The Old Sailor's Yarn

Auckland Star, Volume XXVI, Issue 265, 14 November 1885, Page 3

The Old Sailor's Yarn

When folks talk of cholora coming again— not that I think it will, for they've put a bit of a stop to it with sanitary idoas, I rather reckon, and it can't bo what it was in Christian countries again- but when it's talked of, my mind goes back to long, long ago, whon I was a young follow, with hair as black as coal, and thero wasn't a stoamor on tho ocean as yot. I was a sailor—only a boatswain aa yet—and I was married to tho prettiest girl that ovor set foot in shoe leather, Ask your grandfathor or your great-grandfather which was cholora year in those tiinos, and you'll got tho dato. I'd gone down to whoro I was born, to settle matters up for mother, who was a widow, and was fjoing West—Kentucky was West ! lion— to live with her daughter, Ann. The next neighbour bought tho place. Ho said he'd had nieo folks next him for years, and didn't want to run tho chance of getting tfio otlior kind And .tho day wo made the bargain I saw Sally. Sho came out into (lio barn-yard in 11 pink gingham, with a nhiie apron full of corn.

'■ Chick ! chick ! chick !'' 3113 calls, throw injj tho corn ono side, And " Chuck ! h::ck ! chuck I" says sly, and throws ie on ho other, And it. was just as if she ca'led my heart to her. Don't you ever go and icliove that those vereea in the valentine? iliout Cupid, and as how lie shoots arrows into you whon you'ro not looking, are all libs; which I suppose is what our chaplain meant when ho told us thoy were mythological. Something wont through my heart as I stood looking at that girl feeding tlio chickens. 1 felt it. And I heard a little

"To, ho!" up in tho tree over my head, which might have boon a bird, but might liavo been Cupid—d'you sco V—laughing at mo. Woll, from that moment all was up with mo.

Sally's father, by good fortuno, had a bottor opinion of mo than mayhap I dosorved, and ho was favourable. I courted Sally ; 1 t;ot her promise ; and wo wero married. 1 was only a boatswain, but 1 was likoly to rUo, as J. did, to bo captain. And her father bought us a little frame house, and hor mother furnished it, and we iolt as if wo wero a Icing and a queen. Now York was a quiotor pluco then than it U now, and where wo lived was quite among green lanes. The Battery was a fashionable park for ladios and gentlemen to walk in, and aristocracy lived around tho Bow ling Greon. Bless you 1 hew a city grows ! If only I'd been a landsman how happy wo would havo been ; but it is Jack's duty to bo off and nway from homo and truo lovo. And then the voyages woro longer than thoy are now.

Whon once wo woro off we'd not bo back for six months or moro, I know ; but I tokl Sally that whon I waa captain sho should ;il .vays sail with me, with a cabin of her own liko a parlour; and sho tried to keep up heart

Hut it wasn't only Sally that piped her oye tint day we sailed, standing on thequay ; '.hero was that big lubber, -Jack Robinson, lUoai'd that felt his eyes wot; and I was not ashamed of it cither.

Well, away wo sailed : weather now fair, dow foul ; lottors from homo uhoro wo stopped, and bad now 4at last in tlio papors wo got about tho cholera. Sally's lottor did not speak of it. bul it had got to New York. I wasn't usually norvous ; but I can toll you that that news mado mo shivor when I heard it.

It's a qucor thing, cholora ; travelling about as if it ha.l a mind of its own, and starting always from the placos wliuro tho Hindoos got together in great bands in what they consider religious meetings. I'vo scot) 'oin, tho heathen. Straight tho cholera cornea from thorn as if it was tho devil bogging pardon for mentioning him

But L wasn't one to worry over f.incios ; and 1 did my work, and began to feel sure (hat I should got on and bo captain somo day. Atid I bought a lot of presents for S illy in foreign ports, and waa wild with joy when wo wero really bound for home again.

It often U3od to'soem as if tlio ship wasn't fort enough for mo ; tv if 1 mv.4 jump ovorboard and swim. 1 wanted homo, and 1 wanted Sally, as a baby wants its mother. So you may judgo if 1 lost timo on getting ashore when onoo wo reached Now York None of us did, for that matter, but 1 reckon I was first. I had my bundles under my arm and my pay in my pocket. IV oilod my hair and 1 wore my ehoro clothes My hands woro aa brown as an Indian's, with sun and wind, and I guoss my fact was about tho same colour. But if 1 lookec aa I felt, I looked happy. With tho motion ot tho ship beneath my feet yot, I took my way toward my homo, looking out for Sallj all tho way, for if slio knew tho ship was ii shod surely come to meet mo. Not a sign of her did I see, though, and I camo to tho corner or my street—Norfolk was its name—with a queer little fear in my heart, that made mo pause and hardly daro to turn it—and then I took tho stop and saw v ilttlo crowd about the door ol my homo, and boforo it—Oh, good Iloaven ! a hoarso ! —black and awful, and a carriago boforo my house. " Yes, yes—but," says Ito mysoif -" yes ; it might stand there, and not bo from there. Courage, Jack! C!od wouldn't do that to you. Not He. Have faith - havo trust ! Was thoro ever a night you didn't pray he'd bring you back safe to Sally, and do you think Ho won't answor you ? Courage, Jack !" And then I stag gored on and stood amongst tho people, and my door was open ; and a man—sorious, ole'ish, kind—took hold of my arm, and led mo aside.

" Who is dead ?" I asked. "I don't know," eaid ho. I took courage at that; for it was my Sally, surely hod know her— surely. - " It's a sailor's wife," ho added. l>Sho lived alono thero. Last night a woman camo and said, 'There's a case of cholera at Mo.—. I went. Folks aro apt to got frightened at nothing, but I went in a hurry. It was cholora. I did all I could for hor, but sho died. Tho neighbours do not know her name. Sho hasn't lived hore long ; did you know hor?" " God grant I didn't," said I; "but I left my wife living in that house : wo own it. I loft hor thoro when I sailed."

Ho looked at mo grivoly, "They say her husband is a sailor," he said. "Sho told them so."

We went into tho house There were all the things I knew so well. I rushed from room to room. I moaned and wept. "It can't be," I cried. "It can't be!" but I At last tho doctor got mo to got into the carriage. Wo drove to the grave-yard, God knows how. I saw the earth cover the coflin, and then I hoped I was dying ; but I came to again in tho carriage, and I stood at my own desolate door. Tho doctor had been kind, and ho had told mo all that must be done before tho place would bo iit to live in ; but I did not care for lifo ; I wanted to dio, and 1 turned faint again, and ho, good man, was loth h leavo mo; and so wo stood, neighbour? peeping at us through the shutters, us I know, when suddenly I saw a vision. I had just been to her funeral, but there stood Sally looking at mo. Sho was dressed in white, with a little blue bonnet on her head, and, spirit though I knew she must be, looked fresh and young and bright. I stared at her. The cry I gave rang through the street, and she (lew to me. Ghost or no ghost, I hold her fast She was warm and soft in my arms Sho kissed mo, and I kissed hor, and cried-: " If I'vo gone crazy, let me stay so, for Sally has come back to mo somehow." And for all that had come and gone, it was Sally, and not her ghost, either. If my life depended on it I couldn't tell you juat how ehe made me understand, or just how I made her understand—l guese the doctor did it—but this is what had happened: The cholera breaking out, Sally's old folks wouldn't let her Btay in the city, and took hor out with them ; and just at that time Sally hears of a young woman, mighty poor and mighty down-hearted, who was waiting for news of her husband's ship. So she says to her: "There's a house empty ; I want no rent; you're welcome until I need to live there again." And it was this poor soui that died there. As for her husband, his ship was lost, and all hands with it; so mayhap they mot in heaven, and it was best. At all events we're made so that we must think of our own first, and I was glad—the Lord only knows how glad—with Sally in my arms again. We're together yet j old folks now, but happy ones, with our children about us.