SHIPPING SEAS.
A strong westerly wind coursed the Southern ocean, and gigantic green
waves rolled on all sides of the _Pandora_, sometimes rushing up
against her with pugilistic violence, and depositing tons of water
on her deck. White clouds drifted across the heavens with tremendous
speed, upon a background of cerulean blue. A grey bank, however, that
stretched from aft to the starboard beam, betokened the advent of hail,
or snow, whilst the sun struggled at times to pour his feeble rays
upon the surface of the deep.
The _Pandora_ was running before the gale. Her mainsails and crossjack
were stowed, to permit the foresail to have full play, which bellied
out to such an extent that it pressed tightly against the sheep-skin
chafing-gear on the forestay. The fore-topmast staysail and inner jib,
flapping idly to and fro, might have had the gaskets round them, for
all the good that they were doing, and the smaller sails on the mizen
were furled, to keep the main royal and topgallant sail full, lest she
should take in too much water aft.
The heavy swells made the ship roll violently, often dipping her main
bumpkins into the water, and agitating the compass card to such an
extent that the man at the wheel could not depend on its accuracy, for
ascertaining the true position of the vessel’s head.
At mid-day the sun had risen behind a squall, and Captain Robarts,
after waiting patiently for twenty minutes, with sextant in hand,
carried his instrument below again, and went to luncheon, not, however,
without a growl at the obstructing cloud which prevented his getting
the meridian altitude.
The hour for lunch was gladly welcomed by the passengers that day, for
their appetites had been sharpened by the keen wind, and punctual to
the moment, all were seated in their accustomed places.
Vernon Blythe, arrayed in his long silk oilskin coat and ‘sou’-wester,’
having relieved Mr Coffin, was in charge of the vessel, and the watch
were huddled together round the mainmast, standing by to take his
orders.
As the sky became darker with the squall, large flakes of snow fell
upon the deck, and increased in number, until the _Pandora_ was
enveloped in a blinding sheet of white.
‘It is useless to look at the compass,’ said Vernon Blythe, as he
watched the helmsman trying to clear the face with his mitten. ‘Watch
her head, man, and give her as few spokes as possible.’
The _Pandora’s_ steering-gear was of the latest invention, and a
reliable quartermaster would have found no difficulty in guiding her
on her course. But the man at the helm had been taught to steer by the
compass only, and when the snow covered the glass of the binnacle and
obscured the points, he was utterly at a loss how to proceed, and quite
unfit, in consequence, for the responsible post he held.
When, therefore, the ship ran off her course, he gave her so many
spokes that she came flying to--the weather leeches shivered, the
headsails filled, and she shipped an enormous sea, which thumped upon
the deck right amidships, and ran in a boisterous torrent forward.
Vernon Blythe saw the ship’s mad caperings, and shouted to the
helmsman to put his helm up, before she was broadside on. But he
was too late. The mischief was done. With the backward roll of the
_Pandora_, as she lifted over the swells, the mighty stream of water
flowed aft. The steward, unprepared for such a disaster, had not
shipped the weather board, and the sea poured through the cabin
passage, taking him clean off his legs, and drenching both himself and
a roast turkey, which he was about pompously to place on the saloon
table, with salt water.
The sailors at the main, knowing what to expect when scudding with such
a sea, jumped on the fiferail, and clung to the crossjack braces, thus
saving themselves a ducking.
But the assault was not yet over. Immediately succeeding the first sea,
a second cataract of water leapt over at the main chains, and doubled
the large amount which was already aboard. At this disaster, dismay and
confusion reigned paramount in the saloon. Ladies and gentlemen left
their luncheon alike, as the latter rushed about to see if they could
render any serviceable assistance, and the former, with piteous little
shrieks for help, lifted their petticoats, and jumped on the seats, to
keep their feet out of the water.
‘We are going down!’ cried Mrs Vansittart. ‘Oh, John, I knew no good
would come of our going to England.’
‘Mother!’ screamed Alice Leyton, ‘the sea is filling the ship! Oh,
where is Jack?’
‘Don’t leave me, Godfrey,’ murmured Grace Vansittart, as she clung to
her lover’s shoulders.
‘Ladies, I beg of you not to be alarmed. I can assure you there is not
the slightest danger,’ commenced Captain Robarts; but an accident,
which had its comical as well as its serious side, prevented the
conclusion of his sentence. The benches on which the party had been
seated were made of oak, with broad backs, fastened to the deck on
either side with brass screws. Consequently, when the ladies scrambled
on them, and stood as far back as they possibly could, with their
skirts gathered in their hands, the whole of their weight was thrown
on the supports. The oaken benches were strong, but the fastenings
were not, and the unusual strain drew the screws from their hold,
and caused the entire structure to give way. With piercing screams
and exclamations, clutching at the fiddles and the tablecloths, and
dragging the china and glass on the top of them, the men and women were
precipitated backwards into the stream of water, where they lay in a
confused heap, struggling and spluttering, but unable to extricate
themselves. Their heads were against the doors and partitions of the
private cabins, whilst their bodies rested on the seats of the benches,
which were partly underneath them. The deplorable but ridiculous scene
can better be imagined than described. Rolls, pats of butter, cold
chickens, potatoes, and empty bottles of beer were floating about the
cabin floor, whilst the dish-covers and glasses were mostly in their
laps, or surging against their faces. The men could not move, any more
than their fair companions, and whilst some swore and others sobbed
with fright and humiliation, the cold salt water kept ‘swishing’ over
them all.
Captain Robarts, from his arm-chair of state, viewed the accident as
an everyday occurrence, and awaited its termination with complacency,
not offering the slightest assistance to any one. But Mr Coffin, with
his mouth full of roast goose; and a wicked smile of amusement on his
face, gallantly went to the rescue. Mrs Vansittart was the first saved
from the deluge, with the colour considerably lessened in her honest,
rosy face. Captain Lovell was next hauled out, but he made light of the
affair, and burst into a loud laugh, which was instantly stopped by
the aggrieved and indignant looks of Alice Leyton.
‘How can you laugh in that unfeeling way,’ she said, ‘when I feel
bruised all over? But of course you’re not hurt yourself, and so it
does not signify. Men are the most selfish creatures in the world.’
‘By Jove! it’s spoilt my new suit, though, don’t you know?’ observed Mr
Greenwood, looking the picture of misery, as he examined the state of
his garments.
‘You did your best to burn us out of house and home the other day, Mr
Greenwood,’ said the captain grimly, ‘so you mustn’t be surprised if no
one sympathises with you over a ducking.’
‘_We_ shall be none the worse for it,’ remarked Mr Fowler, shaking
himself like a huge water-dog; ‘it’s the ladies who are to be pitied
for wetting their pretty dresses, and prettier faces.’
But the women did not wait to be condoled with. As soon as they had
regained a normal position, and ascertained there was nothing to be
frightened at in ‘shipping a sea,’ they ran away to their berths to
change their clothes, and recover the shock sustained by their modesty.
In the second cabin the passengers had not escaped a wetting. Plenty
of water had penetrated the hatch, and made their abode damp and
uncomfortable, and it was not until the first dog-watch had commenced,
and the swinging lamps were lit, that they could sit with dry feet in
the general dining-room.
‘My pretty,’ whispered Maggie Greet, as she crept up to Iris’s side for
a moment, ‘you’ll have to keep to your berth this evening, if you don’t
want to have a shindy, for Will says as _he’s_ coming down to play here
with the others.’
‘_Mr Harland?_’ exclaimed Iris, blanching like a lily. ‘Oh, Maggie!
_why_ does he come here? Who asked him?’
‘I don’t know, dear. Not Mr Farrell, you may be sure, for they hate
each other like poison. But Will says he’s been kicked out of every
other cabin. They’re fighting very shy of him upstairs, as well they
may. And he overheard a gentleman asking Mr Harland why he didn’t come
down and play on the lower deck, and he said he’d try it to-night. So
be on your guard, that’s all.’
‘What shall I do?’ said Iris distressfully. ‘If he takes to it as a
custom, he will drive me to take refuge in my berth every evening. I
never thought the saloon passengers would be allowed down here.’
‘Well! I expect, if you want to get rid of him, you’ve only to show
yourself. I believe he’d rather see the devil just now than you. For
_he_ don’t interfere with his wickedness, but _you_ will! It would be
all up with his game with Miss Vansittart, if you told your true name
to the captain! Wouldn’t it, my dear?’
‘And that is what I shall be compelled to do, Maggie, sooner or later.
I cannot stand by and see him commit such a wickedness, and hold myself
guiltless.’
‘Not even if you could have Mr--I mean a better man instead of him,’
insinuated Maggie.
‘No, Maggie! a better man wouldn’t take me on such conditions. But I
don’t want to shame Mr Harland before all the ship, if a more private
means of warning him will have the same effect. I sit sometimes for
hours and try to decide what will be for the best, and I always come to
the same conclusion--that I am one of the most unfortunate women on the
face of the earth.’
‘Never mind, my pretty,’ whispered Maggie consolingly, ‘it’ll all come
right some day. I have doubts about myself sometimes, because I’ve been
a wicked girl, and it don’t seem right as I _should_ be happy. But
I’ve none about you! I can see it as plain as a picture, and if I don’t
live to see it, it will be all the same. You’ll have a good man and a
true, please God, some day, to make up to you for the past!’
And Maggie turned away with a sob.
‘Why, dear Maggie! what’s the matter with you to-night?’
‘Nothing, mistress, only Will’s too good to me sometimes, and makes me
so ashamed of myself. But there now, the gentlemen are beginning to
come down for their game, so I must run away, and you’d better do the
same.’
And so the two women, who owed much of their immunity from discovery to
Will Farrell’s careful look-out on their behalf, kissed each other, and
separated for the night.
The origin of this conversation was, that since the breaking up of the
card-parties in the smoke-room, owing to the loose play of Godfrey
Harland, the deckhouse had been deserted of an evening, and the
gentlemen had betaken themselves elsewhere.
Some played in the spacious berth of the second officers, others
preferred the society of the ladies, and a few were invited to the
second cabin, where smoking was not prohibited, and their less
aristocratic fellow-passengers did their utmost to make them feel at
home.
Many a game at dominoes or whist had been played there lately by the
men from the saloon, who had become so friendly with its rightful
owners that they did not even wait for an invitation. Besides, in many
respects, the second cabin was preferable to the deckhouse. In the
former the steward was always at hand to provide refreshments, whilst
in the latter, if a man wished for anything, he was compelled to go on
deck and find the head steward, which interrupted the game, and annoyed
all concerned.
Since the cardroom had been closed, Godfrey Harland’s time hung heavily
upon his hands. He was not quite so bold and open as he had been in
paying court to Grace Vansittart. He fancied her father and mother
looked somewhat more coolly on him than they had done at first, and
preferred whispering ‘soft nothings’ to her, when they found themselves
alone. So he did not care to be shut up in the state cabin all the
evening, where every look he gave, and word he uttered, was seen,
heard, and commented upon. He was debarred from entering the berth of
Vernon Blythe. An instinctive dislike existed between these two young
men, and made itself apparent every time they met. So the only resource
left to him seemed the second cabin, to which a young fellow of the
name of Pemberton had warmly invited him. Harland knew he should meet
Will Farrell there, but on the whole he thought it advisable he should
meet and make friends with him before they parted company. But he
little thought _how_ much more Farrell knew of him now than he had done
when they last saw each other. Had he done so, he would have known he
had better have entered a cockatrice’s den than the second cabin of the
_Pandora_.
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