Part 38 (1/2)

Mrs. Jane was no more in the house.

”It's a curious thing,” said Jonas Rea, ”but the first s.h.i.+p my mother made was no sooner done than my boy Peter died, and when she made another, with two masts, as soon as ever it was finished she died herself, and shortly after my wife, Jane, who took a chill at mother's funeral. It settled on her chest, and she died in a fortnight.”

”Is that the boat?” I inquired, pointing to a gla.s.s case on a cupboard, in which was a rudely executed schooner.

”That's her,” replied Jonas; ”and I'd like you to have a look close at her.”

I walked to the cupboard and looked.

”Do you see anything particular?” asked the fisherman.

”I can't say that I do.”

”Look at her masthead. What is there?”

After a pause I said: ”There is a grey hair, that is all, like a pennant.”

”I mean that,” said Jonas. ”I can't say whether my old mother put a hair from her white head there for the purpose, or whether it caught and fixed itself when she fell forward clasping the boat, and the masts and spars and shrouds were all tangled in her hair. Anyhow, there it be, and that's one reason why I've had the _Bold Venture_ put in a gla.s.s case--that the white hair may never by no chance get brushed away from it. Now, look again. Do you see nothing more?”

”Can't say I do.”

”Look at the bows.”

I did so. Presently I remarked: ”I see nothing except, perhaps, some bruises, and a little bit of red paint.”

”Ah! that's it, and where did the red paint come from?”

I was, of course, quite unable to suggest an explanation.

Presently, after Mr. Rea had waited--as if to draw from me the answer he expected--he said: ”Well, no, I reckon you can't tell. It was thus. When mother died, I brought the _Bold Venture_ here and set her where she is now, on the cupboard, and Jonas, he had set the new s.h.i.+p, all red and green, the _Saucy Jane_ it was called, on the bureau. Will you believe me, next morning when I came downstairs the frigate was on the floor, and some of her spars broken and all the rigging in a muddle.”

”There was no lead on the bottom. It fell down.”

”It was not once that happened. It came to the same thing every night; and what is more, the _Bold Venture_ began to show signs of having fouled her.”

”How so?”

”Run against her. She had bruises, and had brought away some of the paint of the _Saucy Jane_. Every morning the frigate, if she were'nt on the floor, were rammed into a corner, and battered as if she'd been in a bad sea.”

”But it is impossible.”

”Of course, lots o' things is impossible, but they happen all the same.”

”Well, what next?”

”Jane, she was ill, and took wus and wus, and just as she got wus so it took wus as well with the _Saucy Jane_. And on the night she died, I reckon that there was a reg'lar pitched sea-fight.”

”But not at sea.”