CAPTAIN LAYARD
A little later than three weeks from the date on which our friends
had dined together at the Brunswick Hotel, in the East India Docks, a
fine, full-rigged ship was sailing slowly in rhythmic lifts and falls,
as full of sweet grace as the cadence and movement of lovely music,
through the dark blue evening waters of the Atlantic, about two hundred
miles to the southward of the Chops, and the autumn glory of the fast
westering sun clothed her.
She was the well-known clipper ship _York_, bound to Melbourne and to
another port, and she had followed, after four days, another beautiful
vessel which we have inspected--I mean the _Glamis Castle_, bound, as
the _York_ was bound, for the Cape parallels, where their liquid paths
would diverge, one going away east for Cape Leeuwin, and the other
shifting her helm for the Indian Ocean.
The _York_ had made a noble passage down the Channel, driven by a
black, salt, shrieking, easterly breeze that grew into half a gale,
with soft, dark clouds smouldering as they flew. The Channel sea had
the look of flint, and to each foaming _scend_ the ship drove in a
curtsey of fury, as though to the thrust of some mighty hand. She
stormed along under two topgallantsails and single reefs and swelling
fore-course, and a swinging wing or two of jib and staysail until she
was out of soundings in a passage that had the swiftness of steam,
as steam then was; and then the strong breeze fined down, the wind
shifted into the northwest, and behold this clipper of spacious pinions
breaking the dark blue heave at her bows into scintillant lines like
the meteor's thread of light, with every curve of cloth at the leaches,
from head-earing to clew, of a faint pink with the light in the west.
The officer of the watch stood on the weather-side of the quarter-deck
with his eyes fixed upon a distant sail, close hauled and reaching
westwards; but it was evident by the expression of his eyes that his
attention was not with _her_. A single figure at the wheel grasped
the spokes with an occasional movement, and sometimes a glance at the
card of the compass, and sometimes a look at the canvas aloft, which,
swelling out and sinking in, breathed like the breasts of human beings.
The flush deck ran with a fair, white sweep into the "eyes," and you
guessed by the neatness everywhere visible that the vessel owned a
smart chief mate.
The anchors had been stowed. It was the first dog-watch, and a few
of the crew were idling on the forecastle. Presently up through the
companionway, whose steps led into the cabin where the captain and the
two mates lived, rose a little boy of about eight years of age, dressed
as a navy sailor, and his bright gold curls shone to the setting sun
past the round cap which was perched on the back of his head. He was a
beautiful little boy of the purest English type; no arch Irish eye was
ever of a darker blue than his. A drum--not a child's toy, but a real
drum, though a small one--was slung by a lanyard round his neck, and he
clutched the two sticks, whilst he looked at the officer of the watch
with a smile of his red lips, disclosing a row of little milk-white
teeth, and said:
"Mr. Hardy, may I play my drum?"
"Why, yes, Johnny, of course you may," answered Hardy, "and if you'll
beat a smart tattoo the breeze will freshen, for we are wanting legs,
Johnny."
"May I go on the forecastle and beat it?" said Johnny. "The man who has
the whistle will play it whilst I beat."
"Hurrah for 'The Girl I Left Behind Me,'" said Hardy. "Go forward,
little sonny, and beat the music out of the sails, and mind how you go."
Just when the little boy was about to run along the decks an immense,
magnificent Newfoundland dog sprang through the companion-hatch as
though it had missed the little fellow below. The dog instantly saw
the boy, and they sped forward together, the beautiful animal often
bounding to the height of the boy's head in its delight in his company.
The men on the forecastle all looked at them as they came, and those
who walked stood still to watch them coming. The instant the dog was
forward it swept its sagacious, beaming eyes, fuller of intelligence
than many which look out of human faces, round the ocean line, and
when it saw the sail to windward it set up a deep baying bark, a very
organ note, grand in tone as the solemn stroke of a great bell, which,
translated, as clearly signified, "Sail ho!" as the setting of the sun
denotes the coming of night.
"Where away, Sailor?" shouted Hardy from the quarter-deck, and the
seamen laughed out, whilst the dog, after one glance aft, pointed his
noble head in the direction of the ship, and lifting up his nose to
heaven barked deeply twice, which was his English for _starboard_. The
seamen laughed loudly again.
Johnny beat a roll on the drum, and the sailors gathered round him, and
others came springing up through the forescuttle, which is the name of
the little hatch through which you drop into the forecastle or living
room of the crew. The boy beat that drum marvellously well; he made it
rattle as though a regiment marched behind him, and the sails on high
rattled in echo as though several phantom drummers were stationed in
various parts of the rigging.
The dog lay down and watched the boy, and a few of the seamen, one
after another, went up to it and stroked its head.
"Where's the man that's got the whistle?" said Johnny, ceasing to beat.
"Where's Dicky Andrews?" shouted a man, and another, going to the
scuttle, cried down, "Below there! tumble up, Dicky, and bring your
whistle with you; you're wanted on deck."
In a few moments a young ordinary seaman rose through the hatch: he was
slightly curved in the back without being humped, and carried the face
of the hunchback, the corners of his mouth being puckered into a dry
aspect of advanced years, such as may often be observed in people who
are afflicted with spinal complaints. He was red-haired, and his little
eyes were full of humour and as lively as laughter itself, and he wore
the togs of the merchant Jack--dungaree for breeches, an old striped
shirt, a dirty flannel jacket, and a cap without a peak.
"All right, Master Johnny," said he, pulling a fife out of his pocket.
"What shall it be, sir?"
"What shall it be, my lads?" asked Johnny, looking round with his
sweet, delightful smile and arch-blue eyes at the weather-stained faces
of the men, one of whom was a negro, another a Dane, brown as coffee,
two others Dagos, with frizzled hair and silver hoops in their ears;
and these this boy of eight had called "My lads."
"Give us 'The British Grenadiers,'" said a seaman.
"A dog before a soldier," exclaimed the voice of an Irishman. "Give us
'St. Patrick's Day in the Morning,' me dear."
"Hurrah for 'St. Patrick's Day'!" shouted several voices; and Dicky,
putting his fife to his lips, started the most inspiriting air that
ever mortal genius composed. The drum rattled, the sticks throbbed in
the little fists; Dicky began to caper as he played; nearly all the
ship's company were assembled on the forecastle, and many began to
leap about and spring with delight to the music; the dog rose, and in
a stately way ran or waltzed amongst the caper-cutters. That fore-deck
then was a wonderfully animated picture. The arch of the fore-course,
sleepily swelling and sinking, yielded a good sight of the scene to the
quarter-deck. The setting sun painted it into a canvas almost gorgeous
with the streaks of purple fire in the tarry shrouds and backstays, and
in the climbing lines of the well-greased masts; and in the flush on
the breasts of the sails, and in the red stars it kindled in all that
mirrored it.
The fife and drum kept company superbly, and the fine Irish air seemed
to thrill through the ship, and to echo up aloft like some new spring
or spirit of life. The cocks in the coops abaft the galley chimed in
with a constant defying crowing, about as melodious as the noise of a
broken-winded barrel organ. The pigs under the long-boat grunted in
sympathy with sounds which reminded them of the trough and the haystack
and the near village.
Whilst all this harmless sailors' pleasure was going forward on the
ship's forecastle the captain of the vessel came out of the cabin, and
when he stepped upon the deck he stood a moment with his hand resting
upon the companion-hood, looking forward, and listening to the music.
He was a man of about forty-five to fifty years of age, and his name
was William Layard. He scarcely wore the appearance of a sailor. The
lower portion of his face was hidden in hair, which was of a dark
brown, streaked with gray, and his hair was long. His nose was a fine,
well-bred aquiline, his brow square, his eyebrows shaggy, and his dark
eyes burnt with brightness in the shadow cast by their eaves. He wore
a soft black hat, which sat securely upon his head, and was clothed in
a monkey-jacket and blue cloth trousers. No discerning eye but would
have dwelt a little upon him in speculation. His face showed marks of
breeding, but there was something else in him, too, that would have
detained the gaze--a faint, an almost elusive, expression of triumph,
of an inward exaltation, which was almost dissembled, and subtly
revealed in the mouth that so delicately diffused it that only a keen
eye would have witnessed it.
Hardy was making the voyage with him for the first time, and though
they had been together for some days, whilst they had frequently
conversed in the docks, he did not understand him, he had not got in
any way near to him. But, as a gentleman himself, he felt the presence
of the gentleman in Captain Layard, and had picked up from his own
lips that he had been educated at one of the great public schools,
had begun the sea life in the Royal Navy as midshipman, but, for some
reason, left unexplained, had quitted the white for the red flag, and
had been in command five years, after serving, of course, as second
and third mate, always trading to the Australian and New Zealand
ports in ships like the _York_, which did not carry passengers. Hardy
had also gathered that he was a widower, who had married a woman of
good birth, the Honourable Miss ----, no need to name her, by whom
he had the little boy Johnny, who was the darling of his heart, and
who had regularly gone with him to sea, since his wife's death, in
the last four voyages to the Pacific. Our friend Hardy had also made
another discovery: that the captain, even before the start, showed a
disposition to treat him as a companion rather than as a mate. This
was so unusual in sea captains--it is still unusual--that Hardy's
speculations as to Captain Layard's character were considerably
sharpened by it.
The drum and fife ceased on a sudden. The sailors stood about, hot and
amused, and the dog with its tongue out looked eagerly from one face
to another. The ship was still: there was no slopping fall of water
alongside to disturb the calm respirations of the canvas; the captain,
with his hand upon the companion-hood, continued to gaze forward,
and Hardy, standing at the mizzen-rigging, watched him askant. Then,
through the serenity of the breathing, sun-flushed air, all the way
from forward, nearly the whole length of the ship, came the clear high
note of little Johnny's voice:
"Dicky, play 'Sally come up,'" and Dicky, rendered zealous by the
captain's presence on deck, instantly put his fife to his lips. The
drum rattled, the sails reëchoed the jolly air, the feet of the men
began to shake, the dog raced and waltzed in stately measures as
before, the whole forecastle was again in motion, and the ship, with
her taut rigging vibrant with the shrilling of the fife and the roll
of the drum, floated onwards over the long, languid undulations of the
deep, which were scarlet westwards with the splendour of the dying day
that was crumbling toward the sea line in masses of burning light.
Captain Layard stepped across the deck to Mr. Hardy.
"That boy plays the drum with a professional hand," said he. "He got
the art himself, for nobody taught him. It is a good drum--good enough
for soldiers to march to."
"I never heard better drumming, sir," answered Hardy.
"Where did Sailor learn to waltz?" said the captain, and he watched the
dog. "How quickly Johnny has made friends with the crew."
"Any crew of Englishmen would cherish and pet him, and perish for such
a beautiful, manly little fellow," exclaimed Hardy, with enthusiasm and
admiration in his voice.
"He's always kept my crews contented," said Captain Layard, smiling.
"Several men have sailed with me every voyage ever since I took Johnny
to sea, learning that he was coming again."
He looked at the sail to windward that leaned like a black feather in
the crimson air, then glanced over the ship's side to judge her pace,
and stood for some time near Hardy listening to the music and watching
the men dancing. He said, with an abruptness that again surprised Hardy
as it had before even startled him during the run down Channel:
"Have you ever studied the nervous system?"
"No, sir," answered Hardy.
"A man is formed of two sides," continued the captain, "and each side
has a nervous system of its own. They are independent, and strange
things happen in consequence. I remember when I was chief mate of a
ship called the _Tartar_ that I stood aft close to the man at the
wheel, who exclaimed on a sudden, 'I don't know what's wrong with
me, but there's two meanings a-going on in my head.' 'What's that?'
I asked. 'This here side,' said he, lifting his right hand from the
spoke, and putting it to his forehead, 'is a-talking one sense, which
ain't sense, because t'other side's talking in a different way,' and
here he touched his left brow, 'and all's confusion,' and then he began
to mutter to himself. I thought he was ill, and calling another man
to the relief, sent him forward and followed with some brandy, which
put his head to rights. I spoke of this matter to a doctor when I got
ashore, and he explained the dual system of nerves, and told me that
overworked brains would occasionally chatter inconsequentially in each
lobe."
"How shall a man act when his brain comes to a misunderstanding in
that fashion?" asked Hardy, gazing with critical interest at the
captain's refined but singular face.
"_I_ take brandy," replied Captain Layard, sending a glance aloft, then
at the distant sail, then at his little son, who continued to beat in
accompaniment to "Sally come up," whilst the sailors sprang about in
glowing glee, and the scarlet in the west deepened into a rusty red.
"Do you suffer from attacks of the kind, sir?" inquired Hardy.
"To tell you the truth," responded the captain, with a peculiar smile,
keeping his gaze fastened on the forecastle, "I had one just now.
The left side grew importunate in nonsense; the right side was all
right, and quite understood that things were wrong. The trouble was
preceded by a curious beating of the heart in the ear. It sounded as
though a wooden leg was hollowly tramping round the galleries of the
brain--thump, thump, thump! It was like the noise of a wooden leg
coming into a theatre when some actress of genius has stilled the house
into breathlessness by her witchery."
"This man is mad," thought Hardy. "He would never converse with me in
this fashion if his head wasn't in two."
The drum and fife ceased. Johnny, seeing his father, came running
aft, and the Newfoundland trotted by his side. It was four bells,
and the sun vanished as the metal chimes trembled away to sea; the
breeze slightly freshened on a sudden, a sound of foam arose like the
song of a full champagne glass held to the ear; delicate streaks of
white flashed about the ocean breast in the twilight like some milky
wings of sea birds; the ship strained a little aloft and hardened her
breasts, and stars of the east shone upon the dark brow of the soaring
night.
The breeze blew with a little edge, but it was still the dog-watches,
and the sailors, though abruptly deprived of the drum in which they
delighted, started on another dance to Dicky's merry and excellent
whistling.
"Father, Sailor likes dancing," said Johnny.
"All sailors like it," answered the captain, stooping to press his lips
to the child's forehead. "Cut below now, my darling, you and the drum,
and put it away and wait for me. I sha'n't be long, and then we'll go
to supper."
The boy, with the obedience of a man-of-war's man, saluted Hardy
with a flourish of his little fist to his golden curls, ran to the
companionway, and vanished, and the noble Newfoundland vanished with
him.
"There is no weather in the glass," said the captain. "If this breeze
freshens we shall make up for lost time. You'll not spare her, Mr.
Hardy."
"No, sir."
"Those are my orders to the second mate. I want to maintain the
reputation of this ship; the freighters love her. I have no fancy for
steam, but you can _time_ it, and so tacks and sheets are bound to go;
but I'll make a bold fight for old tradition," he cried in a curious
tone of enthusiasm, "and what we can't carry we'll drag."
The second mate had come on deck at four bells, and was pacing to
leeward in the deeper shade that dyed the atmosphere there when
the freshening of the breeze heeled the ship. There was nothing
particularly noticeable in this man, of whom a fair sight could be
caught as he passed through the area of light diffused by the cabin
lamp, which was burning in brilliance under the skylight. He was
pale-faced and fat of cheek, very light eyes, lashes like white silk,
yellow hair, and great ears which stood out in eager bearing as though
they sought to catch everything which was said. He was dressed in blue
serge and a cap, and this was his first voyage in the ship. So the
captain and the two mates were sailing the _York_ for the first time in
their lives.
It was Hardy's watch below; he crossed to the second mate, gave him
the course and so forth, and descended into the cabin. Little Johnny
without his drum was sitting on a locker talking to Sailor, who was
looking lovingly up into his face, and often the bright-haired little
chap glanced at the cabin servant, who was preparing the table for
supper. The _York_ had been built to carry cargo; she was not a
passenger ship, though at a pinch accommodation might have been found
for three or four persons, friends of the owners, say, or people
to whom the next ship sailing with immediate despatch might be a
supreme need. In this age they would probably equip such a vessel
with a deck-house for the master and mates. Her cabin was small
and comfortable, very plain, with a seawardly look that suggested
sturdiness, a very different cabin from the luxurious interior of the
_Glamis Castle_! A few berths stood aft, and these were occupied by the
master and mates, and one was a pantry.
Hardy stopped to speak to Johnny.
"You play your drum splendidly," said he. "But what's the good of a
drum if you're going to be a sailor, sonny?"
"I'll play the drum when the bo'sun plays his whistle," answered
Johnny, manfully. "And it will make the sailors quicker in running up
aloft."
"So it will," answered Hardy, laughing heartily, for the image
submitted by the boy's words tickled his fancy--a bo'sun piping "All
hands!" down the forescuttle, and the captain at the break of the poop
beating thunder out of a drum to hurry the men to the reef-tackles!
He lingered a little to talk to the boy, for it charmed him to look
into the sweet handsome face with its arch eyes; 'twas as gladdening to
his heart as the song of a bird or the scent of a nosegay, and somehow
the child always put tender thoughts of Julia Armstrong into his head
by the sheer charm of his smile. He caressed the Newfoundland whilst
he talked to the little lad, and then went to his cabin to change his
coat and brush his hair for supper, musing over much, but particularly
over his last talk with the captain, who never before in the Channel
or after had spoken so oddly or looked so strangely. "If the man _is_
off his head," he thought, "my responsibilities will be enormous," for
he perfectly understood the position that command confers upon the
shipmaster; he was God Almighty aboard; mad or not mad, his orders must
be obeyed; he could steer the ship to the devil and clap the mates in
irons for interfering, and unless the crew mutinied--which few crews
durst do, knowing how heavily the law presses upon seamen, even though
they are able to justify their actions--they must go on obeying the
master's commands, though the fires of hell should be visible right
ahead past the horizon.
Thus Hardy mused whilst he changed his coat and brushed his hair, and
he also thought of Julia Armstrong, and wondered how she was faring,
and what progress her ship had made.
The _Glamis Castle_ had hauled out of dock five days before the _York_
sailed. She had slept upon the silent stream of the Thames one night,
and early next morning was taken in tow by a tug, which released her
off Dungeness; then with the stateliness of a frigate she broke into
a sunshine of canvas, and, if the wind had prospered her, she should
be some five hundred miles ahead of the _York_. But it was sail, not
steam, and short of the report of a passing ship, no man could have
safely conjectured her situation. But one trick of seamanship Smedley
possessed: he never admitted the existence of a foul wind; he never
sweated his yards fore and aft; he was no lover of the bowline, nor of
the shivering leach. It was always "full and bye" with him, though he
was points off, and thus he made a fair breeze of every head-wind, for
his slants to leeward of his course gave him two feet of sailing to
the one he would have got out of a taut, shuddering luff, and he never
looked over the quarter for leeway.
At half-past six Hardy stepped out of his berth and found supper ready,
and the captain sitting at the head of the table with little Johnny on
his right. You will consider it early for supper, but at sea the last
meal is always called supper, and after this they eat no more in the
cabin. There was plenty, and it was good of its kind: ham, cold fowl,
cold sausage, salt beef, biscuit, cheese, and salt butter. A decanter
of rum glowed deep and rich within reach of the captain's arm. A large
globe lamp sparkled brightly overhead, and the scene was a sea-picture
of hospitality and comfort, sweetened into a tender human character
by the presence of the boy who sat on the right hand of his father.
Sailor, the great dog, lay beside the captain on the deck. He was too
dignified to beg; too well trained to expect. He knew his time would
come, and lay patient in the nobility of his shape.
Hardy sat at the foot of the table. It was the custom in this ship for
the captain and mate to eat together, and when the mate was done he
relieved the deck till the second officer had finished. The captain
gave the little boy a slice of cold chicken and a white biscuit, and
filled his glass with water. The swing trays swayed softly as pendulums
to the delicate heave of the evening waters, the bulkheads creaked,
the rudder jarred as the swell rolled, and you could hear faintly the
jump of the wheel chains to the sharp but swiftly arrested shear of the
tiller.
The captain with his cap off disclosed a lofty but receding brow,
rounding with something of the curve of the egg-shell at the temples,
and his long hair and the growth about his cheeks and chin made him
look more like a poet than a salted skipper. Hardy had taken notice
that he stared at the man he talked to, which is contrary to the notion
that the insane have a wandering eye. But that Captain Layard was not
absolutely right in his mind the young sailor was convinced, as he sat
at the foot of the table cutting himself a plate of beef and ham.
"Captain Pearson made poor passages on the whole, I've understood,"
said Captain Layard, referring to the commander he had replaced. "He
was a very cautious man, furled his royals every second dog-watch, and
would snug his ship down to the first hint in the glass to save calling
all hands."
"I was told he was loved by his crew, sir," answered Hardy. "And he
seems to have been the most humane commander that ever sailed out of
the port of London."
"Well, it is right that sailors should be treated as men," said Layard,
staring at Hardy; "but most of them are fools, they are children, they
don't or can't understand things." He put down his knife and fork,
drew out a handkerchief and wiped the palms of his hands, then poured
a wine-glass of rum into a tumbler, and filling the glass with water
swallowed the ruddy draught.
"Some more biscuit, father," said the child.
An expression of tenderness, even like that which might spring from a
mother's heart, softened the captain's singular and striking face as
he looked at the boy whilst he gave him a biscuit. He stared again at
Hardy.
"Sailors," said he, "don't see things from a right point of view. There
was a seaman who wanted a Blackwall cap to wear at the wheel. To make
it he cut up his go-ashore breeches, and to trim and bind the edges he
cut up a new Dungaree jumper. The cap cost him a pound, but he believed
he had got it for nothing because he had made it himself."
Whilst Hardy was laughing, for the captain told this story in a dry
manner, and with a twinkle of eye that certainly did not hint at
insanity, a voice was heard in the companionway:
"There's a heavy fog rolled down upon us, sir, and it's as thick as
cheese to the ship's sides."
It was the voice of Mr. Candy, the second mate, and a moment after his
step could be heard in the plank overhead as he walked to the bulwark
rail.
The captain sprang up and went on deck; Hardy continued to eat his
supper, and talked to the little boy. It was his watch below, and
he was too old a shell to quit the meal until all hands should be
summoned, which a quiet fog, however dense, topped by a reassuring
barometer, was not very likely to occasion.
The fog, nevertheless, had rolled down quickly through the gloom of
the early night on the gust of the black breeze, still nor'west. Black
it was. Nothing was visible of the ship but a few spokes of light,
like the arrested darting of meteoric fibres spiking from the glass on
the skylight in a fiery arch. When the darkness of the night dyes the
darkness of fog then the universal blackness is so deep that you might
think the solid globe had vanished, and that you hung in the centre of
space, death-dark and silent, moonless and starless, chaotic with dumb
masses of the deep electric dye.
This night the fancy would have been easily inspired by the hush upon
the sea, for the sails floated stirless; there was not wind enough to
brush the salt curve into the expiring hiss of foam, and the invisible
swell so lightly swayed the eclipsed fabric that only now and again
did you catch the sad note of the sea, sobbing along the bends, and
hiddenly passing away into the short wake in sighs and tones of weeping.
"Mr. Candy!" called the captain.
"Sir!" came the answer out of the soft invisibility in which the
bulwarks abreast were buried.
They came together in the spokes of radiance about the skylight.
"Clew up all three royals and furl them. Let go all three topgallant
halliards; the sails may hang. Haul up the mainsail; brail in the
mizzen, and down flying and outer jibs, topmast and topgallant
staysails, but leave the sails unfurled. See that your side-lights
are burning brightly, and bend your sharpest ear over the water for a
noise. Was anything in sight before this smother rolled down?"
"I saw nothing, sir. It was a bit thick before the fog came along, and
then it came in a wall."
The captain went to the side to look over and mark the ship's pace,
and the second mate began to sing out. One watch sufficed. There was
little to do but let go with the drag of the downhauls; and the clews
of the great mainsail rose to the slings to the sound of a few ocean
yelps and a "_Chiliman_" chorus. The men were not to be seen until they
ran up against you. They felt for the ropes, and their footfalls were
like the pattering of dead leaves on a pavement to a sudden air of
wind, strangely threading with the shore-going sound the squeak of the
sheave, the rasp of rope, and the soft scraping of parrel descending
the greased topgallant heights. The side-lights were reported as
burning bravely.
The ship now had little more than steerage way, and the captain, after
looking into the compass, and after repeating his instructions to the
second mate to keep his best ear seawards and on either bow, said he
would send the dog on deck, and returned to the cabin.