IN THE NIGHT.
The evening had been peaceful, all beauty and silence; but not so the
night for the boy John. Something was the matter; he could not sleep.
The bunk in the little cabin was comfortable enough for anyone, but to
him it was a couch for an emperor. He speculated on the probability of
George the Third's having had anything like so luxurious a bed, and
rejected the thought as absurd. There were no lumps in the mattress,
neither any holes through which sharp fingers of straw came out and
scratched him. The red curtains at the sides could be drawn at will,
and, drawing them, he found himself in a little world of his own, warm
and still and red. The shells were outside in the other world; he could
look out at any moment and see them, and touch them, take them up; his
friend had said so. Now, however, it seemed best just to be alive, and
to stay still and wonder what would become of him. He heard the Skipper
come down and go to bed, and soon the sound of deep, regular breathing
told that he slept, the man of wonder; but John could not sleep. And now
other thoughts came thronging into his mind, thoughts that were not soft
and crimson and luxurious. To go away, as the Skipper had said,--to go
to heaven! But one did not go to heaven till the time came. Was it
right? Was the Skipper a good man?
The child debated the question with anguish, lying with wide open eyes
in his crimson-shaded nest. Mr. Scraper was--not--very nice, perhaps;
but he had taken him, John, when his mother died, and fed and clothed
him. He had often had enough to eat--almost enough--and--and Mr. Scraper
was old, and perhaps pretty soon his legs would go to sleep, like old
Captain Baker's, and he would not be able to walk at all, and then how
would it be if he were left alone? Perhaps people would not come to help
him, as they had helped the captain, because everybody in the village
loved the captain, and no one exactly loved Mr. Scraper. So if the only
person who belonged to him at all should go off and leave him, how could
it be expected that the folks who had their own grandfathers and things
to take care of would stop and go to take care of this old man? And if
he should die there, all alone, with no one to read to him or bring him
things, or feed him with a spoon, why,--how would it seem to himself,
the boy John's self, when he should hear of it?
"I am a murderer!" he said aloud; and straightway, at the sound of his
own voice, cowered under the bedclothes, and felt the hangman's hand at
his neck.
What did it mean, when a person could not sleep?
There was a man in an old book there at the house, and he was wicked,
and he never could sleep, never at all. The things he had done came and
sat on him, and they were hot, like coals, and the heat went through to
his heart and burned it. Would it be so with him, if he should go away
in the "Nautilus," and forget--or try to forget--the old man who had
nobody to love him? Not that Mr. Scraper wanted to be loved yet, at all;
but--but he might, some time, when his legs had gone to sleep, and
then--
Sometimes, when a person could not sleep, it meant that he was going to
die. Suppose one were to die now, and go to heaven, and they said to
one, "How was Mr. Scraper when you came away?" and one had to say, "I
ran away and left him this evening, and I don't know how he is, or
whether he is alive or dead--for sometimes old people die just like
that, dropping down in their chairs--what would they say to one? Perhaps
the old man had dropped down now, this very night, from anger at his
being away when he should have done the chores". He saw Mr. Scraper
sitting in his arm-chair, cold and dead, with the rats running over the
floor at his feet, because he, John, had not set the trap. A scream rose
to his lips, but he choked it back; and sitting up in desperation, drew
aside the red curtains and looked out.
The cabin lay dim and quiet before him. A lantern hung in the middle,
turned low, and by its light he could see the shelves, with their
shining rows of shells, and the glass counter with the sea-jewelry.
Directly opposite him, only the narrow space of the cabin between, lay
the Skipper in his bunk, sleeping peacefully. The wild fear died away in
the child's heart as he saw the calmness and repose of the stalwart
figure. One arm was thrown out; the strong, shapely hand lay with the
palm open toward him, and there was infinite cheer and hospitality in
the attitude. In the dim light the Skipper's features looked less firm
and more kind; yet they were always kind. It was not possible that this
was a bad man, a stealer of children, a pilferer of old men's cupboards.
If one could think that he had been playing all the time, making
believe, just as a person did one's self; but John had never known any
grown people who could make believe; they had either forgotten, or else
they were ashamed of the knowledge. Once, it was true, he had persuaded
Mr. Bill Hen Pike to be Plymouth Rock, when he wanted to land in the
"Mayflower;" but just as the landing was about to be effected, Mrs. Pike
had called wrathfully from the house, and the rock sprang up and
shambled off without even a word of apology or excuse. So grown people
did not understand these things, probably; and yet,--yet if it had been
play, what glorious times one could have, with a real creese, and a real
schooner, and everything delightful in the world!
How could he be bad and look like that? The child bent forward and
strained his eyes on the sleeping face. So quiet, so strong, so gentle!
He tried putting other faces beside it, for he saw faces well, this boy,
and remembered what he had seen. He tried Mr. Scraper's face, with the
ugly blink to the red eyes, and the two wrinkles between the eyes, and
the little nest of spiteful ones that came about his mouth when he was
going to be angry; even when he slept--the old gentleman--his hands were
clenched tight--how different from that open palm, with its silent
welcome!--and his lips pursed up tight. No! no! that was not a pleasant
picture! Well, there was Lena! she was pleasant to look at, surely! Her
hair was like silver, and her eyes blue and soft, though they could be
sharp, too. But, somehow, when her face was brought here beside the
Skipper's, it looked foolish and empty, and her pretty smile had nothing
to say except to bid one look and see how pretty she was, and how
becoming blue was to her; and--and, altogether, she would not do at all.
Mr. Bill Hen, then, who was always kind to him, and quite often, when.
Mrs. Pike was not near, would give him a checkerberry lozenge. Mr. Bill
Hen's face was good-natured, to be sure, but oh, how coarse and red and
stupid it was beside the fine dark sleeping mask! Why did people look so
different, and more when they were asleep than any other time? Did one's
soul come out and kind of play about, and light up the person's face;
and if so, was it not evident that the Skipper _was_ a good man? and
that perhaps things were really different in his country, and they had
other kinds of Ten Commandments, and--no, but right was right, and it
didn't make any difference about countries in that sort of thing. You
knew that yourself, because you felt it in your stomach when you did bad
things; perhaps when one grew older, one's stomach did not feel so
quickly. And, anyhow, if that was true about the soul, how do you
suppose a person's own soul would make his face look if he was running
away from the things he ought to do, and going to play with monkeys and
see the wonders of the world? The boy wondered what he was looking like
at the present moment, and summoned up the image of a frightful picture
of a devil in another of those old books into which he was forever
peeping at odd times. Did they miss him now, the old books in the
garret, because he had not come up to wish them good-night and take a
look at some of the best pictures before he went to bed? Was he likely
to turn into a devil when he died, do you suppose?
How still it was, and how queer his eyes felt! But he could not lie
down, for then he would be alone again, and the things would come and
sit on him; it was good to sit up and look at the Skipper, and
wonder--and wonder--
A gleam, faint and red, shot from a shell in the farther corner,--a
splendid creature, scarlet and pale green, with horns that gave it a
singularly knowing look. He almost thought it nodded to him; and hark!
was that a tiny voice speaking, calling him by name?
"Come away, little boy!" said the voice. "Come away to the south, where
the water is blue always, and storms come rarely, rarely! There, under
the water, my brothers and sisters wait to see you, and with them their
friends, the lovely ones, of whom you have dreamed all your life. There,
on beds of sea-moss, they lie, and the rainbow is dull beside them.
Flowers are there, and stars, and bells that wave softly without sound.
For one fair thing that the man, our master, told you of, we have a
thousand to show you. What does he know, a man, whose eyes are already
half-shut? But you are a child, and for you all things shall be opened
under the ocean, and you shall see the treasures of it, and the
wonders; and you shall grow wise, wise, so that men shall look up to
you, and shall say, 'Where did he gain his knowledge?' And your friend
shall be with you, oh yes, for he knows the way, if he cannot see all
the things that will meet your eyes! And you and he together shall
sail--shall sail, through waters green as chrysoprase; and all the
sea-creatures shall learn to know you and love you. You shall learn
where the sea-otter makes his nest, in the leaves of the giant sea-weed,
where they stretch along the water, full sixty feet long, as the Skipper
told you. The 'Nautilus' will be there, too: not a clumsy wooden
mountain, like this in which we lie prisoned, but the creature itself,
the fairy thing of pearl and silver! Look! here lies his shell, and you
find it lovely; but like us, it is dim and dead for want of the life
within it.
"Come away, and let us be sailing, sailing over seas of gold! And when
you are weary of the top of the waves, down you shall sink with us
through the clear green water, and the night will fall like a soft
dream, and the moon-fish, with its disk of silver, shall gleam beside
you to light the dimness that yet is never dark; and you shall go down,
down, down--"
And about this time it must have been that the little boy went down, for
when the morning broke, the Skipper found him, fast asleep, and smiling
as he slept.