NIGHTMARE AND GOSSIP.
I think it must have been half nightmare, or perhaps too much frozen
pudding at dinner, after the long warm tramp up Gibraltar's steep
sides; at any rate it all happened just as I tell you. Hope retired
somewhat earlier than the rest, leaving Faith in the saloon, where the
passengers were enjoying an impromptu concert given by a Romany man and
his two daughters, who had come on board at Gibraltar to exhibit their
skill with mandolin, tambourine, voice, and guitar.
It grew a bit monotonous and shrill, after the novelty wore off, and as
Hope had become interested in a book some one had lent her, which told
about the old pirates of Algiers and their traffic in Christian slaves,
she stole away to her stateroom, slipped into a loose gown, and turning
on the electric light at her bedhead, settled down for an enjoyable
evening.
It proved to be a blood-curdling narrative, filled with the accounts of
helpless crews butchered by pirates and their passengers, men, women,
and children carried off in chains, to be sold as slaves in the wicked
old Algerian city. Yet, though so thrilling, she was very tired, and
in time it was difficult to keep her place and realize just what it was
all about. Half mechanically, at last, she turned off the light and
lay back on her pillow where, in less time than it takes to tell it,
she was sound asleep. Still, however, the pirates of her book mingled
with her dreams, which were so horrible she struggled into
wakefulness--to find herself drenched with perspiration while shivering
with horror. Anxious for companionship to counteract the effect of
these evil visions, she reached out an arm to the other little bed and
whispered, "Faith!"
With a shock she discovered that the bed was smooth and empty; it had
not been occupied. At the same instant she became aware of whispering
voices just without the porthole above her bed, and a sentence or two
proved they were not English-speaking voices, either, but those of
orientals, of whom, as you know, there were many on shipboard. At
first she could not understand a word, they spoke so low and rapidly,
but presently she heard with clearness the sentence,
"But ee mus' be kill eef she do care! It can no be help, now."
Then more whispers, and then again, distinctly, one urging the other to
attend to the matter at once, the quicker the better, "foh eet gotta
be," and a word or two about the "Capitan Sahib," which she could not
catch.
But, in her abnormal, excited state, she had heard enough. Trembling
from the tragedies of sleep, she thought she had fallen into the
greater ones of reality. These men were going to kill somebody--and
"she" was to feel dreadfully about it. It must be that the "Capitan
Sahib" was to fall a victim to their mutinous designs!
Almost paralyzed with horror she lay still an instant, incapable of
movement, then there was a rushing back of suspended animation as she
felt that Faith might already have suffered, that her father's life was
now in danger and there was not an instant to lose. Upon her prompt
action might depend his life, and the safety of all on board.
Casting off her own terror with the resolve of desperation, she sprang
up and sped into the cabin. It was dark and empty. She passed through
it into the little stateroom, and with a whispered, "Papa! Papa!" felt
along the bunk. It too was empty and untumbled.
Oh, was she too late?
Still under the mental influence that made her believe hours must have
passed during her dreamings, she felt it must be nearing morning
now--that it was the depth of the night, in those darkest watches when
all evil deeds are done, and she was stiff and cold with terror. She
slipped out upon the deck, lying still and shadowy under its awnings,
sped across it like a shadow herself, and so on and up to the bridge.
Her father, calmly talking with one of his officers, saw the swift,
silent rush, and the next instant heard an agonized, "O father!
father!" as the poor child threw herself into his arms, Then, clinging
tightly, she broke out again before he could speak.
"Oh, save sister! Be quick and save her!"
"Save her? What--where--what ails you, child? What has happened?"
"And save yourself! Get the men together--the white men--"
"My child, are you asleep? What is the matter--where have you been?
Why, you are shaking like a leaf!"
He drew her to one side, and the officer discreetly vanished. Hope
begged again, "Save her, oh, save Faith!"
"Faith? Aren't you Faith? I thought you were. Is this my dauntless
Hope, then? Why, how strange! Tell me everything."
"It's those awful Lascars, papa. I've always been afraid of them, they
look so big and black. They're planning to kill somebody--to kill
you--and Faith is gone already."
"Gone? What nonsense is this? She's in the cabin, likely. You must
have a nightmare, Hope!"
"But isn't it most morning, papa?"
"Not anywhere near it--nor midnight either. Faith is somewhere about,
and as for killing--absurd! This isn't one bit like you, child.
Haven't you been dreaming?"
She told him then of her horrible awakening, and repeated the talk she
had heard below the porthole.
"Humph!" he said. "You're mistaken in their designs, but they
certainly had no business in that part of the ship. I must see about
that. Come; I'll take you in and hunt up sister." This was said in a
rather loud voice, made stern by his surprise and annoyance. In a
moment it softened. "There, there, don't tremble so, my child; it's
all right, and everybody is safe enough."
He led her into the cabin, quickly flooded it with electric light, and,
summoning a boy, sent him for Mrs. Jordan, who soon appeared. Briefly
mentioning that his daughter had a slight chill and he would leave her
to look after the child, he started off. Hope was scarcely tucked up
again when her sister came in, looking rather conscious, and blushing a
little.
"Are you ill, dear?" she cried. "Papa said you had a nightmare and a
chill. He is quite upset, and a little cross."
"Oh, where have you been?" returned Hope reproachfully. "I was so
frightened when I found you gone."
"Gone? Why, I haven't been in, yet. You went to bed so early, Hope!
It's only about half-past ten. I've been walking the deck--it's a
lovely night, as soft and warm as can be."
"With Dwight?" asked Hope languidly, for in Martha Jordan's practised
hands she was growing warm and drowsy again.
"N-no, not Dwight," answered Faith hesitantly. "I'll tell you about it
soon. Here comes papa."
She opened the door into his cabin, and gave a cry of horrified
surprise. "Oh, oh! how did it happen?"
"What?" shrieked Hope, all nerves again.
"There! Be quiet now," said her father, and entered quickly, carrying
a limp little bundle of fawn and white.
"Hafiz! It's Hafiz! What has happened? Is he dead?"
"I'm afraid he is. Your Lascars turned out to be our Mohammedans, Huri
and his brother, two as faithful creatures as I have on board. It
seems Hafiz, for some reason, found himself weary of first-cabin
passage, so made his way into the fo'castle, where a dog belonging to
one of the men took after him, and hurt him badly. Huri found him and
saw he must be finished, but hated to do it, and, with his brother, was
discussing the matter while looking for you girls. Faith, where have
you been this last hour or so?"
The girl's eyes were flooded with tears for her lost pet, and
involuntarily his face softened as he turned to her. She flushed a
little, but answered at once, "On the upper deck, sir."
"Ah! that was you then? I saw the couple promenading there. Well,
well, you'd better keep with your sister after this, and look after
your own passengers," with a glance at the dead cat, "instead of mine,
eh? Now, now, Hope, don't cry so!" for, quite worn out by all this
excitement, the girl was sobbing in a somewhat hysterical manner.
"Yes, that's enough!" cried Martha in her hearty way. "No use crying
over spilled milk, nor dead pets--even when they're Persian cats.
You'll find there are one or two more in the world, I guess. Now just
cuddle down there and keep still, or we'll have to give you a dose of
something to quiet you, and it's bitter stuff to take, I can tell you.
Perhaps, if you'll just curl in beside her, Miss Faith, she'll ease
down sooner."
The stewardess was right, for when Hope felt her twin's tender arms
about her she soon grew quiet, and as soon as they were alone whispered
with much interest, "But who was with you on deck, Faith?"
"Well I'll tell you, and it's nothing to make such a fuss over, either.
Do you remember that young officer we saw bidding his mother and sister
good-by at Portsmouth--the ones that were so quiet about it?"
"Oh, yes; and his sweetheart too."
"No, that was his cousin, who lives with them. I got acquainted with
him to-night, and he is a real gentleman. We were walking up and down,
and he was telling me about his people, and his service in India. He
is to be a sort of traveling officer to take out recruits, you see.
He's delighted with the appointment, but his father was lost in a
monsoon on the Indian Ocean, a few years ago, and it nearly killed his
mother to let him go--she is sort of superstitious about it. Don't you
remember how she fainted?"
"Yes, indeed. Poor lady! And he is nice, is he?"
"Yes and intelligent, but bashful. He said he had often watched us,
and can never tell us apart, but he thinks he'll be able to, after
this."
"Oh, he does?" giggled Hope. "I'll wager I could fool him any day, if
I tried. Well, you gave me a nice fright while you were having such a
good time," and thereupon she told her tale as you have just heard it,
and so short a step is it from tragedy to comedy, especially in youth,
that they both laughed over it until they fell asleep.
Meanwhile, on deck, a watchful father saw a young man standing near the
gunwale in idle contemplation of the horizon, and accosted him with a
pleasant word to which the other responded with readiness, though his
manner was somewhat diffident. The two talked some time, the older man
becoming more and more interested in a youth who, with a real manliness
of character, was yet as bashful as a schoolboy. Before the
conversation ended Captain Hosmer was convinced there was not only "no
harm in the fellow," but that he was a young man worth cultivating,
and, as he finally left him, chuckled to himself.
"Ah! these girls. They require an awful sight of looking after, but
sometimes their instincts are as good as our judgments. Faith is a
little woman with her mother's own purity. How she used to worry for
fear I should grow hard and wicked in my rough life. Ah! my Helen,
wherever you are, to-night, know that I am trying to keep myself
steering straight for the Port that you have reached--and, God helping
me, I will bring the babies safe along, too!"
He bowed his head on his hands a minute, and the old steersman,
watching him, thought, with affectionate sympathy.
"The capt'n's tired to-night, and no wonder. Wish he'd turn in and get
a good rest for once, Never saw a man so faithful, bless him! Glad
he's got them nice little girls to make him brace up these
days--sometimes I think as he's getting old too fast."
The next morning the twins were late in rising only to find it a
summer's day, apparently, so balmy indeed that the deck seemed to be
blossoming out into a flower-bed, as group after group of ladies
appeared in gay lawns and organdies, while all the Mohammedan helpers
were busy stretching double awnings where there had been single ones,
or none at all, and rigging up the punkahs in the saloons. These odd
fans, which England has borrowed, name and all, from her East Indian
colonies, were, on the "International," tricolored (red, white, and
blue) strips of cloth, stretched over light wire frames of a
rectangular shape, which were attached to the ceiling and also, by
means of a long rope, to a black-eyed Bengali boy who sat just outside
the door, on deck, and kept them waving by a slow, constant jerk and
pull, which was so regular that Faith declared the boy slept half the
time, and possibly she was right. The ocean lay peacefully about them,
its color almost an indigo, so deeply blue was it in the shadow of the
vessel, but out a little way silvered by the vertical sun, which shone
with a blinding splendor that made colored eye-glasses a relief to the
dazzled vision.
It is in such weather that mischief breeds on shipboard, and gossip is
rife. The idle passengers, by this time mostly on speaking terms,
begin to let the common metal of their real make-up show through the
nickel-plating of the first interchange of courtesies.
There was a group whom our special friends had not yet mingled with
quite freely, though always meeting them in pleasant fashion, but as
everybody clustered sociably on the forward deck, this morning, anxious
to catch the ship's own breeze, if no other, they might naturally
become better acquainted. Of these only a few affect our little
history, therefore need description; first, a mother and two daughters
going out to the husband and father in India. Mrs. Windemere was a
little woman with an habitually scared expression and retiring manner,
but her daughters, both well towards thirty, must have taken after the
father, for they were domineering with her and self-assertive
everywhere. They claimed relationship with some person who bore a
title, and were given to talking a good deal about their aristocratic
relatives, and they dressed conspicuously, demanded constant attention
from any gentlemen present, and were full of news and rumors.
With them was a young woman of like age, whom they familiarly called
Zaidee, who had spent much time in India, and had caught its languor,
possibly. She was more agreeable in manner and pretended indifference
to all that the "girls," as she called them, were interested in;
dressed quietly, but in excellent taste, and talked in her dreamy,
drawling voice in a way that seemed to interest all who listened,
especially the gentlemen, who were usually grouped around her chair
whenever she appeared on deck. There were plenty of these, from Indian
officials of rank to subalterns and young gentlemen of fortune, either
with or without tutors, but who seemed much more interested in
flirtations than scenery.
English girls do not, as a rule, assume the airs of womanhood so early
as do many American maidens--to their credit be it said--and neither
Hope nor Faith had ever thought of considering themselves young ladies.
Though nearing eighteen their gowns were still of ankle length and
their hair in simple braids, while, as we have seen, they enjoyed
frolicking with Dwight as if not a day older. Elizabeth Vanderhoff,
too, though two years older, was still a girl at heart, and had not yet
discovered that no company was complete without its young men.
The officer who had been walking with Faith, last night, was also a
boyish fellow, fair and fresh of face and had been more attracted to
our girls and their frolics than to the older young ladies, with more
social airs and graces. Though Faith had felt somewhat confused, last
night, at her father's raillery, her meeting and talk with the modest
young fellow was innocent enough, in intention, had there been no one
to misconstrue it, but in a carping world we must learn to avoid even
the appearance of evil.
It happened that the little disturbance caused by Hope's bad dreams had
not been quite unnoted, and was to bring rather disagreeable
consequences, as we shall see. But, this morning, there was no hint of
trouble in the air and, gathered under the deck awnings, the passengers
presented a scene pretty and peaceful enough.
Faith, industriously inclined, was at work on a piece of embroidery,
Hope had the piratical book in her hand, but was leaning idly back,
watching Mrs. Vanderhoff, who was playing with one of the little tots,
and visiting in desultory fashion with Bess, who was trying a new
stitch in crochet and interposed a count, or two, between syllables.
The Windemere family, all with their work, except Mrs. Campbell, who
never seemed to have anything to do, were at a little distance--the two
young ladies talking to the distinguished traveler previously
mentioned, who seemed a trifle bored, and Mrs. Campbell being talked to
by a couple of government attachés, whose boyish laughter rang out
frequently.
Presently, the officer of Faith's acquaintance, whose name was
Carnegie, came towards the former group and bashfully bade her a
good-morning which she brightly returned, hastening to present him to
her sister and friends. Soon they were all in animated chat, and the
young attachés in Mrs. Campbell's vicinity began to look that way with
somewhat longing glances.
At length one of them, with some light excuse, sauntered away from her
side, made a slow tour of the deck, and finally drew near our three
girls; saying in passing.
"I've been looking for you, Carnegie."
The other, not having noticed the by-play, turned with a smile, and
replied,
"Have you? I've been down among my men most of the morning. One of
the poor fellows is ill. Not seasick, you understand, but a fever, I'm
afraid." Then as the schemer came to a stop he said bashfully, "May I
present Mr. Donelson, ladies?" and introductions followed.
Naturally Mr. Donelson was pleased at his success, and flung a laughing
glance of triumph back at his comrade, who still sat at the lady's
feet, though he, too, was beginning to fidget and look about for a way
of escape. Mrs. Campbell had seen all with eyes that seemed to notice
nothing, and was indignant enough, for she was inordinately vain, and
desired attention even from boys, if no other was forthcoming. To have
any one preferred before her was gall to her foolish pride. Besides
the traveler, whom she was inclined to make a hero of, had seen, too,
and though pretending still to talk to the Misses Laura and Janet
Windemere, his eyes were twinkling with appreciation.
Mrs. Campbell was not a malicious woman, unless thwarted in her own
plans; then she could be absolutely pitiless, and cared for neither
truth nor justice in carrying out her spiteful revenges. Ridicule was
something she could not endure, and to feel herself slighted made a
fury of her. Yet her outward self-control was perfect. Now, with a
dreamy look in her large blue-gray orbs, she gazed out to seaward, and
remarked as if in a ruminant mood,
"I think, take them all together, we have a rather stupid set of
passengers, this trip, don't you, Mr. Allyne?"
"I don't know," returned the attaché, "are they? Fact is, I haven't
made much headway with the ladies yet, but the men are jolly enough in
the smoking-room--without being too jolly, you understand."
"Oh, of course; they are mostly gentlemen, I presume. Indeed I've
scarcely noticed them, myself"--"Ah! Mrs. Campbell!"--"with a few
exceptions of course," giving him an effective glance. "But the girls
are not much to boast of. That Miss Vanderhoff is positively homely."
"Do you think so? I know she has no special beauty to attract one, but
she looks bright and good-tempered, I'm sure, and I like her voice,
don't you?"
"Not too well. Those American voices are not to my taste. They
threaten my ear-drums."
"Do you call hers sharp, though, Mrs. Campbell? It's clear, I know,
and decided, but----"
She waved the subject aside, as if it were not worth discussing longer,
and asked,
"What do you think of the twinnies?"
Her tone, though laughingly contemptuous, was gentleness itself, and
young Allyne looked up, rather puzzled.
"Why, they seem nice, sweet girls; don't you think so?"
"One can't always tell by looks," was the ambiguous reply, and then she
began to laugh, as if in great amusement over some recollection.
Meanwhile the Windemere girls and the traveler had turned and were
listening, as Mrs. Campbell meant they should.
"What pleases you, Zaidee?" asked Laura, the older, settling her
eyeglasses anew, the better to gaze at her friend.
"Oh, an amusing incident that occurred last night. I happened to see a
part, and easily drew the rest out of Mr. Frazer by adroit questioning,
for, I assure you, it made me curious."
Mr. Frazer was the purser, and the one who had stood talking with
Captain Hosmer when Hope ran out to him, the night before.
"What is it?" asked both girls in a breath, and the traveler added,
with a laugh,
"Yes, indeed, if any one knows anything funny on shipboard it is a
bounden duty to tell it."
"Well, I hardly know whether you could call this funny, or
tragic--perhaps serio-comic is the word," returned Mrs. Campbell in her
smooth little drawl, with its expression of amused indifference, which
always stimulated the interest of the listener. "It was exciting,
anyhow. Somewhere well along towards midnight, last evening, a certain
young lady--a mere girl indeed--was promenading the deck with a strange
young man, when her sister, probably knowing the girl's propensities,
rose from her bed, rushed out to her father, who was at his post,"--she
cast an eye upward towards the bridge--"and begged of him to 'save
sister,' upon which, rather sternly, he marched her back to her cabin
and, hunting up the other one, took her from her escort and led her
inside also, where I imagine there was a scene. At any rate the
stewardess was busy in there for some time, and when I asked what had
happened, she said, 'Only hysterics, ma'am; they're common enough.'
But as I happened to know where she was, and what had just happened, I
did not treat the matter so lightly. Of course it was an exaggeration
of the other girl, but it showed that some people who seem very
innocent will bear looking after. Too bad that pretty girls must spoil
everything by being vain and--well, careless! But the two I mention
are very unconventional."
The Windemeres, mother and daughters, listened with groans of horror,
the attaché with a troubled look, and the traveler with a gravity that
was almost stern. Quite unnoted by the absorbed group, another also
heard, for Lady Moreham, seemingly absorbed in a book and hidden by
some projection of the deck, had dropped the volume and was scowling
savagely. She was not taken with these young women, for at first they
had distinctly snubbed her, and later, having learned her title, had so
suddenly changed to fawning and flattery that she was thoroughly
disgusted.
After an instant the traveler spoke abruptly,
"Do you say you heard and saw this _yourself_, Mrs. Campbell?"
"A part of it--yes, sir." How small a part she did not mention. "The
rest was made comprehensible by Mr. Frazer's explanation."
"I cannot believe that one of the ship's officers would speak ill of
the captain's daughters, madam--and that you refer to them we all
understand."
"Speak ill? Oh, he did not--and who has, indeed? Ill? What can you
mean? I merely mentioned it as a funny, melodramatic sort of
performance, just like a foolish little girl. Of course there was
nothing really out of the way, only a bit of imprudence--and without a
mother, or chaperone, what can one expect?"
"You speak of what I was about to mention; they have no mother. That
is enough to make any older woman feel it her motherly duty to guard
and counsel them, I'm sure," was the calm reply. "We all must agree on
that."
"Yes, indeed!" ventured Mrs. Windemere in her small voice. "Poor young
things."
"I don't think they seem to need your pity, mother!" cried Janet
sharply, looking across at the merry group, in which were the Hosmer
sisters. "Not in that way, at any rate."
"And," added Mrs. Campbell with an exaggerated drawl, "we who are not
of an age to look upon them in a motherly light may not appreciate all
those feelings. They amuse me, to be sure, but I had scarcely thought
of adopting them."
"Nor their father, either?" put in the attaché clumsily, hoping to
raise a laugh and dispel the thunder in the air. But he only drew the
lightning upon himself. She gave him one look that silenced him, and,
lifting the fan in her lap, said languidly,
"How very warm it is! Strange how little the most of us understand the
necessity of fitting our conversation to the weather, if we would be
agreeable. Discussions and personalities, if ever allowable, are only
suited to a zero temperature. Have you noticed the flying-fish, this
morning? How delightful it must be to plunge into that cool water
to-day! I wonder if they fly out into the heat just for the fun of
cooling off afterwards?"
"Quite a suggestion, Mrs. Campbell!" laughed the traveler. "I believe
I'll try it," and, bowing lightly, with a flash of the eyes that met
her own in quick defiance, he turned away.
As he passed around the bulkhead screening Lady Moreham, she rose and
said in a low voice,
"I want to thank you! Many a life has been ruined by base
insinuations. A vain woman's tongue is a merciless weapon. I like the
little sisters, and believe them pure-hearted children. It was wicked!"
He bowed.
"I agree with you, my lady. But you see they are monopolizing the
attention to-day, which is a social crime!" and, with a sarcastic
smile, he passed on.
Meanwhile, undreaming of this "capful of wind" that might become a
tornado, our girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves in a lively, wholly
unsentimental way, pleased with the company and their own happy youth;
and not suspecting that in this same soft, silky atmosphere which
breeds both the exquisite Paradise-bird and the deadly cobra, might be
found, not only friendliness, but also that "envy, malice, and
uncharitableness" which the honest-hearted are least able to guard
against, in their utter lack of comprehension.