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His
age
sat
lightly
enough
on
him
;
and
of
his
ruin
he
was
not
ashamed
.
He
had
not
been
alone
to
believe
in
the
stability
of
the
Banking
Corporation
.
Men
whose
judgment
in
matters
of
finance
was
as
expert
as
his
seamanship
had
commended
the
prudence
of
his
investments
,
and
had
themselves
lost
much
money
in
the
great
failure
.
The
only
difference
between
him
and
them
was
that
he
had
lost
his
all
.
And
yet
not
his
all
.
There
had
remained
to
him
from
his
lost
fortune
a
very
pretty
little
bark
,
Fair
Maid
,
which
he
had
bought
to
occupy
his
leisure
of
a
retired
sailor
--
"
to
play
with
,
"
as
he
expressed
it
himself
.
He
had
formally
declared
himself
tired
of
the
sea
the
year
preceding
his
daughter
's
marriage
.
But
after
the
young
couple
had
gone
to
settle
in
Melbourne
he
found
out
that
he
could
not
make
himself
happy
on
shore
.
He
was
too
much
of
a
merchant
sea-captain
for
mere
yachting
to
satisfy
him
.
He
wanted
the
illusion
of
affairs
;
and
his
acquisition
of
the
Fair
Maid
preserved
the
continuity
of
his
life
.
He
introduced
her
to
his
acquaintances
in
various
ports
as
"
my
last
command
.
"
When
he
grew
too
old
to
be
trusted
with
a
ship
,
he
would
lay
her
up
and
go
ashore
to
be
buried
,
leaving
directions
in
his
will
to
have
the
bark
towed
out
and
scuttled
decently
in
deep
water
on
the
day
of
the
funeral
.
His
daughter
would
not
grudge
him
the
satisfaction
of
knowing
that
no
stranger
would
handle
his
last
command
after
him
.
With
the
fortune
he
was
able
to
leave
her
,
the
value
of
a
500-ton
bark
was
neither
here
nor
there
.
All
this
would
be
said
with
a
jocular
twinkle
in
his
eye
:
the
vigorous
old
man
had
too
much
vitality
for
the
sentimentalism
of
regret
;
and
a
little
wistfully
withal
,
because
he
was
at
home
in
life
,
taking
a
genuine
pleasure
in
its
feelings
and
its
possessions
;
in
the
dignity
of
his
reputation
and
his
wealth
,
in
his
love
for
his
daughter
,
and
in
his
satisfaction
with
the
ship
--
the
plaything
of
his
lonely
leisure
.
He
had
the
cabin
arranged
in
accordance
with
his
simple
ideal
of
comfort
at
sea
.
A
big
bookcase
(
he
was
a
great
reader
)
occupied
one
side
of
his
stateroom
;
the
portrait
of
his
late
wife
,
a
flat
bituminous
oil-painting
representing
the
profile
and
one
long
black
ringlet
of
a
young
woman
,
faced
his
bed-place
.
Three
chronometers
ticked
him
to
sleep
and
greeted
him
on
waking
with
the
tiny
competition
of
their
beats
.
He
rose
at
five
every
day
.
The
officer
of
the
morning
watch
,
drinking
his
early
cup
of
coffee
aft
by
the
wheel
,
would
hear
through
the
wide
orifice
of
the
copper
ventilators
all
the
splashings
,
blowings
,
and
splutterings
of
his
captain
's
toilet
.
These
noises
would
be
followed
by
a
sustained
deep
murmur
of
the
Lord
's
Prayer
recited
in
a
loud
earnest
voice
.
Five
minutes
afterwards
the
head
and
shoulders
of
Captain
Whalley
emerged
out
of
the
companion-hatchway
.
Invariably
he
paused
for
a
while
on
the
stairs
,
looking
all
round
at
the
horizon
;
upwards
at
the
trim
of
the
sails
;
inhaling
deep
draughts
of
the
fresh
air
.
Only
then
he
would
step
out
on
the
poop
,
acknowledging
the
hand
raised
to
the
peak
of
the
cap
with
a
majestic
and
benign
"
Good
morning
to
you
.
"
He
walked
the
deck
till
eight
scrupulously
.
Sometimes
,
not
above
twice
a
year
,
he
had
to
use
a
thick
cudgel-like
stick
on
account
of
a
stiffness
in
the
hip
--
a
slight
touch
of
rheumatism
,
he
supposed
.
Otherwise
he
knew
nothing
of
the
ills
of
the
flesh
.
At
the
ringing
of
the
breakfast
bell
he
went
below
to
feed
his
canaries
,
wind
up
the
chronometers
,
and
take
the
head
of
the
table
.
From
there
he
had
before
his
eyes
the
big
carbon
photographs
of
his
daughter
,
her
husband
,
and
two
fat-legged
babies
--
his
grandchildren
--
set
in
black
frames
into
the
maplewood
bulkheads
of
the
cuddy
.
After
breakfast
he
dusted
the
glass
over
these
portraits
himself
with
a
cloth
,
and
brushed
the
oil
painting
of
his
wife
with
a
plumate
kept
suspended
from
a
small
brass
hook
by
the
side
of
the
heavy
gold
frame
.
Then
with
the
door
of
his
stateroom
shut
,
he
would
sit
down
on
the
couch
under
the
portrait
to
read
a
chapter
out
of
a
thick
pocket
Bible
--
her
Bible
.
But
on
some
days
he
only
sat
there
for
half
an
hour
with
his
finger
between
the
leaves
and
the
closed
book
resting
on
his
knees
.
Perhaps
he
had
remembered
suddenly
how
fond
of
boat-sailing
she
used
to
be
.
She
had
been
a
real
shipmate
and
a
true
woman
too
.
It
was
like
an
article
of
faith
with
him
that
there
never
had
been
,
and
never
could
be
,
a
brighter
,
cheerier
home
anywhere
afloat
or
ashore
than
his
home
under
the
poop-deck
of
the
Condor
,
with
the
big
main
cabin
all
white
and
gold
,
garlanded
as
if
for
a
perpetual
festival
with
an
unfading
wreath
.
She
had
decorated
the
center
of
every
panel
with
a
cluster
of
home
flowers
.
It
took
her
a
twelvemonth
to
go
round
the
cuddy
with
this
labor
of
love
.
To
him
it
had
remained
a
marvel
of
painting
,
the
highest
achievement
of
taste
and
skill
;
and
as
to
old
Swinburne
,
his
mate
,
every
time
he
came
down
to
his
meals
he
stood
transfixed
with
admiration
before
the
progress
of
the
work
.
You
could
almost
smell
these
roses
,
he
declared
,
sniffing
the
faint
flavor
of
turpentine
which
at
that
time
pervaded
the
saloon
,
and
(
as
he
confessed
afterwards
)
made
him
somewhat
less
hearty
than
usual
in
tackling
his
food
.
But
there
was
nothing
of
the
sort
to
interfere
with
his
enjoyment
of
her
singing
.
"
Mrs.
Whalley
is
a
regular
out-and-out
nightingale
,
sir
,
"
he
would
pronounce
with
a
judicial
air
after
listening
profoundly
over
the
skylight
to
the
very
end
of
the
piece
.
In
fine
weather
,
in
the
second
dog-watch
,
the
two
men
could
hear
her
trills
and
roulades
going
on
to
the
accompaniment
of
the
piano
in
the
cabin
.
On
the
very
day
they
got
engaged
he
had
written
to
London
for
the
instrument
;
but
they
had
been
married
for
over
a
year
before
it
reached
them
,
coming
out
round
the
Cape
.
The
big
case
made
part
of
the
first
direct
general
cargo
landed
in
Hong-kong
harbor
--
an
event
that
to
the
men
who
walked
the
busy
quays
of
to-day
seemed
as
hazily
remote
as
the
dark
ages
of
history
.
But
Captain
Whalley
could
in
a
half
hour
of
solitude
live
again
all
his
life
,
with
its
romance
,
its
idyl
,
and
its
sorrow
.
He
had
to
close
her
eyes
himself
.
She
went
away
from
under
the
ensign
like
a
sailor
's
wife
,
a
sailor
herself
at
heart
.
He
had
read
the
service
over
her
,
out
of
her
own
prayer-book
,
without
a
break
in
his
voice
.
When
he
raised
his
eyes
he
could
see
old
Swinburne
facing
him
with
his
cap
pressed
to
his
breast
,
and
his
rugged
,
weather-beaten
,
impassive
face
streaming
with
drops
of
water
like
a
lump
of
chipped
red
granite
in
a
shower
.
It
was
all
very
well
for
that
old
sea-dog
to
cry
.
He
had
to
read
on
to
the
end
;
but
after
the
splash
he
did
not
remember
much
of
what
happened
for
the
next
few
days
.
An
elderly
sailor
of
the
crew
,
deft
at
needlework
,
put
together
a
mourning
frock
for
the
child
out
of
one
of
her
black
skirts
.
He
was
not
likely
to
forget
;
but
you
can
not
dam
up
life
like
a
sluggish
stream
.
It
will
break
out
and
flow
over
a
man
's
troubles
,
it
will
close
upon
a
sorrow
like
the
sea
upon
a
dead
body
,
no
matter
how
much
love
has
gone
to
the
bottom
.
And
the
world
is
not
bad
.
People
had
been
very
kind
to
him
;
especially
Mrs.
Gardner
,
the
wife
of
the
senior
partner
in
Gardner
,
Patteson
,
&
Co.
,
the
owners
of
the
Condor
.
It
was
she
who
volunteered
to
look
after
the
little
one
,
and
in
due
course
took
her
to
England
(
something
of
a
journey
in
those
days
,
even
by
the
overland
mail
route
)
with
her
own
girls
to
finish
her
education
.
It
was
ten
years
before
he
saw
her
again
.
As
a
little
child
she
had
never
been
frightened
of
bad
weather
;
she
would
beg
to
be
taken
up
on
deck
in
the
bosom
of
his
oilskin
coat
to
watch
the
big
seas
hurling
themselves
upon
the
Condor
.
The
swirl
and
crash
of
the
waves
seemed
to
fill
her
small
soul
with
a
breathless
delight
.
"
A
good
boy
spoiled
,
"
he
used
to
say
of
her
in
joke
.
He
had
named
her
Ivy
because
of
the
sound
of
the
word
,
and
obscurely
fascinated
by
a
vague
association
of
ideas
.
