IN WHICH CAPTAIN EBEN MAKES PORT
Half past eight. In the vestry of the Regular church John Ellery was
conducting his prayer meeting. The attendance was as large as usual.
Three seats, however, were vacant, and along the settees people were
wondering where Captain Elkanah Daniels and his daughter might be. They
had not missed a service for many a day. And where was Keziah Coffin?
At the Come-Outer chapel the testifying and singing were in full blast.
But Ezekiel Bassett was leading, for Captain Eben Hammond had not
made his appearance. Neither had Grace Van Horne, for that matter, but
Captain Eben's absence was the most astonishing.
“Somethin's the matter,” whispered Josiah Badger to his right-hand
neighbor. “Somethin's wrong d-d-d-down to the tavern, sartin' sure.
I'm goin' down there just soon's meetin's over and f-f-f-find out.
Eben wouldn't no more miss leadin' his meetin' from choice than I'd go
without a meal's v-v-vi-vittles. Somethin's happened and I'm goin' to
know what 'tis. You'll go along with me, won't ye, Lot?”
The answer was an affirmative. In fact, almost every worshiper in that
chapel had determined to visit the Hammond tavern as soon as the service
was at an end.
In the Regular parsonage Keziah sat alone by the sitting-room table.
Prayer meeting and supper she had forgotten entirely. The minister
had not come home for his evening meal, and food was furthest from the
housekeeper's thoughts. What should she do? What ought she to do? How
could she avert the disaster so certain to overwhelm those two young
people the moment their secret became known?
It was in vain that she tried to encourage herself with the hope that
Kyan had exaggerated--that the meetings in the grove had not been as
frequent as he said they were, or that they had been merely casual.
She knew better. She had seen the pair together and the look in John
Ellery's eyes. No, the mischief was done, they loved each other; or, at
least, he loved her. There was the great trouble.
Keziah, in spite of her worldly common sense, was an idealist at heart.
Love matches she believed in thoroughly. If the man had not been a
Regular minister, or if he had been a minister in any other town than
narrow, gossiping, squabbling Trumet, where families were divided on
“religious” grounds, neighbors did not speak because their creeds were
different, and even after death were buried in cemeteries three miles
apart; if the girl had been other than the ward of bigoted old Eben
Hammond--then, though they were poor as poverty itself, Keziah would
have joined their hands and rejoiced. Even as it was, she was strongly
tempted to do it. Her sense of right and her every inclination urged her
toward that course. “Face the world together and fight it out,” that
was the advice she would like to give them. But no, the battle was too
uneven. The odds were too great. They must not think of marriage, for
the present, and they must cease to meet. Perhaps some day--she tried to
comfort herself with the thought--perhaps some day, years afterwards and
under different circumstances, they might.
--With Ellery she felt certain she could accomplish nothing by argument
or persuasion. She knew him well enough by this time to realize that, if
his mind was made up, all Trumet and all creation could not change it.
He would keep on his course, and, if wrecked, would go down with colors
set and helm lashed. But Grace, perhaps she did not fully realize the
situation. She might be made to see, to listen to reason. And, perhaps,
it was possible--perhaps, on her part, matters were not as serious. The
minister had not acted like a triumphant lover, assured of success;
he had seemed, now that she thought of it, more like a pleader, a
supplicant. Perhaps, if she could see Grace and talk plainly with the
girl, it might not be too late. She determined to try that very night.
She rose and again donned her bonnet and shawl. She was about to blow
out the lamp when she heard rapid footsteps, the sound of some one
running along the sidewalk in front of the house. As she listened, the
footsteps sounded on the path. Whoever the runner was he was coming to
the parsonage. She stepped to the door and opened it.
The runner was a boy, Maria Higgins's boy Isaac, whose widowed mother
lived down by the shore. He did the chores at the Hammond tavern. His
freckled face was dripping with perspiration and he puffed and blew like
a stranded whale.
“What's the matter, Ike?” demanded Keziah. “What is it?”
“Have ye--have ye,” panted Ike, “have ye seen the doctor anywheres, Mis
Coffin?”
“Who? Dr. Parker? Have I seen--what in the world are you comin' HERE
after the doctor for?”
“'Cause--'cause I didn't know where else to come. I been to his house
and he ain't to home. Nobody ain't to home. His wife, Mis Parker, she's
gone up to Boston yes'day on the coach, and--and it's all dark and the
house door's open and the shay's gone, so--”
“Who's sick? Who wants him?”
“And--and--all the rest of the houses round here was shut up 'cause
everybody's to meetin'. I peeked in at the meetin' house and he ain't
there, and I see your light and--”
“Who's sick? Tell me that, won't you?”
“Cap'n Eben. He's awful sick. I cal'late he's goin' to die, and Gracie,
she--”
“Cap'n Eben? Eben Hammond! Dyin'? What are you talkin' about?”
“Huh! huh!” puffed the messenger impatiently. “Didn't I tell ye? Cap'n
Eben's adyin'. I seen him. All white and still and--and awful. And
Gracie, she's all alone and--”
“Alone? Where's Nat?”
“She don't know. He ain't to home. But I got to find Dr. Parker.”
“Hold on! Stop! I'll tell you where the doctor is most likely. Up to
Mrs. Prince's. She's been poorly and he's prob'ly been called there.
Run! run fast as ever you can and get him and I'll go to Grace this
minute. The poor thing! Have you told anybody else?”
“No, no! ain't seen nobody but you to tell. They was prayin' over to
meetin', and the fellers that waits outside to keep comp'ny with the
girls ain't got there yet. And I never met nobody. And 'twas so blasted
dark I fell down four times and tore my best pants and--”
“S-sh-sh! Listen to me! Don't tell anybody. Not a soul but the doctor.
Half this town'll be runnin' to find out if you do, and that poor girl
must be distracted already. I'll go to her. You get Dr. Parker and tell
him to hurry.”
“I'll tell him; don't you fret.”
He was gone, running harder than ever. A moment later Keziah followed
him, running also.
It was a misty, black night, and Trumet sidewalks were uneven and hard
to navigate. But she stumbled on, up the main road to the Corners, down
the “Turn-off,” past the chapel of the Come-Outers, from the open window
of which sounded the drone of a high, nasal voice. Josiah Badger was
“testifying,” and Keziah caught a fragment of the testimony as she
hurried by.
“I says to 'em, says I, I says to 'em, 'I don't care about your smart
mum-mum-minister and what fine sermons he preaches. Let him BE smart,' I
says. Says I, 'Smartness won't g-g-g-git ye into heaven.' (“Amen!”) 'No,
sirree! it takes more'n that. I've seen smart folks afore and they got
c-c-cuk-catched up with sooner or later. Pride goes ahead of a tumble,
I've heard tell, and--”
This was all that Keziah heard of Mr. Badger's testimony, for, as she
ran on, a rattle of wheels and the thud of hoofs came from behind her.
Then a rocking chaise, drawn by a galloping horse, shot by. Dr. Parker's
carriage, she was sure. The Higgins boy must have met the doctor and
delivered his message.
The horse and chaise were standing by the front gate of the tavern as
she pantingly drew near it. The side door of the house was ajar and she
opened it softly and entered. The dining room was empty. There was a
light on the sitting-room table and low voices came from the little
bedroom adjoining. Then, from the bedroom, emerged Dr. Parker and Grace
Van Horne. The girl was white and there were dark circles under her
eyes. The doctor was very grave.
Keziah stepped forward and held out both hands. Grace looked, recognized
her, and with a cry ran toward her. Keziah took her in her arms and
soothed her as if she were a child.
“There! there! deary,” she said, stroking her hair. “There! there!
deary, don't take it so hard. Poor thing! you're worn out. If I'd only
known sooner.”
“O Aunt Keziah!” sobbed the girl. “I'm so glad you've come. It was so
good of you.”
“Good! Land of mercy! If I hadn't come, I'd have been worse than the
beasts that perish. Don't cry, don't. How is he now? Some better?”
She looked at the doctor as she asked it. He shook his head
emphatically.
“Well, well, dear,” went on Mrs. Coffin hurriedly. “He will be pretty
soon, we'll hope. You mustn't give up the ship, you know. Now you go and
lay down somewheres and I'll get my things off and see what there is to
do. Some good strong tea might be good for all hands, I guess likely.
Where's Hannah Poundberry?”
“She's gone to her cousin's to stay all night. I suppose I ought to send
for her, but I--”
“No, no, you hadn't. Might's well send for a poll parrot, the critter
would be just as much good and talk less. I'll look out for things, me
and the doctor. Where's--where's Nat?”
“He came in just after I sent the boy for the doctor. He's in there
with--with him,” indicating the bedroom. “Poor Nat!”
Keziah looked longingly toward the door.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Poor fellow, it's an awful shock to him. He and
his father are--But there! you lay down on that lounge.”
“I can't lie down. I can't do anything but think. Oh, what a dreadful
day this has been! And I thought it was going to be such a happy one!”
“Yes, yes, deary, I know.”
Grace raised her head.
“You know?” she repeated, looking up into the housekeeper's face.
“I mean I know it's been a dreadful day,” explained Keziah quickly.
“Yes, indeed it has,” with a sigh. “But there! our moanin' over it don't
cheer it up any. Will you lay down? No? Well, then, SET down, there's a
good girl.”
Grace, protesting that she couldn't sit down, she couldn't leave uncle,
and there were so many things to do, was at last persuaded by Keziah and
the doctor to rest for a few moments in the big rocker. Then Mrs. Coffin
went into the kitchen to prepare the tea. As she went, she beckoned to
Dr. Parker, who joined her a moment later.
“Well, doctor?” she asked anxiously.
The stout, gray-haired old physician--he had practiced in Trumet for
nearly thirty years--shook his head.
“Not a single chance,” he whispered. “He may possibly live till morning,
but I doubt if he lasts an hour. It's his heart. I've expected it at
any time. Ever since he had that shock, I've been at him to take things
easy; but you might as well talk to a graven image. That Come-Outer
foolishness is what really killed him, though just what brought on this
attack I can't make out. Grace says she found him lying on the floor by
the sofa. He was unconscious then. I'm rather worried about her. She was
very near to fainting when I got here.”
“No wonder. All alone in this ark of a house and nobody to help or to
send. Lucky she found that Ike Higgins. Say, I wonder if the young
one's around here now? If he is, he must stand at the gate and scare off
Come-Outers. The whole chapel, mates, crew, and cabin boy, 'll be down
here soon's meetin's over to see what kept Eben. And they mustn't get
in.”
“I should say not. I'll hunt up Ike. If a Come-Outer gets into this
house to-night I'll eat him, that's all.”
“Some of 'em would give you dyspepsy, I guess. Yes, Grace, I'll be there
in a jiffy.”
The doctor left the house to find young Higgins and post him at the
gate. The boy, who had been listening under the window, was proud of his
new responsibility.
“I'll fix 'em, doctor,” he declared. “I only hope old Zeke Bassett
comes. He lammed me with a horsewhip t'other day, 'cause I was ridin'
behind his ox cart. If he tried to git by me, I'll bounce a rock off'n
his Sunday hat.”
“Doctor,” whispered Keziah from the kitchen window. “Doctor, come quick.
Nat wants you.”
Captain Nat was standing at the door of the bedroom. His face was drawn
and he had seemingly grown years older since noon.
“He's come to himself, doc,” he whispered. “He don't remember how it
happened or anything. And he wants us all. Why! why, Keziah! are you
here?”
“Yes, Nat. I've been here a little while.”
He looked at her steadily and his eyes brightened just a trifle.
“Did you come to see me?” he asked. “Was it about what I said this--”
“No, no, Nat; no. I heard the news and that Grace was alone; so I come
right down.”
He nodded wearily.
“You can come in, too,” he said. “I know dad likes you and I guess--Wait
a minute; I'll ask him.” He stepped back into the bedroom. “Yes,” he
nodded, returning, “you come, too. He wants you.”
The little room, Captain Eben's own, was more like a skipper's cabin
than a chamber on land. A narrow, single bed, a plain washstand, a
battered, painted bureau and a single chair--these made up the list of
furniture. Two pictures, both of schooners under full sail, hung on the
walls. Beside them hung a ship's barometer, a sextant, and a clock that
struck the “bells,” instead of the hours as the landsman understands
them. In the corner stood the captain's big boots and his oilskins hung
above them. His Sunday cane was there also. And on the bureau was a
worn, heavy Bible.
Dr. Parker brushed by the others and bent over the bed.
“Well, cap'n,” he said cheerily, “how's she headed? How are you feeling
now?”
The old face on the pillow smiled feebly.
“She's headed for home, I guess, doc,” said Captain Eben. “Bound for
home, and the harbor light broad abeam, I cal'late.”
“Oh, no! you'll make a good many voyages yet.”
“Not in this hulk, I won't, doctor. I hope I'll have a new command
pretty soon. I'm trustin' in my owners and I guess they'll do the fair
thing by me. Halloo, Gracie, girl! Well, your old uncle's on his beam
ends, ain't he?”
Grace glanced fearfully at his face. When he spoke her name she shrank
back, as if she feared what he might say. But he only smiled as, with
the tears streaming down her face, she bent over and kissed him.
“There! there!” he protested. “You mustn't cry. What are you cryin'
about me for? We know, you and me, who's been lookin' out for us and
keepin' us on the course all these years. We ain't got anything to cry
for. You just keep on bein' a 'good girl, Gracie, and goin' to the right
church and--I s'pose Ezekiel'll lead in meetin' now,” he added. “I do
wish he was a stronger man.”
The doctor, whose fingers had been upon the old man's wrist, looked up
at Nat significantly.
“There, dad,” said the latter, “don't you worry about Zeke Bassett, nor
anything else. You just lay in dry dock and let Parker here overhaul
your runnin' riggin' and get you fit for sea. That's what you've got to
do.”
“I'm fit and ready for the sea I'm goin' to sail,” was the answer. His
eyes wandered from his son to Mrs. Coffin. For an instant he seemed
puzzled. Then he said:
“'Evenin', Keziah. I don't know why you're here, but--”
“I heard that Grace was alone and that you was sick, Eben. So I come
right down, to help if I could.”
“Thank ye. You're a good-hearted woman, Keziah, even though you
ain't seen the true light yet. And you're housekeeper for that hired
priest--a--a--” He paused, and a troubled look came over his face.
“What is it, dad?” asked Nat.
“I--I--Where's Gracie? She's here, ain't she?”
“Yes, uncle, I'm here. Here I am,” said the girl. His fingers groped for
her hand and seized it.
“Yes, yes, you're here,” murmured Captain Eben. “I--I--for a minute or
so, I--I had an awful dream about you, Gracie. I dreamed--Never mind.
Doc, answer me this now, true and honest, man to man: Can you keep me
here for just a little spell longer? Can you? Try! Ten minutes, say. Can
you?”
“Of course I can. Cap'n Hammond, what are you--”
“I know. That's all right. But I ain't a young one to be petted and lied
to. I'm a man. I've sailed ships. I've been on blue water. I'm goin' to
make port pretty soon, and I know it, but I want to get my decks clear
fust, if I can. Gracie, stand still. Nat, run alongside where I can see
you plainer. Keziah, you and the doctor stay where you be. I want you to
witness this.”
“Cap'n,” protested Dr. Parker, “if I were you I wouldn't--”
“Belay! Silence there, for'ard! Nat, you're my boy, ain't you? You set
some store by the old man, hey?”
“I--I guess I do, dad.”
“Yes, I guess you do, too. You've been a pretty good boy; stubborn
and pig-headed sometimes, but, take you by and large, pretty good. And
Gracie, you've been a mighty good girl. Never done nothin' I wouldn't
like, nothin' mean nor underhand nor--”
“Hush, uncle! Hush! Please hush!”
“Well, you ain't; so why should I hush? In this--this dream I had, seems
'sif you--seems as if a man come to me and said that you was--It WAS a
dream, wa'n't it?”
He tried to rise. Nat and the doctor started forward. Grace shrank back.
“Of course it was, cap'n,” said the doctor briskly. “Now you mustn't
fret yourself in this way. Just lie still and--”
“Belay, I tell you. Yes, I guess 'twas a dream. It had to be, but 'twas
so sort of real that I--How long have I been this way?”
“Oh, a little while! Now just--”
“Hush! Don't pull your hand away, Gracie. Nat, give me yours. That's it.
Now I put them two hands together. See, doctor? See, Keziah?”
“He's wandering. We must stop this,” muttered Parker. Mrs. Coffin, who
began to comprehend what was coming, looked fearfully at Nat and the
girl.
“No, I ain't wanderin', neither,” declared the old Come-Outer fretfully.
“I'm sane as ever I was and if you try to stop me I'll--Gracie, your
Uncle Eben's v'yage is 'most over. He's almost to his moorin's and
they're waitin' for him on the pier. I--I won't be long now. Just a
little while, Lord! Give me just a little while to get my house in
order. Gracie, I don't want to go till I know you'll be looked out for.
I've spoke to Nat about this, but I ain't said much to you. Seems if I
hadn't, anyhow; I ain't real sartin; my head's all full of bells ringin'
and--and things.”
“Don't, uncle, don't!” pleaded Grace. “Don't worry about me. Think of
yourself, please.”
“S-sh-sh! Don't put me off. Just listen. I want you to marry my boy,
after I'm gone. I want you to say you will--say it now, so's I can hear
it. Will you, Gracie?”
Grace would have withdrawn her hand, but he would not let her. He clung
to it and to that of his son with all his failing strength.
“Will you, Gracie?” he begged. “It's the last thing I'm goin' to ask of
you. I've tried to be sort of good to you, in my way, and--”
“Don't, don't!” she sobbed. “Let me think a minute, uncle, dear. Oh, do
let me think!”
“I ain't got time, Gracie. You'll have to say it now, or else--All
right, then, think; but think quick.”
Grace was thinking. “If she really cares for him, she won't let him ruin
his life.” That was what Captain Elkanah had said. And here was a way to
save him from ruin.
“Won't you say it for me, Gracie?” pleaded Captain Eben. She hesitated
no longer.
“Yes, uncle,” she answered through tears, “if Nat wants me he can have
me.”
Keziah clasped her hands. Captain Eben's face lit up with a great joy.
“Thank the Almighty!” he exclaimed. “Lord, I do thank you. Nat, boy,
you're consider'ble older than she is and you'll have to plan for her.
You be a good husband to her all her days, won't ye? Why, what are you
waitin' for? Why don't you answer me?”
Nat groaned aloud.
“A minute, dad,” he stammered. “Just give me a minute, for Heaven sakes!
Keziah--”
“Keziah!” repeated Eben. “Keziah? What are you talkin' to HER for? She
knows there couldn't be no better match in the world. You do know it,
don't ye, Keziah?”
“Yes,” said Keziah slowly. “I guess--I guess you're right, Eben.”
“Keziah Coffin,” cried Nat Hammond, “do you tell me to marry Grace?”
“Yes, Nat, I--I think your father's right.”
“Then--then--what difference does--All right, dad. Just as Grace says.”
“Thank God!” cried Captain Eben. “Doctor, you and Mrs. Coffin are
witnesses to this. There! now my decks are clear and I'd better get
ready to land. Gracie, girl, the Good Book's over there on the bureau.
Read me a chapter, won't you?”
An hour later Keziah sat alone in the dining room. She had stolen away
when the reading began. Dr. Parker, walking very softly, came to her and
laid his hand on her shoulder.
“He's gone,” he said simply.