together," he remarked after a time, a slight
twinkle in his eye of
appreciation of the bull. But the
twinkle quickly disappeared and
the blue eyes took on a bleak and
wintry look. "What dud he do ot
Voloparaiso but land sux hundred
fathom o' chain cable an' take
never a
receipt from the lighter-mon. I was gettun' my clearance
ot the time. When we got tull sea, I found he hod no
receipt for
the cable.
"'An' ye no took a
receipt for ut?' says I.
"'No,' says he. 'Wasna ut goin' direct tull the agents?'
"'How long ha' ye been goin' tull sea,' says I, 'not tull be
knowin' the mate's duty uz tull deluver no cargo wuthout
receiptfor same? An' on the West Coast ot thot. What's tull stop the
lighter-mon from stealun' a few lengths o' ut?'
"An' ut come out uz I said. Sux hundred hundred went over the
side, but four hundred an' ninety-five was all the agents received.
The lighter-mon swore ut was all he received from the mate - four
hundred an' ninety-five
fathom. I got a letter from the owners ot
Portland. They no blamed the mate for ut, but me, an' me
ashore ot
the time on shup's buzz'ness. I could no be in the two places ot
the one time. An' the letters from the owners an' the agents uz
still comun' tull me.
"Thot mate-fellow was no a proper sailor, an' no a mon tull work
for owners. Dudna he want tull break me wuth the Board of Trade
for bein' below my marks? He said as much tull the bos'n. An' he
told me tull my face
homeward bound thot I'd been half an inch
under my marks. 'Twas at Portland, loadun' cargo un fresh watter
an' goin' tull Comox tull load bunker coal un salt watter. I tell
ye, Annie, ut takes close fuggerin', an' I WAS half an inch under
the load-line when the bunker coal was un. But I'm no tellun' any
other body but you. An' thot mate-fellow untendun' tull report me
tull the Board o' Trade, only for thot he saw fut tull be sliced un
two pieces on the steam-pipe cover.
"He was a fool. After loadun' ot Portland I hod tull take on suxty
tons o' coal tull last me tull Comox. The
charges for lighterun'
was heavy, an' no room ot the coal dock. A French barque was lyin'
alongside the dock an' I spoke tull the captun, askun' hum what he
would
charge when work for the day was done, tull haul clear for a
couple o' hours an' let me un. 'Twenty dollars,' said he. Ut was
savun' money on lighters tull the owner, an' I gave ut tull hum.
An' thot night, after dark, I hauled un an' took on the coal. Then
I started tull go out un the
stream an' drop
anchor - under me own
steam, of course.
"We hod tull go out stern first, an' somethun' went wrong wuth the
reversun' gear. Old MacPherson said he could work ut by hond, but
very slow ot thot. An' I said 'All right.' We started. The pilot
was on board. The tide was ebbun' stuffly, an' right
abreast an' a
but below was a shup lyin' wuth a lighter on each side. I saw the
shup's ridun' lights, but never a light on the lighters. Ut was
close quarters to shuft a bug
vessel onder steam, wuth MacPherson
workun' the reversun' gear by hond. We hod to come close down upon
the shup afore I could go ahead an' clear o' the shups on the dock-
ends. An' we struck the lighter stern-on, just uz I rung tull
MacPherson half ahead.
"'What was thot?' says the pilot, when we struck the lighter.
"'I dunna know,' says I, 'an' I'm wonderun'.'
"The pilot was no keen, ye see, tull hus job. I went on tull a
guid place an' dropped
anchor, an' ut would all a-been well but for
thot domned eediot mate.
"'We smashed thot lighter,' says he, comun' up the lodder tull the
brudge - an' the pilot stondun' there wuth his ears cocked tull
hear.
"'What lighter?' says I.
"'Thot lighter
alongside the shup,' says the mate.
"'I dudna see no lighter,' says I, and wuth thot I steps on hus fut
guid an' hard.
"After the pilot was gone I says tull the mate: 'Uf you dunna know
onythun', old mon, for Heaven's sake keep your mouth shut.'
"'But ye dud smash thot lighter, dudn't ye?' says he.
"'Uf we dud,' says I, 'ut's no your buzz'ness tull be tellun' the
pilot - though, mind ye, I'm no admuttun' there was ony lighter.'
"An' next marnun', just uz I'm after dressun', the
steward says, 'A
mon tull see ye, sir.' 'Fetch hum un,' says I. An' un he come.
'Sut down,' says I. An' he sot down.
"He was the owner of the lighter, an' when he hod told hus story, I
says, 'I dudna see ony lighter.'
"'What, mon?' says he. 'No see a two-hundred-ton lighter, bug oz a
house,
alongside thot shup?'
"'I was goin' by the shup's lights,' says I, 'an' I dudna touch the
shup, thot I know.'
"'But ye dud touch the lighter,' says he. 'Ye smashed her.
There's a thousand dollars' domage done, an' I'll see ye pay for
ut.'
'Look here, muster,' says I, 'when I'm shuftun' a shup ot night I
follow the law, an' the law dustunctly says I must
regulate me
actions by the lights o' the shuppun'. Your lighter never hod no
ridun' light, nor dud I look for ony lighter wuthout lights tull
show ut.'
"'The mate says - ' he beguns.
"'Domn the mate,' says I. 'Dud your lighter hov a ridun' light?'
"'No, ut dud not,' says he, 'but ut was a clear night wuth the moon
a-showun'.'
"'Ye seem tull know your buzz'ness,' says I. 'But let me tell ye
thot I know my buzz'ness uz well, an' thot I'm no a-lookun' for
lighters wuthout lights. Uf ye thunk ye hov a case, go ahead. The
steward will show ye out. Guid day.'
"An' thot was the end o' ut. But ut wull show ye what a puir
fellow thot mate was. I call ut a blessun' for all masters thot he
was sliced un two on thot steam-pipe cover. He had a pull un the
office an' thot was the why he was kept on."
"The Wekley farm wull soon be for sale, so the agents be tellun'
me," his wife remarked, slyly watching what effect her announcement
would have upon him.
His eyes flashed
eagerly on the
instant, and he straightened up as
might a man about to engage in some
agreeable task. It was the
farm of his
vision, adjoining his father's, and her own people
farmed not a mile away.
"We wull be buyun' ut," he said, "though we wull be no tellun' a
soul of ut ontul ut's bought an' the money paid down. I've savun'
consuderable these days, though pickun's uz no what they used to
be, an' we hov a tidy nest-egg laid by. I wull see the father an'
hove the money ready tull hus hond, so uf I'm ot sea he can buy
whenever the land offers."
He rubbed the frosted
moisture from the inside of the window and
peered out at the pouring rain, through which he could discern
nothing.
"When I was a young men I used tull be afeard thot the owners would
guv me the sack. Stull afeard I am of the sack. But once thot
farm is mine I wull no be afeard ony longer. Ut's a puir job thus
sea-farmun'. Me managin' un all seas an' weather an' perils o' the
deep a shup worth fufty thousand pounds, wuth cargoes ot times
worth fufty thousand more - a hundred thousand pounds, half a
million dollars uz the Yankees say, an' me wuth all the
responsubility gettun' a screw o' twenty pounds a month. What mon
ashore, managin' a buz'ness worth a hundred thousand pounds wull be
gettun' uz small a screw uz twenty pounds? An' wuth such masters
uz a captun serves - the owners, the underwriters, an' the Board o'
Trade, all pullun' an wantun' dufferent thungs - the owners wantun'
quick passages an' domn the rusk, the underwriters wantun' safe
passages an' domn the delay, an' the Board o' Trade wantun'
cautious passages an'
caution always meanun' delay. Three
dufferent masters, an' all three able an' wullun' to break ye uf ye
don't serve their dufferent wushes."
He felt the train slackening speed, and peered again through the
misty window. He stood up, buttoned his
overcoat, turned up the
collar, and
awkwardly gathered the child, still asleep, in his
arms.
"I wull see the father," he said, "an' hov the money ready tull hus
hond so uf I'm ot sea when the land offers he wull no muss the
chance tull buy. An' then the owners can guv me the sack uz soon
uz they like. Ut will be all night un, an' I wull be wuth you,
Annie, an' the sea can go tull hell."
Happiness was in both their faces at the
prospect, and for a moment
both saw the same
vision of peace. Annie leaned toward him, and as
the train stopped they kissed each other across the
sleeping child.
SAMUEL
Margaret Henan would have been a
striking figure under any
circumstances, but never more so than when I first chanced upon
her, a sack of grain of fully a hundredweight on her shoulder, as
she walked with sure though tottering
stride from the cart-tail to
the
stable, pausing for an
instant to gather strength at the foot
of the steep steps that led to the grain-bin. There were four of
these steps, and she went up them, a step at a time, slowly,
unwaveringly, and with so dogged certitude that it never entered my
mind that her strength could fail her and let that hundred-weight
sack fall from the lean and withered frame that wellnigh doubled
under it. For she was patently an old woman, and it was her age
that made me
linger by the cart and watch.
Six times she went between the cart and the
stable, each time with
a full sack on her back, and beyond passing the time of day with me
she took no notice of my presence. Then, the cart empty, she
fumbled for matches and lighted a short clay pipe, pressing down
the burning surface of the
tobacco with a calloused and apparently
nerveless thumb. The hands were noteworthy. They were large-
knuckled, sinewy and malformed by labour, rimed with callouses, the
nails blunt and broken, and with here and there cuts and bruises,
healed and healing, such as are common to the hands of hard-working
men. On the back were huge, upstanding veins,
eloquent of age and
toil. Looking at them, it was hard to believe that they were the
hands of the woman who had once been the belle of Island McGill.
This last, of course, I
learned later. At the time I knew neither
her history nor her identity.
She wore heavy man's brogans. Her legs were stockingless, and I
had noticed when she walked that her bare feet were
thrust into the
crinkly, iron-like shoes that sloshed about her lean ankles at
every step. Her figure,
shapeless and waistless, was garbed in a
rough man's shirt and in a
raggedflannelpetticoat that had once
been red. But it was her face, wrinkled, withered and weather-
beaten, surrounded by an aureole of unkempt and straggling wisps of
greyish hair, that caught and held me. Neither drifted hair nor
serried wrinkles could hide the splendid dome of a
forehead, high
and broad without verging in the slightest on the abnormal.
The
sunken cheeks and pinched nose told little of the quality of
the life that flickered behind those clear blue eyes of hers.
Despite the minutiae of wrinkle-work that somehow failed to weazen
them, her eyes were clear as a girl's - clear, out-looking, and
far-seeing, and with an open and unblinking steadfastness of gaze
that was disconcerting. The
remarkable thing was the distance
between them. It is a lucky man or woman who has the width of an
eye between, but with Margaret Henan the width between her eyes was
fully that of an eye and a half. Yet so symmetrically moulded was
her face that this
remarkable feature produced no
uncanny effect,
and, for that matter, would have escaped the
casual observer's
notice. The mouth,
shapeless and toothless, with down-turned
corners and lips dry and parchment-like,
nevertheless lacked the
muscular slackness so usual with age. The lips might have been
those of a mummy, save for that
impression of rigid
firmness they
gave. Not that they were atrophied. On the
contrary, they seemed
tense and set with a
muscular and
spiritualdetermination. There,
and in the eyes, was the secret of the certitude with which she
carried the heavy sacks up the steep steps, with never a false step
or overbalance, and emptied them in the grain-bin.