"Sixty-six!" they all exclaimed together; and great inquiries were immediately made for the missing ticket. But nobody knew any thing about it. At last, Mr. Chauncy's companion, Charles, who happened to be there, said,-
"Why, Chauncy had 66, I believe." Then calling out aloud to Mr. Chauncy, who had come up on the deck after luncheon, and was now sitting on one of the settees that stood around the skylight, he added,-
"Chauncy! here! come here! Where is your ticket? You have got the prize."
"No," said Mr. Chauncy, in a careless tone, without, however, moving from his seat. "I have not any ticket."
Two or three of the gentlemen, then, headed by Charles, went to the place where Mr. Chauncy was sitting, to question him more particularly.
"Where's your ticket?" said Charles.
"I gave it to one of the deck passengers," said Mr. Chauncy.
"You did!" said Charles. "Well, it has drawn the prize. What was the number of it?"
"Ninety-nine, I believe," said Mr. Chauncy.
"Ninety-nine!" repeated Charles, contemptuously. "Nonsense! There was no ninety-nine. It was sixty-six."
Then, shouting with laughter, he said, "O, dear me! that's so exactly like Chauncy. He gives half a sovereign for a ticket, then reads it upside down, and gives it away to an Irishwoman. O Gemini!"
So saying, Charles, and those with him, went away, laughing vociferously at Chauncy's expense.
The remainder of the adventurers in the lottery had in the mean time dispersed, having slunk away, as is usual in such cases, to conceal their mortification and chagrin. It was not merely that they had each lost a half sovereign; but they had all calculated, with greater or less certainty, on getting the prize; and the vexation which they experienced at the disappointment was extreme. Some of them had bought up several tickets, in order to make sure of the prize. These were, of course, doubly and trebly chagrined. Some had been offered good prices for their tickets, but had refused to accept them, hoping, by keeping the tickets, to get the prize. These persons were now vexed and angry with themselves for not accepting these offers. Then there was a feeling of guilt and condemnation which mingled with their disappointment, and made it very bitter and hard to bear.
The Colonel and the mate, when they learned that the Irishwoman held the winning ticket, both immediately began to saunter slowly along toward the stairways that led down to the forward deck, each having formed the plan of going and buying the ticket of the woman before she should hear that it had gained the prize. They moved along with a careless and unconcerned air, in order not to awaken any suspicion of their designs. They were suspected, however, both of them, by Mr. Chauncy. He accordingly walked forward, too; and he reached a part of the promenade deck that was near the smoke pipe, where he could look down upon the place where the woman was sitting. He reached the spot just as the two men came before her, one having descended by one staircase, and the other by the other. When they met each other, close before where the woman was sitting, they each understood in an instant for what purpose the other had come. They knew, too, that it would defeat the object altogether if they both attempted to buy the ticket; and yet there was no time or opportunity to make any formal stipulation on the subject between them. Such men, however, are always very quick and cunning, and ready for all emergencies. The mate, without speaking to the woman, gave a wink to the Colonel, and said in an undertone, as he sauntered slowly along by him,-
"Colonel! half!"
"Done!" said the Colonel.
So the mate passed carelessly on, leaving the Colonel to manage the negotiation, with the understanding that they were to share the profits of the transaction between them.
Just at this moment, Mr. Chauncy, who was looking down upon this scene from above, called out to the woman,-
"My good woman, your ticket has drawn the prize. The Colonel has come to pay you the money."
The Colonel was overwhelmed with astonishment and vexation at this interruption. He looked up, with a countenance full of rage, to see from whom the sound proceeded. There were one or two other gentlemen standing with Chauncy as witnesses of the scene; and the Colonel saw at once that his scheme was defeated. So he made a virtue of necessity, and, taking out the purse, he poured the ten sovereigns into the poor woman's lap. She was overwhelmed and bewildered with astonishment at finding herself suddenly in possession of so much money.
As for Hilbert, there were no bounds to the vexation and anger which he experienced in the failure of all his hopes and expectations.
"What a miserable fool I was!" said he. "I might have had that very ticket. He as good as offered to exchange with me. Such a stupid dolt as I was, not to know when it was upside down! Then, besides, I was offered two pounds for my ticket, sure-and I believe I should have taken it, if my father had not advised me not to do it. That would have come to almost fifteen dollars, and that I should have been sure of. So much for taking my father's advice. I hope they'll get up another lottery to-morrow, and then I'll buy a ticket and do just as I please with it, and not take any body's advice. I shall be sure to make fifteen dollars, at least, if I don't do any better than I might have done to-day."
The rest of the company felt very much as Hilbert did about their losses and disappointments, though the etiquette of gambling, which they understood better than he, forbade their expressing their feelings so freely. In fact, one source of the illusion which surrounds this vice is, that the interest which it excites, and the hilarity and mirth which attend it during its progress, are all open to view, while the disappointment, the mortification, the chagrin, and the remorse are all studiously concealed. The remorse is the worst ingredient in the bitter cup. It not only stings and torments those who have lost, but it also spoils the pleasure of those who win. That is, in fact, always the nature and tendency of remorse. It aggravates all the pain and suffering that it mingles with and poisons all the pleasure.
CHAPTER XI. THE ARRIVAL.
Day after day of the voyage thus glided away, the time being beguiled by the various incidents which occurred, until at length the ship began to draw near toward the land. As the time passed on, the interest which the passengers felt in their approach toward the land began to be very strong. Some of them were crossing the Atlantic for the first time; and they, of course, anticipated their first view of the shores of the old world with great anticipations of delight. The first land to be "made," as the sailors say, that is to be seen, was Cape Clear-the southern point of Ireland. There is a lighthouse on this point; and so well had the captain kept his reckoning, and so exact had been his calculations in his progress over the mighty waste of waters, that on the morning of the last day he could venture to predict to an hour when the light would come into view. He said it would be between nine and ten. When Maria and the two children went to their berths, Maria asked the chambermaid to come and tell them when the light was in sight. She accordingly did so. Rollo, in order to know how near the captain was in his calculations, asked her what o'clock it was. She said twenty-five minutes after eight. How astonishing must be the accuracy of the instruments and the calculations which can enable a man to guide a ship across so utterly trackless a waste, aiming at a lighthouse three thousand miles away, and not only come out exactly upon it, but come there, too, so exactly at the time predicted by the calculation!
When the children went on deck the next morning, the southern coast of Ireland was all in full view. Those who feel an interest in seeing the track of the ship, will find, by turning to a map of Great Britain and Ireland, that her course in going in from the Atlantic toward Liverpool lay at first along the southern coast of Ireland, and then along the western coast of Wales. This route, though it seems but a short distance on the map, requires really a voyage of several hundred miles, and more than a day in time, for the performance of it. The voyage of the ship is, therefore, by no means ended when she reaches the land at Cape Clear. There is still a day and a night more for the passengers to spend on board the vessel. The time is, however, very much beguiled during this last day's sail by the sight of the land and the various objects which it presents to view-the green slopes, the castle-covered hills, the cliffs, the lines of beach, with surf and breakers rolling in upon them; and sometimes, when the ship approaches nearer to the shore than usual, the pretty little cottages, covered with thatch, and adorned with gardens and shrubbery.