On the third day after the slaver had cast anchor in the Bay of Montego,
a large square-rigged vessel made her appearance in the offing; and,
heading shoreward, with all sail set, stood boldly in for the harbour.
The Union Jack of England, spread to the breeze, floated freely above
her taffrail; and various boxes, bales, trunks, and portmanteaus, that
could be seen on her deck--brought up for debarkation--as well as the
frank, manly countenances of the sailors who composed her crew,
proclaimed the ship to be an honest trader. The lettering upon her
stern told that she was the "_Sea Nymph_, of Liverpool."
Though freighted with a cargo of merchandise, and in reality a
merchantman, the presence on board of several individuals in the costume
of landsmen, denoted that the _Sea Nymph_ also accommodated passengers.
The majority of these were West India planters, with their families,
returning from a visit to the mother country--their sons, perhaps, after
graduating at an English university, and their daughters on having
received their final _polish_ at some fashionable metropolitan seminary.
Here and there an "attorney"--a constituent element of West Indian
society, though not necessarily, as the title suggests, a real limb of
the law. Of the latter there might have been one or two, with a like
number of unpractised disciples of Aesculapius; both lawyer and doctor
bent on seeking fortune--and with fair prospects of finding it in a land
notorious for crime as unwholesome in clime. These, with a sprinkling
of nondescripts, made up the list of the _Sea Nymph's_ cabin-passengers.
Among these nondescripts was one of peculiarities sufficiently
distinctive to attract attention. A single glance at this personage
satisfied you that you looked upon a London Cockney, at the same time a
West-End exquisite of the very purest water. He was a young man who had
just passed the twenty-first anniversary of his birth; although the
indulgence of youthful dissipation had already brushed the freshness
from his features, giving them the stamp of greater age. In complexion
he was fair--pre-eminently so--with hair of a light yellowish hue, that
presented the appearance of having been artificially curled, and
slightly darkened by the application of some perfumed oil. The whiskers
and moustache were nearly of the same colour; both evidently cultivated
with an elaborate assiduity, that proclaimed excessive conceit in them
on the part of their owner.
The eyebrows were also of the lightest shade; but the hue of the eyes
was not so easily told: since one of them was kept habitually closed;
while a glancing lens, in a frame of tortoise-shell, hindered a fair
view of the other. Through the glass, however, it appeared of a
greenish grey, and decidedly "piggish."
The features of this individual were regular enough, though without any
striking character; and of a cast rather effeminate than vulgar. Their
prevailing expression was that of a certain superciliousness, at times
extending to an affectation of sardonism.
The dress of the young man was in correspondence with the foppery
exhibited in the perfumed locks and eye-glass. It consisted of a
surtout of broadcloth, of a very light drab, with a cape that scarce
covered the shoulders; a white beaver hat; vest and pants of spotless
huff kerseymere; kid gloves on his hands; and boots, blight as lacquer
could make them, on his feet. These items of apparel, made in a style
of fashion and worn with an air of _savoir faire_, loudly proclaimed the
London fop of the time.
The affected drawl in which the gentleman spoke, whenever he
condescended to hold communion with his fellow-passengers, confirmed
this character.
Notwithstanding a certain ill-disguised contempt with which he was
regarded by some of his fellow-voyagers, not a few treated him with
marked deference; and the obeisance paid him by the steward and cabin
boys of the _Sea Nymph_ gave evidence of his capability to bestow a
liberal largess. And such capability did he possess: for Mr Montagu
Smythje, the individual in question, was a youth of good family and
fortune--the latter consisting of a magnificent sugar estate in Jamaica,
left him by a deceased relative, to visit which was the object of his
voyage.
The estate he had never seen, as this was his first trip across the
Atlantic; but he had no reason to doubt the existence of the property.
The handsome income which it had afforded him, during several years of
his minority, and which had enabled him to live in magnificent style in
the most fashionable circles of London society, was a substantial proof
that Montagu Castle--such was the name of the estate--was something more
than a castle in the air. During his minority, the estate had been
managed by a _trustee_ resident in the island: one Mr Vaughan, himself
a sugar-planter, whose plantation adjoined that of Montagu Castle.
Mr Smythje had not come over the water with any intention of settling
upon his Jamaica estate. "Such an ideaw," to use his own phraseology,
"nevwaw entawed ma bwain. To exchange London and its pwesyaws for a
wesidence among those haw-ed niggaws--deaw, no--I could nevwaw think of
such a voluntawy banishment; that would be a baw--a decided baw!" "A
meaw twip to see something of the twopics, of which I've heard such
extwaor'nary stowies--have a look at my sugaw plantation and the dem'd
niggaws--besides, I have a stwong desire to take a squint at these
Queeole queetyaws, who are said to be so dooced pwetty. Haw! haw!"
After such fashion did Mr Montagu Smythje explain the purpose of his
voyage to such of his fellow-passengers as chanced to take an interest
in it.
There were but few travellers in the steerage of the _Sea Nymph_. They
who are compelled to adopt that irksome mode of voyaging across the
Atlantic have but little errand to the West Indies, or elsewhere to
tropical lands--where labour is monopolised by the thews and sinews of
the slave. Only three or four of this class had found accommodation on
board the _Sea Nymph_; and yet among these humble voyagers was one
destined to play a conspicuous part in our story.
The individual in question was a young man, in appearance of the same
age as Mr Montagu Smythje, though differing from the latter in almost
everything else. In stature he was what is termed "middle height," with
limbs well set and rounded, denoting activity and strength. His
complexion, though not what is termed _brunette_, was dark for a native
of Britain, though such was he.
His features were nobly defined; and his whole countenance sufficiently
striking to attract the attention of even an indifferent observer.
Dark-brown eyes, and hair of like colour, curling jauntily over his
cheeks, were characteristic points of gracefulness; and, take him all in
all, he was what might justly be pronounced a handsome young fellow.
The garments he wore were his best--put on for the first time during the
voyage, and for the grand occasion of _landing_. A dark blue tunic
frock, faced with black braid, skirting down over a pair of
close-fitting tights, and Hessian boots, gave him rather a _distingue_
air, notwithstanding a little threadbarishness apparent along the seams.
The occupation in which the young man was engaged betrayed a certain
degree of refinement. Standing near the windlass, in the blank leaf of
a book, which appeared to be his journal, he was sketching the harbour
into which the ship was about to enter; and the drawing exhibited no
inconsiderable degree of artistic skill.
For all that, the sketcher was _not_ a professional artist.
Professionally, indeed, and to his misfortune, he was nothing. A poor
scholar--without trick or trade by which he might earn a livelihood--he
had come out to the West Indies, as young men go to other colonies, with
that sort of indefinite hope, that Fortune, in some way or other, might
prove kinder abroad than she had been at home.
Whatever hopes of success the young colonist may have entertained, they
were evidently neither sanguine nor continuous. Though naturally of a
cheerful spirit, as his countenance indicated, a close observer might
have detected a shadow stealing over it at intervals.
As the ship drew near to the shore, he closed the book, and stood
scanning the gorgeous picture of tropical scenery, now, for the first
time, disclosed to his eyes.
Despite the pleasant emotions which so fair a scene was calculated to
call forth, his countenance betrayed anxiety--perhaps a doubt as to
whether a welcome awaited him in that lovely land upon which he was
looking.
Only a few moments had he been thus occupied, when a strange voice
falling upon his ear caused him to turn towards the speaker--in whom he
recognised the distinguished cabin-passenger, Mr Montagu Smythje.
As this gentleman had voyaged all the way from Liverpool to Jamaica
without once venturing to set his foot across the line which separates
the sacred precincts of the quarter from the more plebeian for'ard deck,
his presence by the windlass might have been matter of surprise.
A circumstance, however, explained it. It was the last hour of the
voyage. The _Sea Nymph_ was just heading into the harbour; and the
passengers of all degrees had rushed forward, in order to obtain a
better view of the glorious landscape unfolding itself before their
eyes. Notwithstanding his often-expressed antipathy to the "abom'nable
smell of taw" it was but natural that Mr Smythje should yield to the
general curiosity, and go forward among the rest.
Having gained an elevated stand-point upon the top of the windlass, he
had adjusted the glass to his eye, and commenced _ogling_ the landscape,
now near enough for its details to be distinguished.
Not for long, however, did Mr Smythje remain silent. He was not one of
a saturnine habit. The fair scene was inspiring him with a poetical
fervour, which soon found expression in characteristic speech.
"Dooced pwetty, 'pon honaw!" he exclaimed; "would make a spwendid
dwop-scene faw a theataw! Dawnt yaw think so, ma good fwend?"
The person thus appealed to chanced to be the young steerage passenger;
who, during the long voyage, had abstained from going _abaft_ of the
main-mast with as much scrupulousness as Mr Smythje had observed about
venturing forward. Hence it was that the voice of the exquisite was as
strange to him, as if he had never set eyes on that illustrious,
personage.
On perceiving that the speech was meant for himself, he was at first a
little nettled at its patronising tone; but the feeling of irritation
soon passed away, and he fixed his eyes upon the speaker, with a
good-humoured, though somewhat contemptuous expression.
"Aw--haw--it is yaw, my young fellaw," continued the exquisite, now for
the first time perceiving to whom he had made his appeal. "Aw, indeed!
I've often observed yaw from the quawter-deck. Ba Jawve! yes--a veway
stwange individwal!--incompwehensibly stwange! May I ask--pawdon the
liberty--what is bwinging yaw out heaw--to Jamaica, I mean?"
"That," replied the steerage passenger, again somewhat nettled at the
rather free style of interrogation, "which is bringing yourself--the
good ship _Sea Nymph_."
"Aw, haw! indeed! Good--veway good! But, my deaw sir, that is not what
I meant."
"No?"
"No, I ashaw yaw. I meant what bisness bwings yaw heaw. P'waps you
have some pwofession?"
"No, not any," replied the young man, checking his inclination to
retaliate the impertinent style of his interrogator.
"A twade, then?"
"I am sorry to say I have not even a trade."
"No pwofession! no twade! what the dooce daw yaw intend dawing in
Jamaica? P'waps yaw expect the situation of book-keepaw on a
pwantation, or niggaw-dwivaw. Neithaw, I believe, requiaws much
expewience, as I am told the book-keepaw has pwositively no books to
keep--haw! haw! and shawly any fellaw, howevaw ignowant, may dwive a
niggaw. Is that yaw expectation, my worthy fwend?"
"I have no expectation, one way or another," replied the young man, in a
tone of careless indifference. "As to the business I may follow out
here in Jamaica, that, I suppose, will depend on the will of another."
"Anothaw! aw!--who, pway?"
"My uncle."
"Aw, indeed! yaw have an uncle in Jamaica, then?"
"I have--if he be still alive."
"Aw--haw! yaw are not shaw of that intewesting fact? P'waps yaw've not
heard from him wately?"
"Not for years," replied the young steerage passenger, his poor
prospects now having caused him to relinquish the satirical tone which
he had assumed. "Not for years," repeated he, "though I've written to
him to say that I should come by this ship."
"Veway stwange! And pway, may I ask what bisness yaw uncle follows?"
"He is a planter, I believe."
"A sugaw plantaw?"
"Yes--he was so when we last heard from him."
"Aw, then, p'waps he is wich--a pwopwietor? In that case he may find
something faw yaw to daw, bettaw than niggaw-dwiving. Make yaw his
ovawseeaw. May I know yaw name?"
"Quite welcome to it. Vaughan is my name."
"Vawrn!" repeated the exquisite, in a tone that betrayed some
newly-awakened interest; "Vawn, did I understand yaw to say?"
"Herbert Vaughan," replied the young man, with firmer emphasis.
"And yaw uncle's name?"
"He is also called Vaughan. He is my father's brother--or rather
_was_--my father is dead."
"Not Woftus Vawn, Esquire, of Mount Welcome?"
"Yes, Loftus Vaughan; my uncle is so called, and Mount Welcome is, I
believe, the name of his estate."
"Veway stwange! incompwehensibly stwange! D'yaw know, my young fellaw,
that yaw and I appeaw to be making faw the same pawt. Woftus Vawn, of
Mount Welcome, is the twustwee of my own pwoperty--the veway person to
whom I am consigned. Deaw me! how dooced stwange if yaw and I should
yet be guests undaw the same woof!"
The remark was accompanied by a supercilious glance, that did not escape
the observation of the young steerage passenger. It was this glance
that gave the true signification to the words, which Herbert Vaughan
interpreted as an insult.
He was on the point of making an angry rejoinder, when the exquisite
turned abruptly away--as he parted drawling out some words of
leave-taking, with the presumptive conjecture that they might meet
again.
Herbert Vaughan stood for a moment looking after him, an expression of
high contempt curling upon his lip. Only for a short while, however,
did this show itself; and then, his countenance resuming its habitual
expression of good-nature, he descended into the steerage, to prepare
his somewhat scanty baggage for the debarkation.
Volume One, Chapter XI.