MORITURI TE SALUTANT.
It is a clear breezy night, out in the midst of the Atlantic, the mighty
steam-ship _Panama_ ploughs her way through the long, sullen "rollers,"
steadily, and calmly, strongly, as if conscious of her trust, and of her
ability to discharge it--the safe carriage of three hundred lives. A few
wakeful passengers still linger on deck; amongst them is Alan Wyverne;
the restless demon, ever at his elbow, has driven him abroad again, to
see what sport may be found on the great Western prairies.
Suddenly there is a trampling of hurrying feet between decks, and a
sailor rushes up the companion and whispers to the officer of the
watch, who descends with a scared face; in five minutes more a
terrible cry rings from stem to stern, waking the soundest sleeper
aboard--"Fire!--Fire!"
Can you form any idea of the horror and confusion that ensue, when
hundreds of human creatures wake from perfect security, to find
themselves face to face with death? I think not. No one can realize the
scene, except those few who have witnessed it once, and who see it in
their dreams till they die. No man alive can say for certain if his
nerve will stand such a shock, and the bravest may well be proud, if he
emerges from such an ordeal without betraying shameful weakness. I speak
of a mixed and undisciplined crowd--not of trained soldiers; we have
more than one proof of what _these_ can do and endure. I think, that
those who died at Thermopylae were less worthy of the crown of valour,
than the troopers who formed upon deck and stood steady in their ranks,
till every woman and child was safe in the boats, and till the
_Birkenhead_ went down under their feet.
Nevertheless, at such emergencies, a few are always found who single
themselves out from the rest, as if determined to prove what daring and
devotion manhood can display at extremity. First and foremost among
these, on this occasion, was Alan Wyverne. He never lost his presence of
mind for an instant. Yet he had accidentally become possessed of a
secret that few on board had any idea of. English powder was at a high
premium in America, just then; and the captain had shipped, at his own
private risk, and against his orders, enough to blow all the fore part
of the vessel to shivers. Alan reached his cabin before the first upward
rush came, and made his preparations deliberately. They were very short
and simple. He opened a certain steel casket and took out a packet and a
miniature, which he secured in his breast; then passing his arm through
the port-hole, he dropped the casket into-the sea; a sharp pang of pain
flitted across his face as he did so, but he never hesitated; that one
fact told plainly enough his opinion of the crisis. Then he buckled
round his waist a broad leather belt, from which, among other
instruments, hung a long sheathed hunting-knife; he put some biscuits
and cakes of portable soup, and a large flask of brandy, into the
pockets of a thick boat-cloak, which he threw over his arm; then, after
casting round a keen hurried glance, as if to assure himself he had
forgotten nothing, he left the cabin, and with some difficulty made his
way on deck.
It was a ghastly chaos of tumult and terror--a babel of shouts, and
cries, and groans, and orders to which no one gave heed, while over all
arose the roar and hiss of escaping steam, for they had stopped the
engines at the first alarm, and the _Panama_ lay in the trough of the
sea--a huge helpless log; though the weather was by no means rough, the
"rollers" never quite subside out there in mid-ocean. The flames
beginning to burst out of one of the fore hatchways, threw a weird,
fantastic glare on half-dressed, struggling figures, and on white faces
convulsed with eagerness or fear; and all the while the clear autumn
moon looked down serenely indifferent to human suffering; even so, she
looked down on Adam's agony, on the night that followed the Fall.
Personal terror and the consciousness of guilt, had made the captain
utterly helpless already; but the chief-officer was a cool-headed
Scotchman, a thorough seaman, and as brave as Bayard; he was exerting
himself to the utmost, backed by a few sailors and passengers, to keep
the gangway clear, so as to lower the boats regularly. In spite of their
efforts, the first sank almost as soon as she touched the water, stove
in against the side through the slipping or breaking of a "fall." At
last they did get the launch fairly afloat, and were equally successful
with the two remaining cutters.
There was manhood and generosity enough in the crowd to allow most of
the women and children to be lowered without interference; but soon it
became terribly evident that fully a third of those on board must be
left behind, from absolute want of boat-room. Then the real, selfish
struggle began, some of the sailors setting the example, and all order
and authority was at an end. As Alan stood in the background, a man came
up behind him and touched his arm, without speaking. It was Jock
Ellison, whose father and grand-father had been keepers before him at
the Abbey; he had accompanied Wyverne through Africa and India; his
constitution and strength seemed climate-proof, no peril disturbed his
cheerful equanimity, and he would have laid down his life to serve his
master any day, as the merest matter of duty.
It did Alan good to see the handsome, honest, northern face, and the
bright, bold, blue eyes close to his shoulder. He smiled as he spoke.
"We're in a bad mess, Jock, I fear. Keep near me, whatever happens.
You've always done that so far, and we've always pulled through."
The stout henchman was slow of speech as he was ready of hand. Before he
could reply, Wyverne's attention was called elsewhere.
A few steps from where they were standing, a pale, sickly-looking woman
sat alone, leaning against the bulwarks. She felt she was too weak to
force a passage through the crowd, so she had sunk down there, hopeless
and helpless. She kept trying to hush the wailing of her frightened
child, though the big, heavy tears were rolling fast down her own
cheeks, moaning low at intervals, always the same words--"Ah! Willie,
Willie!" It was her husband's name, and the poor creature was thinking
how hard he had been slaving these three years to make a home for her
and "Minnie" out there in the West, and how he had been living on crusts
to save their passage money--only to bring them to _this_. Alan had been
attracted by the pair soon after he came on board, they seemed so very
lonely and defenceless and so wonderfully fond of each other. He had
been kind to them on several occasions, and had made great friends with
"Minnie," a pretty timid, fragile child of five or six years.
He went up now, and laid his hand gently on the mother's shoulder.
"Don't lose heart," he said, "but trust to me. You shall meet your
husband yet, please God. You will be almost safe when you are once in a
boat. The sea is not rough, and you are certain to be picked up by some
vessel before many hours are over. The only difficulty is to get to your
place. We'll manage that for you. Don't be frightened if you hear an
angry word or two. I can carry Minnie on one arm easily; let me put the
other round you; and wrap yourself in this boat-cloak--there's enough in
the pockets to feed you for days at a strait, and it will keep you both
warm."
He hardly noticed her gratitude, but whispered a word or two to Jock
Ellison, and moved steadily towards the gangway with both his charges.
The gigantic Dalesman kept close to his master's shoulder, rather in his
front, cleaving the crowd asunder with his mighty shoulders, utterly
regardless of threat or prayer. Some of the better sort, too, when they
saw the white, delicate woman, and the little child nestling close to
Alan's breast, till her golden hair mingled with his black beard,
yielded room, not unwillingly, muttering--"Let _them_ pass, at all
events: there's time enough yet." So, Wyverne had nearly reached the
gangway, when a haggard, wild-looking man thrust himself violently
forward, evidently determined to be the next to descend.
"You shall have the next turn," Alan said firmly. "Let these two go
first; you see how helpless they are. They are not strong enough to
fight their own battles."
The other turned upon him furiously.
"Who the ---- are you, that give orders here?" he screamed. "I've as much
right to my life as the woman or any of you. I'll have my turn in spite
of you all;" and he began to open a clasp-knife.
Alan's face grew very dark and stern.
"I haven't time to argue," he said; "stand clear, or take the
consequences."
His adversary sprang at him without another word. Wyverne's arms were so
encumbered that he was perfectly defenceless; but just then Jock
Ellison's hand came out of his breast, grasping a ponderous revolver by
the barrel: the steel-bound butt crashed down full on the man's bare
head, and he dropped where he stood, without even staggering. The crowd
drew back instinctively; before they closed in again the mother was safe
in the boat. Even in her agony of terror she found time to kiss Alan's
hand, crying "that God would reward him." In truth he _was_ rewarded,
and that soon.
It was strange--considering their brief acquaintance--to see how the
poor child clung to her protector, and how loth she was to leave him,
even to follow her mother; it almost needed force to make the thin white
arms unloose their clasp of his neck. Young as she was then, "Minnie"
will be a woman before she forgets the kind grave face that leant over
her, and the soft voice that said, "Good-bye, little one," as Wyverne
let her go.
He was turning away, when the man that grovelled at his foot began to
stir and moan.
"It's hard on him, too, poor devil!" some one grumbled in the
background; "his wife is in the boat; she's five months gone with child,
and she'll have to starve if she ever gets to land."
Wyverne stooped down and lifted up his late adversary as tenderly as he
had supported the woman.
"Hold up for a minute," he whispered. "You brought the blow on yourself;
but I promised you should have the next turn. Your wife has hardly
missed you yet. And take care of this: it may help you some day."
He drew a note-case from his pocket as he spoke, and thrust it into the
other's breast: no one attempted to interfere as he put the guiding
ropes round the half insensible body, and passed it carefully over the
ship's side. One determined mind will cow a crowd at most times; and
remember, there were two to the fore, just then.
"He has _my_ place," Alan said, simply--as if that were the best answer
to any objections or murmurs; and then he made his way back again to the
clear part of the deck, his trusty henchman following him still.
The dreadful struggle was over at last; the boats, fully freighted, had
pushed off, and lay at a safe distance; those who were left on board
knew that they had only to trust now to their own resources, or to a
miracle, or to the mercy of Providence. There was scarcely any wind, and
what there was blew in a favourable direction, so that little of the
smoke or flame came aft.
Suddenly Wyverne turned to his companion, who sat near him, apparently
quite cheerful and composed--
"You had better look to yourself, Jock. She won't hold together another
quarter of an hour. It's no distance to swim, and they may take you into
a boat still, if you try it. You've as good a right to a place as any
one now the women are gone."
The Dalesman's broad breast heaved indignantly, and there was a sob in
his voice as he replied.
"I'll do your bidding to the last, Sir Alan; but you'll never have the
heart to make me leave you. I haven't deserved it."
Wyverne knew better than to press the point.
"Shake hands then, old comrade," he said, with a smile on his lip.
"You've served me well enough to have your own way for once. I fancy you
have few heavy sins to repent of, but you had better make your peace
with God quickly; our minutes are numbered."
Just then a boat ranged up close under the ship's quarter, and a
smothered voice called on Wyverne by name. It was the chief officer's,
who had determined to make this last effort to save him.
"Let yourself down, Sir Alan, there are ropes enough about, or drop over
the side. We'll take _you_ in; you have well deserved it."
He never hesitated an instant--he withstood stronger temptations in his
time--but leant over the side and answered, in his own firm, clear
tones,
"Thanks, a thousand times; but get back out of danger instantly. It is
useless waiting for me; I don't stir. I have given up my place already,
and no power on earth would make me take another man's. If a ship comes
near, we may all be saved yet; if not, we know the worst, and I hope we
know how to meet it."
When the cutter had pushed off, Wyverne sat down again, burying his face
in his hands, and remained so for some minutes. Suddenly he looked up,
and drew the miniature out of his breast, gazing on it steadfastly and
long, with a love and tenderness that no words can express, and a
happiness so intense that it savoured of triumph. One of the survivors
who chanced to be watching him (unconscious of the catastrophe being so
near) said afterwards that a strange light shone out Alan's face during
those few seconds--a light that came neither from moon nor fire, but as
it were from _within_--a light, perchance, such as saints may, one day,
see on the faces of angels.
"Helen--darling Helen," he murmured, "I always thought and hoped and
prayed that I had acted rightly; but I never knew it till now."
He pressed the picture to his lips, and kissed it twice or thrice
fervently. Let us hope that in that impulse there mingled nothing of
sinful passion; for it was the last of Alan Wyverne's life.
In a moment there came an awful smothered roar--a crash of rending
timbers and riven metal--all the fore-part of the vessel seemed to melt
away, scattered over air and water in a torrent of smoke and flame; the
after-part shook convulsively through every joint and seam, and then,
with one headlong plunge, went down, like a wounded whale "sounding."
Some half-dozen strong swimmers emerged alive from the horrible vortex,
and all these were saved. Brave Jock Ellison, after recovering from the
first stunning shock, never attempted to make for the boats, but swam
hither and thither, till his colossal strength failed him, hoping to
find some trace of his master. But Alan Wyverne never rose again, and
never will--till the sea shall give up her dead.
And now my tale is told.
I have attempted to sketch, roughly what befel a man very weak
and erring--who was often sorely tried--who acted ever up to the
light that was given him, at the cost of bitter self-denial and
self-sacrifice--who, nevertheless, in this life, failed to reap the
tithe of his reward.
Alan Wyverne was strong, up to a certain point; but he had not faith
enough to make him feel always sure that he had done right, in defiance
of appearances; nor principle enough to keep him from repining at
results. He could neither comfort himself nor others, thoroughly. He was
a chivalrous true-hearted man; but a very imperfect Christian. He dared
not openly rebel against the laws of God; but he was too human to
accept, unhesitatingly, the fulfilment of his decrees. Throughout Alan's
life, Honour usurped the place where Religion ought to have reigned
paramount; he shrank from shame when he would perhaps have encountered
sin.
Just see how complete was the earthly retribution.
To that one principle--sound enough if it had not been the ruling
one--he sacrificed love, and friendship, and revenge, and life. Yet the
happiest moments that he knew for years, were those when he stood face
to face with a terrible death--a dead woman's picture in his hand.
THE END.
NEW WORKS IN PRESS.
By the Author of "East Lynne; or, The Earl's Daughter," and "Castle
Wafer."
MRS. HALIBURTON'S TROUBLES.
GERVASE CASTONEL, or, the Six Grey Powders.
THE RED COURT FARM.
MARY GORING: or, How I Grew to be an Old Maid.
THE DIAMOND BRACELET; or, Going into Exile.
RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES STRANGE.
MILDRED ARKELL.
PARK WATER; or, A Race with Time.
THE EARL'S SECRET; or, The Second Wife.
POMEROY ABBEY; or, The Old Keep.
CLARA LAKE'S DREAM.
BLANCHE LEVEL.
THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT.
BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED.
THE HEIR TO ASHLEY. By Mrs. Henry Wood
CASTLE WAFER. By Mrs. Henry Wood
BARCHESTER TOWERS. By Anthony Trollope, 2 vols.
EAST LYNNE; or, The Earl's Daughter. By Mrs. Henry Wood
THE WARDEN. By Anthony Trollope
THE DEAD SECRET. By Wilkie Collins, author of "Woman in
White," etc.
HIDE AND SEEK. By Wilkie Collins
AFTER DARK. By Wilkie Collins
CYRILLA. By the author of "Quits," "The Initials," etc.
LADY GLENLYON; or, The Trials of a Flirt. By the author of
"Susan Hopley," "Lilly Dawson," etc.
End of Project Gutenberg's Barren Honour: A Novel, by George A. Lawrence