CHAPTER IX.
JAN AT HIS POST
“Then like an embryo bird
One day, he knew not how, but God that morn
Had pricked his soul – he cracked his shelly case, and
Claimed his due portion in a larger life.
Into new life he starts, surveys the world
With bolder scope, and breathes more ample breath.”
With a great sigh of content Jan resigned himself to rest when the parting was over; and “The Lapwing,” with wind and tide in her favor, went almost flying down the black North Sea. The motion of the vessel and the scent of the salt breeze were like his mother’s lap and his native air. He had cast off his old life like an old garment. Michael Snorro and Dr. Balloch were the only memories of it he desired to carry into his new one. But at the first hour he could not even think of them. He only wanted to sleep.
Very soon sleep came to him, steeped him from head to feet in forgetfulness, lulled him fathoms deep below the tide of life and feeling. It was after twelve the next noon when he opened his eyes. Lord Lynne was sitting at the cabin table just opposite his berth. It took Jan two or three moments to remember where he was, and during them Lord Lynne looked up and smiled at him. Jan smiled back a smile frank and trustful as a child’s. It established his position at once. Lord Lynne had been wondering what that position was to be, and he had decided to let Jan’s unconscious behavior settle it. Even an animal, or a bird, that trusts us, wins us. The face that Jan turned to Lord Lynne was just such a face as he would have turned to Snorro – it trusted every thing, it claimed every thing, and every thing was given it.
“You have had your health-sleep, Vedder; I dare say you are hungry now?”
“Very hungry,” answered Jan. “Is it breakfast time?”
“You mean is it lunch time? You will have to put two meals into one. Shall I order you some fresh fish, and eggs, and a broiled bird?”
“The thought of them is good.”
“And some roast mutton and potatoes?”
“Yes, and plenty of tea if thou pleases.”
My lord had his lunch while Jan ate his breakfast, and a very pleasant meal they made of it. The yacht was tossing and pitching a good deal, but they were leaving the islands behind and sailing fast toward smoother waters and brighter skies. Jan improved with every hour’s flight, and he would gladly have left his berth had Lord Lynne permitted it.
“At Aberdeen,” he said, “you shall go on shore, and see a physician. Dr. Balloch thinks that he has treated you properly, but I promised him to make sure of it.”
The decision at Aberdeen was highly favorable. Jan was assured that he might be on deck a few hours every day, with great advantage to his health. They remained in Aberdeen two days. On the second day a trunk bearing his name was brought on board. Lord Lynne was on shore at the time, but his valet had it taken to Jan’s room and opened. It contained a quantity of linen and clothing.
Jan had a love for good clothing. He felt its influence, and without reasoning about the matter, felt that it influenced every one else. When he had put on the linen, and a yachting suit with its gilt buttons, and had knotted the handkerchief at his neck, he felt that in all eyes he was a different being from Vedder the fisherman.
It would have been a difficult matter to Lord Lynne to have given clothing to some men, but Jan had not a vulgar feeling. He made no protestations, no excuses, no promises of repayment; he was not offensively demonstrative in his gratitude. He took the gift, as the gift had been given, with pleasure and confidence, and he looked handsome and noble in every thing he put on.
Lord Lynne was proud of him. He liked to see his crew watch Jan. He encouraged his valet to tell him what they said of him. Every one had invented some romance about the yacht’s visitor; no one supposed him to be of less than noble birth. The cook had a theory that he was some prince who had got into trouble with his father. The secrecy with which he had been brought on board at midnight, his scarcely healed wound, the disguise of a fisherman’s dress, were all regarded as positive proofs of some singular and romantic adventure. On board “The Lapwing” Jan was the central point of every man’s interest and speculations.
And at this time, even Lord Lynne was a little in the dark regarding Jan. Dr. Balloch had only spoken of him as a young man going to ruin for want of some friends. Incidentally he had alluded to his matrimonial troubles, and, one evening when they were walking, he had pointed out Margaret Vedder. She was standing on the Troll Rock looking seaward. The level rays of the setting sun fell upon her. She stood, as it were, in a glory; and Lord Lynne had been much struck with her noble figure and with the set melancholy of her fine face.
So he knew that Jan had had trouble about his wife, and also that he had been wounded in a fight; and putting the two things together he made a perfectly natural inference. He was aware, also, that Margaret was Peter Fae’s daughter and a probable heiress. If he thought of Jan’s social position, he doubtless considered that only a Shetland gentleman would aspire to her hand. But he made no effort whatever to gain Jan’s confidence; if he chose to give it, he would do so at the proper time, and without it they were very happy. For Lord Lynne had been a great traveler, and Jan never wearied of hearing about the places he had visited. With a map before him, he would follow every step up and down Europe. And across Asian seas, through Canadian cities, and the great plains of the West, the two men in memory and imagination went together.
Nothing was said of Jan’s future; he asked no questions, gave no hints, exhibited no anxiety. He took his holiday in holiday spirit, and Lord Lynne understood and appreciated the unselfishness and the gentlemanly feeling which dictated the apparent indifference. At Margate the yacht went into harbor. Lord Lynne expected letters there, which he said would decide his movements for the winter. He was silent and anxious when he landed; he was in a mood of reckless but assumed indifference when he came on board again.
After dinner he spread the large map on the saloon table, and said: “Vedder, what do you say to a few months’ cruise in the Mediterranean? I am not wanted at home, and I should like to show you some of the places we have talked about. Suppose we touch at the great Spanish ports, at Genoa, Venice, Naples and Rome, and then break the winter among the Isles of Greece and the old Ionian cities?”
Jan’s face beamed with delight; there was no need for him to speak.
“And,” continued his lordship, “as I sleep a great deal in warm climates, I shall want a good sailor aboard. I saw by the way you handled the yacht during that breeze in ‘The Wash,’ that you are one. Will you be my lieutenant this winter? I will pay you £100 a quarter; that will keep you in pocket money.”
“That will be a great deal of money to me, and I shall be very glad to earn it so pleasantly.”
“Then that settles matters for a few months – when we get back it will be time to buckle to work. Heigh-ho! Lieutenant, head ‘The Lapwing’ for the Bay of Biscay, and we will set our faces toward sunshine, and cast care and useless regret behind our backs.”
At Gibraltar Lord Lynne evidently expected letters, but they did not come. Every mail he was anxious and restless, every mail he was disappointed. At length he seemed to relinquish hope, and ‘The Lapwing’ proceeded on her voyage. One night they were drifting slowly off the coast of Spain. The full moon shone over a tranquil sea, and the wind blowing off shore, filled the sails with the perfume of orange blossoms. Lord Lynne had sent that day a boat into Valencia, hoping for letters, and had been again disappointed. As he walked the deck with Jan in the moonlight, he said sadly, “I feel much troubled to-night, Jan.”
“Ever since we were in Gibraltar I have seen that thou hast some trouble, my lord. And I am sorry for thee; my own heart is aching to-night; for that reason I can feel for thy grief too.”
“I wonder what trouble could come to a man hid away from life in such a quiet corner of the world as Shetland?”
“There is no corner too quiet, or too far away, for a woman to make sorrow in it.”
“By every thing! You are right, Jan.”
There was a few minutes’ silence, and then Jan said: “Shall I tell thee what trouble came to me through a woman in Shetland?”
“I would like to hear about it.”
Then Jan began. He spoke slowly and with some hesitation at first. His youth was connected with affairs about which the Shetlanders always spoke cautiously. His father had been one of the boldest and most successful of the men who carried on that “French trade” which the English law called smuggling. He had made money easily, had spent it lavishly, and at the last had gone to the bottom with his ship, rather than suffer her to be taken. His mother had not long survived her husband, but there had been money enough left to educate and provide for Jan until he reached manhood.
“I was ten years old when mother died,” he continued, “and since then no one has really loved me but Michael Snorro. I will tell thee how our love began. One day I was on the pier watching the loading of a boat. Snorro was helping with her cargo, and the boys were teasing him, because of his clumsy size and ugly face. One of them took Snorro’s cap off his head and flung it into the water. I was angry at the coward, and flung him after it, nor would I let him out of the water till he brought Snorro’s cap with him. I shall never forget the look Snorro gave me that hour. Ever since we have been close friends. I will tell thee now how he hath repaid me for that deed.”
Then Jan spoke of Margaret’s return from school; of their meeting at one Fisherman’s Foy, and of their wedding at the next. All of Peter’s kindness and subsequent injustice; all of Margaret’s goodness and cruelty, all of Snorro’s affection and patience he told. He made nothing better nor worse. His whole life, as he knew and could understand it, he laid before Lord Lynne.
“And so thou sees,” he concluded, “how little to blame and how much to blame I have been. I have done wrong and I have suffered. Yes, I suffer yet, for I love my wife and she has cast me off. Dost thou think I can ever be worthy of her?”
“I see, Jan, that what you said is true – in any corner of the earth where women are, they can make men suffer. As to your worthiness, I know not. There are some women so good, that only the angels of heaven could live with them. That £600 was a great mistake.”
“I think that now.”
“Jan, life is strangely different and yet strangely alike. My experience has not been so very far apart from yours. I was induced to marry when only twenty-one a lady who is my inferior in rank, but who is a very rich woman. She is a few years older than I, but she is beautiful, full of generous impulses, and well known for her charitable deeds.”
“You are surely fortunate.”
“I am very unhappy.”
“Does she not love thee?”
“Alas! she loves me so much that she makes both her own and my life miserable.”
“That is what I do not understand.”
“Her love is a great love, but it is a selfish love. She is willing that I should be happy in her way, but in no other. I must give her not only my affection, but my will, my tastes, my duties to every other creature. My friends, horses, dogs, even this yacht, she regards as enemies; she is sure that every one of them takes the thought and attention she ought to have. And the hardest part is, that her noble side only is seen by the world. I alone suffer from the fault that spoils all. Consequently the world pities her, and looks upon me very much as the people of Lerwick looked on you.”
“And can thou do nothing for thy own side?”
“Nothing. I am in the case of a very worthy old Roman lord who desired to divorce his wife. There was a great outcry. All his friends were amazed. ‘Is she not handsome, virtuous, rich, amiable?’ they asked. ‘What hath she done to thee?’ The Roman husband pointed to his sandal. ‘Is it not new, is it not handsome and well made? But none of you can tell where it pinches me.’ That old Roman and I are brothers. Every one praises ‘my good wife, my rich wife, my handsome wife,’ but for all that, the matrimonial shoe pinches me.”
This confidence brought the two men near together. Henceforward there was no lack of conversation. While every other subject fails, a domestic grievance is always new. It can be looked at in so many ways. It has touched us on every side of our nature. We are never quite sure where we have been right, and where wrong. So Lord Lynne and Jan talked of ‘My Lady’ in Lynnton Castle, and of Margaret Vedder in her Shetland home, but the conversations were not in the main unkind ones. Very early in them Lynne told Jan how he had once seen his wife standing on the Troll Rock at sunset, “lovely, and grand, and melancholy, as some forsaken goddess in her desolated shrine.”
They were sitting at the time among the ruins of a temple to Pallas. The sun was setting over Lydian waters, and Jan seemed to see in the amber rays a vision of the tall, fair woman of his love and dreams. She ruled him yet. From the lonely islands of that forlorn sea she called him. Not continents nor oceans could sever the mystical tie between them. On the sands close by, some young Greek girls were dancing to a pipe. They were beautiful, and the dance was picturesque, but Jan hardly noticed them. The home-love was busy in his heart. “Until death us part.” Nothing is more certain, in a life of such uncertainty.
Amid the loveliest scenes of earth they passed the winter months. It was far on in May when they touched Gibraltar on their return. Letters for both were waiting there. For Jan a short one from Dr. Balloch, and a long one from Michael Snorro. He was sitting with Snorro’s in his hand when Lord Lynne, bright and cheerful, came out of his cabin. “I have very fair news, Jan; what has the mail brought you?” he asked.
“Seldom it comes for nothing. I have heard that my mother-in-law is dead. She was ever my friend, and I am so much the poorer. Peter Fae too is in trouble; he is in trouble about me. Wilt thou believe that the people of Lerwick think he may have – ”
“Murdered you?”
“Yes, just that.”
“I have often thought that the suspicion would be a natural one. Has he been arrested?”
“No, no; but he is in bad esteem. Some speak not to him. The minister, though, he stands by him.”
“That is enough. If Dr. Balloch thought it necessary, he would say sufficient to keep Peter Fae out of danger. A little popular disapproval will do him good. He will understand then how you felt when wife and friends looked coldly on you, and suspicion whispered things to injure you that no one dared to say openly. Let Peter suffer a little. I am not sorry for him.”
“Once he liked me, and was kind to me.”
“Jan!”
“Yes, my friend.”
“We are now going straight to Margate. I am promised office, and shall probably be a busy public man soon. It is time also that you buckled down to your work. We have had our holiday and grown strong in it – every way strong. What next?”
“Thou speak first.”
“Well, you see, Jan, men must work if they would be rich, or even respectable. What work have you thought of?”
“Only of the sea. She is my father and my mother and my inheritance. Working on land, I am as much out of place as a fish out of water.”
“I think you are right. Will you join the Merchant Service, or do you think better of the Royal Navy? I have a great deal of influence with the Admiralty Lords, and I have often wished I could be a ‘blue jacket’ myself.”
“Above all things, I would like the Royal Navy.”
“Then you shall be a ‘blue jacket;’ that is quite settled and well settled, I am sure. But every moment will take time, and it will probably be winter before I can get you a post on any squadron likely to see active service. During the interval I will leave ‘The Lapwing’ in your care, and you must employ the time in studying the technical part of your profession. I know an old captain in Margate who will teach you all he knows, and that is all that any of them know.”
Jan was very grateful. The prospect was a pleasant one and the actual experience of it more than fulfilled all his expectations. “The Lapwing” was his home and his study. For he soon discovered how ignorant he was. Instruction in naval warfare was not all he needed. Very soon the old captain was supplemented by the schoolmaster. The days were too short for all Jan wished to learn. He grudged the hours that were spent in sleep. So busy was he that he never noticed the lapse of time, or, if he did, it was only that he might urge himself to greater efforts.
It did not trouble him that Lord Lynne seldom wrote, and never came. His salary was promptly paid, and Jan was one of the kind of men whom good fortune loves. He did not worry over events. He did not keep wondering what she was going to do for him, or wish night and day that she would make haste with the next step in his behalf. He took gratefully and happily the good he had, and enjoyed it to the utmost.
When a change came it was the first week in November. A lovely afternoon had not tempted Jan from his books. Suddenly the cabin door was darkened; he lifted his head, and saw Lord Lynne regarding him with a face full of pleasure. He came rapidly forward and turned over the volumes on the table with great interest. “I am glad to see these books, Jan,” he said, “Arithmetic, Geography, History, French – very good, indeed! And your last letter delighted me. The writing was excellent. Her Majesty’s officers ought to be educated gentlemen; and you are now one of them.”
Jan looked up, with eager, inquiring face.
“Yes, sir; you are now Lieutenant Jan Vedder, of Her Majesty’s Schooner Retribution. You are to sail for the African coast within a week. Jan, I congratulate you!”
Jan rose and put out both hands. The action was full of feeling. No words could have been so eloquent. It was worth an hour of words, and Lord Lynne so understood it.
“I called at the mail as I came through the town, here is a letter for you. While you read it I will go through the yacht.”
When he returned Jan was walking anxiously about with the letter in his hand. “Has bad news come with the good, Jan?”
“I know not if it be bad or if it be good. Peter Fae hath married again.”
“Do you know the new wife?”
“Well I know her. She was ever a good friend to me, but my wife liked her not.”
“Is she young or old, pretty or otherwise?”
“Few women are so handsome, and she has not yet thirty years.”
“Then it is likely Peter Fae has found a master?”
“That, too, is likely. Snorro says that he hath settled on her the house in which he lives, with much money beside. Perhaps now my Margaret will be poor. I can not think that she will live with Suneva. What then will she do? I wish to see her very much.”
“That you can not possibly do, Lieutenant Vedder. You will be under orders in the morning. To leave your post now, would be desertion. I do not fear for your wife. She knows very well how to look after her own interests. The two women in Peter’s house will be Greek against Greek, and your wife will certainly win some victories.”
“I would not have her suffer, my friend.”
“She will not suffer. It is likely I may be in Lerwick next summer; I will see to that. Have you saved any thing of your salary?”
“I have spent very little of it. I have now over £300.”
“Then I advise you to send £200 to Dr. Balloch for her. Tell him if help is needed to give it. He will understand the wisest way in which it can be offered. If it is not needed, he can save it toward that £600.”
“I can send £300.”
“No, you can not. Uniforms must be bought, and fees must be paid, and there are numerous other expenses to meet. Now you must pack your clothes and books. To-morrow you must be in Portsmouth; there ‘The Retribution’ is waiting for you and for orders. The orders may arrive at any hour, and it is possible you may have to sail at once.”
The next afternoon Jan was in Portsmouth. It was a wonderful thing for him to tread the deck of his own ship; a handsome, fast-sailing schooner, specially built for the African blockade. She carried a heavy pivot gun and a carronade, and had a crew of fifty officers and men. He could scarcely believe that he was to command her, even when his officers saluted him. In three days he was to sail, and there was much to be done in the interval. But the hurry and bustle was an advantage; he had no time to feel the strangeness of his position; and men soon get accustomed to honor. On the third day he filled his place with the easy nonchalance of long authority.
It was fortunate for Jan that the mission on which he was sent was one that stirred him to the very depths of his nature. In the seclusion and ignorance of his life in Shetland, he had heard nothing of the wrongs and horrors of slavery. It is doubtful if there had ever come into his mind, as a distant idea, the thought of a race of men who were as black as he was white. Therefore when Lord Lynne explained to him the cruelty and wickedness of the slave traffic, Jan heard him at first with amazement, then with indignation. That passionate love of freedom and that hatred of injustice, which are at the foundation of the Norse character, were touched at every point. The tears of pity, the fire of vengeance, were in his eyes. To chase a slaver, to punish her villainous owners, to liberate her captives! Jan took in the whole grand duty at once.
“I see you are pleased with your prospects, Jan. Many would not be. The duty of the African blockading squadron is very hard; it is not a favorite station. That fact made your appointment so easy.”
“Only one thing could make my prospects brighter.”
“What is that thing?”
“If Snorro could go with me! How he would rejoice in such work! He is so strong; when he is angry, he is as strong as six men, I think. Once I saw him put a sick fisherman behind his back, and compel the boat crew to give him his share. Yes, indeed! They looked in Snorro’s face, and did what he said without a word. He would fly on these men-catchers like a lion. He would stamp them under his feet. It is a war that would make Snorro’s heart glad. He would slay the foe as he would pour out water, and for the weak and suffering he would lay down his life. He would, indeed!”
Jan spoke rapidly, and with enthusiasm. Lord Lynne looked at him with admiration, as he said: “It is too late now to send for Snorro. How you do love that man, Jan!”
“Well, then, he deserves it. I would be a cur if I loved him not. I love thee, too. Thou saved me from myself; thou hast given to me like a prince; but as for Snorro! He gave me all he had! Thou art not grieved? Thou wilt not think me ungrateful for thy goodness?”
“If you had forgotten Snorro, Jan, I would not have trusted you for myself. You do right to love him. When the squadron is recalled he must be sent for. It is not right to part you two.”
“I will tell him what thou says. It will make him happy. Snorro is one of those men who can wait patiently.”
So Jan wrote to Snorro. He took the largest official paper he could find, and he sealed the letter with the ship’s seal, sparing not the sealing-wax in its office. For he knew well what an effect the imposing missive would have. In the hurry of his own affairs he could think of such small things, for the sake of the satisfaction which they would give to his simple-minded friend.
But mails were long at that time of the year in reaching Shetland. Jan was far down the African coast when his letter came to Lerwick. It was under cover to Dr. Balloch, and though the day was rough and snowy the good minister found his way to Peter’s store. He was always welcome there. Peter never forgot how faithfully he stood by him when the darkest suspicions kept other men away, and Snorro associated his visits with news from Jan. When, therefore, the minister in leaving said, “Snorro thou art strong, and Hamish is weak, come to-night and carry him some peats into the house,” Snorro’s face lighted up with expectation.
Undoubtedly it was a great night for Snorro. When Dr. Balloch explained to him, as Lord Lynne had explained to Jan, the noble necessity of the African squadron, his heart burned like fire. He could almost have shouted aloud in his pity and indignation. It seemed to him a glorious thing that Jan had gone. Somehow his limited capacity failed to take in more than the work to be done, and that Jan was to do it. Minor details made no impression on him. Jan to his mind was the only hero. The British Government, Wilberforce, public opinion, all the persons and events that had led up to England’s advocacy of the rights of humanity, all were merged in Jan.
When he left Dr. Balloch he felt as if he were walking upon air. On the moor, where no one could hear him, he laughed aloud, a mighty laugh, that said for Jan far more than he could find words to say. He heeded not the wind and the softly falling snow; had not Jan, his Jan, sailed away in her Majesty’s service, a deliverer and a conqueror? Suddenly he felt a desire to see something relating to him. If he went round by Peter’s house, perhaps he might see Margaret and the baby. In the state of exaltation he was in, all things seemed easy and natural to him. In fact the slight resistance of the elements was an unconscious and natural relief.
Peter’s house shone brightly afar off. As he approached it he saw that the sitting-room was in a glow of fire and candle-light. Before he reached the gate he heard the murmur of voices. He had only to stand still and the whole scene was before him. Peter sat in his old place on the hearthstone. Around it were two of Suneva’s cousins, soncy, jolly wives, with their knitting in their hands and their husbands by their sides. They were in eager and animated conversation, noisy laughs and ejaculations could be distinctly heard, and Suneva herself was moving busily about, setting the table for a hot supper. Her blue silk dress and gold chain, and her lace cap fluttering with white ribbons, made her a pleasant woman to look at. It was a happy household picture, but Margaret Vedder was not in it.
Snorro waited long in hopes of seeing her; waited until the smoking goose and hot potatoes, and boiling water, lemons and brandy, drew every one to the white, glittering table. He felt sure then that Margaret would join the party, but she did not. Was it a slight to her? That Margaret Vedder personally should be slighted affected him not, but that Jan’s wife was neglected, that made him angry. He turned away, and in turning glanced upward. There was a dim light in a corner room up stairs. He felt sure that there Margaret was sitting, watching Jan’s boy. He loitered round until he heard the moving of chairs and the bustle incident to the leave-taking of guests. No access of light and no movement in Margaret’s room had taken place. She had made no sign, and no one remembered her. But never had Snorro felt so able to forgive her as at that hour.