Harper's Round Table, September 10, 1895 Part 4

_Victoria_. What fun!

_Charlotte_. But we ought to let nothing interfere with our rehearsal.

_Helen_. Oh, bother the rehearsal! I have read these Old Sailor's yarns in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, haven't you? But I never heard a real sailor talk.

_Miss James_. I would better be going. If there's to be a man in the party, mamma might not like--

_Miss Sommerfield_. You will not offend your mamma, I am sure. This old sailor is a harmless, good-natured fellow.

_Grace_. How does Ida come to know Uncle Jake?

_Victoria_. Her brother follows the sea, and naturally she makes up to sailors.

_Olive_. Ida is a darling.

[_Enter_ Ida _and_ Uncle Jake.]

_Ida_. I have fetched him, girls; but he says he's in a hurry, and can only say how-de. (_Aside to the girls._) Do get him talking. His stories are genuine sailors' yarns.

_Madge_. How-de-do, Uncle Jake!

_Charlotte_. We are right glad to see you. Do sit and rest awhile on this bench.

_Miss Sommerfield_. We hope you are well, Uncle Jake?

_Uncle Jake_. Tol'able, ma'am, tol'able. My knees are stiff around the j'ints.

_Ida_. Uncle Jake, we are getting up an entertainment to be given in the hotel for the benefit of the Sea-side Home.

_Uncle Jake_. Now that's a good thing. Calc'late to fetch up there myself one of these days.

_Victoria_ (_laughing_). But, Uncle Jake, this is not a home for old sailors. It's for sick and poor babies. You see, they would die in their overcrowded hot tenements; but they come to the home and get well.

_Uncle Jake_. Oh, land sakes! That must be what the old gentleman referred to. Sick babies. Yes, that's it.

_Charlotte_. What old gentleman?

_Uncle Jake_. The one I met in the Saragossa Sea.

_Ida_. Elegant. Girls, he's going to spin a yarn. Uncle Jake, do please tell us about that. Was it an adventure?

_Uncle Jake_. Quite so, miss. But I interrupt your proceedings.

_Several at Once_. Oh, go on. Do. Never mind the proceedings.

_Uncle Jake_. Well, that there was a tight sc.r.a.pe, and no mistake. I was second mate of the _Blue Turquoise_. It was a first-cla.s.s voyage till we hove right inter the Saragossa Sea, and there we war becalmed and stuck as fast as a fly in mucilage. That Saragossa Sea is a curus place.

Sea-weeds grow a mile long, with blossoms big as sun-flowers. Monsters swim around, and squat on the branches and squint at the s.h.i.+ps a-lyin'

becalmed. It made me kinder s.h.i.+ver to see them creturs' hungry looks.

They knew a s.h.i.+p would rot to pieces, only give her time. Our Capting war powerful mad when he see he'd got inter the Saragossa Sea. But gettin' mad arter a thing is done don't do no good. Waal, it war a red and fiery ball of a sun. How I wished I could a set oncet more under a tree. Truly I'd ha' given my bottom dollar to be a settin' under that old oak that we had to hum, an' a breeze a-stirrin' the branches.

Somethin' to dry up the perspiration. Willie war cabin-boy, and homesick and down in the mouth, poor youngster. The Capting's face warn't rea.s.suring. He was plumb beat out.

_Miss Sommerfield_. Girls, do you recall Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner"?

_Olive_. Yes.

"As idle as a painted s.h.i.+p Upon a painted ocean."

Go on, Uncle Jake.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WAAL, ONE NIGHT I WAR ON DECK ALONE."]

_Uncle Jake_. Waal, one night I war on deck alone. Willie he was thar too. The Capting he come up. "Ain't no change, mate?" says he. "No, sir," says I. "Bad business," says he. "Better soon, I hope," says I.

"We're in the oidentical spot we was in two weeks ago," says he. "Mate, the perwisions is givin' out," says he, in a hoa.r.s.e voice. "I know it, sir," says I. It was the wust feature of the case. Thar war Willie standin' by, mournful-like. I tried to hearten up the Capting a bit, but 'twarn't no use. "I'd ruther be in a whirlpool," says he, "than here.

I'm goin' below. If there's a change call me," says he. So he went below, and pretty soon I heerd him and the rest of the crew snorin'.

There warn't a solitary blessed thing for the men to do, and they war all turned in. Willie and me we staid up and watched the heavens of bra.s.s. It might ha' been midnight when I sighted a speck a long ways off. There warn't no wind, yet it came on wonderful fast. "D'ye see that, Willie, my boy?" says I. "It are a curus craft." But Willie warn't asleep. He seen it too. Come near, there war a 'nurmous sh.e.l.l with a fine hearty old gentleman sittin' in it, and by his side the harndsomest young lady (barrin' present company) that I ever seed. She war a beautiful cretur, with black eyes s.h.i.+nin' like stars, and long golden hair, which she war a-combin' out the snarls. The sh.e.l.l was drawed by two white sea-horses. Their backs was like great fishes, and their tails lay on top the water like fishes' tails. Their forrud part war like horses, and their manes was like tossin' waves. Bless my soul, but they made a putty pictur. When they was hove close to us the old gentleman hauled up his horses, and "h.e.l.loh!" says he to me. "h.e.l.loh!" says I.

"What's the name of this ere wessel?" says he. The "_Blue Turquoise_,"

says I. "Jes so," says he. "Becalmed, ain't ye?" "You're right there, sir," says I. "What may I call you, sir?" says I. "Oh, I'm Father Neptune," says he.

_Miss James_. Oh, now, Uncle Jake. That's impossible.

_Ida_. Nothing is impossible. Don't interrupt.

_Uncle Jake_. I'm only tellin' ye what he said. He had a pitchfork in his hand 'stead of a whip.

_Miss James_. That wasn't a pitchfork. It was a trident, which had three p.r.o.ngs, and was a symbol of Neptune. Mamma--

_Victoria_. Miss James, you must be a realist. Now, please let the story go on. Pitchfork it is, Uncle Jake.

_Uncle Jake_. Yes, ma'am, it war. "Well," says I, "that harndsome gal is Miss Neptune, I suppose." With that the young lady laughed fit to kill.

"Not by a long shot," says she. "I am Miss Lorelei." Then she giv me one of them piercin' glances of hern, and I s.h.i.+vered. Willie he felt oneasy too. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," says I. "Be you the pusson what sits on a rock and draws sailors to their own destruction?" "The very same,"

says she, and she kep' on laughin' and laughin'. "If you please, ma'am,"

says I, "I'd ruther not be drawed. Though 'twould be a change on staying here." "You're safe," says she. "I ain't in the drawin' business now,"

says she. "Father Neptune and me's takin' a trip round the world."

Father Neptune he spoke up, and says he, "Ever been to America? They say it's a fine country. We're goin' there. I want to see their big s.h.i.+ps that cross the ocean in five days, seven hours, and fifty-nine minutes.

That beats me. And then their life-savin' stations, and light-houses, and sea-side homes for poor sick babies. I want to see them all. Sea-air is good for babies, eh? Good enough for me. I've lived on it several hundred years." "You're lookin' hale and hearty, sir, I'm sure," says I.

"Well, good-by, and good luck to ye," says he, pullin' at the reins.

"Hold on, your Honor," says I, for an idee had taken possession of me.

"Can't ye give us a pull out er this?" He talked low with Miss Lorelei, and she didn't seem to object. "All right, throw us your hawser," says he. I was all of atremble, but Willie and me got that there rope loose in a hurry, and threw one end to Father Neptune, and made fast the other. "Ain't you afraid?" says Willie. "No, my boy," says I. "The end justifies the means." Miss Lorelei took hold of the hawser, and Father Neptune give his horses a poke with his pitchfork, and my eyes! the old thing groaned and started. The _Blue Turquoise_ was actually under way, and them horses foamin' and prancin' for all they was wurth, 'twarn't long before we was flyin' and churnin' the waves behind. Miss Lorelei looked back with them wicked, beautiful eyes of hern, and tossed her golding hair, and, "You see I am back again in the drawin' business,"

says she, with a laugh like the rattle of silver.

Up come the Capting. "Got a wind, eh?" says he. "Why, no, not a breath.

What in thunder makes her go?" Then he spied the hawser drawn tight over the bow, and he turned pale, his knees knocked together, his teeth chattered. You might have pushed him down with a straw. It war, no mistake, a curus position, and I never blamed the Capting for feelin'

queer. "It's all right, sir," says I; "we're bein' tugged."

"Who's a-doin' the tuggin'?" says he. Father Neptune war nothin' more'n a speck on the water by this time, and Capting couldn't make him out. I told the facts to the Capting, and Willie, he j'ined in, and said it war blessed Gospel truth. But the Capting's wind was clean out of his sails.

I set him a steamer-chair, and Willie fanned him with a newspaper before he fairly come to. "Lord," says I, "Capting, what's the odds _how_ you git out of this, s'long 's you only git out?" which I hold to be a pretty good p'int.