The Adventures of Harry Richmond. Complete

‘Where was his son the night of the fog?’ said the captain.

‘Well, he happened to be out in it.’

‘Where’d he be now but for one o’ my men?’

‘Who can answer that, Captain Welsh?’

‘I can, my lad-stewing in an ante-room of hell-gates, I verily believe.’

Temple sighed at the captain’s infatuation, and said, ‘I’ll tell you of a fellow at our school named Drew; he was old Rippenger’s best theological scholar—always got the prize for theology. Well, he was a confirmed sneak. I’ve taken him into a corner and described the torments of dying to him, and his look was disgusting—he broke out in a clammy sweat. “Don’t, don’t!” he’d cry. “You’re just the fellow to suffer intensely,” I told him. And what was his idea of escaping it? Why, by learning the whole of Deuteronomy and the Acts of the Apostles by heart! His idea of Judgement Day was old Rippenger’s half-yearly examination. These are facts, you know, Captain Welsh.’

I testified to them briefly.

The captain said a curious thing: ‘I’ll make an appointment with you in leviathan’s jaws the night of a storm, my lad.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Temple.

‘The Lord send it!’ exclaimed the captain.

His head was bent forward, and he was gazing up into his eyebrows.

Before we knew that anything was coming, he was out on a narrative of a scholar of one of the Universities. Our ears were indifferent to the young man’s career from the heights of fortune to delirium tremens down the cataract of brandy, until the captain spoke of a dark night on the Pool of the Thames; and here his voice struggled, and we tried hard to catch the thread of the tale. Two men and a girl were in the boat. The men fought, the girl shrieked, the boat was upset, the three were drowned.

All this came so suddenly that nothing but the captain’s heavy thump of his fist on the table kept us from laughing.

He was quite unable to relate the tale, and we had to gather it from his exclamations. One of the men was mate of a vessel lying in the Pool, having only cast anchor that evening; the girl was his sweetheart; the other man had once been a fine young University gentleman, and had become an outfitter’s drunken agent. The brave sailor had nourished him often when on shore, and he, with the fluent tongue which his college had trimmed for him, had led the girl to sin during her lover’s absence. Howsoever, they put off together to welcome him on his arrival, never suspecting that their secret had been whispered to Robert Welsh beforehand. Howsoever, Robert gave them hearty greeting, and down to the cabin they went, and there sat drinking up to midnight.

‘Three lost souls!’ said the captain.

‘See how they run,’ Temple sang, half audibly, and flushed hot, ashamed of himself.

‘‘Twas I had to bear the news to his mother,’ the captain pursued; ‘and it was a task, my lads, for I was then little more than your age, and the glass was Robert’s only fault, and he was my only brother.’

I offered my hand to the captain. He grasped it powerfully. ‘That crew in a boat, and wouldn’t you know the devil’d be coxswain?’ he called loudly, and buried his face.

‘No,’ he said, looking up at us, ‘I pray for no storm, but, by the Lord’s mercy, for a way to your hearts through fire or water. And now on deck, my lads, while your beds are made up. Three blind things we verily are.’

Captain Welsh showed he was sharp of hearing. His allusion to the humming of the tune of the mice gave Temple a fit of remorse, and he apologized.

‘Ay,’ said the captain, ‘it is so; own it: frivolity’s the fruit of that training that’s all for the flesh. But dip you into some o’ my books on my shelves here, and learn to see living man half skeleton, like life and shadow, and never to living man need you pray forgiveness, my lad.’

By sheer force of character he gained the command of our respect. Though we agreed on deck that he had bungled his story, it impressed us; we felt less able to cope with him, and less willing to encounter a storm.

‘We shall have one, of course,’ Temple said, affecting resignation, with a glance aloft.

I was superstitiously of the same opinion, and praised the vessel.

‘Oh, Priscilla’s the very name of a ship that founders with all hands and sends a bottle on shore,’ said Temple.

‘There isn’t a bottle on board,’ said I; and this piece of nonsense helped us to sleep off our gloom.

CHAPTER XIV. I MEET OLD FRIENDS

Notwithstanding the prognostications it pleased us to indulge, we had a tolerably smooth voyage. On a clear cold Sunday morning we were sailing between a foreign river’s banks, and Temple and I were alternately reading a chapter out of the Bible to the assembled ship’s crew, in advance of the captain’s short exhortation. We had ceased to look at ourselves inwardly, and we hardly thought it strange. But our hearts beat for a view of the great merchant city, which was called a free city, and therefore, Temple suggested, must bear certain portions of resemblance to old England; so we made up our minds to like it.

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