Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain.
_Horatio._ What are they that would speak with me?
_Servant_. Sea-faring men, sir.--_Hamlet_.
|WHO does not know the delightful monotony of a voyage southward, broken
only at the intervals of anchoring beneath the brilliant green slopes of
Madeira or under the grim shadow of the cliffs of St. Helena?
The first week of the voyage for those who are not sensitive of the
uneasy motion of the ship through the waves of the Bay of Biscay is
perhaps the most delightful, for then every one is courteous with every
one else. The passengers have not become friendly enough to be able to
quarrel satisfactorily. The young ladies have got a great deal of white
about them, and they have not begun to show that jealousy of each other
which the next fortnight so powerfully develops. The men, too, are
prodigal in their distribution of cigars; and one feels in one's own
heart nothing but the most generous emotions, as one sits filling a
meerschaum with Latakia in the delicate twilight of time and of thought
that succeeds the curried lobster and pilau chickens as prepared in the
galley of such ships as the _Cardwell Castle_. Certainly for a week of
Sabbaths a September voyage to Madeira must be looked to.
Things had begun to arrange themselves aboard the _Cardwell Castle_. The
whist sets and the deck sets had been formed. The far-stretching arm of
society had at least one finger in the construction of the laws of life
in this Atlantic ship-town.
The young woman with the pronounced tastes in colour and the large
resources of imagination in the arrangement of blue and pink had become
less aggressive, as she was compelled to fall back upon the minor
glories of her trunk, so that there was no likelihood of Mr. Glaston's
perishing of starvation. Though very fond of taking-up young ladies,
Mrs. Crawford had no great struggle with her propensity so far as this
young lady was concerned. But as Mr. Glaston had towards the evening of
the third day of the voyage found himself in a fit state of mind to be
presented to Miss Gerald, Mrs. Crawford had nothing to complain of. She
knew that the young man was invariably fascinating to all of her sex,
and she could see no reason why Miss Gerald should not have at least the
monotony of the voyage relieved for her through the improving nature
of his conversation. To be sure, Mr. Harwood also possessed in his
conversation many elements of improvement, but then they were of a more
commonplace type in Mrs. Crawford's eyes, and she thought it as well,
now and again when he was sitting beside Daireen, to make a third to
their party and assist in the solution of any question they might be
discussing. She rather wished that it had not been in Mr. Harwood's
power to give Daireen that information about her father's appointment;
it was a sort of link of friendship between him and the girl; but Mrs.
Crawford recollected her own responsibility with regard to Daireen too
well to allow such a frail link to become a bond to bind with any degree
of force.
She was just making a mental resolution to this effect upon the day
preceding their expected arrival at Madeira, when Mr. Harwood, who had
before tiffin been showing the girl how to adjust a binocular glass,
strolled up to where the major's wife sat resolving many things,
reflecting upon her victories in quarter-deck campaigns of the past and
laying out her tactics for the future.
“This is our third voyage together, is it not, Mrs. Crawford?” he asked.
“Let me see,” said the lady. “Yes, it is our third. Dear, dear, how time
runs past us!”
“I wish it did run past us; unfortunately it seems to remain to work
some of its vengeance upon each of us. But do you think we ever had a
more charming voyage so far as this has run, Mrs. Crawford?”
The lady became thoughtful. “That was a very nice trip in the P. & O.'s
_Turcoman_, when Mr. Carpingham of the Gunners proposed to Clara Walton
before he landed at Aden,” she said. “Curiously enough, I was thinking
about that very voyage just before you came up now. General Walton
had placed Clara in my care, and it was I who presented her to young
Carpingham.” There was a slight tone of triumph in her voice as she
recalled this victory of the past.
“I remember well,” said Mr. Harwood. “How pleased every one was, and
also how--well, the weather was extremely warm in the Red Sea just
before he proposed. But I certainly think that this voyage is likely to
be quite as pleasant. By the way, what a charming protégée you have got
this time, Mrs. Crawford.”
“She is a dear girl indeed, and I hope that she may find her father all
right at the Cape. Think of what she must suffer.”
Mr. Harwood glanced round and saw that Mr. Glaston had strolled up to
Daireen's chair. “Yes, I have no doubt that she suffers,” he said. “But
she is so gentle, so natural in her thoughts and in her manner, I should
indeed be sorry that any trouble would come to her.” He was himself
speaking gently now--so gently, in fact, that Mrs. Crawford drew her
lips together with a slight pressure. “Perhaps it is because I am so
much older than she that she talks to me naturally as she would to her
father. I am old enough to be her father, I suppose,” he added almost
mournfully. But this only made the lady's lips become more compressed.
She had heard men talk before now of being old enough to be young
ladies' fathers, and she could also recollect instances of men who were
actually old enough to be young ladies' grandfathers marrying those very
young ladies.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Crawford, “Daireen is a dear natural little thing.”
Into the paternal potentialities of Mr. Harwood's position towards this
dear natural little thing Mrs. Crawford did not think it judicious to go
just then.
“She is a dear child,” he repeated. “By the way, we shall be at Funchal
at noon to-morrow, and we do not leave until the evening. You will land,
I suppose?”
“I don't think I shall, I know every spot so well, and those bullock
sleighs are so tiresome. I am not so young as I was when I first made
their acquaintance.”
“Oh, really, if that is your only plea, my dear Mrs. Crawford, we may
count on your being in our party.”
“Our party!” said the lady.
“I should not say that until I get your consent,” said Harwood quickly.
“Miss Gerald has never been at the island, you see, and she is girlishly
eager to go ashore. Miss Butler and her mother are also landing”--these
were other passengers--“and in a weak moment I volunteered my services
as guide. Don't you think you can trust me so far as to agree to be one
of us?”
“Of course I can,” she said. “If Daireen wishes to go ashore you may
depend upon my keeping her company. But you will have to provide a
sleigh for myself.”
“You may depend upon the sleigh, Mrs. Crawford; and many thanks for your
trusting to my guidance. Though I sleigh you yet you will trust me.”
“Mr. Harwood, that is dreadful. I am afraid that Mrs. Butler will need
one of them also.”
“The entire sleigh service shall be impressed if necessary,” said the
“special,” as he walked away.
Mrs. Crawford felt that she had not done anything rash. Daireen would,
no doubt, be delighted with the day among the lovely heights of Madeira,
and if by some little thoughtfulness it would be possible to hit upon a
plan that should give over the guidance of some of the walking members
of the party to Mr. Glaston, surely the matter was worth pursuing.
Mr. Glaston was just at this instant looking into, Daireen's face as he
talked to her. He invariably kept his eyes fixed upon the faces of
the young women to whom he was fond of talking. It did not argue any
earnestness on his part, Mrs. Crawford knew. He seemed now, however,
to be a little in earnest in what he was saying. But then Mrs.
Crawford reflected that the subjects upon which his discourse was most
impassioned were mostly those that other people would call trivial,
such as the effect produced upon the mind of man by seeing a grape-green
ribbon lying upon a pale amber cushion. “Every colour has got its soul,”
she once heard him say; “and though any one can appreciate its meaning
and the work it has to perform in the world, the subtle thoughts
breathed by the tones are too delicate to be understood except by a
few. Colour is language of the subtlest nature, and one can praise God
through that medium just as one can blaspheme through it.” He had said
this very earnestly at one time, she recollected, and as she now saw
Daireen laugh she thought it was not impossible that it might be at some
phrase of the same nature, the meaning of which her uncultured ear did
not at once catch, that Daireen had laughed. Daireen, at any rate, did
laugh in spite of his earnestness of visage.
In a few moments Mr. Glaston came over to Mrs. Crawford, and now his
face wore an expression of sadness rather than of any other emotion.
“My dear Mrs. Crawford, you surely cannot intend to give your consent
to that child's going ashore tomorrow. She tells me that that newspaper
fellow has drawn her into a promise to land with a party--actually a
party--and go round the place like a Cook's excursion.”
“Oh, I hope we shall not be like that, Mr. Glaston,” said Mrs. Crawford.
“But you have not given your consent?”
“If Daireen would enjoy it I do not see how I could avoid. Mr. Harwood
was talking to me just now. He seems to think she will enjoy herself, as
she has never seen the island before. Will you not be one of our party?”
“Oh, Mrs. Crawford, if you have got the least regard for me, do not
say that word party; it means everything that is popular; it suggests
unutterable horrors to me. No subsequent pleasure could balance the
agony I should endure going ashore. Will you not try and induce that
child to give up the idea? Tell her what dreadful taste it would be to
join a party--that it would most certainly destroy her perceptions of
beauty for months to come.”
“I am very sorry I promised Mr. Harwood,” said the lady; “if going
ashore would do all of this it would certainly be better for Daireen to
remain aboard. But they will be taking in coals here,” she added, as the
sudden thought struck her.
“She can shut herself in her cabin and neither see nor hear anything
offensive. Who but a newspaper man would think of suggesting to cultured
people the possibility of enjoyment in a party?”
But the newspaper man had strolled up to the place beside Daireen,
which the aesthetic man had vacated. He knew something of the art of
strategical defence, this newspaper man, and he was well aware that as
he had got the promise of the major's wife, all the arguments that might
be advanced by any one else would not cause him to be defrauded of the
happiness of being by this girl's side in one of the loveliest spots of
the world.
“I will find out what Daireen thinks,” said Mrs. Crawford, in reply to
Mr. Glaston; and just then she turned and saw the newspaper man beside
the girl.
“Never mind him,” said Mr. Glaston; “tell the poor child that it is
impossible for her to go.”
“I really cannot break my promise,” replied the lady. “We must be
resigned, it will only be for a few hours.”
“This is the saddest thing I ever knew,” said Mr. Glaston. “She will
lose all the ideas she was getting--all through being of a party. Good
heavens, a party!”
Mrs. Crawford could see that Mr. Glaston was annoyed at the presence of
Harwood by the side of the girl, and she smiled, for she was too old a
tactician not to be well aware of the value of a skeleton enemy.
“How kind of you to say you would not mind my going ashore,” said
Daireen, walking up to her. “We shall enjoy ourselves I am sure, and Mr.
Harwood knows every spot to take us to. I was afraid that Mr. Glaston
might be talking to you as he was to me.”
“Yes, he spoke to me, but of course, my dear, if you think you would
like to go ashore I shall not say anything but that I will be happy to
take care of you.”
“You are all that is good,” said Mr. Harwood. This was very pretty, the
lady thought--very pretty indeed; but at the same time she was making up
her mind that if the gentleman before her had conceived it probable that
he should be left to exhibit any of the wonders of the island scenery
to the girl, separate from the companionship of the girl's temporary
guardian, he would certainly find out that he had reckoned without due
regard to other contingencies.
Sadness was the only expression visible upon the face of Mr. Glaston for
the remainder of this day; but upon the following morning this aspect
had changed to one of contempt as he heard nearly all the cabin's
company talking with expectancy of the joys of a few hours ashore. It
was a great disappointment to him to observe the brightening of the face
of Daireen Gerald, as Mr. Harwood came to tell her that the land was in
sight.
Daireen's face, however, did brighten. She went up to the ship's bridge,
and Mr. Harwood, laying one hand upon her shoulder, pointed out with the
other where upon the horizon lay a long, low, gray cloud. Mrs. Crawford
observing his action, and being well aware that the girl's range of
vision was not increased in the smallest degree by the touch of his
fingers upon her shoulder, made a resolution that she herself would
be the first to show Daireen the earliest view of St. Helena when they
should be approaching that island.
But there lay that group of cloud, and onward the good steamer sped.
In the course of an hour the formless mass had assumed a well-defined
outline against the soft blue sky. Then a lovely white bird came about
the ship from the distance like a spirit from those Fortunate Islands.
In a short time a gleam of sunshine was seen reflected from the flat
surface of a cliff, and then the dark chasms upon the face of each of
the island-rocks of the Dezertas could be seen. But when these were
passed the long island of Madeira appeared gray and massive, and with
a white cloud clinging about its highest ridges. Onward still, and the
thin white thread of foam encircling the rocks was perceived. Then the
outline of the cliffs stood defined against the fainter background
of the island; but still all was gray and colourless. Not for long,
however, for the sunlight smote the clouds and broke their gray masses,
and then fell around the ridges, showing the green heights of vines
and slopes of sugar-canes. But it was not until the roll of the waves
against the cliff-faces was heard that the cloud-veil was lifted and
all the glad green beauty of the slope flashed up to the blue sky, and
thrilled all those who stood on the deck of the vessel.
Along this lovely coast the vessel moved through the sparkling green
ripples. Not the faintest white fleck of cloud was now in the sky, and
the sunlight falling downwards upon the island, brought out every brown
rock of the coast in bold relief against the brilliant green of the
slope. So close to the shore the vessel passed, the nearer cliffs
appeared to glide away as the land in their shade was disclosed, and
this effect of soft motion was entrancing to all who experienced it.
Then the low headland with the island-rock crowned with a small pillared
building was reached and passed, and the lovely bay of Funchal came in
view.
Daireen, who had lived among the sombre magnificence of the Irish
scenery, felt this soft dazzling green as something marvellously strange
and unexpected. Had not Mr. Glaston descended to his cabin at the
earliest expression of delight that was forced from the lips of some
young lady on the deck, he, would have been still more disappointed with
Daireen, for her face was shining with happiness. But Mr. Harwood found
more pleasure in watching her face than he did in gazing at the long
crescent slope of the bay, and at the white houses that peeped from
amongst the vines, or at the high convent of the hill. He did not speak
a word to the girl, but only watched her as she drank in everything of
beauty that passed before her.
Then the Loo rock at the farther point of the bay was neared, and as
the engine slowed, the head of the steamer was brought round towards the
white town of Funchal, spread all about the beach where the huge
rollers were breaking. The tinkle of the engine-room telegraph brought a
wonderful silence over everything as the propeller ceased. The voice of
the captain giving orders about the lead line was heard distinctly, and
the passengers felt inclined to speak in whispers. Suddenly with a harsh
roar the great chain cable rushes out and the anchor drops into the
water.
“This is the first stage of our voyage,” said Mr. Harwood. “Now, while I
select a boat, will you kindly get ready for landing? Oh, Mrs. Crawford,
you will be with us at once, I suppose?”
“Without the loss of a moment,” said the lady, going down to the cabins
with Daireen.
The various island authorities pushed off from the shore in their boats,
sitting under canvas awnings and looking unpleasantly like banditti.
Doctor Campion answered their kind inquiries regarding the health of the
passengers, for nothing could exceed the attentive courtesy shown by the
government in this respect.
Then a young Scotchman, who had resolved to emulate Mr. Harwood's
example in taking a party ashore, began making a bargain by signs with
one of the boatmen, while his friends stood around. The major and the
doctor having plotted together to go up to pay a visit to an hotel,
pushed off in a government boat without acquainting any one with their
movements. But long before the Scotchman had succeeded in reducing
the prohibitory sum named by the man with whom he was treating for the
transit of the party ashore, Mr. Harwood had a boat waiting at the
rail for his friends, and Mrs. Butler and her daughter were in act to
descend, chatting with the “special” who was to be their guide. Another
party had already left for the shore, the young lady who had worn the
blue and pink appearing in a bonnet surrounded with resplendent flowers
and beads. But before the smiles of Mrs. Butler and Harwood had passed
away, Mrs. Crawford and Daireen had come on deck again, the former with
many apologies for her delay.
Mr. Harwood ran down the sloping rail to assist the ladies into the
boat that rose and fell with every throb of the waves against the ship's
side. Mrs. Crawford followed him and was safely stowed in a place in the
stern. Then came Mrs. Butler and her daughter, and while Mr. Harwood was
handing them off the last step Daireen began to descend. But she had not
got farther down than to where a young sailor was kneeling to shift the
line of one of the fruit boats, when she stopped suddenly with a great
start that almost forced a cry from her.
“For God's sake go on--give no sign if you don't wish to make me
wretched,” said the sailor in a whisper.
“Come, Miss Gerald, we are waiting,” cried Harwood up the long rail.
Daireen remained irresolute for a moment, then walked slowly down, and
allowed herself to be handed into the boat.
“Surely you are not timid, Miss Gerald,” said Harwood as the boat pushed
off.
“Timid?” said Daireen mechanically.
“Yes, your hand was really trembling as I helped you down.”
“No, no, I am not--not timid, only--I fear I shall not be very good
company to-day; I feel----” she looked back to the steamer and did not
finish her sentence.
Mr. Harwood glanced at her for a moment, thinking if it really could
be possible that she was regretting the absence of Mr. Glaston. Mrs.
Crawford also looked at her and came to the conclusion that, at the last
moment, the girl was recalling the aesthetic instructions of the young
man who was doubtless sitting lonely in his cabin while she was bent on
enjoying herself with a “party.”
But Daireen was only thinking how it was she had refrained from crying
out when she saw the face of that sailor on the rail, and when she heard
his voice; and it must be confessed that it was rather singular, taking
into account the fact that she had recognised in the features and voice
of that sailor the features and voice of Standish Macnamara.