"Well, and what do you intend to do about it?"
"Time will show," said Obed, gravely. "Already, any one acquainted with the manners of our people and the conduct of our government will recognize the remarkable fact that our nation is the most wrathy, cantankerous, high-mettled community on this green earth. Why, Sir, there ain't a foreign nation that can keep on friendly terms with us. It ain't ugliness, either--it's only a friendly desire to have a fight with somebody--we only want an excuse to begin. The only trouble is, there ain't a nation that reciprocates our pecooliar national feeling."
"What can you do, then?" asked Windham, who seemed to grow quite amused at this conversation.
"That's a thing I've often puzzled over," said Obed, thoughtfully; "and I can see only one remedy for us."
"And what is that?"
"Well, it's a hard one--but I suppose it's got to come. You see, the only foreign countries that are near enough to us to afford a satisfactory field of operations are Mexico and British America. The first we have already tried. It was poor work, though. Our armies marched through Mexico as though they were going on a picnic. As to British America, there is no chance. The population is too small. No, there is only one way to gratify the national craving for a fight."
"I don't see it."
"Why," said Obed, dryly, "to get up a big fight among ourselves."
"Among yourselves?"
"Yes--quite domestic--and all by ourselves."
"You seem to me to speak of a civil war."
"That's the identical circumstance, and nothing else. It is the only thing that is suited to the national feeling; and what's more--it's got to come. I see the pointings of the finger of Providence. It's got to come--there's no help for it--and mark me, when it does come it'll be the tallest kind of fightin' that this revolving orb has yet seen in all its revolutions."
"You speak very lightly about so terrible a thing as a civil war," said Windham. "But do you think it possible? In so peaceful and well-ordered a country what causes could there be?"
"When the whole nation is pining and craving and spilin for a fight," said Obed, "causes will not be wanting. I can enumerate half a dozen now. First, there is the slavery question; secondly, the tariff question; thirdly, the suffrage question; fourthly, the question of the naturalization of foreigners; fifthly, the bank question; sixthly, the question of denominational schools."
Windham gave a short laugh.
"You certainly seem to have causes enough for a war, although, to my contracted European mind, they would all seem insufficient. Which of these, do you think, is most likely to be the cause of that civil war which you anticipate?"
"One, pre-eminently and inevitably," said Obed, solemnly. "All others are idle beside this one." He dropped abruptly the half gasconading manner in which he had been indulging, and, in a low voice, added, "In real earnest, Windham, there is one thing in America which is, every year, every month, every day, forcing on a war from which there can be no escape; a war which will convulse the republic and endanger its existence; yes, Sir, a war which will deluge the land with blood from one end to the other."
His solemn tone, his change of manner, and his intense earnestness, impressed Windham most deeply. He felt that there was some deep meaning in the language of Obed Chute, and that under his careless words there was a gloomy foreboding of some future calamity to his loved country.
"This is a fearful prospect," said he, "to one who loves his country. What is it that you fear?"
"One thing," said Obed--"one thing, and one only---slavery! It is this that has divided the republic and made of our country two nations, which already stand apart, but are every day drawing nearer to that time when a frightful struggle for the mastery will be inevitable. The South and the North must end their differences by a fight; and that fight will be the greatest that has been seen for some generations. There is no help for it. It must come. There are many in our country who are trying to postpone the evil day, but it is to no purpose. The time will come when it can be postponed no longer. Then the war must come, and it will be the slave States against the free."
"I never before heard an American acknowledge the possibility of such a thing," said Windham, "though in Europe there are many who have anticipated this."
"Many Americans feel it and fear it," said Obed, with unchanged solemnity; "but they do not dare to put their feelings or their fears in words. One may fear that his father, his mother, his wife, or his child, may die; but to put such a fear in words is heart-breaking. So we, who have this fear, brood over it in secret, and in every shifting scene of our national life we look fearfully for those coming events which cast their shadows before. The events which we watch with the deepest anxiety are the Presidential elections. Every four years now brings a crisis; and in one of these the long antagonism between North and South will end in war. But I hate to speak of this. What were we talking of? Of Lombardy and the Italian war. What do you think," he added, abruptly changing the conversation, "of my plan to visit the seat of war?"
"I think," said Windham, "that if any man is able to do Lombardy at such a time, you are that person."
"Well, I intend to try," said Obed Chute, modestly. "I may fail, though I generally succeed in what I set my mind on. I'll go, I think, as a fighting neutral."
"Prepared to fight on either side, I suppose."
"Yes; as long as I don't have to fight against Garibaldi."
"But, wouldn't you find your family a little embarrassing in case of a fight?"
"Oh no! they would always be safely in the rear, at the base of my line of operations. There will be no difficulty about it whatever. Americans are welcome all over Italy, especially at this time for these _I_talians think that America sympathizes with them, and will help them; and as to the French--why, Boney, though an emperor, is still a democrat to his heart's core, and, I have no doubt, would give a warm reception to a fighting volunteer."
"Have you any acquaintance with any of the French generals, or have you any plan for getting access to Napoleon?"
"Oh no! I trust merely to the reason and good feeling of the man. It seems to me that a request from a free American to take part in a fight could hardly meet with any thing else except the most cordial compliance."
"Well, all I can say is, that if I were Louis Napoleon, I would put you on my staff," said Windham.
The name of Obed Chute has already been brought forward. He had embarked at Bombay on board the same steamer with Windham, and they had formed a friendship which after circumstances had increased. At first Windham's reserve had repelled advances; his sadness and preoccupation had repelled any intimacy; but before many days an event happened which threw them into close association. When about half-way on her voyage the steamer was discovered to be on fire. Panic arose. The captain tried to keep order among the sailors. This he was very easily able to do. But with the passengers it was another thing. Confusion prevailed every where, and the sailors themselves were becoming demoralized by the terror which raged among the others. In that moment of danger two men stood forth from among the passengers, who, by the force of their own strong souls, brought order out of that chaos. One of these was Obed Chute. With a revolver in his hand he went about laying hold of each man who seemed to be most agitated, swearing that he would blow his brains out if he didn't "stop his infernal noise." The other was Windham, who acted in a different manner. He collected pipes, pumps, and buckets, and induced a large number to take part in the work of extinguishing the flames. By the attitude of the two the rest were either calmed or cowed; and each one recognized in the other a kindred spirit.
After landing at Suez they were thrown more closely together; their intimacy deepened on the way to Alexandria; and when they embarked on the Mediterranean they had become stronger friends than ever. Windham had told the other that he had recently heard of the death of a friend, and was going home to settle his affairs. He hinted also that he was in some government employ in India; and Obed Chute did not seek to know more. Contrary to the generally received view of the Yankee character, he did not show any curiosity whatever, but received the slight information which was given with a delicacy which showed no desire to learn more than Windham himself might choose to tell.
But for his own part he was as frank and communicative as though Windham had been an old friend or a blood relation. He had been kept in New York too closely, he said, for the last twenty years, and now wished to have a little breathing space and elbow-room. So he had left New York for San Francisco, partly on pleasure, partly on business. He spent some months in California, and then crossed the Pacific to China, touching at Honolulu and Nangasaki. He had left directions for his family to be sent on to Europe, and meet him at a certain time at Marseilles. He was expecting to find them there. He himself had gone from China to India, where he had taken a small tour though the country, and then had embarked for Europe. Before going back to America he expected to spend some time with his family in Italy, France, and Germany.
There was a grandeur of view in this man's way of looking upon the world which surprised Windham, and, to some degree, amused him. For Obed Chute regarded the whole world exactly as another man might regard his native county or town; and spoke about going from San Francisco to Hong-Kong, touching at Nangasaki, just as another might speak of going from Liverpool to Glasgow, touching at Rothsay. He seemed, in fact, to regard our planet as rather a small affair, easily traversed, and a place with which he was thoroughly familiar. He had written from San Francisco for his family to meet him at Marseilles, and now approached that place with the fullest confidence that his family would be there according to appointment. This type of man is entirely and exclusively the product of America, the country of magnificent distances, and the place where Nature works on so grand a scale that human beings insensibly catch her style of expression. Obed Chute was a man who felt in every fibre the oppressive weight of his country's grandeur. Yet so generous was his nature that he forbore to overpower others by any allusions to that grandeur, except where it was absolutely impossible to avoid it.
These two had gradually come to form a strong regard for one another, and Obed Chute did not hesitate to express his opinion about his friend.
"I do not generally take to Britishers," said he, once, "for they are too contracted, and never seem to me to have taken in a full breath of the free air of the universe. They seem usually to have been in the habit of inhaling an enervating moral and intellectual atmosphere. But you suit me, you do. Young man, your hand."
And grasping Windham's hand, Obed wrung it so heartily that he forced nearly all feeling out of it.
"I suppose living in India has enabled me to breathe a broader moral atmosphere," said Windham, with his usual melancholy smile.
"I suppose so," said Obed Chute. "Something has done it, any how. You showed it when the steamer was burning."
"How?"
"By your eye."
"Why, what effect can one's moral atmosphere have on one's eyes?"
"An enormous effect," said Obed Chute. "It's the same in morals as in nature. The Fellahs of the Nile, exposed as they are to the action of the hot rays of the sun, as they strike on the sand, are universally troubled with ophthalmia. In our Mammoth Cave, in Kentucky, there is a subterranean lake containing fishes which have no eyes at all. So it is in character and in morals. I will point you out men whose eyes are inflamed by the hot rays of passion; and others who show by their eyes that they have lived in moral darkness as dense as that of the Kentucky cave. Take a thief. Do you not know him by his eye? It takes an honest man to look you in the face."
"Yon have done a great many things," said Windham, at another time. "Have you ever preached in your country?"
"No," said Obed Chute, with a laugh; "but I've done better--I've been a stump orator; and stump oratory, as it is practiced in America, is a little the tallest kind of preaching that this green earth" (he was fond of that expression) "has ever listened to. Our orb, Sir, has seen strange experiences; but it is getting rayther astonished at the performances of the American man."
"Generally," said Windham, "I do not believe in preaching so much as in practice; but when I see a man like you who can do both, I'm willing to listen, even if it be a stump speech that I hear. Still, I think that you are decidedly greater with a revolver in the midst of a crowd than you could be on a stump with a crowd before you."
Obed Chute shook his head solemnly.
"There," said he, "is one of the pecooliarities of you Europeans. You don't understand our national ways and manners. We don't separate saying and doing. With us every man who pretends to speak must be able to act. No man is listened to unless he is known to be capable of knocking down any one who interrupts him. In a country like ours speaking and acting go together. The Stump and the Revolver are two great American forces--twin born--the animating power of the Great Republic. There's no help for it. It must be so. Why, if I give offense in a speech, I shall of course be called to account afterward; and if I can't take care of myself and settle the account--why--where am I? Don't you see? Ours, Sir, is a singular state of society; but it is the last development of the human race, and, of course, the best."
Conversations like these diverted Windham and roused him from his brooding melancholy. Obed Chute's fancies were certainly whimsical; he had an odd love for paradox and extravagance; he seized the idea that happened to suggest itself, and followed it out with a dry gravity and a solemn air of earnestness which made all that he said seem like his profound conviction. Thus in these conversations Windham never failed to receive entertainment, and to be roused from his preoccupying cares.
Illustration (Untitled)
[Illustration.]
CHAPTER XXX.
PICKED UP ADRIFT.
Two days passed since the steamer left Naples, and they were now far on their way. On the morning of the third Windham came on deck at an early hour. No one was up. The man at the wheel was the only one visible. Windham looked around upon the glorious scene which the wide sea unfolds at such a time. The sun had not yet risen, but all the eastern sky was tinged with red; and the wide waste of waters between the ship and that eastern horizon was colored with the ruddy hues which the sky cast downward. But it was not this scene, magnificent though it was, which attracted the thoughts of Windham as he stood on the quarter-deck. His face was turned in that direction; but it was with an abstracted gaze which took in nothing of the glories of visible nature. That deep-seated melancholy of his, which was always visible in his face and manner, was never more visible than now. He stood by the taffrail in a dejected attitude and with a dejected face--brooding over his own secret cares, finding nothing in this but fresh anxieties, and yet unable to turn his thoughts to any thing else. The steamer sped through the waters, the rumble of her machinery was in the air, the early hour made the solitude more complete. This man, whoever he was, did not look as though he were going to England on any joyous errand, but rather like one who was going home to the performance of some mournful duty which was never absent from his thoughts.
Standing thus with his eyes wandering abstractedly over the water, he became aware of an object upon its surface, which attracted his attention and roused him from his meditations. It struck him as very singular. It was at some considerable distance off, and the steamer was rapidly passing it. It was not yet sufficiently light to distinguish it well, but he took the ship's glass and looked carefully at it. He could now distinguish it more plainly. It was a schooner with its sails down, which by its general position seemed to be drifting. It was very low in the water, as though it were either very heavily laden or else water-logged. But there was one thing there which drew all his thoughts. By the foremast, as he looked, he saw a figure standing, which was distinctly waving something as if to attract the attention of the passing steamer. The figure looked like a woman. A longer glance convinced him that it was so in very deed, and that this lonely figure was some woman in distress. It seemed to appeal to himself and to himself alone, with that mute yet eloquent signal, and those despairing gestures. A strange pang shot through his heart--a pang sharp and unaccountable--something more than that which might be caused by any common scene of misery; it was a pang of deep pity and profound sympathy with this lonely sufferer, from whom the steamer's course was turned away, and whom the steersman had not regarded. He only had seen the sight, and the woman seemed to call to him out of her despair. The deep sea lay between; her presence was a mystery; but there seemed a sort of connection between him and her as though invisible yet resistless Fate had shown them to one another, and brought him here to help and to save. It needed but an instant for all these thoughts to flash through his mind. In an instant he flew below and roused the captain, to whom in a few hurried words he explained what had occurred.
The captain, who was dressed, hurried up and looked for himself. But by this time the steamer had moved away much further, and the captain could not see very distinctly any thing more than the outline of a boat.
"Oh, it's only a fishing-boat," said he, with an air of indifference.
"Fishing-boat! I tell you it is an English yacht," said Windham, fiercely. "I saw it plainly. The sails were down. It was water-logged. A woman was standing by the foremast."
The captain looked annoyed.
"It looks to me," said he, "simply like some heavily laden schooner."
"But I tell you she is sinking, and there is a woman on board," said Windham, more vehemently than ever.
"Oh, it's only some Neapolitan fish-wife."
"You must turn the steamer, and save her," said Windham, with savage emphasis.
"I can not. We shall be behind time."
"Damn time!" roared Windham, thoroughly roused. "Do you talk of time in comparison with the life of a human being? If you don't turn the steamer's head, _I_ will."
"You!" cried the captain, angrily. "Damn it! if it comes to that, I'd like to see you try it. It's mutiny."
Windham's face grew white with suppressed indignation.
"Turn the steamer's head," said he, in stern cold tones, from which every trace of passion had vanished. "If you don't, I'll do it myself. If you interfere, I'll blow your brains out. As it is, you'll rue the day you ever refused. Do you know who I am?"
He stepped forward, and whispered in the captain's ear some words which sent a look of awe or fear into the captain's face. Whether Windham was the president of the company, or some British embassador, or one of the Lords of the Admiralty, or any one else in high authority, need not be disclosed here. Enough to say that the captain hurried aft, and instantly the steamer's head was turned.
As for Windham, he took no further notice of the captain, but all his attention was absorbed by the boat. It seemed water-logged, yet still it was certainly not sinking, for as the steamer drew nearer, the light had increased, and he could see plainly through the glass that the boat was still about the same distance out of the water.
Meanwhile Obed Chute made his appearance, and Windham, catching sight of him, briefly explained every thing to him. At once all Obed's most generous sympathies were roused. He took the glass, and eagerly scrutinized the vessel. He recognized it at once, as Windham had, to be an English yacht; he saw also that it was waterlogged, and he saw the figure at the mast. But the figure was no longer standing erect, or waving hands, or making despairing signals. It had fallen, and lay now crouched in a heap at the foot of the mast. This Windham also saw. He conjectured what the cause of this might be. He thought that this poor creature had kept up her signals while the steamer was passing, until at last it had gone beyond, and seemed to be leaving her. Then hope and strength failed, and she sank down senseless. It was easy to understand all this, and nothing could be conceived of more touching in its mute eloquence than this prostrate figure, whose distant attitudes had told so tragical a story. Now all this excited Windham still more, for he felt more than ever that he was the savior of this woman's life. Fate had sent her across his path--had given her life to him. He only had been the cause why she should not perish unseen and unknown. This part which he had been called on to play of savior and rescuer--this sudden vision of woe and despair appealing to his mercy for aid--had chased away all customary thoughts, so that now his one idea was to complete his work, and save this poor castaway.
But meanwhile he had not been idle. The captain, who had been so strangely changed by a few words, had called up the sailors, and in an instant the fact was known to the whole ship's company that they were going to save a woman in distress. The gallant fellows, like true sailors, entered into the spirit of the time with the greatest ardor. A boat was got ready to be lowered, Windham jumped in, Chute followed, and half a dozen sailors took the oars. In a short time the steamer had come up to the place. She stopped; the boat was lowered; down went the oars into the water; and away sped the boat toward the schooner. Obed Chute steered. Windham was in the bow, looking eagerly at the schooner, which lay there in the same condition as before. The sun was now just rising, and throwing its radiant beams over the sea. The prostrate figure lay at the foot of the mast.
Rapidly the distance between the boat and the schooner was lessened by the vigorous strokes of the seamen. They themselves felt an interest in the result only less than that of Windham. Nearer and nearer they came. At length the boat touched the schooner, and Windham, who was in the bow, leaped on board. He hurried to the prostrate figure. He stooped down, and with a strange unaccountable tenderness and reverence he took her in his arms and raised her up. Perhaps it was only the reverence which any great calamity may excite toward the one that experiences such calamity; perhaps it was something more profound, more inexplicable--the outgoing of the soul--which may sometimes have a forecast of more than may be indicated to the material senses. This may seem like mysticism, but it is not intended as such. It is merely a statement of the well-known fact that sometimes, under certain circumstances, there arise within us unaccountable presentiments and forebodings, which seem to anticipate the actual future.
Windham then stooped down, and thus tenderly and reverently raised up the figure of the woman. The sun was still rising and gleaming over the waters, and gleaming thus, it threw its full rays into the face of the one whom he held supported in his arms, whose head was thrown back as it lay on his breast, and was upturned so that he could see it plainly.
And never, in all his dreams, had any face appeared before him which bore so rare and radiant a beauty as this one of the mysterious stranger whom he had rescued. The complexion was of a rich olive, and still kept its hue where another would have been changed to the pallor of death; the closed eyes were fringed with long heavy lashes; the eyebrows were thin, and loftily arched; the hair was full of waves and undulations, black as night, gleaming with its jetty gloss in the sun's rays, and in its disorder falling in rich luxuriant masses over the arms and the shoulder of him who supported her. The features were exquisitely beautiful; her nose a slight departure from the Grecian; her lips small and exquisitely shapen; her chin rounded faultlessly. The face was thinner than it might have been, like the face of youth and beauty in the midst of sorrow; but the thinness was not emaciation; it had but refined and spiritualized those matchless outlines, giving to them not the voluptuous beauty of the Greek ideal, but rather the angelic or saintly beauty of the medieval. She was young too, and the bloom and freshness of youth were there beneath all the sorrow and the grief. More than this, the refined grace of that face, the nobility of those features, the stamp of high breeding which was visible in every lineament, showed at once that she could be no common person. This was no fisherman's wife--no peasant girl, but some one of high rank and breeding--some one whose dress proclaimed her station, even if her features had told him nothing.
"My God!" exclaimed Windham, in bewilderment. "Who is she? How came she here? What is the meaning of it?"
But there was no time to be lost in wonder or in vague conjectures. The girl was senseless. It was necessary at once to put her under careful treatment. For a moment Windham lingered, gazing upon that sad and exquisite face; and then raising her in his arms, he went back to the boat. "Give way, lads!" he cried; and the sailors, who saw it all, pulled with a will. They were soon back again. The senseless one was lifted into the steamer. Windham carried her in his own arms to the cabin, and placed her tenderly in a berth, and committed her to the care of the stewardess. Then he waited impatiently for news of her recovery.
Obed Chute, however, insisted on going back to the schooner for the sake of making a general investigation of the vessel. On going on board he found that she was water-logged. She seemed to have been kept afloat either by her cargo, or else by some peculiarity in her construction, which rendered her incapable of sinking. He tore open the hatchway, and pushing an oar down, he saw that there was no cargo, so that it must have been the construction of the vessel which kept her afloat. What that was, he could not then find out. He was compelled, therefore, to leave the question unsettled for the present, and he took refuge in the thought that the one who was rescued might be able to solve the mystery. This allayed for a time his eager curiosity. But he determined to save the schooner, so as to examine it afterward at his leisure. A hasty survey of the cabins, into which he plunged, showed nothing whatever, and so he was compelled to postpone this for the present. But he had a line made fast between the steamer and the schooner, and the latter was thus towed all the way to Marseilles. It showed no signs of sinking, but kept afloat bravely, and reached the port of destination in about the same condition in which it had been first found.
The stewardess treated the stranger with the utmost kindness and the tenderest solicitude, and, at length, the one who had thus been so strangely rescued came out of that senselessness into which she had been thrown by the loss of the hope of rescue. On reviving she told a brief story. She said that she was English, that her name was Lorton, and that she had been traveling to Marseilles in her own yacht. That the day before, on awaking, she found the yacht full of water and abandoned. She had been a day and a night alone in the vessel, without either food or shelter. She had suffered much, and was in extreme prostration, both of mind and body. But her strongest desire was to get to Naples, for her sister was there in ill health, and she had been making the journey to visit her.
Windham Tenderly And Reverently Raised Her.
[Illustration: Windham Tenderly And Reverently Raised Her.]
Windham and Obed Chnte heard this very strange narrative from the stewardess, and talked it over between themselves, considering it in all its bearings. The opinion of each of them was that there had been foul play somewhere. But then the question arose: why should there have been foul play upon an innocent young girl like this? She was an English lady, evidently of the higher classes; her look was certainly foreign, but her English accent was perfect. In her simple story she seemed to have concealed nothing. The exquisite beauty of the young girl had filled the minds of both of these men with a strong desire to find out the cause of her wrongs, and to avenge her. But how to do so was the difficulty. Windham had important business in England which demanded immediate attention, and would hardly allow him to delay more than a few days. Obed Chute, on the contrary, had plenty of time, but did not feel like trying to intrude himself on her confidence. Yet her distress and desolation had an eloquence which swayed both of these men from their common purposes, and each determined to postpone other designs, and do all that was possible for her.
In spite of an hour's delay in rescuing Miss Lorton, the steamer arrived at Marseilles at nearly the usual time, and the question arose, what was to be done with the one that they had rescued? Windham could do nothing; but Obed Chute could do something, and did do it. The young lady was able now to sit up in the saloon, and here it was that Obed Chute waited upon her.
"Have you any friends in Marseilles?" he asked, in a voice full of kindly sympathy.
"No," said Zillah, in a mournful voice; "none nearer than Naples."
"I have my family here, ma'am," said Obed. "I am an American and a gentleman. If you have no friends, would you feel any objection to stay with us while you are here? My family consists of my sister, two children, and some servants. We are going to Italy as soon as possible, and if you have no objection we can take you there with us--to Naples--to your sister."
Zillah looked up at the large honest face, whose kindly eyes beamed down upon her with parental pity, and she read in that face the expression of a noble and loyal nature.
"You are very--very kind," said she, in a faltering voice. "You will lay me under very great obligations. Yes, Sir, I accept your kind offer. I shall be only too happy to put myself under your protection. I will go with you, and may Heaven bless you!"