Author: Cyrus Townsend Brady
Category: Nonfiction
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CHAPTER VII
THE HOME OF THE SEA-MAIDEN
Mr. Richard Revere was a young lieutenant in the navy of the UnitedStates. He came of an ancient and honorable family, possessed ofwealth and station. He had graduated from the Naval Academy in 1863,and, by an act of daring gallantry in cutting out a blockade-runner,had easily won a lieutenant's commission. When Farragut sailed intoMobile Bay on that hot August morning in 1864, the young man stood onthe deck by his side. A Blakely shell from Fort Morgan had seriouslywounded him, and this wound, coupled with a long siege of feversubsequently, had almost done for him.
Although over a year had elapsed since that eventful day, he had by nomeans regained his strength, although he seemed now on the fair roadto recovery. Anxious to be on duty again after this long period ofenforced idleness, he had recently applied for orders, and had beendetailed to proceed to Lake Ontario and make arrangements for thesale, or other disposal, of the _Susquehanna_. His mother owned acottage on one of the Thousand Isles, and the distance was, therefore,inconsiderable. When the orders had reached him there, he determinedto sail down to Sewell's Harbor in a little yacht which he hadchartered for lake cruising, instead of taking the longer and moretedious journey by land.
He had reached his destination in the way which has been told. It wasimprudent in him to have attempted to make the mouth of an unknownharbor in such a storm, and he had nearly paid the penalty for hisfolly with his life. Exhausted by his adventure, he fell speedily intoa sound and refreshing slumber, his last thought being of the radiantface bowed over him when he had opened his eyes in the very room inwhich he now sought rest.
He awoke in the morning feeling very much better. On a chair oppositethe bed lay a suit of clothes. He glanced at the garments curiouslyand observed that they were the different articles of a blue-jacket'suniform. They evidently belonged to that sailor-man who had assistedin his rescue. They were new and spotlessly neat; certainly his bestsuit. His own uniform was nowhere to be seen. It must have been badlytorn and, of course, thoroughly soaked by his adventure. His clothes,probably, were not yet fit to put on. If he were to get up at all hemust make use of these. Well, it would not be the first time that hehad worn a seaman's clothes. They reminded him of his cadet days, andso he arose, somewhat painfully be it known, and dressed himself,curiously surveying the room as he did so.
It was a strange room, he thought, for a young girl, as he rememberedthat it belonged to her. Her? How indefinite that was! He wished heknew her name. He wondered whether it were beautiful enough to beappropriate. He hoped so. The chamber was not at all like that of ayoung woman. For instance, there was a deadly looking harpoon standingin the corner. He picked up the sinister weapon and examined it.
"Queer toy, that thing, for a girl," he murmured; "quite a properweapon for a whaler, though."
Its barbs were as sharp and keen as a razor. On the wooden staff theletters "J. B." were roughly carved. Were those her initials? Pshaw,of course not! But whose? He experienced quite a thrill of--it couldnot be jealousy! That was absurd.
"What's this? A model of a ship. By Jove! I believe it's the old_Susquehanna_ herself,--the ship I am come to sell! And here's ashark's tooth rudely carved. Oars in the other corner, too. And afish-net and lines! This bunch of wild flowers, though, and thecontents of this bureau mark the woman; but I'm blessed if there isn'ta boatswain's call, laniard and all! That's about the prettiestlaniard I ever saw," he continued, critically examining the knots andstrands and Turk's heads. "Have I stumbled into Master Jack's quartersby mistake, or--oh, I see how it is. I suppose that old sailor hasloaded her with these treasures. He probably adores her--who couldhelp it? And the admiral, too. Now, what's this, I wonder? What aqueer-looking sword!"
He lifted up the weapon, which lay on a wooden shelf between thewindows, crossed pistols of ancient make hanging above it beneath afine old painting of a handsome young naval officer, in the uniform ofa captain of the 1812 period. The leather scabbard was richly andartistically mounted in silver, but the hilt was a rough piece ofunpolished, hammered iron. He drew the weapon from the sheath. Theblade was of the most exquisite quality, beautifully chased, a rarebit of Toledo steel, handsome enough to throw a connoisseur intoecstasy. He tested it, cautiously at first, and then boldly; it was amagnificent weapon, tempered to perfection. Such a blade as a king orconqueror might have wielded,--and yet, that coarse iron hilt! Whatcould it mean? He thrust it back reverently into its scabbard and laidit down, and then completed his toilet.
When he was dressed, he took a long look at himself in the little,old-fashioned mirror swinging between two lyre-shaped standards on thedresser, and smiled at the picture. In height he was, perhaps, as tallas the sailor, but in bulk there was no comparison. He laughed at theway the clothes hung about him. Yet the dashing, jaunty uniform wasnot ill adapted to set off his handsome face. It was complete, even tosheath-knife and belt. On the chair lay the flat cap, bearing on itsribbon, in letters of gold, the name _Susquehanna_. He put the cap onand went out on the porch.
Captain Barry was standing at the foot of the steps leading from theporch, looking at the ship. It was early morning.
"My man," said the young officer, meaning to be entirely friendly andcordial, as he was profoundly grateful, yet unable entirely to keepthe difference of rank and station out of his voice and manner,--acondescension which irritated the sailor beyond expression. They wereboth dressed exactly alike, and certainly physically the older was thebetter man. He had lived long enough in the society of the girl andthe old man to have developed some of the finer feelings of hisnature, too. He shook himself angrily, therefore, as the other spoke.
"My man, you lay me under double obligation. You and yourgolden-haired mistress presented me with my life last night, and nowyou 'paint the lily'--gad, that's a good simile, isn't it?" hechuckled to himself--"by giving me your clothes. How am I to acquitmyself of all I owe you?"
"Sir," said the old man, grimly, knuckling his forehead, with asea-scrape of his foot, more as a matter of habit than as a token ofrespect, "you owe me nothing."
He turned abruptly, and went around the house without looking back.
"Queer duck, that," soliloquized the young man, staring after him inamazement; "seems to be mad about something. Mad at me, perhaps. Iwonder why? Well, those old shellbacks are apt to take quaint notions.Never mind; let him do what he likes. Where would you be, Mr. DickRevere, if it had not been for him and the girl? How funny I mustlook, though! I wonder whether the apparel becomes the man? I flattermyself I have given the proper hitch to the tie. It is 'a touch ofwild civility that doth bewitch me,'" he quoted. "I wish I had broughtthat bo's'n's whistle out. I'd like to sound a call or two."
He drifted off into a brown study, thinking hard in this manner.
"I wonder what Josephine would say if she could see me now? Is all ourdifference of rank but a matter of uniform? By Jove! I forgot allabout her. I don't believe I've thought of her since I left them; yet,if the novels are right, I should have been thinking of her when Istood on the deck of the yacht expecting every moment would be mylast. I was thinking of that girl in the boat, though. Wasn't shesplendid? Plucky, pretty--well! Gracious me, Richard Revere, at theage of twenty-four you are surely not going to fall in love with thefirst woman you see, especially since you have been engaged toJosephine Remington pretty much ever since you were born,--or eversince she was born, which was four years later. But I swear I'd give ayear of Josephine's cold, classic, beautiful regularity for a minuteof--pshaw, don't be a fool! I'll go and look at the yacht. I wonderwhether anything's left of her? Nobody would think there had been astorm of any kind to look at the lake to-day. What a lovely morning!"
Indeed, the wind had gone down to a gentle breeze, and the surface ofthe lake was tossing in thousands of merry little waves, their whitecrests sparkling in the sunlight.
"The old ship is still standing," he continued, soliloquizing again,as he walked toward the bluff. "I suppose it will come awfully hard on
the old man when he finds out that the government is going to sellher. What did they tell me his name was? Somebody or otherdistinguished; I forget who. Must have been a fine old chap in hisday. What was it he said when he looked out of the window before hebade me good-night? This is going to be rather a tough sort of a job,I'm afraid, and I don't half like it."
He had reached the hill by this time, and, feeling a little tired, hesat down on the steps overlooking the sea. There, below him on thePoint, stood the ship-of-the-line. An imposing picture, indeed. He hadbeen too busy the night before to notice it. He stared at it withgrowing interest, and a feeling of pity, for whom, for what, he couldscarcely say, slowly rose in his heart.
"Poor old ship!" he murmured.
A ragged mass of fallen timber on the lee side proclaimed that someportion of her had been carried away during the storm of thenight,--and she had little left to spare. There, too, on the reefbeyond, were the remains of the _Josephine_, battered into a shapelessruin.
"Well, that was a close shave; the _Josephine_ will never carry sailagain. What melancholy pictures!" he said, thoughtfully; "poor littleboat, too! I've had many a good time on her, and now I--But I'dcheerfully give a dozen yachts," he continued, with the recklesshyperbole of youth, "to be rescued by----"