Well, here I am, he said, with a curious air of being surprised at the sound of his own voice.
The commanding officer from the other settee observed the handsome, flushed face. Drops of fog hung on the yellow beard and moustaches of the Northman. The much darker eyebrows ran together in a puzzled frown, and suddenly he jumped up.
What I mean is that I dont know where I am. I really dont, he burst out, with extreme earnestness. Hang it all! I got turned around somehow. The fog has been after me for a week. More than a week. And then my engines broke down. I will tell you how it was.
He burst out into loquacity. It was not hurried, but it was insistent. It was not continuous for all that. It was broken by the most queer, thoughtful pauses. Each of these pauses lasted no more than a couple of seconds, and each had the profoundity of an endless meditation. When he began again nothing betrayed in him the slightest consciousness of these intervals. There was the same fixed glance, the same unchanged earnestness of tone. He didnt know. Indeed, more than one of these pauses occurred in the middle of a sentence.
The commanding officer listened to the tale. It struck him as more plausible than simple truth is in the habit of being. But that, perhaps, was prejudice. All the time the Northman was speaking the commanding officer had been aware of an inward voice, a grave murmur in the depth of his very own self, telling another tale, as if on purpose to keep alive in him his indignation and his anger with that baseness of greed or of mere outlook which lies often at the root of simple ideas.
It was the story that had been already told to the boarding officer an hour or so before. The commanding officer nodded slightly at the Northman from time to time. The latter came to an end and turned his eyes away. He added, as an afterthought:
Wasnt it enough to drive a man out of his mind with worry? And its my first voyage to this part, too. And the ships my own. Your officer has seen the papers. She isnt much, as you can see for yourself. Just an old cargo-boat. Bare living for my family.
He raised a big arm to point at a row of photographs plastering the bulkhead. The movement was ponderous, as if the arm had been made of lead. The commanding officer said, carelessly:
You will be making a fortune yet for your family with this old ship.
Yes, if I dont lose her, said the Northman, gloomily.
I mean out of this war, added the commanding officer.
The Northman stared at him in a curiously unseeing and at the same time interested manner, as only eyes of a particular blue shade can stare.
And you wouldnt be angry at it, he said, would you? You are too much of a gentleman. We didnt bring this on you. And suppose we sat down and cried. What good would that be? Let those cry who made the trouble, he concluded, with energy. Times money, you say. Well this time is money. Oh! isnt it!
The commanding officer tried to keep under the feeling of immense disgust. He said to himself that it was unreasonable. Men were like that moral cannibals feeding on each others misfortunes. He said aloud:
You have made it perfectly plain how it is that you are here. Your log-book confirms you very minutely. Of course, a log-book may be cooked. Nothing easier.
The Northman never moved a muscle. He was gazing at the floor; he seemed not to have heard. He raised his head after a while.
But you cant suspect me of anything, he muttered, negligently.
The commanding officer thought: Why should he say this?
Immediately afterwards the man before him added: My cargo is for an English port.
His voice had turned husky for the moment. The commanding officer reflected: Thats true. There can be nothing. I cant suspect him. Yet why was he lying with steam up in this fog and then, hearing us come in, why didnt he give some sign of life? Why? Could it be anything else but a guilty conscience? He could tell by the leadsmen that this was a man-of-war.
Yes why? The commanding officer went on thinking: Suppose I ask him and then watch his face. He will betray himself in some way. Its perfectly plain that the fellow has been drinking. Yes, he has been drinking; but he will have a lie ready all the same. The commanding officer was one of those men who are made morally and almost physically uncomfortable by the mere thought of having to beat down a lie. He shrank from the act in scorn and disgust, which were invincible because more temperamental than moral.
So he went out on deck instead and had the crew mustered formally for his inspection. He found them very much what the report of the boarding officer had led him to expect. And from their answers to his questions he could discover no flaw in the log-book story.
He dismissed them. His impression of them was a picked lot; have been promised a fistful of money each if this came off; all slightly anxious, but not frightened. Not a single one of them likely to give the show away. They dont feel in danger of their life. They know England and English ways too well!
He felt alarmed at catching himself thinking as if his vaguest suspicions were turning into a certitude. For, indeed, there was no shadow of reason for his inferences. There was nothing to give away.
He returned to the chart-room. The Northman had lingered behind there; and something subtly different in his bearing, more bold in his blue, glassy stare, induced the commanding officer to conclude that the fellow had snatched at the opportunity to take another swig at the bottle he must have had concealed somewhere.
He noticed, too, that the Northman on meeting his eyes put on an elaborately surprised expression. At least, it seemed elaborated. Nothing could be trusted. And the Englishman felt himself with astonishing conviction faced by an enormous lie, solid like a wall, with no way round to get at the truth, whose ugly murderous face he seemed to see peeping over at him with a cynical grin.
I dare say, he began, suddenly, you are wondering at my proceedings, though I am not detaining you, am I? You wouldnt dare to move in this fog?
I dont know where I am, the Northman ejaculated, earnestly. I really dont.
He looked around as if the very chart-room fittings were strange to him. The commanding officer asked him whether he had not seen any unusual objects floating about while he was at sea.
Objects! What objects? We were groping blind in the fog for days.
We had a few clear intervals said the commanding officer. And Ill tell you what we have seen and the conclusion Ive come to about it.
He told him in a few words. He heard the sound of a sharp breath indrawn through closed teeth. The Northman with his hand on the table stood absolutely motionless and dumb. He stood as if thunderstruck. Then he produced a fatuous smile.
Or at least so it appeared to the commanding officer. Was this significant, or of no meaning whatever? He didnt know, he couldnt tell. All the truth had departed out of the world as if drawn in, absorbed in this monstrous villainy this man was or was not guilty of.
Shootings too good for people that conceive neutrality in this pretty way, remarked the commanding officer, after a silence.
Yes, yes, yes, the Northman assented, hurriedly then added an unexpected and dreamy-voiced Perhaps.
Was he pretending to be drunk, or only trying to appear sober? His glance was straight, but it was somewhat glazed. His lips outlined themselves firmly under his yellow moustache. But they twitched. Did they twitch? And why was he drooping like this in his attitude?
Yes, yes, yes, the Northman assented, hurriedly then added an unexpected and dreamy-voiced Perhaps.
Was he pretending to be drunk, or only trying to appear sober? His glance was straight, but it was somewhat glazed. His lips outlined themselves firmly under his yellow moustache. But they twitched. Did they twitch? And why was he drooping like this in his attitude?
Theres no perhaps about it, pronounced the commanding officer sternly.
The Northman had straightened himself. And unexpectedly he looked stern, too.
No. But what about the tempters? Better kill that lot off. Theres about four, five, six million of them, he said, grimly; but in a moment changed into a whining key. But I had better hold my tongue. You have some suspicions.
No, Ive no suspicions, declared the commanding officer.
He never faltered. At that moment he had the certitude. The air of the chart-room was thick with guilt and falsehood braving the discovery, defying simple right, common decency, all humanity of feeling, every scruple of conduct.
The Northman drew a long breath. Well, we know that you English are gentlemen. But let us speak the truth. Why should we love you so very much? You havent done anything to be loved. We dont love the other people, of course. They havent done anything for that either. A fellow comes along with a bag of gold I havent been in Rotterdam[15] my last voyage for nothing.
You may be able to tell something interesting, then, to our people when you come into port, interjected the officer.
I might. But you keep some people in your pay at Rotterdam. Let them report. I am a neutral am I not? Have you ever seen a poor man on one side and a bag of gold on the other? Of course, I couldnt be tempted. I havent the nerve for it. Really I havent. Its nothing to me. I am just talking openly for once.
Yes. And I am listening to you, said the commanding officer, quietly.
The Northman leaned forward over the table. Now that I know you have no suspicions, I talk. You dont know what a poor man is. I do. I am poor myself. This old ship, she isnt much, and she is mortgaged, too. Bare living, no more. Of course, I wouldnt have the nerve. But a man who has nerve! See. The stuff he takes aboard looks like any other cargo packages, barrels, tins, copper tubes what not. He doesnt see it work. It isnt real to him. But he sees the gold. Thats real. Of course, nothing could induce me. I suffer from an internal disease. I would either go crazy from anxiety or or take to drink or something. The risk is too great. Why ruin!
It should be death. The commanding officer got up, after this curt declaration, which the other received with a hard stare oddly combined with an uncertain smile. The officers gorge rose at the atmosphere of murderous complicity which surrounded him, denser, more impenetrable, more acrid than the fog outside.
Its nothing to me, murmured the Northman, swaying visibly.
Of course not, assented the commanding officer, with a great effort to keep his voice calm and low. The certitude was strong within him. But I am going to clear all you fellows off this coast at once. And I will begin with you. You must leave in half an hour.
By that time the officer was walking along the deck with the Northman at his elbow.
What! In this fog? the latter cried out, huskily.
Yes, you will have to go in this fog.
But I dont know where I am. I really dont.
The commanding officer turned round. A sort of fury possessed him. The eyes of the two men met. Those of the Northman expressed a profound amazement.
Oh, you dont know how to get out. The commanding officer spoke with composure, but his heart was beating with anger and dread. I will give you your course. Steer south-by-east-half-east for about four miles and then you will be clear to haul to the eastward for your port. The weather will clear up before very long.
Must I? What could induce me? I havent the nerve.
And yet you must go. Unless you want to
I dont want to, panted the Northman. Ive enough of it.
The commanding officer got over the side. The Northman remained still as if rooted to the deck. Before his boat reached his ship the commanding officer heard the steamer beginning to pick up her anchor. Then, shadowy in the fog, she steamed out on the given course.
Yes, he said to his officers, I let him go.
The narrator bent forward towards the couch, where no movement betrayed the presence of a living person.
Listen, he said, forcibly. That course would lead the Northman straight on a deadly ledge of rock. And the commanding officer gave it to him. He steamed out ran on it and went down. So he had spoken the truth. He did not know where he was. But it proves nothing. Nothing either way. It may have been the only truth in all his story. And yet He seems to have been driven out by a menacing stare nothing more.
He abandoned all pretence.
Yes, I gave that course to him. It seemed to me a supreme test. I believe no, I dont believe. I dont know. At the time I was certain. They all went down; and I dont know whether I have done stern retribution or murder; whether I have added to the corpses that litter the bed of the unreadable sea the bodies of men completely innocent or basely guilty. I dont know. I shall never know.
He rose. The woman on the couch got up and threw her arms round his neck. Her eyes put two gleams in the deep shadow of the room. She knew his passion for truth, his horror of deceit, his humanity.
Oh, my poor, poor
I shall never know, he repeated, sternly, disengaged himself, pressed her hands to his lips, and went out.
Bret Harte
The Outcasts of Poker Flat
As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, and exchanged significant glances. There was a Sabbath[16] lull in the air which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous.
Mr. Oakhursts calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these indications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause was another question. I reckon theyre after somebody, he reflected; likely its me. He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.
In point of fact, Poker Flat was after somebody. It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent citizen. It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked it. A secret committee had determined to rid the town of all improper persons. This was done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain other objectionable characters. I regret to say that some of these were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in judgment.