 Morella by Edgar Allan Poe This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Morella by Edgar Allan Poe Itself by itself, solely, one everlasting and single, Plato, Sympos With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul from our first meeting burned with fires it had never before known, but the fires were not of eras, and bitter and tormenting it to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met, and fate bound us together at the altar, and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She, however, shunned society, and attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder, it is a happiness to dream. Morella's erudition was profound. As I hoped to live her talents were of no common order, her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and in many matters became her pupil. I soon, however, found that, perhaps on account of her Prosperg education, she placed before me a number of those mystical writings which are usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for whatever reason I could not imagine, were her favorite and constant study, and that in process of time they became my own should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example. In all this, if I are not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And then, when pouring over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden spirit and kindling within me. Would Morella place her cold hand upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in upon my memory? And then, hour after hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the music of her voice, until at length its melody was tainted with terror, and there fell a shadow upon my soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those two unearthly tones. And thus joy suddenly faded into horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinoan became Gehenna. It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned, in what might be termed theological morality, they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The wild pantheism of Fichte, the modified palaginidia of the Pythagoreans, and above all the doctrines of identity as urged by Schelling, were generally the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. First identity, which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the saneness of rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which we call ourselves, thereby distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our personal identity. But the Principium individuattionis, the notion of that identity which at death is or is not lost forever, was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense interest, not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its consequences than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them. But indeed the time had now arrived when the mystery of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wand fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language, nor the luster of her melancholy eyes, and she knew all this, but did not upgrade. She seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly, and smiling called it fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause to me unknown for the gradual alienation of my regard, but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. It was she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent, and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss. Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella's decease? I did, but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days, for many weeks and irksome months, until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay, and with the heart of a fiend cursed the days and the hours and the bitter moments which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined, like shadows in the dying of the day. At one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. It is a day of days, she said, as I approached, a day of all days, either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of earth and life, ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and death. I kissed her forehead, and she continued, I am dying, yet shall I live. Morella! The days have never been when thou couldst love me, but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore. Morella! I repeat, I am dying, but within me is a pledge of that affection, ah, how little, which thou didst feel for me, Morella! And when my spirit departs shall the child live, thy child and mine, Morellas. But thy days shall be days of sorrow, but sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over, and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of pestam twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer than play the taen with time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do the moslemene at Mecca. Morella! I cried. Morella! How knowest thou this? But she turned away her face upon the pillow and a slight tremor coming over her limbs. She thus died, and I heard her voice no more. Yet as she had foretold her child to which in dying she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no more. Her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed, and I loved her with a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth. But ere long the heaven of this pure affection became darkened, and gloom and horror and grief swept over it in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange indeed was her rapid increase in bodily size. But terrible, oh, terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the development of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the adult powers and faculties of the woman, when the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy, and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye? When I say all this became evident to my appalled senses, when I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled to receive it, is it to be wondered at that suspicions of a nature fearful and exciting crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the entombed morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, and in the rigorous seclusion of my home watched with an agonizing anxiety of her all which concerned the beloved. And as years rolled away, and I gazed day after day upon her holy and mild and eloquent face, and poured over her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy and the dead, and hourly grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full and more definite and more perplexing and more hideously terrible in their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother's I could bear, but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity, that her eyes were like morellas I could endure, but then they, too, often looked down into the depths of my soul with morellas own intense and bewildering meaning, and in the contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above all, oh, above all, in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror for a worm that would not die. Thus passed away too lustre of her life, and as yet my daughter remained nameless upon the earth. My child and my love were the designations usually prompted by a father's affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morellas' name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter. It was impossible to speak. Indeed, during the brief period of her existence, the latter had received no impressions from the outward world, save such as might have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name, and many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my own and foreign lands came thronging to my lips, with many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy and the good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound which in its very recollection was want to make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul when amid those dim aisles and in the silence of the night I whispered within the ears of the holy man, the syllables, Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven, and falling prostrate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault responded, I am here! Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead rolled hissingly into my brain. Years, years may pass away, but the memory of that epoch never. Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine, but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and day, and I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only, Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore, Morella. But she died, and with my own hands I bore her to the tomb, and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh, as I found no traces of the first, in the channel where I laid the second. Morella. Morella. By Edgar Allan Poe. Read by Jesse Noar. The Mouse. By Socky. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Charles Culbertson of Stanton, Virginia. The Mouse. By Socky. Theodoric Voler had been brought up, from infancy to the confines of middle age, by a fond mother whose chief solicitude had been to keep him screened from what she called the coarser realities of life. When she died, she left Theodoric alone in a world that was as real as ever, and a good deal coarser than he considered it had any need to be. To a man of his temperament and upbringing, even a simple railway journey was crammed with petty annoyances and minor discords, and as he settled himself down in a second-class compartment one September morning, he was conscious of ruffled feelings and general mental discomposure. He had been staying at a country vicarage, the inmates of which had been certainly neither brutal nor Bacchanalian, but their supervision of the domestic establishment had been of that lax order which invites disaster. The pony carriage that was to take him to the station had never been properly ordered, and when the moment for his departure drew near, the handyman who should have produced the required article was nowhere to be found. In this emergency Theodoric, to his mute, but very intense disgust, found himself obliged to collaborate with the vicarage's daughter in the task of harnessing the pony, which necessitated groping about in an ill-lighted out building called a stable, and smelling very like one, except in patches where it smelled of mice. Without being actually afraid of mice, Theodoric clasped them among the coarser incidents of life, and considered that Providence, with a little exercise of moral courage, might long ago have recognized that they were not indispensable, and have withdrawn them from circulation. As the train glided out of the station, Theodoric's nervous imagination accused himself of exhaling a weak odor of stable yard, and possibly of displaying a moldy straw or two on his unusually well-brushed garments. Fortunately, the only other occupation of the compartment, a lady of about the same age as himself, seemed inclined to be more or less slumber rather than scrutiny. The train was not due to stop till the terminus was reached in about an hour's time, and the carriage was of the old-fashioned sort that held no communication with a corridor, therefore no further traveling companions were likely to intrude on Theodoric's semi-privacy. And yet the train had scarcely attained its normal speed before he became reluctantly but vividly aware that he was not alone with the slumbering lady. He was not even alone in his own clothes. A warm, creeping movement over his flesh betrayed the unwelcome and highly resented presence, unseen but poignant, of a strayed mouse that had evidently dashed into its present retreat during the episode of the pony harnessing. Fertive stamps and shakes and wildly directed pinches failed to dislodge the intruder, whose motto indeed seemed to be excelsior. And the lawful occupant of the clothes laid back against the cushions and endeavored rapidly to evolve some means for putting an end to the dual ownership. It was unthinkable that he should continue for the space of a whole hour in the horrible position of a routen house for vagrant mice. Already his imagination had at least doubled the numbers of the alien invasion. On the other hand, nothing less drastic than partial disrobing would ease him of his tormentor. And to undress in the presence of a lady, even for so laudable a purpose, was an idea that made his ear tips tingle in a blush of abject shame. He had never been able to bring himself even to the mild exposure of open work socks in the presence of the fair sex. And yet, the lady in this case was, to all appearances, soundly and securely asleep. The mouse, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to crowd a vunderjar into a few strenuous minutes. If there is any truth in the theory of transmigration, this particular mouse must certainly have been in a former state, a member of the Alpine Club. Sometimes in its eagerness, it lost its footing and slipped for a half an inch or so. And then in fright, or more probably temper, it bit. Theodoric was goaded into the most audacious undertaking of his life, crimsoning to the hue of a beetroot, and keeping an agonized watch on his slumbering fellow-traveller, he swiftly and noiselessly secured the ends of his railway rug to the racks on either side of the carriage, so that a substantial curtain hung thwart the compartment. In the narrow dressing room that he had thus improvised, he proceeded with violent haste to extricate himself partially and the mouse entirely from the surrounding casings of tweed and half wool. As the unraveled mouse gave a wild leap to the floor, the rug, slipping its fastening at either end, also came down with a heart-curdling flop, and almost simultaneously the awakened sleeper opened her eyes. With a movement almost quicker than the mouse's, Theodoric pounced on the rug and hauled its ample folds chin high over his dismantled person as he collapsed into the farther corner of the carriage. The blood raced and beat in the veins of his neck and forehead, while he waited dumbly for the communication cord to be pulled. The lady, however, contented herself with a silent stare at her strangely muffled companion. How much had she seen, Theodoric query to himself, and in any case, what on earth must she think of his present posture? I think I have caught a chill. He ventured desperately. Really, I'm sorry, she replied. I was just going to ask you if you would open this window. I fancy its malaria, he added, his teeth chattering slightly as much from fright as from a desire to support his theory. I've got some brandy in my hold-all if you'll kindly reach it down for me," said his companion. Not for worlds. I mean, I never take anything for it, he assured her earnestly. I suppose you caught it in the tropics? Theodoric, whose acquaintance with the tropics was limited to an annual present of a chest of tea from an uncle in Ceylon, felt that even the malaria was slipping from him. Would it be possible, he wondered, to disclose the real state of affairs to her in small installments? Are you afraid of mice, he ventured, growing, if possible, more scarlet in the face? Not unless they came in quantities. Why do you ask? I had one crawling inside my clothes just now, said Theodoric in a voice that hardly seemed his own. It was a most awkward situation. Well, it must have been if you wear your clothes at all tight, she observed, but mice have strange ideas of comfort. I had to get rid of it while you were asleep, he continued. Then, with a gulp, he added, it was getting rid of it that brought me to—to this. Surely leaving off one small mouse wouldn't bring on a chill, she exclaimed, with a levity that Theodoric accounted abominable. Evidently, she had detected something of his predicament, and was enjoying his confusion. All the blood in his body seemed to have mobilized in one concentrated blush, and an agony of a basement worse than a myriad mice crept up and down over his soul. And then, as reflection began to assert itself, sheer terror took the place of humiliation. With every minute that passed, the train was rushing, nearer to the crowded and bustling termites, where dozens of prying eyes would be exchanged for the one paralyzing pair that watched him from the farther corner of the carriage. There was one slender, despairing chance, which the next few minutes must decide. His fellow traveller might relapse into a blessed slumber. But as the minutes throbbed by, that chance ebbed away. The furtive glance which Theodoric stole at her from time to time disclosed only an unwinking wakefulness. I think we must be getting near now, she presently observed. Theodoric had already noted with growing terror the recurring stacks of small, ugly dwellings that heralded the journey's end. The words acted as a signal, like a hunted beast breaking cover and dashing madly towards some other haven of momentary safety, he threw aside his rug and struggled frantically into his disheveled garments. He was conscious of dull suburban stations racing past the window, of a choking, hammering sensation in his throat and heart, and of an icy silence in that corner toward which he dared not look. Then, as he sank back in his seat, clothed and almost delirious, the train slowed down to a final crawl and the woman spoke. Would you be so kind, she asked, as to get me a porter to put me into a cab? It's a shame to trouble you when you're feeling unwell, but being blind makes one so helpless at a railway station. End of The Mouse by Socky. The Open Boat by Stephen Crane. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or how to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Reading by David Pitter. And James Christopher. The Open Boat by Stephen Crane. A tale intended to be after the fact being the experience of four men from the sunk steamer, Commodore. Chapter one. None of them knew the color of the sky. Their eyes glanced level and were fastened upon the waves that swept toward them. These waves were of the U of Slate, save for the tops, which were foaming white, and all of the men knew the colors of the sea. The horizon narrowed and widened and dipped in rows. And at all times, its edge was jagged with waves that seemed thrust up in points like rocks. Many a man ought to have a bathtub larger than the boat, which here rode upon the sea. These waves were most wrongfully and barbarously abrupt and tall. And each froth top was a problem in small boat navigation. The cook squatted in the bottom and looked with both eyes at the six inches of gun well, which separated him from the ocean. His sleeves were rolled over his fat forms and the two flaps of his unbuttoned vest dangled as he bent to bail out the boat. Often he said, God, that was a narrow clip. As he remarked it, he invariably gazed eastward over the broken sea. The oiler, staring with one of the two oars in the boat, sometimes raised himself suddenly to keep clear water that swirled in over the stern. It was a thin little ore and it seemed often ready to snap. The correspondent pulling at the other or watched the waves and wondered why he was there. The injured captain lying in the bow was at this time buried in that profound dejection and indifference which comes temporarily, at least to even the bravest and most enduring when willy-nilly the firm fails, the army loses, the ship goes down. The mind of the master of a vessel is rooted deep in the timbers of her, though he commanded for a day or a decade. And this captain had on him the stern impression of a scene in the graze of dawn of seven turned faces and later stump of a top mast with a white ball on it that slashed to and fro at the waves went low and lower and down. Thereafter, there was something strange in his voice, although steady, it was deep with mourning and of equality beyond oration or tears. Keeper a little more south, Billy, said he, a little more south, sir, said the oiler in the stern. A seat in this boat was not unlike a seat upon a bucking bronco. And by the same token, a bronco is not much smaller. The craft pranced and reared and plunged like an animal. As each wave came and she rose for it, she seemed like a horse making at a fence outrageously high. The manner of her scramble over these walls of water is a mystic thing. And moreover, at the top of them were ordinarily these problems in white water, the foam racing down from the summit of each wave requiring a new leap in a leap from the air. Then after scornfully bumping a crest, she would slide and race and splash down a long incline and arrive bobbing and nodding in front of the next menace. A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave, you discover that there is another behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something effective in the way of swapping boats. In a 10 foot dinghy, one can get an idea of the resources of the sea in the line of waves that is not probable to the average experience, which is never at sea in a dinghy. As each slady wall of water approached, it shut all else from the view of the men in the boat. And it was not difficult to imagine that this particular wave was the final outburst of the sea, the last effort of the grimwater. There was a terrible grace in the move of the waves, and they came in silence, save for the snarling of the crest. In the wand light, the faces of the men must have been gray. Their eyes must have glinted in strange ways as they gazed steadily astern. Viewed from a balcony, the whole thing would doubtless have been weirdly picturesque. But the men in the boat had no time to see it. And if they had had leisure, there were other things to occupy their minds. The sun swung steadily up the sky, and then knew it was broad day because the color of the sea changed from slate to emerald green, streaked with amber lights, and the foam was like tumbling snow. The process of the breaking day was unknown to them. They were aware only of this effect upon the color of the waves that rolled toward them. In disjointed sentences, the cook and the correspondent argued as to the difference between a life saving station and a house of refuge. The cook had said, there's a house of refuge just north of the mosquito inlet light. And soon as they see us, they'll come off in their boat and pick us up. As soon as who sees us, said the correspondent. The crew said the cook. Houses of refuge don't have crews, said the correspondent. As I understand them, they are only places where clothes and grub are stored for the benefit of shipwrecked people. They don't carry crews. Oh, yes, they do, said the cook. No, they don't, said the correspondent. Well, we're not there yet. Anyhow, said the oiler in the stern. Well, said the cook. Perhaps it's not a house of refuge that I'm thinking of as being near mosquito inlet light. Perhaps it's a life saving station. We're not there yet, said the oiler in the stern. Chapter two. As the boat bounced from the top of each wave, the wind tore through the hair of the hatless men. And as the craft plopped or sterned down again, the spray splashed past them. The crest of each of these waves was a hill from the top of which the men surveyed for a moment, a broad, tumultuous expanse, shining and wind-riven. It was probably splendid. It was probably glorious. This play of the free sea, wild with lights of emerald and white and amber. Bullet good things that's on shore winds, said the cook. If not, where would we be? Wouldn't have a show. That's right, said the correspondent. The busy oiler nodded his assent. Then the captain in the bow chuckled in a way that expressed humor, contempt, tragedy, all in one. Do you think we've got much of a show now, boys? Said he. Whereupon the three were silent, save for a trifle of hemming and hawing. To express any particular optimism at this point, they felt to be childish and stupid. But they all doubtless possessed this sense of the situation in their mind. A young man thinks doggedly at such times. On the other hand, the ethics of their condition was decidedly against any open suggestion of hopelessness, so they were silent. Oh, well, said the captain, soothing his children. We'll get ashore all right. But there was that in his tone which made them think. So the oiler quote. Yes, if this wind holds. The cook was bailing. Yes, if we don't catch hell in the surf. Canton flannel gulls flew near and far. Sometimes they sat down on the sea, near patches of brown seaweed that rolled on the waves with a movement like carpets on a line and a gale. The birds sat comfortably in the groups and they were envied by some in the dinghy. For the wrath of the sea was no more to them than it was to a cubby of prairie chickens a thousand miles inland. Often they came very close and stared at the men with black beet like eyes. At these times they were uncanny and sinister in their unblinking scrutiny and the men hooted angrily at them, telling them to be gone. One came and evidently decided to alight on the top of the captain's head. The bird flew parallel to the boat and did not circle but made short side long jumps in the air in chicken fashion. His black eyes were wistfully fixed upon the captain's head. Ugly brute said the oiler to the bird. You look as if you were made with a jackknife. The cook and the correspondent swore darkly at the creature. The captain naturally wished to knock it away with the end of the heavy painter but he did not dare do it because anything resembling an emphatic gesture would have capsized this freighted boat and so with his open hand the captain gently and carefully waved the gull away. After it had been discouraged from the pursuit the captain breathed easier on account of his hair and the others breathed easier because the bird struck their minds at this time as being somehow gruesome and ominous. In the meantime the oiler and the correspondent rode and also they rode. They sat together in the same seat in each road and ore. Then the oiler took both oars. Then the correspondent took both oars. Then the oiler. Then the correspondent. They rode and they rode. The very ticklish part of the business was when the time came for the reclining one in the stern to take his turn at the oars. By the very last star of truth it is easier to steal eggs from under a hen than it is to change seats in a dinghy. First the man in the stern slides his hand along the thwart and moved with care as if he were of savers. Then the man in the rowing seat slid his hand along the other thwart. It was all done with the most extraordinary care. As the two sidled past each other the whole party kept watchful eye on the coming waves and the captain cried look out now steady there. The brown mats of seaweed that appeared from time to time were like islands bits of earth. They were traveling apparently neither one way nor the other. They were to all intents stationary. They informed the men in the boat that it was making progress slowly towards the land. The captain rearing cautiously in the bow after the dinghy soared on a great swell said that he had seen the lighthouse at mosquito inlet. Presently the cook remarked that he had seen it. The correspondent was at the oars then and for some reason he too wished to look at the lighthouse but his back was toward the far shore and the waves were important and for some time he could not seize an opportunity to turn his head. But at last there came a wave more gentle than the others and when at the crest of it he swiftly scoured the western horizon. See it said the captain? No said the correspondent slowly. I didn't see anything. Look again said the captain. He pointed. It's exactly in that direction. At the top of another wave the correspondent did as he was bid and this time his eyes chanced on a small still thing on the edge of the swaying horizon. It was precisely like the point of a pen. It took an anxious eye to find a lighthouse so tiny. Think we'll make it captain? If this wind holds and the boat don't swamp we can't do much else said the captain. The little boat lifted by each towering wave and splashed viciously by the crest made progress that in the absence of seaweed was not apparent to those in her. She seemed just a wee thing wallowing miraculously top up at the mercy of five oceans. Occasionally a great spread of water like white flames swarmed into her. Bail or cook said the captain serenely. All right captain said the cheerful cook. Chapter 3 It would be difficult to describe the subtle brotherhood of men that was here established on the seas. No one said that it was so. No one mentioned it. But it dwelt in the boat and each man felt it warm him. There was a captain, an oiler, a cook, and a correspondent and they were friends. Friends in a more curiously iron-bound degree than may be common. The hurt captain lying against the water jar in the bow spoke always in a low voice and calmly. But he could never command a more ready and swiftly obedient crew than the motley three of the dinghy. It was more than a mere recognition of what was best for the common safety. There was surely in it a quality that was personal and heartfelt. And after this devotion to the commander of the boat there was this comradeship that the correspondence for instance who had been taught to be cynical of men knew even at the time was the best experience of his life. But no one said that it was so. No one mentioned it. I wish we had a sail remarked the captain. We might try my overcoat on the end of an oar and give you two boys a chance to rest. So the cook and the correspondent held the mast and spread wide the overcoat. The oiler steered and the little boat made good way with her new rig. Sometimes the oiler had to skull sharply to keep a sea from breaking into the boat but otherwise sailing was a success. Meanwhile the lighthouse had been growing slowly larger. It had now almost assumed color and appeared like a little gray shadow on the sky. The man at the oars could not be prevented from turning his head rather often to try for a glimpse of this little gray shadow. At last from the top of each wave the men in the tossing boat could see land. Even as the lighthouse was an upright shadow on the sky this land seemed but a long black shadow on the sea. It certainly was thinner than paper. We must be about opposite New Smyrna said the cook who had coasted this shore often in schooners. Captain by the way I believe they abandoned that lifesaving station there about a year ago. Did they? said the captain. The wind slowly died away. The cook and the correspondent were not now obliged to slave in order to hold high the oar but the waves continued their old impetuous swooping at the dinghy and the little craft no longer under way struggled woundedly over them. The oiler or the correspondent took the oars again. Shipwrecks are apropos of nothing. If men could only train for them and have them occur when the men had reached pink condition there would be less drowning at sea. Of the four in the dinghy none had slept any time worth mentioning for two days and two nights previous to embarking in the dinghy and in the excitement of clamoring about the deck of a foundering ship they had also forgotten to eat heartily. For these reasons and for others neither the oiler nor the correspondent was fond of rowing at this time. The correspondent wondered ingeniously how in the name of all that was saying could there be people who thought it amusing to row a boat. It was not an amusement it was a diabolical punishment and even a genius of mental aberrations could never conclude that it was anything but a horror to the muscles and a crime against the back. He mentioned to the boat in general how the amusement of rowing struck him and the weary faced oiler smiled in full sympathy. Previously to the foundering by the way the oiler had worked double watch in the injured room of the ship. Take her easy now boys said the captain don't spend yourselves if we have to run a surf you'll need all your strength because we'll sure have to swim for it take your time. Slowly the land arose from the sea from a black line it became a line of black and line of white trees and sand. Finally the captain said that he could make out a house on the shore that's the house of refuge sure said the cook they'll see us before long and come out after us. The distant lighthouse reared high the keeper ought to be able to make us out now if he's looking through a glass of the captain he'll notify the lifesaving people. None of those other boats could have got ashore to give word of the wreck said the oiler in a low voice else the lifeboat would be out hunting us. Slowly and beautifully the land loomed out of the sea the wind came again it had veered from the northeast to the southeast. Finally a new sound struck the ears of the men in the boat it was a low thunder of the surf on the shore we'll never be able to make the lighthouse now said the captain swing her head a little more north billy said he a little more north sir said the oiler. Whereupon the little boat turned her nose once more down the wind and all but the oarsmen watched the shore grow under the influence of this expansion doubt and dire full apprehension was leaving the minds of the men. The management of the boat was still most absorbing but it could not prevent a quiet cheerfulness in an hour perhaps they would be ashore. Their backbones had become thoroughly used to balancing in the boat and they now rode this wild coat of a dinghy like surrogates men the correspondent thought that he had been drenched to the skin but happening to feel in the top pocket of his coat he found therein eight cigars four of them were soaked with seawater four were perfectly skateless after a search somebody produced three dry matches and thereupon the four waves rode imputantly in their little boat and with an assurance of an impending rescue shining in their eyes puffed at the big cigars and judged well an ill of all men everybody took a drink of water four cook remarked the captain there don't seem to be any signs of life about your house of refuge no replied the cook funny they don't see us a broad stretch of lowly coast laid before the eyes of the men it was of dunes topped with dark vegetation the roar of the surf was plain and sometimes they could see the white lip of a wave as it spun up the beach a tiny house was blocked out black upon the sky southward the slim lighthouse lifted its little gray length tide wind and waves were swinging in the dinghy northward funny they don't see us said the men the surf's roar here was dulled but its tone was nevertheless thunderous and mighty as the boat swam over the great rollers the men sat listening to this roar we'll swamp shore said everybody it is fair to say here that there was not a lifesaving station within 20 miles in either direction but the men did not know this fact and in consequence they made dark and appropriate remarks concerning the eyesight of the nation's lifesavers four scowling men sat in the dinghy and surpassed records in the invention of epithets funny they don't see us the light-heartedness of a former time had completely faded to their sharpened minds it was easy to conjure pictures of all kinds of incompetency and blindness and indeed cowardice there was the shore of the populous land and it was bitter and bitter to them from it came no sign well said the captain ultimately i suppose we'll have to make a try for ourselves if we stay out here too long will none of us have strength left to swim after the boat swamps and so the oiler who was at the oars turned the boat straight for the shore there was a sudden tightening of muscle there was some thinking if we don't all get ashore said the captain if we don't all get ashore i suppose you fellows know were to send news of by finish then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions as for the reflections of the men per chance they might be formulated thus if i am going to be drowned if i'm going to be drowned if i'm going to be drowned why in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea was i allowed to come thus far and contemplate sands and trees was i brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as i was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life it is preposterous if this old nitty woman fate cannot do better than this she should be deprived of the management of men's fortunes she is an old hen who knows not her intention if she has decided to drown me why does she not do it in the beginning and save me all this trouble the whole affair is absurd but no she cannot mean to drown me she dare not drown me she cannot drown me not after all this work afterward the man might have had an impulse to shake his fist at the clouds just you drown me now and then hear what i call you the billows that came at this time were more formidable they seemed always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a turmoil of foam there was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them no mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dinghy could ascend these sheer heights in time the shore was still afar the oiler was a wily surfman boys he said swiftly she won't live three minutes more and we're out too far to swim shall i take her to see again captain yes go ahead said the captain this oiler by a series of quick miracles and fast and steady oarsmanship turned the boat in the middle of the surf and took her safely to see again there was a considerable silence as the boat bumped over the furrowed sea to deeper water then somebody in gloom spoke well anyhow they must have seen us from shore by now the gulls went in slanting flight upwind toward the gray desolate east a squall marked by dingy clouds and clouds brick red like smoke from a burning building appeared from the southeast what do you think of those lifesaving people ain't they peaches funny they haven't seen us maybe they think we're out here for sport maybe they think we're fishing maybe they think we're damn fools it was a long afternoon a change tide tried to force them southward but the wind and wave said northward far ahead where coastline sea and sky form their mighty angle there were little dots which seemed to indicate a city on the shore st augustine the captain shook his head two near mosquito inlet and the oiler road and then the correspondent road then the oiler road it was a weary business the human back can become the seat of more aches and pains than a registered in books for the composite anatomy of a regiment it is a limited area but it can become the theater of innumerable muscular conflicts tangles wrenches knots and other comforts did you ever like to row billy asked the correspondent no said the oiler hang it when one exchanged when one exchanged the rowing seat for a place in the bottom of the boat he suffered a bodily depression that caused him to be careless of everything save an obligation to wiggle one finger there was cold seawater swishing to and fro in the boat and he lay in it his head pillowed on a fort was within an inch of the swirl of a wave crest and sometimes a particularly obstructor of sea came in board and drenched him once more but these matters did not annoy him it is almost certain that if the boat had capsized he would have tumbled comfortably out upon the ocean as if he felt sure that it was a great soft mattress look there's a man on the shore where there see him see him yes sure he's walking along now he stopped look he's facing us he's waving at us so he is by thunder ah now we're all right now we're all right there'll be a boat out here for us in half an hour he's going on he's running he's going up to that house there the remote beach seemed lower than the sea and it required a searching glance to discern the little black figure the captain saw a floating stick and they rowed to it a bathtub was by some weird chance in the boat and tying this on the stick the captain waved it the oarsman did not dare turn his head so he was obliged to ask questions what's he doing now he's standing still again he's looking i think there he goes again toward the house now he stopped again is he waving at us no not now he was though look there comes another man he's running look at him go would you why he's on a bicycle now he's met the other man they're both waving at us look there comes something up the beach what the devil is that thing why it looks like a boat why certainly it's a boat no it's on wheels yes so it is well that must be the lifeboat they dragged them along shore on a wagon that's the lifeboat shore no by it's it's an omnibus i tell you it's a lifeboat it is not it's an omnibus i can see it plane see one of those big hotel omnibuses by thunder you're right it's an omnibus sure is fate what do you suppose they are doing with an omnibus maybe they're going around collecting the life crew a that's it likely look there's a fellow waving a little black flag he's standing on the steps of the omnibus there come those other two fellows now they're all talking together look at the fellow with the flag maybe he ain't waving it that ain't a flag is it that's his coat well certainly that's his coat so it is it's his coat he's taking it off and he's waving it around his head but would you look at him swing it oh say there isn't any life-saving station there that's just a winter resort hotel omnibus that has brought over some of the borders to see us drown what's that idiot with the coat mean what's he signaling anyhow it looks as if he were trying to tell us to go north there must be a life-saving station up there no he thinks we're fishing just giving us a merry hand see ah there willy well i wish i could make something out of those signals what do you suppose he means he don't mean anything he's just playing well if he'd just signal us to try the surf again or to go to sea and wait or go north or go south or go to hell there'd be some reason in it but look at him he just stands there and keep his coat revolving like a wheel the ass there come more people now there's quite a mob look isn't that a boat where oh i see what you mean no that's no boat that fellow is still waving his coat he must think we like to see him do that why don't he quit it it don't mean anything i don't know i think he's trying to make us go north it must be that there's a life-saving station there somewhere say he ain't tired yet look at him wave wonder how long he can keep that up he's been revolving his coat ever since he caught sight of us he's an idiot why aren't they getting men to bring a boat out a fishing boat one of those big yalls could come out here all right why don't he do something oh it's all right now they'll have a boat out here for us in less than no time now that they've seen us a faint yellow tone came into the sky over the low land the shadows on the sea slowly deepened the wind bore coldness with it and the men began to shiver holy smoke said one allowing his voice to express his impious mood if we keep on monkeying out here if we've got the flounder out here all night oh we'll never have to stay out here all night don't you worry they've seen us now and it won't be long before they'll come chasing out after us the shore grew dusky the man waving a coat blended gradually into the gloom and it swallowed in the same manner the omnibus in the group of people the spray when it dashed up roriously over the side made the voyagers shrink and swear like men who were being branded i'd like to catch the chump who waved the coat i feel like soaking him one just for luck why what did he do oh nothing but then he seemed so damn cheerful in the meantime the oiler road and then the correspondent road and then the oiler road gray faced and bowed forward they mechanically turn by turn plied the lead and oars the form of the lighthouse had vanished from the southern horizon but finally a pale star appeared just lifting from the sea the streak saffron in the west passed before the all-emerging darkness and the sea to the east was black the land had vanished and was expressed only by the low and drear thunder of the surf if i am going to be drowned if i'm going to be drowned if i'm going to be drowned why in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea was i allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees was i brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as i was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life the patient captain drooped over the water jar was sometimes obliged to speak to the oarsmen keep her head up keep her head up keep her head up sir the voices were weary and low this was surely a quiet evening all say the oarsmen lay heavily and listlessly in the boat's bottom as for him his eyes were just capable of noting the tall black waves that swept forward in a most sinister silence save for an occasional subdued growl of a crest the cook's head was on a thwart and he looked without interest at the water under his nose he was deep in other scenes finally he spoke billy he murmured dreamfully what kind of pie do you like best five pie said the oiler in the correspond that agitatedly don't talk about those things blast you well said the cook i was just thinking about ham sandwiches and a night on the sea in an open boat is a long night as darkness settled finally the shine of the light lifting from the sea in the south changed to full gold on the northern horizon a new light appeared a small bluish gleam on the edge of the waters these two lights were the furniture of the world otherwise there was nothing but waves two men huddled in the stern and distances were so magnificent in the dinghy that the rower wasn't able to keep his feet partly warmed by thrusting them under his companions their legs indeed extended far under the rowing seat until they touched the feet of the captain forward sometimes despite the efforts of the tired oarsmen a wave came piling into the boat an icy wave of the night and the chilling water soaked them anew they would twist their bodies for a moment and groan and sleep the dead sleep once more while the water in the boat gurgled about them as the craft rocked the plan of the oiler in the correspondent was for one to row until he lost the ability and then aroused the other from a seawater couch in the bottom of the boat the oiler plied the oars until his head drooped forward and the overpowering sleep blinded him and he rode yet afterward then he touched a man in the bottom of the boat and called his name will you spell me for a little while he said meekly sure billy said the correspondent awakening and dragging himself into a sitting position they exchanged places carefully and the oiler cuddling down in the seawater to cook side seemed to go to sleep instantly the particular violence of the sea had ceased the waves came without snarling the obligation of the man at the oars was to keep the boat headed so that the tilt of the rollers would not capsize her and to preserve her from filling when the crest rushed past the black waves were silent and hard to be seen in the darkness often one was almost upon the boat before the oarsman was aware in a low voice the correspondent addressed the captain he was not sure that the captain was awake although this iron man seemed to be always awake captain shall I keep her making for that light north sir the same steady voice answered him yes keep it about two points off the port bow the cook had tied the life belt around himself in order to get even the warmth which this clumsy court contrivance could donate and he seemed almost stove like when a rower whose teeth invariably chattered wildly as soon as he ceased his labor drooped down to sleep the correspondent as he rode looked down at the two men sleeping underfoot the cook's arm was around the oiler shoulders and with their fragmentary clothing and haggard faces they were the babes of the sea a grotesque rendering of the old babes in the wood later he must have grown stupid at his work for suddenly there was a growling of water and the crest came with a roar and a swash into the boat and it was a wonder that it did not set the cook afloat in his life belt the cook continued to sleep but the oiler sat up blinking his eyes and shaking with the new cold oh I'm awful sorry Billy said the correspondent contritely that's all right old boy said the oiler and laid down again and was asleep presently it seemed that even the captain dozed and the correspondent thought that he was the one man afloat on all the oceans the wind had a voice as it came over the waves and it was sadder than the end there was a long loud swishing a stern of the boat and a gleaming trail of phosphorescence like blue flame was furrowed on the black waters it might have been made by a monstrous knife then there came a stillness while the correspondent breathed with the open mouth and looked at the sea suddenly there was another swish and another long flash of bluish light and this time it was alongside the boat it might almost have been reached with an oar the correspondent saw an enormous fin speed like a shadow through the water hurling the crystalline spray and leaving the long glowing trail the correspondent looked over a shoulder at the captain his face was hidden and he seemed to be asleep he looked at the babes of the sea they certainly were asleep so bereft of sympathy he leaned a little way to one side and swore softly into the sea but the thing did not leave the vicinity of the boat a head or a stern on one side or the other at intervals long or short fled the long sparkling streak and there was to be heard the waru of the dark fin the speed and power of the thing was greatly to be admired it cut the water like a gigantic and keen projectile the presence of this biting thing did not affect the man with the same horror that it would if he had been a picknicker he simply looked at the sea dully and swore in an undertone nevertheless it is true that he did not wish to be alone he wished one of his companions to awaken by chance and keep him company with it but the captain hung motionless over the water jar and the oiler and the cook in the bottom of the boat were plunged and slumber six if i am going to be drowned if i am going to be drowned if i am going to be drowned why in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea was i allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees during this dismal night it may be remarked that a man would conclude that it was really the intention of the seven mad gods to drown him despite the abominable injustice of it for it was certainly an abominable injustice to drown the man who had worked so hard so hard the man felt it would be a crime most unnatural other people had drowned at sea since galley swarmed with painted sails but still when it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him he first wishes to throw bricks at the temple and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples any visible expression of nature would surely be pelted with his jeers then if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels perhaps the desire to confront a personification and indulge in pleas bowed to one knee and with hands supplicant saying yes but i love myself a high cold star on a winter's night is the word he feels that she says to him thereafter he knows the pathos of his situation the men in the dinghy had not discussed these matters but each had no doubt reflected upon them in silence and according to his mind there were seldom any expression upon their faces save the general one of complete weariness speech was devoted to the business of the boat to chime the notes of his emotion a verse mysteriously entered the correspondence head he had even forgotten that he had forgotten this verse but it suddenly was in his mind a soldier of the legions laid dying in algears there was a lack of woman's nursing there was a dearth of woman's tears but a comrade stood beside him and he took that comrade's hand and he said i shall never see my own my native land in his childhood the correspondent had been made acquainted with the fact that a soldier of the legions lay dying in algears but he had never regarded the fact as important myriads of his school fellows had informed him of the soldier's plight but the dinning had naturally ended by making him perfectly indifferent he had never considered it his affair that a soldier of the legion lay dying in algears nor had it appeared to him as a matter for sorrow it was less to him then than the breaking of a pencil's point now however it quaintly came to him as a human living thing it was no longer merely a picture of a few throws in the breast of a poet meanwhile drinking tea and warming his feet at the grate it was an actuality stern mournful and fine the correspondent plainly saw the soldier he lay on the sand with his feet out straight and still while his pale left hand was upon his chest in an attempt to thwart the going of his life the blood came between his fingers in the far algerian distance a city of low square forms was set against the sky that was faint with the last sunset hues the correspondent plying the oars and dreaming of the slow and slower movements of the lips of the soldier was moved by a profound and perfectly impersonal comprehension he was sorry for the soldier of the legion who lay dying in algears the thing which had followed the boat and waited had evidently grown bored at the delay there was no longer to be heard the slash of the cutwater and there was no longer the flame of the long trail the light in the north still glimmered but it was apparently no nearer to the boat sometimes the boom of the surf rang in the correspondent's ears and he turned the craft seaword and then rode harder southward someone had evidently built a watchfire on the beach it was too low and too far to be seen but it made a shimmering rosette reflection upon the bluff back of it and this could be discerning from the boat the wind came stronger and sometimes a wave suddenly raged out like a mountain cat and there was to be seen the sheen and sparkle of a broken crest the captain in the bow moved on his water jar and set erect pretty long night he observed the correspondent he looked at the shore those lifesaving people take their time did you see that shark playing around yes i saw him he was a big fellow all right wish i'd known you were awake later the correspondent spoke into the bottom of the boat billy there was a slow and gradual disentanglement billy will you spell me sure said the oiler as soon as the correspondent touched the cold comfortable seawater in the bottom of the boat and it huddled close to the cook's life belt he was deep in sleep despite the fact that his teeth played all the popular airs this sleep was so good to him that it was but a moment before he heard a voice call his name in a tone that demonstrated the last stages of exhaustion will you spell me sure billy the light in the north had mysteriously vanished but the correspondent took his course from the wide awake captain later in the night it took the boat farther out to sea and the captain directed the cook to take one oar at the stern and keep the boat facing the seas he was to call out if he should hear the thunder of the surf this plan enabled the oiler and the correspondent to get respite together we'll give those boys a chance to get into shape again said the captain they curled down and after a few preliminary chatterings and trembles slept once more the dead sleep neither knew they had bequeathed to the cook the company of another shark or perhaps the same shark as the boat corralsed on the waves spray occasionally bumped over the side and gave them a fresh soaking but this had no power to break their repose the ominous slash of the wind and the water affected them as it would have affected mummies boy said the cook with the notes of every reluctance in his voice she's drifted in pretty close i guess one of you a better take her to sea again the correspondent aroused heard the crash of the toppled crest as he was rowing the captain gave him some whiskey and water and this steadied the chills out of him if i ever get ashore and anybody shows me even a photograph of an oar at last there was a short conversation billy billy will you spell me sure said the oiler seven when the correspondent again opened his eyes the sea and the sky were each of the gray hue of the dawning later carmine and gold was painted upon the waters the morning appeared finally in its splendor with a sky of pure blue and the sunlight flamed on the tips of the waves on the distant dunes were set many little black cottages and a tall white windmill reared above them no man nor dog nor bicycle appeared on the beach the cottages might have formed a deserted village the voyager scanned the shore a conference was held in the boat well said the captain if no help is coming we might better try a run through the surf right away if we stay out here much longer we will be too weak to do anything for ourselves at all the others silently acquiesced in this reasoning the boat was headed for the beach the correspondent wondered if none ever ascended the tall wind tower and if they never looked seward this tower was a giant standing with its back to the plight of the ants it represented in a degree to the correspondent the serenity of nature amid the struggles of the individual nature in the wind and nature in the vision of men she did not seem cruel to him then nor beneficent nor treacherous nor wise but she was indifferent flatly indifferent it is perhaps plausible that a man in this situation and pressed with the unconcern of the universe should see the innumerable flaws of his life and have them taste wickedly in his mind and wished for another chance a distinction between right and wrong seems absurdly clear to him then in this new ignorance of the grave edge and he understands that if he were given another opportunity he would mend his conduct in his words and be better and brighter during an introduction or at a tea now boys said the captain she's going to swamp shore all we can do is to work her in as far as possible and then when she swamps pile out and scramble for the beach keep cool now and don't jump until she swamps shore the oiler took the oars over his shoulders he scanned the surf captain he said i think i better bring her about and keep her head on to the seas and back her in all right billy said the captain back her in the oiler swung the boat then and seated in the stern the cook and the correspondent were obliged to look over their shoulders to contemplate the lonely and indifferent shore the monstrous inshore rollers heave the boat high until the men were again enabled to see the white sheets of water scuttling up the slanted beach we won't get in very close said the captain each time a man could rest his attention from the rollers he turned his glance towards the shore and in the expression of the eyes during this contemplation there was a singular quality the correspondent observing the others knew that they were not afraid but the full meaning of their glances was shrouded as for himself he was too tired to grapple fundamentally with the fact he tried to coerce his mind into thinking of it but the mind was dominated this time by the muscles and the muscles said they did not care it merely occurred to him that if he should drown it would be a shame there were no hurried words no pallor no plain agitation the men simply looked at the shore now remember to get well clear of the boat when you jump said the captain see where the crest of a roller suddenly fell with a thunderous crash and the long white comer came roaring down upon the boat steady now said the captain the men were silent they turned their eyes from the shore to the comer and waited the boat slid up the incline leaped at the furious top bounced over it and swung down the long back of the wave some water had been shipped and the cook bailed it out but the next crest crashed also the tumbling boiling flood of white water caught the boat and whirled it almost perpendicular water swarmed in from all sides the correspondent had his hands on the gun all at this time and when the water entered in that place he swiftly drew his fingers as if he objected to wetting them the little boat drunken with this weight of water reeled and snuggled deeper into the sea bail her out cook bail her out said the captain all right captain said the cook now boys the next one will do for a shore said the oiler mine to jump clear of the boat the third wave moved forward huge furious implacable it fairly swallowed the dingy and almost simultaneously the men tumbled into the sea a piece of life belt had lain in the bottom of the boat and as the correspondent went overboard he held this to his chest with his left hand the january water was icy and he reflected immediately that it was colder than he had expected to find it on the coast of florida this appeared to his day's mind as a fact important enough to be noted at the time the coldness of the water was sad it was tragic this fact was somehow so mixed and confused with his opinion of his own situation that it seemed almost proper reason for tears the water was cold when he came to the surface he was conscious of little but the noisy water afterward he saw his companions in the sea the oiler was ahead in the race he was swimming strongly and rapidly off to the correspondents left the cooks great white and corked back bulged out of the water and in the rear the captain was hanging with his one good hand to the keel of the overturn dingy there is a certain immovable quality to assure and the correspondent wondered at it amid the confusion of the sea it seemed also very attractive but the correspondent knew that it was a long journey and he paddled leisurely the piece of life preserver lay under him and sometimes he whirled down the incline of a wave as if he were on a hand sled but finally he arrived at a place in the sea where travel was beset with difficulty he did not pause swimming to inquire what manner of current had caught him but there his progress ceased the shore was set before him like a bit of scenery on a stage and he looked at it and understood with his eyes each detail of it as the cook passed much farther to the left the captain was calling to him turn over on your back cook turn over on your back and use the ore all right sir the cook turned on his back and paddling with an ore when ahead as if he were a canoe presently the boat also passed to the left of the correspondent with the captain clinging with one hand to the keel he would have appeared like a man raising himself to look over a board fence if it were not for the extraordinary gymnastics of the boat the correspondent marveled that the captain could still hold to it they passed on near to shore the oiler the cook the captain and following them went the water jar bouncing gaily over the seas the correspondent remained in the grip of this strange new enemy a current the shore with its white slip of sand and its green bluff topped with little silent cottages was spread like a picture before him it was very near to him then but he was impressed as one who in a gallery looks at a scene from britney or holland he thought am i going to drown can it be possible can it be possible can it be possible perhaps an individual must consider his own death to be the final phenomenon of nature but later a wave perhaps whirled him out of this small deadly current for he found suddenly that he could again make progress toward the shore later still he was aware that the captain clinging with one hand to the keel of the dinghy had his face turned away from the shore and toward him and was calling his name come to the boat come to the boat in his struggle to reach the captain in the boat he reflected that when one gets properly wearied drowning must really be a comfortable arrangement a cessation of hostilities accompanied by a large degree of relief and he was glad of it for the main thing in his mind for some months had been horror of the temporary agony he did not wish to be hurt presently he saw a man running along the shore he was undressing with most remarkable speed coat trousers shirt everything flew magically off him come to the boat called the captain all right captain as the correspondent paddled he saw the captain let himself down to bottom and leave the boat then the correspondent performed his one little marvel of the voyage a large wave caught him and flung with ease and supreme speed completely over the boat and far beyond it it struck him even then as an event in gymnastics and a true miracle of the sea an overturned boat in the surf is not a play thing to a swimming man the correspondent arrived in water that reached only to his waist but his condition did not enable him to stand for more than a moment each wave knocked him into a heap and the undertow pulled at him then he saw the man who had been running and undressing and undressing and running come bounding into the water he dragged ashore the cook and then waited towards the captain but the captain waved him away and sent him to the correspondent he was naked naked as a tree in winter but a halo was about his head and he shone like a saint he gave a strong pull and a long drag and a bully heave at the correspondent's hand the correspondent schooled in the minor formulae said thanks old man but suddenly the man cried what's that he pointed a swift finger the correspondent said go in the shallows faced downward lay the oiler his forehead touched sand that was periodically between each wave clear of the sea the correspondent did not know all that transpired afterwards when he achieved safe ground he fell striking the sand with each particular part of his body it was as if he had been dropped from a roof but the thud was grateful to him it seems that instantly the beach was populated with men with blankets clothes and flasks and women with coffee pots and all the remedies sacred to their minds the welcome of the land to the men from the sea was warm and generous but a still and dripping shape was carried slowly up the beach and the land's welcome for it can only be the different and sinister hospitality of the grave when it came night the white waves paced to and fro in the moonlight and the wind brought the sound of the great sea's voice to the man on shore and they felt that they could be the interpreters end of the open boat by steven crane recording by james christopher jx christopher at yahoo.com june 2010 this liber vox recording is in the public domain the pime into pancakes by oh henry this is a liber vox recording all liber vox recordings are in the public domain for further information or to volunteer please visit libervox.org this reading by charles culbertson of stanton virginia the pime into pancakes by oh henry while we were rounding up a bunch of the triangle o cattle in the frio bottoms a projecting branch of a dead mesquite caught my wooden stirrup gave my ankle a wrench that laid me up in camp for a week on the third day of my compulsory idleness i crawled out near the grub wagon and reclined helpless under the conversational fire of judson odham the camp cook judd was a monologist by nature whom destiny with customary blundering had set in a profession wherein he was bereaved for the greater portion of his time of an audience therefore i was manna in the desert of judd's omotescence at times i was stirred by invalid longings for something to eat that did not come under the caption of grub i had visions of the maternal pantry deep as first love and wild with all regret and then i asked judd can you make pancakes judd laid down his six shooter with which he was preparing to pound an antelope steak and stood over me in what i felt to be a menacing attitude he further endorsed my impression that his pose was resentful by fixing upon me with his light blue eyes a look of cold suspicion say you he said with candid though not excessive color did you mean that straight or was you trying to throw the gaff into me some of the boys been telling you about me in that pancake racket no judd i said sincerely i meant it it seems to me i'd swap my pony and saddle for a stack of butter brown pancakes with some first crop open kettle new orlean sweetening was there a story about pancakes judd was mollified at once when he saw that i had not been dealing in illusions he brought some mysterious bags and tin boxes from the grub wagon and set them in the shade of the hackberry where i lay reclined i watched him as he began to arrange them leisurely and untie their many strings no not a story said judd as he worked but just the logical disclosures in the case of me and that pink eyed snoozer from mire mule kenyatta and miss willow lear right i don't mind telling you i was punching in for old bill to me on the sand miguel one day i gets all ensnared up in aspirations for to eat some canned grub that hasn't ever moved or bought or grunted or been in peck measures so it gets on my bronch and pushes the wind for uncle emsley tell fair store at the penny into crossing on the new aces about three in the afternoon i throwed my bridal over a mesquite limb and walked the last 20 yards into uncle emsley store i got up on the counter and told uncle emsley that the science pointed to the devastation of the fruit crop of the world in a minute i had a bag of crackers and a long handle spoon with an open can each of apricots and pine apples and cherries and green gauges beside of me with uncle emsley busy chopping away with the hatchet at the yellow clings i was feeling like adam before the apple stampede and was digging my spurs into the side of the counter and working with my 24 inch spoon when i happened to look out of the window into the yard of uncle emsley's house which was next to the store there was a girl standing there an imported girl with fixings on flandering with a croquet mall and amusing herself by watching my style of encouraging the fruit canning industry i slid off the counter and delivered up my shovel to uncle emsley that's my niece says he miss valella lear right down from palestine on a visit do you want that i should make you acquainted the holy land i says to myself my thoughts milling some as i tried to run them into the corral why not there was sure angels in palestine why yes uncle emsley i says out loud i'd be awful edified to meet miss lear right so uncle emsley took me out in the yard and gave us each other's entitlements i never was shy about women i never could understand why some men who can break a Mustang before breakfast and shave in the dark get all left handed and full of perspiration and excuses when they see a bolt of calico draped around what belongs in it inside of eight minutes me and miss valella was aggravating the croquet balls around as amiable as second cousins she gave me a dig about the quantity of canned fruit i had eaten and i got back at her flat-footed about how a certain lady named ease started the fruit trouble in the first free grass pasture over in palestine wasn't it says i as easy and pat as roping a one-year-old that was how i acquired cordiality for the proximities of miss valella lear right and the disposition grew larger as time passed she was stopping at penny into crossing for her health which was very good and for the climate which was 40 percent hotter than palestine i rode over to see her once every week for a while and then i figured it out that if i double the number of trips i would see her twice as often one week i slipped in a third trip and that's where the pancakes and the pink-eyed snooze are busted into the game that evening while i sat on the counter with a peach and two damsons in my mouth i asked uncle endsley how miss valella was why says uncle endsley she's gone riding with jackson bird the sheet man from over at mired mule kenyatta i swallowed the peach seed and the two damson seeds i guess somebody held the counter by the bridle while i got off and then i walked out straight ahead till i butted against the mesquite where my rones tied she's gone riding i whispered in my bronx ear with birdstone jack the hired mule from sheet man's kenyatta did you get that old leather and gallops that bronch of mine wept in his way he'd been raised a calpone and he didn't care for snoozers i went back and said to uncle endsley did you say a sheet man i said a sheet man says uncle again you must have heard tell of jackson bird he's got eight sections of grazing and four thousand head of finest marino's south of the arctic circle i went out and sat on the ground in the shade of the store and leaned against a prickly pear i sifted sand into my boots with unthinking hands while i soliloquized a quantity about this bird with the jackson plumage to his name i never had believed in harming sheet men i see one one day reading a latin grammar on hausbach and i never touched him they never irritated me like to do most cal men you wouldn't go to work now and pair and just figure snoozers would you that eat on tables and wear little shoes and speak to you on subjects i had always let them pass just as you would a jack rabbit with a polite word and a guess about the weather but no stopping to swap canteens i never thought it was worth a while to be hostile with a snoozer and because i'd been lenient and let them live here was one going around riding with miss lila lila right an hour by sun and they come loping back and stopped at uncle endsley's gate the sheep person helped her off and they stood throwing each other sentences all sprightful and sagacious for a while and then this feather jackson flies up in his saddle and raises his little stoop out of a hat and trots off in the direction of his mutton ranch by this time i had turned the sand out of my boots and pinned myself from the prickly pear and by the time he gets half a mile out of pimmy into a single foot's up beside him on my bronc i said that snoozer was pink eyed but he wasn't his seeing arrangement was gray enough but his eyelashes was pink and his hair was sandy and that gave you the idea sheep man he awed more than a lamb man anyhow a little fang with his neck involved in a yellow silk handkerchief and shoes tied up in bow knots afternoon says i to him you now ride with equestrian who is commonly called dead moral certainty judson on the count of the way i shoot when i want a stranger to know me i always introduce myself before the draw for i never did like to shake hands with ghosts ah said he just like that ah i'm glad to know you mr judson i'm jackson bird from over at mired mule ranch just then one of my eyes saw a roadrunner skipping down the hill with a young tarantula in his bill and the other eye noticed a rabbit hawk sitting on a dead limb in a water elm i popped over one after the other with my 45 just to show him two out of three says i birds just naturally seem to draw my fire wherever i go nice shooting says the sheep man without a flutter but don't you sometimes ever miss the third shot elegant fine rain that was last week for the young grass mr judson says he willy says i riding over close to his paltry your infatuated parents may have denounced you by the name of jackson but you sure molted into a twittering willy let's sluff off this here analysis of rain and elements and get down to talk that is outside the vocabulary of parents that is a bad habit you've got a riding with young ladies over at penny into i've known birds says i to be served on toast for less than that miss willella says i don't ever want any nest made out of a sheep's wool by tom tit of the jacksonian branch of ornithology now are you going to quit or do you wish to gallop up against this dead moral certainty attachment to my name which is good for two hyphens and at least one set of funeral obsequies jackson bird flushed up some and then he laughed why mr judson says he you got the wrong idea i've called on miss lear right a few times but not for the purpose you imagine my object is purely a gastronomical one i reach from a gun any coyote says i that would boast of dishonorable wait a minute says his bird till i explain what would i do with a wife if you ever saw that ranch of mine i do my own cooking and mending eating that's all the pleasure i get out of sheep raising mr judson did you ever taste the pancakes that miss lear right makes me no i told him i never was advised that she was up to any culinary maneuvers their golden sunshine says he honey browned by the ambrosial fires of epicuras i'd give two years of my life to get the recipe for making them pancakes that's why i went to see miss lear right for says jackson bird but i haven't been able to get it from her it's an old recipe that's been in the family for 75 years they hand it down from one generation to another but they don't give it away to outsiders if i could get that recipe so i could make them pancakes for myself on my ranch i'd be a happy man says bird are you sure i says to him that it ain't the hand that mixes the pancakes that you're after sure says jackson miss lear right is a mighty nice girl but i can assure you my intentions go no further than the gastro but he had seen my hand going down to my holster and he changed his similitude uh than the desire to procure a copy of the pancake recipe he finishes you ain't such a bad little man says i trying to be fair i was thinking some of making orphans of your sheep but i'll let you fly away this time but you stick to pancakes says i as close as the middle one of a stack and don't go and mistake sentiments for syrup or there'll be singing at your ranch and you won't hear it to convince you that i am sincere says the sheet man i'll ask you to help me miss lear right and you being closer friends maybe she would do for you what she wouldn't for me if you will get me a copy of that pancake recipe i give you my word that i'll never call upon her again that's fair i says and i shook hands with jackson bird i'll get it for you if i can and glad to oblige and he turned off down the big pair flat on the pedra in the direction of myred mule and i steered northwest for old bill to me's ranch it was five days afterward when i got another chance to ride over to pemy into miss willella and me passed a gratifying evening at uncle emsley's she sang some and exasperated the piano quite a lot with quotations from the operas i gave imitations of a rattlesnake and told her about snaky mcfee's new way of skinning cows and described the trip i made to st louis once we was getting along in one another's estimations fine thinks i if jackson can now be persuaded to migrate i win i recollect his promise about the pancake recipe and i thinks i will persuade it from miss willella and give it to him and then if i catch his birdie off to mired mule again i'll make him hop the twig so along about 10 o'clock i put on a wheezing smile and says to miss willella now if there's anything i do like better than the side of a red steer on green grass it's the taste of a nice hot pancake smothered in sugarhouse molasses miss willella gives a little jump on the piano stool and looked at me curious yes says she they're real nice what did you say was the name of the street in st louis mr odom where you lost your hat pancake avenue says i with a wink to the shore i was on about the family recipe and couldn't be side corral off of the subject come on now miss willella i says let's hear how you make them pancakes is just whirling in my head like wagon wheels start her off now pound of flour eight dozen eggs and so on how does the catalog of constituents run excuse me for a moment please says miss willella and she gives me a quick kind of sideways look slides off the stool she ambles out into the other room and directly uncle endsley comes in and his shirt sleeves with a pitcher of water he turns around to get a glass on the table and i see a 45 in his hip pocket great post holes thinks i but here's a family thinks a heap of cooking recipes protecting it with firearms i've known outfits that wouldn't do that much by a family feud drink this here down says uncle endsley handed me the glass of water you've rid too far today jud and you got yourself overexcited try to think about something else now do you know how to make them pancakes uncle endsley i asked well i'm not as apprised in the anatomy of them as some says uncle endsley but i reckon you take a sifter of plaster of paris and a little dough and celeraches and corn meal and mix them with eggs and buttermilk as usual is old bill going to ship beaves to Kansas City again this spring jud that was all the pancake specifications i could get that night and i didn't wonder that jackson bird found it uphill work so i dropped the subject and talked with uncle endsley a while about hollow horn cyclones and then miss willella came and said good night and i hit the breeze for the ranch about a week afterward i met jackson bird riding out of pimienta as i wrote in and we stopped in the road for a few frivolous remarks got the bill of particulars for them flap jacks yet i asked him well no says jackson i don't seem to have any success in getting a hold of it did you try i did says i and it was like trying to dig a prairie dog out of his hole with a peanut hull that pancake recipe must be a jucalorum the way they hold on to it i'm most ready to give it up says jackson so discouraged in his pronunciations that i felt sorry for him but i did want to know how to make them pancakes to eat on my lonely ranch says he i lie awake at night thinking how good they are you keep on trying for it i tells him and i'll do the same one of us is bound to get a rope over its horns before long well so long jacksy you see by this time we was on the peacefulest of terms when i saw that he wasn't after miss willella i had more indurable contemplations of that sandy hered snoozer in order to help out the ambitions of his appetite i kept on trying to get that recipe from miss willella but every time i would say pancakes she would get sort of remote and fidgety about the eye and try to change the subject if i held her to it she would slide out and round up uncle endsley with his pitcher water and hip pocket howitzer one day i galloped over to the store with a fine bunch of blue verbenas that i cut out of her to wildflowers over on poisoned dog prairies uncle endsley looked at him with one eye shut and says haven't you heard the news cattle up i asked willella and jackson bird was married in palestine yesterday says he just got a letter this morning i dropped them flowers in a cracker barrel and let the news trickle in my ears and down toward my upper left hand shirt pocket until it got to my feet would you mind saying that over again once more uncle endsley says i maybe my hearing has got wrong and you only said that prime heifers was four dollars and eighty cents on the hoof or something like that married yesterday says uncle endsley and gone to waco and niagara falls on a wedding tour why didn't you see none of the signs all along jackson bird has been courting willella ever since that day he took her out riding then says i in a kind of a yell what was all this is a perula he gives me about pancakes tell me that when i said pancakes uncle endsley sort of dodged and stepped back somebody's been dealing me pancakes from the bottom of the deck i says and i'll find out i believe you know talk up says i will mix a pan full of batter right here i slid over the counter after uncle endsley he grabbed it his gun but it was in a drawer and he missed it two inches i got him by the front of his shirt and shoved him in a corner talk pancakes says i or be made into one does miss willella make them she never made one in her life i never saw one says uncle endsley soothing calm down now jed calm down you never got excited and that wound in your head is contaminating your sense of intelligence try not to think about pancakes uncle endsley says i i'm not wounded in the head except so far as my natural cogitative instincts run to runce jackson bird told me he was calling on miss willella for the purpose of finding out her system of producing pancakes and he asked me to help him get the bill of lading of the ingredients i've done so with the results as you see have i been sodded down with johnson grass by a pink eyed snoozer or what slack up your grip on my dress shirt says uncle endsley and i'll tell you yes it looks like jackson bird has gone and humbugged you some the day after he went riding with willella he came back and told me and heard to watch out for you whenever you got to talking about pancakes he said you was in camp once where they was cooking flap jacks and one of the fellows cut you over the head with a frying pan jackson said that whenever you got over hot or excited that wound hurts you and made you kind of crazy and you went about raving about pancakes he told us just get you worked off of the subject and soothed down and you wouldn't be dangerous so me and willella done the best by you we knew how well well says uncle endsley that jackson bird sure is a seldom kind of snoozer during the progress of judge story he had been slowly but deathly combining certain portions of the contents of his sacks and cans toward the close of it he set before me the finished product a pair of red hot rich huge pancakes on a tin plate from some secret hoarding place he also brought a lump of excellent butter and a bottle of golden syrup how long ago did these things happen i asked him three years said jud they're living on the myre mule ranch now but i haven't seen either of them since they say jackson bird was fixing his ranch up fine with rocking chairs and winter curtains all the time he was putting me up the pancake tree oh i got over it after a while but the boys kept a racket up did you make these cakes by the famous recipe i asked didn't i tell you there wasn't no recipe said jud the boys hollered pancakes till they got pancake hungry and i cut this recipe out of a newspaper how does the truck taste they're delicious i answered why don't you have some too jud i was sure i heard a sigh me said jud i don't ever eat them end of the penny into pancakes by oh henry