Silver Shoal Light/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
THE BELLA S.
WHEN such fragments of the "vittles" as were left had been cleared away, the three fishers resumed their lines, and before long Joan hauled in a little mackerel. This was the beginning of a very lively hour, when they were kept busy attending to their lines. Garth landed his fish with a hand and a half and asked help of no one.
"It really doesn't hurt much," he said; "but I'm afraid your handkerchief will never be any more good, Joan. I can't keep it out of the mackerel."
There was a lull in the biting—the school had passed, perhaps—and Garth took one turn around a cleat with his line and counted his catch. The Captain refilled his pipe, which he had not had an opportunity to attend to for some time.
"When was it that you were master of the Bella S?" Joan hinted, mindful of the story which she had not yet heard.
"Wal, wal!" said 'Bijah, with a sigh. "The Bella S.? Guy, but she was a beauty! An' them fellers up to the City, thet don't know a forestays'l sheet from a marline-spike, they went an' they—" The Captain sputtered wrathily and pulled violently at his pipe.
"What did they do? I should so like to hear," Joan begged.
"'Tis a long yarn; I misdoubt you wouldn't want to hear it."
"I've been longing to hear it ever since the first time I saw you," Joan assured him.
"Wal," said the Cap'n, much pleased by her interest, "the Bella S. was a three-mast schooner, an' she was built by a man I knowed. He was one that'd set by the hour in his sail-loft, jest settin' and thinkin', with a piece o' wood in his hand an' a jack-knife. But all the while he'd be plannin' a ship. 'T would jest grow in his mind like a flower, an' then he'd whittle out a hull jest the lines o' the big hull thet was goin' to be. It's all in thet, ma'am,—gettin' the fust goin's-in right,—an' Sam Cooper he spent more time on the goin's-in o' the Bella S. than any schooner he built. I was in betwixt cruises whilst she was buildin', an' I useter hang round the yard jest watchin' her grow an' praisin' the Lord fer the beauty of her. An' the day she was la'nched, she went down the ways an' took the water like the lady she was, an' Sam he jest smiled at her kind o' dreamy-like an' went back to his sail-loft an' his whittlin'. But she was the last he ever built. Pore Sam! He's be'n gone ten years now. I'm glad he went afore she did.
"Wal, she was owned by a firm up to the City,—one o' them consarns thet manages their affairs from a roller-top desk an' a tellyphone, an' wouldn't know one o' their own ships ef she come sailin' in at the door. Wal, ma'am, my dream come true, an' they made me master o' the Bella S. Sackett, the S stood fer, after the gal Sam Cooper married when he was a young feller, an' she died afore a month was gone. She was my j'y, thet schooner. I hadn't got no wife ner child ner kin, an' she made up to me fer all on 'em. I useter stand up for'ard an' listen to the water round her foot thet was like a tune, an' I'd look aft an' up an' see the new cloths of her, shinin' white, an' the bright varnished sticks, an' hear the singin' thet she made fer me from the wind in her riggin'. Oh, she was a handy one in all weathers, an' one that'd obey without workin' an' coaxin'. She loved her work, ma'am, an' she done it well. Durn them small fry, pesterin' my bait!" said the Captain huskily, peering over the side of the boat. He went on presently:
"Wal, I sailed her four years, an' we got on together wonderful well. Then one time we was caught off the Maine sea-coast in a tur'ble heavy fog, an' we anchored. An' as the fog begun to lift a mite at sun-up, we see another schooner bearin' ha'd inshore. I took the glass an' made her out the ol' Singapore, thet was owned by the same comp'ny as the Bella. She was an ol'-time tops'l schooner—lan' knows how many cruises she'd made—but thar was life in her yet, an' she had them fine ol' lines thet's gettin' scurse now. Wal, sir, it soon become plain to me thet her skipper knew whar he was an' wharto he was headin' jest as much as I did. He was deliberaly standin' in fer the rocks as slick as he could, an' I could see the boats all slung ready to be lowered away. The wind was a-comin' now, an' the fog goin' inland, an' I guv the Bella all she'd take. 'Pears the Singapore hadn't saw us comin' round the p'int, an' when she seen us now she kind o' made as if she was thinkin' 'bout tackin' off again. But me an' one o' the crew we pulled fer her in a dory an' boarded her. The master—an elderly man he was thet I'd never ha' thought would ha' done it, fer I'd knowed him ashore—he was below studyin' a chart very busy-like. I come in an' shet the door.
"'See here,' says I, 'what fer be you tryin to run the Singapore on to the rocks?'
"He got red an' white, an' flared out with some strong words, ma'am, thet I wouldn't want to repeat.
"'It's none o' your business what I do,' says he. 'I'm a-studyin' the chart to see how I can get me away from this p'int.'
"'You know this p'int as well as I do,' says I, 'an' all this whole coast fer miles. You've be'n navigatin' in these waters longer'n I hev,—an' the more shame to ye. You're tryin' to wreck the pore ol' Singapore fer her insurance, an' I hope the dirty money'll burn yore hand,—'ceptin' only you won't get it, ef I get my way.'
"'I'm carryin' out my comp'ny's orders,' says he, 'which is more'n you're doin'.'
"'It's my comp'ny, too,' says I, 'but I think a heap less o' it than I did afore, which is sayin' a good deal.'
"An' with thet I jumped out o' the chart-room an' slammed the door to an' locked it.
"'The master's took sick,' says I to the mate o' the Singapore. 'I'm skipperin' this vessel now.'
"I sent the boy thet hed set me aboard back to the Bella with orders to my mate to foller the Singapore, an' I brung both o' them schooners into port. An' I'll never forget—not so long's I live—the Bella a-follerin' me home. Oh, she was the purty one! An' what broke my heart was thet I wasn't aboard of her thet last trip, 'cause I never sailed her no more."
"They took her away from you?" Joan asked.
"Course they did," the poor Captain said. "Told me I was gettin' purty old to hev a ship. 'T was six year ago, an' I was a sight ruggeder'n I be now, an' thet's a good deal. Them was the reasons they guv, but any fool knew, o' course, why 't was. I expected it, but lordy, what could I do, ma'am? 'T ain't right; 't ain't right, seems so. The ol' Singapore she's still a-potterin' up an' down, but they guv the Bella to a young chap wasn't fit to be mate of a lighter, an' he lost her a month arter jest by plumb carelessness; lost her, an' they saved nawthin' off of her. Jest gone in her prime, like her she was named fer. I'm glad Sam Cooper's gone, though I misdoubt if he loved her as much as I did."
The Captain shook his head, and then stared suddenly at Garth.
"What fer are ye cryin'?" he exclaimed in dismay. "Oh, 'shaw, I didn't go fer to make ye cry! Be you takin' it bad 'cause the pore ol' Bella went down?"
The old man put his arm awkwardly around Garth, who sniffed dejectedly and murmured something which 'Bijah bent his head to catch.
"'Shaw, don't you fret 'bout me! I guess the Lord A'mighty knows what's best fer us, hey? I hear tell ye're plumb anxious to be a skipper yerself. Guess mebbe most on us has things we hanker after an' don't get." He patted Garth's shoulder with a seamed, brown hand. "Guy! Look at them tears! Guess them mackerel'll think they got back in the ocean, ef ye don't stop cryin' on to 'em!"
They all had to laugh then; spirits revived, and the three were very jolly during the rest of the afternoon. They returned to the lighthouse late in the day, a good heap of fish shining in the cockpit of the Lydia.
"Hi! Look at the mackerel!" cried Jim, holding the bow of the launch against the pier.
"And the huge one!" Elspeth exclaimed, pointing to the cod. "'A bid, bid fis!' as Garth used to say long ago."
"I caught it!" Garth shouted. "That is, he was on my line, only Cap'n 'Bijah hauled him in, because he was too much for me. We thought he was the ol' Sea-Sarpint himself."
'Bijah, helping Garth out of the Lydia, kept an arm about him a moment longer than was necessary; then shook his hand long and hard.
"Wal, so long, mate," he said. "I'd like real well to hev ye come out with me agin, real well, an' you, too, Miss Kirkland."
"Nothing could keep me from coming, Cap'n 'Bijah," said Joan, clasping his hand.
He waved his arm to them. The Lydia wheeled off from the landing and puffed away, with a bubble of water behind her. Cap'n 'Bijah stood in the stern, a straight, brown-faced figure. But above him Joan seemed to see a ghostly cloud of canvas, and beneath his hand, not the rusted iron tiller of the dingy launch, but the wheel of the Bella S. in all her youth and beauty.
Jim, on his way to the landing next day, found his son seated behind the boat-house. Caleb sat beside him, smoking a pipe of strong tobacco. Garth wore a frown and wielded Caleb's jack-knife on a block of wood with perilous zeal.
"What's up, Cap'n Crosstrees?" Jim inquired, putting down an empty oil-can. "What might you be making?"
"The goin's-in of a schooner," said Garth absently.
"The which?" his father asked.
"The goin's-in of a schooner," said Garth, squinting down the lines of his handiwork. "Cap'n 'Bijah said so. About the Bella S., you know. That's the way his friend built her—whittled the goin's-in just the way she was going to be afterward."
"I see," said Jim. "Will there be a schooner just like these goin's-in of yours? Because I won't sail with her; I'll tell you that now!"
Garth gave his critical parent a look of reproach and peeled a neat shaving from the block.
"I'm not done with her," he said. He threw the knife down suddenly and looked up at Jim.
"And do you know what else Cap'n 'Bijah said about that man, Fogger? That a ship just grew in his mind like a flower, and then he had to build her. Well, they're—they're sort of in my head, too, only—" he made a vague gesture—"only I can't draw them or anything." He grasped his father's sleeve excitedly. "I've got to know!" he said. "I've got to learn how!"
Caleb gave several vigorous and appreciative nods, but remained silent. Jim picked up his can.
"Yes," he agreed, "I think you'll have to learn how. And in the meantime, what about a knife of your own, less large and murderous than Caleb's?"
Garth let fall the goin's-in of the schooner—he had privately named her the Joan K.—to embrace his father, oil-can and all.