CHAPTER XVIII
THE SWEDE'S STORY
Captain Holt had selected his crew--picked surfmen, every one ofthem--and the chief of the bureau had endorsed the list without commentor inquiry. The captain's own appointment as keeper of the newLife-Saving Station was due as much to his knowledge of men as to hisskill as a seaman, and so when his list was sent in--men he said hecould "vouch for"--it took but a moment for the chief to write"Approved" across its face.
Isaac Polhemus came first: Sixty years of age, silent, gray, thick-set;face scarred and seamed by many weathers, but fresh as a baby's; twochina-blue eyes--peep-holes through which you looked into his openheart; shoulders hard and tough as cordwood hands a bunch of knots;legs like snubbing-posts, body quick-moving; brain quick-thinking;alert as a dog when on duty, calm as a sleepy cat beside a stove whenhis time was his own. Sixty only in years, this man; forty in strengthand in skill, twenty in suppleness, and a one-year-old toddling infantin all that made for guile. "Uncle Ike" some of the younger men oncecalled him, wondering behind their hands whether he was not too old andbelieving all the time that he was. "Uncle Ike" they still called him,but it was a title of affection and pride; affection for the manunderneath the blue woollen shirt, and pride because they were deemedworthy to pull an oar beside him.
The change took place the winter before when he was serving atManasquan and when he pulled four men single-handed from out of a surfthat would have staggered the bravest. There was no life-boat withinreach and no hand to help. It was at night--a snowstorm raging and thesea a corral of hungry beasts fighting the length of the beach. Theshipwrecked crew had left their schooner pounding on the outer bar, andfinding their cries drowned by the roar of the waters, had taken totheir boat. She came bow on, the sea-drenched sailors clinging to hersides. Uncle Isaac Polhemus caught sight of her just as a savagepursuing roller dived under her stern, lifted the frail shell on itsbroad back, and whirled it bottom side up and stern foremost on to thebeach. Dashing into the suds, he jerked two of the crew to their feetbefore they knew what had struck them; then sprang back for the othersclinging to the seats and slowly drowning in the smother. Twice heplunged headlong after them, bracing himself against the backsuck, thenwith the help of his steel-like grip all four were dragged clear of thesouse. Ever after it was "Uncle Isaac" or "that old hang-on," butalways with a lifting of the chin in pride.
Samuel Green came next: Forty-five, long, Lincoln-bodied, and bony;coal-black hair, coal-black eyes, and charcoal-black mustache; necklike a loop in standing rigging; arms long as cant-hooks, with thesteel grips for fingers; sluggish in movement and slow in action untilthe supreme moment of danger tautened his nerves to breaking point;then came an instantaneous spring, quick as the recoil of a partedhawser. All his life a fisherman except the five years he spent in theArctic and the year he served at Squan; later he had helped in thevolunteer crew alongshore. Loving the service, he had sent word over toCaptain Holt that he'd like "to be put on," to which the captain hadsent back word by the same messenger "Tell him he IS put on." And heWAS, as soon as the papers were returned from Washington. Captain Nathad no record to look up or inquiries to make as to the character orfitness of Sam Green. He was the man who the winter before had slippeda rope about his body, plunged into the surf and swam out to the brigGorgus and brought back three out of the five men lashed to therigging, all too benumbed to make fast the shot-line fired across herdeck.
Charles Morgan's name followed in regular order, and then Parks--menwho had sailed with Captain Holt, and whose word and pluck he coulddepend upon; and Mulligan from Barnegat, who could pull a boat with thebest of them; and last, and least in years, those two slim, tightlyknit, lithe young tiger-cats, Tod and Archie.
Captain Nat had overhauled each man and had inspected him as closely ashe would have done the timber for a new mast or the manila to make itsrigging. Here was a service that required cool heads, honest hearts,and the highest technical skill, and the men under him must be sound tothe core. He intended to do his duty, and so should every man subjectto his orders. The Government had trusted him and he held himselfresponsible. This would probably be his last duty, and it would be welldone. He was childless, sixty-five years old, and had been idle foryears. Now he would show his neighbors something of his skill and hispower to command. He did not need the pay; he needed the occupation andthe being in touch with the things about him. For the last fifteen ormore years he had nursed a sorrow and lived the life almost of arecluse. It was time he threw it off.
During the first week of service, with his crew about him, he explainedto them in minute detail their several duties. Each day in the weekwould have its special work: Monday would be beach drill, practisingwith the firing gun and line and the safety car. Tuesday was boatdrill; running the boat on its wagon to the edge of the sea, unloadingit, and pushing it into the surf, each man in his place, oars poised,the others springing in and taking their seats beside their mates. OnWednesdays flag drills; practising with the international code ofsignals, so as to communicate with stranded vessels. Thursdays, beachapparatus again. Friday, resuscitation of drowning men. Saturday,scrub-day; every man except himself and the cook (each man was cook inturn for a week) on his knees with bucket and brush, and every floor,chair, table, and window scoured clean. Sunday, a day of rest, exceptfor the beach patrol, which at night never ceased, and which by dayonly ceased when the sky was clear of snow and fog.
This night patrol would be divided into watches of four hours each ateight, twelve, and four. Two of the crew were to make the tramp of thebeach, separating opposite the Station, one going south two and a halfmiles to meet the surfman from the next Station, and the other goingnorth to the inlet; exchanging their brass checks each with the other,as a record of their faithfulness.
In addition to these brass checks each patrol would carry three Costonsignal cartridges in a water-proof box, and a holder into which theywere fitted, the handle having an igniter working on a spring toexplode the cartridge, which burned a red light. Thesewill-o'-the-wisps, flashed suddenly from out a desolate coast, havesent a thrill of hope through the heart of many a man clinging tofrozen rigging or lashed to some piece of wreckage that the hungrysurf, lying in wait, would pounce upon and chew to shreds.
The men listened gravely to the captain's words and took up theirduties. Most of them knew them before, and no minute explanations werenecessary. Skilled men understand the value of discipline and prefer itto any milder form of government. Archie was the only member who raisedhis eyes in astonishment when the captain, looking his way, mentionedthe scrubbing and washing, each man to take his turn, but he made noreply except to nudge Tod and say under his breath:
"Wouldn't you like to see Aunt Lucy's face when she comes some Saturdaymorning? She'll be pleased, won't she?" As to the cooking, that did notbother him; he and Tod had cooked many a meal on Fogarty's stove, andmother Fogarty had always said Archie could beat her any day makingbiscuit and doughnuts and frying ham.
Before the second week was out the Station had fallen into its regularroutine. The casual visitor during the sunny hours of the softSeptember days when practice drill was over might see only a lonelyhouse built on the sand; and upon entering, a few men leaning back intheir chairs against the wall of the living-room reading the papers orsmoking their pipes, and perhaps a few others leisurely overhauling theapparatus, making minor repairs, or polishing up some detail theweather had dulled. At night, too, with the radiance of the moon makinga pathway of silver across the gentle swell of the sleepy surf, hewould doubtless wonder at their continued idle life as he watched thetwo surfmen separate and begin their walk up and down the beach radiantin the moonlight. But he would change his mind should he chance upon anorth-easterly gale, the sea a froth in which no boat could live, theslant of a sou'wester the only protection against the cruel lash of thewind. If this glimpse was not convincing, let him stand in the door oftheir house in the stillness of a winter's night, and catch the shoutand rush of the crew tumbling
from their bunks at the cry of "Wreckashore!" from the lips of some breathless patrol who had stumbled oversand-dunes or plunged through snowdrifts up to his waist to givewarning. It will take less than a minute to swing wide the doors,grapple the life-boat and apparatus and whirl them over the dunes tothe beach; and but a moment more to send a solid shot flying throughthe air on its mission of mercy. And there is no time lost. Ten menhave been landed in forty-five minutes through or over a surf thatcould be heard for miles; rescuers and rescued half dead. But no manlet go his grip nor did any heart quail. Their duty was in front ofthem; that was what the Government paid for, and that was what theywould earn--every penny of it.
The Station house in order, the captain was ready for visitors--thosehe wanted. Those he did not want--the riffraff of the ship-yard and theloungers about the taverns--he told politely to stay away; and as theland was Government property and his will supreme, he was obeyed.
Little Ellen had been the first guest, and by special invitation.
"All ready, Miss Jane, for you and the doctor and the Pond Lily; bringher down any time. That's what kind o' makes it lonely lyin' shut upwith the men. We ain't got no flowers bloomin' 'round, and the sandgits purty white and blank-lookin' sometimes. Bring her down, you andthe doctor; she's better'n a pot full o' daisies."
The doctor, thus commanded, brought her over in his gig, Jane, besidehim, holding the child in her lap. And Archie helped them out, liftinghis good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts and all--thecrew standing about looking on. Some of them knew Jane and came in fora hearty handshake, and all of them knew the doctor. There was hardly aman among them whose cabin he had not visited--not once, but dozens oftimes.
With her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless frock, the child,among those big men, some in their long hip boots and rough reefingjackets, looked like some fairy that had come in with the morning mistand who might be off on the next breeze.
Archie had her hugged close to his breast and had started in to showher the cot where he slept, the kitchen where he was to cook, and thepeg in the hall where he hung his sou'wester and tarpaulins--everysurfman had his peg, order being imperative with Captain Nat--when thatold sea-dog caught the child out of the young fellow's arms and placedher feet on the sand.
"No, Cobden,"--that was another peculiarity of the captain's,--everyman went by his last name, and he had begun with Archie to show the menhe meant it. "No, that little posy is mine for to-day. Come along, yourosebud; I'm goin' to show you the biggest boat you ever saw, and a gunon wheels; and I've got a lot o' shells the men has been pickin' up forye. Oh, but you're goin' to have a beautiful time, lassie!"
The child looked up in the captain's face, and her wee hand tightenedaround his rough stubs of fingers. Archie then turned to Jane and withTod's help the three made a tour of the house, the doctor following,inspecting the captain's own room with its desk and papers, the kitchenwith all its appointments, the outhouse for wood and coal, thestaircase leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and at the very top thesmall ladder leading to the cupola on the roof, where the lookout keptwatch on clear days for incoming steamers. On their return Mulliganspread a white oil-cloth on the pine table and put out a china platefilled with some cake that he had baked the night before, and whichGreen supplemented by a pitcher of water from the cistern.
Each one did something to please her. Archie handed her the biggestpiece of cake on the dish, and Uncle Isaac left the room in a hurry andstumbling upstairs went through his locker and hauled out the head of awooden doll which he had picked up on the beach in one of his daypatrols and which he had been keeping for one of hisgrand-children--all blighted with the sun and scarred with salt water,but still showing a full set of features, much to Ellen's delight; andSam Green told her of his own little girl, just her age, who lived upin the village and whom he saw every two weeks, and whose hair was justthe color of hers. Meanwhile the doctor chatted with the men, and Jane,with her arm locked in Archie's, so proud and so tender over him,inspected each appointment and comfort of the house withever-increasing wonder.
And so, with the visit over, the gig was loaded up, and with Ellenwaving her hand to the men and kissing her finger-tips in true Frenchstyle to the captain and Archie, and the crew responding in a heartycheer, the party drove, past the old House of Refuge, and so on back toWarehold and Yardley.
One August afternoon, some days after this visit, Tod stood in the doorof the Station looking out to sea. The glass had been falling all dayand a dog-day haze had settled down over the horizon. This, as theafternoon advanced, had become so thick that the captain had orderedout the patrols, and Archie and Green were already tramping thebeach--Green to the inlet and Archie to meet the surfmen of the stationbelow. Park, who was cook this week, had gone to the village forsupplies, and so the captain and Tod were alone in the house, theothers, with the exception of Morgan, who was at his home in thevillage with a sprained ankle, being at work some distance away on acrosshead over which the life-line was always fired in gun practice.
Suddenly Tod, who was leaning against the jamb of the door speculatingover what kind of weather the night would bring, and wondering whetherthe worst of it would fall in his watch, jerked his neck out of hiswoollen shirt and strained his eyes in the direction of the beach untilthey rested upon the figure of a man slowly making his way over thedunes. As he passed the old House of Refuge, some hundreds of yardsbelow, he stopped for a moment as if undecided on his course, lookedahead again at the larger house of the Station, and then, as ifreassured, came stumbling on, his gait showing his want of experiencein avoiding the holes and tufts of grass cresting the dunes. Hismovements were so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhoodthat Tod stepped out on the low porch of the Station to get a betterview of him.
From the man's dress, and from his manner of looking about him, as iffeeling his way, Tod concluded that he was a stranger and had trampedthe beach for the first time. At the sight of the surfman the man leftthe dune, struck the boat path, and walked straight toward the porch.
"Kind o' foggy, ain't it?"
"Yes," replied Tod, scrutinizing the man's face and figure,particularly his clothes, which were queerly cut and with a foreign airabout them. He saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and notover thirty years of age.
"You work here?" continued the stranger, mounting the steps and comingcloser, his eyes taking in Tod, the porch, and the view of thesitting-room through the open window.
"I do," answered Tod in the same tone, his eyes still on the man's face.
"Good job, is it?" he asked, unbuttoning his coat.
"I get enough to eat," answered Tod curtly, "and enough to do." He hadresumed his position against the jamb of the door and stood perfectlyimpassive, without offering any courtesy of any kind. Strangers whoasked questions were never very welcome. Then, again, the inquiry abouthis private life nettled him.
The man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked about for a seat,settled down on the top step of the porch, pulled his cap from hishead, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand.Then he said slowly, as if to himself:
"I took the wrong road and got consid'able het up."
Tod watched him while he mopped his head with a red cottonhandkerchief, but made no reply. Curiosity is not the leadingcharacteristic of men who follow the sea.
"Is the head man around? His name's Holt, ain't it?" continued thestranger, replacing his cap and stuffing his handkerchief into theside-pocket of his coat.
As the words fell from his lips Tod's quick eye caught a sudden gleamlike that of a search-light flashed from beneath the heavy eyebrows ofthe speaker.
"That's his name," answered Tod. "Want to see him? He's inside." Thesurfman had not yet changed his position nor moved a muscle of hisbody. Tiger cats are often like this.
Captain Holt's burly form stepped from the door. He had overheard theconversation, and not recognizing the voice had come to find out whatthe man wanted.
"You lookin' for me? I'm Captain Holt. What kin I do for ye?" asked thecaptain in his quick, imperious way.
"That's what he said, sir," rejoined Tod, bringing himself to an erectposition in deference to his chief.
The stranger rose from his seat and took his cap from his head.
"I'm out o' work, sir, and want a job, and I thought you might take meon."
Tod was now convinced that the stranger was a foreigner. No man ofTod's class ever took his hat off to his superior officer. They hadother ways of showing their respect for his authority--instantobedience, before and behind his back, for instance.
The captain's eyes absorbed the man from his thick shoes to hisperspiring hair.
"Norwegian, ain't ye?"
"No, sir; Swede."
"Not much difference. When did ye leave Sweden? You talk purty good."
"When I was a boy."
"What kin ye do?"
"I'm a good derrick man and been four years with a coaler."
"You want steady work, I suppose."
The stranger nodded.
"Well, I ain't got it. Gov'ment app'ints our men. This is a Life-SavingStation."
The stranger stood twisting his cap. The first statement seemed to makebut little impression on him; the second aroused a keener interest.
"Yes, I know. Just new built, ain't it? and you just put in charge?Captain Nathaniel Holt's your name--am I right?"
"Yes, you're just right." And the captain, dismissing the man and theincident from his mind, turned on his heel, walked the length of thenarrow porch and stood scanning the sky and the blurred horizon line.The twilight was now deepening and a red glow shimmered through thesettling fog.
"Fogarty!" cried the captain, beckoning over his shoulder with his head.
Tod stepped up and stood at attention; as quick in reply as if twosteel springs were fastened to his heels.
"Looks rather soapy, Fogarty. May come on thick. Better take a turn tothe inlet and see if that yawl is in order. We might have to cross itto-night. We can't count on this weather. When you meet Green send himback here. That shot-line wants overhaulin'." Here the captainhesitated and looked intently at the stranger. "And here, you Swede,"he called in a louder tone of command, "you go 'long and lend a hand,and when you come back I'll have some supper for ye."
One of Tod's springs must have slid under the Swede's shoes. Either theprospect of a meal or of having a companion to whom he could lend ahand--nothing so desolate as a man out of work--a stranger at that--hadput new life into his hitherto lethargic body.
"This way," said Tod, striding out toward the surf.
The Swede hurried to his side and the two crossed the boat runway,ploughed through the soft drift of the dune, and striking the hard, wetsand of the beach, headed for the inlet. Tod having his high,waterproof boots on, tramped along the edge of the incoming surf, thehalf-circles of suds swashing past his feet and spreading themselves upthe slope. The sand was wet here and harder on that account, and thewalking better. The Swede took the inside course nearer the shore. SoonTod began to realize that the interest the captain had shown in theunknown man and the brief order admitting him for a time to membershipin the crew placed the stranger on a different footing. He was, so tospeak, a comrade and, therefore, entitled to a little more courtesy.This clear in his mind, he allowed his tongue more freedom; not that hehad any additional interest in the man--he only meant to be polite.
"What you been workin' at?" he asked, kicking an empty tin can that thetide had rolled within his reach. Work is the universal topic; theweather is too serious a subject to chatter about lightly.
"Last year or two?" asked the Swede, quickening his pace to keep up.Tod's steel springs always kept their original temper while thecaptain's orders were being executed and never lost their buoyancyuntil these orders were entirely carried out.
"Yes," replied Tod.
"Been a-minin'; runnin' the ore derricks and the shaft h'isters. Whatyou been doin'?" And the man glanced at Tod from under his cap.
"Fishin'. See them poles out there? You kin just git sight o' them inthe smoke. Them's my father's. He's out there now, I guess, if he ain'tcome in."
"You live 'round here?" The man's legs were shorter than Tod's, and hewas taking two steps to Tod's one.
"Yes, you passed the House o' Refuge, didn't ye, comin' up? I waswatchin' ye. Well, you saw that cabin with the fence 'round it?"
"Yes; the woman told me where I'd find the cap'n. You know her, Is'pose?" asked the Swede.
"Yes, she's my mother, and that's my home. I was born there." Tod'swords were addressed to the perspective of the beach and to the way thehaze blurred the horizon; surfmen rarely see anything else when walkingon the beach, whether on or off duty.
"You know everybody 'round here, don't you?" remarked the Swede in acasual tone. The same quick, inquiring glance shot out of the man'seyes.
"Yes, guess so," answered Tod with another kick. Here the remains of anold straw hat shared the fate of the can.
"You ever heard tell of a woman named Lucy Cobden, lives 'round heresomewheres?"
Tod came to a halt as suddenly as if he had run into a derelict.
"I don't know no WOMAN," he answered slowly, accentuating the lastword. "I know a LADY named Miss Jane Cobden. Why?" and he scrutinizedthe man's face.
"One I mean's got a child--big now--must be fifteen or twenty yearsold--girl, ain't it?"
"No, it's a boy. He's one of the crew here; his name's Archie Cobden.Me and him's been brothers since we was babies. What do you know abouthim?" Tod had resumed his walk, but at a slower pace.
"Nothin'; that's why I ask." The man had also become interested in theflotsam of the beach, and had stopped to pick up a dam-shell which heshied into the surf. Then he added slowly, and as if not to make apoint of the inquiry, "Is she alive?"
"Yes. Here this week. Lives up in Warehold in that big house with thebrick gate-posts."
The man walked on for some time in silence and then asked:
"You're sure the child is livin' and that the mother's name is Jane?"
"Sure? Don't I tell ye Cobden's in the crew and Miss Jane was here thisweek! He's up the beach on patrol or you'd 'a' seen him when you fuststruck the Station."
The stranger quickened his steps. The information seemed to have putnew life into him again.
"Did you ever hear of a man named Bart Holt," he asked, "who used to be'round here?" Neither man was looking at the other as they talked. Theconversation was merely to pass the time of day.
"Yes; he's the captain's son. Been dead for years. Died some'er's outin Brazil, so I've heard my father say. Had fever or something."
The Swede walked on in silence for some minutes. Then he stopped, facedTod, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said slowly, as he peeredinto his eyes:
"He ain't dead, no more'n you and I be. I worked for him for two years.He run the mines on a percentage. I got here last week, and he sent medown to find out how the land lay. If the woman was dead I was to saynothing and come back. If she was alive I was to tell the captain, hisfather, where a letter could reach him. They had some bad blood 'twixt'em, but he didn't tell me what it was about. He may come home here tolive, or he may go back to the mines; it's just how the old man takesit. That's what I've got to say to him. How do you think he'll take it?"
For a moment Tod made no reply. He was trying to make up his mind whatpart of the story was true and what part was skilfully put together toprovide, perhaps, additional suppers. The improbability of the wholeaffair struck him with unusual force. Raising hopes of a long-lost sonin the breast of a father was an old dodge and often meant the raisingof money.
"Well, I can't say," Tod answered carelessly; he had his own opinionnow of the stranger. "You'll have to see the captain about that. If theman's alive it's rather funny he ain't showed up all these years."
"Well, keep mum 'bout it, will ye, till I talk to him? Here comes oneo' your men."
Green's figure now loome
d up out of the mist.
"Where away, Tod?" the approaching surfman cried when he joined the two.
"Captain wants me to look after the yawl," answered Tod.
"It's all right," cried Green; "I just left it. Went down a-purpose.Who's yer friend?"
"A man the cap'n sent along to lend a hand. This is Sam Green," and heturned to the Swede and nodded to his brother surfman.
The two shook hands. The stranger had not volunteered his name and Todhad not asked for it. Names go for little among men who obey orders;they serve merely as labels and are useful in a payroll, but they donot add to the value of the owner or help his standing in any way."Shorty" or "Fatty" or "Big Mike" is all sufficient. What the man canDO and how he does it, is more important.
"No use goin' to the inlet," continued Green. "I'll report to thecaptain. Come along back. I tell ye it's gettin' thick," and he lookedout across the breakers, only the froth line showing in the dimtwilight.
The three turned and retraced their steps.
Tod quickened his pace and stepped into the house ahead of the others.Not only did he intend to tell the captain of what he had heard, but heintended to tell him at once.
Captain Holt was in his private room, sitting at his desk, busy overhis monthly report. A swinging kerosene lamp hanging from the ceilingthrew a light full on his ruddy face framed in a fringe of graywhiskers. Tod stepped in and closed the door behind him.
"I didn't go to the inlet, sir. Green had thought of the yawl and hadlooked after it; he'll report to you about it. I just heard a strangeyarn from that fellow you sent with me and I want to tell ye what itis."
The captain laid down his pen, pushed his glasses from his eyes, andlooked squarely into Tod's face.
"He's been askin' 'bout Miss Jane Cobden and Archie, and says your sonBart is alive and sent him down here to find out how the land lay. It'sa cock-and-bull story, but I give it to you just as I got it."
Once in the South Seas the captain awoke to look into the muzzle of adouble-barrelled shot-gun held in the hand of the leader of a mutiny.The next instant the man was on the floor, the captain's fingerstwisted in his throat.
Tod's eyes were now the barrels of that gun. No cat-like springfollowed; only a cold, stony stare, as if he were awaking from aconcussion that had knocked the breath out of him.
"He says Bart's ALIVE!" he gasped. "Who? That feller I sent with ye?"
"Yes."
The captain's face grew livid and then flamed up, every vein standingclear, his eyes blazing.
"He's a liar! A dirty liar! Bring him in!" Each word hissed from hislips like an explosive.
Tod opened the door of the sitting-room and the Swede stepped in. Thecaptain whirled his chair suddenly and faced him. Anger, doubt, and theflicker of a faint hope were crossing his face with the movement ofheat lightning.
"You know my son, you say?"
"I do." The answer was direct and the tone positive.
"What's his name?"
"Barton Holt. He signs it different, but that's his name."
"How old is he?" The pitch of the captain's voice had altered. Heintended to riddle the man's statement with a cross-fire of examination.
"'Bout forty, maybe forty-five. He never told
"What kind of eyes?"
"Brown, like yours."
"What kind of hair?"
"Curly. It's gray now; he had fever, and it turned."
"Where--when?" Hope and fear were now struggling for the mastery.
"Two years ago--when I first knew him; we were in hospital together."
"What's he been doin'?" The tone was softer. Hope seemed to be strongernow.
"Mining out in Brazil."
The captain took his eyes from the face of the man and asked insomething of his natural tone of voice:
"Where is he now?"
The Swede put his hand in his inside pocket and took out a smalltime-book tied around with a piece of faded tape. This he slowlyunwound, Tod's and the captain's eyes following every turn of hisfingers. Opening the book, he glanced over the leaves, found the one hewas looking for, tore it carefully from the book, and handed it to thecaptain.
"That's his writing. If you want to see him send him a line to thataddress. It'll reach him all right. If you don't want to see him he'llgo back with me to Rio. I don't want yer supper and I don't want yerjob. I done what I promised and that's all there is to it. Good-night,"and he opened the door and disappeared in the darkness.
Captain Holt sat with his head on his chest looking at the floor infront of him. The light of the banging lamp made dark shadows under hiseyebrows and under his chin whiskers. There was a firm set to hisclean-shaven lips, but the eyes burned with a gentle light; a certainhope, positive now, seemed to be looming up in them.
Tod watched him for an instant, and said:
"What do ye think of it, cap'n?"
"I ain't made up my mind."
"Is he lyin'?"
"I don't know. Seems too good to be true. He's got some things right;some things he ain't. Keep your mouth shut till I tell ye to openit--to Cobden, mind ye, and everybody else. Better help Green overhaulthat line. That'll do, Fogarty."
Tod dipped his head--his sign of courteous assent--and backed out ofthe room. The captain continued motionless, his eyes fixed on space.Once he turned, picked up the paper, scrutinized the handwriting wordfor word, and tossed it back on the desk. Then he rose from his seatand began pacing the floor, stopping to gaze at a chart on the wall, atthe top of the stove, at the pendulum of the clock, surveying themleisurely. Once he looked out of the window at the flare of light fromhis swinging lamp, stencilled on the white sand and the gray line ofthe dunes beyond. At each of these resting-places his face assumed adifferent expression; hope, fear, and anger again swept across it ashis judgment struggled with his heart. In one of his turns up and downthe small room he laid his hand on a brick lying on thewindow-sill--one that had been sent by the builders of the Station as asample. This he turned over carefully, examining the edges and color asif he had seen it for the first time and had to pass judgment upon itsdefects or merits. Laying it back in its place, he threw himself intohis chair again, exclaiming aloud, as if talking to someone:
"It ain't true. He'd wrote before if he were alive. He was wild andkeerless, but he never was dirt-mean, and he wouldn't a-treated me soall these years. The Swede's a liar, I tell ye!"
Wheeling the chair around to face the desk, he picked up a pen, dippedit into the ink, laid it back on the desk, picked it up again, opened adrawer on his right, took from it a sheet of official paper, and wrotea letter of five lines. This he enclosed in the envelope, directed tothe name on the slip of paper. Then he opened the door.
"Fogarty."
"Yes, cap'n."
"Take this to the village and drop it in the post yourself. Theweather's clearin', and you won't be wanted for a while," and he strodeout and joined his men.
The Tides of Barnegat Page 18
