Robert Michael Ballantyne - Post Haste

Suffice it to say that after a week or two the effervescing began to systematise, and the family became a living and complex electrical machine, whose sympathetic poles drew and stuck together, while the antagonistic poles kept up a steady discharge of sparks.

Then there arose a gale which quieted the machine a little, and checked the sparkling flow of wit and humour. When, during the course of the gale, a toppling billow overbalanced itself and fell inboard with a crash that nearly split the deck open, sweeping two of the quarterboats away, Mr Blurt, sitting in the saloon, was heard to exclaim:—

“’Pon my word, it’s a terrible gale—enough almost to make a fellow think of his sins.”

To which Mrs Tods, who sat beside him, replied, with a serious shake of her head, that it was indeed a very solemn occasion, and cast a look, not of undying hate but of gentle appeal at Mrs Pods, who sat opposite to her. And that lady, so far from resenting the look as an affront, met her in a liberal spirit; not only admitted that what Mrs Tods had said was equally just and true, but even turned her eyes upward with a look of resignation.

Well was it for Mrs Pods that she did so, for her resigned eyes beheld the globe of the cabin lamp pitched off its perch by a violent lurch and coming straight at her. Thus she had time to bow to circumstances, and allow the missile to pass over her head into the bosom of Lady Tower, where it was broken to atoms. The effect of mutual concession was so strong on Mrs Pods and Mrs Tods, that the former secretly repented having wished that one of Mrs Tods’ little sons might fall down the hatchway and get maimed for life, while the latter silently regretted having hoped that one of Mrs Pods’ little girls might fall overboard and be half-drowned.

But the storm passed away and the effervescence returned—though not, it is pleasing to add, with so much pungency as before. Thus, night and day, the steamer sped on over the southern seas, across the mystic line, and into the northern hemisphere, with the written records, hopes, commands, and wishes of a continent in the mail-bags in her hold, and leaving a beautiful milky-way behind her.

But there were more than letters and papers in these mail-bags. There were diamonds! Not indeed those polished and glittering gems whose proper resting-place is the brow of beauty, but those uncut pebbles that are turned up at the mines, which the ignorant would fling away or give to their children as playthings, but for which merchants and experts would give hundreds and thousands of pounds. A splendid prize that Royal Mail steamer would have been for the buccaneers of the olden time, but happily there are no buccaneers in these days—at least not in civilised waters. A famous pirate had, however, set his heart on those diamonds—even old Neptune himself.

This is how it happened.

One evening Miss Gentle and rotund little Mr Blurt were seated on two camp-stools near the stern, conversing occasionally and gazing in a dreamy frame of mind at the milky-way over which they appeared to travel.

“I wonder much, Miss Gentle,” said Mr Blurt, “that you were not more afraid during that gale we had just before crossing the line?”

“I was a good deal afraid, though perhaps I did not show it. Your remark,” she added, with an arch glance at her companion, “induces me to express some surprise that you seemed so much afraid.”

“Afraid!” echoed Mr Blurt, with a smile; “why, I wasn’t afraid—eh! was I?”

“I beg pardon,” hastily explained Miss Gentle, “I don’t mean frightened, of course; perhaps I should have said alarmed, or agitated—”

“Agitated!” cried Mr Blurt, pulling off his hat, and rubbing his bald head—he was prematurely bald, being only forty, though he looked like fifty—“agitated! Well, Miss Gentle, if you had diamonds—”

He stopped short, and looked at his companion with a confused smile.

“Diamonds, Mr Blurt,” said Miss Gentle, slightly surprised; “what do you mean?”

“Well—ha! hem!” said the other, rubbing his forehead; “I see no reason why I should make a mystery of it. Since I have mentioned the thing, I may as well say that a man who happens to have a packet of diamonds in the mail-bags worth about twenty thousand pounds, may well be excused showing some little agitation lest the ship containing them should go to the bottom.”

“I don’t quite see that,” returned Miss Gentle. “If the owner is on board, and goes to the bottom with his diamonds, it does not matter to him , does it?”

“Ah!” said Mr Blurt, “it is the inconsiderateness of youth which prompts that speech. (Miss Gentle looked about twenty, though she was in reality twenty-seven!) Do you think I have no anxiety for any one but myself? Suppose I have a wife and family in England who are dependent on these diamonds.”

“Ah! that did not occur to me,” returned the lady.

“Have you any objection to become a confidante?” asked Mr Blurt.

“None whatever,” replied Miss Gentle, laughing.

“Well, then, to let you understand my feelings, I shall explain. I have a brother—a dear little fellow like mys— ah, excuse me; I did not mean dear like myself, but little . Well, he is a naturalist. He lives in London, and is not a very successful naturalist; indeed, I may say that he is an unfortunate and poor naturalist. Last year he failed. I sent him a small sum of money. He failed again. I sent him more money. Being a successful diamond-merchant, you see, I could afford to do so. We are both bachelors; my brother being much older than I am. At last I resolved to send home my whole fortune, and return to live with him, after winding up my affairs. I did so: made up my diamonds into a parcel, and sent it by mail as being the most secure method. Just after doing this, I got a letter informing me of my brother being dangerously ill, and begging me to come to England without delay. I packed up at once, left my partner to wind up the business, and so, here I am, on board the very steamer that carries my diamonds to England.”

“How curious—and how interesting,” said the sympathetic Miss Gentle.

Whatever more she intended to say was checked by a large parti-coloured ball hitting her on the cheek, and falling into her lap. It was followed up and captured with a shriek by the two little Todses and the three little Podses. At the same moment the gong sounded for tea. Thus the conversation came to a close.

The voyage of the Trident —with the exception of the gale before referred to—was prosperous until her arrival in the waters of the northern hemisphere. By that time the passengers had crystallised into groups, the nobodies and self-forgetting-bodies fraternised, and became more and more friendly as time went on. The uproarious-bodies got up concerts and charades. The hatred of Pods for Tods intensified. The arrogance of Major Beak, and the good-natured modesty of Mr Bright, increased. The noise of Dr Bassoon made the manner of Mr Silky quite agreeable by contrast, while the pride of Lady Tower and Mr Stiff formed a fine, deep-shade to the neutral tint of Miss Gentle, and the high-light of Miss Squeaker.

Gradually, however, feelings began to modify. The squalls and breezes that ruffled the human breasts on board the Trident moderated in exact proportion as that vessel penetrated and experienced the storms of what should have been named the in -temperate zone.

At last they drew near to the shores of Old England, and then there burst upon them a nor-wester, so violent that within the first hour the close-reefed topsails were blown to ribbons, and the foretopmast, with the jib-boom, was carried away. Of course this was a comparatively small matter in a steamer, but when it was afterwards discovered that the vessel had sprung a leak, things began to look more serious.