In parting from John, who accompanied him to the quay, Bob had said:
'Now, Jack, these be my last words to you: I give her up. I go away on
purpose, and I shall be away a long time. If in that time she should
list over towards ye ever so little, mind you take her. You have more
right to her than I. You chose her when my mind was elsewhere, and you
best deserve her; for I have never known you forget one woman, while I've
forgot a dozen. Take her then, if she will come, and God bless both of
ye.'
Another person besides John saw Bob go. That was Derriman, who was
standing by a bollard a little further up the quay. He did not repress
his satisfaction at the sight. John looked towards him with an open gaze
of contempt; for the cuffs administered to the yeoman at the inn had not,
so far as the trumpet-major was aware, produced any desire to avenge that
insult, John being, of course, quite ignorant that Festus had erroneously
retaliated upon Bob, in his peculiar though scarcely soldierly way.
Finding that he did not even now approach him, John went on his way, and
thought over his intention of preserving intact the love between Anne and
his brother.
He was surprised when he next went to the mill to find how glad they all
were to see him. From the moment of Bob's return to the bosom of the
deep Anne had had no existence on land; people might have looked at her
human body and said she had flitted thence. The sea and all that
belonged to the sea was her daily thought and her nightly dream. She had
the whole two-and-thirty winds under her eye, each passing gale that
ushered in returning autumn being mentally registered; and she acquired a
precise knowledge of the direction in which Portsmouth, Brest, Ferrol,
Cadiz, and other such likely places lay. Instead of saying her own
familiar prayers at night she substituted, with some confusion of
thought, the Forms of Prayer to be used at sea. John at once noticed her
lorn, abstracted looks, pitied her,--how much he pitied her!--and asked
when they were alone if there was anything he could do.
'There are two things,' she said, with almost childish eagerness in her
tired eyes.
'They shall be done.'
'The first is to find out if Captain Hardy has gone back to his ship; and
the other is--O if you will do it, John!--to get me newspapers whenever
possible.'
After this duologue John was absent for a space of three hours, and they
thought he had gone back to barracks. He entered, however, at the end of
that time, took off his forage-cap, and wiped his forehead.
'You look tired, John,' said his father.
'O no.' He went through the house till he had found Anne Garland.
'I have only done one of those things,' he said to her.
'What, already! I didn't hope for or mean to-day.'
'Captain Hardy is gone from Pos'ham. He left some days ago. We shall
soon hear that the fleet has sailed.'
'You have been all the way to Pos'ham on purpose? How good of you!'
'Well, I was anxious to know myself when Bob is likely to leave. I
expect now that we shall soon hear from him.'
Two days later he came again. He brought a newspaper, and what was
better, a letter for Anne, franked by the first lieutenant of the
Victory.
'Then he's aboard her,' said Anne, as she eagerly took the letter.
It was short, but as much as she could expect in the circumstances, and
informed them that the captain had been as good as his word, and had
gratified Bob's earnest wish to serve under him. The ship, with Admiral
Lord Nelson on board, and accompanied by the frigate Euryalus, was to
sail in two days for Plymouth, where they would be joined by others, and
thence proceed to the coast of Spain.
Anne lay awake that night thinking of the Victory, and of those who
floated in her. To the best of Anne's calculation that ship of war
would, during the next twenty-four hours, pass within a few miles of
where she herself then lay. Next to seeing Bob, the thing that would
give her more pleasure than any other in the world was to see the vessel
that contained him--his floating city, his sole dependence in battle and
storm--upon whose safety from winds and enemies hung all her hope.
The morrow was market-day at the seaport, and in this she saw her
opportunity. A carrier went from Overcombe at six o'clock thither, and
having to do a little shopping for herself she gave it as a reason for
her intended day's absence, and took a place in the van. When she
reached the town it was still early morning, but the borough was already
in the zenith of its daily bustle and show. The King was always out-of-
doors by six o'clock, and such cock-crow hours at Gloucester Lodge
produced an equally forward stir among the population. She alighted, and
passed down the esplanade, as fully thronged by persons of fashion at
this time of mist and level sunlight as a watering-place in the present
day is at four in the afternoon. Dashing bucks and beaux in cocked hats,
black feathers, ruffles, and frills, stared at her as she hurried along;
the beach was swarming with bathing women, wearing waistbands that bore
the national refrain, 'God save the King,' in gilt letters; the shops
were all open, and Sergeant Stanner, with his sword-stuck bank-notes and
heroic gaze, was beating up at two guineas and a crown, the crown to
drink his Majesty's health.
She soon finished her shopping, and then, crossing over into the old
town, pursued her way along the coast-road to Portland. At the end of an
hour she had been rowed across the Fleet (which then lacked the
convenience of a bridge), and reached the base of Portland Hill. The
steep incline before her was dotted with houses, showing the pleasant
peculiarity of one man's doorstep being behind his neighbour's chimney,
and slabs of stone as the common material for walls, roof, floor, pig-
sty, stable-manger, door-scraper, and garden-stile. Anne gained the
summit, and followed along the central track over the huge lump of
freestone which forms the peninsula, the wide sea prospect extending as
she went on. Weary with her journey, she approached the extreme
southerly peak of rock, and gazed from the cliff at Portland Bill, or
Beal, as it was in those days more correctly called.
The wild, herbless, weather-worn promontory was quite a solitude, and,
saving the one old lighthouse about fifty yards up the slope, scarce a
mark was visible to show that humanity had ever been near the spot. Anne
found herself a seat on a stone, and swept with her eyes the tremulous
expanse of water around her that seemed to utter a ceaseless
unintelligible incantation. Out of the three hundred and sixty degrees
of her complete horizon two hundred and fifty were covered by waves, the
coup d'oeil including the area of troubled waters known as the Race,
where two seas met to effect the destruction of such vessels as could not
be mastered by one. She counted the craft within her view: there were
five; no, there were only four; no, there were seven, some of the specks
having resolved themselves into two. They were all small coasters, and
kept well within sight of land.
Anne sank into a reverie. Then she heard a slight noise on her left
hand, and turning beheld an old sailor, who had approached with a glass.
He was levelling it over the sea in a direction to the south-east, and
somewhat removed from that in which her own eyes had been wandering. Anne
moved a few steps thitherward, so as to unclose to her view a deeper
sweep on that side, and by this discovered a ship of far larger size than
any which had yet dotted the main before her. Its sails were for the
most part new and clean, and in comparison with its rapid progress before
the wind the small brigs and ketches seemed standing still. Upon this
striking object the old man's glass was bent.
'What do you see, sailor?' she asked.
'Almost nothing,' he answered. 'My sight is so gone off lately that
things, one and all, be but a November mist to me. And yet I fain would
see to-day. I am looking for the Victory.'
'Why,' she said quickly.
'I have a son aboard her. He's one of three from these parts. There's
the captain, there's my son Ned, and there's young Loveday of
Overcombe--he that lately joined.'
'Shall I look for you?' said Anne, after a pause.
'Certainly, mis'ess, if so be you please.'
Anne took the glass, and he supported it by his arm. 'It is a large
ship,' she said, 'with three masts, three rows of guns along the side,
and all her sails set.'
'I guessed as much.'
'There is a little flag in front--over her bowsprit.'
'The jack.'
'And there's a large one flying at her stern.'
'The ensign.'
'And a white one on her fore-topmast.'
'That's the admiral's flag, the flag of my Lord Nelson. What is her
figure-head, my dear?'
'A coat-of-arms, supported on this side by a sailor.'
Her companion nodded with satisfaction. 'On the other side of that
figure-head is a marine.'
'She is twisting round in a curious way, and her sails sink in like old
cheeks, and she shivers like a leaf upon a tree.'
'She is in stays, for the larboard tack. I can see what she's been
doing. She's been re'ching close in to avoid the flood tide, as the wind
is to the sou'-west, and she's bound down; but as soon as the ebb made,
d'ye see, they made sail to the west'ard. Captain Hardy may be depended
upon for that; he knows every current about here, being a native.'
'And now I can see the other side; it is a soldier where a sailor was
before. You are _sure_ it is the Victory?'
'I am sure.'
After this a frigate came into view--the Euryalus--sailing in the same
direction. Anne sat down, and her eyes never left the ships. 'Tell me
more about the Victory,' she said.
'She is the best sailer in the service, and she carries a hundred guns.
The heaviest be on the lower deck, the next size on the middle deck, the
next on the main and upper decks. My son Ned's place is on the lower
deck, because he's short, and they put the short men below.'
Bob, though not tall, was not likely to be specially selected for
shortness. She pictured him on the upper deck, in his snow-white
trousers and jacket of navy blue, looking perhaps towards the very point
of land where she then was.
The great silent ship, with her population of blue-jackets, marines,
officers, captain, and the admiral who was not to return alive, passed
like a phantom the meridian of the Bill. Sometimes her aspect was that
of a large white bat, sometimes that of a grey one. In the course of
time the watching girl saw that the ship had passed her nearest point;
the breadth of her sails diminished by foreshortening, till she assumed
the form of an egg on end. After this something seemed to twinkle, and
Anne, who had previously withdrawn from the old sailor, went back to him,
and looked again through the glass. The twinkling was the light falling
upon the cabin windows of the ship's stern. She explained it to the old
man.
'Then we see now what the enemy have seen but once. That was in seventy-
nine, when she sighted the French and Spanish fleet off Scilly, and she
retreated because she feared a landing. Well, 'tis a brave ship and she
carries brave men!'
Anne's tender bosom heaved, but she said nothing, and again became
absorbed in contemplation.
The Victory was fast dropping away. She was on the horizon, and soon
appeared hull down. That seemed to be like the beginning of a greater
end than her present vanishing. Anne Garland could not stay by the
sailor any longer, and went about a stone's-throw off, where she was
hidden by the inequality of the cliff from his view. The vessel was now
exactly end on, and stood out in the direction of the Start, her width
having contracted to the proportion of a feather. She sat down again,
and mechanically took out some biscuits that she had brought, foreseeing
that her waiting might be long. But she could not eat one of them;
eating seemed to jar with the mental tenseness of the moment; and her
undeviating gaze continued to follow the lessened ship with the fidelity
of a balanced needle to a magnetic stone, all else in her being
motionless.
The courses of the Victory were absorbed into the main, then her topsails
went, and then her top-gallants. She was now no more than a dead fly's
wing on a sheet of spider's web; and even this fragment diminished. Anne
could hardly bear to see the end, and yet she resolved not to flinch. The
admiral's flag sank behind the watery line, and in a minute the very
truck of the last topmast stole away. The Victory was gone.
Anne's lip quivered as she murmured, without removing her wet eyes from
the vacant and solemn horizon, '"They that go down to the sea in ships,
that do business in great waters--"'
'"These see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep,"' was
returned by a man's voice from behind her.
Looking round quickly, she saw a soldier standing there; and the grave
eyes of John Loveday bent on her.
''Tis what I was thinking,' she said, trying to be composed.
'You were saying it,' he answered gently.
'Was I?--I did not know it. . . . How came you here?' she presently
added.
'I have been behind you a good while; but you never turned round.'
'I was deeply occupied,' she said in an undertone.
'Yes--I too came to see him pass. I heard this morning that Lord Nelson
had embarked, and I knew at once that they would sail immediately. The
Victory and Euryalus are to join the rest of the fleet at Plymouth. There
was a great crowd of people assembled to see the admiral off; they
cheered him and the ship as she dropped down. He took his coffin on
board with him, they say.'
'His coffin!' said Anne, turning deadly pale. 'Something terrible, then,
is meant by that! O, why _would_ Bob go in that ship? doomed to
destruction from the very beginning like this!'
'It was his determination to sail under Captain Hardy, and under no one
else,' said John. 'There may be hot work; but we must hope for the
best.' And observing how wretched she looked, he added, 'But won't you
let me help you back? If you can walk as far as Hope Cove it will be
enough. A lerret is going from there across the bay homeward to the
harbour in the course of an hour; it belongs to a man I know, and they
can take one passenger, I am sure.'
She turned her back upon the Channel, and by his help soon reached the
place indicated. The boat was lying there as he had said. She found it
to belong to the old man who had been with her at the Bill, and was in
charge of his two younger sons. The trumpet-major helped her into it
over the slippery blocks of stone, one of the young men spread his jacket
for her to sit on, and as soon as they pulled from shore John climbed up
the blue-grey cliff, and disappeared over the top, to return to the
mainland by road.
Anne was in the town by three o'clock. The trip in the stern of the
lerret had quite refreshed her, with the help of the biscuits, which she
had at last been able to eat. The van from the port to Overcombe did not
start till four o'clock, and feeling no further interest in the gaieties
of the place, she strolled on past the King's house to the outskirts, her
mind settling down again upon the possibly sad fate of the Victory when
she found herself alone. She did not hurry on; and finding that even now
there wanted another half-hour to the carrier's time, she turned into a
little lane to escape the inspection of the numerous passers-by. Here
all was quite lonely and still, and she sat down under a willow-tree,
absently regarding the landscape, which had begun to put on the rich
tones of declining summer, but which to her was as hollow and faded as a
theatre by day. She could hold out no longer; burying her face in her
hands, she wept without restraint.
Some yards behind her was a little spring of water, having a stone margin
round it to prevent the cattle from treading in the sides and filling it
up with dirt. While she wept, two elderly gentlemen entered unperceived
upon the scene, and walked on to the spring's brink. Here they paused
and looked in, afterwards moving round it, and then stooping as if to
smell or taste its waters. The spring was, in fact, a sulphurous one,
then recently discovered by a physician who lived in the neighbourhood;
and it was beginning to attract some attention, having by common report
contributed to effect such wonderful cures as almost passed belief. After
a considerable discussion, apparently on how the pool might be improved
for better use, one of the two elderly gentlemen turned away, leaving the
other still probing the spring with his cane. The first stranger, who
wore a blue coat with gilt buttons, came on in the direction of Anne
Garland, and seeing her sad posture went quickly up to her, and said
abruptly, 'What is the matter?'
Anne, who in her grief had observed nothing of the gentlemen's presence,
withdrew her handkerchief from her eyes and started to her feet. She
instantly recognised her interrogator as the King.
'What, what, crying?' his Majesty inquired kindly. 'How is this!'
'I--have seen a dear friend go away, sir,' she faltered, with downcast
eyes.
'Ah--partings are sad--very sad--for us all. You must hope your friend
will return soon. Where is he or she gone?'
'I don't know, your Majesty.'
'Don't know--how is that?'
'He is a sailor on board the Victory.'
'Then he has reason to be proud,' said the King with interest. 'He is
your brother?'
Anne tried to explain what he was, but could not, and blushed with
painful heat.
'Well, well, well; what is his name?'
In spite of Anne's confusion and low spirits, her womanly shrewdness told
her at once that no harm could be done by revealing Bob's name; and she
answered, 'His name is Robert Loveday, sir.'
'Loveday--a good name. I shall not forget it. Now dry your cheeks, and
don't cry any more. Loveday--Robert Loveday.'
Anne curtseyed, the King smiled good-humouredly, and turned to rejoin his
companion, who was afterwards heard to be Dr. ---, the physician in
attendance at Gloucester Lodge. This gentleman had in the meantime
filled a small phial with the medicinal water, which he carefully placed
in his pocket; and on the King coming up they retired together and
disappeared. Thereupon Anne, now thoroughly aroused, followed the same
way with a gingerly tread, just in time to see them get into a carriage
which was in waiting at the turning of the lane.
She quite forgot the carrier, and everything else in connexion with
riding home. Flying along the road rapidly and unconsciously, when she
awoke to a sense of her whereabouts she was so near to Overcombe as to
make the carrier not worth waiting for. She had been borne up in this
hasty spurt at the end of a weary day by visions of Bob promoted to the
rank of admiral, or something equally wonderful, by the King's special
command, the chief result of the promotion being, in her arrangement of
the piece, that he would stay at home and go to sea no more. But she was
not a girl who indulged in extravagant fancies long, and before she
reached home she thought that the King had probably forgotten her by that
time, and her troubles, and her lover's name.