IN WHICH IS SET FORTH THE INCONSTANCY OF MAN.
_Hon. Co.’s Ship Orford_, Fonchial[2.01] Harbour, _Dec. ye_ 31_st._
Since despatching my first letter to my Amelia by the hands of the
pilot, I have passed through such an experience as I should not care
to repeat. Ah, my dear, we thought it at school a simple thing to hear
that Britain is an island, but ’tis a fact one learns to appreciate
when it is being fixed in one’s mind by a sea-voyage. For over three
weeks, my dearest friend, was your Sylvia pent up in the narrow
floating prison which is called the ladies’ cabin, enduring, for the
greater part of the time, such protracted torments as she could not
have dreamed the human frame would be able to support. You may smile
to hear that I had willingly relinquished all the future glories of
Bengall, and even the hope of a meeting with my papa, for the sake of
a grave on dry land, where, at least, there would be no more shaking
and tumbling, but had the exchange been offered me, I don’t dare say
that I would not have accepted it gladly. Imagine, my Amelia, your
unfortunate friend confined with four other females in a narrow
chamber lighted only by a ship’s lantern (for the weather was so bad
that the ports, by which is signified the small windows of the vessel,
were forced to be closed), each extended on a wooden shelf about the
size, so I should think, of a coffin. To the sufferings caused by
illness, add the terrors of a storm, when the hatches were battened
down, as they say (this means that heavy coverings were fastened over
the only openings by which light and air can visit the lower decks,
lest they should admit water as well), and the howling of the wind and
roaring of the waves as they dashed over the ship was attempted to be
drowned by the hoarse shouting of the seamen. I’ll assure you that I
never expected to see dry land again, and as I have said, I was glad
to think so. But how, you’ll say, did my companions support the trials
which were so painful to your Sylvia? Truly, my dear, they supported
them with as bad a grace as I did. Miss Hamlin, indeed, never lost her
sprightly humour, and diverted herself, even in the extremity of our
sufferings, by rallying the other ladies on the dangers they
apprehended, but her aunt had no spirit to do more than lie upon her
shelf and groan, which she did in the most moving style. As for the
other two ladies, whose husbands were on board, they seemed to
consider that the bad weather was to be laid to the fault of their
spouses. These unfortunate gentlemen had betaken themselves to their
shelves in the great cabin (as, indeed, had all the male passengers,
with the exception I shall presently mention), and lay there as
miserable as ourselves, but their ladies were persuaded that they were
employing themselves in drinking and playing high with the officers of
the ship, and many were the messages of rebuke sent to them through
the steward. This was a stout fellow, of the most unfeeling temper,
who brought in our broth or tea when the black women that Mrs Hamlin
and the other ladies are taking back to India with them were too ill
to move, and never failed to assure us that we should find ourselves
quite recovered if we would but pluck up courage to put on our clothes
and go on deck.
We did not, as my Amelia will imagine, follow the advice of this
odious person, but when the storm had ceased, and we were able to rest
on our shelves without holding perpetually by the edges, he brought a
message from Mr Fraser, asking if he might have the honour of waiting
upon any of the ladies on deck. Now the Lieutenant, who was the
exception I have mentioned to the general rule of illness among the
gentlemen, had shown great consideration for us poor women during the
storm, coming frequently to the door of the cabin to assure us that
all was well, and had gone so far as to promise that he would bring us
instant warning if any grave danger threatened the vessel, so that I
thought it only civil to make some effort to respond to his
politeness.
“Pray, miss,” I said to Miss Hamlin, “have you any fancy to rise?
Shall we ask the gentleman to attend us both?”
“Why, no, miss,” says she. “’Tis your fellow sends the invitation, not
mine. Pray beg the Lieutenant to inform Mr Ranger that I am dependent
upon his civilities, and that I look to him to attend me on deck
to-morrow.”
“But you would not have me go on deck alone?” I said.
“No, miss, I would have you go with Mr Fraser. Sure the poor man must
be pining for a sight of your face after so long a deprivation of it.”
This sly hint made me so angry that I was about to say I would not go,
but being unwilling to allow Miss Hamlin so much power over me as this
would imply, I made shift to dress myself with infinite trouble
(although I did not attempt to appear in anything but an undress, as
you may imagine), and with my hair huddled into a mob[2.02] under my
capuchin, tottered out into the passage, where I found Mr Fraser
awaiting me. He expressed great concern at my altered looks (for you
may guess that one’s face is not at its best after three weeks of such
misery as we have been enduring), and gave me his hand on deck. There,
while I stood holding to a rail, scarce able to keep my feet, he
devised a seat for me in a corner sheltered from the wind, and having
placed me there covered with a great watch-coat of his own, stood
looking at me very kindly, and asked me how I did? I was so much
overcome by the sudden return to air and daylight that I could hardly
answer him, and perceiving this, he began to point out to me the
different parts of the vessel, and tell me their names. The bales and
cases which had encumbered the deck when I had last seen it were now
removed, and the ship, though her upper works had suffered in places
from the violence of the waves, had a much more spacious and agreeable
air.
“But pray, sir,” said I, when I had recovered my intellects, “tell me
whether you was ever in so terrible a storm in all your life
hitherto?”
“So terrible a storm, madam?” says he, as if surprised. “What storm?”
“Why, the storm that is but just subsided, sir?”
“There was no storm, madam. We met with some dirty weather in the Bay,
but every seaman looks for that.”
“Dirty weather!” said I. “In what way could a storm be worse, sir?”
Before Mr Fraser could answer, a person who had been walking up and
down the deck paused in front of us. He wore a watch-coat and an
oil-skin cover to his hat, and carried a marine glass under his arm.
“So, young gentleman!” he said; “dancing attendance on the ladies,
hey? More likely work for a King’s officer than soiling his hands with
horrid tarry ropes, en’t it? Your servant, madam. Trust a navy
gentleman to know a pretty face when he sees one, but when you get
tired of your present convoy, you hoist signals, and I’ll find you a
fresh consort in no time.”
“Sir,” says Mr Fraser (I was so confounded by this address that I knew
not how to reply), “I would think better of you if you kept your
insults for company in which I could resent ’em on the spot.”
“I vow, sir, you’re right!” cried the stranger, with an oath. “It en’t
pretty behaviour to seek to lower a man in the eyes of a lady he
desires to stand well with, and you show a proper spirit in rebuking
it. Don’t be afraid that I’ll try to cut out the little craft from
under your guns. King’s officer or Company’s, a gentleman should have
his fair chance where the ladies are concerned.”
“Pray, sir,” said I, as this person departed with a very ceremonious
bow, “who is the gentleman, and what’s the meaning of his talk?”
“Why, madam,” says Mr Fraser, “I regret to say that your being in
company with me has exposed you to a share of the ill humour with
which I am regarded on board here.”
“But how have you aroused this gentleman’s resentment, sir?”
“I have the honour to wear the King’s uniform, madam.”
“But is that a cause for subjecting you to insult, sir?”
“Unfortunately, madam, it is--at least among the low-bred persons that
are placed in authority on board such vessels as this. You may not
know that among merchant seamen there’s always a certain jealousy of
us who belong to his Majesty’s service, and they take a pleasure in
gratifying their dislike at the expense of any navy officer that comes
in their way.”
“And this disagreeable humour is entirely unprovoked?” said I. “You,
sir, would entertain no objection to meet the captain of a
merchant-vessel on board of a ship of war?”
“Madam,” says Mr Fraser with great haughtiness, “if such a person were
by any chance to find himself aboard one of his Majesty’s ships, he
would be entirely beneath my notice.”
I was forced to hold my fan before my face to hide a smile, for it
seemed to me that the merchant-captain was not altogether without
cause of complaint, but lest the Lieutenant should think I was
laughing at him, I made haste to say, “I fear, sir, your life has been
but a disagreeable one since we left Deal?”
“Say rather, madam, since we passed Beachy Head, and you went below,”
he replied. (Was it not neatly put, Amelia?) “The worst point in my
situation was that I could do nothing to please. When during the rough
weather I offered my services to help in cutting away the wreck, or
otherwise endeavoured to make myself of use, I was bid by the mate
there not to thrust my nose in where I was not wanted, while if I
stood back, I was cursed for a lazy lubber and a long-legged Scotch
loon, with many other insulting terms.”
“I marvel, sir, that you was able to leave such rudeness unresented,”
I could not help saying, remembering Mr Fraser’s readiness to take
offence at a word while we were at the inn. His face reddened
somewhat.
“I owe my meekness to you, madam. Every captain has supreme authority
on his own ship, but I fear that even that reflection would not have
restrained me had I not remembered that if I gave Mr Wallis occasion
to put me in irons as a mutineer, which he had gladly done, I would
have little hope of being of any service to you afterwards.”
“Indeed, sir,” I said, “I’m happy to have been of use to you.”
At this point the steward came to announce that dinner was served, and
Mr Fraser asked if he might attend me to the cuddy.[2.03] But this I
refused, both because I had no desire to be the only lady at table,
and because I felt little inclination for food, and remaining where I
was, I dined sumptuously on some broth and toasted bread which the
Lieutenant was so obliging as to bring me. I stayed on deck during the
greater part of the afternoon, and the next day Miss Hamlin joined me,
on receiving assurances that Mr Ranger would count it an honour to
hold himself at her service. Since then there has been but one day
when we were forced by rough weather to remain below, and even Mrs
Hamlin and the other ladies are now sufficiently recovered to come on
deck. As for the rest of the gentlemen, they nearly all made their
appearance the day after Mr Ranger, and have done their best to prove
themselves an agreeable set of fellows. The weather is grown
continually hotter. Miss Hamlin and I were not long in exchanging our
capuchins for beaver bonnets and short cloaks, but to-day we have
taken to wearing gipsy hats and India scarves, though it is
mid-winter! But when we reach Bengall, so Mrs Hamlin says, we shall
find that none of the ladies wear either hats or hoods when they ride
abroad, but only lace caps trimmed with ribbons and flowers, as we do
in the evening, and that one don’t need so much as to throw a
handkerchief over one’s shoulders out of doors. Sure either the heat
must be far greater than we can imagine, or the constitution of these
ladies must be extremely hardy.
While I pen these lines to my Amelia, our ship is lying in the Bay of
Fonchial, in the Madeiras, where we remain for a week to take in water
and fresh provisions, and also to give us poor passengers an
opportunity of remembering that there is such a blessed thing as firm
ground. Each morning we visit the land in a boat from the shore, which
is constructed, so Mr Fraser informs me, in a special manner on
account of the force of the waves, and ride up the beach in the oddest
fashion. What do you say to a frame of boards, like the sledges of
which we read in Sweden and Poland, and drawn by oxen? Two or three of
the gentlemen (you’ll guess that the Lieutenant is one) refuse to ride
in this machine, as a slight to their dignity, and prefer to crawl up
the beach in the stifling heat. Arrived in the town, which has many
very genteel houses, we spend some time on the Parade, which is here
called the Praza. To me it recalls memories of the time I spent with
my Amelia at Tunbridge Wells, but the trees here are orange-trees, and
the company, though very polite, is nothing near so elegant as that we
used to watch. Later in the day the gentlemen devise some party of
pleasure, to which they invite the ladies, generally in some garden
near the town, where the time passes agreeably enough, and we return
to the Orford by moonlight.
Yesterday we visited a certain convent, which is considered (why, I
don’t know) to be one of the sights of the place. The appearance of
the nuns, who are nearly all ladies of a discreet age, was vastly
disappointing to the gentlemen, and Mr Ranger declared roundly that
they had certainly immured themselves from necessity rather than
choice. These religious persons occupy their leisure in making small
articles, such as cockades and sword-knots, of silk and gold thread,
which they are permitted to sell to visitors, passing them through the
double grating by means of a cleft stick. Among these toys was a
handsome fan-girdle, which I coveted for my Amelia, very neatly made
with tassels, but my purse refused to allow me the pleasure of
purchasing it. I had contented myself with a plainer sort, which I
handed to Mr Fraser to carry for me, but when we sat down under the
trees on the Parade to look over our purchases, what was my surprise
when he presented me with the girdle I had first admired! Assuring the
Lieutenant that there was some mistake, he told me that ’twas not so,
but he had made bold to secure for me the article I desired. ’Twas a
civil thought, was it not? and I could have found it in my heart to
wish it were possible to accept the poor man’s courtesy, but I desired
him very seriously to restore me my own property. He was very highly
offended, but I persisted in my demand, with which at last he
complied, though with an excessively bad grace. The plain girdle I am
sending to my dearest friend with this letter. I could wish it had
been t’other, but I know my Amelia Turnor will prefer a smaller gift
to a greater purchased at the sacrifice of her Sylvia’s punctilio.
_At Mynheer Brouncker’s House_, Cape Town, _April ye_ 8_th_, 1755.
Behold me now, my dear, with the half part of my journey passed,
spending with delight a few days on shore in Holland--yet at the
furthest extremity of the African continent. This is a sweet pretty
place, the houses flat-roofed, and painted white or some bright
colour, and the streets prodigiously regular and crossing one another
at right angles with the most surprising neatness, and in the middle
of the town a fine handsome square. Along each street are planted rows
of trees, vastly symmetrical, and beside them are water-courses or
small canals fed from springs, which are very agreeable for their
coolness. This house (belonging to a private person who, like most of
the better sort here, is glad to lodge and board us English for a
rix-dollar a-day apiece, so that the sight of a British vessel
entering the harbour is hailed with the most extravagant
demonstrations of joy), though not what we in England should count
luxurious, is almost incredible in its cleanliness, all the
chamber-maids and servants being blacks. These people are called
Hottentots, and the Dutch _boors_, which seems not to be understood
here as a term of contempt. Our windows command a charming prospect of
the great mountain overlooking the town, which from its flatness is
called the Table. At times one sees the clouds descend and spread
themselves upon its summit, and this, Mr Fraser tells me, is called by
seamen, “the devil laying his table-cloth.” Seamen are droll
creatures, en’t they, Amelia? And this reminds me to say that
Messieurs Fraser and Ranger, with several other gentlemen from the
Orford, are lodged in the same house as ourselves.
But you’ll demand some account of our voyage since I last put pen to
paper in the Madeiras. Alas, my Amelia, your Sylvia is a sad lazy
girl! And yet, how could it engage your interest to hear that for so
many days we lay becalmed off the coasts of Guinea, and at other times
met baffling winds that threw us out of our course, and on a very few
occasions found ourselves making good progress with the aid of a
favouring breeze? or that we touched at Ascension Island, and waited
there while the seamen catched twenty great turtles for us to take on
board--horrid sprawling creatures, and their fat _green_ when it is
cooked? But all these delays, you’ll say, afforded me only the more
time for writing to you. True, my dear, but what should be the
subject? My beloved girl knows that I love her, and to waste paper in
repeating assurances of that would be to outdo even a lover’s folly.
When the history of one day is told, you have ’em all. Know then that
the mornings have been spent seated under the awning on deck, we
ladies with our embroidery at hand, to give us a decent semblance of
industry, but really occupied in watching for distant sails, or the
sight of land, or flying-fishes, or a change of wind, or any of the
important nothings that appear of so much moment to the traveller on
board ship. The gentlemen, meanwhile, busy themselves in fishing for
creatures with such odd names as albacores, bonitoes, and doradoes,
catching the smaller ones with hooks and lines, and the larger with
fish-gigs or harpoons, in the casting of which Mr Fraser is
particularly skilful. There are also many birds which venture near
enough to the vessel to be caught, as albatrosses (but these the
seamen protect, through some sentiment of superstition), tropic-birds,
which are about the size of a hawk, with one extravagantly long
feather in the tail, and booties and noddies, whose names (so Mr
Fraser says, but I’m sure I can’t see how) express their natural
foolishness. The afternoon is passed like the morning, unless one of
the gentlemen be so obliging as to deprive himself of the excitement
of fishing in order to read aloud to us females as we work. Then comes
the evening, when there’s really nothing in the world to do (owing to
the dimness of the lights provided for us below), but remain on deck
and watch the sea, which indeed shows the strangest and most
extraordinary fiery ripples and waves, unless the captain think fit to
call up one of the seamen that plays the fiddle, and bid us set to for
a dance. But this is rarely more than once a-week, and we call such
occasions our assembly nights, when we dress ourselves with more
attention than at other times, and the gentlemen wear their wigs, or
have their hair curled and powdered.
But in general, as I have said, there’s nothing to do but talk, and I
can’t pretend that the style of the conversation is altogether as
ceremonious as the venerable Mrs Eustacia would desire. For instead of
the ladies all sitting in a circle, with the gentlemen standing behind
their chairs, and each endeavouring to contribute some piece of wit or
information for the advantage of all, the passengers seem naturally to
divide themselves into small groups, often, I must confess, containing
as few as two persons. At least, this is my experience. Nay, I’ll go
so far as to say (for I see my Amelia’s eyes asking the question),
that I am not much in the habit of changing my companion on these
occasions. ’Tis very seldom that my cavalier is not Mr Fraser, and
this not only because I find his discourse always modest and
agreeable, but because I am in continual alarm lest he should involve
himself in some quarrel when he is not with me. You may have observed
that this gentleman is of a somewhat fiery temper, and since the
officers of the ship continue to treat him in the same offensive
manner as I have already described to you, I am kept in a perpetual
fear. Not that he is altogether without self-command, as I remarked
one day when I looked to him to take the part of one of the crew who
was knocked down and kicked by the second mate. These unfortunate
seamen, who are kidnapped or inveigled by the Hon. Co. on board of
their ships, and there forced to serve without hope of release, are
handled with the most shocking barbarity by those in authority, and
sometimes injured in a horrible manner. Knowing that Mr Fraser, as he
had told me, had learned from his former commander, Mr Watson, to
behave with justice and humanity to those serving under him,[2.04] I
was not surprised to see him step forward with his hand raised, as
though about to lay the wretch on the deck by the side of his victim.
But dropping his hand and returning to my side, he said, in answer to
my mute expostulation, “Pray, madam, pardon my disobliging you, but I
have learnt by this time that my interference on behalf of these poor
wretches only serves to ensure them a worse treatment, if not the
being placed in irons forthwith.”
Pleased with this care of his for the unfortunate seamen, I ceased to
expect Mr Fraser to interpose himself on such occasions, and you may
imagine that I take none the less pleasure in conversing with him. He
has told me that he is the third son of a Scots gentleman of quality,
who was granted the confiscated estate of a cousin that was a rebel in
consideration of his services to the Government in the affair of the
’15, services which he repeated in the rebellion nine years ago, but
for which, as I understand, no recompense has as yet been awarded him.
You’ll be surprised to hear that a son of the cousin who was thus
dispossessed is serving in the Company’s army at Bengall, and that Mr
Fraser declares it his purpose to seek him out if he can obtain leave
to visit Calcutta. This seems to me conduct scarce to be expected from
a delicate mind, but Mr Fraser laughed when I hinted as much.
“Any port in a storm,” says he; “and after all, madam, blood is
thicker than water.”
_Hon. Co.’s Ship Orford_, Madrass Road, _Aug. ye_ 20_th._
I must be content to permit my Amelia to scold me as she will, for not
only have I allowed a long time to pass without adding to my bulky
pacquet, but I confess freely that I had not sat down to write to-day
had I been able to find anything else to do. In fine, my dear, I have
the vapours very badly, and know not whether it be more disagreeable
to look forward to arriving at Bengall or to look back upon our
voyage. But how? why? what? you’ll cry; I can see you trembling with
eagerness to unfold this puzzle. Must I acknowledge that I have felt
tempted to allow my letter to end with that part I writ at the Cape,
and to shroud in oblivion all that has happened since? But I picture
my Amelia reading the long sheets through with a face full of
suspicion. “What’s this?” she cries; “Mr Fraser here, Mr Fraser there,
and again Mr Fraser, and all at once he disappears as though he had
never been!” I could not resolve to sacrifice the pages wrote at so
much trouble, and telling, moreover, of such quiet happiness as I
can’t look to see again; but be sure, my dearest friend, that nothing
but the memory of the dreadful compact by which I bound myself to my
Amelia, promising never to conceal from her any point soever, even the
most intricate or delicate, of any transaction in which I should
chance to engage, would lead me to disclose even to you the history of
the past two months. I see you, when you read this, shake your head
wisely, and cry, “Ah, I knew it--the old story, a devoted lover, a
dutiful daughter, a hated elderly suitor in the background. Sure
there’s nothing new nor strange here!” By no means, Amelia, but wait
until you hear what I have to say.
After leaving the Cape of Good Hope, everything continued in the same
agreeable course as before until we were past the island of St
Johanne.[2.05] We had taken in water early in the day, and weighed
anchor in good time, in order to avoid the dangerous reefs guarding
the harbour, and in the evening we were sailing on an agreeable breeze
which was sufficient to fill the sails, without making the ship heel
over. (Pardon these nautical terms, my dear. They will come to my pen,
even now.) Mr Fraser and I were sitting near the binnacle (which is an
odd sort of stand on which the mariner’s compass is placed), and the
Lieutenant was reckoning out very seriously how much time must elapse
before he might decently ask for leave to visit his cousin at
Calcutta, supposing that he found his ship in harbour when we arrived
at Madrass, and was permitted to rejoin her. Having satisfied (or
perhaps I should rather say dissatisfied) himself on this head, he
asked whether he might have the honour of paying his respects to me at
my papa’s house. To this I could say nothing but that it wasn’t for me
to dictate to Mr Freyne what persons he should repulse from his doors;
but Mr Fraser, seeming not to be content with this, seized my hand
suddenly, and was vastly urgent with me to say whether it would cause
me any pleasure should he come. The more warmly he demanded an answer,
the more rigidly I refused one (for you know one can’t always yield to
these fellows, my dear; their conceit is already so enormous), and he
was going on to denounce me as a cruel coquette that lived but to
torment him, when Miss Hamlin, who had been sitting upon the steps of
the poop, drew near with Mr Ranger. I won’t deny that I considered her
coming unnecessary, but I had no heart to think of that when once she
began to speak.
“You was assisting Mr Fraser to reckon up the time that must pass
before he visits Bengall, miss, was you not?” said she. “Now I would
prophesy that the gentleman will arrive in Calcutta just in time for
the wedding-day of the lovely and accomplished daughter of Henry
Freyne, Esq.”
I would have given worlds not to blush, my Amelia; but the words were
accompanied with so provoking and malicious a glance that I felt the
traitorous red rise all over my face and neck. Miss Hamlin, marking
it, smiled, and addressed herself to Mr Fraser.
“I fear, sir,” she said, “that Miss Freyne han’t exhibited to you the
full merit of her conduct in undertaking this voyage to the Indies.
You must know that she and I are not bent upon seeking pleasure for
ourselves, but on laying out what my aunt Hamlin calls our fortunes to
the best advantage. Our parents (or guardians) intend--and we are
fully determined to second their efforts--to marry us to a couple of
frightful old Nabobs, each with a face as yellow as his guineas, and a
liver as large as his money-bags. Now pray, miss,” turning suddenly to
me, “shriek out and fall into a fit at the indelicacy of my language;
pray do!”
I was ready enough to faint, though not for that reason; but meeting
her eye, I forced a smile, and she went on:--
“Sure you don’t know, sir, that Miss Freyne is of so provident a
constitution that she has even brought her wedding clothes with her,
like myself. Her wedding-suit is of silver tissue, and the dear
creature has embroidered it with her own fair hands in wreaths of
violets. Thus, you see, her native modesty exhibits itself in a
transaction against which both her heart and her punctilio must
revolt. Now my gown is of a light pink, worked so stiff (but not by my
fingers, oh no!) with gold flowers that it would stand up of itself.”
“Pray, miss, how will these clothes interest Mr Fraser?” I asked,
though I felt as if my lips and throat were parched with thirst.
“You should allow the gentleman to declare his want of interest for
himself, miss. Shall we see you as bride-man at that wedding, sir? I
would claim you as my partner if I were to be bride-maid; but Miss
Freyne and I are resolved to deny ourselves that pleasure, since both
could not enjoy it, and neither of us would be favoured at the expense
of the other, and therefore we are to be married on the same day. You
look pale, Mr Fraser. I fear I have wearied you. Perhaps, after all,
you won’t be at the wedding? But you will--you must--be present when
the happy pair first show themselves in church on the Sunday after.
’Twill be a sight not to be missed. Pray figure to yourself the
fortunate spouse--shall we call him Mr Solmes, miss?--in his new laced
clothes, making him look yellower than ever, handing in his lady, in
the largest hoop and the richest lace and the finest diamonds in
Calcutta! And Madam will pretend to hide her blushes with a fan
painted all over with cupids, while the entire time she will be
watching through the sticks to see what effect her clothes are
producing on the other ladies of the congregation. Did you speak,
miss?”
I think I had cried out to her to stop. I know I tried to rise, but
she put her hand on my shoulder and kept me down. “Hold your tongue,
miss,” she said in a whisper; “if you have to endure it, what harm can
there be in speaking of it beforehand?”
I sat down again, but I had dropped my fan, and Mr Fraser restored it
to me. His hand as it touched mine was cold, and he moved further away
from me before he spoke, with difficulty, as it seemed to me.
“Sure, madam,” he said, “the friends of a lady of Miss Freyne’s high
merits need have no fear as to her future course. If she’ll follow the
dictates of her own heart, they will be found to be those of reason
and virtue.”
“By no means, sir,” says Miss Hamlin, quickly. “The dictates of reason
and virtue will be found to be those of Miss Freyne’s papa. Sure you
are forgetting, as was pointed out to Miss Freyne and me before we
embarked on this adventure, the huge sums of money which have been
spent on our education, and which must be proved to have been put out
at good interest. No, no, sir; we have the sad history of the divine
Clarissa to warn us of the fate of an undutiful daughter, even though
she behave so from the highest motives. The Lovelaces don’t have it
all their own way nowadays. Miss Freyne will marry her Solmes, and
with the air of a martyr will feel that she has done her duty.”
She laughed again, and beckoning to Mr Ranger with her fan, tripped
away. I would have accompanied her, if I had found strength to rise. I
seemed so strangely tired, Amelia. But Mr Fraser, who had been leaning
against the mast, turned suddenly towards me, and said hastily, though
with some measure of hesitation, like a man who takes a resolution at
the moment--
“I would not, madam, have presumed to touch on such delicate matters
as Miss Hamlin has thought fit to introduce; but since that has been
done, I’ll make bold to enlist your sympathy on behalf of a lady who
is in a like case with yourself--that is, she is the daughter of
wealthy parents at Bengall, who will, questionless, desire to make up
a good marriage for her.”
I felt myself grow cold all over, though I had thought I was cold
already. “You--you cherish an interest in this lady, sir?”
“Madam, I adore her. My whole life and endeavour--saving only my duty
to his Majesty--had gone to make her happy, if she would have
permitted it.”
“And she refuses to accept of your devotion, sir? But in what way can
I assist you? Is it likely I shall meet the lady?”
“I imagine you’ll often be in company with her, madam.”
“And what is her name, sir?”
“Her surname, madam, I think ’twould be scarce delicate in me to
reveal, even to a lady of your discernment. Her given name I don’t
know, but to me she’ll always be the peerless Araminta.”
“But how am I to plead your cause with her, sir, if you won’t tell me
her name?” I may have laughed, Amelia, but I felt as though I had died
an hour ago.
“I’ll hope to plead my own cause, madam, when I make that journey to
Calcutta to visit my cousin of which we have been talking. I was
rather desirous to engage your help for myself, and during the
remainder of our voyage here. I can’t help, madam, being conscious
that I am a sadly rough and clumsy creature to pretend to the hand of
so fine a lady as my Araminta, and you have shown me so much kindness
that I would venture to ask you to assist me in rendering myself less
unfit to approach her.”
“I hope you’ll command me, sir.” I could not help being struck with
the oddity of the notion, and the coolness of the young gentleman,
even at such a moment.
“Why, madam, if you’d be so good, I would entreat you to take--in so
far as may be--the part of my Araminta, so long as our voyage lasts.
She is still unaware of my passion, but I understand there’s many ways
in which a lover may recommend himself to the object of his respectful
adoration, even before he presume to declare his devotion by word of
mouth. If Miss Freyne would condescend to suffer my awkward attempts
to serve her, and would do me the favour of suggesting any improvement
in my carriage that she might think called for, ’twould set my mind
more at ease when I come at last to face the lovely and awful presence
of my charmer. Am I asking too much, madam?”
“Why, no, sir; only it seems to me I have been doing what you ask all
the voyage already.”
“Precisely, madam. It did not strike me until to-night that perhaps I
ought to have revealed to you earlier the existence of my Araminta.”
“Indeed, sir, I don’t desire to pry into your private concerns.” I
spoke with much severity, but seeing the Lieutenant’s visage fall, I
called up a smile, and giving him my hand, promised heartily to render
him all the service in my power. Could I have said less, Amelia? Had I
displayed any reluctance to oblige him, he might have thought--well,
who can tell what the fellow might have thought?
Going below to the ladies’ cabin, I found Miss Hamlin there alone. She
came to meet me with a face full of curiosity.
“Well, miss, and don’t you hate me now?” she said.
“Why should I hate you, miss? You desired to spoil the pleasure you
saw me take in Mr Fraser’s company, and you’ve done it, but it don’t
advantage you in any way that I can see.”
“You don’t add that you yourself gave me permission to do it if I
found it necessary, miss, but you did. I was sorry that I had no time
to prepare you, but I saw that if I waited any longer Fraser would
have declared his passion, and laid his heart at your feet.”
“Indeed, miss, you was mistaken, then. Mr Fraser worships at the
shrine of another lady.”
“Impossible, miss! Who has put such a notion into your head?”
“Mr Fraser himself, miss;” I told her what he had said.
“It sounds likely enough,” she said, “but I must question him. If it
be true, I shall recommend to the other lady to look after him better.
There’s just the possibility----” she shook her head and looked wise.
“But pray, miss, where did you get that book?” She pointed to the
first volume of Mr Henry Fielding’s ‘History of Amelia,’ which I had
seen Mr Fraser reading, and had taken up from the table of the cuddy
as I passed. “Have you read much of it?”
“Only the first chapter,” I said. “I was charmed by the title, which
recalled to me my dear Miss Turnor.”
She said no more, but after she had left the cabin again I missed the
book. When she returned, I had climbed to my shelf, and was, I fear,
feigning sleep, but she came and whispered to me--
“I have asked your Fraser about the divine Araminta, and he confesses
to the truth. But such a sweet pretty name! Why did you not tell it
me, miss? And how do you like the thought of playing Araminta to
Araminta’s humble adorer? ’Twill be as good as a play for us who look
on.”
With that she left me, and I won’t grieve my Amelia’s tender heart by
telling her how I spent the hours of that night. But I must close this
huge letter, and tell you more of my misfortunes in the next.