brought a packet of them to the port from which the strange ship had
sailed. Not one of those to whom they were directed could be found, and
he opened some of them, hoping that the letters themselves might tell
him some way of finding the sailors' friends. One of the sailors had
written to his father that after this voyage he meant to live on the
land with him and never to go to sea again. When the captain took this
letter to its address, he found a man of the right name, but the man
said: 'No, no, the letter is not for me; no son of mine is a sailor.
None of our family ever went to sea except one, for there is an old
story that my great-grandfather's brother once went away in a ship and
that the ship was never heard of again. For years his old father used
to dream about him and to declare that his ship still floated, and he
died believing that his boy was yet alive. No, that is my name on the
letter, but it is not for me' One sailor had sent a bank-note to his
sister, but where her house stood there was a church, and it had been
there for a hundred years. Another in his letter sent a pressed
tropical flower to his sweetheart. It was of the color that looked
pretty in her hair, but the poor fellow forgot that pressing it would
spoil it for that. The captain, despairing of delivering the letters,
went into the church, and there, on one of the stones of the floor, he
read the sweetheart's name. It said that she was ninety years old when
she died, and the words were almost worn away by the feet that had
crossed them. The captain dropped the flower upon the stone, and the
next morning it was swept away.
"So the sailors grew so old that it seemed they could not grow any
older. Then slowly they began to know what they had always refused to
believe, that they had been sailing for years and for hundreds of
years, and that all who ever knew them and loved them had been long,
long dead. Then their eyes grew more hollow, and their hair and their
long beards thinner, and their faces more wrinkled and withered, and it
was as if all the blood had dried out of their hearts. Perhaps it was
when the blood went out of their hearts that it stained the sails that
dreadful red. So much for the crew, but it was different with the
captain. Davy Jones was preparing something worse yet for him, or
thought he was. He was tired of seeing him simply wander hopelessly on
the ocean; he wanted to plague him more. He could do this, he thought,
by giving him now and then a little hope and then shattering it and
sinking it to the bottom of the sea, and dragging the man's heart to
the bottom of the sea, too, with a leaden load of despair.
"The captain had never grown to look old, and now, to carry out his
wicked plan, Davy Jones promised that once in every seven years he
might enter a port and go on shore, and if ever he should find a good
woman who would love him and give her life for him, he might rest and
never sail again; but when he failed to find such a woman he must go on
board his ship again and sail through the storm and the wind and the
waves for seven years more. Now, Davy Jones would never have promised
this if he had thought that there could be such a good and loving
woman, but being only a wicked spirit of the sea he did not know much
about good women.
"And for a long time his plan did succeed and the poor captain was more
wretched than ever. Once in seven years he would go on shore to seek
that true woman, and as often he would return to his ship and sail
away. Good women he found many, but none of them would love him. Then
his heart would fill with bitterness, for he saw them loving and giving
their lives to men who, he could not but know, were less brave and
patient and worthy of them than he; faithless men who forgot them,
cruel men who misused them, dull men who knew not their own blessings.
Why should they love such men as these and never him? Now, you and I,
who are so wise, know, of course, that such thoughts were selfish and
wicked. For what was he to any woman that she should give her life, or
even an hour of it, for him? Was his life or his peace better than
another's, that another's should be given for his? Why should any woman
love him when there were so many others for her to love?
"But he never thought of these things, so he would rage against all
women and he would steer his ship into the most awful waves and
whirlpools, hoping that she would be wrecked and sunk, but his ship was
never harmed; and he would steer toward pirates, hoping that they would
kill him for the chests of gold he had, but even the pirates, when they
saw his blood-red sails, would cross themselves and flee from him. Then
the seven years would pass and he would go on shore, and now, perhaps,
a woman would say that she loved him; yet when the time came she would
not give her life for him, and he would throw himself down upon his
face on the deck of his ship and steer nowhere, but still drive on
through the wind, the black waves, the black storm, and his own blacker
despair."
"Oh, my!" said the little girl, "that's awfully nice and ghosty, but I
thought this was the best fire we ever had, and now you don't see
anything in it at all."
"Oh, yes, I do," I replied, "I have seen the ship all the time, that
black ship with its sail of red flame. I have seen it tossing upon the
sea, sweeping up till the flame of its sail almost touched the clouds,
and then plunging down into the black water, but always, always rushing
on with the storm around it and with never any rest. And I have seen
the angry clouds tearing across the sky; you can see them yourself when
the smoke flies up the chimney, and then when the white flames are
flickering and flashing up and then dying down, you can think that you
see the lightning. Yes, and you cannot help hearing the wind, whistling
up there around the top of the chimney as it would whistle through the
rigging of a ship.
"The seven years have passed again, and now the ship has come to land,
that the captain may try the little chance once more that has failed
him so often. The red flame has dropped down, for the sails are furled,
and the wind has stopped for a minute, too, while the ship is at
anchor, and there is no need for the storm to pursue it. I see the
captain walking on the shore and talking with the master of another
ship that is anchored near by. The master tells him that he lives only
a few miles away, and asks him if he will come and spend the night with
him on shore. The captain replies that for a little rest at his house
he will give the master untold treasures from his ship. He makes a sign
to his men and they bring a big chest. He opens it and shows the master
that it is full to the top of gold and pearls and rubies and emeralds,
that flash and shine with all the colors that ever our driftwood fire
can show us.
[Illustration: "THROUGH THE BLACK STORM AND HIS OWN BLACKER DESPAIR."]
"Such a price for a night's or a year's lodging the master never
dreamed of. He cannot believe that such wealth is all for him, and he
asks what he can ever do for the captain to earn it. 'Have you not a
daughter?' the captain asks. You see he knows how to go about his work
without loss of time, even though he has never been very lucky in it.
"'Indeed I have,' the master answers, 'a good, true, lovely girl.'
"'Give her to me,' says the captain, 'for my wife; that is all I ask.'
"The master thinks that is a good deal to ask, but not too much, when
he looks at the chest again, and he says, joyfully enough: 'You shall
have her, indeed; I know such a man as you will make a good son-in-law;
come home with me quickly.'
"So each goes on board his own ship. The master sails first to lead the
way, and then the red flaming sail springs up again and the black ship
is off the shore. And the storm howls again too; the waves rise, the
clouds tear across the sky, and in a minute the ship has passed out of
sight.
"Listen to the wind around the chimney. It was roaring and whistling a
minute ago, but now it is not so loud. It grows fainter still, till its
sound is no more a roar or a whistle, but only the lightest humming of
a wind, and to me all the wind seems gone now and it is the hum of
whirling spinning wheels that I hear. And what I see is a room where a
dozen girls sit spinning and singing songs about their wheels and about
their lovers. But one among them does not spin. She lets her wheel
stand idle and only sits and looks at a picture that hangs on the wall.
It is of a dark man with black hair, a black beard, and deep, piercing
eyes; it is the captain whom we have seen so much already. The other
girls laugh at her, say that she is in love with the picture, and ask
her why she does not sing with them. She cannot sing their happy songs,
she says. Then they ask her to sing by herself, and she sings them a
song about the captain. It tells them his story, as we know it already,
and as she sings they all stop their wheels and begin to gather around
her, and in spite of all their merriment it moves them at last, as such
a sad story ought to move anybody.
"And when she has finished they all say, 'Ah, poor fellow, if only some
good woman would save him from his dreadful lot! But who would do it
and give up her own life?'
"'I would do it,' she replies, 'and I hope that the winds may blow him
here, so that I can tell him that I am ready to love him and to save
him.'
"The others, who are very charming girls, no doubt, but just now not
quite so noble and resolute as this one, are almost frightened to hear
her talk so, and when somebody says that her father is coming they all
slip away and leave her to meet him alone, while they chatter among
themselves about what a strange girl she is to want to give her life
for a man whose black hair and piercing eyes she has never even seen
except in a picture. Her father is the shipmaster whom we saw, as you
have guessed by this time, and he has brought the stranger captain home
with him. 'This is my daughter,' he says; 'is she not all and more than
all that I told you?'
"Then, having always found her, no doubt, a good and obedient child, he
tells her at once that the captain is to stay with them, and that he
expects her to be his wife. Some girls do not like to be ordered to
marry even the men they love; but she is so true and simple and kind
that she means to love the captain with all her heart, and even her
father's wish that she shall do so cannot change her. The father thinks
very wisely that they will get on better without him, so he leaves
them, and they do get on better at once. First they gaze for a long
time into each other's eyes, those deep, piercing, sad eyes of the
captain, and those true, soft, young eyes of the master's daughter.
Then he thinks that her face is not strange to him, as he remembers,
dimly at first and then more clearly, that he has seen this face in
dreams many times, when it was the face of an angel who was to save him
from his long weariness. And the dreams were not far wrong, for she
looks into his eyes with no thought for herself, but only: 'This is one
who has suffered for many years and must suffer for many years more,
unless I love him and save him.'
"He asks her if she can give herself wholly to him, and she answers
that, whatever his fate may be and whatever hers, she will take it all
and will be all his own forever. 'If you knew what it would cost you to
be true to me,' he says, 'you would shrink away from me and try to save
yourself.' 'Never,' she answers; 'let it cost what it will, I will be
true to you till death.'
"I see the shore and the sea again. This time it is near the master's
house, and the two ships are moored not far apart. The red sails are
furled, but on the ship there is the little pale blue flame of a
ghostly watch-fire. The captain comes out of the house and strides up
and down along the shore. All the gladness that he had when we saw him
last is gone--no, not all, but there is doubt and perplexity with it
now. The fact is that the captain has learned something now that he
never knew before. All these weary years he has been longing and hoping
for some good woman to love him, but he has never thought much about
loving any good woman. What right had he to expect anything when he
meant to give nothing? He has never thought of this before, but he
thinks of it now. And the reason is that now, when he has found a woman
who loves him and will gladly die for him, he finds too that he loves
her as well; and if he loves her, how can he let her die for him? She
is so good and unselfish that perhaps it would be a happiness to her to
do it, but it is the more to his credit that he does not think of that.
"That is why he paces up and down the shore and fights hard with
himself. Only think of it. For all these many years, while other men
were living happy lives and growing old, and their children and their
grand-children were growing old too, the angry winds and waves have
driven him about and have given him no rest; now this woman could save
him, but his love tells him that he ought to save her instead. Can he
save her and go back again to the rage of the storm and live in it
forever, live in it till doomsday? Oh, it is a hard fight, but at last
he answers yes; all that he has borne so long he can bear still longer.
The sea shall swallow his ship and cast it up again, the clouds shall
sink down upon it, the winds shall drive it over the whole ocean, but
she shall not die because of him. And it will not be with him quite as
it was before; now he will remember through all the hundreds of years
that are to come that she loved him once, he will think of her always,
and thinking of her he will wait for doomsday.
"I see him go on board his ship again; he is calling to his men; they
are hoisting the sails; see the red flame spring up again. The storm
comes again too. Look at the black smoke that is like flying clouds,
and hear the wind up there around the chimney. But now out of her
father's house comes the master's daughter. She sees the ship speeding
away, and in an instant she knows all the reason; she knows it because
she would have done the same if she had been the captain. Then she runs
to a high rock that stands out into the sea; she calls through the loud
wind that drowns her voice that she will come to him and will be true
to him till death, and then she leaps from the rock into the rough,
raging waves. But look; the waves that very instant are rough and
raging no more; the sea is all still; the clouds are gone, and the wind
is silent. The ship with the blood-red sails is sinking out of sight.
See how the red flame dies down and the black hull is breaking to
pieces. And right where it was I can see the captain and the master's
daughter rising out of the sea together, with a beautiful light around
them, as beautiful as all the colors of our fire can make it. They seem
to float along the water, away and away, and I think the good fairies
of the sea must be taking them to Fairyland or to some pleasant island,
where they will always live happily together."
The fire blazed up brighter than ever for a minute and then dropped
down again. "Come here to the window," I said; "see how the fog has all
cleared away and has left the moon shining down upon the sea. What a
broad track of light it makes from the shore here where it is nearest
us, away off to the edge of the sky! How the little flecks and sparkles
of light run and dance and chase one another, and how happy and glad
they seem, riding the little ripples of waves in the light of the moon!
Are they the sea fairies, dancing and playing together and calming the
water, to bring the sailors safe back to their homes, do you think?"
THE LOVE POTION
There was a beautiful moon and everybody said it was a pity to have it
wasted. So indeed it was, and everybody asked everybody else what we
should do to prevent its being wasted. A few, who had made the best
possible use of more moons than the rest of us, were in favor of simply
sitting on the rocks and looking at the moon and the sea under it. That
was really not a bad plan at all. When you sit with somebody beside you
and the rest of the party not too near, on a high rock that runs far
out into the water, and look at the big white moon and the soft colors
of the sky around it, and then at the stretch of water, unobstructed to
the horizon, with the moon's reflection broken by the waves into a
million dancing sparkles, when you turn and look toward the beach,
seeing the black surges rolling swiftly up to the shore and then
breaking into gleaming foam, but still plunging on, like banks of
tumbling snow--then indeed you can think of wonderful things and say
wonderful things if you like. But perhaps you may prefer to say nothing
at all, and that is a very good and pleasant way too, for at such a
time it seems really not quite right to talk unless you can talk in
poetry, and that is not easy to do, no matter how much you may feel
like doing it.
These people who had made the best of so many moons knew all this, but
some of the others thought that this moon was worthy of a greater
effort and a more deep-laid plan. All the things that are usually done
on moonlight nights were rejected one by one. Then one of those strange
persons who are always noticing things said, not at all as if he
thought it had anything to do with the subject, that there was an
uncommon quantity of wood scattered along the shore. Then it was
decided, just because nothing better could be thought of, that there
should be a bonfire down on the shore, and nothing else, except the
moon. So in the forenoon the daily bathing party started for the shore
a little earlier than usual, and instead of spending our extra time in
lying on our backs with the sun in our eyes, in the hope of getting
sunburned, we spent it in gathering wood for the fire.
Picking up driftwood for a bonfire is not very easy work, but there
were so many of us that we soon had two good piles, one for the fire at
the start and one to feed it as it burned. Among the wood there were
two whole barrels, and one of them had had tar in it, so we were sure
of a splendid fire. Then we all went home, and after it was dark we all
came back again. The fire was lighted; the bright-colored flames of the
driftwood played together and grew and streamed up above our heads,
crackled and roared and sent up torrents of black smoke mixed with
golden sparks. For a little while nobody was tired of feeding it and
watching it, but by and by we let a few attend to keeping it up, while
the rest of us made a very little fire among the stones and let it
quickly die down to a bed of red embers for toasting marshmallow drops.
The man up at the village who keeps the shop with everything in it, and
the post-office, must have a notion that city people live chiefly on
marshmallow drops, that is, if he ever lets himself be troubled by any
notions except those he keeps to sell.
After that the most of the people strolled away along the shore. Some
said they wanted to see how the fire looked from a distance, and
others, I think, were trying to get nearer to the moon. At last the
little girl and I were left alone. We made cushions of folded coats and
shawls, and sat leaning against a big rock, looking at the fire.
"We scarcely need the fire to-night," I said; "if we try a little we
can see pictures through it and all around it, as well as in it. See
that big, black rock, that stands almost in the edge of the water, like
an old castle, built upon the shore. Then look away across the water to
the island over yonder. I see a ship coming from the island toward our
shore; perhaps you do not see it yet. As it gets nearer I can see a
knight standing in the bow. He is a big, bold, fine-looking fellow, and
he is all in black armor. The ship reaches the shore and the knight and
his men go toward the castle, where the King lives, while the King and
all his court come out to meet him. Some people may tell you, or you
may some time find out for yourself, that this King is a very wicked
man, mean, cruel, and treacherous. Perhaps he is, but all I can tell
you is that now he does not seem so to me; on the contrary he seems as
kind and generous as you could wish.
"The knight in the black armor marches proudly up to him and tells him
that he has been sent by his brother, the King of the island over there
from which he came, to get the tribute which the king here has owed to
him for years, and it must be paid, or else the king or some one of his
knights must fight with him to see whether it shall be paid or not. The
black knight is such a big man and looks like such a good fighter that
the men about the King seem to think it would be a pretty good thing to
pay the tribute and let him go home with it. Not one of them says a
word about wanting to fight with him, for a little while; but by and
by, when all the rest have had a fair chance, a young man comes forward
and asks the King if he may try. He is as big a man as the black knight
himself, and as handsome and brave looking as any you ever dreamed of
seeing, but he is so young that he cannot have fought many battles, and
one would think that he would be afraid to set himself against the big
black knight, unless one looked at his face, as I do, and saw that he
could not possibly be afraid of anything."
"Is he braver than the one that killed the dragon?" the child asked.
"Why, no, I suppose not; nobody could be braver than he, because, you
know, he could not learn what fear meant, and did not even know whether
it was something to feel or something to eat or something to wear, but
this young knight is just as brave as there is any need for anybody to
be, and when he asks the King to let him try to beat the black knight,
all the other knights say at once, 'By all means, let him try,' and
they are really quite eager about it, and almost all of them change
their minds about giving the tribute. So the King says that he may
fight the battle if he will, and he puts on his armor, which is all of
green, and mounts his horse.
"The black knight is on his horse too, and they ride far apart and then
face each other and hold their long spears before them, ready for the
battle. All the people stand far off at the sides, the heralds blow
their trumpets, and the two knights run together with all the speed of
their horses. The points of their spears are down and they are both
well aimed, but each catches the other's spear fairly in the middle of
his shield, and they rush together so hard that there is a great crash,
and both the knights and both the horses fall to the ground with a
terrible clatter of arms. But the knights are both on their feet again
in a moment, and are falling upon each other with their swords, cutting
and slashing and warding and advancing and retreating, till it is hard
to tell which is the black knight and which the green, or whether they
are not both black and both green. First one seems to be getting a
little the better of the fight and then the other. The black knight is
better trained, but the green knight is so much younger and fresher
that he keeps his strength better, and by and by the black knight sees
that he is surely gaining a little. Then he rushes upon the green
knight and fights with all his strength and all his skill, and at last
he gives him a wound on the shoulder. Then the green knight sees that
if he is ever to do anything in this fight he must do it now, and he
uses all his strength and all his skill too, and he brings down such a
blow with his sword on the head of the black knight that it cuts
through the helmet, and the edge of the sword is broken, and with
another clash and clatter of arms the black knight falls to the ground.
"The black knight's men run to him and carry him to his ship, and sail
away as quickly as they can toward their island. I can see them all the
way, though it is a little dark out there, in spite of the moon, and I
can see everything they do after they get there; I have to, you know,
or it would spoil the story. They carry him to the King's castle, and
the Queen and her daughter, who know all about medicines, and even some
things that are stronger than medicines, dress his wound and nurse him
and watch him day and night. But it is all of no use; nothing can cure
the black knight's wound, and so he dies; but in dressing the wound the
princess has found in it a little piece of steel that was broken from
the edge of the green knight's sword.
"Now you ought to know, before we go any farther, that this princess is
probably altogether the most beautiful princess that you ever heard a
story about."
"Oh, that's the way they always are," said the little girl; "is she
beautifuller than the one that had the fire all round her?"
"Perhaps not, but she was not a princess, you know; she was a goddess
till her father kissed her, and then she was nothing at all till her
lover came and kissed her, and after that she was a woman, which was
altogether the best thing she could possibly be. But when we first saw
her she was a goddess, and we have a right to expect more of her than
of a princess. So I say again that this is quite the most beautiful
princess that you have ever heard a story about, and you must believe
it, if you please, or I shall not tell you any more about her."
"Oh, I believe anything you say," said the child, "but where is the
green knight?"
"He is still here on the shore, in the King's castle, and his wound is
a very bad one too, and after all the doctors have tried to cure it and
have failed, one of them says that it can never be cured at all except
in the country of the black knight who gave it to him. Now it is not
very safe for the knight to go over to that island, where so many
people would probably be glad to kill him for killing the black knight,
so he disguises himself as much as he can before he goes. And he goes
straight to the King's castle, just as the black knight did, and the
Queen and the princess take care of him just as they took care of the
black knight, only this time they have better luck, and in a little
while he gets well.