We board the Orotava, which is to board and lodge so many of them (with another contingent going overland, and joining the ship later on) for the next month or so.
I am personally introduced to the captain by some kindly friends who come to see me off, and whom, as I lose sight of them in the crowd, it is soon my turn to "see off"; as subsequently I can only catch a glimpse of them in the crowd, on the tender, as they depart for shore, when we wave hands to one another implying thereby all sorts of good wishes. After making the captain's acquaintance, I am introduced by some light-hearted companion—everyone on board is either boisterously gay or in the deepest grief—to a good-humoured-looking portly gentleman, whom, there being nothing whatever nautical in his appearance, I should have taken for a landed proprietor, "one of the olden time," had I not very soon discovered him to be something uncommonly superior in the Nautical Pacific Service, and the friend in need, without whom no passenger's happiness is complete, that is, speaking from practical experience, if the destination of that passenger is only Plymouth, as was mine.
Farewell! The tender is about to depart. It seems to me to be as full as when it arrived. "Cheers, tears and laughter:" only the laughter is a bit forced, while the tears are natural, and the cheers most hearty. The tender hesitates. Tug evidently tender-hearted; can't bear to part with the good ship Orotava. No; this is not the cause of the delay. Some one is waited for. Tender crew impatient. Where is he? Who is he? Find him. Some one, in ordinary frock coat and top hat but clearly an official on board tender, puts both hands to his month and shouts out what sounds to me like "Wait for Mister Tubbs!" Evidently tender cannot go ashore without Tubbs; equally evident that Tubbs is not to sail with the Orotava. Puzzle, to find Tubbs. Stewards, chief officers, mates, men rush in all directions to rout out Tubbs. Look-out man aloft in sort of suspended clothes basket cannot get a sight of Tubbs either in the offing or out of it. Nothing like Tubbs to be seen anywhere. Somebody reports at top of voice "He's with the captain." Captain up above somewhere, invisible, denies soft impeachment as to being cognisant of the whereabouts of Tubbs. What is Tubbs doing? Playing hide and seek? Search light turned on into darkest and deepest depths of Orotava. No Tubbs. Suddenly first gangway withdrawn, and grasp of tender partially relaxed. Exciting moment. Crew of tender rattle second gangway threateningly: their patience is almost exhausted. The cry goes up once more for Tubbs ahoy! Even the weeping wives and sorrowing friends, lovers and children forget their dear ones for a moment and strain their eyes in every direction, gasping for a glimpse of invisible Tubbs. At last a small, stoutish figure appears on the gangway. Is he hatless? breathless? Not a bit of it. He walks the gangway as if he yet had hours of leisure before him, and was quite unconscious of having kept anyone waiting. It is Tubbs himself. The self-possession of Tubbs is remarkable, nay admirable. He notices nobody. Speaks to nobody. Suddenly he disappears; the gangway is withdrawn; more cheers, more waving of pocket-handkerchiefs, and the tender, with the impassive Tubbs to boot, drifts out of sight, and the Orotava is fairly under weigh.
WITHOUT PREJUDICE.
Ugly Man (who thinks he's a privileged wag, to Artist). "Now, Mr. Daubigny, draw me."
Artist (who doesn't like being called Daubigny, and whose real name is Smith). "Certainly. But you won't be offended if it's like you. Eh?"