THE next day, the 1st of April, the aspect of the sea was truly spring-like; it was as green as the meadows beneath the sun’s rays. This April sunrise on the Atlantic was superb; the waves spread themselves out voluptuously, while porpoises gambolled in the ship’s milky track.
When I met Captain Corsican, he informed me that the ghost announced by the Doctor had not thought proper to make its appearance. Undoubtedly, the night was not dark enough for it. Then the idea crossed my mind that it was a joke of Dean Pitferge’s, sanctioned by the 1st of April; for in America, England, and France this custom is very popular. Mystifiers and mystified were not wanting; some laughed, others were angry; I even believe that blows were exchanged among some of the Saxons, but these blows never ended in fighting; for it is well known that in England duels are liable to very severe punishment; even officers and soldiers are not allowed to fight under any pretext whatever. The homicide is subject to the most painful and ignominious punishments. I remember the Doctor telling me the name of an officer who was sent to a convict prison, for ten years, for having mortally wounded his adversary in a very honourable engagement. One can understand, that in face of this severe law duels have entirely disappeared from British customs.
The weather being so fine, a good observation could be made, which resulted in the following statement: Lat. 48° 47´, and 36° 48´ W. L.; dist., 250 miles only. The slowest of the Transatlantic steamers would have had the right to offer to take us in tow. This state of things very much annoyed Captain Anderson. The engineers attributed the failure of pressure to the insufficient ventilation of the new furnaces; but for my part, I thought that the diminution of speed was owing to the diameter of the wheels having been imprudently made smaller.
However, to-day, about two o’clock, there was an improvement in the ship’s speed; it was the attitude of the two young lovers which revealed this change to me. Leaning against the bulwarks, they murmured joyful words, clapped their hands, and looked smilingly at the escape-pipes, which were placed near the chimneys, the apertures of which were crowned with a white wreath of vapour. The pressure had risen in the screw boilers; as yet it was only a feeble breath of air, a wavering blast; but our young friends drank it in eagerly with their eyes. No, not even Denis Papin could have been more delighted, when he saw the steam half raise the lid of his celebrated saucepan.
“They smoke! they smoke!” cried the young lady, whilst a light breath also escaped from her parted lips.
“Let us go and look at the engine,” said the young man, placing her arm in his.
Dean Pitferge had joined me, and we followed the loving couple on to the upper-deck.
“How beautiful is youth!” remarked the Doctor.
“Yes,” said I, “youth affianced.”
Soon we also were leaning over the railing of the engine-rooms. There, in the deep abyss, at a distance of sixty feet below us, we saw the four long horizontal pistons swaying one towards the other, and with each movement moistened by drops of lubricating oil.
In the meanwhile the young man had taken out his watch, and the girl, leaning over his shoulder, followed the movement of the minute-hand, whilst her lover counted the revolutions of the screw.
“One minute,” said she.
“Thirty-seven turns,” exclaimed the young man.
“Thirty-seven and a half,” observed the Doctor, who had entered into the work.
“And a half,” cried the young lady, “You hear, Edward! Thank you, sir,” said she, favouring the worthy Pitferge with one of her most pleasing smiles.