When I awoke, it was to hear the thundering crash of a wave on the deck
overhead, and I knew we were at last on the open sea. Alas! when I
turned over to recover my sleep, I fell into so horrible a fit of
shuddering and sickness that I believed the hour of my departure was
come. The ship rolled heavily through the uneasy water, and at every
lurch my heart sunk--I know not whither. I could hear the shuffling of
steps overhead, and the dash of the waves against the ship's side, and
the voice of the sailors at their posts. Little recked they of the
comrade who was dying below!
Presently a call came for the new watch to turn up on deck. I was
helpless to obey, and lay groaning there, not caring if the next lurch
took us down to the bottom. At last, after much shouting, the captain
himself came down and shook me roughly.
"Leave me," said I, "to die in peace."
"Die!" cried he, "thou sickly lubber. If you rise not in a minute's
time, we will see what a rope's end can do to 'liven thee. Come, get
up."
I struggled to my feet, but in that posture my sickness came back with
double violence, so that I tumbled again to the floor, and vowed he
might use every rope in the ship to me, but up I could not get.
I do not well recall what happened those next few days. I believe I
staggered upon deck and went miserably through the form of work, jeered
at by my fellow sailors, despised by my captain, and wondered at by
Ludar. But when, after the sickness gave way, I one day found myself in
a fever, with my strength all gone, I was let go below and lie there
without more to do. I know not how it came to pass, but ill I was for a
day or two; perhaps it was the vexations of the last few weeks, or the
weakness left by the sickness, or a visitation of the colic from heaven;
however it was, I lay there, humbled and ashamed of my weakness, and
wishing myself safe back outside Temple Bar.
At these times, Ludar was a brother to me. He came often to see me, and
talked so cheerily, that I almost forgot how solemn his looks used to
be. More than that, he fetched me dainties to eat, without which I
might have starved; for, while the fever lasted, I could not stomach the
strong ship's fare. And I suspected more than once that he had secured
my peace from the captain by offering himself to do a good piece of my
work as well as his own.
He spoke little enough about the maiden, though I longed to hear of her.
Once, when I asked him, his face grew overcast.
"That maiden," said he, "is never so merry as when the waves are
breaking over the deck. Yet I see her little, for, in sooth, the old
nurse has been nearer death than you, and will allow no one to go near
her but her young mistress. Nor dare I offer myself where I am not
bidden. Humphrey," added he, "I prefer to talk of something else."
Now, I must tell you that, to my surprise, I found I had another friend
in these dark days; I mean the poet. Contemptible as was my plight, and
mean as was the cabin I hid in, when he heard I was ill, he came more
than once to see me. It suited him to make a mighty to do about it, as
if his condescension must heal me on the spot. Yet the kindness that
was in him, and the wonder he afforded me, made up for all these airs
and graces.
"Alack and well a day!" exclaimed he, when he first came. "Vulcan hath
fallen from the clouds and lieth halting below. The apple which was
rosy is become green, and the Dutchman who of late flew is now become
ship's ballast. Nay, my poor ruin, thank me not for coming; 'tis the
common debt the high oweth to the low, the sound to the broken, the poem
to the prose; nay, 'tis the duty a knight oweth to his lady's humblest
menial."
"And how is the lady?" said I; for I wearied to hear of her, even from
any lips.
"Hast thou seen the swan with wings new dressed float on the summer
tide? Hast thou heard the thrush, full-throated, call his mate across
the lea? Hast thou watched the moon soar up the heavens, sweeping aside
the clouds, and defying the mists of earth? Hast thou marked, my
Dutchman, the summer laughter on a field of golden corn? Hast thou
tracked the merry breeze along the ripples of a dazzled ocean?--"
"Yes, yes," said I, "but what has that to do with the maiden we speak
of?"
He smiled on me pityingly.
"Such, poor youth, is she; and such, methinks, am I become, who sit at
her feet and sun myself in her light--"
"'Tis dark down here," I said, "but you seem to me neither swan, nor
thrush, nor moon, nor a corn field, nor an ocean. But I thank you, even
as you are, for coming."
"'Tis a sign of a sound mind," said he, "when gratitude answereth to
graciousness. And now, prithee, how do you do?"
I told him I was better, and that I might not have mended so far, but
for my dear master, Sir Ludar.
Then he bridled up and his cheeks coloured.
"Ah, Hercules is a good sailor, and a strong animal. 'Tis fit he should
wait upon you, since you be in my present favour. Moreover, like cureth
like, as it is said; therefore he is better here tending you, than
casting sheep's eyes on one who is as the sun above his head. I have
had a mind to admonish him to remove the offence of his visage from her
purview, for I perceived, by my own mislike of it, that it was a
weariness to her. The pure glass is dimmed by the breath of the
beholder, and a face at the window darkeneth a chamber."
"Sir Ludar will be here soon," said I; "I pray you stay and tell him
this."
"No," said he, looking, I thought, a little alarmed. "If the cloud
withdraw not from the sun's path of his own motion, neither will he
scatter for our bidding. Therefore, let him be. And, indeed, I stay
here too long, my Dutchman. Who shall say but the dove sigheth already
for her truant mate? So farewell; and count me thy patron."
He came often after this, always with the same brave talk.
One day, however, he seemed more like a plain man and said: "'Tis time
thou wert up, my Hollander. There is thunder in the air, the horizon is
big with clouds, the dull sea rustleth with the coming storm, and I
smell the wind afar off."
"Why," said I, starting up, "Ludar told me but just now the weather was
fair and settled, and that the breeze was shifting to the south."
"I spoke not of the weather," said he. "Let it be. The thunder may
hide beneath a brow, the lightning may flash from out two eyelids, and
the storm may break in a man's breast."
"For Heaven's sake, speak plain," said I. "What do you mean?"
"Wait and see," said he, "I like not these French dogs. Only let thy
eye be keen, thy ear quick, and thy hand ready, my Hollander, and stand
by me when I call on thee."
More I could not get out of him. When I spoke of it to Ludar
afterwards, he said:
"Maybe the little antic is right. Yet they are too sorry a crew, and
too small to do mischief. They suspect us of carrying treasure aboard,
and your friend the captain, I take it, is the roundest villain of them
all."
I vowed the captain was no friend of mine; yet I believed him honest.
But as for the crew, it came to my mind then what the drunken fellow had
blabbed out the first night; and I said it was like enough to be true.
That afternoon I rose from my sick-bed and came on deck. I remember to
this hour the joy of that afternoon.
The day was bright and fair; land was nowhere to be seen; only a stretch
of blue-green water through which the _Misericorde_ spanked with a light
breeze at her stern. The white sails shone out in the sunlight, and the
happy gulls called to one another above our heads. As I faced round and
drank in mouthful after mouthful of the fresh salt air, my life seemed
to revive within me, and I felt the strength rush back into my thews.
But the greatest joy of all was that the maiden, seeing me stand there,
came up and bade me a joyous welcome to the upper air once more.
"Alas," said she, laughing, "it has been dull times while you have been
below, Humphrey. My good old nurse has not ceased to cry out that she
was dying since we took our first lurch into the free sea. Your Knight
of the Rueful Countenance flies from me whenever he sees me afar; your
French captain might be an Englishman, he is so sulky; and as for your
English paragon there,"--and she pointed to the gallant who was
strutting on the forward deck--"he frightens me with his frenzies and
raptures. Do you all make love that way in England?"
"No," said I, "I think not."
"Why, Humphrey, you talk as if you knew not; I would have vowed you had
a sweetheart of your own, with the rest of them."
"Maybe I have," said I.
Just then to my relief, Ludar came up.
"Sir Ludar," I said, "this lady complains that you, who are so brave,
run away whenever she looks your way."
Neither the maiden nor Ludar liked my clumsy speech.
"Nay, Sir Malapert," said she, "I complain not of what contents me.
Besides, Sir Ludar has been better employed in nursing you."
"If I be a coward," said Ludar, "it's because I dread a frown more than
a battle-axe."
The maiden looked up at him, with the gentle light in her eyes which I
had marked before now.
"If you dread frowns," said she, laughing, "never look in your mirror,
Sir Ludar; for, by my faith, you glare at me now as if I were an English
poet, such as now approacheth." We looked up and there was our gallant
at our elbows.
"As the loadstone to his star, as the compass to the pole, as the river
to the sea, so come I, fair tyrant of my heart. For thy sake, I even
salute these thy satellites, O moon of my vision! who derive from thee
their lustre."
"Witness Sir Ludar's countenance," said the maiden. "But now that the
sun has come on the horizon, Sir Poet, shall not we lesser lights all
pale? Pray, did you catch any fish to-day?"
"Nay, mistress mine, how should the silly fish, dazzled by thy heavenly
brightness, see the humble bait of a mortal?"
"I know not," said the maiden, "but I saw one sailor, an hour ago, catch
three."
"Is it a wonder, since you watched the quivering line? Mark you, my
humble friends," said he, turning to Ludar and me. "I relieve you of
your further attendance on me and this lady. I thank you, and so
farewell, till we summon you further."
"Nay, Sir Poet," said the maiden, "if you must be gone, adieu. As for
me, Sir Ludar is about to teach me the mystery of the angle, and
Humphrey waits on Sir Ludar. Therefore, concern yourself not for me; I
am well attended."
"Oh," said he, rather chapfallen, "your condescension is a lesson for
angels. When the planet deigns to shine into the humble pool, shall the
star not do the same? I will even abide at your side, and be gracious
too."
But his brave intention was thwarted. For a call came just then from
the old nurse, which carried the maiden off to her side; while Ludar and
I, receiving a summons from the captain, went forward, and so left the
poet to his own devices.
A sterner summons was not far off, as you shall hear.