CHAPTER 9
AN EVENING AT FOUR WINDS POINT
It was late September when Anne and Gilbert were able to pay Four Windslight their promised visit. They had often planned to go, butsomething always occurred to prevent them. Captain Jim had "droppedin" several times at the little house.
"I don't stand on ceremony, Mistress Blythe," he told Anne. "It's areal pleasure to me to come here, and I'm not going to deny myself jestbecause you haven't got down to see me. There oughtn't to be nobargaining like that among the race that knows Joseph. I'll come whenI can, and you come when you can, and so long's we have our pleasantlittle chat it don't matter a mite what roof's over us."
Captain Jim took a great fancy to Gog and Magog, who were presidingover the destinies of the hearth in the little house with as muchdignity and aplomb as they had done at Patty's Place.
"Aren't they the cutest little cusses?" he would say delightedly; andhe bade them greeting and farewell as gravely and invariably as he didhis host and hostess. Captain Jim was not going to offend householddeities by any lack of reverence and ceremony.
"You've made this little house just about perfect," he told Anne. "Itnever was so nice before. Mistress Selwyn had your taste and she didwonders; but folks in those days didn't have the pretty little curtainsand pictures and nicknacks you have. As for Elizabeth, she lived inthe past. You've kinder brought the future into it, so to speak. I'dbe real happy even if we couldn't talk at all, when I come here--jestto sit and look at you and your pictures and your flowers would beenough of a treat. It's beautiful--beautiful."
Captain Jim was a passionate worshipper of beauty. Every lovely thingheard or seen gave him a deep, subtle, inner joy that irradiated hislife. He was quite keenly aware of his own lack of outward comelinessand lamented it.
"Folks say I'm good," he remarked whimsically upon one occasion, "but Isometimes wish the Lord had made me only half as good and put the restof it into looks. But there, I reckon He knew what He was about, as agood Captain should. Some of us have to be homely, or the purtyones--like Mistress Blythe here--wouldn't show up so well."
One evening Anne and Gilbert finally walked down to the Four Windslight. The day had begun sombrely in gray cloud and mist, but it hadended in a pomp of scarlet and gold. Over the western hills beyond theharbor were amber deeps and crystalline shallows, with the fire ofsunset below. The north was a mackerel sky of little, fiery goldenclouds. The red light flamed on the white sails of a vessel glidingdown the channel, bound to a southern port in a land of palms. Beyondher, it smote upon and incarnadined the shining, white, grassless facesof the sand dunes. To the right, it fell on the old house among thewillows up the brook, and gave it for a fleeting space casements moresplendid than those of an old cathedral. They glowed out of its quietand grayness like the throbbing, blood-red thoughts of a vivid soulimprisoned in a dull husk of environment.
"That old house up the brook always seems so lonely," said Anne. "Inever see visitors there. Of course, its lane opens on the upperroad--but I don't think there's much coming and going. It seems oddwe've never met the Moores yet, when they live within fifteen minutes'walk of us. I may have seen them in church, of course, but if so Ididn't know them. I'm sorry they are so unsociable, when they are ouronly near neighbors."
"Evidently they don't belong to the race that knows Joseph," laughedGilbert. "Have you ever found out who that girl was whom you thoughtso beautiful?"
"No. Somehow I have never remembered to ask about her. But I've neverseen her anywhere, so I suppose she must have been a stranger. Oh, thesun has just vanished--and there's the light."
As the dusk deepened, the great beacon cut swathes of light through it,sweeping in a circle over the fields and the harbor, the sandbar andthe gulf.
"I feel as if it might catch me and whisk me leagues out to sea," saidAnne, as one drenched them with radiance; and she felt rather relievedwhen they got so near the Point that they were inside the range ofthose dazzling, recurrent flashes.
As they turned into the little lane that led across the fields to thePoint they met a man coming out of it--a man of such extraordinaryappearance that for a moment they both frankly stared. He was adecidedly fine-looking person-tall, broad-shouldered, well-featured,with a Roman nose and frank gray eyes; he was dressed in a prosperousfarmer's Sunday best; in so far he might have been any inhabitant ofFour Winds or the Glen. But, flowing over his breast nearly to hisknees, was a river of crinkly brown beard; and adown his back, beneathhis commonplace felt hat, was a corresponding cascade of thick, wavy,brown hair.
"Anne," murmured Gilbert, when they were out of earshot, "you didn'tput what Uncle Dave calls 'a little of the Scott Act' in that lemonadeyou gave me just before we left home, did you?"
"No, I didn't," said Anne, stifling her laughter, lest the retreatingenigma should hear here. "Who in the world can he be?"
"I don't know; but if Captain Jim keeps apparitions like that down atthis Point I'm going to carry cold iron in my pocket when I come here.He wasn't a sailor, or one might pardon his eccentricity of appearance;he must belong to the over-harbor clans. Uncle Dave says they haveseveral freaks over there."
"Uncle Dave is a little prejudiced, I think. You know all theover-harbor people who come to the Glen Church seem very nice. Oh,Gilbert, isn't this beautiful?"
The Four Winds light was built on a spur of red sand-stone cliffjutting out into the gulf. On one side, across the channel, stretchedthe silvery sand shore of the bar; on the other, extended a long,curving beach of red cliffs, rising steeply from the pebbled coves. Itwas a shore that knew the magic and mystery of storm and star. Thereis a great solitude about such a shore. The woods are neversolitary--they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. Butthe sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareablesorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can neverpierce its infinite mystery--we may only wander, awed and spellbound,on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices,but the sea has one only--a mighty voice that drowns our souls in itsmajestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company ofthe archangels.
Anne and Gilbert found Uncle Jim sitting on a bench outside thelighthouse, putting the finishing touches to a wonderful, full-rigged,toy schooner. He rose and welcomed them to his abode with the gentle,unconscious courtesy that became him so well.
"This has been a purty nice day all through, Mistress Blythe, and now,right at the last, it's brought its best. Would you like to sit downhere outside a bit, while the light lasts? I've just finished this bitof a plaything for my little grand nephew, Joe, up at the Glen. AfterI promised to make it for him I was kinder sorry, for his mother wasvexed. She's afraid he'll be wanting to go to sea later on and shedoesn't want the notion encouraged in him. But what could I do,Mistress Blythe? I'd PROMISED him, and I think it's sorter realdastardly to break a promise you make to a child. Come, sit down. Itwon't take long to stay an hour."
The wind was off shore, and only broke the sea's surface into long,silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it, fromevery point and headland, like transparent wings. The dusk was hanginga curtain of violet gloom over the sand dunes and the headlands wheregulls were huddling. The sky was faintly filmed over with scarfs ofsilken vapor. Cloud fleets rode at anchor along the horizons. Anevening star was watching over the bar.
"Isn't that a view worth looking at?" said Captain Jim, with a loving,proprietary pride. "Nice and far from the market-place, ain't it? Nobuying and selling and getting gain. You don't have to payanything--all that sea and sky free--'without money and without price.'There's going to be a moonrise purty soon, too--I'm never tired offinding out what a moonrise can be over them rocks and sea and harbor.There's a surprise in it every time."
They had their moonrise, and watched its marvel and magic in a silencethat asked nothing of the world or each other. Then they went up intothe tower, and Captain Jim showed and expla
ined the mechanism of thegreat light. Finally they found themselves in the dining room, where afire of driftwood was weaving flames of wavering, elusive, sea-bornhues in the open fireplace.
"I put this fireplace in myself," remarked Captain Jim. "TheGovernment don't give lighthouse keepers such luxuries. Look at thecolors that wood makes. If you'd like some driftwood for your fire,Mistress Blythe, I'll bring you up a load some day. Sit down. I'mgoing to make you a cup of tea."
Captain Jim placed a chair for Anne, having first removed therefrom ahuge, orange-colored cat and a newspaper.
"Get down, Matey. The sofa is your place. I must put this paper awaysafe till I can find time to finish the story in it. It's called A MadLove. 'Tisn't my favorite brand of fiction, but I'm reading it jest tosee how long she can spin it out. It's at the sixty-second chapternow, and the wedding ain't any nearer than when it begun, far's I cansee. When little Joe comes I have to read him pirate yarns. Ain't itstrange how innocent little creatures like children like theblood-thirstiest stories?"
"Like my lad Davy at home," said Anne. "He wants tales that reek withgore."
Captain Jim's tea proved to be nectar. He was pleased as a child withAnne's compliments, but he affected a fine indifference.
"The secret is I don't skimp the cream," he remarked airily. CaptainJim had never heard of Oliver Wendell Holmes, but he evidently agreedwith that writer's dictum that "big heart never liked little cream pot."
"We met an odd-looking personage coming out of your lane," said Gilbertas they sipped. "Who was he?"
Captain Jim grinned.
"That's Marshall Elliott--a mighty fine man with jest one streak offoolishness in him. I s'pose you wondered what his object was inturning himself into a sort of dime museum freak."
"Is he a modern Nazarite or a Hebrew prophet left over from oldentimes?" asked Anne.
"Neither of them. It's politics that's at the bottom of his freak.All those Elliotts and Crawfords and MacAllisters are dyed-in-the-woolpoliticians. They're born Grit or Tory, as the case may be, and theylive Grit or Tory, and they die Grit or Tory; and what they're going todo in heaven, where there's probably no politics, is more than I canfathom. This Marshall Elliott was born a Grit. I'm a Grit myself inmoderation, but there's no moderation about Marshall. Fifteen yearsago there was a specially bitter general election. Marshall fought forhis party tooth and nail. He was dead sure the Liberals would win--sosure that he got up at a public meeting and vowed that he wouldn'tshave his face or cut his hair until the Grits were in power. Well,they didn't go in--and they've never got in yet--and you saw the resulttoday for yourselves. Marshall stuck to his word."
"What does his wife think of it?" asked Anne.
"He's a bachelor. But if he had a wife I reckon she couldn't make himbreak that vow. That family of Elliotts has always been more stubbornthan natteral. Marshall's brother Alexander had a dog he set greatstore by, and when it died the man actilly wanted to have it buried inthe graveyard, 'along with the other Christians,' he said. Course, hewasn't allowed to; so he buried it just outside the graveyard fence,and never darkened the church door again. But Sundays he'd drive hisfamily to church and sit by that dog's grave and read his Bible all thetime service was going on. They say when he was dying he asked hiswife to bury him beside the dog; she was a meek little soul but shefired up at THAT. She said SHE wasn't going to be buried beside nodog, and if he'd rather have his last resting place beside the dog thanbeside her, jest to say so. Alexander Elliott was a stubborn mule, buthe was fond of his wife, so he give in and said, 'Well, durn it, buryme where you please. But when Gabriel's trump blows I expect my dog torise with the rest of us, for he had as much soul as any durned Elliottor Crawford or MacAllister that ever strutted.' Them was HIS partingwords. As for Marshall, we're all used to him, but he must strikestrangers as right down peculiar-looking. I've known him ever since hewas ten--he's about fifty now--and I like him. Him and me was outcod-fishing today. That's about all I'm good for now--catching troutand cod occasional. But 'tweren't always so--not by no manner ofmeans. I used to do other things, as you'd admit if you saw mylife-book."
Anne was just going to ask what his life-book was when the First Matecreated a diversion by springing upon Captain Jim's knee. He was agorgeous beastie, with a face as round as a full moon, vivid greeneyes, and immense, white, double paws. Captain Jim stroked his velvetback gently.
"I never fancied cats much till I found the First Mate," he remarked,to the accompaniment of the Mate's tremendous purrs. "I saved hislife, and when you've saved a creature's life you're bound to love it.It's next thing to giving life. There's some turrible thoughtlesspeople in the world, Mistress Blythe. Some of them city folks who havesummer homes over the harbor are so thoughtless that they're cruel.It's the worst kind of cruelty--the thoughtless kind. You can't copewith it. They keep cats there in the summer, and feed and pet 'em, anddoll 'em up with ribbons and collars. And then in the fall they go offand leave 'em to starve or freeze. It makes my blood boil, MistressBlythe. One day last winter I found a poor old mother cat dead on theshore, lying against the skin-and-bone bodies of her three littlekittens. She'd died trying to shelter 'em. She had her poor stiffpaws around 'em. Master, I cried. Then I swore. Then I carried thempoor little kittens home and fed 'em up and found good homes for 'em.I knew the woman who left the cat and when she come back this summer Ijest went over the harbor and told her my opinion of her. It was rankmeddling, but I do love meddling in a good cause."
"How did she take it?" asked Gilbert.
"Cried and said she 'didn't think.' I says to her, says I, 'Do yous'pose that'll be held for a good excuse in the day of Jedgment, whenyou'll have to account for that poor old mother's life? The Lord'llask you what He give you your brains for if it wasn't to think, Ireckon.' I don't fancy she'll leave cats to starve another time."
"Was the First Mate one of the forsaken?" asked Anne, making advancesto him which were responded to graciously, if condescendingly.
"Yes. I found HIM one bitter cold day in winter, caught in thebranches of a tree by his durn-fool ribbon collar. He was almoststarving. If you could have seen his eyes, Mistress Blythe! He wasnothing but a kitten, and he'd got his living somehow since he'd beenleft until he got hung up. When I loosed him he gave my hand a pitifulswipe with his little red tongue. He wasn't the able seaman you seenow. He was meek as Moses. That was nine years ago. His life hasbeen long in the land for a cat. He's a good old pal, the First Mateis."
"I should have expected you to have a dog," said Gilbert.
Captain Jim shook his head.
"I had a dog once. I thought so much of him that when he died Icouldn't bear the thought of getting another in his place. He was aFRIEND--you understand, Mistress Blythe? Matey's only a pal. I'm fondof Matey--all the fonder on account of the spice of devilment that's inhim--like there is in all cats. But I LOVED my dog. I always had asneaking sympathy for Alexander Elliott about HIS dog. There isn't anydevil in a good dog. That's why they're more lovable than cats, Ireckon. But I'm darned if they're as interesting. Here I am, talkingtoo much. Why don't you check me? When I do get a chance to talk toanyone I run on turrible. If you've done your tea I've a few littlethings you might like to look at--picked 'em up in the queer corners Iused to be poking my nose into."
Captain Jim's "few little things" turned out to be a most interestingcollection of curios, hideous, quaint and beautiful. And almost everyone had some striking story attached to it.
Anne never forgot the delight with which she listened to those oldtales that moonlit evening by that enchanted driftwood fire, while thesilver sea called to them through the open window and sobbed againstthe rocks below them.
Captain Jim never said a boastful word, but it was impossible to helpseeing what a hero the man had been--brave, true, resourceful,unselfish. He sat there in his little room and made those things liveagain for his hearers. By a lift of the eyebrow, a twist
of the lip, agesture, a word, he painted a whole scene or character so that they sawit as it was.
Some of Captain Jim's adventures had such a marvellous edge that Anneand Gilbert secretly wondered if he were not drawing a rather long bowat their credulous expense. But in this, as they found later, they didhim injustice. His tales were all literally true. Captain Jim had thegift of the born storyteller, whereby "unhappy, far-off things" can bebrought vividly before the hearer in all their pristine poignancy.
Anne and Gilbert laughed and shivered over his tales, and once Annefound herself crying. Captain Jim surveyed her tears with pleasureshining from his face.
"I like to see folks cry that way," he remarked. "It's a compliment.But I can't do justice to the things I've seen or helped to do. I've'em all jotted down in my life-book, but I haven't got the knack ofwriting them out properly. If I could hit on jest the right words andstring 'em together proper on paper I could make a great book. Itwould beat A Mad Love holler, and I believe Joe'd like it as well asthe pirate yarns. Yes, I've had some adventures in my time; and, doyou know, Mistress Blythe, I still lust after 'em. Yes, old anduseless as I be, there's an awful longing sweeps over me at times tosail out--out--out there--forever and ever."
"Like Ulysses, you would
'Sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars until you die,'"
said Anne dreamily.
"Ulysses? I've read of him. Yes, that's just how I feel--jest how allus old sailors feel, I reckon. I'll die on land after all, I s'pose.Well, what is to be will be. There was old William Ford at the Glenwho never went on the water in his life, 'cause he was afraid of beingdrowned. A fortune-teller had predicted he would be. And one day hefainted and fell with his face in the barn trough and was drowned.Must you go? Well, come soon and come often. The doctor is to do thetalking next time. He knows a heap of things I want to find out. I'msorter lonesome here by times. It's been worse since Elizabeth Russelldied. Her and me was such cronies."
Captain Jim spoke with the pathos of the aged, who see their oldfriends slipping from them one by one--friends whose place can never bequite filled by those of a younger generation, even of the race thatknows Joseph. Anne and Gilbert promised to come soon and often.
"He's a rare old fellow, isn't he?" said Gilbert, as they walked home.
"Somehow, I can't reconcile his simple, kindly personality with thewild, adventurous life he has lived," mused Anne.
"You wouldn't find it so hard if you had seen him the other day down atthe fishing village. One of the men of Peter Gautier's boat made anasty remark about some girl along the shore. Captain Jim fairlyscorched the wretched fellow with the lightning of his eyes. He seemeda man transformed. He didn't say much--but the way he said it! You'dhave thought it would strip the flesh from the fellow's bones. Iunderstand that Captain Jim will never allow a word against any womanto be said in his presence."
"I wonder why he never married," said Anne. "He should have sons withtheir ships at sea now, and grandchildren climbing over him to hear hisstories--he's that kind of a man. Instead, he has nothing but amagnificent cat."
But Anne was mistaken. Captain Jim had more than that. He had amemory.
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