GOOD-BYE TO ENGLAND.
The sun shone brightly on the dark, turbid waters of the Indian Docks,
making the binnacles sparkle like burnished gold, under the influence
of his rays. The Blue Peter floated gaily at the fore royal masthead
of the _Pandora_, and all was in readiness to receive the pilot. The
decks were cleared up, and the hatches battened down. The anchors were
hanging in their tackles, the cables were overhauled over the windlass
and ranged along the deck, and innumerable lines and warps were coiled
down, all ready to be paid out into the boat.
Punctual to time, a short, dark man in blue uniform stepped aboard,
and having exchanged salutations with the captain, took his place upon
the bridge and gave the order to ‘Slack away for’ard,’ and as the
shellbacks tramped around the capstan aft, the _Pandora_ moved slowly
away from the quay.
Then, after a great deal of shouting--of paying out warps, and hauling
them in--of encroaching upon the kindness of the captains of other
vessels by asking them to ‘make fast’ and ‘let go,’ the _Pandora_
reached the dockhead, where she was slewed round, and a tug caught hold
of her hawser.
A small crowd of friends and relations were here gathered together,
anxious to have a last look at those dear ones who were going so far
away, perhaps never to return. Some were brave enough to step aboard,
and go down as far as Gravesend, where the vessel was to wait a couple
of hours. But others were detained by work or business in London, and
could not afford to indulge their inclination. All had time, however,
while the _Pandora_ slowly crawled through the narrow entrance, to
whisper their last farewells--to implore the travellers ‘to be sure to
write,’ and tell them all their news--to wish them a prosperous voyage,
and, above all, to give them a warm grip of the hand, or a parting kiss.
Ah! these long uncertain partings are very Death in Life. They have all
the agony of Death about them, and none of its peace. They are the most
cruel trials this miserable world affords us!
When the vessel was clear of the docks, and had glided into the
broad river, the helm was put to starboard, and her head pointed
eastward--then the hawser gradually ‘taughtened’ as the tug went ahead,
and many of the passengers, realising that they were really ‘off,’
strained their eyes, brimming with tears, towards the shore, and with a
choking sensation in their throats, waved their handkerchiefs as a last
farewell to the friends they had left behind them. But their emotion
soon subsided as they watched the lively scene spread out upon all
sides. It is those who stay at home who feel parting most. The river
was alive with barges, which had taken advantage of the wind to stem
the tide. Large passenger steamers took their way carefully amongst the
smaller craft, and channel and river boats plied fussily backwards and
forwards, with groaning deckloads of gaily-dressed pleasure seekers.
Large wooden ships lay moored to the buoys, discharging blue casks
of petroleum, and in their wake fruiters and colliers were similarly
employed. Trinity boats, with their decks crowded with red and white
buoys, had made fast under the shears, and innumerable tugs, and
ferryboats, and watermen were waiting for something to ‘turn up.’
At two o’clock Gravesend was reached, where dozens of vessels had come
to a standstill, and half-an-hour afterwards the _Pandora_ was brought
up and moored to a buoy close to the red powder-hulks, with her burgee
flying at the masthead.
The powder having been brought alongside in lighters, laden with small
wooden tubs, a double line of men was ranged from the port to the
locker, and the kegs quickly passed along.
Whilst the powder was being taken in, a boat pulled by four men
approached the vessel. In her stern were seated the coxswain, and
another man who was evidently a passenger. When she reached the
_Pandora’s_ side the gangway was lowered, and the mysterious stranger
who had chosen this late hour to arrive, ascended the ladder.
He was a tall, dark man with curly hair, and a heavy moustache, which
joined a pair of mutton-chop whiskers. His face was much lined, and
there was a haggard look beneath his keen grey eyes. He wore a soft
felt slouch hat, a black morning coat, and loose trousers. His baggage
apparently consisted of a large portmanteau, which was carried up by
one of the sailors, and tumbled on to the deck.
‘What name?’ inquired Mr Sparkes, who waited at the head of the gangway
to receive him.
‘I wish to see the captain,’ was the stranger’s only answer.
‘You will find him on the bridge,’ said Richard Sparkes, and without
another word the new-comer hastily mounted the companion, and
confronted the skipper.
‘Captain Robarts?’ he inquired briefly.
‘The same, sir,’ replied the captain. ‘What is your business?’
‘There is my card,’ returned the other, producing it.
‘Oh, yes! of course,’ said Captain Robarts, as he looked at the card;
‘very pleased to see you, Mr Fowler, and if you will ask the steward,
he will show you your berth.’
During this short colloquy, the passengers assembled on the deck
eyed the new-comer curiously, and many were the speculations raised
concerning him.
‘Who can he be, Captain Lovell?’ asked Alice Leyton, who had become
quite friendly with the gentleman in question.
‘I should say he had come to take charge of the powder,’ replied
Lovell. ‘He is evidently going to remain, as he has brought his
luggage.’
‘Perhaps he is (what Jack calls) a supercargo,’ suggested Alice.
‘No, Miss Leyton, they don’t have such things now-a-days, although the
highly-favoured individual whom you call “Jack” may have told you so.’
‘Jack is likely to know best, though, all the same, because he is
a sailor,’ cried Alice merrily. ‘But do you really think, Captain
Lovell,’ she continued, opening her blue eyes, ‘that there is any
danger from the gunpowder?’
‘Not unless the ship catches fire, and then we should be blown to
“smithereens.” I daresay if we had any one on board evilly disposed to
the rest of us, he could, with very little trouble, put an end to our
existence.’
‘But he would blow himself up at the same time,’ said Alice.
‘True; but in _such company_,’ replied Lovell, looking ineffable things
at her, ‘a fellow might even feel glad to be blown up.’
‘Don’t let us talk of such horrible things, Captain Lovell, and when we
have not yet commenced the voyage. Do you see that lady talking to the
gentleman who is leaning against the rail? She is a Miss Vere. She is
an actress, and is going all through Australia and New Zealand.’
‘By George! Is that really Miss Vere?’ said Captain Lovell, putting up
his eyeglass. ‘I really didn’t recognise her off the stage. She ought
to be good company. She’s very clever.’
‘Don’t you think she is very handsome?’
‘Perhaps. But she’s not _my_ style,’ replied the captain, glancing at
Alice’s fair hair.
‘Would you like to be introduced to her?’ continued the girl. ‘I made
her acquaintance last night, and found her most agreeable. Will you
come with me, and talk to her?’
‘Delighted to follow you anywhere,’ said Lovell gallantly, as he walked
after his lively companion.
Vernon Blythe, who was close at hand, saw the little incident, and
only smiled at it. He was not the man to suspect any woman whom he
professed to love, without good cause. And when he was assured of her
infidelity to him, he would be silent on the subject. He might leave
her, but his pride would forbid him to complain because she preferred
another fellow to himself. But he did not doubt at that moment that
Alice loved him, and, believing so, he allowed her to do just as she
chose.
‘Miss Vere,’ she exclaimed, as she came up to the lady in question,
‘may I introduce one of our fellow-passengers to you--Captain
Lovell--who is longing to make your acquaintance?’
Miss Vere bowed, and the two immediately engaged in conversation.
Emily Vere was a high-class society actress, who had appeared that
season at a leading London theatre, and taken the town by storm. Now,
she was going out to make the tour of Australia, tempted thereto by
exceptionally high terms, and the promise of an efficient company to
support her on the other side. In appearance, she was more charming
perhaps than handsome, but her figure was perfect, and her manners
courteous and refined. She was one of those artists who give the lie
pointblank to those libellers who say that virtue does not exist upon
the stage, and who (if the truth were known) have not kept their
own lives nearly so clean as that of many an actress. Miss Vere’s
character had never been attacked, except by those who knew nothing
about it. She was essentially a lady, and one of rather reserved and
quiet habits than otherwise. She was dressed plainly, but in exquisite
taste. Her grey cashmere dress showed off each curve of her beautiful
figure, and seemed to cling lovingly about her full bosom and slender
waist. Her long plush mantle was of the same delicate tint, and a grey
straw hat, trimmed with seagulls’ wings, and long grey _chevrette_
gloves, completed her costume. She smiled pleasantly as she recognised
her little acquaintance of the night before, but did not evince any
especial emotion on being introduced to Captain Lovell, which, for the
moment, rather staggered that hero.
‘So proud to know you,’ he murmured, as the introduction was effected;
‘so charmed to meet one whom I, in common with all who have had the
great privilege of seeing her upon the stage, cannot fail to admire.’
‘How long did it take you to get that up?’ asked Miss Vere quietly.
‘Seriously, Captain Lovell, I hope I am going to be spared listening to
empty compliments for a while. I am so very _very_ tired of them, and I
want to make this voyage a time of rest for both mind and body.’
‘But I can assure you I had no intention to flatter,’ stammered Lovell.
‘Then you cannot know what your intentions are, and consequently must
be a very dangerous acquaintance. He can’t get out of it any way, can
he, Miss Leyton?’
‘I think most people would find it loss of time to cross swords with
you, Miss Vere,’ said Alice.
‘Indeed I am a very peaceable person by nature. But some things put one
on one’s metal; and you must understand, Captain Lovell, that the last
person I care to talk about, is myself.’
‘Which makes you so unlike other women, that the first person we all
want to talk about is _you_. Ah! Miss Vere, you must not be so hard
upon me. I have seen you play at the “Star” Theatre dozens of times,
and left my heart behind me on every occasion.’
‘Dear me! what a number of hearts you must possess. You are quite a
natural curiosity. I hope you did not part with your brains at the
same time.’
‘You think I have none to spare, I suppose?’
‘Not quite that, but we shall want all we can scrape together, to make
this long voyage pass pleasantly. Have you mapped out any plan of
employment for the next three months, Miss Leyton?’
Alice blushed most becomingly.
‘I haven’t thought of it yet. I suppose when we shake down, we shall
have plenty of music and dancing, and--’
‘Flirtation,’ continued Miss Vere.
‘Well, a little of that, too, I suppose.’
‘A great deal, I hope,’ amended the captain; ‘life would be worth very
little without it.’
‘Yes! when it’s legitimate, it’s very nice,’ said Miss Vere; ‘but, for
my part, I mean to flirt with my books. I have promised myself a long
course of study before we arrive at Lyttleton.’
‘Oh, look, Miss Vere,’ cried Alice, ‘they are slipping the warp! I
believe we are really going at last. Are we off, Jack?’ she asked
excitedly of Vernon Blythe, who passed them at that moment.
He only gave her a nod and a smile in answer, but the action did not
pass unperceived by Captain Lovell. However, he made no comment on it
then.
‘It’s about time we _were_ off,’ he grumbled; ‘they’ve been three hours
shipping those confounded kegs of gunpowder.’
‘That are to blow us all up,’ said Alice merrily.
As the _Pandora_ moved statelily down the river, a cold wind began
to blow over the water, that drove the ladies to the shelter of the
saloon, and left the gentlemen in possession of the deck and the
smoking-room.
Vernon Blythe had found time more than once that day, in the midst
of his active duties, to glance round the decks in search of Miss
Douglas, but he had seen her nowhere, which, as they were still in
fresh water, seemed rather strange to him. But perhaps she was very
unhappy at leaving home, and could not trust herself in public. Godfrey
Harland, on the other hand, had made himself generally conspicuous by
his attentions to Mrs and Miss Vansittart, and the more Jack saw of
him, the more he disliked him. His handsome face was knitted into a
frown even now, as in the pursuit of his duty he passed Harland leaning
over the bulwarks, and watching the lights of Gravesend gradually
receding from view, as the vessel was towed towards the bend. Could
Vernon Blythe have read the thoughts which were passing through
Harland’s mind at that moment, he would have pitied, as much as he
despised him. For no one is to be pitied more than the man who casts an
honest love on one side, in order to pursue, with unfettered hands,
the phantom Fortune.
He was thinking then of Iris. He had gained his object. The prize
he had unlawfully striven for was in his hand. In a few more hours,
miles of water would stretch between him and his domestic cares and
troubles. Yet he was not elated with his good luck. His last thoughts,
as he saw his country fading from his sight, were given to his deserted
home and wife. What would Iris do when she found he did not return?
Would she inform the police, and would they trace him to the shipping
office? What a fool he was not to have sailed under another name! He
might have thought of some excuse to satisfy the simple Vansittarts,
and put himself for ever out of the clutches of his pursuers. But
it was too late to think of that now. Still he did not believe it
possible that Iris would betray him. She had always been an honest,
generous, stout-hearted little woman, and he had more faith in her
than in himself; but she was passionate and determined, and others
might advise her to take the law into her own hand. How could he
possibly prevent such a catastrophe? Bright thought! The sea pilot
who had come aboard at Gravesend would land at the Start. He would
send a carefully-composed letter to his wife by him, explaining that
on account of being unable to meet some heavy losses at the Newcastle
Meeting, he had been compelled to leave England, and finding Harfleur
was too near for him, was on his way to Spain, under an assumed name,
whence he intended to get across to the Brazils, where he had been
promised employment. This would put her off the idea (if she had any)
of applying to the police for his whereabouts, and he could wind up his
letter with a few vague promises of sending her money as soon as he
landed in Brazil.
That would do capitally, and set his mind completely at rest upon the
matter. There was only one little flaw in the plan, and that was a
vision of the pale face of the girl he had deserted, and which would
rise before him, becoming plainer and plainer as the night fell. There
is good as well as evil in the lives of all of us, and this was a good
moment in the life of Godfrey Harland. There was a time when he had
loved his young wife--with a selfish and worthless affection, it is
true, but still the best his nature was capable of conceiving; and his
conscience raked up the remembrance of this affection, now, with his
own misdeeds. Again and again did the thought of Iris come into his
head, until he felt almost remorseful. He tried to drive the unwelcome
memory away. He left his position and paced the deck with rapid steps,
but his deserted wife seemed to walk beside him. He lit a cheroot and
nearly choked himself with its strong fumes; still some one seemed
to whisper in his ear that he was committing a crime,--that he was a
liar--a coward--everything that was base and cruel,--and that if Iris
died of starvation during his absence, or sold her honour in exchange
for bread, he would be worse--the murderer of both her body and her
soul! And then the same voice seemed to tell him, as if by inspiration,
that he would never return to England,--that some catastrophe would
befall the ship that carried him,--she would be blown up by the powder,
or lost at sea, and he was leaving his wife and his creditors behind
him--_for ever_. The thought made his cheeks grow ghastly pale. It
was a warning--a prophecy! Why should he not save himself from its
fulfilment? There was still time to do so. It was nearly dark; he could
just make out the green light at the end of Southend Pier. The tide was
low. Why not drop overboard and swim? The distance was not a mile, and
he was an excellent swimmer.
But no. He would be seen and picked up, and treated on board as if he
were a lunatic. The Vansittarts would not know what to make of his
conduct, and he might lose all the influence he had gained over them.
The game was too risky. It would certainly not succeed. And if it did,
what would he go back to? Poverty, tears, coldness, and certain arrest.
Pshaw! what a fool he was. What had he been thinking of? His good angel
flew away, and a spirit of a very different type took its place, and
Godfrey Harland was himself again. The soft moment had passed, and it
left him harder than before.
‘What have I to do with others?’ he thought, as he buttoned his coat
across his chest; ‘my business at present is to look after number
one. He wants enough looking after, poor devil, Heaven knows! I am on
the highroad to fortune. Let me direct all my energies to seeing I
keep there. And if things go as I wish them, why I’ll turn my back on
England for evermore, and all my dear friends there may whistle for
me.’ So having arrived at this comfortable decision, Harland crossed
the quarter-deck, and, after swallowing a stiff brandy-and-soda, joined
the other gentlemen at a game of poker.
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