A Psychological Shipwreck

"IN the summerof 1874 I was in Liverpool, whither I had gone on business forthe mercantile house of Bronson & Jarrett, New York. I amWilliam Jarrett; my partner was Zenas Bronson. The firm failedlast year, and unable to endure the fall from affluence topoverty he died.
Having finished my business, and feeling the lassi- tude andexhaustion incident to its dispatch, I felt that a protracted seavoyage would be both agree- able and beneficial, so instead ofembarking for my return on one of the many fine passengersteamers I booked for New York on the sailing vessel Mor- row,upon which I had shipped a large and valuable invoice of thegoods I had bought. The Morrow was an English ship with, ofcourse, but little accommo- dation for passengers, of whom therewere only myself, a young woman and her servant, who was a middle-agednegress. I thought it singular that a travelling English girlshould be so attended, but she afterward explained to me that thewoman had been left with her family by a man and his wife fromSouth Carolina, both of whom had died on the same day at thehouse of the young lady's father in Devonshire--a circumstance initself sufficiently uncommon to remain rather distinctly in mymem- ory, even had it not afterward transpired in conver- sationwith the young lady that the name of the man was William Jarrett,the same as my own. I knew that a branch of my family had settledin South Carolina, but of them and their history I was ignorant.
The Morrow sailed from the mouth of the Mersey on the 15th ofJune, and for several weeks we had fair breezes and uncloudedskies. The skipper, an admirable seaman but nothing more,favoured us with very little of his society, except at his table;and the young woman, Miss Janette Harford, and I be- came verywell acquainted. We were, in truth, nearly always together, andbeing of an introspective turn of mind I often endeavoured toanalyse and define the novel feeling with which she inspired me--asecret, subtle, but powerful attraction which con- stantlyimpelled me to seek her; but the attempt was hopeless. I couldonly be sure that at least it was not love. Having assured myselfof this and being certain that she was quite as whole-hearted, Iven- tured one evening (I remember it was on the 3rd of July) aswe sat on deck to ask her, laughingly, if she could assist me toresolve my psychological doubt.
For a moment she was silent, with averted face, and I began tofear I had been extremely rude and indelicate; then she fixed hereyes gravely on my own. In an instant my mind was dominated by asstrange a fancy as ever entered human conscious- ness It seemedas if she were looking at me, not with, but through, those eyes--froman immeas- urable distance behind them--and that a number ofother persons, men, women and children, upon whose faces I caughtstrangely familiar evanescent expressions, clustered about her,struggling with gen- tle eagerness to look at me through the sameorbs. Ship, ocean, sky--all had vanished. I was conscious ofnothing but the figures in this extraordinary and fantastic scene.Then all at once darkness fell upon me, and anon from out of it,as to one who grows accustomed by degrees to a dimmer light, myformer surroundings of deck and mast and cordage slowly resolvedthemselves. Miss Harford had closed her eyes and was leaning backin her chair, apparently asleep, the book she had been readingopen in her lap. Impelled by surely I cannot say what motive, Iglanced at the top of the page; it was a copy of that rare andcurious work, Denneker's Meditations, and the lady's index fingerrested on this passage:
'To sundry it is given to be drawn away, and to be apart from thebody for a season; for, as concern- ing rills which would flowacross each other the weaker is borne along by the stronger, sothere be certain of kin whose paths intersecting, their souls dobear company, the while their bodies go fore- appointed ways,unknowing.'
Miss Harford arose, shuddering; the sun had sunk below thehorizon, but it was not cold. There was not a breath of wind;there were no clouds in the sky, yet not a star was visible. Ahurried tramp- ing sounded on the deck; the captain, summonedfrom below, joined the first officer, who stood look- ing at thebarometer. 'Good God!' I heard him exclaim.
An hour later the form of Janette Harford, invis- ible in thedarkness and spray, was torn from my grasp by the cruel vortex ofthe sinking ship, and I fainted in the cordage of the floatingmast to which I had lashed myself.
It was by lamplight that I awoke. I lay in a berth amid thefamiliar surroundings of the state-room of a steamer. On a couchopposite sat a man, half un- dressed for bed, reading a book. Irecognized the face of my friend Gordon Doyle, whom I had met inLiverpool on the day of my embarkation, when he was himself aboutto sail on the steamer City of Prague, on which he had urged meto accompany him.
After some moments I now spoke his name. He simply said, 'Well,'and turned a leaf in his book without removing his eyes from thepage.
'Doyle,' I repeated, 'did they save her? '
He now deigned to look at me and smiled as if amused. Heevidently thought me but half awake.
'Her? Whom do you mean?'
'Janette Harford.'
His amusement turned to amazement; he stared at me fixedly,saying nothing.
'You will tell me after awhile,' I continued; 'I suppose you willtell me after awhile.'
A moment later I asked: 'What ship is this? ' Doyle stared again.'The steamer City of Prague, bound from Liverpool to New York,three weeks out with a broken shaft. Principal passenger, Mr. Gor-don Doyle; ditto lunatic, Mr. William Jarrett. These twodistinguished travellers embarked together, but they are about topart, it being the resolute intention of the former to pitch thelatter over- board.'
I sat bolt upright. 'Do you mean to say that I have been forthree weeks a passenger on this steamer?'
'Yes, pretty nearly; this is the 3rd of July.'
'Have I been ill? '
'Right as a trivet all the time, and punctual at your meals.'
'My God! Doyle, there is some mystery here; do have the goodnessto be serious. Was I not rescued from the wreck of the shipMorrow?'
Doyle changed colour, and approaching me, laid his fingers on mywrist. A moment later, 'What do you know of Janette Harford?' heasked very calmly.
'First tell me what you know of her?'
Mr. Doyle gazed at me for some moments as if thinking what to do,then seating himself again on the couch, said:
'Why should I not? I am engaged to marry Janette Harford, whom Imet a year ago in London. Her family, one of the wealthiest inDevonshire, cut up rough about it, and we eloped--are elopingrather, for on the day that you and I walked to the landing stageto go aboard this steamer she and her faithful servant, anegress, passed us, driving to the ship Morrow. She would notconsent to go in the same vessel with me, and it had been deemedbest that she take a sailing vessel in order to avoid obser-vation and lessen the risk of detection. I am now alarmed lestthis cursed breaking of our machinery may detain us so long thatthe Morrow will get to New York before us, and the poor girl willnot know where to go.'
I lay still in my berth--so still I hardly breathed. But thesubject was evidently not displeasing to Doyle, and after a shortpause he resumed:
'By the way, she is only an adopted daughter of the Harfords. Hermother was killed at their place by being thrown from a horsewhile hunting, and her father, mad with grief, made away withhimself the same day. No one ever claimed the child, and after areasonable time they adopted her. She has grown up in the beliefthat she is their daughter.'
'Doyle, what book are you reading? '
'Oh, it's called Denneker's Meditations. It's a rum lot, Janettegave it to me; she happened to have two copies. Want to see it?'
He tossed me the volume, which opened as it fell. On one of theexposed pages was a marked passage:
'To sundry it is given to be drawn away, and to be apart from thebody for a season; for, as concern- ing rills which would flowacross each other the weaker is borne along by the stronger, sothere be certain of kin whose paths intersecting, their souls dobear company, the while their bodies go fore- appointed ways,unknowing.'
'She had--she has--a singular taste in reading,' I managed tosay, mastering my agitation.
'Yes. And now perhaps you will have the kind- ness to explain howyou knew her name and that of the ship she sailed in.'
'You talked of her in your sleep,' I said.
A week later we were towed into the port of New York. But theMorrow was never heard from.