Chapter 3. THE OLD CALABOOSE--DESTINY AT THE DOOR
The old calaboose, in which the waifs had so long harboured, is a low,rectangular enclosure of building at the corner of a shady westernavenue and a little townward of the British consulate. Within wasa grassy court, littered with wreckage and the traces of vagrantoccupation. Six or seven cells opened from the court: the doors, thathad once been locked on mutinous whalermen, rotting before them in thegrass. No mark remained of their old destination, except the rusty barsupon the windows.
The floor of one of the cells had been a little cleared; a bucket (thelast remaining piece of furniture of the three caitiffs) stood full ofwater by the door, a half cocoanut shell beside it for a drinking cup;and on some ragged ends of mat Huish sprawled asleep, his mouth open,his face deathly. The glow of the tropic afternoon, the green ofsunbright foliage, stared into that shady place through door and window;and Herrick, pacing to and fro on the coral floor, sometimes pausedand laved his face and neck with tepid water from the bucket. His longarrears of suffering, the night's vigil, the insults of the morning, andthe harrowing business of the letter, had strung him to that point whenpain is almost pleasure, time shrinks to a mere point, and death andlife appear indifferent. To and fro he paced like a caged brute; hismind whirling through the universe of thought and memory; his eyes, ashe went, skimming the legends on the wall. The crumbling whitewash wasall full of them: Tahitian names, and French, and English, and rudesketches of ships under sail and men at fisticuffs.
It came to him of a sudden that he too must leave upon these walls thememorial of his passage. He paused before a clean space, took the pencilout, and pondered. Vanity, so hard to dislodge, awoke in him. We call itvanity at least; perhaps unjustly. Rather it was the bare sense of hisexistence prompted him; the sense of his life, the one thing wonderful,to which he scarce clung with a finger. From his jarred nerves therecame a strong sentiment of coming change; whether good or ill he couldnot say: change, he knew no more--change, with inscrutable veiled face,approaching noiseless. With the feeling, came the vision of a concertroom, the rich hues of instruments, the silent audience, and the loudvoice of the symphony. 'Destiny knocking at the door,' he thought; drewa stave on the plaster, and wrote in the famous phrase from the FifthSymphony. 'So,' thought he, 'they will know that I loved music and hadclassical tastes. They? He, I suppose: the unknown, kindred spirit thatshall come some day and read my memor querela. Ha, he shall have Latintoo!' And he added: terque quaterque beati Queis ante ora patrum.
He turned again to his uneasy pacing, but now with an irrational andsupporting sense of duty done. He had dug his grave that morning; now hehad carved his epitaph; the folds of the toga were composed, why shouldhe delay the insignificant trifle that remained to do? He paused andlooked long in the face of the sleeping Huish, drinking disenchantmentand distaste of life. He nauseated himself with that vile countenance.Could the thing continue? What bound him now? Had he no rights?--onlythe obligation to go on, without discharge or furlough, bearing theunbearable? Ich trage unertragliches, the quotation rose in his mind; herepeated the whole piece, one of the most perfect of the most perfect ofpoets; and a phrase struck him like a blow: Du, stolzes Herz, A hastes ja gewolit. Where was the pride of his heart? And he raged againsthimself, as a man bites on a sore tooth, in a heady sensuality of scorn.'I have no pride, I have no heart, no manhood,' he thought, 'or whyshould I prolong a life more shameful than the gallows? Or why should Ihave fallen to it? No pride, no capacity, no force. Not even a bandit!and to be starving here with worse than banditti--with this trivialhell-hound!' His rage against his comrade rose and flooded him, and heshook a trembling fist at the sleeper.
A swift step was audible. The captain appeared upon the threshold of thecell, panting and flushed, and with a foolish face of happiness. In hisarms he carried a loaf of bread and bottles of beer; the pockets of hiscoat were bulging with cigars.
He rolled his treasures on the floor, grasped Herrick by both hands, andcrowed with laughter.
'Broach the beer!' he shouted. 'Broach the beer, and glory hallelujah!'
'Beer?' repeated Huish, struggling to his feet. 'Beer it is!' criedDavis. 'Beer and plenty of it. Any number of persons can use it (likeLyon's tooth-tablet) with perfect propriety and neatness. Who's toofficiate?'
'Leave me alone for that,' said the clerk. He knocked the necks off witha lump of coral, and each drank in succession from the shell.
'Have a weed,' said Davis. 'It's all in the bill.'
'What is up?' asked Herrick.
The captain fell suddenly grave. 'I'm coming to that,' said he. 'I wantto speak with Herrick here. You, Hay--or Huish, or whatever your nameis--you take a weed and the other bottle, and go and see how the wind isdown by the purao. I'll call you when you're wanted!'
'Hay? Secrets? That ain't the ticket,' said Huish.
'Look here, my son,' said the captain, 'this is business, and don't youmake any mistake about it. If you're going to make trouble, you canhave it your own way and stop right here. Only get the thing right: ifHerrick and I go, we take the beer. Savvy?'
'Oh, I don't want to shove my oar in,' returned Huish. 'I'll cut rightenough. Give me the swipes. You can jaw till you're blue in the face forwhat I care. I don't think it's the friendly touch: that's all.' And heshambled grumbling out of the cell into the staring sun.
The captain watched him clear of the courtyard; then turned to Herrick.
'What is it?' asked Herrick thickly.
'I'll tell you,' said Davis. 'I want to consult you. It's a chance we'vegot. What's that?' he cried, pointing to the music on the wall.
'What?' said the other. 'Oh, that! It's music; it's a phrase ofBeethoven's I was writing up. It means Destiny knocking at the door.'
'Does it?' said the captain, rather low; and he went near and studiedthe inscription; 'and this French?' he asked, pointing to the Latin.
'O, it just means I should have been luckier if I had died at horne,'returned Herrick impatiently. 'What is this business?'
'Destiny knocking at the door,' repeated the captain; and then, lookingover his shoulder. 'Well, Mr Herrick, that's about what it comes to,' headded.
'What do you mean? Explain yourself,' said Herrick.
But the captain was again staring at the music. 'About how long agosince you wrote up this truck?' he asked.
'What does it matter?' exclaimed Herrick. 'I dare say half an hour.'
'My God, it's strange!' cried Davis. 'There's some men would call thataccidental: not me. That--' and he drew his thick finger under themusic--'that's what I call Providence.'
'You said we had a chance,' said Herrick.
'Yes, SIR!' said the captain, wheeling suddenly face to face withhis companion. 'I did so. If you're the man I take you for, we have achance.'
'I don't know what you take me for,' was the reply. 'You can scarce takeme too low.'
'Shake hands, Mr Herrick,' said the captain. 'I know you. You're agentleman and a man of spirit. I didn't want to speak before that bummerthere; you'll see why. But to you I'll rip it right out. I got a ship.'
'A ship?' cried Herrick. 'What ship?'
'That schooner we saw this morning off the passage.'
'The schooner with the hospital flag?'
'That's the hooker,' said Davis. 'She's the Farallone, hundred andsixty tons register, out of 'Frisco for Sydney, in California champagne.Captain, mate, and one hand all died of the smallpox, same as they hadround in the Paumotus, I guess. Captain and mate were the only whitemen; all the hands Kanakas; seems a queer kind of outfit from aChristian port. Three of them left and a cook; didn't know where theywere; I can't think where they were either, if you come to that;Wiseman must have been on the booze, I guess, to sail the course he did.However, there HE was, dead; and here are the Kanakas as good as lost.They bummed around at sea like the babes in the wood; and tumbledend-on upon Tahiti. The consul here took charge. He offered the berth toWilliams; Williams had never had the smallpox and backe
d down. That waswhen I came in for the letter paper; I thought there was something upwhen the consul asked me to look in again; but I never let on to youfellows, so's you'd not be disappointed. Consul tried M'Neil; scared ofsmallpox. He tried Capirati, that Corsican and Leblue, or whatever hisname is, wouldn't lay a hand on it; all too fond of their sweet lives.Last of all, when there wasn't nobody else left to offer it to, heoffers it to me. "Brown, will you ship captain and take her to Sydney?"says he. "Let me choose my own mate and another white hand," says I,"for I don't hold with this Kanaka crew racket; give us all two months'advance to get our clothes and instruments out of pawn, and I'll takestock tonight, fill up stores, and get to sea tomorrow before dark!"That's what I said. "That's good enough," says the consul, "and youcan count yourself damned lucky, Brown," says he. And he said it prettymeaningful-appearing, too. However, that's all one now. I'll ship Huishbefore the mast--of course I'll let him berth aft--and I'll ship youmate at seventy-five dollars and two months' advance.'
'Me mate? Why, I'm a landsman!' cried Herrick.
'Guess you've got to learn,' said the captain. 'You don't fancy I'mgoing to skip and leave you rotting on the beach perhaps? I'm not thatsort, old man. And you're handy anyway; I've been shipmates with worse.'
'God knows I can't refuse,' said Herrick. 'God knows I thank you from myheart.'
'That's all right,' said the captain. 'But it ain't all.' He turnedaside to light a cigar.
'What else is there?' asked the other, with a pang of undefinable alarm.
'I'm coming to that,' said Davis, and then paused a little. 'See here,'he began, holding out his cigar between his finger and thumb, 'supposeyou figure up what this'll amount to. You don't catch on? Well, weget two months' advance; we can't get away from Papeete--our creditorswouldn't let us go--for less; it'll take us along about two monthsto get to Sydney; and when we get there, I just want to put it to yousquarely: What the better are we?'
'We're off the beach at least,' said Herrick.
'I guess there's a beach at Sydney,' returned the captain; 'and I'lltell you one thing, Mr Herrick--I don't mean to try. No, SIR! Sydneywill never see me.'
'Speak out plain,' said Herrick.
'Plain Dutch,' replied the captain. 'I'm going to own that schooner.It's nothing new; it's done every year in the Pacific. Stephens stole aschooner the other day, didn't he? Hayes and Pease stole vessels allthe time. And it's the making of the crowd of us. See here--you think ofthat cargo. Champagne! why, it's like as if it was put up on purpose. InPeru we'll sell that liquor off at the pier-head, and the schooner afterit, if we can find a fool to buy her; and then light out for the mines.If you'll back me up, I stake my life I carry it through.'
'Captain,' said Herrick, with a quailing voice, 'don't do it!'
'I'm desperate,' returned Davis. 'I've got a chance; I may never getanother. Herrick, say the word; back me up; I think we've starvedtogether long enough for that.'
'I can't do it. I'm sorry. I can't do it. I've not fallen as low asthat,' said Herrick, deadly pale.
'What did you say this morning?' said Davis. 'That you couldn't beg?It's the one thing or the other, my son.'
'Ah, but this is the jail!' cried Herrick. 'Don't tempt me. It's thejail.'
'Did you hear what the skipper said on board that schooner?' pursued thecaptain. 'Well, I tell you he talked straight. The French have let usalone for a long time; It can't last longer; they've got their eye onus; and as sure as you live, in three weeks you'll be in jail whateveryou do. I read it in the consul's face.'
'You forget, captain,' said the young man. 'There is another way. I candie; and to say truth, I think I should have died three years ago.'
The captain folded his arms and looked the other in the face. 'Yes,'said he, 'yes, you can cut your throat; that's a frozen fact; much goodmay it do you! And where do I come in?'
The light of a strange excitement came in Herrick's face. 'Both of us,'said he, 'both of us together. It's not possible you can enjoy thisbusiness. Come,' and he reached out a timid hand, 'a few strokes in thelagoon--and rest!'
'I tell you, Herrick, I'm 'most tempted to answer you the way the mandoes in the Bible, and say, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"' said thecaptain. 'What! you think I would go drown myself, and I got childrenstarving? Enjoy it? No, by God, I do not enjoy it! but it's the rowI've got to hoe, and I'll hoe it till I drop right here. I have three ofthem, you see, two boys and the one girl, Adar. The trouble is that youare not a parent yourself. I tell you, Herrick, I love you,' the manbroke out; 'I didn't take to you at first, you were so anglified andtony, but I love you now; it's a man that loves you stands here andwrestles with you. I can't go to sea with the bummer alone; it's notpossible. Go drown yourself, and there goes my last chance--the lastchance of a poor miserable beast, earning a crust to feed his family.I can't do nothing but sail ships, and I've no papers. And here I geta chance, and you go back on me! Ah, you've no family, and that's wherethe trouble is!'
'I have indeed,' said Herrick.
'Yes, I know,' said the captain, 'you think so. But no man's gota family till he's got children. It's only the kids count. There'ssomething about the little shavers... I can't talk of them. And ifyou thought a cent about this father that I hear you talk of, or thatsweetheart you were writing to this morning, you would feel like me. Youwould say, What matters laws, and God, and that? My folks are hard up,I belong to them, I'll get them bread, or, by God! I'll get them wealth,if I have to burn down London for it. That's what you would say. AndI'll tell you more: your heart is saying so this living minute. I cansee it in your face. You're thinking, Here's poor friendship for the manI've starved along of, and as for the girl that I set up to be in lovewith, here's a mighty limp kind of a love that won't carry me as faras 'most any man would go for a demijohn of whisky. There's not muchROmance to that love, anyway; it's not the kind they carry on about insongbooks. But what's the good of my carrying on talking, when it's allin your inside as plain as print? I put the question to you once forall. Are you going to desert me in my hour of need?--you know if I'vedeserted you--or will you give me your hand, and try a fresh deal, andgo home (as like as not) a millionaire? Say no, and God pity me! Sayyes, and I'll make the little ones pray for you every night on theirbended knees. "God bless Mr Herrick!" that's what they'll say, one afterthe other, the old girl sitting there holding stakes at the foot of thebed, and the damned little innocents.. . He broke off. 'I don't oftenrip out about the kids,' he said; 'but when I do, there's somethingfetches loose.'
'Captain,' said Herrick faintly, 'is there nothing else?'
'I'll prophesy if you like,' said the captain with renewed vigour.'Refuse this, because you think yourself too honest, and before amonth's out you'll be jailed for a sneak-thief. I give you the wordfair. I can see it, Herrick, if you can't; you're breaking down.Don't think, if you refuse this chance, that you'll go on doing theevangelical; you're about through with your stock; and before you knowwhere you are, you'll be right out on the other side. No, it's eitherthis for you; or else it's Caledonia. I bet you never were there, andsaw those white, shaved men, in their dust clothes and straw hats,prowling around in gangs in the lamplight at Noumea; they look likewolves, and they look like preachers, and they look like the sick; Hulshis a daisy to the best of them. Well, there's your company. They'rewaiting for you, Herrick, and you got to go; and that's a prophecy.'
And as the man stood and shook through his great stature, he seemedindeed like one in whom the spirit of divination worked and might utteroracles. Herrick looked at him, and looked away; It seemed not decent tospy upon such agitation; and the young man's courage sank.
'You talk of going home,' he objected. 'We could never do that.'
'WE could,' said the other. 'Captain Brown couldn't, nor Mr Hay, thatshipped mate with him couldn't. But what's that to do with Captain Davisor Mr Herrick, you galoot?'
'But Hayes had these wild islands where he used to call,' came the nextfainter objection.
'We have th
e wild islands of Peru,' retorted Davis. 'They were wildenough for Stephens, no longer agone than just last year. I guessthey'll be wild enough for us.'
'And the crew?'
'All Kanakas. Come, I see you're right, old man. I see you'll stand by.'And the captain once more offered his hand.
'Have it your own way then,' said Herrick. 'I'll do it: a strange thingfor my father's son. But I'll do it. I'll stand by you, man, for good orevil.'
'God bless you!' cried the captain, and stood silent. 'Herrick,' headded with a smile, 'I believe I'd have died in my tracks, if you'dsaid, No!'
And Herrick, looking at the man, half believed so also.
'And now we'll go break it to the bummer,' said Davis.
'I wonder how he'll take it,' said Herrick.
'Him? Jump at it!' was the reply.
The Ebb-Tide: A Trio And Quartette Page 3