Here occurred their first check, and instead of being thankful that they had been so greatly favoured thus far, everybody of course began forthwith to grumble. The passengers, perhaps, chafed under the delay quite as much as Captain Staunton, but their outward manifestations of impatience were confined for the most part to dissatisfied glances at the hard cloudless blue sky to windward, as it met their gaze morning after morning when they came on deck, to shrugs of the shoulders whenever the subject happened to be mentioned, and to scornful, sarcastic, or despondent allusions to the proverbial longevity and obstinacy of easterly winds in general. Except Mr Forester Dale, and he, I regret to say, made himself a perfect nuisance to everybody on board by his snappishness and irascibility. The weather was “beastly,” the ship was “beastly,” and his demeanour was such as to suggest to the other passengers the idea that he considered them also to be “beastly,” a suggestion which they very promptly resented by sending him to Coventry. That his metaphorical seclusion in that ancient city was not of the very strictest kind was entirely due to the fact that his partner, Rex Fortescue, and the inimitable Brook wore on board. Rex bore the childish irritability of his senior partner with unparalleled good-humour; his strongest protest being a mere, “Shut up, there’s a good fellow, and let a man enjoy his book and his weed in peace for once in a while.” Factotum Brook attempted quite a different mode of soothing his superior. He demonstrated—to his own complete satisfaction if not to that of anybody else—that it was a physical impossibility for them to have anything but easterly winds where they were. But, he asserted, there was a good time coming; they had had easterly winds ever since they had started; this, by an unalterable law of nature, had been gradually creating a vacuum away there in the easterly quarter, which vacuum must now necessarily soon become so perfect that, by another unalterable law of nature, the wind would come careering back from the westward with a force sufficient to more than enable them to make up for all lost time.
To do Captain Staunton justice he left no means untried whereby to wile away the time and render less oppressive the monotony of the voyage. He suggested the weekly publication of a newspaper in the saloon, and energetically promoted and encouraged such sports and pastimes as are practicable on board ship; al fresco concerts on the poop, impromptu dances, tableaux-vivants, charades, recitations, etcetera, for the evening; and deck-quoits, follow-my-leader, shooting at bottles, fishing, etcetera, during the day. By these means the murmurings and dissatisfaction were nipped in the bud, harmony and good-humour returning and triumphantly maintaining their position for the remainder of the voyage. The newspaper was a great success, every incident in the least out of the common being duly recorded therein. The editor was one O’Reilly, an Irishman, who enjoyed the reputation of being one of the most successful barristers in New South Wales, to which colony he was returning after a short holiday trip “home.” The paper was published in manuscript, and consisted of twenty foolscap pages, which O’Reilly prided himself upon completely filling at every issue. Interesting facts being for the most part very scarce commodities, fiction was freely indulged in, the contributors vieing with each other in the effort to produce humorous advertisements, letters to the editor upon real or imaginary grievances, and startling accounts of purely fictitious occurrences.
In the meantime two of the passengers had discovered a species of amusement quite out of the line of the captain’s programme, and which caused that worthy seaman no small amount of anxiety and embarrassment. In a word, Rex Fortescue and Violet Dudley found in each other’s society a solace from the ennui of the voyage which onlookers had every reason to believe was of the most perfect kind. Such a condition of things was almost inevitable under the circumstances. There were four ladies on board, and thirteen gentlemen passengers, of whom no less than nine were bachelors. Of the four ladies one, Mrs Staunton, was married and therefore unapproachable. Miss Butler was an old maid, with a subdued expression and manner ill calculated to arouse any feeling warmer than respectful esteem, so that there remained only Blanche and Violet, both young, pretty, and agreeable, to act as recipients of all the ardent emotions of the bachelor mind. Although the art, science, or pastime—whichever you will—of love-making has many difficulties to contend with on board ship, in consequence of the lamentable lack of privacy which prevails there, it is doubtful whether it ever flourishes so vigorously anywhere else. Even so was it on board the Galatea; Violet and Blanche being waited upon hand and foot and followed about the decks from early morn to dewy eve, each by her own phalanx of devoted admirers. These attentions had at first been productive of nothing more serious than amusement to their recipients; but gradually, very gradually, Violet Dudley had manifested a partiality for the quiet unobtrusive courtesies and attentions of Rex Fortescue, which partiality at length became so clearly marked that, one after the other, the rest of her admirers retired discomfited, and sought solace for their disappointment in the exciting sport of rifle shooting at empty bottles dropped overboard and allowed to drift astern, or in such other amusements as their tastes led them to favour. Blanche, however, still kept her division of admirers in a state of feverish suspense, manifesting no partiality whatever for any one of them above another. Indeed she seemed to take greater pleasure in questioning Bob about his former career, and in listening to his quaint but graphic descriptions of the curious incidents of fisher-life, than she did in the compliments or conversation of any of her admirers, a circumstance which caused Bob to be greatly envied.
Whilst this was the state of things aft, matters were not all that they should be in the forecastle. The crew were a good enough set of men, and doubtless would have been all right under proper management, but, thanks to the surly and aggravating behaviour of Mr Carter, the starboard watch, over which he ruled, was in a state of almost open mutiny. And yet so acute was the aggressor that for a long time he gave the men no excuse for legitimate complaint; the utmost that could be said against him being that he was, in the opinion of the men, unduly particular as to the set and trim of the sails, and the superlative cleanliness of everything about the decks. This was all very well during the daytime, but when in the night-watches the men were hustled incessantly about the decks, taking a pull here, there, and everywhere at the halliards, sheets, and braces of the already fully distended and accurately trimmed sails, only to be ordered a few minutes later to ease up the lee braces half an inch and take a pull upon the weather ones; or alternately stowing and setting the “flying kites” or light upper canvas, they could not help seeing that these things were done less from zeal and anxiety to make a quick passage than for the purpose of indulging a spiteful and malicious temper.
At length a crisis arrived. The ship was at the time somewhere about the latitude of the Cape; stretching to the southward and eastward close-hauled, with a fine steady breeze from east-north-east. It was the second mate’s eight hours out that night, and although the weather was beautifully fine, with a clear sky, full moon, and steady breeze, he had been indulging in his usual vagaries throughout the last two hours of the first watch (he never attempted anything out of the common when Captain Staunton or any of the passengers were on deck, as some of them generally were until midnight), and he began them again within a quarter of an hour of coming on deck at 4 a.m. The royals were set when he took charge of the deck, and these he had separately clewed up and furled, as well as one or two of the smaller stay-sails. He allowed the men just time enough to settle down comfortably, and then ordered the recently stowed sails to be loosed and set again, which was done. A short interval passed, and then he had the royals stowed once more, and finally he ordered them to be loosed and set again.
Not a man took the slightest notice of the order.
“Do you hear, there? Jump aloft, some of you, and loose the royals,” shouted Carter, thinking for a moment that he had failed to make himself heard.
Still there was no response.
“You, Davis, away aloft and loose the fore-royal. Boyd, jump up and loose the main; and you, Nichols, up you go and loose the mizzen. Look lively now, or I’ll rope’s-end the last man down from aloft,” exclaimed the second mate, his passion rapidly rising as he found himself thus tacitly opposed.
As the last words left his lips the watch came aft in a body, pausing just forward of the main-mast.