In Blue Water.
As the sun declined toward the west, the light breeze which had prevailed throughout the day became still lighter, dwindling away to such an extent that when, about two bells in the first watch (nine o’clock p.m.), we returned to the deck after partaking of our first sea dinner, the water was like glass for the smoothness of it, while our canvas drooped limp and apparently useless from the yards and stays; a faint rustle aloft now and again, with an accompanying rippling patter of reef-points, betraying rather some subtle heave of the glassy sea than any sign that the breeze still lingered. Yet there must have been a light draught of air aloft, for the vane at our main-royal-masthead occasionally fluttered languidly out along the course we were steering, and our royals exhibited an occasional tendency to fill, albeit they as often collapsed again softly rustling to the masts. Moreover, the barque still retained her steerage-way. I remarked upon this to the mate, who had charge of the deck. He laughed.
“Ay,” said he, “that is one of the Esmeralda’s little tricks. I’ve seen her, before now, sneak up to and right through a large fleet of ships, every one of which, excepting ourselves, was boxing the compass. When this little barkie refuses to steer, you may take your Davy to it, sir, that there ain’t enough wind to be of any use to anybody.”
It was a glorious evening. We were off Deal, slowly drifting past the town on the ebb tide; our progress made apparent only by the quiet, stealthy way in which the masts of the vessels lying at anchor in the roadstead successively approached, covered, and receded from some prominent object on shore, such as a church spire, a lofty building, a tall chimney, and what not. The sun had sunk behind the land, leaving behind him a clear sky of softest primrose tint, against which the outline of the land cut sharply, the town being steeped in rich dusky shadow, out of which the lights were beginning to twinkle here and there. We were close enough in to catch an occasional faint, indefinite sound from the shore, accentuated at intervals by the sharp, clear note of a railway whistle, or the low, intermittent thunder of a moving train; while, nearer at hand, came the occasional splash of oars in the still water, or their thud in the rowlocks; the strains of a concertina played on the forecastle-head of one of the craft lying at anchor; a gruff hail; a laugh; or the hoarse rattle of chain through a hawse-pipe as one of the drifting vessels came to an anchor. Our own lads were very quiet, the watch below having turned in, while those on deck, with the exception of the lookout, had arranged themselves in a group about the windlass, and were conversing in suppressed tones well befitting the exceeding quiet of the night. Lady Desmond, well wrapped up in a fur-lined cloak, occupied a large wicker reclining chair placed close to the after skylight, where it was well out of everybody’s way, and was languidly listening to the conversation which was passing between her sister and my mother, in which she occasionally joined for a moment; while Sir Edgar was down below, chatting and laughing with the two children during their preparation by the nurse for bed. The two maids were also below, busy in their mistress’s cabin.
The ship having been all day—as she still was—in charge of the pilot, I had had leisure to make the first advances toward an acquaintance with my passengers; and, from what I had thus far seen of them, I had every reason to hope that the association would be a particularly pleasant one.
Sir Edgar was a fine, handsome man, of about thirty-five years of age, standing some five feet nine or ten inches in his stockings, well made, with dark brown hair that covered his head in short wavy curls. He had dark blue eyes, with which he looked one frankly and pleasantly in the face; and his manner, while it possessed all the polish of the perfect gentleman, was particularly frank and genial.
Lady Desmond appeared to be some eight or nine years younger than her husband, and was unquestionably an exceedingly handsome woman. She was perhaps three inches less in height than her husband, but, when standing apart from him, gave one the impression of being the taller of the two, probably because she happened to be very thin and fragile-looking when she first joined the Esmeralda. She had evidently only just emerged from a very severe illness, for all her movements were marked by the slowness and languor of one who is still an invalid. She had not a vestige of colour, and her hands, when I saw them ungloved at the dinner table, were attenuated to a degree that was painful to contemplate; but her eyes were magnificent, and her voice, albeit it was weak and low like that of an invalid, was very sweet and sympathetic in tone. I had not been enlightened as to the nature of her illness; but its most marked symptom appeared to be a profound melancholy and depression of spirits which it seemed utterly impossible for her to shake off.
Her sister, Miss Merrivale, was her exact counterpart, except that the latter was the junior by some three or four years, and was, both in form and complexion, the very picture of exuberant health and spirits. She possessed a singularly agreeable and engaging, though high-bred manner; and the patient tenderness with which she studied her invalid sister’s whims quickly won my warmest admiration.
Of the two children, the elder was a fine sturdy boy, about seven years old, named after his father; while the other was a sweet little tot of a girl, about five years old, with the prettiest, most lovable, and confiding ways I had ever beheld in a child. They were both very merry, light-hearted, buoyant-spirited children, but exceedingly well-behaved, very tender and affectionate toward each other; and perfect patterns of obedience while they remembered the parental injunctions laid upon them from time to time; but it must be admitted that their memories in this respect were, like those of most children, a little apt to be short-lived.
And, as to the two maids and the nurse, they impressed me as being very quiet, respectable well-behaved representatives of their class, and not at all likely to give me trouble by encouraging any attempts at flirtation on the part of the men. So that altogether I thought I had every reason to congratulate myself upon my first experience in the command of a passenger-ship.