CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE FRENCH SAILOR'S YARN.
I am master of the yacht _Zephire_; at least I was her master. Ahundred fathoms of green water roll over her masts now. Fishes ofmonstrous shape feed on our good stores. For anything I know, a broodof young sea-serpents is at this moment in possession of my hammock.Let be, I will tell the story of the _Zephire_. Ten years ago anAmerican vessel lay off the little port of Benevent, in the south ofFrance. The time was high noon; the month, August. The day was bright.The sunbeams danced over the white spray and green waves. A boat putoff for the shore. I, Pierre Crepin, sat in the stern and held therudder-lines. My heart was full of joy. I had been born in Benevent;my friends were there--if they were alive. My mother, with good AuntLisette, in the little cottage by the hill-side. My old companionsdrinking white wine at "The Three Magpies." All the old faces I knew--had known from childhood--loved better than anything else in the world.I could throw a stone to where they sat. I could almost hear them talk."Pull, my comrades, pull!" I grow impatient; I, the lost found; I, thedead returned to life; I, Pierre Crepin, back in Benevent. Who willbelieve it? For some time I must seem the ghost of myself. My oldcompanions will put down their glasses and stare. Then they will tillthem to the brim and drink the health of Pierre Crepin, till theroof-tree of "The Three Magpies" echoes with "Pierre--Pierre Crepin,welcome back!" And my mother, she will know the footsteps of her son onthe pebbles. She will rush out to fold me to her heart. And good AuntLisette! She is feeble--it will be almost too much for her. And--
The boat's keel grates harshly on the shingle. "Steady!" say theseamen. I make my adieux tenderly, for they have been too kind to me.I wring their hands; I leap ashore. They go back to their ship. I turnmy steps first to the little whitewashed cottage on the hill-side.
Is it necessary for me to tell how my mother embraces me. Poor AuntLisette! She knows I am back; but she is not here to welcome me. Sheis at rest. At last I have told all. It is night now, and I am free togo to the kitchen of "The Three Magpies."
There it is. "Mon Dieu!" "Impossible; it is his ghost!" I soonconvince them that it is, indeed, I myself. The news spreads over themarket place. "Pierre Crepin is come back to Benevent. After all, heis not drowned; he is alive and well." The kitchen of "The ThreeMagpies" will not hold the crowd. Antoine, the drawer, cannot pull thecorks fast enough. My eyes fill with tears. The brave fellows are toogood to me. I must tell them my story. Pouches are drawn out; pipesand cigars are lighted; glasses are tilled for the twentieth time. Ibegin my yarn.
You see me, my good friends, safely back in Benevent. It is four yearssince I parted from you. The ship in which I sailed from Marseilles waswrecked on a coral reef. All hands were lost. The last I saw alive wasMarc Debois. He had seized a spar, and was struggling manfully forlife. There are sharks in those seas. The waves ran high, and the foamof the breakers blinded me. I was safe on the land. I could not helpMarc, but I watched him. A great wave came. It rolled on toward myfeet.
There was a patch of blood on the water, mingling with the white foam ofthe breakers, then disappearing. Poor Marc had met his fate. All wasover. I saw him no more. The spar to which he had clung was washedashore at my feet. I was alone, wet, cold, wretched. I envied Marc.Shaking myself, I ran along the shore, to restore to my drenched limbsheat and life. Then I climbed a precipitous crag--one of a line thatstretched along the shore as far as the eye could see. But I must notbecome tedious with my tale.
"Go on, Pierre Crepin!" they all cried.
Well, then, I continued, the island was desolate, uninhabited. Therewere fruits and berries, turtles, young birds in nests. Long times ofdry weather under a tropical sun. In this I made a fire day after dayby rubbing sticks together till I could kindle the dry leaves. Thencame seasons of wet of weeks together. In these I had no fire, and hadto subsist on berries and fruits, and the eggs of sea-fowl. I wasthere, as it seemed, an age. It was three years. I had long given upall hope of seeing Benevent or men again. My island was about nineleagues round. On the highest hill, by the shore, I raised a mast. Ina cleft in it I struck a piece of plank. On the plank I wrote, withwhite chalk--
"Au Secours! Pierre Crepin!"
This I renewed as the rains washed out my characters. At last helpcame. Unshaven, ragged, unkempt, I was taken on board an Americanvessel that had been driven by stress of weather far out of her course.And I am here.
My narrative ended, I was plied with a thousand questions, and it wasnot until mine host closed his doors for the night, and thrust usgood-humouredly into the street, that I was able to bid my friendsgood-night, and turn my steps toward my mother's cottage--that cottagewhere the dear soul awaited me with the anxiety of a mother who hasmourned her only son as lost. That cottage where the soft bed of myboyish days, spread for me, with snowy linen, by the kindest of hands,had been ready for me these three hours. But I was not unattended. Myfriends, some dozen of them, would see me home to my mother's door--would wring her hand in hearty congratulation at my return.
In the morning you may be sure I had plenty of callers. It was like a_levee_. They began to come before I was up, but my mother would notsuffer that I should be waked. And I, who had not slept in a Christianbed for years, slept like a top, and slept it out.
I was sitting at my breakfast of cutlets, omelette, and white wine, whenCecile knocked at the door of the cottage.
"Enter!" said my mother.
"Ah, Cecile!" I cried; "but not the Cecile I left at Benevent when Iwent away."
For she was altered. She had grown more matronly. The loveliness ofher girlhood had gone. It had given place to the more mature beauty ofwomanhood. What a difference four years makes to a girl!
"Pierre," she cries, "we are _so_ glad to see you back! You bring usnews--the news we all want that I want."
She looked impatiently toward me. Perhaps her eyes expressed more to methan her words; for her mother was Spanish, and Cecile had her mother'sgreat, black, saucer eyes, with their long fringe of jet lashes. Still,her look was not what I had expected to see. She wore sad-coloureddraperies, but she was not in mourning. Her dress was rich, of Lyonssilk, and this surprised me; for her people were poor, and a sailor'swidow is not always too well off at Benevent. Seamen are, notuncommonly, judges of merchandise. Do we not trade with the Indies, anda thousand other outlandish places? In this way it came about that Iinvoluntarily counted up the cost of Cecile's costly habit and richlace. But this mental inventory took hardly a second--certainly, lesstime than it takes me to tell.
"Cecile," I said, "my poor girl, I wish that I could tell you good news.Your husband sailed with me. It was his lot to be one of the lesslucky ones. Marc--"
"Is dead!" said Cecile, calmly. "I knew it all along--these threeyears. I felt it. Something told me long ago Marc was dead!"
She said this so quietly that I was astonished--perhaps a littleshocked. Sailors' widows in Benevent mourn their husbands' loss foryears. My mother was a sailor's widow ever since I knew her. No offerof a new ring could ever tempt her to throw aside the old one. She wastrue as Love.
I replied, with something of choking in my throat, but with hardness inmy face, "Marc _is_ dead, Cecile! He was drowned!"--for I could notbring myself to tell this beautiful woman, whom he had loved as only anhonest sailor can love, the story of his fate, as I had told it to thecomrades in the kitchen of "The Three Magpies" the night before. Idesired to spare her this.
"So Marc _is_ dead!" Cecile repeated, impassively. "Dead--as I alwaysthought and said he was dead! Drowned! You saw it, Pierre?"
"The good God forgive me!" I said, "I saw it!"
As I said before, I held a _levee_ that day in the parlour of mymother's cottage. It gladdened my eyes, who would have worked myfinger-nails below the quicks to save her from wanting anything--to seethat the good soul was surrounded by the signs of plenty. She hadwanted for nothing. Old Jean had tilled her
piece of garden-ground tosome purpose, and had never taken a sou as recompense for his work.Everybody had been kind to her. It brought tears into my eyes to hearof it. Her kitchen told a tale of plenty. From the smoke-blackened oakbeams hung hams and flitches of bacon more than one would take thetrouble to count. Bunches of garlic and strings of onions were there inplenty; and the great black kettle hanging always over the pine-woodfire, sent forth savoury steams, that made your heart leap into yourmouth. The Widow Crepin's was a _pot-au-feu_ worth eating, I can tellyou. Nor did we fail to wash down our food with draughts of good wineon every day of the week. I gave a supper that night to some of myfriends. I had not quite forgotten the impression Cecile had made uponme in the morning. For Marc, the second officer, had been my friendever since I could recollect sweetstuff. But we were merry together,talking of the old times, of my adventures in the desert island, of thegood ship that had brought me safely back to Benevent, and of otherthings.
Presently the name of Cecile was mentioned.
I shuddered involuntarily.
I knew bad news was coming from the tone of the speakers.
I guessed what it would be, and blew angry clouds from my long woodenpipe.
"Pierre--Pierre Crepin, has Cecile Debois been here to see you?"
"She has. She was here this morning."
"She is well off!" said one.
"She has to want for nothing!" said another.
And they shook their heads wisely, as those do who know more than theysay.
"What of Cecile?" I asked, with somewhat of anger in my tone.
"Do you not know?"
"Did she not tell you?"
"I know she is poor Marc's widow. She told me nothing."
"Ah, ah! She wanted the news of Marc's death! She will be married toM. Andre, the merchant! There has this long while been a talk of themin Benevent, and, for the matter of that, for miles round!"
"M. Andre!" I cried. "But he is elderly--old enough to be herfather!"
"`Old men--old fools,' as the saying is!" put in Father Lancrac. He wasold enough to know. I did not gainsay him. It is well to treat one'selders with respect. And old M. Lancrac, my mother's good friend andkinsman, was in his dotage. Besides, now others aimed their darts ather, I felt inclined to excuse Cecile.
"It is well," I said. "Women many again in Benevent, I suppose, asanywhere else in the world. Why not Cecile?"
Hearing me say this, and marking some sternness in my tone, they allsaid, "Ay, ay! Why not? She is a fine woman, and is to make a goodmatch that we all ought to be proud of! Poor Marc is dead!" And soforth.
We puffed our pipes some time in silence, those of us who smoked. Theothers counted my mother's hams and flitches of bacon, and the stringsof onions throwing flickering shadows in the lamplight. But old agewill not be silent.
Father Lancrac said, for his part, he wished he was Merchant Andre. Hewould marry again. Who would have him? He was better than most of theyoung ones now.
And the women folk laughed.
Lawyers are adroit. After this, the notary, Gaspard, who had honouredus with his company he had known my father--turned the conversation. Heasked me questions about my adventures in the island, my mode of life,how I counted time, my subsistence, and such things. In this way ourevening passed away, and we parted, as good friends should part--merry.
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But it happened sooner than I had expected. Cecile and M. Andre weremarried a fortnight after. That was a scene, indeed, which will notsoon be forgotten. The bride looked lovely, and M. Andre, worthy man,wore an appearance ten years younger than his real age, he was so happy.
Madame Andre! I thought of her as the wife of my old comrade, Marc. Irecalled the humble nuptials of six years before. I seemed to see heras she stood before us then--girlish, beautiful, graceful, in herhome-made bridal gown. Now her own friends were not grand enough to bebidden to the feast. But M. Andre's well supplied their place. We,however, were permitted to look on--to cheer, huzza, and wish them bothjoy.
Her mother's house was too small for her to be married from. She wastaken to the Mairie by her second spouse from the house of one of hisrelatives; and, in her white dress and veil, she looked more dazzlinglylovely than any woman I had ever seen.
After the ceremonial at the church, there was a _dejeuner_, to which allthe best people of Benevent were invited. The newly married pair wereto spend their honeymoon at a chateau of M. Andre's, some three leaguesfrom Benevent, in the hills, overlooking the sea. A carriage and pairof horses, with a postilion in a gay jacket, waited to take them there.Bound the carriage, on the footway and in the road, was a crowd ofpeople, curious to see all that there was to be seen, and desirous ofgiving bride and bridegroom "God-speed!" when they drove off.
I passed the place by accident, for I had not intended to be there. Ihad taken my stout stick in my hand, meaning to try a walk up the hills,by the coach road.
By chance I had passed the house where the bride and bridegroom werebreakfasting. By chance I had found myself one of the crowd. A crowdimpresses upon one its sympathies. I loitered among them--not long;--long enough to see a man, with a beard and tanned face, hurriedly askingsome questions. I could not get near him for the people. Then, ashurriedly, he strode away, with great, heavy strides.
The face I did not know--I had caught but a hurried glance of it; butthe broad shoulders, the strong limbs, the walk of the man, I did know.
A terrible feeling came over me.
My knees trembled under me.
My face was white as paper.
I could have fallen to the ground.
For I knew the walk was the walk of Marc!
And these three years he had been dead!
With the emotions called forth by this untimely apparition, do yousuppose that I remained in the crowd in the narrow street?--that Idesired to "huzza!" as M. Andre and Cecile drove away? I was stifled.I wanted air--to breathe--to breathe! I sought it, by turning my stepsto the hills as fast as my trembling limbs would carry me.
It was the road he had taken.
Should I see him again?
I gathered strength. I walked fast--faster. I ran till I was out ofbreath. I stopped and sat down on a great moss-grown stone.
A lovely landscape spread out below me. It was years since I had seenit. The rivers flowing through a champagne country to the sea. Thewhite houses and thatched roofs of the villages: the red-brick streetsof Benevent. How well I knew it all! It recalled memories of the past.The thought flashed upon me in an instant.
The last time I was here was with Marc. We desired again to take ourwalk--to see our old haunts of bird's-nesting and berry-gathering. Itwas the day before he married Cecile.
I rose, wiped the perspiration from my brow, and continued my ascent. Ireached the highest level of the coach road, where, for half a league,it takes its course through a narrow defile between two precipitoushills, whose rocky sides no time can change. I looked back.
The open carriage containing Cecile and her husband I could see on theroad, far in the distance. They were driving at a good pace. "Theywill pass me in the defile," I said, and hurried on. Why, I knew not.Presently the sound of wheels on the soft, sandy road was plain enoughto the ear.
Nearer and nearer came the rumble. There were some juniper bushes ofgiant growth a little further on the road. It was a question whichwould reach them first, the chaise or I.
I had the start; but horses are quicker on their legs than men.
As it turned out, we reached them almost, together. I was slightly inadvance, however.
The road here was very narrow. Two vehicles could hardly pass. I tookto the rough grass. Pushing aside the boughs of a bush that wasdirectly in my path, and intending to take my stand before it, and wavemy hat as the carriage passed, I came suddenly upon--Marc!
It was he!
He stood
with a wild fire of jealousy in his eyes, his hat on the grassbeside him; his arm raised, a pistol in his hand, his finger on thetrigger!
It was a supreme moment.
My courage did not desert me. I was calm.
The carriage was passing.
I made a dash at his arm, to strike the weapon from his hand. Istumbled and fell at his feet. Instantly I looked up. I wished toshout, but my tongue refused its office. It was glued, parched, to theroof of my mouth. There would be murder! Cecile would be killed--andby Marc! My eyes were riveted on the trigger of his pistol! He pulledit! There was a tiny flash--a tiny puff! No more! The weapon hadmissed fire. We were concealed by the bushes. The carriage drove by ata rapid pace. Cecile was saved for the time!
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I gave a sigh of relief. Then came upon me the feeling of wonder thatMarc was back. Marc, whom I had seen three years before to meet withhis end--whom I had mourned as dead.
All this flashed across my mind in an instant. I rose to my knees, tomy feet. I placed my hand on his arm. I looked into his eyes. Hisface was changed; there was terrible emotion in it.
"Marc," I said, as quietly and with as much self-command as I couldsummon.
He suffered my hand to remain on his shoulder, and continued to look inthe direction the chaise had taken; toward M. Andre's chateau. Westood thus a second or so. Then, turning upon me, he gasped, in low,choked, guttural accents of reproach and of the deepest despair,"Cecile! Cecile!"
What could I say? My conscience smote me heavily. I had told my bestfriend's wife that her husband was dead! That I knew it--had seen himmeet his death! And upon my testimony she had acted. Marc and M.Andre--she was the wife of both! It was terrible to witness the agonyof the wretched man. It was not for me to break in upon that sacredpassion of grief.
"Cecile!" he murmured, as the pistol dropped from his hand, and he sankfainting in my arms.
I placed him gently on the rough grass by the roadside, raising hishead, and loosening the collar of his shirt.
For an hour he remained in a swoon, broken only by incoherent cries,that at rare intervals fashioned themselves into language. Then it wasalways "Cecile!"
I had a flask of brandy in my pocket. I got water from a littlemountain spring close by. I bathed my poor comrade's temples, and gavehim a reviving draught of the spirit and water. I rubbed his coldhands, and beat them, to restore him to consciousness.
At last he came to. How can I describe my joy when I found that he was,to all appearance, sane. For the attempt to shoot the unfortunate womanwas the act of a madman. That attempt had happily been frustrated.What was now to be done? You will see, from my coolness and presence ofmind in this danger, that I am able to act in an emergency. While Marclay swooning on the grass by my side, I had had time to think. Mycourse, my duty, were alike clear to me. I had been innocently--thoughI can never forgive myself--the cause of Cecile's second marriage. Imust not conceal this from Marc. My shoulders are broad. The truthmust be told. I must tell it.
"Just now, Marc," I said, shaking him gently by the hand, "you were notMarc Debois. You were a madman intent on murder--the murder of her whomhe loved best in the world!"
"Name her not!" he burst out, throwing up his head and pressing hishands to his eyes; "faithless--false wretch!"
"Through me."
"Through you?"
"Listen. A fortnight ago I was put ashore at Benevent, after threeyears' existence, for I will not call it life, in that island, on whoseshores I thought I saw you swallowed up by the sharks. Cecile--"
He started back a few paces from me at the mention of her name.
I continued, however.
"Cecile came to me; questioned me. I told her you were dead. It is myfault. You see, Marc, all the fault is mine. She had been faithful toher marriage vow, till certain news of your death reached her. Then shewas free to marry. Alas! that mine was the tongue that gave her thefreedom!"
"Curse you, Pierre Crepin!"
He was becoming terribly excited. I begged him to be calm.
"I am a man, Marc. I can die like one. If you were reasonable, youwould know that I have always been your good friend. You areunreasonable--"
"I _am_ unreasonable? I shall live only for vengeance! First, I willkill you; then greybeard Andre; then--then her!"
"And then, Marc?"
"Myself!"
"You have your pistol. I have no weapon. You will not shoot me in coldblood? That is not Marc Debois, even now!"
"Fetch one!" he shouted, imperatively. "No! Stay! I cannot trust you!We will draw lots for this!"
It was useless to reason, to expostulate, to advise. He was mad. Itremained to fight. I commended the issue to Providence, and prayed thatneither of us, unfit for death, miraculously saved and brought back tothe sound of human voices, might fall.
He pulled two bents from a tuft of the mountain grass growing on ahillock near us--one shorter, one longer,--and presented them to me forchoice.
"You can trust me!" he said, with a wildly ironical smile.
To hesitate was to be shot in cold blood. I felt this, and acted withresolution.
"I can trust you, Marc."
"Short fires first!"
I pulled, and drew the short bent.
He took a cap from a small cylindrical metal case he carried in hispocket, and fixed it on the nipple of his pistol. Then he handed theweapon to me.
I took it from him, examined it with the greatest care--I see it now; itwas an old-fashioned firearm of Spanish make,--stood a pace only backfrom him, fixed my eye on his, with a sudden jerk flung the pistol fiftypaces behind me, and throwing myself upon Marc, bore him to the ground,and held him there in a vice!
Then began our struggle for life!
At first, the advantage was mine. I was a-top. In strength we hadalways been pretty equally matched. Sometimes I had been able to throwMarc, sometimes he had thrown me. Now the contest was unequal. It istrue I had the advantage of fighting for life, but the struggle was withthe supernatural strength of a madman. I had dropped my stick beforetaking the pistol from the hand of Marc. In this tussle it would havebeen of no service to me. This was man to man.
I pinned mad Marc to the ground, my hands on his arms, my knees on hischest. He writhed, and tore, and struggled under me. No word wasspoken between us. The advantage was with me. Thus we continued forwhat seemed an immense length of time--for what was, perhaps, a quarterof an hour. It was an incessant struggle with us both; with me to keepMarc Debois down--with Marc to master me.
I felt my strength giving way. My joints were stiffening, my fingersbecoming numb with the pressure. Besides this, I was in a profusesweat, caused by the violent exertion, and partly by the alarm at whatwould happen if I should, in turn, be under the giant frame of Marc. Itwas to the accident of throwing him first, by my sudden and unexpectedattack, that I owed the last fifteen minutes of my life. If I spoke, Ifound it made him more violent in his efforts to master me. I thoughtthe sound of my voice maddened him the more.
My brain seemed clogged. At first, thought had followed thought withpainful rapidity. My life had passed before me in panoramic procession.Now I had a novel feeling, such as I had never experienced before. WasI--the thought was terrible!--was I, under the horrible fascination ofMarc's eye--losing my reason? I made an effort to think. To rousemyself I multiplied fifteen by sixty. Nine hundred--nine hundredseconds of my life had passed in this fearful struggle with a madman!How many more seconds had I to live? How much longer could I hold myown? Not long! I was rapidly becoming exhausted. I commended myselfto the Almighty.
Hark! wheels--coming.
Marc hears the sound, too. I am weak now. He makes one giganticeffort. I am overcome. His great fingers fasten with a desperateclutch upon my throat. He will tear out my gullet.
I become insensible.
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When I come to myself I am seated on the box of the carriage which hadconveyed Cecile and M. Andre to the chateau. It had passed us on itsway back.
We are near Benevent.
It is three strong men's work inside the chaise to restrain Marc andkeep him from murdering them.
We drive to the office of police. A little crowd follows us. I am ableto give some formal evidence. Then I am taken home. The unfortunateman is placed under proper restraint. There is a great buzz ofexcitement in Benevent.
Nobody recognises Marc; he is so changed. I do not disclose his name.It is better to wait the course of events.
After the fearful peril of the last hour, I am astonished to find myselfalive. I am alive, and thankful.
After the struggle in the defile I was unable to leave my bed for somedays. I had been much tried both in mind and body; but I received thekindest attention from the good friends around me.
In these little places every trifle creates a mighty stir. All Beneventcame to inquire after my health. I had been killed. No; well, then,nearly done to death by a murderous assassin escaped from the galleys.The police knew him. It was the same man who five years before hadattempted the life of the Emperor. He had a homicidal mania. Therewere a hundred different reports--none of them true.
I was examined and re-examined; examined again, and cross-examined. Youhave formed the conclusion that I am a witness, if I choose, out of whomnot much can be got. I battled the Maire, the prefect, the police. Ihad been attacked by a man who carried a pistol, and I was rescued bysome persons returning from M. Andre's chateau in a chaise. What couldbe more simple? And these are the facts duly entered--wrapped in plentyof official verbiage--in police record.
I had everybody's sympathy. I had something better. Sympathy one can'tspend; francs one can. A subscription was raised for my benefit. I wascompelled to accept the money--a thousand francs of it. The rest--someodd hundreds of francs and a bundle of warm clothing, intended for me bysome Benevent valetudinarian, together with thirteen copies of religiousbooks and two rosaries--I presented to the cure for distribution amongthe poor of his parish.
But I had a weight on my mind even francs could not remove--Marc andCecile.
She, poor woman, was happy in being rich; in having fine dresses andgaiety; in being an old man's idol. It is so with women. She was, Ifound, the donor of some of the religious books and of one of the tworosaries. Perhaps, then, at the chateau all was not happiness for themistress. At times she still mourned for Marc.
And Marc?
After months of the greatest anxiety on my part, lest in his ravings heshould betray himself, he was happily restored to reason.
The doctor said it happened through his seeing me.
He knew me as I sat in the room with him. His keepers said he had ravedalways of "Cecile, Cecile!" What of it? It led to no suspicion of hisidentity with Marc Debois. Are there not hundreds of Ceciles?
The wretched man's memory was a blank. As I had done him a mostterrible injury, I tried to repair--in some slight degree--to atone.
He was lodged with me in my dear mother's cottage. I used to lead himabout like a child. I took him every day to the sea to see theshipping. This by degrees brought back his memory of his profession.
At last all came back, save the scene in the defile. He told me he hadalso been on a desolate island. Whether the same as mine, or anadjacent desert, I shall never know. A ship took him off, too, andlanded him at Marseilles. He tramped it to Benevent, and arrived therein time to see Cecile just married to M. Andre.
No wonder that his mind gave way.
He implored my forgiveness.
I implored his.
He was silent, sullen. No one knew his name. I explained that he wasan old shipmate. This hardly satisfied the people. At Benevent theylove a mystery.
Marc solved it for them. He disappeared, without saying good-by. Iguessed that he had gone to sea again.
He had said, the night before he left us, "Pierre, I will not wreck herlife as she has wrecked mine. I will not seek her; but God save her ifshe crosses my path in this life."
I was right; he had gone to sea. I got a letter a week after, with theMarseilles postmark on it.
"I am mate of the _Lepante_," Marc said.
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Months had passed since their marriage--about a year. Cecile was amother. She called upon me in her carriage one day. A nurse was inattendance upon her, carrying in her arms a little child. It was agirl, two months old. Cecile was proud; but M. Andre chuckledincessantly, as old cocks will. I, with my terrible secret, couldhardly bear to look at her.
"You are not friendly with me now, M. Crepin," she said; "not as youused to be. I desire to keep all my old friends, and to make as manynew ones as I can."
I replied as well as I could; for I was thinking of Madame Debois, andnot of Madame Andre, as she was now called.
"I have come to ask a favour. Say you will grant it me?"
Like a Frenchman, I bowed complaisantly.
Cecile went on, like a Frenchwoman, flatteringly, "Pierre--for I willcall you by the old name; I like it best--I cannot be so stiff with anold friend as to keep calling you Monsieur Crepin; but, if you will letme, I will call you Captain Crepin."
Again I bowed, slightly mystified.
"Captain Crepin, you are--you are brave. All Benevent knows it. Youare an able and experienced seaman."
"Madame is too good."
"Not a bit," put in my mother, who would have heard me called angel withpleasure.
"I love the sea. M. Andre does not; but he humours me in everything.I have made him buy a fine yacht--large, strong, swift, of Englishbuild. You have seen her. I have called her the _Zephire_. She liesin the harbour there, and wants a captain and a crew. You must be thecaptain, P-i-e-r-r-e!"
You know how women wheedle--handsome, especially?
"This summer," continued Cecile, "we intend to cruise north. I long tosee new countries. I am tired of life here. I long to skim over thewaves and feel the cool breezes of northern seas."
"Madame, I will consider. I must have time. You must give me time."
"You will not refuse me--nobody would. I shall feel safe only with youin command of our yacht. What answer shall I give M. Andre, who is allimpatience to know?"
"I will answer myself to M. Andre to-morrow."
When she was gone, my good mother pressed me to go--though she would athousand times rather have kept me at home. But she knew that it isnecessary for a man to be doing something. Ah, she is a woman, indeed!
"This will be an easy berth, Pierre," she said. "You will be at homewith me here all the winters, with the _Zephire_ safely laid up indock."
The next day I called upon M. Andre at his office.
"I accept the command of your yacht, monsieur," I said. "I shall alwaysdo my best for you, I hope."
The wages were liberal. I was to choose a crew of picked men--all oldsailors.
"We wish to sail in a week," said M. Andre. "Can you be ready bythen?"
"I can," was my answer.
It was not the wheedling of Cecile; it was not my mother's urging me; itwas not the beautiful yacht of M. Andre's, nor his good wages, thatmade me decide to become captain of the _Zephire_.
It was because the _Lepante_ had gone north.
The _Zephire_ was as fine a craft as ever seaman handled. She wasperfect, from keel to mast, from bow to stern.
Those English know how to build ships.
I had under me a crew of six picked men. We had, besides, a cook, areal _chef_, for M. Andre was something of a _gourmet_, and would havethe hand of an artist in his dishes, not the bungling of a scullion.
Monsieur and Madeline, with the little Cecile and their servants, cameon board on Sunday morning, as the people were go
ing to mass; for wewould sail on a seaman's lucky day. We weighed anchor. There was windenough in the bay to fill our new white sails. All went without ahitch: we were off!
We had two months of the finest weather. Cecile's cheeks wore newcolour, and her black eyes sparkled with delight, as we sped along tenknots an hour. M. Andre was not dissatisfied. He saw Madame pleased.That is something for an elderly husband. He dined well, and he sleptundisturbed under an awning on deck, or in his cabin. But this couldnot last forever. We were three days from the last port we had touchedat, in a northerly latitude, and I could see we were going to have someweather. The sunset was angry; black clouds rose; the wind freshenedinto a stiff breeze. M. Andre called it an infernal gale.
The sea became rough for a landsman; and Monsieur not unnaturally feltsqueamish. Dinner was served under difficulties that evening, andMonsieur could not taste even the soup.
I took every precaution. Sails were reefed, and all was made taut.
"Bad weather coming, sir!" said my mate.
"Do you think so?" I answered, not wishing my own opinion to get to theears of Cecile, as she would be frightened enough before morning.
But I stepped aft, and told M. Andre. The brave merchant groaned, andwished he was in bed at Benevent. But wishing will not take one there.
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It was in the small hours. We men were all on deck. We were drivingalong at a fearful rate under bare poles. The waves were hugemountains. The storm raged with fury. The night was pitchy dark.Thunder and lightning did not serve to make things more agreeable. Nota seaman on board had ever seen such a night. It was necessary to lashoneself to the vessel to avoid being washed overboard.
Of a sudden there was a terrific crash!
The women below shrieked and prayed.
The _chef_ wanted to jump overboard.
M. Andre cried, "We have struck on a rock! We are lost!"
"Have courage!" I cried. "Fetch the women on deck. There is not aninstant to be lost. The yacht is filling!"
We had come into collision with a large vessel. I could see her lights.She had just cleared us. A flash of blue lightning showed me the namepainted in white letters on her stern.
She was the _Lepante_, of Marseilles.
There was a lull in the storm.
There remained one chance for life--to get on board the vessel. Theyacht was filling fast, and in a few minutes would settle down.
Except one or two tried sailors--old comrades of mine--everybody onboard was paralysed.
It was for me to act--to choose for all.
The choice was--Death or the _Lepante_.
I chose the _Lepante_.
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A Frenchman stays at the post of duty.
As captain, I was responsible for the lives of all on board. I was,therefore, the last to leave the sinking _Zephire_. Cecile was hoistedup the side of the _Lepante_ first. I heard a shriek. In thejust-beginning twilight I could see two figures.
A man's and a woman's. I knew them.
Marc had raised Cecile on to the deck of the _Lepante_, and hadrecognised her, and she him.
The horrors of the storm, of the shipwreck, the prospect of death, wereto me as nothing to this meeting.
Marc and Cecile!
In a few seconds I was safe on the deck of the _Lepante_.
M. Andre, the crew, the spectators, were horror-struck.
A man goes mad in an instant. Marc was again raving, as he had raved inthe madhouse at Benevent. But the sight of Cecile had given purpose tohis language.
"Vengeance--vengeance! Fiend! The time has come! Fate--fate hasbrought us together! I could not escape you! I must kill you--killyou! We must be damned together! Hark at the roar of the waters! Harkat the wailing of the winds! Our shroud!--our dirge!--our requiem! thattells us of hell! for I am a murderer, and you--"
He had the strength of ten strong men.
It took that number to hold him.
The wretched Andre fell prone in a swoon.
Cecile's women called on the Virgin and the saints.
We all held Marc.
Cecile turned upon me.
"You told me he was dead," she said.
Then, to the captain of the _Lepante_--"I am innocent--innocent--innocent!"
But, in moments of supreme danger, men's ears are deaf to other people'sbusiness.
It was save himself who can.
A leak had been sprung in the _Lepante_ by the collision with our yacht.The pumps could not hold their own with the waters.
There was a panic on board.
The storm had abated. The boats were got ready. All rushed to them.
"_Place aux dames_!" I cried; and, with the spasmodic strength of greatcrises, I held back the men, and got the women off first. Then menenough to take charge of the boat.
M. Andre was in it; the first that was lowered. Another followed,filled with the crew of the _Lepante_. Her captain was the first toleap into it.
And Marc, freed from the arms that held him, dashed over the side intothe foaming waters, to swim after Cecile.
His vengeance was not in this world.
As for me, I was left alone on the _Lepante_--with the rats.
I am a sailor, and have a sailor's prejudices, fears, hopes, beliefs.
I saw the rats. They had not left the ship. I accepted the omen. Iknew the _Lepante_ was not doomed, if they stayed.
To take to such a sea in an open boat seemed certain death.
I preferred to stay with my friends, the rats.
Rudderless, dismasted, we still floated.
And drifted--drifted--drifted--
Northward, into the ice.
Into the ice-bound, ice-bearing sea that is round the North Pole.
I know no more.
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"Gone again, sir!" I said, for just as the doctor made a lurch at theFrenchman, he melted away like the others.
"I never knew anything so provoking," cried the doctor. "But nevermind, we must find another, and keep to my old plan--cut him out in ablock, and take him home frozen, like a fly in amber. What asensation!"
"What! being friz?" said Scudds.
"No, my man. What a sensation it will make at the Royal Society, when Iuncover my specimen, pointing to it like a huge fly in amber. It willbe the greatest evening ever known."
He gave us no peace till we found another specimen, which we did, andcut out by rule, and at last had it lying there by the tent, as clear asglass, and the doctor was delighted.
"Not a very handsome specimen, doctor," I said, looking through the iceat a lean, long, ugly Yankee, lying there like a western mummy, with hiseyes shut, and an ugly leer upon his face, just as if he heard what wesaid, and was laughing at us.
"No, not handsome, Captain, but a wonderful specimen. We must give upthe North Pole, and go back to-morrow. I wouldn't lose that specimenfor worlds."
I gave my shoulders a shrug like the Frenchman did, and said nothing,though I knew we could never get that block over the ice, even if it didnot melt.
Just then I saw the doctor examining the glass, and before long a mostrapid thaw set in. The surface ice was covered with slushy snow, andfor the first time for days we felt the damp cold horribly, huddlingtogether round the lamp, and longing for the frost to set in once more.
We had not stirred outside for twelve hours, a great part of which hadbeen spent in sleep, when suddenly the doctor exclaimed--
"Why, it will be thawed out!"
"What will?" I said.
"My specimen!" he exclaimed.
"Here it is!" I said; and we all started, in spite of being used tosuch appearances; for just then the tent opening was dragged aside, andthe tall Yankee, that we had left in the ice slab, came discontentedlyin,
and just giving us a nod, he stood there staring straight before himin a half-angry, spiteful way.
I never could have believed that tobacco would have preserved its virtueso long, till I saw that tall, lean, muscular Yankee begin slowly to waghis jaw in a regular grind, grind, grind; when, evidently seeing theirdanger, our men backed away. For our friend began coolly enough to spitabout him, forming a regular ring, within which no one ventured; and atlast, taking up his position opposite the lamp, he would have put it outin about a couple of minutes, had not the doctor slewed him round, when,facing the wind, we all set to wondering at the small brown marbles thatbegan to fall, and roll about on the ice, till we saw that it wasfreezing so hard again that the tobacco-juice congealed as it left hislips.
"I like grit--I do like a fellow as can show grit!" he kept on mutteringin a discontented kind of way, as he took a piece of pine-wood out ofhis pocket, and then, hoisting a boot like a canoe upon his knee, hesharpened his knife, and began to whittle.
"Where did you get that piece of wood?" said the doctor, then.
The Yankee turned his head slowly, spat a brown hailstone on to the ice,and then said--
"Whar did I get that thar piece o' wood, stranger? Wall, I reckonthat's a bit o' Pole--North Pole--as I took off with these here handswith the carpenter's saw."
"I'll take a piece of it," said the doctor, and turning it over in hishands, "Ha, hum!" he muttered; "_Pinus silvestris_." Then aloud--"Buthow did you get up here, my friend?"
"Wall, I'll tell you," drawled the Yankee. "But I reckon thar's yardson it; and when I begin, I don't leave off till I've done, that I don't,you bet--not if you're friz. Won't it do that I'm here?"
"Well, no," said the doctor; "we should like to know how you got here."
"So," said the Yankee sailor, and, drawing his legs up under him, firinga couple of brown hailstones off right and left, and whittling away atso much of the North Pole as the doctor had left him, he thus began.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE YANKEE SAILOR'S YARN.
I warn't never meant for no sailor, I warn't; but I come of a greatnation, and when a chap out our way says he'll du a thing, he does it.I said I'd go to sea, and I went--and thar you are. I said I'd drophunting, and take to mining, and thar I was; and that's how it comeabout.
You see, we was rather rough out our way, where Hez Lane and me wentwith our bit of tent and pickers, shooting-irons, and sech-like, meaningto make a pile of gold. We went to Washoe, and didn't get on; then wewent to Saint Laramie, and didn't get on there. Last, we went right upinto the mountains, picking our way among the stones, for Hez sez, "Lookhere, old hoss, let's get whar no one's been afore. If we get whar theboys are at work already, they've took the cream, and we gets the skimmilk. Let's you and me get the cream, and let some o' the others takethe skim milk."
"Good for you," I says; and we tramped on day after day, till we gotright up in the heart o' the mountains, where no one hadn't been afore,and it was so still and quiet, as it made you quite deaf.
It was a strange, wild sort of place, like as if one o' them coonscalled giants had driven a wedge into a mountain, and split it, making aplace for a bit of a stream to run at the bottom, and lay bare the coldwe wanted to find.
"This'll do, Dab," says Hez, as we put up our bit of a tent on apleasant green shelf in the steep valley place. "This'll do, Dab;thar's yaller gold spangling them sands, and running in veins throughthem rocks, and yaller gold in pockets of the rock."
"Then, let's call it Yaller Gulch," I says.
"Done, old hoss!" says Hez; and Yaller Gulch it is.
We set to work next day washing in the bit of a stream, and shook handson our luck.
"This'll do," says Hez. "We shall make a pile here. No one won't dreamof hunting this out."
"Say, stranger!" says a voice, as made us both jump. "Do it wash well?"
And if there warn't a long, lean, ugly, yaller-looking chap looking downat us, as he stood holding a mule by the bridle.
Why, afore a week was over, so far from us keeping it snug, I reckonthere was fifty people in Yaller Gulch, washing away, and making theirpiles. Afore another week as over some one had set up a store, and nextday there was a gambling saloon. Keep it to ourselves! Why, stranger,I reckon if there was a speck of gold anywheres within five hundredmiles, our chaps'd sniff it out like vultures, and be down upon it.
It warn't no use to grumble, and we kept what we thought to ourselves,working away, and making our ounces the best way we could. One day Iproposed we should go up higher in the mountains; but Hez said he'd bedarned if he'd move; and next day, if he'd wanted me to go, I shouldhave told him I'd be darned if I'd move; and all at once, from beingred-hot chums, as would have done anything for one another, Hez and megot to be mortal enemies.
Now, look here, stranger. Did you ever keep chickens? P'r'aps not; butif you ever do, just you notice this. You've got, say, a dozen youngcocks pecking about, and as happy as can be--smart and lively, an'innercent as chickens should be. Now, jist you go and drop a prettyyoung pullet in among 'em, and see if there won't be a row. Why, aforenight there'll be combs bleeding, eyes knocked out, feathers torn andragged--a reg'lar pepper-box and bowie set-to, and all acause of thatlittle smooth, brown pullet, that looks on so quiet and gentle as ifwondering who made the row.
Now, that's what was the matter with us; for who should come into theGulch one day, but an old storekeeping sort of fellow, with as pretty adaughter as ever stepped, and from that moment it was all over betweenHez and me.
He'd got a way with him, you see, as I hadn't; and they always made himwelkim at that thar store, when it was only "How do you do?" and"Good-morning," to me. I don't know what love is, strangers; but ifJael Burn had told me to go and cut one of my hands off to please her,I'd ha' done it. I'd ha' gone through fire and water for her, God blessher! and if she'd tied one of her long, yaller hairs round my neck, shemight have led me about like a bar, rough as I am.
But it wouldn't do. I soon see which way the wind blew. She was theonly woman in camp, and could have the pick, and she picked Hez.
I was 'bout starin' mad first time I met them two together--she ahanging on his arm, and looking up in his face, worshipping him likesome of them women can worship a great, big, strong lie; and as soon asthey war got by I swore a big oath as Hez should never have her, and Iplugged up my six-shooter, give my bowie a whetting, and lay wait forhim coming back.
It was a nice time that, as I sot there, seeing in fancy him kissin' hersweet little face, and she hanging on him. If I was 'most mad afore, Iwas ten times worse now; and when I heer'd Hez comin', I stood thereon ashelf of rock, where the track came along, meaning to put half a dozenplugs in him, and then pitch him over into the Gulch. But I was thatmad, that when he came up cheery and singing, I forgot all about myshooting-iron and bowie, and went at him like a bar, hugging andwrastling him, till we fell together close to the edge of the Gulch, andI had only to give him a shove, and down he' ha' gone kelch on the hardrocks ninety foot below.
"Now, Hez," I says; "how about your darling now? You'll cut in afore abetter man again, will yer?"
"Yes, if I live!" he says, stout-like, so as I couldn't help liking thegrit he showed. "That's right," he says; "pitch me over, and then goand tell little Jael what you've done. She'll be fine and proud of yerthen, Abinadab Scales!"
He said that as I'd got him hanging over the rocks, and he looked mefull in the face, full of grit, though he was helpless as a babby; but Ididn't see his face then, for what I see was the face of Jael, wild andpassionate-like, asking me what I'd done with her love, and my heartswelled so that I gave a sob like a woman, as I swung Hez round intosafety, and taking his place like, "Shove me over," I says, "and put meout of my misery."
Poor old Hez! I hated him like pyson; but he wasn't that sort. 'Steadof sending me over, now he had the chance, he claps his hand on myshoulder, and he says, says he, "Dab, old man," he says, "give it aname, and let's go and
have a drink on this. We can't all find the bignuggets, old hoss; and if I'm in luck, don't be hard on yer mate."
Then he held out his fist, but I couldn't take it, but turning off, Iran hard down among the rocks till I dropped, bruised and bleeding, anddidn't go back to my tent that night.
I got a bit wild arter that. Hez and Jael were spliced up, and I alluskep away. When I wanted an ounce or two of gold, I worked, and when I'dgot it, I used to drink--drink, because I wanted to drown allrecollection of the past.
Hez used to come to me, but I warned him off. Last time he come acrossme, and tried to make friends, "Hez," I says, "keep away--I'm despritlike--and I won't say I shan't plug yer!"
Then Jael came, and she began to talk to me about forgiving him; but itonly made me more mad nor ever, and so I went and pitched at the lowerend of the Gulch, and they lived at t'other.
Times and times I've felt as if I'd go and plug Hez on the quiet, but Inever did, though I got to hate him more and more, and never half somuch as I did nigh two years arter, when I came upon him one day suddenwith his wife Jael, looking pootier than ever, with a littlewhite-haired squealer on her arm. An' it ryled me above a bit, to seehim so smiling and happy, and me turned into a bloodshot, drinking,raving savage, that half the Gulch was feared on, and t'other halfdaren't face.
I had been drinking hard--fiery Bourbon, you bet!--for about a week,when early one morning, as I lay in my ragged bit of a tent, I woke up,sudden-like, to a roarin' noise like thunder; and then there came awhirl and a rush, and I was swimmin' for life, half choked with thewater that had carried me off. Now it was hitting my head, playfullike, agen the hardest corners of the rock it could find in the Gulch;then it was hitting me in the back, or pounding me in the front withtrunks of trees swept down from the mountains, for something had bust--alake, or something high up--and in about a wink the hull settlement inYaller Gulch was swep' away.
"Wall," I says, getting hold of a branch, and drawing myself out, "someon 'em wanted a good wash, and this 'll give it 'em;" for you see waterhad been skeerce lately, and what there was had all been used forcleaning the gold.
I sot on a bit o' rock, wringing that water out of my hair--leastwise,no: it was someone else like who sot there, chap's I knowed, you see;and there was the water rushing down thirty or forty foot deep, witheverything swept before it--mules, and tents, and shanties, and stores,and dead bodies by the dozen.
"Unlucky for them," I says; and just then I hears a wild sorter shriek,and looking down, I see a chap half-swimming, half-swept along by thetorrent, trying hard to get at a tree that stood t'other side.
"Why, it's you, is it, Hez?" I says to myself, as I looked at his wildeyes and strained face, on which the sun shone full. "You're a gonecoon, Hez, lad; so you may just as well fold yer arms, say amen, and godown like a man. How I could pot you now, lad, if I'd got ashooting-iron; put you out o' yer misery like. You'll drown, lad."
He made a dash, and tried for a branch hanging down, but missed it, andgot swept against the rocks, where he shoved his arm between two bigbits; but the water gave him a wrench, the bone went crack, and as I satstill there, I see him swept down lower and lower, till he clutched at abush with his left hand, and hung on like grim death to a dead nigger.
"Sarve yer right," I says coolly. "Why shouldn't you die like the rest?If I'd had any go in me I should have plugged yer long ago."
"Halloa!" I cried then, giving a start. "It ain't--'tis--tarnation! itcan't be!"
But it was.
There on t'other side, not fifty yards lower down, on a bit of a shelfof earth, that kept crumbling away as the water washed it, was Jael,kneeling down with her young 'un; and, as I looked, something seemed togive my heart a jigg, just as if some coon had pulled a string.
"Well, he's 'bout gone," I says; "and they can't hold out 'bout threeminutes; then they'll all drown together, and she can take old Hez hislast babby to miss--cuss 'em! I'm safe enough. What's it got to dowith me? I shan't move."
I took out my wet cake of 'bacca, and whittled off a bit, shoved it inmy cheek, shut my knife with a click, and sot thar watchin' of 'em--father, and mother, and bairn.
"You've been too happy, you have," I says out loud; not as they couldhear it, for the noise of the waters. "Now you'll be sorry for otherpeople. Drown, darn yer! stock, and lock, and barrel; I'm safe."
Just then, as I sot and chawed, telling myself as a chap would be mad totry and save his friends out of such a flood, let alone his enemies,darn me! if Jael didn't put that there little squealer's hands together,and hold them up as if she was making it say its prayers--a born fool!--when that thar string seemed to be pulled, inside me like, agin myheart; and--I couldn't help it--I jumped up.
"Say, Dab," I says to myself, "don't you be a fool. You hate that lotlike pyson, you do. Don't you go and drown yerself."
I was 'bout mad, you know, and couldn't do as I liked, for, if I didn'tbegin to rip off my things, wet and hanging to me. Cuss me! how theydid stick!--but I cleared half on 'em off, and then, like a mad fool, Imade a run and a jump, and was fighting hard with the water to getacross to Hez's wife and child.
It was a bit of a fight. Down I went, and up I went, and the watertwisted me like a leaf: but I got out of the roar and thunder, on to thebit of a shelf where Jael knelt; when, if the silly thing didn't beginto hold up to me her child; and her lips, poor darling, said dumbly,"Save it! save it!"
In the midst of that rush and roar as I saw that poor gal, white,horrified, and with her yaller hair clinging round her, all my old lovefor her comes back, and I swore a big oath as I'd save her for myself,or die.
I tore her dress into ribbons, for there warn't a moment to lose, and Ibound that bairn somehow on to my shoulders, she watching me the while;and then, with my heart beating madly, I caught her in my arms, sheclinging tightly to me in her fear, and I stood up, thinking how I couldget back, and making ready to leap.
The flood didn't wait for that, though. In a moment there was a quiverof the bank, and it went from beneath my feet, leaving me wrastling withthe waters once more.
I don't know how I did it, only that, after a fight and being halfsmothered, I found myself crawling up the side of the Gulch, ever so lowdown, and dragging Jael into a safe place with her bairn.
She fell down afore me, hugged my legs, and kissed my feet; and then shestarted up and began staring up and down, ending by seeing, just aboveus, old Hez clinging there still, with his sound arm rammed into thebush, and his body swept out by the fierce stream.
The next moment she had seized me by the arm, and was pynting at him,and she gave a wild kind of shriek.
"He's a gone coon, my gal," I says, though she couldn't hear me; and Iwas gloating over her beautiful white face and soft, clear neck, as Ithought that now she was mine--all mine. I'd saved her out of theflood, and there was no Hez to stand in our way.
"Save him!--save him!" she shrieked in my ear.
What, Hez? Save Hez, to come between us once more? Save her husband--the man I hated, and would gladly see die? Oh, I couldn't do it; and mylooks showed it, she reading me like a book the while. No, he mightdrown--he was drowned--must be. No: just then he moved. But, nonsense!I wasn't going to risk my life for his, and cut my own throat like, asto the futur'.
She went down on her knees to me though, pointing again at where Hezstill floated; and the old feeling of love for her was stronger on methan ever.
"You're asking me to die for you, Jael!" I shouted in her ear.
"Save him--save Hez!" she shrieked.
"Yes, save him!" I groaned to myself. "Bring him back to the happinessthat might be mine. But she loves him--she loves him; and I must."
I give one look at her--as I thought my last--and I couldn't help it.If she had asked me dumbly, as she did, to do something ten times aswild, I should have done it; and, with a run, I got well up above Hezafore I jumped in once more, to have the same fight with the waters tillI was swept down to the bush where
he was.
I'd got my knife in my teeth to cut the bush away, and let him free; butas I was swept against it my weight tore it away, and Hez and I wentdown the stream together; him so done up that he lay helpless on thewater.
Something seemed to tell me to finish him off. A minute under waterwould have done it; but Jael's face was before me, and at last I got tothe other side, with her climbing along beside us; and if it hadn't beenfor the hand she stretched down to me, I should never have crawled outwith old Hez--I was that done.
As I dropped down panting on the rock, Jael came to my side, leaned overme, and kissed me, and I turned away, for the next moment she was tryinghard, and bringing her husband to, and I was beginning to feel once morethat I had been a fool.
I ain't much more to tell, only that the flood went down 'most as quickas it had come up, and Hez got all right again with his broken arm, anddid well. They wanted muchly to be friends; but I kep' away. I felt asI'd been a fool to save him, and I was kinder shamed like of it; so Itook off to 'Frisco, where, after chumming about, I took to goingvoyages to Panama and back, and the sea seemed to suit me like, andthere I stuck to it; and one day a ship comes into 'frisco, where I washanging ashore after a long drinking bout, and I heer'd as they wanted aman or two to fill up, because a couple had deserted to the diggings.
"Whar for?" I says to the officer.
"Discovering--up North," he says.
"That'll do," I says. "I'm yer man; only I don't think as you'll getgold if you finds it, 'cause the water'll all freeze when you wants towash it."
"We want to find the North Pole, my lad," he says.
"And what'll yer do with it when yer find it?" I says.
"The president wants it down in New York, to put in the big gardens, forthe Great Bear to climb, if we can catch him, too."
Wal, seeing as it promised plenty of amusement, I stuck to my bond, andwent with them. And a fine time we had of shooting, and sledging, andexploring. We found the North Pole, after being away from the ship amonth. One chap swore it was only the mast of a friz-up ship, stickingout of the ice; but skipper said it was the North Pole, and I cut a bitoff with the saw. That's a bit as I'm whittling.
We couldn't get it out then, so we turned back to reach the ship, andget tackle to rig out and draw it; and while we was going back I turnedso snoozy that, 'gainst orders, I lay down on the ice and went off bangto sleep. Ain't seen anything of 'em, I 'spose?
"Well, no," said the doctor, winking at us, as the Yankee whittled away,"I haven't. You expect to see them again?"
"'Spect? Of course I do. They'll come back to pull up the North Pole,and pick me up on the way. If they don't I'll show you where it lies."
"Lies; yes, where it lies," said the doctor. "Well, whereabouts does itlie?"
"Heigh-ho--yaw--aw--aw--hum?" went the Yankee, with the most awful yawnI ever heard; and then, as we looked, he seemed to go all at once intowater--body, clothes, bones, and all--till there was nothing left beforeus but the knife and the bit of wood he had been whittling; and weshrank back, feeling all of a shiver, composed of equal parts of coldand fear.
I thought the doctor would have had a fit, he was so disappointed, andhe stamped about the ice until he grew quite blue in the face.
"The last chance!" he cried--"the last chance!"
He did not know how true a prophet he was; for the next day, when we setto and searched for another specimen of suspended animation, not onecould we find. We could not even hit upon one of the old elephants:nothing but ice--ice--ice everywhere; and, now that the stimulus ofmaking strange discoveries was over, the men began to grumble.
"I don't like the state of affairs, doctor," I said. "I fear there'smutiny on the way."
"Why?" he said.
"The men are growing so discontented with their provisions; but hush,here they are."
The doctor's nephew was standing by me as the crew came up, lookingfierce and angry.
"What's the matter, my lads?" I said, when they all came close to me,and thrust their tongues in their cheeks.
"Look here, skipper," said Binny Scudds, who seemed to be leader, "we'vehad enough of this here!"
"My good man,"--began the doctor.
"Now that'll do, old skyantific!" cried Binny. "We've had enough ofyou. Who's been doin' nothin' but waste good, wholesome sperrits, bystuffing black beadles, and dirty little fishes, and hinsecks in 'em,till there ain't a drop fit to drink?"
"But, Scudds--" I began.
"That'll do!" he shouted fiercely; and he threatened me with an icepick. "We've had enough of it, I tell yer!"
"Look here, my man," said the doctor; and his nephew got behind him.
"Yes, and look here," said Scudds. "You want to diskiver the NorthPole, don't yer?"
"Well, you are very impertinent, my man," said the doctor; "but, yes. Ido."
"Then you shall diskiver it along o' the skipper, and young stowawaythere."
"And what will you do?" said the doctor.
"Oh," said Scudds, "me, and Borstick, and my mates is agoin' back.We've had enough of it, I tell yer."
"But how are we to go on without you?" said the doctor.
"I'll show yer," said Scudds. "Now mates!"
To my intense horror, and in spite of my struggles, they seized us allthree; and then, with a lot of laughing and cheering, they brought upsome pieces of rope, and three good-sized blocks of ice.
"What are you going to do, scoundels?" I shrieked.
"Well," said Scudds, grinning, "my mates and me's of opinion that theNorth Pole is down in the hole, and we're agoin' to send you three thereto see."
"But it's murder!" I cried.
"It's in the service of science," said the doctor, blandly. "We shallmake great discoveries. You won't mind, Alfred?" he said, to hisnephew.
"I should have been delighted, uncle, if I had only procured my skates,"said the young fellow.
"These here's better than skates," said Scudds, grinning; and, to myextreme horror, they bound the young man to a block of ice, carried itto the edge of the crater, gave it a slight push, and away it went down,and down, rapidly gliding till it entered the dark mist toward thebottom.
"He'll discover it first," said the doctor, calmly.
"But no one will know," I said, bitterly.
"We may get up again first," he said, radiantly, as the men tied him onin his turn.
"Good luck to you, if you do," said Scudds, grinning, as he tied thelast knot binding the stout old fellow to the second block of ice.
"_Au revoir_, Captain!" said the doctor, smiling; and then they pushedhim on to the inclined way, and he glided off, waving his hand as hewent, till he was nearly half-way down, and then the crew seized me.
"Not without a struggle!" I said; and seizing an iron bar used forbreaking ice, I laid about me, knocking one fellow after another down,and sending them gliding over the sides of the awful gulf, till onlyScudds remained behind.
"Not yet, skipper!" he cried, avoiding my blow, and springing at mythroat--"not yet;" and the next minute we were engaged in a desperatestruggle, each trying with all his might to get the other to the edge ofthat awful slope, and hurl him down.
Twice he had me on the brink and his savage look seemed to chill myblood; but with an effort I wrenched myself away, and prolonged thestruggle, getting the better of him, till, filled with the same savagethoughts as he, I got him right to the edge.
"Not yet, skipper--not yet!" he exclaimed; and then, allowing himself tofall, he drew me, as it were, over his head, and the next moment I washanging upon the icy slope, holding on only by one of his hands, andvainly trying to get a footing, for my feet kept gliding away.
"You villain, you shall die with me!" I cried, clinging tenaciously tohis hand to drag him down, too, but he looked down laughingly at me.
"I shall go back and say I found the North Pole all by myself!" hecried, with a hideous grin; and then, apparently without an effort, heshook me off, and I began to gli
de down, down, down, into the horribleblack mist below me!
As I glided over the ice, which was wonderfully smooth, my rate ofprogress grew each moment more rapid, till it was like lightning in itsspeed. I fancied I heard Scudds' mocking laugh; but it was far distant,and now I was nearing the mist each moment, and instead of cold I couldfeel a strange burning sensation in my head.
"What of those gone before?" I asked myself, as I slid on at lightningspeed. "Have they been dashed to pieces, or have they plunged into somehorrible abyss? Yes, that must be it," I thought, for now I was throughthe mist, and speeding on to what looked like the hole of the greatfunnel, down which I was hurried.
The sensation was not unpleasant, but for the heat, and, moved now bycuriosity, I struggled into a sitting position; then, feet first, Iskimmed on, and on, and on, till right before me there seemed to be anedge, over which I slid into intense darkness; ever going on down, down,down, with the noise of wind rushing by me as I fell, till my head spunround; then there was a strange sensation of giddy drowsiness; and,lastly, all was blank.
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"Yes, he'll do now," said a familiar voice. "He's getting on. Headbeautifully cool."
"Eh?" I said, staring at the speaker.
"Well, skipper, that was a narrow touch for you, I thought once you weregone."
"So did I," was my reply; "but how did you and Bostock get out?"
"Wandering a little still," said the doctor, in a whisper to Bostock."Get out?" he said aloud. "Oh, easily enough."
"But, but," I said, faintly, holding my hand to my head--"that horriblecrater!"
"Lie still, my dear captain," he said, "and don't worry. You'll bestronger in a day or two."
"But tell me!" I said, appealingly.
"Well, there's little to tell," he said, smiling. "Only that youpitched head first twenty feet down the slope of that iceberg threeweeks ago, and you've been in a raging fever ever since."
"Then the overturning of the iceberg--the dive of the steamer--the sevenfrozen sailors--the crater?"
"My dear fellow," he said, gently, "you've been delirious, and your headevidently is not quite right yet. There, drink that."
I took what he gave me, and sank into a deep sleep, from which I awokemuch refreshed, and by degrees I learned that I had slipped while wewere on the beautiful iceberg, and had a very narrow escape of my life;that, far from walking back to the steamer, and sitting on the deck tohear a scraping noise, I had been carried carefully on board by Bostockand Scudds. Imagination did the rest.
I need not continue our adventures in our real voyage, for they werevery uneventful. The doctor got some nice specimens and thoroughlyenjoyed his trip; but we were stopped on all sides by the ice, and atlast had to return, loaded with oil and preserved natural historymatters, after what the doctor called the pleasantest trip he had everhad.
But, all the same, it would have been very interesting if the SevenFrozen Sailors had really been thawed out to give us forth their yarns--of course always excepting the rush down into the misty crater.However, here are their stories, told by seven pens, and may they makepleasant many a fireside.
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