Burned Bridges - Bertrand W. Sinclair (best ereader for academics txt) 📗
- Author: Bertrand W. Sinclair
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Last. You Know What That Means If You've Been Across."
"Don't I Know It," The Man Responded Feelingly. "By The Lord, It's Me
That Does Know It. I Was There When The Shoe Was On The Other Foot. I
Was A Gunner In The Sixty-Eighth Battery, And You Can Believe Me There
Was Times When It Made Us Sick To See German Planes Overhead. Well, I
Hope They Give Fritz Hell. He Gave It To Us."
"They Will," Thompson Answered Simply, And On That Word Their Talk Of
The War Ended. They Spoke Of Vancouver, And Of The Coast Generally.
"By The Way, Do You Happen To Know Whereabouts In Toba Inlet A Man Named
Chapter 23 (Fair Winds) Pg 156Carr Is Located?" Thompson Bethought Him Of His Quest. "Sam Carr. He Is
Operating Some Sort Of Settlement For Returned Men, I've Been Told."
"Sam Carr? Sure. The _Squalla_ Here Belongs To Him--Or To The
Company--And Carr Is Just About The Company Himself."
A Voice From The Interior Abaft The Wheelhouse Bellowed "Grub-Pi-L-E."
"That's Breakfast," The Man Said. "I See You Ain't Lighted Your Fire
Yet. Come And Have A Bite With Us. Here, Make This Line Fast And Lay
Alongside."
The Wind Had Died With The Dawn, And The Sea Was Abating. The _Squalla_
Went Her Way Within The Hour, And So Did Thompson. There Was Still A
Small Air Out Of The Southeast, Sufficient To Give Him Steerageway In
The Swell That Ran For Hours After The Storm. Between Sail And Power He
Made The Redonda Islands And Passed Between Them Far Up The Narrow Gut
Of Waddington Channel, Lying In A Nook Near The Northern End Of That
Deep Pass When Night Came On. And By Late Afternoon The Following Day He
Had Traversed The Mountain-Walled Length Of Toba Inlet And Moored His
Yawl Beside A Great Boom Of New-Cut Logs At The Mouth Of Toba River.
Thanks To Meeting The _Squalla_ He Knew His Ground. Also He Knew
Something Of Sam Carr's Undertaking. The Main Camp Was Four Miles Up The
Stream. The Deep Fin-Keel Of The Yawl Barred Him From Crossing The
Shoals At The River Mouth Except On A Twelve-Foot Tide. So He Lay At The
Boom, Planning To Go Up The River Next Morning In The Canoe He Towed
Astern In Lieu Of A Dinghy.
He Sat On His Cushions In The Cockpit That Evening Looking Up At A Calm,
Star-Speckled Sky. On Either Side Of Him Mountain Ranges Lifted Like
Quiescent Saurians, Heads Resting On The Summit Of The Coast Range,
Tails Sweeping Away In A Fifty-Mile Curve To A Lesser Elevation And The
Open Waters Of The Gulf. The Watery Floor Of Toba Inlet Lay Hushed
Between, Silvered By A Moon-Path, Shimmering Under The Same Pale Rays
That Struck Bluish-White Reflections From A Glacier High On The Northern
Side. It Was Ghostly Still At The Mouth Of The Valley Whence The Toba
River Stole Down To Salt Water, With Somber Forests Lining The Beach And
Clinging Darkly On The Steep Slopes. A Lone Light Peeped From The Window
Of A Cabin On Shore. The Silence Was Thick, Uncanny. But It Was A
Comforting Silence To Thompson. He Felt No Loneliness, He Whom The
Lonely Places Had Once Appalled. But That Was A Long Time Ago. Sitting
There Thinking Of That, He Smiled.
No Man Lives By, For, Or Because Of Love Alone. Nor Does A Woman,
Although The Poets And Romancers Have Very Nearly Led Us To Believe A
Woman Does. Yet It Is A Vital Factor Upon Some Occasions, In Many
Natures. There Had Been Times In Thompson's Life When The Passion Sophie
Carr Kindled In Him Seemed A Conflagration That Must Either Transfigure
Or Destroy Him. It Was Like A Volcano That Slept, And Woke Betimes.
The Last Two Years Had Rather Blotted Out Those Periods Of Eruption. He
Had Given Her Up, And In Giving Up All Hope Of Her, Sophie And
Everything That Linked Her With Him From Lone Moose To The Last Time He
Saw Her Had Grown Dim, Like A Book Read Long Ago And Put By On The
Shelf. In The Fierce Usages Of Aerial Warfare Distracted Thought, Any
Relaxing From An Eagle-Like Alertness Upon The Business In Hand, Meant
Death Swift And Certain. And No Man, Even A Man Whose Heart Is Sore
Chapter 23 (Fair Winds) Pg 157Wishes To Die. The Will-To-Live Is Too Strong In Him. Pride Spurs Him.
To Come Off Victorious Over A Concrete Enemy, To Uphold The Traditions
Of His Race, To Be Of Service--These Things Will Carry Any Man Over
Desperate Places Without Faltering, If He Feels Them.
And Wes Thompson Had Experienced That Sort Of Vision Rather Keenly. It
Had Driven Him, A Man Of Peaceful Tendency, To Blood-Drenched Fields.
For Two Years He Had Been In Another World, In A Service That Demanded
Of A Man All That Was In Him. He Was Just Beginning To Be Conscious
That For So Long He Had Been Detached From Life That Flowed In Natural,
Normal Channels.
He Was Conscious Too, Of A Queer, Impersonal Manner Of Thinking About
Things And People, Now That He Was Back. He Wondered About Himself. What
Particular Motive, For Instance, Had Driven Him Up Here? To Be Sure
There Was The Very Plausible One Of Obeying A Physician's Order About
Living In The Open, Of Keeping Decent Hours, Of Avoiding Crowds And
Excitement Until He Was Quite Himself Again. But He Could Have Done That
Without Coming To Toba Inlet.
Of Course He Wanted To See Sam Carr Again. Also He Wanted To See Sophie.
_Why_ He Wished To See Her Was Not So Readily Answered. He Wanted To See
Her Again, That Was All--Just As He Had Wanted To See Canada And His
Aunts, And The Green Slopes Of The Pacific Again. Because All These
Things And People Were Links With A Past That Was Good And Kindly By
Comparison With The Too-Vivid Recent Days. Yes, Surely, He Would Be Glad
To See Sam Carr--And Sophie. When He Recalled The Last Time He Spoke
With Her He Could Smile A Little Wryly. It Had Been Almost A Tragedy
Then. It Did Not Seem Much Now. The Man Who Had Piloted A Battle-Plane
Over Swaying Armies In France Could Smile Reminiscently At Being Called
A Rabbit By An Angry Girl.
It Was Queer Sophie Had Never Married. His Thought Took That Turn
Presently. She Was--He Checked The Years On His Fingers--Oh, Well, She
Was Only Twenty-Four. Still, She Was No Frail, Bloodless Creature, But A
Woman Destined By Nature For Mating, A Beautiful Woman Well Fit To
Mother Beautiful Daughters And Strong Sons, To Fill A Lover With Joy And
A Husband With Pride.
A Queer Warmth Flushed Thompson's Cheek When He Thought Of Sophie This
Wise. A Jealous Feeling Stabbed At Him. The Virus Was Still In His
Blood, He Became Suddenly Aware. And Then He Laughed Out Loud, At His
Own Camouflaging. He Had Known It All The Time. And This Trip It Would
Be Kill Or Cure, He Said To Himself Whimsically.
Still It _Was_ Odd, Now He Came To Think Of It, That Sophie Had Never In
Those Years Found A Man Quite To Her Liking. She Had Had Choice Enough,
Thompson Knew. But It Was No More Strange, After All, Than For Himself
Never To Have Looked With Tender Eyes On Any One Of The Women He Had
Known. He Had Liked Them, But He Hadn't Ever Got Past The Stage Of
Comparing Them With Sophie Carr. She Had Always Been The Standard He Set
To Judge The Others. Thompson Realized That He Was Quite A Hopeless Case
In This Respect.
"I Must Be A Sort Of A Freak," He Muttered To Himself When He Was Stowed
Chapter 23 (Fair Winds) Pg 158Away In His Blankets. "I Wonder If I _Could_ Like Another Woman, As
Well, If I Tried? Well, We'll See, We'll See."
Chapter 24 (Two Men And A Woman) Pg 159
Thompson Drove His Canoe Around A Jutting Point And Came Upon A White
Cruiser Swinging At Anchor In An Eddy. Her Lines Were Familiar Though He
Had Not Seen Her In Two Years. In Any Case The Name _Alert_ In Gold Leaf
On Her Bows Would Have Enlightened Him. He Was Not Particularly
Surprised To Find Tommy's Motor Boat There. He Had Half-Expected To Find
Tommy Ashe Hereabouts.
A Man's Head Rose Above The After Companion-Hatch As The Canoe Glided
Abreast.
"Is Mr. Ashe Aboard?" Thompson Asked.
The Man Shook His Head.
"Went Up To Carr's Camp A While Ago."
"When Did You Get In?" Thompson Inquired Further.
"Last Night. Lost A Day Laying Up At Blind Bay For A Southeaster. Gee,
She Did Blow."
Thompson Smiled And Passed On. Blind Bay Was Only Two Miles From Cape
Coburn. Just A Narrow Neck Of Land Had Separated Them That Blustery
Night. It Was Almost Like A Race. Tommy Would Not Be Pleased To See Him
Treading So Close On His Heels. Thompson Felt That Intuitively. All Was
Fair In Love And War. Still, Even In Aerial Rst
Visit Of Thackeray Had Wrought Many Changes. Thackeray, Too, Came To New
York From Boston, But In His Case It Was The Matter Of One Unbroken
Train Journey, In The Course Of Which He Reread The "Shabby Genteel
Story" Of A Dozen Years Before. Dickens's Transatlantic Trip Had
Consumed Nineteen Days. The "Canada," Which Carried Thackeray, Made The
Crossing In Thirteen. In New York Thackeray Stayed At The Clarendon
Hotel, On The Corner Of Fourth Avenue And Eighteenth Street; But His
Favourite Haunt In The City Was The Third Home Of The Century, In
Clinton Place.
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