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"On these points we differ, Mr Whitlaw," said I, "for there seems to me very little civilisation at present, considering the age of the world; and, on the other hand, there is much genuine Christianity, more, I believe, than meets the careless or the jaundiced eye. However, now that war has been declared, it becomes necessary that we should get out of the Danube as fast as possible."
I said, addressing my skipper. "I hope we shall, sir," replied the skipper, with a deferential touch of his cap, and a glance round the horizon; "but I don't feel sure." Mr Whitlaw was an American, and a splendid specimen of the nation to which he belonged, tall, lanky, broad-shouldered, gentlemanly, grave, self-possessed, prompt, good-humoured: I have seldom met a more agreeable man.
"It's a fair offer," said Tom, carelessly; "we might, perhaps, get a higher, but Major Whitlaw is in possession, and is, besides, a good tenant." "Then I'll conclude the bargain pray get pen, ink, and paper." While the major turned for a moment to procure writing materials, the captain looked at Tom and winked expressively.
Truly, civilisation and the progress of knowledge, which men boast of so much, seem to be of little value." I pointed out to Mr Whitlaw that he was wrong in supposing that civilisation is of little value.
The captain's eyes opened wider than ever, but before he could find words again to speak, Major Whitlaw returned. "They're all square now, gentlemen, so, if you please, we'll proceed to business. I suppose your friend has told you how the land lies?" "He certainly has," replied the captain, who accepted the phrase literally.
Talking of that, smoking was the only thing in which I could not join my future brother-in-law. I know not how it is, but so it is that I cannot smoke. I have often tried to, but it invariably makes me sick, for which, perhaps, I ought to be thankful. "It is to be hoped we shall," I replied to his question; "but I am not a judge of weather. What think you, Mr Whitlaw?"
At first I could not resist the conviction that my skipper must have been indulging in a small amount of exaggeration, especially when I reflected on the great strength and apparent invulnerability of such massive vessels as our Thunderer; but knowing the sedate and truthful character of Mr Whitlaw, I felt perplexed.
Some think that he is already at Geneva, and he appears to have made the acquaintance of Calvin, with whom later he corresponded. "They are likely to motion a marriage you know where"; of Arran, that is, with Elizabeth. Moreover, one Whitlaw was at this date in France, and by June 28, communicated the plan to Throckmorton, the English Ambassador.
Long afterwards, however, I heard it rumoured that Mr Whitlaw had escaped and returned to his native country. There is, therefore, some reason to hope that that sturdy and true-hearted American still lives to relate, among his other stirring narratives, an account of that memorable night when he was torpedoed on the Danube.
"Nevertheless," replied Mr Whitlaw, in a tone of cynicism, to which at times he gave pretty free indulgence, "the Crimean war occurred in the nineteenth century, and the American civil war, and the young widows of the Franco-Prussian war are not yet grey-haired, while their children have scarcely reached their teens.
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