The Coxswain's Bride; also, Jack Frost and Sons; and, A Double Rescue. Robert Michael Ballantyne
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more than one. But this one was unusually bad, and was, unfortunately, an old acquaintance of the Mitfords. Indeed, he had been a lover of Mrs Mitford, when she was Peggy Owen, though her husband knew nothing of that. If Peggy had known that this man—Ned Jarring by name—was to be a passenger, she would have prevailed on her husband to go by another vessel; but she was not aware of it until they met in the fore-cabin the day after leaving port.
Being a dark-haired, sallow-complexioned man, he soon became known on board by the name of Black Ned. Like many bad men, Jarring was a drunkard, and, when under the influence of liquor, was apt to act incautiously as well as wickedly. On the second day of the gale he entered the fore-cabin with unsteady steps, and looked round with an air of solemn stupidity. Besides being dark and swarthy, he was big and strong, and had a good deal of the bully in his nature. Observing that Mrs Mitford was seated alone in a dark corner of the cabin with a still greenish face and an aspect of woe, he staggered towards her, and, sitting down, took her hand affectionately.
“Dear Peggy,” he began, but he got no further, for the little woman snatched her hand away, sprang up and confronted him with a look of blazing indignation. Every trace of her sickness vanished as if by magic. The greenish complexion changed to crimson, and the woebegone tones to those of firm resolution, as she exclaimed—
“Ned Jarring, if you ever again dare to take liberties with me, I’ll tell my ’usband, I will; an’ as sure as you’re a-sittin’ on that seat ’e’ll twist you up, turn you outside in, an’ fling you overboard!”
Little Mrs Mitford did not wait for a response, but, turning sharply round, left the cabin with a stride which, for a woman of her size and character, was most impressive.
Jarring gazed after her with an expression of owlish and unutterable surprise on his swarthy countenance. Then he smiled faintly at the unexpected and appalling—not to say curious—fate that awaited him; but reflecting that, although lugubrious and long, Mitford was deep-chested, broad-shouldered, and wiry, he became grave again, shook his head, and had the sense to make up his mind never again to arouse the slumbering spirit of Peggy Mitford.
It was a wild scene that presented itself to the eyes of the passengers in the Lapwing when the hatches were at last taken off, and they were permitted once more to go on deck. Grey was the prevailing colour. The great seas, which seemed unable to recover from the wild turmoil into which they had been lashed, were of a cold greenish grey, flecked and tipped with white. The sky was steely grey with clouds that verged on black; and both were so mingled together that it seemed as if the little vessel were imbedded in the very heart of a drizzling, heaving, hissing ocean.
The coxswain’s wife stood leaning on her stalwart husband’s arm, by the foremast, gazing over the side.
“It do seem more dreary than I expected,” she said. “I wouldn’t be a sailor, Bob, much as I’ve bin used to the sea, an’ like it.”
“Ah, Nell, that’s ’cause you’ve only bin used to the sea-shore. You haven’t bin long enough on blue water, lass, to know that folks’ opinions change a good deal wi’ their feelin’s. Wait till we git to the neighbour’ood o’ the line, wi’ smooth water an’ blue skies an’ sunshine, sharks, and flyin’ fish. You’ll have a different opinion then about the sea.”
“Right you are, Bob,” said Joe Slagg, coming up at that moment. “Most people change their opinions arter gittin’ to the line, specially when it comes blazin’ hot, fit to bile the sea an’ stew the ship, an’ a dead calm gits a hold of ’e an’ keeps ye swelterin’ in the doldrums for a week or two.”
“But it wasn’t that way we was lookin’ at it, Joe,” returned Nellie, with a laugh. “Bob was explainin’ to me how pleasant a change it would be after the cold grey sea an’ sky we’re havin’ just now.”
“Well, it may be so; but whatever way ye may look at it, you’ll change yer mind, more or less, when you cross the line. By the way, that minds me that some of us in the steerage are invited to cross the line to-night—the line that separates us from the cabin—to attend a lectur’ there—an’ you’ll niver guess the subjec’, Bob.”
“I know that, Joe. I never made a right guess in my life, that I knows on. Heave ahead, what is it?”
“A lectur’ on the ‘Lifeboat,’ no less! But it aint our lifeboat sarvice: it’s the American one, cause it’s to be given by that fine young fellow, Dr Hayward, who looks as if suthin’ had damaged his constitootion somehow. I’m told he’s a Yankee, though he looks uncommon like an Englishman.”
“He’s tall an’ ’andsome enough, anyhow,” remarked Massey.
“Ay, an’ he’s good enough for anything,” said Nellie, with enthusiasm. “You should see the kind way he speaks to poor Ian when he comes to see him—which is pretty much every day. He handles him, too, so tenderly—just like his mother; but he won’t give him medicine or advice, for it seems that wouldn’t be thought fair by the ship’s doctor. No more it would, I suppose.”
“D’ee know what’s the matter wi’ him?” asked Mitford, who had joined the group.
“Not I,” returned Massey. “It seems more like gineral weakness than anything else.”
“I can tell you,” said a voice close to them. The voice was that of Tomlin, who, although a first-class passenger, was fond of visiting and fraternising with the people of the fore-cabin. “He got himself severely wounded some time ago when protecting a poor slave-girl from her owner, and he’s now slowly recovering. He is taking a long voyage for his health. The girl, it seems, had run away from her owner, and had nearly escaped into Canada, where of course, being on British soil, she would be free—”
“God bless the British soil!” interrupted little Mrs Mitford, in a tone of enthusiasm which caused a laugh all round; but that did not prevent some of the bystanders from responding with a hearty “Amen!”
“I agree with you, Mrs Mitford,” said Tomlin; “but the owner of the poor slave did not think as you and I do. The girl was a quadroon—that is, nearly, if not altogether, white. She was also very beautiful. Well, the owner—a coarse brute—with two followers, overtook the runaway slave near a lonely roadside tavern—I forget the name of the place—but Dr Hayward happened to have arrived there just a few minutes before them. His horse was standing at the door, and he was inside, talking with the landlord, when he heard a loud shriek outside. Running out, he found the girl struggling wildly in the hands of her captors. Of course, he demanded an explanation, though he saw clearly enough how matters stood.
“‘She’s my slave,’ said the owner, haughtily. He would not, perhaps, have condescended even with that much explanation if he had not seen that the landlord sympathised with the doctor.
“This was enough, however, for Hayward, who is a man of few words and swift action. He was unarmed, but carried a heavy-handled whip, with this he instantly felled the slave-owner and one of his men to the ground before they had time to wink, but the third man drew a pistol, and, pointing it straight at the doctor’s head, would have blown out his brains if the landlord had not turned the weapon aside and tripped the man up. Before he could recover Hayward had swung the girl on his horse, leaped into the saddle, and dashed off at full speed. He did not draw rein till he carried her over the frontier into Canada, and had placed her beyond the reach of her enemies.”
“Brayvo! the doctor,” exclaimed Slag, heartily.
“Then he found,” continued Tomlin, “that he had been wounded in the chest by the ball that was meant for his head, but made light of the wound until it was found to be serious. The ball was still in him, and had to be extracted, after which he recovered slowly. The romantic part of it is, however, that he fell in love with Eva—that was the girl’s name—and she with him, and they were married—”
“Ah, poor thing,” said Mitford; “then she died and he married again?”
“Not at all,” returned Tomlin, “she did not die, and he did not marry again.”
“How—what then about that splendid wife that