I heartily appreciated the Earl of ——'s theory of sea-beds when I sprang into my narrow shelf of bunk, and found myself buoyant on some very miracle of spring mattress. I slept as soundly as one who sleeps to wake no more; but on going on deck some little while before the breakfast was served, I was grievously disappointed to find a wet day. There was very little wind, but the sky was one dismal surface of leaden cloud, from which the rain was falling almost perpendicularly with a sort of obstinacy of descent that was full of the menace of a tardy abatement. Fortunately, the horizon lay well open; one could see some miles, and the steamer was washing along at her old pace—a full thirteen, with a nearly becalmed collier, ragged, wet and staggering, all patches and bentinck-boom, dissolving rapidly into the weather over the starboard quarter. Captain Verrion, in streaming oilskins, catching sight of my head, came aft to inquire if I had slept comfortably. We then talked of the weather.
One may know the English Channel ain't fur off, sir, said he, with a grin, as he looked up at the sky.
Ay, said I, "and how would it be with us if we depended upon sails? There is better music to me in the noise of your engine-room than in the finest performance of the first opera orchestra in the world."
He respectfully assented; and to kill the time as I stood under shelter, I asked a few questions about the earl and countess, related our adventures, taking care, however, to let him suppose that we were a young married couple out on a yachting honeymoon—not that I said this; I allowed him to infer it; spoke of the chances of the Spitfire, and then seeing Grace at the foot of the ladder, joined her, and presently we were at breakfast.
It rained incessantly, but, happily, the wind remained small, and we travelled along as quietly in that three hundred and fifty ton yacht as though we reposed in the saloon of an Atlantic giantess. A number of volumes filled the shelves of a sumptuous bookcase; I took the liberty of seeking for a book for Grace, and found that the collection consisted almost entirely of novels. His lordship was as wise in his choice of literature for sea-going purposes as in his taste for spring-mattresses, for what but a novel in a yacht's cabin on a wet day can fix the attention?
It was some time after three o'clock in the afternoon, that on a sudden the engines were "slowed down," as I believe the term is, and a minute later the revolutions of the propeller ceased. There is always something startling in the abrupt cessation of the pulsing of the screw in a steamer at sea. One gets so used to the noise of the engines, to the vibrating sensation communicated in a sort of tingling throughout the frame of the vessel by the thrashing blades, that the suspension of the familiar sound falls like a loud and fearful hush upon the ear. Grace, who had been dozing, opened her eyes.
What can the matter be? cried I.
As I spoke I heard a voice, apparently aboard the yacht, hailing. I pulled on my cap, turned up the collar of my coat, and ran on deck expecting to find the yacht in the heart of a thickness of rain and fog with some big shadow of a ship looming within biscuit-toss. It was raining steadily, but the sea was not more shrouded than it had been at any other hour of the day, saving perhaps that something of the complexion of the evening, which was not far off, lay sombre in the wet atmosphere. I ran to the side and saw at a distance of the length of the steam yacht, my own hapless little dandy, the Spitfire! Her main mast was wholly gone, yet I knew her at once. There she lay, looking far more miserably wrecked than when I had left her, lifting and falling forlornly upon the small swell, her poor little pump going, plied, as I instantly perceived, by the boy, Bobby Allett.
I had sometimes thought of her as in harbour, and sometimes as at the bottom of the sea, but never, somehow, as still washing about, helpless and sodden, with a gushing scupper and a leaky bottom. Caudel, poor old Caudel, stood at the rail shouting to Captain Verrion, who was singing out to him from the bridge.
I rushed forward, bawling to Captain Verrion, "That's the Spitfire; that's my yacht!" and then at the top of my voice I shouted across the space of water between the two vessels, "Ho, Caudel! where are the rest of you, Caudel? For God's sake launch your boat and come aboard!"
He stood staring at me, dropping his head first on one side, then on the other, doubting the evidence of his sight, and reminding one of the ghost in Hamlet: "It lifted up its head and did address itself to motion as it would speak." Astonishment appeared to bereave him of speech. For some moments he could do nothing but stare, then up went both hands with a gesture that was eloquent of—"Well, I'm blowed!"
Come aboard, Caudel! Come aboard! I roared, for the little dandy still had her dinghey and I did not wish to put Captain Verrion to the trouble of fetching the two fellows.
With the motions and air of a man dumb-founded, or under the influence of drink, Caudel addressed the lad, who dropped the pump handle, and between them they launched the boat, smack-fashion. Caudel then sprang into her with an oar and sculled across to us. He came floundering over the side, and yet again stood staring at me as though discrediting his senses. The colour appeared to have been washed out of his face by wet; his very oilskins seemed to have surrendered their water-proof properties, and they clung to his frame as soaked rags would. His boots were full of water, and his eyes resembled pieces of jellyfish fixed on either side his nose. I grasped his hand.
Of all astonishing meetings, Caudel! But how is it that you are here? What has become of the main mast? Where are the rest of the men? Never did a man look more shipwrecked than you. Are you thirsty? Are you starving?
By this time Captain Verrion had joined us, and a knot of the steamer's crew stood on the forecastle looking first at the Spitfire, then at Caudel; scarcely, I daresay, knowing as yet whether to feel amused or amazed at this singular meeting. Caudel had the slow, laborious mind of the merchant sailor. He continued for some moments to heavily and damply gaze about him, then said:
Dummed if this ain't wonderful, too. To find you here, sir! and your young lady, Mr. Barclay?
Safe and well in the cabin, I answered; "but where are the others, Caudel?"
I'll spin you the yarn in a jiffy, sir! he answered, with a countenance that indicated a gradual recollection of his wits. "Arter you left us we got some sail upon the yacht; but just about sundown it breezed up in a bit of a puff and the rest of the mast went overboard, a few inches above the deck. Well, there we lay. There was nothen to be done. Job Crew, he says to me, 'What's next?' says he. 'What but a tow home,' says I. 'It'll have to be that,' says he, 'and pretty quick, too,' he says, 'for I've now had nigh enough of this galliwanting.' Job was awanting in sperrit, Mr. Barclay. I own I was surprised to hear him, but I says nothen, and Dick Files, he says nothen, and neither do Jim Foster. Well, at daybreak a little barque bound to the River Thames comes along and hails us. I asked her to give me a tow that I might have a chance of falling in with a tug. The master shook his head, and sings out that he'd take us aboard, but we wasn't to talk of towing. On this Job says, 'Here goes for my clothes.' Jim follows him. Dick says to me, 'What are you going to do?' 'Stick to the yacht,' says I. He was beginning to argue. 'No good atalking,' says I, 'here I am and here I stops.' Wouldn't it have been a blooming shame," he added, turning slowly to Captain Verrion, "to have deserted that there dandy when nothen's wanted but an occasional spell at the pump, and when something was bound to come along presently to give us a drag?"
Captain Verrion nodded, with a little hint of patronage, I thought, in his appreciative reception of Caudel's views.
Well, to make an end of the yarn, Mr. Barclay, continued Caudel, "them three men went aboard the barque, taking their clothes with 'em; but when I told Bobby to go too, 'No,' says he, 'I'll stop and help ye to pump, sir.' There's the makings of a proper English sailor, Mr. Barclay, in that there boy," he exclaimed, casting his eyes at the lad who had again addressed himself to the pump.
And here you've been all day? said I.
All day, sir, and all night too, and a dirty time it's bin.
Waiting for something to give you a tow, with a long black night at hand?
Mr. Barclay, said he, "I told ye I should stick to that there little dandy, and I wouldn't break my word for no man."
You sha'n't be disappointed, said Captain Verrion, bestowing on Caudel a hearty nod of approval, this time untinctured by condescension, "give us the end of your tow rope and we'll drag the dandy home for ye."
Cap'n, I thank 'ee, said Caudel.
You and the boy are pretty nigh wore out, I allow, exclaimed Captain Verrion. "I'll put a couple of men aboard the Spitfire. How often do she want pumping?"
'Bout every half hour.
You stay here, said Captain Verrion, looking with something of commiseration at Caudel, who, the longer one surveyed him, the more soaked, ashen, and shipwrecked one found him. "I'll send for the boy, and you can both dry yourselves and get a good long spell of rest."
He left us to give the necessary orders to his men, and, whilst the steamer launched her own boat, I stood talking with Caudel, telling him of our adventures aboard the Carthusian, of our marriage, and so forth. He listened very gravely whilst I talked of my marriage.
I fear it's a sham, said I, "but it will be something to strengthen my hands with when I come to tackle Lady Amelia."
A sham! cried he, "no fear, sir. If you've been married by the master of a ship, there's no more splicing wanted. You're a wedded man. There can be no breaking away from it."
How do you know? said I, wondering whether he did know.
How do I know, sir? Why, the master of a ship can do anything aboard his own craft, and whatever he does is lawful.
This was mere forecastle superstition, and I saw that he did not know.
Anyway, Caudel, said I, "the wedding ring is on the young lady's finger. Captain Verrion has noticed it, and I shall feel obliged by your calling her Mrs. Barclay whenever you have occasion to speak of her. Give Allett that hint, too, will you?"
I had got into the shelter of the companion whilst I talked, and Grace, hearing my voice, called to me to tell her why the steamer had stopped, and if there was anything wrong.
Come here, my darling, said I. She approached and stood at the foot of the steps. "We have fallen in with the Spitfire, Grace, and here is Caudel."
She uttered an exclamation of astonishment. He directed his oyster-like eyes into the comparative gloom, and then catching sight of her, knuckled his forehead, and exclaimed, "Bless your sweet face! And I am glad indeed, mum, to meet ye and find you both well and going home likewise." She came up the steps to give him her hand and I saw the old sailor's face working as he bent over it.
The steamer made a short job of the Spitfire; but a very little manoeuvring with the propeller was needful; a line connected the two vessels; the yacht's boat returned with the boy Bobby, leaving three of the steamer's crew in the dandy; the engine-room bell sounded, immediately was felt the thrilling of the engines in motion, and presently the Mermaid was ripping through it once more with the poor little dismasted Spitfire dead in her wake. I sent for the boy, and praised him warmly for his manly behaviour in sticking to Caudel. Captain Verrion then told them both to go below and get some hot tea, and put on dry clothing belonging to them, that had been brought from the dandy.
I'm thinking, sir, said he, when Caudel and the other had left, "that I can't do better than run you into Mount's Bay. I never was at Penzance, but I believe there's a bit of a harbour there, and no doubt a repairing slipway, and I understood that Penzance was your destination all along."
I assured him that he would be adding immeasurably to his kindness, by doing as he proposed, "but as to the Spitfire," I continued, "I sha'n't spend a farthing upon her. My intention is to sell her, and divide what she will fetch amongst those who have preserved her. I have had more of the Spitfire than I want, Captain Verrion, and though I am glad to know that she is towing astern, I protest—assuming the safety of her crew assured—that it would not have caused me a pang to learn she had gone to the bottom."
Well, sir, we'll head for Mount's Bay then. It will be a saving of some few hours of sea anyway for the lady, and with that he trudged forward.
From the shelter of the companion hatch we could just catch a view over the steamer's taffrail of the Spitfire as she came sliding after us to the pull of the tow-rope. With linked arms Grace and I stood looking at her. The air was darkening to the descent of the evening shadow, the rain poured continuously; but the wind was gone. The sea undulated in an oil-like surface, and the rain as it fell pitted the water with black points, as of ink. The melancholy of the scene was unspeakably heightened by that detail of mutilated, dismasted yacht astern, and by the tragic significance she gathered for us as we stood looking, recalling the night of the elopement, our stealthy floating out of Boulogne harbour, the gale that had nearly foundered us, and our escape that might well seem miraculous to our land-going eyes as we noticed her littleness and her present helplessness, and remembered the height of the seas which ran, and the hurricane weight of storm which she had survived.
We killed the evening with books and talk, and the minutes fled with the velocity of the flight of birds. Our sailor steward informed us that Caudel and the boy had turned in after making a hearty supper and were sleeping like dead men. I stood awhile in the companion to smoke a pipe before going to bed; but at that hour the night was as black as thunder, the wet hissed upon our decks as it fell; yet upon the white waters of the steamer's wake the dim configuration of the little Spitfire was visible, with her weak side-lights of red and green dimly glimmering over the pale, faint stream of froth that rushed from the Mermaid's counter to the dandy's sides.
It was possibly the thoughts and memories induced by the obscure and melancholy vision of the little fabric in our wake that rendered me nervous. I thought to myself—here we are steaming at ten or twelve knots an hour through a thick, coal-black night; suppose we should plunge into some wooden or metal side? Some such apprehensions as this, not quite idle nor unmanly either, dismissed me to my cabin with a resolution to lie down fully clothed, and for three hours I lay wide awake, listening to the restless grinding of the engines and to the sounds of water flowing swiftly past. I then rose, and felt my way up the companion steps, not doubting to find the same black, weeping night I had left; instead of which my mind was instantly relieved by the spectacle of a high, clear sky, crowded with stars, with the firm ebony line of the horizon showing sharp against the distant starry reaches, and within half a mile of us on our starboard beam the huge shape of an ocean steamer, some vessel from who shall tell what distant part of the world—the Cape, the Indies, the far-off Australias—sliding past us it seemed almost half as fast again as we ourselves were going, a vast symmetric shadow, like an island, with ore bright point of light only visible to my eyes.
I waited until she had drawn ahead, then turned in afresh, this time between the sheets, and slept like a top.
The change of weather, the clearness of the night helped us, and some time about two o'clock on the afternoon of Monday the Mermaid, with the Spitfire in tow, was steaming into Mount's Bay. I stood with Grace on my arm looking. The land seemed as novel and refreshing to our sight as though we had kept the sea for weeks and weeks. The sun stood high, the blue waters delicately brushed by the light wind ran in foamless ripples, the long curve of the parade with the roofs of houses past it dominated by a church came stealing out of the green slopes and hills beyond. A few smacks from Newlyn were putting to sea, and the whole picture that way was rich with the dyes of their canvas.
The steamer was brought to a stand when she was yet some distance from Penzance harbour, but long before this we had been made out from the shore, and several boats were approaching to inquire what was wrong and to offer such help as the state of the Spitfire suggested. Caudel and Captain Verrion came to us where we were standing, and the former said:
I'm going aboard the dandy now, sir. I'll see her snug and will then take your honour's commands.
Our address will be my cousin's house, which is some little distance from Penzance, I answered; "here it is," and I pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled the address upon it. "You'll be without anything in your pocket, I daresay," I continued, handing him five sovereigns. "See to the boy, Caudel, and if he wants to go home you must learn where he lives, for I mean to sell that yacht there, and there'll be money to go to him. And so farewell for the present," said I, shaking the honest fellow heartily by the hand.
He saluted Grace, and went over the side, followed by Bobby Allett, and both of them were presently aboard the little Spitfire.
There are boats coming, exclaimed Captain Verrion, "which will tow your dandy into Penzance harbour, sir. Will you go ashore in one of them, or shall I have one of the yacht's boats lowered for you?"
Thanking him heartily, I replied that one of the Penzance boats would do very well, and then looking into my pocket-book and finding that I had no more gold about me than I should need, I entered the cabin, sent the sailor attendant for some ink, and wrote a couple of cheques, one of which I asked Captain Verrion to accept for himself, and to distribute the proceeds of the other amongst his crew. He was reluctant to take the money, said that the earl was a born gentleman who would wish him to do everything that had been done, that no sailor ought to receive money for serving people fallen in with in a condition of distress at sea; but I got him to put the cheques into his pocket at last, and several boats having by this time come alongside, I shook the worthy man by the hand, thanked him again and again for his treatment of us, and went with Grace down the little gangway ladder into the boat.
We had no sooner quitted the yacht than the engine-room bell rang, and the beautiful fabric was in motion, and before our boatmen had measured a dozen strokes, the steamer's stern was at us, with Captain Verrion flourishing his brass-bound cap to us from the bridge. There were two boats alongside my wretched little dandy, and so quiet was the day that I could hear Caudel talking to their occupants. But I was now wholly done with her; honest Caudel and Bobby Allett were safe, and I could think of little more than of the string of adventures I should have to relate to my cousin, and of what was beyond, what Lady Amelia was going to do, whether it might come to my cousin being unable to publish the banns for us, and whether the darling at my side had been made my true and lawful wife by Captain Parsons' recital of the marriage service.
On landing we proceeded to the Queen's Hotel where I ordered dinner, and then wrote a letter to my cousin asking him and his wife to come to us as speedily as possible, adding that we had been very nearly shipwrecked and had met with some strange adventures, the narrative of which, if attempted, must fill a very considerable bundle of manuscript. This done I told the waiter to procure me a mounted messenger, and within three quarters of an hour of our arrival at Penzance my letter was on its way at a hard gallop to the little straggling village of —— of which Frank Howe was vicar.
When we had dined I stood with Grace at the window of the sitting-room that overlooked the noble bight of Mount's Bay. On our left rose the lofty Marazion hills, with the little town of Marazion lying white at the eastern base of the range, and beyond ran the dark blue loom of Cudden Point melting into the dim azure of the Lizard district. The sun was in the west, his light was red, and this warm dye made a glorious autumn picture of that sweep of cliff embraced waters. Several colliers lay high and dry on the mud just abreast of the town, but the Spitfire had vanished, towed, as I might suppose, by boats to the security of the harbour that was hidden from me. Far past the distant giant foreland point was an orange-coloured sail showing like a delicate edge of cloud over the edge of the blue, lens-like rim of the sea. I thought of the Carthusian—of our sea marriage—and lifting my darling's hand, toyed mechanically with the wedding-ring upon it, whilst I looked at her.
She had been pale and nervous ever since our arrival; her delight in being safely ashore at last had seemed but a short-lived sensation. She looked at the ring with which I was toying and said:
What shall I do with this thing?
Go on wearing it down to the time when it will be necessary to remove it in order to replace it.
And what will your cousin think of me—a clergyman! And his wife is a clergyman's daughter. Oh, Herbert! she added, sighing in a shuddering way.
They will admire you, they will consider you the sweetest of girls. What else can they think, Grace?
But her mood was what it had been at the time we sailed out of Boulogne harbour. She was depressed, frightened, acutely sensitive, dreading opinion, and all to such a degree that she could utter nothing which was not full of apprehension and regret, so that anyone who had watched us unseen must have concluded that either we were not lovers, or that we had been married much longer than our tender years suggested. But lovers we were all the same! and however it might have been with her in that little passage of worry, uncertainty, and nervousness, she had never been dearer to me; never had I felt prouder of winning her heart, nor more triumphant in my possession of her.
Time passed, and I was beginning to fear that some engagement prevented Howe and his wife from coming over to us, when, hearing a noise of wheels, I stepped to the window and saw my cousin assisting a lady out of a smart little pony carriage.
Here they are! I exclaimed to Grace.
There was a pause; my darling looked about her with terrified eyes, and I believe she would have rushed from the room but for the apprehension of running into the arms of the visitors as they ascended the staircase. A waiter opened the door, and in stepped Mr. and Mrs. Frank Howe. My cousin and I eagerly shook hands, but nothing could be said or done until the ladies were introduced. I had never before met Mrs. Howe, and found her a fair-haired, pretty woman of some eight-and-twenty years, dressed somewhat "dowdily," to use the ladies' word; but her countenance so beamed with cheerfulness and good-nature that it was only needful to look as her to like her. Frank, on the other hand, was a tall, well-built man of some three-and-thirty, with small side whiskers, deep-set eyes, and a large nose, and teeth so white and regular that it was a pleasure to see him smile. One guessed that whatever special form his Christianity took it would not be wanting in muscularity. He held Grace's hand in both his and seemed to dwell with enjoyment upon her beauty as he addressed her in some warm-hearted sentences.
Mrs. Howe kissed her on both cheeks, drew her to the sofa, seated herself by her side, and was instantly voluble and delightful.
I took Frank to the window, and with all the brevity possible in such a narrative of adventures as ours, related what had befallen us. He listened with a running commentary of "By Jove!"—"You don't say so,"—"Is it possible?" and other such exclamations, constantly directing glances at Grace, who was now deep in talk with Mrs. Howe, and, as I might know by the expression in her face, excusing her conduct by explaining the motives of it. In fact, even as I talked I could catch such words as "Ma'mselle Championet,"—"the Roman Catholic Priest,"—"Lady Amelia Roscoe's bigotry,"—with one or two other expressions, all giving me to know in what direction their conversation tended.
Mrs Howe's air was one of affection and sympathy, as though she had come to my darling with the resolution to love her and to help her.
She is very young, Herbert, said Frank in a low voice.
She is eighteen, I answered.
She is exquisitely beautiful. I cannot wonder at you even if I could have the heart to condemn you. But, is not that a wedding-ring on her finger?
It is, I answered, looking at him.
He looked hard at me in return and exclaimed, "A mere provision against public curiosity, I presume? For surely you are not married?"
I am not so sure of that, I answered; "but my story is not yet ended," and I then told him of the marriage service which had been performed by Captain Parsons on board the ship, Carthusian.
Tut! cried he, with a decided churchman-like shake of the head when I had made an end, "that's no marriage, man."
I believe it is then, said I, "though, of course, until you unite us we do not consider ourselves man and wife."
I should think not, he exclaimed with vehemence. "What! a plain master of a ship empowered to solemnise holy matrimony? Certainly not. No churchman would hear of such a thing."
Ay, but it's not for the Church, it's the affair of the law. If the law says it's all right the Church is bound to regard it as right.
Certainly not, he cried, and was proceeding, but I interrupted him by repeating that we had consented to be married by Captain Parsons in the forlorn hope that the contract might be binding.
But without banns?—without licence?—without the consent of the young lady's guardians? No! no! he cried, "you are not married. But it is highly desirable," he added, with a look at Grace, "that you should get married without delay. And so what do you propose to do?
Well, time may be saved by your publishing the banns at once, Frank.
Yes, but you must first obtain the guardian's consent.
Oh, confound it! I cried, "I did not know that. I believed the banns could be published whilst the consent was being worked for."
He mused awhile, eyeing his wife and Grace, who continued deep in conversation, and then, after a considerable pause, exclaimed:
There is nothing to be done but this; we must revert to your original scheme; Miss Bellassys—
Call her Grace, said I.
Well, Grace must come and stay with us.
I nodded, for that I had intended all along.
I will find a lodging for you in the village. I nodded again. "Meanwhile—this very day, indeed—you must sit down and write to Lady Amelia Roscoe, saying all that your good sense can suggest, and taking your chance, as you have put it, of the appeal your association with her niece will make to her ladyship's worldly vanity and to her perceptions as a woman of society."
All that you are saying, I exclaimed, "I had long ago resolved on, and you will find this scheme as you have put it almost word for word in the letter in which I told you of my plans and asked you to marry us."
Yes, I believe my recommendations are not original, said he. "There is something more to suggest, however. If Lady Amelia will send Grace her consent, why wait for the banns to be published? Why not procure a licence? It is due to Grace," said he, sinking his voice and sending a look of admiration at her, "that you should make her your wife as speedily as possible.
Yes, yes. I have heard that said before. I have been a good deal advised on this head. My dear fellow, only consider. Would not I make her my wife this instant if you will only consent to marry us?
He laughed and turned from me, and addressed Grace, and presently the four of us were busily talking. By this time my darling had regained some degree of confidence; her eyes were bright, her cheeks wore a little glow, there was nothing of embarrassment in her smile or general air as she addressed my cousin or met his gaze. In fact, the talk with Mrs. Howe had done her a deal of good. Her fears had foreboded a sort of Hannah More like view of things in Frank's wife—an easy capacity of recoiling and of being frosted from head to foot by such behaviour as that of an elopement; and she had no doubt that if Mrs. Howe took her to her home and showed her some kindness, her conduct would be a mere effusion of parochial sensibility; it would be her duty—her duty as a clergyman's wife, and she would not do less for a servant-maid that had run away with a grocer's assistant.
This, I say, had been my sweetheart's apprehension, but a few minutes' chat had corrected it, and she could now look with happiness and friendship at the amiable and pretty, if dowdy, woman who was seated at her side, and attend without any further appearance of constraint than what one would expect to find in so young and girlish a character to the kindly, graceful, warm-hearted conversation of my cousin Frank.
The pony and trap had been sent round to some adjacent stables, but by seven o'clock we had made all necessary arrangements, and the vehicle was again brought to the door. Grace was to be the guest of my cousin and his wife until we heard from Lady Amelia Roscoe. I should sleep at the hotel that night, and next day take possession of the best lodgings Frank could procure for me in his little parish. It was also settled that next day Sophie—for that was Mrs. Howe's Christian name—should come to Penzance with Grace and purchase all that was immediately needful in the shape of wearing apparel, and so on.
I shall to-night, said I, "write to Mademoiselle Championet and request her to send your boxes, Grace."
Wait until you hear from Lady Amelia, said Frank. "She may quarrel with mademoiselle and refuse to pay her, in which case mademoiselle will have a lien upon the luggage and stick to it."
I laughed and exclaimed, "There is no hurry," and then after taking Grace in my arms and straining her to my heart, as though we were about to part for ever and ever, and after much cordial handshaking with Frank and his wife, I accompanied the three of them downstairs, saw them into the pony-carriage, and when they had driven off, returned to write a letter to Lady Amelia Roscoe.
It is some years now since all this happened. I have no copy of that letter, and my memory is not strong in points of this sort. I recollect, however, after making several attempts, that I produced something which was brief almost to abruptness, and that it satisfied me as on the whole very well put, not wanting in a quality of what I might term mild brutality, for this was an element I could not very well manage without having regard to what I had to ask and to what I had to tell. And let this reference to that letter suffice, though I must add that I took care to enclose a copy of Captain Parsons' certificate of our marriage, with the names of those who had signed it, affirming that the marriage was good in point of law, as she might easily assure herself by consulting her solicitors, and also acquainting her in no doubtful terms that the wedding-ring was on Grace's finger and that we regarded ourselves as husband and wife.
I had scarcely despatched this letter when Caudel was announced. He stood in the doorway, cap in hand, knuckling his forehead and backing a bit with a rolling gait, after the custom of the British merchant sailor.
Well, Mr. Barclay, sir, and how are ye again? And how's the young lady after all these here traverses?
I bade him sit down, pulled the bell for a glass of grog for him, and asked for news of the Spitfire. "Well, sir," he answered, "she's just what I've come to talk to ye about. She'd started a butt as I all along thought, otherwise she's as sound as a bell. There was a shipwright as came down to look at her, and he asked me what we was going to do. I told him that I didn't think the gent as owned her meant to repair her. 'I rather fancy,' I says, says I, feeling my way, 'that he wants to sell her.' 'How much do 'ee ask, d'ye know?' says he, looking at the little dandy. 'I'm sure I can't answer that,' says I, 'but dessay he'll accept any reasonable offer.' Says he, 'May I view her?' 'Sartinly,' I says, says I. He thoroughly overhauled her inside and out, and then, says he, 'I believe I knows a customer for this here craft. Suppose you go and larn what the gentleman wants, and let me know. You'll find me at—' and here he names a public-house."
Get what you can for her, Caudel, I answered; "the more the better for those to whom the money will go. For my part, as you know, I consider her as at the bottom, but since you've pulled her through I'll ask you to pack up certain articles which are on board; the cabin clock, the plate, my books," and I named a few other items of the little craft's internal furniture.
Well, he sat with me for half-an-hour talking over the dandy and our adventures, then left me, and I went into the town to make a few necessary purchases, missing the society of my darling as though I had lost my right arm; indeed, I felt so wretched without her that, declining the landlord's invitation to join a select circle of Penzance wits over whom he was in the habit of presiding in the evening in a smoking-room full of the vapour of tobacco and the steam of hot rum and whisky, I went to bed at nine o'clock, and may say that I did not sleep the less soundly for missing the heave of the ocean.
Next morning shortly after breakfast Frank arrived to drive me over to ——. Until we were clear of the town he could talk of nothing but Grace, how sweet she was, how exquisite her breeding, how gentle. All this was as it should be, and I heard him with delight.
But I want you to understand, Herbert, that my conscience never could have suffered me to countenance this elopement but for Lady Amelia's efforts—underhand efforts I must say—to procure her niece's perversion.
Oh, I quite understand that, I exclaimed.
She informs me that both her father and mother were Protestants.
That is so.
We have a right then to assume, as I put it to her in talking the matter over last night, that were they living they would still be Protestants and would wish their child to remain in our Church. She herself has not the slightest leaning towards Roman Catholicism. Undoubtedly her aunt's conduct is without justification. She was to be rescued, as I understood from your letter from a species of persuasion which a girl of her years and temperament might not long be able to resist. The remedy lay in this elopement. I am sorry to have to say it; but the case is altogether a peculiar one; and I, Herbert, speaking as a clergyman, cannot find it in me to pronounce against you both.
If an elopement had made a Roman Catholic of her, her aunt would have been willing, said I.
No doubt, no doubt. Here, said he, putting the reins into my hands, "hold these for a moment or two, Herbert. You recollect that yesterday I pooh-poohed your opinion that a marriage at sea may be a lawful ceremony?"
He pulled out a pocket-book and searched it whilst he continued to talk.
My wife's uncle was old Admiral Clements, and at his death a number of his books came to us. We were talking last evening about the marriage on board the Carthusian, when Sophie suddenly exclaimed, 'Frank, I believe I know where the record of a marriage at sea is to be found.' She sat pondering and puzzling awhile, then stepped to the bookcase and exclaimed, 'This will be it, I am sure.' She pulled out a volume of memoirs of Admiral Markham, and after hunting through it, read what I have here copied for your special behoof, Herbert. 'Bessie was Elizabeth, eldest daughter of the Dean of York, the Archbishop's third son. She was born August 28th, 1790. Josephine was the French young lady adopted by the Archbishop's family. Both girls were then seventeen and devotedly attached to each other. After the Archbishop's death they were not parted but lived with his widow. On August 30th, 1815, Bessie was married to a crusty old general named Rufane Donkin and was to go out to India with him. But she could not bear to be separated from her friend, so it was arranged that Josephine should accompany her. General Donkin was of a very jealous disposition and could not endure his wife liking anything or anybody but himself. On board the ship he began to treat her young friend with discourtesy, and at last with such brutality that it excited the indignation of both captain and passengers. Among the latter there was a young officer, named Chadwick, whose pity for the forlorn girl grew into love. He entreated her to marry him that he might have the right to protect her. At last she consented, and the marriage ceremony was performed during the voyage by Captain Haviside, the captain of the ship.
He replaced the pocket-book, took the reins from me, and we stared at each other.
Well, said I, bestowing an exultant nod upon him, "that looks ship-shape enough, doesn't it? as Admiral Clements would have said."
They were probably re-married, said he.
That remains to be proved, I rejoined.
It certainly shakes me in my views, he exclaimed. "Still, it seems truly iniquitous that unconsecrated hands—such a person as a ship's captain—should enjoy the privileges of a priest."
He can christen.
No! he shouted.
This discussion was only terminated by our arrival at his house; the most delightful little parsonage that can be imagined: a snug, green, nestling box to the eye, yet quite equal to the requirements of the large family which this mild and happy couple bade fair to encumber themselves with. The church was within a short walk, an aged, ivy-clad structure, with many noble trees round about it, and a yard full of ancient, leaning indecipherable, memorial stones. Grace was awaiting our arrival that she might drive with Sophie to Penzance on her shopping errands. We embraced as though we had not met for years. I said to her:
Now you are satisfied that you are my wife?
No, she cried, holding up her left hand from which she had removed the wedding-ring; then producing it from her pocket, she added, "Keep it till you can put it on properly."
This damped me, and my face showed some annoyance. I honestly believed her to be my wife, willing as I was that Frank should presently confirm the ceremony that Captain Parsons had performed, and her removal of the ring was a sort of shock to me, though, to be sure, my good sense told me that if there was any virtue whatever in our shipboard union it was not to be weakened by my carrying the ring instead of her wearing it.
She stood gazing at me in her loving, girlish way for a moment, then observing disappointment, slipped her fingers into my waistcoat pocket, pulled out the ring, and put it on again. I kissed her for that, and though Frank shook his head, Sophie said, "If Grace is really married, as I believe her to be after what Frank read, then she is perfectly in the right to do what her husband wishes."
But to make an end, seeing that but little more remains to be told. It was four days after our arrival at —— that I drove Grace over to Penzance to enable her to keep an appointment with her dressmaker. Caudel still hung about the quaint old town. He had sent me a rude, briny scrawl, half the words looking as though they had been smeared out by his little finger, and the others as if they had been written by his protruded tongue, in which he said, in spelling beyond expression wonderful, that he had brought the shipwright to terms, and wished to see me. I left Grace at the dressmaker's and walked to the address where Caudel said I should find him. He looked highly soaped and polished, his hair shone like his boots, and he wore a new coat, with several fathoms of spotted kerchief wound round about his throat.
After we had exchanged a few sentences of greeting and goodwill, he addressed me thus:
Your honour gave me leave to do the best I could with the dandy. Well, Mr. Barclay, sir, this is what I've done and here's the money.
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which buttoned up square as a Dutchman's stern, after the fashion that is long likely to remain popular with men of the Caudel breed, and pulling out a large chamois leather bag, he extracted from it a quantity of banknotes, very worn, greasy and crumpled, and some sovereigns and shillings, which looked as if they had been stowed away in an old stocking since the beginning of the century. He surveyed me with a gaze of respectful triumph, perhaps watching for some expression of astonishment.
How much have you there, Caudel?
You'll scarcely credit it, sir, said he, grinning.
But how much, man, how much?
One hundred and seventy-three pounds, fourteen shillun', as I'm a man, cried he, smiting the table with his immense fist.
I smiled, for though I had bought the dandy cheap, she had cost me a very great deal more, by the time she was fit to go afloat in, than Caudel had received for her. But Grace was not to be kept waiting, and I rose.
You will give what you think fair to the boy Bobby, Caudel.
He looked at me stupidly.
Did not I tell you, said I, "that what the dandy fetched was to be yours, and that something of it was to go to the boy? As to those who deserted you, they may call upon me for their wages, but they'll get no more."
He seemed overwhelmed, and indeed his astonishment surprised me, for I had imagined my intentions with regard to the yacht were well known to him. I cut short the worthy fellow's thanks by assuring him that my gratitude for his services at Boulogne and for his behaviour throughout the whole delicate business was not to be expressed by five times the amount that lay upon the table; and then telling him to let me hear of him when Miss Bellassys and I were married and settled, and promising, should I ever go yachting again, to offer him the command of my vessel, I wrung his hand and ran out, pursued by twenty "God bless ye, sirs."
Grace and I returned to —— somewhere about four o'clock, having lunched at Penzance. We alighted at the vicarage and entered the fragrant little dining-room. My cousin and his wife were sitting waiting for us. Sophie, on our entrance, started up and cried: "Grace, here is a letter for you. I believe it is from your aunt."
My darling turned white, and I was sensible of growing very nearly as pale as she. Her hand trembled as she took the letter; she eyed me piteously, seemed to make an effort to break the envelope, then extending it to me said, "I dare not read it."
I instantly tore it open, read it to myself once, then aloud:
Lady Amelia Roscoe begs to inform her niece that she washes her hands of her. She wishes never to see nor to hear of her again. So far as Lady Amelia Roscoe's consent goes, her niece is at liberty to do what she likes and go where she likes. Any further communication which Lady Amelia's niece may require to make must be addressed to her ladyship's solicitors, Messrs. Fox & Wyndall, Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Thank Heaven! I exclaimed, drawing the deepest breath I had ever fetched in my life.
Now, Herbert, I am at your service, exclaimed Frank.
Grace was crying, and Sophie, giving her husband and me a reassuring look, with sisterly gentleness took my darling's arm, and led her out of the room.
Needless to say that in due course we were married, or rather let me say, re-married. But this said, the brief incident I have endeavoured to relate—the story of the elopement—ends. Down to this present moment of writing, however, I have been unable to find out whether I was or whether I was not legitimately, validly, lawfully, made a husband of by Captain Parsons. I have put the question to solicitors; I have written to shipowners and to shipbrokers, to captains and to mates, to shipping papers, and to a variety of marine authorities, such as dock superintendents, Board of Trade officials, and nautical assessors, but to no purpose. A great many "fancy" that a shipboard marriage is "all right," but nobody is certain. What have the readers of this narrative to say? Is there any one amongst them who can speak with authority? I submit that it is a point which ought to be settled. Legislation should put an end to doubt. Could I have felt sure on the subject, I should have been spared a great deal of anxiety. That marriages have taken place at sea is beyond question; the offspring of these unions must be numerous. Are they legitimate? Many colonials should feel concerned in the question, and I trust yet to receive some definite information on the matter one way or the other.