Evening star., 1940-04-07
Il Short Story Complete on This Page

YER since John was q Lao, ne leITelIOeIeu
old Gramp talking about the sea. Sum-
- mers, on the veranda overlooking the
stony Massachusetts farm, he'd talk to the
bow. Winters he'd come in from the snowy
road, tossing back the shoulder cape OF his
faded quarter deck greatcoat, keen eyes
twinklng under the peaked Cape Horn cap
as he warmed his hands by the fire. Captain
less Claybourne, still hale and hearty for
all his wears, when the salty rheumatlcs
would leave his bones alone, had right to
talk about the Spice Islands and China and
the simmer of tropical sunlight on forelgn
shores And John listened, young and all
atire. So did Nellie Blair, the girl from the
farm next to theirs.
The Youngsters used to open the atlas to
map of the world putting finger to a ran
dom place "Gramp, have you been there
1t was the starting point for high fine talk,
. for Gramp was sure to say. If blue water
touches it, son, then l guess one time or
another I've been there
Tell US about it. Tell us about the sea"
Then Nellie would sit very still, hands
clasped tightly in her lap, and young John
would put elbows to his knees chin IN his
cupped palms, eyes rigid on the face OF the
master mariner of yesterday. Captain jess
filled that room with the slanting decks OF the
ships he had sailed, the glories he had seen.
They stood up out of the north and east at
the call of his low, deep voice - stately Bos-
ton clippers with the sun of dawning glitter
ing red on their skysl yards; booming down
the trades to the icy ring of the Horn; rails
ing distant landfalls where the yellow moon
eilded the headands looming dark with Won
der above the lacy fringe of palm-lipped
shore. He brought the men back, too
bronzed, weather beaten sailors lurching
surefooted across the leaping deck, swinging
aloft on the drunken footrope of the t'gallant
yard, shrilling back defiant yell for yell to
the screaming squall.
Its fine life an free life an a life
for lad with pluck" Cramp would say.
When you're off soundings with royals
sheeted home, you're done with the land tor
good. Amt no corruptin' fret about snivelln'
little things, no picayunish worry for bite
O. Jam more'n n your neighbors s got to wear a
man to the size of a louise. Only fret IS the
ship, an gettin' her over to where she's got
to 20. The rest don't matter a tinker's blast
That's a kind of service to give your heart
TO- lad. When you rouse at midnight for the
middle watch an the cofee's hot in your belly
at last - that's the time you'll know it, boy.
NAUsE the sea can be still an friendly
when the wind is fair an the moon builds
shining road for the dipping bows. 1t can tell
you wonderful things if you'll only listen
quietly while it burbles how rich and beauti-
full living ought to be- And one day - maybe
toward dawn when your eyes are black in
your head for sleep you'll suddenly see
what gives the answer to all the questing of
the human heart. You'll see the renewing
flame come walking out of the East, an new
day like binding light striking Dondra
Head all purple an pink an red. Then for
ever after you can be content. Cause you'll
know what's true an what amt, an you'll
walk the earth like man. That's the way
the sea is. 1t never changes, whether the
ships are cared or sailed or steamed. That's
the way the sea is, lad."
For moments after that, the youngsters
never stirred, looking breathlessly into dis
tance, till Nellie Blair whispered fiercely:
"Oh, if only were boy! Id sail the whole
wide earth. I'd go!'
Il am going," John Claybourne said. his