STUMPY AND THE STOREHOUSE
Stumpy stood in the doorway, waving a greeting to the children, his
wooden leg, topped by a crutch-handle, strapped to his side and his
black eyes glowing with pleasure.
He limped down the steps to hitch the donkey for the Lightkeeper,
patting the children’s heads meantime, as they tumbled about him like
frolicsome puppies.
“We’ve-ery come-ery to-ery see-ery you-ery!” cried Lesley, who was
accustomed to use the “secret language” with Stumpy.
“Yes, I see you come all right,” smiled Stumpy, “but I no speak your
tongue. You go in my house; I be there pretty soon.... Aye, aye, sir,
coming!”--this to McLean, who waited for him by the barrels of oil.
The children needed no further invitation to Stumpy’s dwelling, for it
was a museum of curiosities in their eyes, and Ronald gravely wondered
how it could be safe to leave such priceless things within reach of
the passers-by. True, there were no passers-by, except those with wings
or fins, or traveling on four feet, but at any moment--why not?--a boat
might draw up on the strand and a pirate, with a red sash and a knife
in his teeth, leap to land and snatch the treasures.
“Stump-ery true,
I love you!”
crooned Lesley, as she sat down by a little table in the corner.
“Stump-ery’s a sailor,
Sure as I’m a tailor!”
sang Ronnie, climbing on a chair from which height he could see more
easily the wonderful little ship on the mantelpiece.
“But you’re _not_ a tailor, and you do make silly po’try!”
“Neither isn’t Stumpy a sailor, _now_, and maybe I’ll be a tailor, some
time.... Oh, Lesley, isn’t this ship the most be-you-tiful thing you’ve
ever seen since you lived in this country?”
Indeed it was a beautiful thing, the pride of Stumpy’s heart and
the light of his eyes. He had bought it long ago in Mexico from the
furnishings of a Spanish ship wrecked at sea and hauled into port by
a passing barque. Whoever originally owned it had prized it dearly,
for it stood under a glass case that rested on an ebony stand bordered
with scarlet velvet. It was carved from creamy ivory--every mast,
every spar, every sail in place, a miniature steersman at the helm
and the Spanish ensign bravely floating at the peak. It sailed upon a
painted sea sprinkled with tiny crystals of sand that sparkled like the
blue waters around the island, and it was undoubtedly one of the most
beautiful things that anybody had ever seen, no matter in what country
he or she had lived.
Ronald, though a daring and adventurous child, continually watched by
sister, mother, or father lest he rush into danger, was yet careful in
his own way, and Stumpy knew that he might trust him with his treasures
and that the boy would admire “La Golondrina” (The Swallow) without
ever thinking of lifting the glass cover that enshrined the tiny
treasure.
While his silent worship was going on, Lesley was lifting with careful
fingers the feather pictures on the table and admiring the birds, the
flowers, the trees, the little landscapes, all made of tiny feathers
beautifully colored and pasted into place. These were done by Indians,
Stumpy had told her, and the black-eyed squaws with their shawl-wrapped
heads sold them on market-days in the streets of the City of Mexico.
There were Indian water-jars in the room, too, gayly decorated in
colors, an Indian bow with its arrows, gourds made into dippers and
painted in scarlet and black, and on the wall a tattered Mexican flag
with its warlike eagle grasping a rattlesnake and standing on a cactus
plant. “_Viva México!_” (Hurrah for Mexico!) Stumpy used to cry as he
saluted it in the morning, and the children had learned to salute it,
too, the moment they crossed the threshold.
The room had been partitioned off from the storehouse where the oil
for the Light was kept and had only a rough floor and whitewashed
walls, but Stumpy kept it beautifully clean, and on his small stove he
cooked wonderful red beans in Mexican style and made chocolate for the
children with foam on the cups an inch high.
His was a lonely life on the edge of the restless ocean, guarding the
stores for the Lighthouse, and he was as glad to have a visit from
Ronald and Lesley as they were glad to come. They were still admiring
his treasures when clatter, clatter, went Jenny Lind’s hoofs again,
and away rolled the car with its barrels of oil for the Light.
Another moment, and “_Viva México!_” sounded in the doorway and Stumpy
appeared with an armful of driftwood for the evening fire.
“Stump-ery, bump-ery,
Give him a thump-ery!”
shouted Ronald, running to meet him.
“I’m not going to thump him, I’m going to hug him,” cried Lesley and
she did it, to the old sailor’s great delight.
“Now a story, Stumpy, a story!” cried both children, together, and
Ronald added quickly, “The ‘White Slipper.’”
“‘White Slipper’? No, that too long. Your father say come home one
hour. Mother have dinner ready.”
“Oh! oh!” with dismal groans. “We thought _you’d_ ask us to dinner.”
“I would ask, sure I would, but your father boss, you know. He my boss,
your boss--Good sailor mind his boss, you bet.”
“Well, then, what _will_ you tell us?” asked Ronald, climbing on his
knee. “I haven’t hardly heard a story since I lived in this country.”
Stumpy looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Since you lived in
this country, hey? But that not very long, you know. Well, I tell you a
sea-story, one I know, me, one I see myself--one about a cat.”
“A cat!” exclaimed Lesley. “I thought they didn’t like water!”
“It is true,” said Stumpy; “if they did, there would be no story.”
“Tell-ery, tell-ery,
Stump-ery, tell-ery!”
cried Ronald, impatiently.
“Well, it must be twenty year ago,” said Stumpy, reflectively, “I ship
on cargo steamer to Scotland, your father’s and mother’s country, you
hear them tell.”
“‘Bonnie Scotland!’ we know,” said Lesley, drawing nearer.
“We have good voyage Scotland, nothing much happen, all same every day.
We land cargo place called Newhaven, all right, get new cargo take
back--you not care about that--and when everything ready for leave,
Captain say we go ashore, have good time. Some men they stay on board
keep watch, but ten go ashore, and messroom boy--he funny fellow, I
think he not right in head” (tapping his forehead)--“he say he take
ship’s cat, give her good time, too; maybe catch Scotch mouse.
“We all laugh at him. I tell you he funny fellow, and we go uptown and
leave him on beach with cat. Some men go get good dinner; some men get
drunk, like always; I find other sailor like me, been all over world
and we ‘swap yarn,’ you know.”
“We know,” nodding heads wisely, for old sailors often came to the
island.
“We have orders get back twelve o’clock night,” continued Stumpy; “we
know, anyway, got do that, and we all start along ’bout eleven, pretty
dark, big wind, storm coming all right.
“We get to beach--some, they smoke, some whistle, some walk pretty
crooked, and Johnny, that’s what mess-boy call himself, sing out to us,
‘Come on, boys, big storm ahead, cat get wet.’
“We all laugh some more and make fun, but we don’t see anything till we
get to boat and there be Johnny with the cat--she was white one, thanks
to God!”
“Why do you thank God because she was white?” asked Ronnie, curiously.
“Wait a moment, little son, and you will know,” answered Stumpy
gravely. “We all get in boat, push off, and begin to row hard as we
can, but the farther we get from land the blacker get the dark and the
big wave come splash, crash, lift us ’way up, sink us ’way down, keep
us tossing like ball in air. Every man do his best; I pray to saints,
but no can see ship’s lights, no can see other men’s face, not know
where we go. Of a sudden, maybe pretty near ship--we can’t tell--come
wave like big mountain, knock every man flat, turn boat over, upside
down, no light, no help anywhere.”
“Oh, poor Stumpy,” sighed Lesley, patting his sleeve, “how dreadful!”
“Every man start to swim best he know how, but where he swim when he
see nothing? We half-dead already when we hear that Johnny sing out,
‘Look at cat! Look at cat! See where she go!’ Thanks to blessed saints,
who let a little light down ’bout then, we could just see white spot on
top of wave and follow it. Cat see in dark, you know, children, and she
not like water, want to get out soon as she can.
“In one moment, we see lights, we see ship, we shout and shout, and men
come help us aboard, wet like sponge, cold as ice, and frightened ’way
to inside of bones.”
“Were all the men saved?” quavered Lesley, round-eyed with excitement.
“Alas, no! little daughter; two of them never seen again!”
A sigh and a little silence followed, and then Lesley’s voice was heard
again, “And the cat?”
“Ah, the cat, thanks to God, that Johnny grab her just as he get to
ship’s side and carry her up ladder. She ’most as good as Captain all
way back to California, best food, warmest place sleep, every man take
off cap to her when he meet, say, ‘Good-day to you, Lady Cat!’”
“Good-day, Lady Cat!” mimicked Lesley, laughingly, bowing to an
imaginary pussy on the rug. “I wish you a pleasant morning and a fat
rat for your dinner!”
“Dinner! Dinner!” cried Stumpy, jumping up from his comfortable chair.
“What your father say, children? Run quick, like rabbits! Go short way
up steps! Run quick!”