CHAPTER VII.
I said that the length of the “Great Eastern” exceeded two hectometres. For the benefit of those partial to comparisons, I will add that it is a third longer than the “Pont des Arts;” in reality this steam-ship measures 673 feet at the load water-line, between the perpendiculars; the upper deck is 680 feet from stem to stern; that is to say, its length is double that of the largest transatlantic steamers; its width amidships is about 71 feet, and behind the paddles about 107 feet.
The hull of the “Great Eastern” is proof against the most formidable seas; it is double, and is composed of a number of cells placed between the deck and hold; besides these, thirteen compartments, separated by water-tight partitions, increase the security against fire or the inlet of water. Ten thousand tons of iron were used in the construction of this hull, and 3,000,000 rivets secured the iron plates on her sides.
The “Great Eastern” draws 30 feet of water with a cargo of 28,500 tons, and with a light cargo, from 20 to 30 feet. She is capable of receiving 10,000 passengers, so that out of the 373 principal districts in France, 274 are less populated than this floating sub-prefecture with its average number of passengers.
The lines of the “Great Eastern” are very elongated; her straight stem is pierced with hawse-holes, through which the anchor-chains pass; no signs of dents or protuberances are to be seen on her finely-cut bows, but the slight sweep of her rounded stern somewhat mars the general effect.
From the deck rise six masts and five chimneys. The three masts in front are the “fore-gigger” and the “fore-mast” (both of them mizen-masts) and the “main-mast.” The last three astern are the “after-main-mast,” “mizen-mast,” and “after-gigger.” The fore-masts and the main-masts carry the schooner-sails, the top-sails, and the gallant-sails; the four other masts are only rigged with ordinary sails; the whole forming 5400 square yards of good canvas. On the spacious mastheads of the second and third masts a band of soldiers could easily manœuvre. Of these six masts, supported by shrouds and metallic back-stays, the second, third, and fourth are made of sheet-iron, and are really masterpieces of ironwork. At the base they measure 43 inches in diameter, and the largest (themain-mast) rises to the height of 207 French feet, which is higher than the towers of Notre Dame.
As to the chimneys, the two belonging to the paddle-engine and the three belonging to the screw, they are enormous cylinders, 90 feet high, supported by chains fastened to the upper deck.
The arrangements with regard to the interior are admirable. The laundries and the crew’s berths are shut off at the fore-part, then come the ladies’ saloon and a grand saloon ornamented with lustres, swinging lamps, and pictures. These magnificent rooms are lighted by sideskylightsskylights, supported on elegant-gilded pillars, and communicate with theupper deckupper deckby wide staircases with metallic steps and mahogany balusters.
On deck are arranged four rows of cabins separated by a passage, some are reached by a landing, others on a lower story by private staircases. At the stern the three immense dining-rooms run in the same direction as the cabins, a passage leads from the saloons at the stern to those at the bows round the paddle-engine, between its sheet-iron partitions and the ship’s offices.
The engines of the “Great Eastern” are justly considered as masterpieces—I was going to say of clock-work, for there is nothing more astonishing than to see this enormous machine working with the precision and ease of a clock, a singular contrast to the screw,which works rapidly and furiously, as though getting itself into a rage.
Independently of these two engines, the “Great Eastern” possesses six auxiliary ones to work the capstans, so that it is evident steam plays an important part on board.
Such is this steam-ship, without equal and known everywhere; which, however, did not hinder a French captain from making thisnaïveremark in his log-book: “Passed a ship with six masts and five chimneys, supposed to be the ‘Great Eastern.’”
CHAPTER VIII.
On Wednesday night the weather was very bad, my balance was strangely variable, and I was obliged to lean with my knees and elbows against the sideboard, to prevent myself from falling. Portmanteaus and bags came in and out of my cabin; an unusual hubbub reigned in the adjoining saloon, in which two or three hundred packages were making expeditions from one end to the other, knocking the tables and chairs with loud crashes; doors slammed, the boards creaked, the partitions made that groaning noise peculiar to pine wood; bottles and glasses jingled together in their racks, and a cataract of plates and dishes rolled about on the pantry floors. I heard the irregular roaring of the screw, and the wheels beating the water, sometimes entirely immersed, and at others striking the empty air; by all these signs I concluded that the wind had freshened, and the steam-ship was no longer indifferent to the billows.
At six o’clock next morning, after passing a sleeplessnight, I got up and dressed myself, as well as I could with one hand, while with the other I clutched at the sides of my cabin, for without support it was impossible to keep one’s feet, and I had quite a serious struggle to get on my overcoat. I left my cabin, and helping myself with hands and feet through the billows of luggage, I crossed the saloon, scrambling up the stairs on my knees, like a Roman peasant devoutly climbing the steps of the “Scala santa” of Pontius Pilate; and at last, reaching the deck, I hung on firmly to the nearest kevel.
No land in sight; we had doubled Cape Clear in the night, and around us was that vast circumference bounded by the line, where water and sky appear to meet. The slate-coloured sea broke in great foamless billows. The “Great Eastern” struck amidships, and, supported by no sail, rolled frightfully, her bare masts describing immense circles in the air. There was no heaving to speak of, but the rolling was dreadful, it was impossible to stand upright. The officer on watch, clinging to the bridge, looked as if he was in a swing.
From kevel to kevel, I managed to reach the paddles on the starboard side, the deck was damp and slippery from the spray and mist: I was just going to fasten myself to a stanchion of the bridge when a body rolled at my feet.
WHEN A BODY ROLLED AT MY FEET.
WHEN A BODY ROLLED AT MY FEET.
WHEN A BODY ROLLED AT MY FEET.
It was Dr. Pitferge, my quaint friend: he scrambled on to his knees, and looking at me, said,—
“That’s all right, the amplitude of the arc, described by the sides of the ‘Great Eastern,’ is forty degrees; that is, twenty degrees below the horizontal, and twenty above it.”
“Indeed!” cried I, laughing, not at the observation, but at the circumstances under which it was made.
“Yes!” replied the Doctor. “During the oscillation the speed of the sides is fifty-nine inches per second, a transatlantic boat half the size takes but the same time to recover her equilibrium.”
“Then,” replied I, “since that is the case, there is an excess of stability in the ‘Great Eastern.’”
“For her, yes, but not for her passengers,” answered Dean Pitferge gaily, “for you see they come back to the horizontal quicker than they care for.”
The Doctor, delighted with his repartee, raised himself, and holding each other up, we managed to reach a seat on the poop. Dean Pitferge had come off very well, with only a few bruises, and I congratulated him on his lucky escape, as he might have broken his neck.
“Oh, it is not over yet,” said he; “there is more trouble coming.”
“To us?”
“To the steamer, and consequently to me, to us, and to all the passengers.”
“If you are speaking seriously, why did you come on board?”
“To see what is going to happen, for I should not be at all ill-pleased to witness a shipwreck!” replied the Doctor, looking at me knowingly.
“Is this the first time you have been on board the ‘Great Eastern’?”
“No, I have already made several voyages in her, to satisfy my curiosity.”
“You must not complain, then.”
“I do not complain; I merely state facts, and patiently await the hour of the catastrophe.”
Was the Doctor making fun of me? I did not know what to think, his small twinkling eyes looked very roguish; but I thought I would try him further.
“Doctor,” I said, “I do not know on what facts your painful prognostics are founded, but allow me to remind you that the ‘Great Eastern’ has crossed the Atlantic twenty times, and most of her passages have been satisfactory.”
“That’s of no consequence; this ship is bewitched, to use a common expression, she cannot escape her fate; I know it, and therefore have no confidence in her. Remember what difficulties the engineers had to launch her; I believe even that Brunel, who built her, died from the ‘effects of the operation,’ as we doctors say.”
“Ah, Doctor,” said I, “are you inclined to be a materialist?”
“Why ask me that question?”
“Because I have noticed that many who do not believe in God believe in everything else, even in the evil eye.”
“Make fun if you like, sir,” replied the Doctor, “but allow me to continue my argument. The ‘Great Eastern’ has already ruined several companies. Built for the purpose of carrying emigrants to Australia, she has never once been there; intended to surpass the ocean steamers in speed, she even remains inferior to them.”
“From this,” said I, “it is to be concluded that—”
“Listen a minute,” interrupted the Doctor. “Already one of her captains has been drowned, and he one of the most skilful, for he knew how to prevent this rolling by keeping the ship a little ahead of the waves.”
“Ah, well!” said I, “the death of that able man is to be regretted.”
“Then,” continued Dean Pitferge, without noticing my incredulity, “strange stories are told about this ship; they say that a passenger who lost his way in the hold of the ship, like a pioneer in the forests of America, has never yet been found.”
“Ah!” exclaimed I ironically, “there’s a fact!”
“They say, also, that during the construction of the boilers an engineer was melted by mistake in the steam-box.”
“Bravo!” cried I; “the melted engineer! ‘È ben trovato.’ Do you believe it, Doctor?”
“I believe,” replied Pitferge, “I believe quite seriously that our voyage began badly, and that it will end in the same manner.”
“But the ‘Great Eastern’ is a solid structure,” I said, “and built so firmly that she is able to resist the most furious seas like a solid block.”
“Solid she is, undoubtedly,” resumed the doctor; “but let her fall into the hollow of the waves, and see if she will rise again. Maybe she is a giant, but a giant whose strength is not in proportion to her size; her engines are too feeble for her. Have you ever heard speak of her nineteenth passage from Liverpool to New York?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Well, I was on board. We left Liverpool on a Tuesday, the 10th of December; there were numerous passengers, and all full of confidence. Everything went well so long as we were protected by the Irish coast from the billows of the open sea; no rolling, no sea-sickness; the next day, even, the same stability; the passengers were delighted. On the 12th, however, the wind freshened towards morning; the ‘Great Eastern,’ heading the waves, rolled considerably; the passengers, men and women, disappeared into the cabins. At four o’clock the wind blew a hurricane; the furniture began to dance; a mirror in the saloon was broken by a blow from the head of your humble servant; all the crockery was smashed to atoms; there was afrightful uproar; eight shore-boats were torn from the davits in one swoop. At this moment our situation was serious; the paddle-wheel-engine had to be stopped; an enormous piece of lead, displaced by a lurch of the vessel, threatened to fall into its machinery; however, the screw continued to send us on. Soon the wheels began turning again, but very slowly; one of them had been damaged during the stoppage, and its spokes and paddles scraped the hull of the ship. The engine had to be stopped again, and we had to content ourselves with the screw. The night was fearful; the fury of the tempest was redoubled; the ‘Great Eastern’ had fallen into the trough of the sea and could not right herself; at break of day there was not a piece ofironworkironworkremaining on the wheels. They hoisted a few sails in order to right the ship, but no sooner were they hoisted than they were carried away; confusion reigned everywhere; the cable-chains, torn from their beds, rolled from one side of the ship to the other; a cattle-pen was knocked in, and a cow fell into the ladies’ saloon through the hatchway; another misfortune was the breaking of the rudder-chock, so that steering was no longer possible. Frightful crashes were heard; an oil tank, weighing over three tons, had broken from its fixings, and, rolling across the tween-decks, struck the sides alternately like a battering-ram. Saturday passed in the midst of a general terror, the ship in the trough of the sea all thetime. Not until Sunday did the wind begin to abate, an American engineer on board then succeeded in fastening the chains on the rudder; we turned little by little, and the ‘Great Eastern’ righted herself. A week after we left Liverpool we reached Queenstown. Now, who knows, sir, where we shall be in a week?”
CHAPTER IX.
It must be confessed the Doctor’s words were not very comforting, the passengers would not have heard them without shuddering. Was he joking, or did he speak seriously? Was it, indeed true, that he went with the “Great Eastern” in all her voyages, to be present at some catastrophe? Every thing is possible for an eccentric, especially when he is English.
However, the “Great Eastern” continued her course, tossing like a canoe, and keeping strictly to the loxodromic line of steamers. It is well known, that on a flat surface, the nearest way from one point to another is by a straight line. On a sphere it is the curved line formed by the circumference of great circles. Ships have an interest in following this route, in order to make the shortest passage, but sailing vessels cannot pursue this track against a head-wind, so that steamers alone are able to maintain a direct course, and take the route of the great circles. This is what the “Great Eastern” did, making a little for the north-west.
The rolling never ceased, that horrible sea-sickness, at the same time contagious and epidemic, made rapid progress. Several of the passengers, with wan, pallid faces, and sunken cheeks, remained on deck, in order to breathe the fresh air, the greater part of them were furious at the unlucky steam-ship, which was conducting herself like a mere buoy, and at the freighter’s advertisements, which had stated that sea-sickness was “unknown on board.”
At nine o’clock in the morning an object three or four miles off was signalled from the larboard quarter. Was it a waif, the carcass of a whale, or the hull of a ship? As yet it was not distinguishable. A group of convalescent passengers stood on theupper deckupper deck, at the bows, looking at this waif which was floating three hundred miles from the nearest land.
Meanwhile the “Great Eastern” was bearing towards the object signalled; all opera-glasses were promptly raised, and there was no lack of conjecture. Between the Americans, and English, to whom every pretext for a wager is welcome, betting at once commenced. Among the most desperate of the betters I noticed a tall man, whose countenance struck me as one of profound duplicity. His features were stamped with a look of general hatred, which neither a physiognomist, nor physiologist could mistake; his forehead was seamed with a deep furrow, his manner was at the same time audacious and listless,his eyebrows nearly meeting, partly concealed the stony eyes beneath, his shoulders were high and his chin thrust forward, in fact all the indications of insolence and knavery were united in his appearance. He spoke in loud pompous tones, while some of his worthy associates laughed at his coarse jokes. This personage pretended to recognize in the waif the carcass of a whale, and he backed his opinion by heavy stakes, which soon found ready acceptance.
These wagers, amounting to several hundred dollars, he lost every one; in fact, the waif was the hull of a ship; the steamer rapidly drew near it, and we could already see the rusty copper of her keel. It was a three-mast ship of about five or six hundred tons, deprived of her masts and rigging, and lying on one side, with broken chains hanging from her davits.
THE WAIF WAS THE HULL OF A SHIP.
THE WAIF WAS THE HULL OF A SHIP.
THE WAIF WAS THE HULL OF A SHIP.
“Had this steam-ship been abandoned by her crew?” This was now the prevailing question, however no one appeared on the deck, perhaps the shipwrecked ones had taken refuge inside. I saw an object moving for several moments at the bows, but it turned out to be only the remains of the jib lashed to and fro by the wind.
The hull was quite visible at the distance of half a mile; she was a comparatively new ship, and in a perfect state of preservation; her cargo, which had been shifted by the wind, obliged her to lie along on her starboard side.
The “Great Eastern” drew nearer, and, passing round, gave notice of her presence by several shrill whistles; but the waif remained silent, and unanimated; nothing was to be seen, not even a shore-boat from the wrecked vessel was visible on the wide expanse of water.
The crew had undoubtedly had time to leave her, but could they have reached land, which was three hundred miles off? Could a frail boat live on a sea like that which had rocked the “Great Eastern” so frightfully? And when could this catastrophe have happened? It was evident that the shipwreck had taken place farther west, for the wind and waves must have driven the hull far out of her course. These questions were destined to remain unanswered.
When the steam-ship came alongside the stern of the wreck, I could read distinctly the name “Lerida,” but the port she belonged to was not given.
A merchant-vessel or a man-of-war would have had no hesitation in manning this hull which, undoubtedly, contained a valuable cargo, but as the “Great Eastern” was on regular service, she could not take this waif in tow for so many hundreds of miles; it was equally impossible to return and take it to the nearest port. Therefore, to the great regret of the sailors, it had to be abandoned, and it was soon a mere speck in the distance. The group of passengers dispersed, some to the saloons, others to theircabins, and even the lunch-bell failed to awaken the slumberers, worn out by sea-sickness. About noon Captain Anderson ordered sail to be hoisted, so that the ship, better supported, did not roll so much.
CHAPTER X.
In spite of the ship’s disorderly conduct, life on board was becoming organized, for with the Anglo-Saxon nothing is more simple. The steam-boat is his street and his house for the time being; the Frenchman, on the contrary, always looks like a traveller.
When the weather was favourable, the boulevards were thronged with promenaders, who managed to maintain the perpendicular, in spite of the ship’s motion, but with the peculiar gyrations of tipsy men. When the passengers did not go on deck, they remained either in their private sitting rooms or in the grand saloon, and then began the noisy discords of pianos, all played at the same time, which, however, seemed not to affect Saxon ears in the least. Among these amateurs, I noticed a tall, bony woman, who must have been a good musician, for, in order to facilitate reading her piece of music, she had marked all the notes with a number, and the piano-keys with a number corresponding, so that if it was note twenty-seven,she struck key twenty-seven, if fifty-three, key fifty-three, and so on, perfectly indifferent to the noise around her, or the sound of other pianos in the adjoining saloons, and her equanimity was not even disturbed when some disagreeable little children thumped with their fists on the unoccupied keys.
Whilst this concert was going on, a bystander would carelessly take up one of the books scattered here and there on the tables, and, having found an interesting passage, would read it aloud, whilst his audience listened good-humouredly, and complimented him with a flattering murmur of applause. Newspapers were scattered on the sofas, generally American and English, which always look old, although the pages have never been cut; it is a very tiresome operation reading these great sheets, which take up so much room, but the fashion being to leave them uncut, so they remain. One day I had the patience to read theNew York Heraldfrom beginning to end under these circumstances, and judge if I was rewarded for my trouble when I turned to the column headed “Private:” “M. X. begs the pretty Miss Z——, whom he met yesterday in Twenty-fifth Street omnibus, to come to him to-morrow, at his rooms, No. 17, St. Nicholas Hotel; he wishes to speak of marriage with her.” What did the pretty Miss Z— do? I don’t even care to know.
I passed the whole of the afternoon in the grand saloontalking, and observing what was going on about me. Conversation could not fail to be interesting, for my friend Dean Pitferge was sitting near me.
“Have you quite recovered from the effects of your tumble?” I asked him.
“Perfectly,” replied he, “but it’s no go.”
“What is no go? You?”
“No, our steam-ship; the screw boilers are not working well; we cannot get enough pressure.”
“You are anxious, then, to get to New York?”
“Not in the least, I speak as an engineer, that is all. I am very comfortable here, and shall sincerely regret leaving this collection of originals which chance has thrown together ... for my recreation.”
“Originals!” cried I, looking at the passengers who crowded the saloon; “but all those people are very much alike.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Doctor, “one can see you have hardly looked at them, the species is the same, I allow, but in that species what a variety there is! Just notice that group of men down there, with their easy-going air, their legs stretched on the sofas, and hats screwed down on their heads. They are Yankees, pure Yankees, from the small states of Maine, Vermont, and Connecticut, the produce of New England. Energetic and intelligent men, rather too much influenced by ‘theReverends,’ and who have the disagreeable fault of never putting their hands before their mouths when they sneeze. Ah! my dear sir, they are true Saxons, always keenly alive to a bargain; put two Yankees in a room together, and in an hour they will each have gained ten dollars from the other.”
“I will not ask how,” replied I, smiling at the Doctor, “but among them I see a little man with a consequential air, looking like a weather-cock, and dressed in a long overcoat, with rather short black trousers,—who is that gentleman?”
“He is a Protestant minister, a man of ‘importance’ in Massachusetts, where he is going to join his wife, an ex-governess advantageously implicated in a celebrated lawsuit.”
“And that tall, gloomy-looking fellow, who seems to be absorbed in calculation?”
“That man calculates: in fact,” said the Doctor, “he is for ever calculating.”
“Problems?”
“No, his fortune, he is a man of ‘importance,’ at any moment he knows almost to a farthing what he is worth; he is rich, a fourth part of New York is built on his land; a quarter of an hour ago he possessed 1,625,367 dollars and a half, but now he has only 1,625,367 dollars and a quarter.”
“How came this difference in his fortune?”
“Well! he has just smoked a quarter-dollar cigar.”
Doctor Dean Pitferge amused me with his clever repartees, so I pointed out to him another group stowed away in a corner of the saloon.
“THEY,” SAID HE, “ARE PEOPLE FROM THE FAR WEST.”
“THEY,” SAID HE, “ARE PEOPLE FROM THE FAR WEST.”
“THEY,” SAID HE, “ARE PEOPLE FROM THE FAR WEST.”
“They,” said he, “are people from the Far West, the tallest, who looks like a head clerk, is a man of ‘importance,’ the head of a Chicago bank, he always carries an album under his arm, with the principal views of his beloved city. He is, and has reason to be, proud of a city founded in a desert in 1836, which at the present day has a population of more than 400,000 souls. Near him you see a Californian couple, the young wife is delicate and charming, her well-polished husband was once a plough-boy, who one fine day turned up some nuggets. That gentleman—”
“Is a man of ‘importance,’” said I.
“Undoubtedly,” replied the Doctor, “for his assets count by the million.”
“And pray who may this tall individual be, who moves his head backwards and forwards like the pendulum of a clock?”
“That person,” replied the Doctor, “is the celebrated Cockburn of Rochester, the universalstatisticianstatistician, who has weighed, measured, proportioned, and calculated everything. Question this harmless maniac, he will tell youhow much bread a man of fifty has eaten in his life, and how many cubic feet of air he has breathed. He will tell you how many volumes in quarto the words of a Temple lawyer would fill, and how many miles the postman goes daily carrying nothing but love-letters; he will tell you the number of widows who pass in one hour over London Bridge, and what would be the height of a pile of sandwiches consumed by the citizens of the Union in a year; he will tell you—”
The Doctor, in his excitement, would have continued for a long time in this strain, but other passengers passing us were attracted by the inexhaustible stock of his original remarks. What different characters there were in this crowd of passengers! not one idler, however, for one does not go from one continent to the other without some serious motive. The most part of them were undoubtedly going to seek their fortunes on American ground, forgetting that at twenty years of age a Yankee has made his fortune, and that at twenty-five he is already too old to begin the struggle.
Among these adventurers, inventors, and fortune-hunters, Dean Pitferge pointed out to me some singularly interesting characters. Here was a chemist, a rival of Dr. Liebig, who pretended to have discovered the art of condensing all the nutritious parts of a cow into a meat-tablet, no larger than a five-shilling piece. He was going to coin moneyout of the cattle of the Pampas. Another, the inventor of a portable motive-power—a steam horse in a watch-case—was going to exhibit his patent in New England. Another, a Frenchman from the “Rue Chapon,” was carrying to America 30,000 cardboard dolls, which said “papa” with a very successful Yankee accent, and he had no doubt but that his fortune was made.
But besides these originals, there were still others whose secrets we could not guess; perhaps among them was some cashier flying from his empty cash-box, and a detective making friends with him, only waiting for the end of the passage to take him by the collar; perhaps also we might have found in this crowd clever genii, who always find people ready to believe in them, even when they advocate the affairs of “The Oceanic Company for lighting Polynesia with gas,” or “The Royal Society for making incombustible coal.”
But at this moment my attention was attracted by the entrance of a young couple who seemed to be under the influence of a precocious weariness.
“They are Peruvians, my dear sir,” said the Doctor, “a couple married a year ago, who have been to all parts of the world for their honeymoon. They adored each other in Japan, loved in Australia, bore with one another in India, bored each other in France, quarrelled in England, and will undoubtedly separate in America.”
“And,” said I, “who is that tall, haughty-looking man just coming in? from his appearance I should take him for an officer.”
“He is a Mormon,” replied the doctor, “an elder, Mr. Hatch, one of the great preachers in the city of Saints. What a fine type of manhood he is! Look at his proud eye, his noble countenance, and dignified bearing, so different from the Yankee. Mr. Hatch is returning from Germany and England, where he has preached Mormonism with great success, for there are numbers of this sect in Europe, who are allowed to conform to the laws of their country.”
“Indeed!” said I; “I quite thought that polygamy was forbidden them in Europe.”
“Undoubtedly, my dear sir, but do not think that polygamy is obligatory on Mormons; Brigham Young has his harem, because it suits him, but all his followers do not imitate him, not even those dwelling on the banks of the Salt Lake.”
“Indeed! and Mr. Hatch?”
“Mr. Hatch has only one wife, and he finds that quite enough; besides, he proposes to explain his system in a meeting that he will hold one of these evenings.”
“The saloon will be filled.”
“Yes,” said Pitferge, “if the gambling does not attract too many of the audience; you know that they play in aroom at the bows? There is an Englishman there with an evil, disagreeable face, who seems to take the lead among them, he is a bad man, with a detestable reputation. Have you noticed him?”
From the Doctor’s description, I had no doubt but that he was the same man who that morning had made himself conspicuous by his foolish wagers with regard to the waif. My opinion of him was not wrong. Dean Pitferge told me his name was Harry Drake, and that he was the son of a merchant at Calcutta, a gambler, a dissolute character, a duellist, and now that he was almost ruined, he was most likely going to America to try a life of adventures. “Such people,” added the Doctor, “always find followers willing to flatter them, and this fellow has already formed his circle of scamps, of which he is the centre. Among them I have noticed a little short man, with a round face, a turned-up nose, wearing gold spectacles, and having the appearance of a German Jew; he calls himself a doctor, on the way to Quebec; but I take him for a low actor and one of Drake’s admirers.”
At this moment Dean Pitferge, who easily skipped from one subject to another, nudged my elbow. I turned my head towards the saloon door: a young man about twenty-eight, and a girl of seventeen, were coming in arm in arm.
“A newly-married pair?” asked I.
“No,” replied the Doctor, in a softened tone, “an engagedcouple, who are only waiting for their arrival in New York to get married, they have just made the tour of Europe, of course with their family’s consent, and they know now that they are made for one another. Nice young people; it is a pleasure to look at them. I often see them leaning over the railings of the engine-rooms, counting the turns of the wheels, which do not go half fast enough for their liking. Ah! sir, if our boilers were heated like those two youthful hearts, see how our speed would increase!”
I OFTEN SEE THEM LEANING OVER THE RAILINGS OF THE ENGINE-ROOM.
I OFTEN SEE THEM LEANING OVER THE RAILINGS OF THE ENGINE-ROOM.
I OFTEN SEE THEM LEANING OVER THE RAILINGS OF THE ENGINE-ROOM.
CHAPTER XI.
This day, at half-past twelve, a steersman posted up on the grand saloon door the following observation:—
This signified that at noon we were three hundred and twenty-three miles from the Fastenet lighthouse, the last which we had passed on the Irish coast, and at51° 15´ northlatitude, and18° 13´ westlongitude, from the meridian of Greenwich. It was the ship’s bearing, which the captain thus made known to the passengers every day. By consulting this bearing, and referring it to a chart, the course of the “Great Eastern” might be followed. Up to this time she had only made three hundred and twenty miles in thirty-six hours, it was not satisfactory, for a steamer at its ordinary speed does not go less than three hundred miles in twenty-four hours.
After having left the Doctor, I spent the rest of the day with Fabian; we had gone to the stern, which Pitferge called “walking in the country.” There alone, and leaning over the taffrail, we surveyed the great expanse of water, while around us rose the briny vapours distilled from the spray; small rainbows, formed by the refraction of the sun’s rays, spanned the foaming waves. Below us, at a distance of forty feet, the screw was beating the water with a tremendous force, making its copper gleam in the midst of what appeared to be a vast conglomeration of liquefied emeralds, the fleecy track extending as far as the eye could reach, mingled in a milky path the foam from the screw, and the paddle engines, whilst the white and black fringed plumage of the sea-gulls flying above, cast rapid shadows over the sea.
Fabian was looking at the magic of the waves without speaking. What did he see in this liquid mirror, which gave scope to the most capricious flights of imagination? Was some vanished face passing before his eyes, and bidding him a last farewell? Did he see a drowning shadow in these eddying waters? He seemed to me sadder than usual, and I dared not ask him the cause of his grief.
After the long separation which had estranged us from each other, it was for him to confide in me, and for me to await his confidences. He had told me as much of his past life as he wished me to know; his life in the Indian garrison, his hunting, and adventures; but not a word had he said ofthe emotions which swelled in his heart, or the cause of the sighs which heaved his breast; undoubtedly Fabian was not one who tried to lessen his grief by speaking of it, and therefore he suffered the more.
Thus we remained leaning over the sea, and as I turned my head I saw the great paddles emerging under the regular action of the engine.
Once Fabian said to me, “This track is indeed magnificent. One would think that the waves were amusing themselves with tracing letters! Look at the ‘l’s’ and ‘e’s’. Am I deceived? No, they are indeed always the same letters.”
Fabian’s excited imagination saw in these eddyings that which it wished to see. But what could these letters signify? What remembrance did they call forth in Fabian’s mind? The latter had resumed his silent contemplation, when suddenly he said to me,—
“Come to me, come; that gulf will draw me in!”
“What is the matter with you, Fabian,” said I, taking him by both hands; “what is the matter, my friend?”
“I have here,” said he, pressing his hand on his heart, “I have here a disease which will kill me.”
“A disease?” said I to him, “a disease with no hope of cure?”
“No hope.”
And without another word Fabian went to the saloon, and then on to his cabin.
CHAPTER XII.
The next day, Saturday, 30th of March, the weather was fine, and the sea calm; our progress was more rapid, and the “Great Eastern” was now going at the rate of twelve knots an hour.
The wind had set south, and the first officer ordered the mizen and the top-mast sails to be hoisted, so that the ship was perfectly steady. Under this fine sunny sky the upper decks again became crowded; ladies appeared in fresh costumes, some walking about, others sitting down—I was going to say on the grass-plats beneath the shady trees, and the children resumed their interrupted games. With a few soldiers in uniform, strutting about with their hands in their pockets, one might have fancied oneself on a French promenade.
At noon, the weather being favourable, Captain Anderson and two officers went on to the bridge, in order to take the sun’s altitude; each held a sextant in his hand, and fromtime to time scanned the southern horizon, towards which their horizon-glasses were inclined.
“Noon,” exclaimed the Captain, after a short time.
Immediately a steersman rang a bell on the bridge, and all the watches on board were regulated by the statement which had just been made.
Half-an-hour later, the following observation was posted up:—
We had thus made two hundred and twenty-seven miles since noon the day before.
I did not see Fabian once during the day. Several times, uneasy about his absence, I passed his cabin, and was convinced that he had not left it.
He must have wished to avoid the crowd on deck, and evidently sought to isolate himself from this tumult. I met Captain Corsican, and for an hour we walked on the poop. He often spoke of Fabian, and I could not help telling him what had passed between Fabian and myself the evening before.
“Yes,” said Captain Corsican, with an emotion he did not try to disguise. “Two years ago Fabian had the right to think himself the happiest of men, and now he is the most unhappy.” Archibald Corsican told me, in a few words, thatat Bombay Fabian had known a charming young girl, a Miss Hodges. He loved her, and was beloved by her. Nothing seemed to hinder a marriage between Miss Hodges and Captain Mac Elwin; when, by her father’s consent, the young girl’s hand was sought by the son of a merchant at Calcutta. It was an old business affair, and Hodges, a harsh, obstinate, and unfeeling man, who happened at this time to be in a delicate position with his Calcutta correspondent, thinking that the marriage would settle everything well, sacrificed his daughter to the interests of his fortune. The poor child could not resist; they put her hand into that of the man she did not and could not love, and who, from all appearance, had no love for her. It was a mere business transaction, and a barbarous deed. The husband carried off his wife the day after they were married, and since then Fabian has never seen her whom he has always loved.
This story showed me clearly that the grief which seemed to oppress Fabian was indeed serious.
“What was the young girl’s name?” asked I of Captain Corsican.
“Ellen Hodges,” replied he.
“Ellen,—that name explains the letters which Fabian thought he saw yesterday in the ship’s track. And what is the name of this poor young woman’s husband?” said I to the Captain.
“Harry Drake.”
“Drake!” cried I, “but that man is on board.”
“He here!” exclaimed Corsican, seizing my hand, and looking straight at me.
“Yes,” I replied, “he is on board.”
“Heaven grant that they may not meet!” said the Captain gravely. “Happily they do not know each other, at least Fabian does not know Harry Drake; but that name uttered in his hearing would be enough to cause an outburst.”
I then related to Captain Corsican what I knew of Harry Drake, that is to say, what Dr. Dean Pitferge had told me of him. I described him such as he was, an insolent, noisy adventurer, already ruined by gambling, and other vices, and ready to do anything to get money; at this moment Harry Drake passed close to us; I pointed him out to the Captain, whose eyes suddenly grew animated, and he made an angry gesture, which I arrested.
“Yes,” said he, “there is the face of a villain. But where is he going?”
“To America, they say, to try and get by chance what he does not care to work for.”
“Poor Ellen!” murmured the Captain; “where is she now?”
“Perhaps this wretch has abandoned her, or why should she not be on board?” said Corsican, looking at me.