"That's beautiful, isn't, it, Mistress Blythe? But Iwish you could have seen the sunrise this morning. It was a wonderful thing--wonderful. I've seen all kinds of sunrises come over that gulf. I've been all over the world, Mistress Blythe, and take it all in all, I've never seen a finer sight than a summer sunrise over the gulf. A man can't pick his time for dying, Mistress Blythe--jest got to go when the Great Captain gives His sailing orders. But if I could I'd go out when the morning comes across that water. I've watched it many a time and thought what a thing it would be to pass out through that great white glory to whatever was waiting beyant, on a sea that ain't mapped out on any airthly chart. I think, Mistress Blythe, that I'd find lost Margaret there."Captain Jim had often talked to Anne of lost Margaret since he had told her the old story. His love for her trembled in every tone--that love that had never grown faint or forgetful.
"Anyway, I hope when my time comes I'll go quick and easy. I don't think I'm a coward, Mistress Blythe--I've looked an ugly death in the face more than once without blenching. But the thought of a lingering death does give me a queer, sick feeling of horror.""Don't talk about leaving us, dear, DEAR Captain, Jim," pleaded Anne, in a choked voice, patting the old brown hand, once so strong, but now grown very feeble.
"What would we do without you?"
Captain Jim smiled beautifully.
"Oh, you'd get along nicely--nicely--but you wouldn't forget the old man altogether, Mistress Blythe--no, Idon't think you'll ever quite forget him. The race of Joseph always remembers one another. But it'll be a memory that won't hurt--I like to think that my memory won't hurt my friends--it'll always be kind of pleasant to them, I hope and believe. It won't be very long now before lost Margaret calls me, for the last time. I'll be all ready to answer. I jest spoke of this because there's a little favor I want to ask you. Here's this poor old Matey of mine"--Captain Jim reached out a hand and poked the big, warm, velvety, golden ball on the sofa. The First Mate uncoiled himself like a spring with a nice, throaty, comfortable sound, half purr, half meow, stretched his paws in air, turned over and coiled himself up again. "HE'll miss me when Istart on the V'yage. I can't bear to think of leaving the poor critter to starve, like he was left before.
If anything happens to me will you give Matey a bite and a corner, Mistress Blythe?""Indeed I will."
"Then that is all I had on my mind. Your Little Jem is to have the few curious things I picked up--I've seen to that. And now I don't like to see tears in those pretty eyes, Mistress Blythe. I'll mebbe hang on for quite a spell yet. I heard you reading a piece of poetry one day last winter--one of Tennyson's pieces.
I'd sorter like to hear it again, if you could recite it for me."Softly and clearly, while the seawind blew in on them, Anne repeated the beautiful lines of Tennyson's wonderful swan song-- "Crossing the Bar." The old captain kept time gently with his sinewy hand.
"Yes, yes, Mistress Blythe," he said, when she had finished, "that's it, that's it. He wasn't a sailor, you tell me--I dunno how he could have put an old sailor's feelings into words like that, if he wasn't one. He didn't want any `sadness o' farewells' and neither do I, Mistress Blythe--for all will be well with me and mine beyant the bar."
