The Survivors of the Chancellor (2 page)

Besides the captain and this mate, whose name is Robert
Curtis, our crew consists of Walter, the lieutenant, the boatswain, and fourteen sailors, all English or Scotch, making
eighteen altogether, a number quite sufficient for working
a vessel of 900 tons burden. Up to this time my sole experience of their capabilities is, that under the command of
the mate, they brought us skillfully enough through the
narrow channels of Charleston; and I have no reason to
doubt that they are well up to their work.

My list of the ship's officials is incomplete unless I mention Hobart the steward and Jynxstrop the negro cook.

In addition to these, the Chancellor carries eight passengers, including myself. Hitherto, the bustle of embarkation, the arrangement of cabins, and all the variety of
preparations inseparable from starting on a voyage for at
least twenty or five-and-twenty days have precluded the
formation of any acquaintanceships; but the monotony of
the voyage, the close proximity into which we must be
thrown, and the natural curiosity to know something of each
other's affairs, will doubtless lead us in due time to an exchange of ideas. Two days have elapsed and I have not
even seen all the passengers. Probably sea-sickness has
prevented some of them from making an appearance at the
common table. One thing, however, I do know; namely,
that there are two ladies occupying the stern cabin, the windows of which are in the aft-board of the vessel.

I have seen the ship's list, and subjoin a list of the passengers. They are as follows:

Mr. and Mrs. Kear, Americans, of Buffalo.

Miss Herbey, a young English lady, companion to Mrs.
Kear.

M. Letourneur and his son Andre, Frenchmen, of Havre.

William Falsten, a Manchester engineer.

John Ruby, a Cardiff merchant; and myself, J. R. Kazallon, of London.

SEPTEMBER 29. — Captain Huntly's bill of lading, that is
to say, the document that describes the Chancellor's cargo
and the conditions of transport, is couched in the following
terms:

Bronsfield and Co., Agents, Charleston:

I, John Silas Huntly, of Dundee, Scotland, commander
of the ship Chancellor, of about 900 tons burden, now at
Charleston, do purpose, by the blessing of God, at the earliest convenient season, and by the direct route, to sail for the
port of Liverpool, where I shall obtain my discharge. I
do hereby acknowledge that I have received from you,
Messrs. Bronsfield and Co., Commission Agents, Charleston, and have placed the same under the gun-deck of the
aforesaid ship, seventeen hundred bales of cotton, of the
estimated value of 26,000 £., all in good condition, marked
and numbered as in the margin; which goods I do undertake
to transport to Liverpool, and there to deliver, free from
injury (save only such injury as shall have been caused by
the chances of the sea), to Messrs. Laird Brothers, or to
their order, or to their representatives, who shall on due
delivery of the said freight pay me the sum of 2,000 £. inclusive, according to the charter-party, and damages in addition, according to the usages and customs of the sea.

And for the fulfillment of the above covenant, I have
pledged and do pledge my person, my property, and my
interest in the vessel aforesaid, with all its appurtenances.
In witness whereof, I have signed three agreements all of
the same purport, on the condition that when the terms of
one are accomplished, the other two shall be absolutely null
and void.

Given at Charleston, September 13th, 1869.

J. S. HUNTLY.

From the foregoing document it will be understood that
the Chancellor is conveying 1,700 bales of cotton to Liverpool; that the shippers are Bronsfield, of Charleston, and
the consignees are Laird Brothers of Liverpool. The ship
was constructed with the especial design of carrying cotton,
and the entire hold, with the exception of a very limited
space reserved for passenger's luggage, is closely packed
with the bales. The lading was performed with the utmost
care, each bale being pressed into its proper place by the
aid of screw-jacks, so that the whole freight forms one solid
and compact mass; not an inch of space is wasted, and the
vessel is thus made capable of carrying her full complement
of cargo.

SEPTEMBER 30 to October 6. — The Chancellor is a rapid
sailer, and more than a match for many a vessel of the
same dimensions. She scuds along merrily in the freshening breeze, leaving in her wake, far as the eye can reach, a
long white line of foam as well defined as a delicate strip
of lace stretched upon an azure ground.

The Atlantic is not visited by many gales, and I have
every reason to believe that the rolling and pitching of the
vessel no longer incommode any of the passengers, who are
all more or less accustomed to the sea. A vacant seat at
our table is now very rare; we are beginning to know something about each other, and our daily life, in consequence,
is becoming somewhat less monotonous.

M. Letourneur, our French fellow-passenger, often has
a chat with me. He is a fine tall man, about fifty years of
age, with white hair and a grizzly beard. To say the truth,
he looks older than he really is: his drooping head, his dejected manner, and his eye, ever and again suffused with
tears, indicate that he is haunted by some deep and abiding
sorrow. He never laughs; he rarely even smiles, and then
only on his son; his countenance ordinarily bearing a look
of bitterness tempered by affection, while his general expression is one of caressing tenderness. It excites an involuntary commiseration to learn that M. Letourneur is consuming himself by exaggerated reproaches on account of
the infirmity of an afflicted son.

Andre Letourneur is about twenty years of age, with a
gentle, interesting countenance, but, to the irrepressible
grief of his father, is a hopeless cripple. His left leg is
miserably deformed, and he is quite unable to walk without
the assistance of a stick. It is obvious that the father's
life is bound up with that of his son; his devotion is unceasing; every thought, every glance is for Andre; he seems to
anticipate his most trifling wish, watches his slightest movement, and his arm is ever ready to support or otherwise
assist the child whose sufferings he more than shares.

M. Letourneur seems to have taken a peculiar fancy to
myself, and constantly talks about Andre. This morning,
in the course of conversation, I said:

"You have a good son, M. Letourneur. I have just
been talking to him. He is a most intelligent young man."

"Yes, Mr. Kazallon," replied M. Letourneur, brightening up into a smile, "his afflicted frame contains a noble
mind. He is like his mother, who died at his birth."

"He is full of reverence and love for you, sir," I remarked.

"Dear boy!" muttered the father half to himself. "Ah,
Mr. Kazallon," he continued, "you do not know what it is
to a father to have a son a cripple, beyond hope of cure."

"M. Letourneur," I answered, "you take more than your
share of the affliction which has fallen upon you and your
son. That M. Andre is entitled to the very greatest commiseration no one can deny; but you should remember, that
after all a physical infirmity is not so hard to bear as mental
grief. Now, I have watched your son pretty closely, and
unless I am much mistaken there is nothing that troubles
him so much as the sight of your own sorrow."

"But I never let him see it," he broke in hastily. "My
sole thought is how to divert him. I have discovered that,
in spite of his physical weakness, he delights in traveling;
so for the last few years we have been constantly on the
move. We first went all over Europe, and are now returning from visiting the principal places in the United
States. I never allowed my son to go to college, but instructed him entirely myself, and these travels, I hope, will
serve to complete his education. He is very intelligent, and
has a lively imagination, and I am sometimes tempted to
hope that in contemplating the wonders of nature he forgets
his own infirmity."

"Yes, sir, of course he does," I assented.

"But," continued M. Letourneur, taking my hand, "although, perhaps, HE may forget, I can never forget. Ah,
sir, do you suppose that Andre can ever forgive his parents
for bringing him into the world a cripple?"

The remorse of the unhappy father was very distressing,
and I was about to say a few kind words of sympathy when
Andre himself made his appearance. M. Letourneur hastened toward him and assisted him up the few steep steps
that led to the poop.

As soon as Andre was comfortably seated on one of the
benches, and his father had taken his place by his side, I
joined them, and we fell into conversation upon ordinary
topics, discussing the various points of the Chancellor, the
probable length of the passage, and the different details of
our life on board. I find that M. Letourneur's estimate of
Captain Huntly's character very much coincides with my
own, and that, like me, he is impressed with the man's undecided manner and sluggish appearance. Like me, too, he
has formed a very favorable opinion of Robert Curtis, the
mate, a man of about thirty years of age, of great muscular
power, with a frame and a will that seem ever ready for
action.

While we were still talking of him, Curtis himself came
on deck, and as I watched his movements I could not help
being struck with his physical development; his erect and
easy carriage, his fearless glance and slightly contracted
brow all betoken a man of energy, thoroughly endowed
with the calmness and courage that are indispensable to the
true sailor. He seems a kind-hearted fellow, too, and is always ready to assist and amuse young Letourneur, who evidently enjoys his company. After he had scanned the
weather and examined the trim of the sails, he joined our
party and proceeded to give us some information about those
of our fellow-passengers with whom at present we have
made but slight acquaintance.

Mr. Kear, the American, who is accompanied by his wife,
has made a large fortune in the petroleum springs in the
United States. He is a man of about fifty, a most uninteresting companion, being overwhelmed with a sense of his
own wealth and importance, and consequently supremely
indifferent to all around him. His hands are always in his
pockets, and the chink of money seems to follow him
wherever he goes. Vain and conceited, a fool as well as an
egotist, he struts about like a peacock showing its plumage,
and to borrow the words of the physiognomist Gratiolet,
"il se flaire, il se savoure, il se goute." Why he should
have taken his passage on board a mere merchant vessel
instead of enjoying the luxuries of a transatlantic steamer,
I am altogether at a loss to explain.

The wife is an insignificant, insipid woman, of about
forty years of age. She never reads, never talks, and I
believe I am not wrong in saying, never thinks. She seems
to look without seeing, and listen without hearing, and her
sole occupation consists in giving her orders to her companion, Miss Herbey, a young English girl of about twenty.

Miss Herbey is extremely pretty. Her complexion is
fair and her eyes deep blue, while her pleasing countenance
is altogether free from that insignificance of feature which
is not unfrequently alleged to be characteristic of English
beauty. Her mouth would be charming if she ever smiled,
but, exposed as she is to the ridiculous whims and fancies
of a capricious mistress, her lips rarely relax from their
ordinary grave expression. Yet, humiliating as her position must be, she never utters a word of open complaint,
but quietly and gracefully performs her duties, accepting
without a murmur the paltry salary which the bumptious
petroleum-merchant condescends to allow her.

The Manchester engineer, William Falsten, looks like a
thorough Englishman. He has the management of some
extensive hydraulic works in South Carolina, and is now on
his way to Europe to obtain some improved apparatus, and
more especially to visit the mines worked by centrifugal
force, belonging to the firm of Messrs. Cail. He is fortyfive years of age, with all his interests so entirely absorbed
by his machinery that he seems to have neither a thought
nor a care beyond his mechanical calculations. Once let
him engage you in conversation, and there is no chance of
escape; you have no help for it but to listen as patiently
as you can until he has completed the explanation of his
designs.

The last of our fellow-passengers, Mr. Ruby, is the type
of a vulgar tradesman. Without any originality or
magnanimity in his composition, he has spent twenty years
of his life in mere buying and selling, and as he has generally contrived to do business at a profit, he has realized a
considerable fortune. What he is going to do with the
money, he does not seem able to say: his ideas do not go
beyond retail trade, his mind having been so long closed to
all other impressions that it appears incapable of thought
or reflection on any subject besides. Pascal says,
"L'homme est visiblement fait pour penser. C'est toute
sa dignite et tout son merite;" but to Mr. Ruby the phrase
seems altogether inapplicable.

OCTOBER 7. — This is the tenth day since we left Charleston, and I should think our progress has been very rapid.
Robert Curtis, the mate, with whom I continue to have
many a friendly chat, informed me that we could not be far
off the Bermudas; the ship's bearings, he said, were lat.
32 deg. 20' N. and long. 64 deg. 50' W. so that he had every reason
to believe that we should sight St. George's Island before
night.

"The Bermudas!" I exclaimed. "But how is it we are
off the Bermudas? I should have thought that a vessel sailing from Charleston to Liverpool, would have kept northward, and have followed the track of the Gulf Stream."