Steam has pretty well subdued time. Fifty years ago it was a mighty
feat to "put a circle round the globe." Now-a-days a "Cook"--by no
means a captain--will take or send you round it in "a few weeks."
Romantic reader, don't despair! By such means romance has undoubtedly
been affected in some degree, but let not that grieve thee! Romance has
by no means been taken out of the world; nor has it been, to use an
unromantic phrase, reduced in quantity or quality. Human inventions and
appliances alter the aspects of romance, and transfer its influences,
but they cannot destroy a Creator's gift to the human race. They have,
indeed, taken the romance out of some things which were once romantic,
but that is simply because they have made such things familiar and
commonplace. They have not yet touched _other_ things which still
remain in the hallowed region of romance. Romance _is_ a region.
Things crowd out of it, but other things crowd into it. The romantic
soul dwells perpetually in it, and while, perhaps with regret, it
recognises the fact that many things depart from that region, it also
observes, with pleasure, that many things enter into it, and that the
entrances are more numerous than the exits. The philosophico-romantic
spirit will admit all this and be grateful. The unphilosophico-romantic
spirit will not quite see through it, and may, perchance, be perplexed.
But be of good cheer. Have faith! Do not let the matter-of-fact
"steam-engine," and the "telegraph," and the "post-office," rob thee of
thy joys. They have somewhat modified the flow of the river of Romance,
but they have not touched its fountain-head,--and never can.
Why, what is Romance? Despite the teachings of the dictionaries--which
often give us the original and obsolete meaning of words--we maintain
that romance signifies the human soul's aspirations after the high, and
the grand, and the good. In its fallen condition the poor soul
undoubtedly makes wondrous mistakes in its romantic strainings, but
these mistakes are comparatively seldom on the side of exaggeration.
Our dictionary says that romance is extravagance--a fiction which passes
beyond the limits of real life. Now, we maintain that no one--not even
the most romantic of individuals--ever comes _up_ to real life. We have
been a child--at least we incline to that belief--and we have been, like
other children, in the habit of romancing, as it is called, that is,
according to dictionaries, passing "beyond the limits of real life" into
"extravagance." We are now a man--it is to be hoped--have travelled far
and seen much and yet we can say conscientiously that the wildest
fancies of our most romantic moods in childhood have been immeasurably
surpassed by the grand realities of actual life! What are the most
brilliant fancies of a child or of a mere ignorant "romancer," compared
to the amazing visions of the Arctic regions or the high Alps, which we
have seen? "Fictions" and "extravagance"! All our wildest sallies are
but _in_travagance and feeble fancy compared with the sublimity of fact.
No doubt there are men and women gifted with the power of burlesquing
reality, and thus, not going beyond its limits, but causing much dust
and confusion within its limits by the exaggeration and falsification of
individual facts. This, however, is _not_ romance. We stand up for
romance as being the bright staircase that leads childhood to reality,
and culminates at last in that vision which the eye of man hath not yet
seen nor his mind conceived; a vision which transcends all romance is
itself the greatest of all realities, and is "laid up for the people of
God."
We return from this divergence to the point which led to it--the power
of steam to subdue time. No doubt it was unromantic enough to be
pushed, propelled, thrust, willing or not willing, against, or with,
wind and tide, so that you could gauge your distance run--and to be
run--almost to a foot; but it was very satisfactory, nevertheless,
especially to those whose hearts were far in advance of their vessel,
and it was more than satisfactory when at the end of their voyage of a
few days they found themselves gliding swiftly, almost noiselessly, up
the windings of a quiet river whose picturesque scenery, romantic
vistas, and beautiful reflections might have marked it the entrance to a
paradise instead of a human pandemonium.
It was very early when the gun-boat entered the stream. The mists of
morning still prevailed, and rendered all nature fairy-like.
Weird-looking mangrove bushes rose on their leg-like roots from the
water, as if independent of soil. Vigorous parasites and creepers
strove to strangle the larger trees, but strove in vain. Thick jungle
concealed wealth of feathered, insect, and reptile life, including the
reptile man, and sundry notes of warning told that these were awaking to
their daily toil--the lower animals to fulfil the ends of their being,
the higher animal to violate some of the most blessed laws of his
Creator. Gradually the sun rose and dispelled the mists, while it
warmed everything into strong vitality. As they passed up, clouds of
water-fowl rose whirring from their lairs, and luxuriant growth of weeds
threatened to obstruct the progress of the steamer.
"Come here, policeman," said the captain to the native functionary; "how
far above this, did you say, is the nest of the vipers?"
"'Bout tree mile."
"Humph!" ejaculated the captain, turning to Berrington, who had come on
deck at the moment. "I never went higher up the river than this point,
for, just ahead, there are reeds enough to stop the screw of a three
thousand ton ship, but if you'll get your diving-dresses ready I'll try
it. It would be much better to bring our big guns to bear on them than
to attack in boats."
"I'll have 'em ready directly," said Edgar. "Perhaps we'd better stop
the engines now."
"Just so; stop them."
The engines were stopped, and the gun-boat glided slowly over the still
water until it came to rest on its own inverted image.
Meanwhile the air-pump was rigged, and Joe Baldwin put on his dress, to
the great interest and no little surprise of the Malay crew.
"Ready, sir," said Edgar, when Joe sat costumed, with the helmet at his
side and his friends Rooney and Maxwell at the pumps.
"Go ahead, then--full steam," said the captain.
Just in front of the vessel the river was impeded quite across by a
dense growth of rank reeds and sedges; a little further on there was
clear water. Into this the gun-boat plunged under full steam.
As was expected, the screw soon became choked, and finally stopped. Had
the pirates expected this they would probably have made a vigorous
attack just then. But the danger, being so obvious, had never before
been incurred, and was therefore not prepared for or taken advantage of
by the pirates. Nevertheless the captain was ready for them if they had
attacked. Every man was at his station armed to the teeth.
The moment the boat began to work heavily Joe's helmet was put on, and
when she came to a stand he went over the stern by means of a
rope-ladder prepared for the purpose.
"Be as active as you can, Joe. Got everything you want?" said Edgar,
taking up the bull's-eye.
"All right, sir," said Joe.
"Pump away," cried Edgar, looking over his shoulder.
Next moment Joe was under water, and the Malays, with glaring eyes and
open mouths, were gazing at the confusion of air-bubbles that arose from
him continually. From their looks it seemed as though some of them
fancied the whole affair to be a new species of torture invented by
their captain.
Joe carried a small hatchet in his girdle and a long sharp knife in his
hand. With these he attacked the reeds and weeds, and in ten minutes or
less had set the screw free. He soon reappeared on the rope-ladder, and
Edgar, who had been attending to his lines, removed the bull's-eye.
"What now, Joe?" he asked.
"All clear," said Joe, coming inboard.
"What! Done it already?"
"Ay; steam ahead when you like, sir."
The order was given at once. The assistant engineer put on full steam,
and the gun-boat, crashing through the remaining obstruction, floated
into the comparatively clear water beyond. The screw had been again
partially fouled, of course, but ten minutes more of our diver's knife
and axe set it free, and the vessel proceeded on her way.
Scouts from the pirate-camp had been watching the gun-boat, for they had
counted on nothing worse than an attack by boats, which, strong in
numbers, they could easily have repelled. Great therefore was the
consternation when these scouts ran in and reported that the vessel had
cleared the obstructions by some miraculous power which they could not
explain or understand, and was now advancing on them under full steam.
While the operations we have described were being carried out on board
the gun-boat, in the pirate village poor Mr Hazlit was seated on a
stump outside a rude hut made chiefly of bamboos and palm leaves. He
wore only his trousers and shirt, both sadly torn--one of the pirates
having taken a fancy to his coat and vest, the former of which he wore
round his loins with his legs thrust through the sleeves. The captive
merchant sat with his face buried in his hands and bowed on his knees.
Inside the hut sat Aileen with poor Miss Pritty resting on her bosom.
Miss Pritty was of a tender confiding nature, and felt it absolutely
necessary to rest on somebody's bosom. She would rather have used a
cat's or dog's than none. Aileen, being affectionate and sympathetic,
had no objection. Nevertheless, not being altogether of angelic
extraction, she was a little put out by the constant tremors of her
friend.
"Come, dear, don't shudder so fearfully," she said, in a half coaxing
half remonstrative tone.
"Is he gone?" asked Miss Pritty in a feeble voice, with her eyes tight
shut.
She referred to a half-naked warrior who had entered the hut, had half
shut his great eyes, and had displayed a huge cavern of red gum and
white teeth in an irresistible smile at the woe-begone aspect of Miss
Pritty. He had then silently taken his departure.
"Gone," repeated Aileen, rather sharply; "of course he is, and if he
were not, what then? Sure his being dark and rather lightly clothed is
not calculated to shock you so much."
"Aileen!" exclaimed Miss Pritty, raising her head suddenly, and gazing
with anxiety into the face of her friend; "has our short residence among
these wretches begun to remove that delicacy of mind and sentiment for
which I always admired you?"
"_No_," returned Aileen, firmly, "but your excessive alarms may have
done something towards that end. Nay, forgive me, dear," she added,
gently, as Miss Pritty's head sank again on her shoulder, with a sob, "I
did not mean to hurt your feelings, but really, if you only think of it,
our present position demands the utmost resolution, caution, and
fortitude of which we are capable; and you know, love, that this
shuddering at trifles and imagining of improbabilities will tend to
unfit you for action when the time arrives, as it surely will sooner or
later, for my father has taken the wisest steps for our deliverance,
and, besides, a Greater than my father watches over us."
"That is true, dear," assented Miss Pritty, with a tender look. "Now
you speak like your old self; but you must not blame me for being so
foolish. Indeed, I know that I am, but, then, have not my worst fears
been realised? Are we not in the hands--actually in the hands--of
pirates--real pirates, buccaneers--ugh!"
Again the poor lady drooped her head and shuddered.
"_Your_ worst fears may have been realised," said Aileen; "but we have
certainly not experienced the worst that might have happened. On the
contrary, we have been remarkably well treated--what do you say? Fed on
rats and roast puppies! Well, the things they send us _may_ be such,
for they resemble these creatures as much as anything else, but they are
well cooked and very nice, you must allow, and--"
At that moment Aileen's tongue was suddenly arrested, and, figuratively
speaking, Miss Pritty's blood curdled in her veins and her heart ceased
to beat, for, without an instant's warning, the woods resounded with a
terrific salvo of artillery; grape and canister shot came tearing,
hissing, and crashing through the trees, and fierce yells, mingled with
fiend-like shrieks, rent the air.
Both ladies sat as if transfixed--pale, mute, and motionless. Next
moment Mr Hazlit sprang into the hut, glaring with excitement, while a
stream of blood trickled from a slight wound in his forehead.
Uttering a yell, no whit inferior to that of the fiercest pirate near
him, and following it up with a fit of savage laughter that was quite
appalling, the once dignified and self-possessed merchant rolled his
eyes round the hut as if in search of something. Suddenly espying a
heavy pole, or species of war-club, which lay in a corner, he seized it
and whirled it round his head as if he had been trained to such arms
from childhood.
Just then a second salvo shook the very earth. Mr Hazlit sprang out of
the hut, shouted, "To the rescue! Aileen, to the rescue!" in the voice
of a Stentor, plunged wildly into a forest-path, and disappeared almost
before the horrified ladies could form a guess as to his intentions.