Once more the open sea--the
sea whose waters break on the
shores of Newfoundland! An English
steamship lies at anchor in the
offing. The vessel is plainly
visible through the open doorway
of a large boat-house on the
shore--one of the buildings attached
to a fishing-station on the coast
of the island.
The only person in the boat-house
at this moment is a man in the
dress of a sailor. He is seated
on a chest, with a piece of cord
in his hand, looking out idly
at the sea. On the rough carpenter's
table near him lies a strange
object to be left in such a place--a
woman's veil.
What is the vessel lying at
anchor in the offing?
The vessel is the _Amazon_--dispatched
from England to receive the surviving
officers and men of the Arctic
Expedition. The meeting has been
successfully effected, on the
shores of North America, three
days since. But the homeward
voyage has been delayed by a
storm which has driven the ship
out of her course. Taking advantage,
on the third day, of the first
returning calm, the commander
of the _Amazon_ has anchored
off the coast of Newfoundland,
and has sent ashore to increase
his supplies of water before
he sails for England. The weary
passengers have landed for a
few hours, to refresh themselves
after the discomforts of the
tempest. Among them are the two
ladies. The veil left on the
table in the boat-house is Clara's
veil.
And who is the man si tting
on the chest, with the cord in
his hand, looking out idly at
the sea? The man is the only
cheerful person in the ship's
company. In other words--John
Want.
Still reposing on the chest,
our friend, who never grumbles,
is surprised by the sudden appearance
of a sailor at the boat-house
door.
"Look sharp with your work
there, John Want!" says the sailor. "Lieutenant
Crayford is just coming in to
look after you."
With this warning the messenger
disappears again. John Want rises
with a groan, turns the chest
up on one end, and begins to
fasten the cord round it. The
ship's cook is not a man to look
back on his rescue with the feeling
of unmitigated satisfaction which
animates his companions in trouble.
On the contrary, he is ungratefully
disposed to regret the North
Pole.
"If I had only known"--thus
runs the train of thought in
the mind of John Want--"if I
had only known, before I was
rescued, that I was to be brought
to this place, I believe I should
have preferred staying at the
North Pole. I was very happy
keeping up everybody's spirits
at the North Pole. Taking one
thing with another, I think I
must have been very comfortable
at the North Pole--if I had only
known it. Another man in my place
might be inclined to say that
this Newfoundland boat-house
was rather a sloppy, slimy, draughty,
fishy sort of a habitation to
take shelter in. Another man
might object to perpetual Newfoundland
fogs, perpetual Newfoundland
cod-fish, and perpetual Newfoundland
dogs. We had some very nice bears
at the North Pole. Never mind!
it's all one to me--_I_ don't
grumble."
"Have you done
cording that box?"
This time the voice is a voice
of authority--the man at the
doorway is Lieutenant Crayford
himself. John Want answers his
officer in his own cheerful way.
"I've done
it as well as I can, sir--but
the damp of this
place is beginning to tell upon
our very ropes. I say nothing
about our lungs--I only say our
ropes."
Crayford answers sharply. He
seems to have lost his former
relish for the humor of John
Want.
"Pooh! To look
at your wry face, one would
think that our
rescue from the Arctic regions
was a downright misfortune. You
deserve to be sent back again."
"I could be
just as cheerful as ever, sir,
if I _was_ sent
back again; I hope I'm thankful;
but I don't like to hear the
North Pole run down in such a
fishy place as this. It was very
clean and snowy at the North
Pole--and it's very damp and
sandy here. Do you never miss
your bone-soup, sir? _I_ do.
It mightn't have been strong;
but it was very hot; and the
cold seemed to give it a kind
of a meaty flavor as it went
down. Was it you that was a-coughing
so long last night, sir? I don't
presume to say anything against
the air of these latitudes; but
I should be glad to know it wasn't
you that was a-coughing so hollow.
Would you be so obliging as just
to feel the state of these ropes
with the ends of your fingers,
sir? You can dry them afterward
on the back of my jacket."
"You ought
to have a stick laid on the
back of your jacket.
Take that box down to the boat
directly. You croaking vagabond!
You would have grumbled in the
Garden of Eden."
The philosopher of the Expedition
was not a man to be silenced
by referring him to the Garden
of Eden. Paradise itself was
not perfect to John Want.
"I hope I could be cheerful
anywhere, sir," said the ship's
cook. "But you mark my words--there
must have been a deal of troublesome
work with the flower-beds in
the Garden of Eden."
Having entered that unanswerable
protest, John Want shouldered
the box, and drifted drearily
out of the boat-house.
Left by himself, Crayford looked
at his watch, and called to a
sailor outside.
"Where are the ladies?" he
asked.
"Mrs. Crayford
is coming this way, sir. She
was just behind
you when you came in."
"Is Miss Burnham
with her?"
"No, sir; Miss
Burnham is down on the beach
with the passengers.
I heard the young lady asking
after you, sir."
"Asking after me?" Crayford
considered with himself as he
repeated the words. He added,
in lower and graver tones, "You
had better tell Miss Burnham
you have seen me here."
The man made his salute and
went out. Crayford took a turn
in the boat-house.
Rescued from death in the Arctic
wastes, and reunited to a beautiful
wife, the lieutenant looked,
nevertheless, unaccountably anxious
and depressed. What could he
be thinking of? He was thinking
of Clara.
On the first day when the rescued
men were received on board the
_Amazon_, Clara had embarrassed
and distressed, not Crayford
only, but the other officers
of the Expedition as well, by
the manner in which she questioned
them on the subject of Francis
Aldersley and Richard Wardour.
She had shown no signs of dismay
or despair when she heard that
no news had been received of
the two missing men. She had
even smiled sadly to herself,
when Crayford (out of compassionate
regard for her) declared that
he and his comrades had not given
up the hope of seeing Frank and
Wardour yet. It was only when
the lieutenant had expressed
himself in those terms and when
it was hoped that the painful
subject had been dismissed--that
Clara had startled every one
present by announcing that she
had something still to say in
relation to Frank and Wardour,
which had not been said yet.
Though she spoke guardedly, her
next words revealed suspicions
of foul play lurking in her mind--exactly
reflecting similar suspicions
lurking in Crayford's mind--which
so distressed the lieutenant,
and so surprised his comrades,
as to render them quite incapable
of answering her. The warnings
of the storm which shortly afterward
broke over the vessel were then
visible in sea and sky. Crayford
made them his excuse for abruptly
leaving the cabin in which the
conversation had taken place.
His brother officers, profiting
by his example, pleaded their
duties on deck, and followed
him out.
On the next day, and the next,
the tempest still raged--and
the passengers were not able
to leave their state-rooms. But
now, when the weather had moderated
and the ship had anchored--now,
when officers and passengers
alike were on shore, with leisure
time at their disposal--Clara
had opportunities of returning
to the subject of the lost men,
and of asking questions in relation
to them which would make it impossible
for Crayford to plead an excuse
for not answering her. How was
he to meet those questions? How
could he still keep her in ignorance
of the truth?
These were the reflections
which now troubled Crayford,
and which presented him, after
his rescue, in the strangely
inappropriate character of a
depressed and anxious man. His
brother officers, as he well
knew, looked to him to take the
chief responsibility. If he declined
to accept it, he would instantly
confirm the horrible suspicion
in Clara's mind. The emergency
must be met; but how to meet
it--at once honorably and mercifully--was
more than Crayford could tell.
He was still lost in his own
gloomy thoughts when his wife
entered the boat-house. Turning
to look at her, he saw his own
perturbations and anxieties plainly
reflected in Mrs. Crayford's
face.
"Have you seen anything of
Clara?" he asked. "Is she still
on the beach?"
"She is following me to this
place," Mrs. Crayford replied. "I
have been speaking to her this
morning. She is just as resolute
as ever to insist on your telling
her of the circumstances under
which Frank is missing. As things
are, you have no alternative
but to answer her."
"Help me to
answer her, Lucy. Tell me,
before she comes in,
how this dreadful suspicion first
took possession of her. All she
could possibly have known when
we left England was that the
two men were appointed to separate
ships. What could have led her
to suspect that they had come
together?"
"She was firmly
persuaded, William, that they
_would_ come
together when the Expedition
left England. And she had read
in books of Arctic travel, of
men left behind by their comrades
on the march, and of men adrift
on ice-bergs. With her mind full
of these images and forebodings,
she saw Frank and Wardour (or
dreamed of them) in one of her
attacks of trance. I was by her
side; I heard what she said at
the time. She warned Frank that
Wardour had discovered the truth.
She called out to him, 'While
you can stand, keep with the
other men, Frank!"
"Good God!" cried Crayford; "I
warned him myself, almost in
those very words, the last time
I saw him!"
"Don't acknowledge it, William!
Keep her in ignorance of what
you have just told me. She will
not take it for what it is--a
startling coincidence, and nothing
more. She will accept it as positive
confirmation of the faith, the
miserable superstitious faith,
that is in her. So long as you
don't actually know that Frank
is dead, and that he has died
by Wardour's hand, deny what
she says--mislead her for her
own sake--dispute all her conclusions
as I dispute them. Help me to
raise her to the better and nobler
belief in the mercy of God!" She
stopped, and looked round nervously
at the doorway. "Hush!" she whispered. "Do
as I have told you. Clara is
here."
|