C. B.’s Great Temptation
From that eventful evening the friendship between these two most
strangely assorted chums deepened in force until every man in the ship
knew certainly, what he had only suspected before, that whoever took it
in hand to do despite to one of them would surely have to reckon with
the other. And that knowledge had a wholly quietening and sweetening
effect upon all hands. Every one knew by this time, knew intimately,
that C. B.’s principles were of a high and noble kind, that he would
always be on the side of the good and true, and would be ready to put
up with much trouble and annoyance from anybody rather than assert
himself. But they all knew also that his chum Merritt was of a totally
different stamp. They felt that, given what he considered cause, he
would as soon kill a man as eat an orange, and they were afraid that if
they offended C. B. and Merritt got to know of it, he might suddenly
apply his own method of chastisement to the offender.
And so the _Eliza Adams_ became a most eminently peaceful as well as
hard-working ship. Captain Taber used to gaze admiringly upon the quiet
gangs working here and there, with never a voice upraised in anger, and
say to his mate, “Winsloe, I’ve often said that the day of miracles was
long past, but I ain’t so sure now. You and me always looked upon the
old hooker as a good ship, an’ by jingo, she _was_ a good ship compared
with lots that we’ve known, a perfect little galley of angels, but
they was a good deal of rough house at times in order to keep her good,
now wasn’t they?”
“True ’nough, captain,” sententiously assented Winsloe, “men must be
kep’ in hand.”
“That’s just my point, Winsloe,” eagerly interrupted the skipper. “Ever
since the weltin’ that Merritt gave Pepe she ain’t wanted no keepin’ in
order, she’s been an abode of peace; y’ haven’t had t’ raise yer voice
above a whisper to get everything done on the instant. Whatever is it
in this young fellow that makes such a change in everybody that comes
near him? Some fellows hate him like pizen, others freeze to him like
Merritt, an’ yet he doesn’t do or say anythin’ except his plain duty.”
“I guess I don’t know, sir,” yawned Winsloe as if tired of the subject.
“S’long as a man does his work ’thout giving trouble I ain’t usin’ my
brains on his character. Don’t make no sort o’ difference t’ me.”
“Ah, I see,” murmured the skipper, and turned away, fully convinced
in his own mind that Mr. Winsloe did not view C. B. with any favour,
in fact, was a man of that strange mind calibre, that praise of any
other man, whether affecting him or not, acted upon him like a personal
affront.
Thereafter for a space of three months, during which they continued to
cruise the off-shore ground with fair success, taking altogether some
four hundred barrels of oil, no incident occurred worth making special
mention of here. Only it could not escape the notice of any unbiassed
observer like the skipper, how, with the exception of the other boat
steerers and the three officers above Merritt, all the crew seemed to
worship C. B.; their faces brightened whenever they saw him. And then
there came another explosion with Pepe again, who seemed to have grown
moodier and more sullen, although he was just as good a whaleman as he
had ever been.
It was during the trying out of some oil, just at the change of
watches, that one of C. B’s boat’s crew, coming hurriedly on deck,
charged into Pepe, who stood wiping his hands by the mincer, having
just relinquished the baler to C. B., standing on the try-works
platform. It was a pure accident, due to the quantity of oil on deck.
And besides, the man, a Yankee from Vermont, was not in the best of
health, for he was suffering from a severe outbreak of painful boils.
But Pepe sprang to his feet and seized the unfortunate fellow by the
throat, forcing him against the rail, and had already struck him
a heavy blow in the face, when C. B. leaped from his place on the
platform, and snatching Pepe’s just descending arm cried, “Let the man
alone!”
Pepe turned like a baffled tiger, all teeth and snarl, and grappled C.
B., everything forgotten but his present desire to do harm to the one
who had got in his way.
A serious smile was on C. B.’s face as he easily held the furious man
who, lost to all sense of danger, strove to get at his knife. Seeing
or rather feeling this, C. B. lost his temper and, freeing his right
arm, struck at Pepe’s face once, twice, with crushing force; then as if
maddened beyond endurance he clasped Pepe in his arms and dashed him
against the bulwarks where he lay limp and motionless. C. B.’s anger
passed as rapidly as it had kindled, and falling on his knees in the
oil by the side of the unconscious man he tore open the breast of his
shirt and felt his breast, finding to his immense relief that his heart
was beating, though feebly.
Then rising, he lifted the limp body in his strong arms and bore it
aft out of the way of the oil. He was about to get some restoratives
when a hand was laid on his arm, and turning he saw Merritt who said--
“Looky here! no more foolin’ with that nigger. He ain’t hurt any worth
speakin’ of, an’ you’re only spoilin’ him. ’Sides, your pot wants
lookin’ after. Get back t’ yer work and leave him t’ learn his lesson.”
C. B. obeyed mechanically, but with a dull feeling of regret at his
heart, for he was afraid of that demon that had so suddenly arisen
within him, remembering keenly as he did the last occasion when it
had done so. And as he went on with his baling, he prayed fervently
to be delivered from what he felt was the awful danger of taking a
fellow-creature’s life in anger.
All the while he was thus accusing himself the rest of the watch, with
the exception of Mr. Spurrell, who was asleep and heard nothing of the
fray, were almost beside themselves with joy at the thought that the
gentle kindly fellow whom they all loved could on occasion use the
great strength they knew he possessed not only in self-defence but for
the defence of others. The man whom he had rescued, in particular, was
from thenceforward his devoted slave; no one could say a word even
remotely disparaging C. B., but he was upon them like a faithful dog in
defence of his master. And strangest of all, C. B. never heard another
word about it from anybody. Pepe was all right to all appearance at the
change of watches, and if the captain knew he never mentioned it.
Now I fear that there are many good people who will feel that C. B. was
woefully lacking in what they consider should be the first attribute
of the Christian--the ability and grace to submit not only to any
violence offered to themselves, but to witness any shameful oppression
of others with the same meekness of spirit. I verily believe, I must
believe, judging from what I read written by these people and what I
have heard them say, that if they saw the last extremity of murderous
outrage being offered to their nearest and dearest they would only drop
upon their knees and pray that God would pardon the perpetrators; they
would not dare to interfere, actively, nor if they were able would they
allow others to do so. Nay more, if any person did interfere, and in
defence of their children happened to shed the blood of the aggressors,
they would be the first to call him or them murderers.
It is an attitude of mind which I do not pretend to understand, but
one that is all too common and widespread to ignore. It is far removed
from the spirit of the ancient martyrs, in that its professors are
usually the very first to cry out for protection of their own bodies
and property by the forces of the law. And I can only characterize such
people by the plain old name of coward. More, I do not believe that God
saves a man to make him a coward, but to make him as brave as was the
Gentle Saviour when he scourged the infamous rabble out of the Temple,
alone and unaided. But our curious weaklings would have reserved their
wrath for the scourge wielder, their pity for the scoundrels. Would!
nay do so every day, as the columns of our newspapers bear witness.
And now the time approaches when C. B. is to endure the heaviest
temptation of all. The season was over on the off-shore ground, and the
good ship was put under all sail for the Sandwich Islands, it being
the captain’s intention to visit Honolulu to refit there and replenish
with wood and water. As soon as the news became known all hands went
nearly wild with delight, for in those days Honolulu was a place where,
in spite of the efforts of the missionaries, scenes of the wildest
licence and debauchery took place upon the arrival of a whaleship whose
captain was kindly disposed enough to give his crew liberty and money.
Reminiscences of former excesses were now on everybody’s tongue, even
the taciturn Merritt became almost garrulous in describing to his chum
what he considered to be the attractions of Honolulu and its environs.
In his innocence and ignorance C. B. listened greedily to these tales,
and asked many questions, which made Merritt grin and wonder loudly
that any man should be so fresh and green as he put it. And there was
no one to warn, nothing to give any hint as to the foulness of what
was coming. More than that, there was an uneasy sense in C. B.’s mind
of being gradually estranged from the high and holy thoughts which had
always been his precious possession, even his prayers were becoming
perfunctory as the scenes so vividly depicted by the conversation of
his fellows rose before his mental vision and his curiosity with regard
to them grew stronger.
They made a very fine and uneventful passage to the islands, arriving
off Honolulu in the early dawn of a perfect day, and working into the
harbour, where four other whaleships were lying at anchor, in the usual
easy seaman-like fashion of those ships. The vessel was moored smartly,
and the order given to furl all sail, and in carrying out this order
an incident occurred which brings into my story for a little while
a man who has not received any but cursory mention and that not by
name--Mr. Allan the third mate. He was a jovial stocky little man of
great vivacity and good temper, who interfered with nobody and made no
trouble as long as the work went on all right. Being in the other watch
he had never had much to do with C. B., and regarded him as an amiable
sort of crank.
Now it chanced that in the rush to get the sails furled C. B. found
himself side by side with Mr. Allan on the main topsail yard, tugging
furiously at the sail to get it furled before their rivals forrard, in
the usual emulation seen in these vessels at sail furling. Now C. B.
being so long and Mr. Allan so short, only about five feet four, the
latter could only reach from the foot-rope, and sprang upwards from it
grabbing at the sail and missing his hold. He was sliding backwards
from the yard with a despairing yell when C. B., letting go the sail,
made a grab at his left arm, caught it, and turning, held the whole
weight of his body as it fell. The wrench was terrible, and C. B’s
stout sinews cracked, but exerting all his great strength he drew the
third mate upward until he placed him on the foot-rope again in safety,
when they both lay gasping across the yard and looked at each other.
When they had recovered their breath they finished furling the sail,
being hopelessly beaten of course by the fellows forrard. But when they
reached the deck Mr. Allan held out his hand to C. B. saying, “Put it
there, young man, I reckon I owe you a life or so.”
C. B. was about to reply, when Merritt with his dangerous grin on came
between them and said--
“Now, Mr. Allan, what’s you doin’ with my chum?”
“Oh, don’t bark,” replied Allan laconically, “nobody’s kidnappin’ your
chum. But I s’pose you haven’t any real objections t’ a fellow saying
thank ye for having his life saved, have ye?”
“No, but we’ll let it go at that,” snarled Merritt. “When I’ve got a
chum I don’t want no partners in him, ’n I won’t have ’em neither, see.
You can thank all ye want to, but no chummin’.” And he turned away.
C. B. looked bewildered from one to the other, and then went on with
his work, with a deep sigh of despair at his inability to comprehend
this peculiarly selfish form of affection.
He could see, however, that it behoved him to be careful in his
intercourse with others, no matter how friendly they might be, not
that he felt the least fear of Merritt, but that he realized to the
full that the latter’s love for him had humanized and made gentle a
nature essentially savage and morose. He felt in a very special measure
responsible for Merritt, having an indefinable idea that he might one
day be able to hail him not only as a chum but as a brother Christian.
Not that C. B. had ever attempted to proselytize; he had absolutely
none of the missionary spirit except that he always did live before his
fellows as seeing Him who is invisible, and the example of such a life
often preaches louder than any amount of spoken words. And his heart
had greatly rejoiced when on several occasions during the night watches
Merritt had asked him in a casual off-hand sort of way to tell him what
Christianity really was.
But I am forgetting altogether that the ship is at anchor in the
harbour of Honolulu, and that C. B., in a strange port for the first
time in his life, became carried away, quite bewildered by the
wonderful scene on deck. For the ship was overrun by both Kanakas from
the shore and visitors from the other ships, all manner of island
produce for sale was being continually hoisted on board, and all
round the ship, like so many dusky mermaidens, disported a very shoal
of girls, forbidden to come on board by the captain’s stern orders.
That gentleman, however, seeing how impossible it was for his men to
work under the present conditions, and being moreover of a very kindly
disposition, gave orders that as soon as the decks were cleared up work
should cease for the remainder of the day, so that the men should be
able to enjoy the change without breaking any rules or getting into
trouble. Then he called all officers and boat steerers aft and gave
them stringent orders to watch that no women or liquor were allowed on
board, as he didn’t want any gratuitous trouble. Also to keep a good
lookout that nothing of small portable size was left lying about for
the natives to steal, and especially that no rope under any pretence
was flung to a boat, since it is a frequent trick of theirs played upon
unwary seafarers to haul as much of a rope flung to them as possible
into a canoe and then--cut it off as high up as they can reach--which
of course causes serious trouble the first time the rope is let go, if
it is, as usual, a portion of the ship’s running gear.
These orders required a great deal of energy and watchfulness to
carry out, but nobody seemed to take them seriously except C. B.,
and in consequence he was kept extremely busy, especially as to his
slight annoyance he was continually being addressed in the Kanaka
tongue by natives who looked upon him as one of themselves, though not
full blood. For the Pitcairn Islanders, handsome as they undoubtedly
are, do show and probably always will show, both in complexion and
feature, a striking resemblance to the stock from which their maternal
ancestors were derived, and this by a well-known peculiarity is far
more pronounced in the case of males than of females. Now C. B. hardly
knew a word of Kanaka, for he had not fraternized at all with the
natives on board, having been early advised to keep his place, so when
these dusky Hawaiians smilingly saluted him with “Aloha,” to which he
cheerily responded, and then went on to talk to him, his blank stare
of non-understanding and his vigorous pantomime to that effect puzzled
them beyond measure.
It was evident that they did not believe him at first, by their
scornful looks. They took him for a renegade, a half-breed ashamed of
his parentage, which is indeed an unpardonable offence in their eyes,
they having a vigorous hatred of all forms of snobbery, until presently
mixing with the Kanakas forward, they heard such an account of C. B.’s
goodness, his prowess as a fighter and his ability as a whaleman, that
they changed their minds concerning him, and were ready to accord
him supernatural honours. He, of course, noticed the deference they
paid him, the instant obedience to his lightest word, the anxiety to
please him manifested on every side, but ascribed it to their innate
kindliness, to everything in fact but its true reason. It was not until
they began to bring him tribute in the way of presents, fruit, eggs,
fowls and vegetables, that he began to wonder whereunto all this was
tending, and as he could make but little headway through his want of
knowledge of the language he hunted up Merritt, who spoke the language
very well, and asked him if he could ascertain the reason.
Merritt held a palaver, which, by the way, is a West African native
word that has passed into our language, and then did what C. B. had
never deemed him capable of, burst into a perfect roar of laughter.
To C. B.’s puzzled inquiry as to the cause of this sudden hilarity,
he presently replied, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes, in
allegory and parable--
“Boys oh! boys, get sticks and beat the natives. By the great hook
block ef this don’t beat heavin’ the anchor through the hause-pipe.
What sh’ll I hear next, I persoom? Well, never mind, this is the way of
it. All these kotow, that offerings, them perlite inquiries that you
don’t savvy means that you’re somethin’ of a second mate god. I don’t
know what them Kanakas of ours has been tellin’ ’em about ye, but it
must a ben a pretty tall yarn, judgin’ by what I’ve heard already. An’
this is only the beginnin’ of it.”
One of the crew-Kanakas was just shambling aft to the scuttle-butt for
a drink of water when Merritt hailed him in his own language and asked
him what sort of a game he had been putting up on “Seeby” as they all
called our hero forrard. The man told him as truthfully as he knew how
what had been said, at which Merritt laughed more than ever, and at
last turning to C. B. said--
“Looky here, my boy, ef you ain’t careful these yer Kanakas’ll be
wiling you away to become the head boss of some new religion of theirs.
I guess they hain’t ever struck one o’ your breed before.”
C. B. tried to laugh, but it was a failure. He had come up against a
problem far too heavy for his simple mind to cope with. I know of no
subtler form of temptation than this for a good man, unless gifted with
an exceptionally large fund of common sense and much experience. Now C.
B. was a sensible youth, and his splendid early training as well as his
native grit had carried him grandly through his recent fiery trial, but
nothing that he had ever heard or learned had prepared him for this.
His mind was chaos for a time, and then there emerged one idea clearly
and distinctly, an idea sedulously cultivated by the fine old man
McCoy--humility. He felt rather than knew that this would save him,
this and the steadfast performance of his duty, from being carried
off his balance, and unknown to any save his Maker his heart went up
in prayer to be kept humble, true and diligent. It was all over in a
moment; then he turned to Merritt with a bright and cheerful smile,
saying--
“Please tell these foolish fellows that I am only a boat-steerer, who
loves God, and that there’s nothing special about me except that I’m a
bit bigger and stronger than ordinary men, which I can’t help being,
you know.”
Merritt still grinning told them something that C. B. did not of course
understand; if he had he would have protested, for it was not at all
what he meant to be conveyed to them. It was to the effect that while
C. B. was not exactly a godling he was a specially big man highly
favoured by God; that he was half a Kanaka, but had never learned his
mother language, and that the _papalangi_ (white men) were all agreed
in honouring him. So if they chose to show their appreciation of the
honour done to their race in him it was not for him to baulk them,
unless they worried him, when he would speedily inform them of the fact
and they must instantly obey him. For Merritt, old in the knowledge of
these light-hearted folks, foresaw that to occupy such a position as C.
B. had been involuntarily lifted into meant not only a great lightening
of labour for all the officers, but getting the best that life afforded
by way of tribute, as a right and without any cost except to the donors.
In which, of course, Merritt was perfectly right from his point
of view, and from thenceforward the ease with which discipline was
maintained among the visitors was wonderful. Only C. B. felt sorely
handicapped by his inability to speak the language, although, as he
always had Merritt to fall back upon to interpret for him, that was not
so much of a drawback as he thought it.
The other boat-steerers and officers soon found that life was very
easy for them, and took full advantage of the fact without worrying
about the reason for it, until on the third day after their arrival
the skipper said at dinner: “The Kanakas don’t seem to be half as
troublesome as usual on board, how is it?” There was silence for a
moment or two until, seeing his seniors said nothing, Mr. Allan, the
third mate, replied--
“It’s all on account of that extraordinary boat-steerer of ours, sir.
He seems to have got hold of the Kanakas in such a way that they’ll
do anything for him. They don’t take a bit of notice of us as far as
I can see, but if he so much as winks they’re ready to fly. I heard
him say to one the other day, ‘The captain doesn’t want any grog
brought aboard and I hope none of you will do it?’ That was all, but
that Kanaka looked as if he had had a message from heaven. An’ I don’t
believe there’s ben a drop come in over the rail, an’ that without our
troubling at all.”
The other officers went on stolidly eating, apparently without any
interest in what was being said, but the captain, smiting his leg, said
with great earnestness--
“In all my fishin’ I’ve never met a man like this fellow. Whatever does
it mean? He don’t preach, he don’t psalm-sing (I often wish he would
after hearin’ him that night aboard the _Matilda Sayer_), he only just
does what we all try to do according to our ability, his duty, an’ yet
he strikes me as bein’ a miracle. I sometimes wonder whether we’re
lucky in havin’ him aboard the ship or not.”
Then Mr. Winsloe lifted his head with a dogged air and remarked--
“Don’t see anything particularly lucky in havin’ him aboard, sir. We
hain’t had only an ordinary cruise, we’ve had two or three nasty rows
through him, and a pretty bad smash. I think there’s too much fuss
bein’ made altogether over a half-bred Kanaka who’s only a fair average
boat-steerer after all.”
There was another silence after this, until presently the skipper said
with a half sigh--
“Ah well, I can understand you’re not having any praise to waste on
him, Winsloe. If I’d ben in your place, an’ he’d used up my harponeer
as cheaply as he has yours, I sh’d feel ’bout the same I guess. But
Pepe hasn’t made a good show, now has he?”
“Best harponeer I ever saw get into a boat until this ’ere speculation
of yours came aboard. Now he ain’t wuth a row of pins. I could pick a
dozen men out o’ the crew as good as him at any time.”
“I think that’ll quite do, Mr. Winsloe,” answered the skipper quietly,
but with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “I don’t allow any man to talk
t’ me as your permittin’ yerself to do. I k’n make allowance all right,
but you don’t need any allowance, you know better. Now don’t let it
occur agen, an’ if Pepe is useless as you say he is, disrate him an’
put another man in his place.”
Nothing more was said, but all four men filed out of the little cuddy
in silence thinking over the sudden turn affairs had taken. But Captain
Taber was not the man to allow any suspicion of injustice to taint his
actions, and so he presently sent for Mr. Winsloe to his cabin, gave
him a cigar, took one himself, and when they were well going he said
quite casually--
“Looky here, Winsloe, you’n me’s got on very well this last three
years nearly, an’ I ain’t goin’ t’ let any misunderstandin’ spoil our
relations if I can help it. Nor yet I ain’t goin’ t’ be unjust, to you
nor nobody else--tain’t in me t’ put up with it or suffer it. Tell
me, what ye got agen that young boat-steerer, ’cause if the matter’s
serious enough to cause a breach between us on account of him bein’
in the ship, I’m goin’ t’ send him back t’ Norfolk; I ain’t goin’ t’
lose my mate. Though, mind ye, if that meant turnin’ a man adrift that
had done no wrong just t’ save myself trouble an’ to please another
man who’d taken a dislikin’ for him, I wouldn’t do it, no, not for the
value of ship an’ cargo. Now, honest injun, own up, what ye got agen
him?” And lying back, calmly puffing his cigar, the captain awaited the
reply. After a long pause it came reluctantly--
“I ain’t got nothin’ agen him, only I hate the sight of his face”; and
here the speaker became transformed and gave vent to a string of awful
blasphemies, which even then seemed quite inadequate to express the
hatred he felt for C. B. Captain Taber watched this exhibition with
an abstracted air nor showed any surprise. When the furious man had
subsided, though still trembling with utter rage, the skipper said--
“I guess you’re in a pretty bad way, Winsloe. You seem to me to be like
one of them old-time folks that was possessed with devils. Here’s a man
that never done you a mite of harm, never give you a word o’ sass, nor
a minute’s trouble, yet if I’m any judge you’d wash yer hands in his
blood this minute if y’ got a chance, an’ feel glad. God help ye, I’m
afraid it means that you’re right down bad, an’ he’s about as good as
they make ’em. Well, I must see about this.” And Winsloe retreated on
deck.
I must close this chapter with just a word of explanation to such dear
gentle souls among my readers who, leading sheltered lives, have never
had the misfortune to come across these terrible exhibitions of hatred
without any cause save the natural antagonism of light and darkness.
I beg them to believe that I am not exaggerating, but drawing from
life, and to be thankful if they have never met such instances of the
causeless hatred of the utterly innocent.