A SHADOW.
The two fishermen went off in opposite directions again the next day,
the Admiral taking the gig and sailing down the fjord to the distant
river, while Trist went ashore in Nielsen's boat to fish the stream
that ran past the little mountain homestead.
It was a dull foreboding day; for the clouds had fallen over the
summits and all was gray. The gorges were darksome, and over
everything there seemed to have come a sudden gloomy melancholy.
Without actually raining, the gray mist overhead dissolved softly
into a falling dampness which was more subtly penetrating than
driving rain itself. The sea was of a dull gray, and looked muddy.
Those Arctic fjords can make a wondrous show when the sun shines, and
fleecy white clouds nestle upon the shoulders of the grim mountains,
but when a gray pall hangs motionless one thousand feet above the
sea, there is no more dismal prospect on earth. It seems as if the
rain would softly fall for ever and a day--as if nothing could ever
brush aside the heavy vaporous veil, and let the gay blue sky peep
through again.
But it was a grand fishing-day, despite a chill breeze too weak to
move the clouds, and the fishermen went off in high feather. The
ladies stood on deck and waved departing wishes for good luck.
Before the breeze Admiral Wylie scudded away, while Trist's progress
in the heavier boat was slower, owing to the northern deliberation of
Nielsen's movements. They saw him land, and immediately he was
surrounded by a skipping, dancing bevy of little white-haired
children--merry little boys who begged him in their monotonous Norse
to throw a stone far, far across the sea. Willingly he obliged them,
while eager hands were outstretched to hold his rod and gaff. Then
the little maidens had to be attended to, notably one quaint little
figure in a dress made upon the same lines as her mother's, reaching
to her heels, with true golden hair, plaited and pressed close
against her tiny head in gleaming coils, who looked up into his face
with a wondrous pair of blue eyes, which seemed to speak some deep
unearthly language of their own.
This little one went up the path towards the river in triumph,
standing upon the lid of his creel with her little fingers closely
clutching the collar of his coat, while the boys and older girls ran
by his side chattering gaily.
'And that,' said Mrs. Wylie in her semi-sarcastic way as she turned
to go below with the view of consulting the steward about dinner, 'is
the man whose element is war.'
She waited a moment, but Brenda made no reply beyond a short,
mirthless laugh.
During that day the clouds never lifted. It was twilight from
morning till night. At times it drizzled in a silent, feathery way,
and occasionally it rained harder. The temperature grew hot and
cold, unaccountably, at intervals, and the roar of the river was
singularly noticeable.
At six o'clock in the evening Nielsen's boat dropped alongside, and
Trist clambered on board the _Hermione_. The ladies, having heard
the sound of oars, came on deck to meet him.
'Ah,' said Brenda; 'you are the first home again.'
'Yes. I have three, so I am content,' was his reply. 'Is there no
sign of the Admiral?'
'Not yet.'
As they spoke they moved aft and stood beneath the awning, looking
down the deserted fjord. There was no sail, no suggestion of life to
break the monotony of its waters. Presently Trist took a pair of
binoculars from a small covered box screwed to the after-rail, and
gazed steadily at a certain point on the southern shore where there
was a gap in the bleak wall of mountain.
'The boat,' he said, 'seems to be lying there still; I can just see
something yellow near the large rock overhanging the river.'
Mrs. Wylie looked at her watch. In half an hour dinner would be
ready, and the boat was five miles away. Even with a stiff breeze
the Admiral, whose punctuality was proverbial, could not hope to be
in time. She turned, and, looking forward, perceived the steward
standing at the open galley door, telescope in hand, wearing upon his
keen North-country face a look of holy resignation.
'That old gentleman,' said Mrs. Wylie in an undertone, as she looked
towards the distant boat, 'is going to get himself into trouble. The
steward is annoyed.'
Presently Trist went below to change his clothes, and when he
returned, twenty minutes later, the ladies were still on deck,
standing near the after-rail, looking down the fjord towards the
river. It was nothing alarming for a salmon-fisherman to be an hour
late for dinner, and there was no display of anxiety on the part of
Mrs. Wylie. She was not, as I have endeavoured to explain, a
worrying woman, and she was, moreover, a sailor's wife, endowed with
a brave, cheery heart, and well accustomed to wait for wind, weather,
or mishap. She appeared to be more afraid of the steward's
displeasure than of anything else, laughing at it with mock
foreboding, after the manner of ladies who feel that they are beloved
by their inferiors.
About half-past seven a fresh breeze sprang up, blowing across the
fjord fitfully, and consequently favourable to sailing either way.
Brenda had been watching Mrs. Wylie and Theo furtively, for she was
of a somewhat anxious temperament, and could not understand the
levity with which they were pleased to treat Admiral Wylie's
prolonged absence.
She now noticed a subtle change in Trist's manner. His meek eyes
acquired a strange quickness of movement, and for the first time she
saw him glance sideways, or, to be more explicit, she perceived that
he turned his eyes in a certain direction without turning also his
head. This direction was invariably down the fjord towards the
river. There was no actual change in his manner, for he walked
backwards and forwards beside them, upright yet humble, firmly yet
softly, as usual; but there seemed to be a new influence in his
presence. It was one of command. The girl suddenly and
unaccountably felt that this soft-spoken man was no longer a mere
guest on board the _Hermione_. In the absence of Admiral Wylie the
actual command of the ship fell upon his shoulders, and in his
gentle, passive way he had assumed the responsibility, almost
unconsciously, without ostentation.
Brenda was in no manner surprised when he presently turned to Mrs.
Wylie and said:
'It is no use waiting any longer. I think you and Brenda had better
go down to dinner, while I take the longboat and sail down to see
what is delaying them.'
The hostess made no attempt to combat his decision, but amended it
hospitably.
'You must have some dinner first,' she said decisively. There was no
interchange of anxious doubts, no alleviating suggestions of obvious
worthlessness, such as timid people proffer readily to persons
suffering from suspense; and Brenda felt that there was a great
courage behind the smiling woman's face at her side.
Trist went forward to where Captain Barrow was standing, smoking his
evening pipe just abaft the mainmast.
'Will you get out the long-boat, please,' the ladies heard him say,
'with mast, and sail, and one man?'
Presently he joined them in the saloon, where they were pretending to
dine, and hurriedly drank some soup. No one spoke, and the sound of
the sailors' movements as they lowered the long-boat was the only
break in an uncomfortable silence. The steward moved noiselessly and
lithely, as behoved his calling.
'Your oilskins are in your state-room, sir,' he whispered presently
to Trist, who soon afterwards passed through the narrow doorway into
his little apartment.
When he came out he was fully clad against the fine cold rain which
was falling now. Even in heavy sea-boots he managed to walk smoothly.
The lamp had been lighted in the saloon, and he stood for a moment
within its rays, looking at the two ladies. It was an incongruous
and unconsciously dramatic picture thus formed in the refined little
saloon, the two gracious women smiling wistfully at the straight,
slim man in gleaming waterproofs. The very contrast between their
delicate evening-dresses and his seaman-like attire was a shock. The
white tablecloth, adorned with polished silver and odorous flowers,
seemed a mockery, because there were two empty chairs beside it.
He leant over the back of his chair, and, reaching his wine-glass,
which stood half full, he emptied it.
'Do not be anxious,' he said; 'I expect we shall be back before you
have finished dinner.'
And he passed out of the saloon, swinging his sou'-wester by its
strings.
'We will keep some dinner warm for you both,' called out Mrs. Wylie
cheerfully, and from a distance he answered:
'Thank you!'
While continuing their homeopathic meal they heard the sound of men's
voices, the creak of a block, and immediately afterwards the rush of
the long-boat through the water under heavy sail.
It was very cold that evening, and, owing to the heavy clouds, almost
dark. Nevertheless the ladies went on deck immediately after the
farce of dinner had been carried to an end. At first they talked in
a scrappy, strained way, and then lapsed into silence. Wrapped
closely in their cloaks, they walked side-by-side fore and aft.
Owing to the fine drizzle which blew across the fjord, it was now
impossible to distinguish any object more than a mile away from the
yacht, and the two women were enveloped in a silent gray veil of
suspense.
Until ten o'clock they continued their vigil--alone on the deck
except for the watchful steward standing within the galley-door.
Then Brenda espied a sail looming through the gray mist.
'There is one of the boats,' she said gently, but there was a faint
thrill of dread in her voice.
Mrs. Wylie made no answer, but walked to the after-rail, out from
beneath the awning, into the rain. Brenda followed, and there they
stood waiting.
'It is the gig,' said the elder woman half to herself, otherwise the
horrible moments passed mutely by.
There was but one man in the boat. Trist had undoubtedly sent for
help. Contrary to etiquette, the sailor did not make for the steps
hanging amidships, but came straight beneath the counter of the
_Hermione_, lowering his sail deftly, and standing up to touch his
dripping sou'-wester as the boat fell alongside.
The sailor was young and impulsive. He did not think much of
yachtsman etiquette just then, but stood up in his boat, holding on
to the rail of the vessel with both hands.
'Please, marm,' he said hurriedly and unevenly, 'I waited at the
mouth of the river as the Admiral told me to do until seven o'clock,
and he never came. Then I landed, and clambered up a bit to look for
him. When a' was a bit up I saw the long-boat comin' and Mr. Trist
steering her, so I went down again. Mr. Trist's gone up the river,
marm, and me and Barker waited for two hours and heard nothin'. Then
Barker says I'd better come on board an' tell yer, marm.'
'You did quite right, Cobbold,' replied Mrs. Wylie, in a singularly
monotonous voice. 'You had better come on board and get something to
eat; you look tired.'
But the man did not move. He shook his head.
'No, marm,' he said bashfully, 'I'm not wantin' anything t'eat. And
I'm not tired ... only I'm a bit ... scared! I should like to go
back, marm, at once to the river.'
Mrs. Wylie thought for a moment deeply.
'I will go back with you,' she said at length. Then she went forward
to where Captain Barrow stood with the rest of the crew, now
thoroughly aroused to anxiety, grouped behind him.
'Captain Barrow,' she said, in a tone slightly raised, so that all
might hear her, 'the Admiral has not come back yet. I am afraid that
he has either hurt himself or is lost in the mist. I will go back
with Cobbold in the gig. But ... it will not be necessary to keep
the men up.'
In the meantime, Brenda had not been idle. She ran down below and
found the steward already in the saloon procuring waterproofs. He
was kneeling before an open locker when she entered the little cabin,
and, turning his head, he saw her.
'Are you going too, miss?' he asked.
'Yes, Clarke, I am going.'
'Then will you put this flask of brandy into your pocket, miss? I
don't like to give it to the missus. It's kinder suggestive like.'
She took the little bottle, and while he helped her on with her
waterproof cloak he spoke again in his kindly Northumbrian
familiarity:
'It's a good thing we've got Mr. Trist with us this night, that it
is! He's what Captain Barrow would call a strong tower.'
Brenda smiled rather wanly as she hurried away.
'Yes,' she answered; 'I am very glad we have him to rely upon.'
Mrs. Wylie seemed scarcely to notice that Brenda stepped into the
boat and sat down beside her. The little lady was making a brave
fight against her growing anxiety. She even laughed when the sail
filled with a loud flap, and nearly precipitated Cobbold into the
water. Crouching low, the two women sat in silence. It was now
blowing stiffly, and perhaps Cobbold would have done better to take a
reef in the light sail; but in his anxiety to reach the river without
delay he risked the lives of his two passengers more freely than he
would have dared to do in a cooler moment. As is usually the case,
his confidence was greater under excitement, and no mishap befell the
little boat.