Another officer now approached, whom I afterward knew to be the ship's
doctor.
"Come, come now," he said, "don't let us have any hard words. The
captain is only joking. Of course he will steam after your
life-preserver, and no doubt will come up with it very soon. In the
mean-time you must come below and have something to eat and drink and
rest yourself."
Satisfied with this assurance, I went below, was given food and
medicine, and was put into a berth, where I remained for four days in a
half-insensible condition, knowing nothing--caring for nothing.
When I came on deck again I was very weak, but I had regained my
senses, and the captain and I talked rationally together. I told him
how I had come on board the _Sparhawk_, and how I had fallen in with
the _La Fidélité_, half wrecked, having on board only a dear friend of
mine. In answer to his questions I described the details of the
communications between the two vessels, and could not avoid mentioning
the wild hopes and heart-breaking disappointments of that terrible
time. And, somewhat to my languid surprise, the captain asked no
questions regarding these subjects. I finished by thanking him for
having taken me from the wreck, but added that I felt like a
false-hearted coward for having deserted upon the sea the woman I
loved, who now would never know my fate nor I hers.
"Don't be too sure of that," said the captain, "for you are about to
hear from her now."
I gazed at him in blank amazement. "Yes," said the captain, "I have
seen her, and she has sent me to you. But I see you are all knocked
into a heap, and I will make the story as short as I can. This vessel
of mine is bound from Liverpool to La Guayra, and on the way down we
called at Lisbon. On the morning of the day I was to sail from there,
there came into port the _Glanford_, a big English merchantman, from
Buenos Ayres to London. I knew her skipper, Captain Guy Chesters, as
handsome a young English sailor as ever stood upon a deck.
"In less than an hour from the time we dropped anchor, Captain Guy was
on my vessel. He was on the lookout, he said, for some craft bound for
South America or the West Indies, and was delighted to find me there.
Then he told me that, ten days before, he had taken two ladies from a
half-wrecked French steamer, and that they had prayed and besought him
to cruise about and look for the _Sparhawk_, a helpless ship, with a
friend of theirs alone on board.
"'You know,' said Captain Guy to me, 'I couldn't do that, for I'd lost
time enough already, and the wind was very light and variable; so all I
could do was to vow to the ladies that when we got to Lisbon we'd be
bound to find a steamer going south, and that she could easily keep a
lookout for the _Sparhawk_, and take off the friend.' 'That was a
pretty big contract you marked out for the steamer going south,' I
said, 'and as for the _Sparhawk_, she's an old derelict, and I sighted
her on my voyage north, and sent in a report of her position, and there
couldn't have been anybody on board of her then.' 'Can't say,' said
Captain Guy; 'from what I can make out, this fellow must have boarded
her a good while after she was abandoned, and seems to have been lying
low after that.' Was that so, sir? Did you lie low?"
I made no answer. My whole soul was engaged in the comprehension of the
fact that Bertha had sent for me. "Go on!" I cried.
"All right," said he. "I ought not to keep you waiting. I promised
Captain Guy I would keep a lookout for the _Sparhawk_, and take you off
if you were on board. I promised the quicker, because my conscience was
growling at me for having, perhaps, passed a fellow-being on an
abandoned vessel. But I had heard of the _Sparhawk_ before. I had
sighted her, and so didn't keep a very sharp lookout for living beings
aboard. Then Captain Guy took me on board his ship to see the two
ladies, for they wanted to give me instructions themselves. And I tell
you what, sir, you don't often see two prettier women on board ship,
nor anywhere else, for that matter. Captain Guy told me that before I
saw them. He was in great spirits about his luck. He is the luckiest
fellow in the merchant service. Now, if I had picked up two people that
way, it would have been two old men. But he gets a couple of lovely
ladies; that's the way the world goes. The ladies made me pretty nigh
swear that I'd never set foot on shore till I found you. I would have
been glad enough to stay there all day and make promises to those
women; but my time was short, and I had to leave them to Captain Guy.
So I did keep a lookout for the _Sparhawk_, and heard of her from two
vessels coming north, and finally fell in with you. And a regular
lunatic you were when I took you on board; but that's not to be
wondered at; and you seem to be all right now."
"Did you not bring me any message from them?" I asked.
"Oh, yes; lots," said the captain. "Let me see if I can remember some
of them." And then he knit his brows and tapped his head, and repeated
some very commonplace expressions of encouragement and sympathy.
The effect of these upon me was very different from what the captain
had expected. I had hoped for a note, a line--anything direct from
Bertha. If she had written something which would explain the meaning of
those last words from Mary Phillips, whether that explanation were
favorable or otherwise, I would have been better satisfied; but now my
terrible suspense must continue.
"Well," said the captain, "you don't seem cheered up much by word from
your friends. I was too busy looking at them to rightly catch
everything they said, but I know they told me they were going to London
in the _Glanford_. This I remembered, because it struck me what a jolly
piece of good luck it all was for Captain Guy."
"And for what port are you bound?" I asked. "La Guayra," he said. "It
isn't a very good time of the year to be there; but I don't doubt that
you can find some vessel or other there that will take you north, so
you're all right."
I was not all right. Bertha was saved. I was saved; but I had received
no message. I knew nothing; and I was going away from her.
Two or three days after this, the captain came to me and said: "Look
here, young man; you seem to be in the worst kind of doleful dumps.
People who have been picked up in the middle of the ocean don't
generally look like that. I wonder if you're not a little love-sick on
account of a young woman on the _Glanford_."
I made no answer; I would not rebuke him, for he had saved my life; but
this was a subject which I did not wish to discuss with a sea-captain.
"If that's really what's the matter with you," said he, "I can give you
a piece of advice which will do you good if you take it. I think you
told me that you are not engaged to this lady," (I nodded) "and that
you never proposed to her except through a speaking-trumpet." I
allowed silence to make assent. "Well, now, my advice is to give her
up, to drop all thoughts of her, and to make up your mind to tackle
onto some other girl when you find one that is good enough. You haven't
the least chance in the world with this one. Captain Guy is mad in love
with her. He told me so himself, and when he's out and out in love with
a girl he's bound to get her. When I was with him he might have been
married once a month if he'd chosen to; but he didn't choose. Now he
does choose, and I can tell you that he's not going to make love
through a speaking-trumpet. He'll go straight at it, and he'll win,
too. There's every reason why he should win. In the first place, he's
one of the handsomest fellows, and I don't doubt one of the best
love-makers that you would be likely to meet on land or sea. And then
again, she has every reason to be grateful to him and to look on him as
a hero."
I listened without a word. The captain's reasoning seemed to me very
fallacious.
"You don't know it," said he, "but Captain Guy did a good deal more
than pick up those two women from an abandoned vessel. You see he was
making his way north with a pretty fair wind from the south-west, the
first they'd had for several days, and when his lookout sighted _La
Fidélité_ nobody on board thought for a minute that he would try to
beat up to her, for she lay a long way to the west of his course,
though pretty well in sight.
"But Captain Guy has sharp eyes and a good glass, and he vowed that he
could see something on the wreck that looked like a handkerchief waved
by a woman. He told me this himself as we were walking from my ship to
his. Everybody laughed at him and wanted to know if women waved
handkerchiefs different from other people.
"They said that any bit of canvas might wave like that, and that it was
plain enough that the vessel was abandoned. If it was not, it could be,
for there was a boat still hanging to one of its davits. Captain Guy
paid no attention to this, but spied a little longer; then he vowed
that he was going to make for that vessel. There was one of the owners
on board, and he up and forbid Captain Guy to do it. He told him that
they had been delayed enough on the voyage by light winds, and now that
they would be over-due at their port a good many days before they got
there. Every day lost, he said, was money lost to the owners. He had
never heard of any skipper undertaking a piece of tomfoolery like this.
It would take all day to beat up to that wreck, and when they reached
it they would find an old derelict, which was no more than they could
see now. And as for there being a woman on board, that was all stuff.
The skipper had woman on the brain.
"To this Captain Guy answered that he didn't own the ship, but he
commanded her, and as long as he commanded this vessel or any other, he
was not going to pass a wreck when there were good reasons to believe
that there was a human being on board of it, and in spite of what
anybody said, his eyes told him that there was reason to believe that
there was somebody waving on that wreck. So he ordered the ship put
about, paying no attention to the cursing and swearing of the owner,
and beat against a wind that was getting lighter and lighter for over
four hours until he reached the French steamer and took off the two
ladies.
"There was nobody on board the _Glanford_ that thinks that Captain Guy
will ever sail that ship again. And in fact he don't think so himself.
But said he to me: "If I can marry that girl, the ship can go. If I
can't get another ship, I can sail under a skipper. But there's no
other girl in the world like this one."
"And so you see, sir," he continued, "there isn't the least chance in
the world for you. Captain Guy's got her on board his ship; he's with
her by sunlight and starlight. He's lost his ship for her and he wants
to marry her. And on the other hand, it'll be weeks and weeks and
perhaps months before you can see her, or write to her either, as like
as not, and long before that Captain Guy will have his affair settled,
and there isn't any reason in my mind to doubt which way it will
settle. And so you just take my advice, sir, and stop drawing that long
face. There are plenty of good girls in the world; no reason why you
shouldn't get one; but if you are moping for the one that Captain
Guy's got his heart set on, I'm afraid you'll end by being as much out
of your head as you were when I found you."
To all this I made no answer, but walked gloomily toward the stern and
looked down into the foaming wake. I think I heard the captain tell one
of the men to keep an eye on me.
When we reached La Guayra--and the voyage seemed to me a never-ending
one--I immediately set about finding a vessel bound for England. My
captain advised me to go up on the mountains and wait until a steamer
should sail for New York, which event might be expected in two or three
weeks. America would be much better for me, he thought, than would
England. But I paid no attention to him, and as there was nothing in
port that would sail for England, I took passage in a Spanish steamer
bound for Barcelona. Arriving there, after a passage long enough to
give me plenty of time for the consideration of the last two words I
heard from Mary Phillips, and of the value of the communications I had
received regarding Captain Guy Chesters, I immediately started by rail
for London. On this journey I found that what I had heard concerning
the rescue of my Bertha had had a greater effect upon me than I had
supposed. Trains could not go fast enough for me. I was as restless as
a maniac; I may have looked like one.
Over and over I tried to quiet myself by comforting reflections, saying
to myself, for instance, that if the message which Bertha had sent
floating on the sea to me had not been a good one, she would not have
sent it. Feel as she might, she could not have been so hard-hearted as
to crush the hopes of a man who, like herself, might soon lie in a
watery grave. But then, there was that terrible word "but." Looked at
in certain lights, what could be more crushing or heart-breaking than
that?
And then again, Mary Phillips may not have understood what I said to
her through the speaking-trumpet. A grim humor of despair suggested
that at that distance, and in that blustering wind, the faithful
maid-servant might have thought that instead of shouting that I loved
my Bertha, I was asking her if they had plenty of salt pork and
hardtack. It was indeed a time of terrible suspense.
I did not know Bertha's address in England. I knew that she had friends
in London and others in the country; but I was sure that I would find
her if she were on the island. I arrived in London very early in the
morning, too early to expect to find open any of the banking-houses or
other places where Americans would be likely to register. Unable to
remain inactive, I took a cab and drove to the London docks.