POLITICS AT FOUR WINDS
When Anne came downstairs again, the Island, as well as all Canada, was
in the throes of a campaign preceding a general election. Gilbert, who
was an ardent Conservative, found himself caught in the vortex, being
much in demand for speech-making at the various county rallies. Miss
Cornelia did not approve of his mixing up in politics and told Anne so.
“Dr. Dave never did it. Dr. Blythe will find he is making a mistake,
believe ME. Politics is something no decent man should meddle with.”
“Is the government of the country to be left solely to the rogues
then?” asked Anne.
“Yes--so long as it’s Conservative rogues,” said Miss Cornelia,
marching off with the honors of war. “Men and politicians are all
tarred with the same brush. The Grits have it laid on thicker than the
Conservatives, that’s all--CONSIDERABLY thicker. But Grit or Tory, my
advice to Dr. Blythe is to steer clear of politics. First thing you
know, he’ll be running an election himself, and going off to Ottawa for
half the year and leaving his practice to go to the dogs.”
“Ah, well, let’s not borrow trouble,” said Anne. “The rate of interest
is too high. Instead, let’s look at Little Jem. It should be spelled
with a G. Isn’t he perfectly beautiful? Just see the dimples in his
elbows. We’ll bring him up to be a good Conservative, you and I, Miss
Cornelia.”
“Bring him up to be a good man,” said Miss Cornelia. “They’re scarce
and valuable; though, mind you, I wouldn’t like to see him a Grit. As
for the election, you and I may be thankful we don’t live over harbor.
The air there is blue these days. Every Elliott and Crawford and
MacAllister is on the warpath, loaded for bear. This side is peaceful
and calm, seeing there’s so few men. Captain Jim’s a Grit, but it’s my
opinion he’s ashamed of it, for he never talks politics. There isn’t
any earthly doubt that the Conservatives will be returned with a big
majority again.”
Miss Cornelia was mistaken. On the morning after the election Captain
Jim dropped in at the little house to tell the news. So virulent is
the microbe of party politics, even in a peaceable old man, that
Captain Jim’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were flashing with all
his old-time fire.
“Mistress Blythe, the Liberals are in with a sweeping majority. After
eighteen years of Tory mismanagement this down-trodden country is going
to have a chance at last.”
“I never heard you make such a bitter partisan speech before, Captain
Jim. I didn’t think you had so much political venom in you,” laughed
Anne, who was not much excited over the tidings. Little Jem had said
“Wow-ga” that morning. What were principalities and powers, the rise
and fall of dynasties, the overthrow of Grit or Tory, compared with
that miraculous occurrence?
“It’s been accumulating for a long while,” said Captain Jim, with a
deprecating smile. “I thought I was only a moderate Grit, but when the
news came that we were in I found out how Gritty I really was.”
“You know the doctor and I are Conservatives.”
“Ah, well, it’s the only bad thing I know of either of you, Mistress
Blythe. Cornelia is a Tory, too. I called in on my way from the Glen
to tell her the news.”
“Didn’t you know you took your life in your hands?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t resist the temptation.”
“How did she take it?”
“Comparatively calm, Mistress Blythe, comparatively calm. She says,
says she, ‘Well, Providence sends seasons of humiliation to a country,
same as to individuals. You Grits have been cold and hungry for many a
year. Make haste to get warmed and fed, for you won’t be in long.’
‘Well, now Cornelia,’ I says, ‘mebbe Providence thinks Canada needs a
real long spell of humiliation.’ Ah, Susan, have YOU heard the news?
The Liberals are in.”
Susan had just come in from the kitchen, attended by the odor of
delectable dishes which always seemed to hover around her.
“Now, are they?” she said, with beautiful unconcern. “Well, I never
could see but that my bread rose just as light when Grits were in as
when they were not. And if any party, Mrs. Doctor, dear, will make it
rain before the week is out, and save our kitchen garden from entire
ruination, that is the party Susan will vote for. In the meantime,
will you just step out and give me your opinion on the meat for dinner?
I am fearing that it is very tough, and I think that we had better
change our butcher as well as our government.”
One evening, a week later, Anne walked down to the Point, to see if she
could get some fresh fish from Captain Jim, leaving Little Jem for the
first time. It was quite a tragedy. Suppose he cried? Suppose Susan
did not know just exactly what to do for him? Susan was calm and
serene.
“I have had as much experience with him as you, Mrs. Doctor, dear, have
I not?”
“Yes, with him--but not with other babies. Why, I looked after three
pairs of twins, when I was a child, Susan. When they cried, I gave
them peppermint or castor oil quite coolly. It’s quite curious now to
recall how lightly I took all those babies and their woes.”
“Oh, well, if Little Jem cries, I will just clap a hot water bag on his
little stomach,” said Susan.
“Not too hot, you know,” said Anne anxiously. Oh, was it really wise
to go?
“Do not you fret, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Susan is not the woman to burn a
wee man. Bless him, he has no notion of crying.”
Anne tore herself away finally and enjoyed her walk to the Point after
all, through the long shadows of the sun-setting. Captain Jim was not
in the living room of the lighthouse, but another man was--a handsome,
middle-aged man, with a strong, clean-shaven chin, who was unknown to
Anne. Nevertheless, when she sat down, he began to talk to her with
all the assurance of an old acquaintance. There was nothing amiss in
what he said or the way he said it, but Anne rather resented such a
cool taking-for-granted in a complete stranger. Her replies were
frosty, and as few as decency required. Nothing daunted, her companion
talked on for several minutes, then excused himself and went away.
Anne could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye and it annoyed
her. Who was the creature? There was something vaguely familiar about
him but she was certain she had never seen him before.
“Captain Jim, who was that who just went out?” she asked, as Captain
Jim came in.
“Marshall Elliott,” answered the captain.
“Marshall Elliott!” cried Anne. “Oh, Captain Jim--it wasn’t--yes, it
WAS his voice--oh, Captain Jim, I didn’t know him--and I was quite
insulting to him! WHY didn’t he tell me? He must have seen I didn’t
know him.”
“He wouldn’t say a word about it--he’d just enjoy the joke. Don’t
worry over snubbing him--he’ll think it fun. Yes, Marshall’s shaved
off his beard at last and cut his hair. His party is in, you know. I
didn’t know him myself first time I saw him. He was up in Carter
Flagg’s store at the Glen the night after election day, along with a
crowd of others, waiting for the news. About twelve the ’phone came
through--the Liberals were in. Marshall just got up and walked out--he
didn’t cheer or shout--he left the others to do that, and they nearly
lifted the roof off Carter’s store, I reckon. Of course, all the
Tories were over in Raymond Russell’s store. Not much cheering THERE.
Marshall went straight down the street to the side door of Augustus
Palmer’s barber shop. Augustus was in bed asleep, but Marshall
hammered on the door until he got up and come down, wanting to know
what all the racket was about.
“Come into your shop and do the best job you ever did in your life,
Gus,’ said Marshall. ‘The Liberals are in and you’re going to barber a
good Grit before the sun rises.’
“Gus was mad as hops--partly because he’d been dragged out of bed, but
more because he’s a Tory. He vowed he wouldn’t shave any man after
twelve at night.
“‘You’ll do what I want you to do, sonny,’ said Marshall, ‘or I’ll jest
turn you over my knee and give you one of those spankings your mother
forgot.’
“He’d have done it, too, and Gus knew it, for Marshall is as strong as
an ox and Gus is only a midget of a man. So he gave in and towed
Marshall in to the shop and went to work. ‘Now,’ says he, ‘I’ll barber
you up, but if you say one word to me about the Grits getting in while
I’m doing it I’ll cut your throat with this razor,’ says he. You
wouldn’t have thought mild little Gus could be so bloodthirsty, would
you? Shows what party politics will do for a man. Marshall kept quiet
and got his hair and beard disposed of and went home. When his old
housekeeper heard him come upstairs she peeked out of her bedroom door
to see whether ’twas him or the hired boy. And when she saw a strange
man striding down the hall with a candle in his hand she screamed blue
murder and fainted dead away. They had to send for the doctor before
they could bring her to, and it was several days before she could look
at Marshall without shaking all over.”
Captain Jim had no fish. He seldom went out in his boat that summer,
and his long tramping expeditions were over. He spent a great deal of
his time sitting by his seaward window, looking out over the gulf, with
his swiftly-whitening head leaning on his hand. He sat there tonight
for many silent minutes, keeping some tryst with the past which Anne
would not disturb. Presently he pointed to the iris of the West:
“That’s beautiful, isn’t, it, Mistress Blythe? But I wish you could
have seen the sunrise this morning. It was a wonderful
thing--wonderful. I’ve seen all kinds of sunrises come over that gulf.
I’ve been all over the world, Mistress Blythe, and take it all in all,
I’ve never seen a finer sight than a summer sunrise over the gulf. A
man can’t pick his time for dying, Mistress Blythe--jest got to go when
the Great Captain gives His sailing orders. But if I could I’d go out
when the morning comes across that water. I’ve watched it many a time
and thought what a thing it would be to pass out through that great
white glory to whatever was waiting beyant, on a sea that ain’t mapped
out on any airthly chart. I think, Mistress Blythe, that I’d find lost
Margaret there.”
Captain Jim had often talked to Anne of lost Margaret since he had told
her the old story. His love for her trembled in every tone--that love
that had never grown faint or forgetful.
“Anyway, I hope when my time comes I’ll go quick and easy. I don’t
think I’m a coward, Mistress Blythe--I’ve looked an ugly death in the
face more than once without blenching. But the thought of a lingering
death does give me a queer, sick feeling of horror.”
“Don’t talk about leaving us, dear, DEAR Captain, Jim,” pleaded Anne,
in a choked voice, patting the old brown hand, once so strong, but now
grown very feeble. “What would we do without you?”
Captain Jim smiled beautifully.
“Oh, you’d get along nicely--nicely--but you wouldn’t forget the old
man altogether, Mistress Blythe--no, I don’t think you’ll ever quite
forget him. The race of Joseph always remembers one another. But
it’ll be a memory that won’t hurt--I like to think that my memory won’t
hurt my friends--it’ll always be kind of pleasant to them, I hope and
believe. It won’t be very long now before lost Margaret calls me, for
the last time. I’ll be all ready to answer. I jest spoke of this
because there’s a little favor I want to ask you. Here’s this poor old
Matey of mine”--Captain Jim reached out a hand and poked the big, warm,
velvety, golden ball on the sofa. The First Mate uncoiled himself like
a spring with a nice, throaty, comfortable sound, half purr, half meow,
stretched his paws in air, turned over and coiled himself up again.
“HE’ll miss me when I start on the V’yage. I can’t bear to think of
leaving the poor critter to starve, like he was left before. If
anything happens to me will you give Matey a bite and a corner,
Mistress Blythe?”
“Indeed I will.”
“Then that is all I had on my mind. Your Little Jem is to have the few
curious things I picked up--I’ve seen to that. And now I don’t like to
see tears in those pretty eyes, Mistress Blythe. I’ll mebbe hang on
for quite a spell yet. I heard you reading a piece of poetry one day
last winter--one of Tennyson’s pieces. I’d sorter like to hear it
again, if you could recite it for me.”
Softly and clearly, while the seawind blew in on them, Anne repeated
the beautiful lines of Tennyson’s wonderful swan song--“Crossing the
Bar.” The old captain kept time gently with his sinewy hand.
“Yes, yes, Mistress Blythe,” he said, when she had finished, “that’s
it, that’s it. He wasn’t a sailor, you tell me--I dunno how he could
have put an old sailor’s feelings into words like that, if he wasn’t
one. He didn’t want any ‘sadness o’ farewells’ and neither do I,
Mistress Blythe--for all will be well with me and mine beyant the bar.”