Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (302 page)

Then
a
bell
seemed
to
sound
in
Abel
Keeling's
ears,
and,
as
if something
in
the
mechanism
of
his
brain
had
slipped,
another
picture rose
in
his
fancy—the
scene
when
the
Mary
of
the
Tower
had
put
out, to
a
bravery
of
swinging
bells
and
shrill
fifes
and
valiant
trumpets.
She had
not
been
a
leper-white
galleon
then.
The
scroll-work
on
her
prow had
twinkled
with
gilding;
her
belfry
and
stern-galleries
and
elaborate lanterns
had
flashed
in
the
sun
with
gold;
and
her
fighting-tops
and the
warpavesse
about
her
waist
had
been
gay
with
painted
coats
and scutcheons.
To
her
sails
had
been
stitched
gaudy
ramping
lions
of scarlet
say,
and
from
her
mainyard,
now
dipping
in
the
water,
had hung
the
broad
two-tailed
pennant
with
the
Virgin
and
Child
embroidered
upon
it.
.
.
.

Then
suddenly
a
voice
about
him
seemed
to
be
saying,
"And
a
half-
seven—and
a
half-seven
---
"
and
in
a
twink
the
picture
in
Abel

Keeling's
brain
changed
again.
He
was
at
home
again,
instructing
his son,
young
Abel,
in
the
casting
of
the
lead
from
the
skiff
they
had pulled
out
of
the
harbour.

"And
a
half-seven/"
the
boy
seemed
to
be
calling.

Abel
Keeling's
blackened
lips
muttered:
"Excellently
well
cast, Abel,
excellently
well
cast!"

"And
a
half-seven—and
a
half-seven—seven—seven
"

"Ah,"
Abel
Keeling
murmured,
"that
last
was
not
a
clear
cast—give me
the
line—thus
it
should
go
.
.
.
ay,
so.
.
.
.
Soon
you
shall
sail the
seas
with
me
in
the
Mary
of
the
Tower.
You
are
already
perfect
in the
stars
and
the
motions
of
the
planets;
to-morrow
I
will
instruct
you in
the
use
of
the
backstaff.
.
.
."

For
a
minute
or
two
he
continued
to
mutter;
then
he
dozed.
When again
he
came
to
semi-consciousness
it
was
once
more
to
the
sound
of bells,
at
first
faint,
then
louder,
and
finally
becoming
a
noisy
clamour immediately
above
his
head.
It
was
Bligh.
Bligh,
in
a
fresh
attack
of delirium,
had
seized
the
bell-lanyard
and
was
ringing
the
bell
insanely. The
cord
broke
in
his
fingers,
but
he
thrust
at
the
bell
with
his
hand, and
again
called
aloud.

"Upon
an
harp
and
an
instrument
of
ten
strings
...
let
Heaven and
Earth
praise
Thy
Name!
.
.
."

He
continued
to
call
aloud,
and
to
beat
on
the
bronze-rusted
bell.

"Ship
ahoy.'
What
ship's
that?"

One
would
have
said
that
a
veritable
hail
had
come
out
of
the mists;
but
Abel
Keeling
knew
those
hails
that
came
out
of
mists.
They came
from
ships
which
were
not
there.
"Ay,
ay,
keep
a
good
look-out, and
have
a
care
to
your
lode-manage,"
he
muttered
again
to
his son.
.
.
.