Farewell to the Ship
It would be difficult if not impossible to convey to the reader the
consternation that fell upon Captain Taber’s mind when the decision of
his fellows were made known to him. How he fought against, not only
their sentence, but his own convictions, for during the long hours that
he had lain there sensible that the strength and vigour that he once
possessed had gone from him and gave no sign of returning, he had been
compelled to acknowledge that at last he had, as he put it, come up
against a difficulty that he could neither get around nor leap over.
And as soon as they were gone, he turned his face to the bulkhead and
shed the bitter tears of a strong soul compelled to admit complete
defeat.
And then came a gleam of comfort. In his dire distress of mind he
thought of C. B., the gentle Christian man, who without making any
special effort had twined round his heart strings, who through great
and undeserved trials had still retained his serenity of soul, and he
felt that here indeed was a man that he could turn to in his hour of
need, one who would be able to impart to him some of that inner calm
that seemed proof against all outward disturbance however great. Man
fashion he hardly thought of the source of that calm, as we enjoy the
warmth of a fire in winter without feeling grateful to the elements
which make the fire possible. But for that we may not blame him, since
he is in this respect so completely at one with the great majority of
mankind.
A dim indefinite purpose was shaping itself in his mind, but he did
not try to bring it into concrete form, he just laid back upon his
pillow exhausted and went to sleep, being indeed almost made worse
by the mental strain of the last few hours. And Mr. Winsloe, coming
down softly to inquire after his welfare, seeing that he was resting,
tip-toed up again. He, the mate, was quite insensibly bettered by
this series of happenings, for although, like all other mates, he had
ambitions, longed to command a ship, he actually forgot all about the
possible benefit to himself, forgot the strong words addressed to him
by the skipper in Oahu, forgot all his previous bitterness against
C. B. in sorrow for the sympathy for his sorely stricken friend. As
yet, however, he had refused to contemplate the possibility of Captain
Taber becoming a helpless invalid for life. Terrible though he knew his
injuries to be, he had been accustomed to seeing so many what we should
call miraculous recoveries, that the fact of his skipper being alive
and his wounds healed seemed to him the best evidence that presently he
would resume command as if nothing had happened.
None of the visiting skippers had said anything to him about the
decision they had come to, so that at the most he only contemplated an
enforced holiday for the skipper on shore here while he took the ship
for a cruise and came back with a big catch of oil to find the skipper
awaiting him in the very prime and vigour of health. These ideas of his
were to receive a rude shock that very afternoon.
While all hands were quietly busy and a party ashore were filling
casks with water, the soft musical cry of “Sail ho!” was raised. And
round the North Head came one of the dandies of the high seas, a
British corvette. She had just paid a visit to this out-of-the-way
place in the course of a surveying cruise, because--well, because it
is necessary in the interests of the world’s commerce that British
men-o’-war shall thus patrol the seas and record their observations,
an immense duty imposed upon the British Navy which is all too often
forgotten by its calumniators, and those who clamour for its starvation
and eventual abolition. Poor little one-idea’d men, what a pity it is
that their power for harm isn’t limited as is their power for good.
She had not been at anchor very long before Captain Swift of the
_Coral_, deputed by his brother-captains, boarded her and begged that
her surgeon would have the goodness to visit the _Eliza Adams_ with
him, and give an opinion upon the state of her suffering captain. With
that ready courtesy so characteristic of British Naval officers, the
request was immediately complied with, and presently Mr. Winsloe saw
approaching the _Coral’s_ boat with the captain of the _Coral_ and a
Naval officer, who on mounting the side was introduced to him as Doctor
Devine of the British warship _Fame_. Informed of their errand, Mr.
Winsloe gravely led the way below, where the doctor made an exhaustive
examination of Captain Taber, at the conclusion of which, and after
hearing the history of the accident, he gave it as his opinion that it
was hardly short of miraculous that Captain Taber was alive at all, but
that he certainly would never be able to pursue his calling again.
Captain Taber then, in a firm voice, requested the doctor to tell
him how long he had to live. “That, my dear sir, is a question that I
would answer you as frankly as you have asked it were it in my power.
But I cannot tell. There have been most extensive internal injuries in
addition to those that are apparent, and what their effect may be in
the future is a matter of conjecture only. You may live to a green old
age with great care and attention, and you may only live a week or two.
All I can tell you I have told you, and I should certainly advise you
to relinquish your command at once and proceed homeward by easy stages
and in as much comfort as you can get. I am deeply sorry that I can say
nothing more hopeful and pleasant, but I can see that you are a man
who is well fortified in the best possible way against any fortune.
Good-bye, sir, and may you have a pleasant and easy journey home.”
And the genial doctor was taken back to his ship with a story for the
wardroom that attracted the deepest attention from his fellows.
He had been gone but a very short time when Captain Taber, having made
up his mind, sent for Winsloe and said--
“Now, my dear fellow, I’m going to hand the ship over to you, and hope
with all my heart that you’ll have a rattling good time for the rest of
the cruise. Everything is in order, and you know quite as much about
the affairs of the ship as I do, so there is no need for me to worry
you or myself with going over them. Next, I want you to send C. B. to
me. I feel that as I cannot travel alone there is no one to whom I
could more safely entrust myself than him, and I want to arrange with
him.”
Winsloe signified assent, and going on deck passed the word for C. B.,
telling him that the captain wished to see him. C. B. obeyed on the
instant, and seated himself at the captain’s side at his request.
“Christmas,” said the suffering man impressively, “the doctor has
confirmed what my friends the captains of the other ships have told
me, that I am done, my career as a whaling skipper is over, and I am
bound to agree with them; for I mustn’t betray the interests of my
owners by spoiling the ship’s voyage. They have also told me that the
sooner I get home with as little exertion as may be, the better chance
I have of life. Now, I can’t travel alone, and I sent for you to learn
whether you are willing to take the burden of an invalid broken man on
your young shoulders, and give up your chance of making a good pay-day
here. Will you come with me and look after me for such small pay as I
am able to offer you, nothing in comparison with what your services are
worth; but I am a poor man, and I have a wife and three youngsters in
Fairhaven, who will need every cent that I can scrape together for the
lean years I see before me?”
It was some little time before C. B. could answer, for, like all real
Christians, he was exceedingly tender-hearted, and the sad spectacle of
the suffering man before him touched him very deeply. But he recovered
himself and answered--
“Captain Taber, I thought you knew how little store my people set by
money. I did not come with you with any idea of making money, only
that I felt that I must see the world and at the same time earn my own
living. And if by doing what you ask I can repay your kindness to me,
money need not be mentioned between us as long as I can get food enough
to keep me alive and clothing such as is necessary. I shall be glad
and proud to serve you with all my ability, and though I may be clumsy
at first I hope to learn quickly.”
“Ah, my dear fellow,” faintly murmured the skipper, “there is far more
than just body service I want from you. I want to learn the secret
of your quiet happiness and I believe you can teach me. I’ve watched
and wondered at you for a long time, envying you the peace that I saw
you always enjoying, the power of living blamelessly in the midst of
us ruffians and yet doing your work with the best of us. Perhaps the
Almighty has given me this stroke in mercy because He saw that I would
not give myself time to learn His ways without it. I don’t know, but
He knows I’m willing to learn now, and with the prospect of having you
with me I am quite resigned to what I at first felt would break my
heart. So that’s settled. I’ll make inquiries now as to the method of
getting from here to the States, to San Francisco, and thence across
the Continent home, and as soon as I find out I’ll let you know. Now,
I’m very tired again and I think I could sleep a little. God bless you,
my boy, and I thank you with all my heart.”
As C. B. left the cabin to go on deck again he met Merritt, and one
glance at his face gave him a feeling of terrible compunction. A flood
of recollections rushed into his mind, the stern hatred and bitter
jealousy that Merritt had shown to any one who he suspected of coming
between him and the man he loved with an affection resembling that
of the tigress for her cubs. What would _he_ say? More painful and
important question still, what would he do? In this trouble he went
to his unfailing resource. Sitting down on a spar in a dark corner
he buried his face in his hands, and prayed for guidance in this
most difficult matter, and for poor Merritt. He felt a keen pang at
the thought that he had never been able to return the affection the
fourth mate had lavished upon him in anything like the same measure.
He had loved Merritt only as he had loved the skipper and a little
more than he had loved any other member of the ship’s company, the
only difference being that he had cherished a belief that he had been
the means of humanizing that stern and vengeful nature by becoming the
object of its fierce affection.
He lifted his head refreshed by his communion, and there, quite near to
him, sat Merritt, having stolen up noiselessly. As soon as he looked up
Merritt edged towards him and said in a hoarse, constrained voice--
“What’s the matter with ye, chum? Ain’t ye feelin’ good?”
“Oh yes, thanks,” replied C. B. somewhat wearily, “but I’m worried
about you. I don’t know how you’ll feel when I’m gone.”
There was a painful pause for at least a minute and then Merritt said--
“Gone! Then I was right. I thought I heard the skipper say somethin’
to ye ’bout comin’ with him to look after him. So you’re goin’, an’
I shan’t see ye any more. Well, they’s one thing about it, you’ve
softened me a lot, my boy, I k’n tell ye that; for if I was now as I
have ben, I’d a killed you fust an’ myself after, I wouldn’t a ben
separated from you. Now I don’t feel able to say a crooked word t’ ye.
But I feel all gone in here, an’ I know for certain that I shall peg
out mighty quick after you’re gone. I hain’t got nothing t’ live fur
an’ I don’t want t’ live anyhow. When are ye goin’?”
“I don’t know,” answered C. B.; “it depends upon the skipper getting a
passage, I suppose; but don’t, chum, don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?” inquired Merritt harshly.
“About dying because I’m going away. It sounds awful; I can’t
understand it.”
“Very well, I won’t because ye wish it, but as t’ yeer understandin’
it--how should ye? Never mind. Jest ask yer God t’ make it as easy
fer me as He can an’ keep me tame, fer I feel as if I’d like to die
fighting, run amok like a Malay. And for your sake I’d rather not do
that.” And he rose and walked abruptly away, leaving C. B. bewildered
and full of grief, yet on the whole relieved that Merritt had taken the
tidings so quietly. And he lifted a heart full of thanksgiving to God.
Early the next morning Mr. Winsloe was considerably startled by seeing
a smart boat from the _Fame_ coming alongside, and going to the
gangway, he received a gentleman in uniform, who introduced himself as
Captain Silchester of the _Fame_.
“I would like, sir,” said he, “to see your captain, who I regret to
hear is so seriously ill.” And Mr. Winsloe immediately led the officer
below.
Captain Taber was awake and glad to see his visitor, who, after
exchanging compliments, proceeded to state the object of his visit. “My
doctor has told me of your sad condition, and I have come to offer you
a passage in my ship to Yokohama, which is our next port of call. From
thence you will be able to get a steamer to San Francisco.”
Captain Taber smiled wanly and said--
“You are most kind, sir; you have greatly relieved my mind. I really
did not see how I was going to get in the track of a fairly rapid
passage home without wasting more of my owners’ time, which I am very
loth to do. But I have a personal friend and attendant who is going
with me to look after me in my helplessness, can you extend your
hospitality to him?” he inquired anxiously.
“Oh, I see no difficulty in that,” breezily answered the British
captain; “in fact, I anticipated something of the sort and so was
prepared for it. But will you be able to come on board to-morrow, for
we sail in the afternoon?”
“Oh yes,” eagerly assented the skipper, “my preparations are
practically all made. And now, sir, if you’ll allow me I’ll send for my
friend, who is one of the finest fellows that ever God made, and let
you see him.” And blowing a whistle that hung by his side the steward
appeared. “Tell Christmas I want him,” ordered the skipper.
“Aye, aye, sir,” responded the steward, and in a couple of minutes C.
B. stood before them.
In as short a time the skipper had explained matters to Captain
Silchester, who greeted C. B. warmly and said--
“I believe I have seen you before when you were a boy of about ten. My
visit to Norfolk Island in one of Her Majesty’s schooners is one of the
happiest recollections of my life. Your father’s name, I believe, is
Philip Adams?”
C. B.’s face brightened as he gladly answered, “Yes, sir, and did you
meet my beautiful mother?”
Captain Silchester smiled at the eager, loving question and replied,
“Yes, I had that honour and privilege, and I congratulate you upon
your parents, young man. They are, I should say, the very salt of the
earth. Well, I must not hinder you, sir,” to the captain; “you’ll have
much to set in order, and I shall expect you on board sometime before 4
p.m. Good-bye.” And turning sharply he hastened on deck to avoid being
thanked again.
But he was in no hurry, for once on deck he charmed Mr. Winsloe by
asking to be shown over the ship and have her strange appliances
explained to him, showing so much interest and appreciation that
Winsloe was delighted and when he had gone, said to Spurrell, “Well, if
all the Britishers was like that one I shouldn’t have no quarrel with
them, I’m dead sure of that.”
“Ah,” said Spurrell, “there’s some good Britishers, but there’s an
awful lot of shysters. Still, there’s good and bad of all sorts, I
s’pose, and Britishers ain’t the worst by any odds.”
Then the whistle blew and Winsloe hurried aft to find the skipper quite
excited at the near prospect of beginning his journey home. It took but
little time to acquaint the mate with the British captain’s courteous
offer, and then, with C. B.’s aid, the preparations for departure were
begun. Neatly and methodically everything belonging to the skipper
was packed, except his charts and navigational books, all of which he
left to Winsloe. And so swiftly was the work done that by the time
the skipper was wearied, that is in about an hour, everything was
practically ready, and the two men left him to sleep again.
As they went softly on deck Mr. Winsloe said, “Well, Christmas, I
needn’t ask you to do your best for the skipper, because I believe that
no one could or would do better than you. I’ve never been able to like
ye, for yeer too goody goody for me. But I’m free to admit that if I’d
a had ten thousand men to pick and choose from, I’d have chosen you;
this sort o’ thing’s right in your line. I s’pose your packing won’t
take long?”
“No, sir,” cheerily answered C. B., “five minutes ’ll see me through;
but I’d like if may to go forrard and say good-bye to the boys. I’m
very fond of them all, and I hope none of them has got anything
against me. I’d be very sorry to leave any hard thoughts of me behind.”
“Oh, certainly,” said the mate, “go an’ hold a prayer meetin’ if ye
like, I’m sure I don’t care now. I can’t say that I saw any signs of
yer wantin’ t’ do such a thing before, but if I had I should have
stopped it, for I don’t want a crew too tender-hearted t’ kill a whale
in this business. There, get along, boy, an’ make the most of yeer
time.”
C. B. felt that he hardly understood the mate’s curious remarks, but
he was glad of the permission, and going forrard he slipped down
into the dark triangular space where the crew lived, a funny abode
as shore-people would think for thirty-two men to spend all their
leisure time in for nearly four years. To his modest surprise he was
welcomed as if he had been an admiral, every man trying to show him
some attention. And when all had settled down and had riveted their
attention on him he said--
“Boys, I’m going to leave you, to look after the poor skipper on his
long journey home. But I felt as if I couldn’t go without coming into
your midst, and telling you how thankful I am to have got on so well
with all of you. I feel that I haven’t done my duty by you in one
respect: I might have tried to tell you something about the God I love,
I might have tried to show you how much He loves every one of you and
would, if you would let Him, make up to you the loss as you think it of
most of the good things that people have ashore.
“As it’s too late to do that now I’ll ask you to forgive me for not
doing it before, for being so selfish as to enjoy my communion with Him
and not try to get others to share it. And if you’ll let me I’ll kneel
down in the midst of you here and pray that you may all learn from
him direct, how good He is in all His ways and how not one of you is
forgotten by Him.” And without any further preliminary C. B. fell on
his knees on the black planks, and said--
“Dear Father God, bless the good shipmates I’m leaving. They come from
all parts of Thy world, but whether they know Thee or not, whether any
one has ever spoken to them about Thee or not, they are all Thy well
beloved children. Show Thyself to them in all Thy love, keep them in
the hollow of Thy hand at all times, give them the assurance that Thou
art their Father, and that Thy dear Son Jesus Christ is their Saviour.
Bless all my dear shipmates, for Christ’s sake. Amen.”
It was over, and Yankee, Portuguese, and Kanakas stared at C. B. and
each other with heavily throbbing hearts, as wondering what this
might mean. Evidently they were half expectant, half afraid of some
supernatural visitation, but as C. B. rose from his knees with a
streaming face and they all followed his example, a big slab-sided
Vermonter came over to C. B. and held out his hand saying--
“We’re all a lot of heathen, I’m afraid, but you’ve give us a better
idea of God Almighty than any of us ever had or likely to have. This
ship’s been better for you bein’ aboard. We shall be better for your
little prayer here to-day. Now we’ll bid you good-bye,” and turning to
the crew he said--
“Boys, all of us can say to him God bless you and keep you the same
good clean strong man you’ve allus been amongst us. Ef you hain’t
preached or prayed, you’ve done what’s harder than either, I guess.
You’ve lived such a life as we’ve never seen lived before, and if we
ain’t the better for it, ’tain’t any fault of yours. Good-bye and God
bless ye.”
C. B. could only brokenly echo the blessing, and shaking hands all
round, looked lovingly into each face with their variations of
expression or utter want of expression. Then he climbed on deck again,
feeling as if he had been through an ordeal of the toughest kind. And
then he found he had to face his berthmates, who all appeared strange
to him. It was just the old story--they had taken but scanty interest
in him while he was one of themselves; now he was about to leave them
they recalled numberless instances of his lovingkindness, patience,
courage and industry, and were in danger of going to the opposite
extreme. The three Yankee boat steerers shipped in Honolulu held aloof
entirely. They knew very little of C. B., and probably felt some
little pride of race, looking down on one whom they ignorantly took to
be a mere Kanaka. But Chips, the cooper, cook, and steward, were for
them unusually demonstrative, and each pressed upon C. B. some little
memento, some piece of scrimshaw work to show that they remembered some
act of kindness long ago forgotten by him.
When this part of his ordeal was over he was tired out and turned in,
falling asleep on the instant. But he was aroused almost immediately
as it seemed to him, though it was at 3 a.m., by a trembling hand laid
upon him. He sprang up in his bunk with his hands outspread, and one of
them was seized by the intruder, who said--
“It’s me, Merritt. Come on deck, I want t’ say good bye t’ ye.”
C. B. leaped out of his bunk and hurried after his chum, who drew him
to a seat on a spar and said in a hollow strained tone--
“You’re goin’ away to-day, and before eight bells to-night I shall know
whether the God you’re so fond of talkin’ about is as good as you
say He is. Now don’t be skeered, I ain’t goin’ t’ kill myself, kase
why--it’d hurt you. But I know I’m goin’ out as soon as I’ve seen the
last of you, an’ I do think I’ve got a good opinion of your God because
of knowing that. He knows my life ain’t worth livin’ an’ He’s takin’ it
away. If I wasn’t a poor ignorant heathen I’d tell Him how thankful I
am, but I guess He’ll know.”
To attempt any description of the talk that ensued until dawn would be
an impertinence, for one of the men, though such a Christian as the
greatest exponent of Christianity among us might envy, was, in all his
ideas and knowledge, simple as a little child, while the other, deeper
in darkness than the most debased Pagan, could only see one fact, for
such it was to him, that he was to die immediately after the parting.
It did not trouble his thoughts for one moment, any more than it would
that of the faithful dog who only lives in his master’s life, and dies
of a broken heart when that master is removed.
So they sat hand in hand till dawn, they took the five o’clock coffee
together, with dim ideas in C. B.’s mind of it being a sort of
sacrament, and then as the mate’s loud call of “Turn to” echoed along
the decks Merritt simply rose from C. B.’s side and said--
“Good-bye, chum. I’ll be glad to find that what you say is true, an’
that I sh’ll see you again in another life. I don’t understand it,
but it sounds good. Now I shall keep out of yer way till yer gone, so
good-bye.”
At three o’clock p.m. the skipper was carried from his bunk well
wrapped up, and placed in his boat, which was lowered with her gunwale
level with the rail for the purpose. C. B. jumped in by his side and
stood by to steady him as the boat was lowered. The crew followed and
the boat shoved off, but as she did so all hands but one swarmed to
the rail and rigging, and gave a round of cheers, at which both the
skipper’s and C. B.’s eyes brimmed over. But C. B. noted what Captain
Taber did not; that in that crowd of faces Merritt’s did not appear. He
was found four hours later in his bunk, dead, without a sign about him
to show why he had gone.