Three: EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY
Three: EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY
I
About a hundred years ago, on a pleasant summer morning, two young Englishmen came down to the water front of the Italian port of Leghorn, got into a boat, and rowed off to look at the shipping in the bay. The two venturers made an odd pair, for the oarsman was a tall, powerfully built fellow with piercing blue eyes, thick black hair, and the features of an Arab, whilst the other was slender, boyish and yellow-haired, and had innocent blue eyes, and a schoolboy’s innocence of beard.
The first vessel round which they rowed, a Greek trader, displeased them, for she was dirty of deck and sail, but beyond her lay a graceful full-rigged ship flying the Stars and Stripes. At the sight of this fine vessel, the following conversation took place. It has been set down word by word, for one does not take liberties with the phrases of the great.
“It is but a step,” said the oarsman, “from these ruins of worn-out Greece to the New World; let’s board the American clipper.”
“I had rather not have any more of my hopes and illusions mocked by sad realities,” protested his companion with a smile.
“You must allow,” returned the other, “that that graceful craft was designed by a man who had a poet’s feeling for things beautiful. Come, let us go aboard; the Americans are a free and easy people, and will not consider our visit an intrusion.”
A turn, a few strokes, and the boat approached the American ship. By the gangway, an American salt with a quid of tobacco squirrelled in his cheek, was busy at something or other, and every now and then this honest fellow walked to the rail to spit calmly overside into the historic Mediterranean. While thus pleasantly engaged, he caught sight of the small boat coming alongside, and shouted, “Boat ahoy!” A mate came to the rail.