spite of his promise, and leave Trumet, but her pluck and couragemade him ashamed of himself and he stayed to fight it out. She watchedhim and tended him and "babied" him as if he was a spoiled child,pretending to laugh at herself for doing it and at him for permittingit. She cooked the dishes he liked best, she mended his clothes, sheacted as a buffer between him and callers who came at inopportunetimes. She was cheerful always when he was about, and no one would havesurmised that she had a sorrow in the world. But Ellery knew andshe knew he knew, so the affection and mutual esteem between the twodeepened. He called her "Aunt Keziah" at her request and she continuedto call him "John." This was in private, of course; in public he was"Mr. Ellery" and she "Mrs. Coffin."
In his walks about town he saw nothing of Grace. She and Mrs. Poundberryand Captain Nat were still at the old home and no one save themselvesknew what their plans might be. Yet, oddly enough, Ellery was the firstoutsider to learn these plans and that from Nat himself.
He met the captain at the corner of the "Turnoff" one day late inAugust. He tried to make his bow seem cordial, but was painfully awarethat it was not. Nat, however, seemed not to notice, but crossed theroad and held out his hand.
"How are you, Mr. Ellery?" he said. "I haven't run across you forsometime. What's the matter? Seems to me you look rather under theweather."
Ellery answered that he was all right and, remembering that he hadnot met the captain since old Hammond's death, briefly expressed hissympathy. His words were perfunctory and his manner cold. His reasontold him that this man was not to blame--was rather to be pitied, ifKeziah's tale was true. Yet it is hard to pity the one who is to marrythe girl you love. Reason has little to do with such matters.
"Well, Mr. Ellery," said Captain Nat, "I won't keep you. I see you're ina hurry. Just thought I'd run alongside a minute and say good-by. Don'tknow's I'll see you again afore I sail."
"Before you sail? You--you are going away?"
"Yup. My owners have been after me for a good while, but I wouldn'tleave home on account of dad's health. Now he's gone, I've got tobe gettin' back on salt water again. My ship's been drydocked andoverhauled and she's in New York now loadin' for Manila. It's a longvy'age, even if I come back direct, which ain't likely. So I may not seethe old town again for a couple of years. Take care of yourself, won'tyou? Good men, especially ministers, are scurse, and from what I hearabout you I cal'late Trumet needs you."
"When are you going?"
"Last of next week, most likely."
"Will you--shall you go alone? Are you to be--to be--"
"Married? No. Grace and I have talked it over and we've agreed it's bestto wait till I come back. You see, dad's been dead such a little while,and all, that--well, we're goin' to wait, anyhow. She'll stay in the oldhouse with Hannah, and I've fixed things so she'll be provided for whileI'm gone. I left it pretty much to her. If she'd thought it best forus to marry now, I cal'late I should have--have--well, done what shewanted. But she didn't. Ah, hum!" he added with a sigh; "she's a goodgirl, a mighty good girl. Well, so long and good luck."
"Good-by, captain."
"Good-by. Er--I say, Mr. Ellery, how things at the parsonage? All wellthere, are you?"
"Yes."
"Er--Keziah--Mrs. Coffin, your housekeeper, is she smart?"
"Yes. She's well."
"That's good. Say, you might tell her good-by for me, if you want to.Tell her I wished her all the luck there was. And--and--just say thatthere ain't any--well, that her friend--say just that, will you?--herFRIEND said 'twas all right. She'll understand; it's a--a sort of jokebetween us."
"Very good, captain; I'll tell her."
"Much obliged. And just ask her to keep an eye on Grace while I'm gone.Tell her I leave Gracie under her wing. Keziah and me are old chums, ina way, you see."
"Yes. I'll tell her that, too."
"And don't forget the 'friend' part. Well, so long."
They shook hands and parted.
Didama and her fellow news-venders distributed the tale of Captain Nat'ssailing broadcast during the next few days. There was much wondermentat the delayed marriage, but the general verdict was that Captain Eben'srecent death and the proper respect due to it furnished sufficientexcuse. Hannah Poundberry, delighted at being so close to the center ofinterest, talked and talked, and thus Grace was spared the interviewswhich would have been a trouble to her. Nat left town, via the packet,on the following Wednesday. Within another week came the news that hisship, the Sea Mist, had sailed from New York, bound for Manila. Hertopsails sank beneath the horizon, and she vanished upon the wild wasteof tumbling waves and out of Trumet's knowledge, as many another vessel,manned and officered by Cape Cod men, had done. The village talked ofher and her commander for a few days and then forgot them both. Only atthe old home by the landing and at the parsonage were they remembered.
CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH TRUMET TALKS OF CAPTAIN NAT
Summer was over, autumn came, passed, and it was winter--John Ellery'sfirst winter in Trumet. Fish weirs were taken up, the bay filled withice, the packet ceased to run, and the village settled down to hibernateuntil spring. The stage came through on its regular trips, except whensnow or slush rendered the roads impassable, but passengers were veryfew. Occasionally there were northeast gales, with shrieking winds,driving gusts of sleet and hail and a surf along the ocean side thatbellowed and roared and tore the sandy beach into new shapes, washingaway shoals and building others, blocking the mouth of the little inletwhere the fish boats anchored and opening a new channel a hundred yardsfarther down. Twice there were wrecks, one of a fishing schooner, thecrew of which were fortunate enough to escape by taking to the dories,and another, a British bark, which struck on the farthest bar andwas beaten to pieces by the great waves, while the townspeople stoodhelplessly watching from the shore, for launching a boat in that surfwas impossible.
The minister was one of those who watched. News of the disaster had beenbrought to the village by the lightkeeper's assistant, and Ellery andmost of the able-bodied men in town had tramped the three miles to thebeach, facing the screaming wind and the cutting blasts of flying sand.As they came over the dunes there were times when they had to dig theirheels into the ground and bend forward to stand against the freezinggale. And, as they drew nearer, the thunder of the mighty surf grew everlouder, until they saw the white clouds of spray leap high above thecrazily tossing, flapping bunches of beach grass that topped the lastknoll.
Three masts and a broken bowsprit sticking slantwise up from a whirl ofcreamy white, that was all they could see of the bark, at first glance.But occasionally, as the breakers drew back for another cruel blow, theycaught glimpses of the tilted deck, smashed bare of houses and rail.
"Those black things on the masts?" asked Ellery, bending to scream thequestion into the ear of Gaius Winslow, his companion. "Are they--itcan't be possible that they're--"
"Yup," shrieked Gaius in reply, "they're men. Crew lashed in theriggin'. Poor fellers! it'll soon be over for 'em. And they're mostlikely frozen stiff a'ready and won't sense drownin', that's a comfort."
"Men!" repeated the minister in horror. "Men! Great God! and are weto stand by here and see them die without lifting a hand? Why, it'sbarbarous! It's--"
Winslow seized his arm and pointed.
"Look!" he shouted. "Look at them! How much good would our liftin' handsdo against them?"
Ellery looked. The undertow, that second, was sucking the beach dry,sucking with such force that gravel and small stones pattered down theslope in showers. And behind it a wave, its ragged top raveled by thewind into white streamers, was piling up, up, up, sheer and green andmighty, curling over now and descending with a hammer blow that shookthe land beneath their feet. And back of it reared another, andanother, and another, an eighth of a mile of whirling, surging, terrificbreakers, with a yelling hurricane whipping them on.
It was soon over, as Gaius had said it would be. A mighty leap of spray,a section of hull broken off and tossed into view for an
instant, thentwo of the masts went down. The other followed almost at once. Thenthe watchers, most of them, went back to the village, saying little ornothing and dispersing silently to their homes.
During the next fortnight John Ellery conducted six funeral services,brief prayers beside the graves of unknown men from that wreck. Thebodies, as they were washed ashore, were put into plain coffins paidfor by the board of selectmen, and buried in the corner of the Regularcemetery beside other waifs thrown up by
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