Castle Nowhere | Page 4

be farther south. They talked on, one much,
the other little; after a time, Waring, whose heart had been warmed by
his flask, began to extol his ways and means.
'Live? I live like a prince,' he said. 'See these tin cases; they contain
concentrated stores of various kinds. I carry a little tea, you see, and
even a few lumps of white sugar as a special treat now and then on a
wet night.
'Did you buy that sugar at the Sault?' said the old man, eagerly.

'O no; I brought it up from below. For literature I have this small
edition of Shakespeare's sonnets, the cream of the whole world's poetry;
and when I am tired of looking at the trees and the sky, I look at this,
Titian's lovely daughter with her upheld salver of fruit. Is she not
beautiful as a dream?'
'I don't know much about dreams,' replied old Fog, scanning the small
picture with curious eyes 'but isn't she a trifle heavy in build? They
dress like that nowadays, I suppose,--flowered gowns and gold chains
around the waist?'
'Why, man, that picture was painted more than three centuries ago.'
'Was it now? Women don't alter much, do they?' said old Fog, simply.
'Then they don't dress like that nowadays?'
'I don't know how they dress, and don't care,' said the younger man,
repacking his treasures.
Old Fog concluded to camp with his new friend that night and be off at
dawn. 'You see it is late,' he said, 'and your fire's all made and
everything comfortable. I've a long row before me to-morrow: I'm on
my way to the Beavers.'
'Ah! very intelligent animals, I am told. Friends of yours?'
'Why, they're islands, boy; Big and Little Beaver! What do you know,
if you don't know the Beavers?'
'Man,' replied Waring. 'I flatter myself I know the human animal well;
he is a miserable beast.'
'Is he?' said old Fog, wonderingly; 'who'd have thought it!' Then, giving
up the problem as something beyond his reach,--'Don't trouble yourself
if you hear me stirring in the night,' he said; 'I am often mighty restless.'
And rolling himself in his blanket, he soon became, at least as regards
the camp-fire and sociability, a nonentity.
'Simple-minded old fellow,' thought Waring, lighting a fresh pipe; 'has
lived around here all his life apparently. Think of that,--to have lived
around here all one's life! I, to be sure, am here now; but then, have I
not been--' And here followed a revery of remembrances, that glittering
network of gayety and folly which only young hearts can weave, the
network around whose border is written in a thousand hues, 'Rejoice,
young man, in thy youth, for it cometh not again.'
'Alas, what sighs from our boding hearts The infinite skies have borne
away!'

sings a poet of our time; and the same thought lies in many hearts
unexpressed, and sighed itself away in this heart of our Jarvis Waring
that still foggy evening on the beach.
The middle of the night, the long watch before dawn; ten chances to
one against his awakening! A shape is moving towards the bags
hanging on the distant tree. How the sand crunches,--but he sleeps on.
It reaches the bags, this shape, and hastily, rifles them; then it steals
back and crosses the sand again, its moccasined feet making no sound.
But, as it happened, that one chance (which so few of us ever see!)
appeared on the scene at this moment and guided these feet directly
towards a large, thin, old shell masked with newly blown sand; it broke
with a crack; Waring woke and gave chase. The old man was unarmed,
he had noticed that; and then such a simple-minded, harmless old
fellow! But simple-minded, harmless old fellows do not run like mad if
one happens to wake; so the younger pursued. He was strong, he was
fleet; but the shape was fleeter, and the space between them grew wider.
Suddenly the shape turned and darted into the water, running out until
only its head was visible above the surface, a dark spot in the foggy
moonlight. Waring pursued, and saw meanwhile another dark spot
beyond, an empty skiff which came rapidly inshore-ward, until it met
the head, which forthwith took to itself a body, clambered in, lifted the
oars, and was gone in an instant.
'Well,' said Waring, still pursuing down the gradual slope of the beach,
'will a phantom bark come at my call, I wonder? At any rate I will go
out as far as he did and see.' But no; the perfidious beach at this instant
shelved off suddenly and left him afloat in deep water. Fortunately he
was a skilled swimmer, and soon regained the shore wet and angry. His