Chance: A Tale in Two Parts Page 8

  PART TWO, CHAPTER 1.

  THE FERNDALE.

  I have said that the story of Flora de Barral was imparted to me instages. At this stage I did not see Marlow for some time. At last, oneevening rather early, very soon after dinner, he turned up in my rooms.

  I had been waiting for his call primed with a remark which had notoccurred to me till after he had gone away.

  "I say," I tackled him at once, "how can you be certain that Flora deBarral ever went to sea? After all, the wife of the captain of the_Ferndale_--`the lady that mustn't be disturbed' of the oldship-keeper--may not have been Flora."

  "Well, I do know," he said, "if only because I have been keeping intouch with Mr Powell."

  "You have!" I cried. "This is the first I hear of it. And sincewhen?"

  "Why, since the first day. You went up to town leaving me in the inn.I slept ashore. In the morning Mr Powell came in for breakfast; andafter the first awkwardness of meeting a man you have been yarning withovernight had worn off, we discovered a liking for each other."

  As I had discovered the fact of their mutual liking before either ofthem, I was not surprised.

  "And so you kept in touch," I said.

  "It was not so very difficult. As he was always knocking about theriver I hired Dingle's sloop-rigged three-tonner to be more on anequality. Powell was friendly but elusive. I don't think he everwanted to avoid me. But it is a fact that he used to disappear out ofthe river in a very mysterious manner sometimes. A man may landanywhere and bolt inland--but what about his five-ton cutter? You can'tcarry that in your hand like a suit-case.

  "Then as suddenly he would reappear in the river, after one had givenhim up. I did not like to be beaten. That's why I hired Dingle'sdecked boat. There was just the accommodation in her to sleep a man anda dog. But I had no dog-friend to invite. Fyne's dog who saved Florade Barral's life is the last dog-friend I had. I was rather lonelycruising about; but that, too, on the river has its charm, sometimes. Ichased the mystery of the vanishing Powell dreamily, looking about me atthe ships, thinking of the girl Flora, of life's chances--and, do youknow, it was very simple."

  "What was very simple?" I asked innocently.

  "The mystery."

  "They generally are that," I said.

  Marlow eyed me for a moment in a peculiar manner.

  "Well, I have discovered the mystery of Powell's disappearances. Thefellow used to run into one of these narrow tidal creeks on the Essexshore. These creeks are so inconspicuous that till I had studied thechart pretty carefully I did not know of their existence. Oneafternoon, I made Powell's boat out, heading into the shore. By thetime I got close to the mud-flat his craft had disappeared inland. ButI could see the mouth of the creek by then. The tide being on the turnI took the risk of getting stuck in the mud suddenly and headed in. AllI had to guide me was the top of the roof of some sort of smallbuilding. I got in more by good luck than by good management. The sunhad set some time before; my boat glided in a sort of winding ditchbetween two low grassy banks; on both sides of me was the flatness ofthe Essex marsh, perfectly still. All I saw moving was a heron; he wasflying low, and disappeared in the murk. Before I had gone half a mile,I was up with the building the roof of which I had seen from the river.It looked like a small barn. A row of piles driven into the soft bankin front of it and supporting a few planks made a sort of wharf. Allthis was black in the falling dusk, and I could just distinguish thewhitish ruts of a cart-track stretching over the marsh towards thehigher land, far away. Not a sound was to be heard. Against the lowstreak of light in the sky I could see the mast of Powell's cuttermoored to the bank some twenty yards, no more, beyond that black barn orwhatever it was. I hailed him with a loud shout. Got no answer. Aftermaking fast my boat just astern, I walked along the bank to have a lookat Powell's. Being so much bigger than mine she was aground already.Her sails were furled; the slide of her scuttle hatch was closed andpadlocked. Powell was gone. He had walked off into that dark, stillmarsh somewhere. I had not seen a single house anywhere near; there didnot seem to be any human habitation for miles; and now as darkness felldenser over the land I couldn't see the glimmer of a single light.However, I supposed that there must be some village or hamlet not veryfar away; or only one of these mysterious little inns one comes uponsometimes in most unexpected and lonely places.

  "The stillness was oppressive. I went back to my boat, made some coffeeover a spirit-lamp, devoured a few biscuits, and stretched myself aft,to smoke and gaze at the stars. The earth was a mere shadow, formlessand silent, and empty, till a bullock turned up from somewhere, quiteshadowy too. He came smartly to the very edge of the bank as though hemeant to step on board, stretched his muzzle right over my boat, blewheavily once, and walked off contemptuously into the darkness from whichhe had come. I had not expected a call from a bullock, though amoment's thought would have shown me that there must be lots of cattleand sheep on that marsh. Then everything became still as before. Imight have imagined myself arrived on a desert island. In fact, as Ireclined smoking a sense of absolute loneliness grew on me. And just asit had become intense, very abruptly and without any preliminary sound Iheard firm, quick footsteps on the little wharf. Somebody coming alongthe cart-track had just stepped at a swinging gait on to the planks.That somebody could only have been Mr Powell. Suddenly he stoppedshort, having made out that there were two masts alongside the bankwhere he had left only one. Then he came on silent on the grass. WhenI spoke to him he was astonished.

  "Who would have thought of seeing you here!" he exclaimed, afterreturning my good evening.

  "I told him I had run in for company. It was rigorously true.

  "You knew I was here?" he exclaimed.

  "Of course," I said. "I tell you I came in for company."

  "He is a really good fellow," went on Marlow. "And his capacity forastonishment is quickly exhausted, it seems. It was in the mostmatter-of-fact manner that he said, `Come on board of me, then; I havehere enough supper for two.' He was holding a bulky parcel in the crookof his arm. I did not wait to be asked twice, as you may guess. Hiscutter has a very neat little cabin, quite big enough for two men notonly to sleep but to sit and smoke in. We left the scuttle wide open,of course. As to his provisions for supper, they were not of aluxurious kind. He complained that the shops in the village weremiserable. There was a big village within a mile and a half. It struckme he had been very long doing his shopping; but naturally I made noremark. I didn't want to talk at all except for the purpose of settinghim going."

  "And did you set him going?" I asked.

  "I did," said Marlow, composing his features into an impenetrableexpression which somehow assured me of his success better than an air oftriumph could have done.

  "You made him talk?" I said after a silence.

  "Yes, I made him ... about himself."

  "And to the point?"

  "If you mean by this," said Marlow, "that it was about the voyage of the_Ferndale_, then again, yes. I brought him to talk about that voyage,which, by the by, was not the first voyage of Flora de Barral. The manhimself, as I told you, is simple, and his faculty of wonder not verygreat. He's one of those people who form no theories about facts.Straightforward people seldom do. Neither have they much penetration.But in this case it did not matter I--we--have already the innerknowledge. We know the history of Flora de Barral. We know somethingof Captain Anthony. We have the secret of the situation. The man wasintoxicated with the pity and tenderness of his part. Oh yes!Intoxicated is not too strong a word; for you know that love and desiretake many disguises. I believe that the girl had been frank with him,with the frankness of women to whom perfect frankness is impossible,because so much of their safety depends on judicious reticences. I amnot indulging in cheap sneers. There is necessity in these things. Andmoreover she could not have spoken with a certain voice in the face ofhis impetuosity, because she did not have time to understand either thestate of h
er feelings, or the precise nature of what she was doing."

  Had she spoken ever so clearly he was, I take it, too elated to hear herdistinctly. I don't mean to imply that he was a fool. Oh dear no! Buthe had no training in the usual conventions, and we must remember thathe had no experience whatever of women. He could only have an idealconception of his position. An ideal is often but a flaming vision ofreality.

  To him enters Fyne, wound up, if I may express myself so irreverently,wound up to a high pitch by his wife's interpretation of the girl'sletter. He enters with his talk of meanness and cruelty, like a bucketof water on the flame.--Clearly a shock. But the effects of a bucket ofwater are diverse. They depend on the kind of flame. A mere blaze ofdry straw, of course ... but there can be no question of straw there.Anthony of the _Ferndale_ was not, could not have been, a straw-stuffedspecimen of a man. There are flames a bucket of water sends leapingsky-high.

  We may well wonder what happened when, after Fyne had left him, thehesitating girl went up at last and opened the door of that room whereour man, I am certain, was not extinguished. Oh no! Nor cold; whateverelse he might have been.

  "It is conceivable he might have cried at her in the first moment ofhumiliation, of exasperation, `Oh, it's you! Why are you here? If I amso odious to you that you must write to my sister to say so, I give youback your word.' But then, don't you see, it could not have been that.I have the practical certitude that soon afterwards they went togetherin a hansom to see the ship--as agreed. That was my reason for sayingthat Flora de Barral did go to sea..."

  "Yes. It seems conclusive," I agreed. "But even without that--if, asyou seem to think, the very desolation of that girlish figure had a sortof perversely seductive charm, making its way through his compassion tohis senses (and everything is possible)--then such words could not havebeen spoken."

  "They might have escaped him involuntarily," observed Marlow. "However,a plain fact settles it. They went off together to see the ship."

  "Do you conclude from this that nothing whatever was said?" I inquired.

  "I should have liked to see the first meeting of their glances upstairsthere," mused Marlow. "And perhaps nothing was said. But no man comesout of such a `wrangle' (as Fyne called it) without showing some tracesof it. And you may be sure that a girl so bruised all over would feelthe slightest touch of anything resembling coldness. She wasmistrustful; she could not be otherwise; for the energy of evil is somuch more forcible than the energy of good that she could not helplooking still upon her abominable governess as an authority. How couldone have expected her to throw off the unholy prestige of that longdomination? She could not help believing what she had been told; thatshe was in some mysterious way odious and unlovable. It was cruellytrue--_to her_. The oracle of so many years had spoken finally. Onlyother people did not find her out at once.--I would not go so far as tosay she believed it altogether. That would be hardly possible. Butthen haven't the most flattered, the most conceited of us their momentsof doubt? Haven't they? Well, I don't know. There may be lucky beingsin this world unable to believe any evil of themselves. For my own partI'll tell you that once, many years ago now, it came to my knowledgethat a fellow I had been mixed up with in a certain transaction--aclever fellow whom I really despised--was going around telling peoplethat I was a consummate hypocrite. He could know nothing of it. Itsuited his humour to say so. I had given him no ground for thatparticular calumny. Yet to this day there are moments when it comesinto my mind, and involuntarily I ask myself, `What if it were true?'It's absurd, but it has on one or two occasions nearly affected myconduct. And yet I was not an impressionable ignorant young girl. Ihad taken the exact measure of the fellow's utter worthlessness longbefore. He had never been for me a person of prestige and power, likethat awful governess to Flora de Barral. See the might of suggestion?We live at the mercy of a malevolent word. A sound, a mere disturbanceof the air, sinks into our very soul sometimes. Flora de Barral hadbeen more astounded than convinced by the first impetuosity of RoderickAnthony. She let herself be carried along by a mysterious force whichher person had called into being, as her father had been carried awayout of his depth by the unexpected power of successful advertising.

  "They went on board that morning. The _Ferndale_ had just come to herloading berth. The only living creature on board was the ship-keeper--whether the same who, had been described to us by Mr Powell, oranother, I don't know. Possibly some other man. He, looking over theside, saw, in his own words, `the captain come sailing round the cornerof the nearest cargo-shed, in company with a girl.' He lowered theaccommodation ladder down on to the jetty..."

  "How do you know all this?" I interrupted.

  Marlow interjected an impatient:

  "You shall see by and by... Flora went up first, got down on deck andstood stock-still till the captain took her by the arm and led her aft.The ship-keeper let them into the saloon. He had the keys of all thecabins, and stumped in after them. The captain ordered him to open allthe doors, every blessed door; state-rooms, passages, pantry,fore-cabin--and then sent him away.

  "The _Ferndale_ had magnificent accommodation. At the end of a passageleading from the quarter-deck there was a long saloon, its sumptuosityslightly tarnished perhaps, but having a grand air of roominess andcomfort. The harbour carpets were down, the swinging lamps hung, andeverything in its place, even to the silver on the sideboard. Two largestern-cabins opened out of it, one on each side of the rudder casing.These two cabins communicated through a small bathroom between them, andone was fitted up as the captain's state-room. The other was vacant,and furnished with armchairs and a round table, more like a room onshore, except for the long curved settee following the shape of theship's stern. In a dim inclined mirror, Flora caught sight down to thewaist of a pale-faced girl in a white straw hat trimmed with roses,distant, shadowy, as if immersed in water, and was surprised torecognise herself in those surroundings. They seemed to her arbitrary,bizarre, strange. Captain Anthony moved on, and she followed him. Heshowed her the other cabins. He talked all the time loudly in a voiceshe seemed to have known extremely well for a long time; and yet, shereflected, she had not heard it often in her life. What he was sayingshe did not quite follow. He was speaking of comparatively indifferentthings in a rather moody tone, but she felt it round her like a caress.And when he stopped she could hear, alarming in the sudden silence, theprecipitated beating of her heart."

  The ship-keeper dodged about the quarter-deck, out of hearing, andtrying to keep out of sight. At the same time, taking advantage of theopen doors with skill and prudence, he could see the captain and "thatgirl" the captain had brought aboard. The captain was showing her roundvery thoroughly. Through the whole length of the passage, far away aftin the perspective of the saloon the ship-keeper had interestingglimpses of them as they went in and out of the various cabins, crossingfrom side to side, remaining invisible for a time in one or another ofthe state-rooms, and then reappearing again in the distance. The girl,always following the captain, had her sunshade in her hands. Mostly shewould hang her head, but now and then she would look up. They had a lotto say to each other, and seemed to forget they weren't alone in theship. He saw the captain put his hand on her shoulder, and waspreparing himself with a certain zest for what might follow, when the"old man" seemed to recollect himself, and came striding down all thelength of the saloon. At this move the ship-keeper promptly dodged outof sight, as you may believe, and heard the captain slam the inner doorof the passage. After that disappointment the ship-keeper waitedresentfully for them to clear out of the ship. It happened much soonerthan he had expected. The girl walked out on deck first. As before shedid not look round. She didn't look at anything; and she seemed to bein such a hurry to get ashore that she made for the gangway and starteddown the ladder without waiting for the captain.

  What struck the ship-keeper most was the absent, unseeing expression ofthe captain, striding after the girl. He passed him,
the ship-keeper,without notice, without an order, without so much as a look. Thecaptain had never done so before. Always had a nod and a pleasant wordfor a man. From this slight the ship-keeper drew a conclusionunfavourable to the strange girl. He gave them time to get down on thewharf before crossing the deck to steal one more look at the pair overthe rail. The captain took hold of the girl's arm just before a coupleof railway trucks drawn by a horse came rolling along and hid them fromthe ship-keeper's sight for good.

  Next day, when the chief mate joined the ship, he told him the tale ofthe visit, and expressed himself about the girl "who had got hold of thecaptain" disparagingly. She didn't look healthy, he explained. "Shabbyclothes, too," he added spitefully.

  The mate was very much interested. He had been with Anthony for severalyears, and had won for himself in the course of many long voyages, afooting of familiarity, which was to be expected with a man of Anthony'scharacter. But in that slowly-grown intimacy of the sea, which in itsduration and solitude had its unguarded moments, no words had passed,even of the most casual, to prepare him for the vision of his captainassociated with any kind of girl. His impression had been that womendid not exist for Captain Anthony. Exhibiting himself with a girl! Agirl! What did he want with a girl? Bringing her on board and showingher round the cabin! That was really a little bit too much. CaptainAnthony ought to have known better.

  Franklin (the chief mate's name was Franklin) felt disappointed; almostdisillusioned. Silly thing to do! Here was a confounded oldship-keeper set talking. He snubbed the ship-keeper, and tried to thinkof that insignificant bit of foolishness no more; for it diminishedCaptain Anthony in his eyes of a jealously devoted subordinate.

  Franklin was over forty; his mother was still alive. She stood in theforefront of all women for him, just as Captain Anthony stood in theforefront of all men. We may suppose that these groups were not verylarge. He had gone to sea at a very early age. The feeling whichcaused these two people to partly eclipse the rest of mankind were ofcourse not similar; though in time he had acquired the conviction thathe was "taking care" of them both. The "old lady" of course had to belooked after as long as she lived. In regard to Captain Anthony, heused to say that: why should he leave him? It wasn't likely that hewould come across a better sailor or a better man or a more comfortableship. As to trying to better himself in the way of promotion, commandswere not the sort of thing one picked up in the streets, and when itcame to that, Captain Anthony was as likely to give him a lift onoccasion as anyone in the world.

  From Mr Powell's description Franklin was a short, thick black-hairedman, bald on the top. His head sunk between the shoulders, his staringprominent eyes and a florid colour, gave him a rather apoplecticappearance. In repose, his congested face had a humorously melancholyexpression.

  The ship-keeper having given him up all the keys and having been chasedforward with the admonition to mind his own business and not to chatterabout what did not concern him, Mr Franklin went under the poop. Heopened one door after another; and, in the saloon, in the captain'sstate-room and everywhere, he stared anxiously as if expecting to see onthe bulkheads, on the deck, in the air, something unusual--sign, mark,emanation, shadow--he hardly knew what--some subtle change wrought bythe passage of a girl. But there was nothing. He entered theunoccupied stern-cabin and spent some time there unscrewing the twostern ports. In the absence of all material evidences his uneasinesswas passing away. With a last glance round he came out and foundhimself in the presence of his captain advancing from the other end ofthe saloon.

  Franklin, at once, looked for the girl. She wasn't to be seen. Thecaptain came up quickly. `Oh! you are here, Mr Franklin.' And themate said, `I was giving a little air to the place, sir.' Then thecaptain, his hat pulled down over his eyes, laid his stick on the tableand asked in his kind way: `How did you find your mother,Franklin?'--`The old lady's first-rate, sir, thank you.' And then theyhad nothing to say to each other. It was a strange and disturbingfeeling for Franklin. He, just back from leave, the ship just come toher loading berth, the captain just come on board, and apparentlynothing to say! The several questions he had been anxious to ask as tovarious things which had to be done had slipped out of his mind. He,too, felt as though he had nothing to say.

  The captain, picking up his stick off the table, marched into hisstate-room and shut the door after him. Franklin remained still for amoment and then started slowly to go on deck. But before he had time toreach the other end of the saloon he heard himself called by name. Heturned round. The captain was staring from the doorway of hisstate-room. Franklin said, "Yes, sir." But the captain, silent, leaneda little forward grasping the door handle. So he, Franklin, walked aftkeeping his eyes on him. When he had come up quite close he said again,"Yes, sir?" interrogatively. Still silence. The mate didn't like to bestared at in that manner, a manner quite new in his captain, with adefiant and self-conscious stare, like a man who feels ill and dares youto notice it. Franklin gazed at his captain, felt that there wassomething wrong, and in his simplicity voiced his feelings by askingpoint-blank:

  "What's wrong, sir?"

  The captain gave a slight start, and the character of his stare changedto a sort of sinister surprise. Franklin grew very uncomfortable, butthe captain asked negligently:

  "What makes you think that there's something wrong?"

  "I can't say exactly. You don't look quite yourself, sir," Franklinowned up.

  "You seem to have a confoundedly piercing eye," said the captain in suchan aggressive tone that Franklin was moved to defend himself.

  "We have been together now over six years, sir, so I suppose I know youa bit by this time. I could see there was something wrong directly youcame on board."

  "Mr Franklin," said the captain, "we have been more than six yearstogether, it is true, but I didn't know you for a reader of faces. Youare not a correct reader though. It's very far from being wrong. Youunderstand? As far from being wrong as it can very well be. It oughtto teach you not to make rash surmises. You should leave that to theshore people. They are great hands at spying out something wrong. Idare say they know what they have made of the world. A dam' poor job ofit and that's plain. It's a confoundedly ugly place, Mr Franklin. Youdon't know anything of it? Well--no, we sailors don't. Only now andthen one of us runs against something cruel or underhand, enough to makeyour hair stand on end. And when you do see a piece of their wickednessyou find that to set it right is not so easy as it looks... Oh! Icalled you back to tell you that there will be a lot of workmen, joinersand all that, sent down on board first thing to-morrow morning to startmaking alterations in the cabin. You will see to it that they don'tloaf. There isn't much time."

  Franklin was impressed by this unexpected lecture upon the wickedness ofthe solid world surrounded by the salt, uncorruptible waters on which heand his captain had dwelt all their lives in happy innocence. What hecould not understand was why it should have been delivered, and whatconnection it could have with such a matter as the alterations to becarried out in the cabin. The work did not seem to him to be called forin such a hurry. What was the use of altering anything? It was a verygood accommodation, spacious, well-distributed, on a ratherold-fashioned plan, and with its decorations somewhat tarnished. But adab of varnish, a touch of gilding here and there, was all that wasnecessary. As to comfort, it could not be improved by any alterations.He resented the notion of change; but he said dutifully that he wouldkeep his eye on the workmen if the captain would only let him know whatwas the nature of the work he had ordered to be done.

  "You'll find a note of it on this table. I'll leave it for you as I goashore," said Captain Anthony hastily. Franklin thought there was nomore to hear, and made a movement to leave the saloon. But the captaincontinued after a slight pause, "You will be surprised, no doubt, whenyou look at it. There'll be a good many alterations. It's on accountof a lady coming with us. I am going to get married, Mr Franklin!"

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