when mr lawrence found that nothing he could say, nothing he could implore, nothing he could entreat his companion to forgive, provoked lucy into looking round from the window through which she gazed at the sea, nor caused her to alter her posture, which curiously suggested with dramatic art that she was alone, that the man was gone, that she was engrossed by thoughts of her own, he withdrew. after closing the door he seemed to hesitate over turning the key, but turned it nevertheless and pocketed it as before.
the cabin was empty. mr pledge was again superintending work forward. mr eagle kept the look-out. this was the ship's first day from home. the watches had not been set, and it would be "all hands" with the ship's company until the second dog-watch came round. the vessel swayed on the heave of the swell with the ponderosity,[pg 288] you would have looked for in one of her mould. she creaked in every timber. she pitched rapidly, albeit the blue afternoon hollow was very shallow, but the sullenness of the sturdy round bows was in her longwise motion. if lucy meant to be sea-sick she was neglecting her chance, for here was movement more fitted to discompose the land-going stomach than the lofty billow that is swung by the storm. but so far this sweet and amazing young lady had proved herself as good a sailor as mr lawrence himself.
whilst he stood in reflection at the cabin table, the steward paul came down the steps bearing a tray of refreshments so prettily decorated as to prove that the ship's cook had been chosen with judgment. the pyramid of sandwiches might have kindled a light in the dulled eye of one lying oppressed with nausea. in addition were a plate of cold tongue, a small plate of brawn, with two or three other delicacies. on the tray stood a bottle of red wine and a tumbler. mr lawrence told paul, handing him the key as he gave him the directions, to take the tray to miss acton, place it on the table in perfect silence, and quit the cabin, making no answer if she spoke to him. when this was done and the key received by mr lawrence, he took a tumbler from a rack[pg 289] out of the skylight and entered the berth which under the name of "sick-bay" had been fitted up for his own use. here he contrived to find a bottle of brandy, a small caulker of which without water he swallowed.
this interior presented a very inhospitable look; its rough-hewn bunks might have been intended for the accommodation of prisoners. the deck was without carpet. indeed the only colour or warmth which this melancholy hole presented to the eye or the mind was to be found in such wearing apparel as swung from hooks, in mr lawrence's sea-chest, in the nautical instruments, in the shelves with their little burden of tin box, a few books, and so forth.
he sat down upon his chest, folded his arms and sank into thought. had he needed a motto for his reflections he might have found one in the duke of gloster's speech:
"was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
was ever woman in this humour won?"
he had been so transported by his scheme for winning the beautiful young girl whom he worshipped that his survey of the vast canvas of his intentions was in reality restricted to but one corner of it, so that he saw only a little of the whole truth. first, and certainly foremost, he had counted upon her love for[pg 290] him, which, however carefully the secret might have been kept by her, was witnessed by him every time they had met, and flourished as a conviction in him. he had looked for her forgiveness for the rashness, and, it may be added, the cruelty of his conspiracy of love, and he never could have believed that in the sweet image of the girl dwelt such a character as she had exhibited since, after inveigling her on board into his cabin, he confessed that the story which had brought her to him was a lie, and with a face filled with the light of worship for her avowed his intentions.
in some strokes of this character he might have indeed believed that she was merely acting, but other features had impressed him to such a degree that, though he was determined—not yet, perhaps—to accept the suspicion, or the persuasion of his own opinion, he, behind the darkest curtains of his heart, felt a fear that his stratagem would force her reason from her brain, that she would go mad when she clearly understood that the ship was bound to rio to be feloniously sold there, when she realised that she had been ruthlessly torn from her father, from her home, and all that she loved, and that her name must ever bear the stain, happen what might, of mr lawrence's ignoble feat of abduction.
but as a rule men who act with excessive[pg 291] imprudence are endowed with a quality of self-complacency which enables them to persuade themselves that "it's all right," and to this belief they cling until time and experiment prove that it's all wrong; whereupon their moral being falls to pieces, they become mean, cheap, and weak, and bewail their folly under the name of misfortune.
mr lawrence having meditated awhile, rose from his chest, unclasped his arms, and whistling softly the familiar air of "wapping old stairs," quitted his naked, forlorn, inhospitable berth.
as he advanced towards the companion steps the hatch was darkened by the figure of mr eagle, who, on catching sight of the captain, cried: "a sail broad on the larboard bow, sir!"
mr lawrence rushed back to his cabin, whence he took from a shelf a telescope of uncommon power for those times, the gift of no less a man than captain acton after intelligence had been brought to him of a particular heroic piece of behaviour on the part of mr lawrence. with this telescope he sprang on to the deck, and levelling it at the sea over the lee bow, viewed in the lenses the picture of a large man-of-war with two white bands broken by gun-ports. she was far away, yet not so distant but that a[pg 292] hand's breadth of her black side could be seen shivering in mirage betwixt the lower white band and the wool-white tremble of water running aft. all the men of the minorca were on deck at work here and there. they looked at mr lawrence as with levelled telescope he stood on the quarterdeck viewing the distant battleship. they all belonged to old harbour town; all had heard of him, and a few knew him by sight. they were members of a group of inhabitants who felt that the presence amongst them of a man whose sea story though brief was brilliant did them and old harbour town honour, and they regarded him as he stood with the glass at his eye, as though they should say, "yon's a man-o'-war, and she may be a johnny; but there's the jack who will know what to do with her." and, may be, some of those who thus reflected cast their eyes upon the figure of mr eagle, who stood near enough to the captain to enable the sight to master the details of a very striking contrast.
"hoist the ensign!" exclaimed mr lawrence.
mr eagle, breaking into a run, sent aloft at the peak of the barque the meteor flag of old england.
"british!" said mr lawrence in a moment,[pg 293] as though speaking to himself, "as i thought," holding the man-o'-war in view in his telescope, and marking the slow soaring of the british flag to the gaff-end of the two-decker.
the captain's exclamation had been overheard, and the gaze of the merchant seamen of the minorca was fixed upon the figure of one of those fabrics which could never light up with their cloud of sail the confines of the sea or the nearer fields of water, without exciting a thrill of interest or causing the heart to leap up in momentary transport of patriotic pride. she was under fore and mizzen jury topmasts. with the main all was well, and the spars lifted their canvas to the moon-like royal without hint of wreck or suggestion of wound. either she had been in action and had come away crippled, or had been in trouble on a lee-shore or amongst rocks. and still she painted a stately and a swelling picture upon the blue sky past her. the sun was westering; his yellow light flung upon the distant canvas the delicate sheen of fine silk. from the hand's breadth of black side under the lower white band, the stately roll to leeward flashed lightning-sparks from the wet, and, as she slightly pitched, the upheaval of her bows exhibited at the fore-foot the snow-like[pg 294] crumbling of foam. she passed in grandeur and in tranquillity.
all the hearts aboard the minorca, british as they were, must wish that that gallant show might not fall in with something superior to herself in weight of broadside and perfect in equipment aloft. though every man felt that the sequel of such a rencountre must be the inevitable one: that is the sailing of the jury-rigged two-decker in company with a powerful prize both bound, let us suppose, for the sweet and lovely waters of plymouth haven.
mr eagle approached mr lawrence, who turned upon him suddenly.
"the sails of that ship," cried the captain, "must have been in sight some time before you reported her. when i came on deck she was hull up. is this your idea of keeping a look-out?"
"i reported her as soon as i saw her, sir."
"wasn't she reported from the masthead?"
"yes, sir, and then i saw her and reported her to you."
"and this is the way that a look-out is to be kept aboard this ship," said mr lawrence with a biting insolence of scorn, and that sort of pity which enrages more than kicks or execrations. "if you don't hold to the instructions you receive from me, sir, you'll[pg 295] soon find yourself eating black bread in a french dungeon with straw from a sty for a bed."
he made a step to the ship's side, and the mate without answer slunk away to leeward.
about this time the breeze began to freshen. the horizon slightly thickened with some windy change in the atmosphere and with the shadow of the evening. the minorca under all plain sail heeled into the white smother of spume alongside, and as she sprang crushed the surge with her round weather-bow till the bright brine sometimes leapt like a fountain athwart the forecastle. mr lawrence watched her behaviour with attention, and often sent a look at the creaming road of wake which was so brilliant and long that, as the shadow deepened, the tail of it was lost to view.
in the second dog-watch the crew were mustered aft and divided into watches. it was tolerably certain that down to this moment no hint had found its way amongst them that their course would presently be for any other port in the world than kingston.
mr lawrence supped alone as he had dined alone, and, as he intended, to breakfast alone. at sea the last meal which in the old forecastle days consisted of black tea and ship's[pg 296] biscuit was invariably called supper. at six o'clock mr lawrence sat down to the last meal of the day. a tray for the inmate of the captain's cabin was prepared. it was furnished with tea and milk (for the ship was but one day out, and though she wanted a cow she could not need at least a day's supply of milk), bread and butter, slices of ham and biscuits. when the steward came from the cabin mr lawrence said: "did the young lady speak?"
"no, sir."
"what is she doing?"
"she is pulling feathers and other stuff out of her bed which she has drawed from its place on to the deck, and she is sitting alongside of it a-fluffing of the feathers over the cabin floor."
"did she look at you when you entered?"
"she didn't seem as if she even saw me, your honour."
"has she eaten anything, can you tell me?"
"when i fetched her tray last time, sir, i noticed that some sandwiches and tongue was gone, and there was a little red wine in the bottom of the tumbler, as though she had drunk some and left a drop."
"she has ripped up her mattress and is throwing the inside of it round about her!" mr lawrence frowned, pursed his lip, and[pg 297] stared upon the deck with a strange admixture of gloom and anger.
in truth there had come into his mind the remembrance of a person who had fallen mad, and amongst the earliest indications of his insanity was his tendency to tear up everything that would yield to the power of his fingers, including his clothes.
"by-and-by," said he, "go in and clear the mess up. take no notice of her, nor heed her if she speaks. then fetch the mattress from the upper bunk in my cabin and place it on her bedstead."
he finished his supper in a very gloomy mood. his character has been imperfectly drawn if it leaves upon the reader the impression that he was no more than a gallant, handsome, hectoring scoundrel, a drunkard, a liar, and a gambler. he was more than this, and better than this. in him was a very great deal of honest, sturdy, british human nature, and amongst those who saw the white skin of his character peeping through the rags and tatters of his morals was the young lady whom he had locked up in his cabin. was he driving, had he driven her mad? this was an awful thought to him, a figure, a presentment on the canvas of his scheme which his utmost imagination never could have painted. he was passionately [pg 298]fond of her. in truth he was risking his neck to win her. his inmost sensibility as a man and as a gentleman was in perpetual posture of recoil over the reflection that his hand it was that had made this gently-nurtured, beautiful, adorable girl a prisoner in a little ship that was rolling to a port in which she was to be fraudulently sold. he thought of her in the lovely drawing-room of old harbour house: the soft illumination of wax lights; the sweet incense of flowers; the piano whose keys were accompanied by her own melodious warblings; her little dog; all the comforts and luxuries which wealth could provide her with; all that a tender-hearted and loving father could endow his only child whom he loved with. and then he thought of her torn from all this pleasantness and sweetness and elegance, so robed that in a short period she must become beggarly to the eye; after her father's hospitable and plentiful table, fed with the poor fare of a common little ship.
for some time after he had closed his knife and fork he sat at table shading and supporting his forehead with his hand, his elbow resting, and deep thought was in his attitude. to one who knew his story he submitted a picture for memory to cherish. night was near, though not yet come, but[pg 299] its shadow was upon the ship, and three or four stars like little balls of quicksilver ran to and fro athwart the gleaming black panes of the skylight glass. the hum of a steady breeze in the stout shrouds, in the cat-harpings, in the drumming hollow of many sails sounded like the strains of an organ muffled to the ear by the walls of the church that holds it. the low thunder of the surge washing past the ship was as constant as its accompaniment of the concert of creakings, jarrings, shocks in bulkhead, rudder-post and strong fastenings.
mr lawrence started suddenly, stood up, looked round him, and viewed steadfastly for a space lucy's cabin door. then muttering to himself, "to-morrow—to-morrow!" he made his way towards the deck.
he had half mounted the cabin ladder when he was brought to a stand by a sound of voices, of men speaking hard by the companion-way.
"what beats all my goin' a-fishing," said mr thomas pledge in a voice which, in spite of its being subdued, and in spite of the noises of the wind aloft, and of waters washing along the bends yearning and seething, was distinctly audible to mr lawrence as he stood in the shelter of the companion-way, "is this: this 'ere ship belongs to captain acton. his purchase of her was square and above-board.[pg 300] why should he go behind his own back, in a manner of speaking, and put a man that was an officer in the royal navy in charge to carry her to a port, and sell her by stealth, as though she was a piece of plunder, and the officer in charge ordered to 'and her over to a fence, which, john, as of course you know, is the vulgar name for a man as receives stolen goods? why is the crew kept in ignorance of captain acton's intention? there's no 'arm in a man a-selling of his own property. but i says there is a good deal of 'arm in a man deceiving of sailors for making them an offer to do something which he don't rightfully explain, and which they'd decline to undertake if they'd been told the nature of it."
"in all what you say i agree with you, tom," answered mr eagle, "and i should have thought that captain acton was the last man on this earth to have behaved himself in such a way. for my part i have always found him so straightforward that the needle ain't truer to the pole than he is to his rightful and honourable meaning."
"ay," said pledge, "but don't you forget that the needle swings, and leaves the polar mark points off."
"but he swings back again," said mr eagle, "and is true as god's law allows him to be in every atom of steel that goes to the making of[pg 301] him. have you talked at all forrards about this here matter?"
"not yet," was the reply.
"well," said mr eagle, "i'm for leaving these 'ere coils on the pin until the time comes for chucking the fakes down and lettin' go, by which i mean i'm for waitin' until the capt'n calls the 'ands aft and reads to 'em the sealed orders he told me about. it'll be time enough to speak up when we know what captain acton's instructions to him are."
"you may be right," said pledge, "but i should oncommonly like to larn what old jim is a-going to say to this 'ere traverse." meaning by old jim the oldest hand forward, and one who had served captain acton ever since that retired naval officer had commenced ship-owning.
at this point mr lawrence, who judged that as much had been said as was likely to interest him, put his foot over the coaming and passed on to the deck, walking, without heeding the presence of the two men, to the binnacle stand. he inspected the compass, and then looked along the deck. only one figure was now visible, and he had started to stump the planks in the true deep-sea look-out fashion.
it was, of course, as mr lawrence had foreseen. eagle had betrayed mr lawrence's confidence, and pledge manifestly was thirsty[pg 302] to carry the report into the forecastle. as this was a part of mr lawrence's programme his mind made no other comment upon it than that he was pleased to discover that honest john eagle, as captain acton held him, was a rogue who could not keep a secret although imparted by so exalted a personage as the commander of a ship, and that in breaking his promise the sour, shallow-minded mate was doing exactly what mr lawrence wished.
the night came down in a heavy shadow that was not lightened by its burden of stars. the foam of the sea looked as spectral as the faint astral splashes in the velvet deeps on high through which sailed many visionary shapes of cloud. a little time before it fell dark, and when the soft, moist crimson of the sun that was set yet lurked in the west, the steward paul went aft with lanterns for the cabins occupied by the captain, the mate, and miss lucy acton. the great cabin, or living-room, was already lighted by two lanterns which swung from hooks on either side the skylight fore-and-aft. the lanterns paul bore were small, of iron frames fitted with glass, and in them was consumed a mesh which was fed with oil.
mr lawrence was in the act of passing from the cabin steps to his berth when paul, who had received the key from him, came out[pg 303] of the interior tenanted by lucy. he looked pale in the lantern light, ugly, and grotesque, and his face wore an expression as though he had been terrified.
"have you hung up the light in miss acton's cabin?" said mr lawrence.
"yes, sir."
"what is she doing?"
"she was lying on the mattress i took in."
"did she speak?"
"no, sir. at least not at once."
"has she ripped up the mattress?"
"i didn't see she 'ad, your honour."
"what next?"
"as i turned after 'anging the lantern up i found her stannin' behind me with a knife in her hand; one of the knives i took in the tray, and didn't miss when i cleared away. she says to me, speakin' through her teeth like as though she was tryin' to talk whilst holding on to something with her mouth, and in the strangest, thinnest voice i ever heard in all my life, like when you're trying to file down the head of a nail, 'what do you want here, you loathsome creature? you come fresh from your forest. go back before i kill you!' and she flourished the knife which glittered in her 'and as though it was a-fire, on which i ran out, sir."
it would have been difficult to tell what was[pg 304] in mr lawrence's mind as he stood viewing paul for some moments in silence, after that arched-legged hunchback had ceased. he said in a voice without a tremor, in tones as steady and collected as those in which he would ask a man how he was or bid him good-morning: "have you ever met with mad people?"
"yes, sir."
"what proof have they given you that they were mad?"
"a-tearin' up of their clothes and a-goin' about without shame. he was a man called micky cruppin, sir. another 'ud stop at every pool to wash his feet. i knowed a man who wouldn't attend sarvice 'cos he said that the devil always came in, and took a seat beside him. there was old mother compton, who'd spit at a dog if he barked at her, who used to do her washin' on the sabbath, sayin' that she was too good to go to church, and that the parson ought to be 'anged for having committed a forgery where he last lived. and this she'd say of a new parson just as she would of t'other who had gone afore him."
"do you think miss acton mad?" said mr lawrence, speaking with an effort, but determined to have an independent opinion and willing to believe that the wretch who stood humped, pallid, and terrified before him might be able to distinguish clearly what[pg 305] was obscured by his own prejudices, wishes, and dread.
"yes, sir, i do," was the answer, swiftly delivered, as is the characteristic of conviction.
without further speech mr lawrence passed into his cabin.
till midnight he was frequently up and down. the mate in charge rounding upon his heel would see the figure of the captain, who might not have long before gone below, rising and falling against the stars as he stood grasping a back-stay, watching the darkling ship as she crushed the phantom lights of the deep out of the black coil of surge with its trembling lading of stars of the sea-glow, and ever and anon sending the eye of a man, who has been used to looking out for ships of the enemy, around the gloom of the horizon. but the mate of the watch did not know that mr lawrence varied this routine of vigilance by often standing in his own cabin with his ear pressed to the bulkhead that separated lucy's berth from his, with the idea of catching any noises that might be made within.
shortly after midnight he softly turned the key in lucy's door and looked in, and deeming that she lay asleep he passed in, closing the door behind him, that the roll of the ship might not slam the door and awaken the sleeper. the light was dim, but sufficiently clear for[pg 306] eyes that had come out of the gloom or darkness. a mattress lay upon the deck close against the bedstead, which was emptied of its furniture, and upon this mattress was stretched the figure of lucy acton. she was fully dressed as in the day, save that she had removed her jockey-shaped hat. the bolster from the bedstead supported her head. some of her dark hair had become disengaged and lay loosely about her cheek, giving the purity of marble to her brow in that light, and her sleep was so deep that she lay as though dead. on the deck close beside her grasp was a common table knife.
mr lawrence made a step and quickly picked up the knife and drew back again, conscious that the fixed gaze will often awake a slumberer even from deep repose. he stood close to the door viewing this picture of a sleeping girl in a ship's little cabin irradiated by a dim light, whose motions, with the rolling and the pitching of the ship, filled the darkling interior with a hundred dancing spectres. his marine ear would take no heed of the voices of the ship in that cabin, the groans and murmurs, the low whistlings and rusty strainings. this was a concert which his seasoned sense of hearing must miss or overlook in his perception of the picture he viewed.
he gazed at the sleeping figure for two or[pg 307] three minutes and then left, again locking the door. he entered his own cabin and stretched his form along the lower bunk; but used as he was to sleep well in an hour betwixt one scene of slaughter, of belching broadsides, of fierce and murderous boarding and another scene scarred by the cannon flame, terrible with its thunder of guns whose muzzles yawned close to the muzzles of the foe, slumber was not to be his.
was it possible that lucy's situation had driven her out of her mind? her behaviour throughout the day had been extraordinary. features of character had appeared in her in the extravagance of her moods and humours which he never could have conceived would, though latent and demanding the summons of insanity to become visible, have formed a part of her nature. she, the gentle, the sweet, the refined, the tender, the sympathetic had exhibited even coarseness. could she be mad, and yet slumber so soundly? how do the insane sleep?
he contrasted her wretched bed on that cabin floor with her home bedchamber which he figured—he had never entered it; a room sweet-scented with the flowers of the creepers at the windows, white and fair in the apparel of a girl's bower of rest, elegant in its equipment as were all the rooms of the home of the actons.
[pg 308]
he loved her passionately, even to madness, and must win her. but he never would have sought to win her at the price of her reason, had he foreseen the blow his stratagem must deal her. he must turn robber to rescue himself from a life-term of imprisonment as a debtor, and he could not steal his friend's ship without stealing his daughter too, because he knew that his act of piracy would as effectually end all chance of his possessing her as a wife as though she lay as dead as juliet in her tomb.
he was on deck early in the morning. daybreak had turned ashen the surface of the sea. the wind was a steady breeze, and the minorca crowded with every cloth she carried saving her stun-sails, plunged, and pitched, and frothed, and foamed in prodigious fine style as she was swept onwards by the wind that was a point abaft the beam. the sun rose in wet pink splendour on the larboard quarter, and by his light, which threw out the sea-line like the crystal rim of a tumbler against the heavens which were full of travelling clouds, mr lawrence swept with his glass the whole brimming circle. there was nothing in sight.
mr pledge walked the deck in charge of the watch. when mr lawrence appeared[pg 309] pledge saluted him in man-o'-war style, but mr lawrence's policy towards pledge was the same as his policy towards eagle. he would not sit at meals with him, or have anything to say to him outside the necessities of strict discipline and the ship's routine. pledge saw pride, haughtiness, and contempt in the handsome face that was turned to him when mr lawrence condescended to ask a few questions about the ship's rate of going, and the like. but this much the captain added: "did you ever serve in a man-o'-war, sir?"
"yes, sir," answered pledge.
"british?"
"american, your honour."
"well, the yankee's discipline is taut, though not so taut as ours by the length of a log-line to a lead-line. you therefore understand the necessity of obeying orders?"
with some astonishment thomas pledge answered: "i do, sir."
"i told mr eagle to keep a bright look-out for ships, and he reported one to me when she was hull up. she might have been a frenchman, and if so, we should now be occupying her hold. you will please keep a bright look-out for ships, sir!" he added, with which he stepped to the weather-side of the quarterdeck, and pledge crossed to[pg 310] leeward thinking to himself: "if he talks to old jim like this and with that there face and manner, he'll find out that the discipline of the british merchant service ain't all his navy ideas would like to see it. damn me, on top of his talking to me like this, if i don't 'ave a yarn with old jim after breakfast, and blast the consequences," and he sent a scowl at mr lawrence, who was looking to windward.
