LIFE AT SEA A KALEIDOSCOPE
In a shady retreat on the ship after lunch sat the Harrises, Leo, the
judge, and Dr. Argyle, the latter reading a French novel. Leo had just
finished a new novel entitled "A Broken Promise," Alfonso had read
three hundred pages in one of Dickens's novels that tells so vividly how
the poor of London exist.
Dr. Argyle said, "Judge, what do you think of novels anyway?"
The matter-of-fact judge gruffly replied, "I never read the modern novel
because I don't care to waste my time."
Whereupon Alfonso said, "Give me the novel of an idealist that has a
purpose. Colonel Ingersol spoke the truth in a recent lecture when he
said that a realist can be no more than an imitator or a copyist. His
philosophy makes the wax that receives and retains an image of an artist.
Realism degrades and impoverishes. The real sustains the same relation to
ideal that a stone does to a statue, or that paint does to a painting."
"No," replied Leo, "a novel proper should be a love story spiced with
the beauties of nature and exciting adventures. A novel with a purpose,
Alfonso, should advertise under another name for it is a cheat. It is
often written with a deliberate attempt to beguile a person into reading
a story which the writer deliberately planned to be simply the medium of
conveying useful or useless information. Possibly a social panacea, or
the theme may include any subject from separating gold from the ocean,
to proving the validity of the latest theory on electricity."
"Leo, you go too far," said Mrs. Harris, "the modern novel that appears
in press and magazine, and later in book form, entering all our homes,
should teach high morality and contain only proper scenes and passages."
"But, mother," said Lucille, "you would thus debar many of the world's
masterpieces in literature. It seems to me that the morality of character
and scene has little to do with the artistic value of the book. The
realist must depict life as it is. 'Art, for art's sake,' is what
commends a novel to artistic minds."
"The modern novel is too much like modern architecture," said the judge,
"a combination of classical and subsequent styles thrown together to
satisfy groups of individuals rather than to conform to well accepted
rules or ideas of art. Modern novels and modern architecture are sure
to give way to nobler thoughts that shall practically harmonize the
useful and the beautiful."
Dr. Argyle, having asked for opinions on the modern novel, obtained them.
He was an earnest listener as he had wished more knowledge of the Harris
family, which would enable him the better to lay plans; he hoped to win
Lucille's favor.
It was now a quarter to six o'clock and many passengers, including the
Harris group, moved to the port side of the ship to observe if the sun,
at the expiration of twelve hours, would again touch the water. This
twenty-first day of the month had been one of Lowell's rare June days.
It had been ushered in by beautiful cloud coloring.
The ocean was now free from mist, the blue clouds overhead darkened the
sea to the horizon, and it looked as if the sun would set behind clouds.
Unexpectedly, however, the clouds near the water separated, and the sun
again appeared in all his glory, sending a weird light out over the
water, gilding the "Majestic," flooding the faces of the passengers with
an unnatural light, and bringing into strong relief a sailing craft
hovering on the starboard horizon.
"Perfectly beautiful," exclaimed several ladies. "There," said the
purser, as four bells rang out and the gong for dinner sounded, "the sun
is kissing the waves." Before any one could answer, the gorgeous sun was
slowly sinking into the blue waters of the Northern Atlantic. Passengers
held their watches and in three minutes the sun had said farewell.
The dinner was much enjoyed. After an evening of charming moonlight,
midnight found all, save those on duty, asleep in the "Majestic," which
was speeding rapidly towards the safe granite docks at Liverpool.
Moonlight at sea is so bewitching, the wonder is that pleasure-seekers
ever consent to land except when denied the companionship of the silver
goddess of night. Whether she races with the clouds, silver tips the
waves, or with her borrowed light floods the world with fairy-like
beauty, it is only that her admirers may exchange sorrow for joy and
conflict for peace.
The sixth day out, the sun illumined a clear sky, and those that loved
the sea were early on deck for exercise and fresh air. These early risers
were well repaid, as the steamer was passing through a great school of
porpoises that sometimes venture long distances from the British Islands.
Alfonso ran to rap at Lucille's door and she hurried on deck to enjoy the
sight. Hundreds of acres of the ocean were alive with porpoises or sea
hogs as sailors often call them.
Porpoises average five feet in length and are the size of a small boy
and quite as playful. These animals are smooth, and black or gray in
color, except the under side which is pure white. They are gregarious
and very sociable in their habits. Porpoises race and play with each
other and dart out of the sea, performing almost as many antics as the
circus clown. They feed on mackerel and herring, devouring large
quantities. Years ago the porpoise was a common and esteemed article of
food in Great Britain and France, but now the skin and blubber only have
a commercial value. The skins of a very large species are used for
leather or boot-thongs.
The early risers were standing on the prow of the steamer where the
cutwater sent constantly into the air a nodding plume of white spray.
Suddenly the watch shouted, "Whale ahead, sir!" Officers and sailors
were astir. Just ahead, and lying in the pathway of the steamer lay a
whale, fifty feet in length, seemingly asleep, for he was motionless. The
officer's first thought was that he would slack speed, but presence of
mind prompted him to order full speed, planning no doubt, if the whale
was obstinate, to cut him in halves.
Lucille and others, fearful of consequences, turned and ran, but the
leviathan suddenly dropped down out of sight, his broad tail splashing
salt water into the faces of the young people who were bold enough to
await events. With a sense of relief, Leo exclaimed, "Narrow escape,
that!"
"Narrow escape for whom?" Alfonso inquired.
"For both the steamer and the whale," replied Lucille.
On the way to breakfast, Lucille asked an officer if similar instances
frequently happened.
"Rarely," he replied, but added, "very likely we may see other whales in
this vicinity." Sure enough, after breakfast, children ran up and down
the deck shouting, "Whales! Whales!" and several were seen a mile or two
north of the ship's course, where they sported and spouted water.
About four o'clock, the temperature having fallen several degrees, the
passengers sighted to the northeast a huge iceberg in the shape of an
arch, bearing down on the steamer's course, and had it been night,
possibly freighted with all the horrors of a ship-wreck. As it was,
Captain Morgan deemed it wise to lessen the speed as the ship approached
the iceberg.
"This is wonderful, Leo," said Mrs. Harris; "can you tell us where and
when icebergs are formed?"
"Oh yes, Mrs. Harris, icebergs that float down the Atlantic are born on
the west coast of Greenland. Up there great valleys are filled with snow
and ice from hill-top to hill-top, reaching back up the valleys, in some
instances from thirty to forty miles. This valley-ice is called a 'Mer
de Glace,' and has a motion down the valley, like any river, but of
three feet more or less only per day. If time enough is allowed, vast
quantities of this valley-ice move into the gulf or sea. When the sea
is disturbed by a storm the ice wall or precipice is broken off, and
enormous masses, often a hundred times larger than a big building, fall
and float away with the report of the firing of a park of artillery, and
these floating mountains of ice are lighted in their lonely pathways by
the midnight sun."
Before dinner, came the regular promenade which presented many contrasts.
A pretty bride from the Blue Grass Region of Kentucky walked with her
young husband whom she had first met at a New England seaside. She was
glad to aid in bridging the chasm between north and south. Her traveling
dress of blue was appropriately trimmed with gray.
The gorgeously dressed gambler walked on the deck alone. Then came two
modest nuns dressed in gray and white. Alfonso and his mother, the judge
and Lucille, and a group of little children followed. Dr. Argyle and a
Philadelphia heiress kept step. Everybody walked, talked, and laughed,
and the passengers had little need of the ship's doctor now. If the
weather is fair the decks are always enlivened as a steamer approaches
land. The next day, by noon at latest, Ireland and Fastnet Rock would
be sighted, if the ship's reckoning had been correct.
After dinner, Dr. Argyle was walking the deck with Lucille in the
star-light. He had told her much of his family, of his talented brother
in the Church, and of another in the army; he had even ventured
to speak of Lucille's grace of manner, and she feared what might follow.
The call of Mrs. Harris relieved Lucille of an unpleasant situation.
Secretly, Lucille was pleased to escape from Dr. Argyle. Something in his
manner told her that he was not sincere; that he was a schemer, perhaps a
fortune-seeker, and she gladly rejoined her mother.
Mrs. Harris and her children often wondered how matters were progressing
at home. Alfonso had faith in his father's ability to cope with the
strike, but Mrs. Harris and Lucille were much worried. "Don't let us
trouble," said Alfonso, "till we reach Queenstown, as there we shall
surely get a cablegram from father."
Just then Leo joined the family, and Lucille taking his arm, the two
walked the deck, and later they found quiet seats in the moonlight. The
moon's welcome rays revealed fleece-like clouds overhead and changed the
waters astern into acres of diamonds. Gentle breezes fanned the cheeks
of two troubled lovers who thus far had kept well their heart secrets.
Lucille's warm and sensitive nature yearned for some confidant in whom
she could find consolation. Mrs. Harris never quite understood her
daughter. Lucille was noble, generous, and true in her affection. Her
ideal of marriage was that the busy shuttle of life must be of Divine
guidance, and often she was at a loss to understand some of the deep
mysteries that had clouded her own life. Of this world's blessings her
life had been full, except she could not reconcile some of her late
experiences. Of this, of course, Leo knew nothing. He too had had a cup
of bliss dashed suddenly to the ground. A moment of anger had destroyed
his plans for life. The moon's soft light changed Leo's purpose never to
speak to Lucille of his affection for Rosie Ricci, and he now frankly
told her the whole story.
At first Lucille did not wish to believe that Leo had ever been in love,
as her own heart had turned to him in the silent hours of the night when
the pain in her heart forbade sleep.
Trembling she said, "Leo, you have given Rosie up forever then?"
"Oh no, Miss Harris, it was Rosie who said to me, 'Good-bye, Leo,
forever.' She accepted my attentions for a year. Alas! Rosie's love for
the rich man's gold I fear was more powerful than her love for me, a poor
artist, and so she threw back the ruby ring and my mother's cameo, and
crushed my heart and hopes. In accepting the kind invitation of your
brother to accompany your family on this trip, I hoped that the journey
might heal my suffering soul."
"I am delighted," said Lucille, her voice and hand still trembling a
little, "that your own vow was not broken."
Leo's olive complexion was softened in the moon's rays, his face was
saddened by the recital of his deep affliction, and his dark eyes were
lowered, as he looked out upon the troubled pathway of the steamer. For
a moment Lucille earnestly gazed at Leo who seemed to her to be handsome
and noble, but he appeared lost as in a dream. Every man is thought to be
noble by the woman who loves him. Then she took both his hands in hers in
pity and said, "Leo, be brave as your ancestors were brave. You will be a
success in the world because you have remaining your intense love for
art."
"Yes, Lucille, and I think I shall marry art only."
"Don't be rash, Leo, we frail human beings know little in advance as to
heaven's plans."
Few forces work truer in nature than the principle that like begets like.
Leo confided in Lucille, and now Lucille confided in Leo; she slowly told
in low voice the story of her own great disappointment.
"I too, once had an ideal lover. Our souls were one; the day of wedding
even had been fixed; orders for an expensive trousseau had been sent to
Paris; the details of the marriage had been arranged, a long journey
abroad planned, and the city for our future home was selected. These
things had become part of my dreams, and the joy of anticipation was
filling my cup to the brim.
"One evening, in the moonlight, such as now smiles upon us, I asked
Bernard if he would read a short note which I had just received, and tell
me if its contents were true. Bernard removed the letter from the
envelope, looked at the signature, and reading turned pale. The note was
from a lady who asked if I was aware that he had offered himself to
another.
"A second time I pressed the question to know if the contents were true,
and he answered, 'Yes', and added that it was not his fault that he did
not marry the lady.
"'Then you love her still, Bernard?'
"'Yes, Lucille, but I love you also.'
"In anger and disappointed love I left him. Of course all plans for the
marriage were cancelled at once. 'First love or none,' was then written
on my heart, where it still remains."
Lucille wept while Leo sat surprised. He knew not what to say, for her
heart-story and heart edict, "First love or none," had opened his own
wounds afresh, and had shut the door to Lucille's heart perhaps forever.
"Come, Lucille," a call of Mrs. Harris, aroused the courage of Leo, and
he said to Lucille, who with a flushed face looked more beautiful than
ever, "At least we should be friends." "Yes," she murmured, and Mrs.
Harris and her daughter retired.
The night before, the second officer had told Lucille that land would
probably be seen early next day on the port-side. All the morning, Mrs.
Harris was awaiting anxiously more news about the great strike at
Harrisville.
"Land, on the port-side, sir!" shouted the forward lookout, just as four
bells struck the hour of ten o'clock. The officer on duty, pacing the
bridge, raised his glass and in a moment he answered, "Ay! Ay! The
Skelligs."
"What do they mean?" inquired Mrs. Harris of a sailor passing. "The
officer has sighted land, madam. Don't you see the specks of blue low
down on the horizon to the northeast? That's the Skelligs, three rocky
islets off the southwest coast of Ireland, near where I was born, and
where my wife Katy, and the babies live. That's where my dear old mother
also keeps watch for her Patsie."
"Is your name Patsie?" Alfonso asked.
"Yes, sir, Patsie Fitzgerald, and I'm proud of my name, my family, the
Emerald Isle, and the fine steamer that's taking us safely home, and may
God bless all you fine people, and keep my wife and babies and my dear
old mother!"
"Thank you!" said Alfonso, "here, Patsie, is a little money for the
babies," and the sailor tipped his hat and bowed his thanks.
The signal officer on Brea Head, Valentia Island, was soon exchanging
signals with the "Majestic," and five minutes later the sighting of the
"Majestic" was cabled to the Lloyds of Liverpool and London and back to
New York, via Valentia Bay, and it was known that evening in Harrisville
that the Harris family were safely nearing Queenstown.
Travelers experience delightful feelings as the old world is approached
for the first time. All that has been read or told, and half believed, is
now felt to be true, and you are delighted that you are so soon to see
for yourself the "Mother Islands," and Europe which have peopled the
western world with sons and daughters.
With the precision of the New York and Jersey City ferries the ocean
steamers enter the harbors of the old and new world. On the southwestern
coast of Ireland is Bantry Bay, memorable in history as having been twice
entered by the French navy for the purpose of invading Ireland. In sight
is Valentia, the British terminus of the first Atlantic cable to North
America, also the terminus of the cables laid in 1858, 1865, and 1866,
and of others since laid. The distance is 1635 miles from Valentia Bay
to St. John, Newfoundland.
From the deck of the steamer, Ireland seems old and worn. Her rocky capes
and mountainous headlands reach far into the ever encroaching Atlantic
like the bony fingers of a giant. Fastnet Rock lighthouse on the right,
telling the mariner of half-sunken rocks, and Cape Clear on the left,
soon drop behind.
Approaching Queenstown, the green forests and fields and little white
homes of fishermen and farmers are visible along the receding shore.
Roach's Point, four miles from Queenstown is reached, where the mails are
landed and received, if the weather is bad, but Captain Morgan decided
to steam into Queenstown Harbor, one of the finest bays in the world,
being a sheltered basin of ten square miles, and the entrance strongly
fortified. Within the harbor are several islands occupied by barracks,
ordnance and convict depots, and powder magazines. This deep and
capacious harbor can float the navies of the world. In beauty it compares
favorably with the Bay of Naples.
Cove, or Queenstown, as Cove is called, since the visit of Queen Victoria
in 1849, has a population of less than ten thousand. It is situated on
the terraced and sheltered south side of Great Island. Here for his
health came Rev. Charles Wolfe, author of "Not a drum was heard, not a
funeral note."
In the amphitheatre-shaped town on parallel streets rise tiers of white
stone houses, relieved by spire and tower. On neighboring highest hills
are old castles, forts, and a tall white lighthouse.
One or more of Her Majesty's armored warships may always be seen within
the bay. The "Majestic" dropped anchor in the quiet harbor, and the
company's lighter came along side with passengers for Liverpool, and to
take ashore the Queenstown passengers, and the mails which, checked out,
numbered over 1600 sacks. The transatlantic mail is put aboard the
express and hurried to Dublin, thence from Kingston to Holyhead, via a
swift packet across St. George's Channel, and to its destination, thus
saving valuable hours in its delivery throughout Europe.
Several small boats appeared bringing natives who offered for sale fruit,
Irish laces, and canes made of black bog oak, with the shamrock carved on
the handles. Mrs. Harris was much pleased to renew her acquaintance with
the scenes of her girlhood, having sailed from Queenstown for Boston when
she was only ten years old.
The baggage was left on the steamer to go forward to Liverpool, and
Alfonso led the way aboard the lighter, and from the dock to the Queen's
Hotel. Each carried a small satchel, with change of clothing, till the
trunks should be overtaken.
At the hotel Alfonso found the longed-for cablegram from his father which
read as follows:--
Harrisville,--
_Mrs. Reuben Harris,
Queen's Hotel, Queenstown, Ireland._
Employees still out. Mills guarded. Will hire new men. Searles visits
Australia. All well. Enjoy yourselves. Love.
Reuben Harris.
"It's too bad that father and Gertrude couldn't be with us," said Mrs.
Harris.
The lunch ashore of Irish chops, new vegetables, and fruit was a decided
improvement on the food of the last few days. The Harrises after a stormy
sea voyage were delighted again to put foot on mother earth, to enjoy the
green terraces, ivy-clad walls, cottages, and churches, and also to see
the shamrock, a tiny clover, which St. Patrick held up before the Irish
people to prove the Holy Trinity. Lucille found the pretty yellow furz,
the flower which Linnæus, the famous Swedish botanist, kissed.
Alfonso suggested that they take the part rail and part river route
of a dozen miles to Cork, the third city of Ireland. En route are seen
beautiful villas, green park-like fields, rich woods, and a terrace
that adorns the steep banks of the River Lee. A ruined castle at
Monkstown is pointed out, which a thrifty woman built, paying the workman
in goods, on which she cleared enough to pay for the castle, except an
odd groat, hence the saying, "The castle cost only a groat."
A delightful day was spent at Cork, an ancient city, which pagans and
Danes once occupied, and which both Cromwell and Marlborough captured.
Here Rev. Thomas Lee, by his preaching, inclined William Penn, "Father of
Pennsylvania," to become a Quaker. Here was born Sheridan Knowles, the
dramatist, and other famous writers.
After visiting the lakes of Killarney and Dublin, the Harris family took
a hasty trip through England.