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3 Ov\?§H^Oliver*
I HAD come off the dog-watch about an hour, as I
reckon, and was sleeping hard when we struck
upon the reef. The jerk pitched me out of my
bunk, and I lost my bearings and couldn’t think
where 1 was till I heard Tom Hands swearing.
It was generally a few words and a lot of
swears with Tom; but this time it was no
words and all swearing; and I sat up on the floor and
laughed at him. /
“Must have struck a whale,” I said.
“Whale!” roared Tom. “The cargo’s shifted. That’s
what it is; and we’ll be working double shifts till it's
right.”
We scrambled into our clothes and ran on deck;
where the first mate told us off to get out a boat for
the passengers. We had about a boatload aboard,
though we were mostly cargo. Tom and I climbed
into the cutter on the starboard beam; but as soon
as we were in her the ship gave a lurch. We hung
further and further over the water and I saw the deck
tilt and tilt till it was like a wall, and the people went
sliding down it and clung to the bulwarks. Little Mrs.
Williams, who had always a pleasant word for us com
(iwon sailors, was just beneath us, and Tom cut off a
'i-buoy and flung it to her, but she missed it. Then the
sea seemed to rise up at us and we were doused with
a crash, just as I grabbed an oar. I was whirled about
underneath the water till my breath was gone; and
when I came up I went spinning round and round
in a sort of whirlpool, bobbing under and up again
till I was nearly choked. I stuck to the oar, but some
thing hit me on the head, half dazing me. I never
remembered properly what happened, only that I saw
the ship had broken in two and left a bit of the bows
sticking up on the reef. A woman swept by me, and
I grabbed at her but didn’t catch her. I heard one or
two cries from the water, but none from the ship—
what was left of it—and judged no one was there;
and the cries soon stopped. So I tucked the oar under
my chin, to keep my head up, and floated about in the
dark. I kept saying to myself that it was “a bad
business, a bad business,” but couldn’t think about any
thing properly, except that I’d like to smoke, if I had
a pipe and matches and tobacco. And soon I began
to feel drowsy, and thought it wasn’t much good hold
ing on any longer. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, only the
moon came out between some black clouds, and I saw
land ahead; and so I stuck to the oar. When I dozed
and half let it go I got the water in my mouth, and
that woke me. Presently something knocked my legs,
and I found it was the land, and got ashore like a
half-drowned rat, and squeezed the'water out of my
clothes. Then I tumbled down on the beach and went
to sleep.
When the sun grew hot enough it woke me. My
clothes were dry, but stiff and crusty with the salt, and
I ached all over and was hungry and thirsty. I saw
some fresh water running down from the land, and
lay beside it, lapping it like a dog. Then I found some
shell-fish like whelks and ate them. It occurred to
me that some of the others might be left, so I went
and looked out to sea, and saw the bows of the old
ship on the reef about a mile away; but it was plain
enough that no one was there. I started along the
shore to look for them.
Five washed ashore altogether, and a quantity of
wreckage. I dug five graves in the loose earth with
a bit of plank for a spade; and I dug hers deepest.
I cut five strips off the planlc with my knife—hers was
the widest—and stuck them up and scratched their
names on them; and on hers I put “In loving mem
morv” and I said a bit of the service that I could re
member.
Next I walked along the shore, looking for more
wreckage; and presently I came round the corner of
a sandhill, and had a turn, seeing a woman tolling a
little cask up the beach! I didn’t recognize her at
first wltVout her gold eye-glasses, but when she stood
upright aitd stared at me, I saw it was Miss Horton,
whom we called “Miss Haughty,” because she was so
high and mighty. She had a little money, and a lot
of book-learning, and was about eight-and twenty.
She was good-looking, in a scornful sort of style, and
turned up her mouth, and hardly looked at you when
you spoke to her. So I’d rather have seen any of the
other passengers east up on my island.
“Howsomiver” I thought, “she’ll be better than
nobody- She’s a woman, and not used to roughing
it. so I’ll have B* vc the cave.” And I walked
I HAD A TURN SEEING A WOMAN ROLLING A CASK UP THE BEACH
up and touched my head with a friendly grin.
“Glad to see you, miss,” I said. But she backed
away from me with her eyes wide open, her hands go
ing as if she were swimming, to keep me off. It was
plain enough that she was in a mortal fright of me.
“Bless you, miss!” I told her. “I sha’n’t hurt you.
I’m Thompson—Tack Thompson—off the old ship. It’s
a bit of rough luck, this wreck, but we’ll be more com
fortable than you’d expect. There’s eggs and shell
fish and fresh water, and I reckon we’ll get no end of
things from the wreck; and I’ve found a nice little
cave that will do for a house, and ”
She gave a shriek and clenched her hands.
“If you touch me I’ll kill myself,” she declared,
jumping back.
“You’ve got wrong ideas of me, miss,” I said. “I
wouldn’t hurt you on any account. You shall have
half the island to yourself, if you like.”
“Swear it!” she cried, in a great state of excitement,
“swear it!”—as if the word of a common sailor wasn’t
enough.
So I made believe to kiss a book, to pacify her.
“The truth and the whole truth,” said I, holding out
my hand.
“Draw a line!” she screamed, as if we were going to
have hysterics. “Draw a line across the sand. That
will be your side, and this will be mine, just as if it
went right across the island, to those trees.”
“Very well, miss,” I agreed, shrugging my
shoulders, “I’ll draw a line, but you’d better change
sides first. There’s a cave this way—” I pointed to
where I’d come from— “that will come in useful to
you. The weather doesn’t make as much odds to me.”
She crossed over without even saying “Thank you,”
and I made a deep furrow in the sand, leaving the cask
on her side.
“There you are, miss,” I said, "but I’ve got to have
liberty to go just there and back.” I pointed to where
the graves were.
“Why?” she asked sharply.
“Well,” I told her, “I don’t want to give you cause
to fret, but you’d soon see for yourself. It’s graves.
Five of them 1”
“Very well,” she said with a shudder. “Now go,
please, so that I can fetch the cask.”
She evidently wouldn’t trust herself within arm’s
length of me, thinking that a common sailor hadn’t the
feelings of a man toward a helpless woman.
“Well,” I said, “I’ll go. You’ll find the most shell
fish on that little spit; and there’s a freshet of water
just opposite, and birds’ nests in the low bushes, but
they’re prickly. You’d better take a bit of plank to
open them, but don’t beat them down, or they’ll not
lay there again,—and some day you’ll know that you
thought wrong of me.”
The following day I saw her near the line and
wanted to call out and ask how she was getting on;
but I noticed that she’d stuck in her belt a chopper
that must have come ashore, and knew that she was
going armed, as if I were an enemy. I took it rather
to heart, and for a fortnight kept well away from her
part of the island in the daytime, but I always crept
along to hear her sing in the evening, feeling lonesome.
Except for the lonesomeness I didn’t do so badly.
At first I lived mostly on the biscuits and tinned beef,
not fancying the raw pork, or even the eggs, though
they were easy enough to get. But after awhile it
occurred to me that I could cook them a little in the
sun, and I did, and liked them better that way. I thought
she might not have hit upon it, so I scratched a mes
sage on a bit of wood, and left it for her.
"If you want eggs I’ve plenty. You can cook them
in the sun. On a white stone with another behind
them is the best way.”
She scratched an answer underneath, and left one
of the glasses out of a telescope beside it.
"Thanks. I've plenty You can light a fire with
this lens. I’ve another.”
I thought it showed a neighborly feeling, and I’d
hail her next chance, hut I happened to go to the
graves, and found she’d been there, and put up a new
plank for Mrs. Williams instead of mine. I after
wards learned it was because mine had cracked from
the sun; but I thought then that it was to correct the
spelling, because I saw that she had put two ’T»” in
the name, and only one “m” in the middle of “mem
ory,” and I’d put two. It annoyed me a great deal,
and I spent three afternoons cutting a cross with
proper spelling, and put it there instead. After that I
didn't try to speak to her, but l knew she got on all
right because 1 saw her cooking things in big shells.
She used them for plates, too, and a tin for a cup; so
took the hint for myself.
One day I saw that she dragged herself about as if
she weren’t well; and she didn’t sing in the evening.
The next day she seemed worse. The following day I
didn’t see her out at all. I was afraid to frighten her
by calling after it was dark; but I sat down by the line
to watch if she came out in the morning, and when she
didn’t I decided that the promise had to be broken and
went along to the cave and called to her.
“Don’t be afraid, Miss,” 1 shouted. "1 thought per
haps you weren’t well.”
“I am ill,” she answered in a hoarse voice. "It’s
some kind of fever. I—l’m so thirsty."
1 picked up the can that was lying outside, and ran
off for some water.
“Shall 1 put it round the corner?” I asked.
“I can’t stand,” she said, with a groan. So I went in.
She was lying on the sail I’d thrown over to her, and
her teeth were chattering as with the ague, but she tried
to laugh.
“A bit hard, those stones,” I suggested; and she gave
a great sigh.
“They make me ache,” she owned.
So I fetched a lot of grass, and rolled up my coat (I
didn’t want it, having a jersey) for a pillow, and lifted
her on to it, covering her tip with the sail. Then I
boiled her an egg, but she only ate half of it. The next
time she wouldn’t eat any, and I couldn't get her to
touch anything else, although she kept drinking water.
“If Only I could have some milk,” she was always
saying. “There was such a lot aboard.” She meant
the tinned stuff.
“Well,” I said, “there might be some in the bows
now. Perhaps 1 could float out with a plank, when the
tide’* going that way, and back again when it turns.”
"No, no!" she cried. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave
me! Those horrid little goblins will take me if you do.”
She was light-headed, off and on, and I had to sit be
side her, and pretend that I kept the goblins off.
She got worse and worse, and at last she was so bad
that she only moaned and didn’t open her eyes, and
couldn’t swallow anything but water. She kept clutch
ing as if she wanted to hold something, and 1 had to
give her niy hand to quiet her. Then she went off into
a stupor, and I thought the end was coming. I didn’t
believe it was the fever that was killing her as much
as having nothing she could take except water, and at
last I made up my mind that I’d try to get her some
milk from the ship.
I’d noticed the tide set that way when it was going
out. So, about an hour before the turn, I took a plank,
and floated with it, swimming and guiding it as well as
I could, though I wasn’t much of a swimmer. It was
slack water by the reef, and I managed to steer into a
little cove and climb up ti e rock, from which I could
jump on the side of the old ship, as it lay over, and
crawl in through a porthole. Then I slid and clambered
about the inside, until I reached the galley, and the
bunks and lockers in the forecastle. Here I found a
lot of things. I tied up several bundles of clothes,
blankets and other articles, lashing them to spars and
boxes, and threw them over, thinking some of them
might chance to float ashore. The milk I pur in boxes,
with some tools, and then fixed up a grating with
planks. To this I fastened the boxes, and some more
blankets, and let the whole thing like a raft into the
water with a rope. I then slid down the rope, and cut
it with my knife, and floated off. It seemed as if I
was going to miss the island altogether; but for row
locks I stuck two marlin spikes through the grating and
sculled with an oar I’d taken; and, after going back
ward and forward with the contrary currents about two
hours, I drifted into a useful one; and at last I reached
the island, just at the corner, and ran ashore. Then I
walked knee-deep in the water, towing the raft, till I
was opposite the cave, and hauled it up on the beach
there.
I opened a tin of milk, mixing it with water, and
gave her a spoonful (I’d taken a spoon). Then I gave
her some brandy that I’d found aboard; and afterward
covered her up with blankets, so that she would get
hot and sweat out the fever. She breathed harder, and
I hoped she’d be all right; but I fell asleep unawares,
being dog-tired; and when I woke ship was lying with
her eyes open, looking at me.
She said, “I’m going to get better,” and I said,
“Thank God!” And she said, "Yes!” and smiled and
went to sleep.
When she awoke I gave her more milk-and-water,
and when she’d finished it she looked surprised and
asked me where it came from, so I told her about my
trip to the wreck. She lay staring at me with her eyes
looking big in her pale face.
“If you hadn’t reached the island again—!” she said,
with a shudder.
"You’d have been no worse off than if I hadnt
gone,” I explained,
“Ohl” she cried, “I wasn't thinking of myself I was
thinking that you risked your life for me.” She held
out her hand and I shook it. "I wish we were—the
same side of the line," she said, and I felt as if I’d
been doused with cold water.
“Ah 1” I said. "The line—l know I’m a rough sort
of chap, and not fit company for the likes of you; but
you needn’t be afraid of me.
"I’m not frightened,” she told me. “I think you are
good and brave and honorable. I 4 now you axe. Only
—I wish there wasn't any line."
"You can rub it out with your foot,” I said with a
laugh.
“No," she said, with a choke and a little shake of
her head. “I can’t. It is you who must remove the
line.” But I shook my head.
"No, missie,” I contradicted. “You set it between us,
and you must take it away. If you don’t, I stay on my
own side, once you’re well and strong; but till you are
I’m going to look after you.”
She put her hands behind her head and lay there and
laughed.
“I shall take my time getting well,” she declared. “I
liked being looked after," and T grinned.
One evening she said she was“almost quite well,” and
we’d have another walk after tea. It was bright moonlight
as we walked along the beach; and when we came to the
line, stopped, looking down at it.
“The line that separates me from a good man,” she
said with a catch in her voice.
“It’s easy to rub out, missie,” I told her, "but it’s
for you to do, not me.”
"This line,” she said. "Yes—it’s gone.” She brushed
her foot over a little bit. “But not—not the line be
tween you and me. Don“t you see it? The line between
our lives? The line that will be, if we are rescued?”
"Why, of course, miss I” I agreed. “You’re a lady,
bom and bred, and I’m a common sailor. You can’t
rub out that line.”
“No, she said. I can’t; but you can. Ts you tried
you might rise. You could try anyhow—l wish you
would."
"It's no use, miss,” T told her. “I’m what I was
brought up to be, and what I am. There’s the line be
tween us, and there it will have to be.”
“It hasn't,” she cried, stamping her foot almost in a
passion. “If you wanted to be friends with me—wanted
it badly—you’d cross it. You'd try anyway.”
"As to that, miss," 1 said very quietly, “if you wanted
to be friends with me there wouldn’t be any line. At
least you woudn’t think about it."
“That’s nonsense,” she said sharply. "There is a line,
and I do think about it. Won’t you let me teach von
spelling and grammar?”
And then i thought about the plank that I’d set tip
over little Mrs. Williams—not yet knowing the real
facts about it—and felt as if I boiled up; and I just
drew my toe along the line and made it deeper.
“ I here’s the line of spelling and grammar,’’ I said,
“and I’ll never step over it on this island or off it un
less you ask me—leastways not without good cause,
as I had—Well, now, you’d better go to sleep and keep
those roses in your cheeks, missie; and it’ll be sufficient
cause to step over it when I can do thing-, for you.”
I didn’t want to upset her for 1 bad a liking for her,
when all was said and done. But she stamped her foot
and looked at me with her eyes blazing.
"you have made the line now,” she cried, “and I’ll
never put my foot over it."
And she turned and ran.
For three days neither of us crossed the line, though
we spent most of out time talking, one on each side.
Wo were friendly enough, but both wished vve hadn’t
said what we had. Then a ship came and took us off;
and when we were finally on board the line was plain
enough!
Site wanted me to go to her friends when we landed,
but I wouldn’t, and I stayed at (lie port to look for a
ship. I was shortly given a position by my old firm,
who were very good to me, and then her lawyer came
to sec tne. He was a pleasant old gentleman, and
wanted to lend me money to start in a business.
“A man with your abilities,” he said, “my dear Mr.
Thompson, ought not to be content to pursue the call
ing of an ordinary seaman, respectable and—cr—er—
honorable as that calling may be.”
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—i! tnPiLifl/ riiilllTnjfjj 111 ff If ill 111
“I’VE COME OVEB THE LINK,” SHE SODDED
"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU"
“That’s all I’m fit for, air,’’ I said, “altliongh I thank
you. I know who sent you, and you may tell your
client, as you call her, that I’m much obliged—it’s just
what I’d expect; but what 1 did for her was what it
was a man’s duty to do, and his right; and I don’t want
to be paid in any form. Give her my best wishes. It
isn’t as though I wouldn’t like to see her, but I don’t
care to go and fed that things are different from when
we were good friends on the island. 1 know she was
right when she spoke about the ' ne which was between
us; and so I'm off on Saturday.”
“Ah!” said the old gentleman “Umph! your feeling
of pride docs you credit, Mr. Thompson; gTeat credit.
But—er—you are too chivalrous a man to—er—wish to
hurt the feelings of a —a woman. You »ee —women
have their duties and their rights, too, and—cr—my
die nt naturally desires to show her gratitude to you
1 think yi u ought to consider her a little in the matter
Really now, my do. :■ Mr. Thompson, you wouldn’t think
as well of her, if she didn’t desire to be of friendly as
sistance to you. Now would you?”
"No, Hr,” 1 raid, "that's so. She’s quite right ic
making the offer, but I’m right, according to my ideas,
in refusing. Please give her my very grateful thank*
ami say that 1 shall think kindly of her for it.”
’’L'mph!" said he. “Utnph! 1 think yon would show
your appreciation better by linking a little of your
pride, and going to thank her yourself. She'll be very
much hurt if you go abroad without seeing her.”
“I'll call on her to-morrow,” I said very promptly,
for T wanted to see her badly enough, and was glad ol
an excuse, although 1 told myself that 1 was a fool to
think so much of any one who was on the other side ol
a line over which there was no crossing.
1 was a bit nervous when I saw her beautiful house,
stammering when the servant opened the door and
stared at me; but Miss Horton ran out and caught hold
of my hands. She pulled me into the drawing-room,
which was full ( f ornaments and pretty things, as 1
managed to remember afterwards. But I didn’t think
of them then, for she looked so lovely that she took
my breath away. I made a line in the pattern of the
carpet for a warning to myself, and felt aB though
there were sea-spray in my eyes.
“Dear friend," siic said, won’t you let me offer you
the least tiling?—when you offered your life for me?"
I took my cap and staggered to my feet and turned
to go, feeling that 1 couldn’t stand it any longer.
"I’d do it any time," I said. “A dozen if I hail them.
Don’t think it's because I don’t want to come that I
won't sec you any more. It’s just—just the line, missie
- -the line—God bless you.”
I turned and was going. I couldn’t sec her for the
mist in my eyes, and (hen I found her clinging to me.
“I've come—over the line,” she sobbed, "because I
love you ;—and you love me 1"
I kissed her and held her at arm’s length. Then I
kissed Iter again.
"Dear heart,” I said, very solemn, “before God I da
Now listen to me, dear. Love isn't a matter of lines;
and I’m not going to let my pride come between us.
I’ve taken you for my own; and mine you’re going to
be."
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
“But first,” 1 told her, "I shall have to cross the line.
I’m going to educate myself, and make myself more fit
for you. I’m going to do it by myself, without your
help. When I've done it, I'm coming to you. Well,
I'm not going to wait till then, cither. I’m coming to
see you every time I’m home; and you shall tell me
how I’m getting on, and when I’m over the line.”
She agreed that that was right, and so we settled it.
I went to the head of my old firm, that my father served
too, the next morning and told him the whole story.
Me wouldn't allow me to go to sea yet, but gave me a
shore position, so that I could go to night-school. The
younger partner sometimes had me at his house, and
taught me to speak properly. I learned faster than I
expected; and when I’d mastered arithmetic and
reached algebra and f?<-. metry I found that I had a
gift for mathematics. They sent ntc to their office at
Havre for awhile, and there I learned French in a way
that surprised everybody. I then passed some exami
nations and went for a voyage as a sort of super-cargo;
on this 1 did some very good business for the firm, and
when 1 came back I went straight to Violet. (That is
her name.)
“1 don’t speak of the line now," I told her with s
laugh, after we were over the first excitement. “I call
it the equator!”
"Couldn't you cross the—the equator—now?” she
whispered. “And stay with me?’’
“No, drarcM,” I said. "It isn’t a man’s place to live
on his wife; but—suppose you come and stay with me?
They’ve offered me a berth in the city, and there’s a
house, and—” I looked at her.
“It will be very nice," she said.
And then she kissed me.
