"THE WONDERING EYES."
Once more Maynard stood upon the deck of a sea-going vessel, his eyes
bent upon the white seethy track lengthening out behind him.
In its sea-view the Empire City is unfortunate, presenting scarce a
point worthy of being remembered. There is no salient feature like the
great dome of Saint Paul's, in London, the Arc de Triomphe, of Paris, or
even the Saint Charles Hotel, as you sweep round the English Turn, in
sight of New Orleans. In approaching New York City, your eye rests on
two or three sharp spires, more befitting the architecture of a village
church, and a mean-looking cupola, that may be the roof either of a
circus or gasworks! The most striking object is the curious circular
Castle with its garden behind it; but this requires a distant view to
hide its neglected condition; and, lying low, it becomes only prominent
when too near to stand scrutiny.
In the improvement of this point, New York has a splendid opportunity to
redeem the shabbiness of its seaward aspect. It is still city property,
I believe; and if it had _Haussmart_, instead of _Hoffman_, for its
mayor, the city of Manhattan would soon present to its bay a front
worthy of this noble estuary.
To return from our digression upon themes civic, economic, and
architectural, to the _Cambria_ steamer fast forging on toward the
ocean.
The revolutionary leader had no such thoughts as he stood upon her deck,
taking the last look at the city of New York. His reflections were
different; one of them being, whether it was indeed to be his _last_!
He was leaving a land he had long lived in, and loved: its people and
its institutions. He was proceeding upon an enterprise of great peril;
not as the legalised soldier, who has no fear before him save death on
the battle-field, or a period of imprisonment; but as a revolutionist
and rebel, who, if defeated, need expect no mercy--only a halter and a
tombless grave.
It was at a time, however, when the word _rebel_ was synonymous with
_patriot_; before it became disgraced by that great rebellion--the first
in all history sinful and without just cause--the first that can be
called inglorious.
Then the term was a title to be proud of--the thing itself a sacred
duty; and inspired by these thoughts, he looked before him without fear,
and behind with less regret.
It would not be true to say, that he was altogether indifferent to the
scenes receding from his view. Many bonds of true friendship had been
broken; many hands warmly shaken, perhaps never to be grasped again!
And there was one severance, where a still tenderer tie had been torn
asunder.
But the spasm had passed some time ago--more keenly felt by him on the
deck of that steamer leaving the harbour of Newport.
A week had elapsed since then--a week spent amidst exciting scenes and
in the companionship of kindred spirits--in the enrolling-room
surrounded by courageous filibusters--in the Bairisch beer-saloons with
exiled republican patriots--amidst the clinking of glasses, filled out
of long-necked Rhine wine bottles, and quaffed to the songs of Schiller,
and the dear German fatherland.
It was fortunate for Maynard that this stormy life had succeeded the
tranquillity of the Newport Hotel. It enabled him to think less about
Julia Girdwood. Still was she in his mind, as the steamer left Staten
Island in her wake, and was clearing her way through the Narrows.
But before Sandy Hook was out of sight, the proud girl had gone away
from his thoughts, and with the suddenness of thought itself!
This quick forgetfulness calls for explanation.
The last look at a land, where a sweetheart has been left behind, will
not restore the sighing heart to its tranquillity. It was not this that
had produced such an abrupt change in the spirit of the lover.
No more was it the talk of Roseveldt, standing by his side, and pouring
into his ear those revolutionary ideas, for which the Count had so much
suffered.
The change came from a cause altogether different, perhaps the only one
capable of effecting such a transformation.
"_Un clavo saca otro clavo_," say the Spaniards, of all people the most
knowing in proverbial lore. "One nail drives out another." A fair face
can only be forgotten by looking upon one that is fairer.
Thus came relief to Captain Maynard.
Turning to go below, he saw a face so wonderfully fair, so strange
withal, that almost mechanically he stayed his intention, and remained
lingering on the deck.
In less than ten minutes after, _he was in love with a child_!
There are those who will deem this an improbability; perhaps pronounce
it unnatural.
Nevertheless it was true; for we are recording an actual experience.
As Maynard faced towards the few passengers that remained upon the upper
deck, most of them with eyes fixed upon the land they were leaving, he
noticed one pair that were turned upon himself. At first he read in
them only an expression of simple curiosity; and his own thought was the
same as he returned the glance.
He saw a child with grand golden hair--challenging a second look. And
this he gave, as one who regards something pretty and superior of its
kind.
But passing from the hair to the eyes, he beheld in them a strange,
wondering gaze, like that given by the gazelle or the fawn of the
fallow-deer, to the saunterer in a zoological garden, who has tempted it
to the edge of its enclosure.
Had the glance been only transitory, Maynard might have passed on,
though not without remembering it.
But it was not. The child continued to gaze upon him, regardless of all
else around.
And so on till a man of graceful mien--grey-haired and of paternal
aspect--came alongside, caught her gently by the hand, and led her away,
with the intention of taking her below.
On reaching the head of the stairway she glanced back, still with that
same wildering look; and again, as the bright face with its golden
glories sweeping down behind it, disappeared below the level of the
deck.
"What's the matter with you, Maynard?" asked the Count, seeing that his
comrade had become suddenly thoughtful. "By the way you stand looking
after that little sprout, one might suppose her to be your own!"
"My dear Count," rejoined Maynard, in an earnest, appealing tone, "I beg
you won't jest with me--at all events, don't laugh, when I tell you how
near you have hit upon my wish."
"What wish?"
"That she were my own."
"As how?"
"As my wife."
"Wife! A child not fourteen years of age! _Cher capitaine_! you are
turning Turk! Such ideas are not becoming to a revolutionary leader.
Besides, you promised to have no other sweetheart than your sword! Ha--
ha--ha! How soon you've forgotten the naiad of Newport!"
"I admit it. I'm glad I have been able to do so. It was altogether
different. It was not true love, but only--never mind what. But now I
feel--don't laugh at me, Roseveldt. I assure you I am sincere. That
child has impressed me with a feeling I never had before. Her strange
look has done it. I know not why or wherefore she looked so. I feel as
if she had sounded the bottom of my soul! It may be fate, destiny--
whatever you choose to call it--but as I live, Roseveldt, I have a
presentiment--she will yet be my wife!"
"If such be her and your destiny," responded Roseveldt, "don't suppose I
shall do anything to obstruct its fulfilment. She appears to be the
daughter of a gentleman, though I must confess I don't much like his
looks. He reminds me of the class we are going to contend against. No
matter for that. The girl's only an infant; and before she can be ready
to marry you, all Europe may be Republican, and you a Presidant! Now,
_cher capitaine_! let us below, else the steward may have our fine
Havanas stowed away under hatches; and then such weeds as we'd have to
smoke during the voyage!" From sentiment to cigars was an abrupt
change. But Maynard was no romantic dreamer; and complying with his
fellow-traveller's request, he descended to the state-room to look after
the disposal of their portmanteaus.