The Clammer and the Submarine
()
About this ebook
Read more from William John Hopkins
The Sandman: His Sea Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsShe Blows! And Sparm at That! Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Doers Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Sandman: His Farm Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Sandman: His Sea Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsShe Blows! And Sparm at That! Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Doers Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Clammer and the Submarine Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsConcerning Sally Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to The Clammer and the Submarine
Related ebooks
The Clammer and the Submarine Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Complete Works of Edwin Carlile Litsey Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSea and Shore A Sequel to "Miriam's Memoirs" Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Love Story of Abner Stone Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Laughing Mill and Other Stories The Laughing Mill—Calbot's Rival—Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds—The Christmas Guest. A Myth Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Winter of Content Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Solitary Summer Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Tree of Knowledge: A Novel Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNight of Pure Breathing Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsPuck of Pook's Hill Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsPoems for Pale People: A Volume of Verse Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMore Tales in the Land of Nursery Rhyme Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Round Dozen Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Indian Alps and How We Crossed Them: Illustrated Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDoubloons—and the Girl Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsTwice Upon a Time Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsRenshaw Fanning's Quest: A Tale of the High Veldt Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Mill on the Floss Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Crystal Age: A Dystopia Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Complete Works of Carl Ewald Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWill of the Mill Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSix of the Best by Virginia Woolf Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Catskills Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Otters’ Tale Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Cross Purposes and The Shadows Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsTales Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsQuicksands Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBog-Myrtle and Peat: Tales Chiefly of Galloway Gathered from the Years 1889 to 1895 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsOctober Vagabonds Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Shepherd's Life: Impressions of the South Wiltshire Downs Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Classics For You
The Silmarillion Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Poisonwood Bible: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Old Man and the Sea: The Hemingway Library Edition Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Flowers for Algernon Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wuthering Heights (with an Introduction by Mary Augusta Ward) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Confederacy of Dunces Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Fellowship Of The Ring: Being the First Part of The Lord of the Rings Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Things They Carried Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Little Women (Seasons Edition -- Winter) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Master & Margarita Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Master and Margarita Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Farewell to Arms Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Odyssey: (The Stephen Mitchell Translation) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Republic by Plato Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Rebecca Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Animal Farm: A Fairy Story Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Count of Monte Cristo (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Learn French! Apprends l'Anglais! THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY: In French and English Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Grapes of Wrath Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A Good Man Is Hard To Find And Other Stories Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Mythos Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5We Have Always Lived in the Castle Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Jungle: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Bell Jar: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Count of Monte-Cristo English and French Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ulysses: With linked Table of Contents Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Persuasion Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sense and Sensibility (Centaur Classics) Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The End of the Affair Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Related categories
Reviews for The Clammer and the Submarine
0 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
The Clammer and the Submarine - William John Hopkins
THE CLAMMER AND THE SUBMARINE
..................
William John Hopkins
SILVER SCROLL PUBLISHING
Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.
This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.
All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.
Copyright © 2016 by William John Hopkins
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
The Clammer and the Submarine
By
William John Hopkins
The Clammer and the Submarine
Published by Silver Scroll Publishing
New York City, NY
First published circa 1926
Copyright © Silver Scroll Publishing, 2015
All rights reserved
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
About SILVER SCROLL PUBLISHING
Silver Scroll Publishing is a digital publisher that brings the best historical fiction ever written to modern readers. Our comprehensive catalogue contains everything from historical novels about Rome to works about World War I.
I
..................
DOWN UNDER MY GREAT PINE is a pleasant place—even in April, if it is but warm enough, and if the sun is shining, and if there is no great wind, and if what wind there is comes from the southwest. It is not so pleasant—I know many pleasanter—if the wind is from the northwest, howling and shrieking as it does often in the winter, picking up the fine snow and whirling it back, leaving the top of my bluff as clean as though it had been swept. Such a wind roars through the ancient branches of the pine, and twists them, and tears at them as if it would tear them off. My pine stands sentinel-like on the top of the bluff, some distance from the edge, and its branches have withstood the winds of many winters. Its age must be measured in centuries, for it is a noble great tree; and in times long past it must have had fellows standing close. It is a forest tree, and its great trunk rises twenty feet without a branch. But its fellows are gone, leaving no memory, and the ancient pine now stands alone.
From the bench built against the trunk one can see many things: the harbor, and the opposite shore, and rolling country beyond, and distant hills, and one hill in particular with a tree upon it like a cross, which stands out, at certain seasons, right against the disc of the setting sun. One can see, too, the waters of the bay beyond the harbor, and certain clam beds just at the point, and a certain water front; and other things in their season. Old Goodwin’s palace on the hill is not visible, except for a glimpse of red roofs above the tops of the trees. There is one other thing which I almost forgot to mention, and that is a hole scooped in the ground just without the shadow of the pine, and lined with great stones. That stone-lined hole has its uses, but the time for them is not yet.
I was sitting on the seat under my old pine, gazing out but seeing nothing of what lay before my eyes. And that was strange, too, for the harbor before me was smiling under a warm spring sun, and the hills beyond were bathed in the blue mist of summer. Indeed, it seemed like summer. There will be cold weather in plenty, with skies gray and wet. There is always more than enough of such weather in the first half of May, but that day seemed like summer. I had had hard work to realize that it was April until I looked about me and saw the grass just greening in the moist and sheltered spots, and the trees spreading their bare arms abroad. The buds were just swelling, some of them showing a faint pale green or pink at their tips. And my garden was nothing but freshly turned brown earth, not a spear of green.
I have put in my early peas, but not very long ago. They should be poking through, any morning now. And I planted some corn yesterday. It may get nipped by frost, but I hope not. What would the President think, when he found that I had let my corn get nipped by frost? I mean to do my share—in the garden. That is not the only reason why I hope my corn will not get nipped. It is not likely, for we do not often have frost here so late. It is much more likely that it will be stunted by the cold in May. But what if it does not succeed? It will only mean my planting those two rows over again, and if it escapes I shall be just that much ahead of the others who did not take the chance. I no longer plant my corn in hills. Hills have gone out. Corn is planted in drills now.
I even put in two rows of melons yesterday, but I am not telling my neighbors about it. They would be amused at my planting melons in April. Judson would not have been amused. Judson was a fine old man with an open mind, and he would have been interested to see how the experiment with melons succeeded. I should have told Judson all about it,—he might have helped me plant,—but Judson is dead, and so is Mrs. Judson. It is a loss for Eve and me, for a younger man lives in Judson’s house now, a younger man who is not so fine; and he has a wife and a small girl—who pelts me with unripe pears when I venture near the wall—and he has a talking machine which sits in the open window and recites humorous bits in a raucous voice to the wide world. The girl—she is not so very small, probably ten or eleven—would have difficulty in pelting me with pears now, but she might use pebbles instead. She is a pretty fair shot; and the talking machine is not dependent upon season. They had the window open at that moment, and I found myself listening for the raucous voice, while I thought of seed potatoes—at four dollars a bushel, and scarce at that.
So the sun shone in under the branches of the pine, and I basked in its warmth, and I gazed out and saw nothing of what lay before my eyes, and I thought my thoughts. They came in no particular order, but as thoughts do come, at random: the season, and peas and corn and melons and Judson and his successor and the girl and the talking machine and pears and potatoes. I suppose I should not speak of such rumblings of gray matter as thoughts, for thoughts, we are told, should come in order, and should be always under the control of the thinker. Mine are not always under my control, and they seldom come in order. I might as well say that they are never under my control, but are controlled by interest of one sort or another. I make no claim to efficiency. Efficiency is a quality of a machine, as I take it. When our brains become machines, why, Heaven help us! But whatever my thoughts were, whether of my planting or my neighbor’s talking machine, they revolved around one idea, and always came back to the point they started from, which sufficiently accounts for the fact that I was looking at the harbor and not seeing it.
War. That was the central idea. We are at war. I looked out upon the peaceful, smiling water and the peaceful, smiling country beyond, and the tree like a cross upon its distant hill, and I laughed. I confess it: What had war to do with that, or with me, or with mine? I could not realize it. War means nothing to me. It means nothing to many people over here, I believe, but flags flying, and parades, and brass bands, and shouting. If we were in France now—but I am thankful that we are not in France, and that there are two thousand and odd miles of water between.
As for submarines—submarines in that harbor, where they could not turn around without getting stuck in the mud! Or in the bay, where there is none too much water either, and ledges and rocks scattered around impartially and conveniently here and there! I know them well: one ledge in particular which has but one foot of water on it at low tide. And with a sea running—well, I could lead a submarine a pretty chase. I would if the submarine was bound for this harbor. It might choose to get stuck in the mud and sand of my clam beds, which would make them unproductive for years. Even as a civilian I will defend my own.
Well, we shall see; but I cannot believe that the matter concerns us very nearly. And I sighed softly, and smiled, and again I looked at the harbor, and I saw it; saw it with the warm spring sun on its quiet water, and the wooded hills beyond bathed in a blue haze. And I heard a soft footstep behind me, and there came from above my head a low ripple of laughter, and my head was held between two soft hands and a kiss was dropped on the top of it. And Eve slipped down on the bench beside me.
Why do you sigh?
she asked. What were you thinking of, Adam?
War,
I said, and she sobered quickly. Eve seems to have pacifist leanings. I smiled at her to comfort her. I was thinking that if a submarine should come into this harbor, it might happen to get stuck in my clam beds, and it would stir them all up, and would be bad for the clams. I am afraid I should have to take a hand then. Do you suppose your father would object to my mounting a gun on the point?—say, just under that tree where he keeps his rubber boots?
She laughed, which was what I wanted. Eve is lovely when she laughs—she is lovely always, as lovely as she was when I first saw her. And the warm spring sun, shining in under the branches of the pine, shone upon her hair, and it was red and gold; as red and as shining gold as it ever was—or so it seemed to me.
My father would probably help you mount the gun,
she said. Shall I ask him?
I will ask him. But your hair, Eve,—
Oh, my hair, stupid, is turning dark. Everybody sees it but you. But I don’t care, and I love you for it. And you must look out now, for I’m going to kiss you.
She seized me about the neck as she spoke, and she did as she had said she would. There!
she said, laughing. Did anybody see? Look all about, Adam. The mischief’s done. As if a woman couldn’t kiss her husband when she wanted to! Now, I’m going to rumple your hair.
She proceeded to the business in hand thoroughly.
Eve,
I cried between rumplings, there are laws in this State—I don’t believe they have been repealed—which forbid a woman’s kissing her husband whenever she wants to. It can’t be done. And—
It can’t be done? Oh, yes, it can.
She did it. Now, can it? Say—quickly.
Yes, yes, it can, Eve. I acknowledge it. But the submarine. You interrupted me. I had not finished.
Well,
she asked, subsiding upon the bench and smiling up into my face, what about your submarine? I know of many things which I think more important.
I’ve no doubt that there are laws against rumpling hair. There ought to be. It’s important enough. But the submarine,
I added hastily, for I saw indications of further rumpling; I was only about to remark that if I were out in the bay—
In a boat?
Eve asked, still leaning forward and looking up into my face with the smile lurking about her lovely eyes.
In a boat. If I were out in the bay, and a submarine suddenly popped up beside me, I should feel much more inclined to offer the crew my luncheon than to shoot them.
They would all line up on the deck, I suppose, and you would have your choice.
I laughed. I should have no gun. Besides, I am a civilian. That is against me. Civilians seem to have no chance worth mentioning.
Eve was