University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

Byron.

Eve Effingham slept little: although the motion of the
ship had been much more severe and uncomfortable while
contending with head-winds, on no other occasion were
there so many signs of a fierce contention of the elements
as in this gale. As she lay in her berth, her ear was within
a foot of the roaring waters without, and her frame
trembled as she heard them gurgling so distinctly, that it
seemed as if they had already forced their way through the
seams of the planks, and were filling the ship. Sleep she
could not, for a long time, therefore, and during two hours
she remained with closed eyes an entranced and yet startled
listener of the fearful strife that was raging over the
ocean. Night had no stillness, for the roar of the winds
and waters was incessant, though deadened by the intervening
decks and sides; but now and then an open door
admitted, as it might be, the whole scene into the cabins.
At such moments every sound was fresh, and frightfully
grand,—even the shout of the officer coming to the ear like
a warning cry from the deep.

At length Eve, wearied by her apprehensions even, fell
into a troubled sleep, in which her frightened faculties, however,
kept so much on the alert, that at no time was the
roar of the tempest entirely lost to her sense of hearing.
About midnight the glare of a candle crossed her eyes, and
she was broad awake in an instant. On rising in her berth
she found Nanny Sidley, who had so often and so long
watched over her infant and childish slumbers, standing at
her side, and gazing wistfully in her face.

“'Tis a dread night, Miss Eve,” half whispered the
appalled domestic. “I have not been able to sleep for

thinking of you, and of what might happen on these wide
waters!”

“And why of me particularly, my good Nanny?” returned
Eve, smiling in the face of her old nurse as sweetly
as the infant smiles in its moments of tenderness and recollection.
“Why so much of me, my excellent Ann?—are
there not others too, worthy of your care? my beloved
father — your own good self — Mademoiselle Viefville —
cousin Jack—and—” the warm colour deepened on the
cheek of the beautiful girl, she scarcely knew why herself—
“and many others in the vessel, that one, kind as you,
might think of, I should hope, when your thoughts become
apprehensions, and your wishes prayers.”

“There are many precious souls in the ship, ma'am, out
of all question; and I'm sure no one wishes them all safe
on land again more than myself; but it seems to me, no one
among them all is so much loved as you.”

Eve leaned forward playfully, and drawing her old nurse
towards her, kissed her cheek, while her own eyes glistened,
and then she laid her flushed cheek on that bosom which
had so frequently been its pillow before. After remaining
a minute in this affectionate attitude, she rose and inquired
if her nurse had been on deck.

“I go every half-hour, Miss Eve; for I feel it as much
my duty to watch over you here, as when I had you all to
myself in the cradle. I do not think your father sleeps a
great deal to-night, and several of the gentlemen in the
other cabins remain dressed; they ask me how you spend
the time in this tempest, whenever I pass their state-room
doors.”

Eve's colour deepened, and Ann Sidley thought she had
never seen her child more beautiful, as the bright luxuriant
golden hair, which had strayed from the confinement of the
cap, fell on the warm cheek, and rendered eyes that were
always full of feeling, softer and more brilliant even than
common.

“They conceal their uneasiness for themselves under an
affected concern for me, my good Nanny,” she said hurriedly;
“and your own affection makes you an easy dupe
to the artifice.”

“It may be so, ma'am, for I know but little of the ways
of the world. It is fearful, is it not, Miss Eve, to think
that we are in a ship, so far from any land, whirling along
over the bottom as fast as a horse could plunge?”

“The danger is not exactly of that nature, perhaps,
Nanny.”

“There is a bottom to the ocean, is there not? I have
heard some maintain there is no bottom to the sea—and
that would make the danger so much greater. I think, if
I felt certain that the bottom was not very deep, and there
was only a rock to be seen now and then, I should not find
it so very dreadful.”

Eve laughed like a child, and the contrast between the
sweet simplicity of her looks, her manners, and her more
cultivated intellect, and the matronly appearance of the less
instructed Ann, made one of those pictures in which the
superiority of mind over all other things becomes most apparent.

“Your notions of safety, my dear Nanny,” she said,
“are not precisely those of a seaman; for I believe there
is nothing of which they stand more in dread than of rocks
and the bottom.”

“I fear I'm but a poor sailor, ma'am, for in my judgment
we could have no greater consolation in such a tempest than
to see them all around us. Do you think, Miss Eve, that
the bottom of the ocean, if there is truly a bottom, is
whitened with the bones of ship-wrecked mariners, as people
say?”

“I doubt not, my excellent Nanny, that the great deep
might give up many awful secrets; but you ought to think
less of these things, and more of that merciful Providence
which has protected us through so many dangers since we
have been wanderers. You are in much less danger now
than I have known you to be, and escape unharmed.”

“I! Miss Eve!—Do you suppose that I fear for myself?
What matters it if a poor old woman like me die a few
years sooner or later, or where her frail old body is laid?
I have never been of so much account when living as to
make it of consequence where the little which will remain
to decay when dead moulders into dust. Do not, I implore

you, Miss Effingham, suppose me so selfish as to feel any
uneasiness to-night on my own account.”

“Is it then, as usual, all for me, my dear, my worthy old
nurse, that you feel this anxiety? Put your heart at ease,
for they who know best betray no alarm; and you may
observe that the captain sleeps as tranquilly this night as
on any other.”

“But he is a rude man, and accustomed to danger. He
has neither wife nor children, and I'll engage has never
given a thought to the horrors of having a form precious as
this floating in the caverns of the ocean, amidst ravenous
fish and sea-monsters.”

Here her imagination overcame poor Nanny Sidley, and
she folded her arms about the beautiful person of Eve, and
sobbed violently. Her young mistress, accustomed to similar
exhibitions of affection, soothed her with blandishments
and assurances that soon restored her self-command, when
the dialogue was resumed with a greater appearance of
tranquillity on the part of the nurse. They conversed a
few minutes on the subject of their reliance on God, Eve
returning fourfold, or with the advantages of a cultivated
intellect, many of those simple lessons of faith and humility
that she had received from her companion when a child;
the latter listening, as she always did, to these exhortations,
which sounded in her ears, like the echoes of all her own
better thoughts, with a love and reverence no other could
awaken. Eve passed her small white hand over the wrinkled
cheek of Nanny in kind fondling, as it had been passed
a thousand times when a child, an act she well knew her
nurse delighted in, and continued,—

“And now, my good old Nanny, you will set your heart
at ease, I know; for though a little too apt to trouble yourself
about one who does not deserve half your care, you
are much too sensible and too humble to feel distrust out of
reason. We will talk of something else a few minutes, and
then you will lie down and rest your weary body.”

“Weary! I should never feel weary in watching, when
I thought there was a cause for it.”

Although Nanny made no allusion to herself, Eve understood
in whose behalf this watchfulness was meant. She

drew the face of the old woman towards her, and left a kiss
on each cheek ere she continued:—

“These ships have other things to talk about, besides
their dangers,” she said. “Do you not find it odd, at least,
that a vessel of war should be sent to follow us about the
ocean in this extraordinary way?”

“Quite so, ma'am, and I did intend to speak to you about
it, some time when I saw you had nothing better to think
of. At first I fancied, but I believe it was a silly thought,
that some of the great English lords and admirals that used
to be so much about us at Paris, and Rome, and Vienna,
had sent this ship to see you safe to America, Miss Eve;
for I never supposed they would make so much fuss concerning
a poor runaway couple, like these steerage-passengers.”

Eve did not refrain from laughing again, at this conceit
of Nanny's, for her temperament was gay as childhood,
though well restrained by cultivation and manner, and
once more she patted the cheek of her nurse kindly.

“Those great lords and admirals are not great enough
for that, dear Nanny, even had they the inclination to do
so silly a thing. But has no other reason suggested itself
to you, among the many curious circumstances you
may have had occasion to observe in the ship?”

Nanny looked at Eve, and turned her eyes aside, glanced
furtively at the young lady again, and at last felt compelled
to answer.

“I endeavour, ma'am, to think well of everybody, though
strange thoughts will sometimes arise without our wishing
it. I suppose I know to what you allude; but I don't feel
quite certain it becomes me to speak.”

“With me at least, Nanny, you need have no reserves,
and I confess a desire to learn if we have thought alike
about some of our fellow-passengers. Speak freely, then;
for you can have no more apprehension in communicating
all your thoughts to me, than in communicating them to
your own child.”

“Not as much, ma'am, not half as much; for you are
both child and mistress to me, and I look quite as much to
receiving advice as to giving it. It is odd, Miss Eve, that

gentlemen should not pass under their proper names, and I
have had unpleasant feelings about it, though I did not think
it became me to be the first to speak, while your father was
with you, and mamerzelle,” for so Nanny always styled
the governess, “and Mr. John, all of whom love you almost
as much as I do, and all of whom are so much better
judges of what is right. But now you encourage me to
speak my mind, Miss Eve, I will say I should like that no
one came near you who does not carry his heart in his open
hand, that the youngest child might know his character and
understand his motives.”

Eve smiled as her nurse grew warm, but she blushed in
spite of an effort to seem indifferent.

“This would be truly a vain wish, dear Nanny, in the
mixed company of a ship,” she said. “It is too much to
expect that strangers will throw aside all their reserves, on
first finding themselves in close communion. The well-bred
and prudent will only stand more on their guard under
such circumstances.”

“Strangers, ma'am!”

“I perceive that you recollect the face of one of our shipmates.
Why do you shake your head?” The tell-tale
blood of Eve again mantled over her lovely countenance.
“I suppose I ought to have said two of our shipmates,
though I had doubted whether you retained any recollection
of one of them.”

“No gentleman ever speaks to you twice, Miss Eve,
that I do not remember him.”

“Thank you, dearest Nanny, for this and a thousand
other proofs of your never-ceasing interest in my welfare;
but I had not believed you so vigilant as to take heed of
every face that happens to approach me.”

“Ah, Miss Eve! neither of these gentlemen would like
to be mentioned by you in this careless manner, I'm sure.
They both did a great deal more than `happen to approach
you;' for as to—”

“Hist! dear Nanny; we are in a crowded place, and
you may be overheard. You will use no names, therefore,
as I believe we understand each other without going into
all these particulars. Now, my dear nurse, would I give

something to know which of these young men has made
the most favourable impression on your upright and conscientious
mind?”

“Nay, Miss Eve, what is my judgment in comparison
with your own, and that of Mr. John Effingham, and—”

“—My cousin Jack! In the name of wonder, Nanny,
what has he to do with the matter?”

“Nothing, ma'am; only I can see he has his favourites
as well as another, and I'll venture to say Mr. Dodge is not
the greatest he has in this ship.”

“I think you might add Sir George Templemore, too,”
returned Eve, laughing.

Ann Sidley looked hard at her young mistress, and
smiled before she answered; and then she continued the
discourse naturally, as if there had been no interruption.

“Quite likely, ma'am; and Mr. Monday, and all the rest
of that set. But you see how soon he discovers a real gentleman;
for he is quite easy and friendly with Mr. Sharp
and Mr. Blunt, particularly the last.”

Eve was silent, for she did not like the open introduction
of these names, though she scarce knew why herself.

“My cousin is a man of the world,” she resumed, on
perceiving that Nanny watched her countenance with solicitude,
as if fearful of having gone too far; “and there is
nothing surprising in his discovering men of his own class.
We know both these persons to be not exactly what they
seem, though I think we know no harm of either, unless it
be the silly change of names. It would have been better
had they come on board, bearing their proper appellations;
to us, at least, it would have been more respectful, though
both affirm they were ignorant that my father had taken
passage in the Montauk,—a circumstance that may very
well be true, as you know we got the cabin that was first
engaged by another party.”

“I should be sorry, ma'am, if either failed in respect.”

“It is not quite adulatory to make a young woman the
involuntary keeper of the secrets of two unreflecting young
men; that is all, my good Nanny. We cannot well betray
them, and we are consequently their confidants par force.
The most amusing part of the thing is, that they are masters

of each other's secrets, in part at least, and feel a delightful
awkwardness in a hundred instances. For my
own part I pity neither, but think each is fairly enough punished.
They will be fortunate if their servants do not
betray them before we reach New York.”

“No fear of that, ma'am, for they are discreet, cautious
men, and if disposed to blab, Mr. Dodge has given both
good opportunities already, as I believe he has put to them
as many questions as there are speeches in the catechism.”

“Mr. Dodge is a vulgar man.”

“So we all say, ma'am, in the servants' cabin, and everybody
is so set against him there, that there is little chance
of his learning much. I hope, Miss Eve, mamerzelle does
not distrust either of the gentlemen?”

“Surely you cannot suspect Mademoiselle Viefville of
indiscretion, Nanny; a better spirit, or a better tone than
hers, does not exist.”

“No, ma'am, 't is not that: but I should like to have one
more secret with you, all to myself. I honour and respect
mamerzelle, who has done a thousand times more for you
than a poor ignorant woman like me could have done, with
all my zeal; but I do believe, Miss Eve, I love your shoe
tie better than she loves your pure and beautiful spirit.”

“Mademoiselle Viefville is an excellent woman, and I
believe is sincerely attached to me.”

“She would be a wretch else. I do not deny her attachment,
but I only say it is nothing, it ought to be nothing, it
can be nothing, it shall be nothing, compared to that of the
one who first held you in her arms, and who has always
held you in her heart. Mamerzelle can sleep such a night
as this, which I'm sure she could not do were she as much
concerned for you as I am.”

Eve knew that jealousy of Mademoiselle Viefville was
Nanny's greatest weakness, and drawing the old woman to
her, she entwined her arms around her neck and complained
of drowsiness. Accustomed to watching, and really unable
to sleep, the nurse now passed a perfectly happy hour in
holding her child, who literally dropped asleep on her
bosom; after which Nanny slid into the berth beneath, in
her clothes, and finally lost the sense of her apprehensions
in perturbed slumbers.

A cry on deck awoke all in the cabins early on the succeeding
morning. It was scarcely light, but a common excitement
seized every passenger, and ten minutes had not
elapsed when Eve and her governess appeared in the hurricane-house,
the last of those who came from below. Few
questions had been asked, but all hurried on deck with their
apprehensions awakened by the gale, increased to the sense
of some positive and impending danger.

Nothing, however, was immediately apparent to justify
all this sudden clamour. The gale continued, if anything,
with increased power; the ocean was rolling over its cataracts
of combing seas, with which the ship was still racing,
driven under the strain of a reefed forecourse, the only
canvas that was set. Even with this little sail the hull was
glancing through the raging seas, or rather in their company,
at a rate a little short of ten miles in the hour.

Captain Truck was in the mizzen-rigging, bare-headed,
every lock of hair he had blowing out like a pennant. Occasionally
he signed to the man at the wheel which way to
put the helm; for instead of sleeping, as many had supposed,
he had been conning the ship for hours in the same
situation. As Eve appeared, he was directing the attention
of several of the gentlemen to some object astern, but a
very few moments put all on deck in possession of the facts.

About a cable's length, on one of the quarters of the
Montauk, was a ship careering before the gale like themselves,
though carrying more canvas, and consequently
driving faster through the water. The sudden appearance
of this vessel in the sombre light of the morning, when
objects were seen distinctly but without the glare of day;
the dark hull, relieved by a single narrow line of white
paint, dotted with ports; the glossy hammock-cloths, and
all those other coverings of dark glistening canvas which
give to a cruiser an air of finish and comfort, like that of a
travelling carriage; the symmetry of the spars, and the
gracefulness of all the lines, whether of the hull or hamper,
told all who knew anything of such subjects, that the
stranger was a vessel of war. To this information Captain
Truck added that it was their old pursuer the Foam.

“She is corvette-built,” said the master of the Montauk,

“and is obliged to carry more canvas than we, in order to
keep out of the way of the seas; for, if one of these big
fellows should overtake her, and throw its crest into her
waist, she would become like a man who has taken too
much Saturday-night, and with whom a second dose might
settle the purser's books forever.”

Such in fact was the history of the sudden appearance
of this ship. She had lain-to as long as possible, and on
being driven to scud, carried a close-reefed maintop-sail, a
show of canvas that urged her through the water about
two knots to the hour faster than the rate of the packet.
Necessarily following the same course, she overtook the
latter just as the day began to dawn. The cry had arisen
on her sudden discovery, and the moment had now arrived
when she was about to come up, quite abreast of her late
chase. The passage of the Foam, under such circumstances,
was a grand but thrilling thing. Her captain, too,
was seen in the mizzen-rigging of his ship, rocked by the
gigantic billows over which the fabric was careering. He
held a speaking-trumpet in his hand, as if still bent on his
duty, in the midst of that awful warring of the elements.
Captain Truck called for a trumpet in his turn, and fearful
of consequences he waved it to the other to keep more
aloof. The injunction was either misunderstood, the man-of-war's
man was too much bent on his object, or the ocean
was too uncontrollable for such a purpose, the corvette
driving up on a sea quite abeam of the packet, and in fearful
proximity. The Englishman applied the trumpet, and
words were heard amid the roaring of the winds. At that
time the white field of old Albion, with the St. George's
cross, rose over the bulwarks, and by the time it had
reached the gaff-end, the bunting was whipping in ribbons.

“Show 'em the gridiron!” growled Captain Truck
through his trumpet, with its mouth turned in board.

As everything was ready this order was instantly obeyed,
and the stripes of America were soon seen fluttering nearly
in separate pieces. The two ships now ran a short distance
in parallel lines, rolling from each other so heavily that the
bright copper of the corvette was seen nearly to her keel.
The Englishman, who seemed a portion of his ship, again

tried his trumpet; the detached words of “lie-by,”—“orders,”—“communicate,”
were caught by one or two, but
the howling of the gale rendered all connexion in the meaning
impossible. The Englishman ceased his efforts to make
himself heard, for the two ships were now rolling-to, and
it appeared as if their spars would interlock. There was
an instant when Mr. Leach had his hand on the main-brace
to let it go; but the Foam started away on a sea, like a
horse that feels the spur, and disobeying her helm, shot
forward, as if about to cross the Montauk's forefoot.

A breathless instant followed, for all on board the two
ships thought they must now inevitably come foul of each
other, and this the more so, because the Montauk took the
impulse of the sea just as it was lost to the Foam, and
seemed on the point of plunging directly into the stern of
the latter. Even the seamen clenched the ropes around
them convulsively, and the boldest held their breaths for a
time. The “p-o-r-t, hard a port, and be d—d to you!”
of Captain Truck; and the “S-t-a-r-b-o-a-r-d, starboard
hard!” of the Englishman, were both distinctly audible to
all in the two ships; for this was a moment in which seamen
can speak louder than the tempest. The affrighted
vessels seemed to recede together, and they shot asunder in
diverging lines, the Foam leading. All further attempts at
a communication were instantly useless; the corvette being
half a mile ahead in a quarter of an hour, rolling her yard-arms
nearly to the water.

Captain Truck said little to his passengers concerning
this adventure; but when he had lighted a cigar, and was
discussing the matter with his chief-mate, he told the latter
there was “just one minute when he would not have given
a ship's biscuit for both vessels, nor much more for their
cargoes. A man must have a small regard for human
souls, when he puts them, and their bodies too, in so much
jeopardy for a little tobacco.”

Throughout the day it blew furiously, for the ship was
running into the gale, a phenomenon that we shall explain,
as most of our readers may not comprehend it. All gales
of wind commence to leeward; or, in other words, the wind
is first felt at some particular point, and later, as we recede

from that point, proceeding in the direction from which the
wind blows. It is always severest near the point where it
commences, appearing to diminish in violence as it recedes.
This, therefore, is an additional motive for mariners to lie-to,
instead of scudding, since the latter not only carries
them far from their true course, but it carries them also
nearer to the scene of the greatest fury of the elements.