CROSSING THE HERRING POND.
A few short hours, the sun will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
--Childe Harold.
The morning rose clear and brilliant. The partings were over, and
Bluebell, on the deck of the river steamer, was gazing her last on the
long flat shore, with its high elevators, and waving adieu to the
diminishing forms of Mrs. Leigh and Miss Opie, who had seen her on
board,--the latter with many injunctions to ascertain that two
old-fashioned hirsute trunks containing her wardrobe were really put into
the steamer at Quebec. Bluebell had treated herself to a smart little
portmanteau for the cabin, being rather ashamed of her antediluvian
luggage. She had ten sovereigns in her purse, that had been scraped
together among them as a provision for any emergency. The Rolleston
children had sent her a travelling-bag; but not even a message came from
Cecil, which saddened Bluebell, but did not make her resentful, for she
could not but suspect that the former's engagement to Bertie had come to
an end, and that, in some way or other, she herself had been the cause of
it.
A touch of frost during the last fortnight had worked a transformation
on the foliage. The thousand islands were changed from green bowers to
the semblance of shrubberies of rhododendron, so brilliant were the
crimson and red of their leaves. They were associated in her mind with
Cecil, whose artistic eye revelled in the autumn tints, and was
perpetually painting and grouping them during the last fall.
It was rather lonely and monotonous in the river steamer. There was no
one on board that she knew, and, as each hour increased the distance from
all familiar places, a feeling of friendlessness stole over her.
Arrived at Quebec, every one seemed to push before and jostle her away;
but patiently following in the stream, she found herself, with a
sensation of relief on board the huge Leviathan steamer that was to be
her home across the broad Atlantic.
Some misgivings respecting luggage obtruded themselves. A porter had put
her portmanteau and bag on board, but the two trunks she had never seen.
No one seemed to attend to her till one man gruffly replied,--"That if
they were properly addressed, they would be put into the hold all right."
And Bluebell took comfort in the remembrance of the labels plentifully
nailed on by Aunt Jane, that she had then thought looked so nervously
ridiculous.
She sat for some time alone in the saloon, waiting till the rush for
state rooms should have a little subsided before making a timid request
for her own.
Several people were now returning, apparently with disburdened minds, for
anxious wrinkles were smoothed out into complacent curiosity. Bluebell
made an incoherent attack on the stewardess, who swept by, without
attending, and after being passed on from one official to the other, she
found herself half-proprietess of a dark confined den, with two berths,
two wash-hand-stands, and a sofa. Her partner in these luxuries had
apparently taken possession and gone, for rather a queer shawl lay on one
berth, and a singularly tasteless hat hung on a peg.
These significant articles deprived the little dungeon of all charms of
privacy, and, feeling as if it belonged so much more to the other lodger,
and she herself were somewhat of an intruder, Bluebell left her small
effects in the portmanteau, which she stowed away in the most
unobstrusive manner, not even venturing to hang up the brown-holland
contrivance of Aunt Jane.
Then she found her way on deck, where most of the passengers were
congregated, and, sitting down on a centre bench, in rather inconvenient
proximity to a skylight, was sufficiently amused in speculating on her
fellow travellers.
"My comrade can't be among them," she thought, "for she has left her hat
below."
Most noticeable were a young officer and his bride, as Bluebell
immediately decided the latter to be, partly from her helpless
_exigeante_ demeanour, and partly from the extreme newness of her
fashionable get up.
The minuteness and height of her heels were more conducive to the Grecian
bend than preserving a balance on a sloping deck, and her fanciful
aquatic costume of pale-blue serge more adapted to a nautical scene in
private theatricals than for contact with the drenching spray of the
rough Atlantic.
But ere the anchor weighed she shone pre-eminent, and had the
gratification of making a dozen other women feel shabby and dissatisfied.
In contrast to these was a sickly-looking, middle-class person, with two
children tastefully arrayed in purple frocks, red stockings, and magenta
comforters. They were clinging to a coarse-looking girl, also with a
preference for cheerfulness of hue, who carried a felt donkey, and seemed
to be the nursery-maid.
The head of this household, apparently, was not going to accompany them,
and, indeed, appeared in rather a more elevated condition than could be
wished. He addressed Bluebell, and inquired if her cabin was near his
wife's, and, on professing ignorance, said he trusted it might prove so,
as "he naturally felt great anxiety at her travelling so lone and
unprotected like,"--a slight unsteadiness of gait showing how irreparable
was the loss of her legitimate defender. The people around stared and
smiled, but he continued to gaze, in a mournful and approving way, at
Bluebell, while his wife sat in a state of repressed endurance,
calculating how many more minutes he would have for exposing himself
before the tug separated friends from passengers.
After a playful feint to throw one of his children overboard, he became
calmer, and relapsed into a maudlin monologue till the bell rang, when he
was hustled off, much to Bluebell's relief as well as his wife's, whose
set mouth relaxed as if a care had rolled away.
Two or three officers on leave were pacing up and down, and with them
another young man, but, whether he were civil or military, Bluebell
could not decide. He was not exactly like either; there was a slight
oddness about his dress, which, though well cut, was carelessly put
on, and rather incongruous in different parts. The neck-tie was a
little awry, and not the right colour for the coat; still he seemed
gentlemanly--rather distinguished-looking than not.
These were all the portraits she took in till the bell rang for luncheon,
and there was a general desertion of the deck. Being, by this time, very
hungry, Bluebell followed in the string, but felt dubious where to seat
herself, as she found people had already appropriated their places by
pinning their cards on the table-cloth.
The captain, who had just come in, observing her, asked if she were Miss
Leigh, and then took her to a seat next but one to himself.
"You must look upon me _in loco parentis_," said he, good-naturedly, with
a strong Scotch accent.
Being the first friendly word she had heard, Bluebell thanked him with a
heartiness of gratitude that caused her neighbour on the left to glance
at her with furtive interest. It was the young man with the deranged
neck-tie. On her right was a haughty dame, who evidently considered
herself a person of position. Next the captain, on the opposite side,
was an elderly widow lady, with weak eyes and rather methodistical
appearance; and on her left a fussy, brisk-looking little woman, of about
thirty-five. Then came the bride and bridegroom, a doctor, an aunt and
niece, and the rest were out of range of our heroine.
Days at sea are very long, and this first one seemed nearly interminable
to Bluebell. She walked on deck till she was tired, and read a book till
she shivered, and then retreated to her cabin, to find the fussy little
lady of five-and-thirty extended on the sofa. "Ah!" cried she, "I have
been wondering all day who my fellow-lodger was to be; let me introduce
myself, as we are to have such close companionship. I am Mrs. Oliphant,
of the 44th; you are Miss Leigh, I heard the captain say. I am lying
down, you see, for I have such a dread of sea-sickness, and it is such
a good thing for it."
They were not out of the river and it was like glass. Bluebell, feeling
particularly well, laughed inwardly, as she inquired if Mrs. Oliphant was
a bad sailor.
"Middling; very much like the rest. You see I have been settling
everything conveniently--while I can."
She spoke as if she had just made her last will and testament, and
certainly everything was very commodiously arranged--for Mrs. Oliphant.
Not a peg or a corner was left for any properties of Bluebell's, who
perceived she would have to keep all her effects in the portmanteau, and
drag it out for everything she wanted.
"But I always try and cheer up other people," said the little lady,
complacently. "I have a bad bout, and then I go and visit others, and
keep up their spirits--going round the wards I call it. When I came out,
Mrs. Kite, of our regiment, and Mrs. Dove, of the 100th 'Scatterers,'
would have laid themselves down and died if it hadn't been for me; but I
roused them--Mrs. Kite, at least--for poor Mrs. Dove gave way so, she
wasn't out of her berth for a week, and could keep down nothing but a
peppermint, and the stewardess never came near her."
"But surely everybody won't be ill!" said Bluebell, somewhat appalled by
these statistics, and, with the close air of the cabin, feeling her head
swim a little. "I believe it is better not to think about it."
"Certainly; let us change the subject. Will you hand me my
eau-de-Cologne? And so you have never been to England before."
"Never," responded Bluebell, not inveigled into giving any further
information by Mrs. Oliphant's look of curiosity.
"Perhaps you are going out now to be married?" (archly.)
"No," said the girl, composedly; "if that were the case I should hope my
intended husband would come and fetch me."
"Well," said the lady, finding she was to extract nothing, "I suppose we
must be getting ready for dinner. In the P. and O. it used to be full
evening costume, but one soon has to give that up on the Atlantic; so you
see I just change my body for a white Garibaldi, and put a coloured net
on. I have four nets, mauve, magenta, green, and blue; these make a nice
change."
But in spite of her extreme satisfaction in her own arrangements, she
felt secretly disgusted at the freshness of Bluebell's appearance in an
uncrushable soft _barége_ trimmed with blue. It was also rather a blow to
observe those thick shining coils of chestnut hair were not supplemented
from the stores of any Translantic _coiffeur_.
When they came to dinner, a little more motion was perceivable as they
were entering the Gulf, and the table was mapped out with ominous-looking
frames of wood for the confinement of plates and glasses. The bride came
down gorgeously attired in a Parisian garb of mauve silk, cut square, but
looking slightly white and less secure of admiration than she had in the
morning.
"That is not a very serviceable dress for a sea voyage," whispered
Bluebell's neighbour, seriously. A few remarks had already passed between
them, and she had discovered him to have large, demure, brown eyes, that
never appeared to notice anything except for the gleams of secret
amusement that occasionally danced in them. "It quite sets my teeth on
edge seeing those stewards tilting the soup close to and trampling on
it."
"She must be a bride, I suppose," returned Bluebell, "and has so many new
dresses, she doesn't care about spoiling one or two."
"Heavens! what a view of matrimony! And these are the reckless opinions
of young ladies of the present day! Why, Miss Leigh, the greater part of
my great-grandmother's _trousseau_ still exists in an old trunk; and my
cousin Kate went to a fancy ball in her tabinet paduasoy, which was as
good as new."
"How tired they must have got of their things! I should like to have a
new dress every day of my life, and a maid to take away the old ones,"
cried Bluebell recklessly.
"How much does a dress cost--making, trimming, and all."
"Oh, some would be simple and inexpensive, of course--say, on an average,
£6 all round."
"That would be more than £1,800 a year, without counting Sundays. You'll
have to marry in the city, Miss Leigh."
"I shall have to make £30 a year supply my wardrobe--and earn it,"
returned she, lightly.
This admission did not lower her in the estimation of the chivalrous
young sailor, for such he was, though it cooled the already slight
interest taken in her by the portly lady on the other side.
Mrs. Oliphant, who had made acquaintance with everybody, was gabbling
away with her accustomed volubility.
"Oh, my dear Mrs. Rideout, have you tasted this _vol-au-vent_? You really
_should_. I have got the bill of fare" (with girlish elation). "There's
fricandeau of veal, calf's-head collops, tripe _à_--" here she stopped
short, confused at the shocking word.
Bluebell and the young lieutenant had arrived at sufficient intimacy to
exchange a merry glance.
In the mean time, the bride was enacting the pretty spoiled child, and
resisting the solicitations of her husband--a spoony-looking infantry
captain--that she would endeavour to eat something. "Every one says it
is so much better," reiterated he.
"But I am not hungry," said the baby, with most interesting _naiveté_.
"Try a _rawst_ potato, ma'am," said the captain, in his broad accent.
"There's many a one will eat a _rawst_ potato who can't care for anything
else."
The bride made a little _moue_, and shook her head, then admitted that
she fancied a piece of raspberry tart, though the captain protested that
if she would eat anything so injudicious, a gentle nip of whisky would be
advisable to correct it.
Captain Butler, the happy bridegroom, was evidently still in the adoring
stage, so he listened complacently to his wife's silly badinage with the
skipper, whom she informed, apparently for the information of the
company, that she was just nineteen, but winced a little at her further
admission that they had only been married a week.
A slight but monotonous roll and general chilliness, seemed to portend
they were getting into a more open sea, and, as the motion increased, the
saloon began to thin a little. The bride's prattle deepened into moanings
and complaints; she was laid on the sofa, covered with shawls, and
supplied with sal-volatile and smelling-bottles by her devoted spouse,
who began to look deadly pale himself.
Mr. Dutton, Bluebell's neighbour, had gone for a smoke with the skipper.
Mrs. Oliphant was also an absentee; she had tottered from the saloon the
instant the wind freshened, with a contortion of countenance that
betokened her dallyings with the _vol-au-vent_ would be severely visited.
Mrs. Rideout, the lady of position, went off on the arm of her maid, who
had not yet succumbed.
Bluebell, determined to resist the whirling in her head, took out some
work on which she tried to fix her attention. The elderly widow was
looking over a missionary book with woodcuts, and they occasionally
exchanged sentences.
The discomposing rocking of the vessel continued, and the moan of the
winds mingled with the incessant complaints of Mrs. Butler on a distant
sofa, who was as communicative respecting her anguish as her age.
Tea and the return of some of the gentlemen a little relieved the
monotony. Bluebell was languidly experimenting on a piece of dry toast,
when the loud crying of a child attracted her attention, and, the steward
leaving the door open, a little girl of four plunged in. She recognised
her as one of the children with the tipsy father. The mother had dined in
the ladies' cabin, and retired to her berth to lie down, and this lost
lamb was searching for her.
"Come here, my dear," said Mrs. Jackson, the widow lady. "Don't cry,
what's the matter?"
But "I want mamma," was the only reply, without any cessation of shrieks.
"Oh, hush! look at these pretty pictures; here's Moses in the
bull-rushes."
A momentary glance, and then the cries redoubled.
"Phoebus, what lungs!" ejaculated Mr. Dutton. "Come here, child,"
authoritatively, holding up a lump of sugar.
A slight lull, and a hesitating zig-zag movement in his direction. He
made a grab as she came within reach, placed her on his knee, and pushed
a bit of sugar into the month opened for a roar.
"I am quite ashamed of you, making such a noise. Don't choke, there's
more sugar in the basin. Wipe your eyes, and see if you can possibly look
pretty."
Bewildered, but distracted by the sugar, the tears ceased.
"What is your name? Mary, I suppose."
"No, no," indignantly, "H'Emma."
"H'Emma! You little cad, what is the H for? Say Emma. You can't? Then no
more sugar."
"Emma," repeated the astonished child.
"That's right; here is another lump. Miss Leigh, may I ask you to reach
me a very pretty book of coloured animals I saw behind you? Now, Emma,
there is a tabby cat, just like you have at home."
"No, mamma drove it away;" and, the grief returning, "Oh! where's mamma?"
"She isn't coming while you make that noise, and I fear she must be a
wicked woman to drive a poor cat away,--she will never have any luck.
Now, what's that?"
"A 'orse," triumphantly.
"Where _were_ you riz! Say horse. That's right; don't forget. A pig, a
sow, a goose," and so on, half through the book. "Now I'll shut it, and
you can go to bed."
"No, no; see the rest," said the now excited child.
"Which would you rather have, mamma or pictures?"
"Pictures. Show them quick."
"Very well; then mamma may go to blazes. We don't want her bothering here
till we have done. What did you say was the name of that animal?"
"A 'orse."
"What did I tell you? You will never be a lady if you leave out your
h's."
At this moment the mamma appeared. "Oh," said Mrs. Jackson, "your little
girl was crying so for you, till that gentleman succeeded in amusing
her."
"I 'ope, sir, she 'asn't been very troublesome? The baby, 'e 'as been so
fretful with 'is teeth, or I should 'ave come for H'Emma sooner."
"The gentleman said H'Emma was vulgar."
"Don't you tell stories, miss. The gentleman wouldn't 'ave you called
hout of your name."
Bluebell laughed at Mr. Dutton's slightly confused appearance, and asked
if he thought his corrections would survive the force of example.
"I might have known whom she had learnt it from."
Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked Bluebell if she could
play chess; and, on her replying in the affirmative, he produced a
pocket-board.
"I always take it to sea with me," said he, "and make out problems."
Bluebell was beaten, and he tried to teach her a more scientific game.
And the evening passed away pleasantly to those two at any rate.
On retiring to her cabin, she perceived a strong smell of brandy, and
found Mrs. Oliphant ensconced in the lower berth. Evidently the time for
"cheering other people" had not arrived, for her complaints were
incessant. The ship was rolling considerable, and Bluebell found some
difficulty in undressing, and more in clambering into her berth. She had
not been there many minutes when she was startled by the apparition of
a man walking straight into the cabin, who explained his errand by
unceremoniously putting out their lamp.
Then she fell into a dreamless slumber, but was not long allowed a
refreshment denied to her companion, who, in all her wakeful moments,
insisted on keeping up a querulous conversation, till Bluebell, in
despair, feigned sleep, and would no longer reply.