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Page 2
The child rose and stretched himself wearily. He had had a happy time,
but it was over now; he must leave the water, which he cared more for
than for anything in the world,--must leave the water and go back to the
small close house, and go to bed, and dream no more dreams. Ah! when
would some one come,--no play hero, but a real one, in a white-sailed
ship, and carry him off, never to set foot on shore again?
He turned to go, for the shadows were falling, and already a fog had
crept up the river, almost hiding the brown, swiftly-flowing water; yet
before leaving the wharf he turned back once more and looked up and
down, with eyes that strove to pierce the fog veil,--eager, longing eyes
of a child, who hopes every moment to see the doors open into
fairy-land.
And lo! what was this that he saw? What was this that came gliding
slowly, silently out of the dusk, out of the whiteness, itself whiter
than the river fog, more shadowy than the films of twilight? The child
held his breath, and his heart beat fast, fast. A vessel, or the ghost
of a vessel? Nearer and nearer it came, and now he could see masts and
spars, sails spread to catch the faint breeze, gleaming brass-work about
the decks. A vessel, surely; yet,--what was that? The fog lifted for a
moment, or else his eyes grew better used to the dimness, and he saw a
strange thing. On the prow of the vessel, which now was seen to be a
schooner, stood a figure; a statue, was it? Surely it was a statue of
bronze, like the Soldiers' Monument, leaning against the mast, with
folded arms.
Nearer! Fear seized the boy, for he thought the statue had eyes like
real eyes, and he saw them move, as if looking from right to left; the
whites glistened, the dark balls rolled from side to side. The child
stood still, feeling as if he had called up this phantom out of his own
thoughts; perhaps in another minute it would fade away into the fog, as
it had come, and leave only the flowing tide and the shrouded banks on
either side!
Nearer! and now the bronze figure lifted its arm, slowly, silently, and
pointed at the boy. But this was more than flesh and blood could stand;
little John uttered a choking cry, and turning his back on the awful
portent, ran home as fast as he could lay foot to ground. And on seeing
this the bronze figure laughed, and its teeth glistened, even as the
eyes had done.
CHAPTER II.
THE SKIPPER.
The little boy slept brokenly that night. Bronze statues flitted through
his dreams, sometimes frowning darkly on him, folding him in an iron
clasp, dragging him down into the depths of roaring whirlpools;
sometimes, still stranger to say, smiling, looking on him with kindly
eyes, and telling him that the sea was not so far away as he thought,
and that one day he should see it and know the sound of it. His bed was
a white schooner,--there seemed no possible doubt of that; it tossed up
and down as it lay by the wharf; and once the lines were cast off, and
he was about to be carried away, when up rose the crew that he had
rescued from shipwreck, and cried with one voice, "No! no! he shall not
go!" The voice was that of Mr. Endymion Scraper, and not a pleasant
voice to hear; moreover, the voice had hands, lean and hard, which
clutched the boy's shoulder, and shook him roughly; and at last,
briefly, it appeared that it was time to get up, and that if the boy
John did not get up that minute, like the lazy good-for-nothing he was,
Mr. Scraper would give him such a lesson as he would not forget for one
while.
John tumbled out of bed, and stood rubbing his eyes for a moment, his
wits still abroad. The water heaved and subsided under him, but
presently it hardened into the garret floor. He staggered a few steps,
as the hard hand gave him a push and let him go, then stood firm and
looked about him. Gradually the room grew familiar; the painted bed and
chair, the window with its four small panes, which he loved to polish
and clean, "so that the sky could come through," the purple mussel-shell
and the china dog, his sole treasures and ornaments. The mussel was his
greatest joy, perhaps; it had been given him by a fisherman, who had
brought a pocket-full back from his sea trip, to please his own
children. It made no sound, but the tint was pure and lovely, and it was
lined with rainbow pearl. The dog was not jealous, for he knew (or the
boy John thought he knew), that he was, after all, the more
companionable of the two, and that he was talked to ten times for the
mussel's once. John was telling him now, as he struggled into his shirt
and trousers, about the vision of last night, and the dreams that
followed it. "And as soon as ever I have my chores done," he said, and
his eyes shone, and his cheek flushed at the thought, "as soon as ever,
I'm going down there, just to see. Of course, I suppose it isn't there,
you know; but then,--if it should be!"
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