Ballast

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

　　

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Under the green shore that faces the port, and at a point that, as themeeting-place of river and harbour, may be called indifferently byeither name, lay a slim-waisted barque at anchor, with a sand-bargealongside. The time was a soft and sunny morning in early January--a day that was Nature's breathing space after a week of sleet andboisterous winds. The gulls were back again from their inland shelters.Across the upland above the cliff a ploughman drove leisurably forth andback, and always close behind his heels the earth was white with thesebirds inspecting the fresh-turned furrow. The furze-bushes below himwere braided with cobwebs, and the stays, lifts, and braces of thebarque might have passed also for threads of gossamer spun from hermasts and yards, so delicately were the lines indicated against thehillside. In the sand-barge, three men were chanting as they worked;and their song, travelling across still sky and water, rose audiblyabove the stir of traffic even in the narrow streets of the town.The barque was taking in ballast; and the three men sang as theyshovelled,--for three reasons. It helped them to keep time; it kepteach from shirking his share of the work; and lastly, perhaps, the songcheered them. They knew it as "The Long Hundred," and it ran--

　　"There goes one.

　　One there is gone.

　　Oh, the rare one!

　　And many more to come

　　For to make up the sum

　　Of the hundred so long.""There goes two--"

　　--and so on, up to twenty. With each line, a shovelful of ballast waspitched on board by every man; so that, when the twenty six-line stanzaswere ended, each man had thrown one hundred and twenty (a "longhundred") shovelfuls of sand. Thereupon they paused, "touched pipe" fora minute or two, and, brushing the back of the hand across theirforeheads to wring off the sweat, started afresh.Along the barque's side ran a narrow line of blue paint, signifying thatthe vessel was in mourning, that somebody belonging to captain or ownerwas lately dead. But in this case it was the captain and owner himself:and his chief mourner was a bright-eyed woman with a complexion of creamand roses, who now leant over the bulwarks and looked downcontemplatively upon the three labourers. She was a Canadian, and herhusband, too, had been a Canadian--rich, more than twice her age, andluxurious. Since his marriage she had accompanied him on all hisvoyages. Three months ago his vessel had brought him, sick andsuffering from congestion of the lungs, into this harbour, where hiscargo of timber was to be unloaded: and in this harbour, a week later,he had died, without a doubt of his wife's affection. From the deckwhere she stood she could see between the elms on the hill above theport the white wall of the cemetery where he lay. The vessel was hers,and a snug little fortune in Quebec: and she was going back to enjoy it.For the homeward voyage she had deputed the captain's responsibilitiesto the first mate, and had raised his pay slightly, but the captain'sdignity she reserved for herself.She wore a black gown, of course, but not a widow's cap: and, though infact a widow of twenty-five, had very much more the appearance of a maidof nineteen as she looked down over the barque's side. Her lips wereparted as if to smile at the first provocation. On either side of hertemples a short brown curl had rebelled and was kissing her cheek.The sparkle in her eyes told of capacity to enjoy life. Behind her acoil of smoke rose from the deck-house chimney. She had left the middaymeal she was cooking, and ought to be back looking after it.Instead, she lingered and looked upon the three men at work below.Two of them were old, round-shouldered with labour, their necks burntbrown with stooping in the sun. The third was a young giant--tall,fair, and straight--with yellowish hair that curled up tightly at theback of his head, and lumbar muscles that swelled and sank in a prettyrhythm as he pitched his ballast and sang--

　　"There goes nine.

　　Nine there is gone . . ."

　　It was upon this man that the woman gazed as she lingered.His shirt-collar was cut low at the back, and his freckled neck wasshining with sweat. She wanted him to look up, and yet she was afraidof his looking up. She wondered if he were married--"at his age," shephrased it to herself--and, if so, what manner of wife he had. She toldherself after a while that she really dreaded extremely being caughtobserving these three labourers; that she hated even in seeming to losedignity. And still she bent and heard the song to the twentieth andlast verse.The young giant, when the spell was over, leant on his shovel for amoment and then reached out a hand for the cider-keg. One of hiscomrades passed it to him. He wiped the orifice, tilted his head backand drank as a man drinks at midday after a long morning. Some of thecider trickled down his crisp yellow beard and he shook his head,scattering the drops off. Then the keg was tilted again, and suddenlylowered as he was on the point of drinking. His eyes had encounteredthose of the woman on deck.As they did so, the woman recovered all her boldness. Without in theleast knowing what prompted her, she bent a little further forward andasked--"What is your name, young man?""William Udy, ma'am.""Do you mind breaking off work for a moment and stepping up here?""Cert'nly, ma'am." William Udy laid down his shovel at once.A shiver of fear went through the young widow. Why had she asked himup? Why, on a mere impulse; because she wanted to see him closer--nothing more. What possible excuse could she give? She heard the soundof his heavy boots on the ship's ladder: he would be before her in amoment, expecting, of course, to be set to work on some odd job orother. She cast about wildly and could think of no job that wanteddoing. It was appalling: she could not possibly explain--As has happened before now to women, her very weakness saved her inextremity. William Udy, clambering heavily over the ship's side, foundher leaning against the deck-house, with a face as white as the paintedboards against which her palm rested."What be I to do, ma'am?" he inquired, after a pause, and then addedslowly, "Beggin' your pardon, but be you taken unwell?""Yes," she panted, speaking very faintly, "I was over there--by thebulwarks, and suddenly--I felt queer--a faintness--I looked over and sawyou--I called the first person I saw. I wanted help."William Udy was puzzled. He had not noticed any pallor in the face thathad looked down on him from the ship's side. On the contrary, he seemedto remember that it struck him as remarkably fresh and rosy. But he sawno reason for doubting he had been mistaken."Can I do aught for 'ee? Fetch a doctor?""If you wouldn't mind helping me down--down to my cabin--"William took her arm gently and led her aft to the companion ladder.At the top of it she put out a hand vaguely and closed her eyes."I don't think," she murmured, "that I can walk. My head is going roundso. Could you--would it be too heavy--if you carried me?"At any other time William would have considered this a good joke.As it was he took her up like a feather in his arms and carried her downto the cabin. There he set her down on the sofa and was about towithdraw, blushing. He was a very shy youth and had never carried awoman before, let alone one who was his superior in station."Thank you," she said in a voice that was little above a whisper."How easily you carried me. It's plain to see you're a married man."William started. "There you're wrong, ma'am, pardon me for sayin' it.""No? You were so gentle: so gentle although so big"--she smiledfaintly. "Would you mind stepping to the cupboard there and pouring meout a wineglassful of sherry? It's in the decanter just inside."William poured out a glassful and set it on the table in front of her.She put it to her lips, and having scarcely moistened them, set it downagain."A glass for yourself," she said. "Come now--do! I see you are shockedat the number of bottles I keep here. But they were my husband's.He died, you know, a week after we came into harbour."William's face worked to express mute sympathy."It's a fearful responsibility," she went on, "being left alone likethis with a vessel to look after, and all his property waiting overthere, on the other side of the water; and I daresay the lawyers, there,waiting, too, to take advantage of me. I think it's having all thison my mind that makes my head so giddy at times. . ."William stood opposite to her, and thought. It is not known at whatmoment the brilliant idea struck him, that as a husband he might be atower of strength to the fragile young creature on the sofa.His comrades after waiting some time for him began their chant again--

　　"There goes one.

　　One there is gone . . ."

　　And while they sang it William began that courtship which ended, threeweeks later, in his sailing for Canada. He went as a bridegroom; orperhaps (if we must reckon him as part of the ship's equipment), asballast.

　　THE END.

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