Part 60 (2/2)
”I say, friend, you 've got no pa.s.sport, I suppose? How do you mean to land in France? or, if there, how do you propose to travel?”
”These are matters I don't mean to trouble you about, Captain,” said I, haughtily; and though I said the words boldly enough, it was exactly the very puzzle that was then working in my brain.
”Ay, sir; but they are exactly matters that concern me; for you are not on the schooner's manifest,--you are not one of her crew,--and I don't mean to get into trouble on your behalf.”
”Put me ash.o.r.e at night, or leave me to reach it in any way,” said I, half angrily; for I was well-nigh out of patience at these everlasting difficulties.
He made no reply to this speech, but starting suddenly up, like a man who had hastily made up his mind on some particular course, he went up on deck. I overheard orders given, and immediately after a stir and bustle among the sailors, and in my anxiety at once connected myself with these movements. What project had they regarding me? In what way did they mean to treat me?--were the questions that rose to my mind. The heavy working of the craft showed me that her course had been altered, and I began to dread lest we should be turning again towards England.
From these thoughts my mind wandered back and back, reviewing the chief events of my life, and wondering whether I were ever destined to reach one spot that I could rest in, and where my weary spirit might find peace. To be the sport of Fortune in her most wilful of moods seemed, indeed, my lot; and to go on through life unattached to my fellows, appeared my fate. I remember once to have read in some French author that the attachment we feel to home, the sacred names of son and brother, are not more than the instincts of habit; that natural affection, as it is called, has no real existence; and that it is the mere force of repet.i.tion that forms the tie by which we love those whom we call father or mother. It is a cold and a cheerless theory, and yet now it struck me with a certain melancholy satisfaction to think that, save in the name of parentage, I was not worse off than others.
The hours glided on unnoticed as I lay thus dreaming, and night at last fell, dark and starless. I had almost attained to a kind of careless indifference as to my future, when the mate, coming up to me, said,--
”Wake up, master; we 're going to put you ash.o.r.e here.”
I made no answer: half in recklessness, half in pride, I was silent.
”You 'd better throw my boat-cloak over you. It's blowing fresh, and a heavy sea running,” said he, in a kindly voice.
”Thanks,” said I, declining; ”but I 'm little used to care for my comforts. Can I see the skipper?”
”He told me that he preferred not to see you,” said the mate, hesitatingly, ”and bade me arrange for putting you ash.o.r.e myself.”
”It is a question of money--not of politeness--with me,” said I, producing my purse. ”Tell me what I owe him.”
”Not a farthing, sir. He 'd not touch a piece of money that belonged to you. He only wants you to go your way, and part company with him.”
”Why--what does he take me for? What means this dread of me?”
The man looked confusedly up and down, to either hand, and was silent.
At last he said,--
”Come; all this is lost time. We 're close in now. Are you ready, sir?”
”Quite ready,” said I, rising, and following him.
The boat's crew was already mustered, and, springing into the boat, she was lowered at once; and before I well knew of it, we were plunging through a heavy sea, by the force of four strong oars.
Through the darkness and the showering spray we went,--now rising on the crest of some swelling wave, now diving down between the foaming cataracts. I never asked whither we were bound. I scarcely wished for land. There was something so exciting in the sense of peril about, that I only desired it might continue. Such a relief is physical danger to the slow and cankering disease of a despairing heart!
CHAPTER XLI. LYS
A long, low line of coast loomed through the darkness, and towards this we now rowed through a heavy, breaking surf. More than once did they lie on their oars to consult as to the best landing-place, and again resume their labor as before. At last, seeing that neither creek nor inlet presented itself, they made straight for the sh.o.r.e, and when within about thirty paces of the strand, they dropped anchor and suffered the boat to drift into shallow water.
”There now, master,” said the steersman to me, ”you'll have to wet your feet, for we can't venture further in. Jump over, and you'll soon touch land again.”
I obeyed without a word, and ere I reached the sh.o.r.e the boat was already on her way back to the schooner. As I stood gazing on the dark expanse of sea before me, and then turned to the gloomy outline of the land, I felt a sense of desolation no words can render. I had not the very vaguest notion where I was. So far as I could see, there were no traces of habitation near; and as I wandered inland, the same unbroken succession of sand hummocks surrounded me. How strange is it that in this old Europe of ours, so time-worn by civilization, so crossed and recrossed by man's labors, how many spots there are which, in this wild solitude, might well be supposed to form parts of Africa or distant America! The day broke to find me still wandering along these dreary sand-hills; but to my great delight two church towers about a league off showed me that a village was near; and thither I now proceeded to bend my steps.
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