THINGS BECOME SHAKY, SO DOES MR WEBSTER, AND THE RESULTS ARE AN ILLNESS
AND A VOYAGE.
The old Indian officer who was drowned, as we have seen, in the wreck of
the _Swordfish_, was in no way connected with Mr John Webster. In
fact, the latter gentleman read his name in the list of those lost with
feelings of comparative indifference. He was "very sorry indeed," as he
himself expressed it, that so many human beings had been swept off the
stage of time by that "unfortunate wreck," but it did not add to his
sorrow that an old gentleman, whom he had never seen or heard of before,
was numbered with the drowned. Had he foreseen the influence that the
death of that old officer was to have on his own fortunes, he might have
looked a little more anxiously at the announcement of it. But Colonel
Green--that was his name--was nothing to John Webster. What mattered
his death or life to him? He was, no doubt, a rich old fellow, who had
lived in the East Indies when things were conducted in a rather loose
style, and when unscrupulous men in power had opportunities of
feathering their nests well; but even although that was true it mattered
not, for all Colonel Green's fortune, if thrown into the pile or taken
from it, would scarcely have made an appreciable difference in the
wealth of the great firm of Webster and Company. Not that "Company" had
anything to do with it, for there was no Company. There had been one
once, but he had long ago passed into the realms where gold has no
value.
There was, however, a very large and important firm in Liverpool which
was deeply interested in the life of Colonel Green, for he had long been
a sleeping partner of the firm, and had, during a course of years,
become so deeply indebted to it that the other partners were beginning
to feel uneasy about him. Messrs. Wentworth and Hodge would have given
a good deal to have got rid of their sleeping partner, but Colonel Green
cared not a straw for Wentworth, nor a fig for Hodge, so he went on in
his own way until the _Swordfish_ was wrecked, when he went the way of
all flesh, and Wentworth and Hodge discovered that, whatever riches he,
Colonel Green, might at one time have possessed, he left nothing behind
him except a number of heavy debts.
This was serious, because the firm had been rather infirm for some years
past, and the consequences of the colonel's death were, that it became
still more shaky, and finally came down. Now, it is a well understood
fact that men cannot fall alone. You cannot remove a small prop from a
large old tree without running the risk of causing the old tree to fall
and carry a few of the neighbouring trees, with a host of branches,
creeping plants, and parasites, along with it. Especially is this the
case in the mercantile world. The death of Colonel Green was a calamity
only to a few tradesmen, but the fall of Wentworth and Company was a
much more serious matter, because that firm was an important prop to the
much greater firm of Dalgetty and Son, which immediately shook in its
shoes, and also went down, spreading ruin and consternation in the city.
Now, it happened that Dalgetty and Son had extensive dealings with
Webster and Company, and their fall involved the latter so deeply, that,
despite their great wealth, their idolatrous head was compelled to
puzzle his brain considerably in order to see his way out of his
difficulties.
But the more he looked, the less he saw of a favourable nature. Some of
his evil practices also had of late begun to shed their legitimate fruit
on John Webster, and to teach him something of the meaning of those
words, "Be sure your sins shall find you out." This complicated matters
considerably. He consulted his cash-books, bank-books, bill-books,
sales-books, order-books, ledgers, etcetera, etcetera, again and again,
for hours at a time, without arriving at any satisfactory result. He
went to his diminutive office early in the morning, and sat there late
at night; and did not, by so doing, improve his finances a whit,
although he succeeded in materially injuring his health. He worried the
life of poor meek Grinder to such an extent that that unfortunate man
went home one night and told his wife he meant to commit suicide, begged
her to go out and purchase a quart of laudanum for that purpose at the
fishmonger's, and was not finally induced to give up, or at least to
delay, his rash purpose, until he had swallowed a tumbler of mulled port
wine and gone to sleep with a bottle of hot water at his feet! In
short, Mr Webster did all that it was possible for a man to do in order
to retrieve his fortunes--all except pray, and commit his affairs into
the hands of his Maker; _that_ he held to be utterly ridiculous. To
make use of God's winds, and waves, and natural laws, and the physical
and mental powers which had been given him, for the furtherance of his
designs, was quite natural, he said; but to make use of God's word and
His promises--tut! tut! he said, that was foolishness.
However that may be, the end was, that Webster and Company became very
shaky. They did not, indeed, go into the _Gazette_, but they got into
very deep water; and the principal, ere long, having overwrought all his
powers, was stricken with a raging fever.
It was then that John Webster found his god to be anything but a
comforter, for it sat upon him like a nightmare; and poor Annie, who,
assisted by Mrs Niven, was his constant and devoted nurse, was
horrified by the terrible forms in which the golden idol assailed him.
That fever became to him the philosopher's stone. Everything was
transmuted by it into gold. The counting of guineas was the poor man's
sole occupation from morning till night, and the numbers to which he
attained were sometimes quite bewildering; but he invariably lost the
thread at a certain point, and, with a weary sigh, began over again at
the beginning. The bed curtains became golden tissue, the quilt golden
filigree, the posts golden masts and yards and bowsprits, which now
receded from him to immeasurable distance, and anon advanced, until he
cried out and put up his hands to shield his face from harm; but,
whether they advanced or retired, they invariably ended by being
wrecked, and he was left in the raging sea surrounded by drowning men,
with whom he grappled and fought like a demon, insomuch that it was
found necessary at one time to have a strong man in an adjoining room,
to be ready to come in when summoned, and hold him down. Gold, gold,
gold was the subject of his thoughts--the theme of his ravings--at that
time. He must have read, at some period of his life, and been much
impressed by, Hood's celebrated poem on that subject, for he was
constantly quoting scraps of it.
"Why don't you help me?" he would cry at times, turning fiercely to his
daughter. "How can I remember it if I am not helped? I have counted it
all up--one, two, three, on to millions, and billions, and trillions of
gold, gold, gold, hammered and rolled, bought and sold, scattered and
doled--there, I've lost it again! You are constantly setting me wrong.
All the things about me are gold, and the very food you gave me
yesterday was gold. Oh! how sick I am of this gold! Why don't you take
it away from me?"
And then he would fall into some other train of thought, in which his
god, as before, would take the reins and drive him on, ever in the same
direction.
At last the crisis of the disease came and passed, and John Webster
began slowly to recover. And it was now that he formed a somewhat true
estimate of the marketable value of his daughter Annie, inasmuch as he
came at length to the conclusion that she was priceless, and that he
would not agree to sell her for any sum that could be named!
During this period of convalescence, Annie's patience, gentleness, and
powers of endurance were severely tried, and not found wanting. The
result was that the conscience of the invalid began to awake and smite
him; then his heart began to melt, and, ere long, became knit to that of
his child, while she sought to relieve his pains and cheer his spirits
she chatted, played, sang, and read to him. Among other books she read
the Bible. At first Mr Webster objected to this, on the ground that he
did not care for it; but, seeing that Annie was much pained by his
refusal, he consented to permit her to read a few verses to him daily.
He always listened to them with his eyes shut, but never by look or
comment gave the least sign that they made any impression on him.
During the whole period of Mr Webster's illness and convalescence,
Captain Harry Boyns found it convenient to have much business to
transact in Liverpool, and he was extremely regular in his calls to
inquire after the health of his late employer. This was very kind of
him, considering the way in which he had been treated! Sometimes on
these visits he saw Annie, sometimes he saw Mrs Niven--according as the
one or other chanced to be on duty at the time; but, although he was
never permitted to do more than exchange a few sentences with either of
them, the most careless observer could have told, on each occasion,
which he had seen, for he always left the door with a lengthened face
and slow step when he had seen Mrs Niven: but ran down the steps with a
flushed countenance and sparkling eyes when he had met with Annie!
At last Mr Webster was so much restored that his doctor gave him leave
to pay a short visit to his counting-room in the city.
How strangely Mr Webster felt, after his long absence, when he entered
once more the temple of his god, and sat down in his old chair.
Everything looked so familiar, yet so strange! There were, indeed, the
old objects, but not the old arrangements, for advantage had been taken
of his absence to have the office "thoroughly cleaned!" There was the
same air of quiet, too, and seclusion; but the smells were not so musty
as they used to be, and there was something terribly unbusinesslike in
the locked desk and the shut books and the utter absence of papers. The
portrait of his deceased wife's father was there, however, as grim,
silent, and steadfast in its gaze as ever, so Mr Webster smiled, nodded
to it, and rang a hand-bell for his confidential clerk, who entered
instantly, having been stationed at the back of the door for full ten
minutes in expectation of the summons.
"Good morning, Mr Grinder. I have been ill, you see. Glad to get
back, however. How has business been going on in my absence? The
doctor forbade my making any inquiries while I was ill, so that I have
been rather anxious."
"Yes, sir, I am aware--I--in fact I was anxious to see you several times
on business, but could not gain admittance."
"H'm! not going on so well as might be desired, I suppose," said Mr
Webster.
"Well, not quite; in short, I might even say things are much worse than
they were before you took ill, sir; but if a confidential agent were
sent to Jamaica to--to--that is, if Messrs. Bright and Early were seen
by yourself, sir, and some arrangement made, we might--might--go on for
some time longer, and if trade revives, I think--"
"So bad as that!" exclaimed Mr Webster, musing. "Well, well, Grinder,
we must do our best to pull through. Are any of our vessels getting
ready for sea just now?"
"Yes, sir, the _Ocean Queen_ sails for Jamaica about the end of this
month."
"Very well, Grinder, I will go in her. She is one of our best ships, I
think. The doctor said something about a short voyage to recruit me, so
that's settled. Bring me writing materials, and send a statement of
affairs home to me to-night. I have not yet strength to go into details
here."
Grinder brought the writing materials and retired. His employer wrote
several letters; among them one to the doctor, apprising him of his
intention to go to Jamaica, and another to the captain of the _Ocean
Queen_, giving him the same information, and directing him to fit up the
two best berths in the cabin for the reception of himself and his
daughter, with a berth for an old female servant.
Three weeks thereafter he went on board with Annie and Mrs Niven, and
the _Ocean Queen_, spreading her sails, was soon far out upon the broad
bosom of the restless Atlantic.