"Water?" says he, in doubt. "Is it the custom?"
"Leave un be, Dannie."
"Whatever the custom," my tutor began, "of course--"
"'Tis wise," I ventured; minded to this by the man's awkward handling
of the glass.
"For shame, Dannie!" cries my uncle. "Leave the parson take his
liquor as he will. 'Tis easy t' see he likes it neat."
Cather was amused.
"T' you, parson!" says my uncle.
The tutor laughed as he raised the glass of clear rum. I watched him
with misgiving, alive to all the signs of raw procedure--the crook of
his elbow, the tilt of the glass, the lift of his head. "To you, sir!"
said he: and resolutely downed it. 'Twas impressive then, I recall, to
observe his face--the spasm of shock and surprise, the touch of
incredulity, of reproachful complaint, as that hard liquor coursed
into his belly. 'Twas over in a moment--the wry mouth of it, the
shudder--'twas all over in a flash. My tutor commanded his features,
as rarely a man may, into stoical disregard of his internal
sensations, and stood rigid, but calm, gripping the back of his chair,
his teeth set, his lips congealed in an unmeaning grin, his eyes,
which ran water against his will, fixed in mild reproach upon my
beaming uncle, turning but once, I recall, to my solicitous self. With
no unseemly outbreak--with but an inconsequent ahem and a flirt of his
handkerchief over his lips--he returned to his composure. He would
never again drink rum with my uncle, nor any other liquor, through all
the years of our intimate connection; but this mattered not at all,
since he had in the beginning pledged the old man's health with honor
to himself. I was glad, however, that on the windy night of our
meeting he was no more put out; for I wished him safe within my
uncle's regard, and knew, as I knew my uncle and the standards of our
land, that he had by this gallant conduct achieved the exalted
station. 'Twas a test of adaptability (as my uncle held), and of
manhood, too, of which, as a tenet, taught me by that primitive
philosopher, I am not able, bred as I am, to rid myself to this very
day.
"Parson," said my uncle, solemnly, advancing upon the tutor, "ye
_done_ it, and ye done it _well_! Shake, shipmate--shake!"
The bell tinkled.
"Is that dinner?" cries my tutor. "Jove! but I _am_ on edge."
We moved into the dining-room, myself pitying the man in a heartfelt
way for his stomach's sake. 'Twas unkind in my uncle to sharpen his
appetite with red rum.
* * * * *
My uncle stumped ahead, his wooden leg as blithe as the sound one, and
was waiting in his humble quarters, with a gnome-like leer of
expectation, when we entered. Neither my watch, set with its shy
jewels, nor my sparkling fingers, nor the cut and quality and fit of
my London-made clothes, which came close to perfection, nor anything
concerning me, had caused my tutor even so much as to lift an eyebrow
of surprise; but the appearance of the table, laid in the usual way,
gave him an indubitable fit of amazement: for, as was our custom on
the neck of land by the Lost Soul, at the one end, where sat the
luxurious Dannie Callaway, by no will of his own, was the glitter of
silver, the flash and glow of delicate china, a flower or more from
our garden, exquisite napery, the bounties of the kindly earth,
whatever the cost; but at the other (the napery abruptly ceasing at
the centre of the table because of the wear and tear that might
chance) was set out, upon coarse ware, even to tin, fare of common
description, forecastle fare, fisherman fare, unrelieved by any grace
of flower or linen or glitter of glass, by any grace at all, save the
grace of a black bottle, which, according to my experience, was
sufficient to my uncle and such rough folk as dined with him. 'Twas no
cause for surprise to me, to whom the enigma had been familiar from
the beginning; but my tutor, come suddenly against the puzzle, was
nonplussed, small blame to him.
"Parson," says my uncle, "_you_--goes steerage!"
My tutor started, regarded my uncle with a little jerk of astonishment;
and his eyebrows went high--but still conveyed no more than polite
inquiry. "I beg your pardon?" he apologized.
"Steerage, parson!" my uncle repeated. "Steerage passage, sir, the
night!"
"Really!"
"'Tis the same as sayin'," I made haste to explain, "that you dines
along o' Uncle Nick at _his_ end."
The tutor was faintly amused.
"Steerage the night, parson; cabin the morrow," said my uncle. "Ye'll
live high, lad, when ye're put in the cabin. Lord love ye, parson! but
the feedin' there is fair scandalous. 'Twould never do t' have the
news of it go abroad. An' as for the liquor! why, parson," he
proceeded, tapping my tutor on the breast, to impress the amazing
disclosure, while we stood awkwardly, "Dannie haves a locker o' wine
as old as your grandmother, in this here very room, waitin' for un t'
grow up; an' he'll broach it, parson, like a gentleman--he'll broach
it for you, when you're moved aft. But bein' shipped from the morrow,
accordin' t' articles, signed, sealed, an' delivered," he added,
gravely, "'twouldn't be just quite right, accordin' t' the lay o'
fac's you're not in the way o' knowin', t' have ye feed along o'
Dannie the night. 'Twouldn't be right, 'twouldn't be honest, as I sees
it in the light o' them fac's; _not_," he repeated, in a whisper,
ghostly with the awe and mystery of it, so that the tutor stared
alarmed, "accordin' t' them damned remarkable fac's, as I _sees_ un!
But I've took ye in, parson--_I've_ took ye in!" he cried, with a
beaming welcome, to which my tutor instantly responded. "Ye'll find it
snug an' plenty in the steerage, an' no questions asked. No
questions," he repeated, with a wink of obscure meaning, "asked.
They's junk an' cabbage, lad, with plum-duff t' top off with, for a
bit of a treat, an' rum--why parson! as for the rum, 'tis as free as
water! Sit ye," says he, "an' fall to!" his face all broken into
smiles. "Fall to, parson, an' spare nothin'. Better the salt-junk o'
toil," he improvised, in bold imitation of the Scripture, to my
tutor's further astonishment, "than the ice-cream o' crime!"
My tutor helplessly nodded.
"Ol' Nick Top," says my uncle, "is on'y a hook-an'-line man, an' fares
hard, as fishermen must; but little ol' Dannie Callaway, sittin' there
in that little cabin o' his, is a damn little gentleman, sir, an'
feeds off the best, as them big-bugs will."
We fell to.
"Wild night," my tutor remarked.
'Twas blowing wildly, indeed: the wind come to the east--sweeping in
from the vast gray sea, with black rain to fling at the world. The
windows rattled as the gusts went crying past the cottage. But a warm
glow, falling from the lamp above the table, and the fire, crackling
and snorting in the grate, put the power of the gale to shame. 'Twas
cosey where we sat: warm, light, dry, with hunger driven off--a cosey
place on a bitter night: a peace and comfort to thank the good God
for, with many a schooner off our coast, from Chidley to the Baccalieu
light, riding out the gale, in a smother of broken water, with a rocky
shore and a flash of breakers to leeward. Born as I am--Newfoundlander
to the marrow of my body and the innermost parts of my soul--my heart
puts to sea, unfailingly, whatever the ease and security of my place,
when the wind blows high in the night and the great sea rages. 'Tis a
fine heritage we have, we outport Newfoundlanders--this feeling for
the toss and tumult and dripping cold of the sea: this sympathy, born
of self-same experience. I'd not exchange it, with the riches of
cities to boot, for the thin-lipped, gray, cold-eyed astuteness, the
pomp and splendid masks, of the marts and avenues I have seen in my
time. I'd be a Newfoundlander, outport born, outport bred, of outport
strength and tenderness of heart, of outport sincerity, had I my birth
to choose....
* * * * *
"Dannie," says my uncle, peering inquisitively into the cabin, "how
d'ye like that there fresh beef?"
'Twas good.
"He likes it!" cries my uncle, delighted. "Parson, he likes it. Hear
un? He likes it. An' 'tis paid for, parson--paid for! Dannie," says
he, again leaning forward, eyes bent upon my plates, "how d'ye like
them there fresh greens? Eh, lad?"
They were very good.
"An' paid for, parson--all paid for!"
My tutor, poor man! stared agape, his knife and fork laid by; for my
uncle, become now excited and most indiscreet, was in a manner the
most perplexing--and in some mysterious indication--pointing, thumb
down, towards the oil-cloth that floored the room, or to the rocks
beneath, which the wind ran over, the house being set on spiles, or to
the bowels of the earth, as you may choose. 'Twas a familiar thing to
me--the mystery of the turned thumb and spasmodic indication, the
appearance, too, at such times, of my uncle's eyes: round, protruding,
alight with wicked admiration, starting from the scars and bristles
and disfigurements of his face, but yet reflecting awe, as of some
unholy daring, to be mightily suffered for in due time. But 'twas not
familiar to my tutor, nor, doubtless, had ever occurred to his
imagination, sophisticated as he may have thought it; he could do
nothing but withstand the amazement as best he might, and that in a
mean, poor way, as he gazed alternately upon my uncle's flushed and
deeply stirred countenance and upon my own saddened, aged face,
speaking its ancient bewilderment. I pitied his disquietude, rather:
for he was come from abroad to our coast--and could not understand.
"Dannie, lad," my uncle anxiously inquired, "_can_ it be that you
likes them there fresh carrots?"
It could easily be.
"An' paid for!" my uncle ejaculated, with no abatement of delight.
"Parson," he proceeded, proudly, "good feed that there young gentleman
has in the cabin, eh?"
My tutor agreed.
"None better in the world, eh?" the old man went on. "_You_ couldn't
do no better, could you?"
My tutor said that no man could.
"An' paid for," says my uncle, thumbing down. "Paid for, every bite!"
He turned to me. "Dannie," says he, "how d'ye like them there new
potatoes?"
They were more than palatable.
"Hear that, parson!" cries my uncle. "He likes un! Imported direck,
sir, from Bermuda," says he, with all the vanity of riches. "Ever feed
so high yourself, parson? Consignment arrived," says he, "per S.S.
_Silvia_. You'll see it in the _Herald_ an you looks."
"Really!" my tutor exclaimed, for lack of something better.
"Fac'," says my uncle; "an' paid for--skin an' eye!"
My tutor gave it up--permitted himself no longer to be troublesomely
mystified; but after a quick glance from steerage to cabin, flashed
with amused comprehension of the contrast, threw back his head
with a little laugh quite detached from our concerns, and presently,
innured to the grotesquery, busied himself with relish upon his
salt-junk. Thereafter, the rum buzzing in his head, he ran on in a
vivacious way upon all things under the sun, save himself, so that
the windy night seemed very far away, indeed, and the lamplight and
fire to lend an inspiration to his nimble tongue, until, in a lull
of the engaging discourse, he caught my uncle peering greedily into
the cabin, all but licking his lips, his nostrils distended to the
savor, his flooded eyes fixed upon the fresh beef and vegetables in
manifest longing, every wrinkle and muscle of his broad face off
guard. My tutor--somewhat affected, I fancy, by this display--turned
to me with a little frown of curiosity, an intrusive regard, it
seemed to me, which I might in all courtesy fend off for the future.
'Twas now time, thinks I, to enlighten him with the knowledge I
had: a task I had no liking for, since in its accomplishment I must
stir my uncle unduly.
"Uncle Nick," says I, "'tis like Mr. Cather will be havin' a cut off
my roast."
"The parson?" my uncle demanded.
"Ay," says I, disregarding his scowl; "a bit o' roast beef."
"Not he!" snaps my uncle. "Not a bite!"
I nerved myself--with a view wholly to Cather's information. "Uncle
Nick," I proceeded, my heart thumping, such was the temerity of the
thing, "'tis a dirty night without, an' here's Mr. Cather just joined
the ship, an' I 'low, now, the night, Uncle Nick, that maybe you--"
"Me?" roars my uncle, in a flare of rage and horror. "_Me_ touch it?
ME!"
The vehemence of this amazed my tutor, who could supply no cause for
the outburst; but 'twas no more than I had expected in the beginning.
"Me!" my uncle gasped.
There was a knock at the door....
* * * * *
Ay, a knock at the door! 'Twas a thing most unexpected. That there
should come a knock at the door! 'Twas past believing. 'Twas no timid
tapping; 'twas a clamor--without humility or politeness. Who should
knock? There had been no outcry; 'twas then no wreck or sudden peril
of our people. Again it rang loud and authoritative--as though one
came by right of law or in vindictive anger. My uncle, shocked all
at once out of a wide-eyed daze of astonishment, pushed back from the
board, in a terrified flurry, his face purpled and swollen, and
blundered about for his staff; but before he had got to his feet, our
maid-servant, on a fluttering run from the kitchen, was come to
the door. The gale broke in--rushing noises and a swirl of wet
wind. We listened; there was a voice, not the maid-servant's--thin,
high-tempered, lifted in irascible demand--but never a word to be
distinguished in that obscurity of wind and rain. 'Twas cold, and
the lamp was flaring: I closed the door against this inrush of
weather.
My wretched uncle beckoned the tutor close, a finger lifted in
caution; but still kept looking at me--and all the while stared at me
with eyes of frightened width--in a way that saw me not at all.
"Parson," he whispered, "they wasn't ar another man landed by the
mail-boat the day, was they?"
The tutor nodded.
"Ye wouldn't say, would ye," my uncle diffidently inquired, "that he'd
be from St. John's by the cut of um?"
"A gray little man from St. John's."
"I 'low then," says my uncle, "that he talked a wonderful spell about
a lad, didn't um?"
My tutor shook his head.
"Nar a word--about _any_ lad?"
"I'm sure not."
My uncle tapped the tip of his nose.
"A red mole," said my tutor.
And now my uncle poured himself a great dram of rum. 'Twas a cataract
of liquor! Never such a draught had I known him dare--not in his most
abandoned hours at the Anchor and Chain. 'Twas beyond him to down it
at a gulp; 'twas in two gulps that he managed it, but with no breath
between--and then pushed the glass away with a shudder of disgust.
Presently--when the liquor had restored his courage and begun to fetch
the color to his pallid face--he got his staff in his fist and
stumbled off in a high bluster, muttering gross imprecations as he
went. The door slammed behind him; we heard no more--never a sound of
growl or laugh from the best room where he sat with the gray little
man from St. John's. 'Twas not a great while he stayed; and when he
came again--the stranger having gone--he drew up to the board with all
his good-humor and ease of mind regained. The rum had thickened his
tongue and given a wilful turn to his wooden leg: no more. There was
not a hint of discomposure anywhere about him to be descried; and I
was glad of this, for I had supposed, being of an imaginative turn,
that all the mystery of the luxury that was mine was at last come to
its dreadful climax.
"A ol' shipmate, Dannie," my uncle genially explained.
'Twas hard to believe.
"Sailed along o' that there ol' bully t' Brazilian ports," says he,
"thirty year ago."
I wondered why my uncle had not called for his bottle to be brought in
haste to the best room.
"Still storming," the tutor ventured.
"Blowin' high," I remarked.
"I 'low I'll stay ashore, the morrow," says my uncle, "an' have a
spurt o' yarnin' along o' that there ol' bully."
But the gray little man from St. John's--the gray little red-moled
man--was no old shipmate (I knew), nor any friend at all, else my
uncle would have had him hospitably housed for the night under our
roof.