CHAPTER SEVEN.
MILES BEGINS TO DISCOVER HIMSELF--HAS A FEW ROUGH EXPERIENCES--AND FALLSINTO PEA-SOUP, SALT-WATER, AND LOVE.
While his mother was hunting for him in Portsmouth, Miles Milton wascleaving his way through the watery highway of the world, at the rate offifteen knots.
He was at the time in that lowest condition of misery, mental andphysical, which is not unfrequently the result of "a chopping sea in theChannel." It seemed to him, just then, an unbelievable mystery how hecould, at any time, have experienced pleasure at the contemplation offood! The heaving of the great white ship was nothing to the heaving--well, it may perhaps be wiser to refrain from particulars; but he feltthat the beating of the two thousand horse-power engines--more or less--was child's-play to the throbbing of his brain!
"And this," he thought, in the bitterness of his soul, "this is what Ihave sacrificed home, friends, position, prospects in life for! Thisis--soldiering!"
The merest shadow of the power to reason--if such a shadow had beenleft--might have convinced him that that was _not_ soldiering; that, asfar as it went, it was not even sailoring!
"You're very bad, I fear," remarked a gentle voice at the side of hishammock.
Miles looked round. It was good-natured, lanky, cadaverous Moses Pyne.
"Who told you I was bad?" asked Miles savagely, putting a wrong--but tootrue--interpretation on the word.
"The colour of your cheeks tells me, poor fellow!"
"Bah!" exclaimed Miles. He was too sick to say more. He might havesaid less with advantage.
"Shall I fetch you some soup?" asked Moses, in the kindness of hisheart. Moses, you see, was one of those lucky individuals who are bornwith an incapacity to be sick at sea, and was utterly ignorant of thecruelty he perpetrated. "Or some lobscouse?" he added.
"Go away!" gasped Miles.
"A basin of--"
Miles exploded, literally as well as metaphorically, and Moses retired.
"Strange," thought that healthy soldier, as he stalked away on furthererrands of mercy, stooping as he went to avoid beams--"strange thatMiles is so changeable in character. I had come to think him a steady,reliable sort of chap."
Puzzling over this difficulty, he advanced to the side of anotherhammock, from which heavy groans were issuing.
"Are you very bad, corporal?" he asked in his usual tone of sympathy.
"Bad is it?" said Flynn. "Och! it's worse nor bad I am! Couldn't ye axthe captin to heave-to for a--"
The suggestive influence of heaving-to was too much for Flynn. Hepulled up dead. After a few moments he groaned--
"Arrah! be off, Moses, av ye don't want my fist on yer nose."
"Extraordinary!" murmured the kindly man, as he removed to anotherhammock, the occupant of which was differently constituted.
"Moses," he said, as the visitant approached.
"Yes, Gaspard," was the eager reply, "can I do anything for you?"
"Yes; if you'd go on deck, refresh yourself with a walk, and leave usall alone, you'll con--fer--on--"
Gaspard ceased to speak; he had already spoken too much; and Moses Pyne,still wondering, quietly took his advice.
But if the Channel was bad, the Bay of Biscay was, according to Flynn,"far badder."
Before reaching that celebrated bay, however, most of the men hadrecovered, and, with more or less lugubrious aspects and yellow-greencomplexions, were staggering about, attending to their various duties.No doubt their movements about the vessel were for some timecharacterised by that disagreement between action and will which issometimes observed in feeble chickens during a high wind, but, on thewhole, activity and cheerfulness soon began to re-animate the frames andspirits of Britain's warriors.
And now Miles Milton began to find out, as well as to fix, in somedegree, his natural character. Up to this period in his life, a mildexistence in a quiet home, under a fairly good though irascible fatherand a loving Christian mother, had not afforded him much opportunity ofdiscovering what he was made of. Recent events had taught him prettysharply that there was much room for improvement. He also discoveredthat he possessed a very determined will in the carrying out of hisintentions, especially when those intentions were based upon hisdesires. Whether he would be equally resolute in carrying outintentions that did _not_ harmonise with his desires remained to beseen.
His mother, among her other teachings, had often tried to impress on hisyoung mind the difference between obstinacy and firmness.
"My boy," she was wont to say, while smoothing his curly head, "don'tmistake obstinacy for firmness. A man who says `I _will_ do this orthat in spite of all the world,' against advice, and simply because he_wants_ to do it, is obstinate. A man who says, `I _will_ do this orthat in spite of all the world,' against advice, against his owndesires, and simply because it is the right thing to do, is firm."
Remembering this, and repenting bitterly his having so cruelly forsakenhis mother, our hero cast about in his mind how best he could put someof her precepts into practice, as being the only consolation that wasnow possible to him. You see, the good seed sown in those early dayswas beginning to spring up in unlikely circumstances. Of course thehabit of prayer, and reading a few verses from the Bible night andmorning, recurred to him. This had been given up since he left home.He now resumed it, though, for convenience, he prayed while stretched inhis hammock!
But this did not satisfy him. He must needs undertake some disagreeablework, and carry it out with that degree of obstinacy which would amountto firmness. After mature consideration, he sought and obtainedpermission to become one of the two cooks to his mess. Moses Pyne wasthe other.
Nothing, he felt, could be more alien to his nature, more disgusting inevery way to his feelings--and he was right. His dislike to the dutiesseemed rather to increase than to diminish day by day. Bitterly did herepent of having undertaken the duty, and earnestly did he considerwhether there might not be some possible and honourable way of drawingback, but he discovered none; and soon he proved--to himself as well asto others--that he did indeed possess, at least in some degree, firmnessof character.
The duties that devolved on him were trying. He had to scrub and keepthe mess clean and tidy; to draw all the provisions and prepare them forcooking; then, to take them to the galley, and fetch them when cooked.That this last was no simple matter, such as any shore-going tail-coatedwaiter might undertake, was brought forcibly out one day during whatseamen style dirty weather.
It was raining at the time. The sea was grey, the sky was greyer, andas the steamer itself was whitey-grey, it was a grave businessaltogether.
"Is the soup ready, Moses?" asked Miles, as he ascended towards the deckand met his _confrere_ coming down.
"I don't know. Shall I go an' see?"
"No; you can go and look after the table. I will fetch the soup."
"A nasty sea on," remarked a voice, which sounded familiar in Miles'sears as he stepped on deck.
"Hallo! Jack Molloy!" he exclaimed, catching hold of a stanchion tosteady himself, as a tremendous roll of the vessel caused a sea to flashover the side and send a shower-bath in his face. "What part of the skydid you drop from? I thought I had left you snug in the _Sailors'Welcome_."
"Werry likely you did, John Miles," answered the tar, balancing himselfwith perfect ease, and caring no more for spray than if he had been adolphin; "but I'm here for all that--one o' the crew o' this heretransport, though I means to wolunteer for active sarvice when I getsout. An' no wonder we didn't come across each other sooner! In sitch aenormous tubful o' lobsters, etceterer, it's a wonder we've met at all.An' p'r'aps you've bin a good deal under hatches since you comea-boord?"
Molloy said this with a knowing look and a grin. Miles met the remarkin a similar spirit.
"Yes, Jack, I've been paying tribute to Neptune lately."
"You looks like it, Miles, judgin' by the colour o' your jib. Whereaway now?"
"Going for our soup."
"What! made you cook o' the mess?"
"Ay; don't you wish you were me?"
Another roll and flash of spray ended the conversation and separated thefriends.
The pea-soup was ready when our hero reached the galley. Having filledthe mess-tureen with the appetising mixture, he commenced the returnjourney with great care, for he was now dependent entirely on his legs,both hands being engaged. Miles was handy, if we may say so, with hislegs. Once or twice he had to rush and thrust a shoulder against thebulwarks, and a dash of spray served for salt to the soup; but he wasprogressing favourably and had traversed full three-quarters of thedistance to the hatch when a loud "Hooroo!" caused him to look roundsmartly.
He had just time to see Corporal Flynn, who had slipped and fallen, comerolling towards him like a sack of flour. Next moment he was swept offhis legs, and went into the lee scuppers with his comrade in a bath ofpea-soup and salt-water!
Fortunately, the obliging wave which came in-board at the same momentmingled with the soup, and saved both men from a scalding.
Such mishaps, however, were rare, and they served rather to enliven thevoyage than otherwise.
Besides the duties already mentioned, our hero had to wash up all thedishes and other things at meal-hours; to polish up the mess-kettles andtin dishes; and, generally, to put things away in their places, and keepthings in apple-pie order. Recollecting another of his mother'steachings--"Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well"--hetried his best, and was so ably seconded by the amiable Moses, that theMiles-Moses mess came to be at last regarded as the best-kept one onboard.
One morning, after clearing up the dishes and putting things in order,Miles went on deck for a little fresh air. On the way up he met anelderly gentleman whose dress proclaimed him a clergyman.
He looked earnestly at our hero, and, nodding kindly, spoke a few wordsto him in passing. Miles had been aware that there was a clergyman onboard going out to Egypt with his family--whether in connection with thetroops or for health he did not know. He was much impressed with thelooks and expression of this man. It seemed to him as if there weresome sort of attractive power about him which was unaccountably strong,and he felt quite interested in the prospect of hearing him preach onthe following Sunday.
While on deck the previous day, he had seen the figures of two ladies,whom he rightly judged to be the family above referred to, but as therewas nearly the whole distance of the ship's length between them, hecould not distinguish their faces.
On taking his place when Sunday came, he observed that the family werepresent, seated, however, in such a position that he could only seetheir backs. Speculating in a listless way as to what sort of facesthey had, he whiled away the few minutes before the service began.
He was recalled from this condition by the tones of the clergyman'svoice, which seemed to have the same effect on him as his look andmanner had the day they first met. During the sermon Miles's attentionwas riveted, insomuch that he almost forgot where he was. The text wasa familiar one--"God is Love,"--but the treatment of it seemed entirelynew: the boundless nature of that love; its incomprehensible andalmighty force; its enduring certainty and its overwhelming immensity,embracing, as it did, the whole universe in Christ, were themes on whichthe preacher expatiated in a way that Miles had never before dreamed of.
"All subordinate love," said the preacher, in concluding, "has itssource in this. No wonder, then, that it is spoken of in Scripture as alove `which passeth knowledge.'"
When the men rose to leave, it could be easily seen that they weredeeply impressed. As they went out slowly, Miles passed close to theplace where the ladies sat. The slighter of the two was talking in alow tone to her companion, and the young soldier was struck with thewonderful resemblance in her tone to that of the preacher. He wonderedif her face also resembled his in any degree, and glanced back, but thehead was turned away.
"I like that parson. He has got _brains_," remarked Sergeant Hardy, ashe walked along the deck with Sergeant Gilroy and Corporal Flynn.
"Sur' an' I like him too," said the corporal, "for he's got _heart_!"
"Heart and brains," returned Gilroy: "a grand combination! What morecould we want?"
"Don't you think that _tongue_ is also essential?" asked Miles. "Butfor the preacher's eloquence his heart and brain would have worked invain."
"Come now, John Miles, don't you be risin' up into poethry. It's notyer natur--though ye think it is. Besides, av a man's heart an' brainsis all right, he can make good use of 'em widout much tongue. Me ownnotion is that it's thim as hasn't got much to spake of, aither of heartor brain, as is over-fond o' waggin' the tongue."
"That's so, Flynn. You're a living example of the truth of your ownopinion," retorted Miles.
"Och! is it angered ye are at gittin' the worst o' the argiment?"rejoined the corporal. "Niver mind, boy, you'll do better by and by--"
As Flynn descended the ladder while he spoke, the sense of what he saidwas lost, but the truth of his opinion still continued to receiveillustration from the rumbling of his voice, until it was swallowed upin the depths of the vessel.
Next day our hero received a shock from which he never finallyrecovered!
Be not alarmed, reader; it was not paralytic in its nature. It happenedon this wise:
Miles had occasion to go to the fore part of the ship on some culinarybusiness, without his coat, and with his sleeves rolled up above hiselbows. Arrived there, he found that the captain was taking the ladiesround the ship to point out some of its interesting details. As Milescame up, the younger lady turned round so as to present her full face tohim. It was then that poor Miles received the shock above referred to.At that moment a little boy with wings and a bow stepped right in frontof the young lady and shot straight at Miles Milton! The arrow enteredhis heart, and he--no, he did not fall; true men in such circumstancesnever fall! They stand transfixed, sometimes, or stupefied. Thus stoodMiles and stared. Yes, though naturally modest and polite, he stood andstared!
And small blame to him, as Flynn might have said, for before him stoodhis ideal of a fairy, an angel, a sylph--or anything beautiful that bestsuits your fancy, reader! Sunny hair, sunny eyes--earnest and inquiringeyes--sunny smiles, and eyebrows to match. Yes, she had eyebrowsdistinctly darker than her hair, and well-defined over a pair of largebrown eyes.
Poor Miles was stricken, as we have said; but--would you believe it?--there were men there looking at that girl at that time who, to use theirown phraseology, would not have accepted a dozen of her for the girlsthey had left behind them! One young fellow in particular murmured tohimself as follows--"Yes, very well in her way, no doubt, but shecouldn't hold a candle to my Emmy!" Perhaps the most cutting remark ofall--made mentally, of course--was that of Sergeant Grady, who, forreasons best known to himself, had left a wife, describable as a stoutwell-favoured girl of forty, behind him.
"In twenty years or so," he thought, "she may perhaps be near asgood-lookin' as my Susy, but she'll never come quite up to her--never!"
"Come this way, Mrs Drew," said the captain. "I will show you themen's quarters. Out of the way, my man!"
Flushing to the roots of his hair, Miles stepped hastily aside.
As he did so there was heard an awful rend of a sort that tests thetemper of women! It was followed by a musical scream. The girl's dresshad caught on a block tackle.
Miles leaped forward and unhooked it. He was rewarded with a smiling"Thank you," which was followed by a blush of confusion as Miss Drew'smother exclaimed, "Oh! Marion--how _could_ you?" by way of makingthings easier for her, no doubt!
"You did that, young man, about as smart as I could a' done it myself,"growled a voice behind him.
The speaker was Jack Molloy, and a general titter followed Miles as hehurried away.
As we have said, the weather became much worse when the troop-ship drewnear to the Bay of Biscay; and it soon became evident that they were notto cross that famous portion of the Atlanti
c, without experiencing someof the violent action for which it is famed. But by that time most ofthe soldiers, according to Molloy, had got their sea-legs on, and ratherenjoyed the tossing than otherwise.
"I do like this sort o' thing," said a beardless young fellow, as anumber of the men sat on camp-stools, or stood on the weather-side ofthe deck, chatting together about past times and future prospects.
"Ha!" exclaimed a seaman, who stood near them coiling up a rope; "holdon till you've got a taste o' the Bay. This is a mill-pond to that.And you'll have the chance to-night. If you don't, I'm a Dutchman."
"If I do, you'll have a taste of it too, old salt-water, for we're inthe same boat," retorted the young red-coat.
"True, but we ain't in the same body;" returned the sailor. "I shouldjust like to see your four-futt legs wobblin' about in a nor'-west gale.You'd sing another song."
"Come, Macleod," cried Moses Pyne, "tip us a Gaelic song."
"Hoots, man, wull ye be wantin' to be made sea-seek?--for that's what'lldo it," said the big Scotsman. "Na, na, let Gaspard sing us `The Bay o'Biscay O!' That'll be mair appropriate."
There was a general chorus of assent to this; and as Gaspard Redgravewas an obliging man, untroubled by false modesty, he cleared his throatand began. His voice, being a really splendid one, attracted all themen who chanced to be within range of it: among others, Miles, who waspassing at the moment with a bag of biscuits in one hand and a meat-canin the other. He leaned up against one of those funnels which sendfresh air down to the stokers of steam-ships. He had listened only afew moments when Marion Drew glided amongst the men, and seemed to standas if entranced with delight in front of him, steadying herself by arope, for the vessel was pitching a good deal as well as rollingconsiderably.
At the first chorus the crowd burst forth with wild enthusiasm--
"As we lay, on that day, In the Bay of Biscay O!"
Dwelling with unnecessary length and emphasis on the "O!"
At the close of the second verse the men were preparing to burst forthagain when Miles observed an approaching billow which caused him tostart in alarm. Although unused to the aspect of waves, he had aninstinctive feeling that there was danger approaching. Voices ofwarning were promptly raised from different parts of the vessel, butalready the loud chorus had begun and drowned every other sound. Milesdropped his biscuits and sprang towards Marion, who, with flashing eyesand parted lips, was gazing at Gaspard. He just reached her when thewave burst over the side, and, catching most of the men quiteunprepared, swept them with terrible violence towards the lee-side ofthe deck.
Marion was standing directly in the line of this human cataract, butMiles swung her deftly round into the lee of the funnel, a handle ofwhich she happily caught, and clung to it like a limpet.
Her preserver was not so fortunate. The edge of the cataract struckhim, swept him off his legs, and hurled him with many comrades againstthe lee bulwarks, where he lay stunned and helpless in the swishingwater.
Of course soldiers and sailors ran from all parts of the vessel to therescue, and soon the injured men were carried below and attended to bythe doctors; and, considering the nature of the accident, it was matterfor surprise that the result was no worse than some pretty severecontusions and a few broken ribs.
When Miles recovered consciousness, he found himself in his hammock,with considerable pain in various parts of his body, and the ReverendJames Drew bending over him.
"You're all right now, my fine fellow," he said, in a low comfortingvoice. "No bones broken, so the doctors say. Only a little bruised."
"Tell me, sir," said Miles, rousing himself, "is--is your daughtersafe?"
"Yes, thanks be to God, and to your prompt assistance, she is none theworse--save the fright and a wetting."
Miles sank back on his pillows with a feeling of profound satisfaction.
"Now, you must try to sleep if you can," said the clergyman; "it will doyou good."
But Miles did not want anything to do him good. He was quite content tolie still and enjoy the simple fact that he had rescued Marion, perhapsfrom death--at all events from serious injury! As for pain--what wasthat to him? was he not a soldier--one whose profession requires him tosuffer _anything_ cheerfully in the discharge of duty! And was not lovethe highest duty?
On the strength of some such thoughts he forgot his pain and calmly wentto sleep.
Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan Page 7
