II

“You never heard of Eric Scarf,” the old man thoughtfully began. “Not

more’n three or four men alive now that knew him. He were mate of the

Thomas Pownal when I knew him; a big, straight, fiery man, powerful and

strong. He came of some Northland breed, with a great shock of yellow

hair, and eyes as blue as the sea; but he was not like most Norsemen in

being slow of speech and dull of wit. Quick he was; quick to speak, and

quick to think, and quick to act; quick to anger, quick to take hurt,

and quick to know Joan for the one woman, when she began that v’y’ge on

the Thomas Pownal.

“James Tobbey was the captain of the Pownal; Joan was his daughter. She

was a laughing girl, always laughing; a child. Her hair was fine-spun

and golden, and it curled. When the fog got into it, it kinked into

ringlets as crisp as blubber scraps. You wanted to rub them in your

hands, and hear them crinkle and crackle between your palms. And her

voice, when she laughed, was the same way, crisp and clean and strong;

and her eyes were brown. Give a girl light curly hair and dark brown

eyes, and any man’s heart will skip a beat or so at seeing her.

“She used to be everywhere about the ship, always laughing; and little

Jem Marvel forever hobbling at her heels. Jem was a baby, a little

crippled baby, the son of a sister of Joan’s who had died when Jem was

born; and Jem’s father was dead before that, although no one knew it

till the Andrew Thomes came back without him, two years after.

“Thomes had been a hard, bitter man; and little Jem took after him. The

baby was black, black hair, black eyes, a swart skin; and when he

dragged his withered leg about the deck at Joan’s heels, his face worked

and grimaced with spleen that was terrible to watch. Maybe six or seven

he was then; and for all Joan tended him like a mother, I’ve known him

to rip out at her the black oaths that would rot a grown man’s lips.

“Cap’n Tobbey kept his eyes away from the boy; but Joan loved the little

thing. None but her could bear with him.

“Eric Scarf was the only man aboard that ever tried to win the baby.

I’ve seen him work for weeks at some dinkus he was making for the boy,

only to have Jem scorn it when it was done. He put six months of

whittling into a little model of the Pownal, with every rope in place;

and when he gave it to Jem at last, the boy smashed it on the deck, and

stamped upon the splinters.

“Eric but laughed. The mate was a hard man with men, quick with them;

but with the child he was as gentle as Joan herself.

“He loved Joan. I loved Joan. Every man aboard the Pownal loved the

girl; but Eric more than most of us. He sought ways to please her, and

when he bungled it, it was a fight with him to hide his grief. One of

the greenies, when the Pownal was but a few days out, bumped against the

girl in the waist of the ship at the lurch of a wave; and Eric knocked

the man halfway to the fo’c’s’le scuttle with one cuff. But while the

greenie was scrambling to his feet, nursing his mouth with one tooth

gone, Joan flamed at Eric.

“‘Why was that?’ she demanded, her voice very steady and hot.

“‘He bumped you!’ Eric tells her.

“‘I did not complain. Only a coward hits men who cannot hit back.’

“Eric’s face crimsoned; he whirled to the man. ‘Here,’ he shouted.

‘Forget I’m the mate. Do you want the chance to get even?’

“The man stared affrightedly, then ducked down the scuttle like a

rabbit, with Eric glaring after him. But when Eric turned, Joan had gone

aft without another word, and he was left to grope for understanding of

her.

“Scarf was the strongest, quickest man I ever saw. He was tall and

powerful, and built slim and flat like a whalebone spring. He was

boiling with his own strength all the time. He suffered for a vent for

it; and he trod the deck on his toes like a tiger, his fists swinging,

not from any lust for battle so much as from the excess of his own power

and vigor.

“I’ve seen him set his hands to tackle and brush the fo’mast hands

aside, and do three men’s work himself for the mere peace and joy it

gave him to put forth all his strength for a space; his shoulders and

back and arms would knot and swell and bulge with his efforts, and his

lungs would shout with gladness at the task.

“Eric was never still. On deck, where others would lean against the rail

with an eye to the ship and their thoughts somewhere off across the

water, he was always moving, pacing up and down, climbing into the

rigging, shifting this and stirring that, restless like a caged beast.

Something drove him. He could not rest. The springs of life and energy

in the man would have torn him to bits if you had held him motionless

for an hour. He had to move, to act, to do; and when he buffeted the

men, it was neither native cruelty nor bullying. It was but the outburst

of his own impatient, restless power.

“It was a strange thing to see such a man gentling little Jem Marvel, or

wooing the boy to a romp about the deck; and it was strange to see Scarf

stand near Joan, watching her, and the muscles in him twitching and

straining with the agony of inaction. Eric worshipped Joan; and she

bewildered him. He used to plan little pleasant surprises for her, and

watch her joy at them and take his reward in watching. He never spoke

love to her, never so much as touched her hand unless it might be to

help her along the deck when the ship was wallowing; and when the things

he planned failed to delight her, a man watching him could see that his

very soul was writhing.

“I said Scarf was a quick man, quick of thought and quick of deed. But

where Joan was concerned, he was very dull and slow. He never could

learn, try as he would, to please her; and his own impotence and his

strength combined to drive him to feats which he meant for wooing, but

which the girl abhorred.

“He trapped a little sea bird once, and made a tiny cage for it, and

left it for her to find; and when the girl discovered it, she cried out

with pity for the captive, and ran on deck with the cage and set the

little creature free. Eric Scarf saw her, and she knew it was he who had

done it, and pitied him.

“‘I’m really grateful,’ she said, smiling very gently at the big man.

‘But he is so unhappy in a cage.’

“Eric tried to speak, and saw one of the men by the tryworks grinning at

him; so he went forward and drove the man with blows to the knight’s

heads, and Joan scorned him for days thereafter.

“I’ve seen a cock pa’tridge ruffle his feathers and beat and drum with

his wings, all glory and strength and vigor in his wooing; and no doubt

the hen liked it. But if the pa’tridge had tried such measures in the

courting of a singing thrush, he would only have frighted and dismayed

her whom he sought to please. It was so with Eric. His courting would

have pleased some women; Joan it but disgusted and disturbed.

“Eric Scarf and I were closer friends than you would think; and I knew

the big, strong man to be as shy and as easy to take hurt as a child.

But it was his way when he was hurt or shamed to strike out at the

nearest, and so to those without understanding he seemed a mere bully,

cruel and exultant in his strength.

“Lucky for us on the Pownal, Scarf delighted in the whaling. There was

no other task in the world so fitted to the man. So strong he was that

nothing short of a whale could give him the fierce joy of battle which

soothed him. He drove his men as he drove himself, and they either broke

under it or became hard-bitten and enduring hands, fit to match him. His

boat was always first away; and he would strike and kill one whale and

then another while other officers were content with a single catch. I’ve

known him to do what few attempt; to lower at night when moonlight

revealed a spout, and make his kill, and tow the fish to the ship by

dawn. Cap’n Tobbey never interfered with Eric, for the mate was too

valuable; and when the mate’s watch was on deck, he would lower and kill

without ever calling the Old Man from his cabin at all.

“I had heard of Scarf before this v’y’ge, but never watched him work

before; and many a time I found myself biting my lip and holding the

breath in my chest at the daring of him. In any weather short of a gale,

he would lower; and once two boats were swamped in lowering before he

took the third mate’s and got away--and got the whale.

“With such an officer, and decent luck, a quick voyage was sure; and so

it was this time. Before we’d been out two years, the casks were filled,

oil was stored in everything that would hold it, and the Old Man gave

the word to fly the Blue Peter and put for home. We threw the bricks of

the tryworks overboard to lighten ship that much, and struck across the

South Pacific, fought our way around the Horn, and took a long slant

north’ard toward Tristan.

“There was no place to store more oil if we had it, and we could not try

out if we had the blubber; so, though we sighted fish now and then, we

let them go--though I could see Eric was fretting at it, and wishing the

ship empty again.

“For months now, Eric had been wooing Joan in his own wild, longing way;

but the girl would have none of him. He must have known it, and he

bridled his tongue as he could. But the word was bound to come one day;

and it came at last when we were rocking in a calm, with an island two

or three miles to starboard, and the sun hissing on the sea that sighed

and swelled like the bosom of a sleeping woman whose dreams are troubled

and disturbed.

“The ship was idle, the men squatting forward in what shade they could

discover, and the rigging slatting back and forth as the Pownal rocked

on the long swells. Eric had the deck, the Old Man was asleep below, and

Joan and the boy, Jem, were sitting aft, the girl sewing at something

she held in her lap.

“Scarf, with nothing in the world to do, fretted and paced about, his

eyes never leaving her, and a worship in them that all the world could

see. The afternoon droned away, the Pownal creaked and swung in the

cradle of the sea, and the sun burned down endlessly. Scarf could not

bear it. He strode across to where the girl sat; and she looked up at

him to see what he had come for, and at the look in his eyes rose

quickly to face him, her face setting hard.

“Eric must have seen; but he blundered blindly on. The words came

awkwardly. He lifted no hand to touch her. ‘I love you. I love you,’ he

said, in a dry, husky voice. ‘I love you. I want you to marry me.’

“Black little Jem looked up at them and, with the quick perception of

the child, grinned malignantly. Joan’s face turned white beneath the

soft bronze the sun and wind had given her cheeks. She could not help

pitying the big man; but she could not love him.

“‘I’m sorry, Eric,’ she said. ‘I do not love you.’

“‘I love you,’ he repeated, as though it were an argument he were

advancing.

“‘I’m sorry,’ she told him again. ‘I’m sorry to hurt you. I don’t want

to hurt you. But I don’t love you.’

“His eyes were quivering and trembling like the raw flesh of a wound,

but he stood impassively before her, staring down into her eyes,

searching there for something he would never find. Little Jem chuckled,

and the sound broke the spell upon the man. He turned rigidly away; and

as it always was with him when his heart was torn, his great body

clamored for action. His fingers bit at his palms.

“And then one of the boatsteerers, standing in the waist, uttered a low

ejaculation; and Eric turned and saw the man was pointing toward the

shore, where a misty spout was just dissolving against the dark

background of the cliffs that dipped to the water there.

“It was the vent Eric wanted for the torment that was tearing him.

Without a word, he leaped to his boat; and his men, well trained, came

tumbling at his heels. In a minute’s time, Eric had caught up some gear

that had been removed from the boats when the fishing was finished, and

gave the order to lower.

“Joan came softly to him. ‘You are not going to kill that whale, are

you?’ she asked. ‘We have no need for it.’

“Eric did not hear her; for the boat had split the water and was bobbing

there below him, and he dropped with his men and in a moment was away.

Joan, her eyes burning angrily, watched him go; and presently she

brought the glass to see what was to come.

“The whale inshore was lying quietly, but Eric sent the boat along as

though his life hung on success; he drove the men till the oars bent

like whip-shafts; he drove them and he drove himself; and they ran fair

upon the creature before they realized their speed. Then, at Eric’s cry,

the boatsteerer in the bow leaped up and drove the harpoons home, and

the boat sheered off while Eric changed places with the man.

“They had struck a cow whale, a right whale, with a calf not a week old

tucked under her fin; and the little thing lay there, lifting its tiny

spout against its mother’s side; its fins feebly fanning.

“A cow whale is the easiest of game; and there is no sentiment in the

whaling ships. If the Pownal had been empty, she would have been counted

clear gain. With the Pownal full to brimming, this that Eric was doing

was mere murderous slaughter.

“When Eric saw that he was cheated of the battle he had craved, a fury

seized him. He shouted hoarsely to his boatsteerer, and the man swung

them in alongside the whale. The great mother had not stirred, save for

a trembling shudder of her whole bulk when the irons seized upon her.

The calf was fighting to escape, but the mother’s great fin pinioned it

against her side, soothingly, assuringly, as though she promised it

should be safe there.

“Eric lifted his lance and pierced the mother, driving home the slender

steel into the great body; and he withdrew it, and prodded the vitals of

the whale again and again, with a desperate energy, pouring out the fire

of his own strength in his efforts.

“It was like piercing butter with a hatpin; and this dull acquiescence

on the creature’s part only whetted Eric’s blind rage. When at last the

great flukes lifted once, his heart leaped with the hope that at the end

there might come the struggle and the opposition for which he hungered;

but agony had lifted the flukes, and the bursting heart of the mother

brought them gently down again, never even disturbing the little

creature at her side.

“She died; a thrust killed the calf. The boat sheered out; and then the

boatsteerer shouted a warning from the stern.

“Eric whirled and saw a great bull whale just emerging from the depths;

and the whale headed for them furiously.

“I do not say the creature was the dead cow’s mate. It would not be

strange if this was so; but it need not be asserted. I do not say the

bull attacked the boat. He was badly gallied, he was running blindly.

“But whatever the explanation, he charged them; and Eric shouted

triumphantly at thought that here was the adversary he had desired.

“The boatsteerer swung the boat about to meet the onrush; and Eric

snatched a harpoon. They swerved out of the path of the bull. As he

roared past them in a smother of foam, Eric sent the harpoon home.

“But the next instant the smashing flukes struck them, and the boat’s

whole bottom was driven away. Eric chopped the line loose to save them;

and in ten seconds from the appearance of the bull, they were to their

necks in water, the boat beneath them.

“The bull charged on and disappeared. I lowered and went after the men

in the water; and we got them aboard. Eric was reacting from his fury

now; he was shamed at what he had done; and he looked back once at the

body of the cow, about which sharks were already fighting, with

something like apology in his eyes.

“The men were talking. ‘Did ye see the cross on the bull’s head?’ the

tub oarsman asked; the steerer assented.

“‘A white scar in the blubber,’ he agreed.

“The others nodded; and Eric looked at me and said quietly: ‘The old

bull was marked.’

“It was when we were all aboard again, and Eric had changed to dry

garments, that Joan came up to where he stood with me. Her eyes were

blazing; and little Jem, at her heels, was chuckling blackly.

“‘That was murder,’ said the girl, trembling with her own anger.

“Eric flushed, and his head bowed a little.

“‘A cow and a calf--killed uselessly!’ Joan exclaimed.

“The big man, uneasy, shy, not knowing where to turn, saw little Jem

beside him; and he turned to the boy and caught the lad under his arms,

and swung him high in the air. ‘Up you go!’ he cried, trying to laugh.

“He meant only to start a romp--anything to divert the girl’s searing

scorn; but the malignant spirit of little Jem converted the movement

into black tragedy. The child screamed indignantly, and kicked down at

Eric’s upturned face with his sound foot.

“Eric was standing a yard from the rail, his back to it. The kick in his

face made him lose his balance, and he staggered backward, and before I

could stir, with the boy extended above his head, he had fallen

overboard.

“Joan screamed; and together we leaped to the rail. I reached for a coil

of rope. The two had sunk in a smother of bubbles; and in the second

that we waited for Eric to fight his way to the surface again, a

sinister shadow shot like fire along the ship’s side, and I saw the

flicker of a silver-white belly, and heard Joan scream again.

“The water turned crimson; and then Eric came to the surface with empty

hands. He dove instantly, furiously; and I got a boat into the water.

Eric broke to the surface again, his face convulsed with the anguish

that tore him; and two of us grabbed him and dragged him, fighting, into

the boat.

“‘Let go, let go,’ he screamed, and struck us back. ‘Let me go. I can

get him.’

“He was mad; and we caught him, and he broke and dropped, sobbing, in

the bottom of the boat. I saw that one of his arms was rasped raw by the

shark’s rough skin.

“Joan met him like a fury when he stepped upon the deck again, and I

thought she would strike him. He stood before her, drooping and crushed;

and the girl caught herself. But I heard the word she said.

“‘Thrice murderer!’ she told him softly. ‘Thrice murderer! A mother and

child--and now my baby! Oh curse you, curse you! May you be always

accursed until you die!’

“She held him for a moment, and then turned away from the man; and Eric

Scarf drooped sick and weak where he stood, until I dragged him below to

tend his wounded arm.”