Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v108.djvu/825

Rh at a sky of turquoise, across which white cloud argosies sailed majestically, bound for the port of sunset.

"I'm up high, high in er mast," remarked Eric, in most matter-of-fact tones. "There are t'ree of us there, and they're all as brown as me. There's a lot of little square sails on the masts, and heaps of ropes for the wind to sing in. My! but it's the beautifulest place! We're going in and out by head-lands, all so green, green, and there's tall trees like the feather duster Mrs. Lean hangs in her front room, only on end. The water is blue—oh, blue! Two great big fish are racing right along by the bow, with just a little twiggle of their tails. And there's silver fish with wings like big dragon-flies, that jump up—lots of 'em—and fly—oh, so long—long, and go plump. The sun's hot, but the wind's good. Oh!"—with a little gasp—"we've went right round a turn, and we're in a bay, a beautiful bay, with hills back of it. There's a town, mostly white, with red roofs that stick 'way out, and lots of trees. The big fish that swam with us are gone; but there are other big ones, looking sort of pinkish down in the water. They turn over sideways sometimes, and run along very quiet, with a knife standing up out of the middle of their backs. There's other ships—five of them. One of them has four yeller chimneys and all sorts of yeller houses! Her masts are stumpy, and have yeller nests on 'em. She's painted white. She's fasten' 'way down, right in front of a cut in the 'way- back hill."

"Oh," said I, with a start, "upon my soul!" Eric was well in his dream now; I knew my questions would not rouse him. "Look over to the right," I said, gently. "What do you see?"

"Town and hills—and a long road, and a great long, long, low, whitey-gray stone house with a ditch all around it. It's on the top of a ridge. There's a flagpole and a flag—"

"What flag?" said I—"what color?"

"It's green—and white—and red," he answered, slowly, as one endeavoring to make out the details of something distant. "There's a picture in the middle, of an eagle and a snake—"

"Acapulco!" said I, under my breath. "Of all places—Acapulco! with a war-ship taking advantage of the 'cut,' as usual, to get a breeze. He's got it all—the town, the fort, the Mexican flag, even the porpoises and the confounded old harbor-sharks!"

I lay gazing aloft, puzzling over the mystery of this child. Did his physical brain inherit these memories? Were they records of things seen by the long-closed eyes of dead and buried forefathers? The story of the arctic whaler might bear out that theory. But this distinct vision of a little Pacific coast town in lower Mexico was modern in its detail of war-ship and—the "cut." It might be a vision transferred from my brain—but I had recognized the place only after the description had been almost completed. Was the phenomenon one of second sight acquired by the constant concentration of a longing that burned like a perpetual flame in his little body? It might be. Behind him was a Norse ancestry on one side, on the other the Mokis with their world-old ocean traditions and ceremonials, and the consuming desire of the "great plains of water." Had the conjunction bred this strange clairvoyance of the sea, so that this child's soul "dwelt upon the face of the waters"?

Such questions were with me constantly, whether I stood over the panning, quarrelled with the manager, or stacked my gold in green-hide bags in the vault prepared below my room by the foresight of poor old Burrage. There were stirring times enough. Heaven knows, and troubles galore, to be settled with what rough justice of tongue and gun seemed best. But as I look back at that time, I see nothing but the eyes of the sea-child, hear nothing but his small monotonous voice talking incessantly of waves and clouds, of shiny moon paths on quiet waters, or the shock of roaring storm combers. I see again the pictures he drew for me, more clear and true than my own innumerable recollections of the great mother of tears and laughter, and—I do not yet understand.

The snows came early that year, and the consequent shutting down of the mine till the spring thaws should release the ice-bound streams and melt the drifts that threatened to bury us. Some of the men furbished guns and restrung snow-