our quaint little guamese was vociferously cheered at the close of his yarn, although in some parts it had been most difficult to follow, from the bewildering compound of dialects it was delivered in. usually that does not trouble whalers’ crews, much accustomed as they are to the very strangest distortions of the adaptable english language. “the next gentleman to oblige” was, to my utter amazement, abner cushing, the child of calamity from vermont, who had been hung up by the thumbs and flogged on the outward passage. up till then we had all looked upon him as being at least “half a shingle short,” not to say downright loony, but that impression now received a severe shock. in a cultivated diction, totally unlike the half-intelligible drawl hitherto affected by him, he related the following story.
“well, boys, i dare say you have often wondered what could have brought me here. perhaps (which, come to think of it, is more likely) you haven’t troubled your heads about me at all, although even the meanest of us like to think that we fill some corner in our fellow’s mind. but if you have wondered, it could not be considered surprising. for i’m a landsman if ever there was one, a farmer, who, after even336 such a drilling as i’ve gone through this voyage, still feels, and doubtless looks, as awkward on board as any cow. my story is not a very long one, perhaps hardly worth the telling to anybody but myself, but it will be a change from whaling ‘shop’ anyhow, so here goes.
“my father owned a big farm in the old green mountain state, on which i grew up, an only son, but never unduly pampered or spoiled by the good old man. no; both he and mother, though fond of me as it was possible to be, strove to do me justice by training me up and not allowing me to sprout anyhow like a jimpson weed to do as i darn pleased with myself when and how i liked. they were careful to keep me out of temptation too, as far as they were able, which wasn’t so difficult, seeing our nearest neighbour was five miles away, and never a drop of liquor stronger than cider ever came within a day’s journey of home. so i suppose i passed as a pretty good boy; at least there were no complaints.
“one day, when i was about fifteen years old, father drove into the village some ten miles off on business, and when he came back he had a little golden-haired girl with him about twelve years old. a pale, old-fashioned little slip she was, as staid as a grandmother, and dressed in deep black. when i opened the gate for the waggon, father said, ‘this is your cousin cicely, abner, she’s an orphan, an’ i cal’late to raise her.’ that was all our introduction, and i, like the unlicked cub i must have been, only said, ‘that so, father,’ staring at the timid little creature337 so critically, that her pale face flushed rosy red under my raw gaze. i helped her out (light as a bird she was), and showed her into the house, where mother took her right to her heart on the spot. from that on she melted into the home life as if she had always been part of it, a quiet patient helper that made mother’s life a very easy one. god knows it had been hard enough. many little attentions and comforts unknown before, grew to be a part of our daily routine, but if i noticed them at all (and i hardly think i did then), i took them as a matter of course, nor ever gave sign that i appreciated the thoughtful care that provided them. so the years slithered past uneventfully till i was twenty-one, when dad fell sick. within a week he was dead. it was a terrible stroke to mother and cicely, but neither of them were given to much show of feeling (i reckon there was scant encouragement), and things went on much as usual. i didn’t seem to feel it very much—didn’t seem to feel anything much in those days, except mad with my folks when everything wasn’t just as i wanted it. dad’s affairs were all shipshape. he left mother fairly well off, and cicely just enough to live on in case of necessity, while i came in for everything else, which meant an income of 1500 dollars a year if i chose to realize and not work any more. being now, however, fairly wound up like any other machine, and warranted to go right on in the same jog, i had no thought of change. don’t suppose i ever should have had; but—excuse me, boys, i’m a bit husky, and there’s something in my eye. all right now.
“that summer we had boarders from boston, well-to-do city folks pining for a change of air and scene, who offered a big price for such accommodation as we could give them for a couple of months.
“i drove down to the village to meet them with the best waggon, and found them waiting for me at squire pickering’s house—two elderly ladies and a young one. boys, i can’t begin to describe that young lady to you; all i know is, that the first time our eyes met, i felt kinder as i guess eve must have done when she eat the apple, only more so. all my old life that i had been well contented with came up before me and looked just unbearable. i felt awkward, and rough, and ugly; my new store clothes felt as if they’d been hewn out of deals, my head burned like a furnace, and my hands and feet were numb cold. when, in answer to some trifling question put to me by one of the old ladies, i said a few words, they sounded ’way off down a long tunnel, and as if i had nothing to do with them. worst of all, i couldn’t keep my foolish eyes off that young lady, do what i would. how i drove the waggon home i don’t know. i suppose the machine was geared up so well, it ran of its own accord—didn’t want any thinking done. for i was thinking of anything in the wide world but my duty. i was a soldier, a statesman, a millionaire by turns, but only that i might win for my own that wonderful creature that had come like an unpredicted comet into my quiet sky.
“now, don’t you think i’m going to trouble you with my love-making. i’d had no experience, so i339 dare say it was pretty original, but the only thing i can remember about it is that i had neither eyes nor ears for anything or anybody else but agatha deerham (that was her name), and that i neglected everything for her. she took my worship as a matter of course, calmly, royally, unconsciously; but if she smiled on me, i was crazy with gladness.
“meanwhile my behaviour put mother and cicely about no end. but for their industry and forethought, things would have been in a pretty muddle, for i was worse than useless to them; spent most of my time mooning about like the brainsick fool i was, building castles in spain, or trying to invent something that would please the woman i worshipped. oh, but i was blind; a poor blind fool. looking back now, i know i must have been mad as well as blind. agatha saw immediately upon coming into my home what i had never seen in all those long years—that cicely—quiet, patient little cicely—loved me with her whole heart, and would have died to serve me. so, with that refinement of cruelty that some women can show, she deliberately set herself, not to infatuate me more—that was impossible—but to show cicely that she, the new-comer, while not valuing my love at a pin, could play with it, prove it, trifle with it as she listed.
“sometimes her treatment nearly drove me frantic with rage, but a tender glance from her wonderful eyes brought me fawning to her feet again directly. great heaven, how she made me suffer! i wonder i didn’t go really mad, i was in such a tumult of conflicting passions continually.
“the time drew near for them to return to their city home. now, although agatha had tacitly accepted all my attentions, nothing definite had yet passed between us, but the announcement of her imminent departure brought matters to a climax. seizing the first opportunity of being alone with her, i declared my passion in a frenzy of wild words, offered her my hand, and swore that if she refused me i would do—i hardly remember what; but, among other things, certainly kill her, and then myself. she smiled pityingly upon me, and quietly said, ‘what about cicely?’ bewildered at her question, so little had any thought of cicely in connection with love entered my head, i stared for a few moments blankly at the beautiful and maliciously smiling face before me, muttering at last, ‘whatever do you mean?’
“with a ringing laugh, she said, ‘can it be possible that you are unaware how your cousin worships you?’ black shame upon me, i was not content with scornfully repudiating the possibility of such a thing, but poured all the bitter contempt i could give utterance to upon the poor girl, whose only fault was love of me. while thus basely engaged, i saw agatha change colour, and turning, found cicely behind me, trembling and livid as one who had received a mortal wound. shame, anger, and passion for agatha kept me speechless as she recovered herself and silently glided away.
“but i must hurry up if i’m not going to be tedious. encouraged by agatha, i sold the farm, sending mother and cicely adrift to live upon their341 little means, and, gathering all together, took my departure for boston. arrangements for our marriage were hurried on at my request, not so swiftly, however, but that news reached me on my wedding morning of mother’s death. for a moment i was staggered, even the peculiar thing which served me for a heart felt a pang, but only in passing. what had become of cicely i never troubled enough to think, much less to inquire.
“some weeks of delirious gaiety followed, during which i drank to the full from the cup of my desires. our lives were a whirl of what, for want of a better word, i suppose i must call enjoyment; at any rate, we did and had whatever we had a mind to, nor ever stopped to think of the sequel. we had no home, never waited to provide one, but lived at a smart hotel at a rate that would have killed my father to think of.
“one night at the theatre i slipped on the marble staircase, fell to the bottom a tangle of limbs, and was taken up with a broken leg, right arm, and collar bone. at some one’s suggestion i was removed to hospital. there, but for the ministrations of the nurses and surgeons, i was left alone, not a single one of my acquaintances coming near me. but what worried me was my wife’s neglect. what could have become of her? where was she? these ceaselessly repeated and unanswered questions, coupled with my utter helplessness, drove me into a brain fever, in which i lost touch with the world for six weeks.
“i awoke one morning, a wan shade of my old342 self, but able to think again (would to god i never had). i was informed that no one had been to inquire after me during my long delirium, and this sombre fact stood up before me like a barrier never to be passed, reared between me and any hope in life. but, in spite of the drawbacks, i got better, got well, came out into the world again. i was homeless, friendless, penniless. the proprietor of the hotel where i had stayed with my wife informed me that she had left in company with a gentleman, with whom she seemed so intimate that he thought it must be some relative, but as he spoke, i read the truth in his eyes. he took pity on my forlorn condition and gave me a little money, enough to keep me alive for a week or two, but strongly advised me to go back to my native village and stay there. i was too broken to resent the idea, but in my own mind there was a formless plan of operations insisting upon being carried out.
“husbanding my little stock of money with the utmost care, and barely spending sufficient to support life, i began a search for my wife. little by little i learnt the ghastly sordid truth. virtue, honour, or probity, had never been known to her, and my accident only gave her an opportunity that she had been longing for. why she had married me was a mystery. perhaps she sought a new sensation, and didn’t find it.
“well, i tracked her and her various companions, until after about three months i lost all traces in new york. do what i would, no more news of her could be obtained. but i had grown very patient in my343 search, though hardly knowing why i sought. my purpose was as hazy as my plan had been. so, from day to day i plodded through such small jobs as i could find, never losing sight for an hour of my one object in life.
“i must have been in new york quite six months, when i was one day trudging along bleecker street on an errand for somebody, and there met me face to face my cousin cicely. i did not know her, but she recognized me instantly, and i saw in her sweet face such a look of sympathy and loving compassion that, broken-hearted, i covered my face and cried like a child. ‘hush,’ she said, ‘you will be molested,’ and, putting her arm through mine, she led me some distance to a dilapidated house, the door of which she opened with a key. showing me into a tidy little room, she bade me sit down while she got me a cup of coffee, refusing to enter into conversation until i was a bit refreshed. then, bit by bit, i learned that she had heard of my desertion by agatha, and had formed a resolution to find her and bring her back to me if possible. she did find her, but was repulsed by her with a perfect fury of scorn, and told to go and find me and keep me, since such a worthless article as i was not likely to be useful to any other person on earth. such a reception would have daunted most women; but i think cicely was more than woman, or else how could she do as she did.
“driven from my wife’s presence, she never lost sight of her, feeling sure that her opportunity would344 soon come. it came very suddenly. in the midst of her flaunting, vicious round of gaiety small-pox seized her, and as she had left me, so she was left, but not even in an hospital. cicely found her alone, raving, tearing at her flesh in agony, with no one to help or pity. it was the opportunity she had sought, and hour by hour she wrestled with death and hell for that miserable woman. it was a long fight, but she was victorious, and although a sorrowful gap was made in her small stock of money, she was grateful and content.
“agatha was a wreck. utterly hideous to look upon, with memory like a tiger tearing at her heart, she yet had not the courage to die, or, doubtless, she would quickly have ended all her woes. quietly, unobtrusively, constantly, cicely waited on her, worked for her, and at last had succeeded in bringing us together. the knowledge that she whom i had sought so long was in the same house took away my breath. as soon as i recovered myself a bit, cicely went to prepare her for meeting me. unknown to cicely, i followed, and almost immediately after she entered the room where my wife lay, i presented myself at the door. looking past the woman who had preserved her miserable life, she saw my face. then, with a horrible cry, unlike anything human, she sprang at my poor cousin like a jaguar, tearing, shrieking. if i dwell any longer on that nightmare i shall go mad myself. i did what i could, and bear the marks of that encounter for life, but i could not save cicely’s life.
“the room filled with people, and the maniac was secured. after i had given my evidence on the inquiry, i slunk away, too mean to live, afraid to die. a recruiter secured me for this ship, and here i am, but i know that my useless life is nearly over. the world will be well rid of me.”
when he stopped talking, there was a dead silence for a few minutes. such a yarn was unusual among whalemen, and they hardly knew how to take it. but the oldest veteran of the party dispelled the uneasy feeling by calling for a song, and volunteering one himself, just to keep things going. in the queerest nasal twang imaginable he thundered out some twenty verses of doggerel concerning the deeds of admiral semmes of the alabama, with a different tune to each verse. it was uproariously received, but story-telling held the field, and another yarn was demanded.
