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A WHALEMAN’S WIFE
* * * * * *
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
THE CRUISE OF THE CACHALOT.
THE LOG OF A SEA WAIF.
THE MEN OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE.
IDYLLS OF THE SEA.
WITH CHRIST AT SEA.
A SACK OF SHAKINGS.
DEEP SEA PLUNDERINGS.
THE APOSTLES OF THE SOUTH-EAST.
WITH CHRIST IN SAILORTOWN.
THE PALACE OF POOR JACK.
THE WAY THEY HAVE IN THE NAVY.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: SHE STOOD THERE FRAMED IN THE PORTAL LIKE A GRACEFUL
PICTURE.
_P. 11._]
A WHALEMAN’S WIFE
by
FRANK T. BULLEN
[decoration]
London: Hodder and
Stoughton [Decoration] 27
Paternoster Row: MCMII
Printed by
Spottiswoode and Co. Ltd., New-Street Square
London
TO
THEODORE ROOSEVELT
PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A SMALL TOKEN OF THE AUTHOR’S ESTEEM
FOR A STRONG CHRISTIAN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Unrequited Love 1
II. ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici’ 9
III. A Sudden Resolve 17
IV. Departure 25
V. Outward Bound 34
VI. Disillusionment 43
VII. A Stricken Demon 54
VIII. A Disastrous Day 69
IX. Reuben Eddy, Mariner 85
X. The _Good_ Ship ‘Xiphias’ 99
XI. At the Old Homestead 115
XII. Repairing Damages 130
XIII. The Captain Goes Ashore 146
XIV. Among Right Whales 162
XV. A Double Deliverance 176
XVI. A Reign of Terror 192
XVII. Salvage Operations 207
XVIII. Humanity Rewarded 221
XIX. A Great Blow 236
XX. The Cyclone 251
XXI. A Strange Rescue 267
XXII. The Meeting 283
XXIII. Farewell to the _Xiphias_ 297
XXIV. Check to the King, and a New Move 311
XXV. The Education of the Skipper 326
XXVI. The Loss of the _Grampus_ 344
XXVII. And Last 361
Works by the Same Author 379
CHAPTER I
UNREQUITED LOVE
‘Yew don’ seem ter keer any gret amount fer me, Pris.’
The speaker was a young man of twenty or thereabouts, whose loosely
jointed frame showed, even under the shapely rig of homespun,
consisting of just a shirt and pants, a promise to the observant eye
that he would presently develop into a man of massive mould. He lay
upon the stubbly ground, his head resting on one arm, looking wistfully
up into the face of a girl about his own age. His clean-shaven face
wore that keenness of outline so characteristic of the true Yankee
blend in which the broad Saxon or Frisian features seem to have been
modified by the sharp facial angles of the indigenous owners of the
soil. But in the softness of his grey eyes a close observer would have
foreseen a well of trouble springing up for their owner on behalf of
others. It was the face of the typical burden-bearer.
In her face, on the other hand, there were evident manifestations of
discontent and weariness of restraint. A healthy, pleasant countenance
enough, with dark brown eyes and curling hair, well-shaped nose and
short upper lip just spotted with freckles. The eyes looked, however,
as if they could harden and grow black upon occasion, while the square
chin and firm curve of the shut mouth told a plain tale of self-will.
There was just a touch of petulance in the quick movement of her head
as she replied:
‘You’re so exactin’, Rube. An’ surely you wouldn’t want me to be a
hypocrite an’ gush over you when I don’t feel a bit like it. The honest
fact is that I like you better than anybody I’ve ever seen, but you
know I haven’t seen many people at all; and as for the men folks about
here, they’re almost as dull and stupid as the cattle themselves. An’
more than that, Rube, I’m afraid I don’t know what this love is that
you seem to be et up with, an’ I’m not going to say I do to please
anybody.’
There was silence. Over the wide stretches of newly reaped land not a
breath of air was stirring; at evening’s beckoning finger the voices
of the day were hushed. It was nearing the gloaming of one of those
heavenly days common in Vermont towards the end of harvest, when
Nature seems to be contemplating in satisfied peace the result of her
summer’s fruitage, and baring her bosom to the mellowing sun for a
while, as if to store up warmth against the coming of the fierce blasts
of the bitter Northern winter. The smell of the patient earth was
sweet, restful in its effect upon the senses, and insensibly moulding
impressions upon the mind that would remain through life ineffaceable
by any subsequent experiences, and assert themselves in after-years by
vivid reproductions of the present scene. Yet the calm beauty of their
surroundings had upon each of the two young people an almost entirely
opposite effect. He was permeated with a serene sense of satisfaction
with life in all its details but one--if only he could be certain that
Priscilla loved him! Born and bred upon the typical Green Mountain
farm, educated up to the simple standard of the village school, and
utterly unacquainted with the seething world beyond his horizon, he
was as nearly happy as it is good for man to be in this stage of his
existence. His parents, although, like himself, New Englanders born
and bred, had somehow escaped from the soul-withering domination of
that cruel creed that finds an awful satisfaction in the consignment to
eternal fires of all who by one hair’s-breadth should dare to differ
from its blindly ignorant conception of theology. Love formed the basis
of their faith, and their ideas of an immanent God were mainly derived
from the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Under such mild influences it was hardly wonderful that Reuben Eddy
had early ‘got religion,’ in the queer phraseology of the States,
although in his case, as in that of his parents, there was scarcely
any point of resemblance common to the ordinary religious professor.
Following none of the orthodox forms of worship, and pretending to no
formulated creed, the Eddys lived and moved and had their being in a
quiet consciousness of the friendliness of God. They looked as if they
would at no time have been surprised, as they certainly would have
been unafraid, to see His face with their mortal eyes. They seemed to
love God, as birds sing, from an inward impulse that is not a duty but
a part of the organism, as natural a necessity as the breath or the
heart-beat. Yet, or perhaps because of this, they were intensely human.
There was none of that aloofness from the interests of their kind that
some excellent people regard as the hall-mark of a Christian. In fact,
they were a lovable family whose influence was like that of the spring
sun upon all (though they were but few) with whom they came in contact.
Within this last year or two, however, Reuben had felt the deep placid
current of his life strangely disturbed. His life-long playmate,
Priscilla Fish, whose parents’ farm (three miles away) was the nearest
to that of the Eddys, had suddenly assumed a totally different
appearance in his eyes. For some time he went about dreamily wondering
whatever the change could be that had at once removed her so far above
the category of ordinary, everyday people, and at the same time had
made him long for her society so ardently that every hour spent away
from her seemed to drag, and every thought was shot through and through
with side-issues about her. Now between him and his father there had
been a life-long intimacy, gently sought and fostered by the elder man
as soon as Rube was old enough to know him. Thus they were more than
father and son--they were David and Jonathan, with no secrets from one
another. So after Reuben had wrestled with this new experience long
enough to be able to reduce it to some formulable expression, he took
it to his father, as he had done every other difficulty as long as
he could remember. The old man listened in sympathetic silence while
his son described his symptoms with a gravity that would have been
ludicrous but for its earnestness and sincerity. How he felt like a
caged bird until he saw Priscilla, yet when she appeared he became hot
and cold by turns, and felt so awkward and clumsy that he wanted to
hide himself in the earth, and so on, in the same old way that was all
so new and disconcerting to him.
Very gently the old man explained matters to him, winding up with a
merry twinkle in his eyes, as he said:
‘Haow en the name er pashense yeu’ve shun clar ov this complaint all
these years ez er merricle. Ef I know ye--en I ain’t so dead certain
of that as I wuz--yew’re just the kinder lad to fall in love fust go.
Anyhow, I’m goin’ ter chip in ’n ’elp ye if it kin be did et all.’
With all his fatherly instincts aroused, the fine old fellow trudged
over to his neighbour’s farm that same evening, and sought out old man
Fish. In quaint fashion, and blaming himself whimsically for his lack
of observation in not seeing how things were going before, he explained
the situation, finding, much to his gratification, that Priscilla’s
father was entirely agreeable to the match. Solemnly the two patriarchs
discussed ways and means, planning all manner of pleasant things
for the future of their children as far as their sober wishes would
allow them. That Reuben and Priscilla should marry, inherit the Eddy
homestead, and glide placidly along through life as their parents
had done, seemed to these two fond old hearts as roseate a prospect
as could be desired. So they sat on, exchanging their slow-moving
thoughts, until long past their usual early hour for bed. After a long
pause, Farmer Eddy stretched himself with a yawn and said:
‘Wall, Zeke, I reckon I’ll be gittin’ to’rds hum. Seems ter me we ben
havin’ er mighty long yarn to-night, ’relse I’m most amazin’ sleepy.
Good-night t’ye.’
There was no reply. It was perfectly dark, for they had been sitting in
the barn, and when the night closed softly down they had not thought
to get a lamp, in their earnestness of conversation. Slightly raising
his voice, Farmer Eddy repeated his salutation, but it fell upon the
unresponsive darkness around like a pebble dropped into a deep well.
With a chill creeping over his scalp the old man reached forward to
where his friend was sitting and groped for his hand. It was some
seconds before he could find what he sought, and when he did, the truth
sank into his marrow instantly: Ezekiel Fish was dead.
Trembling in every fibre, Eddy hastily made for the house, coming into
the well-lighted living-room with his message in his face. The family,
consisting of Mrs. Fish, her two grown-up sons, and Priscilla, were all
seated there, eagerly discussing a knotty point in some book Priscilla
had been reading aloud, but the entry of the old man and their first
glance at his face froze them into silence. Going straight up to the
mother, Eddy laid his trembling hand upon her shoulder, and said,
‘Hepziber, the Lord be good t’ye. He’s taken away yew’re husband.’
There was no outcry. Priscilla came swiftly to her mother’s side and
tried to soothe the heavily stricken woman, whose silent suffering was
pitiful to see; while the two sons and the old man, bearing lights,
returned to the barn and reverently carried in the body. The usual sad
offices were soon rendered to the remains, and with slow, uncertain
steps Eddy returned home to tell his sorrowful story and warn Reuben
that, for the present at any rate, a prior claim to attention had been
made upon their neighbour’s family.
Some months, therefore, elapsed before anything of the matter that lay
so close to his heart passed Reuben’s lips. But he was by no means
impetuous, and besides, he had always been trained to subordinate his
wishes to those of others, so that while his love was undoubtedly
rooting and grounding itself more firmly every day, he was able
to abstain from all mention of it to its object. Summer came, and
with it an opportunity during a long Sunday afternoon’s ramble with
Priscilla to broach the important matter to her. She listened--somewhat
listlessly, it is true, but still she listened; while Rube, growing
bolder as he went on, and marvelling at his own powers of speech,
poured out to her his hopes and plans. But no enthusiasm could hold out
long under the unconcealed air of indifference with which his fervent
speech was received, and he soon sobered down to wonder quietly how
it was she took his vehemence so coolly. Being ready, however, to
supply all deficiencies from his own abundant stock, he was not unduly
depressed. And as the days went by his sweet sunny temperament asserted
itself, and hope, almost amounting to certainty, arose within him that
she would presently, as he had done, find all things changed under the
new light of love. Yet in spite of his hopefulness, a weary sense of
the hilly road he was travelling would occasionally give him serious
pause, and he grew hungry for some return, however slight, of his
lavish affection. And it was with one of these moods that this chapter
and the story open.