Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1705 page)

What became of the Spanish schooner and the pilot, I have never heard from that day to this.

As for the brig, the Yankees took her, as they took me, to Trinidad, and claimed their salvage, and got it, I hope, for their own sakes. I was landed just in the same state as when they rescued me from the brig — that is to say, clean out of my senses. But please to remember, it was a long time ago; and, take my word for it, I was discharged cured, as I have told you. Bless your hearts, I’m all right now, as you may see. I’m a little shaken by telling the story, as is only natural — a little shaken, my good friends, that’s all.

OTHERWISE, THE HEART-RENDING STORY OF MR. HEAVYSIDES.

THERE has never yet been discovered a man with a grievance who objected to mention it. I am no exception to this general human rule. I have got a grievance, and I don’t object to mention it. Compose your spirits to hear a pathetic story, and kindly picture me in your own mind as a baby five minutes old.

Do I understand you to say that I am too big and too heavy to be pictured in anybody’s mind as a baby? Perhaps I may be — but don’t mention my weight again, if you please. My weight has been the grand misfortune of my life. It spoiled all my prospects (as you will presently hear) before I was two days old.

My story begins thirty-one years ago, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and starts with the great mistake of my first appearance in this world, at sea, on board the merchant ship
Adventure
, Captain Gillop, five hundred tons burden, coppered, and carrying an experienced surgeon.

In presenting myself to you (which I am now about to do) at that eventful period of my life when I was from five to ten minutes old, and in withdrawing myself again from your notice (so as not to trouble you with more than a short story) before the time when I cut my first tooth, I need not hesitate to admit that I speak on hearsay knowledge only. It is knowledge, however, that may be relied on, for all that. My information comes from Captain Gillop, commander of the
Adventure
(who sent it to me in the form of a letter); from Mr. Jolly, experienced surgeon of the
Adventure
(who wrote it for me — most unfeelingly, as I think — in the shape of a humorous narrative); and from Mrs. Drabble, stewardess of the
Adventure
(who told it me by word of mouth). Those three persons were, in various degrees, spectators — I may say astonished spectators — of the events which I have now to relate.

The
Adventure
, at the time I speak of, was bound out from London to Australia. I suppose you know without my telling you that thirty years ago was long before the time of the gold-finding and the famous clipper ships. Building in the new colony and sheep-farming far up inland were the two main employments of those days, and the passengers on board our vessel were consequently builders or sheep-farmers, almost to a man.

A ship of five hundred tons, well loaded with cargo, doesn’t offer first-rate accommodation to a large number of passengers. Not that the gentlefolk in the cabin had any great reason to complain. There the passage-money, which was a good round sum, kept them what you call select. One or two berths in this part of the ship were even empty and going a-begging, in consequence of there being only four cabin passengers. These are their names and descriptions:

Mr. Sims, a middle-aged man, going out on a building speculation; Mr. Purling, a weakly young gentleman, sent on a long sea-voyage, for the benefit of his health; and Mr. and Mrs. Smallchild, a young married couple, with a little independence, which Mr. Smallchild proposed to make a large one by sheep-farming.

This gentleman was reported to the captain as being very good company when on shore. But the sea altered him to a certain extent. When Mr. Smallchild was not sick, he was eating and drinking; and when he was not eating and drinking, he was fast asleep. He was perfectly patient and good-humored, and wonderfully nimble at running into his cabin when the qualms took him on a sudden; but, as for his being good company, nobody heard him say ten words together all through the voyage. And no wonder. A man can’t talk in the qualms; a man can’t talk while he is eating and drinking; and a man can’t talk when he is asleep. And that was Mr. Smallchild’s life. As for Mrs. Smallchild, she kept her cabin from first to last. But you will hear more of her presently.

These four cabin passengers, as I have already remarked, were well enough off for their accommodation. But the miserable people in the steerage — a poor place at the best of times on board the
Adventure
— were all huddled together, men and women and children, higgledy-piggledy, like sheep in a pen, except that they hadn’t got the same quantity of fine fresh air to blow over them. They were artisans and farm-labourers, who couldn’t make it out in the Old Country. I have no information either of their exact numbers or of their names. It doesn’t matter; there was only one family among them which need be mentioned particularly — namely, the family of the Heavysides. To wit, Simon Heavysides, intelligent, and well-educated, a carpenter by trade; Susan Heavysides, his wife; and seven little Heavysides, their unfortunate offspring. My father and mother and brothers and sisters, did I understand you to say? Don’t be in a hurry! I recommend you to wait a little before you make quite sure of that circumstance.

Though I myself had not, perhaps, strictly speaking, come on board when the vessel left London, my ill luck, as I firmly believe, had shipped in the
Adventure
to wait for me — and decided the nature of the voyage accordingly.

Never was such a miserable time known. Stormy weather came down on us from all points of the compass, with intervals of light, baffling winds or dead calms. By the time the
Adventure
had been three months out, Captain Gillop’s naturally sweet temper began to get soured. I leave you to say whether it was likely to be much improved by a piece of news which reached him from the region of the cabin on the morning of the ninety-first day. It had fallen to a dead calm again; and the ship was rolling about helpless, with her head all round the compass, when Mr. Jolly (from whose facetious narrative I repeat all conversations exactly as they passed) came on deck to the captain, and addressed him in these words:

“I have got some news that will rather surprise you,” said Mr. Jolly, smiling and rubbing his hands. (Although the experienced surgeon has not shown much sympathy for my troubles, I won’t deny that his disposition was as good as his name. To this day no amount of bad weather or hard work can upset Mr. Jolly’s temper.)

“If it’s news of a fair wind coming,” grumbled the captain, “that would surprise me on board this ship, I can promise you!”

“It’s not exactly a wind coming,” said Mr. Jolly. “It’s another cabin passenger.”

The captain looked round at the empty sea, with the land thousands of miles away, and with not a ship in sight — turned sharply on the experienced surgeon — eyed him hard — changed colour suddenly — and asked what he meant.

“I mean there’s a fifth cabin passenger coming on board,” persisted Mr. Jolly, grinning from ear to ear — ”introduced by Mrs. Smallchild — likely to join us, I should say, toward evening — size, nothing to speak of — sex, not known at present — manners and customs, probably squally.”

“Do you really mean it?” asked the captain, backing away, and turning paler and paler.

“Yes, I do,” answered Mr. Jolly, nodding hard at him.

“Then I’ll tell you what,” cried Captain Gillop, suddenly flying into a violent passion, “I won’t have it! the infernal weather has worried me out of my life and soul already — and I won’t have it! Put it off, Jolly — tell her there isn’t room enough for that sort of thing on board my vessel. What does she mean by taking us all in in this way? Shameful! Shameful!”

“No! no!” remonstrated Mr. Jolly. “Don’t look at it in that light. It’s her first child, poor thing. How should
she
know? Give her a little more experience, and I dare say — ”

“Where’s her husband?” broke in the captain, with a threatening look. “I’ll speak my mind to her husband, at any rate.”

Mr. Jolly consulted his watch before he answered.

“Half-past eleven,” he said. “Let me consider a little. It’s Mr. Smallchild’s regular time just now for squaring accounts with the sea. He’ll have done in a quarter of an hour. In five minutes more he’ll be fast asleep. At one o’clock he’ll eat a hearty lunch, and go to sleep again. At half-past two he’ll square accounts as before — and so on till night. You’ll make nothing out of Mr. Smallchild, captain. Extraordinary man — wastes tissue, and repairs it again perpetually, in the most astonishing manner. If we are another month at sea, I believe we shall bring him into port totally comatose. — Halloo! What do
you
want?”

The steward’s mate had approached the quarter-deck while the doctor was speaking. Was it a curious coincidence? This man also was grinning from ear to ear, exactly like Mr. Jolly.

“You’re wanted in the steerage, sir,” said the steward’s mate to the doctor. “A woman taken bad, name of Heavysides.”

“Nonsense!” cried Mr. Jolly “Ha, ha, ha! You don’t mean — eh?”

“That’s it, sir, sure enough,” said the steward’s mate, in the most positive manner.

Captain Gillop looked all around him in silent desperation; lost his sea-legs for the first time these twenty years; staggered back till he was brought up all standing by the side of his own vessel; dashed his fist on the bulwark, and found language to express himself in, at the same moment.

“This ship is bewitched,” said the captain, wildly. “Stop!” he called out, recovering himself a little as the doctor bustled away to the steerage. “Stop! If it’s true, Jolly, send her husband here aft to me. Damme, I’ll have it out with one of the husbands!” said the captain, shaking his fist viciously at the empty air.

Ten minutes passed; and then there came staggering toward the captain, tottering this way and that with the rolling of the becalmed vessel, a long, lean, melancholy, light-haired man, with a Roman nose, a watery blue eye, and a complexion profusely spotted with large brown freckles. This was Simon Heavysides, the intelligent carpenter, with the wife and the family of seven small children on board.

“Oh! you’re the man, are you?” said the captain.

The ship lurched heavily; and Simon Heavysides staggered away with a run to the opposite side of the deck, as if he preferred going straight overboard into the sea to answering the captain’s question.

“You’re the man — are you?” repeated the captain, following him, seizing him by the collar, and pinning him up fiercely against the bulwark. “It’s your wife — is it? You infernal rascal! what do you mean by turning my ship into a lying-in hospital? You have committed an act of mutiny; or, if it isn’t mutiny, it’s next door to it. I’ve put a man in irons for less! I’ve more than half a mind to put
you
in irons! Hold up, you slippery lubber! What do you mean by bringing passengers I don’t bargain for on board my vessel? What have you got to say for yourself, before I clap the irons on you?”

“Nothing, sir,” answered Simon Heavysides, accepting the captain’s strong language without a word of protest. “As for the punishment you mentioned just now, sir,” continued Simon, “I wish to say — having seven children more than I know how to provide for, and an eighth coming to make things worse — I respectfully wish to say, sir, that my mind is in irons already; and I don’t know as it will make much difference if you put my body in irons along with it.”