The Loving Spirit Part 17

Joseph drew Annie closer to him, burying his face in her hair. 'Sweetheart, I love you - I love you, come away now, now at once. I can't wait for you no longer.'

'No - Joe, I mustn't. Oh! I can't.'

'Yes.'

'No - don't ask me.'

'Yes - I say.'

'Oh! Joe, how can we? Where would we go? We mustn't.'

'Yes - come away, now, over the water, to my ship. Darling, I can't go on without you - come.'

'Joe, please . . .'

'Annie, my beautiful Annie, I love you, quick, down into the boat waitin' at the steps, and over to the ship.'

Protesting, half afraid, half excited, Annie allowed herself to be pulled away by Joseph from the thick pressing crowd, and handed into the little boat. The water was dark and rough, and the careless wind tossed at her hair and her skirts.

'Joe, let's go back.'

'No, I say. Annie, it's so wonderful, so wonderful.'

The boat shot away into the darkness, over the tumbled harbour water, towards the black ship anch.o.r.ed at the far buoy. Joseph pulled like a madman, his face wet with the spray, his heart thumping, his eyes shining.

The loose clouds blew away from the sky, showing a misty star. In the middle of the harbour the wind and the tide caught them, carrying them towards the ship as powerfully as a mill stream leads to a waiting weir.

Annie crouched in the stern, her hands and her eyes burning, her knees trembling. What was going to happen, why did she feel so weak and helpless, and yet seized with a queer excitement? Joseph did not care.

The lights of the quay faded away, the music sounded but faintly in the distance.

Oh! you girls, you naughty young girls,

Why don't you try to be good, be good?

From his window Philip Coombe watched the crowd contemptuously. Once he had seen Joseph and Annie hand in hand, and then they had disappeared in the direction of the fair. He drew the curtains close and then went and sat alone by the empty fireplace, with only his thoughts for company.

The little boat in the harbour swung against the side of the ship, and two figures crept up the ladder that was hanging over the side.

'Joe, what have I done - what have I done?' whispered Annie.

Joseph took her face in his hands. The Janet Coombe was deserted save for them. High above his head swayed the riding light. Plyn lay away across the harbour.This was one of Joseph's moments, splendid, triumphant.

He carried her away below to the silent cabin.

Some five days later they were married by licence at Sudmin.

The sudden marriage caused a great upheaval in the Captain's home circle. Joseph moved into his old home, Ivy House, which had stood empty since Thomas's death, for Mary had not wished to remain there alone, and she was now living with Samuel and his family. The services of his twin nieces were of course no longer required.

Christopher was deeply shocked at his father's marriage. He took an instant dislike to Annie, he suspected that she was shallow and foolish for all her prettiness, and was convinced that she would never bring any permanent happiness to his father.

These ridiculous lovers at Ivy House made him feel hot and embarra.s.sed. He spent all the time he could down at the yard pretending he liked his work, and privately determining that sooner or later he would leave Plyn, and seek his fortune elsewhere.

Albert, sick of waiting for the Janet Coombe to sail, shipped in another vessel, and left his father to his fate.

Charles wrote from Africa sending his respects to his stepmother - and Katherine was delighted to have a companion who was something nearer her own age.

Joseph was like one who walks with his head in the sun above the clouds; and his feet on the edge of a precipice.

For six weeks he lived, careless of time and money and everybody but himself and Annie. Ships left harbour and returned again, the full bloom of summer was upon Plyn, but still the Janet Coombe remained at her buoy, forlorn and deserted.

One day towards the beginning of July, d.i.c.k Coombe, now first mate of the family vessel, went up to supper at Ivy House, determined to speak tactfully to his uncle the skipper. He was unmarried himself, and slightly contemptuous of the way his uncle had fallen a victim, allowing himself to be ruled by a petticoat instead of acting Master of his ship.

It was a warm lovely evening, and he found Joseph and Annie seated in their garden.

'Well, nephew, glad to see you,' said Joseph, without looking up. 'Nice sort o' weather, isn't it? Annie an' I have been sittin' here all day, that idle we're almost ashamed of ourselves, ain't we lovie?'

'Oh! Joe, it's been delicious, I'm sure I couldn't have moved a step if I tried,' said Annie, gazing at her husband with swollen eyes of devotion.

Joseph yawned and stretched himself. 'Well, I've got indigestion, I know that. It's a good twenty-mile walk I need, only I can't make the effort. Sit down, d.i.c.k lad, an' smoke, Annie doesn't mind tobacco.'

His nephew obeyed, watching his uncle as he lit his pipe.

He decided at once that Joseph had put on weight; there was a certain loose flabbiness round his neck that had never been there before, and there were pouches under his eyes. His right eye, that d.i.c.k had sometimes suspected worried him on board ship, was bloodshot, and the pupil dilated.

'The Mary Hawkins left this morning at 9 o'clock,' he said quietly, 'bound for the Mediterranean. Freights are firm at the moment, and the stuff's waitin' down there, rotting, for ships to take it away. Did you see her go? There was a fine breeze, I reckon she'll make a quick pa.s.sage.'

Joseph moved a little uneasily in his chair. 'No,' he said carelessly, 'no, I wasn't up. Matter of fact, I haven't been down the harbour lately. Are the jetties filled?'

'Aye, packed, every one.There's vessels moored down opposite the town, waitin' their turn. I saw Captain Salt s'mornin'. The Hannah Lee all but beat your record pa.s.sage to Bristol, just over a week ago. They're all talkin' of it down in Plyn.'

He was a clever fellow, was d.i.c.k. Joseph roused himself at this bit of news, and looked at his nephew with interest.

'The Hannah Lee?' he said. 'Well, I reckon she must have smartened up a deal since last we raced in company. D'you mind that time we left Plyn together? Why, we beat them five miles from the Deadman to the Lizard. Only a few weeks back, too.'

'Gettin' on for three months, sir,' said d.i.c.k, calmly puffing at his pipe.

'Three months,' exclaimed Joseph, something bewildered. 'Have I been married then over nine weeks? The devil indeed! How the time does fly. Why it seems only yesterday, Annie heart, don't it?' He reached out his hand to take hers.

'Yes, my love,' she replied.

'Captain Salt sails again early i' the week,' went on d.i.c.k unperturbed. 'His schooner is up at No. 2 now, taking in ball clay. She's goin' to Newcastle, an' then out to St Michaels in ballast, to catch the trade. They all say she'll be first home again.'

'Ha!' laughed Joseph scornfully.'She wouldn't stand a chance 'longside o' my Janet Coombe. I s'pose Jimmie Salt knows that.'

'Aye, I told him so. But he said he'd beat her fair an' square, now Janet Coombe has nigh twelve weeks' weed on her bottom. Offensive old fellow, is Cap'ain Salt. He said the Janet Coombe was gettin' quite a landmark where she lay, an' some stranger t'other day inquired if she were a relic o' the French wars.'

'Blarst his impudence,' roared Joseph. 'I'll teach Jimmie Salt better manners, by thunder. Annie, treasure, did ye hear that?'

'How shocking, deary me,' said Annie, who hadn't been listening, but was wondering if she ought to go in and see to the supper. She rose now and left them, while Joseph stamped up and down the garden path, calling Jimmie Salt every name under the sun.

During the days that followed Joseph's manner changed. Worry had crept into his mind. He found himself wandering about Plyn and the harbour, catching s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation here and there, and fancying he heard insults directed at himself and his ship.

He would speak in the inn to skippers returned from St Michaels, boasting of their quick pa.s.sages and favourable winds.

Then the weather changed, and there was a fortnight of fierce sou'westerly gales.The rain streamed in the little garden, and Joseph prowled about the kitchen and parlour.

The Julia Moss was lost off the Lizard, with all hands, and another brigantine put into Plyn with her bulwarks stove in, and under jury rig. Joseph thought of the battles in mid-ocean on the deck of his Janet Coombe, and how she had fought and withstood every gale, never drowning a man yet, bringing them all to safety.

And the old restless longing rose in Joseph, to depart once more with the wind and the sea, to the life he loved, and to which he belonged. Once more he must stand on the deck of his ship with Janet for company, and danger lurking near, with the water surging beneath him, a shout in his ears, and above his head a wild wet star.

Not even the clinging arms of Annie could keep him back.

So he put his wife from him with scarce a sigh, and with a light in his eyes Joseph weighed anchor once more on board the Janet Coombe, and on a summer's evening, Master and ship went away down harbour, borne by the wind and the tide - outward bound.

11.

Gradually Joseph slipped back into his old routine on board ship. Hours of energy and hours of peace.The companionship of men, the life they shared together, the sharp struggle against a sudden tearing gale ending in victory, the safe anchorage within a strange harbour, where the lights beckoned, and away again once more, to the infinite horizon.

The months sped on as they had always done, with never a regret for the vanished honeymoon, save a queer sensation that the tide of pa.s.sion had run its course, and was now spent, inevitably. Thus reasoned Joseph in the back of his mind, and put his bride away from his thoughts, knowing she was possessed, certain of her.

When he returned, bronzed and weatherbeaten, he was a husband who claimed his wife, but no more than this.

In 1886 Annie's baby was born, and died a few hours later.

Joseph himself was touched by his wife's grief, but the loss meant little to him. He had already brought up one family, and the thought of a possible second brood was not to his fancy.

And now another trouble was creeping into his life. Joseph's eyesight was failing him.

Sometimes he could scarcely stand for the ache in his head, and the shooting pains in his right eye. This eye was always red and bloodshot now, the lid swollen and the pupil magnified. A mist came over it at times, and now started on his left eye, though the pain in this was less severe.

He began to find it impossible to focus objects, a dark patch leapt and danced before him, obstructing his view. Sometimes the sight was clear, and then the shooting pains would come again and the dark patches, and he would be unable to read the compa.s.s under the light of the binnacle.

When this happened for the first time, he went below to the cabin, and sat awhile in silence, helpless, like a lost child, then he summoned his nephew d.i.c.k and told him of his fears.

'Come, sir, it can't be much; perhaps you've strained your sight somehow, and it will come all right by degrees.'

The man did his best to hearten the skipper, but he was afraid there must be something seriously wrong for all that.

'I don't know, d.i.c.k,' said Joseph, his head in his hands, 'this ain't anythin' sudden like, it's been creepin' on me gradual an' slow. I've felt it for months back, an' arrant coward I've never said a word to no one. Then my marriage - well, I reckon that put the whole matter out o' my mind. An' now it's come upon me in full force, worse than ever before. What am I goin' to do, d.i.c.k, tell me, what am I goin' to do?'

'Have a heart, Uncle Joe,' said d.i.c.k. 'Maybe 'tisn't as bad as you think. As soon as we gets back to Plyn you take train to Plymouth an' see a doctor. It's wonderful what medicine can do nowadays.'

And so he went on deck, leaving Joseph alone.

The Janet Coombe anch.o.r.ed in Plyn harbour on the first day of February 1888. How word had spread among the crew of the skipper's trouble was a mystery, for d.i.c.k had mentioned nothing of it, but nevertheless by the next morning it was all over the town.

Joseph sent d.i.c.k to the office to settle accounts with Philip, for ever since his marriage to Annie, he had never spoken to his brother.

Philip Coombe at once questioned the mate about the skipper's eye trouble. 'What's this story of my brother's blindness, eh?' he asked. 'He'll have to see a doctor, you know.'

'Oh! there's no cause for alarm,' replied d.i.c.k coldly. 'You know how things get round in Plyn, whether they're true or not. Uncle Joe's had headaches, that's all, he's goin' over to Plymouth, I believe, to buy some stuff to cure 'em.'

'Hum,' said Philip. 'It's all very well for you to keep calm, young fellow, and pretend to send me about my business. It happens this is my business. I've got equal shares in the ship with my brother, and I'm not going to risk my money in a vessel that's skippered by a crock. Joe will have to retire.'

'No one can make the skipper retire unless there's a doctor's certificate provin' he's unfit for work,' said d.i.c.k swiftly.

Philip laughed and rose from his seat.

'This will break him up,' muttered d.i.c.k, half to himself.

'Better that, than break up the ship,' was the cruel retort.

d.i.c.k made no attempt to relate this conversation to Joseph, but later in the day he met his cousin Christopher, and taking him aside, he explained the gravity of the situation.

Christopher was shocked beyond measure. 'This will be a terrible blow to my father,' he said slowly. 'G.o.d knows what will become of him, d.i.c.k. You know what a restless fellow he is. Life ash.o.r.e will be h.e.l.l for him. Even my stepmother will find herself unequal to the task of keeping him content. Do you really and truly believe this eye of his will be blinded?'

'I don't know, Chris. It looks bad from outward appearance, but one can't depend solely on that. The only thing to do is to get him to Plymouth and have him properly examined. I reckon we all three had better go together, you're the only one of the family he'll listen to. I have to come up before the Board of Trade as you know, to try and secure my Master's ticket. If the skipper gets notice to quit I'll do my level best to take on his job, and prove a credit to him if I can. It's a rotten sad business though.'

'You're a good chap, d.i.c.k,' sighed Christopher. 'I wish to G.o.d I was more like you. It's me that ought to be doin' this. What a rotter I am.'

'Nonsense, lad, I'm nearly eight years older than you, that's all. You'll find your feet soon, and your father will be no end proud of you. Dad says you work steady at the yard, and so do Tom an' the others.'

'Maybe, d.i.c.k, but I hate the work, an' there's the truth.'

'Come to sea, Chris, it's the only life for a man, and you'd please the poor skipper then.'

'What's the use? I'm just an out-an'-out waster, I know. Oh! h.e.l.l, cousin, I swear I'll make good in time, and my father won't have cause for shame.'

A week later, Joseph, accompanied by his eldest son and his nephew, took train to Plymouth, where d.i.c.k went straight to sit for his Board of Trade examination. Joseph watched him go, remembering his own feelings twenty-five years back, filled with hope and strength, and the knowledge of Janet waiting for him in Plyn. And now he was fifty-three, with his youth behind him.

Joseph stayed alone in the doctor's room leaving Christopher in the hall. He was there exactly half an hour. Christopher heard his step coming slowly down the stairs, and raising his head saw somebody bent and frail, who stared before him as one lost in a desolate place.