A Marriage at Sea

by William Clark Russell

"No more—them two only," and Parsons pointed to Grace and me, who stood conspicuous, near the main rigging.

"Ay, ay, sir; we'll receive 'em. Will you send your boat?"

Captain Parsons flourished his hand in token of acquiescence; but he stood near enough to enable me to catch a few growling sentences, referring to the laziness of yachtsmen, which he hove at the twinkling figure through his teeth in language which certainly did not accord with his priestly tendencies.

There was no luggage to pack, no parcels to hunt for, nothing for me to do but leave Grace a minute, whilst I rushed below to fee the stewards. So much confusion attended our transference that my recollection of what took place is vague. I remember that the second mate was incessantly shouting out orders, until one of the ship's quarter boats, with several men in her, had been fairly lowered to the water's edge, and brought to the gangway, over which some steps had been thrown. I also remember once again shaking Captain Parsons most cordially by the hand, thanking him effusively for his kindness and wishing him and his ship all possible good-luck under the heavens. The passengers crowded round us and wished us good-bye, and I saw Mrs. Barstow slip a little parcel into Grace's hand, and whisper a few words; whereupon they kissed each other with the warmth of old friends.

Mr. M'Cosh stood at the gangway, and I asked him to distribute the twenty-pound bank note I handed to him amongst the crew of the boat that had taken us from the Spitfire; I further requested that the second mate, taking his proportion which I left entirely to the discretion of Mr. M'Cosh, would purchase some trifle of pin or ring by which to remember us.

Grace was then handed into the boat—a ticklish business to the eyes of a landsman, but performed with amazing despatch and ease by the rough seaman who passed her over and received her. I followed, watching my chance, and in a few moments the oars were out and the boat making for the yacht, that lay within musket shot. She was rolling, however, faster and so much more heavily than the big iron ship, that the job of getting on board her was heightened into a kind of peril. I should never have imagined merely by looking down on the water from the height of the Carthusian's rail how strong was the Atlantic surge—blue, summer-like and beautiful with its lacery of froth, as it showed from the altitude of the ship's deck. It came to Grace being lifted bodily over the side by a couple of the yachtsman, who each grasped her hand. I was similarly helped up, and was not a little thankful to find ourselves safe on the solid deck of the steamer after the egg-shell-like tossing of the ship's quarter-boat alongside.

We were received by the captain of the yacht, a fellow with a face that reminded me somewhat of Caudel, of a countenance and bearing much too sailorly to be rendered ridiculous by his livery of gold band and buttons. But before I could address him old Parsons hailed to give him the name of the Carthusian and to request him to report the ship, and he ran on to the bridge to answer. I could look at nothing just then but the ship. Of all sea pieces I never remember the like of that for beauty. We were to leeward of her, and she showed us the milk-white bosoms of her sails, that flashed out in silver brilliance to the sunlight through sheer force of the contrast of the vivid red of her water-line as it was lifted out of the yeast and then plunged again by the rolling of the craft. Large soft clouds resembling puffs of steam sailed over her waving mast-heads, where a gilt vane glowed like a streak of fire against the blue of the sky between the clouds.

A full-rigged ship never looks more majestic I think than when she is hove to under all plain sail, that is, when all canvas but stun'sails is piled upon her and her main topsail is to the mast, with the great main course hauled up to the yard and windily swaying in festoons. She is then like a noble mare reined in; her very hawse pipes seem to grow large like the nostrils of some nervous creature impatiently sniffing the air; she bows the sea as though informed with a spirit of fire that maddens her to leap the surge, and to rush forward once more in music and in thunder, in giddy shearing and in long floating plunges on the wings of the wind. Never does a ship show so much as a thing of life as when she is thus restrained.

But the boat had now gained the tall fabric's side; the tackles had been hooked into her, and even whilst she was soaring to the davits the great main topsail yard of the Carthusian came slowly round, and the sails to the royal filled. At the same moment I was sensible of a pulsation in the deck on which we were standing; the engines had been started, and in a few beats of the heart the Carthusian was on our quarter, breaking the sea under her bow as the long, slender, metal hull leaned to the weight of the high and swelling canvas.

I pulled off my hat and flourished it, Grace waved her handkerchief, a hearty cheer swept down to us, not only from the passengers assembled on the poop but also from the crowds who watched us from the forecastle and from the line of the bulwark rails, and for some minutes every figure was in motion, as the people gesticulated their farewells to us.