[Illustration: 588]
I got into the Dover “down train” at the station, and after seeking for
a place in two or three of the leading carriages, at last succeeded in
obtaining one where there were only two other passengers. These were
a lady and a gentleman,--the former, a young, pleasing-looking girl,
dressed in quiet mourning; the latter was a tall, gaunt, bilious-looking
man, with grisly gray hair, and an extravagantly aquiline nose. I
guessed, from the positions they occupied in the carriage, that they
were not acquaintances, and my conjecture proved subsequently true. The
young lady was pale, like one in delicate health, and seemed very weary
and tired, for she was fast asleep as I entered the carriage, and did
not awake, notwithstanding all the riot and disturbance incident to the
station. I took my place directly in front of my fellow-travellers; and
whether from mere accident, or from the passing interest a pretty face
inspires, cast my eyes towards the lady; the gaunt man opposite fixed on
me a look of inexpressible shrewdness, and with a very solemn shake of
his head, whispered in a low undertone,--
“No! no! not a bit of it; she ain’t asleep,--they never do
sleep,--never!”
“Oh!” thought I to myself, “there’s another class of people not
remarkable for over-drowsiness; “for, to say truth, the expression of
the speaker’s face and the oddity of his words made me suspect that he
was not a miracle of sanity. The reflection had scarcely passed through
my mind, when he arose softly from his seat, and assumed a place beside
me.
“You thought she was fast,” said he, as he laid his hand familiarly
on my arm; “I know you did,--I saw it the moment you came into the
carriage.”
“Why, I did think--”
“Ah! that’s deceived many a one. Lord bless you, sir, they are not
understood, no one knows them; “and at these words he heaved a profound
sigh, and dropped his head upon his bosom, as though the sentiment had
overwhelmed him with affliction.
“Riddles, sir,” said he to me, with a glare of his eyes that really
looked formidable,--“sphinxes; that’s what they are. Are you married?”
whispered he.
“No, sir,” said I, politely; for as I began to entertain more serious
doubts of my companion’s intellect, I resolved to treat him with every
civility.
“I don’t believe it matters a fig,” said he; “the Pope of Rome knows as
much about them as Bluebeard.”
“Indeed,” said I, “are these your sentiments?”
“They are,” replied he, in a still lower whisper; “and if we were to
talk modern Greek this moment, I would not say but _she_”--and here he
made a gesture towards the young lady opposite--“but _she_ would know
every word of it. It is not supernatural, sir, because the law
is universal; but it is a most--what shall I say, sir?--a most
extraordinary provision of nature,--wonderful! most wonderful!”
“In Heaven’s name, why did they let him out?” exclaimed I to myself.
“Now she is pretending to awake,” said he, as he nudged me with his
elbow; “watch her, see how well she will do it.” Then turning to the
lady, he added in a louder voice,--
“You have had a refreshing sleep, I trust, ma’am?”
“A very heavy one,” answered she, “for I was greatly fatigued.”
“Did not I tell you so?” whispered he again in my ear. “Oh!” and here
he gave a deep groan, “when they ‘re in delicate health, and they ‘re
greatly fatigued, there’s no being up to them!”
The remainder of our journey was not long in getting over; but brief as
it was, I could not help feeling annoyed at the pertinacity with which
the bilious gentleman purposely misunderstood every word the young
lady spoke. The most plain, matter-of-fact observations from her were
received by him as though she was a monster of duplicity; and a casual
mistake as to the name of a station he pounced upon, as though it were
a wilful and intentional untruth. This conduct, on his part, was made
ten times worse to me by his continued nudgings of the elbow, sly winks,
and muttered sentences of “You hear that”--“There’s more of it”--“You
would not credit it now,” etc.; until at length he succeeded in
silencing the poor girl, who, in all likelihood, set us both down for
the two greatest savages in England.
On arriving at Dover, although I was the bearer of despatches requiring
the utmost haste, a dreadful hurricane from the eastward, accompanied
by a tremendous swell, prevented any packet venturing out to sea. The
commander of “The Hornet,” however, told me, should the weather, as was
not improbable, moderate towards daybreak, he would do his best to run
me over to Calais; “only be ready,” said he, “at a moment’s notice, for
I will get the steam up, and be off in a jiffy, whenever the tide begins
to ebb.” In compliance with this injunction, I determined not to go to
bed, and, ordering my supper in a private room, I prepared myself to
pass the intervening time as well as might be.
“Mr. Yellowley’s compliments,” said the waiter, as I broke the crust of
a veal-pie, and obtained a bird’s-eye view of that delicious interior,
where hard eggs and jelly, mushrooms, and kidney, were blended together
in a delicious harmony of coloring. “Mr. Yellowley’s compliments, sir,
and will take it as a great favor if he might join you at supper.”
“Have not the pleasure of knowing him,” said I, shortly,--“bring me a
pint of sherry,--don’t know Mr. Yellowley.”
“Yes, but you do, though,” said the gaunt man of the railroad, as he
entered the room, with four cloaks on one arm, and two umbrellas under
the other.
“Oh! it’s you,” said I, half rising from my chair; for in spite of my
annoyance at the intrusion, a certain degree of fear of my companion
overpowered me.
“Yes,” said he, solemnly. “Can you untie this cap? The string has got
into a black-knot, I fear; “and so he bent down his huge face while I
endeavored to relieve him of his head-piece, wondering within myself
whether they had shaved him at the asylum.
“Ah, that’s comfortable!” said he at last; and he drew his chair to the
table, and helped himself to a considerable portion of the pie, which he
covered profusely with red pepper.
Little conversation passed during the meal. My companion ate
voraciously, filling up every little pause that occurred by a groan or
a sigh, whose vehemence and depth were strangely in contrast with his
enjoyment of the good cheer. When the supper was over, and the waiter
had placed fresh glasses, and with that gentle significance of his craft
had deposited the decanter, in which a spoonful of sherry remained,
directly in front of me, Mr. Yellowley looked at me for a moment, threw
up his eyebrows, and with an air of more _bonhomie_ than I thought he
could muster, said,--
“You will have no objection, I hope, to a little warm brandy and water.”
“None whatever; and the less, if I may add a cigar.”
“Agreed,” said he.
These ingredients of our comfort being produced, and the waiter having
left the room, Mr. Yellowley stirred the fire into a cheerful blaze,
and, nodding amicably towards me, said,--
“Your health, sir; I should like to have added your name.”
“Tramp,--Tilbury Tramp,” said I, “at your service.” I would have added
Q. C, as the couriers took that lately; but it leads to mistakes, so I
said nothing about it.
“Mr. Tramp,” said my companion, while he placed one hand in his
waistcoat, in that attitude so favored by John Kemble and Napoleon. “You
are a young man?”
“Forty-two,” said I, “if I live till June.”
“You might be a hundred and forty-two, sir.”
“Lord bless you!” said I, “I don’t look so old.”
“I repeat it,” said he, “you might be a hundred and forty-two, and not
know a whit more about them.”
“Here we are,” thought I, “back on the monomania.”
“You may smile,” said he, “it was an ungenerous insinuation. Nothing was
farther from my thoughts; but it’s true,--they require the study of a
lifetime. Talk of Law or Physic or Divinity; it’s child’s play, sir.
Now, you thought that young girl was asleep.”
“Why, she certainly looked so.”
“Looked so,” said he, with a sneer; “what do I look like? Do I look like
a man of sense or intelligence?”
“I protest,” said I, cautiously, “I won’t suffer myself to be led away
by appearances; I would not wish to be unjust to you.”
“Well, sir, that artful young woman’s deception of you has preyed upon
me ever since; I was going on to Walmer to-night, but I could n’t leave
this without seeing you once more, and giving you a caution.”
“Dear me. I thought nothing about it. You took the matter too much to
heart.”
“Too much to heart,” said he, with a bitter sneer; “that’s the cant
that deceives half the world. If men, sir, instead of undervaluing
these small and apparently trivial circumstances, would but recall their
experiences, chronicle their facts, as Bacon recommended so wisely,
we should possess some safe data to go upon, in our estimate of that
deceitful sex.”
“I fear,” said I, half timidly, “you have been ill-treated by the
ladies?”
A deep groan was the only response.
“Come, come, bear up,” said I; “you are young, and a fine-looking
man still” (he was sixty, if he was an hour, and had a face like the
figure-head of a war-steamer).
“I will tell you a story, Mr. Tramp,” said he, solemnly,--“a story
to which, probably, no historian, from Polybius to Hoffman, has ever
recorded a parallel. I am not aware, sir, that any man has sounded the
oceanic depths of that perfidious gulf,--a woman’s heart; but I, sir,
I have at least added some facts to the narrow stock of our knowledge
regarding it. Listen to this:”--
I replenished my tumbler of brandy and water, looked at my watch, and,
finding I still had two hours to spare, lent a not unwilling ear to my
companion’s story.
“For the purpose of my tale,” said Mr. Yellowley, “it is unnecessary
that I should mention any incident of my life more remote than a couple
of years back. About that time it was, that, using all the influence of
very powerful friends, I succeeded in obtaining the consul-generalship
at Stralsund. My arrangements for departure were made with considerable
despatch; but on the very week of my leaving England, an old friend of
mine was appointed to a situation of considerable trust in the East,
whither he was ordered to repair, I may say, at a moment’s notice. Never
was there such a _contretemps_. He longed for the North of Europe,--I,
with equal ardor, wished for a tropical climate; and here were we
both going in the very direction antagonist to our wishes! My friend’s
appointment was a much more lucrative one than mine; but so anxious
was he for a residence more congenial to his taste, that he would have
exchanged without a moment’s hesitation.
“By a mere accident, I mentioned this circumstance to the friend who had
procured my promotion. Well, with the greatest alacrity, he volunteered
his services to effect the exchange; and with such energy did he
fulfil his pledge, that on the following evening I received an express,
informing me of my altered destination, but directing me to proceed to
Southampton on the next day, and sail by the Oriental steamer. This was
speedy work, sir; but as my preparations for a journey had long been
made, I had very little to do, but exchange some bear-skins with my
friend for cotton shirts and jackets, and we both were accommodated.
Never were two men in higher spirits,--he, with his young wife,
delighted at escaping what he called banishment; I equally happy in my
anticipation of the glorious East.
“Among the many papers forwarded to me from the Foreign Office was a
special order for free transit the whole way to Calcutta. This document
set forth the urgent necessity there existed to pay me every possible
attention _en route_; in fact, it was a sort of Downing-Street firman,
ordering all whom it might concern to take care of Simon Yellowley, nor
permit him to suffer any let, impediment, or inconvenience on the road.
But a strange thing, Mr. Tramp,--a very strange thing,--was in this
paper. In the exchange of my friend’s appointment for my own, the clerk
had merely inserted _my_ name in lieu of his in all the papers; and
then, sir, what should I discover but that this free transit extended to
‘Mr. Yellowley and lady,’ while, doubtless, my poor friend was obliged
to travel _en garçon?_ This extraordinary blunder I only discovered when
leaving London in the train.
“We were a party of three, sir.” Here he groaned deeply. “Three,--just
as it might be this very day. I occupied the place that you did this
morning, while opposite to me were a lady and a gentleman. The gentleman
was an old round-faced little man, chatty and merry after his fashion.
The lady--the lady, sir--if I had never seen her but that day, I should
now call her an angel. Yes, Mr. Tramp, I flatter myself that few men
understand female beauty better. I admire the cold regularity
and impassive loveliness of the North, I glory in the voluptuous
magnificence of Italian beauty; I can relish the sparkling coquetry of
France, the plaintive quietness and sleepy tenderness of Germany; nor
do I undervalue the brown pellucid skin and flashing eye of the Malabar;
but she, sir, she was something higher than all these; and it so chanced
that I had ample time to observe her, for when I entered the carriage
she was asleep--asleep,” said he, with a bitter mockery Macready might
have envied. “Why do I say asleep? No, sir!--she was in that factitious
trance, that wiliest device of Satan’s own creation, a woman’s
sleep,--the thing invented, sir, merely to throw the shadow of dark
lashes on a marble cheek, and leave beauty to sink into man’s heart
without molestation. Sleep, sir!--the whole mischief the world does in
its waking moments is nothing to the doings of such slumber! If she did
not sleep, how could that braid of dark-brown hair fall loosely down
upon her blue-veined hand; if she did not sleep, how could the color
tinge with such evanescent loveliness the cheek it scarcely colored; if
she did not sleep, how could her lips smile with the sweetness of some
passing thought, thus half recorded? No, sir; she had been obliged to
have sat bolt upright, with her gloves on and her veil down. She
neither could have shown the delicious roundness of her throat nor the
statue-like perfection of her instep. But sleep,--sleep is responsible
for nothing. Oh, why did not Macbeth murder it, as he said he had!
“If I were a legislator, sir, I’d prohibit any woman under forty-three
from sleeping in a public conveyance. It is downright dangerous,--I
would n’t say it ain’t immoral. The immovable aspect of placid beauty,
Mr. Tramp, etherealizes a woman. The shrewd housewife becomes a houri;
and a milliner--ay, sir, a milliner--might be a Maid of Judah under such
circumstances!”
Mr. Yellowley seemed to have run himself out of breath with this burst
of enthusiasm; for he was unable to resume his narrative until several
minutes after, when he proceeded thus:
“The fat gentleman and myself were soon engaged in conversation. He was
hastening down to bid some friends good-bye, ere they sailed for India.
I was about to leave my native country, too,--perhaps forever.
“‘Yes, sir,’ said I, addressing him, ‘Heaven knows when I shall behold
these green valleys again, if ever. I have just been appointed Secretary
and Chief Counsellor to the Political Resident at the court of the Rajah
of Sautaucantantarabad!--a most important post--three thousand eight
hundred and forty-seven miles beyond the Himalaya.’
“And here--with, I trust, a pardonable pride--I showed him the
government order for my free transit, with the various directions and
injunctions concerning my personal comfort and safety.
“‘Ah,’ said the old gentleman, putting on his spectacles to read,--‘ah,
I never beheld one of these before. Very curious,--very curious, indeed.
I have seen a sheriff’s writ, and an execution; but this is far more
remarkable,--“Simon Yellowley, Esq., and lady.” Eh?--so your lady
accompanies you, sir?’
“‘Would she did,--would to Heaven she did!’ exclaimed I, in a transport.
“‘Oh, then, she’s afraid, is she? She dreads the blacks, I suppose.’
“‘No, sir; I am not married. The insertion of these words was a mistake
of the official who made out my papers; for, alas! I am alone in the
world.’
“‘But why don’t you marry, sir?’ said the little man, briskly, and with
an eye glistening with paternity. ‘Young ladies ain’t scarce--’
“‘True, most true; but even supposing I were fortunate enough to meet
the object of my wishes, I have no time. I received this appointment
last evening; to-day I am here, to-morrow I shall be on the billows!’
“‘Ah, that’s unfortunate, indeed,--very unfortunate.’
“‘Had I but one week,--a day,--ay, an hour, sir,’ said I, ‘I ‘d make an
offer of my brilliant position to some lovely creature who, tired of the
dreary North and its gloomy skies, would prefer the unclouded heaven
of the Himalaya and the perfumed breezes of the valley of
Santancantantarabad!’
“A lightly breathed sigh fell from the sleeping beauty, and at the same
time a smile of inexpressible sweetness played upon her lips; but, like
the ripple upon a glassy stream, that disappearing left all placid and
motionless again, the fair features were in a moment calm as before.
“‘She looks delicate,’ whispered my companion.
“‘Our detestable climate!’ said I, bitterly; for she coughed twice at
the instant. ‘Oh, why are the loveliest flowers the offspring of the
deadliest soil!’
“She awoke, not suddenly or abruptly, but as Venus might have risen from
the sparkling sea and thrown the dew-drops from her hair, and then she
opened her eyes. Mr. Tramp, do you understand eyes?”
“I can’t say I have any skill that way, to speak of.”
“I’m sorry for it,--deeply, sincerely sorry; for to the uninitiated
these things seem naught. It would be as unprofitable to put a Rembrandt
before a blind man as discuss the aesthetics of eyelashes with the
unbeliever. But you will understand me when I say that her eyes were
blue,--blue as the Adriatic!--not the glassy doll’s-eye blue, that
shines and glistens with a metallic lustre; nor that false depth, more
gray than blue, that resembles a piece of tea-lead; but the color of
the sea, as you behold it five fathoms down, beside the steep rocks of
Genoa! And what an ocean is a woman’s eye, with bright thoughts floating
through it, and love lurking at the bottom! Am I tedious, Mr. Tramp?”
“No; far from it,--only very poetical.”
“Ah, I was once,” said Mr. Yellowley, with a deep sigh. “I used to write
sweet things for ‘The New Monthly;’ but Campbell was very jealous of
me,--couldn’t abide me. Poor Campbell! he had his failings, like the
rest of us.
“Well, sir, to resume. We arrived at Southampton, but only in time to
hasten down to the pier, and take boat for the ship. The blue-peter was
flying at the mast-head, and people hurrying away to say ‘good-bye’ for
the last time. I, sir, I alone had no farewells to take. Simon Yellowley
was leaving his native soil, unwept and unregretted! Sad thoughts these,
Mr. Tramp,--very sad thoughts. Well, sir, we were aboard at last,
above a hundred of us, standing amid the lumber of our carpet-bags,
dressing-cases, and hat-boxes, half blinded by the heavy spray of the
condensed steam, and all deafened by the din.
“The world of a great packet-ship, Mr. Tramp, is a very selfish world,
and not a bad epitome of its relative on shore. Human weaknesses are
so hemmed in by circumstances, the frailties that would have been
dissipated in a wider space are so concentrated by compression, that
middling people grow bad, and the bad become regular demons. There is,
therefore, no such miserable den of selfish and egotistical caballing,
slander, gossip, and all malevolence, as one of these. Envy of the
man with a large berth,--sneers for the lady that whispered to the
captain,--guesses as to the rank and station of every passenger,
indulged in with a spirit of impertinence absolutely intolerable,--and
petty exclu-siveness practised by every four or five on board,
against some others who have fewer servants or less luggage than their
neighbors. Into this human bee-hive was I now plunged, to be bored
by the drones, stung by the wasps, and maddened by all. ‘No matter,’
thought I, 4 Simon Yellowley has a great mission to fulfil.’ Yes,
Mr. Tramp, I remembered the precarious position of our Eastern
possessions,--I bethought me of the incalculable services the ability of
even a Yellow-ley might render his country in the far-off valley of the
Himalaya, and I sat down on my portmanteau, a happier--nay, I will say,
a better man.
“The accidents--we call them such every day--the accidents which fashion
our lives, are always of our own devising, if we only were to take
trouble enough to trace them. I have a theory on this head, but I ‘m
keeping it over for a kind of a Bridgewater Treatise. It is enough now
to remark that though my number at the dinner-table was 84, I exchanged
with another gentleman, who could n’t bear a draught, for a place near
the door, No. 122. Ah, me! little knew I then what that simple act
was to bring with it. Bear in mind, Mr. Tramp, 122; for, as you may
remember, Sancho Panza’s story of the goatherd stopped short, when his
master forgot the number of the goats; and that great French novelist,
M. de Balzac, always hangs the interest of his tale on some sum in
arithmetic, in which his hero’s fortune is concerned: so my story bears
upon this number. Yes, sir, the adjoining seat, No. 123, was vacant.
There was a cover and a napkin, and there was a chair placed leaning
against the table, to mark it out as the property of some one absent;
and day by day was that vacant place the object of my conjectures. It
was natural this should be the case. My left-hand neighbor was the first
mate, one of those sea animals most detestable to a landsman. He had a
sea appetite, a sea voice, sea jokes, and, worst of all, a sea laugh.
I shall never forget that fellow. I never spoke to him that he did
not reply in some slang of his abominable profession; and all the
disagreeables of a floating existence were increased ten-fold by the
everlasting reference to the hated theme,--a ship. What he on the right
hand might prove, was therefore of some moment to me. Another _Coup de
Mer_ like this would be unendurable. The crossest old maid, the testiest
old bachelor, the most peppery nabob, the flattest ensign, the most
boring of tourists, the most careful of mothers, would be a boon from
heaven in comparison with a blue-jacket. Alas! Mr. Tramp, I was left
very long to speculate on this subject. We were buffeted down the
Channel, we were tossed along the coast of France, and blown about
the Bay of Biscay before 123 ever turned up; when one day--it was a
deliciously calm day (I shall not forget it soon)--we even could see the
coast of Portugal, with its great mountains above Cintra. Over a long
reach of sea, glassy as a mirror, the great ship clove her way,--the
long foam-track in her wake, the only stain on that blue surface. Every
one was on deck: the old asthmatic gentleman, whose cough was the
curse of the after-cabin, sat with a boa round his neck, and thought he
enjoyed himself. Ladies in twos and threes walked up and down together,
chatting as pleasantly as though in Kensington Gardens. The tourist sent
out by Mr. Colburn was taking notes of the whole party, and the four
officers in the Bengal Light Horse had adjourned their daily brandy and
water to a little awning beside the wheel. There were sketch-books and
embroidery-frames and journals on all sides; there was even a guitar,
with a blue ribbon round it; and amid all these remindings of shore
life, a fat poodle waddled about, and snarled at every one. The calm,
sir, was a kind of doomsday, which evoked the dead from their tombs; and
up they came from indescribable corners and nooks, opening their eyes
with amazement upon the strange world before them, and some almost
feeling that even the ordeal of sea-sickness was not too heavy a penalty
for an hour so bright, though so fleeting.
“‘Which is 123?’ thought I, as I elbowed my way along the crowded
quarter-deck, now asking myself could it be the thin gentleman with
the two capes, or the fat lady with the three chins? But there is a
prescience which never fails in the greater moments of our destiny, and
this told me it was none of these. We went down to dinner, and for the
first time the chair was not placed against the table, but so as to
permit a person to be seated on it.
“‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said the steward to me, ‘could you move a
little this way? 123 is coming in to dinner, and she would like to have
the air of the doorway.’
“‘She would,’ thought I; ‘oh, so this is a she, at all events;’ and
scarce was the reflection made, when the rustle of a silk dress
was heard brushing my chair. I turned, and what do you think, Mr.
Tramp?--shall I endeavor to describe my emotions to you?”
This was said in a tone so completely questioning that I saw Mr.
Yellowley waited for my answer.
“I am afraid, sir,” said I, looking at my watch, “if the emotions you
speak of will occupy much time, we had better skip them, for it only
wants a quarter to twelve.”
“We will omit them, then, Mr. Tramp; for, as you justly observe, they
would require both time and space. Well, sir, to be brief, 123 was the
angel of the railroad.”
“The lady you met at--”
“Yes, sir, if you prefer to call her the lady; for I shall persist in
my previous designation. Oh, Mr. Tramp, that was the great moment of
my life. You may have remarked that we pass from era to era of our
existence, as though it were from one chamber to another. The gay, the
sparkling, and the brilliant succeed to the dark and gloomy apartment,
scarce illumined by a ray of hope, and we move on in our life’s journey,
with new objects suggesting new actions, and the actions engendering new
frames of thought, and we think ourselves wiser as our vicissitudes grow
thicker; but I must not continue this theme. To me, this moment was
the greatest transition of my life. Here was the ideal before me, which
neither art had pictured, nor genius described,--the loveliest creature
I ever beheld. She turned round on taking her place, and with a
slight gesture of surprise recognized me at once as her former
fellow-traveller. I have had proud moments in my life, Mr. Tramp. I
shall never forget how the Commander of the Forces at Boulahcush said to
me in full audience, in the presence of all the officials,--
“‘Yellowley, this is devilish hot,--hotter than we have it in Europe.’
“But here was a prouder moment still: that little graceful movement of
recognition, that smile so transient as to be scarce detected, sent a
thrill of happiness all through me. In former days, by doughty deeds and
hazardous exploits men won their way to women’s hearts; our services
in the present time have the advantage of being less hazardous; little
attentions of the table, passing the salt, calling for the pepper,
lifting a napkin, and inviting to wine, are the substitutes for
mutilating giants and spitting dragons. I can’t say but I think the
exchange is with the difference.
“The first day passed over with scarce the interchange of a word between
us. She arose almost immediately after dinner, and did not make her
appearance during the remainder of the evening. The following morning
she took her place at the breakfast-table, and to my inexpressible
delight, as the weather still remained calm, ascended to the quarterdeck
when the meal was over. The smile with which she met me now had assumed
the token of acquaintance, and a very little address was necessary,
on my part, to enable me to join her as she walked, and engage her in
conversation. The fact of being so young and so perfectly alone--for
except her French maid, she did not appear to know a single person on
board--perhaps appeared to demand some explanation on her part, even to
a perfect stranger like myself; for, after some passing observations on
the scenery of the coast and the beauty of the weather, she told me that
she looked forward with much hope to the benefit her health might derive
from a warmer air and less trying climate than that of England.
“‘I already feel benefited by the sweet South,’ said she; and there was
a smile of gratitude on her lip, as she spoke the words. Some little
farther explanation she may have deemed necessary; for she took the
occasion soon after to remark that her only brother would have been
delighted with the voyage, if he could have obtained leave of absence
from his regiment; but, unfortunately, he was in ‘the Blues,’ quartered
at Windsor, and could not be spared.
“‘Poor dear creature!’ said I; ‘and so she has been obliged to travel
thus alone, reared doubtless within the precincts of some happy home,
from which the world, with its petty snares and selfishness, were
excluded, surrounded by all the appliances of luxury, and the elegances
that embellish existence--and now, to venture thus upon a journey
without a friend, or even a companion.’
“There could scarcely be a more touching incident than to see one like
her, so beautiful and so young, in the midst of that busy little world
of soldiers and sailors and merchants, travellers to the uttermost
bounds of the earth, and wearied spirits seeking for change wherever
it might be found. Had I not myself been alone, a very ‘waif’ upon the
shores of life, I should have felt attracted by the interest of her
isolation; now there was a sympathy to attach us,--there was that
similarity of position--that _idem nolle, et idem velle_--which, we
are told, constitutes true friendship. She seemed to arrive at
this conclusion exactly as I did myself, and received with the most
captivating frankness all the little attentions it was in my power to
bestow; and in fact to regard me, in some sort, as her companion. Thus,
we walked the deck each morning it was fine, or, if stormy, played at
chess or piquet in the cabin. Sometimes she worked while I read aloud
for her; and such a treat as it was to hear her criticisms on the volume
before us,--how just and true her appreciation of sound and correct
principles,--how skilful the distinctions she would make between the
false glitter of tinsel sentiment and the dull gold of real and sterling
morality! Her mind, naturally a gifted one, had received every aid
education could bestow. French and Italian literature were as familiar
to her as was English, while in mere accomplishments she far excelled
those who habitually make such acquirements the grand business of early
life.
“You are, I presume, a man of the world, Mr. Tramp. You may, perhaps,
deem it strange that several days rolled over before I ever even thought
of inquiring her name; but such was the case. It no more entered into my
conception to ask after it, than I should have dreamed of what might
be the botanical designation of some lovely flower by whose beauty and
fragrance I was captivated. Enough for me that the bright petals were
tipped with azure and gold, and the fair stem was graceful in its
slender elegance. I cared not where Jussieu might have arranged or
Linnaeus classed it. But a chance revealed the matter even before it had
occurred to me to think of it. A volume of Shelley’s poems contained on
the titlepage, written in a hand of singular delicacy, the words,
‘Lady Blanche D’Esmonde.’ Whether the noble family she belonged to were
English, Irish, or Scotch, I could not even guess. It were as well,
Mr. Tramp, that I could not do so. I should only have felt a more
unwarrantable attachment for that portion of the empire she came from.
Yes, sir, I loved her. I loved her with an ardor that the Yellowleys
have been remarkable for, during three hundred and eighty years. It was
_my_ ancestor, Mr. Tramp,--Paul Yellowley,--who was put in the stocks
at Charing Cross, for persecuting a maid of honor at Elizabeth’s court.
That haughty Queen and cold-hearted woman had the base inscription
written above his head, ‘The penaltie of a low scullion who lifteth his
eyes too loftilie.’
“To proceed. When we reached Gibraltar, Lady Blanche and I visited the
rocks, and went over the bomb-proofs and the casemates together,--far
more dangerous places those little cells and dark passages to a man like
me, than ever they could become in the hottest fury of a siege. She took
such an interest in everything. There was not a mortar nor a piece
of ordnance she could afford to miss; and she would peep out from
the embrasures, and look down upon the harbor and the bay, with a
fearlessness that left me puzzled to think whether I were more terrified
by her intrepidity or charmed by the beauty of her instep. Again we went
to sea; but how I trembled at each sight of land, lest she should leave
the ship forever! At last, Malta came in view; and the same evening the
boats were lowered, for all had a desire to go ashore. Of course Lady
Blanche was most anxious; her health had latterly improved greatly, and
she was able to incur considerable fatigue, without feeling the worse
afterwards.
“It was a calm, mellow evening, with an already risen moon, as we
landed to wander about the narrow streets and bastioned dwellings of old
Valletta. She took my arm, and, followed by Mademoiselle Virginie, we
went on exploring every strange and curious spot before us, and calling
up before our mind’s eye the ancient glories of the place. I was rather
strong in all these sort of things, Mr. Tramp; for in expectation of
this little visit, I made myself up about the Knights of St. John and
the Moslems, Fort St Elmo, Civita Vecchia, rocks, catacombs, prickly
pears, and all. In fact, I was primed with the whole catalogue, which,
written down in short memoranda, forms Chap. I. in a modern tour-book
of the Mediterranean. The season was so genial, and the moon so bright,
that we lingered till past midnight, and then returned to the ship the
last of all the visitors. That was indeed a night, as, flickered by
the column of silver light, we swept over the calm sea. Lady Blanche,
wrapped in my large boat-cloak, her pale features statue-like in their
unmoved beauty, sat in the stern; I sat at her side. Neither spoke a
word. What her thoughts might have been I cannot guess; but the little
French maid looked at me from time to time with an expression of
diabolical intelligence I cannot forget; and as I handed her mistress up
the gangway, Virginie said in a whisper,--
“‘Ah, Monsieur Yellowley, _vous êtes un homme dangereux!_’
“Would you believe it, Mr. Tramp, that little phrase filled every
chamber of my heart with hope; there could be but one interpretation of
it, and what a meaning had that,--dangerous to the peace of mind, to the
heart’s happiness of her I actually adored! I lay down in my berth
and tried to sleep; but the nearest approach of slumber was a dreamy
condition, in which the words _vous êtes un homme dangereux_ kept ever
ringing. I thought I saw Lady Blanche dressed in white, with a veil
covering her, a chaplet of orange flowers on her brow, and weeping as
though inconsolably; and there was a grim, mischievous little face that
nodded at me with a menacing expression, as though to say, ‘This is
your work, Simon Yellowley;’ and then I saw her lay aside the veil and
encircle herself with a sad-colored garment, while her tears fell even
faster than before; and then the little vixen from the window exclaimed,
‘Here’s more of it, Simon Yellowley.’ Lord, how I reproached myself,--I
saw I was bringing her to the grave; yes, sir, there is no concealing
it. I _felt_ she loved me. I arose and put on my dressing-gown; my mind
was made up. I slipped noiselessly up the cabin-stairs, and with
much difficulty made my way to that part of the ship inhabited by the
servants. I will not recount here the insolent allusions I encountered,
nor the rude jests and jibes of the sailors when I asked for
Mademoiselle Virginie; nor was it without trouble and considerable delay
that I succeeded in obtaining an interview with her.
“‘Mademoiselle,’ said I, ‘I know the levity of your nation; no man is
more conscious than I of--of the frailty of your moral principles.
Don’t be angry, but hear me out. You said a few minutes ago that I was
a “dangerous man;” tell me now, sincerely, truthfully, and
candidly,’--here I put rather a heavy purse into her hands,--‘the exact
meaning you attached to these words.’
“‘Ah, Monsieur,’ said she, with a stage shudder, ‘_je suis une pauvre
fille, ne me perdez pas_.’
“I looked at the little wizened devil, and never felt stronger in my
virtue.
“‘Don’t be afraid, Virginie, I’m an archbishop in principles; but
I thought that when you said these words they bore an allusion to
another--’
“‘_Ah! c’est ça,_’ said she, with perfect _naïveté_,--‘so you are, a
dangerous man, a very dangerous man; so much so, indeed, that I shall
use all my influence to persuade one, of whom you are aware, to escape
as quickly as may be from the hazard of your fascinating society.’
“I repeat these words, Mr. Tramp, which may appear to you now too
flattering; but the French language, in which Virginie spoke, permits
expressions even stronger than these, as mere conventionalities.
“‘Don’t do it,’ said I, ‘don’t do it, Virginie.’
“‘I must, and I will,’ reiterated she; ‘there’s such a change in my poor
dear Lady Blanche since she met you; I never knew her give way to fits
of laughing before,--she’s so capricious and whimsical,--she was an
angel formerly.’
“‘She is an angel still,’ said I, with a frown, for I would not suffer
so much of aspersion against her.
“‘_Sans doute_,’ chimed in Virginie, with a shrug of her shoulders,
‘we are all angels, after a fashion;’ and I endeavored to smile a
concurrence with this sentiment, in which I only half assented.
“By wonderful skill and cross-questioning, I at last obtained the
following information: Lady Blanche was on a voyage of health, intending
to visit the remarkable places in the Mediterranean, and then winter at
some chosen spot upon its shores. Why she journeyed thus unprotected,
was a secret there was no fathoming by indirect inquiry, and any other
would have been an act of indelicacy.
“‘We will pass the winter at Naples, or Palermo, or Jerusalem, or some
other watering-place,’ said Virginie, for her geography was, after all,
only a lady’s-maid’s accomplishment.
“‘You must persuade her to visit Egypt, Virginie,’ said I,--‘Egypt,
Virginie,--the land of the Pyramids. Induce her to do this, and to
behold the wonders of the strangest country in the universe. Even now,’
said I, ‘Arab life--’
“‘Ah, _oui_. I have seen the Arabs at the Vaudeville; they have
magnificent beards.’
“‘The handsomest men in the world.’
“‘_Pas mal_,’ said she, with a sententious nod there’s no converting
into words.
“‘Well, Virginie, think of Cairo, think of Bagdad. You have read the
Arabian Nights--have n’t you?’
“‘Yes,’ said she, with a yawn, ‘they are _passées_; now, what would you
have us do in this droll old place?’
“‘I would have you to visit Mehemet Ali, and be received at his court!’
--for I saw at once the class of fascination she would yield to. ‘Drink
sherbet, eat sweetmeats, receive presents, magnificent presents,
cashmeres, diamond bracelets. Ah! think of that.’
“‘Ah! there is something in what you say,’ said she, after a pause;
‘but we have not come prepared for such an expensive journey. I am
purse-bearer, for Lady Blanche knows nothing about expense, and we shall
not receive remittances until we settle somewhere for the winter.’
“These words made my heart leap; in five minutes more I explained to
Virginie that I was provided with a free transit through the East, in
which, by her aid, her mistress might participate, without ever knowing
it. ‘You have only to pretend, Virginie, that Egypt is so cheap; tell
her a camel only costs a penny a league, and that one is actually paid
for crossing the Great Desert; you can hint that old Mehemet wants to
bring the thing into fashion, and that he would give his beard to see
English ladies travelling that route.’
“‘I knew it well,’ said Virginie, with a malicious smile,--‘I knew it
well; you are “a dangerous man.”’
“All the obstacles and impediments she could suggest, I answered
with much skill and address, not unaided, I own, by certain potent
persuasives, in the shape of bank paper,--she was a most mercenary
little devil; and as day was breaking, Virginie had fully agreed in all
my plans, and determined that her mistress should go beyond ‘the second
cataract,’ if I wished it. I need not say that she fully understood my
motives; she was a Frenchwoman, Mr. Tramp; the Russian loves train oil,
the Yankee prefers whittling, but a Frenchwoman, without an intrigue of
her own, or some one’s else, on hand, is the most miserable object in
existence.
“‘I see where it all will end,’ cried she, as I turned to leave her; ‘I
see it already. Before six weeks are over, you will not ask _my_ aid to
influence my mistress.’
“‘Do you think so, Virginie?’ said I, grasping at the suggestion.
“‘Of course I do,’ said she, with a look of undisguised truth; ‘_ah, que
vous êtes un homme dangereux!_’
“It is a strange thing, Mr. Tramp, but I felt that title a prouder one
than if I had been called the Governor of Bombay. Varied and numerous as
the incidents of my life had been, I never knew till then that I was
a dangerous man; nor, indeed, do I believe that, in the previous
constitution of my mind, I should have relished the epithet; but I
hugged it now as the symbol of my happiness. The whole of the following
day was spent by me in company with Lady Blanche. I expatiated on the
glories of the East, and discussed everybody who had been there, from
Abraham down to Abercromby. What a multiplicity of learning, sacred
and profane, did I not pour forth,--I perfectly astounded her with the
extent of my information, for, as I told you before, I was strong on
Egypt, filling up every interstice with a quotation from Byron, or a
bit of Lalla Rookh, or a stray verse from the Palm Leaves, which
I invariably introduced as a little thing of my own; then I quoted
Herodotus, Denon, and Lamartine, without end--till before the dinner
was served, I had given her such a journey in mere description, that she
said with a sigh,--
“‘Really, Mr. Yellowley, you have been so eloquent that I actually feel
as much fatigued as if I had spent a day on a camel.’
“I gave her a grateful look, Mr. Tramp, and she smiled in return; from
that hour, sir, we understood each other. I pursued my Egyptian studies
nearly the entire of that night, and the next day came on deck, with
four chapters of Irby and Mangles off by heart. My head swam round with
ideas of things Oriental,--patriarchs and pyramids, Turks, dragomans,
catacombs, and crocodiles, danced an infernal quadrille in my excited
brain, and I convulsed the whole cabin at breakfast, by replying to the
captain’s offer of some tea, with a profound salaam, and an exclamation
of ‘_Bish millah, allah il allah_.’
“‘You have infatuated me with your love of the East, Mr. Yellowley,’
said Lady Blanche, one morning, as she met me. ‘I have been thinking
over poor Princess Shezarade and Noureddin, and the little tailor of
Bagdad, and the wicked Cadi, and all the rest of them.’
“‘Have I,’ cried I, joyfully; ‘have I indeed!’
“‘I feel I must see the Pyramids,’ said she. ‘I cannot resist an impulse
on which my thoughts are concentrated, and yours be all the blame of
this wilful exploit.’
“’ Yes,’ said I.
“’ T is hard at some appointed place
To check your course and turn your prow,
And objects for themselves retrace
You past with added hope just now.’
“‘Yours,’ said she, smilingly.
“‘A poor thing,’ said I, ‘I did for one of the Keepsakes.’
“Ah, Mr. Tramp, it is very hard to distinguish one’s own little verse
from the minor poets. All my life I have been under the delusion that
I wrote ‘O’Connor’s Child,’ and the ‘Battle of the Baltic;’ and, now I
think of it, those lines are Monckton Milnes’s.
“We reached Alexandria a few days after, and at once joined the great
concourse of passengers bound for the East.
“I perceive you are looking at your watch, Mr. Tramp.”
“I must indeed ask your pardon. I sail for Calais at the next ebb.”
“I shall not be tedious now, sir. We began ‘the overland,’--the angel
travelling as Lady Blanche Yellowley, to avoid any possible inquiry
or impertinence from the official people. This was arranged between
Virginie and myself, without her knowledge. Then, indeed, began my
Arabian nights. Ah, Mr. Tramp, you never can know the happiness enjoyed
by him who, travelling for fourteen long hours over the hot sand, and
beneath the scorching sun of the desert, comes at last to stretch his
wearied limbs upon his carpet at evening, and gazes on celestial beauty
as he sips his mocha. Mahomet had a strong case, depend upon it, when he
furnished his paradise with a houri and a hubble-bubble; and such nights
were these, as we sat and chatted over the once glories of that great
land, while in the lone khan of the desert would be heard the silvery
sounds of a fair woman’s voice, as she sung some little barcarole, or
light Venetian canzonette. Ah, Mr. Tramp, do you wonder if I loved--do
you wonder if I confessed my love? I did both, sir,--ay, sir, both.
“I told her my heart’s secret in an impassioned moment, and, with the
enthusiasm of true affection, explained my position and my passion.
“‘I am your slave,’ said I, with trembling adoration,--‘_your_ slave,
and the Secretary at Santancantantarabad. _You_ own my heart. _I_
possess nothing but a Government situation and three thousand per annum.
I shall never cease to love you, and my widow must have a pension from
the Company.’
“She covered her face with her handkerchief as I spoke, and her
sobs--they must have been sobs--actually penetrated my bosom.
“‘You must speak of this no more, dear Mr. Yellowley,’ said she, wiping
her eyes; ‘you really must not, at least until I arrive at Calcutta.’
“‘So you consent to go that far,’ cried I, in ecstasy.
“She seemed somewhat confused at her own confession, for she blushed and
turned away; then said, in a voice of some hesitation,--
“‘Will you compel me to relinquish the charm of your too agreeable
society, or will you make me the promise I ask?’
“‘Anything--everything,’ exclaimed I; and from that hour, Mr. Tramp,
I only _looked_ my love, at least, save when sighs and interjections
contributed their insignificant aid.
I gave no expression to my consuming flame. Not the less progress,
perhaps, did I make for that. You can educate a feature, sir, to do the
work of four,--I could after a week or ten days look fifty different
things, and she knew them,--ay, that she did, as though it were a book
open before her.
[Illustration: 610]
“I could have strained my eyes to see through the canvas of a tent, Mr.
Tramp, if she were inside of it. And she, had you but seen _her_ looks!
what archness and what softness,--how piquant, yet how playful,--what
witchcraft and what simplicity! I must hasten on. We arrived within a
day of our journey’s end. The next morning showed us the tall outline of
Fort William against the sky. The hour was approaching in which I might
declare my love, and declare it with some hope of a return!”
“Mr. Tramp,” said a waiter, hurriedly, interrupting Mr. Yellowley at
this crisis of his tale, “Captain Smithet, of the ‘Hornet,’ says he has
the steam up and will start in ten minutes.”
“Bless my heart,” cried I; “this is a hasty summons;” while snatching up
my light travelling portmanteau, I threw my cloak over my shoulders at
once.
“You ‘ll not go before I conclude my story,” cried Mr. Yellowley, with a
voice of indignant displeasure.
“I regret it deeply, sir,” said I, “from my very heart; but I am the
bearer of government despatches for Vienna; they are of the greatest
consequence,--delay would be a ruinous matter.”
“I ‘ll go down with you to the quay,” cried Yellowley, seizing my arm;
and we turned into the street together. It was still blowing a gale
of wind, and a heavy sleet was drifting in our faces, so that he was
compelled to raise his voice to a shout, to become audible.
“‘We are near Calcutta, dearest Lady Blanche,’ said I; ‘in a moment more
we shall be no longer bound by your pledge’--do you hear me, Mr. Tramp?”
“Perfectly; but let us push along faster.”
“She was in tears, sir,--weeping. She is mine, thought I. What a night,
to be sure! We drove into the grand Cassawaddy; and the door of our
conveyance was wrenched open by a handsome-looking fellow, all gold and
moustaches.
“‘Blanche--my dearest Blanche!’ said he.
“‘My own Charles!’ exclaimed she.”
“Her brother, I suppose, Mr. Yellowley?”
“No, sir,” screamed he, “her husband!!!”
“The artful, deceitful, designing woman had a husband!” screamed
Yellowley, above the storm and the hurricane. “They had been married
privately, Mr. Tramp, the day he sailed for India, and she only waited
for the next ‘overland’ to follow him out; and I, sir, the miserable
dupe, stood there, the witness of their joys.
“‘Don’t forget this dear old creature, Charles,’ said she: ‘he
was invaluable to me on the journey!’ But I rushed from the spot,
anguish-torn and almost desperate.”
“Come quickly, sir; we must catch the ebb-tide,” cried a sailor, pushing
me along towards the jetty as he spoke.
“My misfortunes were rife,” screamed Yellowley, in my ear. “The Rajah to
whose court I was appointed had offended Lord Ellenborough, and it was
only the week before I arrived that his territory bad been added to
‘British India,’ as they call it, and the late ruler accommodated with
private apartments in Calcutta, and three hundred a year for life; so
that I had nothing to do but come home again. Good-bye,--good-bye, sir.”
“Go on,” cried the captain from the paddle-box; and away we splashed,
in a manner far more picturesque to those on land than pleasant to us
on board, while high above the howling wind and rattling cordage came
Yellowley voice,--“Don’t forget it, Mr. Tramp, don’t forget it! Asleep
or awake, never trust them!”
[Illustration: 612]