Читать книгу A Whaleman's Wife - Frank Thomas Bullen - Страница 6

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DEPARTURE

Morning broke over the Eddy homestead grey and cheerless, a fitting reflection of the frame of mind holding sway over its inmates. Rube came down with his grip-sack in his hand, his best clothes donned, and an air of stern resolve on his strong features. He found his father and mother awaiting him in the humble room where he had met them ever since his mind first awakened to the knowledge of worldly matters. For a few moments after the ‘good mornings’ were said, no word further passed the lips of the three. Suddenly the mother spoke, saying:

‘Rube, my son, you never told us whar’ you were goin’.’

To some of us perhaps it may seem strange that neither father nor mother had asked this question before, but the fact is that in their secluded lives the mere idea of one of them leaving home for so long was sufficiently terrible, without any definition of the precise locality to which the wanderer might be directing his steps being thought of. But the mother’s heart was already in prospect reaching out after the absent one, and therefore it was but fitting and natural that she should be the first to desire to know whither he was going. Rube flushed a deep red as the necessary vagueness of his reply dawned upon him, but he said:

‘I’m goin’ ter sea, mother; thet’s all I know at present. When I git t’ Noo Bedford an’ find out whar’ I kin git letters or write frum, be sure I’ll let you know to onct. I’m drefful sorry I kain’t tell you anythin’ more ’n thet.’

The morning meal, ample and palatable as it always is on these Eastern farms, was spread, and the three took their places at the board; but although they made a brave show of eating, the food would not be got rid of, and suddenly Rube arose, as if the sight of his father’s worn face and his mother’s eyes, bleared with weeping through the long night, was too much for him, saying as he did so:

‘Wall, it’s time I wuz off. Good-bye, mother; good-bye, father. I know yewr prayers’ll hover roun’ me wharever I go; and ez soon ez I hev worn out this drefful restless feelin’ I’ll come back and settle down, please God, never to go away any more.’

A silent kiss from the mother, a grave handshake from the father, and Rube turned his back upon home. Nor did he once look behind him as he strode down the road towards where, in the little village, a conveyance was waiting to take him to the station, whence he might reach New Bedford by railroad. He did not look back because he feared to see his mother’s face. Not that his resolve to go would have been thereby weakened, but that he could not help feeling guilty in that he was weakly fleeing from what he could not help knowing was his duty—weakly giving way to what he could not help knowing was after all, cowardice. But who shall dare to judge the action of his fellow-men under abnormal conditions? ‘Put yourself in his place’ is a good motto, but how very rarely is it possible for us to act it out! Therefore, although many of us may very well feel inclined to judge Rube harshly for thus deserting father and mother and a life of usefulness, and becoming a wanderer on the face of the deep simply because the woman of his choice could not be his, let us not forget that ever since the world began, and men and women have been able to recount their experiences, strange things have been recorded as done by disappointed lovers against their better judgment.

Rube’s mind as the train sped him onwards towards the beautiful New England town whence he was to start upon his long sea journeyings was almost a blank. Never given much to a habit of introspection, he was by reason of the shock that he had recently received less able now to devote himself to concentrated thought than ever; and so, had he been asked what he was thinking about during that long railway journey, he would have replied, no doubt with perfect frankness, ‘Hardly anything.’ I think this experience is not uncommon, even among men and women given to meditation, when suddenly they have received a mental blow. Be that as it may—and I will own that it is a debatable point—when Rube arrived at New Bedford he had just the air of stolid bewilderment that is generally noticeable upon the faces of country-bred people first coming in contact with the strangeness of life in a seaport town. And truly one might have sailed the wide world round and not have found a more wonderful seaport than New Bedford was in those days. Men of almost every nation under heaven, clad in outlandish garments, jostled each other along the strongly smelling wharves and picturesque streets bordering the bay. New Bedford was then in the height of her prosperity as metropolis of the whaling world. Over six hundred fine ships came and went on their adventurous sea-questings, bringing with them from the uttermost ends of the earth queer-looking denizens of those far-off lands. Kanakas from the multitudinous Isles of the Pacific, Aborigines from Central America, Aleuts from Alaska, Japanese from Nippon, Chinese, Malays, Papuans, and Dyaks from the East Indian Archipelago, Lascars from Hindustan, Arabs from the Persian Gulf, and last, but by far the most numerous of all these wanderers, Portuguese of every hue, from deepest black to creamy white, from the Fortunate Isles. The diversity of peoples was not more wonderful than the quaintness of their costumes, which were, indeed, a chance medley of all the national dresses of the world. Yet in every case a keen observer, and one acquainted with the subject, might have recognised evidences of an attempt on the part of the wearer to give to his nondescript raiment some national peculiarity. Not only were the people a wonderful sight, but another sense—that of smell—was overpoweringly arrested on the crowded wharves, where scores of weatherbeaten ships discharged their greasy spoils, the odour from which permeated the entire atmosphere, seizing upon a stranger with almost intoxicating effect. Then the sounds!—the loud cries of the labourers as they toiled to discharge the cargoes from the ships, the wonderful medley of languages spoken by the strange seafarers slouching along the shore, and, pervading all, the hollow murmur of the sea as it rolled in on the beaches of the beautiful bay under the stress of a strong landward gale.

Amidst these novel sights, sounds, and smells, Rube made his way like a man in a dream towards the place whither he had been directed, not without considerable difficulty, as three out of every four persons of whom he inquired his direction did not understand a word that he said. This, to a man who had never before met with anybody not speaking his own tongue, was really bewildering, and it was not therefore to be wondered at that by the time Rube had found the building he sought, his mental processes, never too acute, were reduced almost to numbness. Inquiring timidly at the door of the building to which he had been directed as the place where he should find Mr. Sawtell, he was answered nonchalantly by an elderly man, whose grey beard was plentifully streaked with tobacco juice, that if he went right in and took the first door on the left he’d find what he sought. Rube meekly obeyed, and entered a large, high-ceilinged room, scantily furnished, with several desks enclosed by a low fence and some benches. Two men sat at the desks looking as unlike the embodiment of our modern ideas of clerks as could well be imagined, for both of them had soft wideawake hats perched on the backs of their heads, both were smoking enormous cigars, and both bore in their countenances the expression of temporarily out-of-work pirates more than that of peaceful quill-drivers. As Rube approached the nearest desk he was somewhat amazed to see the clerk with his chair tilted back and his feet apparently resting upon the papers before him. He gazed at the strongly-marked lineaments of the official, and that worthy returned his look with interest, presently removing the cigar from his mouth and saying: ‘Wal, young feller; an’ wut kin I hev the pleasure?’ Rube stammered out, rather incoherently: ‘Mr. Sawtell engaged me th’ other day to come down here to jine a ship to go to sea.’ ‘Oh!’ said the clerk, ‘Sawtell engaged yer, did he? And wut mought be the name of the ship?’ ‘I don’ know,’ replied Reuben, who was fast recovering his equanimity; ’he jest told me to come right here.’ ‘That’s all right, sonny,’ said the clerk. ‘Sit down thar an’ wait fer him; he’ll be roun’ bimeby.’

Reuben sat down as directed, and for nearly two hours had the interest of seeing individuals, something like himself, enter, ask almost the same question, and receive almost the same reply, until the room was fairly full. Then, when Reuben began to think that the whole affair must be a mistake, Sawtell entered. With him there came a man looking more like an Eastern patriarch than a seafarer—a tall, loose-jointed, hook-nosed, grey-bearded man, clad in homespun, a long coat reaching nearly to his feet, and a soft steeple-crowned felt hat upon his head. But quaint as his figure might be, there was no mistaking the keen, eagle-like glance of his eyes as he swept them round on the silent men meekly awaiting the arbiter of their fate. And it was he, the Patriarch, who spoke first. ‘Is this the crowd you’ve gut fur me, Sawtell?’ ‘Yes, Cap’n Hampden, an’ ez likely a lookin’ lot ’s ever I see.’ ‘H’m, mebbe so, but jest naow I guess there’s a consid’ble quantity of plough soil hangin’ to ’em. But they do seem likely enough, as yer say. However, I gut no time to spare. We’re bound out first tide to-morrer, an’ if these gentlemen air quite disengaged’ (waving his hand towards the clerks) ‘we’ll purceed to business to once.’ Then, raising his voice, he addressed the waiting candidates comprehensively, saying: ‘Wal, young men, so ye feel inclined to try yewr fortunes upon the ragin’ deep, do ye?’ Muttered responses went up, of which no man might gather the import, save that they were in the affirmative. ‘Right an’ good,’ said the Patriarch; ‘step up here, and hear this gentleman’ (with a sarcastic inflection upon the last word) ‘read eout t’ ye the conditions of sarvice.’

With an unexpected alacrity one of the clerks sprang to his feet, and, from a somewhat grimy document, read in a high sing-song tone of voice an agreement whereby the said crew covenanted to proceed in the good ship Xiphias to any port or ports of the navigable ocean in pursuit of whales, seals, and any other denizens of the deep capable of being made profitable to crew and owners; voyage not to exceed four years. It must be confessed that, slurred over as the last two words were (unintentionally, no doubt), several of the candidates suddenly showed a wistfulness of countenance, as if they had a prospective idea of what those four years might mean, but no word was spoken by any of them. Then, one by one, they stepped up to the desk and signed their names, first being told that they would be entitled to receive a good and sufficient quantity of cooked provisions, and the 250th lay, in return for their unquestioning obedience at all times to all orders that Captain Hampden and his officers might issue to them. And this important preliminary finished, they were all sternly ordered, as being men now under command, to be down at the ship by six o’clock in the morning at latest.

So the newly engaged crew filed out of the office and stood in a little group on the sidewalk hesitatingly. A few words passed—invitations to drink for the most part—and one or two spoke to Rube; but he answered them unthinkingly, feeling, indeed, the need for being alone. It was all so new and strange to the country-bred man, and he felt that conversation with anybody would be insupportable. So, with muttered excuses, he left the company, and went for a stroll along the wharves, taking in all the wonders of this strange place with wide-open eyes, but most of his other senses nearly out of action. At last, utterly weary, he turned into a respectable-looking eatinghouse by the waterside, and called for some food, inquiring of the young woman who brought it whether he might take up his lodging there for the night. She answered ‘Yes’ with a surprised air, and, apparently unable to overcome her curiosity, put several questions to him, as to whence he came and whither he was going, all of which he answered evasively, conveying the idea that what he wanted was to be left alone in peace with his own thoughts. Quite unaccustomed to such rudeness on the part of her customers, the young woman tossed her head and departed, leaving him to his solitary meal. Nor did she return again until, rapping on the table, he summoned her and asked to be shown his room. With a scornful look at a man who could be so utterly unresponsive to the offer of polite conversation, she led the way to a very small, barely-furnished chamber, showed him in and left him; and he, with the same bewildered air that he had worn ever since reaching the town, slowly took off his clothes and got into bed, although it was hardly yet dark. In a few minutes the strain of the past twenty-four hours was relaxed, and he was fast asleep.