Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated)

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  “Many men have been ashore to-day and have come back tipsy, and the whole ship is in a state of quarrel from top to bottom, and they will gossip just within my hearing. And we have had moreover three French gentlemen and a French lady to dinner, and I had to act host and try to manage the mixtures to their taste. The good-natured little Frenchwoman was most amusing; when I asked her if she would have some apple tart — ’Mon Dieu,’ with heroic resignation, ‘je veux bien’; or a little plombodding — ’Mais ce que vous voudrez, Monsieur!’

  “SS. Elba, somewhere not far from Bona, Oct. 19.

  “Yesterday [after three previous days of useless grappling] was destined to be very eventful. We began dredging at daybreak, and hooked at once every time in rocks; but by capital luck, just as we were deciding it was no use to continue in that place, we hooked the cable: up it came, was tested, and lo! another complete break, a quarter of a mile off. I was amazed at my own tranquillity under these disappointments, but I was not really half so fussy as about getting a cab. Well, there was nothing for it but grappling again, and, as you may imagine, we were getting about six miles from shore. But the water did not deepen rapidly; we seemed to be on the crest of a kind of submarine mountain in prolongation of Cape de Gonde, and pretty havoc we must have made with the crags. What rocks we did hook! No sooner was the grapnel down than the ship was anchored; and then came such a business: ship’s engines going, deck-engine thundering, belt slipping, fear of breaking ropes: actually breaking grapnels. It was always an hour or more before we could get the grapnel down again. At last we had to give up the place, though we knew we were close to the cable, and go farther to sea in much deeper water; to my great fear, as I knew the cable was much eaten away and would stand but little strain. Well, we hooked the cable first dredge this time, and pulled it slowly and gently to the top, with much trepidation. Was it the cable? was there any weight on? it was evidently too small. Imagine my dismay when the cable did come up, but hanging loosely, thus:

  instead of taut, thus:

  showing certain signs of a break close by. For a moment I felt provoked, as I thought ‘Here we are, in deep water, and the cable will not stand lifting!’ I tested at once, and by the very first wire found it had broken towards shore and was good towards sea. This was of course very pleasant: but from that time to this, though the wires test very well, not a signal has come from Spartivento. I got the cable into a boat, and a gutta-percha line from the ship to the boat, and we signalled away at a great rate — but no signs of life. The tests however make me pretty sure one wire at least is good; so I determined to lay down cable from where we were to the shore, and go to Spartivento to see what had happened there. I fear my men are ill. The night was lovely, perfectly calm; so we lay close to the boat and signals were continually sent, but with no result. This morning I had the cable down to Fort Gênois in style; and now we are picking up odds and ends of cable between the different breaks, and getting our buoys on board, etc. To-morrow I expect to leave for Spartivento.”

  IV

  And now I am quite at an end of journal-keeping; diaries and diary letters being things of youth which Fleeming had at length outgrown. But one or two more fragments from his correspondence may be taken, and first this brief sketch of the laying of the Norderney cable; mainly interesting as showing under what defects of strength and in what extremities of pain this cheerful man must at times continue to go about his work.

  “I slept on board 29th September, having arranged everything to start by daybreak from where we lay in the roads: but at daybreak a heavy mist hung over us so that nothing of land or water could be seen. At midday it lifted suddenly, and away we went with perfect weather, but could not find the buoys Forde left, that evening. I saw the captain was not strong in navigation, and took matters next day much more into my own hands, and before nine o’clock found the buoys (the weather had been so fine we had anchored in the open sea near Texel). It took us till the evening to reach the buoys, get the cable on board, test the first half, speak to Lowestoft, make the splice, and start. H — — had not finished his work at Norderney, so I was alone on board for Reuter. Moreover the buoys to guide us in our course were not placed, and the captain had very vague ideas about keeping his course; so I had to do a good deal, and only lay down as I was for two hours in the night. I managed to run the course perfectly. Everything went well, and we found Norderney just where we wanted it next afternoon, and if 256 the shore-end had been laid, could have finished there and then, October 1st. But when we got to Norderney, we found the Caroline with shore-end lying apparently aground, and could not understand her signals; so we had to anchor suddenly, and I went off in a small boat with the captain to the Caroline. It was cold by this time, and my arm was rather stiff, and I was tired; I hauled myself up on board the Caroline by a rope, and found H — — and two men on board. All the rest were trying to get the shore-end on shore, but had failed, and apparently had stuck on shore, and the waves were getting up. We had anchored in the right place, and next morning we hoped the shore-end would be laid, so we had only to go back. It was of course still colder, and quite night. I went to bed and hoped to sleep, but, alas, the rheumatism got into the joints and caused me terrible pain, so that I could not sleep. I bore it as long as I could in order to disturb no one, for all were tired; but at last I could bear it no longer, and I managed to wake the steward, and got a mustard poultice, which took the pain from the shoulder; but then the elbow got very bad, and I had to call the second steward and get a second poultice, and then it was daylight, and I felt very ill and feverish. The sea was now rather rough — too rough rather for small boats, but luckily a sort of thing called a scoot came out, and we got on board her with some trouble, and got on shore after a good tossing about, which made us all sea-sick. The cable sent from the Caroline was just 60 yards too short, and did not reach the shore, so although the Caroline did make the splice late that night, we could neither test nor speak. Reuter was at Norderney, and I had to do the best I could, which was not much, and went to bed early; I thought I should never sleep again, but in sheer desperation got up in the middle of the night and gulped a lot of raw whisky, and slept at last. But not long. A Mr. F — — washed my face and hands and dressed me; and we hauled the cable out of the sea, and got it joined to the telegraph station, and on October 3rd telegraphed to Lowestoft first, and then to London. Miss Clara Volkman, a niece of Mr. Reuter’s, sent the first message to Mrs. Reuter, who was waiting (Varley used Miss Clara’s hand as a kind of key), and I sent one of the first messages to Odden. I thought a message addressed to him would not frighten you, and that he would enjoy a message through papa’s cable. I hope he did. They were all very merry, but I had been so lowered by pain that I could not enjoy myself in spite of the success.”

  V

  Of the 1869 cruise in the Great Eastern I give what I am able; only sorry it is no more, for the sake of the ship itself, already almost a legend even to the generation that saw it launched.

  “June 17, 1869. — Here are the names of our staff, in whom I expect you to be interested, as future Great Eastern stories may be full of them; Theophilus Smith, a man of Latimer Clark’s; Leslie C. Hill, my prizeman at University College; Lord Sackville Cecil; King, one of the Thomsonian Kings; Laws, goes for Willoughby Smith, who will also be on board; Varley, Clark, and Sir James Anderson, make up the sum of all you know anything of. A Captain Halpin commands the big ship. There are four smaller vessels. The Wm. Cory, which laid the Norderney cable, has already gone to St. Pierre to lay the shore-ends. The Hawk and Chiltern have gone to Brest to lay shore-ends. The Hawk and Scanderia go with us across the Atlantic, and we shall at St. Pierre be transhipped into one or the other.

  “June 18, somewhere in London. — The shore-end is laid, as you may have seen, and we are all under pressing orders to march, so we start from London to-night at 5.10.

  “June 20, off Ushant. — I am getting quite fond of the big ship. Yesterday morning in the quiet sunlight she
turned so slowly and lazily in the great harbour at Portland, and by and by slipped out past the long pier with so little stir, that I could hardly believe we were really off. No men drunk, no women crying, no singing or swearing, no confusion or bustle on deck — nobody apparently aware that they had anything to do. The look of the thing was that the ship had been spoken to civilly, and had kindly undertaken to do everything that was necessary without any further interference. I have a nice cabin, with plenty of room for my legs in my berth, and have slept two nights like a top. Then we have the ladies’ cabin set apart as an engineer’s office, and I think this decidedly the nicest place in the ship: 35 ft. × 20 ft. broad — four tables, three great mirrors, plenty of air, and no heat from the funnels, which spoil the great dining-room. I saw a whole library of books on the walls when here last, and this made me less anxious to provide light literature; but alas, to-day I find that they are every one Bibles or Prayer-books. Now one cannot read many hundred Bibles.... As for the motion of the ship, it is not very much, but ‘twill suffice. Thomson shook hands and wished me well. I do like Thomson.... Tell Austin that the Great Eastern has six masts and four funnels. When I get back I will make a little model of her for all the chicks, and pay out cotton reels.... Here we are at 4.20 at Brest. We leave probably to-morrow morning.

  “July 12, Great Eastern. — Here as I write we run our last course for the buoy at the St. Pierre shore-end. It blows and lightens, and our good ship rolls, and buoys are hard to find; but we must soon now finish our work, and then this letter will start for home.... Yesterday we were mournfully groping our way through the wet grey fog, not at all sure where we were, with one consort lost and the other faintly answering the roar of our great whistle through the mist. As to the ship which was to meet us, and pioneer us up the deep channel, we did not know if we should come within twenty miles of her; when suddenly up went the fog, 258 out came the sun, and there, straight ahead, was the Wm. Cory, our pioneer, and a little dancing boat, the Gulnare, sending signals of welcome with many-coloured flags. Since then we have been steaming in a grand procession; but now at 2 a.m. the fog has fallen, and the great roaring whistle calls up the distant answering notes all around us. Shall we or shall we not find the buoy?

  “July 13. — All yesterday we lay in the damp dripping fog, with whistles all round and guns firing so that we might not bump up against one another. This little delay has let us get our reports into tolerable order. We are now, at seven o’clock, getting the cable end again, with the main cable buoy close to us.”

  A telegram of July 20. — ”I have received your four welcome letters. The Americans are charming people.”

  VI

  And here, to make an end, are a few random bits about the cruise to Pernambuco: —

  “Plymouth, June 21, 1873. — I have been down to the seashore and smelt the salt sea, and like it; and I have seen the Hooper pointing her great bow seaward, while light smoke rises from her funnels, telling that the fires are being lighted; and sorry as I am to be without you, something inside me answers to the call to be off and doing.

  “Lalla Rookh, Plymouth, June 22. — We have been a little cruise in the yacht over to the Eddystone lighthouse, and my sea-legs seem very well on. Strange how alike all these starts are — first on shore, steaming hot days with a smell of bone-dust and tar and salt water; then the little puffing, panting steam-launch, that bustles out across a port with green woody sides, little yachts sliding about, men-of-war training-ships, and then a great big black hulk of a thing with a mass of smaller vessels sticking to it like parasites; and that is one’s home being coaled. Then comes the champagne lunch, where every one says all that is polite to every one else, and then the uncertainty when to start. So far as we know now, we are to start to-morrow morning at daybreak; letters that come later are to be sent to Pernambuco by first mail.... My father has sent me the heartiest sort of Jack Tar’s cheer.

  “SS. Hooper, off Funchal, June 29. — Here we are, off Madeira at seven o’clock in the morning. Thomson has been sounding with his special toy ever since half-past three (1087 fathoms of water). I have been watching the day break, and long jagged islands start into being out of the dull night. We are still some miles from land; but the sea is calmer than Loch Eil often was, and the big Hooper rests very contentedly after a pleasant voyage and favourable breezes. I have not been able to do any real work except the testing [of the cable], for, though not sea-sick, I get a little giddy when I try to 259 think on board.... The ducks have just had their daily souse and are quacking and gabbling in a mighty way outside the door of the captain’s deck cabin, where I write. The cocks are crowing, and new-laid eggs are said to be found in the coops. Four mild oxen have been untethered and allowed to walk along the broad iron decks — a whole drove of sheep seem quite content while licking big lumps of bay salt. Two exceedingly impertinent goats lead the cook a perfect life of misery. They steal round the galley and will nibble the carrots or turnips if his back is turned for one minute; and then he throws something at them and misses them; and they scuttle off laughing impudently, and flick one ear at him from a safe distance. This is the most impudent gesture I ever saw. Winking is nothing to it. The ear normally hangs down behind; the goat turns sideways to her enemy — by a little knowing cock of the head flicks one ear over one eye, and squints from behind it, for half a minute — tosses her head back, skips a pace or two further off, and repeats the manœuvre. The cook is very fat, and cannot run after that goat much.

  “Pernambuco, Aug. 1. — We landed here yesterday, all well and cable sound, after a good passage.... I am on familiar terms with cocoa-nuts, mangoes, and bread-fruit trees, but I think I like the negresses best of anything I have seen. In turbans and loose sea-green robes, with beautiful black-brown complexions and a stately carriage, they really are a satisfaction to my eye. The weather has been windy and rainy; the Hooper has to lie about a mile from the town, in an open roadstead, with the whole swell of the Atlantic driving straight on shore. The little steam-launch gives all who go in her a good ducking, as she bobs about on the big rollers; and my old gymnastic practice stands me in good stead on boarding and leaving her. We clamber down a rope-ladder hanging from the high stern, and then, taking a rope in one hand, swing into the launch at the moment when she can contrive to steam up under us — bobbing about like an apple thrown into a tub all the while. The President of the province and his suite tried to come off to a State luncheon on board on Sunday; but the launch, being rather heavily laden, behaved worse than usual, and some green seas stove in the President’s hat and made him wetter than he had probably ever been in his life; so after one or two rollers, he turned back; and indeed he was wise to do so, for I don’t see how he could have got on board.... Being fully convinced that the world will not continue to go round unless I pay it personal attention, I must run away to my work.”

  CHAPTER VI

  1869-1

  Edinburgh — Colleagues — Farrago vitæ — I. The family circle — Fleeming and his sons — Highland life — The cruise of the steam-launch — Summer in Styria — Rustic manners — II. The drama — Private theatricals — III. Sanitary associations — The phonograph — IV. Fleeming’s acquaintance with a student — His late maturity of mind — Religion and morality — His love of heroism — Taste in literature — V. His talk — His late popularity — Letter from M. Trélat.

  The remaining external incidents of Fleeming’s life, pleasures, honours, fresh interests, new friends, are not such as will bear to be told at any length or in the temporal order. And it is now time to lay narration by, and to look at the man he was, and the life he lived, more largely.

  Edinburgh, which was thenceforth to be his home, is a metropolitan small town; where college professors and the lawyers of the Parliament House give the tone, and persons of leisure, attracted by educational advantages, make up much of the bulk of society. Not, therefore, an unlettered place, yet not pedantic, Edinburgh will compare favourably with much larger cities. A
hard and disputatious element has been commented on by strangers: it would not touch Fleeming, who was himself regarded, even in this metropolis of disputation, as a thorny table-mate. To golf unhappily he did not take, and golf is a cardinal virtue in the city of the winds. Nor did he become an archer of the Queen’s Body Guard, which is the Chiltern Hundreds of the distasted golfer. He did not even frequent the Evening Club, where his colleague 261 Tait (in my day) was so punctual and so genial. So that in some ways he stood outside of the lighter and kindlier life of his new home. I should not like to say that he was generally popular; but there, as elsewhere, those who knew him well enough to love him, loved him well. And he, upon his side, liked a place where a dinner-party was not of necessity unintellectual, and where men stood up to him in argument.

  The presence of his old classmate, Tait, was one of his early attractions to the Chair; and now that Fleeming is gone again, Tait still remains, ruling and really teaching his great classes. Sir Robert Christison was an old friend of his mother’s; Sir Alexander Grant, Kelland, and Sellar were new acquaintances, and highly valued; and these too, all but the last, have been taken from their friends and labours. Death has been busy in the Senatus. I will speak elsewhere of Fleeming’s demeanour to his students; and it will be enough to add here that his relations with his colleagues in general were pleasant to himself.