Part 13 (1/2)

6.

A daughter was born to Joseph and Susan in 1871, and this completed their family.

Susan was seriously ill at the birth of Katherine, and the old doctor warned her that she must be very careful in the future if she wanted to be sure of her life. Suspecting that she would say nothing to her husband, and would in all probability keep the matter to herself, making light of his words, the doctor determined to tackle Joseph himself.

Joseph returned to Plyn three weeks after his daughter had been born, and was amazed to see the man's long face, and that he still visited Susan and the baby every day.

'Why, she'll be up and about soon, surely,' he said. 'The house is very uncomfortable with a woman hired in to do the work, and to only give an eye to the children now and again. My wife is strong and healthy, isn't she?'

'Your wife is past forty, Joe,' said the doctor seriously. 'She's borne four children now, and this one has all but killed her. Unless she takes very great care of herself from now on, I won't answer for the consequences.'

'Thank you, doctor,' said Joseph slowly, and turned into the house. He supposed he had been selfish and inconsiderate, but all said and done he did not consider he had been entirely to blame. After all, Susan had never complained, she had never said a word to him about weakness in health. He could not be expected to guess this sort of thing, when he was away at sea for nearly eight months in the year. Supposing something happened to Susan and he was left with this young family on his hands. What in the world would he do with them? And Lizzie was married, no possible hope in the thought that she would come and live in the house.

Susan would always be something of an invalid in the future. What a hopeless outlook it was going to be. She would just act as his housekeeper and bring up the children. No more than this.

'Doctor says you've been worse than poorly this time, my dear,' he began awkwardly. 'Somehow I didn't come to realize things, bein' away so much, and then just at home for short whiles now an' agen. I ought to have known that . . .' He broke off in confusion, afraid to hurt her by alluding to her age. He had always made a point of ignoring it. 'I reckon that men don't figure matters out the same as women do,' he went on, trying to be as gentle in his words as possible. 'Sailors, too, are a selfish, careless crowd, seldom givin' a thought to others. I've been as bad as any o' them. We'll start things different in future, an' you must get well quick an' get out in the air, 'twill pull you together in no time.'

'That's what's been the worryin' of me up here,' cried Susan fretfully, 'to know as you're back an' I can't look after you. I know the house'll be all upside down, an' nothin' like comfortable for you. The place not clean nor tidy, in all likelihood, and the boys runnin' wild. You'll be that irritated you'll be wantin' to go off to your s.h.i.+p again. Oh! dear - oh! dear.'

'There, there, dear,' said Joseph, taking his wife's hand. 'Everythin' is in perfect order, all s.h.i.+pshape an' Bristol fas.h.i.+on. I'm perfectly happy an' content, an' the boys no worry. Susan, my love-' He was stumbling to tell her how sorry he was for bringing her to this state, how he cursed himself for a selfish blind ruffian, and that in the years to come, from now onward, he would love her devotedly and selflessly, protecting her and caring for her. Perhaps it was not too late to start some sort of companions.h.i.+p, nothing physical nor pa.s.sionate, but a deep understanding born of mutual trust and affection. This poor tired-eyed woman was his wife, Christopher's mother; who had slaved and worked for him while he had grumbled and groaned that she could not share his dreams.

'There now,' she choked, blowing her nose, 'now you're vexed with me for givin' way, and quite right an' proper too, for you to feel like that. I'm a stupid selfish woman, who gets silly little fads into her head, an' you're too good to say you mind the house upside down, though I know well you hate it. Never mind, dear, I'll be up soon, and all will go on as before.'

Joseph rose and stood above her helplessly. She had misunderstood him again, and another fresh ideal had flown to the winds. He realized that there could never be anything permanent or truthful about their relations.h.i.+p. Husband and wife. Queer. Had Janet lived thus with his father? No, he believed there had been moments of beauty between them.

He looked at the baby girl whom his wife was trying to soothe. Poor little thing, with her blue eyes like a kitten. Why could he feel no sort of emotion towards his children, except - Christopher. And Chris was a shy sensitive boy, who didn't seem to understand.

'I've made a mess o' things, somehow,' he thought, but aloud he said to his wife, 'Don't take on, dear, you'll soon be better now, an' the little girl is a dear, I can see.'

Then he went downstairs and sat alone in the stiff parlour.

Joseph was nearly a month in Plyn before sailing again, and he enjoyed this holiday ash.o.r.e more than he had ever done since Janet had died. As Susan had feared, the house got upside down, and this was what appealed to her husband, though she never had any idea of it. It amused him to take off his boots in the fender and put his feet on the mantelshelf. He left the parlour, and spent his time in the kitchen when he was not out-of-doors. The meals were late and badly cooked by the woman who came in daily.Time did not matter, and he could wander in to one of these sc.r.a.ppy suppers and smoke all the time, with an old wet jacket on his back, and a newspaper in his hand.

He started to make a great pet of Christopher, and would take him off for walks alone, leaving Albert and little Charles to play together in the garden. He crammed the lad's pockets with fruit and pennies, he went to the shops and bought him buns and sweets. The boy was quick to see the favour shown to him, and soon lost his early fear of his father. He saw that he had only to express a wish for something, and he was immediately given it.

Joseph imagined that by giving in to him like this and winning his affection, he was paving the way to the wonderful companions.h.i.+p of the future, the dream of which clung to his mind. Christopher would understand him as Janet had done.

Already the boy ran to him with a smile on his face, and told him his troubles and his wishes.

Once a dog barked loudly in the street, and the little fellow flung himself against his father with a cry of fear, clutching at his knee, burying his head against his trousers.

'There, there, Chris sonny, father has you. He won't let the brute harm you,' said Joseph, running his hand through the child's curls, lifting him up and kissing his cheek. 'My boy mustn't be afraid of animals. Stop cryin', sweetheart, an' we'll go and buy you some sweets.'

The crying stopped instantly.

'Can't ye keep the dog under control?' shouted Joseph angrily to the owner. 'My son is a nervy little chap, an' this sort o' thing is enough to make him ill.'

The boy snuggled his head in his father's shoulder.

'Can I 'ave pepp'ment?' he whispered.

'Bless you, you can have the whole shop,' said Joseph.

He had never imagined he could feel like this, just because the boy was next to him, and asked him for something.

Joseph sailed next time happier than he had been for years, feeling that now at last there was somebody who mattered to him, somebody who would welcome him on his return with a solid depth of love in his heart, and who as he grew older would become his one reason for living, apart from the s.h.i.+p and the sea.

It was during these years that the fruit trade was at its height, and the Janet Coombe was one of the many schooners who raced from St Michaels or the Mediterranean back to the Thames or the Mersey with this perishable cargo. Sometimes freights ran as high as 7 a ton, and there would be numbers of schooners alongside Joseph's s.h.i.+p near London Bridge, waiting to discharge. Pa.s.sages were made as far as Smyrna and other eastern ports, where the cargo would be currants.

Sometimes the Janet Coombe would be out to St Michaels and back in seventeen days, for Joseph was a desperate carrier of sail, pressing his little vessel under every rag he could set; and when other s.h.i.+ps would be held up by a westerly gale he would thrash his way down Channel, hanging on to his canvas until the last possible moment.

It was a hard life and a rough life, and through his men sometimes cursed him for a driver, they were proud of him right enough; and when they arrived at St Michaels and found the stores full of fruit and scarce another vessel in port, they could afford to laugh at the caution of the other skippers, hove to or brought up somewhere till the gale moderated, while the slippery-heeled Janet Coombe had nipped in and got the best of the market.

When the steamers began to capture the fruit trade and freights became scarce for a sailing s.h.i.+p in the western isles, the Janet Coombe loaded with salt or clay for St John's, Newfoundland, and after fighting her way across the Atlantic she would fill with salt fish and travel down to the Mediterranean ports with her cargo, sometimes taking only sixteen days for her pa.s.sage back.

During these races, and the battles against wind and sea, Joseph forgot Plyn, and Christopher, and lived only for the zest of this life, which needed all his strength and endurance, and a keen mind alert to danger and unforeseen disaster. The old quiet days at Plyn were nothing but a dim memory, this was the life for which he had been born, he, and this s.h.i.+p that was part of him.

These were the days when Joseph was conscious of really living, and not merely eking out a solitary existence as he did on sh.o.r.e, try though he might to forsake loneliness and cleave to his family. Here on the s.h.i.+p Janet was with him, but at Plyn he found her not. Christopher was only a boy, and though in the years to come he would be an ever-present joy and consolation, yet at the moment it was impossible to make him understand everything, for all his affectionate ways.

When Christopher was twelve, there came an incident that was like a sharp blow to his father, and though Joseph reasoned with himself and pretended it was just childish nonsense, he was aware after this of a queer bitterness that clung to him, and a disappointment in his heart half sorrowful, half afraid. It happened that in the spring of that year the Janet Coombe made the record for the fastest pa.s.sage from St Michaels to Bristol, and the s.h.i.+p remained there for the s.p.a.ce of a few days to unload, after which she was to return to Plyn in ballast.

Susan's sister Cathie had married a shopkeeper in Bristol town, and there Joseph lodged for his visit. Cathie had been spending a little while with her sister in Plyn, and was returning in time to look after her brother-in-law. It was then that Joseph suggested that Cathie should bring back Christopher with her to Bristol, so that he should be able to sail with him on the Janet Coombe to Plyn.

During the few days at Bristol Joseph wondered rather that Christopher did not show more interest in the unloading and the life of the quayside. If he himself as a boy had been given the chance of a visit to Bristol, he knew it would have been impossible to drag him away from the s.h.i.+pping and the wharves, and that he would have gone hungry rather than miss the sight of a barque leaving the port, or the entrance of a full-rigged s.h.i.+p.

Christopher, though exceedingly affectionate and pleased to see his father at meal-times, seemed perfectly content to be taken by his aunt to look in the shop windows of the town, and to carry her basket for her, never once suggesting that he should change his walk in the direction of the harbour.

Again, nothing seemed to please him better than to be allowed to stand behind the counter in his uncle's own shop, and be permitted to help serve the customers.

At last the boy bade farewell to his uncle and aunt, and stepped aboard the Janet Coombe with his father. It was fun running about the deck and talking to the men, also it was a fine morning. After a day, though, the s.h.i.+p seemed a trifle cramped. It started raining, and Christopher, who hated getting wet, went below to the cabin. It was so small and stuffy, and such a squeeze too at night, sleeping in the poky bunk alongside of father.

He didn't fancy the food much, though he was too polite to say so. Joseph appearing for a moment down the companionway roared with laughter at his small pinched face.

'Feelin' her roll?' he said, bringing an atmosphere of wet oilskin into the close cabin. 'We're in for a dirty night, so I reckon you'll be a bit squeamish-like. Never mind,'twon't take long afore you have your sea-legs. Lie down in my bunk an' take it easy, though speakin' for myself, I got over it as a boy by climbin' on deck an' layin' my hand to some work. You'll find me on deck should you want a breath o' air.'

Christopher had no intention of going on deck. He lay on the bunk groaning and sniffing; every lurch of the little vessel was agony to him. Being in ballast of course the Janet Coombe pitched much worse than if she had been carrying a cargo, and they were reaching that part of the ocean where the Atlantic meets the Channel, and there was a heavy cross sea. All night it continued thus, with poor Christopher below. It wasn't fair, he ought to have been told sailing was like this. Father was mean and unkind to bring him.

Early next morning, when still dark, the s.h.i.+p had cleared the rough and tumble of Land's End, and was now well advanced in the Channel with the Lizard lights ahead, and a stiff sou'westerly breeze and a big following sea.

The movement of the s.h.i.+p was changed, and she frisked along now like a mad spirit, kicking her heels at the weather astern. Joseph wanted to see his boy beside him and hear his glad shout of delight. He went to the head of the companionway and yelled to his son.

'Come up, Chris, and watch the night. Now the motion's easy you won't feel ill no more. Come up, lad, when I tell ye.'

The boy was s.h.i.+vering in his bunk. He had got over his sickness for the moment, but he did not want to leave the warm cabin for the cold cheerless weather on deck. He wanted to be home in bed or in the shop at Bristol.

However, the habit of obedience was too strong for him, and he climbed out of the berth and struggled up the companionway.The night was pitch dark.The gale was howling in the rigging, it tore at his legs and thrashed him in the face with a stinging blow, and the bitter rain blinded his eyes.