A VISION OF THE SEA
There was rain and thick weather for several days, during which the
_Sorata_ crept northward slowly along the wild West Vancouver coast.
Austerly, it appeared, had business with an Indian agent who lived up an
inlet near which the restless white prospectors were encroaching on a
Siwash reserve. The boat was wet and clammy everywhere, though a bark
fire burned in the little saloon stove. Miss Austerly lay for the most
part silent on the leeward settee with a certain wistful patience in her
hollow face which roused Jimmy's compassion. He noticed that Valentine's
voice was gentler than usual when he mentioned her, and wondered why it
was so, though his comrade did not favor him with an adequate
explanation then or afterward.
At last one afternoon the drizzle ceased, and, during most of it, Miss
Merril sat at the tiller with Jimmy's oilskin jacket round her shoulders
to shield her from the spray, while the _Sorata_ drove northward,
close-hauled, across the long gray roll of the Pacific which was tipped
with livid foam. Sometimes she swung over it, with dripping jib hove
high, but at least as often she dipped her bows in the creaming froth
and flung the brine aft in showers, while all the time the half-seen
shore unrolled itself to starboard in a majestic panorama.
Great surf-lapped rocks rose out of the grayness, and were lost in it
again; forests athwart which the vapors streamed in smoky wisps rolled
by; and at times there were brief entrancing visions of a towering
range, phantoms of mountains that vanished and appeared again. There was
water on the lee-deck; showers of it drove into the drenched mainsail's
luff; but still Miss Merril sat at the tiller with her damp hair blown
about her forehead, a patch of carmine in her cheeks, and a gleam in her
eyes. She seemed, as she swung with the plunging fabric when the counter
rose streaming high above the froth that swept astern, wholly in harmony
with the motive of the scene; and at this Jimmy wondered a little now
and then, though he discovered afterward that Anthea Merril almost
invariably fitted herself to her surroundings. There are men and women
with that capacity, which is, perhaps, born of comprehension and
sympathy.
Her grasp was firm and steady on the straining helm, her gaze quick to
notice each gray comber that broke as it came down on them; but, when he
looked at her, Jimmy saw in her eyes something deeper than the thrill of
the encounter with the winds of heaven and the restless sea. He could
find no fitting name for it. It eluded definition, but it had its
effect; and he felt that a man might go far and do more than thrash a
yacht to windward with such a companion, though he also realized that
this was, after all, no concern of his. Apart from that, her quiet
courage and readiness were noticeable, though it was, perhaps, her
understanding that appealed most to him. Anthea Merril never asked an
unnecessary question. She seemed able to grasp one's thoughts and
motives in a fashion that set those with whom she conversed at their
ease, and when in her company Jimmy usually forgot his yacht-hand's
garments and the man-o'-war cap.
It was toward sunset that evening, and Miss Austerly was sitting well
wrapped up on a locker in the cockpit, when the vapor melted and was
blown away, as not infrequently happens about that time at sea. The
dingy clouds that veiled the sky were rent, and a blaze of weird,
coppery radiance smote the tumbling seas, which changed under it to
smears of incandescent whiteness with ruddy gleams in them, and ridges
of flashing green. It was sudden and bewildering, impelling one to hold
one's breath. But a more glorious pageant leaped out of the dimness over
the starboard hand. Walls of rock that burned with many colors sprang
into being, with somber pines streaming upward behind them, and far
aloft there were lifted gleaming heights of never-trodden snow whose
stainless purity was intensified by their gray and turquoise shadows.
The vision was vouchsafed them, steeped in an immaterial splendor, for
perhaps five minutes, and then it faded as though it had never been.
Miss Austerly, who had gazed at it rapt and eager-eyed, drew in her
breath.
"Ah!" she said; "if it was only to see that, I am glad I came--it may be
the last time."
Jimmy, who was sitting on the skylights, saw the apprehension in Anthea
Merril's eyes as she glanced down for a moment into the fragile face of
her companion, and he fancied that Valentine did so too; but the girl
smiled wistfully.
"Still," she said, "it is a good deal to have seen the glory of this
world, and one would almost fancy that other one--where the sea is
glassy--could not be much more beautiful."
There was a hint of reproach in Anthea Merril's quiet voice, which
reached Jimmy.
"Nellie," she said, "you have morbid fancies now and then. We brought
you on this trip to make you cheerful and strong."
The sick girl smiled again, and the pallor of her fragile face
intensified the faint shining of her eyes. "I think you know that I
shall never get strong again, and, after all, why should I wish to stay
here when I may leave my pains and weaknesses behind me? You can't
understand that. You have the vigor of the sea in you--and the world
before you."
It apparently occurred to Valentine that he was hearing too much, for he
stood up, swaying while the _Sorata_ plunged, and called to Austerly
through one of the open skylights of the saloon.
"We'll have the breeze down on us twice as hard in a few minutes, sir,
and there's an inlet we could lie snug in not far astern," he said.
"It's quite likely we might come across a Siwash or two who would pole
you up the river at the head of the inlet to within easy reach of the
agent's place, to-morrow."
"Very well!" said Austerly; "you can run her away."
It appeared advisable, for the _Sorata_ buried her bows in a smother of
frothing brine and dipped her lee-deck deep, as a blast swept down.
Valentine glanced at Miss Merril somewhat dubiously.
"Do you think you could jibe her all standing?" he asked.
Jimmy almost expected Anthea Merril to say that she could not, for,
unless the helmsman is skilful, when a cutter-rigged craft is brought
round, stern to a fresh breeze, her great mainsail with the ponderous
boom along the foot of it is apt to swing over with disastrous violence.
There was, however, no hesitation in the girl's face, and Valentine made
a little gesture that implied rather more than resignation.
"When you're ready!" he said. "Stand by, Jimmy!"
They laid hands on the hard, wet sheet, and, while the girl swayed with
the helm, and the _Sorata_ came round, stern to sea, dragged the big
mainboom in foot by foot until it hung over them, lifting, with the
great bellying sail ready to swing. Then, though nobody knew quite how
it happened, Jimmy got a loose turn of the rope about his arm as a sea
washed in across the counter. In another second or two the boom would
swing over, and it seemed very probable that his arm would at least be
broken. While the tightening hemp ground into his flesh, he saw the
color ebb in Valentine's face, and then the girl's voice reached him
sharp and insistent.
"Now!" was all she said.
The _Sorata_'s bows swung a trifle further, and no more. The boom went
up with a jerk, and, while the blood started from Jimmy's compressed
arm, came down again. For a second the turn of rope slackened, and he
shook it clear. Then the sheet whirred through the quarter-blocks as
the great sail swung over, and the _Sorata_ rolled until one side of her
was deep in the foam. She shook herself out of it, and Jimmy, who forgot
the man-o'-war cap and what he was supposed to be, saw the girl's eyes
fixed on him with a faint smile in them, and made her a little
inclination. He felt that she was asking him a question.
"Thank you!" he said simply. "I don't think I was unduly frightened. I
seemed to know you would not fail me."
Anthea Merril made no answer, but a slight flush crept into her cheek.
She was very human, and it was in one sense an eloquent compliment. Then
Jimmy went forward to haul the staysail down, though he found he had to
do it with one hand, and he was kept busy until he went down with
Valentine into the little forecastle, when the _Sorata_ lay snug in a
strip of still green water close beneath the dusky pines. Louis had just
gone ashore with the dory to gather bark for fuel, and, for the scuttle
was open, they could hear the splash of his oars through the deep
stillness that was emphasized by the murmur of falling water. Valentine
sat on a locker with the lamplight on his bronzed face, which was a
trifle grave.
"Rain again, and I'd sooner lose my next charter than have bad weather
now," he said.
"Why?" asked Jimmy.
His comrade made a sign of impatience. "Didn't you hear what that girl
said--it was the last time? She knew that she was right, too, though
it's probably only natural that her father wouldn't believe it. A last
treat she's getting--and she's as fond of the sea as I am, or you are
either."
Jimmy did not know why he smiled, but perhaps it was because he was
stirred a little and did not wish to show it. In any case, Valentine
frowned at him.
"Oh, yes," he said, "I know. It's a dog's life, and other things; but
you wouldn't quit it, anyway, and that's not the question. Can't you
understand what that sickly girl's life has been, with all that other
women might expect to have denied her?"
There was a certain hoarse insistence in Valentine's inquiry, from which
it seemed to Jimmy, who had noticed the solicitude with which he had
endeavored to minister in every way to the comfort or pleasure of their
delicate passenger, that his companion had some special reason for
understanding what the girl's lot had been.
"Well," he said reflectively, "one would suppose that to be born
foredoomed is hard upon such as Miss Austerly."
Valentine made a little abrupt gesture. "It's evident they once had a
yacht of their own. Any one could see how fond of it she is; and I'm
taking her father's money--he hasn't too much of it--like a--moneylender
that she may have a last taste of the one thing she can take pleasure
in. Lord, when one has so much for nothing, what selfish hogs we are!"
"It can't be helped, anyway. You couldn't offer a favor to a man like
Austerly."
"No;" and Valentine frowned. "He's a man with all the condemned
prejudices of his class, and he would, naturally, sooner see his
daughter's one wish ungratified. After all, women now and then rate the
value of things more justly than we do. There's Miss Merril who came
with them, and somehow it was she who brought this trip about. She has
her pride, full measure of it, but she has sense as well, sense of
proportion, and if we had only her to deal with we'd let every other
charter slide and go south to-morrow to find the summer."
Jimmy was not in the least astonished. He had, of course, listened to a
certain amount of forecastle ribaldry, though, after all, conversation
and badinage of that nature is, at least, as frequent in a mail-boat's
smoking-room; but he knew the ways of his fellows, and it seemed a very
natural thing to him that Valentine the pariah should in his own fashion
reveal these depths of chivalrous compassion. He had seen hard-handed
men of coarse fiber do many a gentle deed with a curse on their lips
that was probably worth a good deal more than a conventional platitude.
Still, it would have been wholly extraordinary if he had mentioned
anything of this.
"One would fancy Miss Merril has a good deal of character," he said.
"Too much for the man she marries, if there's anything small and mean in
him. That's a girl with a capacity for doing more than sail a boat to
windward well, and she will probably expect a good deal. In one way
there's something humorous in the fact that her father is one of the
----est rogues in this Province, though there are naturally a good many
people who look up to him. Of course, she isn't aware of it yet. Brought
up back East, I believe, and somebody told me she had lived a good deal
with her mother's people. It probably means trouble for her when she
understands the reality."
He rose with a little shrug of his shoulders. "I'm talking like an old
woman, and these things have nothing to do with us. We have our wet
watches to keep at sea, and perhaps we are better off than the rest of
them because that is all. You can turn in if you want to; I'll wait for
Louis."
Five minutes later Jimmy crawled into his bunk, and fell fast asleep.
When he awakened, he found that the day had broken still and sunny.
There was a Siwash rancherie a mile or two up the Inlet, and when an
Indian had been found who would carry a message through the forest,
Austerly, who never forgot what was due to a Crown-land official,
decided to stay where he was and allow the agent to visit him. He was
not in any way an active man, and appeared quite content to sit in the
cockpit reading, when Valentine, who had procured a Siwash river
canoe--a long, light shell of cedar with some two feet beam--offered to
take his daughter up the Inlet to see the rancherie. Miss Austerly was
pleased to go with him, and Anthea Merril, who watched the knife-edge
craft slide away, turned to Jimmy.
"If you will get the trolling-spoon I will go fishing," she said.
"Yes, miss," said Jimmy, touching his cap--a thing that is very seldom
done in Western Canada. Hauling the dory alongside, he handed her into
it. Then he dipped the oars, and they slid slowly up the Inlet with the
silver and vermilion spoon trailing astern. He had laid Valentine's
shot-gun across the thwarts.
The lane of clear green water was, perhaps, two hundred yards wide, and
the stately pines which shroud all that lonely coast rose in somber
ranks on either side, distilling their drowsy fragrance as their
motionless needles dried in the sun. There was not a sound when the
splash of Valentine's paddle died away, and Jimmy dipped his oars
leisurely, now and then venturing a glance at his companion. It seemed
to him that the big white hat she wore became her wonderfully well, and
it is possible that she guessed as much and did not resent it, for Jimmy
was, after all, a personable man.
"Your skipper is very good to Nellie Austerly," she said. "I am rather
pleased with him because of it. There are, naturally, not many things in
which she can take any great interest."
"I suppose," said Jimmy reflectively, "there are people who would
consider it good of him, but, in one way, it really isn't. It doesn't
cost him anything, and he can't help it. That man would do what he could
for anybody who didn't want to take advantage of him. What's more, he
would do it almost without realizing what he was about."
"Do you know why he lives as he does at sea?"
"I don't. Probably because he likes it."
Anthea Merril smiled. "Is that all? It has not occurred to you that
there is, perhaps, a reason why he and Nellie Austerly understand each
other?"
"Both fond of the sea?"
"That mightn't go far enough. Nellie has had to give up so much, or
rather it has been taken away from her. You can understand that?"
Jimmy nodded assent. It had already occurred to him that his comrade
was a man who had lost something he greatly valued, and it did not
appear incongruous that Miss Merril should be speaking in this familiar
fashion to him. In fact, she frequently contrived to make him forget
that he was Valentine's hired hand and wore the man-o'-war cap.
"What would a boat like the _Sorata_ cost to build?" she asked.
"Perhaps four thousand dollars in this country."
"Ah!" said the girl; "and with that sum one could probably set up a
store, buy one of the little sawmills near a rising settlement, or start
on one of the other paths that are supposed to lead to affluence."
Jimmy laughed. "Supposing he owned the big Hastings mill, what more
could it offer a man with his views? As he will tell you, he gets what
he likes almost for nothing. He may be right, too. After all, it is
clean dirt one has to eat at sea."
"There are not many men who could live as he does; the rest would go to
pieces. And isn't it rather shirking a responsibility?"
"You mean that one ought to make money?"
"I think one ought to take one's part in the struggle that is going to
make this the greatest Province in the Dominion; but not exactly for
that reason." Then Miss Merril apparently decided to change the subject.
"You had a good halibut season?"
Jimmy saw the twinkle in her eyes, and understood it. "I hadn't. I'm
afraid I wouldn't know a halibut when I saw it. There are, one believes,
plenty of them, but so far very few people go fishing."
"Then you were probably killing the Americans' seals?"
"I wasn't. I am, I may mention, mate on board a lumber-carrying
schooner."
His companion's nod might have meant anything. "I fancied," she said,
"you had not gone to sea very often as a yacht-hand."
Jimmy, who was uncertain what she wished him to understand, pulled on
leisurely, until, as they crept along the shore, a widening ripple that
spread from beyond a point caught his eye, and, laying down the oars, he
reached for the gun.
"I was told to bring back a duck for Miss Austerly if I could," he said.
"You don't mind?"
Anthea Merril made a sign of indifference, and the dory slid on, until,
as they opened up a little bay, Jimmy flung up the gun, for a slowly
moving object swam in the midst of it. Then he felt a hand on his arm,
and a voice said sharply, "Put it down!"
Jimmy did so before he saw the reason, and it was a moment later when he
noticed a string of little fluffy bodies stretched out from the shore.
The mother bird paddled toward them, and, disregarding her own danger,
strove to drive them back among the boulders. Then he saw the curious
gleam that was half anger and half compassion in his companion's eyes,
and felt his face grow a trifle hot.
"I didn't know," he said. "It must be an unusually late brood. I never
noticed them. I shouldn't like you to think I did."
"Open the gun, and take out the cartridges!" ordered his companion.
"Very well, miss," said Jimmy, who could not resist the impulse of
adding, with a whimsical twinkle in his eyes: "Shall I take off the
trolling-spoon?"
Anthea Merril laughed. "No," she said. "Still, I can't complain of the
suggestion. Head out from shore, and row faster."
Jimmy said nothing further, but busied himself with his oars. He had
discovered by this time that he could talk more or less confidentially
with Anthea Merril only when it was her pleasure that he should do so,
and she was able to make it clear when that time had gone. Still, he did
not for a moment believe she would have been more gracious had her
companion not happened to be the _Sorata_'s paid hand.