THE REPULSE
When Deacon Zeb Clark--the same Deacon Zeb who fell into the cistern,
as narrated by Captain Cy--made his first visit to the city, years and
years ago, he stayed but two days. As he had proudly boasted that he
should remain in the metropolis at least a week, our people were much
surprised at his premature return. To the driver of the butcher cart who
found him sitting contentedly before his dwelling, amidst his desolate
acres, the nearest neighbor a half mile away, did Deacon Zeb disclose
his reason for leaving the crowded thoroughfares. “There was so many
folks there,” he said, “that I felt lonesome.”
And Captain Cy, returning from the town meeting to the Whittaker place,
felt lonesome likewise. Not for the Deacon's reason--he met no one on
the main road, save a group of school children and Miss Phinney, and,
sighting the latter in the offing, he dodged behind the trees by the
schoolhouse pond and waited until she passed. But the captain, his
trouble now heavy upon him, did feel the need of sympathy and congenial
companionship. He knew he might count upon Dimick and Asaph, and,
whenever Keturah's supervision could be evaded, upon Mr. Bangs. But they
were not the advisers and comforters for this hour of need. All the rest
of Bayport, he felt sure, would be against him. Had not King Heman
the Great from the steps of the throne, banned him with the royal
displeasure! “If Heman ever SHOULD come right out and say--” began
Asaph's warning. Well, strange as it might seem, Heman had “come right
out.”
As to why he had come out there was no question in the mind of the
captain. The latter had left Mr. Thomas, the prodigal father, prostrate
and blasphemous in the road the previous evening. His next view of
him was when, transformed and sanctified, he had been summoned to the
platform by Mr. Atkins. No doubt he had returned to the barber shop
and, in his rage and under Mr. Simpson's cross examination, had revealed
something of the truth. Tad, the politician, recognizing opportunity
when it knocked at his door, had hurried him to the congressman's
residence. The rest was plain enough, so Captain Cy thought.
However, war was already declared, and the reasons for it mattered
little. The first skirmish might occur at any moment. The situation was
desperate. The captain squared his shoulders, thrust forward his chin,
and walked briskly up the path to the door of the dining room. It was
nearly one o'clock, but Bos'n had not yet gone. She was waiting, to the
very last minute, for her “Uncle Cyrus.”
“Hello, shipmate,” he hailed. “Not headed for school yet? Good! I
cal'late you needn't go this afternoon. I'm thinkin' of hirin' a team
and drivin' to Ostable, and I didn't know but you'd like to go with me.
Think you could, without that teacher woman havin' you brought up aft
for mutiny?”
Bos'n thought it over.
“Yes, sir,” she said; “I guess so, if you wrote me an excuse. I don't
like to be absent, 'cause I haven't been before, but there's only my
reading lesson this afternoon and I know that ever so well. I'd love to
go, Uncle Cy.”
The captain removed his coat and hat and pulled a chair forward to the
table.
“Hello!” he exclaimed. “What's this--the mail?”
Bos'n smiled delightedly.
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I knew you was at the meeting and so I brought
it from the office. Ain't you glad?”
“Sure! Yes, indeed! Much obliged. Tryin' to keep house without you would
be like steerin' without a rudder.”
Even as he said it there came to him the realization that he might have
to steer without that rudder in the near future. His smile vanished. He
smothered a groan and picked up the mail.
“Hum!” he mused, “the Breeze, a circular, and one letter. Hello! it
isn't possible that--Well! well!”
The letter was in a long envelope. He hastily tore it open. At the
inclosure he glanced in evident excitement. Then his smile returned.
“Bos'n,” he said, after a moment's reflection, “I guess you and me
won't have to go to Ostable after all.” Noticing the child's look of
disappointment, he added: “But you needn't go to school. Maybe you'd
better not. You and me'll take a tramp alongshore. What do you say?”
“Oh, yes, Uncle Cy! Let's--shall we?”
“Why, I don't see why not. We'll cruise in company as long as we
can, hey, little girl? The squall's likely to strike afore night,” he
muttered half aloud. “We'll enjoy the fine weather till it's time to
shorten sail.”
They walked all that afternoon. Captain Cy was even more kind and gentle
with his small companion than usual. He told her stories which made her
laugh, pointed out spots in the pines where he had played Indian when a
boy, carried her “pig back” when she grew tired, and kissed her tenderly
when, at the back door of the Whittaker place, he set her on her feet
again.
“Had a good time, dearie?” he asked.
“Oh, splendid! I think it's the best walk we ever had, don't you, Uncle
Cy?”
“I shouldn't wonder. You won't forget our cruises together when you are
a big girl and off somewheres else, will you?”
“I'll NEVER forget 'em. And I'm never going anywhere without you.”
It was after five as they entered the kitchen.
“Anybody been here while I was out?” asked the captain of Georgianna.
The housekeeper's eyes were red and swollen, and she hugged Bos'n as she
helped her off with her jacket and hood.
“Yes, there has,” was the decided answer. “First Ase Tidditt, and then
Bailey Bangs, and then that--that Angie Phinney.”
“Humph!” mused Captain Cy slowly. “So Angie was here, was she? Where the
carcass is the vultures are on deck, or words similar. Humph! Did our
Angelic friend have much to say?”
“DID she? And _I_ had somethin' to say, too! I never in my life!”
“Humph!” Her employer eyed her sharply. “So? And so soon? Talk about
the telegraph spreadin' news! I'd back most any half dozen tongues in
Bayport to spread more news, and add more trimmin' to it, in a day
than the telegraph could do in a week. Especially if all the telegraph
operators was like the one up at the depot. Well, Georgianna, when you
goin' to leave?”
“Leave? Leave where? What are you talkin' about?”
“Leave here. Of course you realize that this ship of ours,” indicating
the house by a comprehensive wave of his hand around the room, “is goin'
to be a mighty unpopular craft from now on. We may be on a lee shore any
minute. You've got your own well-bein' to think of.”
“My own well-bein'! What do you s'pose I care for my well-bein' when
there's--Cap'n Whittaker, you tell me now! Is it so?”
“Some of it is--yes. He's come back and he's who he says he is. You've
seen him. He was here all day yesterday.”
“So Angie said, but I couldn't scarcely believe it. That toughy! Cap'n
Whittaker, do you intend to hand over that poor little innocent thing
to--to such a man as THAT?”
“No. There'll be no handin' over about it. But the odds are against us,
and there's no reason why you should be in the rumpus, Georgianna. You
may not understand what we're facin'.”
The housekeeper drew herself up. Her face was very red and her small
eyes snapped.
“Cy Whittaker,” she began, manners and deference to employer alike
forgotten, “don't you say no more of that wicked foolishness to me. I'll
leave the minute you're mean-spirited enough to let that child go and
not afore. And when THAT happens I'll be GLAD to leave. Land sakes!
there's somebody at the door; and I expect I'm a perfect sight.”
She rubbed her face with her apron, thereby making it redder than ever,
and hurried into the dining room.
“Bos'n,” said Captain Cy quickly, “you stay here in the kitchen.”
Emmie looked at him in surprised bewilderment, but she suppressed her
curiosity concerning the identity of the person who had knocked, and
obeyed. The captain pulled the kitchen door almost shut and listened at
the crack.
The first spoken words by the visitor appeared to relieve Captain Cy's
anxiety; but they seemed to astonish him greatly.
“Why!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “Ain't that--It sounds like--”
“It's teacher,” whispered Bos'n, who also had been listening. “She's
come to find out why I wasn't at school. You tell her, Uncle Cy.”
Georgianna returned to announce:
“It's Miss Dawes. She says she wants to see you, Cap'n. She's in the
settin' room.”
The captain drew a long breath. Then, repeating his command to Emmie to
stay where she was, he left the room, closing the door behind him. The
latter procedure roused Bos'n's indignation.
“What made him do that?” she demanded. “I haven't been bad. He NEVER
shut me up before!”
The schoolmistress was standing by the center table in the sitting room
when Captain Cy entered.
“Good evenin',” he said politely. “Won't you sit down?”
But Miss Dawes paid no attention to trivialities. She seemed much
agitated.
“Cap'n Whittaker,” she began, “I just heard something that--”
The captain interrupted her.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but I think we'll pull down the curtains and have
a little light on the subject. It gets dark early now, especially of a
gray day like this one.”
He drew the shades at the windows and lit the lamp on the table. The red
glow behind the panes of the stove door faded into insignificance as
the yellow radiance brightened. The ugly portraits and the stiff old
engravings on the wall retired into a becoming dusk. The old-fashioned
room became more homelike.
“Now won't you sit down?” repeated Captain Cy. “Take that rocker; it's
the most comf'table one aboard--so Bos'n says, anyhow.”
Miss Phoebe took the rocker, under protest. Her host remained standing.
“It's been a nice afternoon,” he said. “Bos'n--Emmie, of course--and I
have been for a walk. 'Twan't her fault, 'twas mine. I kept her out of
school. I was--well, kind of lonesome.”
The teacher's gray eyes flashed in the lamplight.
“Cap'n Whittaker,” she cried, “please don't waste time. I didn't come
here to talk about the weather nor Emily's reason for not attending
school. I don't care why she was absent. But I have just heard of what
happened at that meeting. Is it true that--” She hesitated.
“That Emmie's dad is alive and here? Yes, it's true.”
“But--but that man last night? Was he THAT man?”
The captain nodded.
“That's the man,” he said briefly.
Miss Dawes shuddered.
“Cap'n Whittaker,” she asked earnestly, “are you sure he is really her
father? Absolutely sure?”
“Sure and sartin.”
“Then she belongs to him, doesn't she? Legally, I mean?”
“Maybe so.”
“Are--are you going to give her up to him?”
“No.”
“Then what I heard was true. You did say at the meeting that you were
going to do your best to keep him from getting her.”
“Um--hum! What I said amounts to just about that.”
“Why?”
Captain Cy was surprised and a little disappointed apparently.
“Why?” he repeated.
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, for reasons I've got.”
“Do you mind telling me the reasons?”
“I cal'late you don't want to hear 'em. If you don't understand now,
then I can't make it much plainer, I'm afraid.”
The little lady sprang to her feet.
“Oh, you are provoking!” she cried indignantly. “Can't you see that I
want to hear the reasons from you yourself? Cap'n Whittaker, I shook
hands with you last night.”
“You remember I told you you'd better wait.”
“I didn't want to wait. I believed I knew something of human nature, and
I believed I had learned to understand you. I made up my mind to pay
no more attention to what people said against you. I thought they were
envious and disliked you because you did things in your own way. I
wouldn't believe the stories I heard this afternoon. I wanted to hear
you speak in your own defense and you refuse to do it. Don't you
know what people are saying? They say you are trying to keep Emily
because--Oh, I'm ashamed to ask it, but you make me: HAS the child got
valuable property of her own?”
Captain Cy had been, throughout this scene, standing quietly by the
table. Now he took a step forward.
“Miss Dawes,” he said sharply, “sit down.”
“But I--”
“Sit down, please.”
The schoolmistress didn't mean to obey the order, but for some reason
she did. The captain went on speaking.
“It's pretty plain,” he said, “that what you heard at the boardin'
house--for I suppose that's where you did hear it--was what you might
call a Phinneyized story of the doin's at the meetin'. Well, there's
another yarn, and it's mine; I'm goin' to spin it and I want you to
listen.”
He went on to spin his yarn. It was practically a repetition of his
reply to Tad Simpson that morning. Its conclusion was also much the
same.
“The land ain't worth fifty dollars,” he declared, “but if it was fifty
million he shouldn't have it. Why? Because it belongs to that little
girl. And he shan't have her until he and those back of him have
hammered me through the courts till I'm down forty fathom under water.
And when they do get her--and, to be honest, I cal'late they will in
the end--I hope to God I won't be alive to see it! There! I've answered
you.”
He was walking up and down the room, with the old quarter-deck stride,
his hands jammed deep in his pockets and his face working with emotion.
“It's pretty nigh a single-handed fight for me,” he continued, “but I've
fought single-handed before. The other side's got almost all the powder
and the men. Heman and Tad and that Thomas have got seven eighths of
Bayport behind 'em, not to mention the 'Providence' they're so sure of.
My crowd is a mighty forlorn hope: Dimick and Ase Tidditt, and Bailey,
as much as his wife 'll let him. Oh, yes!” and he smiled whimsically,
“there's another one. A new recruit's just joined; Georgianna's
enlisted. That's my army. Sort of rag-jacketed cadets, we are, small
potatoes, and few in a hill.”
The teacher rose and laid a hand on his arm. He turned toward her. The
lamplight shone upon her face, and he saw, to his astonishment, that
there were tears in her eyes.
“Cap'n Whittaker,” she said, “will you take an other recruit? I should
like to enlist, please.”
“You? Oh, pshaw! I'm thick-headed to-night. I didn't see the joke of it
at first.”
“There isn't any joke. I want you to know that I admire you for the
fight you're making. Law or no law, to let that dear little girl go away
with that dreadful father of hers is a sin and a crime. I came here to
tell you so. I did want to hear your story, and you made me ask that
question; but I was certain of your answer before you made it. I don't
suppose I can do anything to help, but I'm going to try. So, you see,
your army is bigger than you thought it was--though the new soldier
isn't good for much, I'm afraid,” she added, with a little smile.
Captain Cy was greatly disturbed.
“Miss Phoebe,” he said, “I--I won't say that it don't please me to
have you talk so, for it does, more'n you can imagine. Sympathy means
somethin' to the under dog, and it gives him spunk to keep on kickin'.
But you mustn't take any part in the row; you simply mustn't. It won't
do.”
“Why not? Won't I be ANY help?”
“Help? You'd be more help than all the rest of us put together. You and
me haven't seen a great deal of each other, and my part in the few talks
we have had has been a mean one, but I knew the first time I met
you that you had more brains and common sense than any woman in this
county--though I was too pig-headed to own it. But that ain't it. I got
you the job of teacher. It's no credit to me; 'twas just bull luck and
for the fun of jarrin' Heman. But I did it. And, because I did it, the
Atkins crowd--and that means most everybody now--haven't any love for
you. My tryin' for school committee was really just to give you a fair
chance in your position. I was licked, so the committee's two to one
against you. Don't you see that you mustn't have anything to do with me?
Don't you SEE it?”
She shook her head.
“I see that common gratitude alone should be reason enough for my trying
to help you,” she said. “But, beside that, I know you are right, and I
SHALL help, no matter what you say. As for the teacher's position, let
them discharge me. I--”
“Don't talk that way. The youngsters need you, and know it, no matter
what their fool fathers and mothers say. And you mustn't wreck your
chances. You're young--”
She laughed.
“Oh, no! I'm not,” she said. “Young! Cap'n Whittaker, you shouldn't joke
about a woman's age.”
“I ain't jokin'. You ARE young.” As she stood there before him he was
realizing, with a curiously uncomfortable feeling, how much younger she
was than he. He glanced up at the mirror, where his own gray hairs were
reflected, and repeated his assertion. “You're young yet,” he said, “and
bein' discharged from a place might mean a whole lot to you. I'm
glad you take such an interest in Bos'n, and your comin' here on her
account--”
He paused. Miss Dawes colored slightly and said:
“Yes.”
“Your comin' here on her account was mighty good of you. But you've got
to keep out of this trouble. And you mustn't come here again. That's
owner's orders. Why, I'm expectin' a boardin' party any minute,” he
added. “I thought when you knocked it was 'papa' comin' for his child.
You'd better go.”
But she stood still.
“I shan't go,” she declared. “Or, at least, not until you promise to
let me try to help you. If they come, so much the better. They'll learn
where my sympathies are.”
Captain Cy scratched his head.
“See here, Miss Phoebe,” he said. “I ain't sure that you fully
understand that Scripture and everything else is against us. Did Angie
turn loose on you the 'Whom the Lord has joined' avalanche?”
The schoolmistress burst into a laugh. The captain laughed, too, but
his gravity quickly returned. For steps sounded on the walk, there was a
whispering outside, and some one knocked on the dining-room door.
The situation was similar to that of the evening when the Board of
Strategy called and “John Smith” made his first appearance. But now,
oddly enough, Captain Cy seemed much less troubled. He looked at Miss
Dawes and there was a dancing twinkle in his eye.
“Is it--” began the lady, in an agitated whisper.
“The boardin' party? I presume likely.”
“But what can you do?”
“Stand by the repel, I guess,” was the calm reply. “I told you that they
had most of the ammunition, but ours ain't all blank cartridges. You
stay below and listen to the broadsides.”
They heard Georgianna cross the dining room. There was a murmur of
voices at the door. The captain nodded.
“It's them,” he said. “Well, here goes. Now don't you show yourself.”
“Do you think I am afraid? Indeed, I shan't stay 'below' as you call it!
I shall let them see--”
Captain Cy held up his hand.
“I'm commodore of this fleet,” he said; “and that bein' the case, I
expect my crew to obey orders. There's nothin' you can do, and--Why,
yes! there is, too. You can take care of Bos'n. Georgianna,” to the
housekeeper who, looking frightened and nervous, had appeared at the
door, “send Bos'n in here quick.”
“They're there,” whispered Georgianna. “Mr. Atkins and Tad and that
Thomas critter, and lots more. And they've come after her. What shall we
do?”
“Jump when I speak to you, that's the first thing. Send Bos'n in here
and you stay in your galley.”
Emily came running. Miss Dawes put an arm about her. Captain Cy, the
battle lanterns still twinkling under his brows, stepped forth to meet
the “boarding party.”
They were there, as Georgianna had said. Mr. Thomas on the top step,
Heman and Simpson on the next lower, and behind them Abel Leonard and a
group of interested volunteers, principally recruited from the back room
of the barber shop.
“Evenin', gentlemen,” said the captain, opening the door so briskly that
Mr. Thomas started backward and came down heavily upon the toes of the
devoted Tad. Mr. Simpson swore, Mr. Thomas clawed about him to gain
equilibrium, and the dignity of the group was seriously impaired.
“Evenin',” repeated Captain Cy. “Quite a surprise party you're givin'
me. Come in.”
“Cyrus,” began the Honorable Atkins, “we are here to claim--”
“Give me my daughter, you robber!” demanded Thomas, from his new
position in the rear of the other two.
“Mr. Thomas,” said Heman, “please remember that I am conducting this
affair. I respect the natural indignation of an outraged father,
but--ahem! Cyrus, we are here to claim--”
“Then do your claimin' inside. It's kind of chilly to-night, there's
plenty of empty chairs, and we don't need to hold an overflow meetin'.
Come ahead in.”
The trio looked at each other in hesitation. Then Mr. Atkins
majestically entered the dining room. Thomas and Simpson followed him.
“Abe,” observed Captain Cy to Leonard, who was advancing toward the
steps, “I'm sorry not to be hospitable, but there's too many of you to
invite at once, and 'tain't polite to show partiality. You and the rest
are welcome to sit on the terrace or stroll 'round the deer park. Good
night.”
He closed the door in the face of the disappointed Abel and turned to
the three in the room.
“Well,” he said, “out with it. You've come to claim somethin', I
understand.”
“I come for my rights,” shouted Mr. Thomas.
“Yes? Well, this ain't State's prison or I'd give 'em to you with
pleasure. Heman, you'd better do the talkin'. We'll probably get ahead
faster.”
The Honorable cleared his throat and waved his hand.
“Cyrus,” he began, “you are my boyhood friend and my fellow townsman and
neighbor. Under such circumstances it gives me pain--”
“Then don't let us discuss painful subjects. Let's get down to business.
You've come to rescue Bos'n--Emily, that is,--from the 'robber'--I'm
quotin' Deacon Thomas here--that's got her, so's to turn her over to her
sorrowin' father. Is that it? Yes. Well, you can't have her--not yet.”
“Cyrus,” said Mr. Atkins, “I'm sorry to see that you take it this way.
You haven't the shadow of a right. We have the law with us, and your
conduct will lead us to invoke it. The constable is outside. Shall I
call him in?”
“Uncle Bedny” was the town constable and had been since before the war.
The purely honorary office was given him each year as a joke. Captain Cy
grinned broadly, and even Tad was obliged to smile.
“Don't be inhuman, Heman,” urged the captain. “You wouldn't turn me over
to be man-handled by Uncle Bedny, would you?”
“This is not a humorous affair--” began the congressman, with dignity.
But the “bereaved father” had been prospecting on his own hook, and now
he peeped into the sitting room.
“Here she is!” he shouted. “I see her. Come on, Emmie! Your dad's come
for you. Let go of her, you woman! What do you mean by holdin' on to
her?”
The situation which was “not humorous” immediately became much less so.
The next minute was a lively one. It ended as Mr. Thomas was picked up
by Tad from the floor, where he had fallen, having been pushed violently
over a chair by Captain Cy. Bos'n, frightened and sobbing, was clinging
wildly to Miss Dawes, who had clung just as firmly to her. The captain's
voice rang through the room.
“That's enough,” he said. “That's enough and some over. Atkins, take
that feller out of this house and off my premises. As for the girl,
that's for us to fight out in the courts. I'm her guardian,
lawfully appointed, and you nor nobody else can touch her while that
appointment's good. Here it is--right here. Now look at it and clear
out.”
He held, for the congressman's inspection, the document which, inclosed
in the long envelope, had been received that morning. His visit to
Ostable, made some weeks before, had been for the purpose of applying
to the probate court for the appointment as Emily's guardian. He had
applied before the news of her father's coming to life reached him. The
appointment itself had arrived just in time.
Mr. Atkins studied the document with care. When he spoke it was with
considerable agitation and without his usual diplomacy.
“Humph!” he grunted. “Humph! I see. Well, sir, I have some influence in
this section and I shall see how long your--your TRICK will prevent the
child's going where she belongs. I wish you to understand that I shall
continue this fight to the very last. I--I am not one to be easily
beaten. Simpson, you and Thomas come with me. This night's despicable
chicanery is only the beginning. This is bad business for you, Cy
Whittaker,” he snarled, his self-control vanishing, “and”--with a
vindictive glance at the schoolmistress--“for those who are with you in
it. That appointment was obtained under false pretenses and I can prove
it. Your tricks don't scare me. I've had experience with TRICKS before.”
“Yup. So I've heard. Well, Heman, I ain't as well up in tricks as you
claim to be, nor my stockin' isn't as well padded as yours, maybe. But
while there's a ten-cent piece left in the toe of it I'll fight you and
the skunk whose 'rights' you seem to have taken such a shine to. And,
after that, while there's a lawyer that 'll trust me. And, meantime,
that little girl stays right here, and you touch her if you dare, any of
you! Anything more to say?”
But the Honorable's dignity had returned. Possibly he thought he
had said too much already. A moment later the door banged behind the
discomforted boarding party.
Captain Cy pulled his beard and laughed.
“Well, we repelled 'em, didn't we?” he observed. “But, as friend
Heman says, the beginnin's only begun. I wish he hadn't seen you here,
teacher.”
Miss Dawes looked up from the task of stroking poor Bos'n's hair.
“I don't,” she said, “I'm glad of it.” Then she added, laughing
nervously: “Cap'n Whittaker, how could you be so cool? It was like a
play. I declare, you were just splendid!”