SAN FRANCISCO AND NORTHWARD.
I never felt so miserable and so inclined to go to sea to forget
myself in hard work as I did that evening after I had bidden farewell
to Elsie and her people. It seemed to me that she had let me go too
easily out of her life for her to really care for me enough to make
her influence my course in the way I had hoped, and hoped still.
Indeed, I think that if she had not stayed that one undecided moment
after she withdrew her hand from mine, I should have never done what
I did do, but have looked for a ship at once. For, after all, I said
to myself, what could a modest girl do more? Why, under the
circumstances, when she thought me guilty of a deliberate crime,
hateful to any woman, to say nothing of my having made love to her at
the same time, it was really more than I could have expected or
hoped. It showed that I had a hold upon her affections; and then
Fanny thought so too, or she would have never said what she did. "Go
to Mexico!" indeed; if I wasn't a fool, it was not Mexico the
country, but _Mexico_ the steamer she meant. I had one ally, at any
rate. Still, I wondered if she knew what Elsie did, though I thought
not, for she alone kissed Helen when they said good-by, and Elsie had
only given her her hand unwillingly. If I could speak to Fanny it
might help me. But I was determined to go northward, and sent my
dunnage down on board the steamer that very evening.
In the morning, and early, for I lay awake all that night, a thing I
did not remember having done before, I went down on the Front at the
bottom of Market Street, where all the tram cars start, and walked to
and fro for some hours along the wharves where they discharge lumber,
or ship the coal. It was quite a bright morning in the late autumn,
and everything was pleasant to look upon in the pure air before it
was fouled by the oaths of the drivers of wagons and the jar of
traffic. Yet that same noise, which came dimly to me until I was
almost run over by a loaded wagon, pleased me a great deal better
than the earlier quiet of the morning, and by eight o'clock I was in
a healthy frame of mind, healthy enough to help three men with a
heavy piece of lumber just by way of exercise. I went back to my
room, washed my hands, had breakfast, and went on board the steamer,
careless if the Flemings saw me, though at first I had determined to
keep out of their way until the vessel was at sea. I thanked my
stars that I did so, for I saw Fanny by herself on deck, and when she
caught sight of me she clapped her hands and smiled.
"Well, and where are you going, Mr. Ticehurst?" said she, nodding at
me as if she guessed my secret.
"I am going to take your advice and go to Mexico!" I answered.
"Is it far here? By land do you go, or water?"
"Not far, Fanny; in fact----"
"You are----"
"There now!" said I, laughing in my turn.
"Oh, I am so glad, Mr. Ticehurst!" said she; "for----" and then she
stopped.
"For what, Fanny?" I asked.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you. I should be a traitor, and that is
cowardly."
"No, Fanny, not when we are friends. If you tell me, would you do
any harm?"
"No," she answered doubtfully.
"Then treachery is meant to do harm, and if you don't mean harm it
isn't treachery," I replied coaxingly, but with bad logic as I have
been told since.
"Well, then, perhaps I'll say something. Now suppose you liked me
very much----"
"So I do, Fanny, I swear!"
"No you don't, stupid! How can you? I'm not twins--that is, I and
somebody else aren't the same--so don't interrupt. Suppose you liked
me very much, and I liked you very much----"
"It would be very nice, I dare say," I said, in a doubtful way that
was neither diplomatic nor complimentary.
"And suppose you went off, and suppose I didn't speak to my sister
for hours, and kept on being a nasty thing by tossing and tumbling
about all night, so that she, poor girl, couldn't go to sleep; and
then suppose when she did go off nicely, she woke up to find me--what
do you think--crying, what would it mean?"
"Fanny," I exclaimed, in delight, "you are a dear girl, the very
dearest----"
"No," she said, "no!"
"That I ever saw. If there weren't so many folks about, I would kiss
you!"
And I meant it, but Fanny burst into laughter.
"The idea! I should like to see you try it. I would box your ears
till they were as red as beetroot. But there, Tom, I am glad you are
coming on this dirty steamer. For I have no one to talk to now but
Elsie, and she won't talk at all."
However, Fanny's little woes did not trouble me much, for I was
thinking of my own, and wondering how I ought to act.
"Fanny," said I, "tell me what I shall do. Shall I lie low and not
show up until we are out at sea, or what?"
"If you don't want them to see you, you had better look sharp, for
they are coming up now, I see Elsie's hat," said Fanny. And I dived
out of sight round the deck house, and by dint of skillful navigation
I got into my bunk without any one seeing me.
Now, the way Elsie found out I was on board was very curious, and
perhaps more pleasing to Fanny than to her. My bunk was an upper
one, and through the open porthole I could look out on to the wharf.
As I lay there, in a much happier frame of mind than I had known for
many days, I stared out carelessly, watching the men at work, and the
passers-by; and suddenly to my great astonishment, I saw young Harmer
looking very miserable and unhappy. He had left the _Vancouver_,
too, but of course without leave, as he was an apprentice. Now, if I
was surprised I was angry, too. It was such a foolish trick, and I
thought I would give him a talking to at once. I spoke through the
port.
"You infernal young fool!" said I, "what are you doing here? Why did
you leave your ship?"
If ever I saw a bewildered face it was Harmer's. For some seconds he
looked everywhere for the voice, and could not locate it either on
the wharf, deck, or anywhere else.
"You ought to be rope's-ended for an idiot!" I went on, and then he
saw part of my face, but without knowing who I was. He flushed
crimson, and looked like a young turkeycock, with his wings down and
his tail up.
"Who the devil are you, anyhow," he asked fiercely. "You come out
here and I'll pull your ugly head off!"
"Thank you," I answered calmly, "my head is of more use to me than
yours is, apparently; and if you don't know my voice, it belongs to
Tom Ticehurst!"
Harmer jumped.
"Hurrah! Oh, I'm so glad. I was looking for you, Mr. Ticehurst, and
hunting everywhere."
"And not for anyone else, I suppose?" I put in, and then I saw him
look up. I knew just as well as he did that he saw Fanny, and I
hoped that Elsie was not with her. But she was.
"How d'ye do, Miss Fleming?" said he nervously; "and you, Miss Fanny?
I hope you are well. I was just talking to Mr. Ticehurst."
I swore a little at this, and tumbled out of my bunk, and went on
deck to face the music, as the Americans say, and I got behind the
girls in time to hear the little hypocrite Fanny say sweetly:
"Oh, Mr. Harmer, you must be mistaken, I'm sure! Mr. Ticehurst if
going to Mexico or somewhere. He can't be here."
"Miss Fanny," said the boy earnestly, "I tell you he is, and
there--just behind you. By Jove, I am coming on board!"
And he scrambled up the side like a monkey, as Elsie turned and saw
me.
I said good-morning to her and we shook hands. I could see she was
nervous, and fancied I could see traces of what Fanny, who talked
hard, had told me.
"Dear me, Mr. Ticehurst!" said Fanny vigorously. "You didn't shake
hands with me, and see the time it is since we last met! Why, was it
yesterday, or when? But men are so forgetful. I never did like boys
when I was a little girl, and I shall keep it up. Yes, Mr. Harmer,
now I can shake hands, for not having arms ten feet long I couldn't
reach yours over the rail, though you did hold them out like a signal
post."
Then she and Harmer talked, and I lost what they said.
"Where is your father, Miss Fleming?" I asked, for though I felt
obliged to talk, I could say nothing but that unless I remarked it
was a fine day. But it had been fine for six months in California.
"He went ashore, Mr. Ticehurst, and won't be back until the steamer
is nearly ready to go. But now I must go down. Come, Fanny!"
"What for?" demanded that young lady. "I'm not coming, I shall stay;
I like the deck, and hate the cabin--misty stuffy hole! I shall not
go down; as the pilot told the man in the stupid song: 'I shall pace
the deck with thee,' Mr. Ticehurst, please."
"Thank you, Fanny," said I; "but I want to talk to Harmer here before
the steamer goes, and if you will go with your sister perhaps it will
be best."
She pouted and looked about her, and with a parting smile for Harmer,
and a mouth for me, she followed Elsie. I turned to the lad.
"Now," I began, "you're a nice boy! What does it all mean?"
"It means that I couldn't stay on the _Vancouver_ if you weren't
there, Mr. Ticehurst. I made up my mind to that the moment I heard
you were leaving. I will go on your next ship; but you know, if you
don't mind my saying it, I couldn't stand your brother; I would
rather be struck by you than called a cub by him. A 'cub,' indeed--I
am as big as he is, and bigger!"
So he was, and a fine handsome lad into the bargain, with curly brown
hair, though his features were a little too feminine for his size and
strength.
"Harmer," I said drily "I think you have done it now very completely.
This is my next ship, and I am a passenger in her."
He didn't seem to mind; in fact, he took it so coolly that I began to
think he knew.
"That doesn't matter, Mr. Ticehurst," he said cheerfully; "I will
come with you."
I stared.
"The devil you will! Do you know where I am going, what I am going
to do?--or have you any plans of your own cut and dried for me?"
"I don't see that it matters, Mr. Ticehurst," he answered, with a
coolness I admired; "I have more than enough to pay my fare, and if
you go to British Columbia I dare say I can get something to do
there."
"Ah? I see," I replied; "you are tired of the sea, and would like to
marry and settle down, eh?"
He looked at me, and blushed a little.
"All the more reason I should go with you, sir; for then--then--there
would be--you know."
"What, Harmer?" I asked.
"A pair of us," he answered humbly.
"H'm, you are a nice boy? What will your father say if he hears you
have gone off in this way?"
Harmer looked at me and laughed.
"He will say it was your fault, sir! But I had better get my dunnage
on board."
And away he went.
"Harmer, come back!" I cried, but he only turned, nodded cheerfully,
and disappeared in the crowd.
On the whole, although the appearance of Harmer added a new
responsibility to those which were already a sufficient burden, I was
not ill-pleased, for I thoroughly liked him, and had parted with him
very unwillingly when I shook his hand on board the _Vancouver_ for
the last time, as I thought then. At any rate, he would be a
companion for me, and if by having to look after him I was prevented
in any measure from becoming selfish about Elsie, I might thank his
boyish foolishness in being unable to prevent himself running after
Fanny, whom, to say the truth, I considered a little flirt, though a
dear little girl. And, then, Harmer might be able to help me with
Elsie. It was something to have somebody about that I could trust in
case of accident.
It was nearer eleven than ten when the steamer's whistle shrieked for
the last time, and the crew began to haul the warps on board. I
could see that Elsie and Fanny were beginning to think that their
father would arrive too late, when I saw him coming along the wharf
with Harmer just behind him. Up to this time I really believed Mr.
Fleming, with the curious innocence that fathers often show, even
those who from their antecedents and character might be expected to
know better, had never thought of me as being his daughter's lover;
but when he had joined his daughters on the hurricane deck, and
caught sight of Harmer and myself standing on the main, I saw in a
moment that he knew almost as much as we could tell him, and that for
a few seconds he was doubtful whether to laugh or to be angry. I saw
him look at me sternly for a few seconds, then he shook his head with
a very mixed smile on his weather-beaten face, and, sitting down on
the nearest beach, he burst into laughter. I went up the poop ladder
and caught Fanny's words:
"Why, father, what is the matter with you? Don't laugh so, all the
people will think you crazy?"
"So I am, my dear, clean crazy," he answered; "because I fancied I
saw Tom Ticehurst and young Harmer down on deck there, and of course
it is impossible, I know that--quite impossible. It was an
hallucination. For what could they want here, I should like to know?
You don't know, of course? Well, well, I am surprised!"
Just then I came up and showed myself, looking quite easy, though I
confess to feeling more like a fool than I remember doing since I was
a boy.
"Oh, then you are here, Ticehurst?" said the old man. "It wasn't a
vision, after all. I was just telling Fanny here that I thought I
was going off my head."
I laughed.
"Why, Mr. Fleming," I said, "is it impossible that I, too, should go
to Victoria, on my way to Alaska?"
Fleming looked at me curiously, and almost winked. "Ah! Alaska, to
be sure," said he. "You did speak of Alaska. It must be a nice
place. You will be quite close to us. Come over and give us a call."
"Thank you for the invitation," I replied, laughing. "I will come to
tea, and bring my young friend with me."
For Harmer now walked up, shook hands with the old man in the most
ordinary way, and sat down between him and Fanny with a coolness I
could not have imitated for my life. It is a strange thing to think
of the amount of impudence boys have from seventeen to twenty-three
or so; they will do things a man of thirty would almost faint to
attempt, and succeed because they don't know the risk they run.
Harmer was soon engaged in talk with Fanny, and I tried in vain to
imitate him. I found Elsie as cold as ice; I could make no
impression on her and was almost in despair at the very outset. If
Fanny had told me the truth in the morning, then Elsie held a great
command over herself. I soon gave up the attack and retreated to my
berth, where I smoked savagely and was miserable. You can see I did
not understand much about women then.
The passage from San Francisco to Victoria takes about four days, and
in that time I had to make up my mind what I was going to do. If
what Fanny said were true, Elsie loved me, and it was only that
foolish and wretched affair with Helen that stood in my way. Yet,
could I tell the girl how matters were? It seemed to me then, and
seems to me now, that I was bound in honor not to tell her. I could
not say to her brutally that my brother's wife had made love to me,
and that I was wholly blameless. It would be cowardly, and yet I
ought to clear myself. It was an awkward dilemma. Then, again, it
was quite possible that Fanny was mistaken; if she did not care for
me, it was all the harder, and I could not court her with that mark
against me. Yet I was determined to win her, and as I sat in my
berth I grew fierce and savage in my heart. I swore that I would
gain her over, I would force her to love me, if I had to kill any who
stood in my way. For love makes a man devilish sometimes as well as
good. I had come on board saying, "If I see no chance to win her
before I get to Victoria, I will let her go." And now when we were
just outside the Golden Gate, I swore to follow her always. "Yes,
even if she spurns me, if she mocks, taunts me, I will make her come
to me at last, put her arms round my neck, and ask my forgiveness."
I said this, and unconsciously I added, "I will follow her night and
day, in sunshine and in rain, in health or sickness."
Then I started violently, for I was using words like those of the
Malay, who was waiting his time to follow me, and for ever in the
daytime or nighttime I knew he was whetting the keen edge of his
hate. I could see him in his cell; I could imagine him recalling my
face to mind, for I knew what such men are. I had served as second
mate in a vessel that had been manned with Orientals and the
off-scourings of Singapore, such as Matthias was, and I knew them
only too well. He would follow me, even as I followed her, and as
she was a light before me, he would be a dark shadow behind me. I
wished then that I had killed him on board the _Vancouver_, for I
felt that we should one day meet; and who could discern what our
meeting would bring forth in our lives? I know that from that time
forward he never left me, for in the hour that I vowed to follow
Elsie until she loved me, I saw very clearly that he would keep his
word, though he had but strength to crawl after me and kill me as I
slept. Henceforth, he was always more or less in my mind. Yet, if I
could win Elsie first, I did not care. It might be a race between
us, and her love might be a shield to protect me in my hour of need.
I prayed that it might be so, and if it could not, then at least let
me win her love before the end.
For two days I kept out of the Flemings' way, or rather out of the
way of the girls, for Mr. Fleming himself could not be avoided, as he
slept in the men's berth in a bunk close to mine. I believe that the
first day on board he spoke to Elsie about me; indeed I know he did,
for I heard so afterward; and I think it was only on her assurance
that there was and could be nothing between us, that he endured the
situation so easily. In the first place, although he was not rich,
he was fairly well off in Australia; and though the British Columbian
ranch property was not equal in value to that which he had made for
himself, yet it represented a sum of money such as I could not
scarcely make in many years in these hard times. It would hardly be
human nature for a father to look upon me as the right sort of man
for his daughter, especially since I was such a fool as to quit the
sea without anything definite awaiting me on land. So, I say, that
if he had thought that Elsie loved me I might have found him a
disagreeable companion, and it was no consolation to me to see that
he treated me in a sort of half-contemptuous, half-pitying way, for I
would rather have seen him like one of the lizards on the Australian
plains, such as the girls had told me of, which erect a spiny frill
over their heads, and swell themselves out the whole length of their
body until their natural ugliness becomes a very horror and scares
anything which has the curiosity or rashness to approach and threaten
them.
"What are you going to do in Alaska or British Columbia, Tom?" said
he to me one day. "Do you think of farming, or seal-hunting, or
gold-mining, or what? I should like to hear your plans, if you have
any." And then he went on without waiting for an answer, showing
plainly that he thought that I had none, and was a fool. "And that
young idiot Harmer, why didn't he stick to his ship?"
"Because he will never stick to anything, Mr. Fleming," I answered,
"though he is a clever young fellow, and fit for other things than
sailoring, if I'm a judge. But as for myself I don't think I am, and
yet when I make up my mind to a thing, I usually do it."
"You usually succeed, then?" said he, with a hard smile. "It is well
to have belief in one's own strength and abilities. But sometimes
others have strength as well, and then"----
"And then," I answered, "it is very often a question of will."
He smiled again and dropped the subject.
On the third day out from San Francisco, when we were running along
the coast of Oregon, I found at last an opportunity of speaking to
Elsie. I first went to Fanny.
"Fanny, my dear girl, I want to speak to you a few minutes." I sat
down beside her.
"I think you know, Fanny, why I am here, don't you?" I asked.
"It is tolerably obvious, Mr. Ticehurst," she answered rather
gravely, I thought.
"Yes, I suppose it is; but first I want to be sure whether you were
right about what you told me on the morning we left San Francisco."
I was silent, and looked at her. She seemed a trifle distressed.
"Well, Tom, I thought that I was," she answered at length; "and I
still think I am--and yet I don't know. You see, Elsie is a strange
girl, and never confides in anyone since dear mother died, and she
would never confess anything to me. Still, I have eyes in my head,
and ears too. But since you have been with us she has been harder
and colder than I ever saw her in all my life, and she has said
enough to make me think that there is something that I know nothing
about which makes her so. You know, I joked her about you yesterday,
and she got so angry all of a sudden, like pouring kerosene on a
fire, and she said you were a coward. When I asked her why, she
turned white and wouldn't answer. Then I said of course you must be
a coward if she said so, but I didn't think she had any right to say
it or think it when you had saved all our lives by your coolness and
courage. And then, you know, I got angry and cried, because I like
you very much, just as much as I do my brother on the station at
home. And I said she was a cruel beast, and all kinds of horrid
things, until I couldn't think of anything but making faces at her,
just as I did when I was a child. And we are having a quarrel now,
and it is all about you--you ought to be proud." And Fanny looked up
half laughing and half crying, for she dearly loved Elsie, as I knew.
"Well, my dear little sister Fanny," I said, "for you shall be my
sister one day, there is something that makes her think ill of me,
but it is not my fault, as far as I can see. And I can't convince
her of that, except by showing her that I am not the man she thinks,
unless some accident puts me back into the place I once believed I
held in her thoughts. But I want to speak to her, and I must do it
to-day. To-morrow we shall be in Victoria, and I should not like to
part with her without speaking. If I talk with her now, it will
probably take some time, so I want you, if you can, to prevent anyone
interrupting us."
Fanny nodded, and wiped away a tear in a quick manner, just as if it
were a fly.
"Very well, I will. You know I trust you, if Elsie doesn't." And
she went over to Harmer, who was in a fidget, and kept looking at me
as if he was wondering what I meant by talking so confidentially to
Fanny.
I found Elsie sitting by herself just forward of the funnel. She was
reading, and though when I spoke she answered and put the book down
in her lap, she kept looking at it in a nervous way, as if she wished
I had not interrupted her; and we had been talking some minutes
before she seemed to wholly forget that it was there.
I spoke without any thought of what I was going to say.
"Miss Fleming (see, I call you that, though a little while ago it was
Elsie), I have determined to speak to you in spite of the way you
avoid me."
"I would rather you did not, Mr. Ticehurst," she said.
"It has come to a time when I must do as I think fit, even if I am
rude and rough. I have something to say, and mean to say it, Miss
Fleming; and if I word it in rough or broken fashion, if I stumble
over it or stammer with my tongue, you will know why, just as you
know why I am here. Come now, why am I on this steamer?"
She remained mute, with her head bent down, and the gold of her hair
loose over her eyes, so that I could not see them. But she trembled
a little, and was ripping one of the pages of her book. I took hold
of it and put it down. She made no remonstrance, and I began to feel
that I had power over her, though how far it went I could not tell.
"Why am I here?" I went on scornfully. "Oh, on a pleasure trip to
see the advertised coast from San Francisco to Sitka, to behold Mount
Elias and its glaciers! By Heavens, I think I have ice nearer at
hand! Oh, it is business? I wish to gain wealth, so I give up what
I understand, and go into what is as familiar to me as a sextant is
to a savage! It can't be business. Do you know what it is, Miss
Fleming? Look, I think there was a girl who I knew once, but she was
a kind, bright girl, who was joyous, whom I called by her Christian
name, who walked by my side in the moonlight, when the sails were
silvered and their shadows dark, when I kept the first watch in the
_Vancouver_. I wonder what has become of her? That girl would have
known, but----"
I stopped, and she was still stubborn. But she did not move. I went
on again:
"There must be evil spirits on the sea that fly like petrels in the
storm, and come on board ship and enter into the hearts of those they
find there. Why----"
"I fear, Mr. Ticehurst," she interrupted, "that you think me a fool.
If I am not, then your talk is vain; and if I am, I surely am not fit
to mate with you. Let us cease to talk about this, for it is
useless!"
I was almost choking with passion; it was so hard to be misconceived,
even though she had so much reason on her side. Yet, since I knew
she was wrong, I almost wished to shake her.
"No!" I said at last, "I will not go until I have an understanding
one way or the other. We have been beating about the bush, but I
will do it no longer. You know that I love you!"
She drew herself up.
"How many can you love at a time, Mr. Ticehurst?" she said.
"One, only one," I replied. "You are utterly mistaken."
"I am not mistaken!" she said; "and I think you are a coward and a
traitor. If you were not, I might love you; but as you are, such a
thing is impossible."
I caught her by the wrist. Instinctively she tried to free herself,
but finding she could not, looked up. When she caught my eye, her
indignant remonstrance died on her lips.
"Look you, Elsie, what can I do? Perhaps I cannot defend myself;
there are some situations where a man cannot for the sake of others.
I can say no more about that. And I will make you see you are wrong,
if not by proof, by showing you what I am--a man incapable of what
you think me--and in the end I will make you love me." I paused for
a moment, but she did not move.
"You have listened to me; Elsie, and you can see what I mean, you can
think whether I shall falter or swerve; and now I ask you, for I am
assured you do love me, or that you did, whether you will not trust
me now? For you cannot believe that I could speak as I do if I had
done what you think."
I looked at Elsie, and she was very pale. I could see that I had
moved her, had shaken her conviction, that she was at war with
herself. I got up, went to the side, and then turned, beckoning to
her to look over to seaward with me. She came almost like a woman
walking in her sleep, and took a place by my side. I did so to avoid
notice, for I feared to attract attention; indeed, I saw two
passengers looking at us curiously, one of whom smiled so that I
began to wish to throw him overboard. Yet I think, as a matter of
fact, I did wrong in allowing her to move; it broke the influence I
held over her in a measure, for I have often noticed since that to
obtain control of some people one should keep steadily insisting on
the one point, and never allow them to go beyond, or even to think
beyond it. But then to do so one must be stronger than I was, or he
will lose control over himself, as I did, and so make errors in
judgment.
"Elsie," I said quietly, "are you not going to answer me? Or am I
not worth it?"
Now, up to this moment I had taken her away from the past; in her
emotion she had almost forgotten Helen; she was just wavering and was
on the point of giving in to me. Yet by that last suggestion of mine
I brought it back to her. I could see in her mind the darker depths
of her fear and distrust of me, and what I rightly judged her hatred
and jealousy of Helen. Though I do not think I know much of
character, yet in the state of mind that I was in then I seemed to
see her mind, as a much more subtle man might have done, and my own
error. I could have cursed my own folly. She had taken the book
again, and was holding it open in her hand. Until I spoke she held
it so lightly that it shook and wavered, but she caught it in both
hands and shut it suddenly, as though it was the book of her heart
that I had been reading, and she denied my right to do it. And she
turned toward me cold once more, though by a strange influence she
caught my thought.
"This is a closed book, Mr. Ticehurst. It is the book of the past,
and--it is gone for ever." She dropped it over the side with a
mocking smile. But I caught hold of her hand and held it.
"Ah!" said I, "then we begin again. If the past is dead, the present
lives, and the future is yet unborn. You mean one thing now, and I
mean the other; but in the future we shall both mean the same.
Remember what I say, Elsie--remember it. For unless I am dead, I
will be your acknowledged lover and your husband at last."
I dropped her hand and walked away, and when I looked back I saw her
following me with her eyes. I would have given much then to have
been able to know of what she thought. I went below and slept for
many hours a sleep of exhaustion, for though a man may be as strong
as a lion physically, an excess of emotion takes more from him than
the most terrible physical toil.
The next morning we were in Victoria, and I neither had, nor did I
seek, an opportunity of again speaking with Elsie. But I did talk
for a few moments with Fanny. I told her some part of what occurred,
but not much. She said as much:
"You are keeping something back, Tom. I think you know some reason
why Elsie won't have anything to do with you?"
"I do, Fanny," I replied: "but there is nothing in it at all, and one
of these days she will discover it."
"I hope so," said she, a little dryly for so young a girl; "but Elsie
is a little obstinate, and I have seen horses that would not jump a
gate. You may have to open it yet, Tom."
"It may open of it itself, Fanny, or the horse may desire the grass
and jump at last; but I will never open it myself."
And I shook hands with her and Mr. Fleming. I took off my hat to
Elsie, but said in a low voice:
"Remember what I said, Elsie, for I shall never forget." And then
she turned away; but did not look back this time, as she had done
when we parted in the hotel. Yet such is the curious state a lover
is in that I actually comforted myself that she did not, for if she
had, I said, it would have showed she was callous and cold. Perhaps,
though she kept command over herself just for the time, it failed her
at the last, and she would not let me see it.
When they were gone, Harmer and I went ashore too. As to the boy, he
was so desperately in love--calf-love--that I had to cheer him up,
and the way I did it makes me laugh now, for I have a larger
experience of boys and men than I had then.
"Never mind, Harmer," said I, "you will get over this in no time--see
if you don't."
He turned round in a blazing rage, and I think if it had not been for
the effects of the old discipline, which was yet strong upon him, he
would have sworn at me; for although Harmer looked as if butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth, I knew he had a very copious vocabulary
of abuse at his command, such as one learns only too easily at sea.
"What, Mr. Ticehurst!" he said stammering. "Get over it? I never
shall, and I don't want to, and, what's more, I wouldn't if I could!
It's not kind of you to say so, and I think--I think----"
"What, Jack?" said I, thunderstruck at this outburst, when I meant
consolation.
"That you'll get over it first. There now!" said he, triumphant with
this retort I burst into laughter.
"Well--well, Harmer, I didn't mean to vex you. We must not quarrel
now, for Jordan's a hard road to travel, I believe, and you and I
have got to make lots of money; at least you have; if we are going to
do anything in this country. For it's what the Yankees call a tough
place."
"Yes," replied Harmer, now ashamed of of being angry. "I heard one
fellow say to another on the steamer, 'You goldarned fellers from the
East think you're going to get a soft seat over here, but you bet
you'll have to rustle on the Pacific Slope or else git!' And then he
turned to me. 'D'ye hear that, young feller?--you've got to rustle
right smart, or you'll get left.'"
And Jack laughed heartily trying to imitate the accent of his
adviser, but he found it hard to disguise his own pure English,
learnt in a home far across the seas and the wide stretch of the
American Continent.
That night we stayed in Victoria in a rough hotel kept by two
brothers, Cornishmen, who invited us both to have drinks on the
strength of our all being Englishman, though I should never have
suspected that they were such, so well did their accent disguise the
truth from me. And in the morning, two days after, we went on board
the _Western Slope_ bound for New Westminster, on the mainland of
British Columbia, whither the Flemings had preceded us.