The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Castaways, by Harry Collingwood This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Castaways Author: Harry Collingwood Illustrator: T.C. Dugdale Release Date: November 15, 2007 [EBook #23491] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTAWAYS *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Harry Collingwood "The Castaways" Chapter One. Miss Onslow. It was on a wet, dreary, dismal afternoon, toward the end of October 18—, that I found myself en route for Gravesend, to join the clipper ship City of Cawnpore, in the capacity of cuddy passenger, bound for Calcutta. The wind was blowing strong from the south-east, and came sweeping along, charged with frequent heavy rain squalls that dashed fiercely against the carriage windows, while the atmosphere was a mere dingy, brownish grey expanse of shapeless vapour, so all-pervading that it shut out not only the entire firmament but also a very considerable portion of the landscape. There had been a time, not so very long ago—while I was hunting slavers on the West Coast, grilling under a scorching African sun day after day and month after month, with pitiless monotony—when the mere recollection of such weather as this had made me long for a taste of it as a priceless luxury; but now, after some five months’ experience of the execrable British climate, I folded my cloak more closely about me, as I gazed through the carriage windows at the rain-blurred landscape, and blessed the physician who was sending me southward in search of warmth and sunshine and the strong salt breeze once more. For it was in pursuit of renewed health and strength that I was about to undertake the voyage; a spell of over two years of hard, uninterrupted service upon the Coast—during which a more than average allowance of wounds and fever had fallen to my share—had compelled me to invalid home; and now, with my wounds healed, the fever banished from my system, and in possession of a snug little, recently-acquired competence that rendered it unnecessary for me to follow the sea as a profession, I—Charles Conyers, R.N., aged twenty-seven—was, by the fiat of my medical adviser, about to seek, on the broad ocean, that life-giving tonic which is unobtainable elsewhere, and which was all that I now needed to entirely reinvigorate my constitution and complete my restoration to perfect health. Upon my arrival at Gravesend I was glad to find that the rain had ceased, for the moment, although the sky still looked full of it. I therefore lost no time in making my way down to the river, where I forthwith engaged a waterman to convey me, and the few light articles I had brought with me, off to the ship. The City of Cawnpore was a brand-new iron ship, of some twelve hundred tons register, modelled like a frigate, full-rigged, and as handsome a craft in every respect as I had ever seen. I had seen her before, of course, in the Docks, when I had gone down to inspect her and choose my cabin; but she was then less than half loaded; her decks were dirty and lumbered up with bales and cases of cargo; her jib-booms were rigged in, and her topgallant-masts down on deck; and altogether she was looking her worst; while now, lying well out toward the middle of the stream as she was, she looked a perfect picture, as she lay with her bows pointing down-stream, straining lightly at her cable upon the last of the flood-tide, loaded down just sufficiently, as it seemed, to put her into perfect sailing trim, her black hull with its painted ports showing up in strong contrast to the peasoup-coloured flood upon which she rode, her lofty masts stayed to a hair, and all accurately parallel, gleaming like ruddy gold against the dingy murk of the wild-looking sky. Her yards were all squared with the nicest precision, and the new cream-white canvas snugly furled upon them and the booms; the red ensign streamed from the gaff-end; and the burgee, or house flag—a red star in a white diamond upon a blue field— cut with a swallow tail in the present instance to indicate that her skipper was the commodore of the fleet—fluttered at the main-royal-masthead. “She’s a pretty ship, sir; a very pretty ship; as handsome a vessel as I’ve ever see’d a lyin’ off this here town,” remarked the waterman who was pulling me off to her, noting perhaps the admiration in my gaze. “And she’s a good staunch ship, too; well built, well found, and well manned—the owners of them ‘red star’ liners won’t have nothin’ less than the very best of everything in their ships and aboard of ’em—and I hopes your honour’ll have a very pleasant voyage, I’m sure. You ought to, for there’s some uncommon nice people goin’ out in her; I took three of ’em off myself in this here very same boat ’bout a hour ago. And one of ’em—ah, she is a beauty, she is, and no mistake! handsome as a hangel; and such eyes—why, sir, they’re that bright and they sparkles to that extent that you won’t want no stars not so long as she’s on deck.” “Indeed,” answered I, with languid interest, yet glad nevertheless to learn that there was to be at least one individual of agreeable personality on board. Then, as we drew up toward the accommodation ladder, I continued: “Back your starboard oar; pull port; way enough! Lay in your oars and look out for the line that they are about to heave to you!” “Ay, ay, sir,” answered the fellow, as he proceeded with slow deliberation but a great show of alacrity to obey my injunctions. “Dash my buttons,” he continued, “if I didn’t think as you’d seen a ship afore to-day, and knowed the stem from the starn of her. Says I to myself, when I seen the way that you took hold of them yoke-lines, and the knowin’ cock of your heye as you runned it over this here vessel’s hull and spars and her riggin’—‘this here gent as I’ve a got hold of is a sailor, he is, and as sich he’ll know what a hard life of it we pore watermen has; and I shouldn’t wonder but what—knowin’ the hardness of the life—he’ll’—thank’ee, sir; I wishes you a wery pleasant voyage, with all my ’eart, sir. Take hold, steward; these is all the things the gent has brought along of ’im.” I was received at the gangway by a fine sailorly-looking man, some thirty-five years of age, and of about middle height, sturdily built, and with a frank, alert, pleasant expression of face, who introduced himself to me as the chief mate—Murgatroyd by name—following up his self-introduction with the information that Captain Dacre had not yet come down from town, but might be expected on board in time for dinner. It was just beginning to rain rather sharply again, or I should have been disposed to remain on deck for a while and improve my acquaintance with this genial-looking sailor; as it was, I merely paused beside him long enough to note that the deck between the foremast and the mainmast seemed to be crowded with rough, round-backed, awkward-looking men, having the appearance of navvies or something of that kind; also that the main hatch was partially closed by a grating through an aperture in which, at the after port angle of the hatchway, other men of a like sort were passing up and down by means of a ladder. The mate caught my inquiring glance as it wandered over the rough- looking crowd, and replied to it by remarking: “Miners, and such-like—a hundred and twenty of ’em—going out to develop a new mine somewhere up among the Himalayas, so I’m told. Rather a tough lot, by the look of ’em, Mr Conyers; but I’ll take care that they don’t annoy the cuddy passengers; and they’ll soon shake down when once we’re at sea.” “No doubt,” I replied. “Poor fellows! they appear to be indifferent enough to the idea of leaving their native land; but how many of them, I wonder, will live to return to it. Steward,” I continued, as I turned away to follow the man who was carrying my hand baggage below for me, “is there anyone in the same cabin with me?” “No, sir; you’ve got it all to yourself, sir,” was the reply. “There was a young gent,” he continued —“one of a family of six as was goin’ out with us—who was to have been put in along with you, sir; but the father have been took suddenly ill, so they’re none of ’em going. Consequence is that we’ve only got thirty cuddy passengers aboard, instead of thirty-six, which is our full complement. Your trunks is under the bottom berth, sir, and I’ve unstrapped ’em. Anything more I can do for you, sir?” I replied in the negative, thanking the man for his attention; and then, as he closed the cabin-door behind him, I seated myself upon a sofa and looked round at the snug and roomy apartment which, if all went well, I was to occupy during the voyage of the ship to India and back. The room was some ten feet long, by eight feet wide, and seven feet high to the underside of the beams. It was set athwartships, instead of fore and aft as was at that period more frequently the fashion; and it was furnished with two bunks, or beds, one over the other, built against the bulkhead that divided the cabin from that next it. The lower bunk was “made up” with bed, bedding, and pillows complete, ready for occupation; but the upper bunk, not being required, had been denuded of its bedding, leaving only the open framework of the bottom, which was folded back and secured against the bulkhead, out of the way, thus leaving plenty of air space above me when I should be turned in. At the foot of the bunks there was a nice deep, double chest of drawers, surmounted by an ornamental rack-work arrangement containing a brace of water-bottles, with tumblers to match, together with vacant spaces for the reception of such matters as brushes and combs, razor-cases, and other odds and ends. Then there was a wash-stand, with a toilet-glass above it, and a cupboard beneath the basin containing two large metal ewers of fresh water; and alongside the wash-stand hung a couple of large, soft towels. There was a fine big bull’s eye in the deck overhead, and a circular port in the ship’s side, big enough for me to have crept through with some effort, had I so wished, the copper frame of which was glazed with plate glass a full inch thick. Beneath this port was the short sofa, upholstered in black horsehair, upon which I sat; and, screwed to the ship’s side in such a position as to be well out of the way, yet capable of pretty completely illuminating the cabin, was a handsome little silver-plated lamp, already lighted, hung in gimbals and surmounted by a frosted glass globe very prettily chased with a pattern of flowers and leaves and birds. The bulkheads were painted a dainty cream colour, with gilt mouldings; a heavy curtain of rich material screened the door; and the deck of the cabin was covered with a thick, handsome carpet. “W hat a contrast,” thought I, “to my miserable, stuffy little dog-hole of a cabin aboard the old Hebe!” And I sat there so long, meditating upon the times that were gone, and the scenes of the past, that I lost all consciousness of my surroundings, and was only awakened from my brown study—or was it a quiet little nap?—by the loud clanging of the first dinner bell. Thus admonished, I went to work with a will to get into my dress clothes—for those were the days when such garments were de rigueur aboard all liners of any pretensions—and was quite ready to make my way to the saloon when the second and final summons to dinner pealed forth. The cuddy, or main saloon of the ship, was on deck, under the full poop, while the sleeping accommodation was below; consequently by the time that I had reached the vestibule upon which the cuddy doors opened, I found myself in the midst of quite a little crowd of more or less well-dressed people who were jostling each other in a gentle, well-bred sort of way in their eagerness to get into the saloon. They were mostly silent, as is the way of the English among strangers, but a few, here and there, who seemed to have already made each other’s acquaintance, passed the usual inane remarks about the absurdly inconvenient arrangements generally of the ship. Some half a dozen stewards were showing the passengers to their places at table, as they passed in through the doorways; and upon my entrance I was at once pounced upon by one of the aforesaid stewards, who, in semi-confidential tones, remarked: “This way, if you please, sir. It’s Cap’n Dacre’s orders that you was to be seated close alongside of him.” As I followed the man down the length of the roomy, handsome apartment, I could scarcely realise that it was the same that I had seen when the ship lay loading in the dock. Then, the deck (or floor, as a landsman would call it) was carpetless, the tables, chairs, sofas, lamps, and walls of the cabin were draped in brown holland, to protect them from the all-penetrating dust and dirt that is always flying about, more or less, during the handling of cargo, and the room was lighted only by the skylights; now, I found myself in a scene as brilliant, after its own fashion, as that afforded by the dining-room of a first-class hotel. The saloon was of the full width of the ship, and some forty feet long by about eight feet high; the sides and the ceiling were panelled, and painted in cream, light blue, and gold; and it was furnished with three tables—one on either side of the cabin, running fore- and-aft, with a good wide gangway between, and one athwartships and abaft the other two, with seats on the after side of it only, so that no one was called upon to turn his or her back upon those sitting at the other two tables. The tables were gleaming with snow-white napery, crystal, and silver; and were further adorned with handsome flowering plants in painted china bowls, placed at frequent intervals; the deck was covered with a carpet in which one’s feet sank ankle deep; the sofas were upholstered in stamped purple velvet; and the whole scene was illuminated by the soft yet brilliant light of three clusters of three lamps each suspended over the centres of the several tables. Abaft the aftermost table I caught a glimpse of a piano, open, with some sheets of music upon it, as though someone had already been trying the tone of the instrument. Conducted by the steward, I presently found myself installed in a chair, between two ladies, one of whom was seated alongside the skipper, on his right. This lady was young—apparently about twenty- one or twenty-two years of age, above medium height—if one could form a correct judgment of her stature as she sat at the table—a rich and brilliant brunette, crowned with a wealth of most beautiful and luxuriant golden-chestnut hair, and altogether the most perfectly lovely creature that I had ever beheld. I felt certain, the moment my eyes rested upon her, that she must certainly be the subject of my friend the waterman’s enthusiastic eulogies. The other lady—she who occupied the seat on my right—was stout, elderly, grey-haired, and very richly attired in brocade and lace, with a profusion of jewellery about her. She was also loud-voiced, for as I passed behind her toward my seat she shouted to the elderly, military-looking man on her right: “Now, Pat, don’t ye attempt to argue wid me; I shall be ill to-morrow, no matther what I ait, or don’t ait; so I shall take a good dinner and injoy mesilf while I can!” Captain Dacre—a very fine-looking, handsome, whitehaired man, attired in a fairly close imitation of a naval captain’s uniform, and looking a thorough sailor all over—was already seated; but upon seeing me he rose, stretched out his hand, and remarked: “Lieutenant Conyers, I presume? Welcome, sir, aboard the City of Cawnpore; and I hope that when next you see Gravesend you will have fully recovered the health and strength you are going to sea to look for. It is not often, Mr Conyers, that I have a brother sailor upon my passenger list, so when I am so fortunate I make the most of him by providing him—as in your case—with a berth at the table as nearly alongside me as possible. Allow me to make you known to your neighbours. Miss Onslow, permit me to introduce Lieutenant Conyers of our Royal Navy. Lady O’Brien—General Sir Patrick O’Brien—Lieutenant Conyers.” Miss Onslow—the beauty on my left—acknowledged the introduction with a very queenly and distant bow; Lady O’Brien looked me keenly in the eyes for an instant, and then shook hands with me very heartily; and the general murmured something about being glad to make my acquaintance, and forthwith addressed himself with avidity to the plate of soup which one of the stewards placed before him. Presently, having finished his soup, the general leaned forward and stared hard at me for a moment. Then he remarked: “Excuse me, Conyers—it is no use being formal, when we are about to be cooped up together on board ship for the next two months, is it?—are you the man that got so shockingly hacked about at the capture of that piratical slaver, the—the—hang it all, I’ve forgotten her name now?” “If you refer to the Preciosa, I must plead guilty to the soft impeachment,” answered I. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “hang me if I didn’t think so when I heard your name, and saw that scar across your forehead. Wonderfully plucky thing to do, sir; as plucky a thing, I think, as I ever heard of! I must get you to tell me all about it, some time or another—here, steward, hang it all, man, this sherry is corked! Bring me another bottle!” I am rather a shy man, and this sudden identification of me in connection with an affair that I had already grown heartily tired of hearing referred to, and that I fondly hoped would now be speedily forgotten by my friends, was distinctly disconcerting; I therefore seized upon the opportunity afforded me by the mishap to the general’s sherry to divert the conversation into another channel, by turning to my lovely left-hand neighbour with the inquiry: “Is this your first experience of shipboard, Miss Onslow?” “This will be my third voyage to India, Mr Conyers,” she answered, with an air of surprise at my temerity in addressing her, and such proud, stately dignity and lofty condescension that I caught myself thinking: “Hillo, Charley, my lad, what sort of craft is this you are exchanging salutes with? You will have to take care what you are about with her, my fine fellow, or you will be finding that some of her guns are shotted!” But I was not to be deterred from making an effort to render myself agreeable, simply because the manner of the young lady was almost chillingly distant, so I returned: “Indeed! then you are quite a seasoned traveller. And how does the sea use you? Does it treat you kindly?” “If you mean Am I ill at sea? I am glad to say that I am not!” she replied. “I love the sea; but I hate voyaging upon it.” “That sounds somewhat paradoxical, does it not?” I ventured to insinuate. “Possibly it does,” she admitted. “W hat I mean is that, while I never enjoy such perfect health anywhere as I do when at sea, and while I passionately admire the ever-changing beauty and poetry of the ocean and sky in their varying moods, I find it distinctly irksome and unpleasant to be pent up for months within the narrow confines of a ship, with no possibility of escape from my surroundings however unpleasant they may be. There is no privacy, and no change on board a ship; one is compelled to meet the same people day after day, and to be brought into more or less intimate contact with them, whether one wishes it or not.” “That is undoubtedly true,” I acknowledged, “so far, at least, as meeting the same people day after day is concerned. But surely one need not necessarily be brought into intimate contact with them, unless so minded; it is not difficult to make the average person understand that anything approaching to intimacy is unwelcome.” “Is it not?” she retorted drily. “Then I am afraid that my experience has been more unfortunate than yours. I have more than once been obliged to be actually rude to people before. I could succeed in convincing them that I would prefer not to be on intimate terms with them.” And therewith Miss Onslow ever so slightly turned herself away from me, and addressed herself to the contents of her plate with a manner that seemed indicative of a desire to terminate the conversation. I thought that I already began to understand this very charming and interesting young lady. I had not the remotest idea who or what she was, beyond the bare fact that her name was Onslow, but her style and her manners—despite her singular hauteur—stamped her unmistakably as one accustomed to move in a high plane of society; that she was inordinately proud and intensely exclusive was clear, but I had an idea that this fault—if such it could be considered—was due rather to training than to any innate imperfection of character; and I could conceive that—the barrier of her exclusiveness once passed—she might prove to be winsome and fascinating beyond the power of words to express. But I had a suspicion that the man who should be bold enough to attempt the passage of that barrier would have to face many a rebuff, as well as the very strong probability of ultimate ignominious, irretrievable defeat; and as I was then—and still am, for that matter—a rather sensitive individual, I quickly determined that I at least would not dare such a fate. Moreover, I seemed to find in the drift of what she had said—and more particularly in her manner of saying it—a hint that possibly I might be one of those with whom she would prefer not to be on terms of intimacy. “Well,” thought I, “if that is her wish, it shall certainly be gratified; she is a surpassingly beautiful creature, but I can admire and enjoy the contemplation of her beauty, as I would that of some rare and exquisite picture, without obtruding myself offensively upon her attention; and although she has all the appearance of being clever, refined, and possessed of a brilliant intellect, those qualities will have no irresistible attraction for me if she intends to hide them behind a cold, haughty, repellant manner.” And therewith I dismissed her from my mind, and addressed myself to the skipper, “This new ship of yours is a magnificent craft, Captain,” said I. “I fell incontinently in love with her as the waterman was pulling me off alongside. She is far and away the most handsome ship I have ever set eyes on.” “Ay,” answered Dacre heartily, his whole face kindling with enthusiasm, “she is a beauty, and no mistake. You have some fine, handsome frigates in the service, Mr Conyers, but I doubt whether the best of them will compare with the City of Cawnpore for beauty, speed, or seagoing qualities. My word, sir, but it would have done you good to have seen her before she was put into the water. Shapely? shapely is not the word for it, she is absolutely beautiful! She is to other craft what,”—here his eye rested upon Miss Onslow’s unconscious face for an instant—“a perfectly lovely woman is to a fat old dowdy. There is only one fault I have to find with her, and that is only a fault in my eyes; there are many who regard it as a positive and important merit.” “And pray what may that be?” I inquired. And, as I asked the question, several of the passengers who had overheard the skipper’s remark craned forward over the table in eager anticipation of his reply. “W hy, sir,” answered Dacre, “she is built of iron instead of good, sound, wholesome heart of oak; that’s the fault I find with her. I have never been shipmates with iron before, and I confess I don’t like it. Of course,” he continued—judging, perhaps, from some of the passengers’ looks that he had said something a trifle indiscreet—“it is only prejudice on my part; I can’t explain my objection to iron; everybody who ought to know anything about the matter declares that iron is immensely strong compared with wood, and I sincerely believe them; still, there the feeling is, and I expect it will take me a month or two to get over it. You see, I have been brought up and have spent upwards of forty years of my life in wooden ships, and I suppose I am growing a trifle too old to readily take up newfangled notions.” “Ah, Captain, I have met with men of your sort before,” remarked the general; “you are by no means the first person with a prejudice. But you’ll get over it, my dear fellow; you’ll get over it. And when you have done so you’ll acknowledge that there’s nothing like iron for shipbuilding. Apropos of seafaring matters, what sort of a voyage do you think we shall have?” The skipper shrugged his shoulders. “W ho can tell?” he answered. “Everything depends upon the weather; and what is more fickle than that?—outside the limits of the trade-winds and the monsoons, I mean, of course. If we are unlucky enough to meet with a long spell of calms on the Line—well, that means a long passage. But give me as much wind as I can show all plain sail to, and no farther for’ard than abeam, and I’ll undertake to land you all at Calcutta within sixty days from to-day.” We were still discussing the probability of the skipper being able to fulfil his promise, when a howling squall swept through the taut rigging and between the masts of the ship, causing the whole fabric to vibrate with a barely perceptible tremor, while the swish and patter of heavy rain resounded upon the glass of the skylights. “W hew!” ejaculated the general, “what a lively prospect for to-night! W hat are we to do after dinner to amuse ourselves; and where are we men to go for our smoke?” “I think,” said I, “we shall find a very comfortable place for a smoke under the overhang of the poop. The tide is ebbing strong by this time, so the ship will be riding more or less stern-on to the wind, and we shall find a very satisfactory lee and shelter at the spot that I have named.” “Ay,” assented the skipper. “And when you have finished smoking, what can you wish for better than this fine saloon, in which to play cards, or read, or even to organise an impromptu concert? There is a capital piano abaft there; and I am sure that among so distinguished a company there must be plenty of good musicians.” And so indeed it proved; for when, having finished our smoke, the general and some half a dozen more of us returned to the cuddy, we found that several of the younger ladies of the party had already produced their music, and were doing their best to make the evening pass pleasantly for themselves and others. Miss Onslow was one of the exceptions; she had not produced any music, nor, apparently, did she intend to take anything more than a passive part in the entertainment; indeed it is going almost too far to say even so much as that, for it appeared doubtful whether she even condescended so far as to regard herself as one of the audience; she had provided herself with a book, and had curled herself up comfortably in the corner most distant from the piano, and was reading with an air of absorption and interest so pronounced as really to be almost offensive to the performers. In almost anyone else the manifestation of so profound an indifference to the efforts of others to please would have been regarded as an indication of ill-breeding; but in her case—well, she was so regally and entrancingly lovely that somehow one felt as though her beauty justified everything, and that it was an act of condescension and a favour that she graced the cuddy with her presence at all. And indeed I was very much disposed to think that this was her own view of the matter. Be that as it may, we all spent an exceedingly pleasant evening; and when I turned into my bunk that night I felt very well satisfied with the prospects of the voyage before me. Chapter Two. At sea—a wreck in sight. I was awakened at six o’clock the next morning by the men chorussing at the windlass, and the quick clank of the pawls that showed how thoroughly Jack was putting his heart into his work, and how quickly he was walking the ship up to her anchor. I scrambled out of my bunk, and took a peep through the port in the ship’s side, to see what the weather was like; it was scarcely daylight yet; the glass of the port was blurred with the quick splashing of rain, and the sky was simply a blot of scurrying, dirty grey vapour. I made a quick mental reference to the condition of the tide, deducting therefrom the direction of the ship’s head, and thus arrived at the fact that the wind still hung in the same quarter as yesterday, or about south-east; after which I turned in again, the weather being altogether too dismal to tempt me out on deck at so early an hour. As I did so there was a loud cry or command, the chorussing at the windlass abruptly ceased, and in the silence that temporarily ensued I caught the muffled sound of the steam blowing-off from the tug’s waste-pipe, mingled with the faint sound of hailing from somewhere ahead, answered in the stentorian tones of Mr Murgatroyd’s voice. Then the windlass was manned once more, and the pawls clanked slowly, sullenly, irregularly, for a time, growing slower and slower still until there ensued a long pause, during which I heard the mate encouraging the crew to a special effort by shouting: “Heave, boys! heave and raise the dead! break him out! another pawl! heave!” and so on; then there occurred a sudden wrenching jerk, followed by a shout of triumph from the crew, the windlass pawls resumed their clanking at a rapid rate for a few minutes longer when they finally ceased, and I knew that our anchor was a-trip and that we had started on our long journey. Everybody appeared at breakfast that morning, naturally; there was nothing to prevent them, for we were still in the river, in smooth water, and the ship glided along so steadily that some of us were actually ignorant of the fact of our being under way until made aware of it by certain remarks passed at the breakfast-table. After breakfast, the weather being as “dirty” as ever, I donned my mackintosh and a pair of sea boots with which I had provided myself in anticipation of such occasions as this, and went on deck to look round and smoke a pipe. A few other men followed my example, among others the general, who presently joined me in my perambulation of the poop; and I soon found that, despite a certain peremptoriness and dictatorial assertiveness of manner, which I attributed to his profession, and his position in it, he was a very fine fellow, and a most agreeable companion, with an apparently inexhaustible fund of anecdote and reminiscence. Incidentally I learned from him that Miss Onslow was the daughter of Sir Philip Onslow, an Indian judge and a friend of Sir Patrick O’Brien, and that she was proceeding to Calcutta under the chaperonage of Lady Kathleen, the general’s wife. W hile we were still chatting together, the young lady herself came on deck, well wrapped up in a long tweed cloak that reached to her ankles, and the general, with an apology to me for his desertion, stepped forward and gallantly offered his arm, which she accepted. And she remained on deck the whole of the morning, with the wind blustering about her and the rain dashing in her face every time that she faced it in her passage from the wheel grating to the break of the poop, to the great benefit of her complexion. She was the only lady who ventured on deck that day—for the weather was so thick that there was nothing to see, beyond an occasional buoy marking out the position of a sandbank, a grimy Geordie, loaded down to her covering-board, driving along up the river under a brace of patched and sooty topsails, or an inward-bound south-spainer in tow of a tug; but this fact of her being the only representative of her sex on deck appeared to disconcert Miss Onslow not at all; she was as absolutely self-possessed as though she and the general had been in sole possession of the deck, as indeed they were, so far as she was concerned, for she calmly and utterly ignored the presence of the rest of us, excepting the skipper, with whom and with the general she conversed with much vivacity. By the arrival of tiffin-time we had drawn far enough down the river to be just meeting the first of the sea knocked up by the strong breeze, and I noticed that already a few of the seats at table that had been occupied at breakfast-time were vacant—among them that of Lady O’Brien—but my left-hand neighbour exhibited a thoroughly healthy appetite—due in part, probably, to her long promenade on deck in the wind and the rain. She was still as stately and distant in manner as ever, however, when I attempted to enter into conversation with her, and I met with such scant encouragement that ere the meal was half over I desisted, leaving to the skipper the task of further entertaining her. By six o’clock that night we were abreast of the buoy which marks Longnose Ledge, when the pilot shifted his helm for the Elbow, and we began to feel in earnest the influence of the short, choppy sea, into which the City of Cawnpore was soon plunging her sharp stem to the height of the hawse pipes, to the rapidly-increasing discomfort of many of the passengers. By seven o’clock—which was the dinner-hour—we were well round the Elbow, and heading to pass inside the Goodwin and through the Downs, with most of our fore-and-aft canvas set; and now we had not only a pitching but also a rolling motion to contend with; and although the latter was as yet comparatively slight, it was still sufficient to induce a further number of our cuddy party to seek the seclusion of their cabins, with the result that when we sat down to dinner we did not muster quite a dozen, all told. But among those present was my left-hand neighbour, Miss Onslow, faultlessly attired, and to all appearance as completely at her ease as though she were dining ashore. The general made a gallant effort to occupy his accustomed seat, but the soup proved too much for him, and he was compelled to retreat, muttering something apologetic and not very intelligible about his liver. We remained in tow until the tug had dragged us down abreast the South Foreland, where she left us, taking the pilot with her; and half an hour later we were heading down Channel under all plain sail to our topgallant-sails. W hen I went on deck to get my after-dinner smoke the prospect was as dreary and dismal as it could well be. It was dark as a wolf’s mouth; for the moon was well advanced in her last quarter—which is as good as saying that there was no moon at all—and the thickness overhead not only obliterated the stars but also rendered it impossible for any of their light to reach us; one consequence of which was that when standing at the break of the poop it taxed one’s eyesight to the utmost to see as far as the bows of the ship; the wind was freshening, with frequent rain squalls that, combined with the intense darkness, circumscribed the visible horizon to a radius of about half a cable’s length on either hand; and through this all but opaque blackness the ship was thrashing along at a speed of fully ten knots, with a continuous crying and storming of wind aloft through the rigging and in the hollows of the straining canvas, and a deep hissing and sobbing sound of water along the bends, to which was added the rhythmical thunderous roaring of the bow wave, and a frequent grape-shot pattering of spray on the fore deck as the fabric plunged with irresistible momentum into the hollows of the short, snappy Channel seas. It was black and blusterous, and everything was dripping wet; I was heartily thankful, therefore, that it was my privilege to go below and turn in just when I pleased, instead of having to stand a watch and strain my eyeballs to bursting point in the endeavour to avoid running foul of some of the numerous craft that were knocking about in the Channel on that blind and dismal night. W hen my berth steward brought me my coffee next morning he informed me, in reply to my inquiries, that the weather had improved somewhat during the night, and that, in his opinion, the temperature on deck was mild enough for me to take a salt-water bath in the ship’s head, if I pleased. I accordingly jumped out of my bunk and, hastily donning my bathing togs, made my way on deck. I was no sooner on my feet, however, than I became aware that the ship was particularly lively. She was on the port tack, and was heeling over considerably, so much so indeed that, when she rolled to leeward, to keep my footing without holding on to something was pretty nearly as much as I could well manage. Then there was a continuous vibrant thrill pervading the entire fabric, suggestive of the idea that her blood was roused and that she was quivering with eager excitement, which, to the initiated, is an unfailing sign that the ship is travelling fast through the water. Upon reaching the deck I found the watch engaged in the task of washing decks and polishing the brasswork, while Mr Murgatroyd, as officer of the watch, paced to and fro athwart the fore end of the poop, pausing every time he reached the weather side of the deck to fling a quick, keen glance to windward, and another aloft at the bending topmasts and straining rigging. For Mr Murgatroyd was “carrying on” and driving the ship quite as much as was consistent with prudence; the wind, it is true, had moderated slightly from its boisterous character of the previous day, and was now steady; but it was still blowing strong, and had hauled round a point or two until it was square abeam; yet, although the lower yards were braced well forward, the ship was under all three royals, and fore and main-topgallant and topmast studding-sails, with a lower studding-sail upon the foremast! She was lying down to it like a racing yacht, with the foam seething and hissing and brimming to her rail at every lee roll, and the lee scuppers all afloat, while she swept along with the eager, headlong, impetuous speed of a sentient creature flying for its life. The wailing and crying of the wind aloft—especially when the ship rolled to windward—was loud enough and weird enough to fill the heart of a novice with dismay, but to the ear of the seaman it sang a song of wild, hilarious sea music, fittingly accompanied by the deep, intermittent thunder of the bow wave as it leapt and roared, glassy smooth, in a curling snow-crowned breaker from the sharp, shearing stem at every wild plunge of it into the heart of an on-rushing wave. I ran up the poop ladder, and stood to windward, a fathom back from the break of the poop, where I could obtain the best possible view of the ship; and I thought I had never before beheld so magnificent and perfect a picture as she presented of triumphant, domineering strength and power, and of reckless, breathless, yet untiring speed. “Morning, Mr Conyers,” shouted Murgatroyd, halting alongside me as I stood gazing at the pallid blue sky across which great masses of cloud were rapidly sweeping—to be outpaced by the low-flying shreds and tatters of steamy scud—the opaque, muddy green waste of foaming, leaping waters, and the flying ship swaying her broad spaces of damp-darkened canvas, her tapering and buckling spars, and her tautly-strained rigging in long arcs athwart the scurrying clouds as she leapt and plunged and sheared her irresistible way onward in the midst of a wild chaos and dizzying swirl and hurry of foaming spume: “what think you of this for a grand morning, eh, sir? Is this breeze good enough for you? And what’s your opinion of the City of Cawnpore, now, sir?” “It is a magnificent morning for sailing, Mr Murgatroyd,” I replied; “a magnificent morning—that would be none the worse for an occasional glint of sunshine, which, however, may come by and by; and, as for the ship, she is a wonder, a perfect flyer—why, she must be reeling off her thirteen knots at the least.” “You’ve hit it, sir, pretty closely; she was going thirteen and a half when we hove the log at four bells, and she hasn’t eased up anything since,” was the reply. “Ah,” said I, “that is grand sailing—with the wind where it is. But you are driving her rather hard, aren’t you? stretching the kinks out of your new rigging, eh?” “Well, perhaps we are,” admitted the mate, with a short laugh, as he glanced at the slender upper spars, that were whipping about like fishing-rods. “But you know, Mr Conyers, we’re obliged to do it; there is so much opposition nowadays, and people are in such a deuce of a hurry always to get to the place that they are bound to, that the line owning the fastest ships gets the most patronage; and there’s the whole thing in a nutshell.” “Just so; and it is all well enough, in its way—if you don’t happen to get dismasted. But I find the morning air rather nipping, so I will get my bath and go below again. W ill you kindly allow one of your men to play upon me with the head-pump, Mr Murgatroyd?” “Certainly, Mr Conyers, with pleasure, sir,” answered the mate. “Bosun, just tell off a man to pump for Mr Conyers, will ye!” The ship was by this time so lively that I was not at all surprised to meet but a meagre muster at the breakfast-table. Yet, of the few present, Miss Onslow was one, and the soaring and plunging and the wild lee rolls of the ship appeared to affect her no more than if she were sitting at home in her own breakfast-room. She was silent, as usual, but her rich colour, and the evident relish with which she partook of the food placed before her, bore witness to the fact that her silence was due to inclination alone. About an hour after breakfast the young lady made her appearance upon the poop, well wrapped up, and began to pace to and fro with an assured footing and an easy, graceful poise of her body to the movements of the deck beneath her that was, to my mind at least, the very poetry of motion. The skipper and I happened to be walking together, at the moment of her appearance, and of course we both with one accord sprang forward and, cap in hand, proffered the support of our arms. She accepted that of the skipper with a graciousness of manner that was to be paralleled only by the frigid dignity with which she declined mine. The breeze held strong all that day, and for the five days following, gradually hauling round, however, and heading us, until, with our yards braced hard in against the lee rigging, and the three royals and mizzen topgallant-sail stowed, we went thrashing away to the westward against a heavy head-sea that kept our decks streaming as far aft as the mainmast, instead of bowling away across the Bay under studding-sails, as we had hoped. Then we fell in with light weather for nearly a week, that enabled all hands in the cuddy to find their sea legs and a good hearty appetite once more, the ship slowly traversing her way to the southward, meanwhile; and finally we got a westerly wind that, beginning gently enough to permit of our showing skysails to it, ended in a regular North Atlantic gale that compelled us to heave-to for forty-two hours before it blew itself out. The gale was at its height, blowing with almost hurricane fury, with a terrific sea running, about twenty hours after its development, and we in the cuddy were, with about half a dozen exceptions, seated at breakfast when, above the howling of the wind, I faintly caught the notes of a hail that seemed to proceed from somewhere aloft. “Where away?” sharply responded the voice of the chief mate from the poop overhead. I heard the reply given, but the noises of the ship, the shriek of the gale through the rigging, and the resounding shock of a sea that smote us upon the weather bow at the moment, prevented my catching the words; I had no difficulty, however, in gathering, from Mr Murgatroyd’s inquiry, that something had drifted within our sphere of vision, probably another vessel, hove-to like ourselves. A minute or two later, however, Mr Fletcher, the third mate, presented himself at the cuddy door and said, addressing himself to the skipper: “Mr Murgatroyd’s respects, sir; and there’s a partially dismasted barque, that appears to be in a sinking condition, and with a signal of distress flying, about eight miles away, broad on the lee bow. And Mr Murgatroyd would be glad to know, sir, if it’s your wish that we should edge down towards her?” “Yes, certainly,” answered Captain Dacre. “Request Mr Murgatroyd to do what is necessary; and say that I will be on deck myself, shortly.” The intelligence that a real, genuine wreck was in sight, with the probability that her crew were in a situation of extreme peril, sent quite a thrill of excitement pulsating through the cuddy; with the result that breakfast was more or less hurriedly despatched; and within a few minutes the skipper, Miss Onslow, and myself were all that remained seated at the table, the rest having hurried on deck to catch the earliest possible glimpse of so novel a sight as Mr Murgatroyd’s message promised them. As for Dacre and myself, we were far too thoroughly seasoned hands to hurry—the ship was hastening to the assistance of the stranger, and nothing more could be done for the present; and it was perfectly evident that Miss Onslow had no intention of descending to so undignified an act as that of joining in the general rush on deck. But that she was not unsympathetic was evidenced by the earnestness with which she turned to the skipper and inquired: “Do you think, Captain, that there are any people on that wreck?” “Any people?” reiterated the skipper. “W hy, yes, my dear young lady, I’m very much afraid that there are.” “You are afraid!” returned Miss Onslow. “W hy do you use that word? If there are any people there, you will rescue them, will you not?” “Of course—if we can!” answered the skipper. “But that is just the point: can we rescue them? Mr Murgatroyd’s message stated that the wreck appears to be in a sinking condition. Now, if that surmise of the mate’s turns out to be correct, the question is: W ill she remain afloat until the gale moderates and the sea goes down sufficiently to admit of boats being lowered? If not, it may turn out to be a very bad job for the poor souls; eh, Mr Conyers?” “It may indeed,” I answered, “for it is certain that no boat of ours could live for five minutes in the sea that is now running. And if that barometer,”—pointing to a very fine instrument that hung, facing us, in the skylight—“is to be believed, the gale is not going to break just yet.” “Oh dear, but that is dreadful!” the girl exclaimed, clasping her hands tightly together in her agitation —and one could see, by the whitening of her lips and the horror expressed in her widely-opened eyes, that her emotion was not simulated; it was thoroughly real and genuine. “I never thought of that! Do I understand you to mean, then, Captain, that even when we reach the wreck it may be impossible to help those on board?” “Yes,” answered Dacre; “you may understand that, Miss Onslow. Of course we shall stand by them until the gale breaks; and if, when we get alongside, we find that their condition is very critical, some special effort to rescue them will have to be made. But, while doing all that may be possible, I must take care not to unduly risk my own ship, and the lives which have been intrusted to my charge; and, keeping that point in view, it may prove impossible to do anything to help them.” “And you think there is no hope that the gale will soon abate?” she demanded. “I see no prospect of it, as yet,” answered the skipper. “The barometer is the surest guide a sailor has, in respect of the weather; and, as Mr Conyers just now remarked, ours affords not a particle of hope.” “Oh, how cruel—how relentlessly cruel—the wind and the sea are!” exclaimed this girl whose pride I had hitherto deemed superior to any other emotion. “I hope—oh, Captain, I most fervently hope that you will be able to save those poor creatures, who must now be suffering all the protracted horrors of a lingering death!” “You may trust me, my dear young lady,” answered the skipper heartily. “W hatever it may prove possible to do, I will do for them. If they are to be drowned it shall be through no lack of effort on my part to save them. And now, if you will excuse me, I will leave Mr Conyers to entertain you, while I go on deck and see how things look.” The girl instantly froze again. “I will not inflict myself upon Mr Conyers—who is doubtless dying for his after-breakfast smoke,” she answered, with a complete return of all her former hauteur of manner. “I have finished breakfast, and shall join Lady O’Brien on deck.” And therewith she rose from her seat and, despite the wild movements of the ship, made her way with perfect steadiness and an assured footing toward the ladder or stairs that led downward to the sleeping-rooms, on her way to her cabin. “A queer girl, by George!” exclaimed Dacre, as she disappeared. “She seems quite determined to keep everybody at a properly respectful distance—especially you. Have you offended her?” “Certainly not—so far as I am aware,” I answered. “It is pride, skipper; nothing but pride. She simply deems herself of far too fine a clay to associate with ordinary human pots and pans. Well, she may be as distant as she pleases, so far as I am concerned; for, thank God, I am not in love with her, despite her surpassing beauty!” And forthwith I seized my cap, and followed the captain up the companion ladder to the poop. Upon my arrival on deck I found that we were under way once more, Mr Murgatroyd having set the fore-topmast staysail and swung the head yards; and now, with the mate in the weather mizen rigging to con the ship through the terrific sea that was running, we were “jilling” along down toward the wreck, which, fr...