"Daddy's a long time coming, " said Dick all of a sudden.
They were seated on the baulks of timber that cumbered the deck of the brig
on either side of the caboose. An ideal perch. The sun was setting over
Australia way, in a sea that seemed like a sea of boiling gold. Some mystery of
mirage caused the water to heave and tremble as if troubled by fervent heat.
"Ay, is he," said Mr. Button; "but it's better late than never.
Now don't be thinkin' of him, for that won't bring him. Look at the sun goin' into the
wather, and don't be spakin' a word, now, but listen and you'll hear it hiss."
The children gazed and listened, Paddy also. All three were mute as the great
blazing shield touched the water that leapt to meet it.
You could hear the water hiss if you had imagination enough. Once having
touched the water, the sun went down behind it, as swiftly as a man in a hurry
going down a ladder. As he vanished a ghostly and golden twilight spread over
the sea, a light exquisite but immensely forlorn. Then the sea became a violet
shadow, the west darkened as if to a closing door, and the stars rushed
over the sky.
"Mr. Button," said Emmeline, nodding towards the sun as he vanished, "where's
"The west," replied he, staring at the sunset. "Chainy and Injee and all away
"Where's the sun gone to now, Paddy?" asked Dick.
"He's gone chasin' the moon, an' she's skedadlin' wid her dress brailed up
for all she's worth; she'll be along up in a minit. He's always afther her, but
he's never caught her yet."
"What would he do to her if he caught her?" asked Emmeline.
"Faith, an' maybe he'd fetch her a skelp an' well she'd desarve it."
"Why'd she deserve it?" asked Dick, who was in one of his questioning moods.
"Because she's always delutherin' people an' leadin' thim asthray. Girls or
men, she moidhers thim all once she gets the comeither on them; same as she did
"Buck M'Cann? Faith,
he was the village ijit where I used to live in the ould days."
"Hould your whisht,
an' don't be axin' questions. He was always wantin' the
moon, though he was twinty an' six feet four. He'd a gob on him that hung open
like a rat-trap with a broken spring, and he was as thin as a barber's pole, you
could a' tied a reef knot in the middle of 'um; and whin the moon was full there
was no houldin' him." Mr. Button gazed at the reflection of the sunset on the
water for a moment as if recalling some form from the past, and then proceeded.
"He'd sit on the grass starin' at her, an' thin he'd start to chase her over the
hills, and they'd find him at last, maybe a day or two later, lost in the
mountains, grazin' on berries, an as green as a cabbidge from the hunger an' the
cowld, till it got so bad at long last they had to hobble him."
"I've seen a donkey hobbled," cried Dick.
"Thin you've seen the twin brother of Buck M'Cann. Well, one night me elder
brother Tim was sittin' over the fire, smokin' his dudeen an' thinkin' of his
sins, when in comes Buck with the hobbles on him.
"'Tim,' says he, 'I've got her at last!'
"'Got who?' says Tim.
"'The moon,' says he.
"'Got her where?' says Tim.
"'In a bucket down by the pond,' says t'other,
'safe an' sound an' not a scratch on her; you come and look,' says he.
So Tim follows him, he hobblin', and they goes to the pond side, and there,
sure enough, stood a tin bucket full of wather, an' on the wather the refliction
of the moon.
"'I dridged her out of the pond,' whispers Buck.
'Aisy now,' says he, 'an' I'll dribble the water out gently,' says he, 'an' we'll catch her alive at the
bottom of it like a trout.' So he drains the wather out gently of the bucket
till it was near all gone, an' then he looks into the bucket expectin' to find
the moon flounderin' in the bottom of it like a flat fish.
"'She's gone, bad 'cess to her!' says he.
"'Try again,' says me brother, and Buck fills the bucket again, and there was
the moon sure enough when the water came to stand still.
"'Go on,' says me brother. 'Drain out the wather, but go gentle, or she'll
give yiz the slip again.'
"'Wan minit,' says Buck, 'I've got an idea,' says he; 'she won't give me the
slip this time,' says he. 'You wait for me,' says he; and off he hobbles to his
old mother's cabin a stone's-throw away, and back he comes with a sieve.
"'You hold the sieve,' says Buck, 'and I'll drain the water into it; if
she'scapes from the bucket we'll have her in the sieve.' And he pours the wather
out of the bucket as gentle as if it was crame out of a jug. When all the wather
was out he turns the bucket bottom up, and shook it.
"'Ran dan the thing!' he cries, 'she's gone again'; an' wid that he flings
the bucket into the pond, and the sieve afther the bucket, when up comes his old
mother hobbling on her stick.
"'Where's me bucket?' says she.
"'In the pond,' say Buck.
"'And me sieve?' says she.
"'Gone afther the bucket.'
"'I'll give yiz a bucketin!' says she;
and she up with the stick and landed him a skelp, an' driv him roarin' and
hobblin' before her, and locked him up in the cabin, an' kep' him on bread
an' wather for a wake to get the moon out of his head; but she might
have saved her thruble, for that day month in it was agin. . . .
There she comesI"
The moon, argent and splendid,
was breaking from the water. She was full, and her light was powerful almost as
the light of day. The shadows of the children and the queer shadow of Mr Button
were cast on the wall of the caboose hard and black as silhouettes.
"Look at our shadows!" cried Dick,
taking off his broad brimmed straw hat and waving it.
Emmeline held up her doll to see
its shadow, and Mr Button held up his pipe.
"Come now," said he, putting the pipe
back in his mouth, and making to rise, "and shadda offto bed; it's time you
were aslape, the both of you."
Dick began to yowl.
"I don't want to go to bed; I aint tired, Paddy--les's stay a little longer."
"Not a minit," said the other, with all the decision of a nurse; "not a minit
afther me pipe's out!"
"Fill it again," said Dick.
Mr. Button made no reply. The pipe gurgled as he puffed at it--a kind of
death-rattle speaking of almost immediate extinction.
"Mr. Button!" said Emmeline. She was holding her nose in the air and
sniffing; seated to windward of the smoker, and out of the pigtail-poisoned air,
her delicate sense of smell perceived something lost to the others."
"What is it, acushla?"
"I smell something."
"What d'ye say you smell?"
"What's it like?" asked Dick,
sniffing hard. "I don't smell anything."
Emmeline sniffed again to make sure.
"Flowers," said she.
The breeze, which had shifted several
points since midday, was bearing with it a faint, faint odour: a perfume of vanilla
and spice so faint as to be imperceptible to all but the most acute olfactory sense.
"Flowers!" said the old sailor,
tapping the ashes cut of his pipe against the heel of his boot. "And where'd you
get flowers in middle of the say? It's dhramin' you are.
Come now--to bed wid yiz!"
"Fill it again," wailed Dick, referring to the pipe.
"It's a spankin' I'll give you," replied his guardian, lifting him down from
the timber baulks, and then assisting Emmeline, "in two ticks if you don't
behave. Come along, Em'line."
He started aft, a small hand in each of his, Dick bellowing.
As they passed the ship's bell, Dick stretched towards
the belaying pin that was still lying on the deck, seized it, and hit the bell a mighty bang. It was
the last pleasure to be snatched before sleep, and he snatched it.
Paddy had made up beds for himself and his charges in the deck-house; he had
cleared the stuff off the table, broken open the windows to get the musty smell
away, and placed the mattresses from the captain and mate's cabins on the floor.
When the children were in bed and asleep, he went to the starboard rail, and,
leaning on it, looked over the moonlit sea. He was thinking of ships as his
wandering eye roved over the sea spaces, little dreaming of the message that the
perfumed breeze was bearing him. The message that had been received and dimly
understood by Emmeline. Then he leaned with his back to the rail and his hands
in his pockets. He was not thinking now, he was ruminating.
The basis of the Irish character as exemplified by Paddy Button is a profound
laziness mixed with a profound melancholy. Yet Paddy, in his left-handed way,
was as hard a worker as any man on board ship; and as for melancholy, he was the
life and soul of the fo'cs'le. Yet there they were, the laziness and the
melancholy, only waiting to be tapped.
As he stood with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, longshore fashion,
counting the dowels in the planking of the deck by the mooniight, he was
reviewing the "old days." The tale of Buck M'Cann had recalled them, and across
all the salt seas he could see the moonlight on the Connemara mountains, and
hear the sea-gulls crying on the thunderous beach where each wave has behind it
three thousand miles of sea.
Suddenly Mr. Button came back from the mountains of Connemara to find himself
on the deck of the Shenandoah; and he instantly became possessed by fears.
Beyond the white deserted deck, barred by the shadows of the standing rigging,
he could see the door of the caboose. Suppose he should suddenly see a head pop
out or, worse, a shadowy form go in?
He turned to the deck-house, where the children were sound asleep, and where,
in a few minutes, he, too, was sound asleep beside them, whilst all night long
the brig rocked to the gentle swell of the Pacific, and the breeze blew,
bringing with it the perfume of flowers.