"Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been,
A sound that makes us linger, yet farewell."
The day of departure at length arrived. Thompson had been busy the greater part of the night in getting every thing ready for the voyage. It was a lovely morning, and the wind, although light, was propitious.
Acme had parted with her relations and friends the day previous.
She was henceforward to share the destiny of one, who was to supply the place of both to her. Attached to them as she was, and grateful as she felt for their kindness in the hour of need, there was nothing in that parting to throw a permanent gloom on the hopes of the youthful bride.
Her love, and the feelings it engendered, were of that confiding nature, that she could have followed George anywhere, and been happy still. As it was, her lot seemed cast "in pleasant places," and no foreboding of evil, except indeed for George, ever marred the waking dreams of Acme. Her simple heart had already learnt, to look up with respect and affection to Sir Henry, and yearned with fond longing for the period when she should return a sister's love.
She had that lively talent too, which, miniatured as it was, allowed of her fully appreciating the superiority of the English she had lately met, to the general run of those with whom she had hitherto associated. An English home had none but charms for her.
"Come Acme," said George, as he assisted her in adjusting the first bonnet that had ever confined her wavy curls, "wish good bye to your ring-dove, dear! Mrs. Graham will take good care of it; and Thompson has just finished the packing."
The boat which was to convey them to the vessel was so near, that they had agreed to walk down to the place of embarkation.
As George left the room, a tall figure presented itself on the staircase.
"Ah, Clark!" said George, "my good fellow! I am very sorry to part with you. I do not know what I shall do without my pay serjeant!" and he held out his hand.
It was grasped gratefully.
"Thank you, your honour!"
The old soldier stood erect, and put his hand to his cap.
"God bless you! Mr. Delme. I have served under many officers, but never under a kinder. May the Almighty bless you, Sir, in all your wanderings."
The soldier turned away--one large drop burst o'er the lid, and trickled down his sun-burnt cheek.
With the back of his hand, he brushed it off indignantly.
His converse may be rough--his manner rude--his hand ever ready for quarrel;--but, believe us! ye who deem the soldier beneath his fellow-men,--that the life of change--of chance--of hardship--and of danger--which is his, freezes not the kindlier emotions of the soul, if it sweep away its sicklier refinements. Beneath the red vest, beat hearts as warm and true, as ever throbbed beneath operative apron, or swelled under softest robe of ermine.
George was moved by the man's evidently sincere grief. He reached the bottom of the stairs. The company to which he belonged was drawn up in the court yard.
In front of it, the four tallest men supported a chair, and almost before George Delme was aware of their purpose, bore him to it, and lifted him on their shoulders, amidst the huzzas of their comrades. The band, too, which had voluntarily attended, now struck up the march which George delighted to hear; and, followed by his company, he was carried triumphantly towards the mole.
George's heart was full.
Sir Henry felt deeply interested in the scene; and poor Acme leant on his arm, and wept with joy.
Yes! there are moments in life, and this was one, when the approval of our inferiors awakens a degree of pride and mental satisfaction, that no panegyric of our superiors, no expressions of esteem from our equals, could have ever called forth. Such approval meets us, as the spontaneous effusion of hearts that have looked up to ours, and have not been deceived.
This pride was it that flushed George's cheek, and illumed with brightness his swimming eye. He was thus carried till he arrived at the spot where his boat should have been. It was already, with Thompson and their baggage, half way towards the vessel. In its place was the regimental gig, manned by George's best friends. Its steersman was Colonel Vavasour, drest in the fanciful aquatic costume his regiment had adopted.
Trifling as this may appear, this act of his Colonel, seemed to George the very highest compliment that had ever been paid him.
George Delme turned to his company, and with choking voice thanked them for this last mark of attention. We are very certain that a shake of the hand from a prince, would not have delighted him as much, as did the hearty farewell greeting of his rough comrades.
Even Acme blushingly went up to the chair-supporters, and, with a winning smile, extended her small hand. Vavasour assisted her into the gig, and it was with a bounding elasticity of spirit, to which he had long been a stranger, that George followed. As the boat cut through the water, they were greeted with a last and deafening huzza.
In a short time they were alongside the vessel. The captain was pacing the deck, and marking the signs of the wind, with the keen eye of the sailor. A chair was lowered for Acme. She shook hands with the rowers. George parted from them as if they had been brothers, and from Colonel Vavasour last of all.
"Take care of yourself, my dear boy," said the latter, "do not forget to write us; we shall all be anxious to know how you have stood the voyage."
As the gig once more shot its way homewards, and many a friendly handkerchief waved its adieu, George felt, that sad as the parting was, he should have felt it more bitterly if they had loved him less.
To divert their minds from thoughts of a melancholy nature, Sir Henry, as the boat made a turn of the land, and was no longer visible, proposed exploring the cabin. This they found small, but cleanly. Some hampers of fruit, and a quantity of ice, exhibited agreable proofs of the attention of Acme's relations. We may, by the way, observe, that rarely does the sense of the palate assert its supremacy with greater force than on board-ship. There will the thought--much more the reality--of a mellow pine--or juicy pomegranate--cause the mouth to water for the best part of a long summer's day. On their ascending the deck, the captain approached Sir Henry.
"No offence! Sir; but I guess the wind is fair. If you want nothing ashore, we will off, Sir, now! if you please."
Delme acquiesced.
How disagreable is the act of leaving harbour in a merchant ship!
Even sailors dislike it, and growl between their teeth, like captive bears. The chains of the anchor clank gratingly on the ear. The very chorus of the seamen smacks of the land, and wants the rich and free tone that characterises it in mid-sea. Hoarse are the mandates of the boat-swain! his whistle painfully shrill! The captain walks the deck thoughtfully, and frowningly ruminates on his bill of lading--or on some over-charge in the dock duties--or, it may be, on his dispute on shore with a part owner of the vessel.
And anon, he shakes off these thoughts, and looks on the weather-side--then upwards at the the masts--and, as he notes the proceedings, his orders are delivered fiercely, and his passions seem ungovernable.
The vessel, too, seems to share the general feeling--is loath to leave the port.
She unsteadily answers the call of her canvas--her rigging creaks--and her strong sides groan--as she begins lazily and slowly to make her way.
Glad to turn their attention to anything rather than the scene around, George began conversing on the effect the attentions of his company and brother officers had had on him.
"Their kindness," said George, "was wholly unexpected by me, and I felt it very deeply. An hour before, I fancied that Acme and my own family monopolised every sympathy I possessed. But, thank God! the heart has many hidden channels through which kindness may steal, and infuse its genial balm."
"I felt it, too, George!" said his brother, "and was anxious as to the effect the scene might have on you. I am glad it was unexpected. We are sometimes better enabled to enact our parts improvising them, than when we have schooled ourselves, and braced all our energies to the one particular purpose.
"Acme, how did you like the way George's men behaved?"
"It made me weep with joy," replied the young Greek, "for I love all who love my Giorgio."
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