"Religion in him never died, but became a habit--a habit of enduring hardness, and cleaving to the steadfast performance of duty in the face of the strongest allurements to the pleasanter and easier course."
Life of Charles Lamb, by A. Ainger.
Derrick was in good spirits the next day. He talked much of Major Vaughan, wondered whether the voyage home had restored his health, discussed the probable length of his leave, and speculated as to the nature of his illness; the telegram had of course given no details.
"There has not been even a photograph for the last five years," he remarked, as we walked down to the quay together. "Yet I think I should know him anywhere, if it is only by his height. He used to look so well on horseback. I remember as a child seeing him in a sham fight charging up Caesar's Camp."
"How old were you when he went out?"
"Oh, quite a small boy," replied Derrick. "It was just before I first stayed with you. However, he has had a regular succession of photographs sent out to him, and will know me easily enough."
Poor Derrick! I can't think of that day even now without a kind of mental shiver. We watched the great steamer as it glided up to the quay, and Derrick scanned the crowded deck with eager eyes, but could nowhere see the tall, soldierly figure that had lingered so long in his memory. He stood with his hand resting on the rail of the gangway, and when presently it was raised to the side of the steamer, he still kept his position, so that he could instantly catch sight of his father as he passed down. I stood close behind him, and watched the motley procession of passengers; most of them had the dull colourless skin which bespeaks long residence in India, and a particularly yellow and peevish-looking old man was grumbling loudly as he slowly made his way down the gangway.
"The most disgraceful scene!" he remarked. "The fellow was as drunk as he could be."
"Who was it?" asked his companion.
"Why, Major Vaughan, to be sure. The only wonder is that he hasn't drunk himself to death by this time--been at it years enough!"
Derrick turned, as though to shelter himself from the curious eyes of the travellers; but everywhere the quay was crowded. It seemed to me not unlike the life that lay before him, with this new shame which could not be hid, and I shall never forget the look of misery in his face.
"Most likely a great exaggeration of that spiteful old fogey's," I said. "Never believe anything that you hear, is a sound axiom. Had you not better try to get on board?"
"Yes; and for heaven's sake come with me, Wharncliffe!" he said.
"It can't be true! It is, as you say, that man's spite, or else there is someone else of the name on board. That must be it--someone else of the name."
I don't know whether he managed to deceive himself. We made our way on board, and he spoke to one of the stewards, who conducted us to the saloon. I knew from the expression of the man's face that the words we had overheard were but too true; it was a mere glance that he gave us, yet if he had said aloud, "They belong to that old drunkard! Thank heaven I'm not in their shoes!" I could not have better understood what was in his mind.
There were three persons only in the great saloon: an officer's servant, whose appearance did not please me; a fine looking old man with grey hair and whiskers, and a rough-hewn honest face, apparently the ship's doctor; and a tall grizzled man in whom I at once saw a sort of horrible likeness to Derrick--horrible because this face was wicked and degraded, and because its owner was drunk--noisily drunk. Derrick paused for a minute, looking at his father; then, deadly pale, he turned to the old doctor. "I am Major Vaughan's son," he said.
The doctor grasped his hand, and there was something in the old man's kindly, chivalrous manner which brought a sort of light into the gloom.
"I am very glad to see you!" he exclaimed. "Is the Major's luggage ready?" he inquired turning to the servant. Then, as the man replied in the affirmative, "How would it be, Mr. Vaughan, if your father's man just saw the things into a cab? and then I'll come on shore with you and see my patient safely settled in."
Derrick acquiesced, and the doctor turned to the Major, who was leaning up against one of the pillars of the saloon and shouting out "'Twas in Trafalgar Bay," in a way which, under other circumstances, would have been highly comic. The doctor interrupted him, as with much feeling he sang how:
"England declared that every man That day had done his duty."
"Look, Major," he said; "here is your son come to meet you."
"Glad to see you, my boy," said the Major, reeling forward and running all his words together. "How's your mother? Is this Lawrence? Glad to see both of you! Why, you'r's like's two peas!
Not Lawrence, do you say? Confound it, doctor, how the ship rolls to-day!"
And the old wretch staggered and would have fallen, had not Derrick supported him and landed him safely on one of the fixed ottomans.
"Yes, yes, you're the son for me," he went on, with a bland smile, which made his face all the more hideous. "You're not so rough and clumsy as that confounded John Thomas, whose hands are like brickbats. I'm a mere wreck, as you see; it's the accursed climate!
But your mother will soon nurse me into health again; she was always a good nurse, poor soul! it was her best point. What with you and your mother, I shall soon be myself again."
Here the doctor interposed, and Derrick made desperately for a porthole and gulped down mouthfuls of fresh air: but he was not allowed much of a respite, for the servant returned to say that he had procured a cab, and the Major called loudly for his son's arm.
"I'll not have you," he said, pushing the servant violently away.
"Come, Derrick, help me! you are worth two of that blockhead."
