A close-fisted, hard-hearted, narrow-minded, poor-spirited man was John Webster, Esquire, merchant and shipowner, of Ingot Lane, Liverpool. And yet he was not altogether without good points. Indeed, it might be said of him that if he had been reared under more favourable1 circumstances he might have been an ornament2 to society and a blessing3 to his country, for he was intelligent and sociable4, and susceptible5 to some extent of tender influences, when the indulging of amiable6 feelings did not interfere7 with his private interests. In youth he had even gone the length of holding some good principles, and was known to have done one or two noble things—but all this had passed away, for as he grew older the hopeful springs were dried up, one by one, by an all-absorbing passion—the love of money—which ultimately made him what he was, a disgrace to the class to which he belonged, and literally8 (though not, it would seem, in the eye of law) a wholesale9 murderer!
At first he began by holding, and frequently stating, the opinion that the possession of much money was a most desirable thing; which undoubtedly10 was—and is, and will be as long as the world lasts—perfectly true, if the possession be accompanied with God’s blessing. But Mr Webster did not even pretend to look at the thing in that light. He scorned to make use of the worldly man’s “Oh, of course, of course,” when that idea was sometimes suggested to him by Christian11 friends. On the contrary, he boldly and coldly asserted his belief that “God, if there was a God at all, did not interfere in such matters, and that for his part he would be quite satisfied to let anybody else who wanted it have the blessing if he only got the money.” And so it pleased God to give John Webster much money without a blessing.
The immediate12 result was that he fell in love with it, and, following the natural laws attached to that vehement13 passion, he hugged it to his bosom14, became blind to everything else, and gave himself entirely15 up to it with a self-denying devotion that robbed him of much of his natural rest, of nearly all his graces, and most of his happiness—leaving him with no hope in this world, save that of increasing his stores of money, and with no hope for the world to come at all.
The abode16 of Mr Webster’s soul was a dingy17 little office with dirty little windows, a miserable18 little fireplace, and filthy19 little chairs and tables—all which were quite in keeping with the little occupant of the place. The abode of his body was a palatial20 residence in the suburbs of the city. Although Mr Webster’s soul was little, his body was large—much too large indeed for the jewel which it enshrined, and which was so terribly knocked about inside its large casket that its usual position was awry21, and it never managed to become upright by any chance whatever.
To the former abode Mr Webster went, body and soul, one dark November morning. Having seated himself before his desk, he threw himself back in his chair and began to open his letters—gazing with a placid22 smile, as he did so, at the portrait of his deceased wife’s father—a very wealthy old gentleman—which hung over the fireplace.
We omitted to mention, by the way, that Mr Webster had once been married. This trifling23 little event of his life occurred when he was about forty-eight years of age, and was a mercantile transaction of an extremely successful kind, inasmuch as it had brought him, after deducting24 lawyers’ fees, stamps, duties, lost time in courtship, wedding-tour expenses, doctor’s fees, deathbed expenses, etcetera, a clear profit of sixty thousand pounds. To be sure there were also the additional expenses of four years of married life, and the permanent board, lodging25, and education of a little daughter; but, all things considered, these were scarcely worth speaking of; and in regard to the daughter—Annie by name—she would in time become a marketable commodity, which might, if judiciously26 disposed of, turn in a considerable profit, besides being, before she was sold, a useful machine for sewing on buttons, making tea, reading the papers aloud, fetching hats and sticks and slippers27, etcetera. There had, however, been a slight drawback—a sort of temporary loss—on this concern at first, for the piece of goods became damaged, owing to her mother’s death having weighed heavily on a sensitive and loving spirit, which found no comfort or sympathy at home, save in the devoted28 affection of an old nurse named Niven. When Annie reached the age of six years, the doctors ordered change of air, and recommended a voyage to the West Indies. Their advice was followed. Nothing was easier. Mr Webster had many ships on the sea. These were of two classes. The first class consisted of good, new, well found and manned ships, with valuable cargoes30 on board which were anxiously watched and longed for; the second class comprised those which were old, worn-out, and unseaworthy, and which, being insured beyond their value, might go to the bottom when they pleased.
One of the best of the first class was selected—the Water Lily, A1 on Lloyd’s—and in it Annie, with her nurse, was sent to sea for the benefit of her health. The parting was a somewhat important event in Mr Webster’s life, for it convinced him, to his own surprise, that his power to love a human being was not yet utterly31 gone! Annie’s arms clasped convulsively round his neck at the moment of parting—her sobbing32 “Good-bye, darling papa,” had stirred depths which had lain unmoved almost from the days of early manhood. But the memory of this passed away as soon as he turned again to gaze upon the loved countenance33 of his yellow mistress.
The voyage did Annie much good. The short residence in Demerara, while the vessel34 was discharging cargo29 and reloading, wrought35 wonders, and a letter, forwarded by a ship that sailed a short time after their arrival in “foreign parts,” told Mr Webster that he might expect to see his daughter home again, sound and well, in a month or two at the farthest.
But, to return from this digression to the abode of Mr Webster’s soul:—
Having looked at the portrait of his late wife’s father for a moment and smiled, he glanced at the letter in his hand and frowned. Not because he was displeased36, but because the writing was cramped37 and difficult to read. However, the merchant was accustomed to receive such letters from seafaring men on many subjects of interest; he therefore broke the seal and set himself patiently to decipher it. Immediately his countenance became ghastly pale, then it flushed up and became pale again, while he coughed and gasped38 once or twice, and started up and sat down abruptly39. In fact Mr Webster exhibited all the signs of having received a severe shock, and an eye-witness might have safely concluded that he had just read the news of some great mercantile loss. So it was in one sense—but that was not the ordinary sense.
The letter in question was in the handwriting of a fussy40 officious “bumble” friend of the wealthy man, who dwelt in the town of Covelly. It ran as follows:
“My dear Sir,—I write in great haste, and in much perturbation, having just heard from my servant of the wreck41 of your ship, the Water Lily, in Covelly Bay. She does not seem to be quite sure, however, of the name, and says that the only man who has been rescued is scarcely able to speak, so that I do sincerely hope my domestic, who is a stupid old woman, may turn out to be mistaken. I am on the point of hasting down to the shore to ascertain42 the truth for myself, but am obliged to write to you this brief and unsatisfactory account of what I have heard, in order to save the post, which is just being closed. You shall hear from me again, of course, by the next mail.—I remain, my dear sir, in much anxiety, your most obedient humble43 servant,
“Joseph Dowler.”
It chanced that at the moment the above letter was handed to the postmaster, and while the wax was being melted before the final sealing of the post-bag, a sailor lad, drenched44 to the skin and panting vehemently45, dashed into the office.
“Stop! stop!” he cried, “a letter—about the wreck—the Water Lily—to the owners—not too late, I hope?”
“No, no, just in time. Here, in with it. There, all right. Now, Jim, off with ’ee.”
The postman jumped on his vehicle, the whip cracked, and in another minute the Royal Mail was gone. Thus it came to pass that two epistles reached Mr Webster that morning from Covelly. But in the extreme agitation46 of his spirit, he did not observe the other letter which lay among the usual morning mass that still awaited examination. After reading the letter twice, and turning it over with trembling hands, as if he wished there were more in it, he pronounced a deep malediction47 on his “humble” friend, and rang the bell for his confidential48 clerk, who was an unusually meek49, mild, and middle-aged50 little man, with a bald head, a deprecatory expression of countenance, and a pen behind his ear.
“Mr Grinder,” said Mr Webster, putting strong constraint51 on himself, and pretending to be quite composed, “a letter from Covelly informs me that it is feared the Water Lily has been wrecked52 in—”
“The Water Lily, sir!” exclaimed Grinder, starting as if he had received an electric shock.
“I spoke53 audibly, did I not?” said Mr Webster, turning with a sharp look on his confidential clerk.
“Ye–es, sir, but, I—Miss An—” The poor man could get no further, being of a timid, nervous temperament54, and Mr Webster, paying no attention to his remark, was going on to say that he intended to go by the mail to Covelly without delay to ascertain the truth for himself, when he was interrupted by the confidential clerk who exclaimed in a burst of agitation—
“There were two letters, sir, from Covelly this morning—did you read—”
He stopped, for already his employer had sought for, found, and torn open the second epistle, which was written in a fair, legible hand. It ran thus:—
“Sir,—My father, Captain Boyns, directs me to inform you that your daughter, Miss Annie, has been saved from the wreck of your brig, the Water Lily, which ran aground here this afternoon, and has become a total wreck. Your daughter’s nurse and the crew have also been rescued by our new lifeboat, which is a noble craft, and, with God’s blessing, will yet do good service on this coast. I have pleasure in adding, from myself, that it was my father who rescued your child. She fell into the sea when being passed from the wreck into the boat, and sank, but my father dived and brought her up in safety.
“Much of the brig’s cargo has been lost, I regret to say, but a good deal of it has been washed ashore55 and saved in a damaged state. The captain says that defective56 compasses were the cause of the disaster. There is not time to give you a more particular account, as it is close upon post-time. Miss Annie sends you her kindest love, and bids me say she is none the worse of what she has passed through.—I am, sir, your obedient servant,
“Harry57 Boyns.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Mr Webster fervently58. “Why, what are you staring at, Mr Grinder?” he added, on observing that his confidential servant was gazing at him with an expression of considerable surprise.
“Excuse me, sir,” stammered59 the unfortunate man, “I—I—in fact—you have so often told me that you did not believe in God that I fancied—I—wondered—”
“Really, Mr Grinder, I must beg of you to confine your remarks in future entirely to matters of business. The so-called religious observations which you sometimes venture to make in my presence are extremely distasteful, I assure you. In explanation of what I said, however, I may tell you that this letter informs me of my daughter’s safety, and I merely used the expression of satisfaction that is usual on such occasions. The phrase, as it is generally understood (except by weak men), commits me to nothing more. But enough of this. I find that the Water Lily has indeed been lost. It was fully60 insured, I believe?”
“Yes, sir, it was.”
“Very well; report the matter without delay. I will go to Covelly to-night, and shall probably be back to-morrow.”
Saying this, Mr Webster left the office, and, on the evening of that day, found himself seated in Captain Boyns’s parlour, with little Annie on his knee. Her pretty head was on his shoulder, her fair curls straggled over his chest, and her round little arms tightly encircled his large body as far as they could reach, while she sobbed61 on his bosom and kissed him by turns.
This was quite a new experience in the life of the gold-lover. He had declined to submit to familiar caresses62 in former years, but on such an occasion as the present, he felt that common propriety63 demanded the sacrifice of himself to some extent. He therefore allowed Annie to kiss him, and found the operation—performed as she did it—much more bearable than he had anticipated; and when Annie exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm, “Oh, dear, dear papa, I did feel such a dreadful longing64 for you when the waves were roaring round us!” and gave him another squeeze, he felt that the market price of the bundle of goods on his knee was rising rapidly.
“Did you think you were going to be drowned, dear?” said Mr Webster with the air of a man who does not know very well what to say.
“I’m not sure what I thought,” replied Annie smiling through her tears. “Oh, I was so frightened! You can’t think, papa, how very dreadful it is to see the water boiling all round, and sometimes over you; and such awful thumping66 of the ship, and then the masts breaking; but what I feared most was to see the faces of the sailors, they were so white, and they looked as if they were afraid. Are men ever afraid, papa?”
“Sometimes, Annie; but a white face is not always the sign of fear—that may be caused by anxiety. Did any of them refuse to obey orders?”
“No; they were very obedient.”
“Did any of them get into the lifeboat before you and nurse!”
“Oh, no; they all refused to move till we were put into it, and some of them ran to help us, and were very very kind?”
“Then you may be quite sure they were not afraid, however pale their faces were; but what of yourself, Annie—were you afraid?”
“Oh, dreadfully, and so was poor nurse; but once or twice I thought of the text that—that—you know who was so fond of,—‘Call upon me in the time of trouble and I will deliver thee,’ so I prayed and felt a little better. Then the lifeboat came, and, oh! how my heart did jump, for it seemed just like an answer to my prayer. I never felt any more fear after that, except when I fell into the sea; but even then I was not so frightened as I had been, for I felt somehow that I was sure to be saved, and I was right, you see, for dear Captain Boyns dived for me. I love Captain Boyns!” cried Annie, and here again she kissed her father and held him so tight that he felt quite angry with Mrs Niven, who entered at the moment, and said, apologetically—
“Oh! la, sir, I didn’t know as Miss Annie was with you. I only came to say that everythink is ready, sir, for going ’ome.”
“We don’t intend to go home,” said Mr Webster; “at least not for a day or two. I find that Captain Boyns can let us stay here while I look after the wreck, so you can go and arrange with Mrs Boyns.”
During the few days that Mr Webster remained at Coral Cottage (Captain Boyns’s residence), Mrs Niven found, in the quiet, sympathetic Mrs Boyns, if not a congenial friend, at least a kind and sociable hostess, and Annie found, in Harry Boyns, a delightful67 companion, who never wearied of taking her to the cliffs, the shore, and all the romantic places of the neighbourhood, while Mr Webster found the captain to be most serviceable in connection with the wreck. One result of all this was that Mr Webster offered Captain Boyns the command of one of his largest vessels68, an offer which was gladly accepted, for the captain had, at that time, been thrown out of employment by the failure of a firm, in the service of which he had spent the greater part of his nautical69 career.
Another result was, that Mr Webster, at Annie’s earnest solicitation70, agreed to make Covelly his summer quarters next year, instead of Ramsgate, and Mrs Boyns agreed to lodge71 the family in Coral Cottage.
This having been all settled, Mr Webster asked Captain Boyns, on the morning of his departure for Liverpool, if he could do anything more for him, for he felt that to him his daughter owed her life, and he was anxious to serve him.
“If you could give my son Harry something to do, sir,” said Boyns, “you would oblige me very much. Harry is a smart fellow and a good seaman72. He has been a short time in the coasting trade; perhaps—”
“Well, yes, I’ll see to that,” interrupted Mr Webster. “You shall hear from me again as to it.”
Now the fact is that Mr Webster did not feel attracted by young Boyns, and he would willingly have had nothing to do with him, but being unable to refuse the request after having invited it, he ultimately gave him a situation in one of his coasting vessels which plied65 between London and Aberdeen.
About a year after that, Captain Boyns sailed in the Warrior73, a large new ship, for the Sandwich Islands and the Chinese seas.
True to his promise, Mr Webster spent the following summer with Annie and Mrs Boyns at Covelly, and young Boyns so managed matters that he got his captain to send him down to Covelly to talk with his employer on business. Of course, being there, it was natural that he should ask and obtain leave to spend a few days with his mother; and, of course, it was quite as natural that, without either asking or obtaining leave, he should spend the whole of these days in roaming about the shore and among the cliffs with Annie Webster.
It would be absurd to say that these two fell in love, seeing that one was only seven and the other fifteen; but there can be no doubt they entertained some sort of regard for each other, of a very powerful nature. The young sailor was wildly enthusiastic, well educated, manly74, and good-looking—little wonder that Annie liked him. The child was winning in her ways, simple, yet laughter-loving, and very earnest—less wonderful that Harry liked her!
Another year fled, and again the Websters visited Covelly, and again Harry spent a few days with his mother; and although Mr Webster did not get the length of liking75 the youth, he at last came to the condition of not disliking him.
Year followed year, and still, each summer, Annie pressed her father to return to the old place, and he agreed, chiefly because it mattered little to him where he went. He regarded the summer trip in the light of a penance76 to be paid for the sin of being a member of society and the head of a household, and placed every minute so wasted to the debit77 of the profit and loss account in the mental ledger78 of his life’s affairs, for it must not be supposed that Mr Webster’s character was changed by the events which followed the rescue of his child from the sea. True, he had been surprised out of his habitual79 hardness for a short time, but he soon relapsed, if not quite back to the old position, at least so near to it that the difference was not appreciable80.
As time ran on, men begun to look for the return of the Warrior, but that vessel did not make her appearance. Then they began to shake their heads and to grow prophetic, while those who were most deeply interested in the human beings who manned her became uneasy.
“Don’t fret81 over it,” said Harry one day to his mother, in a kind, earnest tone; “you may depend upon it father will turn up yet and surprise us. He never lost a ship in his life, and he has sailed in worse ones than the Warrior by a long way.”
“It may be so,” replied Mrs Boyns, sadly; “but it is a long, long time since he went away. God’s will be done. Whether He gives or takes away, I shall try to bless His name.”
At last Harry gave over attempting to comfort his mother, for he began to fear that his father’s ship was destined82 to be placed on the dark, dreary83 list of those of which it is sometimes said, with terrible brevity, in the newspapers, “She sailed from port on such and such a day, and has not since been heard of.”
In course of time Harry made one or two trips to the East Indies as first mate of one of Mr Webster’s vessels, and ultimately obtained the command of one.
At last a day came when there appeared in a Welsh newspaper a paragraph, which ran thus:— “A Message from the Sea—A bottle, corked84 and sealed, was found by a woman on the beach, above Conway, North Wales. Inside was a letter containing the following:—
“‘Latitude 44, longitude85 15, off Tierra del Fuego. If this should ever reach the shores of England, it will announce to friends at home the sad fate of the ship Warrior, which sailed from Liverpool on 13th February 18 hundred and something, bound for China. We have been boarded by pirates: we have been all locked into the cabin, with the assurance that we shall be made to walk the plank86 in half an hour. Our last act is to put this in a bottle and drop it overboard. Farewell, for this world, my beloved wife and son.’
“‘Daniel Boyns, Captain.’”
This letter was forwarded to the owner, and by him was sent to poor Mrs Boyns.
Alas87! how many sailors’ wives, in our sea-girt isle88, have received similar “messages from the sea,” and lived under the dark cloud of never-ending suspense—hoping against hope that the dear lost ones might yet return!
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1
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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deducting
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| v.扣除，减去( deduct的现在分词 ) | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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slippers
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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wrought
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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abruptly
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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malediction
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| n.诅咒 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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49
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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50
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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debit
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| n.借方，借项，记人借方的款项 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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