Part 6

So it was arranged that the captain should have his mascot. On the day of sailing the lady herself took him to the ship, as she wanted to be quite sure that he was carried aboard gently and safely and that he was induced to stay there with as little fright as possible. She was also glad to give the captain this little flattering attention of a last good-bye and _bon voyage_, which hint, if the poor captain had not been too downcast at the parting, might have made him feel that perhaps he had been a little too timid in asking for only one passenger. When at last she cautioned him, with a pitiful little break in her voice, to have patience and use only gentleness with this trusting, helpless little shipmate she was so basely betraying, it came near bringing about a climax. As the devoted captain held her small hands clasped tightly in his strong ones, a burning flood of love flushed his cheeks under their coat of tan and his snappy blue eyes blurred, as he solemnly swore, in a voice not quite under control, that he would be ever faithful to her admonition, to her, to the cat and to anything she held dear. Had there been time, in his almost overpowering emotion, the candid mariner might then and there have ventured his fate. However, the tension of the instant passed, and in the confusion of the last few moments there was not again time or opportunity for tender words, especially as the lady's whole attention seemed taken up with the cat and in solicitous anxiety as to whether he would be contented and develop a liking for skippers and a skipper's life. So in the final moment of clashing bells, splashing hawsers and the settling down of the engine to real business, the last flickering farewell was only a quick grasp of hands, which somehow seemed to carry with it a new hope, and the call of "all ashore," left the captain's heart still fluttering with only the next time to look forward to.

It was a very sullen kitten that the lady had left on the lower deck after the last desperate squeeze she had given him. As she turned to take her last look back, there he sat on his haunches, as motionless as an Egyptian mummy, amid his new surroundings, but game, maintaining a lofty dignity to the last in spite of perplexity, dismay and wrath.

As the great ship swung clear of the pier and turned her clean-cut prow toward the mists of the ocean, the lady wiped the blinding tears from her eyes and waved her handkerchief bravely as a last admonition to the cat, and in adieu to the captain, who was now in command, alert and busy, all sentiment forgotten.

All on board a sailing vessel, from the captain down, love pets of every kind, but during the first hours of the ship's getting under way, when all is confusion and bustle and everybody busy with the ship's important affairs, there is no time for trifles. Naturally the new passenger was forgotten for the time being and left to his own devices and for the ocean to do its own work with him, in its own way, until things had settled down into the daily routine. When this time arrived, the cat was past all overtures of any kind and occupied exclusively with his own resentment, the anger of his betrayal having by this time entered too deeply into his being for him to accept any kind of peace-offering. He was insensible to all caresses and disdained all offers of friendly acquaintance, and from the rank rebellion brooding in his gloomy, unforgiving eyes, it was plainly evident that he was not enjoying his ocean trip. Although he had soon found his sea legs, he had also found _en route_ a very wicked temper in thinking over the injustice of the situation, shanghaied and deserted in this heartless manner.

The men, now that they had the time, tried in every way to make up to him but coaxing of all kinds proved of no avail, the awful bitterness of his injury making him immune to any sort of cajolery, and he treated them all with a calm and persistent air of scorn. They tried to tempt him with every kind of cat dainty, but in an attitude of sullen hostility he would have nothing to do with them, venting his ill-temper on all alike and confining his dependence in the eating line to the cook, who merely threw him scraps. His angry resentment was too deep and too hopeless for any comforting; he merely wanted to be let alone, if he was doomed to stay in this dungeon, and to live his own sullen, desolate life, in resenting _everything_.

His former freedom among gardens and roofs made the limitation of even this big craft, a miserable home for one of his outdoor habits, and although he had all the ship's mice for diversion, there was time and time for thoughts deep and resentful. As he was unconfined and had full range of the ship, on an early tour of investigation he discovered a porthole, always open to the sun in possible weather, which seemed to attract him, as a light will draw a traveler, lost in the dark. This he decided on as his favorite resting place during the day and the sailors, knowing that he had become fully accustomed to the monotonous swaying of the boat, and in consideration of his strong prejudices, let him take possession undisturbed. Here he would sit and "let his mind work" in brooding abstraction, gazing by the hour in wide open revolt at the gray blankness of the sea, too dreary and hopeless to sleep. Perhaps it reminded him of other times and of another window where he had been wont to sit in happy anticipation of the coming of his lady. However it was, this window had a strange fascination for him and day after day, when he was not roaming drearily about the ship, he would sit here, a sad still-life study. With wide, unwinking, gloomy eyes, hour by hour he would follow the broad expanse of the desolate waves to the empty horizon, eating his homesick heart out in grim endurance of his fate.

One awful day he was caught unawares and his career came near ending tragically. The ship, without the slightest warning, made a sudden lurch and he was unceremoniously tumbled out of his resting place with a splash, into the waves that were racing along the smooth black sides of the ship. An alarm was immediately given and in five seconds everyone on board knew what had happened. The captain received the information with a few sailor expletives, nautical and to the point, and growled something about "not being worth it," but ordered "all hands to the rescue," and the middies responded valiantly. One, more venturesome than the rest, without pausing to count the odds, stripped and leaped boldly into the dangerous depths. The rest of the crew hung breathless over the rail, watching their comrade make his desperate struggle with the buffeting waves, which sucked at every ounce of his youthful will and strength. There was an instant of sickening suspense when he sunk straight down clear out of sight. But quickly his head shot up again above the swirl of water and as he shook the brine from his nostrils and eyes and struck out powerfully with his arms, there was seen between his teeth the motionless cat held fast by the neck. The small boat was lowered and the hero was picked up and helped aboard.

The cat did not show a symptom of life, as they laid him on the warm sunny deck and applied "first aid," and it looked for a time as if the shock to his nerves and the long salt bath had done their worst. But the determined mettle of this hard-shell spirit was not so easy to extinguish and as life surged back into nerve and muscle, and he struggled back to consciousness, they found he was there with all of his nine lives wide awake and still in good working commission. One would have thought that after such an appalling doom had all but closed in on him, he would have appreciated his good luck and the true value of having such heroic comrades, and would have shown some thankfulness for the risk one of them had run to save his life. On the contrary, although he had learned to keep away from the porthole, a deeper gloom than ever settled upon him, and, taking this unfortunate accident as an added insult, he treated them all with more than his usual scorn.

The cat's peculiar characteristics of temper made him not only marked, but famous. The very independence and aloofness of his dull life made him tantalizingly popular with the young fellows, and in their leisure hours they were continually seeking him out to pass the time. They thought it great fun to tease him to furious anger and then laugh at his quivering rage, but after they had had enough of this kind of entertainment they would never let him go back to seclusion without trying their very best to coax him to good temper. They never succeeded in this commendable purpose, however, even with the most heroic efforts, and would have hotly resented any insinuation that their pastime might possibly be a cruelty. The captain, too, was guilty of loving to display the cat's tabasco-like temper, being quite proud of the strong personality shown in one so ugly and vicious and still one so delightfully entertaining.

During their ship's stay in an English port, the captain entertained on board a brother officer, whose ship happened to be in at this time, and teasing the cat until he exhibited his fierce characteristics was one of their chief after-dinner diversions. The brother officer was very much entertained by the captain's hospitable amusement and took a greedy fancy to the insolence and hardy independent ways of his extraordinary pet. He liked the animal so much that he coveted the mettlesome prize as one that would make things lively in dreary hours, and begged the captain to loan him for just one voyage; but the captain was indignant at such a proposal and refused to consider it for a moment. It would be breaking a sworn and solemn covenant with his lady, and besides, the cat was the pride of the whole crew, notwithstanding their raillery, and he, and in fact all on board ship could not get along these days without this important member of their mess, who was getting more disagreeable and interesting every day. Shameful as such baseness was, the brother officer watched his chance, and as his ship was to sail first, he had the advantage. The captain was wholly unsuspicious of his friend's secret intention and the first intimation he had of his treachery was when he went on deck to wave him farewell. As the brother officer's ship sailed majestically by the captain saw him, evil and smiling, on the bridge, and as he returned the captain's salute, he lifted the stolen cat in triumph in his arms. The captain stood rigid, the dark blood creeping into his tanned cheeks and leaping to his brain, while his keen eyes narrowed and scintillated with the glitter of cold steel as he watched the ship sail slowly past.

To this masterful seafarer, there was no sense of humor in the childish joke his facetious friend had played on him. At the moment he was too angry for his whirling brain to think out any plan to avenge this malicious injury, but he had always found himself commander in every situation and his nature was not the kind to forget. He swore with clenched teeth that he would get even with this traitorous fellow officer even if it cost him his life. The man was beyond reach of his wrath and strong arm at present, as he was sailing for distant shores, and with him the unfortunate cat. But the captain would bide his time, his anger growing with each hour, and there would surely come a day of reckoning in which it would be better for the officer had he never even dreamed this "practical joke."

This strange cat, unfriendly and militant, that had never shown affection for anyone since that horrible day when he had been so cruelly deceived by the lady on whom he had lavished his whole heart, seemed despite his every effort, to make conquests where he least desired and to be bound to lead a sailor's life to the bitter end, in spite of himself. This last outrage of fate roused him to desperation and took all semblance of civilization from his manner. It was war and no quarter from henceforth, with all the world against him. Big, strong, and full of salty battle, he certainly had not been stolen for a pet, and it would have made the lady weep could she have known the fate and seen the warlike wreck of her once gentle friend, although she would never have recognized in this belligerent, savage old salt, the kitten she had cuddled and loved.

These new sailor tormentors soon discovered that one of the cat's diverting peculiarities was a strong and expressed dislike to whistling. He hated the shrill notes with a hate that made him tremble and which seemed to rouse the very devil in him. Even the lowest notes would wake him from a sound sleep, and with angry, low, throaty growls, which sounded remarkably like swearing, he would make a sudden rush at the offender with eyes that flamed green, and gleaming teeth set as if he had a tigerish desire to spring at the man's throat and settle for all past insults, then and there. Once in the desolation of his soul, he _did_ bite fiercely at his tormentor's shoe; and it would certainly have fared ill for any of them had he dared make a determined attack.

But the sailors, finding sufficient entertainment in the impotent, savage temper they were able to rouse, bore no malice in their hearts nor any animosity toward the cat for his violent dislike of them. So when they had teased him to the limit they would make all sorts of amends in friendly overtures, which were met with snorting scorn, and then indifferently allow him to go back to hiding, in peace. It seemed nobody's special mission to prevent this cruelty and the cultivation of all that was brutal and ugly in the poor outraged animal's nature or to see whether this continual tormenting were a real agony or if his habitual, infinite wretchedness were being made greater than necessary. It was simply a thoughtless love of diversion in which the helpless pay tribute to power. So in misery the endless days dragged into weeks and it seemed to the cat, so sick of sea life and sea smells, as if the world would never end. Although he was beginning to show the wear of his long, dull, sullen revolt, neither disappointment nor ugly temper had broken his fierce sense of injury or his indomitable spirit. Helpless as his position was, he never cowered before his adversary, but ever maintained an air of cool contempt and defiance, counting always on a chance. Every day on board ship holds unknown possibilities and always there is hope for those who watch and wait, and the cat's weary rage was waiting--slowly, silently, steadily,--but just waiting.

In the early spring, the ship ran into a rough channel and fell on continued evil winds which at last developed into a terrible gale. Wild, stinging wisps of salty wind came roaring right out of the north, flapping and bellying the sails and lashing the ship about like a plaything in a fury of wind and water, until, with rudder gone, totally disabled and helpless, it was being sent with each pounding breaker nearer and nearer the dangerous, rocky shore. The only ones to witness the screeching horror of this black night were two helpless old lumbermen, who had been roused from their sleep by the ship's signals of distress, and had run down from their camp to the pounding beach. But they were powerless to answer the crew's beseeching cries or to help them in any way, as they were alone in these wilds and had no means at hand of rescue. Through the blackness of the storm they could only imagine the distress, as they heard the roar of the heavy black demons, fighting the stubborn craft steadily with wind and water as if it were an evil thing which they were bent on destroying. At last, with terrible strength, as if impatient of this impotent play, the water rose in a tremendous wave, booming like thunder, took the battered fighter in its arms, lifting her high from the heavy sea, and flung her pounding on a jagged rock that held and crunched her with its cruel teeth like a hungry beast, scattering the splinters far and wide. The men, fighting to the end for their lives, were jerked and flung about like chips, their screams and prayers drowned in the roar and pounding of the storm, until the greedy sea once again broke over the rock and swallowed their screams and mangled bodies in a swirl.

By daylight the storm was over and the sea as calm as if there had been no tragedy, the surf beating steadily on the rocky shore its solemn requiem for its deadly passion of the dreadful night. The angry tempest had done its very worst and now the sun, so cruel in its brightness, danced joyously over the shining water, showing in the silver gray sheen of the sea the broken hulk of the wreck still clinging to the bald rock with but one sign of life. This was the rather pathetic figure of the sailor cat, sitting with his head high in the air, on one of the highest timbers, well out of the water, sunning himself, his nostrils dilating and swelling as they filled with familiar land smells. His overwrought nerves seemed wondrously calm under the harrowing circumstances, and in fact, on close scrutiny, there seemed to be a decided air of grim triumph in his lonely figure seen silhouetted against the vast expanse of blue sky and dancing waves. He had discarded entirely his sullen manner and one could almost see the hungry gleam of joy in his wide-open, level eyes, as they looked and lingered on the welcome sight of the beautiful world of grass and green growing things so near. This sweet and subtle fragrance blowing in his nostrils, sent its solace straight to his embittered heart and gave him the comfort and confidence that he would soon be one of the little furry creatures scampering in the woodsy haven. The steady throb and creak of the horrible vessel was no more, and he had at last been left free, once more to work out his own destiny, and his heart, in spite of his unmoved exterior, was thumping in triumph, and his whole body tingled with excitement. How delightfully safe, and steady, and firm, the cool retreats of this forest world looked to his sea-sick eyes! And over all brooded an enchanting silence, with no sound of everlasting machinery, just an occasional sweetly tremulous note from the blue above, and a chirp from the depth and mystery of the pungent land fragrance below, that could be heard above the heavy beating of the surf.

His heart bounded in response to the possibilities of this Promised Land of his long desire. But there was a wide space of flashing, angry, turbulent ocean between him and this secure, friendly world of plenty and enticing sweet-smelling shrubs: a hard problem and a fearsome risk for an ordinary cat and a difficult one for even this desperate creature with his fearless nature and the proclivities of a duck. But in cringing fear of some further stroke of relentless fate, that might come along and rescue him enslaving him for another dismal voyage of excruciating experience, he determined not to be overtaken by any such horrible doom, but to make that stretch of water at any cost and to make it without delay.

He picked his way gingerly to where the water washed the timbers, quivering with anticipation, gathering all the strength of his big bones and tough muscles for a leap to the shore rocks, and then--hesitated! It was a deadly plunge and his heart was doing double quick in fear, but the compelling power of the near-by free range of greenness, with its sweet breath of liberty, fired him anew with the strength of despair. With a hoarse cry, that seemed to come from the bottom of his throat, and every muscle stiffened, in fierce recklessness he at last launched himself into the washing waves and all his whole-bodied, lusty youth was put into the life and death struggle. It is vouchsafed that some great mysterious power shall watch over and guard helpless animals, brave with desire, and it carried this stout heart, that would have died but for it, straight to the shore and back to the living fertile earth he loved, to live his own free life once more in the shadow of its satisfaction.

The cat had arrived in port at last and had thrown off the fetters of his tragic fate forever, going into the mystery of the wild, where no curiosity can follow.

MAIDA

It was when Maida, a rarely beautiful Maltese, was about a year old that she became the mother of a collection of variegated little mongrel babies, with spotted fur of all sorts, except one, which was pure white. Maida was all mother, and very proud of this disreputably mixed progeny, but evidently especially pleased with the white one. Her preference for the milk-white blonde was plain, for she always picked this one out for extra care and scrubbing during the short time they were allowed to snuggle together in the nursery she had selected, which was a soap box tucked away in the back corner of the stable loft. But this is a cruel world for little unwelcome kittens and so it was destined that this shameful offspring should mysteriously disappear, and the natural instincts of Maida's big mother-heart be frustrated.

On the afternoon of the babies' third birthday, after only a short absence, the devoted mother came hurrying back in anxious care to the home box, to find nothing there but the thick straw bed. There were no little bunches of soft fur to feed and cuddle not even one left to save her suffering swelling breasts. No one told her why or where; simply the cruel fact remained that she was desolate, her home empty, and her babies gone. Her grief over this heartless depredation, so inhumanly human, was painful to witness. Frantically she called in long-drawn, wailing cadence for her babies, from morning till night, in an agonized search. Up stairs and down, in and out, her mournful _meows_ echoed, until everyone knew of her trouble, and even the most unsympathetic were indignant over the cruelty of it.

All of a sudden Maida ceased her mourning and settled down into quiet, regular habits again. Everyone drew a sigh of relief at her serenity and peace, but her mistress, more curious than the rest, determined to know the cause of her resignation and followed her to the loft. What she found there sent the cold shivers down her spine, for, snuggled to the poor mother's babyless breasts, were four small, ugly, pinky-white ratlets, with long tails and eyes like a Chinaman's. The consoled mother looked up at her mistress with beating heart and eyes straining with such pleading human anxiety that there was no mistaking that they held a challenge. But she need not have feared for no one with any kind of feeling could have the heart to let anyone interfere a second time with Maida's arrangement of a family however grotesque her ideas were in this respect. Where these shocking substitutes for her own unpopular babies came from, where they were born and what had become of the rightful parent, no one but Maida will ever know, as they were the only descendants of this rather curious breed of rodents that were ever seen in all the country round. But Maida, the kidnapper, looked proudly upon them, doubtless as her one white offspring returned fourfold, and neither excused nor explained. If their advent was dark with a cruel deed, no one knew and no one felt that they had the right this time to deprive the aching breasts and perhaps a conscience-stricken heart of this compensation.