THE WIND BLOWETH

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21326, 29 October 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE WIND BLOWETH

" THE HAPPY PILGRIMS "

BY X. M. KNIGHT 40

They loved life with a strange zest, the medley crew of the " Forest Queen." They loved the whole of it: the tang of the sea, washing on the shores of British Columbia from Vancouver to the white forests of Alaska; the pointed firs that grew to the water's edge; the keen winds. They loved the life of fellowship they knew as they journeyed up the coast from bay to bay, playing to all and sundry who could afford the few cent£ they charged for their show. For the crew of the " Forest Queen " had a purpose in life other than chugging about in the blue waters of the Pacific. They meant to make their fortunes tapdancing, singing, and playing the piano. They wanted to see the world they lived in, and to get out of the city. In exchange, they offered their services as entertainers of first-class merit. Were you marooned on a small island, where never man nor beast dared venture, much less where any singer ever dared set foot, then the " Happy Pilgrims " would visit you. Were you twenty-five miles inland, the only road across a field of snow, then they would find joy in coming to you. That was to be their mission in life —to bring joy to those locked away from the world and the things of the world; and to find, in exchange for their gifts, enough money to supply their, needs, and to know great adventures. There were five of them: the tenor, the pianist, the banjo player, the tapdancer, and the man who supplied the publicity. He guaranteed to darn the socks, plaster any town- with bills in an incredibly short time, gather the clams, find fresh water where there was none, make the scenery, attend to the wardrobe, do any extra turns that were needed, and dance with the girls after the shows. Charlie, the principal tenor, when he was not making clamchowder, conjuring, doing a Jewish turn, turning pink mice into white elephants, could sing. He had sung in all the best opera houses in the States, and Heaven knew where else he had been, for he never told anyone, and no one ever asked. But his voice was as pure and rich as any voice ever heard on land Or sea. Sometimes, for the sake of a little variety, he ran a punch-and-judy show, or flatly refused to sing at all and turned out-and-out chef. His cooking was something to marvel at. No one ever knew, until Charlie proved it, what a number of things could be made from clams. And so cheaply, too. And then there were the evenings when he would sing to no one in particular, when they would be chugging about in the quiet waters of the bay. and the heavens and the earth stood still with wonder that such a voice could echo among the snows and the firs that hid the little fishing villages from the eyes of a prying world. The First Concert The first concert was a memorable one. They left Vancouver in early spring, and the air was cold and crisp. The bay they anchored in was sheltered enough, and when they rowed ashore to view the prospects the water was like glass. It was a straggling little place, with a few tiny houses and a funny little shed which was to be their concert hall. But the publicity man was lavish with his bills, and when the eventful night came, and the weather was as perfect as weather could be, their spirits rose high. Even the little banjoplayer was optimistic, and thought out a brand-new dance for the evening. And Charlie, with .a wonderful flash of inspiration, conceived a new dish to be made for supper, with the remaining clams. Eight o'clock came, and there was one man in the hall. Everything was in darkness—not because something had gone wrong with the electric lighting system, but because the little hall boasted of no such conveniences. The "Happy Pilgrims" sat on boxes on the stage, hoping that the bottom would fall out of Canada and the merciful waves wash them all into eternity. Charlie, with the light of one candle, made rabbits and negroid faces with the shadows of his fingers on the rough walls. The publicity man nursed his face as if he had toothache. The little banjo-player wept softly in a corner. And then there was a sudden whoop from the tap-dancer who had been executing a few new steps on the front porch that overlooked the bav.

" By everything that's good and holy," he screamed in delight, " come and see what's coming-." Lighting Arrangements The night silence was broken; the air was filled with the sound of oars; and coming across the bay, from every point of the compass, were little boats sailing in the light of the stars and each with its own little lantern. The publicity man breathed again, and the little banjo-pldver ceased his weeping. Charlie said, " And yet another dish will I make in honour of this occasion," and even the pianist, who spoke very little, said that if there had been a piano he might have played a little march—something quick and lively. It was not long until the full house was assembled, and the company learned what the lighting arrangements were. The lanterns came with 'the audience, and were hung round tile walls on nails, and cast a soft glow over the rugged faces of the men and women. Were they a <?ood audience to sing to? Ask Charlie, who had sung to so many men before them. He sang to them of their hard lives, in the snows and the winds that roared and screamed down the valleys; of the nights when huge stars shone above the pointed firs; of mellow summers and the wash of the eternal waves. And he sang of the cities that, he knew and they did not know—of the glare of a million signs, the noise, the strange beauty that came out of such ugliness. And not a sound did they make till he was silent again, and then their applause rattled the lanterns on the rough walls, and brought the tears to Charlie's eyes as no amount of genteel clapping by the musical critics of the world had ever been able to do. There was a dance afterwards, and Charlie danced till he couldn't dance any more. He said that the girls walked on his feet until he would never bo able to walk again, and the men, in saying goodnight, had wrung his hand so that he could never whip another egg. But lie said nothing about that night ever again. It was one of the occasions he kept in a locked treasure-house. And no one had the key to the door. "Born of the Spirit " And so the little launch bore them 011 from bay to bay. Sometimes up rivers to desolate lumber camps, sometimes to towns that gave them all the electric lights they wanted. The pianist played when pianos were provided, and sang when there were none. The publicity man billed village and city alike, and Charlie thought out new and exciting dishes with every new day that dawned. They saw the snows melt away and a young green earth emerge, and summer ripen into full being before they tired of their roaming. And it was not until they were almost back into Vancouver again that Charlie, ♦looking wistfully into the white track at the boat's stern, said, " The wind bloweth, and thou hearest the sound thereof; but cannot tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth. So is everyone that is born of the Spirit. ..."