A dock on the Cuyahoga River, at Cleveland. The high bows of a propeller
loomed up far above them; a wooden bridge, with hand-rails of rope,
extended from a square opening in its side to the place where they were
standing--the judge, bewildered by the deafening noise of the
letting-off of steam and by the hustling of the deck-hands who ran to
and fro putting on freight; little Jack, round-eyed with wonder,
surveying the scene from his nurse's arms; Cicely, listless, unhearing;
and Eve, with the same pale-cheeked self-control and the same devoted
attention to Cicely which had marked her manner through all their rapid
journey across the broad country from Charleston to Washington, from
Washington to Pittsburgh, from Pittsburgh to Cleveland.
"I think we cross here," she said; "by this bridge." She herself went
first. The bridge ascended sharply; little slats of wood were nailed
across its planks in order to make the surface less slippery. The yellow
river, greasy with petroleum from the refineries higher up the stream,
heaved a little from the constant passing of other craft; this heaving
made the bridge unsteady, and Eve was obliged to help the nurse when she
crossed with Jack, and then to lead Cicely, and to give a hand to the
judge, who came last.
"You are never dizzy," said the judge.
"No, I am never dizzy," Eve answered, as though she were saying the
phrase over to herself as a warning.
She led the way up a steep staircase to the cabin above. This was a long
narrow saloon, decked with tables each covered with a red cloth, whereon
stood, in white vases representing a hand grasping a cornucopia, formal
bouquets, composed principally of peonies and the foliage of asparagus.
Narrow doors, ornamented with gilding, formed a panelling on each side;
between the doors small stiff sofas of red velvet were attached by iron
clamps to the floor, which was covered with a brilliant carpet; above
each sofa, under the low ceiling, was a narrow grating. Women and a few
men sat here and there on the sofas; they looked at the new passengers
apathetically. Lawless children chased one another up and down the
narrow spaces between the sofas and the tables, forcing each person who
was seated to draw in his or her legs with lightning rapidity as they
passed; babies with candy, babies with cookies, babies with apples,
crawled and tottered about on the velvet carpet, and drew themselves up
by the legs of the tables, leaving sticky marks on the mahogany
surfaces, and generally ending by striking their heads against the top,
sitting down suddenly and breaking into a howl. Eve led the way to the
deck; she brought forward chairs, and they seated themselves. A
regularly repeated and deafening clash came from the regions below; the
deck-hands were bringing steel rails from a warehouse on the dock, and
adding them one by one to the pile already on board by the simple method
of throwing them upon it. After the little party had sat there for
fifteen minutes, Eve said, "It is--it is insupportable!"
"You feel it because you have not slept. You haven't slept at all since
we started," said Cicely, mentioning the fact, but without evident
interest in it.
"Yes I have," responded Eve, quickly.
There came another tremendous clash. Eve visibly trembled; her cheeks
seemed to grow more wan, the line between her eyes deepened.
"This noise must be stopped!" said the old planter, authoritatively. He
got up and went to the side.
"_They_ won't stop," said Cicely.
Eve sat still, the tips of the fingers of each of her hands pressed hard
into the palm, and bits of her inner cheek held tightly between her
teeth. At last the rails were all on board and the gangways hauled in;
the propeller moved slowly away from her dock, a row of loungers, with
upturned faces, watching her departure, and visibly envying the captain,
who called out orders loudly from the upper deck--orders which were
needed; for the river was crowded with craft of all kinds, and many
manoeuvres were necessary before the long steamer could turn herself
and reach the open lake. She passed out at last between two piers, down
which boys ran as fast as they could, racing with the engine to see
which should reach the end first. At last they were away, and the noises
ceased; there was only the regular throb of the machinery, the sound of
the water churned by the screw. The sun was setting; Eve looked at the
receding shores--the spires of Cleveland on the bluffs which rise from
the Cuyahoga, the mass of roofs extending to the east and the west,
bounded on the latter side by the pine-clad cliffs of Rocky River. After
the splendid flaming sunset, the lake grew suddenly dark; it looked as
vast and dusky as the ocean. Cicely sprang up. "I know I shall never
come back across all this water!--I know I never, never shall!"
"Yes, you will, little girl," answered her grandfather, fondly.
"I don't mind. But I can't stay here and think! They must be doing
something in there--all those people we saw in the cabin; I am going in
to see." She went within, and Eve followed her; the nurse carried Jack
after his mother. But the judge remained where he was; he sat with one
hand laid over the other on the top of his cane. He looked at the dark
lake; his feeling was, "What is to become of us?"
Within, all was animation; the tables had been pushed together by a
troop of hurrying darkies in white aprons, and now the same troop were
bringing in small open dishes, some flat and some bowl-like, containing
an array of food which included everything from beefsteak to ice-cream.
The passengers occupying the sofas watched the proceedings; then, at the
sound of a tap on the gong, they rose and seated themselves on the round
stools which did duty as chairs.
"Come," said Cicely, "let us go too." She seated herself; and again Eve
patiently followed her. Cicely tasted everything and ate nothing. Eve
neither tasted nor ate; she drank a glass of water. When the meal was
over she spoke to one of the waiters, and gave him a fee; ten minutes
later she carried out to the old man on the deck, with her own hands, a
tray containing freshly cooked food, toast and tea; she arranged these
on a bench under the hanging lamp (for the deck at the stern was
covered); then she drew up a chair. The judge had not stirred.
"Won't you come?" said Eve, gently. "I have brought it for you."
The judge rose, and, coming to the improvised table, sat down. He had
not thought that he could touch anything, but the hot tea roused him,
and before he knew it he was eating heartily. "Do you know, I--I believe
I was cold," he said, trying to laugh. "Yes--even this warm night!"
"I think we are all cold," Eve answered; "we are all numbed. It will be
better when we get there--wherever it is."
The judge, warmed and revived, no longer felt so dreary. "You are our
good angel," he said. And, with his old-fashioned courtesy, he bent his
head over her hand.
But Eve snatched her hand away and fled; she fairly ran. He looked after
her in wonder.
Within, the tables had again been cleared, and then piled upon top of
one another at one end of the saloon; in front of this pile stretched a
row of chairs. These seats were occupied by the orchestra, the same
negro waiters, with two violins and a number of banjoes and guitars.
"Forward one; forward two--
De engine keeps de time;
Leabe de lady in de centre,
Bal-unse in er line,"
sang the leader to the tune of "Nelly Bly," calling off the figures of
the quadrille in rhymes of his own invention. Three quadrilles had been
formed; two thin women danced with their bonnets on; a tall man in a
linen duster and a short man in spectacles bounded about without a
smile, taking careful steps; girls danced with each other, giggling
profusely; children danced with their mothers; and the belle of the
boat, a plump young woman with long curls, danced with two youths,
changing impartially after each figure, and throwing glances over her
shoulder meanwhile at two more who stood in the doorway admiring. The
throb of the engine could be felt through the motion of the twenty-four
dancers, through the clear tenor of the negro who sang. Outside was the
wide lake and the night.
Sitting on one of the sofas, alone, was Cicely. She was looking at the
dancers intently, her lips slightly parted. Eve sat down quietly by her
side.
"Oh, how you follow me!" said Cicely, moving away.
Then suddenly she began to laugh. "See that man in the linen duster! He
takes such mincing little steps in his great prunella shoes. See him
smile! Oh! oh!" She pressed her handkerchief over her lips to stifle her
spasmodic laughter. But she could not stifle it.
"Come," said Eve, putting her arm round her. Their state-room was near,
she half carried her in. Light came through the gilded grating above.
Cicely still laughed, lying in the lower berth; Eve undressed her; with
soothing touch she tried to calm her, to stop her wild glee.
"He turned out his toes in those awful prunella shoes!" said Cicely,
breaking into another peal of mirth.
"Hush, dear. Hush."
"I wish you would go away. You always do and say the wrong thing," said
Cicely, suddenly.
"Perhaps I do," answered Eve, humbly enough.
Jack was asleep in the upper berth; she herself (as she would not leave
them) was to occupy an improvised couch on the floor. But first she went
out softly, closing the door behind her; she was going to look for her
other charge. The judge, however, had gone to bed, and Eve came back.
The dancing had ceased for the moment; a plump young negro was singing,
and accompanying himself on the guitar; his half-closed eyes gazed
sentimentally at the ceiling; through his thick lips came, in one of the
sweetest voices in the world,
"No one to love,
None to cay-ress;
Roam-ing alone _through_
This world's wilderness--"
Eve stood with her hand on her door for an instant looking at him; then
she looked at the listening people. Suddenly it came over her: "Perhaps
it is all a dream! Perhaps I shall wake and find it one!"
She went in. Cicely was in her lethargic state, her hands lying
motionless by her sides, her eyes closed. Eve uncoiled her own fair hair
and loosened her dress; then she lay down on her couch on the floor.
But she could not sleep; with the first pink flush of dawn she was glad
to rise and go out on deck to cool her tired eyes in the fresh air. The
steamer was entering the Detroit River; deep and broad, its mighty
current flowed onward smoothly, brimming full between its low green
banks; the islands, decked in the fresh verdure of early summer, looked
indescribably lovely as the rising sun touched them with gold; the
lonely gazer wished that she might stop there, might live forever, hide
forever, in one of these green havens of rest. But the steamer did not
pause, and, laggingly, the interminable hours followed one another
through another day. They were now crossing Lake Huron, they were out of
sight of land; the purity of the cool blue water, ruffled by the breeze
into curls of foam, made a picture to refresh the weariest vision. But
Eve looked at it unseeingly, and Cicely did not look at all; the judge,
too, saw nothing--nothing but Cicely. There had been no letter at
Cleveland; for tidings they must still wait. Cicely had written a few
lines to Paul Tennant, announcing their arrival. But to Eve it seemed as
if they should never arrive, as if they should journey forever on this
phantom boat, journey till they died.
At last Lake Huron was left behind; the steamer turned and went round
the foaming leap of the St. Mary's River, the Sault Sainte Marie (called
by lake-country people the Soo), and entered Lake Superior. Another
broad expanse of water like a sea. At last, on the fifth day, Port aux
Pins was in sight, a spot of white amid the pines. They were all
assembled at the bow--Cicely, Eve, the judge, and Porley with little
Jack; as the pier came into view with the waiting group of people at its
end, no one spoke. Nearer and nearer, now they could distinguish
figures; nearer and nearer, now they could see faces. Cicely knew which
was Paul immediately, though she had never seen him. The judge took the
knowledge from her eyes. Now people began to call to friends on the
pier. Now the pier itself touched the steamer's side, the gangways were
put out, and persons were crossing; in another minute a tall man had
joined them, and, bending his head, had kissed Cicely.
"Mr. Tennant?" the judge had asked.
"Yes," answered Paul Tennant. He was looking at Cicely, trying to
control a sudden emotion that had surprised him,--a man not given to
emotions; he turned away for a moment, patting Jack's head. "She is so
young!" he murmured to the judge.
"Paul," said Cicely, coming to them, "you have heard from Ferdie? There
are letters?"
"No, I haven't heard lately. There are two letters for you, but they are
not in his handwriting."
"Are they here?"
Paul's eyes turned rapidly, first to the judge, then to Eve. Eve's eyes
answered him.
"At the house," he said.
"Is it far? Let us go at once." And Cicely turned towards the stairs.
"It's at the other end of the town; I've a wagon waiting."
Cicely was already descending. She crossed the gangway with rapid step;
she would not wait for their meagre luggage. "Take me there at once,
please; the wagon can come back for the others."
"I must go too," said Eve. The tone of her voice was beseeching.
"Get in, then," said Cicely. "Paul, take us quickly, won't you?" In her
haste she seized the reins and thrust them into his hands. She would not
sit down until he had taken his seat.
"I will send the wagon back immediately," Paul said to the judge. Then,
seeing the lost look of the old planter, he called out: "Hollis! Here a
moment."
A thin man with gray hair detached himself from the group of loungers on
the pier, and hurried towards them.
"Judge Abercrombie, this is Mr. Christopher Hollis," said Paul; "he
lives here, and he is a great friend of mine. Hollis, will you help
about the baggage? I'm coming back immediately."
They drove away, but not before Cicely had asked Paul to let her sit
beside him; Eve was left alone on the back seat.
"I wanted to sit beside you, Paul; but I'm afraid I can't talk," Cicely
said. She put the back of her hand under her chin, as if to support her
head; she looked about vaguely--at the street, the passing people.
"That's right, don't say anything; I like it better. You must be
terribly tired," answered Paul, reassuringly.
They stopped before a white cottage. Upon entering, Paul gave an
inquiring glance at Eve; then he left the room, and came back with two
letters.
Cicely tore them open.
Eve drew nearer.
In another instant Cicely gave a cry which rang through the house. "He
is hurt! Some one has shot him--has shot him!" Clutching the pages, she
swayed forward, but Paul caught her. He laid her upon a couch; with his
large, strong hands he placed a cushion under her head.
Eve watched him. She did not help him. Then she came to the sofa. "Is he
dead, Cicely?" she asked, abruptly.
Cicely looked at her. "You want him to be!" Springing up suddenly, like
a little tigress, still clutching her letters, she struck Eve with her
left hand. Her gloved palm was soft, but, as she had exerted all her
strength in the blow, the mark across Eve's cheek was red.
"Never mind," said Eve, hastily, as Paul started forward; "I am glad she
did it." Her eyes were bright; the red had come into her other cheek; in
spite of the mark of the blow, her face looked brilliant.
Cicely had fallen back; and this time she had lost consciousness.
"You can leave her to me now," Eve went on. "Of course what she said
last means that he is not dead!" she added, with a long breath.
"Dead?" said Paul Tennant. "Poor Ferdie dead? Never!"
Eve had knelt down; she was chafing Cicely's temples. "Then you care for
him very much?" she asked, looking at him for a moment over her
shoulder.
"I care for him more than for anything else in the world," said the
brother, shortly.