The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 20

I believe that the first glimpse of that abhorred uniform brought my knife down upon the rope. In two seconds I had slashed through the strands, and the flaccid machine lifted and bore us from their ken. But I see their faces yet, as in basso relievo: round-eyed, open-mouthed; honest country faces, and boyish, every one: an awkward squad of recruits at drill, fronting a red-headed sergeant; the sergeant, with cane held horizontally across and behind his thighs, his face upturned with the rest, and “Irishman” on every feature of it. And so the vision fleeted, and Byfield’s language claimed attention. The man took the whole vocabulary of British profanity at a rush, and swore himself to a standstill. As he paused for second wind I struck in:

“Mr. Byfield, you open the wrong valve. We drift, as you say, towards – nay, over the open sea. As master of this balloon, I suggest that we descend within reasonable distance of the brig yonder; which, as I make out, is backing her sails; which, again, can only mean that she observes us and is preparing to lower a boat.”

He saw the sense of this, and turned to business, though with a snarl. As a gull from the cliff, the Lunardi slanted downwards, and passing the brig by less than a cable’s length to leeward, soused into the sea.

I say “soused“: for I confess that the shock belied the promise of our easy descent. The Lunardi floated: but it also drove before the wind. And as it dragged the car after it like a tilted pail, the four drenched and blinded aëronauts struggled through the spray and gripped the hoop, the netting – nay, dug their nails into the oiled silk. In its new element the machine became inspired with a sudden infernal malice. It sank like a pillow if we tried to climb it: it rolled us over in the brine; it allowed us no moment for a backward glance. I spied a small cutter-rigged craft tacking towards us, a mile and more to leeward, and wondered if the captain of the brig had left our rescue to it. He had not. I heard a shout behind us; a rattle of oars as the bowmen shipped them; and a hand gripped my collar. So one by one we were plucked – uncommon specimens! – from the deep; rescued from what Mr. Sheepshanks a minute later, as he sat on a thwart and wiped his spectacles, justly termed “a predicament, sir, as disconcerting as any my experience supplies.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

CAPTAIN COLENSO

“But what be us to do with the balloon, sir?” the coxswain demanded.

Had it been my affair, I believe I should have obeyed a ridiculous impulse and begged them to keep it for their trouble; so weary was I of the machine. Byfield, however, directed them to slit a seam of the oiled silk and cut away the car, which was by this time wholly submerged and not to be lifted. At once the Lunardi collapsed and became manageable; and having roped it to a ring-bolt astern, the crew fell to their oars.

My teeth were chattering. These operations of salvage had taken time, and it took us a further unconscionable time to cover the distance between us and the brig as she lay hove-to, her maintopsail aback and her headsails drawing.

“Feels like towing a whale, sir,” the oarsman behind me panted.

I whipped round. The voice – yes, and the face – were the voice and face of the seaman who sat and steered us: the voice English, of a sort; the face of no pattern that I recognised for English. The fellows were as like as two peas: as like as the two drovers Sim and Candlish had been: you might put them both at forty; grizzled men, pursed about the eyes with seafaring. And now that I came to look, the three rowers forward, though mere lads, repeated their elders’ features and build; the gaunt frame, the long, serious face, the swarthy complexion and meditative eye – in short, Don Quixote of la Mancha at various stages of growth. Men and lads, I remarked, wore silver earrings.

I was speculating on this likeness when we shipped oars and fell alongside the brig’s ladder. At the head of it my hand was taken, and I was helped on deck with ceremony by a tall man in loose blue jacket and duck trousers: an old man, bent and frail; by his air of dignity, the master of the vessel, and by his features as clearly the patriarch of the family. He lifted his cap and addressed us with a fine but (as I now recall it) somewhat tired courtesy.

“An awkward adventure, gentlemen.”

We thanked him in proper form.

“I am pleased to have been of service. The pilot-cutter yonder could hardly have fetched you in less than twenty minutes. I have signalled her alongside, and she will convey you back to Falmouth; none the worse, I hope, for your wetting.”

“A convenience,” said I, “of which my friends will gladly avail themselves. For my part, I do not propose to return.”

He paused, weighing my words; obviously puzzled, but politely anxious to understand. His eyes were grey and honest, even childishly honest, but dulled about the rim of the iris and a trifle vacant, as though the world with its train of affairs had passed beyond his active concern. I keep my own eyes about me when I travel, and have surprised just such a look, before now, behind the spectacles of very old men who sit by the roadside and break stones for a living.

“I fear, sir, that I do not take you precisely.”

“Why,” said I, “if I may guess, this is one of the famous Falmouth packets?”

“As to that, sir, you are right, and yet wrong. She was a packet, and (if I may say it) a famous one.” His gaze travelled aloft, and descending rested on mine with a sort of gentle resignation. “But the old pennon is down, as you see. At present she sails on a private adventure, and under private commission.”

“A privateer?”

“You may call it that.”

“The adventure hits my humour even more nicely. Accept me, Captain – ”

“Colenso.”

“Accept me, Captain Colenso, for your passenger: I will not say comrade-in-arms – naval warfare being so far beyond my knowledge, which it would perhaps be more descriptive to call ignorance. But I can pay – ” I thrust a hand nervously into my breast-pocket, and blessed Flora for her waterproof bag. “Excuse me, Captain, if I speak with my friend here in private for a moment.”

I drew Byfield aside. “Your notes? The salt water – ”

“You see,” said he, “I am a martyr to acidity of the stomach.”

“Man! do I invite the confidence of your stomach?”

“Consequently I never make an ascension unaccompanied by a small bottle of Epsom salts, tightly corked.”

“And you threw away the salts and substituted the notes? – that was clever of you, Byfield.”

I lifted my voice. “And Mr. Dalmahoy, I presume, returns to his sorrowing folk?”

The extravagant cheerfully corrected me. “They will not sorrow: but I shall return to them. Of their grudged pension I have eighteenpence in my pocket. But I propose to travel with Sheepshanks, and raise the wind by showing his tricks. He shall toss the caber from Land’s End to Forthside, cheered by the plaudits of the intervening taverns and furthered by their bounty.”

“A progress which we must try to expedite, if only out of regard for Mrs. Sheepshanks.” I turned to Captain Colenso again. “Well, sir, will you accept me for your passenger?”

“I doubt that you are joking, sir.”

“And I swear to you that I am not.”

He hesitated; tottered to the companion, and called down, “Susannah! Susannah! A moment on deck, if you please. One of these gentlemen wishes to ship as passenger.”

A dark-browed woman of middle age thrust her head above the ladder and eyed me. Even so might a ruminating cow gaze over her hedge upon some posting wayfarer.

“What’s he dressed in?” she demanded abruptly.

“Madam, it was intended for a ball-suit.”

“You will do no dancing here, young man.”

“My dear lady, I accept that and every condition you may impose. Whatever the discipline of the ship – ”

She cut me short. “Have you told him, father?”

“Why, no. You see, sir, I ought to tell you that this is not an ordinary voyage.”

“Nor, for that matter, is mine.”

“You will be exposed to risks.”

“In a privateer that goes without saying.”

“The risk of capture.”

“Naturally: though a brave captain will not dwell on it.” And I bowed.

“But I do dwell on it,” he answered earnestly, a red spot showing on either cheek. “I must tell you, sir, that we are very likely indeed to fall into an enemy’s hands.”

“Say certain,” chimed in Susannah.