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Updated: May 22, 2025
I did not the less wish to see the world, but I did not much like the company with whom I was likely to see it; Mr Stovin and his rope's-ending were not agreeable companions. From Cape Clear we took a fresh departure. A ship is said to take her departure from a point, the distance and the bearing of the point being ascertained when her course is marked off from the spot where she then is.
I thought that the captain, as a precautionary measure, wished to place the passengers in comparative safety; but what was my surprise, to see him lower himself into the boat, and drop her astern, virtually abandoning all command of the ship! This vile example was followed by Mr Stovin, who took possession of one of the quarter boats.
It was the first time I had ever observed Captain Swales and Mr Stovin really energetic in their exertions when they were getting this done; and I very soon found that they had a reason for it, as they intended to take possession of her for themselves, and those they most favoured.
If I did not like it, he would see what Mr Stovin had to say to me. I saw that there was no help for me; so, following Silas Flint's advice, I determined to grin and bear it. We sighted Cape Clear, the south-westernmost point of Ireland. I longed to be able to swim on shore and return home.
"A mutiny!" repeated Mr Stovin, the first mate; and suiting the action to the word, he dealt me a blow on the head with his fist, which sent me sprawling on the deck. Several of the crew, as well as the emigrants, who had seen what had occurred, cried out "Shame, shame!" but they were afraid of interfering, so that my enemies had it all their own way.
I turned quickly round to resent the indignity, when I encountered the stern glance of the first mate, Mr Stovin, fixed on me, while the "colt" in his hand showed that he was the aggressor. "And so you are the youngster who wanted to make himself useful, are you?" he exclaimed in a sneering voice. "I am," I replied; "and I'll thank you in future not to take such liberties with my back."
There was another scholar, Malden, who should have been mentioned with the group above; the second Sir Frederick Pollock, who wrote too little but left an excellent translation of Dante, besides some reminiscences and other work; Philip Pusey, elder brother of the theologian, and a man of remarkable ability; James Spedding, who devoted almost the whole of his literary life to the study, championship, and editing of Bacon, but left other essays and reviews of great merit; Twisleton, who undertook with singular patience and shrewdness the solution of literary and historical problems like the Junius question and that of the African martyrs; and lastly George Stovin Venables, who for some five and thirty years was the main pillar in political writing of the Saturday Review, was a parliamentary lawyer of great diligence and success, and combined a singularly exact and wide knowledge of books and men in politics and literature with a keen judgment, an admirably forcible if somewhat mannered style, a disposition far more kindly than the world was apt to credit him with, and a famous power of conversation.
The first was George Stovin Venables. He was a fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge. He had been a first-classman in the Classical Tripos of 1832, when he was placed next to W. H. Thompson, afterwards Master of Trinity. He too was an apostle and an intimate both of Tennyson and Thackeray.
I was forthwith dragged forward by Stovin and two or three of the men, who made up to him, and lashed down to the foot of the bowsprit, where I was most exposed to the spray which flew over the ship, and could be watched from every part. "You'll cool your temper and your heels there, my lad, till I let you go," whispered my old enemy in a tone of voice which showed the vindictive triumph he felt.
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