Part 23 (1/2)
”Certainly,” said the lawyer.
”Then, of course,” said the mate, ”I shall always be able to swear to it.”
”Ten past ten,” cried the captain, whipping out his watch. ”I hope Miss Moggadore's not keeping the ladies waiting whilst she powders herself, or fits a new cap to her hair.”
He opened the door to call to the steward, then hopped back with a sudden convulsive sea bow to make room for the ladies who were approaching.
My darling was very white and looked at me piteously. She came to my side, and slipped her hand into mine, whispering under her breath, ”Such a silly, senseless ceremony!” I pressed her fingers, and whispered back that the ceremony was not for us, but for Aunt Amelia.
She wore her hat and jacket, and Mrs. Barstow was clad as for the deck; but Miss Moggadore, on the other hand, as though in justification of what the captain had said about her, made her appearance in the most extraordinary cap I had ever seen: an inflated arrangement, as though she were fresh from a breeze of wind that held it bladder-like. She had changed her gown, too, for a sort of Sunday dress of satin or some such material. She curtseyed on entering, and took up her position alongside of M'Cosh, where she stood viewing the company with an austere gaze, which so harmonised with the dry, literal, sober stare of the mate, that I had to turn my back upon her to save a second explosion of laughter.
”Are we all ready?” said the little captain, in the voice of a man who might hail his mate to tell him to prepare to put the s.h.i.+p about, and M'Cosh mechanically answered:
”Ay, ay, sir, all ready.”
On this the captain went to the table, where lay a big Church Service in large type, and putting on his gla.s.ses, looked at us over them, as a hint for us to take our places. He then began to read, so slowly that I foresaw unless he skipped many of the pa.s.sages we should be detained half the morning in his cabin. He read with extravagant enjoyment of the sound of his own voice, and constantly lifted his eyes, whilst he delivered the sentences as though he were admonis.h.i.+ng instead of marrying us. Grace held her head hung, and I felt her trembling when I took her hand. I had flattered myself that I should exhibit no nervousness in such an ordeal as this, but though I was not sensible of any disposition to tears, I must confess that my secret agitation was incessantly prompting me to laughter of an hysterical sort, which I restrained with struggles that caused me no small suffering. It is at such times as these, perhaps, that the imagination is most inconveniently active.
The others stood behind me; I could not see them; it would have eased me, I think, had I been able to do so. The thought of M'Cosh's face, the fancy of Miss Moggadore's cap grew dreadfully oppressive, through my inability to vent myself of the emotions they induced. My distress was increased by the mate's p.r.o.nunciation of the word ”Amen.” He was always late with it, as though waiting for the others to lead the way, unless it was that he chose to take a ”thocht” before committing himself. My wretchedness was heightened by the effect of this lonely Amen, whose belatedness he accentuated by the fervent manner in which he breathed it out.
Yet, spite of the several grotesque conditions which entered into it, this was a brief pa.s.sage of experience that was by no means lacking in romantic and even poetic beauty. The flashful trembling of the sunlit sea was in the atmosphere of the cabin, and bulkhead and upper deck seemed to race with the rippling of the waves of light in them.
Through the open port came the seething and pouring song of the ocean; the music of smiting billows, the small harmonies of foam bells and of seething eddies. There was the presence of the ocean too, the sense of its infinity, and of the speeding s.h.i.+p, a speck under the heavens, yet fraught with the pa.s.sions and feelings of a mult.i.tude of souls bound to a new world, fresh from a land which many of them would never again behold.
The captain took a very long time in marrying us. Had this business possessed any sort of flavour of sentiment for Grace, it must have vanished under the slow, somewhat husky, self-complacent, deep-sea delivery of old Parsons. I took the liberty of pulling out my watch as a hint, but he was enjoying himself too much to be in a hurry.
Nothing, I believe, could have so contributed to the felicity of this man as the prospect of uniting one or more couples every day. On several occasions his eyes appeared to fix themselves upon Miss Moggadore, to whom he would accentuate the words he p.r.o.nounced by several nods. The Marriage Service, as we all know, is short, yet Captain Parsons kept us more than half an hour in his cabin listening to it. Before reciting ”All ye that are married,” he hemmed loudly, and appeared to address himself exclusively to Miss Moggadore to judge by the direction in which he continued emphatically to nod.
At last he closed his book, slowly gazing at one or the other of us over his gla.s.ses as if to witness the effect of his reading in our faces. He then opened his official log-book, and in a whisper, as though he were in church, called Mr. Higginson and Mr. M'Cosh to the table to witness his entry. Having written it he requested the two witnesses to read it. Mr. M'Cosh p.r.o.nounced it ”Arle reet,” and Mr.
Higginson nodded as gravely as though he were about to read a will.
”The ladies must see this entry, too,'” said Captain Parsons, still preserving his Sabbatical tone. ”Can't have too many witnesses. Never can tell what may happen.”
The ladies approached and peered, and Miss Moggadore's face took an unusually hard and acid expression as she pored upon the captain's handwriting.
”Pray read it out, Miss Moggadore,” said I.
”Ay, do,” exclaimed the captain.
In a thin, harsh voice like the _cheep_ of a sheave set revolving in a block--wonderfully in accord by the way with the briny character of the ceremony--the lady read as follows:--
”10.10 A.M. _Solemnised the nuptials of Herbert Barclay, Esquire, Gentleman, and Grace Bella.s.sys, Spinster. Present: Mrs. Barstow; Miss Moggadore; James Higginson, Esquire, solicitor; Donald M'Cosh, Chief Officer. This marriage thus celebrated was conducted according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England._”
”And now, Mr. Barclay,” said Captain Parsons, as Miss Moggadore concluded, ”you'd like a certificate under my hand, wouldn't you?”
”We're not strangers to Mr. and Mrs. Barclay's views,” said Mr.
Higginson, ”and I am certainly of opinion, captain, that Mr. Barclay ought to have such a certificate as you suggest, that, on his arrival at home, he may send copies of it to those whom it concerns.”
At the utterance of the words _Mr. and Mrs. Barclay_ I laughed, whilst Grace started, gave me an appealing look, turned a deep red, and averted her face. The captain produced a sheet of paper, and after looking into a dictionary once--”Nothing like accuracy,” said he, ”in jobs of this sort”--he exclaimed, ”Will this do?” and read as follows:--
”_s.h.i.+p 'Carthusian.'_