The Cruise of the Frolic. Kingston William Henry Giles

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СКАЧАТЬ on reading his letters, that he had become the owner of the “Amethyst” cutter, and a member of the Royal Yacht Club. Possessing an independent fortune, a large circle of acquaintance, several stanch friends, and few enemies, he ought to have been a happy man – but he was not. The fact is, he did not know what to do with himself. He had travelled not only over the Continent, but had visited the three other quarters of the globe. He had gone through several London seasons, and run the rounds of innumerable country-houses where there were marriageable daughters, but had neither fallen in love, nor been drawn into a proposal. In truth, he believed with his friends that he was not a marrying man. He had become heartily sick of dusty roads, passage-steamers, hot rooms, dissipation, and manoeuvring mammas, when I, who had of old been his messmate, recommended him to try yachting for the summer.

      “What, go to sea for pleasure?” he exclaimed, in a tone of contempt. “You surely cannot suggest such a folly. I had enough of it when I was a poor young middy, and obliged to buffet the rude winds and waves; but – ”

      “Well; think about it,” were the last words I uttered as I left him.

      He did think about it, and thought, too, perhaps, he might like it. He was not a novice, for he had for some years of his existence served his country in the exalted capacity of a midshipman; but on succeeding, by the death of an elder brother and an uncle, to some few thousands a year, he magnanimously determined, by the advice of his lady mother, not to stand in the way of the promotion of any of his brother-officers, and retired from the career of glory he was following. I cannot say that the thoughts of leaving his profession gave him much regret, particularly as being too old to return to school, and too ignorant of Latin and Greek to think of the university, he was henceforth to be his own master. If now and then he acknowledged to himself that he might have been a happier man with a pursuit in life, I cannot say – I am not moralising. So much for his past life.

      After I left him he meditated on the subject I had suggested, he told me; and the next time we met, we talked it over, and as I was going down to Portsmouth, he gave me carte blanche to buy a vessel for him, there not being time to build one. This letter communicated the result of my search. Having made himself master of this and a few other bits of information, he turned round, as was his custom after reading his letters, to sleep off the weariness of body and mind with which he had lately been afflicted, but as he lay dozing on his luxurious couch, visions of the “Amethyst,” flitted across his brain. A light, graceful craft, as she probably was, with a broad spread of white canvas, gliding like some lovely spirit over the blue ocean. “Who shall sail with me,” he thought. “Brine, of course. Where shall we go? When shall we start? What adventures shall we probably encounter? How shall I again like to find myself on the surface of the fickle sea?” The case, however, from the Then and the Now was widely different. Then he was a midshipman in a cockpit, at the beck and order of a dozen or twenty masters. Now he was to enjoy a command independent of the admiralty and their sealed orders, admirals, or senior captains. His own will, and the winds and tides, the only powers he was to obey.

      “By Jove! there is something worth living for,” he exclaimed, as he jumped out of bed. “I’ll forswear London forthwith. I’ll hurry off from its scheming and heartlessness, its emptiness and frivolity. I’ll go afloat at once. Brine is right. He’s a capital fellow. It was a bright idea. I’ll try first how I like channel cruising. I can always come on shore if it bores me. If I find it pleasant, I’ll buy a larger craft next year. I’ll go up the Straits, perhaps out to visit my friend Brooke at Borneo, and round the world.”

      He bathed, breakfasted, drove to his tailor’s, looked in at the Carlton and the Conservative, fulfilled a dinner engagement, and in the evening went to three parties, at all of which places he astonished his acquaintances by the exuberance of his spirits.

      “The fact is,” he answered to their inquiries as by what wonderful means the sudden change had been wrought, “I’ve broken my trammels. I’m off. A few days hence and London shall know me no more. To be plain, I’m going to turn marine monster, don a monkey-jacket, cultivate a beard, wear a tarpaulin hat, smoke cigars, and put my hands in my pockets. We shall meet again at Cowes, Torquay, Plymouth, or one of the other salt water places. Till then, au revoir.”

      As he was entering Lady L – ’s door, who should he meet coming out but his old friend O’Malley, whom he had not seen for ages! He knew that his regiment had just come back from India, so he was not very much surprised. He took his arm and returned into the rooms with him. Now, O’Malley was an excellent fellow, agreeable, accomplished, and possessed of a fund of good spirits, which nothing could ruffle. He was, indeed, a good specimen of an Irish gentleman. He sang a good song, told a good story, and made friends wherever he went. Such was just the man under every circumstance for a compagnon de voyage. He hesitated not a moment in inviting him, and, to his infinite satisfaction, he at once accepted the offer.

      A week after he had become the owner of the “Amethyst,” O’Malley and he were seated in a Southampton railroad carriage, on their way to Cowes, where she was fitting out under my inspection. In the division opposite to them sat a little man whom they at once perceived to belong to the genus snob. He had a comical little face of his own, lighted by a pair of round eyes, with a meaningless expression, fat cheeks, a somewhat large open mouth, and a pug nose with large nostrils.

      “Beg pardon, sir,” he observed to O’Malley, on whose countenance he saw a smile playing, which encouraged him. “Hope I don’t interrupt the perusal of your paper? Ah, no – concluded – topped off with births, deaths, marriages, and advertisements. See mine there soon. Don’t mean an advertisement, nor my birth, ha, ha! too old a bird for that; nor death, you may suppose; I mean t’other – eh, you twig? coming the tender, wooing, and wedding – hope soon to fix the day:” – suddenly he turned round to Harcourt – “Reading the ‘Daily’? – Ah, no, the ‘Times,’ I see. – Any news, sir?”

      They did look at him with astonishment, but, at the same time, were so amused that, of course, they humoured the little man. Harcourt, therefore, unfroze, and smiling, offered him the paper.

      “Oh dear! many thanks, didn’t want it,” he answered; “can’t read in a railroad, afraid to interrupt you before you’d finished. Going down to the sea, I suppose? – So am I. Abroad, perhaps? – I’m not. Got a yacht? – national amusement. Sail about the Wight? – pretty scenery, smooth water, I’m told. Young lady, fond of boating – sure way to win her heart. Come it strong – squeeze her hand, can’t get away. Eh, see I’m up to a trick or two.”

      In this absurdly vulgar style he ran on, while they stared, wondering who he could be. Finding that, they said nothing, he began again.

      “Fond of yachting, gentlemen?”

      “I believe so,” answered Harcourt.

      “So am I. – Got a yacht?” he asked.

      Harcourt nodded.

      “What’s her name?”

      Harcourt told him.

      “Mine’s the ‘Dido.’ Pretty name, isn’t it? short and sweet. Dido was Queen of Sheba, you know – ran away with Ulysses, the Trojan hero, and then killed herself with an adder because he wouldn’t marry her. Learned all that when I was at school. She’s at Southampton, but I belong to the club. Only twenty-five tons – little, but good. Not a clipper I own – stanch and steady, that’s my motto. Warwick Ribbons has always a welcome for his friends. That’s me, at your service. Christened Warwick from the great Guy. Rough it now and then. You won’t mind that. Eggs and bacon, and a plain chop, but weeds and liquor ad lib. Brother yachtsmen, you know. Bond of union.” They winced a little. “Shall meet often, I hope, as my father used to say each time he passed the bottle. David Ribbons was his name. Good man. Merchant in the city. Cut up well. Left me and brother СКАЧАТЬ