Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float
Upon the wanton breezes; strew the deck
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets,
That no rude savour maritime invade
The nose of nice nobility.
COWPER.
On the following evening, wind and tide answering, the packet in which
our travellers were to embark was prepared for sailing.
The music of the indefatigable harper, in the passage, was completely
drowned by the uproar of an universal commotion; the persons and voices
of masters and mistresses, children, ladies' maids, footmen, and
boatmen, were mixed in one undistinguished throng, as they crowded
about the inn door. Mrs. Sullivan stood at the foot of the stairs
screaming, loud enough for her shrill _contr'alto_ to be heard above all
the murmuring crowd:--"Meely! Cilly! do bestir yourselves; we're too
late by a mile! here's the wery last boat imparting." The tardy-gaited
damsels made their appearance just as one of the boatmen informed their
mother, the captain had sent to say, he would not wait another minute;
and they reached the side of the ship exactly at the moment he prepared
to put his threat in execution. Poor Mrs. Sullivan had seldom seen, and
had never been on the sea before, therefore it is not surprising that
she was much terrified at finding herself in a small boat, on this, to
her, unusual element; however, after many exclamations of terror, she
congratulated herself, and all the party, on being safe on board: she
might now have said with Foote,
"When first I went on board, Good Lord! what a racket,
Such babbling and squalling fore and aft through the packet;
The passengers bawling, the sailors yo-ho-ing,
The ship along dashing, the wind aloft blowing;
Some sick, and some swearing, some singing, some shrieking,
Sails hoisting, blocks rattling, the yards and booms creaking!"
It was that season of the year in which such of the Irish bipeds as are
birds of passage, pay a summer's visit to their native shores: the
packet was crowded to excess; and not only every birth was taken, but
the cabin floors were spread with mattresses for the supernumeraries.
Mrs. Sullivan had secured the _state_ cabin, where people pay an
additional price, for the honour and glory of encountering imminent
danger of suffocation, in a commodious apartment, six feet broad by
eight feet long, containing four beds, two above and two below; and in
this receptacle of pride, many a repentant victim of human vanity has
sent forth pious aspirations after "_a new birth_." Mrs. Sullivan, on
going below, found that, besides the beds in the state cabin, only two
others could be procured for Caroline and the maids; she however settled
the matter, much to her satisfaction, by saying, "Willis must sit up all
night." But Adelaide seeing the poor woman's face changing colour, with
a compassion that never rose for an _inferior_ in Mrs. Sullivan's
breast, said, "If you will allow me, I will make up a bed for myself in
the floor of your cabin, with the night sacks and dressing boxes; and
then Willis can have my birth; she looks very sick, poor thing, perhaps
you will give her leave to go to bed now." "I have no dejection to your
doing what you likes with your own birth, Miss Vildenheim; but if Villis
goes to bed, what can I do to undress?"--"Oh! I will be your waiting
woman with pleasure." So saying, Adelaide seized the golden opportunity
before the permission could be recalled, and persuaded the fainting
Willis to occupy her bed.
When they returned to the deck all was comparatively quiet; the ladies
were seated, and the gentlemen walking about in parties, examining the
various groups of females which presented themselves to their view. Next
to Adelaide was seated a very elegant woman, whom she heard addressed by
the name of St. Orme, and whose husband was walking arm in arm with a
remarkably handsome man, who united in his deportment the mien of a
soldier, with the air of a man who had lived much in the world. His back
was to Adelaide when he first attracted her notice, but when he came
close to her, she started up, and met the hand he extended to her, with
reciprocal cordiality, and their mutual astonishment, making them for an
instant regardless of the presence of so numerous an audience, they
addressed each other in the language they had long been accustomed to
converse in, and, after a few hasty sentences of German, Adelaide,
blushing to her fingers' ends, on perceiving she had attracted the
attention of every person present, introduced the handsome stranger to
Mrs. Sullivan as Colonel Desmond, and he was not a little surprised to
find in her the widow of his most particular friend. This ceremony being
over, Colonel Desmond again addressed Adelaide: "Good Heavens! Miss
Wildenheim, who could have thought of seeing you _here_! how time does
run on! I hope you don't forget what I remember with so much pleasure,
that our acquaintance commenced before you were six years old; and that
you used to seat yourself on my knee, with as little ceremony as that
beautiful child is preparing to do on yours." Adelaide's dialogue with
her new found friend was suddenly interrupted by Mrs. Sullivan becoming
so qualmish, that a speedy retreat to her own cabin was judged
advisable, and Colonel Desmond, after assisting the ladies to go down
stairs, returned to the deck, his fair acquaintance remaining below to
give her promised aid to her _chaperone_.
Though Colonel Desmond was then in his forty-fifth year, his florid
complexion, brilliant eye, and martial air, made him appear nearly ten
years younger; nor were the few unwelcome gray hairs, that attempted to
tell tales of other times, in contradiction to their darker companions,
in sufficient number to counteract the appearance of youth, that the
finest set of teeth in the world gave to his face. His forehead, eyes,
and brows, seemed the seat of sense and manly daring, but all the kindly
affections of human nature dwelt about his mouth. Adelaide had early
applied to him the motto of the Chevalier Bayard--_L'homme sans peur et
sans reproche_: and in the days of youthful enthusiasm, he had, in her
scale of admiration, ranked next to her father--nor was he unworthy of
her regard.
This gallant soldier was the second son of a country gentleman, whose
family had lived from generation to generation in habits of friendship
with that of the late Mr. Sullivan, who was also a younger son. These
young men were companions, school-fellows, and friends, and on the death
of their fathers, found themselves but scantily provided for. Edward
Desmond, being intended for the church, had gone through some part of
his collegiate course in the university of Dublin; but on the death of
his father, agreeing with his young friend, that "it was much better to
be a soldier than a damned quiz of a parson" resolved to exchange the
cassock for the sword. Being a protestant, Edward did not labour under
the same disabilities as his friend, but he would not separate their
fortunes, and determined to share the same fate, and follow the same
standard; accordingly they left their homes, in order, as they expressed
it, in the words of a favourite song, to "go round the world for sport."
They entered the Austrian armies, and the first five years of their
career served under the command of Baron Wildenheim, during which time
he proved himself their patron and friend; gratitude on their side, and
regard on his, preserved the intimacy thus formed, by correspondence and
personal communication, long after they had ceased to be brother
soldiers. Colonel Desmond remained in Germany, several years subsequent
to Mr. Sullivan's return to England, so that he was much better known to
Adelaide than the latter gentleman; and till she recollected he was
unmarried, she had often wondered her father had not left her to his
guardianship, in preference to a person who was to her a comparative
stranger. Though Desmond and Sullivan had commenced their career of
life together, they did not long continue on an equality as to
character. The superior education Edward had received, in order to
qualify him for the profession he was originally designed to embrace,
showed its beneficial effects in far different pursuits; for whilst
Maurice Sullivan plunged into every species of dissipation, his
companion, incited by the expostulations and example of Baron
Wildenheim, occupied himself in the acquirement of the knowledge most
necessary to his profession, occasionally varying his studies by the
pleasures arising from the cultivation of literature and the fine arts.
But, however advantageous Colonel Desmond's intercourse with Baron
Wildenheim had been to the formation of his character, it had latterly
been dangerous to the peace of his mind. He had so long regarded the
daughter of his friend with almost parental affection, that he was not
exactly aware of the moment, when his feelings towards her became those
of a lover; but when awakened to a sense of the real nature of his
sentiments, his hours of solitude were tinctured with regret, as he
bitterly lamented that hitherto disregarded want of fortune, which
forbade his seeking the hand of the lovely girl. Neither Adelaide, nor
the Baron, was ever conscious of this attachment; she only felt for him
as a sort of second father, in whose approbation she delighted, and by
whose admonition she profited; honour and generosity withheld his using
any endeavours to win further on her regard; and feeling that
self-control would not much longer be possible, he left Vienna,
apparently induced only by the desire to revisit his native country.
Time and absence had deadened, but not changed his feelings: with such
sentiments, it may therefore be supposed, what happiness this unexpected
meeting gave to both. The Miss Webberlys had come down below with their
mother and Adelaide, so that the latter was obliged to stay in the
suffocating cabin, where she remained in durance vile above an hour;
from time to time she heard Caroline's little merry voice on deck, and
longed to be there also; at last, when the little girl retired to bed,
she gave Adelaide Mrs. St. Orme's compliments, to know if she would like
to come on deck, adding, that she and Colonel Desmond were waiting in
the outer cabin to take her up. With the utmost delight she profited by
this good natured attention. When they ascended, she found all the
passengers disposed of for the night, except Mr. and Mrs. St. Orme and
Colonel Desmond.
Miss Wildenheim's present _chaperone_ was a very elegant pleasing Irish
woman, who added to the ease of well bred manners that sort of
kindliness, which appears in those of her countrywomen in general. She
was of good family, and was so well assured of her own place in society,
that she never took the least trouble to impress any body else with an
idea of her consequence; but her unaffected simplicity of dress,
manner, and deportment, were the best credentials she could present to
those accustomed to move in the same rank of life with herself. Adelaide
and she understood each other at once: before their acquaintance had
lasted half an hour, a casual observer would have supposed they had long
been known to each other.
It was a most delightful night, the ship was smoothly cutting her rapid
way before a fair, wind, and as it passed, the rippling waters sparkled
with the beams of the moon. Colonel Desmond, leaning carelessly over the
side of the vessel, half sung, half hummed, this verse, translated from
an ancient Irish song:--
The moon calmly sleeps on the ocean,
And tinges each white bosom'd sail;
The bark, scarcely conscious of motion,
Glides slowly before the soft gale.
How vain are the charms they discover,
My heart from its sorrows to draw!
Whilst memory carries me over
To _Ma cailin beog chruite nambo_.
Adelaide thought the sound of his well remembered voice "pleasant and
mournful to the soul, like the memory of joys that are past;" and it was
insensibly leading her into a train of ideas, which she was not sorry to
have interrupted by general conversation. How much did she enjoy the
delightful freshness of the night, and the enlivening sallies of her
animated companions; they were, however, at length terminated by Mr. St.
Orme complaining of the increasing chilliness of the air, and proposing
that she and her fair companion should take refuge from it in the body
of her barouche, which was on deck. There they passed the remainder of
the night most comfortably; and, when the sun rose, Miss Wildenheim was
very sorry to hear they were entering the bay of Dublin, as she
recollected her landing would put an end to the temporary release the
packet had afforded her from the annoyances of the Webberly family.