NOTES 
 
 publication before the expiratio 
 
 e next reader's name, the dat, 
 
 on: but, if you send any piilil 1 
 
 vhich it is actually sent. <vi. 
 
 Saturday beinir !i 
 
 b it is Loped tha' -r 

 
 - 
 
 V 
 
 -.A
 
 JOHN HOLDSWORTH 
 
 CHIEF MATE
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Crown 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth, 6s. ; also in 
 new series, uniform with this volume, y. 6d. 
 
 A SEA QUEEN. 
 
 LADY MAUD. 
 
 THE "WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR. 
 
 Also, Quarto Edition, paper cover, 6d. 
 JOHN HOLDSWORTH, CHIEF MATE. 
 LITTLE LOO. 
 JACK'S COURTSHIP. 
 A STRANGE VOYAGE. 
 A SAILOR'S SWEETHEART. 
 MY "WATCH BELOW. 
 AN OCEAN FREE LANCE. 
 THE FROZEN PIRATE. 
 
 SAILORS' LANGUAGE. A Dictionary of 
 Sea Terms. Crown 8vo, cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SAMPSON Low, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, 
 
 Limited, 
 ST. DUNSTAN'S HOUSE, FETTER LANE, E.G.
 
 JOHN HOLDSWORTH 
 
 CHIEF MATE 
 
 ru 
 
 BY W. CLARK /RUSSELL 
 
 L - 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR,' ETC. 
 
 4- 
 
 SIXTH AND CHEAPER EDITION 
 
 if 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, 
 
 Limited, 
 
 ST. DUNSTAN'S HOUSE, FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.G. 
 1889.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PACK 
 
 SOUTHBOURNB .... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 To THE DOWNS .... 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 DOWN CHANNEL . . . . .29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 IN THE ATLANTIC .... 35 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A GALE OF WIND ..... 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 TAKEN ABACK ! . . . .58 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 IN THE BOATS . 80 
 
 2215164
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SECOND DAY . . . 93 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE THIRD DAT . . . .103 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE FOURTH DAY . . . .113 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 THE FIFTH DAY . . .127 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH DAYS . . .142 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE TENTH DAY ... . 150 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HOLDSWORTH'S RECOVERY . . .162 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "No LIGHT, BUT RATHER DARKNESS, VISIBLE" . 172 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 SAILORS' SYMPATHY . . . .180
 
 CONTENTS. vii 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A PRESENTATION . 189 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 SYDNEY ...... 201 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 HOMEWARD BOUND .... 207 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 AN INSPIRATION . . . . .220 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 FOR HANWITCH . . . . .236 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SOUTHBOURNE . . . . 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 REFLECTIONS . . . . .258 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV, 
 HAXWITCH ..... 262 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 IN THE ELLESMERE ROAD . 274
 
 vm CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 TAOF. 
 
 OVER THE WAY 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 FATHER AND CHILD . . 300 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 DOLLY'S THOUGHTS 324 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 A VISIT ..... 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE KNOT is COT ..... 352 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE . . 367 
 
 POSTSCRIPT .381
 
 JOHN HOLDSWORTH, CHIEF MATE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 
 
 IN a period of English history which graybeards call 
 the good old times the fine old times ; that is to say, 
 when Parliament was horribly corrupt, and the Poor 
 Laws as barbarous as the Inquisition ; when it took 
 fifteen hours to go from London to Dover ; and when at 
 least one-half of the conveniences which we now very 
 reasonably call the necessities of life had no existence 
 Southbourne was a small straggling village, and, by 
 reason of the quaint and primitive aspect of its houses, 
 something, even in those good old times, like an 
 anachronism on the face of the land. What is now a 
 well-looking street, fairly paved, and decorated with a 
 number of showy shop-windows, was then an uneven 
 road, with great spaces of grassy land, dusty and closely 
 nibbled by goats, between the houses ; whilst the houses 
 themselves were mostly gable-roofed, with latticed win- 
 dows, which served excellently to exclude the light, and 
 which gave a blank and lack-lustre look to the edifices, 
 as though they were weary to death of the view over 
 the way. 
 
 B
 
 2 JOHN HOLDSWOrvTII. 
 
 Yet, in spite of its architectural deformities, South- 
 bourne was such a place as would weave its homely 
 interests about a man's heart, and be present to his 
 mind when gay and splendid scenes were forgotten. At 
 the very entrance of the village, as you went into the 
 street out of the dusty London Road, stood the King's 
 Arms Inn, a long, low-built, white-faced tavern, with a 
 great sign-board hung flagwise over the doorway, which, 
 when the wind was fresh, would swing with hoarse out- 
 cries, as though urging the distant wayfarer to make 
 haste and enjoy the welcome that was to be obtained, 
 for a few pence, from the stout, well-fed host who pre- 
 sided within. Opposite this tavern stood a decent farm- 
 house, its thatched roof black with time, begirt with 
 walls and palings, within which, when the harvest moon 
 was high, great stacks of hay would rear their gold- 
 coloured sides, and make the air as sweet as the smell of 
 new milk. And all about this pleasant farmhouse were 
 apple and cherry trees, under whose shadows a vast 
 family of cocks and hens held the day eternally busy 
 with their voices ; while pigs in unseen sties grunted 
 their hungry discord, and did their lazy best to drown 
 the mournful cooing of doves in wicker cages, and the 
 cheerful notes of the birds, who were attracted in count- 
 less numbers to the farmyard. 
 
 Between these two houses ran what the villagers 
 called the High Street ; and the eye followed the road, 
 patched here and there with dark-coloured grass, for 
 nearly a third of a mile, noting the gable-roofed houses 
 that looked at each other from either side ; the black- 
 smith's shed, where the bellows were always roaring ; 
 the flat-roofed baker's shop, standing importunately 
 forwards, away from the little house in which the baker
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 3 
 
 lived ; the butcher's hard by ; the apothecary's next to 
 that; and the linendraper's shop, which had absorbed 
 the frontage of no less than two solemn-looking houses 
 noting these and other details contributing to the 
 carnal or frivolous interests of the place, until it settled 
 upon a small building, which, standing in the centre of 
 the road, narrowed it into a large and a small lane, and 
 thus marked the extent and importance of the High 
 Street. 
 
 Our story opens on a summer's evening. The day- 
 light is still abroad upon the distant hill-tops, but the 
 twilight has fallen like an inaudible hush upon South- 
 bourne, and the farmyards are tranquil, save when, now 
 and again, some uncomfortable hen seeking a resting- 
 place near to her sovereign cock hops for his perch, but 
 in hopping falls and awakens the sleepers with her 
 fluttering scrambles and keen notes of distress, echoed 
 by a hundred wondering throats. 
 
 The evening is warm, and many of the house doors 
 are open ; and at these open doors sit, here and there, 
 men in their shirt-sleeves, or in homely smocks, smoking 
 long pipes, and addressing each other from across the 
 road with voices bespeaking laborious thought, which 
 demands many reflective puffs to clarify and adjust. 
 Now the apothecary's boy comes out and lights the 
 coloured lamp over the door, while the apothecary within 
 sets two wax candles against his brilliant globes of lus- 
 trous dyes and illuminates the darksome roadway with 
 a crimson and a yellow gleam. Now the linendraper's 
 assistant steps forth and puts up the shutters to his 
 master's windows, whilst the master himself struts along 
 the floor, flapping his counter with a dust-brush, and 
 inhaling the appetising perfume which streams from an
 
 4 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 inner room, and which is the best assurance he could 
 demand that his supper is preparing. Anon comes a 
 lame man, armed with a ladder, a lanthorn, and a can 
 of oil at his girdle ; he sets the ladder against a lamp- 
 post, and in five minutes' time succeeds in kindling a 
 faint uncertain light in the darkling air. Thrice does 
 he perform this laborious duty, and then, lo ! the High 
 Street is illuminated. 
 
 These lights seem to act as signals for sundry groups 
 of gossips, standing here and there along the dusty road, 
 to disperse. The small cackle of talk, like the click of 
 wheels driven against springs, ceases; the old hobble 
 towards the houses, the young follow yet more leisurely ; 
 the gloom deepens ; one by one the doors are closed 
 and little yellow lights twinkle mistily upon the latticed 
 windows. And now, though the clock of St. George's 
 Church has not yet tolled the half-hour past eight, one 
 may easily see that the good village of Southbourne, 
 with one eye upon the candles, costly at sixteenpence 
 the pound, and another eye upon the early hour that is 
 to expel it from its slumbers into the fields and the work- 
 shops, is making what haste it can to creep with heavy 
 eyelids into bed. 
 
 In the house that looks askant down the road and 
 breaks the thoroughfare into lanes, there is a sorrow at 
 work that should seem absolutely inconsistent with the 
 serenity and peace of the summer evening outside. 
 
 Three persons are seated in a cosy room ; a tall lamp 
 on a table sheds a soft light upon the walls ; the window 
 is open, and the large tremulous stars look in through 
 the branches of the elms which front the little building. 
 How sweet is the smell of the clematis about the win-
 
 SOUTHBOUHNE. 5 
 
 dow ! and see, a great black moth whirrs towards the 
 lamp and occupies the silence with its vigorous slaps 
 against the ceiling. 
 
 The old woman in the high-backed chair, looking 
 down upon her placid hands, is a perfect picture of 
 handsome old age : hair white as snow ; a sunken cheek 
 touched with a hectic that passes well for, if indeed it 
 be not, the bloom of health ; a garrulous under lip ; a 
 mild and benevolent expression. She is dressed in an 
 antique satin gown, and a fine red silk handkerchief, as 
 large as a shawl, is pinned about her shoulders. 
 
 Facing her sits a young man, broad-shouldered and 
 bronzed, with large lustrous black eyes and dark wavy 
 hair. He wears a pilot cloth coat and black trousers, 
 bell-mouthed at the feet, and a plain silver ring upon 
 his left hand. 
 
 Close beside him, on a low chair, sits a young girl, 
 with a sweet and modest face, and bright yellow hair 
 which shines in the lamplight like gold, and blue eyes 
 filled now with tears. 
 
 So they sit, so they have sat, for many minutes in 
 silence, and nothing is heard but the ticking of the clock 
 on the mantelpiece, or the awkward moth that hits the 
 ceiling, or now and again the melancholy plaint of some 
 dreaming or belated bird from the dark country that 
 stretches outside like a vision under the throbbing star- 
 light. 
 
 Presently the old lady, lifting her head, says : 
 
 " I don't think it pleases God that people's hearts 
 should be sorrowful. Nothing should grieve us but 
 the fear of His anger ; and if there be truth in religion, 
 and any wisdom in human experience, there is nothing 
 in this world that should make us sad."
 
 6 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 The girl presses her hand to her eyes, and answers 
 in a broken voice : 
 
 "John and I have never really been parted before." 
 
 "We never can be parted, Dolly, my sweet little 
 wife," says the young man. " There was a fear of part- 
 ing before, but none now, dear one. I am only leaving 
 you for awhile and that is not parting, is it, grand- 
 mother? Parting is separation, and those whom God 
 has joined cannot be parted, cannot be parted, my 
 Dolly!" 
 
 "Ay, that is right !" exclaims the old lady. "John 
 is only leaving you for awhile you cannot be parted 
 remember that." 
 
 " But it is to be a long while, and my heart* will be 
 so lonely without him, granny." 
 
 The old lady gives her head a dispirited shake. 
 
 " It is all going and coming in this world," says she. 
 " To-day here, to-morrow there : 'tis like breathing on a 
 mirror." 
 
 "No, no !" cries the young fellow, "that is a melan- 
 choly simile. Life is something more than a breath. 
 I would be content to know nothing but its sorrows, 
 rather than think it the hollow illusion people call it 
 Oh, Polly, you must cheer up and help to give me heart. 
 I want all the courage I can get. After this voyage we 
 needn't be separated any more. Remember, next year 
 I shall be skipper, and then I can take you to sea with 
 me." 
 
 "If next year had only come !" the poor little girl 
 sobs, and lets her face fall upon her husband's hand. 
 
 "Nay, nay," the old lady chides, gently, "'tis thy 
 business to help and support thy husband, Dolly. Will 
 tears help him ? Resolution is softened by them, and
 
 SOUTIIBOURNE. 7 
 
 made weak and womanish. Your mother before you, 
 my child, knew what it was to part from your father. 
 He once went to Spain, and for many months we knew 
 not whether he was living or dead. You were a little 
 child then. What came to her, came to me, and must 
 come to you as it comes to all women who will needs 
 transplant their own hearts into men's. Know this, 
 Dolly, that no love is purely sweet that has not known 
 trials and afflictions." 
 
 " Hear that, my little one," says the young husband, 
 stooping his head until his lips touch his wife's ears. 
 " Let us seek a blessing in our grief, and we shall find 
 one. It teaches me to know my love for you our love 
 for each other. Is not such knowledge blessed ?" 
 
 " See here, Dolly," continued the grandmother, bat- 
 tling with the tears provoked by the influx of hurrying 
 memories which followed her reference to her own child, 
 Dolly's mother. " When John is gone, we will put up 
 a calendar against the wall in your bedroom ; and every 
 night, after we have worshipped God, we will prick off 
 a day, and you shall see how quickly the calendar grows 
 small under our hands. I am seventy years old, and it 
 was but the other day that I was dancing your mother 
 in my arms, and I was a young woman, and your grand- 
 father a hearty man, with brown hair under his wig, and 
 bright big eyes like yours. W T hy, that was fifty years 
 ago, and it seems but yesterday ! Many's the bitter 
 tear I have shed, and the grief I have borne ; but the 
 times / mourn cannot come back to me, they are gone 
 for ever my life is but an empty chamber now ; there 
 is no fire in the grate, and the chairs are vacant, and I 
 feel so lonely that I sometimes wish I was dead. But 
 what is your grief ] It is but a few months' separation,
 
 8 JOHN HOLDSWOKTII. 
 
 and every day that dies will give you happiness. It is 
 not so with others, nor with me no ! no ! " 
 
 As the old grandmother spoke, with some perception, 
 perhaps, of that rather discreditable characteristic of 
 human nature which finds the best solace for its own 
 trouble in the consolation that is wrought out of the 
 griefs of others, the girl gradually raised her head and 
 fixed her eyes wistfully on her husband's, then laid her 
 cheek against his shoulder, as a child would whom its 
 tears have worn out. 
 
 " Grandmother," said the young man, " I leave my 
 Dolly to your care, and I know you will love and cherish 
 her as though you were sure that any ill that came to 
 her would break my heart." 
 
 " She cannot be dearer to me than she always was," 
 answered the old lady, solemnly ; " but be sure, John, 
 that I'll take extra care of her, since her preciousness 
 is doubled by being dear to you and having your life 
 bound up in hers." 
 
 " And you will keep her heart up with happy thoughts 
 of me, grandmother," continued the young fellow, his dark 
 eyes made infinitely tender by the shadow of tears, " and 
 bid her remember that when the wind blows here it may 
 be a summer calm Avhere I am, and blue sky when there 
 are thunderstorms here. You'll remember this, Dolly 1" 
 
 " Yes, John." 
 
 " The calendar is a good thought of grandmother's. 
 Or you may watch the flowers, Dolly ; you'll see them 
 fade away and leave the ground bare. By-and-by they'll 
 spring up again, and they will be a promise that I am 
 coming back to you coming quickly quick as the 
 wind will blow me back to my little wife, to my sweet 
 wife, Dolly."
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 9 
 
 She sobbed quickly with renewed passion, and clasped 
 his hand. 
 
 There was a childlike beauty in her face that made 
 her sorrow infinitely touching for him, who loved her 
 with all the strength of his great heart, to behold. He 
 looked wistfully at the old grandmother ; but she, more 
 powerless than he, was brooding over the to-morrows 
 which were to come when he should have gone away 
 and left her alone with Dolly's grief. 
 
 " I have a mind," she said at last, "to send for Mr. 
 Newcome, the rector. He should be able to point out 
 to Dolly better than either of us can, that there is some- 
 thing unrighteous in suffering our hearts to be overcome 
 by any dispensations God in His wise providence may 
 choose to ordain." 
 
 "No, I don't want Mr. Newcome," sobbed Dolly. 
 " I must cry, granny. When John is gone, I'll dry my 
 eyes, and think of nothing but the time when he is to 
 come back to me. But whilst I see him, and know that 
 this time to-morrow he will be gone, I can't help crying, 
 indeed I can't, granny." 
 
 " Ay, my dear, but if your tears could bind him to 
 you, and take the place of his duties which summon 
 him awaj r , they would be very well. But it is your 
 place to help him in his troubles, as it is his to help 
 you in yours ; and see what a lonesome air his face has 
 as he watches you, because he feels himself away from 
 you by your refusing to listen to the words he tries to 
 comfort you with." 
 
 "I would give my right hand to save Dolly from 
 these tears, grandmother," said John, " but it is her love 
 that frets. By-and-by her eyes will grow bright, for she 
 will know that every hour which passes after I have left
 
 10 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 her is bringing us nearer to next summer, when we shall 
 be together again." 
 
 " But a year is such a long time," wailed Dolly. " It 
 is four times over again the months we have been to- 
 gether, and it seems ages ago since you came home, John. 
 And granny doesn't know the dangers of the sea. You 
 have never talked to her as you have to me. Haven't 
 you told me of shipwrecks, and how men fall overboard, 
 and how some ships catch fire and not a creature saved 
 of all a great ship's crew 1" 
 
 "Yes, Dolly," he answered, smoothing her bright 
 hair; "but I have always said that the sea isn't 
 more dangerous than the land. There's danger every- 
 where for the matter of that, isn't there, grand- 
 mother 1 M 
 
 "Oh dear yes," groaned the old lady; "there are 
 deaths going on all about us, on the dry land, quick as 
 our pulses beat." 
 
 "Ay, true enough, grandmother," rejoined John; 
 " more deaths are going on ashore than are going on at 
 sea. But why do we talk of death ? People part and 
 meet again why shouldn't we 1 There is no end to 
 trouble if once we begin to think of what may happen. 
 A man should put his trust in God " 
 
 " Yes, that first, that chiefly," interrupted the grand- 
 mother. 
 
 " And fight his way onward with as much courage 
 and hope and resolution to win as though there were no 
 such thing as death in the world at all. When I bid 
 you good-bye, Dolly, I shan't say good-bye, perhaps for 
 ever ; no ! no ! I will say good-bye till next summer. 
 Summer is sure to come, and why shouldn't it bring me 
 back?"
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 1 1 
 
 "We will pray God that it will," exclaimed the 
 grandmother. 
 
 Thus these honest hearts talked and hoped ; but, in 
 truth, the parting was more bitter than Dolly could 
 bear. 
 
 On this, the eve of her husband's leaving her, she 
 could see no promise in time, no sunshine in the long 
 and dismal blank that stretched before her. She was 
 quite a young bride, had been married only three 
 months ; but his presence had already become a habit 
 to her, a portion of her life, a condition of her happiness. 
 
 She had engaged herself to him eighteen months 
 since, not many weeks before he sailed on his last 
 voyage ; but though she had learnt to love him tenderly 
 as her sweetheart, his going did not then afflict her as 
 it now did. He was only her lover then, but now he 
 was her husband. She was ardent when she became 
 his wife, flushed with the sweet and gracious emotions 
 of her new state, and because the thought of the 
 approaching time threw a shadow upon her happiness, 
 she drove it deep down in her heart, out of sight almost, 
 and so unfitted herself for bravely encountering the cer- 
 tain trouble that was to come. 
 
 It had come now ; its full weight was upon her ; she 
 thought it must break her heart. 
 
 When we found them, they had not long returned 
 from the last walk they were to take together for many 
 a weary month ; and it was so bitterly sad to them 
 both, that no words can express its pathos. They were 
 surrounded by familiar and beloved objects ; and every 
 detail that had heretofore made up the colour and life 
 of their married love now came, each with its special
 
 12 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 pang of sorrow, to tell them that their dream was dis- 
 solved, and that their embraces, their whispers indeed 
 their very hopes must be postponed until a period so 
 far off, that it seemed as if no time would ever bring it 
 to them. The poor fellow did his utmost to inspirit 
 her ; all the unsubstantial comfort he strove to lay to his 
 own heart he gave to her ; but his broken voice made 
 his cheery assurances more sad even than her tears ; and 
 down by the little river, when the evening had gathered, 
 and the soft stars were looking upon them, he had given 
 way to his grief, and wept over her as if the form he 
 pressed to him were lifeless. 
 
 The story of his courtship and marriage was as 
 simple as the pastoral life of the village in which it 
 occurred. 
 
 He had been called to Southbourne by his aunt, who 
 lived there, and who felt herself dying. He had then 
 just returned from a ten months' voyage. He was fond 
 of his aunt, as the only living relative he had, and came 
 to her at once. At her house indeed, by her bedside 
 he met Mrs. Flemming, Dolly's grandmother. Mrs. 
 Flemming took a fancy to him, admired his handsome 
 face, his honest character, the cordial tenderness of his 
 nature, which he illustrated by his devotion to his sick 
 aunt, and asked him to her house, where he met Dolly. 
 
 He fell in love with her ; and then, but not till then, 
 he found that Southbourne was an infinitely better place 
 to live in than the neighbourhood of the West India 
 Docks. 
 
 Dolly was an innocent little creature, and hardly 
 knew at first what to make of the love she had inspired 
 in her grandmother's young friend ; but by degrees the 
 old story was read through between them, and the last
 
 SOUTHBOTTRNE. 13 
 
 chapter found them betrothed with Mrs. Flemming's 
 full consent. 
 
 Meanwhile the aunt had died and left her little 
 savings to her nephew, who gave the money to Mrs. 
 Flemming to take care of for him until he came home. 
 He was then chief mate, aged twenty-eight. When thirty 
 he was to command a ship, his employers promised. So 
 when he returned, twenty-nine years old, with only 
 another year before him to serve out as a subordinate, 
 he claimed Mrs. Flemming's leave to marry Dolly ; and 
 within three weeks from the time of his arrival they 
 were man and wife. 
 
 There could be no hitch : there was nobody's leave 
 but Mrs. Flemming's to get. He and Dolly were both 
 of them orphans. Her parents had died when she was 
 a little girl ; his, some years before this story begins. 
 His father had been skipper in the service John belonged 
 to, and the shipowners' favourite captain. Indeed, 
 Captain Holdsworth had served his employers well, and 
 as a token of their gratitude, they kept their eyes on his 
 son ; which meant that he was appointed the moment 
 he had passed his examination as first mate, and was to 
 be skipper at an age when a good many in the service 
 were just entering upon their duties as second in com- 
 mand. But this only really argued that the owners 
 knew a smart seaman when they saw him. Young 
 Holdsworth was that ; and critical as was the jealousy 
 his quick promotion excited, there was not a man who 
 could be got to say that Jack Holdsworth wasn't as 
 good a sailor as ever trod upon shipboard. 
 
 The first thing he did, when he had the banns put 
 up at St. George's, was to rent the little house that 
 turned its shoulder upon the Southbourne main road,
 
 14 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 and furnish it with the money his aunt had left him. 
 That was to be Dolly's and grandmother's home. Old 
 Mrs. Flemming had some furniture of her own and an 
 annuity; this last she was to club with John's pay, 
 which Dolly was to draw every month, and so they 
 would have money enough to keep them as ladies. But 
 the old grandmother's furniture was very crazy : she of 
 course thought it beautiful and elegant; but this did 
 not prevent the chairs from breaking when John sat on 
 them, nor the legs of the tables from coming off when 
 they were handed through the doors. Such of these 
 relics as did not go to pieces were put into her bedroom, 
 at her particular request, because they enabled her to 
 realise old times ; the rest vanished in a cloud of dust 
 into a distant auction-room, and were never heard of 
 more. 
 
 The young people's life was an idyl until the time 
 approached for Holdsworth to sail. They went away 
 for a week after they were married, and Dolly saw life : 
 that is, she saw London, which frightened her, and she 
 was very glad to get home. They had pretty nearly 
 three months before them, and that seemed to give 
 them plenty of time to enjoy themselves in. To be 
 sure, the little cloud upon the horizon grew bigger 
 and bigger every day, and Dolly saw it, and knew 
 that in three months' time it would have overspread the 
 heavens, and filled the earth with its leaden shadow ; 
 but she shrank from looking in that direction, and 
 fixed her eyes on the blue sky overhead, and was as 
 gay under its brightness as if it were never to know an 
 eclipse. 
 
 Mrs. Flemming and Dolly had several friends in 
 Southbourne, and during these months tea-parties were
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 15 
 
 pretty frequent. Even the rector asked them to tea, 
 and went to drink tea at their house ; and this occasion 
 was a celebrated one, for the rector was a kind, whim- 
 sical old gentleman, and insisted on a game of forfeits 
 being played. There were three girls besides Dolly 
 present, so kissing was practicable ; and loud was the 
 laughter when it fell to the rector's lot to kiss Mrs. 
 Flemming, which he did with such a courtier-like air, 
 that, under its influence, the grandmother's memory 
 unfolded itself; and she instructed the company, in a 
 tremulous voice, and with a lean, underscoring fore- 
 finger, in the behaviour of the men of her day, when 
 men were men, etc. etc. Hunt the slipper followed 
 the forfeits, and the evening was closed with port- 
 negus, October ale, and dishes of fruit, sandwiches, and 
 sweetmeats. 
 
 Hours so spent would make just such a memory as 
 would keep a man's heart warm in his bosom under any 
 skies, in any climes, in calm or in storm. Years after 
 the very inscriptions on the tombs of the rector and 
 Mrs. Flemming were scarcely to be read amid the 
 encrusting moss and the toothmarks of time, John 
 Holdsworth remembered that evening : how, flushed as 
 the two Miss Lavernes were into positive prettiness by 
 laughter and Mr. Jackson the curate's discreet kisses, 
 Dolly looked a queen to them ; how her sweet eyes had 
 peeped at him over the rector's shoulder, as the worthy 
 clergyman claimed his forfeit ; how she hung about him 
 and sported, as any infant might, at his side, with her 
 laughter never so ringing and melodious as when her 
 hand was in his. How the kindly grandmother had 
 hobbled about the room, with rusty squeaks of laughter 
 in her mouth, to elude the rector's reluctant pursuit ;
 
 16 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 how Miss Nelly Laverne blushed, and giggled, and 
 tossed her head about when Mr. Jackson kissed her. . . . 
 The curtain was falling, the lights were dimming, 
 and now tears and sighs and heartrending yearnings 
 were making a cruel ending of the pleasant summer 
 holiday.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TO THE DOWNS. 
 
 THE " Meteor " was a full-rigged ship of eleven hundred 
 tons, with painted ports and a somewhat low freeboard, 
 which gave her a rakish look. Her figure-head repre- 
 sented a woman, naked to the waist, emerging from a 
 cloud, and was really a sweet piece of carving. She 
 was a ship of the old school, with big stern windows, 
 and a quaint cuddy front and heavy spars. Yet, built 
 after the old-fashioned model, her lines were as clean as 
 those of an Aberdeen clipper. 
 
 She made a glorious picture, as she lay off Gravesend, 
 the clear summer sky tinting the water of the river a 
 pale blue, and converting it into a mirror for an ideal 
 representation of the graceful vessel. Many boats were 
 clustered about her side, and up and down her canvased 
 gangway went hurrying figures. The ensign was at the 
 peak, and at the fore floated the blue-peter, signal to 
 those who took concern in her that she would be soon 
 under weigh. 
 
 She was bound to New York, whence she was to 
 carry another cargo south, ultimately touching at Callao 
 before she spread her wings for the old country. 
 
 There were a few first-class passengers on board, and 
 some of them stood near the gangway in low and earnest 
 
 c 
 
 //s
 
 18 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 talk with friends, while others were on the poop, gazing 
 at the shore with wistful eyes. One of these was a 
 widow, whose husband had been buried a few weeks 
 before in the churchyard of a little Kentish town. She 
 was taking her boy back with her to New York, where 
 her friends were ; and there they stood, hand in hand, 
 the child with wondering eyes everywhere, the mother 
 with a fixed gaze upon the land which was consecrated 
 for ever to her heart by the beloved form it held. 
 
 The river was brilliant and busy with vessels at 
 anchor or passing to and fro, with boats pulling from 
 shore to shore, with the gay sunshine deepening and 
 brightening the colours of flags, or flashing white upon 
 the outstretched canvas, and trembling in silver flakes 
 upon the water. Sailors hung over the forecastle of the 
 " Meteor," bandying jokes full of pathos, or exchanging 
 farewells with wives and sweethearts, or male friends 
 in boats grouped, with outstretched oars, around the 
 bows of the ship. Some of the hands Avere aloft casting 
 off the yard-arm gaskets, ready to sheet home when the 
 boatswain's pipe should sound. The wind a light 
 breeze was north, a soldier's wind that would take 
 them clear of the river, and make a fair passage for them 
 down Channel ; and now they were only waiting for the 
 captain to come on board with the pilot to start. 
 
 By eleven o'clock the ship was to be under weigh ; 
 and even as the clear chimes of the clock striking the 
 hour floated across the river from the land, a boat pulled 
 by three men swept alongside, and the captain, followed 
 by the pilot, sprang up the ladder. 
 
 A tall, broad-shouldered young man stood at the 
 gangway to receive them, and touched his cap as the 
 captain came on board.
 
 TO THE DOWNS. 19 
 
 "All ready, Mr. Holdsworth ?" 
 
 " All ready, sir." 
 
 " Man the windlass then." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir." 
 
 He was on the forecastle in a jiffy, and the thunder 
 of his voice went along the deck and brought all hands 
 to the windlass as if a line had pulled each man to his 
 place. The boatswain's pipe shrilled, the pilot's face, 
 coloured like mahogany, took an anxious expression ; 
 and then clank ! clank ! clank ! went the windlass, fol- 
 lowed in a moment by a hoarse song, which at regular 
 intervals burst into a chorus : 
 
 " And when you come to the dockyard gates, 
 
 Yo, boys, yo ! 
 You'll find that Sal for her true love waits, 
 
 Heave, my bully-boys, heave ! 
 Then, heave my boys, oil, heave together ! 
 
 Yo, boys, yo ! 
 And get her out o" the stormy weather ! 
 
 Heave, my bully-boys, heave ! " 
 
 Then came such cries as these : 
 
 " Sheer off you boats there ! " 
 
 "Get the gangway ladder in-board." 
 
 " Loose the inner jib, one of you !" 
 
 " A hand aft to the wheel ! " 
 
 To see young Holdsworth now was to see a sailor, 
 with a voice like a gale of wind, the whole great ship 
 and her thousand complications of spars, ropes, sails, 
 packed, so to speak, like a toy in the palm of his hand. 
 
 The skipper was below ; the pilot was lord and 
 master now, and Holdsworth watched his face for orders. 
 
 Soon the cable was up and down, the anchor lifted, 
 and some hands left the windlass to make sail. The 
 tide had got the ship, and she was floating almost imper-
 
 20 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 ceptibly past a large American vessel that had brought- 
 up the evening before. A few boats followed ; some 
 turned and made for Gravesend, the inmates standing 
 up and waving their hats and handkerchiefs. 
 
 By this time the anchor was catted, and all hands 
 quitted the forecastle to make sail. Then you might hear 
 cries of " Sheet home ! " from the air ; down fell great 
 spaces of canvas like avalanches of snow ; chains rattled 
 through blocks ; fore and aft songs and choruses were 
 raised and continued until silenced by the order "Belay!" 
 The yards rose slowly up the polished masts and stretched 
 the canvas tight as drum-skins. The men on board the 
 Yankee crowded her forecastle and gave the Britisher a 
 cheer as she passed. Amid the songs of the men, the 
 piping of the boatswain and his mates, and the noisy 
 commands of the pilot, the " Meteor " burst into a cloud 
 of canvas, chipped a white wave out of the blue river, 
 and went ahead like a yacht in a racing match. 
 
 The breeze freshened as the river widened. The 
 decks were quiet now, the ropes coiled down clear for 
 running, and everything hauled taut and snug. At 
 two o'clock she was foaming along under royals and 
 flying -jib, whisking past colliers dragging their main 
 channels through the water as if they were drowning 
 flies struggling for the land ; overhauling smart 
 schooners and ships as big as herself, and making the 
 land on either side of her dwindle down and down into 
 flat marshy country. 
 
 The pilot, pompous to the last extremity, with bow 
 legs and moist eyes, strutted fore and aft the poop, some- 
 times calling an order to the man at the wheel, and 
 constantly looking aloft, ahead, and around him. The 
 passengers lounged about the deck or hung over the
 
 TO THE DOWNS. 21 
 
 side, watching the foaming water rush past them, and 
 almost losing those of them, at least, who were leav- 
 ing their homes their sadness in the sense of exhila- 
 ration begotten by the swift speeding of the vessel 
 through the glory and freshness of the summer after- 
 noon. 
 
 Forward, the men were industrious in the forecastle, 
 rigging up their hammocks, or preparing their bunks 
 for the night, or overhauling their sea-chests, or the 
 canvas bags which, among seamen, often answer the 
 purpose of sea-chests. It was a queer sight to see their 
 busy figures in the twilight of the forecastle here the 
 black face of a negro ; there the broad features of a 
 Dutchman ; here a mulatto ; there a lantern-jawed 
 Yankee, peak-bearded and narrow-hipped a world in 
 miniature, something after the nature of a menagerie, 
 all talking in English, with accents which made the 
 effect indescribable gibberish to the unaccustomed ear. 
 They were most of them friends already; some had 
 sailed in company before ; and now they would suspend 
 their work to offer one another a chew of tobacco, to 
 beg the loan of a " draw," meaning a pipe ; while the 
 air grew insufferable to all but a seaman's digestion, 
 with the smell of black cavendish and the inexpressible 
 odour of bilge-water, tar, hemp, and the ship's cargo 
 generally, which rose directly through the fore-hatch, 
 and was blown into the forecastle by the draught under 
 the foresail 
 
 At eight o'clock the " Meteor " was off Margate, all 
 sails but royals set ; one of the noblest spectacles of 
 beauty, grace, and majesty the world has to offer a 
 full-rigged ship a leaning mountain of canvas rushing
 
 22 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 under the sky, with a whirl of foam bursting like two 
 gigantic white arms from her sides. 
 
 But the North Foreland brings you to a sharp turn, 
 and the wind had drawn three or four points to the 
 west, and was blowing fresh in Mid Channel as the 
 pilot saw by the distant Goodwin Sands on the port 
 bow, which lay upon the horizon in a long streak of 
 foam, like the Milky-way in the sky. 
 
 This was a pity, because, unless they were disposed 
 to stand for the French shore, and so make Folkestone 
 by a long board, they would have to bring-up in the 
 Downs. 
 
 However, there was no help for it ; for, though the 
 vessel's yards were braced hard up against the lee rig- 
 ging, she continued to fall off half a point by half a 
 point, and, by the time she was off Eamsgate, her head 
 was south. But the " Meteor " could sail to windward 
 like a yacht. They furled the mainsail, took a single 
 reef in the topsails, and then all hands stood by to put 
 the ship about. Standing-by is sailors' English for 
 being ready. The men went forward, and the ship, 
 with two hands at the wheel, made straight for the 
 South Sand Head the southernmost portion of the for- 
 midable Goodwin Sands. 
 
 The Channel was a glorious scene. The sun had 
 sunk behind the land, bequeathing a broad red glare to 
 the heavens, over which some great clouds were unfurling 
 themselves livid promontories with flaring crimson 
 headlands. Astern rose the solid white cliffs, looking 
 phantasmal upon the dark-coloured water. On the right 
 the land swept into a bay, hugging the water flatly as 
 far as Deal, then rising into a great front of frowning 
 cliffs, which stood black against the background of the
 
 TO THE DOWNS. 23 
 
 red sky. The gloom of the gathering evening had 
 paled the outlines of the houses into the shadowy land ; 
 but here and there you could see small vessels riding 
 close in shore, or smacks "with red sails creeping round 
 the various points, whilst all between was the quick- 
 running sea, coloured by the different depths of sand 
 into an aspect of wild and multiform beauty. Away on 
 the left the water, quivering with hurrying waves polished 
 like oil, stretched to a dim and desolate horizon. Here 
 and there a brig, or a barque, ploughed laboriously for 
 the Downs, shipping seas like columns of snow and 
 lurching like a drunkard that must presently fall. The 
 " Meteor " overtook and passed many of these vessels as 
 if they were buoys, sometimes running so close along- 
 side as to take the wind out of their sails and set them 
 upright on an even keel. It was strange to look down 
 upon their decks, lying close to the water, and see the 
 steersmen gazing upwards, the masters walking to and 
 fro and not deigning to notice anything but their own 
 ships, a head or two peering over the bulwarks ; to hear 
 the groaning and grunting of the timbers, the yelling of 
 the wind in the masts ; and then, in a moment, to see 
 them pitching and tumbling astern, dwindling into toys 
 and scarcely perceptible among the lead-coloured waves. 
 But now the crimson had faded out from over the 
 land, and where it had vanished burned a strong and 
 steady light, topping the summit of the highest and 
 outermost cliff. The night fell, and all about the ex- 
 panse of water innumerable lights started into life : 
 lanterns of vessels in the Downs, of passing ships, of 
 the Goodwin beacons. The clouds which had looked 
 slate-coloured against the sunset were now white, and 
 rolled like great volumes of steam across the stars.
 
 24 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Then right ahead of the ship rose a pale white line 
 a quick, spectral play of froth, and a great, red star 
 shining like an arrested meteor, and which a few minutes 
 before seemed to be many miles distant, grew big and 
 lurid and dangerous. 
 
 A deep voice sounded along the "Meteor" "All 
 hands about ship ! " 
 
 A rush of feet and then a silence ; round flew the 
 wheel like a firework ; the red light ahead swept away 
 giddily to the left. 
 
 "Helm's alee!" 
 
 The canvas shook like thunder, and the passengers 
 crowded aft, wondering to find the ship upright. 
 
 "Mainsail haul!" 
 
 And at this signal forth burst a loud chorus ; the 
 released braces allowed the yards to fly round, the decks 
 echoed to the tramping of feet and to the cries of men ; 
 the vessel lay over as though she must capsize ; there 
 was a rush of inexperienced passengers to windward ; 
 another hoarse command ; round flew the foreyards, and 
 in a few minutes the " Meteor " was darting through the 
 water with her head for Deal, and the pale phosphores- 
 cent gleam of the Goodwin Sands dying out upon the 
 sea on her weather quarter. 
 
 The ship tacked three times during the next hour ; 
 and at half-past nine the wind lulled, and the moon 
 came out of the sea, a broad, yellow shield. There was 
 something indescribably solemn in the rising of this orb 
 as she climbed in a haze over the edge of the horizon, 
 and flashed a wedge of quivering light into the tumbling 
 waters. The sails of the " Meteor " caught the radiance 
 presently, and her long wake glittered in the light like 
 a trail of silver spangles.
 
 TO THE DOWNS. . 25 
 
 She was in the Downs now, and in a dead calm, and 
 within half-an-hour she was riding at anchor, everything 
 furled aloft, and taut and snug as a man-of-war, with 
 many ships about her, resting like phantom vessels on 
 the surface of the water. 
 
 An anchor-watch was set, and the crew after smok- 
 ing, and yarning and lounging about the forecastle, 
 went below, and a deep repose fell upon the erewhile 
 busy labouring ship. The silence was unbroken, save 
 by the murmur of some of the passengers talking in a 
 group around the cuddy skylight, or by the sound of a 
 fiddle played in some one of the nearer-lying vessels, or 
 by the faint, melodious murmur of the breakers boiling 
 upon the pebbly strand of Deal. 
 
 A breathless summer night ! with big shooting-stars 
 chasing the heavens, and a moon growing smaller and 
 brighter each moment, and the dim tracery of the taper- 
 ing masts and rigging of the " Meteor " pointing from 
 the deep and vanishing in the gloom. Away on the 
 left, for the tide had swung the ship round and pointed 
 her bowsprit up Channel, glittered the lights of Deal, 
 suggestions of home life which riveted many eyes and 
 made many hearts thoughtful and sad none more so 
 than Holdsworth's, whose watch it was, and who, now 
 that his active duties were over, could surrender himself 
 to the bitter luxury of thought. 
 
 He paced to and fro athwart the poop, his heart far 
 away in the little village he had quitted. The face of 
 his child-wife rose before him, and he lived again in the 
 hard parting that had wrenched his heart and sent him 
 sobbing from his home. He felt her clinging arms 
 about his neck ; he looked down into her swollen eyes ;
 
 26 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 he repeated again and again, in broken tones, his fond 
 and last entreaty that she would keep her heart up, 
 pray for him, and think only of the joyous summer that 
 would come to bless and bring them together once 
 more. 
 
 The music ceased in the distance; the tinkling of 
 bells, announcing the half-hour past ten, came stealing 
 across the water, and was echoed by five ringing strokes 
 upon the bell on the " Meteor's " quarter-deck. 
 
 Half-past ten ! Was Dolly sleeping now 1 Had her 
 grief and her tears wearied her into repose ? How long, 
 how very long, it seemed since he saw her last ! The 
 time was to be counted in hours, but it appeared days 
 and weeks to him. 
 
 He leaned with his arms upon the poop rails, and 
 stood lost in thought. A question asked in a soft voice 
 made him turn. 
 
 "Do all those lights there belong to ships?" 
 
 The speaker was the widow to whom Holdsworth's 
 attention had been several times attracted during the 
 day by the air of sadness her face wore, and her devo- 
 tion to her bright-haired little boy, whose sweet wonder- 
 ing eyes, as he cast them round, had reminded him of 
 Dolly's, and drawn his heart to him. 
 
 " Yes, they belong to ships at anchor like ours." 
 
 " How beautiful is this night ! I have left my boy 
 asleep and stolen from the cabin to breathe the fresh 
 air." 
 
 " I daresay the dear little fellow sleeps well after the 
 excitement he has gone through. I noticed that his 
 wondering eyes were very busy when we were in the 
 river." 
 
 Hearing this, she grew frank and cordial at once.
 
 TO THE DOWNS. 27 
 
 Her woman's heart was as sure of him as if she had 
 known him all his life. 
 
 " Did you notice my child 1 I should have thought 
 you were too much occupied. He was tired out, God 
 bless him ! when I put him to bed ; too tired even to 
 say his prayers. He has no father now to love him, so 
 I must give him a double share of my love." 
 
 " Ah, you will not find that hard. He is a manly 
 little fellow, and he and I will become great friends, I 
 hope." 
 
 "I trust you will. . . . You are Mr. Holdsworth ? 
 I heard the captain call you by that name. And you 
 are the chief mate ?" 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 " I admire your profession, Mr. Holdsworth, and have 
 a good excuse for doing so, for both my father and 
 brother were sailors. But I don't think I could ever 
 let my boy go to sea j I could never bear to part with 
 him. And I sometimes wonder how the wives of sailors 
 can endure to be separated from their husbands." 
 
 " That is the hardest part of our profession," answered 
 Holdsworth quickly. " I never understood it before 
 this voyage. I have had -to leave my young wife ; may 
 God protect her until I come back." 
 
 " Is she very young V 
 
 " Nineteen." 
 
 " Poor girl ! " exclaimed the widow, with deep sym- 
 pathy in her voice. She added, cheerfully, " But this 
 separation will only make you dearer to each other. 
 You are sure to meet again. Time flies quickly, and all 
 these weary days will seem no more than a dream to 
 you when you are together." 
 
 She sighed and glanced down at the deep crape on
 
 28 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 her dress. The moonlight enabled Holdsworth to notice 
 the glance, and the pathos of it silenced him. In the 
 presence of such an experience as her parting was he 
 knew whom she had lost by her reference to her father- 
 less boy his own sorrow appeared light. 
 
 " There is always hope, there is always the promise 
 of happiness in store while there is life," she continued 
 gently. "Do not be down-hearted, Mr. Holdsworth. 
 This parting is but a temporary interruption of your 
 happiness. Be sure that God will protect your young 
 wife while you are away, and do not doubt that He will 
 lead you back to her." She smiled softly at him, and 
 adding, " I must go to my little one now," bowed cor- 
 dially and went away. 
 
 He could have blessed her for an assurance which, 
 having no better foundation than a woman's sympathy, 
 cheered him as no thoughts of his own could have done. 
 " That is a true heart," he said to himself, and resumed 
 his walk, repeating her words over and over again, and 
 drawing a comfort from them that made his step elastic 
 and his eyes bright
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DOWN CHANNEL. 
 
 AT six o'clock next morning the sleeping passengers 
 were awakened by cries and trampings which, to some 
 of them at least, were novel disturbers of their slumbers. 
 They might have told the reason of all this noise without 
 going on deck ; for those who slept in cots found the 
 deck making an angle with their beds, and the lee port- 
 holes veiled with rushing green water, and all the 
 movables crowded together at any distance from where 
 they had been deposited the night before. And hoarse 
 cries sounded, and the clanking of massive chains, and 
 the strange groaning a ship makes when she heels over 
 to a weight of canvas. 
 
 Yes ! the " Meteor " was under weigh, with a spank- 
 ing breeze on the starboard quarter, which she would 
 haul round abeam her best point of sailing when she 
 had cleared the South Foreland. If this breeze held, 
 the pilot said, he would be out of the ship and toasting 
 her in rum and water at Plymouth before the sun went 
 down next day. 
 
 Some of the passengers came on deck when the ship 
 was off Folkestone, and then they saw as fair a sight as 
 the world has to offer the great white Fjuglish cliffs 
 topped with swelling tracts of green, with here and there
 
 30 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 small bays with spaces of yellow sand between ; houses 
 thickly grouped so it seemed in beholding them from 
 the sea upon the very margin of the cliff; slate-coloured 
 hills paling far, far away with visionary clouds upon 
 them; and between the ship and the shore many 
 pleasure-boats and other craft, with white or ochre- 
 coloured sails and bright flags, lending spots of red and 
 blue to the perspective of the chalky cliff. 
 
 The pilot hugged the wind, rightly apprehensive that 
 it might draw ahead and cripple him for sea room ; 
 and the " Meteor " hereabouts was so close to the land 
 that those on board her could see the people walking 
 on shore man's majesty illustrated by dots of black 
 upon the beach or the heights. Overhead was a bril- 
 liantly blue sky, with small wool-white clouds driving 
 over it ; the sea laughed in dimples and shivered the 
 white sunlight far and wide, so that every crest gleamed 
 with a diamond spark of its own ; and away on the left, 
 a pale faint cloud floating upon the horizon, was the 
 French coast. 
 
 The gay panorama swept by and new scenes opened 
 ' stretches of barren coast with ungainly Coastguards' 
 huts for their sole decoration ; spaces of vivid green 
 ruled off with lines of soft brown sand, and low black 
 rocks mirrored in the lake-like surface of the water 
 under the lee ; whitewashed villages with wreaths of 
 blue smoke curling from their midst, and broad expanses 
 of trees darkening the lightlier-coloured landscape with 
 delicate shadows. Sturdy vessels, the dray-horses of 
 the Channel, slow, deep laden, and wafting, many of 
 them, the scent of pine and other woods across the water, 
 were overtaken and passed, often amid the laughter 
 of the crew on the " Meteor's " forecastle, and " chaff,"
 
 DOWN CHANNEL. 31 
 
 which even the grave Captain Steel, the " Meteor's " 
 .skipper, condescended to smile at. How picturesque 
 these vessels ! Here a Dutch barque painted white, 
 with square-faced men staring over the bulwarks, a red- 
 capped commander in sea boots and vast inexpressibles, 
 and a steersman who sometimes looked at the " Meteor " 
 and sometimes at the sails of his own ship, mixing duty 
 and curiosity in a manner delightful to behold ; there a 
 North-country brig with dirty patched sails and black 
 rigging, and a crew with smoked faces and a grinning 
 head at the galley door; sometimes a French smack 
 with as many hands on board as would man a Black 
 Ball Liner, women among them in red petticoats and 
 handkerchiefs around their faces, some gutting fish, some 
 mending nets, some peeling potatoes, and all talking and 
 gesticulating at once, but suspending both their work and 
 their talk to crowd to the smack's side and stare at the 
 noble English vessel ; and sometimes a little open boat 
 at anchor, with a man in her fishing with deep gravity, 
 and paying no more heed to the ship in whose wake his 
 cockle-shell would bob like a cork float, than were he 
 the only tenant of the great glittering surface of water. 
 
 But soon the coast sank low in the horizon. The 
 "Meteor" was standing for the deeper water of the 
 Middle Channel, and close hauled, but with all sails set, 
 she had paled old England into a thin blue cloud, and 
 was heading straight for the great Atlantic Ocean. 
 
 The night passed ; the morning broke ; but the 
 " Meteor " was not out of the Channel yet. The pilot 
 grumbled as he cast his groggy eyes aloft and saw the 
 weather-leaches lifting. He would have to go about to 
 fetch Plymouth, unless he had a mind to cross the 
 Atlantic, and this was certainly not his intention.
 
 32 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 All the passengers came on deck after breakfast ; the 
 ladies brought out their work, the gentlemen lighted 
 cigars, and those who had made a voyage before looked 
 knowing as they cast their eyes about and asked nautical 
 questions of the captain. 
 
 As to the pilot, he was ungetatable. Moreover, his 
 language was so clouded with marine expletives that his 
 lightest answer was generally a shock to the sensibilities. 
 
 Every boatman from Margate to Penzance calls him- 
 self a pilot nowadays ; but the genuine pilot such a 
 man as this who was taking the " Meteor " down Channel 
 stands out upon the marine canvas with an indi- 
 viduality that makes him unique among seafaring 
 human kind. Figure a square, bow-legged man, in a 
 suit of heavy pilot cloth, a red shawl round his neck, a 
 tall hat on his head, a throat the colour of an uncooked 
 beefsteak, and a face of a complexion like new mahogany, 
 small moist rolling eyes, a voice resembling the tones of 
 a man with the bronchitis calling through a tin trumpet, 
 and an undying affection for Jamaica rum. Such was 
 Mr. Dumling, the " Meteor's " pilot, a man to whom the 
 gaunt sea-battered posts, the tall skeleton buoys, the fat 
 wallowing beacons, and the endless variety of lights 
 ashore and at sea, from the North Foreland to the 
 Land's End, were as familiar and intelligible as the 
 alphabet is to you ; who was so profoundly acquainted 
 with the Channel that he boasted his power to tell you 
 within a quarter of a mile of where he was, by the mere 
 faculty of smell ! A man who could look over a ship's 
 side and say, "Here are four fathoms of water, and 
 yonder are nine," "And where the shadow of the cloud 
 rests the water is twelve fathoms deep;" and so on, 
 every inch of the road, for miles and miles a miracle
 
 DOWN CHANNEL. 33 
 
 of memory ! To appreciate the value of such a man you 
 should be with him in the Channel in a pitch-dark night, 
 blowing great guns from the north-east, with the roar 
 of the Goodwin on the lee bow, and a sea so heavy that 
 every blow the ship receives communicates the impres- 
 sion that she has struck the ground, while the black air 
 is hoarse with the gale and fogged with stinging spray. 
 
 The wind is nowhere more capricious than in the 
 English Channel. At one o'clock- the spanking breeze 
 swept round to the south-east ; the watch went to work 
 at the braces; up went the foretopmast-stun'sail, and the 
 " Meteor " rushed ahead at twelve knots an hour. 
 
 " We shall be off Plymouth at eight o'clock," says 
 the pilot, and went below to lunch with a serene face. 
 
 He was right. At eight o'clock the " Meteor " was 
 lying with her main yards backed, dipping her nose in 
 a lively sea, with a signal for a boat streaming at her 
 mast-head. 
 
 The passengers might take their last look at old 
 England then, whilst the glorious sunset bathed the land 
 in gold, and made the wooded shores beautiful with 
 colour and shadow. And now, dancing over the waters, 
 came a white sail, which dimmed slowly into an ashen 
 hue as the crimson in the skies faded and the waters 
 darkened. 
 
 " Any letters for shore ?" says Captain Steel, moving 
 among the passengers, and soon his hand grows full. 
 Many of the men come forward and deliver missives for 
 the wife, for Sue, for Poll, to the skipper, who gives 
 them to the pilot. The boat, glistening with the sea- 
 water she has shipped, sweeps alongside, ducks her sail, 
 and is brought up by a line flung from the main chains. 
 
 " Good-bye, cap'n," says the gruff pilot ; " wish you 
 
 D
 
 34 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 a pleasant voyage, I'm sure, gen'l'men and ladies ;" 
 drops into the main chains, and from the main chains 
 drops into the boat ; the sail is hoisted, a hat waved, a 
 cheer given from the ship's forecastle, and away bounds 
 the lugger in a cloud of spray. 
 
 Now bawls Captain Steel from the break of the 
 poop ; round swing the main yards ; the noble ship 
 heels over, trembles, and starts forward, and, with the 
 expiring gleam of the sunset upon her highest sails, the 
 "Meteor" heads for the broad Atlantic, and glides into 
 the gloom and space of the infinite, windy night.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN THE ATLANTIC. 
 
 THERE were eight passengers and twenty-seven hands, 
 counting captain and officers, on board the "Meteor;" 
 in all, thirty-five souls. 
 
 In these days half that number of men would be 
 thought ample to handle a ship of eleven hundred tons. 
 Taking fourteen men as a ship's company, we find 
 one, the cook, who is useless aloft j five ordinary sea- 
 men, equal to two able-bodied men ; four ill and unable 
 to leave their bunks ; the remainder consist of the cap- 
 tain, two mates, and the carpenter. So that a summons 
 for all hands to shorten sail, for example, brings forth 
 about enough men to do the work of one yard one 
 yard, when there are twelve, exclusive of trysails, jibs, 
 stun'sails, spanker, and staysails. This modern system 
 of undermanning ships is an evil next in magnitude to 
 that of sending crazy and leaky vessels to sea ; and as 
 many ships are lost for want of hands to work them on 
 occasions which demand promptitude and muscle, as are 
 lost by rotten planks and overcharged cargoes. 
 
 The passengers on board the " Meteor " consisted of 
 four gentlemen, two ladies, a little boy, and a female 
 servant Of the gentlemen, one was a young man 
 named Holland, who was going to America for no other
 
 36 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 purpose than to see Niagara ; another was a merchant, 
 who was to represent a London house in New York. 
 He was accompanied by his wife and her maid. The 
 third was a General in the 'United States Army, a fine 
 old man with a chivalrous courtesy of manner and a 
 handsome honest face, who had been picking up what 
 professional hints he could find by a year's sojourn in 
 the military dep6ts of Great Britain. The fourth male 
 passenger was an actor, magnificently named Gerald 
 Fitzmaurice St. Aubyn, in quest of more appreciative 
 audiences in the New Country than his genius had en- 
 countered in the Old. The widow and her son com- 
 pleted the list. 
 
 It took these good people a very short time to settle 
 down to their new life and adjust themselves to the 
 novel conditions of existence that surrounded them. 
 The ladies lay hidden at the first going off; and, 
 although Mr. St. Aubyn put in a punctual appearance 
 at meals and smoked a great quantity of cheroots, it 
 must be admitted that he was peculiarly pensive for a 
 comedian, whose genius, he affirmed, was chiefly at home 
 in genteel farce, though he had enacted tragedy with 
 applause. 
 
 The "Meteor" met with adverse winds, but brilliant 
 weather, during the first few days. She tacked] north 
 and south, and crowded canvas to make headway, but, 
 though her speed was great through the water, her actual 
 progress was small 
 
 "No matter," said Captain Steel, patiently; "we 
 may get a gale astern of us some of these hours, and 
 then we'll make up for lost time." 
 
 But whilst the weather remained so beautiful, the 
 wind brisk and the sea smooth, the passengers could
 
 IN THE ATLANTIC. 37 
 
 hardly regret the delay. It was like yacht sailing dry 
 decks, steady motion, and always the pleasurable sense 
 of swiftness inspired by the beaded foam crisping by 
 and stretching like a tape astern. Now and again they 
 signalled a ship homeward bound or journeying: south. 
 The widow's little boy clapped his hands to see the 
 bright flags flying at the mizzen-peak, and the ladies 
 were lost in wonderment to think that those gay colours 
 were a language as intelligible to those concerned in 
 their interpretation as " How do you do ?" and " Very 
 well, thank you." 
 
 The "Meteor" had a snug cuddy ; and a hospitable 
 sight was the dinner-table, with the white cloth covering 
 the long board, the gleaming silver and glass, the fine 
 claret jug (testimonial by former passengers to the cap- 
 tain), the colours of wines in decanters, the grinning 
 negro always colliding with the steward, and the skip- 
 per's rubicund face, relieved by soft white hair, at the 
 head of the table, backed by the polished mizzen-mast. 
 Overhead was the skylight, through which you might 
 see the great sails towering to the heavens ; and over 
 the dinner table swung a globe of gold-fish between two 
 baskets of ferns. There was a piano lashed abaft the 
 mizzen-mast ; and all around the cuddy were the cabins 
 occupied by the passengers, the captain, the mates, with 
 highly-varnished doors and white panels relieved with 
 edgings of gold. 
 
 Everybody took an interest in the widow's little boy, 
 both because he was a pretty child, and because it was 
 whispered about that he had lost his father but a few 
 weeks ago. He and Holdsworth became great friends, 
 as Holdsworth had said they would. Whenever it was 
 the first mate's watch on deck, the little fellow would
 
 38 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 paddle away from his mother's side and come to him, 
 and ask him to tell him stories, and show him the ship's 
 compass, at which he was never weary of looking. Then 
 you might see Holdsworth on a hencoop, or the skylight, 
 with the child upon his knee, coining nautical fairy-yarns 
 of people who live under the sea, and ride in chariots 
 composed of coral, to which fish with scales shining like 
 precious stones are harnessed. 
 
 Sometimes the widow, whose name was Tennent, 
 would come on deck and find them together, when she 
 would sit beside them and listen with a smile to Holds- 
 worth, whose stories the little boy Louis would on no 
 account suffer his mamma to interrupt. And to repay 
 him for his kindness to the child, and not more for that 
 than because she admired his honest nature, and was 
 won by his gentle and tender simplicity, she would lead 
 him on, with a world of feminine tact, to talk of his 
 wife, and comfort and make him happy with her sym- 
 pathy, her interest, and her assurances. 
 
 She was a calm, gentle-faced woman, with a settled 
 sorrow in the expression of her eyes that made her look, 
 older than she was, but her age would scarcely exceed 
 thirty-six. She showed little inclination to converse 
 with the other passengers, and would retire early at 
 night, and in the daytime sit in quiet places about the 
 deck, always with her boy beside her. 
 
 The merchant's wife, on the other hand, Mrs. Ashton, 
 was a gay, talkative woman, a showy dresser, and fond 
 of a quiet boast, which her husband, a short man' with 
 a yellow beard, took care never to contradict. Mr. 
 Holland began to pay her attention straightway, and 
 then Mr. St. Aubyn stepped in with theatrical emphasis 
 and smooth observations, like the speeches in comedies.
 
 IN THE ATLANTIC. 39 
 
 Captain Steel, though very polite to this lady, inclined 
 to Mrs. Tennent, his sailor's heart appreciating her 
 defencelessness, and propounding all kinds of problems 
 how best to amuse, please, and cheer her. But though 
 she could not fail to like the honest skipper, she evidently 
 preferred Holdsworth, who would go and talk to her for 
 an hour at a time about Dolly, and then listen, with a 
 face of kindliest sympathy, to little passages out of her 
 own life. 
 
 And so a week went by, and the ship strove with 
 the baffling winds, which blew directly from the quarter 
 to which her bowsprit should have pointed, and captain 
 and men began to chafe, finding the job of putting the 
 ship about tiresome at last. 
 
 On the seventh day, about the hour of sunset, the 
 wind fell, and the surface of the sea became polished as 
 glass, though from the north-east there came, through 
 the mighty expanse of water, a long and regular swell, 
 which made the ship rise and fall as regularly as the 
 breath of a sleeper. 
 
 " We shall have the wind from that quarter, 1 think, 
 sir," said Holdsworth to the skipper. 
 
 " Or is this an after-swell, Mr. Holdsworth 1" sug- 
 gested the skipper, sending his keen gaze across the sea to 
 the horizon, where the sky was as blue as it was overhead. 
 
 There was no telling. This long and regular swell 
 might be the precursor of a gale, or the effects of one 
 that had passed. The barometer had fallen, but this 
 might only indicate a southerly wind, not necessarily 
 dirty weather. The heavens were perfectly tranquil ; the 
 day was fading into a serene and gloriously beautiful 
 evening, with no hint in all its benign aspect to suggest 
 the need of the slightest precaution.
 
 40 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Mrs. Ashton was at the piano, accompanying Mr. St. 
 Aubyn to a song, which he sang so affectedly that some 
 of the hands forward mimicked him, and the forecastle 
 seemed fall of guinea-pigs. 
 
 Her husband popped his head over the skylight and 
 called to her to come and view the sunset. Up she 
 came, escorted by Mr. Holland and the actor, flounced 
 showily into a chair, and fell into a rapture. 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful ! The sea looks like gold ! doesn't 
 it, Captain Steel ? See how red the sails are ! Ah, if 
 I could only paint ! what fame such a picture as this 
 would bring me." 
 
 True ; but then what manner of pigments was need- 
 ful to reproduce the glory, the colour, the calm, the 
 infinity of that wonderful scene ! 
 
 The sun was sinking down a cloudless horizon, and 
 was now a vast crimson ball, throbbing and quivering 
 with his lower limb upon the sea-line. There was some- 
 thing overwhelming in the unspeakable majesty of his 
 unattended descent. As the huge crimson body ap- 
 peared to hang for some moments above the sea before 
 dipping, even Mrs. Ashton held her tongue, and seemed 
 impressed with the tremendous spectacle of loneliness 
 submitted by the globe of fire sinking away from the 
 sky with the vast solitude of the deep in the foreground. 
 Far into the measureless ocean he had sunk a cone of 
 fire, while the heights above and around him were dim 
 with burning haze. The sails of the "Meteor" were 
 yellow in the expiring light; her topmasts seemed veined 
 with lines of flame ; and the brass-work about her decks 
 reflected innumerable suns, each with threads' of glory 
 about it, that blinded the eyes to encounter. 
 
 But even while they gazed the sun vanished, and
 
 IN THE ATLANTIC. 41 
 
 darkness came with long strides across the deep, kind- 
 ling the stars and transforming the masts and yards of 
 the ship into phantom tracery as delicate as frostwork 
 to look at. 
 
 " Upon my word ! " exclaimed Mr. Holland in a tone 
 of rapture, " that's as fine a sight as I must hope to see 
 anywhere." 
 
 " If you could introduce a scene like that, Mr. St. 
 Aubyn, on the stage, eh?" laughed the General. 
 
 " Why, as to that," replied Mr. St. Aubyn, " let me 
 tell you, General, that there are some very fine scenes 
 to be found in the large theatres in London. In the 
 second act of ' Pizarro,' as I saw it the other night at 
 Drury Lane, there's a scene representing the Temple of 
 the Sun ; the sun is setting and God knows how they 
 managed it, but the sun did sink, not like yonder one, but 
 very finely in clouds, just as ' Ataliba ' exclaims, drawing 
 his sword, ' Now, my brethren, my sons, my friends, I 
 know your valour. Should ill success assail us.' "... 
 
 " Yes, yes," interrupted Mr. Holland impatiently ; 
 " but I always considered ' Pizarro,' as a play, to be full 
 of very poor rant. Who talks in real life like the 
 fellows in that piece are made to talk ?" 
 
 " My dear sir ! " exclaimed Mr. St. Aubyn with a 
 smile of contempt, " the stage is the arena of poetry ; 
 we are idealists." . . . 
 
 " Because you never mean what you say," said Mr. 
 Ashton, lighting a cigar. 
 
 " Oh, excuse me," rejoined Mr. St. Aubyn ; " true 
 actors are always in earnest. Siddons was." 
 
 " I once met Sarah Siddons," said Mrs. Ashton. 
 " Do you remember, dear, at Lord Shorthands V address- 
 ing her husband.
 
 42 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " I was only once at a theatre in my life," observed 
 Captain Steel, who had been listening to the conversa- 
 tion with an impressed face. " That was at Plymouth. 
 They gave us our money's worth. There was plenty of 
 fighting and love-making, and two traitors, both of 
 whom died game and covered with blood. There was 
 a little too much gunpowder at the end ; but I rather 
 think they raised smoke to hide the acting, which fell 
 off as the piece made headway. The best part of the 
 entertainment, to my thinking, was a fight between two 
 sailors in a private box. Mr. St. Aubyn, where do you 
 gentlemen, when you are run through the body, stow 
 all the blood you lose ? That's often puzzled me to 
 think" 
 
 "Oh, don't let me hear," cried Mrs. Ashton. " I hate 
 to be told such secrets." 
 
 " Captain," said the General, " how long is this calm 
 going to last?" 
 
 " All night, I am afraid. How's her head 1 " sang 
 out the captain. 
 
 "East-south-east, sir," responded the man at the 
 wheel. 
 
 " We're homeward bound," said the captain- laughing ; 
 "the old girl wants to get back again." 
 
 He walked away from the group, and stood near the 
 wheel, gazing aloft and around. The passengers con- 
 tinued talking and laughing, their voices sounding unreal 
 when listened to at a distance, and with the great, 
 desolate, silent sea breathing around. The sails flapped 
 lazily aloft, and the wheel-chains clanked from time to 
 time as the vessel rose and fell. Mrs. Tennent came 
 on deck, the captain joined her, and they walked up 
 and down. On the other side of the deck paced the
 
 IN THE ATLANTIC. 43 
 
 second mate. Forward were the dark shadows of some 
 of the hands upon the forecastle, smoking pipes and 
 talking in low voices. 
 
 The night had fallen darkly ; there was no moon, 
 but the stars were large and brilliant, and glittered in 
 flakes of white light in the sea. Presently a fiddle was 
 played in the forecastle, and a voice sang a mournful 
 tune that sounded weirdly in the gloom, and with a 
 muffled note. The air and voice were not without 
 sweetness, but there was the melancholy in it which 
 many songs popular among sailors have, and the wailing 
 cadence was helped out by the ghostly sails rearing 
 their glimmering spaces, and the subdued plash of the 
 water about the bows, as the ship sank into the hollows 
 of the swell. 
 
 Mrs. Tennent stopped, with the captain, at the poop- 
 rail to listen. 
 
 " What odd music 1" cried Mrs. Ashton. " It sounds 
 as if some one were playing out in the sea there." 
 
 " Let's have the fiddler here," said Mr. Holland. " I 
 like to enlarge my mind by observation, and have never 
 yet heard a real Jack Tar sing." 
 
 " Oh yes ! oh yes ! " exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, while 
 Mr. St. Aubyn called out, " I'll go and fetch him." 
 
 " Better stop where you are, sir," said the skipper, 
 drily ; " the forecastle's a dangerous hold for landsmen 
 to put their heads into. Mr. Thompson," he called to 
 the second mate, "just go and send that fiddler aft 
 here." 
 
 Presently came the man, followed at a respectful 
 distance by a crowd of his mates, who drew to the cap- 
 stan on the quarterdeck, and waited for what was to 
 follow.
 
 44 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 The fiddler and vocalist was a stumpy seaman, with 
 black whiskers, a hooked nose, and keen black eyes, 
 dressed in loose canvas breeches, well smeared with 
 tar, and a canvas shirt, with a belt about his 
 middle, in which was a sheath - knife. He hailed 
 from Southampton, but had gone so many voyages 
 in every species of ships Danish, French, Spanish, 
 American that he might fairly claim to belong to the 
 whole world. 
 
 He scraped with his left foot, and stood bashfully 
 awaiting orders, his glittering eyes travelling over the 
 group of gentlemen and ladies. 
 
 " You're wanted to sing a song, Daniels," said Cap- 
 tain Steel. 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir. What might it be 1" 
 
 " Something wild and plaintive," suggested Mrs. 
 Ashton. 
 
 "Give us a song about a sweetheart," said Mr. 
 Holland. 
 
 This was English to the sailor ; so, after a few mo- 
 ments' reflection, he screwed his fiddle into his neck, 
 scraped a few bars, and then sang. 
 
 He did his best, and murmurs from time to time 
 about the capstan illustrated enthusiastic appreciation 
 in one portion of his audience at least. Those on the 
 poop were more quiet, impressed by the peculiar wild- 
 ness of the song, and the rough, uncouth melody of the 
 tune. 
 
 The song was about a woman whose husband was a 
 sailor. The sailor went away to sea, and did not come 
 home, and she thought he had deserted her ; so she put 
 on man's clothes, shipped on board a vessel as a " hand," 
 and went in search of him. One night she is on the
 
 IN THE ATLANTIC. 45 
 
 forecastle, on the look-out. The watch are asleep ; 
 there's not a breath of air : 
 
 When, looking over the starboard side, 
 
 She sees a face as pale 
 As snow upon a mountain top, 
 
 Or moonlight on a sail. 
 
 The figure attached to the face rises, waist high, out of 
 the water, and extends his hands. 
 
 " God !" she screams, " is this my love t 
 
 Can this my Joey be ?" 
 And then she casts her eyes above 
 And jumps into the sea. 
 
 And sure enough the phantom was Joey, who had not 
 deserted her, as she had cruelly thought, but had been 
 drowned in the very spot where the vessel she was on 
 board of was becalmed. The song wound up with an 
 injunction to all wives or sweethearts of sailors never to 
 think that their Joes have played them false because 
 they do not return to their homes. 
 
 The passengers thanked the man for his song, and 
 Mrs. Ashton wanted another ; but Captain Steel, holding 
 that enough condescension had been exhibited, bade the 
 singer go to the steward and get a " tot of grog." 
 
 Much criticism followed ; but all, with the exception 
 of Mr. St. Aubyn, owned themselves impressed by the 
 rough simplicity and tragical theme of the forecastle 
 ballad. 
 
 "Pshaw !" cried the actor ; " put the man on a stage 
 before an audience, and he'd be hissed off. It's the 
 queer scratching of the catgut and the picturesque cos- 
 tume of the fellow that have pleased you. His voice 
 isn't goed enough to get him the post of call-boy at a 
 theatre."
 
 46 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 A warm argument followed this decision, and lasted 
 nearly half an hour, during which the General and Mr. 
 Ash ton left the group ; then the steward's bell rang, 
 and the passengers went below to their nightly potations 
 and to munch sweet biscuits.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 - 
 
 A. GALE OF WIND. 
 
 AT midnight Holdsworth came on deck to relieve the 
 second mate. A man out of the port watch came to 
 the wheel, and stood yawning, scarcely awake. The 
 night was dark a hazy atmosphere through which the 
 stars gleamed sparely, and the sea like ebony. The 
 rise and fall of the ship flapped the sails against the 
 masts and drove eddies of air about the decks, but in 
 reality there was not a breath of wind. 
 
 There was something stupendous in the black, pro- 
 found, and breathless placidity of the night. The com- . 
 pass swung round in the binnacle anywhere, but the 
 swell made the rudder kick heavily now and again, and 
 gave the wheel a twist that flung the spokes out of the 
 man's hand and woke him up. 
 
 This prolonged inactivity was galling. One longed 
 to hear the rush of parting water and the singing of the 
 wind in the shrouds. 
 
 The mainsail flapped so heavily that Holdsworth 
 ordered it to be furled. The song of the men brought 
 the captain on deck. He flitted, shadow-like, about 
 the binnacle, sniffed at the night impatiently, and then 
 went to Holdsworth. 
 
 " The glass has fallen half an inch since eight bells," 
 said he.
 
 48 JOHN IIOLDSWOllTII. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; there'll be a change before morning." 
 
 " Better stow the royals and mizzen-top gall'ns'L" 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir." 
 
 These, the topmost sails of the ship, were just dis- 
 cernible from the deck. In a few moments their dim 
 outlines melted, and some dark figures went up into the 
 gloom and vanished. 
 
 The captain returned to his cabin, and Holdsworth 
 strolled the deck. At two bells (one o'clock) the haze 
 went out of the sky and the stars shone fiercely. Holds- 
 worth, standing on the starboard side of the poop, felt 
 a light air creeping about his face, and the sound of the 
 flapping sails ceased. 
 
 " How's her head 1" 
 
 " North-a-quarter-west, sir." 
 
 He sang out an order, and a crowd of figures came 
 tumbling out of the forecastle and manned the port 
 braces. The air died away, but presently came a quick 
 puff which made the water bubble around the ship. 
 
 Holdsworth's eyes were upon the weather-horizon. 
 The stars burned purely, but away upon the water-line 
 was a thick shadow. 
 
 Again the wind died out and there was a breathless 
 stillness, amid which you might hear a sound vague, 
 murmurous, indescribable a distant echo it might 
 seem of something infinitely distant. 
 
 " Stand by the topgallant halliards ! " 
 
 A sense of expectation seemed to pervade the very 
 ship herself as she stood upright with her dim canvas 
 flapping in the darkness above. 
 
 The distant murmur grew more defined, and took 
 such a tone as you may hear in small sharp rain falling 
 at. a distance upon leaves. Then, out of the murky
 
 A GALE OF WIND. 49 
 
 horizon some clouds came rolling -long, attenuated 
 shadows, resembling visionary arms clutching at the 
 stars. The murmur approached ; the clouds, swinging 
 along the sky, formed into compact groups. Hark to 
 the quick hissing of the water lashed by the wind ! 
 
 In a moment the sails were round and hard, the 
 ship with her port- chains under water, and the wind 
 screeching fiercely over the ebony surface of the sea, 
 and whitening it with foam. 
 
 The captain was on the poop, holding on to the 
 main-topgallant backstay, and shrieking orders like one 
 possessed. It was indeed briefly a case of "Let go 
 everything ! " Under full topsail, foresail, staysails, 
 and jibs, the ship was too heavily weighted for the sur- 
 prising violence of the wind, and was powerless to right 
 herself. But every order given was the "right one. 
 And now you heard the deep tones of Holdsworth's 
 powerful voice mingling with the agitated commands of 
 the skipper, while yards came rushing down upon the 
 caps, and sails banged and roared aloft, and men shouted 
 lustily about the decks, and the sea fled in cataracts of 
 foam under the vessel's bows. 
 
 A time of deep excitement, but scarcely of suspense 
 there was too much hurrying for that. 
 
 There would have been something incredible to an 
 inexperienced landsman in the sight of the dark figures 
 swarming up the shrouds to give battle to the wild array 
 of canvas which groaned and bellowed like a dozen 
 thunderstorms in the sky a spectacle of human pluck 
 not to be realised, or in the faintest degree appreciated, 
 by those who have not beheld it. The night black 
 the yards slanting so that the extremity of the main-yard 
 touched the water ; the footing upon those yards a thin 
 
 E
 
 50 JOHN HOLDSWOETIT. 
 
 line which must be felt for by the feet; the canvas, 
 loosened by the lowering of the yard, bellied by the 
 force of the wind many feet above the heads of the 
 reefers, and presenting to their hands a surface of iron ; 
 and the three masts quivering under the shocks and 
 convulsions of the sails ! 
 
 All hands were at work now, and there were men 
 enough to reef both big topsails at once, whilst others 
 over their heads furled the topgallant sails. Holdsworth 
 had been one of the first to spring up the main rigging ; 
 he knew the value of every pair of hands in that 
 moment of danger; and away active, daring, his 
 hands and arms like steel he clambered for the weather- 
 earing. But the boatswain was before him, so he made 
 /or the lee yard-arm. 
 
 Figure a smooth spar, fifty-five feet long, sloping at 
 a height of as many feet to the water's surface, the said 
 surface not being a mill pond, but a sheet of foam ; 
 figure a pitch dark night, a line stretched along the yard, 
 down which you must slide to the extremity, a sail 
 weighing half a dozen tons banging at your head and 
 your feet, and doing its utmost to throw you; then, 
 having reached the extremity of the yard, figure your 
 legs thrown across it as you might bestride a horse, 
 beneath you the foaming sea, almost at right angles the 
 inclined deck of the ship, a long stone's throw distant 
 a deep darkness everywhere, save where a wave, break- 
 ing massively, flings out a phosphorescent light and 
 deepens the blackness of its own chasm whilst the 
 gale yells about your ears, and blinds you with spray 
 that stings like hail ! 
 
 Figure this, and you will then very faintly realise 
 what " taking the lee-earing " in a gale at sea means.
 
 A GALE OF WIND. 51 
 
 The cries of the men aloft, and the beating of the 
 canvas, sounded like an unearthly contest in mid-air ; 
 but they ceased presently, and then the hands came 
 hurrying down the rigging and fell to the halliards. 
 Holdsworth sprang on to the poop, his cap gone, his 
 hair blown about his eyes, and roared out orders, while 
 the captain, more easy in his mind about his spars, went 
 aft and hung about the binnacle, watching the compass 
 often. 
 
 The ship was now under double-reefed topsails, and 
 reeling through the darkness almost bare of sail. The 
 wind was increasing in violence every five minutes, and 
 an ugly Atlantic sea was running right athwart the 
 ship's course, hurling great waves against her starboard 
 beam, which ran in waterspouts of foam as high as the- 
 main-top, and was blown in big hissing flakes through 
 the rigging to leeward. It was soon deemed expedient 
 to close-reef the topsails ; but even under these mere 
 streaks of canvas the " Meteor " lay over to the gale 
 down to her water-ways, and the water bubbling in her 
 lee scuppers. But luckily the gale was right abeam, 
 and the vessel could hold her course ; but her speed was 
 comparatively small, and she laboured heavily. 
 
 So passed the darkest hours of the night. At four 
 o'clock the gale was at its worst. They had rigged up 
 a hurricane-house in the mizzen rigging a square of 
 tarpaulin, which the wind flattened hard against the 
 shrouds and under this shelter sat Holdsworth and 
 the captain, scarce able to hear their own voices, pitched 
 in the loudest key, amid the howling of the tempest. 
 Once Holdsworth went below to look at the glass, and 
 came back saying it was steady. The skipper roared 
 that he never before remembered so sudden a gale, and
 
 52 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Holdsworth owned that only once was he so caught 
 in the Pacific, when they lost their fore-topmast. 
 
 There was nothing more to be done, unless they 
 hove the ship to ; but this was not needful. The dawn 
 broke at five, and the pale cheerless light illuminated a 
 wild and dreary scene of tumbling desolate waters 
 billowing in mountains to the horizon. The " Meteor," 
 almost under bare poles, her yards pointed to the gale, 
 her ropes and lines blown in semicircles to leeward, 
 laboured heavily, caught nqw by a sea that threw her 
 on her beam-ends, and now swooping into a chasm 
 walled with boiling green water, making the gale screech 
 like a million steam- whistles through her rigging, as she 
 drove up against it, while coiling tongues of water ran 
 in cataracts up her glistening sides and fell in dead 
 weights upon her decks. The sky, from horizon to 
 horizon, was a dark lead colour, along which under- 
 clouds, in appearance resembling volumes of smoke, 
 were swept along, torn and rent, and discharging at 
 intervals quick, biting showers of rain. 
 
 Some of the passengers came on deck the General, 
 Mr. Holland, and Mr. St. Aubyn. The General turned 
 about when he had advanced a few feet, and disappeared ; 
 Mr. Holland in a very short time followed his example ; 
 but the actor, with manifest looks of terror in his pallid 
 face, pushed onwards with outstretched hands for the 
 hurricane-house. The captain advised him to go below ; 
 but at that moment the ship, rolling suddenly to wind- 
 ward, shipped a shower of spray, which soaked the poor 
 actor through and through ; a moment after, the vessel 
 heeled heavily over to leeward ; away rolled the actor, 
 impelled both by the wind and the unerring law of 
 gravitation, and was flung against the lee mizzen rigging,
 
 A GALE OF WIND. 53 
 
 to which he was pinned by the violence of the gale as 
 effectually as if he had been lashed to the shrouds. 
 He screamed for help, on which Holdsworth went over 
 to him, took him by the arm, and dragged him against 
 the wind to the companion-hatchway. As Mr. St. 
 Aubyn staggered below, clinging like a kitten to what- 
 ever he could lay hands on, he was heard to implore 
 Holdsworth to tell him if there was any danger ; but, 
 before the words were out of his mouth, Holdsworth 
 was clinging to the weather-rigging and calling the 
 captain's attention to a brig, which had risen out of the 
 sea like an apparition, and was tearing before the gale 
 with full topsails and topgallant-sails set. 
 
 " A Yankee, by her build ! " said the captain. " It's 
 only a Yankee who would carry that sail in such a 
 wind." 
 
 It was a sight to see her flying along, sinking her 
 hull sometimes out of sight, then poised on the giddy 
 summit of a huge wave, whose crest broke under her 
 bows, her copper bottom glistening like red gold against 
 the slate-coloured water. She passed within a quarter 
 of a mile of the " Meteor's " weather-beam, and up flew 
 the stripes and stars and stood like a painted board at 
 her peak. The second mate answered the salutation by 
 bending on the small ensign and running it up. Any 
 further signalling was out of the question in that gale. 
 The men on board the brig could just be made out. 
 She was a smart vessel, black-hulled, with bows like a 
 knife, and skysail poles, which gave her masts an aspect 
 of perfect symmetry ; and she Avas splendidly handled. 
 She went like a swan over the seething billows, streaming 
 a foaming wake, and in a very few moments was lost in 
 the haze and gloom of the near horizon.
 
 54 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 As the morning advanced the gale decreased, but a 
 terrible sea was up, which made the ship labour so 
 furiously that to steady her in some degree they set the 
 trysail and foresail. There was, however, the comfort 
 of daylight abroad, and the men could see what they 
 were about. Both Holdsworth and the captain went 
 below to get a little sleep, and the vessel was left in 
 command of the second mate, a young man named 
 Thompson. There were two hands at the wheel, and 
 two on the look-out on the forecastle, glittering in oil- 
 skins, and ducking now and again to the seas which 
 swept over the ship's bows. 
 
 The fore and main hatches were battened down, and 
 the main-deck was a foot deep in water, which washed 
 to and fro as the ship rolled, and which, as fast as it 
 ran through the scupper-holes, was replaced by fresh 
 and heavy inroads of the sea. 
 
 But all this was trifling ; the vessel was snug, the 
 gale was moderating, and the extra sail that had been 
 made was driving the ship through the water in fine style. 
 
 Meanwhile, the passengers beloAv, having been reas- 
 sured by the captain, were making what breakfast they 
 could off the rolls, tea, and rashers of ham which clattered 
 about the table, and tumbled into their laps. The trays 
 swung wildly from the deck, and it demanded great 
 vigilance and close attention to their convulsive move- 
 ments to repossess oneself of the cup or plate one 
 placed upon them for safety. The negro steward 
 shambled round the table, halting every moment to 
 make a grasp at anything that came in his road, to 
 steady himself. Now and again you heard the smash 
 of crockery. Some conversation was attempted ; and 
 the General invited Mr. Holland to go up on deck and
 
 A GALE OF WIND. 55 
 
 witness a scene which would probably exceed in majesty 
 Niagara Falls; but Mr. Holland said he would wait until 
 the vessel was steadier. Mr. St. Aubyn had changed his 
 clothes and sat holding on to the table, looking the part 
 of fear infinitely better than he could hope to imperson- 
 ate it before the footlights. The ladies remained in their 
 cabins. Mrs. Ashton, overcome with sickness and the 
 fear of drowning, was driving her maid distracted with 
 orders, which it was out of the poor wretch's power to 
 execute. In truth, the maid's legs were perfectly useless 
 to her, which Mrs. Ashton, lying on her back, refused 
 to understand. Cries were repeatedly coming from the 
 direction of her cabin for " Harry ! Harry ! " which re- 
 ceived no attention, owing to Harry's in other words, 
 to Mr. Ashton's utter incapacity to move a step with- 
 out being flung upon the deck. 
 
 A somewhat different scene was presented by the in- 
 terior of the forecastle, where both watches were- having 
 breakfast. Men holding tin pannikins stepped easily 
 round to the galley, where the cook was dispensing a 
 milkless, sugarless black fluid called tea, and retreated 
 into the twilight of the forecastle, carrying the steaming 
 beverage. There sat the sailors, some swinging in ham- 
 mocks with their legs dangling down, some on sea-chests, 
 some on canvas bags, drinking from pannikins, swallow- 
 ing lumps of biscuit hard as iron, or hacking with the 
 knives they wore in their belts at bits of cold pork or 
 beef, floating in vinegar, in tin dishes held between 
 their knees ; some smoking, some making ready to 
 " turn in," and all jabbering away as gaily as if they 
 were comfortably seated in a Liverpool or Poplar singing- 
 house the mariner's earthly paradise and each with 
 his Sue or his Betsey at his side. Here, more than in
 
 56 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 any other part of the ship, you felt her motion the 
 mighty lifting of her bows, and the long sweeping fall 
 as she pitched nose under, while the heavy seas boomed 
 against her outside as though at any moment the timbers 
 must dispart and the green waves rush in. 
 
 At twelve o'clock the gale had decreased to such a 
 degree that they were able to shake two reefs out of the 
 main top-sail and set the topgallant sail. The action of 
 the sea, moreover, was much less violent. The weather 
 had cleared, the pale blue sky could be seen shining 
 through the white mist that fled along it, and the sun 
 stood round and clean and coppery in the heavens, 
 throwing a dark red lustre upon the quick, passionate 
 play of the sea beneath. 
 
 Some of the passengers crawled upon deck and gazed 
 with wonderment around them. Certainly the panorama 
 was a somewhat different one from what had been un- 
 rolled to their eyes the day before. The ship had a 
 fagged and jaded look with her drenched decks, her 
 ropes blown slack with the violence of the wind, and 
 the canvas made unequal to the eye by the reefs in the 
 topsails. It was again Holdsworth's watch on deck. 
 The captain walked up and down chuckling over the 
 improved aspect of the weather and on the wind, which 
 was drawing more easterly, and therefore more favourable. 
 
 "You can shake out the reefs, Mr. Holdsworth. 
 She'll bear it now," he called out. 
 
 Out reefs it was : the ship felt the increased pressure, 
 and rushed forward like a liberated racehorse. 
 
 " This is capital !" exclaimed the old General, totter- 
 ing about with outstretched hands, ever on the alert for 
 
 O 
 
 a special roll. " A week of this, captain, will carry us 
 a good way on our road."
 
 A GALE OF WIND. 57 
 
 " Ay, sir, aud we must make up for lost time." 
 
 And then presently he gave orders to set the inaiu- 
 sail and the other two topgallant sails. 
 
 " The glass still keeps low, sir," said Holdsworth. 
 
 " But let's take advantage of the daylight, Mr. Holds- 
 worth. We mustn't lose an opportunity." 
 
 The sky had now cleared, the sun shone cheerily ; 
 the wind, having drawn aft, was now no more than 
 what sailors would call a main-royal breeze. The fore- 
 topmast stun'sail was set. The passengers regained 
 their spirits, and though the ship still rolled pretty 
 freely, Mr. St. Aubyn and Mr. Holland, to show that 
 they were now masters of their legs, walked up and 
 down the deck, diversifying their conversation with 
 sundry stumbles, and now and then by falling against 
 each other. But the bright sunshine made such contre- 
 temps a source of merriment. Moreover, the ladies were 
 on deck now, Mrs. Ashton having been pushed up the 
 companion-ladder by her husband, who, in his turn, had 
 met with great assistance behind from the kindly hands 
 of the negro steward, who was anxious to get them both 
 out of the cuddy, that he might show his teeth to the 
 maid-servant. Captain Steel seeing Mrs. Ashton at- 
 tended by the other gentlemen, who were industrious 
 in their inquiries after her nerves, gallantly gave his 
 arm to the widow, whilst her little boy ran to Holds- 
 worth, who took his hand, kissed and began to talk to 
 him, finding endless pleasure in looking into his eyes 
 and humouring the suggestions of home-life, of flowers, 
 of women's love, of his own wife, which were somehow 
 conveyed to him by the boy's prattle and wise child- 
 smiles and perfect innocence.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 
 
 AT five o'clock the wind was south-east ; a fresh breeze, 
 with a lively sea and a cloudy sky. The wind being aft, 
 the ship sailed on an even keel, to the great comfort of 
 the passengers, who found the inclined decks intolerable. 
 
 From the aspect of the sea, it was evident that the 
 ship had got into water which had not been touched by 
 the gale of the morning of such narrow proportions 
 sometimes are the tempests which sweep the ocean. 
 Away northwards, whither the clouds were rolling, there 
 loomed a long, low, smoke-coloured bank of cloud or fog, 
 so exactly resembling a coast seen from a distance that 
 the passengers were deceived, and some of them called 
 out that yonder was land ! 
 
 "Tell us now, captain," cried Mrs. Ashton; "it is 
 land, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Why, madam," rejoined the captain, " for anything 
 I can tell, it may be Laputa." 
 
 " Or Utopia," suggested the General, " the land of 
 idealisms and paradisaical institutions." 
 
 Mrs. Ashton laughed, seeing the joke, but Mr. St. 
 Aubyn, conceiving that they were talking of real coun- 
 tries, proposed that the captain should head the vessel 
 for the shore.
 
 TAKEN ABACK! 59 
 
 " No, no ! too far out of my course," answered the 
 skipper, with a wise shake of the head. "It would 
 make a Flying Dutchman of the ship were we once to 
 set to work to reach that land." 
 
 " If I really thought it Utopia," said the General, 
 stroking his moustache, " I would beg you to land me 
 at once, so eager am I to witness the condition of a 
 people living under a form of government the like of 
 which, for wisdom, humanity, and availability, is not to 
 be met with in any other part of the world. But it 
 may be Laputa, as you suggested." 
 
 " Or Lilliput," said Mr. Holland ; whereupon the 
 actor, perceiving that a joke was playing at his expense, 
 scowled dramatically at the bank of cloud, and muttered, 
 that, for his part, when he asked a civil question he 
 usually looked for a truthful answer. 
 
 Just then a voice forward shouted out, " A sail on 
 the lee bow !" 
 
 There is always something exciting in this cry at 
 sea. Storms and calms grow wearisome after a bit, but 
 the interest that clusters about a vessel met on the 
 broad deep never loses its freshness. The captain went 
 for his telescope, and, after a brief inspection, announced 
 the vessel to be a large barque going the same road as 
 themselves. Mrs. Ashton asked leave to look through 
 the telescope, and a good deal of coquettish bye-play 
 took place ; for, first she shut both eyes, and then she 
 couldn't see at all ; and then she shut the eye that looked 
 through the telescope, and, keeping the other open, 
 declared that she could see better without the glass. 
 Then the telescope wouldn't keep steady ; so Mr. St. 
 Aubyn went upon his knees and begged her to use his 
 shoulder for a rest. At last, after an infinity of trouble,
 
 60 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 and when the cramp was just beginning to seize the 
 actor's legs, she obtained a glimpse of the barque as it 
 swept through the field of the glass, and owned herself 
 delighted and satisfied. 
 
 The "Meteor" came up with the stranger hand 
 over fist, keeping to windward of her; and soon she 
 was no farther than a mile off, a big hull high in the 
 water, bare and black, with round bows and a square 
 stern. They hoisted the ensign on board the " Meteor," 
 but the barque showed no colours. 
 
 " Some sour North Countryman, I reckon," said 
 Captain Steel. " She has a Sunderland cut." 
 
 She was under full sail, but just when the " Meteor " 
 got abreast of her, she clewed her royals up, down came 
 the flying and outer jibs, and the topgallant yards. 
 
 "What is she afraid of?" exclaimed Captain Steel, 
 gazing at her curiously. 
 
 You could see the pigmy figures of the men clamber- 
 ing up the rigging, and presently down fell the topsail 
 yards and up went more figures, and the spars were 
 dotted with heads. Anything more picturesque than 
 this vessel her black hull rolling majestically, her 
 white sails vanishing even as you watched them, her 
 rigging marked against the cloudy sky, the sense of the 
 noisy activity on board of her, of which no faintest echo 
 stole across the water, and all between, the tumbling 
 cloud-coloured waters cannot be imagined. The crew 
 of the "Meteor" watched her with curiosity; but she 
 now fell rapidly astern, and in a short time could be 
 seen clearly only by the telescope, which Captain Steel 
 held to his eye, speculating upon her movements. 
 
 The dinner-bell rang. It was now the first dog-watch. 
 Thompson, the second mate, came on deck, and the
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 61 
 
 passengers went to dinner. The sunlight had a watery 
 gleam in it as the lengthening rays fell upon the sky- 
 light, and Holdsworth's eyes constantly wandered to the 
 sails, which were visible through the glass. The skipper 
 was in high humour, and during dinner laughed at the 
 barque they had passed for shortening sail under a blue 
 sky. 
 
 "I'll wager a hat," he exclaimed, "that she's com- 
 manded by a Scotchman, even if she don't hail from a 
 North British port. I don't mean to say that your 
 Scotchman's a timid man, but he's unco' thoughtful. 
 My first skipper was a Sawney, and every night, as 
 regularly as the second dog-watch came round, it was 
 ' In royals and flying-jib, and a single reef in the mizzen- 
 top-sail.' " 
 
 " But there must be some reason for the barque furl- 
 ing her sails," said the General. 
 
 " From his point of view, no doubt, sir. You have 
 seen what the weather has been all the afternoon T' 
 
 "The wind is dropping, sir," said Holdsworth, look- 
 ing through the skylight. 
 
 He had an uneasy expression in his eyes, and he 
 frequently glanced at the skipper; but etiquette of a 
 very severe kind prohibited him from imparting his 
 misgivings of a change, in the face of the skipper's 
 manifest sense of security. 
 
 " It may freshen after sunset," rejoined the skipper. 
 " Mr. Holland, the pleasure of a glass of wine." 
 
 The conversation drifted into other channels. Mrs. 
 Ashton gave an account of a country ball she had 
 attended a week or two before she left England, and 
 described the dress she wore on that occasion, appealing 
 often to her husband to aid her memory, and riveting
 
 62 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 the attention of Mr. St. Aubyn. Then the General 
 talked of the garrison-towns he had visited, and paid 
 some handsome compliments to the British army, and to 
 English society in general. Mrs. Tennent, seated on 
 the captain's right hand, with her boy at her side, 
 listened to without joining in the conversation. 
 
 Holdsworth's eyes roamed incessantly through the 
 skylight. 
 
 It happened presently that the General, in speaking 
 of the beauty of English inland scenery, mentioned the 
 county in which Southbourne was situated, and instanced 
 in particular the country around Hanwitch, a town lying 
 not half a dozen miles from Southbourne. Holdsworth 
 pricked his ears, and joined in the conversation. He 
 had reason to remember Hanwitch. One of the happiest 
 days he had spent, during the three months he had been 
 ashore, was that in which he had driven Dolly over to 
 that town, and dined in the queer little hotel that 
 fronted a piece of river-scenery as beautiful as any that 
 is to be found up the Thames. 
 
 Whilst he and the General talked, the skipper argued 
 with Mr. St. Aubyn on the merits of the English as a 
 paying people. St. Aubyn declared that the English 
 public, taken in the aggregate, was a mean public, rarely 
 liberal, and then liberal in wrong directions, supporting 
 quack institutions, responding to quack appeals, and 
 ignoring true excellence, especially histrionic excellence. 
 Both grew warm; then Mr. Holland joined in. He 
 sent the discussion wandering from the point, and in 
 stepped Mr. Ashton. 
 
 Meanwhile the decanters went round, the cuddy 
 grew dark, and the negro was looking at the steward 
 for orders to light the swinging lamps.
 
 TAKEN ABACK! 63 
 
 Hark! 
 
 A loud cry from the deck, followed by a sudden rush 
 of feet, and the ship heeled over over yet over ! 
 
 The women shrieked ; the skylight turned black ; 
 plates, decanters, cutlery, glass, rolled from the table 
 and fell with quick crashes. The decks fore and aft 
 echoed with loud calls. You could hear the water 
 gurgling in the lee port-holes. A keen blue gleam 
 flashed upon the skylight ; but if thunder followed the 
 lightning it was inaudible amid the wild and continuous 
 shrieking of the wind. 
 
 The skipper and Holdsworth scrambled to the 
 companion-ladder and gained the deck. In a trice they 
 saw what had happened. The ship, with all sails set, 
 had been taken aback. 
 
 Away to windward, in the direction directly contrary 
 to where the wind had been blowing before dinner, the 
 sky was livid, flinging an early night upon the sea, and 
 sending forth a tempest of wind that tore the water into 
 shreds of foam. The whole force of the hurricane was 
 upon the ship's canvas, which lay backed against the 
 masts, and the vessel lay on her beam-ends, her masts 
 making an angle of forty degrees with the horizon. 
 
 The confusion was indescribable. Every halliard 
 had been let go ; but the yards were jammed by the 
 sails, and would not descend. The clew-lines were 
 manned, but the sheets would not stir an inch through 
 the blocks. Nor was the worst of the squall, tempest, 
 hurricane, whatever it might be, upon them yet ; that 
 livid pall of cloud which the lightning was seaming with 
 zigzag fire was still to come, and with it the full fury 
 its scowling aspect portended. 
 
 " My God ! " thundered the skipper to the second
 
 64 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 mate, who stood white, cowed, and apparently helpless, 
 " what have you brought us into 1" 
 
 The wheel was jammed hard a-starboard, but the 
 ship lay like a log, broadside on to the wind, her masts 
 bowed almost on a level with the water. 
 
 " Haul ! for your lives, men ! haul ! " shrieked the 
 skipper frantically to the men, who appeared paralysed 
 by the sudden catastrophe, and stood idly with the clew- 
 lines and reef tackles passed along them. 
 
 Holdsworth, half-way up the weather-poop ladder, 
 his head above the bulwarks, saw sooner than the 
 captain what was about to happen. 
 
 " Crowd to windward, all hands ! " he roared. There 
 was no time to say more ; the great broad, livid cloud 
 was upon them even whilst Holdsworth sang out the 
 command ; the men held their breath unless the masts 
 went the vessel was doomed. 
 
 Crash ! A noise of wood shivered into splinters, of 
 flogging ropes and sails thundering their tatters upon 
 the wind ; the fore and main masts went as you would 
 break a clay-pipe stem across your knee the first, just 
 below the top, the other clean off at the deck ; and the 
 huge mass of spars, ropes, and sails lay quivering and 
 rolling alongside a portion on deck, but the greater 
 bulk of them in the water grinding into the vessel's 
 side as if she had grounded upon a shoal of rocks. 
 
 The ship righted, and then another crash; away 
 went the mizzen-topmast, leaving the spanker and cross- 
 jack set. The wind caught these sails and swept the 
 ship's head round right in the eye of the storm, and off 
 she drove to leeward, disabled, helpless dragging her 
 shattered spars with her, like something living its torn 
 and mangled limbs.
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 65 
 
 There was no situation in the whole range of the 
 misfortunes which may befall a ship at sea more critical 
 than the one the " Meteor" was now in. The sea was 
 -rising quickly and leaping high over the ship's bows, 
 pouring tons of water in upon the decks (the weight of 
 the wreck alongside preventing the vessel from rising 
 to the waves), and carrying whatever had become un- 
 lashed casks, spare spars, and the like aft to the 
 cuddy front, against which they were launched with a 
 violence that broke the windows, and soon promised to 
 demolish the woodwork. 
 
 But the worst part of the business was the action 
 of the sea set the spars in the water and the hull of the 
 ship rolling against each other, and the thump, thump, 
 thump of the bristly wreck against the vessel's side sent 
 a hollow undertone through the hooting of the tempest 
 that was awful to hear. 
 
 Though the mizzen-mast still stood, the weight of 
 the other masts in falling had severely wrenched it, and 
 it literally rocked in its bed to the swaying of the great 
 spanker-boom. Add to all this the midnight darkness 
 in the air, which the flashes of lightning only served to 
 deepen by the momentary and ghastly illumination they 
 cast. 
 
 Yet, if the ship was not to be dragged to destruction, 
 it was imperative that she should be freed, and freed at 
 once, from the ponderous incumbrance of the wreck that 
 ground against her side. The captain had shouted him- 
 self hoarse, and was no longer to be heard. But now 
 Holdsworth made himself audible in tones that rose 
 above the gale like trumpet-blasts. 
 
 " We must clear the wreck or founder ! All hands 
 out with their knives and cut away everything ! " 
 
 F
 
 66 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 A comprehensive order that must be literally obeyed. 
 
 " Carpenter ! " he roared. 
 
 " Here, sir," came a voice from the main-deck. 
 
 Holdsworth sprang in the direction of the voice: 
 shouted again, and the man was at his side. 
 
 "Quick! Where's your tool chest? Bear a hand, 
 now ! " 
 
 The two men fought their way through the water 
 that came drenching and flying over the forecastle, to 
 the boatswain's berth, which the carpenter shared ; and 
 in a few moments returned staggering aft with their 
 arms full of tools, which they thrust into the hands of 
 the men. Holdsworth seized an adze ; the carpenter 
 another ; and to it fell all hands, feeling for the ropes 
 and then letting drive at them. 
 
 The mere occupation heartened the men, who worked 
 with a will, bursting into encouraging cheers from time 
 to time and calling to each other incessantly. The 
 lightning was so far useful that it enabled them to obtain 
 glimpses of the progress they made. The starboard 
 shrouds lay across the deck, from bulwark to bulwark, 
 like bridges ; these were the first that were dealt with. 
 They kept the wreck close alongside, and the strain 
 upon them was enormous. Whilst Holdsworth and the 
 carpenter hacked, they repeatedly called to a few of the 
 men whose zeal kept them working on the lee side, 
 though their figures could not be seen, to stand clear, 
 wisely guessing that after a few of the shrouds had been 
 severed, the whole would part like a rope-yarn : and 
 this happened. One final blow divided a shroud and 
 left the weight upon a few others, which were unequal 
 to support it ; and as they flew a loud shriek rose ; a 
 man had been caught by the flying shrouds round the
 
 TAKEN ABACK! 67 
 
 body and whirled overboard like dust. But in the 
 darkness none could tell who the messmate was that 
 had lost his life. 
 
 The parting of these shrouds released the wreck from 
 the ship's side, and it drifted some fathoms away. The 
 horrible grinding sounds ceased ; but still the masts and 
 yards, which the lightning disclosed seething in the 
 water, black, ugly, and as dangerous as a lee-shore, were 
 attached to the hull by a network of rope, all which 
 must be severed. The knives of the men cut and hacked 
 in all directions ; and first here and then there, and 
 sometimes as if crashing in half-a-dozen places at once, 
 the adze wielded by Holdsworth was to be heard. 
 
 The last shroud was at length severed, the last rope 
 parted ; the hull, drifting faster than the dead weight 
 of wreck, fell astern of the horrible incumbrance, and 
 the next flash of lightning showed the water boiling 
 round the black spars ahead. 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Holdsworth; but the men, 
 wearied and faint after their long and great struggle, 
 and sickened by the shriek of their perishing comrade, 
 whose cry still sounded in their ears, answered the 
 encouraging shout faint-heartedly. 
 
 The ocean was still a black and howling wilderness, 
 and the vessel plunged and rolled, and trembled in the 
 jumping seas, with her head right in the wind's eye, and 
 the water pouring over her in sheets of undulating fire. 
 The water had stove in the cuddy front, and was wash- 
 ing in tons down into the steerage. What they had 
 now to do was to furl the cross-jack ; aft came the men 
 and clewed the sail up ; on which the vessel fell broad- 
 side to the wind and rolled her bulwarks under water. 
 
 To furl the cross-jack was a job full of peril ; but, if
 
 68 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 the thing was to be done at all, it was to be done by a 
 coup de main. Holdsworth, crying to the hands to follow 
 him, sprang up the port mizzen rigging. Half-a-dozen 
 went up after him, the rest skulked in the darkness, 
 and stood holding their breath, expecting every moment 
 the crash that should fling the men aloft into the sea. 
 No glimpse of the brave fellows was to be obtained ; 
 nothing but the flapping outline of the white sail could 
 be seen ; the mast creaked harshly ; but from time to 
 time the men's voices could be heard even above the 
 roar of the tempest, the groaning of the ship, and the 
 rolling of spare casks, a sheep-pen which had become 
 unlashed, and other things about the waist and quarter- 
 deck ; and slowly the faint spaces of thundering canvas 
 vanished in the darkness, and were securely stowed. 
 
 Meanwhile, the hands about the poop had been sent 
 to man the pumps. The carpenter had sounded the 
 well and reported three feet of water in the hold. 
 
 " She must be tight, sir ! I am sure she is tight, 
 sir ! She has shipped the water that's in her through 
 the mast-coat of the main-mast ! " the skipper shouted 
 to Holdsworth, who stood, panting from his exertions 
 aloft, close against the mizzen-mast, that he might 
 judge what chance there was of its standing. 
 
 Meanwhile, the wheel was hard a-starboard, and 
 the gale was now upon the ship's quarter, the huge 
 waves breaking under her counter and sending her 
 wildly yawing forward. Had there been daylight, they 
 could have rigged up a jury foresail on the stump of 
 the fore-mast, which would have served to keep her 
 before the wind ; but nothing could be done in the over- 
 whelming darkness except to keep the pumps at work. 
 
 But she was riding more easily now, and shipping
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 69 
 
 fewer seas ; the port bulwark just abaft the gangway 
 had been crushed to a level with the deck by the fall 
 of the main-mast, and offered a wide aperture for the 
 escape of the water, so that the main-deck, where the 
 hands worked the pumps, was practicable. 
 
 Furiously as it still blew, it was evident that the 
 storm was abating ; there were rifts in the clouds, 
 through which, here and there, a pale star glimmered 
 for an instant, and was then swallowed up. 
 
 It was now five bells (half-past ten) ; the skipper 
 ordered rum to be served out to the men, who were 
 wet through to the skin, and fagged to death by their 
 extraordinary exertions. The carpenter sounded the 
 well again, and reported an increase of three inches in 
 the depth of water. This was a terrible announcement, 
 and proved beyond a doubt that the ship was leaking, 
 though the crew were kept in ignorance of the report, 
 that they might not be disheartened. 
 
 At six bells the clouds had broken into huge black 
 groups, with spaces of clear sky between, and the wind 
 was lulling as rapidly as it had risen. 
 
 The ship was still buoyant enough to rise easily over 
 the seas ; but anything more forlorn than her appear- 
 ance, as it was disclosed by the dim light that fell from 
 the rifts among the clouds, cannot be imagined. 
 
 The fore-mast stood like a black and lightning- 
 shattered tree ; the jib-boom hung in two pieces from 
 the bowsprit ; where the main-mast had stood were 
 some huge, jagged splinters; and aft towered the 
 mizzen-mast, Avith the cross-jack swinging to the roll of 
 the ship, the spanker with its peak halliards gone, and 
 the whole picture of it completing the unutterable air 
 of desolation presented by the storm-shattered vessel.
 
 70 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 At eight bells the carpenter reported no increase of 
 the water in the hold, which cheering intimation the 
 captain delivered to the men from the break of the poop, 
 who received it with a faint cheer. 
 
 The pumps had been relieved three times, and now 
 the port watch was at them, making the water bubble 
 on to the deck, where it was washed to and fro, and 
 poured in streams through the scupper-holes. 
 
 At one o'clock, Holdsworth, who had been on deck 
 since a quarter to seven, went below to put on dry 
 clothes ; and as he was leaving his cabin to return on 
 deck he met Mrs. Tennent. tier face was very pale in 
 the light of the swinging lamp, and she stood at her 
 cabin door, by the handle of which she supported herself. 
 
 " Are we not in great danger, Mr. Holdsworth ?" she 
 whispered, in a tone of deep excitement. 
 
 " The worst is passed, I hope," answered Holdsworth 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "Do not be afraid of telling me the truth. I can 
 be brave for my child's sake. If real danger should 
 come, Mr. Holdsworth, will you remember him ? Will 
 you be near him in that moment ?" 
 
 " We won't talk of danger yet, Mrs. Tennent. We 
 have had an ugly bout of it, but the daylight is coming, 
 and then we shall be more comfortable." 
 
 " Many times," she exclaimed, " I thought we were 
 sinking ! God ! what a horrible night this has 
 been 1 I heard the water rushing past the cabin door, 
 and I tried to reach the deck, but was too faint to carry 
 my child, and I could not leave him." 
 
 " Well, you see we are still afloat," Holdsworth 
 answered cheerily. " Depend upon it, we will do our 
 best to save the ship. Take my advice and lie down
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 71 
 
 and get some sleep. This water here," pointing to the 
 cuddy-deck, " means nothing ; a swab will put that to 
 rights. The morning is coming, and you are sailing 
 under a skipper who knows what he is about." 
 He waved his hand cordially, and left her. 
 
 All through that long night the hands stuck to the 
 pumps, but the water gained upon them inch by inch, 
 and when the morning broke at last, the vessel was deep 
 and heavy, rolling sluggishly, and leaking fast. 
 
 The sun was a welcome sight to the poor fagged 
 seamen. Up he sprang, flushing the universe with a 
 pink splendour, and dispersing the heavy clouds which 
 hung in clusters about his rising-point. 
 
 Up to that time there had been a fresh breeze blow- 
 ing, the dregs, so to speak, of the storm that had dis- 
 mantled the ship but this lulled as the sun rose, the 
 sea smoothed out its turbulent waves, and a day filled 
 with the promise of calm and beauty broke on a scene 
 as desolate as any the heart can conceive. 
 
 One of the watches was in the forecastle ; half the 
 other watch on deck was at the pumps, the monotonous 
 sounds of which had been echoing many hours, together 
 with the gushing of water surging over the decks, and 
 pouring in streams from the ship's sides. 
 
 The vessel was now no more than a log on the water ; 
 not a shred of canvas, with the exception of the muti- 
 lated spanker upon her, her port bulwarks crushed, her 
 fore-mast a stump, her decks exhibiting a scene of wild 
 disorder loose spars that had been washed from forward 
 encumbering the entrance of the cuddy ; the cuddy 
 front battered to pieces, spare casks piled tumultuously 
 about the poop-ladders, and the long-boat, lashed be-
 
 72 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 tween the galley and the fore-mast, and which had held 
 some of the live stock, full of water and drowned sheep. 
 On the port side, the severed shrouds, which had sup- 
 ported the masts, trailed their black lengths in the sea ; 
 and all about the starboard side were the fragments of 
 ropes and stays hacked and torn to pieces ; while the 
 port main-chains had received a wrench that had torn 
 the bolts out of the ship's side, and left the irons stand- 
 ing out. 
 
 As yet none of the passengers had made their appear- 
 ance. The captain had brought a chart from his cabin 
 and unrolled it upon the skylight, and stood with his 
 finger upon it, calculating his whereabouts by yesterday's 
 reckoning, and waiting for Holdsworth to return from 
 the hold, which he and the carpenter were exploring 
 for the leak. 
 
 The swell, which was heavy, surged against the ship's 
 sides ; but her buoyancy was gone, she hardly moved 
 to the pressure. 
 
 Presently Holdsworth came out of the hold, wet and 
 exhausted, followed by the carpenter in worse plight. 
 
 "Well?" exclaimed the captain, in a subdued but 
 eager voice. 
 
 " I am afraid it is a hopeless case, sir. She's leak- 
 ing in a dozen different places." 
 
 "The worst leak is just amidships," said the car- 
 penter. " It's under the water in the hold. You can 
 hear it bubbling, but there's no getting at it." 
 
 "What soundings have you got?" 
 
 "Eleven feet, sir!" 
 
 " Good God !" cried the skipper ; " that's an increase 
 of a foot and a half since seven bells." 
 
 " We had better look to the boats, sir," said Holds- 
 worth, scanning the horizon.
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 73 
 
 " Don't talk of the boats yet, sir ! " panted the skip- 
 per. "Clap some backstays on to the fore-mast and 
 turn to and rig up the spare staysail." 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," answered Holdsworth, and went for- 
 ward to call all hands and make what sail they could 
 upon the stump of the fore-mast, whilst the skipper 
 walked passionately to and fro, perfectly conscious of 
 the hopelessness of their situation, but determined to 
 blind his eyes to it. 
 
 The first among the passengers to come on deck was 
 the General, who stood transfixed by the spectacle of 
 the wreck. He and some of the others had attempted 
 tluring the night to leave their berths and find out the 
 reason of the uproar that was going on over their heads, 
 but had been literally blown back again the moment 
 they showed their noses above the hatchway ; and none 
 of them, with the exception of Mrs. Tennent, having 
 had an opportunity of speaking to either the captain or 
 Holdsworth, they were all in perfect ignorance that the 
 vessel was actually a wreck. 
 
 Whilst the General stood gasping and staring up 
 aloft in search of the majestic masts and sails that had 
 reared their graceful heights when he was last on deck, 
 he was joined by Mr. St. Aubyn and Mr. Holland, both 
 of whom turned pale with amazement and fear. 
 
 Then all three of them ran up to the captain. 
 
 " Oh, tell us what has happened 1 What will become 
 of us ? Are we sinking T' cried the actor. 
 
 " Where are the masts gone ? Is it possible that we 
 can ever reach America in this condition?" gasped Mr. 
 Holland. 
 
 " Captain, we seem to be in a frightful mess ! Why, 
 we are foundering, sir!" exclaimed the General, rolling
 
 74 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 his eyes over the sea and then fixing them upon the 
 captain. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! gentlemen ! " returned the skipper, ex- 
 tending his hands, " pray leave me ! You distract me 
 by your questions." 
 
 "Are we in danger?" implored Mr. St. Aubyn. 
 
 "Yes, sir; can't you see?" answered the skipper 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Is it possible 1 !" stammered Mr. St. Aubyn, turning 
 deadly pale. 
 
 " It is possible ! " cried the skipper scornfully. " But 
 I hope you are not going to be afraid, sir. Look over 
 the break of the poop and you'll see the men pumping 
 for their lives. Danger is one thing, and drowning is 
 another. I beg, sir, that you will control your fears. 
 Panics are easily created, and you will remember, please, 
 that we have women among us." 
 
 Saying which he walked some paces away. Mr. St. 
 Aubyn burst into tears ; Mr. Holland gazed around him 
 \vith an air of stupefaction ; the General followed the 
 skipper. 
 
 "Is our position really serious ?" 
 
 " Yes, General ; the ship's bottom is leaky fore and 
 aft." 
 
 " What do you mean to do ?" 
 
 " Keep her afloat as long as I can. And now will 
 you do me a service ? Go and clap that snivelling actor 
 on the back and put some heart in him. One coward 
 makes many, and this is no time for any man on board 
 my ship who values his life at one farthing to lose his 
 pluck." 
 
 By this time the hands forward had lashed a block 
 on the stump of the fore-mast, and run up a spare stay-
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 75 
 
 sail. Holdsworth then came aft to the poop. The cap- 
 tain called him to the skylight, and they hung together 
 over the chart, calculating their neighbourhood, and 
 devising expedients in subdued tones. The men who 
 were far enough forward to see them as they stood to- 
 gether on the poop eyfed them curiously, and held mut- 
 tering conversations together, some of them going to the 
 ship's side and looking over. 
 
 It was felt by every man among them that the vessel 
 was sinking ; and those who worked the pumps plied 
 them languidly, as though understanding the fruitless- 
 ness of their labour. 
 
 Mrs. Tennent came on deck with her boy and stood 
 near Holdsworth, asking no questions, but with an 
 expression on her face that plainly showed her conscious 
 of the danger and prepared for the worst. Soon after- 
 wards came Mrs. Ashton, who shrieked out when she 
 beheld the dismasted hull, and clung convulsively to her 
 husband. Her maid followed her, shivering, cowed, 
 with big eyes staring everywhere like a madwoman's. 
 
 Then a dead silence fell upon the ship, disturbed 
 only by the languid clanking of the pumps and the fall 
 of the continuous streams of water over the ship's sides. 
 
 It was now half-past eight o'clock. Not a breath of 
 air rippled the surface of the sea, which rose and sank 
 to a deep and voluminous under-swell. Some heavy 
 clouds hung motionless in the blue sky, from one of 
 which a shower of rain was falling about a mile off, 
 arching a little brilliant rainbow upon the water. 
 
 Presently Holdsworth advanced to the poop-rail and 
 sang out to the carpenter to sound the well. This was 
 done, and the report showed that the leak was gaining 
 fast upon the pumps.
 
 76 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 On this announcement all heart went out of the cap- 
 tain like a flash, and left him silent and spiritless. 
 
 He rallied, went to Holdsworth's side and called out : 
 " Belay that pumping there ! Boatswain, send all hands 
 aft to the quarter-deck." 
 
 The sound of the pumping ceased, the men came aft 
 in groups and stood in a crowd. 
 
 Some of them were bearded, some quite young ; their 
 attire was various but always picturesque : here a red 
 shirt, there white, here blue serge, there coarse canvas, 
 many with bare brown arms ringed with tattoo-marks ; 
 some in sea-boots, some with naked feet. The bright 
 sun gleamed upon their upturned faces, pale for want of 
 sleep and with the intense weariness of their long and 
 heavy labours. There was no want of respect suggested 
 by any of them ; but, on the contrary, there was a rough 
 and sympathetic deference in their manner and gaze as 
 they fixed their eyes on their white-haired skipper and 
 listened to his speech, which he delivered in a voice 
 that now and then faltered. 
 
 " My men, I had hoped to keep our poor old hooker 
 afloat by manning the pumps day and night and head 
 for home, which, with a breeze astern of us, we might 
 have reached even in the trim the gale last night has 
 put us in. But I find that the water is gaining upon 
 us faster than we can pump it out, and it's not my in- 
 tention to fag you with useless work. But in this sea 
 the hull is likely to float for some hours yet; so we 
 shall have plenty of time to get the boats out and do 
 the best we can for our lives. You are most of you 
 Englishmen, and those who are not are all brave fellows, 
 and no man can be better than that, let him hail from 
 what port he may : so I can depend upon you turning
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 77 
 
 to and obeying orders quietly. There are thirty-four 
 souls aboard of us and four boats ; there's room for 
 thirteen in the long-boat, and for seven apiece in the 
 quarter-boats. I'll take charge of the long-boat, your 
 chief mate of the pinnace, and the second mate and 
 boatswain will take the others. There's no hurry, and 
 there must be no confusion. Let a dozen hands man 
 the pumps, the rest go to breakfast and then relieve the 
 pumps. Then tumble aft, get the long-boat launched, 
 and do the best we can for ourselves; and may God 
 preserve us 1 Amen." 
 
 At the conclusion of this speech the men raised a 
 cheer, the boatswain's pipe shrilled, clang went the 
 pumps again, and the quarter-deck was deserted. 
 
 The captain turned to the passengers. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, these are ugly straits for 
 me to have brought you into, and I would that God in 
 His mercy had ordained it otherwise. I have been forty 
 years at sea, and the like of this has never befallen me 
 before. But that's no matter. I'll take care to do my 
 duty by you to the last. We have got enough boats to 
 accommodate us all comfortably ; the weather promises 
 fair, and it's odds if every one of us isn't snug and safe 
 on board some ship before to-night ; for we're right in 
 the track of homeward-bound ships from the United 
 States. Some of you will come with me, and some go 
 along with my chief officer, who has worked nobly for 
 us all, and who'll work as nobly right away through for 
 those who are with him whilst the life is in his body. 
 Ladies, keep up your courage ; for a sinking ship is a 
 small matter when you've got good boats, and are with 
 men who know how to handle 'em. We'll go below now 
 and make as good a breakfast as we can ; we'll then
 
 78 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 provision the boats and put off, as sure as our hearts 
 can make us that God's eye, which is everywhere, will 
 not lose sight of us." 
 
 There were some murmurs, and then a silence, which 
 Mrs. Ashton broke by bursting into a passion of tears. 
 When she was in some measure calmed, the General 
 said : 
 
 "Fellow-passengers, will you unite with me in a 
 prayer to our merciful God for His protection ?" 
 
 The men took off their hats, but the captain ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " General, there are hands for'ard who might like to 
 join us. We should give them the chance." 
 
 Holdsworth went to the forecastle, and presently 
 returned with the whole ship's company following him. 
 The hands at the pump ceased their work to gather 
 round the capstan, and the passengers attended the 
 skipper in a body to the quarter-deck. The old General 
 stood in the midst of the crowd and knelt an example 
 followed by the rest. 
 
 There was something too sacred in the nature of the 
 extemporaneous prayer offered up by the General to 
 make it proper for me to write it down here ; but its 
 effect was deeply impressive. Noble, beyond the power 
 of words to describe, was the spectacle of the fine old 
 American, bare-headed and kneeling, his trembling hands 
 clasped, his kindly, honest face upturned to the skies, 
 breathing forth in broken tones an earnest entreaty that 
 God, in His infinite mercy, would look down upon His 
 servants now and grant them His all-powerful protection 
 in this their hour of danger and suffering. Equally 
 affecting was the spectacle of the men some with hands 
 clasped before their faces, some kneeling with reverently-
 
 TAKEN ABACK ! 79 
 
 bowed heads, some gazing Avith earnest eyes upon the 
 petitioner, and some even weeping not unmanly tears 
 those who wept were among the bravest. The widow 
 knelt with her arms about her child's neck, in an atti- 
 tude both shielding and imploring. The husband and 
 wife prayed hand-in-hand. 
 
 Overhead shone the joyous sun ; the long and 
 polished swell surged against the sluggish vessel's side ; 
 and amidst the tones of the old General and the solemn 
 murmur of those who followed his words, you might 
 hear the gurgling of the water in the hold, and feel the 
 ship's growing weight and helplessness in the heavy and 
 weary rolls she gave to the movement of the sea.
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 IN THE BOATS. 
 
 BY twelve o'clock they had baled the long-boat out and 
 got her over the ship's side, a task of no small difficulty, 
 since, the main-mast being gone, they had no means of 
 slinging her. The other boats were also lowered, each 
 with a hand in her, and hung in a group about the port 
 side of the ship, where the bulwarks were smashed. 
 
 Each boat was properly supplied with mast, sail, and 
 oars ; also with water, biscuits, some rum in bottles, etc. 
 They looked mere cockle-shells alongside the great hull, 
 and it seemed difficult to realise that they would sustain 
 among them the weight of the crowd of men who stood 
 by ready to jump into them. 
 
 The ship was settling fast. They had left off pump- 
 ing her some time since, and she had now sunk a great 
 hole under her port fore-chains to a level with the water, 
 which gushed in like a cascade. 
 
 Mrs. Ashton was the first to be handed out of the 
 ship. She screamed and hung back, and threw her 
 hands out to her husband ; but the men, raising her 
 firmly in their arms, offering her the while certain rough 
 and hearty encouragements, passed her over the ship's 
 side to the sailors in the boats, who deposited her in 
 the long-boat. The widow, at her own request, was
 
 IN TIIE BOATS. 81 
 
 assigned to Holdsworth's boat. They handed her boy 
 over first, and then she followed and seated herself in 
 the stern-sheets, holding her child tightly. 
 
 Then rose a cry of " Bear a hand ! the ship will 
 founder !" 
 
 Mrs. Ashton's maid was passed out quickly, and then 
 the passengers ; the actor and the General getting into 
 Holdsworth's boat, the others into the long-boat. After 
 this, the seamen, feeling the imminence of the danger, 
 tumbled rapidly into the boats ; and then Holdsworth 
 quitted the ship, followed by the captain. 
 
 " Shove off ! " shouted the boatswain, who commanded 
 one of the quarter-boats. 
 
 Out flashed the oars ; the boats parted and stood 
 aloof from the hull at a distance of about three hundred 
 feet. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the mingled emotions of 
 dismay, curiosity, and breathless suspense with which 
 the men awaited the sinking of the hull. There was 
 not a soul among them who felt privileged to depart 
 until the vessel, so noble once, so desolate and broken 
 now, had sunk to her long home in the deep Atlantic. 
 Something absolutely of human pathos that appealed to 
 the heart, as the distress of a living thing might, seemed 
 mixed up in the aspect of unutterable desolation she 
 presented, the more defined and keen because of the 
 mocking joyousness of the sunlight that streamed over 
 her, and the fair and azure surface of the sea on which 
 she rested. Her figure-head, uninjured by the gale as 
 perfect a piece of workmanship as ever graced a vessel's 
 bows might, by no violent fantasy, have been deemed 
 the spirit of the ship poising herself an instant ere she 
 soared towards the sky. The two sails upon her flapped 
 
 G
 
 82 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 hollowly to her roll, and once there came from her 
 silent deck a sound as of a bell being struck, which 
 filled the listening sailors with awe, and set them bend- 
 ing superstitious glances in search of the Shadow that 
 was tolling the ship's funeral knell. 
 
 All on a sudden the hull lurched in the direction 
 of the boats and exposed her sloping decks. "She's 
 going now ! " cried one of the men. This was true. 
 Down sank her stern slowly, so slowly that many 
 seconds passed ere her stern-windows were on a level 
 with the water. She righted, and her bows, high 
 raised, pointed the shattered jib-boom aloft, as though 
 in her last agony she raised her mangled limbs to 
 heaven. She then sank stern foremost, the deepest 
 tragical dignity attending her descent : the silence 
 unbroken, save by the sullen gurgling and bubbling of 
 the water forcing itself through her decks. Her stern 
 disappeared ; then her bows stood black on the water ; 
 they vanished, and the fore-mast with the sail upon it 
 alone remained visible. Lower and lower these crept, 
 but still it was possible to trace the undulating outline 
 of the hull in the clear water. The sponge-like sail 
 sucked up the water quicker than it sank, and arched a 
 brown shadow upon its snow ; then the jagged top of 
 the fore-mast only was to be seen ; this vanished, and 
 the boats were left alone upon the mighty surface of the 
 deep. 
 
 A deep silence prevailed among the men while she 
 was sinking ; and not for some moments after she had 
 disappeared did the spell upon them break, and a long 
 and tremulous sigh escaped them. 
 
 Then the captain's voice in the long-boat was heard: 
 
 "Mr. Holds worth, our course is east-north-east. Every
 
 IN THE BOATS. 83 
 
 boat has a compass aboard of her. Now, my men, up 
 with your masts ; we may get a breeze before sun-down. 
 And, meanwhile, out with your oars and make what 
 way we can towards the old country ! " 
 
 The stout-hearted fellows answered with a cheer ; in 
 all four boats they shipped the masts ; out went the 
 oars, and the water bubbled round the stems. 
 
 The men were right to cheer. God knows they 
 needed what encouragement each other's voice could 
 give them. 
 
 What pen shall describe the overwhelming sense of 
 the immensity of the sea, now that its surface could be 
 touched by the hand its huge presence so close ! 
 That sense alone was a weight that oppressed the hearts 
 of the passengers like death. The height of a large 
 ship from the edge of the water implanted a habit of 
 security ; but here, they overhung the deep by an arm's 
 length, and near enough to see their own pale faces 
 mirrored in the green abyss from which they were 
 separated by planks not much stouter than the sole of 
 a boot. 
 
 There were in Holdsworth's boat : himself, Mrs. 
 Tennent and her boy, Mr. St. Aubyn, the General, 
 and two seamen Winyard and Johnson ; in all, seven 
 souls. The long-boat, in the distance, looked crowded ; 
 but then she was the largest of the boats. Astern of 
 her rowed the boat commanded by the boatswain ; 
 astern of Holdsworth's, the boat commanded by Mr. 
 Thompson, the second mate. 
 
 There could be no purpose gained by rowing, for, 
 let them ply the oars as hard as they would, they could 
 not urge the heavy boats faster than three miles an 
 hour. Holdsworth steered for the long-boat, and pro-
 
 84 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 posed to the captain that they should lay their oars in 
 and wait for a breeze ; which was agreed to. The sun 
 shone hot upon the glassy sea, and the boats hoisted 
 their sails as a protection against the rays. And for ever 
 the men bent earnest and anxious glances round the 
 bare and polished horizon for a sail. 
 
 In Holds worth's boat the two seamen sat forward, 
 talking together in low voices ; Mr. St. Aubyn reclined 
 with his back against the mast, glancing incessantly 
 about him with quick, scared eyes, but quite silent, as 
 though the novelty and horror of the situation was 
 more than his mind could receive, and he was labouring 
 to master it. The General's face was placid, and even 
 hopeful. The widow, holding her son at her side, kept 
 her eyes bent downwards, and often her lips moved. 
 
 In the other boats the men talked, and often called 
 to one another. Their voices sounded forced and unreal 
 as the tones floated across the water, and in a strange 
 manner heightened the unspeakable sense of solitude 
 inspired by the boundless and tenantless deep. 
 
 For some time the little boy appeared to share in 
 the feelings which held all but the two sailors in 
 Holdsworth's boat silent ; but he presently grew rest- 
 less, and pulling his mother by the skirt, asked her in 
 a whisper when the ship was coming back to take them 
 on board again. 
 
 "Another ship will come and take us soon, pray 
 God, Louis," answered the mother. 
 
 "But where is our ship, mamma?" 
 
 Holdsworth overheard the question, and answered in 
 his hearty, cheery manner : 
 
 " Look well about you, Louis, and, by-and-by, you 
 will see a tiny spot of white rise somewhere on that
 
 IN THE BOATS. 85 
 
 clear circle," pointing round the horizon, " and that will 
 be our ship coming to take us home." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Holdsworth!" said the actor, in a faint 
 voice, " if the wind rises, will not the water get into our 
 boat and sink it?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it, sir. I am waiting for the 
 wind to rise. There is no chance of a rescue in this 
 calm." 
 
 "Though we should be grateful for this calm," 
 exclaimed the General, "for it has enabled us all to 
 leave the sinking ship in safety." 
 
 "I have lost my all in that ship all the money I 
 had in the world, and my clothes, and things that were 
 priceless to me," moaned Mr. St. Aubyn. 
 
 The widow raised her head, and exclaimed, " I too 
 have lost much that was precious, and which no money 
 could ever purchase. But, so far, God has watched 
 over us and preserved our lives, and I can well spare 
 all else all else if He will but leave me this treasure." 
 She wept as she bowed her head over her child. 
 
 "Let us not murmur, Mr. St. Aubyn," said the 
 General softly, "but call upon Him who rebuked the 
 winds and waves in the sea of Galilee, and calmed them. 
 Have not we His disciples' faith ? He is in our midst, 
 watching over us, even as we sit now. This ocean is 
 but the symbol of His majesty and might : His servant 
 who will bear us safety on its bosom at its Lord's com- 
 mand. Our Saviour sleeps not, neither will He forsake 
 us. We forget Him when we yield to our fears." 
 
 "Thank you for those words, sir," said the man 
 named Johnson. " God don't forget those who are at 
 sea any more than those who stop on shore. I have 
 been worse off nor this, sir, lashed to a raft for forty-
 
 86 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 eight hours, and here I am to tell the story. Begging 
 your pardon, sir," he added, touching his cap, and draw- 
 ing back respectfully. 
 
 By this time the boats had drifted some distance 
 apart; but the voices talking in them could still be 
 heard with the utmost clearness, so exquisite a vehicle 
 of sound is the smooth surface of water. 
 
 It was one o'clock by Holdsworth's watch when they 
 beheld the horizon in the east darkening under what 
 resembled the shadow of a cloud, and the voice of a 
 man in the long-boat came across the water, crying, 
 " A breeze at last, my boys ! " 
 
 It was a light breeze, and moved very slowly, but it 
 filled the sails and sent the boats rippling gently through 
 the water. As it came foul of the course the skipper 
 meant to take, they lay as close to it as they could ; 
 and eyes were strained in its direction for the welcome 
 sail, some of them whispered, it might bring along with 
 it. Some white clouds came up, and as they soared 
 about the horizon, they so closely resembled the sails 
 of ships that even Holdsworth's experienced eye was 
 deceived, and he gazed intently with a beating heart. 
 
 The breeze freshened, and the unequal sailing qualities 
 of the boats manifested themselves. The long-boat drew 
 ahead rapidly ; Holdsworth's came next ; the other two 
 fell astern. The wind, though in reality light, seemed 
 tolerably strong, owing to the boats sailing close to it. 
 Holdsworth's boat lay over, which terrified St. Aubyn, 
 and made him cling to the weather-gunwale. 
 
 " You're afeard rather early, sir," said one of the sea- 
 men Winyard sarcastically. 
 
 " The boat will turn over ! " gasped the actor. 
 
 Indeed his fear and despair were pitiable, and had
 
 IN THE BOATS. 87 
 
 not only dulled his eyes, but pinched and thinned his 
 face as though he were fresh from a sick bed. 
 
 "Take a pull at this," said Holdsworth, offering him 
 some rum, and heartily commiserating the man's suffer- 
 ings. But St. Aubyn shook his head, and gazed with 
 distended eyes at the water, shivering repeatedly, and 
 sometimes talking to himself. 
 
 In order to let the hinder boats come up, the long- 
 boat ahead from time to time stopped her way by put- 
 ting her helm down, which example Holdsworth regularly 
 followed ; and so they sailed throughout the whole after- 
 noon, the breeze remaining steady and the sea smooth. 
 
 The boat commanded by Holdsworth was about 
 twenty-seven feet long, with seven feet or thereabouts 
 of beam. There was a locker aft, which had been filled 
 with small bags of bread, as they call biscuits at sea ; 
 and forward were one small and two large kegs of water, 
 and a tin pannikin to serve out the allowances with. 
 At the bottom of the boat was a set of gratings, meant 
 to keep the feet clear of any water that might be shipped, 
 with a well convenient to get at, and half a cocoa-nut- 
 shell with a handle let into it, to bale the boat with. 
 The boat was new, stoutly built, and rigged with a lug- 
 sail. A small compass had been put in her, and Holds- 
 worth had lashed it carefully to a thwart. This was 
 the only nautical instrument they had with them, and 
 unless they could guess their whereabouts, it would not, 
 after a time, be of much service. 
 
 They had during the afternoon ascertained the quan- 
 tity of provisions and water they carried, and discovered 
 that there was enough to last for about ten days, pro- 
 viding each person had no more than two biscuits, and 
 a quarter full of the pannikin of water, a day. They
 
 88 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 had also three bottles of rum. The first allowance was 
 served out by Holdsworth at five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 A biscuit was handed to each person ; the little boy and 
 the two seamen ate theirs hungrily : the General and 
 Holdsworth nibbled only a portion of theirs : but Mrs. 
 Tennent and the actor ate nothing. The mother gave 
 half her biscuit to her boy, and put the other half in 
 her pocket for him to eat during the night. The actor 
 refused his allowance altogether, and Holdsworth re- 
 turned it to the bag he had taken it from. 
 
 All the other boats remained in sight ; the long-boat 
 ahead, and the other two at unequal distances astern. 
 From time to time they encouraged each other by waving 
 their hats ; and just before sunset some of the men in 
 the long-boat struck up a hymn, the chorus of which 
 stole faintly across the breeze, and mingled with the 
 bubbling play of the water round the boat's bows. 
 
 The sun went down, branding the great ocean with 
 an angry glare; but nothing was visible upon either 
 horizon but the deceptive tail-ends of clouds rising or 
 dwindling. The breeze grew stronger as the darkness 
 crept on, and they lowered the sail and took a couple of 
 reefs in it, whilst there was light enough abroad for 
 them to see what they were about. They soon lost 
 sight of the other boats, and Holdsworth finding the 
 wind drawing ahead, put the boat round, judging that 
 the others would do so likewise. 
 
 Now, if at no other time, was the sense of the pro- 
 found helplessness of their position forced upon them. 
 It is easy to write and read of an open boat far out in 
 the Atlantic Ocean, and darkness around ; but none save 
 those who have experienced the situation can realise all 
 the horror of it. Waves which would scarcely more
 
 IN THE BOATS. 89 
 
 than ripple against the sides of a ship, make a dangerous 
 sea for an open boat, and arch their seething heads 
 over her with a threat in every one of them of destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 But the overpowering sensation is the near presence 
 of the sea. Your feet are below its surface ; your head 
 but an arm's length above it And you hear the quick 
 splash of the boat's bows as she jumps awkwardly into 
 the hollows of the waves, wobbling as she goes forward 
 with jerks and many stoppages, while now and again 
 the sea chucks a handful of spray into your eyes as an 
 earnest of the way it means to deal with you presently, 
 when the wind has made it more angry. 
 
 The stars came out and shone placidly among the 
 clouds which were rolling away to the north-west. 
 There was a short quick sea, which made the boat dip 
 uncomfortably, and now and again whisked a sheet of 
 spray over the seamen who sat forward. But there was 
 more south than east in the breeze, which kept the 
 temperature of the night mild. The little boy fell 
 asleep in his mother's arms ; Mr. St. Aubyn reclined 
 against the mast, his arms folded, and his head drooping 
 on his breast, starting at intervals as the spray fell like 
 a shower of rain in the boat, but speedily relapsing again 
 into the sluggish or semi-unconscious state into which 
 he had fallen shortly after the sun had gone down. 
 The General and Holdsworth sometimes conversed. 
 Presently Winyard, turning his coat collar over his ears, 
 slipped under the thwart, where he coiled himself like a 
 cat, and went to sleep. 
 
 " I wish I could induce you to lie down, Mrs. Ten- 
 nent," said Holdsworth. "My coat will make you a 
 capital pillow. I don't want it indeed. I have slept
 
 90 JOHN HOLDSWOBTH. 
 
 on deck in my shirt-sleeves in colder nights than this. 
 I shan't put the boat about again to-night if this wind 
 holds, and you will lie with your boy alongside of you 
 as snugly as possible on this seat" 
 
 She thanked him, but said it would be useless for 
 her to lie down ; she should not be able to sleep. 
 
 " You have eaten nothing all day," said, the General ; 
 " you must not allow your strength to fail you. Pray 
 try to eat a little biscuit." 
 
 Holdsworth handed her a biscuit, and she broke a 
 piece of it off and appeared to munch it ; but in the 
 darkness they could not tell how little she ate. 
 
 No sign was to be seen of the other boats, although 
 once Holdsworth imagined he heard a voice halloing a 
 long way to windward. The boat's head was now 
 pointing east-north-east ; but she lay close to the wind 
 and made scarcely more than four knots an hour. The 
 jump of the sea deadened her way materially ; but this 
 jump decreased as the night wore on, for the waves grew 
 longer, with steadier intermissions. At twelve o'clock, 
 Holdsworth, who was worn out by his long spell at the 
 helm, called to Johnson to awaken Winyard. Up 
 jumped the seaman from the bottom of the boat and 
 came aft. Holdsworth gave him the yoke-lines, and 
 bidding Johnson lie down and get some rest, seated 
 himself on the lee-side of the mast and scanned the sea 
 to right and left of him. The old General had fallen 
 asleep right along the thwart on which he sat, his face 
 buried in his arm. The boy slept soundly in his mother's 
 arms, but whether she slumbered or not, Holdsworth 
 could not tell Once Mr. St. Aubyn started up as from 
 a nightmare, muttered some broken sentences, and was 
 silent again.
 
 IN THE BOATS. 91 
 
 "Keep her close," said Holdsworth to Winyard, 
 " and watch the seas." 
 
 "You had best take some rest, sir. I can handle 
 the boat whilst you're down." 
 
 " No. I'll wait until Johnson has had his nap." 
 
 So passed two hours. 
 
 It was drawing near half-past two in the morning 
 when Winyard called, in a loud whisper : 
 
 " Master, isn't that a ship to windward, there V 
 
 No one in the boat heard him but Holdsworth. He 
 jumped up and peered into the starlit gloom ahead, 
 where, sure enough, the outline of a dark shadow could 
 be traced, though only by looking on one side of it. 
 
 "Yes, that's a ship!" he answered hoarsely; "but 
 she's too far to windward to hear our shouts. Have we 
 any lights aboard of us 1 Quick 1" 
 
 He pulled the General, who leaped up, rubbing his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Have you any matches about you ?" 
 
 "No what is it?" 
 
 " There's a ship yonder ! I could souse my handker- 
 chief in rum and set fire to it. Hi ! Mr. St. Aubyn ! 
 feel if you have a match in your pockets." But the 
 actor answered with a stupefied stare, whereupon Holds- 
 worth searched his pockets without avail. 
 
 Johnson was awake, standing up in the bows, with 
 his arms lifted. 
 
 " Ship ahoy !" roared HoldswortL One might have 
 thought the voice deep and powerful enough to have 
 carried twice the distance of that gliding shadow. 
 
 They waited breathlessly ; but no sound was returned. 
 
 "Altogether, now!" shouted Holdsworth; "one, 
 two, three ship ahoy !"
 
 92 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 The united voices sounded like a shriek of death- 
 agony rising out of the ebony-coloured deep; but no 
 response was brought back by the wind. 
 
 "0 God!" raved Winyard. "they'd see us if we 
 could only show a light !" 
 
 " She is running before the wind," cried Johnson : 
 "she's passing us !" 
 
 "Put your helm up !" roared Holdsworth. "We'll 
 follow her. She may hear us when we get her to leeward." 
 
 They let go the halliards, shook the reefs out of the 
 sail, and set it again, slackening the sheet far out. The 
 boat headed for the visionary shadow, which was fast 
 fading in the universal gloom, and the foam boiled under 
 and alongside of her. 
 
 "Altogether again !" sang out Holdsworth. 
 
 Once more went forth the loud, despairing chorus, 
 to be followed by silence. They might as well have 
 attempted to chase a cloud. Keen as the sailors' eyes 
 were, they could no longer perceive the shadow. 
 
 "Never mind!" exclaimed Holdsworth, cheerily, 
 "there maybe others near us ; we'll keep a sharp look-out." 
 
 " She may fall in with one of the other boats," said 
 Johnson, " and, maybe, she'll cruise about to find us." 
 
 The chill of disappointment passed, and they grew 
 hopeful. The mere fact of having sighted a ship im- 
 parted a new encouragement. 
 
 "We should be in the track of outward-bounders," 
 said Holdsworth. " Give us a hand here, Johnson, to 
 take these reefs in. Bring her close again, Winyard. 
 Pray God we shall be talking of this night on a ship's 
 deck by noon to-morrow." 
 
 The little boy, who had been awakened by the hallo- 
 ing of the men, shivered, crept closer to his mother's 
 side, and fell asleep again.
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE SECOND DAY. 
 
 " MA. HOLDSWORTH," said the General, " will you not 
 let me watch whilst you get some sleep 1 ? You have 
 been up now for nearly three nights running, and I beg 
 you to consider the preciousness of your life to us all." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, General. I'll do as you 
 ask me. Johnson, come aft and relieve Winyard here. 
 Keep a sharp look-out, my lads, and wake me up if the 
 breeze freshens." He seated himself in the bottom of 
 the boat, rested his head upon a thwart, and in a few 
 moments was fast asleep. 
 
 A hush fell upon the boat which nothing broke but 
 the quick angry sousing of the bows as the boat fell 
 with her short length into the trough of the sea. The 
 widow had fallen asleep at last, and leaned against 
 Johnson, who steered, whilst her boy slumbered with 
 his head on her lap. The sailor sat motionless for fear 
 of waking her, calling once in a whisper to Winyard to 
 come aft and look at the little 'un, and tell him if he 
 thought that God would let such innocence be drowned. 
 
 " He's the image of my little Bill," answered Win- 
 yard, stooping his bearded face low that he might see 
 the child's features. " I'm glad the poor lady's sleep- 
 ing. Keep steady, Dick, or you'll wake her. She ain't
 
 94 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 tasted a mossil of food all this blessed day, and it 'ud 
 cut me to the heart to see the little 'un left without a 
 mother." 
 
 "Ay, and so it would me, Harry. May be we'll 
 sight a ship to-morrow. I've got my old woman to keep 
 ashore, and I guess, when rent-time comes, she won't 
 know what to do, unless I get back." 
 
 " I wish I had some 'baccy with me. Ain't got a 
 bit in all my pockets. I wonder where t'other boats 
 have got to ?" 
 
 The conversation, which had been carried on in hoarse 
 whispers, was at this point interrupted by a movement 
 of the little boy. Johnson raised his hand and Winyard 
 crept forward, where he sat like a bronze statue, watch- 
 ing the horizon. 
 
 It was about four o'clock, as the seamen guessed, 
 when the wind, which had been pretty steady from the 
 south-east, lulled, and then veering northward came on 
 to blow freshly. The men awakened Holdsworth, who 
 jrent to the helm. Mrs. Tennent, who had been aroused 
 by the withdrawal of the sailor's shoulder, shivered with 
 the cold and crouched down to hug herself in her 
 clothes. Indeed, the north wind was cold enough ; but 
 Holdsworth, observing the woman's condition, whipped 
 off his coat without a word and buttoned it over her 
 shoulders, silencing her protests by kindly laughter and 
 encouraging words. 
 
 The change of wind produced a cross sea which 
 drenched the boat and made her movements horribly 
 uncomfortable. The wind increased, bringing up large 
 clouds, each of which was charged with a small rain- 
 loaded squall of its own. The sea rose, and matters 
 began to wear an ugly look. The men close-reefed the
 
 THE SECOND DAY. 95 
 
 sail, and Holdsworth finding that the boat shipped water 
 when on the wind, let her go free; and away they 
 scudded with a breeze growing in force every five 
 minutes astern of them. The utmost vigilance was now 
 needful in steering the boat. The waves were quick 
 and irritable, and broke in noisy surfaces of foam on 
 either gunwale, and from time to time it seemed inevit- 
 able that their curling crests must arch themselves clean 
 into the boat and swamp her. Holdsworth parried 
 them with the rudder like a fencer with a foil. His 
 eye was marvellously quick, the movements of his hands 
 delicate and unerring. What the waves were to that 
 small open boat, the seas of the Pacific under a westerly 
 gale are to a full-rigged ship. She sank into hollows 
 half-mast deep, where the air was stagnant, behind and 
 before her black walls of illuminated water, the hinder 
 ones of which, catching her under the stern, raised her 
 with irresistible force to a height that turned her in- 
 mates giddy and sick ; and there, exposed to the wind, 
 her sail blew out to cracking limits and hurled her 
 madly forward to sink into a new abysm, to experience 
 another interval of breathless, deadly calm. 
 
 "May God have mercy upon us!" exclaimed the 
 General, in one of these awful intervals, folding his arms 
 tightly and fixing his eyes on a towering sea rearing 
 astern of them like a hill. 
 
 But Holdsworth's voice echoed cheerily : " She is a 
 brave boat, General ; and it's not my intention to let 
 such ripples as these "... the rest of the sentence was 
 drowned in the hooting of the wind, as one of these 
 " ripples " swung the boat high in the full face of it, and 
 the " ripple " itself broke into an acre of foam under the 
 boat's bows.
 
 96 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 The two sailors sat like logs, ready for the worst ; 
 yet with a supreme confidence in Holdsworth's skill as a 
 steersman, which he had already illustrated in a hundred 
 subtle ways, appreciable to none but them. St. Aubyn 
 lay in the bottom of the boat, motionless. The General, 
 holding on to the mast, was seated amidships, commend- 
 ing his soul, and the souls of his comrades, to God, in 
 inaudible prayers. The widow crouched with her boy, 
 who still slept, in the stern-sheets ; and beside her 
 towered the form of Holdsworth, a yoke-line in each 
 hand, his body inclined forward, his shirt-sleeves rolled 
 above his elbows, every nerve, every muscle in him 
 strung to the tension of steel, his glittering eyes' fixed 
 upon the seas ahead, his whole attitude resembling a 
 sculptured personation of audacity, skill, and the finest 
 British courage. 
 
 The dawn broke and found them swinging over an 
 ugly sea, with the wind moderating. As the pallid light 
 spread over the bleak surface of gray and moving waters, 
 the weary shipwrecked men turned their eyes about in 
 search of a vessel ; but the ocean was tenantless save by 
 its own leaping seas, which played around in an eternal 
 mockery of a fluctuating hilly horizon. 
 
 They were now sailing due south. Holdsworth 
 steered the boat, and Winyard baled her out; but, 
 thanks to the wonderful skill with which the rudder 
 was used, no single sea had been shipped, and what 
 water there was consisted of the spray that had been 
 blown into the boat off the crests of the waves when 
 she was in their hollows. 
 
 The sun rose and diffused an exquisite pink through 
 the ribbed clouds that barred the sky. His glorious 
 light flashed jewels upon the water, and sent a message
 
 THE SECOND DAY. 97 
 
 of hope among the inmates of the tiny boat striving 
 amid the wild and throbbing wilderness of the deep. 
 
 The General stood up, and arching his hand over 
 his eyes, gazed slowly and intently around the whole 
 circumference of the water-line. 
 
 " We are alone," he said ; but instantly corrected 
 himself. "No, I speak thoughtlessly. We have God 
 with us. He has been with us all night. We thank 
 Thee, God," he murmured, folding his hands and 
 reverently lifting his face to the sky, " for Thy protec- 
 tion ; and we humbly implore Thee not to abandon us, 
 but to be with us in our anguish and desolation, and 
 in Thine own good time to snatch us from the perils 
 that encompass us." 
 
 They all cried Amen ! 
 
 "The wind's lulling, master," said Johnson to 
 Holdsworth. "We'll have the sea smooth before 
 long." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Holdsworth!" exclaimed Mrs. Tennent, 
 starting up suddenly and hurriedly removing his coat 
 from her shoulders, " how cruelly selfish I have been to 
 deprive you of this covering throughout the long cold 
 night." 
 
 " I'm better without it," cried Holdsworth. " Even 
 my shirt-sleeves were too heavy for me you see I have 
 had to turn them up. Winyard, rouse up Mr. St. 
 Aubyn. We shall be none the worse, any of us, for a 
 mouthful of biscuit." 
 
 He patted the little boy with his left hand, with his 
 right kept the boat's head straight as a line. 
 
 " Come, sir, wake up, please. Biscuit's going to be 
 served out," said Winyard, pulling the actor somewhat 
 unceremoniously by the arm. 
 
 H
 
 98 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Both seamen thought him a white-livered gentleman, 
 and despised him accordingly. 
 
 The poor man lay athwart the boat, his legs doubled 
 up and his arms hiding his face. He shook his head, 
 without raising it, when Winyard pulled him, but did 
 not speak. The man, thinking him numbed or cramped, 
 raised him up ; whereupon St. Aubyn struggled to his 
 feet, and looked about him with a fixed smile. That 
 smile made his face terrible to behold, for he was deadly 
 white, and a wild fire, with no more merriment in it 
 than a madman's laugh, shone in his eyes, which looked 
 unnaturally large, and his lips were blue and thin, and 
 laid his teeth almost bare. 
 
 " You fellows may shrug your shoulders, and some 
 of you may hiss," he muttered, never remitting his fixed 
 smile, but speaking through his teeth and bringing his 
 clenched fist upon his knee, " but you shan't starve me, 
 because you don't understand what true acting means. 
 Do you think I can't tell what this hollowness, this sink- 
 ing is, here ! " laying his hand upon his stomach and 
 sending his lustrous eyes travelling over the others, who 
 watched him in silence. " You are starving me, you 
 fiends, and driving a poor actor to death. But do you 
 think you will force him into the workhouse 1 No, by 
 God ! He has spirit, and will seek a new home, a new 
 country, a new world, rather ! Who tells me I cannot 
 act 1 Try me in farce, in comedy, in tragedy ! See 
 now shall I play you Tony Lumpkin 1" He began 
 to sing : 
 
 " ' Then, come, put the jorum about, 
 And let us be merry and clever ! 
 Our hearts and our liquor are stout, 
 Here's the three Jolly Pigeons for ever.'
 
 THE SECOND DAY. 99 
 
 "Or shall I give you Lear?" He stretched out his 
 hands to the sea : 
 
 ' ' ' Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! 
 You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
 Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, 
 Singe my white head ! ' 
 
 Is not that fine, gentlemen ? Now turn about with 
 more shrugs, and drive me mad with your cant. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 His laughter was shocking. The seamen shrank 
 away from him. 
 
 " He has gone mad with terror ! " whispered the 
 General. 
 
 The widow hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "Johnson," said Holdsworth, "mix some rum and 
 water in that pannikin and give it to him with a biscuit." 
 
 The actor took both, staring first at the pannikin, 
 then at the biscuit. 
 
 "Gentlemen !" he cried, with his wild smile, "I am 
 Timon of Athens, sour, crusty, and" ... he stopped 
 with a laugh. " But before his mind went, he pledged 
 his friends, standing thus: 'Here's to you dogs!'" 
 He flung the contents of the pannikin at Holdsworth, 
 and dashed the vessel into the boat ; " and with this, I 
 feed the winds !" and he hurled the biscuit into the 
 sea. 
 
 " Seize him !" shrieked Holdsworth, noticing a quick 
 movement on the actor's part. The men sprang forward, 
 but too late to catch him. He leaped on to the thwart 
 and bounded overboard with a peal of laughter, ere you 
 could have cried " Hold !" and vanished under the crest
 
 100 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 of a wave that was breaking at the moment under the 
 boat. 
 
 " See !" cried the General ; "he has come to the sur- 
 face ! There is his head ! He may be saved yet !" 
 
 But the boat was foaming through the water at six 
 or seven knots an hour ; the sea was still so lively that 
 to broach her to would have been to capsize her in an 
 instant. 
 
 "We cannot save him!" exclaimed Holdsworth, 
 bitterly, grasping the situation at once ; and kept the 
 boat's head doggedly away. 
 
 Those who watched the drowning man, saw him, a 
 mere dot, on the tumbling waters, heaved high on the 
 summit of a wave, with both his arms upraised ; then 
 down he sank into the trough of the sea, the next wave 
 boiled over him, and they beheld him no more. 
 
 The General covered his face with his hands and 
 wept aloud. The widow was so sick and faint with the 
 horror of the scene, that she leaned back, white and 
 motionless, with her eyes closed. Johnson came aft 
 and put some rum to her lips, which revived her, and 
 then she began to ' weep silently, casting shuddering 
 backward glances at the sea, and hugging her boy to 
 her passionately. She had become, during the night, 
 the very ghost of her former self; her complexion was 
 ashen, her eyes hollow, her countenance gaunt with a 
 hard, weird look of old age upon it. Holdsworth 
 noticed that her dress was wet with salt water and 
 clung to her legs ; but this it was impossible to remedy. 
 Infinite pity smote him as he gazed from her to her 
 child, and he handed her a biscuit, entreating her to eat 
 it. The boy ate his allowance quickly ; but even out 
 of him something of the youthfulness and freshness of
 
 THE SECOND DAY. 101 
 
 his infancy had passed ; a perception of their danger 
 and misery appeared to have visited him ; and he clung 
 to his mother's side, holding her dress with one hand 
 whilst he ate the biscuit, and gazing about him with 
 puzzled eyes, in which was mixed up a strong expression 
 of terror. 
 
 The impression produced by the sudden and tragical 
 death of the actor was more lasting on the widow and 
 the General than on the sailors, who were too sensible 
 of their own peril to find more than a passing occasion 
 of horror in the scene they had witnessed. They and 
 Holdsworth ate a biscuit apiece and drank their allow- 
 ance of water mixed with rum ; but the General turned, 
 with an expression of loathing in his face, from the food, 
 and Mrs. Tennent could not be induced to eat more than 
 a few mouthfuls. Both drank of the water. 
 
 The waves were still lively enough to demand the 
 utmost care in the steering of the boat ; but Winyard 
 had proved himself a smart steersman, and Holdsworth, 
 whose hands were cramped and blue with long grasping 
 of the yoke-lines, gladly surrendered his place to the 
 sailor. 
 
 " Strange," muttered the General, " that we sight no 
 ships I" 
 
 "Our course is east," said Holdsworth. "If the 
 wind would haul round a few points to the west, I'd 
 out reefs and bear up." 
 
 The breeze held until twelve o'clock, when it slack- 
 ened. The sea having grown smoother during the 
 morning, Holdsworth hauled the sheet of the sail aft 
 and steered south-east by the compass, which was as 
 close to the sea as he deemed it advisable to sail the 
 boat. The sun now shone hot overhead, which greatly
 
 102 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 comforted Mrs. Tennent and revived the spirits of her 
 boy, who pulled a piece of string from his pocket, to 
 which he fastened a crooked pin, and began to fish. 
 As the afternoon advanced, the wind gradually died 
 away, and a thin haze settled upon the southern horizon, 
 portending both heat and calm. The water's surface 
 turned to an aspect of polished steel ; the boat rose and 
 sank to the swell, easily and with a soothing motion, 
 and the sail flapped idly against the mast. 
 
 During the afternoon, some porpoises came to the 
 surface of the water, about a stone's throw from the 
 boat, rolling their gleaming black bodies in a southerly 
 direction. 
 
 "They always make for the quarter the wind's 
 coming from," said Winyard. 
 
 "I am afraid we shall have no wind to-night," 
 answered Holdsworth ; " the weather looks too settled." 
 
 They watched the fish turning their solemn somer- 
 saults until they were out of sight, and then, as though 
 to meet hope half-way, Holdsworth swarmed up the 
 boat's mast and swept the horizon with piercing eyes, 
 but saw nothing but the boundless water-line paling 
 away against the sky. 
 
 The sun went down in glorious majesty, burnishing 
 the deep, and dazzling the eye with a splendour of 
 small radiant clouds, pierced with threads of glory, and 
 momentarily changing their brilliant hues until the orb 
 was under the sea, when they turned a bright red 
 colour. The twilight followed fast, the stars came out, 
 and the darkness of night fell upon the lonely deep.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE THIRD DAY. 
 
 As no object could be served by keeping the sail hoisted, 
 they hauled it down and spread a portion of it over the 
 widow and her child. Holdsworth kept watch till ten, 
 and then awakened Winyard, who watched till twelve ; 
 afterwards Johnson watched; and so the three men 
 took turn and turn about, all through the long and 
 breathless night, until daybreak, which found Winyard 
 awake in the stern-sheets, watching the pale dawn 
 breaking in the east. 
 
 Its approach at first was imperceptible. A faint gray 
 mingled in the prevailing darkness, and gradually grew 
 more defined; the stars languished, and those in the 
 extreme east hid themselves. Then a clearer light 
 broke stealthily about the eastern horizon ; the sea 
 caught the glimmering dawn, and mirrored a pale and 
 sickly illumination, infinitely vague, as would be the 
 reflection in a looking-glass of a faint light. But soon 
 the lustre broadened, and streaks of horizontal silver 
 floated above the deep, and stood in layers of crystalline 
 clearness, awaiting a more ardent transformation. Then 
 a delicate pink flushed a wide space in the eastern sky, 
 which spread and spread until the farthermost heavens 
 shook off the heavy curtains of the night and melted
 
 104 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 into a pale and visionary blue. Anon, upon the eastern 
 water-line, stood a mere speck of white and exceedingly 
 brilliant light a pure silver point of glory which, as 
 the eye watched it, increased in size, flinging flake upon 
 flake of glittering icy splendour upon the water, until, 
 as with a sudden bound, it soared in sun-like shape and 
 flooded the heavens and the sea with strong rejoicing 
 light. 
 
 It awoke Holdsworth, who started up and stared 
 around him. 
 
 " Look, sir ! " said Win yard, in a whisper that 
 sounded fierce with excitement, pointing towards the 
 south-east, where, upon the remote horizon, stood a 
 white speck clearly defined by the sunshine. 
 
 Holdsworth hollowed his hands tube-wise, gazed in- 
 tently for some moments, and then cried, " A sail ! " 
 
 "Becalmed, master, as we are !" shouted Winyard; 
 whereat the sleepers in the boat stirred and opened their 
 eyes. 
 
 "Out oars, my men!" sang out Holdsworth. "A 
 sail, General ! Do you see her ? Look, Mrs. Tennent ; 
 follow the direction of my finger ! She is becalmed ! 
 She cannot escape us ! Hurrah, my lads ! " 
 
 In less time than it takes me to write it, both sea- 
 men were bending to the oars like madmen, making the 
 water break in clear lines of ripple against the boat's 
 bows, which headed directly for the distant sail. Lan- 
 guage is powerless to describe the excitement of the 
 poor creatures. Mrs. Tennent shed tears ; the General, 
 upon whose constitution, debilitated by old age, their 
 perilous situation and the mental sufferings which 
 accompanied it were beginning seriously to tell, stood 
 clutching the mast, his eyes riveted upon the white speck,
 
 THE THIRD DAY. 105 
 
 and his attenuated face flushed with eagerness and hope. 
 The men, stretching to the long oars, looked from time 
 to time over their shoulders to remark the progress they 
 were making, and encouraged each other with cheerful 
 cries. 
 
 They had but two oars, and the boat was heavy and 
 moved reluctantly to the pressure of the blades ; more- 
 over, the men were weakened by exposure and wanu of 
 nourishing food. Still they urged the boat through the 
 water at pretty nearly three miles an hour ; and Holds- 
 worth repeatedly encouraged them by representing that 
 every stroke of the oars brought the boat nearer within 
 the range of the vision of those on board the vessel, and 
 increased the likelihood, under God's providence, of 
 their rescue. 
 
 When the vessel was first sighted, she could not have 
 been less than ten miles distant ; this was made mani- 
 fest by the circumstance of their continuing to row a 
 full hour before they had exposed her large sails, and 
 even then her hull was invisible. The ocean, mean- 
 while, remained perfectly polished, without a shadow 
 anywhere upon its vast bosom to indicate the passage 
 of wind. 
 
 The seamen presently showing symptoms of distress, 
 Holdsworth took an oar, and bade Winyard, whom he 
 replaced, to drink some rum, and hand a draught to 
 Johnson. The General begged to take Johnson's place 
 for a time while the man rested himself; but the poor 
 old gentleman, after rowing a few strokes, found himself 
 utterly unequal to the weight of the oar, and he returned 
 to his seat covered with perspiration, and breathing 
 with difficulty and pain. 
 
 It was seven o'clock by Holdsworth's watch before
 
 106 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 the hull of the vessel grew discernible; and then 
 Johnson, whose sight was very keen, pronounced her to 
 be a large three-masted brigantine. She had all her 
 sails set, but she was still so remote as scarcely to be 
 distinguished by an inexperienced eye from a cloud. 
 
 Winyard, who steered, asked Mrs. Tennent for her 
 black shawl, with which he climbed up the mast and 
 made it fast, flagwise. The motion of the boat hardly 
 created draught enough to unfurl it ; but, drooping as 
 it did, it could scarcely fail to serve as a signal. The 
 calm which would have disheartened them under other 
 circumstances, as suspending all prospect of a rescue 
 whilst it lasted, was now deeply welcome to them as a 
 guarantee of their speedy release from the horrors of 
 their situation. As the vessel grew in dimensions under 
 the desperate exertions of the rowers, Mrs. Tennent be- 
 came hysterical, laughed and wept at the same moment, 
 and hugged her boy passionately to her. The old 
 General stood up waving his handkerchief, and talking 
 to himself, even wildly at times. 
 
 Holdsworth was now steering, and he bent eager 
 glances in search of some signal, some flag whose spot 
 of colour would surely be visible even at that distance, 
 to tell them they were seen. 
 
 Suddenly he cried out : 
 
 " Johnson Winyard ! Look ! tell me what you can 
 see?" 
 
 The men rested on their oars simultaneously and 
 turned their heads towards the vessel. A silence en- 
 sued, lasting some moments. Then Johnson exclaimed : 
 
 " There's smoke coming out of her. Don't you see 
 it, like a blue line between her fore and main masts ?" 
 
 "Maybe they're boiling the pitch-kettle abaft the
 
 THE THIKD DAY. 107 
 
 galley, as we used aboard the ' Mary Ann,' " said Win- 
 yard, wiping his forehead with his bare arm; "let's 
 make for her, boys." 
 
 And he fell to his oar again. 
 
 The water rippled round the boat's sides once more, 
 and the shawl at the mast-head fluttered. 
 
 Five minutes passed ; and then Holdsworth, whose 
 eyes never wandered from the vessel, saw something 
 black pass up her sails, rise over her masts and there 
 hang. Another followed ; another yet ; volumes now, 
 and each volume denser, blacker than its predecessor. 
 
 " She's on fire !" he shouted ; at which the men tilted 
 up their oars and stood up. 
 
 Quicker and quicker the black volumes, like balls 
 growing in size as they mounted, were vomited up, and 
 resembled an endless series of balloons rising from the 
 deck ; they met when they reached a short height above 
 the masts, mingled and formed into a livid line which 
 gradually stretched north and south, but very slowly. 
 The spectators in the boat were paralysed ; but their 
 emotions were too various and conflicting to permit the 
 deeper, deadlier ones of disappointment and despair to 
 make themselves felt as yet. 
 
 Holdsworth broke a long silence by exclaiming, " Can 
 you see them putting off?" 
 
 "No I see nothing. I reckon she's abandoned 
 hours ago," answered Winyard. 
 
 The General sank upon his knees with a groan, 
 clutching the gunwale and staring at the burning vessel 
 over his knuckles. There was no sign of a boat any- 
 where no sign of living creature being on board the 
 doomed craft. The smoke, which appeared to have 
 been pent up in the hold, had now escaped on a sudden ;
 
 108 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 and thick and thicker yet it mounted, marking an ugly 
 stain upon the pure morning sky, and hanging sombre 
 and menacing over the smouldering vessel like a thunder- 
 cloud. Soon a short tongue of flame protruded ; then 
 came another and a longer one, which seemed to whiz 
 with a yellow radiance up the rigging and bury itself 
 in the smoke. Then the fire burst out in all directions ; 
 in the time it would take you to count ten, the vessel 
 was a mass of flame, keen, brilliant, coiling, with streams 
 of thin blue smoke sailing out of each yellow ray, mingled 
 with particles of burning matter that winked among the 
 heavy cloud like fireflies in a dark evening. She was 
 four or five miles off; a mere toy on the surface of the 
 sea ; and yet those who watched her from the boat could 
 distinctly hear the crackling of the fire, and the seething 
 of her flaming spars as they fell into the water. Anon 
 the fires flickered, and up drove new volumes of smoke, 
 which paled and thinned as the rekindled flames burst 
 forth again and darted their spear-shaped fangs into the 
 smoke-hidden sky. 
 
 For above an hour this terrible and magnificent 
 spectacle lasted, during which not a word escaped the 
 lips of the inmates of the boat. Their minds seemed 
 incapable of understanding the extinction of the hope 
 that had sustained them since sunrise, by a catastrophe 
 so unexpected, by a horror which united the extreme of 
 sublimity with the extreme of misfortune, and which 
 appeared scarcely more than a vision so unforeseen, so 
 incredible, so illusive, so ghastly, so terrific was it. 
 
 By this time the whole of the upper masts were gone, 
 adding fuel to the interior furnace of the hull, and the 
 three lower masts were burning stumps. Suddenly the 
 blazing mass appeared to rise in the air ; the fires went
 
 THE THIRD DAY. 109 
 
 out as if by magic, and an opaque cloud, burnished a 
 livid blue by the sunshine, floated on the water. Not 
 for many moments after the flames had vanished came 
 a concussion that rent the air, loud and violent as a 
 thunder-clap among mountains. The cloud lifted, and 
 where the vessel had been the sea was a smooth out- 
 line, reflecting only the dark shadow of the slowly- 
 mounting smoke, and dotted here and there with black 
 remnants of the wreck. 
 
 " Mr. Holdsworth," said the General in a faint voice, 
 sinking backwards against a thwart, " I am dying." 
 
 His hands were pressed to his heart ; he was breath- 
 ing quickly and convulsively, and his face was blood- 
 less. His exclamation broke the spell that held the 
 others gazing in the direction of the smoke. They 
 turned quickly, and Holdsworth jumped over to the old 
 man and supported his head on his knee. 
 
 " No, no, General ; don't say that. This is a bitter 
 disappointment ; but we believe in God's goodness. He 
 cannot mean that we should perish. Johnson, pour 
 some rum into the pannikin. Mrs. Tennent, dip your 
 handkerchief into the sea and kindly pass it here." 
 
 They put the spirit to the old man's lip, and he 
 drank a little, but gasped for breath when he had swal- 
 lowed it and clenched his hands. They spread the wet 
 handkerchief over his forehead and loosened his cravat. 
 
 "I 1 know not what this giddiness may mean," 
 
 the General stammered, while the lustre faded out of 
 his eyes. " If it is death ... I am ready to meet it. 
 God is merciful and good. His Son is my Eedeemer 
 . . . He will take me to Himself . . . how faint ! how 
 faint ! But I have eaten nothing "... 
 
 He ceased with a sudden gasp.
 
 110 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " You will feel better presently," said Holdsworth, 
 while Mrs. Tennent took the old man's hand and fanned 
 his face. " The shock of the burning ship has been too 
 great for you. But you will live to recall this time. 
 You have as manly a heart as ever God blessed His 
 creatures with. Don't let it fail you now." 
 
 " I have ... I have striven to do my duty," mur- 
 mured the old man, so faintly that his words were 
 scarcely audible. " I have served my country . . . she 
 is a great empire ... a great empire . . . and my 
 heart is with old England, too ; " forcing a smile, " we 
 should know each other better, sir, and our prejudices 
 would leave us, for .... for .... See ! yonder is 
 Charleston 1" he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes kindling, 
 and drawing his hand from Mrs. Tennent's, to point 
 with it into the infinite horizon. "Do you see that 
 house on the left, there, with the green facing it? I 
 was born there, sir. Observe the barberry-bushes with 
 the red fruit on them just there I fought my cousin, 
 when we were boys . . . he's a senator now, and they 
 tell me a good speaker. Oh, how the time goes !" he 
 sighed wearily. "But there's my wife . . . she is 
 holding the little one by the hand, and nodding to me 
 to attend her. ... A moment, Sarah, a moment ! 
 Gentlemen, farewell. I beg your kind word in my 
 favour among your countrymen, whom I honour. I am 
 a plain American gentleman a general, gentlemen . . . 
 but tell them that my sword was never drawn from 
 its scabbard for any cause but a good one, and . . . 
 Ah, farewell 1 You see, gentlemen, my wife awaits me, 
 and the little one beckons." 
 
 He made a gesture as though he would bow; his 
 venerable and honoured head sank upon his bosom ;
 
 THE THIRD DAY. Ill 
 
 then he started, looked about him with a glazing eye, 
 and smiling sweetly, whispered, " Sarah, I am coming," 
 lay back and spoke no more. 
 
 When, after long watching him, they knew that he 
 was dead, they covered him over with the sail, meaning to 
 commit him to the sea when the widow should be asleep. 
 
 Holdsworth was so greatly overcome that for many 
 minutes he could not raise his head nor speak. The 
 widow, with her eyes fixed on the water, sat motionless, 
 a fixed image of despair. Her boy crept about the 
 bottom of the boat at her feet, with somewhat weakly 
 movements, though his body had not yet suffered enough 
 to kill the infancy in his mind. The sailors, made self- 
 ish by the bitter disappointment of the morning, talked 
 of their chances of rescue, and discussed the subject of 
 the burning ship. Johnson probably solved the mystery 
 of the deserted vessel when he suggested that during 
 the night the hands had found the cargo on fire and 
 he judged by the blaze she made, and the smoke, and 
 the long time she was smouldering, that she was freighted 
 with cotton or coal and had battened down the hatches ; 
 but not having the means of getting the fire under, they 
 struck and took to the boats, obliging the skipper to go 
 along with them, and left the vessel to her fate. Just 
 such another case happened to a messmate of his in the 
 Bay of Biscay. The crew left their ship smouldering 
 under battened hatches. But she was boarded by a 
 Frenchman, who smothered the fire and towed her into 
 Bordeaux. 
 
 "Where was the brigantine's crew, now?" Winyard 
 wondered. 
 
 " I wish we could fall in with them, if only for com- 
 pany's sake," replied Johnson.
 
 112 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 But of that there was very little chance. 
 
 All the afternoon the calm lasted, with light mists 
 hanging in wreaths upon the horizon. But about the 
 hour of sunset the smoke that had risen from the burning 
 ship, and which had not drifted more than a couple of 
 miles to the southward throughout the day, came sailing 
 slowly towards the boat and passed high overhead, thin- 
 ning its bulk as it travelled in an easterly direction. A 
 light breeze heralded it ; they hoisted the sail, put the 
 boat's head round, and stood east-south-east. 
 
 The night fell, but the light breeze held steady. 
 When they thought Mrs. Tennent was asleep, they 
 raised the body of the General in their arms from the 
 bottom of the boat. The night was lustrous with yellow 
 stars, which diffused sufficient light to enable them to 
 see the old man's face. The eyes were closed, and, 
 though the under-jaw was fallen, there yet lingered an 
 expression both of firmness and sweetness about the 
 mouth. The draught under the sail moved his white hairs. 
 
 " Mates," said Holdsworth in a whisper, " we pray 
 that God has taken this noble gentleman's soul to Him- 
 self, and that, though his body be dispersed in the sea, 
 it will rise again at the Day of Judgment, in the shape 
 we now behold it, to become a partaker of life everlasting, 
 through Jesus Christ our Lord." 
 
 The two sailors answered Amen ! 
 
 All three of them then tenderly handed the body 
 over the boat's side, and let it gently slip into the water. 
 The white hair glimmered for a brief moment on the 
 dark surface, and then the body sank or was swallowed 
 up in the gloom ; and the boat rippled onwards, cutting 
 the star flakes in the sea with her stem, and leaving 
 them glittering in silver fragments in her wake.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FOURTH DAY. 
 
 A FOURTH day broke, and found the boat almost be- 
 calmed again. The intense tedium of their captivity 
 cannot be expressed by words. The eternal iteration 
 of the water-line became a torment and a pang, and 
 forced them to look into the boat or upon one another 
 for relief of the strained and weary eye. Their limbs 
 were cramped for want of space to stretch themselves. 
 Holdsworth's cheeks were sunk, and the hollows of his 
 eyes dark ; and a black beard and moustache, sprouting 
 upon his chin and lip, gave him a gaunt and grizly look. 
 The men sat with rounded backs and hopeless eyes, 
 fixed downwards, and sinewy hands clasped upon their 
 knees. 
 
 But the effect of the sufferings, bodily and mental, 
 they were enduring, was most visible in the widow, 
 whose face was scarcely recognisable for the wasted, 
 aged, pallid, and heart-broken aspect that it presented. 
 
 When the little boy awoke lie began to cry and com- 
 plain of pains in his limbs and back. His mother 
 seemed too weak to support or even soothe him with 
 speech. Holdsworth took him upon his knee and talked 
 to him cheerfully, that he might inspirit the others as 
 well as himself. 
 
 I
 
 114 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " Louis, you are a little man ; you must not cry, 
 because it grieves your poor mamma, who cannot bear 
 to see your tears. Your back aches because your bed 
 has been a hard one ; but you won't have that uncomfort- 
 able bed long. Don't you remember what the poor old 
 General said : that God, whose eye is everywhere, sees 
 us, and will pity us, and send a ship to our rescue if 
 we will but have patience, and not murmur against 
 Him. Many vessels have been wrecked as well as the 
 ' Meteor,' and their crews taken to the boats, and rescued 
 by passing ships, after they had suffered more anguish 
 and misery than we can dream of. The fortune that 
 befell them may befall us. We must put our whole 
 trust in God, and watch the horizon narrowly. This is 
 but our fourth day, and the very breeze that is now 
 blowing may be gradually bearing us towards a ship. 
 So no more tears, my man. Here is a biscuit for you. 
 Give this one to your mamma. Here, Johnson Win- 
 yard." 
 
 He handed the men a biscuit apiece, and bade 
 Johnson serve out the water. 
 
 There were three kegs in the boat, as stated else- 
 where. They had calculated that by allowing each 
 person half a pannikin of water a day, their stock would 
 last them ten days. But now there were two mouths 
 less, and they might hope to make the water serve them 
 for as long as thirteen days. It would seem, however, 
 that, in spite of the injunctions of Captain Steel, the 
 boats had been provisioned hurriedly. Of biscuit, 
 Holdsworth had an abundance ; but nothing but negli- 
 gence or haste could account for the absence of other 
 provisions, such as rice, flour, beef and pork, dried peas, 
 and such fare ; unless, indeed, it was considered that
 
 THE FOURTH DAY. 115 
 
 none of these things would be eatable unless cooked. 
 Though Holdsworth's boat might not have fared the 
 worst, it was manifest that the quantity of water that 
 had been put into her was out of proportion with the 
 biscuitthat filled the locker. They had used the water 
 in one of the larger kegs first, and Johnson, in measuring 
 out the allowance, found that scarcely enough remained 
 to fill the pannikin by a quarter. Holdsworth told him 
 to pull the bung out of one of the other kegs, and when 
 the little boy, who was first served, had emptied the 
 pannikin, the next draught was handed to the widow. 
 She raised it to her lips eagerly, her mouth being 
 feverish ; but had scarcely sipped it, when she put it 
 down, exclaiming that the water was salt. 
 
 "Impossible !" cried Holdsworth quickly, and tasted 
 the water. 
 
 The widow was right. The water was not indeed 
 salt, but so brackish as to be quite unfit to drink. 
 
 He spat it out at once, his instincts cautioning him 
 that he would increase his thirst by swallowing it, and 
 looked blankly at the men. 
 
 "What ! is it salt?" exclaimed "Winyard furiously. 
 
 " Try the other keg," said Holdsworth, throwing the 
 contents of the pannikin away. 
 
 Johnson drew some of the water and tasted it, but 
 also spat it out, as Holdsworth had done. 
 " Is that salt too 1 " shrieked Holdsworth. 
 
 " Try it ! " answered Johnson grimly, coming aft with 
 the pannikin. 
 
 That, too, like the other, was brackish and unfit to 
 be drunk. 
 
 " Great God ! " exclaimed Holdsworth, clasping his 
 hands convulsively ; " how could this have happened V
 
 116 JOHX HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 "It was the steward as filled these kegs," said 
 Winyard. " I saw him myself pumping out o' the star- 
 board water cask, which the sea was washing over when 
 the masts went, and draining the salt water in." He 
 added fiercely, " I'll lay he took care to fill the kegs of 
 the boat he belonged to with the right kind ! " 
 
 " Hand that pannikin here," said Holdsworth ; and 
 mixed some rum with the water and tasted it, but the 
 dose was indescribably nauseous. 
 
 This discovery was a frightful blow ; so overwhelm- 
 ing that it took their minds some minutes to realise it 
 in its full extent. 
 
 They were now absolutely without a drop of fresh 
 water in the boat ; which fact was made the more 
 terrible by the consideration that, up to the moment of 
 discovery, they had believed themselves stocked with 
 sufficient water to last them for another week at the 
 very least 
 
 They were appalled and subdued to images of stone 
 by this last and worst addition to the series of heavy 
 misfortunes that had befallen them. 
 
 Then Winyard, who was already tormented with 
 thirst, for they had permitted themselves to drink no 
 water during the night, began to blaspheme, rolling his 
 eyes wildly and calling curses on the head of the 
 steward for his murderous negligence. He terrified the 
 boy into a passion of tears, which increased his fury, and 
 he stood up and menaced the child with his outstretched 
 fist. 
 
 "Sit down !" exclaimed Holdsworth, in a voice that 
 fell like a blow upon the ear. "You are going mad 
 some days too soon, you lubber 1 Do you hear me 1 
 Sit down!"
 
 THE FOUKTH DAY. 117 
 
 The man scowled at him, and then threw himself 
 backwards into the bows of the boat. 
 
 "Will your shrieks and oaths give us water?" 
 Holdsworth continued bitterly. " You are not more 
 thirsty' than I, nor this poor lady, from whom you have 
 not heard one syllable of complaint since she was handed 
 into the boat !" 
 
 He turned to her with a look of deep compassion. 
 
 " Try to sustain your courage under this awful trial," 
 he exclaimed. " Our position is not yet hopeless. 
 There is no sea more largely navigated than the Atlantic, 
 by vessels bound to all parts of the world, and I say it 
 is almost inevitable that we should fall in with a ship 
 soon." 
 
 She forced a wan smile for answer, but did not 
 speak ; merely put her hand on her child's shoulder and 
 drew him to her. 
 
 As the morning advanced the heat of the sun in- 
 creased, and the rays seemed to absorb the light breeze 
 out of the atmosphere ; the sea turned glassy, and by 
 noon the boat was becalmed. Meanwhile, Winyard re- 
 mained doggedly buried in the bows of the boat, sucking 
 his dry lips, with despair legibly written upon his coun- 
 tenance. Johnson appeared to find relief by plunging 
 his arm in the water and moistening his head and face. 
 The very boat took a white, baked, thirsty aspect ; and 
 the heat made the paint upon her exhale in a faint and 
 sickly smell. 
 
 When the afternoon was waning, Winyard got up 
 and crept stealthily to the after -part of the boat. 
 Holdsworth kept his eyes steadily upon him. His inten- 
 tion, however, was no more than to take up the pannikin, 
 which he snatched at hastily, as though fearing that his
 
 118 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 purpose would be frustrated. He then hastened forward 
 and filled the vessel from one of the kegs. 
 
 " Don't drink it ! " exclaimed Holdsworth ; " it will 
 increase your thirst." 
 
 But the man, pointing to his throat, swallowed the 
 briny draught hastily, then put the pannikin down with 
 a sigh of relief and with a face cleared of something of 
 its peculiar expression of pain. 
 
 Johnson seized the pannikin, meaning to follow 
 Winyard's example. Holdsworth entreated him to 
 desist. "The salt will madden you 1" he exclaimed. 
 He had scarcely said this, when Winyard began to roll 
 his body about, uttering short, sharp cries. 
 
 Immediately afterwards he vomited, his face turned 
 slate colour, and they thought he would expire. Holds- 
 worth drained some rum into his mouth, and poured 
 sea-water from the pannikin in long streams over his 
 head. This somewhat revived him ; but he lay groan- 
 ing and cursing, and clutching at the sides of the boat 
 with his finger-nails for many minutes. 
 
 His sufferings frightened Johnson, who called out : 
 
 "Master, if the water in the kegs is poison, we 
 should let it run away." 
 
 " It is worse than poison," replied Holdsworth. " Pull 
 out the bungs the sea-water around us is as wholesome 
 to drink as that stuff." 
 
 Johnson then turned the kegs over and let them 
 drain themselves empty. 
 
 After this a silence fell upon the boat which lasted a 
 full hour, when the boy said : 
 
 "Mamma, I am thirsty. Give me something to 
 drink" 
 
 It was shocking to hear the child's complaint, and
 
 THE FOURTH DAY. 119 
 
 feel the impossibility of satisfying him. The mother 
 started up with a wild gesture, and cried in a fierce 
 whisper, that was thickened in its passage through her 
 swollen throat : 
 
 " my God ! let us both die 1 End our misery now." 
 
 Holdsworth watched her mutely. 
 
 Her appeal died away, and she sank back, exhausted 
 by the sudden outbreak. 
 
 The sun went down and some clouds came up behind 
 the horizon to receive the glowing disc. These spread 
 themselves slowly over the heavens, albeit the sea 
 remained breathlessly calm ; and thinking that the wind 
 was coming up that way, the poor sufferers turned their 
 eyes wildly and eagerly towards the west, hoping with 
 a desolate hope for the vessel that was to rescue them, 
 but which no day brought. 
 
 When the night fell, Winyard began to sing in a 
 strange husky voice ; but his tones soon died out, and 
 then came the small weak cry of, " Mamma, I am thirsty ! 
 give me some water ! " from the little boy, wounding the 
 ear with an edge of agony in the stillness and the gloom. 
 
 Presently a soft sigh of wind came from the west, 
 which backed the sail. Holdsworth put the boat's head 
 round until the sail filled, and then hauled the sheet aft, 
 meaning to lay close to the wind, that they might sooner 
 encounter the ship that the wind was to bring. The 
 air sank into a calm again ; but another puff followed 
 which made the water gurgle, and it was plain that a 
 breeze was coming, by the clouds which were drifting 
 eastwards. The wind freshened and then became steady, 
 and the boat, bending to the weight of the full sail, 
 stirred the water into fire, which flashed and vanished 
 in her wake.
 
 120 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 It mattered little which way Holdsworth steered the 
 boat; but let him head her as he would, there was 
 always the haunting sense upon him that he was speed- 
 ing away from the ship that would rescue them ; that 
 by pointing yonder, or yonder, or yonder, a vessel would 
 be encountered. The breeze and the movement of the 
 boat revived Winyard, who lolled over on the lee side, 
 finding relief in letting his hands trail through the water. 
 The boy had ceased his complaints, and lay sleeping 
 along the thwart, with his head on his mother's knee. 
 Johnson also slept. 
 
 The thirst that had tormented Holdsworth during 
 the afternoon had now in some measure abated. There 
 were four or five bottles of rum still left in the stern 
 locker, and, hoping to hit upon some means to deal with 
 the sufferings with which they were threatened by the 
 absence of water, he soaked a piece of biscuit in the 
 spirit and tasted it. But he at once perceived that no 
 relief was to be obtained by this expedient, but that, on 
 the contrary, the spirit would irritate the throat and in- 
 crease the dry ness. He threw the piece of biscuit away, 
 and began to think over all the stories he had ever 
 heard of men who had suffered from thirst in boats at 
 sea, that he might recollect any one way they adopted 
 for diminishing their torments. He had been shipmates 
 with a man, in one of his earlier voyages, who, together 
 with three other men, had been miraculously rescued by 
 a vessel, after they had been at sea in an open boat 
 exactly twenty- one days, during which they had drifted 
 above seven hundred miles from the spot at which their 
 ship had gone down. Holdsworth could only remember 
 two of the expedients they resorted to when maddened 
 with hunger and thirst : one was, tearing off pieces of
 
 THE FOUETH DAY. 121 
 
 their shirts and chewing them ; the other, cutting 
 wounds in their arms and sucking the blood. This last 
 was a remedy from which he recoiled with horror ; nor 
 were his sufferings so great just then as to tempt him to 
 try the other. 
 
 " Master I" called out Winyard, in a husky voice, 
 "what longitude do you reckon we're in?" 
 
 " We were in twenty-eight west when the ship went 
 down, and I doubt if we are many miles distant from 
 the same place." 
 
 "Ain't there no chance of our sighting a ship, 
 master?" 
 
 " Yes, every chance." 
 
 " I reckon the skipper has run the long-boat into the 
 regular tracks by this time," grumbled the man ; " it's 
 cursed hard upon us that we should be left to die here 
 like dogs." 
 
 To this Holdsworth made no answer, and Winyard, 
 after muttering awhile to himself, began to splash the 
 water in his face by scooping it out with his hand. 
 Then Johnson, in his sleep, called out for something to 
 drink, on which Winyard, with an oath, answered, " Ay, 
 you may call out! If calling 'ud bring it, I'd make 
 noise enough, I'll lay ! " 
 
 The clouds overhead, though widely sundered one 
 from another, were heavy, and Holdsworth constantly 
 directed his weary eyes at them, praying for a shower 
 of rain. At midnight, or thereabouts, Johnson was 
 awakened, and came aft to relieve Holdsworth at the 
 helm. The two men whispered together about Winyard, 
 saying that he was not to be trusted with the manage- 
 ment of the boat whilst the breeze held ; and it was 
 agreed that Holdsworth should replace Johnson at the
 
 122 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 expiration of two hours, by the watch, which Johnson 
 took and put in his pocket. But before lying down, 
 Holdsworth dipped the sail and put the boat around. 
 Her head on the port tack was north-west and by 
 north. 
 
 " Keep a sharp look-out to windward, Johnson, and 
 call me at once if you sight anything," said Holdsworth ; 
 then packed himself against the mast and fell into a 
 doze. 
 
 When he was asleep, Winyard came out of the bows, 
 and stepped to the stern-sheets and began to talk to 
 Johnson. After awhile, he said he should like to see 
 what quantity of biscuit they still had, and lifted the 
 seat over the locker. Johnson, who suspected nothing, 
 had his eyes fixed on the weather horizon ; and Win- 
 yard, snatching at a bottle of rum, thrust it cunningly 
 into his bosom, and hurried forward. 
 
 All this time the boy was sleeping ; but it was im- 
 possible to tell whether his mother slumbered or not. 
 She never once stirred. She sat on the weather side, 
 close against Johnson. Her child's head was upon her 
 knee, and her hands were clasped upon his shoulder. 
 She kept her face bowed, her chin upon her breast. 
 
 At two o'clock by the watch, Johnson called Holds- 
 worth, who instantly sat upright, and before rising, bent 
 his head under the foot of the sail to take a look to 
 leeward. He had scarcely done this when he uttered a 
 cry, and then fell dumb, pointing like a madman. 
 Johnson leaned sideways, and saw the outline of a large 
 ship, about a mile distant, running with the wind free 
 on her starboard quarter. 
 
 "Put your helm up! Head for her!" gasped 
 Holdsworth, springing aft ; and then as the boat swept
 
 THE FOURTH DAY. 123 
 
 round, lie jumped on to a thwart, and hollowing his 
 hands, shouted, but his shout was feeble and hoarse ; 
 the constricted throat dulled and choked his voice. 
 Johnson also shouted, but his voice was even weaker 
 than Holdsworth's. 
 
 " They will not leave us 1 they will not leave us ! " 
 shrieked Mrs. Tennent, rising suddenly and extending 
 her hands towards the ship, which the movement of the 
 boat's rudder had brought on the starboard beam. 
 
 As she cried, Winyard stood up in the boat's bows, 
 reeling wildly, and mad with the drink he had abstracted. 
 His gestures and fury were horrible to witness. His 
 husky screeches sounded as the voice of one suffering 
 indescribable torment. He brandished his arms towards 
 the ship, which was drawing ahead rapidly, and in his 
 drunken excitement leaped upon the gunwale of the 
 boat, where he stood balancing himself, and tossing his 
 clenched fists above his head. Just then the boat dipped 
 and sank into the "hollow of a swell ; the drunken mad- 
 man made a grab at the leach of the sail to steady him- 
 self missed it and went head backwards overboard. 
 
 Holdsworth bounded aft to catch him as he floated 
 past ; but he remained under water until the boat was 
 some yards ahead ; and then they could hear his bub- 
 bling cries and the splashing of his arms. 
 
 Holdsworth's first instinct was to bring the boat 
 round ; but Johnson divined his intention, and twirling 
 the yoke-lines furiously around his hands, cried : 
 
 " No ! no ! we can't save him ! he'll have sunk before 
 we can reach him! Let's follow the ship she may 
 see us!" And he bawled "Ahoy! ahoy!" but his 
 hoarse voice fainted in his throat. 
 
 Holdsworth grasped one of the yoke-lines, and there
 
 124 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 was a short struggle. The boat's head yawed wildly. 
 But by this time nothing was to be heard astern but the 
 wash of the water as the boat sucked it into eddies. 
 
 Holdsworth let go the yoke-line, sprang forward and 
 dipped the sail clear of the mast; crying that there 
 were four lives to be saved, and it would be as bad as 
 murder to stop the boat now. 
 
 The ship was distinctly visible on the port bow, every 
 sail on her standing in a clean black outline against the 
 sky. She showed no lights, and further than that she 
 was a full-rigged ship, it was impossible to tell what she 
 resembled. They watched her with wild despair, utterly 
 powerless to attract her attention, and dependent upon 
 the faint possibility of their glimmering sail being dis- 
 tinguishable on the black surface of the water. If the 
 wind would only lull now, if such a calm as that which 
 had held them motionless the day before would fall, 
 their rescue was inevitable. But the light breeze 
 remained steady, and the ship ahead slipped forward 
 nimbly, and became soon a square shadow against the 
 winking stars over the horizon. 
 
 How horrible to be abandoned for lack of means to 
 make their presence known ! Any kind of light would 
 have served them. 
 
 The widow moaned and beat her breast as the vessel 
 faded into the darkness ; Johnson flung himself doggedly 
 down, and sat resting his elbow on his knee, gnawing his 
 finger-nails ; whilst Holdsworth stood upright forward, 
 gazing with wild, passionate, intense despair, in the 
 direction of the ship long after she had vanished. 
 
 There could be little doubt that, had Johnson kept a 
 proper look-out, he would have seen the ship in time to 
 put his helm up, and run within easy hail of her. Holds-
 
 THE FOURTH DAY. 125 
 
 worth knew this, but would not increase the misery of 
 their situation by useless reproaches. 
 
 The child, who had been awakened by their cries, 
 now that silence had fallen began to ask eagerly and 
 importunately for water, and even reproached his mother 
 for not attending to him. 
 
 "I am hot hot 1" he petitioned. "Mamma, give 
 me water." 
 
 Once during his appeals she started up and glared 
 about her, as if there must be some means of relieving 
 his sufferings ; and then crying, " I shall go mad ! " fell 
 back with a low, heart-broken sob, and spoke no more, 
 though the child persisted in his entreaties for a long 
 while. Finally he burst into tears, and after plucking 
 at his throat for a time, sank into an uneasy slumber, 
 in which he uttered low moaning cries repeatedly. 
 
 A stupor now fell upon Holdsworth a species of 
 drowsy indifference to his fate and to the fate of his 
 companions. He had fallen wearily upon a thwart and 
 sat with his back against the mast, and visions began 
 to float before him, and his whole physical being seemed 
 lapped into a dreamy insensibility, that subdued, whilst 
 it lasted, that subtle agonising craving for water which, 
 since he was awakened from his sleep, had tormented 
 him with a pang more exquisite than any other form of 
 human suffering. He fought with the dangerous list- 
 lessness for some time, terrified at without understanding 
 its import; but in spite of him, his mind wandered, 
 and he presently thought that Dolly was at his side ; 
 whereupon he addressed her, and seemed to receive her 
 answers, and asked her questions in a low, strange voice, 
 often smiling as though the light of her eyes were upon 
 his face and his arm around her.
 
 126 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 His language was audible and intelligible; but 
 Johnson, with one of the yoke-lines over his knees, his 
 head supported in his hands, paid no more heed to him 
 than to the flapping of the sail as the boat sometimes 
 broached to ; which insensibility was as shocking as the 
 other's delirious chattering.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 
 
 IN this way the boat drifted on until the dawn broke, 
 when the wind fell. 
 
 Johnson lifted his head and looked about him ; and 
 first for the ship that had passed them in the night 
 but she was nowhere visible; then at Holdsworth, whose 
 delirium had yielded to sleep, and who slumbered with 
 his feet on the thwart, his back arched like a bow, and 
 his head between his knees ; then at the widow, who 
 drooped against the boat's side, her arm over the gun- 
 wale, and her hand in the water. 
 
 The boy was wide awake, reclining in the bottom of 
 the boat, with his head against his mother's dress. His 
 eyes looked large and glassy, his lips white, and his skin 
 dusky-hued. When he met Johnson's gaze, he smiled 
 as though he would coax him to give him what he 
 wanted, and tried to speak, but his lips rather formed 
 than delivered the word " water." The man stared at 
 him with the insensibility of despair in his eyes : and 
 the boy, thinking that he had not heard him, and that 
 he would get what he desired, if he could but articulate 
 his wish, tried to stand up, meaning to draw close to 
 the man's ear ; but his legs sank under him, and so he 
 remained at the bottom of the boat smiling wanly and 
 pointing to his throat, as though such dumb-show must
 
 128 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 needs soften Johnson's heart, and obtain some water 
 for him. 
 
 Holdsworth awoke with a start and tried to speak ; 
 hut the roof of his mouth was dry, and his tongue felt 
 rusty like a cat's ; moreover, his throat burned, and the 
 sounds he uttered scathed and lacerated him. 
 
 The boy, seeing him awake, turned to him as a friend 
 who would relieve him : and moaned his distress. The 
 spectacle of his agony, and his own sufferings, maddened 
 Holdsworth. All along he had dreaded the temptation 
 of the rum, the fiery quality of which, whilst it moment- 
 arily allayed, would, he was sure, aggravate tenfold the 
 craving for water. But suffering mastered him now. 
 He seized the pannikin and pouring out some of the 
 liquor, put it to the boy's dry lips. He drank greedily, 
 but the ardent spirit checked his breath, and he struggled 
 wildly, beating the ah* with his little hands. 
 
 But meanwhile Holdsworth had also drunk, and 
 handed the remainder of the draught to Johnson, his 
 throat softened, and his tongue capable now of articu- 
 lation. Johnson drew a deep breath, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Thank God for that, master. I should have taken 
 it before had I thought it good for me." 
 
 Holdsworth gave the boy a biscuit, which he grabbed 
 at, and thrust large pieces into his mouth, as though 
 seeking to extinguish the fire that the rum had kindled. 
 
 When the pain of the burning spirit had passed, he 
 said, " Give mamma some. When you were asleep, Mr. 
 Holdsworth, I heard her calling for water." 
 
 Holdsworth, thinking that she slept, would not 
 arouse her ; but noticing that her arm hung awkwardly 
 over the boat's side, and left the half-closed fingers 
 trailing in the water, he raised it gently to place her
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 129 
 
 hand on her lap. Ill doing this, he observed a lifeless- 
 ness in her arm such as sleep could not induce. He 
 peered into her face, and cried out quickly : 
 
 "Gray God!" 
 
 Then bade Johnson move, that he might get beside 
 her, and reverently lifted her head. 
 
 There was no need to glance twice at her face to 
 know what had happened, although the heart-broken 
 expression in it would almost suggest that she slept, 
 and was dreaming a painful dream. Her eyes were 
 half-closed, her under-jaw had dropped, yet she looked 
 even in her death a sweet, long-suffering woman. 
 
 "Give her something to drink," pleaded the little 
 boy, passionately, imagining from her silence, and the 
 expression on her face, that she was suffering as he had 
 and could not speak. 
 
 "She don't want it she's dead!" answered Johnson. 
 
 Holdsworth half turned, but checked the exclamation 
 that rose to his lips, feeling that the bitter truth must 
 be made known to the child sooner or later. 
 
 The boy did not understand the answer ; he crawled 
 upon his mother's knee, with the pannikin in his hand, 
 which he held out whilst he said : " Wake up, mamma ! 
 Open your eyes ! Mr. Holdsworth will give you some- 
 thing to drink." 
 
 Holdsworth removed the child, and seated him near 
 the mast, and bade him stop there. He then returned, 
 and lifting the poor woman from her seat, placed her 
 gently in the bottom of the boat, throwing her dress 
 over her face to hide the anguish in it, and blot out the 
 mockery of the daylight. 
 
 The boy began to cry, and asked Mr. Holdsworth to 
 wake his mamma up. 
 
 K
 
 130 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 Neither of the men could answer him. 
 
 Shortly after this, the wind veered round to the north, 
 and came on to blow in quick, fretful puffs. The sky 
 grew cloudy, and indications were not wanting of the 
 approach of a gale. Holdsworth took the helm, whilst 
 Johnson lowered the sail and close-reefed it, and the 
 quick jump of the sea, coupled with the small space of 
 sail shown, making it impossible for them to head for 
 the east, without driving bodily to leeward, they slack- 
 ened out the sheet and let the boat run, keeping the 
 wind about two points on her port quarter. 
 
 A squall of rain came up and wetted them. They 
 turned their mouths in the direction whence it came, 
 and gaped to receive the delicious drops ; but it blew 
 against their faces and slantwise along the sea, and was 
 soon over. It left a little pool on one of the thwarts, 
 and Holdsworth told the boy to put his lips to it. He 
 did so, and lapped the moisture like a dog; whilst 
 Holdsworth and Johnson removed the handkerchiefs 
 from their necks which the rain had damped, and sucked 
 them. 
 
 The wind increased, the sea became heavy, and the 
 heavens overcast with a vast extent of lead-coloured 
 cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon. At noon, 
 when the boat was on the summit of a wave, Johnson 
 caught sight of a vessel on their lee quarter. The boat 
 plunged downwards, and the vessel was lost to view ; 
 but, on mounting again, they beheld the vessel, under 
 double-reefed top-sails, standing westwards right across 
 their stern. She was not above a mile and a half away, 
 but she might as well have been a thousand, for the boat 
 could no more have made for her in that sea than she 
 could have sailed in the wind's eye. There was a faint
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 131 
 
 chance that the people on board of her might catch sight 
 of the shawl that streamed like a black flag from the 
 mast-head ; and, each time the boat sank into a hollow, 
 the poor men waited with wild and dreadful eagerness 
 for her to rise, that they might observe whether the 
 vessel had seen and was following them. But she 
 did not alter her course, and in ten minutes' time 
 vanished in the haze. 
 
 Neither of the men spoke : Johnson, by the expres- 
 sion on his face, appeared to have resigned himself to 
 despair, and all Holdsworth's thoughts were concentrated 
 in keeping the boat clear of the seas which boiled around 
 her. He was very weak ; so much so that there were 
 moments when, a sea catching the boat under the stern, 
 he had scarcely the power to keep the yoke square and 
 prevent the rudder from being jammed athwart -ships 
 upon its pintles by the pressure of the water ; which, 
 had it happened, would have swept the boat broadside 
 on and filled her. 
 
 Added to this, the torment of thirst was again upon 
 him. He kept the end of his handkerchief in his mouth, 
 literally chewing it to pulp, and constantly directing 
 thirsty glances at the clouds, and praying for another 
 shower of rain. 
 
 His own suffering made him perceive that the rum 
 would be a curse to them whilst it lasted, inducing them 
 to drink it, and presently maddening them with fresh 
 accesses of thirst. The boy was suffering again, and 
 was crawling upon his hands and knees over the thwarts 
 in search of some rain moisture ; and presently Holds- 
 worth saw him put his tongue against the mast and 
 lick it. Johnson hung, with an air of despairful reck- 
 lessness, over the boat's side, dashing the water in his
 
 132 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 face, and letting the foam fly up his arm and soak his 
 breast. 
 
 The boat presently made a plunge downwards a 
 long, wild, sweeping fall ; the roaring of the waves 
 sounded overhead ; the sail flapped, and there was a 
 pause of breathless calm that lasted some moments. 
 
 Holdsworth looked behind him and shrieked out : 
 " Seize the boy, and throw yourself down ! " 
 
 The man extended his hands, and, grappling the 
 child, rolled backwards, under a thwart. 
 
 It came a huge, green, unbroken sea, arching its 
 emerald top on a level with the yard of the sail, and 
 following the boat with a spring like a tiger's. Holds- 
 worth stretched himself out, his feet hard against the 
 aftermost thwart, his back squared, his elbows out, his 
 hands grasping the yoke-lines with a death grip. 
 
 Up went the boat stem up yet up ! as though 
 she must be flung clean over on end ; then came the 
 rush and roar of water it fell with a weight of lead on 
 Holdsworth's back, and beat, with a ponderous single 
 blow, the breath out of him, but could not root him 
 from his seat; it broke into a vast surface of foam, 
 divided, and swept forward, hissing spluttering, bubbling, 
 raging; met at an angle at the boat's bows and half 
 filled her 1 Down she swooped into another hollow, and 
 half the water ran out over her bows, the remainder, 
 as she rose, came rushing aft and filled the stern-sheets ; 
 and up and down, up and down, it washed. 
 
 But the boat still lived, and Holdsworth was her 
 master. 
 
 " Bear a hand aft here and bale her out!" he shouted. 
 
 Johnson let go the half-drowned child, and struggled 
 over the thwarts, blowing and shaking his soaked hair
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 133 
 
 like rope-yarns off his face, his clothes streaming with 
 water; flopped down, found the cocoa-nut shell, and 
 baled with fury. 
 
 The child crouched in the bows, too terrified to cry. 
 
 The boat flashed along, skimming the frothing heads 
 of the waves ; she had outlived an exceptionally heavy 
 sea, and seemed to feel her triumph as she flew. 
 
 But, oh ! the ghastly burden that she bore ! the dead 
 and dripping woman, off whose face the water had 
 washed the covering, and left it naked to the daylight ; 
 the gaunt bearded spectre baling out the boat on his 
 knees, his wet clothes clinging to his frame like a skin 
 of silk, and disclosing the piteous attenuation of the 
 body ; the steersman with wild and lustrous eyes sunk 
 deep in livid sockets, the yoke-lines writhed around his 
 lean brown hands, his lips pale and cracked, and his 
 long neglected hair hanging like a wet mat over his 
 forehead and down his back ; and the shivering little 
 figure in the bows, his hands squeezed together in an 
 attitude of prayer, and his small face glimmering with 
 unearthly ghastliness upon the gray background of the 
 boat's interior. 
 
 Some flying-fish leaped out of the sea close to the 
 boat, and buried their silver arrow-like shapes in a wave 
 some distance ahead. Then the sun broke through a 
 rent in the broad sombre cloud, and made the pelting 
 ocean joyous with a snatch of cheerful light. But the 
 strong wind lasted all the afternoon, and when it lulled 
 just before sunset, Holdsworth was so exhausted, that 
 in rising to give his seat to Johnson, he reeled and sank 
 in a heap close beside the corpse at the bottom of the 
 boat, and lay motionless and insensible. Johnson 
 made no effort to restore him. Indeed, he thought he
 
 134 JOHN HOLDSWOKTII. 
 
 was dead. His own brain whirled ; his tongue seemed 
 to fill his mouth; there crept over him such a stupor 
 as had visited Holdsworth ; he let the yoke-lines go, 
 and fixing his eyes on the sea, prepared to meet the 
 death which his sensations led him to believe was at 
 hand. 
 
 The boat, tossed like a cork on the troubled water, 
 broached to ; but happily the wind was momentarily 
 dying away ; her head came round to the seas and she 
 rode with as much safety as if Holdsworth were at the 
 helm. 
 
 For a whole hour the interior of the boat presented 
 the same scene ; the men motionless as the dead body, 
 the boy squatting in the bows with nothing seemingly 
 alive about him but his eyes, which winked as he rolled 
 them seawards, where the sun shone on the water. 
 Then Holdsworth began to groan and stir ; whereupon 
 Johnson fixed his dull eyes upon him, and watched him 
 without any curiosity, without any sympathy, without 
 any interest indeed, scarcely, I might say, with human 
 intelligence. 
 
 The boy, seeing Holdsworth move, came creeping aft 
 and remained on his knees, first looking at the man 
 awaking to consciousness, and then at his mother, whose 
 motionlessness and drowned aspect, and face made un- 
 familiar to him by its total want of expression, terrified 
 him. 
 
 Holdsworth raised his head and looked about him in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 "Where have I been? What has happened?" he 
 cried. 
 
 He fixed his eyes on the dead woman, his glance re- 
 verted to the boy, and then consciousness fully awoke.
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 135 
 
 He rose wearily to his feet, and sank with a heavy sigh 
 near Johnson, at whom he looked, scarcely knowing 
 whether the man slept or was dead. 
 
 The boy begged for water. 
 
 " Water !" exclaimed Holdsworth in a choking voice; 
 " there is none." 
 
 But there was biscuit, and he turned to the locker 
 to give him one, thinking that the food might relieve 
 the child's thirst. He stretched out his arm to lift the 
 seat of the locker and found the locker filled with salt 
 water. With a cry of despair he dragged out a bag 
 streaming with wet, and thrusting his hand into it 
 found its contents soaked into pulp. The other bag 
 was in the same condition ; and to make matters worse, 
 of the three bottles of rum that had been in the locker, 
 one only was left; the other two were cracked and 
 empty. 
 
 It was easy to understand how this had happened. 
 A sea breaking over the boat's stern could not have 
 filled the locker ; the water which the boat had shipped 
 over her bows had come rushing aft when the boat 
 mounted the next wave, and filling the stern-sheets, 
 raised the seat that formed the lid of the locker, and 
 poured over the biscuit, at the same time forcing the 
 bottles against each other and breaking them. 
 
 "Do you see what has happened?" exclaimed Holds- 
 worth, grasping Johnson's arm. The man looked over 
 his shoulder, shook his head, and muttered, " We're 
 doomed to die. There's no hope, master." 
 
 What was to be done? Holdsworth thought that 
 if the biscuits could be dried in the sun they might be 
 fit to eat, and endeavoured to spread some of them 
 along the thwart ; but the stuff squeezed up in his hand
 
 136 * JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 like thick paste. He tasted a little and found it no 
 better than salt, and he flung the bag down with a 
 groan that seemed to express the extinction of his last 
 faint hope. 
 
 But there was a bottle of rum left. He prised out 
 the cork with the blade of his knife, and gave a spoonful 
 to the boy diluted with two or three drops of sea water. 
 He then set the pannikin to Johnson's lips, who sucked 
 the hard metal rim as a baby might. Finally moisten- 
 ing his own throat with a small quantity of the liquor, 
 he carefully corked the bottle and stowed it away. 
 
 No ! To say that hope had entirely abandoned him 
 would not be true. Whilst the heart continues to 
 pulsate hope will still be found to live, however faintly, 
 in its throbs, though each moment be heavy with pain, 
 and nothing seem sure but anguish and death. 
 
 The wind had died away, but the boat rose and sank 
 to the long and heavy swell that billowed the gleaming 
 surface of the sea to the horizon. Far away in the 
 south was an expanse of gray cloud with slanting lines 
 radiating to the sea from it, and a bright square of rain- 
 bow embedded in its shadow. It was travelling east- 
 wards, and the rain would not touch the boat. Else- 
 where the sky was a bright blue, with here and there 
 clouds of glorious whiteness and majestic bulk moun- 
 tains with shining defiles and a splendour of sunshine 
 in their skirts hanging their swelling forms over the 
 sea. The sun was hot, but then, ever since they had 
 been in the boat, they had been steering more or less 
 south, and, taking the parallels in which the ship had 
 foundered as a starting-point, every degree the boat 
 made southwards would furnish an appreciable change 
 of temperature.
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 137 
 
 The rum had worked beneficially in Johnson, who 
 now began to stretch his body and look about him. 
 
 " Another calm, master," he said, in a voice to which 
 the dryness of his throat imparted a harsh unnatural 
 tone. " I thought I was dead and gone just now. 
 God help us ! I don't think none of us three '11 live to 
 talk of this here time ! " 
 
 "We must put that poor body overboard," said 
 Holdsworth. " It isn't fit that her child should see her 
 like that. Will you take him for'ard and stand between 
 him and me, so that he can't see what I'm doing, and 
 talk to him a bit ? I almost wish they had both died 
 together. The sight of his sufferings makes mine more 
 than I can bear." 
 
 He stifled a sob, and Johnson getting up languidly 
 and holding on to the gunwale of the boat with one 
 hand, took the boy by the arm and led him into the 
 bows. 
 
 Holdsworth slackened off the halliards to lower the 
 sail and screen the after part of the boat from the boy's 
 sight. He then, with what strength he had, and as 
 quickly as he could, raised the dead body and let it slip 
 over the stern, muttering a simple prayer as he did so, 
 that God would let her meet her child in heaven, where 
 they would never more be parted ; and then turned his 
 back upon the water and hid his face in his hands. 
 
 At the end of five minutes he stole a glance astern 
 the body had disappeared. 
 
 " Four," he muttered, " and three more to go ! 
 God, what work what work this has been ! " 
 
 His thoughts went to Dolly. If he died, what would 
 become of her ? Not for many days yet, even suppos- 
 ing the other boats should make their way to land or
 
 138 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 be rescued by a passing ship, would the news of the 
 " Meteor's " loss reach her ; and he thought of her 
 praying night and morning for him, straining her fond 
 eyes into the dim future, where the coming summer was, 
 with all its flowers and its sunshine ; where the happy 
 day was that should bring him to her. If the news of 
 the shipwreck ever reached her, how would her gentle 
 spirit support the blow ! But worse would it be if she 
 remained ignorant of her loss ; because in that case she 
 would live. on in hope for months and months, waken- 
 ing every morning with the idea that To-day he may 
 come ! to-day he may come ! until hope sickened and 
 despair should bring cruel assurance of eternal separa- 
 tion the more unendurable because she should not 
 know why he did not come whether he were living or 
 dead whether he were true or false to her ! 
 
 Oh for the power of giving peace to that manly un- 
 offending heart ! 
 
 We shed tears, and well we may, God knows, over 
 the privations of shipwrecked men, over the hunger and 
 thirst and the mortal bodily agonies of poor souls 
 doomed to die a lingering and shocking death in open 
 boats, storm-tossed, or baking in breathless calms under 
 the burning eye of the sun ; but do we think of that 
 deeper misery of theirs that poignant mental torture 
 compared to which the sufferings of the flesh are as 
 naught the thoughts of those they shall see no more 
 of wives, and sisters, and mothers, and little children, 
 many of whom may perchance never hear the story of 
 their fate, and can have no tear for the famine and the 
 thirst that wasted the flesh off their skins and submitted 
 them to greater torture than the heart can bear to 
 think of 1
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 139 
 
 Holdsworth had believed that the sufferings of the 
 boy would engross all his thoughts in himself, and that 
 though he might miss he would not cry for his mother. 
 But he was deceived; for, no sooner had the little 
 fellow discovered that she was gone from her place in 
 the bottom of the boat, than he uttered a sharp cry, and 
 asked Holdsworth where his mamma was. 
 
 Holdsworth took him upon his knee, but could not 
 answer. The child persisted in his inquiries, looking 
 the while suspiciously and eagerly about him, particularly 
 over the stern, where he had remembered seeing the 
 actor disappear 
 
 " She is gone to God," Holdsworth said at last. "My 
 little man, you will meet her again." 
 
 " To God ! " cried the child. " That's where papa is ! " 
 
 He looked up with startled eyes at the sky, and then 
 sobbed passionately, " Has she left me alone ] has she 
 left me alone ?" 
 
 " No, she has left you to me. Be a good boy now, 
 and don't cry, and I will take care of you, and love you 
 dearly." 
 
 His words smote him as the idlest mockery ; but 
 apart from his mental sufferings, the mere effort of 
 raising his voice pained him intensely. He put the 
 child down, forcing a smile which seemed no better than 
 a grin of pain upon his emaciated face, and then stood 
 up to sweep the horizon, but soon sank down again with 
 a sound as of a clanging of bells in his ears, and his 
 throat constricted and burning with a dry, feverish heat, 
 the pain of which was exquisite. 
 
 He was now sensible that his memory was going, for 
 in trying to think of the child's name he found that he 
 could not recall it. But this, somehow, gave him no
 
 140 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 concern, for his whole physical being was in perfect 
 accord with such lapses of the intellectual faculties, and 
 the discovery bred not the lightest movement of surprise 
 or apprehension in his mind. 
 
 At noon, Johnson asked for more rum, and Holds- 
 worth measured out a small quantity for the three of 
 them, diluting the draught, as he had before done, with 
 a few drops of salt water. 
 
 The boy never moved from the seat where he had 
 been placed by Holdsworth ; he knew not, in reality, 
 where his mother had gone, but there was plainly a 
 suspicion in him that she was in the sea, and he kept 
 his eyes fixed on the water, as though in expectation of 
 her rising at the side of the boat. He shed no more 
 tears ; indeed, physical weakness had so far conquered 
 him,- that it had rendered him incapable of tears. The 
 sight of his white, young, piteous face, his head moving 
 on his shoulders in convulsive jerks, and his helpless 
 down-hanging arms, was enough to make one pray to 
 God that death might remove him speedily, if the term 
 of horrible misery were not to be ended at once. 
 
 The afternoon passed, and the sun went down behind 
 a calm sea. While the crimson flush still lived in the 
 sky, a flock of sea birds came from the south, and 
 hovered awhile over the boat, as though irresolute to 
 quit it for their further destination. They were at too 
 great an elevation to enable the men to judge what birds 
 they were ; but they emitted harsh sounds, resembling 
 in some measure the cry of gulls, mixed with the rough 
 intonation of rooks. After this pause, they pursued 
 their flight, and soon winged themselves out of view, 
 but not without leaving behind them a species of deso- 
 late hope, such as would be excited in the minds of men
 
 THE FIFTH DAY. 141 
 
 who had been long banished from the sight of living 
 things, and by whom the most trivial incident would be 
 interpreted as an auspicious omen. 
 
 Holdsworth and Johnson drew together and spoke of 
 what these birds portended. The wildest phantasies 
 were begotten, and they sought to encourage themselves 
 with dreams which a listener would have shuddered over 
 as the babbling of delirium. Their thoughts being 
 loosened, they presently began to complain of hunger ; 
 and Johnson took up a piece of the pulpy biscuit which 
 lay on a thwart and which the sun had hardened, and 
 bit it, but instantly ejected it, saying that it was bitterer 
 than galL Indeed, had there been more light they would 
 have seen the frost-like crystals of salt which had been 
 dried into the biscuit by the sun's action. However, 
 their hunger was not so fierce but that they could endure 
 it yet awhile. 
 
 The night came down, quite radiant with stars, with 
 not a cloud in all the great dome of glittering sky. The 
 two men were now so regardless of their fate that they 
 entered into no arrangement as to keeping watch, but 
 folded their arms upon their breasts and slept or fell 
 into a semi-unconscious state lethargies so sinister that 
 it was hard to tell whether they were not the sloping 
 ways to death. Fitful cries sometimes broke from them, 
 resembling the echoes which are awakened in the caverns 
 of a bird -frequented cliff; but with notes of human 
 anguish in them that made the glory of the stars a 
 hellish mockery. 
 
 The boy slipped from his seat and lay prone at the 
 bottom of the boat, unheeded by either Holdsworth or 
 Johnson. 
 
 So passed the night
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH DAYS. 
 
 THE dawn awoke Johnson, who remained seated for 
 some time motionless, with his open eyes fixed upon the 
 sea half-way to the horizon. As he continued gazing, 
 a wild smile of joy kindled up his face and parted his 
 cracked lips into a grin so extravagant, so indescribable, 
 that it converted his face into a likeness of humanity as 
 repulsive and unreal as an ugly paper mask. 
 
 He thrust his bony fingers into Holdsworth's collar 
 and shook him violently, whilst he pointed to the sea 
 with his right hand. 
 
 "Look! look!' ; he cried. "Wake up! wake up! 
 there is the land ! See the houses, master ! and the 
 trees ! . . . Jesus ! how green they are ! "Wake up, 
 I say!" 
 
 Holdsworth started up violently and shook himself, 
 with a mighty effort, clear of the benumbing torpor that 
 had weighed him down throughout the night. He 
 stared in the direction indicated by Johnson, then 
 rubbed his eyes furiously with his knuckles, and stared 
 again, but could see nothing but the ocean growing blue 
 under the gathering light in the east, and stretching its 
 illimitable surface to the horizon. 
 
 " Come, master, let's get the oars out. Why, where
 
 THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH DAYS. 143 
 
 have we drifted 1 Lord, see the trees ! how green 
 and beautiful ! I reckon there's water there and I'll 
 strip and souse in it ! Will they see us 1 Wave your 
 hat!" 
 
 He took off his own and brandished it furiously. 
 But all on a sudden he let fall his arm he stretched 
 his head forward, and his glassy eyes seemed to protrude 
 from their sockets ; his breath went and came shrilly 
 through his open mouth ; and then, giving a scream, he 
 shrieked, " It's gone ! it's gone ! " and as if the disap- 
 pointment were a blow dealt him by some heavy instru- 
 ment, he gave a great gasp, collapsed, and fell like a 
 bundle of rags from his seat. 
 
 The fit of convulsive trembling that had seized Holds- 
 worth passed ; he caught sight of the boy lying on his 
 side, with his eyes, wide open, fixed upon his face. 
 The child was pointing to his throat. Holdsworth 
 raised him and laid him along the 'seat, not conceiving 
 that the little creature had fallen from his resting-place 
 during the night, but that he had placed himself in that 
 position the better to rest his limbs. 
 
 He moistened his lips with rum, but on looking 
 attentively at his face, perceived indications denoting 
 approaching death as clearly as though the piteous 
 message was written upon his brow. This perception 
 gave him exquisite misery. The bright eyes of the 
 child, suggesting sweet memories of the little wife he 
 had left at Southbourne, had endeared the boy to him ; 
 he had been his playmate and companion on the 
 " Meteor ;" he had watched the deep and beautiful love 
 of the mother ; and her death, recent as it was, had 
 imparted the deepest pathos to the little orphan, and 
 made, his claims upon Holdsworth's protection and love
 
 144 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 infinitely eloquent and appealing. That he should be 
 dying now now that the bright sun was climbing the 
 brilliant morning sky dying for want of a cup of 
 water, a morsel of bread dying without a mother's love 
 to enfold him in his last struggle and waft his young 
 and innocent soul to God on the wings of a prayer, such 
 as her agony, her devotion only could dictate oh, it 
 was too pitiful I 
 
 " My little boy look up ! tell me do you suffer 1 
 Where is the pain 1 Is it in your throat 1 Oh my 
 poor innocent ! " 
 
 His tears blinded him. He took his handkerchief 
 and dipped it into the sea and laid it upon the child's 
 throat. 
 
 The little creature seemed to feel his love, for he 
 made a movement as if he would nestle against him, 
 and smiled wanly, but could not speak. His young 
 dying face was an unbearable sight, and Holdsworth, 
 groaning, gazed wildly around the horizon as if there 
 or there or there must be the ship sent by God to 
 save the boy's life ! 
 
 A long hour passed ; the child still lived, and Holds- 
 worth hung over him, heedless of the other poor creature 
 who had awakened to consciousness, but yet lay in a heap, 
 supporting his head against the stanchion of a thwart, 
 and watching his companions with glazed eyes. Then 
 a craving for food mastered Holdsworth, and he looked 
 at the biscuit, but had yet sufficient control over himself 
 not to touch it, knowing the penalty of increased thirst 
 that must follow the absorption of the brine into his 
 stomach. He went to the locker and plunged his arm 
 into the water that half filled it, and groped about in 
 search of he knew not what ; something to appease his
 
 THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH DAYS. 145 
 
 craving might be there ; but he found nothing but slimy 
 pieces of biscuit and the broken bottles. 
 
 In a sudden fury of hunger he tore off his boot and 
 cut a piece of the leather from the top of it, and began 
 to chew it 
 
 The mere act of mastication somewhat diminished 
 his suffering, and he returned to the boy. No marked 
 change had occurred within the hour, but, imperceptible 
 as the departure might be, it Was only too evident that 
 the child was dying. Thirst, exposure, and grief for 
 there had been something so akin to a heart-broken 
 expression in the little fellow's eyes when he stared at 
 the sea, expecting his mother to rise from it, that it 
 would be impossible to doubt the keenness of his sorrow 
 these things had done their work. 
 
 Holdsworth bathed his face and throat with salt 
 water, and again offered to moisten his lips with rum ; 
 but the boy made a gesture of dissent. Indeed the rum 
 served no other end than to irritate his lips and his 
 tongue, which was swollen and discoloured. 
 
 As the day wore on, the torment of thirst abated in 
 Holdsworth, and Johnson also seemed to suffer less. 
 The first agony which thirst brings with it, and which 
 endures for two or three days, was passing ; the next 
 stage would be a kind of insensibility to the craving for 
 water ; but this would presently be followed by a re- 
 newal of the suffering in its sharpest form, which would 
 continue until death ended it. 
 
 Throughout the afternoon, Holdsworth remained at 
 the side of the boy, who lay with half-closed eyes and 
 no movement of the body, save the fain.t rise and fall of 
 his chest as he breathed. They were neither of them 
 much more than skeletons, and so ashen was the com- 
 
 L
 
 146 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 plexion of Holdsworth, so lustreless his eyes, so wild and 
 gaunt and ragged his whole face with the grisly beard, 
 the white lips, the livid hollows beneath the eyes, and 
 the twisted knotted hair upon his forehead and down 
 his back, that he seemed much nearer to death than the 
 child, whose infancy saved his face from being made 
 actually repulsive by suffering. 
 
 Before sunset the boy became delirious, and mouthed 
 shocking gibberish, being unable to articulate. For a 
 whole half-hour this babbling lasted, and then died out, 
 and the boy grew conscious. Holdsworth supported his 
 head on his knee, but he slightly twisted it round to 
 look at the sun, which was just then resting, a great 
 orb of burning gold, upon the line of the horizon. He 
 watched the sun intently, undazzled by the splendour, 
 until it vanished, when he uttered a low wailing cry 
 and stretched his arms out to it. Holdsworth felt his 
 little body trembling, and some convulsive movements 
 passed through him. Holdsworth kissed his forehead, 
 and the boy smiled, and with that smile his spirit 
 passed away. 
 
 When he could not doubt that he was dead, Holds- 
 worth removed the little jacket from the child's back, 
 covered his face with it, and laid him in the bottom of 
 the boat. 
 
 The mere exertion of doing this made him fall half- 
 swooning upon a seat, on which Johnson came stagger- 
 ing over the thwarts and gave him some rum. There 
 was now no more than a quarter of a pint left in the 
 bottle. 
 
 "Master," said the man, bringing his lips close to 
 Holds worth's ear, " if I die first, please throw my body 
 overboard. I don't like the notion of drifting about in
 
 THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH DAYS. 147 
 
 this boat maybe for weeks, and becoming a sight not fit 
 to be looked at, if e'er a ship should come by." 
 
 "I shan't live to do you that service," muttered 
 Holdsworth. " I don't feel as if I could last out much 
 longer." 
 
 " The curse of God is on us !" said Johnson. 
 " There's nothing but calms, and to think of two being 
 left out o' seven !" 
 
 The night fell quickly. At about ten o'clock a 
 breeze came up from the north, and blew coolly and 
 gratefully over the burning heads of the two men. It 
 took the boat aback, and Holdsworth, acting from sheer 
 instinct, put her before it, and hauling the sheet aft, 
 steered east. No clouds came up with the wind ; it 
 was a summer breeze which might lull at any moment, 
 or veer round, perhaps, to the south-west, and bring up 
 a change of weather. 
 
 Lying pretty close to the wind the boat required no 
 steering, which was fortunate, for the yoke-lines soon 
 slipped out of Holdsworth's hands, and a torpor stole 
 over him, which, without actually suspending his con- 
 sciousness, rendered his perceptions dreamy and useless. 
 He rested with his back against the side of the boat, his 
 head upon his breast, and his eyes half closed. Johnson 
 crouched near the mast. 
 
 The breeze proved steady during the night, but died 
 away towards the small hours ; then, at daybreak, sprang 
 up afresh from the west. The heeling over of the boat 
 aroused the two men, who languidly, and with gestures 
 terribly significant of their growing indifference to their 
 fate, dipped the sail, and again let the boat lie close to 
 save the trouble of steering her. 
 
 When the morning was a little advanced, Johnson
 
 148 . JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 crept to the side of the dead boy and groped about 
 him. 
 
 "What are you doing?" cried Holdsworth fiercely. 
 
 " Feeling if there isn't a piece of ship's bread in his 
 pockets," answered the man doggedly, and looking up 
 with a wolfish light in his sunken eyes. 
 
 " Let him alone !" said Holdsworth. 
 
 The man dragged himself away reluctantly, grumb- 
 ling to himself, and resumed his place near the mast, 
 keeping his eye steadfastly fixed on the dead body. 
 
 A sick shudder passed through Holdsworth as he 
 observed the man's peculiar stare, and sinking on his 
 knees, he uncovered the child's face and inspected it 
 attentively, to satisfy himself that he was actually dead. 
 He then raised him in his arms with the intention of 
 casting him overboard. But Johnson came scrambling 
 over to him and gripped him by the wrist. 
 
 The expression of his face, made devilish by suffer- 
 ing, was heightened to the horribly grotesque by the 
 action of his mouth, which gaped and contorted ere he 
 could articulate. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? Keep him ! " he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Why ?" answered Holdsworth, looking him full in 
 the face. 
 
 But the man could not deliver the idea that was in 
 his mind ; he could only look it. 
 
 Holdsworth turned his back upon him and raised his 
 burden on a level with the boat's gunwale, but Johnson 
 grasped the body with both hands. 
 
 "Let go !" said Holdsworth. 
 
 The man with an oath retained his hold. Weak as 
 Holdsworth was, the passion that boiled in him at the
 
 THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH DAYS. 149 
 
 desecration the half -maddened wretch was doing his 
 poor little favourite, gave him temporarily back his old 
 strength. He raised his foot, and, planting it in John- 
 son's chest hurled him back ; the man fell with a crash 
 over the thwart, and lay stunned. 
 
 Holdsworth leaned over the boat's side and let the 
 body gently sink in the water ; which done, he felt that 
 his own turn was come, and dropped in the stern-sheets 
 groaning, with drops in his eyes that scalded them. 
 
 But he still lived, and whilst his heart beat nature 
 would assert herself. Towards the afternoon a torturing 
 craving for food beset him, started him into life, and 
 made him sit upright. He wiped the foam from his lips 
 and beheld it discoloured with blood. He looked 
 savagely around him like a wild beast, and, beholding 
 nothing but the dry, bare seats, the boat's hot interior 
 with the gratings whitened by the heat of the sun, and 
 underneath them the glistening water that bubbled 
 coolly and with a maddening suggestion of sparkling, 
 refreshing springs, he dragged his knife from his pocket, 
 pierced his arm, and put his lips to the wound. 
 *****
 
 CHAPTEE XIIL 
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 
 
 IT was morning on the tenth day, dating from the 
 foundering of the " Meteor." 
 
 A barque of about six hundred tons, named the 
 "Jessie Maxwell," three weeks out from the port of 
 Glasgow, having been becalmed all night, was standing 
 south, with all sail set, and a gentle breeze on the 
 beam. 
 
 It was the second officer's watch on deck ; he was 
 sitting trimming his nails on the grating abaft the wheel, 
 when the man who was steering, pointing to the horizon 
 a few points before the port beam, asked him if he 
 could see anything black there. The second officer not 
 having very good sight, stared awhile and declared that 
 he saw nothing ; then, going forward, called to a man 
 in the main-top to tell him if there was anything to be 
 seen on the port beam. The man, shading his eyes, 
 sang out that he could see a black object, but whether 
 it was a boat or a piece of wreck he couldn't say. 
 Whereupon Mr. Anderson stepped to the companion - 
 hatchway, took down the glass, and, having adjusted it 
 to his sight, levelled it 
 
 "By thunder!" he cried, keeping the glass to his 
 eye, " it's a boat and there's a mast, and a lug-sail
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 151 
 
 and something black at the mast head. But the de'il a 
 soul can I make out aboard of her." 
 
 He had another good look, and then, tucking the 
 glass under his arm, went below. 
 
 In about three minutes' time he returned, followed 
 by a small stout man with a good-humoured face, and a 
 grave, middle-aged gentleman with a long black beard. 
 
 " There, sir ; there she is yonder ! " said Mr. Ander- 
 son, incapable of seeing her with his naked eye, but 
 concluding that she must still be where he had at first 
 sighted her, and willing to obtain the credit of a good 
 sight by a simple device. 
 
 " I see something black," said the grave gentleman. 
 
 " Give us the glass !" exclaimed the short man, who 
 was the skipper, and applied the telescope to his eye. 
 " It is certainly a boat," he observed, after a bit ; " but 
 I don't see anybody moving in her. What's that black 
 thing at the mast-head 1 Is it a signal ?" 
 
 He turned to the man at the wheel : " Starboard 
 your helm. Mr. Anderson, trim the yards. Yonder 
 may be some perishing human beings." 
 
 The whisper soon went through the vessel that there 
 was a boat in sight ; the watch below turned out of 
 their hammocks and came on deck ; and soon the fore- 
 castle was lively with a crowd of hands gazing earnestly 
 at the boat, which the alteration in the barque's course 
 now made distinguishable, and speculating as to the 
 people who were on board of her. 
 
 " She looks to me like a ship's quarter-boat," said the 
 skipper, with his eye to the glass. " Tire sheet of the 
 sail is to windward, and she's driving bodily to leeward. 
 What in the name of conscience is the meaning of that 
 black flag at the mast-head 1 "
 
 152 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 They neared her rapidly, but were puzzled to dis- 
 cover no living thing stirring in her, for though it was 
 perfectly true that the sail had not been dipped, she 
 had all the appearance of being manned. The water 
 was so calm that the barque was able to run almost 
 alongside the boat. There was a rush to the vessel's 
 side, and then, as the boat was passed at a distance of 
 forty or fifty feet, cries rose from the forecastle : " There's 
 a man in the stern-sheets !" 
 
 " Do you see him, sir, lying with his head under the 
 aftermost thwart ?" 
 
 " There's two of them ! See there hard agin' the 
 mast 1" 
 
 The boat dropped astern and revealed her interior 
 to the people aft. 
 
 " My God ! Two corpses in her ! " cried the second 
 mate. 
 
 " Man the starboard fore braces ! " shouted the 
 skipper. 
 
 The wheel flew round; the port fore -braces were 
 let go, and the yards backed. The vessel's way was 
 stopped and a dozen hands came aft to lower away the 
 port quarter boat. In jumped four men, the second 
 mate at the tiller. "Lower away!" Down sank the 
 boat, soused upon the water, the blocks were unhooked, 
 out flew the oars. 
 
 In a few minutes the boat was alongside the coffin 
 with the black flag at her mast-head. The men grabbed 
 her gunwale, and stood up to look in. 
 
 God in Heaven ! what a scene ! 
 Holdsworth lay on his back, his legs bent double 
 under him, his arms stretched out, and his ghastly face 
 upturned directly under a thwart Johnson lay in a
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 153 
 
 heap near the mast, and they thought him at first a 
 bundle of clothes, until they caught sight of his hair 
 and the fingers of one hand. His face was hidden ; but 
 Holdsworth looked a gray and famished skeleton, with 
 God's signal of humanity eaten by suffering out of his 
 face ; his wrists, like white sticks, covered with sores, 
 one foot naked, and the skin of that and of his face of 
 the complexion and aspect of old parchment. 
 
 Crumbling fragments of salted biscuit were scattered 
 on one of the seats. Aft was the open locker half-filled 
 with water, coloured like pea-soup by the ship's bread 
 that was soaked and partially dissolved in it. In the 
 bows were the empty kegs with the bungs out, and as the 
 boat swayed to and fro to the movements of the small 
 waves with which the wind had crisped the sea, these 
 kegs rolled against each other with hollow sounds. 
 
 The dry, baked appearance of the boat, the fragments 
 of biscuit, the empty kegs, and the skeleton men, formed 
 a spectacle of horror and extreme misery, such as the 
 wildest imagination could not realise without memory 
 and experience to help it. Nor in this picture of pure 
 ghastliness was the least ghastly item the black shawl, 
 which fluttered its sable folds at the mast-head, and to 
 the sailors typified, as no other image could, the cKar- 
 acter and quality of the horror they contemplated. 
 
 " Can they be dead V gasped one of the sailors, whose 
 white face showed him almost overcome. 
 
 " Mr. Anderson ! " came a voice from the barque's 
 quarter-deck, " take the boat in tow and bring her along- 
 side." 
 
 They made the painter fast to their stern, lowered 
 her sail, and started with their grim burden gliding after 
 them. The voices of the men overhanging the vessel's
 
 154 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 bulwarks rose in a low, deep hum, when the boat was 
 near enough to enable them to see its contents again. 
 The port gangway was unshipped, and some hands stood 
 by with lines to hoist the bodies inboard. 
 
 Do they live ?" called out the skipper. 
 
 " They both seem dead, sir," answered Anderson. 
 
 The boat was now brought right under the gangway, 
 and the top of her mast being level with the bulwarks, 
 submitted the shawl to the close scrutiny of the sailors. 
 They examined it with awe and curiosity. 
 
 " It isn't bunting," said one. 
 
 "It looks like bunting too !" exclaimed another. 
 
 " See how it's rigged up ! " observed a third ; " hitched 
 on anyways." 
 
 " If it ain't a woman's dress tore in two, I give it 
 up," said a fourth, " though there ain't no woman in the 
 boat as I can make out." 
 
 By this time they were slinging Johnson under the 
 arms and around the middle, ready to be hoisted over 
 the gangway. Now that he was exposed, he made a 
 more gaunt and sickening object than Holdsworth. He 
 was an image of famine of manhood killed by suffering 
 a picture such as the memory would retain when 
 years had impaired its powers, and driven all other 
 vivid impressions from it The men fell back as the 
 piteous object was reverently raised over the vessel's 
 side, and placed upon a sail near the main-hatchway. 
 Then followed the form of Holdsworth. 
 
 The captain and the gentleman with the long beard 
 approached the two bodies. 
 
 " Can you tell me if there's any life in them, Mr. 
 Sherman 1" said the captain. 
 
 Mr. Sherman knelt and examined the two faces. The
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 155 
 
 seamen pressed eagerly around to listen. The elements 
 of the picturesque and the tragical entered so deeply in- 
 to the scene as to make it extraordinarily impressive 
 the brown and rugged features of the sailors ; the grave 
 figure kneeling ; the two bodies on their backs resem- 
 bling skeletons poorly disguised by a rude imitation of 
 human skin ; the black shawl streaming alongside, sym- 
 bolising a story of cruel, lingering, horrible death ; above, 
 the white sails of the vessel, and over all a beaming sky 
 and a joyous sun ! And add the mysteriousness of these 
 famished and motionless visitants their name, their 
 country, their story unknown their white lips sealed ! 
 
 " What do you think ?" asked the captain. 
 
 " This man," answered Mr. Sherman, indicating John- 
 son, " is certainly dead ; and in my opinion " 
 
 But at that moment the feeblest of feeble tremors 
 passed through Holdsworth. 
 
 "Quick !" cried Mr. Sherman, springing to his feet 
 " This man lives ; they may both be alive ! Have them 
 taken below, Captain Duff ! Quick, sir ! every moment 
 is precious ! " 
 
 His excitement was contagious. The captain bellowed 
 for the steward. Others seized upon the bodies and 
 hurried aft with them. The murmur of many voices 
 rose and swelled into a hubbub. 
 
 "Aft here to the davits, and hoist the boat up I" 
 sang out the second mate ; who, while this was doing, 
 went below to take instructions as to the other boat, 
 and returned with orders to get it inboard. 
 
 The curiosity of the men to handle and examine this 
 boat was so great, that when the order was given for 
 some hands to get into her, the whole ship's company 
 made a rush to the gangway. But this tumult was soon
 
 156 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 quelled by the help of a few Scotch curses. The boat 
 was hauled round to the starboard side, and tackles 
 rigged on to the fore and main yard-arms. Up came 
 the boat cheerily, with her mast unshipped, and was 
 lashed athwart- ships just before the main -hatch way. 
 The vessel's yards were then trimmed, and away she 
 slipped through the water. 
 
 The hands could not be got away from the boat. 
 Had she been the fossilised remnant of some antedilu- 
 vian Armada, she could not have been examined by the 
 men with more intense and breathless curiosity. There 
 was no name on her, no clue of any kind to tell the ship 
 she had belonged to, where she was built, what port she 
 hailed from. There was, indeed, the word " London," 
 together with some figures branded upon the kegs ; but 
 this indicated nothing. They dragged the soaking bags 
 of biscuit out of the locker, where they also found the 
 fragments of the rum-bottles ; and deep and numerous 
 were the ejaculations these simple things called forth 
 from the sailors, who gathered a story from them of 
 which my hand is powerless to impart the thrilling 
 pathos to my unvarnished version. 
 
 "See here !" said a man, shaking the kegs ; "not a 
 drain of water in them ! " 
 
 " Here's a boot with a piece cut clean out from the 
 top of it," said another. 
 
 "Some one has tried to make food out o' that!" 
 said an old salt, shaking a quantity of ringlets. " I've 
 heerd tell of worse stuff nor boots being eat by castaway 
 men !" 
 
 The fragments of dried biscuit were passed around 
 and examined with wondering attention. The sail, the 
 oars, the gratings all came in for their share of closest
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 157 
 
 and absorbed scrutiny. But the object that most excited 
 speculation was the poor widow's shawl, which, having 
 been drenched and dried, and drenched and dried again, 
 had become rotten, was full of holes, and as much 
 resembled a shawl as a waistcoat. 
 
 "If this ain't a curio, I should like to know what 
 is !" said a seaman. 
 
 " It's a bit of a gownd, that's what / say it is ! " 
 exclaimed another authoritatively. " Think I can't tell 
 what a woman's dress is like 1 " 
 
 "My notion is," said an old man, standing aloof, 
 "that there ain't nothing mortal about it at all, but 
 that it's just a bit of bunting hoisted by death, to let 
 the people as was in the boat know who their proper 
 skipper was. I hope nobody means to bring it into the 
 forecastle. I'll not go a-nigh it for one." 
 
 " Bring that thing aft here ! " called Anderson ; " and 
 turn to there and get about your work." 
 
 The men dispersed, and the watch below rolled into 
 the forecastle, talking under their breaths, and making 
 each other miserable with horrid legends of fire, disease, 
 drowning, and starvation. 
 
 The night came. The " Jessie Maxwell " was heeling 
 over to a spanking breeze, and in her cabin the lamp 
 was lighted, and Captain Duff and his chief officer, an 
 Orkney Islander named Banks, a huge, rough, shaggy, 
 honest-looking being, as like a Newfoundland dog as it 
 is possible for a man to be, sat, each with a big glass of 
 whisky and water at his elbow, smoking pipes. 
 
 Here was a very different interior from what the 
 " Meteor " had presented. The cabin was about twenty 
 feet long and six feet high, with a broad skylight over-
 
 158 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 head, and half a dozen sleeping berths around. No gilt 
 and cream colour, nor polished panels, nor Brussels 
 carpets, nor the hundred elegancies of decoration and 
 furniture, that made the " Meteor's " cuddy as pretty as 
 a drawing-room, were to be found; but solid snuff- 
 coloured doors, with stout hair-cushioned sofas on either 
 side the table that travelled up and down a couple of 
 portly stanchions, so that, when it was not wanted, 
 it could be stowed out of the road. But how suggestive, 
 every plank and beam that met the eye, of strength and 
 durability ! Here was a vessel fit to trade in any seas, 
 well manned, with a snugly -stowed cargo, not a quarter 
 of a ton in excess of what she ought to carry, com- 
 manded by a shrewd and able seaman out of Glasgow, 
 and by two mates as competent as himself. 
 
 The steam from the toddy mingled the fragrance of 
 lemon and honest Glenlivet with the more defined 
 aroma of cavendish tobacco. The captain sat on one 
 sofa and Banks on the other; and they smoked and 
 sipped, and looked steadfastly on one another, as if time 
 were altogether too precious to be wasted in conversa- 
 tion, which must oblige them to devote their lips to 
 other purposes than the pipe-stem and the tumbler. 
 
 " I think I did well to get that boat inboard," said 
 the skipper presently ; " a boat's a boat." 
 
 There was no controverting this position ; so Mr. 
 Banks acquiesced with a nod, which .he executed like 
 Jove, in a cloud. 
 
 " Do you remember the time, Banks," observed the 
 skipper after a long pause, " when little Angus McKay 
 spun us that yarn in the "Bannockburn," about his 
 falling in with a ship's long-boat off the Cape of Good 
 Hope, with a nigger boy and three sheep aboard of her 1 "
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 159 
 
 Mr. Banks, after deep deliberation, replied that he 
 minded the story weel. 
 
 "A verra curious circumstance," continued the 
 skipper, " if it wasn't a lee ! " 
 
 Another pause, during which the two men sucked 
 their pipes, never remitting their steadfast gaze at each 
 other, unless to turn their eyes upon the tumblers before 
 raising them to their lips. 
 
 "Mr. Sherman seems to know what he is about," 
 said Captain Duff. " He has a fund of humanity in his 
 bosom, and I like to reflect, sir, on his sitting by the 
 poor de'il's bed watching by him as though he were his 
 ain son." 
 
 Nothing could have been more a propos than this 
 remark, if it were designed to reach the ear of the 
 gentleman referred to ; for, as the captain spoke, one of 
 the snuff-coloured doors was opened, and Mr. Sherman 
 came out. 
 
 "Hoo's the patient?" asked the captain. 
 
 " He has his senses, though there is such a bewildered 
 look on his face as* I don't think I ever saw on the 
 human countenance," replied Mr. Sherman, seating him- 
 self near the skipper, and looking about for a tumbler ; 
 whereat Mr. Banks called in a hurricane-note for " Atam," 
 meaning Adam. A small red-headed man emerged from 
 somewhere and placed the materials for a glass of 
 whisky toddy before Mr. Sherman. 
 
 "Ech!" ejaculated the skipper, "I daresay he is 
 puzzled. So would I be if my last memory left me 
 starving in an open boat and my next one found me 
 warm in bed with the flavour of old Nantz brandy in 
 my inside." 
 
 " I have asked him no questions," continued Mr.
 
 160 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Sherman. " I know enough of doctoring to understand 
 that his life may depend upon rest and silence." 
 
 "My word, sir, you are a very gude-hearted man !" 
 exclaimed the skipper ; " and if ever I am shipwrecked, 
 may it be my luck to fall into just such hands as yours. 
 Your health, sir." 
 
 Saying which, he half-emptied his tumbler, a per- 
 formance that made his merry eyes glisten with delight. 
 
 "And the other man is ted?" said Mr. Banks. 
 
 " Quite dead, poor soul 1 Did you ever see anything 
 more heart-rending than his body, captain ? Mere skin 
 and bone and, oh! sir, the expression of his face!" 
 exclaimed Mr. Sherman, holding his hands over his eyes 
 a moment. 
 
 " Thirst is an awfu' thing," said the skipper, glancing 
 at his tumbler. 
 
 "And so is hunger," observed Mr. Banks, who 
 looked as though a whole ox might hardly serve him 
 for a meal. 
 
 " I expect, when the other poor fellow is capable of 
 speaking, that we shall hear a terrible tale," said Mr. 
 Sherman. " It is very providential that my slight 
 knowledge of medicine should qualify me to deal with 
 him. The greatest care is required in treating persons 
 nearly dead of starvation. I have fed him so far in 
 spoonfuls only. It is my intention to remain with him 
 through the night. I'll borrow one of your easy-chairs, 
 captain, which will serve me very well for a bed." 
 
 " Certainly. I am sleeping close at hand, and if you 
 want me, just give my cot a shove, and I'll be out of it 
 before you can tell which side I drop from." 
 
 This settled, the captain mixed himself another 
 tumbler of spirits, refilled his pipe, and entered into
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 161 
 
 speculations as to Holdsworth's nationality, the length 
 of time he had been in the boat, the probable longitude 
 and latitude in which the ship had taken fire or foun- 
 dered, with many other matters, all of which he relieved 
 with long pauses, and a variety of thoughtful puffs and 
 attentive glances at the light through the medium of 
 his tumbler. Presently four bells ten o'clock struck, 
 which made Mr. Banks rise from his seat, wish his com- 
 panions " Coot night," and withdraw to his cabin to get 
 a couple of hours' sleep before his watch came on. The 
 others remained chatting for half an hour, and then the 
 skipper went on deck to have a look around before 
 turning in for the night. 
 
 M
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 HOLDSWORTH'S RECOVERY. 
 
 THE cabin in which Holdsworth lay was a spare one, 
 next the captain's. It was lighted by an oblong piece 
 of frosted glass let into the deck overhead, and by a port- 
 hole which was a standing and comfortable illustration 
 of the immense thickness of the timbers that separated 
 the inmate from the sea. There was a square of cocoa- 
 nut matting on the deck to tread on ; up in a corner 
 an immovable washstand, containing a pewter basin ; a 
 row of pegs against the door ; and a mahogany bunk. 
 
 In this bunk lay Holdsworth, and at the hour of 
 which I am now writing, Mr. Sherman sat beside him 
 in an easy -chair, his legs up and his head back, in 
 a deep sleep. From the centre of a beam hung a 
 small oil -lamp, the frame carefully protected by wire 
 network ; and the light diffused by this lamp was clear 
 enough to exhibit Holdsworth's face distinctly. 
 
 He, too, was asleep, if sleep that can be called which, 
 plunging the senses into unconsciousness, yet leaves 
 pain and misery to play their active part upon the 
 darkened stage of the mind. Of his youth, of his 
 beauty, I might almost say of his very manhood such 
 as was wont to be suggested by the open, brave, and 
 winning expression of his face not a trace was left.
 
 IIOLDSWORTH'S RECOVERY. 163 
 
 The spoliation of suffering had been so complete, that 
 the bare wreck of the noble temple it had ruined was 
 all that remained. Now, even more completely than in 
 his waking hours, might we master the full extent of 
 the cruel transformation that had been wrought, since 
 the candour of sleep was on the slumberer, and the self- 
 consciousness that masks the subtle facial truths, in- 
 active. His hair, formerly dark and luxuriant, was 
 thinned about the forehead, was tangled and coarse, 
 and mixed with gray and white. The protrusion of the 
 cheek-bones formed a conspicuous feature ; under them 
 the flesh fell into a hollow, and, as much of it as the 
 bristly moustache and whiskers suffered to be seen, was 
 puckered and dried up like the rind of an old winter 
 apple. The under lip was enlarged, and entirely altered 
 the remembered aspect of the mouth. The eyebrows 
 drooped where they had formerly arched, and the hair 
 of them near the temples had fallen off. Time might, 
 perhaps, efface some of these disfigurements deep graven 
 by the stylet of pain ; but no man could have looked 
 upon that sleeping face without a conviction of the per- 
 manency of much that he beheld. 
 
 He slept ; but though his slumber was deep, his 
 movements were so restless, convulsive, and feverish, 
 that it seemed every moment as if he must start up. 
 
 Once during the night the ship's bell sounding seven 
 awakened him, and he opened his eyes and raised his 
 head, but soon let it fall again. Then it was during 
 this short interval of wakefulness that the bewildered 
 look of which Mr. Sherman had spoken might have 
 been perceived ; and it lingered for some minutes on 
 his face after he had dropped asleep once more. 
 
 Several times during the night the kind-hearted man
 
 164 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 who watched by the poor fellow's side rose from his 
 chair, and scrutinised him anxiously ; and once Mr. 
 Banks popped his shaggy head in to ask how the sufferer 
 did, but found both patient and doctor asleep. 
 
 The morning crept over the sky, and turned the 
 port-hole and the piece of deck-glass white ; and at six 
 o'clock Mr. Sherman woke, and crept quietly to his 
 cabin to refresh himself with^a plunge in cold water ; 
 then went on deck, where he found the captain smok- 
 ing a cigar, his feet in galoshes, and the hands washing 
 down. A sparkling, genial morning, with a warm 
 breeze from the west, the barque in full sail, and the 
 green seas caressing her bows, and leaping back from 
 their keen salute in avalanches of foam. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Sherman," said the skipper. 
 " This is the weather, eh, sir ? Out of the Doldrums 
 by Tuesday week, I hope. How's your patient V 
 
 "Sleeping soundly. He has passed a good night. 
 If he can only get over the next few days, the tropical 
 sun will set him to rights." 
 
 "Is he awake now?" 
 
 " I think not. But we'll go and see if you like." 
 
 The captain threw away his cigar and followed Mr. 
 Sherman below, not, however, before casting a look 
 above and around, and singing out to the man at the 
 wheel to " keep her at that." 
 
 Opening the cabin door they crept to the bunk and 
 stood looking at the sleeping man, who, aroused perhaps 
 by the magnetic influence of four eyes upon him, started 
 and stared up at them from his pillow. 
 
 Captain Duff drew back a step, scared a little by the 
 wild gaze that Holdsworth fixed upon him, and which 
 was made in some measure repellent by his gaunt and
 
 HOLDSWORTH'S RECOVERY. 165 
 
 wasted face, and by the pitiable expression of bewilder- 
 ment that passed slowly into it, and made it almost as 
 meaningless as an idiot's. 
 
 "How do you feel, my poor fellow?" asked Mr. 
 Sherman ; " stronger, I hope ?" 
 
 Holdsworth made no answer, but knitted his brow 
 with an air of profound perplexity, gazed slowly round 
 him, then attentively at Mr. Sherman, then at the 
 skipper, then at himself, finally pressing his hand to 
 his head. 
 
 "How do you know he is English? Perhaps he 
 don't understand you," said Captain Duff. 
 
 " I heard him mutter in English before I joined you 
 last night," answered Mr. Sherman. 
 
 " Pray tell me where I am V said Holdsworth, in a 
 faint voice. 
 
 " That's English ! " exclaimed the captain, though he 
 looked as if he must take a thought of it yet, before he 
 should allow himself to feel sure. 
 
 "You are among friends," replied Mr. Sherman 
 softly, and in a voice full of sympathy ; " on board a 
 vessel called the ' Jessie Maxwell,' bound to Australia. 
 We sighted your boat yesterday morning." 
 
 "My boat !" whispered Holdsworth, with an expres- 
 sion on his face of such deep bewilderment that it was 
 painful to behold it. 
 
 "Do you not remember?" 
 
 "My boat! my boat!" repeated Holdsworth; but 
 no light came into his eyes to show that he apprehended 
 the other's meaning. 
 
 " He has lost his memory," said Mr. Sherman aside 
 to the captain. And then to Holdsworth : " Do you 
 feel as if you could eat anything?"
 
 166 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " Yes, I am hungry," answered Holdsworth. 
 
 "That is a good sign!" exclaimed Mr. Sherman, 
 cheerfully. " Captain, will you stop here a few minutes, 
 while I ask the steward to get the soup heated?" 
 
 The skipper, being left alone, stationed himself near 
 the door, and watched Holds worth with mixed emotions. 
 Brave to foolhardiness in a gale of wind, on a lee-shore, 
 in confronting a mutinous crew, in dealing with the 
 severest of marine exigencies, this little gentleman, in 
 some trivial matters, was as timorous as a mouse, and 
 would have made his escape overboard, rather than be 
 grasped by Holdsworth, who, if he were not the dis- 
 sembled madman his ragged, withered face suggested 
 him to be, was still hedged about with enough of 
 mysterious and secret horror to make him awful in the 
 practical little Scotchman's eyes. 
 
 Meanwhile, Holdsworth rested upon his pillow, cast- 
 ing eager and restless glances about the cabin, and at 
 the skipper, and battling with an oblivion of the past 
 as thick and as impenetrable as that mystery of being 
 which the infant emerges from at its birth. 
 
 " Tell me, sir, who I am where I have been taken 
 from ! " he exclaimed, presently, looking with imploring 
 eyes at the skipper. 
 
 " Indeed, my man, I can't tell you who you are," 
 replied the captain, wishing that Mr. Sherman would 
 return, or that a squall would give him an excuse to 
 withdraw. " All that I know is, we found you in a 
 boat, and picked you up, and that the gentleman who 
 has just gone out, saved your life." 
 
 "Strange!" muttered Holdsworth; "I remember 
 nothing." 
 
 " Oh, it will all come if you give it time. Memory
 
 IIOLDSWORTH'S RECOVERY. 167 
 
 often leaves people after a bad illness, but returns again 
 with the strength. Ech 1" he cried, struck, as though 
 for the first time, by the poor creature's lean and hollow 
 face. " But you have kenn'd some awfu' times, man, 
 since ye last stood upon honest shipboard. Sailoring, 
 if you are a sailor, is a poor look-out when it comes to 
 wanting bread and water." 
 
 The door opened and Mr. Sherman came in, followed 
 by the steward bearing a dish of soup and some mild 
 brandy and water, with which Mr. Sherman proceeded 
 to feed Holdsworth. When as much of the soup as was 
 thought good had been administered, Mr. Sherman bade 
 his patient turn his back to the light and get some 
 sleep. 
 
 " I will, sir ; thank you for your kindness," returned 
 Holdsworth, with affecting docility. " But, first, will 
 you help me will you help me to recall something 
 anything to give my mind rest ? I can see nothing 
 for the darkness that is over me." 
 
 " I have told him that his memory will come back 
 with his strength," said Captain Duff. 
 
 "Yes, have a little patience!" exclaimed Mr. Sher- 
 man. " We will get you on deck in a day or two, and 
 when you see the boat we took you from your memory 
 will return to you." 
 
 "Can you not tell me my name?" asked Holdsworth, 
 with that striking expression of painful anxiety you may 
 see on the face of a' blind man deserted by his guide 
 and totally at fault. 
 
 "We will endeavour to find it out," replied Mr. 
 Sherman. " Come, captain, our friend must talk no 
 more, or all our trouble to get him well will be of no 
 use."
 
 168 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Holdsworth put out his hand with a smile of grati- 
 tude that softened and almost sweetened his miserable 
 and skeleton-nice face ; then turned in his bunk and 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 " A strange thing to happen to a man," said the cap- 
 tain to Mr. Sherman, as they went on deck. " I never 
 could have believed that the memory of a creature could 
 go out of his brain like that ! " 
 
 " We may guess the nature and magnitude of his suffer- 
 ings by this effect," answered Mr. Sherman. " God alone 
 knows how many days he may have passed in that boat, 
 and what scenes of horror he has witnessed and what 
 torments he has endured. But we must help his memory 
 as far as he can. Will you allow me to go forward and 
 examine the boat?" 
 
 They walked to the main-deck, where the boat was 
 stowed. A little knot of men gathered around and 
 watched their movements with interest. But, in truth, 
 the boat was as unsuggestive as a sheet of blank paper. 
 There was no name in her ; nor by her build, sail, oars, 
 shape, or anything else, was it possible to tell her pater- 
 nity. The broken bottles and bags of bread that had 
 been fished out of her locker were in her bottom, but 
 no clue was to be got from them ; nothing but a story 
 of deepest tragical misery. The captain sent for the 
 shawl that had been unhitched from the mast-head, and 
 he and Mr. Sherman held it open between them and 
 inspected it. Browned by the wet and the heat in its 
 frayed and tattered shape, its very texture modified by 
 exposure it was positively no more than a black rag. 
 
 They returned to the after-deck, and sent the steward 
 for the clothes which had been removed from the two 
 men. Holdsworth's pilot coat was of good quality, and
 
 HOLDSWORTH'S RECOVERY. 169 
 
 his linen also seemed to suggest that he had held a very 
 superior position to that of Johnson, whose dress was a 
 sailor's, a brown woollen shirt, serge trousers, boots with 
 high tops, and the invariable belt and knife. Holds- 
 worth's linen was marked with H ; nothing more. They 
 found in his pockets a watch, a clasp-knife, some money, 
 and one or two other articles, which Mr. Sherman made 
 into a parcel, hoping that the sight of things which 
 would be familiar might help the poor fellow's memory. 
 
 " It is evident," says the skipper, " that whatever we 
 are to learn must come from the man himself. His 
 clothes tell us nothing." 
 
 " They are a sailor's, don't you think 1" 
 
 " Why, they are such clothes as I or Banks might 
 wear ; but that don't prove that the man was a sailor. 
 He certainly hasn't a nautical cut." 
 
 " His language is that of an educated man, and his 
 linen is that of a gentleman. Pray God that the poor 
 soul's memory will return. "Without it he will be scarcely 
 better off with us than he was in the boat." 
 
 " Eh V cried the literal skipper, " not better off with 
 good meat and drink and a good bunk to lie in, than 
 when he was perishing of thirst, with no better blanket 
 than the sky to cover him 1 ?" 
 
 "I mean that he may have friends at home who, 
 while his memory remains torpid, must be as dead to him 
 and he to them, as if he had remained in his open boat." 
 
 "Yes, I see your idea, sir," replied the skipper. 
 "And now about the other puir creature. "We must 
 bury him this morning. He is dead you say ? " 
 
 " We will go and look at him." 
 
 " Why," returned Captain Duff, shrinking, " to tell 
 you the plain truth, I am not over fond of these girning
 
 170 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 bodies. By your leave, sir, I'll hae the puir creature 
 sewn up in canvas, and if you'll tak' the reading of the 
 Burial office I shall feel obliged, Mr. Sherman, as I 
 have but a varra moderate capacity for the delivery o' 
 written words." 
 
 At this juncture, Adam, the steward, rang the 
 breakfast-bell, and the captain and Mr. Sherman went 
 
 below. 
 
 ***** 
 
 There is scarcely any ceremony more impressive than 
 a burial at sea ; perhaps because nowhere does man feel 
 his littleness more than when the mighty ocean surrounds 
 him. The graves of the dead on shore in a measure 
 localise their inmates, and our associations are fortified 
 by the power of referring to the departed as beings who 
 slumber in green places, and are at all seasons visitable. 
 
 But a burial at sea is the launching of the dead into 
 infinity. The sense of his extinction is absolute. He is 
 swallowed up and annihilated by the universe of water, 
 which also seems to overwhelm his very memory. 
 
 At twelve o'clock the body of Johnson, sewn up in 
 canvas, with a weight of lead attached to his feet, lay 
 extended upon one of the gratings of the main-hatchway, 
 one end resting on the bulwarks of the ship, the other 
 upon the shoulders of two sailors. The crew stood round, 
 holding their caps in their hands ; and near the body 
 stood Mr. Sherman reading the Burial Service. The 
 mournful and impressive spectacle was greatly heightened 
 by the tolling of the bell on the quarter-deck, which 
 mingled its clear chimes with the words delivered by 
 Mr. Sherman. The vessel was sailing on an even keel, 
 her white sails swelling and soaring one above another, 
 and forming a lovely picture against the bright blue sky.
 
 HOLDSWOETIl'S RECOVERY. 171 
 
 The water leaped and sparkled and frothed against her 
 clean sides, and those swallows of the deep, the stormy 
 petrels, chased her flashing wake, and gave by their 
 presence a finishing detail to the whole of the sun-lighted 
 scene. 
 
 How unutterable the mystery hedging the motionless 
 figure in the canvas shroud his name unknown, a waif 
 of dead humanity snatched for a brief moment from the 
 imperious deep, whose will it was to keep him ! The 
 seamen sent shrinking glances at the bundle on the 
 grating. That he had suffered ; that famine had made 
 a skeleton of him ; that thirst had twisted his lean face 
 into an expression of agony which death was powerless 
 to smooth out, was all they knew. 
 
 " We therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned 
 into corruption " 
 
 The captain motioned with his hand ; the grating 
 was tilted, and its burden went like a flash from the 
 bulwarks; the steersman turned his face upon his 
 shoulder, hearing the hollow plunge ; bub those on the 
 main-deck stood without a move among them, h'stening 
 to the final, comfortable, glorious words : 
 "Looking for the resurrection of the body (when the sea 
 shall give up her dead}, and the life of the world to come, 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ, who at His coming shall 
 change our vile body, that it may be like His glorious body, 
 according to the mighty working whereby He is able to sub- 
 due all things to Himself." 
 
 The reader closed the book ; the grating was restored 
 to its place ; and the men in twos and threes moved 
 slowly forward, talking in subdued tones ; and for the 
 remainder of that day at least no sound of loose laughter 
 or reckless words was to be heard in the forecastle.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "NO LIGHT, BUT RATHER DARKNESS, VISIBLE." 
 
 HOLDSWORTH regained his strength slowly, and on the 
 fourth day Mr. Sherman, who attended him with the 
 gentle and unobtrusive solicitude of a perfectly bene- 
 volent mind, suggested that a visit on deck might 
 freshen him up and contribute to his recovery. 
 
 To this Holdsworth had been looking forward with 
 indescribable eagerness, believing that the sight of the 
 boat of which Mr. Sherman had spoken would recall his 
 memory. His mind, indeed, presented a phenomenon. 
 He remembered nothing literally nothing. His actual 
 life, as he was then living it, practically dated from the 
 moment of the return of his consciousness. All that 
 had gone before was pitch darkness. That the faculty 
 of memory was not dead, was proved by his capacity to 
 remember his thoughts and feelings, the offices and faces 
 of those who waited on him, the food he had eaten, the 
 names of those he conversed with, during the time he 
 had been in the cabin of the barque. But behind this 
 was impenetrable gloom, every glance at which tortured 
 him, so inexplicable was his helplessness to penetrate it. 
 
 The mind of an infant has been likened to a sheet 
 of blank paper \ we may extend the image in Holds- 
 worth's case by conceiving that all the characters which
 
 NO LIGHT. 173 
 
 experience had written upon his mind had been effaced, 
 and that, what new characters there were upon it, were 
 the impressions only which he had received since he 
 had been awakened from the deadly stupor that had 
 conquered him a few hours before his rescue. 
 
 Mr. Sherman was fully persuaded that Holdsworth's 
 memory would return with his strength; and had 
 therefore foreborne from making any experiments by 
 questions or allusions until the time should come when 
 the renewal of health would enable the sufferer to sus- 
 tain the fatigue of thought. He was impressed and 
 touched by the poor fellow's docility, his sweetness of 
 temper, and his gratitude, which moved him to tears as 
 often as he attempted to express it. But no clue was 
 to be obtained from his conversation as to the profession 
 he had followed. There was not a shoppish expletive 
 in his language. He named things after the established 
 prescription of Johnson's Dictionary, and might as well 
 have been a clerk, a dentist, a builder, a Member of 
 Parliament, or even an attorney, as a sailor. 
 
 The " Jessie Maxwell " was now in the hot latitudes. 
 The fourth day was lovely, with a north-east breeze on 
 the port quarter, and a burning sun, from which an 
 awning protected the deck. An easy chair was placed 
 near the skylight for Holdsworth, who gained the deck, 
 leaning on Mr. Sherman's arm. He halted on the last 
 step of the companion-ladder, and clung to his friend 
 with a look of mingled surprise and fear in his face. 
 
 Had there been any one, among those who watched 
 him with curiosity, who had known him as the chief 
 mate of the " Meteor," he could scarcely have contem- 
 plated this wreck of a man without deep emotion. 
 Conceive, if you can, a face with every characteristic
 
 174 JOHN HOLDSWOKTII. 
 
 that had once contributed to give it manly beauty, 
 wrung out of it by sufferings which had left ineffaceable 
 marks on every inch of the whole surface of the counte- 
 nance. Conceive a stooped and trembling figure, the 
 shoulders forward so as to hollow the chest, and the 
 back bowed like an old man's, the arms lengthened by 
 the abnormal attitude and defeating every faint sugges- 
 tion of symmetry which the eye might still hope to find. 
 But this expresses nothing of the real transformation 
 that had been wrought ; of that subtle modification of 
 expression, of the spiritual conditions of the face, of 
 changes achieved by the most delicate strokes, but 
 which were as effectual as a recasting of the whole figure 
 and countenance could have been. He was dressed 
 partly in his own clothes, partly in some of the clothes 
 belonging to the second mate, who was a slight man, 
 but whose garments hung loosely on Holds worth. He 
 wore his own coat, which formerly had buttoned tight 
 across his chest, and which his muscular arms had filled 
 out, as the fingers a glove ; and he could now have 
 buttoned it nearly twice around him. The ring that 
 he had worn on his left hand had slipped from his 
 skeleton finger long ago, when he had been splashing 
 the sea-water over his face in vain endeavour to quench 
 the burning agony in his head and throat. He might 
 have worn Dolly's wedding-ring on his middle finger 
 now, for his hands were indeed scarcely more than bone. 
 
 Mr. Sherman eyed him anxiously as he stood totter- 
 ing at the companion-hatchway. It seemed as if the 
 long -desired revelation had come to the suffering man, 
 and that he could now remember. 
 
 " Look about you," he said, " and tell me if there is 
 anything you see that recalls old impressions."
 
 NO LIGHT. 175 
 
 " I see nothing that does this," replied Holdsworth in 
 a low voice. " Where is the boat I was taken from ?" 
 
 " On the main-deck yonder." 
 
 " I should like to see her," said Holdsworth eagerly. 
 " One idea may light up all." 
 
 They walked slowly forward. Here and there a 
 seaman repairing a sail, or working in the lower shrouds, 
 or doing one of the endless jobs of splicing, whipping, 
 tarring, cleaning, which are so many conditions of the 
 maritime life, looked at Holdsworth earnestly, but never 
 intrusively ; and when he was at the boat some of the 
 hands came up to him with a spokesman, a middle-aged 
 sailor in ear-rings, who said : 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, but all hands wishes to say as 
 they're werry glad to see you up and doing ; and if 
 there's e'er a thing any man among us can do in helping 
 to make you comfortable while you're with us, they'll 
 do it and welcome ; and no liberty is intended." 
 
 " Thank you, and God bless you 1" answered Holds- 
 worth, greatly moved by this speech, and with an 
 expression on his face that could hardly fail to let the 
 honest seamen know that their goodwill was not the 
 less appreciated because it provoked no lengthened 
 reply. The men retired, saying among themselves that, 
 " though the gentleman warn't a sailor, he ought to be 
 one ; and though he was nothing but a skeleting, he 
 had as honest a face on him as ever they seed." 
 
 " This is the boat," said Mr. Sherman. 
 
 Holdsworth steadied himself by holding on to the 
 gunwale and looked into it. The bags of bread lay 
 under the aftermost thwart ; there was the open locker 
 which the sea had filled with water; there were the 
 empty kegs, whose hollow rollings, as the boat had
 
 176 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 swayed to and fro, had formed such suggestive notes of 
 torture, as one might think would nevermore depart 
 from the ear that had received the echo. If there were 
 impressions like red-hot brands to sear the mind with 
 burning transcripts of the ugly agonising facts they 
 counterfeited, one, if any of them, would surely be the 
 impression conveyed by the scenes of which the interior 
 of the boat had been the theatre. Here the widow had 
 died, with her arm hanging over the side ; yonder the 
 General had expired, pointing to the phantom of his 
 native town, which dying memory had evoked from 
 the air ; from that spot the actor had leaped ; and on 
 that seat the boy had died, holding out his hands to 
 the sinking sun. The little arena should have been 
 vital with memory, so small was the space in which 
 infinite human misery had been packed. But to Holds- 
 worth it conveyed no ideas. Not the faintest illumina- 
 tion entered his face in surveying it. To Mr. Sherman 
 it was a thousandfold more significant than to Holds- 
 worth, who was the chief actor in the heart-breaking 
 tragedy that had been enacted in it. Yet he knew that 
 it ought to have an interest for him; and he stood 
 clutching and staring at it, with a frowning forehead, 
 wrestling wildly with his mind, in which the corpse of 
 memory lay deep and hidden. 
 
 After a long interval he passed his hand across his 
 eyes, and turned to Mr. Sherman. 
 
 " It. will not come," he said. 
 
 Mr. Sherman was both disappointed and astonished ; 
 disappointed by the fruitless result of an inspection, the 
 good effect of which he had counted upon, and astonished 
 by this phenomenon of the utter extinction of the most 
 life-giving faculty of the mind.
 
 NO LIGHT. 177 
 
 He drew him to the boat again, and said : 
 
 " See now ; you were found there, lying under that 
 seat, and beside the mast lay another man, a dark-faced 
 man, dressed in sailor's clothes. Do you remember?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Look at those bags of biscuit. They were found 
 soaking in the locker. Those bags contained all the food 
 you had on board. You must have suffered horribly 
 from the dread of starvation when you found the biscuit 
 spoilt by the salt water. Recall your thoughts on 
 making the discovery. Can you 1 " 
 
 " No," replied Holdsworth, pressing his hand to his 
 head. 
 
 " There was a black flag a piece of stuff, a portion 
 of a woman's dress it seemed fastened to the mast- 
 head. Do you remember 1 " 
 
 Holdsworth said " No." 
 
 " Had you a woman with you ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell." 
 
 " See if you can go farther back. Try to recollect 
 where your ship sailed from. Was it England?" 
 
 " England ? Yes I know England but I do not 
 remember if I came from England," Holdsworth replied, 
 with profound anxiety in his eyes. 
 
 " Come ! you remember England ! Did you sail 
 from Liverpool?" 
 
 "I know Liverpool !" he exclaimed quickly. 
 
 "And London?" 
 
 "Yes! yes!" 
 
 " And what was the name of your ship ?" 
 
 Holdsworth thought and thought without avail. 
 
 Herein was the deception that misled Mr. Sherman 
 Holdsworth could perfectly remember familiar names, 
 
 N
 
 178 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 but they had to be pronounced in his hearing before he 
 could recall them. In like manner he could tell the 
 names and discourse of the things he beheld, because he 
 saw them. Had Johnson lived, he would have known 
 and called him Johnson. Had Mr. Sherman spoken of 
 Dolly, of Southbourne, of the London Docks, of the 
 "Meteor," of any of the incidents connected with the 
 "Meteor's" loss, Holdsworth would have remembered 
 exactly as much as he heard. But, in the absence of 
 suggestion, his memory was powerless absolutely help- 
 less to generate independent conclusions as to the im- 
 pressions his mind had received previous to his rescue. 
 
 The real miracle lay in this contradiction in the 
 death of memory, dating up to the moment of the swoon 
 in the boat ; in its resurrection to health and vigour, 
 dating from the moment of his recovery. 
 
 He returned to the chair that had been placed for him 
 near the skylight, and Mr. Sherman, still not despairing 
 of arousing this dormant faculty, went below and re- 
 turned with the parcel of things that had been taken 
 from Holdsworth's pockets. These were given him one 
 by one, but he handled them without recognition. 
 
 "But you know their names?" said Mr. Sherman. 
 
 " Yes. This is a knife. This is a watch." 
 
 " They are yours j found in your pockets." 
 
 His hand trembled, and he gazed at them with 
 devouring eyes; but no other idea was conveyed to 
 him by Mr. Sherman's assurance than the bare fact that 
 they were his property. He could not remember hav- 
 ing purchased or owned them. 
 
 " It's only a question of time, my man," said Cap- 
 tain Duff, who stood by looking on at these strange 
 ineffectual experiments.
 
 NO LIGHT. 179 
 
 No mere effort of imagination can do justice to 
 Holdsworth's suffering. The feeling that he ought to 
 remember, coupled with his incapacity and the sense of 
 the past holding, perhaps, memories of vital consequence 
 to him to recall, created a mental torture more afflicting 
 than it is in the power of any man, who has not suffered 
 in this way, to conceive. Loss of memory, even in 
 trifling matters, always partakes of the nature of pain. 
 The fruitless effort to recall a name, a date, begets un- 
 easiness, and is soon converted into a positive torment. 
 But figure your mind haunted with a sense of the signifi- 
 cance of the past, not one faintest glimpse of which it 
 is permitted to you to obtain. Figure yourself groping 
 in a dense gloom, saying : " There are things here 
 which I feel are precious to me, which are of deep con- 
 sequence to my happiness and to the happiness of others, 
 but I cannot recall their names or their aspect ! " and 
 meanwhile the subtlest of your instincts is driving you 
 mad with importunities to prosecute your search and 
 lay the store of memory open to the light! This is 
 worse than blindness ; it is death in life. The years 
 that you have lived are cut away from your existence, 
 and with them all the precious accumulations of experi- 
 ence love, sorrow, and thought itself. God preserve 
 us all from such an affliction !
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 SAILORS' SYMPATHY. 
 
 THE "Jessie Maxwell" was bound for Sydney, New 
 South Wales, freighted with what is called a general 
 cargo pianos, nails, scents, and such matters. She 
 carried only one passenger, Mr. Sherman, whose cabin 
 was given him as a favour by Captain Duff, who partly 
 owned the barque, and who had a great friendship for 
 the gentleman, whose house he visited in Sydney. Mr. 
 Sherman was a merchant, doing business in wool, tallow, 
 and other Australian exports, and had been visiting 
 London and Glasgow for agents and consignees, and 
 also to benefit his health by a sea voyage. He was one 
 of the most humane men in the colony, very well to do, 
 but prosperous by his own efforts. He had a command- 
 ing figure, a large, mild, intellectual eye, and the kind- 
 liest smile that ever graced the human face. The 
 strong benevolence of his character made his manner 
 singularly fascinating ; and before Holdsworth had 
 known him a fortnight, he was bound to him by a feel- 
 ing of affection, which, though it might have owed 
 something of its depth to gratitude, must have existed 
 in a complete form, without reference to the great kind- 
 ness that had been shown him. 
 
 The days passed quickly. In the equatorial latitudes
 
 SAILORS' SYMPATHY. 181 
 
 the barque was becalmed for two days; and then a gale 
 rose, and drove her into the south-east trade-winds. 
 
 If Mr. Sherman and Captain Duff had ever felt dis- 
 posed to believe that Holdsworth might have been a 
 sailor, they considered that probability entirely disposed 
 of by his behaviour on the first day of the ga.le. 
 
 He was on deck when the wind was freshening, 
 walking to and fro with Mr. Sherman, whose arm he 
 could now do without, having recovered as much of his 
 strength as it seemed likely he would ever get back. 
 The wind came up in a sudden squall, and took the 
 barque on the starboard beam. Her royals were set, 
 but the yards fortunately were trimmed to receive the 
 breeze. The vessel heeled over under the great weight 
 of canvas, and there was some hurry amongst the men 
 as they let go the royal and topgallant halliards, though 
 there was nothing in the confusion to occasion the least 
 alarm, even in a passenger who had been a month at 
 sea. But the effect of the squall upon Holdsworth was 
 extraordinary. As the vessel lay over, he grasped Mr. 
 Sherman's arm with looks of terror in his face, and ran 
 to windward, flinging fearful glances at the sea on the 
 lee side. Mr. Sherman offered to help him to go below, 
 but he declined to leave the deck, and clung to the 
 weather mizzen rigging, apparently speechless with 
 alarm. 
 
 As it came on to blow heavily, the men reefed the 
 topsails ; and Holdsworth literally trembled as the 
 yards rushed down upon the caps, and the canvas 
 thundered as the helmsman luffed to enable the hands 
 to pick up the sails more easily. 
 
 "My dear friend," exclaimed Mr. Sherman sooth- 
 ingly, " you must endeavour to control yourself. There
 
 182 . JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 is no danger, indeed. This uproar will cease presently. 
 We encountered much worse weather than this in the 
 North Atlantic, shortly after leaving Glasgow." 
 
 " Yes, I am ashamed of my weakness ; my nerves 
 are gone," answered the poor fellow. And then, seeing 
 the men tumbling up aloft and laying out upon the 
 yards, he covered his face with his hands, saying he 
 dared not look, lest he should see them fall. 
 
 The ship was made snug presently ; but the sea rose, 
 and now and again a shower of spray came flying over 
 the forecastle and the main- deck, which so violently 
 agitated Holdsworth that he let go the rigging and 
 made for the companion. He walked like a paralysed 
 man : his hands outstretched, and his head turning 
 about on his shoulders. He gained his cabin and laid 
 himself down in his bunk, exquisitely alive to his 
 pusillanimity, and weeping over his incapacity to con- 
 trol himself. 
 
 The skipper went up to Mr. Sherman. 
 
 " Our friend is no sailor. I think you can tell that, 
 Mr. Sherman ?" 
 
 " No ; that is proved. The instincts of his old life, 
 had he been a sailor, would have kept up his courage 
 without respect of his memory. But let us bear in mind 
 that his nervousness is the result of the terrible experi- 
 ence he has gone through. If illness if fever, for in- 
 stance will rob us of our nerves, how much more the 
 unspeakable agony of hunger and thirst, and the deadly, 
 hopeless captivity and exposure in an open boat for 
 days, and maybe for weeks! It would drive me 
 mad!" 
 
 " Ay, that is verra true. Understand me, I am not 
 speaking disrespectfully of the puir soul. I would only
 
 SAILORS' SYMPATHY. 183 
 
 bid you obsairve by his fear that he canna hae been a 
 tarry-breeks. The auld speerit would live in spite o' 
 his nerves, and would have risen to the cries of the men 
 and the booking o' the water. That's my opeenion." 
 
 Thus we may learn how some opinions, delivered in 
 sound earnest, are manufactured. 
 
 Not a tarry-breeks ! 
 
 There had never sailed out of any port in Christen- 
 dom a finer, a more courageous sailor than Holdsworth. 
 What would Captain Duff have thought of his " opeen- 
 ion," had he been told that that same halting, crippled 
 figure, who had hastened to his cabin with move- 
 ments full of fear, had been, only a month before, an 
 upright, handsome man, with an eye full of light and 
 spirit, with nerves and skill equal to occasions which 
 would have overwhelmed the honest Scotch skipper and 
 left him nowhere, with a heart as gentle as a maiden's 
 and manly as Nelson's ; always foremost in the moment 
 of danger, with the voice of a trumpet to deliver unerr- 
 ing commands ; a leader in measures of which the peril 
 made the stoutest-hearted tremble and stand still ; 
 scaling the dizzy heights of whirling masts and spars, 
 to whose summits he might have beckoned in vain to 
 those very seamen of the "Jessie Maxwell," whose 
 movements, now in the weakness of his crushed and 
 broken life, he dared not even watch ? 
 
 Of all sights, that of the strong and lion-hearted 
 man, smitten down by sickness, by misery, by misfor- 
 tune to the feebleness of an infant, to the timidity of a 
 girl, is surely the most affecting. Such a man I have 
 seen a sailor entering the forecastle full of the courage 
 that makes heroes of men, and leaving it, after two 
 months of confinement, with nerves and health so
 
 184 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 shattered, that he has not dared to approach the bul- 
 warks of the ship for fear of falling overboard ! 
 
 Give the full measure of your pity, kind reader, to 
 such as these. There is no form of human suffering 
 whose pathos is more unqualified. 
 
 So Mr. Sherman, agreeing with Captain Duff, was 
 confident that, whatever else Holds worth might have 
 been, he was not a sailor. This was, at all events, a 
 negative discovery, which lopped off one of the numerous 
 conjectures with which the mystery of Holdsworth's 
 past was considered. Strange it was to talk to the 
 poor fellow, to hear his rational language, his discus- 
 sions, his sensible remarks, and to feel that he was 
 speaking, so to say, on this side of a curtain, behind 
 which were hidden all the true interests of his life. 
 Once or twice he staggered Captain Duff by a nautical 
 question, the very nature of which implied an intimate 
 acquaintance with the sea ; but his unaffected timidity 
 when the vessel rolled, or when the weather was squally, 
 always drove the skipper back upon his first conclusion, 
 and made him think that the knowledge of sails, ropes, 
 yards, etc., which Holdsworth displayed, had been picked 
 up by him as a passenger, or even out of books. 
 
 However, his marine allusions were few and far 
 between. His horror of the sea was remarkable, and 
 he repeatedly inquired how long it would be before 
 they reached Sydney. Moreover, he was rendered 
 taciturn by his ceaseless struggles with memory ; and 
 would pass whole hours lost in thought, during which, 
 it was observed, no gleam ever entered his face to in- 
 dicate his recurrence to any action, phase, or condition 
 of his past 
 
 Often, when the main-deck was clear, he would steal
 
 SAILOKS' SYMPATHY. 185 
 
 to the boat and stand contemplating her with his hands 
 locked, and his brow corrugated with anxious thought. 
 It was strange to see him running his eyes over her, 
 handling the yoke -lines, peering into the locker, and 
 literally groping for an inspiration. 
 
 Once, the boatswain of the vessel, a shrewd English 
 seaman, who, as well as every other soul on board the 
 barque, knew of Holdsworth's total loss of memory, see- 
 ing him alone staring at the boat, came out of his 
 berth, and addressed him : 
 
 " They say, sir, that you don't remember this boat?" 
 
 " I am trying to recollect," answered Holdsworth, 
 looking at him with the expression of painful eagerness 
 that was now almost a characteristic of his face. 
 
 " See here, sir, when that there boat was sighted, 
 there was only two persons found aboard of her. You 
 was one, and the other was the poor fellow we buried. 
 Now, what I'm always saying to my mates is this : this 
 here's a ship's quarter- boat, and more hands went in 
 her than two when she put off. Now, sir, try and think 
 how many there was." 
 
 " I remember nothing. I would to God I could ! " 
 
 "But don't you reck'let what your thoughts was 
 when the bread got soaked with the salt water?" 
 
 Holdsworth shook his head. 
 
 " Here," continued the good - natured boatswain, 
 " might be the bread," pointing to the locker. " Here," 
 he went on, pointing to the stern-sheets, " might you be 
 sitting, steering of her; when up comes a sea and washes 
 over you or the chap that has the yokes. Now, may 
 be, you notices this, but can only groan, having to keep 
 her head well before it putting you for the man as 
 steers. But you can think, for all that ; and it must
 
 186 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 ha' scared the blood out of you to guess that the little 
 food that remained was all spoilt. Can't you remember t" 
 
 Holdsworth, who had followed every syllable with 
 trembling anxiety, shook his head again. 
 
 " Many things have happened ; something tells me 
 that," he answered ; " but I can remember nothing." 
 
 " Would you like to step into the foks'le, sir ? Per- 
 haps you might see something there as will help you," 
 said the boatswain, who was moved by Holdsworth's 
 hopeless reply. 
 
 They descended through the fore-scuttle into the dim 
 semicircular abode, with huge beams across the upper 
 deck, from which depended a number of hammocks, and 
 bunks all around, with their edges chipped and hacked 
 by the men, who used them for cutting tobacco upon ; 
 and on the deck, sea-chests and bundles, and pannikins 
 and tin dishes scattered everywhere. The gloom was 
 scarcely irradiated by a couple of lamps resembling tea- 
 pots with wicks in their spouts ; and the faces of the 
 men glimmered over the sides of the hammocks or in 
 the darkness of the bunks. Up in a corner was a 
 group of men, consisting of a portion of the watch on 
 deck, assembled around two sea-chests, on which were 
 seated a couple of ordinary seamen, fastened down by 
 nails' driven through the seat of their breeches into the 
 lids of the chests. Their sleeves were tucked above the 
 muscles of their arms, and they were deciding, by means 
 of their fists, an argument which had been commenced 
 half an hour before in the main-top. Being nailed very 
 nearly at arm's length from each other, their efforts 
 to deal each other blows threw them into contortions 
 irresistibly ridiculous ; but the lookers-on, having prob- 
 ably no very lively sense of the absurd, stood around
 
 SAILORS' SYMPATHY. 187 
 
 with grave faces, thoughtfully chewing tobacco, and 
 now and then offering the combatants a friendly sugges- 
 tion where best to hit each other. Some men lay in 
 hammocks directly over the heads of the pugilists, but 
 took no further interest in the proceedings going on 
 under their beds, than now and again to pop a burnt 
 and hairy face over the edge of the tight canvas, and in 
 polite and genteel terms recommend the youngsters not 
 to make too much noise if they didn't want to be nailed 
 fore and aft upon the lids of the chests like bats. 
 
 "Now, sir," said the boatswain, advancing a few 
 steps into the forecastle, but not even deigning to notice, 
 imich less offering to interfere, between the combatants, 
 " see if there ain't nothing here to give you an idea." 
 
 There should have been many things ; for the fore- 
 castle of a ship was as familiar to Holdsworth as any 
 part of her ; and though, when he had first gone to sea, 
 he had slept in a cabin near his father's, he had spent 
 the greater part of his time forward among the men, 
 taking instructions from them in all kinds of seafaring 
 work, and never more happy than when squatting on a 
 chest, plying a marlin spike, and listening to the yarns 
 of the sailors around him. 
 
 The boatswain watched him with looks of interest, 
 which faded into disappointment. 
 
 "Is there nothing?" he asked. 
 
 " Nothing," said Holdsworth gazing blankly around 
 him. 
 
 "But you know those things are called hammocks?" 
 
 " Yes, I can tell you the names of everything that I 
 see, but that don't help me." 
 
 "Well I am blowed !" muttered the boatswain, 
 under his breath; whereupon Holdsworth, thanking
 
 188 JOHN HOLDSWOETIT. 
 
 him for the trouble he had taken, withdrew, pained by 
 the glances and whispers of the men, and rendered 
 nervous and dispirited by the smells, the fight in the 
 corner, and the strong movement of the ship, felt here 
 more than anywhere else.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A PRESENTATION. 
 
 NOT knowing how to address or speak to Holdsworth, 
 the skipper and Mr. Sherman and the others called him 
 Mr. H., that letter being all they knew of his name. 
 
 He was treated by captain and officers with great 
 kindness, shared their table, and was even furnished by 
 them with clothes, of which, you may conceive, he stood 
 very much in need. 
 
 None of them could doubt that he had friends, that 
 he held a position, that he might have money; and 
 they waited day after day for the return of his memory, 
 which was to solve the mystery his silence wrought, and 
 set him square with the world again. Indeed, his utter 
 incapacity to recall the smallest incident connected with 
 his past, was almost provoking, despite its pathos. 
 Captain Duff wanted to know the name of the vessel 
 that had been wrecked, the port she hailed from, the 
 port she had been bound to, her cargo, who her captain 
 was. How astounding to this healthy little man that 
 such plain and easy questions should provoke no replies. 
 Perhaps, had he been kept without food and water for 
 six or seven days, subjected to a long series of appalling 
 mental tortures, exposed on the sea in an open boat
 
 190 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 that was scarcely visible a mile off, with Death the 
 skeleton for a helmsman, he might have moderated his 
 wonderment nay, even admitted that such experiences 
 were not only highly calculated to deprive a man of his 
 memory, but to drive him raving mad for the remainder 
 of his life. 
 
 But the barque was drawing near her journey's end, 
 in long. 120. The pale outline of Van Diemen's 
 land must heave in sight shortly away on the port 
 bow. 
 
 They were now in the beginning of November, and 
 had been seventy-two days from Glasgow. One bright 
 morning Holdsworth was seated on the skylight, with 
 his eyes on a book that had been lent him, but with 
 his mind groping, as it more or less always was, in 
 the darkness that hid the past from his sight. There 
 was a blind man's look on his face when he was thus 
 thinking, that was more conclusive of the ghastly 
 sincerity of his intellectual bereavement than anything 
 that could be said or done. You saw by the blank 
 expression in his eyes that his gaze was turned inwards, 
 and by his general air that the search he was making 
 was a fruitless one. 
 
 He had been taken out of the boat a ghost a gray 
 skeleton ; he had picked up a little since that time, but 
 his present aspect was merely a slight improvement on 
 the forlorn image he had presented when rescued. The 
 familiar picture of a broad-shouldered, hearty, vigorous, 
 handsome young man, smooth-cheeked, clear-eyed, was 
 gone : in its place was a wasted shadow, a drooping, 
 hesitating figure, with a characterisation of deformity 
 in its movements, though there was no positive defor- 
 mity ; thin, feeble hands whitened by sickness, and a
 
 A PRESENTATION. 191 
 
 pale face hollowed in the eyes, and made ragged with a 
 growth of black beard and moustache. 1 
 
 The change was altogether too remarkable to have 
 been effected by physical suffering only ; the heart had 
 worked the deeper transformation the soft, tender, 
 womanly heart brought face to face with sufferings it 
 was constrained to contemplate, to hearken to murmurs 
 of agony it could not soothe nor silence. Consider, I 
 pray you consider, that he had beheld five shocking 
 deaths, each one accompanied by circumstances of un- 
 speakable horror or misery. Stretched over a longer 
 space of time, they might, by giving his heart breathing- 
 spaces between, have inured it to the inevitable scenes ; 
 but crowding upon him one after the other in quick 
 succession, they ground his sensibility to dust, and 
 though he had now no memory whereby to renew the 
 sufferings of those ten days, its blighting effect was not 
 the less clearly visible in him, its operation had not 
 been the less complete. 
 
 Whilst he thus sate, as lonely now in a ship full of 
 men as ever he had been in the boat with Johnson 
 dying under the thwart, Mr. Sherman came on deck 
 and took a seat at his side. Holdsworth was so 
 engrossed that he did not perceive his companion, and 
 Mr. Sherman, unwilling to break in upon his thoughts, 
 remained silent, watching him. 
 
 Suddenly Holdsworth turned ; the blank dead look 
 went out of his eyes, and he smiled. 
 
 1 " Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat had done 
 
 Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to * 
 Such things a mother had not known her son 
 Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto ii. 102.
 
 192 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " So memory still defies you ?" said Mr. Sherman 
 kindly, and with just as much anxiety as would let 
 his companion understand the sincerity of the interest 
 taken in him. 
 
 "Yes," answered Holdsworth, the smile fading off 
 his face. "Once once only, just now, a fancy came 
 into my mind I cannot explain its nature, or what it 
 betokened, but it vanished the instant I attempted to 
 grapple with it." 
 
 "Did.it leave no impression no idea whatever?" 
 
 " None. I can compare it to nothing better than a 
 dim light stealing across the wall of a dark room and 
 disappearing." 
 
 Mr. Sherman was silent ; and presently said : 
 
 "What do you propose to do when you reach 
 Sydney?" 
 
 " I have often thought of that I must seek work 
 and wait." 
 
 " Wait until your memory returns ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "The captain and I were talking about you just 
 now, and I suggested that, were you to return to 
 England, which I am persuaded is your native country, 
 you might come across a friend who would give you 
 your memory back at once; or failing such a friend, 
 you might encounter some scene which would achieve 
 
 the same end." 
 &* 
 "I don't think I could bear another long voyage 
 
 just yet," answered Holdsworth, glancing at the sea. 
 "What should make the water so hateful to me?" 
 Sometimes I fancy I must have passed many years upon 
 it, and that it has served me badly." 
 
 " Oh, your dislike is easily understood. But now
 
 A PRESENTATION. 193 
 
 with regard to your prospects. Will it be wise for you 
 to remain in Australia 1 You must have friends at 
 home supposing England to be your home." 
 
 "But how shall I find them?" 
 
 " Ay, that's it. Much might be done if I could only 
 discover your name. I must make a list of all the 
 names beginning with H. The only question is, would 
 you know your name if you were to see it 1" 
 
 " I would try," answered the poor fellow humbly. 
 
 " Well, now, I'll tell you what I have in my mind," 
 said Mr. Sherman, laying his hand kindly on Holds- 
 worth's. "I look upon you as a man whom, having 
 brought to life for I take the credit of your recovery 
 to myself it is my proper privilege to support. But 
 I shall not allow you to be dependent on charity. I 
 have an office in Sydney, and you shall have a desk in 
 that office, and so earn a salary that will maintain you 
 in comfort. By -and -by your memory will come back. 
 You will then return to England, and I shall heartily 
 wish you God's blessing, for you have suffered yes, 
 you have suffered very much more than I, more than 
 any of us, can conceive." 
 
 He broke off suddenly, his voice faltering. 
 
 Holdsworth seized his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Sherman . . . good, kind friend . . . God 
 will reward you ... I have suffered ... I ... I 
 feel it here," pressing his hand to his head. " Sir, dear 
 sir, believe me grateful ! " 
 
 "I do believe you grateful, and it pleases me to 
 believe it, for it is a pleasure to serve the grateful. 
 Well, we have settled that. But understand, though 
 you will remain with me as long as you like, yet, at the 
 first prompting of your memory, I shall exhort you to 
 
 o
 
 194 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 return to England, for I cannot persuade myself that 
 you are not leaving relatives and friends who will 
 mourn you as dead, and suffer unnecessary sorrow on 
 your account." 
 
 " Yes yes I I think this sometimes ! " cried Holds- 
 worth passionately. " That is the haunting thought 
 but it may not be ! Oh, sir, it cannot be ! Were there 
 dear ones belonging to me, could my memory forget 
 theml Could they be very dear to me, and be for- 
 gotten?" 
 
 Mr. Sherman drew a deep breath, and said, " No, 1 
 believe that would be impossible. If love united you 
 to any person at your home, that love would be an 
 instinct to prompt you with an influence that should 
 have no reference to memory. But the mind of man is 
 a great mystery." 
 
 There was a short silence, and then Mr. Sherman 
 asked : " Do you ever dream ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But you may dream, though your mind cannot re- 
 tain the impression of its dreams. Could you awaken 
 from a dream of home, your darkness might be made 
 light." 
 
 "I have thought of that," answered Holdsworth, 
 with the air of a man who, having exhausted specula- 
 tion, can find no inspiration in any kind of suggestion. 
 
 "And you have no inclination to return to England!" 
 
 " It cannot matter where I am whilst my memory 
 remains dead. England ! You speak a familiar word, 
 and I know it is a country, but I cannot bend my mind 
 back to it. It gives me no ideas. I stretch my thoughts 
 over the great waste of waters we have traversed in this 
 ship, and find nothing more than sea and sky sea and
 
 A PRESENTATION. 195 
 
 sky ! I can find no country lying beyond nothing to 
 give me thoughts of home. Oh, sir 1" he cried, "you 
 cannot understand this ! How should you ? It is 
 horrible for me to look back and see the whole of my 
 life eclipsed to see a wall of darkness reared close 
 behind me through which I cannot see 1 What things 
 precious, infinitely precious to me, may be hidden ! It 
 would ease me, sir, greatly ease me, if God would but 
 illuminate my mind only for a moment, that I might 
 know what is lost to me. And the loneliness of it all ! 
 the feeling of desolation that comes over me in my 
 solitude ! Mr. Sherman, consider how lonely I am ! 
 Not a voice, not an echo of anything that may be dear 
 to me, comes out of that darkness behind me. Who 
 would believe that memory is life, and the loss of it 
 worse than death ?" 
 
 He bowed his head and covered his face with his 
 thin hands, and some tears trickled through his fingers. 
 
 God help him ! Suffering had subdued that manly 
 nature to "the feebleness and weakness of a child, and 
 tears, though there had been a time when no anguish 
 of his own could have wrung such things from his eyes, 
 now easily rose with the expression of his feelings. 
 
 Here Captain Duff, coming up to Mr. Sherman, in- 
 terrupted the conversation, and Holdsworth, ashamed 
 of the weakness he had no power to control, went with 
 his slow step and shaky movements below. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 When they were within two days' sail of Sydney, 
 the boatswain and two hands came aft to the skipper, 
 and the boatswain, touching his cap, spoke as follows : 
 
 " Sir, the ship's crew have asked me to turn-to and 
 say this here for them : that they werry well know
 
 196 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 that the gentleman who has lost his memory hasn't any 
 clothes, and, maybe, no money ; and as shipwreck's a 
 thing that may happen to any of us, and as the poor 
 gentleman 's suffered more nor he's allowed to remember, 
 though, as my mate Bill here says, it ain't werry hard 
 to guess what he's gone through, as there are some of 
 the men for'ard who have bin short of water in their 
 time, and spin 'arrowing yarns such as I never heerd 
 the like on ; why, what I was a sayin' was this : that 
 the ship's company, barrin' one, which is an Isle o' 
 Dorg's man but he'll come over want's to make up a 
 purse o' money for the poor gentleman, and though 
 some o' them ain't got much to give, leastways to spare, 
 they'll all lend a hand, and only wait to hear if you and 
 the mates '11 start the list, which 'ud be more ship- 
 shape." 
 
 The boatswain delivered this speech with great 
 hesitation not from nervousness, but from a perception 
 of the puzzling nature of words, which had a trick of 
 falling athwartships along the course of his meaning, 
 and bringing him up with a round turn. Having con- 
 cluded, he glanced at his mates to see if they approved, 
 on which they nodded a good deal of hair over their 
 eyes, and then wiped their mouths with their wrists. 
 
 " Right you are," said the skipper, addressing them 
 with his eyes fixed on the main-topsail, and his hand 
 out to motion the man at the wheel to keep her steady. 
 " You can put me down for five pounds, and Mr. Banks 
 and Mr. Anderson for a sovereign apiece. If they don't 
 fork out, I'll pay for them. Steady, I say, steady I 
 Dom it, man, you're a point off your course 1 " 
 
 That evening, the weather being mild and balmy, 
 and a glorious breeze right astern of the barque, Holds-
 
 A PKESENTATION. 197 
 
 worth was seated aft when the skipper came up to him 
 and said : 
 
 " The ship's company have been making you up a 
 purse, sir, as a token of their sympathy with the 
 temporal losses you must have sustained by the wreck 
 of the vessel, which there canna be a doubt you were 
 on board of, and with the suffering you endured in the 
 boat. The bo'sun waits to know when it'll be agreeable 
 to you to receive the gift." 
 
 " No no really the poor fellows must keep their 
 money I cannot accept it," replied Holdsworth, greatly 
 agitated and moved. 
 
 "Oh, you must tak' it, sir, or they'll think you 
 paughty, as we say in Scotland. The bo'sun is waiting 
 at the capstan yonder, and the men are on tiptoe for'ard 
 look at the heads louping in the fore-scuttle ! " 
 
 Holdsworth left his chair and went slowly to the 
 boatswain. When the hands saw him draw near the 
 capstan, they wriggled out of the forecastle, out of the 
 galley, out from behind the long boat, and came slipping 
 aft, advancing and drawing back fitfully, and some on 
 tiptoe, to catch the speeches. A seaman somewhere 
 aloft came hand over fist down a backstay, finally land- 
 ing himself on the bulwarks, where he stood looking on. 
 
 The skipper, and Mr. Sherman, and the second mate 
 approached; and when the boatswain was going to 
 speak, the captain called : 
 
 "Draw closer, my lads. The gentleman can't talk 
 to you out of earshot." 
 
 The men, like shy schoolboys, elbowed each other 
 into a smaller semicircle, and stood staring and grinning 
 over one another's shoulders. 
 
 "All ready, sir 1 ?" asked the boatswain
 
 198 JOHN HOLDS WORTH. 
 
 "Fire away 1" answered the skipper. 
 
 The boatswain took off his hat and placed it on the 
 capstan ; then drew from it a handkerchief of the size 
 of a union-jack, with which he dried his face and mouth ; 
 he next fished in his coat pocket and produced a small 
 canvas bag, very neatly sewn. This he held in his 
 hand, and turned to Holdsworth. 
 
 " We don't know your name, sir, and we're werry 
 sorry that we don't, 'cause there's a great deal in a 
 name when you give a thing, 'specially to them as 
 has to speechify, and it helps 'em along like. ('So 
 it dew, mate !' from the crowd, and several heads 
 nodded emphatically.) I'm a seafarin' man myself, and 
 come from Greenwich, and had no larnin' taught me 
 when I was a boy, and so the present company will 
 please hexcuse bad grammar and the likes of that, seein' 
 that a seafarin' man don't want to know many words 
 besides those as consarn a ship. We're all sailors here, 
 if the skipper will let me call him a sailor " 
 
 " Ma conscience 1 and what else am I ?" cried the 
 skipper. 
 
 " Well, as I was a sayin'," continued the boatswain ? 
 looking discomfited for a moment, "we're all sailors 
 here, barrin' you, sir, and Mr. Sherman, and it's only 
 men as go to sea as can know what an awful thing a 
 shipwreck is, and what a bad look-out thirst and hunger 
 is, and the feelings that overcome a man when he is in 
 a open boat miles away from the shore. We reckon that 
 you've passed through a deal o' suffer-in 1 , and being 
 sailors, it's only right and proper that we should all of 
 us, from the skipper down, let you know by a better 
 sign than mere talk, which don't go far, though it may 
 be werry comfortin' sometimes, when you can under-
 
 A PRESENTATION. 199 
 
 stand what's said to you I say that we want to let 
 you know how sorry we are for you, and how werry 
 grateful we are that we belong to the wessel that picked 
 you up; and so, sir" here he handed the bag to 
 Holdsworth " all hands clubbed together to make up 
 this trifle o' money jist to buy you a few things when 
 you get ashore ; and I'm proud to say there ain't a man 
 among us, though I did think one was goin' to back out, 
 
 that hasn't given something Beggin' your parding 
 
 a moment; them scraps o' paper in the purse are 
 horders wrote by me, and signed by the men as hasn't 
 got ready money about 'em, for the captain to pay you 
 the valley in silver which they bear in figures ; and 
 that money to be deducted from their wages. That's 
 all, I think, sir," he concluded, looking at the skipper. 
 
 A voice called out, "Three cheers for the gentle- 
 man !" and forth burst a roar from the iron throats of 
 the men that made the decks ring again. 
 
 Holdsworth was unmanned, and looked downwards, 
 struggling with his emotion. But glancing up and 
 catching sight of the swarm of rough kindly faces 
 around him, he broke away, so to speak, from his 
 agitation, and answered as follows : 
 
 " If it had pleased God to leave me my memory, I 
 believe I could have done my gratitude more justice, 
 though I couldn't have felt more grateful. For, some- 
 times, when I have watched you at work, it has come 
 over me not as a conviction no ! I wish it had ; but 
 as a mere fancy only that I too have been a sailor ; 
 and if that be so, then I can understand why your 
 kindness does not overcome me with surprise, because I 
 ought to know that sailors' hearts are the largest, the 
 truest, the most manly in the world, that there's not a
 
 200 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 sorrow their purses will not fly open to relieve, and that 
 a man, let him be what he will, is never so well re- 
 commended to them as when he is poor and broken 
 down and friendless. I don't know how properly to 
 thank you for your generous gift. (' We don't want 
 no thanks,' said a voice ; ' if there's enough to rig you 
 out and put some 'baccy in your pocket, that's all we 
 want.') Miserable, indeed, I shall be if my memory 
 plays me false in this if it does not suffer me to carry 
 the recollection of your kindness to my death-bed. May 
 God bless you and guard you all back in safety to your 
 homes." 
 
 He ceased, unable to say more. 
 
 "Sir," said Captain Duff, "we have done no more 
 than our duty in all this business from beginning to 
 end. In the name of all hands I return your good 
 wishes by praying that God may speedily give you back 
 your memory, and make you happy for the rest of your 
 days, as a proper compensation for what you have gone 
 through." 
 
 He shook him by the hand, and then Mr. Anderson 
 stepped forward ; then came the boatswain ; and then 
 an able seaman ; and then another able seaman ; until 
 presently Holdsworth was engaged in shaking hands all 
 round, scarcely a man quitting the quarter-deck until a 
 grasp had been exchanged. 
 
 When all this hand-shaking was over, Captain Duff 
 ordered rum to be served out to the men, who then 
 returned to the forecastle with a sense of festivity upon 
 them, and passed the rest of the second dog-watch in 
 singing songs and dancing.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SYDNEY. 
 
 AT nine o'clock on the morning of the third day from 
 the time occupied in the last chapter, a hand stationed 
 on the look-out in the fore -top sent a roar from the 
 sky: 
 
 " Land right ahead ! " 
 
 In half an hour's time it was to be seen from the 
 deck, a mere blue vision stretching eel-shaped, upon the 
 horizon. 
 
 Australia ! the great and wealthy continent of which 
 there were men then living whose fathers could recall 
 the time when this vast tract of land had no place in 
 the world's knowledge of the Pacific. 
 
 Of all sensations, the first glimpse of the land 
 towards which a ship has been steering for weeks and 
 weeks, with seldom even so much as a passing sail to 
 relieve the monotony of the ocean, is the most thrilling. 
 The oldest seaman will desert his bunk or hammock to 
 make for the forecastle and have a look at the dim 
 cloud. The pale-faced steward, seldom seen on deck, 
 sneaks from his berth in the steerage redolent of luke- 
 warm soup and resonant with the ceaseless clattering of 
 crockery, to peer over the bulwarks at the far-off coast
 
 202 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 If there be passengers on board, you are sensible of an 
 uneasy movement among them, strangely suggestive of 
 mingled excitement and reluctance, as though they 
 were at once eager and loath to quit their floating 
 home, the familiar cabin in which so many hours have 
 been passed, the white decks which have become to 
 them what the pavement in front of your house is to 
 you. The ship is endeared to them, and the hold she 
 has upon them is felt now that they shall shortly leave 
 her. How nobly she has struggled with the waves 
 and the wind ! What grandeur she assumes when 
 thought of with respect to the immense universe of 
 water she has traversed in safety ! But a few weeks 
 ago, one might say, she was in English waters, and now 
 she is breasting the waves of the antipodes, raising her 
 graceful canvas to the heavens with almost conscious 
 elegance, as though exulting in the knowledge of the 
 feat she has performed a feat of which no repetition 
 can ever diminish the wonder, the courage, and the 
 triumph. 
 
 And now the land loomed large and bold upon the 
 horizon, a gray and iron coast, inhospitable enough to 
 scare away all rash adventurers, one might think, in 
 search of new homes and brighter fortunes. 
 
 What was Captain Duff about ! Did he mean to 
 run his ship bow on to those granite-coloured cliffs 
 stretching to right and left, with their swart base 
 marginated with a line of crawling foam t Screw your 
 eyes up attentively, and you will see two breaks in the 
 shore. The bowsprit of the "Jessie Maxwell" heads 
 for the break on the right. Slowly the coast grows 
 clearer. That break on the left is but a deceptive 
 hollow, with a vast block of rock lying in the blue,
 
 SYDNEY. 203 
 
 shark -studded water, upon which, many years later, 
 a noble ship called the "Dunbar" shall be wrecked, 
 and, of a great crowd of human beings, but one man 
 saved. 
 
 And now behold the miracle of the seaman's art ! 
 
 For weeks and weeks, counting from the English 
 summer, the " Jessie Maxwell " has been surrounded by 
 the ocean, directed through light and darkness, through 
 bright sunshine and howling tempests charged with 
 sleet and spray, by no more than a little needle, but 
 gifted with a steadfastness of intelligence more unerring 
 than the loftiest that humanity is endowed with. For 
 weeks and weeks this little needle points and the 
 helmsman obeys, and onwards the ship sails through 
 hundreds of miles of water, until one morning those on 
 board awake and look ahead, and lo ! there is the land, 
 with the ship's head pointing accurately towards the 
 little cleft in the coast through which the great Bay of 
 Sydney is to be entered. 
 
 This bay is a vision of beauty. No hint of its 
 existence is given until you have sailed into it. The 
 effect produced by the contrast between the rugged, 
 iron, sterile coast beheld from the sea, and the loveliness 
 of deep blue water and summer islands richly wooded, 
 and green hills sloping to the water's edge, and sandy 
 creeks, with the heavy bush to the right, and the 
 tropical splendour of vegetation that meets the eye 
 upon the outlying land all which form the noble bay 
 into which you pass through the narrowest and most 
 repellent of headlands is not to be described. One 
 might think that Nature had stooped to the human 
 device of a pantomimic surprise, and reared the bleak 
 Australian coast in this latitude for no other reason
 
 204 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 than to give effect to the grand transformation scene 
 she exhibits behind it. 
 
 To the eyes of Holdsworth, wearied by the eternal 
 glancing or leaping of the sea, how sweet and refreshing 
 were the green shores, the houses peeping out here and 
 there upon the outskirts of the bush, the trees over- 
 hanging the margin of the islands like living things 
 never weary of admiring their own shapes ! Here and 
 there a boat rowed from shore to shore. Small coasters 
 lay at anchor, their sails clewed up but not furled, and 
 the men lounging drowsily aboard- of them. Hark to 
 the humming of the locusts 1 comparable to nothing 
 so much as the murmurs of a sleepy congregation 
 reciting the responses in church. 
 
 Anon the city of Sydney opened ; at its foot a great 
 semicircular basin of water, with the masts of many 
 vessels standing out against the farther houses, and the 
 green hills backing all. How picturesque from a dis- 
 tance the combined colours of the streaming flags, the 
 white -fronted houses, the green of the hills, and the 
 heavenly azure of the sky ! All the way on the left 
 ran the houses into the country beyond, and close at 
 hand were shaggy abutments of wooded land, with 
 deep shady recesses through which the sunlight sparkled 
 on the emerald ground, with many boats upon the 
 water to give variety and life to the picture. Far, far 
 away, almost like an echo from the old world, the strains 
 of a band playing a hearty English melody could be 
 heard. 
 
 No thoughtful man can behold such a colony as this 
 without finding something at once pathetic and inspir- 
 ing in the spectacle. A great rugged continent, lying 
 hidden in the distant Pacific main, is encountered by
 
 SYDNEY. 205 
 
 human enterprise; and in a few years we witness towns 
 and cities thronging its seaboard, and all along the surf- 
 beaten shores is heard the hum of industry. We mark 
 the inalienable love of home, of the mother-country, in 
 a thousand tokens, and find the measureless ocean 
 bridged by sympathy and memory, and Old England 
 renewed in such forms as make us scarcely conscious 
 of our distance from it ; though sometimes thought it- 
 self, when the thousand leagues of waters that flow 
 between are remembered, seems almost powerless to 
 present our beloved home to us as something real, so 
 vague, so dim, so inaccessibly remote has it become 
 since we left its shores. Signs of remembered things 
 are about us. "We think of the home love which gave 
 that name to that street ; which reared yonder house 
 in the likeness of one in the far-off land, that enshrines 
 the emigrant's most precious memories of childhood ; 
 which parcelled out yonder garden in the fashion of the 
 little tract of land in the distant country, whose soil is 
 sacred to the mind as the favoured retreat of a beloved 
 parent. The very nomenclature by which the colonist 
 dignifies some mean spot or small building by the name 
 of a noble city or a spacious edifice in the old home, is 
 full of pathos, since it can signify no more than a deep- 
 rooted affection (not to be weakened nor divorced by 
 the harshest recollection of the impracticable struggle for 
 bread which drove whole families across the sea) for 
 England, and a tender impulse to give permanent form 
 to memories which survive through many generations, 
 and create loyalty and patriotism among a people who 
 owe nothing to the country and the sovereign whom 
 they reverence, and would at any moment serve. 
 British faces are around us ; British accents sound in
 
 206 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 our ears ; and on all sides we behold signs of that 
 British courage, audacity, and genius, which grow 
 sublime under our gathering appreciation of the diffi- 
 culties which have been conquered and the triumphs 
 which have been achieved.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 IN the year 1832, within a week or two of the date 
 that would make the time exactly five years since the 
 " Meteor " lay off Gravesend, waiting to embark her 
 captain and start for the port it was her doom never to 
 reach, a large ship was sailing slowly up the river, her 
 poop crowded with passengers, and many heads ranged 
 along her bulwarks. 
 
 Far away aft, hard by the wheel, stood a man thickly 
 bearded, dressed in dark clothes, his arms folded, and 
 his eyes bent steadfastly upon the passing shore. He 
 was alone ; for the rest of the passengers, of whom 
 there were many, were grouped about the break of the 
 poop talking to one another excitedly, or pointing to 
 the houses ashore, or watching the steerage passengers 
 on the main-deck cording their boxes, cramming their 
 clothes into bundles, and making preparations for land- 
 ing that afternoon. 
 
 There was something in the expression of this man's 
 face which would have attracted and detained your 
 attention ; a mixture of profound melancholy and 
 struggling surprise, clouded with what might have 
 passed very well for a mood of deep abstraction. His 
 features were thin and haggard, the nose pinched and
 
 208 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 white, his eyes dark and gleaming, and sunk in hollows, 
 shagged by eyebrows of black hair mingled with white, 
 which met in a perpendicular seam in his forehead. He 
 presented the appearance of one suffering from some 
 incurable constitutional malady which had wasted the 
 flesh off his bones, arched his back, hollowed his chest, 
 and brought into his face a permanent expression of 
 mingled pensiveness and sorrow. 
 
 A round-faced, brisk, and busy-looking little man 
 happening just then to pop his person out through the 
 companion, stood looking awhile at the shore with 
 eager twinkling eyes, and then, directing his gaze aft, 
 caught sight of our lonely individual and approached 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Hampden 1 there you are ! still puzzling, 
 puzzling, eh ? " he exclaimed in a hearty manner. 
 " Come now, you have seen Folkestone, Margate, the 
 Eeculvers, eh, now? Confess that those places have 
 helped you to remember all you want to know." 
 
 The person addressed as Mr. Hampden, but whom 
 we will continue to call by his proper name of Holds- 
 worth, turned his eyes from the shore and answered 
 with an effort, as though he could not at once break 
 away from his thoughts. 
 
 " I know all those places well ; and there's not a 
 house yonder, I may say, that doesn't assure me I am 
 on familiar ground. But they tell me nothing. My 
 past is still a puzzle, doctor, of which these scenes are 
 only fragments. There are many more things to come 
 before I can piece it into a whole." 
 
 " What is a cure for a decayed memory ? what ought 
 to revive old impressions?" exclaimed the little doctor, 
 hammering a snuff-box with his knuckles. " You'll
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 209 
 
 never know, Mr. Hampden, how you have weighed upon 
 my mind. I feel, sir, that I have ho business to let you 
 quit this ship uncured. And yet, what more than I 
 have done can I do ? I have exhausted my imagination 
 in questions." 
 
 " Yes, doctor, you have been very kind, and I thank 
 you heartily for the interest you have taken in me." 
 
 " Ay, but interest is of no professional use," returned 
 the doctor, sniffing up a huge pinch of snuff. "We 
 look to results in our calling. I must say I should like 
 to have been able to tell Mr. Sherman when I get back 
 that I left you remembering everything. Eh, now 1 
 But I don't believe there's a medical man living who- 
 ever encountered such a case as yours. So much 
 density of mental gloom, sir, seems psychologically im- 
 possible. If you could only have given me one end of 
 the thread, so to speak, I might have drawn the whole 
 skein out smooth. Look about you now. Here is 
 genuine Thames scenery, which, if you are an English- 
 man, ought to go home straight to your heart and re- 
 call a thousand matters." 
 
 Holdsworth stared around him, puzzling and biting 
 his lip. 
 
 " I have often felt, and I feel now," he exclaimed, 
 " that if I could see something which was prominently 
 identified with my past my memory would return. When 
 we were off Margate, I grew breathless breathless, 
 doctor, believe me, under the shock of an .indefinable 
 sensation. I made sure that my memory was about to 
 rush upon me oh ! it is impossible to explain what is 
 inexplicable to myself. But there have been moments, 
 since we first entered the river, when I have felt that a 
 revelation was close at hand and I have trembled 
 
 p
 
 210 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 whilst awaiting the flooding in of memory, which will 
 not come which will not come 1" 
 
 " It will come. The power that you possess to re- 
 member the names and qualities of things which you see, 
 has long-ago persuaded me that your memory is not 
 dead, but torpid. Keep your body up, when you get 
 ashore, with nourishing food. Walk the streets con- 
 stantly and use your eyes, and, when a recollection rises 
 to the surface, don't rush upon it voraciously, but leave 
 it to its own will. Consider, memories are nothing 
 but shadows; you can't dodge and drive them into 
 corners ..." 
 
 Here somebody called to him, on which the little 
 man shook Holdsworth's hand, and darted towards the 
 group of passengers. 
 
 The ship was rapidly nearing Gravesend, where she 
 would disembark her passengers. The Thames looked 
 noble, with many vessels of all shapes and sizes breaking 
 its shining waters, with the houses and wharves ashore, 
 with here and there a short wooden pier running into the 
 stream, and the green summer country smiling beyond. 
 
 It was a bright July morning, and the air had an ex- 
 quisite transparency that so clarified and sharpened the 
 outlines of objects, that it was like looking at them 
 through highly-polished glass. Just such a day should 
 greet all homeward-sailing ships, and make their in- 
 mates merry with a foretaste of the shore-life they are 
 to enjoy after their long strife with the distant treacher- 
 ous ocean. 
 
 Anon Gravesend opened, and then the pilot volleyed 
 some quick orders along the ship. Down rattled stay- 
 sails, and jibs, and yards with their spacious breadths 
 of canvas ; and the stately vessel, denuded of her tower-
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 211 
 
 ing costume, swam lazily into position off the town. 
 Then rose a cry, "Stand clear of the chain-cable !" and 
 the second mate, on the port side of the topgallant fore- 
 castle, brandished his arms as a warning to the people 
 on the main-deck to crowd out of the road. 
 
 "Let go the anchor !" 
 
 Clank ! clank ! went the carpenter's hammer. And 
 then, with a deafening roar, down plunged the mighty 
 weight of iron, and tore the huge cable with shrieks 
 through the hawse- pipe. The ship swung slowly around 
 and became stationary, with many hands aloft furling 
 the sails, and the quarter-deck throbbing with the move- 
 ments and struggles of excited passengers. 
 
 And now a dozen boats, some large some small, 
 came tearing through the water to the ship. How the 
 watermen pulled ! Their faces all veins, and their arms 
 all knots, and their hats anywhere ! The canoes of 
 cannibals, sneaking from the secret creeks and hidden 
 points of an unexplored island, advance not more swiftly, 
 nor, maybe, with feller or more rapacious designs, upon 
 the intruder in their waters, than did our Gravesend 
 wherries upon this ship fresh from Australia. 
 
 Many of the watermen were soon upon the quarter- 
 deck, demanding monstrous sums to row three-quarters 
 of a mile. You saw boxes and bundles seized and dis- 
 appear, and excited 'tween-deck passengers elbowing a 
 lane to the gangway, fired with a resolution to disembark 
 or perish, while children screamed, and women implored, 
 and men gesticulated, and even menaced one another. 
 One by one the wherries put off, loaded to the gunwale 
 with people and baggage. These wherries returned and 
 returned again, until the ship was cleared of the majority 
 of her passengers.
 
 212 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " Good-bye, captain," said Holdsworth. 
 
 A sunburnt man in a blue cloth coat with gilt- 
 buttons took Holdsworth's hand, and grasped it cordially. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Hampden, good-bye to you, sir. 
 Any time these three months, if you have a mind to let 
 me see your face, you will be able to find me out by 
 calling at the Jerusalem Coffee House. I shall be glad, 
 sir, as we all of us shall be, to hear that London has 
 stirred up your recollection and restored your memory." 
 
 Then the chief mate and second officers and some 
 midshipmen pressed forward and shook his hand, and 
 Holdsworth, pointing out his luggage to a waterman, 
 descended the gangway ladder, and was rowed to 
 Gravesend. 
 
 And now, whilst our hero, having been put ashore 
 and eaten a hurried dinner, climbs on top of the coach 
 that is to land him at Southwark, let us beguile an un- 
 interesting interval by casting a brief glance back- 
 wards. 
 
 On the arrival of the " Jessie Maxwell " at Sydney, 
 Holdsworth had accompanied Mr. Sherman to his house, 
 and been then and there established as an inmate as 
 long as he chose to remain. He was also given a clerk- 
 ship in Mr. Sherman's office, worth 250 a year, which 
 was by no means an out-of-the-way price for a man's 
 labour in Australia in those days, though in Holds- 
 worth's case the salary was rendered nearly worth as 
 much again by his friend providing him with board 
 and lodging free. The truth was (1) Mr. Sherman 
 wanted an honest man in his office ; (2) Holdsworth's 
 sufferings, friendlessness, and perfect amiability, coupled 
 with his deprivation of memory, which affected all
 
 HOMEWARD BOUOT). 213 
 
 whom he conversed with as something worse even than 
 blindness, had obtained a permanent hold for him on 
 his generous patron's sympathy long before the " Jessie 
 Maxwell " had sighted the Australian shore. 
 
 Mr. Sherman was a widower and childless. A 
 maiden sister of his lived with him, a woman whose 
 character and face were as like his as an egg is to an 
 egg. Not knowing Holdsworth's name, they agreed to 
 call him Mr. Hampden, which would serve as well as 
 any other, and which had at least the merit of begin- 
 ning with the letter of his real name. 
 
 As Mr. Hampden he was introduced to Mr. Sherman's 
 friends, who took a very great interest in him. Indeed, 
 some of these people went to the extent of giving 
 dinner-parties in his honour, and for a time he was a 
 lion. All this attention, meant in perfect kindness, 
 greatly disturbed him, for his loss of memory made him 
 singularly sensitive, and his nervous system had entirely 
 given way under the extraordinary sufferings he had 
 endured. Mr. Sherman would have kept his secret, but 
 Captain Duff and the officers and men of the " Jessie 
 Maxwell " went and talked of him all over the city, 
 and then the tale of his discovery and rescue was pub- 
 lished in a newspaper and made the property of the 
 public. 
 
 But the public soon forgot him. The colony was 
 young, and the New Hollander had too many mines to 
 sink, and houses to build, and acres to clear, and con- 
 victs to protest against, and home oppressions of every 
 species to deal with, to keep his mind long fixed on one 
 object. Holdsworth settled into a regular clerkly 
 routine, and every day improved himself in Mr. Sher- 
 man's opinion, by the peculiar sweetness of his amia-
 
 214 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 bility, and by his gratitude expressed in every delicate 
 form that could vehicle the emotion of his full heart. 
 
 There was an able doctor at that time practising in 
 Sydney, and Mr. Sherman invited him to his house, 
 and introduced him to Holdsworth, believing that, by 
 skilful handling, it was possible to restore the poor 
 fellow's memory. But the doctor after a few weeks 
 shook his head, and pronounced the case hopeless, or 
 at least beyond the reach of human skill. 
 
 Indeed, rarely had a more curious and baffling prob- 
 lem been submitted, than Holdsworth's mind in those 
 days. 
 
 Here was a man capable of recollecting with pre- 
 cision every incident that had befallen him since his 
 rescue, exhibiting shrewdness in conversation, and ac- 
 curacy in matters of current fact His intellect was as 
 healthy as that of the healthiest- headed man who con- 
 versed with him, but up to the period of his rescue 
 everything was in darkness. The conjectures which 
 were offered him so close to the mark some of them, 
 that they brushed the very skirts of real facts, and told 
 the truth by implication conveyed no ideas. His 
 eternal rejoinder was no more than a shake of the head. 
 Had he been a sailor 1 Did he remember the port from 
 which he sailed? the rig or name of the vessel? his 
 native town 1 Such questions, and hundreds of them, 
 were asked, but though he grasped familiar names with 
 almost passionate eagerness, they established no faintest 
 clue as to his real past And then inquiries becoming 
 at last no better than fruitless importunities, were 
 dropped, and Holdsworth was considered incurable. 
 
 Yet this could hardly have been thought, had those 
 who gave in this opinion been conscious of the under-
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 215 
 
 current of secret, but not the less powerful, yearnings, 
 absolutely objectless, scarce owning definite forms, 
 which yet the restless instincts of the man urged with 
 greedy emphasis. These movements were, indeed, purely 
 spiritual the action of the soul groping in her cell 
 and searching for that window of the mind which had 
 been blackened, and through which no light could 
 break. Of the mental torments this intellectual blind- 
 ness occasioned, no words that I possess can describe 
 the anguish. Month after month went by and still 
 found him searching heart -brokenly in the gloom for 
 some image, some substance, some sign, that should 
 appease the piteous cravings of his instincts, which knew 
 all, but could not speak. 
 
 Whatever feminine tact could suggest to give light 
 to his mind, Mr. Sherman's sister did. She made out 
 a long list of names beginning with H, trusting that 
 one among them might be his, and that the sight of it 
 would recall many things or all. 
 
 But, long and patiently compiled as the list was, 
 many names there must be which she would omit ; and 
 amongst them his own. Then she made out a list of 
 the names of the ships ; but here was an endless job 
 prosecuted for a long while with benevolent industry, 
 and then abandoned in despair. She read the European 
 papers carefully, hoping to find some account of the 
 loss of the vessel in which, it was surmised, Holdsworth 
 had been a passenger ; but no such account ever re- 
 warded her search. Numerous were the other remedies 
 she resorted to, but none of them produced any result. 
 
 A few months of such unavailing work would soon 
 extinguish hope. Both she and her brother desisted 
 at last from their merciful endeavours in the full and
 
 216 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 final conviction that nothing but the hand of God 
 could ever draw aside the black curtain that hung over 
 Holdsworth's past. 
 
 But not to dwell at needless length upon this part 
 of the story : 
 
 More than four years had passed since Holdsworth 
 had arrived in Sydney. Mr. Sherman had long learned 
 to think of him as settled in the colony, had increased 
 his salary, and congratulated himself not only on the 
 possession of a valuable and trustworthy assistant, but 
 upon a pleasant, amiable, and thoroughly gentlemanly 
 companion. No expression of a wish to leave had ever 
 escaped Holdsworth's lips. He appeared not only con- 
 tented, but resigned to the affliction that had practically 
 deprived him of all knowledge of his past existence. 
 
 He came down to breakfast one morning with a face 
 betokening great agitation. Mr. Sherman was in the 
 breakfast-room, and instantly noticed Holdsworth's air 
 of bewilderment and distress. 
 
 "Mr. Sherman," exclaimed Holdsworth at once to 
 him, " do you remember telling me that it was possible 
 for my memory to be revived by a dream ?" 
 
 "Yes has it happened?" 
 
 " I cannot tell ; but this much I know, that a voice 
 sounded last night in my ears, and bade me return at 
 once to England. It was a woman's voice it had a 
 clearly-remembered tone and I knew it in my sleep ; 
 but when I awoke and tried to recall it I could not." 
 
 " But your dream V 
 
 "That was all." 
 
 " Was your dream merely confined to the utterance 
 of this voice?" 
 
 "I can remember nothing more than the voice."
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 217 
 
 "And you cannot recall whose voice it resembled?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Mr. Sherman was silent, and Holdsworth watched 
 him with anxiety, that was almost pathetic, so eager 
 was his hope that his friend would find some light in 
 this dim and curious night-fancy to help him with. 
 
 "I can see nothing serviceable in this," said Mr. 
 Sherman presently, " but it is hopeful. Wait a while. 
 This voice may return, or you may dream something 
 more tangible. Remember," he added with a smile, " that 
 the morning light does not flood the world suddenly. 
 The pale, faint gray comes first, and there are many 
 gradations of brightness between the first peep of dawn 
 and the rising of the sun." 
 
 But though Holdsworth waited, the voice did not 
 return. Nevertheless it had sounded in his ears to some 
 purpose. Day by day a longing grew in him to return 
 to England, which became in time deep and fervent and 
 irresistible. Superstition was the root of this yearning ; 
 but the poor fellow, urged by his instincts into an eternal 
 searching amid the darkness, would scarcely pause to 
 consider the nature of his keen desire, but submit to it 
 as an ordinance from God commissioned to impel him 
 into the Divine light of memory. 
 
 Mr. Sherman watched his increasing restlessness in 
 silence, waiting for him to declare his intention. He 
 announced it one day. 
 
 " Mr. Sherman, I feel guilty of deep ingratitude in 
 harbouring a wish to leave you. But my longing to 
 return to England has become so strong that I can no 
 longer resist it. God knows if I am not taking a foolish 
 step in voluntarily quitting so good and beloved a friend. 
 But what are these instincts which govern me ] Ought
 
 218 JOHN HOLDSWORTII. 
 
 I to blind myself to them ? Are they not given me for 
 some end which can only be accomplished by my obey- 
 ing them ? I do not know what I am leaving you to 
 seek ; but I feel that whatever my past may hold which 
 is precious to me is to be found in England." 
 
 "If you have this confidence in your impulse," 
 answered Mr. Sherman, "you are right in obeying it. 
 I am at least sure that your memory stands but a poor 
 chance of recovery in a strange land, surrounded by 
 objects which have no possible reference to your past, 
 and can, therefore, have no value as an appeal. I shall 
 be sorry, very sorry, to lose you, Mr. Hampden, but I 
 think I can trace the hand of Providence in this longing 
 of yours, and in all humbleness and sincerity I ask God 
 to bless your endeavours and restore you the illumination 
 of your memory." 
 
 This resolution, now taken, was final. Mr. Sher- 
 man's encouragement gave new strength to Holdsworth's 
 wishes, and the restlessness that beset him became almost 
 unbearable to him. In ten days from that date a ship 
 named the "Wellington" sailed for London; she was 
 to cany many passengers, but one saloon berth was still 
 vacant, and that Mr. Sherman himself procured and 
 paid for, for Holdsworth. Nor did his kindness stop 
 with this. A few days before the ship left Sydney he 
 asked Holdsworth if he had saved any money. 
 
 " Yes, four hundred pounds." 
 
 " Come ! that will help you along for a time. Dr. 
 Marlow, a friend of mine, is attending an old lady to 
 England. I have explained your case to him, and 
 begged him to give you his closest attention. He is 
 clever, and the long term of intimacy you will enjoy 
 before you reach London may be productive of some
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 219 
 
 good to you. And now do me the favour to put this 
 in your pocket," he continued, handing Holdsworth a 
 little parcel. " No need to examine its contents now. 
 It is a small gift from my sister and myself. You will 
 find my address inside it, which will remind you to write 
 to us ; for be sure that nobody can take more interest in 
 you than we do. Above all, remember that if ever you 
 should want a friend, you will find two very steadfast 
 ones in Sydney, who will rejoice to welcome you back." 
 The parcel contained bank-notes to the value of three 
 hundred pounds.
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 
 
 IN the fine old times the good old times a short 
 journey took a long time ; and it was evening when the 
 Gravesend coach put Holdsworth down at the door of 
 an old inn in Southwark named the " Green Dragon." 
 
 He was now in London, but in an unfamiliar part of 
 it, and he stood for some minutes gazing up and down 
 the wide long street, with its hurrying crowds, and 
 thronging vehicles, and endless shops, without getting 
 one idea more from it than ever he had got out of Pitt 
 Street or George Street, or any other street in Sydney. 
 
 It mattered little to him where he should sleep that 
 night. He had as yet formed no plans as to how he 
 should act with respect to beginning the inquiries which 
 were to give him back his life's history. So he entered 
 the bar of the " Green Dragon " and asked for a bed- 
 room, with which he was at once accommodated. 
 
 On descending the stairs he was encountered by a 
 very polite waiter, who begged to receive his orders for 
 refreshments. The house was a very old-established one, 
 and the waiter, with a smile of concern, as though the 
 necessity were a melancholy one that obliged him to 
 suggest such obvious truths at that time of day, ventured 
 to observe that the gentleman might travel the whole
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 221 
 
 breadth and length of the United Kingdom without 
 meeting with better wines and choicer cooking than 
 were to be found at that inn. On the strength of this 
 and a small appetite Holdsworth ordered supper, and was 
 conducted to the coffee-room, where he seated himself, 
 the only occupant of the dark bare apartment, at a table 
 furnished with a mustard-pot large enough to have sup- 
 plied a hospital with poultices, and amused himself as best 
 he could with staring at some grisly, faded prints after 
 Hogarth, and a map of London, to which several genera- 
 tions of flies had contributed squares, streets, and blind 
 alleys nowhere to be found in the metropolis proper. 
 
 Having eaten his supper, he was leaning back in his 
 chair, with a half resolution in his mind to stroll forth 
 into the streets for an hour, and see what suggestions 
 his wanderings might obtain for him, when the waiter 
 came up, and leaning confidentially upon the table, 
 informed him that there was an " 'Armonious Meeting 
 going on in the public room at the bottom of the 
 passage, and if the gentleman liked, the sperits he was 
 pleased to horder could be served him there." 
 
 "Who are they?" asked Holdsworth. 
 
 " All sorts, sir. The 'armony is done by some gents 
 as lives in the neighbourhood, who look in every 
 Wednesday night to drink and converse. The governor 
 takes the chair, and every gent as is stoppin' in the 
 house is made welcome. I think you'll be pleased, sir." 
 
 " This is dull enough, at all events," said Holdsworth, 
 looking around him. It was too early to go to bed, 
 and he felt too tired to take his half-projected stroll. 
 So, conceiving that a quarter of an hour's inspection of 
 the convivialists in the public room might cheer him 
 up, he rose and followed the waiter down the passage.
 
 222 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 The scene into which he was admitted certainly 
 wanted no feature of liveliness. The room was long and 
 low pitched, with two immense grates in it, and wooden 
 mantelpieces carved into all kinds of quaint embodi- 
 ments of Greek and Eoman mythology. Common brass 
 sconces were affixed to the walls with a couple of candles 
 in each. Around were pictures of fighting and theatrical 
 celebrities of that and an earlier day ; Humphreys and 
 Mendoza, stripped to the waist, and working into each 
 other's eyes in wonderful style, watched by a distant 
 and pensive crowd in hats of the Tom and Jerry school, 
 uncomfortably tight breeches, and coat collars above 
 their ears ; Kemble in furs ; Incledon dressed as a 
 sailor; Braham, as little Isaac, in the "Duenna;" and 
 Dicky Suett, with a thing like a balloon coming out of 
 his mouth, and " Oh la ! " written upon it. At the head 
 of a long table sat a stout man in a striped yellow 
 waistcoat, a bottle green coat, and a white neckcloth ; 
 several black bottles, steaming jugs, and a plate of 
 lemons were in front of him. And down the table on 
 either side were seated a number of individuals, some 
 of them dressed in extravagant style, a few clad soberly, 
 and most of them smoking cigars, or rapping snuff-boxes, 
 laughing, talking, and drinking from fat one-legged 
 tumblers. 
 
 As Holdsworth entered, either a speech, a song, or a 
 sentiment had just been delivered, for there was a great 
 hammering going on, mingled with cries of " Bravo 1" 
 The "cheer," who was the promoter of, and the sole 
 gainer by these Wednesday festivities, bowed to Holds- 
 worth, and getting on to his legs, came round and bade 
 him welcome in the name of all the good fellows there 
 and then assembled, and gave him the sign, which
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 223 
 
 Holdsworth, not having been made, did not take. He 
 then led him to a vacant chair between two of the more 
 soberly clad of the company, and having received and 
 transmitted his commands to the waiter with a host-like 
 and hospitable air, as though such a low arrangement 
 as a reckoning had no existence, resumed his place at 
 the head of the table, knocked loudly with his knuckles, 
 and called upon Mr. Harris for a song. 
 
 On this, up started a thin young man with a yellow 
 beard, and, leaning on his hands, gazed slowly around 
 him with a leering and perfectly self possessed bloodshot 
 eye. Whereat there was a laugh. 
 
 "Gentleman I" he began. 
 
 "Order! silence 1" cried the landlord. "Mr. 'Arris 
 has your ear !" 
 
 " And I wish I could say ladies : I am asked to sing 
 a song, and I'll do so with the greatest of pleasure. But 
 before I begin, permit me to make an observation ; as 
 I don't want to wound any gentleman's feelings, though 
 no fear of that kind will prevent me from expressing 
 my sentiments, which are those of a Briton and a 
 reformer, who has no opinion of the present, looks upon 
 the past with contempt, and only lives for the future." 
 
 " Hear 1" from several reformers. 
 
 "There's a good deal to be said against this age; and 
 there's no abuse which the past don't deserve ! The 
 past ! gentlemen, it did for our grandmothers. The 
 present ! it does for our fathers. But we, gentlemen 
 Ave who possess young and ardent minds " 
 
 " Give us your song ! " cried a voice. 
 
 " We, gentlemen we, the young blood of this great 
 nation we," cried the orator, swinging his fist, and 
 nearly knocking a cigar out of the mouth of a man at
 
 224 JOHN IIOLDSWOKTII. 
 
 his side, with a face on him filled with idiotic admira- 
 tion, " are for the future ! " 
 
 An old man uttered a cheer ; the speaker then 
 coughed, swallowed a draught of bran dy-and- water, ex- 
 panded his chest, ran his fingers through his hair, and 
 began as follows, throwing out his arms in approved 
 comic style : 
 
 THE DAYS WHEN I WAS YOUNQ. 
 
 Of the days when I was young, sir, 
 
 Sing the splendour and the fame, 
 When the fields and woods among, sir, 
 
 Traps were set to guard our game ; 
 When our clergymen got drunk, sir, 
 
 And our Prince was made of waistcoats, 
 When our soldiery had spunk, sir, 
 
 And wore epaulets and faced coats. 
 
 CHORUS Sing the days when 1 was young ! 
 Such a song was never sung 1 
 
 When Madeira, port, and sherry 
 
 Were such wines as made men wits : 
 When our songs were coarse and merry, 
 
 And our pockets full of writs ! 
 When we fought like hungry Spartans, 
 
 And told tales like Jemmy Twitcher's ; 
 When cognac was drunk in quarterns, 
 
 And October ale in pitchers I 
 
 Sing the days, etc. 
 
 When the House was full of quarrels, 
 
 And our hustings the arenas 
 For dead cats and bilious morals 
 
 And the music of hyenas ! 
 When our Avershaws were strangling, 
 
 And our Mrs. Frys were preaching : 
 And our priests and bishops wrangling, 
 
 And our patriots a-screeching ! 
 
 Sing the days, etc.
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 225 
 
 When a Tory was a Tory, 
 
 Armour'd tight in old tradition, 
 Quoting nothing but the hoary, 
 
 And a friend to superstition : 
 Hating Irishmen and priests, sir, 
 
 All excisemen and dissenters, 
 Holy fasts and holy feasts, sir, 
 
 Whigs and Jews and ten- pound renters ! 
 Sing the days, etc. 
 
 When our fiddlers were true artists, 
 
 And our singers all had voices : 
 Ere our labourers were Chartists, 
 
 And the land was full of noises. 
 When our "bloods" were breaking knockers, 
 
 Smashing bells all free and hearty, 
 And when little else could shock us 
 
 But reports of Bonaparte. 
 
 Sing the days, etc. 
 
 When our coaches turn'd us over, 
 
 And our watchmen snored in alleys : 
 When it took a day to Dover, 
 
 And a week or two to Calais. 
 When Jack Ketch was hanging women 
 
 Who stole bread for starving babies, 
 And our rogues were just as common 
 
 As new honey in old May bees. 
 
 Sing the days, etc. 
 
 Never more shall we survey, sir, 
 
 Times so splendid and so stirring, 
 Social life and tastes more gay, sir, 
 
 Laws and statesmen more unerring. 
 Fights and factions more unsparing, 
 
 Tories truer to traditions, 
 Foreign policy more daring 
 
 (Here the vocalist took a deep breath), 
 And more brutal superstitions ! 
 
 The sounds excited by this song were somewhat 
 discordant, owing to the bravos being mingled with 
 
 Q
 
 226 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 hisses. Mr. Harris resumed his seat with a contempt- 
 uous expression, and the chairman, rapping the table, 
 called out : 
 
 " Gentlemen ! 'issing isn't 'armony to any ear but a 
 goose's ! " 
 
 " I don't like the sentiments of that song," exclaimed 
 a man at the bottom of the table. 
 
 " Why not, sir ?" demanded Mr. Harris, warmly. 
 
 "First of all, I don't understand 'em," said the 
 other. 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. Harris with a sneer. 
 
 " Much of what that song says is to be applied to 
 the present as well as to the past," observed an old 
 gentleman, looking staggered at his own boldness in 
 talking amid a silence. " For my part, I don't think a 
 man fights fair who uses a two-edged sword." 
 
 Several voices murmured acquiescence. 
 
 " I'm for the future," said Mr. Harris, " and told you 
 so at the beginning." 
 
 " See Here, gentlemen," called out the landlord ; " the 
 meaning of Mr. Harris's song, so far as I understand its 
 hallusions, is this : he supposes himself to be old " 
 
 " No, I don't," growled Mr. Harris. 
 
 " Quite the contrary, / think," snarled a little grocer 
 near the chairman. " I reckon there's more swaddling- 
 clothes nor expirience in them sentiments, or I'm gone 
 deaf since I sat down." 
 
 "The meaning of my song is just what it says," 
 retorted Mr. Harris. " I'm not ashamed of being a re- 
 former. Better men than I or any other gentleman in 
 this room, begging nobody's pardon, have been reformers. 
 Thank God, my politics are not of a kind to call up my 
 blushes when I own them."
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 227 
 
 As the Tories in the company judged that something 
 offensive was meant by Mr. Harris, several persons spoke 
 at once, and a clamour ensued which threatened to 
 establish the meeting on any other basis than that of 
 harmony. Indeed, one man, who was nearly intoxicated, 
 went so far as to get upon his chair and exclaim, while 
 he brandished his fist, that if he had it in his power, he 
 would hang every Whig in the country. And there is 
 no telling what further extravagances of language and 
 gesture he might have indulged in, but for the prompt 
 interference of a neighbour, who, catching hold of his 
 coat-tail, pulled him under the table. 
 
 However, by dint of shouting pacific language at the 
 top of bis voice, the chairman succeeded at last in restor- 
 ing tranquillity. More grog was brought in, snuff-boxes 
 were handed about, hands were shaken across the table, 
 and loud cheers greeted the sentiment delivered by a 
 gentleman who appeared to be vice-chairman : " That 
 'armony of feeling was the music of humanity." Mr. 
 Harris apologised for having sung anything distasteful 
 to the company, who he hoped were all his very good 
 friends ; and amid the clanking of spoons in glasses, and 
 polite calls of " After you " for lighted spills, the con- 
 versation streamed into milder channels, and everybody 
 did his best to look harmonious. 
 
 Though Holdsworth was a good deal amused by this 
 scene, and by the manners and dress of the people around 
 him, he hardly felt himself equal to enduring very much 
 more of this social harmony, and sat twisting his glass 
 on the table, watching the faces of the company, and 
 waiting for another " row " to make his escape without 
 attracting notice. 
 
 He was presently addressed by a man sitting on his
 
 228 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 left a middle-aged individual, with a thin, smooth- 
 shaven face and a keen eye, and very high shirt- 
 collars. 
 
 "A stranger, I make bold to think, sir ?" 
 
 'Yes,'' answered Holdsworth. 
 
 " I judge so by an air of travel about you, if you'll 
 pardon me. Forgive me, sir, if I inquire your secret 
 understand me your secret opinion as to that song just 
 sung by the gentleman opposite." 
 
 "To tell you the truth," replied Holdsworth, who 
 imagined that his companion wanted to draw him into 
 a political argument, " I only caught a few of the verses, 
 and am therefore scarcely able to give an opinion." 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed the other. " Now, sir, I call 
 that song clever damned clever, and I'll tell you why : 
 it's ironical. Without irony, sir, I wouldn't give a pin's 
 head for the best piece of humour in the world. You'll 
 excuse what I am about to say, sir, I'm sure. You are 
 a traveller I flatter myself I can tell that with half an 
 eye. Now, sir, as a man who has visited other countries, 
 and observed human nature in a hundred different forms, 
 you can't help being a Whig. Confess, sir, that you 
 share my political views, which are those of a man who 
 has only one cry ' Down with rubbish ! ' " 
 
 "I hate rubbish as much as any man," replied 
 Holdsworth. 
 
 His companion looked struck and delighted. 
 
 " Your hand, sir. Permit me to shake it I love a 
 Whig, sir. Here's to your good health." 
 
 " Are you a native of this country, sir 1" he continued, 
 glancing at Holdsworth's dress, which had a decidedly 
 colonial cut. 
 
 " I believe so."
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 229 
 
 " But not a resident V said the other, whose turn of 
 mind was decidedly inquisitive. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Now what part might you have come from, sir, if 
 you'll excuse the liberty 1" asked the man confidently. 
 
 " From Australia." 
 
 " God bless my heart and soul I You don't say so ! 
 Dear me 1 Australia Is it possible 1 I consider 
 myself a bit of a traveller j but in your presence, sir, I 
 feel my insignificance." 
 
 Holdsworth laughed, but made no answer. 
 
 "They say that Australia is a wonderful country, 
 sir : that you grow cherries with the stones outside, and 
 that your parrots are like sea-gulls. Fine climate 
 though, I believe, sir, if you will pardon me V 
 
 "Very fine." 
 
 "And yet not equal to ours?" 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
 " They talk of scenery, sir. Now I was never out 
 of England in my life, though there's not a hole or 
 corner in it that I don't know. But what can equal 
 English scenery] Take Devonshire. Take Cumber- 
 land. Were you ever in those counties i" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 "Yorkshire?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Talk of desolation see the moors : great plains of 
 the colour of tripe stretching for miles, with one dwarf 
 tree for every league of ground, and that's all. Now, 
 sir, my taste may be wrong, or perhaps it's right ; I 
 wouldn't flaunt it in any man's face, though I'd hold 
 on to it if I was on my death-bed. Of all the counties 
 in England, which think you I'm the most partial to?"
 
 230 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " I cannot imagine." 
 
 " Kent, sir ! " exclaimed the man, drawing back 
 triumphantly. 
 
 The name sent a thrill through Holdsworth. He 
 pricked his ears and looked at his companion ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " The Devonshire people may crack up their county, 
 but give me Kent. I am a native of Kent, sir ! " 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "I was born at Canterbury. Ever seen the 
 cathedral?" 
 
 " Canterbury Cathedral !" muttered Holdsworth, 
 struggling to grasp an illusive, half-formed fancy that 
 flitted across his mind. 
 
 "Take the country about Han witch, now ..." 
 
 " Hanwitch ! " echoed Holdsworth. The name pierced 
 him as a sword might. He pressed his fingers tightly 
 over his eyes, his face turned white, and his whole 
 body trembled. 
 
 His companion stared at him. 
 
 "Do you know Hanwitch?" he asked, wondering if 
 this singular -looking person with the haggard face, 
 Australian clothes, and thick beard was in possession of 
 his right mind. 
 
 "The name struck me," answered Holdsworth, 
 removing his hands and frowning in his effort to master 
 the meaning of the extraordinary emotion excited by 
 the name of that town. 
 
 " There's not a spot of land anywhere within thirty 
 miles of Canterbury all round," continued the man, 
 looking at Holdsworth watchfully, " that I don't know. 
 I name Hanwitch because there's a bit of river scenery 
 near it which is prettier than anything I've seen in any
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 231 
 
 other part of England. If you've got the leisure, and 
 would like to see what this country can show in the 
 way of good views, take a run down to Hanwitch." 
 
 He pulled out a pocket-book, and extracting a card, 
 handed it to Holdsworth, observing in a tone that at 
 least showed he had regained his confidence in his 
 neighbour : 
 
 " Show that, sir, at the bar of the ' Three Stars ' at 
 Hanwitch, and if you don't get every attention, be good 
 enough to write to me, and see if they don't lose my 
 patronage." 
 
 Holdsworth looked at the card, whereon he might 
 have seen a very commonplace name, printed in capitals, 
 with " Commercial Traveller " squeezed into the corner ; 
 but he saw nothing. A name had been pronounced 
 which quickened the dormant memory in him into a 
 vitality that threatened to make it burst through the 
 shell that imprisoned it, and proclaim all that he pas- 
 sionately longed to know. 
 
 Powerless must his mind have been not to find in 
 the name of the Hanwitch inn the magic to give him 
 back his memory. Could not his heart recall the sweet 
 day he had spent in Hanwitch with Dolly at his side 1 
 the sweetest, happiest day of all the days he had 
 passed in the brief three months during which they had 
 been together? One might have thought that, saving 
 her own dear face, there was nothing more potent to 
 roll back the deep mantle of darkness, and lay bare the 
 shining panorama of those far-off times, than the name 
 of the inn in whose deep bay window they had sat 
 linked in each other's arms, watching the soft sunshine 
 shimmering through the summer leaves, and the clear 
 river wandering gently along its emerald-banked channel
 
 232 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 Further conversation was out of the question for a 
 while, by the chairman hammering on the table and 
 calling silence for a song. The disagreeable effects pro- 
 duced by the last song had completely passed away, and 
 the landlord thought that another " ditty," as he called 
 it, might safely be sung. 
 
 A very corpulent man stood up, with a face upon 
 him of which the quantity of flesh had worked the 
 expression into an aspect of fixed amazement. An im- 
 mense blue-spotted cravat adorned his throat, and long 
 streaks of hair fell slanting down his cheeks. His small 
 clothes and arm-sleeves were distressingly tight, and 
 suggested that any display of pathos or humour, of 
 gesticulation or laughter, would be in the highest 
 degree inconvenient. It was not hard to guess that 
 this fat man sang comic songs, that he dropped every h, 
 and that he was in the eating -line, in a commercial 
 sense. 
 
 He was saluted with a round of laughter, which, 
 being hammered down, he began in a soft, oily, tenor 
 voice 
 
 " A d&wg's-meat man he loved a voman, 
 Sairey her name vos not uncommon ; 
 He had vun eye, and he hown'd a barren 
 Coopid up's vith his bow and lets fly a arrer. 
 ' dear ! ' cries this dawg's-ineat man, 
 Fingerin' his buzzum and looking vith his eye ; 
 ' Vot can this be a-sticking in my tan ?' 
 Ven Sairey draws near a-lookin' very shy. 
 'Tell me,' sez he, 'the name o' this here thing ?' 
 'Vy,' sez Sairey vinkin', 'it's von o' Coopid's darts.'" 
 etc. etc. 
 
 This song gave such exquisite satisfaction to the com- 
 pany that, on his concluding it, he was entreated, amid
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 233 
 
 cheers, to sing another ; on which, squaring his breast, 
 but preserving his wooden face of fat astonishment, he 
 began as follows : 
 
 " There vos a 'ot pieman as vurked in the Strand, 
 
 Singing hey, ho ! 'ot pies, all 'ot ! 
 Vun night he was kickin' his 'eels at his stand 
 Yen who should come up but a lady all grand, 
 Vith a dress all of satin, and rings on her 'and, 
 And she asts for a pie 
 Did this lady, oh my ! 
 
 Let us cry. 
 Singing hey, ho ! 'ot pies, all 'ot ! 
 
 " Now, our friend was genteel, as all piemen should be, 
 
 Singing hey, ho ! 'ot pies, all 'ot ! 
 And he sez to this lady, so grand for to see, 
 ' My pies, mum, are meant for sitch people as me, 
 For poor cabbies and sitch ; not for folks of degree,' 
 And she jest sez, ' fie ! 
 Hand me quickly a pie, 
 
 Or I'll cry.' 
 Singing hey, ho ! 'ot pies, all 'ot ! " 
 
 I spare the reader the remaining six verses of this de- 
 lectable song. The company joined in the chorus with 
 the full force of their lungs, and so exhilarated the fat 
 vocalist, that at the end of the second verse he pushed 
 away his chair, and folding his arms on his breast, 
 actually danced an accompaniment to the words, amid 
 shrieks of laughter and wild stretching forward of necks 
 at the farther end of the table to see him. Holdsworth's 
 companion laughed until he grew faint, and then, to 
 recover his strength, drank brandy and water, and then 
 laughed again. The song was encored, genuine vul- 
 garity seldom failing to please ; and then a brief breath- 
 ing-space of silence falling, Holdsworth said to his 
 companion :
 
 234 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 "Will you tell me how I am to get to Hanwitch 
 from here t" 
 
 " Certainly. All you've got to do is, step across to 
 the 'Canterbury Arms' it's five minutes' walk from 
 this house on the left the coach starts for Canterbury 
 at half-past seven in the morning, every day." 
 
 " Thank you," said Holdsworth, who found it impos- 
 sible, amid the renewed hubbub of conversation that 
 had burst out, to ask some questions about Hanwitch, 
 which might help him to understand the longing that 
 possessed him to visit it. 
 
 "You're not going the night's very young, sir 1 ?" 
 said the man, seeing Holdsworth rise. But Holdsworth 
 merely wished him " Good night," and slipped out of 
 the room unnoticed by the company, who were at that 
 moment busy in entreating the fat man to give them 
 another song. 
 
 The cool air and silence of the passage were a great 
 relief after the heat and noise of the public room. It 
 was now drawing near to eleven o'clock. Holdsworth 
 went to the bar and asked for a candle, and was lighted 
 to his bed-room by a chambermaid with ringlets and 
 black eyes, who probably felt surprised that her charms 
 attracted no notice whatever from the gentleman, who 
 seemed to find pleasure in no other object than the 
 carpet on which he trod. 
 
 Holdsworth closed the door, and a whole hour passed 
 before he rose to remove his clothes. There was some- 
 thing in the recollection of the thrill which the name 
 of Hanwitch had sent through him, that impelled him 
 to bend the whole energies of his mind to the word, 
 and he strove with memory passionately and fiercely, 
 but could not wrench a syllable from her. He repeated
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 235 
 
 the name until it lost even its sense as the designation 
 of a town. Nevertheless, every moment made his long- 
 ing to visit it deeper. There must be some reason why 
 this name had so stirred him. The names of other 
 English counties and cities had been pronounced before 
 him and by him over and over again, but they touched 
 no chord, they awoke no echo in his mind, however 
 dim and elusive. 
 
 If memory would only define the object he sought ! 
 This it would not do. He was a wanderer, obeying the 
 dictation of blind instinct, which urged without guiding 
 him. Of all his past, nothing was present to his mind. 
 He knew not what he sought. His was an affliction 
 crueller than blindness, for a blind man could say : " A 
 beloved one has strayed from me. I seek her. I see 
 not, indeed, those who surround me, but my mission 
 has form and substance in my mind, and my inquiries 
 cannot always prove fruitless." But Holdsworth was 
 commanded by a mysterious emotion which controlled 
 without enlightening him. Something had been lost 
 something was to be found. He felt his want, but could 
 not explain it to himself. No man could help him, 
 since no man could guess what was the thing he looked 
 for. 
 
 When he left his chair he sank upon his knees and 
 asked God in broken tones to help him to direct him 
 into the path that should lead him to the light to aid 
 him in his yearning to re-illuminate his memory.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 FOR HANWITCH. 
 
 IF a man has one good reason for being grateful for 
 living in these times, it is because they are not coaching 
 days. 
 
 The old stage-coach, the Wellerian coachman, the 
 spruce guard with his horn and his jokes, the fat 
 people inside, the gruff people outside, all contributed 
 a picturesque detail to the age they belonged to ; but 
 I have generally found that the more picturesque an 
 object is, the fitter it is to be surveyed at a distance 
 only. 
 
 If in the days to which the old stage-coach belonged 
 it never rained, it was never cold, one was never in a 
 hurry, there were no missions of life and death to make 
 one curse the delay of a moment if one's companions 
 were always good-tempered, and one's body was so con- 
 stituted as to endure jerks and jolts and a sitting posture 
 for hours at a stretch without inconvenience then the 
 old stage-coach may be conceived to have been a very 
 agreeable means of locomotion. But as I have been 
 informed by several elderly gentlemen that the weather 
 forty years ago was pretty much the same sort of weather 
 that it now is, that strokes of death and strokes of busi- 
 ness requiring immense despatch happened then as they
 
 FOR HANWITCH. 237 
 
 happen every day ; in a word, that in most atmospheri- 
 cal, moral, and civic respects the early years of this 
 century differed but very little from these its maturer 
 days, I can only repeat, in spite of the protests of several 
 venerable friends who seem to find most things (even 
 whilst enjoying them) objectionable which are not as 
 aged as themselves, that if we have one excuse better 
 than another for being on good terms with the times 
 we live in, it is because the picturesque old stage-coach 
 makes no condition of our daily existence. 
 
 Hanwitch was about fifty miles from London. To- 
 day a traveller would be carried the distance in about 
 an hour and three-quarters. Holdsworth, starting at 
 half-past seven in the morning, would, providing that 
 the coach did not break down or overturn, reach the 
 town at about four o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 He awoke at half -past six, and at once rose. The 
 morning was a bright one, but all the efforts of the 
 sunshine to squeeze itself through the wire blinds and 
 dusty panes of the coffee-room windows could not avail 
 to communicate the faintest spark of cheerfulness to the 
 dingy apartment, with its bare tables and blue-coloured 
 looking-glass over the chimney, arid the old-fashioned 
 prints around the walls, suggestive, one knew not why, 
 of London milk and discoloured blankets. 
 
 The waiter came in, looking dejected, limp, and fluey, 
 and perhaps to pay Holdsworth out for neglecting to 
 leave word at the bar before going to bed, that he should 
 want to breakfast at an unreasonable hour, declaimed a 
 bill of fare, nearly every item of which, as Holdsworth 
 named it, he declared could not possibly be got ready 
 before half -past eight. Cold ham and tea must suffice, 
 with which order the waiter sleepily withdrew, and after
 
 238 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 a long absence returned when Holdsworth was on the 
 point of starting up and leaving the house in the full 
 belief that he should miss the coach bearing a teapot 
 of which the contents looked like rain-water, a loaf of 
 bread as hard and slippery as glass under the knife, a 
 lump of butter of the colour and perfume of soaked 
 cheese, and a v ham of which what was not bone was 
 brine. 
 
 Very lightly breaking his fast with these things, 
 Holdsworth called for his bill, and obtaining the services 
 of the Boots to carry his portmanteau, which was all 
 the baggage he had brought with him from Australia, 
 walked to the house from which the Canterbury coach 
 started. 
 
 It wanted but ten minutes of the starting-time, but 
 no coach was visible. However, it was up the yard, and 
 would be brought round in a few minutes, the book-keeper 
 said. As these few minutes threatened to expand into 
 half an hour, Holdsworth entered the bar of the " Can- 
 terbury Arms" to obtain a biscuit and some brandy-and- 
 water, partly to complete the wretched breakfast he had 
 made, and partly to exterminate the vile flavour of the 
 tea that lingered in his mouth. 
 
 When he returned, the coach was out, the horses 
 were in, several passengers were getting into, or climb- 
 ing on top of, the vehicle ; the coachman, muffled about 
 the throat as though the month were November, and 
 the air full of snow, stood on the pavement, smoking a 
 cigar and surveying the whole picture with a lordly and 
 commanding, though a somewhat inflamed eye; and the 
 busy scene was completed by a body of boys and men 
 offering newspapers, walking-sticks, knives, combs, and 
 broad sheets of songs to the passengers, and striving to
 
 FOR HANWITCH. 239 
 
 drown each other's importunities with loud and cease- 
 less clamour. 
 
 Off went the coach at last, with Holdsworth by the 
 coachman's side. The wheels rattled over the hard 
 roads, the houses in long lines swept by, lost by degrees 
 their frowsy exteriors and dingy metropolitan aspects, 
 and attempted little revelations of bucolic life in small 
 gardens, with glimpses of trees in the rear. Then came 
 houses standing alone in grounds of their own, cottages 
 purely pastoral in appearance, with the noise of farm- 
 yards about them, and their atmosphere sweetened by 
 the smell of hay and flowers. These dropped away, the 
 breeze grew pure and elastic, the country opened in 
 wide spaces of waving cornfields spotted with bright 
 poppies, and swelling meadow lands and green fields 
 shaded by groups of trees, with here and there a lark 
 whistling in the blue sky, and all London lying behind, 
 marking its mighty presence by a haze that seemed to 
 stretch for miles and miles, and paled the heavens to 
 the hue of its own complexion. 
 
 Holdsworth was such bad company that the coach- 
 man soon ceased his " observations " touching the differ- 
 ent scenes through which they passed, and addressed 
 himself to his companion on the right, a young gentle- 
 man who was going as far as Chatham, and who lighted 
 several large cigars in less than half an hour, pulling at 
 them with hollows in his cheeks, and looking at the ash 
 of them, and preserving a very pale face. Holdsworth 
 had something else to think about than the coachman's 
 refined and classical remarks, delivered from the depth 
 of three shawls. The quick rolling of the coach over 
 the smooth turnpike-road was inducing an exhilaration 
 that acted upon him as good wine acts upon the brain,
 
 240 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 giving clearness and freedom to thought, and causing 
 life to be felt at her most secret sources. There was 
 the impression in his mind that he had once before 
 travelled on the top of a stage-coach along this very 
 road, though when, or under what circumstances, or 
 whether he had actually performed the journey or had 
 read of some one else having done it, he could not tell. 
 The scenery they were travelling through was altogether 
 delicious, and better than a cordial to a man who had 
 just landed from a three and a half months' voyage at 
 sea. The aspect of the country was full of that sober 
 sweetness of general effect which soothes the heart with 
 a deep sense of home ; of broad yellow tracts burnished 
 by the sunshine, of the delicate shadowing of green, and 
 the neutral tint of fallow soil ; houses made as dainty 
 by distance as pictures on ivory ; great trees spreading 
 their broad abundant leaves over cool spaces of gleam- 
 ing water; with the animation, now and again, of 
 human life, where men worked in the fields, or where 
 children sported before the houses, stopping their frolics 
 to cheer the coach, while women held babies high in 
 their hands and swayed to the delighted plunging of 
 the chubby limbs. 
 
 Holdsworth, however, was by no means a sample of 
 the " outsides " carried by the coach, whatever the de- 
 portment of the invisible " insides " might have been. 
 There were some half-a-dozen people on the roof, includ- 
 ing two girls, one of whom was decidedly pretty and the 
 other decidedly coquettish. These young ladies, at the 
 first going off, had been ceaseless in the expression of 
 their fears that, though it was true they were up all 
 right, they should never be able to get down again. A 
 gentleman with a turn-up nose, expressive of the utmost
 
 FOR HANWITCII. 241 
 
 self-complacency, had taken it upon himself to comfort 
 the ladies, by remarking that getting down was in every 
 case easier than getting up, because the natural tendency 
 of the human body was to fall ; at which the ladies had 
 murmured "Impertinence!" and "Some people are 
 better seen than heard," and such-like scathing phrases, 
 thereby sanctioning the display of such wit as the turn- 
 up-nosed gentleman possessed, which he exerted with 
 such good effect that the ladies grew crimson under un- 
 controllable fits of laughter. Then the guard struck in, 
 and provoked the other outsiders to talk ; and presently 
 a large flat bottle was handed around, which had the 
 effect of making everybody who put it to his or her lips 
 merrier still. Onwards rattled the coach with its noisy, 
 laughing burden, flinging sounds of life broadcast over 
 the green country, provoking many a pair of slow bucolic 
 eyes to stare it gravely out of sight, raising clouds of 
 dust as the wheels went softly over the floury highway, 
 spinning under mile-lengths of trees darkening the road 
 with twinkling shadows, and throbbing with the piercing 
 shrilling of innumerable birds buried in the dense foliage, 
 catching the hot sunshine again in the open, and gleam- 
 ing like a gigantic looking-glass as it sped gaily forward 
 under the broad eye of Heaven. 
 
 It was two o'clock when they changed horses for the 
 second time at a smart little Kentish town, with a gray 
 ruin right in its midst, and an old church hard by it, 
 with one of the snuggest of rectories peeping at the 
 world out of the silence and shadow of a rich orchard. 
 Some of the " insides " got out here and went their ways, 
 and were no more seen. The young ladies on the roof 
 were entreated to alight by the small-nosed man, but 
 this they noisily refused to do, the mere idea of such a 
 
 R
 
 242 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 thing causing them to catch hold of each other. The 
 delay, however, was a short one. The jaded horses, 
 with streaks of white foam upon their polished hides, 
 were taken out and fresh ones put in ; the coachman, 
 smelling strongly of gin and peppermint, climbed into 
 his place, cracked his whip, and off started the coach, 
 followed by a crowd of excited boys, who chased it clear 
 of the town and then threw stones after it. 
 
 " Where might you be for, sir ?" inquired the coach- 
 man of Holds worth, speaking out of his stomach like a 
 ventriloquist. 
 
 " Hanwitch." 
 
 " Several stoppages afore Hanwitch," said the coach- 
 man. 
 
 " How many 1" 
 
 " Vy, there's Saltwell, Halton, Gadstone, and South- 
 bourne." 
 
 " Southbourne ?" 
 
 "Yes, Southbourne, of course. That's the willage 
 jist afore Hanwitch." 
 
 " Southbourne ! Southbourne !" repeated Holdsworth, 
 with the old look of bewilderment that invariably entered 
 his face when some familiar name was sounded in his ear. 
 
 The coachman glanced at him over his shawls, and 
 said to himself, quite in the pit of his stomach. " You're 
 a rum 'un, you are ! " 
 
 "P'raps you ar'n't acquainted with the road, sir?" 
 said he. 
 
 " I think I am sure I know Southbourne," replied 
 Holdsworth. " What sort of place is iU" 
 
 " Vot sort o' place 1 Vy, a willage." 
 
 " But what kind of village T 
 
 " All that I know is this, there's a hinn there vere
 
 FOE HANWITCII. 243 
 
 they serves you vitb worry good liquor. Blow'd if I 
 can tell you anything furder. But that's my veakness, 
 sir. Vould you believe me, I've drove coaches through 
 that willage for the last two-and-twenty year, and may 
 I be bil'd if I can tell you anything about it." 
 
 Holdsworth sank into deep thought, while the coach- 
 man, twisting his eyes over his shawls, examined his face 
 and clothes with side-long attention ; then his curiosity 
 being evidently aroused by something in Holdsworth's 
 appearance which widely differed from the cut and style 
 of the passengers he was in the habit of carrying, he 
 said : 
 
 " Might you be a furriner, sir ?" 
 
 " No," answered Holdsworth. 
 
 " I've a brother in Californy. P'raps you might know 
 them parts, sir ?" 
 
 " I have just returned from Australia." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed the coachman, looking staggered ; 
 " that's a good vays off ain't it ?" 
 
 "The other side of the world." 
 
 " Gor bless me ! A queer place, I've heerd. Full of 
 conwicks. One of our guards was sent out there t'other 
 day for abstracting of money from a wallis." 
 
 This reference operating upon his sympathies, he 
 entered into a story, as long as a newspaper account, of 
 the trial ; " how beautiful the counsill as hadvocated the 
 pore fellow spoke, vich the court vos crowded vith 
 coachmen, who groaned venhever the hadvocate as vos 
 opposed to the guard began to speak, vich behaviour, 
 though it warn't p'raps quite correck, vasn't to be stopped 
 nohows, although the judge looks werry fierce, and the 
 counsill kep' on sayin', ' My lud, if this here noise ain't 
 stopped, I'll throw the case up,' vich was just the thing
 
 244 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 the coachmen vanted" (here he made as though he 
 would poke Holdsworth in the ribs with the butt-end of 
 his whip) ; "but, lor' save yer, it was no go." 
 
 Holdsworth paid no attention to this story, his mind 
 being engaged in a desperate struggle with memory. 
 Indeed, the word " Southbourne " had affected him as 
 no other allusion had. Pale, dim phantoms of memory, 
 comparable to nothing so much as the phosphorescent 
 outlines which the eye may mark fluctuating in the black 
 sea- water, rose and sank in his mind; and though 
 whispering nothing to his breathless anxiety, clearly 
 proving that the faculty which he had long believed 
 dead was beginning to stir and awaken. 
 
 One by one the towns and villages named by the 
 coachman had been passed, and now Southbourne was 
 to come. 
 
 An indescribable anxiety, at once breathless and 
 thrilling, suspending, it seemed to him, the very 
 pulsations of his heart, making his breath come and go 
 in quick, fierce respirations, possessed Holdsworth. 
 
 He held his hands tightly clasped ; all colour had 
 fled from his face, and his deep-sunk eyes glowed with 
 unnatural fire. 
 
 Repeatedly he muttered to himself, "What does 
 this portend t" 
 
 Already his prophetic soul had caught the light, and 
 seemed to know herself, and maddened him and wrung 
 his frame with her wild and bitter struggles to proclaim 
 her inspiration and pierce her reflected beam through 
 the film that still blinded the eye of the mind. 
 
 The sun was still high, and flung its yellow brilliance 
 over the fair and gilded prospect. The coach had 
 turned the corner of the long road that led straight as
 
 FOR HANWITCH. 245 
 
 an arrow into Southbourne ; and far away at the ex- 
 tremity, in mingled shadow and shine, the few houses 
 could be seen, with the spire of St. George's Church 
 rearing high its flaming vane, and on the left the gleam 
 of the river shadowed by many trees. 
 
 " There's Southbourne ! " said the coachman, pointing 
 with his whip. 
 
 The dust whirled in a cloud behind the wheels, the 
 guard sounded his horn, and with a rush and a rattle 
 the coach drew up opposite the " Hare and Hounds," a 
 tavern as familiar to Holdsworth as the sight of his 
 own hand. 
 
 " Hullo !" cried the coachman. " Hi, you there ! 
 Help ! A glass o' brandy ! Blowed if the gentleman 
 hasn't fainted !" 
 
 " Fainted ! " cried the young ladies on the top of the 
 coach, leaning forward to catch a sight of his face. 
 
 No, not fainted j but struck down by a revelation 
 such as, had the two young ladies and the small-nosed 
 man and the coachman been told the story of it, would 
 have supplied them with enough matter to keep them 
 talking without intermission as long as the coach-wheels 
 turned. 
 
 Memory, coming out of the little house at the bottom 
 of the long familiar thoroughfare, out of the little house 
 that turned its shoulder upon the highway and parted 
 it into lanes, had rushed upon him like an armed man, 
 and struck him a staggering blow. He had dropped 
 under it, and, but for the support of the apron over 
 his knees, would have fallen to the ground. 
 
 The guard ran into the tavern and returned with a glass 
 of brandy, which the coachman put to Holdsworth's lips.
 
 246 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 " Thank you, I am better now," he exclaimed. 
 
 " Glad to hear it," said the coachman. 
 
 " I will get down here." 
 
 " Aren't you booked for Hanwitch ! " exclaimed the 
 guard, who imagined that the gentleman's head 
 wandered. 
 
 " No this will do I will go no further; Help me 
 with your hand thank you." 
 
 He reached the ground, watched by a group of 
 persons who made a movement as though to support 
 him, when they saw him swaying to and fro like a 
 drunken man, and staring fixedly down the road. But 
 in a moment or two, with a struggle, he stood firm. 
 His portmanteau was handed out and carried into the 
 bar. The guard took his place ; the coachman, with a 
 glance over his shawls to see that Holdsworth stood 
 clear of the wheels, jerked the reins, and the coach 
 rattled out of sight.
 
 CHAPTEE XXIL 
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 
 
 RIGHT in the middle of the road stood Holds worth, 
 casting his eyes first to the right, then to the left, then 
 letting them rest fixedly on the house at the extremity. 
 
 Here was the scene, the place at last, that was to 
 roll back the curtains which hid the past from him, and 
 to proclaim the resurrection of the life within him that 
 for years had slept a sleep as deep as death. 
 
 There he stood, brought by God's hand from a far- 
 off world into the little Kentish village, where his 
 memories lay heaped, where association made a beacon 
 of every humble house to lead him with unerring step 
 backward and backward to the sweetest, the dearest of 
 all his memories. 
 
 How remembered, how deeply remembered, the 
 scene ! The old tavern on the right, with its swinging 
 signboard, its burnished latticed windows, the great elm 
 tree spreading its branches, like soft fingers, over the 
 red-tiled roof; the farmhouse facing it, with the clamour 
 of hidden poultry all about it, softened by the cooing of 
 doves ; and the cherry and apple trees stretching forth 
 their fruit over the wooden railing, and the strings of 
 white linen drying in the open spaces among the trees ; 
 the vista of gable-peaked houses, the old shops, the 
 grassy land between the houses, the blacksmith's shed,
 
 248 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 the hens in the roadway, the children on the doorsteps, 
 the women working at the open windows, and the little 
 house at the extremity, backed by soft masses of green 
 trees and the delicate blue of the afternoon sky. 
 
 He knew his life's history as he surveyed this scene, 
 as though a voice in his ear were whispering it all to 
 him. The chain was too complete not to suggest the 
 unseen links ; the throng of associations was too mani- 
 fold and pregnant not to reveal to his mind the things 
 which his eyes beheld not. Swiftly and fiercely a very 
 whirlwind of logic thought flew over each stepping- 
 stone to the hidden past ; and then he knew what he 
 had left, what he was now to seek, and what had been 
 the WANT which his instincts that deeper life of his of 
 which the movements were independent of the senses 
 had never lost sight of. 
 
 "When his faintness had passed, a great joy took pos- 
 session of him an impulse so keenly exhilarating, that 
 he could have cried aloud in his rapture. But then 
 came a revulsion a deadly fear of what he knew not, 
 save that its presence turned him into ice, and damped 
 his forehead with sweat. 
 
 He was all unconscious of the eyes that were upon 
 him; but some one approaching made him turn his 
 head, and he saw several persons watching him curiously 
 from the door of the inn, while others, plain country 
 people in smocks and highlows, muttered to one another 
 as they stared from the pavement. 
 
 " Won't you please to step in, sir ?" said the man 
 who came forward, a short, square-faced individual, in 
 a black calico apron and a white hat. 
 
 "Who lives in that house?" returned Holdsworth, 
 pointing down the road.
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 249 
 
 " That one yonder, with the chimbley looking this 
 way 1 Why, I don't think anybody's living in it just 
 now, although I did hear that it was taken by a party 
 from Ashford. Emily ! " he called. 
 
 A stout, well-looking woman elbowed her way out 
 of the tavern, and stood on the lower step. 
 
 " The gentleman wants to know who lives in that 
 house at the bottom." 
 
 " It's to let. Mr. Markham has the letting of it," 
 answered the woman. 
 
 " His is the shop yonder," said the man. " You'll 
 see ' Undertaker and Joiner ' wrote over the door." 
 
 " I'll send a boy to fetch him, if you like," said the 
 woman. 
 
 " I'll goa, missus," remarked an old man in a long 
 blouse, turning about on his stick in his eagerness to 
 earn a glass of yale. 
 
 " No, I don't want him," said Holdsworth. 
 
 " Won't you step in and rest yourself, sir V exclaimed 
 the woman, exerting the seductive smile with which 
 she was wont to greet every passenger who stopped at 
 her door. 
 
 Holdsworth hesitated a moment, as though there 
 were a magic in the little distant house that constrained 
 him to keep his eyes upon it, and then entered the tavern, 
 heralded by the landlady, and followed by the landlord. 
 
 The parlour into which he was conducted was as 
 quiet and private as he could wish, screened by a red 
 curtain across the glass of the door from the bar, with 
 a window opening on to a square of ground well stocked 
 with shrubs and vegetables. The sunshine streamed 
 into the room, and lighted up the queer ornaments on 
 the mantelpiece, the fine old china hanging upon rows
 
 250 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 of hooks in a mahogany cabinet, the well-worn carpet, 
 the velvet sofa, the black bottles and glittering tankards 
 on the shelves of the sideboard. 
 
 The landlord went behind the bar to look after some 
 besmocked gentry who were drinking in front of it, 
 leaving his wife to attend to Holdsworth. 
 
 "What might you like to order, sir?" she inquired, 
 presenting herself at a side door. 
 
 He asked her to bring him some wine and biscuits, 
 saying that he had no appetite now, but would dine or 
 sup later on. He looked at her very attentively as he 
 spoke, with an idea in his mind that he had seen her 
 before. 
 
 She went away, and he left his seat and paced the 
 room with a wild look of distress on his face, and bitter 
 anxiety and fear in his heart. Once he snatched up 
 his hat and advanced to the door, but hesitated and re- 
 sumed his agitated walk. His feelings were those of a 
 man just awakened to consciousness from the effects of a 
 blow that had stunned him. His body trembled, his lips 
 worked, and he held his hands squeezed tightly together. 
 His sufferings were indeed terrible. He looked back 
 upon the blank of five years and recoiled before the 
 conjectures his heart prompted as to the things which 
 had happened in that time. Sometimes his impulse 
 was to rush forth and cry aloud for Dolly, and then a 
 deadly chill came over him, and he shut his eyes and 
 beat aside his thoughts, as though they were something 
 tangible and apart from him, with his hand. 
 
 When the door opened, he bit his lip to control 
 himself, and kept his back turned upon the woman in 
 feigned inspection of a print upon the wall. As she 
 was about to withdraw, he looked at her and said :
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 251 
 
 " Have you lived long in Southbourne 1 " 
 
 " Yes, sir, many years." 
 
 He seated himself and drank a glass of wine. 
 
 " How many years ?" 
 
 "Oh, twelve, thirteen. Ah, more like fifteen years, 
 sir ! " 
 
 " So long ! Then you know all the people here 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I daresay I do," answered the woman, 
 putting her hands under her apron, and examining 
 Holdsworth's face and clothes with great curiosity. 
 
 " Who last lived in that house at the bottom of the 
 street?" 
 
 "You mean the one you was askin' my husband 
 about V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Mr. Fairchild, the butcher, after he sold his business 
 about two years ago." 
 
 " Who before Mr. Fairchild ?" 
 
 " It stood empty awhile after Mrs. Holdsworth left 
 it." 
 
 "Where is she now?" 
 
 " Livin' at Han witch, along with her husband, Mr. 
 Conway, the dentist." 
 
 The woman's eyes, when she made this answer, 
 were on the garden ; when she looked again at Holds- 
 worth, his face was turned from her. 
 
 "Did you know any of the parties, sir, as you're 
 asking about V she inquired. 
 
 He did not answer her, and she, thinking that he 
 had not heard her, continued : 
 
 " I was servant along with poor Mr. Newcome before 
 the old gentleman died, and saw a good deal of Mrs. 
 Holdsworth, as I always call her ; for, somehow, I can
 
 252 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 never bear to think of her as Mrs. Conway, for her 
 heart never went with her hand when she married that 
 gentleman, as I can bear witness to, for I was at the 
 wedding, and never saw a poor body cry as she did. 
 She and her grandmother, old Mrs. Flemming, was often 
 at the rectory . . . but I beg pardon, sir; you was 
 speaking of the house. I can't remember who had it 
 before Mrs. Holdsworth. It's a long time ago." 
 
 Holdsworth raised his head. 
 
 Up to the moment of her speaking of Dolly he had 
 not known his own name ; all other memories had re- 
 turned to him, save that. His face was very white, but 
 there was a strong expression in it. If the woman were 
 to talk for another twelve hours, she could add nothing 
 more to what she had already said. Dolly's death he 
 had expected as he had expected a hundred other name- 
 less possibilities, when memory swooped upon him and 
 set him peering over the edge of the chasm that sepa- 
 rated the Then from the Now ; but not her marriage. 
 Not that. In all the hours he had passed in the open 
 boat at sea, beholding death striking down his com- 
 panions about him, suffering the exquisite torture of 
 thirst, the yet more exquisite pang of hopelessness, there 
 was no moment of agony in all that time comparable to 
 the agony that now wrenched him. It might be one of 
 those terrible experiences which break the heart or 
 transform the nature, but it gave to or found in Holds- 
 worth a quality of endurance that enabled him to front 
 the extremity with a face of marble. 
 
 When next he spoke his voice was low, but without 
 a tremor in it. 
 
 "I am interested in Mrs. Conway and her old 
 grandmother. Tell me what you know about them."
 
 SOTJTHBOUKNE. 253 
 
 " Surely, sir, you don't bring news of Mr. Holdsworth 
 of the fine young man that went to sea and was 
 shipwrecked 1 ?" inquired the woman with a face of 
 excitement, and staring hard, as if she were about to 
 receive some astounding news. 
 
 "No, no 1" he answered, almost under his breath; 
 and then he added, "Tell me what you know of the 
 widow." 
 
 " I remember Mr. Holdsworth well," said the woman, 
 her speech answering to her mood. "A handsomer 
 young fellow I never saw. He used often to be at the 
 rectory with his wife, and the love between them was 
 something beautiful. How she ever had the heart to 
 let him leave her I never could guess. But he went 
 and was drowned, and left the young thing without 
 a friend or a shilling in the wide world, God help 
 her ; and though I said it was almost stupid her marry- 
 ing Mr. Conway, remembering what love there was 
 between her and Mr. Holdsworth, yet I have always 
 believed it was for her child's sake that she married the 
 dentist, for they were in desperate want when he 
 courted her, and must have starved for want of help." 
 
 " You are speaking of Holdsworth's child 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir. A bright little thing, and fair as a lily. 
 I saw her the other day when I was over at Han witch. 
 She was with her mamma, and I never see such a like- 
 ness as there is between her and her poor drowned 
 papa. But you're askin' about old Mrs. Flemming. 
 Why, she died four years ago. She was very old, and 
 went off quite peaceful, they said. What with Mrs. 
 Flemming's death, and her never getting any news of 
 her husband, and having a tiny little baby to find food 
 for, I do think the poor young lady's heart nearly
 
 254 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 broke. I never heard exactly how the money matter 
 was with her, but I believe that when Mrs. Flemming 
 died she would have nothing to live on but her 
 husband's pay, which was stopped when he was given up 
 for lost. Mr. Newcome was very kind, and paid her 
 rent, and helped her along while he lived; and then 
 Mr. Conway saw her; but it was a long time before 
 she would marry him, long after the poor old rector was 
 dead and gone, and she found that taking in needle- 
 work was worse than going on the parish. I often 
 think of her I do, indeed, sir waiting day after day 
 for her husband, who was never to come home. I'd 
 rather, myself, have married anybody than a sailor. 
 There's no telling, when once they go, whether they'll 
 ever come back again. They're worse nor soldiers for 
 that." 
 
 Here the woman, suddenly conceiving that she had 
 talked quite enough, and perhaps a little too much, 
 dropped a courtesy and left the room ; but came back 
 again to ask two questions At what hour would the 
 gentleman please to dine ? and would he like to have a 
 bed-room in her house? She could recommend her 
 bed-rooms. Her linen was clean as snow. 
 
 "I will tell you presently," answered Holdsworth. 
 " I have not yet decided upon my movements." 
 
 " There's a nice plump fowl " 
 
 " Yes, cook me that by seven o'clock," said Holds- 
 worth, who was feverishly impatient to be left alone. 
 
 She closed the door, and Holdsworth leaned his 
 temples on his hands and fixed his heavy eyes on the 
 bare table, taking the attitude of a student striving to 
 master some difficult problem. 
 
 For many minutes he held this posture, presently
 
 SOUTHBOUKNE. 255 
 
 lifted his head, and looked about him ; then took his 
 hat and went out. 
 
 The landlord behind the bar made him a low bow, 
 and offered his services to show him over the village. 
 Holdsworth declined his offer with a " Thank you," and 
 walked into the road. He glanced over his shoulder 
 suspiciously as he advanced, disliking the inquisitive 
 stare with which he had been followed through the bar 
 of the inn by the people drinking there, but no one 
 watched him. He held a stick, on which he leaned as he 
 moved, like an infirm man ; and often he paused and 
 gazed around him. The people in the roadway, or in 
 the houses, eyed him as he passed with the curiosity a 
 stranger seldom fails to excite in small unfrequented 
 places ; but he took no notice of them ; his mind was 
 intent on vivifying the impressions it was receiving with 
 old memories, and adjusting the ideas which had been 
 restored to him out of the dark and secret hiding-places 
 of the past. 
 
 Few changes had been made in the aspect of the 
 little village to embarrass the picture which his re- 
 covered memory had submitted to him. Some altera- 
 tions in the external form of one or two shops, and two 
 freshly -built houses on the left-hand side facing the 
 blacksmith's shed, were the only new features in the 
 familiar scene of this quaint broad thoroughfare. 
 
 His steps grew more reluctant, his face took a sharper 
 expression of pain, though never losing its characteristic 
 of hardness and severity, as he drew near to his old 
 home. He forced himself forwards, and, when abreast, 
 halted and looked at it. 
 
 The windows were blindless, the garden showed 
 signs of long neglect, and a board nailed to a post
 
 250 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 leaned towards the road, bearing the announcement, in 
 painted letters^ that the house was to let. A row of 
 cobwebs garnished the woodwork of the gate, and 
 glistened in the sunshine ; the bare rooms, visible 
 through the windows, looked cheerless and inhospit- 
 able ; the window -glass was dirty, and some of the 
 panes in the kitchen window were broken. The grass 
 about the house was tall and vividly green. That 
 window, looking towards the trees between the lanes, 
 belonged to Dolly's room. There were white soft 
 curtains to it in those days, and the glass was pure and 
 transparent as spring-water. That room on the left 
 was the sitting-room. There they had taken their meals; 
 there they had played forfeits, had hunted the slipper, 
 had made the walls ring with innocent laughter. He 
 remembered the old grandmother's placid smile, the 
 rector's kindly jokes, his Dolly's sweet face, throwing a 
 light of purity and beauty about her. And under the 
 sill were the dead branches of the clematis, still held 
 to the wall by the pieces of black leather Dolly's own 
 hand had nailed. Such humble signs make grief sharper 
 than large memorials. 
 
 He stood leaning upon his stick, losing all sense of 
 the present in this vision of the past. His thoughts, 
 taking their departure from the time when he first fitted 
 out that house as a home for Dolly, flowed regularly 
 downwards. He was a bridegroom again, and his wife 
 was at his side, and her eyes upon his, and their hands 
 clasped. Now the shadow of separation that was to 
 darken them presently was felt ; and then came the eve 
 of his departure, thronged with the memory of kisses 
 sweet and bitter, of tears and broken prayers, and brave 
 hopes battling with sullen misgivings. He was now on
 
 SOUTHBOURNE. 257 
 
 board the "Meteor," and now in the open boat, sur- 
 rounded by the dying, and himself suffering tortures it 
 broke him down to recall ; and now he was in Australia, 
 striving with memory, which would yield no answer to 
 his passionate prayers. But the finger of God pointed 
 the way to his old home ; and now he was returning to 
 England, with his past still hidden in gloom, but with 
 his heart not unhopeful of the morning that was to 
 break after the long darkness of the night. And finally, 
 with the old village of Southbourne before him, came 
 the rush of memory the brief exultation the spasm 
 of fear the terror that held him mute the disclosure 
 that showed him his wife less his than had he tra- 
 versed all the desolate miles of water only to kneel by 
 her grave .... 
 
 Tears would have relieved him, but he could not 
 weep. He turned and moved slowly away, stopping 
 again and again to look back at the little empty house, 
 while sobs convulsed him, and a sense of supreme desola- 
 tion and friendlessness weighed him down. 
 
 v*
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 THE fowl dished up by the landlady and served upon 
 fine linen, was plump, and juicy and aromatic enough to 
 re-excite the appetite of an alderman after Mansion 
 House dinner ; but Holdsworth hardly touched it. The 
 woman looked vexed as she removed it, for the neglect 
 of such a dainty was as good as a spoken disparagement 
 of her skill as a cook. She set a fine cheese, fresh from 
 the farmhouse over the way, upon the table, and butter 
 from the same dairy, firm and sweet-smelling, as butter 
 should be ; but these were left untasted. 
 
 " I don't know who he may be," she whispered to 
 her husband, outside, " but if he don't make a better 
 dinner than this every day, it's no wonder his body's a 
 shadder." 
 
 The setting sunshine streamed into the little parlour 
 in which Holdsworth sat, and enriched the room with 
 its vivid crimson light ; the soft evening breeze wafted 
 pleasant perfumes through the open window; and in 
 the air was the tender and delightful peace which falls 
 with an appreciable hush over little country villages, 
 where the sinking of the sun is the signal for rest. 
 
 Holdsworth had made up his mind to sleep in South-
 
 REFLECTIONS. 259 
 
 bourne that night. He needed the silence and the soil- 
 tude the little inn promised him, that he might meditate 
 upon the steps he should now take. 
 
 The feverish misery that had been born in him by 
 the landlady's story was, in some measure, tranquillised, 
 and he had now the power, at least, to think with 
 tolerable clearness. And yet he was sorely perplexed, 
 as he sat with his head resting on his hand and his 
 weary eyes fixed on the little garden outside. Impulses 
 were governing him that made his mind incline from 
 side to side like a pendulum. Had Mr. Newcome been 
 alive the kind and good old rector, whom he recalled 
 with love he would have gone to him, avowed himself, 
 and entreated his counsel. 
 
 He felt that Dolly was dead to him. He felt this, 
 though no words that he had at his command would 
 have enabled him to explain his ideas. His own grand 
 sense of honour witnessed this truth, that she had 
 married another man in full belief that he John Holds- 
 worth was dead ; and he recognised and appreciated 
 the force of the overwhelming claims of the moral obliga- 
 tion imposed on him to leave her belief undisturbed. 
 Why ] Because its disturbance would generate a heavy 
 burden of shame, would make her practically false to 
 both men, and stain her nature with a sin whose hue 
 would not be the less dark in the sight of the world 
 because her conscience had no share in it. 
 
 Such instinctive perception of the high needs of the 
 seldom-paralleled situation his fate had placed him in, 
 could only have possessed a man of deep honour, great 
 humanity, and rare unselfishness. 
 
 But his child 1 
 
 The child of his own passionate love for Dolly.
 
 260 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 There was the magnetic power that drew all his inclina- 
 tions away from the silent command of honour. 
 
 To see her to behold himself renewed in a sweet 
 child's face to press his lips once to her cheek once 
 only, if nevermore ! 
 
 Oh ! not once not once only ! To dwell near her, 
 to have her in his sight, to watch them both, and live 
 out the years that should be allotted him in secret con- 
 templation of the joy, the sacred pleasures, the divine 
 emotions embodied in this woman and her babe ; happi- 
 nesses which had been broken away from his life could 
 not this be ? 
 
 He started up and looked at himself in the glass over 
 the mantel-shelf. Had suffering wrought in his face to 
 such poor purpose, that even the eye of love could pierce 
 through the sunken mask ? His child knew him not 
 and Dolly, deeming him dead, and holding him a thing 
 of the irreclaimable past, could not behold could never 
 imagine that she beheld in that bowed figure, that 
 bearded face, those hollow eyes, that hair with patches 
 of gray all over it, the handsome, vigorous, upright, 
 clear-eyed man whom she had called husband. 
 
 Husband ! . . . and she had left him. 
 
 Stop ! Passages of the landlady's story echoed in 
 his ears ; how the poor young lady was starving ; how 
 she had a tiny baby to support; how the workhouse 
 seemed better to her than the hopeless, scanty produce 
 of the needle ; how she held back, reluctant to give her 
 hand to the man who wished to marry her ; how she 
 had wept when her hand was given 1 
 
 Oh, husband ! oh, lover ! though to the past only 
 those titles now belong; by your own sufferings, remem- 
 ber hers ! By your own misery, when, feeling yourself
 
 REFLECTIONS. 261 
 
 dying alone on the great deep, your physical torments 
 yielded to the fiercer tortures of your heart when you 
 thought of your wife praying for him, whom, you said 
 to yourself, she shall never see again, remember her! 
 pity her I Was his imagination so poor that he could 
 not find it in him to make, out of the landlady's brief 
 tale, a pregnant, bitter picture of his wife's trials ? Not 
 so ! To such a heart as his, one hint of misery would 
 bring with it many piteous details. There was infinite 
 anguish in the picture his fancy drew ; but he forced 
 himself to contemplate it, that the jealousy, the disap- 
 pointment, the despair of unfulfilled hope, might melt 
 out of his heart, and leave it a fit shrine for the conse- 
 cration of the two images which the uncontrollable will 
 of his humanity as a father and a husband declared 
 should be placed there. 
 
 His fingers had stolen over his face as he stood 
 before the looking-glass. A long time he thus remained, 
 while the sun went down behind the trees in the far-off 
 fields, and the twilight stole softly into the room and 
 made his figure visionary. When he withdrew his 
 hands from his eyes, they were wet ; but the one star 
 shining clearly in the dark blue overhead had dawned 
 out of the light to witness a fairer sight than the sun 
 had shone upon a face from which all vestige of hard- 
 ness and severity had passed, eyes heavy with tears up- 
 turned to God's kingdom, and lips whispering a prayer 
 for help, for courage, for counsel, to aid the resolution 
 of his heart, intent upon a noble self-sacrifice that should 
 yet not remove it from the sphere of all that it held 
 dearest on earth.
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 HANWITCH. 
 
 HANWITCH is nowhere seen to greater advantage than 
 from the summit of the little hill that flanks it on the 
 west. Here, if you are an epicure in your enjoyment 
 of what is picturesque in scenery, you will take your 
 stand at sunset, while the splendour still flushes the 
 heavens, and the country all around is tinted with a 
 delicate crimson haze. In this fairy light, Han witch, 
 from where you stand, will resemble some architectural 
 dream ; for the serene sky gives an ideality to the pro- 
 portions which are magnified by the soft combining 
 shadows, and peace broods in the streets. The noble 
 church dedicated to St. James towers in the midst of 
 the houses ; its spire glows with the red fire, which a 
 little while before had bathed the whole pile and kindled 
 brilliant stars in its long and narrow windows ; and all 
 about the church rise and fall the roofs of closely-grouped 
 houses, manifold in colour, with lines of thin blue smoke 
 mounting straight into the sky. The town lies backed 
 with wooded scenery, and the picturesque outlines of 
 the houses take a new detail of beauty from the relief 
 they give to the soft dark masses of trees and lightlier- 
 coloured fields which make up the farther landscape.
 
 HANWITCH. 263 
 
 And as you watch, a human interest will be communi- 
 cated to the town by the breaking out here and there of 
 little yellow lights. Darkness soon falls when the 
 crimson flush pales upon the sky ; but where you stand 
 daylight is still around, mellowed into deepest, richest, 
 beauty of colour, and so lingering ere it fades into the 
 gray and gloom of twilight. 
 
 The town has been enlarged since the days to which 
 this story belongs ; but elderly people are living whose 
 love for the old High Street scarcely reconciles them to 
 the "improvements" which have been made in its aspect. 
 Surveyors and local boards press sorely upon gentle 
 prejudices. These elderly people remember the row of 
 antique houses where the big bank building now stands. 
 They remember certain primitive shops, the windows 
 of which were furnished with diamond-shaped panes of 
 glass that discoloured to the eye the wares exposed for 
 sale within. They remember the picturesque alley out 
 of the High Street, with a cottage at the end of it that 
 had a green porch ; it looked from its cool retreat upon 
 the narrow slice of the main thoroughfare with its pass- 
 engers flitting like shadows past the brief opening. 
 And I myself can recall the wonderful effect of light 
 and shadow in that tranquil embrasure when the even- 
 ings lengthened, and as I beheld it once a maid-servant, 
 picturesquely attired in a red petticoat, lolling within 
 the porch, her hand upon her hips, laughing at a dog 
 that stood on its hind legs begging ; the figures 
 shadowed, the windows above burning with the light of 
 the setting sun, the pavement a deep gray. 
 
 In Holdsworth's time, the vehicles and passengers 
 were in perfect keeping with the venerable and faded 
 but dignified aspect of the old street. The townspeople
 
 264 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 still lingered behind the transition-epoch of that bygone 
 day, and held for the most part tenaciously to the cos- 
 tumes and the indolence of their fathers. 
 
 The town was about an hour's walk from South- 
 bourne. After quitting the handful of houses which 
 formed the village, Hanwitch came upon you as a metro- 
 polis. To describe it in homely guide-book fashion : 
 It had two good churches, and a public square full of 
 evergreens, rock-work, and stone images ; several snug 
 inns, one wide street and a quantity of narrow ones ; a 
 town-hall, a market-place, a prison, and a town -crier; 
 a large number of old ladies and fat poodles, invalids, 
 sedan-chairs, and camp-stools. In olden times and 
 now I am talking of the eighteenth century it had 
 held some sort of position as a third-rate inland water- 
 ing-place ; but what had become of the springs which 
 had brought the gout, the vapours, and the spleen from 
 places as distant as London to drink, the oldest inhabit- 
 ant never could remember. But one thing was certain : 
 there was no lack of water in the place. A river ran 
 close to it, and from this river meandered some crystal 
 streamlets which ran right into the town. And where 
 the river was, the scenery was exquisite in summer cool, 
 deep, and leafy, with a bridge at each end of the town, 
 a little landing-stage, a punt or two, and midway be- 
 tween the bridges, a cluster of trees on either bank, 
 with huge gnarled trunks and roots which ran naked 
 for many feet along the ground, whilst, high above, 
 their branches mingled and formed a tunnel for the 
 water to flow under. Here the trout would leap ; here 
 the water-rat would sneak from its earthy chamber and 
 break the tide into thin ripples as it noiselessly made 
 for the opposite shore ; here the sunshine would fall in
 
 HANWITCH. 265 
 
 threads through the leaves and gild the black long- 
 legged insects on the surface of the water. 
 
 Ten o'clock was striking when Holdsworth was 
 driven into Hanwitch by the landlord of the South- 
 bourne inn, who was rich enough to own a horse and 
 gig. The drive had been a very short one, and in the 
 landlord's opinion seven -and -sixpence had never been 
 more easily earned. The gig was stopped at the door 
 of the " Hanwitch Arms," and Holdsworth got out 
 Then came a porter, who nodded pleasantly to the 
 owner of the gig, and hoisted the portmanteau on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " My respecks to the governor, Joe. How is he?" 
 
 " Pretty middlin' ! How's yourself?" 
 
 "Why, I can't say as I'm quite the thing. The 
 weather's been rayther agin my rheumatiz. Wish you 
 good mornin', sir." 
 
 And with this farewell to Holdsworth, the landlord 
 drove himself away. 
 
 Holdsworth's plans had been fully settled by him the 
 night before ; and one part of them was that he should 
 put up at some inn at Hanwitch, while he made inquiries 
 of deep interest to himself, and obtained a lodging. 
 Having followed the porter into the bar and ordered a 
 bed for the night, he re-entered the street. 
 
 His emotions, as he first began to walk, were con- 
 flicting and painful. He was now in the town where 
 his wife lived ; any moment might bring them face to 
 face, and the wildest anxiety to see her was mixed up 
 with a sensation of shrinking fear of the encounter. He 
 stared eagerly at the people, and now and again, when 
 a little child passed, his heart beat rapidly, and he felt 
 his blood leave his face. But he mastered himself soon,
 
 266 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 repeatedly muttering, as a reassuring argument, that, 
 were they to meet, Dolly would not know him. 
 
 He was in the main street, walking slowly, and 
 helping his step with a stick, not more from habit than 
 from necessity, for he was frequently seized with a weak- 
 ness in the legs which would sometimes oblige him to 
 stop, or seat himself if a seat were at hand. His object 
 now was to find out where Dolly lived, a question he 
 would not ask the landlady at Southbourne, lest, added 
 to the inquiries he had already made, it should excite 
 her suspicion and set her surmising. 
 
 He noticed a small chemist's shop opposite, and, his 
 mind establishing a friendly connection between drugs 
 and dentistry, he crossed and entered. A bald-headed 
 man in spectacles received him with a bow. 
 
 "Can you tell me where Mr. Conway, the dentist, 
 lives ?" 
 
 The chemist, who knew perfectly well, scratched his 
 ear and seemed to reflect. He drew teeth himself, and 
 was not disposed to furnish a rival with a patient if he 
 could help it. 
 
 " I know the name, sir, and might I ask if you 
 
 want anything done to your teeth." 
 
 " No, I merely wish to know where Mr. Conway lives." 
 
 " It's not for me to speak ill of a brother practitioner, 
 and as I shan't mention names, no harm can be done," 
 said the chemist, with his eye on Holdsworth's mouth ; 
 " but I do say that it's a pity people should start in a 
 business, requiring as much skill as the highest branches 
 of surgery, without knowing the difference between an 
 eye and a wisdom tooth, and drinking to that degree 
 that their hands tremble like the windows of a coach in 
 full tear."
 
 HANWITCH. 267 
 
 "Does Mr. Conway drink ?" 
 
 "I name no names," replied the chemist, assuming 
 an injured expression of face. " I should be sorry to 
 take away any man's character, not to speak of the 
 bread out of his mouth, though there are some people 
 not quite so particular as me in that matter, and will 
 start lies which should make 'em afraid to go to bed. 
 All that I say is, that if I had a toothache, and wanted 
 to get my jaw broke and my gum tore out, I'd go to a 
 certain person livin' not a day's walk from this shop, 
 and ask him to look at my tooth." 
 
 Saying which he nodded vigorously, and, taking up 
 a bottle, began to mould a piece of blue paper over the 
 cork. 
 
 " Where does this Mr. Conway live?" inquired Holds- 
 worth, who judged that there mig"ht be a good deal 
 more of professional animus than truth in the chemist's 
 observations. 
 
 " I believe," replied the chemist, sulkily vouchsafing 
 the information which he could scarcely longer evade, 
 " that the party you refer to lives in the Ellesmere Eoad. 
 He did yesterday ; but some persons in this world are 
 so dependent on their landlords that there's no tellin' 
 what's going to happen to 'em to-morrow." 
 
 Thanking this very good-natured and remarkably 
 ingenuous chemist for his direction, Holdsworth quitted 
 the shop and walked up the street. He asked a butcher- 
 boy the way to Ellesmere Eoad, and was told to keep 
 straight on, until he came to a " Methody's Chapel, ven 
 he'd see a turnin', vich 'ud be the road he ast for." 
 
 The Methodist Chapel was a good distance off, and 
 as Holdsworth 's pace was slow, he had plenty of leisure 
 for reflection, which was bitter enough ; for, strive as
 
 268 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 he might to waive the chemist's gossip as mere trade 
 scandal and jealousy, his mind persisted in fastening on 
 it, and turning it about, and coining deep anxiety out 
 of it. 
 
 If this Mr. Conway were the drunkard the chemist 
 affirmed him to be, and the pauper too for the sarcasm 
 about "persons being dependent on their landlords" had 
 not been lost what kind of life was Dolly and his child 
 leading 1 He frowned, and felt his hand tighten on the 
 handle of his stick ; but a milder persuasion grew in 
 him, and he forced his mind away from the subject. 
 
 So bright a morning as it was would bring forth many 
 people ; and the High Street was tolerably well filled 
 with pedestrians, and old people in bath-chairs, wheeled 
 along the gutters for fear of the horses, and nurses 
 dragging children by the hand, and waggons, and trades- 
 men's traps. The early coach from Canterbury came 
 thundering along the street, the guard blowing his horn 
 and causing house-windows to fly open, and heads to 
 protrude, and a handkerchief, or, maybe, a duster here 
 and there, to be waved in coy recognition of the hand- 
 kissing of certain spruce and finely-attired gentlemen 
 on the top of the vehicle. 
 
 But, varied and cheerful as the scene was, Holds- 
 worth had no eyes but for the women and children he 
 met, at whom he darted quick eager glances, which must 
 have sent some of the women tripping along with a 
 sincere conviction that they had met with one admirer, 
 at all events, that morning. 
 
 He passed the market-place with its stalls loaded 
 with garden produce, and clean little shops submitting 
 a tempting array of plump fowls, geese, sides of bacon, 
 legs of pork, and strings of sausages; and in about
 
 HAN WITCH. 269 
 
 twenty minutes' time reached the Methodist Chapel, 
 and turned into the Ellesmere Road. 
 
 A short broad road, with the sun-lighted country be- 
 yond ; on either side, small newly-built villas, with now 
 and again a house presenting a more venerable aspect. 
 There was grass in the roadway, and one or two of the 
 villas had placards in their windows. In the front 
 garden of one of the nearer houses an old gentleman, 
 with an inflamed face, and a white hankerchief over his 
 head, was plying a rake. No other person was visible ; 
 but, when Holdsworth had advanced a few steps, a 
 woman came out of a gate and approached him. His 
 heart came into his throat, and he stood stock still. She 
 drew near, but she was not Dolly. She glanced at him 
 as she passed, struck, maybe, by his pale face, and the 
 singular mixture of old age and youth which his appear- 
 ance and figure suggested. 
 
 He breathed deeply and walked forward, glancing to 
 right and left of him. 
 
 The last house but one on the left was the house he 
 wanted. A brass plate inscribed with Conway's name 
 and calling was fixed to the iron railings, and over the 
 door was a lamp furnished with blue and red glass. 
 
 Holdsworth dared scarcely glance at it. When his 
 eye encountered the name he turned cold, and felt the 
 damp perspiration suffusing his forehead. 
 
 He came back hurriedly, with the bare impression on 
 his mind of a small house with the upper blinds drawn, 
 and with an untended garden in the front. 
 
 He returned to the main entrance of the road, stopped, 
 looked back, and then slowly retraced his steps. 
 
 There was a house of an older fashion than any of 
 the others on the right-hand side, about midway ; one
 
 270 JOHN HOLDSWORTEL 
 
 that had evidently taken root there many years before 
 the little villas had gathered themselves together to 
 intercept its view and violate its pastoral solitude. Its 
 doorway was sheltered by a roomy porch, with creepers 
 clambering up its trellised supporters ; its darkling win- 
 dows had the burnished glitter upon them that is peculiar 
 to old glass ; its eaves were capacious enough to accom- 
 modate a whole colony of swallows, and it had a fab- 
 piece of ground stretching away at its back. The bright 
 brass knocker on the green door, the white doorsteps, 
 the purity of the window glass, and the spotlessness of 
 the window drapery, afforded an excellent guarantee 
 of the housewifely qualities of the inmates. In one of 
 the windows hung a card. Holdsworth opened the gate 
 and knocked. 
 
 " I should like to see your apartments," he said to 
 the cheerful-faced, middle-aged woman who had promptly 
 replied to his summons. 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; please to walk in." 
 
 She threw open the door of a long sitting-room, smell- 
 ing of lavender and mignonette, and furnished with worked 
 chairs, old china, a tall wooden clock with a febrile tick, 
 a hearth-rug decorated with blue and yellow roses in 
 wool, and a sour squeezed -looking bookcase which 
 seemed to hold sundry folios under protest, and to 
 threaten the instant ejection of a number of small books 
 on the top shelves, which leaned one against another, 
 some of them gaping apparently in the last extremity of 
 terror. 
 
 " For yourself, sir 1 Or might there be children 1" 
 
 " For myself." 
 
 " Why, then, sir," exclaimed the woman, with great 
 alacrity, " I think I can accommodate you. You can
 
 HANWITCH. 271 
 
 have this room, and a bed-room just over it, and the use 
 of the planner in the next room when you see company, 
 for fourteen shillings a week." 
 
 " That will do," said Holdsworth. 
 
 The woman, smiling like clockwork, proceeded to in- 
 form him that she was a widow, and had nobody else in 
 the house but her mother, who was very aged and silly- 
 like, and only left her room, which was upstairs, once a 
 week for a turn in the garden; that anything more 
 peaceful than her house was never known, and that if 
 the gentleman was studious, he would never be in- 
 terrupted with noises. 
 
 She then led him upstairs to the bedroom, which was 
 as comfortable as any man could wish. 
 
 On their return to the sitting-room, Holdsworth, who 
 was tired, asked permission to rest himself, and sat down 
 near the window which overlooked the road, where he 
 could just obtain a glimpse of Mr. Conway's house. 
 
 He broke away from the overpowering thoughts 
 which the sense of the near presence of his wife and 
 child forced upon him, and steadying his voice, turned 
 to the woman who stood at the door, and asked her if 
 she knew any of the people living around. 
 
 " Why, sir, I know most of my neighbours by name, 
 though I can't say as e'er a one of 'em are friends of 
 mine." 
 
 " I noticed a dentist's house just now, over the way. 
 What sort of business can he do in such a road as this?" 
 
 " Oh, you're speaking of Mr. Conway ! " she exclaimed, 
 with a shake of the head. " It's his own fault if he 
 don't do a good business, for I hear that he's pretty 
 clever at making teeth and drawing of them, and the 
 likes of that ; but he don't seem to have no patients,
 
 272 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 and I know why ; but it's not for me to meddle in other 
 folks' concerns." 
 
 Why ?" 
 
 " I suppose you're no friend of his, sir?" she said. 
 
 " I never saw the gentleman in my life." 
 
 " Well, then, to speak plainly, he drinks ; and it's 
 pretty well known ; and so there's no wonder gentle- 
 folks won't go near him." 
 
 Holdsworth forced a look of unconcern into his face 
 as he asked : 
 
 " Is he married 1" 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ; and a sweet dear creature his wife is ; 
 Mrs. Holdsworth as was. Hers is a sad history. She 
 lived at a place called Southbourne maybe you know 
 it it's an hour's walk frotn here ; and I was told her 
 story by Mrs. Campion, as used to keep a greengrocer's 
 shop in that village, and served most of the gentry 
 about. She I'm speaking of Mrs. Conway lost her 
 husband at sea, and married the present gentleman two 
 or three years afterwards. Mrs. Campion said she was 
 driven to it by want o' the bare necessaries of life," 
 added the woman in a subdued voice. 
 
 Holdsworth was silent 
 
 "I don't think," continued the woman, "that she 
 leads a very happy life. We sometimes has a chat to- 
 gether when we meet out o' doors, and she's the civilest, 
 sweetest young thing I ever knew. But," she exclaimed, 
 catching herself up, " all this is no business of mine ; 
 and I hope, sir, you'll think none the worse of me for 
 gossiping about strangers' affairs. I was strivin' to 
 answer your questions, sir." 
 
 " Thank you," said Holdsworth, rising, but keeping his 
 back to the window. " Can you receive me to-morrow ?"
 
 HANwrrcn. 273 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ; at any time you're pleased to come.'' 
 " My name is Hampden. I shall sleep to-night at 
 the ' Hanwitch Arms.' Here are a couple of sovereigns, 
 which will serve you as a security for my taking your 
 rooms. I leave myself in your hands, and have no 
 doubt I shall be comfortable." 
 
 The woman took the money with a courtesy, think- 
 ing to herself that she had never met with a more polite 
 and considerate gentleman. Holdsworth left the house. 
 He cast a swift glance at the villa with the plate upon 
 the railing, and then hurried towards the town.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IN THE ELLESMERE ROAD. 
 
 HOLDSWORTII spent the greater part of the evening in 
 writing a letter to Mr. Sherman. At twelve o'clock 
 next day he was an inmate of Mrs. Parrot's house in 
 the Ellesmere Road. 
 
 In his walk to the lodgings he had met only strange 
 faces, one or two of which looked after him, struck, 
 perhaps, by his keen fugitive glance, his slow pace that 
 stole along the ground, and his depressed head, as 
 though there were a shame in his heart that made the 
 daylight painful. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot fussed about him for some time, and 
 tired him with an account of the articles she had pur- 
 chased for him. Her memory was slow, and her capa- 
 city of reckoning very indifferent; hence it took her 
 twenty minutes to account for the expenditure of twelve 
 shillings. Happily, it was her mother's day for walking 
 in the garden, and Holdsworth could see the old lady 
 a mere wisp of a figure, in ancient black satin reaching 
 to her ankles and clinging to her legs, a nose like the 
 Duke of Wellington's, and a chin like Punch's hobbling 
 along a gravel walk, looking with afflicting agitation 
 around her, and coughing like a rattle, as a signal to 
 her daughter, who, when she had done with her 
 accounts, hurried out
 
 IN THE ELLESMERE ROAD. 275 
 
 The control Holdsworth had kept upon himself, 
 while Mrs. Parrot remained in the room, he could now 
 put aside ; indeed, the suffering caused him by his pent- 
 up agitation imperatively demanded that the emotion 
 should have play. Now he would walk hastily to and 
 fro the room, and then fling himself into a chair, clasp- 
 ing his hands tightly, and then rise and stand before 
 the window and send glances passionate and shrinking 
 at the house occupied by the Conways. 
 
 Now that he was close to his wife, now that any 
 moment might reveal her walking past his window with 
 his child, perchance, at her side, he dreaded lest the un- 
 paralleled situation he had forced himself into would prove 
 too heavily charged with cruel conditions for him to 
 bear. Never once then, never once afterwards, did the 
 vaguest impulse possess him to go forth and declare 
 himself and claim her. No ! A sense of honour that 
 was inexorable, since it prohibited the faintest echo of 
 the soul's secret passionate yearning to make itself 
 audible, had decreed his silence and enforced the obedi- 
 ence of inclination. 
 
 The only concession granted was the enjoyment of 
 such ghostly and barren pleasure as his heart could find 
 in the knowledge of the close neighbourhood of the two 
 who were so dear to him. Oh ! bitter waking of memory, 
 to recall him from the sunny vision of the old times 
 when his joy was complete, and love a permanent posses- 
 sion to enrich his nature with all gracious and generous 
 emotions, to thrust him into the gray and bleak twilight 
 of a loveless and desolate life, which the recovered power 
 could only embitter by recurrence to the things that 
 were lost ! 
 
 His eyes wandered ceaselessly and restlessly towards
 
 276 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 the window. From time to time people went by with 
 the slow, aimless step of persons who walk for no other 
 end than exercise. An old gentleman, with a white 
 moustache and a dark skin, stopped, with another old 
 gentleman, in high shirt-collars and a tail-coat, opposite 
 Holdsworth's window, and argued, with many galvanic 
 flourishes of the arms and grimaces of the face. There 
 was much political excitement abroad at that time, owing 
 to the Reform Bill of the Grey Administration, to which 
 the royal assent had been given ; and the dark-skinned 
 old gentleman whose age, warmth, and intemperate 
 flourishes were as demonstrative of his politics as his 
 language bade his companion take notice that, before 
 five years were passed, England would be a tenth-rate 
 power, governed by a mob, with a Jesuit seated on every 
 hearth, a Nuncio preaching at St. Paul's, not a Bible to 
 be found in the country, and the gallows groaning under 
 strings of honest patriots. The old gentleman in the 
 high shirt-collars, who clearly shared his friend's opinions, 
 nodded savagely, asked with his shoulders, " What would 
 you have V and then moved on a dozen paces, to be 
 stopped again by the other old gentleman with pro- 
 phecies, maybe, more blood-chilling and awful than those 
 he had already declaimed. 
 
 Presently Holdsworth, scarcely conscious of what he 
 was about, left the window and approached the book- 
 case. He pulled out a volume, which proved to be an 
 old copy of Gulliver's Travels, "adorn'd with sculp- 
 tures;" and his eye lighting on that passage in which 
 Gulliver closes his account of his second voyage, 1 his 
 thoughts trooped off to his old sea-faring life, the book 
 
 1 " In a little time I and tny family and friends came to a right 
 understanding : but my wife protested ' I should never go to sea
 
 IN THE ELLESMERE ROAD. 277 
 
 closed upon his fingers, and he sank in deep medi- 
 tation. 
 
 The restoration of his memory was comparatively so 
 recent, that he had found no leisure to recall those 
 frightful experiences of his which could not recur with- 
 out overwhelming him with an unspeakable horror of 
 the sea. He now understood that it should have been 
 his duty to call upon the owners of the " Meteor," and 
 acquaint them with the circumstances of the wreck of 
 their vessel, and the deaths of the persons who were in 
 his boat, all whom he clearly remembered. There were 
 friends, doubtless, both in England and America, who 
 could wish to receive tidings of the fate of these people, 
 though the long interval of five years should tell as plain 
 a story as Holdsworth could relate. He knew not 
 whether the inmates of the other boats had been saved, 
 and he would have given much to ascertain this ; but 
 he understood that any communication he made to the 
 shipowners would be almost sure to appear in print, by 
 which his wife would learn that he was alive. " No ! 
 let the world think me dead !" he exclaimed bitterly. 
 He had only to live for the past now for that memory 
 which had betrayed him and ruined his life. His future 
 was bare and barren, and there was nothing in all the 
 world that could kindle one ray of comfort in his hope- 
 less heart but the bleak privilege of dwelling near his 
 wife and child. 
 
 He restored the book to its place and returned to 
 the window. 
 
 In the roadway, a few yards to the right, a little girl 
 was standing, holding a doll. She was a very little 
 
 any more ;' although my evil destiny so ordered, that she had not 
 the power to hinder me."
 
 278 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 creature, with bright yellow hair down her back, and 
 she held the doll in motherly fashion on her arm, and 
 caressed it with her hand. 
 
 Her back was towards Holdsworth, whose eyes were 
 rooted upon her. 
 
 She turned presently and looked down the road, and 
 Holdsworth saw a little face upon which God had graven 
 a sign that made the poor father clutch at the wall to 
 steady himself. For there was his own face in miniature 
 the face that Dolly had loved before the sufferings of 
 the mind, and the anguish of hunger and thirst, had 
 twisted from it all resemblance it had ever borne to what 
 was manly and beautiful in the human countenance. 
 
 He pressed his hands to his eyes and gazed again, 
 then ran to the bell-rope and pulled it. But when he 
 had done this he wished it undone. For would not his 
 agitation excite Mrs. Parrot's suspicions? What was 
 there in a stranger's child that should so interest him ] 
 
 He bit his lip and controlled himself with desperate 
 will ; and, when Mrs. Parrot opened the door, he said to 
 her in a steady voice and with a forced smile : 
 
 "I am sorry to trouble you. I am very fond of 
 little children. Pray can you tell me who that child is, 
 there?" 
 
 Mrs. Parrot drew to the window, evidently finding 
 nothing odd in the question, and said : 
 
 " Why, that's little Nelly Holdsworth, Mrs. Conway's 
 daughter." 
 
 "Ah !" exclaimed Holdsworth. 
 
 "She is a dear!" continued Mrs. Parrot "I am 
 very fond of that child, Mr. Hampden. She's the only 
 child i' the road I allow to come into my garden, for 
 children are so wilful, there's no tellin' what they'll do
 
 IN THE ELLESMERE ROAD. 279 
 
 the moment your eyes are off 'em. See what a little 
 lady she looks, and how prettily she holds her doll ! 
 She's waiting for her mamma, I suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Parrot rapped with her nails on the window. 
 The child looked round, and Holdsworth shrank away. 
 Mrs. Parrot beckoned. Holdsworth would have stopped 
 her, but could find no words. 
 
 " She's coming, Mr. Hampden. I'll bring her to you, 
 sir, if you'll wait a moment." 
 
 And out she went. 
 
 In a few seconds she returned, leading by the hand 
 the child, who hung back when she caught sight of the 
 white-faced, bearded man. 
 
 " There, Mr. Hampden, this is my pretty young 
 friend, little Nelly ! " exclaimed Mrs. Parrot, stooping to 
 give the child a kiss. " Go and shake hands with the 
 gentleman, my dear, and show him your nice doll. I'll 
 tell you when I see your mamma." 
 
 " Come, dear, come to me," said Holdsworth in a 
 low voice. 
 
 The child approached him slowly, stopping now and 
 again, and looking shyly at Mrs. Parrot. 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! ' exclaimed that lady. " What are you 
 afraid of, Miss Nelly 1 Go and shake hands with the 
 gentleman, like a little lady." 
 
 Holdsworth put out his hand ; the child advanced a 
 step nearer; he fell upon one knee and drew her to 
 him. 
 
 For some moments he could not speak ; he could 
 only look at her look with eyes of all-devouring love 
 absorbing all the sweetness of that young face, feeling a 
 pang of exquisite joy, but shivering quickly as his fingers 
 locked themselves upon her tiny hand.
 
 280 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 He longed to press the little creature to his heart, to 
 fasten his lips upon her mouth, to weep over her. 
 
 " Tell me your name, little one !" 
 
 "Nelly," replied the child, keeping at arm's length 
 from him, and staring into his face. 
 
 "Nelly what? ; ' 
 
 " Nelly Ho'dwor't." 
 
 His own name, thus lisped by her, thrilled through 
 him ; he caught his breath, and said : 
 
 "May I kiss you?" 
 
 She put up her mouth, and he kissed her. 
 
 "How pretty your hair is ! " he murmured, in a voice 
 of exquisite tenderness, which made Mrs. Parrot turn 
 suddenly and look at him. He met her glance with a 
 smile, and said : 
 
 " I am very fond of children. Will this little girl 
 come and see me here sometimes 1 ?" 
 
 "Ay, that she will, sir. Won't you, Nelly ?" 
 
 "Det." 
 
 " How old are you, Nelly 1" 
 
 " Four." 
 
 "Who gave you that doll?" 
 
 " Mamma." 
 
 " You will bring dolly to see me, and we will have 
 tea, all three of us. What have I got here ? A bright 
 shilling ! That will buy dolly a parasol ! " 
 
 No words can describe the tone his voice took as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " What do you say to the gentleman for this beau- 
 tiful present?" cried Mrs. Parrot. 
 
 " Tanks," said the child, putting the doll on the floor 
 to examine the money with both hands. 
 
 " Oh, here comes your mamma ! " said Mrs. Parrot.
 
 IN THE ELLESMERE ROAD. 281 
 
 " Make your reverence to the gentleman . . . there's a 
 dear ; pick up dolly . . . that's right." 
 
 She took Nelly's hand and ran with her out of the 
 room. 
 
 The mother, standing at her gate on the other side 
 of the road, looking up and down the road, caught sight 
 of Mrs. Parrot and the child, and crossed over to them. 
 
 They remained opposite Holdsworth's window talk- 
 ing, while he, shrinking against the wall, peered at them 
 through the muslin curtain. 
 
 The five years which had passed since he had seen 
 his wife had worked but a very little change in her. 
 There was more womanly fulness in her form ; and this 
 was about all those five years had done for her. Her 
 face was still as youthful as when Holdsworth had last 
 looked on it, her eyes still possessed their deep and 
 delicate tint, the hair its richness and lustre, the mouth 
 its sweetness, the whole face that almost infantine ex- 
 pression, conveyed by soft shadowy lines and the arch- 
 ness of the pencilled eyebrows, which made it beautiful 
 in repose, more beautiful yet in sorrow. But, young 
 and fair as she seemed, there was a deep-rooted care in 
 her face which, without qualifying its freshness, yet 
 mingled in her smile, and lived in her eyes, and fixed a 
 wistful look on her, such as would be seen in one who 
 lingers long, long waiting for the summons to depart 
 which no day brings. Her dress was shabby, her gloves 
 old ; but her beauty made even her faded apparel, cut 
 after the unbecoming fashion then in vogue, picturesque. 
 She wore a white crape handkerchief over her bare 
 shoulders, and a bonnet-shaped hat, ornamented with a 
 dark feather, which, drooping over her back, imparted 
 a peculiar vividness to the light, sheeny gold of her hair.
 
 282 JOHN HOLDSWORTII. 
 
 Strained as his ears were, Holdsworth could not hear 
 her voice, though Mrs. Parrot's kindly cackle was audible 
 enough. It was manifest that they exchanged mere 
 commonplace civilities ; and presently Mrs. Parrot 
 dropped a courtesy, and the mother and child walked 
 slowly away. 
 
 Holdsworth watched them with just such a look in 
 his eyes as had been in them when, racked with torture 
 in the open boat, he had cast glances full of passionate 
 despair round the horizon for the ship that was to rescue 
 him. He saw the little girl hold up her shilling, where- 
 upon the mother stopped and looked back, then con- 
 tinued her walk and passed out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 OVER THE WAY. 
 
 IT was natural, after the first liveliness of the emotion 
 which had been excited in Mrs. Parrot's breast by the 
 installation of a lodger worth fourteen shillings a week 
 to her, had in some degree subsided, that she should 
 begin to wonder who that lodger was. 
 
 She had been particularly struck and greatly taken 
 by his behaviour to the little girl, and inferred, of 
 course, that he was a humane and tender-hearted man, 
 a conjecture which, although it was true, did no credit 
 to her sagacity, considering the circumstance on which 
 it was based ; since it is a notorious fact, that great 
 rascals will admire, pet, and " tip " little children, whose 
 parents they would not scruple to rob of their very 
 last farthing. 
 
 But though Mrs. Parrot had no doubt as to her 
 lodger's humanity of character after what she had seen, 
 she could not by any means feel so sure as to the 
 position he held either in or out of society, the calling 
 he had followed, if ever he had followed a calling, or the 
 part of the world he came from. His name was Hampdea 
 That was English. But had he a Christian name 1 No 
 initial stood between the Mr. and the Hampden, on the 
 card affixed to his portmanteau. Was he a Christian 1
 
 284 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 She hoped he was. She was no judge of other religions ; 
 but she must say, when she let her lodgings to people, 
 that she liked to feel that they were Christians. 
 
 He had ordered dinner at two o'clock ; and when 
 she came in to lay the cloth, for she kept no servant, 
 she found him still at the window, staring into the 
 empty road as earnestly as if it were filled with a very 
 beautiful and novel procession. But she could only 
 suppose that he looked out of the window because he 
 was new to the place. 
 
 He smiled softly when he met her glance, but did 
 not speak, nor would she hazard any remarks herself, 
 for fear of being thought intrusive. All that he said 
 during dinner was to express himself well pleased with 
 her cooking ; but she noticed, in removing the dishes, 
 that, pleasantly as he had praised the piece of roast 
 mutton, he had scarcely tasted it, and that of the four 
 potatoes she had put into the dish, three and a half 
 remained. 
 
 Whilst in the kitchen she heard him leave the house, 
 and, when her task was done, she went upstairs to her 
 mother's room, whither she had conducted the old lady 
 soon after little Nelly's visit. 
 
 "If the gentleman don't eat more every day than 
 he's just had for dinner," said she, throwing herself back 
 in a chair and fanning her hot face with the corner of 
 her apron, "I reckon we shall have a funeral here 
 before long." 
 
 " A what ! " gasped the old woman, who sat upright 
 in a cane chair, near the open window, with an 
 immense Bible on her right hand and her spectacles on 
 the top of it. 
 
 " He's no more than skin an' bone as he is," con-
 
 OVER THE WAY. 285 
 
 tinned Mrs. Parrot, " but it was a picter to see him 
 with the child. I never see a man more soft with a 
 child before." 
 
 " He ain't likely to make strange nises o' nights, is 
 he, Sairey ?" exclaimed the old woman, earnestly regard- 
 ing her daughter with a pair of eyes from which all 
 expression and light seemed literally washed out, leaving 
 nothing but two circles of weak, dim blue. 
 
 " I don't think so. He seems to me quiet enough. 
 He's fond o' staring into the road. One might think 
 he's trying to find out where he is. I niver see a 
 stranger face. He don't look English -like, and yet he 
 talks uncommon well. I can tell by his boots which 
 is square as square at the toes, and his clothes, which 
 have an odd twist somehows that he's not from these 
 parts. Maybe, he's from Ireland." 
 
 "I hope not, Sairey," ejaculated the old woman, 
 bending forward with the profoundly confidential air of 
 old age. "I was once fellow-sarvint with a Ayrish 
 futman as was allus talkin' of burnin' down houses, an' 
 his speech ran on so it were niver to be trusted, for 
 niver was such lies as he used to tell. You'd best gi' 
 him notice, Sairey. You can say I gi' yer more trouble 
 nor you can well get through, and recommend Burton's 
 lodgin's to him. Burton's a strong man, and kapes 
 dogs." 
 
 "Tut! I'm not afeard 1" said Mrs. Parrot, tossing 
 up her hands and giving her cap a pull. " Th'ere's no 
 more harm in the man than there is in you, for didn't 
 I tell yer how he gave the girl a shillin' and spoke that 
 soft to it, it made me feel as if I could ha' cried. Give 
 him notice, and him not here a day yit! Fourteen 
 shillin' is fourteen shillin' in these scarce times, to say
 
 286 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 nothin' of his being as well-spoken a man as iver you 
 listened to in your life ; an' as for his face, it is but as 
 God made it, an' beauty is but skin deep, as t' parson 
 says, an' I'm for lettin' well alone." 
 
 " If he ain't Ayrish," said the old woman, stroking 
 the back of her lean hand, " he may be very well. But 
 sitch talk of invasions from that nashun as I used to 
 hear when I was a gal, an' the drink an' shootin' as goes 
 on there, is enough to wet your hair with perspira- 
 tion . . ." 
 
 " / didn't say he was Irish. / don't know what he 
 is. He was askin' about Mrs. Conway, though she's 
 unbeknown to him, as any one might tell who heerd 
 him questionin'. He wants Miss Nelly to bear him 
 company at tea, and I don't see why the child can't 
 come, if the mother 'ull let it. I won't take it upon 
 myself to bring the child in. I'll speak to the mother 
 when I see her. I like Mrs. Conway. She's a nice- 
 spoken lady, but seems to know a deal of grief, poor 
 thing. It 'ud be a mussy if that husband of hers 'ud 
 take it into his head to pull out all his own teeth. The 
 cook at Mrs. Short's was tellin' me he's grown that 
 wicious there's no wishin' him a civil good mornin'. An' 
 drink ! Didn't I see him pass here yesterday evenin', 
 staggerin' on his legs like a doll which a child tries to 
 teach walkin' to ?" 
 
 "The 'pothecaries used to draw teeth in my day; 
 now they must be all gentlefolks as looks into your 
 mouth," said the old woman, who had been three minutes 
 searching in her pocket for the snuff-box that lay open, 
 with some of its sand-coloured contents spilt, in her 
 lap. 
 
 "Pretty gentlefolks!" exclaimed Mrs. Parrot, pull-
 
 OVER THE WAY. 287 
 
 ing up the old woman's dress and tilting the spilt snuff 
 into the box. " If they're all like Mr. Conway, I'd rather 
 carry a toothache to my grave than have it stopped wi' 
 the lockjaw, which they tell me he gave to Mr. Timpson ; 
 for drink had taken away the use of his mind, and he 
 pushed the wrong instrayment into the man's mouth 
 and nearly choked him, he did, and then took out two 
 wrong teeth after all ; beautiful teeth they wos, for Mr. 
 Timpson showed them to me hisself, with the tears 
 standin' in his eyes, wropped up in silver paper." 
 
 " Thank God ! he can't draw none o' my teeth 1" 
 mumbled the old woman, talking through her nose in 
 rapt enjoyment of the flavour of the snuff. They're 
 all gone." 
 
 " I noticed Mrs. Conway's gownd to-day. If 1 was 
 her husband, I'd scorn to let her appear in sitch a rag. 
 And there was darns in the knees o' that child's stock- 
 ings as made 'em look forty year old. They're always 
 i' the same dresses, both of 'em. There's a silk she puts 
 on o' Sundays, all wore thin over the buzzum, and I 
 remember the bonnet she had on to-day iver since I've 
 known her. Sitch a pretty face as she has, too ! I ex- 
 pect he must ha' told her some fine lies to get her to 
 marry him. They say he niver did well, even when he 
 was in the High Street, wi' that show-box of his stuck 
 up, filled wi' gaping gums an' naked teeth as turned the 
 stomach to see. He must ha' sold that piece of ugliness, 
 for I don't see it nowheres outside his house, which is a 
 mussy, for I'd as lief see a skiliton on a pole for a sign ! 
 Fancy a doctor settin' up a death's-head to show his 
 trade!" 
 
 She jumped from her chair with a face and gesture 
 of disgust, and throwing some knitting with the pins
 
 288 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 through it into her mother's lap, adjusted her cap before 
 
 the glass, and left the room. 
 
 
 
 There is always some truth in gossip : and there was 
 a great deal in what Mrs. Parrot had said of Mr. Con- 
 way, who, as we have seen, held no place at all in her 
 opinion. But then sympathy for Dolly was to be ex- 
 pected from a woman who, if she did not know what it 
 was to live with a drunkard, had known what it was to 
 live with a surly man, whose eye was evil, and whose 
 voice was thick, and whose characteristic method of ex- 
 pressing discontent was by holding his clenched fist 
 under his wife's nose. 
 
 Mr. Conway is passing Mrs. Parrot's door at the very 
 moment that Mrs. Parrot is leaving her mother's bed- 
 room ; we shall not have an opportunity of seeing much 
 of him, having the fortunes of a better kind of hero to 
 deal with ; so, while Holdsworth is away from his lodg- 
 ings, we'll step into the road and have a look at the 
 dentist, and follow him into his house. 
 
 He is a man with sandy whiskers and light hair, but 
 by no means ill-looking. On the contrary, there are 
 materials in his face out of which a very pleasing coun- 
 tenance could be made; a well-shaped nose, a well-shaped 
 forehead, a good chin, a facial outline clearly defined and 
 perfectly symmetrical. 
 
 But there never was a better illustration than this 
 man's face of the truth, that good features make but a 
 very small portion of beauty. 
 
 I want a word to express that middle quality of 
 aspect which is contrived by the mingling of comely 
 lineaments with bad passions. Possibly the effect is no 
 more than a neutralisation of nature's good intentions,
 
 OVER THE WAY. 289 
 
 whferein we behold a handsome countenance sunk into 
 a species of physical negation, by moral qualities tugging 
 it hard in the direction of repellent ugliness. 
 
 A most unstriking face at which you would barely 
 glance, and pass on absolutely unimpressed. His thin 
 lips might mark both cruelty and selfishness ; his eyes 
 are made heavy by their drooping lids, and the irids 
 are pale and unintelligent. He is dressed in the style 
 of the times, of course ; pantaloons strapped over his 
 boots, a frock-coat gaping in a circle round a great 
 quantity of black satin stock (in which are two pins and 
 a chain). But the pantaloons are frayed at the heels 
 and bagged at the knees ; and the coat is suspiciously 
 polished at the elbows and the rim of the collar. He 
 walks with a quick, uneasy step, his hat slightly cocked, 
 and his hands in his breeches pockets, and arriving at 
 the gate of his house, opens it by giving it a kick with 
 his foot. 
 
 He entered the sitting-room with his hat on, and 
 found the cloth laid for dinner, but nobody in the room, 
 which was a soiled and dingy apartment, although the 
 house was a new one, and the paper fresh and the ceil- 
 ing white. But no paper and whitewash could qualify 
 the sordid suggestions of the old drugget imperfectly 
 nailed over the floor, the old leather sofa and the old 
 leather arm-chair, the mantelpiece decorated by a pair 
 of plated candlesticks marked with indents, the dingy 
 red curtains, the papier m&cli6 table in the window, with 
 the mother-of-pearl dropping out of it. 
 
 The subtle magic of feminine fingers which extracts 
 from rubbish itself what hidden capabilities it may pos- 
 sess of comforting the eye with some faintest aspect of 
 taste, seemed either never to have been exercised upon 
 
 U
 
 290 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 this room, or to have found itself powerless to deal with 
 it. The only feminine sign was a small bundle of 
 child's stockings on the top of an old work-basket on 
 the sofa. 
 
 Mr. Conway put his head out of the door and called, 
 "Are you there, wife?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Dolly's voice from downstairs. 
 
 " How long will dinner be V 
 
 "Five minutes!" 
 
 He threw his hat down and walked into the " sur- 
 gery," a room at the end of the passage, furnished with 
 a chest of drawers, a toilet-table and a looking-glass, an 
 arm-chair, an ugly circular box with a basin let into it, 
 standing beside the arm-chair ; on the toilet-table, some 
 small hand-glasses, a pair of forceps, and three unfinished 
 false teeth. Through the window was to be seen a slip 
 of garden of the breadth of the house, and about fifty 
 feet long its neglected state, its few pining shrubs, and 
 a flag-pole with a vane a-top that croaked to every pass- 
 age of the wind, showing up very squalidly against the 
 neighbouring garden, which was richly stocked with 
 wall-fruit and ferns and green plants. 
 
 Little Nelly was in this piece of ground with her 
 doll, seated on the grass, and at that moment making 
 such a picture as a painter would stop to study and re- 
 ceive into his mind ; her round dark-blue eyes following 
 the swallows which chased each other high in the air, 
 her mouth pouted into an expression of exquisite infantine 
 wonder, her bright hair about her shoulders, and looking, 
 as the breeze stirred the sunshine upon it, like a falling 
 shower of fine gold. 
 
 Mr. Conway stared at the child for a moment, and 
 then turned away and sauntered towards the door, but
 
 OVER THE WAY. 291 
 
 came back to open one of the drawers in the chest and 
 extract a leather-covered bottle, which he shook at his 
 ear, and put to his mouth. 
 
 God! what contrasts there are in life, lying so 
 close together that the devil, though his worship be no 
 bigger than a man, might measure the space between 
 with outstretched hands ! Look at Purity and Innocence 
 in the garden, with its eyes raised to heaven ; and the 
 skulking fellow in the dingy room swallowing brandy as 
 a man steals money ; and in the room below a darksome, 
 scantily-furnished kitchen a sweet-faced woman doing 
 servant's work, and urging the slattern by her side into 
 quicker movements, that the gentlemftn upstairs shall 
 have no occasion to use bad language. 
 
 She comes upstairs presently, this Dolly, her face 
 flushed, and breathing quickly from the hurry of her 
 movements, and bears with her own hands a dish that 
 will furnish but a poor repast, though she has done her 
 best to make what little there is palatable. The slattern, 
 with wisps of red hair about her forehead, and loose 
 shoes, which beat a double knock at each step upon the 
 uncarpeted staircase, follows, armed with a jug and a 
 loaf of bread. Behind comes little Nelly, whom the 
 mother has summoned before leaving the kitchen, and 
 who has climbed the staircase with more labour than 
 Mont Blanc is scaled by the Alpine tourist. 
 
 No word is spoken. Nelly is lifted into a chair by 
 her mother, and Mr. Conway seats himself before the 
 dish and fills a glass from the jug of ale, taking care 
 a true connoisseur in such matters to let the liquor fall 
 from a height, to secure a froth, into which he dips his 
 mouth and nose. 
 
 The slattern leaves the room ; and Dolly cuts up
 
 292 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 some meat and bread for the little one, with a whisper 
 in her ear to say grace. 
 
 " Did you get the money, Robert ?" she asks presently, 
 eating little herself, and noticing how Robert bribes his 
 appetite with sups of ale. 
 
 " No. Davis was out." 
 
 " What shall we do 1 I have only five and three- 
 pence left, and this meat is not paid for." 
 
 Pence make a sordid enumeration ; but we talk of 
 pence, reader, when we have only pence to spend. 
 
 " We must sell something, that's all," says Mr. Con- 
 way, with a kind of defiant recklessness in his manner. 
 
 She gives him a quick glance, looks at her child, and 
 then closes the knife and fork upon her plate. 
 
 He does not notice that she has eaten about as much 
 as would serve a bird for a meal ; neither does he appear 
 to remark that she drinks water. He, at all events, 
 keeps the beer-jug at his elbow, from which, in a very 
 short time, he pours out the last glass. 
 
 The child alone continues eating. 
 
 "J don't know what's to be done! "he exclaims in 
 a voice of suppressed anger, pushing his chair from the 
 table. " The people have dropped me for that French 
 quack, in Mornington Street. I saw three carriages at 
 his door when I passed just now. I ought never to 
 have left the old shop. I did well there." 
 
 "You would do well here if you gave yourself a 
 chance," says Dolly. " The lady who called yesterday 
 evening came again this morning. Martha told me she 
 looked annoyed when she heard you were out. She 
 will go to some one else, I suppose, now." 
 
 " Let her !" he calls out. " How am I to know that 
 people are coming to me after dark 1 Week after week
 
 OVER THE WAY. 293 
 
 passes, and they don't come, and am I going to hang 
 about here a whole night, in the hope of a patient turn- 
 ing up ? Why didn't she leave word at what hour she 
 meant to call to-day 1 I went out to collect some money, 
 and you know it, though I can guess what is in your 
 thoughts. But it's false there's my hand on it ! " 
 
 He let his hand fall heavily on the table, and stared 
 at his wife. She slightly turned from him, and looked 
 through the window. He left the table and began to 
 pace the room. The child, having emptied her plate 
 and wanting something to play with, had taken the 
 shilling Holdsworth had given her from her pocket, and 
 tried to make it spin on the cloth. 
 
 "What's that Nelly has got there?" said Mr. Con- 
 way. 
 
 " A shilling," answered Dolly. 
 
 " Did you give it her ? . . . Look at our dinner ! . . . 
 You would pamper that child if we were starving. 
 Talk to me of your five and threepence when you can 
 give your baby a shilling 1" 
 
 " I did not give it to her." 
 
 "Who then?" 
 
 "A gentleman." 
 
 " What gentleman ?" 
 
 " A gentleman lodging at Mrs. Parrot's." 
 
 He looked at her with irritable suspicion, and then 
 said: 
 
 " Did you see him give it 1 Did he take you and 
 the child for beggars? . . . Confound his impudence! 
 . . . Send Martha over to him with it." 
 
 He turned to ring the bell. 
 
 "Stop 1" said Dolly, quietly. "Nelly tells me that 
 Mrs. Parrot tapped on the window to speak to her, and
 
 294 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 when she went in, she saw the gentleman, who kissed 
 her, and gave her the shilling to buy her doll a parasol. 
 No insult could have been intended by this." 
 
 " Oh, that was it ! " exclaimed Mr. Conway, " Well, 
 and why do you let the child keep the money 1 She'll 
 lose it. Take it from her." 
 
 " It belongs to her. She will not lose it." 
 
 "Yes, she will. Nelly, give that money to your 
 mamma." 
 
 But Nelly doubled her fist over it, and hid her hand 
 under the table. 
 
 "Do you hear what I say?" cried Mr. Conway. 
 
 "Why will you not let her keep it 1 ?" asked Dolly. 
 
 "Am I master here or not?" shouted Mr. Conway. 
 " Give that money to your mother, child ! " 
 
 Nelly began to whimper, terrified by the man's voice, 
 but loath to surrender her little treasure. He stepped 
 up to her, whipped the little hand from under the cloth, 
 and forcing the shilling from it, put it into his pocket. 
 
 " Though I'm a beggar by my own folly," he ex- 
 claimed, walking to the door, " I'll not be insulted and 
 defied by the beggars I have brought about me." 
 
 His fingers were in his pocket, and it seemed as 
 though he would pull the money out and fling it on the 
 table. But second thoughts prevailed ; he jerked his 
 hat on his head, and marched out of the house, banging 
 the door after him. 
 
 Dolly watched to see if he would step across to Mrs. 
 Parrot's ; but he walked straight on. 
 
 "Hush, my darling, hush !" she exclaimed, catching 
 up the sobbing child. " Dolly shall have her parasol ; I 
 will buy it myself. Hush, my pet ! Nelly's tears 
 break poor mamma's heart. . . . Oh, John ! oh, hus-
 
 OVER THE WAY. 295 
 
 band!" she murmured; "why did God take you from 
 me 1 Why did He lead me and my little one into this 
 misery 1 ?" 
 
 Truly, it was misery, of a forlorn and hopeless kind. 
 But you have seen the man Dolly had married at his 
 worst. The most brutal husband is not always brutal. 
 The drunkard is not always drunk. More colours than 
 black and white go to the painting of a man off the 
 stage, where corked eyebrows strike no horror, and 
 blood-boltered cheeks prove nothing more than a neglect 
 of soap. 
 
 Mr. Conway had his soft hours, when he would shed 
 tears, smite his breast, and call himself a fiend having 
 reference, by this flattering title, to nothing but his 
 behaviour to Dolly. 
 
 He was undoubtedly in love with her when he 
 married her ; and the sweet face which had made him 
 haunt Southbourne, to the neglect of his patients, would 
 still, even after two years, have too much potency not 
 to occasionally soften and give movement to the human- 
 ities which lay in him, hardened and drowned in drink. 
 Though he had always, as long as people could remem- 
 ber him in Hanwitch, been what they called a dissipated 
 man, he had managed somehow or other to get a living, 
 to keep his landlord civil and wear good clothes. Ladies 
 were not wanting who called him handsome. His man- 
 ner, when sober, was courteous ; his language correct ; 
 his fingers dexterous in pulling teeth out or putting 
 teeth in. Those who knew anything of him knew that 
 he never saved a penny; that were he to make ten 
 thousand a year he would never save a penny; but they 
 always said that, if he would only take a deep-rooted 
 dislike to beer and brandy, go to bed at ten and rise at
 
 296 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 seven, attend to his business and give up smoking pipes 
 in the streets, he might obtain enough money to enable 
 him to keep a carriage and live in good style. 
 
 How he met Dolly matters little. She was living in 
 one room at Southbourne at that time, trying to obtain 
 a livelihood by taking in needlework She was miser- 
 ably poor, with a little baby at her breast. Old Mr. 
 Newcome, the rector, did his best for her, and allowed 
 her what little he could afford out of his slender income, 
 which enabled her to pay her rent. But she had to 
 clothe and feed her child and herself, and the work she 
 procured was scanty and poorly paid for. God knows 
 how she managed to struggle through those days ! Mr. 
 Conway asked her to marry him, but she answered "No," 
 bitterly, for her love for Holdsworth was a passion. 
 Then her only friend, Mr. Newcome, died ; her health 
 broke down ; she was absolutely destitute ; and so, for 
 her baby's sake but shrinking from the marriage as 
 one shrinks from the commission of an evil deed, and 
 with a heart in her so heavy that nothing but her love 
 for her child seemed to keep her alive she gave her 
 hand to Mr. Conway, and went to live with him at 
 Hanwitch. 
 
 She had no affection for the man. Her marriage 
 was a bitter necessity, and she hated it and herself for 
 that. She had no knowledge of Conway's habits, though 
 she had had penetration enough to miss certain moral 
 qualifications which are to be felt and cannot be ex- 
 plained. Now she discovered that he was an intemper- 
 ate, improvident man, hasty in his temper, selfish, and 
 at the same time neglectful of his own interests. 
 
 He was some way ahead in his downward career 
 when he married her. The addition his marriage made
 
 OVER THE WAY. 297 
 
 to his expenses quickened his pace, as an object, rolling 
 slowly at first, improves its velocity in proportion to 
 the increase of its distance from the starting-point. One 
 by one his patients deserted him. He insulted his land- 
 lord, to whom he owed money, who gave him notice to 
 quit. He then hired the little house in which we have 
 found him, and Avas now illustrating one of the great 
 mysteries of social life the mystery of living without 
 money, of keeping a house over his head without a 
 shilling in his pocket, of wearing boots and coats with- 
 out the means in his purse to- pay off the milkman's 
 sixpenny score. 
 
 How is this done ? There are people doing it every 
 day. They are doing more : they are keeping men- 
 servants, renting big houses, wearing fine dresses, fre- 
 quenting fashionable haunts, on nothing a year. How 
 Thackeray puzzled over this problem ! How Dickens 
 tried to explain it and failed : for he is always driven 
 to a last moment, when some good genius steps forward 
 to help. Imagination can't deal with a feat which 
 makes nothing do the work of a great deal. 
 
 There is no doubt something aggressive, even to good 
 nature, in the brooding melancholy that goes about its 
 duties lifelessly, which gives spiritless attention to 
 matters of moment and significance, which looks com- 
 plaint without speaking it, and addresses itself to every 
 task of life with an air of reproachful endurance. 
 
 A man possessed of such an inflammable temper as 
 Conway w6uld be constantly taking fire in the presence 
 of such a melancholy ; and it must be confessed that 
 Dolly embodied the part with some degree of complete- 
 ness. Silent and mournful submission to fate was the 
 wrong attitude to assume towards a man in whom was
 
 298 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 a good deal of the fool. A powerful virago, with 
 muscular arms and a venomous tongue, would have 
 kept him to his work and out of the taverns by the 
 irresistible influence of words supported by finger-nails. 
 
 Dolly, whose heart was never with him, soon learned 
 to despise him. It is true that she endeavoured, at the 
 beginning of their married life, to win him from his 
 extravagant and reckless courses by entreaties and the 
 mild persuasion of caresses ; but she soon ceased her 
 appeals on finding that they took no effect, and only 
 rarely alluded to his habits, which, having plunged them 
 into poverty, were keeping them there, and sinking them 
 lower and lower each day. 
 
 With an inconsistency not very uncommon, he re- 
 sented her silence at the same time that he knew the 
 expression of her thoughts would enrage him. He was 
 still sufficiently under the control of her beauty to feel 
 jealous of her love, which he very well knew was with 
 the man they both thought dead. That truth had leaked 
 out long ago. He once heard her teaching her child to 
 pray ; and presently lift up her own voice in a prayer 
 which had no name in it but J'ohn's, whom she cried 
 aloud to, bidding his spirit take witness of the sufferings 
 which had driven her into an act that made her hateful 
 to herself. Once, when her gentle sweetness was stirred 
 into passion by him, she declared that she had never 
 loved him; that she had married him for her child's 
 sake ; that if God took her babe from her she would 
 kill herself, for her husband was in heaven, and his voice 
 spoke in her conscience, eternally reproaching her for 
 forgetting the vow they had made that though death 
 should sunder them, the survivor would be true to love and 
 memory, and live alone.
 
 OVER THE WAY. 299 
 
 But his petulance, his churlishness, his occasional 
 brutality, indeed, was not owing to this. She had merely 
 put his own knowledge of her into language ; and since 
 he had married her, fully persuaded that the gift of her 
 hand had been dictated by pure necessity only, he could 
 scarcely find himself alienated by the confession of her 
 motive. Poverty and drink were the two demons that 
 mastered him. And poverty without drink would have 
 done the work; for his happened to be one of those 
 boneless natures which give under a very small weight ; 
 one of those weak characters who, if they find them- 
 selves in a gutter, are satisfied to lie there and roll 
 there, and moisten the mud with which they bedaub 
 those about them with tears, and make their settlements 
 gross with oaths, and shrieks, and reproaches.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 
 
 ALL next morning Holdsworth kept watch for Dolly 
 and his child, but did not see them. But Mr. Conway 
 had passed when Mrs. Parrot happened to be in the 
 room laying the cloth for dinner, and the woman ha^ 
 directed Holdsworth's attention to him. The glimpse 
 he obtained, however, was very brief. All that he saw 
 was a sandy-whiskered gentleman, with a tilted hat, aim 
 with rather uncertain legs for the gate with the brass 
 plate upon it, and vanish with an alacrity that was 
 painfully suggestive of a disordered vision. 
 
 " There he goes ! Drunk as usual ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Parrot, disgustfully, giving the table-cloth an angry 
 twitch. 
 
 " How does he live ? I have seen nobody call at his 
 house yet ! " 
 
 " No, sir ; and I don't think you're likely to. Per- 
 sons as can't get served at the other tooth-drawers are 
 too sensible to walk all this way to get their jaws broke." 
 
 " Are they very poor, do you think 1" 
 
 " Why, sir, I suppose he must pay his rent somehow, 
 but I don't know as he does anything more. I'm told 
 that they owe money all over the town, but the trades- 
 people make no fuss, because, as Mr. Jairing the butcher
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 301 
 
 says to me, 'It's all very fine, Mrs. Parrot,' he says, 
 ' talkin' of hexecutions, but what's the use o' going to 
 the expense of a distress when there's nothing to seize V 
 There's a deal in that, sir." 
 
 " God help them !" muttered Holdsworth to himself. 
 Then looking up he said, " Do you think Mrs. Conway 
 would let her little girl come and have tea with me this 
 afternoon 1" 
 
 "I should think she would, sir, and feel honoured 
 by the askin'." 
 
 "I have not seen the child to-day." 
 
 " No, sir ! Mrs. Conway don't often come out. She 
 kapes a bit of a wench as does her arrands, and I've 
 told the slut times out o' mind to put her bonnet on, 
 au not go fly in' down the road as though a orficer was 
 arter her, disgracin' of our neighbourhood, and frighten- 
 ing away any respectable person as might be comin' wi' 
 a bad tooth. I don't think of him, sir. If I could put 
 a sixpence in his way I would, for the sake of his wife 
 an' the little one." 
 
 " How shall I invite little Nelly if I do not see her?" 
 
 "I'll run across, if you like, when I've got your 
 dinner ready, and ask Mrs. Conway if she'll let the 
 child come. Perhaps you'll just watch, sir, and tell me 
 when the husband leaves the house. I don't want to 
 meet him if I can help it." 
 
 An hour elapsed before Holdsworth saw Mr. Conway 
 pass on his way to the High Street, on which he rang 
 the bell and informed Mrs. Parrot that she might now 
 call on Mrs. Conway in safety. 
 
 His anxiety to have the child impressed his landlady 
 as a very odd thing. She could understand his admira- 
 tion of Nelly ; she could also understand his calling her
 
 302 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 in and giving her a kiss and a present. No man's heart, 
 she considered, could fail to be warmed by the sight of 
 so pretty a little girl. But she could not understand 
 him posting himself at the window, and looking troubled 
 because he did not see the child, and showing himself 
 as anxious to have her to tea as if she was a grown 
 woman, and he was courting her. 
 
 She sailed across the road (watched by Holdsworth), 
 her cap-strings streaming over her shoulders, and walked 
 up to the door of the Conways' house, and gave a single 
 knock. She was kept waiting so long, that when the 
 door was at last opened by the " bit of a slut," who, to 
 judge by her complexion, appeared to have been devot- 
 ing the last hour or two to black-leading her face, Mrs. 
 Parrot, instead of asking for Mrs. Conway, began storm- 
 ing at her for " kaping respectable folks on the doorsteps 
 while she sat readin' ha'porths o' bad fiction by the 
 kitchen fire." 
 
 " I wasn't readin'. I didn't hear yer. Who do you 
 want missus?" said the girl sulkily. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Conway, of course. Show me in, and 
 go an' tell her at once that I'm here," replied Mrs. 
 Parrot, not waiting to be shown in, but pushing into 
 the middle of the passage. 
 
 The girl shambled off, and presently Mrs. Conway 
 came up the kitchen stairs. The skirt of her dress was 
 pinned up at the waist, and her arm-sleeves were above 
 her elbows, displaying the whiteness and fineness of the 
 skin, though the arms were very thin. 
 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Parrot ? You will excuse my 
 wretched untidy appearance. I am doing a little wash- 
 ing downstairs, and would -not keep you waiting whilst 
 I made myself presentable."
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 303 
 
 "Niver mention it, ma'am," answered Mrs. Parrot, 
 looking with pleasure, mingled with pain, at the sweet 
 face, in which, now that there was no hat to shadow it 
 the sorrow and care were clearly seen. Her prettiness 
 was but enhanced by the looped-up skirt, showing the 
 little feet and small firm ankles. Her bright hair was 
 in disorder, and there was the little flush of recent exer- 
 tion on her cheeks. 
 
 " I've called wi' a message from my gentleman lodger. 
 He wants IMiss Nelly to drink tea with him, and sent 
 me across to ask you to let her come." 
 
 "The same gentleman who gave Nelly a shilling 
 yesterday?" asked Dolly, looking half surprised and 
 half pleased. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. He's a very nice person, and seems 
 uncommon partial to children. He's been all the morn- 
 ing on the look-out for your little gal, and I hope you'll 
 let her come, ma'am, and bring her doll wi' her, for I 
 think he'll take it to heart if you refuse." 
 
 " Oh, I will certainly send her. Will half-past three 
 do ? I shall have to dress her. Pray give my compli- 
 ments to the gentleman, and thank him for his kindness. 
 You have not told me his name." 
 
 " Hampden, ma'am ; Mr. Hampden." 
 
 " I have not yet seen him. Is he an old man ? Few 
 young men care for children." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, ma'am, I've got no more idea 
 of his age, than I have of the age of my house. He's 
 got a deal o' gray hair on his head, and yet he isn't an 
 old man either, although to see him walk, leanin' on his 
 stick, you'd take him to be sixty. I think he means to 
 make friends wi' your little gal, if you'll let him, just 
 for want o' company. He don't seem to know anybody
 
 304 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 in Hanwitch, nor to follow any callin' like. I doubt he's 
 a bit rich ; but you see, ma'am, he only took my lodgin's 
 the day before yesterday, and I've not had time to make 
 him quite out yit." 
 
 Saying this, Mrs. Parrot dropped a courtesy, and 
 turned to depart, taking a quick comprehensive glance 
 at the dingy little parlour as she passed, and mentally 
 comparing it with her own rooms. 
 
 Holdsworth was at the window when she returned, 
 and she could hardly forbear laughing, so tickled was 
 she by his expectant face. 
 
 " Mrs. Conway's compliments, sir, and she says that 
 her little gal will be with you at half-past three, 
 thankin' you for your kindness," said she, her eyes 
 twinkling with her suppressed but perfectly good- 
 natured mirth. 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs., Parrot, for taking so much 
 trouble," exclaimed Holdsworth gleefully. "What 
 time is it now ? A quarter to three. I shall just have 
 time to walk into the High Street and ^buy a cake. 
 She will like a cake a plum-cake I think ; and shall I 
 get some marmalade ? Yes, she will enjoy marmalade 
 and what else 1 Tell me, Mrs. Parrot ; what do 
 little children like?" 
 
 " Why, mostly sweet things, sir. I guess the marma- 
 lade '11 take Miss Nelly's fancy. But don't you trouble, 
 sir ; I can run out and buy you what you want." 
 
 " No I am obliged to you. There are other things 
 she might like which I shouldn't be able to remember 
 without seeing them. We will have tea at four, Mrs. 
 Parrot. I shall be back in twenty minutes." 
 
 Mrs. Parrot watched him leave the house and walk 
 down the road as swiftly as he could, leaning on his
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 305 
 
 stick. "Well, if iver I saw the like of this!" she ex- 
 claimed aloud. "I'll not tell mother; it might scare 
 her. There's something downright sing'ler in the 
 notion of ft stranger takin' all this trouble, and goin' 
 almost wild-like all along of a little gal he never saw 
 before yisterday. Some folks 'ud call it alarmin'." 
 
 Her nerves, however, were equal to the occasion ; for 
 whilst Holdsworth was away, she journeyed upstairs 
 and unlocked a little glass -fronted cupboard, screwed 
 into a corner of her- bedroom, from which she took a 
 teapot, a cream -jug, and two cups and saucers of 
 brilliantly -coloured china; likewise from an open box 
 under her bed a tray magnificently decorated with 
 mother-of-pearl birds of paradise seated on pink trees, 
 and surrounded by a prospect not to be paralleled on 
 this side the moon. 
 
 She returned to the kitchen with these things, and 
 then entered the garden and picked a bouquet of sweet- 
 scented flowers, with which she furnished the tray. 
 Then she set to work upon a loaf of bread, and produced 
 in no time a number of thin and appetising slices; 
 which done, and the tray being arranged, she fell back 
 a step to admire the effect. 
 
 At a quarter-past three Holdsworth returned, followed 
 by a boy with his arms full of bags. He called to Mrs. 
 Parrot, who came out and took the bags from the boy, 
 and placed them upon the dining-room table. More 
 things than edibles had been purchased ; though of 
 these there was enough to give an evening party upon 
 fruit, cakes, pots of jam, gingerbread-nuts, sweetmeats, 
 tarts ; there was a doll ; there was also a horse and 
 cart ; and there was an immense box of bricks. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot turned pale, and was much too astonished 
 x
 
 306 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 to speak, as Holdsworth thrust the bags and pots, the 
 buns and the tarts, into her arms, and requested her to 
 take them at once into the kitchen, and display them 
 on plates to the very best advantage, ready for the little 
 one when the bell should ring for tea. He then hid 
 the toys in a closet, and stationed himself at the window 
 to watch for Nelly. 
 
 Punctual to the moment, she came out of the house, 
 led by the hand by the servant, who looked horribly 
 grimy. Holdsworth ran to the door and opened it, and 
 when the child came timidly up to him, snatched her 
 up in his arms, and hastened with her into the sitting- 
 room, kissing her all the way. 
 
 " There's a good little pet," he said sitting down and 
 keeping her on his knee. " Let me take off your hat. 
 Nelly mustn't be afraid of me." 
 
 " My own ! my own !" he murmured, as his lingering 
 fingers caressed her soft hair, and he gazed with 
 passionate love at her big eyes, roving with a half-scared 
 expression from his face around the room. 
 
 " Me dot dolly," she said, producing the old toy from 
 under her cloak. 
 
 " Ay, that's right ; and dolly shall have a slice of 
 cake all to herself. Here she is ! " he exclaimed, seeing 
 Mrs. Parrot peeping in at the door. " Will you take 
 her hat and this little cape ?" 
 
 "How do you do, dear?' 5 said Mrs. Parrot, giving 
 the child a kiss. 
 
 " Look at my frock ! " exclaimed Nelly, holding up 
 her dress, which had a little embroidery work upon it, 
 and which bore marks of much patient mending and 
 darning. 
 
 " Beautiful ! beautiful ! " cried Mrs. Parrot. " I've
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 307 
 
 set the kettle on to bile, sir, and tea '11 be ready whin- 
 iver you're pleased to want it." 
 
 So saying, she dropped a courtesy, being greatly im- 
 pressed by Mr. Hampden's undoubted wealth, illustrated 
 by his prodigal purchases, and withdrew. 
 
 Father and child 1 A lonely man, gentle, honour 
 able, faithful, as any whom God in His wisdom has 
 chosen to afflict, opening his heart to receive and fold 
 up the sweetness and innocence of his own little baby ! 
 
 Ah ! I think even Mrs. Parrot might have guessed 
 the strange mystery of this man's desire for the child, 
 had she but watched him from some secret hiding-place 
 when the door had closed upon her. 
 
 He surrendered himself to his emotion when he felt 
 himself alone with the little girl, and for many moments 
 could not speak to her, could do no more than look at 
 her, searching her fairy lineaments with something 
 almost of a woman's ecstasy, reading his brief history of 
 hopeful, beautiful love in her fresh deep eyes, and drink- 
 ing in greedily the memories of the days that were no 
 more, which thronged from the face that mirrored his 
 as it was when Dolly knew him, as the dew-drop 
 mirrors the sun. 
 
 But he was recalled to himself by the gathering ex- 
 pression of fear in Nelly. Indeed, there was something 
 alarming enough to her in the concentrated passion, all 
 soft and holy as it was, that shone in his fixed regard. 
 
 Such abandonment to feeling would not do, if the 
 part he was to play was to be complete. 
 
 He placed her gently on the floor, and, going to the 
 cupboard, brought out the doll. 
 
 " See, Nelly ! here is a little lady I invited expressly 
 to drink tea with you. She told me that she had often
 
 308 JOHN HOLDSWORTII. 
 
 seen you pass her shop in the High Street, and that she 
 wanted to live with you. You must take her home 
 when you leave me, will you?" 
 
 Nelly stood for a moment transfixed by the spectacle 
 of this gorgeously-dressed creature, resplendent in blue 
 gauze, bronzed boots, gilt sash, and flowing red feather. 
 Then so permanent is human affection she threw 
 down her old doll and ran forward, with outstretched 
 arms, to welcome and hug the stranger. 
 
 But the sum of her amazement was not yet made out. 
 Once more Holdsworth dived into the mysterious cup- 
 board and produced the horse and cart, which, he told 
 Nelly, was the chariot that had brought the young lady 
 to his house, and without which she never condescended 
 to take the air, being much too fine a lady to walk. 
 The box of bricks followed ; and presently Nelly was 
 on the floor, taking up the three toys one after the other 
 in quick succession, her avariciousness of enjoyment 
 perplexed by the number of the objects that ministered 
 to it. 
 
 Holdsworth knelt by her side and watched her face. 
 
 A man need not be a father to find something elevat- 
 ing and purifying in the contemplation of a child's 
 countenance, varied by tiny innocent emotions, reflect- 
 ing the little play of her small passions, as her eyes 
 reflect the objects that surround her. But that subtle 
 and sacred bond, which unites a child's life to a parent's 
 heart, creates an impulse to such contemplation which 
 makes the pleasure sweeter than any other kind of 
 pleasure, by the infusion of an exquisite pathos, mingled 
 with the only kind of pride to which vanity seems to 
 contribute nothing. 
 
 The natural bitterness which Holdsworth felt in
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 309 
 
 thinking that his little girl did not know him, that mis- 
 fortune had thrust his love out of the sphere of her own 
 and his wife's life, was converted into tender melancholy 
 by the emotions Nelly's presence excited, and left his 
 pleasure unalloyed by pain. Here was a little being 
 who was his at least ; his by a right no sin, no folly, no 
 error could challenge ; indisputably his, to survive, if 
 God permitted, into his future, when the time should 
 come for him to call himself aloud by the name of 
 Father, and ask her love as some recompense for that 
 present sacrifice of his which was enforced by grand 
 obedience to the high laws of morality. 
 
 How hard it was to be thus true to himself, thus 
 true to his wife, thus true to the little one who must 
 needs share some portion of that obligation of shame 
 which would befall them all, were he to confess himself 
 Judge ! for you see him kneeling by his child's side ; 
 you may behold his love in his eyes ; you may know 
 that no upturned luminous glance of hers but thrills 
 along the chords of his passion, and makes his heart 
 gush forth its overfull tenderness, even until his sight 
 grows humid, and he turns his thoughts in a piteous 
 aside to God for courage and will, so to sustain this 
 strange, pathetic happiness, that no sorrow shall follow it. 
 
 " Nelly, we will have tea now," he says ; and he 
 rings the bell, and then comes up to the child again, 
 and turns her face up, kisses her suddenly, and seats 
 himself at a distance with his chin upon his hand. 
 
 Then Mrs. Parrot came in, armed with the tray, 
 which she placed upon the table, while she challenged 
 her lodger's admiration by lightly lifting her gray eyes 
 and smirking.
 
 310 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Yes, it was very beautiful. The bouquet made the 
 room odoriferous at once ; the birds of paradise looked 
 splendid ; the cups were elegant enough to induce one 
 to go on drinking tea with stubborn disregard of the 
 nervous system, for hours and hours together, if only 
 for an excuse to handle them and have them under the 
 eye. In order to bring little Nelly's head a little above 
 the level of the table, Holdsworth piled three or four 
 of the folios on a chair, on which he seated her ; and 
 that the two dolls might be seen to advantage, he very 
 ingeniously tied them together, and set them on a chair, 
 leaning against the table, with a plate and a slice of 
 bread-and-butter before them ; whereat Nelly laughed 
 rapturously, clapping her hands and filling the room 
 with sweet sounds. 
 
 It was all Fairyland, these cups and toys and cakes 
 and what not, to the little girl, whose tea at home was 
 often no more than a slice of dry bread, when her step- 
 father had drunk away the money he should have given 
 to his wife, and left her without the means to purchase 
 an ounce of butter. The sun was at the back of the 
 house, and its rules of yellow light flooded the floor at 
 the extremity of the apartment, and flung a golden haze 
 over that portion of the room where the table stood. 
 There was something so charming in the scene thus deli- 
 cately lighted, that Mrs. Parrot, who had been struggling 
 with her modesty for some minutes, while she fidgeted 
 over the plates and dishes, suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 " I humbly beg parding for the liberty, sir, but would 
 you mind mother just takin' one peep ? She came into 
 the kitchen while I was dressin' the tray, an' I told her 
 what was goin' forward, an' I think it 'ud do her heart 
 good to see this beautiful- show."
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. t 311 
 
 " Let her come by all means," replied Holdsworth, 
 touched and diverted by the perfect simplicity of these 
 people. 
 
 Presently fell a respectful knock, and Mrs. Parrot 
 re-entered, followed by a Eoman nose that came and 
 vanished like an optical delusion near the handle of the 
 door. 
 
 " Come in, mother ; the gentleman's kind enough to 
 say you may," said Mrs. Parrot ; and in faltered the old 
 woman, dropping an aged courtesy, and making her 
 spectacles chatter in their wooden case as she strove to 
 withdraw them. 
 
 "Ain't this a picter, mother?" 
 
 " Niver see anything to aquil it," replied the old lady, 
 putting on her spectacles and gazing around her with 
 many a convulsive motion of the head. " Why, Sairey, 
 them's our best cups ! " 
 
 " Yes, I told you I was usiu' them. Don't you see 
 the little gal, mother?" 
 
 "See her 1 ? Yes, of course I do. But she don't 
 Avant an old "ooman like me to kiss her, eh, my pretty 1 
 I'm very much obleeged, sir," dropping a creaking 
 courtesy, " for the sight o' this table." 
 
 " Would your mother like one of these cakes for her 
 tea 1 ?" said Holdsworth. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you're very good. Mother, the gentleman 
 wants to know if you'll accept of one of these cakes for 
 your tea? 1 ' 
 
 " Thank ye, sir. I relish a bit o' somethin' sweet 
 now and agin," replied the old lady, dropping another 
 courtesy as she received the cake. " I was cook to Squire 
 Harrowden, lar' bless yer ! I dessay it were years afore 
 you was born, and they did say as there niver was my
 
 312 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 aquil i' the makin' o' pie -crust. I've cooked for as 
 many as a hundred and tin persons, ay, that I have," 
 with intense earnestness, " as Sairey '11 bear me witness, 
 for she's heerd the story from her own father, as was 
 gamekeeper to the Squire, an' a more likely man you 
 niver see, sir. His name was Cramp, which he was a 
 Croydon man, as you may happen to know the name if 
 you was iver in them parts." 
 
 " Come, mother, we have stopped long enough," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Parrot, putting her hand upon the old 
 lady's arm. 
 
 They both courtesied ; and then the old woman let 
 fall the cake, which rolled under the table. Holdsworth 
 recovered it for her, which act of condescension was so 
 overwhelming that she let the cake fall again ; on which 
 Mrs. Parrot lost her temper, and hurried the old dame 
 through the door at a velocity to which her legs were 
 quite unused, and possibly quite unequal. She might 
 be heard feebly remonstrating in a voice similar to the 
 sound a key makes when turned in a rusty lock ; and 
 then the door was closed, and Holdsworth and Nelly 
 were left alone. 
 
 If Mrs. Parrot had dared, she would have been glad 
 to advise Holdsworth " not to let the little gal eat too 
 much, there bein' nothing worse nor sweetstuff for young 
 stomachs, which finds milk-and-water sometimes too 
 much for 'em." But, happily, Nelly was not a glutton ; 
 besides, the majority of human beings at her age eat 
 only as much as they want, and no more ; we wait until 
 our judgment is matured, until life is precious, until we 
 have experienced most of the distempers which arise
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 313 
 
 from an overloaded stomach, before making ourselves 
 thoroughly ill with over-feeding 1 
 
 By this time the child was perfectly at home with 
 Holdsworth, and enjoying herself immensely, varying a 
 bite at a slice of cake with a bite at some bread covered 
 with jam, sipping the good milk Holdsworth had obtained 
 for her with great gravity, and staring at the dolls, and 
 then bending to make sure that her bricks had not taken 
 to their heels while she was looking at the horse and 
 cart, and that the horse had not bolted with the cart 
 while she was looking at her bricks. 
 
 Holdsworth scarcely removed his eyes from her face. 
 When he spoke to her there was a softness in his voice 
 that melted like music on the ear. 
 
 At last she pushed her plate away, and Holdsworth 
 rang the bell, and giving Mrs. Parrot private instructions 
 to make up a parcel of the remainder of the cakes, etc., 
 ready for Nelly to take home with her, he clasped the 
 child's hand and went with her into the garden, she hold- 
 ing the new doll, he dragging the horse and cart after him. 
 
 There was a square of grass in this garden, and a 
 bench on it ; and here Holdsworth sat, while Nelly 
 played with her toys. 
 
 It was a roomy, old-fashioned garden, with aged 
 walls, full of rusty nails and rotten ligatures, and a few 
 tall pear-tears sheltering a small circumference of ground 
 at their feet; and many fruit-trees sprawling wildly 
 against the walls. The moss was like a carpet on the 
 flint walk, and the box at the side of the bed was high 
 and thick ; and at the top of the garden was an old hen- 
 coop, hedged about with wirework, behind which some 
 dozen hens scratched the soil for worms, and made the 
 air drowsy with their odd, half-suppressed mutterings.
 
 314 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Moods possess us, sometimes, which such a scene as 
 this will affect more pleasurably than a garden bursting 
 with exotics, and tended with the highest artistic judg- 
 ment. There is something very calming in homely 
 shrubs, and old fruit-trees with their roots hidden by the 
 long, vivid grass, and uncouth weeds thrusting their rude 
 shapes among violet beds ; and the solemn chatter of 
 barn-door hens sunning themselves in hot spaces, or 
 lying like dead things with a wing half-buried in sand 
 and dirt, will sometimes impart a more agreeable tran- 
 quillity to the mind than the choicest songs of nightin- 
 gales warbled in groves under a full moon. 
 
 Holdsworth suffered the child to have her full sportive 
 will for some time, and then, thinking her tired, called 
 her to him. 
 
 She ran to him at once, and he perched her on his 
 knee. 
 
 " Is Nelly afraid of me now ?" 
 
 " No. Nelly dot afraid. Nelly loves 'oo." 
 
 In proof whereof she put her mouth up for a kiss. 
 
 " Will Nelly come to see me every day?" 
 
 " Det." 
 
 " Does Nelly's papa love her 1" 
 
 He believed that she had been taught to regard Mr. 
 Conway as her papa. It was a sore tax upon the gentle 
 mood then on him to put the question in that form, but 
 he Avished to learn if his child were well treated by her 
 step-father. 
 
 The question puzzled her. Indeed, she was a very 
 little thing, and backward in her speech. It was deli- 
 cious to see her knit her tiny brows, and gaze with her 
 full, deep, earnest eyes on Holdsworth, with a half- 
 intelligence in her face, and all the rest child-sweetness.
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 315 
 
 Like all children, who cannot answer a question, she 
 remained silent ; a hint parents would sometimes do 
 well to take. 
 
 "Does Nelly get plenty to eatl" 
 
 " Det." 
 
 This was not quite true ; hut then Holdsworth, who 
 knew nothing of children, was ignorant that little infants 
 will borrow their answers from your voice or face, so 
 that to get an affirmative from them you have only to 
 speak or look affirmatively. 
 
 "Does mamma teach Nelly to pray 1 ?" 
 
 " Det. Nelly pray." 
 
 And, to prove how well she could pray, she put her 
 two hands together, hung down her head, and whispered: 
 
 " Dod bless dear mamma and Nelly. Dod bless little 
 Nelly's dear papa." 
 
 She looked up coyly, as though ashamed. 
 
 Dear reader, smile not at these simple words, nor 
 think them puerile. When we behold a little child 
 praying, we know how the angels worship God. 
 
 A sob broke from Holdsworth as she ceased. Who 
 was little Nelly's dear papa but he ? His wife's love 
 had dictated that prayer, and it was their child who 
 told him of her love. Ah ! God had deigned to hear 
 that prayer, whispered by a wife's heart through the 
 lips of her infant, and had blessed him with this know- 
 ledge of her devotion, and had brought him from afar 
 to know it. 
 
 No ; not want of love had made her faithless to his 
 memory. Faithless she was not she could not be if 
 her heart nightly spoke to God of him through her 
 child. 
 
 Let him look at the little girl now ; let him feel the
 
 316 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 fulness of the love she inspired in him ; let him imagine 
 that he was desolate and friendless, and in want, and 
 that this frail flower, this tender little lamb, pined and 
 grew wan and ragged for food and raiment; let him 
 mingle with his own emotion the pain and torment 
 which a mother's heart would feel in the presence of 
 this baby's sufferings and then let him condemn his 
 wife, if he could, for sacrificing her memories and accept- 
 ing food and shelter from any hand that offered them 
 under any honourable conditions. 
 
 He could not speak again for some time ; and Nelly, 
 growing tired of sitting, slipped from his knee, and 
 betook herself to her toys. 
 
 Then his eyes kindled anew, and he watched her 
 eagerly. He longed to ask her questions to hear her 
 lisp him sweet assurances of his Dolly's love to learn 
 from her little lips that her mother was his, had been, 
 would always be his, though separated from him by a 
 barrier as formidable as death. But there was no ques- 
 tion he could put which the child might not repeat again ; 
 for, backward as she was in speech, her small imperfect 
 language would be intelligible enough to the mother. 
 His curiosity would be too unnatural in a stranger not to 
 excite Dolly's suspicions ; and if they should not even 
 lead to the discovery of his secret, they might be the 
 means of breaking off all intercourse between him and 
 his child. 
 
 And so he remained silent ; and presently, as he sat 
 watching the little creature pushing her doll to and fro 
 in the cart and talking to herself, a calm came upon his 
 heart a sense of exquisite repose and security. You 
 would have said, to look upon him and remark the placid 
 sweetness that reigned in his face, that the child's prayer
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 317 
 
 had veritably done its office that God had blessed him 
 indeed. 
 
 A long hour passed. The garden was fresh and cool ; 
 the declining sun mellowed the gray walls and kindled 
 many little suns in the vine-draped windows ; the spar- 
 rows flitted quickly with short chirrups from tree to 
 tree ; and the crooning of the hens added complete- 
 ness to the peace and tenderness that breathed in the 
 air. 
 
 Once again Nelly was on Holdsworth's knee, fetching 
 vague replies from her struggling perceptions for his 
 questions, when Mrs. Parrot came out of the house and 
 said that Mrs. Conway was in the sitting-room, waiting 
 to take her little girl home. 
 
 Holdsworth glanced quickly at the window of the 
 room, but did not see her. He put the child down 
 hurriedly, and said : 
 
 " There, my little pet, run along with Mrs. Parrot." 
 
 " Won't you come and speak to Mrs. Conway, sir ?" 
 asked Mrs. Parrot " She wants to thank you for your 
 kindness." 
 
 " No no pray don't let her call it kindness," stam- 
 mered Holdsworth, who was very pale. 
 
 " I'm sure she'll take it unkind if you won't let her 
 thank you, sir," said Mrs. Parrot earnestly. " She's 
 been watching you both through the window for the last 
 five minutes, an' I couldn't help tellin' her what a fine 
 treat you have given Miss Nelly. Besides, she's seen 
 them toys," she added, looking at Nelly's presents. 
 
 A whole lifetime of nervous pain was in that moment's 
 pause. Could he meet her, speak to her, and remain 
 unknown ? His desire was to hide. It seemed incon- 
 ceivable that in five years such a change should be
 
 318 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 wrought in him as to render him unrecognisable by his 
 wife. 
 
 But the pressing necessity of immediate action was 
 too sudden to give his imagination time to alarm his 
 judgment. He must dare the encounter, since it was 
 not to be obviated by any means which might not 
 prove more productive of suspicion than bold confront- 
 ment. 
 
 He laid the utmost tyranny of his will upon his feel- 
 ings, and saying : 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Parrot. Mrs. Conway 
 will think me rude if I do not see her," took Nelly's 
 hand and walked with her to the house. 
 
 Dolly was seated in an arm-chair near the fireplace, 
 leaning her cheek on her hand. Her attitude showed 
 that she had been watching the group in the garden. 
 
 She stood up when Holdsworth entered and bowed 
 to him. 
 
 Nelly ran to her, holding up her doll. 
 
 " Look, mamma ! " 
 
 The action was timely ; it enabled Holdsworth to 
 walk to the side of the window, where the shadow lay 
 darkest, and there he stood. 
 
 This he had sense enough to do ; but for a moment 
 or two the room swam round him, and he grasped the 
 back of a chair. 
 
 Would sJie know him ? 
 
 That thought swept like a galvanic shock through 
 him, and made his blood tingle. 
 
 It brought hope with it and fear ; a wild paradoxical 
 emotion of yearning love and the blighting sense of the 
 sorrow and dishonour recognition would involve. 
 
 " I have to thank you very much, Mr. Hampden, for
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 319 
 
 your attention to my little girl," she said in a low sweet 
 voice how remembered ! 
 
 "Her society gives me great happiness," he replied, 
 with the faintest tremor in his tone. 
 
 It might have been that sign of agitation which made 
 her look at him. suddenly. 
 
 His gaze sank But he felt her eyes upon his face, 
 and the eager, restless scrutiny that filled them. 
 
 But if ever a memory of something infinitely beloved 
 to her had been renewed by his reply, it melted upon 
 her conviction of the death of him whom Holdsworth's 
 voice had recalled to her, as snow upon water. 
 
 Could it have been otherwise ? 
 
 Not five years not twenty years not a lifetime, 
 maybe, of ordinary sufferings could have so transformed 
 his face but that her love could have pierced the mask. 
 
 But the unnatural misery of those ten days in the 
 open boat the hunger that had wasted, the agonising 
 thirst that had twisted his face out of all likeness to what 
 it had been, the growth of beard and moustache that 
 hid the lower part of the countenance, the gray hair, the 
 bare forehead, the deformed eyebrows, the rugged indent 
 between the brows, the stooped form ! 
 
 Here was a transformation that would have defied a 
 mother's instincts that would have offered an impene- 
 trable front to perception barbed into keenness by the 
 profoundest love that ever warmed the heart. 
 
 And yet, looking at this woman attentively looking 
 at her gazing at yonder man, cowering, it might almost 
 seem, in the friendly shadow of the wall there was 
 something in her eyes, something in her face, something in 
 her whole manner, that would have quickened your pulse 
 with a moment of breathless suspense.
 
 320 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 In such matters, as in the loss of memory, we must 
 recognise the existence of a deep spiritual insight having 
 no reference to the revelations of the mind. There are 
 convictions which do not satisfy, though cemented by 
 logic and acted on by their possessor with sincere con- 
 science. Against such convictions instincts will surge 
 as waves break upon a shore. Echoes are awakened, 
 but are thought purposeless. And the conviction is 
 still maintained, while the secret truth rolls at its base. 
 
 The voice of Holdsworth, but not his face, had set 
 Dolly's instincts in motion. 
 
 But then her conviction that Holdsworth was dead 
 was a permanent one ; and under it her instincts sub- 
 sided into uneasy sleep, though there was a shadow of 
 melancholy on her face when she removed her eyes, 
 which had not been there before Holdsworth spoke. 
 
 "I hope Nelly has been good, Mr. Hampden." 
 
 " Very good, indeed." 
 
 He seemed to know that the crisis was passed, for he 
 breathed more freely, looked at her, and removed his 
 hand from the chair. 
 
 " These toys are very beautiful. I really feel unable 
 to express my gratitude to you." 
 
 " You owe me no thanks. My gratitude is due to 
 you for allowing your sweet little girl to come and see 
 me." 
 
 " Mrs. Parrot tells me you are very fond of children ?" 
 
 "Very. I hope little Nelly will often be here. I 
 am quite alone, and she cheers me with her pretty 
 prattle." 
 
 She glanced at him quickly and sympathetically, as 
 he said he was alone, and sighed. 
 
 Holdsworth noticed that her dress was very shabby ;
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 321 
 
 but her beauty lost nothing by her apparel. He thought 
 her looking sweeter than when he had left her five 
 years before. Her riper charms were made touching 
 by an under colouring of sadness, and there was languor 
 in her movements and speech sign of heart-weariness. 
 
 "It is time for us to get home, Nelly," she said, 
 looking uneasily towards the window. " Go and give 
 Mr. Hampden a kiss, and thank him prettily for his 
 beautiful presents." 
 
 The child approached Holdsworth, who kissed her 
 gently, repressing the passionate emotion that, had he 
 been alone, would have prompted him to raise her in 
 his arms and press her to his breast. 
 
 "Here are some little cakes," he said, taking the 
 parcel Mrs. Parrot had prepared, and giving them to 
 the child, but addressing Dolly, " whifch will amuse her 
 to play with. When may she come again, Mrs. Con- 
 way r 
 
 " Oh, she must not intrude . . ." 
 
 " No, no ! she cannot come too often. Pray let me 
 make a companion of her. She has completely won 
 my heart. May she not walk with me sometimes ? I 
 promise to take as much care of her as if she were my 
 own child." 
 
 He had advanced a step and spoke eagerly, bending 
 forward ; but meeting her full eyes fixed on him with a 
 little frown of mingled fear and amazement, he turned 
 pale, fell back a step, and forcing a smile, said hurriedly : 
 
 " I am sometimes sometimes laughed at for for 
 my love of children." 
 
 She did not answer him for some moments, but 
 stood watching Mm with a startled expression, suggest- 
 ing both fascination and terror. Then she averted her 
 
 Y
 
 322 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 eyes slowly, the colour went out of her cheeks, and she 
 murmured something under her breath. 
 
 " You remind me of one who was very dear to me 
 ... I beg your pardon . . . there is often a strange 
 resemblance in the tones of voices." 
 
 She took the child's hand, and was mechanically walk- 
 ing to the door. 
 
 "Me want dolly and horse," said Nelly, holding 
 back. 
 
 Holdsworth picked up the toys, and went into the 
 passage to open the door. They bowed to each other, 
 and Holdsworth returned to the sitting-room. 
 
 The moment he had dreaded had come and was 
 gone. He had met his wife, spoken with her, and she 
 did not know him. 
 
 He had noticed the sudden surprise and fear that 
 had come into her face ; he had noticed the deeply 
 thoughtful mood in which she had quitted the house. 
 But these things proved no more than this : that a note, 
 familiar to her ear, still lived in the tones of his voice, 
 and had aroused for awhile the memory which rarely 
 disturbed her now, save in dreams at night. 
 
 Well! what he wished had happened. Suffering 
 had deformed him, time had changed him, to some pur- 
 pose. He could play the game of life anew, as one 
 freshly come upon the stage. His paradise was closed 
 to him, but he could stand at the gate and be a looker- 
 on at the sphere in which his most sacred interests 
 played their parts ; he could respect and uphold, by his 
 withdrawal and secrecy, her, whose vows to him his 
 imagined death had cancelled ; he could have his child 
 for a playmate, and sow in her heart those seeds of love,
 
 FATHER AND CHILD. 323 
 
 which, if God should ever suffer her to know her father, 
 would, in the fulness of time, bless him with an abun- 
 dant harvest of happiness. 
 
 But, though he would not, for the worth of his life, 
 have had things otherwise than they were, yet, as he 
 stood in the room from which the light had departed 
 with his child's sweet face, the tears rose to his eyes 
 and sobs convulsed him. 
 
 Oh, it was hard to look back upon his sufferings, and 
 feel that nothing but suffering yet remained ; hard and 
 bitter to behold those whom he loved, those whose love 
 would spring to meet him were he to make but one 
 little sign, and to know that he was as dead to them as 
 if the great desolate sea rolled over his body. 
 
 But here was a noble self-sacrificing heart that could 
 not long mourn its own afflictions. High virtues are 
 always pregnant with high consolations, and a good 
 man's grief for himself is short because he carries many 
 tender ministers to it in his bosom. There was no 
 triumph now to complete, for his conquest over impulse 
 had been achieved at Southbourne. He drew to the 
 open window at the back, where the air was fragrant 
 with the smell of hay from the meadows beyond, and 
 the cool evening perfumes of flowers hidden amid the 
 shrubbery in the garden, and watched the sun sinking, 
 whilst his thoughts followed it to the distant deep, whose 
 breast it overhung, and on whose lonely surface he had 
 watched it rising and setting with a despair the memory 
 of which filled him with thoughts too deep for tears.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 DOLLY'S THOUGHTS. 
 
 THREE days passed before Holdsworth saw Nelly again. 
 He then, from his window, beheld her playing on the 
 pavement opposite with the horse and cart he had given 
 her. 
 
 He called, and she came running over to him gleefully 
 at once. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot was despatched to request Mrs. Conway's 
 leave that Nelly might stop to tea with Mr. Hampden, 
 and returned to say that " the little gal might, with the 
 greatest of pleasure." 
 
 Again and again Nelly was summoned out of the 
 road by Holdsworth, sometimes of a morning, sometimes 
 of an afternoon, when he could see her. The little crea- 
 ture soon learnt to resist all her mother's suggestions 
 that she should play in the back garden ; she liked the 
 pavement in the road, especially the pavement opposite 
 Holdsworth's lodgings, and with an air of inscrutable 
 mystery would keep a sharp look-out for Holdsworth, 
 while she feigned to be absorbed in her toy. Ah, the 
 artfulness of some little girls ! But then there were 
 always gingerbread and cakes for her in the miraculous 
 cupboard in the corner of Holdsworth's room ; and the 
 temptation to obtain these luxuries, and to evade the
 
 DOLLY'S THOUGHTS. 325 
 
 slice of bread and cup of thin milk and water which 
 formed her evening meal at home, was sometimes power- 
 ful enough to send her toddling out of the back garden, 
 where her mother placed her, into the road, actually 
 unobserved by mamma, who, imagining that she still 
 played in the garden, would be astonished by Mrs. 
 Parrot coming across and saying that Miss Nelly was 
 with Mr. Hampden, and please might she stop to tea. 
 
 Often, if Holdsworth had the good fortune to see his 
 little girl in the morning, or early in the afternoon, he 
 would put on his hat, and leaving word with Mrs. Parrot 
 to tell Mrs. Conway, should she ask, that he had taken 
 Nelly for a walk, clasp the child's hand and stroll with 
 her into the town. 
 
 Nelly enjoyed these rambles hugely. Their two 
 figures contrasted strangely, and many a woman's eyes 
 would follow them, because the measured step, the 
 thoughtful brow, the sunken face of the man, and the 
 golden-haired child at his side, with her bright young 
 face and big eyes drinking in the sights and processions 
 of the streets, and little twinkling feet, tripping so fleetly 
 and dancingly along, that one would say she held his 
 hand to prevent herself flying away, formed a picture 
 which a woman's heart would love to contemplate for 
 its prettiness. 
 
 They would sometimes turn out of the hot streets, 
 when Nelly's listless glance would show her weary at 
 last of the splendours of the toy-shops (before which 
 they regularly stopped) and wander to the river's side ; 
 and there, in the shadow of trees, Holdsworth would 
 rest himself, while Nelly cleared the space around her 
 of all the daisies and buttercups she could find. 
 
 These were hours of deep and calm enjoyment to
 
 326 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 Holdsworth, who, until the chimes of the town clocks 
 warned him to rise, would lie, with his head supported 
 on his elbow, that his face might be close to Nelly's 
 that he might catch every fluctuating expression that 
 made her eyes an endless series of sweet signs, that he 
 might hear every faltering syllable that fell from her 
 lips. 
 
 Soft and cool were the sounds the river made, as its 
 gentle tide gurgled a secret music among the high rushes, 
 or rippled round stumps of trees or projections of stone 
 lodged in the bank. Winged insects flashed many- 
 coloured lights upon the eye as they swept from shadow 
 to shadow, parted by a rivulet of sunshine falling through 
 the openings in the trees. Now and again a trout leaped 
 with a pleasant and lazy splash. From the shores 
 opposite, behind the trees, came the smell of the warm 
 red clover, mingled with the multitudinous hum of bees. 
 Afar, at a bend of the stream, an angler might stand 
 watching his quill, with his head and shoulders mirrored 
 in the clear water so exquisite the counterfeit that one 
 might easily make a parable out of it, and sermonise 
 slumberously, as befitted the drowsy influence of the hot 
 day, on those illusions of life which mock the heart they 
 mislead in its search after truth. 
 
 Once, when Holdsworth was taking Nelly home, after 
 a long rest on the river's edge, he met Mr. Conway, who 
 stared very hard, but passed on without addressing the 
 child. Nelly drew close to Holdsworth when she saw 
 the man. 
 
 Holdsworth knew Conway perfectly well by sight 
 now. The dentist had repeatedly passed the window 
 at which Holdsworth stationed himself on the look-out 
 for Nelly ; and of late, it might have been noticed, he
 
 DOLLY'S THOUGHTS. 327 
 
 * 
 
 would glance with no unfriendly expression towards Mrs. 
 Parrot's old-fashioned house. 
 
 His walk, when he did not actually reel, as he very 
 often did, might have been studied with some disgust 
 as an illustration of character. It was a species of glid- 
 ing movement, such as a man might be supposed to 
 adopt, whose self-abasement he himself holds irrevoc- 
 able, and who has made up his mind no longer to walk, 
 but to sneak through life. The influence of importu- 
 nate creditors might be marked in the quick, furtive 
 glancing of the eye, that wandered from side to side 
 and challenged every individual it rested upon. One 
 half-dulled perception of his social obligations might 
 yet linger ; or perhaps it was an innate love of dress 
 which, from being a vice in prosperity, would degen- 
 erate into a kind of sickly virtue in poverty, that gave 
 him an indescribable air of seedy jauntiness, tilting 
 his soiled hat, swathing his neck in a bright ker- 
 chief, and furnishing his body with a small-waisted 
 frock-coat. 
 
 It was very natural that Mrs. Parrot's lodger should 
 be somewhat of a mystery to him. Having no liking 
 for children himself, but, on the contrary, a rather 
 decided aversion to them, he could not understand 
 what this Mr. Hampden saw in Nelly to make him so 
 prodigal in his gifts, so eager for her society. 
 
 "Who was he? As Mrs. Parrot made a point of avoid- 
 ing him, he could not very well question her about her 
 lodger ; but since she was the only person in Hanwitch 
 who was likely to know anything about him, he got one 
 of her tradesmen to cross-examine her. But this ruse 
 resulted in little. All that Mrs. Parrot could tell was, 
 that her lodger's name was Hampden, that he was a
 
 328 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 gentleman with rather queer habits, and that he seemed 
 to have lots of money. 
 
 It was something to find out that he had lots of money. 
 
 On the strength of this Mr. Conway suddenly dis- 
 covered Nelly to be a very interesting child, and never 
 seemed more pleased than when she was over the way 
 at Mrs. Parrot's. 
 
 The fact was, the dentist had an idea. It was a 
 small, contemptible, tricky idea, such as poverty and 
 drink would beget between them. He kept it to him- 
 self and waited. 
 
 Dolly, of course, was deeply gratified by Mr. Hamp- 
 den's affection for her child. At first her curiosity had 
 been morbidly excited by this stranger. Something 
 there had been in his voice which stirred memory to its 
 centre : and the strange, baffling, elusive thoughts it 
 had induced kept her spiritless and nervous for some 
 days after the interview between them. Twice she 
 dreamed of the husband she believed dead. The dream, 
 in both instances, was perplexed, and left no determin- 
 able impression ; but its iteration increased her melan- 
 choly, and made memory painful and importunate. 
 
 She accounted for her feelings by referring them to 
 the recollections which had been abruptly renewed 
 dragged, so to say, from the grave in which they lay 
 hidden ; and this clue being put into her hand, left her 
 easy as to the raison d'etre of her depression. 
 
 Indeed, no suspicion of this stranger's identity with 
 Holdsworth could have entered her mind without being 
 instantly followed by conviction. The thought never 
 occurred to her : how could it? She believed him dead, 
 and the permanent habit of this belief took the quality 
 of established proof of his death.
 
 DOLLY'S THOUGHTS. 329 
 
 But even if she had doubted his death ; if ever she 
 had cherished the hope that he would one day return 
 to her a hope that she had held to passionately for 
 awhile, but which had dropped dead out of her heart 
 when she gave her hand to Mr. Con way no memory 
 that she had of him would admit the possibility of the 
 change that had been wrought in him. 
 
 There was a sign to be made a look, a smile, a 
 whisper which would flash perception into her, knit into 
 compact form the thoughts which his voice had troubled, 
 and confess him her HUSBAND, though hollow-faced and 
 wan ; though stricken as with age ; though presenting 
 the ineffaceable memorials of grievous torture. 
 
 But, until this sign should be made, he must be a 
 stranger to her ; a puzzle, perhaps ; a man of eccentric 
 habits, and of an odd and striking aspect but not her 
 husband. 
 
 Nor, strange as his suddenly-acquired affection for 
 Nelly might seem to others, could it come to her as a 
 surprise. The mother's vanity would easily account for 
 the pleasure her little daughter gave to the lonely man. 
 
 Once, when Mrs. Parrot, meeting her in the road, 
 said that " It did seem strange that a man an' a child, as 
 had niver set eyes on each other before, should love each 
 other in the way Mr. Hampden and Miss Nelly did : " 
 Dolly answered, " Yes ; but though I am her mother 
 yet I must say that Nelly is a pretty and very winning 
 child, and there is nothing uncommon in strangers taking 
 a fancy to children." 
 
 No ; that was quite true, Mrs. Parrot answered ; and 
 told a story of a rich lady admiring a little beggar girl 
 in the street ; and how the rich lady took the wench 
 into her carrich, and got the parients' leaf to adopt her ;
 
 330 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 and how the beggar girl came into the rich lady's fortin, 
 and grew up into a stately an' 'aughty woman, an' 
 married a lord, she did, as was beknown to many. 
 
 " It 'ud be a comfortin' thing to you, ma'am, don't 
 you think, if Mr. Hampden was to adopt your little gal. 
 It 'ud be a relief to your feelings, wouldn't it?" Mrs. 
 Parrot said. 
 
 If some half-formed thought, bearing a resemblance 
 to Mrs. Parrot's view, had flitted across Dolly's mind, 
 let us not marvel. Never was her mood sadder, never 
 was her secret grief sharper, than when her child's future 
 formed the subject of her thoughts. Who would give 
 Nelly a home if she died ? Who would love the little 
 thing ; rear her in the knowledge of God, of her broken- 
 hearted mother, of her poor drowned father 1 
 
 " I could not part with her, Mrs. Parrot ; she is the 
 only link that binds me to bygone happy days. I could 
 not spare her. My life would be too lonely for me to 
 support it. But I often pray to God that she may find a 
 friend such a friend as I am sure Mr. Hampden would 
 make her when I am dead." 
 
 This hope that Mr. Hampden would prove that 
 friend was the real source of the comfort that filled her 
 heart each time she saw her little girl trip across to Mrs. 
 Parrot's house. 
 
 She seldom saw Holdsworth. Sometimes she thought 
 he avoided her. Twice, when she was leaving or re- 
 turning to her house, she saw him in the porch, and 
 each time he hastily withdrew, when she would have 
 crossed over to speak to him. On rare occasions she 
 met him coming from the town. Once he raised his hat 
 and passed on : once she went up to him to thank him 
 for his kindness to Nelly. He answered her hurriedly,
 
 DOLLY'S THOUGHTS. 331 
 
 speaking with an effort, and terminated the interview 
 almost abruptly by bowing and leaving her. Then, 
 again, his voice affected her powerfully. She stopped 
 and looked after him ; and went on her way, brooding, 
 with a little frown of anxious, painful thought. 
 
 On his part, the weight of his secret, when they 
 thus met, face to face, was insupportable. The wild 
 rush of impulse combated by inflexible resolution, 
 created a conflict in his breast beyond his capacity of 
 endurance. He could not have prolonged a conversation 
 with her. It was shocking to feel himself unknown ; 
 it was shocking to feel that he might betray himself. 
 But he could watch her from his window. He knew 
 now her hours of going and coming, and would station 
 himself behind the curtain, and follow her with exquisite 
 tenderness in his eyes, and sadness, crueller than words 
 can tell, in his heart. 
 
 How was this all to end ? 
 
 Here was the thought that now tormented him. 
 Six weeks had passed since he came to Hanwitch. He 
 was living frugally, indeed ; and of the money he had 
 brought with him from Australia a large portion still 
 remained. But his few hundred pounds made a very 
 slender capital ; and when they were spent what then ? 
 
 He knew very well that he could return to Sydney, that 
 Mr. Sherman would welcome him back, and reinstate 
 him in his old post. But the mere thought of leaving 
 England was misery to him. Suppose, under any plea, 
 he obtained Dolly's leave to take Nelly with him, could 
 he part from Dolly 1 He might never see her again. 
 Then let him think of her companion; of the sordid, 
 hungry life he knew she was leading knew, though he 
 could devise no expedient for relieving her, that might
 
 332 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 not be resented as an affront and lose him Nelly's com- 
 panionship. 
 
 He would rather have her in her grave than leave 
 her as she was. 
 
 If urgent distress should ever come upon her, he 
 would be at hand to succour and support her. And 
 that such urgent distress must come sooner or later 
 that the day sooner or later must arrive when she and 
 her child would be without a home, he had but to 
 watch the maundering man who passed his windows 
 backwards and forwards day after day, aimless, sodden, 
 and growing shabbier and shabbier every week in his 
 appearance, to know.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A VISIT. 
 
 How was Holdsworth to get a living 1 For what was 
 he fit 1 He was a good clerk ; Mr. Sherman had called 
 him so, at least ; Han witch was a tolerably large place, 
 and he ought to find no difficulty in obtaining employ- 
 ment. At any rate, he must try. 
 
 One morning he put on his hat and walked into the 
 town. 
 
 When lie reached the High Street, he stopped and 
 considered. 
 
 There was a bank ; he could apply there. Then 
 there was a brewery. If these failed, there remained 
 an insurance office. 
 
 These represented polite avocations. 
 
 There were shops in abundance, where men, better 
 looking than he, smiled over counters, and carried parcels, 
 and stood bare-headed on the pavement at carriage-doors. 
 But Holdsworth was still too much the sailor at heart 
 to tolerate the notion of shop-serving. He would start 
 a little school rather than do that. And indeed school- 
 keeping seemed more feasible than anything else. Mrs. 
 Parrot's lodgings would serve him there ; boys would 
 assemble by degrees ; and he could set and hear lessons, 
 and teach writing and mathematics, as well as any uni- 
 versity man.
 
 334 JOHN HOLDS WORTH. 
 
 Meanwhile, let him try the bank 
 
 It faced the market-place in the High Street, had a 
 well-worn door-step and stout, noisy swinging doors. 
 Holds worth entered, and found himself in a badly - 
 lighted office, with a counter across it, behind which 
 were three or four clerks. A man who looked a fourth- 
 rate fanner was paying money in, and whilst he counted 
 a great accumulation of greasy silver, which he had dis- 
 charged in company with a number of soiled, infragrant 
 cheques out of a leather bag, he paused at every twenty 
 to submit an observation of a rural nature to the intelli- 
 gence of an elderly personage with long whiskers, and 
 a somewhat Hebraical cast of visage, behind the counter. 
 
 The manager, for so the long- whiskered man was, 
 observing Holdsworth to be a stranger, politely asked 
 him his business. 
 
 " Can I speak to the manager ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; /am the manager. Walk this way, 
 please." 
 
 Saying which, the manager bustled importantly into 
 a back room, and threw open a side door for Holdsworth 
 to enter. 
 
 " Pray be seated, sir. Nice weather. " 
 
 And the manager drew a chair to a desk, clasped his 
 hands on a volume of interest-tables, and fixed his eyes 
 on Holdsworth. 
 
 " I have called to inquire if you are in want of a 
 clerk," said Holdsworth. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ?" exclaimed the manager. 
 
 Holdsworth repeated his remark, adding that he was 
 in want of a situation, and would be glad to fill any 
 vacancy there might be in the staff of the bank clerks. 
 
 The manager, who had expected something very
 
 A VISIT. 335 
 
 different from this, got up instantly ; his business-smile 
 vanished, he thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " Clerk, sir 1 Who told you we wanted a clerk ?" 
 
 "Nobody. I have called here at my own sugges- 
 tion." 
 
 " God bless my heart ! You are quite out of order, 
 sir ! Really, these intrusions upon my time .... you 
 should have explained your wish at the counter. When 
 we want a clerk, we know where to find one, backed, 
 sir, with first- class securities and influential recommen- 
 dations." 
 
 " Then I have made a mistake, that's all," said Holds- 
 worth, surveying the manager with great disgust ; and 
 paying no further heed to the protests with which the 
 other followed him to the door, he walked into the High 
 Street. 
 
 This summary treatment was enough to last him one 
 day. His indignation yielded to depression, and he re- 
 turned slowly and moodily to his lodgings. 
 
 This was the first time in his life he had ever made 
 an application for employment ; and his reception, which 
 was really genteel and civil compared to the receptions 
 experienced by men, old and young, every day, in search 
 of work, at the hands of employers, wounded his sensi- 
 bility and filled him with a sense of degradation. 
 
 He regained his lodgings, and endeavoured to console 
 himself with philosophy. 
 
 But philosophy, says Rochefoucauld, triumphs over 
 future and past ills; but present ills triumph over 
 philosophy. 
 
 His sensibility did not smart the less because he re- 
 flected that hundreds of better men than himself had
 
 336 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 been insulted by rejections as offensive as that with which 
 his inquiry had been encountered. 
 
 Thoughts of something tender and innocent will often 
 quell the stubbornest warmth. Holdsworth grew mild 
 in a moment when his mind went to little Nelly. 
 
 " I'll try the brewery to-morrow," he said to himself; 
 "and if that fails me, I'll advertise for a situation ; and 
 if nothing comes of that, I'll start a school." 
 
 Thus thinking he walked to the window, hoping to 
 see his child in the road. 
 
 Nobody was visible but the old politician with the 
 inflamed face, who was pacing slowly along the pave- 
 ment, his hands locked behind him, his eyes bent down- 
 wards, and his brow frowning grimly. Presently, Hold- 
 sworth knew, the other old politician, who lived at the 
 corner house, would come out, and there would be much 
 gesticulation, and violent declamation, and frequent 
 pauses, and moppings of the forehead with red silk 
 pocket-handkerchiefs. Rain had fallen in the night, 
 and cleansed the little gardens in front of the villas of 
 the three weeks' accumulation of dust that had settled 
 upon them, and freshened up the leaves and grass. In 
 the bit of ground before Mrs. Parrot's house the flowers 
 had withered on their stalks, but the shrubs still wore 
 the bright greenness of summer ; the soil was dark and 
 rich with the grateful moisture, and breathed a fragrance 
 of its own upon the morning air. 
 
 Holdsworth was about to quit the window when he 
 caught sight of Mr. Conway coming out of his gate. 
 He fell a step back, and watched the man from behind 
 the curtain. Mr. Conway advanced a few yards along 
 his own side of the road, and then crossed, with his 
 eyes fixed on Holdsworth's window.
 
 A VISIT. 337 
 
 Was he coming to the house ! He moved softly and 
 furtively, and when he was abreast of Mrs. Parrot's gate, 
 threw a glance behind him, pushed the gate open, and 
 knocked. 
 
 As Holdsworth did not know the man to speak to, 
 he did not for a moment suppose that this visit was 
 meant for him. Much was he surprised, and even 
 agitated, when Mrs. Parrot came in and said that Mr. 
 Conway was in the passage, and would like to see him. 
 
 The first idea that rushed into Holdsworth's head 
 was, " I am known !" But conjectures were out of the 
 question, for the man was waiting. " Pray show Mr. 
 Conway in," he said ; and in Mr. Conway came. 
 
 Holdsworth bowed, and so did the other, with a kind 
 of spasmodic grace a good bow spoiled by nervousness. 
 He had dressed himself with care ; he was cleanly 
 shaved ; his hair was carefully brushed ; his shirt collars 
 were white ; and his boots shone. 
 
 Holdsworth had never before seen him so close. 
 The light from the window fell upon his face and 
 showed the cobweb of veins in his eyes, the puffy 
 whiteness of his skin, the blueness of his lips, the tinge 
 of gleaming purple about his nostrils, and all the other 
 signals which the alcoholic fiend stamps upon the coun- 
 tenances of his votaries, so that, let them go where they 
 will, they may be known and loathed by honest men as 
 his adopted children. 
 
 But he was sober now ; as sober as a man can be 
 who has drunk but a glass of ale since he left his bed, 
 but whose flesh is soaked with the abomination of the 
 taverns, and whose brain can never be steady for the 
 fumes that rise incessantly into it. 
 
 "Mr. Hampden, I believe 1 ?" he exclaimed in a 
 I
 
 33S JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 creamy voice, standing near the door, which Mrs. Parrot 
 had shut behind him, and twisting his hat in his hands. 
 
 " Yes ; pray be seated," replied Holdsworth, looking 
 at him steadily, certain now that the object of this visit 
 was not what he had imagined it. 
 
 Mr. Conway sat down, and put his hat on the floor. 
 His embarrassment, when his business should come to 
 be known, might show a possibility of redemption, or at 
 least satisfy us that most of the bad qualities he was 
 accredited with might have been absorbed into his 
 nature with the drink he swallowed. No thoroughly 
 bad man could feel the nervousness that disturbed 
 him. 
 
 " I have called, Mr. Hampden, to thank you for your 
 kindness to my little step-daughter. Indeed, sir, both 
 my wife and myself thoroughly appreciate your good- 
 ness. Believe us, we do." 
 
 " Pray do not trouble to thank me. She is a sweet 
 child, and it makes me happy to have her," answered 
 Holdsworth, now at his ease, and studying his visitor 
 with curiosity and surprise. 
 
 " Ah ! she is indeed a sweet child. A perfect trea- 
 sure to her mother, and quite a little sunbeam in my 
 house darkened, I regret to say, by misfortunes beyond 
 my control to repair." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear that." 
 
 " I never can sufficiently deplore having adopted so 
 ungrateful a vocation as dentistry. I was born to better 
 things, Mr. Hampden. My father had an influential 
 position under Government; but he died in poverty, 
 and I was apprenticed by an uncle . . . pray forgive 
 me. These matters cannot interest you. Privations 
 press heavily upon a man at my time of life. Dentistry
 
 A. VISIT. 339 
 
 seems to fail me ; and yet, when I look around, I find 
 no other calling which I am qualified to espouse." 
 
 He sighed, and pulled out a pocket-handkerchief, 
 with which he wiped his mouth. 
 
 Holdsworth was silent. 
 
 "Poverty I could endure, were I alone in the world," 
 continued Mr. Conway ; " but it is unendurable to me to 
 witness the best of women and the dearest of little 
 children in want. My poor wife does not complain ; 
 but I witness her secret sufferings in her wasting form 
 and irrepressible tears, and it goes to my heart, sir, to 
 see her, and feel my miserable incapacity to relieve her." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that she is actually in want ?" 
 exclaimed Holdsworth in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; we all are. As I hope to be saved, I 
 haven't more than two shillings in the wide world ! " 
 
 "Have you no source of income outside your pro- 
 fession 1" 
 
 "No. I did well in the High Street; but I had 
 many rivals and enemies, who spread lying reports about 
 me, and lost me my best patients. Give a dog a bad 
 name ! I left my establishment in the heart of the 
 town, and came into this road because rent was cheap 
 here ; and God knows if I can tell how I have lived 
 since," he cried passionately, his natural bad temper 
 breaking through his affectation of suffering and ill- 
 treatment. " The pawnbroker has been my only friend ! 
 Am I to sell the bed from under me ? Oh, sir, I think 
 of my wife, of my poor little child for my child she is, 
 if love can make her so and the thought is death to 
 me!" 
 
 He flourished his handkerchief and looked piteously 
 at Holdsworth.
 
 340 JOHN HOLDSWORT1L 
 
 " How can I serve you ?" 
 
 "Ah, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Con way, sinking his voice 
 into a yet more whining note, the while a gleam entered 
 into his eyes ; " what right have I to trespass upon the 
 benevolence of a stranger "? of a gentleman who has 
 already placed me under a thousand obligations by his 
 kindness to my little daughter 1 ? I feel myself a wretch, 
 sir, when I reflect upon the unfortunate position I have 
 placed my poor wife in. I was flourishing in those days; 
 I could have given I did give her and her baby a good 
 home. But what position is so secure that it can stand 
 against the lies of rivalry and jealousy ? the slanderous 
 reports of ruffians who make capital for themselves out 
 of a neighbour's trifling errors, and and oh ! damn 
 them!" 
 
 "How can I serve you?" said Holdsworth, coming 
 quietly back to the point 
 
 " If I dare name my wants to you, sir if I dare 
 presume upon that benevolence which you have so sig- 
 nally illustrated in your behaviour to little Nelly, I 
 j 
 
 " I am a poor man," said Holdsworth, as the other 
 paused ; " and can afford but little. But that little is 
 cheerfully at the service of your wife and child, who 
 must not be allowed to want." 
 
 He spoke emphatically, to let the man understand 
 the purpose to which he intended his gift or loan should 
 be applied. 
 
 "But for that wife and child, sir," answered Mr. 
 Conway, apparently struggling with his emotion, " could 
 I place myself in this position 1 Is there any personal 
 necessity, however imperative, that would force me to 
 lose sight of the pride which renders starvation prefer-
 
 A VISIT. 341 
 
 able to alms-seeking, to the gentleman born 1 No, sir," 
 he continued, with an air of injured dignity; "poor as I 
 am, I can still recognise the claims of my birth upon 
 my actions ; and I repeat, that were it not for my wife 
 and her little one, no affliction, however unsupportable, 
 should oblige me to intrude even upon your benevolence." 
 
 He paused, and seeing Holdsworth look impatient, 
 exclaimed hurriedly : 
 
 " If ten pounds " and stopped. 
 
 " You wish to borrow ten pounds V 
 
 " Ah, sir, if I dare " 
 
 " Of what service will so small a sum be to you V 
 
 The man looked struck ; Holdsworth had expected 
 to hear a larger sum named, he thought. 
 
 "Ten pounds to a poor man to a poor family, sir, 
 ten pounds is a great deal of money." 
 
 " I will lend you ten pounds willingly, on condition 
 that you spend it on your wife and Nelly." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," replied Mr. Conway meekly. 
 " You may depend upon being repaid, if I have to pawn 
 the shirt off my back to get the money." 
 
 I suppose that this kind of security (generally offered 
 by men who have not the least idea of repaying a loan) 
 must be figurative a poetical figure of debt. How far 
 would the shirt off a man's back help the redemption of 
 the debts borrowed on the strength of it 1 
 
 Holdsworth gave Mr. Conway two five-pound notes. 
 The man took them eagerly, and whilst he buried them 
 in his trousers' pocket, poured forth a profusion of 
 thanks. 
 
 "Does Mrs. Conway know of this visit 1" asked 
 Holdsworth, stopping his noise. 
 
 " No, sir ; but believe me, I shall not fail to acquaint
 
 342 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 her with your kindness," he answered, taking his hat 
 and rising. 
 
 Holdsworth's impulse was to request him not to speak 
 to her of this gift for loan it would be ridiculous to 
 call it. But he checked himself with the consideration 
 that, were Mr. Conway to break his word, Dolly would 
 find food for dangerous questioning in the request. 
 
 He said, instead, " You will not forget the purpose for 
 which I have lent you this money ?" 
 
 " Trust me, sir ; trust me," murmured Mr. Conway, 
 pressing his hat to his heart. " If you will give me ink 
 and paper I will make you out an I U at once." 
 
 " Never mind that. Nelly is a growing child, and 
 requires nourishing food : devote the money to her and 
 her mother, and you will make me grateful" 
 
 He walked into the passage, and Mr. Conway, bowing 
 humbly, passed into the porch, where he stood a moment 
 or two peeping at his house ; then, with another bow, 
 hurried into the road, and vanished in the direction of 
 the town. 
 
 The poverty of the Conways, then, was unquestion- 
 able. Holdsworth had often speculated upon their 
 position, but had never reached nearer to the mark than 
 supposing that they lived from hand to mouth, and just 
 made shift to support the day that was passing over 
 them. That they were actually in want, actually 
 destitute indeed, it had never entered his mind to ima- 
 gine. He believed Conway's story. And it was very 
 certain that, if the man had no private means of his 
 own, he must be hopelessly poor, for he made nothing 
 by his profession. In all the six weeks that Holdsworth 
 had been in Hanwitch he had not seen as many people
 
 A VISIT. 343 
 
 call at Conway's house ; and of these, supposing them to 
 be patients, half of them had come away after speaking 
 with the servant, doubtless informed that master was out. 
 
 But even guessing so much, Holdsworth guessed only 
 half the truth : and it was well, perhaps, that he did 
 not know all, for grief must have mastered his judgment, 
 and forced him into the confession which he prayed, 
 night and morning, for will to restrain. It was after 
 dark always when Dolly, closely veiled, would creep 
 down the road, with some little bundle under her shawl, 
 for the pawnbroker, that she might obtain a trifle in 
 order to furnish her child with a meal on the morrow. 
 It was in the privacy of her own home that she laboured, 
 as no menial ever will labour ; sitting up late night after 
 night, over the endless task of darning and mending her 
 own and her child's shabby apparel ; often going supper- 
 less to bed, and waking to a day even more hopeless than 
 the one that had preceded it. 
 
 The devoted man, who would have given his life to 
 win her happiness, knew nothing of all this. Even his 
 little child's dress told him no story, though a woman 
 might have read a full and pathetic narrative of toil and 
 poverty in the frock, turned and re-turned, mended and 
 patched, and darned again and again. 
 
 Holdsworth seldom saw her now : yet, if ever she 
 caught sight of him at his window, she had always a 
 kindly smile, a grateful nod : and what with the shadow 
 of her hat over her face, and the distance which softened 
 the lines of care, grief, and weariness into the sweet and 
 delicate effect of her beauty, he was ignorant of the 
 serious and withering change that had taken place in 
 her, even during the short time that had elapsed since 
 they had last met and spoken in the High Street.
 
 344 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Nelly came over to him at one o'clock, and he kept 
 her to dinner. The child was hungry, and as he 
 watched her eating, he thought of Dolly. 
 
 "Has mamma got a good dinner to-day, darling?" 
 
 The little thing looked puzzled; but upon Holds- 
 worth repeating the question, answered "Noo." 
 
 He thought she was mistaken, since, after what Con- 
 way had told him, the man's first action, he believed, 
 now that he had money in his pocket, would be to at- 
 tend to his wife's necessities. But though he repeated 
 his question in different shapes, the child invariably 
 answered, " Noo, mamma got no din-din." 
 
 " No dinner at all ! Are you sure, my pet ?" 
 
 Yes, the child was sure, as sure as a child could be. 
 
 Holdsworth sprang up and rang the bell, and entered 
 the passage to await Mrs. Parrot. She came out of 
 her kitchen, and Holdsworth exclaimed, mastering his 
 agitation : 
 
 " I want to confer with you, Mrs. Parrot. Nelly tells 
 me that her mamma has no dinner to-day. Is this 
 likely is this possible, do you think V' 
 
 " Indeed, sir, since you ask me, I do then, and God 
 forgi' me for thinkin' the worst," answered Mrs. Parrot. 
 
 "But," cried Holdsworth, "I gave Mr. Conway ten 
 pounds this morning, stipulating that he should spend 
 it on his wife and child ! " 
 
 "He!" exclaimed Mrs. Parrot, almost savagely. 
 " The wretch ! ten pounds ! he'll spend it all i' liquor ! 
 Oh, sir, why didn't you give it to the poor lady?" 
 
 " Yes I ought to have done so," replied Holdsworth 
 clasping his hands. " But how could I what excuse 
 could I have found for sending it to her? Oh, Mrs. 
 Parrot ! something must be done. I can't bear to think
 
 A VISIT. 345 
 
 of the poor lady actually dinnerless. What can we con- 
 trive 1 Remember she is a lady we must be careful." 
 
 " To think of your lending ten pounds to that villin!" 
 cried Mrs. Parrot, whose mind was staggered by the 
 munificence of the sum and the artfulness of the man in 
 obtaining it. " I niver heerd of such a thing ! And 
 was that his reason for callin' ? If I'd ha' only known 
 his object, I'd ha' sent him packin' with his blarney, 
 wouldn't I T 
 
 "What do you advise?" said Holdsworth, eagerly. 
 
 " Well, sir, I'm sure I don't know what to say. She 
 is a lady, and it wouldn't do to send her butchers' meat 
 across, would it 1 I'll tell you what we could do, sir ; 
 I could kill one o' my fowls and leave it with my com- 
 pliments, pretending I had killed some yesterday, and 
 wished her, as a neighbour, to taste my fattening." 
 
 " That will do 1 But, instead of killing your fowls, 
 take this half-sovereign and run at once to the poulterer's, 
 and buy a couple of pullets. You can then take them 
 across, and she will suppose they are your own rearing. 
 Will you do this V 
 
 " With the greatest of pleasure, sir ; and I'm sure you 
 must have a very kind heart to take so much interest 
 in poor folks." 
 
 And Mrs. Parrot ran off for her bonnet, and was 
 presently hurrying down the road with a market-basket 
 on her arm, and her untied bonnet-strings streaming 
 over her shoulders. 
 
 Holdsworth waited impatiently for her return, whilst 
 Nelly, who had finished dinner, toddled about the room, 
 gazing with round earnest eyes into the recesses, and 
 the cupboards, and at the shepherds on the mantelpiece, 
 and the yellow roses on the mat.
 
 346 JOHN HOLDSWOETH. 
 
 In ten minutes' time Mrs. Parrot came back with 
 her face flushed with the heat and exercise, and darted 
 into the house as though she had swept half a jeweller's 
 shop into her basket and was flying for dear life. 
 
 " There, sir, what do you think of these ?" she ex- 
 claimed, dragging a pair of handsomely-floured pullets 
 out of the basket and holding them at arm's length, as 
 though they were a pair of ear-rings. "Aren't they 
 beauties, sir?" 
 
 "How can I send them across? Will you take 
 them?" 
 
 " Oh yes. I can jest leave 'em at the door wi' Mrs. 
 Parrot's compliments. She'll be sure to guess that 
 they're my rearin', and save me from an untruth, 
 though my religion is none so fine, thank God, that I 
 should be afeard to tell a kind o' white lie to help any 
 poor creature as wanted." 
 
 She then examined the pullets attentively, to make 
 sure that there were no trade-marks upon them in the 
 shape of tickets, adjusted her bonnet, wiped her face, 
 and walked across the road. 
 
 Holdsworth waited in the passage until she returned. 
 She was absent a few minutes, and then came back 
 smiling, with the lid of the basket raised to let Holds- 
 worth see that it was empty. 
 
 "Did you see Mrs. Con way?" 
 
 "No, sir, I wouldn't ask for her," replied Mrs. 
 Parrot, wiping her feet on the door-mat. " I jest says 
 to the gal, ' Give this here to your missis with my com- 
 pliments, and tell her that they're ready for cookin' at 
 once, as they're been killed long enough.' I niver see 
 any gal look like that wench did when she took the 
 pullets. I thought she'd ha' fainted. She turned as
 
 A VISIT. 347 
 
 pale as pale, and then she grinned slow-like, and then 
 laughed wi' a sound for all the world like the squeak of 
 a dog that's smotherin' under a cushion. Here's your 
 change, sir. Pullets, six shillin', and one is seven, and 
 two is nine, and two sixpences makes it right. Will 
 you please to count it ?" 
 
 Holdsworth thanked her, and returned to the sitting- 
 room with a relieved mind. But scarcely was he seated 
 when Mrs. Parrot knocked on the door, and mysteri- 
 ously beckoned him into the passage. 
 
 "I forgot to say, sir, that I ast the gal before 
 coming away if her master was in, and she said ' No.' 
 I says, ' When will he be in V She says, ' I don't know, 
 missis ; he went out this mornin', an' he's not been back 
 since.' Mark what I say, sir!" added Mrs. Parrot, 
 raising an emphatic forefinger, " he'll not give a penny 
 o' that money to his poor wife, but jest keep away from 
 her till he's drunk it all out." 
 
 Accompanying which prophecy with many indignant 
 nods, she walked defiantly towards the kitchen. 
 
 The idea of Dolly's miserable position, never before 
 impressed upon him as it had been that day, made 
 Holdsworth wretched. He seated himself at the win- 
 dow and stared gloomily and sadly into the road. Nelly 
 came to him and tried to coax him to play with her, 
 but he had no heart even to meet the little creature's 
 sweet entreating eyes with a smile. He caught her up, 
 pressed her to him, and kissed her again and again, 
 while the hot tears rolled down his thin face. 
 
 Never before was his impulse to tell Dolly who he 
 was and snatch her from the misery, the unmeet sorrow 
 that encompassed her, so powerful. Love and pity 
 strove with the dread of dishonouring her by the re-
 
 348 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 velation. Could he endure to think that this delicate, 
 gentle girl was linked to a man who neglected her, who 
 might even ill-treat her, who at that moment might be 
 squandering the money that had been given him on his 
 own gross appetites, without thought of the wife and 
 child wanting bread at home 1 What must be the issue 
 of such a life if it were permitted to endure 1 Sooner 
 or later Holdsworth must avow himself to save her and 
 his child from that uttermost degree of ruin and misery 
 to which Conway was dragging them. 
 
 He had hoped to devote his life to them. His dream 
 had been that Conway's character was not irretrievably 
 bad, that kindly entreaty, cordial advice, and pecuniary 
 help might bring him to a knowledge of his folly and 
 set him once more on the high-road to respectability. 
 Such a redemption would have been Holdsworth's sacri- 
 fice ; but his own happiness was as nothing in his eyes 
 compared to Dolly's. Faithfully would he have per- 
 formed his duty to her, nobly would he have vindicated 
 his own most honourable, most exalted devotion, could 
 he have reclaimed this erring man and taught him to 
 give his wife as much happiness as it was possible for a 
 heart that ceaselessly mourned a dead love, to know. 
 Thus he could have been his Dolly's good angel, and 
 whilst God permitted him, have kept watch over her 
 and her child, dead to her belief, but active as the holiest 
 love could make life in his helpful secret guardianship. 
 
 He perceived the vanity of that hope now, and yet 
 despairingly clung to it, because, if he surrendered it, 
 he felt that he must confess himself, and from this he 
 shrank as from a deed that would inflict a deeper de- 
 gradation upon her, while Conway lived, than any she 
 could suffer from her husband's behaviour.
 
 A VISIT. 349 
 
 One must either entirely sympathise with his profound 
 susceptibility of the obligation his supposed death had 
 forced upon him to fulfil, or ridicule him as a man 
 absurdly fantastical in his views of morality. There 
 seems no middle standpoint to judge him from. 
 
 But unless there be too much austerity in his virtue 
 to make it admirable, then, to properly appreciate it, 
 we must remember the extraordinary tenderness of his 
 nature, his exquisite sensibility, which shrank from the 
 mere thought of tarnishing the pure honour of the 
 woman he loved. 
 
 That he believed her honour would be tarnished 
 were he to proclaim himself in the lifetime of her pre- 
 sent husband, was enough ; and whether he was right 
 or wrong ; whether he was correct in holding the obli- 
 gations of the marriage-service holy, binding, and to be 
 disturbed only at the risk of God's wrath, when incurred 
 \\ ith a spotless conscience, when entered upon in inno- 
 cence and good faith ; or whether he should have 
 regarded the marriage-service as a mere civil convention 
 which made his wife his property, claimable by him on 
 the common ground of the law of priority, without 
 reference to any action she might have committed in 
 honest belief that he was dead ; one thing we must 
 allow him an unparalleled quality of unselfishness, the 
 existence of which, while it attested the sincerity of his 
 views (since he had his heart's deepest affections to lose 
 and nothing to gain by retaining them), elevated his 
 conduct to the highest point of heroism. 
 
 Nelly had never before found him unwilling to romp 
 with her ; when he raised his head she watched his face 
 with a strange, wistful look, and putting her finger to 
 his cheek, said :
 
 350 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " Why do 'oo cry 1" 
 
 He forced a smile for answer, caressed her, and then 
 placed her on the ground, thinking she was weary of 
 sitting. But she climbed upon his knee again, and 
 repeated her question with great earnestness : 
 
 "Why do 'oo cry 1 ?" 
 
 " Because I am silly and weak, my little one. I am 
 forgetting that there is a good and just God over me, 
 who will hear my prayers and help me, as He before 
 did, when I was alone on the wide sea." 
 
 He said this aloud, but spoke rather to himself than 
 to the child. 
 
 " Dod loves Nelly," said the little thing, " and Nelly 
 loves 'oo. Nelly kiss 'oo." 
 
 That was all the comfort she could give him ; but it 
 fell tenderly on his ear. He kissed her gratefully, rock- 
 ing her gently to and fro in his arms with his eyes on 
 her face. She soon, however, rebelled against an at- 
 titude which crippled her limbs, and slipped on to the 
 floor, and to amuse her he gave her a book with pictures 
 in it, which she examined gravely, talking to herself as 
 little children and aged people do. 
 
 In this manner the afternoon passed ; but never was 
 Holdsworth more depressed, more restless, filled with 
 more nameless anxieties and misgivings. 
 
 Apart from all moral considerations, his future was 
 terribly uncertain. 
 
 Suppose the Conways left the town ? He must 
 follow them, for he could not bear the separation ; and 
 what would they think of his pursuit 1 Suppose all 
 his efforts to obtain a living failed, what should he 
 do? 
 
 At five o'clock Mrs. Parrot came in to put on Nelly's
 
 A VISIT. 351 
 
 hat : that was the regular hour at which the little girl 
 was sent home by Holdsworth. 
 
 "My apron is dirty," said the worthy woman, "so 
 I'll not go across with you, my dear. But I'll watch 
 from the porch until I see you safe in." 
 
 So, receiving a kiss and a piece of gingerbread from 
 Holdsworth, the child toddled into the road, and when 
 she was inside the gate, where her mother would see 
 her, Mrs. Parrot closed the door and went back to her 
 ironing in the kitchen.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 
 
 A STORM broke over Hanwitch that night, and left behind 
 it a strong wind which swept up great masses of clouds ; 
 and the morning sunshine streamed and darkened in 
 quick alternations, and made the air lively with the 
 movement of shadow. 
 
 Holdsworth, deeply disturbed by conflicting anxieties, 
 had slept but littlej and at eight o'clock left his bed and 
 started for a walk before breakfast, hoping that the 
 breeze which thundered about the house would freshen 
 and inspirit him. 
 
 Gaining the High Street, he turned to the left and 
 walked along a narrow pathway that took him through 
 the fields to Maldon Heights, as the hill that overlooked 
 Hanwitch was called. He climbed the grassy slope and 
 stood awhile on the summit, drinking in the hooting 
 wind and watching the fluctuating scene that ran from 
 his feet to the horizon. The oats and barley in many 
 fields were not yet cut ; and it was a sight to see them 
 breaking into wide spaces of delicate gold under the sun, 
 and growing gray again as the cloud-shadows sailed over 
 them. When the sunshine lingered awhile, these fields 
 seemed to reflect the shadows which had passed, for the 
 wind rushed like a dark arm along them, and pressed
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 353 
 
 the graceful grain into the likeness of a wave, which 
 swept forwards with swiftness, making the fields dark 
 where it ran. The farther trees appeared to hold steady 
 under the breeze ; but there were nearer trees which 
 swayed their branches in wild gesticulations of entreaty, 
 and flogged the wind as it roared among them, bearing 
 away trophies of green leaves and broken twigs. The 
 birds breasted the gale with short flights, or turned and 
 yielded to the invisible power with small cries. Every 
 object the eye rested on appeared in motion, so lively 
 was the effect of the cloud shadows upon the houses and 
 the weight of the wind upon the surrounding country. 
 
 It was a morning to clear the most hypochondriacal 
 mind of despondency, and Holdsworth felt its cheerful 
 influence as he stood exposed to the swinging rush of 
 warm air, and watched nature dancing to the tunes 
 sung by the wind as it swept through the sky. 
 
 He had made up his mind to call at the brewery 
 that morning, and he took a look at it as he passed the 
 street in which it stood on his way home. The gaol-like 
 building, with the steam about its windows resembling 
 rich London fog, which refused either to stop in or go 
 away, was scarcely calculated to improve his hopes. 
 Big beef-faced men in aprons rolled huge casks out of a 
 courtyard into a cellar filled with sawdust, damp, and 
 gloom ; the throb of the engine could be heard distinctly, 
 and the wind that blew out of the street came in agitated, 
 disordered puffs, as though the smell of the beer had 
 made it rather drunk. 
 
 Holdsworth shook his head as he passed on. It 
 struck him that there would be little chance of his 
 getting employment in that steaming, panting, perspir- 
 ing quarter ; and that he would be acting more wisely 
 2 A
 
 354 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 if, instead of challenging rudeness by personal inquiries 
 at places where nobody wanted him, he spent a few 
 shillings in advertising for a situation. 
 
 Determining to do this, he made what haste he could 
 back to his lodgings, meaning there and then to manu- 
 facture an advertisement. 
 
 He entered his sitting-room, rang the bell to let Mrs. 
 Parrot know he had returned, and sat himself down to 
 consider the terms in which he should make his wants 
 known. 
 
 " What would you like for breakfast, sir ? " said Mrs. 
 Parrot, opening the door. 
 
 " Oh, anything you please. A new-laid egg if you 
 can find me one." 
 
 " Yes, sir. I took four beauties out just now. Have 
 you heard the news, sir?" 
 
 "No. What news?" 
 
 " Well, sir, it's what I allus thought must happen ; 
 .and day after day I've bin expectin' it, as mother '11 bear 
 me out. They've got the brokers in at the Conways." 
 
 "The brokers !" exclaimed Holdsworth, turning round 
 in his chair quickly. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Their gal told the milkman just now, as 
 giv' me the news. And what's wuss leastways some 
 might call it wuss, though I should consider it a good 
 job myself if I was his wife Mr. Conway hasn't been 
 home all night !" 
 
 " The villain ! " exclaimed Holdsworth through his 
 teeth. And then he jumped up and began to pace the 
 room excitedly. 
 
 " Stop ! " he cried, observing that Mrs. Parrot was 
 about to withdraw. " Are you sure this news is true ?" 
 
 " Oh, I've no doubt of it, sir. When the milkman
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 355 
 
 told me, I was jest goin' to run across and see the poor 
 lady, and then I says to myself, ' What use can I be 
 to her? 1 " 
 
 " I may be of some use, though," interrupted Holds- 
 worth. " Never mind about my breakfast just yet 
 When did the man enter the house to take possession 1 " 
 
 " Last night, sir, the gal told the milkman." 
 
 " Great heaven ! And has she been alone all night ?" 
 He stopped short, seized his hat, and, brushing past 
 Mrs. Parrot, went quickly out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot watched him from the porch, lost in 
 amazement. 
 
 He pushed open the gate, marched up to the door, 
 and knocked loudly. His mood was one of deep excite- 
 ment. The sense of the crushing misery that had fallen 
 upon Dolly had given a poignancy to feeling that set 
 all self-control at defiance. 
 
 The door was opened by the servant, and out with 
 her came a smell of strong tobacco smoke. 
 
 " Is Mr. Con way in 1" 
 
 " No, sir, he ain't," answered the girl, looking behind 
 her and then at Holdsworth, with a scared face. 
 
 "Where's your mistress ?" 
 
 " In the parlour, sir." 
 
 " I should like to see her." 
 
 " She's not wisible. She's in grief, and ain't to be 
 seen." 
 
 " Go and tell her that Mr. Hampden has called and 
 would like to say a word to her." 
 
 " I don't think " 
 
 " Do what I tell you ! " exclaimed Holdsworth. 
 
 The girl slouched backwards and pushed her head 
 into the parlour-door.
 
 356 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 " She ain't here. She's gone upstairs," said she, and 
 upstairs she went, slapping the staircase with her shoes 
 as she went. 
 
 An individual with a round red face, a white hat, a 
 spotted shawl, a coat nearly to his ankles, a long waist- 
 coat, and a black clay pipe in his mouth, lounged ele- 
 gantly out of the room which Mr. Conway had called 
 his " Surgery " at the end of the passage, and leaning 
 collectedly against the door, nodded familiarly to Holds- 
 worth, took his pipe from his mouth, expectorated, and 
 said "Morning." 
 
 "Good morning. Are you the man in possession?" 
 replied Holdsworth. 
 
 The individual nodded and replaced his pipe. 
 
 "When did you come?" 
 
 "Last night," answered the man in a thick voice. 
 " And a werry queer look-out it is. Blowed if they've 
 got any butter in this house ! " 
 
 " What is the amount of the debt 1" 
 
 " Twenty-three pun four and sevenpence," said the 
 man, removing his pipe to expectorate again. "Are 
 you a creditor V 
 
 "No," answered Holdsworth, listening for Dolly's 
 footsteps. 
 
 " Then if you vent on your bended knees for grati- 
 tood you vouldn't be overdoin' it," said the man, giving 
 Holdsworth a sagacious nod. " There ain't above ten 
 pound in the house, and not that. Cast yer eye into 
 that parler. The best of the goods is there, and if you 
 can make three pound out of 'em, I'll swaller my pipe." 
 
 And then an idea smiting him : 
 
 " You ain't come to have a tooth drawed, have yer 1" 
 
 11 No."
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 357 
 
 " Vot's your opinion of tooth-drawin' 1" inquired the 
 man confidentially, retiring and reappearing again, hold- 
 ing up a pair of forceps. " Ain't it rayther a queer go, 
 don't you think? I knew a barber as drawed teeth. 
 He never used nothing of this kind. Vot do you think 
 he did? Bust me if he doesn't set you in a chair, 
 fastens a bit o' vire to the tooth as is to come out, and 
 ties t'other end of the vire to the leg of a table. Ven 
 all's ready, 'Mind yer eye' he sings out, ups with a 
 razor, rushes at yer makin' horrible mouths, up jumps 
 you, avays you run, and leaves your tooth behind yer ! " 
 
 He gargled an asthmatical laugh, adding : " That's 
 vot I call a sensible vay of drawin' a tooth ; no bits of 
 cold iron shoved into yer mouth as if yer tongue vas 
 hair and vanted curling." 
 
 " Please, sir, will you step into the parlour and sit 
 down," said the girl, thrusting her head over the ban- 
 isters and calling to Holdsworth. " Missis '11 be with 
 yer in a minute." 
 
 He entered the wretched little parlour, while the 
 " man in possession " retreated to the surgery arm-chair, 
 and sat severely contemplating some unfinished teeth 
 on the table in front of him. 
 
 In a few moments Holdsworth heard footsteps out- 
 side, and Dolly came in, holding Nelly's hand. She 
 was terribly pale, with a look of terror and exhaustion 
 on her face painful to see. There was an unnatural 
 sleepless brilliancy in her eyes that heightened her worn, 
 hopeless expression. She had thrown an old shawl over 
 her shoulders, and through the portion of the fair skin 
 of the neck that was exposed the veins showed dark. 
 The hand she gave to Holdsworth was like a stone. 
 
 He was so overcome by the sight of her misery, that
 
 358 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 for some moments he could not speak. The child came 
 up to him and rubbed her cheek against his hand. 
 
 " This is kind, very kind of you, Mr. Hampden," she 
 exclaimed in a low, faint voice, sinking upon the sofa 
 and shivering as she hugged the shawl about her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " You are in great distress, I fear. I only heard the 
 news just now. I came over to you at once," he 
 answered tremulously, the fierce beating of his heart 
 sounding an echo through his voice. 
 
 " It is what I have been daily expecting for many 
 months for many bitter, cruel months ! " she exclaimed. 
 " It has come at last. We are homeless now. And my 
 husband, who ought to be at my side, has left me. He 
 was away all day yesterday and last night. God ! 
 what a night it has been !" she moaned, rocking herself 
 to and fro. 
 
 " Don't say you are homeless," he cried ; " you have 
 a friend. Let me be your friend. Mrs. Parrot shall 
 give you a home for the present . . if you will accept 
 it." 
 
 She looked at him with stupefied eyes as one who 
 doubts her senses, then said : " We have no claim upon 
 you. Oh ! how noble-hearted ! Nelly, Nelly, come to 
 me, come to me!" 
 
 The child ran to her mother, and, being frightened 
 by the passionate despair in her voice, hid her face in 
 her lap and burst into tears. But Dolly's eyes remained 
 dry lost nothing of their wild brilliancy. She dragged 
 her child to her, and swayed to and fro with tearless 
 sobs that shook and convulsed her. 
 
 " I have deserved this," she presently moaned. " I 
 was faithless to the truest love God ever blessed a
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 359 
 
 woman with. Why was he taken from me ? My child 
 was starving, and the sight of her wasted body drove 
 me mad with grief. I never loved Mr. Conway he 
 knew it ... He has left me ! Oh ! he is a coward to 
 leave me ! What am I to do 1 I am a lonely woman 
 I have this child to feed and clothe I have not a 
 relative to turn to and now we are homeless! 
 God ! this is too much, too much ! " 
 
 She hid her face in her child's hair. 
 
 Nothing but the dread that the truth, at that 
 moment, might kill her to hear, prevented him, as he 
 listened to her heart-broken words, from kneeling to her 
 and calling her wife. He watched her with a strange 
 steadfastness of gaze, and with a face more bloodless 
 than hers. The impulse to avow himself had recoiled 
 and driven the blood to his heart ; a faintness overcame 
 him, but he battled with the deadly weakness, and the 
 better to do so, rose and strode across the room and 
 stood near his wife and child, looking down upon them. 
 
 " I will help you to the utmost of my power," he 
 said, speaking slowly, and with a difficulty that presently 
 passed. " Whilst I live, neither you nor your child will 
 be friendless. Trust me, and make me happy by know- 
 ing me to be your friend." 
 
 She raised her feverishly-lighted eyes, and said in a 
 quick, febrile whisper : " You cannot take the burden 
 of the three of us upon yourself." 
 
 " No ! I would not raise a finger to serve your 
 husband now. He has money, but he left you in want 
 all day yesterday, and you have been alone through the 
 night. . . But I will befriend you and your child. 
 Whatever I can do shall be done. I am not rich I 
 would to God I were, for your sake. Were I to pay
 
 360 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 this debt, I should only delay the loss of your furniture 
 for a few days ; others would come, and I should not 
 have the money to deal with them." 
 
 "What am I to do?" she wailed, clinging to her 
 child. 
 
 "Mrs. Parrot's house will be your home for the 
 present. We must wait until we get news of Mr. 
 Conway." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hampden, is he not cruel to have left me 
 in this position ! No one knows but God what I have 
 endured during the last year ! When I was battling 
 with poverty alone I was happier and richer. My 
 memories were fresh and pure, my conscience was clear, 
 but I sacrificed them for Nelly's sake, and now I am de- 
 serted and the most miserable woman in the whole 
 world!" 
 
 She broke into a long piteous cry, but no tears came 
 into her eyes. 
 
 " Let me take you at once from this wretched home. 
 Come!" 
 
 He went to the door and held it open. Dolly stared 
 around her like a sleeper suddenly aroused, and then 
 rose with the cliild in her arms. Holdsworth called to 
 the servant and told her to fetch her mistress's hat. 
 The " man in possession " lounged out of the back room 
 and stared with a dry smile. 
 
 Goin' ?" he asked. 
 
 Holdsworth did not answer him. The weight of 
 the child was too great for the half -fainting mother, 
 who tottered as she stood. Holdsworth took Nelly 
 from her and placed her on the ground. 
 
 " You ain't a goin', missis," are yer ?" said the servant, 
 handing Dolly the hat, and whimpering.
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 361 
 
 " Yes," replied Holdsworth ; " and if Mr. Conway 
 should call, tell him that his wife is at Mrs. Parrot's." 
 
 " Oh, mum, I don't like to be left alone with that 
 man !" cried the servant, looking down the passage. 
 
 " Vy not 1" said the man. " If you're all goin", who's 
 to cook my wittles, I should like to know 1" 
 
 " J'll not stop ! " exclaimed the girl. " I wouldn't 
 trust myself anear him." 
 
 " You're free to stop or go, as you please," said Holds- 
 worth, giving her some money. 
 
 "Then I ain't to be paid out arter all?" exclaimed 
 the man, striking a match, and holding it flaming in one 
 hand and his pipe in the other. 
 
 " Not by me," answered Holdsworth, opening the 
 hall-door. 
 
 He took Nelly's hand and gave Dolly his arm. She 
 drew a long quivering sob as she passed through the 
 garden ; and then, seeing some inquisitive faces staring 
 over the wire -blinds in the opposite house, hung her 
 head and stepped out quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot, hearing them come in, ran out of the 
 kitchen, and stood looking from one to the other of them 
 in mute astonishment. 
 
 " Mrs. Conway will make a temporary home of your 
 house, Mrs. Parrot," said Holdsworth. " You will 
 kindly prepare a bed-room for her and Miss Nelly, and 
 place your drawing-room at her disposal." 
 
 Dolly had sunk into a chair. He poured out some 
 wine and held it to her, but she waved it away, striving 
 to suppress her sobs. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, pray don't take on so," cried Mrs. Parrot, 
 going up to her. " Things '11 come right, ma'am. You'll 
 be heasy an' comfortable here."
 
 362 JOHN HOLDSWOKTH. 
 
 Holdsworth knelt on a chair beside her, holding the 
 wine. Oh, it was hard that he could not take her to 
 his heart and whisper the word that would change all 
 her anguish into joy. But if ever the barrier that was 
 raised between them had been felt, it was felt by him 
 then. Her honour now, more than ever it had been, 
 was become peculiarly his care. The sense of her being 
 another's, that his own claims were as naught in the 
 presence of her belief that she was Conway's wife, was 
 never before so sharply felt. Her misery had given her 
 in his eyes a sanctity that made his yearning love sacri- 
 legious. Humility conquered emotion, and he crept 
 away from her side, and stood looking at her from a 
 distance, holding Nelly's hand. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Parrot's fingers were busy with 
 Dolly's hat strings and the shawl over her shoulders, 
 and she murmured incessantly all manner of kindly sen- 
 tences, of which their extreme triteness as consolatory 
 axioms was greatly qualified by her motherly manner. 
 
 "There, my dear," she exclaimed, laying the hat 
 upon the table, " drink a little wine : you'll be better 
 presently. Life's full o' troubles, God knows ! and there 
 are husbands in this world as is enough to make a 
 woman forget her sect and strike 'em. But a friend, 
 ma'am, is as good as sunshine to a frost-bitten man, and 
 I'm sure you've got a good and kind one in Mr. Hampden." 
 
 " It's my husband's desertion," cried Dolly, " that I 
 think of. I don't mind the loss of my home. But to 
 think of his deserting me and my little one when he 
 could not know that I had a friend when I married him 
 for Nelly's sake, to get her bread. Yes, Mrs. Parrot, to 
 save her from starving. And to feel that I defied my 
 conscience only to be brought so low so low ! "
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 363 
 
 " God forbid, my dear, that iver / should set husband 
 an' wife agin' each other," replied Mrs. Parrot, glancing 
 at Holdsworth, to see how he might relish her remark ; 
 " but I must say that, if Mr. Conway's left yer, it's a 
 good thing, an' the last thing on this airth as would 
 trouble me if I was you. You've gone through a deal 
 o' sufferin' for him, an' if he's desairted you, you can't 
 come to worse harm nor was he to have stood by his 
 home like a man, which he niver was ; and there's not 
 one o' your neighbours as don't know that you've had 
 more trouble than any Christian woman i' this world 
 ought to have. And it may sound a hard sayin', but if 
 he's gone," she exclaimed, looking defiantly at Holds- 
 worth, "I hope and pray it's for good an' all." 
 
 It often happens in real life, as in books, that a 
 closing remark will take a weird appropriateness by the 
 sudden confrontment of the fact of which it is only the 
 shadow. Mrs. Parrot had barely shut her mouth when 
 the passage echoed with the clattering of the knocker 
 on the house-door. Never was such a delirious knocking. 
 Mrs. Parrot turned pale, persuaded that Mr. Conway 
 had come home drunk, and had reeled across to her 
 house to demand his wife and create a horrible " scene." 
 
 Dolly raised her head, and it was plain that the same 
 idea had occurred to her, by the indescribable expression 
 of mingled hate, fear, and loathing that entered her face. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot giving her moral organisation a twist, 
 ran out. Scarcely had she opened the door when in 
 burst Martha, the servant from over the way. 
 
 "Oh, missis! oh, missis 1" she screeched, "what do 
 you think 1 Master's drowned ! Lord ! Where's 
 Mrs. Conway ? He's dead an" gone ! Here's the gent as 
 brought the noos. Oh, sir, please tell the missis here ! "
 
 364 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 She turned, and in her excitement caught hold of 
 the sleeve of a little stout man who stood behind, and 
 literally dragged him forward. 
 
 " Let go, you fool ! What are you a doing of 1 Are 
 you Mrs. Conway ?" he asked of Mrs. Parrot, who stood 
 staring with wide-open eyes, grasping her dress as if 
 she were only waiting to take a deep breath before 
 tearing herself in two. 
 
 " No, she ain't ! This ain't Mrs. Conway ! " cried 
 the excited Martha. 
 
 " You told me she was here ! " exclaimed the man. 
 
 "So she is; ain't she, missis ?" 
 
 " Great 'iven ! what a clatterin' !" cried Mrs. Parrot, 
 recovering her tongue. " What is it you've got to say, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Why, this," answered the little man, who was evi- 
 dently a very irritable little man " Mr. Conway's body 
 was found in the river this morning at a quarter before 
 seven, and he's lying now in the Town Hall, and I've 
 come to give the news ; and curse me if ever I'll under- 
 take such a job again, if I am to be mauled about by 
 such a fool as this when I'm out of breath, and fit to 
 drop with perspiration." 
 
 " Mrs. Parrot ! Mrs. Parrot ! " called Holdsworth. 
 
 The half-distracted woman ran into the sitting-room, 
 where the first thing she saw was Dolly in a dead faint, 
 lying upon the sofa, with Holdsworth kneeling by her side. 
 
 " She overheard your voices ! " he exclaimed, turning 
 up a face as white as death. "Pray God the shock 
 may not kill her. Look to her, Mrs. Parrot, I must 
 speak to the man outside." 
 
 He jumped up and left the room, and found the little 
 irritable man in the act of walking away.
 
 THE KNOT IS CUT. 365 
 
 " I beg your pardon. One moment ! " he cried, run- 
 ning out after him. " Pray excuse my agitation you 
 have brought shocking news. Is it indeed true 1" 
 
 The little man turned and took in Holdsworth from 
 head to foot, and answered : " It is true, sir. I've seen 
 the body myself. It's in the Town Hall. He's been in 
 the water all night, the doctor says." 
 
 "All night ?" 
 
 "He was found by a man named Williamson. They 
 all knew who he was when they saw him. He must 
 have been drunk when he fell into the water, for the 
 path was wide enough for a horse and cart. Dr. Tanner 
 asked me to step round with the news as he heard I 
 was coming this way. Good morning." 
 
 The little man nodded and walked away. Had 
 Dolly been a rich man's wife, a sympathetic deputation, 
 introduced by the churchwardens, might have made a 
 procession to her house to break the news gently, but 
 how can you expect sympathy for the wife of a man 
 who dies owing everybody money ? 
 
 Holdsworth was stunned, and stood for some moments 
 staring idly from the porch. He then returned hastily 
 to Dolly's side. 
 
 " She's comin' to, sir," said Mrs. Parrot, slapping the 
 poor girl's hand, and expending what breath she had 
 upon the cold white forehead. " What awful noos, sir 1 
 , . . Conway dead ! I can't believe it. And drowned, 
 too ! Oh, poor wretch ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " exclaimed Holdsworth. 
 
 Dolly had opened her eyes, and was staring blindly 
 at him. He moistened his handkerchief with water on 
 the sideboard and pressed it to her head. Nelly stood 
 at the window gazing at her mother with a look of wist-
 
 366 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 ful fear in her face. At the door was Martha's counte- 
 nance, seamed with lines of perspiration, her mouth 
 open, and her hair hanging like a string of young carrots 
 over her forehead. 
 
 " I feel very weak," muttered Dolly, striving to sit 
 upright, but falling back. 
 
 " Something terrible has happened. Ah ! Robert 
 is dead!" 
 
 The memory rushed upon her like a spasm, and she 
 spoke in a cry. 
 
 " Come, my dear, don't try to speak yet," said Mrs. 
 Parrot. 
 
 "Where is Nelly?" 
 
 Holdsworth led the child to the sofa. The mother 
 looked at her little girl, opened her arms, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " Thank God for that ! " said Holdsworth, turning 
 away. Watching her face as her consciousness had 
 dawned, he had felt that, if tears did not relieve her, 
 her heart would break
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 THE little irritable man had brought true news. The 
 report was all over the town : everybody was talking of 
 Conway's death. A woman living in the road called 
 upon Mrs. Parrot to give her the story, not knowing 
 that Mrs. Conway was within. Her husband had met 
 Williamson, the man who found Conway, and had got 
 the account from him clear of all exaggeration. 
 
 It was just this : Williamson was a carpenter, and 
 was walking to Thorrold Marsh to execute a repairing 
 job at a house there. He was this side of Hanwitch, 
 just by the bridge facing Squire Mark well's place, when 
 he saw a human hand sticking out of the water. He 
 peered and saw a man lying on his back, the water half 
 a foot above his face, showing the drowned figure as 
 plainly as if it were under glass. Williamson pulls off 
 his coat, tucks up his shirt-sleeves, catches hold of the 
 hand, and up comes the body like a cork. The moment 
 he had the body ashore he knew who it was ; left his 
 bag of tools on the bank, and ran as hard as his legs 
 would carry him into the town to give the alarm. The 
 inspector and two constables, and a couple of men with 
 a stretcher belonging to the Town Hall, start out of the 
 High Street and are conducted by Williamson to the
 
 368 JOHN HOLDSWORTII. 
 
 body. A crowd gathers about the tail of the procession, 
 the body is put on the stretcher, covered up, and carried 
 to the Town Hall in the sight of a multitude large 
 enough to diffuse the news through the length and 
 breadth of Hanwitch in ten minutes. 
 
 So dead Mr. Conway was, if ever a man was dead 
 in this world ; and now, the woman told Mrs. Parrot, 
 people were only waiting for the coroner's inquest, to 
 learn how he came by his death. 
 
 But the verdict, however it might run, would be in- 
 conclusive, since there were no witnesses to show how 
 Conway fell into the water. But this much was known ; 
 that yesterday Conway had called at the " Three Stars " 
 and ordered a fine dinner to be got ready for him, with 
 champagne and the best of wines ; and to let the land- 
 lord understand that he meant what he said, he pulled 
 out a handful of sovereigns and let them fall into his 
 pocket again, chink ! chink ! When dinner was done, 
 he left the house intoxicated, and what became of him 
 the " Three Stars " didn't know ; but the " Pine Apple " 
 did, for he came there in the afternoon and squeezed 
 himself behind the bar, made love to the barmaid, drank 
 some tumblers of rum, and got into an abusive argument 
 with an ostler, whose eye he threatened to blacken if he 
 contradicted him again. On which he was turned out. 
 
 That was his day's history, so far as it was recorded 
 in human knowledge. The rest could be guessed ; and 
 the public were not slow in explaining their theories. 
 Of course he was drunk, had rolled into the water, and 
 was too senseless to get out again, though the water 
 where he lay was not above two and a half feet deep. 
 
 Nobody cared twopence about his death. It gave 
 the shop-people something to talk about until customers
 
 I1USBAND AND WIFE. 369 
 
 dropped in, and then it was, " What's the next article ]" 
 and Conway was forgotten. When a bubble explodes 
 upon the surface of a stream, nothing mourns. The tide 
 rolls on just the same, with sunshine or darkness in its 
 breast, as the case may be ; the pikes lose no jot of their 
 voracity, and gudgeons swim into their maws ; the min- 
 nows jump at the flies. Shall law, commerce, or anything 
 else stop because a drunkard is drowned 1 Cover him 
 up ; let him hide his face until the pale jury come to 
 take a peep ; then pop him out of sight in a hole, and 
 get back as fast as we may to dinner. 
 
 But there were two persons on Avhose destiny this 
 man's death was to exercise an influence as wonderful, 
 and gracious, and beneficial, as though, instead of a dead 
 drunkard, he was a good spirit an angel charged with 
 a mission of love, sent by God Himself to work out and 
 complete the happiness of the man who had been heavily 
 tried, but who, in his bitterest trial, had never been 
 found wanting. 
 
 And I truly think that for such men men who in 
 their sorrow reverentially bow their heads and say, 
 " God knows, I believe in Him ; He shall lead me as a 
 little child" who murmur not, but, praising their 
 Heavenly Father always, make their actions a profound 
 heroism by obeying His voice in all seasons, not more 
 faithfully in moments of joy than in moments of anguish 
 for such men we shall seldom err in prophesying a 
 time in their lives when the heat of the day shall be 
 shaded from them, and their burden and their conflict 
 removed. " man, greatly beloved, go thou thy way 
 till the end ; for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at 
 the end of thy days." 
 
 Dolly had asked to be left alone with her child. 
 2B
 
 370 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 Deeming Holdswortli a stranger, she had felt the restraint 
 of his presence upon her, deeply as she was moved by 
 his goodness. Her heart ached : misery had mastered 
 her. The mere sense of having found a friend in this 
 her time of piteous need could not suffice her. More 
 was imperative : communion with God, communion with 
 the husband who, she believed, looked down upon her 
 from Heaven. To no mortal eyes could she lay bare 
 the exquisite grief that lacerated her heart ; and though 
 she should find no comfort even in the Heaven she 
 turned to, yet her full and poignant misery demanded 
 escape in words and tears, and she asked to be left 
 alone. 
 
 Holdsworth entered the room facing his own apart- 
 ment. This was Mrs. Parrot's drawing-room. Here she 
 had a piano ; here she had some wonderful stuffed birds 
 under glass shades ; here she herself sat on Sundays 
 with her mother, when her house was unoccupied. 
 
 He struggled to calm himself, that he might master 
 and appreciate all the significance of the position in 
 which he was placed by the sudden death of Conway. 
 But his moods were wild and hurrying ; the play of 
 emotion was quick and painful. He saw his wife in her 
 grief ; he saw her wrestling, with no eye but her child's 
 upon her, with the anguish that filled her ; he felt her 
 loneliness : he felt the cruel hopelessness that weighed 
 in her heart as lead ; he felt, above all, the dreadful 
 sense of degradation which must attend her reflections 
 upon the death of her husband, Conway; upon the 
 wretched, miserable life she had led with him ; upon the 
 complete and bitter reversal of the sole end for which 
 she had married him. 
 
 The barrier that divided them was gone. Could
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 371 
 
 there be any scruple now to hold him back from her 1 
 If there yet lingered one feeling of delicacy to prompt 
 him to delay his confession for a little, until the dead 
 was buried, until something of the horror of the sudden 
 death had yielded to time, should it not be removed by 
 the knowledge of her misery, which he had it in his 
 power to dissipate and turn to gladness 1 Why should 
 she weep t Why should she feel one instant of pain, 
 when he could change her tears to smiles, her grief to 
 
 He stole to the door of the room she was in and 
 listened. He heard her sobbing, and that sound van- 
 quished his last hesitation. 
 
 He turned the handle gently and entered. She was 
 on her knees beside the sofa, her arms twined about 
 Nelly, her face buried in the child's lap. She started, 
 looked at him, and rose slowly to her feet. He ap- 
 proached and stood before her. 
 
 "Will you not trust me as a friend?" he said, in a 
 voice a little above a whisper. 
 
 She tried to answer him, but her sobs choked her 
 voice. He seated himself and took Nelly on his knee, 
 and, whilst he smoothed the child's hair, continued : 
 " There is hope, there is comfort for you and this little 
 one. Check your sobs and listen to me. I can give 
 you comfort, for I have known what it is to lose one 
 that is dearer to me than my heart's blood, to lose her 
 and to find her again. She was my wife, and I left her 
 to go to sea. The ship I sailed in was wrecked, and 
 for many days I lay consumed with hunger and thirst 
 in an open boat, seeing miserable creatures like myself 
 dying around me one by one. And when I was rescued 
 my memory was gone ; I could not remember my own
 
 372 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 name, my home, the wife I had left, the country I had 
 sailed from. But the voice of God one day directed 
 me to leave Australia and go to England. I reached 
 London, and there a man spoke to me of Hanwitch, a 
 name familiar and dear to me for my wife's sake. And 
 when I came to Southbourne, the beloved old village 
 gave me back my memory. I knew whom I had come 
 to seek, and what I had lost. They told me that my 
 wife thought me dead, and was married and lived with 
 my child here in this road in that house yonder! 
 Dolly! Owife!" 
 
 Her sweet sad face, as he continued speaking, had 
 been slowly upturning to his, and, when their eyes met, 
 he put the little child upon the floor and stretched out 
 his arms, crying, " Dolly ! wife ! " 
 
 But she ! 
 
 There was a look of petrifaction, stranger and more 
 awful even than death, upon her face ; her eyes glared, 
 her lips were parted : and to have seen her thus stirless, 
 thus white, thus staring, thus breathless, you would 
 have said that she was dead, even as she sat there. 
 
 Then the life leaped into her, she started from the 
 sofa with a loud hysterical laugh, and flung herself on 
 her knees before him, crying, "John! John !" 
 
 "Dolly!" 
 
 " John ! John !" she repeated ; and she brought his 
 hand to her eyes, and stared at it ; and then grasped 
 his knees and raised her face to his, talking to herself 
 in hurried, inaudible whispers, and fixing a piercing 
 gaze upon him. 
 
 "John 1 John !" she cried out again. 
 
 He put his arms around her, and would have pressed 
 her to his heart, but she kept herself away with her
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 373 
 
 hand against his breast, preserving that keen, unwink- 
 ing, steadfast, wonderful gaze. 
 
 " Do you not know me, Dolly ?" he cried. " Look at 
 me closely ; hear my voice ! hear me tell you of the 
 old dear times ! We were to meet in the summer, do 
 you remember, Dolly ? and we were never more to part ; 
 and you were to keep a calendar and mark off the days. 
 God ! what weary days what endless days to both 
 of us ! And do you remember the walks we took the 
 day before we parted, down by the river, where I sat 
 and cried in your arms because the sight of your sorrow 
 broke me down and I had no more comfort to give you ?" 
 
 But still she would not let him clasp her. Still she 
 kept her hand pressed against him, and her eyes, now 
 growing wild and unreal with fear, upon his face. 
 
 " God !" he cried in his agony. " Will she not 
 know me? Has my secret come upon her too suddenly? 
 Darling ! darling ! I could not see your tears, I could 
 not hear your sobs, I could not feel the desolation and 
 misery that was breaking your heart, and still keep my- 
 self hidden from you. Oh, bitter has the trial been to 
 watch you to know you to be mine to see my little 
 child and to be as a stranger to you ! Call me John ! 
 Call me husband ! Speak to me, Dolly 1 Tell me that 
 no change that pain and suffering have made in me can 
 disguise me from your love ! " 
 
 She released herself from his arms and sprang a yard 
 away from him ; and there, as she stood transfixed, 
 watching him with large, steady eyes, her dishevelled 
 hair about her forehead, her hands clenched, and her 
 head inclined forward, she looked like a marble figure 
 of madness, her habiliments carven to the life. 
 
 She had thought him dead. For many, many months
 
 374 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 she had prayed to him as one in Heaven. Did she 
 know him now ? Yes, but as a dead man might be 
 known with unspeakable fear and unspeakable love ; 
 with the horror of superstition and the passion of deep 
 affection. 
 
 Thus they stood for awhile, their eyes fixed on each 
 other : then a heavy sigh broke from him ; he turned 
 to his child. 
 
 "Nelly, my little one, come to me! I am thy 
 father !" 
 
 He extended his arms. The action and words broke 
 the spell With an indescribable cry Dolly fled to him. 
 
 " John ! John ! " she murmured. " My husband 
 my very own 1 Come back to me from the dead ! 
 Come back to me after all this cruel waiting ! " 
 
 And then she broke from him again, and watched 
 him yet again from a distance, then ran and flung her 
 arms around his neck, crying, " John ! John ! Why 
 did you not come to me before ? why did you not come 
 to me before ?" 
 
 The hot tears were streaming down his cheeks now : 
 he held her tightly, saying, in broken tones : 
 
 " We are together never more to part. I am thy 
 very husband ! I have loved thee always 1 Oh, God 
 be praised, the merciful God be praised for this !" 
 
 " Nelly, Nelly ! " she cried ; and she ran from him 
 and seized her child, and held her up. 
 
 " She is ours, John ! our little one ! We have found 
 papa, Nelly ! There he is ! There is Nelly's papa ! 
 God has given him back to us we were broken-hearted 
 just now ... husband ! . . . husband!" 
 
 She broke down ; a dangerous excitement had up to 
 this moment sustained her. She sank into a weeping,
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 375 
 
 sobbing, fainting woman in a moment ; but his arms 
 received her, his breast pillowed her, and there she 
 rested for many minutes, with no sound to break the 
 holy silence that filled the room but his deep quiver- 
 ing sobs. 
 
 When we peep at them again, a half-hour has passed, 
 and the wife is seated near the husband with her arm 
 around him; and the child is on her father's knee. The 
 fear that threw a film upon the exquisite emotions of 
 the girl has passed ; she is listening to his story, inter- 
 rupting him often with quick exclamations of distress, then 
 fondling him and listening again, vibrating with eager- 
 ness, with love, with amazement, which makes her pale 
 face kaleidoscopic with expression. He is telling her of 
 his sufferings in the boat, of his rescue, of his friends in 
 Australia, of his return to England, of his arrival at 
 Southbourne ; and as she hears him tell the story of his 
 noble unselfishness how, to save her from the sorrow 
 and the shame that must have attended his disclosure, 
 if made while Conway lived, he held his secret, but 
 could not keep his love from going forth to his child 
 she knows that he has brought back to her the same 
 grand heart he took with him five years ago ; the same 
 magnanimous qualities ; the same pure impulses ; the 
 same heroical capacity of self-sacrifice. 
 
 And then she tells him her story ; and now it is for 
 him to soothe her with the love that has transformed 
 his face and made it beautiful with a deeper and subtler 
 beauty than it had ever before worn. For, as she recurs 
 to those piteous times of her distress, her tears gush 
 forth afresh and her eyes grow wild, as though she did 
 not believe in the happiness that had come to her at last.
 
 376 JOHN HOLDSWORTH. 
 
 I see them sitting in that room while the bright 
 morning sunshine pours upon the window and floods 
 the floor with its radiance ; I hear the birds singing 
 merrily in the garden, and the cosy chucking of the 
 hens and the sound of the fresh sweet wind as it sweeps 
 through the pear-trees and sends the red-edged leaves 
 rustling to the ground. 
 
 I see the child's large deep eyes wandering from 
 father to mother, from mother to father, with the small 
 face busy with the unformed consciousness that struggles 
 in it. 
 
 I see the mother careworn and pale, but with the 
 light of rapture on her face that discloses all its secret 
 sweetness, watching, ever watching, with soft eyes 
 shining with happy tears, the dear one whose arm is 
 around her. 
 
 I see Holdsworth with the patches of gray upon his 
 hair, his sunken cheeks and bowed figure symbolising 
 while his life shall hold the unspeakable sufferings of 
 mind and body he has known since we first beheld him. 
 I see him, with the calmness of perfect joy mellowing 
 his eyes, and enriching his face with a colour that owes 
 its lustre to the spirit, so that it shall be there in dark- 
 ness and in sunshine, holding his wife to his heart, often 
 pressing his lips to his child, often glancing upwards 
 with looks of ineffable gratitude ; and I think of those 
 two lines which Goldsmith says are worth a million : 
 
 "/ have been young, and now am old: yet never saw 
 I the righteous man forsaken, nor his seed begging their 
 bread." 
 
 A knock falls upon the door ; the door is opened,
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 377 
 
 and enter Mrs. Parrot. Does she start dramatically? 
 I promise you there is more genuine astonishment con- 
 veyed by the little jump she gives, as she falls back a 
 step and then stands staring, than in any movement 
 designed to express wonderment you will see performed 
 on the stage. 
 
 So the mystery is solved, is it ? So her lodger isn't 
 a gentleman after all, but an insidious man who, under 
 pretence of liking Nelly's company, has been paying 
 attention to mamma! and now, with Conway's body 
 lying in the Town Hall, dead only a few hours, is 
 actually caressing the widow in Mrs. Parrot's respectable 
 house ! 
 
 Holdsworth and Dolly exchange glances, and Dolly 
 hangs her head with a look of confusion on her face 
 (and well she may, thinks Mrs. Parrot) as Holdsworth 
 puts Nelly down and rises. 
 
 "I am really sorry to introod," says Mrs. Parrot 
 haughtily, "but my motive for knockin', sir, was to 
 inquire when you would like your breakfast sarved 1" 
 
 "We'll talk of that in a moment," answers Holds- 
 worth. " I have something to say to you. This lady 
 is my wife ! " 
 
 "I beg your parding," says Mrs. Parrot, growing 
 very pale. 
 
 "My wife, Mrs. Parrot. You have heard of Mr. 
 Holdsworth who went to sea and was drowned ? He 
 was not drowned. I am Mr. Holdsworth ! " 
 
 "You!" 
 
 She tottered, ran forward, grasped the table, and 
 shrieked, "You!" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Parrot," exclaimed Dolly, " this is John 
 my own darling husband, who I thought was dead."
 
 378 JOHN HOLDSWORTII. 
 
 " And do you mean to say, sir," gasped Mrs. Parrot 
 hysterically, " that you knew who you was yourself all 
 the time 1" 
 
 " All the time that I have lodged with you." 
 
 "An' you've seen your lawful wife day arter day 
 without speakin' of it, or sayin' who you was 1 ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Because," stammered Mrs. Parrot, still clinging to 
 the table, " because you says that a wife can't have two 
 husbands, and so you hid yourself that you might spare 
 her feelin's T 
 
 " Yes, that is why, Mrs. Parrot," cried Dolly. 
 
 Mrs. Parrot took a deep breath, and then, to the 
 amazement of the others, burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I can't help it," she sobbed. " I niver did 
 hear in all my life of such beautiful conduct. Niver . . 
 And is this your child 1 ... Why, of course it is ! Oh 
 dear ! who'd ha' thought that any mortal man could ha' 
 acted so nobly ! Oh, sir, let me shake your hand." 
 
 She not only shook his hand, but actually fell against 
 him and kissed him ; and then, overwhelmed with her 
 effrontery and her feelings, was rushing out of the room, 
 when Holdsworth stopped her. 
 
 " One moment, dear Mrs. Parrot. You are the only 
 person in Hanwitch in the world I may say who 
 knows our secret. Will you keep it ? We have many 
 reasons for not wishing it known." 
 
 " I will, sir, I promise you," blubbered the honest 
 woman, " since you ask me ; but if it wasn't for that 
 I'd go and spread the noos everywhere, I would, for I 
 niver heerd of such beautiful conduct before, niver, in 
 sarmons or anywheers else ; and it 'ud be the makin' 
 of many a man to be told of it. God bless you both,
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 379 
 
 I'm sure. God bless you, little gal. You've found a 
 good father a rare good father ! " 
 And out she ran choking. 
 
 So the curtain falls, for the end has come. No need 
 to raise it again, for you who have sat so kindly and 
 patiently through this little drama must know as well 
 as I what will become of the two chief characters and 
 their little one when they have made their bow and 
 withdrawn. Australia is before them, with generous 
 friends to welcome them to their new home, and listen 
 with interest and tenderness to their strange story of 
 bitter separation, and sweet and sacred reunion. 
 
 Enough has been written ; the quill that has driven 
 these creations to this point is but a stump ; the hand 
 that holds it is tired ; the companionship of the shadows 
 which have kept me company is broken. What fitter 
 time, then, than now to say good-bye ?
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 I MUST claim the reader's indulgence while I speak for 
 a moment of that portion of the foregoing narrative which 
 refers to the hero's loss of memory. 
 
 That loss of memory has been brought about by 
 trials and sufferings such as I have attempted to depict 
 in the early chapters of this narrative, is too certain to 
 make it necessary that I should adduce instances (which 
 are very readily procured) as proof. That such loss has 
 lasted, not for months only, but for years, will be seen 
 by the following anecdote, which ' suggested this story, 
 and which I extract from the Noon Gazette of July, 
 1772: 
 
 " Last Sunday died at Winchelsea a character of whom 
 a correspondent, a gentleman distinguished both by his 
 parts and benevolence, has obligingly furnished us with 
 the following account: That his name was William 
 Stephens, and that he was a mariner, who, many years 
 since, was pressed from his home to serve on board His 
 Majesty's ship of war The Vapour ; that he was then 
 married but two weeks; that whilst cruising off the 
 Portugal coast The Vapour was wrecked, and Stephens, 
 with some others, saved his life by clinging to a portion 
 of the wreck, in which condition they languished near 
 three days, and were then rescued by a French merchant-
 
 382 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 man, who carried them into Bordeau (sic) : that on 
 Stephens being questioned, he was found to have lost 
 his memory, on which he was sent into England, and 
 was hired as porter by Mr. Hudson, of the York Inn, in 
 or near to Folkestone, in Kent, where he remained for two 
 years in entire ignorance of his past, until, his memory 
 returning, he set off for Winchelsea on foot, and arrived 
 to find his wife married to one Eel, a cobbler, whose life 
 Stephens threatened if he did not restore him his Nancy. 
 This the cobbler did, and so the matter ended. It occa- 
 sioned much gossip, and to the end of his days Mr. 
 Stephens (who settled down as a carpenter, having lost 
 all relish for the sea) was regarded with curiosity, and 
 had to the houses of the neighbouring gentry, whom his 
 singular story never failed to divert." 
 
 There are on record many instances of loss of memory, 
 occasioned by various means. In some cases the depriva- 
 tion has been complete, and the restoration sudden, and 
 resembling an abrupt revelation. In other instances it 
 has -been accompanied by faint, glimmering, haunting 
 reminiscences, creating indescribable anxiety, but growing 
 up suddenly into a sound and permanent recovery. 
 
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