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<h2> V. Captain Littlepage </h2>
<p>IT WAS A long time after this; an hour was very long in that coast town
where nothing stole away the shortest minute. I had lost myself completely
in work, when I heard footsteps outside. There was a steep footpath
between the upper and the lower road, which I climbed to shorten the way,
as the children had taught me, but I believed that Mrs. Todd would find it
inaccessible, unless she had occasion to seek me in great haste. I wrote
on, feeling like a besieged miser of time, while the footsteps came
nearer, and the sheep-bell tinkled away in haste as if someone had shaken
a stick in its wearer's face. Then I looked, and saw Captain Littlepage
passing the nearest window; the next moment he tapped politely at the
door.</p>
<p>"Come in, sir," I said, rising to meet him; and he entered, bowing with
much courtesy. I stepped down from the desk and offered him a chair by the
window, where he seated himself at once, being sadly spent by his climb. I
returned to my fixed seat behind the teacher's desk, which gave him the
lower place of a scholar.</p>
<p>"You ought to have the place of honor, Captain Littlepage," I said.</p>
<p>"A happy, rural seat of various views,"</p>
<p>he quoted, as he gazed out into the sunshine and up the long wooded shore.
Then he glanced at me, and looked all about him as pleased as a child.</p>
<p>"My quotation was from Paradise Lost: the greatest of poems, I suppose you
know?" and I nodded. "There's nothing that ranks, to my mind, with
Paradise Lost; it's all lofty, all lofty," he continued. "Shakespeare was
a great poet; he copied life, but you have to put up with a great deal of
low talk."</p>
<p>I now remembered that Mrs. Todd had told me one day that Captain
Littlepage had overset his mind with too much reading; she had also made
dark reference to his having "spells" of some unexplainable nature. I
could not help wondering what errand had brought him out in search of me.
There was something quite charming in his appearance: it was a face thin
and delicate with refinement, but worn into appealing lines, as if he had
suffered from loneliness and misapprehension. He looked, with his careful
precision of dress, as if he were the object of cherishing care on the
part of elderly unmarried sisters, but I knew Mari' Harris to be a very
common-place, inelegant person, who would have no such standards; it was
plain that the captain was his own attentive valet. He sat looking at me
expectantly. I could not help thinking that, with his queer head and
length of thinness, he was made to hop along the road of life rather than
to walk. The captain was very grave indeed, and I bade my inward spirit
keep close to discretion.</p>
<p>"Poor Mrs. Begg has gone," I ventured to say. I still wore my Sunday gown
by way of showing respect.</p>
<p>"She has gone," said the captain,—"very easy at the last, I was
informed; she slipped away as if she were glad of the opportunity."</p>
<p>I thought of the Countess of Carberry, and felt that history repeated
itself.</p>
<p>"She was one of the old stock," continued Captain Littlepage, with
touching sincerity. "She was very much looked up to in this town, and will
be missed."</p>
<p>I wondered, as I looked at him, if he had sprung from a line of ministers;
he had the refinement of look and air of command which are the heritage of
the old ecclesiastical families of New England. But as Darwin says in his
autobiography, "there is no such king as a sea-captain; he is greater even
than a king or a schoolmaster!"</p>
<p>Captain Littlepage moved his chair out of the wake of the sunshine, and
still sat looking at me. I began to be very eager to know upon what errand
he had come.</p>
<p>"It may be found out some o' these days," he said earnestly. "We may know
it all, the next step; where Mrs. Begg is now, for instance. Certainty,
not conjecture, is what we all desire."</p>
<p>"I suppose we shall know it all some day," said I.</p>
<p>"We shall know it while yet below," insisted the captain, with a flush of
impatience on his thin cheeks. "We have not looked for truth in the right
direction. I know what I speak of; those who have laughed at me little
know how much reason my ideas are based upon." He waved his hand toward
the village below. "In that handful of houses they fancy that they
comprehend the universe."</p>
<p>I smiled, and waited for him to go on.</p>
<p>"I am an old man, as you can see," he continued, "and I have been a
shipmaster the greater part of my life,—forty-three years in all.
You may not think it, but I am above eighty years of age."</p>
<p>He did not look so old, and I hastened to say so.</p>
<p>"You must have left the sea a good many years ago, then, Captain
Littlepage?" I said.</p>
<p>"I should have been serviceable at least five or six years more," he
answered. "My acquaintance with certain—my experience upon a certain
occasion, I might say, gave rise to prejudice. I do not mind telling you
that I chanced to learn of one of the greatest discoveries that man has
ever made."</p>
<p>Now we were approaching dangerous ground, but a sudden sense of his
sufferings at the hands of the ignorant came to my help, and I asked to
hear more with all the deference I really felt. A swallow flew into the
schoolhouse at this moment as if a kingbird were after it, and beat itself
against the walls for a minute, and escaped again to the open air; but
Captain Littlepage took no notice whatever of the flurry.</p>
<p>"I had a valuable cargo of general merchandise from the London docks to
Fort Churchill, a station of the old company on Hudson's Bay," said the
captain earnestly. "We were delayed in lading, and baffled by head winds
and a heavy tumbling sea all the way north-about and across. Then the fog
kept us off the coast; and when I made port at last, it was too late to
delay in those northern waters with such a vessel and such a crew as I
had. They cared for nothing, and idled me into a fit of sickness; but my
first mate was a good, excellent man, with no more idea of being frozen in
there until spring than I had, so we made what speed we could to get clear
of Hudson's Bay and off the coast. I owned an eighth of the vessel, and he
owned a sixteenth of her. She was a full-rigged ship, called the Minerva,
but she was getting old and leaky. I meant it should be my last v'y'ge in
her, and so it proved. She had been an excellent vessel in her day. Of the
cowards aboard her I can't say so much."</p>
<p>"Then you were wrecked?" I asked, as he made a long pause.</p>
<p>"I wa'n't caught astern o' the lighter by any fault of mine," said the
captain gloomily. "We left Fort Churchill and run out into the Bay with a
light pair o' heels; but I had been vexed to death with their red-tape
rigging at the company's office, and chilled with stayin' on deck an'
tryin' to hurry up things, and when we were well out o' sight o' land,
headin' for Hudson's Straits, I had a bad turn o' some sort o' fever, and
had to stay below. The days were getting short, and we made good runs, all
well on board but me, and the crew done their work by dint of hard
driving."</p>
<p>I began to find this unexpected narrative a little dull. Captain
Littlepage spoke with a kind of slow correctness that lacked the longshore
high flavor to which I had grown used; but I listened respectfully while
he explained the winds having become contrary, and talked on in a dreary
sort of way about his voyage, the bad weather, and the disadvantages he
was under in the lightness of his ship, which bounced about like a chip in
a bucket, and would not answer the rudder or properly respond to the most
careful setting of sails.</p>
<p>"So there we were blowin' along anyways," he complained; but looking at me
at this moment, and seeing that my thoughts were unkindly wandering, he
ceased to speak.</p>
<p>"It was a hard life at sea in those days, I am sure," said I, with
redoubled interest.</p>
<p>"It was a dog's life," said the poor old gentleman, quite reassured, "but
it made men of those who followed it. I see a change for the worse even in
our own town here; full of loafers now, small and poor as 'tis, who once
would have followed the sea, every lazy soul of 'em. There is no
occupation so fit for just that class o' men who never get beyond the
fo'cas'le. I view it, in addition, that a community narrows down and grows
dreadful ignorant when it is shut up to its own affairs, and gets no
knowledge of the outside world except from a cheap, unprincipled
newspaper. In the old days, a good part o' the best men here knew a
hundred ports and something of the way folks lived in them. They saw the
world for themselves, and like's not their wives and children saw it with
them. They may not have had the best of knowledge to carry with 'em
sight-seein', but they were some acquainted with foreign lands an' their
laws, an' could see outside the battle for town clerk here in Dunnet; they
got some sense o' proportion. Yes, they lived more dignified, and their
houses were better within an' without. Shipping's a terrible loss to this
part o' New England from a social point o' view, ma'am."</p>
<p>"I have thought of that myself," I returned, with my interest quite
awakened. "It accounts for the change in a great many things,—the
sad disappearance of sea-captains,—doesn't it?"</p>
<p>"A shipmaster was apt to get the habit of reading," said my companion,
brightening still more, and taking on a most touching air of unreserve. "A
captain is not expected to be familiar with his crew, and for company's
sake in dull days and nights he turns to his book. Most of us old
shipmasters came to know 'most everything about something; one would take
to readin' on farming topics, and some were great on medicine,—but
Lord help their poor crews!—or some were all for history, and now
and then there'd be one like me that gave his time to the poets. I was
well acquainted with a shipmaster that was all for bees an' beekeepin';
and if you met him in port and went aboard, he'd sit and talk a terrible
while about their havin' so much information, and the money that could be
made out of keepin' 'em. He was one of the smartest captains that ever
sailed the seas, but they used to call the Newcastle, a great bark he
commanded for many years, Tuttle's beehive. There was old Cap'n Jameson:
he had notions of Solomon's Temple, and made a very handsome little model
of the same, right from the Scripture measurements, same's other sailors
make little ships and design new tricks of rigging and all that. No,
there's nothing to take the place of shipping in a place like ours. These
bicycles offend me dreadfully; they don't afford no real opportunities of
experience such as a man gained on a voyage. No: when folks left home in
the old days they left it to some purpose, and when they got home they
stayed there and had some pride in it. There's no large-minded way of
thinking now: the worst have got to be best and rule everything; we're all
turned upside down and going back year by year."</p>
<p>"Oh no, Captain Littlepage, I hope not," said I, trying to soothe his
feelings.</p>
<p>There was a silence in the schoolhouse, but we could hear the noise of the
water on a beach below. It sounded like the strange warning wave that
gives notice of the turn of the tide. A late golden robin, with the most
joyful and eager of voices, was singing close by in a thicket of wild
roses.</p>
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