CHAPTER XXII Back to Primitive Things
Many harsh and ignorant things have been written concerning the masters of ships, principally, I think, because of the crimes committed by a few of them. Therefore I feel that it ought to be plainly stated that, remembering the temptation a shipmaster in a sailing ship on a long voyage is subjected to daily, it speaks well for human nature in general, and for seafarers in particular, that those crimes have been so few, so very few in proportion to the number of individuals who have been tempted to the commission of them. It is too often forgotten by those who ignorantly write upon this subject how free from all restraint save that of his own conscience is the master of a sailing ship at sea on a long passage. If he be a cruel, brave bully and tyrant—and believe me the bully is not always a coward as is generally supposed—he finds abundant opportunity to gratify his propensities and is almost sure of immunity from retribution when the vessel reaches port from the well-known careless character of his victims.
Where he has a few passengers another side of him may develop, as with Captain Eldridge, a side that must be touched very lightly upon but which all will understand, and many have been the tragedies resulting from his lack of gentlemanly self-restraint. And in the present case all the indications pointed to a tragedy fast approaching as the captain, encouraged by the apparently entire indifference of the two male passengers, pressed his unwelcome attentions daily with more perseverance upon the young wife. She, poor girl, took great care never to be alone; when her father remained in his cabin she remained in hers, C. B. being always fully occupied with work among the seamen. But Captain Eldridge lay in wait for her, and as soon as she appeared on deck with her father he took all sorts of interest in placing chairs, getting wraps, etc., and then when they were settled seating himself by the lady’s side and paying her all sorts of odious compliments in a low voice while ogling her in a peculiarly bold and insolent manner.
With all the desire in the world to keep the peace and natural fear of the consequences of any action being taken on her part, Mary felt that she must do something soon. She could not ask her husband to remain with her always, for she loved to see him exercising his mighty limbs at really hard work, and knew how much he felt the need of exercise. Not only so, but she hated to disturb his quiet serenity of mind by the hideous suggestion that the captain was paying assiduous court to his wife, and besides she had nothing definite to go upon, even her father would have been unable to substantiate a complaint.
Presently the matter was taken out of her hands in a quite unexpected manner. The chief mate, a very keen young Philadelphian named Haynes, keeping his eye upon his chief as all mates do, was disgusted to see how Mrs. Adams was persecuted by him. He himself scarcely ever had a chance to speak to her, and there may well have been a spice of jealousy in his mind, but in any case he was very angry with his skipper and contemptuous of C. B.’s want of perception. Yet he had grown very fond of C. B., as indeed everybody had but the skipper, and the more he grew to like him the less could he understand his apparent neglect of his wife, leaving her to be pestered continually by the skipper.
At last he could restrain himself no longer, and calling C. B. into his berth one afternoon watch below, he said, after fidgeting about a bit—
“Look here, old man, I’ve got very fond of you—I believe you’re about as good as they make ’em, but I’m hanged if I can understand how you allow Eldridge to persecute your wife as he does. He never lets her alone. And if you had any eyes in your head you’d see how peaky she’s gettin’ with all the worry of it. I don’t want to make trouble, I’ve got my living to get, but I honestly couldn’t see this cruel game going on any longer without warnin’ you, as you don’t seem able to see a hole through a ladder.” And all the time the mate was speaking he watched C. B.’s face. It showed no signs of change except that the lips tightened up a bit and the dark eyes glowed with a sombre fire. At last he spoke.
“Thank you very much, Haynes, I’ll see to it at once. I’m afraid I am guilty of neglect, and I can never forgive myself for being so selfish. I thought she was happy with her books and her work and her father, and that I was pleasing her by working about the ship. I didn’t dream of anything of this kind happening. But,” and he rose, holding out his hand, “I’m very grateful to you, Haynes, for your warning, which I’m going to act upon now.” And he strode out of the cabin, Haynes watching him with a queer sensation of wonder as to how the storm would burst, for burst it would he felt sure.