"Nonsense, Harry," said he, colouring; "I have something else to do than to pine and sigh for a lady"s love. What a lovely night it is!"
"Yes," said I--"lovely enough for a high-flying, sentimental lover, but anything but pleasing to a plain, straight-forward fellow like myself.
But, joking apart, Tom, you have not been yourself this voyage; you go through your duties actively enough, it is true, but evidently quite mechanically. Your heart is elsewhere. Do not be afraid of making me your confidant--I will not betray you; trust your secret sorrow, whatever it may be, to _me_; if I cannot a.s.sist, I can at all events sympathise with you."
"Thank you kindly, Harry," said he--"I believe you from my heart. You have made a right guess for once in your life. I _am_ in love."
"Well, make a clean breast of it at once, and tell me who your Dulcinea is; that, if I have the felicity of her acquaintance, we may hold eloquent discourse of her charms together."
"Well, Harry, you remember Miss ----"
"Holloa! there"s a breeze coming at last--beg your pardon, Tom," said I, springing up on the p.o.o.p for a better view; and there it was, sure enough, coming up on the larboard quarter, with a cool, fresh, rippling sound, roughening the surface of the swell before it.
"Forecastle there!"
"Sir?" replied Tom.
"Rig out the foretopmast and topgallant-studdingsail booms, Mr Bertram, and bear a hand with the sails."
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Maintop there!--rig out the topgallant-studdingsail boom!"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"All ready with the stunsails forward, sir," cried Bertram.
"Very well. Forward there the watch!--run the stunsails up. Forecastle there!--swing the lower boom!"
"Ay, ay, sir."
In twenty minutes the ship was under a cloud of canvas, and moving rapidly through the water, the ropes were all coiled down, and the watch again on their beam-ends.
"Stea-dy!" called the quartermaster.
"Steady it is!" answered the man at the helm.
"I told you so, Bill," muttered one of the afterguard to his neighbour--"I knowed as how we"d have a breeze when I throwed my old shoe overboard."
"Now, Tom," said I, "make an end of your confession. You asked me if I remembered Miss----what"s her name?"
"Kate Fotheringham."
If a thunderbolt had fallen at my feet, it could hardly have startled me more than did the unexpected mention of that name. I _felt_ myself turn pale--the blood seemed to creep and curdle in my veins, and a sensation of mortal sickness and faintness came over me.
Tom observed my emotion, and exclaimed, in great alarm--
"Harry, how ill you look! What is the matter with you?"
"Nothing," said I--"a sudden spasm--but it is gone."
And, with desperate resolution, I gulped down the emotion which almost choked my utterance, and listened with patience while Tom proceeded, with all a lover"s enthusiasm, to expatiate upon the charms of his mistress. He had so long confined his feelings to his own bosom, that, when he gave them free vent, their sudden and torrent-like out-pouring was almost overwhelming. Rapidly and fervidly did he depict his first sensations; glowingly and fondly did he dwell upon the personal charms and mental amiabilities of his adored one; and, in _burning_ words, he expressed his happiness in the certainty that he was beloved again.
Alas, poor fellow! he little knew that every kind expression of his mistress went like a dagger to the heart of his friend! And yet so it was; for, in the innermost recesses of my heart, hidden from all mortal knowledge save my own, I had enshrined an idol--and that idol was Kate Fotheringham. "Tis true, I had bowed before it in vain. I had offered up to her the incense of my first love; it had filled the temple, but made no impression upon the divinity. My love was hopeless, but constant. But it is necessary that I should explain myself; and to do so I must go back.
The Rev. Thomas Fotheringham was minister of the Parish of L----, and the father of two beauteous daughters, of whom Kate was the youngest.
She was indeed a lovely creature--full of life and animation, sparkling and joyous; her complexion was delicately brilliant, and her bright blue eyes shot forth their playful glances from the covert of the most beautiful flaxen ringlets in the world. When she shook back her hair from her forehead, and her laugh,
"Without any control But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul,"
and displayed teeth of pearly whiteness, she was indeed a thing to be wondered at and admired.
Mr Fotheringham had been an intimate friend of my father, and I had gone to spend a few weeks at L---- Manse, on my last return home. When I had seen Kate some years before, she was a pretty, interesting child, and used, in her playfulness, to call me her sailor husband: how great was my surprise, when I met her again, to find the playful child transformed into the tall, graceful, elegant woman! It was impossible to see Kate Fotheringham without admiring her beauty: I soon found that it was impossible to know her without loving her. She was as good as she was lovely, and was almost adored by the poor of the parish, to whom she was like a ministering angel. Her great delight was in distributing food and clothing to the poor and needy; and her sweet smile and soothing tone of sympathy were balm to the melancholy mourner, and to the bruised and broken spirit. Was it wonderful that, living as I did in the most friendly intimacy with such a being, listening to her praises from all quarters, hearing the sweet music of her voice as she warbled the simple melodies of her native land--was it wonderful that I loved her? Yes! I more than loved her. Love is too tame, too commonplace a term for my feelings. I adored her--I bowed my heart before her very footsteps: but I felt that I was not loved again. The very frankness and innocent familiarity of her manner towards me, while it fascinated, maddened me; for I knew that I was wilfully deceiving myself; that she looked upon me as a friend--a brother--nothing more. Fool that I was!--knowing all this--knowing, in my own secret heart, that every day, every hour, I was only storing up bitterness for myself--I still fluttered round the flame that was consuming me. At last, one evening, my long-suppressed feelings burst forth. Some expression of Kate acted as a spark to the train of pa.s.sion that was lying smouldering within my breast, and----I know not what I said--but my heart was in the words; I only know that I was miserable. Kate was agitated, surprised, and affected. She esteemed and admired me, she said; but her heart was not her own. We parted with mutual sorrow, and with a promise, on her part, never to mention the occurrences of that evening; and with a determination on mine to smother my feelings, and with firm resolve to tear her image from my heart for ever. Weak and vain resolution!--that image will go with me to my grave.
Tom went on to tell me that he had gone, with my uncle, his guardian, on a visit to L----, three years before, and that he had not been long domesticated there before he felt the influence of those charms which had proved so fatal to my peace. He was the constant companion of the young ladies in all their rambles, had witnessed their various deeds of unostentatious charity and benevolence, and was in the habit of listening with pleasure to the warm and unsophisticated praises lavished upon them by every dependant and cottager around them. His heart had hitherto resisted the fascinations of beauty, and he had learned to look upon it as a "pretty plaything," accompanied, as he had hitherto seen it, with superficial accomplishments and frivolous employment. But here was all his fancy had ever pictured of female loveliness and amiability combined; and he felt that, with such a companion, he might reasonably expect to realise his brightest dreams of mundane happiness. He consulted my uncle, who had always loved him as a son, and who intended him to be his heir; and laying before him the state of his affections, told him that he waited but for his consent to prosecute his suit. My uncle was delighted with his confession, and with the object of his choice, and gave him his consent and blessing; at the same time giving him to understand that Kate should not marry a beggar. Kate"s heart, almost unconsciously to herself, had long been his; and she was too frank and artless to attempt to veil it from him when he made his proposals. It was agreed that their marriage was to take place when he returned from his next voyage, and that, in the meantime, their engagement was to be kept secret.
Oh, how I had envied my happy rival! How often had I longed, with eager curiosity, to see the man who had gained the heart of such a glorious creature! And now he stood before me--the dearest friend of my heart, from whom I had never had but one concealment--he whom I had loved as a brother, and watched over with more than a brother"s love--was the being who, unconsciously, stood between me and happiness--who had blighted and withered the fondest aspirations of my heart. Oh, the conflict of feelings within me! Had he but confided in me sooner, what misery might he not have spared me! Thank Heaven! friendship and justice conquered at last. I resolved to keep my secret, though my heart should break; his knowledge of it could not benefit me, but would only distress and grieve him, and, perhaps, cast a cloud over that friendship which was now the chief remaining solace of my life. It was with a smiling face, therefore, but with an aching bosom, that I shook hands with Tom that night; and well did I keep my secret, for he died in ignorance of it.
As we were going into the mess-berth next morning to breakfast, we met Ben, the servant, looking as grave as an owl, with a face as long as the maintop-bowline.
"What"s the matter, Ben?" said Tom.
"O sir! we"ll soon know what"s the matter: the cow died this morning!"
Tom burst into a roar of laughter, and asked what that had to do with his long face.
"It"s no laughing matter, sir," said the man; "I never knew any good come to a ship when the cow died: but we"ll see before long."
We were both much amused at the man"s newfangled superst.i.tion, as we thought it, as we had never before heard of this.
"I have been told a story," said I, "of a cat influencing the destinies of a ship, but I never heard a cow so highly honoured before."
"A cat!" said Tom--"what do you mean?"
"It"s an old story," said I; "but, as you seem not to have heard it, I will enlighten you on the subject:--
Some years since, one of His Majesty"s crack frigates had greatly distinguished herself, on the Mediterranean station, by the smartness and activity of her crew, her state of excellent discipline, and her great success in capturing prizes. For some time her good fortune seemed to have deserted her; day after day pa.s.sed away, and not a _tangible_ sail was to be seen; the time began to hang heavy on the hands of the crew, and discontent and disappointment were legible in their countenances. This state of things could not last long. The captain, a good and gallant seaman, perceived that the spirit of disaffection was busy among his crew, and determined to check it in the bud.
"Call the hands out, if you please, Mr Steady," said he to the first lieutenant.
The hands were called out; and when a.s.sembled on the quarterdeck, the captain addressed them to the following effect:--
"My lads, you used to be as active and cheerful a set of fellows as I would wish to command; I used to be proud of you, for you seemed to take pleasure in your duty; but now you go about the decks sullen and discontented, and only work because you dare not disobey. If you have any grievances to complain of, come forward like men and say so, and I will redress them, if I can; but I tell you, once for all, I will have no sulkiness; and by Heaven! if I can"t drive it out of you in any other way, I"ll flog it out of you."
After a short pause, one of the captains of the forecastle stepped out from the crew, and twirling his hat in one hand and scratching the back of his ear with the other, said--
"Please your honour, we haven"t no grievances."
"Then what the devil"s the matter with you all?"