Read Journey for Free Online

smokestacks amidships, for the
Parisian
was powered by both sail and steam, which made her a mistress of the seas. The gentlemen’s cabins were spacious and comfortable and the saloon well appointed with oak and ash floors, its walls and slender pillars decorated in leather. Chairs of walnut burnished to a soft glow offered a welcome seat after a bracing walk on the promenade deck.
    The captain, at whose table they were seated that evening, commended them on their discernment in choosing his ship. The
Parisian
, he explained, had been cleverly designed with saloon amidships which dampened the pitch of the steamer in high seas and made dining on board as tranquil as on shore. The captain continued his proud description with details of the innovative bilge keels that kept her steady in the water and explanations of how he used both her steam and sail power to best advantage, but Luton, tiring of his boasts, distracted him with a question: “Why the name
Parisian
if she’s a Canadian ship?” and the captain replied: “It’s a mark of the respect, sir, that we Canadians hold for France.” Luton bristled at this reminder of what his family considered Canada’s blemished past under French rule, and quickly changed the subject: “How long d’you think before we see Montreal? The twelve days we were promised?” and the captain said: “Aye, twelve days, if the weather doesn’t blow.”
    During their calm crossing one of the basic rules of the trip evolved, and in a somewhat unpleasant way. Trevor Blythe, whose family kept a staff of seven, began summoning Fogarty, who slept on a lower deck, and giving him orders as if the Irishman were his assigned manservant. This had to be done conspicuously, because the four gentlemen in Luton’s party occupied first-class quarters, while Fogarty shared a cramped cabin with two other men in steerage. Sowhen Blythe felt he needed Fogarty’s services he had to take obvious steps to summon him.
    Fogarty did not complain; he knew he was a kind of servant, but Lord Luton was distressed by Blythe’s action, and after this infraction of the tacit rules of such an expedition occurred for the third time, Luton and Carpenter asked the two younger men to join them in a secluded corner of the ship’s luxurious saloon.
    “This isn’t pleasant and it isn’t crucial, so let’s not make an affair of it,” Luton said after a deferential cough. “But I think we must understand certain rules. Nothing in writing, no saluting or the raising of voices.” He coughed again and was obviously uneasy: “Harry and I’ve been through this often, and I’m sure you young fellows will catch on immediately.”
    When Henslow and Blythe looked at each other in bewilderment, Luton snapped: “Dammit, you make it difficult to say, but Fogarty is the expedition’s servant, not at the beck and call of individuals.”
    Now Blythe realized that he was the subject of the meeting, and before either Luton or Carpenter could speak further, he apologized profusely: “I say, I am most fearfully sorry. It was thoughtlessness, Evelyn, sheer thoughtlessness.”
    Luton, relieved to see that the young man was taking the admonition properly, sighed, thrust out his hand and clasped Trevor’s: “Thanks. I knew you’d understand. Harry, lay out the rules.”
    “Quite simple. It’s as Evelyn said. Fogarty is at the service of the party as a whole, never of an individual. I think an example will clarify it nicely. When we’re in camp and require wood for the stove, it will be Fogarty’s job to see that we get the wood, but each of us in proper turn will help him do it. And should he suggest that Evelyn chop down that tree over there, I would expect Evelyn to hop to it smartly and chop the thing down.”
    “Highly sensible,” said Blythe without a sign of rancor.
    “Now, if young Philip here needs his socks washed because he’s worn them too long on the trail, he need not call for Fogarty. He jolly well washes them