THE STEAMBOAT.
In spite of the early hour, and the disagreeable weather, a number of
persons, glad to escape from the close confinement of the cabins, were
pacing the deck of the steamer. Others were leaning over the bulwarks,
regarding the aspect of the country they were rapidly passing; while
some were talking in small groups, in a loud declamatory tone, evidently
more intent on attracting the attention of the bystanders than of
edifying their own immediate listeners. Though bright eyes might look
heavy, and fair faces languid and sleepy, vanity was wide awake, and
never more active than in the midst of a crowd, where all are strangers
to each other. It affords such a glorious opportunity for display for
pretenders to rank and importance to show off their affected airs of
wealth and consequence; and the world can lay bare its rotten heart,
without much fear of detection, or dread of unpleasant results.
Flora sat down upon a bench beside her husband, and her eye ranged from
group to group of those strange faces, with a mechanical, uninterested
gaze. Here a pretty insipid-looking girl sauntered the deck with a book
in her hand, from which she never read; and another, more vivacious, and
equally intent on attracting her share of public notice, raved to an
elderly gentleman, on whose arm she was leaning, of the beauty and
magnificence of the ocean.
The young and good-looking of either sex were flirting. The more wily
and experienced coquetting after a graver fashion; while the middle-aged
were gossiping to some congenial spirit on the supposed merits or
demerits of their neighbours.
Not a few prostrate forms might be seen reclining upon shawls and
cloaks, supported by pillows, whose languid, pale faces, and disarranged
tresses, showed that the demon of the waters had been at work, and
remorselessly had stricken them down.
Standing near the seat occupied by the Lyndsays, Flora observed a tall,
fashionably-dressed woman, apparently about twenty-eight or thirty years
of age. She was laughing and chatting in the most lively and familiar
manner with a handsome, middle-aged man, in a military undress. The
person of the lady was very agreeable, and though neither pretty nor
elegant, was fascinating and attractive.
As her male companion constantly addressed her as Mrs. Dalton, we will
call her by her name. When Mrs. Lyndsay first took her seat upon the
deck Mrs. Dalton left off her conversation with Major F----, and
regarded the new arrival with a long, cool, deliberate stare, which
would have won a smile from Flora, had it not been evidently meant to
insult and annoy; for, turning to the Major, with a glance of peculiar
meaning, accompanied with the least possible elevation of her shoulders,
she let slip the word--"_Nobody_!"
"I am sure that _he_ is a gentleman, and, if I mistake not, an officer,
and a fine intelligent looking man," remarked her companion, in an
aside; "and I like the appearance of his wife."
"My dear Sir, I tell you that _she is nobody_. Look at that merino gown;
what lady would venture on board these fine vessels, where they meet
with so many _fashionable_ people, in such a dress?"
"A very suitable dress, I should say, for a sea voyage."
"Pshaw!" muttered Mrs. Dalton, "have done with your prudent Scotch sense
of propriety. Who minds spoiling a good dress or two, when their
standing in society is risked by appearing shabby? I tell you, Major,
that she is _nobody_."
"Had you not told me that you had passed the greater part of your life,
Mrs. Dalton, in a British Colony, I could have sworn to the fact, from
your last speech," said her companion: "you all think so much of dress,
that with you it is really the coat which makes the man, and, I suppose,
the gown which makes the lady. However, you shall have it your own way.
You know how easy it is for you to bring me over to your opinion."
"Do you think that a pretty woman?" she said, directing her husband's
eyes towards the lady in question.
"Rather," he replied coldly, "but very worldly and sophisticated."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Flora, like a true woman; "that is
precisely the opinion I have formed of her. Is that officer her
husband?"
"I should rather think not. Husbands and wives seldom try to attract
public attention to themselves, as that man and woman are doing. I have
no doubt they are strangers who never met before."
"Impossible!"
"Nothing more probable; people who meet on short journeys and voyages
like this, often throw aside the restraints imposed by society, and act
and talk in a manner which would be severely censured in circles where
they are known. Were you never favoured by the autobiography of a
fellow-traveller in a stage-coach?"
"Yes often, and thought it very odd that any one should reveal so much
of their private history to a stranger."
"It is a common occurrence, originating in the vanity of persons who
love to make themselves and their affairs the subject of conversation;
and if they can but obtain listeners, never stop to question who or
what they are."
"Ah, I remember getting into a sad scrape," said Flora, "while
travelling from S---- to London in a stage-coach. It was one of these
uncomfortable things which one hates to think of for the rest of a life,
and yet so ridiculous that one feels more inclined to laugh over it than
to cry, though I believe (for I was but a girl at the time), I did both.
"My fellow-passengers were three gentlemen, one, to whom I was well
known, the others perfect strangers. One of the latter, a very
well-dressed but rather foppish, conceited young man, talked much upon
literary matters, and from his conversation gave you to understand that
he was on the most intimate terms with all the celebrated authors of the
day. After giving us a very frank, and by no means just critique upon
the works of Scott and Byron, whom he familiarly called, 'my friend,
Sir Walter,' 'my companion, Lord Byron,' he suddenly turned to me, and
asked me, 'if I ever read the S. Chronicle?' This was one of the county
papers, I told him; that I saw it every week.
"'If that be the case,' said he, 'will you tell me what you think of
the Rev. Mr. B.'s poems, which have from time to time appeared in its
columns?'
"This reverend gentleman was a man with a very heavy purse and a very
empty head, whose contributions to the county papers were never read but
to be laughed at. Not having the slightest personal knowledge of the
author, I answered innocently enough, 'Oh, he's a stupid, conceited
fellow. It is a pity he has not some friend to tell him what a fool he
makes of himself, whenever he appears in print. His poetry is such dull
trash, that I am certain he must pay the Editor of the paper for
allowing him to put it in.'
"Mr. C. was stuffing his handkerchief into his mouth, to avoid laughing
out right; while the poor gentleman (for it was the author himself),
drew back with a face alternately red and pale, with suppressed
indignation. His feelings must have been dreadful, for, during the rest
of his journey, he sat and regarded me with an air of such offended
dignity, that I must have appeared to him like some wicked ogress, ready
to devour, at one mouthful, him and his literary fame. He never opened
his mouth to speak to any of us after I had made this unfortunate
blunder, and I sat upon thorns, until a handsome plain carriage drove up
to the coach about a mile from T., and relieved us of his company.
"This circumstance made me feel so uncomfortable, that I never ventured
upon giving an opinion of the works of any living author to a stranger,
without having a previous knowledge of the person of the writer."
"He deserved what he got, for his egregious vanity," said Lyndsay. "For
my part, I do not pity him at all; and it afforded you a good lesson of
prudence for the future."
At this moment a young negro lad, fantastically dressed, and evidently
very much in love with himself, strutted past. As he swaggered along the
deck, rolling his jet black eyes from side to side, and showing his
white teeth to the spectators, an indolent-looking young man, dressed in
the extreme of fashion, called languidly after him--
"Hollo, Blacky! What colour's the Devil?"
"White," responded the negro, "and sports red whiskers, like you!"
Every one laughed; the dandy shrunk back, utterly confounded; while the
negro snapped his fingers, and crowed with delight.
"Hector, go down into the ladies' cabin, and wait there until I call for
you," cried Mrs. Dalton, in an angry voice; "I did not bring you here to
insult gentlemen."
"De Buckra affront me first!" returned the sable page, as he sullenly
withdrew.
"That boy grows very pert," continued his mistress, turning to Major F.;
"this is the consequence of the ridiculous stir made by the English
people against slavery. The fellow knows that he is free the moment that
he touches the British shores; and he thinks that he can show his
independence by disobeying my commands, and being insolent to his
superiors. I hope he will not take it into his head to leave me, for he
saves me all the trouble of taking care of the children."
The Major laughed, while Flora pitied the children, and wondered how any
mother could confide them to the care of such a nurse.
The clouds, which had been rising for some time, now gave very
unequivocal notice of an approaching storm. The rain began to fall, and
the decks were quickly cleared of their motley groups.