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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..05de006 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63964 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63964) diff --git a/old/63964-0.txt b/old/63964-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dd71b80..0000000 --- a/old/63964-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6588 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Convict Ship, Volume 1 (of 3), by William Clark Russell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Convict Ship, Volume 1 (of 3) - -Author: William Clark Russell - -Release Date: December 5, 2020 [eBook #63964] -[Most recently updated: April 16, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: David E. Brown and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONVICT SHIP, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -THE CONVICT SHIP - -VOL. I. - - - - - NEW LIBRARY NOVELS. - - - UNDER SEALED ORDERS. By GRANT ALLEN. 3 vols. - - A LONDON LEGEND. By JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY. 3 vols. - - THE TREMLETT DIAMONDS. By ALAN ST. AUBYN. 2 vols. - - THE DRIFT OF FATE. By DORA RUSSELL. 3 vols. - - BEYOND THE DREAMS OF AVARICE. By WALTER BESANT. 1 vol. - - THE MINOR CHORD. By J. MITCHELL CHAPPLE. 1 vol. - - HIS VANISHED STAR. By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. 1 vol. - - ROMANCES OF THE OLD SERAGLIO. By H. N. CRELLIN. 1 vol. - - VILLAGE TALES AND JUNGLE TRAGEDIES. By B. M. CROKER. 1 vol. - - MADAME SANS-GÊNE. By E. LEPELLETIER. 1 vol. - - MOUNT DESPAIR. By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 1 vol. - - THE PHANTOM DEATH. By W. CLARK RUSSELL. 1 vol. - - THE PRINCE OF BALKISTAN. By ALLEN UPWARD. 1 vol. - - - LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY. - - - - - THE CONVICT SHIP - - - BY - - W. CLARK RUSSELL - - AUTHOR OF - ‘THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR’ ‘MY SHIPMATE LOUISE’ - ‘THE PHANTOM DEATH’ ETC. - - - [Illustration] - - - IN THREE VOLUMES--VOL. I. - - - London - CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY - 1895 - - - - - PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - LONDON - - - - - CONTENTS - OF - THE FIRST VOLUME - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. HER FATHER’S DEATH 1 - - II. HER MEMORIES 9 - - III. HER MOTHER DIES 21 - - IV. SHE MEETS CAPTAIN BUTLER 38 - - V. SHE VISITS THE ‘CHILDE HAROLD’ 55 - - VI. SHE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE 69 - - VII. SHE PARTS WITH HER SWEETHEART 88 - - VIII. SHE RECEIVES DREADFUL NEWS 105 - - IX. SHE VISITS NEWGATE 119 - - X. SHE ATTENDS HER SWEETHEART’S TRIAL 140 - - XI. SHE VISITS H.M.S. ‘WARRIOR’ 163 - - XII. SHE RAMBLES WITH HER COUSIN 192 - - XIII. SHE CONCEIVES A STRANGE IDEA 205 - - XIV. SHE DRESSES AS A BOY 220 - - XV. SHE TAKES A LODGING AT WOOLWICH 244 - - XVI. SHE HIDES AS A STOWAWAY 272 - - XVII. HER SUFFERINGS IN THE HOLD 298 - - - - -THE CONVICT SHIP - - - - -CHAPTER I - -HER FATHER’S DEATH - - -I was in my twenty-fourth year when I underwent the tragic and amazing -experiences which, with the help of a friend, I propose to relate in -these pages. I am now seventy-seven; but I am in good health and enjoy -all my faculties, saving my hearing; my memory is brisk, and my friends -find it very faithful, and what is here set down you may accept as the -truth. - -It is long ago since the last convict ship sailed away from these -shores with her horrid burden of guilt and grief and passions of a -hundred devilish sorts; I don’t know how long it is since the last of -the convict ships passed down Channel on her way to colonies which -were like to become a sort of shambles--for they were hanging half a -score of men a day for murder in those times--if this horrid commerce -in felons had not ended; when that ship had weighed and sailed she -passed away to return no more as a prison craft. When she faded out of -sight she was a vanished type, and when she climbed, moon-like, above -the horizon under full breast of shining canvas, she was an honest ship -again, never more to be debauched by opportunities to tender for the -transport of criminals. - -Before I lift the curtain upon my ship, the Convict Ship in which I -sailed, I must hold you in talk concerning some matters which go before -the sailing of the vessel; for I have to explain how it came about that -I, a woman, was on board of a convict ship full of male malefactors. - -I was born in the parish of Stepney in the year 1814. My father was Mr. -Benjamin Johnstone, a well-known man--locally, I mean--in his day. He -had been put to sea as a boy very young; had risen steadily and made -his way to command, saved money with a liberal thriftiness that enabled -him to enjoy life modestly and to hold the respect of his friends. He -built a little ship for a venture, did well, bought or built a second, -and at the age of forty-five owned a fleet of four or five coasters, -all trading out of the Thames. He purchased a house at Stepney for the -convenience of the district. - -At Stepney in my young days lived many respectable families, and I -don’t doubt that many respectable families still live at Stepney; -but it is true that all that part of London has sunk since I was a -little girl, and the sort of people who flourished in the east in the -beginning of the century have now gone west with the jerry trowel and -the nine-inch wall. My father’s house in Stepney might have been a -lord’s in its time. It was strong as a fortress, cosy and homely, rich -within doors with the colouring of age. It still stands; I visited it -last year, but it is no longer a private house. - -I was about twelve years old when my father died. The manner of his -going was very sudden and fearful, and, old as I am, when I think of -it I feel afraid, so haunting is youthful impression, the shock of it -often trembling through the longest years into the last beats of one’s -heart. My cousin, Will Johnstone, had been brought over from his house -near the Tower to spend the afternoon with me. He was between six -and seven years of age, a fine little manly boy, the only son of my -father’s brother, William Johnstone, a lawyer, whose house and office -were near the Tower. This little Will and I sat at the table in the -parlour, playing at some game, and very noisy. - -It was a November afternoon, the atmosphere of a true London -sullenness; the fire burnt heartily, and the walls were merry with -the dance of the flames, and the candle stood unlighted upon the -mantelpiece. My father sat in an arm-chair close to the fire; he smoked -a long clay pipe, and his eyes were fixed upon the glowing coals. He -was a handsome man; I have his image before me. He had the completest -air of a sailor that is to be figured. I seldom see such faces as -his now. But then faces belong to times. My father’s belonged to his -century; and you would seek for it there and not before nor after. - -He sat with his legs crossed and his eyes upon the fire. Suddenly -looking around, he cried, with some temper: ‘Not so much noise, little -’uns! not so much noise, or you’ll have to go to bed.’ Then his face -relaxed, and I, with my child’s eyes, saw he was sorry for having -spoken so sharply. ‘Little ones,’ said he softly, ‘let’s have a game. -Let’s see who can go to sleep first and keep asleep longest;’ and -dropping his hand so as to bring the pipe from his mouth, he sank his -chin and shut his eyes, and snored once or twice as a make-believe. - -I sank my head and closed my eyes as father had, and little Will -shammed to be asleep. We were silent a minute or more. The pipe then -fell from my father’s hand and lay in halves upon the floor. There was -nothing in this. It was a common clay pipe, and father would break -such things pretty nearly as often as he smoked them. I now peeped at -Will; he was peeping at me. The child giggled, and burst into a little -half-suffocated laugh. - -‘Hush!’ said I; and now, being weary of this sort of sport, I looked at -father and cried out: ‘I can’t sleep any longer.’ - -He never answered, so I stepped round the table to his chair to wake -him up, and pulled him by the arm, and still he would not answer. I -climbed upon his knee, and just then a bright gas flame spurted out of -a lump of coal, and I saw his face very clearly. What was there in it -to acquaint my childish sight with the thing that had come to him? I -fell from his knee and ran to the door, and shrieked for mother. She -was in the next room, or back parlour, talking with a woman hired to -sew. - -‘Mother,’ said I, ‘father can’t wake up.’ - -‘What do you mean, Marian? Where is he?’ - -‘We have been playing at sleep, and he can’t wake up,’ said I, and I -began to cry. - -She went into the room with a fear and wildness in her manner, stopped -to lean upon the table and look at her husband, and in that pause -I see her now, though it did not pass beyond the space of a few -heart-beats. She was about thirty-five years of age, a very fine figure -of a woman indeed, with a vast profusion of yellow hair, of which she -was exceedingly vain, often changing the fashion of wearing it two -and three times in a week. The firelight was upon her face, and she -showed like marble as she gazed at father with a hand under her left -breast. Then running up to him she looked close, cried out, and fell -in a swoon upon the floor. Will and I were horribly frightened, and -screamed together. This brought the servants and the sewing-woman to -us. A doctor was sent for, and when he arrived and examined father he -pronounced him dead. - -It was characteristic of my mother that she should faint when she -looked at my father and believed him dead, though for all she knew he -might have been in a fit, wanting instant attention to preserve him -from death. She was a tender mother, and, I believe, did her best to -be a good wife; but she had not strength of character; she was pretty -and thought herself beautiful, and was more easily to be cheated by -flatterers than any woman I ever met in my life. Her weakness in this -way was the cause of much unhappiness to me, of many a bitter secret -tear some years after my father’s death, as I will explain a little way -farther on. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HER MEMORIES - - -I missed my father out of my life as though the sun had gone out of the -heavens. I had been far more of a companion to him than my mother. I -had venerated him as something superior to all created beings; which, -I dare say, was not a little owing to his stories of the sea, to the -various wonders he was able to recount, and to his descriptions of -distant lands, as remote as the stars to my young imagination. The -company he kept was nearly wholly composed of sailors, sea captains, -either retired or actively employed. My mother would often be out -visiting, passing an evening at a card party, or at a dance at some -neighbour’s when our parlour, which was long and wide, but low-ceiled, -like a ship’s cabin, would be half-full of father’s nautical friends. -I’d sit and listen then to their talk; for mother being absent there’d -be nobody to bid me go to bed--as to father, he would have let me sit -until he went to bed himself. Thus it was I heard so much talk of the -sea, that I was able to discourse on ships and rigging, on high seas -and gales of wind, on icebergs, whales and uncharted shoals, as though -I had never lived out of a forecastle. Indeed, I knew too much. I -was often pert, lifted up my shrill voice in correction of some old -captain, and so would raise a very thunder of laughter and applause in -the room. - -Again, I was often my father’s companion in the trips he made in his -own coasters down the river. Those excursions were the golden hours of -my childhood. We’d row on board a little brig weighing from the Pool, -and stay in the ship till we were off Gravesend, where we’d land. -Mother never joined us. When the wind caused the vessel to lay over she -said it made her sick. I dare say it did. - -Father’s little fleet was mainly composed of coasters, as I have said, -grimy of deck for the most part, with a strong smell of the bilge in -the atmosphere of their darksome cabins, wagons in shape and staggerers -in their gait, with a lean and coaly look aloft as they heeled, black -and gaunt, from bank to bank of the river over the smooth stream of -ebb or flood. But those trips made choice hours to me, and are sweeter -than the memories of sport in the summer grass and of hunts in the rank -growths of ditches and the country hedge. - -I remember that during one of these trips we nearly ran down a large -boat when we were not very far from Woolwich, lying over with the wind -ahead and the water spitting briskly at our forefoot. I went to the -side to look; she was a big boat with soldiers in her, and full of -strange-looking men in gray clothes and a sort of Scotch cap. I saw the -irons upon those men as the boat swept close past and heard the clank -of the chains as the wretches shrank or started in terror at the sight -of the mass of our bare, black hull, rolling like a storm-cloud almost -right over them. Father was below. I asked Mr. Smears, the master of -the brig, who stood close alongside of me in a tall, rusty hat and a -stout coat that descended to within a foot of his heels, what boat that -was. - -‘A convict boat, missy,’ he answered. - -‘What are those people in her?’ - -‘Rogues all, missy--rogues all.’ - -‘Where are they going to?’ said I. - -He pointed to a great wooden hulk that lay off Woolwich, the hull of a -man-of-war, made hideous by a variety of deck erections, and by rows of -linen fluttering betwixt the poles which rose out of her decks. - -‘That’s where they’re going to,’ said Mr. Smears. ‘And shall I tell ’ee -who’s the skipper of that craft? ’Taint no Government bloke--let ne’er -a man believe it! The skipper’s name begins with a D and ends with a -h-L. I’m not going to say more, missy. Father’ll supply ye with the -missing letters. Yond skipper’s name begins with a D and ends with a -h-L, and them livelies in gray,’ said he, nodding toward the boat we -had nearly run down, ‘are his young ’uns, and they do credit to their -parient, if looks ain’t lies.’ - -Then, starting up, he cried: ‘Ready about, lads!’ and a moment later -the helm was put down and our canvas was wildly shaking, and then -the brig heeled over and with steady sails ripped through the yellow -lustrous surface of the river’s breast on her slanting course down -Woolwich Reach. - -I did not long look at the great hull of the old man-of-war and her -hideous deck erections and her flapping prison linen. I was a child, -with a child’s eye for beauty, and my gaze would quickly wander from -the prison-ship which I was altogether too young to quicken and inform -with the loathsome fascination one finds in all such abodes of human -crime and miserable mortal distress; I say my eye would quickly turn -from that horrible floating jail to the fifty sights of movement and -colour round about; to the hoy with its cargo of passengers from -Margate and a fiddle and a harp making music in the bows lazily -stemming Londonward; to the barge going away with the tide, sending a -scent of rich country across the wind from its lofty cargo of hay on -whose summit lies a man on his back, sound asleep; to the large ship -fresh from the other side of the world with sailors dangling aloft, -and a merry echo of capstanpawls timing a little crowd of men running -round and round her forecastle; the wife of the captain aft talking to -a waterman in a wherry over the side, and the captain himself, baked -brown by the suns of three or four great oceans, excitedly stepping -from rail to rail in a walk of impassioned anxiety and impatience. - -I have the words, you see! Does the language of the deep sound strange -in the mouth of a woman? The wives and daughters of military men may -deliver themselves in the speech of the barracks and nobody thinks -anything of it. Why should not the daughter of a sailor and the wife -of a sailor possess the language of her father and of her husband’s -profession, and talk it whenever the need arises without raising wonder? - -After my father’s death, his little fleet of ships were sold, in -accordance with the direction of his will. The thing was bungled. My -mother was a poor woman of business. She fell out with my uncle, -William Johnstone, over the sale of the vessels, and put the business -in the hands of a broker, who robbed us. Yet, when the estate was -realised, we were pretty well to do. The freehold in Stepney was to -come to me at the death of my mother. Under my father’s will there was -a settlement that secured me three hundred pounds a year. The trustees -were two sea-captains. My mother was well provided for; but one saw, by -the terms of my father’s will, that he had no confidence in her. Yet he -did not stipulate that she should not marry again; though, had I been -older at the time, I should have looked for some condition of the sort, -for he was very jealous. In fine, and what I have to relate obliges me -to dwell upon these trumpery particulars, my father’s will gave me his -house at my mother’s death, and secured three hundred pounds a year -to me in any case when I should become of age or on my marriage, the -interest meanwhile to grow and be mine; and then, at my mother’s death, -a portion of what had been willed to her was to revert to me, and the -remainder was to be distributed amongst two or three poor and distant -relations and a few charities, all of them maritime. - -Thus, at my father’s death, I might fairly have been described by a -forward-looking eye as what you would call a tolerably fair match; -and at the age of seventeen I deserved to be thought so, not only -because of my money and the pleasant old house that would be mine, but -because of my good looks. At seventy-seven there can be no vanity in -retrospect. Moreover, since this story is to be told, you shall have -the whole truth. At seventeen, then, I was a tall, strong, well-made -girl, broad, but in proportion, and they used to tell me that I carried -my figure with the grace of a professional dancer. I was exactly -opposite to my mother in colour. My hair was black as the wing of -a raven; my eyes very black and filled with a strong light, which -brightened to a look of fever in times of excitement; my complexion -was pale but clear; my teeth large, white, and regular, and I showed -them much in talking and laughing. I’ll not deny that my charms--and -handsome I truly was--inclined to coarseness; by which I mean that they -leaned toward the manly rather than the womanly side. My voice was a -contralto, and when I sang I would sink to a note that was reckoned -uncommonly deep for a girl. - -My father had been dead about five years, when, one afternoon, my -mother came to me in my bedroom. She was in her bonnet and outdoor -clothes, and I instantly noticed an agitation in her manner as she sat -down beside the dressing-table and looked at me. I forget what I was -about, but I recollect ceasing in it and standing up with my hands -clasped, whilst I viewed her anxiously and with misgivings. - -‘Marian,’ said she, with a forced smile, ‘I have come to give you a bit -of news.’ - -‘What, mother?’ - -‘My hand has been asked in marriage, dear, and I have accepted.’ - -I felt the blood rush to my face, and then I turned cold, and, pulling -a chair to me, sat down, but I did not speak. - -‘Do you hear me, child?’ - -‘Your hand has been asked in marriage?’ said I. ‘By whom, mother?’ - -‘By Mr. Stanford,’ she answered, lowering her voice and sinking her -eyes. - -‘Mr. Stanford?’ I cried. ‘The doctor?’ - -‘Whom else?’ she replied, looking at me again and forcing another smile. - -I was thunderstruck. Never for an instant had I suspected that there -was more between them than such commonplace, matter-of-fact friendship -as may exist between a medical man and those whom he attends. Mr. -Stanford was the doctor one of the servants had run for when my -father died. He had attended us during the preceding year, and he had -prescribed for mother and me since, so that at this date we had known -him six years. He was a widower and childless, and lived within ten -minutes’ walk of our house. Occasionally he had looked in upon us, and -sat during an evening for an hour or so; sometimes he had dined with us -and we with him; but never had I observed any sort of behaviour in him -or mother to hint at what was coming--at what, indeed, had now come. - -I should be needlessly detaining you from my own story to repeat all -that passed between my mother and me on this occasion. I was beside -myself with anger, mortification, jealousy--for I was jealous of my -father’s memory, abhorred the thought of his place being taken in his -own house and in the affection of the wife whom he had loved, by such a -man as Mr. Stanford. Nay, but it would have been all the same had Mr. -Stanford been the greatest nobleman or the first character in Europe. -I should have abominated him as an intruder, and have yearned for the -hands of a man to toss him out o’ window should he dare to occupy a -house in which my father was as real a presence to my heart as though -he were still alive and could kiss me and make me presents and carry -me away out of the gloomy streets into the shining holiday road of the -river. - -My mother reproached me, and pleaded and wept. The weakness of her poor -heart, God rest her, was very visible at this time. She clung to me -and held me to her, imploring me, as her only child, to consider how -lonely she was, how sadly she stood in need of a protector, how good -it would be for us both to have Mr. Stanford to watch over us! I broke -away from her with a wet scarlet face and heaving bosom, and told her -that if Mr. Stanford took my father’s place I would cease to love or -even to think of her as my mother. We both cried bitterly, and raised -our voices and talked together as most women would at such a moment, -not knowing what each other said. I do not condemn myself. I look back -and hold that I was right to stand up for the memory of my beloved -father, even to rage as I did against my mother’s resolution to marry -Mr. Stanford. I wondered at her; indeed, I was shocked. I was young and -ardent and romantic, had a girl’s notions of the loyalty of love and -the obligations of keeping sacred the memory and the place of one who -had been faithful and tender, who had nobly done his duty to his wife -and child. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -HER MOTHER DIES - - -At the age of seventeen I considered myself qualified to form a -judgment of men, and I was amazed and indeed disgusted that my mother -should see anything in Mr. Stanford to please her. He and my father -were at the opposite ends of the sex, as far removed as the bows from -the stern of a ship. He was a spare and narrow man, pale as veal, in -complexion sandy, the expression of his countenance hard and acid, his -eyes large and moist and the larger and moister for the magnifying -spectacles he wore. But my mother would have her way, and a week after -she had given me the news of the doctor’s offer they were privately -married. - -My life from this date was one of constant and secret unhappiness. I -could never answer Mr. Stanford with any approach to civility without -a violent effort. He strove at first to make friends with me, then gave -up and took no more heed of me than had I been a shadow at the table -or about the house. Yet, sometimes, I would make him pretty rudely and -severely feel that he was an intruder, an abomination in my sight, a -scandalous illustration of my mother’s weakness of nature; and that -was if ever he opened his lips about my father. I never suffered him -to mention my father’s name in my presence. He might be about to speak -intending to praise, designing every manner of civility toward the -memory of the dead; I minded him not; if he named my father I insulted -him, and on two or three occasions forced him to quit the table, so -strong and fiery was the injurious language I plied him with. My mother -wept, threatened to swoon, did swoon once, and our home promised to -become as wretched and clamorous as a lunatic asylum. - -As an example of my hatred, not so much of the man as of his assumption -of my father’s place: he brought his door-plate and his lamp from his -house, and when I saw his plate upon the door that my father used to -go in and out of I ran to a carpenter who lived a few streets off, -brought him back with his tools, and ordered him to remove the plate, -which I threw into the kitchen sink for the cook to find and report to -her master. - -Well, at the end of ten months, my mother died in childbed. The infant -lived. It was a girl. My mother died; and when I went to her bedside -and viewed her dead face, sweet in its everlasting sleep, for the look -and wear of ten or fifteen years seemed to have been brushed off her -countenance by the hand of death, I thought to myself: if she has gone -to meet father, how will she excuse herself for her disloyalty? And -then the little new-born babe that was in the next room began to cry, -and I came away from that death-bed with tearless eyes and sat in my -bedroom, thinking without weeping. - -I have spoken of my uncle, William Johnstone, a lawyer, who lived -in the neighbourhood of the Tower, and whose office was in his own -dwelling-house. He, like my father, had but one child, Will Johnstone, -that little fellow who was playing with me when my father died. Mr. -Johnstone’s was a very comfortable house; it afterward passed into the -hands of a chart-seller. His clients were nearly wholly composed of -sea-going people. He was said to be very learned in maritime law; he -was much consulted by masters and mates with grievances, and at his -house, as at my father’s formerly, you’d meet few people who did not -follow the ocean or did not do business with seafarers. - -Mrs. Johnstone was three or four years older than her husband. She -was a plain, homely, thoroughly good-hearted woman, incapable of an -ill-natured thought; one of those few people who are content to be as -God made them. During my mother’s brief married life with her second -husband I was constantly with my aunt, and I believe I should have -lived with her wholly but for my determination that my stepfather, the -doctor, should not flatter himself he had sickened me out of my own -home. Will was at this time at the Bluecoat School, laying in a stock -of Latin and Greek for the fishes; for the lad was resolved to go to -sea. His father, indeed, wished him to adopt that calling, and would -say: ‘What is the good of a cargo of learning the whole of which will -be thrown up overboard the first dirty night down Channel?’ - -When mother died, my aunt entreated me to live with her and leave the -doctor alone in his glory. My answer was: No, I should not think of -leaving my own home if my stepfather were out of it, and I was not -to be driven out because he chose to stay. I had the power to turn -him out, and should have done so but for the baby. The little one was -my mother’s; I could not have turned a child of my mother’s out of a -home that had been my mother’s. So I continued to live in the home -that had come to me from my father. I occupied a set of rooms over -the parlour-floor and took my meals in my own apartments, where I was -attended by a maid who waited upon me and upon nobody else. - -The child was called after my mother, and her name was mine--Marian. If -in passing up or down stairs I met the little creature in its nurse’s -arms, I would take it and kiss it, perhaps, and toss it a moment or -two and then go my way. God forgive me, I could never bring myself to -love that child. I never could think of it as my mother’s, but as Mr. -Stanford’s. The sight, the sound of it would bring all my father into -my heart, and I’d fall into a sort of passion merely in thinking that -the memory of such a man should have been betrayed. - -I dare say you will consider all this as an excess of loyalty in me. -But loyal even to exaggeration my nature was to those I loved. It is no -boast--merely a saying which this tale should justify. - -After the death of my mother, the money paid to me through my trustees -rose to an income of hard upon five hundred a year. I rejoice to say -that Mr. Stanford got not one penny. My mother had been without the -power to will away a farthing of what my father had left her. Otherwise -I don’t doubt the doctor would have come off with something more -substantial than a ten-month memory and my sullen toleration of his -plate upon the door. - -The equivalent in these times of five hundred a year would in those be -about seven hundred; I was, therefore, a fortune and a fine, handsome -young woman besides; and you will naturally ask: Had I any sweethearts, -lovers, followers? To tell you the truth, I never gave men nor marriage -a thought. I had friends in the neighbourhood, and I went among them, -and I was also much at my aunt’s, and not very easily, therefore, to -be caught at home by any gentleman with an eye to a fine girl and an -independency. Add likewise to my visiting, a great love of solitary -rambling. I’d take a boat at Wapping and pass nearly a whole day upon -the river, stepping ashore, perhaps, at some convenient landing-stairs -or stage for a meal, and then returning to the wherry. Ah, those -were delicious jaunts! They stand next in my memory in sweetness and -happiness to those father had carried me on. I made nothing of being -alone, and nobody took any notice of me. I was affronted but once, -and that was by a Wapping waterman who claimed that I had promised to -use his boat, which was false. He was a poor creature, and nothing -but the modesty of my sex hindered me from beating him with the short -stout stick, silver-headed, with lead under the silver, that I always -carried with me when I went alone. Another waterman whom I employed -came up while the low fellow was slanging me, whipped off his coat like -lightning and in five minutes blacked up both his opponent’s eyes. This -was punishment enough, and I was satisfied; and, as a reward, paid the -chivalrous man double fare and made a point to hire his boat afterwards. - -Or I would take my passage in a Calais steamer, land at Gravesend, or -perhaps higher up, and wander about, perfectly happy in being alone, -and with eyes and thoughts for nothing but the beauties of the country -and the bright scene of the river. Often I was away for two and three -days together; but on these occasions I always chose an inn where I -was known, where I could depend upon the comfort of the entertainment -and the security of the house; where the landlady would welcome me as -a friend, and provide me for the night with such little conveniences -as I had left my home without. Everything was caprice with me in those -days. I did what I liked, went where I liked, knew no master. My aunt -once or twice, in her mild way, questioned the propriety of a young -woman acting as I did, but my uncle stood up for me, pointed out that -my blood was full of the old roaming instincts of my father; that I was -quite old enough and strong enough to take care of myself; that what I -did was my notion of enjoyment, and that I was in the right to be happy. - -‘Keep on the wing while you can,’ said he. ‘Some of these days a big -chap called a husband will come along, with a pair of shears in his -hand, and the rest will be short farmyard hops.’ - -On the other hand, my stepfather professed to be scandalised by my -conduct. He marched into my room one day, after I had spent the night -alone at Gravesend, and asked leave to have a serious talk with me. -But, on his beginning to tell me that I was not acting with that sort -of decorum, with that regard to social observances, which is always -expected and looked for in a young lady, I walked out of the room. He -then addressed a long letter to me. His drift was still decorum and -social observances, and what would his patients think. _I_ thought of -my father and how _he_ would deal with this fellow, who was daring -enough to teach me how to conduct myself, and in a passion I tore the -letter in halves, slipped the pieces into an envelope, on which I -wrote, ‘Your advice is as objectionable as your company,’ and bade my -maid put the letter on the table of the room in which he received his -patients. - -But this is not telling you whether I had lovers, sweethearts, -followers, or not. I have no room to go into that matter here; yet, -let me name two young gentlemen. The first was the son of one of my -trustees, Captain Galloway, who lived at Shadwell. The youth was -good-looking, and had a pleasant, easy manner; he had been well -educated, and at this time held some post of small consequence in the -London Docks. He hung about me much, contrived to meet me at friends’ -houses, often called, and managed sometimes to discover whither I -had gone on a ramble, and to meet me as though by accident. I never -doubted that I owed a good deal of this lad’s attention to old Captain -Galloway’s fatherly advice. I laughed in my sleeve at the poor boy, -though I was always gentle and kind to him; and if I never gave him -any marked encouragement, for his father’s sake I took care never to -pain or in any way disconcert him; until one evening, happening to be -at a quadrille party, to which he had been invited, though he did not -attend, a pretty, sad-faced young creature was pointed out to me as -a girl whom Jim Galloway had jilted so provokingly as to earn him a -caning at the hands of the young lady’s brother. This was enough for -me. I first made sure that the story was true, and when next I met my -youthful admirer I took him on one side, and, having told him what I -had heard, informed him that he was a wicked, dangerous boy, unfit -for the society of ladies, and, affecting a great air of indignation, -I asked if by his hanging about me he did not intend to make a fool -of me too. What passed put an end to the young gentleman’s addresses; -but I always regret that this affair should have occasioned a coolness -between Captain Galloway and myself. - -My second suitor, or follower, so to term the fellow, was no less a -person than my stepfather’s nephew. I had been spending my twenty-first -birthday at my aunt’s, and on my return home Mr. Stanford sent up word -to know if I would see him. I was in a good humour, and told the maid -to ask my stepfather up. His motive in visiting me was to get me to -allow him to invite his nephew to stay in the house. He wished to make -his nephew’s better acquaintance. The youth was studying medicine, and -Mr. Stanford believed a time might come when it would be convenient to -take him into partnership. I told him to ask his nephew and welcome. - -‘What’s the gentleman’s name?’ said I. - -‘Edward Potter,’ said he. - -In two or three days’ time Mr. Edward Potter drove up in a hackney -coach. He brought a quantity of luggage, insomuch that I reckoned the -partnership might not be so far off as my stepfather had hinted. Mr. -Potter was a very corpulent young man; his neck was formed of rings of -fat, and his small-clothes and arm sleeves sheathed his limbs as tight -as a bladder holds lard. Nothing remarkable happened for some time, -and then I discovered that this pursy young man was beginning to pay -me some attention. To be sure, his opportunities in this way were few; -he dared not enter my rooms without being invited, and then again, as -you know, I was much away from home. Yet he would contrive to waylay -me on the stairs and hold me in conversation, and he once went to the -length of snatching up his hat and passing with me into the street, -and walking with me down the Commercial Road to as far as Whitechapel, -where I managed to shake him off. - -One afternoon, on going downstairs, I heard the sound of voices in the -parlour. The door stood ajar; my name was uttered; and the sound of it -arrested my steps. The voices within were those of Mr. Stanford and his -nephew, who were still at table, lingering over their wine. - -‘Yes, she has the temper of a devil,’ said my stepfather. ‘I love her -so exceedingly that I’d like nothing better than to have her for a -patient. But the wench’s constitution is as sound as her fortune. Why -don’t you go ahead with her?’ - -‘She’s plaguy hard to get at,’ said Mr. Potter, in his strange voice, -as though his mouth was full of grease. - -‘You don’t shove enough,’ said his uncle. ‘A woman of her sort isn’t to -be won by staring and breathing hard. Go for her boldly. Blunder into -the sitting-room sometimes, follow her when she goes out and meet her -round the next corner. It was the chance I spoke to your mother about -and that you’re here for. She means five hundred a year and this house. -You’ll need to kill or cure scores this way to earn five hundred a -year.’ - -‘It’s like taking a naked light into a powder magazine to talk to her,’ -said Mr. Potter. ‘Every look she gives one is a sort of explosion. I -always feel like wishing that the road may be clear when I address her.’ - -‘You’re too fat for business,’ said his uncle. ‘I feared so. Give me a -lean and hungry man for spirit. Cæsar knew Cassius, and I know you.’ - -I guessed it was Mr. Potter who thumped the table. - -‘Give me some time and you’ll see,’ he said. ‘But in proportion as -she troubles me on this side so I’ll give it her on t’other. Only let -me get her, and for all your sneers at my figure I’ll have her on her -knees to you and me within a month. Will you bet?’ and I heard him -pound the table again. - -He had used a word in this speech which I will not repeat--an odious, -infamous word. I stepped in, flinging the door wide open and leaving it -so. Mr. Potter started up from his chair, my stepfather lay back, his -face drooped and very pale, and he looked at me under his half-closed -lids. I stared Mr. Potter in the face for a few moments without -speaking; I then pointed to the door with the silver-headed cane I -invariably carried. - -‘Walk out, sir,’ said I. - -He began to stammer. - -‘Walk out!’ I repeated, and I menaced him. - -‘Where am I to walk to?’ he said. - -‘Out of this house,’ said I. - -‘You had no right to listen, miss,’ said my stepfather. - -I looked at him, then stepped round the table to the bell, which I -pulled violently. My own maid, guessing the summons was mine, answered. - -‘Jane,’ said I, ‘go instantly for a constable.’ - -‘There is no need to fetch a constable,’ exclaimed Mr. Stanford, -getting up, ‘my nephew will leave the house.’ - -On this, Mr. Potter went out into the hall, and whilst he fumbled at -the hatstand, called out: - -‘I suppose I may take my luggage?’ - -I was determined to humble the dog to an extremity, and told Jane -to call in any two idle fellows she could see to remove Mr. Potter’s -luggage. She fetched two men from a public-house, and I took them -upstairs into Mr. Potter’s room and bade them carry his trunks below -and put them on the pavement. When they had carried the trunks -downstairs they returned for Mr. Potter’s loose, unpacked apparel, -which, acting on my instructions, they heaped along with his unpacked -linen on top of the boxes on the pavement. I paid the two men for their -trouble, and violently slammed the hall-door upon Mr. Potter, who -stood in the road, gazed at by a fast-gathering crowd, waiting for the -arrival of a hackney coach, which was very slow in coming. - -As I passed upstairs, panting and heart-sick, Mr. Stanford came into -the hall, and called out: ‘You will ruin my practice.’ I paused to see -if he had more to say, and I was very thankful afterward that he had -thought proper to immediately retire on observing me stop. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -SHE MEETS CAPTAIN BUTLER - - -After this business you might suppose that Mr. Stanford made haste to -remove his plate and his lamp to his old or another house. Not at all. -He found it convenient to stay; and I contrived to endure him for the -sake of the child, that was now between three and four years of age: a -poor, feeble little creature, with but slender promise of life in its -white face and thin frame. - -A few weeks after the trouble with Mr. Potter had happened I went to -my uncle’s house near the Tower to sup and spend the evening. As with -Stepney, so with this part; it has sunk pretty low. Yet when I was a -girl some very respectable families lived in the neighbourhood of the -Tower. My uncle’s house, as I have said, included his offices. They had -been the front and back parlours. In the front office sat a couple of -clerks, and the back was my uncle’s private office, where he received -his clients. The family occupied the upper part of the house, according -to the good old fashion of trade, when men were not ashamed of their -business. The rooms above corresponded with the offices below: the -front room was furnished as a drawing-room; the back as a parlour. - -I was as much at home in my uncle’s house as if I had been his child, -and, passing the servants who opened the door, I went upstairs to my -aunt’s bedroom to take off my bonnet and brush my hair. On the landing -I heard voices in the drawing-room. I guessed my uncle had company, -and hoped, unless there were others, that it was not old Mr. Simmonds, -a ship-broker, a person to whom my uncle was always very civil and -hospitable, as being useful in business, but who, to my mind, was the -most wearisome, insipid, teasing old man that ever chair groaned under. - -I removed my bonnet--you would laugh, were you to see the great, -coal-scuttle-shaped contrivance it was--brushed my hair, viewed myself -a little complacently, for it was an April day, the wind brisk, and my -walk had put some colour into my cheeks, from which my dark eyes took -a clearer fire, and went to the drawing-room. On entering I found my -uncle sitting with a gentleman. The stranger was not Mr. Simmonds. My -aunt stood at the window, looking out. - -‘Why, here am I watching for you!’ said she. ‘Marian, my dear, Captain -Butler.’ - -I dropped the stranger a curtsey of those times, and with a quick -glance gathered him. Small need to call him captain to know he was a -sailor. His weather-darkened face, the fashion of his clothes, the -indescribable ocean-rolling ease of his manner of rising and bowing to -me, were assurance enough of his calling. I took him to be a man of -about thirty. His eyes were a dark blue, and full of good-humour and -intelligence; his hair was auburn, curling and plentiful; no feature of -him but was admirable--nose, mouth, teeth--all combined in a face of -manly beauty. He stood about five feet eleven, and, though there was -nothing of the soldier in his erect posture, his figure was without -any hint of that rounded back and hanging-armed stoop which come to -people who’ve had to pull and haul on a reeling deck for sour pork and -creeping bread in their youth. - -These and like points I did not notice all at once in that first -glance; but before half an hour was gone I could have drawn a correct -portrait of him from memory, so often, at every maidenly and modest -opportunity, were my eyes upon him. - -He had done business with uncle, and, having lately arrived in the -Thames, had called and been asked to stay to supper and meet me. They -had been talking about my cousin Will when I entered the room, and, -after the introduction, continued the subject, my uncle seeming to be -pretty full of it. - -‘Oh!’ said I, catching up something that he had let fall. ‘So, then, -you have settled upon a ship for Will?’ - -‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and a fine ship she is.’ - -‘There’s no finer ship than the _Childe Harold_ out of the Thames,’ -said Captain Butler. - -‘And her captain is a very good sort of a man, we are told,’ said my -aunt. - -‘I have heard him well spoken of. I don’t know him,’ said Captain -Butler. - -‘When does Will sail?’ I asked. - -‘A fortnight to-day,’ answered my uncle. - -‘You remember our compact?’ I said eagerly. - -My uncle smiled slowly and shook his head. - -‘But I say yes!’ I cried, starting up in my impetuous way. ‘Aunt, _you_ -know it was settled. Will was my playmate as a child. I love him as a -brother, and I claim the right of giving him his outfit.’ - -‘She is a sailor’s child,’ said my uncle to Captain Butler. - -They told me Will was out; he would return before supper. In a short -time I discovered that Captain Butler had been two years absent on a -trading voyage in the Pacific; that he was without a ship at present, -but was looking for the command of a new barque of about six hundred -and thirty tons, called the _Arab Chief_, in which he was thinking of -purchasing a share. I admired him so much that I could not help feeling -a sort of inquisitiveness, and asked him a number of questions about -his voyage and the sea life. Indeed, I went further. I asked him where -he lived and if he had any relatives. There was a boldness in me that -was bred of many years of independence and of fearless indifference to -people’s opinion. I was by nature downright and off-hand, and whenever -I had a question to ask I asked it, without ever troubling my head as -to the sort of taste I was exhibiting. All this might have been partly -owing to my lonely, independent life; to my being unloved and having -nobody to love; to my having been as much an orphan when my father died -as though I had lost my mother at the same time. - -And yet, though some of my own sex may have turned up their noses at -my plain, bold questioning of Captain Butler, there is no man, I vow, -who would have disliked my manner in me. Captain Butler warmed up, a -fresh life came into his face with his frequent laugh, and he could -not take his eyes off me. My uncle nursed his knee and watched us with -a composed countenance. My aunt, who was a simple soul, followed the -conversation as one who hears and sees nothing beyond what is said. - -‘Captain Butler,’ said my uncle, presently, ‘ask Miss Marian why it is -that she goes on living in the East when she has fortune enough to set -up as a fine lady in the West?’ - -‘I was born in Stepney,’ said I. ‘My house is there. My father and -mother lie buried there. I’ll not leave it.’ - -‘Who’s the wit,’ exclaimed Captain Butler, ‘who says that the further -he goes West, the more convinced he is that the wise men came from the -East?’ - -‘Pray, what is a fine lady?’ asked my aunt. - -‘Ask the dressmakers,’ said Mr. Johnstone. - -‘I hope my dear Marian will never change,’ said my aunt, looking -fondly at me. ‘She is fine enough, I am sure. If she goes West she’ll -be falling into company who’ll make her ashamed of her poor East-end -relatives.’ - -We rattled on in some such a fashion as this. It was because I was not -blind, and not because I was vain, that I speedily saw that Captain -Butler admired me greatly. If I stepped across the room, his eyes -followed the motions of my figure. If I spoke, his gaze dwelt upon -my lips. Even my poor, dear, slow-eyed aunt noticed the impression I -had made, as I gathered from her occasional looks at her husband. My -uncle asked me to sing, and I went to the piano and sang them a simple, -melodious sea-song which I used to hear my father sing without an -accompaniment. My knowledge of music was slight, but I had a correct -ear and a strong voice, and felt whatever I sang, because I chose to -sing only what I could feel, and my poor attempts always pleased. -Captain Butler stood beside me at the piano while I sang; he could not -have praised me more warmly had I been a leading lady at the Italian -Opera. I got up, laughing, and told him that the little music I had -was by ear. - -‘I think I was never properly educated,’ said I. ‘My father hated -schools and believed that young girls thrown together made one another -wicked. I was educated by governesses, and, really, to be able to read -and write and to know the multiplication-table is a great deal to be -thankful for.’ - -‘My brother was right,’ said my uncle. ‘I hate girls’ schools myself. -Your finished school-miss knows all about Shakespeare and the musical -classes, but she can’t tell how many ounces go to a pound of beef.’ - -While we chatted, Mr. and Mrs. Lorrimer were announced. Nobody expected -them, but they were welcome. Old Mr. Lorrimer was a ship-chandler in -a rather big way. He was a vestige of the dead century, and, saving -the wig, went clothed almost exactly as his father had. I see him now -with his frill, stockings, snuff-box, and the company smirk that was in -vogue when he was a boy. He engaged my uncle in talk; my aunt and Mrs. -Lorrimer drew chairs together, and Captain Butler and I paired at a -little distance from the others. - -I liked this man so much, I admired him so greatly; I had fallen so -much in love with him, indeed, at the first sight of his handsome, -winning face, that I found myself talking as freely as though we had -known each other for years. I told him that I lived with my stepfather -in the house that was my own, that my life was as dull as a sermon, -that I found no pleasure in life outside my lonely rambles, which I -described to him. I thought he looked grave when I told him I would be -away from my home for two or three nights at a time. - -‘Every girl wants a mother,’ said he. - -‘And a father,’ said I; ‘but she can’t keep them.’ - -‘Why don’t you go a voyage?’ - -‘I have never thought of going a voyage.’ - -‘The world is a fine show,’ said he. ‘It is well worth seeing. You are -rich, and should see the world while you are young enough to enjoy the -sight.’ - -‘I have five hundred a year,’ said I. - -‘You are rich, Miss Johnstone, nevertheless,’ said he; and his eyes -made a very clear allusion to my face and figure--a more intelligible -reference than had he spoken. - -‘I have a good mind to go a voyage,’ said I. ‘I am sick of my life, I -assure you. I hate my stepfather, and for all that I am rich, as you -call it, I am as much alone as if I had been left to the parish. Oh, -yes,’ said I, following his glance, ‘uncle and aunt are dear to me -and I love them, but----’ And I lay back in my chair and yawned and -stretched out my arms. - -‘Come a voyage with me, Miss Johnstone,’ said he, laughing. - -‘Where to?’ said I. - -‘I can’t tell you yet, but you shall hear.’ - -‘Let me hear and you shall have my answer.’ - -‘Do you know anything about the sea?’ - -‘Do I know anything about the sea?’ I echoed, with a loud, derisive -laugh that caused everybody to look at me. ‘I wonder if you could ask -me a question about the sea which I couldn’t answer? Shall I put you -a ship about? Explain what reefing topsails means? Shall I wear ship -for you? Shall I snug you down a full-rigged ship, beginning with the -fore-royal-studding-sail?’ And so I went on. - -He laughed continuously while I talked. The others were now listening -and laughing too. - -Just then my cousin, Will Johnstone, came in, and I broke off my chat -with Captain Butler to greet the lad. Will was at this time between -fifteen and sixteen years of age. He was a manly-looking boy, easy -and gentlemanly, fitter for the midshipman’s quarters of a man-of-war -than an apprentice’s berth on board a merchantman. He had a look of my -father, and I loved him for that. He was dressed in sea-going clothes, -and though he had never been farther than Ramsgate in all his life, he -carried his new calling so prettily, there was such a pleasantly-acted -swing in his gait, you would have believed him fresh from a voyage -round the world. He came to me eagerly when he had shaken hands with -the others, took Captain Butler’s chair, and told me with a glowing -face about his ship, the _Childe Harold_--what a fine ship she was, how -like a frigate she sat upon the water, how that a fellow had told him -she could easily reel out twelve upon a bowline. - -‘She lies in the East India Docks. You must come and see her, Marian. -When will you come? To-morrow--say to-morrow.’ Here he saw Captain -Butler looking our way. ‘Will you come, too, sir? Will you come with my -cousin?’ - -‘Come where?’ said Captain Butler. - -‘Come to the East India Docks to-morrow to visit my ship, the _Childe -Harold_?’ - -‘“_My_ ship!”’ echoed my uncle. - -‘At what hour?’ said Captain Butler. - -Some talk went to this scheme; it was presently settled that Will and -Captain Butler should dine at my house next day, and afterward we -should visit the _Childe Harold_. - -This was the merriest evening I had ever spent in my life. I sat at -supper between Captain Butler and Will, and had never felt happier. My -spirits were in a dance. I laughed even at poor old Mr. Lorrimer’s -jokes. After supper Captain Butler sang a song, and I liked it so well -that I begged him to sing another. Then I sang. The old people sat -down to whist in a corner. Captain Butler, Will, and I chatted, and so -slipped that evening away; till I was startled on lifting my eyes to -the clock to see that it was almost eleven. - -How should I get home? Should I walk or drive? I stepped to the window -and parted the curtains and saw the stars shining. - -‘It is a fine night,’ said I. ‘Will, give me your company, and I’ll -walk. I hate your coaches.’ - -‘Your way is my way, I believe,’ said Captain Butler. ‘May I accompany -you?’ - -I went upstairs to put on my bonnet. My aunt accompanied me. She -lighted candles beside a looking-glass, and I saw that my cheeks were -red and that my eyes shone like diamonds. - -‘I believe that you have made a conquest to-night, my dear,’ said my -aunt. - -‘A conquest has been made,’ I answered. ‘He is a very handsome fellow. -And now you shall tell me that he is married.’ - -‘No more than you are.’ - -‘Engaged to be married, then?’ - -‘I’ll not answer that. Sailors are sailors.’ - -‘I have thoroughly enjoyed myself,’ said I, kissing her. - -‘Do you think, my dear, that it is quite in order you should ask -Captain Butler to dine with you to-morrow?’ - -‘Quite in order, aunt. If I am not to do what I like I will drown -myself.’ - -But I kissed her again after I had said this as an apology for the -strength with which I had spoken, and went downstairs. - -Will and Captain Butler saw me to my house. The streets were pretty -full and flaring. The night fine. I took Will’s arm, and the three of -us went along leisurely past the Mint into Leman Street, and so into -the Commercial Road. No very romantic walk, truly, though in this great -world the woods and groves of the poets are not the only haunts of -emotion. There is sentiment in the East as well as in the West; and in -what do the passions of Whitechapel differ from those of Tyburnia? - -My maid was sitting up for me. Twelve o’clock struck soon after I -reached home, so you will guess we had not hurried. For the first time -for many a long night I could not sleep. I lay thinking all the time -of Captain Butler. I had fallen in love with him, and I wondered at -myself. No man that I had ever before met had made the least impression -upon me. I knew my own heart well down to this moment--I had never -given men nor their love a thought. In what, then, lay the magic of -this man? I was so much in love with him that, had he stayed at my door -after Will Johnstone had gone away and asked me to be his sweetheart -and marry him, I should have consented. I was distracted with vexation -and delight. All night long I lay thinking of him, and if I slept in -snatches it was but to dream of him, so that, whether I was awake or -slept, he was present to me. I felt that I must find out, and quickly -find out, if he had a sweetheart. If so, why then I had not yet let go -of the reins; but I must make haste, or the bit would be hard in the -teeth and I should be run away with. - -I thought of his suggestion to go a voyage with him, and pried close -into it for an inner meaning; but the memory of his manner would not -suffer me to find more than had met my ear. To fall in love in an hour, -thought I! Well, it must run in the blood. Father fell in love with -mother at first sight; that had been her fond memory--she had boasted -of it in his life and after his death--till, to my grief and to the -souring of the best sweetness that her heart held, she swallowed the -mumping prescription whose plate was upon my door, and whose lamp -glowed like a danger signal over the plate. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -SHE VISITS THE ‘CHILDE HAROLD’ - - -I rose early next morning, sent for the cook, and gave her certain -instructions. The servants in our strangely ordered home were as much -mine as my stepfather’s; I paid half their wages. But my own maid was -at my own cost, and she waited upon me only. - -Captain Butler and my cousin arrived shortly after half-past twelve, -and at one o’clock we sat down to as dainty and elegant a meal as I and -the cook and my maid could contrive among us. We drank champagne; my -father’s silver was upon the table; in the middle was a rich hothouse -nosegay, which had cost me a guinea and a half. My maid, a discreet, -good-looking girl, waited admirably. My cousin stared, and asked me, -boy-like, if I dined thus every day. I laughed and answered: ‘Off as -good dishes, Will, but never so well, because I often dine alone when -I dine at home at all.’ - -‘I should like to dine with you every day,’ said Will. - -I had dressed myself with extraordinary care, but my eyes wanted the -sparkle of the previous evening, my cheeks the rose of those merry -hours. I wondered as I glanced at Captain Butler whether the thought of -me had kept him awake all night. Somehow I could not look at him with -the confidence of the previous evening. I felt shy; my eyes stole to -his face and dropped on detection; my appetite was poor, and my laugh -unnaturally loud with nerve. His own manner was a little constrained, -and I saw, and my heart throbbed and leaped when I saw, admiration -strong in his looks whenever he regarded, or addressed, or listened to -me. Oh, thought I, what would I give now for sauciness enough to ask -you downright: ‘Have you a sweetheart?’ - -During the course of the dinner I said to him: ‘Don’t you think my way -of living strange?’ - -‘Not at all.’ - -‘You need a stepfather to understand my unhappy state.’ - -‘No very unhappy state, surely,’ said he, looking at the table, and -then round the well-furnished room. - -‘I think I shall go a voyage some of these days, Will,’ said I. - -‘Sail with me, Marian,’ he answered. - -‘Where’s your ship bound to?’ - -‘Sydney, New South Wales--a splendid trip. Three months there, three -months back, three months to see the country in.’ - -‘And you give me a fortnight to make up my mind!’ said I, laughing. -‘Don’t they send the convicts to Sydney? I can’t fancy that country. -’Tis seeing nothing to meet one’s transported fellow-countrymen. There -are plenty of such folks walking past this house at this minute. Who -would leave Stepney for Sydney?’ - -My cousin asked what trade the _Arab Chief_ would be in. Captain Butler -answered that he believed she was to trade to the West Indies and -eastern South American ports. - -‘There’s a big world for you that way, Marian,’ said Will. ‘Down there -the wind’s full of bright parrots, every tree writhes with monkeys. -Robinson Crusoe lived all alone somewhere in those parts, that’s if the -great river of Oroonoque’s where it was in Friday’s time. The home of -the great sea serpent is in the Caribbean Sea, and if you kick up an -old stone by chance you stand to unearth a mine of precious metal.’ - -I ended this by rising, and we soon afterwards left the house. It was -a clear, cold afternoon, with a bright blue sky for London. We took -a coach to Limehouse and then a boat. There is no change in the East -India Docks in all these years. I went down to them for memory’s sake -not very long ago, and all was the same, it seemed to me, saving the -steamers. The basins were full of ships of many sizes and of all rigs; -the air was radiant with the flicker and tremble of scores of flags; -strange smells of distant countries loaded the atmosphere--sweet oils -and spices, wool and scarlet oranges and scented timber. When I was a -child my father had sometimes brought me to these docks when he came -to them on business; I thought of him as I looked, and felt a little -girl again with the odd wonderment and delight of a child in me as I -stared at the shipping and the complicated heights of spar and rigging, -at the grinding cranes heavily lifting cargo in and out, as I breathed -the odours of the littered quays, as I hearkened to the shouts, to -the songs of the seamen at the winch or capstan, to the voices of the -wind in the gear, soft in the fabric of the taller ships as the gay -whistlings of silver pipes heard afar. - -We walked leisurely along the quays. Will’s ship lay in a corner at a -distance, and he was for enthusiastically pressing forward to arrive at -her. His ardent pace kept him ahead, and he often turned to invite us -to come on. But I was listening to Captain Butler and was in no great -hurry. At last we came to Will’s ship, the _Childe Harold_. Oh, my -great God, when I think of it! When I think of standing beside Captain -Butler and looking at that ship with my cousin at my elbow calling my -attention to points of her with a young sailor’s pride! - -She was a very handsome vessel of her kind, and a big ship according -to the burden of those days. Though she was receiving cargo fast, her -sides towered high above the wall; she had been newly coppered, and -her metal glanced sunnily upon the soup-like water she floated on. -Captain Butler took my hand, and we followed Will up the gangway plank -and gained the ship’s deck. A man with a beard stood at the yawn of -the great main hatch; Will touched his cap and whispered that he was -the mate of the ship. Captain Butler went up and shook hands with him -and rejoined us, saying that he had made the man’s acquaintance at -Callao. A quantity of cases were being swung over the rail, and as they -were lowered down the hatch I heard a noise of voices below--calls -and yells, and the kind of language you expect to hear arising from -the hold of a ship that is populous with lumpers. Will took us into -the cuddy, which you will now call the saloon; a fine cabin under the -poop-deck, with some sleeping berths on either hand. He then walked us -forward to show us the apprentices’ quarters. - -The ship had what is known as a topgallant forecastle, on either hand -of which was a wing of cabin, a sort of deck-house, entered by a door -that slid in grooves. The apprentices lived in the wing on the left, or -port, or larboard side, as the expression then was. - -‘How many of you are there?’ asked Captain Butler. - -‘Three,’ answered my cousin. - -The place was empty, and I entered it and looked about me to gather -whether there was anything I could purchase to render the coarse, rude -abode a little more hospitable to the sight. - -‘This won’t be like being at home, Will?’ said I. - -‘It will be seeing life, though, and starting on a career,’ he answered. - -‘These are very snug quarters,’ said Captain Butler. ‘What sort of a -forecastle have you, Johnstone?’ - -My cousin led us into a large, wooden cave. It was very gloomy here. We -had to lift our feet high to enter the door. The huge windlass stood, -a great mass of reddened timber and grinning ironwork, in front of the -entrance to this forecastle; abaft it rose the trunk of the foremast, -and behind, again, the solid square of the galley, or kitchen; the -thick shrouds descended on both sides; and, though it was a bright -day, the shadows of these things lay in a twilight upon the forecastle -entrance, and I needed to stand awhile and accustom my eyes to the -gloom before I could see. - -‘This is a fine forecastle,’ said Captain Butler. ‘Few crews get better -parlours.’ - -The interior was empty. Rows of bunks on both sides ran ghostly in the -obscurity of the bows. - -‘What hatch is this?’ said I, pointing to a small, covered square in -the deck close to where I stood. - -‘That’ll be the way to the fore-peak,’ said Captain Butler. - -‘What sort of a place is that?’ said I. - -‘The rats’ nursery,’ he answered, laughing. - -‘Have you been into it, Will?’ said I. - -‘No. They keep coal and broom-handles there; odds and ends of stores, -cans of oil, and everything that’s unpleasant. I find things out by -asking.’ - -‘Right, Johnstone,’ said Captain Butler. ‘Keep on asking on board ship. -That’s the way to learn. How would you like to be an able seaman, Miss -Johnstone, and sail before the mast and sleep in a place like this?’ - -‘This would not be my end of the ship if I were a man,’ said I. - -We wandered aft on to the poop, whence we could command a view of -the whole ship; and here we stood looking at the clamorous, gallant -scene round about us, till the sun sank low across the river beyond -Rotherhithe, and the shadow of the evening deepened the colours of the -streaming flags, and hung a rusty mist out upon the farther reaches of -the river, making the ships there loom dusky and swollen. - -Captain Butler asked us if we would drink tea with him at the -Brunswick Hotel. I was now liking nothing better in the world than his -company, and gladly accepted, and the three of us walked to the hotel -and took a seat at a table in a window, where we had a view of the -shipping; and here we drank tea and ate some small, sweet white-fish -and passed a happy hour. - -Captain Butler must have been less than a man, and without eyes in -his head, if he had not by this time guessed that I was very much -in love with him. I was sure he admired me; indeed, his admiration -was unfeigned. I had never been loved by a man, and could not guess -what was in the mind of this handsome sailor by merely observing the -admiration that softened and sweetened the naturally gay and careless -expression of his eyes, but it filled me with sweet delight to know -that he admired me. This was a full, rich cup for my lips for a _first_ -draught. I liked to feel that he watched me. I’d turn my head a little -way and talk to Will, and continue talking that Captain Butler might go -on looking at me. - -‘I wish you were not sailing so soon, cousin,’ said I. ‘I’d plan more -of these excursions. They make me forget I have a stepfather.’ - -‘I hope your stepfather does not ill-treat you!’ exclaimed Captain -Butler, and some glow came into his face. - -‘No, no!’ cried I, and I guessed that my eyes sparkled with a sudden -heat of my spirits. ‘Ill-treat me, indeed! The fact is the house isn’t -big enough for him and me. But I won’t turn him out. He’s the father -of my mother’s child, and my home was my mother’s. But oh, I feel the -gloom of it! I am alone. I _can’t_ take to the little one. And must it -be year after year the same?’ I cast my eyes down and breathed quickly; -then, rounding upon Will, I cried with a loud silly laugh, ‘You shall -take me on a voyage with you when you come home!’ - -‘I like these excursions,’ said Will. ‘Don’t you, Captain Butler?’ - -‘I’d like them better if they didn’t end so soon,’ he answered. - -‘I have a fortnight!’ exclaimed Will. ‘Let’s go on a trip every day!’ - -Captain Butler’s eyes met mine. - -‘You, of course, have something better to do?’ said I to him. - -‘I have nothing to do.’ - -‘Where’s your ship?’ - -‘I have no ship,’ said he. ‘A barque, called the _Arab Chief_, is in -course of completion at Sunderland. I may command her if I invest in -her. I wish to consider. I am not rich, and I must see my way clearly -before I venture all that I have.’ - -‘So you must. And I suppose you’ll go and live at Sunderland?’ - -‘No. I can do no good at Sunderland. Time enough to go to Sunderland -when the ship is ready. She’s not building under my superintendence.’ - -‘You’ll visit your relatives in the country?’ - -‘I have relatives, but they don’t live in the country, and I shan’t -visit them.’ - -‘Can’t we arrange for some more trips?’ said Will. ‘Let’s go -sight-seeing every day.’ - -‘Give us a sketch of your fancies, Johnstone,’ said Captain Butler. - -‘Well,’ he began, counting upon his fingers, ‘there’s a dinner at the -Star and Garter; that’s good sight-seeing number one. Then there’s -Greenwich yonder, and another dinner, number two. Then, what say you -to Woolwich and a peep at the hulks? Call that job a day on the river, -taking a boat at Billingsgate or the Tower. Number three.’ - -‘Keep in shore, my lad,’ said Captain Butler, laughing. ‘You’ll be -having enough of the water soon.’ - -‘What do ye say to Hampstead and tea? Then a dinner at the King’s Arms -at Hampton Court? And is Windsor too far off?’ So he rattled. - -Yet the jolly young fellow’s proposals were very well to our liking, -and before we rose to depart from the Brunswick Hotel we had schemed -out a long holiday week. They saw me to my house, as on the previous -night. Neither would come in. When they had left me, I felt very dull -and lonely. I found a note on my table from a friend at Bow. She asked -me to a card-party next night, but I was in no humour to accept any -invitations to houses where I was not likely to meet Captain Butler. -Indeed, I had come home from this jaunt to the docks as deeply in -love as ever woman was with a man in this world. I slept, it is true, -but I dreamed of nothing but my handsome sailor, as my heart was -already secretly calling him. I went to sea with him in a number of -visions that night, quelled a mutiny among the sailors, saved Captain -Butler’s life at the risk of my own; and when he took me in his arms -to thank and caress me, I looked in his face, and heavens!--it was my -stepfather! - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -SHE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE - - -At the appointed time I was at my aunt’s next morning. Captain Butler -and Will were there. We went to Richmond, and after we had arrived -it rained for the rest of the day, but it was all one to me; indeed, -I would rather have had it rain than sunshine, for it forced us to -sit indoors, whilst Will, defying the rain, went out and left Captain -Butler and me alone, which was just what I liked. - -I will not catalogue these holiday trips; they made me feel as if I -were living for the first time in all my life; they made me know that -I was a girl with passions and tastes, yet easy to delight. I will not -say that I enjoyed my liberty, because for years I had not known what -restraint was; but I was sensible that my being able to go where I -pleased and to do what I pleased was a prodigious privilege at this -time, when I had lost my heart, and must have gone mad had I been -withheld from the society of the man who had it. - -Two days before Will sailed my aunt called upon me. Our holiday rambles -had run out; that day was to be blank, and I was not to see Captain -Butler again until Thursday--it was a Thursday, I remember--when we -were going down to the docks to see Will off. I remarked a peculiar -look in my aunt’s face, which prompted me, in my impetuous way, to say: - -‘What’s brought you here? What have you come to tell me? Now don’t keep -me waiting?’ - -‘Lor’, my dear, one would need the breath of a healthy giant to keep -pace with your impatience. Give me leave to rest a minute.’ - -‘All’s well at home, I hope?’ - -‘Why, yes, of course, as well as it can be with a mother and father -whose only child is leaving them, perhaps for ever, in a couple of -days.’ Her eyes moistened. ‘But it is his wish, and it is his father’s -wish, and that must make it right--yes, that must make it right; -though I’d have been grateful, very grateful, if it hadn’t been the -sea.’ She wept for a few minutes, and I held my peace. Then drying her -eyes with a resolved motion of the handkerchief, she said: ‘You’ve been -enjoying some lively days of late, Marian?’ - -‘Happy days. Poor Will!’ and now I felt as if I must cry, too. - -‘You’re a strange creature, my dear. Whatever you do seems to me wrong. -And yet, somehow, I can never satisfy my mind that your conduct’s -improper. I believe you’d be the same were your mother living. Your -father might have held you in, but you’d have had your way with your -poor mother.’ - -‘What have I done?’ said I, bridling up and flushing in the face. - -‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ she answered mildly. ‘Of course, your -going about so much with Captain Butler, often being alone with him, as -Will has told us, is quite contrary to my ideas of good conduct. Do you -want the man for a husband, Marian?’ - -I guessed by my temper that I looked hotly at her. - -‘Do you, child, do you? You should answer me. If you do not answer me -I will go, and I am sure that you will wish this house should be burnt -down rather than that I should go.’ - -My temper went with this, and with it the blood out of my face. - -‘What do you want me to say, aunt?’ I exclaimed in a faint voice. - -‘Would you be content to marry Captain Butler?’ - -I looked down upon the ground and said softly: - -‘I love him.’ - -‘He loves you. Do you know that?’ - -‘He has not told me so.’ - -‘He is a man of very gentlemanlike feelings, far above the average -merchant sea-captain.’ - -‘Oh, don’t I know it!’ I cried. - -‘Well, he loves you, and would be very glad to marry you. And I dare -say he would,’ said my aunt, looking up and down my figure and then -round the room, ‘but he’ll not offer marriage unless he is certain -you’ll accept him. He spent last evening with us, and had a very -long and serious talk with your uncle and me on the subject. He -declines to recognise your stepfather, which is quite proper under -the circumstances, and regards me and your uncle as taking the place -of your parents. Now, my dear, he is very much in love with you, and -his diffidence comes from your being well off. We had a very long and -serious talk, and I am here to have a serious talk with you, if not a -long one.’ - -I felt that my face was lighted up; I saw the reflection of its delight -in her own placid expression. My heart bounded; I could have danced and -sung and waltzed about the room. I sat down, locking my hands tightly -upon my lap, and listened with all the composure I could summon. - -She informed me that Captain Butler had been exceedingly candid, had -exactly named his savings and his patrimony, which scarcely amounted to -three thousand pounds, and that he was deliberating whether or not to -invest all that he had in a share of the new barque, _Arab Chief_. Mr. -Johnstone had advised him, supposing he should be so fortunate as to -gain my consent to marry him, not to make me his wife until he had gone -his first voyage and seen how his venture fell out. - -‘Your uncle,’ said my aunt, ‘is strongly of opinion that a man has no -business to go and marry a fine handsome young woman like you, then -leave her after a week or a month, and not set eyes on her again till -he returns home from round the world.’ - -‘I wish my uncle would mind his own business,’ said I, pouting, and -feeling my face very long. - -But my aunt insisted that my uncle was right. She added that Captain -Butler cordially agreed with him. Captain Butler’s own wish was to -betroth himself to me, then to make his voyage; then return and marry -me and carry me away with him to sea. - -My eyes sparkled, and I jumped up and walked the room greatly excited. -But after this my aunt grew tedious. Was it imaginable that any sort -of love fit to base so solemn an affair as marriage upon could exist -between two people who had known each other a fortnight only? Here -was I joyously avowing my love for Captain Butler and expressing the -utmost eagerness to marry him. Did I know what I was talking about? -Had I given a moment’s reflection to what marrying a sailor signified? -I was rich, young, and handsome; I had a fine house of my own; I had -liberty and health; I was without children to tease me, to pale me -with midnight watchings, to burden my spirits with anxiety for their -future. Should I not be giving myself away very cheaply by marrying -a sea-captain, a respectable, good-looking man certainly, but poor, -following a calling in which no one can make any sort of figure, an -underpaid, perilous, beggarly vocation? She did not deny that Captain -Butler came from a highly respectable stock. He had mentioned two -members of his family whom Mr. Johnstone perfectly well knew by name. -His father had been in the Royal Navy and had served under Collingwood -and Lord Exmouth and had died a poor lieutenant. - -‘Oh, he’s a gentleman by birth,’ said my aunt, ‘and superior to his -position. There’s his calling, out of which, to be sure, he can get -a living, so as to be independent of his wife, which must always be -the first consideration with every man of spirit. And, then, you have -plenty of money for both, and for as many as may come, should ever he -find himself out of employment. But what do you know of each other? How -can you tell that you will be able to live happily together? What! In -a fortnight? Ridiculous! Why, I have lived one-and-twenty years with -your uncle, and we don’t even yet understand each other. You have by no -means a sweet temper. But what time do you give the poor fellow to find -you out in? And he may be quite a fiend himself, for all you know. It -needs not much wig to hide a pair of horns. A tail will lie curled up -out of sight under a fashionable coat, and your cloven hoof fits any -shoe, my dear.’ - -So she chatted and teased and worried me with her advice and -old-fashioned precepts. And then she angered me, and we quarrelled -awhile, and afterwards cried and kissed. However, when her visit was -ended, I had promised her, in answer to her earnest, almost tearful -entreaty, that, though I should consent to engage myself to Captain -Butler, I would not marry him until he had returned from his next -voyage, which, if he went to the West Indies and South America, would -not keep him very long away from me, so that I should have plenty of -time to judge of his character whilst he was ashore and abundance of -leisure afterward to reflect upon my observations and prepare myself -for the very greatest change that can befall a woman. - -I did not see Captain Butler again until Thursday. In the brief -interval I had made up my mind to accept him at once if he proposed. -Oh, my few days of holiday association with him had filled my heart -with a passion of love! Not my happiness only--my very life was in his -power. - -I went to my uncle’s house on Thursday, early in the morning. We were -to see poor Will off. We all tried to put on a cheerful air, and Will -talked big of the presents he would bring home for his mother and me; -but his mother’s eyes were red with a night of secret weeping; and -whenever the lad’s sight went to her face his mouth twitched and, if he -was speaking, his voice trembled and broke. His father looked often at -him. - -Captain Butler met us at the docks. I guessed he witnessed in my looks -that my aunt had spoken to me. He gazed at me fondly as he held my -hand, but there was nothing of significance to be said between us at -this time of sorrowful leave-taking. We went on board with Will. When I -kissed the dear fellow, I broke down and wept; and then Mr. Johnstone -led the way to the Brunswick Hotel, and we went upstairs to a room -which commanded a view of the ship, and sat at a window watching her as -she hauled out of dock. - -By the time the ship had been towed out of sight past Greenwich Reach, -it was hard upon one o’clock. My uncle had ordered some sandwiches -and sherry as an excuse for us to sit and watch the ship. This was no -entertainment for me, who had not partaken of it, indeed, and who had -breakfasted but lightly early that morning. My uncle called for the -bill, and then rose to go. He told us he had an appointment which he -would have barely time to keep. My aunt said to me: - -‘What are you going to do?’ I returned no answer, for I had not made up -my mind. ‘Come home with me, dear,’ said my aunt, ‘and dine with us at -half-past two.’ - -I did not care to go home with her; first, because I felt I should be -losing sight of Captain Butler, and, next, because they were full of -grief for the departure of their son; so that my presence would be a -sort of impertinence, whilst, again, I could not at all relish the -prospect of a long and melancholy afternoon and evening spent in the -neighbourhood of the Tower. So, after reflecting a minute or two, I -said: - -‘I’ll not go home with you, aunt. I’ll dine here and then take rail to -Fenchurch Street and make my way to Hyde Park. A brisk walk will do me -good. I feel as though I had lost a brother.’ - -‘I can’t stop,’ said my uncle, beginning to bustle. - -My aunt saw how it was, and looked at me reproachfully. - -‘I must return with your uncle,’ said she. ‘Are you to be left alone -here? But what if you are? Your being alone about London and the -neighbourhood is quite too much a habit with you, Marian--a practice I -can’t approve. Which way do you go?’ she continued, looking at Captain -Butler. - -‘I’ll remain with Miss Johnstone, if she will suffer me to do so,’ he -replied. - -I smiled and coloured and bowed to him. - -‘I can stop no longer,’ said my uncle, pulling out a great watch. - -My aunt looked ‘hung in the wind,’ to use the phrase of the sailor, -as though she understood she ought not to leave me alone with Captain -Butler; but she correctly guessed that I did not want her; indeed, -her remaining would have made me angry, and no doubt my fear of her -intentions showed in my face. - -‘Well,’ said she, ‘I could not leave you in better hands. Captain -Butler will carefully look after you, I am sure.’ And she went quickly -after her husband, who would wait for her no longer. - -Captain Butler rang the bell and ordered some dinner. I was to be his -guest, he said. - -‘But why, Miss Johnstone, do you wish to go all the way to Hyde Park?’ - -‘It is no wish. I’ll go wherever you please.’ - -‘We are close to Greenwich here. Shall we take a turn about Greenwich -Park presently? The days are still short, and you are not so far from -your house at Greenwich as you would be at Kensington.’ - -I consented, and then we stood at the window, looking at the scene of -the river from the docks, talking about Will and the sea-life and such -matters until dinner was ready. I longed to hear him say that he loved -me. The language of his eye was not satisfying enough. I wanted him to -take my hand and ask me to be his wife. I had thought my appetite good -until I sat down, and then I could not eat. My heart beat fast. I felt -my colour come and go. I was alone with the man that I loved. I seemed -to have lost my self-control, and behaved like a shy school-girl, and -there were moments when I could have wished my aunt had not left us. - -The waiter was slow, and it was nearly three o’clock before we rose. -Captain Butler went to the window, looked out, and said to me: ‘I -am afraid this fine day is not going to last. There’s a thickness -gathering upon the river, and the sun looks like the rising moon. The -afternoons are still short. Shall we hold Greenwich Park over for -another day?’ - -‘If you like.’ - -‘How amiable you are! You give me my way in everything.’ - -‘What shall we do?’ - -‘Stop here for a little while, if you don’t mind. We have this room to -ourselves for the present.’ - -He took me by the hand. I trembled and sat down, and he seated himself -beside me. Am I to repeat what he said--in what words he told me -how great his love was for me--in what terms he asked me to be his -wife? All this I could unfold, ancient as it is in my memory. I could -give it to you as though it were of yesterday’s happening. But the -black curtain still remains down on the memorable, the horrible, the -tragical scene it is to rise upon soon, and I must not linger over such -recollections as I am now dictating to my friend. - -It was quite in keeping that I, a sailor’s daughter, should be wooed -and asked in marriage by a sailor in scenes full of shipping, within -hearing of the cries and choruses of seamen and the hundred noises of -the busy docks. A red mist lay upon the river, and the sun hung pale -and rayless, like a great lemon, in the west. We were occupying a room -that might have been the coffee-room. Several tables were draped and -ready for guests, but we had been alone when my uncle and aunt left -us, and we remained alone. He held me to him and kissed me; he looked -proudly and gratefully at me and said that he loved me from the moment -he had set eyes on me; that he thought me the handsomest woman he had -ever seen in his life; that he adored me for my spirit--much more to -this effect he said. But he told me he never would have had the heart -to offer for my hand if he had not found some encouragement in my -looks. Then he went over the long talk he’d had about me with Mr. and -Mrs. Johnstone. - -‘They begged,’ said he, ‘if you accepted me that we should not be -married until my return from my next voyage.’ - -‘They are dear to me,’ said I, looking at him, ‘but they are not my -guardians, and have no control over me.’ - -‘But they may be right, Marian, and they have a claim upon you too. -I hope to do well next trip. I believe I shall do well enough,’ said -he, smiling and smoothing the back of my hand, ‘to enable me to put -something to your own fortune. I wish to be independent of you. You are -not a woman to respect a man that is dependent upon you.’ - -‘My aunt was right,’ said I. ‘We don’t understand each other yet. -Certainly you don’t understand me.’ - -He kissed me and said he knew what was in my mind, but all the same -when he was my husband he wished to be independent of my fortune. - -‘You shall have it all,’ I exclaimed, ‘and that will make you -independent of me.’ - -‘Marian,’ said he gravely, ‘now that you have consented to be my wife -I’ll tell you what I schemed; there would seem something unnatural in -my going to sea and leaving my young bride behind me. I want you to be -at my side when you are my wife. I do not know that I shall follow the -sea much longer! A great deal will depend upon the issue of my next -voyage. If I leave you behind, betrothed to me, you will have plenty -of time to consider whether you, as a beauty and a fortune, have done -wisely in accepting the hand of a plain merchant captain.’ - -‘Don’t talk nonsense, Tom,’ said I, giving his name bluntly, and not at -all relishing his sentimental fastidiousness, which I attributed to the -influence of my uncle. - -‘My dear girl, when we are married, we mean to live together happily, -don’t we?’ - -‘That will depend upon you.’ - -‘It will depend upon us both, Marian. When a sailor carries a ship into -unnavigated waters, if he is a good sailor, and does not mean to cast -his ship away, he heaves the lead as he goes, warily sounds along every -fathom of his road until he brings up in a safe anchorage. This is what -you must do, and it’s for me to give you time to heave the lead, dear.’ - -‘You want time to heave it yourself, Tom.’ - -‘My darling,’ he cried, catching me to him, ‘I would marry you -to-morrow.’ - -Presently, when we had composed ourselves, he said that he was going -down to Sunderland next week, and would be away for about a week; and -then he talked to me about purchasing a share in the new vessel, and -seemed to want my advice. He named several instances of merchants who, -having speculated in this way in shipping, had risen out of small -beginnings into great opulence. He told me that he would be better off -than most investors, inasmuch as he would have command of his own -venture, so to speak, be able to control things and push his business -to the limits of all successful directions. - -In this sort of conversation the afternoon passed away. At last, at -about five o’clock, we were interrupted by a party of captains and -others coming in to dine, on which Tom paid the bill and we left. He -accompanied me to my house, and bade me farewell at the door, after -arranging to call for me at eleven o’clock next morning. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -SHE PARTS WITH HER SWEETHEART - - -Well, on the following week, my sweetheart went to Sunderland, and -I felt as widowed as though I had been his wife and he had died. He -crossed from Sunderland to Liverpool, and was absent a fortnight. From -Liverpool he wrote to tell me that he was very well satisfied with -the _Arab Chief_, and had agreed with her owners, who did business in -Liverpool, to take command of her and purchase a share to the value of -three thousand pounds. - -The influence of his love was very strong upon me while he was away. He -had hinted, but gently, that he thought my aunt right in objecting to -my old love of rambling--I mean to the excursions I used to make down -the river and to other parts, often sleeping out for a night or two at -a time, as you have heard; and during his absence I went nowhere, save -to my aunt’s or to the houses of some of my particular friends. - -Meanwhile you will not suppose that I saw nothing of Mr. Stanford. -We lived in the same house, and were, therefore, bound to meet, not, -indeed, in our separate apartments, but upon the staircase or in the -passages. When Tom had been gone about a week, my stepfather knocked -upon my door one morning as I sat at breakfast. I bade him enter, and -he sat down at the table. - -‘I met Mrs. Johnstone yesterday,’ said he, ‘and she gave me a piece of -news. Allow me to congratulate you,’ and he inclined his head. - -I bowed slightly in return, keeping silence. - -‘I am aware that I have no claim upon you, Miss Johnstone,’ said he. - -‘None whatever,’ I cried. - -‘But I am your stepfather, and, as a matter of courtesy, not to say -more, you should, I think, have favoured me from your own lips with the -news of your engagement.’ - -‘My affairs have nothing to do with you, Mr. Stanford.’ - -‘Miss Marian, I am not here to quarrel, but to congratulate you,’ -he said. ‘Our relations have long been uncomfortable. I should have -quitted this house some time ago, but for the difficulty I find in -meeting with one equally suitable. My practice is of the utmost -importance to me not for my sake only; it is my duty to make a -provision for your mother’s child.’ - -‘She is your child!’ I cried, hotly. - -‘I do not need to be told that, Miss Marian. It is very painful to me -to reflect that your antipathy should have no other basis than your -lamented mother’s love for me. Your mother, I hope and trust, was dear -to you, Miss Marian, and it is most regrettable that there is nothing -in her memory to soften your violent prejudice.’ - -‘I beg you will not speak to me of my mother.’ - -He eyed me askant; he had a way of looking at you with his head half -turned. ‘I am here primarily to congratulate you,’ said he. ‘It is your -pleasure to be reticent, and I will therefore not trouble you with any -questions about your _fiancé_. But one inquiry you will forgive--it is -a matter of business. When, pray, are you to be married?’ - -‘I don’t know.’ - -‘You will probably settle in this house with your husband?’ - -‘When he is my husband he shall live where he pleases, and I’ll live -with him.’ - -‘This end of London is not to everybody’s taste,’ he said, with an acid -smile. ‘It has occurred to me that your husband might wish to live in -the west of the town. If so, I should be glad to arrange with him or -with you to take this house off your hands.’ - -I answered coldly that I had no intention of parting with the house. It -had belonged to my father, and whatever belonged to my father I held -in veneration; and this I said with so much bitterness that he rose, -without another word, and left the room. I was glad to see his back. I -cannot tell you how I hated the man. - -Tom returned at about the expiration of a fortnight, and now I was one -of the happiest of women. We were together day after day. We visited -many old-fashioned resorts in the neighbourhood of London, not one of -which is probably now in existence. His influence did me a world of -good. It was the most shaping, elevating, I had almost said, ennobling -influence any girl could have come under. The power of his love over me -was a godsend to such a character as mine. I had lived so uncontrolled -a life, I was by nature so defiant, quick-tempered, and contemptuous of -the opinion of others, that in many directions I did not really know -the right thing to do. No mother could have more wisely directed her -child than Tom governed me. - -‘You are a rich garden,’ he would say, ‘but overrun; the sweets are too -crowded, Marian, and here and there, my love, is a bit of snake-like -habit that needs to be uncoiled from the beautiful plant it has got -foul of.’ - -I well remember, soon after he returned from Liverpool, that he saw me -to my house. It was six o’clock in the evening. I asked him to walk in. - -‘No, dear,’ said he. - -‘“No, dear!” Why not, Tom? You are tired and I am alone. Come in.’ - -‘It is because you are alone that I will not come in.’ - -‘I am always alone here,’ said I. ‘I live alone. You know that.’ - -‘Yes, I know that.’ - -‘And I am never to see you at my house because I am alone!’ - -‘Dearest, I will fetch you to-morrow at eleven, and then we can have -a talk on the subject of men’s visits to their sweethearts who live -alone.’ - -He pressed my hand and left me. - -Next day he talked to me as he had promised. I listened with love -and interest, though I secretly thought it no more than a sort of -hair-splitting on the part of society to insist that a girl should not -receive her sweetheart alone in her own house. I was alone with Tom -now. I had been alone with him at the Brunswick Hotel. What was the -difference between my being alone in the streets with him and my being -with him at my rooms at home? Yet he said there was a difference, and, -of course, he was right. I listened to him deferentially, with my head -hung. Had it been my aunt who uttered the opinions he delivered, I -should have argued with her, flashed my most spirited looks upon her, -flung from her, and, had it been possible, proved myself right by doing -the very thing which she declared the world thought improper. - -Friends who had known me earlier would have believed that love had -taken the spirit out of me; but the truth was in Tom I had found my -master. We were constantly together. Scarcely a day passed whilst he -was in London without our meeting. I made him sit to a painter of -miniature portraits in Regent Street, and the same artist took my -likeness for my sweetheart to carry away to sea with him. They were -both beautiful little pictures. My eyes seemed to glow out of the -ivory, and Tom’s face was to the life, happy, careless, loving. - -It was settled by this time that we were to be married on his return. -He hoped that he might not have to go to sea again after next voyage. -If he went, he would take me with him. The scheme provided for my being -at his side, as his wife, in any case. But he owned that, though he -had recommended a sea voyage to me, and though he had said he would -take me as his wife to sea with him, he had far rather that I kept on -dry ground. The sea was no place for woman. It was hurdled with perils. -It was a ceaseless jump of risks from one port to another. Here, then, -was one reason for our not being married until he returned. - -But another and more controlling one, though he never betrayed it in -words, was his desire that I should have plenty of leisure to reflect -upon the step I had consented to take. I could not now but see things -as he did, and, indeed, I hope I could never have been so unmaidenly as -to give the smallest expression to my secret wishes; but in my heart -of hearts I was more vexed than I can express by this delay, which I -attributed largely to my uncle’s influence with Tom. When two people -are in love, and are to be married, there will be impatience. Whether -the man or the woman is or should be the more impatient, I don’t know. -I own that deep in my heart I was bitterly impatient. Tom would not -sail till August; we had plenty of time to get married in; several -months must pass before he could return, and, like a child, I wanted my -toy at once. I wanted to feel that he belonged to me; that, though he -was absent, an invisible bond united us. I was jealous of him. I said -to myself: At the place he is sailing to he may meet with some woman -whom he will think fairer and discover to be richer than I. Are not -sailors faithless? All the songs and stories about them represent them -so. Then I thought of my father, and abhorred myself for being visited -with such thoughts, and cried like a fool to think how mean was my -heart, that loving, nay, I may say adoring my Tom as I did, I could yet -suppose when out of sight he would forget me. - -Well, the time came round when the _Arab Chief_ was nearly ready, and -when my sweetheart must go to Sunderland to carry her to the Mersey, -there to load for Rio Janeiro. I never could understand business, -least of all the business of the sea, and would listen to him whilst -he talked about his venture, vainly endeavouring to grasp his meaning -in the full. But I gathered from his conversations with my uncle that -he was very sanguine, and that, in any case, there could be no risks, -as he had taken care to insure considerably in excess of his stake. I -recollect, on one occasion, when we were dining at my aunt’s, my uncle, -in talking with Tom about his venture, suggested that he erred by -insuring so high above the value of the risk. - -‘But why?’ said Tom. ‘At all events, I pay handsomely for the privilege -of protecting myself up to the hilt.’ - -‘True,’ said the lawyer, ‘but always in case of loss there is something -in over-insurance that vitiates--perhaps to one’s prejudice only, -mind--the well-seeming of this act of self-protection.’ - -‘The underwriters have it in their power to satisfy themselves,’ said -Tom. - -‘What are your firms?’ asked my uncle. - -‘The Marine, the Alliance, and the General Maritime Insurance.’ - -‘That’s cover enough, captain,’ said my uncle, laughing. - -‘Yes, and I mean to go to the Neptune for a policy on the freight. -I have a considerable share in the barque, and I intend that my -proportion of the freight shall be safe. I am not of those who believe -in keeping their money in a purse; I carry mine in my pockets. If the -purse is lost, all is gone. Who’s to assure me of the solvency of an -insurance office? I mean that this voyage shall enable me to stay at -home with my wife,’ said he, looking fondly at me. ‘Let another take -charge of the barque next time. I’ll make enough to own the half of -her.’ - -‘You shall own all of her, if you will, Tom,’ said I. - -‘That’s as your trustees shall decide,’ said my uncle. - -‘My money is my own, and I shall do what I please with it,’ I answered. - -‘Yes; and with your knowledge of business, Marian, you shall go into -partnership with your husband as a shipowner and land the firm in the -Fleet.’ - -Here Tom sang: - - ‘All in the Downs the Fleet lay moored,’ - -and so with a laugh changed the subject. - -It was towards the close of the month of August when my sweetheart bade -me farewell on his departure to Liverpool to take command of the _Arab -Chief_. I had passionately desired to go with him; but my aunt could -not accompany me, and I was without a friend of my own sex able just -then to leave home. My wish was overruled by my uncle and aunt. Tom -himself did not favour it, though his longing for me to be with him -to the last was as keen as mine, and so I took my farewell of him in -my uncle’s home. He held me in his arms whilst I cried till I thought -my heart would break. He kissed me again and again, bade me keep up -my spirits, to consider that that day a year I should have been his -wife some months. He begged me to remain faithful to him, and told me -there never would be a minute when I should be out of his thoughts; and -solemnly asking God to look down upon me, to guard me against all evil -and sickness, to look down upon him, to protect and bring him back in -safety to me, he pressed a last lingering kiss upon my lips and left me -alone with my tears and my memories. - -I received several letters from him whilst he was at Liverpool. He -wrote in good spirits, called his ship a beauty, and said that of her -kind she was the most admired of anything that had been seen in the -Mersey for years. There was but one drawback. The mate of the barque -was a Mr. Samuel Rotch. Tom had met this man some five or six years -before in South America, and had had an unpleasantness with him there. -He did not tell me what that trouble was. Afterwards Rotch had served -under him, and there was a further difficulty. - -Mr. Rotch, he said, was a man of his own age, soured by professional -disappointments, but a shrewd, intelligent person, and an excellent -seaman. He had rather that the owners had appointed any other man as -mate. But he believed that there was some sort of distant relationship -between Rotch and one of the firm; and as the man had once before got -into trouble in consequence of his representations, and was poor, with -a wife and two children to support, he had resolved to leave matters as -he found them. - -I showed this letter to my uncle, and asked him if he thought that -Mr. Rotch had it in his power to make Tom unhappy or the voyage -uncomfortable. He laughed, and answered: - -‘Your Tom will have gone to sea with irons and bilboes, depend on ’t. -Do you know that the power of the shipmaster when at sea is greater -than that of any despot in the world, from the czar down to the -shirt-maker’s sweater? I have always contended that legally the master -mariner is much too much empowered. He can flog, he can starve, he can -iron the devils under him, and justify any atrocity by an entry in the -log-book and the testimony of one or two witnesses who would poison -their mothers for a bottle of rum. How, then, should this Mr. Samuel -Rotch be able to disturb the peace of your sweetheart? Your anxiety -puts the boot on the wrong leg, my dear. It is for Mrs. Rotch to be -uneasy.’ - -The next letter I received from Tom was dated at sea a few leagues from -the Scilly Islands. He had brought his topsail to the mast, he wrote, -to send his letter by a little coasting schooner that was inward bound. -He blessed me, and sent me many messages of love, and wrote in high -spirits of his ship and crew. Rotch was very civil and alert, he said, -his crew as willing and active a body of men as ever he had had charge -of, and his barque was a clipper, the swiftest fabric that was ever -bowed by a breeze of wind. - -‘I don’t mean to spare her,’ he wrote, ‘and she knows it. If there’s -virtue in sail-cloth, my beloved, she shall walk. She shall whiten old -ocean for your sake, my darling, though it should come to my holding on -with my royals when we ought to be under double reefs.’ - -I laughed when I read his sea-terms, for I understood them; yet I -pouted, too, for I was fool enough to feel jealous of his admiration -for his barque. He ought to admire nothing living or dead but me, I -thought to myself. He may go and fall in love with his ship, and think -her mistress enough for him, and then I kissed his letter and read it -again and yet again, and counted how many days had gone since he had -left me, and how many weeks must pass before he would return. - -Much about this time aunt received a letter from her son Will. This, -too, was addressed from sea. We had heard from him from Plymouth--a few -brief lines--and not since. He wrote that they had met with fearful -weather in the Channel, and he believed that he had mistaken his -calling; he would swap all his fine notions of starting on a career and -seeing the world for one hour of the comfortable parlour near the Tower -and a good dinner of roast beef and cauliflower. - -‘It’s a dog’s life,’ said he. ‘The captain is stern and like a sentry. -You mustn’t speak to him. The second mate is a bit of a bully, big, -strong, and noisy. You never saw such beef as they serve out in all -your life! The oldest sailor on board swears he never recollects worse -pork, and they say that before we’re up with the Cape the bread for -ship’s use will be all alive--oh!’ - -‘All first voyagers write like that,’ said my uncle, returning the -letter to his wife; ‘before Will is a fortnight at home he’ll be making -our lives a burden with his regrets and lamentations that his ship -doesn’t sail sooner.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -SHE RECEIVES DREADFUL NEWS - - -The weeks went by. Day after day I eagerly expected to receive a letter -from Tom, making sure that he would grasp every chance to send me -his love and blessing and all the news about himself from those high -seas on which he was still afloat. But no letter reached me, ‘simply -because,’ Mr. Johnstone explained, ‘your Tom has not been fortunate -enough to fall in with a homeward-bound ship. You may often sail for -many days upon the sea, so I’ve heard your father say, without sighting -a vessel. When you hear from Tom it will be from Rio.’ - -But how I missed him! We had been incessantly together for nearly four -months. The weeks might roll by, but there was no magic in the time -they contained to weaken my sense of loss. I lived very quietly, was -much in my own home, where I sought to pass the hours by reading and -drawing. I took a kind of dislike to company, and refused a number -of invitations to quadrille and card parties and the like. It was my -delight to shape my conduct and habits by the fancy of such wishes as -I knew my sweetheart would express were he with me. My memory of him, -my love for him, lay in a spirit of control upon my heart. All impulse, -all desire was governed by the many gentle, noble counsels he had -wrapped up in our long, sweet, quiet talks together, when we rambled -in the outskirts or took oars upon the river. Never was man more truly -loved than was Tom. My aunt particularly noticed the change in me, and -said that Tom’s courtship had done me a very great deal of good. - -‘You no longer roll your eyes,’ said she, ‘when you argue, and redden -and strut and heave up your breast when I venture to object to your -views. You have become thoroughly genteel, my dear, in your tastes and -habits. Your captain will have a treasure in you. And it is very well -that you did not marry him before he sailed, for I am certain that his -influence as a husband would not have been so considerable as it has -proved as a lover. Both he and you are now having plenty of leisure for -thought, and when you come together at the altar you will know exactly -what you are doing.’ - -In the month of November my little stepsister died of peritonitis. I -offered to nurse her when it reached my ears that she was ill in bed. -Mr. Stanford thanked me; and whilst I nursed her I learned to love -the poor little delicate creature, and my heart reproached me for the -unconquerable coldness I had ever felt towards her when I stooped and -kissed her white face in death and beheld a faint copy of my mother -there. I cannot tell to what degree Mr. Stanford was affected by his -loss; his colourless countenance betrayed but little of what might pass -in his mind. Had I found his grief very great, then the loneliness -of his state would have pleaded, and I might have forced myself into -some show of civility. But there was nothing in his behaviour after -his child’s death to appeal, and we speedily passed again into our -old cold relations of separate existence and fixed dislike of him on -my side as a fellow who had impudently thrust himself into my father’s -place. - -The nursing of the poor child, however, together with my grief at her -death and my secret fretting over not hearing from Tom, made me look -ill if I did not feel so. My aunt was concerned and insisted upon my -seeing her medical adviser, who recommended her, spite of its being -winter, to take me to the seaside. It was the month of February--hard, -cold weather. My aunt knew and liked Ramsgate, and proposed that town. -Thither we went and took lodgings in Wellington Crescent, a pleasant -row of buildings immediately overlooking the English Channel. - -After we had been in Ramsgate a few days I felt so poorly that I was -obliged to keep my bed. My aunt called in a doctor, who said that I was -‘out.’ He sent me physic, which I did not take, and told me to keep my -bed till I felt equal to rising. My bed was so situated that, when my -blind was up, I saw the ocean. If the day was clear, I could faintly -spy afar upon the horizon the delicate golden thread of the Goodwin -Sands. I’d watch the ships slowly floating past this side of the thin -line like little clouds of powder-smoke gliding ball-shaped from the -mouths of cannon, and listen to the faint thunder of the surf combing -the beach under the chalk cliffs, and find a meaning for the voice of -the wind as it shrilled with a hissing as of steam past the casement, -or sang in the interstices or muttered in the chimney. The sight of the -sea brought Tom very close to me, closer than ever he could lie upon my -heart at home, amid streets and the rattle of coaches and carts. - -One morning, whilst I was confined to my bed, my aunt did not come to -my room as was her custom after breakfast. I inquired of the servant -how she was, and was told that she was pretty well, but that she had -passed an uneasy night. I asked if there were any letters, for I was -always expecting to hear from Tom under cover from my maid, whom I had -left at home; the girl replied that Mrs. Johnstone had received one -letter, and that there was none for me. - -It was not until after twelve that my aunt came to see me. She looked -ill, and there was a peculiar expression of distress in her face. She -came to the foot of my bed and gazed at me earnestly, and asked me how -I felt. I said that I felt better, and hoped to find strength to rise -for a few hours towards evening. - -‘You are not looking well, aunt.’ - -‘I am not feeling well, Marian.’ - -‘I hope you have not received bad news from home?’ - -‘I have had a broken night,’ said she, turning away and going to the -window, and speaking with her back upon me. - -‘Have you news of Will?’ - -‘No! No!’ she cried quickly, still with her back turned. ‘There is no -news of Will. I believe you are better, my dear.’ - -And then she asked me what I could fancy for dinner, and so changed -the subject with a readiness which quieted the misgiving her looks had -excited. - -She came and went during the day, as she had heretofore done; but she -was more silent, more reserved than usual, and often her eyes rested -upon me, though she shifted her gaze when I looked at her. I rose in -the afternoon, but in a few hours was glad to get to bed again. Next -day I felt decidedly better and stronger. It was a bright, still day, -cloudless, and the sun lay warm upon the land, and the sea stretched -like a polished plate of steel, full of gleams of different shades of -blue. I went down to the pier in an old-fashioned, rickety chair, and -my aunt walked by my side. The harbour was gay with the red canvas -of smacks. A number of ships, of many rigs, lay close in against the -wall, and their white canvas hung motionless in festoons, drying -after the rain or dew of the night. The sweet, salt, still atmosphere -was refreshing to one’s innermost life. All sounds came in a sort of -music from the town, and I heard a gay ringing of church bells as -for a marriage; the tones, silvered to the ear by distance, mingled -pleasantly with the noise of the foaming of the strong tide racing off -the rounded base of the pier. - -I said to aunt: ‘When Tom and I are married, we shall often come to -Ramsgate, and perhaps live here. I do not wonder that you like the -place.’ - -In silence she stepped to the side of the pier, and seemed to look -earnestly at the figure of a smack that had dropped her anchor about a -mile off, her brown sails hoisted, and the image under her as perfect -as a mirror could reflect it. When she returned to my side, she spoke -of the beauty of the day and the difference between the air of Stepney -and that of Ramsgate, and we then leisurely returned to our lodgings. - -I was sure that some trouble weighed upon her mind; but as my questions -seemed to make her peevish, as her worry might relate to something -which she would wish to conceal from me, I forbore further inquiry. -That day passed, and next day I was well enough to rise after breakfast -and go into the drawing-room, where I sat upon a sofa wheeled close to -the window. I was reading a novel, which my aunt had borrowed from the -Marine Library, and had wholly forgotten myself in the interest of the -story. My aunt had been absent for at least an hour. I believed she was -out shopping. She entered without her bonnet, and coming to the sofa, -sat down, took me by the hand and looked me in the face. The tears -gushed into her eyes suddenly, and for a few moments she moved her lips -in a vain effort to speak. She then said: - -‘I dare not conceal it longer from you, Marian. But, oh, what news it -is! How am I to break it to you?’ - -I threw the book down. The neck of my dress seemed to strangle me. -Mechanically I removed my brooch and eased the tension of my neck with -my finger whilst I looked at her. - -‘It concerns Tom,’ she said. - -‘Is he dead?’ said I, speaking with a heightened note in my voice that -carried it out of recognition of my own hearing. - -‘No.’ - -‘Is it very bad news?’ - -‘Marian,’ she said, beginning to cry again, ‘it is shocking bad news. -It is incredible. It may all come right, but it is not the less -terrible.’ - -I drew in several deep breaths, and said: ‘Why will you not tell me -this dreadful news of Tom?’ - -‘He is in London.’ - -‘In London!’ I shrieked, springing to my feet. - -She pulled me gently to the sofa, and putting her hand in her pocket, -drew forth a letter. - -‘Your health would not allow me to speak to you before,’ said she in a -broken voice. ‘Even now I fear that I am in too great a hurry. But what -am I to do? You would not thank me for any longer concealing the truth. -Tom is in prison, Marian.’ - -I stared at her and shivered. - -‘Your uncle’s letter,’ she continued, opening it with both hands which -trembled excessively, ‘will better explain what has happened than I -can. Will you read it?’ - -I took it. The handwriting reeled. I returned the letter to her and -said: - -‘Read it to me, aunt.’ - -She did so. It was to this effect. After all these years I am unable to -give it you word for word: - -‘I have a terrible piece of news to convey to poor Marian through you. -Captain Butler is arrived in London, having been sent home by the -British Consul at Rio in H.M.S. _Crusader_. He is charged by the mate -and carpenter of the _Arab Chief_ with attempting to scuttle her. These -two men, together with two sailors belonging to the crew of the _Arab -Chiefs_ are landed with him from the _Crusader_. He instantly sent -for me, but I wish there were not so many witnesses against him. That -he is absolutely innocent, and that he is the victim of an atrocious -conspiracy, I have not the shadow of a doubt. He will be charged at Bow -Street on Monday, and will be advised to reserve his defence. He will -be committed, of course, to take his trial at the Old Bailey, and we -must hope to come off with flying colours. But I say again I could wish -there were fewer witnesses. Four to one are fearful odds.’ - -My aunt had read thus far when a flash of lightning seemed to pass over -my eyes, and I remembered no more. - -I recovered from a fit rather than a swoon. I had been for above an -hour unconscious, and found myself on my bed, with the doctor on one -hand of me and my aunt on the other. The doctor went away soon after I -had regained my mind. Memory was slow in coming. It rushed in upon me -on a sudden with its burden of horror. - -‘What are you going to do, Marian?’ - -‘I am going to London.’ - -‘Lie still, my dear child. You cannot go to London to-day. I’ll book -by the coach to-morrow morning. I’ll write to your uncle and send the -letter to Canterbury to catch the Dover mail-coach. He will be ready to -receive us and give us all the news.’ - -And, indeed, I should have found myself too weak in body to carry out -my resolution to go at once to London. The railway to Ramsgate was not -then made. I do not know that it was even in contemplation. A coach -left early for London from Ramsgate every morning; it carried the -mails, I think, and travelled by way of Canterbury. When my aunt found -me somewhat composed, she went to the office to secure places by the -coach on the morrow. She left me her husband’s letter, and I read it -again and again, and every time I read it I rolled my eyes around the -room, seeking to realise that I was awake. - -There was something shocking and frightful to me in my uncle speaking -of the Old Bailey; I associated it with Newgate Prison. Living in the -City as I did, well did I know the grim, dark, massive walls of that -horrid jail. Would Tom be locked up in that prison which I could not -think of without a sickening fancy of the executions there--of the -remorseless human beasts, men and women white with gin, gaping with -the lust of blood, gathered together to witness the sight--of the -filthy tenements round about, every window pale with the eager faces -of cowards and devils, the grimy roofs littered with sightseers? What -was Tom charged with? What was the meaning of scuttling a ship? What -punishment was the act visited with? Was a man hanged for scuttling? - -I paced about the room in the agony of my mind till I sank with -exhaustion into a chair. I dug the nails of my fingers into my palms -till the blood sprang. Tom in prison! The gentlest, the tenderest, the -truest, the most honourable of men charged with a dreadful crime, a -hanging crime perhaps, and locked up in jail! - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -SHE VISITS NEWGATE - - -It blew almost a hurricane of wind that night. It swept out of the -east and stormed in thunder against the house in which we lodged. -The rain burst in furious discharges upon the window-panes, and the -lightning was sun-bright at times, and the noise of the rushing sea -was a continuous artillery which drowned the loud peals from the -clouds. All night long I lay awake with wide-open eyes. Thrice my aunt -visited my bedside to see how I did and every time I could give her no -other answer than that the thought of my sweetheart lying in prison -was driving me mad, was killing me; so I would rave. I could think -of nothing but Tom. I had no sight for the lightning, no ear for the -thunder of the gale, nor for the voice of the sea in its wrath. - -It was clear weather next morning. We breakfasted very early, walked -to the coach, and quitted Ramsgate at about eight o’clock. It was a -dreadful journey to me; endless as the night to one who is shipwrecked -and watches for the dawn. The weather had changed too; snow was falling -at Canterbury and it was bitterly cold all the way to London. We -reached my uncle’s house at ten o’clock that night. My aunt’s letter -had been received, and a cheerful fire and a hot, comfortable supper -awaited us. My uncle came downstairs to receive us and kissed us both -in silence, as though some one dear to us all lay dead upstairs. -Exhausted as I was by the long journey, by the cold, by the dreadful -sufferings of my mind, I would still insist on hearing of Tom, on -learning how he was, how he looked, the meaning of this dreadful thing -which had befallen him and me, before I sat or took a bite or stirred -a foot to the bedroom to remove my travelling attire. But my uncle was -inflexible. - -‘Go with your aunt,’ he exclaimed; ‘then return with her here and warm -and refresh yourself. I cannot talk rationally with one who looks half -dead.’ - -He forced me to obey, but I made haste to rejoin him. He placed me -close to the fire and gave me some hot brandy and water and a biscuit, -which he said would act as a stay till supper was served, and, my aunt -arriving, he began to talk about Tom. - -‘He is charged--did I not write it?--with attempting to scuttle his -ship.’ - -‘Why should he do that?’ I cried. - -‘To defraud the insurance offices. I told him at the time that he -erred by over-insuring, but it seems that he went further even than he -admitted, for he put a venture of cargo of his own into the vessel and -insured the goods and the freight in the Neptune. Four offices!’ he -exclaimed, and he broke off, looking down with a very grave face. - -‘Where is he?’ I cried. - -‘In Newgate,’ he answered. - -‘Oh, don’t tell me that!’ I shrieked, clasping my hands and rocking -myself. - -My aunt stared with a white face at her husband. - -‘Now, Marian,’ said my uncle, ‘if you possess one particle of the -spirit of your father, let it animate and support you now--now, and -until this tragic affair is at an end. Screams and lamentations are -not going to help Captain Butler. He says that he is the victim of a -diabolical conspiracy. I believe it, and it will be our duty to prove -it. What is there about Newgate more than there is about Millbank or -the Hulks or Horsemonger Lane to horrify you?’ - -‘Why is he in Newgate?’ asked my aunt. - -‘He was charged, yesterday, at Bow Street, and committed to take his -trial at the Central Criminal Court. That’s why. There is nothing in -it. Many innocent men have been locked up in Newgate.’ - -‘Who charges him with this crime?’ said I. - -‘His mate, a man of the name of Rotch, and a carpenter, a drunken -rascal, of the name of Nodder.’ - -And then he related the story of the accusation, and described what had -passed at Bow Street on the preceding day. - -Supper was served, and the presence of the servant held us silent. -I could not look at the food I was helped to, and was passionately -craving for the servant to be gone that I might question my uncle. -Then, when the opportunity came, I said to him: - -‘Is scuttling a ship a serious crime?’ - -‘One of the most serious.’ - -I trembled and said: - -‘What is the punishment for it?’ - -He was silent, as though he did not or would not hear. I sprang up and -shrieked out: - -‘Uncle, is it hanging?’ - -‘It would have been hanging two or three years ago,’ said he. ‘Thank -God, it is no longer a capital crime.’ - -‘What can they do to Tom?’ I cried. - -‘Control yourself, my dear child,’ said my aunt. - -‘Oh, uncle, what can they do to him?’ I cried again. - -‘They must first prove him guilty.’ - -‘And then--and then?’ - -‘The penalty is transportation.’ - -‘He may be sent out of the country?’ - -‘Yes, to Norfolk Island or Tasmania or Botany Bay,’ answered my uncle, -in a voice sullen with his sympathy with my misery. - -‘For how long?’ - -‘You’ll drive yourself mad with these questions,’ said my aunt. ‘He is -not yet convicted.’ - -‘For how long, uncle?’ - -‘For a term--perhaps for life. But he is innocent, and we must prove -him so.’ - -I flung myself into an arm-chair and buried my face. Yet I could -not weep; I had cried away all my tears. But, oh, the torment in my -half-strangled throat, and the anguish of my dry, heart-breaking sobs! - -After a while, I succeeded in forcing a sort of composure upon myself. -We sat talking until long past midnight. I asked many questions as -rationally and as collectedly as I could; but I remarked, with secret -horror, in my uncle’s speech a note of misgiving that sank into my -spirits like a knife into the heart. Indeed, it seemed more than -misgiving, even dark suspicion in him. He said not a word to justify -what I felt; but he talked of four to one, and again he talked of Tom’s -exaggerated precaution in excessively insuring his venture, and I -guessed what was in his mind. - -‘We shall be able to score one good point,’ said he. ‘The mate -Rotch, some five or six years ago, quarrelled with your sweetheart -Tom, at Valparaiso. Butler was then mate of a ship. They met at a -fandango. Rotch insulted a young lady Butler had been dancing with -and had previously known. Your sweetheart took him by the throat and -backed him out of the room, half suffocated and black in the face. -Strangely enough, two years later, Butler found himself master of a -small Indiaman, called the _Chanticleer_, with this same man Rotch as -second mate under him. The mate of the _Chanticleer_ complained much -of Rotch’s insolence. One night, when in Soundings, homeward bound, -Butler found Rotch sleeping in his watch, with a dozen ships looming -dark all round. This was extraordinary. Butler reported his conduct to -the owners of the _Chanticleer_, and the man lost his berth. But on -your sweetheart learning that Rotch had been married shortly before -sailing, and that a child had been born to him during his absence at -sea, he went to work to procure his reinstatement or to obtain another -situation for him, and was successful. There may be other motives; but -here is a point that must go far to confirm Butler’s declaration that -he is the victim of a conspiracy.’ - -I listened greedily. I kept my eyes, smarting and burning, fastened -upon my uncle’s face. - -‘What is scuttling a ship?’ I asked. - -‘Did I not explain? It is boring a hole in her so that she may sink.’ - -‘Who says that Tom bored a hole in his ship?’ - -‘Rotch and Nodder and two seamen.’ - -‘Did they see him bore the hole?’ - -‘They affirm that they saw the holes which he had bored, and discovered -a tree-nail auger in his cabin.’ - -‘Oh, he would not do it!’ I cried. ‘It is a lie! He is innocent!’ - -Here my aunt advised me to go to bed, and said that she herself could -sit up no longer. But I detained my uncle for another half hour with -many feverish, impassioned questions, before I could force myself from -the room, and a church bell struck one through the stillness of the -snowing night as I went to the bedroom that had been prepared for me. - -My uncle was to see Tom next morning at Newgate, and told me he would -inquire the rules and bring about a meeting between my sweetheart and -me as speedily as possible. After breakfast, my box was put into a -coach, and I drove to my house in Stepney. Mr. Stanford came into the -hall to speak to me. I forced a wild smile and a hurried bow and pushed -past. I could not address him nor listen to what he had to say. When -I went upstairs and sat down in my own room, the room in which Tom -and Will had dined with me, where I had passed hours in sweet musings -upon my lover, where there were many little things he had given me--a -picture I had admired, a screen, a little French chimney clock, above -all, his miniature--I believed my heart was breaking. I wept and wept; -I could not stay my tears. My maid stood beside me, caressed and tried -to control me, then drew off and stood looking at me, afraid. - -By-and-by I rallied, and since activity was life to me--for sitting -still and thinking were heart-breaking and soul-withering to one -situated as I was, without a father or a mother to carry her grief to, -without an intimate friend to open herself to--I considered what I -should do; and then I reflected that all the money which I could scrape -together might be needful for Tom’s defence. Thereupon I went straight -to the bank into which my trustees paid my money, and ascertained -how my account stood. I saw the manager of the bank and asked him to -what amount he would allow me to overdraw, should the need arise, and -he told me that I was at liberty to overdraw to a considerable sum -against the security of the title-deeds of my house, which were in his -possession, and which had been originally lodged at the bank by my -father. - -This and other errands I went upon helped to kill the day, and the -distraction did me a little good. In the afternoon, before it was -dusk, I walked as far as Ludgate Hill, and turned into the Old Bailey, -and went a little distance up Newgate Street, and continued walking -there that I might be near Tom. I crossed the street and looked at the -horrible walls, dark with the grime of London, and at the spiked gates, -and at a huddle of miserable, tattered wretches at one of those gates, -as though they yearned in their starvation and misery for the prison -food and the shelter of the cells within; and I wondered in what part -behind those fortress-like walls my sweetheart was, what his thoughts -were, what he was doing, if he was thinking of me as I was of him, -until I stamped the pavement in a sudden agony of mind, and crossed the -street to the walls, and went along the pavement close beside them, to -and fro, to and fro. - -The dusk drove me away at last, and being very weary, I called a coach -and went to my aunt’s, that I might get the latest news of Tom. My -uncle had had a long interview with my sweetheart in the morning. - -‘He is fairly cheerful and hopeful,’ said he. ‘You will scarcely know -him, though. His anxiety during the long voyage home in the man-of-war -has pinched and wrinkled and shrunk him. You’ll see him to-morrow. We -will go together.’ - -‘Uncle, you will employ the very best people on his side.’ He named a -well-known Old Bailey pleader of those days. ‘Do not stint in money, -uncle. All that I have in the world is Tom’s,’ I said. - -‘The deuce of it is,’ exclaimed my uncle, thumping his knee, ‘we have -no witnesses to call except as to character. It’s four-tongued positive -swearing on one side, and single-tongued negative swearing on the -other.’ - -So ran our talk. It was all about Tom. As on the previous evening so -now again I kept my kind-hearted uncle up till past midnight with my -feverish questions. My aunt had asked me to sleep in their house, and I -gladly consented, partly that I might be instantly ready to accompany -my uncle to Newgate at the appointed time, and partly because I dreaded -the loneliness of my home, the long and dismal solitude of the evening -and the night in a scene crowded with memories of my father and my -mother and my sweetheart, of my childhood, of the sunny hours of my -holiday rambling and of careless merry days of independence. I could -not sleep, through thinking of the morrow’s meeting. It was seven -months since Tom and I had kissed and parted. He had sailed away full -of hope. He had written in high spirits. And now he was a prisoner in -Newgate; his ship taken from him; the prospects of the voyage ruined; -his innocent, manly heart infamously shamed and degraded, charged with -a crime which might banish him for ever from England! - -‘Do not be shocked,’ said my uncle, in the morning, ‘because you will -not be suffered to speak to him face to face. You will presently see -what I mean. It is mere prison routine--a quite necessary discipline. -There’s nothing in it.’ - -After all these years I but vaguely remember as much of this horrible -jail as we traversed. My heart beat with a pulse of fever; my sight -fell dim in the gloom after the whiteness of the day outside. I seemed -to see nothing, but I looked always for my sweetheart as we advanced. I -recollect little more than the door of Newgate jail, with its flanking -of huge, black, fortress-like wall, the iron-grated windows, the heavy, -open doors faced with iron, the dark passages, in one of which hung an -oil lamp, and the strange sight beyond this gloomy passage of stone -floor touched with barred sunlight flowing through an iron grating. -Many structural changes have been made in the interior of Newgate since -those days. We entered a passage walled on either hand by gratings -and wirework. Some warders in high hats and blue coats--warders or -constables, I know not which--stood outside this passage. My uncle -was at my side, and we waited for my sweetheart to appear. There was -but one prisoner then present. He was conversing through the grating -with a dark-skinned, black-eyed woman of about forty, immensely stout -and dressed in many bright colours. He was clothed in the garb of -the felon, and was enormously thick-set and powerfully built; you -saw the muscles of his arms tighten the sleeves of his jacket as he -gesticulated with Hebraic demonstrativeness to the woman whose voice -was as harsh as a parrot’s. His hair was cropped close; where his -whiskers and beard were shaved his skin was a dark coarse blue; he was -deeply pitted with small-pox; his nose lay somewhat flat upon his face -with very thick nostrils; his brows were black and heavily thatched, -and the eyes they protected were coal black as the Indian’s, but -amazingly darting. My uncle looked at him with interest, and whispered: - -‘I was at that man’s trial. He was sentenced to the hulks and to -transportation for life for receiving stolen goods and keeping a -notorious house. He is a Jew prize-fighter, and one of the very best -that ever stood up in a ring. Three years ago he beat the Scotch -champion Sandy Toomer into pulp. He’s a terrible ruffian, and a villain -of the deepest dye, but a noble prize-fighter, and I am sorry for -Barney Abram.’ - -The felon took no notice of us spite of my uncle staring at him, as -though he had been one of the greatest of living men. I glanced at the -horrid creature, but thought only of Tom. - -I was glad of the delay in his coming. I had time to collect myself -and to force an expression of calmness into my face. On a sudden he -appeared! He came in by the side of a warder from the direction of a -yard, in which my uncle afterwards told me prisoners who had not yet -had their trials took the air. He was dressed in his own clothes, in -seafaring apparel somewhat soiled by wear. I had feared to see him in -the vile attire of a convict, and was spared a dreadful shock, when I -looked and beheld my dear one as I remembered him! But oh! not as I -remembered him! He had let his beard grow; he was shaggy and scarce -recognisable with it, and his hair was longer than formerly. His cheeks -were sunk, his eyes dull, like the eyes of one who has not slept for -weeks, his lips pale, his complexion strange and hardly describable, -owing to the pallor that had sifted through, so to speak, and mottled -the sun-brown of his skin. But his old beauty was there to my love; -my heart gave a great leap when I saw him; and I cried his name and -extended my arms against the wire of the grating. - -He looked at me steadfastly for some moments with his teeth hard set -upon his under lip, as though he dared not attempt to speak until he -had conquered his emotion and mastered such tears as burn like fire -in the brain of a man. My uncle gently saluted him through the bars, -and then motioned with his hand, and, taking me by the arm, led me -down to the extremity of this jail meeting-place, and Tom walked on -the opposite side until he was abreast. My uncle then moved some -distance away and stood watching the Jew prize-fighter. A warder walked -leisurely to and fro; and others at a little distance stood like -sentinels. - -My sweetheart’s first words were: - -‘Marian, before God I am innocent.’ - -‘Tom, I know it--I know it, dearest, and your innocence shall be -proved.’ - -‘Before God I am innocent,’ he repeated softly and without passion in -his tones or posture. ‘It is a devilish plot of Rotch to ruin me. I -don’t know why the carpenter Nodder should swear against me. I had no -quarrel with the man. But he’d go to the gallows for drink, and in that -Rotch found his opportunity since he needed a witness.’ - -‘You will be able to prove your innocence.’ - -‘Rotch,’ he continued, still speaking softly and without temper, -‘bored holes in the lazarette; then plugged the lining and hid the -auger in my cabin. Nodder swears that I borrowed the auger from him. -A lie, Marian--a wicked, horrible lie. Why should I borrow an auger? -Why should I, as captain, handle such a tool as that when there is a -carpenter in the ship? Rotch brought some of the men aft to listen to -the water running into the lazarette. He says that he went below to -break out stores and heard it. A hellish lie, Marian. He swears that he -plugged the holes to stop the leaks and came up with the men to search -my cabin. I was in my cabin when they entered, and on the scoundrel -Rotch charging me with attempting to scuttle the barque and imperilling -the lives of the crew, I pulled a pistol out of my drawer and would -have shot him. They threw themselves upon me, and Rotch called to them -to search the cabin, and they found the auger in the place where the -villain had hidden it. But this was not all. Rotch swore before the -Consul at Rio that he had seen me go into the lazarette, and that he -had mentioned the circumstance to Nodder, but that neither suspected -what I was doing until Rotch himself went below for some boatswain’s -stores, and then he heard the water running in. Marian,’ and here he -slightly raised his voice, ‘it is a conspiracy, artfully planned, -artfully executed, artfully related, with the accursed accident of the -over-insured venture to make it significant as death, and God alone -knows how it may go with me.’ - -A warder paused and looked at us, then passed on. - -‘Don’t say that,’ I cried; ‘it breaks my heart to hear you say that. -You are innocent. My uncle will employ clever men. They will question -and question and prove the wretches liars, and our turn will come.’ - -‘I blundered by over-insuring, but I blundered more fearfully still -when in a moment of confidence I told the villain Rotch what money I -had embarked in this voyage, and to what extent I had protected myself.’ - -‘Tom, whatever happens I am with you. Oh, if it should come to their -killing you they shall kill me too, Tom.’ - -He pressed his hands to his heart and then sobbed twice or thrice. My -love, my grief, my misery raged in me; I felt that I had strength to -tear down the strong iron grating which separated us, that I might -get to him, clasp him to me, give him the comfort of my bosom, the -tenderness of my caressing cheek. It worked like madness in my soul to -be held apart from him, to see him and not be able to fling my arms -around him. - -We looked at each other in silence. I was about to speak when a bell -rang, and a strong voice called out: ‘Time’s up!’ The prize-fighter was -gone. A warder marched quickly along to Tom and touched him on the -shoulder, and my uncle called to me: ‘Come, Marian.’ Tom cried: ‘God -bless you, dear,’ but my vision was blind with tears, a sudden swooning -headache made me stagger, and until I was in the street I was scarcely -sensible of more than of being led through the passages and out through -the gate by my uncle. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -SHE ATTENDS HER SWEETHEART’S TRIAL - - -Down to the date of the trial, suspense and expectation lay in so -crushing a burden upon me that life was hardly supportable. In this -time I ceased to wonder that people had the courage to perish by their -own hands. Twice after that first visit I saw Tom in Newgate, but those -interviews were restricted by the rules of the place to a quarter of -an hour, and always the bell sounded and the rude voice of the warder -broke in at the moment when I had most to say and most to hearken to. - -The trial of my sweetheart took place at the Central Criminal Court on -April 17th. The judge was the stony-hearted Maule--memory may deceive -me, but I am almost sure it was Mr. Justice Maule. For Tom’s defence -my uncle had secured the services of the celebrated Mr. Sergeant -Shee, with whom were Mr. Doane and Mr. C. Jones. I drove down to -the Old Bailey with my aunt early in the morning. The court was not -inconveniently crowded. It was one of those cases which do not excite -much attention. A Cash-man or a Bishop would have blocked the court -with eager spectators of both sexes, but the perils and crimes of the -ocean do not appeal to the land-going public. - -The judge took his seat at ten o’clock, and Tom was brought in and -placed at the bar, charged by indictment that ‘he endeavoured, -feloniously and maliciously, to cast away and destroy a certain vessel -called the _Arab Chief_ on the high sea, within the jurisdiction of -the Admiralty of England, and also of the Central Criminal Court, with -intent to prejudice divers persons as part owners of or underwriters -to the same vessel.’ He pleaded ‘Not guilty.’ He spoke very low, but -his tones were steady. He looked ill, haggard, and wasted. A great -number of persons who were to appear as witnesses were in court, and I -searched the many faces with burning eyes for the two wretches who had -brought my sweetheart and me to this horrible pass. But my aunt did not -know them, and there was no one at hand to tell me which among those -men were Rotch and Nodder. - -The case against Tom, as stated at the opening of the prosecution, was -merely an elaborate version of the narrative of the facts which he -had himself briefly related to me in Newgate. Though nobody had been -defrauded, since the ship had not been sunk and no money claimed or -paid, yet as much emphasis was laid by the prosecution upon the number -of offices in which Tom had insured as though my sweetheart’s guilt -were beyond question, as though the prosecution indeed had seen him -make holes in the ship and sink her, as though he had then arrived in -England and received three or four thousand pounds in excess of the -worth of the property. - -The person who addressed the Court for the prosecution had a very -clear, musical voice; he had handsome eyes, and would pause at every -pointed passage of his opening with an eloquent, appealing, concerned -look at the jury. His sweet, persuasive tones and looks doubled to -my fear the horrible significance of his statements, and I abhorred -him whilst I watched him and listened, and could have killed him in -my concealed fright and rage for his cool and coaxing and polished -utterance of what I knew to be hellish lies. Often would I watch the -jury with a devouring gaze. They were in two rows, six in a row, in a -box, and one or another who was above would sometimes lean over and -whisper, and one would take a note, and one would sit for ten minutes -at a time motionless, with his eyes upon the person speaking. The -counsel and gentlemen in wigs and gowns sat around a big table loaded -with books and papers. A crowd of people hung about outside this sort -of well, formed by the table and its circular benches and backs, and -whispered and stared and grinned and took snuff. The judge sat, stern -and heavily wigged, not far from the jury. Sometimes he took notes; -sometimes his chin sank upon his breast. He seemed to see nothing, and -if ever he spoke he appeared to address a vision in midair. - -I’ll not trouble you with the particulars of this trial. I am passing -rapidly now into another scene of life. One witness after another -stepped into the box to prove the several insurances which had been -effected by Tom; others to testify to the value of the _Arab Chief_ and -her lading. The name of Samuel Rotch was then pronounced, and the man -came out of a group of people and briskly ascended to give evidence. -The hot blood stung in my cheeks when I saw him. My heart beat as -though I was stricken with fever. Tom looked at him and kept his eyes -upon him all the while that the wretch was answering questions and -giving his evidence, but I never once observed that he even so much as -glanced at my sweetheart. - -I had expected--nay, indeed, I had prayed--to behold an ill-looking -villain, and I believe it told heavily against us that he was an -exceedingly good-looking man. His features were regular; his eyes of -dark blue, bright and steadfast in their gaze. His white and regular -teeth shone like light when he parted his lips. He was coloured by -the sun to the manly complexion of the seaman, and he was about -Tom’s height, well built, but without my sweetheart’s fine, upright, -commanding carriage. His voice had a frank note. His replies were -quickly delivered, and there was not the least stammer or hesitation in -his statements. Added to all this, he spoke with an educated accent. - -He told his story plainly, and was not to be shaken. He gave a reason -for going into the lazarette which my sweetheart’s counsel seemed -unable to challenge. It was shown through his evidence that the size of -the holes (an inch and a quarter) which were found plugged in the inner -skin exactly corresponded with the diameter of the tree-nail auger -which had been discovered in Tom’s cabin. His evidence was that whilst -in the lazarette he had heard the sound of water running into the ship -betwixt the lining and the side; he took his lantern to the place of -the noise and saw the plugged holes. He went on deck and called to -Benjamin Nodder, who acted as second mate and carpenter; he likewise -summoned others of the crew and they all went into the lazarette and -saw the plugged holes and heard the water coming in. Then to preserve -their lives and save the ship from sinking they ripped up the plank -and plugged the outer holes, thus stopping the leaks, and afterwards -repaired in a body to the captain’s cabin. Captain Butler threatened -to shoot the witness. He was secured, and the cabin searched and the -auger found. They proceeded to Rio, and on their arrival Rotch called -upon the British Consul, who on the evidence sworn before him thought -proper to give the charge of the ship to a new captain and send home -the prisoner, together with Rotch, Nodder, and two of the seamen who -had descended into the lazarette. - -The witness was asked why he suspected the captain of attempting to -scuttle the ship instead of any other of the crew. - -He answered: - -‘Because I had seen the captain go into the lazarette.’ - -‘Was it unusual for a captain to enter the lazarette of his own vessel?’ - -‘No captain,’ the fellow answered, ‘would think of entering a -lazarette.’ - -‘What other grounds for suspicion had he?’ - -The man replied, the captain had told him that his share in the ship, -together with his venture in the cargo and freight, were heavily -insured; also, on one occasion, the captain had talked to him about -a ship whose master had been sentenced and executed for casting her -away; and he had added significantly that it was a good job the law had -been changed, and that a man might now venture for a fortune without -jeopardising his life. - -Tom steadfastly regarded Rotch whilst he gave his evidence; and I knew -by the look in my sweetheart’s face that the villain in the witness-box -fiendishly lied in every syllable he uttered. - -Many questions in cross-examination were asked, and all of them -Rotch answered steadily, bowing respectfully whenever the judge put -a question; and he always looked very straight, with a fine air of -candour and honesty, at the person who interrogated him. He was asked -if he had not quarrelled with Captain Butler at Valparaiso. He answered -yes. The particulars of that quarrel were dramatically related by -Sergeant Shee. Rotch said that every word was true, but that he and -Captain Butler had long ago shaken hands over that affair and dismissed -it from their memory. He was asked if the prisoner had not reported him -on one occasion for insubordination and neglect of duty, and if he had -not been dismissed in consequence, though subsequently another berth -had been procured for him by the prisoner? He answered yes, it was -quite true. He was asked if it was the fact that one of the owners of -the _Arab Chief_ had promised him the berth of captain of that ship in -any case, since, whether guilty or innocent, Captain Butler would not, -after this accusation, be again employed? He replied it was true; but -then the other side qualified what was to me a damning admission by -saying that the fellow was distantly connected with the owner aforesaid. - -The next witness was Benjamin Nodder. This fellow was a rough seaman of -a commonplace type, hunched about the shoulders and bandy-legged, with -red hair falling about his ears in coarse raw streaks, like slices of -carrot; he was wall-eyed, that is, one eye looked away when the other -gazed straight. His voice was harsh as the noise of an axe sharpened -on a grindstone, and when he stood up in the box he leered unsteadily -around him with an effort to stand with dignity, as though he was -tipsy. His examination was little more than a repetition of what had -been gone through with Rotch. - -He was followed by two seamen who had no further evidence to give than -that they had helped to stop the leaks and had seen the captain draw a -pistol upon Rotch in his cabin; they also testified to the discovery of -the auger, one of them saving that he recollected Mr. Nodder telling -the men that Captain Butler had come forward and borrowed an auger. - -‘Mr. Nodder,’ said this witness, ‘told us men that he couldn’t imagine -what the capt’n wanted an auger for; two days after the hole was found -bored in the lazarette.’ - -Thus ran the questions and the answers. Tom looked steadily at the -witnesses as they spoke; but he made no sign; his arms lay motionless, -folded upon his breast. Twice or thrice I saw his eyebrows faintly -lift, and his lips part as though to a deep breath of irrepressible -horror and amazement. - -The Court adjourned for lunch after the two seamen had given their -evidence; I remained in the court with my aunt. Mr. Johnstone came to -us, and I asked him what he thought the verdict would be. - -‘Wait for it! Wait for it!’ he exclaimed, petulant with worry and -doubts. ‘Did not I tell Butler that he had heavily blundered in -over-insuring? And how well Rotch gave his evidence! How frank were the -devil’s admissions! Never a wink or a stutter with him from beginning -to end! But the twelve have yet to hear the sergeant. Keep up your -spirits, Marian!’ And he abruptly left us, but not without exchanging -a look with his wife. I caught that look, and my heart sank and turned -cold, as though the hand of death had grasped it. - -When the Court reassembled, five witnesses were called to speak to -Tom’s character. It was shortly before four when the judge had finished -summing up. I had followed Sergeant Shee’s address with impassioned -attention, eagerly watching the faces of the jurymen as he spoke, -and detesting the judge for the sleepy air with which he listened -and the barristers at the table and the people round about for their -inattention and frequent whispers and passing of papers one to another -on business of their own, as though the drama of life or death to me -which had nearly filled the day had grown tiresome, and they were -waiting for the curtain. Then I had followed with a maddening conflict -of emotion, but with an ever-gaining feeling of sickness and faintness, -like to the sense of a poisoned and killing conviction slowly creeping -to the heart against its maddest current of hopes and protests--thus -had I listened to the address of the counsel for the prosecution who -replied upon the whole case; and now I listened to Mr. Justice Maule’s -summing-up, a tedious and inconclusive address. He made little of the -points which I believed he would have insisted upon. He talked like a -tired man, he retold the testimony, and I seemed to find a prejudice -against Tom throughout his delivery. - -Then it was left to the jury, and the jury, after an absence of twenty -minutes, returned with the verdict of ‘Guilty’ against the prisoner. - -My aunt clutched my hand. I felt a shock as though the blood in my -veins had been arrested in ice in its course. Mr. Justice Maule -proceeded to pass sentence. He spoke in a sing-song voice, as though -at every instant he must interrupt himself with a yawn. He said that -the prisoner had been found guilty, after a fair and impartial trial, -of the offence of having feloniously and wilfully attempted to destroy -the ship _Arab Chief_ for the purpose of defrauding the underwriters. -That was the conclusion the jury had arrived at, and he was perfectly -satisfied with this verdict. And then he pointed out the gravity of the -offence, and how such acts tended to check the spirit of mercantile -adventure, and how impossible it would be for insurance companies to -exist if they were not protected by the law. He rejoiced that the -penalty applied to this crime was no longer capital. At the same time -it was his duty to inflict a severe punishment. The sentence of the -Court was that the prisoner should be transported beyond the seas for -the term of fourteen years. - -My aunt sprang to her feet and shrieked aloud when this awful sentence -was delivered. I sat dumb and motionless. Never once throughout the day -had Tom looked in our direction. Now, on my aunt shrieking, he turned -his head, saw me, and pointed upward, as though surrendering our love -to God. The next moment he had stepped out of sight. - -My uncle came to us. He was white and terribly agitated and shocked. - -‘Come!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come along out of this now. We have had enough -of it.’ - -He took me by the hand, and I arose, but I could not speak; I seemed -to have been deprived of sensation in the limbs; indeed, I do not -know what had come to me. I looked towards the bar where Tom had been -standing and sighed, and then walked with my uncle, my aunt following. -We passed out of the court and got into the Old Bailey; and when in -Ludgate Hill, my uncle called a coach, and we were driven to his home. -Nothing was said saving that my uncle once asked, ‘Who cried out?’ My -aunt answered: - -‘I did.’ - -I sat rigid, looking with blind eyes at the passing show of the -streets. But how am I to describe my feelings! Ask a mother whose child -has suddenly died upon her lap; ask a wife whose husband has fallen -dead at her feet; ask an adoring lover whose sweetheart, taking refuge -with him from a summer thunder-cloud, is slain by a bolt; ask such -people so smitten to tell you what they feel! Nor can my tongue utter -what was in me as we drove to my uncle’s home after the trial. - -When we were arrived my manner frightened my aunt; she feared I’d do -myself a mischief and would not lose sight of me. I sat in a chair -and never spoke, though I answered when I was addressed, and obeyed -mechanically; as, for example, if my aunt entreated me to come to the -table and eat I quitted my chair and took up the knife and fork, but -without eating. My gaze was fixed! I saw nothing but Tom standing at -the bar of the Old Bailey, hearkening to his sentence, lifting up his -hand to me and looking upward. If I turned my eyes toward my aunt, Tom -was behind her. If my uncle sat before me and addressed me, the vision -of Tom painted in bright colours receiving sentence and lifting his -hand was behind him. - -Once during the evening of the day of the trial, when my uncle came -into the parlour, my aunt turned to him and said: - -‘If she would only cry!’ - -She took me to her bed that night, and I lay without speech, seeing Tom -as in a vision, and hearing the sentence over and over again repeated. -I may have slept; I cannot tell. My aunt wished me to remain in bed -next morning, but when she was dressed I got up and followed her to the -parlour. - -My uncle sat by a glowing fire; he was deeply interested in a newspaper -and was probably reading a report of the trial. - -‘Aunt,’ I said, speaking for the first time, and in a voice so harsh -and unmusical that my uncle, not knowing that I had entered, looked up -with gesture of surprise and dropped the newspaper, ‘I wish to go home.’ - -‘No, dear, not yet.’ - -I was about to speak, to say that I believed my going to the house -where my father and mother had lived--to the house that was full of -old associations, where I had thought to dwell with Tom when we were -married--would soothe and do me good. I was about to tell her this, but -could not for giving way; and, hiding my face in my hands, I bowed my -head upon the table, neither of them speaking nor attempting in any way -to arrest the passion of tears. - -I felt better after this dreadful outbreak; it seemed to have cleansed -my brain and to give room for my heart to beat and for my spirits to -stir in. I looked at the good things upon the table, the eggs and -bacon, the ham and the rest, and said: - -‘How do they feed prisoners in jail?’ - -‘Now, don’t trouble about that, Marian,’ said my uncle. ‘Captain Butler -has been a sailor, and he has been bred up on food compared to which -the worst fare in the worst jail in England is delicious.’ - -‘What will they do with him?’ - -‘Until they despatch him across the seas they’ll keep him in prison at -Newgate, perhaps, or they’ll send him to Millbank or to the Hulks. No -man can tell.’ - -‘Don’t fret yourself now with these inquiries, Marian,’ said my aunt. - -‘How do they treat convicts in jail, uncle?’ - -‘Very well, indeed. Better than the majority of them deserve. They -feed them, clothe them, and teach them trades to enable them to live -honestly by-and-by.’ - -‘In what sort of ships do the convicts sail?’ - -‘Oh, in average merchantmen. Owners tender, and a ship is hired. There -were twenty-one of them chartered last year at about four p’un’ ten a -ton.’ - -‘Twenty-one!’ cried my aunt. ‘I wonder there are any rascals left in -England. Twenty-one! Only think! And perhaps two hundred rogues in each -ship.’ - -‘At least,’ exclaimed my uncle. - -‘Are they passenger ships?’ I asked. - -‘Many of them.’ - -‘Could one take one’s passage in a convict ship?’ - -‘Love you, no! No more than one could take one’s passage in a -man-of-war.’ - -‘Marian, you are making no breakfast,’ said my aunt. - -‘What do they do with the convicts when they arrive at their -destination?’ I inquired. - -‘Why,’ said my uncle, passing his cup for more tea, ‘I can only tell -you what I have read. The convicts are lent out as servants to persons -in want of labour on their farms, houses, shops, and so on; some of -them are sent up country to make roads. I don’t know whether they are -paid for their work. They are well fed. It commonly ends in their -setting up in business for themselves; and ninety-nine out of every -hundred felons, after they have been out in the colonies for a few -years, wouldn’t come home--to stay at home, I mean--on any account -whatever. If I were a poor man, I should not at all object to being -transported.’ - -‘Don’t say such things!’ exclaimed my aunt. - -‘I shall follow Tom wherever he is sent,’ said I, pushing my chair from -the table. - -‘What! To Norfolk Island, for instance? What would you do there?’ said -my uncle. ‘Far better wait in this country, my dear, until Captain -Butler returns. They’ll be giving him a ticket-of-leave before long. -He’s bound to behave himself well.’ - -I stepped to the window and looked out. There had been a note of -coldness in my uncle’s pronunciation of the words, ‘Captain Butler.’ I -had also caught a startled look, which was nearly horror, in my aunt -when I said that I would follow my sweetheart wherever he was sent. I -turned presently and said: - -‘When shall I be able to see Tom?’ - -‘Once only every three months, I am afraid,’ answered my uncle. ‘The -rules vary with the prisons, but I think you will find that letters and -visits are allowed once every three months only. I’ll inquire.’ - -‘Shall we hear if he is sent to another place?’ - -‘We shall always be able to learn where he is.’ - -He was growing tired of my questions and left the table, having -finished his breakfast. - -‘I shall want to know what his defence has cost,’ said I; ‘I wish to -pay.’ - -He nodded, and, pulling out his watch, said that he must go to business -downstairs. I ran after him as he was leaving the room, and, grasping -him by the arm, cried impetuously: ‘Uncle, do you believe Tom guilty?’ - -‘I’d not say so if I thought so,’ he answered looking at me, and I -guessed by my feelings that my eyes sparkled and my cheeks were red. -‘Let me go, my girl. Everything passes, and to all of us comes a day -when we discover that there is nothing under the sun which is worth a -tear.’ - -I dropped my hand, and we walked out of the room. My aunt eyed me -strenuously as I paced the floor. I could not sit, my heart was full of -rage, and all the while a resolution was forming and hardening in me; -indeed I caught myself thinking aloud, and often I’d halt with my hand -clenched like one distraught. My aunt presently said: - -‘Why not sit down, dear, and nurse your strength a little? You have -been sorely tried. Cannot we arrange for another trip to the seaside?’ - -‘And leave----’ I cried, and broke short off and forced myself to say -softly: ‘No, aunt.’ - -‘But what do you mean to do? I wish to act as a mother to you, Marian. -I thank God you are not his wife.’ - -‘Don’t say that!’ - -‘But I must say it!’ she exclaimed, bridling. ‘It’s through me that -you are not his wife, and I rejoice heartily that I advised you as -I did. What! Would you, with your means and your beauty and your -opportunities, be the wife of a convict?’ - -I felt the temper in me swelling into madness. I durst not stay, for I -dreaded myself then, and flung out of the room, leaving her talking. -I ran upstairs to put on my outdoor clothes, and when I returned my -aunt was on the landing. She exclaimed that she had not meant what she -said. I looked her earnestly in the face, for I did not believe her; -but already my temper was gone. Ill-temper lives but a short time when -there is great misery. I kissed her and thanked her for her kindness -and love, and, telling her I must go home to look after things, I left -the house. - - - - -Chapter XI - -SHE VISITS H.M.S. ‘WARRIOR’ - - -I remained at home several days, seeing nobody, waited upon by my -maid and denying myself to everybody. My aunt sent to inquire after -me, and my maid’s answers satisfied her. I pulled the blinds down and -sat alone in my grief, with Tom’s miniature upon my knee. But always -at dusk I stole forth and walked in the Old Bailey, close against the -walls of Newgate Prison, that I might be near my dear one. I wrote to -him and took my chance of the letter reaching his hands. I told him -that no man was ever more truly loved by his sweetheart; that wherever -he went I would go; and let them send him where they would, he would -find me there; and I swore to him that he was innocent, the victim of a -monstrous, transparent conspiracy, and I said I prayed every night to -God to punish the villains who had brought us to this miserable state. - -It was about a fortnight after the trial that one of my trustees, -Captain Galloway, asked me by letter for an appointment; he presented -himself with Captain Fairman, the other trustee. They were both bluff, -hearty seamen of the old school, somewhat resembling each other, -though not connected. The motive of their visit was to get me to give -up Tom. Captain Galloway had not forgotten my treatment of his son, -and talked with ill-advised heat. He did not deny that he considered -Captain Butler guilty. I listened with contempt at first, but this gave -way to temper which rose into wrath, and I fairly gave the devil they -had aroused within me his way. When they had gone I caught sight of -myself in a mirror, and I looked as flaming and red and swelling and -breathless as any mad murderess in a padded cell. - -I guessed my aunt was at the bottom of these captains’ visits. She must -have asked Mr. Stanford to talk to me too; otherwise I doubt if he had -dared venture it. Yet I listened to the fellow patiently till he told -me that he spoke as the representative of my mother on earth; that made -me think of my father and I started up. I meant no physical violence -though I was capable of it then, but my manner of jumping up was so -menacing that he instantly started from his chair and hastened out of -the room, slamming the door after him. - -I would not trust my uncle to obtain news of Tom. I knew that all -interested in me wished me to break off with my sweetheart, and would -hoodwink me if they could by keeping me in ignorance that Tom had -been sent out of the country. A clerk named Woolfe who had been in my -uncle’s employ had started for himself; he was a shrewd, unscrupulous -young dog. I bargained with him to get me news of Tom, and to work all -methods of communication practicable by bribery. From him I learned -that my sweetheart had been removed from Newgate to Millbank. The -fellow took a hundred guineas from me in all, but did no more for the -money than discover where Tom was; and one day, about four months -after Tom’s conviction, this young rogue of a lawyer called upon me at -Stepney to say that Tom had been transferred from Millbank to H.M.S. -_Warrior_ hulk, moored off Woolwich Dockyard. - -‘Are you sure?’ I cried. - -‘I am now from Millbank,’ said he. - -‘And what will happen next?’ I demanded. - -‘They’ll keep him at forced labour at the dockyard,’ he answered, ‘till -a transport hauls alongside the hulk for a cargo.’ - -‘When will that be?’ - -‘Impossible to say, miss.’ - -‘Will you get me the rules of the hulk?’ - -‘They are the same as the jails.’ - -‘But I have not seen Captain Butler since his conviction, nor heard -from him, nor know whether he has received my letters.’ - -He answered that he would make inquiries and call. He was intelligibly -punctual, because he had to receive ten guineas, but he brought me what -I wanted to know, and to my joy I learned that I was at liberty to -visit Tom next day, and that he would be brought on board to see me if -he was ashore when I arrived. - -The morning following I dressed with care. I wore black clothes. I had -worn black ever since my sweetheart was taken from me. I put on a black -veil, and going into the street, walked till I met with a coach, and -drove to Blackwall. I had not visited those parts since Tom and I and -the others had seen Will Johnstone off, and I dared not glance in the -direction of the hotel in which my sweetheart had made love to me and -asked me to marry him. Indeed, my heart needed all the fortitude my -spirit could give it. - -It was a bright, hot day. The sky was high with delicate, frostlike -cloud, and the running river blue with the reflection of the heavens. -The wind was a light summer breeze and blew from London, and many ships -of many rigs floated before it, some of them lifting lofty fabrics of -swelling breasts of canvas, some of them dark with a weather-stained -look, like my father’s coasters. Here at Blackwall I took a boat, and -told the man to row me to the _Warrior_ hulk. - -‘You know her?’ said I. - -He was an elderly man, dressed in a tall hat and jersey; he exposed a -few yellow fangs as he lay back on his oars and said: - -‘Know her? Yes. Know the _Warrior_! Yah might as well ask me if I know -St. Paul’s. Going aboard?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘Friend aboard?’ - -I inclined my head. - -‘I had a nevvey locked up in that there hulk,’ said the man. ‘He had -six year. Now’s out and doon well. He drove a light cart drawn by a -nag as could trot, and called hisself a pig-dealer. Do ’spectable -pig-dealers break into houses o’ night? The _Warrior_ cured my nevvey. -He ain’t above talking of that ship. Get him in the mood, and he’ll -spin yah some queer yarns about her.’ - -‘How are the prisoners treated?’ - -‘Sights o’ stone-breaking and stacking o’ timber. They put my nevvey -to draw carts. They sunk his name and caa’d him a number. A man doan’ -feel a man when he’s a number. But the job my nevvey least enjoyed was -scraping shot.’ - -‘How are they fed?’ - -‘By contract. Yah knows what that means. Beef all veins. Ever heard of -“smiggins,” miss?’ - -‘No.’ - -‘It’s hulk soup: convicts’ name for greasy warm water. Call it twenty -year ago, I was passing a hulk stationed afore the _Defence_ came up; a -boat was ’longside with provisions for the day; what d’ye think? With -my own eyes I see the prisoners as was hoisting the grub out of the -boat chuck it overboard. Was they flogged?’ - -He shook his head, grinning horribly. - -His manners and answers shocked and depressed me, and I asked him no -more questions. - -‘Ain’t it rather sing’ler,’ said he, after a few minutes’ pause, ‘that -there’s only one flower as ’ll grow upon a convict’s grave?’ - -‘Is that so?’ - -‘Ay. And what flower d’ye think it is, miss?’ said he, again showing -his fangs. - -‘I don’t know.’ - -‘It’s a nettle. If yah should care to visit the burial-ground yonder,’ -he continued, with a backward nod of his head in the direction of -Woolwich, ‘yah ’ll see for yourself. As if nothen would blow ower a -convict but that! Of course the finger o’ nater’s in it. The finger o’ -nater’s got the straight tip for most jobs. It’s daisies for the likes -of you and me, and nettles for them as goes wrong.’ - -I was too agitated to converse with such a heartless creature as this. -My mind was full of Tom. I wondered how he would greet me--how I should -find him looking. We should be allowed but a quarter of an hour. What -time would that give me, to whom a long summer day was all too brief in -which to tell him how I loved him; how I meant to follow him; how our -loyalty to one another should, if God permitted, triumph yet over the -horrors and the sufferings which might lie between the now and the hour -of victorious emergence! - -We were still about a mile from the hulk, when I observed a large -ship in tow of a tug coming up the river. She sat deep in the water -and was plainly fresh from a long voyage, rusty about the bows and -weather-stained along the line of her painted ports; but she carried -the smartness of a frigate aloft in the well-squared yards, from which -all canvas had been unbent, and in the perfectly-stayed and lofty -topgallant-masts, whose royal yards had been sent down. I seemed to -recognise the large house-flag she flew at the main. - -‘What ship is that?’ I asked, well aware that Thames watermen know -every ship out of London. - -He turned his chin on his shoulder and viewed her leisurely and -answered: - -‘The _Childe Harold_.’ - -‘The _Childe Harold_!’ I cried, and I threw up my veil to look at her. -Will Johnstone’s ship! I could scarcely credit my eyes. She glided, -stately and slow, in the wake of the tug. Her home was at hand, the -forest of the East India Docks was in sight, and the paddles of the -little steamer were beating the water slowly. - -I observed a crowd of people on the forecastle, and a number of men and -women walked the poop, or after-deck. The red flag streamed brightly -from the peak, the glass and brass about her sparkled, the little -circular windows in her side flashed like gems as they took the sun, -and the raiment of the ladies fluttered in many tints. Here and there -a sailor was trotting aloft, and a man standing high and conspicuously -on the forecastle was shouting, with one hand against his mouth, to the -tug. As the noble ship passed she made a holiday picture of the water -round about her and the land on either hand. I stared hard, hoping I -might catch a sight of Will, but the distance between was too wide to -enable me to distinguish faces. - -‘There’s no finer ship out of London,’ said the waterman. ‘She’s from -Australey. That’s where the gents yah’re going to visit are sent -to. If there’s naught but nettles to be blowed out of dead convicts -there’s blisterin’ fine cities to be growed out of live ones. I’m -going to Australey myself some of these here days--just to take a look -’round--work my way out and home again. A shilling a month ’ud do. I’m -no sailor man.’ - -He sank into silence. The _Childe Harold_ floated away astern, and now -right ahead of us and near loomed the giant figure of the prison-hulk -_Warrior_, her head pointing toward London. Another hulk lay moored -close by. All these hulks, those off the Arsenal, as well as those off -the Dockyard, were as familiar to me as the fingers of my hand. Over -and over again had I passed them and looked at them during my lonely -pleasant jaunts upon the river, but always with an incurious eye; but a -new, deep, fearful significance had now to my gaze entered the grim and -hideous fabric of the mountainous _Warrior_. I viewed the rows of ports -savagely and massively grated, and thought of the many eyes of crime -and suffering, of guilt--and, O my God! of innocence too--which might -have peered through those metal meshes at the outside scene of flowing -river, with the spirit of liberty strong in the speeding craft, in the -flight of the cloud, in the feathering of the hissing ripple. - -She was a hideous ship, horrible in her suggestions of human crime and -despair. Rows of coarse convict linen fluttered betwixt her pole masts, -at the head of the foremost of which streamed the long pennon of the -State. She was bulged up all about the bows with rude band-box-like -buildings; cowled ventilating-shafts gaped above her decks; the dull -gleam of gilt and glass about her vast quarter-galleries and stern -affected the imagination as a faded memorial of times when her sides -bristled with the black dogs of war, when her copper sheathing trembled -like a glance of sunset under her, when she lifted star-searching -spires to the sky, space upon space of symmetric whiteness swelling -soft as sifted snow to the glittering buttons of her trucks. - -There was an off gangway ladder, with a warder standing like a sentinel -at the head of it. The convicts were ashore, all of them, saving a -few, silent at their trades under deck. A singular hush lay upon the -big ship; though the morning was advanced and wide and brilliant, and -the river alive with stemming barges and row-boats and sailing craft -of all sorts, and alive too on the banks where the Dockyard was, and -higher, where were many low wharves and dismantled hulks and riverside -public-houses, and higher yet, where the Arsenal was, with its -chimneys pouring smoke and feathers of steam darting from great square -buildings; such was the stillness upon this slumbering mass of prison -hulk, that, as we drew alongside, I could hear no sound but the sob of -the stream of tide washing along the bends and an occasional groan of -aged timber as the sweep of the water strained the old fabric upon its -bed of mud. - -I bade the waterman wait, got upon the ladder, and ascended. The warder -or officer at the gangway inquired my business. I told him I was a -visitor come to see one of the convicts, Thomas Butler. He bade me -pass on to the quarter-deck, where were assembled two or three groups -of persons who were also arrived to visit friends. The people might -have come on board by way of a gallery which connected the ship with -the shore on the port or left-hand side; this gallery was defended -under the forecastle by a huge iron palisade with two strong gates for -padlocking. - -The warder at the gangway spoke to an officer who stood within earshot. -He crossed the deck and the shore was hailed, but I know not by whom -nor heard what was said. I had lifted my veil to look at the _Childe -Harold_ and kept it up. My pulse throbbed fast, and I knew I was very -white, but my mood had become resolved by temper. My heart turned -sick at the sight of the wide decks with their grimy incumbrances of -convicts and officers’ galleys and hammock-houses and other heaped and -sordid and filthy-looking structures. I thought of Tom as an innocent -man doomed to soul-killing work ashore and heart-breaking immurement -in this hulk, locked up below at night with hundreds of felons, many -of whom had been fetched by the hands of justice out of the gutters -and slums and rookeries of that city whose atmosphere even in the far -distance tinged and tainted the blue of the summer sky. - -I stood viewing the ship and wondering at what part of her my -sweetheart would appear. A man came from the forward end, looking from -right to left with inspecting eyes as he walked; he approached and -lightly surveyed me and the others who were waiting. He was a strongly -built man, dressed in a sort of uniform frock coat decorated with a -riband and clasp; on his head was a large bell-shaped cap like to what -I have seen in pictures of German and Russian officers. The expression -of his face was firm, but there was a colouring of kindness in it. A -glow of interest kindled in his ball-like eyes, and saluting me with a -flourish of his hand to the peak of his cap, he asked whom I had come -to see. - -‘One of the convicts, Thomas Butler,’ I answered. - -He stepped over to a warder, then returned. - -‘Are you his wife, madam?’ - -‘I am his sweetheart and engaged to be married to him,’ I said, -colouring, and raised my hand to my veil, though I left my face -exposed, nevertheless. - -‘Ha!’ he exclaimed, with a sigh of pity. - -‘He is innocent, sir. Devils in the shape of men have falsely sworn him -into this dreadful situation.’ - -‘They are all innocent who come here; they are all innocent,’ said he -in a voice of great irony. - -‘Are you the captain of this ship, sir?’ - -‘This ship has no captain,’ he answered, smiling. ‘I am the -deputy-governor.’ - -‘Captain Butler is sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation; shall I -know when he sails?’ - -‘The rules will allow him to communicate with you. Our regulations are -carried out with great consideration. You observe that if a friend -calls while a man is away at labour, he is sent for.’ - -‘How often may I see Captain Butler?’ - -‘Every three months.’ - -‘Oh, sir!’ I clasped my hands and rocked myself; then summoning my -former spirit, for I was eager to get all information possible from -this communicative and sympathetic personage, I said: ‘How often may I -write to him and he to me?’ - -‘Every three months,’ he repeated, but softly, with a glance at the -waiting groups who had insensibly stolen toward us to listen. - -‘He may sail within the next three months, and I shall not know where -he is gone.’ - -‘The regulations will permit of his communicating with you through the -governor before he sails, and you will be allowed to bid him farewell.’ - -‘And will he be able to tell me to what part of the world he is to be -sent?’ - -‘That’s not always known at the Admiralty, down, sometimes, to the last -minute. A convict ship has before now brought up in the Downs bound to -Hobart Town or Norfolk Island, and her destination has been changed by -express to Botany Bay.’ - -He touched his cap with a slight bow having thus spoken, and crossed to -the other waiting poor folks as though willing to be questioned. - -I paced a little space of the deck. I could have held him long in -converse; I had, methought, a thousand questions to ask. On a sudden, -happening to look along the deck to the left, I saw a number of men -appear. Some of them were convicts and the others were the guard. They -came into the ship by the gallery that stretched from the quay to the -gangway. The convicts were dressed in a rusty brown suit with red -stripes upon it; they all looked alike, so horribly levelling is the -garb of the felon. A woman who was waiting shrieked out and ran some -steps, and a little boy of ten or twelve, whose hand was grasped by a -young woman, called out: - -‘Father! Father!’ and began to cry piteously, still calling: ‘Father! -Father!’ - -The warders came to a pause near the hatch. There were four convicts; -three of them were embraced by the women who had been waiting, the -little boy meanwhile continuing to cry loudly, and two of the women -sobbing piteously; the fourth advanced and paused with his eyes upon me. - -It was Tom, but for a few minutes I did not know him. His face was a -fiery red and wet with sweat, as though he had been brought fresh from -some exhausting labour; his hair was closely cut, and his beard was -cleanly shaved. The loathsome garb had as utterly transformed him as -though he had been wrapped in the shroud of the dead. I cried his name -and fled to him. He locked me in his arms, and so we stood for a little -while speechless. - -‘My Marian!’ - -‘Oh, Tom, time is precious and I have much to say! Have you received -any letters from me?’ - -‘None.’ - -‘I have written to you often. Why did they not give you my letters? -But you would not think because you did not hear from me that I was -forgetting you?’ - -‘Have you heard from me, Marian?’ - -‘No, Tom.’ - -‘I have written. But a prison-governor may stop a felon’s letters, and -mine have been stopped, and they have not given me yours. We may have -written too strongly.’ - -He started and looked at me a little wildly and cried: - -‘Marian, why are you here? This atmosphere is pollution. Look at my -dress; look at these hands. I have worn chains; I am driven as though -I were a mad and dangerous beast; I am herded with ruffians, and I am -innocent! I swear by your pure heart, Marian, I am guiltless of the -crime for which they have put me into this ship and for which they send -me ashore by day to--to---- Why are you here, dear?’ he cried, still -wildly, and now a little incoherently. ‘They have hellishly sworn me, -innocent as I am, into this. They have made a felon of me. They are -sending me from my country, and my heart must break--my heart must -break!’ he said, sobbing convulsively. ‘And they will bury me in a -convict’s grave. Oh, Marian, it is at an end between us--it must be so. -I am a convict, ruined and for ever dishonoured. Look at me!’ - -My heart was bursting whilst I listened to him, but the great God, who -knew that my sweetheart was a cruelly and terribly wronged man, gave -me, of His mercy, heart and spirit. I had much to say, and the moments -were flying. I looked at him with a smile and grasped his hand in both -mine. He struggled faintly, but I continued to hold his hand. - -‘Tom, you are not dishonoured, you are not ruined. You are wronged. -Only that, my darling; no more. Hear me, dear,’ and I softened my -voice, for I was sensible of the deep thrill of my earnestness in every -syllable that fell from me. ‘I have come to tell you that my love is -unchangeable; that my love for you now is sanctified by your misery, -and that it is deeper, truer and holier, Tom, than ever it was before. -Oh, hear me, love, and take heart! Wherever you go, I will go. I shall -learn where they send you and accompany you or follow you. Nothing -but death can separate us. I have walked night after night beside the -prison walls that I might be near you, and whilst you are here I shall -be near you. They cannot separate us. Always believe, always know, that -whilst you are in this ship--yes, whilst they are trying to break your -heart ashore--I am present--oh, not in sympathy, not in love, not in -spirit only, Tom, but near you, but close as they will let me be to you -in my own person. Does that comfort you?’ - -He lifted my hand and bowed his head upon it. - -‘Something may happen at any time to prove your innocence,’ I continued. - -‘What could happen, Marian? Will Rotch ever admit that he perjured -himself merely to get charge of my ship and to punish me for reporting -him and for my treatment of him at Valparaiso?’ - -‘But your banishment is not for life, Tom.’ - -‘It is! It is!’ he cried. ‘Who ever returns from transportation?’ - -‘They will give you your liberty after a time; you will be free, and I -shall be with you. I have money, and we will establish ourselves and be -happy, my darling.’ - -‘My noble heart, your love breaks me down!’ he cried, looking up and -grasping me by the hands, then covering his eyes. - -‘I was talking with a man before you came, Tom. He is the -deputy-governor. Yonder he stands. He tells me that you will be allowed -to write and inform me when you are to sail. You will receive the news -and have leave to convey it. Will you do so?’ - -He viewed me in a shrinking way. - -‘Oh, Tom, Tom, you must swear to write to me!’ I cried in a sudden fit -of despair. ‘Swear it! If you do not write, how shall I know when you -have gone and where you have gone? Swear you will write! Swear it! -Swear it!’ I clutched him by the arm in my passion of eagerness and -desire, repeating: ‘Swear it!’ - -‘You must not follow me. You must not leave your home for me.’ - -‘Swear it, Tom!’ - -‘I shall be a servant, a slave out in Australia, a convict always, -whether freed or not.’ - -‘Oh, swear it, Tom!’ - -‘They may flog me--chain me in a gang----’ - -‘Swear to write and tell me when you sail.’ - -He was silent, breathed deeply, then his eyes lighted up with love, -and he exclaimed in a low voice: - -‘I swear it!’ - -‘Would it be for you to divide us, Tom?’ - -He faintly smiled and answered: - -‘You know me to be innocent, Marian.’ - -‘Yes, as I am of that crime they have charged you with.’ - -‘What do they say of me? What is thought?’ - -‘Tom, what does it matter? You are innocent, and I love you.’ - -‘My noble heart, God bless you. What does your uncle think?’ - -‘Time’s up?’ cried a warder. - -‘You have sworn it, Tom. Remember!‘ - -‘I will write, dearest, I swear it, I will write.’ - -‘Come, my man!’ shouted one of the guard. - -‘Remember, Tom!’ I exclaimed. - -‘I will write to you,’ were his last words. - -I stood watching him as he walked with the other convicts and the guard -to the gangway gallery. The excitement and grief of this meeting -worked like a fever in me. My breast was violently heaving, my eyes -were dry and hot, as though full of fire, my lips parched as though -pale and broken with thirst. I stepped over to the deputy-governor and -said: - -‘Will money help a man in this ship?’ - -‘No, madam,’ said he shortly, eyeing me with a look of grave surprise. - -‘I will send fifty pounds to you or the governor, and as much again -when that money is spent, to furnish Thomas Butler with comforts -outside the horrible prison fare.’ - -‘Gently, madam. The prison fare is not so horrible as you think. -Many get such food here as they never see out of jail and never get -money enough to purchase after their discharge. Cocoa, bread, beef, -soup--such food is not horrible. But the wealth of the Indies would not -help your friend in this hulk.’ - -I bowed to him, dropped my veil, went to the side and entered the -wherry. The waterman began to talk; to this moment I believe it was -he and not his nephew who had been a convict. I kept my lips sealed, -and the man sank into silence whilst he rowed steadily in the direction -of Blackwall. When we turned a bend so as to get a sight of the docks, -I spied the _Childe Harold_ lying athwart the stream, with her head -close in to the dock entrance. The waterman looked at her and said he -guessed she was hindered by some difficulty of the tide. Addressing the -fellow for the first time, I bade him pull close under the stern of the -ship, as I desired to hail her. I stared anxiously as we approached, -thinking I might see Will Johnstone. A number of men were travelling -round a capstan on the forecastle, and a hurricane chorus swept in -regular pauses from their lungs as the pawls clanked to the thrust of -the handspikes. A knot of people were gathered on the pier-head; a few -figures walked the poop-deck. - -We pulled close under the stern of the ship where the water was -sparkling in diamonds and trembling in gold to the windy flash and -the ruddy gleam of the sun-touched windows and the gilt work, and on -looking up I saw no less a person than my cousin Will himself in the -act of handling the peak signal halliards to clear the ensign. - -I cried out, ‘Will, Will, is that you, Will?’ and threw up my veil. - -He heard me and looked over, and after staring an instant full of -wonder, he violently clapped his hands with boyish joy, and shouted -down: ‘Why, Marian, is that you? Have you come off to meet me? How kind -of you! How’s mother? How’s father?’ - -‘They are well, Will; they are very well. How brown you are! You are as -broad and tall again as you were.’ - -‘You look very white down there, Marian. Come on board and give me all -the news.’ - -‘No, I cannot come on board. I shall be seeing you very soon.’ - -‘How is Captain Butler? Are you married yet, Marian? Oh, there’s a lot -for me to hear! I haven’t had a syllable of home news since we left -Sydney. We’ve made a ripping passage home--seventy-eight days from -Sydney Heads to Soundings.’ - -‘When shall I see you, dear?’ - -‘The moment the ship’s in dock I’ll go home. Father can’t have heard -that the ship’s in the river, or he or mother would be here to meet -me, wouldn’t they? If you’re going straight ashore, Marian, and ’ll be -seeing them soon, tell ’em I shall be home this afternoon, and ’ll be -glad of a good blow-out--roast beef to be the main thing; I don’t care -what they surround it with. I’m stiff with the brine of the harness -cask. Is Captain Butler in England?’ - -‘You shall have all the news when I see you at my house, Will. You are -busy now. We’ll meet to-morrow, Will.’ - -‘To-night, to-night, Marian! I have a hundred fine yarns to spin you.’ - -‘Thank God you are safely returned,’ said I, and kissing my hand to -him, I sank into my seat, and the boatman plied his oars. - -‘Fine young gent, that,’ said the boatman, ‘but a first voyager, I lay. -Them young gents is all for eating after the first voyage; after the -second they’s all for drinking. And who’s a-going to blame ’em?’ said -he, smacking his lips. ‘Didn’t Noah himself take to drink after a few -weeks of the Ark--and yon’s a nine months’ job.’ - -I paid the man, landed, walked till I came to a coach and drove to -Stepney. I remained alone and at home for the remainder of the day. -My heart ached, and sometimes I wept; yet I was thankful to have seen -Tom, thankful to know he was sure now that I was faithful to him, -thankful for all that had passed between us, few as our words had been. -In the evening I received a note from my aunt telling me that Will -was returned, and begging me to come to supper. I sent word by the -messenger that I was low and poorly, and hoped to see Will at my house -very soon. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SHE RAMBLES WITH HER COUSIN - - -I breakfasted somewhat late next morning, and whilst the cloth was -still on the table my maid announced Will. I sprang up to greet him and -gave him a hearty hug. He had grown during his absence into a handsome, -fine young fellow. His eyes seemed to sparkle with the gleams of the -sea; he was coloured a rich, manly brown, and no young fellow that ever -I remember had so completely the look of a saucy and spirited young -English sailor. The sight of him so near, and in my room, dimmed my -eyes. I thought of our holiday rambles when Tom was by my side, when -all was music and laughter and the sweetness of flowers, and sleep -filled with soft dreams. - -‘Mother and father met me, after all, Marian,’ said he, throwing his -cap on to a sofa. ‘They are waiting for me at the ship’s berth. But -what terrible news! Poor Marian!’ And in the fulness of his heart, -unable to say more just then, he came across and kissed me. I sobbed -aloud even while I felt the comfort of his sympathy. ‘But he never -did it, Marian. Father told me the whole story. They’ve got a paper -containing the trial at home, and I read it carefully through last -night. Rotch and Nodder are villains. If Captain Butler had been tried -by a judge and jury of sailors he’d have been acquitted.’ - -‘He’s as innocent as you, Will.’ - -‘And sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation! Why, that’s almost a -life-sentence at his age. Where is he now?’ - -‘In the _Warrior_ hulk, off Woolwich.’ - -‘Were you coming from him when I saw you yesterday?’ - -‘Yes, dear.’ - -‘Poor Marian! Father fears he’s guilty; but he’s not--I’ll swear it. -Why, I have his face before me now,’ he cried with his eyes kindling. -‘He could not do a wrong. And how he loved you, Marian! But what’s -to be done?’ He walked with a rolling gait about the room. ‘I’d do -anything to make you happy. Little I guessed what had happened when I -asked you yesterday if you were married to him.’ - -‘I shall follow him to Australia, Will.’ - -‘Mother says that’s your idea. But what will you do when you get there? -He’ll be as much a prisoner in Australia as here, won’t he?’ - -‘No. I’ve read and found out. I’ve learned all I wanted to know from -Mr. Woolfe,’ said I, naming the sharp young attorney that had been -a clerk to my uncle. ‘Certainly, a man is still a convict when he -arrives, and he remains a convict; but he’s not locked up in hulks and -jails. The Government puts the men into barracks when they arrive, and -lends them out to those who want labourers and servants and help. Tom -will rank as a gentleman convict; he’s good with his pen and he’s a -scholar, Will; they may make him a clerk. He is not a mechanic, and -he’s too good to send to the roads.’ - -‘How do you know all this, old woman?’ - -‘I know very much more, Will,’ said I, smiling in my sadness. ‘Could -I love Tom and not learn all that lies before him as though I was to -share it? If they would put me to work in the dockyard by his side, how -happy I should be! If they’d but lock me up in that horrible hulk with -him--but they’ll not be able to separate us, Will. Oh, I have a fine -scheme! When he sails I’ll follow in the next ship. I have money, and -I’ll establish myself, and I’ll ask for a servant, and bribe and bribe -until I get Tom, and if I fail I am still near him. They may give him -a ticket-of-leave quickly; they must give him a ticket-of-leave in six -years if he behaves well. If--if--but oh, he’ll behave well!’ - -‘How your eyes flash! You’re as red as fire! You’ve got a magnificent -spirit! I always said so. You’re a splendid woman, and you’ll make it -right for both of you, yet.’ - -‘Is my scheme wicked?’ - -‘No, no!’ - -‘Is it wrong for a woman who loves a man to be true to him to the -grave, let what will happen before death?’ - -‘It is right!’ he cried. - -‘Uncle would have me break with Tom. So would aunt. Tom is first with -me after my God.’ - -He clapped his hands and hurrahed like a boy. - -‘Can I see him?’ - -‘Not for another three months.’ - -He struck his knee with his fist and smothered a sea oath. - -This sort of talk, however, was no very cheery welcome on my part to -the poor lad; so I presently got him to tell me about his voyage and -how he liked the sea, and when he was again to sail, and I then gave -him five pounds which I had put aside for him; his father, though a -hospitable man, kept Will a little short. I wished the boy, after his -long months at sea, to pass a jolly holiday, and told him when he -kissed and thanked me, that another five should be his when that was -spent. - -‘We’ll go a-rambling again, Marian,’ said he. ‘Those were fine times. -You’re white with trouble, and some of those milk and buttercup trips -we used to take will do you good.’ - -I sighed and made no answer. He went to Tom’s miniature and stood -looking at it; then began to talk again with eagerness and enthusiasm -about my scheme of following my sweetheart. - -‘And why shouldn’t you go?’ said he, pacing the room. ‘You’re alone in -the world, and Tom’s first and everything to you. Father and mother -won’t like your going, and you’ll be sorry to leave them, but they’re -not your parents. Tom’s all in all. If I loved a girl as you love Tom -she’d be all in all to me, and I’d follow her whilst a stick lasted, -till the plank grew as thin as a sailor’s shirt. But there’s this in my -mind, Marian--before you start in pursuit, you must know where Captain -Butler has been sent to.’ - -‘He’ll know and tell me.’ - -‘Suppose he should be sent to Hobart Town and you make sail to Sydney, -believing him there? You don’t know how big all that part of the world -is. There’s a story of an Irishman who bought a commission in the 71st -in order that he might be near his brother in the 70th. Have you got an -atlas? Hobart Town’s a mighty long way from Botany Bay.’ - -‘He’ll tell me the settlement.’ - -‘But suppose it should be Norfolk Island? One of our Jacks knew that -settlement. The frightfulest ruffians go there. The sailor said that -when the convicts are removed they’re double cross ironed and chained -down to the deck. Everybody’s afraid of them. Now what would you do -there in a settlement of a few troops and scores of horrible villains?’ - -I smiled and said: ‘Where Tom is sent, I go;’ and then starting up, and -flashing upon him in my old hot-tempered impulsive fashion, I cried: -‘I know all about Norfolk Island; I shall know what to do, Will.’ -I sobered my voice and added, ‘I have been scheming for months all -alone, dear. All the while that my darling has been in jail I have been -planning and planning. I care not what the settlement be; let me have -its name and I am ready.’ - -Will stayed an hour talking with me in my rooms. He then made me put on -my hat and go for a walk. - -From this time we were as often together as though we had been brother -and sister and lived in the same house. His company wonderfully cheered -and supported me. I loved him for his affectionate sympathy; above -all for his seeing things just as I did. On this account I was more -frequently at my aunt’s than before his return from sea. She and my -uncle sometimes talked of Tom, but never now in a way to vex me. They -both knew my character; they witnessed the faith and devotion in my -face whenever my sweetheart’s name was pronounced; they had gathered -with the utmost significance from Will what my intention was when Tom -should be sent across the seas, and saw the hopelessness of entreaty. -Indeed, I was my own mistress. I was of age; I was answerable to no -one. They knew all this and held their peace, though both of them, and -my aunt especially, were secretly very uneasy and distressed by my -loyalty to a convict. - -I had told Tom that I would be near him in person, and once I had a -mind to take a lodging in Woolwich; but Stepney was not too far distant -to enable me to easily satisfy my craving and fulfil my promise to be -near him often; moreover, I never knew from day to day when I might -hear that he was to be transhipped, and I wished to be ready to swiftly -complete all my arrangements to follow him. And that is why I remained -at home in Stepney instead of taking a lodging near the dockyard at -Woolwich, though over and over again, sometimes four and sometimes five -times a week, would I hire a boat and hang about the _Warrior_ hulk. - -Mr. Woolfe had got me the regulations of the prison ship; I knew at -what time the convicts went ashore to their forced labour, the hour -they returned to dinner, when they returned again to their tea or -supper, and at what time the hatches were put over them and padlocked -for the night. Indeed, I could say off the regulations and every -article in the list of the prison fare by heart, and I lived in -imagination in the horrid routine of the ship. - -I once had a burning desire to visit the huge hulk at night when all -the people were at rest in their hammocks within her and the hatches -on. I had plenty of spirit as a young woman, and was, on the whole, a -fearless young creature; but I own I shrank from trusting myself alone -in a wherry at night on the Thames with one of the watermen of those -times. I asked Will if he would accompany me. He cheerfully consented, -and I arranged with a fellow at Wapping to await us at Blackwall, to -save the circuit at Limehouse and Greenwich Reaches. - -It was a night about the middle of September, somewhat cold, but not -uncomfortably so. We reached the hulk, and lay off her close in, the -waterman quietly plying to keep his boat steady in the stream. The sky -was dim and the stars gleamed sparely; there was just weight enough -of wind to run the water sobbing along the bends of the towering, -motionless old seventy-four. The shore was dotted with spots of light, -and under every one of them a thread of gold wavered like a wriggling -eel striking for the depths. The deep hush of the night lay sensibly -as the darkness itself upon the flat marshes of Plumstead and across -the river where the Plaistow level stretched. The passing ships went -by silent as shadows. Now and again a man’s voice would sound aboard -one of them; I’d hear the rumbling of a yard suddenly let go or the -rattling of the hanks of canvas leisurely hoisting. Here and there the -grated ports of the hulk showed in a square of dim light, but even as I -watched a clear-tongued bell on board was twice struck. - -‘Nine o’clock,’ said Will, and as though a cloud had passed over the -huge fabric every light went out; the white bands of the checkered -sides seemed to hover out upon the eye--pallid and ghastly with their -wild grin of grated ports; the pole masts died out away up in the gloom. - -‘How many convicts are there aboard?’ asked Will. - -‘Over four hundred, sir,’ answered the waterman. - -The lad seemed awed by the thought of that number. Not yet would sleep -have visited the weariest of those eyes within, and the fancy of the -mass of human suffering and crime and sorrow lying mute and awake, with -no other sound about the ship than the sob of running water, made the -silence of her awful. I stood up, and my heart gave away in a cry of -passion and misery, and scarcely sensible of what I did I extended my -arms toward the hulk and moaned: - -‘Oh, Tom! Oh, Tom! Why were you taken from me? What has been your sin -that you should be there?’ and then I broke into a strangled fit of -crying. - -Will pulled me gently on to a seat and fondled me and told me to keep -up my courage, for that I had spirit enough to bring things right. - -‘Boat, ahoy! What boat is that?’ was shouted from the gangway of the -hulk. - -The waterman answered. - -‘Shove ahead with you!’ cried the voice. ‘No boats are allowed to lie -off here.’ - -‘Pull for Blackwall,’ said Will. - -‘And time, too,’ said the waterman as he swept the boat’s head around. -‘They’re armed with loaded carbines up there, and they’d make no more -of sending a ball through a man’s head than drinkin’ his health.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -SHE CONCEIVES A STRANGE IDEA - - -On Friday, October 18, I went to drink tea and sup with my aunt, whom I -had not visited nor indeed seen for nearly a fortnight. Whilst we sat -at tea, my uncle being present, Will came into the room; his manner was -rather excited, he entered with some vehemence, and looking around at -us cried out: - -‘What do you think?’ - -‘What?’ asked my uncle. - -‘The tender of the owners of the _Childe Harold_ has been accepted, and -we are to load convicts for one of the settlements early next month.’ - -I started, then sat motionless, feeling my cheeks bloodless. - -‘Who told you this?’ said my uncle. - -‘Mr. Bates. I met him in the Minories. He only got the news this -afternoon.’ - -‘Convicts?’ said my aunt. ‘I don’t like the idea of your going out in a -convict ship.’ - -‘Safe as the Bank of England,’ said my uncle. ‘They carry plenty of -soldiers, plenty of sailors, and a large freight of handcuffs and -irons. What more would you have?’ - -‘Suppose Captain Butler should be put into our ship!’ exclaimed Will, -looking at me. - -I could not make him any answer then. - -‘The chances are a hundred to one against such a probability,’ -exclaimed my uncle. ‘It is a big convict ship that takes out three -hundred felons. How many have you aboard the Thames’s hulks alone? -Not less than one thousand, I dare say. Then batches are picked up at -Portsmouth and Plymouth. Consider the odds. Besides, Butler has served -no time in the hulks. Yet it would be extraordinary should it come to -pass,’ he added musingly. - -‘The ship goes to Deptford to be equipped--I don’t know when,’ said -Will. - -‘Will the _Childe Harold_ be the only convict ship of her date?’ I -asked. - -‘That’s to be found out,’ said Will. - -‘I’ll find out!’ I exclaimed. - -‘Why do you ask, Marian?’ said my slow-minded aunt. - -‘Tom is to tell me when he sails,’ I replied. ‘If his date is to be the -_Childe Harold’s_ date, and if there should be no other vessel, Will’s -ship will be Tom’s ship.’ - -My aunt averted her face as though annoyed by my coupling Will with Tom -in the same breath. - -Having begun to talk, I continued; and our conversation for some time -was all about the _Childe Harold_ and convict ships. My uncle knew a -good deal about this sort of vessel. Long association with seafaring -people had taught him much that is not commonly known to lawyers. He -explained that ships chartered for convicts often went to Deptford to -fit out. The lower decks were cleared fore and aft; strong bulkheads -of oak, frequently loopholed for muskets, erected; hatchway openings -strongly railed and protected; bed-boards set up in tiers within the -whole length of the prison, after the manner of a soldiers’ guard-room. - -‘I dare say,’ said he, ‘the _Childe Harold_ will get about five -pounds a ton. Not bad pay, as times go. The captain receives so much -a head for every man delivered in the colony. This makes him careful. -Formerly, the skipper took the job in the lump, and the more deaths -during the voyage the better, because deaths saved victuals. If Butler -wants to sail I hope he’s pretty well.’ - -‘Why?’ I asked. - -‘They’ll carry no sickly convicts to sea,’ said he. ‘The surgeon -inspects the fellows and rejects those whom he considers unfit for -the voyage. But they’re mostly so wild to get transported that they’d -cheat Old Nick himself; and I’ve heard of surgeons being humbugged into -taking men who died before the Scillys were fairly astern.’ - -‘Tom, when I saw him,’ said I, ‘was as strong and well as it was -possible for a man to be who is everyday put to killing work.’ - -My aunt eyed me askant; my uncle softly drummed upon the table and then -suddenly burst into a speech on the delights of transportation. He -felt strongly on this point. He said he knew of country labourers who -had called upon the parson of the parish to know what crime they could -commit to insure their being transported. - -‘Letters are read in village ale-houses,’ said he, ‘from rogues who are -making money and doing well in New South Wales or Tasmania. The writers -hail from the district, and they tell their friends how Bob, whom the -country-side knows and who was transported for burglary, is receiving -a hundred a year as tapster at a tavern, and how Bill, who was lagged -for stealing wheat, has taken a large farm near Sydney. Transportation -ought to increase crime in this country. I am not surprised that the -people of Australia should be apprehensive that morality is on the -increase amongst us.’ - -‘How do the respectable people out there,’ inquired my aunt, ‘relish -our turning their country into a dustbin for our own vile sweepings and -offal?’ - -‘The system’s liked. We send them labour for nothing. Labour they -must have, and they get it free. In the West Indies they have to pay -handsomely for slaves; in the colonies the slaves called convicts cost -their masters nothing but their keep.’ - -‘Let us change the subject,’ said my aunt; ‘really all this talk of -convicts and transportation makes me feel as if one was just out of -jail oneself. I wish they would give Will another vessel. I do not at -all like the idea of a convict ship.’ - -‘Pshaw!’ exclaimed my uncle, and left the room. - -Next day I called upon Mr. Woolfe and requested him carefully to -ascertain what or how many ships had been accepted by tender for -the transport of criminals between this and a date I named to him. -I promised him a handsome fee if he could accurately find this out -for me. I don’t know how he went to work; probably he obtained his -information direct from the Admiralty; I did not inquire. But in a -few days he managed to learn all I desired to know, and without my -having told him that I was aware the _Childe Harold’s_ tender had been -accepted, he informed me that the only transport taken up, the only -ship, indeed, whose services were required down to the end of the year, -was the _Childe Harold_, and that Government would not call for further -tenders till the following spring. - -I came down one morning to breakfast, and the first thing I saw lying -upon my table was a peculiar-looking letter. I snatched it up, and -instantly saw that the handwriting was Tom’s. It was not three months -since I had visited him, and therefore I instinctively guessed that -he was about to be removed, and that leave had been granted him to -communicate with his friends. It was a supreme moment; it was a crisis -in my life. My hand shook; I could scarcely open the letter. It was -a prison sheet, with certain jail-rules of which I forget the nature -printed in a corner. The letter ran thus: - - ‘MY DEAR MARIAN: I am permitted to write that I may inform you I have - been told by the governor I am to make one of a batch of convicts to - be removed from this hulk for transportation to Hobart Town, Van - Diemen’s Land, by a ship sailing on or about November 12. I hope you - are quite well. I am tolerably so. I have nothing to complain of, but - I shall be glad when the time comes for our departure. The rules will - permit you to pay me a visit to bid me farewell. - - ‘Yours affectionately, - ‘THOMAS BUTLER.’ - -I easily understood the meaning of the cold, formal style of this -letter. A single injudicious sentence might have caused the governor, -through whose hands it passed, to withhold or destroy it. Tom was -right; he could not deliver himself too briefly and dispassionately. - -I read this letter a dozen times over and kissed it as often. It seemed -that an extraordinary coincidence was about to happen; I mean that the -vessel in which Will was an apprentice was to prove the very ship which -would carry Tom across the seas. I was strangely agitated; in a manner -semi-delirious with the sudden wild play and disorder of my spirits. -Tom was to be transported to Van Diemen’s Land. I would follow him. I -would immediately find out if any vessel was sailing for Hobart on or -about the date of the _Childe Harold’s_ departure. But, then, suppose -the destination of the _Childe Harold_ should be changed without my -knowing it! Or suppose she should sail without Tom, whilst I, not -guessing this, should be on my way to the ends of the earth, thinking -to find him there! - -I read the letter again. I paced the room as though I had gone mad. My -maid put the breakfast on the table, but I could not look at food. Why, -how could I be sure of my ever meeting Tom again, of my ever seeing him -or hearing of him, indeed, if I did not go out in the same ship with -him, if I was not certain that he was not one of the convicts on board? - -How was this to be done? I bitterly well knew that no passengers were -received in Government felon transports? Could I obtain a berth in the -_Childe Harold_ as stewardess? Was there any sort of post aboard her -that I, as a woman, was qualified to fill? - -Whilst I thus thought, half distracted by the hurry and confusion my -mind was in, I stopped at the window and, looking out, saw a young -sailor walking on the pavement opposite. He was dressed in pilot cloth -and a cloth cap, and was a very pretty lad; perhaps sixteen years old; -something girlish in his looks, however, his hair being of a pale gold, -his figure thin and his face without colour. He came to a stand, with -his face my way, and laughed at something that was happening under my -window; perhaps a dog fight, but I was too full of thought to take -notice of the noise of the curs. My eye dwelt upon the pretty lad with -a sort of pleasure. He looked up and saw me, and kissed his hand, but -so girlishly and childishly that, though I instantly drew back, I did -not somehow feel offended. When I peered again he was gone. - -All on a sudden an extraordinary idea entered my head. It had been put -into it by the sight of that girlish-looking sailor lad. I set off -pacing the room afresh, frowning, talking aloud to myself, halting to -smite my hands together. - -‘It is to be done!’ I kept on thinking. ‘It will be the surest and the -only way! Why did not I think of it at once?’ - -And then I placed myself opposite a long glass that reached to the -floor and surveyed my figure, turning myself on this side and then -on that. My eyes shone. My cheeks were as full of colour as though I -had been burnt by the sun. I lifted my dress to clear my ankles, and -stepped backward and forward before the mirror, imitating as best I -could the peculiar rolling gait I had always admired in Tom. - -I had arranged with my cousin to take a plain dinner with me at one -o’clock, and we were then to take a turn in the West End. But for this -having been settled, I must have sought him at his house at once, and -traced him to wherever he might have gone, so crazy was I with the -eagerness and hope my extraordinary, startling idea had raised in me. -I could not bear to sit alone; never did time pass so slowly; I’d look -at the clock and find that only a few minutes had passed, when I could -swear that half an hour was gone. - -I put on my hat and walked toward Whitechapel, and paused at the -window of every marine outfitter’s shop I came to. From one of these -shops a black-looking fellow with a great hooked nose and a white hat -stepped forth and accosted me in a thick lisp. He asked me what I would -like to buy. I pointed to a monkey jacket in his window, and inquired -the price. He said I should have it, a bargain, and named four pounds. -I was moving on, when he begged me not to be in a hurry. Would I give -three pounds ten shillings? I told him that I did not wish to buy; he -followed me a considerable distance, lisping first in one ear and then -in the other: - -‘Vhat vould you give? Vould you give three pounds? Vould you give fifty -bob and an old dress? Have you any old shilver to exchange or shell?’ - -He quitted me at last; but though I looked into other outfitters’ -shops, I asked no more questions. - -When I reached home, I found that my cousin had arrived. I ran up to -him, and exclaimed: - -‘Will, I have heard from Tom! Read the letter! Here it is! It reached -me this morning!’ - -He said with a grimace: - -‘The very paper they make them use has an Old Bailey look.’ He then -read the letter, and cried out: ‘Why, Marian, this seems as though we -were to take him!’ - -‘Yours is the only ship, Will. I am certain Tom will go with you. Is it -not extraordinary?’ - -He looked at the letter again and said: - -‘The dates tally. I was at the office of the owners yesterday, and I -learn that we sail about the 12th. But Tom speaks here of Van Diemen’s -Land. That’s certainly not known at the office. I asked the question, -and they said it was not known whether it was to be Launceston or -Hobart Town or Sydney.’ - -‘It will be all the same,’ I replied, ‘so long as he goes in your ship.’ - -‘I hope it won’t be to Norfolk Island, for his sake. You look strange, -Marian. What’s put all that fire into your eyes? And you breathe as if -you’d been running. Tom’s letter has upset you.’ - -‘It has done me so much good that I feel almost a child again, Will.’ - -He took the letter from me to look at it, as though my words had made -him doubt that he had gathered its import. - -‘But, Marian,’ said he, ‘he’ll be leaving the country next month.’ - -‘Well, dear?’ - -‘Isn’t that separation? I mean, it’s not like having him within reach -of even a three-month visit.’ - -‘There’ll be no separation,’ said I. - -‘You really mean to follow him?’ I viewed him steadily without -speaking. ‘Alone, as you are?’ he continued. ‘All the way to the other -side of the world, where you haven’t a friend and where the chances -are--the chances are--’ he repeated slowly, then paused and cried out: -‘Why, yes, you have the love and spirit to do it, and when done it will -be nobly done, to my way of thinking. But it will be like making a -felon of yourself, Marian.’ - -I put my hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. - -‘You know, Will, I couldn’t live separated from Tom.’ - -‘Don’t stare so. What eyes you have! Do they shine in the dark?’ - -‘He is an innocent, suffering man, and I am as much his wife at heart -as though his wedding-ring were on my finger. I mean to do more than -follow him. If he goes in your ship I shall sail with him.’ - -The young fellow drew backward from my hand with a movement of -astonishment. - -‘Impossible!’ he exclaimed. - -‘Stop! Before you say a word--but stay: wait till we have dined. I have -much to talk to you about. There will be no going to St. James’s Park -this afternoon.’ - -My maid had entered to lay the cloth, and I broke off nodding and -smiling at him, and went upstairs to remove my outdoor things. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -SHE DRESSES AS A BOY - - -On our sitting down to dinner I made him gather by my looks that I -would talk of anything sooner than Tom before my maid. When I had -dismissed the girl, Will lay back in his chair and said: ‘It will be a -withering stiff joke, Marian, if Butler sails in the _Childe Harold_. -It will be precious awkward for me. I shan’t be able to speak to him, -I suppose--not even to nod, I dare say. A perfectly innocent man, too; -one of the best sailors out of London or Liverpool, a man who’s dined -with father and mother and been a welcome guest at their house.’ - -I waited a moment and then said: ‘And my sweetheart, and husband some -day. Why didn’t you add that?’ - -‘It was at the end of my tongue. It’ll increase the awkwardness. It’s -beastly unpleasant enough to see the friend of your family dressed as -a Newgate dandy and in chains, but when you’ve got to cut him--I mean -when the sentinels won’t let you look at him--he being all the while -your first and only cousin’s sweetheart and engaged to be married to -her! But if he’s to be one of our convicts, I’ll take some big risks, -Marian, to let him know that I consider him as innocent as I am, and -that I’m all his friend down to the very heels of me.’ - -‘Will, I have an idea, and I want you to help me to carry it out.’ - -‘What is it?’ - -‘Do you love me?’ - -‘With all my heart, and will do anything I can or dare do for you and -Tom.’ - -‘Tom is sure to sail in your ship, and I must sail in her too.’ - -‘But how? But how?’ said he, a little petulantly. ‘Haven’t I told you -that the ship won’t book passengers? They’ll reconstruct her below -decks fore and aft, and every inch of her is hired for the lodging of -convicts and soldiers and sailors.’ - -‘I mean to sail in her for all that. It’s to be done, and I’ll tell you -how I mean to do it.’ And here I got up and began to pace about the -room with excitement whilst I talked. ‘I can’t ship as a woman, but I -can ship as a boy and as a stowaway.’ - -His face screwed itself up into a strange expression of mingled mirth -and amazement. - -‘I’ll make a smart-looking boy,’ I continued. ‘I saw a lad this morning -that might well have been a girl. The sight of him put this scheme into -my head. I’ll get my hair cut close and dress as you do. I’ll have -a story ready; I’ll take a name, and when I’m discovered I’m just a -common runaway, one of the scores of lads and grown men who every year -sneak into ships and coil themselves out of sight and turn up far out -at sea. And you tell me, Will, this isn’t to be done?’ - -‘You’d do anything. You’d scrub Old Nick white. What wouldn’t you do -for Tom?’ said he, still preserving his kind of gaping look. ‘But -you’re never in earnest, Marian?’ - -‘I swear by my dead father, I am, then,’ said I, confronting him and -speaking in deep tones which trembled with passion, enthusiasm, and -resolution. - -‘You’ll get no clothes to deceive the eye with that figure of yours,’ -said he. - -‘If that’s the sole objection, come here to-morrow, Will.’ - -‘The sole objection!’ he cried. ‘One of a score, you mean. What do you -know about the sea? Oh, yes, you can give the names of things; but call -yourself a stowaway, and tell me where you’re going to hide?’ - -‘You shall tell me,’ said I, sitting close beside him. - -He ran his eyes over the room whilst he reflected, and said: ‘Here’s -to be a gutted ship; keep that in mind. Down aft ’ud be out of the -question; they’d have you out before you warmed the hole you hid in, -and you’d be ashore packing along with a constable before the Isle of -Dogs was out of sight.’ - -‘Then it won’t be aft,’ said I. - -‘Forward! Why, yes,’ he went on, continuing to run his eyes over the -room, in his struggles to realise the inside of his ship. ‘There’s the -fore-peak--a big rat-trap, full of coals, spare swabs, broom-handles -and oil-cans. Could you hide down there?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘What! In blackness? Midnight with a dense fog isn’t in it for -blackness alongside the fore-peak with a hatch on.’ - -‘What care I for blackness? I know where the fore-peak is. It’s a place -right forward under the forecastle. It’ll be the place for me to hide -in. You’ll be able easily to contrive to help me to drop below into it.’ - -‘You’re never in earnest?’ - -‘Don’t say that! I must be with Tom. I have sworn to myself to follow -him, and wouldn’t it be a sure way, the only sure way, of my being -with him, of my getting to the same place he’s bound to, of my ending -all risks of missing him and finding that he’d been sent to another -settlement which, without friends to help me, I might never be able to -hear of--wouldn’t my sailing in his ship be the only sure way for him -and me to keep together?’ - -The young fellow grew thoughtful as he listened. - -‘I don’t say,’ he exclaimed, ‘that it’s quite impossible; but look -here, Marian. Suppose, if only for the sake of argument, I call over -the roll of such objections as occur to me.’ - -‘Do so.’ - -‘I’ll suppose that you are dressed as a boy and that you deceive the -eye.’ I nodded. ‘I’ve agreed to sneak you on board, but how am I to do -it.’ - -‘A little thinking will show us.’ - -‘I succeed,’ he continued, ‘in getting you into the fore-peak -unobserved. How long are you to be kept below?’ - -‘I’ll go on board,’ said I, ‘when the ship is alongside the hulk. I’m -your friend, a visitor. You’ll be on the look-out for me. Who’ll notice -us? You’ll easily walk me forward under pretence of showing me the -ship. Tell me this: Where do you ship your crew?’ - -‘At Gravesend.’ - -‘Are you sure?’ - -‘Yes, I’m sure. The ship’s worked by lumpers and riggers till the -convicts are aboard. We then drop down to Gravesend and await the -crew, who arrive in a hoy in charge of a crimp. All this I know. You -may take my word for it.’ - -‘Who occupies the forecastle until the crew come on board?’ - -‘Nobody. The lumpers and riggers sleep ashore.’ His eyes brightened, -and he cried: ‘I see what you’re driving at! You’ve thought it out -pretty closely, Marian! But you’re never in earnest, surely?’ - -‘Go on with your objections, dear.’ - -‘We’ll suppose you’re safely stowed away in the fore-peak. The convicts -come on board. I keep a bright look-out, and find that Butler is not -one of them?’ - -‘I have considered that,’ said I. ‘You’ll manage to communicate -with me. If Tom is not one of the convicts, I must come out of my -hiding-place whilst the captain is able to send me ashore. If Tom’s on -board, I’ll not want to hear from you till England’s miles astern.’ - -‘How am I to communicate with you down in the fore-peak?’ - -‘You’ll find out, dear. There are ways. And aren’t you a sailor, Will?’ - -He laughed, but without much merriment, and said: ‘Suppose I smuggle -you into the fore-peak when we’re off Woolwich. We may be a week -beating down Channel, and another week before we’ve got far enough to -suit you to show yourself. Head winds are head winds at sea. How are -you going to feed yourself in the black hole?’ - -‘We’ll lay in a stock of provisions,’ said I. - -‘Who’s to stow the grub?’ - -‘You--by degrees.’ - -He laughed again and said: ‘How are you going to find where the food -is? You’re not to be trusted with a light down there, you know.’ - -‘The food must be placed where I can put my hand on it in the dark.’ - -‘And before we’ve been twenty-four hours under way the hatch is lifted, -and down drops a huge whiskered man called a bo’sun with a lighted -lantern right on top of you.’ - -‘No hatch can be lifted in such a hurry,’ said I, ‘but that I can find -time to hide myself. But pray go on spinning these little cobwebs which -you call difficulties.’ - -‘I’ve knocked up a regular barricade already,’ said he; ‘something -bigger than you’re going to climb, Marian.’ - -‘Do you think so?’ I said, smiling. ‘Well, I’ll heighten your barricade -for you, and still you shall help me to scale it. I’m a boy stowaway; -I must carry nothing to sea but the clothes I stand in. But you’ll -ship a large crew, and you’ll have a big slop-chest, so there’ll be -the materials for a rig-out when I want one. I emerge when the proper -time comes and am walked aft to the captain. Now, what will he do with -me? He may put me on the articles as an ordinary seaman. That must -certainly end in my helping the cook or doing cabin-work. But then, -there’s my sex to fall back upon in case of impracticable duties. I -declare myself a woman--let them invent a motive for my being on board; -they’ll find me dumb in that. Some of the guard are sure to be married, -the wives will be on board, and there’ll be female quarters for me if I -own my sex. But it will be a strong forcing of my hand to bring me to -it. Once a boy, Will, I’m a boy till I step ashore.’ - -He stared at me with admiration and excitement, as though he listened -to some wild, romantic story of adventure. - -‘All that is material lies shaped in my mind,’ I went on. ‘Of course, a -great deal must be left to chance.’ - -‘What will father and mother think?’ - -‘They mustn’t know. Why need they know, Will? Put it thus: In any case -I go where Tom is sent. That being certain, what can it signify to aunt -and uncle how I go? Instead of following in a passenger ship, I choose -to make sure of my object in leaving home by putting myself into the -same vessel with Tom. Your telling your father would only lead to this: -He and your mother will tease me to death with representations of my -folly without causing me to swerve a hair’s-breadth in my resolution. -And they might do me this mischief: with the best intentions in the -world, they might inform your captain that I mean to dress up as a boy -and hide myself in his fore-peak. No, not a word to father or mother, -Will. This is quite my business and our secret.’ - -All the while I was talking I was pacing the room, occasionally -stopping to gesticulate or to approach him close and grasp him by the -arm. Now he got up and began to walk about, too, rolling to and fro as -though the floor had been a ship’s quarter-deck, whilst he swore that I -had too much spirit for a woman, that my scheme was too daring, that if -I knew what a fore-peak was like in a heavy head sea, with the prospect -of a fortnight of blackness along with the risk of dying of hunger and -thirst, without possibility of escape unless I was liberated, I’d quit -the scheme as hopeless. - -But all this I had expected. I had never dreamed he would immediately -come into my plans. He said he raised objections for my sake, not -for his own. To be sure, he would get into very serious trouble if -it was discovered he had helped me to smuggle myself into the ship. -He was willing to take all risks to do me a vast service and to make -me happy; but wasn’t it his duty to keep me, his cousin, a handsome, -well-nurtured, fine young woman, out of the black and filthy fore-peak -of a merchantman and preserve me from what might follow discovery? - -I let him talk and feigned to sympathise with his generous, sympathetic -dread of the consequence of my scheme. Yet some time before we sat -down to the tea and toast I rang for, I had worked him by entreaty, -sometimes by tears, by eager impassioned representations of -possibilities of my plan into a partially acquiescent mood. He kissed -me, held my hand, called me his sister, declared he would help me if -he dared; I must give him time to think; he’d go on board his ship and -take a look round and talk over the matter with me again. We arranged a -meeting for the day after next, and he left me after solemnly promising -to keep my plan and our conversation secret. - -I sat alone all that evening thinking of this long talk. One objection -of his perhaps sunk a little with me when I was by myself musing; he -had figured me arriving at Hobart Town where I was without a friend, -and he had imagined Tom being sent up country to a part where the only -house for miles might be the person’s to whom the Government handed -him. But I resolutely said to myself: I must take my chance; this may -not happen; in any case I shall be in the country where my sweetheart -is. - -Partly to please myself, and partly to convince my cousin, I went to a -large outfitter’s shop in the Minories next morning, and representing -that I wished to make a present of a suit of clothes to a young sailor -friend I asked the shopman to show me a number of sizes in pilot coats -and cloth trousers. I said that I was about the height and breadth -of the young man for whom I wished to buy the clothes. The shopman -measured me round my chest, took the length of my arms and of my figure -and then made up a parcel of the clothing that came nearest to the -measurements. A lad walked behind me to my house with this bundle, and -sat in the hall whilst I took the clothes to my bedroom and secretly -put them on. - -The first suit I tried fitted me as though cut for my shape; though the -material was stout, it buttoned loosely over me and gave me the chest -of a plump lad. The trousers had the flowing cut of the tarpaulins of -those days; the swell of the cloth at the extremities made my feet look -ridiculously small, and I saw that I should require stout boots if my -feet were not to betray me. - -I stood in front of the glass and was perfectly well satisfied with -the figure I made. I have already said that my beauty inclined toward -coarseness, and I counted upon this as a perfecting touch for the -masquerade when I should have had my hair cropped close. I kept what I -needed, and paid the lad who took away the remainder of the clothes. -My purchase comprised a cap, waistcoat, coat and trousers, and a large -red cotton pocket-handkerchief, a flannel shirt, and a loose silk -neckerchief such as seamen wear in a sailor’s knot. These things amply -sufficed for the experiment I desired to make. - -Some time on the following day, before the hour at which I expected -Will, I dressed myself in the sailor’s clothes, but my hair was so -thick and plentiful that I was scarcely able to coil it all away upon -the top of my head so as to secrete the bulk of it under my sailor -lad’s cap. After a fashion I succeeded; I held up a glass and observed -that, with the cap on, the back of my head might very well pass for a -man’s at a little distance. I next rubbed some rouge over my temples -and eyebrows and cheeks to give my face a look of sunburn. - -On the staircase I met my maid. She started, and cried out, and stared, -not in the least degree recognising me. - -‘What pretty girl are you?’ said I, ‘maid or mistress? A fine woman -looked out of her bedroom window just now, and seeing your hall door -open I made bold to enter. Where is she? I can’t find her.’ - -I spoke at length purposely to try an experiment with my voice on -her accustomed ear, but seemingly my attire had changed my voice as -completely as it had transformed my figure. - -‘How dare you enter this house?’ she exclaimed, and then she began to -screech out: ‘Miss Johnstone, here’s a strange man in the house. Mr. -Stanford----’ And she ran downstairs calling for Mr. Stanford. - -I sprang and caught her when she was on my parlour landing and twisting -her around exclaimed: - -‘Don’t you know me? I’m your mistress. I wish to play a joke off on my -cousin. Look, do you know me?’ and I thrust my face into hers. - -She uttered a variety of exclamations such as, ‘Well, I never!’ and -‘Who’d ha’ thought it?’ and ‘Lor’ what a handsome young chap you make -to be sure, miss,’ and giggled and blushed and eyed me from top to toe -with astonishment. - -‘Would you know me after looking a bit?’ said I. - -‘No, miss. There never was no artfuller make-up in a stage play.’ - -‘Didn’t you recognise my voice?’ - -‘It sounded like your figure looks,’ said she. - -‘Well,’ said I, ‘when Mr. Will Johnstone arrives, open the door, show -him in as though you supposed I was in the room, and then shut the door -smartly upon him.’ - -Whilst I waited for my cousin I practised some walking. I got in front -of the long glass and advanced toward it, and marked such points of my -gait as I considered suggestive and suspicious. I found my steps too -short, but after practising a little I guessed it would not be very -difficult to walk like a man. I looked short in my clothes and appeared -to have dwindled six or eight inches, so greatly is stature heightened -to the eye by the long robes of my sex. - -Whilst I was rehearsing as a young sailor-man in front of the glass, I -heard Will’s knock downstairs. I placed myself in front of the window -as though I was a stranger waiting. The door of the room was opened and -shut by my maid according to my orders, and on turning I saw Will. - -‘Oh, I beg pardon,’ said he, ‘I thought Miss Johnstone was here.’ - -‘She’ll be here shortly,’ said I. - -He stared hard and oddly, as though he pricked his ears on my speaking, -but certainly he no more recognised me than my maid had. I continued to -look out of the window and spoke with my back to him. - -‘A pleasant day,’ said I. - -‘Aye, it’s nice weather,’ he answered. ‘You’re of my calling, I see. -Been long ashore?’ - -‘I’ve not been to sea yet,’ I answered, half turning my head his way to -talk to him. ‘My cousin Marian’s kindly taken me by the hand and given -me a rig-out and found me a ship.’ - -‘Cousin Marian!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m a cousin of hers, too. What cousin -might you be?’ - -‘My name is Simon Marlowe,’ said I, rounding upon him and looking him -full in the face. ‘My mother was Miss Marlowe. Who are you?’ - -I don’t believe he would have known me even then but for the sudden -laugh I burst into at the sight of his face. That laugh was my own, -familiar to his ear as the whistle of his boatswain’s pipe. - -‘Well, I’m shot!’ he cried, with a gape of astonishment, then burst -into a roar, capered up to me and, grasping me by the hands, skipped -to and fro like a savage, eyeing me all over and swearing whilst he -danced that he wouldn’t have known me in a hundred years; that I was -the prettiest little sailor-man in the world. Twenty such things he -said, then released me to clap his hands while he laughed until he was -purple. - -I pulled off my cap and tossed it on the sofa and sat down, copying the -rolling motion of the seaman in every movement of my body. - -‘You must go upstairs and shift before I can talk,’ said Will. ‘Look at -your hair! I shall die of laughing.’ - -I ran to my bedroom, changed my clothes, dressed my hair and returned. -I was secretly half wild to hear what he had to say, and had no notion -of spoiling this interview by keeping him merry and roaring at my -clothes. I found him looking at Tom’s miniature. - -‘What a handsome chap he is!’ he exclaimed; ‘but I fear the hulk will -rub some of his beauty off.’ - -‘There’s no hulk afloat or jail ashore that’s going to spoil his -beauty,’ said I. ‘What can you tell me to give me heart?’ - -‘Are you still in earnest?’ - -‘Oh, don’t begin so, dear.’ - -‘It’s a wild, mad scheme,’ said he. ‘Father and mother will think me -a fiend for helping you instead of reporting you. But I see this, you -mean to follow Tom, anyhow. No man living deserves such a magnificent -love as yours. You’re one mass of loyalty and devotion from head to -foot.’ - -‘Will, you are here to say you will help me!’ I exclaimed, bending -toward him and lifting my hands and clasping them in a posture of -prayer to him in the passion of anxiety that was upon me. - -‘I am more willing to help you,’ said he, ‘than I was when you talked -to me the day before yesterday--for this reason: I’ve been on board -the _Childe Harold_. She don’t tow over to Deptford till Wednesday -next. I met our carpenter on the quayside, and asked him if he knew -how they meant to fit out the vessel for’ard. He said he’d heard they -meant to bulkhead a space off in a line with the forecastle entrance -above, to serve as a prison, the hospital to be aft. “Will they leave -the store-room bulkhead standing?” said I. “Yes,” said he; “otherwise -the prisoners ’ud be climbing into the forecastle through the hatch.” -I went aboard and had a look. When I talked to you about the black -fore-peak, I had forgotten the line of main-deck that runs right -for’ard. The space betwixt that line and the deck overhead is used as a -store-room. Why had I forgotten this? Because, to tell you honestly the -truth, Marian, I was never once down in that part of the vessel so as -to remember it. The store-room would make a different hiding-place from -the fore-peak I described. The fore-peak’s under it. There they keep -the coals. You never could have hidden in it. But the store-room should -be middling clean; black as a dog’s throat, mind you, but not deep like -the fore-peak. The forecastle, where the men sleep, is immediately -over. If a person wanted to get out, he could knock on the closed -hatch, and there’ll be men in the forecastle to hear him. The horizon -has cleared a trifle since I looked into that store-room.’ - -‘How big is this store-room?’ - -‘A good size,’ he answered. ‘Seven feet high; the beam I don’t know.’ - -‘And the forecastle hatch is within reach of my hand to thump at if I -want to get out?’ I exclaimed. ‘It will be the one place in the whole -ship for me, Will!’ - -‘There’s no other place, and that’s a fact.’ - -‘The stores’ll be clean and sweet enough, I dare say--bolts of canvas, -casks of stuff, spare lines and such things. I’ll be able to put myself -out of sight if your bo’sun or any other man should come down with a -light. I shall need water to drink. How about that?’ - -‘You’re talking as if the job was settled.’ - -‘It is settled,’ I cried, taking him by the shoulders and playfully -pushing him backward in a sudden transport of mingled emotion. ‘Is not -fresh water to be sneaked below whilst the ship’s fitting? I’ll think -it over and tell you how it may be done.’ - -‘I’m not coming to you to learn my business,’ said he with a toss of -his head that ran a gleam from his eyes like a sparkle of water swept -by a sudden wind. - -‘What are you going to do this afternoon, Will?’ - -‘Nothing.’ - -‘Come with me to the East India Docks, and we’ll board your ship and -talk things over. We’ll then go the Brunswick Hotel, drink tea there -and settle everything.’ - -He eyed me doubtfully; his heart was not yet in it, though the dear -fellow was coming my way. I went upstairs to dress myself for the trip, -the hour being about three, with daylight enough to follow to serve my -end. Yet though we were together till eight o’clock that night, talking -and planning and scheming, I found him still as reluctant at the end -as at the beginning. He had three objections. First, he considered -that his keeping the matter secret from his father and mother was like -telling them a lie. Next, Tom might not prove one of the convicts of -his ship. Suppose he (Will) should be unable to communicate with me -in my hiding-place until I had been carried too great a distance from -England to be set ashore; I should be in a convict ship, a woman locked -up with rogues and villains, sailing to Tasmania for no purpose at -all, with the chance of missing my sweetheart and never meeting him -again in this world. And, third, the young fellow seemed to shrink from -the notion of my being alone in a colony. - -I began to despair of him at last, and, growing defiant after three or -four days of talking with him without his drawing closer to my wishes, -I resolved to look about me and see how I might help myself, and I -plainly and hotly told him that, whether he chose or not to give me a -hand in my enterprise, he would find me on board his ship all the same, -if it came to my spending a year’s income in bribing the lumpers and -riggers at work on the vessel to conceal me. - -He went away from this talk and nothing then was settled; but on the -following morning he came by appointment to go with me for a turn on -the river as far as Woolwich, and on our way to Blackwall he said he -had made up his mind to help me. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -SHE TAKES A LODGING AT WOOLWICH - - -This gave me exactly a fortnight in which to prepare for my departure, -for now it was settled that the _Childe Harold_ was to drop alongside -H.M.S. _Warrior_ on November 12, receive her cargo of convicts next -day, then to proceed to Gravesend, where the crew would come on board, -and then head direct for the Antipodes. What arrangements had I to -make, do you ask? First, as to the disposal of my home. I had sometimes -thought of selling it, conceiving that if Tom lived to regain his -liberty he would abhor a country from which he had been inhumanly and -unjustly expelled, and settle abroad. But on reflection I made up -my mind to keep the house, knowing that it was always very saleable -property should I wish to convert it into money. - -So, a day or two after Will and I had come to a thorough understanding -and everything was arranged so far as human foresight could provide, I -sent my maid downstairs to request Mr. Stanford to see me. He came, and -I opened my business with him at once without any needless civilities. - -‘I am going abroad, Mr. Stanford,’ said I. ‘I am going to leave -England, and I make you an offer of this whole house, furnished,’ and I -named a price by the year. - -He wished to question me as to where I was going and how long I would -be absent; but my behaviour soon forced him to swallow his curiosity -and to confine himself to the question of the hire of the house. It -ended in his agreeing to take the house off my hands on my own terms, -and that same day I got Mr. Woolfe to draw up an agreement which Mr. -Stanford and I signed. I then wrote to my trustees to inform them that -I was about to leave the country and gave them instructions as to the -receipt of the rent from Mr. Stanford and the payment of my income. The -plate and many cherished objects which had come to me from my father -and mother were packed and sent to my bank. - -I recount all this in a plain, sober-headed way, but let me tell you, -it was a time of wild and frightful excitement to me. I had a hundred -things to think of, a hundred stratagems to practise. I gave money to -Will to procure a stock of food for hiding warily by degrees in the -black lodging I was to occupy under the forecastle. He found he could -not manage single-handed. Though he was an apprentice in the ship and -had a right to go on board whenever he thought proper, his services -were not required until the vessel was equipped and ready to drop down -to Woolwich. He feared he would be noticed and then watched, if he was -seen frequently to enter the forecastle, and it ended in his bribing -a rigger, who was a brother of one of the crew of the _Childe Harold_ -during her last voyage, to help him to store water bottled for me to -drink whilst I was in hiding. The man asked no questions, my cousin -told me; he merely grinned when he said that the stowaway was an old -schoolfellow of his, whose father had failed in business, and he -grinned again when Will tipped him two sovereigns. - -For my part I was wholly fearless when I looked forward. My heart beat -high. I had but two anxieties: One lest my uncle Johnstone should -discover what I was about and stop me by warning the captain of the -_Childe Harold_; the other lest Tom at the last should be detained -on board the hulk for a later ship. For this latter difficulty I had -provided with Will. But as to my uncle and aunt, I told them plainly -that I was going out to Tasmania, and that I only waited to learn that -Tom was on board the _Childe Harold_ to follow him by the first ship. -You will suppose that neither of them had the slightest suspicion that -my ship was to be Tom’s convict ship herself. How could such an idea -enter their heads unless Will blabbed, which he had taken his oath not -to do? Mr. Johnstone could never dream that I meant to dress myself up -as a boy and hide under the _Childe Harold’s_ forecastle. - -One night, and that was the last I spent at his house near the Tower, -he talked of my resolution to follow Tom till we rose to high words. -Will was out, or I dare say my temper might have brought him to side -with his father and mother, which would have raised a feeling between -us, and ruined my hopes so far as he went. Mr. Johnstone said he -thanked God I was no girl of his. He thanked God his only child was a -boy. What would my father, if he were alive, think of my following the -fortunes of a convict? - -I answered that my father was a true man and would always wish me to be -a true woman. My father was not a man to oblige me to betray and desert -Tom because a dreadful trouble had come upon the poor fellow; and here -I cried a little. - -‘Still, my dear, Captain Butler is a convict,’ said my aunt. ‘I wish to -say nothing about his guilt or innocence, but he wears felon’s clothes, -he is loaded with irons; he lives with the scum of the nation----’ - -‘And, guilty or innocent, he is irrecoverably disgraced,’ broke in my -uncle. - -‘Why did you undertake his defence, then?’ I cried. - -‘A man is innocent till he is proved guilty,’ answered my uncle. ‘By -the logic of the law I undertook the defence of a guiltless person.’ - -This enraged me. It was like burning or cruelly wounding or torturing -me in any savage way to speak ill of Tom or to cast a doubt upon his -innocence. - -The quarrel was put an end to by my uncle walking out of the room. I -stayed a little, wishing to cool down that I might say good-bye with -grace and heart, with something indeed of the real love and gratitude -I felt; for I knew when I said farewell it would be for the last time. -But my aunt was cold and vexed; she resented several things I had said -in the heat of the quarrel; she took my kiss lifelessly, and I went out -of the room. On the landing I paused; I longed to return and kiss her -warmly and seek my uncle, that this parting might have the tenderness -my heart longed for, now that my passion was ended; but I said to -myself: ‘No, they may suspect a final leave-taking in my behaviour,’ -and so I stepped into the street and drove home. - -I had told my maid I was going abroad, and next day I paid her and gave -her a substantial gift in money over and above her wages, and she left -me, crying. I grieved to part with her. She was a good and faithful -girl, and would have been glad to go with me anywhere, even to the -other side of the world. - -Five days before the ship was to haul alongside the hulk I went to -Woolwich, and took a lodging as close to the river as the respectable -accommodation of that dirty town permitted. I hired two rooms for the -week. The landlady asked no questions. She was satisfied with my paying -for the lodgings in advance. After I had engaged those rooms, I crossed -the river afresh and returned to Stepney to fetch a little trunk. I was -to be a stowaway, and of all ocean travellers the stowaway is the one -who sails with the fewest effects. A hackney coach stood at the door -to convey me to Blackwall. I carried my little box downstairs and put -it with my own hand into the coach. I then returned and stood awhile -in my room thinking. The walls and tables were stripped of all that I -cherished. The room looked somewhat bare. I slowly cast my eyes around -and thought of the past. I conjured up my father and mother. I recalled -my early life, my lonely holiday trips, much of what I had felt and -suffered. I then knelt down and prayed, rose and, going to the wall, -kissed it, and, with dry eyes but with a sobbing heart, departed. - -Whether Mr. Stanford saw me or not I am unable to say. He did not -appear, nor did I catch a sight of him at his window. - -No one knew that I had gone into lodgings at Woolwich, not even Will, -though I had told him that I should be leaving my home on such and such -a date, and that he was to keep a sharp look-out for me when his ship -lay off the _Warrior_. I did not want to burden him with the obligation -of telling lies. My uncle might hear that I had quitted Stepney. He’d -ask his son where I was; and Will, with a clear conscience, would be -able to answer on his honour he had no idea. - -As you may remember, Tom had written that I was privileged to bid him -farewell before he sailed. I thought deeply on what I should say when -we met, and finally resolved not to utter a syllable about my going -with him in the same ship. He was a sailor, and would understand what I -had made up my mind to suffer and endure for his sake. He might refuse, -and sternly refuse, to allow me to attempt the wild, extraordinary -adventure I had planned with Will. Indeed, I feared his love. He was -a man to give notice of my intention sooner than suffer it. I guessed -he would not bear to think of my locking myself up in a ship full of -convicts. Well knowing his own profession, he would say to himself, -when she is discovered how will she be treated? If she maintains her -disguise as a boy, what sort of work will they put her to? If they find -out that she is a woman, what sort of treatment will she receive from -the master and mates, from the officers in charge of the guard, from -the seamen forward? All this and much more would run in his head, and -his love might betray me that he might save me. - -Three days before the convict ship was to haul alongside the _Warrior_, -I went on board the hulk. This time I gained the deck by the dockyard -stairs and the gallery that stretched to her gangway. The sentry -or warder, in bright buttons and a glazed military cap and a stiff -stand-up collar with a bright crown upon it, asked me my business, -and bade me pass when I told him that I was going to visit a convict -and explained that it was an errand of farewell. It was a very gloomy -sullen day; a dark fog stooped to the breast of the river and the water -flowed seaward in a stream of liquid greasy mud. The few ships in -motion oozed out of the fog, black, wet and gaunt, and vanished with -a sulky reel. The prison-ship looked horribly grim and miserable; her -decks were dark and very damp, the fog dripped from the edges of her -boxed-up structures forward, the cold gleam of moisture glanced from -whatever the eye rested on; the pole-masts vanished in the thickness -overhead; and the air was bitterly cold with the chill of damp. - -A convict, in the dress of the felon, with a bullet-shaped head and a -flat face, stared at me through one of the galley-doors; he had badges -upon one arm, and was probably a cook. Several warders moved about -the decks, and a soldier in a red coat, but unarmed, stood forward, -talking to somebody inside one of the galleys. All the convicts were -ashore at their spirit-breaking work. I walked to the quarter-deck. I -saw no visitors. A warder was approaching me at the moment when the -deputy-governor came up through the after-hatch. I was unveiled, but -whether he remembered me or not, no look of recognition was in his -face. He asked me my business on board. - -‘I have come to visit Thomas Butler,’ I answered, ‘a prisoner.’ - -‘When were you here last?’ - -I gave him the date. - -‘You are too soon,’ said he. ‘The rules are every three months.’ - -‘He wrote to tell me I was privileged to pay him a farewell visit,’ I -said. He bade me wait a minute, and walked to the governor’s quarters. -He returned soon, and said: ‘Thomas Butler is one of a batch of -convicts who are to be sent across the seas on the 12th of this month.’ - -‘I know that,’ said I. - -‘You will have to bid him farewell on board the ship he embarks in.’ - -‘I shan’t be able to see him, then?’ I cried, putting on an air -of consternation and grief, that I might obtain some particular -information from him. - -‘I am sorry you will have no other opportunity of bidding him farewell.’ - -‘But tell me, sir,’ cried I, ‘shall I be certain of seeing him if I go -on board his ship?’ - -‘Undoubtedly. You will be allowed the customary quarter of an hour.’ - -‘How am I to know he will be one of the convicts on board?’ - -‘Oh,’ said he, very good-naturedly (and I will say here that a kinder -and better-tempered man than the deputy-governor of H.M.S. _Warrior_ -was not to be found among the prison officials of his time)--‘oh,’ said -he, smiling, ‘there is no fear of his not being on board. The surgeon -has passed him. He is one of the batch.’ - -My heart beat quickly on hearing this. He may have wondered at the -effect of his words. He darted a keen look, with an expression of -mouth that was like saying he was not used to the friends of convicts -exhibiting delight on hearing that they were to be shipped off. - -‘Can you tell me how he is?’ said I. - -He gave me a sort of mocking bow as though he would intimate that he -had told me enough. I took the hint and left the hulk, wondering that -under the circumstances the warder or sentry should have passed me on -board, but greatly rejoicing over the information I had received that -Tom would undoubtedly be one of the convicts of the _Childe Harold_. - -On reaching my lodgings, I wrote the following letter to my sweetheart. -I dated it, but omitted the address: - - ‘Dearest,--I visited the _Warrior_ to-day, but was informed that the - regulations oblige friends to bid farewell on board the convict ship - when the people are in her. If I do not visit you to say good-bye, - you will not wonder; you will understand there is a reason; you know - my heart as I know yours, and will not mistake. We shall meet sooner - than we think. Many swift ships are weekly sailing to the colonies. I - kiss you and pray that God may watch over you. - - ‘Your own - ‘MARIAN.’ - -I addressed this letter and went out to post it. It was then shortly -after two o’clock in the afternoon. Having posted the letter, I walked -a little distance until I came to a hairdresser’s shop. I entered and -said to a woman who sat behind the counter that I wanted my hair cut. -She took me upstairs, and in a few moments a man stepped in. - -‘I wish you to cut my hair,’ said I. - -‘The hends of it, miss?’ said he, bowing and smirking and rubbing his -hands. - -‘The whole of it,’ I exclaimed. - -He opened his eyes, but said nothing whilst I removed my hat. He then -exclaimed: ‘That’s a beautiful ’ead of hair to remove, miss. Hall, do I -understand? Or can it be singeing and cleaning that you want done?’ - -‘All,’ said I, ‘and pray be quick, for there is not much daylight left.’ - -He took down my hair, and in the glass I sat in front of I saw him fall -back and admire it. I also witnessed expostulation in his face, and -he stole doubtful looks at me in the mirror as though he questioned -my sanity; on which I peremptorily repeated my request that he would -cut off all my hair. A woman’s hair is her glory, they say, and I felt -as though I was parting with a crown of beauty as I watched my long -raven-black tresses in the glass falling under the shearing snip of the -remorseless scissors. But there was a sense of triumph in me, too--the -elation of love--the feeling that what I was doing was for Tom’s sake, -and that this was the very least of the sacrifices I was willing to -make for him. - -I obliged the man to crop me as close behind as though I were a -convict, but to leave me enough in front to part my hair on one side. -He did as I bid him, but when I came to part my hair I found it -stubborn; the old parting down the middle would insist on showing; so -I told him to crop me close that the hair might bristle on end. - -When he had done so, I scarcely knew myself. The man looked at the hair -he had cut off and asked what I wished to do with it. - -‘I don’t know,’ said I, putting on my hat. - -‘I’ll give you a guinea for it, miss, and throw in the job of cutting -it.’ - -‘It is beautiful hair and worth three times what you offer; but you -shall have it for a guinea, nevertheless.’ - -He paid me the money, and I left the shop. When I got to my lodgings, -I locked the door, dressed myself in the boy’s clothes I had brought -with me from Stepney, put on my cap, and then stood upon the table -that I might see my full length in the chimney-glass. I was perfectly -satisfied with the appearance I made. I looked just a hearty, strapping -young lad of seventeen, out and away more manly to the eye than the -saucy boy who had kissed his hand to me. I sprang on to the floor, and -for a long while practised the paces of a man, striding round the room -and stretching my legs, and whilst I walked I told over a few things -I might require when I should be hidden under the forecastle of the -convict ship, and paused at the table from time to time to note down -the articles. - -And, first of all, I was resolved not to lie in a black hole for a -week, perhaps a fortnight, without the means of procuring a light. So -I made an entry in my trifling list of wants of a parcel of small wax -candles of the very finest quality, such a parcel as I could carry in -my pocket without observation. I guessed that I should require a light -only when I wished to eat and drink, that I might see where my food -lay, and that the candles, used for a few minutes at a time and at long -intervals, would last till Will released me. I also put down in my list -a tinder-box and matches. - -(My memory is at fault. I cannot recollect that we had the common -lucifer match in 1838.) - -The other items consisted of a couple of clay pipes, a clasp-knife, and -a pair of strong shoes that should thicken out my feet to the look -of a youth’s. These things, and the boy’s clothes I was disguised in, -comprised all the luggage I intended to take. - -The next day was unspeakably wretched both to body and soul. It blew -hard, it was bitterly cold, and it rained incessantly, with a frequent -clouding of grimy sleet. I struggled to the several shops to purchase -the articles I had jotted down, and then returned to my lodgings, where -I remained the rest of the day. To-morrow the _Childe Harold_ was to -haul alongside the hulk. I was to embark upon a more wild, perilous, -romantic, heart-shaking undertaking than probably was ever conceived by -woman since the days of the mother of all. I was banishing myself from -my home, from friends, from every convenience and luxury of shore-going -life within the reach of my purse. I was going to hide myself in the -black and noisome hole of a convict ship, without having the least -idea of what lay before me whilst I remained hidden and after I should -have been discovered. I was going on a long voyage in a suit of boy’s -clothes and no other wearing apparel, and should be taking my chance -of being equipped by the charity of the captain out of the ship’s -slop-chest, or of falling into rags, and so, perhaps, discovering my -sex, unless it should be sooner detected, or unless I should find it -necessary to confess it. - -Yet I had not the least fear; nay, I preserve the recollection of -an increasing emotion of triumph swelling into elation and hope and -confidence as the hours of that wet, cold, and miserable day rolled -past and brought me to the night whose dawn should start me on my -adventure. Never was my love for Tom so great as now in this lonely -time of waiting in those Woolwich lodgings, when I reflected that all -I had done, was doing, and yet hoped to do, was for him, that he might -know me to be true as the faithfullest of women could be to the man of -her heart; that he might be gladdened by presently discovering I was -with him in the same ship; that his guiltless spirit might be supported -by knowing we were together, that we should arrive together, and that -whilst his term of infamous, unjust servitude lasted, I should never -be far off, patiently and hopefully waiting for him. - -Yet I could not close my eyes all that night. I seemed to catch the -sound of the storm-whipped river, though my lodgings were at a distance -from it. Would Will be on the look-out for me? I kept on thinking. -Suppose he should be detained by illness ashore; many things I -supposed; and then I thought to myself, if he should not be on board, -yet if I can contrive to enter the ship it will be strange if I don’t -find my way into the hiding-place under the forecastle. But if he is -not on the look-out or, indeed, not in the vessel, I shan’t be able to -invent an excuse to go on board of her. The guard will be received at -Deptford; the surgeon superintendent will be already, no doubt, in the -ship; there will be mates and apprentices on the poop and about the -deck. I knew it would be impossible for me to cross the gangway without -being challenged as to my business. What, then, should I do if Will was -not on the look-out for me? - -These were considerations to give me a sleepless night. I lay in bed -till seven, then rose, dressed myself in my ordinary apparel, and -telling the servant to have breakfast ready by half-past eight, I -passed out of the house and went quickly toward the river. - -It was still blowing fresh, but the morning was dry, gray, hard with -cold. I passed through some mean little streets of small houses, such -as labourers would occupy. Hard as the morning was, the mud lay soft -as grease in the roadways. Here and there was a public-house, two -of which--the ‘Warrior Arms’ and the ‘Justitia’--were named after -the prison-hulks. Though it was barely good daylight as yet, these -public-houses looked as if they had been open for some time. In places -I tasted an acid smell of stale beer and tobacco as I passed along -these mean little streets, and most of the people I saw, dressed in -a sort of velveteen or corduroy, conversing near the public-houses, -many of them of the flat-faced type of Englishman, with streaks -of black hair down their cheeks, and a habit of glancing sideways -without turning their head, might have passed for convicts enjoying a -free-and-easy half-hour. - -I came within view of the river, and looked along Woolwich Reach, but -saw no signs of such a ship as the _Childe Harold_ approaching. The -hulks floated huge and motionless off the Dockyard and Arsenal. White -clouds of fog were creeping over the flats of Plaistow, and the river -streamed cold and yellow into the bleak gray haze of Bugsby’s Reach. A -waterman approached and bade me good morning. I looked at the man, and -recognised him as one whose boat I had hired on several occasions. He -told me he had come to settle on this side of the river, as the Calais -steamers and the hoys were making business scarce for the likes of him -down the Stairs, Tower and Wapping way. He asked me if I wanted a boat. -I answered no; I was waiting to view a convict ship that I understood -was to come alongside the _Warrior_ hulk that morning. - -‘Ay, that’s right,’ said he. ‘You’ll be catching sight of her any -minute. The convicts go aboard to-morrow, I believe. She’s the _Childe -Harold_. Too fine a ship for such dirty service, to my mind.’ - -Whilst I stood waiting and conversing with this fellow, who was one -of the civillest of his kind on the river, a handsome barque under a -main-topgallantsail came rounding to abreast of us out of Galleon’s -Reach, driven by the fresh south-easterly wind. She was painted green -and cleanly sheathed; her canvas was white as a yacht’s, and the -whiter for the contrast of the glare of it upon the sullen gloom of -the atmosphere. Her stem, as though it were red-hot, boiled the water -at her bows; the white swirl rushed past the ruddy gleam of the copper -into a ribbon-like wake of yeast, short and melting quickly for the -lack of brine, and the picture was one of exceeding beauty and of -inspiriting warmth and colour. She swept into the haze of Bugsby’s -Reach, and vanished with a gleam of her topmast canvas showing in a -hovering sort of way for a breath or two over the land abreast of the -East India Docks. - -The waterman at my side was loud in praise of her. ‘I haven’t seen a -pootier barque in this here river since the _Arab Chief_ towed down -some weeks since.’ - -I started and looked at him, and exclaimed: ‘The _Arab Chief_!’ - -‘Ay, the _Arab Chief_, the pootiest little vessel out of any port of -the country.’ - -‘Is she not a Liverpool vessel?’ - -‘That’s her, mum. She sailed from the Mersey and brought a cargo to the -Thames. There was a difficulty. The captain as had her, ’tis said, has -come into one of them hulks.’ - -‘When did she sail from London?’ - -‘I don’t know, but I could easily find out for ye.’ - -‘Which docks did she load in?’ - -‘I believe she hauled out of the London Docks,’ answered the man. - -I struck my hands together, and said: ‘I wish I’d known she was in the -Thames. I’m interested in that vessel. They charged her captain with -scuttling her. Not the worst villain in any of those hulks yonder is -capable of a fouler lie.’ I checked myself, on observing the manner -in which the man was regarding me; and, happening then to glance -up the river, I espied the towering fabric of a big ship that was -magnified by the haze into the proportions of the masts and yards of -a line-of-battle ship looming astern of a little tug whose smoke blew -black and scattering upon the level of the yellow water. - -‘That’ll be the convict ship,’ said the man at my side. - -I gave him a shilling, and walked some distance to be alone, and stood -watching the ship. She floated stately and grand in tow of the tug; the -Government stores in her were a comparatively light lading, and she -sat tall, presenting a frigate-like height of side. She was massive -aloft in her sea-going trim, sails bent, running rigging rove, royal -yards across. A small red ensign at her peak stood with the wind like -a painted board there. It was ebb-tide, somewhat slack, and she came -along on the languid stream of it, head to the breeze, with white water -spitting at the bight of the hawser betwixt her and the tug. - -As she glided abreast I stared at her with devouring eyes. Oh, she was -the _Childe Harold_, right enough! I was a sailor’s child, and knew a -ship after seeing her once as you would know a face. Was Will aboard? I -would have given my left hand then for five minutes’ use of a telescope -to make sure. I saw a few figures on the poop and three or four -red-coats of soldiers on the forecastle, but she was far too distant -for the sight to distinguish the people. I stood watching until the tug -had floated her abreast of the _Warrior_, by which time I heard a clock -strike nine. I then walked quickly toward my lodgings, half frozen with -having stood for about an hour and a half in that bitter morning wind -and in the atmosphere of the November yellow river. - -Though without appetite, I forced myself to make what would be called -a good breakfast. The sitting-room adjoined the bedroom; I rang the -bell and toasted myself before the fire whilst I waited until the maid -had cleared away the breakfast things. I then went into my bedroom, -unclothed and dressed myself in the sailor-dress. This done, I mixed -some soot and rouge, and lightly rubbed the compound into parts of my -face. The effect was good; you would have supposed I was fresh from the -ocean. The clothes I had taken off I made into a parcel and addressed -it thus: - - ‘To the care of the Commander, - ‘Government Transport _Childe Harold_, - ‘Off Woolwich.’ - -This I had made up my mind to do whilst I lay thinking during the long -and stormy watches of the previous night. It was just a speculation, -and, good or bad, would amount to little or nothing. The landlady of -the lodgings, on finding I did not return, might send the parcel to the -ship; if not, no matter. The captain, on receipt of it, might hand it -to the steward to hold, concluding there was a blunder somewhere. If -he rejected it and sent it back, still, as I say, no matter. I valued -not the clothes one farthing, but, I had reasoned, if the parcel found -its way on board, and my sex should be discovered, there would be my -clothes in the ship ready for me. - -Having addressed the parcel, I put the little packet of candles and the -other few matters I had bought into my pockets, and counted my money. -I had between four and five pounds, one guinea of which I had received -for my hair; and I need not tell you that this was even more money than -it was prudent I should have if I was to act the part of a stowaway -supposed to be driven from home by poverty; that is to say, if I should -come to be searched, which on board a convict ship was extremely -probable. - -I paused to consider if more remained to be done. I then opened the -door and listened, and, finding all quiet, slipped down the short -stairs, passed into the street, and walked quickly in the direction of -the Dockyard. - -And perhaps I should repeat here that I had paid the woman of the house -in advance for her lodgings, and that I had departed leaving her in my -debt, so to call it, for I had purchased everything I had eaten, and -left enough behind me in groceries and the like to last her for a week. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -SHE HIDES AS A STOWAWAY - - -I felt excessively nervous when I first set out toward the Dockyard. I -had never before shown myself in public in male attire, and imagined -that everybody who looked at me saw that I was a girl. I was somewhat -reassured, however, by a hulking fellow in leggings crossing the road -and asking me for a pipe of tobacco. I told him I had none. ‘A cuss’d -lie,’ he roared fiercely. ‘Gi’ us the plug out of your jaws, you damn’d -shellback!’ I pushed on. He shouted after me, and, though his language -was by no means refined, I did not dislike to hear him, for what he -said left me in no doubt that he took me for a sailor. - -I came to a place where I got a view of the _Warrior_, and I saw the -convict ship close alongside of her with some of her yards braced -forward clear of the pole masts of the hulk. It was blowing very fresh -and bitterly cold, and the yellow ripples ran in little showerings -of spray. I walked to where the wherry was to be had, and with some -trouble, after waiting and looking about me, found a waterman. - -‘Put me aboard the _Childe Harold_,’ said I. - -‘Do you belong to the ship?’ said he. - -‘Yes.’ - -‘If you’ll stand a drink I’ll save you a couple o’ bob,’ he exclaimed; -and I guessed by the way he looked at the water that he preferred to -lounge in the warmth of a public-house to taking a fare. - -‘What do you mean?’ - -‘Tell the sentries you belong to the ship, and they’ll let you go -aboard through the hulk.’ - -‘No, I want to go aboard in my own way.’ - -‘Come along, then.’ - -I got into his boat and, after he had breathed upon his hands and -beaten his breast hard, he fell to his oars. I looked eagerly at the -ship as we approached. The consuming anxieties I had endured for weeks -and months, compressed into ten minutes of sensation, would not have -been harder to bear than what I now felt. The waterman pulled under -the stern of the _Childe Harold_; a figure standing on the quarter was -visible; I believed it was Will at first; he turned, and I saw he was -not my cousin. A flight of gangway steps ran down the side of the ship, -with a grating at bottom, close upon the water, to step on. The boat -swung to, and the waterman waited for me to step out. I gave him two -shillings, and kept my seat whilst I ran my eyes along the line of the -bulwark rail. - -Where was Will? Was he not keeping a look-out? Had I arrived sooner -than he expected? Nay, was he on board? And, as I thus thought, my -heart sinking like lead in my breast with a sudden weight and passion -of despair, the dear fellow stepped into the gangway and looked down. - -He looked down, but he did not know me. I cried out: ‘Will, oh, Will! -There you are! There you are!’ - -He stared again, but answered no further than by beckoning, whilst -he bent his neck inward to glance forward and aft along the decks. A -soldier, but without a musket, showed at the side at this instant, and -looked over into the boat, whistling. ‘Come up!’ said Will. I sprang on -to the grating and ascended the steps. - -‘How are you, old fellow?’ exclaimed my cousin, grasping me by the -hand, and shaking it warmly, admirably acting the part of one who -receives a welcome visitor. ‘This is how we barricade the convicts, -do you see? How are all at home? On my word, this is kind of you! My -quarters are forward! Come along and smoke a pipe, and then I’ll show -you the ship!’ - -The soldier lounged across the deck and leaned against the barricade, -looking at the great hulk, whose topmost tier of grated ports, and -whose dingy height of bulwarks and rude, hut-shaped structures forward -seemed to tower to half the height of the convict ship’s lower masts. -I darted a swift glance round, and observed two figures on the poop, -both young fellows. Some soldiers stood forward near the convicts’ -galley. A small group of men--lumpers or riggers--at the main hatch -within the barricade inclosure were smoking and talking. I had no eyes -for anything but the people who were visible. A heavy silence hung -upon the hulk, and, saving the voices of the group at the hatchway, -all was still on board the _Childe Harold_, so that you plainly heard -the hissing of the strong wind in the rigging, and the quick, fretful -splashing of water rippling swift betwixt the two ships. - -‘Your visit is exactly timed,’ said Will. ‘The captain’s ashore; the -chief mate’s below; the second mate’s indisposed in his cabin, and the -third mate’s in the hold. Come!’ - -He motioned with his hands, as though he showed me the ship. A woman -stepped out of one of the galleys with a bucket of hot water, and -passed us. She was a pretty young woman, and she glanced at me with a -faint smile as she went by. - -‘That’s a soldier’s wife,’ said Will, speaking fast but softly, and -pointing as though he still showed me the ship. ‘There are several -on board, and a number of kids. You’ve well timed your arrival. What -marvellous courage you have, and how confoundedly well you look! -There never was a smarter sailor--to the eye. Where have you been? -Your skin’s brown. Been abroad? Surely not. You haven’t had time. -The ship’s almost empty, you see. The crew’ll join at Gravesend, as -I told you they would. We have a few runners on board from Deptford, -and twenty soldiers in charge of a captain and subaltern--Lord, how I -hate soldiers! The convicts embark this afternoon or to-morrow morning. -There are only three apprentices, including me, this voyage; two are -aft there on the poop. It don’t matter if you are seen. They’ll think -you went ashore by way of the hulk. But I must get you below before the -chief mate comes on deck. I’m supposed to be keeping a look-out at the -gangway, and I mustn’t be missed.’ - -All this he hurriedly said as we walked forward to his quarters, which, -as you may remember, were in a wing of the forecastle on the port or -left-hand side. He slid the door open in its grooves and we entered. -A couple of hammocks swung under the ceiling; three sea chests were -secured along the bulkhead; a little flap table hung opposite those -chests, and the rest of the cabin’s equipment consisted of shelves -containing tin dishes, pannikins, knives and forks, and such things. - -‘I should like to give you a kiss, Marian,’ said he, ‘but it would seem -unnatural in that dress.’ - -I answered by giving him a hearty hug. - -‘What pluck you have, dear girl!’ - -‘Will, we should lose no time.’ - -‘But some things must be said,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is there still doubt of -Tom’s being one of them, d’ye know?’ - -‘None,’ and I repeated what the deputy-governor had said. - -‘Still, I’ll watch the men as they come aboard,’ said he. ‘Where have -you been since you left Stepney?’ - -‘In a lodging at Woolwich.’ - -‘What a wonder you are!’ He stepped back to run his eye over me and -said: ‘They’ll never discover your sex whilst you stick to that dress.’ - -‘Do your father and mother know I’ve left home?’ - -‘Yes. Stanford called upon them. They plied me close, but I could not -tell them what had become of you. They’ll board the next ship for -Tasmania and see if you’re in her. Mother was at Deptford to bid me -good-bye. She’s very well, thank God. And so’s father.’ He put his head -through the door to peep along the decks, then pulling a piece of paper -from his pockets, said: ‘See here, Marian; look at this sketch well, -that you may remember it. It is the interior of your hiding-place. This -square’s the hatch; those wormy-looking things on the left are coils -of rope; those are cases and beyond are bolts of canvas. This stuff -amidships is a quantity of twine. To the right are more casks; fresh -water, of which we shall need plenty and to spare with two hundred -and thirty convicts aboard, not to mention soldiers and sailors and -women and children. This tracing is meant for spare sails. They’ll make -you a comfortable bed. I’ve cut this end adrift,’ said he, putting -his finger on the tracing, ‘so that you will be able to lie down -and cover yourself over after groping and feeling about a bit. It’s -devilish dark; that’s the worst of it. And here’s a great timber which -terminates on deck in what we call a knight-head.’ - -‘I know,’ said I. - -‘You’ll find your stock of food and water stowed close against that -timber, shored and hidden by a coil of rope.’ He opened his chest and -handed me a knife for cutting tin. ‘You’ll want this,’ said he, ‘for -the canned grub; it’s mostly soup and bully. You’ll find a pannikin for -the water. I’ll visit you as often as I can. Have you a watch?’ - -‘No. I’m a stowaway. I have run away in poverty and must act the part. -Keep this for me, Will,’ and I gave him what money I had. - -‘The cook’s mate will be up and down for coal,’ said he, pocketing the -money. ‘You’ll get light when they lift the hatch, then you’ll hear -voices and see people. Shrink out of sight. Lie small, or all this -trouble will have been for no good.’ - -‘If it should happen that Tom’s not one of them, you’ll contrive to let -me know before we’re out of the Channel?’ - -‘Trust me, old girl.’ - -‘If he is one of them, you’ll let me know when it will be safe to come -out of hiding?’ - -‘Trust me there, too.’ He put his head out to take another look at the -decks, and then said: ‘You’ll have to fib, Marian, when you’re brought -out. I’m sorry, but it must never be known that I’ve had a hand in -hiding you. You will say, when questioned--and it won’t be far from the -truth, either--that you bribed one of the Deptford riggers to provision -you. If they find the bottles and the tinned stuff, they’ll go into the -matter closely. We may contrive that they shan’t find anything; if they -do, your yarn must be called “The Rigger Corrupt; or, The Lie and the -Lumper.” Now wait.’ - -He went into the forecastle and returned. ‘The coast’s clear. Come -along!’ - -I followed him instantly. It was but a step from his cabin to the -forecastle entrance. The gloomy interior was empty and silent. Betwixt -the giant windlass and the hawse-pipes were stretched the massive links -of the chain-cable. I heard the tramp of a few soldiers overhead, -marching to and fro to keep themselves warm. - -‘Take that end of the hatch-cover and lift with me,’ said Will, in a -voice of excitement, looking behind him. - -I put my hand to the cover, and between us we raised it. The hatch was -little more than a man-hole, big enough to admit two men at a time. - -‘Now look!’ cried Will. ‘Have you the heart? It’s not too late! See how -black it is! And you may be obliged to remain down there a fortnight!’ - -‘Give me your sketch of the inside,’ said I. - -He quickly handed it to me. I looked at it and then put it in my -pocket, and, without another word, I put my foot on the ladder of rungs -nailed to the bulkhead, and in a moment was at the bottom. - -‘Keep that hatch open whilst I take a short look,’ I softly exclaimed. - -‘The mate’s calling me,’ he answered. ‘I’ll come again, if possible, -later on;’ and he closed the hatch. - -The blackness was utter. I had heard tell of dark rooms in which -jail-prisoners were locked up for punishment, but no dark jail-cell -could be blacker than the blackness of this ship’s store-room. I stood -for some time motionless under the hatch where I had stopped when Will -shut me down; I hoped to get the use of my eyes, and imagined that this -profound dye of blackness might be owing to my coming out of the light -into it. The silence was that of a burial-vault: I heard the swift beat -of my heart in my ears and nothing more. After a bit, small, delicate -worms or fibres of fire began to tremble and crawl upon the blackness. -I knew them to be the phosphorus in my vision, and heeded them not, but -winked with a fancy of extinguishing the strange flames. - -I now moved a little way forward, stooping, with my arms outstretched, -and touched what I might know by the hempen smell and the feel of the -stuff was a mass of twine. It was dry, and I seated myself upon it. I -will not say that I was without fear; my heart beat very fast. And yet -even at this early affrighting stage--for it was not only blackness; -it was loneliness also--I rejoiced in the thought that I was in this -hiding-place at last; that every difficulty had been overcome; that -a most heart-breaking burden of anxieties had fallen from me with my -descent into this hold, and that presently my dearest and I would be -together in the same ship, with a future of possibilities before us -such as I could only have sighed for and wept for and grieved myself -into the grave for had I remained at home. - -I then bethought me: Suppose the hatch should be suddenly opened, I -shall be discovered. I carefully lighted one of my little wax candles, -and, holding it up, looked around. The flame was small, but it enabled -me to see as much as I needed. Will’s drawing of the interior was -exact. To the left were the casks and coils of rope and bolts of -canvas, and in the middle more coils of rope and a mass of twine and -a quantity of canvas buckets, lanterns and so forth, and to the right -were the fresh-water casks and the sails. Candle in hand, I easily made -my way to that part of the sails which Will had cut adrift. I looked, -and beheld stowed in the place Will had indicated a quantity of black -bottles and tins, and a sack which I put my hand upon and found half -full of ship’s biscuits. - -Still keeping the candle burning, I seated myself on the loosened -portion of the sail, and found I could easily draw canvas enough over -me to conceal me in an instant at the first alarm or to keep me warm -when I slept. I then blew out the light and replaced the candle in -my pocket, very grateful that I had had foresight enough to provide -me with the means of seeing when I needed my eyes. The blackness was -at first insupportable, and again and again my hand sought my pocket -for a candle; but I restrained myself when I reflected this was but -the beginning, and that if I burnt out my stock of candles quickly I -might have to lie for a week or ten days or perhaps a fortnight in -this blackness. I comforted myself, however, by reflecting that there -would be noise enough overhead to relieve this fearful oppression of -stillness and loneliness when the crew came on board. - -I use the word ‘oppression.’ It was physical. My spirits were easy. -My conscience slept. What had I done that it should rebuke me? I was -proving myself faithful to the man I had sworn to be true to, and whom -I loved with all the heart which was my life, and with all the soul -which was my intelligence. I was offending no father, grieving no -mother, and, as to my uncle and aunt, I knew this, that whilst I chose -to hold myself betrothed to a convict, it was all one to them whether I -followed him in my own fashion or waited at home for his return. - -By-and-by I thought I would make an experiment, and creeping out of -the sail and groping about I touched a tin of preserved meat. In those -times provisions were not delicately tinned as they are now. It was a -common practice then to seal up whole joints of cooked legs of mutton -and roast sirloins of beef in tins. Some of the tins Will had stowed -for me with the aid of his corrupted lumper or rigger were of the size -of small drums, others were little; these contained a sort of soup, -well-known at sea, called soup and bouilli. The first tin I touched was -one of them. I opened it easily with the knife, and found the contents -solid enough to be removed in wedges. I then felt for a biscuit, and -made my first meal. I was obliged to light a candle to seek for the -pannikin; I counted fifteen quart bottles of water, one of which I -opened, being thirsty. All these things were well hidden within the -embrasures of the timbers and by the ropes and other matters which -fenced them round about. I groped my way into the sail again after -blowing out the candle, always taking care to command as much of the -slack of the canvas as would enable me to hide in a moment if the hatch -should be lifted. - -Here now was I, fairly warm, tolerably provided for, suffering from -nothing worse--but then to be sure nothing worse in its way could -well be imagined--than an overwhelming oppression of silence and a -blackness deeper than blindness. How does the ordinary, the average -stowaway manage, I remember wondering? He sneaks in his rags into -dark, rat-hidden holes, and lingers without food or water for days. -Yet it is contrived; the stowaway is the commonest incident of ocean -life: sometimes, indeed, he is found a skeleton at the bottom of a -chain-locker; but it is the rule with him to emerge ribbed, gaunt, -half-nude; he is then set to work, and lands well-lined with ship’s -beef and pork to flourish perhaps in a country where he is wanted. - -On a sudden I heard a strange noise. I had been some hours in this -place when I caught the sound. It was a sort of dull tremble, regular -in its pulse, with a metallic note threading it. I pricked my ears and -strained them hard, and my heart then began to beat fast; no, I could -not mistake! The sound was the tread of many shackled feet passing over -the deck and descending the hatchway and coming into the prison, whose -foremost bulkhead partitioned off the hiding-place in which I lay. The -noise continued like a flowing of water. I heard no voices, not the -dimmest echo of a human cry, nothing but the dim thrill of the tramp of -many feet with irons. - -Perhaps an hour may now have passed. Suddenly the hatch was thumped as -though kicked, and the cover lifted. I pulled the sail over me, leaving -a corner for one eye to peep out, and lay motionless. - -‘I’ll fetch it,’ cried the familiar voice of Will. ‘I saw the stuff -stowed, and know where it is. Here, give us hold of the lantern and -stop where you are.’ - -His figure descended; he then raised his arm and received a lighted -lantern. I dimly discerned the shadow of another figure in the hatch, -the square of which lay in a faint gray. Will stepped from under the -hatch, holding the lantern, and then put the light down beside a cask, -so that the shadow of the cask was upon that part where I was. He moved -here and there in a seeking attitude till he had approached the sail -close; then said in a whisper: ‘Where are you, Marian?’ - -I raised my head. - -‘Hang me if you don’t roll up as though you were the sail itself,’ said -he. ‘How do you like it?’ - -‘It’s horribly black and lonesome, but I’m content. I’d not be -elsewhere.’ - -‘The convicts are aboard, and Butler’s one of them. I saw him and -nodded. He looks well--I mean pretty well.’ - -I started up and cried: ‘Will, if you see him to speak to, don’t tell -him I’m here. He loves me too much to suffer it. He’d betray me. He’d -get me sent ashore.’ - -‘I don’t think so. I’ll not say a word. No chance indeed; you mayn’t -talk to ’em. I can’t stop. The mate sent an apprentice here for a -canvas bucket. I took the job to give you the news and see how you are. -Anything you want, Marian?’ - -‘Nothing, Will.’ - -‘I forgot to tell you there’s the handle of a scrubbing brush lying -near your provisions; you’ll easily get it by feeling. You’ll need -it to knock with should you want to get out. Bless you, my brave old -woman!’ and so, whispering, he took a stride, picked up a bucket, -handed it and the lantern up, and sprang through the hatch, which -immediately afterward was closed. - -The news of Tom being in the ship so cheered up my heart that I could -have sung aloud amid that black silence. I kept my eyes shut that I -might not see the blackness, and tried to figure the interior of the -prison ship. What sort of quarters had the convicts? Should I ever -have a chance of viewing the ’tweendecks? I recollected that Will -had told me the prison--by which I understood the cell in which the -convicts would be confined for punishment--was just the other side of -the bulkhead or partition. I strained my ears, thinking I might catch a -sound of the felons talking. The fancy seized me to draw close to the -partition; I got out of the sail and felt along it, knowing that the -extremity would bring me to the bulkhead. Putting out my hands, I felt -the bulkhead, pressed my ear to the solid wooden wall and listened, but -heard nothing; nothing, that is, resembling a human voice. But I caught -a sort of scuffling sound, very dim and weak, as though of many feet -in motion; it was a wild, strange noise to listen to in that blackness. - -I groped my way back to where the sail was loose, and lay down and -covered myself as before. I had thought to find the atmosphere -ice-like, yet I was not cold, being warmly clad, with plenty of -sail-cloth to cover me besides. I kept my eyes closed to lighten the -weight of the blackness upon the brain. My thoughts were with Tom, with -our visit to this ship in the docks, with my home in Stepney. It was -like taking a bruising load off my heart, to think of my sweetheart as -having left the grim and horrible hulk for good, as having turned his -back for ever upon the killing labour of the dockyard. It was as though -he had taken one long step toward freedom. I shuddered, and my soul was -sick with loathing when I thought of the hulk, of the four hundred or -five hundred wretches imprisoned throughout the long winter’s night in -her, of the squalid rows of houses and dismantled craft along shore, of -the mud and drizzle and the fogs upon the flat and reeking lands and -the bleak spirit of the streaming yellow Thames in all things, soaking -chill to the core of whatever the eye rested upon, giving a sterner -significance even to man’s deepest intent of degradation. - -And then I wondered what would happen when I showed myself or was -discovered. What kind of work would they put me to? Would they force me -to reveal my sex? I hoped not; I prayed not: for the discovery might -lead to their finding out that I was a convict’s sweetheart, and they -would land me at the first port the ship touched at and ruin my scheme, -and separate me, perhaps eternally, from Tom. - -I fell asleep. I could not name the hour. Time had no being in that -blackness. A noise awakened me. Instinct was alert even in my slumber, -for the instant I awoke I pulled the canvas over my head, leaving one -corner for my eye, and lay still as a corpse. The hatch was open and a -figure stood under it. - -‘Hand the blooming shovel down,’ the fellow called out. ‘Never keep -poor convicts awaiting for their breakfisses. Time enough to sarve ’em -so when they becomes pious and turns ’spectable sailor-men. Blowed if -this ’ere hatch ain’t froze! Len’s a hand to lift the cover.’ - -A second figure dropped below. The light was so dim in the hatch above -that I could distinguish nothing but the shadowy shapes of the two -fellows. The hatch in the deck of the store-room was lifted. One man -climbed out and handed down a shovel and a lantern, and the other -descended with them into the fore-peak. A bucket was let down, and I -heard a shovelling of coal in the bowels below. Presently a faint cry -sounded. The bucket was drawn up, emptied into some noisy receptacle -above, and lowered again. This business lasted nearly half an hour; the -fellow below uprose with the shovel and lantern and put the lower hatch -on, swearing to himself. He then climbed through the second hatch, -which he also closed, and my hiding-place was plunged afresh into -blackness. - -I gathered from their speaking of the convicts’ breakfast and from -their procuring coal, no doubt for the galleys, that it was early -morning, and that I had slept through the night. A long, dreamless, -death-like sleep it must have been in that black and silent place. The -moment I sat up I was sensible that the ship was in motion. I seemed -to feel that she was being strained as though dragged. Subdued noises -broke from various parts of her, the creak of timber and of bulkhead; -but the ship floated without the least motion; indeed, I was sure she -could not long have left her berth alongside the hulk. - -I lighted a candle, drank from a bottle of the water, and, having -helped myself to some meat and a biscuit, I extinguished the candle and -broke my fast in blackness. I did not now find this blackness the great -oppression it had at first proved. I have heard that the governor of a -jail considered three days of confinement in a black cell a trifling -punishment until he tried it. He caused himself to be locked up for -twenty-four hours; at the end of that time he could stand the blackness -no longer, and he was ever after of opinion that twenty-four hours was -as long as it was safe to keep a man locked up in the blackness at one -stretch. - -This may be true of prison blackness. Speaking for myself, I ceased to -suffer, after a time, from privation of light; though under that ship’s -forecastle, with the hatch on, the blackness was as intense whilst the -silence had been as profound as ever human ingenuity could contrive -with bricks and mortar ashore. But, then, I had a moral support which -the prisoner would be without. I was animated by the strongest of human -passions; it gladdened me, moreover, to feel that I was sharing in my -sweetheart’s suffering and exile; and then, again, what I was enduring -was of my own seeking, long awaited with impassioned eagerness. - -By-and-by the sensation as of the ship being strained or dragged -ceased, and the noises made by the timbers and in the hold were -silenced. I guessed by this we had brought up off Gravesend, and -roughly worked out a notion of the hour by first supposing that we -had started from Woolwich at seven and that we had towed at the rate -of five miles an hour. Gravesend is about eighteen miles from Woolwich -by water, and therefore I reckoned the hour to be drawing on to eleven -o’clock. All this while I lay close in the sail; I never knew the -instant when the hatch would be thrown open. All was still overhead, so -I judged that the crew were not yet come on board. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -HER SUFFERINGS IN THE HOLD - - -I lay thinking just as one would in bed through the blackness of a long -night: and in this way three or four hours went by. - -It was then I heard a noise overhead, a very great hurry of feet, -and sounds as of drunken shouts and singing dulled to the ear by the -thickness of the plank. I knew by this that the crew were come, and I -felt mighty grateful, for now I could be sure that we should soon be -under way for the Channel. I supposed that the ship had brought up at -a mooring buoy; certainly I should have heard the thunder of her cable -roaring just over my head had she let go her anchor. - -I got some biscuit and meat, and whilst I was eating in my sail the -hatch was lifted. I immediately whipped under the canvas and lay like -a mouse, watching in my fashion, that is, with one eye at the edge -of the bolt-rope of the sail. Three men came down, and a minute later -a fourth followed. I lay motionless and terribly frightened, for they -stood under the hatch looking round as though considering where to seek -for what they came for. The open hatch yawned in a square of pale gray -light; I was able to see the men, but the forward part of the place -where I lay was sunk in gloom. The biggest of the men, a great burly -fellow of a seaman, advancing two or three steps, stopped and began to -count. I understood he was counting the casks. - -‘Eight,’ said he. - -‘I told you that, sir,’ said the voice of Will. ‘I saw them stowed.’ - -‘So much the better,’ answered one whom I reckoned to be a mate, -perhaps the second or third mate. ‘I’ve allowed for six. There can’t be -too much spare water for such a company as we’re carrying.’ - -‘Right you are there, sir,’ exclaimed the burly man in a deep voice. -‘Sails, here’s twine for ye.’ - -‘I see it,’ said the third man, stooping and seeming to feel. They -continued for a short time to talk about the contents of this -store-room. I heard Will say the chief mate had ordered him to count -the spare buckets. - -‘Do so,’ said the man whom I supposed to be the second or third mate. - -‘Bo’sun, hand us down a light. I can’t strike fire with my eyes,’ said -Will. - -The three men went up through the hatch, leaving Will standing alone -under it. I now distinctly heard the sound of many voices; most of the -newly-arrived crew seemed intoxicated if I might judge from their tipsy -laughter and maudlin songs and calls. A light was handed down; Will -screened the lantern by setting it beside a cask; he then came over to -me. I lifted my head. - -‘There you are,’ said he softly. ‘How are you getting on, old girl?’ - -‘Very well, Will. I have slept right through the night, and very -comfortably. Give me all the news.’ - -‘You may hear it,’ said he, laughing. ‘The crew are aboard, drunk as -casks. A sweet and noble lot of hearts. You never saw such a crew. The -most ruffian-looking convicts are gentlemen beside some of them. The -crimp who brought them down fished every gutter ’twixt Houndsditch and -Limehouse Hole, and rejected half he hooked as not bad enough.’ - -‘Then we’re off Gravesend?’ - -‘Ay.’ - -‘When do we start?’ - -‘The tug will be catching hold of us before dark. Any rats here, -Marian?’ - -‘None, so far. Have you seen anything of Tom, dear?’ - -‘Nothing.’ - -He stepped to the lantern and held it to my face to look at me. - -‘It’s a good job,’ said he, ‘that you’ve got no hair to dress. But how -jolly bright your eyes are! Perhaps I may have you out of this sooner -than you expect. Pray for a fresh north-easter, Marian.’ - -‘Take your light away and count your buckets. Somebody may come below.’ - -‘I’m not going to count any buckets,’ said he. ‘I invented that yarn as -an excuse to see you.’ - -He carried the lantern to where my provisions lay, and was looking at -them and softly speaking, when a man fell right through the hatch. He -fell with a mighty thud, and I screamed out. You would have supposed -him killed or stunned, but he had not lain quiet one or two minutes, -not long enough indeed for Will to get to him, when he began to -laugh and mutter drunkenly. He then sat up, and, looking about him, -exclaimed: ‘Rum casks, be gob! Whist, ye drunken teef, and they’ll lock -ye up down here!’ So saying, he got upon all-fours and crawled toward -the casks stowed in the left wing of this store-room. - -‘What are you doing here?’ cried Will, stepping up to him. - -‘Is it you, honey? Bedad, then, that makes two. Quick, sweetheart, with -your gimlet and pannikin, for supposin’ it should be threacle!’ said -the man, sinking into a sitting posture. - -My terror was extreme. I feared that others of the drunken crew would -follow this fellow and come tumbling down after him to rummage for -drink, and discover me before enough sober men could be got together to -turn them out. - -‘Now, up you go!’ cried Will. ‘Out you get!’ And he put his lantern -down to lay hold of the man. - -‘Why, what divvle are you?’ answered the brute, in a voice suddenly -savage and dangerous as the growl of a fierce dog. ‘What’s this?’ -he roared. ‘A stowaway? Hooroo! A stowaway, bullies! Hooroo!’ and, -staggering on to his legs, he lurched towards the lad, with his fist -raised. - -Will was as stout a young fellow as ever buttoned a pea-jacket over -his chest. He struck, and the man dropped like a shot from the hand. -Excitement and fright had carried me out of the sail. I grasped the -broom-handle and was in the very act of rushing to help Will, when the -fellow was dropped by my cousin’s fist. - -‘What’s going on down there?’ roared a hurricane voice through the -hatch. - -I sprang back upon the sail and covered myself. - -‘Here’s a drunken scoundrel, bo’sun, pitched headlong down here and -refuses to turn out!’ cried Will. - -The burly figure of the boatswain came in a sprawl down the ladder. -Then followed a real forecastle scuffle. The boatswain went to work -with legs and hands, kicking and hauling. The drunken Irishman -blasphemed most horribly. Heads collected at the hatch, and the fellows -up there roared to their wrestling, drunken, cursing shipmate to fight -it out and die game. But Will and the boatswain between them proved too -much for the ruffian, and, after a fierce struggle, they dragged him up -through the hatch, with his old coat in ribbons. Will then descended -for the lantern. He breathed very hard, and looked my way as though he -would speak. I sat up and passionately waved to him to depart. He saw -my gesture by the light he held, flourished his hand, and, climbing the -hatch, put the cover on. - -This was a terribly narrow escape, and I felt all the weakness of my -sex’s nature as I sat in the blackness and realised that had the other -drunken sailors tumbled below I should have been discovered and my -hopes ruined. - -After this I passed some wretched hours, for I never knew but that the -drunken Irish sailor had told the others there were casks under the -forecastle full of strong drink, for all he could guess, and I kept on -fearing that amongst them they’d lift the hatch and descend. However, -nothing of the kind happened; I got more heart as time went on and the -hatch remained untouched. I heard a great deal of thumping overhead, -and treading of feet as of men coming and going, and then I felt once -more the same straining sensation in the ship I had before taken notice -of; I supposed we were under way, in which case the _Childe Harold_ had -fairly begun her voyage. - -Saving the occasional lifting of the hatch at long intervals when a -man went below into the fore-peak to shovel coals and send them up in -buckets, nothing broke the overwhelming monotony of that black and -silent time of concealment. But there came an hour, whether it was in -the day or night I cannot tell, when I was awakened out of a deep sleep -by many violent noises and a wild movement. The ship was at sea; she -was breasting the waters of the Channel; and seemingly a strong sea was -running, for she pitched deep and raised a most extraordinary roaring -noise of foaming brine all about her bows, in the very ‘eyes’ of which -I lay. For some minutes I was not sensible of the least inconvenience; -I sat up in my bed of sail wondering at the novelty of the motion and -the noises; but then I was visited by a most deadly nausea--I felt as -though I were swooning into death; indeed, the pitching motion was -outrageously heavy for one inexperienced as I was to waken up to. I -was just in that part of the ship where the pitching is most felt. -I sank back and suffered--oh, how I suffered! Think of me, alone in -that midnight blackness, without a sup of cordial to give me a little -life, as incapable of stirring as though I were dying, feeling to the -height of its anguish the sickness that is the worst of all sickness, -hearing nothing but the cataractal rushing of water against the bows, -the sudden shock and thunder of a great sea smiting quick and hard as -the blow of a rock, the crazy straining of timber and cargo and strong -fastenings. - -In this wretched state I continued for two days. I afterwards -calculated this time, and found that it must have run into two days and -a night. I never ate nor drank; I may say I neither slept nor waked; -I lay in a sort of middle state. Will never came near me; but through -no fault of his; he later on told me his hands had been full whilst -on deck, he could not invent an excuse to visit the store-room, and -without a good excuse he durst not lift the hatch lest I should be -discovered and he be charged with hiding me. - -However, whether it was that nature could suffer no more, or that the -movement of the ship even in this extreme fore part had fallen into -softness and rhythm, I slept and awoke, and, awaking, found myself free -from nausea and hungry. I sat up and lighted a candle; my hand shook -with weakness, and I could scarcely stand. I drank from a bottle of -water, took such food as I wanted, and made a meal. I kept the candle -burning, for I was now thinking that my term of imprisonment might -be drawing to an end, and that I could afford the luxury of a light. -Indeed, I had not as yet consumed a whole candle since I had been in -hiding. - -I sat by the light of the candle till it was burnt out; the light -cheered and soothed me. It was something for the eye to rest upon, and -the flame was a sort of companion in its way. Once it put a horrid, -frightful fancy into my mind. I thought to myself, suppose I set fire -to the ship? The vessel has boats! besides, we are still in the English -Channel, and help is near and abundant. The convicts would scatter, -some going in one boat, some in another, or the ship might be run -ashore to save life, and Tom escape. I shuddered, and blew out the -light, which was now burnt to within half an inch of the candle. - -I felt stronger and more comfortable. The ship plunged softly; I -heard no roaring of the brine outside, no blows as from the shock of -thunderbolts; I guessed that the weather was fair and gentle; but -was it night or day? I could not imagine. I had figured the high sun -pouring upon the white canvas and the sea blue and splendid under him, -and in that deep, vault-like blackness I’d pant for the sweetness of -the air above and yearn but for ten minutes of the glory of the day. -Then, in the same breath, I’d think ‘It may be midnight. The sun has -sunk, and a thousand stars tremble over the mastheads, and a corner of -moon is lifting out of a length of ragged, black cloud hanging low over -the blacker water.’ - -When would it be time for me to beat upon the hatch and take my chance -of what was then to follow? In any case, I dared not reveal myself till -Will gave me notice, for how should I be able to tell where the ship -was--whether she was not still close in with the English shore, so that -the captain could land me, end my scheme, and render all I have done -and suffered useless? I must be patient; better that Will should make -no sign for a month than that I should emerge one hour too soon. - -The time crept on. I heard an occasional movement of feet overhead, -but all the noises were small and brief. Indeed, it was the ship’s -forecastle, the place where the sailors ate, drank, and slept; where, -unless all hands are on deck, there is always a watch below and -consequently sleepers; so that when the voyage has fairly begun and the -men have settled down to their work, there is no quieter place in a -ship than her forecastle. - - -END OF THE FIRST VOLUME - - - PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - LONDON - -[Illustration] - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - -Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONVICT SHIP, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 63964-0.txt or 63964-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/9/6/63964/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Convict Ship, Volume 1 (of 3)</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: William Clark Russell</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 5, 2020 [eBook #63964]<br /> -[Most recently updated: April 16, 2021]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David E. Brown and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONVICT SHIP, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="50%" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1>THE CONVICT SHIP</h1> - -<p class="ph2">VOL. I.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="bbox"> -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"><span class="large">NEW LIBRARY NOVELS.</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="hangingindent"> - -<p>UNDER SEALED ORDERS. By <span class="smcap">Grant Allen</span>. 3 vols.</p> - -<p>A LONDON LEGEND. By <span class="smcap">Justin H. McCarthy</span>. -3 vols.</p> - -<p>THE TREMLETT DIAMONDS. By <span class="smcap">Alan St. Aubyn</span>. -2 vols.</p> - -<p>THE DRIFT OF FATE. By <span class="smcap">Dora Russell</span>. 3 vols.</p> - -<p>BEYOND THE DREAMS OF AVARICE. By <span class="smcap">Walter -Besant</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>THE MINOR CHORD. By <span class="smcap">J. Mitchell Chapple</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>HIS VANISHED STAR. By <span class="smcap">C. Egbert Craddock</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>ROMANCES OF THE OLD SERAGLIO. By <span class="smcap">H. N. -Crellin</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>VILLAGE TALES AND JUNGLE TRAGEDIES. By -<span class="smcap">B. M. Croker</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>MADAME SANS-GÊNE. By <span class="smcap">E. Lepelletier</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>MOUNT DESPAIR. By <span class="smcap">D. Christie Murray</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>THE PHANTOM DEATH. By <span class="smcap">W. Clark Russell</span>. -1 vol.</p> - -<p>THE PRINCE OF BALKISTAN. By <span class="smcap">Allen Upward</span>. -1 vol.</p></div> - - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London: CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iTitle.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p><span class="xxlarge">THE CONVICT SHIP</span></p> - -<p>BY<br /> - -<span class="xlarge">W. CLARK RUSSELL</span><br /> - -<small>AUTHOR OF<br /> -‘THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR’ ‘MY SHIPMATE LOUISE’<br /> -‘THE PHANTOM DEATH’ ETC.</small></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iTitlelogo.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p><span class="large">IN THREE VOLUMES—VOL. I.</span></p> - -<p><span class="large"><span class="antiqua">London</span></span><br /> -<span class="large">CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY</span><br /> -<span class="large">1895</span></p> -</div></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -PRINTED BY<br /> -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE<br /> -LONDON</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS<br /> - - -<small>OF</small><br /> - -THE FIRST VOLUME</h2> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table"> - - -<tr><td class="tdr"><small>CHAP.</small></td><td> </td><td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> HER FATHER’S DEATH</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> HER MEMORIES</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> HER MOTHER DIES</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21"> 21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> SHE MEETS CAPTAIN BUTLER</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_38"> 38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> SHE VISITS THE ‘CHILDE HAROLD’</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_55"> 55</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> SHE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_69"> 69</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> SHE PARTS WITH HER SWEETHEART</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_88"> 88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> SHE RECEIVES DREADFUL NEWS</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105"> 105</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> SHE VISITS NEWGATE</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_119"> 119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> SHE ATTENDS HER SWEETHEART’S TRIAL</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_140"> 140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> SHE VISITS H.M.S. ‘WARRIOR’</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_163"> 163</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> SHE RAMBLES WITH HER COUSIN</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_192"> 192</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> SHE CONCEIVES A STRANGE IDEA</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_205"> 205</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> SHE DRESSES AS A BOY</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_220"> 220</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> SHE TAKES A LODGING AT WOOLWICH</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_244"> 244</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> SHE HIDES AS A STOWAWAY</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_272"> 272</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> HER SUFFERINGS IN THE HOLD</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_298"> 298</a></td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span> - -<p class="ph1">THE CONVICT SHIP</p> -</div> - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br /> - - -<small>HER FATHER’S DEATH</small></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">I was</span> in my twenty-fourth year when I underwent -the tragic and amazing experiences -which, with the help of a friend, I propose to -relate in these pages. I am now seventy-seven; -but I am in good health and enjoy -all my faculties, saving my hearing; my -memory is brisk, and my friends find it very -faithful, and what is here set down you may -accept as the truth.</p> - -<p>It is long ago since the last convict ship -sailed away from these shores with her horrid -burden of guilt and grief and passions of a -hundred devilish sorts; I don’t know how -long it is since the last of the convict ships -passed down Channel on her way to colonies<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span> -which were like to become a sort of shambles—for -they were hanging half a score of men -a day for murder in those times—if this -horrid commerce in felons had not ended; -when that ship had weighed and sailed she -passed away to return no more as a prison -craft. When she faded out of sight she was -a vanished type, and when she climbed, -moon-like, above the horizon under full -breast of shining canvas, she was an honest -ship again, never more to be debauched by -opportunities to tender for the transport of -criminals.</p> - -<p>Before I lift the curtain upon my ship, -the Convict Ship in which I sailed, I must -hold you in talk concerning some matters -which go before the sailing of the vessel; for -I have to explain how it came about that I, -a woman, was on board of a convict ship -full of male malefactors.</p> - -<p>I was born in the parish of Stepney in the -year 1814. My father was Mr. Benjamin -Johnstone, a well-known man—locally, I -mean—in his day. He had been put to sea -as a boy very young; had risen steadily and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span> -made his way to command, saved money with -a liberal thriftiness that enabled him to enjoy -life modestly and to hold the respect of his -friends. He built a little ship for a venture, -did well, bought or built a second, and at the -age of forty-five owned a fleet of four or five -coasters, all trading out of the Thames. He -purchased a house at Stepney for the convenience -of the district.</p> - -<p>At Stepney in my young days lived many -respectable families, and I don’t doubt that -many respectable families still live at Stepney; -but it is true that all that part of London has -sunk since I was a little girl, and the sort of -people who flourished in the east in the -beginning of the century have now gone west -with the jerry trowel and the nine-inch wall. -My father’s house in Stepney might have been -a lord’s in its time. It was strong as a fortress, -cosy and homely, rich within doors with -the colouring of age. It still stands; I visited -it last year, but it is no longer a private -house.</p> - -<p>I was about twelve years old when my -father died. The manner of his going was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -very sudden and fearful, and, old as I am, -when I think of it I feel afraid, so haunting -is youthful impression, the shock of it often -trembling through the longest years into the -last beats of one’s heart. My cousin, Will -Johnstone, had been brought over from his -house near the Tower to spend the afternoon -with me. He was between six and seven -years of age, a fine little manly boy, the only -son of my father’s brother, William Johnstone, -a lawyer, whose house and office were near -the Tower. This little Will and I sat at the -table in the parlour, playing at some game, -and very noisy.</p> - -<p>It was a November afternoon, the atmosphere -of a true London sullenness; the fire -burnt heartily, and the walls were merry -with the dance of the flames, and the candle -stood unlighted upon the mantelpiece. My -father sat in an arm-chair close to the fire; -he smoked a long clay pipe, and his eyes -were fixed upon the glowing coals. He was -a handsome man; I have his image before -me. He had the completest air of a sailor -that is to be figured. I seldom see such faces<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -as his now. But then faces belong to times. -My father’s belonged to his century; and you -would seek for it there and not before nor -after.</p> - -<p>He sat with his legs crossed and his eyes -upon the fire. Suddenly looking around, he -cried, with some temper: ‘Not so much -noise, little ’uns! not so much noise, or you’ll -have to go to bed.’ Then his face relaxed, -and I, with my child’s eyes, saw he was sorry -for having spoken so sharply. ‘Little ones,’ -said he softly, ‘let’s have a game. Let’s see -who can go to sleep first and keep asleep -longest;’ and dropping his hand so as to bring -the pipe from his mouth, he sank his chin -and shut his eyes, and snored once or twice -as a make-believe.</p> - -<p>I sank my head and closed my eyes as -father had, and little Will shammed to be -asleep. We were silent a minute or more. -The pipe then fell from my father’s hand and -lay in halves upon the floor. There was -nothing in this. It was a common clay pipe, -and father would break such things pretty -nearly as often as he smoked them. I now<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -peeped at Will; he was peeping at me. The -child giggled, and burst into a little half-suffocated -laugh.</p> - -<p>‘Hush!’ said I; and now, being weary of -this sort of sport, I looked at father and cried -out: ‘I can’t sleep any longer.’</p> - -<p>He never answered, so I stepped round -the table to his chair to wake him up, -and pulled him by the arm, and still he -would not answer. I climbed upon his knee, -and just then a bright gas flame spurted out -of a lump of coal, and I saw his face very -clearly. What was there in it to acquaint -my childish sight with the thing that had -come to him? I fell from his knee and ran -to the door, and shrieked for mother. She -was in the next room, or back parlour, talking -with a woman hired to sew.</p> - -<p>‘Mother,’ said I, ‘father can’t wake up.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean, Marian? Where is -he?’</p> - -<p>‘We have been playing at sleep, and he -can’t wake up,’ said I, and I began to cry.</p> - -<p>She went into the room with a fear and -wildness in her manner, stopped to lean upon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -the table and look at her husband, and in -that pause I see her now, though it did not -pass beyond the space of a few heart-beats. -She was about thirty-five years of age, a very -fine figure of a woman indeed, with a vast -profusion of yellow hair, of which she was -exceedingly vain, often changing the fashion -of wearing it two and three times in a week. -The firelight was upon her face, and she -showed like marble as she gazed at father -with a hand under her left breast. Then running -up to him she looked close, cried out, -and fell in a swoon upon the floor. Will and -I were horribly frightened, and screamed together. -This brought the servants and the -sewing-woman to us. A doctor was sent for, -and when he arrived and examined father he -pronounced him dead.</p> - -<p>It was characteristic of my mother that -she should faint when she looked at my -father and believed him dead, though for all -she knew he might have been in a fit, wanting -instant attention to preserve him from -death. She was a tender mother, and, I -believe, did her best to be a good wife; but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -she had not strength of character; she was -pretty and thought herself beautiful, and was -more easily to be cheated by flatterers than -any woman I ever met in my life. Her weakness -in this way was the cause of much unhappiness -to me, of many a bitter secret tear -some years after my father’s death, as I will -explain a little way farther on.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br /> - - -<small>HER MEMORIES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I missed</span> my father out of my life as though the -sun had gone out of the heavens. I had been -far more of a companion to him than my mother. -I had venerated him as something superior -to all created beings; which, I dare say, was -not a little owing to his stories of the sea, to -the various wonders he was able to recount, -and to his descriptions of distant lands, as -remote as the stars to my young imagination. -The company he kept was nearly wholly -composed of sailors, sea captains, either -retired or actively employed. My mother -would often be out visiting, passing an -evening at a card party, or at a dance at -some neighbour’s when our parlour, which -was long and wide, but low-ceiled, like a -ship’s cabin, would be half-full of father’s -nautical friends. I’d sit and listen then to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -their talk; for mother being absent there’d -be nobody to bid me go to bed—as to father, -he would have let me sit until he went to bed -himself. Thus it was I heard so much talk of -the sea, that I was able to discourse on ships -and rigging, on high seas and gales of wind, -on icebergs, whales and uncharted shoals, -as though I had never lived out of a forecastle. -Indeed, I knew too much. I was -often pert, lifted up my shrill voice in correction -of some old captain, and so would -raise a very thunder of laughter and applause -in the room.</p> - -<p>Again, I was often my father’s companion -in the trips he made in his own coasters down -the river. Those excursions were the golden -hours of my childhood. We’d row on board -a little brig weighing from the Pool, and stay -in the ship till we were off Gravesend, where -we’d land. Mother never joined us. When -the wind caused the vessel to lay over she -said it made her sick. I dare say it did.</p> - -<p>Father’s little fleet was mainly composed -of coasters, as I have said, grimy of deck for -the most part, with a strong smell of the bilge<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -in the atmosphere of their darksome cabins, -wagons in shape and staggerers in their gait, -with a lean and coaly look aloft as they -heeled, black and gaunt, from bank to bank -of the river over the smooth stream of ebb or -flood. But those trips made choice hours to -me, and are sweeter than the memories of -sport in the summer grass and of hunts in the -rank growths of ditches and the country -hedge.</p> - -<p>I remember that during one of these -trips we nearly ran down a large boat when -we were not very far from Woolwich, lying -over with the wind ahead and the water -spitting briskly at our forefoot. I went to -the side to look; she was a big boat with -soldiers in her, and full of strange-looking -men in gray clothes and a sort of Scotch cap. -I saw the irons upon those men as the boat -swept close past and heard the clank of the -chains as the wretches shrank or started in -terror at the sight of the mass of our bare, -black hull, rolling like a storm-cloud almost -right over them. Father was below. I -asked Mr. Smears, the master of the brig,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -who stood close alongside of me in a tall, -rusty hat and a stout coat that descended to -within a foot of his heels, what boat that was.</p> - -<p>‘A convict boat, missy,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘What are those people in her?’</p> - -<p>‘Rogues all, missy—rogues all.’</p> - -<p>‘Where are they going to?’ said I.</p> - -<p>He pointed to a great wooden hulk that -lay off Woolwich, the hull of a man-of-war, -made hideous by a variety of deck erections, -and by rows of linen fluttering betwixt the -poles which rose out of her decks.</p> - -<p>‘That’s where they’re going to,’ said Mr. -Smears. ‘And shall I tell ’ee who’s the -skipper of that craft? ’Taint no Government -bloke—let ne’er a man believe it! The skipper’s -name begins with a D and ends with a -h-L. I’m not going to say more, missy. -Father’ll supply ye with the missing letters. -Yond skipper’s name begins with a D and -ends with a h-L, and them livelies in gray,’ -said he, nodding toward the boat we had -nearly run down, ‘are his young ’uns, and -they do credit to their parient, if looks -ain’t lies.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span>Then, starting up, he cried: ‘Ready -about, lads!’ and a moment later the helm -was put down and our canvas was wildly -shaking, and then the brig heeled over and -with steady sails ripped through the yellow -lustrous surface of the river’s breast on her -slanting course down Woolwich Reach.</p> - -<p>I did not long look at the great hull of -the old man-of-war and her hideous deck -erections and her flapping prison linen. I -was a child, with a child’s eye for beauty, -and my gaze would quickly wander from the -prison-ship which I was altogether too young -to quicken and inform with the loathsome -fascination one finds in all such abodes of -human crime and miserable mortal distress; -I say my eye would quickly turn from that -horrible floating jail to the fifty sights of -movement and colour round about; to the -hoy with its cargo of passengers from Margate -and a fiddle and a harp making music in the -bows lazily stemming Londonward; to the -barge going away with the tide, sending a -scent of rich country across the wind from its -lofty cargo of hay on whose summit lies a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -man on his back, sound asleep; to the large -ship fresh from the other side of the world -with sailors dangling aloft, and a merry echo -of capstanpawls timing a little crowd of men -running round and round her forecastle; the -wife of the captain aft talking to a waterman -in a wherry over the side, and the captain -himself, baked brown by the suns of three or -four great oceans, excitedly stepping from -rail to rail in a walk of impassioned anxiety -and impatience.</p> - -<p>I have the words, you see! Does the -language of the deep sound strange in the -mouth of a woman? The wives and daughters -of military men may deliver themselves in -the speech of the barracks and nobody thinks -anything of it. Why should not the daughter -of a sailor and the wife of a sailor possess the -language of her father and of her husband’s -profession, and talk it whenever the need -arises without raising wonder?</p> - -<p>After my father’s death, his little fleet of -ships were sold, in accordance with the direction -of his will. The thing was bungled. My -mother was a poor woman of business. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -fell out with my uncle, William Johnstone, -over the sale of the vessels, and put the -business in the hands of a broker, who robbed -us. Yet, when the estate was realised, we -were pretty well to do. The freehold in Stepney -was to come to me at the death of my -mother. Under my father’s will there was a -settlement that secured me three hundred -pounds a year. The trustees were two sea-captains. -My mother was well provided for; -but one saw, by the terms of my father’s will, -that he had no confidence in her. Yet he did -not stipulate that she should not marry -again; though, had I been older at the time, -I should have looked for some condition of -the sort, for he was very jealous. In fine, -and what I have to relate obliges me to dwell -upon these trumpery particulars, my father’s -will gave me his house at my mother’s death, -and secured three hundred pounds a year to -me in any case when I should become of age -or on my marriage, the interest meanwhile to -grow and be mine; and then, at my mother’s -death, a portion of what had been willed to -her was to revert to me, and the remainder<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -was to be distributed amongst two or three -poor and distant relations and a few charities, -all of them maritime.</p> - -<p>Thus, at my father’s death, I might fairly -have been described by a forward-looking -eye as what you would call a tolerably fair -match; and at the age of seventeen I deserved -to be thought so, not only because -of my money and the pleasant old house that -would be mine, but because of my good -looks. At seventy-seven there can be no -vanity in retrospect. Moreover, since this -story is to be told, you shall have the whole -truth. At seventeen, then, I was a tall, strong, -well-made girl, broad, but in proportion, and -they used to tell me that I carried my figure -with the grace of a professional dancer. I -was exactly opposite to my mother in -colour. My hair was black as the wing of a -raven; my eyes very black and filled with a -strong light, which brightened to a look of -fever in times of excitement; my complexion -was pale but clear; my teeth large, white, -and regular, and I showed them much in -talking and laughing. I’ll not deny that my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -charms—and handsome I truly was—inclined -to coarseness; by which I mean that they -leaned toward the manly rather than the -womanly side. My voice was a contralto, -and when I sang I would sink to a note -that was reckoned uncommonly deep for a -girl.</p> - -<p>My father had been dead about five years, -when, one afternoon, my mother came to me -in my bedroom. She was in her bonnet and -outdoor clothes, and I instantly noticed an -agitation in her manner as she sat down -beside the dressing-table and looked at me. I -forget what I was about, but I recollect ceasing -in it and standing up with my hands clasped, -whilst I viewed her anxiously and with misgivings.</p> - -<p>‘Marian,’ said she, with a forced smile, -‘I have come to give you a bit of news.’</p> - -<p>‘What, mother?’</p> - -<p>‘My hand has been asked in marriage, -dear, and I have accepted.’</p> - -<p>I felt the blood rush to my face, and then -I turned cold, and, pulling a chair to me, sat -down, but I did not speak.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span>‘Do you hear me, child?’</p> - -<p>‘Your hand has been asked in marriage?’ -said I. ‘By whom, mother?’</p> - -<p>‘By Mr. Stanford,’ she answered, lowering -her voice and sinking her eyes.</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Stanford?’ I cried. ‘The doctor?’</p> - -<p>‘Whom else?’ she replied, looking at me -again and forcing another smile.</p> - -<p>I was thunderstruck. Never for an instant -had I suspected that there was more -between them than such commonplace, matter-of-fact -friendship as may exist between a -medical man and those whom he attends. -Mr. Stanford was the doctor one of the servants -had run for when my father died. He -had attended us during the preceding year, -and he had prescribed for mother and me -since, so that at this date we had known him -six years. He was a widower and childless, -and lived within ten minutes’ walk of our -house. Occasionally he had looked in upon -us, and sat during an evening for an hour or -so; sometimes he had dined with us and we -with him; but never had I observed any sort -of behaviour in him or mother to hint at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -what was coming—at what, indeed, had now -come.</p> - -<p>I should be needlessly detaining you from -my own story to repeat all that passed between -my mother and me on this occasion. I -was beside myself with anger, mortification, -jealousy—for I was jealous of my father’s -memory, abhorred the thought of his place -being taken in his own house and in the -affection of the wife whom he had loved, by -such a man as Mr. Stanford. Nay, but it -would have been all the same had Mr. Stanford -been the greatest nobleman or the first -character in Europe. I should have abominated -him as an intruder, and have yearned -for the hands of a man to toss him out o’ -window should he dare to occupy a house in -which my father was as real a presence to -my heart as though he were still alive and -could kiss me and make me presents and -carry me away out of the gloomy streets into -the shining holiday road of the river.</p> - -<p>My mother reproached me, and pleaded -and wept. The weakness of her poor heart, -God rest her, was very visible at this time.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -She clung to me and held me to her, imploring -me, as her only child, to consider -how lonely she was, how sadly she stood in -need of a protector, how good it would be -for us both to have Mr. Stanford to watch -over us! I broke away from her with a wet -scarlet face and heaving bosom, and told her -that if Mr. Stanford took my father’s place I -would cease to love or even to think of her -as my mother. We both cried bitterly, and -raised our voices and talked together as most -women would at such a moment, not knowing -what each other said. I do not condemn -myself. I look back and hold that I was -right to stand up for the memory of my -beloved father, even to rage as I did against -my mother’s resolution to marry Mr. Stanford. -I wondered at her; indeed, I was shocked. -I was young and ardent and romantic, had a -girl’s notions of the loyalty of love and the -obligations of keeping sacred the memory -and the place of one who had been faithful -and tender, who had nobly done his duty to -his wife and child.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br /> - - -<small>HER MOTHER DIES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the age of seventeen I considered myself -qualified to form a judgment of men, and I -was amazed and indeed disgusted that my -mother should see anything in Mr. Stanford -to please her. He and my father were at -the opposite ends of the sex, as far removed -as the bows from the stern of a ship. He -was a spare and narrow man, pale as veal, in -complexion sandy, the expression of his countenance -hard and acid, his eyes large and -moist and the larger and moister for the magnifying -spectacles he wore. But my mother -would have her way, and a week after she -had given me the news of the doctor’s offer -they were privately married.</p> - -<p>My life from this date was one of constant -and secret unhappiness. I could never answer -Mr. Stanford with any approach to civility<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -without a violent effort. He strove at first to -make friends with me, then gave up and took -no more heed of me than had I been a -shadow at the table or about the house. -Yet, sometimes, I would make him pretty -rudely and severely feel that he was an intruder, -an abomination in my sight, a scandalous -illustration of my mother’s weakness -of nature; and that was if ever he opened -his lips about my father. I never suffered -him to mention my father’s name in my presence. -He might be about to speak intending -to praise, designing every manner of civility -toward the memory of the dead; I minded -him not; if he named my father I insulted -him, and on two or three occasions forced -him to quit the table, so strong and fiery was -the injurious language I plied him with. My -mother wept, threatened to swoon, did swoon -once, and our home promised to become as -wretched and clamorous as a lunatic asylum.</p> - -<p>As an example of my hatred, not so much -of the man as of his assumption of my father’s -place: he brought his door-plate and his lamp -from his house, and when I saw his plate<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -upon the door that my father used to go in -and out of I ran to a carpenter who lived a -few streets off, brought him back with his -tools, and ordered him to remove the plate, -which I threw into the kitchen sink for the -cook to find and report to her master.</p> - -<p>Well, at the end of ten months, my mother -died in childbed. The infant lived. It was a -girl. My mother died; and when I went to -her bedside and viewed her dead face, sweet -in its everlasting sleep, for the look and wear -of ten or fifteen years seemed to have been -brushed off her countenance by the hand of -death, I thought to myself: if she has gone -to meet father, how will she excuse herself for -her disloyalty? And then the little new-born -babe that was in the next room began to cry, -and I came away from that death-bed with -tearless eyes and sat in my bedroom, thinking -without weeping.</p> - -<p>I have spoken of my uncle, William Johnstone, -a lawyer, who lived in the neighbourhood -of the Tower, and whose office was in -his own dwelling-house. He, like my father, -had but one child, Will Johnstone, that little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -fellow who was playing with me when my -father died. Mr. Johnstone’s was a very comfortable -house; it afterward passed into the -hands of a chart-seller. His clients were -nearly wholly composed of sea-going people. -He was said to be very learned in maritime -law; he was much consulted by masters and -mates with grievances, and at his house, as at -my father’s formerly, you’d meet few people -who did not follow the ocean or did not do -business with seafarers.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Johnstone was three or four years -older than her husband. She was a plain, -homely, thoroughly good-hearted woman, incapable -of an ill-natured thought; one of -those few people who are content to be as -God made them. During my mother’s brief -married life with her second husband I was -constantly with my aunt, and I believe I -should have lived with her wholly but for -my determination that my stepfather, the -doctor, should not flatter himself he had -sickened me out of my own home. Will was -at this time at the Bluecoat School, laying in -a stock of Latin and Greek for the fishes;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -for the lad was resolved to go to sea. His -father, indeed, wished him to adopt that -calling, and would say: ‘What is the good -of a cargo of learning the whole of which will -be thrown up overboard the first dirty night -down Channel?’</p> - -<p>When mother died, my aunt entreated -me to live with her and leave the doctor -alone in his glory. My answer was: No, I -should not think of leaving my own home if -my stepfather were out of it, and I was not -to be driven out because he chose to stay. -I had the power to turn him out, and should -have done so but for the baby. The little -one was my mother’s; I could not have -turned a child of my mother’s out of a home -that had been my mother’s. So I continued -to live in the home that had come to me -from my father. I occupied a set of rooms -over the parlour-floor and took my meals in -my own apartments, where I was attended -by a maid who waited upon me and upon -nobody else.</p> - -<p>The child was called after my mother, -and her name was mine—Marian. If in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -passing up or down stairs I met the little -creature in its nurse’s arms, I would take -it and kiss it, perhaps, and toss it a moment -or two and then go my way. God forgive -me, I could never bring myself to love that -child. I never could think of it as my -mother’s, but as Mr. Stanford’s. The sight, -the sound of it would bring all my father -into my heart, and I’d fall into a sort of -passion merely in thinking that the memory -of such a man should have been betrayed.</p> - -<p>I dare say you will consider all this as an -excess of loyalty in me. But loyal even to -exaggeration my nature was to those I loved. -It is no boast—merely a saying which this -tale should justify.</p> - -<p>After the death of my mother, the money -paid to me through my trustees rose to an -income of hard upon five hundred a year. -I rejoice to say that Mr. Stanford got not -one penny. My mother had been without -the power to will away a farthing of what -my father had left her. Otherwise I don’t -doubt the doctor would have come off with -something more substantial than a ten-month<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -memory and my sullen toleration of his plate -upon the door.</p> - -<p>The equivalent in these times of five -hundred a year would in those be about -seven hundred; I was, therefore, a fortune -and a fine, handsome young woman besides; -and you will naturally ask: Had I any sweethearts, -lovers, followers? To tell you the -truth, I never gave men nor marriage a -thought. I had friends in the neighbourhood, -and I went among them, and I was -also much at my aunt’s, and not very easily, -therefore, to be caught at home by any gentleman -with an eye to a fine girl and an -independency. Add likewise to my visiting, -a great love of solitary rambling. I’d take a -boat at Wapping and pass nearly a whole -day upon the river, stepping ashore, perhaps, -at some convenient landing-stairs or stage for -a meal, and then returning to the wherry. -Ah, those were delicious jaunts! They stand -next in my memory in sweetness and happiness -to those father had carried me on. I -made nothing of being alone, and nobody -took any notice of me. I was affronted but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -once, and that was by a Wapping waterman -who claimed that I had promised to use his -boat, which was false. He was a poor -creature, and nothing but the modesty of -my sex hindered me from beating him with -the short stout stick, silver-headed, with lead -under the silver, that I always carried with -me when I went alone. Another waterman -whom I employed came up while the low -fellow was slanging me, whipped off his coat -like lightning and in five minutes blacked up -both his opponent’s eyes. This was punishment -enough, and I was satisfied; and, as a -reward, paid the chivalrous man double fare -and made a point to hire his boat afterwards.</p> - -<p>Or I would take my passage in a Calais -steamer, land at Gravesend, or perhaps higher -up, and wander about, perfectly happy in -being alone, and with eyes and thoughts for -nothing but the beauties of the country and -the bright scene of the river. Often I was -away for two and three days together; but -on these occasions I always chose an inn -where I was known, where I could depend -upon the comfort of the entertainment and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -the security of the house; where the landlady -would welcome me as a friend, and -provide me for the night with such little -conveniences as I had left my home without. -Everything was caprice with me in those -days. I did what I liked, went where I -liked, knew no master. My aunt once or -twice, in her mild way, questioned the propriety -of a young woman acting as I did, -but my uncle stood up for me, pointed out -that my blood was full of the old roaming -instincts of my father; that I was quite old -enough and strong enough to take care of -myself; that what I did was my notion of -enjoyment, and that I was in the right to be -happy.</p> - -<p>‘Keep on the wing while you can,’ said -he. ‘Some of these days a big chap called a -husband will come along, with a pair of shears -in his hand, and the rest will be short farmyard -hops.’</p> - -<p>On the other hand, my stepfather professed -to be scandalised by my conduct. He -marched into my room one day, after I had -spent the night alone at Gravesend, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -asked leave to have a serious talk with me. -But, on his beginning to tell me that I was -not acting with that sort of decorum, with -that regard to social observances, which is -always expected and looked for in a young -lady, I walked out of the room. He then -addressed a long letter to me. His drift was -still decorum and social observances, and -what would his patients think. <i>I</i> thought of -my father and how <i>he</i> would deal with this -fellow, who was daring enough to teach me -how to conduct myself, and in a passion I -tore the letter in halves, slipped the pieces -into an envelope, on which I wrote, ‘Your -advice is as objectionable as your company,’ -and bade my maid put the letter on the table -of the room in which he received his patients.</p> - -<p>But this is not telling you whether I had -lovers, sweethearts, followers, or not. I have -no room to go into that matter here; yet, let -me name two young gentlemen. The first -was the son of one of my trustees, Captain -Galloway, who lived at Shadwell. The youth -was good-looking, and had a pleasant, easy -manner; he had been well educated, and at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -this time held some post of small consequence -in the London Docks. He hung about me -much, contrived to meet me at friends’ houses, -often called, and managed sometimes to discover -whither I had gone on a ramble, and -to meet me as though by accident. I never -doubted that I owed a good deal of this lad’s -attention to old Captain Galloway’s fatherly -advice. I laughed in my sleeve at the poor -boy, though I was always gentle and kind to -him; and if I never gave him any marked -encouragement, for his father’s sake I took -care never to pain or in any way disconcert -him; until one evening, happening to be at a -quadrille party, to which he had been invited, -though he did not attend, a pretty, sad-faced -young creature was pointed out to me as a -girl whom Jim Galloway had jilted so provokingly -as to earn him a caning at the hands -of the young lady’s brother. This was enough -for me. I first made sure that the story was -true, and when next I met my youthful -admirer I took him on one side, and, having -told him what I had heard, informed him -that he was a wicked, dangerous boy, unfit<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -for the society of ladies, and, affecting a great -air of indignation, I asked if by his hanging -about me he did not intend to make a fool of -me too. What passed put an end to the -young gentleman’s addresses; but I always -regret that this affair should have occasioned -a coolness between Captain Galloway and -myself.</p> - -<p>My second suitor, or follower, so to term -the fellow, was no less a person than my stepfather’s -nephew. I had been spending my -twenty-first birthday at my aunt’s, and on my -return home Mr. Stanford sent up word to -know if I would see him. I was in a good -humour, and told the maid to ask my stepfather -up. His motive in visiting me was to -get me to allow him to invite his nephew to -stay in the house. He wished to make his -nephew’s better acquaintance. The youth -was studying medicine, and Mr. Stanford believed -a time might come when it would be -convenient to take him into partnership. I -told him to ask his nephew and welcome.</p> - -<p>‘What’s the gentleman’s name?’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘Edward Potter,’ said he.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span>In two or three days’ time Mr. Edward -Potter drove up in a hackney coach. He -brought a quantity of luggage, insomuch that -I reckoned the partnership might not be so -far off as my stepfather had hinted. Mr. -Potter was a very corpulent young man; his -neck was formed of rings of fat, and his small-clothes -and arm sleeves sheathed his limbs as -tight as a bladder holds lard. Nothing remarkable -happened for some time, and then I -discovered that this pursy young man was -beginning to pay me some attention. To be -sure, his opportunities in this way were few; -he dared not enter my rooms without being -invited, and then again, as you know, I was -much away from home. Yet he would contrive -to waylay me on the stairs and hold me -in conversation, and he once went to the -length of snatching up his hat and passing -with me into the street, and walking with -me down the Commercial Road to as far -as Whitechapel, where I managed to shake -him off.</p> - -<p>One afternoon, on going downstairs, I heard -the sound of voices in the parlour. The door<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -stood ajar; my name was uttered; and the -sound of it arrested my steps. The voices -within were those of Mr. Stanford and his -nephew, who were still at table, lingering -over their wine.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, she has the temper of a devil,’ said -my stepfather. ‘I love her so exceedingly -that I’d like nothing better than to have her -for a patient. But the wench’s constitution is -as sound as her fortune. Why don’t you go -ahead with her?’</p> - -<p>‘She’s plaguy hard to get at,’ said Mr. -Potter, in his strange voice, as though his -mouth was full of grease.</p> - -<p>‘You don’t shove enough,’ said his uncle. -‘A woman of her sort isn’t to be won by -staring and breathing hard. Go for her -boldly. Blunder into the sitting-room sometimes, -follow her when she goes out and meet -her round the next corner. It was the -chance I spoke to your mother about and -that you’re here for. She means five hundred -a year and this house. You’ll need to kill or -cure scores this way to earn five hundred a -year.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span>‘It’s like taking a naked light into a -powder magazine to talk to her,’ said Mr. -Potter. ‘Every look she gives one is a sort of -explosion. I always feel like wishing that -the road may be clear when I address her.’</p> - -<p>‘You’re too fat for business,’ said his -uncle. ‘I feared so. Give me a lean and -hungry man for spirit. Cæsar knew Cassius, -and I know you.’</p> - -<p>I guessed it was Mr. Potter who thumped -the table.</p> - -<p>‘Give me some time and you’ll see,’ he -said. ‘But in proportion as she troubles me -on this side so I’ll give it her on t’other. -Only let me get her, and for all your sneers at -my figure I’ll have her on her knees to you -and me within a month. Will you bet?’ and -I heard him pound the table again.</p> - -<p>He had used a word in this speech which -I will not repeat—an odious, infamous word. -I stepped in, flinging the door wide open and -leaving it so. Mr. Potter started up from -his chair, my stepfather lay back, his face -drooped and very pale, and he looked at me -under his half-closed lids. I stared Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -Potter in the face for a few moments without -speaking; I then pointed to the door with -the silver-headed cane I invariably carried.</p> - -<p>‘Walk out, sir,’ said I.</p> - -<p>He began to stammer.</p> - -<p>‘Walk out!’ I repeated, and I menaced -him.</p> - -<p>‘Where am I to walk to?’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘Out of this house,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘You had no right to listen, miss,’ said -my stepfather.</p> - -<p>I looked at him, then stepped round the -table to the bell, which I pulled violently. -My own maid, guessing the summons was -mine, answered.</p> - -<p>‘Jane,’ said I, ‘go instantly for a constable.’</p> - -<p>‘There is no need to fetch a constable,’ -exclaimed Mr. Stanford, getting up, ‘my -nephew will leave the house.’</p> - -<p>On this, Mr. Potter went out into the hall, -and whilst he fumbled at the hatstand, called -out:</p> - -<p>‘I suppose I may take my luggage?’</p> - -<p>I was determined to humble the dog to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -an extremity, and told Jane to call in any two -idle fellows she could see to remove Mr. -Potter’s luggage. She fetched two men from -a public-house, and I took them upstairs into -Mr. Potter’s room and bade them carry his -trunks below and put them on the pavement. -When they had carried the trunks downstairs -they returned for Mr. Potter’s loose, unpacked -apparel, which, acting on my instructions, -they heaped along with his unpacked linen -on top of the boxes on the pavement. I paid -the two men for their trouble, and violently -slammed the hall-door upon Mr. Potter, who -stood in the road, gazed at by a fast-gathering -crowd, waiting for the arrival of a hackney -coach, which was very slow in coming.</p> - -<p>As I passed upstairs, panting and heart-sick, -Mr. Stanford came into the hall, and -called out: ‘You will ruin my practice.’ I -paused to see if he had more to say, and I was -very thankful afterward that he had thought -proper to immediately retire on observing me -stop.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br /> - - -<small>SHE MEETS CAPTAIN BUTLER</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">After</span> this business you might suppose that -Mr. Stanford made haste to remove his plate -and his lamp to his old or another house. -Not at all. He found it convenient to stay; -and I contrived to endure him for the sake of -the child, that was now between three and -four years of age: a poor, feeble little creature, -with but slender promise of life in its -white face and thin frame.</p> - -<p>A few weeks after the trouble with Mr. -Potter had happened I went to my uncle’s -house near the Tower to sup and spend the -evening. As with Stepney, so with this part; -it has sunk pretty low. Yet when I was a -girl some very respectable families lived in -the neighbourhood of the Tower. My uncle’s -house, as I have said, included his offices. -They had been the front and back parlours.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -In the front office sat a couple of clerks, and -the back was my uncle’s private office, where -he received his clients. The family occupied -the upper part of the house, according to the -good old fashion of trade, when men were not -ashamed of their business. The rooms above -corresponded with the offices below: the front -room was furnished as a drawing-room; the -back as a parlour.</p> - -<p>I was as much at home in my uncle’s -house as if I had been his child, and, passing -the servants who opened the door, I went -upstairs to my aunt’s bedroom to take off my -bonnet and brush my hair. On the landing I -heard voices in the drawing-room. I guessed -my uncle had company, and hoped, unless -there were others, that it was not old Mr. -Simmonds, a ship-broker, a person to whom -my uncle was always very civil and hospitable, -as being useful in business, but who, to -my mind, was the most wearisome, insipid, -teasing old man that ever chair groaned -under.</p> - -<p>I removed my bonnet—you would laugh, -were you to see the great, coal-scuttle-shaped<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -contrivance it was—brushed my hair, viewed -myself a little complacently, for it was an -April day, the wind brisk, and my walk had -put some colour into my cheeks, from which -my dark eyes took a clearer fire, and went to -the drawing-room. On entering I found my -uncle sitting with a gentleman. The stranger -was not Mr. Simmonds. My aunt stood at -the window, looking out.</p> - -<p>‘Why, here am I watching for you!’ said -she. ‘Marian, my dear, Captain Butler.’</p> - -<p>I dropped the stranger a curtsey of those -times, and with a quick glance gathered him. -Small need to call him captain to know he -was a sailor. His weather-darkened face, the -fashion of his clothes, the indescribable ocean-rolling -ease of his manner of rising and bowing -to me, were assurance enough of his calling. -I took him to be a man of about thirty. His -eyes were a dark blue, and full of good-humour -and intelligence; his hair was auburn, -curling and plentiful; no feature of him but -was admirable—nose, mouth, teeth—all combined -in a face of manly beauty. He stood -about five feet eleven, and, though there was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -nothing of the soldier in his erect posture, his -figure was without any hint of that rounded -back and hanging-armed stoop which come -to people who’ve had to pull and haul on -a reeling deck for sour pork and creeping -bread in their youth.</p> - -<p>These and like points I did not notice all -at once in that first glance; but before half -an hour was gone I could have drawn a -correct portrait of him from memory, so -often, at every maidenly and modest opportunity, -were my eyes upon him.</p> - -<p>He had done business with uncle, and, -having lately arrived in the Thames, had -called and been asked to stay to supper and -meet me. They had been talking about my -cousin Will when I entered the room, and, -after the introduction, continued the subject, -my uncle seeming to be pretty full of it.</p> - -<p>‘Oh!’ said I, catching up something that -he had let fall. ‘So, then, you have settled -upon a ship for Will?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and a fine ship -she is.’</p> - -<p>‘There’s no finer ship than the <i>Childe -Harold</i><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> out of the Thames,’ said Captain -Butler.</p> - -<p>‘And her captain is a very good sort of a -man, we are told,’ said my aunt.</p> - -<p>‘I have heard him well spoken of. I -don’t know him,’ said Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>‘When does Will sail?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘A fortnight to-day,’ answered my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘You remember our compact?’ I said -eagerly.</p> - -<p>My uncle smiled slowly and shook his -head.</p> - -<p>‘But I say yes!’ I cried, starting up in -my impetuous way. ‘Aunt, <i>you</i> know it was -settled. Will was my playmate as a child. -I love him as a brother, and I claim the right -of giving him his outfit.’</p> - -<p>‘She is a sailor’s child,’ said my uncle to -Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>They told me Will was out; he would -return before supper. In a short time I discovered -that Captain Butler had been two -years absent on a trading voyage in the -Pacific; that he was without a ship at present, -but was looking for the command of a new<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -barque of about six hundred and thirty tons, -called the <i>Arab Chief</i>, in which he was -thinking of purchasing a share. I admired -him so much that I could not help feeling -a sort of inquisitiveness, and asked him a -number of questions about his voyage and -the sea life. Indeed, I went further. I asked -him where he lived and if he had any -relatives. There was a boldness in me that -was bred of many years of independence and -of fearless indifference to people’s opinion. -I was by nature downright and off-hand, and -whenever I had a question to ask I asked it, -without ever troubling my head as to the -sort of taste I was exhibiting. All this might -have been partly owing to my lonely, independent -life; to my being unloved and -having nobody to love; to my having been -as much an orphan when my father died as -though I had lost my mother at the same -time.</p> - -<p>And yet, though some of my own sex -may have turned up their noses at my plain, -bold questioning of Captain Butler, there is -no man, I vow, who would have disliked my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -manner in me. Captain Butler warmed up, -a fresh life came into his face with his frequent -laugh, and he could not take his eyes -off me. My uncle nursed his knee and -watched us with a composed countenance. -My aunt, who was a simple soul, followed the -conversation as one who hears and sees -nothing beyond what is said.</p> - -<p>‘Captain Butler,’ said my uncle, presently, -‘ask Miss Marian why it is that she goes -on living in the East when she has fortune -enough to set up as a fine lady in the -West?’</p> - -<p>‘I was born in Stepney,’ said I. ‘My -house is there. My father and mother lie -buried there. I’ll not leave it.’</p> - -<p>‘Who’s the wit,’ exclaimed Captain Butler, -‘who says that the further he goes West, the -more convinced he is that the wise men came -from the East?’</p> - -<p>‘Pray, what is a fine lady?’ asked my -aunt.</p> - -<p>‘Ask the dressmakers,’ said Mr. Johnstone.</p> - -<p>‘I hope my dear Marian will never change,’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -said my aunt, looking fondly at me. ‘She is -fine enough, I am sure. If she goes West -she’ll be falling into company who’ll make her -ashamed of her poor East-end relatives.’</p> - -<p>We rattled on in some such a fashion as -this. It was because I was not blind, and not -because I was vain, that I speedily saw that -Captain Butler admired me greatly. If I -stepped across the room, his eyes followed -the motions of my figure. If I spoke, his -gaze dwelt upon my lips. Even my poor, -dear, slow-eyed aunt noticed the impression I -had made, as I gathered from her occasional -looks at her husband. My uncle asked me to -sing, and I went to the piano and sang them -a simple, melodious sea-song which I used to -hear my father sing without an accompaniment. -My knowledge of music was slight, -but I had a correct ear and a strong voice, -and felt whatever I sang, because I chose to -sing only what I could feel, and my poor -attempts always pleased. Captain Butler -stood beside me at the piano while I sang; -he could not have praised me more warmly -had I been a leading lady at the Italian Opera.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -I got up, laughing, and told him that the -little music I had was by ear.</p> - -<p>‘I think I was never properly educated,’ -said I. ‘My father hated schools and believed -that young girls thrown together made one -another wicked. I was educated by governesses, -and, really, to be able to read and write -and to know the multiplication-table is a -great deal to be thankful for.’</p> - -<p>‘My brother was right,’ said my uncle. -‘I hate girls’ schools myself. Your finished -school-miss knows all about Shakespeare and -the musical classes, but she can’t tell how -many ounces go to a pound of beef.’</p> - -<p>While we chatted, Mr. and Mrs. Lorrimer -were announced. Nobody expected them, -but they were welcome. Old Mr. Lorrimer -was a ship-chandler in a rather big way. He -was a vestige of the dead century, and, -saving the wig, went clothed almost exactly -as his father had. I see him now with his -frill, stockings, snuff-box, and the company -smirk that was in vogue when he was a boy. -He engaged my uncle in talk; my aunt and -Mrs. Lorrimer drew chairs together, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -Captain Butler and I paired at a little distance -from the others.</p> - -<p>I liked this man so much, I admired him -so greatly; I had fallen so much in love with -him, indeed, at the first sight of his handsome, -winning face, that I found myself talking as -freely as though we had known each other -for years. I told him that I lived with my -stepfather in the house that was my own, that -my life was as dull as a sermon, that I found -no pleasure in life outside my lonely rambles, -which I described to him. I thought he -looked grave when I told him I would be -away from my home for two or three nights -at a time.</p> - -<p>‘Every girl wants a mother,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘And a father,’ said I; ‘but she can’t -keep them.’</p> - -<p>‘Why don’t you go a voyage?’</p> - -<p>‘I have never thought of going a voyage.’</p> - -<p>‘The world is a fine show,’ said he. ‘It is -well worth seeing. You are rich, and should -see the world while you are young enough to -enjoy the sight.’</p> - -<p>‘I have five hundred a year,’ said I.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span>‘You are rich, Miss Johnstone, nevertheless,’ -said he; and his eyes made a very clear -allusion to my face and figure—a more intelligible -reference than had he spoken.</p> - -<p>‘I have a good mind to go a voyage,’ said -I. ‘I am sick of my life, I assure you. I -hate my stepfather, and for all that I am rich, -as you call it, I am as much alone as if I had -been left to the parish. Oh, yes,’ said I, -following his glance, ‘uncle and aunt are -dear to me and I love them, but——’ And I -lay back in my chair and yawned and -stretched out my arms.</p> - -<p>‘Come a voyage with me, Miss Johnstone,’ -said he, laughing.</p> - -<p>‘Where to?’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘I can’t tell you yet, but you shall hear.’</p> - -<p>‘Let me hear and you shall have my -answer.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you know anything about the sea?’</p> - -<p>‘Do I know anything about the sea?’ I -echoed, with a loud, derisive laugh that -caused everybody to look at me. ‘I wonder -if you could ask me a question about the sea -which I couldn’t answer? Shall I put you a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -ship about? Explain what reefing topsails -means? Shall I wear ship for you? Shall I -snug you down a full-rigged ship, beginning -with the fore-royal-studding-sail?’ And so I -went on.</p> - -<p>He laughed continuously while I talked. -The others were now listening and laughing -too.</p> - -<p>Just then my cousin, Will Johnstone, came -in, and I broke off my chat with Captain -Butler to greet the lad. Will was at this -time between fifteen and sixteen years of age. -He was a manly-looking boy, easy and gentlemanly, -fitter for the midshipman’s quarters of -a man-of-war than an apprentice’s berth on -board a merchantman. He had a look of my -father, and I loved him for that. He was -dressed in sea-going clothes, and though he -had never been farther than Ramsgate in all -his life, he carried his new calling so prettily, -there was such a pleasantly-acted swing in his -gait, you would have believed him fresh from -a voyage round the world. He came to me -eagerly when he had shaken hands with the -others, took Captain Butler’s chair, and told<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -me with a glowing face about his ship, the -<i>Childe Harold</i>—what a fine ship she was, how -like a frigate she sat upon the water, how that -a fellow had told him she could easily reel out -twelve upon a bowline.</p> - -<p>‘She lies in the East India Docks. You -must come and see her, Marian. When will -you come? To-morrow—say to-morrow.’ -Here he saw Captain Butler looking our way. -‘Will you come, too, sir? Will you come -with my cousin?’</p> - -<p>‘Come where?’ said Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>‘Come to the East India Docks to-morrow -to visit my ship, the <i>Childe Harold</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘“<i>My</i> ship!”’ echoed my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘At what hour?’ said Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>Some talk went to this scheme; it was -presently settled that Will and Captain Butler -should dine at my house next day, and -afterward we should visit the <i>Childe Harold</i>.</p> - -<p>This was the merriest evening I had ever -spent in my life. I sat at supper between -Captain Butler and Will, and had never felt -happier. My spirits were in a dance. I -laughed even at poor old Mr. Lorrimer’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -jokes. After supper Captain Butler sang a -song, and I liked it so well that I begged him -to sing another. Then I sang. The old -people sat down to whist in a corner. Captain -Butler, Will, and I chatted, and so -slipped that evening away; till I was startled -on lifting my eyes to the clock to see that it -was almost eleven.</p> - -<p>How should I get home? Should I walk -or drive? I stepped to the window and -parted the curtains and saw the stars shining.</p> - -<p>‘It is a fine night,’ said I. ‘Will, give -me your company, and I’ll walk. I hate -your coaches.’</p> - -<p>‘Your way is my way, I believe,’ said -Captain Butler. ‘May I accompany you?’</p> - -<p>I went upstairs to put on my bonnet. My -aunt accompanied me. She lighted candles -beside a looking-glass, and I saw that my -cheeks were red and that my eyes shone like -diamonds.</p> - -<p>‘I believe that you have made a conquest -to-night, my dear,’ said my aunt.</p> - -<p>‘A conquest has been made,’ I answered.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -‘He is a very handsome fellow. And now -you shall tell me that he is married.’</p> - -<p>‘No more than you are.’</p> - -<p>‘Engaged to be married, then?’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll not answer that. Sailors are sailors.’</p> - -<p>‘I have thoroughly enjoyed myself,’ said -I, kissing her.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think, my dear, that it is quite in -order you should ask Captain Butler to dine -with you to-morrow?’</p> - -<p>‘Quite in order, aunt. If I am not to do -what I like I will drown myself.’</p> - -<p>But I kissed her again after I had said -this as an apology for the strength with which -I had spoken, and went downstairs.</p> - -<p>Will and Captain Butler saw me to my -house. The streets were pretty full and -flaring. The night fine. I took Will’s arm, -and the three of us went along leisurely past -the Mint into Leman Street, and so into the -Commercial Road. No very romantic walk, -truly, though in this great world the woods -and groves of the poets are not the only -haunts of emotion. There is sentiment in the -East as well as in the West; and in what do<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -the passions of Whitechapel differ from those -of Tyburnia?</p> - -<p>My maid was sitting up for me. Twelve -o’clock struck soon after I reached home, so -you will guess we had not hurried. For the -first time for many a long night I could not -sleep. I lay thinking all the time of Captain -Butler. I had fallen in love with him, and I -wondered at myself. No man that I had ever -before met had made the least impression -upon me. I knew my own heart well down -to this moment—I had never given men nor -their love a thought. In what, then, lay the -magic of this man? I was so much in love -with him that, had he stayed at my door -after Will Johnstone had gone away and -asked me to be his sweetheart and marry -him, I should have consented. I was distracted -with vexation and delight. All night -long I lay thinking of him, and if I slept in -snatches it was but to dream of him, so that, -whether I was awake or slept, he was present -to me. I felt that I must find out, and -quickly find out, if he had a sweetheart. If -so, why then I had not yet let go of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -reins; but I must make haste, or the bit -would be hard in the teeth and I should be -run away with.</p> - -<p>I thought of his suggestion to go a voyage -with him, and pried close into it for an inner -meaning; but the memory of his manner -would not suffer me to find more than had -met my ear. To fall in love in an hour, -thought I! Well, it must run in the blood. -Father fell in love with mother at first sight; -that had been her fond memory—she had -boasted of it in his life and after his death—till, -to my grief and to the souring of the best -sweetness that her heart held, she swallowed -the mumping prescription whose plate was -upon my door, and whose lamp glowed like -a danger signal over the plate.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br /> - - -<small>SHE VISITS THE ‘CHILDE HAROLD’</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I rose</span> early next morning, sent for the cook, -and gave her certain instructions. The servants -in our strangely ordered home were as -much mine as my stepfather’s; I paid half -their wages. But my own maid was at my -own cost, and she waited upon me only.</p> - -<p>Captain Butler and my cousin arrived -shortly after half-past twelve, and at one -o’clock we sat down to as dainty and elegant -a meal as I and the cook and my maid could -contrive among us. We drank champagne; -my father’s silver was upon the table; in the -middle was a rich hothouse nosegay, which -had cost me a guinea and a half. My maid, -a discreet, good-looking girl, waited admirably. -My cousin stared, and asked me, boy-like, -if I dined thus every day. I laughed -and answered: ‘Off as good dishes, Will, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -never so well, because I often dine alone -when I dine at home at all.’</p> - -<p>‘I should like to dine with you every day,’ -said Will.</p> - -<p>I had dressed myself with extraordinary -care, but my eyes wanted the sparkle of the -previous evening, my cheeks the rose of those -merry hours. I wondered as I glanced at -Captain Butler whether the thought of me -had kept him awake all night. Somehow I -could not look at him with the confidence of -the previous evening. I felt shy; my eyes -stole to his face and dropped on detection; -my appetite was poor, and my laugh unnaturally -loud with nerve. His own manner -was a little constrained, and I saw, and my -heart throbbed and leaped when I saw, admiration -strong in his looks whenever he -regarded, or addressed, or listened to me. -Oh, thought I, what would I give now for -sauciness enough to ask you downright: -‘Have you a sweetheart?’</p> - -<p>During the course of the dinner I said to -him: ‘Don’t you think my way of living -strange?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span>‘Not at all.’</p> - -<p>‘You need a stepfather to understand my -unhappy state.’</p> - -<p>‘No very unhappy state, surely,’ said he, -looking at the table, and then round the well-furnished -room.</p> - -<p>‘I think I shall go a voyage some of these -days, Will,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘Sail with me, Marian,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘Where’s your ship bound to?’</p> - -<p>‘Sydney, New South Wales—a splendid -trip. Three months there, three months back, -three months to see the country in.’</p> - -<p>‘And you give me a fortnight to make -up my mind!’ said I, laughing. ‘Don’t they -send the convicts to Sydney? I can’t fancy -that country. ’Tis seeing nothing to meet -one’s transported fellow-countrymen. There -are plenty of such folks walking past this -house at this minute. Who would leave -Stepney for Sydney?’</p> - -<p>My cousin asked what trade the <i>Arab -Chief</i> would be in. Captain Butler answered -that he believed she was to trade to the West -Indies and eastern South American ports.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>‘There’s a big world for you that way, -Marian,’ said Will. ‘Down there the wind’s -full of bright parrots, every tree writhes with -monkeys. Robinson Crusoe lived all alone -somewhere in those parts, that’s if the great -river of Oroonoque’s where it was in Friday’s -time. The home of the great sea serpent is -in the Caribbean Sea, and if you kick up an -old stone by chance you stand to unearth a -mine of precious metal.’</p> - -<p>I ended this by rising, and we soon afterwards -left the house. It was a clear, cold -afternoon, with a bright blue sky for London. -We took a coach to Limehouse and then a -boat. There is no change in the East India -Docks in all these years. I went down to -them for memory’s sake not very long ago, -and all was the same, it seemed to me, saving -the steamers. The basins were full of ships -of many sizes and of all rigs; the air was -radiant with the flicker and tremble of scores -of flags; strange smells of distant countries -loaded the atmosphere—sweet oils and spices, -wool and scarlet oranges and scented timber. -When I was a child my father had sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -brought me to these docks when he came to -them on business; I thought of him as I -looked, and felt a little girl again with the -odd wonderment and delight of a child in -me as I stared at the shipping and the -complicated heights of spar and rigging, -at the grinding cranes heavily lifting cargo -in and out, as I breathed the odours of the -littered quays, as I hearkened to the shouts, -to the songs of the seamen at the winch or -capstan, to the voices of the wind in the -gear, soft in the fabric of the taller ships -as the gay whistlings of silver pipes heard -afar.</p> - -<p>We walked leisurely along the quays. -Will’s ship lay in a corner at a distance, and -he was for enthusiastically pressing forward -to arrive at her. His ardent pace kept him -ahead, and he often turned to invite us to -come on. But I was listening to Captain -Butler and was in no great hurry. At last -we came to Will’s ship, the <i>Childe Harold</i>. -Oh, my great God, when I think of it! -When I think of standing beside Captain -Butler and looking at that ship with my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -cousin at my elbow calling my attention to -points of her with a young sailor’s pride!</p> - -<p>She was a very handsome vessel of her -kind, and a big ship according to the burden -of those days. Though she was receiving -cargo fast, her sides towered high above the -wall; she had been newly coppered, and her -metal glanced sunnily upon the soup-like -water she floated on. Captain Butler took -my hand, and we followed Will up the gangway -plank and gained the ship’s deck. A -man with a beard stood at the yawn of the -great main hatch; Will touched his cap and -whispered that he was the mate of the ship. -Captain Butler went up and shook hands with -him and rejoined us, saying that he had made -the man’s acquaintance at Callao. A quantity -of cases were being swung over the rail, -and as they were lowered down the hatch -I heard a noise of voices below—calls and -yells, and the kind of language you expect to -hear arising from the hold of a ship that is -populous with lumpers. Will took us into -the cuddy, which you will now call the -saloon; a fine cabin under the poop-deck,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -with some sleeping berths on either hand. -He then walked us forward to show us the -apprentices’ quarters.</p> - -<p>The ship had what is known as a topgallant -forecastle, on either hand of which -was a wing of cabin, a sort of deck-house, -entered by a door that slid in grooves. The -apprentices lived in the wing on the left, -or port, or larboard side, as the expression -then was.</p> - -<p>‘How many of you are there?’ asked -Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>‘Three,’ answered my cousin.</p> - -<p>The place was empty, and I entered it and -looked about me to gather whether there -was anything I could purchase to render the -coarse, rude abode a little more hospitable to -the sight.</p> - -<p>‘This won’t be like being at home, Will?’ -said I.</p> - -<p>‘It will be seeing life, though, and starting -on a career,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘These are very snug quarters,’ said -Captain Butler. ‘What sort of a forecastle -have you, Johnstone?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span>My cousin led us into a large, wooden -cave. It was very gloomy here. We had to -lift our feet high to enter the door. The -huge windlass stood, a great mass of reddened -timber and grinning ironwork, in front of the -entrance to this forecastle; abaft it rose the -trunk of the foremast, and behind, again, the -solid square of the galley, or kitchen; the -thick shrouds descended on both sides; and, -though it was a bright day, the shadows of -these things lay in a twilight upon the forecastle -entrance, and I needed to stand awhile -and accustom my eyes to the gloom before I -could see.</p> - -<p>‘This is a fine forecastle,’ said Captain -Butler. ‘Few crews get better parlours.’</p> - -<p>The interior was empty. Rows of bunks -on both sides ran ghostly in the obscurity of -the bows.</p> - -<p>‘What hatch is this?’ said I, pointing to -a small, covered square in the deck close to -where I stood.</p> - -<p>‘That’ll be the way to the fore-peak,’ said -Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>‘What sort of a place is that?’ said I.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span>‘The rats’ nursery,’ he answered, laughing.</p> - -<p>‘Have you been into it, Will?’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘No. They keep coal and broom-handles -there; odds and ends of stores, cans of oil, -and everything that’s unpleasant. I find -things out by asking.’</p> - -<p>‘Right, Johnstone,’ said Captain Butler. -‘Keep on asking on board ship. That’s the -way to learn. How would you like to be an -able seaman, Miss Johnstone, and sail before -the mast and sleep in a place like this?’</p> - -<p>‘This would not be my end of the ship if -I were a man,’ said I.</p> - -<p>We wandered aft on to the poop, whence -we could command a view of the whole ship; -and here we stood looking at the clamorous, -gallant scene round about us, till the sun -sank low across the river beyond Rotherhithe, -and the shadow of the evening deepened the -colours of the streaming flags, and hung a -rusty mist out upon the farther reaches of -the river, making the ships there loom dusky -and swollen.</p> - -<p>Captain Butler asked us if we would<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -drink tea with him at the Brunswick Hotel. -I was now liking nothing better in the world -than his company, and gladly accepted, and -the three of us walked to the hotel and took -a seat at a table in a window, where we had -a view of the shipping; and here we drank -tea and ate some small, sweet white-fish and -passed a happy hour.</p> - -<p>Captain Butler must have been less than a -man, and without eyes in his head, if he had -not by this time guessed that I was very -much in love with him. I was sure he -admired me; indeed, his admiration was unfeigned. -I had never been loved by a man, -and could not guess what was in the mind of -this handsome sailor by merely observing the -admiration that softened and sweetened the -naturally gay and careless expression of his -eyes, but it filled me with sweet delight to -know that he admired me. This was a full, -rich cup for my lips for a <i>first</i> draught. I -liked to feel that he watched me. I’d turn -my head a little way and talk to Will, and -continue talking that Captain Butler might -go on looking at me.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span>‘I wish you were not sailing so soon, -cousin,’ said I. ‘I’d plan more of these excursions. -They make me forget I have a -stepfather.’</p> - -<p>‘I hope your stepfather does not ill-treat -you!’ exclaimed Captain Butler, and some -glow came into his face.</p> - -<p>‘No, no!’ cried I, and I guessed that my -eyes sparkled with a sudden heat of my -spirits. ‘Ill-treat me, indeed! The fact is -the house isn’t big enough for him and me. -But I won’t turn him out. He’s the father of -my mother’s child, and my home was my -mother’s. But oh, I feel the gloom of it! I -am alone. I <i>can’t</i> take to the little one. And -must it be year after year the same?’ I cast -my eyes down and breathed quickly; then, -rounding upon Will, I cried with a loud silly -laugh, ‘You shall take me on a voyage with you -when you come home!’</p> - -<p>‘I like these excursions,’ said Will. ‘Don’t -you, Captain Butler?’</p> - -<p>‘I’d like them better if they didn’t end so -soon,’ he answered.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span>‘I have a fortnight!’ exclaimed Will. -‘Let’s go on a trip every day!’</p> - -<p>Captain Butler’s eyes met mine.</p> - -<p>‘You, of course, have something better to -do?’ said I to him.</p> - -<p>‘I have nothing to do.’</p> - -<p>‘Where’s your ship?’</p> - -<p>‘I have no ship,’ said he. ‘A barque, -called the <i>Arab Chief</i>, is in course of completion -at Sunderland. I may command her -if I invest in her. I wish to consider. I am -not rich, and I must see my way clearly -before I venture all that I have.’</p> - -<p>‘So you must. And I suppose you’ll go -and live at Sunderland?’</p> - -<p>‘No. I can do no good at Sunderland. -Time enough to go to Sunderland when the -ship is ready. She’s not building under my -superintendence.’</p> - -<p>‘You’ll visit your relatives in the -country?’</p> - -<p>‘I have relatives, but they don’t live in -the country, and I shan’t visit them.’</p> - -<p>‘Can’t we arrange for some more trips?’ -said Will. ‘Let’s go sight-seeing every day.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span>‘Give us a sketch of your fancies, Johnstone,’ -said Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ he began, counting upon his -fingers, ‘there’s a dinner at the Star and -Garter; that’s good sight-seeing number one. -Then there’s Greenwich yonder, and another -dinner, number two. Then, what say you to -Woolwich and a peep at the hulks? Call -that job a day on the river, taking a boat at -Billingsgate or the Tower. Number three.’</p> - -<p>‘Keep in shore, my lad,’ said Captain Butler, -laughing. ‘You’ll be having enough of -the water soon.’</p> - -<p>‘What do ye say to Hampstead and tea? -Then a dinner at the King’s Arms at Hampton -Court? And is Windsor too far off?’ So he -rattled.</p> - -<p>Yet the jolly young fellow’s proposals were -very well to our liking, and before we rose to -depart from the Brunswick Hotel we had -schemed out a long holiday week. They saw -me to my house, as on the previous night. -Neither would come in. When they had left -me, I felt very dull and lonely. I found a -note on my table from a friend at Bow. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -asked me to a card-party next night, but I -was in no humour to accept any invitations to -houses where I was not likely to meet Captain -Butler. Indeed, I had come home from this -jaunt to the docks as deeply in love as ever -woman was with a man in this world. I -slept, it is true, but I dreamed of nothing but -my handsome sailor, as my heart was already -secretly calling him. I went to sea with him -in a number of visions that night, quelled a -mutiny among the sailors, saved Captain -Butler’s life at the risk of my own; and when -he took me in his arms to thank and caress -me, I looked in his face, and heavens!—it was -my stepfather!</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br /> - - -<small>SHE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the appointed time I was at my aunt’s -next morning. Captain Butler and Will were -there. We went to Richmond, and after we -had arrived it rained for the rest of the day, -but it was all one to me; indeed, I would -rather have had it rain than sunshine, for it -forced us to sit indoors, whilst Will, defying -the rain, went out and left Captain Butler and -me alone, which was just what I liked.</p> - -<p>I will not catalogue these holiday trips; -they made me feel as if I were living for the -first time in all my life; they made me know -that I was a girl with passions and tastes, yet -easy to delight. I will not say that I enjoyed -my liberty, because for years I had not known -what restraint was; but I was sensible that -my being able to go where I pleased and to -do what I pleased was a prodigious privilege<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -at this time, when I had lost my heart, and -must have gone mad had I been withheld -from the society of the man who had it.</p> - -<p>Two days before Will sailed my aunt -called upon me. Our holiday rambles had -run out; that day was to be blank, and I was -not to see Captain Butler again until Thursday—it -was a Thursday, I remember—when -we were going down to the docks to see Will -off. I remarked a peculiar look in my aunt’s -face, which prompted me, in my impetuous -way, to say:</p> - -<p>‘What’s brought you here? What have -you come to tell me? Now don’t keep me -waiting?’</p> - -<p>‘Lor’, my dear, one would need the breath -of a healthy giant to keep pace with your -impatience. Give me leave to rest a minute.’</p> - -<p>‘All’s well at home, I hope?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, yes, of course, as well as it can be -with a mother and father whose only child is -leaving them, perhaps for ever, in a couple of -days.’ Her eyes moistened. ‘But it is his -wish, and it is his father’s wish, and that must -make it right—yes, that must make it right;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -though I’d have been grateful, very grateful, -if it hadn’t been the sea.’ She wept for a few -minutes, and I held my peace. Then drying -her eyes with a resolved motion of the handkerchief, -she said: ‘You’ve been enjoying -some lively days of late, Marian?’</p> - -<p>‘Happy days. Poor Will!’ and now I -felt as if I must cry, too.</p> - -<p>‘You’re a strange creature, my dear. -Whatever you do seems to me wrong. And -yet, somehow, I can never satisfy my mind -that your conduct’s improper. I believe you’d -be the same were your mother living. Your -father might have held you in, but you’d have -had your way with your poor mother.’</p> - -<p>‘What have I done?’ said I, bridling up -and flushing in the face.</p> - -<p>‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ she -answered mildly. ‘Of course, your going -about so much with Captain Butler, often -being alone with him, as Will has told us, is -quite contrary to my ideas of good conduct. -Do you want the man for a husband, Marian?’</p> - -<p>I guessed by my temper that I looked -hotly at her.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>‘Do you, child, do you? You should -answer me. If you do not answer me I will -go, and I am sure that you will wish this -house should be burnt down rather than that -I should go.’</p> - -<p>My temper went with this, and with it the -blood out of my face.</p> - -<p>‘What do you want me to say, aunt?’ I -exclaimed in a faint voice.</p> - -<p>‘Would you be content to marry Captain -Butler?’</p> - -<p>I looked down upon the ground and said -softly:</p> - -<p>‘I love him.’</p> - -<p>‘He loves you. Do you know that?’</p> - -<p>‘He has not told me so.’</p> - -<p>‘He is a man of very gentlemanlike feelings, -far above the average merchant sea-captain.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, don’t I know it!’ I cried.</p> - -<p>‘Well, he loves you, and would be very -glad to marry you. And I dare say he would,’ -said my aunt, looking up and down my figure -and then round the room, ‘but he’ll not offer -marriage unless he is certain you’ll accept<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -him. He spent last evening with us, and had -a very long and serious talk with your uncle -and me on the subject. He declines to -recognise your stepfather, which is quite -proper under the circumstances, and regards -me and your uncle as taking the place of your -parents. Now, my dear, he is very much in -love with you, and his diffidence comes from -your being well off. We had a very long and -serious talk, and I am here to have a serious -talk with you, if not a long one.’</p> - -<p>I felt that my face was lighted up; I saw -the reflection of its delight in her own placid -expression. My heart bounded; I could have -danced and sung and waltzed about the room. -I sat down, locking my hands tightly upon my -lap, and listened with all the composure I -could summon.</p> - -<p>She informed me that Captain Butler had -been exceedingly candid, had exactly named -his savings and his patrimony, which scarcely -amounted to three thousand pounds, and that -he was deliberating whether or not to invest -all that he had in a share of the new barque, -<i>Arab Chief</i>. Mr. Johnstone had advised him,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -supposing he should be so fortunate as to -gain my consent to marry him, not to make -me his wife until he had gone his first voyage -and seen how his venture fell out.</p> - -<p>‘Your uncle,’ said my aunt, ‘is strongly -of opinion that a man has no business to go -and marry a fine handsome young woman -like you, then leave her after a week or a -month, and not set eyes on her again till he -returns home from round the world.’</p> - -<p>‘I wish my uncle would mind his own -business,’ said I, pouting, and feeling my face -very long.</p> - -<p>But my aunt insisted that my uncle was -right. She added that Captain Butler cordially -agreed with him. Captain Butler’s -own wish was to betroth himself to me, then -to make his voyage; then return and marry -me and carry me away with him to sea.</p> - -<p>My eyes sparkled, and I jumped up and -walked the room greatly excited. But after -this my aunt grew tedious. Was it imaginable -that any sort of love fit to base so solemn -an affair as marriage upon could exist between -two people who had known each other<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> -a fortnight only? Here was I joyously -avowing my love for Captain Butler and expressing -the utmost eagerness to marry him. -Did I know what I was talking about? Had -I given a moment’s reflection to what marrying -a sailor signified? I was rich, young, and -handsome; I had a fine house of my own; I -had liberty and health; I was without children -to tease me, to pale me with midnight -watchings, to burden my spirits with anxiety -for their future. Should I not be giving -myself away very cheaply by marrying a sea-captain, -a respectable, good-looking man -certainly, but poor, following a calling in -which no one can make any sort of figure, an -underpaid, perilous, beggarly vocation? She -did not deny that Captain Butler came from -a highly respectable stock. He had mentioned -two members of his family whom Mr. -Johnstone perfectly well knew by name. His -father had been in the Royal Navy and had -served under Collingwood and Lord Exmouth -and had died a poor lieutenant.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, he’s a gentleman by birth,’ said my -aunt, ‘and superior to his position. There’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -his calling, out of which, to be sure, he can -get a living, so as to be independent of his -wife, which must always be the first consideration -with every man of spirit. And, then, -you have plenty of money for both, and for -as many as may come, should ever he find -himself out of employment. But what do -you know of each other? How can you tell -that you will be able to live happily together? -What! In a fortnight? Ridiculous! Why, -I have lived one-and-twenty years with your -uncle, and we don’t even yet understand each -other. You have by no means a sweet temper. -But what time do you give the poor fellow to -find you out in? And he may be quite a -fiend himself, for all you know. It needs not -much wig to hide a pair of horns. A tail -will lie curled up out of sight under a fashionable -coat, and your cloven hoof fits any shoe, -my dear.’</p> - -<p>So she chatted and teased and worried me -with her advice and old-fashioned precepts. -And then she angered me, and we quarrelled -awhile, and afterwards cried and kissed. -However, when her visit was ended, I had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -promised her, in answer to her earnest, almost -tearful entreaty, that, though I should consent -to engage myself to Captain Butler, I would -not marry him until he had returned from his -next voyage, which, if he went to the West -Indies and South America, would not keep -him very long away from me, so that I should -have plenty of time to judge of his character -whilst he was ashore and abundance of leisure -afterward to reflect upon my observations -and prepare myself for the very greatest -change that can befall a woman.</p> - -<p>I did not see Captain Butler again until -Thursday. In the brief interval I had made -up my mind to accept him at once if he -proposed. Oh, my few days of holiday association -with him had filled my heart with a -passion of love! Not my happiness only—my -very life was in his power.</p> - -<p>I went to my uncle’s house on Thursday, -early in the morning. We were to see poor -Will off. We all tried to put on a cheerful -air, and Will talked big of the presents he -would bring home for his mother and me; -but his mother’s eyes were red with a night<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -of secret weeping; and whenever the lad’s -sight went to her face his mouth twitched -and, if he was speaking, his voice trembled -and broke. His father looked often at him.</p> - -<p>Captain Butler met us at the docks. I -guessed he witnessed in my looks that my -aunt had spoken to me. He gazed at me -fondly as he held my hand, but there was -nothing of significance to be said between us -at this time of sorrowful leave-taking. We -went on board with Will. When I kissed the -dear fellow, I broke down and wept; and -then Mr. Johnstone led the way to the -Brunswick Hotel, and we went upstairs to a -room which commanded a view of the ship, -and sat at a window watching her as she -hauled out of dock.</p> - -<p>By the time the ship had been towed out -of sight past Greenwich Reach, it was hard -upon one o’clock. My uncle had ordered -some sandwiches and sherry as an excuse for -us to sit and watch the ship. This was no -entertainment for me, who had not partaken -of it, indeed, and who had breakfasted but -lightly early that morning. My uncle called<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -for the bill, and then rose to go. He told -us he had an appointment which he would -have barely time to keep. My aunt said -to me:</p> - -<p>‘What are you going to do?’ I returned -no answer, for I had not made up my mind. -‘Come home with me, dear,’ said my aunt, -‘and dine with us at half-past two.’</p> - -<p>I did not care to go home with her; first, -because I felt I should be losing sight of -Captain Butler, and, next, because they were -full of grief for the departure of their son; -so that my presence would be a sort of impertinence, -whilst, again, I could not at all relish -the prospect of a long and melancholy afternoon -and evening spent in the neighbourhood -of the Tower. So, after reflecting a minute -or two, I said:</p> - -<p>‘I’ll not go home with you, aunt. I’ll dine -here and then take rail to Fenchurch Street -and make my way to Hyde Park. A brisk -walk will do me good. I feel as though I -had lost a brother.’</p> - -<p>‘I can’t stop,’ said my uncle, beginning to -bustle.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span>My aunt saw how it was, and looked at -me reproachfully.</p> - -<p>‘I must return with your uncle,’ said she. -‘Are you to be left alone here? But what if -you are? Your being alone about London -and the neighbourhood is quite too much a -habit with you, Marian—a practice I can’t -approve. Which way do you go?’ she continued, -looking at Captain Butler.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll remain with Miss Johnstone, if she -will suffer me to do so,’ he replied.</p> - -<p>I smiled and coloured and bowed to him.</p> - -<p>‘I can stop no longer,’ said my uncle, -pulling out a great watch.</p> - -<p>My aunt looked ‘hung in the wind,’ to -use the phrase of the sailor, as though she -understood she ought not to leave me alone -with Captain Butler; but she correctly -guessed that I did not want her; indeed, her -remaining would have made me angry, and -no doubt my fear of her intentions showed in -my face.</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ said she, ‘I could not leave you in -better hands. Captain Butler will carefully -look after you, I am sure.’ And she went<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -quickly after her husband, who would wait -for her no longer.</p> - -<p>Captain Butler rang the bell and ordered -some dinner. I was to be his guest, he said.</p> - -<p>‘But why, Miss Johnstone, do you wish to -go all the way to Hyde Park?’</p> - -<p>‘It is no wish. I’ll go wherever you -please.’</p> - -<p>‘We are close to Greenwich here. Shall -we take a turn about Greenwich Park presently? -The days are still short, and you are -not so far from your house at Greenwich as -you would be at Kensington.’</p> - -<p>I consented, and then we stood at the -window, looking at the scene of the river -from the docks, talking about Will and the -sea-life and such matters until dinner was -ready. I longed to hear him say that he -loved me. The language of his eye was not -satisfying enough. I wanted him to take my -hand and ask me to be his wife. I had -thought my appetite good until I sat down, -and then I could not eat. My heart beat -fast. I felt my colour come and go. I was -alone with the man that I loved. I seemed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -to have lost my self-control, and behaved like -a shy school-girl, and there were moments -when I could have wished my aunt had not -left us.</p> - -<p>The waiter was slow, and it was nearly -three o’clock before we rose. Captain Butler -went to the window, looked out, and said to -me: ‘I am afraid this fine day is not going -to last. There’s a thickness gathering upon -the river, and the sun looks like the rising -moon. The afternoons are still short. Shall -we hold Greenwich Park over for another -day?’</p> - -<p>‘If you like.’</p> - -<p>‘How amiable you are! You give me -my way in everything.’</p> - -<p>‘What shall we do?’</p> - -<p>‘Stop here for a little while, if you don’t -mind. We have this room to ourselves for -the present.’</p> - -<p>He took me by the hand. I trembled -and sat down, and he seated himself beside -me. Am I to repeat what he said—in what -words he told me how great his love was for -me—in what terms he asked me to be his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -wife? All this I could unfold, ancient as it -is in my memory. I could give it to you as -though it were of yesterday’s happening. -But the black curtain still remains down on -the memorable, the horrible, the tragical -scene it is to rise upon soon, and I must not -linger over such recollections as I am now -dictating to my friend.</p> - -<p>It was quite in keeping that I, a sailor’s -daughter, should be wooed and asked in -marriage by a sailor in scenes full of shipping, -within hearing of the cries and choruses of -seamen and the hundred noises of the busy -docks. A red mist lay upon the river, and -the sun hung pale and rayless, like a great -lemon, in the west. We were occupying a -room that might have been the coffee-room. -Several tables were draped and ready for -guests, but we had been alone when my -uncle and aunt left us, and we remained -alone. He held me to him and kissed me; -he looked proudly and gratefully at me and -said that he loved me from the moment he -had set eyes on me; that he thought me the -handsomest woman he had ever seen in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -life; that he adored me for my spirit—much -more to this effect he said. But he told me -he never would have had the heart to offer -for my hand if he had not found some encouragement -in my looks. Then he went -over the long talk he’d had about me with -Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone.</p> - -<p>‘They begged,’ said he, ‘if you accepted -me that we should not be married until my -return from my next voyage.’</p> - -<p>‘They are dear to me,’ said I, looking at -him, ‘but they are not my guardians, and -have no control over me.’</p> - -<p>‘But they may be right, Marian, and -they have a claim upon you too. I hope to -do well next trip. I believe I shall do well -enough,’ said he, smiling and smoothing the -back of my hand, ‘to enable me to put -something to your own fortune. I wish to -be independent of you. You are not a -woman to respect a man that is dependent -upon you.’</p> - -<p>‘My aunt was right,’ said I. ‘We don’t -understand each other yet. Certainly you -don’t understand me.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span>He kissed me and said he knew what was -in my mind, but all the same when he was -my husband he wished to be independent of -my fortune.</p> - -<p>‘You shall have it all,’ I exclaimed, ‘and -that will make you independent of me.’</p> - -<p>‘Marian,’ said he gravely, ‘now that you -have consented to be my wife I’ll tell you -what I schemed; there would seem something -unnatural in my going to sea and leaving my -young bride behind me. I want you to be -at my side when you are my wife. I do not -know that I shall follow the sea much -longer! A great deal will depend upon the -issue of my next voyage. If I leave you -behind, betrothed to me, you will have plenty -of time to consider whether you, as a beauty -and a fortune, have done wisely in accepting -the hand of a plain merchant captain.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t talk nonsense, Tom,’ said I, giving -his name bluntly, and not at all relishing his -sentimental fastidiousness, which I attributed -to the influence of my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘My dear girl, when we are married, we -mean to live together happily, don’t we?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span>‘That will depend upon you.’</p> - -<p>‘It will depend upon us both, Marian. -When a sailor carries a ship into unnavigated -waters, if he is a good sailor, and does not -mean to cast his ship away, he heaves the -lead as he goes, warily sounds along every -fathom of his road until he brings up in a -safe anchorage. This is what you must do, -and it’s for me to give you time to heave the -lead, dear.’</p> - -<p>‘You want time to heave it yourself, -Tom.’</p> - -<p>‘My darling,’ he cried, catching me to -him, ‘I would marry you to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>Presently, when we had composed ourselves, -he said that he was going down to -Sunderland next week, and would be away -for about a week; and then he talked to me -about purchasing a share in the new vessel, -and seemed to want my advice. He named -several instances of merchants who, having -speculated in this way in shipping, had risen -out of small beginnings into great opulence. -He told me that he would be better off than -most investors, inasmuch as he would have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -command of his own venture, so to speak, be -able to control things and push his business -to the limits of all successful directions.</p> - -<p>In this sort of conversation the afternoon -passed away. At last, at about five o’clock, -we were interrupted by a party of captains -and others coming in to dine, on which Tom -paid the bill and we left. He accompanied -me to my house, and bade me farewell at the -door, after arranging to call for me at eleven -o’clock next morning.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br /> - - -<small>SHE PARTS WITH HER SWEETHEART</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Well,</span> on the following week, my sweetheart -went to Sunderland, and I felt as widowed as -though I had been his wife and he had died. -He crossed from Sunderland to Liverpool, and -was absent a fortnight. From Liverpool he -wrote to tell me that he was very well satisfied -with the <i>Arab Chief</i>, and had agreed with -her owners, who did business in Liverpool, -to take command of her and purchase a share -to the value of three thousand pounds.</p> - -<p>The influence of his love was very strong -upon me while he was away. He had hinted, -but gently, that he thought my aunt right in -objecting to my old love of rambling—I mean -to the excursions I used to make down the -river and to other parts, often sleeping out -for a night or two at a time, as you have -heard; and during his absence I went nowhere,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -save to my aunt’s or to the houses of -some of my particular friends.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile you will not suppose that I saw -nothing of Mr. Stanford. We lived in the -same house, and were, therefore, bound to -meet, not, indeed, in our separate apartments, -but upon the staircase or in the passages. -When Tom had been gone about a week, my -stepfather knocked upon my door one morning -as I sat at breakfast. I bade him enter, -and he sat down at the table.</p> - -<p>‘I met Mrs. Johnstone yesterday,’ said he, -‘and she gave me a piece of news. Allow me -to congratulate you,’ and he inclined his head.</p> - -<p>I bowed slightly in return, keeping silence.</p> - -<p>‘I am aware that I have no claim upon -you, Miss Johnstone,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘None whatever,’ I cried.</p> - -<p>‘But I am your stepfather, and, as a -matter of courtesy, not to say more, you -should, I think, have favoured me from your -own lips with the news of your engagement.’</p> - -<p>‘My affairs have nothing to do with you, -Mr. Stanford.’</p> - -<p>‘Miss Marian, I am not here to quarrel,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -but to congratulate you,’ he said. ‘Our -relations have long been uncomfortable. I -should have quitted this house some time ago, -but for the difficulty I find in meeting with -one equally suitable. My practice is of the -utmost importance to me not for my sake -only; it is my duty to make a provision for -your mother’s child.’</p> - -<p>‘She is your child!’ I cried, hotly.</p> - -<p>‘I do not need to be told that, Miss -Marian. It is very painful to me to reflect -that your antipathy should have no other -basis than your lamented mother’s love for -me. Your mother, I hope and trust, was -dear to you, Miss Marian, and it is most -regrettable that there is nothing in her -memory to soften your violent prejudice.’</p> - -<p>‘I beg you will not speak to me of my -mother.’</p> - -<p>He eyed me askant; he had a way of -looking at you with his head half turned. -‘I am here primarily to congratulate you,’ -said he. ‘It is your pleasure to be reticent, -and I will therefore not trouble you with any -questions about your <i>fiancé</i>. But one inquiry<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -you will forgive—it is a matter of business. -When, pray, are you to be married?’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know.’</p> - -<p>‘You will probably settle in this house -with your husband?’</p> - -<p>‘When he is my husband he shall live -where he pleases, and I’ll live with him.’</p> - -<p>‘This end of London is not to everybody’s -taste,’ he said, with an acid smile. ‘It has -occurred to me that your husband might wish -to live in the west of the town. If so, I should -be glad to arrange with him or with you to -take this house off your hands.’</p> - -<p>I answered coldly that I had no intention -of parting with the house. It had belonged -to my father, and whatever belonged to my -father I held in veneration; and this I said -with so much bitterness that he rose, without -another word, and left the room. I was glad -to see his back. I cannot tell you how I -hated the man.</p> - -<p>Tom returned at about the expiration of a -fortnight, and now I was one of the happiest of -women. We were together day after day. -We visited many old-fashioned resorts in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -neighbourhood of London, not one of which -is probably now in existence. His influence -did me a world of good. It was the most -shaping, elevating, I had almost said, ennobling -influence any girl could have come -under. The power of his love over me was a -godsend to such a character as mine. I had -lived so uncontrolled a life, I was by nature -so defiant, quick-tempered, and contemptuous -of the opinion of others, that in many directions -I did not really know the right thing -to do. No mother could have more wisely -directed her child than Tom governed me.</p> - -<p>‘You are a rich garden,’ he would say, -‘but overrun; the sweets are too crowded, -Marian, and here and there, my love, is a bit -of snake-like habit that needs to be uncoiled -from the beautiful plant it has got foul of.’</p> - -<p>I well remember, soon after he returned -from Liverpool, that he saw me to my house. -It was six o’clock in the evening. I asked -him to walk in.</p> - -<p>‘No, dear,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘“No, dear!” Why not, Tom? You -are tired and I am alone. Come in.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span>‘It is because you are alone that I will -not come in.’</p> - -<p>‘I am always alone here,’ said I. ‘I live -alone. You know that.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I know that.’</p> - -<p>‘And I am never to see you at my house -because I am alone!’</p> - -<p>‘Dearest, I will fetch you to-morrow at -eleven, and then we can have a talk on the -subject of men’s visits to their sweethearts -who live alone.’</p> - -<p>He pressed my hand and left me.</p> - -<p>Next day he talked to me as he had promised. -I listened with love and interest, -though I secretly thought it no more than -a sort of hair-splitting on the part of society -to insist that a girl should not receive her -sweetheart alone in her own house. I was -alone with Tom now. I had been alone with -him at the Brunswick Hotel. What was the -difference between my being alone in the -streets with him and my being with him at -my rooms at home? Yet he said there was a -difference, and, of course, he was right. I -listened to him deferentially, with my head<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -hung. Had it been my aunt who uttered the -opinions he delivered, I should have argued -with her, flashed my most spirited looks upon -her, flung from her, and, had it been possible, -proved myself right by doing the very thing -which she declared the world thought improper.</p> - -<p>Friends who had known me earlier would -have believed that love had taken the spirit -out of me; but the truth was in Tom I had -found my master. We were constantly together. -Scarcely a day passed whilst he was -in London without our meeting. I made him -sit to a painter of miniature portraits in -Regent Street, and the same artist took my -likeness for my sweetheart to carry away to -sea with him. They were both beautiful -little pictures. My eyes seemed to glow out -of the ivory, and Tom’s face was to the life, -happy, careless, loving.</p> - -<p>It was settled by this time that we were to -be married on his return. He hoped that he -might not have to go to sea again after next -voyage. If he went, he would take me with -him. The scheme provided for my being at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -his side, as his wife, in any case. But he -owned that, though he had recommended -a sea voyage to me, and though he had said -he would take me as his wife to sea with him, -he had far rather that I kept on dry ground. -The sea was no place for woman. It was -hurdled with perils. It was a ceaseless jump -of risks from one port to another. Here, -then, was one reason for our not being -married until he returned.</p> - -<p>But another and more controlling one, -though he never betrayed it in words, was -his desire that I should have plenty of leisure -to reflect upon the step I had consented to -take. I could not now but see things as he -did, and, indeed, I hope I could never have -been so unmaidenly as to give the smallest -expression to my secret wishes; but in my -heart of hearts I was more vexed than I can -express by this delay, which I attributed -largely to my uncle’s influence with Tom. -When two people are in love, and are to be -married, there will be impatience. Whether -the man or the woman is or should be the -more impatient, I don’t know. I own that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -deep in my heart I was bitterly impatient. -Tom would not sail till August; we had -plenty of time to get married in; several -months must pass before he could return, -and, like a child, I wanted my toy at once. -I wanted to feel that he belonged to me; that, -though he was absent, an invisible bond -united us. I was jealous of him. I said to -myself: At the place he is sailing to he may -meet with some woman whom he will think -fairer and discover to be richer than I. Are -not sailors faithless? All the songs and -stories about them represent them so. Then -I thought of my father, and abhorred myself -for being visited with such thoughts, and -cried like a fool to think how mean was my -heart, that loving, nay, I may say adoring my -Tom as I did, I could yet suppose when out -of sight he would forget me.</p> - -<p>Well, the time came round when the <i>Arab -Chief</i> was nearly ready, and when my sweetheart -must go to Sunderland to carry her to -the Mersey, there to load for Rio Janeiro. I -never could understand business, least of all -the business of the sea, and would listen to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -him whilst he talked about his venture, vainly -endeavouring to grasp his meaning in the -full. But I gathered from his conversations -with my uncle that he was very sanguine, -and that, in any case, there could be no -risks, as he had taken care to insure considerably -in excess of his stake. I recollect, -on one occasion, when we were dining -at my aunt’s, my uncle, in talking with Tom -about his venture, suggested that he erred -by insuring so high above the value of the -risk.</p> - -<p>‘But why?’ said Tom. ‘At all events, I -pay handsomely for the privilege of protecting -myself up to the hilt.’</p> - -<p>‘True,’ said the lawyer, ‘but always in -case of loss there is something in over-insurance -that vitiates—perhaps to one’s prejudice -only, mind—the well-seeming of this -act of self-protection.’</p> - -<p>‘The underwriters have it in their power -to satisfy themselves,’ said Tom.</p> - -<p>‘What are your firms?’ asked my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘The Marine, the Alliance, and the General -Maritime Insurance.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span>‘That’s cover enough, captain,’ said my -uncle, laughing.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, and I mean to go to the Neptune -for a policy on the freight. I have a considerable -share in the barque, and I intend -that my proportion of the freight shall be -safe. I am not of those who believe in keeping -their money in a purse; I carry mine in -my pockets. If the purse is lost, all is gone. -Who’s to assure me of the solvency of an -insurance office? I mean that this voyage -shall enable me to stay at home with my wife,’ -said he, looking fondly at me. ‘Let another -take charge of the barque next time. I’ll -make enough to own the half of her.’</p> - -<p>‘You shall own all of her, if you will, -Tom,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘That’s as your trustees shall decide,’ said -my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘My money is my own, and I shall do -what I please with it,’ I answered.</p> - -<p>‘Yes; and with your knowledge of business, -Marian, you shall go into partnership -with your husband as a shipowner and land -the firm in the Fleet.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span>Here Tom sang:</p> - -<p class="center">‘All in the Downs the Fleet lay moored,’</p> - -<p>and so with a laugh changed the subject.</p> - -<p>It was towards the close of the month of -August when my sweetheart bade me farewell -on his departure to Liverpool to take command -of the <i>Arab Chief</i>. I had passionately -desired to go with him; but my aunt could -not accompany me, and I was without a -friend of my own sex able just then to leave -home. My wish was overruled by my uncle -and aunt. Tom himself did not favour it, -though his longing for me to be with him to -the last was as keen as mine, and so I took -my farewell of him in my uncle’s home. He -held me in his arms whilst I cried till I -thought my heart would break. He kissed -me again and again, bade me keep up my -spirits, to consider that that day a year I -should have been his wife some months. He -begged me to remain faithful to him, and -told me there never would be a minute when -I should be out of his thoughts; and solemnly -asking God to look down upon me, to guard -me against all evil and sickness, to look down<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -upon him, to protect and bring him back in -safety to me, he pressed a last lingering kiss -upon my lips and left me alone with my tears -and my memories.</p> - -<p>I received several letters from him whilst -he was at Liverpool. He wrote in good -spirits, called his ship a beauty, and said that -of her kind she was the most admired of -anything that had been seen in the Mersey -for years. There was but one drawback. -The mate of the barque was a Mr. Samuel -Rotch. Tom had met this man some five or -six years before in South America, and had -had an unpleasantness with him there. He -did not tell me what that trouble was. Afterwards -Rotch had served under him, and there -was a further difficulty.</p> - -<p>Mr. Rotch, he said, was a man of his own -age, soured by professional disappointments, -but a shrewd, intelligent person, and an excellent -seaman. He had rather that the -owners had appointed any other man as mate. -But he believed that there was some sort of -distant relationship between Rotch and one -of the firm; and as the man had once before<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -got into trouble in consequence of his representations, -and was poor, with a wife and two -children to support, he had resolved to leave -matters as he found them.</p> - -<p>I showed this letter to my uncle, and -asked him if he thought that Mr. Rotch had -it in his power to make Tom unhappy or the -voyage uncomfortable. He laughed, and -answered:</p> - -<p>‘Your Tom will have gone to sea with -irons and bilboes, depend on ’t. Do you -know that the power of the shipmaster when -at sea is greater than that of any despot in -the world, from the czar down to the shirt-maker’s -sweater? I have always contended -that legally the master mariner is much too -much empowered. He can flog, he can starve, -he can iron the devils under him, and justify -any atrocity by an entry in the log-book and the -testimony of one or two witnesses who would -poison their mothers for a bottle of rum. -How, then, should this Mr. Samuel Rotch be -able to disturb the peace of your sweetheart? -Your anxiety puts the boot on the wrong leg, -my dear. It is for Mrs. Rotch to be uneasy.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span>The next letter I received from Tom was -dated at sea a few leagues from the Scilly -Islands. He had brought his topsail to the -mast, he wrote, to send his letter by a little -coasting schooner that was inward bound. -He blessed me, and sent me many messages -of love, and wrote in high spirits of his ship -and crew. Rotch was very civil and alert, he -said, his crew as willing and active a body of -men as ever he had had charge of, and his -barque was a clipper, the swiftest fabric that -was ever bowed by a breeze of wind.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t mean to spare her,’ he wrote, -‘and she knows it. If there’s virtue in sail-cloth, -my beloved, she shall walk. She shall -whiten old ocean for your sake, my darling, -though it should come to my holding on with -my royals when we ought to be under double -reefs.’</p> - -<p>I laughed when I read his sea-terms, for I -understood them; yet I pouted, too, for I was -fool enough to feel jealous of his admiration -for his barque. He ought to admire nothing -living or dead but me, I thought to myself. -He may go and fall in love with his ship, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -think her mistress enough for him, and then -I kissed his letter and read it again and yet -again, and counted how many days had gone -since he had left me, and how many weeks -must pass before he would return.</p> - -<p>Much about this time aunt received a -letter from her son Will. This, too, was -addressed from sea. We had heard from -him from Plymouth—a few brief lines—and -not since. He wrote that they had met with -fearful weather in the Channel, and he believed -that he had mistaken his calling; he -would swap all his fine notions of starting on -a career and seeing the world for one hour of -the comfortable parlour near the Tower and a -good dinner of roast beef and cauliflower.</p> - -<p>‘It’s a dog’s life,’ said he. ‘The captain -is stern and like a sentry. You mustn’t -speak to him. The second mate is a bit of a -bully, big, strong, and noisy. You never saw -such beef as they serve out in all your life! -The oldest sailor on board swears he never -recollects worse pork, and they say that before -we’re up with the Cape the bread for ship’s -use will be all alive—oh!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span>‘All first voyagers write like that,’ said -my uncle, returning the letter to his wife; -‘before Will is a fortnight at home he’ll be -making our lives a burden with his regrets -and lamentations that his ship doesn’t sail -sooner.’</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - - -<small>SHE RECEIVES DREADFUL NEWS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> weeks went by. Day after day I eagerly -expected to receive a letter from Tom, making -sure that he would grasp every chance to -send me his love and blessing and all the -news about himself from those high seas on -which he was still afloat. But no letter -reached me, ‘simply because,’ Mr. Johnstone -explained, ‘your Tom has not been fortunate -enough to fall in with a homeward-bound -ship. You may often sail for many days -upon the sea, so I’ve heard your father say, -without sighting a vessel. When you hear -from Tom it will be from Rio.’</p> - -<p>But how I missed him! We had been -incessantly together for nearly four months. -The weeks might roll by, but there was no -magic in the time they contained to weaken -my sense of loss. I lived very quietly, was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -much in my own home, where I sought to -pass the hours by reading and drawing. I -took a kind of dislike to company, and -refused a number of invitations to quadrille -and card parties and the like. It was my -delight to shape my conduct and habits by -the fancy of such wishes as I knew my sweetheart -would express were he with me. My -memory of him, my love for him, lay in a -spirit of control upon my heart. All impulse, -all desire was governed by the many gentle, -noble counsels he had wrapped up in our -long, sweet, quiet talks together, when we -rambled in the outskirts or took oars upon -the river. Never was man more truly loved -than was Tom. My aunt particularly noticed -the change in me, and said that Tom’s courtship -had done me a very great deal of good.</p> - -<p>‘You no longer roll your eyes,’ said she, -‘when you argue, and redden and strut and -heave up your breast when I venture to -object to your views. You have become -thoroughly genteel, my dear, in your tastes -and habits. Your captain will have a treasure -in you. And it is very well that you did not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -marry him before he sailed, for I am certain -that his influence as a husband would not -have been so considerable as it has proved as -a lover. Both he and you are now having -plenty of leisure for thought, and when you -come together at the altar you will know -exactly what you are doing.’</p> - -<p>In the month of November my little stepsister -died of peritonitis. I offered to nurse -her when it reached my ears that she was ill -in bed. Mr. Stanford thanked me; and -whilst I nursed her I learned to love the poor -little delicate creature, and my heart reproached -me for the unconquerable coldness -I had ever felt towards her when I stooped -and kissed her white face in death and beheld -a faint copy of my mother there. I cannot -tell to what degree Mr. Stanford was affected -by his loss; his colourless countenance betrayed -but little of what might pass in his -mind. Had I found his grief very great, then -the loneliness of his state would have pleaded, -and I might have forced myself into some -show of civility. But there was nothing in -his behaviour after his child’s death to appeal,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -and we speedily passed again into our old -cold relations of separate existence and fixed -dislike of him on my side as a fellow who had -impudently thrust himself into my father’s -place.</p> - -<p>The nursing of the poor child, however, -together with my grief at her death and my -secret fretting over not hearing from Tom, -made me look ill if I did not feel so. My -aunt was concerned and insisted upon my -seeing her medical adviser, who recommended -her, spite of its being winter, to take me to -the seaside. It was the month of February—hard, -cold weather. My aunt knew and liked -Ramsgate, and proposed that town. Thither -we went and took lodgings in Wellington -Crescent, a pleasant row of buildings immediately -overlooking the English Channel.</p> - -<p>After we had been in Ramsgate a few -days I felt so poorly that I was obliged to -keep my bed. My aunt called in a doctor, -who said that I was ‘out.’ He sent me -physic, which I did not take, and told me to -keep my bed till I felt equal to rising. My -bed was so situated that, when my blind was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -up, I saw the ocean. If the day was clear, -I could faintly spy afar upon the horizon the -delicate golden thread of the Goodwin Sands. -I’d watch the ships slowly floating past this -side of the thin line like little clouds of -powder-smoke gliding ball-shaped from the -mouths of cannon, and listen to the faint -thunder of the surf combing the beach under -the chalk cliffs, and find a meaning for the -voice of the wind as it shrilled with a hissing -as of steam past the casement, or sang in -the interstices or muttered in the chimney. -The sight of the sea brought Tom very close -to me, closer than ever he could lie upon my -heart at home, amid streets and the rattle of -coaches and carts.</p> - -<p>One morning, whilst I was confined to my -bed, my aunt did not come to my room as -was her custom after breakfast. I inquired -of the servant how she was, and was told that -she was pretty well, but that she had passed -an uneasy night. I asked if there were any -letters, for I was always expecting to hear -from Tom under cover from my maid, whom -I had left at home; the girl replied that Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -Johnstone had received one letter, and that -there was none for me.</p> - -<p>It was not until after twelve that my aunt -came to see me. She looked ill, and there was -a peculiar expression of distress in her face. -She came to the foot of my bed and gazed at -me earnestly, and asked me how I felt. I said -that I felt better, and hoped to find strength -to rise for a few hours towards evening.</p> - -<p>‘You are not looking well, aunt.’</p> - -<p>‘I am not feeling well, Marian.’</p> - -<p>‘I hope you have not received bad news -from home?’</p> - -<p>‘I have had a broken night,’ said she, -turning away and going to the window, and -speaking with her back upon me.</p> - -<p>‘Have you news of Will?’</p> - -<p>‘No! No!’ she cried quickly, still with -her back turned. ‘There is no news of Will. -I believe you are better, my dear.’</p> - -<p>And then she asked me what I could -fancy for dinner, and so changed the subject -with a readiness which quieted the misgiving -her looks had excited.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span>She came and went during the day, as -she had heretofore done; but she was more -silent, more reserved than usual, and often -her eyes rested upon me, though she shifted -her gaze when I looked at her. I rose in -the afternoon, but in a few hours was glad -to get to bed again. Next day I felt decidedly -better and stronger. It was a bright, still -day, cloudless, and the sun lay warm upon -the land, and the sea stretched like a polished -plate of steel, full of gleams of different shades -of blue. I went down to the pier in an old-fashioned, -rickety chair, and my aunt walked -by my side. The harbour was gay with the -red canvas of smacks. A number of ships, -of many rigs, lay close in against the wall, -and their white canvas hung motionless in -festoons, drying after the rain or dew of the -night. The sweet, salt, still atmosphere was -refreshing to one’s innermost life. All sounds -came in a sort of music from the town, and I -heard a gay ringing of church bells as for a -marriage; the tones, silvered to the ear by -distance, mingled pleasantly with the noise<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -of the foaming of the strong tide racing off -the rounded base of the pier.</p> - -<p>I said to aunt: ‘When Tom and I are -married, we shall often come to Ramsgate, -and perhaps live here. I do not wonder that -you like the place.’</p> - -<p>In silence she stepped to the side of the -pier, and seemed to look earnestly at the -figure of a smack that had dropped her -anchor about a mile off, her brown sails -hoisted, and the image under her as perfect -as a mirror could reflect it. When she returned -to my side, she spoke of the beauty of -the day and the difference between the air of -Stepney and that of Ramsgate, and we then -leisurely returned to our lodgings.</p> - -<p>I was sure that some trouble weighed -upon her mind; but as my questions seemed -to make her peevish, as her worry might -relate to something which she would wish to -conceal from me, I forbore further inquiry. -That day passed, and next day I was well -enough to rise after breakfast and go into -the drawing-room, where I sat upon a sofa -wheeled close to the window. I was reading<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -a novel, which my aunt had borrowed from -the Marine Library, and had wholly forgotten -myself in the interest of the story. My aunt -had been absent for at least an hour. I -believed she was out shopping. She entered -without her bonnet, and coming to the sofa, -sat down, took me by the hand and looked -me in the face. The tears gushed into her -eyes suddenly, and for a few moments she -moved her lips in a vain effort to speak. She -then said:</p> - -<p>‘I dare not conceal it longer from you, -Marian. But, oh, what news it is! How am -I to break it to you?’</p> - -<p>I threw the book down. The neck of -my dress seemed to strangle me. Mechanically -I removed my brooch and eased the -tension of my neck with my finger whilst I -looked at her.</p> - -<p>‘It concerns Tom,’ she said.</p> - -<p>‘Is he dead?’ said I, speaking with a -heightened note in my voice that carried it -out of recognition of my own hearing.</p> - -<p>‘No.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span>‘Is it very bad news?’</p> - -<p>‘Marian,’ she said, beginning to cry again, -‘it is shocking bad news. It is incredible. -It may all come right, but it is not the less -terrible.’</p> - -<p>I drew in several deep breaths, and said: -‘Why will you not tell me this dreadful news -of Tom?’</p> - -<p>‘He is in London.’</p> - -<p>‘In London!’ I shrieked, springing to -my feet.</p> - -<p>She pulled me gently to the sofa, and -putting her hand in her pocket, drew forth a -letter.</p> - -<p>‘Your health would not allow me to speak -to you before,’ said she in a broken voice. -‘Even now I fear that I am in too great a -hurry. But what am I to do? You would -not thank me for any longer concealing the -truth. Tom is in prison, Marian.’</p> - -<p>I stared at her and shivered.</p> - -<p>‘Your uncle’s letter,’ she continued, opening -it with both hands which trembled excessively, -‘will better explain what has happened -than I can. Will you read it?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span>I took it. The handwriting reeled. I -returned the letter to her and said:</p> - -<p>‘Read it to me, aunt.’</p> - -<p>She did so. It was to this effect. After -all these years I am unable to give it you -word for word:</p> - -<p>‘I have a terrible piece of news to convey -to poor Marian through you. Captain Butler -is arrived in London, having been sent home -by the British Consul at Rio in H.M.S. -<i>Crusader</i>. He is charged by the mate and -carpenter of the <i>Arab Chief</i> with attempting -to scuttle her. These two men, together with -two sailors belonging to the crew of the <i>Arab -Chiefs</i> are landed with him from the <i>Crusader</i>. -He instantly sent for me, but I wish there -were not so many witnesses against him. That -he is absolutely innocent, and that he is the -victim of an atrocious conspiracy, I have not -the shadow of a doubt. He will be charged -at Bow Street on Monday, and will be advised -to reserve his defence. He will be committed, -of course, to take his trial at the Old Bailey, -and we must hope to come off with flying -colours. But I say again I could wish there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -were fewer witnesses. Four to one are fearful -odds.’</p> - -<p>My aunt had read thus far when a flash of -lightning seemed to pass over my eyes, and I -remembered no more.</p> - -<p>I recovered from a fit rather than a swoon. -I had been for above an hour unconscious, -and found myself on my bed, with the doctor -on one hand of me and my aunt on the other. -The doctor went away soon after I had -regained my mind. Memory was slow in -coming. It rushed in upon me on a sudden -with its burden of horror.</p> - -<p>‘What are you going to do, Marian?’</p> - -<p>‘I am going to London.’</p> - -<p>‘Lie still, my dear child. You cannot go -to London to-day. I’ll book by the coach to-morrow -morning. I’ll write to your uncle -and send the letter to Canterbury to catch -the Dover mail-coach. He will be ready to -receive us and give us all the news.’</p> - -<p>And, indeed, I should have found myself -too weak in body to carry out my resolution -to go at once to London. The railway to -Ramsgate was not then made. I do not know<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -that it was even in contemplation. A coach -left early for London from Ramsgate every -morning; it carried the mails, I think, and -travelled by way of Canterbury. When my -aunt found me somewhat composed, she went -to the office to secure places by the coach on -the morrow. She left me her husband’s -letter, and I read it again and again, and -every time I read it I rolled my eyes around -the room, seeking to realise that I was awake.</p> - -<p>There was something shocking and frightful -to me in my uncle speaking of the Old -Bailey; I associated it with Newgate Prison. -Living in the City as I did, well did I know -the grim, dark, massive walls of that horrid -jail. Would Tom be locked up in that prison -which I could not think of without a sickening -fancy of the executions there—of the -remorseless human beasts, men and women -white with gin, gaping with the lust of blood, -gathered together to witness the sight—of the -filthy tenements round about, every window -pale with the eager faces of cowards and -devils, the grimy roofs littered with sightseers? -What was Tom charged with? What<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -was the meaning of scuttling a ship? What -punishment was the act visited with? Was a -man hanged for scuttling?</p> - -<p>I paced about the room in the agony of -my mind till I sank with exhaustion into a -chair. I dug the nails of my fingers into my -palms till the blood sprang. Tom in prison! -The gentlest, the tenderest, the truest, the -most honourable of men charged with a -dreadful crime, a hanging crime perhaps, and -locked up in jail!</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br /> - - -<small>SHE VISITS NEWGATE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> blew almost a hurricane of wind that night. -It swept out of the east and stormed in -thunder against the house in which we lodged. -The rain burst in furious discharges upon the -window-panes, and the lightning was sun-bright -at times, and the noise of the rushing -sea was a continuous artillery which drowned -the loud peals from the clouds. All night -long I lay awake with wide-open eyes. Thrice -my aunt visited my bedside to see how I did -and every time I could give her no other -answer than that the thought of my sweetheart -lying in prison was driving me mad, was -killing me; so I would rave. I could think -of nothing but Tom. I had no sight for the -lightning, no ear for the thunder of the gale, -nor for the voice of the sea in its wrath.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span>It was clear weather next morning. We -breakfasted very early, walked to the coach, -and quitted Ramsgate at about eight o’clock. -It was a dreadful journey to me; endless as -the night to one who is shipwrecked and -watches for the dawn. The weather had -changed too; snow was falling at Canterbury -and it was bitterly cold all the way to London. -We reached my uncle’s house at ten o’clock -that night. My aunt’s letter had been received, -and a cheerful fire and a hot, comfortable -supper awaited us. My uncle came -downstairs to receive us and kissed us both -in silence, as though some one dear to us all -lay dead upstairs. Exhausted as I was by -the long journey, by the cold, by the dreadful -sufferings of my mind, I would still insist on -hearing of Tom, on learning how he was, how -he looked, the meaning of this dreadful thing -which had befallen him and me, before I -sat or took a bite or stirred a foot to the -bedroom to remove my travelling attire. But -my uncle was inflexible.</p> - -<p>‘Go with your aunt,’ he exclaimed; ‘then -return with her here and warm and refresh<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> -yourself. I cannot talk rationally with one -who looks half dead.’</p> - -<p>He forced me to obey, but I made haste -to rejoin him. He placed me close to the -fire and gave me some hot brandy and water -and a biscuit, which he said would act as a -stay till supper was served, and, my aunt -arriving, he began to talk about Tom.</p> - -<p>‘He is charged—did I not write it?—with -attempting to scuttle his ship.’</p> - -<p>‘Why should he do that?’ I cried.</p> - -<p>‘To defraud the insurance offices. I told -him at the time that he erred by over-insuring, -but it seems that he went further -even than he admitted, for he put a venture -of cargo of his own into the vessel and insured -the goods and the freight in the Neptune. -Four offices!’ he exclaimed, and he broke off, -looking down with a very grave face.</p> - -<p>‘Where is he?’ I cried.</p> - -<p>‘In Newgate,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, don’t tell me that!’ I shrieked, clasping -my hands and rocking myself.</p> - -<p>My aunt stared with a white face at her -husband.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span>‘Now, Marian,’ said my uncle, ‘if you -possess one particle of the spirit of your -father, let it animate and support you now—now, -and until this tragic affair is at an end. -Screams and lamentations are not going to -help Captain Butler. He says that he is the -victim of a diabolical conspiracy. I believe -it, and it will be our duty to prove it. What -is there about Newgate more than there is -about Millbank or the Hulks or Horsemonger -Lane to horrify you?’</p> - -<p>‘Why is he in Newgate?’ asked my aunt.</p> - -<p>‘He was charged, yesterday, at Bow Street, -and committed to take his trial at the Central -Criminal Court. That’s why. There is nothing -in it. Many innocent men have been -locked up in Newgate.’</p> - -<p>‘Who charges him with this crime?’ -said I.</p> - -<p>‘His mate, a man of the name of Rotch, -and a carpenter, a drunken rascal, of the -name of Nodder.’</p> - -<p>And then he related the story of the accusation, -and described what had passed at -Bow Street on the preceding day.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span>Supper was served, and the presence of -the servant held us silent. I could not look -at the food I was helped to, and was passionately -craving for the servant to be gone that -I might question my uncle. Then, when the -opportunity came, I said to him:</p> - -<p>‘Is scuttling a ship a serious crime?’</p> - -<p>‘One of the most serious.’</p> - -<p>I trembled and said:</p> - -<p>‘What is the punishment for it?’</p> - -<p>He was silent, as though he did not or -would not hear. I sprang up and shrieked -out:</p> - -<p>‘Uncle, is it hanging?’</p> - -<p>‘It would have been hanging two or three -years ago,’ said he. ‘Thank God, it is no -longer a capital crime.’</p> - -<p>‘What can they do to Tom?’ I cried.</p> - -<p>‘Control yourself, my dear child,’ said my -aunt.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, uncle, what can they do to him?’ I -cried again.</p> - -<p>‘They must first prove him guilty.’</p> - -<p>‘And then—and then?’</p> - -<p>‘The penalty is transportation.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span>‘He may be sent out of the country?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, to Norfolk Island or Tasmania or -Botany Bay,’ answered my uncle, in a voice -sullen with his sympathy with my misery.</p> - -<p>‘For how long?’</p> - -<p>‘You’ll drive yourself mad with these -questions,’ said my aunt. ‘He is not yet -convicted.’</p> - -<p>‘For how long, uncle?’</p> - -<p>‘For a term—perhaps for life. But he is -innocent, and we must prove him so.’</p> - -<p>I flung myself into an arm-chair and -buried my face. Yet I could not weep; I -had cried away all my tears. But, oh, the -torment in my half-strangled throat, and the -anguish of my dry, heart-breaking sobs!</p> - -<p>After a while, I succeeded in forcing a -sort of composure upon myself. We sat -talking until long past midnight. I asked -many questions as rationally and as collectedly -as I could; but I remarked, with -secret horror, in my uncle’s speech a note of -misgiving that sank into my spirits like a -knife into the heart. Indeed, it seemed more -than misgiving, even dark suspicion in him.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -He said not a word to justify what I felt; -but he talked of four to one, and again he -talked of Tom’s exaggerated precaution in -excessively insuring his venture, and I guessed -what was in his mind.</p> - -<p>‘We shall be able to score one good -point,’ said he. ‘The mate Rotch, some five -or six years ago, quarrelled with your sweetheart -Tom, at Valparaiso. Butler was then -mate of a ship. They met at a fandango. -Rotch insulted a young lady Butler had been -dancing with and had previously known. -Your sweetheart took him by the throat and -backed him out of the room, half suffocated -and black in the face. Strangely enough, -two years later, Butler found himself master -of a small Indiaman, called the <i>Chanticleer</i>, -with this same man Rotch as second mate -under him. The mate of the <i>Chanticleer</i> complained -much of Rotch’s insolence. One night, -when in Soundings, homeward bound, Butler -found Rotch sleeping in his watch, with a -dozen ships looming dark all round. This was -extraordinary. Butler reported his conduct -to the owners of the <i>Chanticleer</i>, and the man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -lost his berth. But on your sweetheart learning -that Rotch had been married shortly -before sailing, and that a child had been born -to him during his absence at sea, he went -to work to procure his reinstatement or to -obtain another situation for him, and was -successful. There may be other motives; -but here is a point that must go far to confirm -Butler’s declaration that he is the victim -of a conspiracy.’</p> - -<p>I listened greedily. I kept my eyes, -smarting and burning, fastened upon my -uncle’s face.</p> - -<p>‘What is scuttling a ship?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘Did I not explain? It is boring a hole -in her so that she may sink.’</p> - -<p>‘Who says that Tom bored a hole in his -ship?’</p> - -<p>‘Rotch and Nodder and two seamen.’</p> - -<p>‘Did they see him bore the hole?’</p> - -<p>‘They affirm that they saw the holes -which he had bored, and discovered a tree-nail -auger in his cabin.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, he would not do it!’ I cried. ‘It is -a lie! He is innocent!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span>Here my aunt advised me to go to bed, -and said that she herself could sit up no -longer. But I detained my uncle for another -half hour with many feverish, impassioned -questions, before I could force myself from -the room, and a church bell struck one -through the stillness of the snowing night as -I went to the bedroom that had been prepared -for me.</p> - -<p>My uncle was to see Tom next morning -at Newgate, and told me he would inquire -the rules and bring about a meeting between -my sweetheart and me as speedily as possible. -After breakfast, my box was put into a coach, -and I drove to my house in Stepney. Mr. -Stanford came into the hall to speak to me. -I forced a wild smile and a hurried bow and -pushed past. I could not address him nor -listen to what he had to say. When I went -upstairs and sat down in my own room, the -room in which Tom and Will had dined with -me, where I had passed hours in sweet musings -upon my lover, where there were many -little things he had given me—a picture I -had admired, a screen, a little French chimney<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -clock, above all, his miniature—I believed my -heart was breaking. I wept and wept; I -could not stay my tears. My maid stood -beside me, caressed and tried to control me, -then drew off and stood looking at me, afraid.</p> - -<p>By-and-by I rallied, and since activity was -life to me—for sitting still and thinking were -heart-breaking and soul-withering to one situated -as I was, without a father or a mother -to carry her grief to, without an intimate -friend to open herself to—I considered what -I should do; and then I reflected that all the -money which I could scrape together might -be needful for Tom’s defence. Thereupon I -went straight to the bank into which my -trustees paid my money, and ascertained how -my account stood. I saw the manager of the -bank and asked him to what amount he would -allow me to overdraw, should the need arise, -and he told me that I was at liberty to overdraw -to a considerable sum against the security -of the title-deeds of my house, which were in -his possession, and which had been originally -lodged at the bank by my father.</p> - -<p>This and other errands I went upon helped<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -to kill the day, and the distraction did me a -little good. In the afternoon, before it was -dusk, I walked as far as Ludgate Hill, and -turned into the Old Bailey, and went a little -distance up Newgate Street, and continued -walking there that I might be near Tom. I -crossed the street and looked at the horrible -walls, dark with the grime of London, and at -the spiked gates, and at a huddle of miserable, -tattered wretches at one of those gates, as -though they yearned in their starvation and -misery for the prison food and the shelter of -the cells within; and I wondered in what -part behind those fortress-like walls my sweetheart -was, what his thoughts were, what he -was doing, if he was thinking of me as I was -of him, until I stamped the pavement in a -sudden agony of mind, and crossed the street -to the walls, and went along the pavement -close beside them, to and fro, to and fro.</p> - -<p>The dusk drove me away at last, and -being very weary, I called a coach and went -to my aunt’s, that I might get the latest news -of Tom. My uncle had had a long interview -with my sweetheart in the morning.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span>‘He is fairly cheerful and hopeful,’ said -he. ‘You will scarcely know him, though. -His anxiety during the long voyage home in -the man-of-war has pinched and wrinkled -and shrunk him. You’ll see him to-morrow. -We will go together.’</p> - -<p>‘Uncle, you will employ the very best -people on his side.’ He named a well-known -Old Bailey pleader of those days. ‘Do not -stint in money, uncle. All that I have in the -world is Tom’s,’ I said.</p> - -<p>‘The deuce of it is,’ exclaimed my uncle, -thumping his knee, ‘we have no witnesses to -call except as to character. It’s four-tongued -positive swearing on one side, and single-tongued -negative swearing on the other.’</p> - -<p>So ran our talk. It was all about Tom. -As on the previous evening so now again I -kept my kind-hearted uncle up till past midnight -with my feverish questions. My aunt -had asked me to sleep in their house, and I -gladly consented, partly that I might be instantly -ready to accompany my uncle to -Newgate at the appointed time, and partly -because I dreaded the loneliness of my home,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -the long and dismal solitude of the evening -and the night in a scene crowded with -memories of my father and my mother and -my sweetheart, of my childhood, of the sunny -hours of my holiday rambling and of careless -merry days of independence. I could not -sleep, through thinking of the morrow’s meeting. -It was seven months since Tom and I -had kissed and parted. He had sailed away -full of hope. He had written in high spirits. -And now he was a prisoner in Newgate; his -ship taken from him; the prospects of the -voyage ruined; his innocent, manly heart -infamously shamed and degraded, charged -with a crime which might banish him for -ever from England!</p> - -<p>‘Do not be shocked,’ said my uncle, in -the morning, ‘because you will not be suffered -to speak to him face to face. You will presently -see what I mean. It is mere prison -routine—a quite necessary discipline. There’s -nothing in it.’</p> - -<p>After all these years I but vaguely remember -as much of this horrible jail as we -traversed. My heart beat with a pulse of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -fever; my sight fell dim in the gloom after -the whiteness of the day outside. I seemed -to see nothing, but I looked always for my -sweetheart as we advanced. I recollect little -more than the door of Newgate jail, with its -flanking of huge, black, fortress-like wall, the -iron-grated windows, the heavy, open doors -faced with iron, the dark passages, in one of -which hung an oil lamp, and the strange sight -beyond this gloomy passage of stone floor -touched with barred sunlight flowing through -an iron grating. Many structural changes have -been made in the interior of Newgate since -those days. We entered a passage walled on -either hand by gratings and wirework. Some -warders in high hats and blue coats—warders -or constables, I know not which—stood outside -this passage. My uncle was at my side, -and we waited for my sweetheart to appear. -There was but one prisoner then present. He -was conversing through the grating with a -dark-skinned, black-eyed woman of about -forty, immensely stout and dressed in many -bright colours. He was clothed in the garb -of the felon, and was enormously thick-set<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -and powerfully built; you saw the muscles of -his arms tighten the sleeves of his jacket as -he gesticulated with Hebraic demonstrativeness -to the woman whose voice was as harsh -as a parrot’s. His hair was cropped close; -where his whiskers and beard were shaved -his skin was a dark coarse blue; he was -deeply pitted with small-pox; his nose lay -somewhat flat upon his face with very thick -nostrils; his brows were black and heavily -thatched, and the eyes they protected were -coal black as the Indian’s, but amazingly darting. -My uncle looked at him with interest, -and whispered:</p> - -<p>‘I was at that man’s trial. He was sentenced -to the hulks and to transportation for -life for receiving stolen goods and keeping a -notorious house. He is a Jew prize-fighter, -and one of the very best that ever stood up in -a ring. Three years ago he beat the Scotch -champion Sandy Toomer into pulp. He’s a -terrible ruffian, and a villain of the deepest -dye, but a noble prize-fighter, and I am sorry -for Barney Abram.’</p> - -<p>The felon took no notice of us spite of my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -uncle staring at him, as though he had been -one of the greatest of living men. I glanced -at the horrid creature, but thought only of -Tom.</p> - -<p>I was glad of the delay in his coming. I -had time to collect myself and to force an -expression of calmness into my face. On a -sudden he appeared! He came in by the -side of a warder from the direction of a -yard, in which my uncle afterwards told me -prisoners who had not yet had their trials -took the air. He was dressed in his own -clothes, in seafaring apparel somewhat soiled -by wear. I had feared to see him in the -vile attire of a convict, and was spared a -dreadful shock, when I looked and beheld -my dear one as I remembered him! But oh! -not as I remembered him! He had let his -beard grow; he was shaggy and scarce recognisable -with it, and his hair was longer -than formerly. His cheeks were sunk, his -eyes dull, like the eyes of one who has not -slept for weeks, his lips pale, his complexion -strange and hardly describable, owing to the -pallor that had sifted through, so to speak,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -and mottled the sun-brown of his skin. But -his old beauty was there to my love; my -heart gave a great leap when I saw him; and -I cried his name and extended my arms against -the wire of the grating.</p> - -<p>He looked at me steadfastly for some -moments with his teeth hard set upon his -under lip, as though he dared not attempt to -speak until he had conquered his emotion -and mastered such tears as burn like fire in -the brain of a man. My uncle gently saluted -him through the bars, and then motioned -with his hand, and, taking me by the arm, led -me down to the extremity of this jail meeting-place, -and Tom walked on the opposite side -until he was abreast. My uncle then moved -some distance away and stood watching the -Jew prize-fighter. A warder walked leisurely -to and fro; and others at a little distance -stood like sentinels.</p> - -<p>My sweetheart’s first words were:</p> - -<p>‘Marian, before God I am innocent.’</p> - -<p>‘Tom, I know it—I know it, dearest, and -your innocence shall be proved.’</p> - -<p>‘Before God I am innocent,’ he repeated<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -softly and without passion in his tones or posture. -‘It is a devilish plot of Rotch to ruin -me. I don’t know why the carpenter Nodder -should swear against me. I had no quarrel -with the man. But he’d go to the gallows for -drink, and in that Rotch found his opportunity -since he needed a witness.’</p> - -<p>‘You will be able to prove your innocence.’</p> - -<p>‘Rotch,’ he continued, still speaking softly -and without temper, ‘bored holes in the lazarette; -then plugged the lining and hid the -auger in my cabin. Nodder swears that I -borrowed the auger from him. A lie, Marian—a -wicked, horrible lie. Why should I -borrow an auger? Why should I, as captain, -handle such a tool as that when there is a -carpenter in the ship? Rotch brought some -of the men aft to listen to the water running -into the lazarette. He says that he went -below to break out stores and heard it. A -hellish lie, Marian. He swears that he plugged -the holes to stop the leaks and came up with -the men to search my cabin. I was in my -cabin when they entered, and on the scoundrel<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -Rotch charging me with attempting to -scuttle the barque and imperilling the lives of -the crew, I pulled a pistol out of my drawer -and would have shot him. They threw themselves -upon me, and Rotch called to them to -search the cabin, and they found the auger in -the place where the villain had hidden it. -But this was not all. Rotch swore before the -Consul at Rio that he had seen me go into -the lazarette, and that he had mentioned the -circumstance to Nodder, but that neither -suspected what I was doing until Rotch himself -went below for some boatswain’s stores, -and then he heard the water running in. -Marian,’ and here he slightly raised his voice, -‘it is a conspiracy, artfully planned, artfully -executed, artfully related, with the accursed -accident of the over-insured venture to make -it significant as death, and God alone knows -how it may go with me.’</p> - -<p>A warder paused and looked at us, then -passed on.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t say that,’ I cried; ‘it breaks my -heart to hear you say that. You are innocent. -My uncle will employ clever men. They will<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -question and question and prove the wretches -liars, and our turn will come.’</p> - -<p>‘I blundered by over-insuring, but I -blundered more fearfully still when in a -moment of confidence I told the villain Rotch -what money I had embarked in this voyage, -and to what extent I had protected myself.’</p> - -<p>‘Tom, whatever happens I am with you. -Oh, if it should come to their killing you they -shall kill me too, Tom.’</p> - -<p>He pressed his hands to his heart and -then sobbed twice or thrice. My love, my -grief, my misery raged in me; I felt that I had -strength to tear down the strong iron grating -which separated us, that I might get to him, -clasp him to me, give him the comfort of my -bosom, the tenderness of my caressing cheek. -It worked like madness in my soul to be held -apart from him, to see him and not be able to -fling my arms around him.</p> - -<p>We looked at each other in silence. I -was about to speak when a bell rang, and a -strong voice called out: ‘Time’s up!’ The -prize-fighter was gone. A warder marched -quickly along to Tom and touched him on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -shoulder, and my uncle called to me: ‘Come, -Marian.’ Tom cried: ‘God bless you, dear,’ -but my vision was blind with tears, a sudden -swooning headache made me stagger, and -until I was in the street I was scarcely sensible -of more than of being led through the -passages and out through the gate by my -uncle.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br /> - - -<small>SHE ATTENDS HER SWEETHEART’S TRIAL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Down</span> to the date of the trial, suspense and -expectation lay in so crushing a burden upon -me that life was hardly supportable. In this -time I ceased to wonder that people had the -courage to perish by their own hands. Twice -after that first visit I saw Tom in Newgate, -but those interviews were restricted by the -rules of the place to a quarter of an hour, -and always the bell sounded and the rude -voice of the warder broke in at the moment -when I had most to say and most to hearken -to.</p> - -<p>The trial of my sweetheart took place at -the Central Criminal Court on April 17th. -The judge was the stony-hearted Maule—memory -may deceive me, but I am almost -sure it was Mr. Justice Maule. For Tom’s -defence my uncle had secured the services of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -the celebrated Mr. Sergeant Shee, with whom -were Mr. Doane and Mr. C. Jones. I drove -down to the Old Bailey with my aunt early in -the morning. The court was not inconveniently -crowded. It was one of those cases -which do not excite much attention. A Cash-man -or a Bishop would have blocked the -court with eager spectators of both sexes, but -the perils and crimes of the ocean do not -appeal to the land-going public.</p> - -<p>The judge took his seat at ten o’clock, -and Tom was brought in and placed at the -bar, charged by indictment that ‘he endeavoured, -feloniously and maliciously, to -cast away and destroy a certain vessel called -the <i>Arab Chief</i> on the high sea, within the -jurisdiction of the Admiralty of England, and -also of the Central Criminal Court, with intent -to prejudice divers persons as part owners of -or underwriters to the same vessel.’ He -pleaded ‘Not guilty.’ He spoke very low, -but his tones were steady. He looked ill, -haggard, and wasted. A great number of -persons who were to appear as witnesses -were in court, and I searched the many faces<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -with burning eyes for the two wretches who -had brought my sweetheart and me to this -horrible pass. But my aunt did not know -them, and there was no one at hand to tell -me which among those men were Rotch and -Nodder.</p> - -<p>The case against Tom, as stated at the -opening of the prosecution, was merely an -elaborate version of the narrative of the facts -which he had himself briefly related to me in -Newgate. Though nobody had been defrauded, -since the ship had not been sunk and -no money claimed or paid, yet as much -emphasis was laid by the prosecution upon -the number of offices in which Tom had -insured as though my sweetheart’s guilt were -beyond question, as though the prosecution -indeed had seen him make holes in the ship -and sink her, as though he had then arrived -in England and received three or four thousand -pounds in excess of the worth of the property.</p> - -<p>The person who addressed the Court for -the prosecution had a very clear, musical -voice; he had handsome eyes, and would -pause at every pointed passage of his opening<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -with an eloquent, appealing, concerned look -at the jury. His sweet, persuasive tones -and looks doubled to my fear the horrible -significance of his statements, and I abhorred -him whilst I watched him and listened, and -could have killed him in my concealed fright -and rage for his cool and coaxing and polished -utterance of what I knew to be hellish lies. -Often would I watch the jury with a devouring -gaze. They were in two rows, six in a -row, in a box, and one or another who was -above would sometimes lean over and whisper, -and one would take a note, and one would sit -for ten minutes at a time motionless, with his -eyes upon the person speaking. The counsel -and gentlemen in wigs and gowns sat around -a big table loaded with books and papers. -A crowd of people hung about outside this -sort of well, formed by the table and its -circular benches and backs, and whispered -and stared and grinned and took snuff. The -judge sat, stern and heavily wigged, not far -from the jury. Sometimes he took notes; -sometimes his chin sank upon his breast. -He seemed to see nothing, and if ever he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -spoke he appeared to address a vision in midair.</p> - -<p>I’ll not trouble you with the particulars of -this trial. I am passing rapidly now into -another scene of life. One witness after -another stepped into the box to prove the -several insurances which had been effected -by Tom; others to testify to the value of the -<i>Arab Chief</i> and her lading. The name of -Samuel Rotch was then pronounced, and the -man came out of a group of people and -briskly ascended to give evidence. The hot -blood stung in my cheeks when I saw him. -My heart beat as though I was stricken with -fever. Tom looked at him and kept his eyes -upon him all the while that the wretch was -answering questions and giving his evidence, -but I never once observed that he even so -much as glanced at my sweetheart.</p> - -<p>I had expected—nay, indeed, I had prayed—to -behold an ill-looking villain, and I believe -it told heavily against us that he was an -exceedingly good-looking man. His features -were regular; his eyes of dark blue, bright -and steadfast in their gaze. His white and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -regular teeth shone like light when he parted -his lips. He was coloured by the sun to the -manly complexion of the seaman, and he was -about Tom’s height, well built, but without -my sweetheart’s fine, upright, commanding -carriage. His voice had a frank note. His -replies were quickly delivered, and there was -not the least stammer or hesitation in his -statements. Added to all this, he spoke with -an educated accent.</p> - -<p>He told his story plainly, and was not to -be shaken. He gave a reason for going into -the lazarette which my sweetheart’s counsel -seemed unable to challenge. It was shown -through his evidence that the size of the -holes (an inch and a quarter) which were -found plugged in the inner skin exactly corresponded -with the diameter of the tree-nail -auger which had been discovered in Tom’s -cabin. His evidence was that whilst in the -lazarette he had heard the sound of water -running into the ship betwixt the lining and -the side; he took his lantern to the place of -the noise and saw the plugged holes. He -went on deck and called to Benjamin Nodder,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -who acted as second mate and carpenter; he -likewise summoned others of the crew and -they all went into the lazarette and saw the -plugged holes and heard the water coming in. -Then to preserve their lives and save the ship -from sinking they ripped up the plank and -plugged the outer holes, thus stopping the -leaks, and afterwards repaired in a body to -the captain’s cabin. Captain Butler threatened -to shoot the witness. He was secured, and -the cabin searched and the auger found. -They proceeded to Rio, and on their arrival -Rotch called upon the British Consul, who -on the evidence sworn before him thought -proper to give the charge of the ship to -a new captain and send home the prisoner, -together with Rotch, Nodder, and two of -the seamen who had descended into the lazarette.</p> - -<p>The witness was asked why he suspected -the captain of attempting to scuttle the ship -instead of any other of the crew.</p> - -<p>He answered:</p> - -<p>‘Because I had seen the captain go into -the lazarette.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span>‘Was it unusual for a captain to enter the -lazarette of his own vessel?’</p> - -<p>‘No captain,’ the fellow answered, ‘would -think of entering a lazarette.’</p> - -<p>‘What other grounds for suspicion had -he?’</p> - -<p>The man replied, the captain had told -him that his share in the ship, together with -his venture in the cargo and freight, were -heavily insured; also, on one occasion, the -captain had talked to him about a ship -whose master had been sentenced and executed -for casting her away; and he had -added significantly that it was a good job the -law had been changed, and that a man might -now venture for a fortune without jeopardising -his life.</p> - -<p>Tom steadfastly regarded Rotch whilst he -gave his evidence; and I knew by the look -in my sweetheart’s face that the villain in the -witness-box fiendishly lied in every syllable -he uttered.</p> - -<p>Many questions in cross-examination were -asked, and all of them Rotch answered steadily,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -bowing respectfully whenever the judge put a -question; and he always looked very straight, -with a fine air of candour and honesty, at the -person who interrogated him. He was asked -if he had not quarrelled with Captain Butler -at Valparaiso. He answered yes. The particulars -of that quarrel were dramatically related -by Sergeant Shee. Rotch said that every -word was true, but that he and Captain Butler -had long ago shaken hands over that affair -and dismissed it from their memory. He -was asked if the prisoner had not reported -him on one occasion for insubordination and -neglect of duty, and if he had not been dismissed -in consequence, though subsequently -another berth had been procured for him by -the prisoner? He answered yes, it was quite -true. He was asked if it was the fact that -one of the owners of the <i>Arab Chief</i> had -promised him the berth of captain of that -ship in any case, since, whether guilty or -innocent, Captain Butler would not, after this -accusation, be again employed? He replied it -was true; but then the other side qualified -what was to me a damning admission by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -saying that the fellow was distantly connected -with the owner aforesaid.</p> - -<p>The next witness was Benjamin Nodder. -This fellow was a rough seaman of a commonplace -type, hunched about the shoulders and -bandy-legged, with red hair falling about his -ears in coarse raw streaks, like slices of -carrot; he was wall-eyed, that is, one eye -looked away when the other gazed straight. -His voice was harsh as the noise of an axe -sharpened on a grindstone, and when he -stood up in the box he leered unsteadily -around him with an effort to stand with -dignity, as though he was tipsy. His examination -was little more than a repetition -of what had been gone through with Rotch.</p> - -<p>He was followed by two seamen who had -no further evidence to give than that they -had helped to stop the leaks and had seen -the captain draw a pistol upon Rotch in his -cabin; they also testified to the discovery -of the auger, one of them saving that he -recollected Mr. Nodder telling the men that -Captain Butler had come forward and borrowed -an auger.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span>‘Mr. Nodder,’ said this witness, ‘told us -men that he couldn’t imagine what the capt’n -wanted an auger for; two days after the hole -was found bored in the lazarette.’</p> - -<p>Thus ran the questions and the answers. -Tom looked steadily at the witnesses as they -spoke; but he made no sign; his arms lay -motionless, folded upon his breast. Twice -or thrice I saw his eyebrows faintly lift, and -his lips part as though to a deep breath of -irrepressible horror and amazement.</p> - -<p>The Court adjourned for lunch after the -two seamen had given their evidence; I -remained in the court with my aunt. Mr. -Johnstone came to us, and I asked him what -he thought the verdict would be.</p> - -<p>‘Wait for it! Wait for it!’ he exclaimed, -petulant with worry and doubts. ‘Did not I -tell Butler that he had heavily blundered in -over-insuring? And how well Rotch gave -his evidence! How frank were the devil’s -admissions! Never a wink or a stutter with -him from beginning to end! But the twelve -have yet to hear the sergeant. Keep up -your spirits, Marian!’ And he abruptly left<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -us, but not without exchanging a look with -his wife. I caught that look, and my heart -sank and turned cold, as though the hand of -death had grasped it.</p> - -<p>When the Court reassembled, five witnesses -were called to speak to Tom’s character. -It was shortly before four when the -judge had finished summing up. I had followed -Sergeant Shee’s address with impassioned -attention, eagerly watching the faces -of the jurymen as he spoke, and detesting -the judge for the sleepy air with which he -listened and the barristers at the table and -the people round about for their inattention -and frequent whispers and passing of papers -one to another on business of their own, as -though the drama of life or death to me -which had nearly filled the day had grown -tiresome, and they were waiting for the -curtain. Then I had followed with a maddening -conflict of emotion, but with an ever-gaining -feeling of sickness and faintness, like -to the sense of a poisoned and killing conviction -slowly creeping to the heart against -its maddest current of hopes and protests—thus<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -had I listened to the address of the -counsel for the prosecution who replied upon -the whole case; and now I listened to Mr. -Justice Maule’s summing-up, a tedious and -inconclusive address. He made little of the -points which I believed he would have -insisted upon. He talked like a tired man, -he retold the testimony, and I seemed to -find a prejudice against Tom throughout his -delivery.</p> - -<p>Then it was left to the jury, and the jury, -after an absence of twenty minutes, returned -with the verdict of ‘Guilty’ against the -prisoner.</p> - -<p>My aunt clutched my hand. I felt a -shock as though the blood in my veins had -been arrested in ice in its course. Mr. Justice -Maule proceeded to pass sentence. He spoke -in a sing-song voice, as though at every -instant he must interrupt himself with a -yawn. He said that the prisoner had been -found guilty, after a fair and impartial trial, -of the offence of having feloniously and wilfully -attempted to destroy the ship <i>Arab -Chief</i> for the purpose of defrauding the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -underwriters. That was the conclusion the -jury had arrived at, and he was perfectly -satisfied with this verdict. And then he -pointed out the gravity of the offence, and -how such acts tended to check the spirit of -mercantile adventure, and how impossible it -would be for insurance companies to exist if -they were not protected by the law. He -rejoiced that the penalty applied to this crime -was no longer capital. At the same time it -was his duty to inflict a severe punishment. -The sentence of the Court was that the prisoner -should be transported beyond the seas for the -term of fourteen years.</p> - -<p>My aunt sprang to her feet and shrieked -aloud when this awful sentence was delivered. -I sat dumb and motionless. Never once -throughout the day had Tom looked in our -direction. Now, on my aunt shrieking, he -turned his head, saw me, and pointed upward, -as though surrendering our love to God. The -next moment he had stepped out of sight.</p> - -<p>My uncle came to us. He was white -and terribly agitated and shocked.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span>‘Come!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come along -out of this now. We have had enough of it.’</p> - -<p>He took me by the hand, and I arose, but -I could not speak; I seemed to have been -deprived of sensation in the limbs; indeed, I -do not know what had come to me. I looked -towards the bar where Tom had been standing -and sighed, and then walked with my uncle, -my aunt following. We passed out of the -court and got into the Old Bailey; and when -in Ludgate Hill, my uncle called a coach, and -we were driven to his home. Nothing was -said saving that my uncle once asked, ‘Who -cried out?’ My aunt answered:</p> - -<p>‘I did.’</p> - -<p>I sat rigid, looking with blind eyes at the -passing show of the streets. But how am I -to describe my feelings! Ask a mother whose -child has suddenly died upon her lap; ask a -wife whose husband has fallen dead at her -feet; ask an adoring lover whose sweetheart, -taking refuge with him from a summer -thunder-cloud, is slain by a bolt; ask such -people so smitten to tell you what they feel!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -Nor can my tongue utter what was in me as -we drove to my uncle’s home after the trial.</p> - -<p>When we were arrived my manner frightened -my aunt; she feared I’d do myself a -mischief and would not lose sight of me. I -sat in a chair and never spoke, though I -answered when I was addressed, and obeyed -mechanically; as, for example, if my aunt -entreated me to come to the table and eat I -quitted my chair and took up the knife and -fork, but without eating. My gaze was fixed! -I saw nothing but Tom standing at the bar of -the Old Bailey, hearkening to his sentence, -lifting up his hand to me and looking upward. -If I turned my eyes toward my aunt, Tom -was behind her. If my uncle sat before me -and addressed me, the vision of Tom painted -in bright colours receiving sentence and lifting -his hand was behind him.</p> - -<p>Once during the evening of the day of -the trial, when my uncle came into the parlour, -my aunt turned to him and said:</p> - -<p>‘If she would only cry!’</p> - -<p>She took me to her bed that night, and I -lay without speech, seeing Tom as in a vision,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -and hearing the sentence over and over again -repeated. I may have slept; I cannot tell. -My aunt wished me to remain in bed next -morning, but when she was dressed I got up -and followed her to the parlour.</p> - -<p>My uncle sat by a glowing fire; he was -deeply interested in a newspaper and was probably -reading a report of the trial.</p> - -<p>‘Aunt,’ I said, speaking for the first time, -and in a voice so harsh and unmusical that -my uncle, not knowing that I had entered, -looked up with gesture of surprise and -dropped the newspaper, ‘I wish to go home.’</p> - -<p>‘No, dear, not yet.’</p> - -<p>I was about to speak, to say that I believed -my going to the house where my father -and mother had lived—to the house that was -full of old associations, where I had thought -to dwell with Tom when we were married—would -soothe and do me good. I was about -to tell her this, but could not for giving way; -and, hiding my face in my hands, I bowed -my head upon the table, neither of them -speaking nor attempting in any way to arrest -the passion of tears.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span>I felt better after this dreadful outbreak; -it seemed to have cleansed my brain and to -give room for my heart to beat and for my -spirits to stir in. I looked at the good things -upon the table, the eggs and bacon, the ham -and the rest, and said:</p> - -<p>‘How do they feed prisoners in jail?’</p> - -<p>‘Now, don’t trouble about that, Marian,’ -said my uncle. ‘Captain Butler has been a -sailor, and he has been bred up on food compared -to which the worst fare in the worst jail -in England is delicious.’</p> - -<p>‘What will they do with him?’</p> - -<p>‘Until they despatch him across the seas -they’ll keep him in prison at Newgate, perhaps, -or they’ll send him to Millbank or to the -Hulks. No man can tell.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t fret yourself now with these inquiries, -Marian,’ said my aunt.</p> - -<p>‘How do they treat convicts in jail, -uncle?’</p> - -<p>‘Very well, indeed. Better than the -majority of them deserve. They feed them, -clothe them, and teach them trades to enable -them to live honestly by-and-by.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>‘In what sort of ships do the convicts -sail?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, in average merchantmen. Owners -tender, and a ship is hired. There were -twenty-one of them chartered last year at -about four p’un’ ten a ton.’</p> - -<p>‘Twenty-one!’ cried my aunt. ‘I wonder -there are any rascals left in England. Twenty-one! -Only think! And perhaps two hundred -rogues in each ship.’</p> - -<p>‘At least,’ exclaimed my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘Are they passenger ships?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘Many of them.’</p> - -<p>‘Could one take one’s passage in a convict -ship?’</p> - -<p>‘Love you, no! No more than one could -take one’s passage in a man-of-war.’</p> - -<p>‘Marian, you are making no breakfast,’ -said my aunt.</p> - -<p>‘What do they do with the convicts when -they arrive at their destination?’ I inquired.</p> - -<p>‘Why,’ said my uncle, passing his cup for -more tea, ‘I can only tell you what I have -read. The convicts are lent out as servants -to persons in want of labour on their farms,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -houses, shops, and so on; some of them are -sent up country to make roads. I don’t know -whether they are paid for their work. They -are well fed. It commonly ends in their -setting up in business for themselves; and -ninety-nine out of every hundred felons, after -they have been out in the colonies for a few -years, wouldn’t come home—to stay at home, -I mean—on any account whatever. If I were -a poor man, I should not at all object to -being transported.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t say such things!’ exclaimed my -aunt.</p> - -<p>‘I shall follow Tom wherever he is sent,’ -said I, pushing my chair from the table.</p> - -<p>‘What! To Norfolk Island, for instance? -What would you do there?’ said my uncle. -‘Far better wait in this country, my dear, -until Captain Butler returns. They’ll be -giving him a ticket-of-leave before long. He’s -bound to behave himself well.’</p> - -<p>I stepped to the window and looked out. -There had been a note of coldness in my -uncle’s pronunciation of the words, ‘Captain -Butler.’ I had also caught a startled look,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -which was nearly horror, in my aunt when I -said that I would follow my sweetheart wherever -he was sent. I turned presently and -said:</p> - -<p>‘When shall I be able to see Tom?’</p> - -<p>‘Once only every three months, I am -afraid,’ answered my uncle. ‘The rules vary -with the prisons, but I think you will find that -letters and visits are allowed once every three -months only. I’ll inquire.’</p> - -<p>‘Shall we hear if he is sent to another -place?’</p> - -<p>‘We shall always be able to learn where -he is.’</p> - -<p>He was growing tired of my questions and -left the table, having finished his breakfast.</p> - -<p>‘I shall want to know what his defence -has cost,’ said I; ‘I wish to pay.’</p> - -<p>He nodded, and, pulling out his watch, -said that he must go to business downstairs. -I ran after him as he was leaving the room, -and, grasping him by the arm, cried impetuously: -‘Uncle, do you believe Tom guilty?’</p> - -<p>‘I’d not say so if I thought so,’ he -answered looking at me, and I guessed by my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -feelings that my eyes sparkled and my cheeks -were red. ‘Let me go, my girl. Everything -passes, and to all of us comes a day when we -discover that there is nothing under the sun -which is worth a tear.’</p> - -<p>I dropped my hand, and we walked out of -the room. My aunt eyed me strenuously as I -paced the floor. I could not sit, my heart -was full of rage, and all the while a resolution -was forming and hardening in me; indeed -I caught myself thinking aloud, and often -I’d halt with my hand clenched like one -distraught. My aunt presently said:</p> - -<p>‘Why not sit down, dear, and nurse your -strength a little? You have been sorely -tried. Cannot we arrange for another trip to -the seaside?’</p> - -<p>‘And leave——’ I cried, and broke short -off and forced myself to say softly: ‘No, -aunt.’</p> - -<p>‘But what do you mean to do? I wish to -act as a mother to you, Marian. I thank God -you are not his wife.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t say that!’</p> - -<p>‘But I must say it!’ she exclaimed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -bridling. ‘It’s through me that you are -not his wife, and I rejoice heartily that I -advised you as I did. What! Would you, -with your means and your beauty and your -opportunities, be the wife of a convict?’</p> - -<p>I felt the temper in me swelling into madness. -I durst not stay, for I dreaded myself -then, and flung out of the room, leaving her -talking. I ran upstairs to put on my outdoor -clothes, and when I returned my aunt -was on the landing. She exclaimed that she -had not meant what she said. I looked her -earnestly in the face, for I did not believe -her; but already my temper was gone. Ill-temper -lives but a short time when there is -great misery. I kissed her and thanked her -for her kindness and love, and, telling her I -must go home to look after things, I left the -house.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Chapter XI<br /> - - -<small>SHE VISITS H.M.S. ‘WARRIOR’</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I remained</span> at home several days, seeing nobody, -waited upon by my maid and denying -myself to everybody. My aunt sent to -inquire after me, and my maid’s answers -satisfied her. I pulled the blinds down and -sat alone in my grief, with Tom’s miniature -upon my knee. But always at dusk I stole -forth and walked in the Old Bailey, close -against the walls of Newgate Prison, that I -might be near my dear one. I wrote to him -and took my chance of the letter reaching -his hands. I told him that no man was ever -more truly loved by his sweetheart; that -wherever he went I would go; and let them -send him where they would, he would find me -there; and I swore to him that he was innocent, -the victim of a monstrous, transparent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -conspiracy, and I said I prayed every night to -God to punish the villains who had brought -us to this miserable state.</p> - -<p>It was about a fortnight after the trial -that one of my trustees, Captain Galloway, -asked me by letter for an appointment; he -presented himself with Captain Fairman, the -other trustee. They were both bluff, hearty -seamen of the old school, somewhat resembling -each other, though not connected. The -motive of their visit was to get me to give up -Tom. Captain Galloway had not forgotten -my treatment of his son, and talked with ill-advised -heat. He did not deny that he considered -Captain Butler guilty. I listened with -contempt at first, but this gave way to temper -which rose into wrath, and I fairly gave the -devil they had aroused within me his way. -When they had gone I caught sight of myself -in a mirror, and I looked as flaming and red -and swelling and breathless as any mad -murderess in a padded cell.</p> - -<p>I guessed my aunt was at the bottom of -these captains’ visits. She must have asked -Mr. Stanford to talk to me too; otherwise I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -doubt if he had dared venture it. Yet I -listened to the fellow patiently till he told me -that he spoke as the representative of my -mother on earth; that made me think of my -father and I started up. I meant no physical -violence though I was capable of it then, but -my manner of jumping up was so menacing -that he instantly started from his chair and -hastened out of the room, slamming the door -after him.</p> - -<p>I would not trust my uncle to obtain news -of Tom. I knew that all interested in me -wished me to break off with my sweetheart, -and would hoodwink me if they could by -keeping me in ignorance that Tom had been -sent out of the country. A clerk named -Woolfe who had been in my uncle’s employ -had started for himself; he was a shrewd, -unscrupulous young dog. I bargained with -him to get me news of Tom, and to work all -methods of communication practicable by -bribery. From him I learned that my sweetheart -had been removed from Newgate to -Millbank. The fellow took a hundred guineas -from me in all, but did no more for the money<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -than discover where Tom was; and one day, -about four months after Tom’s conviction, -this young rogue of a lawyer called upon me -at Stepney to say that Tom had been transferred -from Millbank to H.M.S. <i>Warrior</i> hulk, -moored off Woolwich Dockyard.</p> - -<p>‘Are you sure?’ I cried.</p> - -<p>‘I am now from Millbank,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘And what will happen next?’ I demanded.</p> - -<p>‘They’ll keep him at forced labour at the -dockyard,’ he answered, ‘till a transport hauls -alongside the hulk for a cargo.’</p> - -<p>‘When will that be?’</p> - -<p>‘Impossible to say, miss.’</p> - -<p>‘Will you get me the rules of the hulk?’</p> - -<p>‘They are the same as the jails.’</p> - -<p>‘But I have not seen Captain Butler since -his conviction, nor heard from him, nor know -whether he has received my letters.’</p> - -<p>He answered that he would make inquiries -and call. He was intelligibly punctual, -because he had to receive ten guineas, but -he brought me what I wanted to know, and -to my joy I learned that I was at liberty to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -visit Tom next day, and that he would be -brought on board to see me if he was ashore -when I arrived.</p> - -<p>The morning following I dressed with -care. I wore black clothes. I had worn -black ever since my sweetheart was taken -from me. I put on a black veil, and going -into the street, walked till I met with a coach, -and drove to Blackwall. I had not visited -those parts since Tom and I and the others -had seen Will Johnstone off, and I dared not -glance in the direction of the hotel in which -my sweetheart had made love to me and -asked me to marry him. Indeed, my heart -needed all the fortitude my spirit could -give it.</p> - -<p>It was a bright, hot day. The sky was -high with delicate, frostlike cloud, and the -running river blue with the reflection of the -heavens. The wind was a light summer -breeze and blew from London, and many -ships of many rigs floated before it, some of -them lifting lofty fabrics of swelling breasts -of canvas, some of them dark with a weather-stained -look, like my father’s coasters. Here<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -at Blackwall I took a boat, and told the man -to row me to the <i>Warrior</i> hulk.</p> - -<p>‘You know her?’ said I.</p> - -<p>He was an elderly man, dressed in a tall -hat and jersey; he exposed a few yellow fangs -as he lay back on his oars and said:</p> - -<p>‘Know her? Yes. Know the <i>Warrior</i>! -Yah might as well ask me if I know St. Paul’s. -Going aboard?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>‘Friend aboard?’</p> - -<p>I inclined my head.</p> - -<p>‘I had a nevvey locked up in that there -hulk,’ said the man. ‘He had six year. -Now’s out and doon well. He drove a light -cart drawn by a nag as could trot, and -called hisself a pig-dealer. Do ’spectable -pig-dealers break into houses o’ night? The -<i>Warrior</i> cured my nevvey. He ain’t above -talking of that ship. Get him in the mood, -and he’ll spin yah some queer yarns about -her.’</p> - -<p>‘How are the prisoners treated?’</p> - -<p>‘Sights o’ stone-breaking and stacking o’ -timber. They put my nevvey to draw carts.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -They sunk his name and caa’d him a number. -A man doan’ feel a man when he’s a number. -But the job my nevvey least enjoyed was -scraping shot.’</p> - -<p>‘How are they fed?’</p> - -<p>‘By contract. Yah knows what that -means. Beef all veins. Ever heard of -“smiggins,” miss?’</p> - -<p>‘No.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s hulk soup: convicts’ name for greasy -warm water. Call it twenty year ago, I was -passing a hulk stationed afore the <i>Defence</i> -came up; a boat was ’longside with provisions -for the day; what d’ye think? With my own -eyes I see the prisoners as was hoisting the -grub out of the boat chuck it overboard. -Was they flogged?’</p> - -<p>He shook his head, grinning horribly.</p> - -<p>His manners and answers shocked and -depressed me, and I asked him no more -questions.</p> - -<p>‘Ain’t it rather sing’ler,’ said he, after a -few minutes’ pause, ‘that there’s only one -flower as ’ll grow upon a convict’s grave?’</p> - -<p>‘Is that so?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span>‘Ay. And what flower d’ye think it is, -miss?’ said he, again showing his fangs.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s a nettle. If yah should care to visit -the burial-ground yonder,’ he continued, with -a backward nod of his head in the direction -of Woolwich, ‘yah ’ll see for yourself. As if -nothen would blow ower a convict but that! -Of course the finger o’ nater’s in it. The -finger o’ nater’s got the straight tip for most -jobs. It’s daisies for the likes of you and me, -and nettles for them as goes wrong.’</p> - -<p>I was too agitated to converse with such -a heartless creature as this. My mind was -full of Tom. I wondered how he would greet -me—how I should find him looking. We -should be allowed but a quarter of an hour. -What time would that give me, to whom a -long summer day was all too brief in which -to tell him how I loved him; how I meant to -follow him; how our loyalty to one another -should, if God permitted, triumph yet over -the horrors and the sufferings which might -lie between the now and the hour of victorious -emergence!</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span>We were still about a mile from the hulk, -when I observed a large ship in tow of a tug -coming up the river. She sat deep in the -water and was plainly fresh from a long voyage, -rusty about the bows and weather-stained -along the line of her painted ports; but she -carried the smartness of a frigate aloft in the -well-squared yards, from which all canvas had -been unbent, and in the perfectly-stayed and -lofty topgallant-masts, whose royal yards had -been sent down. I seemed to recognise the -large house-flag she flew at the main.</p> - -<p>‘What ship is that?’ I asked, well aware -that Thames watermen know every ship out -of London.</p> - -<p>He turned his chin on his shoulder and -viewed her leisurely and answered:</p> - -<p>‘The <i>Childe Harold</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘The <i>Childe Harold</i>!’ I cried, and I threw -up my veil to look at her. Will Johnstone’s -ship! I could scarcely credit my eyes. She -glided, stately and slow, in the wake of the -tug. Her home was at hand, the forest of -the East India Docks was in sight, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -paddles of the little steamer were beating the -water slowly.</p> - -<p>I observed a crowd of people on the forecastle, -and a number of men and women -walked the poop, or after-deck. The red -flag streamed brightly from the peak, the -glass and brass about her sparkled, the little -circular windows in her side flashed like gems -as they took the sun, and the raiment of the -ladies fluttered in many tints. Here and there -a sailor was trotting aloft, and a man standing -high and conspicuously on the forecastle was -shouting, with one hand against his mouth, to -the tug. As the noble ship passed she made -a holiday picture of the water round about -her and the land on either hand. I stared -hard, hoping I might catch a sight of Will, -but the distance between was too wide to -enable me to distinguish faces.</p> - -<p>‘There’s no finer ship out of London,’ said -the waterman. ‘She’s from Australey. That’s -where the gents yah’re going to visit are sent -to. If there’s naught but nettles to be -blowed out of dead convicts there’s blisterin’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -fine cities to be growed out of live ones. -I’m going to Australey myself some of these -here days—just to take a look ’round—work -my way out and home again. A shilling a -month ’ud do. I’m no sailor man.’</p> - -<p>He sank into silence. The <i>Childe Harold</i> -floated away astern, and now right ahead of -us and near loomed the giant figure of the -prison-hulk <i>Warrior</i>, her head pointing toward -London. Another hulk lay moored close by. -All these hulks, those off the Arsenal, as well -as those off the Dockyard, were as familiar to -me as the fingers of my hand. Over and over -again had I passed them and looked at them -during my lonely pleasant jaunts upon the -river, but always with an incurious eye; but -a new, deep, fearful significance had now to -my gaze entered the grim and hideous fabric -of the mountainous <i>Warrior</i>. I viewed the -rows of ports savagely and massively grated, -and thought of the many eyes of crime and -suffering, of guilt—and, O my God! of innocence -too—which might have peered through -those metal meshes at the outside scene of -flowing river, with the spirit of liberty strong<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -in the speeding craft, in the flight of -the cloud, in the feathering of the hissing -ripple.</p> - -<p>She was a hideous ship, horrible in her -suggestions of human crime and despair. -Rows of coarse convict linen fluttered betwixt -her pole masts, at the head of the foremost of -which streamed the long pennon of the State. -She was bulged up all about the bows with -rude band-box-like buildings; cowled ventilating-shafts -gaped above her decks; the dull -gleam of gilt and glass about her vast quarter-galleries -and stern affected the imagination as -a faded memorial of times when her sides -bristled with the black dogs of war, when her -copper sheathing trembled like a glance of -sunset under her, when she lifted star-searching -spires to the sky, space upon space of -symmetric whiteness swelling soft as sifted -snow to the glittering buttons of her trucks.</p> - -<p>There was an off gangway ladder, with a -warder standing like a sentinel at the head of -it. The convicts were ashore, all of them, -saving a few, silent at their trades under deck. -A singular hush lay upon the big ship; though<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -the morning was advanced and wide and brilliant, -and the river alive with stemming barges -and row-boats and sailing craft of all sorts, -and alive too on the banks where the Dockyard -was, and higher, where were many low -wharves and dismantled hulks and riverside -public-houses, and higher yet, where the -Arsenal was, with its chimneys pouring smoke -and feathers of steam darting from great -square buildings; such was the stillness upon -this slumbering mass of prison hulk, that, as -we drew alongside, I could hear no sound but -the sob of the stream of tide washing along -the bends and an occasional groan of aged -timber as the sweep of the water strained the -old fabric upon its bed of mud.</p> - -<p>I bade the waterman wait, got upon the -ladder, and ascended. The warder or officer -at the gangway inquired my business. I told -him I was a visitor come to see one of the -convicts, Thomas Butler. He bade me pass -on to the quarter-deck, where were assembled -two or three groups of persons who were also -arrived to visit friends. The people might -have come on board by way of a gallery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -which connected the ship with the shore on -the port or left-hand side; this gallery was -defended under the forecastle by a huge iron -palisade with two strong gates for padlocking.</p> - -<p>The warder at the gangway spoke to an -officer who stood within earshot. He crossed -the deck and the shore was hailed, but I know -not by whom nor heard what was said. I -had lifted my veil to look at the <i>Childe Harold</i> -and kept it up. My pulse throbbed fast, and -I knew I was very white, but my mood had -become resolved by temper. My heart turned -sick at the sight of the wide decks with their -grimy incumbrances of convicts and officers’ -galleys and hammock-houses and other heaped -and sordid and filthy-looking structures. I -thought of Tom as an innocent man doomed -to soul-killing work ashore and heart-breaking -immurement in this hulk, locked up below at -night with hundreds of felons, many of whom -had been fetched by the hands of justice out -of the gutters and slums and rookeries of -that city whose atmosphere even in the far -distance tinged and tainted the blue of the -summer sky.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span>I stood viewing the ship and wondering at -what part of her my sweetheart would appear. -A man came from the forward end, looking -from right to left with inspecting eyes as he -walked; he approached and lightly surveyed -me and the others who were waiting. He -was a strongly built man, dressed in a sort of -uniform frock coat decorated with a riband -and clasp; on his head was a large bell-shaped -cap like to what I have seen in pictures of -German and Russian officers. The expression -of his face was firm, but there was a colouring -of kindness in it. A glow of interest -kindled in his ball-like eyes, and saluting me -with a flourish of his hand to the peak of his -cap, he asked whom I had come to see.</p> - -<p>‘One of the convicts, Thomas Butler,’ I -answered.</p> - -<p>He stepped over to a warder, then returned.</p> - -<p>‘Are you his wife, madam?’</p> - -<p>‘I am his sweetheart and engaged to be -married to him,’ I said, colouring, and raised -my hand to my veil, though I left my face -exposed, nevertheless.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span>‘Ha!’ he exclaimed, with a sigh of -pity.</p> - -<p>‘He is innocent, sir. Devils in the shape -of men have falsely sworn him into this dreadful -situation.’</p> - -<p>‘They are all innocent who come here; -they are all innocent,’ said he in a voice of -great irony.</p> - -<p>‘Are you the captain of this ship, sir?’</p> - -<p>‘This ship has no captain,’ he answered, -smiling. ‘I am the deputy-governor.’</p> - -<p>‘Captain Butler is sentenced to fourteen -years’ transportation; shall I know when he -sails?’</p> - -<p>‘The rules will allow him to communicate -with you. Our regulations are carried out -with great consideration. You observe that -if a friend calls while a man is away at labour, -he is sent for.’</p> - -<p>‘How often may I see Captain Butler?’</p> - -<p>‘Every three months.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, sir!’ I clasped my hands and rocked -myself; then summoning my former spirit, -for I was eager to get all information possible -from this communicative and sympathetic<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -personage, I said: ‘How often may I write to -him and he to me?’</p> - -<p>‘Every three months,’ he repeated, but -softly, with a glance at the waiting groups -who had insensibly stolen toward us to -listen.</p> - -<p>‘He may sail within the next three months, -and I shall not know where he is gone.’</p> - -<p>‘The regulations will permit of his communicating -with you through the governor -before he sails, and you will be allowed to bid -him farewell.’</p> - -<p>‘And will he be able to tell me to what -part of the world he is to be sent?’</p> - -<p>‘That’s not always known at the Admiralty, -down, sometimes, to the last minute. A -convict ship has before now brought up in -the Downs bound to Hobart Town or Norfolk -Island, and her destination has been changed -by express to Botany Bay.’</p> - -<p>He touched his cap with a slight bow -having thus spoken, and crossed to the other -waiting poor folks as though willing to be -questioned.</p> - -<p>I paced a little space of the deck. I could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -have held him long in converse; I had, methought, -a thousand questions to ask. On a -sudden, happening to look along the deck to -the left, I saw a number of men appear. -Some of them were convicts and the others -were the guard. They came into the ship by -the gallery that stretched from the quay to -the gangway. The convicts were dressed in -a rusty brown suit with red stripes upon it; -they all looked alike, so horribly levelling is -the garb of the felon. A woman who was -waiting shrieked out and ran some steps, -and a little boy of ten or twelve, whose -hand was grasped by a young woman, called -out:</p> - -<p>‘Father! Father!’ and began to cry -piteously, still calling: ‘Father! Father!’</p> - -<p>The warders came to a pause near the -hatch. There were four convicts; three of -them were embraced by the women who had -been waiting, the little boy meanwhile continuing -to cry loudly, and two of the women -sobbing piteously; the fourth advanced and -paused with his eyes upon me.</p> - -<p>It was Tom, but for a few minutes I did<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -not know him. His face was a fiery red and -wet with sweat, as though he had been -brought fresh from some exhausting labour; -his hair was closely cut, and his beard was -cleanly shaved. The loathsome garb had as -utterly transformed him as though he had -been wrapped in the shroud of the dead. I -cried his name and fled to him. He locked -me in his arms, and so we stood for a little -while speechless.</p> - -<p>‘My Marian!’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Tom, time is precious and I have -much to say! Have you received any letters -from me?’</p> - -<p>‘None.’</p> - -<p>‘I have written to you often. Why did -they not give you my letters? But you -would not think because you did not hear -from me that I was forgetting you?’</p> - -<p>‘Have you heard from me, Marian?’</p> - -<p>‘No, Tom.’</p> - -<p>‘I have written. But a prison-governor -may stop a felon’s letters, and mine have been -stopped, and they have not given me yours. -We may have written too strongly.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span>He started and looked at me a little wildly -and cried:</p> - -<p>‘Marian, why are you here? This atmosphere -is pollution. Look at my dress; look -at these hands. I have worn chains; I am -driven as though I were a mad and dangerous -beast; I am herded with ruffians, and I am -innocent! I swear by your pure heart, -Marian, I am guiltless of the crime for which -they have put me into this ship and for which -they send me ashore by day to—to—— Why -are you here, dear?’ he cried, still wildly, and -now a little incoherently. ‘They have hellishly -sworn me, innocent as I am, into this. -They have made a felon of me. They are -sending me from my country, and my heart -must break—my heart must break!’ he said, -sobbing convulsively. ‘And they will bury -me in a convict’s grave. Oh, Marian, it is at -an end between us—it must be so. I am a -convict, ruined and for ever dishonoured. -Look at me!’</p> - -<p>My heart was bursting whilst I listened to -him, but the great God, who knew that my -sweetheart was a cruelly and terribly wronged<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -man, gave me, of His mercy, heart and spirit. -I had much to say, and the moments were -flying. I looked at him with a smile and -grasped his hand in both mine. He struggled -faintly, but I continued to hold his hand.</p> - -<p>‘Tom, you are not dishonoured, you are -not ruined. You are wronged. Only that, -my darling; no more. Hear me, dear,’ and I -softened my voice, for I was sensible of the -deep thrill of my earnestness in every syllable -that fell from me. ‘I have come to tell you -that my love is unchangeable; that my love -for you now is sanctified by your misery, and -that it is deeper, truer and holier, Tom, than -ever it was before. Oh, hear me, love, and -take heart! Wherever you go, I will go. I -shall learn where they send you and accompany -you or follow you. Nothing but death -can separate us. I have walked night after -night beside the prison walls that I might be -near you, and whilst you are here I shall be -near you. They cannot separate us. Always -believe, always know, that whilst you are in -this ship—yes, whilst they are trying to break -your heart ashore—I am present—oh, not in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -sympathy, not in love, not in spirit only, Tom, -but near you, but close as they will let me be -to you in my own person. Does that comfort -you?’</p> - -<p>He lifted my hand and bowed his head -upon it.</p> - -<p>‘Something may happen at any time to -prove your innocence,’ I continued.</p> - -<p>‘What could happen, Marian? Will Rotch -ever admit that he perjured himself merely to -get charge of my ship and to punish me for -reporting him and for my treatment of him at -Valparaiso?’</p> - -<p>‘But your banishment is not for life, -Tom.’</p> - -<p>‘It is! It is!’ he cried. ‘Who ever -returns from transportation?’</p> - -<p>‘They will give you your liberty after a -time; you will be free, and I shall be with -you. I have money, and we will establish -ourselves and be happy, my darling.’</p> - -<p>‘My noble heart, your love breaks me -down!’ he cried, looking up and grasping me -by the hands, then covering his eyes.</p> - -<p>‘I was talking with a man before you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -came, Tom. He is the deputy-governor. -Yonder he stands. He tells me that you will -be allowed to write and inform me when you -are to sail. You will receive the news and -have leave to convey it. Will you do so?’</p> - -<p>He viewed me in a shrinking way.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Tom, Tom, you must swear to write -to me!’ I cried in a sudden fit of despair. -‘Swear it! If you do not write, how shall I -know when you have gone and where you -have gone? Swear you will write! Swear it! -Swear it!’ I clutched him by the arm in my -passion of eagerness and desire, repeating: -‘Swear it!’</p> - -<p>‘You must not follow me. You must not -leave your home for me.’</p> - -<p>‘Swear it, Tom!’</p> - -<p>‘I shall be a servant, a slave out in Australia, -a convict always, whether freed or -not.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, swear it, Tom!’</p> - -<p>‘They may flog me—chain me in a gang——’</p> - -<p>‘Swear to write and tell me when you -sail.’</p> - -<p>He was silent, breathed deeply, then his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -eyes lighted up with love, and he exclaimed -in a low voice:</p> - -<p>‘I swear it!’</p> - -<p>‘Would it be for you to divide us, Tom?’</p> - -<p>He faintly smiled and answered:</p> - -<p>‘You know me to be innocent, Marian.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, as I am of that crime they have -charged you with.’</p> - -<p>‘What do they say of me? What is -thought?’</p> - -<p>‘Tom, what does it matter? You are -innocent, and I love you.’</p> - -<p>‘My noble heart, God bless you. What -does your uncle think?’</p> - -<p>‘Time’s up?’ cried a warder.</p> - -<p>‘You have sworn it, Tom. Remember!‘</p> - -<p>‘I will write, dearest, I swear it, I will -write.’</p> - -<p>‘Come, my man!’ shouted one of the -guard.</p> - -<p>‘Remember, Tom!’ I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>‘I will write to you,’ were his last words.</p> - -<p>I stood watching him as he walked with -the other convicts and the guard to the gangway -gallery. The excitement and grief of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -this meeting worked like a fever in me. My -breast was violently heaving, my eyes were -dry and hot, as though full of fire, my lips -parched as though pale and broken with -thirst. I stepped over to the deputy-governor -and said:</p> - -<p>‘Will money help a man in this ship?’</p> - -<p>‘No, madam,’ said he shortly, eyeing me -with a look of grave surprise.</p> - -<p>‘I will send fifty pounds to you or the -governor, and as much again when that -money is spent, to furnish Thomas Butler -with comforts outside the horrible prison -fare.’</p> - -<p>‘Gently, madam. The prison fare is not -so horrible as you think. Many get such -food here as they never see out of jail and -never get money enough to purchase after -their discharge. Cocoa, bread, beef, soup—such -food is not horrible. But the wealth of -the Indies would not help your friend in this -hulk.’</p> - -<p>I bowed to him, dropped my veil, went -to the side and entered the wherry. The -waterman began to talk; to this moment I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -believe it was he and not his nephew who -had been a convict. I kept my lips sealed, -and the man sank into silence whilst he -rowed steadily in the direction of Blackwall. -When we turned a bend so as to get a sight -of the docks, I spied the <i>Childe Harold</i> lying -athwart the stream, with her head close in to -the dock entrance. The waterman looked at -her and said he guessed she was hindered by -some difficulty of the tide. Addressing the -fellow for the first time, I bade him pull close -under the stern of the ship, as I desired to -hail her. I stared anxiously as we approached, -thinking I might see Will Johnstone. -A number of men were travelling -round a capstan on the forecastle, and a -hurricane chorus swept in regular pauses -from their lungs as the pawls clanked to the -thrust of the handspikes. A knot of people -were gathered on the pier-head; a few figures -walked the poop-deck.</p> - -<p>We pulled close under the stern of the -ship where the water was sparkling in diamonds -and trembling in gold to the windy -flash and the ruddy gleam of the sun-touched<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -windows and the gilt work, and on looking -up I saw no less a person than my cousin -Will himself in the act of handling the peak -signal halliards to clear the ensign.</p> - -<p>I cried out, ‘Will, Will, is that you, -Will?’ and threw up my veil.</p> - -<p>He heard me and looked over, and after -staring an instant full of wonder, he violently -clapped his hands with boyish joy, and -shouted down: ‘Why, Marian, is that you? -Have you come off to meet me? How kind -of you! How’s mother? How’s father?’</p> - -<p>‘They are well, Will; they are very well. -How brown you are! You are as broad and -tall again as you were.’</p> - -<p>‘You look very white down there, Marian. -Come on board and give me all the news.’</p> - -<p>‘No, I cannot come on board. I shall be -seeing you very soon.’</p> - -<p>‘How is Captain Butler? Are you married -yet, Marian? Oh, there’s a lot for me to -hear! I haven’t had a syllable of home news -since we left Sydney. We’ve made a ripping -passage home—seventy-eight days from -Sydney Heads to Soundings.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span>‘When shall I see you, dear?’</p> - -<p>‘The moment the ship’s in dock I’ll go -home. Father can’t have heard that the -ship’s in the river, or he or mother would -be here to meet me, wouldn’t they? If -you’re going straight ashore, Marian, and ’ll -be seeing them soon, tell ’em I shall be home -this afternoon, and ’ll be glad of a good blow-out—roast -beef to be the main thing; I don’t -care what they surround it with. I’m stiff -with the brine of the harness cask. Is -Captain Butler in England?’</p> - -<p>‘You shall have all the news when I see -you at my house, Will. You are busy now. -We’ll meet to-morrow, Will.’</p> - -<p>‘To-night, to-night, Marian! I have a -hundred fine yarns to spin you.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank God you are safely returned,’ -said I, and kissing my hand to him, I sank -into my seat, and the boatman plied his oars.</p> - -<p>‘Fine young gent, that,’ said the boatman, -‘but a first voyager, I lay. Them young -gents is all for eating after the first voyage; -after the second they’s all for drinking. And -who’s a-going to blame ’em?’ said he, smacking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -his lips. ‘Didn’t Noah himself take to -drink after a few weeks of the Ark—and -yon’s a nine months’ job.’</p> - -<p>I paid the man, landed, walked till I came -to a coach and drove to Stepney. I remained -alone and at home for the remainder of the -day. My heart ached, and sometimes I wept; -yet I was thankful to have seen Tom, thankful -to know he was sure now that I was -faithful to him, thankful for all that had -passed between us, few as our words had -been. In the evening I received a note from -my aunt telling me that Will was returned, -and begging me to come to supper. I sent -word by the messenger that I was low and -poorly, and hoped to see Will at my house -very soon.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br /> - - -<small>SHE RAMBLES WITH HER COUSIN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I breakfasted</span> somewhat late next morning, -and whilst the cloth was still on the table -my maid announced Will. I sprang up to -greet him and gave him a hearty hug. He -had grown during his absence into a handsome, -fine young fellow. His eyes seemed to -sparkle with the gleams of the sea; he was -coloured a rich, manly brown, and no young -fellow that ever I remember had so completely -the look of a saucy and spirited young English -sailor. The sight of him so near, and in -my room, dimmed my eyes. I thought of -our holiday rambles when Tom was by my -side, when all was music and laughter and -the sweetness of flowers, and sleep filled with -soft dreams.</p> - -<p>‘Mother and father met me, after all, -Marian,’ said he, throwing his cap on to a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> -sofa. ‘They are waiting for me at the ship’s -berth. But what terrible news! Poor -Marian!’ And in the fulness of his heart, -unable to say more just then, he came across -and kissed me. I sobbed aloud even while I -felt the comfort of his sympathy. ‘But he -never did it, Marian. Father told me the -whole story. They’ve got a paper containing -the trial at home, and I read it carefully -through last night. Rotch and Nodder are -villains. If Captain Butler had been tried by -a judge and jury of sailors he’d have been -acquitted.’</p> - -<p>‘He’s as innocent as you, Will.’</p> - -<p>‘And sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation! -Why, that’s almost a life-sentence -at his age. Where is he now?’</p> - -<p>‘In the <i>Warrior</i> hulk, off Woolwich.’</p> - -<p>‘Were you coming from him when I saw -you yesterday?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, dear.’</p> - -<p>‘Poor Marian! Father fears he’s guilty; -but he’s not—I’ll swear it. Why, I have his -face before me now,’ he cried with his eyes -kindling. ‘He could not do a wrong. And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> -how he loved you, Marian! But what’s to -be done?’ He walked with a rolling gait -about the room. ‘I’d do anything to make -you happy. Little I guessed what had happened -when I asked you yesterday if you -were married to him.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall follow him to Australia, Will.’</p> - -<p>‘Mother says that’s your idea. But what -will you do when you get there? He’ll be -as much a prisoner in Australia as here, -won’t he?’</p> - -<p>‘No. I’ve read and found out. I’ve -learned all I wanted to know from Mr. Woolfe,’ -said I, naming the sharp young attorney that -had been a clerk to my uncle. ‘Certainly, a -man is still a convict when he arrives, and he -remains a convict; but he’s not locked up in -hulks and jails. The Government puts the -men into barracks when they arrive, and -lends them out to those who want labourers -and servants and help. Tom will rank as a -gentleman convict; he’s good with his pen -and he’s a scholar, Will; they may make him -a clerk. He is not a mechanic, and he’s too -good to send to the roads.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span>‘How do you know all this, old woman?’</p> - -<p>‘I know very much more, Will,’ said I, -smiling in my sadness. ‘Could I love Tom -and not learn all that lies before him as -though I was to share it? If they would -put me to work in the dockyard by his side, -how happy I should be! If they’d but lock -me up in that horrible hulk with him—but -they’ll not be able to separate us, Will. Oh, -I have a fine scheme! When he sails I’ll -follow in the next ship. I have money, and -I’ll establish myself, and I’ll ask for a servant, -and bribe and bribe until I get Tom, and if I -fail I am still near him. They may give him -a ticket-of-leave quickly; they must give him -a ticket-of-leave in six years if he behaves -well. If—if—but oh, he’ll behave well!’</p> - -<p>‘How your eyes flash! You’re as red as -fire! You’ve got a magnificent spirit! I -always said so. You’re a splendid woman, -and you’ll make it right for both of you, -yet.’</p> - -<p>‘Is my scheme wicked?’</p> - -<p>‘No, no!’</p> - -<p>‘Is it wrong for a woman who loves a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -man to be true to him to the grave, let what -will happen before death?’</p> - -<p>‘It is right!’ he cried.</p> - -<p>‘Uncle would have me break with Tom. -So would aunt. Tom is first with me after -my God.’</p> - -<p>He clapped his hands and hurrahed like -a boy.</p> - -<p>‘Can I see him?’</p> - -<p>‘Not for another three months.’</p> - -<p>He struck his knee with his fist and -smothered a sea oath.</p> - -<p>This sort of talk, however, was no very -cheery welcome on my part to the poor lad; -so I presently got him to tell me about his -voyage and how he liked the sea, and when -he was again to sail, and I then gave him five -pounds which I had put aside for him; his -father, though a hospitable man, kept Will a -little short. I wished the boy, after his long -months at sea, to pass a jolly holiday, and -told him when he kissed and thanked me, -that another five should be his when that was -spent.</p> - -<p>‘We’ll go a-rambling again, Marian,’ said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -he. ‘Those were fine times. You’re white -with trouble, and some of those milk and -buttercup trips we used to take will do you -good.’</p> - -<p>I sighed and made no answer. He went -to Tom’s miniature and stood looking at it; -then began to talk again with eagerness and -enthusiasm about my scheme of following my -sweetheart.</p> - -<p>‘And why shouldn’t you go?’ said he, -pacing the room. ‘You’re alone in the -world, and Tom’s first and everything to you. -Father and mother won’t like your going, -and you’ll be sorry to leave them, but they’re -not your parents. Tom’s all in all. If I -loved a girl as you love Tom she’d be all in -all to me, and I’d follow her whilst a stick -lasted, till the plank grew as thin as a sailor’s -shirt. But there’s this in my mind, Marian—before -you start in pursuit, you must know -where Captain Butler has been sent to.’</p> - -<p>‘He’ll know and tell me.’</p> - -<p>‘Suppose he should be sent to Hobart -Town and you make sail to Sydney, believing -him there? You don’t know how big all that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -part of the world is. There’s a story of an -Irishman who bought a commission in the -71st in order that he might be near his -brother in the 70th. Have you got an atlas? -Hobart Town’s a mighty long way from -Botany Bay.’</p> - -<p>‘He’ll tell me the settlement.’</p> - -<p>‘But suppose it should be Norfolk Island? -One of our Jacks knew that settlement. The -frightfulest ruffians go there. The sailor said -that when the convicts are removed they’re -double cross ironed and chained down to -the deck. Everybody’s afraid of them. -Now what would you do there in a settlement -of a few troops and scores of horrible -villains?’</p> - -<p>I smiled and said: ‘Where Tom is sent, -I go;’ and then starting up, and flashing -upon him in my old hot-tempered impulsive -fashion, I cried: ‘I know all about Norfolk -Island; I shall know what to do, Will.’ I -sobered my voice and added, ‘I have been -scheming for months all alone, dear. All the -while that my darling has been in jail I have -been planning and planning. I care not what<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> -the settlement be; let me have its name and -I am ready.’</p> - -<p>Will stayed an hour talking with me in -my rooms. He then made me put on my -hat and go for a walk.</p> - -<p>From this time we were as often together -as though we had been brother and sister -and lived in the same house. His company -wonderfully cheered and supported me. I -loved him for his affectionate sympathy; -above all for his seeing things just as I did. -On this account I was more frequently at my -aunt’s than before his return from sea. She -and my uncle sometimes talked of Tom, but -never now in a way to vex me. They both -knew my character; they witnessed the faith -and devotion in my face whenever my sweetheart’s -name was pronounced; they had -gathered with the utmost significance from -Will what my intention was when Tom should -be sent across the seas, and saw the hopelessness -of entreaty. Indeed, I was my own -mistress. I was of age; I was answerable to -no one. They knew all this and held their -peace, though both of them, and my aunt<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -especially, were secretly very uneasy and -distressed by my loyalty to a convict.</p> - -<p>I had told Tom that I would be near him -in person, and once I had a mind to take a -lodging in Woolwich; but Stepney was not -too far distant to enable me to easily satisfy -my craving and fulfil my promise to be near -him often; moreover, I never knew from day -to day when I might hear that he was to be -transhipped, and I wished to be ready to -swiftly complete all my arrangements to -follow him. And that is why I remained at -home in Stepney instead of taking a lodging -near the dockyard at Woolwich, though over -and over again, sometimes four and sometimes -five times a week, would I hire a boat -and hang about the <i>Warrior</i> hulk.</p> - -<p>Mr. Woolfe had got me the regulations of -the prison ship; I knew at what time the -convicts went ashore to their forced labour, -the hour they returned to dinner, when they -returned again to their tea or supper, and at -what time the hatches were put over them -and padlocked for the night. Indeed, I could -say off the regulations and every article in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -the list of the prison fare by heart, and I -lived in imagination in the horrid routine of -the ship.</p> - -<p>I once had a burning desire to visit the -huge hulk at night when all the people were -at rest in their hammocks within her and the -hatches on. I had plenty of spirit as a young -woman, and was, on the whole, a fearless -young creature; but I own I shrank from -trusting myself alone in a wherry at night on -the Thames with one of the watermen of those -times. I asked Will if he would accompany -me. He cheerfully consented, and I arranged -with a fellow at Wapping to await us at -Blackwall, to save the circuit at Limehouse -and Greenwich Reaches.</p> - -<p>It was a night about the middle of September, -somewhat cold, but not uncomfortably -so. We reached the hulk, and lay off -her close in, the waterman quietly plying to -keep his boat steady in the stream. The sky -was dim and the stars gleamed sparely; there -was just weight enough of wind to run the -water sobbing along the bends of the towering, -motionless old seventy-four. The shore<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -was dotted with spots of light, and under -every one of them a thread of gold wavered -like a wriggling eel striking for the depths. -The deep hush of the night lay sensibly as -the darkness itself upon the flat marshes of -Plumstead and across the river where the -Plaistow level stretched. The passing ships -went by silent as shadows. Now and again -a man’s voice would sound aboard one of -them; I’d hear the rumbling of a yard suddenly -let go or the rattling of the hanks of -canvas leisurely hoisting. Here and there -the grated ports of the hulk showed in a -square of dim light, but even as I watched a -clear-tongued bell on board was twice struck.</p> - -<p>‘Nine o’clock,’ said Will, and as though -a cloud had passed over the huge fabric every -light went out; the white bands of the -checkered sides seemed to hover out upon -the eye—pallid and ghastly with their wild -grin of grated ports; the pole masts died out -away up in the gloom.</p> - -<p>‘How many convicts are there aboard?’ -asked Will.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span>‘Over four hundred, sir,’ answered the -waterman.</p> - -<p>The lad seemed awed by the thought of -that number. Not yet would sleep have -visited the weariest of those eyes within, -and the fancy of the mass of human suffering -and crime and sorrow lying mute and awake, -with no other sound about the ship than the -sob of running water, made the silence of her -awful. I stood up, and my heart gave away -in a cry of passion and misery, and scarcely -sensible of what I did I extended my arms -toward the hulk and moaned:</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Tom! Oh, Tom! Why were you -taken from me? What has been your sin -that you should be there?’ and then I broke -into a strangled fit of crying.</p> - -<p>Will pulled me gently on to a seat and -fondled me and told me to keep up my -courage, for that I had spirit enough to bring -things right.</p> - -<p>‘Boat, ahoy! What boat is that?’ was -shouted from the gangway of the hulk.</p> - -<p>The waterman answered.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span>‘Shove ahead with you!’ cried the voice. -‘No boats are allowed to lie off here.’</p> - -<p>‘Pull for Blackwall,’ said Will.</p> - -<p>‘And time, too,’ said the waterman as -he swept the boat’s head around. ‘They’re -armed with loaded carbines up there, and -they’d make no more of sending a ball -through a man’s head than drinkin’ his -health.’</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - - -<small>SHE CONCEIVES A STRANGE IDEA</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> Friday, October 18, I went to drink tea -and sup with my aunt, whom I had not -visited nor indeed seen for nearly a fortnight. -Whilst we sat at tea, my uncle being present, -Will came into the room; his manner was -rather excited, he entered with some vehemence, -and looking around at us cried out:</p> - -<p>‘What do you think?’</p> - -<p>‘What?’ asked my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘The tender of the owners of the <i>Childe -Harold</i> has been accepted, and we are to load -convicts for one of the settlements early next -month.’</p> - -<p>I started, then sat motionless, feeling my -cheeks bloodless.</p> - -<p>‘Who told you this?’ said my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Bates. I met him in the Minories. -He only got the news this afternoon.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span>‘Convicts?’ said my aunt. ‘I don’t like -the idea of your going out in a convict ship.’</p> - -<p>‘Safe as the Bank of England,’ said my -uncle. ‘They carry plenty of soldiers, plenty -of sailors, and a large freight of handcuffs and -irons. What more would you have?’</p> - -<p>‘Suppose Captain Butler should be put -into our ship!’ exclaimed Will, looking at me.</p> - -<p>I could not make him any answer then.</p> - -<p>‘The chances are a hundred to one against -such a probability,’ exclaimed my uncle. ‘It -is a big convict ship that takes out three -hundred felons. How many have you aboard -the Thames’s hulks alone? Not less than -one thousand, I dare say. Then batches are -picked up at Portsmouth and Plymouth. -Consider the odds. Besides, Butler has served -no time in the hulks. Yet it would be extraordinary -should it come to pass,’ he added -musingly.</p> - -<p>‘The ship goes to Deptford to be equipped—I -don’t know when,’ said Will.</p> - -<p>‘Will the <i>Childe Harold</i> be the only convict -ship of her date?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘That’s to be found out,’ said Will.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span>‘I’ll find out!’ I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>‘Why do you ask, Marian?’ said my slow-minded -aunt.</p> - -<p>‘Tom is to tell me when he sails,’ I -replied. ‘If his date is to be the <i>Childe -Harold’s</i> date, and if there should be no other -vessel, Will’s ship will be Tom’s ship.’</p> - -<p>My aunt averted her face as though annoyed -by my coupling Will with Tom in the -same breath.</p> - -<p>Having begun to talk, I continued; and -our conversation for some time was all about -the <i>Childe Harold</i> and convict ships. My -uncle knew a good deal about this sort of -vessel. Long association with seafaring -people had taught him much that is not -commonly known to lawyers. He explained -that ships chartered for convicts often went -to Deptford to fit out. The lower decks -were cleared fore and aft; strong bulkheads -of oak, frequently loopholed for muskets, -erected; hatchway openings strongly -railed and protected; bed-boards set up in -tiers within the whole length of the prison, -after the manner of a soldiers’ guard-room.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span>‘I dare say,’ said he, ‘the <i>Childe Harold</i> -will get about five pounds a ton. Not bad -pay, as times go. The captain receives so -much a head for every man delivered in the -colony. This makes him careful. Formerly, -the skipper took the job in the lump, and the -more deaths during the voyage the better, -because deaths saved victuals. If Butler -wants to sail I hope he’s pretty well.’</p> - -<p>‘Why?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘They’ll carry no sickly convicts to sea,’ -said he. ‘The surgeon inspects the fellows -and rejects those whom he considers unfit for -the voyage. But they’re mostly so wild to -get transported that they’d cheat Old Nick -himself; and I’ve heard of surgeons being -humbugged into taking men who died before -the Scillys were fairly astern.’</p> - -<p>‘Tom, when I saw him,’ said I, ‘was as -strong and well as it was possible for a man -to be who is everyday put to killing work.’</p> - -<p>My aunt eyed me askant; my uncle softly -drummed upon the table and then suddenly -burst into a speech on the delights of transportation. -He felt strongly on this point.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -He said he knew of country labourers who -had called upon the parson of the parish to -know what crime they could commit to insure -their being transported.</p> - -<p>‘Letters are read in village ale-houses,’ -said he, ‘from rogues who are making money -and doing well in New South Wales or Tasmania. -The writers hail from the district, -and they tell their friends how Bob, whom -the country-side knows and who was transported -for burglary, is receiving a hundred -a year as tapster at a tavern, and how Bill, -who was lagged for stealing wheat, has taken -a large farm near Sydney. Transportation -ought to increase crime in this country. I -am not surprised that the people of Australia -should be apprehensive that morality is on -the increase amongst us.’</p> - -<p>‘How do the respectable people out there,’ -inquired my aunt, ‘relish our turning their -country into a dustbin for our own vile sweepings -and offal?’</p> - -<p>‘The system’s liked. We send them -labour for nothing. Labour they must have, -and they get it free. In the West Indies<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -they have to pay handsomely for slaves; in -the colonies the slaves called convicts cost -their masters nothing but their keep.’</p> - -<p>‘Let us change the subject,’ said my aunt; -‘really all this talk of convicts and transportation -makes me feel as if one was just out -of jail oneself. I wish they would give Will -another vessel. I do not at all like the idea -of a convict ship.’</p> - -<p>‘Pshaw!’ exclaimed my uncle, and left -the room.</p> - -<p>Next day I called upon Mr. Woolfe and -requested him carefully to ascertain what or -how many ships had been accepted by tender -for the transport of criminals between this -and a date I named to him. I promised him -a handsome fee if he could accurately find -this out for me. I don’t know how he went -to work; probably he obtained his information -direct from the Admiralty; I did not inquire. -But in a few days he managed to -learn all I desired to know, and without my -having told him that I was aware the <i>Childe -Harold’s</i> tender had been accepted, he informed -me that the only transport taken up,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -the only ship, indeed, whose services were -required down to the end of the year, was -the <i>Childe Harold</i>, and that Government -would not call for further tenders till the -following spring.</p> - -<p>I came down one morning to breakfast, -and the first thing I saw lying upon my table -was a peculiar-looking letter. I snatched it -up, and instantly saw that the handwriting -was Tom’s. It was not three months since I -had visited him, and therefore I instinctively -guessed that he was about to be removed, and -that leave had been granted him to communicate -with his friends. It was a supreme -moment; it was a crisis in my life. My -hand shook; I could scarcely open the letter. -It was a prison sheet, with certain jail-rules -of which I forget the nature printed in a -corner. The letter ran thus:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Marian</span>: I am permitted to -write that I may inform you I have been -told by the governor I am to make one of a -batch of convicts to be removed from this -hulk for transportation to Hobart Town, Van<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -Diemen’s Land, by a ship sailing on or about -November 12. I hope you are quite well. -I am tolerably so. I have nothing to complain -of, but I shall be glad when the time -comes for our departure. The rules will permit -you to pay me a visit to bid me farewell.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="gapright">‘Yours affectionately,</span><br /> -‘<span class="smcap">Thomas Butler</span>.’ -</p></div> - -<p>I easily understood the meaning of the -cold, formal style of this letter. A single -injudicious sentence might have caused the -governor, through whose hands it passed, to -withhold or destroy it. Tom was right; he -could not deliver himself too briefly and dispassionately.</p> - -<p>I read this letter a dozen times over and -kissed it as often. It seemed that an extraordinary -coincidence was about to happen; -I mean that the vessel in which Will was an -apprentice was to prove the very ship which -would carry Tom across the seas. I was -strangely agitated; in a manner semi-delirious -with the sudden wild play and -disorder of my spirits. Tom was to be transported<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -to Van Diemen’s Land. I would follow -him. I would immediately find out if -any vessel was sailing for Hobart on or about -the date of the <i>Childe Harold’s</i> departure. -But, then, suppose the destination of the -<i>Childe Harold</i> should be changed without -my knowing it! Or suppose she should sail -without Tom, whilst I, not guessing this, -should be on my way to the ends of the -earth, thinking to find him there!</p> - -<p>I read the letter again. I paced the room -as though I had gone mad. My maid put -the breakfast on the table, but I could not -look at food. Why, how could I be sure of -my ever meeting Tom again, of my ever -seeing him or hearing of him, indeed, if I did -not go out in the same ship with him, if I -was not certain that he was not one of the -convicts on board?</p> - -<p>How was this to be done? I bitterly well -knew that no passengers were received in -Government felon transports? Could I obtain -a berth in the <i>Childe Harold</i> as stewardess? -Was there any sort of post aboard her that -I, as a woman, was qualified to fill?</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span>Whilst I thus thought, half distracted by -the hurry and confusion my mind was in, I -stopped at the window and, looking out, saw -a young sailor walking on the pavement opposite. -He was dressed in pilot cloth and a -cloth cap, and was a very pretty lad; perhaps -sixteen years old; something girlish in -his looks, however, his hair being of a pale -gold, his figure thin and his face without -colour. He came to a stand, with his face my -way, and laughed at something that was happening -under my window; perhaps a dog -fight, but I was too full of thought to take -notice of the noise of the curs. My eye dwelt -upon the pretty lad with a sort of pleasure. -He looked up and saw me, and kissed his -hand, but so girlishly and childishly that, -though I instantly drew back, I did not somehow -feel offended. When I peered again he -was gone.</p> - -<p>All on a sudden an extraordinary idea -entered my head. It had been put into it by -the sight of that girlish-looking sailor lad. -I set off pacing the room afresh, frowning, -talking aloud to myself, halting to smite my -hands together.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span>‘It is to be done!’ I kept on thinking. -‘It will be the surest and the only way! -Why did not I think of it at once?’</p> - -<p>And then I placed myself opposite a long -glass that reached to the floor and surveyed -my figure, turning myself on this side and -then on that. My eyes shone. My cheeks -were as full of colour as though I had been -burnt by the sun. I lifted my dress to clear -my ankles, and stepped backward and forward -before the mirror, imitating as best I -could the peculiar rolling gait I had always -admired in Tom.</p> - -<p>I had arranged with my cousin to take a -plain dinner with me at one o’clock, and we -were then to take a turn in the West End. -But for this having been settled, I must have -sought him at his house at once, and traced -him to wherever he might have gone, so -crazy was I with the eagerness and hope my -extraordinary, startling idea had raised in me. -I could not bear to sit alone; never did time -pass so slowly; I’d look at the clock and find -that only a few minutes had passed, when I -could swear that half an hour was gone.</p> - -<p>I put on my hat and walked toward Whitechapel,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -and paused at the window of every -marine outfitter’s shop I came to. From one -of these shops a black-looking fellow with a -great hooked nose and a white hat stepped -forth and accosted me in a thick lisp. He -asked me what I would like to buy. I -pointed to a monkey jacket in his window, -and inquired the price. He said I should -have it, a bargain, and named four pounds. -I was moving on, when he begged me not to -be in a hurry. Would I give three pounds -ten shillings? I told him that I did not wish -to buy; he followed me a considerable distance, -lisping first in one ear and then in the -other:</p> - -<p>‘Vhat vould you give? Vould you give -three pounds? Vould you give fifty bob -and an old dress? Have you any old shilver -to exchange or shell?’</p> - -<p>He quitted me at last; but though I -looked into other outfitters’ shops, I asked -no more questions.</p> - -<p>When I reached home, I found that my -cousin had arrived. I ran up to him, and -exclaimed:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span>‘Will, I have heard from Tom! Read -the letter! Here it is! It reached me this -morning!’</p> - -<p>He said with a grimace:</p> - -<p>‘The very paper they make them use has -an Old Bailey look.’ He then read the letter, -and cried out: ‘Why, Marian, this seems as -though we were to take him!’</p> - -<p>‘Yours is the only ship, Will. I am certain -Tom will go with you. Is it not extraordinary?’</p> - -<p>He looked at the letter again and said:</p> - -<p>‘The dates tally. I was at the office of -the owners yesterday, and I learn that we -sail about the 12th. But Tom speaks here -of Van Diemen’s Land. That’s certainly not -known at the office. I asked the question, -and they said it was not known whether it -was to be Launceston or Hobart Town or -Sydney.’</p> - -<p>‘It will be all the same,’ I replied, ‘so -long as he goes in your ship.’</p> - -<p>‘I hope it won’t be to Norfolk Island, for -his sake. You look strange, Marian. What’s -put all that fire into your eyes? And you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -breathe as if you’d been running. Tom’s -letter has upset you.’</p> - -<p>‘It has done me so much good that I feel -almost a child again, Will.’</p> - -<p>He took the letter from me to look at it, -as though my words had made him doubt -that he had gathered its import.</p> - -<p>‘But, Marian,’ said he, ‘he’ll be leaving -the country next month.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, dear?’</p> - -<p>‘Isn’t that separation? I mean, it’s not -like having him within reach of even a three-month -visit.’</p> - -<p>‘There’ll be no separation,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘You really mean to follow him?’ I -viewed him steadily without speaking. -‘Alone, as you are?’ he continued. ‘All -the way to the other side of the world, -where you haven’t a friend and where the -chances are—the chances are—’ he repeated -slowly, then paused and cried out: ‘Why, -yes, you have the love and spirit to do it, -and when done it will be nobly done, to my -way of thinking. But it will be like making -a felon of yourself, Marian.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span>I put my hand on his shoulder and looked -him in the eyes.</p> - -<p>‘You know, Will, I couldn’t live separated -from Tom.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t stare so. What eyes you have! -Do they shine in the dark?’</p> - -<p>‘He is an innocent, suffering man, and I -am as much his wife at heart as though his -wedding-ring were on my finger. I mean to -do more than follow him. If he goes in your -ship I shall sail with him.’</p> - -<p>The young fellow drew backward from -my hand with a movement of astonishment.</p> - -<p>‘Impossible!’ he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>‘Stop! Before you say a word—but -stay: wait till we have dined. I have much -to talk to you about. There will be no going -to St. James’s Park this afternoon.’</p> - -<p>My maid had entered to lay the cloth, -and I broke off nodding and smiling at him, -and went upstairs to remove my outdoor -things.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - - -<small>SHE DRESSES AS A BOY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> our sitting down to dinner I made him -gather by my looks that I would talk of -anything sooner than Tom before my maid. -When I had dismissed the girl, Will lay back -in his chair and said: ‘It will be a withering -stiff joke, Marian, if Butler sails in the <i>Childe -Harold</i>. It will be precious awkward for -me. I shan’t be able to speak to him, I suppose—not -even to nod, I dare say. A perfectly -innocent man, too; one of the best -sailors out of London or Liverpool, a man -who’s dined with father and mother and been -a welcome guest at their house.’</p> - -<p>I waited a moment and then said: ‘And -my sweetheart, and husband some day. Why -didn’t you add that?’</p> - -<p>‘It was at the end of my tongue. It’ll -increase the awkwardness. It’s beastly unpleasant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> -enough to see the friend of your -family dressed as a Newgate dandy and in -chains, but when you’ve got to cut him—I -mean when the sentinels won’t let you look -at him—he being all the while your first and -only cousin’s sweetheart and engaged to be -married to her! But if he’s to be one of our -convicts, I’ll take some big risks, Marian, to -let him know that I consider him as innocent -as I am, and that I’m all his friend down to -the very heels of me.’</p> - -<p>‘Will, I have an idea, and I want you to -help me to carry it out.’</p> - -<p>‘What is it?’</p> - -<p>‘Do you love me?’</p> - -<p>‘With all my heart, and will do anything -I can or dare do for you and Tom.’</p> - -<p>‘Tom is sure to sail in your ship, and I -must sail in her too.’</p> - -<p>‘But how? But how?’ said he, a little -petulantly. ‘Haven’t I told you that the ship -won’t book passengers? They’ll reconstruct -her below decks fore and aft, and every inch -of her is hired for the lodging of convicts and -soldiers and sailors.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span>‘I mean to sail in her for all that. It’s to -be done, and I’ll tell you how I mean to do it.’ -And here I got up and began to pace about -the room with excitement whilst I talked. ‘I -can’t ship as a woman, but I can ship as a boy -and as a stowaway.’</p> - -<p>His face screwed itself up into a strange -expression of mingled mirth and amazement.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll make a smart-looking boy,’ I continued. -‘I saw a lad this morning that might -well have been a girl. The sight of him put -this scheme into my head. I’ll get my hair -cut close and dress as you do. I’ll have a -story ready; I’ll take a name, and when I’m -discovered I’m just a common runaway, one -of the scores of lads and grown men who every -year sneak into ships and coil themselves out -of sight and turn up far out at sea. And you -tell me, Will, this isn’t to be done?’</p> - -<p>‘You’d do anything. You’d scrub Old -Nick white. What wouldn’t you do for Tom?’ -said he, still preserving his kind of gaping -look. ‘But you’re never in earnest, Marian?’</p> - -<p>‘I swear by my dead father, I am, then,’ -said I, confronting him and speaking in deep<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -tones which trembled with passion, enthusiasm, -and resolution.</p> - -<p>‘You’ll get no clothes to deceive the eye -with that figure of yours,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘If that’s the sole objection, come here to-morrow, -Will.’</p> - -<p>‘The sole objection!’ he cried. ‘One of -a score, you mean. What do you know about -the sea? Oh, yes, you can give the names of -things; but call yourself a stowaway, and tell -me where you’re going to hide?’</p> - -<p>‘You shall tell me,’ said I, sitting close -beside him.</p> - -<p>He ran his eyes over the room whilst he -reflected, and said: ‘Here’s to be a gutted -ship; keep that in mind. Down aft ’ud be -out of the question; they’d have you out -before you warmed the hole you hid in, and -you’d be ashore packing along with a constable -before the Isle of Dogs was out of sight.’</p> - -<p>‘Then it won’t be aft,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘Forward! Why, yes,’ he went on, -continuing to run his eyes over the room, in -his struggles to realise the inside of his ship. -‘There’s the fore-peak—a big rat-trap, full of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -coals, spare swabs, broom-handles and oil-cans. -Could you hide down there?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>‘What! In blackness? Midnight with a -dense fog isn’t in it for blackness alongside -the fore-peak with a hatch on.’</p> - -<p>‘What care I for blackness? I know -where the fore-peak is. It’s a place right -forward under the forecastle. It’ll be the -place for me to hide in. You’ll be able easily -to contrive to help me to drop below into it.’</p> - -<p>‘You’re never in earnest?’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t say that! I must be with Tom. -I have sworn to myself to follow him, and -wouldn’t it be a sure way, the only sure way, -of my being with him, of my getting to the -same place he’s bound to, of my ending all -risks of missing him and finding that he’d been -sent to another settlement which, without -friends to help me, I might never be able to -hear of—wouldn’t my sailing in his ship be -the only sure way for him and me to keep -together?’</p> - -<p>The young fellow grew thoughtful as he -listened.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span>‘I don’t say,’ he exclaimed, ‘that it’s quite -impossible; but look here, Marian. Suppose, -if only for the sake of argument, I call over -the roll of such objections as occur to me.’</p> - -<p>‘Do so.’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll suppose that you are dressed as a boy -and that you deceive the eye.’ I nodded. -‘I’ve agreed to sneak you on board, but how -am I to do it.’</p> - -<p>‘A little thinking will show us.’</p> - -<p>‘I succeed,’ he continued, ‘in getting you -into the fore-peak unobserved. How long are -you to be kept below?’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll go on board,’ said I, ‘when the ship -is alongside the hulk. I’m your friend, a -visitor. You’ll be on the look-out for me. -Who’ll notice us? You’ll easily walk me -forward under pretence of showing me the -ship. Tell me this: Where do you ship your -crew?’</p> - -<p>‘At Gravesend.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you sure?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I’m sure. The ship’s worked by -lumpers and riggers till the convicts are -aboard. We then drop down to Gravesend<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -and await the crew, who arrive in a hoy in -charge of a crimp. All this I know. You -may take my word for it.’</p> - -<p>‘Who occupies the forecastle until the -crew come on board?’</p> - -<p>‘Nobody. The lumpers and riggers sleep -ashore.’ His eyes brightened, and he cried: -‘I see what you’re driving at! You’ve thought -it out pretty closely, Marian! But you’re -never in earnest, surely?’</p> - -<p>‘Go on with your objections, dear.’</p> - -<p>‘We’ll suppose you’re safely stowed away -in the fore-peak. The convicts come on board. -I keep a bright look-out, and find that Butler -is not one of them?’</p> - -<p>‘I have considered that,’ said I. ‘You’ll -manage to communicate with me. If Tom is -not one of the convicts, I must come out of -my hiding-place whilst the captain is able to -send me ashore. If Tom’s on board, I’ll not -want to hear from you till England’s miles -astern.’</p> - -<p>‘How am I to communicate with you -down in the fore-peak?’</p> - -<p>‘You’ll find out, dear. There are ways. -And aren’t you a sailor, Will?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span>He laughed, but without much merriment, -and said: ‘Suppose I smuggle you into the -fore-peak when we’re off Woolwich. We may -be a week beating down Channel, and another -week before we’ve got far enough to suit you -to show yourself. Head winds are head winds -at sea. How are you going to feed yourself -in the black hole?’</p> - -<p>‘We’ll lay in a stock of provisions,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘Who’s to stow the grub?’</p> - -<p>‘You—by degrees.’</p> - -<p>He laughed again and said: ‘How are -you going to find where the food is? You’re -not to be trusted with a light down there, you -know.’</p> - -<p>‘The food must be placed where I can put -my hand on it in the dark.’</p> - -<p>‘And before we’ve been twenty-four hours -under way the hatch is lifted, and down drops -a huge whiskered man called a bo’sun with a -lighted lantern right on top of you.’</p> - -<p>‘No hatch can be lifted in such a hurry,’ -said I, ‘but that I can find time to hide myself. -But pray go on spinning these little cobwebs -which you call difficulties.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span>‘I’ve knocked up a regular barricade -already,’ said he; ‘something bigger than -you’re going to climb, Marian.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you think so?’ I said, smiling. ‘Well, -I’ll heighten your barricade for you, and still -you shall help me to scale it. I’m a boy -stowaway; I must carry nothing to sea but the -clothes I stand in. But you’ll ship a large -crew, and you’ll have a big slop-chest, so -there’ll be the materials for a rig-out when I -want one. I emerge when the proper time -comes and am walked aft to the captain. -Now, what will he do with me? He may put -me on the articles as an ordinary seaman. -That must certainly end in my helping the -cook or doing cabin-work. But then, there’s -my sex to fall back upon in case of impracticable -duties. I declare myself a woman—let -them invent a motive for my being on board; -they’ll find me dumb in that. Some of the -guard are sure to be married, the wives will -be on board, and there’ll be female quarters -for me if I own my sex. But it will be a -strong forcing of my hand to bring me to it. -Once a boy, Will, I’m a boy till I step ashore.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span>He stared at me with admiration and -excitement, as though he listened to some -wild, romantic story of adventure.</p> - -<p>‘All that is material lies shaped in my -mind,’ I went on. ‘Of course, a great deal -must be left to chance.’</p> - -<p>‘What will father and mother think?’</p> - -<p>‘They mustn’t know. Why need they -know, Will? Put it thus: In any case I go -where Tom is sent. That being certain, what -can it signify to aunt and uncle how I go? -Instead of following in a passenger ship, I -choose to make sure of my object in leaving -home by putting myself into the same vessel -with Tom. Your telling your father would -only lead to this: He and your mother will -tease me to death with representations of my -folly without causing me to swerve a hair’s-breadth -in my resolution. And they might -do me this mischief: with the best intentions -in the world, they might inform your captain -that I mean to dress up as a boy and hide -myself in his fore-peak. No, not a word to -father or mother, Will. This is quite my -business and our secret.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span>All the while I was talking I was pacing -the room, occasionally stopping to gesticulate -or to approach him close and grasp him by -the arm. Now he got up and began to walk -about, too, rolling to and fro as though the -floor had been a ship’s quarter-deck, whilst -he swore that I had too much spirit for a -woman, that my scheme was too daring, that -if I knew what a fore-peak was like in a heavy -head sea, with the prospect of a fortnight of -blackness along with the risk of dying of -hunger and thirst, without possibility of escape -unless I was liberated, I’d quit the scheme as -hopeless.</p> - -<p>But all this I had expected. I had never -dreamed he would immediately come into my -plans. He said he raised objections for my -sake, not for his own. To be sure, he would -get into very serious trouble if it was discovered -he had helped me to smuggle myself -into the ship. He was willing to take all risks -to do me a vast service and to make me -happy; but wasn’t it his duty to keep me, his -cousin, a handsome, well-nurtured, fine young -woman, out of the black and filthy fore-peak<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -of a merchantman and preserve me from what -might follow discovery?</p> - -<p>I let him talk and feigned to sympathise -with his generous, sympathetic dread of the -consequence of my scheme. Yet some time -before we sat down to the tea and toast I rang -for, I had worked him by entreaty, sometimes -by tears, by eager impassioned representations -of possibilities of my plan into a partially -acquiescent mood. He kissed me, held my -hand, called me his sister, declared he would -help me if he dared; I must give him time to -think; he’d go on board his ship and take a -look round and talk over the matter with me -again. We arranged a meeting for the day -after next, and he left me after solemnly -promising to keep my plan and our conversation -secret.</p> - -<p>I sat alone all that evening thinking of this -long talk. One objection of his perhaps sunk -a little with me when I was by myself musing; -he had figured me arriving at Hobart Town -where I was without a friend, and he had -imagined Tom being sent up country to a -part where the only house for miles might be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -the person’s to whom the Government handed -him. But I resolutely said to myself: I must -take my chance; this may not happen; in -any case I shall be in the country where my -sweetheart is.</p> - -<p>Partly to please myself, and partly to -convince my cousin, I went to a large outfitter’s -shop in the Minories next morning, -and representing that I wished to make a -present of a suit of clothes to a young sailor -friend I asked the shopman to show me a -number of sizes in pilot coats and cloth -trousers. I said that I was about the height -and breadth of the young man for whom I -wished to buy the clothes. The shopman -measured me round my chest, took the length -of my arms and of my figure and then made -up a parcel of the clothing that came nearest -to the measurements. A lad walked behind -me to my house with this bundle, and sat in -the hall whilst I took the clothes to my bedroom -and secretly put them on.</p> - -<p>The first suit I tried fitted me as though -cut for my shape; though the material was -stout, it buttoned loosely over me and gave<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -me the chest of a plump lad. The trousers -had the flowing cut of the tarpaulins of those -days; the swell of the cloth at the extremities -made my feet look ridiculously small, and I -saw that I should require stout boots if my -feet were not to betray me.</p> - -<p>I stood in front of the glass and was -perfectly well satisfied with the figure I made. -I have already said that my beauty inclined -toward coarseness, and I counted upon this as -a perfecting touch for the masquerade when I -should have had my hair cropped close. I -kept what I needed, and paid the lad who -took away the remainder of the clothes. My -purchase comprised a cap, waistcoat, coat and -trousers, and a large red cotton pocket-handkerchief, -a flannel shirt, and a loose silk neckerchief -such as seamen wear in a sailor’s knot. -These things amply sufficed for the experiment -I desired to make.</p> - -<p>Some time on the following day, before the -hour at which I expected Will, I dressed -myself in the sailor’s clothes, but my hair was -so thick and plentiful that I was scarcely able -to coil it all away upon the top of my head so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -as to secrete the bulk of it under my sailor -lad’s cap. After a fashion I succeeded; I -held up a glass and observed that, with the -cap on, the back of my head might very well -pass for a man’s at a little distance. I next -rubbed some rouge over my temples and -eyebrows and cheeks to give my face a look -of sunburn.</p> - -<p>On the staircase I met my maid. She -started, and cried out, and stared, not in the -least degree recognising me.</p> - -<p>‘What pretty girl are you?’ said I, ‘maid -or mistress? A fine woman looked out of her -bedroom window just now, and seeing your -hall door open I made bold to enter. Where -is she? I can’t find her.’</p> - -<p>I spoke at length purposely to try an experiment -with my voice on her accustomed ear, -but seemingly my attire had changed my voice -as completely as it had transformed my figure.</p> - -<p>‘How dare you enter this house?’ she -exclaimed, and then she began to screech out: -‘Miss Johnstone, here’s a strange man in the -house. Mr. Stanford——’ And she ran downstairs -calling for Mr. Stanford.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span>I sprang and caught her when she was on -my parlour landing and twisting her around -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>‘Don’t you know me? I’m your mistress. -I wish to play a joke off on my cousin. Look, -do you know me?’ and I thrust my face into -hers.</p> - -<p>She uttered a variety of exclamations such -as, ‘Well, I never!’ and ‘Who’d ha’ thought -it?’ and ‘Lor’ what a handsome young chap -you make to be sure, miss,’ and giggled and -blushed and eyed me from top to toe with -astonishment.</p> - -<p>‘Would you know me after looking a bit?’ -said I.</p> - -<p>‘No, miss. There never was no artfuller -make-up in a stage play.’</p> - -<p>‘Didn’t you recognise my voice?’</p> - -<p>‘It sounded like your figure looks,’ said -she.</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘when Mr. Will Johnstone -arrives, open the door, show him in as though -you supposed I was in the room, and then -shut the door smartly upon him.’</p> - -<p>Whilst I waited for my cousin I practised<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -some walking. I got in front of the long glass -and advanced toward it, and marked such -points of my gait as I considered suggestive -and suspicious. I found my steps too short, but -after practising a little I guessed it would not -be very difficult to walk like a man. I looked -short in my clothes and appeared to have -dwindled six or eight inches, so greatly is -stature heightened to the eye by the long -robes of my sex.</p> - -<p>Whilst I was rehearsing as a young sailor-man -in front of the glass, I heard Will’s knock -downstairs. I placed myself in front of the -window as though I was a stranger waiting. -The door of the room was opened and shut by -my maid according to my orders, and on -turning I saw Will.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I beg pardon,’ said he, ‘I thought -Miss Johnstone was here.’</p> - -<p>‘She’ll be here shortly,’ said I.</p> - -<p>He stared hard and oddly, as though he -pricked his ears on my speaking, but certainly -he no more recognised me than my maid had. -I continued to look out of the window and -spoke with my back to him.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span>‘A pleasant day,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘Aye, it’s nice weather,’ he answered. -‘You’re of my calling, I see. Been long -ashore?’</p> - -<p>‘I’ve not been to sea yet,’ I answered, half -turning my head his way to talk to him. -‘My cousin Marian’s kindly taken me by the -hand and given me a rig-out and found me a -ship.’</p> - -<p>‘Cousin Marian!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m a -cousin of hers, too. What cousin might you -be?’</p> - -<p>‘My name is Simon Marlowe,’ said I, -rounding upon him and looking him full in -the face. ‘My mother was Miss Marlowe. -Who are you?’</p> - -<p>I don’t believe he would have known me -even then but for the sudden laugh I burst -into at the sight of his face. That laugh was -my own, familiar to his ear as the whistle of -his boatswain’s pipe.</p> - -<p>‘Well, I’m shot!’ he cried, with a gape of -astonishment, then burst into a roar, capered -up to me and, grasping me by the hands, -skipped to and fro like a savage, eyeing me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -all over and swearing whilst he danced that -he wouldn’t have known me in a hundred -years; that I was the prettiest little sailor-man -in the world. Twenty such things he said, -then released me to clap his hands while he -laughed until he was purple.</p> - -<p>I pulled off my cap and tossed it on the -sofa and sat down, copying the rolling motion -of the seaman in every movement of my body.</p> - -<p>‘You must go upstairs and shift before I -can talk,’ said Will. ‘Look at your hair! I -shall die of laughing.’</p> - -<p>I ran to my bedroom, changed my clothes, -dressed my hair and returned. I was secretly -half wild to hear what he had to say, and had -no notion of spoiling this interview by keeping -him merry and roaring at my clothes. I -found him looking at Tom’s miniature.</p> - -<p>‘What a handsome chap he is!’ he exclaimed; -‘but I fear the hulk will rub some of -his beauty off.’</p> - -<p>‘There’s no hulk afloat or jail ashore -that’s going to spoil his beauty,’ said I. -‘What can you tell me to give me heart?’</p> - -<p>‘Are you still in earnest?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span>‘Oh, don’t begin so, dear.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s a wild, mad scheme,’ said he. -‘Father and mother will think me a fiend -for helping you instead of reporting you. -But I see this, you mean to follow Tom, anyhow. -No man living deserves such a magnificent -love as yours. You’re one mass of -loyalty and devotion from head to foot.’</p> - -<p>‘Will, you are here to say you will help -me!’ I exclaimed, bending toward him and -lifting my hands and clasping them in a posture -of prayer to him in the passion of -anxiety that was upon me.</p> - -<p>‘I am more willing to help you,’ said he, -‘than I was when you talked to me the day -before yesterday—for this reason: I’ve been -on board the <i>Childe Harold</i>. She don’t tow -over to Deptford till Wednesday next. I met -our carpenter on the quayside, and asked -him if he knew how they meant to fit out the -vessel for’ard. He said he’d heard they -meant to bulkhead a space off in a line with -the forecastle entrance above, to serve as a -prison, the hospital to be aft. “Will they -leave the store-room bulkhead standing?”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -said I. “Yes,” said he; “otherwise the -prisoners ’ud be climbing into the forecastle -through the hatch.” I went aboard and had -a look. When I talked to you about the -black fore-peak, I had forgotten the line of -main-deck that runs right for’ard. The -space betwixt that line and the deck overhead -is used as a store-room. Why had I -forgotten this? Because, to tell you honestly -the truth, Marian, I was never once down in -that part of the vessel so as to remember -it. The store-room would make a different -hiding-place from the fore-peak I described. -The fore-peak’s under it. There they keep -the coals. You never could have hidden in -it. But the store-room should be middling -clean; black as a dog’s throat, mind you, but -not deep like the fore-peak. The forecastle, -where the men sleep, is immediately over. -If a person wanted to get out, he could -knock on the closed hatch, and there’ll be -men in the forecastle to hear him. The horizon -has cleared a trifle since I looked into -that store-room.’</p> - -<p>‘How big is this store-room?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span>‘A good size,’ he answered. ‘Seven feet -high; the beam I don’t know.’</p> - -<p>‘And the forecastle hatch is within reach -of my hand to thump at if I want to get -out?’ I exclaimed. ‘It will be the one place -in the whole ship for me, Will!’</p> - -<p>‘There’s no other place, and that’s a fact.’</p> - -<p>‘The stores’ll be clean and sweet enough, -I dare say—bolts of canvas, casks of stuff, -spare lines and such things. I’ll be able to -put myself out of sight if your bo’sun or any -other man should come down with a light. -I shall need water to drink. How about -that?’</p> - -<p>‘You’re talking as if the job was settled.’</p> - -<p>‘It is settled,’ I cried, taking him by the -shoulders and playfully pushing him backward -in a sudden transport of mingled emotion. -‘Is not fresh water to be sneaked -below whilst the ship’s fitting? I’ll think it -over and tell you how it may be done.’</p> - -<p>‘I’m not coming to you to learn my business,’ -said he with a toss of his head that ran -a gleam from his eyes like a sparkle of water -swept by a sudden wind.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span>‘What are you going to do this afternoon, -Will?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing.’</p> - -<p>‘Come with me to the East India Docks, -and we’ll board your ship and talk things -over. We’ll then go the Brunswick Hotel, -drink tea there and settle everything.’</p> - -<p>He eyed me doubtfully; his heart was -not yet in it, though the dear fellow was -coming my way. I went upstairs to dress -myself for the trip, the hour being about -three, with daylight enough to follow to serve -my end. Yet though we were together till -eight o’clock that night, talking and planning -and scheming, I found him still as reluctant -at the end as at the beginning. He had three -objections. First, he considered that his -keeping the matter secret from his father and -mother was like telling them a lie. Next, -Tom might not prove one of the convicts of -his ship. Suppose he (Will) should be unable -to communicate with me in my hiding-place -until I had been carried too great a distance -from England to be set ashore; I should be -in a convict ship, a woman locked up with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -rogues and villains, sailing to Tasmania for -no purpose at all, with the chance of missing -my sweetheart and never meeting him again -in this world. And, third, the young fellow -seemed to shrink from the notion of my being -alone in a colony.</p> - -<p>I began to despair of him at last, and, -growing defiant after three or four days of -talking with him without his drawing closer -to my wishes, I resolved to look about me -and see how I might help myself, and I -plainly and hotly told him that, whether he -chose or not to give me a hand in my enterprise, -he would find me on board his ship all -the same, if it came to my spending a year’s -income in bribing the lumpers and riggers at -work on the vessel to conceal me.</p> - -<p>He went away from this talk and nothing -then was settled; but on the following morning -he came by appointment to go with me -for a turn on the river as far as Woolwich, -and on our way to Blackwall he said he had -made up his mind to help me.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br /> - - -<small>SHE TAKES A LODGING AT WOOLWICH</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span> gave me exactly a fortnight in which to -prepare for my departure, for now it was -settled that the <i>Childe Harold</i> was to drop -alongside H.M.S. <i>Warrior</i> on November 12, -receive her cargo of convicts next day, then -to proceed to Gravesend, where the crew would -come on board, and then head direct for the -Antipodes. What arrangements had I to make, -do you ask? First, as to the disposal of my -home. I had sometimes thought of selling it, -conceiving that if Tom lived to regain his -liberty he would abhor a country from which -he had been inhumanly and unjustly expelled, -and settle abroad. But on reflection I made -up my mind to keep the house, knowing that -it was always very saleable property should I -wish to convert it into money.</p> - -<p>So, a day or two after Will and I had come<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -to a thorough understanding and everything -was arranged so far as human foresight could -provide, I sent my maid downstairs to request -Mr. Stanford to see me. He came, and I -opened my business with him at once without -any needless civilities.</p> - -<p>‘I am going abroad, Mr. Stanford,’ said I. -‘I am going to leave England, and I make you -an offer of this whole house, furnished,’ and I -named a price by the year.</p> - -<p>He wished to question me as to where I -was going and how long I would be absent; -but my behaviour soon forced him to swallow -his curiosity and to confine himself to the -question of the hire of the house. It ended -in his agreeing to take the house off my hands -on my own terms, and that same day I got -Mr. Woolfe to draw up an agreement which -Mr. Stanford and I signed. I then wrote -to my trustees to inform them that I was -about to leave the country and gave them -instructions as to the receipt of the rent -from Mr. Stanford and the payment of my -income. The plate and many cherished objects -which had come to me from my father<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -and mother were packed and sent to my -bank.</p> - -<p>I recount all this in a plain, sober-headed -way, but let me tell you, it was a time of wild -and frightful excitement to me. I had a -hundred things to think of, a hundred stratagems -to practise. I gave money to Will to -procure a stock of food for hiding warily by -degrees in the black lodging I was to occupy -under the forecastle. He found he could not -manage single-handed. Though he was an -apprentice in the ship and had a right to go -on board whenever he thought proper, his -services were not required until the vessel was -equipped and ready to drop down to Woolwich. -He feared he would be noticed and then -watched, if he was seen frequently to enter the -forecastle, and it ended in his bribing a rigger, -who was a brother of one of the crew of the -<i>Childe Harold</i> during her last voyage, to help -him to store water bottled for me to drink -whilst I was in hiding. The man asked no -questions, my cousin told me; he merely -grinned when he said that the stowaway was -an old schoolfellow of his, whose father had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -failed in business, and he grinned again when -Will tipped him two sovereigns.</p> - -<p>For my part I was wholly fearless when I -looked forward. My heart beat high. I had -but two anxieties: One lest my uncle Johnstone -should discover what I was about and -stop me by warning the captain of the <i>Childe -Harold</i>; the other lest Tom at the last should -be detained on board the hulk for a later ship. -For this latter difficulty I had provided with -Will. But as to my uncle and aunt, I told -them plainly that I was going out to Tasmania, -and that I only waited to learn that Tom was -on board the <i>Childe Harold</i> to follow him by -the first ship. You will suppose that neither -of them had the slightest suspicion that my -ship was to be Tom’s convict ship herself. -How could such an idea enter their heads -unless Will blabbed, which he had taken his -oath not to do? Mr. Johnstone could never -dream that I meant to dress myself up as a -boy and hide under the <i>Childe Harold’s</i> forecastle.</p> - -<p>One night, and that was the last I spent -at his house near the Tower, he talked of my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> -resolution to follow Tom till we rose to high -words. Will was out, or I dare say my temper -might have brought him to side with his -father and mother, which would have raised -a feeling between us, and ruined my hopes so -far as he went. Mr. Johnstone said he thanked -God I was no girl of his. He thanked God -his only child was a boy. What would my -father, if he were alive, think of my following -the fortunes of a convict?</p> - -<p>I answered that my father was a true man -and would always wish me to be a true woman. -My father was not a man to oblige me to -betray and desert Tom because a dreadful -trouble had come upon the poor fellow; and -here I cried a little.</p> - -<p>‘Still, my dear, Captain Butler is a convict,’ -said my aunt. ‘I wish to say nothing about -his guilt or innocence, but he wears felon’s -clothes, he is loaded with irons; he lives with -the scum of the nation——’</p> - -<p>‘And, guilty or innocent, he is irrecoverably -disgraced,’ broke in my uncle.</p> - -<p>‘Why did you undertake his defence, -then?’ I cried.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span>‘A man is innocent till he is proved -guilty,’ answered my uncle. ‘By the logic of -the law I undertook the defence of a guiltless -person.’</p> - -<p>This enraged me. It was like burning or -cruelly wounding or torturing me in any savage -way to speak ill of Tom or to cast a doubt -upon his innocence.</p> - -<p>The quarrel was put an end to by my uncle -walking out of the room. I stayed a little, -wishing to cool down that I might say good-bye -with grace and heart, with something -indeed of the real love and gratitude I felt; -for I knew when I said farewell it would be -for the last time. But my aunt was cold and -vexed; she resented several things I had said -in the heat of the quarrel; she took my kiss -lifelessly, and I went out of the room. On -the landing I paused; I longed to return and -kiss her warmly and seek my uncle, that this -parting might have the tenderness my heart -longed for, now that my passion was ended; -but I said to myself: ‘No, they may suspect -a final leave-taking in my behaviour,’ and so -I stepped into the street and drove home.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span>I had told my maid I was going abroad, -and next day I paid her and gave her a substantial -gift in money over and above her -wages, and she left me, crying. I grieved to -part with her. She was a good and faithful -girl, and would have been glad to go with me -anywhere, even to the other side of the world.</p> - -<p>Five days before the ship was to haul -alongside the hulk I went to Woolwich, and -took a lodging as close to the river as the -respectable accommodation of that dirty town -permitted. I hired two rooms for the week. -The landlady asked no questions. She was -satisfied with my paying for the lodgings in -advance. After I had engaged those rooms, -I crossed the river afresh and returned to -Stepney to fetch a little trunk. I was to be -a stowaway, and of all ocean travellers the -stowaway is the one who sails with the fewest -effects. A hackney coach stood at the door -to convey me to Blackwall. I carried my -little box downstairs and put it with my own -hand into the coach. I then returned and -stood awhile in my room thinking. The walls -and tables were stripped of all that I cherished.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -The room looked somewhat bare. I slowly -cast my eyes around and thought of the past. -I conjured up my father and mother. I -recalled my early life, my lonely holiday trips, -much of what I had felt and suffered. I then -knelt down and prayed, rose and, going to the -wall, kissed it, and, with dry eyes but with a -sobbing heart, departed.</p> - -<p>Whether Mr. Stanford saw me or not I am -unable to say. He did not appear, nor did I -catch a sight of him at his window.</p> - -<p>No one knew that I had gone into lodgings -at Woolwich, not even Will, though I had -told him that I should be leaving my home on -such and such a date, and that he was to keep -a sharp look-out for me when his ship lay off -the <i>Warrior</i>. I did not want to burden him -with the obligation of telling lies. My uncle -might hear that I had quitted Stepney. He’d -ask his son where I was; and Will, with a -clear conscience, would be able to answer on -his honour he had no idea.</p> - -<p>As you may remember, Tom had written -that I was privileged to bid him farewell -before he sailed. I thought deeply on what<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -I should say when we met, and finally resolved -not to utter a syllable about my going with -him in the same ship. He was a sailor, and -would understand what I had made up my -mind to suffer and endure for his sake. He -might refuse, and sternly refuse, to allow me -to attempt the wild, extraordinary adventure -I had planned with Will. Indeed, I feared -his love. He was a man to give notice of my -intention sooner than suffer it. I guessed he -would not bear to think of my locking myself -up in a ship full of convicts. Well knowing -his own profession, he would say to himself, -when she is discovered how will she be treated? -If she maintains her disguise as a boy, what -sort of work will they put her to? If they -find out that she is a woman, what sort of -treatment will she receive from the master -and mates, from the officers in charge of the -guard, from the seamen forward? All this and -much more would run in his head, and his -love might betray me that he might save me.</p> - -<p>Three days before the convict ship was to -haul alongside the <i>Warrior</i>, I went on board -the hulk. This time I gained the deck by the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -dockyard stairs and the gallery that stretched -to her gangway. The sentry or warder, -in bright buttons and a glazed military cap -and a stiff stand-up collar with a bright crown -upon it, asked me my business, and bade me -pass when I told him that I was going to visit -a convict and explained that it was an errand -of farewell. It was a very gloomy sullen day; -a dark fog stooped to the breast of the river -and the water flowed seaward in a stream of -liquid greasy mud. The few ships in motion -oozed out of the fog, black, wet and gaunt, -and vanished with a sulky reel. The prison-ship -looked horribly grim and miserable; her -decks were dark and very damp, the fog -dripped from the edges of her boxed-up structures -forward, the cold gleam of moisture -glanced from whatever the eye rested on; the -pole-masts vanished in the thickness overhead; -and the air was bitterly cold with the chill of -damp.</p> - -<p>A convict, in the dress of the felon, with a -bullet-shaped head and a flat face, stared at -me through one of the galley-doors; he had -badges upon one arm, and was probably a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -cook. Several warders moved about the decks, -and a soldier in a red coat, but unarmed, stood -forward, talking to somebody inside one of -the galleys. All the convicts were ashore at -their spirit-breaking work. I walked to the -quarter-deck. I saw no visitors. A warder -was approaching me at the moment when the -deputy-governor came up through the after-hatch. -I was unveiled, but whether he -remembered me or not, no look of recognition -was in his face. He asked me my business on -board.</p> - -<p>‘I have come to visit Thomas Butler,’ I -answered, ‘a prisoner.’</p> - -<p>‘When were you here last?’</p> - -<p>I gave him the date.</p> - -<p>‘You are too soon,’ said he. ‘The rules -are every three months.’</p> - -<p>‘He wrote to tell me I was privileged to -pay him a farewell visit,’ I said. He bade me -wait a minute, and walked to the governor’s -quarters. He returned soon, and said: -‘Thomas Butler is one of a batch of convicts -who are to be sent across the seas on the 12th -of this month.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span>‘I know that,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘You will have to bid him farewell on -board the ship he embarks in.’</p> - -<p>‘I shan’t be able to see him, then?’ I -cried, putting on an air of consternation and -grief, that I might obtain some particular -information from him.</p> - -<p>‘I am sorry you will have no other opportunity -of bidding him farewell.’</p> - -<p>‘But tell me, sir,’ cried I, ‘shall I be -certain of seeing him if I go on board his -ship?’</p> - -<p>‘Undoubtedly. You will be allowed the -customary quarter of an hour.’</p> - -<p>‘How am I to know he will be one of the -convicts on board?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh,’ said he, very good-naturedly (and I -will say here that a kinder and better-tempered -man than the deputy-governor of H.M.S. -<i>Warrior</i> was not to be found among the prison -officials of his time)—‘oh,’ said he, smiling, -‘there is no fear of his not being on board. -The surgeon has passed him. He is one of -the batch.’</p> - -<p>My heart beat quickly on hearing this.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -He may have wondered at the effect of his -words. He darted a keen look, with an -expression of mouth that was like saying he -was not used to the friends of convicts exhibiting -delight on hearing that they were to be -shipped off.</p> - -<p>‘Can you tell me how he is?’ said I.</p> - -<p>He gave me a sort of mocking bow as -though he would intimate that he had told me -enough. I took the hint and left the hulk, -wondering that under the circumstances the -warder or sentry should have passed me on -board, but greatly rejoicing over the information -I had received that Tom would undoubtedly -be one of the convicts of the <i>Childe -Harold</i>.</p> - -<p>On reaching my lodgings, I wrote the -following letter to my sweetheart. I dated it, -but omitted the address:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>‘Dearest,—I visited the <i>Warrior</i> to-day, -but was informed that the regulations oblige -friends to bid farewell on board the convict -ship when the people are in her. If I do not -visit you to say good-bye, you will not wonder;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -you will understand there is a reason; you -know my heart as I know yours, and will not -mistake. We shall meet sooner than we think. -Many swift ships are weekly sailing to the -colonies. I kiss you and pray that God may -watch over you.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="gapright2">‘Your own</span><br /> -‘<span class="smcap">Marian</span>.’ -</p></div> - -<p>I addressed this letter and went out to -post it. It was then shortly after two o’clock -in the afternoon. Having posted the letter, I -walked a little distance until I came to a hairdresser’s -shop. I entered and said to a woman -who sat behind the counter that I wanted my -hair cut. She took me upstairs, and in a few -moments a man stepped in.</p> - -<p>‘I wish you to cut my hair,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘The hends of it, miss?’ said he, bowing -and smirking and rubbing his hands.</p> - -<p>‘The whole of it,’ I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>He opened his eyes, but said nothing whilst -I removed my hat. He then exclaimed: -‘That’s a beautiful ’ead of hair to remove, -miss. Hall, do I understand? Or can it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -be singeing and cleaning that you want -done?’</p> - -<p>‘All,’ said I, ‘and pray be quick, for there -is not much daylight left.’</p> - -<p>He took down my hair, and in the glass I -sat in front of I saw him fall back and admire -it. I also witnessed expostulation in his face, -and he stole doubtful looks at me in the mirror -as though he questioned my sanity; on which -I peremptorily repeated my request that he -would cut off all my hair. A woman’s hair is -her glory, they say, and I felt as though I was -parting with a crown of beauty as I watched -my long raven-black tresses in the glass falling -under the shearing snip of the remorseless -scissors. But there was a sense of triumph in -me, too—the elation of love—the feeling that -what I was doing was for Tom’s sake, and that -this was the very least of the sacrifices I was -willing to make for him.</p> - -<p>I obliged the man to crop me as close -behind as though I were a convict, but to leave -me enough in front to part my hair on one -side. He did as I bid him, but when I came -to part my hair I found it stubborn; the old<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -parting down the middle would insist on -showing; so I told him to crop me close that -the hair might bristle on end.</p> - -<p>When he had done so, I scarcely knew -myself. The man looked at the hair he had -cut off and asked what I wished to do with it.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know,’ said I, putting on my hat.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll give you a guinea for it, miss, and -throw in the job of cutting it.’</p> - -<p>‘It is beautiful hair and worth three times -what you offer; but you shall have it for a -guinea, nevertheless.’</p> - -<p>He paid me the money, and I left the -shop. When I got to my lodgings, I locked -the door, dressed myself in the boy’s clothes -I had brought with me from Stepney, put on -my cap, and then stood upon the table that I -might see my full length in the chimney-glass. -I was perfectly satisfied with the appearance -I made. I looked just a hearty, strapping -young lad of seventeen, out and away more -manly to the eye than the saucy boy who had -kissed his hand to me. I sprang on to the -floor, and for a long while practised the paces -of a man, striding round the room and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -stretching my legs, and whilst I walked I -told over a few things I might require when -I should be hidden under the forecastle of -the convict ship, and paused at the table -from time to time to note down the articles.</p> - -<p>And, first of all, I was resolved not to lie -in a black hole for a week, perhaps a fortnight, -without the means of procuring a light. -So I made an entry in my trifling list of wants -of a parcel of small wax candles of the very -finest quality, such a parcel as I could carry -in my pocket without observation. I guessed -that I should require a light only when I -wished to eat and drink, that I might see -where my food lay, and that the candles, -used for a few minutes at a time and at long -intervals, would last till Will released me. I -also put down in my list a tinder-box and -matches.</p> - -<p>(My memory is at fault. I cannot recollect -that we had the common lucifer match in -1838.)</p> - -<p>The other items consisted of a couple of -clay pipes, a clasp-knife, and a pair of strong -shoes that should thicken out my feet to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -look of a youth’s. These things, and the -boy’s clothes I was disguised in, comprised all -the luggage I intended to take.</p> - -<p>The next day was unspeakably wretched -both to body and soul. It blew hard, it was -bitterly cold, and it rained incessantly, with a -frequent clouding of grimy sleet. I struggled -to the several shops to purchase the articles I -had jotted down, and then returned to my -lodgings, where I remained the rest of the -day. To-morrow the <i>Childe Harold</i> was to -haul alongside the hulk. I was to embark -upon a more wild, perilous, romantic, heart-shaking -undertaking than probably was ever -conceived by woman since the days of the -mother of all. I was banishing myself from -my home, from friends, from every convenience -and luxury of shore-going life within -the reach of my purse. I was going to hide -myself in the black and noisome hole of a -convict ship, without having the least idea of -what lay before me whilst I remained hidden -and after I should have been discovered. I -was going on a long voyage in a suit of boy’s -clothes and no other wearing apparel, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -should be taking my chance of being equipped -by the charity of the captain out of the ship’s -slop-chest, or of falling into rags, and so, perhaps, -discovering my sex, unless it should be -sooner detected, or unless I should find it -necessary to confess it.</p> - -<p>Yet I had not the least fear; nay, I preserve -the recollection of an increasing emotion -of triumph swelling into elation and hope -and confidence as the hours of that wet, cold, -and miserable day rolled past and brought -me to the night whose dawn should start me -on my adventure. Never was my love for -Tom so great as now in this lonely time of -waiting in those Woolwich lodgings, when I -reflected that all I had done, was doing, and -yet hoped to do, was for him, that he might -know me to be true as the faithfullest of -women could be to the man of her heart; -that he might be gladdened by presently discovering -I was with him in the same ship; -that his guiltless spirit might be supported -by knowing we were together, that we should -arrive together, and that whilst his term of -infamous, unjust servitude lasted, I should<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> -never be far off, patiently and hopefully waiting -for him.</p> - -<p>Yet I could not close my eyes all that -night. I seemed to catch the sound of the -storm-whipped river, though my lodgings -were at a distance from it. Would Will be -on the look-out for me? I kept on thinking. -Suppose he should be detained by illness -ashore; many things I supposed; and then -I thought to myself, if he should not be on -board, yet if I can contrive to enter the ship -it will be strange if I don’t find my way into -the hiding-place under the forecastle. But if -he is not on the look-out or, indeed, not in -the vessel, I shan’t be able to invent an excuse -to go on board of her. The guard will -be received at Deptford; the surgeon superintendent -will be already, no doubt, in the -ship; there will be mates and apprentices on -the poop and about the deck. I knew it -would be impossible for me to cross the gangway -without being challenged as to my business. -What, then, should I do if Will was -not on the look-out for me?</p> - -<p>These were considerations to give me a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -sleepless night. I lay in bed till seven, then -rose, dressed myself in my ordinary apparel, -and telling the servant to have breakfast -ready by half-past eight, I passed out of the -house and went quickly toward the river.</p> - -<p>It was still blowing fresh, but the morning -was dry, gray, hard with cold. I passed -through some mean little streets of small -houses, such as labourers would occupy. -Hard as the morning was, the mud lay soft -as grease in the roadways. Here and there -was a public-house, two of which—the -‘Warrior Arms’ and the ‘Justitia’—were -named after the prison-hulks. Though it -was barely good daylight as yet, these public-houses -looked as if they had been open for -some time. In places I tasted an acid smell -of stale beer and tobacco as I passed along -these mean little streets, and most of the -people I saw, dressed in a sort of velveteen -or corduroy, conversing near the public-houses, -many of them of the flat-faced type -of Englishman, with streaks of black hair -down their cheeks, and a habit of glancing -sideways without turning their head, might<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -have passed for convicts enjoying a free-and-easy -half-hour.</p> - -<p>I came within view of the river, and -looked along Woolwich Reach, but saw no -signs of such a ship as the <i>Childe Harold</i> -approaching. The hulks floated huge and -motionless off the Dockyard and Arsenal. -White clouds of fog were creeping over the -flats of Plaistow, and the river streamed cold -and yellow into the bleak gray haze of -Bugsby’s Reach. A waterman approached and -bade me good morning. I looked at the -man, and recognised him as one whose boat -I had hired on several occasions. He told -me he had come to settle on this side of the -river, as the Calais steamers and the hoys -were making business scarce for the likes of -him down the Stairs, Tower and Wapping -way. He asked me if I wanted a boat. I -answered no; I was waiting to view a convict -ship that I understood was to come -alongside the <i>Warrior</i> hulk that morning.</p> - -<p>‘Ay, that’s right,’ said he. ‘You’ll be -catching sight of her any minute. The convicts -go aboard to-morrow, I believe. She’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -the <i>Childe Harold</i>. Too fine a ship for such -dirty service, to my mind.’</p> - -<p>Whilst I stood waiting and conversing -with this fellow, who was one of the civillest -of his kind on the river, a handsome barque -under a main-topgallantsail came rounding to -abreast of us out of Galleon’s Reach, driven -by the fresh south-easterly wind. She was -painted green and cleanly sheathed; her -canvas was white as a yacht’s, and the whiter -for the contrast of the glare of it upon the -sullen gloom of the atmosphere. Her stem, -as though it were red-hot, boiled the water -at her bows; the white swirl rushed past the -ruddy gleam of the copper into a ribbon-like -wake of yeast, short and melting quickly for -the lack of brine, and the picture was one of -exceeding beauty and of inspiriting warmth -and colour. She swept into the haze of -Bugsby’s Reach, and vanished with a gleam -of her topmast canvas showing in a hovering -sort of way for a breath or two over the land -abreast of the East India Docks.</p> - -<p>The waterman at my side was loud in -praise of her. ‘I haven’t seen a pootier<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -barque in this here river since the <i>Arab Chief</i> -towed down some weeks since.’</p> - -<p>I started and looked at him, and exclaimed: -‘The <i>Arab Chief</i>!’</p> - -<p>‘Ay, the <i>Arab Chief</i>, the pootiest little -vessel out of any port of the country.’</p> - -<p>‘Is she not a Liverpool vessel?’</p> - -<p>‘That’s her, mum. She sailed from the -Mersey and brought a cargo to the Thames. -There was a difficulty. The captain as had -her, ’tis said, has come into one of them -hulks.’</p> - -<p>‘When did she sail from London?’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know, but I could easily find out -for ye.’</p> - -<p>‘Which docks did she load in?’</p> - -<p>‘I believe she hauled out of the London -Docks,’ answered the man.</p> - -<p>I struck my hands together, and said: -‘I wish I’d known she was in the Thames. -I’m interested in that vessel. They charged -her captain with scuttling her. Not the -worst villain in any of those hulks yonder is -capable of a fouler lie.’ I checked myself, on -observing the manner in which the man was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -regarding me; and, happening then to glance -up the river, I espied the towering fabric of a -big ship that was magnified by the haze into -the proportions of the masts and yards of a -line-of-battle ship looming astern of a little -tug whose smoke blew black and scattering -upon the level of the yellow water.</p> - -<p>‘That’ll be the convict ship,’ said the man -at my side.</p> - -<p>I gave him a shilling, and walked some -distance to be alone, and stood watching the -ship. She floated stately and grand in tow of -the tug; the Government stores in her were a -comparatively light lading, and she sat tall, -presenting a frigate-like height of side. She -was massive aloft in her sea-going trim, sails -bent, running rigging rove, royal yards across. -A small red ensign at her peak stood with the -wind like a painted board there. It was ebb-tide, -somewhat slack, and she came along on -the languid stream of it, head to the breeze, -with white water spitting at the bight of the -hawser betwixt her and the tug.</p> - -<p>As she glided abreast I stared at her with -devouring eyes. Oh, she was the <i>Childe -Harold</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> right enough! I was a sailor’s child, -and knew a ship after seeing her once as -you would know a face. Was Will aboard? -I would have given my left hand then for five -minutes’ use of a telescope to make sure. I -saw a few figures on the poop and three or -four red-coats of soldiers on the forecastle, -but she was far too distant for the sight to -distinguish the people. I stood watching -until the tug had floated her abreast of the -<i>Warrior</i>, by which time I heard a clock strike -nine. I then walked quickly toward my -lodgings, half frozen with having stood for -about an hour and a half in that bitter morning -wind and in the atmosphere of the November -yellow river.</p> - -<p>Though without appetite, I forced myself -to make what would be called a good breakfast. -The sitting-room adjoined the bedroom; -I rang the bell and toasted myself before the -fire whilst I waited until the maid had cleared -away the breakfast things. I then went into -my bedroom, unclothed and dressed myself in -the sailor-dress. This done, I mixed some -soot and rouge, and lightly rubbed the compound<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -into parts of my face. The effect was -good; you would have supposed I was fresh -from the ocean. The clothes I had taken off -I made into a parcel and addressed it thus:</p> - -<p class="center"> -<span class="gapright">‘To the care of the Commander,</span><br /> -‘Government Transport <i>Childe Harold</i>,<br /> -<span class="gapleft">‘Off Woolwich.’</span></p> - -<p>This I had made up my mind to do whilst -I lay thinking during the long and stormy -watches of the previous night. It was just a -speculation, and, good or bad, would amount -to little or nothing. The landlady of the -lodgings, on finding I did not return, might -send the parcel to the ship; if not, no matter. -The captain, on receipt of it, might hand it to -the steward to hold, concluding there was a -blunder somewhere. If he rejected it and -sent it back, still, as I say, no matter. I -valued not the clothes one farthing, but, I -had reasoned, if the parcel found its way on -board, and my sex should be discovered, -there would be my clothes in the ship ready -for me.</p> - -<p>Having addressed the parcel, I put the -little packet of candles and the other few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -matters I had bought into my pockets, and -counted my money. I had between four and -five pounds, one guinea of which I had received -for my hair; and I need not tell you -that this was even more money than it was -prudent I should have if I was to act the part -of a stowaway supposed to be driven from -home by poverty; that is to say, if I should -come to be searched, which on board a convict -ship was extremely probable.</p> - -<p>I paused to consider if more remained -to be done. I then opened the door and -listened, and, finding all quiet, slipped down -the short stairs, passed into the street, and -walked quickly in the direction of the Dockyard.</p> - -<p>And perhaps I should repeat here that I -had paid the woman of the house in advance -for her lodgings, and that I had departed -leaving her in my debt, so to call it, for I had -purchased everything I had eaten, and left -enough behind me in groceries and the like -to last her for a week.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - - -<small>SHE HIDES AS A STOWAWAY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I felt</span> excessively nervous when I first set -out toward the Dockyard. I had never before -shown myself in public in male attire, -and imagined that everybody who looked at -me saw that I was a girl. I was somewhat -reassured, however, by a hulking fellow in -leggings crossing the road and asking me for -a pipe of tobacco. I told him I had none. -‘A cuss’d lie,’ he roared fiercely. ‘Gi’ us the -plug out of your jaws, you damn’d shellback!’ -I pushed on. He shouted after me, -and, though his language was by no means -refined, I did not dislike to hear him, for -what he said left me in no doubt that he took -me for a sailor.</p> - -<p>I came to a place where I got a view of -the <i>Warrior</i>, and I saw the convict ship close -alongside of her with some of her yards<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> -braced forward clear of the pole masts of the -hulk. It was blowing very fresh and bitterly -cold, and the yellow ripples ran in little -showerings of spray. I walked to where the -wherry was to be had, and with some trouble, -after waiting and looking about me, found a -waterman.</p> - -<p>‘Put me aboard the <i>Childe Harold</i>,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘Do you belong to the ship?’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>‘If you’ll stand a drink I’ll save you a -couple o’ bob,’ he exclaimed; and I guessed -by the way he looked at the water that he -preferred to lounge in the warmth of a public-house -to taking a fare.</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘Tell the sentries you belong to the ship, -and they’ll let you go aboard through the -hulk.’</p> - -<p>‘No, I want to go aboard in my own -way.’</p> - -<p>‘Come along, then.’</p> - -<p>I got into his boat and, after he had -breathed upon his hands and beaten his -breast hard, he fell to his oars. I looked<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -eagerly at the ship as we approached. The -consuming anxieties I had endured for weeks -and months, compressed into ten minutes of -sensation, would not have been harder to bear -than what I now felt. The waterman pulled -under the stern of the <i>Childe Harold</i>; a figure -standing on the quarter was visible; I believed -it was Will at first; he turned, and I saw he -was not my cousin. A flight of gangway steps -ran down the side of the ship, with a grating -at bottom, close upon the water, to step -on. The boat swung to, and the waterman -waited for me to step out. I gave him two -shillings, and kept my seat whilst I ran my -eyes along the line of the bulwark rail.</p> - -<p>Where was Will? Was he not keeping a -look-out? Had I arrived sooner than he expected? -Nay, was he on board? And, as I -thus thought, my heart sinking like lead in -my breast with a sudden weight and passion -of despair, the dear fellow stepped into the -gangway and looked down.</p> - -<p>He looked down, but he did not know me. -I cried out: ‘Will, oh, Will! There you -are! There you are!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span>He stared again, but answered no further -than by beckoning, whilst he bent his neck -inward to glance forward and aft along the -decks. A soldier, but without a musket, -showed at the side at this instant, and looked -over into the boat, whistling. ‘Come up!’ -said Will. I sprang on to the grating and -ascended the steps.</p> - -<p>‘How are you, old fellow?’ exclaimed my -cousin, grasping me by the hand, and shaking -it warmly, admirably acting the part of one -who receives a welcome visitor. ‘This is how -we barricade the convicts, do you see? -How are all at home? On my word, this is -kind of you! My quarters are forward! -Come along and smoke a pipe, and then I’ll -show you the ship!’</p> - -<p>The soldier lounged across the deck and -leaned against the barricade, looking at the -great hulk, whose topmost tier of grated -ports, and whose dingy height of bulwarks -and rude, hut-shaped structures forward -seemed to tower to half the height of the -convict ship’s lower masts. I darted a swift -glance round, and observed two figures on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -the poop, both young fellows. Some soldiers -stood forward near the convicts’ galley. A -small group of men—lumpers or riggers—at -the main hatch within the barricade inclosure -were smoking and talking. I had no eyes for -anything but the people who were visible. -A heavy silence hung upon the hulk, and, -saving the voices of the group at the hatchway, -all was still on board the <i>Childe Harold</i>, -so that you plainly heard the hissing of the -strong wind in the rigging, and the quick, -fretful splashing of water rippling swift betwixt -the two ships.</p> - -<p>‘Your visit is exactly timed,’ said Will. -‘The captain’s ashore; the chief mate’s -below; the second mate’s indisposed in his -cabin, and the third mate’s in the hold. -Come!’</p> - -<p>He motioned with his hands, as though he -showed me the ship. A woman stepped out -of one of the galleys with a bucket of hot -water, and passed us. She was a pretty -young woman, and she glanced at me with a -faint smile as she went by.</p> - -<p>‘That’s a soldier’s wife,’ said Will, speaking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span> -fast but softly, and pointing as though he -still showed me the ship. ‘There are several -on board, and a number of kids. You’ve -well timed your arrival. What marvellous -courage you have, and how confoundedly -well you look! There never was a smarter -sailor—to the eye. Where have you been? -Your skin’s brown. Been abroad? Surely -not. You haven’t had time. The ship’s -almost empty, you see. The crew’ll join at -Gravesend, as I told you they would. We -have a few runners on board from Deptford, -and twenty soldiers in charge of a captain -and subaltern—Lord, how I hate soldiers! -The convicts embark this afternoon or to-morrow -morning. There are only three apprentices, -including me, this voyage; two are -aft there on the poop. It don’t matter if you -are seen. They’ll think you went ashore by -way of the hulk. But I must get you below -before the chief mate comes on deck. I’m -supposed to be keeping a look-out at the -gangway, and I mustn’t be missed.’</p> - -<p>All this he hurriedly said as we walked -forward to his quarters, which, as you may<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span> -remember, were in a wing of the forecastle -on the port or left-hand side. He slid the -door open in its grooves and we entered. -A couple of hammocks swung under the ceiling; -three sea chests were secured along the -bulkhead; a little flap table hung opposite -those chests, and the rest of the cabin’s equipment -consisted of shelves containing tin -dishes, pannikins, knives and forks, and such -things.</p> - -<p>‘I should like to give you a kiss, Marian,’ -said he, ‘but it would seem unnatural in that -dress.’</p> - -<p>I answered by giving him a hearty hug.</p> - -<p>‘What pluck you have, dear girl!’</p> - -<p>‘Will, we should lose no time.’</p> - -<p>‘But some things must be said,’ he exclaimed. -‘Is there still doubt of Tom’s being -one of them, d’ye know?’</p> - -<p>‘None,’ and I repeated what the deputy-governor -had said.</p> - -<p>‘Still, I’ll watch the men as they come -aboard,’ said he. ‘Where have you been since -you left Stepney?’</p> - -<p>‘In a lodging at Woolwich.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span>‘What a wonder you are!’ He stepped -back to run his eye over me and said: -‘They’ll never discover your sex whilst you -stick to that dress.’</p> - -<p>‘Do your father and mother know I’ve -left home?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes. Stanford called upon them. They -plied me close, but I could not tell them what -had become of you. They’ll board the next -ship for Tasmania and see if you’re in her. -Mother was at Deptford to bid me good-bye. -She’s very well, thank God. And so’s father.’ -He put his head through the door to peep -along the decks, then pulling a piece of paper -from his pockets, said: ‘See here, Marian; -look at this sketch well, that you may remember -it. It is the interior of your hiding-place. -This square’s the hatch; those wormy-looking -things on the left are coils of rope; -those are cases and beyond are bolts of canvas. -This stuff amidships is a quantity of -twine. To the right are more casks; fresh -water, of which we shall need plenty and to -spare with two hundred and thirty convicts -aboard, not to mention soldiers and sailors<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span> -and women and children. This tracing is -meant for spare sails. They’ll make you a -comfortable bed. I’ve cut this end adrift,’ -said he, putting his finger on the tracing, ‘so -that you will be able to lie down and cover -yourself over after groping and feeling about -a bit. It’s devilish dark; that’s the worst of it. -And here’s a great timber which terminates -on deck in what we call a knight-head.’</p> - -<p>‘I know,’ said I.</p> - -<p>‘You’ll find your stock of food and water -stowed close against that timber, shored and -hidden by a coil of rope.’ He opened his -chest and handed me a knife for cutting tin. -‘You’ll want this,’ said he, ‘for the canned -grub; it’s mostly soup and bully. You’ll find -a pannikin for the water. I’ll visit you as -often as I can. Have you a watch?’</p> - -<p>‘No. I’m a stowaway. I have run away -in poverty and must act the part. Keep this -for me, Will,’ and I gave him what money I -had.</p> - -<p>‘The cook’s mate will be up and down for -coal,’ said he, pocketing the money. ‘You’ll -get light when they lift the hatch, then you’ll<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span> -hear voices and see people. Shrink out of -sight. Lie small, or all this trouble will have -been for no good.’</p> - -<p>‘If it should happen that Tom’s not one -of them, you’ll contrive to let me know before -we’re out of the Channel?’</p> - -<p>‘Trust me, old girl.’</p> - -<p>‘If he is one of them, you’ll let me know -when it will be safe to come out of hiding?’</p> - -<p>‘Trust me there, too.’ He put his head -out to take another look at the decks, and -then said: ‘You’ll have to fib, Marian, when -you’re brought out. I’m sorry, but it must -never be known that I’ve had a hand in -hiding you. You will say, when questioned—and -it won’t be far from the truth, either—that -you bribed one of the Deptford riggers -to provision you. If they find the bottles -and the tinned stuff, they’ll go into the matter -closely. We may contrive that they shan’t -find anything; if they do, your yarn must be -called “The Rigger Corrupt; or, The Lie and -the Lumper.” Now wait.’</p> - -<p>He went into the forecastle and returned. -‘The coast’s clear. Come along!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span>I followed him instantly. It was but a -step from his cabin to the forecastle entrance. -The gloomy interior was empty and silent. -Betwixt the giant windlass and the hawse-pipes -were stretched the massive links of the -chain-cable. I heard the tramp of a few -soldiers overhead, marching to and fro to keep -themselves warm.</p> - -<p>‘Take that end of the hatch-cover and -lift with me,’ said Will, in a voice of excitement, -looking behind him.</p> - -<p>I put my hand to the cover, and between -us we raised it. The hatch was little more -than a man-hole, big enough to admit two -men at a time.</p> - -<p>‘Now look!’ cried Will. ‘Have you the -heart? It’s not too late! See how black it -is! And you may be obliged to remain down -there a fortnight!’</p> - -<p>‘Give me your sketch of the inside,’ said I.</p> - -<p>He quickly handed it to me. I looked at -it and then put it in my pocket, and, without -another word, I put my foot on the ladder -of rungs nailed to the bulkhead, and in a -moment was at the bottom.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span>‘Keep that hatch open whilst I take a -short look,’ I softly exclaimed.</p> - -<p>‘The mate’s calling me,’ he answered. -‘I’ll come again, if possible, later on;’ and -he closed the hatch.</p> - -<p>The blackness was utter. I had heard -tell of dark rooms in which jail-prisoners -were locked up for punishment, but no dark -jail-cell could be blacker than the blackness -of this ship’s store-room. I stood for some -time motionless under the hatch where I had -stopped when Will shut me down; I hoped -to get the use of my eyes, and imagined -that this profound dye of blackness might be -owing to my coming out of the light into it. -The silence was that of a burial-vault: I -heard the swift beat of my heart in my ears -and nothing more. After a bit, small, delicate -worms or fibres of fire began to tremble -and crawl upon the blackness. I knew them -to be the phosphorus in my vision, and heeded -them not, but winked with a fancy of extinguishing -the strange flames.</p> - -<p>I now moved a little way forward, stooping, -with my arms outstretched, and touched<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span> -what I might know by the hempen smell and -the feel of the stuff was a mass of twine. It -was dry, and I seated myself upon it. I will -not say that I was without fear; my heart -beat very fast. And yet even at this early -affrighting stage—for it was not only blackness; -it was loneliness also—I rejoiced in the -thought that I was in this hiding-place at -last; that every difficulty had been overcome; -that a most heart-breaking burden of anxieties -had fallen from me with my descent into this -hold, and that presently my dearest and I -would be together in the same ship, with a -future of possibilities before us such as I -could only have sighed for and wept for and -grieved myself into the grave for had I remained -at home.</p> - -<p>I then bethought me: Suppose the hatch -should be suddenly opened, I shall be discovered. -I carefully lighted one of my little -wax candles, and, holding it up, looked around. -The flame was small, but it enabled me to see -as much as I needed. Will’s drawing of the -interior was exact. To the left were the -casks and coils of rope and bolts of canvas,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span> -and in the middle more coils of rope and a -mass of twine and a quantity of canvas -buckets, lanterns and so forth, and to the -right were the fresh-water casks and the sails. -Candle in hand, I easily made my way to that -part of the sails which Will had cut adrift. I -looked, and beheld stowed in the place Will -had indicated a quantity of black bottles and -tins, and a sack which I put my hand upon -and found half full of ship’s biscuits.</p> - -<p>Still keeping the candle burning, I seated -myself on the loosened portion of the sail, -and found I could easily draw canvas enough -over me to conceal me in an instant at the -first alarm or to keep me warm when I slept. -I then blew out the light and replaced the -candle in my pocket, very grateful that I had -had foresight enough to provide me with the -means of seeing when I needed my eyes. -The blackness was at first insupportable, and -again and again my hand sought my pocket -for a candle; but I restrained myself when I -reflected this was but the beginning, and that -if I burnt out my stock of candles quickly I -might have to lie for a week or ten days or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span> -perhaps a fortnight in this blackness. I comforted -myself, however, by reflecting that -there would be noise enough overhead to relieve -this fearful oppression of stillness and -loneliness when the crew came on board.</p> - -<p>I use the word ‘oppression.’ It was physical. -My spirits were easy. My conscience -slept. What had I done that it should rebuke -me? I was proving myself faithful to the -man I had sworn to be true to, and whom I -loved with all the heart which was my life, -and with all the soul which was my intelligence. -I was offending no father, grieving -no mother, and, as to my uncle and aunt, I -knew this, that whilst I chose to hold myself -betrothed to a convict, it was all one to them -whether I followed him in my own fashion or -waited at home for his return.</p> - -<p>By-and-by I thought I would make an -experiment, and creeping out of the sail and -groping about I touched a tin of preserved -meat. In those times provisions were not -delicately tinned as they are now. It was a -common practice then to seal up whole joints -of cooked legs of mutton and roast sirloins<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span> -of beef in tins. Some of the tins Will had -stowed for me with the aid of his corrupted -lumper or rigger were of the size of small -drums, others were little; these contained a -sort of soup, well-known at sea, called soup -and bouilli. The first tin I touched was one -of them. I opened it easily with the knife, -and found the contents solid enough to be -removed in wedges. I then felt for a biscuit, -and made my first meal. I was obliged to -light a candle to seek for the pannikin; I -counted fifteen quart bottles of water, one of -which I opened, being thirsty. All these -things were well hidden within the embrasures -of the timbers and by the ropes and -other matters which fenced them round about. -I groped my way into the sail again after -blowing out the candle, always taking care -to command as much of the slack of the canvas -as would enable me to hide in a moment -if the hatch should be lifted.</p> - -<p>Here now was I, fairly warm, tolerably -provided for, suffering from nothing worse—but -then to be sure nothing worse in its -way could well be imagined—than an overwhelming<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> -oppression of silence and a blackness -deeper than blindness. How does the -ordinary, the average stowaway manage, I -remember wondering? He sneaks in his -rags into dark, rat-hidden holes, and lingers -without food or water for days. Yet it is -contrived; the stowaway is the commonest -incident of ocean life: sometimes, indeed, he -is found a skeleton at the bottom of a chain-locker; -but it is the rule with him to emerge -ribbed, gaunt, half-nude; he is then set to -work, and lands well-lined with ship’s beef -and pork to flourish perhaps in a country -where he is wanted.</p> - -<p>On a sudden I heard a strange noise. I -had been some hours in this place when I -caught the sound. It was a sort of dull -tremble, regular in its pulse, with a metallic -note threading it. I pricked my ears and -strained them hard, and my heart then began -to beat fast; no, I could not mistake! The -sound was the tread of many shackled feet -passing over the deck and descending the -hatchway and coming into the prison, whose -foremost bulkhead partitioned off the hiding-place<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span> -in which I lay. The noise continued -like a flowing of water. I heard no voices, -not the dimmest echo of a human cry, nothing -but the dim thrill of the tramp of many feet -with irons.</p> - -<p>Perhaps an hour may now have passed. -Suddenly the hatch was thumped as though -kicked, and the cover lifted. I pulled the sail -over me, leaving a corner for one eye to peep -out, and lay motionless.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll fetch it,’ cried the familiar voice of -Will. ‘I saw the stuff stowed, and know -where it is. Here, give us hold of the lantern -and stop where you are.’</p> - -<p>His figure descended; he then raised his -arm and received a lighted lantern. I dimly -discerned the shadow of another figure in the -hatch, the square of which lay in a faint -gray. Will stepped from under the hatch, -holding the lantern, and then put the light -down beside a cask, so that the shadow of the -cask was upon that part where I was. He -moved here and there in a seeking attitude -till he had approached the sail close; then -said in a whisper: ‘Where are you, Marian?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span>I raised my head.</p> - -<p>‘Hang me if you don’t roll up as though -you were the sail itself,’ said he. ‘How do -you like it?’</p> - -<p>‘It’s horribly black and lonesome, but I’m -content. I’d not be elsewhere.’</p> - -<p>‘The convicts are aboard, and Butler’s -one of them. I saw him and nodded. He -looks well—I mean pretty well.’</p> - -<p>I started up and cried: ‘Will, if you see -him to speak to, don’t tell him I’m here. He -loves me too much to suffer it. He’d betray -me. He’d get me sent ashore.’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t think so. I’ll not say a word. -No chance indeed; you mayn’t talk to ’em. -I can’t stop. The mate sent an apprentice -here for a canvas bucket. I took the job to -give you the news and see how you are. Anything -you want, Marian?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing, Will.’</p> - -<p>‘I forgot to tell you there’s the handle of -a scrubbing brush lying near your provisions; -you’ll easily get it by feeling. You’ll need it -to knock with should you want to get out. -Bless you, my brave old woman!’ and so,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> -whispering, he took a stride, picked up a -bucket, handed it and the lantern up, and -sprang through the hatch, which immediately -afterward was closed.</p> - -<p>The news of Tom being in the ship so -cheered up my heart that I could have sung -aloud amid that black silence. I kept my -eyes shut that I might not see the blackness, -and tried to figure the interior of the prison -ship. What sort of quarters had the convicts? -Should I ever have a chance of viewing -the ’tweendecks? I recollected that Will -had told me the prison—by which I understood -the cell in which the convicts would be -confined for punishment—was just the other -side of the bulkhead or partition. I strained -my ears, thinking I might catch a sound of -the felons talking. The fancy seized me to -draw close to the partition; I got out of the -sail and felt along it, knowing that the extremity -would bring me to the bulkhead. -Putting out my hands, I felt the bulkhead, -pressed my ear to the solid wooden wall and -listened, but heard nothing; nothing, that is, -resembling a human voice. But I caught a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span> -sort of scuffling sound, very dim and weak, -as though of many feet in motion; it was a -wild, strange noise to listen to in that blackness.</p> - -<p>I groped my way back to where the sail -was loose, and lay down and covered myself -as before. I had thought to find the atmosphere -ice-like, yet I was not cold, being -warmly clad, with plenty of sail-cloth to cover -me besides. I kept my eyes closed to lighten -the weight of the blackness upon the brain. -My thoughts were with Tom, with our visit -to this ship in the docks, with my home in -Stepney. It was like taking a bruising load -off my heart, to think of my sweetheart as -having left the grim and horrible hulk for -good, as having turned his back for ever upon -the killing labour of the dockyard. It was -as though he had taken one long step toward -freedom. I shuddered, and my soul was sick -with loathing when I thought of the hulk, of -the four hundred or five hundred wretches -imprisoned throughout the long winter’s night -in her, of the squalid rows of houses and dismantled -craft along shore, of the mud and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span> -drizzle and the fogs upon the flat and reeking -lands and the bleak spirit of the streaming -yellow Thames in all things, soaking chill to -the core of whatever the eye rested upon, -giving a sterner significance even to man’s -deepest intent of degradation.</p> - -<p>And then I wondered what would happen -when I showed myself or was discovered. -What kind of work would they put me to? -Would they force me to reveal my sex? I -hoped not; I prayed not: for the discovery -might lead to their finding out that I was a -convict’s sweetheart, and they would land me -at the first port the ship touched at and ruin -my scheme, and separate me, perhaps eternally, -from Tom.</p> - -<p>I fell asleep. I could not name the hour. -Time had no being in that blackness. A noise -awakened me. Instinct was alert even in my -slumber, for the instant I awoke I pulled the -canvas over my head, leaving one corner for -my eye, and lay still as a corpse. The hatch -was open and a figure stood under it.</p> - -<p>‘Hand the blooming shovel down,’ the -fellow called out. ‘Never keep poor convicts<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span> -awaiting for their breakfisses. Time enough -to sarve ’em so when they becomes pious and -turns ’spectable sailor-men. Blowed if this ’ere -hatch ain’t froze! Len’s a hand to lift the -cover.’</p> - -<p>A second figure dropped below. The -light was so dim in the hatch above that I -could distinguish nothing but the shadowy -shapes of the two fellows. The hatch in the -deck of the store-room was lifted. One man -climbed out and handed down a shovel and a -lantern, and the other descended with them -into the fore-peak. A bucket was let down, -and I heard a shovelling of coal in the bowels -below. Presently a faint cry sounded. The -bucket was drawn up, emptied into some -noisy receptacle above, and lowered again. -This business lasted nearly half an hour; the -fellow below uprose with the shovel and lantern -and put the lower hatch on, swearing -to himself. He then climbed through the -second hatch, which he also closed, and my -hiding-place was plunged afresh into blackness.</p> - -<p>I gathered from their speaking of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> -convicts’ breakfast and from their procuring -coal, no doubt for the galleys, that it was -early morning, and that I had slept through -the night. A long, dreamless, death-like -sleep it must have been in that black and -silent place. The moment I sat up I was -sensible that the ship was in motion. I -seemed to feel that she was being strained as -though dragged. Subdued noises broke from -various parts of her, the creak of timber and -of bulkhead; but the ship floated without -the least motion; indeed, I was sure she -could not long have left her berth alongside -the hulk.</p> - -<p>I lighted a candle, drank from a bottle of -the water, and, having helped myself to some -meat and a biscuit, I extinguished the candle -and broke my fast in blackness. I did not now -find this blackness the great oppression it had -at first proved. I have heard that the governor -of a jail considered three days of confinement -in a black cell a trifling punishment until he -tried it. He caused himself to be locked up -for twenty-four hours; at the end of that -time he could stand the blackness no longer,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span> -and he was ever after of opinion that twenty-four -hours was as long as it was safe to keep -a man locked up in the blackness at one -stretch.</p> - -<p>This may be true of prison blackness. -Speaking for myself, I ceased to suffer, after a -time, from privation of light; though under -that ship’s forecastle, with the hatch on, the -blackness was as intense whilst the silence -had been as profound as ever human ingenuity -could contrive with bricks and mortar ashore. -But, then, I had a moral support which the -prisoner would be without. I was animated -by the strongest of human passions; it -gladdened me, moreover, to feel that I was -sharing in my sweetheart’s suffering and -exile; and then, again, what I was enduring -was of my own seeking, long awaited with -impassioned eagerness.</p> - -<p>By-and-by the sensation as of the ship -being strained or dragged ceased, and the -noises made by the timbers and in the hold -were silenced. I guessed by this we had -brought up off Gravesend, and roughly -worked out a notion of the hour by first supposing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span> -that we had started from Woolwich at -seven and that we had towed at the rate of -five miles an hour. Gravesend is about -eighteen miles from Woolwich by water, and -therefore I reckoned the hour to be drawing -on to eleven o’clock. All this while I lay -close in the sail; I never knew the instant -when the hatch would be thrown open. All -was still overhead, so I judged that the crew -were not yet come on board.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - - -<small>HER SUFFERINGS IN THE HOLD</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I lay</span> thinking just as one would in bed -through the blackness of a long night: and -in this way three or four hours went by.</p> - -<p>It was then I heard a noise overhead, a -very great hurry of feet, and sounds as of -drunken shouts and singing dulled to the ear -by the thickness of the plank. I knew by -this that the crew were come, and I felt -mighty grateful, for now I could be sure that -we should soon be under way for the Channel. -I supposed that the ship had brought up at a -mooring buoy; certainly I should have heard -the thunder of her cable roaring just over my -head had she let go her anchor.</p> - -<p>I got some biscuit and meat, and whilst I -was eating in my sail the hatch was lifted. I -immediately whipped under the canvas and -lay like a mouse, watching in my fashion,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span> -that is, with one eye at the edge of the bolt-rope -of the sail. Three men came down, -and a minute later a fourth followed. I lay -motionless and terribly frightened, for they -stood under the hatch looking round as -though considering where to seek for what -they came for. The open hatch yawned in a -square of pale gray light; I was able to see -the men, but the forward part of the place -where I lay was sunk in gloom. The biggest -of the men, a great burly fellow of a seaman, -advancing two or three steps, stopped and -began to count. I understood he was counting -the casks.</p> - -<p>‘Eight,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘I told you that, sir,’ said the voice of -Will. ‘I saw them stowed.’</p> - -<p>‘So much the better,’ answered one whom -I reckoned to be a mate, perhaps the second -or third mate. ‘I’ve allowed for six. There -can’t be too much spare water for such a -company as we’re carrying.’</p> - -<p>‘Right you are there, sir,’ exclaimed the -burly man in a deep voice. ‘Sails, here’s -twine for ye.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span>‘I see it,’ said the third man, stooping -and seeming to feel. They continued for a -short time to talk about the contents of this -store-room. I heard Will say the chief mate -had ordered him to count the spare buckets.</p> - -<p>‘Do so,’ said the man whom I supposed to -be the second or third mate.</p> - -<p>‘Bo’sun, hand us down a light. I can’t -strike fire with my eyes,’ said Will.</p> - -<p>The three men went up through the -hatch, leaving Will standing alone under it. -I now distinctly heard the sound of many -voices; most of the newly-arrived crew -seemed intoxicated if I might judge from -their tipsy laughter and maudlin songs and -calls. A light was handed down; Will -screened the lantern by setting it beside a -cask; he then came over to me. I lifted my -head.</p> - -<p>‘There you are,’ said he softly. ‘How -are you getting on, old girl?’</p> - -<p>‘Very well, Will. I have slept right -through the night, and very comfortably. -Give me all the news.’</p> - -<p>‘You may hear it,’ said he, laughing.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span> -‘The crew are aboard, drunk as casks. A -sweet and noble lot of hearts. You never -saw such a crew. The most ruffian-looking -convicts are gentlemen beside some of them. -The crimp who brought them down fished -every gutter ’twixt Houndsditch and Limehouse -Hole, and rejected half he hooked as -not bad enough.’</p> - -<p>‘Then we’re off Gravesend?’</p> - -<p>‘Ay.’</p> - -<p>‘When do we start?’</p> - -<p>‘The tug will be catching hold of us -before dark. Any rats here, Marian?’</p> - -<p>‘None, so far. Have you seen anything -of Tom, dear?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing.’</p> - -<p>He stepped to the lantern and held it to -my face to look at me.</p> - -<p>‘It’s a good job,’ said he, ‘that you’ve -got no hair to dress. But how jolly bright -your eyes are! Perhaps I may have you out of -this sooner than you expect. Pray for a fresh -north-easter, Marian.’</p> - -<p>‘Take your light away and count your -buckets. Somebody may come below.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span>‘I’m not going to count any buckets,’ -said he. ‘I invented that yarn as an excuse -to see you.’</p> - -<p>He carried the lantern to where my provisions -lay, and was looking at them and softly -speaking, when a man fell right through the -hatch. He fell with a mighty thud, and I -screamed out. You would have supposed -him killed or stunned, but he had not lain -quiet one or two minutes, not long enough -indeed for Will to get to him, when he began -to laugh and mutter drunkenly. He then sat -up, and, looking about him, exclaimed: ‘Rum -casks, be gob! Whist, ye drunken teef, and -they’ll lock ye up down here!’ So saying, -he got upon all-fours and crawled toward the -casks stowed in the left wing of this store-room.</p> - -<p>‘What are you doing here?’ cried Will, -stepping up to him.</p> - -<p>‘Is it you, honey? Bedad, then, that -makes two. Quick, sweetheart, with your -gimlet and pannikin, for supposin’ it should -be threacle!’ said the man, sinking into a -sitting posture.</p> - -<p>My terror was extreme. I feared that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span> -others of the drunken crew would follow this -fellow and come tumbling down after him to -rummage for drink, and discover me before -enough sober men could be got together to -turn them out.</p> - -<p>‘Now, up you go!’ cried Will. ‘Out you -get!’ And he put his lantern down to lay -hold of the man.</p> - -<p>‘Why, what divvle are you?’ answered -the brute, in a voice suddenly savage and -dangerous as the growl of a fierce dog. -‘What’s this?’ he roared. ‘A stowaway? -Hooroo! A stowaway, bullies! Hooroo!’ -and, staggering on to his legs, he lurched -towards the lad, with his fist raised.</p> - -<p>Will was as stout a young fellow as ever -buttoned a pea-jacket over his chest. He -struck, and the man dropped like a shot from -the hand. Excitement and fright had carried -me out of the sail. I grasped the broom-handle -and was in the very act of rushing to -help Will, when the fellow was dropped by -my cousin’s fist.</p> - -<p>‘What’s going on down there?’ roared a -hurricane voice through the hatch.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span>I sprang back upon the sail and covered -myself.</p> - -<p>‘Here’s a drunken scoundrel, bo’sun, -pitched headlong down here and refuses to -turn out!’ cried Will.</p> - -<p>The burly figure of the boatswain came in -a sprawl down the ladder. Then followed a -real forecastle scuffle. The boatswain went -to work with legs and hands, kicking and -hauling. The drunken Irishman blasphemed -most horribly. Heads collected at the hatch, -and the fellows up there roared to their -wrestling, drunken, cursing shipmate to fight -it out and die game. But Will and the boatswain -between them proved too much for the -ruffian, and, after a fierce struggle, they -dragged him up through the hatch, with his -old coat in ribbons. Will then descended -for the lantern. He breathed very hard, and -looked my way as though he would speak. -I sat up and passionately waved to him to -depart. He saw my gesture by the light he -held, flourished his hand, and, climbing the -hatch, put the cover on.</p> - -<p>This was a terribly narrow escape, and I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span> -felt all the weakness of my sex’s nature as I -sat in the blackness and realised that had -the other drunken sailors tumbled below I -should have been discovered and my hopes -ruined.</p> - -<p>After this I passed some wretched hours, -for I never knew but that the drunken -Irish sailor had told the others there were -casks under the forecastle full of strong drink, -for all he could guess, and I kept on fearing -that amongst them they’d lift the hatch and -descend. However, nothing of the kind happened; -I got more heart as time went on and -the hatch remained untouched. I heard a -great deal of thumping overhead, and treading -of feet as of men coming and going, and -then I felt once more the same straining sensation -in the ship I had before taken notice -of; I supposed we were under way, in which -case the <i>Childe Harold</i> had fairly begun her -voyage.</p> - -<p>Saving the occasional lifting of the hatch -at long intervals when a man went below into -the fore-peak to shovel coals and send them -up in buckets, nothing broke the overwhelming<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span> -monotony of that black and silent time -of concealment. But there came an hour, -whether it was in the day or night I cannot -tell, when I was awakened out of a deep sleep -by many violent noises and a wild movement. -The ship was at sea; she was breasting the -waters of the Channel; and seemingly a -strong sea was running, for she pitched deep -and raised a most extraordinary roaring noise -of foaming brine all about her bows, in the -very ‘eyes’ of which I lay. For some -minutes I was not sensible of the least inconvenience; -I sat up in my bed of sail wondering -at the novelty of the motion and the -noises; but then I was visited by a most -deadly nausea—I felt as though I were swooning -into death; indeed, the pitching motion -was outrageously heavy for one inexperienced -as I was to waken up to. I was just in that -part of the ship where the pitching is most -felt. I sank back and suffered—oh, how I -suffered! Think of me, alone in that midnight -blackness, without a sup of cordial to -give me a little life, as incapable of stirring as -though I were dying, feeling to the height of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span> -its anguish the sickness that is the worst of -all sickness, hearing nothing but the cataractal -rushing of water against the bows, the -sudden shock and thunder of a great sea -smiting quick and hard as the blow of a rock, -the crazy straining of timber and cargo and -strong fastenings.</p> - -<p>In this wretched state I continued for two -days. I afterwards calculated this time, and -found that it must have run into two days -and a night. I never ate nor drank; I may -say I neither slept nor waked; I lay in a sort -of middle state. Will never came near me; but -through no fault of his; he later on told me -his hands had been full whilst on deck, he -could not invent an excuse to visit the store-room, -and without a good excuse he durst -not lift the hatch lest I should be discovered -and he be charged with hiding me.</p> - -<p>However, whether it was that nature could -suffer no more, or that the movement of the -ship even in this extreme fore part had fallen -into softness and rhythm, I slept and awoke, -and, awaking, found myself free from nausea -and hungry. I sat up and lighted a candle;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> -my hand shook with weakness, and I could -scarcely stand. I drank from a bottle of -water, took such food as I wanted, and made -a meal. I kept the candle burning, for I was -now thinking that my term of imprisonment -might be drawing to an end, and that I could -afford the luxury of a light. Indeed, I had -not as yet consumed a whole candle since I -had been in hiding.</p> - -<p>I sat by the light of the candle till it was -burnt out; the light cheered and soothed me. -It was something for the eye to rest upon, -and the flame was a sort of companion in its -way. Once it put a horrid, frightful fancy -into my mind. I thought to myself, suppose -I set fire to the ship? The vessel has -boats! besides, we are still in the English -Channel, and help is near and abundant. The -convicts would scatter, some going in one -boat, some in another, or the ship might be -run ashore to save life, and Tom escape. I -shuddered, and blew out the light, which was -now burnt to within half an inch of the -candle.</p> - -<p>I felt stronger and more comfortable. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span> -ship plunged softly; I heard no roaring of -the brine outside, no blows as from the shock -of thunderbolts; I guessed that the weather -was fair and gentle; but was it night or day? -I could not imagine. I had figured the high -sun pouring upon the white canvas and the -sea blue and splendid under him, and in that -deep, vault-like blackness I’d pant for the -sweetness of the air above and yearn but for -ten minutes of the glory of the day. Then, -in the same breath, I’d think ‘It may be midnight. -The sun has sunk, and a thousand -stars tremble over the mastheads, and a corner -of moon is lifting out of a length of -ragged, black cloud hanging low over the -blacker water.’</p> - -<p>When would it be time for me to beat -upon the hatch and take my chance of what -was then to follow? In any case, I dared not -reveal myself till Will gave me notice, for -how should I be able to tell where the ship -was—whether she was not still close in with -the English shore, so that the captain could -land me, end my scheme, and render all I -have done and suffered useless? I must be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span> -patient; better that Will should make no -sign for a month than that I should emerge -one hour too soon.</p> - -<p>The time crept on. I heard an occasional -movement of feet overhead, but all the noises -were small and brief. Indeed, it was the ship’s -forecastle, the place where the sailors ate, -drank, and slept; where, unless all hands are -on deck, there is always a watch below and -consequently sleepers; so that when the voyage -has fairly begun and the men have settled -down to their work, there is no quieter place -in a ship than her forecastle.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p class="center">END OF THE FIRST VOLUME</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p class="center"> -<small>PRINTED BY<br /> -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE<br /> -LONDON</small></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i317.jpg" alt="" /></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="transnote"> -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="ph2">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is entered into the public domain.</p> - -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONVICT SHIP, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 63964-h.htm or 63964-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/9/6/63964/</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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