Jack London - The Mutiny of the Elsinore

Hidden by the darkness, clasped in each other’s arms, we talked love and love plans. Nor am I shamed to confess that I was all for immediacy. Once in Valparaiso , I contended, we would fit out the Elsinore with fresh crew and officers and send her on her way. As for us, steamers and rapid travelling would fetch us quickly home. Furthermore, Valparaiso being a place where such things as licences and ministers obtained, we would be married ere we caught the fast steamers for home.

But Margaret was obdurate. The Wests had always stood by their ships, she urged; had always brought their ships in to the ports intended or had gone down with their ships in the effort. The Elsinore had cleared from Baltimore for Seattle with the Wests in the high place. The Elsinore would re-equip with officers and men in Valparaiso , and the Elsinore would arrive in Seattle with a West still on board.

“But think, dear heart,” I objected. “The voyage will require months. Remember what Henley has said: ‘Every kiss we take or give leaves us less of life to live.’”

She pressed her lips to mine.

“We kiss,” she said.

But I was stupid.

“Oh, the weary, weary months,” I complained. “You dear silly,” she gurgled. “Don’t you understand?”

“I understand only that it is many a thousand miles from Valparaiso to Seattle ,” I answered.

“You won’t understand,” she challenged.

“I am a fool,” I admitted. “I am aware of only one thing: I want you. I want you.”

“You are a dear, but you are very, very stupid,” she said, and as she spoke she caught my hand and pressed the palm of it against her cheek. “What do you feel?” she asked.

“Hot cheeks—cheeks most hot.”

“I am blushing for what your stupidity compels me to say,” she explained. “You have already said that such things as licences and ministers obtain in Valparaiso . . . and . . . and, well . . . ”

“You mean . . . ?” I stammered.

“Just that,” she confirmed.

“The honeymoon shall be on the Elsinore from Valparaiso all the way to Seattle ?” I rattled on.

“The many thousands of miles, the weary, weary months,” she teased in my own intonations, until I stifled her teasing with my lips.