Evening star., 1925-08-02

Whelan or the brig ESmeraIda
was known through the Malay Isles
as Bluenose, and that name was in
variably prefixed by an alliterative
and insulting epithet and usually fol-
lowed by another. He was a lonely
man, hating his fellows, hated. His
harvest from that ebb-tide included
the friendly titles of Capt. Kidd and
Moses, as the mood pleased those
who spoke of him, and a change in
life more complete than the change
of name.
If these things are incredible it is
only because there is something in
credible in this common humanity of
ours.
The Panjermassa comes down from
the heart of the tide to meet the sea
amid a waste of mangroves. At the
flood-tide sea and river quarrel, war
ring in eddies, but with the ebb they
are one. At the moment when Cap'n
Whelan barred his soul there were
heavy, conflicting waters about the
brig. The Esmeralda had discharged
her cargo in the form of blue -barreled
rifles and snub bullets and quiet had
descended upon her.
Cap'n Whelan, the bully. the hard
man, the bluenosed Nova Scotian relic
of the days when the sea life was as
hard as the ships biscuits, sat aft
Between them were glasses and a
bottle of gin. The talk was one sided,
for the mate hated Whelan, who was
q hard man. a sad man, a diSappoint
ed man-and such make poor masters
and sorry friends.
To love one must be loVable. and
Cap'n Whelan was anything but that.
Once he had been a splendid figure of
q man, but Steamy heat and much
uniced liquor had puffed him out to
the weight of 230 pounds. The world
laughs at or hates a man SO fat. 1t
did not laugh at Cap'n Whelan, since
in living for himself he had gained
nothing but a sinister harshness. He
had become a cruel mountain of a
man, and all the ports knew him as
that, making it difficult for him to
find mates.
Rimington only stuck to him be-
cause ne had nothing else to stick to.
Cap'n Whelan had nothing in the
world save his brig and himself, for
all that he was rising so and had
been busy in his own interests always.
SVES"' said Rimington, and Yes
nodding and bored, while Cap'n
Whelan boasted of the deal he had
made over the living death supplied
to His Holiness on the banks of
1t was no concern of his. He got his
pittance whether the deal was good
or bad.
Now as Whelan looked at his mate
he realized that Rimington did not
care a hang for what he said. And
though the captain had guarded him
self always behind self-concern, a
spear suddenly pierced through that
insure shield, and the tip of this
ri wit q
ter. more deadly, than any the Malays
know.
For Cap'n Whelan-gross, gigantic,
rrogant-discovered that nobody
cared if he did well or i'll, that no
body rejoiced for his good trade with
His Highness the Sultan, that nobody
would mourn if blackWater fever took
him that night. In the past he had
prided himself upon his isolation, but
in that moment it filled him with dis
may so keen that the money in the
locker was dross, his pride crumbled
to dust and a dead hand was at his
heart.
No man may live in communion
with the sea and escape being a poet
in the words true sense. The sea
begets unrest and wisdom and dreams,
no matter how gross a man may be.
Cap'n Whelan, having dwelt with the
sea all his days, had these things and
they made his shield unsure.
He burst out abruptly: You, blarst
you, Rimington-what d'you care for
what I'm saying? You sit there, and
YOU yes and you mo- me as I pay
you to, but do you give a curse
really? You don't, mister-blarst you!
You sure hate me like all the rest.
You figure it out I don't give a hang
for you, and that's for why you don't
need to give hang for me. It's right
enough, [ guess, but / surely hate
YOU for hating me, and so we get no
for 'arder-no forarder, Rimingtonr'
Rimington shifted uneaSily, rubbed
his jaw, averted his eyes from the
red face which was not a good sight
Don't deny it, Rimington, because
as l figure it out that'd be a lie added
TO your sins. I don't blame you, no
fashion. You're a dog like the rest
of EN-, and what am 1 to you, and
far that matter? Rimington, I'm
40, and not a soul in the world
that gives a hoot for me. and not a
soul to blame but meself You're
thinking I'm drunk, blarst you,
but" He stopped as though the
muscles Of his tongue had snapped.
A sneer crept over his face. With an
effort he spoke on, but his tones were
harsh and monotonous again, as
though he didn't care: 80 L am
drunk. Forget it, Rimington, and if
ever / hear you breathe a word of
this drunk talk O. mine I'll smash you
to jelly
Cap'n Whelan rose, clumsy as a
bear, and rolled into the NAV of the
night, and there was swallowed, leav-
Ing Huntington gaping.
"F'lamesr' said Mr.. Rimington, who
was ever tongue-tied.
X X
1T was in this fashion that Cap'n
Whelan came to be pacing the
short, ight-burdened deck of the brig
Esmeralda when the tide in Panier-
massa began to ebb. He walked with
n heavy, staggering step, as was his
habit. but none could see the shadows
on his face and none cared to read
his mood saving only Mr.. Rimington.
With the reconciliation of river
and sea a change took the night.
The waters from the hills ran laugh.
ing among the mangrove roots and
slapping the black sides of the brig
with merry hands. The Esmeralda
swung slowly until her head was
turned away from the sea and looked
toward the islands heart.
Cap'n Whelan rolled along, his head
hanging down. Wrath against the
world and against himself was in his
heart. He greeted the ebb tides gift
with curses, its arrival being an
nounced by grinding blow upon the
brig s side which omened badly for
paint work. AS his only possession
Cap'n Whelan cherished the Esmer-
aida. He went to the rail and peering
down discerned, dim in the starshine.
a canoe upon the sliding water. It's
bow was against the paint work doing
mischief. This half guessed visitor be-
came the object on which Cap'n WHEEL
an vented his general dissatisfaction
with life