“Jest w’en we guess we’ve covered the trail
So’s no one can’t foller, w’y then we fail
W’en we feel safe hid. Nemesis, the cuss,
Waltzes up with nary a warnin’ nor fuss.
Grins quiet like, and says, ‘How d’y do,
So glad we’ve met, I’m a-lookin’ fer you’”
I do not wish to particularise any of the steamers on which the
incidents given in this book occurred, so the boat of which I now write
I shall call _The Tub_. This does not sound very flattering to the
steamer, but I must say _The Tub_ was a comfortable old boat, as
everybody will testify who has ever taken a voyage in her. I know a
very rich man who can well afford to take the best room in the best
steamer if he wants to, but his preference always is for a slow boat
like _The Tub_. He says that if you are not in a hurry, a slow boat is
preferable to one of the new fast liners, because you have more
individuality there, you get more attention, the officers are flattered
by your preference for their ship, and you are not merely one of a
great mob of passengers as in a crowded fast liner. The officers on a
popular big and swift boat are prone to be a trifle snobbish. This is
especially the case on the particular liner which for the moment stands
at the top—a steamer that has broken the record, and is considered the
best boat in the Atlantic service for the time being. If you get a word
from the captain of such a boat you may consider yourself a peculiarly
honoured individual, and even the purser is apt to answer you very
shortly, and make you feel you are but a worm of the dust, even though
you have paid a very large price for your state-room. On _The Tub_
there was nothing of this. The officers were genial good fellows who
admitted their boat was not the fastest on the Atlantic, although at
one time she had been; but if _The Tub_ never broke the record, on the
other hand, she never broke a shaft, and so things were evened up. She
wallowed her way across the Atlantic in a leisurely manner, and there
was no feverish anxiety among the passengers when they reached
Queenstown, to find whether the rival boat had got in ahead of us or
not.
Everybody on board _The Tub_ knew that any vessel which started from
New York the same day would reach Queenstown before us. In fact, a good
smart sailing vessel, with a fair wind, might have made it lively for
us in an ocean race. _The Tub_ was a broad slow boat, whose great
speciality was freight, and her very broadness, which kept her from
being a racer, even if her engines had had the power, made her
particularly comfortable in a storm. She rolled but little; and as the
state-rooms were large and airy, every passenger on board _The Tub_ was
sure of a reasonably pleasant voyage.
It was always amusing to hear the reasons each of the passengers gave
for being on board _The Tub_. A fast and splendid liner of an
opposition company left New York the next day, and many of our
passengers explained to me they had come to New York with the intention
of going by that boat, but they found all the rooms taken, that is, all
the desirable rooms. Of coarse they might have had a room down on the
third deck; but they were accustomed in travelling to have the best
rooms, and if they couldn’t be had, why it didn’t much matter what was
given them, so that was the reason they took passage on _The Tub_.
Others were on the boat because they remembered the time when she was
one of the fastest on the ocean, and they didn’t like changing ships.
Others again were particular friends of the captain, and he would have
been annoyed if they had taken any other steamer. Everybody had some
particularly valid reason for choosing _The Tub_, that is, every reason
except economy, for it was well known that _The Tub_ was one of the
cheapest boats crossing the ocean. For my own part I crossed on her,
because the purser was a particular friend of mine, and knew how to
amalgamate fluids and different solid substances in a manner that
produced a very palatable refreshment. He has himself deserted _The
Tub_ long ago, and is now purser on one of the new boats of the same
line.
When the gong rang for the first meal on hoard _The Tub_ after leaving
New York, we filed down from the smoking-room to the great saloon to
take our places at the table. There were never enough passengers on
board _The Tub_ to cause a great rush for places at the table; but on
this particular occasion, when we reached the foot of the stairway, two
or three of us stood for a moment both appalled and entranced. Sitting
at the captain’s right hand was a somewhat sour and unattractive
elderly woman, who was talking to that smiling and urbane official.
Down the long table from where she sat, in the next fifteen seats were
fifteen young and pretty girls, most of them looking smilingly and
expectantly toward the stairway down which we were descending. The
elderly woman paused for a moment in her conversation with the captain,
glanced along the line of beauty, said sharply, ‘Girls!’ and instantly
every face was turned demurely toward the plate that was in front of
it, and then we, who had hesitated for a moment on the stairway, at
once made a break, not for our seats at the table, but for the purser.
“It’s all right, gentlemen,” said that charming man, before we could
speak; “it’s all right. I’ve arranged your places down the table on the
opposite side. You don’t need to say a word, and those of you who want
to change from the small tables to the large one, will find your names
on the long table as well as at the small tables, where you have
already chosen your places. So, you see, I knew just how you wished
things arranged; but,” he continued, lowering his voice, “boys, there’s
a dragon in charge. I know her. She has crossed with us two or three
times. She wanted me to arrange it so that fifteen ladies should sit
opposite her fifteen girls; but, of course, we couldn’t do that,
because there aren’t fifteen other ladies on board, and there had to be
one or two ladies placed next the girls at the foot of the table, so
that no girl should have a young man sitting beside her. I have done
the best I could, gentlemen, and, if you want the seats rearranged, I
think we can manage it for you. Individual preferences may crop up, you
know.” And the purser smiled gently, for he had crossed the ocean very,
very often.
We all took our places, sternly scrutinised by the lady, whom the
purser had flatteringly termed the “dragon.” She evidently didn’t think
very much of us as a crowd, and I am sure in my own heart I cannot
blame her. We were principally students going over to German colleges
on the cheap, some commercial travellers, and a crowd generally who
could not afford to take a better boat, although we had all just missed
the fast liner that had left a few days before, or had for some reason
not succeeded in securing a berth on the fast boat, which was to leave
the day after.
If any of the fifteen young ladies were aware of our presence, they did
not show it by glancing toward us. They seemed to confine their
conversation to whispers among themselves, and now and then a little
suppressed giggle arose from one part of the line or the other, upon
which the “dragon” looked along the row, and said severely, “Girls!”
whereupon everything was quiet again, although some independent young
lady generally broke the silence by another giggle just at the time the
stillness was becoming most impressive.
After dinner, in the smoking-room, there was a great deal of discussion
about the fifteen pretty girls and about the “dragon.” As the officers
on board _The Tub_ were gentlemen whom an ordinary person might speak
to, a delegation of one was deputed to go to the purser’s room and find
out all that could be learned in relation to the young and lovely
passengers.
The purser said that the dragon’s name was Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling, with
a hyphen. The hyphen was a very important part of the name, and Mrs.
Scrivener-Yapling always insisted upon it. Any one who ignored that
hyphen speedily fell from the good graces of Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling. I
regret to say, however, in spite of the hyphen, the lady was very
generally known as the “dragon” during that voyage. The purser told us
further, that Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling was in the habit of coming over
once a year with a party of girls whom she trotted around Europe. The
idea was that they learnt a great deal of geography, a good deal of
French and German, and received in a general way a polish which Europe
is supposed to give.
The circular which Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling issued was shown to me once
by one of the girls, and it represented that all travelling was
first-class, that nothing but the very best accommodations on steamers
and in hotels were provided, and on account of Mrs. S. Y.’s intimate
knowledge of Europe, and the different languages spoken there, she
managed the excursion in a way which any one else would find impossible
to emulate, and the advantages accruing from such a trip could not be
obtained in any other manner without a very much larger expenditure of
money. The girls had the advantage of motherly care during all the time
they were abroad, and as the party was strictly limited in number, and
the greatest care taken to select members only from the very best
families in America, Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling was certain that all her
patrons would realise that this was an opportunity of a lifetime, etc.,
etc.
Even if _The Tub_ were not the finest boat on the Atlantic, she
certainly belonged to one of the best lines, and as the circular
mentioned the line and not the particular vessel on which the excursion
was to go, the whole thing had a very high-class appearance.
The first morning out, shortly after, breakfast, the “dragon” and her
girls appeared on deck. The girls walked two and two together, and kept
their eyes pretty much on the planks beneath them. The fifteenth girl
walked with the “dragon,” and thus the eight pairs paced slowly up and
down the deck under the “dragon’s” eye. When this morning promenade was
over the young ladies were marshalled into the ladies’ saloon, where no
masculine foot was allowed to tread. Shortly before lunch an
indignation meeting was held in the smoking-room. Stewart Montague, a
commercial traveller from Milwaukee, said that he had crossed the ocean
many times, but had never seen such a state of things before. This
young ladies’ seminary business (he alluded to the two and two walk
along the deck) ought not to be permitted on any well regulated ship.
Here were a number of young ladies, ranging in age from eighteen
upwards, and there lay ahead of us a long and possibly dreary voyage,
yet the “dragon” evidently expected that not one of the young ladies
was to be allowed to speak to one of the young gentlemen on board, much
less walk the deck with him. Now, for his part, said Stewart Montague,
he was going to take off his hat the next morning to the young lady who
sat opposite him at the dinner-table and boldly ask her to walk the
deck with him. If the “dragon” interfered, he proposed that we all
mutiny, seize the vessel, put the captain in irons, imprison the
“dragon” in the hold, and then take to pirating on the high seas. One
of the others pointed out to him an objection to this plan, claiming
that _The Tub_ could not overtake anything but a sailing-vessel, while
even that was doubtful. Montague explained that the mutiny was only to
be resorted to as a last desperate chance. He believed the officers of
the boat would give us every assistance possible, and so it was only in
case of everything else failing that we should seize the ship.
In a moment of temporary aberration I suggested that the “dragon” might
not be, after all, such an objectionable person as she appeared, and
that perhaps she could be won over by kindness. Instantly a motion was
put, and carried unanimously, appointing me a committee to try the
effect of kindness on the “dragon.” It was further resolved that the
meeting should be adjourned, and I should report progress at the next
conclave.
I respectfully declined this mission. I said it was none of my affair.
I didn’t wish to talk to any of the fifteen girls, or even walk the
deck with them. I was perfectly satisfied as I was. I saw no reason why
I should sacrifice myself for the good of others. I suggested that the
name of Stewart Montague be substituted for mine, and that he should
face the “dragon” and report progress.
Mr. Montague said it had been my suggestion, not his, that the “dragon”
might be overcome by kindness. He did not believe she could, but he was
quite willing to suspend hostilities until my plan had been tried and
the result reported to the meeting. It was only when they brought in a
motion to expel me from the smoking-room that I succumbed to the
pressure. The voyage was just beginning, and what is a voyage to a
smoker who dare not set foot in the smoking-room?
I do not care to dwell on the painful interview I had with the
“dragon.” I put my foot in it at the very first by pretending that I
thought she came from New York, whereas she had really come from
Boston. To take a New York person for a Bostonian is flattery, but to
reverse the order of things, especially with a woman of the uncertain
temper of Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling, was really a deadly insult, and I
fear this helped to shipwreck my mission, although I presume it would
have been shipwrecked in any case. Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling gave me to
understand that if there was one thing more than another she excelled
in it was the reading of character. She knew at a glance whether a man
could be trusted or not; most men were not, I gathered from her
conversation. It seems she had taken a great many voyages across the
Atlantic, and never in the whole course of her experience had she seen
such an objectionable body of young men as on this present occasion.
She accused me of being a married man, and I surmised that there were
other iniquities of which she strongly suspected me.
The mission was not a success, and I reported at the adjourned meeting
accordingly.
Mr. Stewart Montague gave it as his opinion that the mission was
hopeless from the first, and in this I quite agreed with him. He said
he would try his plan at dinner, but what it was he refused to state.
We asked if he would report on the success or failure, and he answered
that we would all see whether it was a success or failure for
ourselves. So there was a good deal of interest centring around the
meal, an interest not altogether called forth by the pangs of hunger.
Dinner had hardly commenced when Mr. Stewart Montague leaned over the
table and said, in quite an audible voice, to the young lady opposite
him, “I understand you have never been over the ocean before?”
The young lady looked just a trifle frightened, blushed very prettily,
and answered in a low voice that she had not.
Then he said, “I envy you the first impressions you will have of
Europe. It is a charming country. Where do you go after leaving
England?”
“We are going across to Paris first,” she replied, still in a low
voice.
Most of us, however, were looking at the “dragon.” That lady sat bolt
upright in her chair as if she could not believe her ears. Then she
said, in an acid voice, “Miss Fleming.”
“Yes, Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling,” answered that young lady.
“Will you oblige me by coming here for a moment?”
Miss Fleming slowly revolved in her circular chair, then rose and
walked up to the head of the table.
“Miss Strong,” said the “dragon” calmly, to the young lady who sat
beside her, “will you oblige me by taking Miss Fleming’s place at the
centre of the table?”
Miss Strong rose and took Miss Fleming’s place.
“Sit down beside me, please?” said the “dragon” to Miss Fleming; and
that unfortunate young woman, now as red as a rose, sat down beside the
“dragon.”
Stewart Montague bit his lip. The rest of us said nothing, and appeared
not to notice what had occurred. Conversation went on among ourselves.
The incident seemed ended; but, when the fish was brought, and placed
before Miss Fleming, she did not touch it. Her eyes were still upon the
table. Then, apparently unable to struggle any longer with her
emotions, she rose gracefully, and, bowing to the captain, said,
“Excuse me, please.” She walked down the long saloon with a firm step,
and disappeared. The “dragon” tried to resume conversation with the
captain as if nothing had happened; but that official answered only in
monosyllables, and a gloom seemed to have settled down upon the dinner
party.
Very soon the captain rose and excused himself. There was something to
attend to on deck, he said, and he left us.
As soon as we had reassembled in the smoking-room, and the steward had
brought in our cups of black coffee, Stewart Montague arose and said,
“Gentlemen, I know just what you are going to say to me. It _was_
brutal. Of course I didn’t think the ‘dragon’ would do such a thing. My
plan was a complete failure. I expected that conversation would take
place across the table all along the line, if I broke the ice.”
Whatever opinions were held, none found expression, and that evening in
the smoking-room was as gloomy as the hour at the dinner-table.
Towards the shank of the evening a gentleman, who had never been in the
smoking-room before, entered very quietly. We recognised him as the man
who sat to the left of the captain opposite the “dragon.” He was a man
of middle age and of somewhat severe aspect. He spoke with deliberation
when he did speak, and evidently, weighed his words. All we knew of him
was that the chair beside his at meal-times had been empty since the
voyage began, and it was said that his wife took her meals in her
state-room. She had appeared once on deck with him, very closely
veiled, and hung upon his arm in a way that showed she was not standing
the voyage very well, pleasant as it had been.
“Gentlemen,” began the man suavely, “I would like to say a few words to
you if I were certain that my remarks would be taken in the spirit in
which they are given, and that you would not think me intrusive or
impertinent.”
“Go ahead,” said Montague, gloomily, who evidently felt a premonition
of coming trouble.
The serious individual waited until the steward had left the room, then
he closed the door. “Gentlemen,” he continued, “I will not recur to the
painful incident which happened at the dinner-table to-night further
than by asking you, as honourable men, to think of Mrs.
Scrivener-Yapling’s position of great responsibility. She stands in the
place of a mother to a number of young ladies who, for the first time
in their lives, have left their homes.”
“Lord pity them,” said somebody, who was sitting in the corner.
The gentleman paid no attention to the remark.
“Now what I wish to ask of you is that you will not make Mrs.
Scrivener-Yapling’s position any harder by futile endeavours to form
the acquaintance of the young ladies.”
At this point Stewart Montague broke out. “Who the devil are you, sir,
and who gave you the right to interfere?”
“As to who I am,” said the gentleman, quietly, “my name is Kensington,
and—”
“West or South?” asked the man in the corner.
At this there was a titter of laughter.
“My name is Kensington,” repeated the gentleman, “and I have been asked
by Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling to interfere, which I do very reluctantly. As
I said at the beginning, I hope you will not think my interference is
impertinent. I only do so at the earnest request of the lady I have
mentioned, because I am a family man myself, and I understand and
sympathise with the lady in the responsibility which she has assumed.”
“It seems to me,” said the man in the corner, “that if the ‘dragon’ has
assumed responsibilities and they have not been thrust upon her, which
I understand they have not, then she must take the responsibility of
the responsibilities which she has assumed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Kensington, “it is very painful for me to speak
with you upon this subject. I feel that what I have so clumsily
expressed may not be correctly understood; but I appeal to your honour
as gentlemen, and I am sure I will not appeal in vain when I ask you
not to make further effort towards the acquaintance of the young
ladies, because all that you can succeed in doing will be to render
their voyage unpleasant to themselves, and interrupt, if not seriously
endanger, the good feeling which I understand has always existed
between Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling and her _protégées_.”
“All right,” said the man in the corner. “Have a drink, Mr.
Kensington?”
“Thank you, I never drink,” answered Mr. Kensington.
“Have a smoke, then?”
“I do not smoke either, thank you all the same for your offer. I hope,
gentlemen, you will forgive my intrusion on you this evening. Good
night.”
“Impudent puppy,” said Stewart Montague, as he closed the door behind
him.
But in this we did not agree with him, not even the man in the corner.
“He is perfectly right,” said that individual, “and I believe that we
ought to be ashamed of ourselves. It will only make trouble, and I for
one am going to give up the hunt.”
So, from that time forward, the smoking-room collectively made no
effort towards the acquaintance of the young ladies. The ladies’
seminary walk, as it was called, took place every morning punctually,
and sometimes Mr. Kensington accompanied the walkers. Nevertheless,
individual friendships, in spite of everything that either Mr.
Kensington or the “dragon” could do, sprang up between some of the
young men and some of the girls, but the “dragon” had an invaluable
ally in Mr. Kensington. The moment any of the young ladies began
walking with any of the young gentlemen on deck, or the moment they
seated themselves in steamer chairs together, the urbane, always polite
Mr. Kensington appeared on the scene and said, “Miss So-and-So, Mrs.
Scrivener-Yapling would like to speak with you.”
Then the young lady would go with Mr. Kensington, while the young
gentleman was apt to use strong language and gnash his teeth.
Mr. Kensington seemed lynx-eyed. There was no escaping him. Many in the
smoking-room no doubt would have liked to have picked a flaw in his
character if they could. One even spoke of the old chestnut about a man
who had no small vices being certain to have some very large ones; but
even the speakers themselves did not believe this, and any one could
see at a glance that Mr. Kensington was a man of sterling character.
Some hinted that his wife was the victim of his cruelty, and kept her
state-room only because she knew that he was so fond of the “dragon’s”
company, and possibly that of some of the young ladies as well. But
this grotesque sentiment did not pass current even in the smoking-room.
Nevertheless, although he was evidently so good a man, he was certainly
the most unpopular individual on board _The Tub_. The hatred that
Stewart Montague felt for him ever since that episode in the
smoking-room was almost grotesque.
Montague had somehow managed to get a contrite note of apology and
distress to Miss Fleming, and several times the alert Mr. Kensington
had caught them together, and asked Miss Fleming with the utmost
respect to come down and see Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling.
All in all the “dragon” did not have a very easy time of it. She fussed
around like any other old hen who had in charge a brood of ducks.
Once I thought there was going to be a row between Montague and
Kensington. He met that gentleman in a secluded part of the deck, and,
going up to him, said—
“You old wife deserter, why can’t you attend to your own affairs?”