Nautilus | Page 2

new ship--a fine one, full rigged, with new sails as
white as snow; and on his next voyage he would take him, the boy John,
in place of the faithless mate, and they would sail away, away, down
the river and far across the ocean, and then,--then he would hear the
sound of the sea. After all, you never could hear it in the river, though
that was, oh, so much better than nothing! But the things that the shells
meant when they whispered, the things that the wind said over and over
in the pine trees, those things you never could know until you heard the
real sound of the real sea.
The child rose and stretched himself wearily. He had had a happy time,
but it was over now; he must leave the water, which he cared more for
than for anything in the world,--must leave the water and go back to the

small close house, and go to bed, and dream no more dreams. Ah!
when would some one come,--no play hero, but a real one, in a
white-sailed ship, and carry him off, never to set foot on shore again?
He turned to go, for the shadows were falling, and already a fog had
crept up the river, almost hiding the brown, swiftly-flowing water; yet
before leaving the wharf he turned back once more and looked up and
down, with eyes that strove to pierce the fog veil,--eager, longing eyes
of a child, who hopes every moment to see the doors open into
fairy-land.
And lo! what was this that he saw? What was this that came gliding
slowly, silently out of the dusk, out of the whiteness, itself whiter than
the river fog, more shadowy than the films of twilight? The child held
his breath, and his heart beat fast, fast. A vessel, or the ghost of a vessel?
Nearer and nearer it came, and now he could see masts and spars, sails
spread to catch the faint breeze, gleaming brass-work about the decks.
A vessel, surely; yet,--what was that? The fog lifted for a moment, or
else his eyes grew better used to the dimness, and he saw a strange
thing. On the prow of the vessel, which now was seen to be a schooner,
stood a figure; a statue, was it? Surely it was a statue of bronze, like the
Soldiers' Monument, leaning against the mast, with folded arms.
Nearer! Fear seized the boy, for he thought the statue had eyes like real
eyes, and he saw them move, as if looking from right to left; the whites
glistened, the dark balls rolled from side to side. The child stood still,
feeling as if he had called up this phantom out of his own thoughts;
perhaps in another minute it would fade away into the fog, as it had
come, and leave only the flowing tide and the shrouded banks on either
side!
Nearer! and now the bronze figure lifted its arm, slowly, silently, and
pointed at the boy. But this was more than flesh and blood could stand;
little John uttered a choking cry, and turning his back on the awful
portent, ran home as fast as he could lay foot to ground. And on seeing
this the bronze figure laughed, and its teeth glistened, even as the eyes
had done.

CHAPTER II.
THE SKIPPER.
The little boy slept brokenly that night. Bronze statues flitted through
his dreams, sometimes frowning darkly on him, folding him in an iron
clasp, dragging him down into the depths of roaring whirlpools;
sometimes, still stranger to say, smiling, looking on him with kindly
eyes, and telling him that the sea was not so far away as he thought,
and that one day he should see it and know the sound of it. His bed was
a white schooner,--there seemed no possible doubt of that; it tossed up
and down as it lay by the wharf; and once the lines were cast off, and
he was about to be carried away, when up rose the crew that he had
rescued from shipwreck, and cried with one voice, "No! no! he shall
not go!" The voice was that of Mr. Endymion Scraper, and not a
pleasant voice to hear; moreover, the voice had hands, lean and hard,
which clutched the boy's shoulder, and shook him roughly; and at last,
briefly, it appeared that it was time to get up, and that if the boy John
did not get up that minute, like the lazy good-for-nothing he was, Mr.
Scraper would give him such a lesson as he would not forget for one
while.
John tumbled out of bed, and stood rubbing his eyes for a moment, his
wits still abroad. The water heaved and subsided under him, but
presently it