A Day's Ride: A Life's Romance

Far more earnestly, however, did we discuss the future. She heard with joy that I had already secured a passage for Constantinople, and declared that she could not dismiss from her mind the impression that I was destined to aid their return to happiness and prosperity. I liked the notion, too, of there being a fate in our first meeting; a fate in that acquaintanceship with the Croftons, which gave the occasion to seek her out again; and, last of all, if it might be so, a fate in the influence I was to exercise over their fortunes. I was so absorbed in these pleasant themes that I, with as little of the lion in my heart as any man breathing, never once thought of the quarrel and its impending consequences. How my heart beat as her soft breath fanned me while she spoke! As she was telling me when and from whence I was to write to her, the servant came to say that a gentleman outside begged to see Mr. Potts. I hurried to the hail.

“Not come to disturb you, Potts,” said the skipper, in a brisk tone; “only thought it best to make your mind easy. It’s all right.”

“A thousand thanks, Captain,” said I, warmly. “I knew when the negotiation was in your hands it would be so.”

“Yes; his friend, a Major Colesby, boggled a bit at first Could n’t see the thing in the light I put it. Asked very often ‘who were you?’ asked, too, ‘who I was?’ Good that! it made me laugh. Rather late in the day, I take it, to ask who Bob Rogers is! But in the end, as I said, it all comes right, quite right.”

“And his apology was full, ample, and explicit? Was it in writing, Rogers? I ‘d like it in writing.”

“Like what in writing.”

“His apology, or explanation, or whatever you like to call it.”

“Who ever spoke of such a thing? Who so much as dreamed of it? Haven’t I told you the affair is all right? and what does all right mean, eh? – what does it mean?”

“I know what it ought to mean,” said I, angrily.

“So do I, and so do most men in this island, sir. It means twelve paces under the Battery wall, fire together, and as many shots as the aggrieved asks for. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

“In one sense it is so,” said I, with a mock composure.

“Well, that’s the only sense I ever meant to consider it by. Go back now to your tea, or your sugar-and-water, or whatever it is; and when you come home to-night, step into my room, and we’ll have a cosey chat and a cigar. There ‘s one or two trifling things that I don’t understand in this affair, and I put my own explanation on them, and maybe it ain’t the right one. Not that it signifies now, you perceive, because you are here to the fore, and can set them right. But as by this time to-morrow you might be where – I won’t mention’ – we may as well put them straight this evening.”

“I’ll beat you up, depend upon it,” said I, affecting a slap-dash style. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have fallen into your hands, Rogers. You suit me exactly.”

“Well, it’s more than I expected when I saw you first, and I kept saying to myself, ‘Whatever could have persuaded Joe to send me a creature like that?’ To tell you the truth, I thought you were in the cheap funeral line.”

“Droll dog!” said I, while my fingers were writhing and twisting with passion.

“Not that it’s fair to take a fellow by his looks. I’m aware of that, Potts. But go back to the parlor; that’s the second time the maid has come out to see what keeps you. Go back, and enjoy yourself; maybe you won’t have so pleasant an opportunity soon again.”

This was the parting speech of the wretch as he buttoned the collar of his coat, and with a short nod bade me goodbye, and left me.

“Why did you not ask your friend to take a cup of tea with us?’” said Kate, as I re-entered the drawing-room.

“Oh! it was the skipper, a rough sort of creature, not exactly made for drawing-room life; besides, he only came to ask me a question.”

“I hope it was not a very unpleasant one, for you look pale and anxious.”

“Nothing of the kind; a mere formal matter about my baggage.”

It was no use; from that moment, I was the most miserable of mankind. What availed it to speculate any longer on the future? How could I interest myself in what years might bring forth? Hours, and a very few of them, were all that were left to me. Poor girl! how tenderly she tried to divert my sorrow! She, most probably, ascribed it to the prospect of our speedy separation; and with delicacy and tact, she tried to trace out some faint outlines of what painters call “extreme distance,” – a sort of future where all the skies would be rose-colored and all the mountains blue. I am sure, if a choice had been given me at that instant, I would rather have been a courageous man than the greatest genius in the universe. I knew better what was before. At last it came to ten o’clock, and I arose to say good-bye. I found it very hard not to fall upon her neck and say, “Don’t be angry with poor Potts; this is his last as it is his first embrace.”

“Wear that ring for me and for my sake,” said she, giving me one from her finger; “don’t refuse me, – it has no value save what you may attach to it from having been mine.”

Oh dear! what a gulp it cost me not to say, “I ‘ll never take it off while I live,” and then add, “which will be about eight hours and a half more.”

When I got into the open air, I ran as if a pack of wolves were in pursuit of me. I cannot say why; but the rapid motion served to warm my blood, so that when I reached the hotel, I felt more assured and more resolute.

Rogers was asleep, and so soundly that I had to pull the pillow from beneath his head before I could awaken him; and when I had accomplished the feat, either the remote effect of his brandy-and-water or his drowsiness had so obscured his faculties, that all he could mumble out was, “Hit him where he can’t be spliced, – hit him where they can’t splice him!” I tried for a long time to recall him to sense and intelligence, but I got nothing from him save the one inestimable precept; and so I went to my room, and, throwing myself on my bed in my cloak, prepared for a night of gloomy retrospect and gloomier anticipation; but, odd enough, I was asleep the moment I lay down.

“Get up, old fellow,” cried Rogers, shaking me violently, just as the dawn was breaking; “we ‘re lucky if we can get aboard before they catch us.”

“What do you mean?” said I. “What’s happened?”

“The Governor has got wind of our shindy, and put all the red-coats in arrest, and ordered the police to nab us too.”

“Bless him! bless him!” muttered I.

“Ay, so say I. He be blessed!” cried he, catching up my words. “But let us make off through the garden; my gig is down in the offing, and they ‘ll pull in when they hear my whistle. Ain’t it provoking, – ain’t it enough to make a man swear?”

“I have no words for what I feel, Rogers,” said I, bustling about to collect my stray articles through the room. “If I ever chance upon that Governor – he has only five years of it – I believe – ”

“Come along! I see the boat coming round the point yonder.” And with this we slipped noiselessly down the stairs, down the street, and gained the Jetty.

“Steam up?” asked the skipper, as he jumped into the gig.

“Ay, ay, sir; and we’re short on the anchor too.” In less than half an hour we were under weigh, and I don’t think I ever admired a land prospect receding from view with more intense delight than I did that, my last glimpse of Malta.

CHAPTER XLVIII. FINAL ADVENTURES AND SETTLEMENT

Our voyage had nothing remarkable to record; we reached Constantinople in due course, and during the few days the “Cyclops” remained, I had abundant time to discover that there was no trace of any one resembling him I sought for. By the advice of Rogers, I accompanied him to Odessa. There, too, I was not more fortunate; and though I instituted the most persevering inquiries, all I could learn was that some Americans were employed by the Russian Government in raising the frigates sunk at Sebastopol, and that it was not impossible an Englishman, such as I described, might have met an engagement amongst them. At all events, one of the coasting craft was already at Odessa, and I went on board of her to make my inquiry. I learned from the mate, who was a German, that they had come over on rather a strange errand, which was to convey a corps of circus people to Balaklava. The American contractor at that place, being in want of some amusement, had arranged with these people to give some weeks’ performances there, but that, from an incident that had just occurred, the project had failed. This was no less than the elopement of the chief dancer, a young girl of great beauty, with a young prince of Bavaria. It was rumored that he had married her, but my informant gave little credence to this version, and averred that he had bought, not only herself, but a favorite Old Arab horse she rode, for thirty thousand piastres. I asked eagerly where the others of the corps were to be found, and heard they had crossed over to Simoom, all broken up and disjointed, the chief clown having died of grief after the girl’s flight.

If I heard this tale rudely narrated, and not always with the sort of comment that went with my sympathies, I sorrowed sincerely over it, for I guessed upon whom these events had fallen, and recognized poor old Vaterchen and the dark-eyed Tintefleck.

“You ‘ve fallen into the black melancholies these some days back,” said Rogers to me. “Rouse up, and take a cruise with me. I ‘m going over to Balaklava with these steam-boilers, and then to Sinope, and so back to the Bosphorus. Come aboard to-night, it will do you good.”

I took his counsel, and at noon next day we dropped anchor at Balaklava. We had scarcely passed our “health papers,” when a boat came out with a message to inquire if we had a doctor on board who could speak English, for the American contractor had fallen from one of the scaffolds that morning, and was lying dreadfully injured up at Sebastopol, but unable to explain himself to the Russian surgeons. I was not without some small skill in medicine; and, besides, out of common humanity, I felt it my duty to set out, and at about sunset I reached Sebastopol.

Being supposed to be a physician of great skill and eminence, I was treated by all the persons about with much deference, and, after very few minutes’ delay, introduced into the room where the sick man lay. He had ordered that when an English doctor could be found, they were to leave them perfectly alone together; so that, as I entered, the door was closed immediately, and I found myself alone by the bedside of the sufferer. The curtain was closely drawn across the windows, and it was already dusk, so that all I could discover was the figure of a man, who lay breathing very heavily, and with the irregular action that implies great pain.

“Are you English?” said he, in a strong, full voice. “Well, feel that pulse, and tell me if it means sinking; I suspect it does.”

I took his hand and laid my finger on the artery. It was beating furiously, – far too fast to count, but not weakly nor faintly.

“No,” said I; “this is fever, but not debility.”

“I don’t want subtleties,” rejoined he, roughly. “I want to know am I dying? Draw the curtain there, open the window full, and have a look at me.”

I did as he bade me, and returned to the bedside. It was all I could do not to cry out with astonishment; for, though terribly disfigured by his wounds, his eyes actually covered by the torn scalp that hung over them, I saw that it was Harpar lay before me, his large reddish beard now matted and clotted with blood.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” cried he, sternly; “don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I do not perceive any grave symptoms so far – ”

“No cant, my good friend, no cant! It’s out of place just now. Be honest, and say what is it to be, – live or die?”

“So far as I can judge, I say, live.”