The Blue Pavilions by Arthur Quiller-Couch (leveled readers .TXT) 📕

human propinquity, if not exactly sympathy, is the first step towards it. He had been listening to this snoring for four hours, when a hatchway above him was lifted, and a lantern shone down into the lazarette. It was carried by a corporal, who came cautiously down the ladder, lighting the footsteps of an officer who followed and held a handkerchief to his nose, for the smell of the bilge was overpowering.

"Pah!" exclaimed this officer, as he arrived at the ladder's foot, and peered around. "Set the light down on the floor and leave us. What a hole!"

He waited whilst the corporal re-ascended the ladder and disappeared; then, picking up the lantern, held it aloft and let its rays shine full on Tristram's face.

"Ah," he said, after regarding our hero in silence for a few seconds, "it is unmistakable!" And with that he sighed heavily.

"Pardon me, sir," said Tristram, "but the sight of me appears to cause you sorrow."

"On the contrary, it fills me with joy."

"I am glad to hear you say so, because, as I am fastened here in these irons, it would have been out of my power to relieve you of my presence. Since you are glad, however—"

"Unspeakably."

"—You would do me a great favour by saying why."

"Because—look at me, dear lad—because you are my only son!"

"In that I really think you must be mistaken. There are two gentlemen yonder in the corner who at present are asleep. Are you quite sure one of these is not the object of your search?"

"Quite sure, my dear lad. It is unmistakable, as I said. You are Tristram?"

"I am; though I don't see why it should be unmistakable."

"Those eyes—that voice! It is impossible you should not be Margaret's son!"

"My mother's name was Margaret," Tristram answered; "that's true enough. She died when I was born."

"Tristram," said his visitor, lowering the lantern and bowing his head, "I was her unworthy husband, and am your father, Roderick Salt."

"That would certainly be plausible, but for one difficulty."

"What is it?"

"My father was drowned some months before I was born."

"You are mistaken. He was partially drowned, but not quite."

"I admit that alters the case."

"Shall I tell you how it happened?"

"By all means, sir; for I think the story must be interesting. At the same time I ought to warn you that I already possess a father, on whom you can scarcely improve."

"To whom do you refer?"

"He is called Captain Barker by those who love him less than I."

"Is it he, then, that has brought you up? Curse him!"

Tristram opened his eyes. "Why should you curse him?" he asked.

"Because he has stolen your love from me."

"But—excuse me—it is only this moment that I have heard you were competing for it."

"He has told you evil concerning me."

"On the contrary, he has never uttered your name. It was my nurse who told me one day that you were drowned; and even this turns out to be a mistake, as you were about to prove."

"My son, your words and bearing cut me to the heart. It is no less than I have deserved, perhaps; though, could you know all, I am sure you would judge me leniently. But at least I can give you some small proof of my love. Let me first release you from those irons."

He set the lantern on the floor, drew a small key from his pocket and unlocked his son's fetters.

"Thank you. That is decidedly more agreeable," said Tristram, stretching his stiffened limbs.

"You were suffering before I came?"

"Why, truly," Tristram replied, shrugging his shoulders as he glanced around; "I find military life duller than I expected. And since this is the first night I have spent from home—"

"My poor boy! Doubtless, too, you were brooding on what would happen to-morrow morning."

"Say rather on what happened this morning," corrected Tristram, his thoughts reverting to Sophia.

"But surely the prospect of to-morrow's punishment—"

"Oh, will there be a punishment to-morrow?"

"Why, you kicked a sergeant from one end of his Majesty's ship to the other! Did you imagine you could do that with impunity?"

"I assure you he deserved it."

"Nevertheless, you would have been flogged on deck to-morrow had I not come with a pardon."

"You astonish me: and really you have been very kind to me. Still, it would have been quite unjust."

Captain Salt regarded his son quietly for a moment or two. In truth he was somewhat staggered by this simplicity.

"You wish to escape from this service?" he asked.

"I dislike it more and more. Besides—"

"Tell me your desires; for, believe me, my son, I have no dearer wish than to further them."

Tristram held out a hand and took his father's.

"Forgive me, sir, for my coldness just now. Remember that I had never seen, had scarcely heard of, you before. You are very good to me. I believe, by looking in your eyes, that you love me; and I believe—I know—that in time I should love you greatly in return. But you must pardon that which I am going to say. Sir, I cannot help loving best those who have dealt lovingly with me all my life. I was homesick—" he broke off, as a lump rose in this throat.

"You shall go home," said Captain Salt.

Still holding his hand, Tristram stared at him incredulously.

"Why should you doubt me, my son? Do you think I despise those feelings, or can neglect them? No; I honour them, though bitterly regretting that, as fate has willed it, they can never be entertained for me."

"Don't say that, my father."

"Why should I blink the truth?" Captain Salt turned and brushed away a fictitious tear. "No, Tristram; you shall go back to those you love better. I only ask you to be patient for a few days; for, indeed, I have but a certain amount of influence with those who enlisted you to-day against your will. Listen. Early to-morrow the squadron sets sail. If the wind holds we shall be within the Maese by Sunday morning. As soon as your regiment disembarks you shall be a free man: for not till then shall I have an opportunity of speaking with his Majesty. The squadron will be returning at once to this port, and I trust you may return with it. In the meantime you must give me your word to remain where you are; for though the punishment is remitted, you are still under arrest. I have seen your captain, however, and you will find matters made very light for you. The sentry will bring you food and drink."

He stopped, for Tristram had fallen on one knee and was passionately kissing his hand.

"How ill you must think of me!" he murmured; "and how can I thank you?"

"By keeping one tender thought or two for a father who held aloof from you, while it was for your good, and came to you when, for the first time, you wanted him. Mine has been a hard life, Tristram, and not altogether a good one. By asking you to share it, I had done you Heaven knows what injury."

This was true enough, and it struck the speaker as so pathetic that he managed even to squeeze up a tear.

"But come," he went on, with a sudden change to vivacity, "tell me how you happened into this scrape?"

And so, with the lantern between them casting long spokes of light on the ship's timbers, the rafters and the two drunken sleepers in the corner, father and son sat and talked for the better part of an hour; at the end of which time Captain Salt, who dexterously managed to do nine-tenths of the listening, was pretty well posted in the affairs of the Blue Pavilions and their inmates, and knew almost as much of Tristram's past history as if he had spent a day with the thirty-seven green volumes. It was past two in the morning when he arose to return to his own ship.

At parting he kissed Tristram on both cheeks. "Farewell, dear lad!" he said, with a manner that was admirably paternal. "We shall not meet again till the ships cast anchor in the Maese. Meanwhile steel your heart and look forward to a better fortune."

He picked up the lantern and, climbing the ladder, nodded back reassuringly as he lifted the hatch. At the same time he was secretly a good deal perplexed; for in all that he had learnt there was nothing to throw light on the Earl's words. "Now, why the devil is the lad to be looked after?" he wondered. For in fact Tristram had said nothing of the inheritance. And the reason for this was the very simple one that he himself knew nothing about it, Captain Barker and Captain Runacles having long ago agreed to keep it a secret from him until he should come of age. They had arrived at this resolution after many weeks of discussion, and beyond a doubt their wisdom had been justified in the course of the last hour.

There was no perplexity visible, however, in the kindly smile which Tristram beheld and returned with interest. A moment after he was left in blank darkness. But, being by this time tired out, as well as greatly comforted, he curled himself up on the bare floor, and within five minutes had dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

It was morning when he awoke, though he could not tell the hour; for the only light that reached his prison was filtered through the hatch above, which somebody had kindly tilted open. The sounds that woke him were those of feet moving to and fro in the captain's cabin overhead, and, far forward in the ship, the clatter of boots as the soldiers turned out. He looked about him and made two discoveries. In the first place, his two drunken companions had vanished, or had been removed; and secondly, their place was taken by a loaf and a tin pannikin.

He reached out a hand for these, and began without hesitation the first meal in his life of which the green volumes were to keep no record. With less hunger he might have found it nauseous; for the bread was incredibly mouldy and had been gnawed all round the crust by rats, while the liquor in the pannikin was a mixture of fiery rum and unclean water. The first gulp fetched the tears; but, after sputtering a bit, he managed to swallow a good half of it. As he breakfasted he heard a deal of muffled shouting above, and then a distant clanking sound that was unfamiliar. The Good Intent was weighing anchor.

These noises, however, did not trouble Tristram, who was minded by this time to bear his fortune with hardihood. Only the thought of Sophia vexed him while he ate, and he sighed once or twice with a violence that set the rats scampering. Then it struck him that his morning prayers were unsaid, and, scrambling on his knees, he committed himself to the care of Heaven, and afterwards felt still easier at heart. Also, being a prudent youth in some respects, he decided to reserve half of the loaf in case no more should be brought for the day; and, because his hunger was excessive, it took some time to decide on the amount to be set aside. Indeed, he was still discussing this with himself when the Good Intent shook with the roar of the royal salute.

For the moment Tristram imagined that he must be in the midst of a sea-fight at the very leat. But his apprehensions were presently distracted by the motions of the ship under him—motions which at length became erratic and even alarming. For the Good Intent was not only heaving up and down, but seemed to be tearing forward in a series of vehement rushes, with intervals of languid indecision. Tristram's stomach soon began to abhor these intervals, and in a little while he found himself wondering to what end he had set aside half a loaf from his breakfast. For, as it seemed to him, he was going to die, and the sooner the better.

"Decidedly," he thought, "my breakfast was poisoned, else I could never feel like this."

The Good Intent took another lurch forward, and a clammy sweat broke out on both sides of his forehead.

"If I have enemies so wicked," sighed he, "may God forgive them!" And, uttering this Christian wish, he fell forward with his forehead against the boards.

A little past noon the sentry brought