Chapter III

‘O Marian, do you know, I’ve met Mr Hawthorn; and what a delightful man he is! I quite fell in love with him myself, I assure you! Wasn’t it absurd? He came down the other morning to the boatrace; and he and a friend of his positively jumped over the wall, without an invitation, into old Colonel Boddington’s front garden.’

Marian took Nora’s hand warmly. ‘I’m so glad you like Edward,’ she said, kissing her cheek and smoothing her forehead. ‘I was sure you’d like him. I’ve been longing for you to come to town ever since we got engaged, so that you might manage to see him.—Well, dear, and do you think him handsome?’

‘Handsome! O Marian, awfully handsome; and so nice, too. Such a sweet voice and manner, so grave and cultivated, somehow. I always do like Oxford and Cambridge men—ever so much better than army men, Marian.’

‘Who had he with him at the boatrace?’ Marian asked.

‘Oh, my dear, such a funny man—a Mr Noel, whom I met last week down at the Buckleburies. Colonel Boddington says his father’s one of the greatest swells in all Lincolnshire—a Sir Somebody Noel, or something. And do you know, Marian, he simply jumped over the wall, without knowing the Boddingtons one bit, just because he saw me there—wasn’t it dreadful of him, after only meeting me once, too?—and then apologised to the old colonel, who was looking daggers. But the moment Mr Noel said something or other incidentally about his father Sir Somebody, the colonel became as mild as a lamb, and asked him to lunch at once, and tried to put him sitting right between Minnie and Adela. And Mr Noel managed to shuffle out of it somehow, and got on one side of me, with Mr Hawthorn on the other side; and he talked so that he kept me laughing right through the whole of lunch-time.’

‘He’s awfully amusing,’ Marian said with a slight smile.—‘And I suppose you rather liked Mr Noel, too, didn’t you, Nora?’

Nora shook her head energetically. ‘No, my dear; not my sort of man at all, really. I certainly wasn’t in the least taken with him.’

‘Not a little bit even, Nora?’

‘Not even a little bit, dear,’ she answered decidedly. ‘He isn’t at all the sort of man I should ever care for. Too dark for me, by several shades, for one thing, Marian. You know, we West Indians never can endure these very dark people.’

‘But I’m dark, Nora, and you like me, you know, don’t you?’

‘Oh, you. Yes; that’s quite another thing, Marian. That’s nothing, to be dark as you are. Your hair and eyes and complexion are just perfect, darling. But Mr Noel—well, he’s a shade or two too dark for me, anyhow; and I don’t mind saying so to you candidly.—Mr Hawthorn’s a great deal more my ideal of what a handsome man ought to be. I think his eyes, his hair, and his moustache are just simply lovely, Marian.’

‘Why, of course, you and he ought to be friends,’ Marian said, a natural thought flashing suddenly across her. ‘He comes from Trinidad, just the same as you do. How funny that the two people I’ve liked best in all the world should both come from the very same little bit of an island. I daresay you used to know some of his people.’

‘That’s the very funniest part of it all, Marian. I can’t recollect anything at all about his family; I don’t even remember ever to have heard of them from any Trinidad people.’

Marian looked up quickly from the needlework on which she was employed, and said simply: ‘I daresay they didn’t happen to know your family.’

‘Well, that’s just what’s odd about it, dear,’ Nora continued, pulling out her crochet. ‘Everybody in Trinidad knows my family. And Mr Hawthorn’s father’s in the Legislative Council, too, just like papa; and Mr Hawthorn has been to Cambridge, you know, and is a barrister, and knows Arabic, and is unusually clever, Mr Noel tells me. I can’t imagine how on earth it is I’ve never even heard of him before.’

‘Well, at anyrate, I’m so awfully glad you really like him, now that you’ve actually seen him, Nora. One’s always so afraid that all one’s friends won’t like one’s future husband.’

‘Like him, dear; how on earth could one help liking him? Why, I think he’s simply delightful And that’s so surprising, too, because generally, you know, one’s friends _will_ go and marry such regular horrid sticks of men. I think he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met anywhere, almost.’

‘And the exception is——?’

‘Put in for propriety’s sake, dear, for fear you should think I was quite too enthusiastic. And do you know, he tells me he’s going in for a judgeship in Trinidad; and won’t it be splendid, Marian, if he happens to get it, and you both go out there with me, darling? I shall be just too delighted.’

Marian gave a little sigh. ‘I shall be very glad if he gets it in one way,’ she said, ‘because then, of course, Edward and I will be able to marry immediately; and papa’s so very much opposed to a long engagement.’

‘Besides which,’ Nora put in frankly, ‘you’d naturally yourself, too, be glad to get married as soon as possible.’

‘But then, on the other hand,’ Marian went on, smiling quietly, ‘it would be a dreadful thing going so far away from all one’s friends and relations and so forth. Though, of course, with Edward to take care of me, I wouldn’t be afraid to go anywhere.’

‘Of course not,’ said Nora confidently. ‘And I shall be there, too, Marian; and we shall have such lovely times together. People have no end of fun in the West Indies, you know. Everybody says it’s the most delightful place in the world in the cool season. The floors are kept polished all the year round, without any carpets, just like the continent, and so you can have a dance at any moment, whenever people enough happen to drop in together accidentally of an evening. Mamma used to say there was no end of gaiety; and that she never could endure the stiffness and unsociability of English society, after the hospitable habits of dear old Trinidad.’

‘I hope we shall like it,’ Marian said, ‘if Edward really succeeds in getting this appointment. It’ll be a great alleviation to the pain of parting with one’s friends here, if you’re going to be there too, Nora.’

‘Yes, my dear, you must get married at once, and we must arrange somehow to go out to Trinidad together in the same steamer. I mean to have no end of fun going out. And when you get there, of course papa’ll be able to introduce you and Mr Hawthorn to all the society in the island. I call it just delightful.’

At that moment, the servant entered and announced Mr Hawthorn.

Marian rose from her seat and went forward to meet him. Edward had a long official envelope in his hands, with a large broken seal in red sealing-wax on the back, and the important words, ‘On Her Majesty’s Service,’ printed in very big letters at the lower left-hand corner. Marian trembled a little with excitement, not unmixed with fear, as soon as she saw it.

‘Well, my darling,’ cried Edward joyously, in spite of Nora’s presence, ‘it’s all right; I’ve got the judgeship. And now, Marian, we shall be able to get married immediately.’

A woman always succeeds in doing the most incomprehensible and unexpected thing under all circumstances; and Marian, hearing now for the first time that their hearts’ desire was at last in a fair way to be accomplished, did not exhibit those emotions Edward might have imagined she would do, but fell back upon the sofa, half faint, and burst out suddenly crying.

Edward looked at her tenderly with a mingled look of surprise and sorrow. ‘Why, Marian,’ he said, a little reproachfully, ‘I thought you would be so delighted and rejoiced to hear the news, that I almost ran the whole way to tell you.’

‘So I am, Edward,’ answered Marian, sobbing; ‘but it’s so sudden, so very sudden.’

‘She’ll be all right in a minute or two, Mr Hawthorn,’ Nora said, looking up at him with an arch smile as she held Marian’s hand in hers and bent over her to kiss her forehead. ‘She’s only taken aback a little at the suddenness of the surprise.—And now, Marian, we shall all be able actually to go out to Trinidad together in the same steamer.’

Edward’s heart smote him rather at the strange way Marian had received the news that so greatly delighted him. It was very natural, after all, no doubt. Every girl feels the wrench of having to leave her father’s house and her mother and her familiar surroundings. But still, he somehow felt vaguely within himself that it seemed like an evil omen for their future happiness in the Trinidad judgeship; and it dashed his joy not a little at the moment when his dearest hopes appeared just about to be so happily and successfully realised.

A WHALE-HUNT IN THE VARANGER FJORD.

BY A NORWEGIAN.

There seems, indeed, to be no limit to the part science is destined to play in the pursuits of man of late; but that it should lend a hand in killing the leviathans of the sea, would hardly have been credited a few years ago. This is, however, now a fact. Along the shores of Arctic Norway, in latitudes seventy to seventy-one degrees north, whale-hunting takes place annually by means of steamers and a cleverly contrived piece of ordnance. The steamers are seventy or eighty feet long, with very powerful engines, the number of vessels at present engaged in this pursuit being about thirty, most of which belong to the indefatigable hunter, Sven Foyn, of Tönsberg, the inventor of the gun, and originator of this important industry. The gun, which plays the leading part in the pursuit, is mounted on a platform in the prow of the vessel, so as to have an all-round range. A shaft is passed into the muzzle, leaving a small portion outside the nozzle, carrying four movable hooks pointing to the gun, and placed crosswise, each of the hooks being about eight inches long. In front of these, a large iron ball, or shell, with a steel point, is affixed, filled with an explosive substance. On the shaft runs an iron ring, to which a cable is attached about the thickness of a man’s arm, which, when the shaft is inserted in the gun, is run up to the nozzle, and secured by a cord. When this terrible projectile is launched into the animal, the jerk of the rope is diminished by the cord holding the ring breaking, which latter thereby runs up to the top of the shaft. As soon as the animal feels the wound, it makes a sudden bound, whereby the hooks on the shaft spring into a horizontal position; by which action, again, through an ingenious piece of mechanism, the explosive in the shell is fired, and the latter bursts with such a force that death is almost instantaneous. This is Foyn’s invention, on which he has spent large sums of money and many years of his life. It need hardly be said that the gun was, when first invented, not so perfect as at present; but Sven Foyn has gradually improved it.

The kinds of whales hunted in Finmarken belong to the family of ‘fin’-whales, the largest of them all being the ‘blue’-whale. The colour is bluish gray, lighter on the under side, with long white furrows or folds, the use of which to the animal, zoologists have not yet discovered. This whale lives, as far as we know, solely on ‘krill,’ a tiny crustacean, which also serves as food for the cod. It comes inshore in Finmarken towards the end of May, and again goes to sea in the latter half of August, whence it is also called ‘summer’-whale. It is generally this kind of whale which is seen by travellers to the North Cape. The next variety is the common fin-whale, which attains a length of sixty to seventy feet, is more slender in build than the other, black on the back, and light below. It moves very swiftly, and is probably found off the Norwegian coast all the year round. Its food is tiny fish and ‘krill.’ There are, besides these, two other varieties in the same seas, of which the largest is caught. Finally, there is the ‘trold’-whale or ‘humpback,’ forty to fifty feet in length. It is exceedingly lively, and, when hotly pursued, _shrieks_ and lashes the sea to froth with its tail. It is, however, not very common on the Norwegian coast.

It is generally believed that the whale, in spite of its enormous size, is timid and easily put to flight; but that this is not always the case, will be seen from some stories I was told of its stupidity or viciousness by the fishermen last summer. Several boats, they stated, have been struck or run down by whales, sometimes resulting in loss of life, in consequence of which they are not loved by these toilers of the deep. On one occasion, in May last, a whale was shot from one of the steamers, which, by taking refuge right under the stern of the vessel, succeeded in breaking the rope, as the captain was afraid of losing his screw, if moving. The whale, feeling free, took a few turns round the vessel, and then ran full tilt at the stern, with such a force, that the keel was bent for several yards, and screw and rudder carried away. Having thus satisfied its revenge, it made leisurely for the ocean.

With these preliminary observations, I will proceed to describe a whale-hunt on the shores of the Land of the Midnight Sun, according to my own experiences of this summer.

It is a lovely sunlit evening at the end of July, when we steam out from one of the pretty little fjords in the South Varanger. The air is clear and balmy, and the sea lies before us transparent as a mirror, dark green in colour. The mountains in the south stand out as though carved on the dark background, while their shapely cones are reflected in the mirror at their foot. Not a patch of snow or ice is seen anywhere. By degrees, the copse-covered hills and birch groves at the bottom of the fjord are lost in the distance, and through its mouth we behold the broad mighty Varanger fjord, the greatest in Northern Norway. To the north, the view is arrested by lofty mountains, enveloped in an azure veil; the sun is still high in the sky, though it is past eight o’clock; and to the west we look down into the Varanger fjord, where giant chains of sombre cones stand out in picturesque contrast to the view before us. To the east, there is but one view—sky and sea. We are on the confines of the great Arctic Ocean. Under these promising auspices, we anticipated a good and quick catch, as the whale has that feeling in common with man, that he loves sunshine and a calm sea. In such weather he comes inshore, gamboling in the sun’s rays, whilst from time to time leisurely disposing of a few bushels of ‘krill’ for supper, before proceeding to sea for the night. (By-the-bye, when travelling for pleasure in Arctic Norway, the period July-August should be chosen. True, one runs the risk of not seeing the midnight sun, which disappears in the latter half of July; but by way of recompense, there is no time of the year when nature in these regions stands forth in such colours as just then.) However, just now the Varanger seems rather out of temper; the weather thickens a little, and it begins to blow. No whale is in sight. A little while ago, there were a few ‘puffs’ down in the eastern horizon; but they are gone now; perhaps the supper has not been dainty or plentiful enough about us; there is neither whale nor bait to be seen. From time to time, a solitary seabird flits rapidly by, towards shore; he has been fetching his supper. Night slowly casts her veil over the ocean. We are soon far enough out; so the engines are ordered ‘slow,’ and everybody turns in who is not on the watch. We (officers and the writer) go aft to the captain’s cabin, where we make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances will permit, in order to snatch a few moments of rest, in which we soon succeed, lulled to sleep by the gentle rippling of the icy arctic waves as they lick the sides of the vessel.

At first streak of dawn in the east we are called. There are whales about. The boilers are fired under; we turn out, and see at a great distance some ‘puffs;’ but the captain remarks that they are only a few making for the fjord. They are soon out of sight; it is no use attempting to follow them. We again lie down to rest, but in vain—sleep has fled. We dress, and breakfast is served. The steward appears with a steaming pot of coffee and fresh bread—a true luxury. On this occasion, there being a guest on board, we are also treated to real cream; but otherwise a substitute of preserved milk and sugar, of home manufacture, is served. The demands of the body being satisfied, the mind also craves sustenance, and a pipe soon makes it contented. The captain offers, indeed, a cigar; but a pipe is far preferable, and looks more ‘ship-shape’ too. Towards noon we are off Rybatschi-Polostrow (the fisherman’s peninsula). The peninsula is very low and sandy; inland, we see a ridge of mountains; around us, thousands of seabirds whirl with plaintive cries; but no whale is seen. They are, however, generally plentiful here; at times, there are even enormous shoals of them, particularly when the fishing draws eastwards, as the bait is then found here, which is what the whale likes. But now, during the summer months, they are more scattered. It is already past the mid-day meal, and still we have seen nothing. We go below a little disappointed, whilst the steamer’s course is shaped for Vardö. Since last night there has been blowing a stiff breeze, and the sea is in foam in some places. The waves increase in size, and the steamer begins to roll. The smoke and the rest below are of short duration, so we go again on deck to look for ‘puffs.’ Now and then, the ship heels over; a hogshead or two of water comes swishing over the port bow, but does no harm, as we are dressed in sailor’s boots, a thick coat, and sou’-wester. I stare till I am tired at the green sea and the foam-crested waves, as they come rolling towards the vessel. My face becomes coated with a layer of salt, which settles there, when the foam of the waves is swept on board, as the ship plunges into the trough of the sea. If not accustomed to the arctic sea-air, one soon gets frightfully tired, and is obliged to rest, so, after being on the watch for a while, I went below and lay down. Soon sleep irresistibly overpowers me, thoughts become dreams, while the rolling of the ship feels like the gentle swing in a hammock; in fact, I am fast asleep, when a voice thunders down the companion: ‘Turn out—whales in sight!’ I jump up with a start, unable at first to remember where I am; but soon the consciousness of being on a whale-hunt becomes clear, and I rush on deck, fearing to lose any part of the grand spectacle.

What a change! Now, every wave has a snow-white cap; they tower high on all sides, and the vessel is tossed to and fro like a toy. Gulls and teistes sweep rapidly along the furrows between the waves, rise nearly perpendicularly as the wave breaks, and, just clearing the comb, dive into the next watery valley. ‘Look, look, what a tremendous puff!’ ‘That’s a big one.’ ‘Look, look—puff, puff!’ ‘There are a good many here.’

We are in the middle of a flock of the giants of the sea. The enormous brown and blue bodies rise out of the sea; the back is bent upwards—it looks like the bottom of a capsized ship; it disappears; but the sea becomes almost calm where the whale went down, and several minutes elapse before the waves are able to conquer the calm. From time to time, deep dull snorts are heard, thundering and trembling, as if the deepest strings of a dozen double-basses were being played down below; and at others, a sharp swishing sound like an enormous fountain suddenly set to play, and a column of crystal spray ascends some thirty feet into the air. The gigantic, glistening body appears on the surface; the back is bent upwards a second, and it again disappears. It looks as if the whale was warm and comfortable enough; the sea-water, to us looking so cold, plays pleasantly around it; hot steam issues from its dilated nostrils, and it seems like a man enjoying a refreshing morning dip.

During the last quarter of an hour we have seen some forty whales; but none has come within range. The gun has no certainty much beyond thirty yards, so that the whale must be nearly under the ship’s bow when firing. As we stand looking at this magnificent spectacle, the water close round the ship suddenly becomes light green in colour and somewhat calm. Then a deep heavy thunder; the ship trembles from stem to stern; a great column of dampness is shot into the air, drenching us all, a dull snort, and an enormous blue-whale rises out of the sea a few yards on our starboard side. Now the captain will fire, we think, involuntarily holding on to the wire-rigging; but Foyn stands by his gun without making the least movement, and the next second the whale again descends into its watery home. The range was probably not a good one. A few minutes after, the same thunder, the same sensation, the same column, and the same snort—another whale appears close on the port side. The captain turns the gun, whilst we watch with beating hearts the movements of the animal as well as his own. Every second seems an eternity. He raises the gun, aims. Alas! a heavy sea strikes the vessel, heels her over; the gun is lowered, but the whale is gone. They seem all to have disappeared now, not a puff to be seen. We stand and talk about the incident, and somebody suggests to go aft and ‘have a smoke;’ when suddenly two whales are seen some distance off, now going side by side, now behind each other. The helm is turned, and we follow them in hot haste through wind and waves. A complete silence reigns on board during the pursuit, only now and then broken by the captain’s short words of command, who stands calmly watching the animals. Now the vessel heels over—the whales are within range. ‘Stop,’ sounds in the engine-room. But the speed was too great, and we shoot past them. ‘Full speed ahead,’ sounds again. ‘Two men at the helm!’ The vessel turns swiftly, and we separate the couple. The whales disappear. We follow the direction they are taking, and look!—a little before us the sea becomes emerald green. ‘Slow,’ again. The vessel moves slowly forward, and the whale reappears twenty yards off. ‘Stop,’ shouts the captain. The gun is turned, raised, and again lowered—not a sound is heard on board—the whale has puffed—the back is bending; the captain aims—and a thundering report rends the air, and makes the vessel tremble in every section. We have watched all this with every nerve strained, and hardly feel the icy foam of the sea which bedews the cheek and benumbs the hands.

‘Did you hit him?’ we shout to the captain.

‘Don’t know,’ is the laconic answer. ‘Almost absurd to attempt it in such a sea; one risks losing the gear and frightening the whale.’

In the meantime all the crew are busy clearing the line of the harpoon, and we are still in doubt whether we have hit him; but the suspense does not last long, as immediately a ‘Look out!’ is shouted by the captain, and the line runs out with terrific speed and a great noise. ‘Full speed ahead,’ is shouted below; but the ship is running double her highest speed, such is the strength of the whale which has her in tow. The animal is fleeing at the top of its speed, and we follow right through the breaking seas. Ten minutes pass by—they seem ten hours—when suddenly a blood-streaked column of water is seen on the horizon. It is our whale! Another moment, and a clear one is seen. It is his companion, which follows her wounded mate. Both go down; the line does not run out so fast; the wounded whale appears once or twice more, when he sinks. The whale is dead. After a while, the hauling-in begins very carefully, and finally the great body rises to the surface, the ship heeling over. After a few hours’ hard work in securing the monster to the vessel with chains and ropes, the course is shaped for home.

‘What do you think of it, captain?’ I ask.

‘Not bad,’ he answers simply.—‘Steward, give the crew a drink all round! And let us have something to eat.’

The whale measured more than eighty feet in length.

Once more his widowed mate takes a turn round the ship, when she stands out to sea; whilst we, with our noble spoil in tow, slowly make for the whale-station in South Varanger.

A GOLDEN ARGOSY.

_A NOVELETTE._