The Columbus journal., 1893-09-06
A CAPE AQUARELLE.

A CAPE AQUARELLE.
The steamer timetable said, '.Pas'
sengers czn land and have one hour
10 Inspect this typical New England
fishing village, with its queer randi
Ing streets, its ancient houses, its
old wharfs. n c the scene of activity.
now silent and deserted" etc.
/ stood at the end of the landing
place and looked down the long
street with the walk on one side and
the harbor on the other, then turned
and watched the crowd rush past to
take the town by storm, staring at
the windows of the houses, overrun-
ming the quiet little graveyard, in
truding everywhere; in fact, doing
everything that rude, vandal excur-
s;onists do the world over.
I desperately struck into a straggl-
ing side street, and in a few short
moments. to my astonishment, they
were left far behind.
| stopped and looked about
Behind me the town lay, a narrow
fringe of gray. colorless houses
bordering the inner harbor. Here
and there d thin pencilled column of
smoke rOse straight up as from q fire
in a desert, the air was so still and
hot.
A ~mcnotonous droning filled the
ear reminding one of the cicadas of
Provence. From some ship yard
came the dull measured stroke of a
caulker's hammer, sounding like the
tappingo weedpecker; again the
peep! peep" of a sand bird; these
are the only evidences of life. The
spell of sleep is over everything. and
l stand looking unconsciously right
ahead ill the sudden noise of the eX-
cursion boat blowing off steam
arouses me, and l see a low cottage,
the last on the lane, surrounded by a
meagre yard fenced with drift wood
held together by pieces of rigging.
Before the door is a pretentious
porch or arbOr constructed of the
gray. bleaching ribs of a whale. An
enterprising morning-glory vine is
cndeavoring to envelope and clothe
its ghastliness. but it protrudes and
stands out from the fabby. sun
killed wreaths like a white sepuichre.
A cobble stone walk edged with pink
conch shells completes the dreary
ensemble.
l am about to turn back to the
town, for it is not very pleasant pad
ding about in the shifting sands
under the broiling sur when l see a
little crouched-up figure sitting OF a
block of wood in the shadow of an
old dory. and SO much the color of
the surroundings as to be almost
unnoticed.
1t is a woman, gray and bent with
years. looking fiXcdly at me with
queer, canny eyes. her lips moving
as she counts the stitches of the
knitting in her hands.
| push open the gate on its rope
hinges and enter, asking politely for
a drink of water. Never stopping,
she mods toward the well. l help
myself and then sit down near her
remarking.
This is a beautiful day."
Sun draw water in the mornin'
Sailors take warnin'.
she answers. never taking her eyes
off me. 1t was so unexpected l
started. but rallying said,
We'll. a nice fresh breeze won't
hurt u.s."
In sad, monotonous tone, she re-
piled,
when winds blow fresh across the main
And mist, scudS up from the lea,
There's apt 10 he some rain
And i choDpv sou east sci"
well. we'll" laughed pleasantly.
though l didn't feel a mite that way;
you're quite a rhymster. mother;
got verses for all kinds of weather"
The laugh seemed to please the old
sybil for an instant. then the small
eyes grew sad again and she said,
nodding toward the village:
.'Stayin' below"
mo. just came down and going
right back"
Then nobody sent you here?"
leaning forward.
NO; l just strayed this way to
avoid the crowd. Why do you ask?"
They send people here to bother
me. They say I'm crazy. crazy Nell,
you know; ever hear tell of her?"
NO; but tell me. mother. how do
you live in this wilderness?"
..All the day l knit stockin's an
mits an lots Of nippers for the fisher
men to wear when they're ishln'.
They're net all bad. They give me
food and things for them, sometimes
a little tea: but it's a poor life, lad. q
poor an ]sorrowful life for old crazy
Nell. with only her thoughts and the
seas moans for company; an death
passes me. that only longs to go. and
takes the young an strong, that
wants to live; but the day is nigh at
hand now; soon l will see my Nal
colin. my bonny boy. my husband
gone, lad, gone. gone. and only mar
ried one day: think of it; me all
alone. alone for forty weary winters.
and forty wearier summers. waitin' to
die an go to him. DO You think he
has forgiven me?"
Suppose you tell me your story"
l said. gently. rather touched by her
pluintiveness.
My story? aye; and what JOY
would We find in the vagaries and
mumblin's of an old crazy woman
like me. l Gamma tell"
..He built this house for me. his
bride. Oh. but | was a happy girl
then: yes, an one of the tidicst and
prettiest of the village. and often /
was told of it, and he was the smart
est and bravest of all the fisher lads
that went out to the banks; every
one loved him. myself most of all,
tho / was a bit pert and liked my
own way: we'll. we'll, the day of rest
is nigh to me now. Hearken then,
sir, an I'll tell We a tale of the sad.
sad sea; a tale of its cruelty to one l
loved; a tale that's brimful with pain,