SEA TALES
Mr. Sewell, as the reader may perhaps have inferred, was of a nature
profoundly secretive. It was in most things quite as pleasant for him to
keep matters to himself, as it was to Miss Emily to tell them to
somebody else. She resembled more than anything one of those trotting,
chattering little brooks that enliven the "back lot" of many a New
England home, while he was like one of those wells you shall sometimes
see by a deserted homestead, so long unused that ferns and lichens
feather every stone down to the dark, cool water.
Dear to him was the stillness and coolness of inner thoughts with which
no stranger intermeddles; dear to him every pendent fern-leaf of memory,
every dripping moss of old recollection; and though the waters of his
soul came up healthy and refreshing enough when one really must have
them, yet one had to go armed with bucket and line and draw them
up,--they never flowed. One of his favorite maxims was, that the only
way to keep a secret was never to let any one suspect that you have one.
And as he had one now, he had, as you have seen, done his best to baffle
and put to sleep the feminine curiosity of his sister.
He rather wanted to tell her, too, for he was a good-natured brother,
and would have liked to have given her the amount of pleasure the
confidence would have produced; but then he reflected with dismay on the
number of women in his parish with whom Miss Emily was on tea-drinking
terms,--he thought of the wondrous solvent powers of that beverage in
whose amber depths so many resolutions yea, and solemn vows, of utter
silence have been dissolved like Cleopatra's pearls. He knew that an
infusion of his secret would steam up from every cup of tea Emily should
drink for six months to come, till gradually every particle would be
dissolved and float in the air of common fame. No; it would not do.
You would have thought, however, that something was the matter with Mr.
Sewell, had you seen him after he retired for the night, after he had so
very indifferently dismissed the subject of Miss Emily's inquiries. For
instead of retiring quietly to bed, as had been his habit for years at
that hour, he locked his door, and then unlocked a desk of private
papers, and emptied certain pigeon-holes of their contents, and for an
hour or two sat unfolding and looking over old letters and papers; and
when all this was done, he pushed them from him, and sat for a long time
buried in thoughts which went down very, very deep into that dark and
mossy well of which we have spoken.
Then he took a pen and wrote a letter, and addressed it to a direction
for which he had searched through many piles of paper, and having done
so, seemed to ponder, uncertainly, whether to send it or not. The
Harpswell post-office was kept in Mr. Silas Perrit's store, and the
letters were every one of them carefully and curiously investigated by
all the gossips of the village, and as this was addressed to St.
Augustine in Florida, he foresaw that before Sunday the news would be in
every mouth in the parish that the minister had written to so and so in
Florida, "and what do you s'pose it's about?"
"No, no," he said to himself, "that will never do; but at all events
there is no hurry," and he put back the papers in order, put the letter
with them, and locking his desk, looked at his watch and found it to be
two o'clock, and so he went to bed to think the matter over.
Now, there may be some reader so simple as to feel a portion of Miss
Emily's curiosity. But, my friend, restrain it, for Mr. Sewell will
certainly, as we foresee, become less rather than more communicative on
this subject, as he thinks upon it. Nevertheless, whatever it be that he
knows or suspects, it is something which leads him to contemplate with
more than usual interest this little mortal waif that has so strangely
come ashore in his parish. He mentally resolves to study the child as
minutely as possible, without betraying that he has any particular
reason for being interested in him.
Therefore, in the latter part of this mild November afternoon, which he
has devoted to pastoral visiting, about two months after the funeral, he
steps into his little sail-boat, and stretches away for the shores of
Orr's Island. He knows the sun will be down before he reaches there; but
he sees, in the opposite horizon, the spectral, shadowy moon, only
waiting for daylight to be gone to come out, calm and radiant, like a
saintly friend neglected in the flush of prosperity, who waits patiently
to enliven our hours of darkness.
As his boat-keel grazed the sands on the other side, a shout of laughter
came upon his oar from behind a cedar-covered rock, and soon emerged
Captain Kittridge, as long and lean and brown as the Ancient Mariner,
carrying little Mara on one shoulder, while Sally and little Moses
Pennel trotted on before.
It was difficult to say who in this whole group was in the highest
spirits. The fact was that Mrs. Kittridge had gone to a tea-drinking
over at Maquoit, and left the Captain as housekeeper and general
overseer; and little Mara and Moses and Sally had been gloriously
keeping holiday with him down by the boat-cove, where, to say the truth,
few shavings were made, except those necessary to adorn the children's
heads with flowing suits of curls of a most extraordinary effect. The
aprons of all of them were full of these most unsubstantial specimens of
woody treasure, which hung out in long festoons, looking of a yellow
transparency in the evening light. But the delight of the children in
their acquisitions was only equaled by that of grown-up people in
possessions equally fanciful in value.
The mirth of the little party, however, came to a sudden pause as they
met the minister. Mara clung tight to the Captain's neck, and looked out
slyly under her curls. But the little Moses made a step forward, and
fixed his bold, dark, inquisitive eyes upon him. The fact was, that the
minister had been impressed upon the boy, in his few visits to the
"meeting," as such a grand and mysterious reason for good behavior, that
he seemed resolved to embrace the first opportunity to study him close
at hand.
"Well, my little man," said Mr. Sewell, with an affability which he
could readily assume with children, "you seem to like to look at me."
"I do like to look at you," said the boy gravely, continuing to fix his
great black eyes upon him.
"I see you do, my little fellow."
"Are you the Lord?" said the child, solemnly.
"Am I what?"
"The Lord," said the boy.
"No, indeed, my lad," said Mr. Sewell, smiling. "Why, what put that into
your little head?"
"I thought you were," said the boy, still continuing to study the pastor
with attention. "Miss Roxy said so."
"It's curious what notions chil'en will get in their heads," said
Captain Kittridge. "They put this and that together and think it over,
and come out with such queer things."
"But," said the minister, "I have brought something for you all;" saying
which he drew from his pocket three little bright-cheeked apples, and
gave one to each child; and then taking the hand of the little Moses in
his own, he walked with him toward the house-door.
Mrs. Pennel was sitting in her clean kitchen, busily spinning at the
little wheel, and rose flushed with pleasure at the honor that was done
her.
"Pray, walk in, Mr. Sewell," she said, rising, and leading the way
toward the penetralia of the best room.
"Now, Mrs. Pennel, I am come here for a good sit-down by your
kitchen-fire, this evening," said Mr. Sewell. "Emily has gone out to sit
with old Mrs. Broad, who is laid up with the rheumatism, and so I am
turned loose to pick up my living on the parish, and you must give me a
seat for a while in your kitchen corner. Best rooms are always cold."
"The minister's right," said Captain Kittridge. "When rooms ain't much
set in, folks never feel so kind o' natural in 'em. So you jist let me
put on a good back-log and forestick, and build up a fire to tell
stories by this evening. My wife's gone out to tea, too," he said, with
an elastic skip.
And in a few moments the Captain had produced in the great cavernous
chimney a foundation for a fire that promised breadth, solidity, and
continuance. A great back-log, embroidered here and there with tufts of
green or grayish moss, was first flung into the capacious arms of the
fireplace, and a smaller log placed above it. "Now, all you young uns go
out and bring in chips," said the Captain. "There's capital ones out to
the wood-pile."
Mr. Sewell was pleased to see the flash that came from the eyes of
little Moses at this order, how energetically he ran before the others,
and came with glowing cheeks and distended arms, throwing down great
white chips with their green mossy bark, scattering tufts on the floor.
"Good," said he softly to himself, as he leaned on the top of his
gold-headed cane; "there's energy, ambition, muscle;" and he nodded his
head once or twice to some internal decision.
"There!" said the Captain, rising out of a perfect whirlwind of chips
and pine kindlings with which in his zeal he had bestrown the wide,
black stone hearth, and pointing to the tongues of flame that were
leaping and blazing up through the crevices of the dry pine wood which
he had intermingled plentifully with the more substantial fuel,--"there,
Mis' Pennel, ain't I a master-hand at a fire? But I'm really sorry I've
dirtied your floor," he said, as he brushed down his pantaloons, which
were covered with bits of grizzly moss, and looked on the surrounding
desolations; "give me a broom, I can sweep up now as well as any woman."
"Oh, never mind," said Mrs. Pennel, laughing, "I'll sweep up."
"Well, now, Mis' Pennel, you're one of the women that don't get put out
easy; ain't ye?" said the Captain, still contemplating his fire with a
proud and watchful eye.
"Law me!" he exclaimed, glancing through the window, "there's the Cap'n
a-comin'. I'm jist goin' to give a look at what he's brought in. Come,
chil'en," and the Captain disappeared with all three of the children at
his heels, to go down to examine the treasures of the fishing-smack.
Mr. Sewell seated himself cozily in the chimney corner and sank into a
state of half-dreamy reverie; his eyes fixed on the fairest sight one
can see of a frosty autumn twilight--a crackling wood-fire.
Mrs. Pennel moved soft-footed to and fro, arraying her tea-table in her
own finest and pure damask, and bringing from hidden stores her best
china and newest silver, her choicest sweetmeats and cake--whatever was
fairest and nicest in her house--to honor her unexpected guest.
Mr. Sewell's eyes followed her occasionally about the room, with an
expression of pleased and curious satisfaction. He was taking it all in
as an artistic picture--that simple, kindly hearth, with its mossy logs,
yet steaming with the moisture of the wild woods; the table so neat, so
cheery with its many little delicacies, and refinements of appointment,
and its ample varieties to tempt the appetite; and then the Captain
coming in, yet fresh and hungry from his afternoon's toil, with the
children trotting before him.
"And this is the inheritance he comes into," he murmured;
"healthy--wholesome--cheerful--secure: how much better than hot,
stifling luxury!"
Here the minister's meditations were interrupted by the entrance of all
the children, joyful and loquacious. Little Moses held up a string of
mackerel, with their graceful bodies and elegantly cut fins.
"Just a specimen of the best, Mary," said Captain Pennel. "I thought I'd
bring 'em for Miss Emily."
"Miss Emily will be a thousand times obliged to you," said Mr. Sewell,
rising up.
As to Mara and Sally, they were reveling in apronfuls of shells and
seaweed, which they bustled into the other room to bestow in their
spacious baby-house.
And now, after due time for Zephaniah to assume a land toilet, all sat
down to the evening meal.
After supper was over, the Captain was besieged by the children. Little
Mara mounted first into his lap, and nestled herself quietly under his
coat--Moses and Sally stood at each knee.
"Come, now," said Moses, "you said you would tell us about the mermen
to-night."
"Yes, and the mermaids," said Sally. "Tell them all you told me the
other night in the trundle-bed."
Sally valued herself no little on the score of the Captain's talent as a
romancer.
"You see, Moses," she said, volubly, "father saw mermen and mermaids a
plenty of them in the West Indies."
"Oh, never mind about 'em now," said Captain Kittridge, looking at Mr.
Sewell's corner.
"Why not, father? mother isn't here," said Sally, innocently.
A smile passed round the faces of the company, and Mr. Sewell said,
"Come, Captain, no modesty; we all know you have as good a faculty for
telling a story as for making a fire."
"Do tell me what mermen are," said Moses.
"Wal'," said the Captain, sinking his voice confidentially, and hitching
his chair a little around, "mermen and maids is a kind o' people that
have their world jist like our'n, only it's down in the bottom of the
sea, 'cause the bottom of the sea has its mountains and its valleys, and
its trees and its bushes, and it stands to reason there should be people
there too."
Moses opened his broad black eyes wider than usual, and looked absorbed
attention.
"Tell 'em about how you saw 'em," said Sally.
"Wal', yes," said Captain Kittridge; "once when I was to the
Bahamas,--it was one Sunday morning in June, the first Sunday in the
month,--we cast anchor pretty nigh a reef of coral, and I was jist
a-sittin' down to read my Bible, when up comes a merman over the side of
the ship, all dressed as fine as any old beau that ever ye see, with
cocked hat and silk stockings, and shoe-buckles, and his clothes were
sea-green, and his shoe-buckles shone like diamonds."
"Do you suppose they were diamonds, really?" said Sally.
"Wal', child, I didn't ask him, but I shouldn't be surprised, from all I
know of their ways, if they was," said the Captain, who had now got so
wholly into the spirit of his fiction that he no longer felt
embarrassed by the minister's presence, nor saw the look of amusement
with which he was listening to him in his chimney-corner. "But, as I was
sayin', he came up to me, and made the politest bow that ever ye see,
and says he, 'Cap'n Kittridge, I presume,' and says I, 'Yes, sir.' 'I'm
sorry to interrupt your reading,' says he; and says I, 'Oh, no matter,
sir.' 'But,' says he, 'if you would only be so good as to move your
anchor. You've cast anchor right before my front-door, and my wife and
family can't get out to go to meetin'.'"
"Why, do they go to meeting in the bottom of the sea?" said Moses.
"Law, bless you sonny, yes. Why, Sunday morning, when the sea was all
still, I used to hear the bass-viol a-soundin' down under the waters,
jist as plain as could be,--and psalms and preachin'. I've reason to
think there's as many hopefully pious mermaids as there be folks," said
the Captain.
"But," said Moses, "you said the anchor was before the front-door, so
the family couldn't get out,--how did the merman get out?"
"Oh! he got out of the scuttle on the roof," said the Captain, promptly.
"And did you move your anchor?" said Moses.
"Why, child, yes, to be sure I did; he was such a gentleman I wanted to
oblige him,--it shows you how important it is always to be polite," said
the Captain, by way of giving a moral turn to his narrative.
Mr. Sewell, during the progress of this story, examined the Captain with
eyes of amused curiosity. His countenance was as fixed and steady, and
his whole manner of reciting as matter-of-fact and collected, as if he
were relating some of the every-day affairs of his boat-building.
"Wal', Sally," said the Captain, rising, after his yarn had proceeded
for an indefinite length in this manner, "you and I must be goin'. I
promised your ma you shouldn't be up late, and we have a long walk
home,--besides it's time these little folks was in bed."
The children all clung round the Captain, and could hardly be persuaded
to let him go.
When he was gone, Mrs. Pennel took the little ones to their nest in an
adjoining room.
Mr. Sewell approached his chair to that of Captain Pennel, and began
talking to him in a tone of voice so low, that we have never been able
to make out exactly what he was saying. Whatever it might be, however,
it seemed to give rise to an anxious consultation. "I did not think it
advisable to tell _any_ one this but yourself, Captain Pennel. It is for
you to decide, in view of the probabilities I have told you, what you
will do."
"Well," said Zephaniah, "since you leave it to me, I say, let us keep
him. It certainly seems a marked providence that he has been thrown upon
us as he has, and the Lord seemed to prepare a way for him in our
hearts. I am well able to afford it, and Mis' Pennel, she agrees to it,
and on the whole I don't think we'd best go back on our steps; besides,
our little Mara has thrived since he came under our roof. He is, to be
sure, kind o' masterful, and I shall have to take him off Mis' Pennel's
hands before long, and put him into the sloop. But, after all, there
seems to be the makin' of a man in him, and when we are called away, why
he'll be as a brother to poor little Mara. Yes, I think it's best as 't
is."
The minister, as he flitted across the bay by moonlight, felt relieved
of a burden. His secret was locked up as safe in the breast of Zephaniah
Pennel as it could be in his own.