A BREEZE OF WIND
There were signs of a change in the weather when Vane walked down to the
wharf with his passengers, for a cold wind which had sprung up struck an
eerie sighing from the somber firs and sent the white mists streaming
along the hillside. There was a watery moon in the sky, and when they
reached the water's edge Vane fancied that the singer hesitated; but Mrs.
Marvin laid her hand on the girl's arm reassuringly, and she got into the
canoe. A few minutes later Vane ran the craft alongside the sloop and saw
the amazement in Carroll's face by the glow from the cabin skylight. He
fancied, however, that his comrade would rise to the occasion, and he
helped his guests up.
"My partner, Carroll. Mrs. Marvin and her daughter; Miss Kitty
Blake. You have seen them already. They're coming down with us to
catch the steamer."
Carroll bowed, and Vane thrust back the cabin slide and motioned the
others below. The place was brightly lighted by a nickeled lamp, though
it was scarcely four feet high and the centerboard trunk occupied the
middle of it. A wide cushioned locker ran along either side a foot above
the floor, and a swing-table, fixed above the trunk, filled up most of
the space between. There was no cloth on the table, but it was
invitingly laid out with canned fruit, coffee, hot flapjacks and a big
lake trout, for in the western bush most men can cook.
"You must help yourselves while we get sail upon the boat," said Vane
cheerily. "The saloon's at your disposal--my partner and I have the
forecastle. You will notice that there are blankets yonder, and as we'll
have smooth water most of the way you should get some sleep. Perhaps
you'd better keep the stove burning; and if you should like some coffee
in the early morning you'll find it in the top locker."
He withdrew, closing the slide, and went forward with Carroll to shorten
in the cable; but when they stopped beside the bitts his companion broke
into a laugh.
"Is there anything amusing you?" Vane asked curtly.
"Well," drawled Carroll, "this country, of course, isn't England; but,
for all that, it's desirable that a man who expects to make his mark in
it should exercise a certain amount of caution. It strikes me that you're
making a rather unconventional use of your new prosperity, and it might
be prudent to consider how some of your friends in Vancouver may regard
the adventure."
Vane sat down upon the bitts and took out his pipe.
"One trouble in talking to you is that I never know whether you're in
earnest or not. You trot out your cold-blooded worldly wisdom--I suppose
it is wisdom--and then you grin at it."
"It seems to me that's the only philosophic attitude," Carroll replied.
"It's possible to grow furiously indignant with the restraints
stereotyped people lay on one, but on the whole it's wiser to bow to them
and chuckle. After all, they've some foundation."
Vane looked up at him sharply.
"You've been right in the advice you have given me more than once. You
seem to know how prosperous, and what you call stereotyped, people look
at things. But you've never explained where you acquired the knowledge."
"Oh, that's quite another matter," laughed Carroll.
"Anyway, there's one remark of yours I'd like to answer. You would, no
doubt, consider that I made a legitimate use of my money when I
entertained that crowd of city people--some of whom would have plundered
me if they could have managed it--in Vancouver. I didn't grudge it, of
course, but I was a little astonished when I saw the wine and cigar bill.
It struck me that the best of them scarcely noticed what they got--I
think they'd been up against it at one time, as we have; and it would
have done the rest of the guzzlers good if they'd had to work with the
shovel all day on pork and flapjacks. But we'll let that go. What have
you and I done that we should swill in champagne, while a girl with a
face like that one below and a child who dances like a fairy haven't
enough to eat? You know what I paid for the last cigars. What confounded
hogs we are!"
Carroll laughed outright. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh
upon his comrade, who was hardened and toughened by determined labor.
With rare exceptions, which included the occasions when he had
entertained or had been entertained in Vancouver, his greatest indulgence
had been a draught of strong green tea from a blackened pannikin, though
he had at times drunk nothing but river water. The term hog appeared
singularly inappropriate as applied to him.
"Well," replied Carroll, "you'll no doubt get used to the new conditions
by and by; and in regard to your latest exploit, there's a motto on your
insignia of the Garter which might meet the case. But hadn't we better
heave her over her anchor?"
They seized the chain, and a sharp, musical rattle rang out as it ran
below, for the hollow hull flung back the metallic clinking like a
sounding-board. When the cable was short-up, they grasped the halyards
and the big gaff-mainsail rose flapping up the mast. They set it and
turned to the head-sails, for though, strictly speaking, a sloop carries
only one, the term is loosely applied in places, and as Vane had changed
her rig, there were two of them to be hoisted.
"It's a fair wind, and I dare say we'll find more weight in it lower
down," commented Carroll. "We'll let the staysail lie and run her
with the jib."
When they set the jib and broke out the anchor, Vane took the helm, and
the sloop, slanting over until her deck on one side dipped close to the
frothing brine, drove away into the darkness. The lights of the
settlement faded among the trees, and the black hills and the climbing
firs on either side slipped by, streaked by sliding vapors. A crisp,
splashing sound made by the curling ripples followed the vessel; the
canoe surged along noisily astern; and the frothing and gurgling grew
louder at the bows. They were running down one of the deep,
forest-shrouded inlets which, resembling the Norwegian fiords, pierce the
Pacific littoral of Canada; though there are no Scandinavian pines to
compare with the tremendous conifers which fill all the valleys and climb
high to the snow-line in that wild and rugged land.
There was no sound from the cabin, and Vane decided that his guests had
gone to sleep. The sloop was driving along steadily, with neither lift
nor roll, but when, increasing her speed, she piled the foam up on her
lee side and the canoe rode on a great white wave, he glanced toward his
companion.
"I wonder how the wind is outside?" he questioned.
Carroll looked around and saw the white mists stream athwart the pines on
a promontory they were skirting.
"That's more than I can tell. In these troughs among the hills, it either
blows straight up or directly down, and I dare say we'll find it
different when we reach the sound. One thing's certain--there's some
weight in it now."
Vane nodded agreement, though an idea that troubled him crept into his
mind.
"I understand that the steamboat skipper will run in to land some Siwash
he's bringing down. It will be awkward in the dark if the wind's
on-shore."
Carroll made no comment, and they drove on. As they swept around the
point, the sloop, slanting sharply, dipped her lee rail in the froth.
Ahead of them the inlet was flecked with white, and the wail of the
swaying firs came off from the shadowy beach and mingled with the
gurgling of the water.
"We'll have to tie down a reef and get the canoe on board,"
suggested Carroll.
"Here, take the tiller a minute!"
Scrambling forward Vane rapped on the cabin slide and then flung it back.
Mrs. Marvin lay upon the leeward locker with a blanket thrown over her
and with the little girl at her feet; Miss Blake sat on the weather side
with a book in her hand.
"We're going to take some sail off the boat," he explained. "You needn't
be disturbed by the noise."
"When do you expect to meet the steamer?" Miss Blake inquired.
"Not for two or three hours, anyway."
Vane fancied that the girl noticed the hint of uncertainty in his voice,
and he banged the slide to as he disappeared.
"Down helm!" he shouted to Carroll.
There was a banging and thrashing of canvas as the sloop came up into the
wind. They held her there with the jib aback while they hauled the canoe
on board, which was not an easy task; and then with difficulty they hove
down a reef in the mainsail. It was heavy work, because there was nobody
at the helm; and the craft, falling off once or twice while they leaned
out upon the boom with toes on her depressed lee rail, threatened to hurl
them into the frothing water. Neither of them was a trained sailor; but
on that coast, with its inlets and sounds and rivers, the wanderer learns
readily to handle sail and paddle and canoe-pole.
They finished their task; and when Vane seized the helm Carroll sat down
under the shelter of the coaming, out of the flying spray.
"We'll probably have some trouble putting your friends on board the
steamer, even if she runs in," he remarked. "What are you going to do if
there's no sign of her?"
"It's a question I've been shirking for the last half-hour," Vane
confessed.
"It would be very slow work beating back up this inlet; and even if we
did so there isn't a stage across the island for several days. No doubt,
you remember that you have to see that contractor on Thursday; and
there's the directors' meeting, too."
"It's uncommonly awkward," Vane answered dubiously.
Carroll laughed.
"It strikes me that your guests will have to stay where they are, whether
they like it or not; but there's one consolation--if this wind is from
the northwest, which is most likely, it will be a fast run to Victoria.
Guess I'll try to get some sleep."
He disappeared down a scuttle forward, leaving Vane somewhat disturbed in
mind. He had contemplated taking his guests for merely a few hours' run,
but to have them on board for, perhaps, several days was a very different
thing. Besides, he was far from sure that they would understand the
necessity for keeping them, and in that case the situation might become
difficult. In the meanwhile, the sloop drove on, until at last, toward
morning, the beach fell back on either hand and she met the long swell
tumbling in from the Pacific. The wind was from the northwest and blowing
moderately hard; there was no light as yet in the sky above the black
heights to the east; and the onrushing swell grew higher and steeper,
breaking white here and there. The sloop plunged over it wildly, hurling
the spray aloft; and it cost Vane a determined effort to haul in his
sheets as the wind drew ahead. Shortly afterward, the beach faded
altogether on one hand, and the sea piled up madly into foaming ridges.
It seemed most improbable that the steamer would run in to land her
Indian passengers, but Vane drove the sloop on, with showers of stinging
brine beating into her wet canvas and whirling about him.
As the Pacific opened up, he found it necessary to watch the seas that
came charging down upon her. They were long and high, and most of them
were ridged with seething foam. With a quick pull on the tiller, he edged
her over them, and a cascade swept her forward as she plunged across
their crests. Though there were driving clouds above him, it was not very
dark and he could see for some distance. The long ranks of tumbling
combers did not look encouraging, and when the plunges grew sharper and
the brine began to splash across the coaming that protected the well he
wished that they had hauled down a second reef. He could not shorten sail
unassisted, however; nor could he leave the helm to summon Carroll, who
was evidently sleeping soundly in the forecastle, without rousing his
passengers, which he did not desire to do.
A little while later he noticed that a stream of smoke was pouring from
the short funnel of the stove and soon afterward the cabin slide opened.
Miss Blake crept out and stood in the well, gazing forward while she
clutched the coaming.
Day was now breaking, and Vane could see that the girl's thin dress was
blown flat against her. There was something graceful in her pose, and it
struck him again that her figure was daintily slender. She wore no hat,
and it was evident that the wild plunging had no effect on her. He waited
uneasily until she turned and faced him.
"We are going out to sea," she said. "Where's the steamer?"
It was a question Vane had dreaded; but he answered it honestly.
"I can't tell you. It's very likely that she has gone straight on to
Victoria."
He saw the suspicion in her suddenly hardening face, but the quick anger
in it pleased him. He had not expected her to be prudish, but it was
clear that the situation did not appeal to her.
"You expected this when you asked us to come on board!" she cried.
"No," Vane replied quietly; "on my honor, I did nothing of the kind.
There was only a moderate breeze when we left, and when it freshened
enough to make it unlikely that the steamer would run in, I was as vexed
as you seem to be. As it happened, I couldn't go back; I must get on to
Victoria as soon as possible."
She looked at him searchingly, but he fancied that she was slightly
comforted.
"Can't you put us ashore?"
"It might be possible if I could find a sheltered beach farther on, but
it wouldn't be wise. You would find yourselves twenty or thirty miles
from the nearest settlement, and you could never walk so far through
the bush."
"Then what are we to do?"
There was distress in the cry, and Vane answered it in his most
matter-of-fact tone.
"So far as I can see, you can only reconcile yourselves to staying on
board. We'll have a fresh, fair wind for Victoria, once we're round the
next head, and with moderate luck we ought to get there late to-night"
"You're sure?"
Vane felt sorry for her.
"I'm afraid I can't even promise that; it depends upon the weather,"
he replied. "But you mustn't stand there in the spray. You're getting
wet through."
She still clung to the coaming, but he fancied that her misgivings were
vanishing, and he spoke again.
"How are Mrs. Marvin and the little girl? I see you have lighted
the stove."
The girl sat down, shivering, in the partial shelter of the coaming, and
at last a gleam of amusement, which he felt was partly compassionate,
shone in her eyes.
"I'm afraid they're--not well. That was why I kept the stove burning; I
wanted to make them some tea. There is some in the locker--I thought you
wouldn't mind."
"Everything's at your service, as I told you. You must make the best
breakfast you can. The nicest things are at the back of the locker."
She stood up, looking around again. The light was growing, and the
crests of the combers gleamed a livid white. Their steep breasts were
losing their grayness and changing to dusky blue and slatey green, but
their blurred coloring was atoned for by their grandeur of form. They
came on, ridge on ridge, in regularly ordered, tumbling phalanxes.
"It's glorious!" she exclaimed, to his astonishment. "Aren't you carrying
a good deal of sail?"
"We'll ease the peak down when we bring the wind farther aft. In the
meanwhile, you'd better get your breakfast, and if you come out again,
put on one of the coats you'll find below."
She disappeared, and Vane felt relieved. Though the explanation had
proved less difficult than he had anticipated, he was glad that it was
over, and the way in which she had changed the subject implied that she
was satisfied with it. Half an hour later, she appeared again, carrying a
loaded tray, and he wondered at the ease of her movements, for the sloop
was plunging viciously.
"I've brought you some breakfast. You have been up all night."
Vane laughed.
"As I can take only one hand from the helm, you will have to cut up the
bread and canned stuff for me. Draw out that box and sit down beneath the
coaming, if you mean to stay."
She did as he told her. The well was about four feet long, and the bottom
of it about half that distance below the level of the deck. As a result
of this, she sat close at his feet, while he balanced himself on the
coaming, gripping the tiller. He noticed that she had brought out an
oilskin jacket with her.
"Hadn't you better put this on first? There's a good deal of
spray," she said.
Vane struggled into the jacket with some difficulty, and she smiled as
she handed him up a slice of bread and canned meat.
"I suppose you can manage only one piece at a time," she laughed.
"Thank you. That's about as much as you could expect one to be capable
of, even allowing for the bushman's appetite. I'm a little surprised to
see you looking so fresh."
"Oh, I used to go out with the mackerel boats at home--we lived at the
ferry. It was a mile across the lough, and with the wind westerly the sea
worked in."
"The lough? I told Carroll that you were from the Green Isle."
It struck him that this was, perhaps, imprudent, as it implied that they
had been discussing her; but, on the other hand, he fancied that the
candor of the statement was in his favor.
"Have you been long out here?" he added.
The girl's face grew wistful.
"Four years. I came out with Larry--he's my brother. He was a forester at
home, and he took small contracts for clearing land. Then he married--and
_I_ left him."
Vane made a sign of comprehension.
"I see. Where's Larry now?"
"He went to Oregon. There was no answer to my last letter; I've lost
sight of him."
"And you go about with Mrs. Marvin? Is her husband living?"
Sudden anger flared up in the girl's blue eyes, though he knew that it
was not directed against him.
"Yes! It's a pity he is! Men of his kind always seem to live!"
It occurred to Vane that Miss Blake, who evidently had a spice of temper,
could be a staunch partizan, and he also noticed that now that he had
inspired her with some degree of trust in himself her conversation was
marked by an ingenuous candor.
"Another piece, or some tea?" she asked.
"Tea first, please."
They both laughed when she handed him a second slice of bread.
"These sandwiches strike me as unusually nice," he informed her. "It's
exceptionally good tea, too. I don't remember ever getting anything to
equal them at a hotel."
The blue eyes gleamed with amusement.
"You have been in the cold all night--but I was once in a restaurant."
She watched the effect of this statement on him. "You know I really can't
sing--I was never taught, anyway--though there were some of the
settlements where we did rather well."
Vane hummed a few bars of a song.
"I don't suppose you realize what one ballad of yours has done. I'd
almost forgotten the Old Country, but the night I heard you I felt I must
go back and see it again. What's more, Carroll and I are going
shortly--it's your doing."
This was a matter of fact; but Kitty Blake had produced a deeper effect
on him, although he was not yet aware of it.
"It's a shame to keep you handing me things to eat," he added
disconnectedly. "Still, I'd like another piece."
She smiled delightfully as she passed the food to him.
"You can't help yourself and steer the boat. Besides--after the
restaurant--I don't mind waiting on you."
Vane made no comment, but he watched her with satisfaction while he ate.
There was no sign of the others; they were alone on the waste of tumbling
water in the early dawn. The girl was pretty, and there was a pleasing
daintiness about her. What was more, she was a guest of his, dependent
for her safety upon his skill with the tiller. So far as he could
remember, it was a year or two since he had breakfasted in a woman's
company; it was certain that no woman had waited on him so prettily. Then
as he remembered many a lonely camp in the dark pine forest or high on
the bare rangeside, it occurred to him for the first time that he had
missed a good deal of what life had to offer. He wondered what it would
have been like if when he had dragged himself back to his tent at night,
worn with heavy toil, as he had often done, there had been somebody with
blue eyes and a delightful smile to welcome him.
Kitty Blake belonged to the people--there was no doubt of that; but then
he had a strong faith in the people, native-born and adopted, of the
Pacific Slope. It was from them that he had received the greatest
kindnesses he could remember. They were cheerful optimists; indomitable
grapplers with forest and flood, who did almost incredible things with ax
and saw and giant-powder. They lived in lonely ranch houses, tents and
rudely flung-up shacks; driving the new roads along the rangeside or
risking life and limb in wild-cat adits. They were quick to laughter, and
reckless in hospitality.
Then with an effort he brushed the hazy thoughts away. Kitty Blake was
merely a guest of his; in another day he would land her in Victoria, and
that would be the end of it. He was assuring himself of this when Carroll
crawled up through the scuttle forward and came aft to join them. In
spite of his prudent reflections, Vane was by no means certain that he
was pleased to see him.