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of the
wicked sea, as there are on shore households that know nothing of the corrupt world. And
the sentiments she sug- gested were unexceptionable and mainly of a do- mestic order.
She was a home. All these dear chil- dren had learned to walk on her roomy quarter-deck.
In such thoughts there is something pretty, even touching. Their teeth, I should judge,
they had cut on the ends of her running gear. I have many times observed the baby
Hermann (Nicholas) en- gaged in gnawing the whipping of the fore-royal brace.
Nicholas' favourite place of residence was under the main fife-rail. Directly he was let
loose he would crawl off there, and the first seaman who came along would bring him,
carefully held aloft in tarry hands, back to the cabin door. I fancy there must have been a

standing order to that effect. In the course of these transportations the baby, who was the
only peppery person in the ship, tried to smite these stalwart young German sailors on the
face.
Mrs. Hermann, an engaging, stout housewife, wore on board baggy blue dresses with
white dots. When, as happened once or twice I caught her at an elegant little wash-tub
rubbing hard on white col- lars, baby's socks, and Hermann's summer neck- ties, she
would blush in girlish confusion, and rais- ing her wet hands greet me from afar with
many friendly nods. Her sleeves would be rolled up to the elbows, and the gold hoop of
her wedding ring glittered among the soapsuds. Her voice was pleasant, she had a serene
brow, smooth bands of very fair hair, and a good-humoured expression of the eyes. She
was motherly and moderately talka- tive. When this simple matron smiled, youthful
dimples broke out on her fresh broad cheeks. Her- mann's niece on the other hand, an
orphan and very silent, I never saw attempt a smile. This, however, was not gloom on her
part but the restraint of youthful gravity.
They had carried her about with them for the last three years, to help with the children
and be company for Mrs. Hermann, as Hermann men- tioned once to me. It had been
very necessary while they were all little, he had added in a vexed manner. It was her arm
and her sleek head that I had glimpsed one morning, through the stern-windows of the
cabin, hovering over the pots of fuchsias and mignonette; but the first time I beheld her
full length I surrendered to her proportions. They fix her in my mind, as great beauty,
great intelligence, quickness of wit or kindness of heart might have made some her other
woman equally memorable.
With her it was form and size. It was her physi- cal personality that had this imposing
charm. She might have been witty, intelligent, and kind to an exceptional degree. I don't
know, and this is not to the point. All I know is that she was built on a magnificent scale.
Built is the only word. She was constructed, she was erected, as it were, with a regal
lavishness. It staggered you to see this reckless ex- penditure of material upon a chit of a
girl. She was youthful and also perfectly mature, as though she had been some fortunate
immortal. She was heavy too, perhaps, but that's nothing. It only added to that notion of
permanence. She was bare- ly nineteen. But such shoulders! Such round arms! Such a
shadowing forth of mighty limbs when with three long strides she pounced across the
deck upon the overturned Nicholas--it's perfectly indescribable! She seemed a good, quiet
girl, vigi- lant as to Lena's needs, Gustav's tumbles, the state of Carl's dear little
nose--conscientious, hardwork- ing, and all that. But what magnificent hair she had!
Abundant, long, thick, of a tawny colour. It had the sheen of precious metals. She wore it
plaited tightly into one single tress hanging girl- ishly down her back and its end reached
down to her waist. The massiveness of it surprised you. On my word it reminded one of a
club. Her face was big, comely, of an unruffled expression. She had a good complexion,
and her blue eyes were so pale that she appeared to look at the world with the empty
white candour of a statue. You could not call her good-looking. It was something much
more impressive. The simplicity of her apparel, the opulence of her form, her imposing
stature, and the extraordinary sense of vigorous life that seemed to emanate from her like
a perfume exhaled by a flower, made her beautiful with a beauty of a rustic and olympian
order. To watch her reaching up to the clothes-line with both arms raised high above her
head, caused you to fall a musing in a