Barren Honour: A NovelLawrence, George A. (George Alfred)
General
Barren Honour: A Novel
Lawrence, George A. (George Alfred)
Fiction
How Alan fared when he was quite alone it would be hard to say. Such
seasons were rare, except at the dead hours of night, when sleep comes
naturally to every constitution, unless some powerful momentary
excitement is at work; for he mixed more in general society than he had
done for years. I doubt if he did not suffer less acutely than when
Helen was alive, and in her husband's power. He was at least free from
the torments of anxiety and apprehension. If in this world of ours we
can defy these two enemies of man's peace, we have gained no mean
victory over Fate.
CHAPTER XXVII.
MORITURI TE SALUTANT.
It is a clear breezy night, out in the midst of the Atlantic, the mighty
steam-ship _Panama_ ploughs her way through the long, sullen "rollers,"
steadily, and calmly, strongly, as if conscious of her trust, and of her
ability to discharge it--the safe carriage of three hundred lives. A few
wakeful passengers still linger on deck; amongst them is Alan Wyverne;
the restless demon, ever at his elbow, has driven him abroad again, to
see what sport may be found on the great Western prairies.
Suddenly there is a trampling of hurrying feet between decks, and a
sailor rushes up the companion and whispers to the officer of the
watch, who descends with a scared face; in five minutes more a
terrible cry rings from stem to stern, waking the soundest sleeper
aboard--"Fire!--Fire!"
Can you form any idea of the horror and confusion that ensue, when
hundreds of human creatures wake from perfect security, to find
themselves face to face with death? I think not. No one can realize the
scene, except those few who have witnessed it once, and who see it in
their dreams till they die. No man alive can say for certain if his
nerve will stand such a shock, and the bravest may well be proud, if he
emerges from such an ordeal without betraying shameful weakness. I speak
of a mixed and undisciplined crowd--not of trained soldiers; we have
more than one proof of what _these_ can do and endure. I think, that
those who died at Thermopylæ were less worthy of the crown of valour,
than the troopers who formed upon deck and stood steady in their ranks,
till every woman and child was safe in the boats, and till the
_Birkenhead_ went down under their feet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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