"Oh, Adam," says she, gasping, "they are beating a poor man so cruelly I could hear his raving outcries loud above the awful drum-beats! And ... he is there ... watching it done ... and no least sign of pity! So cold ... so merciless! Oh, he must be a very hatefully, blood-thirsty beast, at heart. I wonder how any woman creature may ever ... love such a man."
"Yet love him you do!" says I. "Very dearly ... with all your heart."
"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I ... it seems, I cannot help myself. Yet there be times I fain would hate him ... if I but could, as I so tried and all in vain. For he is hard and proud and cruel, not like you, Adam, that are so kindly gentle." Here I must needs remind her how she had vowed me cold and terrible ere now.
"Ay," says she, "you can be so, and yet merciful too. But this Absalom wretch hath no mercy in him." Now when I chid her for so misjudging him and showed how the captain of a great ship, being one to rule the many, must therefore be a solitary man, and stern, yea even to a pitiless harshness if need be, she flares out on me naming me 'turncoat', for: "Lord, Adam," cries she, "you that withstood him so boldly once in like cruelty do now excuse him. Here's strange and mighty change in you!" To the which I agreed, saying 'all things were changed'—whereat she left me in a pet. But presently back she comes and lays hand on my shoulder, like a caress. "Adam," says she, "how are all things changed, what mean you ... my dear?" Now to this I had no answer, and not daring to look on her, bowed head over the open book afore me yet saw it not,—for in this moment her arms crept about me and with her soft cheek to mine, she whispered: "Oh, my dear, break not your heart or mine will break with it. Such grief in your face yet never one word. Oh, I am not blind ... I know your sorrow, I have seen love in your every look, heard it in your voice, such noble, such unselfish love as makes me very humble and ... Oh I would die to spare you pain...and yet——" She said no more, but presently left me and my face wet with the sweet tears of her compassion. And all this, with her very words, I now set down here that I may read in days to come, and so reading, feel again her caressing touch and hear her broken words of pity and be blessed again by the mercy of her tears, when she is far removed. But in my mind shall ever be the sacred memory of this hour.
June 9
This morning early comes Antonia to me on deck with the foils and will have me to fence with her. So off come our coats and to it we go. And truly I find her more proficient than methought, being instant in attack, quick in recovery and feinting with such craft that twice she all-but touched me in the first rally, to my expressed admiration.
"Do I improve then, Adam?" cries she, "Do I?"
"Beyond expectation!" says I. "Your sword becomes a menace few may cope with, and your defence well nigh impregnable." Our fencing done, we walked a while, and she marvelling at this sweet gentle wind, how steadily it blows all day and every day, I told her it is named the 'Trade Wind', and great blessing to all shipmen. After this we stood to watch the wondrous blue of the sea, with the flying fish that darted above its gentle surge, and both of us leaning across this stout bulwark had so lately been red with blood and yet bore scars of steel and musket-ball.
Now presently as we stood thus, shoulder to shoulder silent, though as it were in communion, I felt her begin to tremble, and wondered therefore until, glancing round, I beheld Absalom coming towards us, who gave us Good-morrow, yet with no cheeriness of voice or look.
"In but few days, Adam," says he to me, the while he gazed on Antonia, and very doleful since she seemed to heed him no whit, "in some few days," says he, fetching a deep sigh, "we should be off the Abrollos Shoal that lieth ninety odd leagues east of Brazil, if the wind hold fair, for these are the latitudes of plaguey calms and roaring tornadoes. Treacherous seas, Adam, and veering winds very unstable and feminine, ay mighty like a woman!" So saying, he goes wandering away mighty gloomy, and Antonia staring down at the sea quick-breathing and her cheeks aglow. And presently she, too, heaves a deep sigh and with no word for me or look for Ab. away she goes in opposite direction. Whereby I judge their love is very sharp upon them both and they yet at painful loggerheads, so that the sooner 'tis spoke and they agreed, the better for both, thinks I, and straightway begin to scheme how I may contrive this to their content and happiness. The which came about with no aid of mine and in the following unexpected and tragical manner, viz.: It was in the late forenoon and few on deck, the sun being extreme hot, when out upon the quarterdeck stepped Absalom, but scarce had he appeared than from some lurking-place a man sprang upon him with flash of vicious-stabbing knife. I saw Ab. reel from the stroke, steady himself and grapple his assailant. Then even as I ran thither, I beheld Absalom, all bleeding as he was, whirl his would-be murderer aloft and heave him overboard. Now at this I checked and stood aghast, but seeing Ab. so pale and how fast he bled, I set my arm about him and so to my cabin. But in the door-way there met us Antonia who seeing him thus hurt and bloody, gives such tender cry as only loving woman's lips might utter, and runs to clasp him in the fond comfort of her arms, this Earthly Heaven. Then Absalom sweeps her up in his embrace and with her thus upon his heart and no eyes save for her, yet cried out to me, saying: "Oh, Adam, see now what wonder of joy is come upon me!"
Now as he stooped to meet her kiss, I saw her lovely face all dabbled with his blood. And so presently I turned and left them to each other, alone with their happiness.
On this same day towards evening Absalom comes to me on deck, his wounded arm trimly bandaged and slung, and leans him beside me and for some while both of us mute.
"Well, brother Adam," says he, at last, "of what think you?" and forthright I answered:
"Of the man you drowned to-day." At this he frowns, saying: "The rogue deserved it, and 'twas better death than hanging. So enough of him. Talk we o' better thing."
"Why then," says I, "how is your wound?"
"Throbs and itches very damnably!" says he. "But this shall abate anon for I heal quickly. But I ... I would ask favour o' thee, Adam." I asked him precisely what, being of a cautious nature, whereat he hum's and ha's some while. Then, clasping sound arm about me, "Adam," says he, almost whispering, "I desire you to speak ... to persuade Antonia that she wed me, and before we reach Jamaica." Now, greatly wondering, I demanded how this could possibly be, and where.
"Why here!" says he, stamping on the deck, "Aboard-ship. To-night! Smy shall marry us if only she will." Here, seeing my astonishment, he nods, saying, "Indeed, Adam, Smy, being a captain and we in mid ocean, he hath the power in law thereto, such marriages are therefore legal and binding, the world over. But she, God love her,—though my promised wife, will have us wait for Jamaica and parson. Yet I think, nay I know, a word from you shall win her to agreement. So, brother Adam, how say you?"
"No!" I answered, and instantly. "I will never try to persuade her against herself and woman's judgment, no, not I."
"Ha!" says he, eyeing me askance. "And wherefore not?" I hesitated, being much concerned and troubled, and before I might answer, Absalom starts, turns, and goes hasting to meet Antonia where she comes, though I had heard no sound of her. "Absalom," says she, leading him back to me, "have you thanked him? Have you prayed blessings on our Adam, as I do now? Can we ever thank him enough? But for Adam I should have been left behind in England with death's shadow on me! But for Adam I should not be here,—this radiance of happiness would not be around us, but for our dear Adam."