CHAPTER XX
To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behindhim, shutting out the old world. He was safe, out of the beatentrack, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. Theterrific mental tension of the past few months--that had held hisbodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation--became as a dream;and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. On the secondday out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day,his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to theforemast and back. The will to live had returned.
For five days _The Tigress_ chugged her way across the burnishedSouth China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with herdestiny. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this newthingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normallyshe was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things theycalled lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked andthreatened to ruin her temper.
On the sixth day, however, they made the strong southwest trade,and broke out the canvas, stout if dirty; and _The Tigress_answered as a bird released. Taking the wind was her business inlife. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her wayof yawning when she awoke.
The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward theforemast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow overhim. Rather a hazardous spot for a convalescent, and McClintock hadbeen doubtful at first; but Spurlock declared that he was a goodsailor, which was true. He loved the sea, and could give a goodaccount of himself in any weather. And this was an adventure ofwhich he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the SouthSeas.
There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. There were swiftactions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut aslack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft.Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. Thesea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he hadever seen. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jade-coloured,would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smackingamidships. Once the ship faltered, and the tip of this jade wallbroke into a million gems and splashed him liberally. Ruth,standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time.
This laughter released something that had been striving forexpression--her own natural buoyancy. She became as _The Tigress_,a free thing. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, andlaughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. There was no past, nofuture, only this exhilarating present. Yesterday!--who cared?To-morrow!--who knew?
"Porpoise," she said, touching his hand.
"Fox-terriers of the sea; friends with every ship that comes along.Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said.
"When you are stronger we'll go up to the cutwater and watch themfrom there."
"I have . . . from many ships."
A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. Hisvoice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understoodthat something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. Butshe did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up,enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling.
What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone hadpicked up his trail. The acid of this incertitude had disintegratedhis nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. But that was all over.Nobody could possibly find him now. The doctor would never betrayhim. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfectsecurity.
McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. "Well,how goes it?" he asked.
"Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand.
McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. He rather liked the"sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit.
"And I want to thank you, too," supplemented Ruth.
"Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. I needed a man the worst kind of way--aman I could keep for at least six months. What do you think of theold tub?"
"She's wonderful!" cried Ruth. "I love her already. I had no ideashe could go so fast."
"Know anything about ships?"
"This kind. I have seen many of them. Once a sick sailor drew threepictures for me and set down every stay and brace andsail--square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. But this is the first timeI ever sailed on any one of the three. And I find I can't tell onestay from another!"
McClintock laughed. "You can't go to sea with a book of rules. _TheTigress_ is second-hand, built for coast-trade. There used to be anafter deckhouse and a shallow well for the wheel; but I changedthat. Wanted a clean sweep for elbow-room. Of course I ought tohave some lights over the saloon; but by leaving all the cabindoors open in the daytime, there's plenty of daylight. She's notfor pleasure, but for work. Some day I'm going to paint her; butthat will be when I've retired."
Ruth laughed. "The doctor said something about that."
"I'll tell you really why I keep her in peeled paint. Natives arequeer. I have established a fine trade. She is known everywherewithin the radius of five hundred miles. But if I painted her asI'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd haveto build up confidence all over again. I did not know you spokeKanaka," he broke off.
"So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I canneither read nor write it."
"I never heard of anybody who could," declared McClintock. "I havehad Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though.The Kanaka--which means man--is a Sandwich Islander, with a Malayanbase. He's the only native I trust in these parts. My boys are allSandwich Island born. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he werereared in the Vatican."
Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed.
"What's that?" demanded McClintock.
"The idea of a Malay, born Mahometan, being reared in the Vatican,hit me as funny."
"It would be funny--just as a trustworthy Malay would be funny. Ihave a hundred of them--mixed blood--on my island, and they arealways rooking me. But none ever puts his foot on this boat.To-morrow we'll raise our first island. And from then on we'll seethem, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. I've opened thecase of books. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon. Takeyour pick, Mrs. Spurlock."
The shock of hearing this title pronounced was equally distributedbetween Ruth and her husband; but it aroused two absolutelydifferent emotions. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of thegrim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship wasall he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she wasexquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and skyand sail. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential inthis man's life, and she would always be happy because he wouldalways be needing her.
"You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. "I'll fetch it."
She made the companion without touching stay or rail, whichnecessitated a fine sense of balance, for there was a growingvigour to the wind and a corresponding lift to the roll of the sea.The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printedflowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg insilk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould.
Silk. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozenpairs of silk stockings. She did not question or analyze thecraving; she took the plunge joyously. It was the first expressionof the mother's blood. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion;it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will haveher bit of silk.
McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanishedbelow; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, whohad closed his eyes. She would always be waiting upon this boy, hemused. Proper enough now, when he could not help himself, but thehabit would be formed; and when he was strong again it would becomethe normal role, hers to give and his to receive. He wondered ifthe young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragiclottery called marriage. Probably hadn't. As for that, what manever had?
"That's a remarkable young woman," he offered, merely to note whateffect it would have.<
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Spurlock looked up. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwinkthis keen-eyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly,the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. He was continuallydramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he hadelected to play. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. "Did youever see the like of her?"
"No," answered McClintock, gravely. "I wonder how she picked upKanaka? On her island they don't talk Kanaka lingo."
Her island! How well he knew it, thought Spurlock, for all helacked the name and whereabouts! Suddenly a new thought arose andbuffeted him. How little he knew about Ruth--the background fromwhich she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, thather mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, andthat, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to anaunt in the States. But what did he know beyond these facts?Nothing, clearly. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but themore he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. Thereal Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind thewalls of Agra Fort. But after all, what did it matter whether shehad secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; andone did not investigate the antecedents of symbols.
"She tells me there was a Kanaka cook; been in the family as longas she can remember."
"I see. I deal with the Malay mostly; but twice a year I visitislands occupied by the true blacks, recently cured of theirancient taste for long-pig."
"What's that?"
"Think it over," said McClintock, grimly.
"Good Lord!--cannibals?"
"Aye. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up thecoconut dance for you. The Malays have one, too, but it's a rankimitation, tom-toms and all. But what I want to get at is this. Ifyour wife can coach you a bit in native lingo, it will help allround. I have two Malay clerks in the store; but I'm obliged tohave a white man to watch over them, or they'd clean me out. Singlepearls--Lord knows where they come from!--are always turning up,some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. My boysbuy them with beads or bolts of calico of mine. They steal over toCopeley's at night and dispose of the pearl for cash. That's how Ifinally got wind of it. Primarily your job will be to balance thestores against the influx of coconut and keep an eye on these boys.There'll be busy days and idle. Everything goes--the copra for oil,the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. If youfall upon a good pearl, buy it in barter and pay me out of yoursalary."
"Pearls!"
"Sounds romantic, eh? Well, forty years ago the pearl gamehereabouts was romantic; but there's only one real pearl regionleft--the Persian Gulf. In these waters the shell has about givenout. Still, they bob up occasionally. I need a white man, if onlyto talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of yourintelligence. The doctor said you wrote."
"Trying to."
"Well, you'll have lots of time down there."
Here Ruth returned with the broth; and McClintock strode aft,convinced that he was going to have something far more interestingthan books to read.
Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. He was vaguelyuneasy; he knew not what about. Here was the same Ruth who had lefthim a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet...!
On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strongenough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean uponthe rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employerat lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music,paintings. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living.
Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts.What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of hisopinions. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. Butwhenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlockbroke into saving laughter.
McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. "I wouldn't give abetel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believedhimself in the right. We'll have some fun down there at my place,Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death."
"Oh, no!" Ruth protested. "I have so much to learn."
"Aye," said McClintock, in a tone so peculiar that it sentSpurlock's glance to his plate.
"All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said,divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. "Theseislands that come out of nowhere, like transparent amethyst, thatdeepen to sapphire, and then become thickly green! And always thewhite coral sand rimming them--emeralds set in pearls!"
"'A thing of beauty is a joy forever!'" quoted McClintock. "But Ilike Bobby Burns best. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for everyache and joy I've had."
So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar withthe exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of thepathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened,exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold toenter the talk.
"There is something in The Tale of Two Cities that is wonderful,"she said.
"That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. "The end is the most beautifulin English literature. 'It is a far, far better thing that I do,than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to,than I have ever known.' That has always haunted me."
"I liked that, too," she replied; "but it wasn't that I had inmind. Here it is." She opened the book which she had brought to thetable. "'A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every humancreature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery toevery other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city atnight, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses itsown secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its ownsecret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands ofbreasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heartnearest it!' ... It kind of terrifies me," said Ruth, looking up,first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's. "No matterhow much I tell of myself, I shall always keep something back. Nomatter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back."
Neither man spoke. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe andSpurlock into his coffee cup. But McClintock's mind was perceptive,whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. The Scot understoodthat, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband aquestion, opening a door if he cared to enter.
So the young fool had not told her! McClintock had suspected asmuch. Everything in this world changed--except human folly. Thisgirl was strong and vital: how would she take it when she learnedthat she had cast her lot with a fugitive from justice? ForMcClintock was certain that Spurlock was a hunted man. Well, well;all he himself could do would be to watch this singular dramaunroll.
The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leanedover the rail, their shoulders touching. It might have been themoon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might havebeen his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in hishands and kissed her on the mouth.
"Oh!" she gasped. "I did not know ... that it was ... like that!"She stepped back; but as his hands fell she caught and held themtightly. "Please, Hoddy, always tell me when do I things wrong. Inever want you to be ashamed of me. I will do anything andeverything I can to become your equal."
"You will never become that, Ruth. But if God is kind to me,someday I may climb up to where you are. I'd like to be alone now.Would you mind?"
She wanted another kiss, but she did not know how to go about it;so she satisfied the hunger by pressing his hands to her thunderingheart. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stoodfor a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. Then shewent below.
Spurlock bent his head to the rail. The twists in his brain hadsuddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and heknew now exactly what he had done.