SPINNING YARNS
"No, I ain't forgot," said the older man, slowly; "nor like to forget."
He laid his brush down carefully after a critical glance at "Old Sir's"
buttons.
"I guess mebbe I'll let them buttons dry a spell before I put on the
last co't," he said. "No, I ain't forgot, Seth; but it takes a kind of a
h'ist to get back into things that seems so long ago you kinder think
they must have happened to somebodys else beside yourself.
"Wal, little gal, these two figgers is figgerheads, you see: kem off two
ships I sailed in long before your two bright eyes opened on to this
world of sin and--"
"Deestruction!" said Seth Weaver. "Chirk up a mite, Salem! This ain't a
funeral, is it?"
"I dono but 'tis, kind of," said Salem Rock, soberly. "It's amazin' how
many folks is dead and buried nowadays. Howsoever, them was two good
ships, the _Merchant Cap'n_ and the _White Lady_. Old Sir here, he come
off the _Cap'n_; they made her over into a barge, and I begged for him,
and they let me have him. The builder meant him for a kind of compliment
to Cap'n Tree; sing'lar compliment, _I_ used to think. Cap'n Tree was a
pictur' of a man, if ever I sot eyes on one, and Old Sir always
resembled a wooden image, and no special reason why he shouldn't.
"Wal, I took my fust voyage in the _Merchant Cap'n_; I was cabin-boy,
and Mis' Tree was along; it was the last voyage but one they took
together, him and her, and I was along on both. Wal, sir, I tell you
'twas a sight to see them two sail a ship together. He'd taught her
navigation, and she took to it like them bees to that rocket yonder. She
was as good a navigator as ever I see. We was tradin' round Borneo ways,
and had laid in a cargo of spices and truck, and started on the homeward
voyage. Come up a hurricane, and blowed us clear'n out of our course;
went on blowin', and kep' us hitherin' and thitherin' for three days,
till we didn't know where we was, nor hardly whether we was in this
world at all, or that part of the next that we wasn't anyways particklar
_about_ bein' in. The third night of it was the wust, and, gorry! I tell
ye 'twas awful! and then all of a suddin, like takin' off your hat, it
fell dead calm. When mornin' broke, 'twas wuss yet, for there was land
dead ahead, and the _Merchant Cap'n_ driftin' on to it as fast as tide
could take her. Wal, Mis' Tree had jest come up-stairs, and I tumbled up
behind her, cur'us as a monkey, same as all boys be. She looks at the
land, and then up at Cap'n, that quick way she had, like a bird. 'What
is it?' she says; and Cap'n says, 'Solomon Islands!'
"I hadn't no notion what that meant; I thought from the sound it might
be some extry fine place, like the Bible, ye know, cedars of Lebanon,
and Queens of Sheby, and like that; but Cap'n's voice had a queer sound
to it, and I looked at him, and he was the color of her there!" he
nodded toward the white image.
"Little Mis' Tree, she never turned a hair, though she knew what I
didn't, that them islands was cannibal, the wust sort, and no white man
had ever come off 'em inside his own skin. She never turned a hair,
only slid her mite of a hand into his, and said, quiet-like: 'We're both
here, Ethan!' Cap'n give a kind of groan. 'I'd give my soul, Marshy,' he
says, 'if you was safe to home!' She stood up straight--Jerusalem! I can
see her now; 'twas like a flame risin', near as I can put it--and looks
him in the face. 'I be to home!' she says; that was every word she said.
"Wal, word got round what land it was,--some of the crew had been that
way before,--and I tell ye we was a pooty sick-lookin' crew. There
warn't a breath o' wind, nor the shadow of a breath; and we kep' on
a-driftin', till pooty soon we could see the shore plain, and black
savages runnin' up and down, hollerin', and wavin' their arms. They see
us, and were all ready for us; and pooty soon we could make out that
they was pilin' up logs o' wood, makin' fires--Seth, what in time made
you start me in on this yarn? 'Tain't no kind o' thing for this gal to
hear."
Annie Lizzie's eyes were like brown stars, her cheeks like Old Sir's
carmine stock. "Oh, Mr. Rock!" she cried, "if Mis' Tree could bear it, I
guess I can. Please go on! I _have_ to hear the rest. And besides," she
added, naively, "of course I know you wasn't all--"
She paused.
"No, we wasn't eat," said Salem Rock; "but I tell ye, little gal, we was
as near it as a person is anyways desirous to come. We was that near, we
see them critters grinnin' their white teeth at us, and heard their
devils' screechin' and chatterin'. When it got to that, Cap'n called the
crew aft, and told 'em, quiet and easy, how things was.
"'If the wind comes up within ten minutes,' he says, 'we are safe; if
not, then we've had our time in this world,' he says, 'and behoves us
be ready for another. I see no reason, and Mis' Tree sees no reason, why
we should go in that beastly fashion yonder,' he says, pointin' to the
yellin' savages; 'and therefore I have give my orders, and before we
touch that shore the doctor will serve an extry grog, that will take you
through sleep to the presence of your Maker, and may He have mercy on
your souls and mine!'
"'Amen!' says Mis' Tree, clear and crisp; and I see she had a little
bottle in her hand, holdin' it tight, and the other hand in Cap'n's.
Jerusalem! she had grit!
"Wal, there was no words said. 'Twas a good crew, 'most all of 'em
Quahaug men; your father was one of 'em, Seth."
Seth nodded gravely.
"But we got together forrard, and watched the shore, and Cap'n and Mis'
Tree stood aft and kep' their eye on the wind.
"That shore come nearer; it come nearer than was anyways comfortable. I
warn't nothin' but a boy, and I can remember wonderin' whether the folks
to home would ever know, and whether Cap'n would write the story and put
it in a bottle, same as in books I'd read; and what'd become of the
ship, and the little monkey I was tamin' for my sister. And then--then
somebody sung out somethin', and I turned round; and there stood Cap'n
Tree, with the tears runnin' over his face, and his arm up, p'intin' at
the pennon on the masthead.
"'Bout ship!' he says; and that same moment come a puff o' wind from the
shore; and then pooty soon another; and then the land-breeze set in good
and steady.
"The helmsman put her about, and she come round with a dip and a sweep
like a dancin' lady, and went curtseyin' off over the waves--you never
see a sight like that, little gal, nor never will see.
"'Let us give thanks to Almighty God!' says Cap'n Tree; and we give 'em,
kneelin' on the deck."
Salem Rock drew a long breath, and took up his brush again.
"There!" he said. "You've had your story, Annie Lizzie. I dono as it's a
very pooty one, but truth ain't allers pooty, I've noticed."
"Oh, it's a wonderful story, Mr. Rock!" cried little Annie Lizzie. "I
thank you a thousand times for tellin' me. But ain't you goin' to tell
the other one, too, about the lady? Please, Mr. Rock!"
"I guess not!" said Salem. "I guess I'm jaw-weary for this time."
"No, you ain't," said Seth Weaver. "Take more'n that to jaw-weary you,
Sale, with the practice you have," and he cast a cautious glance at the
house. "Let the little gal hev the other story if she wants it. Fust
thing we know you and me'll be to Kingdom Come, and who's to tell the
stories then? The young folks ought to know 'em, too; this one special.
Bile in, old hoss!"
Salem Rock drew another long breath. "You tell her about the spar
yonder," he said, "while I third-co't these buttons; I've got to give my
mind to 'em. I ain't the only man ever was to sea, Annie Lizzie: you
sick him on to spin you that yarn, and then we'll see."
"Sho!" said Seth. "Ain't no story _to_ that. All about it, Sale and me
was both shipwrecked one time,--'twas after Cap'n Tree was dead,--and us
two and that spar was all that come ashore. Now go 'long, and let her
hear about the _White Lady_, and let the buttons go to Tinkham and see
the sights."
Salem Rock cast a glance of affectionate comprehension at his companion.
It was little less than heroic for Seth Weaver, the best story-teller in
Quahaug, thus to break and knot up his favorite yarn, the proper
spinning of which took a good half-hour; but it was very rarely that
Salem Rock could be brought to tell these two sea tales, and Seth was a
good friend and a good listener.
So, when he repeated "Go 'long!" Salem nodded, and laid down his brush
again.
"It's easy to see you're doin' this job by the day," he said. "I dono as
Mis' Weight'll ever get them stairs done at this rate. Wal, if I've
gotter, I've gotter, I s'pose. Up anchor and square away, hey? Wal, her
there," he nodded toward the White Lady, "was figgerhead and likeness,
fur as I know, to the _White Lady of Avenel_, full-rigged ship, seven
hundred and fifty tons, Ethan Tree master and owner. She was a clipper,
the _White Lady_ was, if ever such sailed the seas. Old Marm here is a
fine-appearin' woman, fur as she goes,"--he indicated by a wave of his
hand the incompleteness which marred the perfect symmetry of the
figure,--"but she ain't to be named within a week of the vessel herself.
Mis' Tree named her out of a book she'd ben readin',--she was a great
reader,--and had her all painted white, not a dark spot on her; I tell
ye, she was a sightly vessel. So we sailed for Singapore, and I was
second mate then, and prouder than ary peacock ever strutted, because I
was young for the berth, ye see, and Cap'n promoted me for efficiency,
so he said. Had a good voyage, and discharged our cargo, and loaded up
again with coffee and raw silk, and off for home. Wal, sir, all went as
it should the fust few weeks, though I was none too well pleased with
the make-up of the crew. That is to say, most of 'em was all right, or
would have ben if they'd ben let alone; but two of 'em was strangers,
picked up at Singapore, where two of our men died of jungle fever; and
the fust mate broke his leg, ridin' a fool four-legged hoss, and had to
be left in hospital; so we was both short-handed and left-handed, as you
might say.
"Still we got on, and mebbe we might have come through all right, but
then Cap'n took sick. I think he got some kind o' malaria p'ison ashore,
and Mis' Tree thought so, too: anyway, he was terrible sick, and she
nussed him, and run the ship, her and me together. She was allers good
to me, ever sence she bought my mud pie when I was no more'n a baby; and
we had good weather, and so things went from day to day after a
fashion.
"But them two strangers, they was ugly, grumble-groan kind of fellers,
lookin' for trouble. You mind me, Annie Lizzie; a man that's lookin' for
trouble will find it, if he has to break the eggs from under a settin'
hen to get at it. The minute these two fellers heard Cap'n was sick,
they see their chance, and they commenced workin' on the men, talkin' of
'em round, and makin' 'em think they was abused. You mind this, too,
little gal; you tell a man often enough that he's got a crick in his
back, and he'll come to think it's broke, and go hollerin' to raise the
roof for a plaster to mend it. Same way with our men: some of 'em, that
is. There was others that was all right, and stayed all right, but yet,
you know how 'tis: when there's two-three bad ones in a crew, it makes
trouble all through, someways."
Seth nodded sympathetically. "Same as a drop o' paint'll rile a hull
pail o' water; or take it t'other way round, a spoonful o' water'll
spile a hull can o' paint."
"That's so!" said Salem Rock, gravely. "Ile and water, good and evil;
the Lord can mix 'em so they'll make a good wearin' color, but the hand
of man cannot so do. Wal, come one day, Cap'n was so bad, Mis' Tree
didn't leave his side all the mornin'; and I was busy with the log, and
one thing and another, and, all about it, these fellers thought they see
their chance to hatch up a mutiny. There was a big feller in the crew,
Bob Moon his name was; a good seaman, but he warn't more'n half there in
his upper story. He'd had a block drop on his head, and it kind o' mixed
his idees so they never got straight. He was sort o' gormin' and gappin'
most of the time, and he'd go anyways any person had a mind to head him,
and go hard, for he had the stren'th of a bull and the mule-headedness
of a--of a mule. Wal, these fellers--Faulkner and Higgins their names
was--they got holt of Bob and two-three others, and give 'em to
understand now was their time. Cap'n sick, and her tendin' of him, and
me nothin' but second mate; and they allowed they'd ruther stop at the
Azores and drop us three there, and go off with the vessel, tradin' on
their own account. See? quite a pooty plot they hatched up; might ha'
ben a story-book. But they got holt of the wrong stick when they tackled
Ben Gray, the ship's carpenter. Ben was a straight stick of white pine
timber as ever I see. He give 'em a smooth answer; said he'd think it
over, and let 'em know, and he shouldn't be surprised if there was
considerable in what they said, and like that; and then he come hotfoot
and told me every word, and what should we do? I took him straight down
to the cabin, and called Mis' Tree to the door and told her. She looked
us right through, as if she was countin' the j'ints in our back-bones.
'Are most of the men straight?' she says. So we told her how 'twas, most
of 'em was all right at bottom, but yet they'd got sorter warpled
through these fellers workin' on 'em, and we was feared there might be
trouble. She studied a bit, still sarchin' us with them black eyes of
her'n--gorry! seemed as though I could feel my soul rustlin' round
uneasy inside me. Then she give us our orders, quick and quiet, and not
too many of 'em; and we went off, and l'itered up on deck separate, and
I sot down behind one of the bo'ts, nigh hand to the companion, and
coiled rope. It was Bob Moon's watch on deck, and he was hunchin' round,
mutterin' and growlin', and I could see he was workin' himself up to
somethin'. 'Twarn't a gre't while before up comes Ben Gray, and with
him Faulkner, one of the two grumble-groans, talkin' mighty earnest.
'Here!' says Ben. 'Here's Bob Moon this minute. He's safe, ain't he?'
"'Bet yer life,' says Faulkner. 'He's all pie for us!' he says; 'ain't
yer, Bob?' and Bob hunches himself and rubs his big hands, and allows
he'll fix things to beat creation once he gits started.
"'You tell him, then,' says Ben, 'what you've jest told me, and mebbe we
can run it off to-night,' he says.
"Moon was sittin' on the hatchway, with his back to the stairs, and
Faulkner squats down beside him and commences dealin' out to him what he
proposed; and Gray stood back a leetle mite, and I peeked round the eend
of the bo't.
"Then--we never heerd a sound; but, all in a minute, there was Mis' Tree
standin' behind them two, close up. They was both men that had hair,
Bob with a curl on him like a mattress, and t'other a kind o' thick
tousle like a yeller dog's. That little woman never spoke, but she took
those two by the hair--twisted her little hands in and got a good
holt--and brought their two heads together with a crack--Jerusalem!
'twas like a pistol-shot! Every man on board jumped, and come runnin' to
see what was up; but them two never stirred, jest sot there: their wits
was clean jarred out of 'em. Then Mis' Tree spoke up, clear and crisp;
she never hollered, she no need, her voice carried like a trumpet.
"'Mr. Rock,' she says, 'put this man in irons, and George Higgins the
same. Bob Moon, you come with me; I want you to nurse Cap'n for me. The
rest go to your quarters.'
"She took holt of Bob's collar--he was nearer seven foot than six, and
had the brea'th of an ox--and give a little h'ist, and he come up like
he was a rag dolly. 'Come along, Bob,' she says, 'Cap'n wants you,' and
she marched him off like Mary had a little lamb, and he nussed Cap'n
like his own mother from that hour. Further and moreover, he got his
wits back likewise from that hour. Yes, sir, he did so. 'Peared as if
one blow had shook his brains one way, and the next shook 'em back the
other; I expect there wasn't enough of 'em to fill his head solid, so
they wouldn't travel. And that man nussed Cap'n, and follered Mis' Tree
like a span'el dog the rest of the voyage."
"But what become of those two mean men, Mr. Rock?" asked Annie Lizzie,
who had followed the story with breathless interest. "Did they make any
more trouble?"
"Not a mite!" said Salem Rock. "They was put in irons, and so remained
till we come to the Azores, and there we left 'em, though not so
agreeable to their wishes as the way they had planned. It seemed they
belonged there, and was wanted for various causes; so we left 'em in the
calaboose and come away. But for Cap'n's bein' so poorly, I'd never ask
for a better voyage. The men was like pie, every man Jack of 'em, and if
Mis' Tree wanted to wipe her shoes, there warn't ary one but would have
ben proud to be her door-mat. Yes, sir; that was a great voyage--till it
come to the eend."
He was silent; and Annie Lizzie, thinking the tale was over, made a
motion to rise, but Seth checked her with a silent gesture.
"Go on, Sale," he said, quietly. "Finish up, now you're about it."
"There ain't but a little more," said the old sailor, speaking half to
himself. "It behoved to be a good voyage, for it was the last. Cap'n
fit hard, and she fit for him, but 'twas not so to be. The p'ison, or
whatever 'twas, had got too strong a holt on him; he couldn't shake it.
But yet for awhile, when we was nearin' home, he seemed to gain up a
mite, and would come up on deck, and set and see her take the
observation, and pass the time of day with the boys. Looked like his
shadow, he did, and white as his shirt under the tan; but his courage
was good, and he was allers sayin' he'd get well so soon as he was to
home.
"'Home, Marshy!' he'd say. 'We'll be there soon, little woman!'
"And she'd nod and smile, and say they would so, sure enough; and Bob
Moon'd go off and cry behind a bo't. I punched his head good every time
I co't him at it, fear they'd notice, but I don't think they did, they
was wropped up in each other.
"Wal, at last and finally, sure enough we sighted Quahaug P'int. It was
a fine day, I ric'llect, south by west, clear and warm; pretty a day as
ever I see. Cap'n was on deck, and he was mighty weak that day. His
voice was no more'n a whisper, but yet cheerful, you understand, and he
had a word for every one that come by, and we all made out _to_ come by,
one errant or another. She was sittin' beside him, fannin' him, and
talkin' away easy and pleasant, tellin' how that they'd be in soon now,
and Lucy--that was Mis' Blyth, their daughter, Arthur's mother--would be
comin' from the West to visit 'em, and all; and Cap'n listened, and
seemed real pleased, and put in a word now and again.
"I was standin' close by, makin' believe tinker somethin',--I was allers
nigh hand them days, case o' need,--when the lookout says, 'Quahaug
P'int in sight, Cap'n! 'and we looked, and there it was, sure enough,
and the sun goin' down behind it, and the water all the likeness of gold
in between. Cap'n raised his head, and begun to talk sudden and quick.
'Marshy,' he says, 'I couldn't find a pineapple this mornin',' he says;
'but here's custard-apples and turtles' eggs; we'll manage to make out a
breakfast,' he says. I looked up at him, and his eyes were bright as
lamps, and his cheeks like fire. Mis' Tree put her hand on his arm,
quiet like. 'That's just as good, Ethan,' she says. 'Them's beautiful,'
she says; 'I was gettin' kinder tired of pineapples.' Then he goes on,
sort o' like talkin' to himself. 'True blue, little Marshy!' he says.
'True blue, little wife! we'll get home yet; safe home, safe home!'
"Then all of a suddent he riz up to his feet, stood up every inch of
him,--he was a tall man,--and stands lookin' out forrard. 'Sail ho!' he
says, 'sail ho! we'll see home again, home!' and he dropped back in her
arms, and his sperit passed."