He told her he had come to thank her for her great kindness, and to
accept the offer.
She sighed. “I hoped it was to decline it. Think of the misery of
separation, both to you and her.”
“It will be misery. But we are not happy as it is, and she cannot bear
poverty. Nor is it fair she should, when I can give her every comfort by
just playing the man for a year or two.” He then told Lady Cicely there
were more reasons than he chose to mention: go he must, and would; and
he implored her not to let the affair drop. In short, he was sad but
resolved, and she found she must go on with it, or break faith with him.
She took her desk, and wrote a letter concluding the bargain for him.
She stipulated for half the year's fee in advance. She read Dr. Staines
the letter.
“You ARE a friend!” said he. “I should never have ventured on that; it
will be a godsend to my poor Rosa. You will be kind to her when I am
gone?”
“I will.”
“So will Uncle Philip, I think. I will see him before I go, and shake
hands. He has been a good friend to me; but he was too hard upon HER;
and I could not stand that.”
Then he thanked and blessed her again, with the tears in his eyes, and
left her more disturbed and tearful than she had ever been since she
grew to woman. “O cruel poverty!” she thought, “that such a man should
be torn from his home, and thank me for doing it--all for a little
money--and here are we poor commonplace creatures rolling in it.”
Staines hurried home, and told his wife. She clung to him convulsively,
and wept bitterly; but she made no direct attempt to shake his
resolution; she saw, by his iron look, that she could only afflict, not
turn him.
Next day came Lady Cicely to see her. Lady Cicely was very uneasy in her
mind, and wanted to know whether Rosa was reconciled to the separation.
Rosa received her with a forced politeness and an icy coldness that
petrified her. She could not stay long in face of such a reception. At
parting, she said, sadly, “You look on me as an enemy.”
“What else can you expect, when you part my husband and me?” said Rosa,
with quiet sternness.
“I meant well,” said Lady Cicely sorrowfully; “but I wish I had never
interfered.”
“So do I,” and she began to cry.
Lady Cicely made no answer. She went quietly away, hanging her head
sadly.
Rosa was unjust, but she was not rude nor vulgar; and Lady Cicely's
temper was so well governed that it never blinded her heart. She
withdrew, but without the least idea of quarrelling with her afflicted
friend, or abandoning her. She went quietly home, and wrote to Lady
----, to say that she should be glad to receive Dr. Staines's advance
as soon as convenient, since Mrs. Staines would have to make fresh
arrangements, and the money might be useful.
The money was forthcoming directly. Lady Cicely brought it to Dear
Street, and handed it to Dr. Staines. His eyes sparkled at the sight of
it.
“Give my love to Rosa,” said she softly, and cut her visit very short.
Staines took the money to Rosa, and said, “See what our best friend has
brought us. You shall have four hundred, and I hope, after the bitter
lessons you have had, you will be able to do with that for some months.
The two hundred I shall keep as a reserve fund for you to draw on.”
“No, no!” said Rosa. “I shall go and live with my father, and never
spend a penny. O Christie, if you knew how I hate myself for the folly
that is parting us! Oh, why don't they teach girls sense and money,
instead of music and the globes?”
But Christopher opened a banking account for her, and gave her a
check-book, and entreated her to pay everything by check, and run no
bills whatever; and she promised. He also advertised the Bijou, and put
a bill in the window: “The lease of this house, and the furniture, to be
sold.”
Rosa cried bitterly at sight of it, thinking how high in hope they were,
when they had their first dinner there, and also when she went to her
first sale to buy the furniture cheap.
And now everything moved with terrible rapidity. The Amphitrite was to
sail from Plymouth in five days; and, meantime, there was so much to be
done, that the days seemed to gallop away.
Dr. Staines forgot nothing. He made his will in duplicate, leaving all
to his wife; he left one copy at Doctors' Commons and another with his
lawyer; inventoried all his furniture and effects in duplicate, too;
wrote to Uncle Philip, and then called on him to seek a reconciliation.
Unfortunately, Dr. Philip was in Scotland. At last this sad pair went
down to Plymouth together, there to meet Lord Tadcaster and go on board
H.M.S. Amphitrite, lying out at anchor, under orders for the Australian
Station.
They met at the inn, as appointed; and sent word of their arrival on
board the frigate, asking to remain on shore till the last minute.
Dr. Staines presented his patient to Rosa; and after a little while drew
him apart and questioned him professionally. He then asked for a private
room. Here he and Rosa really took leave; for what could the poor things
say to each other on a crowded quay? He begged her forgiveness, on his
knees, for having once spoken harshly to her, and she told him, with
passionate sobs, he had never spoken harshly to her; her folly it was
had parted them.
Poor wretches! they clung together with a thousand vows of love and
constancy. They were to pray for each other at the same hours: to think
of some kind word or loving act, at other stated hours; and so they
tried to fight with their suffering minds against the cruel separation;
and if either should die, the other was to live wedded to memory, and
never listen to love from other lips; but no! God was pitiful; He would
let them meet again ere long, to part no more. They rocked in each
other's arms; they cried over each other--it was pitiful.
At last the cruel summons came; they shuddered, as if it was their
death-blow. Christopher, with a face of agony, was yet himself, and
would have parted then: and so best. But Rosa could not. She would see
the last of him, and became almost wild and violent when he opposed it.
Then he let her come with him to Milbay Steps; but into the boat he
would not let her step.
The ship's boat lay at the steps, manned by six sailors, all seated,
with their oars tossed in two vertical rows. A smart middy in charge
conducted them, and Dr. Staines and Lord Tadcaster got in, leaving Rosa,
in charge of her maid, on the quay.
“Shove off”--“Down”--“Give way.”
Each order was executed so swiftly and surely that, in as many seconds,
the boat was clear, the oars struck the water with a loud splash, and
the husband was shot away like an arrow, and the wife's despairing cry
rang on the stony quay, as many a poor woman's cry had rung before.
In half a minute the boat shot under the stern of the frigate.
They were received on the quarter-deck by Captain Hamilton: he
introduced them to the officers--a torture to poor Staines, to have his
mind taken for a single instant from his wife--the first lieutenant came
aft, and reported, “Ready for making sail, sir.”
Staines seized the excuse, rushed to the other side of the vessel,
leaned over the taffrail, as if he would fly ashore, and stretched out
his hands to his beloved Rosa; and she stretched out her hands to him.
They were so near, he could read the expression of her face. It was wild
and troubled, as one who did not yet realize the terrible situation, but
would not be long first.
“HANDS MAKE SAIL--AWAY, ALOFT--UP ANCHOR”--rang in Christopher's ear, as
if in a dream. All his soul and senses were bent on that desolate young
creature. How young and amazed her lovely face! Yet this bewildered
child was about to become a mother. Even a stranger's heart might have
yearned with pity for her: how much more her miserable husband's!
The capstan was manned, and worked to a merry tune that struck chill to
the bereaved; yards were braced for casting, anchor hove, catted, and
fished, sail was spread with amazing swiftness, the ship's head dipped,
and slowly and gracefully paid off towards the breakwater, and she stood
out to sea under swiftly-swelling canvas and a light north-westerly
breeze.
Staines only felt the motion: his body was in the ship, his soul with
his Rosa. He gazed, he strained his eyes to see her eyes, as the ship
glided from England and her. While he was thus gazing and trembling all
over, up came to him a smart second lieutenant, with a brilliant voice
that struck him like a sword. “Captain's orders to show you berths;
please choose for Lord Tadcaster and yourself.”
The man's wild answer made the young officer stare. “Oh, sir! not
now--try and do my duty when I have quite lost her--my poor wife--a
child--a mother--there--sir--on the steps--there!--there!”
Now this officer always went to sea singing “Oh be joyful.” But a strong
man's agony, who can make light of it? It was a revelation to him; but
he took it quickly. The first thing he did, being a man of action, was
to dash into his cabin, and come back with a short, powerful double
glass. “There!” said he roughly, but kindly, and shoved it into
Staines's hand. He took it, stared at it stupidly, then used it, without
a word of thanks, so wrapped was he in his anguish.
This glass prolonged the misery of that bitter hour. When Rosa could no
longer tell her husband from another, she felt he was really gone, and
she threw her hands aloft, and clasped them above her head, with the
wild abandon of a woman who could never again be a child; and Staines
saw it, and a sharp sigh burst from him, and he saw her maid and others
gather round her. He saw the poor young thing led away, with her head
all down, as he had never seen her before, and supported to the inn; and
then he saw her no more.
His heart seemed to go out of his bosom in search of her, and leave
nothing but a stone behind: he hung over the taffrail like a dead thing.
A steady foot-fall slapped his ear. He raised his white face and filmy
eyes, and saw Lieutenant Fitzroy marching to and fro like a sentinel,
keeping everybody away from the mourner, with the steady, resolute,
business-like face of a man in whom sentiment is confined to action; its
phrases and its flourishes being literally terra incognita to the honest
fellow.
Staines staggered towards him, holding out both hands, and gasped out,
“God bless you. Hide me somewhere--must not be seen SO--got duty to
do--Patient--can't do it yet--one hour to draw my breath--oh, my God, my
God!--one hour, sir. Then do my duty, if I die--as you would.”
Fitzroy tore him down into his own cabin, shut him in and ran to the
first lieutenant, with a tear in his eye. “Can I have a sentry, sir?”
“Sentry! What for?”
“The doctor--awfully cut up at leaving his wife: got him in my cabin.
Wants to have his cry to himself.”
“Fancy a fellow crying at going to sea!”
“It is not that, sir; it is leaving his wife.”
“Well, is he the only man on board that has got a wife?”
“Why, no, sir. It is odd, now I think of it. Perhaps he has only got
that ONE.”
“Curious creatures, landsmen,” said the first lieutenant. “However, you
can stick a marine there.”
“And I say, show the YOUNGSTER the berths, and let him choose, as the
doctor's aground.”
“Yes, sir.”
So Fitzoy planted his marine, and then went after Lord Tadcaster: he had
drawn up alongside his cousin, Captain Hamilton. The captain, being an
admirer of Lady Cicely, was mighty civil to his little lordship, and
talked to him more than was his wont on the quarterdeck; for though
he had a good flow of conversation, and dispensed with ceremony in his
cabin, he was apt to be rather short on deck. However, he told little
Tadcaster he was fortunate; they had a good start, and, if the wind
held, might hope to be clear of the Channel in twenty-four hours. “You
will see Eddystone lighthouse about four bells,” said he.
“Shall we go out of sight of land altogether?” inquired his lordship.
“Of course we shall, and the sooner the better.” He then explained to
the novice that the only danger to a good ship was from the land.
While Tadcaster was digesting this paradox, Captain Hamilton proceeded
to descant on the beauties of blue water and its fine medicinal
qualities, which, he said, were particularly suited to young gentlemen
with bilious stomachs, but presently, catching sight of Lieutenant
Fitzroy standing apart, but with the manner of a lieutenant not there by
accident, he stopped, and said, civilly but smartly, “Well, sir?”
Fitzroy came forward directly, saluted, and said he had orders from the
first lieutenant to show Lord Tadcaster the berths. His lordship must be
good enough to choose, because the doctor--couldn't.
“Why not?”
“Brought to, sir--for the present--by--well, by grief.”
“Brought to by grief! Who the deuce is grief? No riddles on the
quarter-deck, if you please, sir.”
“Oh no, sir. I assure you he is awfully cut up; and he is having his cry
out in my cabin.”
“Having his cry out! why, what for?”
“Leaving his wife, sir.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Well, I don't wonder,” cried little Tadcaster warmly. “She is, oh,
so beautiful!” and a sudden blush o'erspread his pasty cheeks. “Why on
earth didn't we bring her along with us here?” said he, suddenly opening
his eyes with astonishment at the childish omission.
“Why, indeed?” said the captain comically, and dived below, attended by
the well-disciplined laughter of Lieutenant Fitzroy, who was too good
an officer not to be amused at his captain's jokes. Having acquitted
himself of that duty--and it is a very difficult one sometimes--he
took Lord Tadcaster to the main-deck, and showed him two comfortable
sleeping-berths that had been screened off for him and Dr. Staines; one
of these was fitted with a standing bed-place, the other had a cot
swung in it. Fitzroy offered him the choice, but hinted that he himself
preferred a cot.
“No, thank you,” says my lord mighty dryly.
“All right,” said Fitzroy cheerfully. “Take the other, then, my lord.”
His little lordship cocked his eye like a jackdaw, and looked almost as
cunning. “You see,” said he, “I have been reading up for this voyage.”
“Oh, indeed! Logarithms?”
“Of course not.”
“What then?”
“Why, 'Peter Simple'--to be sure.”
“Ah, ha!” said Fitzroy, with a chuckle that showed plainly he had some
delicious reminiscences of youthful study in the same quarter.
The little lord chuckled too, and put one finger on Fitzroy's shoulder,
and pointed at the cot with another. “Tumble out the other side, you
know--slippery hitches--cords cut--down you come flop in the middle of
the night.”
Fitzroy's eye flashed merriment: but only for a moment. His countenance
fell the next. “Lord bless you,” said he sorrowfully, “all that game
is over now. Her Majesty's ship!--it is a church afloat. The service is
going to the devil, as the old fogies say.”
“Ain't you sorry?” says the little lord, cocking his eye again like the
bird hereinbefore mentioned.
“Of course I am.”
“Then I'll take the standing bed.”
“All right. I say, you don't mind the doctor coming down with a run,
eh?”
“He is not ill: I am. He is paid to take care of me: I am not paid to
take care of him,” said the young lord sententiously.
“I understand,” replied Fitzroy, dryly. “Well, every one for himself,
and Providence for us all--as the elephant said when he danced among the
chickens.”
Here my lord was summoned to dine with the captain. Staines was not
there; but he had not forgotten his duty; in the midst of his grief he
had written a note to the captain, hoping that a bereaved husband might
not seem to desert his post if he hid for a few hours the sorrow he
felt himself unable to control. Meantime he would be grateful if Captain
Hamilton would give orders that Lord Tadcaster should eat no pastry, and
drink only six ounces of claret, otherwise he should feel that he was
indeed betraying his trust.
The captain was pleased and touched with this letter. It recalled to him
how his mother sobbed when she launched her little middy, swelling with
his first cocked hat and dirk.
There was champagne at dinner, and little Tadcaster began to pour out a
tumbler. “Hold on!” said Captain Hamilton; “you are not to drink that;”
and he quietly removed the tumbler. “Bring him six ounces of claret.”
While they were weighing the claret with scientific precision, Tadcaster
remonstrated; and, being told it was the doctor's order, he squeaked
out, “Confound him! why did not he stay with his wife? She is
beautiful.” Nor did he give it up without a struggle. “Here's
hospitality!” said he. “Six ounces!”
Receiving no reply, he inquired of the third lieutenant, which was
generally considered the greatest authority in a ship--the captain, or
the doctor.
The third lieutenant answered not, but turned his head away, and, by
violent exertion, succeeded in not splitting.
“I'll answer that,” said Hamilton politely. “The captain is the highest
in his department, and the doctor in his: now Doctor Staines is strictly
within his department, and will be supported by me and my officers. You
are bilious, and epileptical, and all the rest of it, and you are to be
cured by diet and blue water.”
Tadcaster was inclined to snivel: however, he subdued that weakness with
a visible effort, and, in due course, returned to the charge. “How would
you look,” quavered he, “if there was to be a mutiny in this ship of
yours, and I was to head it?'
“Well, I should look SHARP--hang all the ringleaders at the yardarm,
clap the rest under hatches, and steer for the nearest prison.”
“Oh!” said Tadcaster, and digested this scheme a bit. At last he perked
up again, and made his final hit. “Well, I shouldn't care, for one, if
you didn't flog us.”
“In that case,” said Captain Hamilton, “I'd flog you--and stop your six
ounces.”
“Then curse the sea; that is all I say.”
“Why, you have not seen it; you have only seen the British Channel.” It
was Mr. Fitzroy who contributed this last observation.
After dinner all but the captain went on deck, and saw the Eddystone
lighthouse ahead and to leeward. They passed it. Fitzroy told his
lordship its story, and that of its unfortunate predecessors. Soon after
this Lord Tadcaster turned in.
Presently the captain observed a change in the thermometer, which
brought him on deck. He scanned the water and the sky, and as these
experienced commanders have a subtle insight into the weather,
especially in familiar latitudes, he remarked to the first lieutenant
that it looked rather unsettled; and, as a matter of prudence, ordered
a reef in the topsails, and the royal yards to be sent down: ship to be
steered W. by S. This done, he turned in, but told them to call him if
there was any change in the weather.
During the night the wind gradually headed; and at four bells in the
middle watch a heavy squall came up from the south-west.
This brought the captain on deck again: he found the officer of the
watch at his post, and at work. Sail was shortened, and the ship made
snug for heavy weather.
At four A.M. it was blowing hard, and, being too near the French coast,
they wore the ship.
Now, this operation was bad for little Tadcaster. While the vessel was
on the starboard tack, the side kept him snug; but, when they wore her,
of course he had no leeboard to keep him in. The ship gave a lee-lurch,
and shot him clean out of his bunk into the middle of the cabin.
He shrieked and shrieked, with terror and pain, till the captain and
Staines, who were his nearest neighbors, came to him, and they gave him
a little brandy, and got him to bed again. Here he suffered nothing but
violent seasickness for some hours. As for Staines, he had been swinging
heavily in his cot; but such was his mental distress that he would have
welcomed seasickness, or any reasonable bodily suffering. He was in that
state when the sting of a wasp is a touch of comfort.
Worn out with sickness, Tadcaster would not move. Invited to breakfast,
he swore faintly, and insisted on dying in peace. At last exhaustion
gave him a sort of sleep, in spite of the motion, which was violent, for
it was now blowing great guns, a heavy sea on, and the great waves dirty
in color and crested with raging foam.
They had to wear ship again, always a ticklish manoeuvre in weather like
this.
A tremendous sea struck her quarter, stove in the very port abreast of
which the little lord was lying, and washed him clean out of bed into
the lee scuppers, and set all swimming around him.
Didn't he yell, and wash about the cabin, and grab at all the chairs
and tables and things that drifted about, nimble as eels, avoiding his
grasp!
In rushed the captain, and in staggered Staines. They stopped his
“voyage autour de sa chambre,” and dragged him into the after saloon.
He clung to them by turns, and begged, with many tears, to be put on the
nearest land; a rock would do.
“Much obliged,” said the captain; “now is the very time to give rocks a
wide berth.”
“A dead whale, then--a lighthouse--anything but a beast of a ship.”
They pacified him with a little brandy, and for the next twenty-four
hours he scarcely opened his mouth, except for a purpose it is
needless to dwell on. We can trust to our terrestrial readers' personal
reminiscences of lee-lurches, weather-rolls, and their faithful
concomitant.
At last they wriggled out of the Channel, and soon after that the wind
abated, and next day veered round to the northward, and the ship sailed
almost on an even keel. The motion became as heavenly as it had been
diabolical, and the passengers came on deck.
Staines had suffered one whole day from sea-sickness, but never
complained. I believe it did his mind more good than harm.
As for Tadcaster, he continued to suffer, at intervals, for two days
more, but on the fifth day out he appeared with a little pink tinge
on his cheek and a wolfish appetite. Dr. Staines controlled his diet
severely, as to quality, and, when they had been at sea just eleven
days, the physician's heavy heart was not a little lightened by the
marvellous change in him. The unthinking, who believe in the drug
system, should have seen what a physician can do with air and food,
when circumstances enable him to ENFORCE the diet he enjoins. Money will
sometimes buy even health, if you AVOID DRUGS ENTIRELY, and go another
road.
Little Tadcaster went on board, pasty, dim-eyed, and very subject to
fits, because his stomach was constantly overloaded with indigestible
trash, and the blood in his brain-vessels was always either galloping or
creeping, under the first or second effect of stimulants administered,
at first, by thoughtless physicians. Behold him now--bronzed, pinky,
bright-eyed, elastic; and only one fit in twelve days.
The quarter-deck was hailed from the “look-out” with a cry that is
sometimes terrible, but in this latitude and weather welcome and
exciting. “Land, ho!”
“Where away?” cried the officer of the watch.
“A point on the lee-bow, sir.”
It was the island of Madeira: they dropped anchor in Funchal Roads,
furled sails, squared yards, and fired a salute of twenty-one guns for
the Portuguese flag.
They went ashore, and found a good hotel, and were no longer dosed, as
in former days, with oil, onions, garlic, eggs. But the wine queer, and
no madeira to be got.
Staines wrote home to his wife: he told her how deeply he had felt the
bereavement; but did not dwell on that; his object being to cheer her.
He told her it promised to be a rapid and wonderful cure, and one that
might very well give him a fresh start in London. They need not be
parted a whole year, he thought. He sent her a very long letter, and
also such extracts from his sea journal as he thought might please her.
After dinner they inspected the town, and what struck them most was to
find the streets paved with flag-stones, and most of the carts drawn by
bullocks on sledges. A man every now and then would run forward and drop
a greasy cloth in front of the sledge, to lubricate the way.
Next day, after breakfast, they ordered horses; these on inspection,
proved to be of excellent breed, either from Australia or America--very
rough shod, for the stony roads. Started for the Grand Canal--peeped
down that mighty chasm, which has the appearance of an immense mass
having been blown out of the centre of the mountain.
They lunched under the great dragon tree near its brink, then rode back
admiring the bold mountain scenery. Next morning at dawn, rode on horses
up the hill to the convent. Admired the beautiful gardens on the way.
Remained a short time; then came down in hand-sleighs--little baskets
slung on sledges, guided by two natives; these sledges run down the
hill with surprising rapidity, and the men guide them round corners by
sticking out a foot to port or starboard.
Embarked at 11.30 A.M.
At 1.30, the men having dined, the ship was got under way for the Cape
of Good Hope, and all sail made for a southerly course, to get into the
north-east trades.
The weather was now balmy and delightful, and so genial that everybody
lived on deck, and could hardly be got to turn in to their cabins, even
for sleep.
Dr. Staines became a favorite with the officers. There is a great deal
of science on board a modern ship of war, and, of course, on some points
Staines, a Cambridge wrangler, and a man of many sciences and books, was
an oracle. On others he was quite behind, but a ready and quick pupil.
He made up to the navigating officer, and learned, with his help, to
take observations. In return he was always at any youngster's service
in a trigonometrical problem; and he amused the midshipmen and young
lieutenants with analytical tests; some of these were applicable to
certain liquids dispensed by the paymaster. Under one of them the
port wine assumed some very droll colors and appearances not proper to
grape-juice.
One lovely night that the ship clove the dark sea into a blaze of
phosphorescence, and her wake streamed like a comet's tail, a waggish
middy got a bucketful hoisted on deck, and asked the doctor to analyze
that. He did not much like it, but yielded to the general request; and
by dividing it into smaller vessels, and dropping in various chemicals,
made rainbows and silvery flames and what not. But he declined to repeat
the experiment: “No, no; once is philosophy; twice is cruelty. I've
slain more than Samson already.”
As for Tadcaster, science had no charms for him; but fiction had; and
he got it galore; for he cruised about the forecastle, and there the
quartermasters and old seamen spun him yarns that held him breathless.
But one day my lord had a fit on the quarter-deck, and a bad one; and
Staines found him smelling strong of rum. He represented this to Captain
Hamilton. The captain caused strict inquiries to be made, and it came
out that my lord had gone among the men, with money in both pockets, and
bought a little of one man's grog, and a little of another, and had been
sipping the furtive but transient joys of solitary intoxication.
Captain Hamilton talked to him seriously; told him it was suicide.
“Never mind, old boy,” said the young monkey; “a short life and a merry
one.”
Then Hamilton represented that it was very ungentleman-like to go and
tempt poor Jack with his money, to offend discipline, and get flogged.
“How will you feel, Tadcaster, when you see their backs bleeding under
the cat?”
“Oh, d--n it all, George, don't do that,” says the young gentleman, all
in a hurry.
Then the commander saw he had touched the right chord. So he played on
it, till he got Lord Tadcaster to pledge his honor not to do it again.
The little fellow gave the pledge, but relieved his mind as follows:
“But it is a cursed tyrannical hole, this tiresome old ship. You can't
do what you like in it.”
“Well, but no more you can in the grave: and that is the agreeable
residence you were hurrying to but for this tiresome old ship.”
“Lord! no more you can,” said Tadcaster, with sudden candor. “I FORGOT
THAT.”
The airs were very light; the ship hardly moved. It was beginning to get
dull, when one day a sail was sighted on the weather-bow, standing to
the eastward: on nearing her, she was seen, by the cut of her sails, to
be a man-of-war, evidently homeward bound: so Captain Hamilton ordered
the main-royal to be lowered (to render signal more visible) and the
“demand” hoisted. No notice being taken of this, a gun was fired to draw
her attention to the signal. This had the desired effect; down went her
main-royal, up went her “number.” On referring to the signal book, she
proved to be the Vindictive from the Pacific Station.
This being ascertained, Captain Hamilton, being that captain's senior,
signalled “Close and prepare to receive letters.” In obedience to this
she bore up, ran down, and rounded to; the sail in the Amphitrite was
also shortened, the maintopsail laid to the mast, and a boat lowered.
The captain having finished his despatches, they, with the letter-bags,
were handed into the boat, which shoved off, pulled to the lee side
of the Vindictive, and left the despatches, with Captain Hamilton's
compliments. On its return, both ships made sail on their respective
course, exchanging “bon voyage” by signal, and soon the upper sails of
the homeward-bounder were seen dipping below the horizon: longing eyes
followed her on board the Amphitrite.
How many hurried missives had been written and despatched in that
half-hour. But as for Staines, he was a man of forethought, and had a
volume ready for his dear wife.
Lord Tadcaster wrote to Lady Cicely Treherne. His epistle, though brief,
contained a plum or two.
He wrote: “What with sailing, and fishing, and eating nothing but roast
meat, I'm quite another man.”
This amused her ladyship a little, but not so much as the postscript,
which was indeed the neatest thing in its way she had met with, and she
had some experience, too.
“P.S.--I say, Cicely, I think I should like to marry you. Would you
mind?”
Let us defy time and space to give you Lady Cicely's reply: “I should
enjoy it of all things, Taddy. But, alas! I am too young.”
N.B.--She was twenty-seven, and Tad sixteen. To be sure, Tad was four
feet eleven, and she was only five feet six and a half.
To return to my narrative (with apologies), this meeting of the vessels
caused a very agreeable excitement that day; but a greater was in store.
In the afternoon, Tadcaster, Staines, and the principal officers of the
ship, being at dinner in the captain's cabin, in came the officer of the
watch, and reported a large spar on the weather-bow.
“Well, close it, if you can; and let me know if it looks worth picking
up.”
He then explained to Lord Tadcaster that, on a cruise, he never liked
to pass a spar, or anything that might possibly reveal the fate of some
vessel or other.
In the middle of his discourse the officer came in again, but not in
the same cool business way: he ran in excitedly, and said, “Captain, the
signalman reports it ALIVE!”
“Alive?--a spar! What do you mean? Something alive ON it, eh?”
“No, sir; alive itself.”
“How can that be? Hail him again. Ask him what it is.”
The officer went out, and hailed the signalman at the mast-head. “What
is it?”
“Sea-sarpint, I think.”
This hail reached the captain's ears faintly. However, he waited quietly
till the officer came in and reported it; then he burst out, “Absurd!
there is no such creature in the universe. What do you say, Dr.
Staines?--It is in your department.”
“The universe in my department, captain?”
“Haw! haw! haw!” went Fitzroy and two more.
“No, you rogue, the serpent.”
Dr. Staines, thus appealed to, asked the captain if he had ever seen
small snakes out at sea.
“Why, of course. Sailed through a mile of them once, in the
archipelago.”
“Sure they were snakes?”
“Quite sure; and the biggest was not eight feet long.”
“Very well, captain; then sea-serpents exist, and it becomes a mere
question of size. Now which produces the larger animals in every
kind,--land or sea? The grown elephant weighs, I believe, about five
tons. The very smallest of the whale tribe weighs ten; and they go as
high as forty tons. There are smaller fish than the whale, that are four
times as heavy as the elephant. Why doubt, then, that the sea can breed
a snake to eclipse the boa-constrictor? Even if the creature had never
been seen, I should, by mere reasoning from analogy, expect the sea to
produce a serpent excelling the boa-constrictor, as the lobster excels
a crayfish of our rivers: see how large things grow at sea! the salmon
born in our rivers weighs in six months a quarter of a pound, or less;
it goes out to sea, and comes back in one year weighing seven pounds.
So far from doubting the large sea-serpents, I believe they exist by the
million. The only thing that puzzles me is, why they should ever show a
nose above water; they must be very numerous, I think.”
Captain Hamilton laughed, and said, “Well, this IS new. Doctor, in
compliment to your opinion, we will go on deck, and inspect the reptile
you think so common.” He stopped at the door, and said, “Doctor, the
saltcellar is by you. Would you mind bringing it on deck? We shall want
a little to secure the animal.”
So they all went on deck right merrily.
The captain went up a few ratlines in the mizzen rigging, and looked to
windward, laughing all the time: but, all of a sudden, there was a great
change in his manner. “Good heavens, it is alive--LUFF!”
The helmsman obeyed; the news spread like wildfire. Mess kids, grog
kids, pipes, were all let fall, and some three hundred sailors clustered
on the rigging like bees, to view the long-talked-of monster.
It was soon discovered to be moving lazily along, the propelling part
being under water, and about twenty-five feet visible. It had a small
head for so large a body, and, as they got nearer, rough scales were
seen, ending in smaller ones further down the body. It had a mane, but
not like a lion's, as some have pretended. If you have ever seen a pony
with a hog-mane, that was more the character of this creature's mane, if
mane it was.
They got within a hundred yards of it, and all saw it plainly, scarce
believing their senses.
When they could get no nearer for the wind, the captain yielded to that
instinct which urges man always to kill a curiosity, “to encourage the
rest,” as saith the witty Voltaire. “Get ready a gun--best shot in the
ship lay and fire it.”
This was soon done. Bang went the gun. The shot struck the water close
to the brute, and may have struck him under water, for aught I know.
Any way, it sorely disturbed him; for he reared into the air a column
of serpent's flesh that looked as thick as the maintopmast of a
seventy-four, opened a mouth that looked capacious enough to swallow
the largest buoy anchor in the ship, and, with a strange grating noise
between a bark and a hiss, dived, and was seen no more.
When he was gone, they all looked at one another like men awaking from a
dream.
Staines alone took it quite coolly. It did not surprise him in the
least. He had always thought it incredible that the boa-constrictor
should be larger than any sea-snake. That idea struck him as monstrous
and absurd. He noted the sea-serpent in his journal, but with this
doubt, “Semble--more like a very large eel.”
Next day they crossed the line. Just before noon a young gentleman
burst into Staines's cabin, apologizing for want of ceremony; but if
Dr. Staines would like to see the line, it was now in sight from the
mizzentop.
“Glad of it, sir,” said Staines; “collect it for me in the ship's
buckets, if you please. I want to send A LINE to friends at home.”
Young gentleman buried his hands in his pockets, walked out in solemn
silence, and resumed his position on the lee-side of the quarter-deck.
Nevertheless, this opening, coupled with what he had heard and read,
made Staines a little uneasy, and he went to his friend Fitzroy, and
said, “Now, look here: I am at the service of you experienced and
humorous mariners. I plead guilty at once to the crime of never having
passed the line; so, make ready your swabs, and lather me; your ship's
scraper, and shave me; and let us get it over. But Lord Tadcaster is
nervous, sensitive, prouder than he seems, and I'm not going to have him
driven into a fit for all the Neptunes and Amphitrites in creation.”
Fitzroy heard him out, then burst out laughing. “Why, there is none of
that game in the Royal Navy,” said he. “Hasn't been this twenty years.”
“I'm so sorry,” said Dr. Staines. “If there's a form of wit I revere, it
is practical joking.”
“Doctor, you are a satirical beggar.”
Staines told Tadcaster, and he went forward and chaffed his friend the
quartermaster, who was one of the forecastle wits.
“I say, quartermaster, why doesn't Neptune come on board?”
Dead silence.
“I wonder what has become of poor old Nep?”
“Gone ashore!” growled the seaman. “Last seen in Rateliff Highway. Got a
shop there--lends a shilling in the pound on seamen's advance tickets.”
“Oh! and Amphitrite?”
“Married the sexton at Wapping.”
“And the Nereids?”
“Neruds!” (scratching his head.) “I harn't kept my eye on them small
craft. But I BELIEVE they are selling oysters in the port of Leith.”
A light breeze carried them across the equator; but soon after they
got becalmed, and it was dreary work, and the ship rolled gently, but
continuously, and upset Lord Tadcaster's stomach again, and quenched his
manly spirit.
At last they were fortunate enough to catch the southeast trade, but it
was so languid at first that the ship barely moved through the water,
though they set every stitch, and studding sails alow and aloft, till
really she was acres of canvas.
While she was so creeping along, a man in the mizzentop noticed an
enormous shark gliding steadily in her wake. This may seem a small
incident, yet it ran through the ship like wildfire, and caused more or
less uneasiness in three hundred stout hearts; so near is every seaman
to death, and so strong the persuasion in their superstitious minds,
that a shark does not follow a ship pertinaciously without a prophetic
instinct of calamity.
Unfortunately, the quartermaster conveyed this idea to Lord Tadcaster,
and confirmed it by numerous examples to prove that there was always
death at hand when a shark followed the ship.
Thereupon Tadcaster took it into his head that he was under a relapse,
and the shark was waiting for his dead body: he got quite low-spirited.
Staines told Fitzroy. Fitzroy said, “Shark be hanged! I'll have him on
deck in half an hour.” He got leave from the captain: a hook was
baited with a large piece of pork, and towed astern by a stout line,
experienced old hands attending to it by turns.
The shark came up leisurely, surveyed the bait, and, I apprehend,
ascertained the position of the hook. At all events, he turned quietly
on his back, sucked the bait off, and retired to enjoy it.
Every officer in the ship tried him in turn, but without success; for,
if they got ready for him, and, the moment he took the bait, jerked the
rope hard, in that case he opened his enormous mouth so wide that the
bait and hook came out clear. But, sooner or later, he always got the
bait, and left his captors the hook.
This went on for days, and his huge dorsal fin always in the ship's
wake.
Then Tadcaster, who had watched these experiments with hope, lost his
spirit and appetite.
Staines reasoned with him, but in vain. Somebody was to die; and,
although there were three hundred and more in the ship, he must be the
one. At last he actually made his will, and threw himself into Staines's
arms, and gave him messages to his mother and Lady Cicely; and ended by
frightening himself into a fit.
This roused Staines's pity, and also put him on his mettle. What,
science be beaten by a shark!
He pondered the matter with all his might; and at last an idea came to
him.
He asked the captain's permission to try his hand. This was accorded
immediately, and the ship's stores placed at his disposal very politely,
but with a sly, comical grin.
Dr. Staines got from the carpenter some sheets of zinc and spare copper,
and some flannel: these he cut into three-inch squares, and soaked the
flannel in acidulated water. He then procured a quantity of bell-wire,
the greater part of which he insulated by wrapping it round with hot
gutta percha. So eager was he, that he did not turn in all night.
In the morning he prepared what he called an electric fuse--he filled
a soda-water bottle with gunpowder, attaching some cork to make it
buoyant, put in the fuse and bung, made it water-tight, connected and
insulated his main wires--enveloped the bottle in pork--tied a line to
it, and let the bottle overboard.
The captain and officers shook their heads mysteriously. The tars peeped
and grinned from every rope to see a doctor try and catch a shark with
a soda-water bottle and no hook; but somehow the doctor seemed to
know what he was about, so they hovered round, and awaited the result,
mystified, but curious, and showing their teeth from ear to ear.
“The only thing I fear,” said Staines, “is that, the moment he takes the
bait, he will cut the wire before I can complete the circuit, and fire
the fuse.”
Nevertheless, there was another objection to the success of the
experiment. The shark had disappeared.
“Well,” said the captain, “at all events, you have frightened him away.”
“No,” said little Tadcaster, white as a ghost; “he is only under water,
I know; waiting--waiting.”
“There he is,” cried one in the ratlines.
There was a rush to the taffrail--great excitement.
“Keep clear of me,” said Staines quietly but firmly. “It can only be
done at the moment before he cuts the wire.”
The old shark swam slowly round the bait.
He saw it was something new.
He swam round and round it.
“He won't take it,” said one.
“He suspects something.”
“Oh, yes, he will take the meat somehow, and leave the pepper. Sly old
fox!”
“He has eaten many a poor Jack, that one.”
The shark turned slowly on his back, and, instead of grabbing at the
bait, seemed to draw it by gentle suction into that capacious throat,
ready to blow it out in a moment if it was not all right.
The moment the bait was drawn out of sight, Staines completed the
circuit; the bottle exploded with a fury that surprised him and
everybody who saw it; a ton of water flew into the air, and came down in
spray, and a gory carcass floated, belly uppermost, visibly staining the
blue water.
There was a roar of amazement and applause.
The carcass was towed alongside, at Tadcaster's urgent request, and then
the power of the explosion was seen. Confined, first by the bottle, then
by the meat, then by the fish, and lastly by the water, it had exploded
with tenfold power, had blown the brute's head into a million atoms, and
had even torn a great furrow in its carcass, exposing three feet of the
backbone.
Taddy gloated on his enemy, and began to pick up again from that hour.
The wind improved, and, as usual in that latitude, scarcely varied
a point. They had a pleasant time,--private theatricals and other
amusements till they got to latitude 26 deg. S. and longitude 27 deg. W.
Then the trade wind deserted them. Light and variable winds succeeded.
The master complained of the chronometers, and the captain thought it
his duty to verify or correct them; and so shaped his course for the
island of Tristan d'Acunha, then lying a little way out of his course. I
ought, perhaps, to explain to the general reader that the exact position
of this island being long ago established and recorded, it was an
infallible guide to go by in verifying a ship's chronometers.
Next day the glass fell all day, and the captain said he should
double-reef topsails at nightfall, for something was brewing.
The weather, however, was fine, and the ship was sailing very fast,
when, about half an hour before sunset, the mast-head man hailed that
there was a bulk of timber in sight, broad on the weather-bow.
The signalman was sent up, and said it looked like a raft.
The captain, who was on deck, levelled his glass at it, and made it out
a raft, with a sort of rail to it, and the stump of a mast.
He ordered the officer of the watch to keep the ship as close to the
wind as possible. He should like to examine it if he could.
The master represented, respectfully, that it would be unadvisable to
beat to windward for that. “I have no faith in our chronometers, sir,
and it is important to make the island before dark; fogs rise here so
suddenly.”
“Very well, Mr. Bolt; then I suppose we must let the raft go.”
“MAN ON THE RAFT TO WINDWARD!” hailed the signalman.
This electrified the ship. The captain ran up the mizzen rigging, and
scanned the raft, now nearly abeam.
“It IS a man!” he cried, and was about to alter the ship's course when,
at that moment, the signalman hailed again,--
“IT IS A CORPSE.”
“How d'ye know?”
“By the gulls.”
Then succeeded an exciting dialogue between the captain and the master,
who, being in his department, was very firm; and went so far as to say
he would not answer for the safety of the ship, if they did not sight
the land before dark.
The captain said, “Very well,” and took a turn or two. But at last he
said, “No. Her Majesty's ship must not pass a raft with a man on it,
dead or alive.”
He then began to give the necessary orders; but before they were all out
of his mouth, a fatal interruption occurred.
Tadcaster ran into Dr. Staines's cabin, crying, “A raft with a corpse
close by!”
Staines sprang to the quarter port to see, and craning eagerly out, the
lower port chain, which had not been well secured, slipped, the port
gave way, and as his whole weight rested on it, canted him headlong into
the sea.
A smart seaman in the forechains saw the accident, and instantly roared
out, “MAN OVERBOARD!” a cry that sends a thrill through a ship's very
ribs.
Another smart fellow cut the life-buoy adrift so quickly that it struck
the water within ten yards of Staines.
The officer of the watch, without the interval of half a moment, gave
the right orders, in the voice of a stentor;
“Let go life-buoy.
“Life-boat's crew away.
“Hands shorten sail.
“Mainsel up.
“Main topsel to mast.”
These orders were executed with admirable swiftness. Meantime there was
a mighty rush of feet throughout the frigate, every hatchway was crammed
with men eager to force their way on deck.
In five seconds the middy of the watch and half her crew were in the lee
cutter, fitted with Clifford's apparatus.
“Lower away!” cried the excited officer; “the others will come down by
the pendants.”
The man stationed, sitting on the bottom boards, eased away roundly,
when suddenly there was a hitch--the boat would go no farther.
“Lower away there in the cutter! Why don't you lower?” screamed the
captain, who had come over to leeward expecting to see the boat in the
water.
“The rope has swollen, sir, and the pendants won't unreeve,” cried the
middy in agony.
“Volunteers for the weather-boat!” shouted the first lieutenant; but
the order was unnecessary, for more than the proper number were in her
already.
“Plug in--lower away.”
But mishaps never come singly. Scarcely had this boat gone a foot from
the davit, than the volunteer who was acting as coxswain, in reaching
out for something, inadvertently let go the line, which, in Kynaston's
apparatus, keeps the tackles hooked; consequently, down went the boat
and crew twenty feet, with a terrific crash; the men were struggling for
their lives, and the boat was stove.
But, meantime, more men having been sent into the lee cutter, their
weight caused the pendants to render, and the boat got afloat, and was
soon employed picking up the struggling crew.
Seeing this, Lieutenant Fitzroy collected some hands, and lowered the
life-boat gig, which was fitted with common tackles, got down into her
himself by the falls, and pulling round to windward, shouted to the
signalman for directions.
The signalman was at his post, and had fixed his eye on the man
overboard, as his duty was; but his mess-mate was in the stove boat, and
he had cast one anxious look down to see if he was saved, and, sad to
relate, in that one moment he had lost sight of Staines; the sudden
darkness--there was no twilight--confused him more, and the ship had
increased her drift.
Fitzroy, however, made a rapid calculation, and pulled to windward with
all his might. He was followed in about a minute by the other sound boat
powerfully manned, and both boats melted away into the night.
There was a long and anxious suspense, during which it became pitch
dark, and the ship burned blue lights to mark her position more plainly
to the crews that were groping the sea for that beloved passenger.
Captain Hamilton had no doubt that the fate of Staines was decided, one
way or other, long before this; but he kept quiet until he saw the plain
signs of a squall at hand. Then, as he was responsible for the safety of
boats and ship, he sent up rockets to recall them.
The cutter came alongside first. Lights were poured on her, and
quavering voices asked, “Have you got him?”
The answer was dead silence, and sorrowful, drooping heads.
Sadly and reluctantly was the order given to hoist the boat in.
Then the gig came alongside. Fitzroy seated in her, with his hands
before his face; the men gloomy and sad.
“GONE! GONE!”
Soon the ship was battling a heavy squall.
At midnight all quiet again, and hove to. Then, at the request of many,
the bell was tolled, and the ship's company mustered bareheaded,
and many a stout seaman in tears, as the last service was read for
Christopher Staines.