“STOP HER”
THE VOYAGE HOME--“WHOM TO MARRY”--DISINTERESTED ADVICE--THE
LOOKER-ON SEES MOST OF THE GAME--A FOG IN THE CHANNEL--FRANK’S
STRIKING ARGUMENTS--LADIES FIRST--THE REMNANT ON THE
WRECK--HOPE ON THE HORIZON--HAIRBLOWER’S OFFER
In these days of steam and perpetual locomotion everybody has been a
voyage of some sort over the seas; and one of these uncomfortable
expeditions is so like another, that it is needless to describe the
transit of Frank Hardingstone and Cousin Charlie from the Cape home.
There were but few passengers on board the _Phlegethon_, and those
were as much bored with the length and monotony of their voyage as
passengers usually are; they ate, drank, smoked, walked the deck,
pestered the professionals with perpetual questions as to when they
should make the Needles, and otherwise comported themselves so as to
lengthen as much as possible the apparent duration of their
imprisonment. Charlie was as idle and impatient as the rest. Frank
alone seemed an exception to the general rule; when not reading hard
in his cabin he was sure to be found studying steam in the
engine-room, “shooting the sun” with the captain, or learning
navigation with the mate. “There’s a good man spoilt in making that
chap a gentleman,” was the constant remark of these worthies, who
contracted an immense love and admiration for Frank. Yet of late he
had maintained a grim reserve very foreign to his usual open
demeanour, and more especially in the society of Cousin Charlie. He
did not shun him, nor did that careless and good-humoured young
gentleman perceive any difference in his friend’s manner; but Frank
could not conceal from himself that he was not thoroughly at ease with
the boy for whom he had endured so much. He felt that he had given up
his dearest hopes for his young _protégé_--that he had sacrificed to
him the inestimable treasure of Blanche Kettering’s love; he had on
one or two occasions even done such violence to his feelings as to
touch upon the subject of their approaching marriage in his
conversations with her cousin, and had been surprised and disgusted at
the coldness with which so engrossing a topic was received by the
young gentleman most concerned. Frank could have borne it better, he
thought, had Charlie been worthy of the blessing in store for him--had
he appreciated the unspeakable bliss which others would have given all
on earth to enjoy; but to yield her to one who scarce seemed willing
to stretch out his hand to receive her--to resign all that made life
valuable to another, and to find that other appreciated the object as
little as the sacrifice--this was indeed a hard task; but Frank
thought it his duty so to act, and resolved, with his usual
determination and forgetfulness of self, that he would lose no
opportunity of forcing upon Charlie the absolute necessity of marrying
the only woman he had himself ever loved. Thus the voyage drew to a
close. Contrary winds were baffled by the power of steam; the good
ship stemmed the mountain waves of the Bay of Biscay, and at length
the coast of England was hailed; and, though labouring in a heavy gale
of wind and a cross-pitching sea, they were steaming steadily up the
Channel, and congratulating themselves that to-morrow they would once
more set foot on English ground. Frank and Charlie were on deck,
enjoying the broken gleams of an afternoon’s sun, that shone fitfully
through the mists and storm-rack driving fast overhead; and their
conversation naturally enough turned upon their own plans and
intentions when they should get ashore. Charlie was full of his horses
and his anticipations of sport in game-preserve and hunting-field,
with sundry speculations as to the state of “Haphazard’s” legs, much
damaged by the never-to-be-forgotten steeple-chase; and it was with
difficulty Frank could command his attention whilst he made a final
effort to impress upon him the absolute necessity of his making up
his mind and marrying his pretty cousin forthwith.
“It’s not fair upon any one,” said Frank, holding manfully on to the
mizen-topmast stay, “it’s not doing as you’d be done by, to keep a
thing of this sort off and on; it’s not fair upon your family; it’s
not fair upon your uncle; and, above all, it’s not fair upon Miss
Kettering herself. I conceive that you are bound, as a gentleman, to
make all necessary arrangements, so that the business may be concluded
within a month of your arrival at Newton-Hollows.”
Charlie looked rather aghast. “Well, but,” said he, “I should have to
leave the regiment. You wouldn’t have me bring Blanche out to
Kaffirland--poor little Blanche, she’d be frightened to death, and I
know I should have to sell out--Frank, I couldn’t bear to leave the
regiment. I like soldiering better than anything.”
“We can’t help that,” rejoined his friend. “You’ve a duty to perform
in life, and you must go through with it. You’re not to live for
yourself alone; and look how many people are interested in this
question. In the first place, there’s your cousin. In consequence of
this will they’ve found, you have been the innocent cause of robbing
her of a princely inheritance; this is the only method by which you
can replace her in her former advantageous position. It was evidently
intended all through by your uncle and your poor aunt that this
marriage should take place, and their wishes ought to be your law.
Then the General has set his heart upon it, I _know_, and you are both
under great obligations to that kind old man. But all these
considerations are as nothing compared with the feelings of Blanche
herself. Charlie, would you begin by supplanting her in her
birthright, and finish by breaking her heart?”
Charlie looked wofully disconcerted. This was altogether a new light,
and he stammered out, “Of course I should like to do what’s right, but
I don’t want to give up the army;--and--and--I’m very fond of Blanche,
you know, and all that, but I don’t think I quite like her well enough
to marry her.”
“Not like her!” exclaimed Hardingstone, to whom this latter reason
was totally incomprehensible, “not like such a girl as that--the
loveliest, the sweetest, the most angelic, the most ladylike creature
on the face of the earth--I’ve never seen anything the least to be
compared to her in _my_ experience; and you talk of not liking her!”
“Hang it, Frank!” interposed the lad, “I wish you’d marry her
yourself. I’ll go shares with her in fortune; there’s more than enough
for us both, and you’re much fitter to be a respectable man than I
am.”
The shaft went deep into his heart, but the strong man never winced or
failed for a moment. “What right have you,” he broke in, almost
fiercely, “what right have you to talk of giving her money, and laying
her under obligations? Like Falstaff,” he added, relapsing into his
usual manner, “you owe her yourself and the money too. For Heaven’s
sake, Charlie, don’t tamper with the happiness of a lifetime--honour,
duty, expediency, all point one way--do not, for a mere whim, neglect
that which, left undone, you will repent ever afterwards. Promise me,
_now_ promise me, Charlie, that you will marry your cousin before you
again leave Newton-Hollows.”
Charlie bit his lip, stroked his moustaches, looked first one way, and
then another; and finally, blushing crimson over his wasted face,
exclaimed, “Never, Frank--if you must know it, you had better know it
now--never, I tell you, and for the best of all reasons; of course it
goes no farther, but the fact is, I--I like somebody else much
better.”
“And do you think you are the only person that has to sacrifice
inclination--nay, happiness, existence itself--to duty? Do you think
you are to be exempt from the common lot of man--to receive everything
and give up nothing? Do you owe no duty to your cousin? Are you not
all-in-all to her? And are you to destroy all the hopes of her
lifetime, to break her young heart, as you have destroyed her
prospects, for your own selfish gratification? Trust me, Charlie, she
loves you, and whether you care for her or not, unless your word is
irrevocably pledged to another, it is your duty to marry her, and
marry her you must!”
“You’re wrong, Frank,” said Charlie, with a roguish smile; “you’re
wrong--you’re a sharp fellow generally, but you’re out of your
reckoning here. Blanche has exactly the same regard for me that a
sister has for a brother--but love, as you and I understand the word,
bless you, she hasn’t a notion of it, as far as I am concerned; but
I’ll tell you whom I think she _does_ love, Frank--ah! you may wince
and turn pale, but you ought to know, and I’ll tell you. Frank, do you
remember the Guyville ball?--why! you’re not pale now--I should never
have mentioned it if you hadn’t driven me into a corner, but now out
it shall come. Do you remember when you came up and turned away
without asking her to dance, while we were waltzing together? Well,
when Blanche looked up, her eyes were full of tears, and she said to
me, ‘What’s the matter with Mr. Hardingstone? I’m afraid he’s offended
with us.’ And I said, ‘Blanche, you little flirt, he thinks you’ve
jilted him.’ And she blushed over her face and neck and shoulders--ay,
redder than you are now, old boy; and she followed you with such a
loving, piteous look--and I saw it all in a moment. Yes, Frank,
Blanche is over head and ears in love with you, and I’m glad of it,
for there’s no other man in the world that’s worthy of her; and _you_
shall marry her, Frank, and _I_ won’t, and I’ll get drunk at the
wedding--but let’s go below now. These cold evenings make me cough,
and I suppose the steward will manage some supper for us, though it
_is_ blowing so hard;” with which gastronomic aspiration hungry
Charlie disappeared down the hatchway, and left an altered man behind
him, to pace the deck in a confused state of tumultuous, almost
delirious happiness.
Frank was anything but a vain man; he always considered himself as
possessing no attractions for the other sex; and that such a girl as
Blanche Kettering should look upon him favourably was a happiness he
had scarcely allowed himself to picture in his dreams; but now that it
was suggested by another, now that it appeared to impartial eyes
neither an impossibility nor an absurdity, a thousand trifling
circumstances rose in his recollection--a thousand little lights and
shades of looks, and tones, and expressions, came back to him distinct
and vivid, with a meaning and a colouring they had never possessed
before, and he could hardly restrain the happiness that gushed up in
his bosom and sparkled in his eye, as after a few minutes of delicious
solitude on deck, he joined the party at supper in the cabin, and one
and all remarked that now the voyage was nearly over, the grave Mr.
Hardingstone appeared to be quite a different man. To their questions
as to the weather, he stated that it was “a beautiful night”; which
caused the captain to look at him as an undoubted lunatic, inasmuch as
the sea was getting up rapidly, and a thick mist was driving over the
face of the waters. With the passengers he joked and laughed, and
played _vingt-et-un_, and made himself so universally popular and
agreeable, that those very persons who had all along voted him an odd,
reserved, uncomfortable sort of fellow, now almost regretted that they
should so soon be parted from such a rand of good-humour and merriment
as they discovered, all too late, in their fellow-passenger.
The night grew blacker as the mist increased with the somewhat
moderating gale, and a long, heaving swell came rolling up from the
Atlantic, each succeeding sea appearing to rear its gigantic volume
higher, farther, fiercer than its predecessor, and still the good ship
steamed on through the darkness. A light at her foretop, and an
indistinct glimmer at the binnacle, only made the surrounding
obscurity appear more palpable, and through the dense fog, which
seemed to pervade the very deck, and to hang around the spars and
tackle, it was difficult to distinguish the two phantom figures at the
wheel and the look-out man in the bows. The captain ever and anon
dived to his cabin to consult his chart, and re-appearing on the wet,
slippery deck, cast an anxious eye at the ship’s compass, and the
course she was lying--then glanced to windward, where some huge wave
flung its crest of foam into the light, and sporting with that
powerful steamer as with a plaything, dashed its beating spray, in
wantonness of strength, high over the protecting bulwarks, till the
very yards dripped and streamed with brine. A few gruff words,
unintelligible to the landsmen, were addressed to the struggling
steersmen, and again the captain glanced anxiously at the compass, and
knit his brows and seemed ill at ease. Between the decks, confiding
passengers snored in their berths and dreamt of home. Little thought
they of darkness and fog and driving seas. They had paid their
passage-money, and they were to be delivered safe at their
destination--was it not in the bond? They were, besides, in the
Channel; and the ladies on board derived unspeakable relief and
consolation from the knowledge that they were once more in
soundings--and they, too, slept the sleep of innocence and security.
So midnight passed, and still the good ship held steadily on.
But the captain grew more restless and disturbed, and he ordered the
steam to be slackened, and a sailor to be slung over the side, and to
heave the lead; and these were wise and seamanlike precautions, but
they were a few minutes too late. As the words left his mouth, a shock
that made that huge fabric shake again brought him to the deck. True
to his seaman nature, he shouted to “back the engines,” even as he
fell; but she was aground, and it was too late. Ere he recovered his
legs he knew too well what had happened. Sea after sea came pouring
over the deck; one of the men at the wheel was washed overboard, the
other barely saved as he clung for dear life to the helm: everything
that was not secured went at once by the board, and the dashing waves
plunging heavily into the engine-room, put out the fires, and reduced
that triumph of man’s ingenuity to a mere helpless log upon the
waters. The seamen came tumbling up to the forecastle, every man as he
had slept, half-dressed, and even now scarce awake; yet such is the
force of habit, that confusion prevailed more than alarm, and here and
there even a jest arose to lips which in a few hours might probably be
silenced for ever. But if not sole mistress on deck, Fear could boast
of undivided dominion below. Shrieks and sobs and wailing prayers
burst from the affrighted passengers, as they rushed tumultuously from
their respective berths into the saloon, and asked wildly what had
happened, and inquired with white lips if there was any danger; one
said, “Is there any hope?” and the panic increased as it spread, and
wives clung upon their husbands’ breasts, and pressed their children
to their sides, and screamed in an unbearable agony of fear; and one,
a strong, stout man, shouted for help as though terror had turned his
brain, and raved of his wife and his little ones at home--that home,
on firm dry land, that he had never known how to prize before; then a
white-haired minister, one of honest John Wesley’s followers, proposed
in a calm, steady voice that each and all should kneel down and pray;
but the affrighted mass, now wavering and struggling to the hatchway,
paid no attention to the good man’s suggestion; for each strove to
reach the deck as though it were a haven of safety, each instinctively
shrank from the idea of perishing in that dark, dreadful cabin, and
the selfishness of man came out and developed itself even in that
maddened crowd as they pushed each other aside and struggled who
should be first to reach the door.
“Charlie! where are you?” exclaimed Frank Hardingstone’s unshaken
voice, as he emerged already dressed from his cabin into the seething
confusion of the saloon.
“Here!” said Charlie, struggling to free himself from the embraces of
a stout old Frenchwoman, who, wild with terror, was choking the lad as
she clung round his neck and implored him to be her preserver--“Here!
Frank, we’re aground, I think; I want to get on deck and make myself
useful, if this old woman would let me go!”
Charlie freed himself from the venerable dame’s embrace, but she clung
hard to his garments, and he was forced to slip out of the
dressing-gown which he had put on at the first moment of alarm, and
leaving it in her grasp, to make his escape clad only in his shirt and
trousers. When he reached the deck he found Frank already there,
having put himself under the captain’s orders, and now lending his
assistance to restore discipline as far as possible, and to clear the
wreck. The huge ship heaved and shivered in her throes, as wave after
wave washed her farther on to the shoal; the fog, too, added to the
confusion of the scene, and as it became doubtful whether her timbers
could stand against the violence of these successive shocks, even the
sturdy seamen began to hint at her going to pieces--and the cry,
though none knew whence it first arose, thrilled from stem to stern,
“The boats! the boats! Launch the boats!”
“By Him that made me! I’ll strike the first man dead that stirs
without orders,” cried the captain, heaving a broad axe above his
head, his voice rising through the confusion of the crew and the dash
of the leaping waves.
“Can the boats live in such a sea?” whispered Frank, as he stood by
the captain’s side, prepared to lend him any assistance he might
require.
“Undoubtedly, sir!” was the reply; “it’s our only chance. We’ll get
the women and children in first. Mr. Hardingstone, you’re a _man_!
take charge of the larboard boat--let no man into it without
orders--we may save them all yet!” and the captain sprang to the
starboard boat, laid hold of the “davits,” and sang out, “Lower away,
men, easy!” whilst Frank, in a hurried whisper, gave his orders to
Charlie, who was as cool as a cucumber throughout.
“Charlie, keep the hatchway with the steward--he’s a bold
fellow--don’t let a single man up till the women and children are all
on deck. If any fellow runs rusty, _knock him down_!”
By this time order was to a certain degree restored--the passengers
were indeed in a frightful state below, when they found their egress
barred, as they thought, so arbitrarily, from all hopes of safety; but
on deck every man had his own duty to perform, and the magic power of
discipline, assisted by the dawn, which was now struggling into light,
bid fair to give them every chance of safety that knowledge and
experience could suggest. But one man was mutinous. A strong,
black-bearded fellow, with a dogged, lowering countenance, who had
been most assiduous in helping Hardingstone to lower away the larboard
boat, no sooner found it launched than he made a rush for the side, to
place himself, as he hoped, in safety, regardless of the helpless and
the weak.
“Stand back!” said Frank, in a voice of thunder; “wait for your turn.”
“Turn be ----,” growled the man; “who made _you_ skipper? D’ye think
I’d lose my life for a land-lubber like you?”
“I warn you!” said Frank, clenching his fist, and looking dangerous.
The man advanced as though to push him aside. Frank drew himself
together and struck out. He knocked him clean off his legs on to the
deck, where he lay stunned and bleeding.
“Serve him right,” cried Charlie from the hatchway--an observation
which was echoed by the crew; and Frank had no further difficulty in
preserving discipline at the station of which he had taken the
command. One by one, pale trembling women, and bewildered little
children, pattering on the deck with bare feet, and enveloped in
shawls, petticoats, anything that had been first caught up in the
hurry of the moment, were handed through the hatchway, and lowered
carefully over the side into the heaving boats. There they clung
together, shivering and drenched with spray, some of the women with
scarce any other covering than their white night-dresses, their long
wet hair hanging about their shoulders; but even in that extremity
thinking only of their children, and regardless of their own
sufferings and danger. Poor things! how scared they were by the first
minute-gun that boomed from the wreck! for the captain, assisted by
Frank Hardingstone’s coolness, and now equal to any emergency, had not
neglected the precaution of making every possible signal of distress.
Then the male passengers were drafted singly, and handed over the side
by the dauntless seamen. Some behaved gallantly enough, and offered to
stand by the ship and the captain to the last; some trembled and
cowered, submissively obeying every order given them, and apparently
rendered totally helpless by fear. One sturdy little boy, of some ten
or eleven years, clung manfully to a toy, the property of his infant
sister; and when compelled to lay hold of the guiding-rope with both
hands, seized the bauble between his teeth, and so reached his mother
in the boat. The rough sailors gave him a cheer.
At length the passengers were disposed of; a few cloaks and
pea-jackets were thrown in to cover the women; the ship’s compass was
placed in one of the boats; a crew of seamen were told off, and seized
the oars; the mate took the command; strict injunctions were given for
the boats to keep together; and they shoved off into that heaving sea.
It was now broad daylight, and the rain falling heavily.
“Thank God, sir,” said the captain, with a sigh of relief, “we’ve
disposed of the passengers. The wind’s falling now, with this wet,
and they’ll make the land in three or four hours. I trust in
Providence every hair of their heads will be saved; and we’ve nothing
to think of but ourselves.”
“There’s a dozen of us left,” said Frank, looking round on the
dripping group, who were clinging to the different parts of the wreck,
consisting of one or two subordinate officers, the boatswain, and a
few old, weather-beaten seamen; “that boat will hold us all, if she
will swim; but she’s rather a cockle-shell for such a sea as this,” he
observed, pointing to a small, shallow skiff that hung at the stern,
and which had not yet been lowered.
“It’s our best chance,” said the captain, looking very grave, as
another rolling sea made the wreck heave and quiver and strain, as if
she must go to pieces; “but she’ll never hold us all. I’ll stand by
the ship to the last; and you two gentlemen, to whose coolness, under
Providence, the passengers owe their lives, will bear witness I did my
duty. God bless you! Lower away, men; cheerily, oh!” So the boat was
lowered, and as she touched the water she filled and sank, and
appeared again, bottom uppermost, some fifty yards away; and so the
last chance of escape was cut off. The little party looked at each
other in blank dismay; even Frank’s bold heart tightened itself for an
instant in the pressure of despair. Only the gruff boatswain found
words to say, “That bit plug, that didn’t ought to have been
neglected, ’s worth exactly twelve men’s lives. This here’s a stopper
over all, blessed if it ain’t.” There was nothing to be done now but
to wait manfully for death. Poor Charlie was already half-dead with
cold; but Frank took off his own pea-jacket and wrapped it round the
lad, and lashed him to the foremast; for though the weather had
moderated considerably, a sea came every now and then driving over the
deck, and carrying everything before it. The wreck was by this time
filling fast, and sinking gradually: already she had settled by the
stern, and only her bows and a part of the forecastle remained above
water. On this the sufferers were congregated, and few words did they
interchange, for consolation or hope there was none in this world.
Their powder was exhausted--true, there was plenty below, in the
powder-magazine, but that was long ago swamped, so that their very
cries for help must be silenced--that iron voice, their sole chance
of rescue, must be dumb. The fog, too, began to clear away, and a
bright gleam of sunshine ever and anon shone out upon the yellow,
foam-crested waves, and glistened on the white wings of the dipping
sea-gulls. By degrees the blue sky peered overhead, and the gap
widened and widened, and the mists rising in wreaths from the waters,
now heaving and subsiding into rest, floated lazily away, and the
discoloured sea became bright and blue, and the sun burst forth into a
glorious autumn day, and the warmth of his rays almost comforted those
poor wet wretches, clinging hopelessly to the wreck. It seemed hard to
die on such a day, but exhaustion was beginning to tell upon some of
the sufferers, and the lassitude of despair was creeping over them
with its drowsy influence, and the reason of more than one began to
give way. So they waited and spoke not, and some strove to pray, and
some shut their eyes as if in sleep; and noon came, and the day was
bright and hot, and the sea-birds screamed and soared, and everything
was full of joy and life, and only that little circle of twelve were
doomed to die. Frank and Charlie were together, and every now and then
each pressed the other’s hand, but neither spoke. The captain, who was
nearest them, seemed stupefied with despair; and he, too, spoke not.
They were a silent company. The day crept on: every minute was
precious, yet the minutes dragged on like lead. Once the captain
stirred, and Frank, glancing eagerly at his face, was aware of a
strange light upon it, and a gleam in his fixed eye that was almost
unearthly. Was it insanity? Could it be hope? Frank’s breath stopped
as he followed the direction of the captain’s gaze, but he could see
nothing, save the glancing waters and the hopeless sky-line. But still
the captain stared, and the old boatswain, too, was looking eagerly in
the same direction, and another seaman seemed to wake from his stupor,
and Frank strained his eyes, and at last he was aware of a black speck
on the horizon, and, ere he could trust his sight, the stout old
captain burst into tears, and a feeble cheer rose from the exhausted
seamen, a cheer that thrilled through Frank’s very marrow, for he knew
that they were saved.
“What is it?” said Charlie, faintly, opening his heavy eyes.
“It’s a boat,” was the reply--“a boat; the bitterness of death is
past, thank God! thank God!”
Then came the painful suspense, the agony of hope and fear; it might
after all be but a spar, or a black fish, or anything save what they
wished. No--it was a boat, a real boat; but her crew might not see
them--they might be fishing--they might never think of the wreck; then
the poor exhausted fellows strained their throats in a feeble hail, or
rather a hoarse, desperate shriek. But the boat is bearing down upon
them--she nears them. “Wreck ahoy! hilli-ho!” Never was music like to
this on mortal ear. Her sharp nose comes dancing and dipping over the
waves, the glance of her oars flashes in the sun; now they can
distinguish the forms of the rowers--now the cheery voices of their
countrymen gladden their very heart’s core--and now she is alongside;
and despair is over--suspense and misery are forgotten--and the past
is like a dream.
The steamer had struck far nearer the shore than her reckoning had
given the captain reason to suppose, and her guns had at length been
heard by some fishermen on the beach at St. Swithin’s. There was a
heavy sea running; but the lifeboat was soon manned, and our old
friend Hairblower himself took the stroke-oar, and manfully those
gallant fellows pulled till they reached the wreck. They had fallen in
with the ship’s boats about half-way from the shore, and now brought
the welcome news of their almost undoubted safety.
“To think of you and Master Charles being aboard, sir,” said
Hairblower, who seemed to consider the whole matter of the wreck as an
every-day occurrence. “This is, indeed, what may well be called ‘a
circumstance,’ if ever there was ‘a circumstance’ hereaway;” and he
settled his two friends comfortably in the stern of the lifeboat, ere
he busied himself to place the rest of the rescued seamen where they
would least interfere with the efforts of the oarsmen. They were soon
safely disposed, and by sundown, wet, weary, and exhausted, they stood
once more upon that shore which they had scarcely dared to hope they
should ever see again.
When Charlie woke the following morning in a comfortable room at the
Royal Hotel, the first person that greeted his opening eyes was
honest Hairblower. That worthy had taken entire possession of his
former _protégé_, and now made his appearance with a steaming glass of
hot brandy-and-water, the only orthodox breakfast, in his opinion, for
a man who had been wrecked the day before; though rather disgusted at
Charlie’s obstinacy in refusing this specific, he was extremely
anxious to assist him through his toilet, and was only to be got rid
of by an assurance that his young favourite would be down to
breakfast, where he would answer all his questions, and listen to all
his protestations, in an incredibly short space of time. Hairblower
accordingly drank the brandy-and-water himself, and waited patiently
during what appeared to him an unreasonably long period to spend in
the process of adornment.
When Frank and Charlie met in the coffee-room, the sailor too made his
appearance, and, with much circumlocution, managed to deliver himself
of a request which had evidently been all the morning brewing in his
mind.
“If it was not a liberty, Master Charles, and you, too, Mr.
Hardingstone, I should make bold to ask of you both to let me join
company in a cruise. I conclude as you’re bound to London this
afternoon at the latest--soon as ever you’ve got rigged out decent and
presentable. Well, gentlemen, you see I’ve a little business, too, in
London town. I haven’t been there not since, Mr. Hardingstone, you
lent me a hand so kind, and I’ve got to be there, sooner or later,
about the fishing business; for, you see, my mates, they wish me to be
spokesman like with our governor, and he can’t leave London--so, in
course, I must go to him. Now, if it wasn’t too great a liberty, I
should be proud if you gentlemen would let me wait upon you, just for
the voyage like. I can’t bear to part with you so soon: and though
you’ve no luggage, seeing all your traps is still aboard, and spoilt
by now, and I can’t be useful to you, I should like just to see you
and Master Charlie safe into London town, and shake you both by the
hand there afore we part.”
Need we say the permission was joyfully granted, and that the
afternoon train bore the trio in company to the metropolis, whence
Charlie and Frank were to start next day together for Newton-Hollows?