Kabanata Kabanata 8 · From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in the

. From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in the

same circle. They were soon dining in company together at Mr

Musgrove’s, for the little boy’s state could no longer supply his aunt

with a pretence for absenting herself; and this was but the beginning

of other dinings and other meetings.

Whether former feelings were to be renewed must be brought to the

proof; former times must undoubtedly be brought to the recollection of

each; _they_ could not but be reverted to; the year of their engagement

could not but be named by him, in the little narratives or descriptions

which conversation called forth. His profession qualified him, his

disposition lead him, to talk; and “_That_ was in the year six;”

“_That_ happened before I went to sea in the year six,” occurred in the

course of the first evening they spent together: and though his voice

did not falter, and though she had no reason to suppose his eye

wandering towards her while he spoke, Anne felt the utter

impossibility, from her knowledge of his mind, that he could be

unvisited by remembrance any more than herself. There must be the same

immediate association of thought, though she was very far from

conceiving it to be of equal pain.

They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what the

commonest civility required. Once so much to each other! Now nothing!

There _had_ been a time, when of all the large party now filling the

drawing-room at Uppercross, they would have found it most difficult to

cease to speak to one another. With the exception, perhaps, of Admiral

and Mrs Croft, who seemed particularly attached and happy, (Anne could

allow no other exceptions even among the married couples), there could

have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so

in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay,

worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a

perpetual estrangement.

When he talked, she heard the same voice, and discerned the same mind.

There was a very general ignorance of all naval matters throughout the

party; and he was very much questioned, and especially by the two Miss

Musgroves, who seemed hardly to have any eyes but for him, as to the

manner of living on board, daily regulations, food, hours, &c., and

their surprise at his accounts, at learning the degree of accommodation

and arrangement which was practicable, drew from him some pleasant

ridicule, which reminded Anne of the early days when she too had been

ignorant, and she too had been accused of supposing sailors to be

living on board without anything to eat, or any cook to dress it if

there were, or any servant to wait, or any knife and fork to use.

From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a whisper of Mrs

Musgrove’s who, overcome by fond regrets, could not help saying—

“Ah! Miss Anne, if it had pleased Heaven to spare my poor son, I dare

say he would have been just such another by this time.”

Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs Musgrove

relieved her heart a little more; and for a few minutes, therefore,

could not keep pace with the conversation of the others.

When she could let her attention take its natural course again, she

found the Miss Musgroves just fetching the Navy List (their own navy

list, the first that had ever been at Uppercross), and sitting down

together to pore over it, with the professed view of finding out the

ships that Captain Wentworth had commanded.

“Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look for the Asp.”

“You will not find her there. Quite worn out and broken up. I was the

last man who commanded her. Hardly fit for service then. Reported fit

for home service for a year or two, and so I was sent off to the West

Indies.”

The girls looked all amazement.

“The Admiralty,” he continued, “entertain themselves now and then, with

sending a few hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be employed. But

they have a great many to provide for; and among the thousands that may

just as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to

distinguish the very set who may be least missed.”

“Phoo! phoo!” cried the Admiral, “what stuff these young fellows talk!

Never was a better sloop than the Asp in her day. For an old built

sloop, you would not see her equal. Lucky fellow to get her! He knows

there must have been twenty better men than himself applying for her at

the same time. Lucky fellow to get anything so soon, with no more

interest than his.”

“I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you;” replied Captain Wentworth,

seriously. “I was as well satisfied with my appointment as you can

desire. It was a great object with me at that time to be at sea; a very

great object, I wanted to be doing something.”

“To be sure you did. What should a young fellow like you do ashore for

half a year together? If a man had not a wife, he soon wants to be

afloat again.”

“But, Captain Wentworth,” cried Louisa, “how vexed you must have been

when you came to the Asp, to see what an old thing they had given you.”

“I knew pretty well what she was before that day;” said he, smiling. “I

had no more discoveries to make than you would have as to the fashion

and strength of any old pelisse, which you had seen lent about among

half your acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which at

last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself. Ah! she was a dear old

Asp to me. She did all that I wanted. I knew she would. I knew that we

should either go to the bottom together, or that she would be the

making of me; and I never had two days of foul weather all the time I

was at sea in her; and after taking privateers enough to be very

entertaining, I had the good luck in my passage home the next autumn,

to fall in with the very French frigate I wanted. I brought her into

Plymouth; and here another instance of luck. We had not been six hours

in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days and nights,

and which would have done for poor old Asp in half the time; our touch

with the Great Nation not having much improved our condition.

Four-and-twenty hours later, and I should only have been a gallant

Captain Wentworth, in a small paragraph at one corner of the

newspapers; and being lost in only a sloop, nobody would have thought

about me.” Anne’s shudderings were to herself alone; but the Miss

Musgroves could be as open as they were sincere, in their exclamations

of pity and horror.

“And so then, I suppose,” said Mrs Musgrove, in a low voice, as if

thinking aloud, “so then he went away to the Laconia, and there he met

with our poor boy. Charles, my dear,” (beckoning him to her), “do ask

Captain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor brother. I

always forgot.”

“It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know. Dick had been left ill at

Gibraltar, with a recommendation from his former captain to Captain

Wentworth.”

“Oh! but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he need not be afraid of

mentioning poor Dick before me, for it would be rather a pleasure to

hear him talked of by such a good friend.”

Charles, being somewhat more mindful of the probabilities of the case,

only nodded in reply, and walked away.

The girls were now hunting for the Laconia; and Captain Wentworth could

not deny himself the pleasure of taking the precious volume into his

own hands to save them the trouble, and once more read aloud the little

statement of her name and rate, and present non-commissioned class,

observing over it that she too had been one of the best friends man

ever had.

“Ah! those were pleasant days when I had the Laconia! How fast I made

money in her. A friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise together

off the Western Islands. Poor Harville, sister! You know how much he

wanted money: worse than myself. He had a wife. Excellent fellow. I

shall never forget his happiness. He felt it all, so much for her sake.

I wished for him again the next summer, when I had still the same luck

in the Mediterranean.”

“And I am sure, Sir,” said Mrs Musgrove, “it was a lucky day for _us_,

when you were put captain into that ship. _We_ shall never forget what

you did.”

Her feelings made her speak low; and Captain Wentworth, hearing only in

part, and probably not having Dick Musgrove at all near his thoughts,

looked rather in suspense, and as if waiting for more.

“My brother,” whispered one of the girls; “mamma is thinking of poor

Richard.”

“Poor dear fellow!” continued Mrs Musgrove; “he was grown so steady,

and such an excellent correspondent, while he was under your care! Ah!

it would have been a happy thing, if he had never left you. I assure

you, Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you.”

There was a momentary expression in Captain Wentworth’s face at this

speech, a certain glance of his bright eye, and curl of his handsome

mouth, which convinced Anne, that instead of sharing in Mrs Musgrove’s

kind wishes, as to her son, he had probably been at some pains to get

rid of him; but it was too transient an indulgence of self-amusement to

be detected by any who understood him less than herself; in another

moment he was perfectly collected and serious, and almost instantly

afterwards coming up to the sofa, on which she and Mrs Musgrove were

sitting, took a place by the latter, and entered into conversation with

her, in a low voice, about her son, doing it with so much sympathy and

natural grace, as shewed the kindest consideration for all that was

real and unabsurd in the parent’s feelings.

They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs Musgrove had most readily

made room for him; they were divided only by Mrs Musgrove. It was no

insignificant barrier, indeed. Mrs Musgrove was of a comfortable,

substantial size, infinitely more fitted by nature to express good

cheer and good humour, than tenderness and sentiment; and while the

agitations of Anne’s slender form, and pensive face, may be considered

as very completely screened, Captain Wentworth should be allowed some

credit for the self-command with which he attended to her large fat

sighings over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody had cared for.

Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary

proportions. A large bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep

affliction, as the most graceful set of limbs in the world. But, fair

or not fair, there are unbecoming conjunctions, which reason will

patronize in vain—which taste cannot tolerate—which ridicule will

seize.

The Admiral, after taking two or three refreshing turns about the room

with his hands behind him, being called to order by his wife, now came

up to Captain Wentworth, and without any observation of what he might

be interrupting, thinking only of his own thoughts, began with—

“If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring, Frederick, you

would have been asked to give a passage to Lady Mary Grierson and her

daughters.”

“Should I? I am glad I was not a week later then.”

The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He defended himself;

though professing that he would never willingly admit any ladies on

board a ship of his, excepting for a ball, or a visit, which a few

hours might comprehend.

“But, if I know myself,” said he, “this is from no want of gallantry

towards them. It is rather from feeling how impossible it is, with all

one’s efforts, and all one’s sacrifices, to make the accommodations on

board such as women ought to have. There can be no want of gallantry,

Admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal comfort

_high_, and this is what I do. I hate to hear of women on board, or to

see them on board; and no ship under my command shall ever convey a

family of ladies anywhere, if I can help it.”

This brought his sister upon him.

“Oh! Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you.—All idle

refinement!—Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house

in England. I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and

I know nothing superior to the accommodations of a man-of-war. I

declare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at

Kellynch Hall,” (with a kind bow to Anne), “beyond what I always had in

most of the ships I have lived in; and they have been five altogether.”

“Nothing to the purpose,” replied her brother. “You were living with

your husband, and were the only woman on board.”

“But you, yourself, brought Mrs Harville, her sister, her cousin, and

three children, round from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was this

superfine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then?”

“All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist any brother

officer’s wife that I could, and I would bring anything of Harville’s

from the world’s end, if he wanted it. But do not imagine that I did

not feel it an evil in itself.”

“Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable.”

“I might not like them the better for that perhaps. Such a number of

women and children have no _right_ to be comfortable on board.”

“My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray, what would become

of us poor sailors’ wives, who often want to be conveyed to one port or

another, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings?”

“My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs Harville and all

her family to Plymouth.”

“But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if

women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of

us expect to be in smooth water all our days.”

“Ah! my dear,” said the Admiral, “when he has got a wife, he will sing

a different tune. When he is married, if we have the good luck to live

to another war, we shall see him do as you and I, and a great many

others, have done. We shall have him very thankful to anybody that will

bring him his wife.”

“Ay, that we shall.”

“Now I have done,” cried Captain Wentworth. “When once married people

begin to attack me with,—‘Oh! you will think very differently, when you

are married.’ I can only say, ‘No, I shall not;’ and then they say

again, ‘Yes, you will,’ and there is an end of it.”

He got up and moved away.

“What a great traveller you must have been, ma’am!” said Mrs Musgrove

to Mrs Croft.

“Pretty well, ma’am, in the fifteen years of my marriage; though many

women have done more. I have crossed the Atlantic four times, and have

been once to the East Indies, and back again, and only once; besides

being in different places about home: Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar.

But I never went beyond the Streights, and never was in the West

Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies.”

Mrs Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she could not accuse

herself of having ever called them anything in the whole course of her

life.

“And I do assure you, ma’am,” pursued Mrs Croft, “that nothing can

exceed the accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you know, of the

higher rates. When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more

confined; though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in one of

them; and I can safely say, that the happiest part of my life has been

spent on board a ship. While we were together, you know, there was

nothing to be feared. Thank God! I have always been blessed with

excellent health, and no climate disagrees with me. A little disordered

always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea, but never knew what

sickness was afterwards. The only time I ever really suffered in body

or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any

ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when

the Admiral (_Captain_ Croft then) was in the North Seas. I lived in

perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary

complaints from not knowing what to do with myself, or when I should

hear from him next; but as long as we could be together, nothing ever

ailed me, and I never met with the smallest inconvenience.”

“Aye, to be sure. Yes, indeed, oh yes! I am quite of your opinion, Mrs

Croft,” was Mrs Musgrove’s hearty answer. “There is nothing so bad as a

separation. I am quite of your opinion. _I_ know what it is, for Mr

Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when they are

over, and he is safe back again.”

The evening ended with dancing. On its being proposed, Anne offered her

services, as usual; and though her eyes would sometimes fill with tears

as she sat at the instrument, she was extremely glad to be employed,

and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.

It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in higher spirits than

Captain Wentworth. She felt that he had every thing to elevate him

which general attention and deference, and especially the attention of

all the young women, could do. The Miss Hayters, the females of the

family of cousins already mentioned, were apparently admitted to the

honour of being in love with him; and as for Henrietta and Louisa, they

both seemed so entirely occupied by him, that nothing but the continued

appearance of the most perfect good-will between themselves could have

made it credible that they were not decided rivals. If he were a little

spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration, who could wonder?

These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne, while her fingers

were mechanically at work, proceeding for half an hour together,

equally without error, and without consciousness. _Once_ she felt that

he was looking at herself, observing her altered features, perhaps,

trying to trace in them the ruins of the face which had once charmed

him; and _once_ she knew that he must have spoken of her; she was

hardly aware of it, till she heard the answer; but then she was sure of

his having asked his partner whether Miss Elliot never danced? The

answer was, “Oh, no; never; she has quite given up dancing. She had

rather play. She is never tired of playing.” Once, too, he spoke to

her. She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had

sat down to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss

Musgroves an idea of. Unintentionally she returned to that part of the

room; he saw her, and, instantly rising, said, with studied politeness—

“I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;” and though she

immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced

to sit down again.

Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. His cold

politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.