"I asked Cooper why he was so fond of Welch. He only grunted in an uneasy way at first; but, when I pressed for a reply, he let out two words--"Capital company"; and got away from me.
"Their friendship, though often roughly expressed, is really a tender and touching sentiment. I think either of these sailors would bare his back and take a dozen lashes in place of his messmate. I too once thought I had made such a friend. Eheu!
"Both Cooper and Welch seem, by their talk, to consider the ship a living creature. Cooper chews. Welch only smokes, and often lets his pipe out; he is so voluble.
"Captain Hudson is quite a character, or, I might say, two characters; for he is one man when he is sober, and another when he is the worse for liquor; and that, I am sorry to see, is very often. Captain Hudson, sober, is a rough, bearish seaman, with a quick, experienced eye, that takes in every rope in the ship, as he walks up and down his quarter-deck. He either evades or bluntly declines conversation, and gives his whole mind to sailing his ship.
"Captain Hudson, drunk, is a garrulous man, who seems to have drifted back into the past. He comes up to you and talks of his own accord, and always about himself, and what he did fifteen or twenty years since. He forgets whatever has occurred half an hour ago; and his eye, which was an eagle"s, is now a mole"s. He no longer sees what his sailors are doing alow or aloft; to be sure he no longer cares; his present ship may take care of herself while he is talking of his past ones. But the surest indicia of inebriety in Hudson are these two. First, his nose is red.
Secondly, he discourses upon a seaman"s _duty to his employers._ Ebrius rings the changes on his "duty to his employers" till drowsiness attacks his hearers. _Cicero de officiis_ was all very well at a certain period of one"s life, but _bibulus nauta de officiis_ is rather too much.
"N. B.--Except when his nose is red not a word about his "duty to his employers." That phrase, like a fine lady, never ventures into the morning air. It is purely post-prandial, and sacred to occasions when he is utterly neglecting his duty to his employers, and to everybody else.
"All this is ridiculous enough, but somewhat alarming. To think that _her_ precious life should be intrusted to the care and skill of so unreliable a captain!
"Joseph Wylie, the mate, is less eccentric but even more remarkable. He is one of those powerfully built fellows whom Nature, one would think, constructed to gain all their ends by force and directness. But no such thing; he goes about as softly as a cat; is always popping out of holes and corners; and I can see he watches me and tries to hear what I say to her. He is civil to me when I speak to him; yet I notice he avoids me quietly. Altogether, there is something about him that puzzles me. Why was he so reluctant to let me on board as a pa.s.senger? Why did he tell a downright falsehood? For he said there was no room for me; yet, even now, there are two cabins vacant, and he has taken possession of them.
"The mate of this ship has several barrels of spirits in his cabin, or rather cabins, and it is he who makes the captain drunk. I learned this from one of the boys. This looks ugly. I fear Wylie is a bad, designing man, who wishes to ruin the captain, and so get his place. But, meantime, the ship might be endangered by this drunkard"s misconduct. I shall watch Wylie closely, and perhaps put the captain on his guard against this false friend.
"Last night, a breeze got up about sunset, and H. R. came on deck for half an hour. I welcomed her as calmly as I could: but I felt my voice tremble and my heart throb. She told me the voyage tired her much; but it was the last she should have to make. How strange, how h.e.l.lish (G.o.d forgive me for saying so!) it seems that _she_ should love _him._ But, does she love him? Can she love him? Could she love him if she knew all?
Know him she shall before she marries him. For the present, be still, my heart.
"She soon went below and left me desolate. I wandered all about the ship, and, at last, I came upon the inseparables, Welch and Cooper. They were squatted on the deck, and Welch"s tongue was going as usual. He was talking about this Wylie, and saying that, in all his ships, he had never known such a mate as this; why, the captain was under his thumb, he then gave a string of captains, each of whom would have given his mate a round dozen at the gangway, if he had taken so much on him as this one does.
""Grog!" suggested Cooper, in extenuation.
"Welch admitted Wylie was liberal with that, and friendly enough with the men; but, still, he preferred to see a ship commanded by the captain, and not by a lubber like Wylie.
"I expressed some surprise at this term, and said I had envied Wylie"s nerves in a gale of wind we encountered early in the voyage.
"The talking sailor explained, "In course, he has been to sea afore this, and weathered many a gale. But so has the cook. That don"t make a man a sailor. You ask him how to send down a to"-gallant yard or gammon a bowsprit, or even mark a lead line, and he"ll stare at ye like Old Nick, when the angel caught him with the red-hot tongs, and questioned him out of the Church Catechism. Ask Sam there if ye don"t believe me. Sam, what do you think of this Wylie for a seaman?"
"Cooper could not afford anything so precious, in his estimate of things, as a word; but he lifted a great brawny hand, and gave a snap with his finger and thumb that disposed of the mate"s pretensions to seamanship more expressively than words could have done it.
"The breeze has freshened, and the ship glides rapidly through the water, bearing us all homeward. H. R. has resumed her place upon the deck; and all seems bright again. I ask myself how we existed without the sight of her.
"This morning the wind shifted to the southwest; the captain surprised us by taking in sail. But his sober eye had seen something more than ours; for at noon it blew a gale, and by sunset it was deemed prudent to bring the ship"s head to the wind, and we are now lying to. The ship lurches, and the wind howls through the bare rigging; but she rides buoyantly, and no danger is apprehended.
"Last night, as I lay in my cabin, unable to sleep, I heard some heavy blows strike the ship"s side repeatedly, causing quite a vibration. I felt alarmed, and went out to tell the captain. But I was obliged to go on my hands and knees, such was the force of the wind. Pa.s.sing the mate"s cabin, I heard sounds that made me listen acutely; and I then found the blows were being struck inside the ship. I got to the captain and told him. "Oh," said he, "ten to one it"s the mate nailing down his chests, or the like." But I a.s.sured him the blows struck the side of the ship, and, at my earnest request, he came out and listened. He swore a great oath, and said the lubber would be through the ship"s side. He then tried the cabin door, but it was locked.
"The sounds ceased directly.
"We called to the mate, but received no reply for a long time. At last Wylie came out of the gun-room, looking rather pale, and asked what was the matter.
"I told him he ought to know best, for the blows were heard where he had just come from.
""Blows!" said he; "I believe you. Why, a tierce of b.u.t.ter had got adrift, and was b.u.mping up and down the hold like thunder." He then asked us whether that was what we had disturbed him for, entered his cabin, and almost slammed the door in our faces.
"I remarked to the captain on his disrespectful conduct. The captain was civil, and said I was right; he was a cross-grained, unmanageable brute, and he wished he was out of the ship. "But you see, sir, he has got the ear of the merchant ash.o.r.e; and so I am obliged to hold a candle to the Devil, as the saying is." He then fired a volley of oaths and abuse at the offender; and, not to encourage foul language, I retired to my cabin.
"The wind declined toward daybreak, and the ship recommenced her voyage at 8 A. M.; but under treble reefed topsails and reefed courses.
"I caught the captain and mate talking together in the friendliest way possible. That Hudson is a humbug; there is some mystery between him and the mate.
"To-day H. R. was on deck for several hours, conversing sweetly and looking like the angel she is. But happiness soon flies from me; a steamer came in sight, bound for Sydney. She signaled us to heave to, and send a boat. This was done, and the boat brought back a letter for her.
It seems they took us for the _Shannon,_ in which ship she was expected.
"The letter was from _him._ How her cheek flushed and her eye beamed as she took it! And, oh, the sadness, the agony, that stood beside her unheeded.
"I left the deck; I could not have contained myself. What a thing is wealth! By wealth, that wretch can stretch out his hand across the ocean, and put a letter into her hand under my very eye. Away goes all that I have gained by being near her while he is far away. He is not in England now--he is here. His odious presence has driven me from her. Oh, that I could be a child again, or in my grave, to get away from this h.e.l.l of Love and Hate."
At this point, we beg leave to take the narrative into our own hands again.
Mr. Hazel actually left the deck to avoid the sight of Helen Rolleston"s flushed cheek and beaming eyes, reading Arthur Wardlaw"s letter.
And here we may as well observe that he retired not merely because the torture was hard to bear. He had some disclosures to make, on reaching England; but his good sense told him this was not the time or the place to make them, nor Helen Rolleston the person to whom, in the first instance, they ought to be made.
While he tries to relieve his swelling heart by putting its throbs on paper (and, in truth, this is some faint relief, for want of which many a less unhappy man than Hazel has gone mad), let us stay by the lady"s side, and read her letter with her.
"RUSSELL SQUARE, Dec. 15, 1865.
"MY DEAR LOVE--Hearing that the _Antelope_ steam-packet was going to Sydney, by way of Cape Horn, I have begged the captain, who is under some obligations to me, to keep a good lookout for the _Shannon,_ homeward bound, and board her with these lines, weather permitting.
"Of course the chances are you will not receive them at sea; but still you possibly may; and my heart is so full of you, I seize any excuse for overflowing; and then I picture to myself that bright face reading an unexpected letter in mid-ocean, and so I taste beforehand the greatest pleasure my mind can conceive--the delight of giving you pleasure, my own sweet Helen.
"News, I have little. You know how deeply and devotedly you are beloved--know it so well that I feel words are almost wasted in repeating it Indeed, the time, I hope, is at hand when the word "love" will hardly be mentioned between us. For my part, I think it will be too visible in every act, and look, and word of mine, to need repet.i.tion. We do not speak much about the air we live in. We breathe it, and speak with it, not of it.
"I suppose all lovers are jealous. I think I should go mad if you were to give me a rival; but then I do not understand that ill-natured jealousy which would rob the beloved object of all affections but the one. I know my Helen loves her father--loves him, perhaps, as well, or better, than she does me. Well, in spite of that, I love him too. Do you know, I never see that erect form, that model of courage and probity, come into a room, but I say to myself, "Here comes my benefactor; but for this man there would be no Helen in the world." Well, dearest, an unexpected circ.u.mstance has given me a little military influence (these things do happen in the City); and I really believe that, what with his acknowledged merits (I am secretly informed a very high personage said, the other day, he had not received justice), and the influence I speak of, a post will shortly be offered to your father that will enable him to live, henceforth, in England, with comfort, I might say, affluence.
Perhaps he might live with us. That depends upon himself.
"Looking forward to this, and my own still greater happiness, diverts my mind awhile from the one ever-pressing anxiety. But, alas! it will return. By this time my Helen is on the seas--the terrible, the treacherous, the cruel seas, that spare neither beauty nor virtue, nor the longing hearts at home. I have conducted this office for some years, and thought I knew care and anxiety. But I find I knew neither till now.
"I have two ships at sea, the _Shannon_ and the _Proserpine._ The _Proserpine_ carries eighteen chests of specie, worth a hundred and thirty thousand pounds. I don"t care one straw whether she sinks or swims. But the _Shannon_ carries my darling; and every gust at night awakens me, and every day I go into the great room at Lloyd"s and watch the anemometer. O, G.o.d! be merciful, and bring my angel safe to me! O, G.o.d! be just, and strike her not for my offenses!
"Besides the direct perils of the sea are some others you might escape by prudence. Pray avoid the night air, for my sake, who could not live if any evil befell you; and be careful in your diet. You were not looking so well as usual when I left. Would I had words to make you know your own value. Then you would feel it a _duty_ to be prudent.
"But I must not sadden you with my fears; let me turn to my hopes. How bright they are! what joy, what happiness, is sailing toward me, nearer and nearer every day! I ask myself what am I that such paradise should be mine.
"My love, when we are one, shall we share every thought, or shall I keep commerce, speculation, and its temptations away from your pure spirit?
Sometimes I think I should like to have neither thought nor occupation unshared by you; and that you would purify trade itself by your contact; at other times I say to myself, "Oh, never soil that angel with your miserable business; but go home to her as if you were going from earth to heaven, for a few blissful hours." But you shall decide this question, and every other.
"Must I close this letter? Must I say no more, though I have scarcely begun?
"Yes, I will end, since, perhaps, you will never see it.
"When I have sealed it, I mean to hold it in my clasped hands, and so pray the Almighty to take it safe to you, and to bring you safe to him who can never know peace nor joy till he sees you once more.
"Your devoted and anxious lover,