SCUD.
It was the morning after my arrival. I had just come, jaded fromexamination papers, agued with the incessant ring of orations, abhorrentof the rustle of white tarlatans, distrustful of the future attitude oftrustees, and utterly wilted from the effect of a country academyexhibition held in the heat of June in the torridest of Western towns. Ihad never seen the ocean, and before my window the glorious old Atlanticheaved solemnly. Its intermittent swash upon the rocks sent peace intomy soul. I found myself near enough even to throw something into thewater. The longing to communicate with this new friend, dreamed of forso many inland years, overpowered me. A box of buttons was all I had,and I leaned far out into the air, pungent with a mixture of fish andkelp, and cast into the deep these feminine necessities, one by one.Now a tiny disk of mother-of-pearl would glance on the float and bounceoff into a gray ripple; and then a bit of jet would clatter on the redgranite rocks, and be swallowed by a lapping wavelet that seemed to riseon purpose for this strange offering. Too soon the box was emptied ofits contents; then there came a mad desire to throw cologne, shoes,satchel, anything, everything, myself, from the second-story window intothis mysterious, beckoning, repelling Atlantic tide beneath me. Leaningon the sill, with my whole soul absorbed in this new Nirvana, I wassuddenly and yet not unpleasantly aroused by a strident yell:
"Hellow, Scud! Wha'che got this mornin'?"
"Oh, no-thin', only twenty-six little 'uns, an' a couple bucket o'bait."
The answer came back in a deep, orotund, sing-song voice. It was thenatural intoning of the man of the sea. Two boats shot from under arocky headland a few hundred yards before me to the left. One of theboats made fast to some black corks that formed a huge rectangle in thewater, and two men began pulling in a net. The one in the other boat,who answered to the name of Scud, stopped rowing for a moment, exchangeda word or two, and laughed aloud, then cast a critical look at the sun'saltitude, and pulled lazily away. When he was at some distance, herested on his oars, and hilloaed with that penetrating sea cry:
"I hope you'll get two barr'l. I guess thar's 'nough to go all round."
That undulatory cadence is entirely lacking in landsmen's tones. Stillthis was an extraordinarily joyous voice, as if the life of a fishermanwere a dream without a care or a struggle. But Scud and his queer, greenboat disappeared behind the jagged outline of the rocks, and I turned atthe sound of the first bell to dress for breakfast.
"Well, how do you like your room? I hope that the fishermen didn't wakeyou up too early."
My cousin offered me some smoking flakes of fish, new to my limitedexperience. This, he said, was inland hake, and was caught that morningin Scud's trap. Now, although I was hitherto ignorant of this deliciousfish with its paradoxical cognomen, I felt that Scud and I were alreadyfriends; and gravely informed my host that Scud had caught twenty-sixlittle ones that morning. This piece of information was immediatelygreeted with impertinent hilarity.
"So Scud woke you up?" said my cousin. "He's always doing that. Therewas one nervous boarder here. She threatened to have him arrested forbreaking the peace. But you might as well arrest a fog-whistle."
"Does he always get up as early in the morning?" I asked,apprehensively. "He must be a very energetic person. Do tell me aboutit. What are 'little 'uns'?"
I must confess to a degree of perplexity when the the whole family burstinto further roars of laughter at my simple question.
"Scud energetic? Why, he is the easiest, the slowest, the sleepiest, themost lovable, good-natured fellow on the whole coast. He makes thesurest and perhaps the best living of any of the fishermen around here.If he didn't get up early he wouldn't do even that. As it is, Salt doesmost of the work. Salt is his oldest boy," explained my cousin.
"I am sure Scud needs all he can make," interrupted Mabel (she is mycousin's wife), "with his dozen children and a wife to support, and onlyone trap to do it on."
"For my part," interposed the oldest daughter, with a pert motion of herhead, "I am tired to death having to save clothes for that--You needn'tlook so shocked, mamma. Yes, I am. It's always 'Take care of thatpetticoat; Betty can use it;' or, 'That dress can be turned and madeover nicely for the twins.' I declare I don't get a new dress but thewhole Scud family troop over and inspect it, and criticise it, andquarrel over it, and gloat over it the first day I wear it. I caught twoof their boys fighting over which of them should have Reginald's summerulster when he was done with it."
"I shall give it to Tommy," observed her mother, in an absent,comfortable tone.
After breakfast my cousin rowed over to the station; the eldest twochildren took their guest, a boy of about sixteen, out fishing; while Ieagerly accompanied Mabel across the rocks and fields to Scud's house--alittle rented hut, hidden and sheltered from the east winds behind ahuge barrack of a boarding-house.
How clear the day! How warm the sun! How hospitable this forbidding,granite-clad North Shore! As I look back upon that memorable morning itseemed as if the bay could never be ruffled by any but the tenderestbreezes, or its bright water reflect any but the dazzling glare of thehottest sun. Clouds hovered over us, delicate and fleecy as the feathersof the marabou, and white and curly as the feathers of the ostrich. Theyradiated from a centre in translucent films, and shot out monstrousciliated fingers like a fan. Such a sky was never seen in my part ofthe country, and I attributed this ravishing cloud phenomenon to thepeculiar influence of the sea, being too ignorant to notice that thesestreamers shot out from the west. The stillness was intoxicating afterthe scurry of the school-room. And now even the water made no ripples onthe beach. The sea was motionless, like a distilled elixir in a serratedalembic.
We stopped before a low, pitch-roofed house that looked as if itcontained three rooms at most. The yard was piled up with wreckage anddrift-wood. Who ever heard of a fisherman buying kindling? Within thegate four children were playing with twice as many cats and kittens.They were all fighting like animals between themselves for a plateful ofscraps of fried fish. A baby would grab a piece from the plate, andoffer the remainder to a grave tabby, which in turn distributed it toher offspring. Then the kittens and "humans" rolled and scratched, andshrieked and scratched again.
"Keep yer mouths shet out there, or I'll be after ye with a stick!" Thismaternal sentiment, spoken in a loud shrill voice, greeted us as westepped within the gate.
"It's I, Betty. I have brought you a little something, and a friend whowants to see the children."
"Dear sakes! 'tain't you, is it?" The shrill voice was now modulated inan entirely different tone. "Ain't I glad you've come! Step right in andset down. No? Then I'll be out and see ye ez soon ez I've tended thebaby."
"Baby!" I gasped, looking at the four fighting infants at my feet, noneof whom looked over thirteen months. "Are these hers too?"
"These are the twins," answered Mabel, quite seriously. "They call them'the twin.' These are the two sets, just a year apart. The baby was borna month ago. The baby isn't named. Let me see: these are Bessie andMaurie and Robbie and Susie."
"Why, I thought you knew better," protested the mother, in a grievedvoice. "Susie is in the house there. That's Bessie." She wiped her handson her apron, and thrust one of them out through a rent in themosquito-netted door. "I'm glad to see any of _her_ friends. Yes. Goodmor'n'. The children? Laws sakes, they're round the house like pups!"
The face was remarkable for a pair of brilliant black eyes, aninheritance of Italian ancestry. She was not yet middle-aged, and herhair had turned prematurely gray. Her hands were bony, nervous hands,indicative of great executive capacity, but the incessant work had leftthem trembling.
"Are all your children here?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.
"Here's four of 'em. Come out here, you in there, an' I'll count ye." Itwas a pitiful sight to see these five plump, rosy youngsters pass inreview before the frail, emaciated mother.
"But here are only nine," I ventured.
"Salt's missing, mother," said the eldest girl; "he's
with father to thetrap."
"So he is, Kittie. They've rowed round the cove with what they ketched.They'll be back d'rectly."
"But how do you manage, Mrs.--ah--Scud?" I asked. I am afraid there wasa slight choke in my throat as I spoke. The mother cast a quick look atmy face, and shoving her children into the house, one by one, said:
"Now go, Kittie; finish the dishes. You, Mamie, put the baby kearfullyin the box. What did you hit Jim for, Sammy? Let me ketch you a-hittenyour little brother agin an' I'll spank you. Now get in the house, allof ye. You see, miss," turning to me, "we manage somehow. If it wa'n'tfur _her_, we'd give up. There's that boy Jim, he took to swearing thisspring. I declare it was jess awful to hear him go on. I spanked him,and Scud he switched him, but it wa'n't to no use. That boy talked jessscand'lous, till your cousin here, miss, she heerd him one mornin', an'took a white powder an' put a little on his tongue. It made Jim powerfulsick. And, says she, 'If I hear you swearin' agin I'll pizen ye; an'you'll die in a minute an' never see God,' and I declare to goodness hewas so skeared that I hain't heerd him swear since. There's Scud.Where's Salt, pa? Come here an' speak to the ladies. She's brought yesome ties."
"Salt's makin' the boat fast," began Scud, nodding with inimitable easeto his visitors. "I'm afraid ther's goin' to be--"
Scud stopped short in open-mouthed pleasure when he saw a couple ofbrilliant red and blue ties dangling from Betty's hand. He had come upthe rocky path, whistling like a boy, with every line and pucker in hisface on a broad smile. If Lavater had seen this fisherman's physiognomyhe would have pronounced it indicative of incomparable good nature.Indeed, Scud's good nature went so far at times as to be incomparablyinadequate to the demands of existence. If he happened to go for weekswithout catching so much as a sculpin in his net, and the starvation ofhis youngsters stared him in the face, he showed none of the commonsymptoms of discouragement, such as swearing, drinking, beating hiswife, or cursing his luck. He only whistled the blither, ran up bills atthe butcher's and grocer's with irresistible faith, borrowed his "chaws"of his luckier mates, and laughed as if poverty were an excellent jokethat Providence was cracking at him. Why shouldn't he appreciate it,even if it were at his own expense.
Scud was born "easy." Who could blame him? He gave up his lobster-potsbecause it took too much time to dry them and keep them in repair, andit was too cold and dangerous hauling them in stormy weather off therocks. Scud found it too troublesome to underrun his trap more thantwice a-day--once at six o'clock in the morning, then at six o'clock atnight. Even when the mackerel or the herring struck, and every man whohad a trap hovered over it night and day to keep the catch frommysteriously immaterializing, as well as to gather it in, Scud wassatisfied with his diurnal visits. He "wa'n't a-goin' to keep a-runnin'to see the fish swim in. If they were fool 'nough to go in the trap,they could stay there till he underrun an' bailed 'em out." His methodsof gaining a livelihood were unique on the coast; yet it was Scud who"stocked" eight hundred and fifty dollars that summer clean, two hundreddollars above any one else in the harbor. It was the saying among someof the jealous fishermen in the cove, who were not blessed with twopairs of twins, that "nobody 'arned so easy a livin' as Scud withoutdoin' no work." But these indistinct murmurs never stimulated Scud norimpaired his good nature. Indeed, Scud was the happiest man that everlived. What a dancing, laughing eye! What a catalogue of joys therein!What contagious, hopeful humor! What irrepressible buoyancy of spirits!Who could help loving Scud, as one loves a huge, long-coated St. Bernarddog? Scud was the laughing, joyous, piping Pan of the ocean. He smokednot, neither did he drink. He had no vices that debased him. Chewing isnot a vice for a fisherman. But he did have a curious taste for candy.No present pleased him so much as a half a pound of caramels or ofsugar-coated nuts. It was the sweet animal nature instinctively layinghold of sweets.
Scud's "easiness" was unmitigated--at times it was exasperating; butthis made him all the fatter, the jollier, the more companionable; andas it succeeded so well, why not? Summer boarders were appreciative ofScud. He lived upon them. Twins?--they did it. It was a dime show, andthe money was paid.
Two sets of authentic twins! It was enough to drain a woman's heart ofsympathy, a woman's pocket of money; and the summer boarders were mostlywomen--married women, with husbands sweating in the city to supportthem; single women, school-teachers and that sort.
But Scud stood looking at the ties. He seldom bought clothes, any morethan he purchased firewood or paid for his fish. They came to him. Herewas a pair of trousers that was once a bishop's. That coat and vest werethe velveteen relics of a posing artist. The cap was a yachtsman's gift,and the neckties came as a matter of course. Yet Scud never begged. Andonce when he caught one of his four-year-old boys insinuating to asummer boarder, with outstretched palm, that he would like a penny, Scudthrashed him within a centimeter of his life. New England fishermen willtake a gift as a sort of neighborly accommodation to you; but he'llstarve before he will ask you for it.
"Are them fur me?" (Scud was always surprised at such a crisis.) "Thankye, ma'am. Ain't them showy? I guess they'll skeer the mac'rel off thecoast."
"I wanted you to take me out sailing this morning, Mr. Scud," I began,after a formal introduction. Scud looked somewhat gratified with theprefix to his name, and regarded me with interest. To take boarders outsailing at the rate of seventy-five cents an hour was the kind of workhe would do.
"Yes, ma'am. But I'm 'fraid it'll be a little fresh to-day, if ye hain'tused to sailin'." He jerked his head to the westward. "Salt is a makin'the dory fast with a new haulin'-line, ma'am. I guess we'll have asquall pretty soon."
We followed Scud's gesture and looked. A squall on a day like this? Thewhite streamers had vanished, and above us was dark, unfathomable blue.But on the western horizon, stretching far to the south, a black bankhad arisen. No cloud in the physical geography was ever sketchedblacker. It had come up as stealthily as a Zulu warrior. It was the hueof unpolished iron. It had a faint reddish tint. Its outline was asclear cut as a cameo. It sent ahead here and there jagged tentacles,broad at the base and fine at the tip, that advanced, dissolved, andreappeared again with significant rapidity. The ocean had suddenly grownlethargic. It seemed unable to reflect the sun that still shone. Itbecame like a platter of tarnished silver. As we looked, the sightrapidly grew uglier.
Now my cousin Mabel seemed hypnotized by it. She stood for a fewminutes with her hands hanging at her sides; her delicate jaw dropped.Suddenly she pulled herself together, and whispered: "It is horrible! Itis awful!" Then, as if seized with the full import of the scene, shecried aloud, "My _children_! They are out fishing in a sail-boat! My_children_!" She began to run towards the shore leaving us all staringafter her.
My nautical sense was not as highly trained as Mabel's, but I thoughtthe sight terrifying and fine. It was part of the Eastern culturetowards the education of the Western girl. But seeing Scud look sober--Ihad the impression that it was for the first time in his life--Ipleaded:
"Do come too, Scud. Is it so bad? Won't it blow over?"
"It's goin' to be as bad as I ever seed in these parts, miss. I'll dowhat I can. 'Twon't be much, I'll bet."
I ran down to the house, followed by Scud at a moderate walk. Scud neverran. Would he have run for the drowning? I doubted it.
The clouds had arisen with terrible velocity. They coursed over the baresky like a black bull with horns down. White cirrhus clouds now dartedout here and there ahead, like fluttering standards of warning. And nowthe sun was gored to death. The black bank advanced in one wide line.Blackness had fallen everywhere. Anxiety was visible in every form ofnature--in the cries of the birds, the skulking of the dogs, theblanched faces of the boarders, the attention of the fishermen.
In the British navy, when any terrible and sudden disaster occurs on aman-of-war, such as the bursting of a gun, a collision, or striking uponthe rocks, the bugler sounds, what is known as "the still." On hearingit every man aboard comes to a standstill. This momentary pause
enableseach to collect his nerves to meet the summons of the shock. Nature wasnow commanding "the still"; but the order came through the eyes. Nosound was as yet heard. The sea, the air, sentient life, all souls, heldtheir breath before the shock that must come. Men collected along thecoast to meet the threatened tornado. By that subtle force whichsensitive organisms will recognize, be it called telepathy or psychicpower or magnetism, I knew, ignorant as I was, that nature was silentlypreparing for a terrific struggle.
When Scud and I joined Mabel on the rocks in front of her house we foundher wringing her hands, sobbing and crying for help. It seemed that hertwo children, who had gone out fishing with their city guest, were in asail-boat. This was managed by a boy about their age--none of them wereover sixteen. But the lad who sailed the little boat was a fisherman'sson. He was considered very expert, and had broad experience from hisbabyhood up. But this fact did not soothe the mother. Appalled by thecolor and the swiftness of the clouds, and the ominous import to thesafety of the little sail-boat, we scanned the harbor and the coast; butno boat answering to the description was in sight. Scud tried to comfortthe mother in his shaggy way. "The b'ys hev sailed to the inner cove,ma'am. They's ashore by this time, I'll bet."
As Scud spoke, the large fishing-schooners, leaving and entering thebroad harbor shot, one after the other, as if by mutual impulse, intothe direction of the clouds, into the west, and dropped sails andanchors with incredible rapidity. Far out to sea vessels were now seento ride with bare poles; it was evident that they had anticipated aformidable blow. We stood on a bend in the shore, and the broad bay laybetween us and the rising storm. The rocky coast stood forth in a long,broken outline opposite to us, far down towards Great Brabant. The openAtlantic spread before us to the south-west. And now lightnings flashedin angry sheets. The sea took to itself suddenly a peculiar greenishtinge. There were heard distant bellowings. We strained our eyes for theboys. Where were they? Where _were_ they? Two miles out ships began torock fearfully.
"They've cotched it!" shouted Scud. "Here it comes. Look out, leddies!"
Driven by earth's mightiest, most implacable, most invisible force, aline of foam dashed across the bay. Spray from the water twenty feetbelow struck us in the face simultaneously with the wind. The whitesquall had burst upon us. I dragged my poor cousin with me to thepiazza, into the house, which shuddered through all its frame and wouldhave fallen had it not, after the fashion of this bleak shore, beenchained to the rocks.
Now Scud staid outside. It did not seem clear at first why. Pretty soonwe saw him trying to pull the tender upon the float, that was cleanwashed by every wave.
Then came the first lull. The mother ran out into it wildly. The waterwas green and white. Two coasters and a large yacht were running in forshelter without a stitch of canvas. They were making straight for theinner harbor.
"Look! Come here! Look! What's that boat? See! Way out there beyond theisland! My God! It's _my children_!"
A half-mile or more away, in the very heart of the squall, a little boatwith full sail set was staggering unto death. Language cannot hint atthe horror in the mother's face. She had made her summer's home forfifteen years within a shell's throw of the sea, and she knew perfectlywell what this situation meant. No one could have undeceived her, and noone tried. She stood for a moment staring straight ahead, stretched outher arms, swayed, and fell. She was one of the fainting kind, and therewas nothing to be done about it. We carried her in and laid her down. Itwas my impulse to trust her to her terrified servants. I was tooterrified myself to know whether I was right or wrong. Irresistiblycompelled, I rushed out of doors again, and appealed (with feminineinstinct, I suppose) to the only man, within reach. Scud respondedquickly enough.
"Yes; that's them!" He pitched his orotund voice upon me as if he weregiving a command in a gale at sea.
Men now began to gesticulate wildly at the ill-fated boat from therocks, as if that could help the matter.
"Drop that mains'l, you ---- fools, or you'll go to ----!" The voicesstruck me like a volley of bullets, but they could not have penetratedten feet to windward.
"Scud!" I cried. "Help! Save them, Scud!"
"I can't do nothing," he howled in my ear. "No one can't. You can't rowin them breakers."
By this time the wind had increased its force. The sail-boat was nearenough for one to see the desperate attempts the boyish skipper made tolower the sail. One of the halyards had become caught. The boy made wildrushes to the mast. Then the boat would rock and fly around. To save herthe lad darted back to the helm just in time. This sickening struggleagainst a knot was repeated several times. On the bottom the threepassengers lay inert with terror. A twenty-foot boat with full sail,when hundred-ton schooners trembled under bare poles! Even myinexperience grasped the situation.
"He's doing all-fired well, but he can't last no longer if that--He'llbe druv on the rocks! They'll be druv to----!"
The rocks were now lined with men commenting in an apathetic way uponthe tragedy enacting before their eyes.
"Why don't they _do_ something?" In my ignorance of the curiousstolidity which falls upon the shore in face of danger upon the sea, Istood shrieking: "Why doesn't somebody go? Why don't you men do_something_?"
The fishermen and the summer people looked into each other's eyes, butno man answered a word.
"Can't _you_ help them?" I pleaded with another weather-beatenfisherman.
"Can't be done, or I'd do it."
"I came down to see them capsize, an' I guess they'll go," said a gruffvoice.
But Scud gave me a long look. He stood quite silent. An expression ofrare gravity was on his joyous face. He glanced apprehensively from theboat to the house.
"_She_ can't, Scud; she's fainted. There isn't anybody but me. I've_got_ to do something. The children have _got_ to be saved, Scud!" TheWestern girl shook him by the arm. Her very ignorance gave a force toher appeal that intelligence could not have supplied. Had I understoodwhat I asked I should not have said: "Scud, won't you go? They aredrowning. See, Scud! _Go!_"
The doomed sail was beaten here and there in the fierce wind; the jibwas blown to tatters. The boat took in water, righted, and careenedwith every riotous puff. A hundred times men turned their faces away andwomen shrieked, expecting it to go down. A hundred times repeatedmiracle protected the helpless boat.
Scud walked slowly down the heaving gangway that connected the rockswith the float. The man who came down to see the boat capsize followedwith his hands in his pockets. He balanced himself on the railing withhis elbows as the gangway jumped beneath him.
"What yer up ter, Scud?" he yelled above the tempest. "They're driftin'on yer trap. That'll fetch 'em."
Scud looked up. His feet were washed in the water that flooded the floatat every surge. To strike the trap meant instant overturn. To becomeentangled in and driven on to the meshes of the broad, deep net meantinevitable death.
"I guess I'll go. Help me shove the dingy off." So spoke Scud,deliberately.
"You--" The rest of the expletive was lost in the gale. The breakersmade sport of Scud, and spat at him with their white tongues. "Yourchilder! The twins! Betty!" thundered his friend.
Scud hurriedly put in the oar-locks. As he bent, the wind caught hiscap and dashed it on the rocks. Scud shook his brown hair to the furies.
"Ye see!" yelled his companion significantly. "Now get in, will ye?"
"Shet up, Steve! Gimme them oars. Don't ye see I'm goin'? I wish I hedmy dory."
A murmur of applause went up from the crowd as the fisherman shoved off.The light tender was twisted about and all but cast upon the cliffsbefore he could gain his first stroke.
And now the man of the sea set his weak mouth into petrified resolve.The wind and the water attacked his boat like assassins. They meant tokill. Scud knew this. He rowed guardedly, mistrustful of a cowardlyfeint, of an underhand lunge. The tender quivered beneath each dash ofthe waves, each onslaught of the squall, each hurried stroke of theoars. Scud rowed warily,
lest he be over-turned and buried between thetrough and the height of the waves. The wind howled at him. The bayshowered upon him. The gale clutched him and turned him about. How now!Whence came these muscles of steel that subdued such powers arrayedagainst lazy Scud? How now! Whence came that indomitable judgment thatbaffled the elements at their own wildest sport? Fishermen stared fromthe shore at this unparalleled exhibition of skill, coolness, courageand strength from _Scud_.
Then, with the spite of which only a white squall is capable, itthundered against Scud, and with the animosity of which only theAtlantic Ocean is capable, it rose upon Scud and well-nigh bore himunder. Hope is easily dashed in the hearts of inert spectators, but Scuddid not falter. The crowd stood by commenting:
"Scud! Thet Scud? Poor Betty! Poor widder! We'll hev ter fish him upter-night. Plucky fellow! Brave deed! That's grit! Thar's skill! Who'd'a' thought it? _Scud!_"
But Scud the "easy," Scud the do-little, Scud the good-for-naught--Scud,of whom nobody expected anything--comfortable, self-indulgent Scud,rowed on sturdily straight out into that hell. Could he ever overtakethe boat? How was it possible? If he did the extra weight would swampthe fancy tender, built only to carry two or three at the most in lightweather. How could he get one in?
"Why the ---- didn't he take his dory?" asked an old man.
"How in ---- can he bring her up with a haulin'-line an' git in from therocks?" answered another contemptuously.
"Scud may get 'em," ventured an expert, "but what'll he do with 'em?"
Now Scud had rowed beyond the net to the right, in order to bear downupon it the easier.
"Thar she strikes! God help 'em!" Cries came from a dozen throats. Thesail-boat struck against the leader of the net. It swung broadside tothe wind, that forced it over and under. Agonized shrieks were borne tothe shore. I was glad that Mabel was a fainting woman.
For some time Scud's wife had stood apart and looked upon the scene. Hereyes were dry and feverish. She did not talk. She hugged a baby at herbreast desperately. Salt held a pair of twins; the oldest girl another.Children sprawled upon the ground, clinging to their mother's feet anddress. None drew near or spoke to this pathetic group. What could onedo? What word could one say? The storm swayed Betty here and there. Herhair waved in the hurricane. She had long, pretty hair. Spray drenchedher. She did not cry out. She stood like the Niobe of the sea. Shelooked like one expecting the fate that had been only delayed. Anaverage of two hundred men a year from this fishing-town are swallowedup by the ocean that affords them sustenance, and their starving widowsare left after them. Betty was only one of a thousand of her kind whostolidly concealed a desolate suspense. And now her turn had come,harder than the rest, for she was in at the death.
It is a mystery until this day how Scud reached the over-turnedsail-boat as he did. With a dory his work would not have beencomparatively easy; but with a thirteen-foot yacht's tender it wassuper-human. The two girls clinging to the wreck were lifted bodily intothe boat. Scud was quick but cool, and imparted perfect confidence tothe water-sodden children. At the fisherman's peremptory order, the twoboys clung to each side of the tender. We could see them dragging in thewater; it was the only way. Scud now began to row before the storm.
There were no cheers from the rocks. Not a man of them stirred. Thefishermen, hardened to perils of the sea, had been fascinated by thisexhibition of cool-blooded heroism from the least heroic of them all.
The cockle-shell dashed madly towards the shore.
No power could row it weighted against the wind that beat upon it withfitful concentration. Straight before the tender was a little beachbetween the rocks, not more than twenty feet wide, but this wasprotected at its entrance by a line of reefs, easily passable at hightide, and bare at low. The rollers broke upon most of these rocks, andthe spume swirled in dirty froth upon the pebbly beach. Scud made forthe opening. The gale drove him wildly along. A few men now ran to thebeach and the outlying rocks, ready to do the possible at any emergency.Would Scud pass the reef or not? There was not time to answer thequestion. The boat rose upon a huge wave. Foam and spray enveloped itfrom view. There was a rumbling cry of horror. There was a dullsplintering crash. Fifty men rushed to the beach and lined the cliffs.The boat had struck upon the last rock. As the wave passed on, theterrible sight of black human heads appeared in a setting of white foam.
But these were within reach almost. These could be saved. Ah! Men wadein, somehow, anyhow, forming a line, and pass one to shore. Saved! Andthen another. Thank God! Here comes the third on that wave! Grasp thatdress! Tenderly, it is a girl. All here! All saved!
But where is Scud? Oh, but _he_ can swim. He is strong and used tochilling water and fierce waves. The helpless children safe, and Scudgone? Impossible! Incredible! Too horrible!
Involuntarily one man and then another turned to look at the widow andthe orphans, and then they turned and cursed the sea aloud.
At this moment a dark little figure shot past them all, by thebewildered man, and dashed with a shriek into the foam. What did she do?How did she do it? What could be done? A woman--a little woman--her babyonly one month old--Betty! She caught the sinking hand, the drowninghead--she never knew how. A dozen men plunged in now. Spectators who hadnot wet their feet during all that horrible scene swam now in thewhirlpool for the woman's sake, and for the shame she wrought upon them.Brawny arms and steady feet bore her back. Her little hand, rigid,clutched her husband by the collar of his shirt.
Scud was carried quickly up and laid upon the piazza. An ugly bruise wasupon his forehead.
The wind died down. The rain came in white torrents. Betty stood in thedeluge and shielded her husband automatically. The children, most ofthem too small to know the reason why, lifted up their voices and wept.
"Father," said Betty, softly, "why don't ye speak to me? Dearie, dearieScud. I saved ye. Hain't ye nothing to say to me, Scud?"
"You'd better go into the house," said some one. "Leave Scud to usawhile." For in truth not a man or woman of us but believed that Scudwas dead.
"You jess get us to a kitchen fire," said Betty, quietly, "and leave himto _me_."
And it was repeated with many a trembling lip far down the coast thatnight that Scud would live.
* * * * *
It was the morning of my departure, and it had come by the last expressthe night before. It had been kept a profound secret, for we would notrisk a cruel disappointment. Scud had rowed to town with a full fare offish, and Salt was with him, doing the rowing. We left word that theyshould come to the house as soon as they had put up their dory. Aperemptory message was sent to Betty to come over immediately to do somework. A few neighbors happened to drop in. There might have been a dozenor so in all. My cousin did not go into town that day. He said he wantedto see me off. Betty came a little early, and was set to scrubbing thepantry floor.
But Scud, a hero? He had forgotten all about it now. He was the same oldfellow, just as easy, just as jolly, just as careless. Scud wasn't atall spoiled by what had happened. He was as comfortable as the sea,this very morning. Who would have suspected the passing of a grand stormupon the hearts of either? Scud's sluggish blood had been "up" for onefiery hour. For one great day he had been the hero of the coast--thepeer of all its heroes. Then the fire went out, and Scud became as hewas. Perhaps Scud was more popular; his babies were better fed.Fishermen treated him with a grudged respect, and when he was pointedout to every new squad of boarders as the bravest man on the wholecoast, they smiled. How could that grinning, singing Scud save ajelly-fish?
It was just eleven o'clock. With what impatience we had waited for thetramp of those rubber boots! We rushed upon the piazza and greeted Scudand Salt, dressed in their oil-skins, just as they had come from thetrap. Scud halted uneasily at the front door.
"No miss, I can't come in in this toggery; I'm all gurry. I'll go homeand change my clothes. Couldn't get here sooner. Herrin' jess struck. Wesold ten barr'l this mornin'."
But we
constrained him, and Scud entered, staring about, shuffling hisrubber boots and wiping them as best he might. White scales of fishglittered upon his black oil-skins. He looked as if he were mailed insilver.
It devolved upon me to fetch Betty from the pantry; but I saw as I wentthat all of the people in the parlor stood up as Scud entered, as ifthey were greeting a prince. Scud looked from one to the otheruncomfortably. He blushed a deep russet red, and stared, and thenlaughed in a vacant way. Betty now appeared in the doorway, and thethree made a most impressive group in their working-clothes, wonderingwhat it was all about, and what the city folk were after now.
"Scud," said the master of the house, clearing his throat, "you havedone the bravest deed this coast has record of for twenty years. Youhave saved to us our children, dearer than our life. You had your ownwife to think of, and the children who depend upon you for their bread.You have been a hero. To us you are always a hero, and our love andgratitude will last as long as our days. I have the privilege ofpresenting to you the highest tribute Massachusetts pays to her bravemen--the gold medal of her great Humane Society, one hundred years old.This honor has not been sought, but has been eagerly bestowed. May itnever leave your family! It will be an inspiration to your boys. Youhave obtained the reward of your pluck, and you deserve it, old fellow.Now shake!" The speech broke in eloquence, but not in feeling.
"See," said Mabel, "I kiss the medal for you and for my dear children'ssake." She flashed it from its plush case, and placed the solemn emblem,whose exquisite engravings glittered like a jewel, in his great wethands.
Salt turned his face to the wall. Betty put her apron over her face, andScud's eyes ran dripping over. He opened his mouth, but no sound cameforth.
"And now, Betty, look here," said her mistress in a gay, tremulous tone,"I have something for _you_." She held out in her delicate hand fortysilver dollars, the gift of the Humane Society to Betty herself. "Youare a woman, and you saved a man's life," explained my cousin, "and thesociety always recognizes the courage of a woman."
But Betty drew herself up in her scrubbing dress. She had a fine look.
"Thank you, ma'am," she said, "and the gentleman too. But he was myhusband; I don't take no money from nobody for savin' of my husband. I'mjust as much obleeged to ye." Almost every child in her house wasdressed in "given" clothes, but the unpauperized soul looked out ofBetty's faded eyes.
"Well," said my cousin, looking nonplussed, "how would it do to make itover to the twins?"
"As ye please," said Betty, shining. So the four twin babies receivedten silver dollars apiece from the Humane Society for plunging into thewater and saving their father's life. This was an illegal procedure. Igrant it. And if the Society now for the first time learneth of thematter, I am fain to believe that it is too old and too great to takeaccount thereof.
* * * * *
We were rowing over to catch my train. Scud was the oarsman. He satquite still, and had a dazed look. Midway of the bay he stopped pulling,lifted and crossed his oars. I saw his Adam's apple rising and fallinglike an irresolute tide.
"I were took all of a sudden," he said, slowly; "I never felt so in allmy life. My throat felt kinder queer an' dry. But I'm mightily obligedto yer. It might give Salt a lift. But I didn't know what to say, an' soI didn't say nothing'."
THE ROMANCE OF A MORTGAGE.