A CHEQUERED CAREER.
To a sailor, perhaps the most trying parts of his courtship are the
lengthy periods he is compelled to spend away from the presence of his
beloved one; and yet, curiously enough, when in later life he comes to
look back upon the whole business, he is pretty certain to discover that
they were not the least pleasant portions of it. However that may be, it
is a crucial test of the genuineness of his affection; and then it is
that he has an opportunity of realizing what truth there is in the old
saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." How often, when pacing
his lonely watch, do you suppose his sweetheart's face rises before him?
How often, when a stiff breeze is blowing, filling the canvas like great
balloons, and driving the good ship, homeward bound, for all she is
worth, do you think the thought of her he will soon hold in his arms,
whose lips he will soon kiss, into whose eyes he will gaze with so fond
a rapture, will cross his mind? Or, if his ship's head be turned away
from home, hasn't he the sweet knowledge ever present with him that a
certain voluminous epistle will meet him at the other end, destined
amply to compensate for the bitterness of parting? Well, I protest,
though separation may be one of the hardest parts of a sailor's
courtship, yet, all things considered, it is worth undergoing, if only
for the joy of reuniting. As the Frenchman has it--
"L'absence est a l'amour ce qu'est au feu le vent;
Il eteint le petit, il allume le grand."
When I bade Maud my first good-bye after our engagement, I was, though I
did not know it, bound on a long cruise. We visited Calcutta, Singapore,
and Hong Kong, crossed the Pacific to San Francisco, thence round the
Horn to Rio; finally returning, _via_ New York, home. By that time, as
may be supposed, I was ravenous--no other word so fully expresses
it--for a glimpse of my darling's face; I felt as if I had not seen her
for a lifetime.
So soon, therefore, as we were docked, and I could be spared, away I
sped, first home to the old mother, and then, as early as I could
decently excuse myself, to Maud. By the time my cab pulled up at her
door I was in a fever, and I remember well the cabman's expression of
surprise when he realized that instead of his legal fare of
eighteen-pence I had given him five shillings. Summers, the same ancient
butler who opened the door to me on the day I first saw my sweetheart,
invited me to enter now, and the grip I gave his honest hand he
professes to feel even at this distant date. A minute later I was
entering the drawing-room, prepared to clasp my dear girl in my arms.
At this point occurred a trifling circumstance--so trifling regarded in
the white light of these later days that I almost hesitate to narrate
it--that was, nevertheless, destined to alter the whole current of my
after life, and indirectly to bring me into touch with all the curious
things I have set myself to tell.
As I have just said, I entered the drawing-room, prepared to bestow upon
Maud the hungry embrace of a long-parted lover. My intentions, however,
were dashed to the ground by the presence of a third party--a man. As he
stood watching us there was nothing for it but to behave like
commonplace mortals, but I promise you I was not grateful to him for his
presence. To say that Maud looked prettier than when I had left her last
would perhaps be hardly the truth (though to my eyes she was
incomparably sweet), for her face had a worn and harrassed expression
which had not been there when I bade her good-bye. Her welcome was as
warm as I could expect under the circumstances, but nevertheless I was
bitterly disappointed by it.
Her companion's name was Welbourne, Captain Horatio Welbourne, of one of
the Household Regiments, I believe. We exchanged glances, and from that
moment I became furiously jealous of him. I must, however, do him the
justice to admit that he was a fine figure of a man, tall and soldierly,
as befitted his calling. Our introduction effected, Maud proceeded to
dispense the tea she was pouring out when I entered.
Inwardly chafing to have my sweetheart to myself, it was with the utmost
difficulty I could engage myself in the insipid conversation, through
the mazes of which the gallant captain led us. When he rose to depart
another relay of fashionables arrived, and after standing it for nearly
an hour I made my excuses, and raging against the whole world fled the
house.
The next afternoon I called again. This time I was fortunate enough to
find Maud alone. I think she was vexed with me for deserting her the
previous day; at any rate, her manner was distinctly cold. As it
happened, we had hardly been a quarter of an hour together before the
self-same Captain Welbourne must needs put in an appearance, bringing
with him the peculiar air of being the tame cat of the house I had
noticed on the previous occasion. I fancy Maud must have had some idea
of what was in my mind, for she became painfully embarrassed, and
noticing this, my suspicions grew and grew. How unjust I was to her, I
can now see, but at the time I could not help remembering that she was
an heiress, and that the gallant captain was really a most attractive
person. Yet I determined I would not allow myself to become jealous
without good cause.
That was, however, soon forthcoming, and, I blush to relate it now,
through the gossip of a female tittle-tattler. Unhappily I was in such a
state that I had no option but to believe it true. And, being ever
impetuous and hot-headed, nothing would suit me then but I must call
upon Maud while under the influence of my anger. Naturally enough she
resented the terms in which I couched my remarks, and I left the house
in high dudgeon, more than ever convinced that she was false to me. A
week went by without a word on either side, and at the end of it I put
back to sea nearly broken-hearted. As if to accentuate the sting, that
was my first voyage as chief officer.
From this point I date my downfall. Perhaps I was tired of the sea, or
perhaps I was still piqued by what I could not help considering Maud's
ill-treatment of me; at any rate, I got it into my poor addled brain
that when we reached South Australia I would cry quits with the nautical
profession, and if possible settle down out there to a life ashore. This
scheme I put into practice, with the result that, after much jobbery, I
obtained a situation in a ship-chandler's office in Port Adelaide,
retaining it until my employer's fraudulent insolvency threw me on the
world again. Then, a new gold-field breaking out inland, off I tramped
to it, imbued with the intention of making my fortune, and returning to
the mother-country a millionaire. This venture, however, was no more
successful than the last, and after nearly three months' hard work, all
I had to show for it were six dwts. of gold, and a bad attack of typhoid
fever that nearly made an end of me. For nearly ten weeks I was confined
to my bed in the tent-hospital, to leave it more like a skeleton than a
human being.
What to do now I had no idea. I was bankrupt; my claim had been seized;
I was too weak to tramp the bush in search of work; and indeed had I
found any I doubt if I could have undertaken it. Added to all this, or
perhaps I should say as the result of all this, I grew exceedingly
despondent. Indeed the horrors of that period I am loth to dwell upon,
save that it gave me an opportunity of experiencing one of those little
touches of kindness which go to prove that after all humanity in the
abstract is not quite so bad as it is usually made out to be.
From the gold-field where I had contracted my illness, I had wandered,
partly by Government assistance and partly by my own exertions, as far
as the famous silver-mining town of Broken Hill, just over the New South
Wales border. Here, in the midst of barbaric waste and splendour, a
relapse seized me, and for nigh upon three weeks I hovered, in the Town
Hospital, on the border-land of Life and Death.
When I said farewell to that kindly institution, I was at my wits' end
as to my future. I had no money, and I was without the means of earning
any. Fortunately it was summer time, and sleeping in the open air was
not only quite possible but very pleasant, so I had no concern about
lodgings; that, however, was only a minor matter, for I was starving.
Oh, how bitterly I regretted having forsaken my old profession! No one
will ever know the agony I endured. I could have fought the world for
the very crumbs that were used to fall from the cuddy table. Day after
day I toiled up one street and down another, from mine to mine, and
smelter to smelter, seeking for the work which never offered.
One sunset, weary and horribly sick at heart, I was crawling back to my
usual camping place on the outskirts of the town, when a sudden
faintness seized me. The whole world turned black before my eyes, I
reeled, and fell unconscious by the road-side.
I remember nothing of what occurred, till I awoke to find myself lying
upon a stretcher in a small tent. A man was leaning over me, and when my
eyes opened he seemed to regard it as a matter for considerable
satisfaction. I tried to collect my thoughts sufficiently to ask where I
was, but seeing my lips attempting to form the sentence, he stopped me
by saying--
"Naa, naa, laddie, tha' must just bide still a bit longer. Dunna tha'
try to talk, or tha'll be maakin' thaself ill agin. There's na call for
hurry, a tell tha'."
That my kind friend, for such he had surely proved himself, was a miner,
I had no doubt--his dress, his kit, and even his accent proved that; but
otherwise I could hazard no guess as to where I was. Being too weak to
bestow much consideration upon the matter, I closed my eyes and
immediately fell asleep again. When I woke it was broad daylight, and my
friend had just returned from shift. He hastened to put food before me,
talking incessantly the while. From him I learnt that he and his mate
had discovered me lying insensible beside the road, not fifty yards from
his tent; that between them they had carried me in and put me to bed,
and that I had been unconscious for something like six hours.
Naturally, I expressed my gratitude, but he would have none of it,
bidding me get well before I talked of saying "Thank you."
My lucky star was evidently in the ascendant. Under his care--for while
the kindest and gentlest, he was also the most exacting of nurses--I
soon made visible improvement, and in a week was so far recovered as to
be able to get up and potter about the tent. It was time for me to be
thinking of moving on again.
"Well, laddie," my benefactor said to me one day, "tha's lookin' braavly
noo."
"Thanks to you," I hastened to reply, "for without your care, John
Trelsar, I don't know where I should have been to-day; not here, at any
rate."
"Softly lad, softly, I did na more fa' thee than tha'd do fa' me, I
reckon, so we'll cra' quits to it."
"That's all very well; but I owe my life to you, you'll never make me
see anything but that. And now, I wonder what's the best thing for me to
do. I can't stay idle here; there's no work to be got in the town, so
unless I ship to sea again, I don't know what's to become of me."
Trelsar was all alive in a second.
"I've got it," he said, slapping his huge hand on his knee; "there's
Seth Polwill below there in Adelaide, look see--working in the Fire
Brigade--tha' must go to he, and say Jack Trelsar sent tha', and, mark
my words, he'll put thee on the wa' for some'ut."
This Seth Polwill was a great hero of my benefactor's, upon whose
appearance, sayings, and actions, he was never tired of discoursing.
They were Townies, that is, they hailed from the same place in the Old
Country; and as it appeared later, it was to Seth's advice that Trelsar
owed his emigration, and the good position he now occupied.
"That's all very well," I remarked, "but how am I to get to Adelaide? I
haven't a red cent to my name, and I don't think I can screw the
Government for another pass; they were nasty enough about the last."
"Now, don't thee trouble thaself about that," said John. "If thee wants
a pound or two, to see thee on tha way, why not come to tha friend, Jan
Trelsar; never fear, lad, but what a'll trust thee."
Upon my deciding to accept a loan, a piece of paper, a pen, and a bottle
of ink were obtained, and a letter of introduction to the all-important
Polwill produced.
Armed with this, the very next morning off I accordingly set for the
South, arriving in due course in Adelaide. So soon as was possible, I
made my way to the Fire Brigade Station, and inquired for Seth Polwill.
The firemen were at dinner, but one whom I should have known anywhere
for the man I sought, came to the door and inquired my business. He was
a good-looking, well set-up fellow, and when he spoke, I noticed he had
none of the Cousin Jack dialect so conspicuous in my benefactor's
conversation. Having handed him my letter, he sat down on the wheel of
the big engine to examine it. He read it through two or three times
before venturing a word; then rising, he shook me gravely by the hand,
and inquired after Trelsar's health.
After which, he remarked--
"You don't look well."
I replied that I had but recently recovered from a very serious illness,
and this led me on to narrate how I came to meet his friend. He listened
attentively, and when I had finished, said--
"You say you've been a sailor?"
I replied in the affirmative, though I refrained from telling him in
what capacity, for I had a certain delicacy in letting people know that
I had shown myself sufficiently a fool to give up a chief officer's
billet afloat for starvation ashore.
"Well, look you here, Mr. Ramsay," he said, "I should very much like to
help you to something, if only to oblige my friend. The best then that I
can do is to tell you that there is a vacancy here. We want another
hand, and, as perhaps you know, we prefer sailors. If you can qualify, I
don't doubt for a moment but that the superintendent will put you on.
Take my advice, go into his office at once, and ask him yourself. You
can't do any harm by asking, even if you don't get what you ask for."
Thanking him for his assistance, I went straight to the superintendent's
room. Once there, I stated my business, making the best possible case I
could of it. The superintendent eyed me narrowly.
"You say you've been to sea," he said. "For how long?"
"Twelve years," I replied.
"In what ships?"
I gave him the names of the vessels and their owners.
"In what capacity did you serve aboard them?"
"From apprentice to chief officer," I said, feeling it would be the
safest plan to tell him everything.
He stared when he heard my answer, and looked me carefully up and down.
"I don't know that that's exactly a recommendation, my man," he said.
"Chief officers who exchange the sea for a fireman's billet don't
exactly answer the description of the man I want. I suppose you're aware
we're considered a crack brigade? If I take you on, you'll have to prove
you're no skrimshanker. Our motto here is 'Smartness and sobriety,' do
you understand?"
I remarked that I did. Then, giving me a note to the doctor, who would
examine me, he bade me come back to him next day.
To make a long story short, the doctor's examination proving
satisfactory, I was enrolled a member of the Adelaide Fire Brigade, with
permission to do as much work as the day had room for, give as much
satisfaction as possible, and risk my life in the interest of the city
and the reputation of the Brigade as often as opportunity occurred. All
things considered, it was by no means an unpleasant life, and until the
novelty wore off, I believe I enjoyed it. One strange coincidence,
however, happened to me during my connection with it, which I take to be
so extraordinary that I must ask your indulgence while I narrate it.
One miserable, gusty night, early in winter, the alarm sounded for a
fire. Our promptness was proverbial, and almost before the bell had
ceased to sound we were racing for the scene. It turned out to be the
New Federation Hotel, in King William Street, and when we arrived the
whole building was one enormous blaze. The fire had originated, so it
was said, in a small store cupboard behind the bar, and had spread all
over the ground-floor, thus practically cutting off the escape of those
lodged in the rooms above. According to the manager's statement, nearly
every bedroom was occupied that night, and so far only four people had
effected exits. Within two minutes of our arrival we had the escapes up
against the building, and were passing the terrified occupants down as
fast as we could lay hold of them. It was dangerous work, but we were
not paid to think of that.
Suddenly, at a side window, I saw a woman preparing to hurl herself into
the street below. The crowd noticed her too, and raised a yell. Running
a ladder round, I mounted to her side, and before she could carry out
her purpose had taken her in my arms and borne her safely to the ground.
As we reached it, a weird, dishevelled, scallywag of a man rushed
towards us, with arms outstretched, crying, "Oh, my God, my God, she's
safe--my wife!"
_In that brief moment I recognized my old enemy, Captain Welbourne, the
man who I believed had deprived me of Maud!_
Next day I learnt that he was on his wedding tour, and what interested
me far more, _that his wife's maiden name was Hawkhurst_! Two points,
therefore, raised themselves for my consideration: either he had never
loved Maud; or he had declared himself, and she had refused him. If this
latter supposition were correct, what could have induced her action? I
must leave it to my readers to imagine what agonies of self-reproach I
suffered after this discovery. I saw plainly that I had wrecked my whole
life by one little foolish exhibition of jealousy, and that too without
the slightest cause or justification. A hundred times a day I cursed my
senseless stupidity. But there, what is to be gained by opening the old
wound? Rather let me draw a curtain over such a painful subject, one
which even to-day I hardly like to think about.
Now, though life in the Fire Brigade might and undoubtedly did possess
attractions, they were such as were liable to become exceedingly
monotonous after a time. So it chanced that when I had been employed
therein nearly eight months, a friend heard of a situation as
store-keeper, on a Darling River sheep station, which he was kind enough
to think might suit me. At his suggestion I applied for the position,
and had the good fortune to secure it.
Sending in my resignation to the Board, I left Adelaide, and proceeded
into the Bush. But the billet did not come up to expectations, and when
I had given it a good trial, I discarded it in favour of another as cook
to an Overlanding Party. In this capacity I wandered far afield, with
the result that at the end of eighteen months I found myself in
Brisbane, tired of the Bush, and pining for a breath of sea air again.
While inactive in Brisbane, an English letter was forwarded to me from
the Melbourne Post-office. The writer was a cousin, and her mission was
to announce the death of my poor old mother, after a brief illness. The
blow, as may be supposed, affected me keenly, the more so because I
could not but feel that, all things considered, I had not been the son
to her that she deserved. Poor old lady, I never knew how much she was
to me until I had lost her. Her death, and the thought that I should
never see her loving face, or hear her gentle voice again, seemed to
sever the one remaining link that united me to my old life. Could I, I
asked myself, be the same person as the little boy she took to school at
Plymouth? Could I be the same John Ramsay who followed her into Sir
Benjamin Plowden's office, so many years ago? Yes--the same, but oh! how
differently situated! With Virgil, I could well cry, "_O mihi
praeteritos referat si Jupiter annos!_" Alas! those dear dead years, how
bright they are to look back upon, yet how shamefully I misused them!
But in spite of the bitterness of the blow, I could not go on brooding
over my loss for ever. My mother was gone, nothing could bring her back
to me. It behoved me now to look after myself, for my necessities were
on the point of obtruding themselves upon my notice once more.
When I found that the money I had managed to save from my various
employments was running short, I began to wonder how I should obtain
another situation. The prospect looked gloomy enough in all conscience,
when Fate, which was steadily bearing me on towards a certain goal, took
me in hand again, and by permitting me to overhear a certain
conversation, led me into a track that was fraught with much danger to
my future peace. The speakers were the owner of a Thursday Island
Pearling schooner, and a well-known boat-builder. Their talk had
reference to a new lugger the skipper had lately purchased, and the
difficulty of finding hands to work her North. Here was the very chance
for me.
As soon as they separated, I accosted the Pearler, and offered my
services. When he heard my qualifications, he engaged me at once; and so
it came about that next day I was a seaman aboard the _Crested Wave_,
bound for Thursday Island and the Pearl fisheries.
I need not delay you while I enter upon any description of the voyage
northwards, more than to say that we arrived safely at our destination,
and having taken a diver aboard, at once set sail again, this time for
the Solomons, where we remained cruising about, with fair success, for
nigh upon three months.
Though I had, on several occasions, crossed the Pacific in deep-water
ships, this was the first time I had pottered about among the Islands
themselves, and the new life came to me as a revelation. Even as I sit
here writing, the memory of those glorious latitudes rises and sends a
thrill through me. There is a saying, that the man who has once known
the Himalayas never forgets their smell; I say that the man who has
once heard the thunder of the surf upon the reefs, who has smelt the
sweet incense of the tropic woods, and felt the invigorating breath of
the trade winds upon his cheek, can never rid his memory of the
fascination of those Southern seas!
By the time we returned to Thursday Island a fair sum in wages was owing
me, and I think I had won a good reputation with my skipper, for he was
anxious that I should take a holiday, and then set sail with him again.
I resolved to think about it, and in the meantime to stretch my legs for
a week or two ashore, seeing what was to be seen, and as far as possible
enjoying the peculiar delights of Thursday Island.
"Come with me," said a shipmate one evening. "You think because you've
seen the Japanese you know the Island. Why, man, you're only on the
outskirts; you don't even know Juanita!"
"And who's Juanita?" I asked, without interest, for I was wearied to
death of the Lizzies, Pollies, Nancies, and their sisterhood.
By way of reply he ran his arm through mine, and headed along the beach,
presently to cry a halt alongside the palms which mark the entrance to
the "Orient" Hotel. Knowing this house to be the resort of mail-boat
skippers, schooner-owners, and high-toned gentry of that class, and to
have a fleecing reputation, I had hitherto religiously avoided it. A
flood of bright light streamed from the doorway, and sounds of laughter
invited us to enter.
A couple of Pearlers and a woman were the only occupants of the room.
The men were of no account, but the woman's face riveted my attention at
once. She was not exactly the most beautiful woman--I mean as far as
refinement went--that I had ever seen, but she was certainly the
handsomest. As we entered, her companions bade her "good-night," and
went out. Then my friend introduced me in proper form.
"Mr. Ramsay--Madame Juanita."
She held out her hand and bade me welcome, and from that moment I was a
lost man. What sort of fascination it was that she exercised over me I
cannot say; I only know that when I left the "Orient" and stumbled out
into the starlit night again I had forgotten Maud, forgotten my own
impoverished condition, forgotten my self-respect, and was madly,
desperately, absurdly in love with this beautiful and mysterious
creature.