Part 13 (2/2)
If your eye be dry, come--come away--_your_ step should not sound there!
The wind continued fair during the whole of the first day. Every trace of Valletta was soon lost; and the good barque Boston swept by the rocky coast of the island, where few human habitations meet the eye, swiftly and cheerily. The sea birds sported round the tall masts--the canvas bulged out bravely--the Captain forgot his sh.o.r.e griefs, and commenced a colloquy with Sir Henry. The sailors sung in chorus; whilst poor Acme,--we grieve to confess the fact, for never was a Mediterranean sea looked down on by brighter sun, or more cloudless sky,--retired to her cabin, supported by George, a prey to that unsentimental malady, sea sickness. The following day, the wind s.h.i.+fted some points; and the Captain judged it most prudent to forego his original intention of steering direct for Palermo; but to take advantage of the breeze, and adopt the pa.s.sage through the Faro of Messina.
Delme felt glad of this change; for Scylla and Charybdis to an Englishman, are as familiar as Whittington and his cat. For the first two days Acme continued unwell; and George, who already appeared improved by the sea air, never left her side.
Delme had therefore a dull time of it; which he strove to enliven by conversing, one after the other, with the Captain and his two mates.
From all of them, he learnt something; but from all he turned away, as they commenced discussing the comparative merits of the United States, and the old country; a subject he had neither the wish to enter on, nor fort.i.tude to prosecute. Not daunted, he attacked mate the third; and was led to infer better things, as the young gentleman commenced expatiating on the ”purple sky,” and ”dark blue sea.” This hope did not last long; for this lover of nature turned round to Sir Henry, and asked him in a nasal tw.a.n.g, if he preferred Cooper's or Mr. Scott's novels? Delme was not naturally a rude man, but as he turned away, he hummed something very like Yankee-doodle.
And then the moon got up; and Sir Henry felt lonely and sentimental. He leant over the vessel's side, and watched it pictured on the ocean, and quivering as the transient billow swept onwards. And he thought of home, and Emily. He thought of his brother, his heir,--if he died, the only male to inherit the ancient honours of his house,--married to a stranger, and--but Acme was too sweet a being, not to have already enlisted all his sympathies with her. And as if all these thoughts, like rays converged in a burning gla.s.s, did but tend to one object, the image of Julia Vernon suddenly rose before him.
He saw her beautiful as ever--gentleness in her eye--fascination in her smile!
And the air got cold--and he went to bed.
Chapter XIX.
A Dream and a Ghost Story.
”Touching this eye-creation; What is it to surprise us? Here we are Engendered out of nothing cognisable-- If this were not a wonder, nothing is; If this be wonderful, then all is so.
Man's grosser attributes can generate What _is_ not, and has never been at all; What should forbid his fancy to restore A being pa.s.s'd away? The wonder lies In the mind merely of the wondering man.”
It was the fourth evening of the voyage. Hardly a breath fanned the sails, as the vessel slowly glided between the Calabrian and Sicilian coasts, approaching quite close to the former.
The party, seated on chairs placed on the deck, gazed in a spirit of placid enjoyment on one of those scenes, which the enthusiastic traveller often recals, as in his native clime, he pines for foreign lands, and for novel impressions. The sun was setting over the purple peaks of the Calabrian mountains, smiling in sunny gladness on deep ravines, whose echoes few human feet now woke, save those of simple peasant, or lawless bandit. Where the orb of day held its declining course, the sky wore a hue of burnished gold; its rich tint alone varied, by one fleecy violet cloud, whose outline of rounded beauty, was marked by a clear cincture of white,
On their right, beneath the mountain, lay the little village of Capo del Marte, a perfect specimen of Italian scenery.
Its sandy beach, against which the tide beat in dalliance--the chafed spray catching and reflecting the glories of the setting sun--ran smoothly up a slope of some thirty yards; beyond which, the orange trees, in their greenest foliage, chequered with their shade the white cottages scattered above them.
The busy hum of the fishermen on the coast--the splash of the casting net--and the drip of the oar--were appropriate accompaniments to the simple scene.
On the Sicilian side, a different view wooed attention. There, old Etna upreared his enc.u.mbered head, around which the smoke clung in dense majesty; and--not contemptible rivals of the declining deity--the moon's silvery crescent, and the evening star's quiet splendour, were bedecking the cloudless blue of the firmament.
Acme gazed enraptured on the scene--her long tresses hanging back on the chair, across which one hand was languidly thrown.
”Giorgio,” said she, ”do you see this beautiful bird close to the s.h.i.+p--swimming so steadily--its snowy plumage apparently unwet from its contact with the wave? To what can you compare it?”
”That bright-eyed gull, love!” replied he, ”riding on the water as if all regardless that he is on the wide--wide sea--whose billows may so soon be lashed up to madness;--where may I find a resemblance more close, than my Acme's simplicity, which guides her through a troubled world, unknowing its treacheries, and happily ignorant of its dangers and its woes?”
”Ah!” said the blus.h.i.+ng girl, ”how poetical you are this evening; will you tell us a story, Giorgio?”
”_I_ will tell you one,” said Delme, interrupting her. ”Do you recollect old Featherstone, who had been in the civil service in India, and who lived so near Delme Park, George?”
”Perfectly,” said his brother, ”I remember I used to think him mad, because he always looked so melancholy, and used to send us word in the morning when he contemplated a visit; in order that all cats might be kept out of his way.”
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