CHAPTER X.

GOOD-BYE TO ENGLAND.

The sun shone brightly on the dark, turbid waters of the Indian Docks, making the binnacles sparkle like burnished gold, under the influence of his rays. The Blue Peter floated gaily at the fore royal masthead of the _Pandora_, and all was in readiness to receive the pilot. The decks were cleared up, and the hatches battened down. The anchors were hanging in their tackles, the cables were overhauled over the windlass and ranged along the deck, and innumerable lines and warps were coiled down, all ready to be paid out into the boat.

Punctual to time, a short, dark man in blue uniform stepped aboard, and having exchanged salutations with the captain, took his place upon the bridge and gave the order to ‘Slack away for’ard,’ and as the shellbacks tramped around the capstan aft, the _Pandora_ moved slowly away from the quay.

Then, after a great deal of shouting--of paying out warps, and hauling them in--of encroaching upon the kindness of the captains of other vessels by asking them to ‘make fast’ and ‘let go,’ the _Pandora_ reached the dockhead, where she was slewed round, and a tug caught hold of her hawser.

A small crowd of friends and relations were here gathered together, anxious to have a last look at those dear ones who were going so far away, perhaps never to return. Some were brave enough to step aboard, and go down as far as Gravesend, where the vessel was to wait a couple of hours. But others were detained by work or business in London, and could not afford to indulge their inclination. All had time, however, while the _Pandora_ slowly crawled through the narrow entrance, to whisper their last farewells--to implore the travellers ‘to be sure to write,’ and tell them all their news--to wish them a prosperous voyage, and, above all, to give them a warm grip of the hand, or a parting kiss.

Ah! these long uncertain partings are very Death in Life. They have all the agony of Death about them, and none of its peace. They are the most cruel trials this miserable world affords us!

When the vessel was clear of the docks, and had glided into the broad river, the helm was put to starboard, and her head pointed eastward--then the hawser gradually ‘taughtened’ as the tug went ahead, and many of the passengers, realising that they were really ‘off,’ strained their eyes, brimming with tears, towards the shore, and with a choking sensation in their throats, waved their handkerchiefs as a last farewell to the friends they had left behind them. But their emotion soon subsided as they watched the lively scene spread out upon all sides. It is those who stay at home who feel parting most. The river was alive with barges, which had taken advantage of the wind to stem the tide. Large passenger steamers took their way carefully amongst the smaller craft, and channel and river boats plied fussily backwards and forwards, with groaning deckloads of gaily-dressed pleasure seekers.

Large wooden ships lay moored to the buoys, discharging blue casks of petroleum, and in their wake fruiters and colliers were similarly employed. Trinity boats, with their decks crowded with red and white buoys, had made fast under the shears, and innumerable tugs, and ferryboats, and watermen were waiting for something to ‘turn up.’

At two o’clock Gravesend was reached, where dozens of vessels had come to a standstill, and half-an-hour afterwards the _Pandora_ was brought up and moored to a buoy close to the red powder-hulks, with her burgee flying at the masthead.

The powder having been brought alongside in lighters, laden with small wooden tubs, a double line of men was ranged from the port to the locker, and the kegs quickly passed along.

Whilst the powder was being taken in, a boat pulled by four men approached the vessel. In her stern were seated the coxswain, and another man who was evidently a passenger. When she reached the _Pandora’s_ side the gangway was lowered, and the mysterious stranger who had chosen this late hour to arrive, ascended the ladder.

He was a tall, dark man with curly hair, and a heavy moustache, which joined a pair of mutton-chop whiskers. His face was much lined, and there was a haggard look beneath his keen grey eyes. He wore a soft felt slouch hat, a black morning coat, and loose trousers. His baggage apparently consisted of a large portmanteau, which was carried up by one of the sailors, and tumbled on to the deck.

‘What name?’ inquired Mr Sparkes, who waited at the head of the gangway to receive him.

‘I wish to see the captain,’ was the stranger’s only answer.

‘You will find him on the bridge,’ said Richard Sparkes, and without another word the new-comer hastily mounted the companion, and confronted the skipper.

‘Captain Robarts?’ he inquired briefly.

‘The same, sir,’ replied the captain. ‘What is your business?’

‘There is my card,’ returned the other, producing it.

‘Oh, yes! of course,’ said Captain Robarts, as he looked at the card; ‘very pleased to see you, Mr Fowler, and if you will ask the steward, he will show you your berth.’

During this short colloquy, the passengers assembled on the deck eyed the new-comer curiously, and many were the speculations raised concerning him.

‘Who can he be, Captain Lovell?’ asked Alice Leyton, who had become quite friendly with the gentleman in question.

‘I should say he had come to take charge of the powder,’ replied Lovell. ‘He is evidently going to remain, as he has brought his luggage.’

‘Perhaps he is (what Jack calls) a supercargo,’ suggested Alice.

‘No, Miss Leyton, they don’t have such things now-a-days, although the highly-favoured individual whom you call “Jack” may have told you so.’

‘Jack is likely to know best, though, all the same, because he is a sailor,’ cried Alice merrily. ‘But do you really think, Captain Lovell,’ she continued, opening her blue eyes, ‘that there is any danger from the gunpowder?’

‘Not unless the ship catches fire, and then we should be blown to “smithereens.” I daresay if we had any one on board evilly disposed to the rest of us, he could, with very little trouble, put an end to our existence.’

‘But he would blow himself up at the same time,’ said Alice.

‘True; but in _such company_,’ replied Lovell, looking ineffable things at her, ‘a fellow might even feel glad to be blown up.’

‘Don’t let us talk of such horrible things, Captain Lovell, and when we have not yet commenced the voyage. Do you see that lady talking to the gentleman who is leaning against the rail? She is a Miss Vere. She is an actress, and is going all through Australia and New Zealand.’

‘By George! Is that really Miss Vere?’ said Captain Lovell, putting up his eyeglass. ‘I really didn’t recognise her off the stage. She ought to be good company. She’s very clever.’

‘Don’t you think she is very handsome?’

‘Perhaps. But she’s not _my_ style,’ replied the captain, glancing at Alice’s fair hair.

‘Would you like to be introduced to her?’ continued the girl. ‘I made her acquaintance last night, and found her most agreeable. Will you come with me, and talk to her?’

‘Delighted to follow you anywhere,’ said Lovell gallantly, as he walked after his lively companion.

Vernon Blythe, who was close at hand, saw the little incident, and only smiled at it. He was not the man to suspect any woman whom he professed to love, without good cause. And when he was assured of her infidelity to him, he would be silent on the subject. He might leave her, but his pride would forbid him to complain because she preferred another fellow to himself. But he did not doubt at that moment that Alice loved him, and, believing so, he allowed her to do just as she chose.

‘Miss Vere,’ she exclaimed, as she came up to the lady in question, ‘may I introduce one of our fellow-passengers to you--Captain Lovell--who is longing to make your acquaintance?’

Miss Vere bowed, and the two immediately engaged in conversation.

Emily Vere was a high-class society actress, who had appeared that season at a leading London theatre, and taken the town by storm. Now, she was going out to make the tour of Australia, tempted thereto by exceptionally high terms, and the promise of an efficient company to support her on the other side. In appearance, she was more charming perhaps than handsome, but her figure was perfect, and her manners courteous and refined. She was one of those artists who give the lie pointblank to those libellers who say that virtue does not exist upon the stage, and who (if the truth were known) have not kept their own lives nearly so clean as that of many an actress. Miss Vere’s character had never been attacked, except by those who knew nothing about it. She was essentially a lady, and one of rather reserved and quiet habits than otherwise. She was dressed plainly, but in exquisite taste. Her grey cashmere dress showed off each curve of her beautiful figure, and seemed to cling lovingly about her full bosom and slender waist. Her long plush mantle was of the same delicate tint, and a grey straw hat, trimmed with seagulls’ wings, and long grey _chevrette_ gloves, completed her costume. She smiled pleasantly as she recognised her little acquaintance of the night before, but did not evince any especial emotion on being introduced to Captain Lovell, which, for the moment, rather staggered that hero.

‘So proud to know you,’ he murmured, as the introduction was effected; ‘so charmed to meet one whom I, in common with all who have had the great privilege of seeing her upon the stage, cannot fail to admire.’

‘How long did it take you to get that up?’ asked Miss Vere quietly. ‘Seriously, Captain Lovell, I hope I am going to be spared listening to empty compliments for a while. I am so very _very_ tired of them, and I want to make this voyage a time of rest for both mind and body.’

‘But I can assure you I had no intention to flatter,’ stammered Lovell.

‘Then you cannot know what your intentions are, and consequently must be a very dangerous acquaintance. He can’t get out of it any way, can he, Miss Leyton?’

‘I think most people would find it loss of time to cross swords with you, Miss Vere,’ said Alice.

‘Indeed I am a very peaceable person by nature. But some things put one on one’s metal; and you must understand, Captain Lovell, that the last person I care to talk about, is myself.’

‘Which makes you so unlike other women, that the first person we all want to talk about is _you_. Ah! Miss Vere, you must not be so hard upon me. I have seen you play at the “Star” Theatre dozens of times, and left my heart behind me on every occasion.’

‘Dear me! what a number of hearts you must possess. You are quite a natural curiosity. I hope you did not part with your brains at the same time.’

‘You think I have none to spare, I suppose?’

‘Not quite that, but we shall want all we can scrape together, to make this long voyage pass pleasantly. Have you mapped out any plan of employment for the next three months, Miss Leyton?’

Alice blushed most becomingly.

‘I haven’t thought of it yet. I suppose when we shake down, we shall have plenty of music and dancing, and--’

‘Flirtation,’ continued Miss Vere.

‘Well, a little of that, too, I suppose.’

‘A great deal, I hope,’ amended the captain; ‘life would be worth very little without it.’

‘Yes! when it’s legitimate, it’s very nice,’ said Miss Vere; ‘but, for my part, I mean to flirt with my books. I have promised myself a long course of study before we arrive at Lyttleton.’

‘Oh, look, Miss Vere,’ cried Alice, ‘they are slipping the warp! I believe we are really going at last. Are we off, Jack?’ she asked excitedly of Vernon Blythe, who passed them at that moment.

He only gave her a nod and a smile in answer, but the action did not pass unperceived by Captain Lovell. However, he made no comment on it then.

‘It’s about time we _were_ off,’ he grumbled; ‘they’ve been three hours shipping those confounded kegs of gunpowder.’

‘That are to blow us all up,’ said Alice merrily.

As the _Pandora_ moved statelily down the river, a cold wind began to blow over the water, that drove the ladies to the shelter of the saloon, and left the gentlemen in possession of the deck and the smoking-room.

Vernon Blythe had found time more than once that day, in the midst of his active duties, to glance round the decks in search of Miss Douglas, but he had seen her nowhere, which, as they were still in fresh water, seemed rather strange to him. But perhaps she was very unhappy at leaving home, and could not trust herself in public. Godfrey Harland, on the other hand, had made himself generally conspicuous by his attentions to Mrs and Miss Vansittart, and the more Jack saw of him, the more he disliked him. His handsome face was knitted into a frown even now, as in the pursuit of his duty he passed Harland leaning over the bulwarks, and watching the lights of Gravesend gradually receding from view, as the vessel was towed towards the bend. Could Vernon Blythe have read the thoughts which were passing through Harland’s mind at that moment, he would have pitied, as much as he despised him. For no one is to be pitied more than the man who casts an honest love on one side, in order to pursue, with unfettered hands, the phantom Fortune.

He was thinking then of Iris. He had gained his object. The prize he had unlawfully striven for was in his hand. In a few more hours, miles of water would stretch between him and his domestic cares and troubles. Yet he was not elated with his good luck. His last thoughts, as he saw his country fading from his sight, were given to his deserted home and wife. What would Iris do when she found he did not return? Would she inform the police, and would they trace him to the shipping office? What a fool he was not to have sailed under another name! He might have thought of some excuse to satisfy the simple Vansittarts, and put himself for ever out of the clutches of his pursuers. But it was too late to think of that now. Still he did not believe it possible that Iris would betray him. She had always been an honest, generous, stout-hearted little woman, and he had more faith in her than in himself; but she was passionate and determined, and others might advise her to take the law into her own hand. How could he possibly prevent such a catastrophe? Bright thought! The sea pilot who had come aboard at Gravesend would land at the Start. He would send a carefully-composed letter to his wife by him, explaining that on account of being unable to meet some heavy losses at the Newcastle Meeting, he had been compelled to leave England, and finding Harfleur was too near for him, was on his way to Spain, under an assumed name, whence he intended to get across to the Brazils, where he had been promised employment. This would put her off the idea (if she had any) of applying to the police for his whereabouts, and he could wind up his letter with a few vague promises of sending her money as soon as he landed in Brazil.

That would do capitally, and set his mind completely at rest upon the matter. There was only one little flaw in the plan, and that was a vision of the pale face of the girl he had deserted, and which would rise before him, becoming plainer and plainer as the night fell. There is good as well as evil in the lives of all of us, and this was a good moment in the life of Godfrey Harland. There was a time when he had loved his young wife--with a selfish and worthless affection, it is true, but still the best his nature was capable of conceiving; and his conscience raked up the remembrance of this affection, now, with his own misdeeds. Again and again did the thought of Iris come into his head, until he felt almost remorseful. He tried to drive the unwelcome memory away. He left his position and paced the deck with rapid steps, but his deserted wife seemed to walk beside him. He lit a cheroot and nearly choked himself with its strong fumes; still some one seemed to whisper in his ear that he was committing a crime,--that he was a liar--a coward--everything that was base and cruel,--and that if Iris died of starvation during his absence, or sold her honour in exchange for bread, he would be worse--the murderer of both her body and her soul! And then the same voice seemed to tell him, as if by inspiration, that he would never return to England,--that some catastrophe would befall the ship that carried him,--she would be blown up by the powder, or lost at sea, and he was leaving his wife and his creditors behind him--_for ever_. The thought made his cheeks grow ghastly pale. It was a warning--a prophecy! Why should he not save himself from its fulfilment? There was still time to do so. It was nearly dark; he could just make out the green light at the end of Southend Pier. The tide was low. Why not drop overboard and swim? The distance was not a mile, and he was an excellent swimmer.

But no. He would be seen and picked up, and treated on board as if he were a lunatic. The Vansittarts would not know what to make of his conduct, and he might lose all the influence he had gained over them. The game was too risky. It would certainly not succeed. And if it did, what would he go back to? Poverty, tears, coldness, and certain arrest. Pshaw! what a fool he was. What had he been thinking of? His good angel flew away, and a spirit of a very different type took its place, and Godfrey Harland was himself again. The soft moment had passed, and it left him harder than before.

‘What have I to do with others?’ he thought, as he buttoned his coat across his chest; ‘my business at present is to look after number one. He wants enough looking after, poor devil, Heaven knows! I am on the highroad to fortune. Let me direct all my energies to seeing I keep there. And if things go as I wish them, why I’ll turn my back on England for evermore, and all my dear friends there may whistle for me.’ So having arrived at this comfortable decision, Harland crossed the quarter-deck, and, after swallowing a stiff brandy-and-soda, joined the other gentlemen at a game of poker.

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