He put one hand on my shoulder, swinging by the other hand that grasped the banister: ‘Your poor friend, Alice Lee,’ he exclaimed, ‘will not live another fortnight.’
‘Oh, do not say so!’ I cried.
‘One lung is useless; the other is so hampered that it scarcely enables her to pump in air enough for life. How can she live? And why are these puir creatures—men and women—girls and boys—brought to sea to die, that they may be thrown overboard in mid-ocean? Of course no cruelty is meant—not likely that any cruelty can be meant; but what greater cruelty would ye have people guilty of than to wait till a puir consumptive creature is past all hope, and then bring her to sea in a ship that is never steady, with food that she may not fancy but that they cannot replace by what she can eat, subjecting her to twenty climates in a month when one climate may prove too much for her? I am very sorry to say that medical men are much too much given to recommending sea voyages for consumptive people when they know that a sea voyage can do them no good. But the doctor comes to the end of his tether: “I canna save this patient,” says he to himself, and so he sends the puir thing on a voyage. Mark you now the rolling of this ship. D’ye feel how she heaves and bounds, and d’ye hear how the wind roars in the rigging, and how all those bulkheads yawl and squall as though there was another massacre of the innocents going on down here? Yes, ye hear it and ye feel it: ask yourself then if your friend Alice Lee should be here instead of ashore—here instead of lying in a pleasant room upon a steady couch, with every comfort which her mother’s purse could command within reach of her? She’ll not live another fortnight, I tell you. Where’s that d——d Mrs. Richards? No matter. Gi’ us hold of your arm, that I may save ye a broken neck.’
His language so disquieted me that when I had gained the saloon I was without heart to immediately enter Alice’s berth. Mr. McEwan was a man of intelligence, and I might be sure he knew what he was talking about. His roughness, amounting almost to brutality, seemed like the strong language and violent demeanour of that fine creation Matthew Bramble, assumed to conceal a thoroughly kind heart; and the note of true sympathetic feeling which ran through his rough words and harsh pronunciation accentuated his prediction to my fears and to my love for Alice Lee.
I seated myself on a sofa at the end of the saloon, where I found a book, which I placed on my lap and feigned to read. A few of the passengers sat here and there; most of the people were in their berths, and those who were present were clearly in no humour for conversation. Half an hour passed in this way, by which time I had somewhat settled my spirits; and, walking with exceeding caution to the Lees’ berth, I lightly tapped upon the door of it.
The door was opened by Mrs. Lee, who put her finger upon her lip. The gesture signified that Alice was sleeping, and, giving her a nod, I passed on to the forward end of the saloon that I might obtain a view of the rolling, straining ship, and the huge frothing sea rushing from under her. I stepped out into a recess on the quarter-deck formed by the projection of the cabin on either hand, and by the overshot extremity of the poop-deck. This recess provided a shelter from the gale which was howling over the bulwarks, and splitting in ringing, piercing whistlings upon the complicated shrouds and gear; and in a corner of it—of the recess I mean—squatted the gipsy woman. She was smoking a little sooty clay pipe, the bowl of which was upside down.
She was alone; a few of the emigrants were crouching on the lee or sheltered side of the house, called the galley, in which the food was cooked; otherwise the decks were deserted. As the ship rolled to the wind the huge seas in masses of cloudy grey water charged at her as though they must thunder in mighty falls over the rail; but the noble fabric rose with dry decks and screaming rigging to the wash of each foaming mountain, letting it run away from under her in a huge streaming sheet of white, and the wild, expiring foam hissed into the gale with the noise of an electric storm of wet and hail falling upon a calm sea.
The gipsy woman pulled the pipe out of her mouth and gave me a nod, with a wide grin of her white, strong teeth. Though her appearance was sufficiently fierce and disagreeable to occasion an instinctive recoil, yet, remembering what she had told me, and how what she had told me seemed confirmed by some strong secret instinct or feeling within me, and by Mrs. Lee’s conjectures or suspicions, I resolved to talk with her awhile; and, giving her a nod by way of returning her salutation, I made my way to her side, motioning with my hand that she should keep seated; and when I had drawn close enough to hear her speak I crouched against the saloon front to prevent myself from being thrown.
‘Do you want some more of your fortune told, my pretty lady?’ said the woman, knocking the ashes out of her pipe and putting it in her pocket.
‘No, I wish to hear no more of my fortune,’ I answered.