The Clammer and the Submarine Part 8

It was on a Sat.u.r.day morning about the middle of July, and it had been foggy; and I had watched the fog retreating stealthily, withdrawing one long vaporous arm and then another, slinking back like a wraith before the sun, as if trying to get away unperceived. There was no writhing and twisting in the anguish of defeat and dissolution, no jets and shreds vanis.h.i.+ng into the hot air above. But the ways of the fog over the sea are a mystery, and I am not yet at the end of them.

I had gone over to Old Goodwin's to take my daughter, and I had left her with one of the army of starched and stiff imitations of men in b.u.t.tons who haunt the house. They guard every door, so that a man cannot so much as turn a handle for himself; and one is to be found in each pa.s.sage, and at every turn. They might be wooden images from a Noah's Ark, endowed with movement, but not with life. There are not so many of them as there were some years ago. They are none of Old Goodwin's doing, and Mrs. Goodwin has somewhat lost her fancy for them; and some of them, Old Goodwin told me, have enlisted. Fancy! Those men in buff uniform and many b.u.t.tons enlisting! But they will be well used to wearing a uniform, and they will be well used to doing without question what they are told to do, and to keeping their faces like masks. They will make good soldiers I have no doubt, and they may be in France at this moment.

The b.u.t.tons who admitted us was not so very starched and stiff, and he seemed to have been endowed with life as well as movement, and to have become actually a human being. For he smiled when he saw my daughter, and spoke pleasantly to her, so that I was persuaded that he was even glad to see her. And she, having thrown him some pleasantry, and a smile with it, dashed past him through the great hall and vanished. And he, still smiling, closed the door upon me, and I went in search of Old Goodwin, who deals not in uniforms and b.u.t.tons.

I found him on that part of his piazza where stands the great telescope on its ma.s.sive tripod. Before him there lay his ocean steamer at anchor, and he gazed at her steadily--but not through the telescope.

He turned his head as I came, and gave me his quiet smile of peace.

"Good-morning, Adam," he said. "I was just wis.h.i.+ng that you would come."

Old Goodwin with his quiet smile--even in his clammer's clothes and his old stained rubber boots--is yet Goodwin the Rich. It is a marvel.

"Good-morning," I said. "And here I am to do with what you will--for the s.p.a.ce of some hours."

"It may take some hours," he returned, "and it may be done in less."

I did not in the least know what he was talking about, but I was to find out. He was silent for some while.

"Any news lately?" he asked then.

"War news, I suppose you mean," I said, "and submarines. Nothing that you have not seen; a submarine in Hampton Roads about a week ago. But that report was in all the papers. No doubt Jimmy has given you later news."

"I believe that all boats were sent out from Newport in a hurry last Sunday. I have heard nothing since. I wonder," he continued, smiling, "if whales have not something to do with these reports--or sharks. I hear that there has been a great slaughter of whales in the North Sea in the last three years."

"Whales have no periscopes."

"They may yet develop them in self-defence if this keeps on long enough. But I would not cast doubt. You see my boat out there. What do you think of the color?"

She was all gray, and has been so for some time.

"Why, it is a good color if you like it. She looks like a lump of lead. I cannot see why the navy does not paint its s.h.i.+ps some lighter shade, with streaks of greens and blues and purples and some white here and there. Those are the colors that the water shows, although the water is of a different color in every different light. But I would be willing to guarantee that I could do better than that--much better."

He looked at me thoughtfully. "That is worth thinking of, Adam. I am sure you could do better. You couldn't do much worse if the idea is concealment." He chuckled. "You know the water and its colors. How would you like to do it?"

"Why, I don't know," I said slowly. "I have never thought of it. The fact is," I blurted out, and choked upon my words. Why should I confess to Old Goodwin what I had been unwilling to confess to myself? But the impulse was too strong. "The fact is," I began again more quietly, "I am not satisfied. I cannot be content to till the ground--which any Western Islander could do as well or better--and to moon upon my bluff when every one I know is doing more. Could you?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I could not in your place. But come out to my boat with me. I want to show you the changes I have made."

So we went in his tender which was lying at his landing with her men in her, that had been waiting for us. And on the way out he asked me casually and seemingly without interest, how I liked steamers; and he had his gaze fixed upon his great vessel as though he had an affection for her.

"They are good for getting somewhere quickly," I answered him, "if you mean such as yours. For the rest, one might as well be in some great modern hotel on an island in the midst of the sea. There is no more pleasure in them. Now tell me, is there?"

He laughed a hearty laugh. "I can well imagine, Adam, the pleasure you would have in being in a great hotel, whether it was in the midst of the sea or in the midst of the city, but I have had some pleasure in that boat. I have some regard for her."

"Then I ask your pardon," I said, "for the answer that I gave. I should have said other. But what I meant was clear enough. A sailing vessel is a living thing, and each has ways of her own. You feel her response to each movement of the wheel or each change of sail or trim of sheet, and that response is sometimes willing and sometimes unwilling. She is like a woman, responding instantly and gladly to a man who persuades her with sympathy and understanding, and doing her best; while to a man without true understanding of her she is reluctant and contrary and stubborn. I have no experience in vessels of size, but you can ask Captain Fergus."

He laughed again. "Fergus is of the same opinion," he said. "But what I meant to ask was whether you have experience of steamers."

I shook my head.

"Too bad," he said, and sighed. "A steamer is a living thing too, I think, but less like a woman; going straight where she is going like a man; more straightforward. I like a steamer well enough. But Fergus agrees with you. And Fergus has to go in a steamer, and it almost breaks his heart. He is to command her." And he waved at the huge hull towering above us, for we were at the gangway.

I was following after him up the steps.

"And is Captain Fergus in the navy?" I asked.

"In the Reserve. He has been since the beginning. They were only waiting for a s.h.i.+p."

"And the Arcadia?"

He turned and smiled. "She is enrolled too, but it is a secret. I don't know why a secret."

So that explained her activities. There might be other secrets; and I thought of Elizabeth and Bobby. Elizabeth could be trusted to keep a secret well, and Bobby knew it. And Elizabeth had been away much of the time for two weeks or more, always going in the Arcadia wherever she went, but usually home for the night. By "home" I mean our house. I thought she was but a guest of Mrs. Fergus, but there might be some other explanation. It did not matter. Elizabeth was Elizabeth, and Eve rejoiced to see her face with its crown of beaver-colored hair, and her calm and smiling eyes. I have not yet decided what is the color of her eyes, but they suit Eve.

And I looked up, and I saw the Arcadia just stretching her sails as a man will stretch his arms and legs in preparation for the using of them. She had been there all night. And I saw that n.o.ble yacht of Pukkie's casting off from the stage in the little harbor of Old Goodwin's, and Pukkie and Elizabeth in her. And Pukkie saw me--he had been waiting to catch my eye--and they both waved to me as the boat caught the wind and stood out of the harbor. She was tiny, that yacht of Pukkie's, but she was complete; as complete as the Arcadia. Indeed, she was not unlike her, save that one was a schooner and the other a sloop. To see that boat of Pukkie's out upon the water with no other near enough to compare them, you might think she was of any size, even a big boat--until you saw the two huddled in the c.o.c.kpit or one of them stretched upon the deck, almost covering it.

"See," I said to Old Goodwin, "there goes Pukkie."

He stood at the head of the gangway, and he smiled a happy smile.

"I see. He will go near all the lobster buoys, and the fish traps, and the rocks uncovered by the tide, and pretend that they are submarines. He has told me. And he pretends that the Yankee is a vessel that has been sunk by a submarine. What it is to be a boy!"

"And what are we but boys?" I said. "We pretend that there are submarines in all the waters from Montauk to Chatham, and we go about looking for them. It is much more satisfactory to have something that you can see, as Pukkie has,--and just as useful, so long as we must pretend. Submarines! They well-nigh turn me sick."

He laughed. "They turn many sick."

"Sick at heart," I said, "looking for what is not. We might request--through the proper diplomatic channels--that Germany send some over, one for each district."

He laughed again. "It would relieve the monotony, and put spirit into our men. Imagine Fergus if there were any. He is a war-horse."

And he led the way, waving some officer aside, and took me through the boat and showed me everything. He had made changes. I should not have known it for the same boat. The staterooms, that had been palatial, had been divided, but were large in their new state; and new quarters had been provided for the crew, who would be twice as many men as he had ever carried; and she had been strengthened for the mountings of the guns. Many other changes had been made, but it was these that he lingered over. They had been some months in making the changes, and he had carried a small army of mechanics about with him.

He had been showing me the officers' quarters for the third time, and at last he turned away.

"I am given to understand," he observed, "that any recommendations I may make will receive due consideration. Fergus is made a commander, but there are vacancies."

He meant me, of course. The finger of destiny always points at me. It was as much as an offer, but I should have been ashamed to accept it. A man should enroll, and then let the navy do what they will with him. Of course he should; but that is ascribing all wisdom to the men who have all power. They are but men, and have not all wisdom; they are but men as we are, and some of them a little less.

I smiled. "I am sorry," I said, "that I know nothing of steamers and the running of them, or I should be tempted to try for one of the vacancies. I do not suppose I could qualify for anything; a coal-pa.s.ser, or even a third-cla.s.s quartermaster perhaps, no better. And I should not like to have fingers of scorn pointed at me as being the admiral's pet or something of the kind. It would smack of politics and influence."

Old Goodwin laughed. "It is not an improper use of influence to point out a man's virtues," he answered, "but quite proper. The authorities do not know you, but I do, and I consider you well qualified. The knowledge of your duties you could pick up soon enough. You could pa.s.s the examination for a lieutenant's commission in two weeks. I would not be afraid to promise it. You can navigate, Adam."

I nodded. "I wish it could be done. But you forget that I am forty-three. They don't want men of forty-three."

"It might be done," he said. "Fergus is forty-four, but many years a master. It might be done, but if you don't want--"

I interrupted him. "You forget Eve. She is a pacifist--as bad as Cecily."

He smiled. "Eve is not so much a pacifist--nor Cecily. I would not worry about Eve."

That was news to me--if he was right. And I did want to do something, if only to restore my self-respect, that was well-nigh gone from me. It was but to find that something that I could do better than another, if such there was.

"I will think about it," I said.

"Do," he returned, "and so will I. It may be that this vessel is not the place for you. I should like it better if there was something that would keep you here or hereabouts--and so would Eve. It should be something that no one else can do."

I laughed and said nothing. What was there for me to say? But my laugh had no merriment in it. It was simple: I had but to find that which I could do and no one else; but stay--it must be useful in the present case. And I laughed again savagely, and I looked up, and there was the Rattlesnake anch.o.r.ed beside the Arcadia.

"They are well in time for the clambake," I remarked, "although they have digged no clams."

For this was the day of Ogilvie's farewell. He had written Eve, and she had got the note the day before; and all the afternoon I had been busy with getting my supplies, and in the early morning of this day we had digged the clams. It was but a remnant of my company that gathered there, only Old Goodwin and Eve and Elizabeth and Cecily and me--and Captain Fergus. I almost forgot Captain Fergus, but he dug few clams. The burden of the day fell upon Old Goodwin and me. Jimmy and Bobby and Ogilvie and Tom and Mrs. Fergus and Olivia were absent. And now there was naught to do but to start the bake. Old Goodwin and I went in silence to the tender, and ash.o.r.e.

"Think hard," said Old Goodwin as I was leaving him. "There must be something."

"If only we can find it," I returned. "I have little hope."

He smiled his old smile of peace. "I have much," he said. "I can take you over to Newport on any day you wish. I will be over to help you with the bake."

Our clambake was a good clambake, and the clams were good, being fresh-digged and well baked, and the lobsters tender, being small--indeed, I was glad that no inspectors from the police boat were there to measure them. I did not measure them, being well enough content to take the word of the fishermen. And the chickens were good and all things else; but there was something lacking, something wrong, and that something was in the spirits of the guests. Old Goodwin was cheerful, and Elizabeth seemed cheerful enough, and Jimmy; but upon the spirits of the rest of us there sat an incubus. Ogilvie said but little, and Bobby was restless and discontented. He had hard work to sit still long enough to eat; and thereafter he wandered to and fro like a lost soul, standing at the edge of the bluff and looking out moodily, then wandering over to my garden and regarding it critically, then back to the pine, taking his knife from out his pocket and tapping it upon the table, then wandering aimlessly to the clump of trees, then to the bluff again.

My garden is not on exhibition. It is not weedless, as Judson's used to be, but is for use; and it is not to be regarded critically. And the tapping of knives on the smooth pine planks of the table is not to be commended. I came very near speaking to him about it, and then I saw Eve watching Bobby with an anxious look, and I caught for an instant a glimpse of Elizabeth's eyes. They hurt me. It was but for an instant, then she veiled them, and the lights played upon them. She was watching Bobby too.

So we got through an uncomfortable afternoon, and it came time for them to go. Eve had Jack Ogilvie by himself at the edge of the bluff, and they talked earnestly, and he took her hand and smiled his pleasant smile, and they came back to us. Bobby was tapping his knife upon the smooth pine boards.

"I envy you, Jack," he said, heaving a tremendous sigh. "I'll be there too, if there is any way." He turned suddenly to Old Goodwin. "Can't you say a word for me? What is the use of influential relatives, anyway?"

And Old Goodwin laughed. "They are of little use, Bobby. And I am surprised that you are willing to use influence in such a matter."

And he looked at me and winked.

"Use influence!" Bobby cried under his breath. "I'd use anything--a crowbar, if that would get me there."

Then they said their farewells, and Bobby shook hands with Eve and me, but not with Elizabeth. She stood there, her hands hanging at her sides, and a smile upon her lips,--not in her eyes,--while Bobby turned away.

But he turned back again as if it were against his will and some great force turned him.

"Good-bye, Elizabeth," he said low, and he half held out his hand.

She went forward quickly. "Good-bye, Bobby," she said.

And Bobby gripped her hand so that it must have hurt, and held it long and hard. Then he flung it from him as I had seen him do once before, and strode away abruptly, and ran down the steep path after the others. Elizabeth came back to us smiling--with her lips and eyes and heart; and Eve kissed her suddenly, and she laughed and cast down her eyes, and they went in together.

I stood upon the edge of my bluff when the sun was low in the west, and I watched the colors that the Great Painter spread upon the still waters. And I saw again that little strip of marsh below me, each gra.s.s stem standing straight and motionless and dark in the still water, but each stem was edged with greenish gold. Little waves rippled in--from some boat out in the harbor--and the gra.s.s stems rippled gently with it, and the bars of gold upon the waves and the waving lines of gold upon the gra.s.s stems advanced with it until the wave broke upon the store. I looked out to see what boat it was, and it was Ogilvie's, and he stood and gazed and waved to me, and I waved back, and then I bethought me of my signalling. So I waved my arms like a semaph.o.r.e gone mad, and I sent him a message in farewell; and he understood, and thanked me and sent a farewell to Eve. Then he was gone out into the pearl-gray of the coming twilight, and his gray boat was lost in the gray of sky and sea.

I looked down at the little marsh. The gra.s.s was still again, and two blackbirds flew across it. I saw the red shoulders of one as he guided his waving flight, and the gra.s.s stems standing up darkly above the bright water, as if they were set in gla.s.s. It seemed infinitely beautiful and sweet, and infinitely sad.

I was wakened in the night by a noise outside our window; a little noise, as if somebody were trying not to make it. A greater noise, one made as if by right, would not have awakened me. And I took a stick that I have--a straight hickory handle for a sledge fits the hand well, and makes an admirable weapon--and I went out, thinking of German spies. There was no moon, but I saw him. My spy was doing nothing but gazing up at the window, and I came upon him from behind and caught him by the collar. That collar was stiff with braid.

He turned quickly and wrenched himself free.

"What do you mean, Adam," he asked, "by your murderous a.s.sault upon a peaceful relative?"

It was Bobby. "You're no relative of mine," I said. "What are you doing, anyway? Don't you know that the window you are gazing at is mine--Eve's and mine?"

"All the windows in the house are yours, aren't they?" he growled. "And I'm not looking at any window. But why can't I if I want to? Answer me that."

There was no answer to that. "It is lucky," I observed, "that I keep no dog--a dog like Burdon's. I think of getting one."

Bobby laughed at that. Burdon had a great dog, a vicious beast, which amused himself one day by chasing Burdon into the hencoop, growling and snarling savagely. He kept him there for hours until there came along a boy who had owned the dog until his father decided that the dog was too vicious and gave him to Burdon. The boy seized the dog by the collar, and dragged him away and chained him, and told Burdon that he could come out.

"Don't you do it, Adam," Bobby said. "Think how you would feel if you came out and found only my mangled remains. And I am doing no harm--only wandering about."

So he was but wandering about. He should have been in bed. And we stood there and talked for a few minutes, and Bobby wandered off to my steep path and down to the sh.o.r.e, and I heard the sound of great pebbles rolling, and I heard him whistling softly some mournful air. I went in and to bed. Elizabeth sleeps in the room down the hall, and her windows are around the corner. I heard a little noise from her room as I turned into mine.

X.

One morning--it was the first of August, the middle of that hot week--I was sitting on the seat under my great pine, and Eve sat beside me. I was waiting for Elizabeth, for the time had come again for the Arcadia to be about her mysterious business on the sea, and this time I was to go. It was what Elizabeth called "transferring" something or somebody. What it was and where it was I was to find out. I wished that Eve was going--and Pukkie. I said as much.

"Elizabeth has not asked us," she replied. "I could not go if I were asked, for I promised to go to mother's. She has one of her bad turns. But Pukkie would love it."

I murmured my regret at Mrs. Goodwin's illness. Her illnesses are not serious and do not last long, and the cause of them is not far to seek. She eats most heartily and takes no exercise, and that practice ever bred illness. I would have her mowing for remedy.

Eve slipped her hand within my arm and clasped the other over it.

"Adam," she said, giving my arm a gentle squeeze, "what is it that is troubling you? Something does. It has for a long time."

Now that was what I did not expect, that Eve should think me troubled, for I thought that I had been most careful. But I should have known better. Eve always knows. And the thing that had been troubling me more than any other was that I had not thought of that no one else could do but I.

I looked down into her eyes, and I saw there many things; but love and longing most of all, the longing to comfort me if she could but lay her finger on the hurt.

I smiled. "It is not so bad as that," I said.

"Well, kiss me, Adam," she said, "and tell me."

I obeyed orders--or part of them.

"On the day of the draft," I said, "I was in the village, and I saw all the inhabitants a.s.sembled, and they scanned each batch of numbers as the news came, but not a third of them knew what their own numbers were. Some did, and I saw two that were drafted. One of the two went out from that a.s.sembly with eyes that saw nothing, looking as if he went to his execution. The other laughed, and said that that settled it, and he was glad. And tell me if you can the answer to my riddle--which has nothing to do with the a.s.sembly in the village--and say what there is that I can do, but no one else."

She laughed. "Is that the matter? And must the thing be useful? I know several things that no one else can do, but they are not useful. If it must be useful,--well,--I cannot think of it at this moment, but I have no doubt I shall." She leaned forward, and tried to look into my eyes; and failing that, she shook me. "What is the nature of this thing that you must do? Look at me, and tell me."