University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

Mrs. Hemans.

In this instance, it is not our task to record any of the
phenomena of the ocean, but a regular, though fierce gale
of wind. One of the first signs of its severity was the disappearance
of the passengers from the deck, one shutting
himself in his room after another, until none remained visible
but John Effingham and Paul Blunt. Both these gentlemen,
as it appeared, had made so many passages, and
had got to be so familiar with ships, that sea-sickness and
alarms were equally impotent as respects their constitutions
and temperaments.

The poor steerage-passengers were no exception, but they
stole for refuge into their dens, heartily repentant, for the
time being, at having braved the dangers and discomforts
of the sea. The gentle wife of Davis would now willingly
have returned to meet the resentment of her uncle; and as
for the bridegroom himself, as Mr. Leach, who passed
through this scene of abominations to see that all was
right, described him,—“Mr. Grab would not wring him
for a dish-cloth, if he could see him in his present pickle.”

Captain Truck chuckled a good deal at this account, for
he had much the same sympathy for ordinary cases of sea-sickness,
as a kitten feels in the agony of the first mouse it
has caught, and which it is sovereign pleasure to play
with, instead of eating.

“It serves him right, Mr. Leach, for getting married;

and mind you don't fall into the same abuse of your opportunities,”
he said, with an air of self-satisfaction, while
comparing three or four cigars in the palm of his hand,
doubtful which of the fragrant plump rolls to put into his
mouth. “Getting married, Mr. Blunt, commonly makes a
man a fit subject for nausea, and nothing is easier than to
set the stomach-pump in motion in one of your bride-grooms;
is not this true as the gospel, Mr. John Effingham?”

Mr. John Effingham made no reply,—but the young man
who at the moment was admiring his fine form, and the
noble outline of his features, was singularly struck with the
bitterness, not to say anguish, of the smile with which he
bowed a cold assent. All this was lost on Captain Truck,
who proceeded con amore.

“One of the first things that I ask concerning my passengers
is, is he married? when the answer is `no,' I set
him down as a good companion in a gale like this, or
as one who can smoke, or crack a joke when a topsail is
flying out of a bolt-rope,—a companion for a category.
Now, if either of you gentlemen had a wife, she would have
you under hatches to-day, lest you should slip through a
scupperhole,—or be washed overboard with the spray,—or
have your eye-brows blown away in such a gale, and then
I should lose the honour of your company. Comfort is too
precious to be thrown away in matrimony. A man may
gain foreknowledge by a wife, but he loses free agency.
As for you, Mr. John Effingham, you must have coiled
away about half a century of life, and there is not much
to fear on your account; but Mr. Blunt is still young
enough to be in danger of a mishap. I wish Neptune
would come aboard of us, hereaway, and swear you to be
true and constant to yourself, young gentleman.”

Paul laughed, coloured slightly, and then rallying, he
replied in the same voice,

“At the risk of losing your good opinion, captain, and
even in the face of this gale, I shall avow myself an advocate
of matrimony.”

“If you will answer me one question, my dear sir, I
will tell you whether the case is or is not hopeless.”

“In order to assent to this, you will of course see the
necessity of letting me know what the question is.”

“Have you made up your mind who the young woman
shall be? If that point is settled, I can only recommend
to you some of Joe Bunk's souchong, and advise you to
submit, for there is no resisting one's fate. The reason
your Turks yield so easily to predestination and fate, is the
number of their wives. Many a book is written to show
the cause of their submitting their necks so easily to the
sword and the bow-string. I've been in Turkey, gentlemen,
and know something of their ways. The reason of
their submitting so quietly to be beheaded is, that they are
always ready to hang themselves. How is the fact, sir?
have you settled upon the young lady in your own mind or
not?”

Although there was nothing in all this but the permitted
trifling of boon companions on ship-board, Paul Blunt received
it with an awkwardness one would hardly have expected
in a young man of his knowledge of the world. He
reddened, laughed, made an effort to throw the captain to
a greater distance by reserve, and in the end fairly gave up
the matter by walking to another part of the deck. Luckily,
the attention of the honest master was drawn to the
ship, at that instant, and Paul flattered himself he was unperceived;
but the shadow of a figure at his elbow startled
him, and turning quickly, he found Mr. John Effingham at
his side.

“Her mother was an angel,” said the latter huskily. “I
too love her; but it is as a father.”

“Sir!—Mr. Effingham!—These are sudden and unexpected
remarks, and such as I am not prepared for.”

“Do you think one as jealous of that fair creature as I,
could have overlooked your passion?—She is loved by
both of you, and she merits the warmest affection of a thousand.
Persevere, for while I have no voice, and, I fear,
little influence on her decision, some strange sympathy
causes me to wish you success. My own man told me that
you have met before, and with her father's knowledge, and
this is all I ask, for my kinsman is discreet. He probably
knows you, though I do not.”

The face of Paul glowed like fire, and he almost gasped

for breath. Pitying his distress, Effingham smiled kindly,
and was about to quit him, when he felt his hand convulsively
grasped by those of the young man.

“Do not quit me, Mr. Effingham, I entreat you,” he said
rapidly; “it is so unusual for me to hear words of confidence,
or even of kindness, that they are most precious to
me! I have permitted myself to be disturbed by the random
remarks of that well-meaning, but unreflecting man;
but in a moment I shall be more composed—more manly—
less unworthy of your attention and pity.”

“Pity is a word I should never have thought of applying
to the person, character, attainments, or, as I hoped, fortunes
of Mr. Blunt; and I sincerely trust that you will acquit
me of impertinence. I have felt an interest in you,
young man, that I have long ceased to feel in most of my
species, and I trust this will be some apology for the liberty
I have taken. Perhaps the suspicion that you were anxious
to stand well in the good opinion of my little cousin was at
the bottom of it all.”

“Indeed you have not misconceived my anxiety, sir; for
who is there that could be indifferent to the good opinion of
one so simple and yet so cultivated; with a mind in which
nature and knowledge seem to struggle for the possession.
One, Mr. Effingham, so little like the cold sophistication
and heartlessness of Europe on the one hand, and the unformed
girlishness of America, on the other; one, in short,
so every way what the fondest father or the most sensitive
brother could wish.”

John Effingham smiled, for to smile at any weakness was
with him a habit; but his eye glistened. After a moment
of doubt, he turned to his young companion, and with a
delicacy of expression and a dignity of manner that none
could excel him in, when he chose, he put a question that
for several days had been uppermost in his thoughts, though
no fitting occasion had ever before offered, on which he
thought he might venture.

“This frank confidence emboldens me—one who ought
to be ashamed to boast of his greater experience, when
every day shows him to how little profit it has been turned,
to presume to render our acquaintance less formal, by alluding
to interests more personal than strangers have a right

to touch on. You speak of the two parts of the world just
mentioned, in a way to show me you are equally acquainted
with both.”

“I have often crossed the ocean, and, for so young a
man, have seen a full share of their societies. Perhaps it
increases my interest in your lovely kinswoman, that, like
myself, she properly belongs to neither.”

“Be cautious how you whisper that in her ear, my youthful
friend; for Eve Effingham fancies herself as much
American in character as in birth. Single-minded and
totally without management,—devoted to her duties,—religious
without cant,—a warm friend of liberal institutions,
without the slightest approach to the impracticable, in heart
and soul a woman, you will find it hard to persuade her,
that with all her practice in the world, and all her extensive
attainments, she is more than a humble copy of her
own great beau idéal.”

Paul smiled, and his eyes met those of John Effingham
— the expression of both satisfied the parties that they
thought alike in more things than in their common admiration
of the subject of their discourse.

“I feel I have not been as explicit as I ought to be with
you, Mr. Effingham,” the young man resumed, after a
pause; “but on a more fitting occasion, I shall presume on
your kindness to be less reserved. My lot has thrown me
on the world, almost without friends, quite without relatives,
so far as intercourse with them is concerned; and I have
known little of the language or the acts of the affections.”

John Effingham pressed his hand, and from that time he
cautiously abstained from any allusion to his personal concerns;
for a suspicion crossed his mind that the subject was
painful to the young man. He knew that thousands of
well-educated and frequently of affluent people, of both
sexes, were to be found in Europe, to whom, from the circumstance
of having been born out of wedlock, through
divorces, or other family misfortunes, their private histories
were painful, and he at once inferred that some such event,
quite probably the first, lay at the bottom of Paul Blunt's
peculiar situation. Notwithstanding his warm attachment
to Eve, he had too much confidence in her own as well as
in her father's judgment, to suppose an acquaintance of any

intimacy would be lightly permitted; and as to the mere
prejudices connected with such subjects, he was quite free
from them. Perhaps his masculine independence of character
caused him, on all such points, to lean to the side of
the ultra in liberality.

In this short dialogue, with the exception of the slight
though unequivocal allusion of John Effingham, both had
avoided any farther allusions to Mr. Sharp, or to his supposed
attachment to Eve. Both were confident of its existence,
and this perhaps was one reason why neither felt any
necessity to advert to it: for it was a delicate subject, and
one, under the circumstances, that they would mutually
wish to forget in their cooler moments. The conversation
then took a more general character, and for several hours
that day, while the rest of the passengers were kept below
by the state of the weather, these two were together, laying,
what perhaps it was now too late to term, the foundation
of a generous and sincere friendship. Hitherto Paul
had regarded John Effingham with distrust and awe, but
he found him a man so different from what report and his
own fancy had pictured, that the reaction in his feelings
served to heighten them, and to aid in increasing his respect.
On the other hand, the young man exhibited so much
modest good sense, a fund of information so much beyond
his years, such integrity and justice of sentiment, that when
they separated for the night, the old bachelor was full of
regret that nature had not made him the parent of such a
son.

All this time the business of the ship had gone on. The
wind increased steadily, until, as the sun went down, Captain
Truck announced it, in the cabin, to be a “regular-built
gale of wind.” Sail after sail had been reduced or furled,
until the Montauk was lying-to under her fore-sail, a close-reefed
main-top-sail, a fore-top-mast stay-sail, and a mizzen
stay-sail. Doubts were even entertained whether the second
of these sails would not have to be handed soon, and the
fore-sail itself reefed.

The ship's head was to the south-southwest, her drift
considerable, and her way of course barely sufficient to
cause her to feel her helm. The Foam had gained on her
several miles during the time sail could be carried; but she,

also, had been obliged to heave-to, at the same increase of
the sea and wind as that which had forced Mr. Truck to
lash his wheel down. This state of things made a considerable
change in the relative positions of the two vessels
again; the next morning showing the sloop-of-war hull
down, and well on the weather-beam of the packet. Her
sharper mould and more weatherly qualities had done her
this service, as became a ship intended for war and the chase.

At all this, however, Captain Truck laughed. He could
not be boarded in such weather, and it was matter of indifference
where his pursuer might be, so long as he had
time to escape, when the gale ceased. On the whole, he
was rather glad than otherwise of the present state of things,
for it offered a chance to slip away to leeward as soon as
the weather would permit, if, indeed, his tormentor did not
altogether disappear in the northern board, or to windward.

The hopes and fears of the worthy master, however,
were poured principally into the ears of his two mates; for
few of the passengers were visible until the afternoon of the
second day of the gale; then, indeed, a general relief to
their physical suffering occurred, though it was accompanied
by apprehensions that scarcely permitted the change to be
enjoyed. About noon, on that day, the wind came with
such power, and the seas poured down against the bows of
the ship with a violence so tremendous, that it got to be
questionable whether she could any longer remain with
safety in her present condition. Several times in the course
of the morning, the waves had forced her bows off, and
before the ship could recover her position, the succeeding
billow would break against her broadside, and throw a flood
of water on her decks. This is a danger peculiar to lying-to
in a gale; for if the vessel get into the trough of the sea,
and is met in that situation by a wave of unusual magnitude,
she runs the double risk of being thrown on her beam-ends,
and of having her decks cleared of everything, by the
cataract of water that washes athwart them. Landsmen
entertain little notion of the power of the waters, when
driven before a tempest, and are often surprised, in reading
of naval catastrophes, at the description of the injuries done.
But experience shows that boats, hurricane-houses, guns,
anchors of enormous weight, bulwarks and planks, are even

swept off into the ocean, in this manner, or are ripped up
from their fastenings.

The process of lying-to has a double advantage, so long
as it can be maintained, since it offers the strongest portion
of the vessel to the shock of the seas, and has the merit of
keeping her as near as possible to the desired direction.
But it is a middle course, being often adopted as an expedient
of safety when a ship cannot scud; and then, again,
it is abandoned for scudding when the gale is so intensely
severe that it becomes in itself dangerous. In nothing
are the high qualities of ships so thoroughly tried as in
their manner of behaving, as it is termed, in these moments
of difficulty; nor is the seamanship of the accomplished
officer so triumphantly established in any other part of his
professional knowledge, as when he has had an opportunity
of showing that he knows how to dispose of the vast weight
his vessel is to carry, so as to enable her mould to exhibit
its perfection, and on occasion to turn both to the best account.

Nothing will seem easier to a landsman than for a vessel
to run before the wind, let the force of the gale be what it
may. But his ignorance overlooks most of the difficulties,
nor shall we anticipate their dangers, but let them take their
places in the regular thread of the narrative.

Long before noon, or the hour mentioned, Captain Truck
foresaw that, in consequence of the seas that were constantly
coming on board of her, he should be compelled to
put his ship before the wind. He delayed the manœuvre
to the last moment, however, for what he deemed to be sufficient
reasons. The longer he kept the ship lying-to, the
less he deviated from his proper course to New York, and
the greater was the probability of his escaping, stealthily
and without observation from the Foam, since the latter, by
maintaining her position better, allowed the Montauk to
drift gradually to leeward, and, of course, to a greater distance.

But the crisis would no longer admit of delay. All hands
were called; the maintop-sail was hauled up, not without
much difficulty, and then Captain Truck reluctantly gave
the order to haul down the mizzen-staysail, to put the helm
hard up, and to help the ship round with the yards. This

is at all times a critical change, as has just been mentioned,
for the vessel is exposed to the ravages of any sea, larger
than common, that may happen to strike her as she lies,
nearly motionless, with her broadside exposed to its force.
To accomplish it, therefore, Captain Truck went up a few
ratlines in the fore-rigging, (he was too nice a calculator to
offer even a surface as small as his own body to the wind,
in the after shrouds,) whence he looked out to windward
for a lull, and a moment when the ocean had fewer billows
than common of the larger and more dangerous kind. At
the desired instant he signed with his hand, and the wheel
was shifted from hard-down to hard-up.

This is always a breathless moment in a ship, for as none
can foresee the result, it resembles the entrance of a hostile
battery. A dozen men may be swept away in an instant,
or the ship herself hove over on her side. John Effingham
and Paul, who of all the passengers were alone on deck,
understood the hazards, and they watched the slightest
change with the interest of men who had so much at stake.
At first, the movement of the ship was sluggish, and such
as ill-suited the eagerness of the crew. Then her pitching
ceased, and she settled into the enormous trough bodily, or
the whole fabric sunk, as it were, never to rise again. So
low did she fall, that the fore-sail gave a tremendous flap;
one that shook the hull and spars from stem to stern. As
she rose on the next surge, happily its foaming crest slid
beneath her, and the tall masts rolled heavily to windward.
Recovering her equilibrium, the ship started through the
brine, and as the succeeding roller came on, she was urging
ahead fast. Still, the sea struck her abeam, forcing
her bodily to leeward, and heaving the lower yard-arms
into the ocean. Tons of water fell on her decks, with the
dull sound of the clod on the coffin. At this grand moment,
old Jack Truck, who was standing in the rigging, dripping
with the spray, that had washed over him, with a naked
head, and his grey hair glistening, shouted like a Stentor,
“Haul in your fore-braces, boys! away with the yard, like
a fiddlestick!” Every nerve was strained; the unwilling
yards, pressed upon by an almost irresistible column of air,
yielded slowly, and as the sail met the gale more perpendicularly,
or at right angles to its surface, it dragged the

vast hull through the sea with a power equal to that of a
steam-engine. Ere another sea could follow, the Montauk
was glancing through the ocean at a furious rate, and
though offering her quarter to the billows, their force was
now so much diminished by her own velocity, as to deprive
them of their principal danger.

The motion of the ship immediately became easy, though
her situation was still far from being without risk. No
longer compelled to buffet the waves, but sliding along in
their company, the motion ceased to disturb the systems
of the passengers, and ten minutes had not elapsed before
most of them were again on deck, seeking the relief of the
open air. Among the others was Eve, leaning on the arm
of her father.

It was a terrific scene, though one might now contemplate
it without personal inconvenience. The gentlemen
gathered around the beautiful and appalled spectatress of
this grand sight, anxious to know the effect it might produce
on one of her delicate frame and habits. She expressed
herself as awed, but not alarmed; for the habits
of dependence usually leave females less affected by fear,
in such cases, than those who, by their sex, are supposed
to be responsible.

“Mademoiselle Viefville has promised to follow me,” she
said, “and as I have a national claim to be a sailor, you
are not to expect hysterics or even ecstasies from me; but
reserve yourselves, gentlemen, for the Parisienne.”

The Parisienne, sure enough, soon came out of the hurricane-house,
with elevated hands, and eyes eloquent of
admiration, wonder and fear. Her first exclamations were
those of terror, and then turning a wistful look on Eve, she
burst into tears. “Ah, ceci est décisif!” she exclaimed.
“When we part, we shall be separated for life.”

“Then we will not part at all, my dear mademoiselle;
you have only to remain in America, to escape all future
inconveniences of the ocean. But forget the danger, and
admire the sublimity of this terrific panorama.”

Well might Eve thus term the scene. The hazards now
to be avoided were those of the ship's broaching-to, and of
being pooped. Nothing may seem easier, as has been
said, than to “sail before the wind,” the words having

passed into a proverb; but there are times when even a
favouring gale becomes prolific of dangers, that we shall
now briefly explain.

The velocity of the water, urged as it is before a tempest,
is often as great as that of the ship, and at such moments
the rudder is useless, its whole power being derived
from its action as a moving body against the element in
comparative repose. When ship and water move together,
at an equal rate, in the same direction, of course this power
of the helm is neutralized, and then the hull is driven much
at the mercy of the winds and waves. Nor is this all; the
rapidity of the billows often exceeds that of a ship, and
then the action of the rudder becomes momentarily reversed,
producing an effect exactly opposite to that which is desired.
It is true, this last difficulty is never of more than a few
moments' continuance, else indeed would the condition of
the mariner be hopeless; but it is of constant occurrence,
and so irregular as to defy calculations and defeat caution.
In the present instance, the Montauk would seem to fly
through the water, so swift was her progress; and then, as
a furious surge overtook her in the chase, she settled heavily
into the element, like a wounded animal, that, despairing
of escape, sinks helplessly in the grass, resigned to fate.
At such times the crests of the waves swept past her, like
vapour in the atmosphere, and one unpractised would be
apt to think the ship stationary, though in truth whirling
along in company with a frightful momentum.

It is scarcely necessary to say, that the process of scudding
requires the nicest attention to the helm, in order that
the hull may be brought speedily back to the right direction,
when thrown aside by the power of the billows; for,
besides losing her way in the caldron of water—an imminent
danger of itself—if left exposed to the attack of the
succeeding wave, her decks, at least, would be swept, even
should she escape a still more serious calamity.

Pooping is a hazard of another nature, and is also peculiar
to the process of scudding. It merely means the ship's
being overtaken by the waters while running from them,
when the crest of a sea, broken by the resistance, is thrown
inboard, over the taffrail or quarter. The term is derived
from the name of that particular portion of the ship. In

order to avoid this risk, sail is carried on the vessel as long
as possible, it being deemed one of the greatest securities
of scudding, to force the hull through the water at the
greatest attainable rate. In consequence of these complicated
risks, ships that sail the fastest and steer the easiest,
scud the best. There is, however, a species of velocity that
becomes of itself a source of new danger; thus, exceedingly
sharp vessels have been known to force themselves
so far into the watery mounds in their front, and to receive
so much of the element on decks, as never to rise again.
This is a fate to which those who attempt to sail the American
clipper, without understanding its properties, are peculiarly
liable. On account of this risk, however, there was
now no cause of apprehension, the full-bowed, kettle-bottomed
Montauk being exempt from the danger; though
Captain Truck intimated his doubts whether the corvette
would like to brave the course he had himself adopted.

In this opinion, the fact would seem to sustain the master
of the packet; for when the night shut in, the spars of the
Foam were faintly discernible, drawn like spiders' webs on
the bright streak of the evening sky. In a few more minutes,
even this tracery, which resembled that of a magiclantern,
vanished from the eyes of those aloft; for it had
not been seen by any on deck for more than an hour.

The magnificent horrors of the scene increased with the
darkness. Eve and her companions stood supported by the
hurricane-house, watching it for hours, the supernatural-looking
light, emitted by the foaming sea, rendering the
spectacle one of attractive terror. Even the consciousness
of the hazards heightened the pleasure; for there was a
solemn and grand enjoyment mingled with it all, and the
first watch had been set an hour, before the party had resolution
enough to tear themselves from the sublime sight of
a raging sea.