Corsican and I could no longer doubt but that it was Ellen, Fabian’s
betrothed, and Harry Drake’s wife. Chance had brought all three together
on the same ship. Fabian had not recognized her, although he had cried,
“It is she, it is she!” and how was it possible that he could have done
so? But he was not mistaken in saying, “A mad woman!” Ellen was mad,
undoubtedly; grief, despair, love frozen in her heart, contact with the
worthless man who had snatched her from Fabian, ruin, misery, and shame
had broken her spirit. It was on this subject that Corsican and I spoke
the following morning. We had no doubt as to the identity of the young
woman; it was Ellen, whom Harry Drake was dragging with him to the
American continent. The Captain’s eyes glowed with a dark fire at the
thought of this wretch, and I felt my heart stir within me. What were we
against the husband, the master? Nothing. But now, what was most
important, was to prevent another meeting between Fabian and Ellen, for
Fabian could not fail at last to recognize his betrothed, and thus the
catastrophe we wished to avoid would be brought about.
At the same time we had reason to hope that these two poor creatures
would not see each other again, as the unhappy Ellen never appeared in
the daytime, either in the saloons or on the deck. Only at night,
perhaps eluding her gaoler, she came out to bathe herself in the damp
air, and demand of the wind a smooth passage. In four days, at the
latest, the “Great Eastern” must reach New York harbour; therefore we
might hope that accident would not dally with our watchfulness, and that
Fabian would not discover Ellen during this time; but we made our
calculations without thinking of events.
The steamer’s course had been slightly altered in the night, three times
the ship, being in water twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit—that is to say,
five degrees below zero, had been turned towards the south. There was no
longer any doubt of icebergs being very near, for the sky that morning
had a peculiarly brilliant aspect; the atmosphere was misty, and the
northern sky glittered with an intense reverberation, evidently produced
by the powerful reflection from the icebergs. There was a piercing wind,
and about ten o’clock the deck was powdered by a slight snow-fall; then
dense fog surrounded us, in which we gave warning of our approach, by
deafening whistles, which scared away the flocks of sea-gulls in the
ship’s yards. At half-past ten, the fog having cleared off, a screw
steamer appeared on the horizon, a-starboard, the white tops of her
chimneys indicating that she was an emigrant ship, belonging to the
Inman Company.
Before lunch several of the passengers organized a pool, which could not
fail to please those fond of betting and gambling. The result of this
pool was not to be known for four days; it was what is called the
“pilot’s pool.” When a ship arrives at the land-falls every one knows
that a pilot comes on board; so they divide the twenty-four hours of the
day and night into forty-eight half-hours, or ninety-six quarters,
according to the number of the passengers. Each player stakes one
dollar, and draws one of the half or quarter hours: the winner of the
forty-eight or ninety-six dollars is the one during whose quarter of an
hour the pilot comes on board. From this it may be seen that the game is
very simple; it is not a race-course, but a quarter-of-an-hour race.
It was a Canadian, the Honourable MacAlpine, who undertook the
management of the affair. He easily collected ninety-six players,
including several professed gamblers, not the least among those ready
for gain. I, following the general example, staked my dollar, and fate
allotted me the ninety-fourth quarter; it was a bad number, and one
which left me no chance of profit. The fact is, these divisions are
reckoned from noon to noon, so that there are night as well as day
quarters; and as it is very seldom that ships venture close in in the
dark, the chance of a pilot coming on board then is very small. However,
I easily consoled myself. Going down into the saloon, I saw a lecture
announced. The Utah missionary was going to hold a meeting on Mormonism;
a good opportunity for those wishing to initiate themselves in the
mysteries of the City of Saints; besides, this Elder, Mr. Hatch, was an
orator of no mean power. The execution could not fail to be worthy of
the work. The announcement of the conference was received very
favourably by the passengers.
The observation posted up was as follows:—
Lat. 42° 32´ N.
Long. 51° 59´ W.
Course, 254 miles.
About three o’clock in the afternoon the steersman signaled a large
four-mast steamer, which slightly changed its course, in order to give
the “Great Eastern” its number. It was the “Atlanta,” one of the largest
boats running between London and New York, calling at Brest on the way.
After having saluted us, which we returned, in a short time she was out
of sight.
At this moment Dean Pitferge, in a vexed tone, informed me that Mr.
Hatch’s lecture was forbidden, as the wives of the puritans on board did
not approve of their husbands becoming acquainted with the mysteries of
Mormonism.