The Cruise of the Shining Light by Norman Duncan (best free e reader .txt) 📖

grown older, 'tis a delight to escape the sweat and uniform of the day's work; and I am grateful to the broad hand that scorched my childish parts to teach me the value and pleasures of gentility.

At the same time, as you may believe, I was taught a manner of entering, in the way, by the hints of Sir Harry and the philosophy of the noble Lord Chesterfield, of a gentleman. It had to do with squared shoulders, the lift of the head, a strut, a proud and contemptuous glance. Many a night, as a child, when I fair fainted of vacancy and the steam and smell of salt pork was an agony hardly to be endured, I must prance in and out, to please my fastidious uncle, while he sat critical by the fire--in the unspeakable detachment of critics from the pressing needs (for example) of a man's stomach--and indulged his artistic perceptions to their completest satisfaction. He would watch me from his easy-chair by the fire as though 'twere the most delectable occupation the mind of man might devise: leaning forward in absorption, his ailing timber comfortably bestowed, his great head cocked, like a canary-bird's, his little eyes watchful and sparkling.

"Once again, Dannie," says he. "Head throwed higher, lad. An' ye might use yer chest a bit more."

Into the hall and back again.

"Fair," says he. "I'll not deny that ye're doin' better. But Sir Harry, lad," says he, concerned, with a rub at his weathered nose, "uses more chest. Head high, lad; shoulders back, chest out. Come now! An' a mite more chest."

This time at a large swagger.

"Very good," says he, in a qualified way. "But could ye not scowl t' more purpose?"

'Twas fair heroic to indulge him--with the room full of the smell of browned meat. But, says I, desperately, "I'll try, sir."

"Jus' you think, Dannie," says he, "that that there ol' rockin'-chair with the tidy is a belted knight o' the realm. Come now! Leave me see how ye'd deal with _he_. An' a mite more chest, Dannie, if ye're able."

A withering stare for the rocking-chair--superior to the point of impudence--and a blank look for the unfortunate assemblage of furniture.

"Good!" cries my uncle. "Ecod! but I never knowed Sir Harry t' do it better. That there belted rockin'-chair o' the realm, Dannie, would swear you was a lord! An' now, lad," says he, fondly smiling, "ye may feed."[5]

This watchful cultivation, continuing through years, had flowered in a pretty swagger, as you may well believe. In all my progress to this day I have not observed a more genteelly insolent carriage than that which memory gives to the lad that was I. I have now no regret: for when I am abroad, at times, for the health and pleasure of us all, 'tis a not ungrateful thing, not unamusing, to be reminded, by the deferential service and regard this ill-suited manner wins for the outport man that I am, of those days when my fond uncle taught me to scowl and strut and cry, "What the devil d'ye mean, sir!" to impress my quality upon the saucy world. But when Judith came into our care--when first she sat with us at table, crushed, as a blossom, by the Hand that seems unkind: shy, tender-spirited, alien to our ways--'twas with a tragical shock I realized the appearance of high station my uncle's misguided effort and affection had stamped me with.

She sat with my uncle in the steerage; and she was lovely, very gentle and lovely, I recall, sitting there, with exquisitely dropping grace, under the lamp--in the shower of soft, yellow light: by which her tawny hair was set aglow, and the shadows, lying below her great, blue eyes, were deepened, in sympathy with her appealing grief. Came, then, this Dannie Callaway, in his London clothes, arrived direct per S.S. _Cathian_: came this enamoured young fellow, with his educated stare, his legs (good and bad) long-trousered for the first time in his life, his fingers sparkling, his neck collared and his wrists unimpeachably cuffed, his chest "used" in such a way as never, God knows! had it swelled before. 'Twas with no desire to indulge his uncle that he had managed these adornments. Indeed not! 'Twas a wish, growing within his heart, to compass a winning and distinguished appearance in the presence of the maid he loved.

By this magnificence the maid was abashed.

"Hello!" says I, as I swaggered past the steerage.

There was no response.

"Is you happy, child," says I, catching the trick of the thing from my uncle, "along o' ol' Nick Top an' me an' John Cather?"

My tutor laughed.

"Eh, Judy?" says I.

The maid's glance was fallen in embarrassment upon her plate.

"Dannie," says my uncle, severely, "ye better get under way with your feedin'."

The which, being at once hungry and obedient, I did: but presently, looking up, caught the poor maid unself-conscious. She no longer grieved--no longer sat sad and listless in her place. She was peering greedily into the cabin, as my uncle was wont to do, her slim, white neck something stretched and twisted (it seemed) to round a spreading cluster of buttercups. 'Twas a moving thing to observe. 'Twas not a shocking thing; 'twas a thing melting to the heart--'twas a thing, befalling with a maid, at once to provide a lad with chivalrous opportunity. The eyes were the great, blue eyes of Judith--grave, wide eyes, which, beneficently touching a lad, won reverent devotion, flushed the heart with zeal for righteousness. They were Judith's eyes, the same, as ever, in infinite depth of shadow, like the round sky at night, the same in light, like the stars that shine therein, the same in black-lashed mystery, like the firmament God made with His own hand. But still 'twas with a most marvellously gluttonous glance that she eyed the roast of fresh meat on the table before me. 'Twas no matter to _me_, to be sure! for a lad's love is not so easily alienated: 'tis an actual thing--not depending upon a neurotic idealization: therefore not to be disillusioned by these natural appearances.

"Judy," says I, most genially, "is you ever tasted roast veal?"

She was much abashed.

"Is you never," I repeated, "tasted roast veal?"

"No, sir," she whispered.

"'_Sir_!'" cries I, astounded. "'Sir!'" I gasped. "Maid," says I, now in wrathful amazement forgetting her afflicted state, "is you lost your senses?"

"N-n-no, sir," she stammered.

"For shame!" I scolded. "T' call me so!"

"Daniel," my uncle interjected, "volume II., page 24. '_A distinguished politeness o' manners._'"

By this my tutor was vastly amused, and delightedly watched us, his twinkling glance leaping from face to face.

"I'll not have it, Judy!" I warned her. "You'll vex me sore an you does it again."

The maid would not look up.

"Volume II., page 25," my uncle chided. "Underlined by Sir Harry. '_An' this address an' manner should be exceedin'ly respeckful._'"

"Judy!" I implored.

She ignored me.

"An you calls me that again, maid," I threatened, in a rage, "you'll be sorry for it. I'll--"

"Holy Scripture!" roared my uncle, reaching for his staff. "'_Spare the rod and spoil the child._'"

I was not to be stopped by this. 'Twas an occasion too promising in disaster. She had sirred me like a house-maid. Sir? 'Twas past believing. That Judith should be so overcome by fine feathers and a roosterly strut! 'Twas shocking to discover the effect of my uncle's teaching. It seemed to me that the maid must at once be dissuaded from this attitude of inferiority or my solid hope would change into a dream. Inferiority? She must have no such fancy! Fixed within her mind 'twould inevitably involve us in some catastrophe of feeling. The torrent of my wrath and supplication went tumbling on: there was no staying it. My uncle's hand fell short of his staff; he sat stiff and agape with astonished admiration: perceiving which, my tutor laughed until my hot words were fair extinguished in the noise he made. By this my uncle was set laughing: whence the infection spread to me. And then Judith peeped at me through the cluster of buttercups with the ghost of a roguish twinkle.

"I'll call you Dannie," says she, slyly--"t' save you the lickin'!"

"Daniel," cries my uncle, delighted, "one slug-shot. Box with the star t' the box with the cross. Judy," says he, "move aft alongside o' that there roast veal!"

'Twas the beginning and end of this seeming difference of station....

* * * * *


John Cather took us in hand to profit us. 'Twas in the learning he had--'twas in every genteel accomplishment he had himself mastered in the wise world he came from--that we were instructed. I would have Judy for school-fellow: nor would I be denied--not I! 'Twas the plan I made when first I knew John Cather's business in our house: else, thinks I, 'twould be a mean, poor match we should make of it in the end. I would have her: and there, says I, with a toss and a stamp, to my uncle's delight, was an end of it! It came about in this way that we three spent the days together in agreeable employment: three young, unknowing souls--two lads and a maid. In civil weather, 'twas in the sunlight and breeze of the hills, 'twas in shady hollows, 'twas on the warm, dry rocks, which the breakers could not reach, 'twas on the brink of the cliff, that Cather taught us, leaving off to play, by my uncle's command, when we were tired of study; and when the wind blew with rain, or fog got the world all a-drip, or the task was incongruous with sunshine and fresh air (like multiplication), 'twas within doors that the lesson proceeded--in my library, which my uncle had luxuriously outfitted for me, when still I was an infant, against this very time.

"John Cather," says I, one day, "you've a wonderful tongue in your head."

'Twas on the cliff of Tom Tulk's Head. We had climbed the last slope hand in hand, with Judith between, and were now stretched out on the brink, resting in the cool blue wind from the sea.

"A nimble tongue, Dannie," he replied, "I'll admit."

"A wonderful tongue!" I repeated. "John Cather," I exclaimed, in envious admiration, "you've managed t' tell Judy in ten thousand ways that she's pretty."

Judith blushed.

"I wisht," says I, "that _I_ was so clever as that."

"I know still another way," said he.

"Ay; an' a hundred more!"

"Another," said he, softly, turning to Judith, who would not look at him. "Shall I tell you, Judith?"

She shook her head.

"No?" said he. "Why not?"

The answer was in a whisper--given while the maid's hot face was still turned away. "I'm not wantin' you to," she said.

"Do, maid!" I besought her.

"I'm not wantin' him to."

"'Tis your eyes, I'll be bound!" said I. "'Twill be so clever that you'll be glad to hear."

"But I'm not _wantin'_ him to," she persisted.

My tutor smiled indulgently--but with a pitiful little trace of hurt remaining. 'Twas as though he must suffer the rebuff with no offended question. In the maid 'twas surely a wilful and