Читать книгу Quarterdeck and Fok'sle: Stories of the Sea - Molly Elliot Seawell - Страница 7

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Far back in his babyhood, almost, Brydell remembered the academic buildings, the green lawns, and bright river at Annapolis, and when on a lovely May evening he walked in the great gates and passed the marine on guard, he felt so happy he could have danced and sung.

The weeks since his failure had been spent in a dull and hopeless mental lethargy. Aunt Emeline had been grimly consolatory and had tried to impress on him that he had made a lucky miss in not getting into the navy, and named at least a thousand professions and business ventures in which he could make more money. The good woman did not see in the least how it was with the boy—that he was simply born to be a sailor, and that nothing on earth could charm him then from his wish.

After that one outburst of generosity in writing to his father and the admiral, he had settled down to a sullen submission. It would be months before he could hear from his father, and until then nothing could be done. Suddenly, like the lifting of a mist by the glorious sun, came the admiral’s letter and the appointment, and within twenty-four hours Brydell was on his way to Annapolis to be examined for admission to the academy.

He had had no time to prepare for the examination, even if he could. But a boy of Brydell’s temperament does not learn prudence and caution in a day or a month, and he was as perfectly sanguine of success in the coming examinations as if he had not failed before. He could have hugged the admiral for his goodness, and had sat up half the night, when he got the treasured letter, writing his thanks to him and the member of Congress.

On this lovely May afternoon he walked with a springy step along the brick walks of the academy grounds under the giant trees, fresh in their spring livery, and as he looked at the velvet turf he smiled and thought of the admiral and the dirt fort and Grubb and that early time. It was not necessary for him to report until next morning, so he strolled along, the very happiest fifteen-year-old fellow in the world.

Presently sauntering along the sea wall and watching the reflection in the water of a steam launch filled with ladies and officers, he suddenly came directly upon his old friend Grubb, standing and talking with Esdaile, the handsome young fellow who had so far outstripped all the other candidates, himself included. Esdaile started, and then blushing a fiery red, nodded his head to Grubb and walked off.

As for Brydell, all the kindness he had ever received as a little boy from the handsome marine rushed to his mind. Grubb, as handsome as ever, although a good deal older, smiled delightedly as Brydell dashed forward, but seeing how tall the young fellow had grown, Grubb drew himself up and saluted as he said: “How d’ you do, Mr. Brydell?”

“Oh, hang the salute, Grubb! shake hands,” cried Brydell, delighted. “I’m not a cadet yet, so we needn’t stand on ceremony.” At which Grubb and he sawed the air for five minutes.

“And are you come down here for to be examined, sir?” asked Grubb, smiling broadly.

“Yes,” said Brydell, adding shamefacedly, “I had a chance in a competitive examination, but that fellow you were talking with—Esdaile—got ahead of me.”

At this it was Grubb’s turn to color. He shifted his feet and said hesitatingly:—

“Mr. Brydell, please don’t go for to tell it, sir, but Mr. Esdaile—Mr. Esdaile is my son. His grandfather’s left him some money, if he’d take the same name—Esdaile; and as the boy didn’t like the name o’ Grubb, nohow, he got his name changed by law—and I’d ruther—I’d ruther, sir, the folks here didn’t know it, bein’ as I ain’t nothin’ but a marine.”

Brydell was so taken aback for a moment that he did not know what to say, and Grubb with unwonted fluency continued:—

“I’ve sent in my application for a transfer, sir, ’cause the boy don’t want—I mean I don’t want—to be stationed here, a-doin’ guard duty while my boy is in the academy. I’ve talked it over with one o’ the officers as I’ve knowed, and who has been a good friend to me, and he says maybe it will be best all around. And I hope nobody will know that Cadet William Esdaile is the son o’ Grubb the marine.”

“You may be right in getting transferred somewhere else,” answered Brydell after a moment, “and if the officer advised you, I wouldn’t venture to say a word; but I don’t see why your boy should not want to recognize”— Here he stopped, not knowing how to keep on.

“Didn’t I tell you, sir, long years ago as how the boy was gittin’ above his father?” burst out poor Grubb, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s ashamed o’ me; he’s ashamed to be seen a-talkin’ with me, and I can give him half my pay, and I’d give him all o’ it if he needed it, but I can’t stand bein’ looked down upon by him.”

“Why, if you were my father, I shouldn’t be in the least ashamed of you,” cried Brydell hotly. “You haven’t had the advantage we other fellows have had, but you’re one of the most honest and respectable men in the world; so says my father and Admiral Beaumont, too, and it’s a great deal better to come out and be honest and above board about these things than to be skulking and hiding them.”

“That’s true for you, Mr. Brydell,” replied Grubb, who had natural good sense and much more experience than Brydell. “That’s your natur’. But it ain’t everybody’s natur’. It ain’t my boy’s natur’; I wish it was. It’s the easiest way and the best way o’ gittin’ through life, but it takes all sorts o’ people to make up a world, and there’s lots o’ people that could no more be aboveboard than a pig can fly.”

Brydell had not lived long enough to appreciate this truth, and he parted from Grubb with a mixture of respect and contempt for him, but with unabated affection, and a most genuine disgust for Esdaile. Perhaps it was helped a little by Esdaile’s triumph over him, but Brydell had always hated a sneak, and he had very good ground for thinking the accomplished Mr. Esdaile was constitutionally a sneak.

Next day he reported and the examination began, and then came a time that in torture far exceeded the sharp disappointment and sullen despair of the last few weeks. For, after days of struggle and nights of furious though ill-directed study, again did Brydell fail, and this time he thought it was forever.

When he knew it he had but one desire on earth—to get away from the place anywhere—anywhere. But where was he to go and what was he to do that people would not find him out? He hated to go back to that dreary house with Aunt Emeline; his father was completely out of his reach,—that too kind father,—and Brydell felt sick at the idea of meeting the admiral again.

Filled with the despair of the very young,—who can see nothing beyond the narrow horizon of the present,—Brydell, sitting in his room at the hotel, dropped his head upon his arms, and wished himself dead. He did not know how long he had lain thus, only that the sun was shining brightly in the afternoon when he heard the dreadful news, and it was quite dusk when he had a strange feeling that some one was present, and there stood over him Grubb’s tall figure.

“It’s mortal bad, Mr. Brydell,” said Grubb. Brydell answered not a word, and in the silence of the twilight the only sound was the melancholy call of a night bird heard through the open window.

“Whatever are you goin’ to do now, Mr. Brydell?” asked Grubb after a while.

“I don’t know,” said Brydell in a voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

“You’d better ask the admiral, sir,” presently Grubb continued.

Brydell made no reply. Then, after a longer pause than usual, Grubb kept on:—

“You ain’t had no rale preparation, I reckon.”

“No!” cried Brydell bitterly; “sent from one school to another, as often as I wanted; allowed twice as much pocket money as any other boy in school, while my father was pinching and skimping himself to give it to me; with no home, no mother, to encourage me and nobody to govern me; of course I failed. I’ll always fail.”

“Don’t you go for to say that, Mr. Brydell, and it seems like I ain’t the only foolish father in the world. There’s others as had eddication and all sorts o’ things that don’t act no wiser nor poor old Grubb the marine.”

“Don’t say a word against my father!” cried Brydell, lifting his pale face for the first time.

“I’d be the last person in the world to say a word against the leftenant, sir, but I say as how ’twas always said of you when you was a little shaver: ‘Don’t be hard on him, he ain’t got no mother.’ Well, now it seems to me they’ve been monstrous hard on you when they thought they was bein’ easy.”

Brydell said nothing more. He knew Grubb was telling the truth.

“Well, now, sir, let me tell you something. I knows all about these app’intments. You set down and write the admiral and ask him if he’ll ask that there congressman to give you a year to prepare yourself. Tell him as how you ain’t had half a chance, and give him your word as a gentleman you’ll pass next year if they’ll let you keep the app’intment.”

“I’m ashamed to.”

“Good night, Mr. Brydell,” said Grubb. “Them as is ashamed to ask for another trial when they ain’t had a good chance, seems to me, ain’t got much sand. It looks like you warn’t willin’ to work.”

“Sit down, Grubb,” answered Brydell, beginning to consider this sound advice, and before Grubb left the room the letter was written to the admiral.

“It won’t do any good; I know it won’t,” said poor Brydell despairingly. Nevertheless he agreed to remain at Annapolis long enough to get an answer.

It would take about three days to get an answer, supposing the admiral to be able to see the congressman at once. Those days Brydell remained shut up in his room. It was a turning point with him. He retained only a dim and chaotic memory of what he felt and suffered in those three days; but at the beginning he was a boy, and when he came out of the struggle he was a man.

In the afternoon of the third day a dispatch came:—

Congressman will let this year’s appointment lapse and will hold vacancy open for you another year, upon my solemn word of honor that you will qualify yourself and pass. I rely upon you to make my promise good.

GEORGE BEAUMONT.

The day was dark and rainy, but no June morning ever seemed brighter to Brydell when he read that dispatch. The transition seemed to him like passing from death to life.

He knew he had never had a chance at preparation, and he knew he had a good mind, capable of learning what other fellows did. But, above all, he felt suddenly develop within himself a determination, a strength of purpose, a power of will that could do great things if he tried.

This new force was always a part of his character, although quickly developed by a strange succession of fierce disappointments. But impetuosity was also a part of his character, and with this new sense of manliness and responsibility came a rash determination that he would prove his sincerity by working for his living while preparing himself for that other chance a year hence.

Hot with this thought, Brydell wrote his father a brief but eager letter:—

And as I have known all the disadvantages of having too much money to spend, all taken, almost stolen from your pay, dear old man, while you are doing without everything for me, and I am determined never to cost you another dollar. I can find work easy enough,

(sanguine Brydell)

and work won’t interfere with my studying half as much as play will, and I want to do something—anything—everything—to earn the admiral’s respect and my own too. So make yourself easy, dad, about me. I’ll be at work when you get this, and you know whatever faults I’ve had I never was a milksop; and I’m going to behave myself; don’t you worry about that. So wait until next year and you won’t be ashamed of your affectionate son and chum,

RICHARD BRYDELL, Jr.

Brydell ran and posted this letter before he had time to change his mind about sending it. When it was gone he had a sudden feeling of shock, like a man just under a shower bath. But his word was passed. He had naturally the strength of mind to stick to what he said, and one of the things that had not been neglected with him was a most faithful regard for his own word. Rash his resolve might be, but not to be shirked on that account.

When Brydell realized to what he had committed himself he seemed to grow ten years older in half an hour. He felt a little afraid, but all these things were working together to make a man of him.