“Culduff says that N. is terribly hard up. He was hit heavily at Goodwood, and asked for time to pay.”
“Just what he has been doing for the last twenty years. There are scores of ships that no underwriters would accept making safe voyages half across the globe. No, no; he ‘ll rub on for many a day, in the same fashion. Besides, if he should n’t, what then?”
Temple made a significant gesture with his thumb in the palm of his hand.
“That’s all your noble friend knows about England, then. See what comes of a man passing his life among foreigners. I suppose a Spanish or an Italian deputy might n’t give much trouble, nor oppose any strenuous resistance to such a dealing; but it won’t do here, – it will not.”
“Lord Culduff knows the world as well as most men, sir.”
“Yes, one world, I ‘m sure he does! A world of essenced old dandies and painted dowagers, surrounded by thieving lackeys and cringing followers; where everything can be done by bribery, and nothing without it. But that’s not England, I’m proud to say; nor will it be, I hope, for many a day to come.”
“I wish, sir, you could be induced to give your aid to Culduff in this matter. I need not say what an influence it would exert over my own fortunes.”
“You must win your way, Temple, by your own merits,” said he, haughtily. “I ‘d be ashamed to think that a son of mine owed any share of his success in life to ignoble acts or backstairs influence. Go back and tell Lord Culduff from me, that so far as I know it, Lord Rigglesworth’s advice is my own. No wise man ever courts a public scandal; and he would be less than wise to confront one, with the certainty of being overwhelmed by it.”
“Will you see him, sir? Will you speak to him yourself?”
“I ‘d rather not. It would be a needless pain to each of us.”
“I suspect he means to leave this to-night.”
“Not the worst thing he could do.”
“But you ‘ll see him, to say good-bye?”
“Certainly; and all the more easily if we have no conversation in the mean while. Who’s that knocking? Is the door locked?”
Temple hastened to open the door, and found Mr. Cutbill begging to have five minutes’ conversation with Colonel Bramleigh.
“Leave us together, Temple, and tell Marion to send me in some tea. You ‘ll have tea, too, won’t you, Mr. Cutbill?”
“No, thank you; I ‘ll ask for wine and water later. At present I want a little talk with you. Our noble friend has got it hot and heavy,” said he, as Temple withdrew, leaving Bramleigh and himself together; “but it’s nothing to what will come out when Norton brings it before the House. I suppose there hasn’t been such a scandal for years as he’ll make of it.”
“I declare, Mr. Cutbill, as long as the gentleman continues my guest, I ‘d rather avoid than invite any discussion of his antecedents,” said Bramleigh, pompously.
“All very fine, if you could stop the world from talking of them.”
“My son has just been with me, and I have said to him, sir, as I have now repeated to you, that it is a theme I will not enter upon.”
“You won’t, won’t you?”
“No, sir, I will not.”
“The more fool you, then, that’s all.”
“What, sir, am I to be told this to my face, under my own roof? Can you presume to address these words to me?”
“I meant nothing offensive. You needn’t look like a turkey-cock. All the gobble-gobble in the world would n’t frighten me. I came in here in a friendly spirit. I was handsomely treated in this house, and I ‘d like to make a return for it; that’s why I ‘m here, Bramleigh.”
“You will pardon me if I do not detect the friendliness you speak of in the words you have just uttered.”
“Perhaps I was a little too blunt – a little too – what shall I call it? – abrupt; but what I wanted to say was this: here’s the nicest opportunity in the world, not only to help a lame dog over the stile, but to make a good hound of him afterwards.”
“I protest, sir, I cannot follow you. Your bluntness, as you call it, was at least intelligible.”
“Don’t be in a passion. Keep cool, and listen to me. If this motion is made about Culduff, and comes to a debate, there will be such stories told as would smash forty reputations. I ‘d like to see which of us would come well out of a biography, treated as a party attack in the House of Commons. At all events he could n’t face it. Stand by him, then, and get him through it. Have patience; just hear what I have to say. The thing can be done; there ‘s eight days to come before it can be brought on. I know the money-lender has three of Norton’s acceptances – for heavy sums, two of them. Do you see now what I’m driving at?”
“I may possibly see so much, sir, but I am unable to see why I should move in the matter.”
“I ‘ll show you, then. The noble Viscount is much smitten by a certain young lady upstairs, and intends to propose for her. Yes, I know it, and I ‘ll vouch for it. Your eldest daughter may be a peeress, and though the husband isn’t very young, neither is the title. I think he said he was the eighth lord, – seventh or eighth, I ‘m not sure which, – and taking the rank and the coal-mine together, don’t you think she might do worse?”
“I will say, sir, that frankness like yours I’ve never met before.”
“That’s the very thing I ‘d like to hear you say of me. There’s no quality I pride myself on so much as my candor.”
“You have ample reason, sir.”
“I feel it. I know it. Direct lines and a wide gauge – I mean in the way of liberality, – that ‘s my motto. I go straight to my terminus, wherever it is.”
“It is not every man can make his profession the efficient ally of his morality.”
“An engineer can, and there ‘s nothing so like life as a new line of railroad. But to come back. You see now how the matter stands. If the arrangement suits you, the thing can be done.”
“You have a very business-like way of treating these themes.”
“If I had n’t, I could n’t treat them at all. What I say to myself is, Will it pay? first of all; and secondly, How much will it pay? And that’s the one test for everything. Have the divines a more telling argument against a life of worldliness and self-indulgence than when they ask, Will it pay? We contract for everything, even for going to heaven.”
“If I could hope to rival your eminently practical spirit, Mr. Cutbill, I ‘d ask how far – to what extent – has Lord Culduff made you the confidant of his intentions?”
“You mean, has he sent me here this evening to make a proposal to you?”
“No, not exactly that; but has he intimated, has he declared – for intimation would n’t suffice – has he declared his wish to be allied to my family?”
“He did n’t say, ‘Cutbill, go down and make a tender in my name for her,’ if you mean that.”
“I opine not, sir,” said Bramleigh, haughtily.
“But when I tell you it’s all right,” said Cutbill, with one of his most knowing looks, “I think that ought to do.”
“I take it, sir, that you mean courteously and fairly by me. I feel certain that you have neither the wish nor the intention to pain me; but I am forced to own that you import into questions of a delicate nature a spirit of commercial profit and loss, which makes all discussion of them harsh and disagreeable. This is not, let me observe to you, a matter of coal, or a new cutting on a railroad.”
“And are you going to tell Tom Cutbill that out of his own line of business, – when he isn’t up to his knees in earthworks, and boring a tunnel, – that he ‘s a fool and a nincompoop?”
“I should be sorry to express such a sentiment.”
“Ay, or feel it; why don’t you say that?”
“I will go even so far, sir, and say I should be sorry to feel it.”
“That’s enough. No offence meant; none is taken. Here’s how it is now. Authorize me to see Joel about those bills of Norton’s. Give me what the French call a carte blanche to negotiate, and I ‘ll promise you I’ll not throw your ten-pound notes away. Not that it need ever come to ten-pound notes, for Rigby does these things for the pure fun of them; and if any good fellow drops in on him of a morning, and says, ‘Don’t raise a hue and cry about that poor beggar,’ or ‘Don’t push that fellow over the cliff,’ he ‘s just the man to say, ‘Well, I ‘ll not go on. I ‘ll let it stand over;’ or he ‘ll even get up and say, ‘When I asked leave to put this question to the right honorable gentleman, I fully believed in the authentic character of the information in my possession. I have, however, since then discovered,’ – this, that, and the other. Don’t you know how these things always finish? There’s a great row, a great hubbub, and the man that retracts is always cheered by both sides of the House.”
“Suppose, then, he withdraws his motion, – what then? The discussion in the Lords remains on record, and the mischief, so far as Lord Culduff is concerned, is done.”
“I know that. He ‘ll not have his appointment; he ‘ll take his pension and wait. What he says is this: ‘There are only three diplomatists in all England, and short of a capital felony, any of the three may do anything. I have only to stand out and sulk,’ says he, ‘and they’ll be on their knees to me yet.’”
“He yields, then, to a passing hurricane,” said Bramleigh, pompously.
“Just so. He ‘s taking shelter under an archway till he can call a hansom. Now you have the whole case; and as talking is dry work, might I ring for a glass of sherry and seltzer?”
“By all means. I am ashamed not to have thought of it before. – This is a matter for much thought and deliberation,” said Bramleigh, as the servant withdrew, after bringing the wine. “It is too eventful a step to be taken suddenly.”
“If not done promptly, it can’t be done at all. A week is n’t a long time to go up to town and get through a very knotty negotiation. Joel is n’t a common money-lender, like Drake or Downie. You can’t go to his office except on formal business. If you want to do a thing in the way of accommodation with him, you ‘ll have to take him down to the ‘Ship,’ and give him a nice little fish dinner, with the very best Sauterne you can find; and when you ‘re sitting out on the balcony over the black mud, – the favorite spot men smoke their cheroots in, – then open your business; and though he knows well it was all ‘a plant,’ he ‘ll not resent it, but take it kindly and well.”
“I am certain that so nice a negotiation could not be in better hands than yours, Mr. Cutbill.”
“Well, perhaps I might say without vanity, it might be in worse. So much for that part of the matter; now, as to the noble Viscount himself. I am speaking as a man of the world to another man of the world, and speaking in confidence, too. You don’t join in that hypocritical cant against Culduff, because he had once in his life been what they call a man of gallantry? I mean, Bramleigh, that you don’t go in for that outrageous humbug of spotless virtue, and the rest of it?”
Bramleigh smiled, and as he passed his hand over his mouth to hide a laugh, the twinkle of his eyes betrayed him.
“I believe I am old enough to know that one must take the world as it is pleased to present itself,” said he, cautiously.
“And not want to think it better or worse than it really is?”
Bramleigh nodded assent.
“Now we understand each other, as I told you the other evening we were sure to do when we had seen more of each other. Culduff is n’t a saint, but he ‘s a peer of Parliament; he is n’t young, but he has an old title, and if I ‘m not much mistaken, he ‘ll make a pot of money out of this mine. Such a man has only to go down into the Black Country or amongst the mills, to have his choice of some of the best-looking girls in England, with a quarter of a million of money; isn’t that fact?”
“It is pretty like it.”
“So that, on the whole, I ‘ll say this is a good thing, Bramleigh – a right good thing. As Wishart said the other night in the House, ‘A new country’ – speaking of the States – ‘a new country wants alliances with old States;’ so a new family wants connection with the old historic houses.”
Colonel Bramleigh’s face grew crimson, but he coughed to keep down his rising indignation, and slightly bowed his head.
“You know as well as I do, that the world has only two sorts of people, – nobs and snobs; one has no choice – if you ‘re not one, you must be the other.”
“And yet, sir, men of mind and intellect have written about the untitled nobility of England.”
“Silver without the hall-mark, Bramleigh, won’t bring six shillings an ounce, just because nobody can say how far it’s adulterated; it’s the same with people.”
“Your tact, sir, is on a par with your wisdom.”
“And perhaps you haven’t a high opinion of either,” said Cutbill, with a laugh that showed he felt no irritation whatever. “But look here, Bramleigh, this will never do. If there ‘s nothing but blarney or banter between us, we ‘ll never come to business. If you agree to what I ‘ve been proposing, you have only me to deal with; the noble lord is n’t in the game at all – he ‘ll leave this to-night – it’s right and proper he should; he ‘ll go up to the mines for a few days, and amuse himself with quartz and red sandstone; and when I write or telegraph, – most likely telegraph, – ‘The thing is safe,’ he ‘ll come back here and make his proposal in all form.”
“I am most willing to give my assistance to any project that may rescue Lord Culduff from this unpleasant predicament. Indeed, having myself experienced some of the persecution which political hatred can carry into private life, I feel a sort of common cause with him; but I protest at the same time – distinctly protest – against anything like a pledge as regards his Lordship’s views towards one of my family. I mean I give no promise.”
“I see,” said Cutbill, with a look of intense cunning. “You ‘ll do the money part. Providence will take charge of the rest. Isn’t that it?”
“Mr. Cutbill, you occasionally push my patience pretty hard. What I said, I said seriously and advisedly.”
“Of course. Now, then, give me a line to your banker to acknowledge my draft up to a certain limit, – say five hundred. I think five ought to do it.”
“It’s a smart sum, Mr. Cutbill.”
“The article’s cheap at the money. Well, well, I ‘ll not anger you. Write me the order, and let me be off.”
Bramleigh sat down at his table, and wrote off a short note to his junior partner in the bank, which he sealed and addressed; and handing it to Cutbill, said, “This will credit you to the amount you spoke of. It will be advanced to you as a loan without interest, to be repaid within two years.”
“All right; the thought of repayment will never spoil my night’s rest. I only wish all my debts would give me as little trouble.”
“You ought to have none, Mr. Cutbill; a man of your abilities, at the top of a great profession, and with a reputation second to none, should, if he were commonly prudent, have ample means at his disposal.”
“But that’s the thing I am not, Bramleigh. I ‘m not one of your safe fellows. I drive my engine at speed, even where the line is shaky and the rails ill-laid. Good-bye; my respects to the ladies; tell Jack, if he ‘s in town within a week, to look me up at ‘Limmer’s.’” He emptied the sherry into a tumbler as he spoke, drank it off, and left the room.
CHAPTER XIX. A DEPARTURE
Some days had gone over since the scene just recorded in our last chapter, and the house at Castello presented a very different aspect from its late show of movement and pleasure.
Lord Culduff, on the pretence of his presence being required at the mines, had left on the same night that Cutbill took his departure for England. On the morning after, Jack also went away. He had passed the night writing and burning letters to Julia; for no sooner had he finished an epistle, than he found it too cruel, too unforgiving, too unfeeling, by half; and when he endeavored to moderate his just anger, he discovered signs of tenderness in his reproaches that savored of submission. It would not be quite fair to be severe on Jack’s failures, trying as he was to do what has puzzled much wiser and craftier heads than his. To convey all the misery he felt at parting from her, with a just measure of reproach for her levity towards him, to mete out his love and his anger in due doses, to say enough, but never too much, and finally to let her know that, though he went off in a huff, it was to carry her image in his heart through all his wanderings, never forgetting her for a moment, whether he was carrying despatches to Cadiz or coaling at Corfu, – to do all these, I say, becomingly and well, was not an easy task, and especially for one who would rather have been sent to cut out a frigate under the guns of a fortress than indite a despatch to “my Lords of the Admiralty.”
From the short sleep which followed all his abortive attempts at a letter he was awakened by his servant telling him it was time to dress and be off. Drearier moments there are not in life than those which herald in a departure of a dark morning in winter, with the rain swooping in vast sheets against the window-panes, and the cold blast whistling through the leafless trees. Never do the candles seem to throw so little light as these do now through the dreary room, all littered and disordered by the preparations for the road. What fears and misgivings beset one at such a moment! What reluctance to go, and what a positive sense of fear one feels, as though the journey were a veritable leap in the dark, and that the whole fortunes of a life were dependent on that instant of resolution!
Poor Jack tried to battle with such thoughts as these by reminding himself of his duty, and the calls of the service; he asked himself again and again if it were out of such vacillating, wavering materials, a sailor’s heart should be fashioned? was this the stuff that made Nelsons or Collingwoods? And though there was but little immediate prospect of a career of distinction, his sense of duty taught him to feel that the routine life of peace was a greater trial to a man’s patience than all the turmoil and bustle of active service.
“The more I cling to remain here,” muttered he, as he descended the stairs, “the more certain am I that it’s pure weakness and folly.”
“What’s that you are muttering about weakness and folly, Jack?” said Nelly, who had got up to see him off, and give him the last kiss before he departed.
“How came it you are here, Nelly? Get back to your bed, girl, or you ‘ll catch a terrible cold.”
“No, no, Jack; I ‘m well shawled and muffled. I wanted to say good-bye once more. Tell me what it was you were saying about weakness and folly.”
“I was assuring myself that my reluctance to go away was nothing less than folly. I was trying to persuade myself that the best thing I could do was to be off; but I won’t say I have succeeded.”
“But it is, Jack; rely on it, it is. You are doing the right thing; and if I say so, it is with a heavy heart, for I shall be very lonely after you.”
Passing his arm round her waist, he walked with her up and down the great spacious hall, their slow footsteps echoing in the silent house.
“If my last meeting with her had not been such as it was, Nelly,” said he, falteringly; “if we had not parted in anger, I think I could go with a lighter heart.”
“But don’t you know Julia well enough to know that these little storms of temper pass away so rapidly that they never leave a trace behind them? She was angry, not because you found fault with her, but because she thought you had suffered yourself to be persuaded she was in the wrong.”
“What do I care for these subtleties? She ought to have known that when a man loves a girl as I love her, he has a right to tell her frankly if there’s anything in her manner he is dissatisfied with.”
“He has no such right; and if he had, he ought to be very careful how he exercised it.”
“And why so?”
“Just because fault-finding is not love-making.”
“So that, no matter what he saw that he disliked or disapproved of, he ought to bear it all rather than risk the chance of his remonstrance being ill taken?”
“Not that, Jack; but he ought to take time and opportunity to make the same remonstrance. You don’t go down to the girl you are in love with, and call her to account as you would summon a dockyardman or a rigger for something that was wrong with your frigate.”
“Take an illustration from something you know better, Nelly, for I ‘d do nothing of the kind; but if I saw what, in the conduct or even in the manner of the girl I was in love with, I would n’t stand if she were my wife, it will be hard to convince me that I oughtn’t to tell her of it.”
“As I said before, Jack, the telling is a matter of time and opportunity. Of all the jealousies in the world there is none as inconsiderate as that of lovers towards the outer world. Whatever change either may wish for in the other must never come suggested from without.”
“And did n’t I tell her she was wrong in supposing that it was Marion made me see her coquetry?”
“That you thought Marion had no influence over your Judgment she might believe readily enough, but girls have a keener insight into each other than you are aware of, and she was annoyed – and she was right to be annoyed – that in your estimate of her there should enter anything, the very smallest, that could bespeak the sort of impression a woman might have conveyed.”
“Nelly, all this is too deep for me. If Julia cared for me as I believe she had, she ‘d have taken what I said in good part. Did n’t I give up smoking of a morning, except one solitary cheroot after breakfast, when she asked me? Who ever saw me take a nip of brandy of a forenoon since that day she cried out, ‘Shame, Jack, don’t do that’? And do you think I was n’t as fond of my weed and my glass of schnapps as ever she was of all those little airs and graces she puts on to make fools of men?”
“Carriage waiting, sir,” said a servant, entering with a mass of cloaks and rugs on his arm.
“Confound the carriage and the journey too,” muttered he, below his breath. “Look here, Nelly; if you are right, and I hope with all my heart you are, I ‘ll not go.”
“That would be ruin, Jack; you must go.”
“What do I care for the service? A good seaman – a fellow that knows how to handle a ship – need never want for employment. I ‘d just as soon be a skipper as wear a pair of swabs on my shoulders and be sworn at by some crusty old rear-admiral for a stain on my quarter-deck. I’ll not go, Nelly; tell Ned to take off the trunks; I’ll stay where I am.”
“Oh, Jack, I implore you not to wreck your whole fortune in life. It is just because Julia loves you that you are bound to show yourself worthy of her. You know how lucky you were to get this chance. You said only yesterday it was the finest station in the whole world. Don’t lose it, like a dear fellow – don’t do what will be the imbitterment of your entire life, the loss of your rank, and – the – ” She stopped as she was about to add something still stronger.
“I ‘ll go, then, Nelly; don’t cry about it; if you sob that way I ‘ll make a fool of myself. Pretty sight for the flunkies, to see a sailor crying, would n’t it? all because he had to join his ship. I’ll go, then, at once. I suppose you’ll see her to-day, or to-morrow at farthest?”
“I’m not sure, Jack. Marion said something about hunting parsons, I believe, which gave George such deep pain that he wouldn’t come here on Wednesday. Julia appears to be more annoyed than George, and, in fact, for the moment, we have quarantined each other.”
“Isn’t this too bad?” cried he, passionately.
“Of course it is too bad; but it’s only a passing cloud; and by the time I shall write to you it will have passed away.”
Jack clasped her affectionately in his arms, kissed her twice, and sprang into the carriage, and drove away with a full heart indeed; but also with the fast assurance that his dear sister would watch over his interests and not forget him.
That dark drive went over like a hideous dream. He heard the wind and the rain, the tramp of the horses’ feet and the splash of the wheels along the miry road, but he never fully realized where he was or how he came there. The first bell was ringing as he drove into the station, and there was but little time to get down his luggage and secure his ticket. He asked for a coupé, that he might be alone; and being known as one of the great family at Castello, the obsequious station-master hastened to install him at once. On opening the door, however, it was discovered that another traveller had already deposited a great-coat and a rug in one corner.
“Give yourself no trouble, Captain Bramleigh,” said the official, in a low voice. “I ‘ll just say the coupé is reserved, and we ‘ll put him into another compartment. Take these traps, Bob,” cried he to a porter, “and put them into a first-class.”
Scarcely was the order given when two figures, moving out of the dark, approached, and one, with a slightly foreign accent, but in admirable English, said, “What are you doing there? I have taken that place.”
“Yes,” cried his friend, “this gentleman secured the coupé on the moment of his arrival.”
“Very sorry, sir – extremely sorry; but the coupé was reserved – specially reserved.”
“My friend has paid for that place;” said the last, speaker; “and I can only say, if I were he, I’d not relinquish it.”
“Don’t bother yourself about it,” whispered Jack. “Let him have his place. I ‘ll take the other corner; and there’s an end of it.”
“If you ‘ll allow me, Captain Bramleigh,” said the official, who was now touched to the quick on that sore point, a question of his department – “if you’ll allow me, I think I can soon settle this matter.”
“But I will not allow you, sir,” said Jack, his sense of fairness already outraged by the whole procedure. “He has as good a right to his place as I have to mine. Many thanks for your trouble. Good-bye.” And so saying he stepped in.
The foreigner still lingered in earnest converse with his friend, and only mounted the steps as the train began to move. “A bientôt, cher Philippe,” he cried, as the door was slammed, and the next instant they were gone.
The little incident which had preceded their departure had certainly not conduced to any amicable disposition between them, and each, after a sidelong glance at the other, ensconced himself more completely within his wrappings, and gave himself up to either silence or sleep.
Some thirty miles of the journey had rolled over, and it was now day, – dark and dreary indeed, – when Jack awoke and found the carriage pretty thick with smoke. There is a sort of freemasonry in the men of tobacco which never fails them, and they have a kind of instinctive guess of a stranger from the mere character of his weed. On the present occasion Jack recognized a most exquisite Havanna odor, and turned furtively to see the smoker.
“I ought to have asked,” said the stranger, “if this was disagreeable to you; but you were asleep, and I did not like to disturb you.”
“Not in the least; I am a smoker too,” said Jack, as he drew forth his case and proceeded to strike a light.
“Might I offer you one of mine? – they are not bad,” said the other, proffering his case.
“Thanks,” said Jack; “my tastes are too vulgar for Cubans. Birdseye, dashed with strong Cavendish, is what I like.”
“I have tried that too, as I have tried everything English, but the same sort of half success follows me through all.”
“If your knowledge of the language be the measure, I ‘d say you’ve not much to complain of. I almost doubt whether you are a foreigner.”
“I was born in Italy,” said the other, cautiously, “and never in England till a few weeks ago.”
“I’m afraid,” said Jack, with a smile, “I did not impress you very favorably as regards British politeness, when we met this morning; but I was a little out of spirits. I was leaving home, not very likely to see it again for some time, and I wanted to be alone.”
“I am greatly grieved not to have known this. I should never have thought of intruding.”
“But there was no question of intruding. It was your right that you asserted, and no more.”
“Half the harsh things that we see in life are done merely by asserting a right,” said the other, in a deep and serious voice.
Jack had little taste for what took the form of a reflection; to his apprehension, it was own brother of a sermon; and warned by this sample of his companion’s humor, he muttered a broken sort of assent and was silent. Little passed between them till they met at the dinner-table, and then they only interchanged a few commonplace remarks. On their reaching their destination, they took leave of each other courteously, but half formally, and drove off their several ways.
Almost the first man, however, that Jack met, as he stepped on board the mail-packet for Holyhead, was his fellow-traveller of the rail. This time they met cordially, and after a few words of greeting they proceeded to walk the deck together like old acquaintances.
Though the night was fresh and sharp there was a bright moon, and they both felt reluctant to go below, where a vast crowd of passengers was assembled. The brisk exercise, the invigorating air, and a certain congeniality that each discovered in the other, soon established between them one of those confidences which are only possible in early life.
Nor do I know anything better in youth than the frank readiness with which such friendships are made. It is with no spirit of calculation – it is with no counting of the cost, that we sign these contracts. We feel drawn into companionship, half by some void within ourselves, half by some quality that seems to supply that void. The tones of our own voice in our own ears assure us that we have found sympathy; for we feel that we are speaking in a way we could not speak to cold or uncongenial listeners.
When Jack Bramleigh had told that he was going to take command of a small gunboat in the Mediterranean, he could not help going further, and telling with what a heavy heart he was going to assume his command. “We sailors have a hard lot of it,” said he; “we come home after a cruise – all is new, brilliant, and attractive to us. Our hearts are not steeled, as are landsmen’s, by daily habit. We are intoxicated by what calmer heads scarcely feel excited. We fall in love, and then, some fine day, comes an Admiralty despatch ordering us to hunt slavers off Lagos, or fish for a lost cable in Behring’s Straits.”