Whistler: or, The Manly Boy by Walter Aimwell(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)|百度网盘下载

THE steamer’s bell is pealing forth its last call. The huge, hot engine,
as if impatient of delay, seems hissing at every joint, while the dark
clouds that roll up from its smoke-pipes tell of the activity of the
sweltering firemen below. The hawser is cast off. A tardy passenger or
two are hurried over the gangway, and their baggage sent after them with
more celerity than care. A carriage, driven at a furious rate, is coming
down the wharf, and a man’s head and arm are thrust out of the
window,—the arm “sawing the air” in a most vehement manner. But his
gesticulations are in vain. The gangway is drawn in on deck; the wheels
slowly move; the steamer gently swings away from her moorings; and by
the time the carriage is abreast of her, six yards of foam-covered water
separate the would-be passenger from the crowded deck. A general
half-suppressed laugh from the crowd on the wharf and the steamer
reminds the unhappy straggler that there is something ridiculous, as
well as provoking, in being a little too late; and, seeking refuge in
the carriage, he is leisurely driven off, to be again laughed at,
perchance, when he reaches the home he had lately left in such hot
haste.

The steamer has now got clear of the vessels moored around her, and
begins to move with greater speed. So easy is the motion, it would not
be difficult for those on board to imagine that the wharf itself had
hoisted sail, and parted company with the steamer, to take a turn about
the harbor on its own account. Little groups on shore and on board the
boat are exchanging farewells by the waving of hats and handkerchiefs.
But soon the distance becomes too great for recognition; wharves and
warehouses mingle together; the city assumes a crowded and compact look,
and finally resolves itself into that beautiful panorama which Boston
presents when viewed from the sea. Even this view soon fades, and is
lost; for the steamer is now far down the harbor, gallantly ploughing
her way through the dark-blue waters.

[Illustration]

Among the passengers who were enjoying the scene from the upper, or
hurricane deck, might have been seen a gentleman and three children, who
appeared to be intent upon missing no object of interest. The largest of
the children was a bright and pleasant looking boy of fourteen. His name
was William Davenport; but he was frequently called Willie, and still
oftener Whistler, by his young associates. This latter name he acquired
when several years younger, being indebted for it to his whistling
talents, which were really quite clever. He rather liked the nickname;
and, indeed, had become so accustomed to it, that even “Willie” did not
sound quite natural, and “Bill” was altogether out of the question. You
must not suppose, however, that he was one of those whistling bores who
give our ears no rest from their shrill pipings, either in house or in
street. On the contrary, he was rather chary of his music,—perhaps more
so than he would have been but for his nickname, which put him on his
guard against spending too much of his breath in this manner. But, then,
he _could_ whistle beautifully when he chose to; and, as he had a quick
ear for music, he caught all the new and popular airs of the day, which
made his performances still more pleasant to the listener. Whistler we
shall call him, therefore, in imitation of his comrades. He belonged in
Boston, and was now on his way to a distant town in Maine, where he was
to spend his summer vacation with the family of his uncle.

The gentleman who was with Whistler was Mr. Preston. He was a stout,
sun-burnt, and plainly-dressed man, and was on his way home from a visit
to Boston, with his eldest daughter, Emily, a girl of thirteen. The
other girl, who was a few months younger, was Ella Preston, a cousin of
Emily, who lived in Boston, and was now on her way to her uncle’s home
in Brookdale. It was in this same town that Whistler’s uncle lived; and
being well acquainted with Ella, he had arranged to make the journey in
company with her little party.

It was a mild August evening, and the sea was calm. Mr. Preston and the
children remained upon the deck until the supper-bell sounded, when they
went down into the cabin, and found a long table spread, around which
the hungry passengers were crowding and pushing, without much regard to
manners, or even decency. It was with some difficulty that Mr. Preston
procured seats for the children; and even then the difficulty was but
half overcome, for it required a good deal of effort, not to say
rudeness, to obtain enough to eat, so ravenous and selfish were the
company, and so limited was the supply upon the table. The meal was
swallowed, and the cabin vacated, in about ten minutes. Shortly after,
as Whistler was walking about, he overheard a few remarks between two
gentlemen, that set him to thinking. From their appearance, and their
peculiar accent, he concluded they were foreign gentlemen, travelling
for pleasure.

“You did not witness the feeding of the animals?” said one of the
gentlemen, who had just come up from the cabin.

“No,” said the other, “I have no taste for such exhibitions. I took the
precaution to drink my tea before I came on board.”

“Well, sir,” added the first speaker, “I’ve breakfasted with the Turks,
I’ve dined with the Arabs, I’ve supped with the Chinese, and I’ve eaten
with nearly all the nations of Europe; but, sir, I must say that I never
met with such a greedy, scrabbling set of gormandizers as I have found
in this country. Why, sir, they seize and devour their food like wild
beasts. They shovel it down whole, sir, just as a dog bolts his meat. I
only wonder that these Yankees do not dispense with knives and forks
altogether. Yes, sir, those implements of a civilized table seem
altogether out of place in their hands.”

This was all that Whistler heard. The unpleasant American habit which so
disgusted this gentleman, and which is often glaringly conspicuous in
our hotels and steamboats, has been justly censured with great severity
by foreigners who have visited us. Whistler had himself observed the
rude and greedy conduct at the table; but he supposed such scenes were
always enacted when large numbers of people got together to eat. Now,
however, he had learned that it was a peculiarly American
characteristic; and, perceiving how it was viewed by intelligent and
well-bred foreigners, his pride and patriotism were both touched, and he
made up his mind that he would never be guilty of such rudeness, either
at a public or a private table.

The air was now becoming damp and chilly, and little could be seen
beyond the steamer’s decks, save the occasional flash of some distant
lighthouse. The passengers began to disappear, some seeking out
sheltered nooks in the stern, and others retiring to the saloons and
berths. Mr. Preston gave Emily and Ellen in charge to the stewardess,
who conducted them to their berths in the ladies’ saloon; while himself
and Whistler soon after turned in to their own quarters in the
gentlemen’s cabin. The saloons were lined on each side with berths
arranged in three tiers. Each berth was furnished with bedding, and
screened in front by a drapery curtain. The two selected by Mr. Preston,
though not favorite ones in their location, were the best that were not
engaged when he bought his tickets. One of them was an upper berth; and,
as Whistler was the lightest and nimblest of the two, it was assigned to
him, while Mr. Preston took the other, directly beneath him.

Following the example of others, Whistler put off his shoes, jacket and
shirt-collar, and climbed into his lofty and narrow sleeping-place.
Here, partially concealed by his curtain, he amused himself by watching
the movements of his fellow-passengers, and listening to their remarks.
When Mr. Preston, who had been reading a newspaper, got ready to retire,
he picked up Whistler’s shoes from the floor, and told him to put them
on a shelf over the berth, if he did not want “Boots” to get them. This
personage, he afterwards explained, was a colored man, who gathered up
all the boots and shoes he could find in the night, and cleaned them,
charging each of the respective owners a ninepence (the ninepence is
twelve and a half cents in New England) for his services. As Whistler’s
shoes did not need to undergo this process, his friend was probably
justified in thus interfering with the legitimate business of the
aforesaid “Boots.”

The novelty of his position, the glare of the saloon lamps, and the
noise of the machinery, made it rather difficult for Whistler to get to
sleep. The ocean was so smooth, however, that he felt no symptoms of
seasickness; and he was very well contented to lie awake in his berth,
so long as he was not troubled with this distressing malady, from which
he had once suffered quite severely while sailing in the harbor. But, in
spite of all disturbing influences, he was favored with several good
naps towards morning, from one of which he awoke, and discerned the gray
light of morning through a small window over his berth. He lowered
himself down from his elevated bed, and went on deck, when he found that
the steamer had already entered the river, the banks of which were
scarcely visible through the heavy mist with which the atmosphere was
loaded. Ella and Emily soon made their appearance, and declared that
their first night on the ocean was anything but disagreeable. The fog
rapidly disappeared before the sun; and, as they advanced up the river,
the scenery became more interesting, so that their attention was
constantly occupied, until Mr. Preston informed them that they had
reached their landing-place.