THE TRAVELLING COMPANION.
A grey haze, thickened by the smoke of the city, drove out across the
water when the _Scarrowmania_ lay in the Mersey, with her cable hove
short, and the last of the flood tide gurgling against her bows. A
trumpeting blast of steam swept high aloft from beside her squat
funnel, and the splash of the slowly turning paddles of the couple of
steam tugs that lay alongside mingled with the din it made. A gangway
from one of them led to the _Scarrowmania's_ forward deck, and a stream
of frowsy humanity that had just been released from overpacked emigrant
boarding-houses poured up it. There were apparently representatives of
all peoples and languages among that unkempt horde--Britons,
Scandinavians, Teutons, Italians, Russians, Poles--and they moved on in
forlorn apathy, like cattle driven to the slaughter. One wondered,
from the look of them, how they had raised their passage money, and how
many years' bitter self-denial it had cost them to provide for their
transit to the land of promise.
At the head of the gangway stood the steamboat doctors, for the
_Scarrowmania_ was taking out an unusual number of passengers, and
there were two of them. They were immaculate in blue uniform, and
looked very clean and English by contrast with the mass of frowsy
aliens. Beside them stood another official, presumably acting on
behalf of the Dominion Government, though there were few restrictions
imposed upon Canadian immigration then, nor for that matter did anybody
trouble much about the comfort of the steerage passengers. Though they
have altered all that latterly, each steamer, in a general way, carried
as many as she could hold.
As the stream poured out of the gangway, the doctor glanced at each new
comer's face, and then seizing him by the wrist uncovered it. Since
this took him two or three seconds, one could have fancied that he
either possessed peculiar powers, or that the test was a somewhat
inefficient one. Then he looked at the official, who made a sign, and
the man moved on.
In the meanwhile a group of first-class passengers leaning on the
thwart-ship rails close by looked on, with complacent satisfaction with
the fact that they were born in a different station, or
half-contemptuous pity, as their temperament varied. Among them stood
Mrs. Hastings, Miss Winifred Rawlinson, and Agatha. The latter noticed
that Wyllard sat on a hatch forward near the head of the gangway, with
a pipe in his hand. She drew Mrs. Hastings's attention to it.
"Whatever is Mr. Wyllard doing there?" she asked.
Her companion, who was wrapped in furs, for there was a sting in the
east wind, smiled at her.
"That," she said, "is more than I can tell you; but Harry Wyllard seems
to find an interest in what other folks would consider most unpromising
things, and, what's more to the purpose, he's rather addicted to taking
a hand in. It's a habit that costs him something now and then."
Agatha asked nothing further. She was interested in Wyllard, but she
was at the moment more interested in the faces of those who swarmed on
board. She wondered what they had endured in the lands that had cast
them out, and what they might still have to bear. It seemed to her
that the murmur of their harsh voices went up in a great protest, an
inarticulate cry of sorrow. While she looked on the doctor held back a
long-haired man who was following a haggard woman shuffling in broken
boots. He drew him aside, and when, after he had apparently consulted
with the other official, two seamen hustled the man towards a second
gangway that led to the tug, the woman raised a wild, despairing cry.
It, however, seemed that she blocked the passage, and a quartermaster
drove her, expostulating in an agony of terror, forward among the rest.
Nobody appeared concerned about this alien's tragedy, except one man,
but Agatha was not astonished when Wyllard rose and quietly laid his
hand upon the official's shoulder.
A parley appeared to follow, somebody gave an order, and when the alien
was led back again the woman's cries subsided. Agatha looked at her
companion, and once more a smile crept into Mrs. Hastings's eyes.
"Yes," she said, "I guessed he would feel he had to stand in. That's a
man who can't see any one in trouble." Then she added, with a little
whimsical sigh, "He had a bonanza harvest last fall, any way."
They moved aft soon afterwards, and the _Scarrowmania_ was smoothly
sliding seawards with the first of the ebb when Agatha met Wyllard. He
glanced at the Lancashire sandhills, which were fading into a pale
ochre gleam amidst the haze over the starboard hand, and then at the
long row of painted buoys that moved back to them ahead.
"You're off at last! The sad grey weather is dropping fast astern," he
said. "Out yonder, the skies are clear."
"Thank you," said Agatha, "I'm to apply that as I like? As a matter of
fact, however, our days weren't always grey. But what was the trouble
when those steerage people came on board?"
Wyllard's manner, as she noticed, was free alike from the complacent
self-satisfaction which occasionally characterises the philanthropist,
and any affectation of diffidence.
"Well," he said, "there was something wrong with that woman's husband.
Nothing infectious, I believe, but they didn't seem to consider him a
desirable citizen. They make a warning example of somebody with a
physical infirmity now and then. The man, they decided, must be put
ashore again. In the meanwhile, somebody else had hustled the woman
forward, and it almost looked as if they'd have taken her on without
him. The tug was almost ready to cast off."
"How dreadful!" said Agatha. "But what did you do?"
"Merely promised to guarantee the cost of his passage back if they'd
refer his case to the immigration people at the other end. It's
scarcely likely that they'll make trouble. As a rule, they only throw
folks who're certain to become a charge on the community."
"But if he really had any infirmity, mightn't it lead to that?"
"No," said Wyllard drily. "I would engage to give him a fair start if
it was necessary. You wouldn't have had that woman landed in Montreal,
helpless and alone, while the man was sent back again to starve in
Poland?"
He saw a curious liquid gleam in Agatha's eyes, and added in a
deprecating manner, "You see, I've now and then limped without a dollar
into a British Columbian mining town."
The girl was a little stirred; but there was another matter that must
be mentioned, though she felt that the time was somewhat inopportune.
"Miss Rawlinson, who had only a second-class ticket, insists upon being
told how it is that she has been transferred to the saloon."
Wyllard's eyes twinkled, but she noticed that he was wholly free from
embarrassment, which was not quite the case with her.
"Well," he said, "that's a matter I must leave you to handle. Anyway,
she can't go second-class now. One or two of the steerage exchanged
when they saw their quarters, for which I don't blame them, and they've
filled every room right up."
"You haven't answered the question."
Wyllard waved his hand. "Miss Rawlinson is your bridesmaid, and I'm
Gregory's best man. It seems to me it's my business to do everything
just as he'd like it done."
He left her a moment later, and, though she did not know how she was to
explain the matter to Miss Rawlinson, who was of an independent
disposition, it occurred to her that he, at least, had found a rather
graceful way out of the difficulty. The more she saw of this Western
farmer, the more she liked him.
It was after dinner when she next met him, and, for the wind had
changed, the _Scarrowmania_ was steaming head-on into a glorious
north-west breeze. The shrouds sang; chain-guy, and stanchion, and
whatever caught the wind, set up a deep-toned throbbing; and ranks of
little, white-topped seas rolled out of the night ahead. A half-moon
hung low above them, blurred now and then by wisps of flying cloud, and
odd spouts of spray that gleamed in the silvery light leapt up about
the dipping bows. Wyllard was leaning on the rails, with a cigar in
his hand, when she stopped beside him, and she glanced towards the
lighted windows of the smoke-room not far away.
"How is it you are not in there?" she asked, for something to say.
"I was," said Wyllard. "It's rather full up, and it seemed they didn't
want me. They're busy playing cards, and the stakes are rather high.
In a general way, a steamboat's smoke-room is less of a men's lounge
than a gambling club."
"And you object to cards?"
"Oh, no!" said Wyllard. "They merely make me tired, and when I feel I
want some excitement for my dollars I get it another way. That one
seems tame to me."
"Which is the one you like?"
The man laughed. "There are a good many that appeal to me. Once it
was collecting sealskins off other people's beaches, and there was zest
enough in that, in view of the probability of the dory turning over, or
a gunboat dropping on to you. Then there was a good deal of very
genuine excitement to be got out of placer-mining in British Columbia,
especially when there was frost in the ranges, and you had to thaw out
your giant-powder. Shallow alluvial workings have a way of caving in
when you least expect it of them. After all, however, I think I like
the prairie farming best."
"Is that exciting?"
"Yes," said Wyllard, "if you do it in one way. The gold's there--that
you're sure of--piled up by nature during I don't know how many
thousand years, but you have to stake high if you want to get much of
it out. One needs costly labour, teams--no end of them--breakers, and
big gang-plough. The farmer who has nerve enough drills his last
dollar into the soil in spring, but if he means to succeed it costs him
more than that. He must give the sweat of his tensest effort, the
uttermost toil of his body--all, in fact, that has been given him.
Then he must shut his eyes tight to the hazards against him, or, and we
can't all do that, look at them without wavering--the drought, the
hail, the harvest frost. If his teams fall sick, or the season goes
against him, he must work double tides. Still, it now and then happens
that things go right, and the red wheat rolls ripe right back across
the prairie. I don't know that any man could want a keener thrill than
the one you feel when you drive the binders in!"
Agatha had imagination, and she could realise something of the toil,
the hazard, and the clean thrill of that victory.
"You have felt it often?" she said.
"Twice we helped to fill a big elevator up," said Wyllard quietly.
"Still, I've been very near defeat."
The girl looked at him thoughtfully. It seemed that he possessed the
power of acquisition, as well as a wide generosity that came into play
when by strenuous effort success had been attained, which, so far as
her experience went, were things that did not invariably accompany each
other.
"And when the harvest comes up to your expectations, you give your
dollars away," she said.
Wyllard laughed. "You shouldn't deduce too much from a single
instance. Besides, that Pole's case hasn't cost me anything yet."
Mrs. Hastings joined them soon afterwards, and when Wyllard strolled
away they spent some time leaning on the rails, and looking at the
groups of shadowy figures on the forward deck. Their attitude was
dejected and melancholy, but one cluster had gathered round a man who
stood upon the hatch.
"Yes," he said, "you'll have no trouble. Canada's a great country for
a poor man. He can sleep beneath a bush all summer, if he can't strike
anything he likes."
This did not appear particularly encouraging, but the orator went on.
"Been over for a trip to the Old Country, and I'm glad I'm going back
again. Went out with nothing except a good discharge, and they made me
sergeant of Canadian militia: After that armourer to a rifle club.
There's places a blame long way behind the Dominion, and I struck one
of them when we went with Roberts to Afghanistan. It was on that trip
I and a Pathan rolled all down a hill, him trying to get his knife arm
loose, and me jabbing his breastbone with my bayonet before I got it
into him. I drove it through to the socket. You want to make quite
sure of a Pathan."
Miss Rawlinson winced at this. "Oh," she said, "what a horrible man!"
"It was 'most as tough as when you went after Kiel, and stole the
Scotchman's furs," suggested a Canadian.
The sergeant let the jibe go by. "Oh," he said, "Louis's bucks could
shoot! We had them corralled in a pit, and every time one of the boys
from Montreal broke cover he got a bullet into him. Did any of you
ever hear a dropped man squeal?"
Agatha had heard sufficient, and she and her companions turned away,
but as they moved across the deck the sergeant's voice followed her.
"Oh, yes," he said, "a grand country for a poolman. In the summer he
can sleep beneath a bush."
For some reason this eulogy haunted Agatha when she retired to her room
that night, and she wondered what awaited all those aliens in the new
land, until it occurred to her that in some respects she was situated
very much as they were. Then, for the first time, vague misgivings
crept into her mind as she realised that she had cut herself adrift
from all that she had been accustomed to. She felt suddenly depressed
and lonely.
The depression had, however, almost vanished when, awakening rather
early next morning, she went up on deck. A red sun hung over the
tumbling seas that ran into the hazy east astern, and they rolled up in
crested phalanxes that gleamed green and incandescent white ahead. The
_Scarrowmania_ plunged through them with a spray cloud flying about her
dipping bows. She was a small, old-fashioned boat, and--for she had
some 3,000 tons of railway iron in the bottom of her--she rolled
distressfully. Her tall spars swayed athwart the vivid blueness of the
morning sky, with the rhythmic regularity of a pendulum. The girl,
however, was troubled by no sense of sickness; the keen north-wester
that sang amidst the shrouds was wonderfully fresh; and when she met
Wyllard crossing the saloon deck her cheeks were glowing from the sting
of the spray, and her eyes were bright.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Down there," said Wyllard, pointing to the black opening in the
fore-hatch that led to the steerage quarters. "An acquaintance of mine
who's travelling forward asked me to take a look round, and I'm rather
glad I did. When I've had a word with the chief steward I'm going back
again."
"You have a friend down there?"
"I met the man for the first time yesterday, and rather took to him.
One of your naval petty officers, forcibly retired, who can't live upon
his pension, which is why he's going out to Canada. Now you'll excuse
me."
"I wonder," said Agatha, "if you would let me go back with you?"
Wyllard looked at her rather curiously. "Well," he said, with an air
of reflection, "you'll probably have to face a good deal that you don't
like out yonder, and in one way you won't suffer from a little
preparatory training. This, however, is not a case where sentimental
pity is likely to relieve anybody. It's the real thing."
"I think I told you at Garside Scar that I haven't lived altogether in
luxury!"
Wyllard, who made no comment, disappeared, and merely signed to her
when he came back. They reached the ladder that led down into the
gloom beneath the hatch, and Agatha hesitated when a sour and musty
odour floated up to her, apparently out of the depths of the ship. She
went down, however, and a few moments later stood, half-nauseated,
gazing at the wildest scene of confusion her eyes had ever rested on.
A little light came down the hatchway, and a smoky lamp or two swung
above her head, but half the steerage deck was wrapped in shadow, and
out of it there rose a many-voiced complaining. Flimsy, unplaned
fittings had wrenched away, and men lay inert amidst the wreckage, with
the remains of their last meal scattered about them. There were
unwashed tin plates and pannikins, knives, and spoons, sliding up and
down everywhere, and the deck was foul with slops of tea, and trodden
bread, and marmalade. Now and then, in a wilder roll than usual, a
frowsy, huddled object slid groaning down the slant of slimy planking,
but in every case the helpless passenger was fully dressed. Steerage
passengers, in fact, seldom take off their clothes. For one thing, all
their worldly possessions are, as a rule, secreted among their attire,
and for another, most of those hailing from beyond the Danube have
never been accustomed to disrobing. In the midst of the confusion, two
half-sick steward lads were making wholly ineffective efforts to
straighten up the mess.
Then Agatha made out that a swarm of urchins were huddled together in a
helpless mass, along one side of the horrible place. The sergeant was
haranguing them, while another man, whom she supposed to be the petty
officer, pulled them to their feet one by one. A good deal of his
labour was wasted, for the _Scarrowmania_ was rolling viciously, and as
soon as he had got a few upright half of them collapsed again. Wyllard
glanced towards them compassionately.
"I believe most of them have had nothing to eat since they came on
board, though it isn't the company's fault," he said. "There's food
enough served out, but before we picked the breeze up the men laid
hands upon it first and half of it was wasted in the scramble. Then it
seems they pitched these youngsters out of their berths."
"Don't they belong to anybody?" Agatha asked. "Is there no one to look
after them?"
Wyllard smiled drily. "I believe one of your charitable institutions
is sending them out, and there seems to be a clergyman, who has a
curate and a lay assistant to help him, in charge. The assistant won't
be available while this rolling lasts, and the other two very naturally
prefer the saloon. In a way, that's comprehensible."
He left her, and proceeded to help the man who was dragging the urchins
to their feet.
"Get up!" said the sergeant. "Get up, and fall in. Dress from the
left, and number off, the ones who can stand."
It appeared that the lads had been drilled, for they scrambled into a
line that bent and wavered each time the _Scarrowmania's_ bows went
down. After that, every other lad stepped forward at the word; the
order was, "Left turn! March, and fall in on deck," and when they
feebly clambered up the ladder Wyllard, who turned to Agatha, pointed
to a door in a bulkhead of rough white wood.
"It should have been locked, but I fancy you can get in that way, and
up through another hatch," he said. "The single women, and women with
children are in yonder, and if you want to be useful there's a field
for you. Get as many as possible up on deck."
Agatha left him, and her face was rather white when at last she came up
into the open air, with about a dozen forlorn, draggled women trailing
helplessly after her. The lads were now sitting down in a double line
on deck, each with a tin plate and a steaming pannikin in front of him.
There were, she fancied, at least a hundred of them, and a man with a
bronzed face and the stamp of command upon him was giving them the
order of the voyage. He was the one she had already noticed.
"You'll turn out at the whistle at half-past six," he said. "Shake
mattresses, roll up blankets, and prepare for berth inspection. Then,
at the next whistle, you'll fall in on deck stripped to the waist for
washing parade. Fourth files numbering even are orderlies in charge of
the plates and pannikins."
"And," said the sergeant, "any insubordination will be sharply dealt
with. Now, when I was with Roberts in Afghanistan----"
Wyllard, who was standing close by, turned to Agatha.
"I don't think we'll be wanted. You have probably earned your
breakfast."
They went back to the saloon deck, and the girl smiled when he looked
at her inquiringly.
"It was a little horrible, but I hadn't so many to deal with," she
said. "Do you, and those others expect to bring any order out of that
chaos?"
"No," said Wyllard, "with a little encouragement they'll do it
themselves--that is, the English, Danes, and Germans. One can trust
them to evolve a workable system. It's in their nature. You can trace
most things that tend to wholesome efficiency back to the old Teutonic
leaven. By and bye, they'll proceed to put some pressure on the
Latins, Slavs, and Jews."
"But is it your business to offer them that encouragement?"
Wyllard laughed. "Strictly speaking, it isn't in the least, but
unnecessary chaos is rather hateful, and, any way, I'm not the only one
who doesn't seem to like it. There's the petty officer, and our
friend, the sergeant, who was with Roberts in Afghanistan."
Agatha said nothing further. She was a little surprised to feel that
she was anxious to keep this man's good opinion, though that was not
exactly why she had nerved herself for the venture into the single
women's quarters. Leaving him out altogether, it seemed to her that
there was something rather fine in the way the petty officer who was
going out almost penniless to Canada, and the sergeant, had saddled
themselves with the task of looking after those helpless lads. It was
wholly unpaid labour, for which the men who preferred to remain within
the safe limits of the saloon deck would presumably get the credit.
After all, she decided there were, no doubt, men in every station who
helped to keep the world sweet and clean, and she fancied that her
companion was to be counted among them. He certainly differed in many
ways from Gregory, but then Gregory was unapproachable. She did not
remember that it was four years since she had seen the latter, and that
her ideas had been a little unformed then.
During the evening, Mrs. Hastings, with whom he was evidently a
favourite, happened to speak of Wyllard, and the efforts he was making
in the steerage, and Agatha asked a question.
"Does he often undertake this kind of thing?"
"No," said Mrs. Hastings with a smile. "Any way, not on so large a
scale. He's very far from setting up as a professional philanthropist,
my dear. I don't ever remember him offering to point out their duty to
other folks, and I don't think he goes about in search of an
opportunity of benefiting humanity. Still, as I suggested, when an
individual case thrusts itself beneath his nose, he generally--does
what he can."
"I've heard people say that the individual method only perpetuates the
trouble," said Agatha.
Her companion laughed. "That," she said, "is a subject I'm not well
posted on, but it seems to me that if other folks only adopted Harry
Wyllard's simple plan, there would be considerably less need for
organised charity."