Chapter 28

ROUGH WEATHER.

I would be a mermaid fair, I would sing to myself the whole of the day; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair, And still as I comb'd, I would sing and say, "Who is it loves me? who loves not me?" --Tennyson.

One day there was a gale. It came up suddenly, and some ladies sitting on a bench were swept off by a roll and sudden lurch. The deck was soon cleared of the feminine element, with the exception of Bluebell, who enjoyed an immunity from _malheur de mer_, and knew she would not be much better off in her cabin, where Mrs. Oliphant had gradually ousted her from everything but sleeping accommodation.

A huge roller had hurled itself over the steerage, and broken a man's arm; but the part of the vessel she was on kept pretty dry. Stormy petrels were hovering in flocks; the ship, plunging head foremost into deep troughs, seemed as if it must break its back or be swallowed up, but always borne on the crest of a wave only to repeat the header next minute.

Bluebell was lying (for no other position could be preserved) on some rigs by the wheel, and holding on by a rope to prevent sliding about. She felt excited by the grandeur of the situation, and, in the pauses of the wind, sang low some wild German Volkslied.

"Are you a Lorelei?" asked Mr. Dutton, who was never far off. "What do you intend to do with the steamer?"

"I don't mean any harm to the ship, but I shan't lull the winds yet. How delightful and magnificent it is!"

"If you really don't mean to engulf us, and won't comb your golden hair, pray go on singing. I'll risk it."

Bluebell nodded, and gave full play to her magnificent voice in the wildest Lieder she could remember. The man at the wheel, if he had ever heard of a Lorelei, might have been excused for mistaking her for one. A lady to sit and sing in such a gale was not an every-day experience. Her bright hair was only covered by the hood of a deep-blue cloak, from which her large eyes seemed to have caught a reflection, so dark were the pupils dilated with enthusiasm.

"You might be a corsair's bride," said Mr. Dutton, admiringly, "you are so indifferent to discomfort and danger. I can't fancy you shut up in a poky school-room, taking regular walks, and teaching Dr. Watts to tiresome children."

"I have only one pupil of a musical and romantic turn. You are altogether wrong in thinking me indifferent to luxury; I am quite longing to be in a comfortable house again."

"Your penance will be over in a day or two. Why do you stay out to be drenched with spray and perished with cold?" very discontentedly.

"How can I be either with all these wraps? and, when you are not sulky, your society _is_ preferable to Mrs. Oliphant's!"

"Yes; that is about my place in your--what shall I call it? Regard is a nice, proper word,--just more acceptable than the plainest and most spiteful woman on board."

"Rather more than that," said Bluebell, gently. "It would have been far worse without you; but after this voyage we are not likely to meet again, though I shall never think of it without remembering my friend."

"What a nice word!" savagely. "Why don't you add,--

'Others may woo me--thou art my friend?'

Do you know that song, Miss Leigh?"

"Yes," laughing.

"'Lonely and sadly his young life did end; Pause by my tombstone, and pity thy friend.'

It's enough to draw tears from one's eyes."

"Well!" said the lieutenant, "I never met a Canadian girl before, but I see now they are the coldest, most insensible--oh! of course, you only laugh. How do you know we shall never meet again? Suppose I call on you in your new--situation."

"Governesses are not allowed 'followers.' I mean, male visitors would be considered as such."

"Couldn't I get a tutorship in the same family?"

"There are no boys. Gracious! what a wave. Surely it is getting rougher, Mr. Dutton?"

"Well, yes. I think I must take you down. The next roller may wash over you. Lean all your weight on me, or you'll be blown off your feet."

In a most incoherent manner she reached the gangway, and, clinging to the banisters, reeled into her cabin, where was Mrs. Oliphant in hysterics. The stewardess was in attendance, and she was insisting on her immediately fetching the captain, as, without his assurance that there was no danger, she declined to be calm.

"As if the captain could leave his bridge!" said Bluebell, laughing. "And I am sure the ship would go down if he did."

Another shriek from Mrs. Oliphant, who, with a desperate effort, seized on a life-belt, and called to the stewardess to assist in its adjustment.

"Oh, dear!" cried Bluebell. "And what is to become of me? However, you are quite welcome to it. I had sooner be drowned at once than bob about on a wave, with sharks nibbling at my toes for an hour or two previously."

"Perhaps, ma'am, now this young lady be come, who seems to have a good heart," said the stewardess, "you will let me go to Mrs. Preston and Mrs. Butler, who have been wanting me ever so long."

"No; I will not be deserted. Mrs. Butler has her husband and Mrs. Preston has her maid."

"Oh, she is worse than all! She sent down for Mrs. Preston to come up and speak to her, as she was dying as fast as she could, and the poor lady couldn't as much as lift her own 'ead."

"And you are not so very bad," said Bluebell, encouragingly. "Think of Mrs. Dove, of the 100th 'Scatterers,' and don't give way."

So, partly by laughing and partly by gentle determination, she brought her round, and favoured the escape of the stewardess.

It was not a very agreeable task soothing this selfish and cowardly woman; and she was by no means assured that there was no cause for anxiety. Her thoughts reverted to Bertie. Suppose they were all drowned. In theory she hoped Cecil would be happy with him. Still there was a _soupçon_ of gratification in imagining him mourning in secret anguish and remorse over her untimely end. She remembered his favourite poem in the "Wanderer" that Cecil used to read, and the lines,--

"I thought were she only living still, How I could forgive her and love her."

Only in this instance forgiveness was more due from her.

Mr. Dutton here knocked at the door, to offer to help them up stairs to dinner; but Mrs. Oliphant had dropped asleep, exhausted by her emotions, so they went up alone. Only a few gentlemen were in the saloon, and the widow lady, whom everybody had begun to like, she was so unselfish and contented.

Dinner was consumed in a picnic fashion. Bluebell's modicum of sherry had to be tossed off at once in a tumbler, for the glasses were dancing a hornpipe on the table, plates required a restraining hand, and their contents to be conveyed to the mouth with as much accuracy of aim as was attainable.

She thought compassionately of the careworn mother of H'Emma, who probably would have been quite neglected during the gale, and determined to take her something, and get Mr. Dutton to carry it and steady her own footsteps. Nothing could exceed the discomfort in which they found them. The nursery-maid was imbecile from terror and prostrate with sickness, and the harassed mother doing the best she could.

To begin with, H'Emma had received a whipping, which, however undeserved, was probably the most judicious course, by inspiring fortitude, and cutting off all hopes of undue indulgence.

The poor woman was very grateful for the visit. "No one had been near them," she said; "and the girl was so frightened, and H'Emma had screamed so, she was at her wits' end."

"I am surprised at you, Emma!" said Mr. Dutton. "When, you are grown up you may be as frightened as you please; but if you don't practise self-command as a child, you'll be very properly whipped."

At this allusion to her misfortunes another howl seemed impending, only that her attention was arrested by an orange tossed carelessly in the air.

"Whoever catches it may have it. Don't look at mamma; she has abdicated for the present, and we are here to put the kingdom to rights. Don't you think, Emma," in a whisper, "it would be a very good thing if that squalling, bald-headed young fraternity of yours were slapped?"

"Mammy says it is his teeth."

"No reason he should set ours on edge. I'd compose him if I had the chance! Well, Miss Leigh, if I can't fetch anything else for this lady, I'll go on deck, and return presently to report progress and help you back again."

The storm raged for many hours more, and struck terror into the hearts of the women and children. Mr. Dutton and some of the other gentlemen were up all night, as well as the captain and officers; but the morning rose calm and delicious over a sleeping sea, and cheerfulness and high spirits reigned in the ship. They were within a day of land, too--a more welcome prospect than ever, after the perils and dangers of the night. The dinner-table had scarcely an absentee, and was far more lively than it had ever been yet.

"One can sleep comfortably to-night, being so near land," cried the thoughtless Mrs. Butler.

"There have been more shipwrecks off the coast of Ireland than any other," said Mr. Dutton, sardonically. He was the only one who did not display unmixed delight at reaching England; and, when other people are exuberantly rejoicing at the very thing that is annoying ourselves, to moderate their transports a little is a satisfaction.

"Oh, how can you be so shocking! But I don't believe you. Once we are in sight of land, if there were any danger, what would prevent us getting into boats and rowing to it?"

And then Mr. Dutton plunged into a ghastly tale of a steamer that had struck on the Irish coast at night, and the passengers had to take to the boats in their bed-clothes. One poor mother, with a baby tied on her back with a shawl, and another child in her arms, found the shawl empty, the infant having slipped out into the sea; and how they remained beating about for hours before they could land, nearly perished with cold from insufficient clothing.

Everybody seemed provided with similar anecdotes, and yarn succeeded yarn till late in the evening, when a message from the captain that Ireland was in sight brought them all on deck. The moon was shining softly over the beautiful mountains and valleys of ----. A more exquisite little picture could hardly have been presented to the eye wearied of perpetual gazing on the pathless ocean. Exclamations of delight were heard on all sides, while some prosaically remarked it was almost as fine as scenes in "Peep o' Day" or "The Colleen Bawn." To Bluebell it was fairy-land. To begin with, she had never seen a mountain, and the picturesque in Canada is on too large a scale for the little details that give beauty to scenery. Her conception of the Emerald Isle, founded on Lover's ballads and Lever's romances, was completely realized.

"How haunting!" said she, in a hushed whisper. "What a pity to go any further, and be disenchanted, perhaps!"

"I wish," said Mr. Dutton, "you would think you might go further and fare worse in another case,"--which ambiguous speech, it must be supposed, was not intended to be taken literally; for, though youthful susceptibility and propinquity had given birth to a hasty passion, and he was savage enough at the prospect of parting, to a young man dependent on an uncle and residing chiefly at sea a penniless wife might have its embarrassments.

Bluebell had glided down the companion again. The mails were landed, the pilot came on board, and next morning they were steaming into the Mersey. Many of the passengers had got letters, and were talking of their plans and fussing about luggage.

"How refreshing it is to see some one without that business look!" cried Mr. Dutton to Bluebell, who was leisurely reading in the saloon. "But have you no goods or chattels, Miss Leigh? And ought not you to have a letter with sailing orders?"

"I have two boxes somewhere in the hold. No, I didn't expect a letter, I was to telegraph at Liverpool, and come right off. This is the address:--

"Mrs. Leighton, "Leighton Court "Calmshire."

"Why, that is my line!" said the sailor, mendaciously. "I can travel with you as far as Calmshire."

"Can you really? How very strange! But I suppose England _is_ a small place," said Bluebell, _naively_.

"Oh, extremely insignificant! I shall be able to see you safely to your journey's end. So that's all settled. Now I will go and look if your luggage is coming up, for I suppose we shall land in an hour or two."

Bluebell's curiosity was excited by the _Times_ newspaper, which a gentleman had just laid down. It was only the advertisement sheet, for some one else had immediately snapped up the rest, and she glanced vaguely down the first columns, puzzling over such enigmatical insertions as "Our tree, our bridge, our walk," "What shall we do with the Tusk?" and that "John is entreated to write and send remittances to his afflicted Teapot,"--when her eye lit upon the following name among the deaths:--

"On the 22nd inst., at Leighton Court, of scarlet fever, Evelyn Cora, only child of Mrs. and the late Henry Leighton, Esq., aged eleven years."

Bluebell sat petrified,--the ground cut beneath her feet,--she could only be shocked for the poor child whom she had never known. But what was to become of herself in a strange land, with no place to go to? Besides Leighton Court there was not a place in all England, except an inn, that she would have a right to enter; and in a few minutes more the shelter of the ship would be withdrawn,--even now she could see the smoke of the tug coming to disembark them. Perfectly appalled and unnerved, she pushed the paragraph towards Mr. Dutton, who had just entered, and gazed helplessly at him with large frightened eyes.

He took in the situation at a glance, and the thought that had struck him before of the strangeness of sending this beautiful girl, like a bale of goods, to an unknown country, where she had no connections, returned with confirmed force. How friendless she was! But slenderly supplied with money, of course. A daring possibility had darted into his mind. It was an irresistible temptation,--and sailors are proverbially reckless. Matrimony hitherto had never entered into his views. It would entail leaving the navy and living with his uncle, who, though kind, was arbitrary enough, and would have very decided opinions upon whom his choice should fall. Connection, money, he knew would be a _sine qua non_. More than one well-born and tochered _débutante_ had successively been indicated to him as a bride that would in all respects suit Lord Bromley's views; and Bluebell, as far as he knew, fulfilled none of these conditions. All the same the struggle in his mind was in combatting the difficulties that opposed his resolution to marry her.

Bluebell, of course, could not guess his thoughts, and she only felt very desponding that he seemed unable to suggest anything.

"Oh, Mr. Dutton," she cried, "do go and tell the captain, and ask him what I had better do! He is sure to think of something,--for a day or two, at any rate."

The young man looked up with a strange smile, but there were other persons present. "Certainly," he said, with rather a constrained manner. "I will go and tell him,"--and Bluebell, mistaking his reserve for coolness, felt disappointed.

The captain was very busy, and not too well pleased at being interrupted, but when he had mastered the intelligence he gave it his whole attention directly.

"Eh, the puir lassie!" he ejaculated, "wha's to become of her!"

"There's only one thing that I can do," said the lieutenant, briefly.

"You!" said the skipper, whose remark had been an exclamation, not an interrogation. "What the mischief could you do? I am doubting what the guidwife will say, but I am thinking I must _jeest_ take her home."

"Oh, how good of you, sir!" said the young man, seizing his hand, unobservant of the dry cynical look in his eyes. "But I trust it will not be for long, as I must tell you, in confidence, if she will only consent, I intend--I hope to marry Miss Leigh immediately."

"You be d--d! I will have no such goings on. If the lassie comes to me, she will act conformable; and, if you think you are in a position to maintain a wife, you may consult your _feymily_; I'll have no such responsibility."

"You are, of course omnipotent in your own ship," said the young sailor, angrily, "but you need not forget you are speaking to a gentleman."

"As far as I can see they are no honester than other people. I only belong to the respectable class myself, and I'll no have it."

"What a fool I was to tell you! But surely," half laughing, "matrimony is an honourable institution."

"I kenna--I kenna. I'll give the bairn shelter till she hears from her kin, but I'll have no marrying or such like, to be called to account for mayhap afterwards."

But Mr. Dutton, only made more eager by opposition, sprang away to the saloon, where Bluebell was sitting.

"Yes, I have a message for you," said he, in answer to her inquiring look. "Will you come on deck? Here are your cloak and hood."

He led her away, with rather a pale face, to the most secluded part of it.

"What did the captain say?" she asked.

"The captain is a canny, suspicious, pigheaded old Scottish-man!"

"Of course, of course," very despondingly, "no one can do anything for me. I must go to a lodging, and advertise for another situation."

"They will want a recommendation from your last place."

"Well, I can get it from Canada."

"And that will take a month. Bluebell, listen to me; for there's no time to beat about the bush. I love you, my sweet child; but that you know already. Will you marry me? Don't start. I know it is sudden, but it will be all easy. Directly we land we can drive to a register office; they will ask no questions, but marry us right off, and we can have it done over again in a church, if you like."

Bluebell began to wonder how many more sensational minutes this hour was to contain.

"Mr. Dutton," she gasped, in a horrified tone, "what _are_ you saying? You must know it is impossible."

"Summon all your moral courage, Bluebell. You were not afraid in the storm. Why do you shrink from acting a little out of the common?"

This speech was so like what Bertie would have said, that it nearly brought the tears to her eyes.

"Pray say no more," said she, shrinking away from him. "How could I ever _dream_ of such a thing!"

"_Can't_ you care for me, Bluebell--ever so little?" pleaded Harry Dutton.

"But that would be so _very_ much!"

Her strange wooer grew more eager, for the moments were passing, and Bluebell was at her wit's end, when the skipper came rolling up to them. The delight and relief with which his proposal of taking her home was received was far from pleasing to Mr. Dutton, and Bluebell, in her lightened heart, felt some self-reproach at the sight of his gloomy countenance.

The captain was hurrying her away, but she lingered a moment, and, with one of those speaking glances he had learnt to look for and love, put out her hand to the young sailor.

"Stay with me," he whispered; "it is not yet too late." She shook her head, "I believe you hate me!" he muttered, savagely.

"No," said Bluebell, impulsively saying more than she felt. "I like you only too well--but not enough for that."

"Any more last words?" said the skipper, who had stood aside good-humouredly, master of the situation.

"I have nothing further to say," said the young man, stiffly, making way for her to pass.

A minute more, and she was rowing to shore in the captain's boat, who then put her into a cab to drive to his home.

Now, the good skipper, such an autocrat on board his vessel, was by no means so under his own roof-tree, and sundry misgivings obtruded themselves as to the welcome he might receive from the wife of his bosom when a comely young lady was to be included in it.

"She'll no jeest like it at first," he muttered, half aloud; and as the moment approached and apprehension intensified, he repeated the remark still louder.

This moderate expectation was amply justified by the event. The good lady received the explanatory introduction with a snort, and a countenance expressive of contempt and disbelief, while she ironically "feared there would be nothing in the house good enough for her."

Bluebell endeavoured to excuse her unlucky presence, the best argument she could think of being that she would advertise for another situation immediately. Only for the fear of offending the captain, she would have added that she was prepared to pay for her board, which, by putting it on a business footing, would doubtless have commended itself to the dominant passion of her hostess's mind, and dispersed the misgivings she at present entertained of this "fine madam."

The general stiffness was relieved by the boisterous greetings of the captain's boys, who had just rushed in from school; but it was a terrible evening to Bluebell, feeling _de trop_, and unable to calculate how soon she should be released.

"Ye'll jeest put her in Phemie's room," the skipper had said. (Phemie was a daughter lately married.) "How will I do that," was the responding retort, "when the carpet is up, and the iron bedstead was broke by Rab a week syne?"

"Well, then, Rab will jeest let her have his bed," said the captain, equably brewing himself some whiskey-and-water,--and so on through the evening, during which Mrs. Davidson by no means softened the trouble and inconvenience Bluebell's presence occasioned, whose spirits fell to their lowest depth.

Was it to be wondered at that Harry Dutton recurred pretty constantly to her mind? She could think calmly now of the proposal that had so startled her before. It was, at any rate, a sincere, straightforward offer of marriage, and so far he contrasted favourably with Bertie, whom she had determined to forget. But, then, she had dismissed him--he had gone away to his uncle's, and they would probably never meet again; and as when a thing is out of reach it becomes immediately enhanced in value, she began to regret her lost lover, and to think that there, perhaps, might have been a short cut out of her difficulties. We are aware that this unlucky admission must depose her at once from the rank of a heroine, as it is well known a heroine never for an instant suffers interest to enter into the sacred claims of love.