Rivers of Ice
by R. M. Ballantyne · English · Gutenberg #21698 · 555,197 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Rivers of Ice
Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Release date: June 6, 2007 [eBook #21698]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21698
Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIVERS OF ICE ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
RIVERS OF ICE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE ROVER'S RETURN.
On a certain summer morning, about the middle of the present century, a
big bluff man, of seafaring aspect, found himself sauntering in a
certain street near London Bridge. He was a man of above fifty, but
looked under forty in consequence of the healthful vigour of his frame,
the freshness of his saltwater face, and the blackness of his shaggy
hair.
Although his gait, pilot-cloth coat, and pocketed hands proclaimed him a
sailor, there were one or two contradictory points about him. A huge
beard and moustache savoured more of the diggings than the deep, and a
brown wide-awake with a prodigiously broad brim suggested the backwoods.
Pausing at the head of one of those narrow lanes which--running down
between warehouses, filthy little rag and bone shops, and low
poverty-stricken dwellings--appear to terminate their career, not
unwillingly, in the Thames, the sailor gazed before him with nautical
earnestness for a few seconds, then glanced at the corner house for a
name; found no name; cast his eyes up to the strip of blue sky overhead,
as if for inspiration; obtained none; planted his legs wide apart as if
he had observed a squall coming, and expected the lane to lurch
heavily--wrinkled his eyebrows, and pursed his lips.
"Lost yer bearin's, capp'n?" exclaimed a shrill pert voice at his side.
The seaman looked down, and beheld a small boy with a head like a
disorderly door-mat, and garments to match. He stood in what may be
styled an imitative attitude, with his hands thrust into his ragged
pockets, his little legs planted wide apart, his cap thrust well back on
his head, and his eyebrows wrinkled. He also pursed his lips to such an
extent that they resembled a rosebud in a dirty bush.
"Yes, imp," replied the seaman--he meant to have said "impudence," but
stopped at the first syllable as being sufficiently appropriate--"yes,
imp, I _have_ lost my bearings, and I'll give you a copper if you'll
help me to find 'em."
"Wot sort o' copper?" demanded the urchin, "there's three sorts of 'em,
you know, in this 'ere kingdom--which appears to be a queendom at
present--there's a farding and a ha'penny and a penny. I mention it,
capp'n," he added apologetically, "in case you don't know, for you look
as if you'd come from furrin parts."
The seaman's look of surprise melted into a broad grin of amusement
while this speech was being fluently delivered. At its conclusion he
pulled out a penny and held it up.
"Well, it ain't much," said the small boy, "and I ain't used to hire
myself out so cheap. However, as you seem to be raither poorly off, I
don't mind if I lend you a hand for that. Only, please, don't mention
it among your friends, as it would p'raps lower their opinion of you,
d'you see? Now then w'ot d'you want to know?"
To this the "capp'n," still smiling at the small boy's precocious
insolence, replied that he was in search of an old woman who dwelt in a
small court styled Grubb's Court, so he was told, which lay somewhere in
that salubrious neighbourhood, and asked if he, the imp, knew of such a
place.
"Know's of it? I should think I does. W'y, I lives there. It's right
down at the foot o' this 'ere lane, an' a wery sweet 'ristocratik spot
it is--quite a perninsular, bein' land, leastwise mud, a'most surrounded
by water, the air bein' 'ighly condoosive to the 'ealth of rats,
likewise cats. As to old women, there's raither a broad sprinklin' of
'em in the court, rangin' from the ages of seventy to a hundred an
twenty, more or less, an' you'll take some time to go over 'em all,
capp'n, if you don't know your old woman's name."
"Her name is Roby--," said the seaman.
"O, Roby? ah," returned the small boy, looking sedately at the ground,
"let me see--yes, that's the name of the old 'ooman, I think, wot 'angs
out in the cabin, right-'and stair, top floor, end of the passage, w'ere
most wisiters flattens their noses, by consekince of there bein' no
light, and a step close to the door which inwariably trips 'em up. Most
wisiters to that old 'ooman begins their acquaintance with her by
knocking at her door with their noses instead of their knuckles. We
calls her place the cabin, 'cause the windows is raither small, and
over'angs the river."
"Well then, my lad," said the seaman, "clap a stopper on your tongue, if
you can, and heave ahead."
"All right, capp'n," returned the small boy, "foller me, an' don't be
frightened. Port your helm a bit here, there's a quicksand in the
middle o' the track--so, steady!"
Avoiding a large pool of mud with which the head of the lane was
garnished, and which might have been styled the bathing, not to say
wallowing, quarters of the Grubb's Court juveniles, the small boy led
the bluff seaman towards the river without further remark, diverging
only once from the straight road for a few seconds, for the purpose of
making a furious rush at a sleeping cat with a yell worthy of a Cherokee
savage, or a locomotive whistle; a slight pleasantry which had the
double effect of shooting the cat through space in glaring convulsions,
and filling the small boy's mind with the placidity which naturally
follows a great success.
The lane presented this peculiarity, that the warehouses on its left
side became more and more solid and vast and tall as they neared the
river, while the shops and dwellings on its right became poorer, meaner,
and more diminutive in the same direction, as if there were some
mysterious connection between them, which involved the adversity of the
one in exact proportion to the prosperity of the other. Children and
cats appeared to be the chief day-population of the place, and these
disported themselves among the wheels of enormous waggons, and the legs
of elephantine horses with an impunity which could only have been the
result of life-long experience.
The seaman was evidently unaccustomed to such scenes, for more than once
during the short period of his progress down the lane, he uttered an
exclamation of alarm, and sprang to the rescue of those large babies
which are supposed to have grown sufficiently old to become nursing
mothers to smaller babies--acts which were viewed with a look of pity by
the small boy, and called from him the encouraging observations, "Keep
your mind easy, capp'n; _they're_ all right, bless you; the hosses knows
'em, and wouldn't 'urt 'em on no account."
"This is Grubb's Court," said the boy, turning sharply to the right and
passing through a low archway.
"Thank 'ee, lad," said the seaman, giving him a sixpence.
The small boy opened his eyes very wide indeed, exclaiming, "Hallo! I
say, capp'n, wot's this?" at the same time, however, putting the coin in
his pocket with an air which plainly said, "Whether you've made a
mistake or not, you needn't expect to get it back again."
Evidently the seaman entertained no such expectations, for he turned
away and became absorbed in the scene around him.
It was not cheering. Though the summer sun was high and powerful, it
failed to touch the broken pavement of Grubb's Court, or to dry up the
moisture which oozed from it and crept up the walls of the surrounding
houses. Everything was very old, very rotten, very crooked, and very
dirty. The doorways round the court were wide open--always open--in
some cases, because of there being no doors; in other cases, because the
tenements to which they led belonged to a variety of families, largely
composed of children who could not, even on tiptoe, reach or manipulate
door-handles. Nursing mothers of two feet high were numerous,
staggering about with nurslings of a foot and a half long. A few of the
nurslings, temporarily abandoned by the premature mothers, lay
sprawling--in some cases squalling--on the moist pavement, getting over
the ground like large snails, and leaving slimy tracks behind them.
Little boys, of the "City Arab" type, were sprinkled here and there, and
one or two old women sat on door-steps contemplating the scene, or
conversing with one or two younger women. Some of the latter were busy
washing garments so dirty, that the dirty water of old Father Thames
seemed quite a suitable purifier.
"Gillie," cried one of the younger women referred to, wiping the
soap-suds from her red arms, "come here, you bad, naughty boy. W'ere
'ave you bin? I want you to mind baby."
"W'y, mother," cried the small boy--who answered to the name of
Gillie--"don't you see I'm engaged? I'm a-showin' this 'ere sea-capp'n
the course he's got to steer for port. He wants to make the cabin of
old mother Roby."
"W'y don't you do it quickly, then?" demanded Gillie's mother, "you bad,
naughty, wicked boy. Beg your parding, sir," she added, to the seaman,
"the boy 'an't got no sense, besides bein' wicked and naughty--'e ain't
'ad no train', sir, that's w'ere it is, all along of my 'avin' too much
to do, an' a large family, sir, with no 'usband to speak of; right up
the stair, sir, to the top, and along the passage-door straight before
you at the hend of it. Mind the step, sir, w'en you gits up. Go up
with the gentleman, you bad, wicked, naughty boy, and show--"
The remainder of the sentence became confused in distance, as the boy
and the seaman climbed the stair; but a continuous murmuring sound, as
of a vocal torrent, conveyed the assurance that the mother of Gillie was
still holding forth.
"'Ere it is," said the young pilot, pausing at the top of the staircase,
near the entrance to a very dark passage. "Keep 'er 'ead as she goes,
but I'd recommend you to shorten sail, mind your 'elm, an 'ave the
anchor ready to let go."
Having thus accommodated his language to the supposed intelligence of
the seaman, the elfin youth stood listening with intense eagerness and
expectation as the other went into the passage, and, by sundry kicks and
bumps against wooden walls, gave evidence that he found the channel
intricate. Presently a terrible kick occurred. This was the seaman's
toe against the step, of which he had been warned, but which he had
totally forgotten; then a softer, but much heavier blow, was heard,
accompanied by a savage growl--that was the seaman's nose and forehead
against old Mrs Roby's portal.
At this, Gillie's expectations were realised, and his joy consummated.
With mischievous glee sparkling in his eyes, he hastened down to the
Court to exhibit his sixpence to his mother, and to announce to all whom
it might concern, that "the sea-capp'n had run his jib-boom slap through
the old 'ooman's cabin-door."
CHAPTER TWO.
THE SEAMAN TAKES THE "CABIN" BY SURPRISE AND STORM.
Without having done precisely what Gillie had asserted of him, our
seaman had in truth made his way into the presence of the little old
woman who inhabited "the cabin," and stood there gazing round him as if
lost in wonder; and well he might be, for the woman and cabin, besides
being extremely old, were exceedingly curious, quaint, and small.
The former was wrinkled to such an extent, that you could not have found
a patch of smooth skin large enough for a pea to rest on. Her teeth
were all gone, back and front, and her nose, which was straight and
well-formed, made almost successful attempts to meet a chin which had
once been dimpled, but was now turned up. The mouth between them wore a
benignant and a slightly humorous expression; the eyes, which were
bright, black, and twinkling, seemed to have defied the ravages of time.
Her body was much bent as she sat in her chair, and a pair of crutches
leaning against the chimney-piece suggested the idea that it would not
be much straighter if she stood up. She was wrapped in a large, warm
shawl, and wore a high cap, which fitted so close round her little
visage, that hair, if any, was undistinguishable.
The room in which she sat resembled the cabin of a ship in more respects
than one. It was particularly low in the root so low that the seaman's
hair touched it as he stood there looking round him; and across this
roof ran a great beam, from which hung a variety of curious ornaments,
such as a Chinese lantern, a Turkish scimitar, a New Zealand club, an
Eastern shield, and the model of a full-rigged ship. Elsewhere on the
walls were, an ornamented dagger, a worsted-work sampler, a framed sheet
of the flags of all nations, a sou'-wester cap and oiled coat, a
telescope, and a small staring portrait of a sea-captain in his
"go-to-meeting" clothes, which looked very much out of keeping with his
staring sunburnt face, and were a bad fit. It might have been a good
likeness, and was certainly the work of one who might have raised
himself to the rank of a Royal Academician if he had possessed
sufficient talent and who might have painted well if he had understood
the principles of drawing and colour.
The windows of the apartment, of which there were two very small square
ones, looked out upon the river, and, to some extent overhung it, so
that a man of sanguine temperament might have enjoyed fishing from them,
if he could have been content to catch live rats and dead cats. The
prospect from these windows was, however, the best of them, being a wide
reach of the noble river, crowded with its stately craft, and cut up by
its ever-bustling steamers. But the most noteworthy part of this room,
or "cabin," was the space between the two windows immediately over the
chimney-piece, which the eccentric old woman had covered with a large,
and, in some cases, inappropriate assortment of objects, by way of
ornament, each article being cleaned and polished to the highest
possible condition of which it was susceptible. A group of five
photographs of children--three girls and two boys, looking amazed--
formed the centrepiece of the design; around these were five other
photographs of three young ladies and two young gentlemen, looking
conscious, but pleased. The spaces between these, and every available
space around them, were occupied by pot-lids of various sizes, old and
battered, but shining like little suns; small looking-glasses, also of
various sizes, some square and others round; little strings of beads;
heads of meerschaums that had been much used in former days;
pin-cushions, shell-baskets, one or two horse-shoes, and iron-heels of
boots; several flat irons belonging to doll's houses, with a couple of
dolls, much the worse for wear, mounting guard over them; besides a host
of other nick-nacks, for which it were impossible to find names or
imagine uses. Everything--from the old woman's cap to the uncarpeted
floor, and the little grate in which a little fire was making feeble
efforts to warm a little tea-kettle with a defiant spout--was
scrupulously neat, and fresh, and clean, very much the reverse of what
one might have expected to find in connection with a poverty-stricken
population, a dirty lane, a filthy court, a rickety stair, and a dark
passage. Possibly the cause might have been found in a large and
much-worn family Bible, which lay on a small table in company with a
pair of tortoiseshell spectacles, at the old woman's elbow.
On this scene the nautical man stood gazing, as we have said, with much
interest; but he was too polite to gaze long.
"Your servant, missis," he said with a somewhat clumsy bow.
"Good morning, sir," said the little old woman, returning the bow with
the air of one who had once seen better society than that of Grubb's
Court.
"Your name is Roby, I believe," continued the seaman, advancing, and
looking so large in comparison with the little room that he seemed
almost to fill it.
The little old woman admitted that that was her name.
"My name," said the seaman, "is Wopper, tho' I'm oftener called Skipper,
also Capp'n, by those who know me."
Mrs Roby pointed to a chair and begged Captain Wopper to sit down,
which he did after bestowing a somewhat pointed glance at the chair, as
if to make sure that it could bear him.
"You was a nuss once, I'm told," continued the seaman, looking steadily
at Mrs Roby as he sat down.
"I was," answered the old woman, glancing at the photographs over the
chimney-piece, "in the same family for many years."
"You'll excuse me, ma'am," continued the seaman, "if I appear something
inquisitive, I want to make sure that I've boarded the right craft d'ee
see--I mean, that you are the right 'ooman."
A look of surprise, not unmingled with humour, beamed from Mrs Roby's
twinkling black eyes as she gazed steadily in the seaman's face, but she
made no other acknowledgment of his speech than a slight inclination of
her head, which caused her tall cap to quiver. Captain Wopper,
regarding this as a favourable sign, went on.
"You was once, ma'am, I'm told, before bein' a nuss in the family of
which you've made mention, a matron, or somethin' o' that sort, in a
foundlin' hospital--in your young days, ma'am?"
Again Mrs Roby admitted the charge, and demanded to know, "what then?"
"Ah, jus' so--that's what I'm comin' to," said Captain Wopper, drawing
his large hand over his beard. "You was present in that hospital,
ma'am, was you not, one dark November morning, when a porter-cask was
left at the door by some person unknown, who cut his cable and cleared
off before the door was opened,--which cask, havin' on its head two X's,
and bein' labelled, `This side up, with care,' contained two healthy
little babby boys?"
Mrs Roby, becoming suddenly grave and interested, again said, "I was."
"Jus' so," continued the captain, "you seem to be the right
craft--'ooman, I mean--that I'm in search of. These two boys, who were
supposed to be brothers, because of their each havin' a brown mole of
exactly the same size and shape on their left arms, just below their
elbows, were named `Stout,' after the thing in which they was headed up,
the one bein' christened James, the other Willum?"
"Yes, yes," replied the little old woman eagerly, "and a sweet lovely
pair they was when the head of that barrel was took off, lookin' out of
the straw in which they was packed like two little cheruphims, though
they did smell strong of the double X, and was a little elevated because
of the fumes that 'ung about the wood. But how do you come to know all
this, sir, and why do you ask?"
"Excuse me, ma'am," replied the sailor with a smile, which curled up his
huge moustache expressively,--"you shall know presently, but I must make
quite sure that I'm aboard of--that is to say, that you _are_ the right
'ooman. May I ask, ma'am, what became of these two cheruphims, as
you've very properly named 'em?"
"Certainly," answered Mrs Roby, "the elder boy--we considered him the
elder, because he was the first took out of the barrel--was a stoodious
lad, and clever. He got into a railway company, I believe, and became a
rich man--married a lady, I'm told,--and changed his name to Stoutley,
so 'tis said, not thinkin' his right name suitable to his circumstances,
which, to say truth, it wasn't, because he was very thin. I've heard it
said that his family was extravagant, and that he went to California to
seek his brother, and look after some property, and died there, but I'm
not rightly sure, for he was a close boy, and latterly I lost all
knowledge of him and his family."
"And the other cheruphim, Willum," said the sailor, "what of him?"
"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs Roby, a flush suffusing her wrinkled countenance,
while her black eyes twinkled more than usual, "he was a jewel, _he_
was. They said in the hospital that he was a wild good-for-nothing boy,
but _I_ never thought him so. He was always fond of me--very fond of
me, and I of him. It is true he could never settle to anythink, and at
last ran away to sea, when about twelve year old; but he didn't remain
long at that either, for when he got to California, he left his ship,
and was not heard of for a long time after that. I thought he was dead
or drowned, but at last I got a letter from him, enclosing money, an'
saying he had been up at the noo gold-diggings, an' had been lucky, dear
boy, and he wanted to share his luck with me, an would never, never,
forget me; but he didn't need to send me money to prove that. He has
continued to send me a little every year since then;--ah! it's many,
many years now,--ay, ay, many years."
She sighed, and looked wistfully at the spark of fire in the grate that
was making ineffectual attempts to boil the little tea-kettle with the
defiant spout; "but why," she continued, looking up suddenly, "why do
you ask about him?"
"Because I knew him," replied Captain Wopper, searching for something
which appeared to be lost in the depths of one of his capacious pockets.
"Willum Stout was a chum of mine. We worked together at the Californy
gold-mines for many a year as partners, and, when at last we'd made what
we thought enough, we gave it up an' came down to San Francisco
together, an' set up a hotel, under the name of the `Jolly Tars,' by
Stout and Company. I was the Company, ma'am; an', for the matter o'
that I may say I was the Stout too, for both of us answered to the Stout
or the Company, accordin' as we was addressed, d'ee see? When Company
thought he'd made enough money to entitle him to a holiday, he came
home, as you see; but before leavin', Willum said to him, `Company, my
lad, w'en you get home, you'll go and see that old 'oom of the name of
Roby, whom I've often told you about. She lives in Lunun, somewheres
down by the river in a place called Grubb's Court. She was very good to
me, that old 'oom was, when she was young, as I've told you before. You
go an' give her my blessin'--Willum's blessin'--and this here bag and
that there letter.' `Yes,' says I, `Willum, I'll do it, my boy, as soon
as ever I set futt on British soil.' I did set futt on British soil
this morning, and there's the letter; also the bag; so, you see, old
lady, I've kep' my promise."
Captain Wopper concluded by placing a small but heavy canvas bag, and a
much-soiled letter, in Mrs Roby's lap.
To say that the little old woman seized the letter with eager delight,
would convey but a faint idea of her feelings as she opened it with
trembling hands, and read it with her bright black eyes.
She read it half aloud, mingled with commentary, as she proceeded, and
once or twice came to a pause over an illegible word, on which occasions
her visitor helped her to the word without looking at the letter. This
circumstance struck her at last as somewhat singular, for she looked up
suddenly, and said, "You appear, sir, to be familiar with the contents
of my letter."
"That's true, ma'am," replied Captain Wopper, who had been regarding the
old woman with a benignant smile; "Willum read it to me before I left,
a-purpose to enable me to translate the ill-made pot-hooks and hangers,
because, d'ee see, we were more used to handlin' the pick and shovel out
there than the pen, an' Willum used to say he never was much of a dab at
a letter. He never wrote you very long ones, ma'am, I believe?"
Mrs Roby looked at the fire pensively, and said, in a low voice, as if
to herself rather than her visitor, "No, they were not long--never very
long--but always kind and sweet to me--very sweet--ay, ay, it's a long,
long time now, a long time, since he came to me here and asked for a
night's lodging."
"Did you give it him, ma'am?" asked the captain. "Give it him!"
exclaimed Mrs Roby, with sudden energy, "of course I did. The poor boy
was nigh starving. How could I refuse him? It is true I had not much
to give, for the family I was with as nuss had failed and left me in
great distress, through my savings bein' in their hands; and that's what
brought me to this little room long, long ago--ay, ay. But no blame to
the family, sir, no blame at all. They couldn't help failin', an' the
young ones, when they grew up, did not forget their old nuss, though
they ain't rich, far from it; and it's what they give me that enables me
to pay my rent and stay on here--God bless 'em."
She looked affectionately at the daguerreotypes which hung, in the midst
of the sheen and glory of pot-lids, beads, and looking-glasses, above
the chimney-piece.
"You gave him, meanin' Willum, nothing else, I suppose?" asked the
captain, with a knowing look; "such, for instance, as a noo suit of
clothes, because of his bein' so uncommon ragged that he looked as if he
had bin captured in a clumsy sort of net that it would not have been
difficult to break through and escape from naked; also a few shillin's,
bein' your last, to pay his way down to Gravesend, where the ship was
lyin', that you had, through interest with the owners, got him a berth
aboard?"
"Ah!" returned Mrs Roby, shaking her head and smiling gently, "I see
that William has told you all about it."
"He has, ma'am," replied Captain Wopper, with a decisive nod. "You see,
out in the gold-fields of Californy, we had long nights together in our
tent, with nothin' to do but smoke our pipes, eat our grub, and spin
yarns, for we had no books nor papers, nothin' to read except a noo
Testament, and we wouldn't have had even that, ma'am, but for yourself.
It was the Testament you gave to Willum at partin', an' very fond of it
he was, bein' your gift. You see, at the time we went to Californy,
there warn't many of us as cared for the Word of God. Most of us was
idolaters that had run away from home, our chief gods--for we had many
of 'em--bein' named Adventure, Excitement and Gold; though there was
some noble exceptions, too. But, as I was saying, we had so much time
on our hands that we recalled all our past adventures together over and
over again, and, you may be sure, ma'am, that your name and kindness was
not forgotten. There was another name," continued Captain Wopper,
drawing his chair nearer the fire, crossing his legs and stroking his
beard as he looked up at the dingy ceiling, "that Willum often thought
about and spoke of. It was the name of a gentleman, a clerk in the
Customs, I believe, who saved his life one day when he fell into the
river just below the bridge."
"Mr Lawrence," said the old woman, promptly.
"Ah! Mr Lawrence; yes, that's the name," continued the Captain.
"Willum was very grateful to him, and bid me try to find him out and
tell him so. Is he alive?"
"Dead," said Mrs Roby, shaking her head sadly.
The seaman appeared much concerned on hearing this. For some time he
did not speak, and then said that he had been greatly interested in that
gentleman through Willum's account of him.
"Had he left any children?"
"Yes," Mrs Roby told him; "one son, who had been educated as a doctor,
and had become a sort of a city missionary, and was as pleasant a young
gentleman as she ever knew."
"So, then, you know him?" said the Captain.
"Know him! I should think so. Why, this is the district where he
visits, and a kind friend he is to the poor, though he _is_ bashful a
bit, an' seems to shrink from pushin' himself where he's not wanted."
"Not the less a friend to the poor on that account," thought Captain
Wopper; but he said nothing, and Mrs Roby went on:--
"You see, his father before him did a great deal for the poor in a quiet
way here, as I have reason to know, this district lying near his office,
and handy, as it were. Long after the time when he saved Willum's life,
he married a sweet young creeter, who helped him in visitin' the poor,
but she caught fever among 'em and died, when their only son George was
about ten year old. George had been goin' about with his mother on her
visits, and seemed very fond of her and of the people, dear child; and
after she died, he used to continue coming with his father. Then he
went to school and college and became a young doctor, and only last year
he came back to us, so changed for the better that none of us would have
known him but for his kindly voice and fine manly-looking manner. His
shyness, too, has stuck to him a little, but it does not seem to hinder
him now as it once did. Ah!" continued Mrs Roby, in a sympathetic
tone, "it's a great misfortune to be shy."
She looked pensively at the little fire and shook her tall cap at it, as
if it or the defiant tea-kettle were answerable for something in
reference to shyness.
"Yes, it's a great misfortune to be shy," she repeated. "Were you ever
troubled with that complaint, Captain Wopper?"
The Captain's moustache curled at the corners as he stroked his beard,
and said that really, on consideration, he was free to confess that he
never had been convicted of that sin.
Mrs Roby bestowed on him a look of admiration, and continued, "Well, as
I have said--"
She was interrupted at this point by the entrance of an active little
girl, with the dirtiest face and sweetest expression imaginable, with
garments excessively ragged, blue eyes that sparkled as they looked at
you, a mouth that seemed made for kissing, if only it had been clean,
and golden hair that would have fallen in clustering curls on her neck,
if it had not been allowed to twist itself into something like a yellow
door-mat which rendered a bonnet unnecessary.
Bestowing a glance of surprise on the seaman, but without uttering a
word, she went smartly to a corner and drew into the middle of the room
a round table with one leg and three feet, whose accommodating top
having been previously flat against the wall, fell down horizontal and
fixed itself with a snap. On this the earnest little woman, quickly and
neatly, spread a fairish linen cloth, and proceeded to arrange thereon a
small tea-pot and cup and saucer, with other materials, for an early
tea.
"Two cups, Netta, my dear," said Mrs Roby.
"Yes, grannie," replied Netta, in a soft quick, little voice.
"Your grandchild?" asked the Captain.
"No; a neighbour's child, who is very kind to me. She calls me grannie,
because I like it. But, as I was saying," continued Mrs Roby, "young
Dr Lawrence came back last year and began to visit us in the old way,
intending to continue, he said, until he got a situation of some sort in
the colonies, I believe; but I do hope he'll not be obliged to leave us,
for he has bin a great blessin' to this neighbourhood, only he gets
little pay for his work, I fear, and appears to have little of his own
to live on, poor young man.--Now, Captain Wopper, you'll stop and have a
cup of tea with me. I take it early, you see,--in truth, I make a sort
of dinner of it,--and we can have a talk about William over it. I'm
proud to have a friend of his at my table, sir, I do assure you, though
it _is_ a poor one."
Captain Wopper accepted the invitation heartily, and thought, though he
said nothing, that it was indeed a poor table, seeing that the only food
on it besides the very weak tea in the wonderfully small pot, consisted
of one small loaf of bread.
"Netta," exclaimed Mrs Roby, with a look of surprise, "there's no
butter! Go, fetch it, dear."
Mrs Roby was, or thought herself, a remarkably deep character. She
spoke to Netta openly, but, in secret, bestowed a meaning glance on her,
and slipped a small coin into her hand. The dirty, sweet-faced damsel
replied by a remarkably knowing wink--all of which by-play, with the
reason for it, was as clear to Captain Wopper as if it had been
elaborately explained to him. But the Captain was a discreet man. He
became deeply absorbed in daguerreotypes and sauce-pan lids above the
fireplace, to the exclusion of all else.
"You've forgotten the bag, ma'am," said the Captain, drawing his chair
nearer the table.
"So I have; dear me, what is it?" cried Mrs Roby, taking it up. "It's
heavy."
"Gold!" said the Captain.
"Gold?" exclaimed the old nurse.
"Ay, nuggets," said the seaman, opening it and emptying its contents on
the table.
As the old nurse gazed on the yellow heap her black eyes glittered with
pleasure, as though they had derived additional lustre from the precious
metal, and she drew them towards her with a trembling, almost greedy,
motion, at sight of which Captain Wopper's countenance became troubled.
"And did Willie send this to me, dear boy?"
"He did, ma'am, hoping that it would be of use in the way of making your
home more comfortable, and enabling you to keep a better table."
He glanced uneasily round the poor room and at the small loaf as he
spoke, and the old woman observed the glance.
"It is very kind of him, very kind," continued Mrs Roby. "What may it
be worth, now?"
"Forty pounds, more or less," answered the Captain.
Again the old woman's eyes sparkled greedily, and again the seaman's
countenance fell.
"Surely, ma'am," said the Captain, gravely, "things must be uncommon
dear in London, for you tell me that Willum has sent you a deal of money
in time past, but you don't seem to be much the better for it."
"Captain Wopper," said Mrs Roby, putting her hand lightly on the
Captain's arm as it lay on the table, and looking earnestly into his
face, "if you had not been an old and valued friend of my dear Willie--
which I learn that you are from his letter--I would have said your
remark was a rude one; but, being what you are, I don't mind telling you
that I save up every penny I can scrape together for little Netta White,
the girl that has just gone out to fetch the butter. Although she's not
well cared for,--owing to her mother, who's a washerwoman, bein'
overburdened with work and a drunken husband,--she's one of the dearest
creeters I ever did see. Bless you, sir, you'd be amazed if you knew
all the kind and thoughtful things that untrained and uncared for child
does, and never thinks she's doing anything more than other people.
It's all along of her mother's spirit, which is as good as gold. Some
months ago Little Netta happened to be up here when I was at tea, and,
seeing the difficulty I had to move about with my old rheumatic limbs,
she said she'd come and set out my tea and breakfast for me; and she's
done it, sir, from that time to this, expecting nothing fur it, and
thinking I'm too poor to give her anything. But she's mistaken,"
continued Mrs Roby, with a triumphant twinkle in her black eyes, "she
doesn't know that I've made a confidant of her brother Gillie, and give
him a sixpence now and then to give to his mother without telling where
he got it, and she doesn't know that I'm saving up to be able to leave
something to her when I'm called home--it can't be long, now; it can't
be long."
"Old 'ooman," cried Captain Wopper, whose face had brightened
wonderfully during this explanation, "give us your flip--your hand. I
honour your heart, ma'am, and I've no respect whatever for your brain!"
"I'm not sure that that's a compliment," said Mrs Roby, with a smile.
Captain Wopper assured her with much solemnity that it might or might
not be a compliment, but it was a fact. "Why, look here," said he, "you
go and starve yourself, and deny yourself all sorts of little comforts--
what then? Why, you'll die long before your time, which is very like
taking the law into your own hands, ma'am, and then you won't leave to
Netta nearly as much as you might if you had taken care of yourself and
lived longer, and saved up after a reasonable fashion. It's sheer
madness. Why, ma'am, you're starving _now_, but I'll put a stop to
that. Don't you mind, now, whether I'm rude or not. You can't expect
anything else from an old gold-digger, who has lived for years where
there were no women except such as appeared to be made of mahogany, with
nothing to cover 'em but a coating of dirt and a blue skirt. Besides,
Willum told me at parting to look after you and see that you wanted for
nothing, which I promised faithfully to do. You've some regard for
Willum's wishes, ma'am?--you wouldn't have me break my promises to
Willum, would you?"
The Captain said this with immense rapidity and vigour, and finished it
with such a blow of his heavy fist on the little table that the cups and
plates danced, and the lid of the little tea-pot leaped up as if its
heart were about to come out of its mouth. Mrs Roby was so taken by
surprise that she could not speak for a few seconds, and before she had
recovered sufficiently to do so, Little Netta came in with the butter.
"Now, ma'am," resumed the Captain, when the girl had retired, "here's
where it is. With your leave I'll reveal my plans to you, and ask your
advice. When I was about to leave Californy, Willum told me first of
all to go and find _you_ out, and give you that letter and bag of
nuggets, which I've done. `Then,' says he, `Wopper, you go and find out
my brother Jim's widow, and give 'em my love an' dooty, and this letter,
and this bag of nuggets,'--said letter and bag, ma'am, bein' now in my
chest aboard ship. `So,' says I, `Willum, I will--trust me.' `I do,'
says he; `and, Wopper,' says he, `keep your weather eye open, my boy,
w'en you go to see 'em, because I've my suspicions, from what my poor
brother said on his deathbed, when he was wandering in his mind, that
his widow is extravagant. I don't know,' Willum goes on to say, `what
the son may be, but there's that cousin, Emma Gray, that lives in the
house with 'em, _she's_ all right. _She's_ corresponded with me, off
an' on, since ever she could write, and my brother bein' something lazy,
poor fellar, through havin' too much to do I fancy, got to throw all the
letter-writin' on her shoulders. You take special note of _her_,
Wopper, and if it should seem to you that they don't treat her well, you
let me know.' `Willum,' says I, `I will--trust me.' `Well, then,' says
Willum, `there's one other individooal I want you to ferret out, that's
the gentleman--he must be an old gentleman now--that saved my life when
I was a lad, Mr Lawrence by name. You try to find _him_ out and if you
can do him a good turn, do it.' `Willum,' says I, `I'll do it--trust
me.' `I do,' says he, `and when may I expect you back in Californy,
Wopper?' `Willum,' says I, `that depends.' `True,' says he, `it does.
Give us you're flipper, old boy, we may never meet again in these
terrestrial diggings. Good luck to you. Don't forget my last will an'
testimony as now expressed.' `Willum,' says I, `I won't.' So, ma'am, I
left Californy with a sacred trust, so to speak, crossed the sea, and
here I am."
At this point Captain Wopper, having warmed in his subject, took in at
one bite as much of the small loaf as would have been rather a heavy
dinner for Mrs Roby, and emptied at one gulp a full cup of her tea,
after which he stroked his beard, smiled benignantly at his hostess,
became suddenly earnest again, and went on--chewing as he spoke.
"Now, ma'am, I've three questions to ask: in the first place, as it's
not possible now to do a good turn to old Mr Lawrence, I must do it to
his son. Can you tell me where he lives?"
Mrs Roby told him that it was in a street not far from where they sat,
in a rather poor lodging.
"Secondly, ma'am, can you tell me where Willum's sister-in-law lives,--
Mrs Stout, _alias_ Stoutley?"
"No, Captain Wopper, but I daresay Mr Lawrence can. He knows 'most
everythink, and has a London Directory."
"Good. Now, in the third place, where am I to find a lodging?"
Mrs Roby replied that there were plenty to be found in London of all
kinds.
"You haven't a spare room here, have you?" said the Captain, looking
round.
Mrs Roby shook her head and said that she had not; and, besides, that
if she had, it would be impossible for her to keep a lodger, as she had
no servant, and could not attend on him herself.
"Mrs Roby," said the Captain, "a gold-digging seaman don't want no
servant, nor no attendance. What's up aloft?"
By pointing to a small trap-door in the ceiling, he rendered the
question intelligible.
"It's a garret, I believe," replied Mrs Roby, smiling; "but having no
ladder, I've never been up."
"You've no objection to my taking a look, have you?" asked the Captain.
"None in the world," replied the old woman. Without more ado the seaman
rose, mounted on a chair, pushed open the trap-door, thrust his head and
shoulders through, and looked round. Apparently the inspection was not
deemed sufficiently close, for, to the old woman's alarm and
inexpressible surprise, he seized the edges of the hole with his strong
hands, raised himself up, and finally disappeared in the regions above!
The alarm of the old woman was somewhat increased by the sound of her
visitor's heavy tread on the boards overhead as he stumbled about.
Presently his head appeared looking down through the trap. In any
aspect, Captain Wopper's shaggy head was an impressive one; but viewed
in an upside-down position, with the blood running into it, it was
peculiarly striking.
"I say, old lady," he shouted, as if his position recalled the action
and induced the tones of a boatswain, "it'll do. A capital berth, with
two portholes and a bunk."
The Captain's head disappeared, and immediately his legs took its place,
suggesting the outrageous idea that he had thrown a somersault. Next
moment his huge body slid down, and he stood on the floor much flushed
and covered with dust.
"Now, old girl, is it to be?" he said, sitting down at the table. "Will
you take me as a lodger, for better and for worse? I'll fit up the
berth on the main-deck, and be my own servant as well as your's. Say
the word."
"I can refuse nothing to Willie's friend," said old Mrs Roby, "but
really I--"
"Done, it's a bargain," interrupted the Captain, rising abruptly. "Now,
I'll go visit young Mr Lawrence and Mrs Stoutley, and to-morrow I'll
bring my kit, take possession of my berth, and you and I shall sail in
company, I hope, and be messmates for some time to come."
CHAPTER THREE.
DIFFICULTIES AMONG THE SOCIAL SUMMITS.
In one of the many mansions of the "west end" of London, a lady reclined
one morning on a sofa wishing that it were afternoon. She was a
middle-aged, handsome, sickly lady. If it had been afternoon she would
have wished that it were evening, and if it had been evening she would
have wished for the morning; for Mrs Stoutley was one of those languid
invalids whose enjoyment appears to be altogether in the future or the
past, and who seem to have no particular duties connected with the
present except sighing and wishing. It may be that this unfortunate
condition of mind had something to do with Mrs Stoutley's feeble state
of health. If she had been a little more thoughtful about others, and
less mindful of herself, she might, perhaps, have sighed and wished
less, and enjoyed herself more. At all events her doctor seemed to
entertain some such opinion, for, sitting in an easy chair beside her,
and looking earnestly at her handsome, worn-out countenance, he said,
somewhat abruptly, being a blunt doctor.
"You must go abroad, madam, and try to get your mind, as well as your
body, well shaken up."
"Why, doctor," replied Mrs Stoutley, with a faint smile; "you talk of
me as if I were a bottle of physic or flat ginger-beer."
"You are little better, silly woman," thought the doctor, but his innate
sense of propriety induced him only to say, with a smile, "Well, there
is at least this much resemblance between you and a bottle of flat
ginger-beer, namely, that both require to be made to effervesce a
little. It will never do to let your spirits down as you have been
doing. We must brighten up, my dear madam--not Brighton up, by the way,
we've had enough of Brighton and Bath, and such places. We must get
away to the Continent this summer--to the Pyrenees, or Switzerland,
where we can breathe the fresh mountain air, and ramble on glaciers, and
have a thorough change."
Mrs Stoutley looked gently, almost pitifully at the doctor while he
spoke, as if she thought him a well-meaning and impulsive, but rather
stupid maniac.
"Impossible, my dear doctor," she said; "you know I could not stand the
fatigues of such a journey."
"Well, then," replied the doctor, abruptly, "you must stop at home and
die."
"Oh! what a shocking naughty man you are to talk so."
Mrs Stoutley said this, however, with an easy good-natured air, which
showed plainly that she did not believe her illness likely to have such
a serious termination.
"I will be still more naughty and shocking," continued the doctor,
resolutely, but with a twinkle in his eyes, "for I shall prescribe not
only a dose of mountain air, but a dose of mountain exercise, to be
taken--and the patient to be well shaken while taken--every morning
throughout the summer and autumn. Moreover, after you return to
England, you must continue the exercise during the winter; and, in
addition to that, must have an object at the end of your walks and
drives--not shopping, observe, that is not a sufficiently out-of-door
object; nor visiting your friends, which is open to the same objection."
Mrs Stoutley smiled again at this, and said that really, if visiting
and shopping were forbidden, there seemed to be nothing left but museums
and picture-galleries.
To this the doctor retorted that although she might do worse than visit
museums and picture-galleries, he would prefer that she should visit the
diamond and gold fields of the city.
"Did you ever hear of the diamond and gold fields of London, Miss Gray?"
he said, turning to a plain yet pretty girl, who had been listening in
silence to the foregoing conversation.
"Never," answered Miss Gray, with a look of surprise.
Now, Miss Gray's look of surprise induces us to state in passing that
this young lady--niece, also poor relation and companion, to Mrs
Stoutley--possessed three distinct aspects. When grave, she was
plain,--not ugly, observe; a girl of nineteen, with a clear healthy
complexion and nut-brown hair, cannot in any circumstances be ugly; no,
she was merely plain when grave. When she smiled she was decidedly
pretty, and when she laughed she was captivating--absolutely
irresistible! She seldom laughed, occasionally smiled, and was
generally grave. There was something quite incomprehensible about her,
for she was not an unusually good girl, and by no means a dashing girl,
neither was she an intensely modest girl--and yet, plain Emma Gray had
perhaps driven more young men into a condition of drivelling imbecility
than any acknowledged beauty of the metropolis.
Observe, we say "perhaps," because we lay claim to no superhuman
knowledge in regard to such matters.
"They are rather extensive fields," continued the doctor, "scattered
here and there about the metropolis, but lying chiefly in the city and
on the banks of the Thames. They comprise many picture-galleries, too,
and museums; the latter containing wonderful specimens of old bones and
fossil remains, filth, and miscellaneous abominations, in which the gold
and diamonds are imbedded--sometimes buried,--and the former being hung
with subjects--chiefly interiors--incomparably superior, in respect of
graphic power, to the works of Hogarth."
"Oh! I know what you mean," said Miss Gray, with a little smile.
"Your wits are sharper than mine, Emma," said Mrs Stoutley, with a sigh
and a placid look. "What _do_ you refer to, Doctor Tough?"
"I refer to those districts, madam, chiefly inhabited by the poor, where
there are innumerable diamonds and gold nuggets, some of which are being
polished, and a good many are glittering brightly, though not yet fixed
in their proper setting, while by far the greater number of them are
down in the earth, and useless in the meantime, and apt to be lost for
want of adventurous diggers. They are splendid fields those of London,
and digging is healthful occupation--though it might not seem so at
first sight. Did you ever visit the poor, Mrs Stoutley?"
With a slight elevation of her eyebrows, and the application of a
scent-bottle to her delicate nose, as if the question had suggested bad
smells, the lady said that--Well, yes, she had once visited a poor old
gardener who had been a faithful creature in the family of a former
friend, but that her recollection of that visit did not tend to induce a
wish for its repetition.
"H'm!" coughed the doctor, "well, the taste of physic is usually bad at
first, but one soon gets used to it, and the after effects, as you know,
are exceedingly beneficial. I hope that when you visit the London
diggings you may find the truth of this; but it will be time enough to
speak of that subject when you return from rambling on the glaciers of
Switzerland, where, by the way, the dirt, rubbish, and wrack, called
moraines, which lie at the foot of the glaciers, will serve to remind
you of the gold-fields to which I have referred, for much of what
composes those moraines was once solid rock in a fixed position on the
heights, or glittering ice which reflected the sun's dazzling rays on
surrounding high life, though it lies low in the earth now. To a lady
of your intelligence, madam, I need not expound my parable. There are
many avalanches, great and small, in English society as well as among
the Swiss mountains; and, whether by gradual subsidence or a tremendous
rush, we must all find our places in the moraine at last."
"Really, doctor," said Mrs Stoutley, with a light laugh, "you seem to
have already wandered much among these moral moraines, and to have
acquired some of their ruggedness. How _can_ you talk of such dismal
things to a patient? But are you really in earnest about my going
abroad?"
"Indeed I am," replied the doctor, firmly, "and I advise you to begin
your preparations at once, for you must set out on your travels in less
than a month. I lay the responsibility of seeing my orders carried into
effect on your shoulders, Miss Gray."
So saying, the doctor rose and took his leave. Mrs Stoutley and her
niece immediately began to discuss the subject of Switzerland--the one
languidly, the other with animation. It was plain enough that, although
the invalid protested to the doctor her inability to travel, she really
had no objection, perhaps felt some desire, to go abroad, for when Miss
Gray mentioned the fact that there was a difficulty in the shape of
insufficient funds, she replied with more warmth than usual--
"Now, Emma, what is the use of always bringing up that ridiculous idea?"
"No doubt, auntie," the maiden replied, "it is a little ridiculous to
run short of ready money, considering the style in which we live; but it
would be still more ridiculous, you know, to go to Switzerland without
the means of paying our expenses while there."
"What's that you say about expenses, cousin?" exclaimed a tall handsome
stripling who entered at the moment, and seated himself on the sofa at
his mother's feet.
"Oh, bother the expense!" he exclaimed, when the difficulty had been
explained to him, "it can't cost so much to spend a few months in
Switzerland,--besides, we can do it cheap, you know. Didn't Mr
What's-his-name, our man of business, say that there was a considerable
balance at the banker's, and that if the What-d'ee-call-'em mines paid a
reasonable dividend, we should easily get over our difficulties?"
"He said something of that sort, I believe," replied Mrs Stoutley, with
a sigh.
"I rather think, cousin Lewis," said Emma, endeavouring to repress a
smile, "that he said there was an inconsiderable balance at the bankers,
and that _unless_ the Gorong mine paid a reasonable dividend, we
shouldn't easily get over our difficulties."
Both Lewis and his mother laughed at the quiet way in which this was
said, but, while both admitted that Emma's view of the matter might
perhaps be correct, Lewis held that there was no good reason for
supposing there would be any difficulty in the meantime in obtaining
from their "man-of-business" the paltry sum that was required for a
short tour on the Continent. Indeed Mrs Stoutley regarded this
man-of-business as a mere sponge, who required only to be squeezed in
order to the production of what was desired, and the man-of-business
himself found it no easy matter to convince her that she held erroneous
views on this subject, and that at her present rate of progress, she
would, to use the doctor's glacial simile, very soon topple from the
pinnacle of fashion, on which she sat, and fall with the crash of a
social avalanche into the moraine of ruin.
"What a wise little woman you are, cousin Emma," said Lewis, gaily.
"You ought to have been bred to the law, or trained an accountant.
However, we won't be guided by your advice just now, first, because the
doctor has _ordered_ mother abroad for her health, which is our chief
consideration; and, second, because I wish of all things to see
Switzerland, and climb Mont Blanc. Besides, we are not so poor as you
think, and I hope to add a little to our general funds in a day or two.
By the way, can you lend me ten pounds just now, mother?"
"Why do you want it?" asked Mrs Stoutley, sternly, as if she meant to
refuse, but at the same time opening her purse.
"Don't ask me just now. I will repay you tomorrow, with interest and
shall then explain."
With an easy, languid smile, the carelessly amiable invalid handed her
last ten-pound note to her hopeful son, who had just transferred it to
his pocketbook, when a footman entered and presented a scrap of dirty
paper, informing his lady that the person who sent up the "card" desired
to see her.
"What is this?" said Mrs Stoutley, holding the paper gingerly with the
tips of her fingers, "Wip--Wap--Wopper! What is Wopper? Is the person
a man or a woman?"
The footman, who, although well-bred, found it difficult to restrain a
smile, intimated that the person was a man, and added, that he said he
had come from California, and wanted to see Mrs Stoutley very
particularly.
On hearing this, the lady's manner changed at once, and, with more
animation than she had yet exhibited, she desired that he should be
shown in.
With his large wide-awake in one hand, and a canvas bag in the other,
Captain Wopper entered the drawing-room, and looked around him with a
beaming and rather bashful smile.
"Mrs Stoutley, I believe," he said, advancing, "and Miss Emma Gray, I
suppose," he added, turning with a beaming glance towards the young
lady.
Mrs Stoutley admitted that he was right, and expressed some surprise
that he, a perfect stranger, should be so well acquainted with their
names.
"I am indeed a stranger personally, ma'am," said Captain Wopper,
smoothing the hair down on his rugged brow, "but I may be said to know
you pretty well, seeing that I have for many years been the friend and
messmate of your late husband's brother in Californy."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs Stoutley, with increasing animation, as she
rose and held out her hand; "any friend of my brother-in-law is heartily
welcome. Be seated, Mr Wopper, and let me hear about him. He was very
kind to my dear husband during his last illness--very kind. I shall
never forget him."
"No doubt he was," said the Captain, accepting the chair which Emma Gray
handed to him, with looks of great interest. "Thank 'ee, Miss. Willum
Stout--excuse my familiarity, ma'am, I always called him Willum, because
we was like brothers--more than brothers, I may say, an' very friendly.
Yes, Willum Stout _was_ kind to his brother in his last days. It would
have bin shame to him if he hadn't for your husband, ma'am, was kind to
Willum, an' he often said to me, over the camp-fires in the bush, that
he'd never forget _his_ kindness. But it's over now," continued the
seaman in a sad tone, "an' poor Willum is left alone."
"Is my uncle _very_ poor?" asked Lewis, who had been paying more
attention to the appearance of their rugged visitor than to what he had
said.
"Ay, _very_ poor," replied the seaman, "as regards near relations,
leastwise such as he has seen and known in former days, but he an't poor
as regards gold. He's got lots of that. He and I worked not far from
each other for years, an' he used to hit upon good claims somehow, and
shovelled up the nuggets like stones."
"Indeed! I wish he'd send a few of them this way," exclaimed Lewis,
with a careless laugh.
"No doubt he might do so, young man, if he knew you were in need of 'em,
but your father gave him to understand that his family was rich."
"Rich!" exclaimed Lewis, with a smile, in which there was a touch of
contempt. "Well, yes, we were rich enough once, but when my father was
away these wretched mines became--"
"Lewie!" exclaimed his mother, hastily, "what nonsense you do talk!
Really, one would think from your account that we were paupers."
"Well, mother, so we are--paupers to this extent at least, that we can't
afford to take a run to Switzerland, though ordered to do so for your
health, because we lack funds."
Lewis said this half petulantly, for he had been a "spoilt child," and
might probably have been by that time a ruined young man, but for the
mercy of his Creator, who had blessed him with an amiable disposition.
He was one of those youths, in short, of whom people say that they can't
be spoiled, though fond and foolish parents do their best to spoil them.
"You mis-state the case, naughty boy," said Mrs Stoutley, annoyed at
being thus forced to touch on her private affairs before a stranger.
"No doubt our ready cash is what our man-of-business calls `locked up,'
but that, you know, is only a matter of temporary inconvenience, and
cannot last long."
As Mrs Stoutley paused and hesitated, their visitor placed on the table
a canvas bag, which, up to this point he had rested on one knee.
"This bag," he said, "of nuggets, is a gift from Willum. He desired me
to deliver it to you, Miss Gray, as a _small_ acknowledgment of your
kindness in writin' so often to him. He'd have bought you a silk gown,
or a noo bonnet, so he said, but wasn't sure as to your taste in such
matters, and thought you'd accept the nuggets and buy it for yourself.
Leastwise, that's somethin' like the speech Willum tried to tell me to
deliver, but he warn't good at speech-makin' no more than I at
remembrin', and hoped you'd take the will for the deed."
With a flush of surprise and pleasure, Emma Gray accepted both the will
and the deed, with many expressions of gratitude, and said, that as she
did not require either a silk dress or a bonnet just then, she would
invest her little fortune; she would lend it at high interest, to a lady
under temporary inconvenience, who was ordered by her doctor to
Switzerland for the benefit of her health. To this Mrs Stoutley
protested very earnestly that the lady in question would not accept the
loan on any consideration; that it must not be diverted from its
destined use, but be honestly expended on silk-dresses and new bonnets.
To which Emma replied, that the destiny of the gift, with interest (she
was very particular on that head), should be fulfilled in good time, but
that meanwhile it must be lent out.
In the midst of a cross-fire of this kind the bag was opened, and its
contents poured on the table, to the immense admiration of all the
company, none of whom had, until that day, beheld gold in its native
condition.
"How much may it be worth, Mr Wopper?" asked Lewis, weighing one of the
largest lumps.
"About two hundred pound, I should say, more or less," replied the
seaman.
"Indeed!" exclaimed the youth in surprise--an exclamation which was
echoed by his mother and cousin in modified tones.
While they sat thus toying with the lumps of gold, the conversation
reverted to the sender of it, and the Captain told such entertaining
anecdotes of bush life, in all of which "Uncle Willum" had been an
actor, that the afternoon arrived before Mrs Stoutley had time to wish
for it. They also talked of the last illness of the deceased father of
the family; and when it came out that Captain (they had found out by
that time that their visitor had been a skipper, and, by courtesy, a
captain), had assisted "Willum" in nursing Mr Stoutley, and had
followed him to the grave, Mrs Stoutley's gratitude was such that she
insisted on her visitor staying to dinner.
"Thank 'ee, ma'am," he said, "I've dined. I always dines at one o'clock
if I can manage it."
"But we don't dine till eight," said the lady, "so it will just suit for
your supper."
"Do come," said Emma Gray, "we shall be quite alone, and shall have a
great spinning of yarns over Uncle William and the gold-fields."
"Well, I don't mind if I do," said the Captain, "but before supper I
must go to the docks for my kit and settle my lodgings."
"I am going to the Strand, and shall be happy to give you a lift," said
Lewis.
The Captain accepted the offer, and as they drove along, he and his
young friend became very intimate, insomuch that Lewis, who was
lighthearted, open, and reckless, let him into his confidence, and spoke
quite freely about his mother's difficulties. It is only justice to add
that the Captain did not encourage him in this. When, however, the
youth spoke of himself, he not only encouraged him, but drew him out.
Among other things, he drew out of him the fact that he was in the habit
of gambling, and that he fully expected--if his usual luck attended
him--to assist in adding to the fund which was to take the family
abroad.
The Captain looked at the handsome stripling for a few seconds in silent
surprise.
"You don't mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that you gamble?"
"Indeed I do," replied Lewis, with a bland smile, and something of a
twinkle in his eye.
"For money?" asked the Captain.
"For money," assented the youth; "what have you to say against it?"
"Why, I've to say that it's mean."
"That's strong language," said Lewis, flushing.
"It an't strong enough by a long way," returned the Captain, with
indignation, "it's more than mean, it's contemptible; it's despicable."
The flush on Lewis's face deepened, and he looked at his companion with
the air of one who meditates knocking another down. Perhaps the massive
size and strength of the Captain induced him to change his mind. It may
be that there occurred to him the difficulty--if not impossibility--of
knocking down a man who was down already, and the want of space in a cab
for such violent play of muscle. At all events he did nothing, but
looked "daggers."
"Look 'ee here, my lad," continued the Captain, laying his huge hand on
his companion's knee, and gazing earnestly into his face, "I don't mean
for to hurt your feelin's by sayin' that _you_ are mean, or
contemptible, or despicable, for I don't suppose you've thought much
about the matter at all, and are just following in the wake of older men
who ought to know better; but I say that the _thing_--gambling for
money--is the meanest thing a man can do, short of stealing. What does
it amount to? Simply this--I want another man's money, and the other
man wants mine. We daren't try open robbery, we would be ashamed of
that; we're both too lazy to labour for money, and labour doesn't bring
it in fast enough, therefore we'll go _play_ for it. I'll ask him to
submit to be robbed by me on condition that I submit to be robbed by
him; and which is to be the robbed, and which the robber, shall depend
on the accidental turn of a dice, or something equally trifling--"
"But I don't gamble by means of dice," interrupted Lewis, "I play, and
bet, on billiards, which is a game of skill, requiring much practice,
judgment, and thought."
"That makes no odds, my lad," continued the Captain. "There is no
connection whatever between the rolling of a ball and the taking away of
a man's money, any more than there is between the turning of a dice and
the taking of a man's money. Both are dishonourable subterfuges. They
are mere blinds put up to cover the great and mean fact, which is, that
I want to get possession of my neighbour's cash."
"But, Captain," retorted Lewis, with a smile--for he had now entered
into the spirit of the argument--"you ignore the fact that while I try
to win from my friend, I am quite willing that my friend should try to
win from me."
"Ignore it? no!" cried Captain Wopper. "Putt it in this way. Isn't it
wrong for me to have a longing desire and itching fingers to lay hold of
_your_ cash?"
"Well, put in that simple form," said Lewis, with a laugh, "it certainly
is."
"And isn't it equally wrong for you to have a hungering and thirsting
after _my_ cash?"
"Of course that follows," assented Lewis.
"Well, then," pursued the Captain, "can any agreement between you and
me, as to the guessing of black or white or the turning of dice or
anything else, make a right out of two wrongs?"
"Still," said Lewis, a little puzzled, "there is fallacy somewhere in
your argument. I cannot see that gambling is wrong."
"Mark me, my lad," returned the Captain, impressively, "it is no
sufficient reason for the doing of a thing that you _cannot see_ it to
be wrong. You are not entitled to do anything unless you _see_ it to be
right. But there are other questions connected with gambling which
renders it doubly mean--the question, for instance, whether a man is
entitled to risk the loss of money which he calls his own, but which
belongs to his wife and children as much as to himself. The mean
positions, too, in which a gambler places himself, are numerous. One of
these is, when a rich man wins the hard-earned and much-needed gains of
a poor one."
"But one is not supposed to know anything about the affairs of those
from whom one wins," objected Lewis.
"All the more reason," replied Captain Wopper, "why a man should never
gamble, lest, unwittingly, he should become the cause of great
suffering--it might be, of death."
Still Lewis "could not see" the wrong of gambling, and the discussion
was cut short by the sudden stopping of the cab at a door in the Strand,
over which hung a lamp, on which the Captain observed the word
"Billiards."
"Well, ta-ta, old fellow," said Lewis, gaily, as he parted from his new
friend, "we'll finish the argument another day. Meanwhile, don't forget
the hour--eight, sharp."
CHAPTER FOUR.
SHOWS HOW THE CAPTAIN CAME TO AN ANCHOR, AND CONCEIVED A DEEP DESIGN.
When Captain Wopper parted from his young friend, he proceeded along the
Strand in an unusually grave mood, shaking his head to such a degree, as
he reflected on the precocious wickedness of the rising generation, that
a very ragged and pert specimen of that generation, observing his
condition, gravely informed him that there was an hospital for
incurables in London, which took in patients with palsy and St. Wituses'
dance werry cheap.
This recalled him from the depths of sorrowful meditation, and induced
him to hail a cab, in which he drove to the docks, claimed his chest--a
solid, seamanlike structure, reminding one of the wooden walls of Old
England--and returned with it to the head of the lane leading to Grubb's
Court. Dismissing the cab, he looked round for a porter, but as no
porter appeared, the Captain, having been accustomed through life to
help himself, and being, as we have said, remarkably strong, shouldered
the nautical chest, and bore it to the top of Mrs Roby's staircase.
Here he encountered, and almost tumbled over, Gillie White, who saluted
him with--
"Hallo! ship aho-o-oy! starboard hard! breakers ahead! Why, Capp'n,
you've all but run into me!"
"Why don't you show a light then," retorted the Captain, "or blow your
steam-whistle, in such a dark hole? What's that you've got in your
arms?"
"The baby," replied Gillie.
"What baby?" demanded the Captain.
"_Our_ baby, of course," returned the imp, in a tone that implied the
non-existence of any other baby worth mentioning. "I brought it up to
show it to the sick 'ooman next door but one to Mrs Roby's cabin.
She's very sick, she is, an' took a great longing to see our baby, cos
she thinks it's like what her son was w'en _he_ was a baby. If he ever
was, he don't look much like one now, for he's six-feet nothin' in his
socks, an' drinks like a fish, if he don't do nothin' wuss. Good-night
Capp'n. Baby'll ketch cold if I keep on jawin' here. Mind your weather
eye, and port your helm when you reach the landin'. If you'll take the
advice of a young salt, you'll clew up your mainsail an' dowse some of
your top-hamper--ah! I thought so!"
This last remark, delivered with a broad grin of delight, had reference
to the fact that the Captain had run the corner of his chest against the
low roof of the passage with a degree of violence that shook the whole
tenement.
Holding his breath in hopeful anticipation, and reckless of the baby's
"ketching cold," the small boy listened for more. Nor was he
disappointed. In his progress along the passage Captain Wopper, despite
careful steering, ran violently foul of several angles and beams, each
of which mishaps sent a quiver through the old house, and a thrill to
the heart of Gillie White. In his earnest desire to steer clear of the
sick woman's door, the luckless Captain came into collision with the
opposite wall, and anxiety on this point causing him to forget the step
on which he had "struck" once before, he struck it again, and was
precipitated, chest and all, against Mrs Roby's door, which,
fortunately for itself, burst open, and let the avalanche of chest and
man descend upon Mrs Roby's floor.
Knowing that the climax was now reached, the imp descended the stair
filled with a sort of serene ecstasy, while Captain Wopper gathered
himself up and sat down on his nautical portmanteau.
"I tell 'ee what it is, old 'ooman," said he, stroking his beard, "the
channel into this port is about the wust I ever had the ill-luck to
navigate. I hope I didn't frighten 'ee?"
"Oh, dear no!" replied Mrs Roby, with a smile.
To say truth, the old woman seemed less alarmed than might have been
expected. Probably the noise of the Captain's approach, and previous
experience, had prepared her for some startling visitation, for she was
quite calm, and a humorous twinkle in her eyes seemed to indicate the
presence of a spirit somewhat resembling that which actuated Gillie
White.
"Well, that's all right," said the Captain, rising and pushing up the
trap-door that led to his private berth in the new lodging; "and now,
old lady, havin' come to an anchor, I must get this chest sent aloft as
fast as I can, seein' that I've to clean myself an' rig out for a dinner
at eight o'clock at the west end."
"Dear me," said Mrs Roby, in surprise, "you must have got among people
of quality."
"It won't be easy to hoist it up," said the Captain, ignoring the
remark, and eyeing the chest and trap-door in the roof alternately.
Just then a heavy step was heard in the passage; and a young man of
large and powerful frame, with a gentle as well as gentlemanly
demeanour, appeared at the door.
"Come in--come in," said Mrs Roby, with a bright look, "this is only my
new lodger, a friend of dear Wil--"
"Why, bless you, old 'ooman," interrupted Captain Wopper, "_he_ knows me
well enough. I went to him this morning and got Mrs Stoutley's
address. Come in, Dr Lawrence. I may claim to act the host here now
in a small way, perhaps, and bid visitors welcome--eh! Mrs Roby?"
"Surely, surely," replied the old woman.
"Thank you both for the welcome," said the visitor with a pleasant
smile, as he shook hands with Mrs Roby. "I thought I recognised your
voice, Captain Wopper, as you passed Mrs Leven's door, and came out to
see how you and my old friend here get on together."
"Is she any better to-night, sir?" asked Mrs Roby, anxiously.
Lawrence shook his head sadly and said she was no better, and that he
feared she had little chance of getting better while her dissipated son
dwelt under the same roof with her. "It is breaking her heart," he
added, "and, besides that, the nature of her disease is such that
recovery is impossible unless she is fed on the most generous diet.
This of course she cannot have, because she has no means of her own.
Her son gambles away nearly all his small salary, and she refuses to go
to an hospital lest her absence should be the removal of the last
restraining link between him and destruction. It is a very sad case--
very."
Captain Wopper was struck with this reference to gambling coming so soon
after his recent conversation on that subject, and asked if there were
no charitable societies or charitable people in London who would help in
a case so miserable.
Yes, there were plenty of charitable institutions, Lawrence told him,
but he feared that this woman had no special claim on any of them, and
her refusal to go to an hospital would tell against her. There were
also, he said, plenty of charitable people, but all of those he happened
to be acquainted with had been appealed to by him so often that he felt
ashamed to try them again. He had already given away as much of his own
slender means as he could well spare, so that he saw no way out of the
difficulty; but he had faith in Providential supervision of human
affairs, and he believed that a way would yet be opened up.
"You're right, sir--right," said Captain Wopper, with emphasis, while he
looked earnestly into the face of the young doctor. "This world wasn't
made to be kicked about like a foot-ball by chance, or circumstances, or
anything of the sort. Look 'ee here, sir; it has bin putt into my heart
to feel charitable leanings, and a good bit o' cash has bin putt into my
pocket, so that, bein' a lone sort o' man, I don't have much use for it.
That's on the one hand. On the other hand, here are you, sir, the son
of a friend o' my chum Willum Stout, with great need of aid from
charitable people, an' here we two are met together--both ready for
action. Now, I call that a Providential arrangement, so please putt me
down as one of your charitable friends. It's little I can boast of in
that way as yet but it's not too late to begin. I've long arrears to
pull up, so I'll give you that to begin with. It'll help to relieve
Mrs Leven in the meantime."
As he spoke, the Captain drew a black pocketbook from his breast pocket
and, taking a piece of paper therefrom, placed it in the doctor's hands.
"This is a fifty-pound note!" said Lawrence, in surprise.
"Well, what then?" returned the Captain. "You didn't expect a
thousand-pound note, did you?"
"Not quite that," replied Lawrence, laughing, "but I thought that
perhaps you had made a mistake."
"Ah! you judged from appearances, young man. Don't you git into the way
of doin' that, else you'll be for ever sailin' on the wrong tack. Take
my advice, an' never look as if you thought a man gave you more than he
could afford. Nobody never does that."
"Far be it from me," returned Lawrence, "to throw cold water on generous
impulses. I accept your gift with thanks, and will gladly put you on my
list. If you should find hereafter that I pump you rather hard, please
to remember that you gave me encouragement to do so."
"Pump away, sir. When you've pumped dry, I'll tell you!"
"Well," said Lawrence, rising, "I'll go at once and bring your
liberality into play; and, since you have done me so good a turn,
remember that you may command my services, if they can ever be of any
use to you."
The Captain cast a glance at the trap-door and the chest.
"Well," said he, "I can scarcely ask you to do it professionally, but if
you'd lend a hand to get this Noah's ark o' mine on to the upper deck,
I'd--"
"Come along," cried Lawrence, jumping up with a laugh, and seizing one
end of the "ark."
Captain Wopper grasped the other end, and, between them, with much
puffing, pushing, and squeezing, they thrust the box through the trap to
the upper regions, whither the Captain followed it by means of the same
gymnastic feat that he performed on his first ascent. Thrusting his
head down, he invited the doctor to "come aloft," which the doctor did
in the same undignified fashion, for his gentle manner and spirit had
not debarred him from the practice and enjoyment of manly exercises.
"It's a snug berth, you see," said the Captain, stumbling among the
dusty lumber, and knocking his head against the beams, "wants cleaning
up, tho', and puttin' to rights a bit, but I'll soon manage that; and
when I git the dirt and cobwebs cleared away, glass putt in the
port-holes, and a whitewash on the roof and walls, it'll be a cabin fit
for an admiral. See what a splendid view of the river! Just suited to
a seafarin' man."
"Capital!" cried Lawrence, going down on his knees to obtain the view
referred to. "Rather low in the roof, however, don't you think?"
"Low? not at all!" exclaimed the Captain. "It's nothin' to what I've
been used to on the coastin' trade off Californy. Why, I've had to live
in cabins so small that a tall man couldn't keep his back straight when
he was sittin' on the lockers; but we didn't _sit_ much in 'em; we was
chiefly used to go into 'em to lie down. This is a palace to such
cabins."
The doctor expressed satisfaction at finding that his new "charitable
contributor" took such enlarged views of a pigeon-hole, and, promising
to pay him another visit when the "cabin" should have been put to
rights, said good-bye, and went to relieve the wants of the sick woman.
As the captain accompanied him along the passage, they heard the voice
and step of poor Mrs Leven's dissipated son, as he came stumbling and
singing up the stair.
He was a stout good-looking youth, and cast a half impudent half
supercilious look at Captain Wopper on approaching. He also bestowed a
nod of careless recognition on Dr Lawrence.
Thinking it better to be out of the way, the Captain said good-bye again
to his friend, and returned to the cabin, where he expressed to Mrs
Roby the opinion that, "that young feller Leven was goin' to the dogs at
railway speed."
Thereafter he went "aloft," and, as he expressed it, "rigged himself
out," in a spruce blue coat with brass buttons; blue vest and trousers
to match; a white dicky with a collar attached and imitation carbuncle
studs down the front. To these he added a black silk neckerchief tied
in a true sailor's knot but with the ends separated and carefully tucked
away under his vest to prevent their interfering with the effulgence of
the carbuncle studs; a pair of light shoes with a superabundance of new
tie; a green silk handkerchief, to be carried in his hat, for the
purpose of mopping his forehead when warm, and a red silk ditto to be
carried in his pocket for the benefit of his nose. In addition to the
studs, Captain Wopper wore, as ornaments, a solid gold ring, the rude
workmanship of which induced the belief that he must have made it
himself, and a large gold watch, with a gold chain in the form of a
cable, and a rough gold nugget attached to it in place of a seal or key.
We class the watch among simple ornaments because, although it went--
very demonstratively too, with a loud self-asserting tick--its going was
irregular and uncertain. Sometimes it went too slow without apparent
cause. At other times it went too fast without provocation. Frequently
it struck altogether, and only consented to resume work after a good
deal of gentle and persuasive threatening to wind it the wrong way. It
had chronic internal complaints, too, which produced sundry ominous
clicks and sounds at certain periods of the day. These passed off,
however, towards evening. Occasionally such sounds rushed as it were
into a sudden whirr and series of convulsions, ending in a dead stop,
which was an unmistakeable intimation to the Captain that something
vital had given way; that the watch had gone into open mutiny, and
nothing short of a visit to the watchmaker could restore it to life and
duty.
"I'm off now," said the Captain, descending when he was fully "rigged."
"What about the door-key, mother?--you've no objection to my calling you
mother, have you?"
"None whatever, Captain," replied Mrs Roby, with a pleasant smile, "an
old friend of William may call me whatever he pleases--short," she added
after momentary pause, "of swearin'."
"Trust me, I'll stop short of that. You see, old lady, I never know'd a
mother, and I should like to try to feel what it's like to have one.
It's true I'm not just a lad, but you are old enough to be my mother for
all that, so I'll make the experiment. But what about the key of the
door, mother? I can't expect you to let me in, you know."
"Just lock it, and take the key away with you," said Mrs Roby.
"But what if a fire should break out?" said the Captain, with a look of
indecision.
"I'm not afraid of fire. We've got a splendid brigade and plenty of
fire-escapes, and a good kick from a fireman would open my door without
a key."
"Mother, you're a trump! I'll lock you in and leave you with an easy
mind--"
He stopped abruptly, and Mrs Roby asked what was the matter.
"Well, it's what I said about an easy mind that threw me all aback,"
replied the Captain, "for to tell 'ee the truth, I haven't got an easy
mind."
"Not done anything wicked, I hope?" said Mrs Roby, anxiously.
"No, no; nothin' o' that sort; but there _is_ somethin' lyin' heavy on
my mind, and I don't see why I shouldn't make a confidant o' you, bein'
my mother, d'ee see; and, besides, it consarns Willum."
The old woman looked eagerly at her lodger as he knitted his brows in
perplexity and smoothed down his forelock.
"Here's where it is," he continued, drawing his chair closer to that of
Mrs Roby; "when Willum made me his exikooter, so to speak, he said to
me, `Wopper,' says he, `I'm not one o' them fellers that holds on to his
cash till he dies with it in his pocket. I've got neither wife nor
chick, as you know, an' so, wot I means to do is to give the bulk of it
to them that I love while I'm alive--d'ee see?' `I do, Willum,' says I.
`Well then,' says he, `besides them little matters that I axed you to
do for me, I want you to take partikler notice of two people. One is
the man as saved my life w'en I was a youngster, or, if he's dead, take
notice of his child'n. The other is that sweet young creeter, Emma
Gray, who has done the correspondence with me so long for my poor
brother. You keep a sharp look-out an' find out how these two are off
for money. If Emma's rich, of course it's no use to give her what she
don't need, and I'll give the most of what I've had the good fortune to
dig up here to old Mr Lawrence, or his family, for my brother's widow,
bein' rich, don't need it. If both Emma and Lawrence are rich, why
then, just let me know, and I'll try to hit on some other plan to make
away with it, for you know well enough I couldn't use it all upon myself
without going into wicked extravagance, and my dear old Mrs Roby
wouldn't know what to do with so much cash if I sent it to her. Now,
you promise to do this for me?' says he. `Willum,' says I, `I do.'"
"Now, mother," continued the Captain, "what troubles me is this, that
instead o' findin' Miss Emma rich, and Mr Lawrence poor, or _wice
wersa_, or findin' 'em both rich, I finds 'em both poor. That's where
my difficulty lies."
Mrs Roby offered a prompt solution of this difficulty by suggesting
that William should divide the money between them.
"That would do all well enough," returned the Captain, "if there were no
under-currents drivin' the ship out of her true course. But you see,
mother, I find that the late Mr Stoutley's family is also poor--at
least in difficulties--although they live in great style, and _seem_ to
be rich; and from what I heard the other day, I know that the son is
given to gamblin', and the mother seems to be extravagant, and both of
'em are ready enough to sponge on Miss Emma, who is quite willin'--far
too willin'--to be sponged upon, so that whatever Willum gave to her
would be just thrown away. Now the question is," continued the Captain,
looking seriously at the kettle with the defiant spout, "what am I to
advise Willum to do?"
"Advise him," replied Mrs Roby, promptly, "to give _all_ the money to
Dr Lawrence, and get Dr Lawrence to marry Miss Gray, and so they'll
both get the whole of it."
A beaming smile crossed the Captain's visage.
"Not a bad notion, mother; but what if Dr Lawrence, after gettin' the
money, didn't want to marry Miss Gray?"
"Get him to marry her first and give the money afterwards," returned
Mrs Roby.
"Ay, that might do," replied the Captain, nodding slowly, "only it may
be that a man without means may hesitate about marryin' a girl without
means, especially if he didn't want _her_, and she didn't want _him_. I
don't quite see how to get over all these difficulties."
"There's only one way of getting over them," said Mrs Roby, "and that
is, by bringin' the young people together, and givin' 'em a chance to
fall in love."
"True, true, mother, but, so far as I know, Dr Lawrence don't know the
family. We couldn't," said the Captain, looking round the room,
dubiously, "ask 'em to take a quiet cup of tea here with us--eh? You
might ask Dr Lawrence, as your medical man, and I might ask Miss Emma,
as an old friend of her uncle, quite in an off-hand way, you know, as if
by chance. They'd never see through the dodge, and would fall in love
at once, perhaps--eh?"
Captain Wopper said all this in a dubious tone, looking at the defiant
kettle the while, as if propitiating its favourable reception of the
idea, but it continued defiant, and hissed uncompromisingly, while its
mistress laughed outright.
"You're not much of a match-maker, I see," she said, on recovering
composure. "No, Captain, it wouldn't do to ask 'em here to tea."
"Well, well," said the Captain, rising, "we'll let match-makin' alone
for the present. It's like tryin' to beat to wind'ard against a
cyclone. The best way is to square the yards, furl the sails, and scud
under bare poles till it's over. It's blowin' too hard just now for me
to make headway, so I'll wear ship and scud."
In pursuance of this resolve, Captain Wopper put on his wide-awake,
locked up his mother, and went off to dine at the "west end."
CHAPTER FIVE.
IN WHICH SEVERAL IMPORTANT MATTERS ARE ARRANGED, AND GILLIE WHITE
UNDERGOES SOME REMARKABLE AND HITHERTO UNKNOWN EXPERIENCES.
It is not necessary to inflict on the reader Mrs Stoutley's dinner in
detail; suffice it to say, that Captain Wopper conducted himself, on the
whole, much more creditably than his hostess had anticipated, and made
himself so entertaining, especially to Lewis, that that young gentleman
invited him to accompany the family to Switzerland, much to the
amusement of his cousin Emma and the horror of his mother, who, although
she enjoyed a private visit of the Captain, did not relish the thought
of his becoming a travelling companion of the family. She pretended not
to hear the invitation given, but when Lewis, knowing full well the
state of her mind, pressed the invitation, she shook her head at him
covertly and frowned. This by-play her son pretended not to see, and
continued his entreaties, the Captain not having replied.
"Now, do come with us, Captain Wopper," he said; "it will be such fun,
and we should all enjoy you _so_ much--wouldn't we, Emma?" ("Yes,
indeed," from Emma); "and it would just be suited to your tastes and
habits, for the fine, fresh air of the mountains bears a wonderful
resemblance to that of the sea. You've been accustomed no doubt to
climb up the shrouds to the crosstrees; well, in Switzerland, you may
climb up the hills to any sort of trees you like, and get shrouded in
mist, or tumble over a precipice and get put into your shroud
altogether; and--"
"Really, Lewie, you ought to be ashamed of making such bad puns,"
interrupted his mother. "Doubtless it would be very agreeable to have
Captain Wopper with us, but I am quite sure it would be anything but
pleasant for him to travel through such a wild country with such a wild
goose as you for a companion."
"You have modestly forgotten yourself and Emma," said Lewis; "but come,
let the Captain answer for himself. You know, mother, it has been your
wish, if not your intention, to get a companion for me on this trip--a
fellow older than myself--a sort of travelling tutor, who could teach me
something of the geology and botany of the country as we went along.
Well, the Captain is older than me, I think, which is one of the
requisites, and he could teach me astronomy, no doubt, and show me how
to box the compass; in return for which, I could show him how to box an
adversary's nose, as practised by the best authorities of the ring. As
to geology and botany, I know a little of these sciences already, and
could impart my knowledge to the Captain, which would have the effect of
fixing it more firmly in my own memory; and every one knows that it is
of far greater importance to lay a good, solid groundwork of education,
than to build a showy, superficial structure, on a bad foundation.
Come, then, Captain, you see your advantages. This is the last time of
asking. If you don't speak now, henceforth and for ever hold your
tongue."
"Well, my lad," said the Captain, with much gravity, "I've turned the
thing over in my mind, and since Mrs Stoutley is so good as to say it
would be agreeable to her, I think I'll accept your invitation!"
"Bravo! Captain, you're a true blue; come, have another glass of wine
on the strength of it."
"No wine, thank 'ee," said the Captain, placing his hand over his glass,
"I've had my beer; and I make it a rule never to mix my liquor. Excuse
me, ma'am," he continued, addressing his hostess, "your son made mention
of a tooter--a travellin' tooter; may I ask if you've provided yourself
with one yet!"
"Not yet," answered Mrs Stoutley, feeling, but not looking, a little
surprised at the question, "I have no young friend at present quite
suited for the position, and at short notice it is not easy to find a
youth of talent willing to go, and on whom one can depend. Can you
recommend one?"
Mrs Stoutley accompanied the question with a smile, for she put it in
jest. She was, therefore, not a little surprised when the Captain said
promptly that he could--that he knew a young man--a doctor--who was just
the very ticket (these were his exact words), a regular clipper, with
everything about him trim, taut, and ship-shape, who would suit every
member of the family to a tee!
A hearty laugh from every member of the family greeted the Captain's
enthusiastic recommendation, and Emma exclaimed that he must be a most
charming youth, while Lewis pulled out pencil and note-book to take down
his name and address.
"You are a most valuable friend at this crisis in our affairs," said
Lewis, "I'll make mother write to him immediately."
"But have a care," said the Captain, "that you never mention who it was
that recommended him. I'm not sure that he would regard it as a
compliment. You must promise me that."
"I promise," said Lewis, "and whatever I promise mother will fulfil, so
make your mind easy on that head. Now, mother, I shouldn't wonder if
Captain Wopper could provide you with that other little inexpensive
luxury you mentioned this morning. D'you think you could recommend a
page?"
"What's a page, lad?"
"What! have you never heard of a page--a page in buttons?" asked Lewis
in surprise.
"Never," replied the Captain, shaking his head.
"Why, a page is a small boy, usually clad in blue tights, to make him
look as like a spider as possible, with three rows of brass buttons up
the front of his jacket--two of the rows being merely ornamental, and
going over his shoulders. He usually wears a man's hat for the sake of
congruity, and is invariably as full of mischief as an egg is of meat.
Can you find such an article?"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Captain. "What is he used for?"
"Chiefly for ornament, doing messages, being in the way when not wanted,
and out of the way when required."
"Yes," said the Captain, meditatively, "I've got my eye--"
"Your weather eye?" asked Lewis.
"Yes, my _weather_ eye, on a lad who'll fit you."
"To a tee?" inquired Emma, archly.
"To a tee, miss," assented the Captain, with a bland smile.
Lewis again pulled out his note-book to enter the name and address, but
the Captain assured him that he would manage this case himself; and it
was finally settled--for Lewis carried everything his own way, as a
matter of course--that Dr George Lawrence was to be written to next
day, and Captain Wopper was to provide a page.
"And you'll have to get him and yourself ready as fast as possible,"
said the youth in conclusion, "for we shall set off as soon as my
mother's trunks are packed."
Next morning, while Captain Wopper was seated conversing with his old
landlady at the breakfast-table--the morning meal having been just
concluded--he heard the voice of Gillie White in the court. Going to
the end of the passage, he ordered that imp to "come aloft."
Gillie appeared in a few seconds, nodded patronisingly to old Mrs Roby,
hoped she was salubrious, and demanded to know what was up.
"My lad," said the Captain--and as he spoke, the urchin assumed an awful
look of mock solemnity.
"I want to know if you think you could behave yourself if you was to
try?"
"Ah!" said Gillie, with the air of a cross-examining advocate, "the
keewestion is not w'ether I could behave myself if I wos to try, but,
w'ether I _think_ I could. Well, ahem! that depends. I think I could,
now, if there was offered a very strong indoocement."
"Just so, my lad," returned the Captain, nodding, "that's exactly what I
mean to offer. What d'ee say to a noo suit of blue tights, with three
rows brass buttons; a situation in a respectable family; a fair wage; as
much as you can eat and drink; and a trip to Switzerland to begin with?"
While the Captain spoke, the small boy's eyes opened wider and wider,
and his month followed suit, until he stood the very picture of
astonishment.
"You _don't_ mean it?" he exclaimed.
"Indeed I do, my lad."
"Then _I'm_ your man," returned the small boy emphatically, "putt me
down for that sitooation; send for a lawyer, draw up the articles,
_I'll_ sign 'em right _off_, and--"
"Gillie, my boy," interrupted the Captain, "one o' the very first things
you have to do in larnin' to behave yourself is to clap a stopper on
your tongue--it's far too long."
"All right, Capp'n," answered the imp, "I'll go to Guy's Hospital
d'rectly and 'ave three-fourths of it ampitated."
"Do," said the Captain, somewhat sternly, "an' ask 'em to attach a brake
to the bit that's left.
"Now, lad," he continued, "you've got a very dirty face."
Gillie nodded, with his lips tightly compressed to check utterance.
"And a very ragged head of hair," he added.
Again Gillie nodded.
The Captain pointed to a basin of water which stood on a chair in a
corner of the room, beside which lay a lump of yellow soap, a comb, and
a rough jack-towel.
"There," said he, "go to work."
Gillie went to work with a will, and scrubbed himself to such an extent,
that his skin must undoubtedly have been thinner after the operation.
The washing, however, was easy compared with the combing. The boy's mop
was such a tangled web, that the comb at first refused to pass through
it; and when, encouraged by the Captain, the urchin did at last succeed
in rending its masses apart various inextricable bunches came away
bodily, and sundry teeth of the comb were left behind. At last,
however, it was reduced to something like order, to the immense
satisfaction of Mrs Roby and the Captain.
"Now," said the latter, "did you ever have a Turkish bath?"
"No--never."
"Well, then, come with me and have one. Have you got a cap?"
"Hm--never mind, come along; you're not cleaned up yet by a long way;
but we'll manage it in course of time."
As the Captain and his small _protege_ passed along the streets, the
former took occasion to explain that a Turkish bath was a species of
mild torture, in which a man was stewed alive, and baked in an oven, and
par-boiled, and scrubbed, and pinched, and thumped (sometimes black and
blue), and lathered with soap till he couldn't see, and heated up to
seven thousand and ten, Fahrenheit and soused with half-boiling water,
and shot at with cold water--or shot into it, as the case might be--and
rolled in a sheet like a mummy, and stretched out a like corpse to cool.
"Most men," he said, "felt gaspy in Turkish baths, and weak ones were
alarmed lest they should get suffocated beyond recovery; but strong men
rather enjoy themselves in 'em than otherwise."
"Hah!" exclaimed the imp, "may I wentur' to ax, Capp'n, wot's the effect
on _boys_?"
To this the Captain replied that he didn't exactly know, never having
heard of boys taking Turkish baths. Whereupon Gillie suggested, that if
possible he might have himself cleaned in an ordinary bath.
"Impossible, my lad," said the Captain, decidedly. "No or'nary bath
would clean you under a week, unless black soap and scrubbin' brushes
was used.
"But don't be alarmed, Gillie," he added, looking down with a twinkle in
his eyes, "I'll go into the bath along with you. We'll sink or swim
together, my boy, and I'll see that you're not overdone. I'm rather
fond of them myself, d'ee see, so I can recommend 'em from experience."
Somewhat reassured by this, though still a little uneasy in his mind,
the imp followed his patron to the baths.
It would have been a sight worth seeing, the entrance of these two into
the temple of soap-and-water. To see Gillie's well-made, but very
meagre and dirty little limbs unrobed; to see him decked out with the
scrimpest possible little kilt, such as would, perhaps, have suited the
fancy of a Fiji islander; to see his gaze of undisguised admiration on
beholding his companion's towering and massive frame in the same
unwonted costume, if we may so style it; to see the intensifying of his
astonishment when ushered into the _first_ room, at beholding six or
seven naked, and apparently dead men, laid round the walls, as if ready
for dissection; to see the monkey-like leap, accompanied by a squeal,
with which he sprang from a hot stone-bench, having sat down thereon
before it had been covered with a cloth for his reception; to see the
rapid return of his self-possession in these unusual circumstances, and
the ready manner in which he submitted himself to the various
operations, as if he had been accustomed to Turkish baths from a period
long prior to infancy; to see his horror on being introduced to the
hottest room, and his furtive glance at the door, as though he meditated
a rush into the open air, but was restrained by a sense of personal
dignity; to see the ruling passion strong as ever in this (he firmly
believed) his nearest approach to death, when, observing that the man
next to him (who, as it were, turned the corner from him) had raised
himself for a moment to arrange his pillow, he (Gillie) tipped up the
corner of the man's sheet, which hung close to his face in such a manner
that he (the man), on lying down again, placed his bare shoulder on the
hot stone, and sprang up with a yell that startled into life the whole
of the half-sleeping establishment with the exception of the youth on
the opposite bench, who, having noticed the act, was thrown into
convulsions of laughter, much to the alarm of Gillie, who had thought he
was asleep and feared that he might "tell;"--to see him laid down like a
little pink-roll to be kneaded, and to hear him remark, in a calm voice,
to the stalwart attendant that he might go in and win and needn't be
afraid of hurting him; to observe his delight when put under the warm
"douche," his gasping shriek when unexpectedly assailed with the
"cold-shower," and his placid air of supreme felicity when wrapped up
like a ghost in a white sheet, and left to dry in the cooling-room--to
see and hear all this, we say, would have amply repaid a special journey
to London from any reasonable distance. The event, however, being a
thing of the past and language being unequal to the description, we are
compelled to leave it all to the reader's imagination.
CHAPTER SIX.
A LESSON TAUGHT AND LEARNED.
Two days after the events narrated in the last chapter, rather late in
the evening, Dr George Lawrence called at "the cabin" in Grubb's Court,
and found the Captain taking what he called a quiet pipe.
"I have been visiting poor Mrs Leven," he said to Mrs Roby, sitting
down beside her, "and I fear she is a good deal worse to-night. That
kind little woman, Netta White, has agreed to sit by her. I'm sorry
that I shall be obliged to leave her at such a critical stage of her
illness, but I am obliged to go abroad for some time."
"Goin' abroad, sir!" exclaimed Mrs Roby in surprise, for the Captain
had not yet told her that Lawrence was to be of the party, although he
had mentioned about himself and Gillie White.
"Yes, I'm going with Mrs Stoutley's family for some weeks to
Switzerland."
Captain Wopper felt that his share in the arrangements was in danger of
being found out. He therefore boldly took the lead.
"Ah! _I_ know all about that, sir."
"Indeed?" said Lawrence.
"Yes, I dined the other day with Mrs Stoutley; she asked _me_ also to
be of the party, and I'm going."
Lawrence again exclaimed, "Indeed!" with increasing surprise, and added,
"Well, now, that _is_ a strange coincidence."
"Well, d'ee know," said the Captain, in an argumentative tone, "it don't
seem to me much of a coincidence. You know she had to git some one to
go with her son, and why not you, sir, as well as any of the other young
sawbones in London? If she hadn't got you she'd have got another, and
that would have been a coincidence to _him_, d'ee see? Then, as to me,
it wasn't unnatural that she should take a fancy to the man that nussed
her dyin' husband, an' was chum to her brother-in-law; so, you see,
that's how it came about and I'm very glad to find, sir, that we are to
sail in company for a short time."
Lawrence returned this compliment heartily, and was about to make some
further remark, when little Netta White rushed into the room with a
frightened look and pale cheeks, exclaiming, "Oh, Dr Lawrence, sir,
she's _very_ ill. I think she's dying."
Without waiting for a reply, the child ran out of the room followed by
Lawrence and Mrs Roby, who was assisted by the Captain--for she walked
with great difficulty even when aided by her crutches. In a few seconds
they stood beside Mrs Leven's bed. It was a lowly bed, with scant and
threadbare coverings, and she who lay on it was of a lowly spirit--one
who for many years had laid her head on the bosom of Jesus, and had
found Him, through a long course of poverty and mental distress, "a very
present help in trouble."
"I fear that I'm very ill," she said, faintly.
"No doubt you feel rather low just now," said the doctor, "but that is
very much owing to your having lived so long on insufficient diet. I
will give you something, however, which will soon pull you up a bit.
Come, cheer up. Don't let your spirits get so low."
"Yes," she murmured, "I _am_ brought very low, but the Lord will lift me
up. He is my strength and my Redeemer."
She clasped her hands with difficulty, and shut her eyes.
A silence followed, during which Captain Wopper drew Lawrence into the
passage.
"D'you think she is near her end, doctor?"
"She looks very like it," replied the doctor. "There is a possibility
that she might recover if the right medicine could be found, namely,
ease of mind; but her dissipated son has robbed her of that, and is the
only one who can give it back to her--if indeed he has the power left
now. She is dying of what is unprofessionally styled a broken heart.
It is unfortunate that her son is not with her at present."
"Does no one know where to find him?" asked the Captain.
"I fear not," replied the doctor.
"Please, sir, I think _I_ know," said a subdued voice behind them.
It was that of Gillie White, who had drawn near very silently, being
overawed by the sad scene in the sick-room.
"Do you, my lad? then get along as fast as you can and show me the way,"
said the Captain, buttoning up his pilot-coat. "I'll bring him here
before long, doctor, if he's to be found."
In a few minutes the Captain and Gillie were at the head of the lane,
where the former hailed a passing cab, bade the boy jump in, and
followed him.
"Now, my lad, give the address," said the Captain.
"The Strand," said the boy, promptly.
"What number, sir?" asked the cabman, looking at the Captain.
"Right on till I stop you," said Gillie, with the air of a
commander-in-chief--whom in some faint manner he now resembled, for he
was in livery, being clothed in blue tights and brass buttons.
In a short time Gillie gave the order to pull up, and they got out in
front of a brilliantly-lighted and open door with a lamp above it, on
which was written the word Billiards. The Captain observed that it was
the same door as that at which he had parted from Lewis Stoutley some
days before.
Dismissing the cab and entering, they quickly found themselves in a
large and well-lighted billiard-room, which was crowded with men of all
ages and aspects, some of whom played, others looked on and betted, a
good many drank brandy and water, and nearly all smoked. It was a
bright scene of dissipation, where many young men, deceiving themselves
with the idea that they went merely to practise or to enjoy a noble game
of skill, were taking their first steps on the road to ruin.
The Captain, closely attended by Gillie, moved slowly through the room,
looking anxiously for Fred Leven. For some time they failed to find
him. At last a loud curse, uttered in the midst of a knot of
on-lookers, attracted their attention. It was followed by a general
laugh, as a young man, whose dishevelled hair and flushed face showed
that he had been drinking hard, burst from among them and staggered
towards the door.
"Never mind, Fred," shouted a voice that seemed familiar to the Captain,
"you'll win it back from me next time."
Ere the youth had passed, the Captain stepped forward and laid his hand
on his arm.
Fred uttered a savage growl, and drew back his clenched hand as if to
strike, but Captain Wopper's size and calm look of decision induced him
to hold his hand.
"What d'you mean by interrupting me?" he demanded, sternly.
"My lad," said the Captain, in a low, solemn voice, "your mother is
dying, come with me. You've no time to lose."
The youth's face turned ashy pale, and he passed his hand hastily across
his brow.
"What's wrong?" exclaimed Lewis Stoutley, who had recognised the
Captain, and come forward at the moment.
"Did he lose his money to _you_?" asked the Captain, abruptly.
"Well, yes, he did," retorted Lewis, with a look of offended dignity.
"Come along, then, my lad. I want _you_ too. It's a case of life an'
death. Ask no questions, but come along."
The Captain said this with such an air of authority, that Lewis felt
constrained to obey. Fred Leven seemed to follow like one in a dream.
They all got into a cab, and were driven back to Grubb's Court.
As they ascended the stair, the Captain whispered to Lewis, "Keep in the
background, my lad. Do nothing but look and listen."
Another moment and they were in the passage, where Lawrence stopped
them.
"You're almost too late, sir," he said to Fred, sternly. "If you had
fed and clothed your mother better in time past, she might have got over
this. Fortunately for her, poor soul, some people, who don't gamble
away their own and their parents' means, have given her the help that
you have refused. Go in, sir, and try to speak words of comfort to her
_now_."
He went in, and fell on his knees beside the bed.
"Mother!" he said.
Fain would he have said more, but no word could he utter. His tongue
seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. Mrs Leven opened her eyes
on hearing the single word, and her cheek flushed slightly as she seized
one of his hands, kissed it and held it to her breast. Then she looked
earnestly, and oh! so anxiously, into his face, and said in a low
tone:--
"Fred, dear, are you so--"
She stopped abruptly.
"Yes, yes," cried her son, passionately; "yes, mother, I'm sober _now_!
Oh mother, dearest, darling mother, I am guilty, guilty; I have sinned.
Oh forgive, forgive me! Listen, listen! I am in earnest now, my
mother. Think of me as I used to be long ago. Don't shut your eyes.
Look at me, mother, look at Fred."
The poor woman looked at him with tears of gladness in her eyes.
"God bless you, Fred!" she murmured. "It is long, long, since you spoke
like that. But I knew you would. I have always expected that you
would. Praise the Lord!"
Fred tried to speak, and again found that he could not, but the fountain
of his soul was opened. He laid his face on his mother's hand and
sobbed bitterly.
Those who witnessed this scene stood as if spellbound. As far as sound
or motion went these two might have been in the room alone. Presently
the sound of sobbing ceased, and Fred, raising his head, began gently to
stroke the hand he held in his. Sometime in his wild career, he knew
not when or where, he had heard it said that this slight action had
often a wonderful power to soothe the sick. He continued it for some
time. Then the doctor advanced and gazed into the invalid's
countenance.
"She sleeps," he said, in a low tone.
"May I stay beside her?" whispered Fred.
Lawrence nodded assent, and then motioning to the others to withdraw,
followed them into Mrs Roby's room, where he told them that her
sleeping was a good sign, and that they must do their best to prevent
her being disturbed.
"It won't be necessary for any one to watch. Her son will prove her
best attendant just now; but it may be as well that some one should sit
up in this room, and look in now and then to see that the candle doesn't
burn out, and that all is right. I will go now, and will make this my
first visit in the morning."
"Captain Wopper," said Lewis Stoutley, in a subdued voice, when Lawrence
had left, "I won this ten-pound note to-night from Fred. I--I robbed
him of it. Will you give it to him in the morning?"
"Yes, my lad, I will," said the Captain.
"And will you let me sit up and watch here tonight?"
"No, my lad, I won't. I mean to do that myself."
"But do let me stay an hour or so with you, in case anything is wanted,"
pleaded Lewis.
"Well, you may."
They sat down together by the fireside, Mrs Roby having lain down on
her bed with her clothes on, but they spoke never a word; and as they
sat there, the young man's busy brain arrayed before him many and many a
scene of death, and sickness, and suffering, and sorrow, and madness,
and despair, which, he knew well from hearsay (and he now believed it),
had been the terrible result of gambling and drink.
When the hour was past, the Captain rose and said, "Now, Lewis, you'll
go, and I'll take a look at the next room."
He put off his shoes and went on tiptoe. Lewis followed, and took a
peep before parting.
Fred had drawn three chairs to the bedside and lain down on them, with
his shoulders resting on the edge of the bed, so that he could continue
to stroke his mother's hand without disturbing her. He had continued
doing so until his head had slowly drooped upon the pillow; and there
they now lay, the dissipated son and the humble Christian mother,
sleeping quietly together.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE GREAT WHITE MOUNTAIN.
We are in Switzerland now; in the "land of the mountain and the flood"--
the land also of perennial ice and snow. The solemn presence of the
Great White Mountain is beginning to be felt. Its pure summit was first
seen from Geneva; its shadow is now beginning to steal over us.
We are on the road to Chamouni, not yet over the frontier, in a carriage
and four. Mrs Stoutley, being a lady of unbounded wealth, always
travels post in a carriage and four when she can manage to do so, having
an unconquerable antipathy to railroads and steamers. She could not
well travel in any other fashion here, railways not having yet
penetrated the mountain regions in this direction, and a mode of
ascending roaring mountain torrents in steamboats not having yet been
discovered. She might, however, travel with two horses, but she prefers
four. Captain Wopper, who sits opposite Emma Gray, wonders in a quiet
speculative way whether "the Mines" will produce a dividend sufficient
to pay the expenses of this journey. He is quite disinterested in the
thought, it being understood that the Captain pays his own expenses.
But we wander from our text, which is--the Great White Mountain. We are
driving now under its shadow with Mrs Stoutley's party, which, in
addition to the Captain and Miss Gray, already mentioned, includes young
Dr George Lawrence and Lewis, who are on horseback; also Mrs
Stoutley's maid (Mrs Stoutley never travels without a maid), Susan
Quick, who sits beside the Captain; and Gillie White, _alias_ the Spider
and the Imp, who sits beside the driver, making earnest but futile
efforts to draw him into a conversation in English, of which language
the driver knows next to nothing.
But to return: Mrs Stoutley and party are now in the very heart of
scenery the most magnificent; they have penetrated to a great
fountain-head of European waters; they are surrounded by the cliffs, the
gorges, the moraines, and are not far from the snow-slopes and
ice-fields, the couloirs, the seracs, the crevasses, and the
ice-precipices and pinnacles of a great glacial world; but not one of
the party betrays the smallest amount of interest, or expresses the
faintest emotion of surprise, owing to the melancholy fact that all is
shrouded in an impenetrable veil of mist through which a thick fine rain
percolates as if the mountain monarch himself were bewailing their
misfortunes.
"Isn't it provoking?" murmured Mrs Stoutley drawing her shawl closer.
"Very," replied Emma.
"Disgusting!" exclaimed Lewis, who rode at the side of the carriage next
his cousin.
"It might be worse," said Lawrence, with a grim smile.
"Impossible," retorted Lewis.
"Come, Captain, have you no remark to make by way of inspiring a little
hope?" asked Mrs Stoutley.
"Why, never havin' cruised in this region before," answered the Captain,
"my remarks can't be of much value. Hows'ever, there _is_ one idea that
may be said to afford consolation, namely, that this sort o' thing can't
last. I've sailed pretty nigh in all parts of the globe, an' I've
invariably found that bad weather has its limits--that after rain we may
look for sunshine, and after storm, calm."
"How cheering!" said Lewis, as the rain trickled from the point of his
prominent nose.
At that moment Gillie White, happening to cast his eyes upward, beheld a
vision which drew from him an exclamation of wild surprise.
They all looked quickly in the same direction, and there, through a rent
in the watery veil, they beheld a little spot of blue sky, rising into
which was a mountain-top so pure, so faint so high and inexpressibly far
off, yet so brilliant in a glow of sunshine, that it seemed as if heaven
had been opened, and one of the hills of Paradise revealed. It was the
first near view that the travellers had obtained of these mountains of
everlasting ice. With the exception of the exclamations "Wonderful!"
"Most glorious!" they found no words for a time to express their
feelings, and seemed glad to escape the necessity of doing so by
listening to the remarks of their driver, as he went into an elaborate
explanation of the name and locality of the particular part of Mont
Blanc that had been thus disclosed.
The rent in the mist closed almost as quickly as it had opened, utterly
concealing the beautiful vision; but the impression it had made, being a
first and a very deep one, could never more be removed. The travellers
lived now in the faith of what they had seen. Scepticism was no longer
possible, and in this improved frame of mind they dashed into the
village of Chamouni--one of the haunts of those whose war-cry is
"Excelsior!"--and drove to the best hotel.
Their arrival in the village was an unexpected point of interest to many
would-be mountaineers, who lounged about the place with macintoshes and
umbrellas, growling at the weather. Any event out of the common forms a
subject of interest to men who wait and have nothing to do. As the
party passed them, growlers gazed and speculated as to who the
new-comers might be. Some thought Miss Gray pretty; some thought
otherwise--to agree on any point on such a day being, of course,
impossible. Others "guessed" that the young fellows must be uncommonly
fond of riding to "get on the outside of a horse" in such weather; some
remarked that the "elderly female" seemed "used up," or "_blasee_," and
all agreed--yes, they _did_ agree on this point--that the thing in blue
tights and buttons beside the driver was the most impudent-looking
monkey the world had ever produced!
The natives of the place also had their opinions, and expressed them to
each other; especially the bronzed, stalwart sedate-looking men who hung
about in knots near the centre of the village, and seemed to estimate
the probability of the stout young Englishmen on horseback being likely
to require their services often--for these, said the driver, were the
celebrated guides of Chamouni; men of bone and muscle, and endurance and
courage; the leaders of those daring spirits who consider--and justly
so--the ascent to the summit of Mont Blanc, or Monte Rosa, or the
Matterhorn, a feat; the men who perform this feat it may be, two or
three times a week--as often as you choose to call them to it, in fact--
and think nothing of it; the men whose profession it is to risk their
lives every summer from day to day for a few francs; who have become so
inured to danger that they have grown quite familiar with it, insomuch
that some of the reckless blades among them treat it now and then with
contempt, and pay the penalty of such conduct with their lives.
Sinking into a couch in her private sitting-room, Mrs Stoutley resigned
herself to Susan's care, and, while she was having her boots taken off,
said with a sigh:--
"Well, here we are at last. What do you think of Chamouni, Susan?"
"Rather a wet place, ma'am; ain't it?"
With a languid smile, Mrs Stoutley admitted that it was, but added, by
way of encouragement that it was not always so. To which Susan replied
that she was glad to hear it, so she was, as nothink depressed her
spirits so much as wet and clouds, and gloom.
Susan was a pretty girl of sixteen, tall, as well as very sedate and
womanly, for her age. Having been born in one of the midland counties,
of poor, though remarkably honest, parents, who had received no
education themselves, and therefore held it to be quite unnecessary to
bestow anything so useless on their daughter, she was, until very
recently, as ignorant of all beyond the circle of her father's homestead
as the daughter of the man in the moon--supposing no compulsory
education-act to be in operation in the orb of night. Having passed
through them, she now knew of the existence of France and Switzerland,
but she was quite in the dark as to the position of these two countries
with respect to the rest of the world, and would probably have regarded
them as one and the same if their boundary-line had not been somewhat
deeply impressed upon her by the ungallant manner in which the Customs
officials examined the contents of her modest little portmanteau in
search, as Gillie gave her to understand, of tobacco.
Mrs Stoutley had particularly small feet, a circumstance which might
have induced her, more than other ladies, to wear easy boots; but owing
to some unaccountable perversity of mental constitution, she deemed this
a good reason for having her boots made unusually tight. The removal of
these, therefore, afforded great relief, and the administration of a cup
of tea produced a cheering reaction of spirits, under the influence of
which she partially forgot herself, and resolved to devote a few minutes
to the instruction of her interestingly ignorant maid.
"Yes," she said, arranging herself comfortably, and sipping her tea,
while Susan busied herself putting away her lady's "things," and
otherwise tidying the room, "it does not always rain here; there is a
little sunshine sometimes. By the way, where is Miss Gray?"
"In the bedroom, ma'am, unpacking the trunks."
"Ah, well, as I was saying, they have a little sunshine sometimes, for
you know, Susan, people _must_ live, and grass or grain cannot grow
without sunshine, so it has been arranged that there should be enough
here for these purposes, but no more than enough, because Switzerland
has to maintain its character as one of the great refrigerators of
Europe."
"One of the what, ma'am?"
"Refrigerators," explained Mrs Stoutley; "a refrigerator, Susan, is a
freezer; and it is the special mission of Switzerland to freeze nearly
all the water that falls on its mountains, and retain it there in the
form of ice and snow until it is wanted for the use of man. Isn't that
a grand idea?"
The lecturer's explanation had conveyed to Susan's mind the idea of the
Switzers going with long strings of carts to the top of Mont Blanc for
supplies of ice to meet the European demand, and she admitted that it
_was_ a grand idea, and asked if the ice and snow lasted long into the
summer.
"Long into it!" exclaimed her teacher. "Why, you foolish thing, its
lasts all through it."
"Oh indeed, ma'am!" said Susan, who entertained strong doubts in her
heart as to the correctness of Mrs Stoutley's information on this
point.
"Yes," continued that lady, with more animation than she had experienced
for many months past, so invigorating was the change of moral atmosphere
induced by this little breeze of instruction; "yes, the ice and snow
cover the hills and higher valleys for dozens and dozens of miles round
here in all directions, not a few inches deep, such as we sometimes see
in England, but with thousands and millions of tons of it, so that the
ice in the valleys is hundreds of feet thick, and never melts away
altogether, but remains there from year to year--has been there, I
suppose, since the world began, and will continue, I fancy, until the
world comes to an end."
Mrs Stoutley warmed up here, to such an extent that she absolutely
flushed, and Susan, who had heretofore regarded her mistress merely as a
weakish woman, now set her down, mentally, as a barefaced story-teller.
"Surely, ma'am," she said, with diffidence, "ice and snow like that
doesn't fill _all_ the valleys, else we should see it, and find it
difficult to travel through 'em; shouldn't we, ma'am?"
"Silly girl!" exclaimed her preceptress, "I did not say it filled _all_
the valleys, but the _higher_ valleys--valleys such as, in England and
Scotland, would be clothed with pasturage and waving grain, and dotted
with cattle and sheep and smiling cottages."
Mrs Stoutley had by this time risen to a heroic frame, and spoke
poetically, which accounts for her ascribing risible powers to cottages.
"And thus you see, Susan," she continued, "Switzerland is, as it were, a
great ice-tank, or a series of ice-tanks, in which the ice of ages is
accumulated and saved up, so that the melting of a little of it--the
mere dribbling of it, so to speak--is sufficient to cause the continuous
flow of innumerable streams and of great rivers, such as the Rhone, and
the Rhine, and the Var."
The lecture received unexpected and appropriate illustration here by the
sudden lifting of the mists, which had hitherto blotted out the
landscape.
"Oh, aunt!" exclaimed Emma, running in at the moment, "just look at the
hills. How exquisite! How much grander than if we had seen them quite
clear from the first!"
Emma was strictly correct, for it is well known that the grandeur of
Alpine scenery is greatly enhanced by the wild and weird movements of
the gauze-like drapery with which it is almost always partially
enshrouded.
As the trio stood gazing in silent wonder and admiration from their
window, which, they had been informed, commanded a view of the summit of
Mont Blanc, the mist had risen like a curtain partially rolled up. All
above the curtain-foot presented the dismal grey, to which they had been
too long accustomed, but below, and, as it were, far behind this
curtain, the mountain-world was seen rising upwards.
So close were they to the foot of the Great White Monarch, that it
seemed to tower like a giant-wall before them; but this wall was varied
and beautiful as well as grand. Already the curtain had risen high
enough to disclose hoary cliffs and precipices, with steep grassy slopes
between, and crowned with fringes of dark pines; which latter, although
goodly trees, looked like mere shrubs in their vast setting. Rills were
seen running like snowy veins among the slopes, and losing themselves in
the masses of _debris_ at the mountain-foot. As they gazed, the curtain
rose higher, disclosing new and more rugged features, on which shone a
strange, unearthly light--the result of shadow from the mist and
sunshine behind it--while a gleam of stronger light tipped the curtain's
under-edge in one direction. Still higher it rose! Susan exclaimed
that the mountain was rising into heaven; and Emma and Mrs Stoutley,
whose reading had evidently failed to impress them with a just
conception of mountain-scenery, stood with clasped hands in silent
expectancy and admiration. The gleam of stronger light above referred
to, widened, and Susan almost shrieked with ecstasy when the curtain
seemed to rend, and the gleam resolved itself into the great Glacier des
Bossons, which, rolling over the mountain-brow like a very world of ice,
thrust its mighty tongue down into the valley.
From that moment Susan's disbelief in her lady's knowledge changed into
faith, and deepened into profound veneration.
It was, however, only a slight glimpse that had been thus afforded of
the ice-world by which they were surrounded. The great ice-fountain of
those regions, commencing at the summit of Mont Blanc, flings its ample
waves over mountain and vale in all directions, forming a throne on
which perpetual winter reigns, and this glacier des Bossons, which
filled the breasts of our travellers with such feelings of awe, was but
one of the numerous rivers which flow from the fountain down the gorges
and higher valleys of the Alps, until they reach those regions where
summer heat asserts itself, and checks their further progress in the
form of ice by melting them.
"Is it possible," said Emma, as she gazed at the rugged and riven mass
of solid ice before her, "that a glacier really _flows_?"
"So learned men tell us, and so we must believe," said Mrs Stoutley.
"Flows, ma'am?" exclaimed Susan, in surprise.
"Yes, so it is said," replied Mrs Stoutley, with a smile.
"But we can see, ma'am, by lookin' at it, that it _don't_ flow; can't
we, ma'am?" said Susan.
"True, Susan, it does not seem to move; nevertheless scientific men tell
us that it does, and sometimes we are bound to believe against the
evidence of our senses."
Susan looked steadily at the glacier for some time; and then, although
she modestly held her tongue, scientific men fell considerably in her
esteem.
While the ladies were thus discussing the glacier and enlightening their
maid, Lewis, Lawrence, and the Captain, taking advantage of the improved
state of the weather, had gone out for a stroll, partly with a view, as
Lewis said, to freshen up their appetites for dinner--although, to say
truth, the appetites of all three were of such a nature as to require no
freshening up. They walked smartly along the road which leads up the
valley, pausing, ever and anon, to look back in admiration at the
wonderful glimpses of scenery disclosed by the lifting mists. Gradually
these cleared away altogether, and the mountain summits stood out well
defined against the clear sky. And then, for the first time, came a
feeling of disappointment.
"Why, Lawrence," said Lewis, "didn't they tell us that we could see the
top of Mont Blanc from Chamouni?"
"They certainly did," replied Lawrence, "but I can't see it."
"There are two or three splendid-looking peaks," said Lewis, pointing up
the valley, "but surely that's not the direction of the top we look
for."
"No, my lad, it ain't the right point o' the compass by a long way,"
said the Captain; "but yonder goes a strange sail a-head, let's overhaul
her."
"Heave a-head then, Captain," said Lewis, "and clap on stun's'ls and
sky-scrapers, for the strange sail is making for that cottage on the
hill, and will get into port before we overhaul her if we don't look
sharp."
The "strange sail" was a woman. She soon turned into the cottage
referred to, but our travellers followed her up, arranging, as they drew
near, that Lawrence, being the best French scholar of the three (the
Captain knowing nothing whatever of the language), should address her.
She turned out to be a very comely young woman, the wife, as she
explained, of one of the Chamouni guides, named Antoine Grennon. Her
daughter, a pretty blue-eyed girl of six or so, was busy arranging a
casket of flowers, and the grandmother of the family was engaged in that
mysterious mallet-stone-scrubbing-brush-and-cold-water system, whereby
the washerwomen of the Alps convert the linen of tourists into shreds
and patches in the shortest possible space of time.
After some complimentary remarks, Lawrence asked if it were possible to
see the summit of Mont Blanc from where they stood.
Certainly it was; the guide's pretty wife could point it out and
attempted to do so, but was for a long time unsuccessful, owing to the
interference of preconceived notions--each of our travellers having set
his heart upon beholding a majestic peak of rugged rock, mingled,
perhaps, with ice-blocks and snow.
"Most extraordinary," exclaimed the puzzled Captain, "I've squinted
often enough at well-known peaks when on the look-out for landmarks from
the sea, an' never failed to make 'em out. Let me see," he added,
getting behind the woman so as to look straight along her outstretched
arm, "no, _I_ can't see it. My eyes must be giving way."
"Surely," said Lawrence, "you don't mean that little piece of smooth
snow rising just behind the crest of yonder mountain like a bit of
rounded sugar?"
"Oui, monsieur"--that was precisely what she meant; _that_ was the
summit of Mont Blanc.
And so, our three travellers--like many hundreds of travellers who had
gone before them, and like many, doubtless, who shall follow--were
grievously disappointed with their first view of Mont Blanc! They
lived, however to change their minds, to discover that the village of
Chamouni lies too close to the toe of the Great White Mountain to permit
of his being seen to advantage. One may truly see a small scrap of the
veritable top from Chamouni, but one cannot obtain an idea of what it is
that he sees. As well might a beetle walk close up to the heel of a
man, and attempt from that position to form a correct estimate of his
size; as well might one plant himself two inches distant from a large
painting and expect to do it justice! No, in order to understand Mont
Blanc, to "realise" it, to appreciate it adequately, it requires that we
should stand well back, and get up on one of the surrounding heights,
and make the discovery that as _we_ rise _he_ rises, and looks vaster
and more tremendous the further off we go and the higher up we rise,
until, with foot planted on the crest of one of the neighbouring giants,
we still look up, as well as down, and learn--with a feeling of deeper
reverence, it may be, for the Maker of the "everlasting hills"--that the
grand monarch with the hoary head does in reality tower supreme above
them all.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
INTRODUCES THE READER TO VARIOUS PERSONAGES, AND TOUCHES ON GLACIERS.
At this time our travellers, having only just been introduced to the
mountain, had a great deal to hear and see before they understood him.
They returned to the hotel with the feeling of disappointment still upon
them, but with excellent appetites for dinner.
In the _Salle a manger_ they met with a miscellaneous assortment of
tourists. These, of whom there were above thirty, varied not only as to
size and feature, but as to country and experience. There were veteran
Alpine men--steady, quiet, bronzed-looking fellows, some of them--who
looked as if they had often "attacked" and conquered the most dangerous
summits, and meant to do so again. There were men, and women too, from
England, America, Germany, France, and Russia. Some had been at
Chamouni before, and wore the self-possessed air of knowledge; others
had obviously never been there before, and were excited. Many were full
of interest and expectation, a few, chiefly very young men, wore a
_blase_, half-pitiful, half-patronising air, as though to say, "that's
right, good people, amuse yourselves with your day-dreams while you may.
_We_ have tried a few weeks of this sort of thing, and have done a
summit or two; in imagination we have also been up Mont Blanc and Monte
Rosa, and the Matterhorn, and a few of the Hymalaya peaks, and most of
the mountains in the moon, and several of the fixed stars, and--haw--are
now rather boa-ord with it all than otherwise!" There were men who had
done much and who said little, and men who had done little and who spoke
much. There were "ice-men" who had a desire to impart their knowledge,
and would-be ice-men who were glad to listen. Easy-going men and women
there were, who flung the cares of life behind them, and "went in," as
they said, for enjoyment; and who, with abounding animal spirits, a dash
of religious sentiment, much irrepressible humour and fun, were really
pleasant objects to look at, and entertaining companions to travel with.
Earnest men and women there were, too, who gathered plants and insects,
and made pencil-sketches and water-colour drawings during their rambles
among mountains and valleys, and not a few of whom chronicled faithfully
their experiences from day to day. There was a Polish Count, a tall,
handsome, middle-aged, care-worn, anxious-looking man, who came there,
apparently in search of health, and who was cared for and taken care of
by a dark-eyed little daughter. This daughter was so beautiful, that it
ought to have made the Count well--so thought most of the young men--
simply to look at her! There was a youthful British Lord, who had come
to "do" Mont Blanc and a few other peaks. He was under charge of a
young man of considerable experience in mountaineering, whose chief
delight seemed to be the leading of his charge to well-known summits by
any other and more difficult tracks than the obvious and right ones,
insomuch that Lewis Stoutley, who had a tendency to imprudent remark,
said in his hearing that he had heard of men who, in order to gain the
roof of a house, preferred to go up by the waterspout rather than the
staircase. There was an artist, whom Lewis--being, as already observed,
given to insolence--styled the mad artist because he was enthusiastic in
his art, galvanic in his actions, and had large, wild eyes, with long
hair, and a broad-brimmed conical hat. Besides these, there was a
Russian Professor, who had come there for purposes of scientific
investigation, and a couple of German students, and a Scotch man of
letters, whose aim was general observation, and several others, whose
end was simply seeing the world.
In the arrangements of the table, Captain Wopper found himself between
Emma Gray and the Polish Count, whose name was Horetzki. Directly
opposite to him sat Mrs Stoutley, having her son Lewis on her right,
and Dr Lawrence on her left. Beside the Count sat his lovely little
daughter Nita, and just opposite to her was the mad artist. This
arrangement was maintained throughout the sojourn of the various parties
during their stay at Chamouni. They did, indeed, shift their position
as regarded the table, according to the arrival or departure of
travellers, but not in regard to each other.
Now it is an interesting, but by no means surprising fact, that Cupid
planted himself in the midst of this party, and, with his fat little
legs, in imminent danger of capsizing the dishes, began to draw his bow
and let fly his arrows right and left. Being an airy sprite, though
fat, and not at any time particularly visible, a careless observer might
have missed seeing him; but to any one with moderate powers of
observation, he was there, straddling across a dish of salad as plain as
the salt-cellar before Captain Wopper's nose. His deadly shafts, too,
were visibly quivering in the breasts of Lewis Stoutley, George
Lawrence, and the mad artist. Particularly obvious were these shafts in
the case of the last, who was addicted to gazing somewhat presumptuously
on "lovely woman" in general, from what he styled an artistic point of
view--never from any other point of view; of course not.
Whether or not Cupid had discharged his artillery at the young ladies,
we cannot say, for they betrayed no evidence of having been wounded. In
their case, he must either have missed his aim, or driven his shafts
home with such vigour, that they were buried out of sight altogether in
their tender hearts. It is probable that not one member of that
miscellaneous company gave a thought at that time to the wounded men,
except the wounded men themselves, so absorbing is the love of food!
The wounded were, however, sharp-set in all respects. They at once
descried each other's condition, and, instead of manifesting sympathy
with each other, were, strange to say, filled with intense jealousy.
This at least is true of the younger men. Lawrence, being somewhat
older, was more secretive and self-possessed.
At first Captain Wopper, having declined a dish of cauliflower because
it was presented _alone_, and having afterwards accepted a mutton chop
_alone_, with feelings of poignant regret that he had let the
cauliflower go by, was too busy to observe what the heathen-mythological
youngster was doing. Indeed, at most times, the said youngster might
have discharged a whole quiver of arrows into the Captain's eyes without
his being aware of the attack; but, at the present time, the Captain, as
the reader is aware, was up to the eyes in a plot in which Cupid's aid
was necessary; he had, as it were, invoked the fat child's presence.
When, therefore, he had got over the regrets about the cauliflower, and
had swallowed the mutton-chop, he began to look about him--to note the
converse that passed between the young men, and the frequent glances
they cast at the young women.
It was not the first time that the Captain had, so to speak, kept his
weather-eye open in regard to the affection which he had made up his
mind must now have been awakened in the breasts of George Lawrence and
Emma Gray; but hitherto his hopes, although sanguine, had not received
encouragement. Though polite and respectful to each other, they were by
no means tender; altogether, they acted quite differently from what the
Captain felt that he would have done in similar circumstances. A
suspicion had even crossed the poor seaman's mind that Emma was in love
with her handsome and rattling cousin Lewis; but anxiety on this head
was somewhat allayed by other and conflicting circumstances, such as
occasional remarks by Lewis, to the effect that Emma was a goose, or a
pert little monkey, or that she knew nothing beyond house-keeping and
crochet, and similar compliments. Now, however, in a certain animated
conversation between Lawrence and Emma, the designing seaman thought he
saw the budding of his deep-laid plans, and fondly hoped ere long to
behold the bud developed into the flower of matrimony. Under this
conviction he secretly hugged himself, but in the salon, that evening,
he opened his arms and released himself on beholding the apparently
fickle Lawrence deeply engaged in converse with the Count Horetzki, to
whose pretty daughter, however, he addressed the most of his remarks.
The Captain, being a blunt honest, straightforward man, could not
understand this state of matters, and fell into a fit of abstracted
perplexity on the sofa beside Mrs Stoutley, who listened listlessly to
the Russian Professor as he attempted to explain to her and Emma the
nature of a glacier.
"Well, I don't understand it at all," said Mrs Stoutley, at the end of
one of the Professor's most lucid expositions.
We may remark, in passing, that the Professor, like many of his
countrymen, was a good linguist and spoke English well.
"Not understand it!" he exclaimed, with a slight elevation of his
eyebrows. "My dear madam, it is most plain, but I fear my want of good
English does render me not quite intelligible."
"Your English is excellent," replied Mrs Stoutley, with a smile, "but I
fear that my brain is not a sufficiently clear one on such matters, for
I confess that I cannot understand it. Can you, Captain Wopper?"
"Certainly not, ma'am," answered the Captain, thinking of the fickle
Lawrence; "it takes the wind out of my sails entirely."
"Indeed!" said the Professor. "Well, do permit me to try again. You
understand that all the mountain-tops and elevated plateaus, for many
miles around here, are covered with ice and snow."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Captain, awaking to the fact that his answer was not
relevant; "may I ax what is the particular pint that puzzles you,
ma'am?"
Emma laughed aloud at this, and coughed a little to conceal the fact.
She was rather easily taken by surprise with passing touches of the
ludicrous, and had not yet acquired the habit of effectually suppressing
little explosions of undertoned mirth.
"The thing that puzzles me," said Mrs Stoutley, "is, that glaciers
should _flow_, as I am told they do, and yet that they should be as hard
and brittle as glass."
"Ah, well, yes, just so, h'm!" said the Captain, looking very wise;
"that is exactly the pint that I want to know myself; for no man who
looks at the great tongue of that glacier day Bossung--"
"Des Bossons," said the Professor, with a bland smile.
"Day Bossong," repeated the Captain, "can deny that it is marked with
all the lines, and waves, an eddies of a rollin' river, an' yet as
little can they deny that it seems as hard-and-fast as the rock of
Gibraltar."
The Professor nodded approvingly.
"You are right, Captain Whipper--"
"Wopper," said the Captain, with a grave nod.
"Wopper," repeated the Professor, "the glacier des Bossons, like all the
other glaciers, seems to remain immovable, though in reality it flows--
ever flows--downward; but its motion is so slow, that it is not
perceptible to the naked eye. Similarly, the hour-hand of a watch is to
appearance motionless. Do you want proof? Mark it just now; look again
in quarter of an hour, and you see that it has moved. You are
convinced. It is so with the glacier. Mark him to-day, go back
to-morrow--the mark has changed. Some glaciers flow at the rate of two
and three feet in the twenty-four hours."
"Yes, but _how_ do they flow, being so brittle?" demanded Mrs Stoutley.
"Ay, that's the pint, Professor," said the Captain, nodding, "_how_ do
they flow, bein' made of hard and brittle ice?"
"Why, by rolling higgledy-piggledy over itself of course," said Lewis,
flippantly, as he came up and sat down on the end of the sofa, being out
of humour with himself and everybody in consequence of having utterly
failed to gain the attention of Nita Horetzki, although he had made
unusually earnest efforts to join in conversation with her father.
Owing to somewhat similar feelings, the artist had flung himself into a
chair, and sat glaring at the black fireplace with a degree of
concentration that ought to have lighted the firewood therein.
"The cause of a glacier flowing," said the Professor, "has long been a
disputed point. Some men of science have held that it is the pressure
of ice and snow behind it which causes it to flow. They do not think
that it flows like water, but say it is forced from behind, and crushed
through gorges and down valleys, as it were, unwillingly. They say
that, if left alone, as they now are, without additions, from this time
forward, glaciers would no longer move; they would rest, and slowly melt
away; that their motion is due to the fact that there are miles and
miles of snow-fields, thousands of feet deep, on the mountain-tops and
in the gorges, to which fresh snows are added every winter, so that the
weight of what is behind, slipping off the slopes and falling from the
cliffs, crushes down and forward that which is below; thus glaciers
cannot choose but advance."
"Ay, ay," said the Captain, "no doubt no doubt that may be so; but why
is it that, bein' as brittle as glass, a glacier don't come rumblin' and
clatterin' down the valleys in small hard bits, like ten thousand
millions of smashed-up chandeliers?"
"Ay, there's the rub," exclaimed Lewis; "what say you to that?"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Professor, again smiling blandly, "there you have
touched what once was, and, to some philosophers it seems, still is, the
great difficulty. By some great men it has been held that glacier ice
is always in a partially soft, viscid, or semi-fluid condition, somewhat
like pitch, so that, although _apparently_ a solid, brittle, and rigid
body, it flows sluggishly in reality. Other philosophers have denied
this theory, insisting that the ice of glaciers is _not_ like pitch, but
like glass, and that it cannot be squeezed without being broken, nor
drawn without being cracked. These philosophers have discovered that
when ice is subjected to great pressure it melts, and that, when the
pressure is removed, the part so melted immediately freezes again--hence
the name regelation, or re-freezing, is given to the process. Thus a
glacier, they say, is in many places being continually melted and
continually and instantaneously re-frozen, so that it is made to pass
through narrow gorges, and to open out again when the enormous pressure
has been removed. But this theory of regelation, although
unquestionably true, and although it exercises _some_ influence on
glacier motion, does not, in my opinion, alone account for it. The
opinion which seems to be most in favour among learned men--and that
which I myself hold firmly--is, the theory of the Scottish Professor
Forbes, namely, that a glacier is a semi-fluid body, it is largely
impregnated throughout its extent with water, its particles move round
and past each other--in other words, it flows in precisely the same
manner as water, the only difference being that it is not quite so
fluid; it is sluggish in its flow, but it certainly models itself to the
ground over which it is forced by its own gravity, and it is only rent
or broken into fragments when it is compelled to turn sharp angles, or
to pass over steep convex slopes. Forbes, by his careful measurements
and investigations, proved incontestably that in some glaciers the
central portion travelled down its valley at double or treble the rate
of its sides, without the continuity of the mass being broken. In small
masses, indeed, glacier-ice is to all appearance rigid, but on a large
scale it is unquestionably ductile."
"Has the theory of regelation been put to the proof?" asked Lewis, with
a degree of interest in glaciers which he had never before felt.
"It has," answered the Professor. "An experimentalist once cut a bar of
solid ice, like to a bar of soap in form and size, from a glacier. To
this an iron weight of several pounds was suspended by means of a very
fine wire, which was tied round the bar. The pressure of the wire
melted the ice under it; as the water escaped it instantly re-froze
above the wire; thus the wire went on cutting its way through the bar,
and the water went on freezing, until at last the weight fell to the
ground, and left the bar as solid and entire as if it had never been
cut."
"Well, now," said Captain Wopper, bringing his hand down on his thigh
with a slap that did more to arouse Mrs Stoutley out of her languor
than the Professor's lecture on glacier ice, "I've sailed round the
world, I have, an' seen many a strange sight, and what I've got to say
is that I'll believe that when I _see_ it."
"You shall see it soon then, I hope," said the Professor, more blandly
than ever, "for I intend to verify this experiment along with several
others. I go to the Mer de Glace, perhaps as far as the Jardin,
to-morrow. Will you come?"
"What may the Jardang be?" asked the Captain.
"Hallo! monkey, what's wrong?" said Lewis to Emma, referring to one of
the undertoned safety-valves before mentioned.
"Nothing," replied Emma, pursing her little lips till they resembled a
cherry.
"The Jardin, or garden," said the Professor, "is a little spot of
exquisite beauty in the midst of the glaciers, where a knoll of green
grass and flowers peeps up in the surrounding sterility. It is one of
the regular excursions from Chamouni."
"Can ladies go?" asked Lewis.
"Young and active ladies can," said the Professor, with his blandest
possible smile, as he bowed to Emma.
"Then, we'll all go together," cried Lewis, with energy.
"Not all," said Mrs Stoutley, with a sigh, "I am neither young nor
active."
"Nonsense, mother, you're quite young yet, you know, and as active as a
kitten when you've a mind to be. Come, we'll have a couple of porters
and a chair to have you carried when you knock up."
Notwithstanding the glowing prospects of ease and felicity thus opened
up to her, Mrs Stoutley resolutely refused to go on this excursion, but
she generously allowed Emma to go if so disposed. Emma, being disposed,
it was finally arranged that, on the following day, she, the Captain,
Lewis, and Lawrence, with Gillie White as her page, should proceed up
the sides of Mont Blanc with the man of science, and over the Mer de
Glace to the Jardin.
CHAPTER NINE.
A SOLID STREAM.
There is a river of ice in Switzerland, which, taking its rise on the
hoary summit of Mont Blanc, flows through a sinuous mountain-channel,
and terminates its grand career by liquefaction in the vale of Chamouni.
A mighty river it is in all respects, and a wonderful one--full of
interest and mystery and apparent contradiction. It has a grand volume
and sweep, varying from one to four miles in width, and is about twelve
miles long, with a depth of many hundreds of feet. It is motionless to
the eye, yet it descends into the plain continually. It is hard and
unyielding in its nature, yet it flows as really and steadily, if not
with as lithe a motion, as a liquid river. It is _not_ a half solid
mass like mud, which might roll slowly down an incline; it is solid,
clear, transparent, brittle ice, which refuses to bend, and cracks
sharply under a strain; nevertheless, it has its waves and rapids,
cross-currents, eddies, and cascades, which, seen from a moderate
distance, display all the grace and beauty of flowing water--as if a
grand river in all its varied parts, calm and turbulent, had been
actually and suddenly arrested in its course and frozen to the bottom.
It is being melted perpetually too. The fierce sun of summer sends
millions of tiny streamlets down into its interior, which collect,
augment, cut channels for themselves through the ice, and finally gush
into the plain from its lower end in the form of a muddy river. Even in
winter this process goes on, yet the ice-river never melts entirely
away, but holds on its cold, stately, solemn course from year to year--
has done so for unknown ages, and will probably do so to the end of
time. It is picturesque in its surroundings, majestic in its motion,
tremendous in its action, awful in its sterility, and, altogether, one
of the most impressive and sublime works of God.
This gigantic glacier, or stream of ice, springing, as it does, from the
giant-mountain of Europe, is appropriately hemmed in, and its mighty
force restrained, by a group of Titans, whose sharp aiguilles, or
needle-like peaks, shoot upward to a height little short of their
rounded and white-headed superior, and from whose wild gorges and riven
sides tributary ice-rivers flow, and avalanches thunder incessantly.
Leaving its cradle on the top of Mont Blanc, the great river sweeps
round the Aiguille du Geant; and, after receiving its first name of
Glacier du Geant from that mighty obelisk of rock, which rises 13,156
feet above the sea, it passes onward to welcome two grand tributaries,
the Glacier de Lechaud, from the rugged heights of the Grandes Jorasses,
and the Glacier du Talefre from the breast of the Aiguille du Talefre
and the surrounding heights. Thus augmented, the river is named the Mer
de Glace, or sea of ice, and continues its downward course; but here it
encounters what may be styled "the narrows," between the crags at the
base of the Aiguille Charmoz and Aiguille du Moine, through which it
steadily forces its way, though compressed to much less than half its
width by the process. In one place the Glacier du Geant is above eleven
hundred yards wide; that of the Lechaud is above eight hundred; that of
Talefre above six hundred--the total, when joined, two thousand five
hundred yards; and this enormous mass of solid ice is forced through a
narrow neck of the valley, which is, in round numbers, only _nine
hundred_ yards wide! Of course the ice-river must gain in depth what it
loses in breadth in this gorge, through which it travels at the rate of
twenty inches a day. Thereafter, it tumbles ruggedly to its termination
in the vale of Chamouni, under the name of the Glacier des Bois.
The explanation of the causes of the rise and flow of this ice-river we
will leave to the genial and enthusiastic Professor, who glories in
dilating on such matters to Captain Wopper, who never tires of the
dilations.
Huge, however, though this glacier of the Mer de Glace be, it is only
one of a series of similar glaciers which constitute the outlets to that
vast reservoir of ice formed by the wide range of Mont Blanc, where the
snows of successive winters are stored, packed, solidified, and
rendered, as it were, self-regulating in their supplies of water to the
plains. And the Mont Blanc range itself is but a portion of the great
glacial world of Switzerland, the area occupied by which is computed at
900 square miles. Two-thirds of these send their waters to the sea
through the channel of the Rhine. The most extensive of these glaciers
is the Aletsch glacier, which is fifteen miles in length. It is said
that above six hundred distinct glaciers have been reckoned in
Switzerland.
This, good reader, is but a brief reference to the wonders of the
glacial world. It is but a scratching of the surface. There is a very
mine of interesting, curious, and astonishing facts below the surface.
Nature is prodigal of her information to those who question her closely,
correctly, and perseveringly. Even to those who observe her carelessly,
she is not altogether dumb. She is generous; and the God of Nature has
caused it to be written for our instruction that, "His works are
wonderful, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein."
We may not, however, prolong our remarks on the subject of ice-rivers at
this time. Our travellers at Chamouni are getting ready to start, and
it is our duty at present to follow them.
CHAPTER TEN.
THE FIRST EXCURSION.
"A Splendid morning!" exclaimed Dr George Lawrence, as he entered the
_Salle a manger_ with an obviously new alpenstock in his hand.
"Jolly!" replied Lewis Stoutley, who was stooping at the moment to
button one of his gaiters.
Lewis was addicted to slang, not by any means an uncommon characteristic
of youth!
"The man," he said, with some bitterness, "who invented big buttons and
little button-holes should have had his nose skewered with a
button-hook. He was an ass!"
In order to relieve his feelings and accomplish his ends, Lewis
summarily enlarged the holes with his penknife.
"And _round_ buttons, too," he said, indignantly; "what on earth was the
use of making round buttons when flat ones had been invented? A big
hole and a flat button will hold against anything--even against Scotch
whins and heather. There, now, that abominable job is done."
"You are fond of strong language, Lewie," said Lawrence, as he examined
the spike at the end of his alpenstock.
"I am. It relieves my feelings."
"But don't you think it weakens your influence on occasions when nothing
but strong language will serve? You rob yourself of the power, you
know, to increase the force of it."
"Oh bother! don't moralise, man, but let's have your opinion of the
weather, which is an all-important subject just now."
"I have already given my opinion as to that," said Lawrence, "but here
comes one who will give us an opinion of value.--He is in capital time."
"Good morning, Antoine."
Their guide for the day, Antoine Grennon, a fine stalwart specimen of
his class, returned the salutation, and added that it was a very fine
morning.
"Capital, isn't it?" cried Lewis, cheerfully, for he had got over the
irritation caused by the buttons. "Couldn't be better; could it?"
The guide did not admit that the weather could not be better.
"You look doubtful, Antoine," said Lawrence. "Don't you think the day
will keep up?"
"Keep up!" exclaimed Lewis; "why, the sky is perfectly clear. Of course
it will. I never saw a finer day, even in England. Why do you doubt
it, Antoine?"
The guide pointed to a small cloud that hung over the brow of one of the
higher peaks.
"Appearances are sometimes deceitful in this country," he said. "I
don't doubt the fineness of the day at present, but--"
He was interrupted here by the sudden and noisy entrance of Captain
Wopper and the Professor, followed by the mad artist, whose name, by the
way, was Slingsby.
"No, no," said the Captain to the Professor, with whom he had already
become very intimate, "it won't do to part company. If the Jardang is
too far for the ladies, we will steer for the Mairdyglass, an' cross
over to the what's-'is-name--"
"Chapeau," said the Professor.
"Ah! the shappo," continued the Captain, "and so down by the glacier dez
boys--"
"The what?" asked Lewis, with a half-suppressed smile.
"The glacier dez boys, youngster," repeated the Captain, stoutly.
"Oh, I see; you mean the Glacier des Bois?" said Lewis, suppressing the
smile no longer.
"What I mean, young man," said the Captain, sternly, "is best known to
myself. You and other College-bred coxcombs may call it day bwa, if you
like, but I have overhauled the chart, and there it's spelt d-e-s, which
sounds dez, and b-o-i-s, which seafarin' men pronounce boys, so don't go
for to cross my hawse again, but rather join me in tryin' to indooce the
Professor to putt off his trip to the Jardang, an' sail in company with
us for the day."
"I will join you heartily in that," said Lewis, turning to the man of
science, who stood regarding the Captain with an amiable smile, as a
huge Newfoundland dog might regard a large mastiff; "but why is our
proposed excursion to the Jardin to be altered?"
"Because," said the Professor, "your amiable sister--I beg pardon,
cousin--with that irresistible power of suasion which seems inherent in
her nature, has prevailed on Mademoiselle Horetzki to join the party,
and Mademoiselle is too delicate--sylph-like--to endure the fatigues of
so long an excursion over the ice. Our worthy guide suggests that it
would afford more pleasure to the ladies--and of course, therefore, to
the gentlemen--if you were to make your first expedition only to the
Montanvert which is but a two hours' climb from Chamouni, picnic there,
cross the Mer de Glace, which is narrow at that point, and descend again
to Chamouni by the side of the Glacier des Bois, where you can behold
the great moraines, and also the source of the river Arveiron. This
would be a pleasant and not too fatiguing round, and I, who might
perhaps be an encumbrance to you, will prosecute my inquiries at the
Jardin alone."
"Impossible," exclaimed Lewis, "the Captain is right when he observes
that we must not part company. As my mother says, we are a giddy crew,
and will be the better of a little scientific ballast to keep us from
capsizing into a crevasse. Do come, my dear sir, if it were only out of
charity, to keep us in order."
To this entreaty Lawrence and the artist added their persuasions, which
were further backed by the eloquence of Emma Gray and Nita Horetzki, who
entered at the moment radiant with the flush of life's dawning day, and
irresistible in picturesque mountain attire, the chief characteristics
of which consisted in an extensive looping up of drapery, and an
ostentatious display of those staffs called alpenstocks, five feet long,
tipped with chamois horn, which are an indispensable requisite in Alpine
work.
"Oh! you _muss_ go," said Nita, in silvery tones and disjointed English.
"If you go not, monsieur, _I_ go not!"
"That of course decides the question, Mademoiselle," said the gallant
Professor, with one of his blandest smiles, "I shall accompany you with
pleasure. But I have one little request to make. My time at Chamouni
is short; will you permit me, on arriving at the Mer de Glace, to
prosecute my inquiries? I am here to ask questions of Nature, and must
do so with perseverance and patience. Will you allow me to devote more
of my attention to _her_ than to yourself?"
"H'm! well--what you say, Mademoiselle Gray?" demanded Nita, with an
arch look at her companion. "Is the Professor's request reasonable?"
To this Emma replied that as Nature was, upon the whole, a more
important lady than either of them, she thought it _was_ reasonable;
whereupon the Professor agreed to postpone his visit to the Jardin, and
devote his day to fixing stakes and making observations on the Mer de
Glace, with a view to ascertaining the diurnal rate of speed at which
the glacier flowed.
"You spoke of putting certain questions to Nature, Professor," said
Lawrence, when the party were slowly toiling up the mountain-side.
"Have they not already been put to her, and satisfactorily answered some
time ago?"
"They have been put," replied the Professor, "by such learned men as
Saussure, Agassiz, Rendu, Charpentier, and by your own countryman
Forbes, and others, and undoubtedly their questions have received
distinct answers, insomuch that our knowledge of the nature and action
of glacial ice is now very considerable. But, my dear sir, learned men
have not been agreed as to what Nature's replies mean, nor have they
exhausted the subject; besides, no true man of science is quite
satisfied with merely hearing the reports of others, he is not content
until he has met and conversed with Nature face to face. I wish,
therefore, to have a personal interview with her in these Alps, or
rather," continued the Professor, in a more earnest tone, "I do wish to
see the works of my Maker with my own eyes, and to hear His voice with
the ears of my own understanding."
"Your object, then, is to verify, not to discover?" said Lawrence.
"It is both. Primarily to verify; but the man of science always goes
forth with the happy consciousness that the mine in which he proposes to
dig is rich in gems, and that, while seeking for one sort, he may light
upon another unexpectedly."
"When Captain Wopper turned up yonder gem, he lit on one which, if not
of the purest water, is unquestionably a brilliant specimen of the class
to which it belongs," said Lewis, coming up at that moment, and pointing
to a projection in the somewhat steep part of the path up which they
were winding.
The gem referred to was no other than our friend Gillie White. That
hilarious youth, although regenerated outwardly as regards blue cloth
and buttons, had not by any means changed his spirit since fortune began
to smile on him. Finding that his mistress, being engaged with her
dark-eyed friend, did not require his services, and observing that his
patron, Captain Wopper, held intercourse with the guide--in broken
English, because he, the guide, also spoke broken English--that Lawrence
and the Professor seemed capable of entertaining each other, that Lewis
and the artist, although dreadfully jealous of each other, were fain to
hold social intercourse, the ladies being inseparable, and that he,
Gillie, was therefore left to entertain himself he set about amusing
himself to the best of his power by keeping well in rear of the party
and scrambling up dangerous precipices, throwing stones at little birds,
charging shrubs and stabbing the earth with Emma's alpenstock,
immolating snails, rolling rocks down precipitous parts of the hill, and
otherwise exhibiting a tendency to sport with Nature--all of which he
did to music whistled by himself, and in happy forgetfulness of
everything save the business in hand. He was engaged in some apparently
difficult piece of fancy work, involving large boulders, when Lewis drew
attention to him.
"What can the imp be up to?" he said.
"Most likely worrying some poor reptile to death," said the artist,
removing his conical wideawake and fanning himself therewith. (Mr
Slingsby was very warm, his slender frame not being equal to his
indomitable spirit.)
"I think he is trying to break your alpenstock, Emma," observed Lewis.
There seemed to be truth in this, for Gillie, having fixed the staff as
a lever, was pulling at it with all his might. The projection of rock
on which he stood, and which overhung the zigzag road, was partially
concealed by bushes, so that the precise intention of his efforts could
not be discovered.
At that moment Antoine, the guide, turned to see what detained the
party, and instantly uttered a loud shout of alarm as he ran back to
them.
The warning or remonstrance came too late. Gillie had loosened an
enormous rock which had been on the point of falling, and with a throb
of exultation, which found vent in a suppressed squeal, he hurled a
mass, something about the size and weight of a cart of coals, down the
precipice.
But the current of Gillie's feelings was rudely changed when a shriek
from the ladies, and something between a roar and a yell from the
gentlemen, told that they had observed a man with a mule, who, in
ascending from the valley, had reached a spot which lay in the direct
line of the miniature avalanche; and when the muleteer, also observing
the missile, added a hideous howl to the chorus, the poor urchin shrank
back appalled. The rock struck the track directly behind the mule with
a force which, had it been expended only six inches more to the right,
would have driven that creature's hind legs into the earth as if they
had been tenpenny nails; it then bounded clear over the next turning of
the track, crashed madly through several bushes, overturned five or six
trees, knocked into atoms a sister rock which had taken the same leap
some ages before, and finally, leaving behind it a grand tail of dust
and _debris_, rolled to its rest upon the plain.
At the first symptom of the danger, Captain Wopper had rushed towards
the culprit.
"Rascal!" he growled between his teeth, as he seized Gillie by the nape
of the neck, lifted him almost off his legs, and shook him, "d'ee see
what you've done?"
He thrust the urchin partially over the precipice, and pointed to the
man and the mule.
"Please, I _haven't_ done it," pleaded Gillie.
"But you did your best to--you--you small--there!"
He finished off the sentence with an open-handed whack that aroused the
echoes of Mont Blanc, and cast the culprit adrift.
"Now, look 'ee, lad," said the Captain, with impressive solemnity, "if
you ever go to chuck stones like that over the precipices of this here
mountain again, I'll chuck you over after 'em. D'ee hear?"
"Yes, Cappen," grumbled Gillie, rubbing himself, "but if you do, it's
murder. No jury of Englishmen would think of recommendin' you to mercy
in the succumstances. You'd be sure to swing--an' I--I could wish you a
better fate."
The Captain did not wait to hear the boy's good wishes, but hastened to
rejoin his friends, while Gillie followed in rear, commenting audibly on
the recent incident.
"Well, well," he said, thrusting both hands deep into bush
trouser-pockets, according to custom when in a moralising frame of mind,
"who'd a thought it, Gillie White, that you'd 'ave bin brought all the
way from London to the Halps to make such a close shave o' committin'
man-slaughter to say nothin' of mule-slaughter, and to git whacked by
your best friend? Oh! Cappen, Cappen, I couldn't 'ave believed it of
you if I 'adn't felt it. But, I say, Gillie, _wasn't_ it a big 'un?
Ha! ha! The Cappen threatened to chuck me over the precipice, but I've
chucked over a wopper that beats _him_ all to sticks. Hallo! I say
that's worthy of _Punch_. P'r'aps I'll be a contributor to it w'en I
gets back from Zwizzerland, if I ever does get back, vich is by no means
certain. Susan, my girl, I'll 'ave summat to enliven you with this
evenin'."
We need scarcely say that this last remark had reference to Mrs
Stoutley's maid, with whom the boy had become a great favourite. Indeed
the regard was mutual, though there was this difference about it, that
Susan, being two years older than Gillie, and tall as well as womanly
for her age, looked upon the boy as a precocious little oddity, whereas
Gillie, esteeming himself a man--"all but"--regarded Susan with the
powerful feelings of a first affection.
From this, and what has been already said, it will be apparent to our
fair readers that Cupid had accompanied Mrs Stoutley's party to
Chamouni, with the intention apparently of amusing himself as well as
interfering with Captain Wopper's matrimonial designs.
The road to the Montanvert is a broad and easy bridle-path, which, after
leaving the valley, traverses a pine-forest in its ascent and becomes in
places somewhat steep. Here and there a zigzag is found necessary, and
in several places there are tracks of avalanches. About half-way up
there is a spring named the Caillet which was shaded by trees in days of
yore, but the avalanches have swept these away. Beside the spring of
pure water there was a spring of "fire-water," in a hut where so-called
"refreshments" might also be obtained. As none of our party deemed it
necessary to stimulate powers, which, at that time of the day, were
fresh and vigorous, they passed this point of temptation without
halting.
Other temptations, however, were not so easily resisted. The Professor
was stopped by rocky stratifications, the ladies were stopped by flowers
and views, the younger gentlemen were of course stopped by the ladies,
and the mad artist was stopped by everything. Poor Mr Slingsby, who
had been asked to join the party, in virtue of his being a friend of the
Count, and, therefore, of Nita, was so torn by the conflict resulting
from his desire to cultivate Nita, and cut out Lewis and Lawrence, and
his desire to prosecute his beloved art, that he became madder than
usual. "Splendid foregrounds" met him at every turn; "lovely
middle-distances" chained him in everywhere; "enchanting backgrounds"
beset him on all sides; gorgeous colours dazzled him above and below;
and Nita's black eyes pierced him continually through and through. It
was terrible! He was constantly getting into positions of danger--going
out on ledges to obtain particular views, rolling his large eyes,
pulling off his hat and tossing back his long hair, so as to drink in
more thoroughly the beauties around him, and clambering up precipices to
fetch down bunches of wild flowers when Nita chanced to express the most
distant allusion to, or admiration of, them.
"He will leave his bones in one crevasse!" growled Antoine, on seeing
him rush to a point of vantage, and, for the fiftieth time, squat down
to make a rapid sketch of some "exquisite bit" that had taken his fancy.
"'Tis of no use," he said, on returning to his friends, "I cannot
sketch. The beauties around me are too much for me."
He glanced timidly at Nita, who looked at him boldly, laughed, and
advised him to shut his eyes, so as not to be distracted with such
beauties.
"Impossible; I cannot choose but look. See," he said, pointing backward
to their track, "see what a lovely effect of tender blue and yellow
through yonder opening--"
"D'you mean Gillie?" asked Lewis, with a quiet grin, as that reckless
youth suddenly presented his blue coat and yellow buttons in the very
opening referred to.
The laugh called forth by this was checked by the voice of Captain
Wopper, who was far in advance shouting to them to come on.
A few minutes more, and the whole party stood on the Montanvert beside
the small inn which has been erected there for the use of summer
tourists, and from which point the great glacier broke for the first
time in all its grandeur, on their view.
Well might Emma and Nita stand entranced for some time, unable to find
utterance to their feelings, save in the one word--wonderful! Even
Slingsby's mercurial spirit was awed into silence, for, straight before
them, the white and frozen billows of the Mer de Glace stretched for
miles away up into the gorges of the giant hills until lost in and
mingled with the clouds of heaven.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
The Pursuit of Science under Difficulties.
After the first burst of enthusiasm and interest had abated, the
attention of the party became engrossed in the proceedings of the
Professor, who, with his assistants, began at once to adjust his
theodolite, and fix stakes in the ice. While he was thus engaged,
Captain Wopper regarded the Mer de Glace with a gaze of fixedness so
intense as to draw on him the attention and arouse the curiosity of his
friends.
"D'you see anything curious, Captain?" asked Emma, who chanced to stand
beside him.
"Coorious--eh?" repeated the Captain slowly, without altering his gaze
or adding to his reply.
"Monsieur le Capitaine is lost in consternation," said Nita, with a
smile.
"I think, Miss Horetzki," said Lewis, "that you probably mean
_admiration_."
"How you knows w'at I mean?" demanded Nita, quickly.
"Ha! a very proper and pertinent question," observed Slingsby, in an
audible though under tone.
"I nevair do put _pertinent_ questions, sir," said Nita, turning her
black eyes sharply, though with something of a twinkle in them, on the
mad artist.
Poor Slingsby began to explain, but Nita cut him short by turning to
Lewis and again demanding, "How you knows w'at I mean?"
"The uniform propriety of your thoughts, Mademoiselle," replied Lewis,
with a continental bow, and an air of pretended respect, "induces me to
suppose that your words misinterpret them."
Nita's knowledge of English was such that this remark gave her only a
hazy idea of the youth's meaning; she accepted it, however, as an
apologetic explanation, and ordered him to awaken the Captain and find
out from him what it was that so riveted his attention.
"You hear my orders," said Lewis, laying his hand with a slap on the
Captain's shoulder. "What are you staring at?"
"Move!" murmured the Captain, returning as it were to consciousness with
a long deep sigh, "it don't move an inch."
"_What_ does not move?" said Lawrence, who had been assisting to adjust
the theodolite, and came forward at the moment.
"The ice, to be sure," answered the Captain. "I say, Professor, do 'ee
mean to tell me that the whole of that there Mairdy-glass is movin'?"
"I do," answered the Professor, pausing for a minute in his
arrangements, and looking over his spectacles at the Captain with an
amused expression.
"Then," returned the Captain, with emphasis, "I think you'll find that
you're mistaken."
"Ha! Captain Weeper--"
"Wopper," said the Captain.
"Wopper," repeated the Professor, "you are not the first who has
expressed disbelief in what he cannot see, and you will assuredly not be
the last; but if you will wait I will convince you."
"Very good," replied the Captain, "I'm open to conviction."
"Which means," said Lewis, "that you have nailed your colours to the
mast, and mean to die rather than give in."
"No doubt," said the Captain, paying no attention to the last remark, "I
see, _and_ believe, that at some time or other the ice here must have
been in a flowin' state. I'm too well aware o' the shape of waves an'
eddies, cross-currents and ripples, to doubt or deny that but any man
with half an eye can see that it's anchored hard and fast _now_. I've
looked at it without flinchin' for good ten minutes, and not the
smallest sign of motion can I detect."
"So might you say of the hour-hand of a watch," observed Lawrence.
"Not at all," retorted the Captain, becoming argumentative. "I look at
the hour-hand of a watch for ten minutes and don't see it move, but I
_do_ see that it has in reality passed over a very small but appreciable
space in that time."
"Just so," said the Professor, "I will ere long show you the same thing
in regard to the ice."
"I'll bet you ten thousand pounds you don't," returned the Captain, with
an assured nod.
"Colours nailed!" said Lewis; "but I say, Captain," he added,
remonstratively, "I thought you were a sworn enemy to gambling. Isn't
betting gambling?"
"It is, young man," answered the Captain, "but I always bet ten thousand
pounds sterling, which I never mean to pay if I lose, nor to accept if I
win--and that is _not_ gambling. Put that in your pipe and smoke it;
and if you'll take my advice, you'll go look after your friend Slingsby,
who is gambolling up yonder in another fashion that will soon bring him
to grief if he's not stopped."
All eyes were turned towards the mad artist, who, finding that his
advances to Mademoiselle Nita were not well received, had for the time
forsaken her, and returned to his first (and professional) love. In
wooing her, he had clambered to an almost inaccessible cliff from which
he hoped to obtain a very sketchable view of the Mer de Glace, and, when
Captain Wopper drew attention to him, was making frantic efforts to
swing himself by the branch of a tree to a projecting rock, which was so
slightly attached to its parent cliff that his weight would in all
probability have hurled it and himself down the precipice.
The remonstrative shouts of his friends, however, induced him to desist,
and he sat down to work in a less perilous position.
Meanwhile the Professor, having completed his preliminary preparations,
ordered his assistants to go and "fix the stakes in the ice."
It had been arranged that while the scientific experiments were in
progress, the young ladies should ramble about the neighbourhood in
search of flowers and plants, under the care of Lewis, until two
o'clock, at which hour all were to assemble at the Montanvert hotel for
luncheon, Captain Wopper and Lawrence resolving to remain and assist, or
at least observe, the Professor. The former, indeed, bearing in mind
his great and ruling wish even in the midst of scientific doubt and
inquiries, had suggested that the latter should also accompany the
ladies, the country being somewhat rugged, and the ladies--especially
Miss Emma--not being very sure-footed; but Lawrence, to his
disappointment, had declined, saying that the ladies had a sufficient
protector in the gallant Lewis, and that Miss Emma was unquestionably
the surest-footed of the whole party.
Lawrence therefore remained, and, at the Professor's request,
accompanied the party who were to fix the stakes on the ice.
As this operation was attended with considerable difficulty and some
danger, we will describe the process.
Finding that the spot which he had first chosen for his observations was
not a very good one, the Professor changed his position to a point
farther down on the steep sloping rocks that form the left bank of the
Glacier des Bois. Here the theodolite was fixed. This instrument as
even our young readers may probably know, is a small telescope attached
to a stand with three long legs, and having spirit-levels, by means of
which it can be fixed in a position, if we may say so, of exact flatness
with reference to the centre of the earth. Within the telescope are two
crossed hairs of a spider's-web, so fine as to be scarcely visible to
the naked eye, and so arranged that their crossing-point is exactly in
the centre of the tube. By means of pivots and screws the telescope can
be moved up or down, right or left, without in the smallest degree
altering the flatness or position of its stand. On looking through the
telescope the delicate threads can be distinctly seen, and the point
where they cross can be brought to bear on any distant object.
Having fixed the instrument on the rocks quite clear of the ice, the
Professor determined the direction of a supposed line perpendicular to
the axis of the glacier. He then sought for a conspicuous and
well-defined object on the opposite side of the valley, as near as
possible to that direction. In this he was greatly helped by Captain
Wopper, who, having been long accustomed to look-out with precision at
sea, found it not very difficult to apply his powers on land.
"There's a good land-mark, Professor," he said, pointing towards a
sharply-cut rock, "as like the Dook of Wellington's nose as two peas."
"I see it," said the Professor, whose solid and masculine countenance
was just the smallest possible degree flushed by the strong
under-current of enthusiasm with which he prosecuted his experiments.
"You couldn't have a better object than the pint o' that," observed the
Captain, whose enthusiasm was quite as great as, and his excitement much
greater than, that of the Professor.
Having carefully directed the telescope to the extreme point of the
"Dook's" nose, the Professor now ordered one of his assistants to go on
the glacier with a stake. Lawrence descended with him, and thus planted
his foot on glacier-ice for the first time, as Lewis afterwards
remarked, in the pursuit scientific knowledge.
While they were clambering slowly down among the loose boulders and
_debris_ which had been left by the glacier in previous years, the
Professor carefully sketched the Duke of Wellington's nose with the
rocks, etcetera, immediately around it, in his notebook, so that it
might be easily recognised again on returning to the spot on a future
day.
The assistant who had been sent out with the first stake proved to be
rather stupid, so that it was fortunate he had been accompanied by
Lawrence, and by the guide, Antoine Grennon, who stirred up his
perceptions. By rough signalling he was made to stand near the place
where the first stake was to be driven in. The telescope was then
lowered, and the man was made, by signals, to move about and plant his
stake here and there in an upright position until the point of
intersection of the spider's threads fell exactly on the bottom of the
stake. A pre-arranged signal was then made, and at that point an auger
hole was bored deep into the ice and the stake driven home.
"So much for number one," said Captain Wopper, with a look of
satisfaction.
"They won't fix the other ones so easily," observed the Professor,
re-examining the stake through the telescope with great care.
He was right in this. The first stake had been planted not far from the
shore, but now Lawrence and his party had to proceed in a straight line
over the glacier, which, at this steep portion of its descent into the
Vale of Chamouni, was rent, dislocated, and tortured, to such an extent
that it was covered with huge blocks and pinnacles of ice, and seamed
with yawning crevasses. To clamber over some of the ice-ridges was
almost impossible, and, in order to avoid pinnacles and crevasses, which
were quite impassable, frequent _detours_ had to be made. If the object
of the ice-party had merely been to cross the glacier, the difficulties
would not have been great; but the necessity of always returning to the
straight line pointed out by the inexorable theodolite, led them into
positions of considerable difficulty. To the inexperienced Lawrence
they also appeared to be positions of great danger, much to the
amusement of Antoine, who, accustomed as he was to the fearful
ice-slopes and abysses of the higher regions, looked upon this work as
mere child's play.
"You'll come to have a different notion of crevasses, sir," he said,
with a quiet smile, "after you've bin among the seracs of the Grand
Mulet, and up some of the couloirs of Monte Rosa."
"I doubt it not, Antoine," said Lawrence, gazing with feelings of awe
into a terrible split in the ice, whose beautiful light-blue sides
deepened into intense blackness as they were lost to vision in an abyss,
out of which arose the deep-toned gurgling of sub-glacial streams; "but
you must not forget that this is quite new to me, and my feet are not
yet aware of the precise grip with which they must hold on to so
slippery a foundation."
It was in truth no discredit to Lawrence that he felt a tendency to
shrink from edges of chasms which appeared ready to break off, or walked
with caution on ice-slopes which led to unfathomable holes, for the said
slopes, although not steep, were undoubtedly slippery.
After much clambering, a ridge was at length gained, on which the second
stake was set up, and then the party proceeded onwards to fix the third;
but now the difficulties proved to be greater than before. A huge block
of ice was fixed upon as that which would suit their purpose, but it
stood like a peninsula in the very midst of a crevasse, and connected
with the main body of ice by a neck which looked as sharp as a knife on
its upper edge, so that none but tight-rope or slack-wire dancers could
have proceeded along it; and even such performers would have found the
edge too brittle to sustain them.
"You'll have to show, Monsieur, some of your mountaineer skill here?"
said the man who carried the stakes to Antoine.
He spoke in French, which Lawrence understood perfectly. We render it
as nearly as possible into the counterpart English.
Antoine at once stepped forward with his Alpine axe, and, swinging it
vigorously over his head, cut a deep notch on the sloping side of the
neck of ice. Beyond it he cut a second notch. No man--not even a
monkey--could have stood on the glassy slope which descended into the
abyss at their side; but Antoine, putting one foot in the first notch,
and the other in the second, stood as secure as if he had been on a flat
rock. Again he swung his axe, and planted his foot in a third notch,
swinging his axe the instant it was fixed for the purpose of cutting the
fourth. Thus, cut by cut and step by step, he passed over to the block
of ice aimed at. It was but a short neck. A few notches were
sufficient, yet without an axe to cut these notches, the place had been
absolutely impassable. It was by no means a "dangerous" place,
according to the ideas of Alpine mountaineers, nevertheless a slip, or
the loss of balance, would have been followed by contain death. Antoine
knew this, and, like a wise guide, took proper precautions.
"Stay, sir," he said, as Lawrence was screwing up his courage to follow
him, "I will show you another piece of Alpine practice."
He returned as he spoke, and, unwinding a coil of rope which he carried,
fastened one end thereof round his waist. Allowing a few feet of
interval, he then fastened the rope round Lawrence's waist, and the
assistants with the stakes--of whom there were two besides the man
already referred to--also attached themselves to the rope in like
manner. By this means they all passed over with comparative security,
because if any one of them had chanced to slip, the others would have
fixed the points of their axes and alpenstocks in the ice and held on
until their overbalanced comrade should have been restored to his
position.
On gaining the block, however, it was found that the line communicating
with the theodolite on the one hand, and the Dook's nose on the other,
just missed it. The Professor's signals continued to indicate "more to
the left," (_his_ left, that is) until the stake-driver stood on the
extreme edge of the crevasse, and his comrades held on tight by the rope
to prevent him from falling over. Still the professor indicated "more
to the left!"
As "more to the left" implied the planting of the stake in atmospheric
air, they were fain to search for a suitable spot farther on.
This they found, after some scrambling, on a serrated ridge whose edge
was just wide and strong enough to sustain them. Here the exact line
was marked, but while the hole was being bored, an ominous crack was
heard ascending as if from the heart of the glacier.
"What was that?" said Lawrence, turning to the guide with a quick
surprised look.
"Only a split in the ice somewhere. It's a common sound enough, as you
might expect in a mass that is constantly moving," replied Antoine,
looking gravely round him, "but I can't help thinking that this lump of
ice, with crevasses on each side, is not the best of all spots for
fixing a stake. It isn't solid enough."
As he spoke, another crash was heard, not quite so loud as the last and
at the same moment the whole mass on which the party stood slid forward
a few inches. It seemed as if it were about to tumble into the very
jaws of the crevasse. With the natural instinct of self-preservation
strong upon him, Lawrence darted across the narrow ridge to the firm ice
in rear, dispensing entirely with that extreme caution which had marked
his first passage over it. Indeed the tight-rope and slack-wire dancers
formerly referred to could not have performed the feat with greater
lightness, rapidity, and precision. The stake-drivers followed him with
almost similar alacrity. Even the guide retraced his steps without
further delay than was necessary to permit of his picking up the stakes
which their proper custodians had left behind in their alarm--for they
were not guides, merely young and inexperienced porters.
"For shame, lads," said Antoine, laughing and shaking his head, "you'll
be but bad specimens of the men of Chamouni if you don't learn more
coolness on the ice."
One would have thought that coolness on the ice was an almost
unavoidable consequence of the surrounding conditions, yet Lawrence
seemed to contradict the idea, for his face appeared unusually warm as
he laughed and said:--
"The shame lies with me, Antoine, for I set them the example, and all
history goes to prove that even brave men are swept away under the
influence of a panic which the act of one cowardly man may produce."
As Lawrence spoke in French, the porters understood and appreciated his
defence of them, but Antoine would by no means encourage the fallacy.
"It is not cowardly, sir," he said, "to spring quickly out of a danger
that one don't understand the nature of, but the young men of Chamouni
have, or ought to have, a good understanding of the nature of ice, and
the danger should be great indeed that would necessitate the leaving of
their tools behind them."
A roar like that of a bull of Bashan, or a boatswain, here interrupted
the conversation.
"Don't plant your post the-r-r-re," shouted Captain Wopper from the
banks of the ice-river, "the Professor says the ice ain't firm enough.
Heave ahead--to where its ha-a-ard an' fa-a-ast."
"Ay, ay, sir," shouted Lawrence, with nautical brevity, in reply.
The next stake was accordingly fixed on a part of the ice which was
obviously incapable of what might be called a local slip, and which
must, if it moved at all, do so in accordance with the movements of the
entire glacier.
Thus one by one the stakes were planted in a perfectly straight line, so
that when Captain Wopper was requested by the Professor to look through
the telescope--which he did with a seaman's readiness and precision--he
observed that all the stakes together appeared to form but one stake,
the bottom of which was touched on one side of the Mer de Glace by the
centre-point of the crossed threads, and, on the other, by the extreme
point of the "Dook" of Wellington's nose. The last stake had been fixed
not many yards distant from the opposite bank of the glacier.
"Now," said the Professor, with a deep sigh of satisfaction when all
this was accomplished and noted, "we will go have our luncheon and
return hither to-morrow to observe the result of our experiments. But
first we must fix the exact position of our theodolite, for unless it
occupies to a hair's-breadth to-morrow the same position which it
occupies to-day, the result will be quite inconclusive."
So saying, the man of science took a little line and plummet from his
pocket, which he hung under the theodolite, and the spot where the
plummet touched the ground was carefully marked by a small stake driven
quite down to its head.
Thereafter an attempt was made to gather together the scattered party,
but this was difficult. Owing to various causes several members of it
had become oblivious of time. Emma had forgotten time in the pursuit of
wild-flowers, of which she was excessively fond, partly because she had
learned to press and classify and write their proper names under them,
but chiefly because they were intrinsically lovely, and usually grew in
the midst of beautiful scenery. Nita had forgotten it in the pursuit of
Emma, of whom she had become suddenly and passionately fond, partly
because she possessed a loving nature, but chiefly because Emma was her
counterpart. Lewis had forgotten it in pursuit of Nita, of whom he had
become extremely fond, partly because she was pretty and pert, but
chiefly because he--he--well, we cannot say precisely why, seeing that
he did not inform us, and did not himself appear clearly to know.
Slingsby had forgotten it in the ardent effort to reproduce on paper and
with pencil, a scene so magnificent that a brush dipped in the rainbow
and applied by Claude or Turner would have utterly failed to do it
justice; and last, as well as least, Gillie White had forgotten it in
the pursuit of general knowledge, in which pursuit he had used his
alpenstock effectively in opening up everything, stabbing, knocking
down, uprooting, overturning, and generally shattering everything that
was capable of being in any degree affected by the physical powers and
forces at his command. There can be no doubt whatever that if Gillie
White had been big and strong enough, Mont Blanc itself would have
succumbed that day to his inquiring mind, and the greatest ice-reservoir
of Europe would have been levelled with the plain. As it was, he merely
levelled himself, after reaching the point of exhaustion, and went to
sleep on the sunny side of a rock, where he was nearly roasted alive
before being aroused by the shouts of Captain Wopper.
At last, however, the party assembled at the Montanvert, where, amid
interjectional accounts of the various incidents and adventures of the
forenoon, strength was recruited for the subsequent operations of the
day. These, however, were only matters of amusement. The Professor,
remarking jocosely that he now cast science to the dogs and cats (which
latter he pronounced cawts), sent his instruments back to Chamouni, and,
with the zest of a big boy let loose from school, crossed the Mer de
Glace to the Chapeau.
This feat was by no means so difficult as that which had been
accomplished by Lawrence. It will be remembered that the spot selected
for measurement had been at the steep and rugged part of the ice-river
styled the Glacier des Bois, below the Montanvert. The ordinary
crossing-place lay considerably higher up, just opposite to the inn.
The track had been marked out over the easiest and flattest part of the
ice, and levelled here and there where necessary for the special benefit
of tourists. Still man--even when doing his worst in the way of making
rough places plain, and robbing nature of some of her romance--could not
do much to damage the grandeur of that impressive spot. His axe only
chipped a little of the surface and made the footing secure. It could
not mar the beauty of the picturesque surroundings, or dim the sun's
glitter on the ice-pinnacles, or taint the purity of these delicate blue
depths into which Emma and Nita gazed for the first time with admiration
and surprise while they listened to the mysterious murmurings of
sub-glacial waters with mingled feelings of curiosity and awe.
Full of interest they traversed the grand unfathomable river of ice,--
the product of the compressed snows of innumerable winters,--and,
reaching the other side in less than an hour, descended the Chapeau
through the terminal moraine.
Those who have not seen it can form but a faint conception of the
stupendous mass of _debris_ which is cut, torn, wrenched, carried,
swept, hurled, rolled, crushed, and ground down by a glacier from the
mountain-heights into the plain below. The terminal moraine of the Mer
de Glace is a whole valley whose floor and sides are not only quite, but
deeply, covered with rocks of every shape and size, from a pebble the
size of a pea, to a boulder as large as a cottage, all strewn, piled,
and heaped together in a wild confusion that is eminently suggestive of
the mighty force which cast them there.
"To me there do seem something dreadful as well as grand in it," said
Nita, as she sat down on a boulder beside Emma, near the lower end of
the chaotic valley.
"It is, indeed, terrible," answered Emma, "and fills me with wonder when
I think that frozen water possesses power so stupendous."
"And yet the same element," said the Professor, "which, when frozen,
thus rends the mountains with force irresistible, when melted flows
through the land in gentle fertilising streams. In both forms its power
is most wonderful."
"Like that of Him who created it," said Emma, in a low tone.
The party stood on the margin of a little pond or lakelet that had
collected in the midst of the _debris_, and which, by reflecting the
clear sky and their figures, with several large boulders on its margin,
gave point and a measure of softness to the otherwise confused and
rugged scene. While they stood and sat rapt in silent contemplation of
the tongue of the Mer de Glace, at whose tip was the blue ice-cave
whence issued the Arveiron, a lordly eagle rose from a neighbouring
cliff and soared grandly over their heads, while a bright gleam of the
sinking sun shot over the white shoulders of Mont Blanc and lit up the
higher end of the valley, throwing the lower part into deeper shade by
contrast.
"There is a warning to us," said Lewis, whose chief interest in the
scene lay in the reflection of it that gleamed from Nita Horetzki's
eyes.
"Which is the warning," asked Slingsby, "the gleam of sunshine or the
eagle?"
"Both, for while the sun is going to bed behind the snow, the eagle is
doubtless going home to her eyrie, and Antoine tells me that it is full
three miles from this spot to our hotel in Chamouni."
It did not take them long to traverse that space, and ere long, like the
eagle and the sun, the whole party had retired to rest--the younger
members, doubtless, to dreamless slumber; the Professor and the Captain,
probably, to visions of theodolites and ice.
Although, however, these worthies must needs await the coming day to
have their scientific hopes realised, it would be cruel to keep our
patient reader in suspense. We may ther
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