“She sings well, Mr Talbot, does she not?”
“Oh yes.”
“Our singing master, you know, would have wished more tremolo and of course a more practised presentation.”
“Yes. I suppose so.”
“Why, sir—you—”
“Forgive me, Miss Chumley. Remember I have been hit over the head and am not entirely—”
“It is I who should ask forgiveness! I applaud your sensibility. The song was indeed touching, well sung and in tune. A piece of nature! There! Does that go any way towards contenting you?”
“Anything you say contents me.”
“You must recover slowly, sir, from such an injury! You are not to be exposed all at once to the profounder human emotions. See! They are about to dance a hornpipe, I believe. So I may talk without fear of interrupting the music. Do you know, sir, I once had to compose an essay on the subject of Art and Nature? Now would you believe it? Though I fear young persons are sadly docile—or should I say dutiful?—yet while the others were positively eloquent in their defence or advocacy of Nature—for it is fashionable nowadays to believe in Nature, you know—I discovered to my astonishment that I preferred Art! It was the moment at which I became an adult. For you see I believe I was the only young person in the school who saw that orphans are the victims of Nature and that Art is their resource and hope. I was dealt with very severely, I can tell you.”
“They had not the heart!”
“Oh indeed!”
“I am recovered, Miss Chumley, and can only apologize once more.”
“I am so happy to hear it! Indeed, sir, I sacrificed myself on your behalf in a reference to my unfortunate essay. Lady Somerset must never be allowed to know that I have said a word against Nature. It would shock her deeply. She is persuaded that India is a natural paradise. I believe she may be disappointed.”
“And you?”
“Oh, I? What I expect is nothing to the purpose. Young persons are like ships, Mr Talbot. They do not decide their fate nor their destination.”
“I am grieved to hear you say so.”
“Oh, something may be done! Come, sir, I will not have you grieving!”
“What are we to do?”
“Why, enjoy the entertainment and the ball and the, the company! I cannot speak more plainly.”
The hornpipe was much less expert than the one we see commonly danced in theatres. It was replaced by Morris Dancers! They were eight men in the usual smocks and straw hats. They carried wooden swords which they wove into a ring and held up for our languid applause. They also had the Hobby Horse! He committed as many improprieties as he could and chased the young women. He then circled forward to where the ladies sat but was told sharply enough to go off and return whence he came. He did so, but by some simple mechanism erected his tail in a way which would have earned John Coachman his discharge on the spot! Sir Henry then stood up and thanked the people for their entertainment and wished them joy of the peace. His band now took up a new station and our quadrille commenced. The people did not take Sir Henry’s hint but crowded every vantage point with a good enough humour. I might here set down the conversation which ensued between Miss Chumley and me. But it was sufficiently banal, I think. Despite what is written in novels it is difficult to dance and talk when you have got out of the way of such a social activity. Having little help from me, Miss Chumley was silent and we moved together with a feeling of such community it was perhaps more satisfying than speech.
Nevertheless I was soon a little disturbed. Deverel, though under open arrest and forbidden drink, had most unadvisedly joined the company. Since the officers were not wearing swords there was nothing to distinguish him from the other gentlemen and he might have enjoyed the ball without being noticed. But it was plain to me, at least, that he had been drinking; and now, when glasses of wine and spirits were borne round, he took a glass and despite the captain’s express prohibition boldly tossed it off. He then claimed Miss Chumley for the next dance which I had begged—without any inclination but with what I hope was a well-feigned eagerness—from Lady Somerset. What with my endeavours to recollect the pattern of the dance and the lady’s practised conversation I was able only to give a glance now and then at how Deverel was conducting himself. He was, I saw, if not encroaching, at the very least ingratiating. Lady Somerset gave it as her opinion that the allemande with its steps and circling movement was a more natural dance—by which she meant I believe more according to Nature—than the formal quadrille. Deverel made play with Marion’s hand, oh God. Lady Somerset commended the energies of our men who had so sanded the deck it was quite, quite the equal to a ballroom. Deverel made a positive advance to his partner! I missed two steps.
“No, no! The right foot, sir!”
Somehow we got back into time. I begged Lady Somerset to allow her protégée to exchange into our ship—there was room—to do otherwise was to inflict such suffering on a delicate person—But Lady Somerset ceased to sway and showed unexpected and what I now see to have been a clear-sighted common sense.
“Come, Mr Talbot. We know who is suffering and who will continue to!”
“I refuse to allow circumstances to thwart me!”
“A proper sentiment in a young man, sir. Why this is the stuff of poetry and here am I, a devotee of the muses, forced to be the one all poets deride!”
“No, ma’am!”
“Oh yes. If you were yourself, Mr Talbot, and not suffering from the effect of your injuries you would see it as I do. Marion is in my care. She must remain in Alcyone. Of course she must. Daylight will bring you to your, your—”
She said no more and we danced for a while in silence. It seemed to me that Miss Chumley was finding Deverel positively impertinent. There was nothing I could do. However—
“If the mountain will not come to Mahomet—”
The dance ended, for which I was heartily thankful and for the fact that Miss Chumley hardly allowed Deverel to see her back to her seat but frankly walked away from him. After returning Lady Somerset to her husband I went to Miss Chumley, only to find Deverel slumped by her in my chair.
“Ha, Mr Deverel—my chair, I think!”
“Edmund Lord Talbot. Congratulations on your elevation, my boy. That makes you the highest rank in the Atlantic and is one in the eye for Rumble-guts and Windbag!”
Miss Chumley, who was not yet quite seated, quickly begged that we might take the air, for, said she, fanning herself busily, the atmosphere was insupportable to one so lately arrived from England. I offered her my arm and we went up to the rail of the quarterdeck where there was relief from the crowded company at least. I would wish to fill in the background to our dialogue with all the scenery of a tropic night—stars, an inky sea streaked and spotted with phosphorescence, but alas! Chance had wasted all that beauty in using it as a kind of backdrop for the trifling with Miss Brocklebank of which I was now ashamed and which I now felt, ridiculous as it must appear, had soiled me! I felt in need of a tub so that, did she but know, this young and delicate creature would not endure the merest touch of my hand! Who was now the Methodist? The scene in reality was more suited to my awareness of my new condition. It was a close mist, rendered foetid by the sojourn in one place of two crowded ships! We faced each other by the rail. I looked down at her, she looked up at me. The fan moved more and more slowly. Her lips moved and she made the shape of words without saying them. It was more than flesh and blood could endure.
“Miss Chumley, I will find some way—we must not part! Do you not feel, do you not understand? I offer you—oh, what do I offer you? Yes, the ruin of my career, the devotion of a lifetime, the—”
But she had half turned away from me. She looked down into the waist, then immediately swung round and faced the other way, breathing quickly. I glanced down. Deverel lowered the glass he had raised in her direction, then staggered three steps sideways to end by putting out his left hand and supporting himself against the mast. He crossed his left leg over his righ
t one, snatched a drink from a tray Phillips was carrying past, lifted the glass with what I can only call an air of bravado and drank directly to Captain Anderson! Now it is to be remembered that this transaction took place in full view of all the people of the two ships—the whole population of our town! I saw Captain Anderson’s head sink as he leaned forward in his chair and knew, though he was facing away from us, that he had lowered the upper part of his face and projected that minatory jaw beneath it! The next dance had not yet begun so there was no music. I heard and everyone else heard each harsh word that he said.
“Mr Deverel, you were placed under open arrest and forbidden drink. Return at once to your quarters and stay there!”
I have never seen so furious a gaze in a face as that with which Deverel received this order. He lifted his glass not as if to drink but as if to dash it at Anderson—but some glimmer of common sense must have prevented him, for instead he turned aside and hurled it into the scuppers.
“By Christ, Anderson!”
Cumbershum got to him and had him by the shoulder.
“Be quiet, you fool! Say nothing!”
He shook Deverel impatiently and half-led, half-dragged him away. They disappeared into the lobby under the poop. There was a great burst of talking and laughter. Then the music struck up.
“Miss Chumley, let us stay where we are!”
“I must not disappoint your Mr Taylor.”
“Little Tommy Taylor? Good God, the impertinent scamp! I will have his ears for this—and see! There he goes, led off by our Mr Askew by one of those same ears for some misdemeanour or other! You have lost a partner, ma’am, so we may stay where we are in the lee of the poop until the dance after this when I claim again. Do you resist?”
“I am your prisoner.”
“Would it were so! But you are merciful and lend an ear to my heartfelt prayer.”
Below us, Sir Henry was standing up and Captain Anderson.
“I beg the favour of a few words, Sir Henry. The quarterdeck?”
The two captains came up the ladder to the quarterdeck. Miss Chumley murmured to me.
“Should we not return?”
I laid my finger on my lips. The gentlemen passed and climbed up the second stairs. They began to march back and forth so that as they approached the rail their voices were clear, then faded as they turned away again.
“—is one of the Deverels, is he not? Unfortunate!”
Then after a turn—
“No, no, Anderson. There is no time for a court-martial. You know I am under express orders.”
And again—
“—hope you may find some way on such an occasion to reduce the charge to one on which you are empowered to award your own punishment—the young fool! And a Deverel too! No, no, Anderson. It is your ship and your man. I heard nothing, you understand, and was deep in conversation with Prettiman’s fiancée, a most superior woman.”
Miss Chumley whispered again.
“I do believe we should return, Mr Talbot!”
“We are plainly to be seen by at least half of our little world, Miss Chumley, and—good God, what are they about?”
It was the ship’s people on the fo’castle. They were performing their own quadrille! It was, to put it baldly, a parody of ours! It was quite horridly skilful. I do not believe the people themselves knew what cleverly satirical dogs they were! They could not, of course, perform the actual figures but by moving about in a more-than-stately manner, by curtseying and bowing they accomplished much. That young fellow in a sailcloth skirt who swooned, positively swooned past anyone he met, could be no one but Lady Helen! There was also a stocky old man with one of the “ship’s boys” sitting on his shoulders. Together they reached to a considerable height and the rest of the company deferred to them ridiculously. There was much noise, laughter and clapping so that the music of the dance of which young Mr Taylor had been deprived was hardly to be heard. Miss Chumley observed the dance on the fo’castle with sparkling eyes.
“Oh, how happy they are, how gay! If only I—”
She said nothing for a while but I waited and at last she spoke, shaking her head.
“You would not understand, sir.”
“Teach me.”
Once more she shook her head.
Now Sir Henry and Captain Anderson descended from the quarterdeck and resumed their places of honour at the side of the dance.
“We should return too, sir.”
“A moment! I—”
“I beg you will say no more. Believe me, sir, I understand our situation even more clearly than you do! Say no more!”
“I cannot leave you with as little mark of favour as might be accorded to any man in either ship!”
“It is the cotillion!”
So we did descend and took our places for this last dance. As we did so the ship’s bells rang out, the boatswain’s calls, and after that the voices of authority now speaking in unison.
“D’you hear there? D’you hear there? Pipe down! Pipe down!”
It was remarkable with what docility (for all their parodies and double issue of rum) the people disappeared into their own places. Only Sir Henry’s band and a few of the emigrants, Mrs East among them, stayed to watch our final entertainment. We said little or nothing though the dance, as everyone knows, is designed for conversation. For me, it was only just bearable.
At last it ended, or as I might say—since it was less a pleasure than a grief—at last the thing was done. Some of the passengers said their farewells to Captain Anderson and left, the officers of Alcyone too. Sir Henry collected his lady and looked round. But Lady Somerset bore him away firmly to the gangway. Lanterns were going out everywhere in both ships. Captain Anderson, now a shadowy figure, stood by the mainmast, contemplated what had but now been a ballroom as if to see in what way it had been injured. Miss Chumley moved towards the gangway. I dared to take her by the wrist.
“I repeat, I cannot let you go tonight without more than such a mark of favour as might have been bestowed on any gentleman in either ship! Stay if only for a moment—”
“I am Cinderella, you know, and must run back—”
“Say rather in your fairy coach.”
“Oh, it would turn to a pumpkin!”
From the deck of Alcyone came the dulcet voice of Lady Somerset.
“Marion dear!”
“Then say you do not regard me as little as these other gentlemen—”
She turned to me and I saw how her eyes shone in the gloom; and the whisper reached me, as heartfelt as a whisper can be.
“Oh—no indeed!”
She was gone.
(9)
My tears came again. Good God, I was a leaky vessel, used to keep my waters to myself but now cracked from top to bottom! I stood, my feet rooted to the deck, but this time by happiness not fear. Will there ever be a moment for me to match it? I do not think so. Unless—Captain Anderson turned, grunted me a “Good night, Talbot,” and was about to ascend the stairs when Deverel emerged, or rather staggered, from below them. He carried a paper in his hand, came towards Anderson, then stood in front of him. He thrust the paper into the captain’s face.
“Resign commission—private gentleman—issue formal challenge—”
“Turn in, Deverel! You are drunk!”
Now there ensued the most extraordinary scene in that semi-darkness which only the distant lights from the great stern lantern modified. For as Deverel endeavoured to make the captain take the paper the captain retreated. It became a chase, a ludicrous but deadly parody of “Touch” or “Blindman’s Buff”, for the captain dodged round the mainmast and Deverel chased him. Not convinced that the captain did this to avoid being struck—possibly a capital offence—Deverel shouted “Coward! Coward!” and continued to pursue. Now Summers and Mr Askew with Mr Gibbs behind them came running. One of them cannoned into the captain so that Deverel, following close behind, reached him at last. I could not see if the collision was intentional but certainly Dev
erel thought it was and cried out in triumph, to disappear almost instantly beneath a heap of the other officers. The captain leaned against the mainmast. He was breathing heavily.
“Mr Summers.”
Summers’s voice came, muffled, from the flailing heap.
“Sir.”
“Put him in irons.”
At that there was a positively animal howl from Deverel and the heap convulsed. The howling went on except when it was interrupted as Deverel sank his teeth into Mr Gibbs who took up the howling and cursing in his place. The group of struggling men moved away towards the shelter of the aftercastle, then disappeared. Shocked, I saw a shadowy Sir Henry climb to Alcyone’s quarterdeck. He seemed to be peering across at our ship. But he said nothing.
Young Mr Willis came running in his shirt, then disappeared forward. Captain Anderson stood by the folded paper that lay on the deck. He was breathing heavily and quickly. He spoke to me.
“I did not receive it, Mr Talbot. Pray be a witness to that.”
“Receive in what sense, Captain Anderson?”
“I did not agree to take it. I made no move to take it.”
I said nothing. Young Mr Willis returned. One of the older seamen came behind him with something clanking in his hand.
“What the devil?”
“It is the blacksmith,” said Captain Anderson with his usual abruptness. “He is needed to restrain the prisoner.”
“Good God! Good God!”
Summers came running.
“Sir, he is motionless. He is collapsed. Do you think—”
I could feel the captain lowering at him.
“Carry out my orders, Mr Summers. Since you are so tender you shall have them confirmed later in writing.”
“Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Now that paper on the deck. It is material evidence. Observe I do not touch it. Kindly pick it up and take charge of it. You will be required to produce it later.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Mr Talbot, you have noted everything?”
I said nothing.