“Why, Major Vaughan, to be sure. The only wonder is that he hasn’t drunk himself to death by this time—been at it years enough!”
Derrick turned, as though to shelter himself from the curious eyes of the travellers; but everywhere the quay was crowded. It seemed to me not unlike the life that lay before him, with this new shame which could not be hid, and I shall never forget the look of misery in his face.
“Most likely a great exaggeration of that spiteful old fogey’s,” I said. “Never believe anything that you hear, is a sound axiom. Had you not better try to get on board?”
“Yes; and for heaven’s sake come with me, Wharncliffe!” he said. “It can’t be true! It is, as you say, that man’s spite, or else there is someone else of the name on board. That must be it—someone else of the name.”
I don’t know whether he managed to deceive himself. We made our way on board, and he spoke to one of the stewards, who conducted us to the saloon. I knew from the expression of the man’s face that the words we had overheard were but too true; it was a mere glance that he gave us, yet if he had said aloud, “They belong to that old drunkard! Thank heaven I’m not in their shoes!” I could not have better understood what was in his mind.
There were three persons only in the great saloon: an officer’s servant, whose appearance did not please me; a fine looking old man with grey hair and whiskers, and a rough-hewn honest face, apparently the ship’s doctor; and a tall grizzled man in whom I at once saw a sort of horrible likeness to Derrick—horrible because this face was wicked and degraded, and because its owner was drunk—noisily drunk. Derrick paused for a minute, looking at his father; then, deadly pale, he turned to the old doctor. “I am Major Vaughan’s son,” he said.
The doctor grasped his hand, and there was something in the old man’s kindly, chivalrous manner which brought a sort of light into the gloom.
“I am very glad to see you!” he exclaimed. “Is the Major’s luggage ready?” he inquired turning to the servant. Then, as the man replied in the affirmative, “How would it be, Mr. Vaughan, if your father’s man just saw the things into a cab? and then I’ll come on shore with you and see my patient safely settled in.”
Derrick acquiesced, and the doctor turned to the Major, who was leaning up against one of the pillars of the saloon and shouting out “‘Twas in Trafalgar Bay,” in a way which, under other circumstances, would have been highly comic. The doctor interrupted him, as with much feeling he sang how:
“England declared that every man
That day had done his duty.”