A Whaleman's Wife

by Frank Thomas Bullen

‘What!’ he hissed, and wrenching himself free from Pedro on the other side, he struck at Manuel with all his might, and missed him, falling down four stairs upon his injured side, and lying there foaming with pain and fury. Manuel, his face green with rage, turned upon his heel and remounted the cabin stairs. What black thoughts filled his heart we cannot tell, but certainly the cost of that injudicious outburst to Captain Da Silva was an exceedingly heavy one. He reckoned too much upon the perfect subjugation of his countrymen to his will, forgetting the obvious fact that if you give your subordinates too much power over you they are apt to use it at inconvenient times, to the complete upheaval and reversal of some of your most cherished plans.

Pedro, alarmed at the Captain’s condition, for the latter was quite beside himself with agony, called in that subdued voice common to sailors when they are in the cabin, ‘Madem, senhora, Missis, Capena very too mucha bad; pleasea come!’ But there was no answer. Nor could be, for Priscilla, completely worn out, was lying in a dead faint upon the settee in their little state-room. The mate was away forward conducting the work, the steward was busy washing clothes on deck, and poor Pedro, looking upon his skipper’s horribly distorted face, listening to the gnashing of his teeth and watching the writhings of his body, forgot everything but the need for instant aid, and shouted, ‘On deck, dere, somebody, anybody, comea down here quick!’ At that moment Rube was on his way to relieve the wheel, being now fully recovered as far as physical strength went. With one glance at the sphinx-like face of the helmsman, Rube sprang down the companion, finding the skipper in convulsions, and Pedro at his wits’ end to know what to do. Together they raised the twisting body and carried it into the state-room, where the first object which met Rube’s eyes was the apparently lifeless form of his loved and lost Priscilla.

THE APPARENTLY LIFELESS FORM OF HIS LOVED AND LOST PRISCILLA.

P. 322.

For a moment all things reeled with him, and then, quietly laying the skipper on the deck, and controlling himself by a Titanic effort, he said, ‘Pedro, some water—quick!’ Even as he did so and Pedro started off, Priscilla gave a deep, deep sigh, opened her eyes, and seeing a strange man before her, made an effort to rise, while a faint tinge of pink came into her face. But with a mingled pang of regret and thankfulness Rube saw that there was no recognition in the look—he was just one of the crew to her, and nothing more. And then, to his intense relief, came hurrying the steward and the mate, called frantically by Pedro. Rube stole away, leaving the new-comers to render such aid as was possible, and wearily crept to the wheel, taking absolutely no heed of the bitter words with which he was greeted by the waiting helmsman.

A trick at the wheel by a good steersman is a splendid place for meditation. For while the mechanical section of the brain is busy with the primal duty of keeping the particular point of the course given as near the ‘lubber’s point,’ or line drawn on the inner rim of the compass-bowl, corresponding to the midship line of the ship, as circumstances will allow, the lobes devoted to thought may be fully occupied with the most recondite speculations. May be, but are not often, for your ordinary sailor is a most unimaginative human animal. Reuben, however, for the first half-hour of the present ‘trick’ found the meditative side of his brain one seething whirlpool surging around its vortex. ‘Priscilla is aboard this ship.’ True, she had not recognised him, and that was, so far, a gain; but how could he control himself? His speech, his looks? Moreover, she was unhappy. How much so he did not, could not, know, for the reasons that have before been fully given; but that wan face, those thin hands, those deeply shadowed eyes, what a tale of misery they had to tell to a loving heart like Rube’s! Yet even had he not been powerless to do anything, loyalty, honour, truth demanded that he should be silent, cost what it might, unless he saw danger to that dear life. Then the problem of her being here at all suddenly came back with awful force. And utterly confounded, he lifted his heart again to God, not blithely or hopefully, but in a sort of mechanical way, or instinctively, if it be better put so. Instantly a great peace fell upon him. A merciful veil stole down between him and his mental troubles, and the utter blankness of want of thought enwrapped his mind.

In the cabin the mate and the steward had laboured manfully at their task, although much hampered by the want of knowledge of how this condition of things had been brought about. Priscilla had fully recovered consciousness, but was still too weak to help. Still she was no hindrance. She was just watching, and claiming no attention. Mr. Court found several of his bandages displaced, much of the laceration re-opened, and altogether the patient in a bad way. With native skill and judgment he did his best to make his tyrant comfortable, and then having instructed the steward to devote his whole time to the Captain and his wife, returned on deck and sent for the two Portuguese.

‘Now,’ said Mr. Court sternly, when they appeared, ‘I got to know wut yew two ben a-doin’ t’ th’ Captain. Yew wuzn’t thar, Manuel, when I kem an’ Pedro wuz. Wut d’ ye go ’way fur?’ Volubly Pedro began, but the mate in a roar bade him ‘shet erp,’ and turning to Manuel, said quietly, ‘Heave ahead.’

‘Well, sah,’ said Manuel savagely, ‘we’s a-he’pin’ ole man daown companyon, an’ ole man le’s go my arm an’ hits me. Then he fall daown steps. I don’ care if he break his neck, so I don’ go daown ’n’ look. I kem on deck. Dat’s all, sah.’ And this lucid explanation he followed up with asseverations unprintable—indeed, untranslatable.