Woven with the Ship: A Novel of 1865

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

  CHAPTER XI

  BLOWS AT THE HEART

  Revere spent the next morning in a thorough inspection of the ship. Itwas a duty enjoined upon him in the carrying out of his orders, and hehad felt somewhat guilty in having neglected it the day before. HisNaval Academy course had included instruction in woodenship-building,--iron ships were only just beginning to be at thatdate,--and he therefore viewed the _Susquehanna_ with the eyes of anexpert. At his own request, he had been attended in this survey by thesailor Barry, although it is more than probable that, in any case, theold man would have insisted upon accompanying him.

  With what jealous pain the veteran seaman dogged the footsteps of theyoung sailor and watched him examine his beloved ship! Nothing escapedRevere's rigid scrutiny. Barry himself, after his years of familiaritywith the old hulk, could not have made a more exhaustiveinvestigation. There was but one spot which Revere did not view. Thatwas the private locker which the old seaman had made for himself inthe one habitable portion of the ship.

  "What's this?" Revere had asked, pausing before the closed, lockeddoor. "Your traps, eh? Well, I guess we have no need to inspect them,"he continued, smiling, and passing on.

  Yet, had he known it, behind that closed door lay his fate, for thelost letters and papers--which Barry had not yet read--were there.

  The keen, critical examination of the old ship by the young lieutenantenhanced the growing animosity of the sailor. His cool comments seemedlike a profanation. Barry felt as if his enemy were appraising thevirtues of his wife; as if, examining her in her old age, he weredisappointed and surprised at not finding in her the qualities andexcellencies of her youth. Every prying finger touch, crumbling therotting wood, was a desecration. Every blow struck upon the timbers totest their soundness was an added insult.

  Had the young man been less intent upon that task he would have seenin the clouded brow, the closed lips, the stern expression upon hiscompanion's face something of the older man's exacerbated feelings;but, engrossed by his inspection, he noticed nothing. Indeed, likemany very young naval officers of the time, he thought but little ofthe sailor at best. He was a part--and a very essential part--of thevast naval machine, of course, but otherwise nothing. When Revere grewolder he would learn to estimate the value of the man upon theyard-arm, the man behind the gun, and to rate him more highly; but atpresent his attitude was more or less one of indifference.

  It was true that Barry, equally with Emily, had saved his life; but bya perfectly natural trick of the mind--or heart, rather--all theheroism of that splendid achievement had focussed itself about thewoman, and to Revere the man became an incident rather than acause,--merely a detail. Just as the captain who leads the forlornhope gets the mention in the despatches and enrolls his name upon thepages of history, to the exclusion of those other men, perhaps no lessbrave than he, who followed him, so Emily stood to the fore, andBarry's part was already half forgotten. This carelessly obliviousattitude of mind, which he divined even in the absence of any veryspecific outward evidence of it, added to the exasperation of thesailor, and he fairly hated the officer.

  "There are certain categories of the mind which must be true, elsewould reason reel and totter on its throne." As an illustration, wecannot think of love without thinking of hate, and perhaps thecapacity for one may be measured by the ability for the other. The manwho loves high things, burns with corresponding hatred for thebase,--or else something is lacking in his love; and, as is the casewith all other antitheses of sentiment, both feelings find lodgment inthe normal mind.

  Barry had loved through years. He had loved the admiral, he had lovedthe ship, and, above all, he had loved the girl. The peaceful, quiet,even tenor of his life had offered no lodgment for antagonisms. Tolove, to serve,--that had been his happy existence. Living alone onShip House Point, attending to his simple duties, wrapped up in hisdevotion, he had found neither cause nor reason for hatred, and whenthat awful passion found a lodgment in his bosom, it came so suddenly,so violently, that it destroyed the mental and spiritual balance ofthe man. The faculty of hating had years of disuse to make up for, andthe feeling swept over him like a tidal wave, uncontrollable,appalling. The swiftness with which it developed had but added to hisconfusion. There is love at first sight, but there is antipathy aswell. He was a living illustration of the latter fact.

  So perverted had become the sailor's mind, under the influence of thisrising feeling, that in his bewilderment he sometimes fancied that hisantipathy was universal,--that he hated the admiral, the ship, Emily,himself! Yet this could not be; and in calmer moments, althoughwithout the power of analysis, he realized dumbly that these gripingemotions were but the concomitants of his obsession.

  Of all this the lieutenant was yet blithely unconscious. It is saidthat but a single object can engross the mind at one time, and thatconcepts of other objects, even if simultaneous therewith, are merelyauxiliary thereto. Emily filled Revere's mental horizon to theexclusion of everything else. It was with difficulty he kept his mindaway from her when, in pursuance of his duty, he inspected the ship.To Barry he paid but little attention, noticing him, if at all, in themost perfunctory way. Disassociated from Emily, the sailor counted fornothing.

  To his relief and Barry's, presently the long task was over. The dutydischarged, the two men scrambled down the battens which Barry hadnailed to the side of the hulk to enable him to pass to and from thedeck, and stood on the grass in the shadow of the ship.

  "Well," said Revere, "she has been a fine ship in her day, Barry."

  "Ay, sir; none better."

  "See how sharp she is in the lines of her bow; look at the gracefulswell forward. See how she fines down in her run aft, yonder. Sheshould have been a good goer. The ship was built for speed as well asstrength; and probably she was laid out by the rule-of-thumb, too," hecontinued, reflectively. "We don't build better to-day, with all ourboasted science. Yes, she was a fine ship. I should like to havecommanded her; but she is worthless now."

  "Worthless!" exploded the old sailor, darkly; "worthless!"

  "Absolutely. There is hardly a sound plank in her. The iron bolts,even, are rusted. I wonder how she holds together. The habit of years,perhaps; nothing else, surely. She's a positive danger. Some dayshe'll fall to pieces, and, if I were you, I'd sleep elsewhere."

  "My God, sir!" exclaimed the old man, wrathfully, his face changing;"you don't know what you're sayin'! You can't mean it! Me leave theship! I've slept on her for twenty-five years. You're wrong, sir!She's good for many a year yet. Some of the planks is rottin', I grantyou, but most of the frames is good yet, an' she's sound at the heart.She'll weather many a storm, you'll see. Sound at the heart! Leaveher! I'll leave her when she falls, and the admiral, too. He's an oldman. My father sailed with him; he was a man when I was a boy; yethe's alive still, an' he'll live as long as she does, too."

  "Nonsense, man!" said Revere; "you are dreaming! The ship ought to bebroken up. She might be worth something as stove-wood of inferiorquality," he continued, carelessly, and ruthlessly, too; "but I tellyou she's a menace to every one who comes here."

  "Broken up, sir!" gasped the man, forgetting duty, courtesy,everything, in his anger; "by heaven, I'd rather set fire to her withmy own hands an' burn her down! Burn the life out of the admiral, an'out of me, too, than a timber on her should be touched! I tell you,I've lived on her. I know her. I love her! Don't dare to----"

  "Look here, Barry," said the young man, quickly, but with greatfirmness, "you are rated a boatswain's mate in the United States navy,I believe, and as such I will have to caution you not to address me inthis imperious way. There, man, hang it all, I oughtn't to have saidthat, perhaps," he continued, as he saw the man's face working withgrief and rage. "You saved my life, you know, and the ship, I suppose,is dear to you, and I can well understand it. We'll say no more aboutit."

  "I wish to God I hadn't," muttered the sailor, entirely unmollified.

  "Well, now, that's rather ungracious of you; but, never mind, you did,an
d I can forgive an old salt a good deal; only there is one thing Imust say: Miss Emily must not go aboard the ship any more. You canrisk your life if you want to, but I won't have her risk hers; it'sdangerous."

  The old man noted the cool, proprietary note in the voice, and brokeinto fury; difference of rank and station quite obliterated from hisperturbed mind.

  "Mustn't, sir! Mustn't! I may be a bo's'n's mate, sir, an' you cancommand me, but you've got no call to say 'mustn't' to Miss Emily."

  "Of course not; but I shall speak to the admiral. There, now, thatwill do. Keep cool. No harm's done. I have inspected the ship andshall report on her."

  "What are you goin' to report, sir?"

  "Well, by George! If you are not the most extraordinary blue-jacket Iever saw! What I report will be sent to the Secretary of the Navy. Ido not publish it to the ship's crew. What's the matter with you, man?Pull yourself together. You seem to be in a dreadful state."

  "What are you goin' to do with the ship?" insisted Barry, savagely.

  "I'm not going to do anything with her. I have been sent here toreport on her, and I shall report."

  The situation had become tense. The young officer felt that he hadhumored the sailor long enough; indeed, that he had allowed him farmore freedom in his address than he would had given any one else.Ignorant of the mainspring of the man's apparent antipathy to him,possessing no clew to the cause of it, unable to divine Barry's mentalcondition, he had been greatly surprised by his insolent and insultingconduct. It seemed to the lieutenant that his forbearance had reachedits limit, and that something would have to give way. In anothersecond there would have been trouble.

  The state of affairs was relieved by the cause of it, for Emilyappeared on the brow of the hill at that moment and called to thesailor. The old man instantly turned on his heel and, without deigningto notice the young man, walked toward her. Revere followed himpromptly, and both men arrived at the top of the hill before her atthe same moment.

  By a violent effort the sailor had smoothed some of the passion out ofhis face, though he still looked white and angry.

  "What's the matter, Captain Barry?" she asked, noticing his alteredvisage.

  The man stood silent before her, not trusting himself to speak,especially as it would have been difficult to assign a tangible causefor his feelings, real though they were.

  "I think I can tell you, Miss Emily," said Revere, pleasantly. "I havebeen inspecting the ship, and the man has not liked my opinion of her,I fancy."

  "Captain Barry is very fond of the old ship, Mr. Revere," said Emily,quietly, "and I doubt not that any inspection of her hurts him."

  The sailor looked at the girl gratefully, as a dog might have done.The young man's heart went out to her, too, for her kindlychampionship of the older man. He was glad, indeed, that she had founda way to dispel his anger, for the lieutenant was a kind-hearted youngfellow, and would have all others about him happy, especially in thisbeginning of his romance.

  "Well," he said, generously, "perhaps I did speak rather harshly ofthe ship. You see I hardly realized how you all love the old thing,and indeed 'tis a fine, melancholy old picture."

  "It always reminds me of grandfather and Captain Barry--old on the onehand, strong on the other," responded Emily, divining the instinct ofconsideration in his heart that had prompted Revere's words, andsmiling graciously at him.

  It was reward enough for him, he thought, as he returned her approvingglance with interest.

  "You called me, Miss Emily," said the uncompromising Barry, speakingat last. "Do you want me?"

  "Yes; I am going over to the village, and I wish you to row me acrossthe harbor."

  "By no means, Miss Emily," broke in Revere, promptly. "I claim thathonor for myself."

  "Do you think you are quite strong enough to do it?"

  "Strong enough!" he exclaimed. "Certainly I am! I should like nothingbetter. Besides, I have business in the town myself: I expect answersto some letters and my man with a portmanteau and some other clothes.I should be delighted to row you to the village or anywhere."

  "Well," said Emily, hesitating, "Captain Barry always rows me and----"

  "All the more reason for giving him a rest; he is old and will be gladof this relief. Let the duty be performed by younger hands. Come,then, if you will allow me."

  Barry stood silent during this little colloquy. His face, when Emilyglanced at it, was as impassive as if he had been a stone image. Hewas putting great constraint upon himself, determined not to betrayhis feeling. If she could choose Revere, the acquaintance of a moment,and disregard him, the servant of years, let her do so. He would see.Not by word or look would he try to influence her. If he had everheard of the Spartan with the wolf at his vitals, he would haverealized what the story meant then.

  Now, Emily much preferred to have Revere row her; he was a much morecongenial companion than the grim, silent sailor. There was asympathy, already an affection, developing between them which made hergreatly enjoy his society. She would not have hesitated a moment,therefore, but for a certain understanding of the feeling entertainedfor her by the sailor. Not a sufficient comprehension, however, toamount to an assurance, but a deep enough realization to give herpause. What woman is there without that much comprehension? But whenshe saw Barry standing before her, impassive, stern, apparentlyindifferent, her hesitation left her for the moment, and, bidding thesailor inform her grandfather of her departure, she turned anddescended the hill, followed by the lieutenant.

  As the two walked away the tension on the man was released or broken.He stood trembling, looking after them. A flower which Emily had beenwearing had fallen upon the walk. In other days he would have pickedit up and carried it carefully to the ship as a priceless treasure.Now he ground it brutally under his heavy heel and stared at them,almost unconscious of his action, quivering with voiceless rage.Presently he went up to the old admiral, sitting dreaming on theporch, and, having mastered himself somewhat again, delivered hismessage.

  Out in the harbor the little skiff, the same by means of whichRevere's life had been saved, danced merrily along.

  "I like to see the young people together, Barry," said the old man,gazing after them. "'Twas a fortunate gale that wrecked him at ourdoor. We shall be going soon, you and I and the ship, and who willtake care of Emily then? Perhaps----"

  He spoke slowly and he did not finish the sentence, yet the concludingthought was perfectly plain to the sailor.

  He raged over it as he returned to the ship.