Captain Cary listened with indignation to the story of their Seaton experiences. An autocrat on board ship, and completely his own master everywhere, he could not comprehend how one part of a community could exercise such tyranny and coercion over the other. “It seems to me that the Catholics must have done something out of the way,” he said. “There’s usually fault on both sides, you know, though no fault would justify such a persecution.”
“There is just the trouble,” Mr. Yorke replied, rather impatiently. “It is so easy for people, who wish to be fair, and, at the same time, not put themselves to the inconvenience of investigating, to say that there is probably fault on both sides, and then fancy that they have done justice. On the contrary, they may have done great injustice, and have, certainly, rendered a careless and slipshod judgment. For there are cases where the fault is all on one side, and other cases where, though in the end there may be fault on both sides, the responsibility really rests on the one who was the aggressor, and provoked the other beyond endurance. I am not blaming you, sir; but I am always anoyed by that off-hand way of saying, ‘There’s probably fault on both sides.’ If people don’t know, let them say they don’t know, and not give any judgment at all. I do know, and I say that no provocation was given, and the Catholics have been only too supine.”
“There have been times, Captain Cary,” Edith said, “when I have
wished that you were here. I know you would have been on our side.”
“That I would!” he answered heartily, looking at her with a kind smile. The two were great friends. “And I would have left my mark anywhere you told me to strike.”
“It was a shame to waste you on a merchant-ship,” Clara said to him. “You should have been an admiral.”
The sailor gave one of his great laughs, which always made Mrs. Yorke jump and flush. “We big fellows are not always fond of fighting,” he said. “When I was a boy, I had two younger brothers about half my size, and either of them was a match for me. I was so peaceable that I was called Mother Cary’s chicken, and I believe it was that nickname that first put it into my head to go to sea. No, I’d rather fight wind and wave than men. I could attack a man if he were doing anything absolutely wrong; but to kill him because he belonged to a foreign nation, and carried a different flag, that would be too cold-blooded for me.”
The two sailors, with Edith and Clara, visited the Catholic school, carrying gifts for the children and encouragement to the teacher.
“You look so worn, dear friend,” Edith said. “I wish you would give up, and come to Boston with us.”
The teacher shook her head. “I cannot give up,” she said.