I remained, as I was afterwards informed, insensible for four days,
during which time I told and re-told in my delirium the story of the
mutiny and our own sufferings, so that, as the ship's surgeon assured
me, he became very exactly acquainted with all the particulars of the
_Grosvenor's_ voyage, from the time of her leaving the English Channel
to the moment of our rescue from the boat, though I, from whom he
learnt the story, was insensible as I related it. My delirium even
embraced so remote an incident as the running down of the smack.
When I opened my eyes I found myself in a small, very comfortable
cabin, lying in a bunk; and being alone, I had no knowledge of where I
was, nor would my memory give me the slightest assistance. That every
object my eye rested upon was unfamiliar, and that I was on board a
ship, was all that I knew for certain. What puzzled me most was the
jarring sound caused by the engines. I could not conceive what this
meant nor what produced it; and the vessel being perfectly steady, it
was not in my power to realize that I was being borne over the water.
I closed my eyes and lay perfectly still, striving to master the past
and inform myself of what had become of me; but so hopelessly muddled
was my brain, that had some unseen person, by way of a joke, told me in
a sepulchral voice that I was dead and apprehending the things about me
only by means of my spirit, which had not yet had time to get out of
my body, I should have believed him; though I don't say that I should
not have been puzzled to reconcile my very keen appetite and thirst
with my non-existent condition.
In a few minutes the door of the cabin was opened and a jolly,
red-faced man, wearing a Scotch cap, looked in. Seeing me with my eyes
open, he came forward and exclaimed in a cheerful voice--
"All alive O! Staring about you full of wonderment! Nothing so good as
curiosity in a sick man. Shows that the blood is flowing."
He felt my pulse, and asked me if I knew who he was.
I replied that I had never seen him before.
"Well, that's not my fault," said he; "for I've been looking at you a
pretty tidy while on and off since we hoisted you out of the brine.
'Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny;
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonnie;
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' brany
To clear your head!'
Hungry?"
"Very," said I.
"Thirsty?"
"Yes."
"How do you feel in yourself?"
"I have been trying to find out. I don't know. I forget who I am."
"Raise your arm and try your muscles."
"I can raise my arm," I said, doing so.
"How's your memory?"
"If you'll give me a hint or two, I'll see."
He looked at me very earnestly and with much kindness in the expression
of his jovial face, and debated some matter in his own mind.
"I'll send you in some beef-tea," he said, "by a person who'll be able
to do you more good than I can. But don't excite yourself. Converse
calmly, and don't talk too much."
So saying he went away.
I lay quite still and my memory remained as helpless as though I had
just been born.
After an interval of about ten minutes the door was again opened and
Mary came in. She closed the door and approached me, holding a cup of
beef-tea in her hand, but however she had schooled herself to behave,
her resolution forsook her; she put the cup down, threw her arms round
my neck, and sobbed with her cheek against mine.
With my recognition of her my memory returned to me.
"My darling," I cried, in a weak voice, "is it you indeed! Oh, God is
very merciful to have spared us. I remembered nothing just now; but
all has come back to me with your dear face."
She was too overcome to speak for some moments, but raising herself
presently she said in broken tones--
"I thought I should never see you again, never be able to speak to
you more. But I am wicked to give way to my feelings when I have been
told that any excitement must be dangerous to my darling. Drink this,
now--no, I will hold the cup to your lips. Strength has been given me
to bear the sufferings we have gone through, that I may nurse you and
bring you back to health."
I would not let go her hand; but when I attempted to prop myself up, I
found my elbow would not sustain me; so I lay back and drank from the
cup which she held to my mouth.
"How long is it," I asked her, "since we were taken on board this
vessel?"
"Four days. Do you know that you fell down insensible in the boat the
moment after I had been carried on to the deck of this ship? The men
crowded around me and held their lanterns to my face, and I found that
most of them were Scotch by their exclamations. A woman took me by the
hand to lead me away, but I refused to move one step until I saw that
you were on board. She told me that you had fainted in the boatswain's
arms, and others cried out that you were dead. I saw them bring you up
out of the boat, and told the woman that I must go with you and see
where they put you, and asked if there was a doctor on board. She said
yes, and that he was that man in the Scotch cap and greatcoat, who was
helping the others to take you downstairs. I took your poor senseless
hands and cried bitterly over them, and told the doctor I would go on
my knees to him if he would save your life. But he was very kind--very
kind and gentle."
"And you, Mary? I saw you keep up your wonderful courage to the last."
"I fainted when the doctor took me away from you," she answered, with
one of her sweet, wistful smiles. "I slept far into the next day, and
I rose quite well yesterday morning, and have been by your side nearly
ever since. It is rather hard upon me that your consciousness should
have returned when I had left the cabin for a few minutes."
I made her turn her face to the light that I might see her clearly, and
found that though her mental and physical sufferings had left traces on
her calm and beautiful face, yet on the whole she looked fairly well in
health; her eyes bright, her complexion clear, and her lips red, with a
firm expression on them. I also took notice that she was well dressed
in a black silk, though probably I was not good critic enough just then
in such matters to observe that it fitted her ill, and did no manner of
justice to her lovely shape.
She caught me looking at the dress, and told me with a smile that it
had been lent to her by a lady passenger.
"Why do you stand?" I said.
"The doctor only allowed me to see you on condition that I did not stay
above five minutes."
"That is nonsense. I cannot let you go now you are here. Your dear
face gives me back all the strength I have lost. How came I to fall
down insensible? I am ashamed of myself! I, a sailor, supposed to be
inured to all kinds of privation, to be cut adrift from my senses by a
shipwreck! Mary, you are fitter to be a sailor than I. After this, let
me buy a needle and thread, and advertise for needlework."
"You are talking too much. I shall leave you."
"You cannot while I hold your hand."
"Am I not stronger than you?"
"In all things stronger, Mary. You have been my guardian angel. You
interceded for my life with God, and He heard you when He would not
have heard me."
She placed her hand on my mouth.
"You are talking too much, I say. You reproach yourself for your
weakness, but try to remember what you have gone through: how you had
to baffle the mutineers--to take charge of the ship--to save our lives
from their terrible designs. Remember, too, that for days together you
scarcely closed your eyes in sleep, that you did the work of a whole
crew during the storm--dearest, what you have gone through would have
broken many a man's heart or driven him mad. It has left you your own
true self for me to love and cherish whilst God shall spare us to each
other."
She kissed me on the mouth, drew her hand from mine, and with a smile
full of tender affection left the cabin.
I was vexed to lose her even for a short time; and still chose to think
myself a poor creature for falling ill and keeping to my bed, when I
might be with her about the ship and telling the people on board the
story of her misfortunes and beautiful courage.
It was a mistake of the doctor's to suppose that _her_ conversation
could hurt me.
I had no idea of the time, and stared hard at the bull's-eye over my
head, hoping to discover by the complexion of the light that it was
early in the day, so that I might again see Mary before the night came.
I was even rash enough to imagine that I had the strength to rise,
and made an effort to get out of the bunk, which gave me just the best
illustration I could wish that I was as weak as a baby. So I tumbled
back with a groan of disappointment, and after staring fixedly at the
bull's-eye, I fell asleep.
This sleep lasted some hours. I awoke, not as I had first awakened
from insensibility, with tremors and bewilderment, but easily, with a
delicious sense of warmth and rest and renewing vigour in my limbs.
I opened my eyes upon three persons standing near the bunk; one was
Mary, the other the doctor, and the third a thin, elderly, sunburnt
man, in a white waistcoat with gold buttons and a blue cloth loose coat.
The doctor felt my pulse, and letting fall my hand, said to Mary--
"Now, Miss Robertson, Mr. Royle will do. If you will kindly tell the
steward to give you another basin of broth, you will find our patient
able to make a meal."
She kissed her hand to me behind the backs of the others, and went out
with a beaming smile.
"This is Captain Craik, Mr. Royle," continued the doctor, motioning
to the gentleman in the white waistcoat, "commanding this vessel, the
_Peri_."
I at once thanked him earnestly for his humanity, and the kindness he
was showing me.
"Indeed," he replied, "I am very pleased with my good fortune in
rescuing so brave a pair of men as yourself and your boatswain, and
happy to have been the instrument of saving the charming girl to whom
you are betrothed from the horror of exposure in an open boat. I have
had the whole of your story from Miss Robertson, and I can only say
that you have acted very heroically and honourably."
I replied that I was very grateful to him for his kind words; but I
assured him that I only deserved a portion of his praise. The man who
truly merited admiration was the boatswain.
"You shall divide the honours," he said, smiling. "The bo'sun is
already a hero. My crew seem disposed to worship him. If you have
nothing better for him in your mind, you may hand him over to me. I
know the value of such men now-a-days, when so much is left to the
crimp."
Saying this, he went to the door and called; and immediately my old
companion, the boatswain, came in. I held out my hand, and it was
clutched by the honest fellow and held with passionate cordiality.
"Mr. Royle, sir," he exclaimed, in a faltering voice, "this is a happy
moment for me. There wos a time when I never thought I should ha'
seen you alive agin, and it went to my heart, and made me blubber
like any old woman when I thought o' your dyin' arter all the trouble
you've seen, and just when, if I may be so bold as to say it, you might
be hopin' to marry the brave, high-sperrited gell as you saved from
drownin', and who belongs to you by the will o' God Almighty. Captain
Craik, sir--I speak by your favour, and ax pardon for the liberty--this
gen'man and me has seen some queer starts together since we fust
shipped aboard the _Grosvenor_ in the West Hindie Docks, and," he
cried with vehemence, "I'd sooner ha' lost the use o' my right arm an'
leg--yes, an' you may chuck my right eye in along with them--than Mr.
Royle should ha' died just as he was agoin' to live properly and set
down on the bench o' matrimony an' happiness with a bold and handsome
wife!"
This eloquent harangue he delivered with a moist eye, addressing us all
three in turn. I thanked him heartily for what he had said, but limited
my reply to this: for though I could have complimented him more warmly
than he had praised me, I considered that it would be more becoming to
hold over all mutual admiration and you-and-me glorification until we
should be alone.
I observed that he wore a velvet waistcoat, and carried a shiny cloth
cap with a brilliant peak, very richly garnished with braid; and as
such articles of raiment could only emanate from the forecastle, I
concluded that they were gifts from the crew, and that Captain Craik
had reason in thinking that the boatswain had become a hero.
The doctor shortly after this motioned him to go, whereon he gave a
shipshape salute, by tweaking an imaginary curl on his forehead, and
went away.
I now asked what had become of the steward. Captain Craik answered that
the man was all right so far as his health went; that he wandered about
the decks very harmlessly, smiling in the faces of the men, and seldom
speaking.
"One peculiarity of the poor creature," said he, "is that he will not
taste any kind of food but what is served out to the crew. I have
myself tried him with dishes from the saloon table, but could not
induce him to touch a mouthful. The first time I tried him in this
way he fell from me as though I had offered to cut his throat; the
perspiration poured from his forehead, and he eyed me with looks of the
utmost horror and aversion. Can you account for this?"
"Yes, sir," I replied. "The steward was in the habit of serving out the
ship's stores to the crew of the _Grosvenor_. He rather sided with
the captain, and tried to make the best of what was outrageously bad.
When the men mutinied they threatened to hang him if he touched any
portion of the cuddy stores, and I dare say they would have executed
their threat. He was rather a coward before he lost his reason, and the
threat affected him violently. I myself never could induce him to taste
any other food than the ship's rotten stores whilst the men remained in
the vessel, and I dare say the memory of the threat still lives in his
broken mind."
"Thanks for your explanation," said the doctor, "I shall sleep the
better for it; for, upon my word, the man's unnatural dislike of good
food--of _entrées_, man, and curried fowl and roast goose, for I tried
him myself--has kept me awake bothering my head to understand."
"May I ask what vessel this is?" I said, addressing Captain Craik.
"The _Peri_, of Glasgow, homeward-bound from Jamaica," he answered.
"I know the ship now, sir. She belongs to the ---- Line."
"Quite right. We shall hope to put you ashore in seven days hence. It
is curious that I should have known Mr. Robertson, your lady's father.
I called upon him a few years since in Liverpool, on business, and had
a long conversation with him. Little could I have dreamt that his end
would be so sad, and that it should be reserved for me to rescue his
daughter from an open boat, in mid-Atlantic!"
"Ah, sir," I exclaimed, "no one but I can ever know the terrible trials
this poor girl has passed through. She has been twice shipwrecked
within three weeks; she has experienced all the horrors of a mutiny;
she has lost her father under circumstances which would have killed
many girls with grief; she has been held in terror of her life, and yet
never once has her noble courage flagged, her splendid spirit failed
her."
"Yes," answered Captain Craik, "I have read her character in her story
and in her way of relating it. You are to be congratulated on having
won the love of a woman whose respect alone would do a man honour."
"He deserves what he has got," said the doctor, laughing. "Findings
keepings."
"I did find her and I mean to keep her," I exclaimed.
"Well, you have picked up a fortune," observed Captain Craik. "It is
not every man who finds a shipwreck a good investment."
"I know nothing about her fortune," I answered. "She did indeed tell me
that her father was a ship-owner; but I have asked no questions, and
only know her as Mary Robertson, a sweet, brave girl, whom I love, and,
please God, mean to marry, though she possessed nothing more in the
world than the clothes I found her in."
"Come, come," said the doctor.
"You're not a sailor, doctor," remarked Captain Craik, drily.
"But, my dear sir, you'll not tell me that a gold pound's not better
than a silver sixpence?" cried the doctor. "Did you never sing this
song?--
'Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms;
Oh, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,
Oh, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; then hey for a lass wi' a tocher;
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; the nice yellow guineas for me.'
Is not an heiress better than a poor wench?"
"I don't see how your simile of the pound and the sixpence applies,"
answered Captain Craik. "A good woman is a good woman all the world
over, and a gift that every honest man will thank God for.
'Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy titled bride;
But when compared with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.'
That's one of Robbie's too, doctor, and I commend your attention to the
whole song as a wholesome purge."
As the conversation was rather too personal to be much to my liking, I
was very glad when it was put an end to by Mary coming in with a basin
of soup for me.