"Well, it's of no use denying it," replied Tom. "I will defy any one, to see her and not fall in love with her; but what struck me more than her beauty, was her kindness and attention to her old father, who, poor man, seems to need it all. The tears trickled down the old man's face as he related all his sufferings and trials, and his daughter's affection; and, shiver my timbers, if I could help piping my eye to keep him company!"
"That's always the way with you," replied Jem Ward, the other sailor; "you're always taken in tow by some girl or other; but you can never be true to one. I had never but one sweetheart—Peggy Dawson, the prettiest girl in Berwick."
"Your Peggy Dawson," replied Tom, "is no more to be compared to Miss Keveley, than a keelman's barge is fit to be compared with the Royal George."
"Well, well," said Bill Mossman, "the girl is well enough; but I wish, as the priest is aboard, that the voyage were well over. But, let me see—this is Friday too—worse and worse!"
"Keep yourself easy," replied Tom. "As long as Miss Keveley's on board, you needn't fear. Such a kind creature as she is, will be in the place of 'the sweet little cherub which,' as the song says, 'sits up aloft, and takes care of the life of poor Jack.'"
"But," asked Bill Mossman, "do you know anything of their history?"
"Very little," answered Tom, "except what the old gentleman himself told us last night: That he has been a missionary abroad for many years, and that his wife has died in a foreign country, leaving him and his only daughter, who accompanies him; and that, worn out with the fatigues which he has undergone, and his constitution broken down by an unhealthy climate, he is returning to his native village, to lay his bones, as he expressed it, beside the ashes of his fathers."
Their conversation was here interrupted by old Jones, who gave the word to cast off the warp which held them to the quay—an order which was speedily obeyed by the seamen; and the vessel soon paid off, under the influence of the jib. The same orders were given on board of the Princess Charlotte and the Olive, the other two smacks; and, in a few minutes more, all the three vessels were holding their course, smoothly and peaceably, down the river. It was a beautiful morning. A slight breath of wind was stirring, just sufficient to fill the sails of the vessels: light, however, as it was, it was fresh and invigorating. The sun was just rising; and his upper limb only was as yet visible, peering above the cloud with which his body was enveloped, as if to take a peep at the ocean and the land before rising from his couch. Gradually, however, the king of day emerged from the cloud, and again his upper limb was concealed in another cloud higher up in the heavens, leaving a broad band of light alone visible. These alternations of light and shade continued for a short time, till the sun ascended higher in the sky, and then the middle of his body was covered by a dark vapour, which was passed round him like a ribbon. This also passed off; and the "father of ten thousand days" burst forth in a flood of glory—of bright, effulgent light—making the gentle undulations of the waves to glitter as if studded with millions of gems; whilst the dewdrops of the morning, hanging from the sails and cordage of the vessels, glistening in the sun, assumed various fantastic forms, as the head of the vessel dipped and rose at intervals, upon the gentle waves. Miss Keveley had left her father reclining upon a sofa in the cabin of the Tweed, and had come upon deck to enjoy the beauty of the scene; and, as she gazed upon the rising luminary and the silent waters of the Thames, the queen of rivers, she felt that elevation of spirits, and that devotion, which such a scene is calculated to inspire. Catherine Keveley had been peculiarly the child of misfortune. Her mother was of a noble family, and her alliance had been sought by many rich and noble youths. Preferring, however, the hand of a man, who, though much her inferior in birth, yet in high and lofty feeling was, at least, her equal, she chose Mr Keveley as her companion for life—a licensed minister of the Church of Scotland, and at that time appointed as superintendent of a missionary station in a distant country. Happy in each other's love, they lived in a foreign land till the birth of Catherine; which event was succeeded by her mother's death.
Catherine, though from childhood a delicate flower, and though deprived of the fostering care of a mother's love, yet, under the tender management of her doting father, rose up to be the prop and staff of his declining years. Her form was of the slightest kind; her eyes, of that light, heavenly blue, which is the sure index of deep feeling, were protected by high, arched eyebrows; her forehead was broad rather than lofty, but of an alabaster whiteness; her clear brown hair was parted over her brow in graceful curls, whilst her long tresses hung in flowing ringlets down her shoulders. Her air was usually of that pensive cast which never fails to interest the beholder; but, of late, a shade of deeper melancholy had been seated on her features, called up by anxiety for her father's declining health, and the sad prospect which then lay before her, an unprotected orphan.
It was impossible to look upon that lovely creature without emotion, as she stood leaning against the bulwark of the vessel, and beholding the glories of the rising sun, and the places upon the river, as the vessel passed them, one after another, in its course. Nor was she unobserved; for Tom Jones, seated upon the windlass, with his hands crossed upon his breast, was silently beholding her. She was here joined by her father, who had come upon deck, and without speaking, took her hand. Catherine silently pointed to the sun.—"This, indeed," said her father, breaking silence, "is a glorious spectacle. I have travelled in many lands, and beheld many splendid sights—I have seen the most gorgeous spectacles of eastern magnificence, where everything was combined that could please the eye or captivate the fancy—but all of these fall short, very far short, of this display. How many people," continued the old gentleman, "travel into other countries, for the sake of seeing fine sights, who are ignorant that they might behold, at home, a sight grander than the finest of these!"