Springhaven | Page 4

declare--with the rest of the

body performing as chorus gratis--that now they are come to a smaller
affair, upon which they intend to enjoy themselves. So that, while
strenuous and quick of movement--whenever they could not help
it--and sometimes even brisk of mind (if anybody strove to cheat them),
these men generally made no griefs beyond what they were born to.
Zebedee Tugwell was now their chief, and well deserved to be so.
Every community of common-sense demands to have somebody over it,
and nobody could have felt ashamed to be under Captain Tugwell. He
had built with his own hands, and bought--for no man's work is his own
until he has paid for as well as made it--the biggest and smartest of all
the fleet, that dandy-rigged smack, the Rosalie. He was proud of her, as
he well might be, and spent most of his time in thinking of her; but
even she was scarcely up to the size of his ideas. "Stiff in the joints," he
now said daily--"stiff in the joints is my complaint, and I never would
have believed it. But for all that, you shall see, my son, if the Lord
should spare you long enough, whether I don't beat her out and out with
the craft as have been in my mind this ten year."
But what man could be built to beat Zebedee himself, in an age like this,
when yachts and men take the prize by profundity of false keel?
Tugwell yearned for no hot speed in his friends, or his house, or his
wife, or his walk, or even his way of thinking. He had seen more harm
come from one hour's hurry than a hundred years of care could cure,
and the longer he lived the more loath he grew to disturb the air around
him.
"Admirable Nelson," he used to say--for his education had not been so
large as the parts allotted to receive it; "to my mind he is a brave young
man, with great understanding of his dooties. But he goeth too fast,
without clearing of his way. With a man like me 'longside of 'un, he'd
have brought they boats out of Bulong. See how I brings my boats in,
most particular of a Saturday!"
It was Saturday now, when Miss Dolly was waiting to see this great
performance, of which she considered herself, as the daughter of an
admiral, no mean critic. And sure enough, as punctual as in a
well-conducted scheme of war, and with nice forecast of wind and tide,

and science of the supper-time, around the westward headland came the
bold fleet of Springhaven!
Seven ships of the line--the fishing line--arranged in perfect order, with
the Rosalie as the flag-ship leading, and three upon either quarter, in
the comfort and leisure of the new-born peace, they spread their sails
with sunshine. Even the warlike Dolly could not help some thoughts of
peacefulness, and a gentle tide of large good-will submerged the rocks
of glory.
"Why should those poor men all be killed?" she asked herself, as a new
thing, while she made out, by their faces, hats, fling of knee or elbow,
patch upon breeches, or sprawl of walking toward the attentive
telescope, pretty nearly who everybody of them was, and whatever else
there was about him. "After all, it is very hard," she said, "that they
should have to lose their lives because the countries fight so."
But these jolly fellows had no idea of losing their lives, or a hair of
their heads, or anything more than their appetites, after waging hot war
upon victuals. Peace was proclaimed, and peace was reigning; and the
proper British feeling of contempt for snivelly Frenchmen, which
produces the entente cordiale, had replaced the wholesome dread of
them. Not that Springhaven had ever known fear, but still it was glad to
leave off terrifying the enemy. Lightness of heart and good-will
prevailed, and every man's sixpence was going to be a shilling.
In the tranquil afternoon the sun was making it clear to the coast of
Albion that he had crossed the line once more, and rediscovered a
charming island. After a chilly and foggy season, worse than a brave
cold winter, there was joy in the greeting the land held out, and in the
more versatile expression of the sea. And not beneath the contempt of
one who strives to get into everything, were the creases and patches of
the sails of smacks, and the pattern of the resin-wood they called their
masts, and even the little striped things (like frogs with hats on, in the
distance) which had grown to believe themselves the only object the
sun was made to shine upon.
But he shone upon the wide sea far behind, and the broad