The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER III. THE DOG AND THE HAT. The earliest dawn of morning was glistening upon the masts, the cordage,* and the sails of a fleet of vessels lying below Sheerness. The crews were rousing themselves from their night’s repose, and to make their appearance on the decks of the vessels, from which the night-watch had just been relieved. A man-of-war, which had been the convoy of the fleet of merchantmen through the channel, fired a gun as the first glimpse of the morning sun fell upon her tapering masts. Then from a battery in the neighbourhood came another booming report, and that was answered by another farther off, and then another, until the whole chain of batteries that girded the coast, for it was a time of war, had proclaimed the dawn of another day. The effect was very fine, in the stillness of the early morn, of this succession of reports; and as they died away in the distance like mimic thunder, some order was given on board the man-of-war, and, in a moment, the masts and cordage seemed perfectly alive with human beings clinging to them in various directions. Then, as if by magic, or as if the ship had been a living thing itself, and had possessed wings, which, at the mere instigation of a wish, could be spread far and wide, there fluttered out such sheets of canvas as was wonderful to see; and, as they caught the morning light, and the ship moved from the slight breeze that sprang up from the shore, she looked, indeed, as if she “Walked the waters like a thing of life.” The various crews of the merchantmen stood upon the decks of their respective vessels, gazing after the ship-of-war, as she proceeded upon another mission similar to the one she had just performed in protecting the commerce of the country. As she passed one vessel, which had been, in point of fact, actually rescued from the enemy, the crew, who had been saved from a foreign prison, cheered lustily. There wanted but such an impulse as this, and then every merchant-vessel that the man-of-war passed took up the gladsome shout, and the crew of the huge vessel were not slow in their answer, for three deafening cheers—such as had frequently struck terror into the hearts of England’s enemies—awakened many an echo from the shore. It was a proud and a delightful sight—such a sight as none but an Englishman can thoroughly enjoy—to see that vessel so proudly stemming the waste of waters. We say none but an Englishman can enjoy it, because no other nation has ever attempted to achieve a great maritime existence without being most signally defeated, and leaving us still, as we shall ever be, masters of the seas. These proceedings were amply sufficient to arouse the crews of all the vessels, and over the taffrail® of one in particular, a large- sized merchantman, which had been trading in the Indian seas, two men were leaning. One of them was the captain of the vessel, and the other a passenger, who intended leaving that morning. They were engaged in earnest conversation, and the captain, as he shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked along the surface of the river, said, in reply to some observation from his companion,— “T’ll order my boat the moment Lieutenant Thornhill comes on board; I call him Lieutenant, although I have no right to do so, because he has held that rank in the king’s service, but when quite a young man was cashiered®* for fighting a duel with his superior officer.” “The service has lost a good officer,” said the other. “Tt has, indeed, a braver man never stepped, nor a better officer; but you see they have certain rules in the service, and everything is sacrificed to maintain them. I can’t think what keeps him; he went last night and said he would pull up to the Temple stairs, because he wanted to call upon somebody by the waterside and after that he was going to the city to transact some business of his own, and that would have brought him nearer here, you see; and there are plenty of things coming down the river.” “He’s coming,” cried the other; “don’t be impatient; you will see him in a few minutes.” “What makes you think that?” “Because I see his dog—there, don’t you see, swimming in the water, and coming towards the ship.” “T cannot imagine—I can see the dog, certainly; but I can’t see Thornhill, nor is there any boat at hand. I know not what to make of it. Do you know my mind misgives me that something has happened amiss? The dog seems exhausted. Lend a hand there to Mr. Thornhill’s dog, some of you. Why, it’s a hat he has in his mouth.” The dog made towards the vessel; but without the assistance of the seamen—with the whole of whom he was an immense favourite —he certainly could not have boarded the vessel; and when he reached the deck, he sank down upon it in a state of complete exhaustion, with the hat still in his grasp. As the animal lay, panting, upon the deck, the sailors looked at each other in amazement, and there was but one opinion among them all now, and that was that something very serious had unquestionably happened to Mr. Thornhill. “T dread,” said the captain, “an explanation of this occurrence. What on earth can it mean? That’s Thornhill’s hat, and here is Hector. Give the dog some meat and drink directly—he seems thoroughly exhausted.” The dog ate sparingly of some food that was put before him; and then, seizing the hat again in his mouth, he stood by the side of the ship and howled piteously; then he put down the hat for a moment, and, walking up to the captain, he pulled him by the skirt of the coat. “You understand him,” said the captain to the passenger; “something has happened to Thornhill, ll be bound; and you see the CORniclooo S