ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Persuasion, by Jane AustenThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: PersuasionAuthor: Jane AustenRelease Date: June 5, 2008 [EBook #105]Last Updated: February 15, 2015Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PERSUASION ***Produced by Sharon Partridge and Martin Ward. HTML versionby Al Haines.PersuasionbyJane Austen(1818)Chapter 1Sir Walter Elliot, ofKellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who,for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; therehe found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressedone; there his facultieswere roused into admiration and respect, bycontemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there anyunwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturallyinto pity and contempt as heturned over the almost endless creationsof the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, hecould read his own history with an interest which never failed.  Thiswas the page at which the favouritevolume always opened:           "ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL."Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county ofGloucester, by whichlady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, bornJune 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5,1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791."Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood fromthe printer'shands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information ofhimself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth--"Married, December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of CharlesMusgrove,Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset," and by inserting mostaccurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectablefamily, inthe usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire;how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff,representing a borough in three successive parliaments, exertions ofloyalty, and dignity of baronet,in the first year of Charles II, withall the Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming altogether twohandsome duodecimo pages, and concluding with the arms andmotto:--"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in thecounty of Somerset," andSir Walter's handwriting again in this finale:--"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of thesecond Sir Walter."Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot'scharacter;vanity of person and of situation.  He had been remarkably handsome inhis youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man.  Few womencould think more of their personal appearance than he did, norcouldthe valet of any new made lord be more delighted with the place he heldin society.  He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only tothe blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who unitedthesegifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect anddevotion.His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment; sinceto them he must have owed a wife of very superior character to anythingdeserved by his own.  Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman,sensible and amiable; whose judgement and conduct, if they might bepardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot, had neverrequiredindulgence afterwards.--She had humoured, or softened, orconcealed his failings, and promoted his real respectability forseventeen years; and though not the very happiest being in the worldherself, had found enoughin her duties, her friends, and her children,to attach her to life, and make it no matter of indifference to herwhen she was called on to quit them.--Three girls, the two eldestsixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy fora mother to bequeath, anawful charge rather, to confide to the authority and guidance of aconceited, silly father.  She had, however, one very intimate friend, asensible, deserving woman, who had been brought, bystrong attachmentto herself, to settle close by her, in the village of Kellynch; and onher kindness and advice, Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best helpand maintenance of the good principles and instruction which shehadbeen anxiously giving her daughters.This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry, whatever might have beenanticipated on that head by their acquaintance.  Thirteen years hadpassed away since Lady Elliot's death,and they were still nearneighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower, the othera widow.That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and extremely wellprovided for, should have no thought of asecond marriage, needs noapology to the public, which is rather apt to be unreasonablydiscontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not; butSir Walter's continuing in singleness requiresexplanation.  Be itknown then, that Sir Walter, like a good father, (having met with oneor two private disappointments in very unreasonable applications),prided himself on remaining single for his dear daughters'sake.  Forone daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any thing,which he had not been very much tempted to do.  Elizabeth hadsucceeded, at sixteen, to all that was possible, of her mother's rightsandconsequence; and being very handsome, and very like himself, herinfluence had always been great, and they had gone on together mosthappily.  His two other children were of very inferior value.  Mary hadacquired alittle artificial importance, by becoming Mrs CharlesMusgrove; but Anne, with an elegance of mind and sweetness ofcharacter, which must have placed her high with any people of realunderstanding, was nobody witheither father or sister; her word had noweight, her convenience was always to give way--she was only Anne.To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and highly valuedgod-daughter, favourite, and friend.  LadyRussell loved them all; butit was only in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again.A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty girl, but herbloom had vanished early; and as even in its height, herfather hadfound little to admire in her, (so totally different were her delicatefeatures and mild dark eyes from his own), there could be nothing inthem, now that she was faded and thin, to excite his esteem. Hehadnever indulged much hope, he had now none, of ever reading her name inany other page of his favourite work.  All equality of alliance mustrest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely connected herself with anoldcountry family of respectability and large fortune, and had thereforegiven all the honour and received none: Elizabeth would, one day orother, marry suitably.It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer attwenty-nine than shewas ten years before; and, generally speaking, if there has beenneither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcelyany charm is lost.  It was so with Elizabeth, still the samehandsomeMiss Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago, and Sir Waltermight be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age, or, at least, bedeemed only half a fool, for thinking himself and Elizabeth asbloomingas ever, amidst the wreck of the good looks of everybody else; for hecould plainly see how old all the rest of his family and acquaintancewere growing.  Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every face intheneighbourhood worsting, and the rapid increase of the crow's foot aboutLady Russell's temples had long been a distress to him.Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal contentment.Thirteen years hadseen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding anddirecting with a self-possession and decision which could never havegiven the idea of her being younger than she was.  For thirteen yearshad she been doing thehonours, and laying down the domestic law athome, and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walkingimmediately after Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms anddining-rooms in the country.  Thirteenwinters' revolving frosts hadseen her opening every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhoodafforded, and thirteen springs shewn their blossoms, as she travelledup to London with her father, for a few weeks' annualenjoyment of thegreat world.  She had the remembrance of all this, she had theconsciousness of being nine-and-twenty to give her some regrets andsome apprehensions; she was fully satisfied of being still quiteashandsome as ever, but she felt her approach to the years of danger, andwould have rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited bybaronet-blood within the next twelvemonth or two.  Then might she againtakeup the book of books with as much enjoyment as in her early youth,but now she liked it not.  Always to be presented with the date of herown birth and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest sister,made thebook an evil; and more than once, when her father had left itopen on the table near her, had she closed it, with averted eyes, andpushed it away.She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that book, andespeciallythe history of her own family, must ever present the remembrance of.The heir presumptive, the very William Walter Elliot, Esq., whoserights had been so generously supported by her father, haddisappointedher.She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had known him to be,in the event of her having no brother, the future baronet, meant tomarry him, and her father had always meant that sheshould.  He had notbeen known to them as a boy; but soon after Lady Elliot's death, SirWalter had sought the acquaintance, and though his overtures had notbeen met with any warmth, he had persevered in seeking it,makingallowance for the modest drawing-back of youth; and, in one of theirspring excursions to London, when Elizabeth was in her first bloom, MrElliot had been forced into the introduction.He was at that time a veryyoung man, just engaged in the study of thelaw; and Elizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan in hisfavour was confirmed.  He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was talkedof and expected all the rest ofthe year; but he never came.  Thefollowing spring he was seen again in town, found equally agreeable,again encouraged, invited, and expected, and again he did not come; andthe next tidings were that he wasmarried.  Instead of pushing hisfortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot, hehad purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman ofinferior birth.Sir Walter had resented it.  As the headof the house, he felt that heought to have been consulted, especially after taking the young man sopublicly by the hand; "For they must have been seen together," heobserved, "once at Tattersall's, and twice in thelobby of the House ofCommons."  His disapprobation was expressed, but apparently very littleregarded.  Mr Elliot had attempted no apology, and shewn himself asunsolicitous of being longer noticed by the family, asSir Walterconsidered him unworthy of it:  all acquaintance between them hadceased.This very awkward history of Mr Elliot was still, after an interval ofseveral years, felt with anger by Elizabeth, who had liked the manforhimself, and still more for being her father's heir, and whose strongfamily pride could see only in him a proper match for Sir WalterElliot's eldest daughter.  There was not a baronet from A to Z whom herfeelingscould have so willingly acknowledged as an equal.  Yet somiserably had he conducted himself, that though she was at this presenttime (the summer of 1814) wearing black ribbons for his wife, she couldnot admit him tobe worth thinking of again.  The disgrace of his firstmarriage might, perhaps, as there was no reason to suppose itperpetuated by offspring, have been got over, had he not done worse;but he had, as by theaccustomary intervention of kind friends, theyhad been informed, spoken most disrespectfully of them all, mostslightingly and contemptuously of the very blood he belonged to, andthe honours which were hereafter tobe his own.  This could not bepardoned.Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and sensations; such the caresto alloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness and the elegance, theprosperity and the nothingness of herscene of life; such the feelingsto give interest to a long, uneventful residence in one country circle,to fill the vacancies which there were no habits of utility abroad, notalents or accomplishments for home, to occupy.Butnow, another occupation and solicitude of mind was beginning to beadded to these.  Her father was growing distressed for money.  Sheknew, that when he now took up the Baronetage, it was to drive theheavy bills ofhis tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of MrShepherd, his agent, from his thoughts.  The Kellynch property wasgood, but not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the state requiredin its possessor.  While LadyElliot lived, there had been method,moderation, and economy, which had just kept him within his income; butwith her had died all such right-mindedness, and from that period hehad been constantly exceeding it.  Ithad not been possible for him tospend less; he had done nothing but what Sir Walter Elliot wasimperiously called on to do; but blameless as he was, he was not onlygrowing dreadfully in debt, but was hearing of it sooften, that itbecame vain to attempt concealing it longer, even partially, from hisdaughter.  He had given her some hints of it the last spring in town;he had gone so far even as to say, "Can we retrench?  Does it occurtoyou that there is any one article in which we can retrench?" andElizabeth, to do her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm,set seriously to think what could be done, and had finally proposedthese twobranches of economy, to cut off some unnecessary charities,and to refrain from new furnishing the drawing-room; to whichexpedients she afterwards added the happy thought of their taking nopresent down to Anne, ashad been the usual yearly custom.  But thesemeasures, however good in themselves, were insufficient for the realextent of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter found himself obligedto confess to her soonafterwards.  Elizabeth had nothing to propose ofdeeper efficacy.  She felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, as did herfather; and they were neither of them able to devise any means oflessening their expenses withoutcompromising their dignity, orrelinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter could disposeof; but had every acre been alienable, it would have madenodifference.  He had condescended to mortgage as far as he had thepower, but he would never condescend to sell.  No; he would neverdisgrace his name so far.  The Kellynch estate should be transmittedwhole andentire, as he had received it.Their two confidential friends, Mr Shepherd, who lived in theneighbouring market town, and Lady Russell, were called to advise them;and both father and daughter seemed to expect thatsomething should bestruck out by one or the other to remove their embarrassments andreduce their expenditure, without involving the loss of any indulgenceof taste or pride.Chapter 2Mr Shepherd, a civil, cautiouslawyer, who, whatever might be his holdor his views on Sir Walter, would rather have the disagreeable promptedby anybody else, excused himself from offering the slightest hint, andonly begged leave to recommendan implicit reference to the excellentjudgement of Lady Russell, from whose known good sense he fullyexpected to have just such resolute measures advised as he meant to seefinally adopted.Lady Russell was mostanxiously zealous on the subject, and gave itmuch serious consideration.  She was a woman rather of sound than ofquick abilities, whose difficulties in coming to any decision in thisinstance were great, from theopposition of two leading principles.She was of strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour;but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as solicitousfor the credit of the family, as aristocratic in herideas of what wasdue to them, as anybody of sense and honesty could well be.  She was abenevolent, charitable, good woman, and capable of strong attachments,most correct in her conduct, strict in her notions ofdecorum, and withmanners that were held a standard of good-breeding.  She had acultivated mind, and was, generally speaking, rational and consistent;but she had prejudices on the side of ancestry; she had a valueforrank and consequence, which blinded her a little to the faults of thosewho possessed them.  Herself the widow of only a knight, she gave thedignity of a baronet all its due; and Sir Walter, independent of hisclaims asan old acquaintance, an attentive neighbour, an obliginglandlord, the husband of her very dear friend, the father of Anne andher sisters, was, as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension, entitled toa great deal ofcompassion and consideration under his presentdifficulties.They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt.  But she was veryanxious to have it done with the least possible pain to him andElizabeth. She drew upplans of economy, she made exact calculations,and she did what nobody else thought of doing:  she consulted Anne, whonever seemed considered by the others as having any interest in thequestion. She consulted,and in a degree was influenced by her inmarking out the scheme of retrenchment which was at last submitted toSir Walter. Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of honestyagainst importance.  She wantedmore vigorous measures, a more completereformation, a quicker release from debt, a much higher tone ofindifference for everything but justice and equity."If we can persuade your father to all this," said LadyRussell,looking over her paper, "much may be done.  If he will adopt theseregulations, in seven years he will be clear; and I hope we may be ableto convince him and Elizabeth, that Kellynch Hall has a respectabilityinitself which cannot be affected by these reductions; and that thetrue dignity of Sir Walter Elliot will be very far from lessened in theeyes of sensible people, by acting like a man of principle.  What willhe be doing, in fact,but what very many of our first families havedone, or ought to do?  There will be nothing singular in his case; andit is singularity which often makes the worst part of our suffering, asit always does of our conduct.  Ihave great hope of prevailing.  Wemust be serious and decided; for after all, the person who hascontracted debts must pay them; and though a great deal is due to thefeelings of the gentleman, and the head of ahouse, like your father,there is still more due to the character of an honest man."This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father to beproceeding, his friends to be urging him.  She considered it as an actofindispensable duty to clear away the claims of creditors with allthe expedition which the most comprehensive retrenchments could secure,and saw no dignity in anything short of it.  She wanted it to beprescribed, andfelt as a duty.  She rated Lady Russell's influencehighly; and as to the severe degree of self-denial which her ownconscience prompted, she believed there might be little more difficultyin persuading them to a complete,than to half a reformation.  Herknowledge of her father and Elizabeth inclined her to think that thesacrifice of one pair of horses would be hardly less painful than ofboth, and so on, through the whole list of LadyRussell's too gentlereductions.How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been taken is of littleconsequence.  Lady Russell's had no success at all: could not be put upwith, were not to be borne. "What! everycomfort of life knocked off!Journeys, London, servants, horses, table--contractions andrestrictions every where!  To live no longer with the decencies even ofa private gentleman!  No, he would sooner quit Kellynch Hallat once,than remain in it on such disgraceful terms.""Quit Kellynch Hall."  The hint was immediately taken up by MrShepherd, whose interest was involved in the reality of Sir Walter'sretrenching, and who was perfectlypersuaded that nothing would be donewithout a change of abode.  "Since the idea had been started in thevery quarter which ought to dictate, he had no scruple," he said, "inconfessing his judgement to be entirely onthat side.  It did notappear to him that Sir Walter could materially alter his style ofliving in a house which had such a character of hospitality and ancientdignity to support.  In any other place Sir Walter might judgeforhimself; and would be looked up to, as regulating the modes of life inwhatever way he might choose to model his household."Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very few days more ofdoubt and


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               S A V I N G   P R I V A T E   R Y A N               by Robert Roday               (Early Draft)               Typed for the Internet by:               David Pritchettscreenwryter@hotmail.com               --------------------------------------------------------------               FADE IN:               CREDITS:  White lettering over a backbackground.  The               THUNDEROUS SOUNDS OF A MASSIVE NAVAL BARRAGE are heard.  The               power is astonishing.  It roars through the body, blows back               the hair and rattles theears.               FADE IN:               EXT. OMAHA BEACH - NORMANDY - DAWN               The ROAR OF NAVAL GUNS continues but now WE SEE THEM FIRING.               Huge fifteen inchguns.               SWARM OF LANDING CRAFT               Heads directly into a nightmare.  MASSIVE EXPLOSIONS from               German artillery shells and mined obstacles tear apartthe               beach.  Hundreds of German machine guns, loaded with tracers,               pour out a red snowstorm ofbullets.                                     OFFSHORE                         SUPERIMPOSITION:                                     OMAHA BEACH, NORMANDY                         June 6,1944                                     0600 HOURS                         HUNDREDS OF LANDING CRAFT Each holding                         thirty men, near the beaches.                                     THECLIFFS                         At the far end of the beach, a ninety-                         foot cliff.  Topped by bunkers.                         Ringed by fortified machine gun nests.                         A clear line-of-fire down theentire                         beach.                                     TEN LANDING CRAFT                         Make their way toward the base of                         the cliffs.  Running a gauntletof                         explosions.                                     SUPERIMPOSITION:                         THE FOLLOWING IS BASED ON A TRUE                         STORY THE LEAD LANDING CRAFTPlows                         through the waves.               THE CAMERA MOVES PAST THE FACES OF THE MEN               Boys.  Most are eighteen or nineteen years old.  Tough.               Well-trained.  Trying toblock out the fury around them.               A DIRECT HIT ON A NEARBY LANDING CRAFT               A huge EXPLOSION of fuel, fire, metal and flesh.               THE LEAD LANDING CRAFT               TheMotorman holds his course.  Shells EXPLODE around them.               FLAMING OIL BURNS on the water.  CANNON FIRE SMASHES into               the bow.               THE MOTORAMAN IS RIPPED TOBITS               BLOOD AND FLESH shower the men behind him.  The mate takes               the controls.                                     A YOUNG SOLDIER                         His face covered with the remainsof                         the motorman.  Starts to lose it.                         Begins to shudder and weep.  His                         name is DeLancey.               THE BOYS AROUND HIM               Do their best to starestraight ahead.  But the fear infects               them.  It starts to spread.                                     A FIGURE                         Pushes through the men.  Puts himself                         in front ofDeLancey.               The figure is CAPTAIN JOHN MILLER.  Early thirties.  By far               the oldest man on the craft.  Relaxed, battle-hardened,               powerful, ignoring the hell around them.  He smiles, putsa               cigar in his mouth, strikes a match on the front of DeLancey's               helmet and lights the cigar.               DeLancey tries to look away but Miller grips him by the jaw               and forces him to lockeyes.  Miller smiles.  DeLancey is               terrified.               Delancey Captain, are we all gonna die?               Miller Hell no, two-thirds, tops.               Delancey Oh, Jesus...               Miller I want every one of you tolook at the man on your               left.  Now look at the man on your right.  Feel sorry for               those to sons-of-bitches, they're going to get it, you're               not going to get a scratch.  A few, includingDeLancey, manage               thin smiles.  Miller releases his grip on DeLancey who moves               his jaw as if to see if it's broken.  Miller pats him on the               cheek and moves on to thebow.                                     MILLER                         Looks over the gunwale at THE HELL                         IN FRONT OF THEM.               PAN DOWN TO MILLER'S HAND               Itquivers in fear.  Miller glances around, sees that none               of the men have noticed.  He stares at his hand as if it               belongs to someone else.  It stops shaking.  He turns his               eyes back to theobjective.               THE LEAD LANDING CRAFT HITS THE BEACH               The six surviving boats alongside.               EXPLOSIVE PROPELLED GRAPPLING HOOKS FIRE               From the landingcrafts.  Arc toward the top of the cliffs.               THE LEAD CRAFT RAMP GOES DOWN               A river of MACHINE GUN FIRE pours into the craft.  A dozen               men are INSTANTLY KILLED.  Amongthem, DeLancey.                                     MILLER                         Somehow survives.  Jumps into the                         breakers.                                     MILLER                         MOVE,GODDAMN IT!  GO!  GO!  GO!                                     EXPLOSIONS EVERYWHERE                         THE GERMANS On the edge of the cliff.                         Rain down MACHINE GUN FIREand                         GRENADES.                                     THE AMERICANS                         Struggle through the surf.  FIRING                         up as best they can.  Making forthe                         base of the cliffs.               INCENDIARY GRENADES, HURLED FROM ABOVE,               EXPLODE, SPREADINGFIRE                                     MILLER                         Ignores the EXPLOSIONS and BULLETS.                         Uses hand signals and curtorders.                                     MILLER                         THERE!  THERE!  HOOKS THERE!  FIRE                         SQUAD, THOSE ROCKS!                                     THEMEN                         Obey instantly.  Set the grappling                         hooks.  Take position.  Return fire.               THE SOUNDS OF BATTLE               Drown out most voices.  Except the SCREAMS OFTHE WOUNDED               AND DYING.                                     THE MEN                         Know what they have to do.  Start up                         the ropes.  Into the teeth ofthe                         German defenders.                                     MILLER                         Back-straps his Thompson sub-machine                         gun.  Starts climbing with thefirst                         group.                                     THE CLIFF FACE                         The Americans swarm up the ropes.                         Taking turns firing up at the Germans.               MILLER SEESA STALLED CLIMBER               A soft-faced boy.  Grabs him by the back of his collar.               Roughly yanks him up.  Nearly choking him.  They boyclimbs               on.                                     HALF-WAY                         An American private is HIT.  FALLS,                         taking two others with him.  All                         three land on the rocksbelow.                         Another way to die.                                     NEAR THE TOP                         Less steep.  They leave the ropes.                         Free climb, scrambling up therocks.                                     MILLER                         Joins half-a-dozen pinned down men.                         Others bottleneck behind them.  Miller                         scans the route and thedefenders.               Sees an open gap.  Deadly.  Beyond is a protective overhang.               With a clear line to the top.                                     MILLER                         That's the route.               Millermotions to six men huddled near him.                                     MILLER                         Go!                                     THE SIX MEN                         Take an instant to getready.  Then                         SCRAMBLE into the gap.               MILLER AND THE OTHERS               Do their best to cover them.  POUR FIRE up at the Germans.               Bad angle.  No Germans arehit.                                     THE SIX MEN                         Are CUT TO RIBBONS by MACHINE GUN                         FIRE.  All KILLED.  They fall to the                         rocks below.               SARGE,mid-twenties, experienced, Miller's right arm and               best friend, dives into the rocks next to Miller.               Sarge That's a goddamned shooting gallery,Captain.                                     MILLER                         It's the only way.                                     MILLER                         Turns to the next half-dozenmen.                                     MILLER                         YOU'RE NEXT!                                     THE SECOND SIX                         Move to the head of thegap.  Miller                         moves for a better angle against the                         machine guns.  Calls to JACKSON, a                         tall, gangly Southern countryboy,                         sharp-shooter.                                     MILLER                         JACKSON, PICK OFF A FEW OF THEM,                         WILLYOU?                                     JACKSON                              (heavy Southern accent)                         You betcha, Captain.               Miller signals others where to direct their cover fire.               Turnsto the second six.                                     MILLER                         GO!                                     THE SECOND SIX                         Take deep breaths.  Head intothe                         gap.               MILLER AND OTHERS BLAST SURPRISING FIRE               JACKSON, NAILS a pair of Germans.  MILLER CUTS DOWN two more.               SARGE gets one.  Notenough.                                     THE SECOND SIX                         Are RAKED BY MACHINE GUNS.  All


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sea Fairies, by L. Frank BaumThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Sea FairiesAuthor: L. Frank BaumPosting Date: July 26, 2009 [EBook #4358]Release Date: August,2003First Posted: January 14, 2002Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA FAIRIES ***Produced by Charles Aldarondo.  HTML version by Al Haines.TO JUDITH OF RANDOLPHMASSACHUSETTSTHE SEA FAIRIESBY L. FRANK BAUMAUTHOR OF THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ, DOROTHY AND THEWIZARD IN OZ, OZMA OF OZ, THE ROAD TO OZ,THE LAND OF OZ, ETC.ILLUSTRATED BYJOHN R.NEILLTHE oceans are big and broad. I believe two-thirds of theearth's surface is covered with water. What people inhabitthis water has always been a subject of curiosity to theinhabitants of the land. Strange creaturescome from the seasat times, and perhaps in the ocean depths are many, more strangethan mortal eye has ever gazed upon.This story is fanciful. In it the sea people talk and actmuch as we do, and the mermaidsespecially are not unlike thefairies with whom we have learned to be familiar. Yet theyare real sea people, for all that, and with the exception of Zogthe Magician they are all supposed to exist in the ocean's depths.I amtold that some very learned people deny that mermaidsor sea-serpents have ever inhabited the oceans, but it would bevery difficult for them to prove such an assertion unless they hadlived under the water as Trot andCap'n Bill did in this story.I hope my readers who have so long followed Dorothy'sadventures in the Land of Oz will be interested in Trot's equallystrange experiences. The ocean has always appealed to me asa veritablewonderland, and this story has been suggested to memany times by my young correspondents in their letters. Indeed,a good many children have implored me to "write somethingabout the mermaids," and I havewillingly granted the request.Hollywood, 1911.L. FRANK BAUM.LIST OF CHAPTERSCHAPTER   1  TROT AND CAP'N BILL   2  THE MERMAIDS   3  THE DEPTHS OF THE DEEP BLUE SEA   4  THE PALACE OF QUEENAQUAREINE   5  THE SEA-SERPENT   6  EXPLORING THE OCEAN   7  THE ARISTOCRATIC CODFISH   8  A BANQUET UNDER WATER   9  THE BASHFUL OCTOPUS  10  THE UNDISCOVERED ISLAND  11  ZOG THETERRIBLE AND HIS SEA DEVILS  12  THE ENCHANTED ISLAND  13  PRISONERS OF THE SEA MONSTER  14  CAP'N JOE AND CAP'N BILL  15  THE MAGIC OF THE MERMAIDS  16  THE TOP OF THE GREAT DOME  17  THEQUEEN'S GOLDEN SWORD  18  A DASH FOR LIBERTY  19  KING ANKO TO THE RESCUE  20  THE HOME OF THE OCEAN MONARCH  21  KING JOE  22  TROT LIVES TO TELL THE TALECHAPTER 1TROT AND CAP'NBILL"Nobody," said Cap'n Bill solemnly, "ever sawr a mermaid an' livedto tell the tale.""Why not?" asked Trot, looking earnestly up into the old sailor'sface.They were seated on a bench built around a giant acacia treethatgrew just at the edge of the bluff. Below them rolled the blue wavesof the great Pacific. A little way behind them was the house, a neatframe cottage painted white and surrounded by huge eucalyptus andpeppertrees. Still farther behind that--a quarter of a mile distantbut built upon a bend of the coast--was the village, overlooking apretty bay.Cap'n Bill and Trot came often to this tree to sit and watch theocean below them.The sailor man had one "meat leg" and one "hickoryleg," and he often said the wooden one was the best of the two. OnceCap'n Bill had commanded and owned the "Anemone," a trading schoonerthat plied along thecoast; and in those days Charlie Griffiths, whowas Trot's father, had been the Captain's mate. But ever since Cap'nBill's accident, when he lost his leg, Charlie Griffiths had beenthe captain of the little schooner while hisold master livedpeacefully ashore with the Griffiths family.This was about the time Trot was born, and the old sailor becamevery fond of the baby girl. Her real name was Mayre, but when shegrew big enough to walk,she took so many busy little steps everyday that both her mother and Cap'n Bill nicknamed her "Trot," and soshe was thereafter mostly called.It was the old sailor who taught the child to love the sea, to loveit almost asmuch as he and her father did, and these two, whorepresented the "beginning and the end of life," became firm friendsand constant companions."Why hasn't anybody seen a mermaid and lived?" asked Trotagain."'Cause mermaids is fairies, an' ain't meant to be seen by us mortalfolk," replied Cap'n Bill."But if anyone happens to see 'em, what then, Cap'n?""Then," he answered, slowly wagging his head, "the mermaidsgive 'ema smile an' a wink, an' they dive into the water an' gets drownded.""S'pose they knew how to swim, Cap'n Bill?""That don't make any diff'rence, Trot. The mermaids live deep down,an' the poor mortals nevercome up again."The little girl was thoughtful for a moment. "But why do folks divein the water when the mermaids smile an' wink?" she asked."Mermaids," he said gravely, "is the most beautiful creatures intheworld--or the water, either. You know what they're like, Trot,they's got a lovely lady's form down to the waist, an' then theother half of 'em's a fish, with green an' purple an' pink scalesall down it.""Have they gotarms, Cap'n Bill?""'Course, Trot; arms like any other lady. An' pretty faces thatsmile an' look mighty sweet an' fetchin'. Their hair is long an'soft an' silky, an' floats all around 'em in the water. When theycomes up atopthe waves, they wring the water out'n their hair andsing songs that go right to your heart. If anybody is unlucky enoughto be 'round jes' then, the beauty o' them mermaids an' their sweetsongs charm 'em like magic;so's they plunge into the waves to getto the mermaids. But the mermaids haven't any hearts, Trot, nomore'n a fish has; so they laughs when the poor people drown an'don't care a fig. That's why I says, an' I says ittrue, that nobodynever sawr a mermaid an' lived to tell the tale.""Nobody?" asked Trot."Nobody a tall.""Then how do you know, Cap'n Bill?" asked the little girl, lookingup into his face with big, round eyes.Cap'n Billcoughed. Then he tried to sneeze, to gain time. Then hetook out his red cotton handkerchief and wiped his bald head withit, rubbing hard so as to make him think clearer. "Look, Trot; ain'tthat a brig out there?" heinquired, pointing to a sail far out inthe sea."How does anybody know about mermaids if those who have seen themnever lived to tell about them?" she asked again."Know what about 'em, Trot?""About their green andpink scales and pretty songs and wet hair.""They don't know, I guess. But mermaids jes' natcherly has to belike that, or they wouldn't be mermaids."She thought this over. "Somebody MUST have lived, Cap'n Bill,"shedeclared positively. "Other fairies have been seen by mortals; whynot mermaids?""P'raps they have, Trot, p'raps they have," he answered musingly."I'm tellin' you as it was told to me, but I never stopped toinquireinto the matter so close before. Seems like folks wouldn'tknow so much about mermaids if they hadn't seen 'em; an' yetaccordin' to all accounts the victim is bound to get drownded.""P'raps," suggested Trot softly,"someone found a fotygraph of oneof 'em.""That might o' been, Trot, that might o' been," answered Cap'n Bill.A nice man was Cap'n Bill, and Trot knew he always liked to explaineverything so she could fully understandit. The aged sailor was nota very tall man, and some people might have called him chubby, oreven fat. He wore a blue sailor shirt with white anchors worked onthe corners of the broad, square collar, and his bluetrousers werevery wide at the bottom. He always wore one trouser leg over hiswooden limb and sometimes it would flutter in the wind like a flagbecause it was so wide and the wooden leg so slender. His roughkerseycoat was a pea-jacket and came down to his waistline. In thebig pockets of his jacket he kept a wonderful jackknife, and hispipe and tobacco, and many bits of string, and matches and keys andlots of other things.Whenever Cap'n Bill thrust a chubby hand intoone of his pockets, Trot watched him with breathless interest, forshe never knew what he was going to pull out.The old sailor's face was brown as a berry. He had a fringeof hairaround the back of his head and a fringe of whisker around the edgeof his face, running from ear to ear and underneath his chin. Hiseyes were light blue and kind in expression. His nose was big andbroad, and hisfew teeth were not strong enough to crack nuts with.Trot liked Cap'n Bill and had a great deal of confidence in hiswisdom, and a great admiration for his ability to make tops andwhistles and toys with that marvelousjackknife of his. In thevillage were many boys and girls of her own age, but she never hadas much fun playing with them as she had wandering by the seaaccompanied by the old sailor and listening to hisfascinatingstories.She knew all about the Flying Dutchman, and Davy Jones' Locker, andCaptain Kidd, and how to harpoon a whale or dodge an iceberg orlasso a seal. Cap'n Bill had been everywhere in the world,almost,on his many voyages. He had been wrecked on desert islands likeRobinson Crusoe and been attacked by cannibals, and had a host ofother exciting adventures. So he was a delightful comrade for thelittle girl,and whatever Cap'n Bill knew Trot was sure to know intime."How do the mermaids live?" she asked. "Are they in caves, or justin the water like fishes, or how?""Can't say, Trot," he replied. "I've asked divers about that,butnone of 'em ever run acrost a mermaid's nest yet, as I've heard of.""If they're fairies," she said, "their homes must be very pretty.""Mebbe so, Trot, but damp. They are sure to be damp, you know.""I'd like to see amermaid, Cap'n Bill," said the child earnestly."What, an' git drownded?" he exclaimed."No, and live to tell the tale. If they're beautiful, and laughing,and sweet, there can't be much harm in them, I'm sure.""Mermaids ismermaids," remarked Cap'n Bill in his most solemnvoice. "It wouldn't do us any good to mix up with 'em, Trot.""May-re! May-re!" called a voice from the house."Yes, Mamma!""You an' Cap'n Bill come in tosupper."CHAPTER 2THE MERMAIDSThe next morning, as soon as Trot had helped wipe the breakfastdishes and put them away in the cupboard, the little girl and Cap'nBill started out toward the bluff. The air was softand warm and thesun turned the edges of the waves into sparkling diamonds. Acrossthe bay the last of the fisherboats was speeding away out to sea,for well the fishermen knew this was an ideal day to catchrockbass,barracuda and yellowtail.The old man and the young girl stood on the bluff and watched allthis with interest. Here was their world. "It isn't a bit rough thismorning. Let's have a boat ride, Cap'n Bill," said thechild."Suits me to a T," declared the sailor. So they found the windingpath that led down the face of the cliff to the narrow beach belowand cautiously began the descent. Trot never minded the steep pathor the looserocks at all, but Cap'n Bill's wooden leg was not souseful on a downgrade as on a level, and he had to be careful not toslip and take a tumble.But by and by they reached the sands and walked to a spot justbeneath thebig acacia tree that grew on the bluff. Halfway to thetop of the cliff hung suspended a little shed-like structure thatsheltered Trot's rowboat, for it was necessary to pull the boat outof reach of the waves which beat infury against the rocks at hightide. About as high up as Cap'n Bill could reach was an iron ringsecurely fastened to the cliff, and to this ring was tied a rope.The old sailor unfastened the knot and began paying out therope,and the rowboat came out of its shed and glided slowly downward tothe beach. It hung on a pair of davits and was lowered just as aboat is lowered from a ship's side. When it reached the sands, thesailorunhooked the ropes and pushed the boat to the water's edge.It was a pretty little craft, light and strong, and Cap'n Bill knewhow to sail it or row it, as Trot might desire.Today they decided to row, so the girl climbedinto the bow and hercompanion stuck his wooden leg into the water's edge "so he wouldn'tget his foot wet" and pushed off the little boat as he climbedaboard. Then he seized the oars and began gentlypaddling."Whither away, Commodore Trot?" he asked gaily."I don't care, Cap'n. It's just fun enough to be on the water," sheanswered, trailing one hand overboard. So he rowed around by theNorth Promontory, wherethe great caves were, and much as they wereenjoying the ride, they soon began to feel the heat of the sun."That's Dead Man's Cave, 'cause a skellington was found there,"observed the child as they passed a dark,yawning mouth in thecliff. "And that's Bumble Cave, 'cause the bumblebees make nests inthe top of it. And here's Smuggler's Cave, 'cause the smugglers usedto hide things in it."She knew all the caves well, and so didCap'n Bill. Many of themopened just at the water's edge, and it was possible to row theirboat far into their dusky depths."And here's Echo Cave," she continued, dreamily, as they slowlymoved along the coast, "andGiant's Cave, and--oh, Cap'n Bill! Doyou s'pose there were ever any giants in that cave?""'Pears like there must o' been, Trot, or they wouldn't o' named itthat name," he replied, pausing to wipe his bald head with theredhandkerchief while the oars dragged in the water."We've never been into that cave, Cap'n," she remarked, looking atthe small hole in the cliff--an archway through which the waterflowed. "Let's go in now.""What for,Trot?""To see if there's a giant there.""Hm. Aren't you 'fraid?""No, are you? I just don't b'lieve it's big enough for a giant toget into.""Your father was in there once," remarked Cap'n Bill, "an' he saysit's the biggest caveon the coast, but low down. It's full o'water, an' the water's deep down to the very bottom o' the ocean;but the rock roof's liable to bump your head at high tide .""It's low tide now," returned Trot. "And how could anygiant live inthere if the roof is so low down?""Why, he couldn't, mate. I reckon they must have called it Giant'sCave 'cause it's so big, an' not 'cause any giant man lived there.""Let's go in," said the girl again. "I'd like to'splore it.""All right," replied the sailor. "It'll be cooler in there than outhere in the sun. We won't go very far, for when the tide turns wemightn't get out again." He picked up the oars and rowed slowlytoward the cave.The black archway that marked its entrance seemedhardly big enough to admit the boat at first, but as they drewnearer, the opening became bigger. The sea was very calm here, forthe headland shielded it from thebreeze."Look out fer your head, Trot!" cautioned Cap'n Bill as the boatglided slowly into the rocky arch. But it was the sailor who had toduck, instead of the little girl. Only for a moment, though. Justbeyond the openingthe cave was higher, and as the boat floated intothe dim interior they found themselves on quite an extensive branchof the sea. For a time neither of them spoke and only the softlapping of the water against the sides ofthe boat was heard. Abeautiful sight met the eyes of the two adventurers and held themdumb with wonder and delight.It was not dark in this vast cave, yet the light seemed to come fromunderneath the water, whichall around them glowed with an exquisitesapphire color. Where the little waves crept up the sides of therocks they shone like brilliant jewels, and every drop of sprayseemed a gem fit to deck a queen. Trot leaned herchin on her handsand her elbows on her lap and gazed at this charming sight with realenjoyment. Cap'n Bill drew in the oars and let the boat drift whereit would while he also sat silently admiring the scene.Slowly thelittle craft crept farther and farther into the diminterior of the vast cavern, while its two passengers feasted theireyes on the beauties constantly revealed. Both the old seaman andthe little girl loved the ocean in all itsvarious moods. To them itwas a constant companion and a genial comrade. If it stormed andraved, they laughed with glee; if it rolled great breakers againstthe shore, they clapped their hands joyfully; if it layslumberingat their feet, they petted and caressed it, but always they lovedit.Here was the ocean yet. It had crept under the dome of overhangingrock to reveal itself crowned with sapphires and dressed in azuregown,revealing in this guise new and unexpected charms. "Goodmorning, Mayre," said a sweet voice.Trot gave a start and looked around her in wonder. Just beside herin the water were little eddies--circles withincircles--such as arecaused when anything sinks below the surface. "Did--did you hearthat, Cap'n Bill?" she whispered solemnly.Cap'n Bill did not answer. He was staring with eyes that fairlybulged out at a place behindTrot's back, and he shook a little, asif trembling from cold. Trot turned half around, and then shestared, too. Rising from the blue water was a fair face around whichfloated a mass of long, blonde hair. It was a sweet,girlish facewith eyes of the same deep blue as the water and red lips whosedainty smile disposed two rows of pearly teeth. The cheeks wereplump and rosy, the brows gracefully penciled, while the chin wasrounded andhad a pretty dimple in it."The most beauti-ful-est in all the world," murmured Cap'n Bill in avoice of horror, "an' no one has ever lived to--to tell the tale!"There was a peal of merry laughter at this, laughter thatrippledand echoed throughout the cavern. Just at Trot's side appeared a newface even fairer than the other, with a wealth of brown hairwreathing the lovely features. And the eyes smiled kindly into thoseof the child."Are you a--a mermaid?" asked Trot curiously. She wasnot a bit afraid. They seemed both gentle and friendly."Yes, dear," was the soft answer."We are all mermaids!" chimed a laughing chorus, and here and there,allabout the boat, appeared pretty faces lying just upon thesurface of the water."Are you part fishes?" asked Trot, greatly pleased by this wonderfulsight."No, we are all mermaid," replied the one with the brown hair."Thefishes are partly like us, because they live in the sea and mustmove about. And you are partly like us, Mayre dear, but have awkwardstiff legs so you may walk on the land. But the mermaids livedbefore fishes andbefore mankind, so both have borrowed somethingfrom us.""Then you must be fairies if you've lived always," remarked Trot,nodding wisely."We are, dear. We are the water fairies," answered the one with theblondehair, coming nearer and rising till her slender white throatshowed plainly."We--we're goners, Trot!" sighed Cap'n Bill with a white, woebegoneface."I guess not, Cap'n," she answered calmly. "These prettymermaidsaren't going to hurt us, I'm sure.""No indeed," said the first one who had spoken. "If we were wickedenough to wish to harm you, our magic could reach you as easily uponthe land as in this cave. But we lovelittle girls dearly and wishonly to please them and make their lives more happy.""I believe that!" cried Trot earnestly.Cap'n Bill groaned."Guess why we have appeared to you," said another mermaid, coming tothe sideof the boat."Why?" asked the child."We heard you say yesterday you would like to see a mermaid, and sowe decided to grant your wish.""That was real nice of you," said Trot gratefully."Also, we heard all the foolishthings Cap'n Bill said about us,"remarked the brown-haired one smilingly, "and we wanted to prove tohim that they were wrong.""I on'y said what I've heard," protested Cap'n Bill. "Never havin'seen a mermaid afore, Icouldn't be ackerate, an' I never expectedto see one an' live to tell the tale."Again the cave rang with merry laughter, and as it died away, Trotsaid, "May I see your scales, please? And are they green and purpleandpink like Cap'n Bill said?" They seemed undecided what to say tothis and swam a little way off, where the beautiful heads formed agroup that was delightful to see. Perhaps they talked together, forthe brown-hairedmermaid soon came back to the side of the boat andasked, "Would you like to visit our kingdom and see all the wondersthat exist below the sea?""I'd like to," replied Trot promptly, "but I couldn't. I'd getdrowned.""Thatyou would, mate!" cried Cap'n Bill."Oh no," said the mermaid. "We would make you both like one ofourselves, and then you could live within the water as easily as wedo.""I don't know as I'd like that," said the child, "atleast foralways.""You need not stay with us a moment longer than you please,"returned the mermaid, smiling as if amused at the remark. "Wheneveryou are ready to return home, we promise to bring you to thisplaceagain and restore to you the same forms you are now wearing.""Would I have a fish's tail?" asked Trot earnestly."You would have a mermaid's tail," was the reply."What color would my scales be--pink, or


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Metal Monster, by A. MerrittThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Metal MonsterAuthor: A. MerrittRelease Date: September, 2002  [Etext #3479]Posting Date: October 12,2009Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE METAL MONSTER ***Produced by Judy BossTHE METAL MONSTERBy A. MerrittPROLOGUEBefore the narrative which follows was placed inmy hands, I had neverseen Dr. Walter T. Goodwin, its author.When the manuscript revealing his adventures among the pre-historicruins of the Nan-Matal in the Carolines (The Moon Pool) had been givenme by theInternational Association of Science for editing and revisionto meet the requirements of a popular presentation, Dr. Goodwin had leftAmerica. He had explained that he was still too shaken, too depressed,to be able torecall experiences that must inevitably carry with themfreshened memories of those whom he loved so well and from whom, hefelt, he was separated in all probability forever.I had understood that he had gone to someremote part of Asia to pursuecertain botanical studies, and it was therefore with the liveliestsurprise and interest that I received a summons from the President ofthe Association to meet Dr. Goodwin at a designatedplace and hour.Through my close study of the Moon Pool papers I had formed a mentalimage of their writer. I had read, too, those volumes of botanicalresearch which have set him high above all other Americanscientists inthis field, gleaning from their curious mingling of extremelytechnical observations and minutely accurate but extraordinarily poeticdescriptions, hints to amplify my picture of him. It gratified me tofind I haddrawn a pretty good one.The man to whom the President of the Association introduced me wassturdy, well-knit, a little under average height. He had a broad butrather low forehead that reminded me somewhat of thelate electricalwizard Steinmetz. Under level black brows shone eyes of clear hazel,kindly, shrewd, a little wistful, lightly humorous; the eyes both of adoer and a dreamer.Not more than forty I judged him to be. Aclose-trimmed, pointed bearddid not hide the firm chin and the clean-cut mouth. His hair was thickand black and oddly sprinkled with white; small streaks and dots ofgleaming silver that shone with a curiously metallicluster.His right arm was closely bound to his breast. His manner as he greetedme was tinged with shyness. He extended his left hand in greeting, andas I clasped the fingers I was struck by their peculiar, pronounced,yetpleasant warmth; a sensation, indeed, curiously electric.The Association's President forced him gently back into his chair."Dr. Goodwin," he said, turning to me, "is not entirely recovered asyet from certainconsequences of his adventures. He will explain to youlater what these are. In the meantime, Mr. Merritt, will you read this?"I took the sheets he handed me, and as I read them felt the gaze of Dr.Goodwin full uponme, searching, weighing, estimating. When I raised myeyes from the letter I found in his a new expression. The shyness wasgone; they were filled with complete friendliness. Evidently I hadpassed muster."You willaccept, sir?" It was the president's gravely courteous tone."Accept!" I exclaimed. "Why, of course, I accept. It is not only one ofthe greatest honors, but to me one of the greatest delights to act as acollaborator with Dr.Goodwin."The president smiled."In that case, sir, there is no need for me to remain longer," he said."Dr. Goodwin has with him his manuscript as far as he has progressedwith it. I will leave you two alone for yourdiscussion."He bowed to us and, picking up his old-fashioned bell-crowned silk hatand his quaint, heavy cane of ebony, withdrew. Dr. Goodwin turned to me."I will start," he said, after a little pause, "from when I metRichardDrake on the field of blue poppies that are like a great prayer-rug atthe gray feet of the nameless mountain."The sun sank, the shadows fell, the lights of the city sparkled out, forhours New York roared about meunheeded while I listened to the taleof that utterly weird, stupendous drama of an unknown life, of unknowncreatures, unknown forces, and of unconquerable human heroism playedamong the hidden gorges ofunknown Asia.It was dawn when I left him for my own home. Nor was it for manyhours after that I laid his then incomplete manuscript down and soughtsleep--and found a troubled sleep.A. MERRITTCHAPTER I. VALLEYOF THE BLUE POPPIESIn this great crucible of life we call the world--in the vaster one wecall the universe--the mysteries lie close packed, uncountable as grainsof sand on ocean's shores. They thread gigantic, thestar-flung spaces;they creep, atomic, beneath the microscope's peering eye. They walkbeside us, unseen and unheard, calling out to us, asking why we are deafto their crying, blind to their wonder.Sometimes the veilsdrop from a man's eyes, and he sees--and speaks ofhis vision. Then those who have not seen pass him by with the liftedbrows of disbelief, or they mock him, or if his vision has been greatenough they fall upon anddestroy him.For the greater the mystery, the more bitterly is its verity assailed;upon what seem the lesser a man may give testimony and at least gain forhimself a hearing.There is reason for this. Life is a ferment, andupon and about it,shifting and changing, adding to or taking away, beat over legions offorces, seen and unseen, known and unknown. And man, an atom in theferment, clings desperately to what to him seems stable;nor greets withjoy him who hazards that what he grips may be but a broken staff, and,so saying, fails to hold forth a sturdier one.Earth is a ship, plowing her way through uncharted oceans of spacewherein are strangecurrents, hidden shoals and reefs, and where blowthe unknown winds of Cosmos.If to the voyagers, painfully plotting their course, comes one who criesthat their charts must be remade, nor can tell WHY they mustbe--thatman is not welcome--no!Therefore it is that men have grown chary of giving testimony uponmysteries. Yet knowing each in his own heart the truth of that vision hehas himself beheld, lo, it is that in whosereality he most believes.The spot where I had encamped was of a singular beauty; so beautifulthat it caught the throat and set an ache within the breast--until fromit a tranquillity distilled that was like healingmist.Since early March I had been wandering. It was now mid-July. And for thefirst time since my pilgrimage had begun I drank--not of forgetfulness,for that could never be--but of anodyne for a sorrow which had heldfastupon me since my return from the Carolines a year before.No need to dwell here upon that--it has been written. Nor shall I recitethe reasons for my restlessness--for these are known to those who haveread thathistory of mine. Nor is there cause to set forth at length thesteps by which I had arrived at this vale of peace.Sufficient is to tell that in New York one night, reading over what isperhaps the most sensational of mybooks--"The Poppies and Primulas ofSouthern Tibet," the result of my travels of 1910-1911, I determined toreturn to that quiet, forbidden land. There, if anywhere, might I findsomething akin to forgetting.There was acertain flower which I long had wished to study in itsmutations from the singular forms appearing on the southern slopes ofthe Elburz--Persia's mountainous chain that extends from Azerbaijanin the west to Khorasan inthe east; from thence I would follow itsmodified types in the Hindu-Kush ranges and its migrations along thesouthern scarps of the Trans-Himalayas--the unexplored upheaval, higherthan the Himalayas themselves,more deeply cut with precipice and gorge,which Sven Hedin had touched and named on his journey to Lhasa.Having accomplished this, I planned to push across the passes to theManasarowar Lakes, where, legend hasit, the strange, luminous purplelotuses grow.An ambitious project, undeniably fraught with danger; but it iswritten that desperate diseases require desperate remedies, and untilinspiration or message how to rejointhose whom I had loved so dearlycame to me, nothing less, I felt, could dull my heartache.And, frankly, feeling that no such inspiration or message could come, Idid not much care as to the end.In Teheran I had pickedup a most unusual servant; yes, more than this,a companion and counselor and interpreter as well.He was a Chinese; his name Chiu-Ming. His first thirty years had beenspent at the great Lamasery of Palkhor-Choindeat Gyantse, west ofLhasa. Why he had gone from there, how he had come to Teheran, I neverasked. It was most fortunate that he had gone, and that I had found him.He recommended himself to me as the best cookwithin ten thousand milesof Pekin.For almost three months we had journeyed; Chiu-Ming and I and the twoponies that carried my impedimenta.We had traversed mountain roads which had echoed to the marching feetofthe hosts of Darius, to the hordes of the Satraps. The highways of theAchaemenids--yes, and which before them had trembled to the tramplingsof the myriads of the godlike Dravidian conquerors.We had slipped overancient Iranian trails; over paths which thewarriors of conquering Alexander had traversed; dust of bones ofMacedons, of Greeks, of Romans, beat about us; ashes of the flamingambitions of the Sassanidae whimperedbeneath our feet--the feet of anAmerican botanist, a Chinaman, two Tibetan ponies. We had crept throughclefts whose walls had sent back the howlings of the Ephthalites, theWhite Huns who had sapped the strength ofthese same proud Sassanidsuntil at last both fell before the Turks.Over the highways and byways of Persia's glory, Persia's shame andPersia's death we four--two men, two beasts--had passed. For a fortnightwe hadmet no human soul, seen no sign of human habitation.Game had been plentiful--green things Chiu-Ming might lack for hiscooking, but meat never. About us was a welter of mighty summits. Wewere, I knew,somewhere within the blending of the Hindu-Kush with theTrans-Himalayas.That morning we had come out of a ragged defile into this valley ofenchantment, and here, though it had been so early, I had pitched mytent,determining to go no farther till the morrow.It was a Phocean vale; a gigantic cup filled with tranquillity. A spiritbrooded over it, serene, majestic, immutable--like the untroubled calmwhich rests, the Burmese believe,over every place which has guarded theBuddha, sleeping.At its eastern end towered the colossal scarp of the unnamed peakthrough one of whose gorges we had crept. On his head was a cap ofsilver set with paleemeralds--the snow fields and glaciers that crownedhim. Far to the west another gray and ochreous giant reared its bulk,closing the vale. North and south, the horizon was a chaotic sky land ofpinnacles, spired andminareted, steepled and turreted and domed, eachdiademed with its green and argent of eternal ice and snow.And all the valley was carpeted with the blue poppies in wide, unbrokenfields, luminous as the morningskies of mid-June; they rippled mileafter mile over the path we had followed, over the still untrodden pathwhich we must take. They nodded, they leaned toward each other, theyseemed to whisper--then to lift theirheads and look up like crowdingswarms of little azure fays, half impudently, wholly trustfully, intothe faces of the jeweled giants standing guard over them. And when thelittle breeze walked upon them it was as thoughthey bent beneath thesoft tread and were brushed by the sweeping skirts of unseen, hasteningPresences.Like a vast prayer-rug, sapphire and silken, the poppies stretchedto the gray feet of the mountain. Between theirsouthern edge andthe clustering summits a row of faded brown, low hills knelt--likebrown-robed, withered and weary old men, backs bent, faces hiddenbetween outstretched arms, palms to the earth and browstouching earthwithin them--in the East's immemorial attitude of worship.I half expected them to rise--and as I watched a man appeared on one ofthe bowed, rocky shoulders, abruptly, with the ever-startlingsuddennesswhich in the strange light of these latitudes objects spring intovision. As he stood scanning my camp there arose beside him a ladenpony, and at its head a Tibetan peasant. The first figure waved itshand;came striding down the hill.As he approached I took stock of him. A young giant, three good inchesover six feet, a vigorous head with unruly clustering black hair; aclean-cut, clean-shaven American face."I'm DickDrake," he said, holding out his hand. "Richard Keen Drake,recently with Uncle's engineers in France.""My name is Goodwin." I took his hand, shook it warmly. "Dr. Walter T.Goodwin.""Goodwin the botanist--? Then Iknow you!" he exclaimed. "Know allabout you, that is. My father admired your work greatly. You knewhim--Professor Alvin Drake."I nodded. So he was Alvin Drake's son. Alvin, I knew, had died about ayear before Ihad started on this journey. But what was his son doing inthis wilderness?"Wondering where I came from?" he answered my unspoken question. "Shortstory. War ended. Felt an irresistible desire for somethingdifferent.Couldn't think of anything more different from Tibet--always wanted togo there anyway. Went. Decided to strike over toward Turkestan. And hereI am."I felt at once a strong liking for this young giant. Nodoubt,subconsciously, I had been feeling the need of companionship with my ownkind. I even wondered, as I led the way into my little camp, whether hewould care to join fortunes with me in my journeyings.Hisfather's work I knew well, and although this stalwart lad was unlikewhat one would have expected Alvin Drake--a trifle dried, precise,wholly abstracted with his experiments--to beget, still, I reflected,heredity like theLord sometimes works in mysterious ways its wonders toperform.It was almost with awe that he listened to me instruct Chiu-Ming as tojust how I wanted supper prepared, and his gaze dwelt fondly upon theChinesebusy among his pots and pans.We talked a little, desultorily, as the meal was prepared--fragments oftraveler's news and gossip, as is the habit of journeyers who come uponeach other in the silent places. Ever thespeculation grew in his faceas he made away with Chiu-Ming's artful concoctions.Drake sighed, drawing out his pipe."A cook, a marvel of a cook. Where did you get him?"Briefly I told him.Then a silence fell upon us.Suddenly the sun dipped down behind theflank of the stone giant guarding the valley's western gate; the wholevale swiftly darkened--a flood of crystal-clear shadows poured withinit. It was the prelude to that miracle ofunearthly beauty seen nowhereelse on this earth--the sunset of Tibet.We turned expectant eyes to the west. A little, cool breeze raced downfrom the watching steeps like a messenger, whispered to the noddingpoppies,sighed and was gone. The poppies were still. High overhead ahoming kite whistled, mellowly.As if it were a signal there sprang out in the pale azure of the westernsky row upon row of cirrus cloudlets, rank upon rank ofthem, thrustingtheir heads into the path of the setting sun. They changed from mottledsilver into faint rose, deepened to crimson."The dragons of the sky drink the blood of the sunset," said Chiu-Ming.As though agigantic globe of crystal had dropped upon the heavens,their blue turned swiftly to a clear and glowing amber--then as abruptlyshifted to a luminous violet A soft green light pulsed through thevalley.Under it, like hillsensorcelled, the rocky walls about it seemed toflatten. They glowed and all at once pressed forward like giganticslices of palest emerald jade, translucent, illumined, as though by acirclet of little suns shining behindthem.The light faded, robes of deepest amethyst dropped around the mountain'smighty shoulders. And then from every snow and glacier-crowned peak,from minaret and pinnacle and towering turret, leaped forth aconfusionof soft peacock flames, a host of irised prismatic gleamings, an orderedchaos of rainbows.Great and small, interlacing and shifting, they ringed the valley withan incredible glory--as if some god of light itselfhad touched theeternal rocks and bidden radiant souls stand forth.Through the darkening sky swept a rosy pencil of living light; thatutterly strange, pure beam whose coming never fails to clutch the throatof thebeholder with the hand of ecstasy, the ray which the Tibetansname the Ting-Pa. For a moment this rosy finger pointed to the east,then arched itself, divided slowly into six shining, rosy bands; beganto creep downwardtoward the eastern horizon where a nebulous, pulsingsplendor arose to meet it.And as we watched I heard a gasp from Drake. And it was echoed by myown.For the six beams were swaying, moving with ever swiftermotion fromside to side in ever-widening sweep, as though the hidden orb from whichthey sprang were swaying like a pendulum.Faster and faster the six high-flung beams swayed--and then broke--brokeas though agigantic, unseen hand had reached up and snapped them!An instant the severed ends ribboned aimlessly, then bent, turned downand darted earthward into the welter of clustered summits at the northand swiftly weregone, while down upon the valley fell night."Good God!" whispered Drake. "It was as though something reached up,broke those rays and drew them down--like threads.""I saw it." I struggled with bewilderment. "I sawit. But I never sawanything like it before," I ended, most inadequately."It was PURPOSEFUL," he whispered. "It was DELIBERATE. As thoughsomething reached up, juggled with the rays, broke them, and drewthemdown like willow withes.""The devils that dwell here!" quavered Chiu-Ming."Some magnetic phenomenon." I was half angry at myself for my own touchof panic. "Light can be deflected by passage through amagnetic field.Of course that's it. Certainly.""I don't know." Drake's tone was doubtful indeed. "It would take a whaleof a magnetic field to have done THAT--it's inconceivable." He harkedback to his first idea. "It wasso--so DAMNED deliberate," he repeated."Devils--" muttered the frightened Chinese."What's that?" Drake gripped my arm and pointed to the north. A deeperblackness had grown there while we had been talking, a poolof darknessagainst which the mountain summits stood out, blade-sharp edges faintlyluminous.A gigantic lance of misty green fire darted from the blackness andthrust its point into the heart of the zenith; following it,leaped intothe sky a host of the sparkling spears of light, and now the blacknesswas like an ebon hand, brandishing a thousand javelins of tinseledflame."The aurora," I said."It ought to be a good one," mused Drake,gaze intent upon it. "Did younotice the big sun spot?"I shook my head."The biggest I ever saw. Noticed it first at dawn this morning. Somelittle aurora lighter--that spot. I told you--look at that!" he cried.The greenlances had fallen back. The blackness gathered itselftogether--then from it began to pulse billows of radiance, spangled withinfinite darting swarms of flashing corpuscles like uncounted hosts ofdancing fireflies.Higherthe waves rolled--phosphorescent green and iridescent violet,weird copperous yellows and metallic saffrons and a shimmer ofglittering ash of rose--then wavered, split and formed into gigantic,sparkling, marchingcurtains of splendor.A vast circle of light sprang out upon the folds of the flickering,rushing curtains. Misty at first, its edges sharpened until they restedupon the blazing glory of the northern sky like a pale ring ofcoldflame. And about it the aurora began to churn, to heap itself, torevolve.Toward the ring from every side raced the majestic folds, drewthemselves together, circled, seethed around it like foam of fire aboutthe lip ofa cauldron, and poured through the shining circle as thoughit were the mouth of that fabled cavern where old Aeolus sits blowingforth and breathing back the winds that sweep the earth.Yes--into the ring's mouth theaurora flew, cascading in a columnedstream to earth. Then swiftly, a mist swept over all the heavens, veiledthat incredible cataract."Magnetism?" muttered Drake. "I guess NOT!""It struck about where the Ting-Pa wasbroken and seemed drawn down likethe rays," I said."Purposeful," Drake said. "And devilish. It hit on all my nerves likea--like a metal claw. Purposeful and deliberate. There was intelligencebehind that.""Intelligence?Drake--what intelligence could break the rays of thesetting sun and suck down the aurora?""I don't know," he answered."Devils," croaked Chiu-Ming. "The devils that defied Buddha--and havegrown strong--""Like ametal claw!" breathed Drake.Far to the west a sound came to us; first a whisper, then a wildrushing, a prolonged wailing, a crackling. A great light flashedthrough the mist, glowed about us and faded. Again the wailing,


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pilot and his Wife, by Jonas LieThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Pilot and his WifeAuthor: Jonas LieRelease Date: April 8, 2005 [EBook #15588]Language: English*** STARTOF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PILOT AND HIS WIFE ***Produced by Clare Boothby, Jim Wiborg and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.THE PILOT AND HIS WIFE_TRANSLATED FROM THENORWEGIAN OF_JONAS LIEBYG.L. TOTTENHAMWILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONSEDINBURGH AND LONDONMDCCCLXXVIITHE PILOT AND HIS WIFE.CHAPTER I.On the stern, pine-clad southern coast of Norway, offthepicturesquely-situated town of Arendal, stand planted far out into thesea the white walls of the Great and Little Torungen Lighthouses, eachon its bare rock-island of corresponding name, the lesser of whichseems, asyou sail past, to have only just room for the lighthouse andthe attendant's residence by the side. It is a wild and lonelysituation,--the spray, in stormy weather, driving in sheets against thewalls, and eagles andsea-birds not unfrequently dashing themselves todeath against the thick glass panes at night; while in winter allcommunication with the land is very often cut off, either by drift orpatchy ice, which is impassable eitheron foot or by boat.These, however, and others of the now numerous lights along thatdangerous coast, are of comparatively recent erection. Many persons nowliving can remember the time when for long reaches theonly lighting wasthe gleam of the white breakers themselves. And the captain who hadpassed the OxÃ¶ light off Christiansand might think himself lucky if hesighted the distant Jomfruland up by KragerÃ¶.About a scoreof years before the lighthouse was placed on LittleTorungen there was, however, already a house there, if it could bedignified by that name, with its back and one side almost up to the eaveof the roof stuck into a heapof stones, so that it had the appearanceof bending forward to let the storm sweep over it. The low entrance-dooropened to the land, and two small windows looked out upon the sea, andupon the boat, which was usuallydrawn up in a cleft above the sea-weedoutside.When you entered, or, more properly speaking, descended into it, therewas more room than might have been expected; and it contained sundryarticles of furniture, suchas a handsome press and sideboard, which noone would have dreamt of finding under such a roof. In one corner therestood an old spinning-wheel covered with dust, and with a smoke-blackenedtuft of wool still hangingfrom its reel; from which, and from othersmall indications, it might be surmised that there had once been a womanin the house, and that tuft of wool had probably been her last spin.There sat now on the bench by thehearth a lonely old man, of aflint-hard and somewhat gloomy countenance, with a mass of white hairfalling over his ears and neck, who was generally occupied with somecobbling work, and who from time to time, as hedrew out the thread,would make some remark aloud, as if he thought he still had the partnerof his life for audience. The look askance over his brass spectacleswith which he greeted any casual stranger who might comeinto the househad very little welcome in it, and an expression about his sunken mouthand sharp chin said plainly enough that the other might state hisbusiness at once and be gone. He sought no company; and the onlytime hehad ever been seen at church was when he came rowing over to TromÃ¶ withhis wife's body in her coffin. When the pastor sprinkled earth upon it,it was observed that the tears streamed down his cheeks, and itwas longafter dark before he quitted the churchyard to return. He had become aproverb for obstinacy for miles beyond his own residence; and people whodealt with him for fish in the harbour, if they once began tobargain,were as likely as not to see him without a word just quietly row away.All that was known further about "Old Jacob," as he was called, was thathe had once been a pilot, and that he had had a son who had takentodrinking, through whose fault it had been eventually that the father hadlost his certificate; and it was thought that on the occasion inquestion the father had taken the son's blame upon himself. Since thenhe hadshunned society, and had retired with his wife to his presenthabitation, whither, after their son was drowned, they had brought theirlittle orphan granddaughter, who now was his sole companion. His onlyostensiblemeans of living were by shoemaking, and by fishing, theproduce of which he generally disposed of to passing ships, and, duringthe earlier period of his sojourn there, by shooting occasionally. Butit was understood thathe received a small regular contribution fromseveral of the pilots, certificated or otherwise, of the district, forkeeping a fire alight on his hearth during the dark autumn nights, andso giving them, by the light from histwo windows, something to steer bywhen they arrived off the coast after nightfall. Whether the light wasshown for their benefit particularly, or whether it was not ratherintended for the guidance of smuggling vesselsstanding in under coverof the night to land their cargoes, it was not their business toinquire. Its friendly assistance was, at all events, not unacknowledgedby these latter, and very acceptable presents, in the shape ofkegs ofspirits, bags of coffee, tobacco, meal, and so forth, would, from timeto time, come rolling into the old man's room, so that upon the whole,he was well-to-do enough out there upon his rock.Of late years he hadfallen into feeble health, and found it not so easyto row the long distance over to land. Even in his best days he had,owing to an old injury to one of his legs, found some difficulty ingetting down to the boat; and now,therefore, he sat during the greaterpart of the day over the hearth, in his woolen jacket and leatherbreeches, with his indoor work. Now and then, when his granddaughter--achild with a thick crop of hair falling abouther ears, and a rough dogconstantly at her heels--would burst into the house with all thefreshness of the outside air blowing round her, as it were, and deliverherself of her intelligence, he might be drawn, perhaps, tothe windowto look out over the sea, and afterwards, like a growling bear disturbedfrom its lair, even follow her with some difficulty out of the door withthe spyglass. There he would station himself, so as to use hershoulderas a rest for his shaking hand, and with his never-ceasing directionsand growling going on behind her neck, she would do her best to fix theglass on the desired object. His crossness would then disappear,littleby little, in their joint speculation as to what ship it could be, or inwhatever remarks it might suggest; and after giving his decision, theold man would generally hobble in again.He was really very proud of hisgranddaughter's cleverness. She coulddistinguish with her naked eye as clearly as he could through the glass.She never made a mistake about the craft, large or small, that belongedto that part of the coast, and could,besides, say to a nicety, whatsort of master each had. Her superiority of sight she asserted, too,with a tyranny to which he made no resistance, although it might havetried a temper many degrees more patient than hiswas.One day, however, she was at a loss. They made out a crescent on theflag, and this caused even the old man a moment's astonishment. But hedeclared then, for her information, shortly and decisively, that it wasa"barbarian."This satisfied her for a moment. But then she asked--"What is a barbarian, grandfather?""It is a Turk.""Yes, but a Turk?""Oh! it's--it's--a Mohammedan--""A what!--a Moham--""A Mohammedan--a robber onboard ship.""On board ship!"He was not going to give up his ascendancy in the matter, hard as shepushed him; so he bethought him of a pack of old tales there-anent, andwent on to explain drily--"They go to theBaltic--to Russia--to salt human flesh.""Human flesh!""Yes, and sometimes, too, they seize vessels in the open sea and dotheir salting there."She fixed a pair of large, terrified eyes on him, which made the oldmancontinue--"And it is especially for little girls they look. That meat is thefinest, and goes by tons down to the Grand Turk."Having played this last trump, he was going in again, but was stopped byher eagerquestion--"Do they use a glass there on board?" And when he said they did, sheslipped quickly by him through the door, and kept cautiously within aslong as the vessel was to be seen through the window-pane onthehorizon.The moods of the two were for once reversed. The old man looked very slyover his work, whilst she was quiet and cowed. Once only she broke outangrily--"But why doesn't the king get rid of them? If I wascaptain of aman-of-war, I'd--""Yes, Elizabeth, if you were captain of a man-of-war!--what then?"The child's conceptions apparently reached no further than such mattersas these as yet. She had seen few human beingsas she grew up, and inrecent years, after her grandmother's death, she and her grandfather hadbeen the only regular inhabitants of the island. Every now and thenthere might perhaps come a boat on one errand oranother, and a coupleof times she had paid a visit to her maternal aunt on land, at Arendal.Her grandfather had taught her to read and write, and with what shefound in the Bible and psalm-book, and in 'Exploits ofDanish andNorwegian Naval Heroes,' a book in their possession, she had in a mannerlived pretty much upon the anecdotes which in leisure moments she couldextract from that grandfather, so chary of his speech,about his sailorlife in his youth.They had besides, in the little inner room, a small print, without aframe, of the action near the Heather Islands, in which he had takenpart. It represented the frigate Naiad, with the brigsSamso, Kiel, andLolland, in furious conflict with the English ship of the line Dictator,which lay across the narrow harbour with the brig Calypso, and waspounding the Naiad to pieces. The names of the ships wereprintedunderneath.On the print there was little to be seen but mast-heads andcannon-mouths, and a confusion of smoke, but in this had the child livedwhole years of her life; and many a time in fancy had she stoodthereand fought the Englishman. Men-of-war and their officers had become thehighest conception of her fancy, and the dearest wish of her heart wasthat a man-of-war might some day pass so near to Torungen thatshe wouldbe able to see distinctly everything on board.CHAPTER II.After old Jacob had fallen into ill health, lighterman Kristiansen usedto come out oftener to Torungen with provisions and other necessaries;and hisvisits now became periodical.He was accompanied one autumn by his son SalvÃ©, a black-haired,dark-eyed, handsome lad, with a sharp, clever face, who had worked inthe fishing-boats along the coast from hischildhood almost, and had, infact, been brought up amongst its sunken rocks and reefs and breakers.He was something small in stature, perhaps; but what he wanted inrobustness he made up in readiness andactivity--qualities which stoodhim in good stead in the many quarrels into which his too ready tonguewas wont to bring him. He was eighteen years old at this time; had beenalready engaged as an able seaman; andwas in great request at theSandvigen and Vraangen dances,--a fact of which he was perfectly wellaware. Old Jacob's granddaughter, being a little girl of only fourteenyears of age, was of course altogether beneath hisnotice, and he didn'tcondescend to speak to her. He merely delivered himself of the witticismthat she was like a heron; and with her thick, checked woollenhandkerchief tied with the ends behind her waist, theresemblance wasnot so very far-fetched. At any rate, he declared on the way home thatsuch a specimen of womankind he, for his part, had never come acrossbefore, and that he would give anything to see her dancingin the publicroom with her thin arms and legs--it would be like a grasshopper.The next time he came, she took out her grandfather's watch in itssilver case and showed it to him, and some conversation passedbetweenthem. His first impression of her was that she was stupid. She askedquestions about every sort of thing, and seemed to think that he mustknow everything. And finally, she wanted to know what it was likeonshore among the great folk of Arendal, and particularly how the ladiesbehaved. It afforded him much amusement at the time to see with whatsimple credulity she took in everything he chose to invent on thesubject;but after he had left he was not sure that he wasn't sorry forwhat he had done, and at the same time he made the discovery that thegirl, in her way, was anything but silly.His remorse was to be brought home to himpresently, for old Jacob hadhad duly recounted to him over again all his cock-and-bull stories, andwas in high dudgeon. When he came again the old man was very snappish tohim, and he found it so unpleasant in thehouse that he made all thehaste he could to get his business done. While he was thus occupied, thelittle girl told him all about the Naiad, and the part her grandfatherhad taken in the action. SalvÃ©, who was ruffled,and thought the old manhad been an ill-mannered old dog, followed the relation from time totime with a sneering remark, which in her eagerness she didn't notice,or didn't understand. But when he had finished whathe had to do, hegave vent to his feelings in a way she did understand,--he laughedincredulously."Old Jacob there on board the Naiad! This is the first time anybody everheard of it."The individual in questionunfortunately came out at the moment to seethe boat off, and turning, to him, red with anger, she cried--"Grandfather! he doesn't believe you were on board the Naiad that time!"The old man answered at first as if hedidn't deign to enter upon anycontroversy on the subject--"Oh, I suppose it's only little girls' prattle again."But whether it was wounded vanity, or a sudden access of irritationagainst the lad, or that his eye fell upon hisgranddaughter standingthere, so evidently incensed and resentful, he flared up the nextmoment, and thrusting his huge fist under the youngster's nose, burstout--"If you want to know all about it, you young swabber, Imay tell you Istood on the Naiad's gun-deck with better folk than _you_ are everlikely to come across"--he stamped his foot here as if he had the deckunder him--"when, with one broadside from the Dictator, the threemastsand bowsprit were shot away, and the main deck came crashing down uponthe lower;"--the last sentence was taken from 'Exploits of Danish andNorwegian Naval Heroes,' and the old man was as proud of theselines ashe would have been of a medal."When the crash came," he pursued, always in the same posture, and inthe manner of the sacred text, "he who stands here and tells the talehad but just time to save himself byleaping into the sea through agun-port."But he threw off then the trammels of the text, and continued _inpropriÃ¢ personÃ¢_, violently gesticulating with his fists, and steadilyadvancing all the time, while SalvÃ©prudently retreated before hisadvance down to the boat."We don't deal in lies and fabricate stories out here like you, youyoung whipper-snapper of a ship's cub; and if it wasn't for your father,who has sense enough torope's-end you himself, I'd lay a stick acrossyour back till you hadn't a howl left in you."With this finale of the longest speech to which he had given vent forthirty years perhaps, he turned with a short nod to the father,and wentinto the house again.Elizabeth was miserable that SalvÃ© should go away like this, without somuch as deigning to say good-bye to her. And her grandfather was crossenough himself; for he was afraid that hehad done something foolish,and broken with the lighterman.CHAPTER III.SalvÃ© came out to the rock again the next autumn, after a voyage toLiverpool and Havre.At first he was rather shy, although his father and oldJacob Torungenhad in the interval, in spite of that little affair of the previousyear, been on the best of terms. The white bear, however, as he calledhim, seemed to have altogether forgotten what had passed; and withthegirl he was very easily reconciled--she had learnt now not to telleverything to her grandfather.Whilst the lighterman and old Jacob enjoyed a heart-warming glasstogether in the house, SalvÃ© carried the things upto the cellar,Elizabeth following him up and down every time, and the conversationmeanwhile going round all the points of the compass, so to speak. Aftershe had asked him about Havre de Grace, where he had been,and aboutAmerica, where he had not been,--if his captain's wife was as fine as aman-of-war captain's; and then if he wouldn't like one day to marry afine lady,--she wanted at last to know, from the laughing sailor lad,ifthe officers' wives were ever allowed to be with them in war.Her face had of late acquired something wonderfully attractive in itsexpression--such a seriousness would come over it sometimes, althoughshe continued aschildlike as ever; and such eyes as hers were, at allevents in SalvÃ©'s experience, not common. At any rate, after this, heinvariably accompanied his father upon these expeditions.The last time he was out there he toldher about the dances on shore atSandvigen, and took care to give her to understand that the girls mademuch of him there--but he was tired now of dancing with them.She was very curious on this subject, andextracted from him that he hadhad two tremendous fights that winter. She looked at him in terror, andasked rather hesitatingly--"But had they done anything to you?""Oh, no! all dancing entertainments have a littleextra dance like thatto wind up with. They merely wanted to dance with the girl I had askedfirst.""Is it so dangerous, then? What sort of a girl was she?--I mean, whatwas her name?""Oh, one was called Marie, and theother was Anne--Herluf Andersen'sdaughter. They were pretty girls, I can tell you. Anne had a whitebrooch and earrings, and danced more smoothly than ever you saw a cuttersail. Mate George said the same."Theupshot of this conversation was, that she found out that the girlsin Arendal, and in the ports generally where he had touched, were allwell dressed; and the next time he returned from Holland, he promised hewouldbring with him a pair of morocco-leather shoes with silver bucklesfor her.With this promise they parted, after she had allowed him--and that theremight be no mistake, twice over--to take the accurate measure ofherfoot; and there were roses of joy in her cheeks, as she called after himto be sure and not forget them.The year after SalvÃ© came with the shoes. There were silver buckles inthem, and they were very smart; but ifthey were, they had cost him morethan half a month's pay.Elizabeth was more carefully dressed now, and might almost be calledgrown up. She hesitated about accepting the shoes, and didn't askquestions abouteverything as she used to do. Nor was she so willing tostand and talk with him alone by the boat--she liked to have him upwithin hearing of the others."Don't you see how high the sea is running?" he said, and triedtopersuade her that the boat would be dashed to pieces on the rocks. Butshe saw that it wasn't true, and went up with a little toss of her headalone. He followed her.She must have learned all this in Arendal, where inthe course of theautumn she had been confirmed, and where she had lived with her aunt.But she had grown marvellously handsome in that time--so much so,indeed, that SalvÃ© was almost taken aback when he sawher; and when theysaid good-bye, it was no longer in the old laughing tones, but with someslight embarrassment on his side--he didn't seem to know exactly howmatters lay between them.After that she filled his headso completely that he had not a thoughtfor anything else.CHAPTER IV.The old Juno, to which SalvÃ© belonged, was lying at that time atSandvigen, and was only waiting for a north-east wind to come out. Shewas asquare-rigged vessel, with a crew of nineteen hands all told,which had plied for many years in American waters, and off and on in theNorth Sea, and was reckoned at the time one of Arendal's largest craft.Her arrival ordeparture was quite an event for the town andneighbourhood; and to have a berth in her was considered among thesailors of the district a very high honour indeed--the more so that hermaster and principal owner,Captain Beck, was a particularly good chiefto serve under, and a lucky one to boot.When at last, between ten and eleven o'clock one morning, she weighedanchor, and before a light north-westerly breeze, with hersmall sailsset, glided out to sea, the quays were crowded with spectators, themajority of the crew belonging to the place, and it being generallyknown that they were bound on a longer voyage than usual. On board