BY THE SEA

1887

By Heman White Chaplin

I. 

On the southeastern coast of Massachusetts is a small village withwhich I was once familiarly acquainted. It differs little in its generalaspect from other hamlets scattered along that shore. It has its onelong, straggling street, plain and homelike, from which at two or threedifferent points a winding lane leads off and ends abruptly in thewater. 

Fifty years ago the village had a business activity of its own. Therestill remain the vestiges of a wharf at a point where once was ahammering ship-yard. Here and there, in bare fields along the sea, are the ruins of vats and windmills, --picturesque remains of ancientsalt-works. 

There is no visible sign left now of the noisy life of the ship-yards, except a marble stone beneath a willow in the burying-ground on thehill, which laments the untimely death of a youth of nineteen, killed in1830 in the launching of a brig. But traces of the salt-works everywhereremain, in frequent sheds and small barns which are wet and dry, asthe saying is, all the time, and will not hold paint. They are built ofsalt-boards. 

There were a good many of the people of the village and its adjoiningcountry who interested me very greatly. I am going to tell you a simpleevent which happened in one of its families, deeply affecting its littlehistory. 

James Parsons was a man perhaps sixty years of age, strongly built, gray-haired, cleanshaven except for the conventional seaman's fringe ofbeard below the chin, and always exquisitely neat. Whether you met himin his best suit, on Sunday morning, or in his old clothes, going tohis oyster-beds or his cranberry-marsh, it was always the same. He wasusually in his shirt-sleeves in summer. His white cotton shirt, withits easy collar and wristbands, seemed always to have just come from theironing-board. "It ain't no trouble at all to keep James clean, " I haveheard Mrs. Parsons say, in her funny little way; "he picks his way roundfor all the world just like a pussycat, and never gets no spots on him, nowhere. "

You saw at once, upon the slightest acquaintance with James, that whilehe was of the same general civilization as his neighbors, he was ofa different type. In his narrowness, there was a peculiar breadth andvigor which characterized him. He had about him the atmosphere of awider ocean. 

His early reminiscences were all of that picturesque and adventurouslife which prevailed along our coasts to within forty years, and hisconversation was suggestive of it He held a silver medal from the HumaneSociety for conspicuous bravery in the rescue of the crew of a shipstranded in winter in a storm of sleet off Post Hill Bar. He had awar-hatchet, for which he had negotiated face to face with a nakedcannibal in the South Sea. He was familiar with the Hoogly. 

His language savored always of the sea. His hens "turned in, " at night. He was full of sayings and formulas of a maritime nature; there wasone which always seemed to me to have something of a weird and mysticcharacter: "South moon brings high water on Coast Island Bar. " Indescribing the transactions of domestic life, he used words moreproperly applicable to the movements of large ships. He would speak of asaucepan as if it weighed a hundred tons. He never tossed or threw eventhe slightest object; he hove it. "Why, father!" said Mrs. Parsons, surprised at seeing him for a moment untidy; "what have you ben doing?Your boots and trousers-legs is all white!" "Yes, " said Mr. Parsons, apologetically, looking down upon his dusty garments, "I just took thatbucket of ashes and hove 'em into the henhouse. "

The word "heave, " in fact, was always upon his tongue. It applied toeverything. "How was this road straightened out?" I asked him one day;"did the town vote to do it?" "No, no, " he said quickly; "there was n'tnever no vote. The se-lec'men just come along one day, and got us alltogether, and hove in and hove out; and we altered our fences to suit. "

I remember hearing him testify as a witness to a will. It appearedthat the testator was sick in bed when he signed the instrument. He wassuffering greatly, and when he was to sign, it was necessary to lift himwith the ex-tremest care, to turn him to the light-stand. "State whatwas done next, " the lawyer asked of James. "Captain Frost was laying onhis left side, " said James. "Two of us took a holt of him and rolled himover. "

He had probably not the least suspicion that his language had a maritimeflavor. I asked him one night, as we coasted along toward home, "What doseafaring men call the track of light that the moon makes on the water?They must have some name for it" "No, no, " he said, "they don't have noname for it; they just call it 'the wake of the moon. '"

James's learning had been chiefly gained from the outside world and notfrom books. I have heard him lay it down as a fact that the word "Bible"had its etymology from the word "by-bill" (hand-bill). "It was writ, "he said, "in small parcels, and they was passed around by them that writ'em, like by-bills; and so when they hove it all into one, they calledit the Bible. '"

But while James had little learning himself, he appreciated it highly inothers. I had occasion to ask him once why it was that the son of oneof his neighbors, in closing up his father's estate, had not settled hisaccounts regularly in the probate court. "Oh, I know how that was, " hereplied; "he settled 'em the other way. You see, he went to the collegeat Woonsocket, and he learned there how to settle accounts the otherway: and that's the way he settled 'em. " And then he added, "When Alvinleft the college, they giv' him a book that tells how to do all kindsof business, and what you want to do so's to make money; and Alvin hasalways followed them rules. The consequence is, he's made money, andwhat he 's made, he 's kep' it. I suppose he's worth not less thansixteen hundred dollars. "

Sometimes he would venture a remark of a gallant nature. "They don'tgenerally git the lights in the hall so as to suit me, " he once said. "I don't want it too light, because then it hurts my eyes; but I want itlight enough so as 't I can see the women!"

James was a large, strong man, but Mrs. Parsons, although she was littleand slight, and was always ailing, constantly assumed the rôle of herhusband's nurse and protector, not only in household matters, but inother affairs of life. Whenever she had visitors, --and she and Jameswere hospitable in the extreme, --she was pretty sure to end up, sooneror later, if James were present, with some droll criticism of him, asmuch to his delight as to hers. 

James sometimes liked to affect a certain harshness of demeanor; but thedisguise was a transparent one. How well do I remember the time--oh, so long ago!--when for some reason or other I happened to have his boatinstead of my own, one day, with one of the boys of the village, to goto Matamet, twelve miles off, to visit certain lobster-pots which we hadset. We were delayed there by breaking our boom, in jibing. We shouldhave been at home at noon; at seven in the evening we were not yet insight. When we got in, rather crestfallen at our disaster, particularlyas the boat was wanted for the next day, James met us at the pier. Wewere boys then, and his tongue was free. As he stood there on the shore, bare-headed, hastily summoned from his house, with his hair blowing inthe wind, waving his hands and addressing first us and then a knot ofmen who stood smoking by, no words of censure were too harsh, nocomment on our carelessness too cutting, no laments too keen over theirreparable loss of that particular boom. The next time I could take myown boat, if I were going to get cast away. And I remember well how heended his tirade. "I did n't care nothing about you two, " he said. "Ifyou want to git drownded, git drownded; it ain't nothing to me. All Iwas afraid of was that you 'd gone and capsized my boat, and wouldn't never turn up to tell where you sunk her. But as for you--" and helaughed a laugh of heartless indifference. 

But ten minutes later, and right before his face, at his own front gate, Mrs. Parsons betrayed him. "I never see father so worried, " she said, "sence the time he heard about Thomas; why, he 's spent the wholeafternoon as nervous as a hawk, going up on the hill with hisspy-glass; and I don't feel so sure but what he was crying. He said hedid n't care nothing about the boat, --'What 's that old boat!' says he;but if you boys was drownded out of her, he would n't never git overit. " At which James, being so unmasked, laughed in a shamefaced way, and shook us by the shoulders. He had a son who carried on some sortof half-maritime business on one of the wharves, in the city, and livedover his shop. When James went at intervals to visit him, he made hisway at once from the railway station to the nearest wharf; then hefollowed the line of the water around to the shop. Where jib-boomsproject out over the sidewalk, one feels so thoroughly at home! From theshop he would make short adventurous excursions up Commercial Street andState Street, sometimes going no farther than the nautical-instrumentstore on the corner of Broad Street, sometimes venturing to WashingtonStreet, or even moving for a short distance up or down in the current ofthat gay thoroughfare. He loved to comment satirically on the city, witha broad humorous sense of his own strangeness there. "The city folksdon't seem to have nothing to do, " he said. "They seem to be all out, walking up and down the streets. Come noon, I thought there'd be somelet-up for dinner; but they did n't seem to want nothing to eat; theykep' right on walking. "

I must not leave James Parsons without telling you of two whale's teethwhich stand on his parlor mantel-piece; he ornamented them himself, copying the designs from cheap foreign prints. One of them is what hecalls "the meeting-house. " It is the high altar of the Cathedral ofSeville. On the other is "the wild-beast tamer. " A man with a feeble, wishy-washy expression holds by each hand a fierce, but subjugatedtiger. His legs dangle loosely in the air. There is nothing to suggestwhat upholds him in his mighty contest. 

II. 

Now we must turn from James Parsons to a man of a different type, orrather of a different variety of the same type; for they descendalike from original founders of the town, and, like most of theirfellow-townsmen, are both of unqualified Pilgrim stock. 

To get to Captain Joseph Pelham's house, you have to drive along a rangeof hills for some miles, skirting the sea; then you come, half-way, to abright modern village with trees along the main street, with houses andfences kept painted up, for the most part, but here and there relievedby an unpainted dwelling of a past generation. 

Here you have an option. You may either pursue your road through thehigh-lying prosperous street, with peeps of salt water to the right, or you may turn sharply off at a little store and descend to the lowerroad. It is always a struggle to choose. 

The road to the beach descends a sharp, gravelly hill, and crosses abridge. Then you come out on a waste of salt-marsh, threaded by thecreek, broken by wild, fantastic sand-hills, grown over by beach-grasswhich will cut your fingers like a knife. You drive close alongthe white, precipitous beach; you pass the long, shaky pier, withhalf-decayed fish-houses at the other end, and picturesque heaps offish-cars, seines, and barrels. Then the road, following the shore alittle longer, climbs the hill and enters the woods. Two miles more andyou come out to fields with mossy fences, and occasional houses. 

The houses begin to be more frequent. All at once you enter the mainstreet of W------. 

In a moment you see that you have come into a new atmosphere. There is alarge modern church among the older ones. There are large, fine houses, some old-fashioned, others new. By some miraculous intervention QueenAnne has not as yet made her appearance. There are handsome, well-filledstores, going into no little refinement in stock. There is, of course, a small brick library, built by the bounty of a New Yorker who was bornhere. There is a brick national bank, and a face brick block occupiedabove by Freemasons, orders of Red Men, Knights Templars, and the Poolof Siloam Lodge, I. O. O. F. , and below by a savings bank and a localmarine insurance company. 

It is here that we shall find Captain Joseph Pelham. If a stranger hasoccasion to inquire for the leading men of the place he is always firstreferred to him. It is he who heads every list and is the chairmanof every meeting. When a certain public man, commanding but a smallfollowing here, appeared, upon his campaign tour, and found no oneto escort him to the platform and preside, so that he was obliged tojustify his appearance here by the Scripture passage, "They that arewhole need not a physician, but they that are sick;" at the momentof entering the hall, closely packed with curious opponents, disposedperhaps to be derisive when the situation for the visitor wasembarrassing in the extreme, --it was Captain Joseph Pelham who, thoughthe bitterest opponent of them all, rose from his seat, gave the speakerhis arm, escorted him to the platform, presented him with grave courtesyto the audience, and sat beside him through the entire discourse. 

While Captain Pelham continued to go to sea, and after that, until hewas made president of the insurance company, he lived a mile or two outof the town, in a house he had inherited. It is picturesquely situated, on a bare hill, with a wide view of the inland and the ocean. Asyou look down from its south windows, the cluster of houses nestlingtogether at the shore below stand sharply out against the water. It isone of those white houses common in our older towns, --two-storied, longon the street, with the front door in the middle. Of the interior it isenough to say that its owner had sailed for thirty years to Hong-Kong, Calcutta and Madras. It had a prevailing odor of teak and lacquer. Inthe front hall was a vast china cane-holder; a turretted Calcutta hathung on the hat-tree; a heavy, varnished Chinese umbrella stood in acorner; a long and handsome settee from Java stood against the wall. In the parlors, on either hand, were Chinese tables shutting up liketelescopes, elaborate rattan chairs of different kinds, and numberlessother things of this sort, which had plainly been honestly come by, andnot bought. 

Then, if you met the Captain's favor, he would show you with becomingpride some family relics, and tell you about them. They came mostlyfrom his paternal grandfather, who was a shipmaster too, had commanded aprivateer in the Revolution, and made a fortune. There were a numberof pieces of handsome furniture, --these you could see for yourself Whatwould be shown you, with a half-diffident air, would be: a silver mug;two Revere tablespoons; a few tiny teaspoons marked F. ; a handsome swordand scabbard; a yellow satin waistcoat and small-clothes; portraits, not artistic, but effective, of his grandfather, in a velvet coat andknee-breeches, with a long spyglass in his hand, and of his grandmother, a strong, matter-of-fact looking woman, handsomely dressed. 

But the thing which the Captain secretly treasured most, but brought outlast, was his grandmother's Dutch Bible. It is a curious old book; youcan see it still if you wish. It has an elaborate frontispiece. Sixteencuts of leading incidents in Scripture history conduct you by gentlestages, from Eden, through the offering of Isaac, to the close of theEvangelists, and surround Dr. Martin Luther, who, in a gown, holds backthe curtains of a pillared alcove, to show you, through two windows, anOld and a New Testament landscape, and a lady sitting beneath a canopy, with an open volume. The covers are of thick bevelled board covered withleather. There was once a heavy clasp. The edges are richly gilded, andfigures are pricked in the gilding. It is very handsomely printed. It was in the possession, in 1760, of a young New England girl, theCaptain's grandmother. There is a story about it, --a story too long totell here. Suffice it to say that the Captain's ancestor, who settledearly in New England, came from Leyden shortly after Mr. John Robinson. A hundred years later and more, in the oddest way, an acquaintancesprang up with certain Dutch connections, and in the course of it thisBible, then new and elegant, found its way over the sea as a gift toyoung Mistress Preston. In New England, and as a relic of the earlyties of our people with Holland, momentarily renewed after a century hadpassed away, it is probably unique. It was a last farewell from Hollandto her English children, before she parted company with them forever. 

I have told you about this house, as I recall it, although CaptainPelham had now ceased to live there, because it was there alone that heseemed completely at home. Furnished as it was from the four quartersof the globe, everything seemed to fit in with his ways. He supplementedthe Chinese tables, and they supplemented him. But when he ceased togo to sea, in late middle life, and settled down at home upon hiscompetency, and began a little later to become interested in publicmatters; when he was at last made president of the insurance company, a director in the bank, and a trustee in the savings bank, and whenaffairs were left more and more to his control, it became convenient forhim to get into town; and his wife and daughter were perhaps ambitiousfor the change. 

So he had sold his house by the sea, and had bought a large and somewhatpretentious one on the main street, with a cast-iron summer arbor, anda bay-window closed in for a conservatory. He had furnished it from thecity with new Brussels carpet, with a parlor set, a sitting-room set, a dining-room set, and chamber sets; and the antique things which hadgiven his former home an air of charming picturesqueness were for themost part tucked away in unnoticed corners. 

The Captain never seemed to me to have become quite naturalized in hisnew home. He never belonged to the furniture, or the furniture to him. The place where you saw him best in these later days was in the officeof his insurance company, or in the little business-room of one of thebanks, surrounded by a knot of more substantial townsmen, or talkingpatiently with some small farmer or seafaring man seeking for insuranceor a loan. One of the most marked features of his character was acertain patience and considerateness which made all borrowers apply bypreference to him. He would sit down at his little table with a plainman whose affairs were in disorder, and listen with close attentionto his application for a loan. Somehow the man would find himselfdisclosing all the particulars of his distress. Then Captain Pelham, inhis quiet way, would go over the whole matter with him; would planwith him on his concerns; would try to see if it were not possible topostpone a little the payment of debts and to hasten the collection ofclaims; to get a part of the money for a short time from a son in Bostonor a married daughter in New Bedford; and so, by pulling and hauling, toweather the Cape. 

I must say a word about his position in town matters. He had been at seathe greater part of the time from sixteen to fifty-two. During that timehe had had absolutely no concern with political affairs. He had nevervoted: for he had never, as it had happened, been ashore at the time ofan election. And yet before he had been at home six years he was oneof the selectmen of the town and overseer of the poor, and hadbecome familiar with the details of Massachusetts town government, superficially so simple, in fact so complex. It was a large town, of nosmall wealth. Lying as it did along the seaboard, where havoc was alwaysbeing made by disasters of the sea, there was not only a larger numberthan in an inland town of persons actually quartered in the poorhouse, but there were many broken families who had to be helped in their ownhomes. And it was to me an interesting fact that in dealing with twoscore households of this class, Captain Pel-ham, who had spent most ofhis time at sea, was able to display the utmost tact and judgment. Heapplied to their affairs that same plain kindliness and sound sensewhich he showed in the matter of discounts at the bank. 

While the friendships of Captain Pelham were chiefly in his own town, his acquaintance was not confined to it. In his own quiet, unpretendingway he was something of a man of the world. He was known in the marineinsurance offices in the large cities. He had been familiar all hislife with large affairs; he had commanded valuable ships, loaded withfortunes in teas and silks, in the days when an India captain was amerchant. 

III. 

You will ask me why it is that I have been telling you about these men, and what it is that connects them. 

It was now ten years since Captain Pelham's only son, himself attwenty-two the master of a vessel, had married a daughter of JamesParsons, --a tall, impulsive, and warm-hearted girl, --one of those girlsto whom children always cling. Both James Parsons's daughters had provedattractive and had married well. It had been a disappointment in CaptainPelham's household, perhaps, that this son, their especial pride, shouldnot have married into one of the wealthy families in his own village. Atfirst there had been a little visiting to and fro; it had lasted but alittle time, and then the two households had settled down, as the way isin the country, to follow each its own natural course of living. GeorgePelham's wife had always lived in an odd little house, all doors andwindows, near by her father, in her native village. 

It was from Porto Cabello that that message came, --yellow fever--a shortsickness--a burial in a stranger's grave. George Pelham's wife had beenfor two or three years of less than her usual strength. It was not longafter that news came, --came so suddenly, with no warning, --that shebegan to fade away; and after ten months she died. 

I remember seeing her a week or two before her death. Her bed hadbeen set up in her little parlor for the convenience of those who wereattending upon her. She lay on her back, bolstered up. The paleness ofher face was intensified by her coal-black hair, lying back heavy onthe pillow. Her hands were thin and transparent, and I remember well thestraining look in her eyes as she talked with me about the boy whom shewas going to leave. 

She was living, as I have said, close by her father. It was natural thatin the last few days of her illness the child should be taken to herfather's house, and when she died and the funeral was over, it was therethat he returned. 

Picture now to yourself a boy toward nine years old, symmetrically made, firm and hard. His head is round, his features are good, his hair isfine and lies down close. He is clothed in a neat print jacket, witha collar and a little handkerchief at the neck, and a pair of shorttrousers buttoned on to the jacket. He is barefoot. He is tanned but notburnt. His complexion is of a rich dark brown. He is always fresh andclean. But the great charm about him is the expression of infinite funand mirth that is always upon his face. Never for a moment while he isawake is his face still. Always the same, yet always shifting, with athousand varying shades of roguish joy. Quick, bright, full of boyishrepartee, full of shouts and laughter. And the same incessant life whichplays upon his face shows itself in every movement of his limbs. Neverfor a moment is he still unless he has some work upon his hands. He hashis little routine of tasks, regularly assigned, which he goes throughwith the most amusing good-humor and attention. It is his duty to seethat the skiffs are not jammed under the wharf on the rising tide; tosweep out the "Annie" when she comes in, and to set her cabin to rights;to set away the dishes after meals, and to feed the chickens. Aside froma few such tasks, his time in summer is his own. The rest of the year hegoes to the "primary, " and serves to keep the whole room in a state ofmirth. He has the happy gift that to put every one in high spirits hehas only to be present. Such an incessant flow of life you rarely see. His manners are good, and he comes honestly by them. 

There is an amusing union in him of the baby and the man. While thechildren of his age at the summer hotel walk about for the most partwith their nurses, he is turned loose upon the shore, and has been, from his cradle. He can dive and swim and paddle and float and "gosteamboat. " He can row a boat that is not too heavy, and up to the limitof his strength he can steer a sail-boat with substantial skill. Heknows the currents, the tides, and the shoals about his shore, and thenearer landmarks. He knows that to find the threadlike entrance tothe bay you bring the flag-staff over Cart-wright's barn. He has vaguetheories of his own as to the annual shifting of the channel. He knowswhere to take the city children to look for tinkle-shells and mussels. He knows what winds bring in the scallops from their beds. He knowswhere to dig for clams, and where to tread for quahaugs withoutdisturbing the oysters. He has a good deal of fragmentary lore of thesea. 

Every morning you will hear his cry, a sort of yodel, or bird-call, peculiar to him, with which he bursts forth upon the world. Then youwill hear, perhaps, loud peals of laughter at something that has excitedhis sense of the absurd, --contagious laughter, full of innocent fun. 

Then he will appear, perhaps, with his wooden dinner-bucket, --he isgoing off with his grandfather for the day, --and will yodel to the oldman as a signal to make haste. Then you will hear him consulting withsome one upon the weather. 

All this time he will be going; through various evolutions, swinging inthe hammock, sitting on the fence, opening his bucket to show you whathe has to eat, closing the bucket and sitting down upon the cover, or turning somersaults upon the grass. Then he will encamp under anapple-tree to wait until his grandfather appears, enlivening the time bya score of minute excursions after hens and cats. Then he will go intothe house again, and rock while the old man finishes his coffee, sureof a greeting, confident in a sense of entire good-fellowship, untilthe meal is finished, and James Parsons is ready to take his coat anda red-bladed oar, and set out. Then the boy is like a setter off fora walk, --all sorts of whimsical expressions in his face, of absolutedelight; every form of extravagance in his bearing. The only troubleis, one has to laugh too much; but with all this, something so manly, socompanionable. 

He is no little of a philosopher in his way. He has been a great dealwith older people, and has caught the habit of discussion of affairs, orrather, perhaps, of unconsciously reflecting forth discussions which hehas heard. He has an infinite curiosity upon all matters of human life. He likes, within limits, to discuss character. 

In the boat his chief delights are to talk, to eat cookies, and tosteer. When it is not blowing too hard for him to stand at the tiller, he will steer for an hour together, watching with the most constant carethe trembling of the leach. 

It makes no difference to him at what hour he returns, --from oysteringor from the cranberry-bog. If it is in the middle of the afternoon, goodand well. Instantly upon landing he will collect a troop of urchins; inan incredibly short space of time there will be a heap of little clothesupon the bank; in a moment a procession of small naked figures will gorunning down to the wharf, diving, one after the other. If distanceor tide or a calm keeps him out late, so much the better. In that casethere is the romance of coasting along the shore by night; of countingand distinguishing the lights; of guessing the nearness to land from thedull roar of the sea breaking on the beach. "Don't you think, " he willsometimes say, "that we are nearer shore than we think we are?"

It is amusing sometimes, on a distant voyage of fifteen or twenty miles, after seed oysters, when a landing is made at some little port, to seehim drop the mariner at once and become a child, with a burningdesire to find a shop where he can buy animal-crackers. Finding sucha place, --and usually it is not difficult, --he will lay in a supply oflions and tigers, and then go marching about with great delight, withmockery in his eyes, keenly appreciating the satire involved in eatingthe head off a cooky lion, incapable of resistance. 

No picture of Joe would be complete which left out his dog. Kit was ablack, fine-haired creature, smaller than a collie, but of much the samegentle disposition, --a present from Captain Pelham. When Kit was firstpresented to the boy he domesticated himself at once, and in a week itwas impossible to tell, from his relations with the household, which wasboy and which was dog. They were both boys and they were both dogs. Kit had an unqualified sense of being at home, and of being belovedand indispensable. It was long before he became a sailor. When, at theoutset, it was attempted to make a man of him by taking him when theywent out to fish, the failure seemed to be complete. He was a littlesea-sick. Then he was sad, and sighed and groaned as dogs never do onshore. He would not lie still, but was nervous and feverish. Once heleaped out of the boat and made for shore, and had to be pursued andrescued, exhausted and half-drowned. Still, whenever he had to be leftat home, it was a struggle every time to reconcile him and leave him. Once he pursued a boat which he mistook for James's along the shore ofthe bay, half down to Benson's Narrows, got involved in the creeks whichthe tide was beginning to fill, and had to be brought ingloriously homeby a farmer, made fast on the top of a load of sweet, salt hay. 

He would tease like a child to be allowed to go. He would listen withan unsatisfied and appealing look while Joe, with an exuberant butregretful air, explained to him in detail the reasons which made itimpossible for him to go. But in a few months, as the dog grew older, he prevailed, and although he would generally retire into the shelter ofthe cabin, he was nevertheless the boy's almost inseparable companionon the water as on the shore. The relation between the two was alwaystouching. It evidently never crossed the dog's mind that he was not ayounger brother. 

Now, to complete the picture of James Par-sons's household, add in thisboy; for while it is but just now that he is strictly of it, he has beenfor years its mirth and life. 

I remember that quiet household before it knew him, --cosey, homelike, with a pervading air even then of genial humor, but with long hours ofsilence and repose, --geraniums and the click of knitting-needles in thesitting-room; faint odors of a fragrant pipe from the shed kitchen; nostir of boisterous fun, except when some bronzed, solemn joker, with hiswife, came in for a formal call, and solemnity gave way, by a gradualdescent, to merriment. Joe had given no new departure, only an impulse. "James used to behave himself quite well, " Mrs. Parsons would say, archly raising her eyebrows, "before Joe's time; but now there 's twoboys of 'em together, and the one as bad as the other, and I can't donothing with 'em. And then, "--with a mock gesture of despair, --"thatdog!"

IV. 

While Joe's mother was lying ill, and after it had become certainthat she would soon leave this world forever, the question had beenfreely-discussed as to what her boy's future should be. In CaptainJoseph Pelham's mind there was only-one answer to this question, --thatthe lad should come to him. He bore the Captain's name; he representedthe Captain's son; he should take a place now in the Captain's home. 

It was now about three weeks since Joe's mother had been buried. Thestone had not yet been cut and set over her grave. But the Captainthought it time to drive over to James Parsons's and take the boy. ThatJames would make any serious opposition perhaps never entered hismind. It was a bright, charming afternoon; with his shining horse, in abright, well-varnished buggy, the Captain drove over the seven miles ofwinding roads through the woods, and along the sea, to the village whereJames Parsons lived. He tied his horse to the hitching-post in front ofthe broad cottage house, went down the path to the L door, knocked, andwent in. 

James was sitting in a large room which served in winter as a kitchenand in summer as a sort of sitting-room, smoking a pipe and gazingvacantly into the pine-branches in the open fireplace before him. He hadbeen out all day on his marsh, but he had been home a couple of hours. His wife--kindly soul--received Captain Pelham at the door, wiping herhands upon her apron, and modestly showed him into the sitting-room;then she retired to her tasks in the shed kitchen. She moved aboutmechanically for a moment; then she ran hastily out into the lean-towood-shed, shut the door behind her, sat down on the worn floor whereit gives way with a step to the floor of earth by the wood-pile, hid herface in her apron, and burst into tears. 

Joe was at the wharf with his comrades playing at war. 

Now, if there ever was a hospitable man, --a man who gave a welcome, --arough but merry welcome to every one who entered his doors, it wasJames Parsons. He had a homely, jocose saying that you must eithermake yourself at home or go home. But on this occasion he rose with asomewhat forced and awkward air, laid his pipe down on the mantel-piece, and nodded to the Captain with an air of embarrassed inquiry. Then hebethought himself, and asked the Captain to sit down. The Captain tookthe nearest chair, beside the table, where Mrs. Parsons had lately beensitting at her work. James's chair was directly opposite. The table wasbetween them. 

James rose and went to the mantel-piece, scratched a match upon hisboot-heel, and undertook to light his pipe. It did not light; he did notnotice it, but put the pipe in his mouth as if it were lighted. 

It occurred to Captain Pelham now, for the first time, absorbed as hehad been with exclusive thoughts of the boy, that he should first saysomething to this old man about the daughter whom he had lost: and hemade some expressions of sympathy. The old man nodded, but said nothing. 

There was silence for two or three minutes. 

The subject in order now was inevitably the boy. Captain Pelham openedhis lips to claim him; but, almost to his own surprise, he found himselfmaking some common remark about the affairs of the neighborhood. It camein harsh and forced, as if it were a fragment of conversation floated inby the breeze from the street outside. Then the Captain waited a moment, looking out of the window. 

James took his pipe from his mouth and leaned his elbows on the table. "Why don't you go take him?" he suddenly said: "he's probably down tothe wharf. Ef you have got the claim to him, why don't you go take him?You 've got your team here, --drive right down there and put him in anddrive off; if you 've got the right to him, why don't you go take him?But ef you 've come for my consent, you can set there till the chairrots beneath you. "

With this, James rose and took the felt hat which was lying by him onthe table, and saying not another word, went out of the door. He wentdown to the shore, and affected to busy himself with his boat. 

There was nothing for Captain Pelham to do but to take his hat, untiehis horse, and drive home. 

The Captain well knew that nobody in the world had a legal right to thechild until a guardian should be appointed. A plain and simple path wasopen before him: it was his only path. James Parsons had proved wilfuland wrong-headed; there was nothing now but to take out letters asguardian of the boy. Then James would acquiesce without a word. 

Immediately after breakfast the Captain went down the street. He openedhis letters and attended to the first routine of business; then he wentacross the way and up a flight of stairs to a lawyer's office. 

If you had happened to read the county papers at about this time, youwould have seen among the legal notices two petitions, identical inform, --the one by Joseph Pelham, the other by James Parsons, --eachapplying for guardianship of Joseph Pelham, the younger of that name, with an order upon each petition for all persons interested to comein on the first Tuesday of the following month and show cause why thepetitioner's demand should not be granted. 

The county court-house was a new brick building, of modest size, fifteenmiles from W------, and twenty miles from the village where JamesParsons lived. 

There were fifteen or twenty people from different towns in attendancewhen the court opened on the important first Tuesday. As one afteranother transacted his affairs and went away, others would come in. Three or four lawyers sat at tables talking with clients, or stoodabout the judge's desk. There was a sprinkling of women in new mourning. Printed papers, filled out with names and dates, --petitions andbonds and executors' accounts, --were being handed in to the judge andreceiving his signature of approval. 

The routine business was transacted first. It was almost noon when thejudge was at last free to attend to contested matters. There was a smallaudience by that time, --only ten or a dozen people, some of whom werewaiting for train-time, while others, who had come upon their ownaffairs, lingered now from curiosity. 

The judge was a tall, spare, old-fashioned man; he had held the officefor above thirty years. He was a man of much native force, of soundlearning within the range of his judicial duties, and of strongcommon-sense. He was often employed by Captain Pelham in his ownaffairs, and more particularly in bank and insurance matters, --for theprobate judges are free to practise at the bar in matters not connectedwith their judicial duties, --and Captain Pelham had always retainedhim in important cases as counsel for the town. He had a largepractice throughout the county; he knew its people, their ideas, theirtraditions, and their feelings. He understood their social organizationto the core. 

"Now, " said the judge, laying aside some papers upon which he had beenwriting, and taking off his glasses, "we will take up the two petitionsfor guardianship of Joseph Pelham. "

Captain Pelham and the lawyer whom he had employed took seats at a smalltable before the judge; James Parsons timidly took a seat at another. His petition had been filled out for him by one of his neighbors: he hadno counsel. 

Captain Pelham's lawyer rose; he had been impressed by the Captain withthe importance of the matter, and he was about to make a formal opening. But the judge interrupted him. "I think, " he said, "that we may assumethat I know in a general way about these two petitioners. I shallassume, unless something is shown to the contrary, that they are bothmen of respectable character, and have proper homes for a boy to grow upin. And I suppose there is no controversy that Captain Pelham is a manof some considerable means, and that the other petitioner is a man ofsmall property. 

"Now, " he went on, leaning forward with his elbow on his desk, andgently waving his glasses with his right hand, "did the father of thisboy ever express any wish as to what should be done with him in case hismother should die?" Nobody answered. "It would be of no legal effect, "he said, "but it would have weight with me. Now, is there any evidenceas to what his mother wanted? A boy's mother can tell best about thesethings, if she is a sensible woman. Mr. Baker, " he said to CaptainPelham's lawyer, "have you any evidence as to what his mother wanted tohave done with him?"

Mr. Baker conversed for a moment with Captain Pelham and then called himto the stand. 

Captain Pelham testified as to his frequent visits to the boy's mother, and to her unbroken friendly relations with him. She had never said inso many words what she wanted to have done for the boy, but he alwaysunderstood that she meant to have the child come to him; he could notsay, however, that she had said anything expressly to that effect. 

James sat before him not many feet away, in his old-fashioned broadclothcoat with a velvet collar. He cross-examined Captain Pelham a little. 

"She did n't never tell you, " he said, "that she was going to give youthe boy, did she?"

"No, sir;" said Captain Pelham. 

"How often did your wife come over to see her?"

"I could n't tell you, sir, " said the Captain. 

"Not very often, did she?"

"I think not, " the Captain admitted. 

"The boy's mother did n't never talk much about Mis' Captain Pelham, didshe?"

"I don't remember that she did. "

"She did n't never have her over to talk with her about what she wasgoing to do with the boy, did she?"

"I don't know that she did, " said the Captain. "She is here; you can askher. "

"You didn't never hear of her leaving no word with Mis' Captain Pelhamabout taking care of the boy, did you?"

"I can't say that I did, " said Captain Pelham. 

The old man nodded his head with a satisfied air. His cross-examinationwas done. 

The Captain retired from the witness-stand; his lawyer whispered withhim a moment and then went over and whispered for two or three minuteswith Mrs. Pelham; then he said he had no more evidence to offer. 

"Mr. Parsons, " said the judge, "do you wish to testify?"

James went to the witness-stand and was sworn. 

"Did n't your daughter ever talk about what she wanted done with theboy?"

"Talk about it?" said James. "Why, she didn't talk about nothing else. She used to have it all over every time we went in. It was all about howmother 'n me must do this with him and do that with him, --how he was togo to school, what room he was going to sleep in to our house, and allthat. "

Mr. Baker desired to make no cross-examination, and James's wife wascalled, and testified in her quaint way to the same effect. 

By a keen, homely instinct James had half consciously foreseen whatwould be the controlling element of the case; and while he had notformulated it to himself he had brought with him one of his neighbors, who had watched with his daughter through the last nights of herlife. She was one of the poorest women of the village. Her husband wasshiftless, and was somewhat given to drink. She had a large family, withlittle to bring them up on. Her life had been one long struggle. She wasextremely poorly dressed, and although she was neat, there was an air ofunthrift or discouragement about her dress. She wore an oversack whichevidently had originally been made for some one else; it lacked onebutton. She was faded and worn and homely; but the moment she spokeshe impressed you as a woman of conscience. She had talked in the longwatches of the night with the boy's mother, and she confirmed what Jamesand his wife had said. There could be no question what the mother haddesired. 

Mr. Baker ventured out upon the thin ice of cross-examination. 

"She must have talked about her father-in-law, Captain Pelham?" he said. 

"Oh, yes, " said the woman, "often. "

"She seemed to be attached to him?"

"Yes, indeed, " said the woman, quickly; "she was always telling how goodhe was to her; I have heard her say there was n't no better man in theworld. "

"She must have talked about what he could do for the boy?"

"Yes, " said the woman. "She expected him to do for Joe. "

"Did n't she ever say, " and the lawyer looked round at James, --"did n'tyou ever hear her say that she was worried sometimes for fear her fatherwould not be careful enough about the boy?"

The woman hesitated a moment. "Yes, " she said, "I have heard her say so, but that 's what every mother says. "

"What reason did you ever hear her give, " the lawyer asked, "why shewould rather have him stay over there than to go and be brought up byhis grandfather Pelham?"

The woman looked around timidly at the judge. "Be I obliged to answer?"she said. 

The judge nodded. 

The woman looked toward Captain Pelham with an embarrassed air. He wasthe best friend she had in the world. 

"I rather not say nothing about that, " she said; "it 's no account, anyway. "

"Oh, tell us what she said, " said Mr. Baker. 

He felt that he had made some progress up to that point with hiscross-examination. 

"Well, it was n't much, " said the woman; "it was only like this. I haveheard her say that Miss Captain Pelham was a good woman and meant to dowhat was right, but she was n't a woman that knew how to mother a littleboy. " And here the witness began to cry. 

The judge moved slightly in his chair. 

There was more or less rambling talk about the way the boy was allowedto run loose on the shore, and some suggestions were made in the way ofconversational argument about his being allowed to go barefoot, and togo in swimming when he pleased; but the judge seemed to pay very littleattention to that. "That 's the way we were all brought up, " he said. "It is good for the boy; he 'll learn to take care of himself, and hismother knew all about it. 

"It is plain enough, " he said at last, "that there would be someadvantages to the boy in going to live with Captain Pelham; but thereis one thing that has been overlooked which would probably have beensuggested if the petitioner Parsons had had counsel. It has been assumedthat the boy would be cut loose in future from his grandfather Pelhamunless he was put under his guardianship; but that is n't so. All hisgrandparents will look out for him, and when he gets older, and wants togo into business, here or elsewhere, Captain Pelham will look after himjust the same as if he were his guardian. The other grandfather has n'tgot the means to advance him. I am not at all afraid about that, " hesaid; "the only question here is, where he shall be deposited for thenext five or six years. Either place is good enough. His father had aright to fix it by will if he had chosen to; but he did n't, and I thinkwe must consider it a matter for the women to settle: they know bestabout such things. It is plain that his mother thought it would be bestfor him to stay where he is, and she knew best. He 's wonted there, andwants to stay. "

Then he took up his pen and wrote on Captain Pelham's petition an orderof dismissal. On the other he filled out and signed the decree grantingguardianship to James Parsons, and approved the bond. Then he handed thepapers to the register and called the next case. 

From this day on, little was seen of Captain Pelham at James's house. Sometimes he would stop in his buggy and take the boy off with him fora little stay; but Joe soon wearied of formality, and grew restlessfor James, for his grandmother Parsons, for the free life of the littlewharf and the shore. Life always opened fresh to him on his return. 

Once and only once Captain Pelham entered James's door-yard. James wassitting in an armchair under an apple-tree by the well, smoking andreading the paper. The Captain began, this time, with no introduction. 

"Fred Gooding, " he said, "tells me you are talking of letting Joe go outwith Pitts in his boat You know Pitts is no fit man. "

"You tell Fred Gooding he don't know what he 's talking about, " saidJames, as he rose from his chair, holding the paper in his hand. "WhatI told Pitts was just the contr'y, --the boy should n't go along o' him. "Then his anger began to rise. "But what right you got, " he demanded, "tointerfere? 'T ain 't none of your business who I let him go along of. It's me that's the boy's guardeen. "

"Very well, " said the Captain. "Only I tell you fairly, --the firsttime I get word of anything, I 'll go to the probate court and have youremoved!"

James followed him down the path with derisive laughter. "Why don't yougo to the probate court?" he said; "you hed great luck before!" Andas the Captain drove away, James shouted after him, "Go to the probatecourt! Go to the probate court!"

V. 

There is a low, pleasant boat-shop, close on the shore of a little armof the sea. The tide ebbs and flows before its wide double doors, andsometimes rises so high as to flow the sills; then you have to walkacross in front of the shop on a plank, laid upon iron ballast. There isa little wharf or pier close at hand, the outer end of which is alwaysgoing to be repaired. There are two or three other shops near by, andabout them is the pleasant litter of a boat-yard. In the cove beforethem lie at their moorings in the late afternoon a fleet of fifteen ortwenty fishing and pleasure boats, all cat-rigged, all of one generalbuild, wide, shoal, with one broad sail, all painted white, by thecustom of the place, and all or nearly all kept neat and clean: they areall likely enough to be called upon now and then for sailing-parties. Often of a bright afternoon in summer the sails will all be up, as theboats swing at their floats: then you have all the effect of a regattain still life. 

The shop faces down the bay of which this inlet is the foot, and as youlook out from your seat within, on a wooden stool, the great door framesin a landscape of peaceful beauty. The opening to the sea is closed tothe view. Simply you can see the two white sand-cliffs through whichit makes. The bay is a mile in length, perhaps, and of half that width. From its white, sandy shores rise gentle hills, bare to the sun orcovered with a low growth of woods. To the right are low-lying pasturesand marshes, with here and there a grazing cow. At the head of thebay the valley of a stream can be faintly distinguished, while in thedistance there is a faint suggestion of a few scattered houses on theupper waters. At one or two points masts of boats rise from the grass ofthe inland, and sometimes a sail is seen threading its slow way amid thetrees. 

The shop is a favorite resort. You may go there in the early morning, in the late forenoon, or in the afternoon; whenever you go you willfind there more or less company. There is a sort of social, hospitableatmosphere about the place which is attractive in the extreme. Sometimesthere is a good deal of conversation; sometimes there is a comfortablesilence of good-fellowship. There is more or less knitting there andcrocheting; often in the afternoon the women from near by take theirwork there to enjoy the view, and the fresh air which draws up there asnowhere else. 

There is a good deal of religious discussion there, although theatmosphere of the shop is not entirely religious, as you may see by someof the papers lying about, and the cuts pasted up on the walls. Chief isa picture representing a scene in the life of the prophet Jonah. Jonahand the seamen are drawing lots to see who shall be cast over. Jonah hasjust drawn the ace of spades. 

There are various other pictures on the walls, --prints of famous yachts, charts, advertisements of regattas, sailing rules of yacht-clubs. Nowhere is the science of boat-building and boat-sailing studied withgreater closeness than in that shop. Many a successful racer hasbeen built there. There are models of boats pinned up against thewall, --models which to the common eye hardly vary at all, but to atrained perception differ widely. There are oars lying about the shop, oil-skin suits, a compass, charts, in round tin cases, boat hardware, and coils of new rope. 

The little pier has its periods of activity and life, like the greatworld outside. At three or four o'clock, in the gray dawn, fishermenappear, singly, or two by two; there is often then a failure of wind, and they have to get out to sea by heavy rowing or by the drift of thetide. Then there is silence for some hours, and when the world awakesthe cove is nearly deserted. At seven o'clock begins the life of theshop. Amateur fishermen appear, --boarders from New York or visiting sonsfrom Brockton. Later still, little parties come down, --a knot ofyoung fellows and laughing girls with bright-colored wraps, bound on asailing-party to Katameset, with a matron, and with some well-saltedman to steer the boat, perhaps in slippers and a dressing-gown. Theygo singing out to sea. Then come a party of bathers, --ladies and littlechildren, with towels and blue suits, and all the paraphernalia of pailsand wooden shovels. Then will come perhaps a couple of girls, to sketch. They will encamp anywhere upon the shore, call into their service somesmall amphibious creature to tip a skiff up on its side to make aneffective scene, and proceed with the wonders of their art. Soon thebathers return. They have been only a little way down the narrows, andcome back to dinner at one. The fishermen come in from three to four, unless they happen to be becalmed; there is a bustle then of getting outice; of slitting and weighing and packing fish, and loading them intowagons to be carted to the railway. Then there is a lull until thesailing-parties return, perhaps at five, perhaps at six, perhaps notuntil the turn of the tide or the evening breeze brings them home. 

All the time the quiet life of the boat-shop goes on, --its labor, itsdiscussions on politics and religion, its criticism of yachts. Allday long small boys play about the pier, race in skiffs or in suchinsignificant sailing-craft as may be available, and every half-hour, atthe initiative of some infant leader, all doff their little print waistsand short trousers and "go in, " regardless of the sketchers on theshore. 

It was a bright, fresh day. The air was as clear as crystal. Joe hadbeen gone since dawn with Henry Price. The wind had been blowing hardfrom the north for a dozen hours, and, as the saying is, had kicked upa sea. On the shoal the waves were rolling heavily, and since threeo'clock the tide had been running against the wind, and the seas hadbeen broken every way. But to Henry Price, and with that boat, roughseas, from March to November, were only what a rude mountain road wouldbe to you or me. If his wife, toward afternoon, shading her eyes at thesouth door, ever felt anxious about him, it was a woman's foolish fear;it was only because she thought with concern of that--internal neuralgiawas it?--which her husband brought back from the war; which seized himat rare intervals and enfeebled him for days. He made light of it, andnever spoke of it out of the house. There was no better boatman on thatshore. Let alone that one possibility of weakness, and the ocean had ahard man to deal with when it dealt with him. 

They had been gone all day. It had been rough, and they would come inwet. This wind would not die down; they were sure to make a quick run, and would be in before dark. 

It was late in the afternoon. James was sitting in the shop with one ortwo companions, engaged in a loud discussion. He had been discoursingupon all his favorite themes. He had been declaiming upon the dangersfrom Catholic supremacy and the subserviency of the Irish vote to theChurch of Rome, and upon the absolute necessity of the supremacy of theDemocratic party; upon the Apocalypse and the seven seals. He hadbeen maintaining the literal infallibility of the Scriptures, and thenecessity of treating some portions as legendary. It would be hard tosay what inconsistent views he had not set forth within the space ofthe past hour; and all this with the utmost intensity, and yet withthe utmost good-humor, always ready to acknowledge a point againsthimself, --the more readily if entirely fallacious, --with a burst ofhearty laughter. 

At last there was a pause. Something had called out of doors the twoor three men who were within. There was nothing to disturb the peacefulbeauty of the afternoon. It was blowing hard outside, but this was asheltered spot, and the wind was little felt. 

As James sat there silent, with no one at hand but the owner of theshop, who was busy upon the keel of a new boat, a fisherman came in andtook a seat, with an affectation of ease and nonchalance; in a momentanother followed; two or three more came in, then others. 

The carpenter stopped his work, and shading his eyes with his hand, seemed to be looking down the bay. 

There was a dead silence for a few moments. Then James spoke. But it wasnot the voice of James. It was not that cheery and hearty voice whichhad just been filling the shop with mirth. It was a voice harsh, forced, mechanical, --the voice of a man paralyzed with terror. 

"Why don't you tell me?" he said; "is it Henry, or--is it the boy?"

But no one spoke. 

"You don't need to tell me nothing, " he said, in the same strange toneof paralysis and fear, "I knowed it when Bassett first come in. Iknowed it when the rest come in and closed in round me and did n't saynothing. "

He sat still a moment. Then he rose abruptly and turned to the landwarddoor. He stumbled over a stool which was in his way, and would havefallen but that one of the men sprang forward and held him. He plungedhastily out of the door. Just outside, in the shade of a small wildcherry-tree, was a bucket of clams which he had dug; across the bucketwas an old hoe worn down to nothing. He stopped and mechanically took upthe pail and hoe. Bassett stood by the door and looked after him as hewent along the foot-path toward his home. There was a scantling fenceclose by. He went over it in his old habitual fashion: first he set overthe bucket of clams and the hoe; then one leg went over and then theother; he sat for an instant on the top slat and then slid down. He tookup his burden and went his way over the fields. In a moment he was lostto sight behind a bit of rising ground. Then he reappeared, making hisway over the fields at his own heavy gait, until he was lost to sightbehind a clump of trees close to his own door. 

They did not find Henry and the boy that night. It was not until thenext day that the bodies were washed ashore. One of the searchers, walking along the beach in the early dawn, found them both. He came uponHenry first; he was lying on the sand upon his face. A little fartheron, gently swayed by the rising tide, lay Joe and his dog. Joe lay onhis side, precisely as if asleep; the dog was in his arms. 

The boy lies in the burying-ground on the hill, near the stone and theweeping-willow which mourn the youth who met his untimely death in 1830, in the launching of the brig. There is a rose-bush at the grave, and fewbright days pass in summer that there is not a bunch of homely flowerslaid at its foot. It is the spot to which all Mrs. Parsons's thoughtsnow tend, and her perpetual pilgrimage. It is too far for her to walkboth there and back; but often a neighbor is going that way, witha lug-wagon or an open cart or his family carriage, --it makes nodifference which, --and it is easy to get a ride. It is a good-humoredvillage. Everybody stands ready to do a favor, and nobody hesitates toask one. Often on a bright afternoon Mrs. Parsons will watch from herfront window the "teams" that pass, going to the bay. When she seesone which is likely to go in the right direction on its return from thebay, --everybody knows in which direction she will wish to go, --she willrun hastily to the door, and hail it. 

"Whoa! Sh-h! Whoa! How d'do, Mis' Parsons?"

"Be you going straight home when you come back? Well, then, if it won'treally be no trouble at all, I 'll be at the gap when you come by; Iwon't keep you waiting a minute. It 's such a nice, sunshiny afternoon, I thought I 'd like to go up and sit awhile, and take some posies. "