CHAPTER CLXXIX.
[Chapter 196]
THE SCOTCH PACKET SHIP. —THE SUICIDE.
It was in pursuance of this resolution, so strangely and suddenly formed,
that the unhappy Varney rose on the following morning and went to that region
of pitch, slop clothing, red herrings, and dirt—the docks.
But yet, somehow, although the docks may not be the cleanest or them most
refined part of the vast city of London, the coarseness and the litter there
—for after all it is more litter than dirt —are by no means so repulsive
as those bad addenda to other localities.
There is a kind of rough freshness induced by the proximity of the water
which has a physical and moral effect, we are inclined to think, upon the
place and the people, and which takes off much of what would otherwise wear
the aspect of what is called low life.
But this is all by the way, and we will at once proceed to follow the
fortunes of Varney, in carrying out his plan of self annihilation.
The hour was an early one, and many a curious glance was cast at him, for
although he had humanised and modernised his apparel to a great extent, he
could not get rid of the strange, unworld-like (if we may use the phrase) look
of his face. He was very pale too, and jaded looking, for the thoughts that
had recently occupied him were not such as to do good to the looks of any one.
He cared little in what vessel he embarked. He had but one object in
embarking at all, and that was to get out to sea, so that the ultimate
destination of the ship that should receive so very odd and equivocal a
passenger was a matter of no moment.
Stopping a personage who had about him a sea-faring look, Varney,
pointing to a bustling place of embarkation, said, —
"Does any vessel start from there today?"
"Yes, there's one going now, or as soon as the tide serves her. She is
for Leith?"
"On the coast of Scotland, I think?"
"Yes, to be sure."
Varney walked on until he came to a kind of counting-house, where sat a
man with books before him, and, not to take up more valuable space, he secured
what was called a berth on board the "Ocean", a dirty, small, ill-convenient
ship bound for the port near the Scotch metropolis of Edinburgh.
Not wishing to be himself much noticed, and having no desire to notice
anybody, Varney went down below, and seated himself in a dark corner of the
generally dingy cabin, and there, amid all the noise, bawling, abuse, and
bustle contingent upon getting the ill-conditioned bark under weigh, he never
moved or uttered a word to any one, although the cabin was frequently visited.
But Varney had no idea of the amount of annoyance to which he was likely,
in the course of the evening, to be subjected.
The vessel was got under weigh, and as both wind and tide happened to be
favourable, she dropped down the river rapidly, and soon was clear of the
Nore-light, and holding on her course northward.
The cabin now began to fill with the passengers, and extraordinary as the
fact may appear, there were many Scotchmen actually going back again. They
were, however, only going to pay visits, for it is one of the popular
delusions that Scotchmen try to keep up in this country, that they have left
something dear and delightful behind them in Scotland, and that, take it
altogether, it is one of the most desirable spots in the whole world. It
becomes, therefore, quite necessary for them to go back now and then, in order
to keep up that delusion.
Personal vanity, too, is one of the great characteristics of the nation;
and many a Scotchman goes back to Edinburgh, for example, to make an
appearance among his old friends and family connexions, totally incompatible
with his real position in London.
By about nine o'clock at night, when the shore to the west could only be
discovered as a dim, grey line on the horizon, the cabin of the "Ocean" packet
was crammed.
Whisky was produced, and a drink that the Scotch call "bottled yell,"
meaning ale; and as these two heady liquids began to take effect "Auld Lang
syne" was chaunted in the vernacular by the whole party. At length a feeling
of annoyance began to grow up from the fact of the isolated aspect of Varney,
and the quiet, unobtrusive manner in which he looked on at the proceedings,
appearing not in the smallest degree enthusiastic, even when the most
uproarious Scotch songs, in the most unintelligible of all jargons, were sung,
for strange to say, the authors of that nation take a pride in slaughtering
the English language.
At length a Scotchman approached Varney and said, —
"Ye'll take a glass to auld Reekie mon?"
[Edinburgh is called Reekie in consequence of the absence of drainage,
giving it a horrible foetid smell, a reeky atmosphere, in a manner of
speaking; which may be illustrated by the Scotchman, who was returning to that
place from England, on the top of a stage coach, when within about fifty miles
he began sniffing and working his nose in an extraordinary manner.
"What are you doing that for?" said an Englishman. "Eh! mon, I can smell
the gude auld toon."
"I do not understand your language," said Varney, and he walked from the
cabin to the deck of the vessel. He recoiled an instant, for the moon was
rising.
"Ever thus, even thus," he said, "how strange it is that I never dream of
ridding myself of the suffering of living, ut the moon is shining brightly.
Can its rays penetrate the ocean?"
The deck was very still and silent indeed. The man at the helm, and one
other pacing to and fro, were all that occupied it, save Varney himself, and
he stood by the side gazing in the direction, where he had last seen the dim
grey speck of land.
"A pleasant run, sir, we shall have of it," said the man who had been
pacing the deck, "if this kindly wind continues."
"It blows from the west."
"Yes, nearly due-west; but that suits us. We keep her head a few points
in shore, and do well with such a wind, although a south-west by south is our
choice."
"How far are we from land?"
"It's the coast of Suffolk that is to our left, but we are I hope a good
thirty miles or more from it."
"You hope?"
"Yes, sir. Perhaps you are not sufficient of a sailor to know that we
never hug the shore if we can possibly help it."
"I understand. And there?"
"Oh, there lies the German Ocean."
"How deep now should you say the sea was here?"
"Can't say, sir, but it's blue water."
This was not much information to Varney, but he bowed his head and walked
forward, as much as to say that he had had enough of the information and
conversation of the man, who was the mate of the vessel, and quite disposed to
be communicative. Perhaps in the very dim light he did not see exactly what a
strange-looking personage he was talking to.
"Thirty miles from land," thought Varney, "surely that is far enough, and
I need have no dread of floating to the shore through such a mass of water as
that thirty miles. The distance is very great; I can to-night in another
hour make the attempt."
To his great joy some heavy clouds climbed up the sky along with the
moon, and congregating around the beautiful satellite, effectually obscured
the greater number of its beams. There was in fact, no absolute moonlight,
but a soft reflected kind of twilight coming through the clouds, and dispersed
far and wide.
"This will do," muttered Varney. "All I have to fear are the direct
moonbeams. It is they that have the effect of revivfying such as I am."
The man who had been pacing the deck finally sat down, and appeared to
drop off to sleep, so that all was still, and as Varney kept to the head of
the vessel, the man at the wheel could see nothing of him, there being many
intervening obstacles. He was perfectly alone.
Now and then, with a loud roaring about, he heard some boisterous
drinking chorus come from the cabin, and then a rattle of glasses as fists
were thumped upon the tables in token of boisterous approbation, and then all
would be still again.
Varney looked up to the sky and his lips moved, but he uttered no sound.
He went closer to the vessel's side and gazed upon th water as it lazily
rippled past. How calm and peaceful, he thought, he ought to be, far beneath
that tide.
A sudden plunge into the sea would have made a splash that would have
been heard, and that he wished of all things to avoid. He clambered slowly
over the side, and only held on by his hands for a moment.
[????]
cool night air tossed about his long elfin locks, and in another moment he
was gone.
—
