CHAPTER XIII.

HE MADE AN ANGRY GESTURE WHICH I ARRESTED.

This idea crossed my mind for the first time, but Irejected it. No; Ellen was not, could not be on board; she could not have escaped Dr. Pitferge’s inquisitive eye. No! she cannot have accompanied Drake on this voyage!

“May what you say be true, sir!” replied Captain Corsican; “for the sight of that poor victim reduced to so much misery would be a terrible blow to Fabian: I do not know what would happen, for Fabian is a man who would kill Drake like a dog. I ask you, as a proof of your friendship, never to lose sight of him; so that if anything should happen, one of us may be near, to throw ourselves between him and his enemy. You understand a duel must not take place between these two men. Alas! neither here nor elsewhere. A woman cannot marry her husband’s murderer, however unworthy that husband may have been.”

I well understood Captain Corsican’s reason. Fabian could not be his own justiciary. It was foreseeing, from a distance, coming events, but how is it that the uncertainty of human things is so little taken into account? A presentiment was boding in my mind. Could it be possible, that in this common life on board, in this every-day mingling together, that Drake’s noisy personality could remain unnoticed by Fabian? An accident, a trifle, a mere name uttered, would it not bring them face to face? Ah! how I longed to hasten the speed of the steamer which carried them both! Before leaving Captain Corsican Ipromised to keep a watch on our friend, and to observe Drake, whom on his part he engaged not to lose sight of; then he shook my hand, and we parted.

Towards evening a dense mist swept over the ocean, and the darkness was intense. The brilliantly-lighted saloons contrasted singularly with the blackness of the night. Waltzes and ballad songs followed each other; all received with frantic applause, and even hurrahs were not wanting, when the actor from T——, sitting at the piano, bawled his songs with the self-possession of a strolling player.

CHAPTER XIII.

The next day, the 31st of March, was Sunday. How would this day be kept on board? Would it be the English or American Sunday, which closes the “bars” and the “taps” during service hours; which withholds the butcher’s hand from his victim; which keeps the baker’s shovel from the oven; which causes a suspension of business; extinguishes the fires of the manufactories; which closes the shops, opens the churches, and moderates the speed of the railway trains, contrary to the customs in France? Yes, it must be kept thus, or almost thus.

First of all, during the service, although the weather was fine, and we might have gained some knots, the Captain did not order the sails to be hoisted, as it would have been “improper.” I thought myself very fortunate that the screw was allowed to continue its work, and when I inquired of a fierce Puritan the reason for this tolerance, “Sir,” said he to me, “that which comes directly from Godmust be respected; the wind is in His hand, the steam is in the power of man.”

I was willing to content myself with this reason, and in the meantime observed what was going on on board.

All the crew were in full uniform, and dressed with extreme propriety. I should not have been surprised to see the stokers working in black clothes; the officers and engineers wore their finest uniforms, with gilt buttons; their shoes shone with a British lustre, and rivalled their glazed hats with an intense irradiation. All these good people seemed to have hats and boots of a dazzling brightness. The Captain and the first officer set the example, and with new gloves and military attire, glittering and perfumed, they paced up and down the bridges awaiting the hour for service.

The sea was magnificent and resplendent beneath the first rays of a spring sun; not a sail in sight. The “Great Eastern” occupied alone the centre of the immense expanse. At ten o’clock the bell on deck tolled slowly and at regular intervals; the ringer, who was a steersman, dressed in his best, managed to obtain from this bell a kind of solemn, religious tone, instead of the metallic peals with which it accompanied the whistling of the boilers, when the ship was surrounded by fog. Involuntarily one looked for the village steeple which was calling to prayer.

At this moment numerous groups appeared at the doorsof the cabins, at the bows and stern; the boulevards were soon filled with men, women, and children carefully dressed for the occasion. Friends exchanged quiet greetings; every one held a Prayer-book in his hand, and all were waiting for the last bell which would announce the beginning of service. I saw also piles of Bibles, which were to be distributed in the church, heaped upon trays generally used for sandwiches.

The church was the great saloon, formed by theupper deckupper deckat the stern, the exterior of which, from its width and regularity of structure, reminded one very much of the hotel of the Ministère des Finances, in the Rue de Rivoli. I entered. Numbers of the faithful were already in their places. A profound silence reigned among the congregation; the officers occupied the apsis of the church, and, in the midst of them, stood Captain Anderson, as pastor. My friend Dean Pitferge was near him, his quick little eyes running over the whole assembly. I will venture to say he was there more out of curiosity than anything else.

At half-past ten the Captain rose, and the service began; he read a chapter from the Old Testament. After each verse the congregation murmured the one following; the shrill soprano voices of the women and children distinctly separate from the baritone of the men. This Biblical dialogue lasted for about half-an-hour, and the simple, at the same time impressive ceremony, was performed with apuritanical gravity. Captain Anderson assuming the office of pastor on board, in the midst of the vast ocean, and speaking to a crowd of listeners, hanging, as it were, over the verge of an abyss, claimed the respect and attention of the most indifferent. It would have been well if the service had concluded with the reading; but when the Captain had finished a speaker arose, who could not fail to arouse feelings of violence and rebellion where tolerance and meditation should reign.

It was the reverend gentleman of whom I have before spoken—a little, fidgety man, an intriguing Yankee; one of those ministers who exercise such a powerful influence over the States of New England. His sermon was already prepared, the occasion was good, and he intended to make use of it. Would not the good Yorrick have done the same? I looked at Dean Pitferge; the Doctor did not frown, but seemed inclined to try the preacher’s zeal.

The latter gravely buttoned his black overcoat, placed his silk cap on the table, drew out his handkerchief, with which he touched his lips lightly, and taking in the assembly at a glance—

“In the beginning,” said he, “God created America, and rested on the seventh day.”...

Thereupon I reached the door.

CHAPTER XIV.

At lunch Dean Pitferge told me that the reverend gentleman had admirably enlarged on his text. Battering rams, armed forts, and submarine torpedoes had figured in his discourse; as for himself, he was made great by the greatness of America. If it pleases America to be thus extolled, I have nothing to say.

Entering the grand saloon, I read the following note:—

Always the same result. We had only made eleven hundred miles, including the three hundred and ten between Fastenet and Liverpool, about a third part of our voyage. During the remainder of the day officers, sailors, and passengers continued to rest in accordance with established custom. Not a piano sounded in the silent saloons; the chess-men did not leave their box, or the cards their case; the billiard-room was deserted. I had anopportunity this day to introduce Dean Pitferge to Captain Corsican. My original very much amused the Captain by telling him the stories whispered about the “Great Eastern.” He attempted to prove to him that it was a bewitched ship, to which fatal misfortune must happen. The yarn of the melted engineer greatly pleased the Captain, who, being a Scotchman, was a lover of the marvellous, but he could not repress an incredulous smile.

“I SEE” SAID DR. PITFERGE.

“I see,” said Dr. Pitferge, “the Captain has not much faith in my stories.”

“Much! that is saying a great deal,” replied Corsican.

“Will you believe me, Captain, if I affirm that this ship is haunted at night?” asked the Doctor, in a serious tone.

“Haunted!” cried the Captain; “what next? Ghosts? and you believe in them?”

“I believe,” replied Pitferge, “I believe what people who can be depended on have told me. Now, I know some of the officers on watch, and the sailors also, are quite unanimous on this point, that during the darkness of the night a shadow, a vague form, walks the ship. How it comes there they do not know, neither do they know how it disappears.”

“By St. Dunstan!” exclaimed Captain Corsican, “we will watch it well together.”

“To-night?” asked the Doctor.

“To-night, if you like; and you, sir,” added the Captain, turning to me, “will you keep us company?”

“No,” said I; “I do not wish to trouble the solitude of this phantom; besides, I would rather think that our Doctor is joking.”

“I am not joking,” replied the obstinate Pitferge.

“Come, Doctor,” said I. “Do you really believe in the dead coming back to the decks of ships?”

“I believe in the dead who come to life again,” replied the Doctor, “and this is the more astonishing as I am a physician.”

“A physician!” cried the Captain, drawing back as if the word had made him uneasy.

“Don’t be alarmed, Captain,” said the Doctor, smiling, good-humouredly; “I don’t practise while travelling.”

CHAPTER XV.

The next day, the 1st of April, the aspect of the sea was truly spring-like; it was as green as the meadows beneath the sun’s rays. This April sunrise on the Atlantic was superb; the waves spread themselves out voluptuously, while porpoises gambolled in the ship’s milky track.

When I met Captain Corsican, he informed me that the ghost announced by the Doctor had not thought proper to make its appearance. Undoubtedly, the night was not dark enough for it. Then the idea crossed my mind that it was a joke of Dean Pitferge’s, sanctioned by the 1st of April; for in America, England, and France this custom is very popular. Mystifiers and mystified were not wanting; some laughed, others were angry; I even believe that blows were exchanged among some of the Saxons, but these blows never ended in fighting; for it is well known that in England duels are liable to very severe punishment; even officers and soldiers are not allowed to fight under any pretext whatever. The homicide is subject to the mostpainful and ignominious punishments. I remember the Doctor telling me the name of an officer who was sent to a convict prison, for ten years, for having mortally wounded his adversary in a very honourable engagement. One can understand, that in face of this severe law duels have entirely disappeared from British customs.

The weather being so fine, a good observation could be made, which resulted in the following statement: Lat.48° 47´, and36° 48´ W. L.; dist., 250 miles only. The slowest of the Transatlantic steamers would have had the right to offer to take us in tow. This state of things very much annoyed Captain Anderson. The engineers attributed the failure of pressure to the insufficient ventilation of the new furnaces; but for my part, I thought that the diminution of speed was owing to the diameter of the wheels having been imprudently made smaller.

However, to-day, about two o’clock, there was an improvement in the ship’s speed; it was the attitude of the two young lovers which revealed this change to me. Leaning against the bulwarks, they murmured joyful words, clapped their hands, and looked smilingly at the escape-pipes, which were placed near the chimneys, the apertures of which were crowned with a white wreath of vapour. The pressure had risen in the screw boilers; as yet it was only a feeble breath of air, a wavering blast; but our young friends drank it in eagerly with their eyes. No, noteven Denis Papin could have been more delighted, when he saw the steam half raise the lid of his celebrated saucepan.

“They smoke! they smoke!” cried the young lady, whilst a light breath also escaped from her parted lips.

“Let us go and look at the engine,” said the young man, placing her arm in his.

Dean Pitferge had joined me, and we followed the loving couple on to theupper deckupper deck.

“How beautiful is youth!” remarked the Doctor.

“Yes,” said I, “youth affianced.”

Soon we also were leaning over the railing of the engine-rooms. There, in the deep abyss, at a distance of sixty feet below us, we saw the four long horizontal pistons swaying one towards the other, and with each movement moistened by drops of lubricating oil.

In the meanwhile the young man had taken out his watch, and the girl, leaning over his shoulder, followed the movement of the minute-hand, whilst her lover counted the revolutions of the screw.

“One minute,” said she.

“Thirty-seven turns,” exclaimed the young man.

“Thirty-seven and a half,” observed the Doctor, who had entered into the work.

“And a half,” cried the young lady. “You hear, Edward! Thank you, sir,” said she, favouring the worthy Pitferge with one of her most pleasing smiles.

CHAPTER XVI.

Going back to the grand saloon, I saw the following programme posted on the door:—

THIS NIGHT!Part First

THIS NIGHT!

Part First

(Ten minutes interval.)Part Second.

(Ten minutes interval.)

Part Second.

Finale.“God Save the Queen.”

Finale.

“God Save the Queen.”

As may be seen, it was a complete concert, with a first part, entr’acte, second part, and finale; but it seems there was something wanting in the programme; for I heard some one mutter behind me, “What! no Mendelssohn.”

I turned, and saw that it was a steward, who thus protested against the omission of his favourite music.

I went on deck, and began to look for Mac Elwin. Corsican had just told me that Fabian had left his cabin, and I wanted, without intruding myself on him, to draw him out of his isolation. I found him at the bows; we talked for some time, but he made no allusion to his past life. At times he was silent and pensive, absorbed in his thoughts, no longer listening to me, and pressing his breast, as if to restrain a painful spasm.

Whilst we were walking together, Harry Drake passed us several times, always the same noisy, gesticulating man, obstructive as would be a windmill in a ball-room. Was I mistaken? I could not say; for I had already anticipated it in my mind; but it seemed to me that HarryDrake stared at Fabian with a persistency which the latter must have noticed; for he said to me,—

“Who is that man?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“I don’t like his looks,” added Fabian.

Put two ships in the open sea, without wind or tide, and, at last, they will come together. Throw two planets into space, and they will fall one on the other. Place two enemies in the midst of a crowd, and they will inevitably meet; it is a fatality, a question of time, that is all.

In the evening the concert took place according to the programme; the grand saloon, filled with the audience, was brilliantly lighted. Through the half-open hatchways might be seen the broad, sunburnt faces, and the great black hands of the sailors; the doorways were crowded with stewards; the greater part of the audience—men and women—were seated on side sofas, and in the centre of the saloon, in arm-chairs and lounges, all facing the piano, firmly fastened between the two doors, which opened into the ladies’ saloon. From time to time a rolling motion disturbed the audience; arm-chairs and folding-chairs glided about, a kind of swell caused a similar undulatory movement to all; they caught hold of one another silently, and without making any joke; but upon the whole there was not much fear of falling, thanks to the subsidence.

The concert opened with the “Ocean Times.” The“Ocean Times” was a daily newspaper, political, commercial, and literary, which certain passengers had started for the requirements on board. Americans and English took to this sort of pastime; they wrote out their sheet during the day; and let me say, that if the editors were not particular, as to the quality of their articles, their readers were not more so. They were content with little, even with “not enough.”

This number for the 1st of April contained a “Great Eastern” leader—tame enough, on general politics—also various facts quite uninteresting to a Frenchman; articles on the money-markets, not particularly comic; curious telegrams, and some rather insipid home news. After all this kind of fun is only amusing to those who make it. The Honourable Mac Alpine, a dogmatical American, read, with earnest gravity, some rather dull lucubrations, which were received by his audience with great applause. He finished his reading with the following news:—

“It is announced that President Johnson has resigned in favour of General Grant.”

“It is said that Fernando Cortez is going to attack the Emperor Napoleon the Third, piratically, out of revenge for the latter’s conquest of Mexico.”

“We are told for a certainty that Pope Pius IX. has designated the Prince Imperial as his successor.”

When the “Ocean Times” had been sufficientlyapplauded, the Honourable Mr. Ewing, a fine-looking young fellow, with a tenor voice, warbled “Beautiful Isle of the Sea,” with all the harshness of an English throat.

A FINE-LOOKING YOUNG FELLOW.

The “reading” appeared to me to have a questionable charm; it was simply two or three pages of a book, read by a worthy Texian, who began in a low voice, and gradually got higher and higher; he also was very much applauded.

The “Shepherd’s Song,” a piano solo, by Mrs. Alloway, and a Scotch song, sung by Doctor T——, concluded the first part of the programme.

After the ten minutes’ interval, during which some of the audience left their seats, the second part of the concert began. The Frenchman, Paul V——, played some charming waltzes, which were noisily encored. One of the ship’s doctors on board, a very conceited young man, recited a burlesque scene, a kind of parody on the “Lady of Lyons,” a drama very much in vogue in England.

The “burlesque” was succeeded by the “entertainment.” What had Sir James Anderson prepared under this name? Was it a conference or a sermon? Neither the one nor the other. Sir James Anderson rose smilingly, drew a pack of cards from his pocket, turned back his white cuffs, and performed some tricks, the simplicity of which was redeemed by the graceful manner in which they were done. Hurrahs and applause.

After the “Happy Moment,” and “You Remember,” sung by Mr. Norville and Mr. Ewing, the programme announced “God Save the Queen;” but some Americans begged Paul V——, as he was a Frenchman, to play the national French Anthem. Immediately my agreeable countryman began the inevitable “Partant pour la Syrie.” Energetic demands from a party of north-men, who wished to hear the “Marseillaise,” and without being pressed further, the obedient pianist, with a compliance which betokened rather a musical facility than political convictions, vigorously attacked the song of Rouget de l’Ile.

This was the grand success of the evening, and the assembly, standing, slowly sang the “National Anthem,” which prays God to bless the Queen.

Upon the whole this soirée was as good as amateur soirées generally are; that is to say, it was chiefly a success for the performers and their friends. Fabian did not show himself there at all.

CHAPTER XVII.

During Monday night the sea was very stormy. Once more the partitions began creaking, and again the luggage made its way through the saloons. When I went on deck, about seven o’clock in the morning, the wind had freshened, and it was raining. The officer on watch had ordered the sails to be taken in, so that the steam-ship, left without any support, rolled dreadfully. All this day, the 2nd of April, the deck was deserted, even the saloons were empty, for the passengers had taken refuge in their cabins; and two-thirds of the guests were missing at lunch and dinner. Whist was impossible, for the tables glided from under the players’ hands. The chess-men were unmanageable. A few of the more fearless stretched themselves on the sofas, reading or sleeping, as many preferred to brave the rain on deck, where the sailors, in their oil-skin jackets and glazed hats, were sedately pacing to and fro. The first officer, well wrapped in his macintosh, and perched on the bridge, was on watch, and in the midst of the hurricane hissmall eyes sparkled with delight. This was what the little man loved, and the steamer rolled to his liking.

The water from the skies and sea mingled in a dense fog. The atmosphere was grey, and birds flew screeching through the damp mists. At ten o’clock a three-mast ship was hailed, sailing astern of us, but her nationality could not be recognized.

At about eleven o’clock the wind abated, and veered to the north-west. The rain ceased, almost suddenly, blue sky appeared through the opening in the clouds, the sun shone out again, and permitted a more or less perfect observation to be made, which was posted up as follows:—

So that, although the pressure of the boilers had risen, the ship’s speed had not increased; but this might be attributed to the westerly wind, which caught the ship ahead, and considerably impeded her progress.

At two o’clock the fog grew dense again, the wind fell and rose at the same time. The thickness of the fog was so intense that the officers on the bridge could not see the men at the bows. These accumulated vapours rising from the sea constitute the greatest danger of navigation. They cause accidents which it is impossible to avoid, and a collision at sea is more to be dreaded than a fire.

Thus, in the midst of the fog, officers and sailors were obliged to keep a strict watch, which soon proved to be necessary, for about three o’clock a three-master appeared at less than two hundred yards from the “Great Eastern,” her sails disabled by a gust of wind, and no longer answering to her helm. The “Great Eastern” turned in time to avoid her, thanks to the promptitude with which the men on watch warned the steersman. These well-regulated signals are given by means of a bell, fastened to the poop at the bows. One ring signifies shipaheadahead; two, ship-starboard; three, ship a-larboard; and immediately the man at the helm steers in order to avoid a collision.

The wind did not abate until evening; however the rolling was nothing to speak of, as the sea was protected by the Newfoundland heights. Another entertainment, by Sir James Anderson, was announced for this day. At the appointed hour the saloon was filled; but this time it had nothing to do with cards. Sir James Anderson told us the history of the Transatlantic Cable, which he had himself laid. He showed us photographs representing the different engines used for the immersion. He sent round a model of the splice which was used to fasten together the pieces of cable. Finally, very justly merited, the three cheers with which his lecture was received, a great part of which was meant for the Honourable Cyrus Field, promoter of the enterprise, who was present on this occasion.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The next day, the 3rd of April, from early dawn the horizon wore that peculiar aspect which the English call “blink.” It was of that misty white colour which signifies that icebergs are not far distant; in fact the “Great Eastern” was ploughing those seas on which float the first blocks of ice detached from the icebergs in Davis’ Straits. A special watch was kept, in order to avoid the rude collision with these enormous blocks.

There was a strong westerly wind blowing; strips of clouds, or rather shreds of vapour, hung over the sea, through which glimpses of blue sky appeared. A dull thudding noise came from the waves tossed by the wind, and drops of water, seemingly pulverized, evaporated in foam.

Neither Fabian, Captain Corsican, nor Doctor Pitferge had yet come on deck, so I went towards the bows, where the junction of the bulwarks formed a comfortable angle, a kind of retreat, in which like a hermit, one could retirefrom the world. I took my place in this corner, sitting on a skylight, and my feet resting on an enormous pulley; the wind being dead ahead passed over without touching me. This was a good place for reflection. From here I had a view of the whole immensity of the ship; I could see the long slanting ropes of the rigging at the stern. On the first level a top-man, hanging in the mizen-shrouds, held himself up with one hand, whilst with the other he worked with a remarkable dexterity. On the deck below him paced the officer on watch, peering through the mists. On the bridge, at the stern, I caught a glimpse of an officer, his back rounded, and his head muffled in a hood, struggling against the gusts of wind. I could distinguish nothing of the sea, except a bluish horizontal line discernible behind the paddles. Urged on by her powerful engines, the narrow stem of the steam-ship cut the waves, with a hissing sound, like that when the sides of a boiler are heated by a roaring fire. But the colossal ship, with the windaheadahead, and borne on three waves, hardly felt the movement of the sea, which would have shaken any other steamer with its pitchings.

HIS BACK ROUNDED, AND HIS HEAD MUFFLED IN A HOOD.

At half-past twelve the notice stated that we were in44° 53´ North lat., and47° 6´ W. long., and had made two hundred and twenty-seven miles in twenty-four hours only. The young couple must have scolded the wheelswhich did not turn, and the steam which was not at all strong enough to please them.

About three o’clock the sky, swept by the wind, cleared up; the line of the horizon was once more clearly defined, the wind fell, but for a long while the sea rose in great foam-crested billows. Such a gentle breeze could not cause this swell; one might have said that the Atlantic was still sulky.

At twenty-five minutes to four a three-mast ship was hailed to larboard. She hoisted her name; it was the “Illinois,” an American ship, on her way to England.

At this moment Lieutenant H—— informed me that we were passing Cape Race point. We were now in the rich coasts where are obtained cod-fish, three of which would suffice to supply England and America if all the roe were hatched. The day passed without any remarkable occurrence; no accident had as yet thrown Fabian and Harry Drake together, for the Captain and I never lost sight of them. In the evening the same harmless amusement, the same reading, and songs in the grand saloon called forth, as usual, frantic applauses. As an extraordinary occurrence a lively discussion broke out between a Northerner and a Texian. The latter demanded an Emperor for the Southern States. Happily this political discussion, which threatened to degenerate into a quarrel,was put an end to by the timely arrival of an imaginary despatch, addressed to the “Ocean Times,” and conceived in these terms: “Captain Semmes, Minister of War, has made the South compensate for its ravages in Alabama.”

CHAPTER XIX.

Leaving the brilliantly lighted saloon I went on deck with Captain Corsican. The night was dark; not a star in the firmament; an impenetrable gloom surrounded the ship. The windows of the saloon shone like the mouths of furnaces; the man on watch, heavily pacing the poop, was scarcely discernible, but one could breathe the fresh air, and the Captain inhaled it with expanded lungs.

“I was stifled in the saloon,” said he; “here at least I can breathe. I require my hundred cubic yards of pure air every twenty-four hours, or I get half suffocated.”

“Breathe, Captain, breathe at your ease,” said I to him; “the breeze does not stint your wants. Oxygen is a good thing, but it must be confessed Parisians and Londoners know it only by reputation.”

“Yes,” replied the Captain, “and they prefer carbonic acid. Ah well! every one to his liking; for my own part I detest it, even in champagne.”

Thus talking, we paced up and down the deck on the starboard side, sheltered from the wind by the high partitions of the deck cabins. Great wreaths of smoke, illuminated with sparks, curled from the black chimneys; the noise of the engines accompanied the whistling of the wind in the shrouds, which sounded like the cords of a harp. Mingling with this hubbub, each quarter of an hour, came the cry of the sailors on deck, “All’s well, all’s well.”

In fact no precaution had been neglected to insure the safety of the ship on these coasts frequented by icebergs. The Captain had a bucket of water drawn every half-hour, in order to ascertain the temperature, and if it had fallen one degree he immediately changed his course, for he knew that the “Peruvian” had been seen but a fortnight since blocked up by icebergs in this latitude; it was therefore a danger to be avoided. His orders for night were to keep a strict look-out. He himself remained on the bridge with an officer each side of him, one at the wheel signal, the other at the screw; besides these a lieutenant and two men kept watch on the poop, whilst a quarter-master with a sailor stood at the stern; the passengers might therefore rest quietly.

After noticing these arrangements we went back again to the stern, as we had made up our minds to stay some timelonger, walking on deck like peaceful citizens taking an evening stroll in their town squares.

The place seemed deserted. Soon, however, our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and we perceived a man leaning perfectly motionless, with his elbow on the railing. Corsican, after looking at him attentively for some time, said to me,—

“It is Fabian.”

It was indeed Fabian. We recognized him, but absorbed as he was in a profound contemplation he did not see us. His eyes were fixed on an angle of the upper deck; I saw them gleam in the dark. What was he looking at? How could he pierce this black gloom? I thought it better to leave him to his reflections, but Captain Corsican went up to him.

“Fabian,” said he.

Fabian did not answer; he had not heard. Again Corsican called him. He shuddered, and turned his head for a moment, saying,—

“Hush.”

Then with his hand he pointed to a shadow which was slowly moving at the further end of the upper deck. It was this almost invisible figure that Fabian was looking at, and smiling sadly he murmured,—

“The black lady.”

I shuddered. Captain Corsican took hold of my arm,and I felt that he also was trembling. The same thought had struck us both. This shadow was the apparition about which Dean Pitferge had spoken.

THE BLACK LADY.

Fabian had relapsed into his dreamy contemplation. I, with a heaving breast and awe-struck glance, looked at this human figure, the outline of which was hardly discernible; but presently it became more defined. It came forward, stopped, turned back, and then again advanced, seeming to glide rather than walk. At ten steps from us it stood perfectly still. I was then able to distinguish the figure of a slender female, closely wrapped in a kind of brown burnous, and her face covered with a thick veil.

“A mad woman, a mad woman, is it not?” murmured Fabian.

It was, indeed, a mad woman; but Fabian was not asking us: he was speaking to himself.

In the meantime the poor creature came still nearer to us. I thought I could see her eyes sparkle through her veil, when they were fixed on Fabian. She went up to him, Fabian started to his feet, electrified. The veiled woman put her hand on her heart as though counting its pulsation, then, gliding swiftly away, she disappeared behind the angle of the upper deck. Fabian staggered, and fell on his knees, his hands stretched out before him.

“It is she,” he murmured.

Then shaking his head,—

“What an hallucination!” he added.

Captain Corsican then took him by the hand.

“Come, Fabian, come,” said he, and he led away his unhappy friend.

CHAPTER XX.

Corsican and I could no longer doubt but that it was Ellen, Fabian’s betrothed, and Harry Drake’s wife. Chance had brought all three together on the same ship. Fabian had not recognized her, although he had cried, “It is she, it is she!” and how was it possible that he could have done so? But he was not mistaken in saying, “A mad woman!” Ellen was mad, undoubtedly; grief, despair, love frozen in her heart, contact with the worthless man who had snatched her from Fabian, ruin, misery, and shame had broken her spirit. It was on this subject that Corsican and I spoke the following morning. We had no doubt as to the identity of the young woman; it was Ellen, whom Harry Drake was dragging with him to the American continent. The Captain’s eyes glowed with a dark fire at the thought of this wretch, and I felt my heart stir within me. What were we against the husband, the master? Nothing. But now, what was most important, was to prevent another meeting between Fabian and Ellen, for Fabiancould not fail at last to recognize his betrothed, and thus the catastrophe we wished to avoid would be brought about.

At the same time we had reason to hope that these two poor creatures would not see each other again, as the unhappy Ellen never appeared in the daytime, either in the saloons or on the deck. Only at night, perhaps eluding her gaoler, she came out to bathe herself in the damp air, and demand of the wind a smooth passage. In four days, at the latest, the “Great Eastern” must reach New York harbour; therefore we might hope that accident would not dally with our watchfulness, and that Fabian would not discover Ellen during this time; but we made our calculations without thinking of events.

The steamer’s course had been slightly altered in the night, three times the ship, being in water twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit—that is to say, five degrees below zero, had been turned towards the south. There was no longer any doubt of icebergs being very near, for the sky that morning had a peculiarly brilliant aspect; the atmosphere was misty, and the northern sky glittered with an intense reverberation, evidently produced by the powerful reflection from the icebergs. There was a piercing wind, and about ten o’clock the deck was powdered by a slight snow-fall; then dense fog surrounded us, in which we gavewarning of our approach, by deafening whistles, which scared away the flocks of sea-gulls in the ship’s yards. At half-past ten, the fog having cleared off, a screw steamer appeared on the horizon, a-starboard, the white tops of her chimneys indicating that she was an emigrant ship, belonging to the Inman Company.

Before lunch several of the passengers organized a pool, which could not fail to please those fond of betting and gambling. The result of this pool was not to be known for four days; it was what is called the “pilot’s pool.” When a ship arrives at the land-falls every one knows that a pilot comes on board; so they divide the twenty-four hours of the day and night into forty-eight half-hours, or ninety-six quarters, according to the number of the passengers. Each player stakes one dollar, and draws one of the half or quarter hours: the winner of the forty-eight or ninety-six dollars is the one during whose quarter of an hour the pilot comes on board. From this it may be seen that the game is very simple; it is not a race-course, but a quarter-of-an-hour race.

It was a Canadian, the Honourable MacAlpine, who undertook the management of the affair. He easily collected ninety-six players, including several professed gamblers, not the least among those ready for gain. I, following the general example, staked my dollar, and fate allotted me the ninety-fourth quarter; it was a badnumber, and one which left me no chance of profit. The fact is, these divisions are reckoned from noon to noon, so that there are night as well as day quarters; and as it is very seldom that ships venture close in in the dark, the chance of a pilot coming on board then is very small. However, I easily consoled myself. Going down into the saloon, I saw a lecture announced. The Utah missionary was going to hold a meeting on Mormonism; a good opportunity for those wishing to initiate themselves in the mysteries of the City of Saints; besides, this Elder, Mr. Hatch, was an orator of no mean power. The execution could not fail to be worthy of the work. The announcement of the conference was received very favourably by the passengers.

The observation posted up was as follows:—

About three o’clock in the afternoon the steersman signaled a large four-mast steamer, which slightly changed its course, in order to give the “Great Eastern” its number. It was the “Atlanta,” one of the largest boats running between London and New York, calling at Brest on the way. After having saluted us, which we returned, in a short time she was out of sight.

At this moment Dean Pitferge, in a vexed tone,informed me that Mr. Hatch’s lecture was forbidden, as the wives of the puritans on board did not approve of their husbands becoming acquainted with the mysteries of Mormonism.

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