My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 3 (of 3)Russell, William Clark
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My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 3 (of 3)
Russell, William Clark
Sea stories; Shipwrecks -- Fiction
It was on the afternoon of the fifth day that we fell in with a Peruvian
man-of-war brig. She backed her topsail and sent a boat. The young
officer in command spoke French very fluently, and Miss Temple and I
between us were able to make him understand our story. He returned to
his ship to report what I had said, and presently came back with a
couple of Irish seamen, to whose services to help us to carry the barque
to Valparaiso we were, he said, very welcome. This I considered an
extraordinary stroke of fortune, for in so slender a ship’s company as
we should still make it was of the utmost consequence that all orders
given should be perfectly and instantly intelligible. The Peruvian brig
was bound on a cruise amongst the islands, and I earnestly entreated the
officer to request his commander to head first of all for the reef upon
which I had left Lush and his men, that they might be taken off, if they
had not recovered their boat.
Down to this point, the three of us in one fashion and another had
managed so fairly well, that the acquisition of the two Irish seamen
communicated to me a sense of being in command of a very tolerable
ship’s company. Miss Temple and I could now enjoy some little leisure
apart from a routine that had been harassing with its vexations and
incessant demands upon our vigilance. Night after night descended upon
us in beauty; the warm wind blew moist with dew; the reflection of the
rich and trembling stars quivered in cones of an icy gleam amid the
ripples of the breeze-brushed sea; the curl of new moon shone in the
west in the wake of the glowing sun to rise nightly fuller and more
brilliant yet, till for awhile the barque sailed through an atmosphere
that was brimful of the greenish glory of the unclouded planet. There
was scarcely, indeed, a condition of this tender tropic passage to
Valparaiso that was not favourable to sentiment. Yet my pride rendered
it an obligation upon me that before I spoke my love I must make sure of
the girl’s own feelings towards me. I watched her with an impassioned
eye; I listened to every word that fell from her lips with an ear eager
to penetrate to the spirit of her meaning; a smile that seemed in the
least degree ambiguous would keep me musing for a whole watch together.
Then I would inquire whether I could in honour ask her to be my wife
until my protection and care for her had ceased, and she stood to me in
the position she had occupied when we had first met aboard the Indiaman.
But to this very fine question of conscience I would respond with the
consideration that if I did not ask her now, I must continue in a
distracting state of suspense and anxiety for many weeks, running,
indeed, into months—that is to say, until we should reach home; that she
might misconstrue my reserve, and attribute it to indifference; that to
make her understand why I did not speak would involve the declaration
that my honour was supposed to regard as objectionable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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