A Love Story
and only delaying till he could get his passports signed, hastened from
Paris to Marseilles.
On his arrival at the latter place, his first enquiries were, as to the
earliest period that a vessel would sail for Malta. He was pointed out a
small yacht in the harbour, which belonging to the British government,
had lately brought over a staff officer with despatches.
A courier from England had that morning arrived--the vessel was about to
return--her canvas was already loosened--the blue Peter streaming in the
wind. Delmé hesitated not an instant, but threw himself into a boat, and
was rowed alongside. The yacht's commander was a lieutenant in our
service, although a Maltese by birth. He at once entered into Sir
Henry's views, and felt delighted at the prospect of a companion in his
voyage. A short time elapsed--the anchor was up--the white sails began
to fill--Sir Henry was once more on the wide sea.
What a feeling of loneliness, almost of despair, infects the landsman's
mind, as he recedes from an unfamiliar port--sees crowds watching
listlessly his vessel's departure--crowds, of whom not one feels an
interest in _his_ fate; and then, turning to the little world within,
beholds but faces he knows not, persons he wots not of!
But to one whose home is the ocean, such are not the emotions which
its expanse of broad waters calls forth. To such an one, each plank
seems a friend; the vessel, a refuge from the world and its cares.
Trusting himself to its guidance, deceit wounds him no
more--hollow-hearted friendship proffers not its hand to sting--love
exercises not its fatal sorcery--foes are afar--and his heart, if not
the waves, is comparatively at peace. And oh! the wonders of the deep!
Ocean! tame is the soul that loves not thee! grovelling the mind that
scorns the joys thou impartest! To lean our head on the vessel's side,
and in idleness of spirit ponder on bygone scene, that has brought us
anything but happiness,--to gaze on the curling waves, as impelled by
the boisterous wind, we ride o'er the angry waters, lashed by the sable
keel to a yeasty madness,--to look afar upon the disturbed billow,
presenting its crested head like the curved neck of the war
horse,--_then_ to mark the screaming sea bird, as, his bright eye
scanning the waters, he soars above the stormy main--its wide tumult
his delight--the roaring of the winds his melody--the shrieks of the
drowned an harmonious symphony to the hoarse diapason of the deep! All
these things may awake reflections, which are alike futile and
transitory; but they are accompanied by a mental excitement, which land
scenes, however glorious, always fail to impart.
Delmé's voyage was not unpropitious, although the yacht was frequently
baffled by contrary winds, which prevented the passage being very
speedy. During the day, the weather was ordinarily blustering, at times
stormy; but with the setting sun, it seemed that tranquillity came; for
during the nights, which were uncommonly fine, gentle breezes continued
to fill the sails, and their vessel made tardy but sure progress. Henry
would sit on deck till a late hour, lost in reverie. _There_ would he
remain, until each idle mariner was sunk to rest; and nothing but the
distant tread of the wakeful watch, or the short cough of the helmsman,
bespoke a sentinel over the habitation on the waters. How would the
recollections of his life crowd upon him!--the loss of his parent--the
world's first opening--bitter partings--painful misgivings--the lone
bivouac--the marshalling of squadrons--the fierce charge--the
excitement of victory, whose charm was all but flown, for where were the
comrades who had fought beside him? These things were recalled, and
brought with them alternate pain and pleasure. And a less remote era of
his life would be presented him; when he tasted the welcome of home--saw
hands uplifted in gratitude--was cheered by a brother's greeting, and
subdued by a sister's kiss. But there _was_ a thought, which let him
dwell as he might on others, remained the uppermost of all. It was of
Julia Vernon, and met him as a reproach. If his feelings were not of
that enthusiastic nature, which they might have been were he now in his
green youth, they were not on this account the less intense. They were
coloured by the energy of manhood. He had lost a portion of his
self-respect: for he knew that his conduct had been vacillating with
regard to one, whom each traversed league, each fleeting hour, proved to
be yet dearer than he had deemed her.
In the first few days of their passage, the winds shaped their vessel's
course towards the Genoese gulf. They then took a direction nearly
south, steering between Corsica and Sardinia on the one hand--Italy on
the other.
Delmé had an opportunity of noting the outward aspect of Napoleon's
birth-place; and still more nearly, that of its opposite island, which
also forms so memorable a link in the history of that demi-god of modern
times. How could weaker spirits deem that _there_, invested with
monarchy's semblance, the ruler of the petty isle could forget that he
had been master of the world?
How think that diplomacy's cobweb fibre could hold the eagle, panting
for an upward flight?
They fearfully misjudged! What a transcendent light did his star give,
as it shot through the appalled heavens, ere it sunk for ever in
endless night!
The commander of the yacht pointed out the rock, which is traditionally
said to be the one, on which Napoleon has been represented--his arms
folded--watching intently the ocean--and ambition's votary gleaning his
moral from the stormy waves below. As they advanced farther in their
course, other associations were not wanting; and Delmé, whose mind,
like that of most Englishmen, was deeply tinctured with classic lore,
was not insensible to their charms. They swept by the Latian coast.
Every creek and promontory, attested the fidelity of the poet's
description, by vividly recalling it to the mind. On the seventh day,
they doubled Cape Maritime, on the western coast of Sicily; and two
days afterwards, the vessel neared what has been styled the abode of
Calypso, the island of Gozzo. As they continued to advance, picturesque
trading boats, with awnings and numerous rowers, became more
frequent--the low land appeared--they were signalled from the
palace--the point of St. Elmo was turned--and a wide forest of masts
met the gaze. The vessel took up her moorings; and in the novelty of
the scene, and surrounding bustle, Sir Henry for a time rested from
misgivings, and forgot his real causes for melancholy. The harbour of
Malta is not easily forgotten. The sun was just sinking, tinging with
hues of amber, the usually purple waters of the harbour, and bronzing
with its fiery orb, the batteries and lofty Baraca, where lie entombed
the remains of Sir Thomas Maitland. Between the Baraca's pillars,
might be discerned many a faldette, with pretty face beneath, peering
over to mark the little yacht, as she took her station, amidst the more
gigantic line of battle ships.
The native boatmen, in their gilded barks with high prows, were seen
surrounding the vessel; and as they exerted themselves in passing each
other, their dress and action had the most picturesque appearance. Their
language, a corrupted Arabic, is not unpleasing to the ear; and their
costume is remarkably graceful. A red turban hangs droopingly on one
side, and their waistcoats are loaded with large silver buttons, the
only remains of their uncommon wealth during the war, when this little
island was endowed with a fictitious importance, it can never hope to
resume. Just as the yacht cast anchor, a gun from the saluting battery
was fired. It was the signal for sunset, and every flag was lowered.
Down came in most seaman-like style the proud flag of merry England--the
_then_ spotless banner of France--and the great cross, hanging
ungracefully, over the stout, but clumsy, Russian man of war. All these
flags were then in the harbour of Valletta, although it was not at that
eventful time when--the Moslem humbled--they met with the cordiality of
colleagues in victory.
The harbour was full of vessels. Every nation had its representative.
The intermediate spaces were studded by Maltese boats, crowded with
passengers indiscriminately mingled. The careless English soldier, with
scarlet coat and pipe-clayed belt--priests and friars--Maltese women in
national costume sat side by side. Occasionally, a gig, pulled by man of
war's men, might be seen making towards the town, with one or more
officers astern, whose glittering epaulettes announced them as either
diners out, or amateurs of the opera. The scene to Delmé was entirely
novel; although it had previously been his lot to scan more than one
foreign country.
The arrival of the health officers was the first circumstance that
diverted his mind from the surrounding scene. There had been an epidemic
disease at Marseilles, and there appeared to be some doubts, whether, as
a precaution, some quarantine would not be imposed. The superintendent
of quarantine was rowed alongside, chiefly for the purpose of regulating
this. The spirited little commander of the yacht, however, was not at
all desirous of any such arrangement; and after some energetic appeals
on his part, met by cautious remonstrances on the part of the other,
their pratique was duly accorded.
During the discussion with the superintendent, Sir Henry had enquired
from the health officer, as to where he should find George, and was
informed that his regiment was quartered at Floriana, one of Valletta's
suburbs. In a short time a boat from the yacht was lowered, and the
commander prepared to accompany the government courier with his
dispatches to the palace.
Previous to leaving the deck, he hailed a boat alongside--addressed the
boatmen in their native language--and consigned Sir Henry to their
charge. Twilight was deepening into night as Delmé left the vessel. The
harbour had lost much of its bustle; lights were already gleaming from
the town, and as seen in some of the loftiest houses, looked as if
suspended in the air above. Our traveller folded his cloak around him,
and was rowed swiftly towards the shore.
Chapter VII.
The Young Greek.
"But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,
The sister tenants of the middle deep."
* * * * *
"Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone,
But trust not this; too easy youth, beware!
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne.
And thou mayst find a new Calypso there."
Night had set in before Sir Henry reached the shore. The boatmen, in
broken, but intelligible English, took the trouble of explaining, that
they must row him to a point higher up the harbour, than the landing
place towards which the commander's gig was directing its course, on
account of his brother's regiment being quartered at Floriana. Landing
on the quay, they took charge of Delmé's portmanteau, and conducted him
through an ascending road, which seemed to form a part of the
fortifications, till they arrived in front of a closed gate. They were
challenged by the sentinel, and obliged to explain their business to a
non-commissioned officer, before they were admitted.
This form having been gone through, a narrow wicket was opened for their
passage. They crossed a species of common, and, after a few minutes'
walk, found themselves in front of the barrack. This was a plain stone
building, enclosing a small court, in the centre of which stood a marble
bason. The taste of some of the officers had peopled this with golden
fish; whilst on the bason's brim were placed stands for exotics, whose
fragrance charmed our sea-worn traveller, so lately emancipated from