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Updated: June 18, 2025
When Paul who had ridden in early from the little village, where he had been storm-stayed had tried to impress a crew, the peon boatman had sworn volubly that no pole would touch bottom and that one might as well try to paddle the town as a heavy canoe against such a flood. But when Bachelder stepped in and manned the big sweep, a half-dozen followed. Notwithstanding, their river wisdom proved.
Bachelder, the second mate, was a young man of intelligence, familiar with his duties, and blessed with kind and generous feelings. Unlike Stetson, he was neither a blackguard nor a bully. After some little consultation among the old sailors who composed the starboard watch, it was thought advisable to begin with him, and ascertain if there was any GRIT in his composition.
These, few and simple, were learned of Bachelder's woman, and sprung on Paul as surprises on his return from visiting the mining properties, which required his frequent presence. For instance, slipping to his knee on one such occasion, with the great heart of her pulsing against him, she sighed: "I love thee, lovest thou me?" A lesson from Bachelder pleased him less.
This was agreed on as the test. I knew the crisis had come, and awaited with painful anxiety the result. Mr. Bachelder rushed forward into the midst of the group near the end of the windlass. "Who said, 'Ay, ay'?" he inquired, in an angry tone. "I did," replied Robinson. "YOU did! Don't you know how to reply to an officer in a proper manner?" "How SHOULD I reply?" said Robinson, doggedly.
To this exhaustion, the tales that float in Tehuantepec lay her end, and Bachelder has never taken time to contradict them. But as she floated almost within reach of his hand, she steadied at Paul's shout as under an accession of sudden strength, and looked at her erstwhile husband. Then, if never before, she knew him, as well as his works!
It was about six bells eleven o'clock at night when the wind hauling to the north-west, Mr. Bachelder called out, "Forward there! Lay aft and take a pull of the weather braces." One of the men, a smart active fellow, who went by the name of Jack Robinson, and had been an unsuccessful candidate for the office of boatswain, replied in a loud and distinct tone, "Ay, ay!"
Why is why air Aunt Sibby's remarks like this 'ere peninshaler, eh, Bachelder?" "Because ahem! because they're always a runnin' to a p'int, eh?" inquired the keen little bachelor. "No, by thunder!" exclaimed the discomfited Captain, setting the magician down promptly.
To the day of his death he would go on taxing the child's death against Andrea; he did not even comment on this last proof of her devoted love. After he was gone, Bachelder returned to his window, just in time to see the bridge go. A thin stream in summer, meandering aimlessly between wide banks, the river now ran a full half-mile wide, splitting the town with its yeasty race.
Phileman Huffstater is a old bachelder, and hates wimmen. He had been on a drunk and looked dretful, tobacco juice runnin' down his face, his red hair all towsled up, and his clothes stiff with dirt. He wuzn't invited, but had come of his own accord.
The muse Bachelder had followed so faithfully was hovering closely when his soul flamed out upon that canvas. It ranks with his "Enganchada." Either would bring him fame, yet they rest, face to face, in a dusty locker, awaiting the day when time or death shall cure the ache that a glimpse of either brings him.
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