"Oh! who can tell save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exalting sense--the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?"
Byron.
"The moon is up; it is a lovely eve;
Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand."
Idem.
Scene: The deck of the _Fairy Queen_. Douglas and Leonard walking
slowly up and down the quarter-deck arm-in-arm. Hardly a cloud in the
sky, stars very bright, and a round moon rising in the east and gilding
the waters.
Three years have elapsed since the conversation related in the last
chapter took place--years that have not been thrown away, for our
heroes--by that title we ought now to know them--have been sensible and
apt pupils in the world's great school.
It must be admitted that it was both a strange and an unusual thing for
two fathers, to each make his only son an allowance, and tell him to go
and enjoy himself in any way he pleased. After all, it was only
treating boys as men, and this, in my opinion, ought to be done more
often than it is.
They drew their first half-year's income in London, then went quietly
away to their hotel to consider what they should do.
"A couple of hundred a year, Doug," said Leonard, "isn't a vast
fortune."
"No," replied Douglas, "it isn't unspendable."
"That is what I was thinking. But you see, by making us this grant--and
it is all they can afford, and very handsome of them--we are positively
on parole, aren't we?"
"Yes, we are bound not to exceed. To do so would be most unkind and
ungentlemanly."
"Well, if we go on the continent it won't last long, will it?"
"No; besides, I don't hanker after the continent. My French is shocking
bad, Leon, and I should be sure to quarrel with somebody, and get run
through the body. No; the continent is out of the question."
"Yes; although a fellow could pick up some nice specimens there. But
let us go farther afield. We can't go abroad far as passengers--suppose
we go as sailors? We both have been to Norway in a ship, and we went
together to Archangel, so there isn't much about a ship we don't know.
Let us, I say, offer our services as--"
"As what?"
"Why, as apprentices. We're not much too old."
"No."
"Well, is it agreed?"
"Yes, I'm ready for anything, Leon. I want to see the world at any
price."
So the very next day off they had gone to see an old friend of Captain
Fitzroy's who lived down Greenwich way, and who was a city merchant in a
big way of business.
They explained their wishes and ambitions to him.
"Well," he replied, "come and dine with me to-morrow, and I'll introduce
you to one of the jolliest old salts that ever crossed the ocean. I'll
do no more than introduce you, mind that."
Nor did he.
But after dinner Captain Blunt, a thorough seaman every inch of him,
with a face as rosy and round as the rising moon, began spinning yarns,
or telling his experiences. He had ready listeners in Leonard and
Douglas, and when the former opened out, as he phrased it, and
introduced and expatiated on the subject next his heart and the heart of
his friend, it was Captain Blunt's turn to listen.
"Bother me, boys!" he exclaimed at last, pitching away the end of a big
cigar, "but I think you are good-hearted ones, through and through, and
if I thought it was something more than a passing fancy I'd take you
along with me."
"Take us and try us. We want no wages till we can earn them, nor will
we live aft till we are fit to keep a watch. Our station on deck must
be before the mast, our place below a seat before the galley fire, and a
bunk or hammock amidships. We want to learn to set a sail, to splice a
rope, to heave the lead, box the compass, turn the capstan, reef and
steer--in fact, all a sailor's duties."
"Bravo!" cried Captain Blunt, "I'm but a plain man, and a plain
outspoken sailor, but I'll have you; and if there isn't some life and go
in you, blame me, but I'm no reader of character."
That is the way--an unusual one, I grant--in which our heroes joined the
merchant service, and here--after three years all spent in Captain
Blunt's ship--here, I say, on this lovely night, we find them both on
deck, one keeping his watch, the other keeping him company, for they are
having a talk about bygone times.
They have seen a bit of life even in that time, for the good ship _Fairy
Queen_ was seldom long out of active service.
They kept strictly to the terms of their engagement, and have been till
now before the mast, refusing even to mess in the cabin, although
invited to do so by kindly old Captain Blunt.
Both Douglas Fitzroy and Leonard Lyle were, as mere children, fond of
the sea. What British boy is not? A ship had always had a strange
fascination for each of them. When much younger they had often been
taken by their parents to Glasgow, and they preferred a stroll among the
shipping at the Broomielaw to even a saunter in the park itself.
Beautiful in summer though the park might have been in those days--and
there was but one--it was in Leonard's eyes too artificial. The lad
loved Nature, but he liked to meet her and to woo her in the woods and
wilds.
At school in Edinburgh both boys were what are called inseparables.
They just suited each other. It was not a case of extremes meet,
however, for the tastes of both were identical. Although their books
and lessons had by no means been neglected, still, task duty over, and
off their minds for the day, they were free to follow the bent of their
own wills. More beautiful or more romantic scenery than that close
around Scotland's capital there is hardly to be found anywhere. Our
heroes knew every nook and corner of it, every hill and dell, every
dingle, rock, and glen, and all the creatures that dwelt therein,
whether clad in fur or feather. But for all that, they were as well
known on the pier of Leith as "Mutchkin Jock," the gigantic
shore-porter, himself was. Never a ship worth the name of ship had
entered, while they were at school, that they did not visit, scan, and
criticise. They coolly invited themselves on board, too. Now this
might have been resented at times had they not been gentlemanly lads.
Gentlemanly in address, I mean. So, though they might often and often
have been found "yarning" with sailors forward, whose hearts they well
knew how to win, they were just as often invited down below to the
cabin, and hobnobbed with the captain himself.
It would have pleased the surliest old ship captain who ever peeped over
a binnacle edge, to have two such listeners as young Leon and Doug. How
their bright eyes had sparkled, to be sure, as some skipper newly or
lately arrived from foreign lands sat telling them of all the wonders he
had seen! And how they had longed to sail away to summer seas, and
behold for themselves wonders on a larger scale than any they could meet
with among the mountains of their own country!
It was thus perhaps that a taste for wandering and a fondness for the
sea had been engendered early in the breast of each of the boys.
It was this, I'm sure, that caused them once to write home to their
respective parents, informing them that the 250-ton brig, _Highland
Donald_, was to sail in a fortnight for Norway and the Baltic, and that
the skipper had offered to take them if they could obtain permission.
Permission had been granted, and having been provided with suits of
rough warm clothing, they had embarked one fine spring morning, and
sailed away for the cold north.
Now, if any young reader thinks he would like to be a sailor, and has
been led to believe, from books or otherwise, that a seaman's life is
one of unmitigated pleasure and general jollity, let him induce his
father or guardian to place him on a grain, tar, or timber ship bound
for Norway or the Baltic. If, after a month or two of such a life, he
still believes in the joys of a seaman's existence, let him join the
merchant service forthwith, but I fear there are few lads who would come
up smiling after so severe a test.
Our heroes, however, had stood this test, though they had roughed it in
no ordinary way. True, they had been all but shipwrecked on an
iron-bound coast, where no boat could have lived a minute; they had been
in gale of wind after gale of wind; their provisions and fare had been
of the coarsest; their beds were always wet or damp, and sometimes the
cold had been intense, depressing, benumbing to both mind and body.
But their long voyage north had made sailors of them for all that, and
that is saying a very great deal. It had proved of what mettle they
were made, and given them confidence in themselves.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is the first voyage, then, in which Leonard and Douglas have trod
the deck as officers, and I do not deny that both are just a trifle
proud of their position, although they feel fully the weight of
responsibility the buttons have brought. They certainly took but little
pride in the uniform which they wore, as some weak-minded lads would
have done, albeit handsome they both had looked, as they sat at table on
that last night at Grayling House. So, at all events, Leonard's mother
and poor Effie thought. The latter had done little else but cry all the
day, that is, whenever she could get a chance of doing so unseen. This
was the second time only that her brother and brother's friend had been
home since they went to sea for good. They had stayed at home for a
whole month, and now were bound on a perilous cruise indeed, sailing far
away to Arctic seas, Captain Blunt's ship having been chosen to take
stores and provisions out to Greenland for vessels employed in finding
out the North-West Passage.
Something had seemed to whisper to Effie that she would never see her
darling brother again. So no wonder her heart had been sad, and her
eyes red with weeping, as our heroes left; or that a gloom, like the
gloom of the grave, had fallen on Grayling House, as soon as they were
gone.
Great old Ossian had come and put his head on her lap, and gazing up
into her face with those brown speaking eyes of his, and his loving
looks of pity, almost broke her heart. The tears had come fast enough
then.
The _Fairy Queen_ had sailed from Leith. Both parents had accompanied
their sons thus far, and blessed them and given them Bibles each (it is
a way they have in Scotland on such occasions), and bade them a hearty
good-bye.
Yes, it was a hearty good-bye to all outward appearance, but there was a
lump in Leonard's throat all the same that he had a good deal of
difficulty in swallowing; and as soon as the _Fairy Queen_ was out of
sight, the two fathers had left the pier--not side by side, remark we,
but one in front of the other, Indian-file fashion. Why not side by
side? Well, for this reason. There was a moisture in Major Fitzroy's
eyes, that, being a man, he was somewhat ashamed of, so he stumped on
ahead, that Captain Lyle might not notice his weakness; and between you
and me, reader, Captain Lyle, for some similar reason, was not sorry. I
hope you quite understand it.
However, here on this beautiful summer's night, with a gentle beam wind
blowing from the westward, we find our friends on deck. There is a
crowd of sail on her, and the ship lies away to the west of the Shetland
Islands. They do not mean to touch there, so give the rocks a good
offing.
Save for the occasional flapping of the sails or a footstep on deck,
there is not a sound to break the solemn stillness.
They did encounter a gale of wind, however, shortly after leaving Leith,
but the good ship stood it well, and it had not lasted long.
"I say, old fellow," said Leonard, "hadn't you better turn in? I think
I would if I had a chance."
"No, I don't feel sleepy; I'm more inclined to continue our pleasant
chat. Pleasant chat on a pleasant night, with every prospect of a
pleasant voyage, eh?"
"I think so. Of course good weather cannot last for ever."
"No, and then there is the ice."
"Well, now, I'm not afraid of that. Remember, I superintended the
fortifying of the ship, and you could hardly believe how solid we are.
But of course ice will go through anything."
"So I've heard, and we saw some bergs while coming round the Horn--
didn't we?--that I wouldn't care to be embraced between."
"Not unless the ship were made of indiarubber, and everybody in it."
"I wonder how all are at Grayling House to-night. Poor sister Effie!
Didn't she cry! I'm afraid old Peter was croaking a bit. He is quite
one of the family, you know, but very old-wifeish and crotchety, and
thinks himself quite an old relation of father's. Then there is that
ridiculous superstition about the pike."
"Yes, do you know the story?"
"Yes, and I may relate it some evening, perhaps, what little story there
is; though it is only ridiculous nonsense. But look! what is that?"
"Why, a shoal of porpoises, but they are just like fishes of fire."
"Phosphorescence. These seas on some summer nights are all alive with
it. What a lovely sight! Strange life the creatures lead! I wonder do
they ever sleep? Heigho! talking of sleep makes me think of my hammock.
I believe I will turn in now, though it is really a pity to go below on
so lovely a night. Ta, ta. Take care of us all.
"_A Dios_, Leonard."
Yes, it was indeed a lovely night; but, ah! quickly indeed do scene and
weather change at sea.
Book 2--CHAPTER THREE.