than watch his brother do it, and he had a scared look; but he kept her as steady as he could in the swell, and he drew a long breath when Jim had worked his way back to the peak-halliard block, and had something to hold on to. I think it was Jim.
Well, those two Benton brothers showed up on the Helen B. Jackson. They had been on about six ships since the Boston Belle, and they had grown up to be skilled sailors. They had reddish beards, bright blue eyes, and freckled faces; and they were quiet guys, good at handling rigging, pretty eager, and both excellent at the wheel. They managed to be in the same watch—it was the port watch on the Helen B., which was mine, and I had a lot of confidence in both of them. If there was a job up high that needed two hands, they were always the first to jump into the rigging; but that doesn’t happen often on a fore-and-aft schooner. If it got windy and we needed to take in the jibtopsail, they didn’t mind getting wet, and they would be out at the bowsprit end before anyone else was handling the downhaul. The crew liked them for that and because they didn’t brag about what they could do. I remember one day during a reefing job when the downhaul broke and fell down onto the deck from the peak of the spanker. When the weather calmed down and we shook out the reefs, we forgot about the downhaul until we realized we might soon need it again. There was some sea on, the boom was out, and the gaff was slamming. One of those[Pg 13] Benton boys was at the wheel, and before I even realized what was happening, the other one was out on the gaff with the end of the new downhaul, trying to thread it through its block. The one steering watched him, looking as white as a sheet. The other one was swinging around on the gaff end, and every time it rolled to leeward, he got jerked in a way that would have sent anyone else flying. But he didn’t let go until he had threaded the new rope, and he made it back okay. I think it was Jack at the wheel; he seemed more cheerful, the one who whistled "Nancy Lee." He would have rather been doing the job himself than watching his brother do it, and he looked scared; but he kept the wheel as steady as he could in the swell and let out a long breath when Jim made it back to the peak-halliard block and had something to hold onto. I think it was Jim.
They had good togs, too, and they[Pg 14] were neat and clean men in the forecastle. I knew they had nobody belonging to them ashore,—no mother, no sisters, and no wives; but somehow they both looked as if a woman overhauled them now and then. I remember that they had one ditty bag between them, and they had a woman's thimble in it. One of the men said something about it to them, and they looked at each other; and one smiled, but the other didn't. Most of their clothes were alike, but they had one red guernsey between them. For some time I used to think it was always the same one that wore it, and I thought that might be a way to tell them apart. But then I heard one asking the other for it, and saying that the other had worn it last. So that was no sign either. The cook was a West Indiaman, called James Lawley; his father had been hanged for putting lights in cocoanut trees where they didn't belong. But he was a good cook, and knew his business; and it wasn't soup-and-bully[Pg 15] and dog's-body every Sunday. That's what I meant to say. On Sunday the cook called both those boys Jim, and on week-days he called them Jack. He used to say he must be right sometimes if he did that, because even the hands on a painted clock point right twice a day.
They had nice clothes, too, and they[Pg 14] were tidy, clean men in the forecastle. I knew they didn’t have anyone waiting for them onshore—no mother, no sisters, and no wives; but somehow they both looked like a woman checked on them now and then. I remember they shared one ditty bag, and it had a woman’s thimble inside. One of the men said something about it to them, and they exchanged glances; one smiled, but the other didn’t. Most of their clothes were similar, but they had one red guernsey between them. For a while, I thought it was the same guy wearing it all the time, and I figured that could be a way to tell them apart. But then I heard one ask the other for it, saying the other had worn it last. So that didn’t work either. The cook was from the West Indies, named James Lawley; his father had been hanged for putting lights in coconut trees where they shouldn’t have been. But he was a great cook and knew his stuff; it wasn’t just soup and scraps[Pg 15] every Sunday. That’s what I meant to say. On Sundays, the cook called both those boys Jim, and on weekdays he called them Jack. He used to say he must be right sometimes if he did that, because even the hands on a painted clock are right twice a day.
What started me to trying for some way of telling the Bentons apart was this. I heard them talking about a girl. It was at night, in our watch, and the wind had headed us off a little rather suddenly, and when we had flattened in the jibs, we clewed down the topsails, while the two Benton boys got the spanker sheet aft. One of them was at the helm. I coiled down the mizzen-topsail downhaul myself, and was going aft to see how she headed up, when I stopped to look at a light, and leaned against the deck-house. While I was standing there I heard the two boys talking. It sounded as if they had talked of the same thing before, and as far as I could tell, the voice I heard first[Pg 16] belonged to the one who wasn't quite so cheerful as the other,—the one who was Jim when one knew which he was.
What made me try to figure out how to tell the Bentons apart was this: I overheard them talking about a girl. It was nighttime during our watch, and the wind had shifted suddenly, and after we adjusted the jibs, we took down the topsails while the two Benton boys handled the spanker sheet. One of them was at the helm. I coiled down the mizzen-topsail downhaul myself and was heading aft to check how she was steering when I stopped to look at a light and leaned against the deckhouse. While I was standing there, I heard the two boys talking. It seemed like they had discussed the same subject before, and as far as I could tell, the voice I heard first[Pg 16] belonged to the one who was a bit less cheerful than the other—the one who was Jim when you knew which was which.
"Does Mamie know?" Jim asked.
"Does Mamie know?" Jim asked.
"Not yet," Jack answered quietly. He was at the wheel. "I mean to tell her next time we get home."
"Not yet," Jack replied softly. He was driving. "I plan to tell her the next time we get home."
"All right."
"Okay."
That was all I heard, because I didn't care to stand there listening while they were talking about their own affairs; so I went aft to look into the binnacle, and I told the one at the wheel to keep her so as long as she had way on her, for I thought the wind would back up again before long, and there was land to leeward. When he answered, his voice, somehow, didn't sound like the cheerful one. Perhaps his brother had relieved the wheel while they had been speaking, but what I had heard set me wondering which of them it was that had a girl at home. There's lots of time for wondering on a schooner in fair weather.
That was all I heard because I didn’t want to stand there listening to them talk about their own stuff, so I went to the back to check the binnacle and told the guy at the wheel to keep her steady as long as she was moving, since I thought the wind would change direction soon and there was land downwind. When he replied, his voice didn’t sound cheerful, for some reason. Maybe his brother had taken over at the wheel while they were chatting, but what I heard made me curious about which one of them had a girl waiting at home. There’s plenty of time to wonder on a schooner in good weather.
After that I thought I noticed that[Pg 17] the two brothers were more silent when they were together. Perhaps they guessed that I had overheard something that night, and kept quiet when I was about. Some men would have amused themselves by trying to chaff them separately about the girl at home, and I suppose whichever one it was would have let the cat out of the bag if I had done that. But, somehow, I didn't like to. Yes, I was thinking of getting married myself at that time, so I had a sort of fellow-feeling for whichever one it was, that made me not want to chaff him.
After that, I thought I noticed that[Pg 17] the two brothers were quieter when they were together. Maybe they sensed that I had overheard something that night and kept quiet when I was around. Some guys would have enjoyed teasing them separately about the girl at home, and I guess whichever one it was would have spilled the beans if I had done that. But, for some reason, I didn’t want to. Yeah, I was thinking about getting married myself at that time, so I felt a kind of sympathy for whichever one it was, which made me not want to tease him.
They didn't talk much, it seemed to me; but in fair weather, when there was nothing to do at night, and one was steering, the other was everlastingly hanging round as if he were waiting to relieve the wheel, though he might have been enjoying a quiet nap for all I cared in such weather. Or else, when one was taking his turn at the lookout, the other would be sitting on an anchor beside him. One kept near the other, at[Pg 18] night more than in the daytime. I noticed that. They were fond of sitting on that anchor, and they generally tucked away their pipes under it, for the Helen B. was a dry boat in most weather, and like most fore-and-afters was better on a wind than going free. With a beam sea we sometimes shipped a little water aft. We were by the stern, anyhow, on that voyage, and that is one reason why we lost the man.
They didn't talk much, it seemed; but in nice weather, when there was nothing to do at night, one would be steering while the other was always hanging around as if he was waiting to take over the wheel, even though he could have easily enjoyed a quiet nap in such weather. Or when one was on lookout duty, the other would be sitting on an anchor next to him. They stayed close to each other at[Pg 18] night more than during the day. I noticed that. They liked sitting on that anchor, and they usually tucked their pipes under it because the Helen B. was a dry boat in most weather, and like most fore-and-afters, it handled better into the wind than running free. With a beam sea, we sometimes took on a little water at the stern. We were at the back of the boat, anyway, on that trip, and that's one reason we lost the man.
We fell in with a southerly gale, south-east at first; and then the barometer began to fall while you could watch it, and a long swell began to come up from the south'ard. A couple of months earlier we might have been in for a cyclone, but it's "October all over" in those waters, as you know better than I. It was just going to blow, and then it was going to rain, that was all; and we had plenty of time to make everything snug before it breezed up much. It blew harder after sunset, and by the time it was quite dark it was a[Pg 19] full gale. We had shortened sail for it, but as we were by the stern we were carrying the spanker close reefed instead of the storm trysail. She steered better so, as long as we didn't have to heave to. I had the first watch with the Benton boys, and we had not been on deck an hour when a child might have seen that the weather meant business.
We ran into a southerly gale, initially from the southeast; then the barometer started to drop dramatically, and a long swell began coming up from the south. A couple of months earlier, we might have faced a cyclone, but it's "October all over" in those waters, as you know better than I do. It was just going to get windy, and then it was going to rain—that was all; and we had plenty of time to make everything secure before it picked up too much. It blew harder after sunset, and by the time it was completely dark, it was a[Pg 19] full gale. We had reduced sail for it, but since we were running downwind, we were using the spanker close reefed instead of the storm trysail. She handled better that way, as long as we didn’t have to heave to. I had the first watch with the Benton boys, and we hadn’t been on deck an hour when it became clear even to a child that the weather was serious.
The old man came up on deck and looked round, and in less than a minute he told us to give her the trysail. That meant heaving to, and I was glad of it; for though the Helen B. was a good vessel enough, she wasn't a new ship by a long way, and it did her no good to drive her in that weather. I asked whether I should call all hands, but just then the cook came aft, and the old man said he thought we could manage the job without waking the sleepers, and the trysail was handy on deck already, for we hadn't been expecting anything better. We were all in oilskins, of course, and the night was as black as a coal mine,[Pg 20] with only a ray of light from the slit in the binnacle shield, and you couldn't tell one man from another except by his voice. The old man took the wheel; we got the boom amidships, and he jammed her into the wind until she had hardly any way. It was blowing now, and it was all that I and two others could do to get in the slack of the downhaul, while the others lowered away at the peak and throat, and we had our hands full to get a couple of turns round the wet sail. It's all child's play on a fore-and-after compared with reefing topsails in anything like weather, but the gear of a schooner sometimes does unhandy things that you don't expect, and those everlasting long halliards get foul of everything if they get adrift. I remember thinking how unhandy that particular job was. Somebody unhooked the throat-halliard block, and thought he had hooked it into the head-cringle of the trysail, and sang out to hoist away, but he had missed it in the dark, and[Pg 21] the heavy block went flying into the lee rigging, and nearly killed him when it swung back with the weather roll. Then the old man got her up in the wind until the jib was shaking like thunder; then he held her off, and she went off as soon as the head-sails filled, and he couldn't get her back again without the spanker. Then the Helen B. did her favourite trick, and before we had time to say much we had a sea over the quarter and were up to our waists, with the parrels of the trysail only half becketed round the mast, and the deck so full of gear that you couldn't put your foot on a plank, and the spanker beginning to get adrift again, being badly stopped, and the general confusion and hell's delight that you can only have on a fore-and-after when there's nothing really serious the matter. Of course, I don't mean to say that the old man couldn't have steered his trick as well as you or I or any other seaman; but I don't believe he had ever been on board the Helen B. before, or[Pg 22] had his hand on her wheel till then; and he didn't know her ways. I don't mean to say that what happened was his fault. I don't know whose fault it was. Perhaps nobody was to blame. But I knew something happened somewhere on board when we shipped that sea, and you'll never get it out of my head. I hadn't any spare time myself, for I was becketing the rest of the trysail to the mast. We were on the starboard tack, and the throat-halliard came down to port as usual, and I suppose there were at least three men at it, hoisting away, while I was at the beckets.
The old man came up on deck and looked around, and in less than a minute, he told us to set the trysail. That meant we were heaving to, and I was relieved; while the Helen B. was a decent enough vessel, she was far from new, and pushing her in that weather would do no favors. I asked if I should call everyone, but just then the cook came back, and the old man thought we could handle it without waking the sleepers, and the trysail was already ready on deck since we hadn’t expected anything worse. We were all in oilskins, of course, and the night was pitch black, [Pg 20] with only a sliver of light from the binnacle shield, making it impossible to tell one person from another except by their voice. The old man took the wheel; we got the boom amidships, and he pushed her into the wind until she lost almost all her speed. It was blowing now, and it took all three of us to get the slack of the downhaul while the others lowered the peak and throat, and we had our hands full trying to get a couple of turns around the wet sail. It’s all easy on a fore-and-aft compared to reefing topsails in similar weather, but the gear on a schooner can do tricky things you don’t expect, and those long halliards always seem to get caught up in everything if they get loose. I remember thinking how awkward that particular task was. Someone unhooked the throat-halliard block and thought they had hooked it into the head-cringle of the trysail and shouted to hoist away, but they missed it in the dark, and [Pg 21] the heavy block flew into the lee rigging, nearly hitting him when it swung back with the roll of the sea. Then the old man got her into the wind until the jib was shaking like crazy; then he held her off, and she took off as soon as the head-sails filled, and he couldn’t get her back without the spanker. Then the Helen B. did her usual trick, and before we could say much, we had a wave over the quarter and were up to our waists, with the parrels of the trysail only half secured around the mast, and the deck was so cluttered with gear that you couldn’t step on a plank, with the spanker starting to get loose again since it was improperly secured, creating the sort of chaos and excitement only found on a fore-and-aft when there’s nothing really wrong. Of course, I don’t mean to suggest that the old man couldn’t steer as well as you, me, or any other seaman; but I don't think he had ever been on the Helen B. before, or [Pg 22] had his hands on her wheel until then; and he didn’t know how she operated. I’m not saying what happened was his fault. I don’t know whose fault it was. Maybe no one was to blame. But I knew something went wrong somewhere on board when we took that wave, and that thought will never leave my mind. I didn’t have any spare time myself because I was securing the rest of the trysail to the mast. We were on the starboard tack, and the throat-halliard came down to port as usual, and I guess there were at least three men at it, hoisting away, while I was at the beckets.
Now I am going to tell you something. You have known me, man and boy, several voyages; and you are older than I am; and you have always been a good friend to me. Now, do you think I am the sort of man to think I hear things where there isn't anything to hear, or to think I see things when there is nothing to see? No, you don't. Thank you. Well now, I had passed the last[Pg 23] becket, and I sang out to the men to sway away, and I was standing on the jaws of the spanker-gaff, with my left hand on the bolt-rope of the trysail, so that I could feel when it was board-taut, and I wasn't thinking of anything except being glad the job was over, and that we were going to heave her to. It was as black as a coal-pocket, except that you could see the streaks on the seas as they went by, and abaft the deck-house I could see the ray of light from the binnacle on the captain's yellow oilskin as he stood at the wheel—or rather I might have seen it if I had looked round at that minute. But I didn't look round. I heard a man whistling. It was "Nancy Lee," and I could have sworn that the man was right over my head in the crosstrees. Only somehow I knew very well that if anybody could have been up there, and could have whistled a tune, there were no living ears sharp enough to hear it on deck then. I heard it distinctly, and at the same time I[Pg 24] heard the real whistling of the wind in the weather rigging, sharp and clear as the steam-whistle on a Dago's peanut-cart in New York. That was all right, that was as it should be; but the other wasn't right; and I felt queer and stiff, as if I couldn't move, and my hair was curling against the flannel lining of my sou'wester, and I thought somebody had dropped a lump of ice down my back.
Now I'm going to tell you something. You've known me, a man and a boy, for several trips; and you're older than I am; and you've always been a good friend to me. So, do you think I'm the kind of guy who imagines he hears things that aren't there or sees things that don't exist? No, I don't think you do. Thank you. Well, I had just passed the last[Pg 23] becket, and I called out to the crew to sway away. I was standing on the jaws of the spanker-gaff, with my left hand on the bolt-rope of the trysail, so I could feel when it was tight, and I wasn't thinking about anything except being glad the job was done and that we were getting ready to hove her to. It was as dark as a coal pocket, except that you could see the streaks on the sea as they went by, and behind the deck-house, I could see the beam of light from the binnacle on the captain's yellow oilskin as he stood at the wheel—or I might have seen it if I'd looked around at that moment. But I didn't look around. I heard a man whistling. It was "Nancy Lee," and I could have sworn the guy was right above me in the crosstrees. Yet somehow, I knew very well that if there was anyone up there whistling a tune, no living ears could have heard it on deck at that time. I heard it clearly, and at the same time, I[Pg 24] heard the real whistling of the wind in the weather rigging, sharp and clear like a steam whistle on a Dago's peanut cart in New York. That was fine; that was how it should be; but the other wasn't right; and I felt weird and stiff, like I couldn't move, my hair was curling against the flannel lining of my sou'wester, and it felt like someone had dropped a lump of ice down my back.
I said that the noise of the wind in the rigging was real, as if the other wasn't, for I felt that it wasn't, though I heard it. But it was, all the same; for the captain heard it, too. When I came to relieve the wheel, while the men were clearing up decks, he was swearing. He was a quiet man, and I hadn't heard him swear before, and I don't think I did again, though several queer things happened after that. Perhaps he said all he had to say then; I don't see how he could have said anything more. I used to think nobody could swear like a Dane, except a Neapolitan or a South[Pg 25] American; but when I had heard the old man I changed my mind. There's nothing afloat or ashore that can beat one of your quiet American skippers, if he gets off on that tack. I didn't need to ask him what was the matter, for I knew he had heard "Nancy Lee," as I had, only it affected us differently.
I said that the noise of the wind in the rigging was real, as if the other wasn’t, because I felt that it wasn't, even though I heard it. But it was, all the same; the captain heard it too. When I came to take over the wheel while the men were cleaning up the decks, he was cursing. He was usually a quiet man, and I hadn’t heard him curse before, and I don’t think I did again, even though several strange things happened after that. Maybe he said everything he had to say then; I don’t see how he could have said anything more. I used to think nobody could curse like a Dane except a Neapolitan or a South[Pg 25] American; but after hearing the old man, I changed my mind. There’s nothing afloat or ashore that can top one of your quiet American skippers, if he really gets going. I didn’t need to ask him what was wrong, because I knew he had heard "Nancy Lee," just like I had, but it affected us differently.
He did not give me the wheel, but told me to go forward and get the second bonnet off the staysail, so as to keep her up better. As we tailed on to the sheet when it was done, the man next me knocked his sou'wester off against my shoulder, and his face came so close to me that I could see it in the dark. It must have been very white for me to see it, but I only thought of that afterwards. I don't see how any light could have fallen upon it, but I knew it was one of the Benton boys. I don't know what made me speak to him. "Hullo, Jim! Is that you?" I asked. I don't know why I said Jim, rather than Jack.
He didn’t hand me the wheel, but told me to move forward and take the second bonnet off the staysail to keep her steady. As we pulled on the sheet when it was done, the guy next to me bumped his sou’wester against my shoulder, and his face got so close that I could see it in the dark. It must have been really pale for me to see it, but I only thought about that later. I don’t know how any light could have caught it, but I recognized it was one of the Benton boys. I’m not sure why I decided to speak to him. “Hey, Jim! Is that you?” I asked. I don’t know why I called him Jim instead of Jack.
"I am Jack," he answered.[Pg 26] We made all fast, and things were much quieter.
"I’m Jack," he replied.[Pg 26] We secured everything, and it got a lot quieter.
"The old man heard you whistling 'Nancy Lee,' just now," I said, "and he didn't like it."
"The old man just heard you whistling 'Nancy Lee,'" I said, "and he didn't like it."
It was as if there were a white light inside his face, and it was ghastly. I know his teeth chattered. But he didn't say anything, and the next minute he was somewhere in the dark trying to find his sou'wester at the foot of the mast.
It felt like there was a bright light inside his face, and it was horrifying. I could hear his teeth chattering. But he didn’t say a word, and the next moment, he was in the dark trying to locate his sou’wester at the base of the mast.
When all was quiet, and she was hove to, coming to and falling off her four points as regularly as a pendulum, and the helm lashed a little to the lee, the old man turned in again, and I managed to light a pipe in the lee of the deck-house, for there was nothing more to be done till the gale chose to moderate, and the ship was as easy as a baby in its cradle. Of course the cook had gone below, as he might have done an hour earlier; so there were supposed to be four of us in the watch. There was a man at the lookout, and there was a[Pg 27] hand by the wheel, though there was no steering to be done, and I was having my pipe in the lee of the deck-house, and the fourth man was somewhere about decks, probably having a smoke too. I thought some skippers I had sailed with would have called the watch aft, and given them a drink after that job, but it wasn't cold, and I guessed that our old man wouldn't be particularly generous in that way. My hands and feet were red-hot, and it would be time enough to get into dry clothes when it was my watch below; so I stayed where I was, and smoked. But by and by, things being so quiet, I began to wonder why nobody moved on deck; just that sort of restless wanting to know where every man is that one sometimes feels in a gale of wind on a dark night. So when I had finished my pipe I began to move about. I went aft, and there was a man leaning over the wheel, with his legs apart and both hands hanging down in the light[Pg 28] from the binnacle, and his sou'wester over his eyes. Then I went forward, and there was a man at the lookout, with his back against the foremast, getting what shelter he could from the staysail. I knew by his small height that he was not one of the Benton boys. Then I went round by the weather side, and poked about in the dark, for I began to wonder where the other man was. But I couldn't find him, though I searched the decks until I got right aft again. It was certainly one of the Benton boys that was missing, but it wasn't like either of them to go below to change his clothes in such warm weather. The man at the wheel was the other, of course. I spoke to him.
When everything was quiet, and the ship was gently rocking side to side like a pendulum, with the helm secured slightly to the leeward, the old man went back inside. I managed to light a pipe sheltered behind the deck-house since there was nothing else to do until the storm calmed down, and the ship was as comfortable as a baby in a crib. Naturally, the cook had gone below, just like he might have an hour earlier, so there were supposed to be four of us on watch. One guy was at the lookout, and another was at the wheel, even though there was no steering needed. I was enjoying my pipe in the shelter of the deck-house, and the fourth man was somewhere on deck, probably having a smoke as well. I thought some captains I had sailed with would have called the watch to the back and offered them a drink after that task, but it wasn’t cold out, and I figured our old man wouldn’t be particularly generous in that regard. My hands and feet were really hot, and I could change into dry clothes later when it was my turn below, so I stayed where I was and smoked. But after a while, with everything so quiet, I started to wonder why no one was moving on deck; that sort of restless curiosity about where everyone is that you sometimes get during a stormy night. So when I finished my pipe, I began to look around. I went to the back, and there was a man leaning on the wheel, legs apart, hands hanging down in the light from the binnacle, his sou’wester pulled over his eyes. Then I went forward, and I saw a man at the lookout, back against the foremast, trying to find some shelter from the staysail. I could tell by his smaller stature that he wasn’t one of the Benton boys. Then I moved around to the weather side and searched in the dark, as I began to wonder where the other guy was. But I couldn’t find him, even after searching the decks until I got all the way back. It was definitely one of the Benton boys who was missing, but it wasn’t like either of them to go below to change clothes in such warm weather. The guy at the wheel was the other one, of course. I spoke to him.
"Jim, what's become of your brother?"
"Hey Jim, what happened to your brother?"
"I am Jack, sir."
"I'm Jack, sir."
"Well, then, Jack, where's Jim? He's not on deck."
"Well, Jack, where's Jim? He's not on deck."
"I don't know, sir."
"I don't know, sir."
When I had come up to him he had stood up from force of instinct, and[Pg 29] had laid his hands on the spokes as if he were steering, though the wheel was lashed; but he still bent his face down, and it was half hidden by the edge of his sou'wester, while he seemed to be staring at the compass. He spoke in a very low voice, but that was natural, for the captain had left his door open when he turned in, as it was a warm night in spite of the storm, and there was no fear of shipping any more water now.
When I approached him, he instinctively stood up and[Pg 29] placed his hands on the spokes as if he were steering, even though the wheel was secured. He still leaned down, his face partially obscured by the brim of his sou’wester, and appeared to be focused on the compass. He spoke in a very quiet voice, which made sense, since the captain had left his door open when he turned in, given that it was a warm night despite the storm, and there was no concern about taking on more water now.
"What put it into your head to whistle like that, Jack? You've been at sea long enough to know better."
"What made you think it was a good idea to whistle like that, Jack? You've been at sea long enough to know better."
He said something, but I couldn't hear the words; it sounded as if he were denying the charge.
He said something, but I couldn't catch the words; it sounded like he was denying the accusation.
"Somebody whistled," I said.
"Someone whistled," I said.
He didn't answer, and then, I don't know why, perhaps because the old man hadn't given us a drink, I cut half an inch off the plug of tobacco I had in my oilskin pocket, and gave it to him. He knew my tobacco was good, and he[Pg 30] shoved it into his mouth with a word of thanks. I was on the weather side of the wheel.
He didn't answer, and then, I don't know why, maybe because the old man hadn't offered us a drink, I took half an inch off the plug of tobacco I had in my oilskin pocket and handed it to him. He knew my tobacco was good, and he[Pg 30] shoved it into his mouth with a word of thanks. I was on the weather side of the wheel.
"Go forward and see if you can find Jim," I said.
"Go ahead and see if you can find Jim," I said.
He started a little, and then stepped back and passed behind me, and was going along the weather side. Maybe his silence about the whistling had irritated me, and his taking it for granted that because we were hove to and it was a dark night, he might go forward any way he pleased. Anyhow, I stopped him, though I spoke good-naturedly enough.
He jumped a bit, then stepped back and went around me, moving towards the side exposed to the weather. Maybe I was annoyed by his silence about the whistling, and how he assumed that just because we were stuck and it was a dark night, he could go forward however he wanted. Either way, I stopped him, even though I spoke in a friendly tone.
"Pass to leeward, Jack," I said.
"Go to the leeward side, Jack," I said.
He didn't answer, but crossed the deck between the binnacle and the deck-house to the lee side. She was only falling off and coming to, and riding the big seas as easily as possible, but the man was not steady on his feet and reeled against the corner of the deck-house and then against the lee rail. I was quite sure he couldn't have had[Pg 31] anything to drink, for neither of the brothers were the kind to hide rum from their shipmates, if they had any, and the only spirits that were aboard were locked up in the captain's cabin. I wondered whether he had been hit by the throat-halliard block and was hurt.
He didn't respond but walked across the deck between the binnacle and the deckhouse to the leeward side. The boat was just drifting and adjusting, riding the large waves as smoothly as it could, but the man was unsteady on his feet and stumbled against the corner of the deckhouse and then against the leeward rail. I was pretty sure he hadn’t had[Pg 31] anything to drink, since neither of the brothers were the type to hide rum from their crewmates, if they had any, and the only alcohol on board was locked up in the captain's cabin. I wondered if he had been struck by the throat-halliard block and was injured.
I left the wheel and went after him, but when I got to the corner of the deck-house I saw that he was on a full run forward, so I went back. I watched the compass for a while, to see how far she went off, and she must have come to again half a dozen times before I heard voices, more than three or four, forward; and then I heard the little West Indies cook's voice, high and shrill above the rest:—
I left the wheel and went after him, but when I reached the corner of the deckhouse, I saw he was running full speed forward, so I turned back. I watched the compass for a bit to see how far it drifted, and it must have stabilized again at least half a dozen times before I heard voices—more than three or four—up front; and then I heard the little West Indies cook's voice, high and shrill above the others:—
"Man overboard!"
"Person overboard!"
There wasn't anything to be done, with the ship hove-to and the wheel lashed. If there was a man overboard, he must be in the water right alongside. I couldn't imagine how it[Pg 32] could have happened, but I ran forward instinctively. I came upon the cook first, half-dressed in his shirt and trousers, just as he had tumbled out of his bunk. He was jumping into the main rigging, evidently hoping to see the man, as if any one could have seen anything on such a night, except the foam-streaks on the black water, and now and then the curl of a breaking sea as it went away to leeward. Several of the men were peering over the rail into the dark. I caught the cook by the foot, and asked who was gone.
There wasn't much to do, with the ship stopped and the wheel secured. If someone had gone overboard, they had to be in the water right next to us. I couldn't figure out how it[Pg 32] could have happened, but I ran forward without thinking. I found the cook first, half-dressed in his shirt and pants, just as he had fallen out of his bunk. He was climbing into the main rigging, clearly hoping to spot the man, as if anyone could see anything on a night like this, except for the foam streaks on the dark water, and occasionally the curl of a breaking wave moving away from us. Several of the crew were leaning over the rail, staring into the darkness. I grabbed the cook by the foot and asked who was missing.
"It's Jim Benton," he shouted down to me. "He's not aboard this ship!"
"It's Jim Benton," he shouted down to me. "He's not on this ship!"
There was no doubt about that. Jim Benton was gone; and I knew in a flash that he had been taken off by that sea when we were setting the storm trysail. It was nearly half an hour since then; she had run like wild for a few minutes until we got her hove-to, and no swimmer that ever swam could have lived as long as that in such a sea. The men[Pg 33] knew it as well as I, but still they stared into the foam as if they had any chance of seeing the lost man. I let the cook get into the rigging and joined the men, and asked if they had made a thorough search on board, though I knew they had and that it could not take long, for he wasn't on deck, and there was only the forecastle below.
There was no doubt about it. Jim Benton was gone, and in an instant, I realized that he had been taken by that sea when we were setting the storm trysail. It had been nearly half an hour since then; the ship had raced wildly for a few minutes until we managed to get her hove-to, and no swimmer could have survived that long in such a rough sea. The men[Pg 33] knew it just as well as I did, but still, they stared into the foam as if they had any chance of spotting the lost man. I let the cook climb into the rigging and joined the men, asking if they had thoroughly searched the ship, even though I knew they had, and that it couldn't take long, since he wasn't on deck, and the forecastle was the only place below.
"That sea took him over, sir, as sure as you're born," said one of the men close beside me.
"That sea took him under, sir, just like you're born," said one of the guys next to me.
We had no boat that could have lived in that sea, of course, and we all knew it. I offered to put one over, and let her drift astern two or three cable's-lengths by a line, if the men thought they could haul me aboard again; but none of them would listen to that, and I should probably have been drowned if I had tried it, even with a life-belt; for it was a breaking sea. Besides, they all knew as well as I did that the man could not be right in our wake. I don't know why I spoke again.[Pg 34] "Jack Benton, are you there? Will you go if I will?"
We didn’t have a boat that could survive those waves, and we all knew it. I suggested that I could go overboard and let the line drift us a couple of cable lengths behind, if the guys thought they could pull me back on, but none of them wanted to hear it. I probably would have drowned if I had tried, even with a life jacket; it was a rough sea. Besides, they all knew just like I did that the guy couldn’t be right behind us. I don’t know why I spoke up again.[Pg 34] "Jack Benton, are you there? Will you go if I will?"
"No, sir," answered a voice; and that was all.
"No, sir," replied a voice; and that was it.
By that time the old man was on deck, and I felt his hand on my shoulder rather roughly, as if he meant to shake me.
By that time, the old man was on deck, and I felt his hand on my shoulder pretty roughly, almost like he was trying to shake me.
"I'd reckoned you had more sense, Mr. Torkeldsen," he said. "God knows I would risk my ship to look for him, if it were any use; but he must have gone half an hour ago."
"I thought you were smarter than that, Mr. Torkeldsen," he said. "I’d definitely put my ship on the line to find him, if it would make a difference; but he must have left at least half an hour ago."
He was a quiet man, and the men knew he was right, and that they had seen the last of Jim Benton when they were bending the trysail—if anybody had seen him then. The captain went below again, and for some time the men stood around Jack, quite near him, without saying anything, as sailors do when they are sorry for a man and can't help him; and then the watch below turned in again, and we were three on deck.
He was a quiet guy, and the others knew he was right. They realized they had seen the last of Jim Benton when they were adjusting the trysail—if anyone had even spotted him then. The captain went below deck again, and for a while, the men stood around Jack, close by, without saying a word, just like sailors do when they're feeling bad for someone but can't do anything about it. Eventually, the watch below turned in again, and it was just the three of us on deck.
Nobody can understand that there[Pg 35] can be much consolation in a funeral, unless he has felt that blank feeling there is when a man's gone overboard whom everybody likes. I suppose landsmen think it would be easier if they didn't have to bury their fathers and mothers and friends; but it wouldn't be. Somehow the funeral keeps up the idea of something beyond. You may believe in that something just the same; but a man who has gone in the dark, between two seas, without a cry, seems much more beyond reach than if he were still lying on his bed, and had only just stopped breathing. Perhaps Jim Benton knew that, and wanted to come back to us. I don't know, and I am only telling you what happened, and you may think what you like.
Nobody can understand that there[Pg 35] can be much comfort in a funeral, unless they have felt that empty feeling when someone we all like has gone overboard. I guess people on land think it would be easier if they didn’t have to bury their parents and friends; but it wouldn’t be. Somehow, the funeral reinforces the idea of something beyond. You might believe in that something anyway; but a man who has vanished into the darkness, between two seas, without a sound, feels much more unreachable than if he were still lying on his bed, having just stopped breathing. Maybe Jim Benton knew that and wanted to come back to us. I don't know, and I'm just sharing what happened, and you can think whatever you want.
Jack stuck by the wheel that night until the watch was over. I don't know whether he slept afterwards, but when I came on deck four hours later, there he was again, in his oilskins, with his sou'wester over his eyes, staring into[Pg 36] the binnacle. We saw that he would rather stand there, and we left him alone. Perhaps it was some consolation to him to get that ray of light when everything was so dark. It began to rain, too, as it can when a southerly gale is going to break up, and we got every bucket and tub on board, and set them under the booms to catch the fresh water for washing our clothes. The rain made it very thick, and I went and stood under the lee of the staysail, looking out. I could tell that day was breaking, because the foam was whiter in the dark where the seas crested, and little by little the black rain grew grey and steamy, and I couldn't see the red glare of the port light on the water when she went off and rolled to leeward. The gale had moderated considerably, and in another hour we should be under way again. I was still standing there when Jack Benton came forward. He stood still a few minutes near me. The rain[Pg 37] came down in a solid sheet, and I could see his wet beard and a corner of his cheek, too, grey in the dawn. Then he stooped down and began feeling under the anchor for his pipe. We had hardly shipped any water forward, and I suppose he had some way of tucking the pipe in, so that the rain hadn't floated it off. Presently he got on his legs again, and I saw that he had two pipes in his hand. One of them had belonged to his brother, and after looking at them a moment I suppose he recognised his own, for he put it in his mouth, dripping with water. Then he looked at the other fully a minute without moving. When he had made up his mind, I suppose, he quietly chucked it over the lee rail, without even looking round to see whether I was watching him. I thought it was a pity, for it was a good wooden pipe, with a nickel ferrule, and somebody would have been glad to have it. But I didn't like to make any remark, for he had a right to do what he pleased[Pg 38] with what had belonged to his dead brother. He blew the water out of his own pipe, and dried it against his jacket, putting his hand inside his oilskin; he filled it, standing under the lee of the foremast, got a light after wasting two or three matches, and turned the pipe upside down in his teeth, to keep the rain out of the bowl. I don't know why I noticed everything he did, and remember it now; but somehow I felt sorry for him, and I kept wondering whether there was anything I could say that would make him feel better. But I didn't think of anything, and as it was broad daylight I went aft again, for I guessed that the old man would turn out before long and order the spanker set and the helm up. But he didn't turn out before seven bells, just as the clouds broke and showed blue sky to leeward—"the Frenchman's barometer," you used to call it.
Jack stayed by the wheel that night until his watch was over. I don’t know if he slept afterwards, but when I came on deck four hours later, there he was again, in his oilskins, with his sou’wester pulled down over his eyes, staring into[Pg 36] the binnacle. We could tell he preferred to stand there, so we left him alone. Maybe it was some comfort for him to catch that ray of light when everything else felt so dark. It started to rain too, as it often does when a southerly gale is about to break, so we managed to grab every bucket and tub on board and set them under the booms to collect fresh water for washing our clothes. The rain was pouring down thickly, and I went and stood under the cover of the staysail, looking out. I could tell day was breaking because the foam looked whiter in the dark where the waves crested, and little by little the black rain turned grey and misty, and I couldn’t see the red glare of the port light on the water when the ship heeled over and rolled to leeward. The gale had calmed quite a bit, and in another hour, we would be underway again. I was still standing there when Jack Benton came forward. He stood nearby for a few minutes. The rain[Pg 37] fell like a solid sheet, and I could see his wet beard, and a corner of his cheek was grey in the dawn. Then he bent down and started feeling under the anchor for his pipe. We had hardly taken on any water forward, so I guess he found a way to tuck the pipe in so that the rain hadn’t washed it away. Soon he stood up again, and I saw he had two pipes in his hand. One of them belonged to his brother, and after looking at them for a moment, I think he recognized his own because he put it in his mouth, dripping with water. Then he stared at the other one for a full minute without moving. Once he made up his mind, he quietly tossed it over the leeward rail without even looking to see if I was watching him. I thought it was too bad since it was a good wooden pipe with a nickel ferrule, and someone would have appreciated it. But I didn’t want to say anything because he had every right to do what he wanted[Pg 38] with something that used to belong to his deceased brother. He blew the water out of his own pipe, dried it against his jacket, stuck his hand inside his oilskin, filled it while standing under the foremast's cover, got a light after wasting a couple of matches, and turned the pipe upside down in his mouth to keep the rain out of the bowl. I don’t know why I noticed everything he did or why I remember it now, but somehow I felt sorry for him, and I kept wondering if there was anything I could say to make him feel better. But I couldn’t think of anything, and since it was broad daylight, I went aft again because I guessed the old man would wake up soon and order the spanker set and the helm up. But he didn’t get up until seven bells, just as the clouds parted and revealed blue sky to leeward—"the Frenchman’s barometer," as you used to call it.
Some people don't seem to be so dead,[Pg 39] when they are dead, as others are. Jim Benton was like that. He had been on my watch, and I couldn't get used to the idea that he wasn't about decks with me. I was always expecting to see him, and his brother was so exactly like him that I often felt as if I did see him and forgot he was dead, and made the mistake of calling Jack by his name; though I tried not to, because I knew it must hurt. If ever Jack had been the cheerful one of the two, as I had always supposed he had been, he had changed very much, for he grew to be more silent than Jim had ever been.
Some people don’t seem as dead when they’re gone,[Pg 39] as others do. Jim Benton was like that. He had been on my watch, and I couldn’t get used to the idea that he wasn’t around anymore. I was always expecting to see him, and his brother was so much like him that I often felt like I did see him, forgetting he was dead and mistakenly calling Jack by his name; even though I tried not to, because I knew it would hurt. If Jack had ever been the cheerful one of the two, like I always thought he was, he had changed a lot, becoming more silent than Jim had ever been.
One fine afternoon I was sitting on the main-hatch, overhauling the clock-work of the taffrail-log, which hadn't been registering very well of late, and I had got the cook to bring me a coffee-cup to hold the small screws as I took them out, and a saucer for the sperm-oil I was going to use. I noticed that he didn't go away, but hung round without exactly watching what I was doing, as if[Pg 40] he wanted to say something to me. I thought if it were worth much he would say it anyhow, so I didn't ask him questions; and sure enough he began of his own accord before long. There was nobody on deck but the man at the wheel, and the other man away forward.
One nice afternoon, I was sitting on the main hatch, fixing the clockwork of the taffrail-log, which hadn't been working very well lately. I had asked the cook to bring me a coffee cup to hold the small screws as I took them out, and a saucer for the sperm oil I was going to use. I noticed he didn’t leave but lingered around without really watching what I was doing, as if he wanted to say something to me. I figured if it was important, he would say it anyway, so I didn't ask him any questions; and sure enough, he started talking on his own shortly after. There was no one else on deck except the guy at the wheel and another man up front.
"Mr. Torkeldsen," the cook began, and then stopped.
"Mr. Torkeldsen," the cook started, then paused.
I supposed he was going to ask me to let the watch break out a barrel of flour, or some salt horse.
I figured he was going to ask me to let the watch break open a barrel of flour or some salt beef.
"Well, doctor?" I asked, as he didn't go on.
"Well, doctor?" I asked, since he didn't continue.
"Well, Mr. Torkeldsen," he answered, "I somehow want to ask you whether you think I am giving satisfaction on this ship, or not?"
"Well, Mr. Torkeldsen," he replied, "I want to ask you if you think I'm meeting expectations on this ship, or not?"
"So far as I know, you are, doctor. I haven't heard any complaints from the forecastle, and the captain has said nothing, and I think you know your business, and the cabin-boy is bursting out of his clothes. That looks as if you are giving[Pg 41] satisfaction. What makes you think you are not?"
"As far as I know, you are, doctor. I haven't heard any complaints from the crew, and the captain hasn't said anything, and I think you know what you're doing, and the cabin-boy is practically bursting out of his clothes. That suggests you're providing[Pg 41] satisfaction. What makes you think you aren't?"
I am not good at giving you that West Indies talk, and sha'n't try; but the doctor beat about the bush awhile, and then he told me he thought the men were beginning to play tricks on him, and he didn't like it, and thought he hadn't deserved it, and would like his discharge at our next port. I told him he was a d——d fool, of course, to begin with; and that men were more apt to try a joke with a chap they liked than with anybody they wanted to get rid of; unless it was a bad joke, like flooding his bunk, or filling his boots with tar. But it wasn't that kind of practical joke. The doctor said that the men were trying to frighten him, and he didn't like it, and that they put things in his way that frightened him. So I told him he was a d——d fool to be frightened, anyway, and I wanted to know what things they put in his way. He gave me a queer answer. He said they were[Pg 42] spoons and forks, and odd plates, and a cup now and then, and such things.
I'm not great at giving you that West Indies vibe, and I won't even try; but the doctor hesitated for a bit, then told me he thought the crew was starting to mess with him, and he didn't like it and felt he didn't deserve it, plus he wanted his discharge at our next port. I told him he was being a total idiot, obviously; and that guys are more likely to joke around with someone they like than with someone they want to get rid of, unless it’s a really mean prank, like flooding his bunk or filling his boots with tar. But it wasn’t that kind of prank. The doctor said the crew was trying to scare him, and he didn’t like it, and that they put things in his path that frightened him. So I told him he was a total fool for being scared, anyway, and I wanted to know what things they were putting in his way. He gave me a weird answer. He said they were[Pg 42] spoons and forks, and random plates, and a cup now and then, and stuff like that.
I set down the taffrail-log on the bit of canvas I had put under it, and looked at the doctor. He was uneasy, and his eyes had a sort of hunted look, and his yellow face looked grey. He wasn't trying to make trouble. He was in trouble. So I asked him questions.
I placed the taffrail-log on the piece of canvas I had laid underneath it and glanced at the doctor. He seemed anxious, his eyes had a wild look, and his yellow face appeared gray. He wasn't trying to cause any problems; he was in a bad situation. So, I started asking him questions.
He said he could count as well as anybody, and do sums without using his fingers, but that when he couldn't count any other way he did use his fingers, and it always came out the same. He said that when he and the cabin-boy cleared up after the men's meals there were more things to wash than he had given out. There'd be a fork more, or there'd be a spoon more, and sometimes there'd be a spoon and a fork, and there was always a plate more. It wasn't that he complained of that. Before poor Jim Benton was lost they had a man more to feed, and his gear to wash up after meals, and that was in the contract,[Pg 43] the doctor said. It would have been if there were twenty in the ship's company; but he didn't think it was right for the men to play tricks like that. He kept his things in good order, and he counted them, and he was responsible for them, and it wasn't right that the men should take more things than they needed when his back was turned, and just soil them and mix them up with their own, so as to make him think—
He said he could count as well as anyone else and do math without using his fingers, but if he couldn't figure it out any other way, he did use his fingers, and it always added up the same. He mentioned that when he and the cabin-boy cleaned up after the men's meals, there were more items to wash than he had handed out. There’d be an extra fork or an extra spoon, and sometimes there’d be both a spoon and a fork, and there was always an extra plate. It wasn't that he was complaining about that. Before poor Jim Benton was lost, they had one more person to feed, along with his gear to clean up after meals, and that was in the contract, [Pg 43] the doctor said. It would have been the same if there were twenty people on the ship; but he didn't think it was fair for the men to play tricks like that. He kept his things organized, he counted them, and he was responsible for them, and it wasn’t right for the men to take more than they needed when he wasn’t looking, just to dirty them and mix them with their own, making him think—
He stopped there, and looked at me, and I looked at him. I didn't know what he thought, but I began to guess. I wasn't going to humour any such nonsense as that, so I told him to speak to the men himself, and not come bothering me about such things.
He stopped there, looked at me, and I looked back at him. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I started to figure it out. I wasn't going to entertain any of that nonsense, so I told him to talk to the guys himself and not to come bothering me with such things.
"Count the plates and forks and spoons before them when they sit down to table, and tell them that's all they'll get; and when they have finished, count the things again, and if the count isn't right, find out who did it. You know it[Pg 44] must be one of them. You're not a green hand; you've been going to sea ten or eleven years, and don't want any lesson about how to behave if the boys play a trick on you."
"Count the plates, forks, and spoons in front of them when they sit down to eat, and let them know that’s all they’ll get. After they finish, count everything again, and if the numbers don’t match, figure out who messed up. It has to be one of them. You’re not a newbie; you’ve been at sea for ten or eleven years and don’t need a lesson on how to handle it if the guys play a prank on you."
"If I could catch him," said the cook, "I'd have a knife into him before he could say his prayers."
"If I could get my hands on him," said the cook, "I'd have a knife in him before he could even say his prayers."
Those West India men are always talking about knives, especially when they are badly frightened. I knew what he meant, and didn't ask him, but went on cleaning the brass cogwheels of the patent log and oiling the bearings with a feather. "Wouldn't it be better to wash it out with boiling water, sir?" asked the cook, in an insinuating tone. He knew that he had made a fool of himself, and was anxious to make it right again.
Those guys from the West Indies are always going on about knives, especially when they’re really scared. I understood what he was getting at and didn’t ask him about it, but kept cleaning the brass cogwheels of the patent log and oiling the bearings with a feather. “Wouldn’t it be better to wash it out with boiling water, sir?” the cook asked, trying to be smooth. He realized he had embarrassed himself and wanted to fix things.
I heard no more about the odd platter and gear for two or three days, though I thought about his story a good deal. The doctor evidently believed that Jim Benton had come back, though he didn't[Pg 45] quite like to say so. His story had sounded silly enough on a bright afternoon, in fair weather, when the sun was on the water, and every rag was drawing in the breeze, and the sea looked as pleasant and harmless as a cat that has just eaten a canary. But when it was toward the end of the first watch, and the waning moon had not risen yet, and the water was like still oil, and the jibs hung down flat and helpless like the wings of a dead bird—it wasn't the same then. More than once I have started then, and looked round when a fish jumped, expecting to see a face sticking up out of the water with its eyes shut. I think we all felt something like that at the time.
I didn’t hear anything else about the strange platter and gear for two or three days, even though I thought about his story quite a bit. The doctor clearly believed that Jim Benton had come back, though he didn’t[Pg 45] exactly want to say it out loud. His story had sounded pretty ridiculous on a bright afternoon, with nice weather, when the sun was shining on the water, and every sail was filled with the breeze, making the sea look as inviting and harmless as a cat that just caught a canary. But when it was getting close to the end of the first watch, and the fading moon hadn’t risen yet, and the water was as calm as oil, and the jibs hung down flat and lifeless like the wings of a dead bird—it felt different then. More than once, I found myself jumping and looking around when a fish splashed, expecting to see a face bobbing up out of the water with its eyes shut. I think we all felt something like that at the time.
One afternoon we were putting a fresh service on the jib-sheet-pennant. It wasn't my watch, but I was standing by looking on. Just then Jack Benton came up from below, and went to look for his pipe under the anchor. His face was hard and drawn, and his eyes[Pg 46] were cold like steel balls. He hardly ever spoke now, but he did his duty as usual, and nobody had to complain of him, though we were all beginning to wonder how long his grief for his dead brother was going to last like that. I watched him as he crouched down, and ran his hand into the hiding-place for the pipe. When he stood up, he had two pipes in his hand.
One afternoon we were putting a new service on the jib-sheet-pennant. It wasn't my watch, but I was standing by watching. Just then, Jack Benton came up from below and went to look for his pipe under the anchor. His face was hard and drawn, and his eyes[Pg 46] were cold like steel balls. He hardly ever spoke now, but he did his job as usual, and nobody had to complain about him, even though we were all starting to wonder how long his grief for his dead brother was going to last like that. I watched him as he crouched down and put his hand into the hiding place for the pipe. When he stood up, he had two pipes in his hand.
Now, I remembered very well seeing him throw one of those pipes away, early in the morning after the gale; and it came to me now, and I didn't suppose he kept a stock of them under the anchor. I caught sight of his face, and it was greenish white, like the foam on shallow water, and he stood a long time looking at the two pipes. He wasn't looking to see which was his, for I wasn't five yards from him as he stood, and one of those pipes had been smoked that day, and was shiny where his hand had rubbed it, and the bone mouthpiece was chafed white[Pg 47] where his teeth had bitten it. The other was water-logged. It was swelled and cracking with wet, and it looked to me as if there were a little green weed on it.
Now, I clearly remembered seeing him toss one of those pipes away early in the morning after the storm; it came back to me now, and I didn’t think he kept a stash of them under the anchor. I noticed his face, which was a pale greenish white like foam on shallow water, and he stood there for a long time staring at the two pipes. He wasn’t trying to figure out which one was his, since I was only about five yards away, and one of those pipes had been smoked that day; it was shiny where his hand had rubbed it, and the bone mouthpiece was chafed white[Pg 47] where his teeth had bitten it. The other pipe was waterlogged. It was swollen and cracking from the moisture, and it looked to me like there was a bit of green weed growing on it.
Jack Benton turned his head rather stealthily as I looked away, and then he hid the thing in his trousers pocket, and went aft on the lee side, out of sight. The men had got the sheet pennant on a stretch to serve it, but I ducked under it and stood where I could see what Jack did, just under the fore-staysail. He couldn't see me, and he was looking about for something. His hand shook as he picked up a bit of half-bent iron rod, about a foot long, that had been used for turning an eye-bolt, and had been left on the main-hatch. His hand shook as he got a piece of marline out of his pocket, and made the water-logged pipe fast to the iron. He didn't mean it to get adrift, either, for he took his turns carefully, and hove them taut and then rode[Pg 48] them, so that they couldn't slip, and made the end fast with two half-hitches round the iron, and hitched it back on itself. Then he tried it with his hands, and looked up and down the deck furtively, and then quietly dropped the pipe and iron over the rail, so that I didn't even hear the splash. If anybody was playing tricks on board, they weren't meant for the cook.
Jack Benton turned his head quietly as I looked away, then he hid the object in his trouser pocket and moved to the back on the leeward side, out of sight. The guys had pulled the sheet pennant tight to adjust it, but I ducked under it and stood where I could see what Jack was doing, just below the fore staysail. He couldn't see me, and he was searching for something. His hand trembled as he picked up a bent iron rod, about a foot long, that had been used for turning an eye-bolt and had been left on the main hatch. His hand shook as he pulled out a piece of marline from his pocket and secured the waterlogged pipe to the iron. He meant for it to stay put, since he took his turns carefully, tightened them up, and then secured them so they wouldn't slip, finishing off with two half-hitches around the iron and tying it back on itself. Then he tested it with his hands, glanced up and down the deck nervously, and quietly dropped the pipe and iron over the rail, making sure I didn't even hear the splash. If someone was up to no good on board, it wasn't aimed at the cook.
I asked some questions about Jack Benton, and one of the men told me that he was off his feed, and hardly ate anything, and swallowed all the coffee he could lay his hands on, and had used up all his own tobacco and had begun on what his brother had left.
I asked a few questions about Jack Benton, and one of the guys told me he wasn't eating well, barely touched his food, drank as much coffee as he could get, and had run out of his own tobacco, so he started using what his brother had left.
"The doctor says it ain't so, sir," said the man, looking at me shyly, as if he didn't expect to be believed; "the doctor says there's as much eaten from breakfast to breakfast as there was before Jim fell overboard, though there's a mouth less and another that eats nothing.[Pg 49] I says it's the cabin-boy that gets it. He's bu'sting."
"The doctor says that's not true, sir," the man said, glancing at me shyly, as if he didn’t expect me to believe him; "the doctor says there’s just as much food consumed from one breakfast to the next as there was before Jim fell overboard, even though there’s one less mouth and another that eats nothing.[Pg 49] I say it’s the cabin-boy who’s eating it all. He's starving."
I told him that if the cabin-boy ate more than his share, he must work more than his share, so as to balance things. But the man laughed queerly, and looked at me again.
I told him that if the cabin boy ate more than his share, he needed to work harder to make it fair. But the guy laughed strangely and looked at me again.
"I only said that, sir, just like that. We all know it ain't so."
"I just said that, sir, just like that. We all know it's not true."
"Well, how is it?"
"How's it going?"
"How is it?" asked the man, half-angry all at once. "I don't know how it is, but there's a hand on board that's getting his whack along with us as regular as the bells."
"What's going on?" the man asked, half angry all of a sudden. "I don't know what's happening, but there's someone on board who's getting their share just like us, as regularly as the bells."
"Does he use tobacco?" I asked, meaning to laugh it out of him, but as I spoke I remembered the water-logged pipe.
"Does he smoke?" I asked, intending to laugh it off, but as I said it, I remembered the soaked pipe.
"I guess he's using his own still," the man answered, in a queer, low voice. "Perhaps he'll take some one else's when his is all gone."
"I guess he's using his own still," the man replied in a strange, soft voice. "Maybe he'll use someone else's when his runs out."
It was about nine o'clock in the morning, I remember, for just then the[Pg 50] captain called to me to stand by the chronometer while he took his fore observation. Captain Hackstaff wasn't one of those old skippers who do everything themselves with a pocket watch, and keep the key of the chronometer in their waistcoat pocket, and won't tell the mate how far the dead reckoning is out. He was rather the other way, and I was glad of it, for he generally let me work the sights he took, and just ran his eye over my figures afterwards. I am bound to say his eye was pretty good, for he would pick out a mistake in a logarithm, or tell me that I had worked the "Equation of Time" with the wrong sign, before it seemed to me that he could have got as far as "half the sum, minus the altitude." He was always right, too, and besides he knew a lot about iron ships and local deviation, and adjusting the compass, and all that sort of thing. I don't know how he came to be in command of a fore-and-aft schooner. He never talked about himself,[Pg 51] and maybe he had just been mate on one of those big steel square-riggers, and something had put him back. Perhaps he had been captain, and had got his ship aground, through no particular fault of his, and had to begin over again. Sometimes he talked just like you and me, and sometimes he would speak more like books do, or some of those Boston people I have heard. I don't know. We have all been shipmates now and then with men who have seen better days. Perhaps he had been in the Navy, but what makes me think he couldn't have been, was that he was a thorough good seaman, a regular old wind-jammer, and understood sail, which those Navy chaps rarely do. Why, you and I have sailed with men before the mast who had their master's certificates in their pockets,—English Board of Trade certificates, too,—who could work a double altitude if you would lend them a sextant and give them a look at the chronometer, as well as many a[Pg 52] man who commands a big square-rigger. Navigation ain't everything, nor seamanship, either. You've got to have it in you, if you mean to get there.
It was around nine in the morning, I remember, because just then the[Pg 50] captain called for me to keep an eye on the chronometer while he took his initial reading. Captain Hackstaff wasn’t one of those old skippers who did everything himself with a pocket watch and kept the key to the chronometer in his waistcoat pocket, refusing to tell the mate how far off the dead reckoning was. He was quite the opposite, and I appreciated that, as he usually let me work through the sights he took and just glanced over my calculations afterward. I must say, his eye was quite sharp; he could spot a mistake in a logarithm or tell me I had calculated the "Equation of Time" with the wrong sign before I thought he could even get to "half the sum, minus the altitude." He was always right, too, and he knew a lot about iron ships and local deviation, adjusting the compass, and all that kind of stuff. I’m not sure how he ended up commanding a fore-and-aft schooner. He never talked about his past,[Pg 51] and maybe he had only been a mate on one of those big steel square-riggers, and something had set him back. Perhaps he had been a captain and had run his ship aground, without any particular fault of his own, and had to start over. Sometimes he spoke like you and me, and sometimes he’d use a more bookish tone, or sound like some of those Boston types I've heard. I don’t know. We’ve all sailed with men who’ve seen better days. Maybe he had been in the Navy, but what makes me think he couldn’t have been is that he was a really good seaman, a true old wind-jammer, and understood sail, which those Navy guys usually don’t. I mean, you and I have sailed with men before the mast who had their master’s certificates tucked away in their pockets—English Board of Trade certificates, too—who could do a double altitude if you lent them a sextant and let them check the chronometer, just as well as many a[Pg 52] man who commands a big square-rigger. Navigation isn’t everything, and neither is seamanship. You’ve got to have it in you if you want to make it.
I don't know how our captain heard that there was trouble forward. The cabin-boy may have told him, or the men may have talked outside his door when they relieved the wheel at night. Anyhow, he got wind of it, and when he had got his sight that morning he had all hands aft, and gave them a lecture. It was just the kind of talk you might have expected from him. He said he hadn't any complaint to make, and that so far as he knew everybody on board was doing his duty, and that he was given to understand that the men got their whack, and were satisfied. He said his ship was never a hard ship, and that he liked quiet, and that was the reason he didn't mean to have any nonsense, and the men might just as well understand that, too. We'd had a great misfortune, he said, and it[Pg 53] was nobody's fault. We had lost a man we all liked and respected, and he felt that everybody in the ship ought to be sorry for the man's brother, who was left behind, and that it was rotten lubberly childishness, and unjust and unmanly and cowardly, to be playing schoolboy tricks with forks and spoons and pipes, and that sort of gear. He said it had got to stop right now, and that was all, and the men might go forward. And so they did.
I don’t know how our captain found out there was trouble up front. The cabin-boy might have told him, or the crew could have been talking outside his door when they took over the wheel at night. Anyway, he caught wind of it, and when he had his sight that morning, he gathered everyone at the back of the ship and gave them a speech. It was exactly the kind of talk you’d expect from him. He said he had no complaints, that as far as he knew, everyone on board was doing their job, and that he understood the crew was getting their share and were satisfied. He mentioned that his ship was never a tough one, and he preferred things to be calm, which was why he didn’t want any nonsense, and the crew should understand that, too. We had faced a serious misfortune, he said, and it[Pg 53] wasn’t anyone's fault. We lost a man we all liked and respected, and he felt that everyone on the ship should feel sorry for the man’s brother who was left behind, and that it was immature, unjust, unmanly, and cowardly to play childish tricks with forks and spoons and pipes, and that kind of stuff. He said it had to stop right now, and that was it, and the crew could go back to their tasks. And so they did.
It got worse after that, and the men watched the cook, and the cook watched the men, as if they were trying to catch each other; but I think everybody felt that there was something else. One evening, at supper-time, I was on deck, and Jack came aft to relieve the wheel while the man who was steering got his supper. He hadn't got past the main-hatch on the lee side, when I heard a man running in slippers that slapped on the deck, and there was a sort of a yell and I saw the coloured cook going for Jack, with a carving-knife in his hand. I jumped to get between them, and[Pg 54] Jack turned round short, and put out his hand. I was too far to reach them, and the cook jabbed out with his knife. But the blade didn't get anywhere near Benton. The cook seemed to be jabbing it into the air again and again, at least four feet short of the mark. Then he dropped his right hand, and I saw the whites of his eyes in the dusk, and he reeled up against the pin-rail, and caught hold of a belaying-pin with his left. I had reached him by that time, and grabbed hold of his knife-hand and the other too, for I thought he was going to use the pin; but Jack Benton was standing staring stupidly at him, as if he didn't understand. But instead, the cook was holding on because he couldn't stand, and his teeth were chattering, and he let go of the knife, and the point stuck into the deck.
It got worse after that, and the men watched the cook, while the cook watched the men, as if they were trying to catch each other; but I think everyone sensed that something more was going on. One evening, during supper time, I was on deck, and Jack came back to take over the wheel while the guy steering went to get his dinner. He hadn’t even made it past the main hatch on the side when I heard someone running in slippers that slapped against the deck, and then I heard a sort of yell. I saw the cook charging at Jack, with a carving knife in his hand. I jumped in to get between them, and Jack turned quickly, putting out his hand. I was too far to reach them, and the cook lunged with his knife. But the blade didn’t come anywhere near Jack. It was like the cook was just stabbing at thin air, at least four feet short of hitting him. Then he dropped his right hand, and I could see the whites of his eyes in the dim light. He staggered back against the pin rail and grabbed onto a belaying pin with his left. By that time, I had reached him, and I grabbed hold of his knife hand and the other arm too, thinking he might use the pin. But Jack Benton stood there, staring at him in confusion, like he didn’t get what was happening. Instead, the cook was hanging on because he couldn’t stay upright, his teeth chattering. He dropped the knife, and the tip stuck into the deck.
"He's crazy!" said Jack Benton, and that was all he said; and he went aft.
"He's crazy!" said Jack Benton, and that was all he said; then he went to the back.
When he was gone the cook began to come to and he spoke quite[Pg 55] low, near my ear.
When he left, the cook started to wake up and he spoke quite[Pg 55] softly, near my ear.
"There were two of them! So help me God, there were two of them!"
"There were two of them! I swear to God, there were two of them!"
I don't know why I didn't take him by the collar, and give him a good shaking; but I didn't. I just picked up the knife and gave it to him, and told him to go back to his galley, and not to make a fool of himself. You see, he hadn't struck at Jack, but at something he thought he saw, and I knew what it was, and I felt that same thing, like a lump of ice sliding down my back, that I felt that night when we were bending the trysail.
I don't know why I didn't grab him by the collar and give him a good shake; but I didn't. I just picked up the knife and handed it to him, telling him to go back to his galley and not to embarrass himself. You see, he hadn't attacked Jack but rather something he thought he saw, and I knew what it was. I felt that same sensation, like a lump of ice sliding down my back, that I felt that night when we were adjusting the trysail.
When the men had seen him running aft, they jumped up after him, but they held off when they saw that I had caught him. By and by, the man who had spoken to me before told me what had happened. He was a stocky little chap, with a red head.
When the guys saw him running to the back, they jumped up to chase him, but they stopped when they saw I had caught him. Eventually, the man who had talked to me before explained what had happened. He was a short, stocky guy with a red head.
"Well," he said, "there isn't much to[Pg 56] tell. Jack Benton had been eating his supper with the rest of us. He always sits at the after corner of the table, on the port side. His brother used to sit at the end, next him. The doctor gave him a thundering big piece of pie to finish up with, and when he had finished he didn't stop for a smoke, but went off quick to relieve the wheel. Just as he had gone, the doctor came in from the galley, and when he saw Jack's empty plate he stood stock still staring at it; and we all wondered what was the matter, till we looked at the plate. There were two forks in it, sir, lying side by side. Then the doctor grabbed his knife, and flew up through the hatch like a rocket. The other fork was there all right, Mr. Torkeldsen, for we all saw it and handled it; and we all had our own. That's all I know."
"Well," he said, "there's not much to[Pg 56] tell. Jack Benton was having dinner with the rest of us. He always sits at the back corner of the table, on the left side. His brother used to sit at the end, next to him. The doctor gave him a huge piece of pie to finish off with, and when he was done, he didn't stick around for a smoke but quickly went to take his place at the wheel. Just as he left, the doctor came in from the galley, and when he saw Jack's empty plate, he froze, staring at it; we all wondered what was wrong until we looked at the plate. There were two forks in it, sir, lying side by side. Then the doctor grabbed his knife and shot up through the hatch like a rocket. The other fork was definitely there, Mr. Torkeldsen, because we all saw it and touched it; and we all had our own. That's all I know."
I didn't feel that I wanted to laugh when he told me that story; but I hoped the old man wouldn't hear it, for I knew he wouldn't believe it, and no captain[Pg 57] that ever sailed likes to have stories like that going round about his ship. It gives her a bad name. But that was all anybody ever saw except the cook, and he isn't the first man who has thought he saw things without having any drink in him. I think, if the doctor had been weak in the head as he was afterwards, he might have done something foolish again, and there might have been serious trouble. But he didn't. Only, two or three times I saw him looking at Jack Benton in a queer, scared way, and once I heard him talking to himself.
I didn't feel like laughing when he told me that story; but I hoped the old man wouldn't hear it, because I knew he wouldn't believe it, and no captain[Pg 57] that ever sailed likes to have stories like that going around about his ship. It gives her a bad reputation. But that was all anyone ever saw except the cook, and he isn't the first guy who thought he saw things without having had a drink. I think if the doctor had been as weak-minded as he was later on, he might have done something stupid again, and there could have been serious trouble. But he didn’t. Only, two or three times I saw him looking at Jack Benton in a weird, scared way, and once I heard him talking to himself.
"There's two of them! So help me God, there's two of them!"
"There's two of them! I swear, there's two of them!"
He didn't say anything more about asking for his discharge, but I knew well enough that if he got ashore at the next port we should never see him again, if he had to leave his kit behind him, and his money, too. He was scared all through, for good and all; and he wouldn't be right again till he got another ship. It's no use to talk to a man when he gets[Pg 58] like that, any more than it is to send a boy to the main truck when he has lost his nerve.
He didn't mention anything else about wanting to leave, but I knew well enough that if he got off the ship at the next port, we would never see him again, even if it meant leaving his stuff and money behind. He was completely terrified, and he wouldn't be okay again until he found another ship. There’s no point in trying to talk to someone when they get[Pg 58] like that, just like it's pointless to send a boy up to the main mast when he's lost his nerve.
Jack Benton never spoke of what happened that evening. I don't know whether he knew about the two forks, or not; or whether he understood what the trouble was. Whatever he knew from the other men, he was evidently living under a hard strain. He was quiet enough, and too quiet; but his face was set, and sometimes it twitched oddly when he was at the wheel, and he would turn his head round sharp to look behind him. A man doesn't do that naturally, unless there's a vessel that he thinks is creeping up on the quarter. When that happens, if the man at the wheel takes a pride in his ship, he will almost always keep glancing over his shoulder to see whether the other fellow is gaining. But Jack Benton used to look round when there was nothing there; and what is curious, the other men seemed to catch the trick when they were steering. One[Pg 59] day the old man turned out just as the man at the wheel looked behind him.
Jack Benton never talked about what happened that night. I don't know if he was aware of the two forks or if he understood what the problem was. Whatever he learned from the others, it was clear he was under a lot of pressure. He was quiet, maybe too quiet, but his expression was tense, and sometimes his face would twitch oddly when he was at the wheel, and he'd suddenly turn his head to look behind him. A person usually doesn't do that unless they think a ship is creeping up behind them. When that happens, if the person at the wheel cares about their ship, they will often glance over their shoulder to see if the other boat is gaining ground. But Jack Benton would look back when there was nothing there; interestingly, the other men seemed to pick up on this habit when they were steering. One[Pg 59] day, the old man came out just as the guy at the wheel looked behind.
"What are you looking at?" asked the captain.
"What are you looking at?" the captain asked.
"Nothing, sir," answered the man.
"Nothing, sir," replied the man.
"Then keep your eye on the mizzen-royal," said the old man, as if he were forgetting that we weren't a square-rigger.
"Then watch the mizzen-royal," said the old man, as if he had forgotten we weren't a square-rigger.
"Ay, ay, sir," said the man.
"Aye, aye, sir," said the man.
The captain told me to go below and work up the latitude from the dead-reckoning, and he went forward of the deck-house and sat down to read, as he often did. When I came up, the man at the wheel was looking round again, and I stood beside him and just asked him quietly what everybody was looking at, for it was getting to be a general habit. He wouldn't say anything at first, but just answered that it was nothing. But when he saw that I didn't seem to care, and just stood there as if there were nothing more to be said, he naturally began to talk.
The captain told me to go below and calculate the latitude from the dead-reckoning, and he went to the front of the deck-house and sat down to read, which he often did. When I came back up, the guy at the wheel was looking around again, so I stood next to him and quietly asked what everyone was looking at, since it was becoming a regular thing. At first, he wouldn’t say anything and just replied that it was nothing. But when he noticed that I didn’t seem to care and just stood there like there was nothing else to say, he naturally started to talk.
[Pg 60]He said that it wasn't that he saw anything, because there wasn't anything to see except the spanker sheet just straining a little, and working in the sheaves of the blocks as the schooner rose to the short seas. There wasn't anything to be seen, but it seemed to him that the sheet made a queer noise in the blocks. It was a new manilla sheet; and in dry weather it did make a little noise, something between a creak and a wheeze. I looked at it and looked at the man, and said nothing; and presently he went on. He asked me if I didn't notice anything peculiar about the noise. I listened awhile, and said I didn't notice anything. Then he looked rather sheepish, but said he didn't think it could be his own ears, because every man who steered his trick heard the same thing now and then,—sometimes once in a day, sometimes once in a night, sometimes it would go on a whole hour.
[Pg 60]He said it wasn't that he saw anything, because there was nothing to see except the spanker sheet just straining a little and working in the blocks as the schooner rose to the short seas. There wasn't anything to look at, but to him, the sheet made a strange noise in the blocks. It was a new manila sheet; and in dry weather, it did make a bit of noise, something between a creak and a wheeze. I looked at it and then at the man, and said nothing; and eventually, he continued. He asked me if I noticed anything odd about the noise. I listened for a bit and said I didn’t notice anything. Then he looked a bit embarrassed, but said he didn’t think it was just him, because every man who steered his shift heard the same thing now and then—sometimes once during the day, sometimes once during the night, and sometimes it would last a whole hour.
"It sounds like sawing wood," I said, just like that.[Pg 61]
"It sounds like sawing wood," I said, just like that.[Pg 61]
"To us it sounds a good deal more like a man whistling 'Nancy Lee.'" He started nervously as he spoke the last words. "There, sir, don't you hear it?" he asked suddenly.
"To us, it sounds a lot more like a guy whistling 'Nancy Lee.'" He jumped a bit as he said the last words. "There, sir, can't you hear it?" he asked suddenly.
I heard nothing but the creaking of the manilla sheet. It was getting near noon, and fine, clear weather in southern waters,—just the sort of day and the time when you would least expect to feel creepy. But I remembered how I had heard that same tune overhead at night in a gale of wind a fortnight earlier, and I am not ashamed to say that the same sensation came over me now, and I wished myself well out of the Helen B., and aboard of any old cargo-dragger, with a windmill on deck, and an eighty-nine-forty-eighter for captain, and a fresh leak whenever it breezed up.
I heard nothing but the creaking of the manila sheet. It was getting close to noon, and the weather was nice and clear in the southern waters—exactly the kind of day and time when you'd least expect to feel uneasy. But I remembered how I had heard that same sound above me at night during a windstorm two weeks earlier, and I’m not ashamed to say that the same feeling washed over me now, making me wish I was far away from the Helen B. and on some old cargo ship with a windmill on deck, an old-school captain, and a fresh leak whenever the wind picked up.
Little by little during the next few days life on board that vessel came to be about as unbearable as you can imagine. It wasn't that there was much talk, for I think the men were shy even[Pg 62] of speaking to each other freely about what they thought. The whole ship's company grew silent, until one hardly ever heard a voice, except giving an order and the answer. The men didn't sit over their meals when their watch was below, but either turned in at once or sat about on the forecastle smoking their pipes without saying a word. We were all thinking of the same thing. We all felt as if there were a hand on board, sometimes below, sometimes about decks, sometimes aloft, sometimes on the boom end; taking his full share of what the others got, but doing no work for it. We didn't only feel it, we knew it. He took up no room, he cast no shadow, and we never heard his footfall on deck; but he took his whack with the rest as regular as the bells, and—he whistled "Nancy Lee." It was like the worst sort of dream you can imagine; and I dare say a good many of us tried to believe it was nothing else sometimes, when we stood looking over the weather rail in[Pg 63] fine weather with the breeze in our faces; but if we happened to turn round and look into each other's eyes, we knew it was something worse than any dream could be; and we would turn away from each other with a queer, sick feeling, wishing that we could just for once see somebody who didn't know what we knew.
Little by little, over the next few days, life on that ship became about as unbearable as you can imagine. It wasn't that there was a lot of conversation; the men were too shy to speak openly to one another about their thoughts. The whole crew fell silent, to the point where you barely heard a voice, except for commands and the responses. When their watch was off, the men didn’t linger over their meals but either hit the hay right away or sat on the forecastle smoking their pipes in silence. We were all thinking the same thing. It felt like there was a presence on board—sometimes down below, sometimes on deck, sometimes up high, sometimes at the boom end; it took its fair share of what everyone else earned but didn’t do any work for it. We didn’t just feel it; we knew it. He didn’t take up space, cast a shadow, or make a sound as he walked on deck; but he took his share right on the dot, just like the bells—and he whistled “Nancy Lee.” It was like the worst kind of nightmare you can think of; I’m sure many of us tried to convince ourselves that it was nothing more, especially when we stood looking over the weather rail in[Pg 63] nice weather with the breeze on our faces. But whenever we turned around and looked into each other’s eyes, we realized it was something worse than any dream could be; we would turn away from each other feeling oddly sick, wishing that for just once we could see someone who didn’t know what we knew.
There's not much more to tell about the Helen B. Jackson so far as I am concerned. We were more like a shipload of lunatics than anything else when we ran in under Morro Castle, and anchored in Havana. The cook had brain fever, and was raving mad in his delirium; and the rest of the men weren't far from the same state. The last three or four days had been awful, and we had been as near to having a mutiny on board as I ever want to be. The men didn't want to hurt anybody; but they wanted to get away out of that ship, if they had to swim for it; to get away from that whistling,[Pg 64] from that dead shipmate who had come back, and who filled the ship with his unseen self. I know that if the old man and I hadn't kept a sharp lookout the men would have put a boat over quietly on one of those calm nights, and pulled away, leaving the captain and me and the mad cook to work the schooner into harbour. We should have done it somehow, of course, for we hadn't far to run if we could get a breeze; and once or twice I found myself wishing that the crew were really gone, for the awful state of fright in which they lived was beginning to work on me too. You see I partly believed and partly didn't; but anyhow I didn't mean to let the thing get the better of me, whatever it was. I turned crusty, too, and kept the men at work on all sorts of jobs, and drove them to it until they wished I was overboard, too. It wasn't that the old man and I were trying to drive them to desert without their pay, as[Pg 65] I am sorry to say a good many skippers and mates do, even now. Captain Hackstaff was as straight as a string, and I didn't mean those poor fellows should be cheated out of a single cent; and I didn't blame them for wanting to leave the ship, but it seemed to me that the only chance to keep everybody sane through those last days was to work the men till they dropped. When they were dead tired they slept a little, and forgot the thing until they had to tumble up on deck and face it again. That was a good many years ago. Do you believe that I can't hear "Nancy Lee" now, without feeling cold down my back? For I heard it too, now and then, after the man had explained why he was always looking over his shoulder. Perhaps it was imagination. I don't know. When I look back it seems to me that I only remember a long fight against something I couldn't see, against an appalling presence, against something worse than cholera or Yellow Jack or the[Pg 66] plague—and goodness knows the mildest of them is bad enough when it breaks out at sea. The men got as white as chalk, and wouldn't go about decks alone at night, no matter what I said to them. With the cook raving in his bunk the forecastle would have been a perfect hell, and there wasn't a spare cabin on board. There never is on a fore-and-after. So I put him into mine, and he was more quiet there, and at last fell into a sort of stupor as if he were going to die. I don't know what became of him, for we put him ashore alive and left him in the hospital.
There's not much more to say about the Helen B. Jackson as far as I'm concerned. We were more like a bunch of crazies than anything else when we pulled into Morro Castle and anchored in Havana. The cook was completely out of his mind, raving in his delirium; and the rest of the crew wasn’t far off from that same state. The last few days had been terrible, and we were on the verge of a mutiny like I never want to experience again. The crew didn’t want to hurt anyone; they just wanted to escape that ship, even if it meant swimming for it—get away from that whistling,[Pg 64] from that dead shipmate who had returned and haunted the ship with his unseen presence. I know that if the captain and I hadn't kept a close watch, the crew would have quietly launched a boat on one of those calm nights and rowed away, leaving the captain and me and the crazy cook to figure out how to get the schooner into harbor. We would have managed somehow, of course, since we didn’t have far to go if we could catch a breeze; and once or twice, I found myself wishing the crew would just leave, because their constant fear was starting to affect me too. You see, I sort of believed and sort of didn’t; but anyway, I was determined not to let it get to me, whatever it was. I got grumpy as well and kept the crew busy with all kinds of tasks, pushing them until they wished I’d just go overboard too. It wasn't that the captain and I were trying to force them to desert without their pay, as[Pg 65] I regret to say many captains and mates do, even now. Captain Hackstaff was just and honest, and I didn’t want those poor guys to be cheated out of a single cent; I didn’t blame them for wanting to leave the ship, but it seemed to me the only way to keep everyone sane during those last days was to work them until they dropped. When they were completely exhausted, they could sleep for a bit and forget about the situation until they had to get back on deck and face it again. That was many years ago. Can you believe that I can't hear "Nancy Lee" now without feeling a chill run down my spine? Because I heard it too, now and then, after the guy explained why he was always looking over his shoulder. Maybe it was just my imagination. I don’t know. When I think back, it feels like I only remember a long struggle against something invisible, against a terrifying presence, against something worse than cholera or yellow fever or the[Pg 66] plague—and God knows that even the mildest of them is pretty bad when it breaks out at sea. The crew became as pale as ghosts and wouldn’t go on deck alone at night, no matter what I told them. With the cook raving in his bunk, the forecastle would have been a complete nightmare, and there wasn’t a spare cabin on board. There never is on a fore-and-after. So I moved him into my cabin, and he was calmer there, eventually falling into a sort of stupor as if he was about to die. I don’t know what happened to him, since we put him ashore alive and left him in the hospital.
The men came aft in a body, quiet enough, and asked the captain if he wouldn't pay them off, and let them go ashore. Some men wouldn't have done it, for they had shipped for the voyage, and had signed articles. But the captain knew that when sailors get an idea into their heads they're no better than children; and if he forced them to stay aboard he wouldn't get much work out[Pg 67] of them, and couldn't rely on them in a difficulty. So he paid them off, and let them go. When they had gone forward to get their kits, he asked me whether I wanted to go too, and for a minute I had a sort of weak feeling that I might just as well. But I didn't, and he was a good friend to me afterwards. Perhaps he was grateful to me for sticking to him.
The men came back in a group, pretty quiet, and asked the captain if he would pay them off and let them go ashore. Some guys wouldn't have done that since they had signed on for the voyage and had contracts. But the captain understood that when sailors get something in their heads, they're just like kids; if he made them stay onboard, they wouldn't do much work [Pg 67] and he couldn't count on them in a tough situation. So he paid them off and let them go. When they went forward to grab their stuff, he asked me if I wanted to go too, and for a moment, I had a weak feeling that I could just as well. But I didn't, and he was a good friend to me afterward. Maybe he appreciated me for sticking with him.
When the men went off he didn't come on deck; but it was my duty to stand by while they left the ship. They owed me a grudge for making them work during the last few days, and most of them dropped into the boat without so much as a word or a look, as sailors will. Jack Benton was the last to go over the side, and he stood still a minute and looked at me, and his white face twitched. I thought he wanted to say something.
When the guys left, he didn't come up on deck; it was my job to stay by while they left the ship. They were mad at me for making them work the last few days, and most of them jumped into the boat without even a word or a glance, like sailors often do. Jack Benton was the last one to go over the side, and he stood there for a minute looking at me, his pale face twitching. I thought he wanted to say something.
"Take care of yourself, Jack," said I. "So long!"
"Take care of yourself, Jack," I said. "See you later!"
It seemed as if he couldn't speak for two or three seconds; then his words came thick.[Pg 68]
It felt like he couldn't talk for two or three seconds; then his words came out quickly.[Pg 68]
"It wasn't my fault, Mr. Torkeldsen. I swear it wasn't my fault!"
"It wasn't my fault, Mr. Torkeldsen. I promise it wasn't my fault!"
That was all; and he dropped over the side, leaving me to wonder what he meant.
That was it; and he climbed over the side, leaving me to wonder what he meant.
The captain and I stayed on board, and the ship-chandler got a West India boy to cook for us.
The captain and I stayed on board, and the ship supplier got a guy from the West Indies to cook for us.
That evening, before turning in, we were standing by the rail having a quiet smoke, watching the lights of the city, a quarter of a mile off, reflected in the still water. There was music of some sort ashore, in a sailors' dance-house, I dare say; and I had no doubt that most of the men who had left the ship were there, and already full of jiggy-jiggy. The music played a lot of sailors' tunes that ran into each other, and we could hear the men's voices in the chorus now and then. One followed another, and then it was "Nancy Lee," loud and clear, and the men singing "Yo-ho, heave-ho!"
That evening, before turning in, we were standing by the railing having a quiet smoke, watching the lights of the city, a quarter of a mile away, reflected in the still water. There was some kind of music coming from the shore, probably from a dance hall for sailors; I was sure that most of the guys who had left the ship were there and already having a good time. The music was filled with sailors' tunes that blended together, and we could hear the men's voices in the chorus every now and then. One song led into another, and then it was "Nancy Lee," loud and clear, with the men singing "Yo-ho, heave-ho!"
"I have no ear for music," said Captain[Pg 69] Hackstaff, "but it appears to me that's the tune that man was whistling the night we lost the man overboard. I don't know why it has stuck in my head, and of course it's all nonsense; but it seems to me that I have heard it all the rest of the trip."
"I can't appreciate music," said Captain[Pg 69] Hackstaff, "but it seems to me that’s the song that guy was whistling the night we lost the man overboard. I’m not sure why it’s been stuck in my head, and of course, it’s all meaningless; but it feels like I’ve been hearing it the entire trip."
I didn't say anything to that, but I wondered just how much the old man had understood. Then we turned in, and I slept ten hours without opening my eyes.
I didn’t say anything in response, but I was curious about how much the old man really understood. Then we went to bed, and I slept for ten hours straight without waking up.
I stuck to the Helen B. Jackson after that as long as I could stand a fore-and-after; but that night when we lay in Havana was the last time I ever heard "Nancy Lee" on board of her. The spare hand had gone ashore with the rest, and he never came back, and he took his tune with him; but all those things are just as clear in my memory as if they had happened yesterday.
I stayed on the Helen B. Jackson for as long as I could handle it; but that night when we were in Havana was the last time I ever heard "Nancy Lee" on board. The extra crew member had gone ashore with the others, and he never returned, taking his song with him; but all those memories are still as vivid in my mind as if they happened yesterday.
After that I was in deep water for a year or more, and after I came home I got my certificate, and what with having[Pg 70] friends and having saved a little money, and having had a small legacy from an uncle in Norway, I got the command of a coastwise vessel, with a small share in her. I was at home three weeks before going to sea, and Jack Benton saw my name in the local papers, and wrote to me.
After that, I was in a tough spot for a year or more, and once I got home, I received my certification. Thanks to having[Pg 70] friends, saving some money, and inheriting a small amount from an uncle in Norway, I landed the command of a coastal vessel, with a small stake in it. I was home for three weeks before heading to sea, and Jack Benton saw my name in the local papers and wrote to me.
He said that he had left the sea, and was trying farming, and he was going to be married, and he asked if I wouldn't come over for that, for it wasn't more than forty minutes by train; and he and Mamie would be proud to have me at the wedding. I remembered how I had heard one brother ask the other whether Mamie knew. That meant, whether she knew he wanted to marry her, I suppose. She had taken her time about it, for it was pretty nearly three years then since we had lost Jim Benton overboard.
He said he had left the sea and was trying out farming. He was getting married and asked if I would come to the wedding since it was only about a forty-minute train ride away. He and Mamie would be happy to have me there. I recalled hearing one brother ask the other if Mamie knew, which I guess meant if she knew he wanted to marry her. She had taken her time about it, since it had been almost three years since we lost Jim Benton overboard.
I had nothing particular to do while we were getting ready for sea; nothing to prevent me from going over for a[Pg 71] day, I mean; and I thought I'd like to see Jack Benton, and have a look at the girl he was going to marry. I wondered whether he had grown cheerful again, and had got rid of that drawn look he had when he told me it wasn't his fault. How could it have been his fault, anyhow? So I wrote to Jack that I would come down and see him married; and when the day came I took the train, and got there about ten o'clock in the morning. I wish I hadn't. Jack met me at the station, and he told me that the wedding was to be late in the afternoon, and that they weren't going off on any silly wedding trip, he and Mamie, but were just going to walk home from her mother's house to his cottage. That was good enough for him, he said. I looked at him hard for a minute after we met. When we had parted I had a sort of idea that he might take to drink, but he hadn't. He looked very respectable and well-to-do in his black coat and high city collar; but he was thinner and bonier than[Pg 72] when I had known him, and there were lines in his face, and I thought his eyes had a queer look in them, half shifty, half scared. He needn't have been afraid of me, for I didn't mean to talk to his bride about the Helen B. Jackson.
I didn't have anything specific to do while we were getting ready to go to sea; nothing stopping me from heading over for a[Pg 71] day, I thought it would be nice to see Jack Benton and check out the girl he was going to marry. I wondered if he had cheered up again and shaken off that drawn look he had when he told me it wasn't his fault. How could it have been his fault, anyway? So I wrote to Jack saying I’d come down to see him get married; and when the big day arrived, I took the train and got there around ten in the morning. I wish I hadn't. Jack met me at the station and told me the wedding was going to be in the late afternoon and that he and Mamie weren’t going on some silly honeymoon trip, but were just going to walk home from her mother’s house to his cottage. That was good enough for him, he said. I stared at him for a moment after we met. When we last parted, I thought he might turn to drinking, but he hadn’t. He looked very respectable and well-off in his black coat and high city collar; however, he was thinner and bonier than[Pg 72] when I knew him, and there were lines on his face. I thought his eyes had a strange look, half shifty and half scared. He didn’t need to be afraid of me because I didn’t plan to mention the Helen B. Jackson to his bride.
He took me to his cottage first, and I could see that he was proud of it. It wasn't above a cable's-length from high-water mark, but the tide was running out, and there was already a broad stretch of hard wet sand on the other side of the beach road. Jack's bit of land ran back behind the cottage about a quarter of a mile, and he said that some of the trees we saw were his. The fences were neat and well kept, and there was a fair-sized barn a little way from the cottage, and I saw some nice-looking cattle in the meadows; but it didn't look to me to be much of a farm, and I thought that before long Jack would have to leave his wife to take care of it, and go to sea again. But I said it was a nice farm, so as to seem pleasant, and as I don't[Pg 73] know much about these things I dare say it was, all the same. I never saw it but that once. Jack told me that he and his brother had been born in the cottage, and that when their father and mother died they leased the land to Mamie's father, but had kept the cottage to live in when they came home from sea for a spell. It was as neat a little place as you would care to see: the floors as clean as the decks of a yacht, and the paint as fresh as a man-o'-war. Jack always was a good painter. There was a nice parlour on the ground floor, and Jack had papered it and had hung the walls with photographs of ships and foreign ports, and with things he had brought home from his voyages: a boomerang, a South Sea club, Japanese straw hats and a Gibraltar fan with a bull-fight on it, and all that sort of gear. It looked to me as if Miss Mamie had taken a hand in arranging it. There was a bran-new polished iron Franklin stove set into the old fireplace,[Pg 74] and a red table-cloth from Alexandria, embroidered with those outlandish Egyptian letters. It was all as bright and homelike as possible, and he showed me everything, and was proud of everything, and I liked him the better for it. But I wished that his voice would sound more cheerful, as it did when we first sailed in the Helen B., and that the drawn look would go out of his face for a minute. Jack showed me everything, and took me upstairs, and it was all the same: bright and fresh and ready for the bride. But on the upper landing there was a door that Jack didn't open. When we came out of the bedroom I noticed that it was ajar, and Jack shut it quickly and turned the key.
He first took me to his cottage, and I could tell he was proud of it. It wasn't far from the high-water mark, but the tide was going out, and there was already a wide stretch of hard, wet sand on the other side of the beach road. Jack's piece of land extended behind the cottage about a quarter of a mile, and he mentioned that some of the trees we saw were his. The fences were neat and well-maintained, and there was a decent-sized barn a short distance from the cottage, along with some good-looking cattle in the meadows; but it didn't seem much like a proper farm to me, and I thought that soon Jack would have to leave his wife to take care of it while he went back to sea. Still, I said it was a nice farm to be polite, and since I don't know much about these things, I figured it probably was. I only saw it that one time. Jack told me that he and his brother were born in the cottage, and after their parents passed away, they leased the land to Mamie's father but kept the cottage to stay in when they returned home from the sea for a while. It was as neat a little place as you could want: the floors as clean as a yacht's deck, and the paint as fresh as a warship's. Jack had always been a good painter. There was a lovely living room on the ground floor, and Jack had wallpapered it and decorated the walls with photographs of ships and foreign ports, along with things he had collected from his travels: a boomerang, a South Sea club, Japanese straw hats, and a Gibraltar fan featuring a bullfight, among other stuff. It looked to me like Miss Mamie had helped arrange it. There was a brand-new polished iron Franklin stove installed in the old fireplace, and a red tablecloth from Alexandria, embroidered with those strange Egyptian letters. It all felt bright and homey, and he showed me everything and took pride in it all, which made me like him even more. But I wished his voice sounded cheerier, like it did when we first set sail on the Helen B., and that the tense look would disappear from his face for just a moment. Jack showed me everything and took me upstairs, and it was just as bright and fresh and ready for a bride. But on the upper landing, there was a door he didn't open. When we left the bedroom, I noticed it was slightly ajar, and Jack quickly shut it and turned the key.
"That lock's no good," he said, half to himself. "The door is always open."
"That lock is useless," he muttered, mostly to himself. "The door is always open."
I didn't pay much attention to what he said, but as we went down the short stairs, freshly painted and varnished so that I was almost afraid to step on them, he spoke again.[Pg 75]
I didn't really listen to what he said, but as we went down the small stairs, recently painted and varnished so that I was almost scared to step on them, he spoke again.[Pg 75]
"That was his room, sir. I have made a sort of store-room of it."
"That was his room, sir. I've turned it into a sort of storage room."
"You may be wanting it in a year or so," I said, wishing to be pleasant.
"You might want it in a year or so," I said, trying to be nice.
"I guess we won't use his room for that," Jack answered in a low voice.
"I guess we won't use his room for that," Jack replied softly.
Then he offered me a cigar from a fresh box in the parlour, and he took one, and we lit them, and went out; and as we opened the front door there was Mamie Brewster standing in the path as if she were waiting for us. She was a fine-looking girl, and I didn't wonder that Jack had been willing to wait three years for her. I could see that she hadn't been brought up on steam-heat and cold storage, but had grown into a woman by the sea-shore. She had brown eyes, and fine brown hair, and a good figure.
Then he offered me a cigar from a fresh box in the living room, and he took one, we lit them, and went outside; as we opened the front door, there was Mamie Brewster standing in the path as if she were waiting for us. She was a stunning girl, and I could see why Jack had been willing to wait three years for her. It was clear she hadn’t been raised in a city apartment, but had grown up by the seaside. She had brown eyes, beautiful brown hair, and a great figure.
"This is Captain Torkeldsen," said Jack. "This is Miss Brewster, captain; and she is glad to see you."
"This is Captain Torkeldsen," Jack said. "This is Miss Brewster, Captain, and she’s happy to see you."
"Well, I am," said Miss Mamie, "for[Pg 76] Jack has often talked to us about you, captain."
"Well, I am," said Miss Mamie, "for[Pg 76] Jack has mentioned you to us a lot, captain."
She put out her hand, and took mine and shook it heartily, and I suppose I said something, but I know I didn't say much.
She reached out, took my hand, and shook it enthusiastically. I think I said something, but I know I didn't say much.
The front door of the cottage looked toward the sea, and there was a straight path leading to the gate on the beach road. There was another path from the steps of the cottage that turned to the right, broad enough for two people to walk easily, and it led straight across the fields through gates to a larger house about a quarter of a mile away. That was where Mamie's mother lived, and the wedding was to be there. Jack asked me whether I would like to look round the farm before dinner, but I told him I didn't know much about farms. Then he said he just wanted to look round himself a bit, as he mightn't have much more chance that day; and he smiled, and Mamie laughed.
The front door of the cottage faced the sea, and there was a straight path leading to the gate on the beach road. Another path from the steps of the cottage turned to the right, wide enough for two people to walk comfortably, and it went straight across the fields through gates to a larger house about a quarter of a mile away. That was where Mamie's mother lived, and the wedding was supposed to be there. Jack asked me if I wanted to explore the farm before dinner, but I told him I didn’t know much about farms. Then he said he just wanted to look around himself a bit, since he might not get another chance that day; and he smiled, and Mamie laughed.
"Show the captain the way to the[Pg 77] house, Mamie," he said. "I'll be along in a minute."
"Show the captain how to get to the[Pg 77] house, Mamie," he said. "I'll be there in a minute."
So Mamie and I began to walk along the path, and Jack went up toward the barn.
So Mamie and I started walking along the path, while Jack headed up toward the barn.
"It was sweet of you to come, captain," Miss Mamie began, "for I have always wanted to see you."
"It was really nice of you to come, captain," Miss Mamie started, "because I've always wanted to meet you."
"Yes," I said, expecting something more.
"Yeah," I said, expecting something more.
"You see, I always knew them both," she went on. "They used to take me out in a dory to catch codfish when I was a little girl, and I liked them both," she added thoughtfully. "Jack doesn't care to talk about his brother now. That's natural. But you won't mind telling me how it happened, will you? I should so much like to know."
"You see, I always knew both of them," she continued. "They used to take me out in a small boat to catch codfish when I was a little girl, and I liked them both," she added, deep in thought. "Jack doesn't want to talk about his brother now. That's understandable. But you won't mind telling me how it happened, will you? I would really like to know."
Well, I told her about the voyage and what happened that night when we fell in with a gale of wind, and that it hadn't been anybody's fault, for I wasn't going to admit that it was my old captain's, if it was. But I didn't tell her[Pg 78] anything about what happened afterwards. As she didn't speak, I just went on talking about the two brothers, and how like they had been, and how when poor Jim was drowned and Jack was left, I took Jack for him. I told her that none of us had ever been sure which was which.
Well, I told her about the trip and what happened that night when we got caught in a storm, and that it wasn't anybody's fault, because I wasn't going to say it was my old captain's if it was. But I didn't mention[Pg 78] anything about what happened after that. Since she didn't say anything, I just kept talking about the two brothers, how similar they were, and how when poor Jim drowned and Jack was left, I mistook Jack for him. I told her that none of us had ever really known which was which.
"I wasn't always sure myself," she said, "unless they were together. Leastways, not for a day or two after they came home from sea. And now it seems to me that Jack is more like poor Jim, as I remember him, than he ever was, for Jim was always more quiet, as if he were thinking."
"I wasn't always sure about it myself," she said, "unless they were together. At least, not for a day or two after they got back from the sea. And now it feels to me like Jack is more like poor Jim, as I remember him, than he ever was, because Jim was always quieter, like he was deep in thought."
I told her I thought so, too. We passed the gate and went into the next field, walking side by side. Then she turned her head to look for Jack, but he wasn't in sight. I sha'n't forget what she said next.
I told her I thought the same. We walked through the gate and into the next field, side by side. Then she turned her head to look for Jack, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I won’t forget what she said next.
"Are you sure now?" she asked.
"Are you really sure now?" she asked.
I stood stock-still, and she went on a step, and then turned and looked at me.[Pg 79] We must have looked at each other while you could count five or six.
I stood completely still, and she took a step forward, then turned and looked at me.[Pg 79] We must have gazed at each other for five or six seconds.
"I know it's silly," she went on, "it's silly, and it's awful, too, and I have got no right to think it, but sometimes I can't help it. You see it was always Jack I meant to marry."
"I know it's silly," she continued, "it's silly, and it's awful too, and I have no right to think this, but sometimes I can't help it. You see, it was always Jack I intended to marry."
"Yes," I said stupidly, "I suppose so."
"Yeah," I replied dumbly, "I guess so."
She waited a minute, and began walking on slowly before she went on again.
She waited a moment, then started walking slowly before she continued on.
"I am talking to you as if you were an old friend, captain, and I have only known you five minutes. It was Jack I meant to marry, but now he is so like the other one."
"I’m talking to you like we’re old friends, captain, even though I’ve only known you for five minutes. I was supposed to marry Jack, but now he reminds me so much of the other guy."
When a woman gets a wrong idea into her head, there is only one way to make her tired of it, and that is to agree with her. That's what I did, and she went on talking the same way for a little while, and I kept on agreeing and agreeing until she turned round on me.
When a woman gets a misguided idea in her head, there's only one way to make her lose interest in it, and that's to agree with her. That's what I did, and she kept going on and on for a bit, and I kept agreeing until she finally turned on me.
"You know you don't believe what[Pg 80] you say," she said, and laughed. "You know that Jack is Jack, right enough; and it's Jack I am going to marry."
"You know you don't really believe what[Pg 80] you say," she said, laughing. "You know that Jack is definitely Jack, and it's Jack I'm going to marry."
Of course I said so, for I didn't care whether she thought me a weak creature or not. I wasn't going to say a word that could interfere with her happiness, and I didn't intend to go back on Jack Benton; but I remembered what he had said when he left the ship in Havana: that it wasn't his fault.
Of course I said that, because I didn’t care if she saw me as weak or not. I wasn’t going to say anything that might ruin her happiness, and I wasn't going to betray Jack Benton; but I recalled what he had said when he left the ship in Havana: that it wasn’t his fault.
"All the same," Miss Mamie went on, as a woman will, without realising what she was saying, "all the same, I wish I had seen it happen. Then I should know."
"Still," Miss Mamie continued, as women do, without realizing what she was saying, "still, I wish I had seen it happen. Then I would know."
Next minute she knew that she didn't mean that, and was afraid that I would think her heartless, and began to explain that she would really rather have died herself than have seen poor Jim go overboard. Women haven't got much sense, anyhow. All the same, I wondered how she could marry Jack if she had a doubt that he might be Jim after[Pg 81] all. I suppose she had really got used to him since he had given up the sea and had stayed ashore, and she cared for him.
Next minute, she realized she didn't mean it and was worried I would think she was heartless. She started to explain that she would honestly rather have died herself than see poor Jim go overboard. Women don't always think things through. Still, I wondered how she could marry Jack if she had any doubt he might actually be Jim after[Pg 81] all. I guess she had really gotten used to him since he had given up the sea and stayed on land, and she cared for him.
Before long we heard Jack coming up behind us, for we had walked very slowly to wait for him.
Before long, we heard Jack approaching from behind us, because we had walked very slowly to wait for him.
"Promise not to tell anybody what I said, captain," said Mamie, as girls do as soon as they have told their secrets.
"Promise you won't tell anyone what I said, captain," Mamie said, just like girls do right after they share their secrets.
Anyhow, I know I never did tell any one but you. This is the first time I have talked of all that, the first time since I took the train from that place. I am not going to tell you all about the day. Miss Mamie introduced me to her mother, who was a quiet, hard-faced old New England farmer's widow, and to her cousins and relations; and there were plenty of them too at dinner, and there was the parson besides. He was what they call a Hard-shell Baptist in those parts, with a long, shaven upper lip and a whacking appetite, and a sort of superior look, as if he didn't expect to see many of us[Pg 82] hereafter—the way a New York pilot looks round, and orders things about when he boards an Italian cargo-dragger, as if the ship weren't up to much anyway, though it was his business to see that she didn't get aground. That's the way a good many parsons look, I think. He said grace as if he were ordering the men to sheet home the topgallant-sail and get the helm up. After dinner we went out on the piazza, for it was warm autumn weather; and the young folks went off in pairs along the beach road, and the tide had turned and was beginning to come in. The morning had been clear and fine, but by four o'clock it began to look like a fog, and the damp came up out of the sea and settled on everything. Jack said he'd go down to his cottage and have a last look, for the wedding was to be at five o'clock, or soon after, and he wanted to light the lights, so as to have things look cheerful.
Anyway, I know I’ve never told anyone but you. This is the first time I’ve talked about all that, the first time since I took the train from that place. I’m not going to go into detail about the day. Miss Mamie introduced me to her mother, who was a quiet, tough-looking old New England farmer's widow, and to her cousins and relatives; there were plenty of them at dinner, along with the preacher. He was what they call a Hard-shell Baptist in that area, with a long, shaved upper lip and a huge appetite, and he had a kind of arrogant look, as if he didn’t expect to see many of us hereafter—the way a New York pilot looks around and bossy when he boards an Italian cargo ship, as if the boat weren’t much good anyway, even though it was his job to make sure it didn’t run aground. That’s how a lot of preachers look, I think. He said grace like he was giving orders to the crew to set the sails and steer the ship. After dinner, we went out on the porch since it was warm autumn weather; the young people paired off along the beach road, and the tide had turned and was starting to come in. The morning had been clear and nice, but by four o’clock, it began to look foggy, and the dampness rose from the sea and settled on everything. Jack said he’d head down to his cottage for one last look, since the wedding was at five o'clock, or shortly after, and he wanted to turn on the lights to make everything look cheerful.
"I will just take a last look," he said[Pg 83] again, as we reached the house. We went in, and he offered me another cigar, and I lit it and sat down in the parlour. I could hear him moving about, first in the kitchen and then upstairs, and then I heard him in the kitchen again; and then before I knew anything I heard somebody moving upstairs again. I knew he couldn't have got up those stairs as quick as that. He came into the parlour, and he took a cigar himself, and while he was lighting it I heard those steps again overhead. His hand shook, and he dropped the match.
"I'll just take one last look," he said[Pg 83] again as we reached the house. We went inside, and he offered me another cigar. I lit it and sat down in the living room. I could hear him moving around, first in the kitchen and then upstairs, and then I heard him in the kitchen again. Before I knew it, I heard someone moving upstairs again. I knew he couldn't have gone up those stairs that quickly. He came into the living room, took a cigar for himself, and while he was lighting it, I heard those footsteps again overhead. His hand shook, and he dropped the match.
"Have you got in somebody to help?" I asked.
"Did you bring someone in to help?" I asked.
"No," Jack answered sharply, and struck another match.
"No," Jack replied sharply, and lit another match.
"There's somebody upstairs, Jack," I said. "Don't you hear footsteps?"
"There's someone upstairs, Jack," I said. "Don't you hear footsteps?"
"It's the wind, captain," Jack answered; but I could see he was trembling.
"It's the wind, captain," Jack replied; but I could see he was shaking.
"That isn't any wind, Jack," I said; "it's still and foggy. I'm sure there's somebody upstairs."[Pg 84]
"That isn't the wind, Jack," I said; "it's calm and foggy. I'm sure there's someone upstairs."[Pg 84]
"If you are so sure of it, you'd better go and see for yourself, captain," Jack answered, almost angrily.
"If you're so sure about it, you should go see for yourself, captain," Jack replied, nearly angrily.
He was angry because he was frightened. I left him before the fireplace, and went upstairs. There was no power on earth that could make me believe I hadn't heard a man's footsteps overhead. I knew there was somebody there. But there wasn't. I went into the bedroom, and it was all quiet, and the evening light was streaming in, reddish through the foggy air; and I went out on the landing and looked in the little back room that was meant for a servant girl or a child. And as I came back again I saw that the door of the other room was wide open, though I knew Jack had locked it. He had said the lock was no good. I looked in. It was a room as big as the bedroom, but almost dark, for it had shutters, and they were closed. There was a musty smell, as of old gear, and I could make out that the floor was littered with sea chests,[Pg 85] and that there were oilskins and stuff piled on the bed. But I still believed that there was somebody upstairs, and I went in and struck a match and looked round. I could see the four walls and the shabby old paper, an iron bed and a cracked looking-glass, and the stuff on the floor. But there was nobody there. So I put out the match, and came out and shut the door and turned the key. Now, what I am telling you is the truth. When I had turned the key, I heard footsteps walking away from the door inside the room. Then I felt queer for a minute, and when I went downstairs I looked behind me, as the men at the wheel used to look behind them on board the Helen B.
He was mad because he was scared. I left him by the fireplace and went upstairs. There was no way I could convince myself that I hadn't heard a man's footsteps above me. I knew someone was there. But there wasn’t. I went into the bedroom, and it was all quiet, with the evening light streaming in, reddish through the foggy air. I stepped out onto the landing and peeked into the small back room that was meant for a maid or a child. And as I came back, I noticed that the door to the other room was wide open, even though I knew Jack had locked it. He had said the lock was useless. I looked inside. The room was as big as the bedroom but almost dark because it had closed shutters. There was a musty smell, like old gear, and I could see that the floor was littered with sea chests, [Pg 85] and that there were oilskins and stuff piled on the bed. But I still believed someone was upstairs, so I went in, struck a match, and looked around. I could see the four walls and the shabby old wallpaper, an iron bed, a cracked mirror, and the stuff on the floor. But there was nobody there. So I blew out the match, stepped out, shut the door, and turned the key. Now, I swear this is true. Once I turned the key, I heard footsteps walking away from the door inside the room. Then I felt strange for a moment, and when I went downstairs, I looked behind me, just like the men at the wheel used to look behind them on board the Helen B.
Jack was already outside on the steps, smoking. I have an idea that he didn't like to stay inside alone.
Jack was already out on the steps, smoking. I have a feeling he didn't like being inside by himself.
"Well?" he asked, trying to seem careless.
"Well?" he asked, trying to act nonchalant.
"I didn't find anybody," I answered, "but I heard somebody moving about."[Pg 86]
"I didn't find anyone," I replied, "but I heard someone moving around."[Pg 86]
"I told you it was the wind," said Jack, contemptuously. "I ought to know, for I live here, and I hear it often."
"I told you it was the wind," Jack said with disdain. "I should know because I live here, and I hear it all the time."
There was nothing to be said to that, so we began to walk down toward the beach. Jack said there wasn't any hurry, as it would take Miss Mamie some time to dress for the wedding. So we strolled along, and the sun was setting through the fog, and the tide was coming in. I knew the moon was full, and that when she rose the fog would roll away from the land, as it does sometimes. I felt that Jack didn't like my having heard that noise, so I talked of other things, and asked him about his prospects, and before long we were chatting as pleasantly as possible.
There wasn’t much to say about that, so we started walking down toward the beach. Jack mentioned that there was no rush since Miss Mamie would take a while to get ready for the wedding. So we strolled along, with the sun setting through the fog and the tide coming in. I knew the moon was full, and when it rose, the fog would clear away from the land, as it sometimes does. I sensed that Jack wasn’t happy I had heard that noise, so I switched topics and asked him about his plans, and before long we were chatting as comfortably as we could.
I haven't been at many weddings in my life, and I don't suppose you have, but that one seemed to me to be all right until it was pretty near over; and then, I don't know whether it was part of the ceremony or not, but Jack put out his hand and took Mamie's and held[Pg 87] it a minute, and looked at her, while the parson was still speaking.
I haven't been to many weddings in my life, and I don't think you have either, but that one seemed fine to me until it was almost over; and then, I don't know if it was part of the ceremony or not, but Jack reached out and took Mamie's hand and held[Pg 87] it for a minute, and looked at her while the officiant was still talking.
Mamie turned as white as a sheet and screamed. It wasn't a loud scream, but just a sort of stifled little shriek, as if she were half frightened to death; and the parson stopped, and asked her what was the matter, and the family gathered round.
Mamie turned as pale as a ghost and screamed. It wasn't a loud scream, just a small, muffled shriek, as if she was half scared to death; the pastor stopped and asked her what was wrong, and the family gathered around.
"Your hand's like ice," said Mamie to Jack, "and it's all wet!"
"Your hand is like ice," Mamie said to Jack, "and it's all wet!"
She kept looking at it, as she got hold of herself again.
She kept staring at it as she composed herself again.
"It don't feel cold to me," said Jack, and he held the back of his hand against his cheek. "Try it again."
"It doesn't feel cold to me," said Jack, and he held the back of his hand against his cheek. "Try it again."
Mamie held out hers, and touched the back of his hand, timidly at first, and then took hold of it.
Mamie reached out her hand and gently touched the back of his hand. At first she was shy, but then she held onto it.
"Why, that's funny," she said.
"That's funny," she said.
"She's been as nervous as a witch all day," said Mrs. Brewster, severely.
"She's been as nervous as can be all day," said Mrs. Brewster, seriously.
"It is natural," said the parson, "that young Mrs. Benton should experience a little agitation at such a moment."[Pg 88]
"It makes sense," said the pastor, "that young Mrs. Benton would feel a bit anxious at a time like this."[Pg 88]
Most of the bride's relations lived at a distance, and were busy people, so it had been arranged that the dinner we'd had in the middle of the day was to take the place of a dinner afterwards, and that we should just have a bite after the wedding was over, and then that everybody should go home, and the young couple would walk down to the cottage by themselves. When I looked out I could see the light burning brightly in Jack's cottage, a quarter of a mile away. I said I didn't think I could get any train to take me back before half-past nine, but Mrs. Brewster begged me to stay until it was time, as she said her daughter would want to take off her wedding dress before she went home; for she had put on something white with a wreath, that was very pretty, and she couldn't walk home like that, could she?
Most of the bride's relatives lived far away and were pretty busy, so it was arranged that the lunch we'd had in the middle of the day would replace a dinner afterward. We would just have a snack after the wedding was over, and then everyone would head home while the couple would walk to the cottage by themselves. When I looked out, I could see the light shining brightly in Jack's cottage, a quarter of a mile away. I mentioned that I didn't think I could catch a train back before half-past nine, but Mrs. Brewster insisted that I stay until it was time, saying her daughter would want to change out of her wedding dress before going home. She had worn something white with a lovely wreath, and she couldn't walk home like that, could she?
So when we had all had a little supper the party began to break up, and when they were all gone Mrs. Brewster and Mamie went upstairs, and Jack and I[Pg 89] went out on the piazza, to have a smoke, as the old lady didn't like tobacco in the house.
So after we all had a little supper, the party started to wind down. Once everyone left, Mrs. Brewster and Mamie went upstairs, and Jack and I[Pg 89] stepped out onto the porch to smoke since the old lady didn’t want tobacco in the house.
The full moon had risen now, and it was behind me as I looked down toward Jack's cottage, so that everything was clear and white, and there was only the light burning in the window. The fog had rolled down to the water's edge, and a little beyond, for the tide was high, or nearly, and was lapping up over the last reach of sand, within fifty feet of the beach road.
The full moon was up now, shining behind me as I looked down at Jack's cottage, making everything clear and white, with only the light glowing in the window. The fog had crept down to the water's edge, and a little beyond, since the tide was high, or nearly so, and was washing over the last stretch of sand, just fifty feet from the beach road.
Jack didn't say much as we sat smoking, but he thanked me for coming to his wedding, and I told him I hoped he would be happy; and so I did. I dare say both of us were thinking of those footsteps upstairs, just then, and that the house wouldn't seem so lonely with a woman in it. By and by we heard Mamie's voice talking to her mother on the stairs, and in a minute she was ready to go. She had put on again the dress she had worn in[Pg 90] the morning, and it looked black at night, almost as black as Jack's coat.
Jack didn't say much as we sat smoking, but he thanked me for coming to his wedding, and I told him I hoped he would be happy; and I really meant it. I’m sure both of us were thinking about the footsteps upstairs right then, and how the house wouldn’t feel so lonely with a woman around. After a bit, we heard Mamie's voice talking to her mom on the stairs, and in a minute, she was ready to go. She had put on the dress she wore in[Pg 90] the morning, and it looked black at night, almost as black as Jack's coat.
Well, they were ready to go now. It was all very quiet after the day's excitement, and I knew they would like to walk down that path alone now that they were man and wife at last. I bade them good-night, although Jack made a show of pressing me to go with them by the path as far as the cottage, instead of going to the station by the beach road. It was all very quiet, and it seemed to me a sensible way of getting married; and when Mamie kissed her mother good-night I just looked the other way, and knocked my ashes over the rail of the piazza. So they started down the straight path to Jack's cottage, and I waited a minute with Mrs. Brewster, looking after them, before taking my hat to go. They walked side by side, a little shyly at first, and then I saw Jack put his arm round her waist. As I looked he was on her left, and I saw the outline of[Pg 91] the two figures very distinctly against the moonlight on the path; and the shadow on Mamie's right was broad and black as ink, and it moved along, lengthening and shortening with the unevenness of the ground beside the path.
Well, they were ready to go now. It was very quiet after the day's excitement, and I knew they would like to walk down that path alone now that they were finally husband and wife. I said good-night to them, although Jack insisted that I join them on the path as far as the cottage instead of going to the station by the beach road. It was really quiet, and it seemed to me like a sensible way to get married; when Mamie kissed her mother good-night, I just looked away and knocked my ashes off the rail of the porch. So they started down the straight path to Jack's cottage, and I waited a minute with Mrs. Brewster, watching them, before I took my hat to leave. They walked side by side, a little shyly at first, and then I saw Jack put his arm around her waist. As I looked, he was on her left, and I saw the outline of[Pg 91] the two figures clearly against the moonlight on the path; the shadow on Mamie's right was broad and dark as ink, and it moved along, lengthening and shortening with the unevenness of the ground beside the path.
I thanked Mrs. Brewster, and bade her good-night; and though she was a hard New England woman her voice trembled a little as she answered, but being a sensible person she went in and shut the door behind her as I stepped out on the path. I looked after the couple in the distance a last time, meaning to go down to the road, so as not to overtake them; but when I had made a few steps I stopped and looked again, for I knew I had seen something queer, though I had only realised it afterwards. I looked again, and it was plain enough now; and I stood stock-still, staring at what I saw. Mamie was walking between two men. The second man was just the same height as Jack, both being about a half a head taller than she; Jack[Pg 92] on her left in his black tail-coat and round hat, and the other man on her right—well, he was a sailor-man in wet oilskins. I could see the moonlight shining on the water that ran down him, and on the little puddle that had settled where the flap of his sou'wester was turned up behind: and one of his wet, shiny arms was round Mamie's waist, just above Jack's. I was fast to the spot where I stood, and for a minute I thought I was crazy. We'd had nothing but some cider for dinner, and tea in the evening, otherwise I'd have thought something had got into my head, though I was never drunk in my life. It was more like a bad dream after that.
I thanked Mrs. Brewster and wished her good night. Even though she was a tough New England woman, her voice shook a little as she replied. But being practical, she went inside and closed the door behind me as I stepped onto the path. I took one last look at the couple in the distance, intending to head down to the road so I wouldn't catch up to them. But after a few steps, I stopped and looked again, realizing I had noticed something unusual, even if I didn’t grasp it immediately. I looked again, and it was clear now; I stood frozen, staring at what I saw. Mamie was walking between two men. The second man was the same height as Jack, both being about half a head taller than her. Jack[Pg 92] was on her left in his black tailcoat and round hat, and the other man was on her right—well, he was a sailor in wet oilskins. I could see the moonlight glistening on the water running down him and on the little puddle that had formed where the flap of his sou'wester was turned up behind. One of his wet, shiny arms was wrapped around Mamie's waist, just above Jack's. I was rooted to the spot, and for a minute, I thought I was losing it. We had only had some cider for dinner and tea in the evening, or else I would have thought something was messing with my head, even though I had never been drunk in my life. It felt more like a bad dream after that.
I was glad Mrs. Brewster had gone in. As for me, I couldn't help following the three, in a sort of wonder to see what would happen, to see whether the sailor-man in his wet togs would just melt away into the moonshine. But he didn't.
I was glad Mrs. Brewster had gone inside. As for me, I couldn’t help but follow the three of them, curious to see what would happen, wondering if the sailor in his wet clothes would just disappear in the moonlight. But he didn’t.
I moved slowly, and I remembered afterwards that I walked on the grass,[Pg 93] coming. I suppose it all happened in less than five minutes after that, but it seemed as if it must have taken an hour. Neither Jack nor Mamie seemed to notice the sailor. She didn't seem to know that his wet arm was round her, and little by little they got near the cottage, and I wasn't a hundred yards from them when they reached the door. Something made me stand still then. Perhaps it was fright, for I saw everything that happened just as I see you now.
I walked slowly, and I remembered later that I was walking on the grass,[Pg 93] coming towards them. I guess it all happened in less than five minutes, but it felt like it took an hour. Neither Jack nor Mamie seemed to notice the sailor. She didn’t seem to realize his wet arm was around her, and gradually they got closer to the cottage. I was still about a hundred yards away when they reached the door. Something made me stop there. Maybe it was fear, because I saw everything that happened just as clearly as I see you now.
Mamie set her foot on the step to go up, and as she went forward I saw the sailor slowly lock his arm in Jack's, and Jack didn't move to go up. Then Mamie turned round on the step, and they all three stood that way for a second or two. She cried out then,—I heard a man cry like that once, when his arm was taken off by a steam-crane,—and she fell back in a heap on the little piazza.[Pg 94]
Mamie stepped onto the first step to go up, and as she moved forward, I saw the sailor slowly link his arm with Jack's, but Jack didn't move to join her. Then Mamie turned around on the step, and the three of them stood there for a second or two. She suddenly cried out—I once heard a man scream like that when a steam-crane amputated his arm—and then she collapsed in a heap on the small porch.[Pg 94]
I tried to jump forward, but I couldn't move, and I felt my hair rising under my hat. The sailor turned slowly where he stood, and swung Jack round by the arm steadily and easily, and began to walk him down the pathway from the house. He walked him straight down that path, as steadily as Fate; and all the time I saw the moonlight shining on his wet oilskins. He walked him through the gate, and across the beach road, and out upon the wet sand, where the tide was high. Then I got my breath with a gulp, and ran for them across the grass, and vaulted over the fence, and stumbled across the road. But when I felt the sand under my feet, the two were at the water's edge; and when I reached the water they were far out, and up to their waists; and I saw that Jack Benton's head had fallen forward on his breast, and his free arm hung limp beside him, while his dead brother steadily marched him to his death. The moonlight was on the dark[Pg 95] water, but the fog-bank was white beyond, and I saw them against it; and they went slowly and steadily down. The water was up to their armpits, and then up to their shoulders, and then I saw it rise up to the black rim of Jack's hat. But they never wavered; and the two heads went straight on, straight on, till they were under, and there was just a ripple in the moonlight where Jack had been.
I tried to jump forward, but I couldn't move, and I felt my hair rising under my hat. The sailor turned slowly where he stood, swung Jack around by the arm effortlessly, and started walking him down the pathway from the house. He walked him straight down that path, as steadily as fate; and all the while, I could see the moonlight reflecting off his wet oilskins. He led him through the gate, across the beach road, and out onto the wet sand, where the tide was high. Then I caught my breath with a gulp and ran for them across the grass, vaulted over the fence, and stumbled across the road. But when I felt the sand beneath my feet, the two were at the water's edge; and when I got to the water, they were far out, up to their waists; and I noticed that Jack Benton’s head had fallen forward on his chest, and his free arm hung limply beside him, while his dead brother steadily marched him to his death. The moonlight shimmered on the dark water, but the fog bank was white beyond, and I could see them against it; they went slowly and steadily down. The water rose up to their armpits, then to their shoulders, and then I saw it reach the edge of Jack's hat. But they never wavered; the two heads moved straight on, straight on, until they were submerged, leaving just a ripple in the moonlight where Jack had been.
It has been on my mind to tell you that story, whenever I got a chance. You have known me, man and boy, a good many years; and I thought I would like to hear your opinion. Yes, that's what I always thought. It wasn't Jim that went overboard; it was Jack, and Jim just let him go when he might have saved him; and then Jim passed himself off for Jack with us, and with the girl. If that's what happened, he got what he deserved. People said the next day that Mamie found it out as they reached the house, and that her husband just walked out into the sea,[Pg 96] and drowned himself; and they would have blamed me for not stopping him if they'd known that I was there. But I never told what I had seen, for they wouldn't have believed me. I just let them think I had come too late.
I've been meaning to tell you that story whenever I got the chance. You've known me for a long time, both as a kid and an adult, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Yeah, that's what I always thought. It wasn't Jim who went overboard; it was Jack, and Jim just let him go when he could have saved him. Then, Jim pretended to be Jack both with us and with the girl. If that's how it played out, he got what he deserved. People said the next day that Mamie figured it out as they reached the house, and that her husband just walked into the sea,[Pg 96] and drowned himself; and they would have blamed me for not stopping him if they had known I was there. But I never revealed what I had seen because they wouldn’t have believed me. I just let them think I arrived too late.
When I reached the cottage and lifted Mamie up, she was raving mad. She got better afterwards, but she was never right in her head again.
When I got to the cottage and picked up Mamie, she was completely out of her mind. She improved later, but she was never quite the same mentally again.
Oh, you want to know if they found Jack's body? I don't know whether it was his, but I read in a paper at a Southern port where I was with my new ship that two dead bodies had come ashore in a gale down East, in pretty bad shape. They were locked together, and one was a skeleton in oilskins.
Oh, you want to know if they found Jack's body? I'm not sure if it was his, but I read in a newspaper in a Southern port where I was with my new ship that two dead bodies washed ashore during a storm down East, and they were in pretty rough condition. They were tangled together, and one was just a skeleton wearing oilskins.
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD the youngest of the four children of the well-known sculptor Thomas Crawford, was born in Rome, educated by a French governess; then at St Paul's School, Concord, N.H.; in the quiet country village of Hatfield Regis, under an English tutor; at Trinity College, Cambridge, where they thought him a mathematician in those days; at Heidelberg and Karlsruhe, and at the University of Rome, where a special interest in Oriental languages sent him to India with the idea of preparing for a professorship.
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD, the youngest of four children of the famous sculptor Thomas Crawford, was born in Rome and educated by a French governess. He then attended St Paul's School in Concord, N.H., spent time in the peaceful village of Hatfield Regis under an English tutor, and went to Trinity College, Cambridge, where they thought he might become a mathematician back then. He also studied at Heidelberg and Karlsruhe, and at the University of Rome, where a growing interest in Oriental languages led him to India with the plan of preparing for a professorship.
At one time in India hard times nearly forced him into enlistment in the British army, but a chance opening sent him as editor of the Indian Herald to Allahabad. It was during the next eighteen months that he met at Simla the hero of his first novel, "Mr. Isaacs." "If it had not been for him," Mr. Crawford has been known to say, "I might at this moment be a professor of Sanskrit in some American college;" for that idea persisted after his return to the United States, where he entered Harvard for special study of the subject.
At one point in India, tough times almost pushed him to join the British army, but a lucky opportunity led him to become the editor of the Indian Herald in Allahabad. It was in the following eighteen months that he met the inspiration for his first novel, "Mr. Isaacs," in Simla. "If it hadn't been for him," Mr. Crawford has been known to say, "I might be a professor of Sanskrit at some American college right now," as that idea lingered even after he returned to the United States, where he enrolled at Harvard for specialized study in the subject.
But from the May evening when the story of the interesting man at Simla was first told in a club smoking-room overlooking Madison Square, Mr. Crawford's life has been one of hard literary work. He returned to Italy in 1883, spent most of the next year in Constantinople, where he was married to a daughter of General Berdan. From 1885 he has made his home in Sorrento, Italy, visiting America at intervals.
But from the May evening when the story of the intriguing man in Simla was first shared in a club smoking room overlooking Madison Square, Mr. Crawford's life has been filled with intense literary work. He returned to Italy in 1883 and spent most of the following year in Constantinople, where he married a daughter of General Berdan. Since 1885, he has made his home in Sorrento, Italy, visiting America from time to time.
"Mr. Isaacs," published in 1882, was followed almost at once by "Dr. Claudius." Then The Atlantic Monthly claimed a serial, "A Roman Singer," in 1883. Since that time the list of his novels has been increased to thirty-two, besides the historical and descriptive works entitled "Ave Roma Immortalis" and "The Rulers of the South."
"Mr. Isaacs," published in 1882, was quickly followed by "Dr. Claudius." Then The Atlantic Monthly featured a serial, "A Roman Singer," in 1883. Since then, the number of his novels has grown to thirty-two, in addition to the historical and descriptive works titled "Ave Roma Immortalis" and "The Rulers of the South."
To Mr. Crawford, the development of a story and of the character which suggested it, is the preëminent thing. As the critics say:—
To Mr. Crawford, the evolution of a story and the character that inspired it is the most important thing. As the critics say:—
"He is an artist, a born story-teller and colourist, imaginative and dramatic, virile and vivid."
"He is an artist, a natural storyteller and colorist, imaginative and dramatic, masculine and vibrant."
His wide range as a traveller has contributed doubtless to another characteristic quality:—
His extensive experience as a traveler has certainly added to another notable quality:—
"... his strength in unexcelled portraits of odd characters and his magical skill in seeming to make his readers witnesses of the spectacles."
"... his strength in outstanding portraits of unusual characters and his magical skill in making his readers feel like they're witnessing the events firsthand."
His intimate knowledge of many countries has resulted in an unequalled series of brilliant romances, including varied characters from the old families of Rome, the glassblowers of Venice, the silversmiths of Rome, the cigarette makers of Munich, the court of old Madrid, the Turks of Stamboul and the Bosphorus, simple sailors on the coast of Spain, Americans of modern New York and Bar Harbor, to Crusaders of the twelfth century. But whether the scene be in modern India, rural England, the Black Forest, or the palaces of Babylon, the story seizes on the imagination and fascinates the reader.
His deep knowledge of many countries has led to an unmatched series of brilliant novels, featuring a diverse cast of characters from the old families of Rome, the glassblowers of Venice, the silversmiths of Rome, the cigarette makers of Munich, the court of old Madrid, the Turks of Istanbul and the Bosphorus, everyday sailors along the coast of Spain, modern New Yorkers and Bar Harbor locals, to Crusaders from the twelfth century. But whether the setting is in contemporary India, rural England, the Black Forest, or the palaces of Babylon, the story captures the imagination and captivates the reader.
"The romantic reader will find here a tale of love passionate and pure; the student of character, the subtle analysis and deft portrayal he loves; the historian will approve its conscientious historic accuracy; the lover of adventure will find his blood stir and pulses quicken as he reads."
"The romantic reader will find a story of love that is passionate and pure; the character student will appreciate the subtle analysis and skillful depiction he enjoys; the historian will commend its careful historical accuracy; the adventure lover will feel his heart race and excitement build as he reads."
THE NOVELS OF
F. MARION CRAWFORD
NEW UNIFORM EDITION
Dr. Claudius
A Roman Singer
Zoroaster
Don Orsino
Marion Darche
A Cigarette Maker's Romance and Khaled
Taquisara
Via Crucis
Sant' Ilario
The Ralstons
Adam Johnstone's Son and A Rose of Yesterday
Mr. Isaacs
A Tale of a Lonely Parish
Saracinesca
Paul Patoff
The Witch of Prague
Pietro Ghisleri
Corleone
Children of the King
Katherine Lauderdale
To Leeward
Dr. Claudius
A Roman Singer
Zoroaster
Don Orsino
Marion Darche
A Cigarette Maker's Romance and Khaled
Taquisara
Via Crucis
Sant' Ilario
The Ralstons
Adam Johnstone's Son and A Rose of Yesterday
Mr. Isaacs
A Tale of a Lonely Parish
Saracinesca
Paul Patoff
The Witch of Prague
Pietro Ghisleri
Corleone
Children of the King
Katherine Lauderdale
To Leeward
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Each, covered in green and gold fabric, $1.80
In preparation in the Uniform Edition
In preparation in the Uniform Edition
An American Politician
Marzio's Crucifix
With the Immortals
Greifenstein
The Three Fates
Casa Braccio. 2 vols.
Love in Idleness
An American Politician
Marzio's Crucifix
With the Immortals
Greifenstein
The Three Fates
Casa Braccio. 2 vols.
Love in Idleness
F. MARION CRAWFORD'S
MOST RECENT NOVELS
CECILIA: A Story of Modern Rome
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CECILIA: A Story of Modern Rome
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MARIETTA: A Maid of Venice
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MARIETTA: A Maid of Venice
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IN THE PALACE OF THE KING
A Love Story of Old Madrid
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IN THE PALACE OF THE KING
A Love Story of Old Madrid
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RULERS OF THE SOUTH
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PHILOSOPHY FOUR
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A STORY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY
A STORY ABOUT HARVARD UNIVERSITY
By Owen Wister
By Owen Wister
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Author of "The Virginian" etc.
MAN OVERBOARD
Person Overboard
By Owen Wister
By Owen Wister
Author of "Cecilia," "Marietta," etc.
Author of "Cecilia," "Marietta," etc.
MR. KEEGAN'S ELOPEMENT
MR. KEEGAN'S ELOPEMENT
By Winston Churchill
By Winston Churchill
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Author of "The Crisis," "Richard Carvel," etc.
MRS. PENDLETON'S FOUR-IN-HAND
MRS. PENDLETON'S TIE
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By Gertrude Atherton
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Author of "The Conqueror," "The Splendid Idle Forties," etc.
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