A Student's Sea Story

Atlantic Monthly, January 1879. I don't know what the word in the
fourth paragraph is supposed to be either.

A STUDENT'S SEA STORY.
[by Harriet beecher Stowe]

AMONG the pleasantest of my recollections of old Bowdoin is the
salt-air flavor of its sea experiences. The site of Brunswick is a
sandy plain on which the college buildings seem to have been dropped
for the good old Yankee economic reason of using land for public
buildings that could not be used for anything else. The soil was a
fathomless depth of dry, sharp, barren sand, out of whose bosom nothing
but pitch pines and blueberry bushes emerged, or ever could emerge
without superhuman efforts of cultivation. But these sandy plains,
these pine forests, were neighbors to the great, lively, musical blue
ocean whose life-giving presence made itself seen, heard, and felt
every hour of the day and night. The beautiful peculiarity of the Maine
coast, where the sea interpenetrates the land in picturesque fords and
lakes, brought a constant romantic element into the landscape.
White-winged ships from India or China came gliding into the lonely
solitude of forest recesses, bringing news from strange lands and
tidings of wild adventure into secluded farm-houses that for the most
part seemed to be dreaming in woodland solitude. In the early days of
my college life, the shipping interest of Maine gave it an outlook into
all the countries of the earth. Ships and ship-building and
ship-launching were the drift of the popular thought, and the very
minds of the people by this commerce had apparently
"suffered a sea change
Into something rare and strange."

There was a quaintness, shrewdness, and vivacity about these men,
half skipper, half farmer, that was piquant and enlivening.

It was in the auspicious period of approaching Thanksgiving that
my chum and I resolved to antedate for a few days our vacation, and
take passage on the little sloop Brilliant, that lay courtesying and
teetering on the bright waters of Maquoit Bay, loading up to make her
Thanksgiving trip to Boston.

It was a bright Indian summer afternoon that saw us all on board
the little craft. She was laden deep with dainties and rarities for the
festal appetites of Boston nabobs: loads of those mealy potatoes for
which the fields of Maine were justly famed; barrels of ruby
cranberries; boxes of solid golden butter, ventures of a thrifty house
mother emulous to gather kindred gold in the Boston market. Then there
were dressed chickens, turkeys, and geese all going the same way, on
the same errand; and there were sides and saddles of that choice mutton
for which the sea islands of Maine were as famous as the South-Downs of
England.

Everything in such a stowage was suggestive of good cheer. The
little craft itself had a sociable, friendly, domestic air. The captain
and mate were cousins; the men were all neighbors, sons of families who
had grown up together; there was a kindly home flavor in the very
stowage of the cargo. Here were Melissa's cranberries, and by many a
joke and wink we were apprised that the mate had a tender interest in
that venture; there was Widder Toothacre's butter, concerning which
there were various comments and speculations, but which was handled and
cared for with the consideration the Maine sailor boy always gives to
"the widder;" there was a private keg of very choice eggs, over
which the name of Lucindy Ann was breathed by a bright-eyed, lively
youngster, who had promised to bring her back the change, and as to the
precise particulars of this chnnge many a witticism was expended.

Our mode of living on the Brilliant was of the simplest and most
primitive kind. On each side the staircase that led down to the cabin,
hooped strongly to the partition, was a barrel, which on the. one side
contained salt beef, and on the other salt pork. A piece out of each
barrel, delivered regularly to the cook, formed the foundation of our
daily meals; and sea-biscuit and potatoes, with the sauce of salt-water
appetites, made this a feast for a king. I make no mention here of
gingerbread and doughnuts, and such like ornamental accessories, which
were not wanting, nor of nuts and sweet cider, which were to be had for
the asking. At meal times a swing-shelf, which at other seasons hung
flat against the wall, was propped up, and our meals were eaten thereon
in joyous satisfaction.

A joyous, rollicking set we were, and the whole expedition was a
frolic of the first water. One of the drollest features of these little
impromptu voyages often was the woe-begone aspect of some unsuspecting
landlubber, who had been beguiled into thinking that he would like a
trip to Boston by seeing the pretty Brilliant courtesying in the smooth
waters of Maquolt, and so had embarked in innocent ignorance of the
physiological results of such enterprises.

I remember the first morning out. As we were driving ahead, under
a stiff breeze, I came on deck, and found the respectable Deacon
Muggins, who in his Sunday coat had serenely embarked the day before,
now desolately clinging to the railing, very white about the gills, and
contemplating the sea with a most suggestive expression of disgust and
horror.

"Why, deacon, good morning! How are you? Splendid morning!~'
said I, maliciously.

He drew a deep breath, surveyed me with a mixture of indignation
and despair, and then gave vent to his feelings: '' Tell ye what:
there was one darned old fool up to Brunswick yesterday; but he ain't
there now; he's here." The deacon, in the weekly prayer-meeting at
Brunswick, used to talk of the necessity of being "emptied of
self;" he seemed to be in the way of it in the most literal manner at
the present moment. In a few minutes he was extended on the deck, the
most utterly limp and dejected of deacons, and vowing with energy, if
he ever got out o' this 'ere you would n't catch him again. Of
course, my chum and I were not seasick. We were prosperous young
Sophomores in Bowdoin College, and would have scorned to acknowledge
such a weakness. In fact, we were in that happy state of self-opinion
where we surveyed everything in creation as birds do from above, and
were disposed to patronize everybody we met, with a pleasing conviction
that there was nothing worth knowing but what we were likely to know,
or worth doi~mg but what we could do.

Captain Stanwood liked us, and we liked him; we patronized him,
and he was quietly amused at our patronage and returned it in kind. He
was a good specimen of the sea-captain in those early days in Maine: a
man in middle life, tall, thin, wiry, and active, full of resource and
shrewd mother wit; a man very confident in his opinions, because his
knowledge was all got at first hand,--the result of a careful use of
his own five senses. From his childhood he had followed the seas, and
as he grew older made voyages to Archangel, to Messina, to the West
Indies, and finally round the Horn; and, having carried a very sharp
and careful pair of eyes, he had acquired not only a snug competency of
worldly goods, but a large stock of facts and inductions which stood
him in stead of an education. He was master of a thriving farm at
Harpswell, and, being tethered somewhat by love of wife and children,
was mostly stationary there, yet solaced himself by running a little
schooner to Boston, and driving a thriving bit of trade by the means.
With that reverence for learning which never deserts the New Englander,
he liked us the better for being collegians, and amiably conceded that
there were things quite worth knowing taught "up to Brunswick
there," though he delighted now and then to show his superiority in
talking about what he knew better than we.

Jim Lamed, the mate, was a lusty youngster, a sister's son whom
he had taken in training in the way he should go. Jim had already made
a voyage to Liverpool and the East Indies, and felt himself also quite
an authority in his own way.

The evenings were raw and cool, and we generally gathered round
the cabin stove cracking walnuts, smoking, and telling stories, and
having a jolly time generally. It is but due to those old days to say
that a most respectable Puritan flavor penetrated even the recesses of
those coasters,--a sort of gentle Bible and psalm-book aroma, so that
there was not a word or a joke among the men to annoy the
susceptibilities even of a deacon. Our deacon, somewhat consoled and
amended, lay serene in his berth, rather enjoying the yarns that we
were spinning. The web of course was many-colored,--of quaint and
strange and wonderful,--and as the night wore on it was dyed in
certain weird tints of the supernatural.

"Well," said Jim Larned, "folks may say what they 're a
mind to; there are things that there 's no sort o' way o'
'countin' for, - things you 'ye jist got to say.-~Well,
here's suthin to work that I don't know nothin' about; and come
to question any man up sharp, you'l1 find he 's seen one thing o'
that sort himself; and this 'ere I'm going to tell's my
story:--

"Four years ago I went down to aunt Jerushy's, at Fair Haven.
Her husband 's in the oysterin' business, and I used to go out with
him considerable Well, there was Bill Jones there, a real bright
fellow, one of your open-handed, lively fellows, and he took a fancy to
me and I to him, and he and I struck up a friendship. He run an oyster
smack to New York, and did a considerable good business for a young
man. Well, Bill had a fellow on his smack that I never liked the looks
of: he was from the Malays, or some foreign crittur or other, spoke
broken English, had eyes set kind o' edgeways 'n his head; homely
as sin he was, and I always mistrusted him. 'Bill,' I used to say,
'you look out for that fellow; don't you trust him. If I was you I
'd ship him off short metre.' But Bill he only laughed. 'Why,'
says he, 'I can get double work for the same pay out o' that
fellow; and what do I care if he am 't handsome?' I remember how
chipper an' cheery Bill looked when he was sayin' that, just as he
was going (lown to New York with his load o' oysters. Well, the next
night I was sound asleep in aunt Jerusha's front chamber that opens
towards the Sound, and I was waked right clear out o' sleep by
Bill's voice screaming to me. I got up and run to the window and
looked out, and I heard it again, plain as anything: 'Jim! Jim! Help!
help!' It was n't a common cry neither; it was screeched out, as if
somebody was murdering him. I tell you, it rung through my head for
weeks afterwards."

"Well, what came of it?" said my chum, as the narrator made a
pause, and we all looked at him in silence.

"Well, as nigh as we can make it out, that very night poor Bill
was murdered
by that very Malay feller; leastways, his body was found in his boat.
He'd been stabbed, and all his money and watch and things taken, and
this Malay was gone nobody knew where. That's all that was ever known
about it."

"But surely," said my chum, who was of a very literal and
rationalistic turn of mind, "it could n't have been his voice you
heard; he must have been down to the other end of the Sound, close by
New York, by that time."

"Well," said the mate, "all I know is that I was waked out
of sleep by Bill's voice calling my name, screaming in a real agony.
It went through me like lightning; and then I find he was murdered that
night. Now, I don't know anything about it. I know I heard him
calling me; I know he was murdered; but how it was, or what it was, or
why it was, I don't know."

"These 'ere college boys can tell ye," said the captain. "
Of course they've
got into Sophomore year, and there ain't nothing in heaven or earth
that they don't know.''

"No," said I, "I say with Hamlet, 'There are more things
in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your
philosophy.'"

"Well," said my chum, with the air of a philosopher, "what
shakes my faith in all supernatural stories is that I can't see any
use or purpose in them."

"Wal, if there could n't nothin' happen nor be except what
you could see a use in, there would n't much happen nor be," quoth
the captain.

A laugh went round at the expense of my friend.

"Wal, now, I'll tell ye what, boys," piped the thin voice of
the deacon, "folks must n't be too presumptuous; there is
providences permitted that we don't see no use in, but they do
happen,--yes, they do. Now what Jim Larned's been a-tellin'is a
good (leal like what happened to me once, when I was up to Umbagog, in
the lumberin' business."

"Hullo!" called out Jim, "here's the deacon's story! I
told you every man had one. Give it to us, deacon! Speak out, and
don't be bashful."

"Wal, really, it ain't what I like to talk about," said the
deacon, in a quavering, uncertain voice; "but I don't know but I
may as well, though.

"It was that winter I was up to Umbagog. I was clerk, and kep'
the 'counts and books, and all that, and Tom Huly--he was surveyor
and marker--he was there with me, and we chummed together. And there
was Jack Cutter--he was jest out o' college; he was there
practicing surveyin' with him. We three had a kind o' pine-board
sort o' shanty built out on a plain near by the camp; it had a
fire-place and two windows and our bunks, and each of us had our tables
and books and things.

"Well, Huly he started with a party of three or four to go up
through the woods to look out a new tract. It was two or three days'
journey through the woods, and jest about that time the Indians up
there was getting sort o' uneasy, and we all thought mabbe 't was
sort o' risky; howsomdever, Tom had gone off in high spirits, and
told us to be sure and take care of his books and papers. Tom had a lot
of books, and thought everything of 'em, and was sort o' particular
and nice about his papers; his table sot up one side by the winder,
where he could see to read and write. Well, he 'd been gone four
days, when one night--it was a bright, moonlight night--Jack and I
were sitting by the fire reading, and between nine and ten o'clock
there came a strong, regular knock on the window over by Tom's table.
We were sitting with our backs to the window. 'Hullo!' says Jack,
'who 's that?' We both jumped up and went to the window and
looked out, and see there warn't nobody there.

"'This is curus,' said I.

"'Some of the boys trying to trick us, says he. 'Let 's
keep watch; perhaps they'll do it again,' says he.

"We sot down by the fire, and 'fore long it came again.

"Then Jack and I both cut out the door and run round the
house,--he one way and I the other. It was light as day, and
nothin' for anybody to hide behind, and there war n't a critter in
sight. Well, we come in and sot down, and looked at each other kind
o' puzzled, when it come agin, harder 'n ever; and Jack looked to
the window, and got as white as a sheet.

"'For the Lord's sake, do look!' says he. And you may
believe me or not, but I tell you it's a solemn fact: Tom's books
was movin',--jest as if somebody was pickin' 'em up and putting
'em down again, jest as I 'ye seen him do a hundred times.

"'Jack,' says I, ' something's happened to Tom!'

"Wal, there had. That very night Tom was murdered by the
Indians! We put down the date, and a week arter the news came."

"Come now, captain," said I, breaking the pause that followed
the deacon's story, "give us your story. You've been all over the
world, in all times and all weathers, and you ain't a man to be taken
in; did you ever see anything of this sort?"

"Well, now, boys, since you put it straight at me, 1 don't
care if 1 say I have, on these 'ere very waters we're a-sailin'
over now, on board this very schooner, in this very cabin."

This was bringing matters close home. We felt an agreeable shiver,
and looked over our shoulders; the deacon, in his berth, raised up on
his elbow, and ejaculated, "Dew tell; ye don't say so."

"Tell us about it, captain," we both insisted. "We '11
take your word for most anything."

"Well, it happened about five years ago. It's goin' on now
eight years ago that my father died. He sailed out of Gloucester; had
his house there; and after be died, mother she jest kep' on in the
old place. I went down at first to see her fixed up about right, and
after that I went now and then, and now and then I sent money. Well, it
was about Thanksgiving time, as it is now, and I 'd ben down to
Boston, and was coming back pretty well loaded with the things I'd
been buying in Boston for Thanksgiving at home: raisins and sugar, and
all sorts of West Indy goods, for the folks in Harpswell. Well, I meant
to have gone down to Gloucester to see mother, but I had so many ways
to run and so munch to do I was afraid I would n't be back on time;
and so I did n't see her.

"Well, we was driving back with a good stiff breeze, and we 'd
got past Cape Ann, and I'd gone down and turned in, and was fast
asleep in my berth. It was past midnight,--every one on the schooner
asleep except the mate, who was up on the watch. I was sleepin' as
sound as ever I slept in my life, not a dream, nor a feelin', no more
'n' if I had been dead, when suddenly I waked square up; my eyes
flew open like a spring, with my mind clear and wide-awake, and sure as
I ever4see anything I see my father standing right in the middle of the
cabin looking right at me. I rose right up in my berth, and says I,--

""Father, is that you?'

"'Yes,' says he; 'it is me.'

"'Father,' says I, 'what do you come for?'

"'Sam,' says he, 'do you go right back to Gloucester and
take your mother home with you, and keep her there as long as she
lives.'

"And says I,' Father, I will.' And as I said this he faded
out and was gone. I got right up and run up on deck, and called out,
''Bout ship!' Mr. More--he was my mate then--stared at me as if
he did n't believe his ears. ''Bout ship,' says I. 'I'm
going to Gloucester.'

"Well, he put the ship about, and then came to me and says,
'What the devil does this mean? We're way past Cape Ann; it 's
forty miles right back to Gloucester.'

"'Can't help it,' I said; 'to Gloucester I must go as
quick as wind and water will carry me. I've thought of matters there
that I must attend to, no matter what happens.

"Well, Ben More and I were good friends always, but I tell you
all that day he watched me in a curious kind of way to see if I were
n't took with a fever or suthin, and the men they whispered and
talked among themselves. You see they all had their own reasons for
wantng to he hack to Thanksgiving, and it was hard on 'em.

"Well, it was just about sun up we got into Gloucester, and I
went ashore, and there was mother looking pretty poorly, jest making
her fire and getting on her kettle. When she saw me she held up her
hands and hurst out crying,--

"'Why, Sam, the Lord must 'a' sent you. I've ben sick
and all alone, having a drefful hard time, and I've felt as if I
could n't hold out much longer.'

"'Well,' says I, 'mother, pack up your things, and come
right aboard the sloop; for I've come to take you home, and take care
of you; so put up your things.'

"Well, I took hold and helped her, and we put things together
lively; and packed up her trunks, and tied up the bed and pillows and
bedclothes, and took her rocking-chair and bureau and tables and chairs
down to the sloop. And when I came down, bringing her and all her
things, Ben More seemed to see what I was after; but how or why the
idea came into my head I never told him. There 's things that a man
feels shy of tellin', and I did n't want to talk about it.

"Well, when we was all aboard, the wind sprung up fair and
steady, and we went on at a right spanking pace; and the fellows said
the Harpswell girls had got hold of our rope, and was pulling us with
all their might; and we came in all right the very day before
Thanksgiving. And my wife was as glad to see mother as if she 'd
expected her, and fixed up the front chamber for her, with a stove in
't, and plenty of kindlings. And the children was all so glad to see
grandma, and we had the best kind of a Thanksgiving."

"Well," said I, "nobody could say there was n't any use in
that spirit's coming,--if spirit it was; it had a most practical
purpose."

"Well," said the captain, "I've been all round the world,
in all sorts of countries; seen all sorts of queer, strange things, and
seen so many things that I never could have believed if I had n't
seen 'em that I never say I won't believe this or that.-~If I see a
thing right straight under my eyes, I don't say it could n't
'a' ben there 'cause college folks say there ain't no such
things."

"How do you know it was n't all a dream?" said my chum.

"How do I know? 'Cause I was broad awake, and I gen'lly know
when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. I think Mr. More found me
pretty wide-awake."

It was now time to turn in, and we slept soundly while the
Brilliant plowed her way. By daybreak the dome of the State House was
in sight.

"I've settled the captain's story," said my chum to me.
"It can all be accounted for on the theory of cerebral
hallucination."

"All right," said I; "but it answered the purpose
beautifully for the old mother."