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THE THREE FRIENDS.
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When the hunter had stood for full five minutes gazing at the beautiful scenery by which he was surrounded, it suddenly occurred to him that a pipe would render him much more capable of enjoying it; so he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, leaned his gun on it, pulled the fire-bag from his belt, and began to fill his pipe, which was one of the kind used by the savages of the country, with a stone head and a wooden stem. It was soon lighted, and Jasper was thinking how much more clear and beautiful a landscape looked through tobacco smoke, when a hand was laid lightly on his shoulder. Looking quickly round, he beheld a tall dark-faced Indian standing by his side.
Jasper betrayed neither alarm nor surprise; for the youth was his own comrade, who had merely come to tell him that the canoe in which they had been travelling together, and which had been slightly damaged, was repaired and ready for service.
"Why, Arrowhead, you steal on me with the soft tread of a fox. My ears are not dull, yet I did not hear your approach, lad."
A smile lighted up the countenance of the young Indian for a moment, as he listened to a compliment which gratified him much; but the grave expression which was natural to him instantly returned, as he said, "Arrowhead has hunted in the Rocky Mountains where the men are treacherous; he has learned to tread lightly there."
"No doubt, ye had need to be always on the look out where there are such varmints; but hereaway, Arrowhead, there are no foes to fear, and therefore no need to take yer friends by surprise. But ye're proud o' your gifts, lad, an' I suppose it's natural to like to show them off. Is the canoe ready?"
The Indian replied by a nod.
"That's well, lad, it will be sun-down in another hour, an' I would like to camp on the point of pines to-night; so come along."
"Hist!" exclaimed the Indian, pointing to a flock of geese which came into view at that moment.
"Ah! you come of a masterful race," said Jasper, shaking his head gravely, "you're never content when ye've got enough, but must always be killing God's creatures right and left for pure sport. Haven't we got one grey goose already for supper, an' that's enough for two men surely. Of course I make no account o' the artist, poor cratur', for he eats next to nothin'. Hows'ever, as your appetite may be sharper set than usual, I've no objection to bring down another for ye."
So saying the hunter and the Indian crouched behind a bush, and the former, while he cocked his gun and examined the priming, gave utterance to a series of cries so loud and discordant, that any one who was ignorant of a hunter's ways must have thought he was anxious to drive all the living creatures within six miles of him away in terror. Jasper had no such wish, however. He was merely imitating the cry of the wild geese. The birds, which were at first so far-off that a rifle-ball could not have reached them, no sooner heard the cry of their friends (as they doubtless thought it) than they turned out of their course, and came gradually towards the bush where the two men lay hidden.
The hunter did not cease to cry until the birds were within gunshot. Then he fixed his eye on one of the flock that seemed plump and fat. The long barrel of the gun was quickly raised, the geese discovered their mistake, and the whole flock were thrown into wild confusion as they attempted to sheer off; but it was too late. Smoke and fire burst from the bush, and an enormous grey goose fell with a heavy crash to the ground.
"What have you shot? what have you shot?" cried a shrill and somewhat weak voice in the distance. In another moment the owner of the voice appeared, running eagerly towards the two men.
"Use your eyes, John Heywood, an' ye won't need to ask," said Jasper, with a quiet smile, as he carefully reloaded his gun.
"Ah! I see--a grey swan--no, surely, it cannot be a goose?" said Heywood, turning the bird over and regarding it with astonishment; "why, this is the biggest one I ever did see."
"What's yon in the water? Deer, I do believe," cried Jasper, quickly drawing the small shot from his gun and putting in a ball instead. "Come, lads, we shall have venison for supper to-night. That beast can't reach t'other side so soon as we can."
Jasper leaped quickly down the hill, and dashed through the bushes towards the spot where their canoe lay. He was closely followed by his companions, and in less than two minutes they were darting across the lake in their little Indian canoe, which was made of birch-bark, and was so light that one man could carry it easily.
While they are thus engaged I will introduce the reader to John Heywood. This individual was a youth of nineteen or twenty years of age, who was by profession a painter of landscapes and animals. He was tall and slender in person, with straight black hair, a pale haggard-looking face, an excitable nervous manner, and an enthusiastic temperament. Being adventurous in his disposition, he had left his father's home in Canada, and entreated his friend, Jasper Derry, to take him along with him into the wilderness. At first Jasper was very unwilling to agree to this request; because the young artist was utterly ignorant of everything connected with a life in the woods, and he could neither use a paddle nor a gun. But Heywood's father had done him some service at a time when he was ill and in difficulties, so, as the youth was very anxious to go, he resolved to repay this good turn of the father by doing a kindness to the son.
Heywood turned out but a poor backwoodsman, but he proved to be a pleasant, amusing companion, and as Jasper and the Indian were quite sufficient for the management of the light canoe, and the good gun of the former was more than sufficient to feed the party, it mattered nothing to Jasper that Heywood spent most of his time seated in the middle of the canoe, sketching the scenery as they went along. Still less did it matter that Heywood missed everything he fired at, whether it was close at hand or far away.
At first Jasper was disposed to look upon his young companion as a poor useless creature; and the Indian regarded him with undisguised contempt. But after they had been some time in his company, the opinions of these two men of the woods changed; for they found that the artist was wise, and well informed on many subjects of which they were extremely ignorant; and they beheld with deep admiration the beautiful and life-like drawings and paintings which he produced in rapid succession.
Such was the romantic youth who had, for the sake of seeing and painting the wilderness, joined himself to these rough sons of the forest, and who now sat in the centre of the canoe swaying his arms about and shouting with excitement as they quickly drew near to the swimming herd of deer.
"Keep yourself still," said Jasper, looking over his shoulder, "ye'll upset the canoe if ye go on like that."
"Give me the axe, give me the axe, I'll kill him!" cried Heywood.
"Take your pencil and draw him," observed the hunter, with a quiet laugh. "Now, Arrowhead, two good strokes of the paddle will do--there-- so."
As he spoke the canoe glanced up alongside of an affrighted deer, and in the twinkling of an eye Jasper's long knife was in its heart, and the water was dyed with blood. This happened quite near to the opposite shore of the lake, so that in little more than half an hour after it was killed the animal was cut up and packed, and the canoe was again speeding towards the upper end of the lake, where the party arrived just as night began to fling its dark mantle over the wilderness.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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3
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THE ENCAMPMENT.
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Camping out in the woods at night is truly a delightful thing, and the pleasantest part of it, perhaps, is the lighting of the fire. Light is agreeable to human eyes and cheering to the human heart. Solomon knew and felt that when he penned the words, "A pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun." And the rising of the sun is scarcely more grateful to the feelings than the lighting of a fire on a dark night. So our friends thought and felt, when the fire blazed up, but they were too busy and too hungry at the time to think about the state of their feelings.
The Indian was hungry. A good fire had to be made before the venison could be roasted, so he gave his whole attention to the felling of dry trees and cutting them up into logs for the fire. Jasper was also hungry, and a slight shower had wetted all the moss and withered grass, so he had enough to do to strike fire with flint and steel, catch a spark on a little piece of tinder, and then blow and coax the spark into a flame.
The artist was indeed free to indulge in a little meditation; but he had stumbled in the dark on landing, and bruised his shins, so he could only sit down on a rock and rub them and feel miserable.
But the fire soon caught; branches were heaped up, great logs were piled on, forked tongues of flame began to leap up and lick the branches of the overhanging trees. The green leaves looked rich and warm; the thick stems looked red and hot; the faces and clothes of the men seemed as if about to catch fire as they moved about the encampment preparing supper. In short, the whole scene was so extremely comfortable, in reality as well as in appearance, that Heywood forgot his bruised shins and began to rub his hands with delight.
In a very short time three juicy venison-steaks were steaming before the three travellers, and in a much shorter time they had disappeared altogether and were replaced by three new ones. The mode of cooking was very simple. Each steak was fixed on a piece of stick and set up before the fire to roast. When one side was ready, the artist, who seemed to have very little patience, began to cut off pieces and eat them while the other side was cooking.
To say truth, men out in those regions have usually such good appetites that they are not particular as to the cooking of their food. Quantity, not quality, is what they desire. They generally feel very much like the Russian, of whom it is said, that he would be content to eat sawdust if only he _got_ _plenty_ _of_ _it_! The steaks were washed down with tea. There is no other drink in Rupert's Land. The Hudson's Bay Company found that spirits were so hurtful to the Indians that they refused to send them into the country; and at the present day there is no strong drink to be had for love or money over the length and breadth of their territories, except at those places where other fur-traders oppose them, and oblige them, in self-defence, to sell fire-water, as the Indians call it.
Tea is the great--the only--drink in Rupert's Land! Yes, laugh as ye will, ye lovers of gin and beer and whisky, one who has tried it, and has seen it tried by hundreds of stout stalwart men, tells you that the teetotaller is the best man for real hard work.
The three travellers drank their tea and smacked their lips, and grinned at each other with great satisfaction. They could not have done more if it had been the best of brandy and they the jolliest of topers! But the height of their enjoyment was not reached until the pipes were lighted.
It was quite a sight to see them smoke! Jasper lay with his huge frame extended in front of the blaze, puffing clouds of smoke thick enough to have shamed a small cannon. Arrowhead rested his back on the stump of a tree, stretched his feet towards the fire, and allowed the smoke to roll slowly through his nostrils as well as out at his mouth, so that it kept curling quietly round his nose, and up his cheeks, and into his eyes, and through his hair in a most delightful manner; at least so it would seem, for his reddish-brown face beamed with happy contentment.
Young Heywood did not smoke, but he drew forth his sketch-book and sketched his two companions; and in the practice of his beloved art, I have no doubt, he was happier than either.
"I wonder how many trading-posts the Hudson's Bay Company has got?" said Heywood, as he went on with his work.
"Hundreds of 'em," said Jasper, pressing the red-hot tobacco into the bowl of his pipe with the end of his little finger, as slowly and coolly as if his flesh were fire-proof. "I don't know, exactly, how many they've got. I doubt if anybody does, but they have them all over the country. You've seen a little of the country now, Heywood; well, what you have seen is very much like what you will see as long as you choose to travel hereaway. You come to a small clearing in the forest, with five or six log houses in it, a stockade round it, and a flagstaff in the middle of it; five, ten, or fifteen men, and a gentleman in charge. That's a Hudson's Bay Company's trading-post. All round it lie the wild woods. Go through the woods for two or three hundred miles and you'll come to another such post, or fort, as we sometimes call 'em. That's how it is all the country over. Although there are many of them, the country is so uncommon big that they may be said to be few and far between. Some are bigger and some are less. There's scarcely a settlement in the country worthy o' the name of a village except Red River."
"Ah! Red River," exclaimed Heywood, "I've heard much of that settlement--hold steady--I'm drawing your _nose_ just now--have you been there, Jasper?"
"That have I, lad, and a fine place it is, extendin' fifty miles or more along the river, with fine fields, and handsome houses, and churches, and missionaries and schools, and what not; but the rest of Rupert's Land is just what you have seen; no roads, no houses, no cultivated fields--nothing but lakes, and rivers, and woods, and plains without end, and a few Indians here and there, with plenty of wild beasts everywhere. These trading-posts are scattered here and there, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from Canada to the Frozen Sea, standin' solitary-like in the midst of the wilderness, as if they had dropped down from the clouds by mistake and didn't know exactly what to do with themselves."
"How long have de Company lived?" inquired Arrowhead, turning suddenly to Jasper.
The stout hunter felt a little put out. "Ahem! I don't exactly know; but it must have been a long time, no doubt."
"Oh, I can tell you that," cried Heywood.
"You?" said Jasper in surprise.
"Ay; the Company was started nearly two hundred years ago by Prince Rupert, who was the first Governor, and that's the reason the country came to be called Rupert's Land. You know its common name is `the Hudson's Bay Territory,' because it surrounds Hudson's Bay."
"Why, where did you learn that?" said Jasper, "I thought I knowed a-most everything about the Company; but I must confess I never knew that about Prince Rupert before."
"I learned it from books," said the artist.
"Books!" exclaimed Jasper, "I never learned nothin' from books--more's the pity. I git along well enough in the trappin' and shootin' way without 'em; but I'm sorry I never learned to read. Ah! I've a great opinion of books--so I have."
The worthy hunter shook his head solemnly as he said this in a low voice, more to himself than to his companions, and he continued to mutter and shake his head for some minutes, while he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. Having refilled and relighted it, he drew his blanket over his shoulder, laid his head upon a tuft of grass, and continued to smoke until he fell asleep, and allowed the pipe to fall from his lips.
The Indian followed his example, with this difference, that he laid aside his pipe, and drew the blanket over his head and under his feet, and wrapped it round him in such a way that he resembled a man sewed up in a sack.
Heywood was thus compelled to shut his sketch-book; so he also wrapped himself in his blanket, and was soon sound asleep.
The camp-fire gradually sank low. Once or twice the end of a log fell, sending up a bright flame and a shower of sparks, which, for a few seconds, lighted up the scene again and revealed the three slumbering figures. But at last the fire died out altogether, and left the encampment in such thick darkness that the sharpest eye would have failed to detect the presence of man in that distant part of the lone wilderness.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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4
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MOSQUITOES--CAMP-FIRE TALK.
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There is a certain fly in the American forests which is worthy of notice, because it exercises a great influence over the happiness of man in those regions. This fly is found in many other parts of the world, but it swarms in immense numbers in America, particularly in the swampy districts of that continent, and in the hot months of summer. It is called a mosquito--pronounced _moskeeto_--and it is, perhaps, the most tormenting, the most persevering, savage, vicious little monster on the face of the earth. Other flies go to sleep at night; the mosquito never does. Darkness puts down other flies--it seems to encourage the mosquito. Day and night it persecutes man and beast, and the only time of the twenty-four hours in which it seems to rest is about noon, when the heat puts _it_ down for a little. But this period of rest strengthens it for a renewal of war during the remainder of the day and night. In form the mosquito very much resembles the gnat, but is somewhat larger. This instrument of torture is his nose, which is quite as long as his body, and sharper than the finest needle. Being unable to rest because of the mosquitoes, Heywood resolved to have a chat.
"Come, Jasper," said he, looking up into his companion's grave countenance, "although we have been many weeks on this journey now, you have not yet told me what has brought you here, or what the end of your trip is going to be."
"I've come here a-hunting," said Jasper, with the look and tone of a man who did not wish to be questioned.
"Nay, now, I know that is not the reason," said Heywood, smiling; "you could have hunted much nearer home, if you had been so minded, and to as good purpose. Come, Jasper, you know I'm your friend, and that I wish you well. Let me hear what has brought you so far into the wilderness-- mayhap I can give you some good advice if you do."
"Well, lad, I don't mind if I do. Though, for the matter of good advice, I don't feel much in need of any just at this time."
Jasper shook the ashes out of his pipe, and refilled it as he spoke; then he shook his head once or twice and smiled, as if his thoughts amused him. Having lighted the pipe, he stretched himself out in a more comfortable way before the blaze, and said-- "Well, lad, I'll tell ye what it is--it's the old story; the love of woman has brought me here."
"And a very good old story it is," returned Heywood, with a look of interest. "A poor miserable set of creatures we should be without that same love of woman. Come, Jasper, I'm glad to hear you're such a sensible fellow. I know something about that subject myself. There's a pretty blue-eyed girl, with golden hair, down away in Canada that--" Heywood stopped short in his speech and sighed.
"Come, it ain't a hopeless case, is it?" said Jasper, with a look of sympathy.
"I rather fear it is; but I hope not. Ah, what should we do without hope in this world?"
"That's true," observed Jasper, with much gravity, "we could not get on at all without hope."
"But come, Jasper," said the artist, "let's hear about your affair, and I'll tell you about mine some other time."
"Well, there is not much to tell, but I'll give ye all that's of it. You must know, then, that about two years ago I was in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, at one o' their outposts in the McKenzie's River district. We had little to eat there and little to do, and I felt so lonesome, never seein' a human bein' except the four or five men at the fort an' a few Indians, that I made up my mind to quit. I had no reason to complain o' the Company, d'ye see. They always treated me handsomely, and it was no fault o' theirs that the livin' in that district was poor and the post lonesome.
"Well, on my way down to Lake Winnipeg, I fell in with a brigade o' boats goin' to the Saskatchewan district, and we camped together that night. One o' the guides of the Saskatchewan brigade had his daughter with him. The guide was a French-Canadian, and his wife had been a Scotch half-caste, so what the daughter was is more than I can tell; but I know what she looked like. She just looked like an angel. It wasn't so much that she was pretty, but she was so sweet, and so quiet lookin', and so innocent! Well, to cut the matter short, I fell in love at once. D'ye know what it is, Heywood, to fall in love at first sight?"
"Oh! don't I?" replied the artist with sudden energy.
"An' d'ye know," continued Jasper, "what it is to be fallen-in-love-with, at first sight?"
"Well, no, I'm not so sure about that," replied Heywood sadly.
"I do, then," said Jasper, "for that sweet critter fell in love with me right off--though what she saw in me to love has puzzled me much. Howsoever, she did, and for that I'm thankful. Her name is Marie Laroche. She and I opened our minds to each other that night, and I took the guide, her father, into the woods, and told him I wanted his daughter; and he was agreeable; but he would not hear of my takin' her away then and there. He told me I must go down to Canada and get settled, and when I had a house to put his daughter in, I was to come back into the wilderness here and be married to her, and then take her home--so here I am on my way to claim my bride. But there's one thing that puzzles me sorely."
"What is that?" asked Heywood.
"I've never heard from Marie from that day to this," said Jasper.
"That is strange," replied the other; "but perhaps she cannot write."
"That's true. Now, you speak of it, I do believe she can't write a line; but, then, she might have got some one to write for her."
"Did you leave your address with her?"
"How could I, when I had no address to leave?"
"But did you ever send it to her?"
"No, I never thought of that," said Jasper, opening his eyes very wide. "Come, that's a comfort--that's a good reason for never havin' heard from her. Thankee, lad, for putting me up to it. And, now, as we must be up and away in another hour, I'll finish my nap."
So saying, Jasper put out his pipe and once more drew his blanket over him. Heywood followed his example, and while he lay there gazing up at the stars through the trees, he heard the worthy hunter muttering to himself, "That's it; that accounts for my not hearin' from her."
A sigh followed the words, very soon a snore followed the sigh, and ere many minutes had passed away, the encampment was again buried in darkness and repose.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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5
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JOURNEYING IN THE WILDERNESS.
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It seemed to Heywood that he had not been asleep more than five minutes, when he was aroused by Jasper laying his heavy hand on his shoulder. On rubbing his eyes and gazing round him, he found that the first streak of dawn was visible in the eastern sky, that the canoe was already in the water, and that his companions were ready to embark.
It is usually found that men are not disposed to talk at that early hour. Heywood merely remarked that it was a fine morning, to which Jasper replied by a nod of his head. Nothing more was said. The artist rolled up his blanket in a piece of oiled-cloth, collected his drawing materials and put them into their bag, got into his place in the centre of the canoe, and immediately went to sleep, while Jasper and the Indian, taking their places in the bow and stern, dipped the paddles into the water and shot away from the shore. They looked mysterious and ghostly in the dim morning light; and the whole scene around them looked mysterious and ghostly too, for the water in the lake seemed black, and the shores and islands looked like dark shadows, and a pale thin mist rolled slowly over the surface of the water and hung overhead. No sound was heard except the light plash of the paddles as the two backwoodsmen urged their little canoe swiftly along.
By degrees the light of day increased, and Jasper awakened Heywood in order that he might behold the beautiful scenery through which they passed. They were now approaching the upper end of the lake, in which there were innumerable islands of every shape and size--some of them not more than a few yards in length, while some were two or three hundred yards across, but all were clothed with the most beautiful green foliage and shrubbery. As the pale yellow of the eastern sky began to grow red, ducks and gulls bestirred themselves. Early risers among them first began to chirp, and scream, and whistle their morning song,--for there are lazy ones among the birds, just as there are among men. Sometimes, when the canoe rounded a point of rocks a flock of geese were found floating peacefully among the sedges, sound asleep, with their heads under their wings. These would leap into the air and fly off in great alarm, with much difficulty and tremendous splutter, reminding one of the proverb, "The more haste the less speed." At other times they would come upon a flock of ducks so suddenly, that they had no time to take wing, so they dived instead, and thus got out of the way.
Then the yellow hue of sunrise came, a good while before the sun himself rose. The last of the bright stars were put out by the flood of light, and multitudes of little birds on shore began to chirp their morning song; and who can say that this was not a hymn of praise to God, when, in the Holy Bible itself, in the 150th Psalm, we find it written, "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord."
At last the sun burst forth in all his golden glory. Water, earth, and sky glowed as if they had been set on fire. What a blessed influence the sun has upon this world! It resembles the countenance of a loving father beaming in upon his family, driving away clouds, and diffusing warmth and joy.
The birds were now all astir together, insomuch that the air seemed alive with them. There are small white gulls, with red legs and red beaks, in those large inland lakes, just as there are on the ocean. These began to utter their sweet wild cries so powerfully that they almost drowned the noise of all the rest. Yet the united chorus of the whole was not harsh. It was softened and mellowed by distance, and fell on the ears of the two hunters as pleasantly as the finest music does in the ears of men trained to sweet sounds from infancy.
Not until the sun had ascended a considerable way on its course through the sky, did Jasper think it necessary to lay down his paddle. By that time the upper end of the lake had been reached, and the hunter had run the canoe close to a ledge of flat rock and jumped ashore, saying that it was time for breakfast.
"I had almost got to believe I was in paradise," said Heywood, as he stepped ashore.
"I often think there's a good deal of the garden of Eden still left in this world," replied Jasper, as he carried the kettle up to the level part of the rock and began to kindle a fire, while the Indian, as usual, hewed the wood. "If we could only make use of God's gifts instead of abusin' them, I do believe we might be very happy all our days."
"See there, Jasper, is one of the birds I want so much to get hold of. I want to make a drawing of him. Would you object to spend a shot on such game."
Heywood pointed as he spoke to a grey bird, about the size of a blackbird, which sat on a branch close above his head. This creature is called by the fur-traders a whisky-John, and it is one of the most impudent little birds in the world! Wherever you go throughout the country, there you find whisky-Johns ready to receive and welcome you, as if they were the owners of the soil. They are perfectly fearless; they will come and sit on a branch within a yard of your hand, when you are eating, and look at you in the most inquisitive manner. If they could speak, they could not say more plainly, "What have you got there? --give me some!" If you leave the mouth of your provision sack open they are sure to jump into it. When you are done eating they will scarcely let you six yards away before they make a dash at the crumbs; and if you throw sticks or stones at them, they will hop out of the way, but they will not take to flight!
"It would be a pity to waste powder on them critters," said Jasper, "but I'll catch one for you."
As he said this he took a few crumbs of broken meat from the bottom of the provision sack and spread them on his right hand; then he lay down under a bush, covered his face with a few leaves, and thrust out his hand. Heywood and the Indian retired a few paces and stood still to await the result.
In a few seconds a whisky-John came flying towards the open hand, and alighted on a branch within a yard of it. Here he shook his feathers and looked very bold, but suspicious, for a few minutes, turning first one eye towards the hand, and then the other. After a little he hopped on a branch still nearer, and, seeing no motion in the hand, he at last hopped upon the palm and began to peck the crumbs. Instantly the fingers closed, and Jasper caught him by the toes, whereupon the whisky-John began to scream furiously with rage and terror. But I am bound to say there was more of rage than of terror in his cry.
Jasper handed the passionate bird over to the artist, who tried to make a portrait of him, but he screamed and pecked so fiercely that Heywood was obliged to let him go after making a rough sketch.
Breakfast was a repetition of the supper of the night before; it was soon disposed of, and the three travellers again set forth. This time Jasper sang one of the beautiful canoe songs peculiar to that country, and Heywood and Arrowhead, both of whom had good voices, joined in the chorus.
They soon passed from the lake into the river by which it was fed. At first the current of this river was sluggish; but as they ascended, it became stronger, and was broken here and there by rapids.
The severe toil of travelling in the backwoods now began. To paddle on a level lake all day is easy enough, for, when you get tired, you can lay down the paddle and rest. But in the river this is impossible, because of the current. The only way to get a rest is to push the bow of the canoe ashore. It was a fine sight to see the movements of Jasper and the Indian when they came to the first rapid. Heywood knew that he could be of no use, so, like a wise man, he sat still and looked on.
The rapid was a very strong one, but there were no falls in it; only a furious gush of water over the broken bed of the river, where many large rocks rose up and caught the current, hurling the water back in white foam. Any one who knew not what these hunters could do, would have laughed if you had told him they were about to ascend that rapid in such an egg-shell of a canoe!
They began by creeping up, in-shore, as far as they could. Then they dashed boldly out into the stream, and the current whirled them down with lightning speed, but suddenly the canoe came to a halt in the very middle of the stream! Every rock in a rapid has a long tail of still water below it; the canoe had got into one of these tails or eddies, and there it rested securely. A few yards higher up there was another rock, nearer to the opposite bank, and the eddy which tailed off from it came down a little lower than the rock behind which the canoe now lay. There was a furious gush of water between them and this eddy, but the men knew what the canoe could bear, and their nerves were strong and steady. Across they went like a shot. They were swept down to the extreme point of the eddy, but a few powerful strokes of the paddle sent them into it, and next moment they were floating behind the second rock, a few yards higher up the stream.
Thus they darted from rock to rock, gaining a few yards at each dart, until at last they swept into the smooth water at the head of the rapid.
Many a time was this repeated that day, for rapids were numerous; their progress was therefore slow. Sometimes they came to parts of the river where the stream was very strong and deep, but not broken by rocks, so that they had no eddies to dart into. In such places Arrowhead and Heywood walked along the bank, and hauled the canoe up by means of a line, while Jasper remained in it to steer. This was hard work, for the banks in places were very steep, in some parts composed of soft mud, into which the men sank nearly up to their knees, and in other places covered so thickly with bushes that it was almost impossible to force a path through them. Jasper and the Indian took the steering-paddle by turns, and when Heywood required a rest he got into his place in the middle of the canoe; but they never halted for more than a few minutes at a time. All day they paddled and dragged the canoe slowly up against the strong current, and when night closed in they found they had advanced only three miles on their journey.
The last obstacle they came to that day was a roaring waterfall about thirty feet high. Here, it might have been thought, was an effectual check to them at last. Nothing without wings could have gone up that waterfall, which filled the woods with the thunder of its roar; but the canoe had no wings, so what was to be done?
To one ignorant of the customs of that country, going on would have seemed impossible, but nothing can stop the advance of a backwoods voyager. If his canoe won't carry him, he carries his canoe! Jasper and his friends did so on the present occasion. They had reached what is called a portage or carrying-place, and there are hundreds of such places all over Rupert's Land.
On arriving at the foot of the fall, Heywood set off at once to a spot from which he could obtain a good view of it, and sat down to sketch, while his companions unloaded the canoe and lifted it out of the water. Then Jasper collected together as much of the baggage as he could carry, and clambered up the bank with it, until he reached the still water at the top of the fall. Here he laid it down and returned for another load. Meanwhile Arrowhead lifted the canoe with great ease, placed it on his shoulders, and bore it to the same place. When all had been carried up, the canoe was launched into the quiet water a few hundred yards above the fall, the baggage was replaced in it, and the travellers were ready to continue their voyage. This whole operation is called _making_ _a_ _portage_. It took about an hour to make this portage.
Portages vary in length and in numbers. In some rivers they are few and far between; in others they are so numerous that eight or twelve may have to be made in a day. Many of the portages are not more than an eighth of a mile in length, and are crossed for the purpose of avoiding a waterfall. Some are four or five miles in extent, for many long reaches in the rivers are so broken by falls and rapids, that the voyagers find it their best plan to take canoes and baggage on their backs and cut across country for several miles; thus they avoid rough places altogether.
Jasper delayed starting for half an hour, in order to give Heywood time to finish his sketch of the fall. It began to grow dark when they again embarked, so, after paddling up stream until a convenient place was found, they put ashore and encamped within sight of another waterfall, the roar of which, softened by distance, fell upon their ears all that night like the sound of pleasant music.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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6
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THE OUTPOST.
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On the morning of the second day after the events which I have described in the last chapter, our three travellers arrived at one of the solitary outposts belonging to the fur-traders. It stood on the banks of the river, and consisted of four small houses made of logs. It covered about an acre of ground, and its only defence was a wall of wooden posts, about two inches apart, which completely surrounded the buildings.
"This fort is a namesake of mine," said Jasper, when they first sighted it; "they call it Jasper's House. I spent a day at it when I was hereaway two years ago."
"Who is in charge of it?" asked Heywood.
"A gentleman named Grant, I believe," replied Jasper. "That white painted house in the middle of the square is his. The other house on the right, painted yellow, is where the men live. Mr Grant has only got six men, poor fellow, to keep him company; he seldom sees a new face here from one end of the year to the other. But he makes a trip once a year to the head post of the district with his furs, and that's a sort of break to him."
"Are there no women at the place?" inquired the artist.
"Only two," replied Jasper. "At least there were two when I was here last; they were the wives of two of the men, Indian women they were, with few brains, and little or nothin' to say; but they were useful critters for all that, for they could make coats, and trousers, and moccasins, and mittens, and they were first-rate cooks, besides bein' handy at almost every kind o' work. They could even use the gun. I've heard o' them bringin' down a wild goose on the wing, when none o' the men were at hand to let drive at the passing flock. I do believe that's Mr Grant himself standin' at the gate o' the fort."
Jasper was right. The master of Jasper's House, a big, hearty-looking man of about five-and-forty, was standing at the gate of his lonely residence, leaning against one of the door-posts, with his hands in his breeches pockets and a short pipe in his mouth. His summer employments had come to an end,--no Indians had been near the place for many weeks, and he happened to have nothing at that time to do but eat, smoke, and sleep; which three occupations he usually attended to with much earnestness. Mr Grant did not observe the canoe approaching from below, for at that time his attention was attracted to something up the river. Suddenly he started, took his pipe from his lips, and, bending forward, listened with deep, earnest attention. A faint murmur came floating down on the breeze, sending a thrill of pleasure to the heart of the solitary man, as well it might, for a new face was a rare sight at Jasper's House.
At last a loud shout rang through the forest, and five Indian canoes swept round a point of rocks, and came suddenly into view, the men tossing their paddles in the air and sending rainbows of spray over their heads as they made for the landing-place. These were three or four families of Indians, who had come from a long hunting expedition laden with rich furs.
Their canoes, though small and light, could hold a wonderful quantity. In the foremost sat a young savage, with a dark-brown face, glittering black eyes, and stiff black hair hanging straight down all round his head, except in front, where it was cut short off just above the eyes in order to let his face appear. That fellow's canoe, besides himself, carried his three wives--he was a good hunter, and could afford to have three. Had he been a bad hunter, he would have had to content himself, poor fellow, with one! The canoe also contained six or seven heavy packs of furs; a haunch of venison; six pairs of rabbits; several ducks and geese; a lump of bear's meat; two little boys and a girl; a large tent made of deer-skins; four or five tin kettles; two or three dirty-looking dogs and a gun; several hatchets and a few blankets; two babies and a dead beaver.
In short, there was almost no end to what that bark canoe could hold; yet that Indian, with the stiff black hair, could lift it off the ground, when empty, lay it on his shoulders, and carry it for miles through the forest. The other canoes were much the same as this one.
In a few minutes they were at the bank, close under the fort, and about the same time Jasper and his friends leaped ashore, and were heartily welcomed by Mr Grant, who was glad enough to see Indians, but was overjoyed to meet with white men.
"Glad to see you, Jasper," cried Mr Grant, shaking the hunter by the hand; "right glad to see you. It does good to a man to see an old friend like you turn up so unexpectedly. Happy, also, to meet with you, Mr Heywood. It's a pleasure I don't often have, to meet with a white stranger in this wilderness. Pray, come with me to the house."
The fur-trader turned to the Indians, and, saying a few words to them in their own language, led the way to his residence.
Meanwhile, the Indians had tossed everything out of the canoes upon the bank, and the spot which had been so quiet and solitary half an hour before, became a scene of the utmost animation and confusion. While the women were employed in erecting the tents, the men strode up to the hall of reception, where Mr Grant supplied them with tobacco and food to their hearts' content.
These natives, who, owing to the reddish copper-colour of their skins, are called red-men,--were dressed chiefly in clothes made of deer-skin; cut much in the same fashion as the garments worn by Jasper Derry. The women wore short gowns, also made of leather, and leggings of the same material; but it was noticeable that the women had leggings more ornamented with gay beads than those of the men, and they wore gaudy kerchiefs round their necks.
These women were poor looking creatures, however. They had a subdued, humble look, like dogs that are used to being kicked; very different from the bold free bearing of the men. The reason of this was, that they were treated by the men more as beasts of burden than companions. Women among the North American Indians have a hard time of it, poor creatures. While their lords and masters are out at the chase, or idly smoking round the fire, the Indian women are employed in cutting firewood and drawing water. Of course, they do all the cooking, and, as the eating always continues, so the cooking never stops. When these more severe labours are over, they employ their time in making and ornamenting coats, leggings, and moccasins--and very beautiful work they can turn out of their hands. On the voyage, the women use the paddle as well as the men, and, in journeying through the woods, they always carry or drag the heaviest loads. For all this they get few thanks, and often when the husbands become jealous, they get severely beaten and kicked.
It is always thus among savages; and it would seem that, just in proportion as men rise from the savage to the civilised state, they treat their women better. It is certain that when man embraces the blessed gospel of Christ and learns to follow the law of love, he places woman not only on a level with himself, but even above himself, and seeks her comfort and happiness before he seeks his own.
Few of the Red-men of North America are yet Christians, therefore they have no gallantry about them--no generous and chivalrous feelings towards the weaker sex. Most of their women are downtrodden and degraded.
The first night at Jasper's House was spent in smoking and talking. Here our friend Jasper Derry got news of Marie. To his immense delight he learned that she was well, and living with her father at Fort Erie, near the plains, or prairies as they are called, on the Saskatchewan River. A long journey still lay before our bold hunter, but that was nothing to him. He felt quite satisfied to hear that the girl of his heart was well, and still unmarried.
Next day the serious business of trading commenced at the outpost.
"I should like to get that powder and ball before you begin to trade with the Indians, Mr Grant," said Jasper, after breakfast was concluded, "I'm anxious to be off as soon as possible."
"No, no, Jasper, I'll not give you a single charge of powder or an ounce of lead this day. You must spend another night with me, my man; I have not had half my talk out with you. You have no need to hurry, for Marie does not know you are coming, so of course she can't be impatient."
Mr Grant said this with a laugh, for he knew the state of Jasper's heart, and understood why he was so anxious to hasten away.
"Besides," continued the fur-trader, "Mr Heywood has not half finished the drawing of my fort, which he began yesterday, and I want him to make me a copy of it."
"I shall be delighted to do so," said the artist, who was busily engaged in arranging his brushes and colours.
"Well, well," cried Jasper. "I suppose I must submit. I fancy _you_ have no objection to stop here another day, Arrowhead?"
The Indian nodded gravely, as he squatted down on the floor and began to fill his pipe.
"That's settled, then," said Jasper, "so I'll go with you to the store, if you'll allow me."
"With all my heart," replied the fur-trader, who forthwith led the way to the store, followed by the Indians with their packs of furs.
Now, the store or shop at a Hudson's Bay trading-post is a most interesting and curious place. To the Indian, especially, it is a sort of enchanted chamber, out of which can be obtained everything known under the sun. As there can be only one shop or store at a trading-post, it follows that that shop must contain a few articles out of almost every other style of shop in the world. Accordingly, you will find collected within the four walls of that little room, knives and guns from Sheffield, cotton webs from Manchester, grindstones from Newcastle, tobacco from Virginia, and every sort of thing from I know not where all! You can buy a blanket or a file, an axe or a pair of trousers, a pound of sugar or a barrel of nails, a roll of tobacco or a tin kettle,--everything, in short, that a man can think of or desire. And you can buy it, too, without money! Indeed, you _must_ buy it without money, for there is not such a thing as money in the land.
The trade is carried on entirely by barter, or exchange. The Indian gives the trader his furs, and the trader gives him his goods. In order to make the exchange fair and equitable, however, everything is rated by a certain standard of value, which is called a _made-beaver_ in one part of the country, a _castore_ in another.
The first man that stepped forward to the counter was a chief. A big, coarse-looking, disagreeable man, but a first-rate hunter. He had two wives in consequence of his abilities, and the favourite wife now stood at his elbow to prompt, perhaps to caution, him. He threw down a huge pack of furs, which the trader opened, and examined with care, fixing the price of each skin, and marking it down with a piece of chalk on the counter as he went along.
There were two splendid black bear-skins, two or three dozen martens, or sables, five or six black foxes, and a great many silver foxes, besides cross and red ones. In addition to these, he had a number of minks and beaver-skins, a few otters, and sundry other furs, besides a few buffalo and deer-skins, dressed, and with the hair scraped off. These last skins are used for making winter coats, and also moccasins for the feet.
After all had been examined and valued, the whole was summed up, and a number of pieces of stick were handed to the chief--each stick representing a castore; so that he knew exactly how much he was worth, and proceeded to choose accordingly.
First he gazed earnestly at a huge thick blanket, then he counted his sticks, and considered. Perhaps the memory of the cold blasts of winter crossed his mind, for he quickly asked how many castores it was worth. The trader told him. The proper number of pieces of stick were laid down, and the blanket was handed over. Next a gun attracted his eye. The guns sent out for the Indian trade are very cheap ones, with blue barrels and red stocks. They shoot pretty well, but are rather apt to burst. Indeed this fate had befallen the chief's last gun, so he resolved to have another, and bought it. Then he looked earnestly for some time at a tin kettle. Boiled meat was evidently in his mind; but at this point his squaw plucked him by the sleeve. She whispered in his ear. A touch of generosity seemed to come over him, for he pointed to a web of bright scarlet cloth. A yard of this was measured off, and handed to his spouse, whose happiness for the moment was complete--for squaws in Rupert's Land, like the fair sex in England, are uncommonly fond of finery.
As the chief proceeded, he became more cautious and slow in his choice. Finery tempted him on the one hand, necessaries pressed him on the other, and at this point the trader stepped in to help him to decide; he recommended, warned, and advised. Twine was to be got for nets and fishing-lines, powder and shot, axes for cutting his winter firewood, cloth for his own and his wife's leggings, knives, tobacco, needles, and an endless variety of things, which gradually lessened his little pile of sticks, until at last he reached the sticking point, when all his sticks were gone.
"Now, Darkeye," (that was the chief's name), "you've come to the end at last, and a good thing you have made of it this year," said Mr Grant, in the Indian language. "Have you got all you want?"
"Darkeye wants bullets," said the chief.
"Ah, to be sure. You shall have a lot of these for nothing, and some tobacco too," said the trader, handing the gifts to the Indian.
A look of satisfaction lighted up the chief's countenance as he received the gifts, and made way for another Indian to open and display his pack of furs. But Jasper was struck by a peculiar expression in the face of Darkeye. Observing that he took up one of the bullets and showed it to another savage, our hunter edged near him to overhear the conversation.
"Do you see that ball?" said the chief, in a low tone.
The Indian to whom he spoke nodded.
"Look here!"
Darkeye put the bullet into his mouth as he spoke, and bit it until his strong sharp teeth sank deep into the lead; then, holding it up, he said, in the same low voice, "You will know it again?"
Once more the savage nodded, and a malicious smile played on his face for a moment.
Just then Mr Grant called out, "Come here, Jasper, tell me what you think this otter-skin is worth."
Jasper's curiosity had been aroused by the mysterious conduct of Darkeye, and he would have given a good deal to have heard a little more of his conversation; but, being thus called away, he was obliged to leave his place, and soon forgot the incident.
During the whole of that day the trading of furs was carried on much as I have now described it. Some of the Indians had large packs, and some had small, but all of them had sufficient to purchase such things as were necessary for themselves and their families during the approaching winter; and as each man received from Mr Grant a present of tobacco, besides a few trinkets of small value, they returned to the Hall that night in high good humour.
Next day, Jasper and his friends bade the hospitable trader farewell, and a few days after that the Indians left him. They smoked a farewell pipe, then struck their tents, and placed them and their packs of goods in the canoes, with their wives, children, and dogs. Pushing out into the stream, they commenced the return journey to their distant hunting-grounds. Once more their shouts rang through the forest, and rolled over the water, and once more the paddles sent the sparkling drops into the air as they dashed ahead, round the point of rocks above the fort, and disappeared; leaving the fur-trader, as they found him, smoking his pipe, with his hands in his pockets, and leaning against the door-post of his once-again silent and solitary home.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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7
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A SAVAGE FAMILY, AND A FIGHT WITH A BEAR.
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About a week after our travellers left the outpost, Arrowhead had an adventure with a bear, which had well-nigh cut short his journey through this world, as well as his journey in the wilderness of Rupert's Land.
It was in the evening of a beautiful day when it happened. The canoe had got among some bad rapids, and, as it advanced very slowly, young Heywood asked to be put on shore, that he might walk up the banks of the river, which were very beautiful, and sketch.
In half an hour he was far ahead of the canoe. Suddenly, on turning round a rocky point, he found himself face to face with a small Indian boy. It is probable that the little fellow had never seen a white man before, and it is certain that Heywood had never seen such a specimen of a brown boy. He was clothed in skin, it is true, but it was the skin in which he had been born, for he had not a stitch of clothing on his fat little body.
As the man and the boy stood staring at each other, it would have been difficult to say which opened his eyes widest with amazement. At first Heywood fancied the urchin was a wild beast of some sort on two legs, but a second glance convinced him that he was a real boy. The next thought that occurred to the artist was, that he would try to sketch him, so he clapped his hand to his pocket, pulled out his book and pencil, and forthwith began to draw.
This terrified the little fellow so much, that he turned about and fled howling into the woods. Heywood thought of giving chase, but a noise attracted his attention at that moment, and, looking across the river, he beheld the boy's father in the same cool dress as his son. The man had been fishing, but when he saw that strangers were passing, he threw his blanket round him, jumped into his canoe, and crossed over to meet them.
This turned out to be a miserably poor family of Indians, consisting of the father, mother, three girls, and a boy, and a few ill-looking dogs. They all lived together in a little tent or wigwam, made partly of skins and partly of birch-bark. This tent was shaped like a cone. The fire was kindled inside, in the middle of the floor. A hole in the side served for a door, and a hole in the top did duty for window and chimney. The family kettle hung above the fire, and the family circle sat around it. A dirtier family and filthier tent one could not wish to see. The father was a poor weakly man and a bad hunter; the squaw was thin, wrinkled, and very dirty, and the children were all sickly-looking, except the boy before mentioned, who seemed to enjoy more than his fair share of health and rotundity.
"Have ye got anything to eat?" inquired Jasper, when the canoe reached the place.
They had not got much, only a few fish and an owl.
"Poor miserable critters," said Jasper, throwing them a goose and a lump of venison; "see there--that'll keep the wolf out o' yer insides for some time. Have ye got anything to smoke?"
No, they had nothing to smoke but a few dried leaves.
"Worse and worse," cried Jasper, pulling a large plug of tobacco from the breast of his coat; "here, that'll keep you puffin' for a short bit, anyhow."
Heywood, although no smoker himself, carried a small supply of tobacco just to give away to Indians, so he added two or three plugs to Jasper's gift, and Arrowhead gave the father a few charges of powder and shot. They then stepped into their canoe, and pushed off with that feeling of light hearted happiness which always follows the doing of a kind action.
"There's bears up the river," said the Indian, as they were leaving.
"Have ye seen them?" inquired Jasper.
"Ay, but could not shoot--no powder, no ball. Look out for them!"
"That will I," replied the hunter, and in another moment the canoe was out among the rapids again, advancing slowly up the river.
In about an hour afterwards they came to a part of the river where the banks were high and steep. Here Jasper landed to look for the tracks of the bears. He soon found these, and as they appeared to be fresh, he prepared to follow them up.
"We may as well encamp here," said he to Arrowhead; "you can go and look for the bears. I will land the baggage, and haul up the canoe, and then take my gun and follow you. I see that our friend Heywood is at work with his pencil already."
This was true. The keen artist was so delighted with the scene before him, that the moment the canoe touched the land he had jumped out, and, seating himself on the trunk of a fallen tree, with book and pencil, soon forgot everything that was going on around him.
Arrowhead shouldered his gun and went away up the river. Jasper soon finished what he had to do, and followed him, leaving Heywood seated on the fallen tree.
Now the position which Heywood occupied was rather dangerous. The tree lay on the edge of an overhanging bank of clay, about ten feet above the water, which was deep and rapid at that place. At first the young man sat down on the tree-trunk near its root, but after a time, finding the position not quite to his mind, he changed it, and went close to the edge of the bank. He was so much occupied with his drawing, that he did not observe that the ground on which his feet rested actually overhung the stream. As his weight rested on the fallen tree, however, he remained there safe enough and busy for half an hour.
At the end of that time he was disturbed by a noise in the bushes. Looking up, he beheld a large brown bear coming straight towards him. Evidently the bear did not see him, for it was coming slowly and lazily along, with a quiet meditative expression on its face. The appearance of the animal was so sudden and unexpected, that poor Heywood's heart almost leaped into his mouth. His face grew deadly pale, his long hair almost rose on his head with terror, and he was utterly unable to move hand or foot.
In another moment the bear was within three yards of him, and, being taken by surprise, it immediately rose on its hind legs, which is the custom of bears when about to make or receive an attack. It stared for a moment at the horrified artist.
Let not my reader think that Heywood's feelings were due to cowardice. The bravest of men have been panic-stricken when taken by surprise. The young man had never seen a bear before, except in a cage, and the difference between a caged and a free bear is very great. Besides, when a rough-looking monster of this kind comes unexpectedly on a man who is unarmed, and has no chance of escape, and rises on its hind legs, as if to let him have a full view of its enormous size, its great strength, and its ugly appearance, he may well be excused for feeling a little uncomfortable, and looking somewhat uneasy.
When the bear rose, as I have said, Heywood's courage returned. His first act was to fling his sketch-book in Bruin's face, and then, uttering a loud yell, he sprang to his feet, intending to run away. But the violence of his action broke off the earth under his feet. He dropt into the river like a lump of lead, and was whirled away in a moment!
What that bear thought when it saw the man vanish from the spot like a ghost, of course I cannot tell. It certainly _looked_ surprised, and, if it was a bear of ordinary sensibility, it must undoubtedly have _felt_ astonished. At any rate, after standing there, gazing for nearly a minute in mute amazement at the spot where Heywood had disappeared, it let itself down on its forelegs, and, turning round, walked slowly back into the bushes.
Poor Heywood could not swim, so the river did what it pleased with him. After sweeping him out into the middle of the stream, and rolling him over five or six times, and whirling him round in an eddy close to the land, and dragging him out again into the main current, and sending him struggling down a rapid, it threw him at last, like a bundle of old clothes, on a shallow, where he managed to get on his feet, and staggered to the shore in a most melancholy plight. Thereafter he returned to the encampment, like a drowned rat, with his long hair plastered to his thin face, and his soaked garments clinging tightly to his slender body. Had he been able to see himself at that moment, he would have laughed, but, not being able to see himself, and feeling very miserable, he sighed and shuddered with cold, and then set to work to kindle a fire and dry himself.
Meanwhile the bear continued its walk up the river. Arrowhead, after a time, lost the track of the bear he was in search of, and, believing that it was too late to follow it up farther that night, he turned about, and began to retrace his steps. Not long after that, he and the bear met face to face. Of course, the Indian's gun was levelled in an instant, but the meeting was so sudden, that the aim was not so true as usual, and, although the ball mortally wounded the animal, it did not kill him outright.
There was no time to re-load, so Arrowhead dropped his gun and ran. He doubled as he ran, and made for the encampment; but the bear ran faster. It was soon at the Indian's heels. Knowing that farther flight was useless, Arrowhead drew the hatchet that hung at his belt, and, turning round, faced the infuriated animal, which instantly rose on its hind legs and closed with him.
The Indian met it with a tremendous blow of his axe, seized it by the throat with his left hand, and endeavoured to repeat the blow. [See frontispiece.] But brave and powerful though he was, the Indian was like a mere child in the paw of the bear. The axe descended with a crash on the monster's head, and sank into its skull. But bears are notoriously hard to kill. This one scarcely seemed to feel the blow. Next instant Arrowhead was down, and, with its claws fixed in the man's back, the bear held him down, while it began to gnaw the fleshy part of his left shoulder.
No cry escaped from the prostrate hunter. He determined to lie perfectly still, as if he were dead, that being his only chance of escape; but the animal was furious, and there is little doubt that the Indian's brave spirit would soon have fled, had not God mercifully sent Jasper Derry to his relief.
That stout hunter had been near at hand when the shot was fired. He at once ran in the direction whence the sound came, and arrived on the scene of the struggle just as Arrowhead fell. Without a moment's hesitation he dropt on one knee, took a quick but careful aim and fired. The ball entered the bear's head just behind the ear and rolled it over dead!
Arrowhead's first act on rising was to seize the hand of his deliverer, and in a tone of deep feeling exclaimed, "My brother!"
"Ay," said Jasper with a quiet smile, as he reloaded his gun; "this is not the first time that you and I have helped one another in the nick of time, Arrowhead; we shall be brothers, and good friends to boot, I hope, as long as we live."
"Good," said the Indian, a smile lighting up for one moment his usually grave features.
"But my brother is wounded, let me see," said Jasper.
"It will soon be well," said the Indian carelessly, as he took off his coat and sat down on the bank, while the white hunter examined his wounds.
This was all that was said on the subject by these two men. They were used to danger in every form, and had often saved each other from sudden death. The Indian's wounds, though painful, were trifling. Jasper dressed them in silence, and then, drawing his long hunting knife, he skinned and cut up the bear, while his companion lay down on the bank, smoked his pipe, and looked on. Having cut off the best parts of the carcass for supper, the hunters returned to the canoe, carrying the skin along with them.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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8
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RUNNING THE FALLS--WILD SCENES AND MEN.
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Next day the travellers reached one of those magnificent lakes of which there are so many in the wild woods of North America, and which are so like to the great ocean itself, that it is scarcely possible to believe them to be bodies of fresh water until they are tasted.
The largest of these inland seas is the famous Lake Superior, which is so enormous in size that ships can sail on its broad bosom for several days _out_ _of_ _sight_ of land. It is upwards of three hundred miles long, and about one hundred and fifty broad. A good idea of its size may be formed from the fact, that it is large enough to contain the whole of Scotland, and deep enough to cover her highest hills!
The lake on which the canoe was now launched, although not so large as Superior, was, nevertheless, a respectable body of water, on which the sun was shining as if on a shield of bright silver. There were numbers of small islets scattered over its surface; some thickly wooded to the water's edge, others little better than bare rocks. Crossing this lake they came to the mouth of a pretty large stream and began to ascend it. The first thing they saw on rounding a bend in the stream was an Indian tent, and in front of this tent was an Indian baby, hanging from the branch of a tree.
Let not the reader be horrified. The child was not hanging by the neck, but by the handle of its cradle, which its mother had placed there, to keep her little one out of the way of the dogs. The Indian cradle is a very simple contrivance. A young mother came out of the tent with her child just as the canoe arrived, and began to pack it in its cradle. Jasper stopped for a few minutes to converse with one of the Indians, so that the artist had a good opportunity of witnessing the whole operation.
The cradle was simply a piece of flat board, with a bit of scarlet cloth fastened down each side of it. First of all, the mother laid the poor infant, which was quite naked, sprawling on the ground. A dirty-looking dog took advantage of this to sneak forward and smell at it, whereupon the mother seized a heavy piece of wood, and hit the dog such a rap over the nose as sent it away howling. Then she spread a thick layer of soft moss on the wooden board. Above this she laid a very neat, small blanket, about two feet in length. Upon this she placed the baby, which objected at first to go to bed, squalled a good deal, and kicked a little. The mother therefore took it up, turned it over, gave it one or two hearty slaps, and laid it down again.
This seemed to quiet it, for it afterwards lay straight out, and perfectly still, with its coal-black eyes staring out of its fat brown face, as if it were astonished at receiving such rough treatment. The mother next spread a little moss over the child, and above that she placed another small blanket, which she folded and tucked in very comfortably, keeping the little one's arms close to its sides, and packing it all up, from neck to heels, so tightly that it looked more like the making up of a parcel than the wrapping up of a child. This done, she drew the scarlet cloth over it from each side of the cradle, and laced it down the front. When all was done, the infant looked like an Egyptian mummy, nothing but the head being visible.
The mother then leaned the cradle against the stem of a tree, and immediately one of the dogs ran against it, and knocked it over. Luckily, there was a wooden bar attached to the cradle, in front of the child's face, which bar is placed there on purpose to guard against injury from such accidents, so that the bar came first to the ground, and thus prevented the flattening of the child's nose, which, to say truth, was flat enough already!
Instead of scolding herself for her own carelessness, the Indian mother scolded the dog, and then hung the child on the branch of a tree, to keep it from further mischief.
The next turn in the river revealed a large waterfall, up which it was impossible to paddle, so they prepared to make a portage. Before arriving at the foot of it, however, Jasper landed Heywood, to enable him to make a sketch, and then the two men shoved off, and proceeded to the foot of the fall.
They were lying there in an eddy, considering where was the best spot to land, when a loud shout drew their attention towards the rushing water. Immediately after, a boat was seen to hover for a moment on the brink of the waterfall. This fall, although about ten or fifteen feet high, had such a large body of water rushing over it, that the river, instead of falling straight down, gushed over in a steep incline. Down this incline the boat now darted with the speed of lightning. It was full of men, two of whom stood erect, the one in the bow, the other in the stern, to control the movements of the boat.
For a few seconds there was deep silence. The men held their breath as the boat leaped along with the boiling flood. There was a curling white wave at the foot of the fall. The boat cut through this like a knife, drenching her crew with spray. Next moment she swept round into the eddy where the canoe was floating, and the men gave vent to a loud cheer of satisfaction at having run the fall in safety.
But this was not the end of that exciting scene. Scarcely had they gained the land, when another boat appeared on the crest of the fall. Again a shout was given and a dash made. For one moment there was a struggle with the raging flood, and then a loud cheer as the second boat swept into the eddy in safety. Then a third and a fourth boat went through the same operation, and before the end of a quarter of an hour, six boats ran the fall. The bay at the foot of it, which had been so quiet and solitary when Jasper and his friends arrived, became the scene of the wildest confusion and noise, as the men ran about with tremendous activity, making preparations to spend the night there.
Some hauled might and main at the boats; some carried up the provisions, frying-pans, and kettles; others cut down dry trees with their axes, and cut them up into logs from five to six feet long, and as thick as a man's thigh. These were intended for six great fires, each boat's crew requiring a fire to themselves.
While this was going on, the principal guides and steersmen crowded round our three travellers, and plied them with questions; for it was so unusual to meet with strangers in that far-off wilderness, that a chance meeting of this kind was regarded as quite an important event.
"You're bound for York Fort, no doubt," said Jasper, addressing a tall handsome man of between forty and fifty, who was the principal guide.
"Ay, that's the end of our journey. You see we're taking our furs down to the coast. Have you come from York Fort, friend!"
"No, I've come all the way from Canada," said Jasper, who thereupon gave them a short account of his voyage.
"Well, Jasper, you'll spend the night with us, won't you?" said the guide.
"That will I, right gladly."
"Come, then, I see the fires are beginning to burn. We may as well have a pipe and a chat while supper is getting ready."
The night was now closing in, and the scene in the forest, when the camp-fires began to blaze, was one of the most stirring and romantic sights that could be witnessed in that land. The men of the brigade were some of them French-Canadians, some natives of the Orkney Islands, who had been hired and sent out there by the Hudson's Bay Company, others were half-breeds, and a few were pure Indians. They were all dressed in what is called _voyageur_ costume-coats or capotes of blue or grey cloth, with hoods to come over their heads at night, and fastened round their waists with scarlet worsted belts; corduroy or grey trousers, gartered outside at the knees, moccasins, and caps. But most of them threw off their coats, and appeared in blue and red striped cotton shirts, which were open at the throat, exposing their broad, sun-burned, hairy chests. There was variety, too, in the caps--some had Scotch bonnets, others red nightcaps, a few had tall hats, ornamented with gold and silver cords and tassels, and a good many wore no covering at all except their own thickly-matted hair. Their faces were burned to every shade of red, brown, and black, from constant exposure, and they were strong as lions, wild as zebras, and frolicksome as kittens.
It was no wonder, then, that Heywood got into an extraordinary state of excitement and delight as he beheld these wild, fine-looking men smoking their pipes and cooking their suppers, sitting, lying, and standing, talking and singing, and laughing, with teeth glistening and eyes glittering in the red blaze of the fires--each of which fires was big enough to have roasted a whole ox!
The young artist certainly made good use of his opportunity. He went about from fire to fire, sketch-book in hand, sketching all the best-looking men in every possible attitude, sometimes singly, and sometimes in groups of five or six. He then went to the farthest end of the encampment, and, in the light of the last fire, made a picture of all the rest.
The kettles were soon steaming. These hung from tripods erected over the fires. Their contents were flour and pemmican, made into a thick soup called Rubbiboo.
As pemmican is a kind of food but little known in this country, I may as well describe how it is made. In the first place, it consists of buffalo meat. The great plains, or prairies, of America, which are like huge downs or commons hundreds of miles in extent, afford grass sufficient to support countless herds of deer, wild horses, and bisons. The bisons are called by the people there buffaloes. The buffalo is somewhat like an enormous ox, but its hind-quarters are smaller and its fore-quarters much larger than those of the ox. Its hair is long and shaggy, particularly about the neck and shoulders, where it becomes almost a mane. Its horns are thick and short, and its look is very ferocious, but it is in reality a timid creature, and will only turn to attack a man when it is hard pressed and cannot escape. Its flesh is first-rate for food, even better than beef, and there is a large hump on its shoulder, which is considered the best part of the animal.
Such is the bison, or buffalo, from which pemmican is made.
When a man wishes to make a bag of pemmican, he first of all kills the buffalo--not an easy thing to do by any means, for the buffalo runs well. Having killed him, he skins him and cuts up the meat--also a difficult thing to do, especially if one is not used to that sort of work. Then he cuts the meat into thin layers, and hangs it up to dry. Dried meat will keep for a long time. It is packed up in bales and sent about that country to be used as food. The next thing to be done is to make a bag of the raw hide of the buffalo. This is done with a glover's needle, the raw sinews of the animal being used instead of thread. The bag is usually about three feet long, and eighteen inches broad, and the hair is left on the outside of it. A huge pot is now put on the fire, and the fat of the buffalo is melted down. Then the dried meat is pounded between two stones, until it is torn and broken up into shreds, after which it is put into the bag, the melted fat is poured over it, and the whole is well mixed. The last operation is to sew up the mouth of the bag and leave it to cool, after which the pemmican is ready for use.
In this state a bag of pemmican will keep fresh and good for years. When the search was going on in the polar regions for the lost ships of Sir John Franklin, one of the parties hid some pemmican in the ground, intending to return and take it up. They returned home, however, another way. Five years later some travellers discovered this pemmican, and it was found, at that time, to be fit for food. Pemmican is extensively used throughout Rupert's Land, especially during summer, for at that season the brigades of boats start from hundreds of inland trading-posts to take the furs to the coast for shipment to England, and pemmican is found to be not only the best of food for these hard-working men, but exceedingly convenient to carry.
Supper finished, the wild-looking fellows of this brigade took to their pipes, and threw fresh logs on the fires, which roared, and crackled, and shot up their forked tongues of flame, as if they wished to devour the forest. Then the song and the story went round, and men told of terrible fights with the red-men of the prairies, and desperate encounters with grizzly bears in the Rocky Mountains, and narrow escapes among the rapids and falls, until the night was half spent. Then, one by one, each man wrapped himself in his blanket, stretched himself on the ground with his feet towards the fire and his head pillowed on a coat or a heap of brush-wood, and went to sleep.
Ere long they were all down, except one or two long-winded story tellers, who went on muttering to their pipes after their comrades were asleep. Even these became tired at last of the sound of their own voices, and gradually every noise in the camp was hushed, except the crackling of the fires as they sank by degrees and went out, leaving the place in dead silence and total darkness.
With the first peep of dawn the guide arose. In ten minutes after his first shout the whole camp was astir. The men yawned a good deal at first and grumbled a little, and stretched themselves violently, and yawned again. But soon they shook off laziness and sprang to their work. Pots, pans, kettles, and pemmican bags were tossed into the boats, and in the course of half-an-hour they were ready to continue the voyage.
Jasper stood beside the guide looking on at the busy scene.
"Heard you any news from the Saskatchewan of late," said he.
"Not much," replied the guide; "there's little stirring there just now, except among the Indians, who have been killing and scalping each other as usual. But, by the way, that reminds me there has been a sort of row between the Indians and the Company's people at Fort Erie."
"Fort Erie," said Jasper with a start.
"Ay, that's the name o' the fort, if I remember right," returned the guide. "It seems that one o' the men there, I think they call him Laroche--but what makes you start, friend Jasper? Do you know anything of this man."
"Yes, he's a friend of mine. Go on, let me hear about it."
"Well, there's not much to tell," resumed the guide. "This Laroche, it would appear, has got into hot water. He has a daughter, a good lookin' wench I'm told, and, better than that, a well-behaved one. One o' the Indians had been impertinent to the girl, so old Laroche, who seems to be a fiery fellow, up fist, hit him on the nose, and knocked the savage flat on his back. A tremendous howl was set up, and knives and hatchets were flourished; but Mr Pemberton, who is in charge of Fort Erie, ran in and pacified them. The Indian that was floored vows he'll have the hair of old Laroche's head."
This taking the hair off people's heads, or scalping, as it is called, is a common practice among the North American Indians. When a savage kills his enemy he runs his scalping knife round the dead man's head, seizes the hair with his left hand and tears the scalp off. Indeed this dreadful cruelty is sometimes practised before death has occurred. The scalp with its lock of hair is taken home by the victor, and hung up in his tent as a trophy of war. The man who can show the greatest number of scalps is considered the greatest warrior. The dresses of Indian warriors are usually fringed with human scalp-locks.
"That's a bad business," said Jasper, who was concerned to hear such news of his intended father-in-law. "Do ye know the name o' this red-skinned rascal?"
"I heard it mentioned," said the guide, "but I can't remember it at this moment."
"The boats are ready to start," said one of the steersmen, coming up just then.
"Very good, let the men embark. Now, Jasper, we must part. Give us a shake o' your hand. A pleasant trip to you."
"The same to you, friend," said Jasper, returning the guide's squeeze.
In another minute the boats were away.
"Now, friends, we shall start," said Jasper, breaking the deep silence which followed the departure of the brigade.
"Good," said Arrowhead.
"I'm ready," said Heywood.
The canoe was soon in the water, and the men in their places; but they started that morning without a song. Arrowhead was never inclined to be noisy, Heywood was sleepy, and Jasper was rendered anxious by what he had heard of his friends at Fort Erie, so they paddled away in silence.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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9
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THE FORT, AND AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
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We turn now to a very different scene. It is a small fort or trading-post on the banks of a stream which flows through the prairie. The fort is very much like the one which has been already described, but somewhat stronger; and there are four block-houses or bastions, one at each corner, from which the muzzles of a few heavy guns may be seen protruding.
The trees and bushes have been cleared away from around this fort, and the strips of forest-land, which run along both sides of the river, are not so thickly wooded, as the country through which the reader has hitherto been travelling. In front of the fort rolls the river. Immediately behind it lies the boundless prairie, which extends like a sea of grass, with scarcely a tree or bush upon it, as far as the eye can reach. This is Fort Erie.
You might ride for many days over that prairie without seeing anything of the forest, except a clump of trees and bushes here and there, and now and then a little pond. The whole region is extremely beautiful. One that ought to fill the hearts of men with admiration and love of the bountiful God who formed it. But men in those regions, at the time I write of, thought of little beauties of nature, and cared nothing for the goodness of God. At least this may be truly said of the red-skinned owners of the soil. It was otherwise with _some_ of the white people who dwelt there.
Three weeks had passed away since the night spent by our friends with the brigade. It was now a beautiful evening, a little after sunset. The day's work at the fort had been finished, and the men were amusing themselves by racing their horses, of which fine animals there were great numbers at Fort Erie.
Just a little after the sun had gone down, three horsemen appeared on the distant prairie and came bounding at full gallop towards the fort. They were our friends Jasper, Heywood, and Arrowhead. These adventurous travellers had reached a fort farther down the river two days before, and, having been supplied with horses, had pushed forward by way of the plains.
On entering the belt of woods close to the fort, the horsemen reined in, and rode among the trees more cautiously.
"Here's the end of our journey at last," cried Jasper, on whose bronzed countenance there was a deep flush of excitement and a look of anxiety.
Just as he said this, Jasper's heart appeared to leap into his throat and almost choked him. Pulling up suddenly, he swallowed his heart, with some difficulty, and said-- "Hold on, lads. I'll ride round to the fort by way of the river, for reasons of my own. Push on, Heywood, with the Indian, and let Mr Pemberton know I'm coming. See, I will give you the packet of letters we were asked to carry from the fort below. Now, make haste."
Heywood, though a little surprised at this speech, and at the manner of his friend, took the packet in silence and rode swiftly away, followed by the Indian. When they were gone, Jasper dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and walked quickly into the woods in another direction.
Now this mysterious proceeding is not difficult to explain. Jasper had caught sight of a female figure walking under the trees at a considerable distance from the spot where he had pulled up. He knew that there were none but Indian women at Fort Erie at that time, and that, therefore, the only respectably dressed female at the place must needs be his own Marie Laroche. Overjoyed at the opportunity thus unexpectedly afforded him of meeting her alone, he hastened forward with a beating heart.
Marie was seated on the stump of a fallen tree when the hunter came up. She was a fair, beautiful woman of about five-and-twenty, with an air of modesty about her which attracted love, yet repelled familiarity. Many a good-looking and well-doing young fellow had attempted to gain the heart of Marie during the last two years, but without success--for this good reason, that her heart had been gained already.
She was somewhat startled when a man appeared thus suddenly before her. Jasper stood in silence for a few moments, with his arms crossed upon his breast, and gazed earnestly into her face.
As he did not speak, she said-- "You appear to be a stranger here. Have you arrived lately?"
Jasper was for a moment astonished that she did not at once recognise him, and yet he had no reason to be surprised. Besides the alteration that two years sometimes makes in a man, Jasper had made a considerable alteration on himself. When Marie last saw him, he had been in the habit of practising the foolish and unnatural custom of shaving; and he had carried it to such an extreme that he shaved off everything-- whiskers, beard, and moustache. But within a year he had been induced by a wise friend to change his opinion on this subject. That friend had suggested, that as Providence had caused hair to grow on his cheeks, lips, and chin, it was intended to be worn, and that he had no more right to shave his face than a Chinaman had to shave his head. Jasper had been so far convinced, that he had suffered his whiskers to grow. These were now large and bushy, and had encroached so much on his chin as to have become almost a beard.
Besides this, not having shaved any part of his face during the last three weeks, there was little of it visible except his eyes, forehead, and cheek-bones. All the rest was more or less covered with black hair.
No wonder, then, that Marie, who believed him to be two thousand miles away at that moment, did not recognise him in the increasing darkness of evening. The lover at once understood this, and he resolved to play the part of a stranger. He happened to have the power of changing his voice--a power possessed by many people--and, trusting to the increasing gloom to conceal him, and to the fact that he was the last person in the world whom Marie might expect to see there, he addressed her as follows:-- "I am indeed a stranger here; at least I have not been at the post for a very long time. I have just reached the end of a long voyage."
"Indeed," said the girl, interested by the stranger's grave manner. "May I ask where you have come from?"
"I have come all the way from Canada, young woman, and I count myself lucky in meeting with such a pleasant face at the end of my journey."
"From Canada!" exclaimed Marie, becoming still more interested in the stranger, and blushing deeply as she asked--"You have friends there, no doubt?"
"Ay, a few," said Jasper.
"And what has brought you such a long way into this wild wilderness?" asked Marie, sighing as she thought of the hundreds of miles that lay between Fort Erie and Canada.
"I have come here to get me a wife," replied Jasper.
"That is strange," said the girl, smiling, "for there are few but Indian women here. A stout hunter like you might find one nearer home, I should think."
Here Marie paused, for she felt that on such a subject she ought not to converse with a stranger. Yet she could not help adding, "But perhaps, as you say, you have been in this part of the world before, you may have some one in your mind?"
"I am engaged," said Jasper abruptly.
On hearing this Marie felt more at her ease, and, being of a very sympathetic nature, she at once courted the confidence of the stranger.
"May I venture to ask her name?" said Marie, with an arch smile.
"I may not tell," replied Jasper; "I have a comrade who is entitled to know this secret before any one else. Perhaps you may have heard of him, for he was up in these parts two years agone. His name is Jasper Derry."
The blood rushed to Marie's temples on hearing the name, and she turned her face away to conceal her agitation, while, in a low voice, she said-- "Is Jasper Derry, then, your intimate friend?"
"That is he--a very intimate friend indeed. But you appear to know him."
"Yes, I--I know him--I have seen him. I hope he is well," said Marie; and she listened with a beating heart for the answer, though she still turned her face away.
"Oh! he's well enough," said Jasper; "sickness don't often trouble _him_. He's going to be married."
Had a bullet struck the girl's heart she could not have turned more deadly pale than she did on hearing this. She half rose from the tree stump, and would have fallen to the ground insensible, had not Jasper caught her in his arms.
"My own Marie," said he fervently, "forgive me, dearest; forgive my folly, my wickedness, in deceiving you in this fashion. Oh, what a fool I am!" he added, as the poor girl still hung heavily in his grasp--"speak to me Marie, my own darling."
Whether it was the earnestness of his voice, or the kiss which he printed on her forehead, or the coolness of the evening air, I know not, but certain it is that Marie recovered in the course of a few minutes, and, on being convinced that Jasper really was her old lover, she resigned herself, wisely, to her fate, and held such an uncommonly long conversation with the bold hunter, that the moon was up and the stars were out before they turned their steps towards the Fort.
"Why, Jasper Derry," cried Mr Pemberton, as the hunter entered the hall of Fort Erie, "where _have_ you been. I've been expecting you every moment for the last two hours."
"Well, you see, Mr Pemberton, I just went down the river a short bit to see an old friend and I was kep' longer than I expected," said Jasper, with a cool, grave face, as he grasped and shook the hand which was held out to him.
"Ah! I see, you hunters are more like brothers than friends. No doubt you went to smoke a pipe with Hawkeye, or to have a chat with the Muskrat about old times," said the fur-trader, mentioning the names of two Indians who were celebrated as being the best hunters in the neighbourhood, and who had been bosom friends of Jasper when he resided there two years before.
"No, I've not yet smoked a pipe with Hawkeye, neither have I seen Muskrat, but I certainly have had a pretty long chat with one o' my old friends," answered Jasper, while a quiet smile played on his face.
"Well, come along and have a pipe and a chat with _me_. I hope you count me one of your friends too," said Mr Pemberton, conducting Jasper into an inner room, where he found Heywood and Arrowhead seated at a table, doing justice to a splendid supper of buffalo-tongues, venison-steaks, and marrow-bones.
"Here are your comrades, you see, hard at work. It's lucky you came to-night, Jasper, for I intend to be off to-morrow morning, by break of day, on a buffalo-hunt. If you had been a few hours later of arriving, I should have missed you. Come, will you eat or smoke?"
"I'll eat first, if you have no objection," said Jasper, "and smoke afterwards."
"Very good. Sit down, then, and get to work. Meanwhile I'll go and look after the horses that we intend to take with us to-morrow. Of course you'll accompany us, Jasper?"
"I'll be very glad, and so will Arrowhead, there. There's nothing he likes so much as a chase after a buffalo, unless, it may be, the eating of him. But as for my friend and comrade Mr Heywood, he must speak for himself."
"I will be delighted to go," answered the artist, "nothing will give me more pleasure; but I fear my steed is too much exhausted to--" "Oh! make your mind easy on that score," said the fur-trader, interrupting him. "I have plenty of capital horses, and can mount the whole of you, so that's settled. And now, friends, do justice to your supper, I shall be back before you have done."
So saying, Mr Pemberton left the room, and our three friends, being unusually hungry, fell vigorously to work on the good cheer of Fort Erie.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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10
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BUFFALO-HUNTING ON THE PRAIRIES.
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Next day most of the men of Fort Erie, headed by Mr Pemberton, rode away into the prairies on a buffalo-hunt. Jasper would willingly have remained with Marie at the fort, but, having promised to go, he would not now draw back.
The band of horsemen rode for three hours, at a quick pace, over the grassy plains, without seeing anything. Jasper kept close beside his friend, old Laroche, while Heywood rode and conversed chiefly with Mr Pemberton. There were about twenty men altogether, armed with guns, and mounted on their best buffalo-runners, as they styled the horses which were trained to hunt the buffalo. Many of these steeds had been wild horses, caught by the Indians, broken-in, and sold by them to the fur-traders.
"I have seldom ridden so long without meeting buffaloes," observed Mr Pemberton, as the party galloped to the top of a ridge of land, from which they could see the plains far and wide around them.
"There they are at last," said Heywood eagerly, pointing to a certain spot on the far-off horizon where living creatures of some sort were seen moving.
"That must be a band o' red-skins," said Jasper, who trotted up at this moment with the rest of the party.
"They are Sauteaux," [This word is pronounced _Sotoes_ in the plural; _Sotoe_ in the singular] observed Arrowhead quietly.
"You must have good eyes, friend," said Pemberton, applying a small pocket-telescope to his eye; "they are indeed Sauteaux, I see by their dress, and they have observed us, for they are coming straight this way, like the wind."
"Will they come as enemies or friends?" inquired Heywood.
"As friends, I have no doubt," replied the fur-trader. "Come, lads, we will ride forward to meet them."
In a short time the two parties of horsemen met. They approached almost at full speed, as if each meant to ride the other down, and did not rein up until they were so close that it seemed impossible to avoid a shock.
"Have you seen the buffaloes lately?" inquired Pemberton, after the first salutation had passed.
"Yes, there are large bands not an hour's ride from this. Some of our young warriors have remained to hunt. We are going to the fort to trade."
"Good; you will find tobacco enough there to keep you smoking till I return with fresh meat," said Pemberton, in the native tongue, which he could speak like an Indian. "I'll not be long away. Farewell."
No more words were wasted. The traders galloped away over the prairie, and the Indians, of whom there were about fifteen, dashed off in the direction of the fort.
These Indians were a very different set of men from those whom I have already introduced to the reader in a former chapter. There are many tribes of Indians in the wilderness of Rupert's Land, and some of the tribes are at constant war with each other. But in order to avoid confusing the reader, it may be as well to divide the Indian race into two great classes--namely, those who inhabit the woods, and those who roam over the plains or prairies. As a general rule, the thick wood Indians are a more peaceful set of men than the prairie Indians. They are few in number, and live in a land full of game, where there is far more than enough of room for all of them. Their mode of travelling in canoes, and on foot, is slow, so that the different tribes do not often meet, and they have no occasion to quarrel. They are, for the most part, a quiet and harmless race of savages, and being very dependent on the fur-traders for the necessaries of life, they are on their good behaviour, and seldom do much mischief.
It is very different with the plain Indians. These savages have numbers of fine horses, and live in a splendid open country, which is well-stocked with deer and buffaloes, besides other game. They are bold riders, and scour over the country in all directions, consequently the different tribes often come across each other when out hunting. Quarrels and fights are the results, so that these savages are naturally a fierce and warlike race. They are independent too; for although they get their guns and ammunition and other necessaries from the traders, they can manage to live without these things if need be. They can clothe themselves in the skins of wild animals, and when they lose their guns, or wet their powder, they can kill game easily with their own bows and arrows.
It was a band of these fellows that now went galloping towards Fort Erie, with the long manes and tails of the half-wild horses and the scalp-locks on their dresses and their own long black hair streaming in the wind.
Pemberton and his party soon came up with the young Indians who had remained to chase the buffaloes. He found them sheltered behind a little mound, making preparations for an immediate attack on the animals, which, however, were not yet visible to the men from the fort.
"I do believe they've seen buffaloes on the other side of that mound," said Pemberton, as he rode forward.
He was right. The Indians, of whom there were six, well mounted and armed with strong short bows, pointed to the mound, and said that on the other side of it there were hundreds of buffaloes.
As the animals were so numerous, no objection was made to the fur-traders joining in the hunt, so in another moment the united party leaped from their horses and prepared for action. Some wiped out and carefully loaded their guns, others examined the priming of their pieces, and chipped the edges off the flints to make sure of their not missing fire. All looked to the girths of their saddles, and a few threw off their coats and rolled their shirt-sleeves up to their shoulders, as if they were going to undertake hard and bloody work.
Mr Pemberton took in hand to look after our friend Heywood; the rest were well qualified to look after themselves. In five minutes they were all remounted and rode quietly to the brow of the mound.
Here an interesting sight presented itself. The whole plain was covered with the huge unwieldy forms of the buffaloes. They were scattered about, singly and in groups, grazing or playing or lying down, and in one or two places some of the bulls were engaged in single combat, pawing the earth, goring each other, and bellowing furiously.
After one look, the hunters dashed down the hill and were in the midst of the astonished animals almost before they could raise their heads to look at them. Now commenced a scene which it is not easy to describe correctly. Each man had selected his own group of animals, so that the whole party was scattered in a moment.
"Follow me," cried Pemberton to Heywood, "observe what I do, and then go try it yourself."
The fur-trader galloped at full speed towards a group of buffaloes which stood right before him, about two hundred yards off. He carried a single-barrelled gun with a flint lock in his right hand and a bullet in his mouth, ready to re-load. The buffaloes gazed at him for one moment in stupid surprise, and then, with a toss of their heads and a whisk of their tails, they turned and fled. At first they ran with a slow awkward gait, like pigs; and to one who did not know their powers, it would seem that the fast-running horses of the two men would quickly overtake them. But as they warmed to the work their speed increased, and it required the horses to get up their best paces to overtake them.
After a furious gallop, Pemberton's horse ran close up alongside of a fine-looking buffalo cow--so close that he could almost touch the side of the animal with the point of his gun. Dropping the rein, he pointed the gun without putting it to his shoulder and fired. The ball passed through the animal's heart, and it dropt like a stone. At the same moment Pemberton flung his cap on the ground beside it, so that he might afterwards claim it as his own.
The well-trained horse did not shy at the shot, neither did it check its pace for a moment, but ran straight on and soon placed its master alongside of another buffalo cow. In the meantime, Pemberton loaded like lightning. He let the reins hang loose, knowing that the horse understood his work, and, seizing the powder-horn at his side with his right hand, drew the wooden stopper with his teeth, and poured a charge of powder into his left--guessing the quantity, of course. Pouring this into the gun he put the muzzle to his mouth, and spat the ball into it, struck the butt on the pommel of the saddle to send it down, as well as to drive the powder into the pan, and taking his chance of the gun priming itself, he aimed as before, and pulled the trigger. The explosion followed, and a second buffalo lay dead upon the plain, with a glove beside it to show to whom it belonged.
Scenes similar to this were being enacted all over the plain, with this difference, that the bad or impatient men sometimes fired too soon and missed their mark, or by only wounding the animals, infuriated them and caused them to run faster. One or two ill-trained horses shied when the guns were fired, and left their riders sprawling on the ground. Others stumbled into badger-holes and rolled over. The Indians did their work well. They were used to it, and did not bend their bows until their horses almost brushed the reeking sides of the huge brutes. Then they drew to the arrow heads, and, leaning forward, buried the shafts up to the feathers. The arrow is said to be even more deadly than the bullet.
Already the plain was strewn with dead or dying buffaloes, and the ground seemed to tremble with the thunder of the tread of the affrighted animals. Jasper had `dropt' three, and Arrowhead had slain two, yet the pace did not slacken--still the work of death went on.
Having seen Pemberton shoot another animal, Heywood became fired with a desire to try his own hand, so he edged away from his companion. Seeing a very large monstrous-looking buffalo flying away by itself at no great distance, he turned his horse towards it, grasped his gun, shook the reins, and gave chase.
Now poor Heywood did not know that the animal he had made up his mind to kill was a tough old bull; neither did he know that a bull is bad to eat, and dangerous to follow; and, worse than all, he did not know that when a bull holds his tail stiff and straight up in the air, it is a sign that he is in a tremendous rage, and that the wisest thing a man can do is to let him alone. Heywood, in fact, knew nothing, so he rushed blindly on his fate. At first the bull did not raise his tail, but, as the rider drew near, he turned his enormous shaggy head a little to one side, and looked at him out of the corner of his wicked little eye. When Heywood came within a few yards and, in attempting to take aim, fired off his gun by accident straight into the face of the sun, the tail went up and the bull began to growl. The ferocious aspect of the creature alarmed the artist, but he had made up his mind to kill it, so he attempted to re-load, as Pemberton had done. He succeeded, and, as he was about to turn his attention again to the bull, he observed one of the men belonging to the fort making towards him. This man saw and knew the artist's danger, and meant to warn him, but his horse unfortunately put one of its feet into a hole, and sent him flying head over heels through the air. Heywood was now so close to the bull that he had to prepare for another shot.
The horse he rode was a thoroughly good buffalo-runner. It knew the dangerous character of the bull, if its rider did not, and kept its eye watchfully upon it. At last the bull lost patience, and, suddenly wheeling round, dashed at the horse, but the trained animal sprang nimbly to one side, and got out of the way. Heywood was all but thrown. He clutched the mane, however, and held on. The bull then continued its flight.
Determined not to be caught in this way again, the artist seized the reins, and ran the horse close alongside of the buffalo, whose tail was now as stiff as a poker. Once more the bull turned suddenly round. Heywood pulled the reins violently, thus confusing his steed which ran straight against the buffalo's big hairy forehead. It was stopped as violently as if it had run against the side of a house. But poor Heywood was not stopped. He left the saddle like a rocket, flew right over the bull's back, came down on his face, ploughed up the land with his nose--and learned a lesson from experience!
Fortunately the spot, on which he fell, happened to be one of those soft muddy places, in which the buffaloes are fond of rolling their huge bodies, in the heat of summer, so that, with the exception of a bruised and dirty face, and badly soiled clothes, the bold artist was none the worse for his adventure.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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11
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WINTER--SLEEPING IN THE SNOW--A NIGHT ALARM.
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Summer passed away, autumn passed away, and winter came. So did Christmas, and so did Jasper's marriage-day.
Now the reader must understand that there is a wonderful difference between the winter in that part of the North American wilderness called Rupert's land, and winter in our own happy island.
Winter out there is from six to eight months long. The snow varies from three to four feet deep, and in many places it drifts to fifteen or twenty feet deep. The ice on the lakes and rivers is sometimes above six feet thick; and the salt sea itself, in Hudson's Bay, is frozen over to a great extent. Nothing like a thaw takes place for many months at a time, and the frost is so intense that it is a matter of difficulty to prevent one's-self from being frost-bitten. The whole country, during these long winter months, appears white, desolate, and silent.
Yet a good many of the birds and animals keep moving about, though most of them do so at night, and do not often meet the eye of man. The bear goes to sleep all winter in a hole, but the wolf and the fox prowl about the woods at night. Ducks, geese, and plover no longer enliven the marshes with their wild cries; but white grouse, or ptarmigan, fly about in immense flocks, and arctic hares make many tracks in the deep snow. Still, these are quiet creatures, and they scarcely break the deep dead silence of the forests in winter.
At this period the Indian and the fur-trader wrap themselves in warm dresses of deer-skin, lined with the thickest flannel, and spend their short days in trapping and shooting. At night the Indian piles logs on his fire to keep out the frost, and adds to the warmth of his skin-tent by heaping snow up the outside of it all round. The fur-trader puts double window-frames and double panes of glass in his windows, puts on double doors, and heats his rooms with cast-iron stoves.
But do what he will, the fur-trader cannot keep out the cold altogether. He may heat the stove red-hot if he will, yet the water in the basins and jugs in the corner of his room will be frozen, and his breath settles on the window-panes, and freezes there so thickly that it actually dims the light of the sun. This crust on the windows _inside_ is sometimes an inch thick!
Thermometers in England are usually filled with quicksilver. In Rupert's Land quicksilver would be frozen half the winter, so spirit of wine is used instead, because that liquid will not freeze with any ordinary degree of cold. Here, the thermometer sometimes falls as low as zero. Out there it does not rise so high as zero during the greater part of the winter, and it is often as low as twenty, thirty, and even fifty degrees _below_ zero.
If the wind should blow when the cold is intense, no man dare face it-- he would be certain to be frost-bitten. The parts of the body that are most easily frozen are the ears, the chin, the cheek-bones, the nose, the heels, fingers, and toes. The freezing of any part begins with a pricking sensation. When this occurs at the point of your nose, it is time to give earnest attention to that feature, else you run the risk of having it shortened. The best way to recover it is to rub it well, and to keep carefully away from the fire.
The likest thing to a frost-bite is a burn. In fact, the two things are almost the same. In both cases the skin or flesh is destroyed, and becomes a sore. In the one case it is destroyed by fire, in the other by frost; but in both it is painful and dangerous, according to the depth of the frost-bite or the burn. Many a poor fellow loses joints of his toes and fingers--some have even lost their hands and feet by frost. Many have lost their lives. But the most common loss is the loss of the skin of the point of the nose, cheek-bones, and chin--a loss which is indeed painful, but can be replaced by nature in the course of time.
Of course curious appearances are produced by such intense cold. On going out into the open air, the breath settles on the breast, whiskers, and eyebrows in the shape of hoar-frost; and men who go out in the morning for a ramble with black or brown locks, return at night with what appears to be grey hair--sometimes with icicles hanging about their faces. Horses and cattle there are seldom without icicles hanging from their lips and noses in winter.
Poor Mr Pemberton was much troubled in this way. He was a fat and heavy man, and apt to perspire freely. When he went out to shoot in winter, the moisture trickled down his face and turned his whiskers into two little blocks of ice; and he used to be often seen, after a hard day's walk, sitting for a long time beside the stove, holding his cheeks to the fire, and gently coaxing the icy blocks to let go their hold!
But for all this, the long winter of those regions is a bright enjoyable season. The cold is not felt so much as one would expect, because it is not _damp_, and the weather is usually bright and sunny.
From what I have said, the reader will understand that summer in those regions is short and very hot; the winter long and very cold. Both seasons have their own peculiar enjoyments, and, to healthy men, both are extremely agreeable.
I have said that Jasper's marriage-day had arrived. New Year's Day was fixed for his union with the fair and gentle Marie. As is usual at this festive season of the year, it was arranged that a ball should be given at the fort in the large hall to all the people that chanced to be there at the time.
Old Laroche had been sent to a small hut a long day's march from the fort, where he was wont to spend his time in trapping foxes. He was there alone, so, three days before New Year's Day, Jasper set out with Arrowhead to visit the old man, and bear him company on his march back to the fort.
There are no roads in that country. Travellers have to plod through the wilderness as they best can. It may not have occurred to my reader that it would be a difficult thing to walk for a day through snow so deep, that, at every step, the traveller would sink the whole length of his leg. The truth is, that travelling in Rupert's Land in winter would be impossible but for a machine which enables men to walk on the surface of the snow without sinking more than a few inches. This machine is the snowshoe. Snow-shoes vary in size and form in different parts of the country, but they are all used for the same purpose. Some are long and narrow; others are nearly round. They vary in size from three to six feet in length, and from eight to twenty inches in breadth. They are extremely light--made of a frame-work of hard wood, and covered with a network of deer-skin, which, while it prevents the wearer from sinking more than a few inches, allows any snow that may chance to fall on the top of the shoe to pass through the netting.
The value of this clumsy looking machine may be imagined, when I say that men with them will easily walk twenty, thirty, and even forty miles across a country over which they could not walk three miles without such helps.
It was a bright, calm, frosty morning when Jasper and his friend set out on their short journey. The sun shone brilliantly, and the hoar-frost sparkled on the trees and bushes, causing them to appear as if they had been covered with millions of diamonds. The breath of the two men came from their mouths like clouds of steam. Arrowhead wore the round snow-shoes which go by the name of bear's paws--he preferred these to any others. Jasper wore the snow-shoes peculiar to the Chipewyan Indians. They were nearly as long as himself, and turned up at the point. Both men were dressed alike, in the yellow leathern costume of winter. The only difference being that Jasper wore a fur cap, while Arrowhead sported a cloth head-piece that covered his neck and shoulders, and was ornamented with a pair of horns.
All day the two men plodded steadily over the country. Sometimes they were toiling through deep snow in wooded places, sinking six or eight inches in spite of their snow-shoes. At other times they were passing swiftly over the surface of the open plains, where the snow was beaten so hard by exposure to the sun and wind that the shoes only just broke the crust and left their outlines behind.
Then they reached a bend of the river, where they had again to plod heavily through the woods on its banks, until they came out upon its frozen surface. Here the snow was so hard, that they took off their snow-shoes and ran briskly along without them for a long space.
Thus they travelled all day, without one halt, and made such good use of their time, that they arrived at the log-hut of old Laroche early in the evening.
"Well met, son-in-law, _that_ _is_ _to_ _be_," cried the stout old man heartily, as the two hunters made their appearance before the low door-way of his hut, which was surrounded by trees and almost buried in snow. "If you had been half an hour later, I would have met you in the woods."
"How so, father-in-law, _that_ _is_ _to_ _be_," said Jasper, "were ye goin' out to your traps so late as this?"
"Nay, man, but I was startin' for the fort. It's a long way, as you know, and my old limbs are not just so supple as yours. I thought I would travel to-night, and sleep in the woods, so as to be there in good time to-morrow. But come in, come in, and rest you. I warrant me you'll not feel inclined for more walkin' to-night."
"Now my name is not Jasper Derry if I enter your hut this night," said the hunter stoutly. "If I could not turn round and walk straight back to the fort this night, I would not be worthy of your daughter, old man. So come along with you. What say you, Arrowhead; shall we go straight back?"
"Good," answered the Indian.
"Well, well," cried Laroche, laughing, "lead the way, and I will follow in your footsteps. It becomes young men to beat the track, and old ones to take it easy."
The three men turned their faces towards Fort Erie, and were soon far away from the log-hut. They walked steadily and silently along, without once halting, until the night became so dark that it was difficult to avoid stumps and bushes. Then they prepared to encamp in the snow.
Now it may seem to many people a very disagreeable idea, that of sleeping out in snow, but one who has tried it can assure them that it is not so bad as it seems. No doubt, when Jasper halted in the cold dark woods, and said, "I think this will be a pretty good place to sleep," any one unacquainted with the customs of that country would have thought the man was jesting or mad; for, besides being very dismal, in consequence of its being pitch dark, it was excessively cold, and snow was falling steadily and softly on the ground. But Jasper knew what he was about, and so did the others. Without saying a word, the three men flung down their bundles of provisions, and each set to work to make the encampment. Of course they had to work in darkness so thick that even the white snow could scarcely be seen.
First of all they selected a tree, the branches of which were so thick and spreading as to form a good shelter from the falling snow. Here Jasper and Laroche used their snow-shoes as shovels, while Arrowhead plied his axe and soon cut enough of firewood for the night. He also cut a large bundle of small branches for bedding. A space of about twelve feet long, by six broad, was cleared at the foot of the tree in half an hour. But the snow was so deep that they had to dig down four feet before they reached the turf. As the snow taken out of the hole was thrown up all round it, the walls rose to nearly seven feet.
Arrowhead next lighted a roaring fire at one end of this cleared space, the others strewed the branches over the space in front of it, and spread their blankets on the top, after which the kettle was put on to boil, buffalo steaks were stuck up before the fire to roast, and the men then lay down to rest and smoke, while supper was preparing. The intense cold prevented the fire from melting the snowy walls of this encampment, which shone and sparkled in the red blaze like pink marble studded all over with diamonds, while the spreading branches formed a ruddy-looking ceiling. When they had finished supper, the heat of the fire and the heat of their food made the travellers feel quite warm and comfortable, in spite of John Frost; and when they at last wrapped their blankets round them and laid their heads together on the branches, they fell into a sleep more sound and refreshing than they would have enjoyed had they gone to rest in a warm house upon the best bed in England.
But when the fire went out, about the middle of the night, the cold became so intense that they were awakened by it, so Jasper rose and blew up the fire, and the other two sat up and filled their pipes, while their teeth chattered in their heads. Soon the blaze and the smoke warmed them, and again they lay down to sleep comfortably till morning.
Before daybreak, however, Arrowhead--who never slept so soundly but that he could be wakened by the slightest unusual noise--slowly raised his head and touched Jasper on the shoulder. The hunter was too well-trained to the dangers of the wilderness to start up or speak. He uttered no word, but took up his gun softly, and looked in the direction in which the Indian's eyes gazed. A small red spot in the ashes served to reveal a pair of glaring eye-balls among the bushes.
"A wolf," whispered Jasper, cocking his gun. "No; a man," said Arrowhead.
At the sound of the click of the lock the object in the bushes moved. Jasper leaped up in an instant, pointed his gun, and shouted sternly-- "Stand fast and speak, or I fire!"
At the same moment Arrowhead kicked the logs of the fire, and a bright flame leapt up, showing that the owner of the pair of eyes was an Indian. Seeing that he was discovered, and that if he turned to run he would certainly be shot, the savage came forward sulkily and sat down beside the fire. Jasper asked him why he came there in that stealthy manner like a sly fox. The Indian said he was merely travelling by night, and had come on the camp unexpectedly. Not knowing who was there, he had come forward with caution.
Jasper was not satisfied with this reply. He did not like the look of the man, and he felt sure that he had seen him somewhere before, but his face was disfigured with war paint, and he could not feel certain on that point until he remembered the scene in the trading store at Jasper's House.
"What--Darkeye!" cried he, "can it be you?"
"Darkeye!" shouted Laroche, suddenly rising from his reclining position and staring the Indian in the face with a dark scowl. "Why, Jasper, this is the villain who insulted my daughter, and to whom I taught the lesson that an old man could knock him down."
The surprise and indignation of Jasper on hearing this was great, but remembering that the savage had already been punished for his offence, and that it would be mean to take advantage of him when there were three to one, he merely said-- "Well, well, I won't bear a grudge against a man who is coward enough to insult a woman. I would kick you out o' the camp, Darkeye, but as you might use your gun when you got into the bushes, I won't give you that chance. At the same time, we can't afford to lose the rest of our nap for you, so Arrowhead will keep you safe here and watch you, while Laroche and I sleep. We will let you go at daybreak."
Saying this Jasper lay down beside his father-in-law, and they were both asleep in a few minutes, leaving the two Indians to sit and scowl at each other beside the fire.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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12
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THE WEDDING, AN ARRIVAL, A FEAST, AND A BALL.
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New Year's Day came at last, and on the morning of that day Jasper Derry and Marie Laroche were made man and wife. They were married by the Reverend Mr Wilson, a Wesleyan missionary, who had come to Fort Erie, a few days before, on a visit to the tribes of Indians in that neighbourhood.
The North American Indian has no religion worthy of the name; but he has a conscience, like other men, which tells him that it is wrong to murder and to steal. Yet, although he knows this, he seldom hesitates to do both when he is tempted thereto. Mr Wilson was one of those earnest missionaries who go to that wilderness and face its dangers, as well as its hardships and sufferings, for the sake of teaching the savage that the mere knowledge of right and wrong is not enough--that the love of God, wrought in the heart of man by the Holy Spirit, alone can enable him to resist evil and do good--that belief in the Lord Jesus Christ alone can save the soul.
There are several missionaries of this stamp--men who love the name of Jesus--in that region, and there are a number of stations where the good seed of God's Word is being planted in the wilderness. But I have not space, and this is not the place, to enlarge on the great and interesting subject of missionary work in Rupert's Land. I must return to my narrative.
It was, as I have said, New Year's day when Jasper and Marie were married. And a remarkably bright, beautiful morning it was. The snow appeared whiter than usual, and the countless gems of hoar-frost that hung on shrub and tree seemed to sparkle more than usual; even the sun appeared to shine more brightly than ever it did before--at least it seemed so in the eyes of Jasper and Marie.
"Everything seems to smile on us to-day, Marie," said Jasper, as they stood with some of their friends at the gate of the fort, just after the ceremony was concluded.
"I trust that God may smile on you, and bless your union, my friends," said Mr Wilson, coming forward with a small Bible in his hand. "Here is a copy of God's Word, Jasper, which I wish you to accept of and keep as a remembrance of me and of this day."
"I'll keep it, sir, and I thank you heartily," said Jasper, taking the book and returning the grasp of the missionary's hand.
"And my chief object in giving it to you, Jasper, is, that you and Marie may read it often, and find joy and peace to your souls."
As the missionary said this a faint sound, like the tinkling of distant bells, was heard in the frosty air.
Looks of surprise and excitement showed that this was an unwonted sound. And so it was; for only once or twice during the long winter did a visitor gladden Fort Erie with his presence. These sweet sounds were the tinkling of sleigh-bells, and they told that a stranger was approaching--that letters, perhaps, and news from far-distant homes, might be near at band.
Only twice in the year did the Europeans at that lonely outpost receive letters from home. Little wonder that they longed for them, and that they went almost wild with joy when they came.
Soon the sleigh appeared in sight, coming up the river at full speed, and a loud "hurrah!" from the men at the gate, told the visitor that he was a welcome guest. It was a dog-sleigh--a sort of conveyance much used by the fur-traders in winter travelling. In form, it was as like as possible to a tin slipper bath. It might also be compared to a shoe. If the reader will try to conceive of a shoe large enough to hold a man, sitting with his legs out before him, that will give him a good idea of the shape of a dog cariole. There is sometimes an ornamental curve in front. It is made of two thin hardwood planks curled up in front, with a light frame-work of wood, covered over with deer or buffalo skin, and painted in a very gay manner. Four dogs are usually harnessed to it, and these are quite sufficient to drag a man on a journey of many days, over every sort of country, where there is no road whatever. Dogs are much used for hauling little sledges in that country in winter. The traveller sits wrapped up so completely in furs, that nothing but his head is visible. He is attended by a driver on snow-shoes, who is armed with a large whip. No reins are used. If the snow is hard, as is usually the case on the surface of a lake or river, the driver walks behind and holds on to a tail-line, to prevent the dogs from running away. If the traveller's way lies through the woods, the snow is so soft and deep that the poor dogs are neither willing nor able to run away. It is as much as they can do to walk; so the driver goes before them, in this case, and beats down the snow with his snow-shoes--"beats the track," as it is called. The harness of the dogs is usually very gay, and covered with little bells which give forth a cheerful tinkling sound.
"It's young Cameron," cried Mr Pemberton, hastening forward to welcome the newcomer.
Cameron was the gentleman in charge of the nearest outpost--two hundred and fifty miles down the river.
"Welcome, Cameron, my boy, welcome to Fort Erie. You are the pleasantest sight we have seen here for many a day," said Pemberton, shaking the young man heartily by the hand as soon as he had jumped out of his sleigh.
"Come, Pemberton, you forget Miss Marie Laroche when you talk of my being the pleasantest sight," said Cameron, laughing.
"Ah! true. Pardon me, Marie--" "Excuse me, gentlemen," interrupted Jasper, with much gravity, "I know of no such person as Miss Marie Laroche!"
"How? what do you mean?" said Cameron, with a puzzled look.
"Jasper is right," explained Pemberton, "Marie was _Miss_ _Laroche_ yesterday; she is _Mrs Derry_ to-day."
"Then I salute you, Mrs Derry, and congratulate you both," cried the young man, kissing the bride's fair cheek, "and I rejoice to find that I am still in time to dance at your wedding."
"Ay," said Pemberton, as they moved up to the hall, "that reminds me to ask you why you are so late. I expected you before Christmas Day."
"I had intended to be here by that day," replied Cameron, "but one of my men cut his foot badly with an axe, and I could not leave him; then my dogs broke down on the journey, and that detained me still longer. But you will forgive my being so late, I think, when I tell you that I have got a packet of letters with me."
"Letters!" shouted every one.
"Ay, letters and newspapers from England."
A loud cheer greeted this announcement. The packet was hauled out of the sleigh, hurried up to the fort, torn open with eager haste, and the fur-traders of Fort Erie were soon devouring the contents like hungry men.
And they _were_ hungry men--they were starving! Those who see their kindred and friends daily, or hear from them weekly, cannot understand the feelings of men who hear from them only twice in the year. Great improvements have taken place in this matter of late years; still, many of the Hudson Bay Company's outposts are so distant from the civilised world, that they cannot get news from "home" oftener than twice a year.
It was a sight to study and moralise over--the countenances of these banished men. The trembling anxiety lest there should be "bad news." The gleam of joy, and the deep "thank God," on reading "all well." Then the smiles, the sighs, the laughs, the exclamations of surprise, perhaps the tears that _would_ spring to their eyes as they read the brief but, to them, thrilling private history of the past half year.
There was no bad news in that packet, and a feeling of deep joy was poured into the hearts of the people of the fort by these "Good news from a far country." Even the half-breeds and Indians, who could not share the feeling, felt the sweet influence of the general happiness that was diffused among the fur-traders on that bright New Year's Day in the wilderness.
What a dinner they had that day to be sure! What juicy roasts of buffalo beef; what enormous steaks of the same; what a magnificent venison pasty; and what glorious marrow-bones--not to mention tongues, and hearts, and grouse, and other things! But the great feature of the feast was the plum-pudding. It was like a huge cannon-ball with the measles! There was wine, too, on this occasion. Not much, it is true, but more than enough, for it had been saved up all the year expressly for the Christmas and New Year's festivities. Thus they were enabled to drink to absent friends, and bring up all the old toasts and songs that used to be so familiar long ago in the "old country." But these sturdy traders needed no stimulants. There were one or two who even scorned the wine, and stuck to water, and to their credit be it said, that they toasted and sang with the best of them.
At night there was a ball, and the ball beat the dinner out of sight. Few indeed were the women, but numerous were the men. Indian women are not famous for grace or cleanliness, poor things. But they enjoyed the ball, and they did their best to dance. Such dancing! They seemed to have no joints. They stood up stiff as lamp-posts, and went with an up-and-down motion from side to side. But the men did the thing bravely, especially the Indians. The only dances attempted were Scotch reels, and the Indians tried to copy the fur-traders; but on finding this somewhat difficult, they introduced some surprising steps of their own, which threw the others entirely into the shade! There was unfortunately no fiddler, but there was a fiddle--one made of pine wood by an Indian, with strings of deer-skin sinew. Some of the boldest of the party scraped _time_ without regard to _tune_, and our friend Heywood beat the kettle-drum. The tones of the fiddle at last became so horrible that it was banished altogether, and they danced that night to the kettle-drum!
Of course the fair bride was the queen of that ball. Her countenance was the light of it, and her modest, womanly manner had a softening influence on the rough men who surrounded her.
When the ball was over, a curious thing occurred in the hall in which it had taken place. The room was heated by a stove, and as a stove dries the air of a room too much, it was customary to keep a pan of water on the stove to moisten it a little. This moisture was increased that night by the steam of the supper and by the wild dancing, so that, when all was over, the walls and ceiling were covered with drops of water. During the night this all froze in the form of small beautifully-shaped crystals, and in the morning they found themselves in a crystal palace of nature's own formation, which beat all the crystal palaces that ever were heard of--at least in originality, if not in splendour.
Thus happily ended the marriage-day of honest Jasper Derry and sweet Marie Laroche, and thus pleasantly began the new year of 18--. But as surely as darkness follows light, and night follows day, so surely does sorrow tread on the heels of joy in the history of man. God has so ordained it, and he is wise who counts upon experiencing both.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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13
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THE CONCLUSION.
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A week after the events narrated in the last chapter, Jasper Derry was sitting beside the stove in the hall at Fort Erie, smoking his pipe and conversing with his father-in-law about his intention of going to Lake Winnipeg with the brigade in spring and proceeding thence to Canada in a bark canoe.
"Of course," said he, "I will take Marie with me, and if you'll take my advice, father, you'll come too."
"No, my son, not yet a while," said old Laroche, shaking his head; "I have a year yet to serve the Company before my engagement is out. After that I may come, if I'm spared; but you know that the Indians are not safe just now, and some of them, I fear, bear me a grudge, for they're a revengeful set."
"That's true, father, but supposin' that all goes well with you, will ye come an' live with Marie and me?"
"We shall see, lad; we shall see," replied Laroche, with a pleased smile; for the old guide evidently enjoyed the prospect of spending the evening of life in the land of his fathers, and under the roof-tree of his son and daughter.
At that moment the report of a gun was heard outside the house. One of the window-panes was smashed and at the same instant Laroche fell heavily forward on the floor.
Jasper sprang up and endeavoured to raise him, but found that he was insensible. He laid him carefully on his back, and hastily opened the breast of his coat. A few drops of blood showed where he had been wounded. Meanwhile several of the men who had been attracted by the gunshot so close to the house burst into the room.
"Stand back, stand back, give him air," cried Jasper; "stay, O God help us! the old man is shot clean through the heart!"
For one moment Jasper looked up with a bewildered glance in the faces of the men, then, uttering a wild cry of mingled rage and agony, he sprang up, dashed them aside, and catching up his gun and snow-shoes rushed out of the house.
He soon found a fresh track in the snow, and the length of the stride, coupled with the manner in which the snow was cast aside, and the smaller bushes were broken and trodden down, told him that the fugitive had made it. In a moment, he was following the track, with the utmost speed, of which he was capable. He never once halted, or faltered, or turned aside, all that day. His iron frame seemed to be incapable of fatigue. He went with his body bent forward, his brows lowering, and his lips firmly compressed; but he was not successful. The murderer had got a sufficiently long start of him to render what sailors call a stern chase a long one. Still Jasper never thought of giving up the pursuit, until he came suddenly on an open space, where the snow had been recently trodden down by a herd of buffaloes, and by a band of Indians who were in chase of them.
Here he lost the track, and although he searched long and carefully he could not find it. Late that night the baffled hunter returned to the fort.
"You have failed--I see by your look," said Mr Pemberton, as Jasper entered.
"Ay, I have failed," returned the other gloomily. "He must have gone with the band of Indians among whose tracks I lost his footsteps."
"Have you any idea who can have done this horrible deed?" said Pemberton.
"It was Darkeye," said Jasper in a stern voice.
Some of the Indians who chanced to be in the hall were startled, and rose on hearing this.
"Be not alarmed, friends," said the fur-trader. "You are the guests of Christian men. We will not punish you for the deeds of another man of your tribe."
"How does the white man know that this was done by Darkeye?" asked a chief haughtily.
"I _know_ _it_," said Jasper angrily; "I feel sure of it; but I cannot prove it--of course. Does Arrowhead agree with me?"
"He does!" replied the Indian, "and there may be proof. Does Jasper remember the trading store and the _bitten_ _bullet_?"
A gleam of intelligence shot across the countenance of the white hunter as his comrade said this. "True, Arrowhead, true."
He turned, as he spoke, to the body of his late father-in-law, and examined the wound. The ball, after passing through the heart, had lodged in the back, just under the skin.
"See," said he to the Indians, "I will cut out this ball, but before doing so I will tell how I think it is marked."
He then related the incident in the trading store, with which the reader is already acquainted, and afterwards extracted the ball, which, although much flattened and knocked out of shape, showed clearly the deep marks made by the Indian's teeth. Thus, the act which had been done slyly but boastfully before the eyes of a comrade, probably as wicked as himself, became the means whereby Darkeye's guilt was clearly proved.
At once a party of his own tribe were directed by their chief to go out in pursuit of the murderer.
It were vain for me to endeavour to describe the anguish of poor Marie on being deprived of a kind and loving father in so awful and sudden a manner. I will drop a veil over her grief, which was too deep and sacred to be intermeddled with.
On the day following the murder, a band of Indians arrived at Fort Erie with buffalo skins for sale. To the amazement of every one Darkeye himself was among them. The wily savage--knowing that his attempting to quit that part of the country as a fugitive would be certain to fix suspicion on him as the murderer--resolved to face the fur-traders as if he were ignorant of the deed which had been done. By the very boldness of this step he hoped to disarm suspicion; but he forgot the _bitten_ _ball_.
It was therefore a look of genuine surprise that rose to Darkeye's visage, when, the moment he entered the fort, Mr Pemberton seized him by the right arm, and led him into the hall.
At first he attempted to seize the handle of his knife, but a glance at the numbers of the white men, and the indifference of his own friends, showed him that his best chance lay in cunning.
The Indians who had arrived with him were soon informed by the others of the cause of this, and all of them crowded into the hall to watch the proceedings. The body of poor Laroche was laid on a table, and Darkeye was led up to it. The cunning Indian put on a pretended look of surprise on beholding it, and then the usual expression of stolid gravity settled on his face as he turned to Mr Pemberton for information. " _Your_ hand did this," said the fur-trader.
"Is Darkeye a dog that he should slay an old man?" said the savage.
"No, you're not a dog," cried Jasper fiercely; "you are worse--a cowardly murderer?"
"Stand back, Jasper," said Mr Pemberton, laying his hand on the shoulder of the excited hunter, and thrusting him firmly away. "This is a serious charge. The Indian shall not be hastily condemned. He shall have fair play, and _justice_."
"Good!" cried several of the Indians on hearing this. Meanwhile the principal chief of the tribe took up his stand close beside the prisoner.
"Darkeye," said Mr Pemberton, while he looked steadfastly into the eyes of the Indian, who returned the look as steadily--"Darkeye, do you remember a conversation you had many weeks ago in the trading store at Jasper's House?"
The countenance of the Indian was instantly troubled, and he said with some hesitation, "Darkeye has had many conversations in that store; is he a medicine-man [a conjurer] that he should know what you mean?"
"I will only put one other question," said the fur-trader. "Do you know this bullet _with_ _the_ _marks_ _of_ _teeth_ in it?"
Darkeye's visage fell at once. He became deadly pale, and his limbs trembled. He was about to speak when the chief, who had hitherto stood in silence at his side, suddenly whirled his tomahawk in the air, and, bringing it down on the murderer's skull, cleft him to the chin!
A fierce yell followed this act, and several scalping knives reached the dead man's heart before his body fell to the ground. The scene that followed was terrible. The savages were roused to a state of frenzy, and for a moment the white men feared an attack, but the anger of the Indians was altogether directed against their dead comrade, who had been disliked by his people, while his poor victim Laroche had been a universal favourite. Seizing the body of Darkeye, they carried it down to the banks of the river, hooting and yelling as they went; hacked and cut it nearly to pieces, and then, kindling a large fire, they threw the mangled corpse into it, and burned it to ashes.
It was long before the shadow of this dark cloud passed away from Fort Erie; and it was longer still before poor Marie recovered her wonted cheerfulness. But the presence of Mr Wilson did much to comfort her. Gradually time softened the pang and healed the wound.
And now, little remains to be told. Winter passed away and spring came, and when the rivers and lakes were sufficiently free from ice, the brigade of boats left Fort Erie, laden with furs, for the sea-coast.
On arriving at Lake Winnipeg, Jasper obtained a small canoe, and, placing his wife and Heywood in the middle of it, he and Arrowhead took the paddles, seated themselves in the bow and stern, and guided their frail bark through many hundreds of miles of wilderness--over many a rough portage, across many a beautiful lake, and up many a roaring torrent, until, finally, they arrived in Canada.
Here Jasper settled. His farm prospered--his family increased. Sturdy boys, in course of time, ploughed the land and blooming daughters tended the dairy. Yet Jasper Derry did not cease to toil. He was one of those men who _feel_ that they were made to work, and that much happiness flows from working. He often used to say that if it was God's will, he would "like to die in harness."
Jasper's only weakness was the pipe. It stuck to him and he stuck to it to the last. Marie, in course of time, came to tolerate it, and regularly filled it for him every night.
Evening was the time when the inmates of Erie Cottage (as their residence was named) enjoyed themselves most; for it was then that the stalwart sons and the blooming daughters circled round the great fire of wood that roared, on winter nights, up the chimney; and it was then that Jasper received his pipe from his still good-looking, though rather stout, Marie, and began to spin yarns about his young days. At this time, too, it was, that the door would frequently open, and a rugged old Indian would stalk in like a mahogany ghost, and squat down in front of the fire. He was often followed by a tall thin old gentleman, who was extremely excitable, but good-humoured. Jasper greeted these two remarkable looking men by the names of Arrowhead and Heywood.
And glad were the young people when they saw their wrinkled faces, for then, they knew from experience, their old father would become more lively than usual, and would go on for hours talking of all the wonders and dangers that he had seen and encountered long, long ago, when he and his two friends were away in the wilderness.
THE END.
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{
"id": "21715"
}
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1
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IN TROUBLE, TO BEGIN WITH.
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There are few things in this world that have filled me with so much astonishment as the fact that man can kill a whale! That a fish, more than sixty feet long, and thirty feet round the body; with the bulk of three hundred fat oxen rolled into one; with the strength of many hundreds of horses; able to swim at a rate that would carry it right round the world in twenty-three days; that can smash a boat to atoms with one slap of its tail, and stave in the planks of a ship with one blow of its thick skull;--that such a monster can be caught and killed by man, is most wonderful to hear of, but I can tell from experience that it is much more wonderful to see.
There is a wise saying which I have often thought much upon. It is this: "Knowledge is power." Man is but a feeble creature, and if he had to depend on his own bodily strength alone, he could make no head against even the ordinary brutes in this world. But the knowledge which has been given to him by his Maker has clothed man with great power, so that he is more than a match for the fiercest beast in the forest, or the largest fish in the sea. Yet, with all his knowledge, with all his experience, and all his power, the killing of a great old sperm whale costs man a long, tough battle, sometimes it even costs him his life.
It is a long time now since I took to fighting the whales. I have been at it, man and boy, for nigh forty years, and many a wonderful sight have I seen; many a desperate battle have I fought in the fisheries of the North and South Seas.
Sometimes, when I sit in the chimney-corner of a winter evening, smoking my pipe with my old messmate Tom Lokins, I stare into the fire, and think of the days gone by, till I forget where I am, and go on thinking so hard that the flames seem to turn into melting fires, and the bars of the grate into dead fish, and the smoke into sails and rigging, and I go to work cutting up the blubber and stirring the oil-pots, or pulling the bow-oar and driving the harpoon at such a rate that I can't help giving a shout, which causes Tom to start and cry:-- "Hallo! Bob," (my name is Bob Ledbury, you see). "Hallo! Bob, wot's the matter?"
To which I reply, "Tom, can it all be true?"
"Can _wot_ be true?" says he, with a stare of surprise--for Tom is getting into his dotage now.
And then I chuckle and tell him I was only thinking of old times, and so he falls to smoking again, and I to staring at the fire, and thinking as hard as ever.
The way in which I was first led to go after the whales was curious. This is how it happened.
About forty years ago, when I was a boy of nearly fifteen years of age, I lived with my mother in one of the seaport towns of England. There was great distress in the town at that time, and many of the hands were out of work. My employer, a blacksmith, had just died, and for more than six weeks I had not been able to get employment or to earn a farthing. This caused me great distress, for my father had died without leaving a penny in the world, and my mother depended on me entirely. The money I had saved out of my wages was soon spent, and one morning when I sat down to breakfast, my mother looked across the table and said, in a thoughtful voice-- "Robert, dear, this meal has cost us our last halfpenny."
My mother was old and frail, and her voice very gentle; she was the most trustful, uncomplaining woman I ever knew.
I looked up quickly into her face as she spoke. "All the money gone, mother?"
"Ay, all. It will be hard for you to go without your dinner, Robert, dear."
"It will be harder for you, mother," I cried, striking the table with my fist; then a lump rose in my throat and almost choked me. I could not utter another word.
It was with difficulty I managed to eat the little food that was before me. After breakfast I rose hastily and rushed out of the house, determined that I would get my mother her dinner, even if I should have to beg for it. But I must confess that a sick feeling came over me when I thought of begging.
Hurrying along the crowded streets without knowing very well what I meant to do, I at last came to an abrupt halt at the end of the pier. Here I went up to several people and offered my services in a wild sort of way. They must have thought that I was drunk, for nearly all of them said gruffly that they did not want me.
Dinner time drew near, but no one had given me a job, and no wonder, for the way in which I tried to get one was not likely to be successful. At last I resolved to beg. Observing a fat, red-faced old gentleman coming along the pier, I made up to him boldly. He carried a cane with a large gold knob on the top of it. That gave me hope, "for of course," thought I, "he must be rich." His nose, which was exactly the colour and shape of the gold knob on his cane, was stuck in the centre of a round, good-natured countenance, the mouth of which was large and firm; the eyes bright and blue. He frowned as I went forward hat in hand; but I was not to be driven back; the thought of my starving mother gave me power to crush down my rising shame. Yet I had no reason to be ashamed. I was willing to work, if only I could have got employment.
Stopping in front of the old gentleman, I was about to speak when I observed him quietly button up his breeches pocket. The blood rushed to my face, and, turning quickly on my heel, I walked away without uttering a word.
"Hallo!" shouted a gruff voice just as I was moving away.
I turned and observed that the shout was uttered by a broad rough-looking jack-tar, a man of about two or three and thirty, who had been sitting all the forenoon on an old cask smoking his pipe and basking in the sun.
"Hallo!" said he again.
"Well," said I. "Wot d'ye mean, youngster, by goin' on in that there fashion all the mornin', a-botherin' everybody, and makin' a fool o' yourself like that? eh!"
"What's that to you?" said I savagely, for my heart was sore and heavy, and I could not stand the interference of a stranger.
"Oh! it's nothin' to me of course," said the sailor, picking his pipe quietly with his clasp-knife; "but come here, boy, I've somethin' to say to ye."
"Well, what is it?" said I, going up to him somewhat sulkily.
The man looked at me gravely through the smoke of his pipe, and said, "You're in a passion, my young buck, that's all; and, in case you didn't know it, I thought I'd tell ye."
I burst into a fit of laughter. "Well, I believe you're not far wrong, but I'm better now."
"Ah, that's right," said the sailor, with an approving nod of his head, "always confess when you're in the wrong. Now, younker, let me give you a bit of advice. Never get into a passion if you can help it, and if you can't help it get out of it as fast as possible, and if you can't get out of it, just give a great roar to let off the steam and turn about and run. There's nothing like that. Passion han't got legs. It can't hold on to a feller when he's runnin'. If you keep it up till you a'most split your timbers, passion has no chance. It _must_ go a-starn. Now, lad, I've been watchin' ye all the mornin', and I see there's a screw loose somewhere. If you'll tell me wot it is, see if I don't help you!"
The kind frank way in which this was said quite won my heart, so I sat down on the old cask, and told the sailor all my sorrows.
"Boy," said he, when I had finished, "I'll put you in the way o' helpin' your mother. I can get you a berth in my ship, if you're willin' to take a trip to the whale-fishery of the South Seas."
"And who will look after my mother when I'm away?" said I.
The sailor looked perplexed at the question.
"Ah, that's a puzzler," he replied, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "Will you take me to your mother's house, lad?"
"Willingly," said I, and, jumping up, I led the way. As we turned to go, I observed that the old gentleman with the gold-headed cane was leaning over the rail of the pier at a short distance from us. A feeling of anger instantly rose within me, and I exclaimed, loud enough for him to hear-- "I do believe that stingy old chap has been listening to every word we've been saying!"
I thought I observed a frown on the sailor's brow as I said this, but he made no remark, and in a few minutes we were walking rapidly through the streets. My companion stopped at one of those stores so common in seaport towns, where one can buy almost anything, from a tallow candle to a brass cannon. Here he purchased a pound of tea, a pound of sugar, a pound of butter, and a small loaf,--all of which he thrust into the huge pockets of his coat. He had evidently no idea of proportion or of household affairs. It was a simple, easy way of settling the matter, to get a pound of everything.
In a short time we reached our house, a very old one, in a poor neighbourhood, and entered my mother's room. She was sitting at the table when we went in, with a large Bible before her, and a pair of horn-spectacles on her nose. I could see that she had been out gathering coals and cinders during my absence, for a good fire burned in the grate, and the kettle was singing cheerily thereon.
"I've brought a friend to see you, mother," said I. "Good-day, mistress," said the sailor bluntly, sitting down on a stool near the fire. "You seem to be goin' to have your tea."
"I expect to have it soon," replied my mother.
"Indeed!" said I, in surprise. "Have you anything in the kettle?"
"Nothing but water, my son."
"Has anybody brought you anything, then, since I went out?"
"Nobody."
"Why, then, mistress," broke in the seaman, "how can you expect to have your tea so soon?"
My mother took off her spectacles, looked calmly in the man's face, laid her hand on the Bible, and said, "Because I have been a widow woman these three years, and never once in all that time have I gone a single day without a meal. When the usual hour came I put on my kettle to boil, for this Word tells me that `the Lord will provide.' I _expect_ my tea to-night."
The sailor's face expressed puzzled astonishment at these words, and he continued to regard my mother with a look of wonder as he drew forth his supplies of food, and laid them on the table.
In a short time we were all enjoying a cup of tea, and talking about the whale-fishery, and the difficulty of my going away while my mother was dependent on me. At last the sailor rose to leave us. Taking a five-pound note from his pocket, he laid it on the table and said-- "Mistress, this is all I have in the world, but I've got neither family nor friends, and I'm bound for the South Seas in six days; so, if you'll take it, you're welcome to it, and if your son Bob can manage to cast loose from you without leaving you to sink, I'll take him aboard the ship that I sail in. He'll always find me at the Bull and Griffin, in the High Street, or at the end o' the pier."
While the sailor was speaking, I observed a figure standing in a dark corner of the room near the door, and, on looking more closely, I found that it was the old gentleman with the nose like his cane-knob. Seeing that he was observed, he came forward and said-- "I trust that you will forgive my coming here without invitation; but I happened to overhear part of the conversation between your son and this seaman, and I am willing to help you over your little difficulty, if you will allow me."
The old gentleman said this in a very quick, abrupt way, and looked as if he were afraid his offer might be refused. He was much heated, with climbing our long stair no doubt, and as he stood in the middle of the room, puffing and wiping his bald head with a handkerchief, my mother rose hastily and offered him a chair.
"You are very kind, sir," she said; "do sit down, sir. I'm sure I don't know why you should take so much trouble. But, dear me, you are very warm; will you take a cup of tea to cool you?"
"Thank you, thank you. With much pleasure, unless, indeed, your son objects to a `_stingy old chap_' sitting beside him."
I blushed when he repeated my words, and attempted to make some apology; but the old gentleman stopped me by commencing to explain his intentions in short, rapid sentences.
To make a long story short, he offered to look after my mother while I was away, and, to prove his sincerity, laid down five shillings, and said he would call with that sum every week as long as I was absent. My mother, after some trouble, agreed to let me go, and, before that evening closed, everything was arranged, and the gentleman, leaving his address, went away.
The sailor had been so much filled with surprise at the suddenness of all this, that he could scarcely speak. Immediately after the departure of the old gentleman, he said, "Well, good-bye, mistress, good-bye, Bob," and throwing on his hat in a careless way, left the room.
"Stop," I shouted after him, when he had got about half-way down stair.
"Hallo! wot's wrong now?"
"Nothing, I only forgot to ask your name."
"Tom Lokins," he bellowed, in the hoarse voice of a regular boatswain, "w'ich wos my father's name before me."
So saying, he departed, whistling "Rule Britannia" with all his might.
Thus the matter was settled. Six days afterwards, I rigged myself out in a blue jacket, white ducks, and a straw hat, and went to sea.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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2
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AT SEA.
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My first few days on the ocean were so miserable that I oftentimes repented of having left my native land. I was, as my new friend Tom Lokins said, as sick as a dog. But in course of time I grew well, and began to rejoice in the cool fresh breezes and the great rolling billows of the sea.
Many and many a time I used to creep out to the end of the bowsprit, when the weather was calm, and sit with my legs dangling over the deep blue water, and my eyes fixed on the great masses of rolling clouds in the sky, thinking of the new course of life I had just begun. At such times the thought of my mother was sure to come into my mind, and I thought of her parting words, "Put your trust in the Lord, Robert, and read His Word." I resolved to try to obey her, but this I found was no easy matter, for the sailors were a rough lot of fellows, who cared little for the Bible. But, I must say, they were a hearty, good-natured set, and much better, upon the whole, than many a ship's crew that I afterwards sailed with.
We were fortunate in having fair winds this voyage, and soon found ourselves on the other side of the _line_, as we jack-tars call the Equator.
Of course the crew did not forget the old custom of shaving all the men who had never crossed the line before. Our captain was a jolly old man, and uncommonly fond of "sky-larking." He gave us leave to do what we liked the day we crossed the line; so, as there were a number of wild spirits among us, we broke through all the ordinary rules, or, rather, we added on new rules to them.
The old hands had kept the matter quiet from us greenhorns, so that, although we knew they were going to do some sort of mischief, we didn't exactly understand what it was to be.
About noon of that day I was called on deck and told that old father Neptune was coming aboard, and we were to be ready to receive him. A minute after, I saw a tremendous monster come up over the side of the ship and jump on the deck. He was crowned with sea-weed, and painted in a wonderful fashion; his clothes were dripping wet, as if he had just come from the bottom of the sea. After him came another monster with a petticoat made of sailcloth, and a tippet of a bit of old tarpaulin. This was Neptune's wife, and these two carried on the most remarkable antics I ever saw. I laughed heartily, and soon discovered, from the tones of their voices, which of my shipmates Neptune and his wife were. But my mirth was quickly stopped when I was suddenly seized by several men, and my face was covered over with a horrible mixture of tar and grease!
Six of us youngsters were treated in this way; then the lather was scraped off with a piece of old hoop-iron, and, after being thus shaved, buckets of cold water were thrown over us.
At last, after a prosperous voyage, we arrived at our fishing-ground in the South Seas, and a feeling of excitement and expectation began to show itself among the men, insomuch that our very eyes seemed brighter than usual.
One night those of us who had just been relieved from watch on deck, were sitting on the lockers down below telling ghost stories.
It was a dead calm, and one of those intensely dark, hot nights, that cause sailors to feel uneasy, they scarce know why. I began to feel so uncomfortable at last, listening to the horrible tales which Tom Lokins was relating to the men, that I slipt away from them with the intention of going on deck. I moved so quietly that no one observed me; besides, every eye was fixed earnestly on Tom, whose deep low voice was the only sound that broke the stillness of all around. As I was going very cautiously up the ladder leading to the deck, Tom had reached that part of his story where the ghost was just appearing in a dark churchyard, dressed in white, and coming slowly forward, one step at a time, towards the terrified man who saw it. The men held their breath, and one or two of their faces turned pale as Tom went on with his description, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. Just as I put my head up the hatchway the sheet of one of the sails, which was hanging loose in the still air, passed gently over my head and knocked my hat off. At any other time I would have thought nothing of this, but Tom's story had thrown me into such an excited and nervous condition that I gave a start, missed my footing, uttered a loud cry, and fell down the ladder right in among the men with a tremendous crash, knocking over two or three oil-cans and a tin bread-basket in my fall, and upsetting the lantern, so that the place was instantly pitch dark.
I never heard such a howl of terror as these men gave vent to when this misfortune befell me. They rushed upon deck with their hearts in their mouths, tumbling, and peeling the skin off their shins and knuckles in their haste; and it was not until they heard the laughter of the watch on deck that they breathed freely, and, joining in the laugh, called themselves fools for being frightened by a ghost story. I noticed, however, that, for all their pretended indifference, there was not one man among them--not even Tom Lokins himself--who would go down below to relight the lantern for at least a quarter of an hour afterwards!
Feeling none the worse for my fall, I went forward and leaned over the bow of the ship, where I was much astonished by the appearance of the sea. It seemed as if the water was on fire. Every time the ship's bow rose and fell, the little belt of foam made in the water seemed like a belt of blue flame with bright sparkles in it, like stars or diamonds. I had seen this curious appearance before, but never so bright as it was on that night.
"What is it, Tom?" said I, as my friend came forward and leaned over the ship's bulwark beside me.
"It's blue fire, Bob," replied Tom, as he smoked his pipe calmly.
"Come, you know I can't swallow that," said I; "everybody knows that fire, either blue or red, can't burn in the water."
"Maybe not," returned Tom; "but it's blue fire for all that. Leastwise if it's not, I don't know wot else it is."
Tom had often seen this light before, no doubt, but he had never given himself the trouble to find out what it could be. Fortunately the captain came up just as I put the question, and he enlightened me on the subject.
"It is caused by small animals," said he, leaning over the side.
"Small animals!" said I, in astonishment.
"Ay, many parts of the sea are full of creatures so small and so thin and colourless, that you can hardly see them even in a clear glass tumbler. Many of them are larger than others, but the most of them are very small."
"But how do they shine like that, sir?" I asked.
"That I do not know, boy. God has given them the power to shine, just as he has given us the power to walk or speak; and they do shine brightly, as you see; but _how_ they do it is more than I can tell. I think, myself, it must be anger that makes them shine, for they generally do it when they are stirred up or knocked about by oars, or ships' keels, or tumbling waves. But I am not sure that that's the reason either, because, you know, we often sail through them without seeing the light, though of course they must be there."
"P'raps, sir," said Tom Lokins; "p'raps, sir, they're sleepy sometimes, an' can't be bothered gettin' angry."
"Perhaps!" answered the captain, laughing. "But then again, at other times, I have seen them shining over the whole sea when it was quite calm, making it like an ocean of milk; and nothing was disturbing them at that time, d'ye see."
"I don' know _that_," objected Tom; "they might have bin a-fightin' among theirselves."
"Or playing, may be," said I.
The captain laughed, and, looking up at the sky, said, "I don't like the look of the weather, Tom Lokins. You're a sharp fellow, and have been in these seas before, what say you?"
"We'll have a breeze," replied Tom, briefly.
"More than a breeze," muttered the captain, while a look of grave anxiety overspread his countenance; "I'll go below and take a squint at the glass."
"What does he mean by that, Tom," said I, when the captain was gone, "I never saw a calmer or a finer night. Surely there is no chance of a storm just now."
"Ay, that shows that you're a young feller, and han't got much experience o' them seas," replied my companion. "Why, boy, sometimes the fiercest storm is brewin' behind the greatest calm. An' the worst o' the thing is that it comes so sudden at times, that the masts are torn out o' the ship before you can say Jack Robinson."
"What! and without any warning?" said I. "Ay, _almost_ without warnin'; but not _altogether_ without it. You heer'd the captain say he'd go an' take a squint at the glass?"
"Yes; what is the glass?"
"It's not a glass o' grog, you may be sure; nor yet a lookin'-glass. It's the weather-glass, boy. Shore-goin' chaps call it a barometer."
"And what's the meaning of barometer?" I inquired earnestly.
Tom Lokins stared at me in stupid amazement.
"Why, boy," said he, "you're too inquisitive. I once asked the doctor o' a ship that question, and says he to me, `Tom,' says he, `a barometer is a glass tube filled with quicksilver or mercury, which is a metal in a soft or fluid state, like water, you know, and it's meant for tellin' the state o' the weather.' " `Yes, sir,' I answers, `I know that, well enough.' " `Then why did you ask?' says he, gettin' into a passion. " `I asked what was the meanin' o' the _word_ barometer, sir,' said I. "The doctor he looked grave at that, and shook his head. `Tom,' says he, `if I was to go for to explain that word, and all about the instrument, in a scientific sort o' way, d'ye see, I'd have to sit here an' speak to you right on end for six hours or more.' " `Oh, sir,' says I, `don't do it, then. _Please_, don't do it.' " `No more I will,' says he; `but it'll serve your turn to know that a barometer is a glass for measurin' the weight o' the air, and, _somehow or other, that_ lets ye know wots a-coming. If the mercury in the glass rises high, all's right. If it falls uncommon low very sudden, look out for squalls; that's all. No matter how smooth the sea may be, or how sweetly all natur' may smile, don't you believe it; take in every inch o' canvas at once.'"
"That was a queer explanation, Tom."
"Ay, but it was a true one, as you shall see before long."
As I looked out upon the calm sea, which lay like a sheet of glass, without a ripple on its surface, I could scarcely believe what he had said. But before many minutes had passed I was convinced of my error.
While I was standing talking to my messmate, the captain rushed on deck, and shouted-- "All hands tumble up! Shorten sail! Take in every rag! Look alive, boys, look alive."
I was quite stunned for a moment by this, and by the sudden tumult that followed. The men, who seemed never to take thought about anything, and who had but one duty, namely, to _obey orders_, ran upon deck, and leaped up the rigging like cats; the sheets of nearly all the principal sails were clewed up, and, ere long, the canvas was made fast to the yards. A few of the smaller sails only were left exposed, and even these were close reefed. Before long a loud roar was heard, and in another minute the storm burst upon us with terrific violence. The ship at first lay over so much that the masts were almost in the water, and it was as impossible for any one to walk the deck as to walk along the side of a wall. At the same time, the sea was lashed into white foam, and the blinding spray flew over us in bitter fury.
"Take in the topsails!" roared the captain. But his voice was drowned in the shriek of the gale. The men were saved the risk of going out on the yards, however, for in a few moments more all the sails, except the storm-try-sail, were burst and blown to ribbons.
We now tried to put the ship's head to the wind and "_lay to_," by which landsmen will understand that we tried to face the storm, and remain stationary. But the gale was so fierce that this was impossible. The last rag of sail was blown away, and then there was nothing left for us but to show our stern to the gale, and "scud under bare poles."
The great danger now was that we might be "pooped," which means that a huge wave might curl over our stern, fall with terrible fury on our deck, and sink us.
Many and many a good ship has gone down in this way; but we were mercifully spared. As our safety depended very much on good steering, the captain himself took the wheel, and managed the ship so well, that we weathered the gale without damage, farther than the loss of a few sails and light spars. For two days the storm howled furiously, the sky and sea were like ink, with sheets of rain and foam driving through the air, and raging billows tossing our ship about like a cork.
During all this time my shipmates were quiet and grave, but active and full of energy, so that every order was at once obeyed without noise or confusion. Every man watched the slightest motion of the captain. We all felt that everything depended on him.
As for me, I gave up all hope of being saved. It seemed impossible to me that anything that man could build could withstand so terrible a storm. I do not pretend to say that I was not afraid. The near prospect of a violent death caused my heart to sink more than once; but my feelings did not unman me. I did my duty quietly, but quickly, like the rest; and when I had no work to do, I stood holding on to the weather stanchions, looking at the raging sea, and thinking of my mother, and of the words of kindness and counsel she had so often bestowed upon me in vain.
The storm ceased almost as quickly as it began, and although the sea did not all at once stop the heavings of its angry bosom, the wind fell entirely in the course of a few hours, the dark clouds broke up into great masses that were piled up high into the sky, and out of the midst of these the glorious sun shone in bright rays down on the ocean, like comfort from heaven, gladdening our hearts as we busily repaired the damage that we had suffered from the storm.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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3
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OUR FIRST BATTLE.
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I shall never forget the surprise I got the first time I saw a whale.
It was in the forenoon of a most splendid day, about a week after we arrived at that part of the ocean where we might expect to find fish. A light nor'-east breeze was blowing, but it scarcely ruffled the sea, as we crept slowly through the water with every stitch of canvas set.
As we had been looking out for fish for some time past, everything was in readiness for them. The boats were hanging over the side ready to lower, tubs for coiling away the ropes, harpoons, lances, etcetera, all were ready to throw in, and start away at a moment's notice. The man in the "crow's nest," as they call the cask fixed up at the mast-head, was looking anxiously out for whales, and the crew were idling about the deck. Tom Lokins was seated on the windlass smoking his pipe, and I was sitting beside him on an empty cask, sharpening a blubber-knife.
"Tom," said I, "what like is a whale?"
"Why, it's like nothin' but itself," replied Tom, looking puzzled. "Why, wot a queer feller you are to ax questions."
"I'm sure you've seen plenty of them. You might be able to tell what a whale is like."
"Wot it's like! Well, it's like a tremendous big bolster with a head and a tail to it."
"And how big is it?"
"They're of all sizes, lad. I've seen one that was exactly equal to three hundred fat bulls, and its rate of goin' would take it round the whole world in twenty-three days."
"I don't believe you," said I, laughing.
"Don't you?" cried Tom; "it's a fact notwithstandin', for the captain himself said so, and that's how I came to know it."
Just as Tom finished speaking, the man in the crow's nest roared at the top of his voice, "There she blows!"
That was the signal that a whale was in sight, and as it was the first time we had heard it that season, every man in the ship was thrown into a state of tremendous excitement.
"There she blows!" roared the man again.
"Where away?" shouted the captain.
"About two miles right ahead."
In another moment the utmost excitement prevailed on board. Suddenly, while I was looking over the side, straining my eyes to catch a sight of the whale, which could not yet be seen by the men on deck, I saw a brown object appear in the sea, not twenty yards from the side of the ship; before I had time to ask what it was, a whale's head rose to the surface, and shot up out of the water. The part of the fish that was visible above water could not have been less than thirty feet in length. It just looked as if our longboat had jumped out of the sea, and he was so near that I could see his great mouth quite plainly. I could have tossed a biscuit on his back easily. Sending two thick spouts of frothy water out of his blow-holes forty feet into the air with tremendous noise, he fell flat upon the sea with a clap like thunder, tossed his flukes, or tail, high into the air, and disappeared.
I was so amazed at this sight that I could not speak. I could only stare at the place where the huge monster had gone down.
"Stand by to lower," shouted the captain.
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the men, leaping to their appointed stations; for every man in a whale-ship has his post of duty appointed to him, and knows what to do when an order is given.
"Lower away," cried the captain, whose face was now blazing with excitement.
In a moment more three boats were in the water; the tubs, harpoons, etcetera, were thrown in, the men seized the oars, and away they went with a cheer. I was in such a state of flutter that I scarce knew what I did; but I managed somehow or other to get into a boat, and as I was a strong fellow, and a good rower, I was allowed to pull.
"There she blows!" cried the man in the crow's nest, just as we shot from the side of the ship. There was no need to ask, "where away" this time. Another whale rose and spouted not more than three hundred yards off, and before we could speak a third fish rose in another direction, and we found ourselves in the middle, of what is called a "school of whales."
"Now, lads," said the captain, who steered the boat in which I rowed, "bend your backs, my hearties; that fish right ahead of us is a hundred-barrel whale for certain. Give way, boys; we _must_ have that fish."
There was no need to urge the men, for their backs were strained to the utmost, their faces were flushed, and the big veins in their necks swelled almost to bursting, with the tremendous exertion.
"Hold hard," said the captain, in a low voice, for now that we were getting near our prey, we made as little noise as possible.
The men at once threw their oars "apeak," as they say; that is, raised them straight up in the air, and waited for further orders. We expected the whale would rise near to where we were, and thought it best to rest and look out.
While we were waiting, Tom Lokins, who was harpooner of the boat, sat just behind me with all his irons ready. He took this opportunity to explain to me that by a "hundred-barrel fish" is meant a fish that will yield a hundred-barrels of oil. He further informed me that such a fish was a big one, though he had seen a few in the North-west Seas that had produced upwards of two hundred-barrels.
I now observed that the other boats had separated, and each had gone after a different whale. In a few minutes the fish we were in chase of rose a short distance off, and sent up two splendid water-spouts high into the air, thus showing that he was what the whalers call a "right" whale. It is different from the sperm whale, which has only one blow-hole, and that a little one.
We rowed towards it with all our might, and as we drew near, the captain ordered Tom Lokins to "stand up," so he at once laid in his oar, and took up the harpoon. The harpoon is an iron lance with a barbed point. A whale-line is attached to it, and this line is coiled away in a tub. When we were within a few yards of the fish, which was going slowly through the water, all ignorant of the terrible foes who were pursuing him, Tom Lokins raised the harpoon high above his head, and darted it deep into its fat side just behind the left fin, and next moment the boat ran aground on the whale's back.
"Stern all, for your lives!" roared the captain, who, before his order was obeyed, managed to give the creature two deep wounds with his lance. The lance has no barbs to its point, and is used only for wounding after the harpoon is fixed.
The boat was backed off at once, but it had scarcely got a few yards away when the astonished fish whirled its huge body half out of the water, and, coming down with a tremendous clap, made off like lightning.
The line was passed round a strong piece of wood called the "logger-head," and, in running out, it began to smoke, and nearly set the wood on fire. Indeed, it would have done so, if a man had not kept constantly pouring water upon it. It was needful to be very cautious in managing the line, for the duty is attended with great danger. If any hitch should take place, the line is apt to catch the boat and drag it down bodily under the waves. Sometimes a coil of it gets round a leg or an arm of the man who attends to it, in which case his destruction is almost certain. Many a poor fellow has lost his life in this way.
The order was now given to "hold on line." This was done, and in a moment our boat was cleaving the blue water like an arrow, while the white foam curled from her bows. I thought every moment we should be dragged under; but whenever this seemed likely to happen, the line was let run a bit, and the strain eased. At last the fish grew tired of dragging us, the line ceased to run out, and Tom hauled in the slack, which another man coiled away in its tub. Presently the fish rose to the surface, a short distance off our weather-bow.
"Give way, boys! spring your oars," cried the captain; "another touch or two with the lance, and that fish is ours."
The boat shot ahead, and we were about to dart a second harpoon into the whale's side, when it took to "sounding,"--which means, that it went straight down, head foremost, into the depths of the sea. At that moment Tom Lokins uttered a cry of mingled anger and disappointment. We all turned round and saw our shipmate standing with the slack line in his hand, and such an expression on his weather-beaten face, that I could scarce help laughing. The harpoon had not been well fixed; it had lost its hold, and the fish was now free!
"Gone!" exclaimed the captain, with a groan.
I remember even yet the feeling of awful disappointment that came over me when I understood that we had lost the fish after all our trouble! I could almost have wept with bitter vexation. As for my comrades, they sat staring at each other for some moments quite speechless. Before we could recover from the state into which this misfortune had thrown us, one of the men suddenly shouted, "Hallo! there's the mate's boat in distress."
We turned at once, and, truly, there was no doubt of the truth of this, for, about half a mile off, we beheld our first mate's boat tearing over the sea like a small steamer. It was fast to a fish, and two oars were set up on end to attract our attention.
When a whale is struck, it sometimes happens that the whole of the line in a boat is run out. When this is about to occur, it becomes necessary to hold on as much as can be done without running the boat under the water, and an oar is set up on end to show that assistance is required, either from the ship or from the other boats. As the line grows less and less, another and another oar is hoisted to show that help must be sent quickly. If no assistance can be sent, the only thing that remains to be done is to cut the line and lose the fish; but a whale-line, with its harpoon, is a very heavy loss, in addition to that of the fish, so that whalers are tempted to hold on a little too long sometimes.
When we saw the mate's boat dashing away in this style, we forgot our grief at the loss of our whale in our anxiety to render assistance to our comrades, and we rowed towards them as fast as we could. Fortunately the whale changed its course, and came straight towards us, so that we ceased pulling, and waited till they came up. As the boat came on I saw the foam curling up on her bows as she leaped and flew over the sea. I could scarcely believe it possible that wood and iron could bear such a strain. In a few minutes they were almost abreast of us.
"You're holding too hard!" shouted the captain.
"Lines all out!" roared the mate.
They were past almost before these short sentences could be spoken. But they had not gone twenty yards ahead of us when the water rushed in over the bow, and before we could utter a word the boat and crew were gone. Not a trace of them remained! The horror of the moment had not been fully felt, however, when the boat rose to the surface keel up, and, one after another, the heads of the men appeared. The line had fortunately broken, otherwise the boat would have been lost, and the entire crew probably would have gone to the bottom with her.
We instantly pulled to the rescue, and were thankful to find that not a man was killed, though some of them were a little hurt, and all had received a terrible fright. We next set to work to right the upset boat, an operation which was not accomplished without much labour and difficulty.
Now, while we were thus employed, our third boat, which was in charge of the second mate, had gone after the whale that had caused us so much trouble, and, when we had got the boat righted and began to look about us, we found that she was fast to the fish about a mile to leeward.
"Hurrah, lads!" cried the captain, "luck has not left us yet. Give way, my hearties, pull like Britons! we'll get that fish yet."
We were all dreadfully done up by this time, but the sight of a boat fast to a whale restored us at once, and we pulled away as stoutly as if we had only begun the day's work. The whale was heading in the direction of the ship, and when we came up to the scene of action the second mate had just "touched the life"; in other words, he had driven the lance deep down into the whale's vitals. This was quickly known by jets of blood being spouted up through the blow-holes. Soon after, our victim went into its dying agonies, or, as whalemen say, "his flurry."
This did not last long. In a short time he rolled over dead. We fastened a line to his tail, the three boats took the carcass in tow, and, singing a lively song, we rowed away to the ship.
Thus ended our first battle with the whales.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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4
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"CUTTING-IN THE BLUBBER" AND "TRYING OUT THE OIL."
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The scene that took place on board ship after we caught our first fish was most wonderful.
We commenced the operation of what is called "cutting-in," that is, cutting up the whale, and getting the fat or blubber hoisted in. The next thing we did was to "try out" the oil, or melt down the fat in large iron pots brought with us for this purpose; and the change that took place in the appearance of the ship and the men when this began was very remarkable.
When we left port our decks were clean, our sails white, our masts well scraped; the brass-work about the quarter-deck was well polished, and the men looked tidy and clean. A few hours after our first whale had been secured alongside all this was changed. The cutting up of the huge carcass covered the decks with oil and blood, making them so slippery that they had to be covered with sand to enable the men to walk about. Then the smoke of the great fires under the melting-pots begrimed the masts, sails, and cordage with soot. The faces and hands of the men got so covered with oil and soot that it would have puzzled any one to say whether they were white or black. Their clothes, too, became so dirty that it was impossible to clean them. But, indeed, whalemen do not much mind this. In fact, they take a pleasure in all the dirt that surrounds them, because it is a sign of success in the main object of their voyage. The men in a _clean_ whale-ship are never happy. When everything is filthy, and dirty, and greasy, and smoky, and black-- decks, rigging, clothes, and person--it is then that the hearty laugh and jest and song are heard as the crew work busily, night and day, at their rough but profitable labour.
The operations of "cutting-in" and "trying out" were matters of great interest to me the first time I saw them.
After having towed our whale to the ship, cutting-in was immediately begun. First, the carcass was secured near the head and tail with chains, and made fast to the ship; then the great blocks and ropes fastened to the main and foremast for hoisting in the blubber were brought into play. When all was ready, the captain and the two mates, with Tom Lokins, got upon the whale's body, with long-handled sharp spades or digging-knives. With these they fell to work cutting off the blubber.
I was stationed at one of the hoisting ropes, and while we were waiting for the signal to "hoist away," I peeped over the side, and for the first time had a good look at the great fish. When we killed it, so much of its body was down in the water that I could not see it very clearly, but now that it was lashed at full length alongside the ship, and I could look right down upon it, I began to understand more clearly what a large creature it was. One thing surprised me much; the top of its head, which was rough and knotty like the bark of an old tree, was swarming with little crabs and barnacles, and other small creatures. The whale's head seemed to be their regular home! This fish was by no means one of the largest kind, but being the first I had seen, I fancied it must be the largest fish in the sea.
Its body was forty feet long, and twenty feet round at the thickest part. Its head, which seemed to me a great, blunt, shapeless thing, like a clumsy old boat, was eight feet long from the tip to the blow-holes or nostrils; and these holes were situated on the back of the head, which at that part was nearly four feet broad. The entire head measured about twenty-one feet round. Its ears were two small holes, so small that it was difficult to discover them, and the eyes were also very small for so large a body, being about the same size as those of an ox. The mouth was very large, and the under jaw had great ugly lips.
When it was dying, I saw these lips close in once or twice on its fat cheeks, which it bulged out like the leather sides of a pair of gigantic bellows. It had two fins, one on each side, just behind the head. With these, and with its tail, the whale swims and fights. Its tail is its most deadly weapon. The flukes of this one measured thirteen feet across, and with one stroke of this it could have smashed our largest boat in pieces. Many a boat has been sent to the bottom in this way.
I remember hearing our first mate tell of a wonderful escape a comrade of his had in the Greenland Sea fishery. A whale had been struck, and, after its first run, they hauled up to it again, and rowed so hard that they ran the boat right against it. The harpooner was standing on the bow all ready, and sent his iron cleverly into the blubber. In its agony the whale reared its tail high out of the water, and the flukes whirled for a moment like a great fan just above the harpooner's head. One glance up was enough to show him that certain death was descending. In an instant he dived over the side and disappeared. Next moment the flukes came down on the part of the boat he had just left, and cut it clean off; the other part was driven into the waves, and the men were left swimming in the water. They were all picked up, however, by another boat that was in company, and the harpooner was recovered with the rest. His quick dive had been the saving of his life.
I had not much time given me to study the appearance of this whale before the order was given to "hoist away!" so we went to work with a will. The first part that came up was the huge lip, fastened to a large iron hook, called the blubber hook. It was lowered into the blubber-room between decks, where a couple of men were stationed to stow the blubber away. Then came the fins, and after them the upper-jaw, with the whalebone attached to it. The "right" whale has no teeth like the sperm whale. In place of teeth it has the well-known substance called whalebone, which grows from the roof of its mouth in a number of broad thin plates, extending from the back of the head to the snout. The lower edges of these plates of whalebone are split into thousands of hairs like bristles, so that the inside roof of a whale's mouth resembles an enormous blacking brush! The object of this curious arrangement is to enable the whale to catch the little shrimps and small sea-blubbers, called "medusae," on which it feeds. I have spoken before of these last as being the little creatures that gave out such a beautiful pale-blue light at night. The whale feeds on them. When he desires a meal he opens his great mouth and rushes into the midst of a shoal of medusae; the little things get entangled in thousands among the hairy ends of the whalebone, and when the monster has got a large enough mouthful, he shuts his lower-jaw and swallows what his net has caught.
The wisdom as well as the necessity of this arrangement is very plain. Of course, while dashing through the sea in this fashion, with his mouth agape, the whale must keep his throat closed, else the water would rush down it and choke him. Shutting his throat then, as he does, the water is obliged to flow out of his mouth as fast as it flows in; it is also spouted up through his blow-holes, and this with such violence that many of the little creatures would be swept out along with it, but for the hairy-ended whalebone which lets the sea-water out, but keeps the medusae in.
Well, let us return to our "cutting-in." After the upper-jaw came the lower-jaw and throat, with the tongue. This last was an enormous mass of fat, about as large as an ox, and it weighed fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds. After this was got in, the rest of the work was simple. The blubber of the body was peeled off in great strips, beginning at the neck and being cut spirally towards the tail. It was hoisted on board by the blocks, the captain and mates cutting, and the men at the windlass hoisting, and the carcass slowly turning round until we got an unbroken piece of blubber, reaching from the water to nearly as high as the mainyard-arm. This mass was nearly a foot thick, and it looked like fat pork. It was cut off close to the deck, and lowered into the blubber-room, where the two men stationed there attacked it with knives, cut it into smaller pieces, and stowed it away. Then another piece was hoisted on board in the same fashion, and so on we went till every bit of blubber was cut off; and I heard the captain remark to the mate when the work was done, that the fish was a good fat one, and he wouldn't wonder if it turned out to be worth 300 pounds sterling.
Now, when this process was going on, a new point of interest arose which I had not thought of before, although my messmate, Tom Lokins, had often spoken of it on the voyage out. This was the arrival of great numbers of sea-birds.
Tom had often told me of the birds that always keep company with whalers; but I had forgotten all about it, until I saw an enormous albatross come sailing majestically through the air towards us. This was the largest bird I ever saw, and no wonder, for it is the largest bird that flies. Soon after that, another arrived, and although we were more than a thousand miles from any shore, we were speedily scented out and surrounded by hosts of gonies, stinkards, haglets, gulls, pigeons, petrels, and other sea-birds, which commenced to feed on pieces of the whale's carcass with the most savage gluttony. These birds were dreadfully greedy. They had stuffed themselves so full in the course of a short time, that they flew heavily and with great difficulty. No doubt they would have to take three or four days to digest that meal!
Sharks, too, came to get their share of what was going. But these savage monsters did not content themselves with what was thrown away; they were so bold as to come before our faces and take bites out of the whale's body. Some of these sharks were eight and nine feet long, and when I saw them open their horrid jaws, armed with three rows of glistening white sharp teeth, I could well understand how easily they could bite off the leg of a man, as they often do when they get the chance. Sometimes they would come right up on the whale's body with a wave, bite out great pieces of the flesh, turn over on their bellies, and roll off.
While I was looking over the side during the early part of that day, I saw a very large shark come rolling up in this way close to Tom Lokins' legs. Tom made a cut at him with his blubber-spade, but the shark rolled off in time to escape the blow. And after all it would not have done him much damage, for it is not easy to frighten or take the life out of a shark.
"Hand me an iron and line, Bob," said Tom, looking up at me. "I've got a spite agin that feller. He's been up twice already. Ah! hand it down here, and two or three of ye stand by to hold on by the line. There he comes, the big villain!"
The shark came close to the side of the whale at that moment, and Tom sent the harpoon right down his throat.
"Hold on hard," shouted Tom.
"Ay, ay," replied several of the men as they held on to the line, their arms jerking violently as the savage fish tried to free itself. We quickly reeved a line through a block at the fore yard-arm, and hauled it on deck with much difficulty. The scene that followed was very horrible, for there was no killing the brute. It threshed the deck with its tail, and snapped so fiercely with its tremendous jaws, that we had to keep a sharp look out lest it should catch hold of a leg. At last its tail was cut off, the body cut open, and all the entrails taken out, yet even after this it continued to flap and thresh about the deck for some time, and the heart continued to contract for twenty minutes after it was taken out and pierced with a knife.
I would not have believed this had I not seen it with my own eyes. In case some of my readers may doubt its truth, I would remind them how difficult it is, to kill some of those creatures, with which we are all familiar. The common worm, for instance, may be cut into a number of small pieces, and yet each piece remains alive for some time after.
The skin of the shark is valued by the whalemen, because, when cleaned and dry, it is as good as sand-paper, and is much used in polishing the various things they make, out of whales' bones and teeth.
When the last piece of blubber had been cut off our whale, the great chain that held it to the ship's side was cast off, and the now useless carcass sank like a stone, much to the sorrow of some of the smaller birds, which, having been driven away by their bigger comrades, had not fed so heartily as they wished, perhaps! But what was loss to the gulls was gain to the sharks, which could follow the carcass down into the deep and devour it at their leisure.
"Now, lads," cried the mate, when the remains had vanished, "rouse up the fires, look alive, my hearties!"
"Ay, ay, sir," was the ready reply, cheerfully given, as every man sprang to his appointed duty.
And so, having "cut in" our whale, we next proceeded to "try out" the oil.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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5
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A STORM, A MAN OVERBOARD, AND A RESCUE.
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The scenes in a whaleman's life are varied and very stirring. Sometimes he is floating on the calm ocean, idling about the deck and whistling for a breeze, when all of a sudden the loud cry is heard, "There she blows!" and in a moment the boats are in the water, and he is engaged in all the toils of an exciting chase. Then comes the battle with the great leviathan of the deep, with all its risks and dangers. Sometimes he is unfortunate, the decks are clean, he has nothing to do. At other times he is lucky, "cutting-in" and "trying out" engage all his energies and attention. Frequently storms toss him on the angry deep, and show him, if he will but learn the lesson, how helpless a creature he is, and how thoroughly dependent at all times for life, safety, and success, upon the arm of God.
"Trying out" the oil, although not so thrilling a scene as many a one in his career, is, nevertheless, extremely interesting, especially at night, when the glare of the fires in the try-works casts a deep red glow on the faces of the men, on the masts and sails, and even out upon the sea.
The try-works consisted of two huge melting-pots fixed upon brick-work fireplaces between the fore and main masts. While some of the men were down in the blubber-room cutting the "blanket-pieces," as the largest masses are called, others were pitching the smaller pieces on deck, where they were seized by two men who stood near a block of wood, called a "horse," with a mincing knife, to slash the junks so as to make them melt easily. These were then thrown into the melting-pots by one of the mates, who kept feeding the fires with such "scraps" of blubber as remain after the oil is taken out. Once the fires were fairly set agoing no other kind of fuel was required than "scraps" of blubber. As the boiling oil rose it was baled into copper cooling-tanks. It was the duty of two other men to dip it out of these tanks into casks, which were then headed up by our cooper, and stowed away in the hold.
As the night advanced the fires became redder and brighter by contrast, the light shone and glittered on the decks, and, as we plied our dirty work, I could not help thinking, "what _would_ my mother say, if she could get a peep at me now?"
The ship's crew worked and slept by watches, for the fires were not allowed to go out all night. About midnight I sat down on the windlass to take a short rest, and began talking to one of the men, Fred Borders by name. He was one of the quietest and most active men in the ship, and, being quite a young man, not more than nineteen, he and I drew to one another, and became very intimate.
"I think we're goin' to have a breeze, Bob," said he, as a sharp puff of wind crossed the deck, driving the black smoke to leeward, and making the fire flare up in the try-works.
"I hope it won't be a storm, then," said I, "for it will oblige us to put out the fires."
Just then Tom Lokins came up, ordered Fred to go and attend to the fires, sat down opposite to me on the windlass, and began to "lay down the law" in regard to storms.
"You see, Bob Ledbury," said he, beginning to fill his pipe, "young fellers like you don't know nothin' about the weather--'cause why? you've got no experience. Now, I'll put you up to a dodge consarning this very thing."
I never found out what was the dodge that Tom, in his wisdom, was to have put me up to, for at that moment the captain came on deck, and gave orders to furl the top-gallant sails.
Three or four of us ran up the rigging like monkeys, and in a few minutes the sails were lashed to the yards.
The wind now began to blow steadily from the nor'-west; but not so hard as to stop our try-works for more than an hour. After that it blew stiff enough to raise a heavy sea, and we were compelled to slack the fires. This was all the harm it did to us, however, for although the breeze was stiffish, it was nothing like a gale.
As the captain and the first mate walked the quarter-deck together, I heard the former say to the latter, "I think we had as well take in a reef in the topsails. All hereabouts the fishing-ground is good, we don't need to carry on."
The order was given to reduce sail, and the men lay out on the topsail yards. I noticed that my friend Fred Borders was the first man to spring up the shrouds and lay out on the main-top-sail yard. It was so dark that I could scarcely see the masts. While I was gazing up, I thought I observed a dark object drop from the yard; at the same moment there was a loud shriek, followed by a plunge in the sea. This was succeeded by the sudden cry, "man overboard!" and instantly the whole ship was in an uproar.
No one who has not heard that cry can understand the dreadful feelings that are raised in the human breast by it. My heart at first seemed to leap into my mouth, and almost choke me. Then a terrible fear, which I cannot describe, shot through me, when I thought it might be my comrade Fred Borders. But these thoughts and feelings passed like lightning--in a far shorter time than it takes to write them down. The shriek was still ringing in my ears, when the captain roared-- "Down your helm! stand by to lower away the boats."
At the same moment he seized a light hen-coop and tossed it overboard, and the mate did the same with an oar in the twinkling of an eye. Almost without knowing what I did, or why I did it, I seized a great mass of oakum and rubbish that lay on the deck saturated with oil, I thrust it into the embers of the fire in the try-works and hurled it blazing into the sea.
The ship's head was thrown into the wind, and we were brought to as quickly as possible. A gleam of hope arose within me on observing that the mass I had thrown overboard continued still to burn; but when I saw how quickly it went astern, notwithstanding our vigorous efforts to stop the ship, my heart began to sink, and when, a few moments after, the light suddenly disappeared, despair seized upon me, and I gave my friend up for lost.
At that moment, strange to say, thoughts of my mother came into my mind, but there was no time to be lost, and I threw myself, with a good deal of energy, into the first boat that was lowered, and pulled at the oar as if my own life depended on it.
A lantern had been fastened to the end of an oar and set up in the boat, and by its faint light I could see that the men looked very grave. Tom Lokins was steering, and I sat near him, pulling the aft oar.
"Do you think we've any chance, Tom?" said I.
A shake of the head was his only reply.
"It must have been here away," said the mate, who stood up in the bow with a coil of rope at his feet, and a boat-hook in his hand. "Hold on, lads, did any one hear a cry?"
No one answered. We all ceased pulling, and listened intently; but the noise of the waves and the whistling of the winds were all the sounds we heard.
"What's that floating on the water?" said one of the men, suddenly.
"Where away?" cried every one eagerly.
"Right off the lee-bow--there, don't you see it?"
At that moment a faint cry came floating over the black water, and died away in the breeze.
The single word "Hurrah!" burst from our throats with all the power of our lungs, and we bent to our oars till we well-nigh tore the rollocks out of the boat.
"Hold hard! stern all!" roared the mate, as we went flying down to leeward, and almost ran over the hen-coop, to which a human form was seen to be clinging with the tenacity of a drowning man. We had swept down so quickly that we shot past it. In an agony of fear lest my friend should be again lost in the darkness, I leaped up and sprang into the sea. Tom Lokins, however, had noticed what I was about; he seized me by the collar of my jacket, just as I reached the water, and held me with a grip like a vice till one of the men came to his assistance, and dragged me back into the boat. In a few moments more we reached the hen-coop, and Fred was saved!
He was half dead with cold and exhaustion, poor fellow, but in a few minutes he began to recover, and before we reached the ship he could speak. His first words were to thank God for his deliverance. Then he added-- "And, thanks to the man that flung that light overboard. I should have gone down but for that. It showed me where the hen-coop was."
I cannot describe the feeling of joy that filled my heart when he said this.
"Ay, who wos it that throw'd that fire overboard?" inquired one of the men.
"Don't know," replied another, "I think it wos the cap'n."
"You'll find that out when we get aboard," cried the mate; "pull away, lads."
In five minutes Fred Borders was passed up the side and taken down below. In two minutes more we had him stripped naked, rubbed dry, wrapped in hot blankets, and set down on one of the lockers, with a hot brick at his feet.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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6
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THE WHALE--FIGHTING BULLS, ETCETERA.
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As the reader may, perhaps, have been asking a few questions about the whale in his own mind, I shall try to answer them, by telling a few things concerning that creature which, I think, are worth knowing.
In the first place, the whale is not a fish! I have applied that name to it, no doubt, because it is the custom to do so; but there are great differences between the whales and the fishes. The mere fact that the whale lives in water is not sufficient to prove it to be a fish. The frog lives very much in water--he is born in the water, and, when very young, he lives in it altogether--would die, in fact, if he were taken out of it; yet a frog is not a fish.
The following are some of the differences existing between a whale and a fish:-- The whale is a warm-blooded animal; the fish is cold-blooded. The whale brings forth its young alive; while most fishes lay eggs or spawn. Moreover, the fish lives entirely under water, but the whale cannot do so. He breathes air through enormous lungs, not gills. If you were to hold a whale's head under water for much longer than an hour, it would certainly be drowned; and this is the reason why it comes so frequently to the surface of the sea to take breath. Whales seldom stay more than an hour under water, and when they come up to breathe, they discharge the last breath they took through their nostrils or blow-holes, mixed with large quantities of water, which they have taken in while feeding. But the most remarkable point of difference between the whale and fishes of all kinds is, that it suckles its young.
The calf of one kind of whale is about fourteen feet long when it is born, and it weighs about a ton. The cow-whale usually has only one calf at a time, and the manner in which she behaves to her gigantic baby shows that she is affected by feelings of anxiety and affection such as are never seen in fishes, which heartless creatures forsake their eggs when they are laid, and I am pretty sure they would not know their own children if they happened to meet with them.
The whale, on the contrary, takes care of her little one, gives it suck, and sports playfully with it in the waves; its enormous heart throbbing all the while, no doubt, with satisfaction.
I have heard of a whale which was once driven into shoal water with its calf and nearly stranded. The huge dam seemed to become anxious for the safety of her child, for she was seen to swim eagerly round it, embrace it with her fins, and roll it over in the waves, trying to make it follow her into deep water. But the calf was obstinate; it would not go, and the result was that the boat of a whaler pulled up and harpooned it. The poor little whale darted away like lightning on receiving the terrible iron, and ran out a hundred fathoms of line; but it was soon overhauled and killed. All this time the dam kept close to the side of its calf, and not until a harpoon was plunged into her own side would she move away. Two boats were after her. With a single rap of her tail she cut one of the boats in two, and then darted off. But in a short time she turned and came back. Her feelings of anxiety had returned, no doubt, after the first sting of pain was over, and she died at last, close to the side of her young one.
There are various kinds of whales, but the two sorts that are most sought after are the common whale of the Greenland Seas, which is called the "right whale," and the sperm whale of the South Sea. Both kinds are found in the south; but the sperm whale never goes to the North Seas. Both kinds grow to an enormous size--sometimes to seventy feet in length, but there is considerable difference in their appearance, especially about the head. In a former chapter I have partly described the head of a _right_ whale, which has whalebone instead of teeth, with its blow-holes on the back of the head. The sperm whale has large white teeth in its lower-jaw and none at all in the upper. It has only one blow-hole, and that a little one, much farther forward on its head, so that sailors can tell, at a great distance, what kind of whales they see, simply by their manner of spouting.
The most remarkable feature about the sperm whale is the bluntness of its clumsy head, which looks somewhat like a big log with the end sawn square off, and this head is about one-third of its entire body.
The sperm whale feeds differently from the right whale. He seizes his prey with his powerful teeth, and lives, to a great extent, on large cuttlefish. Some of them have been seen to vomit lumps of these cuttlefish as long as a whale-boat. He is much fiercer, too, than the right whale, which almost always takes to flight when struck, but the sperm whale will sometimes turn on its foes, and smash their boat with a blow of his blunt head or tail.
Fighting-whales, as they are called, are not uncommon. These are generally old bulls, which have become wise from experience, and give the whalers great trouble--sometimes carrying away several harpoons and lines. The lower-jaw of one old bull of this kind was found to be sixteen feet long, and it had forty-eight teeth, some of them a foot long. A number of scars about his head showed that this fellow had been in the wars. When two bull-whales take to fighting, their great effort is to catch each other by the lower-jaw, and, when locked together, they struggle with a degree of fury that cannot be described.
It is not often that the sperm whale actually attacks a ship; but there are a few cases of this kind which cannot be doubted. The following story is certainly true; and while it shows how powerful a creature the whale is, it also shows what terrible risk and sufferings the whaleman has frequently to encounter.
In the month of August 1819, the American whale-ship _Essex_ sailed from Nantucket for the Pacific Ocean. She was commanded by Captain Pollard. Late in the autumn of the same year, when in latitude 40 degrees of the South Pacific, a shoal, or "school," of sperm whales was discovered, and three boats were immediately lowered and sent in pursuit. The mate's boat was struck by one of the fish during the chase, and it was found necessary to return to the ship to repair damages.
While the men were employed at this, an enormous whale suddenly rose quite close to the ship. He was going at nearly the same rate with the ship--about three miles an hour; and the men, who were good judges of the size of whales, thought that it could not have been less than eighty-five feet long. All at once he ran against the ship, striking her bows, and causing her to tremble like a leaf. The whale immediately dived and passed under the ship, and grazed her keel in doing so. This evidently hurt his back, for he suddenly rose to the surface about fifty yards off, and commenced lashing the sea with his tail and fins as if suffering great agony. It was truly an awful sight to behold that great monster lashing the sea into foam at so short a distance.
In a short time he seemed to recover, and started off at great speed to windward. Meanwhile the men discovered that the blow received by the ship had done her so much damage, that she began to fill and settle down at the bows; so they rigged the pumps as quickly as possible. While working them one of the men cried out-- "God have mercy! he comes again!"
This was too true. The whale had turned, and was now bearing down on them at full speed, leaving a white track of foam behind him. Rushing at the ship like a battering-ram, he hit her fair on the weather bow, and stove it in, after which he dived and disappeared. The horrified men took to their boats at once, and in _ten minutes_ the ship went down.
The condition of the men thus left in three open boats far out upon the sea, without provisions or shelter, was terrible indeed. Some of them perished, and the rest, after suffering the severest hardships, reached a low island called Ducies, on the 20th of December. It was a mere sand-bank, which supplied them only with water and seafowl. Still even this was a mercy, for which they had reason to thank God; for in cases of this kind one of the evils that seamen have most cause to dread is the want of water.
Three of the men resolved to remain on this sand-bank, for dreary and uninhabited though it was, they preferred to take their chance of being picked up by a passing ship rather than run the risks of crossing the wide ocean in open boats, so their companions bade them a sorrowful farewell, and left them. But this island is far out of the usual track of ships. The poor fellows have never since been heard of.
It was the 27th of December when the three boats left the sand-bank with the remainder of the men, and began a voyage of two thousand miles, towards the island of Juan Fernandez. The mate's boat was picked up, about three months after, by the ship _Indian_ of London, with only three living men in it. About the same time the captain's boat was discovered, by the _Dauphin_ of Nantucket, with only two men living; and these unhappy beings had only sustained life by feeding on the flesh of their dead comrades. The third boat must have been lost, for it was never heard of; and out of the whole crew of twenty men, only five returned home to tell their eventful story.
Before resuming the thread of my narrative, I must not omit to mention, that in the head of the sperm whale there is a large cavity or hole called the "case," which contains pure oil that does not require to be melted, but can be bailed at once into casks and stowed away. This is the valuable spermaceti from which the finest candles are made. One whale will sometimes yield fifteen barrels of spermaceti oil from the "case" of its head. A large fish will produce from eighty to a hundred-barrels of oil altogether, sometimes much more; and when whalemen converse with each other, about the size of whales, they speak of "eighty-barrel fish," and so on.
Although I have written much about the fighting powers of the sperm whale, it must not be supposed that whales are by nature fond of fighting. On the contrary, the "right" whale is a timid creature, and never shows fight, except in defence of its young. And the sperm whale generally takes to flight when pursued. In fact, most of the accidents that happen to whalemen occur when the wounded monster is lashing the water in blind terror and agony.
The whale has three bitter enemies, much smaller, but much bolder than himself, and of these he is terribly afraid. They are the swordfish, the thrasher, and the killer. The first of these, the swordfish, has a strong straight horn or sword projecting from his snout, with which he boldly attacks and pierces the whale. The thrasher is a strong fish, twenty feet long, and of great weight. Its method of attack is to leap out of the water on the whale's back, and deal it a tremendous blow with its powerful tail.
The swordfish and thrasher sometimes act together in the attack; the first stabbing him below, and the second belabouring him above, while the whale, unable, or too frightened, to fight, rushes through the water, and even leaps its whole gigantic length into the air in its endeavours to escape. When a whale thus leaps his whole length out of the water, the sailors say he "breaches," and breaching is a common practice. They seem to do it often for amusement as well as from terror.
But the most deadly of the three enemies is the killer. This is itself a kind of small whale, but it is wonderfully strong, swift, and bold. When one of the killers gets into the middle, of a school of whales, the frightened creatures are seen flying in all directions. His mode of attack is to seize his big enemy by the jaw, and hold on until he is exhausted and dies.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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7
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TOM'S WISDOM--ANOTHER GREAT BATTLE.
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One day I was standing beside the windlass, listening to the conversation of five or six of the men, who were busy sharpening harpoons and cutting-knives, or making all kinds of toys and things out of whales' bones. We had just finished cutting-in and trying out our third whale, and as it was not long since we reached the fishing-ground, we were in high hopes of making a good thing of it that season; so that every one was in good spirits, from the captain down to the youngest man in the ship.
Tom Lokins was smoking his pipe, and Tom's pipe was an uncommonly black one, for he smoked it very often. Moreover, Tom's pipe was uncommonly short, so short that I always wondered how he escaped burning the end of his nose. Indeed, some of the men said that the redness of the end of Tom's nose was owing to its being baked like a brick by the heat of his pipe. Tom took this pipe from his mouth, and while he was pushing down the tobacco with the end of his little finger, he said-- "D'ye know, lads, I've been thinkin'--" "No, have ye?" cried one of the men, interrupting him with a look of pretended surprise. "Well now, I do think, messmates, that we should ax the mate to make a note o' that in the log, for it's not often that Tom Lokins takes to thinkin'."
There was a laugh at this, but Tom, turning with a look of contempt to the man who interrupted him, replied-- "I'll tell you wot it is, Bill Blunt, if all the thoughts that _you_ think, and especially the jokes that you utter, wos put down in the log, they'd be so heavy that I do believe they would sink the ship!"
"Well, well," cried Bill, joining in the laugh against himself, "if they did, _your_ jokes would be so light and triflin' that I do believe they'd float her again. But what have you been a-thinkin' of, Tom?"
"I've been thinkin'," said Tom slowly, "that if a whale makes his breakfast entirely off them little things that you can hardly see when you get 'em into a tumbler--I forget how the captain calls 'em--wot a _tree-mendous_ heap of 'em he must eat in the course of a year!"
"Thousands of 'em, I suppose," said one of the men.
"Thousands!" cried Tom, "I should rather say billions of them."
"How much is billions, mate?" inquired Bill.
"I don't know," answered Tom. "Never could find out. You see it's heaps upon heaps of thousands, for the thousands come first and the billions afterwards; but when I've thought uncommon hard, for a long spell at a time, I always get confused, because millions comes in between, d'ye see, and that's puzzlin'."
"I think I could give you some notion about these things," said Fred Borders, who had been quietly listening all the time, but never putting in a word, for, as I have said, Fred was a modest bashful man and seldom spoke much. But we had all come to notice that when Fred spoke, he had always something to say worth hearing; and when he did speak he spoke out boldly enough. We had come to have feelings of respect for our young shipmate, for he was a kind-hearted lad, and we saw by his conversation that he had been better educated than the most of us, so all our tongues stopped as the eyes of the party turned on him.
"Come, Fred, let's hear it then," said Tom.
"It's not much I have to tell," began Fred, "but it may help to make your minds clearer on this subject. On my first voyage to the whale-fishery (you know, lads, this is my second voyage) I went to the Greenland Seas. We had a young doctor aboard with us--quite a youth; indeed he had not finished his studies at college, but he was cleverer, for all that, than many an older man that had gone through his whole course. I do believe that the reason of his being so clever was, that he was for ever observing things, and studying them, and making notes, and trying to find out reasons. He was never satisfied with knowing a thing; he must always find out _why_ it was. One day I heard him ask the captain what it was that made the sea so green in some parts of those seas. Our captain was an awfully stupid man. So long as he got plenty of oil he didn't care two straws for the reason of anything. The young doctor had been bothering him that morning with a good many questions, so when he asked him what made the sea green, he answered sharply, `I suppose it makes itself green, young man,' and then he turned from him with a fling.
"The doctor laughed, and came forward among the men, and began to tell us stories and ask questions. Ah! he was a real hearty fellow; he would tell you all kinds of queer things, and would pump you dry of all you knew in no time. Well, but the thing I was going to tell you was this. One of the men said to him he had heard that the greenness of the Greenland Sea, was caused by the little things like small bits of jelly, on which the whales feed. As soon as he heard this he got a bucket and hauled some sea-water aboard, and for the next ten days he was never done working away with the sea-water; pouring it into tumblers and glasses; looking through it by daylight and by lamplight; tasting it, and boiling it, and examining it with a microscope."
"What's a microscope?" inquired one of the men.
"Don't you know?" said Tom Lokins, "why it's a glass that makes little things seem big, when ye look through it. I've heerd say that beasts that are so uncommon small that you can't see them at all are made to come into sight, and look quite big, by means o' this glass. But I can't myself say that it's true."
"But I can," said Fred, "for I have seen it with my own eyes. Well, after a good while, I made bold to ask the young doctor what he had found out. " `I've found,' said he, `that the greenness of these seas is in truth caused by uncountable numbers of medusae--'" "Ha! that's the word," shouted Tom Lokins, "Medoosy, that's wot the captain calls 'em. Heave ahead, Fred."
"Well, then," continued Fred, "the young doctor went on to tell me that he had been counting the matter to himself very carefully, and he found that in every square mile of sea-water there were living about eleven quadrillions, nine hundred and ninety-nine trillions of these little creatures!"
"Oh! hallo! come now!" we all cried, opening our eyes very wide indeed.
"But, I say, how much is that?" inquired Tom Lokins.
"Ah! that's just what I said to the young doctor, and he said to me, `I'll tell you what, Fred Borders, no man alive understands how much that is, and what's more, no man ever will; but I'll give you _some notion_ of what it means;' and so he told me how long it would take forty thousand men to count that number of eleven quadrillions, nine hundred and ninety-nine trillions, each man of the forty thousand beginning `one,' `two,' `three,' and going on till the sum of the whole added together would make it up. Now, how long d'ye think it would take them? --guess."
Fred Borders smiled as he said this, and looked round the circle of men.
"I know," cried one, "it would take the whole forty thousand a _week_ to do it."
"Oh! nonsense, they could do it easy in two days," said another.
"That shows how little you know about big numbers," observed Tom Lokins, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "I'm pretty sure it couldn't be done in much less than six months; workin' hard all day, and makin' allowance for only one hour off for dinner."
"You're all wrong, shipmates," said Fred Borders. "That young doctor told me that if they'd begun work at the day of creation they would only have just finished the job last year!"
"Oh! gammon, you're jokin'," cried Bill Blunt.
"No, I'm not," said Fred, "for I was told afterwards by an old clergyman that the young doctor was quite right, and that any one who was good at 'rithmetic could work the thing out for himself in less than half-an-hour."
Just as Fred said this there came a loud cry from the mast-head that made us all spring to our feet like lightning.
"There she blows! There she breaches!"
The captain was on deck in a moment.
"Where away?" he cried.
"On the lee beam, sir. Sperm whale, about two miles off. There she blows!"
Every man was at his station in a moment; for, after being some months out, we became so used to the work, that we acted together like a piece of machinery. But our excitement never abated in the least.
"Sing out when the ship heads for her."
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Keep her away!" said the captain to the man at the helm. "Bob Ledbury, hand me the spyglass."
"Steady," from the mast-head.
"Steady it is," answered the man at the helm.
While we were all looking eagerly out ahead we heard a thundering snore behind us, followed by a heavy splash. Turning quickly round, we saw the flukes of an enormous whale sweeping through the air not more than six hundred yards astern of us.
"Down your helm," roared the captain; "haul up the mainsail, and square the yards. Call all hands."
"All hands, ahoy!" roared Bill Blunt, in a voice of thunder, and in another moment every man in the ship was on deck.
"Hoist and swing the boats," cried the captain. "Lower away."
Down went the boats into the water; the men were into their places almost before you could wink, and we pulled away from the ship just as the whale rose the second time, about half a mile away to leeward.
From the appearance of this whale we felt certain that it was one of the largest we had yet seen, so we pulled after it with right good will. I occupied my usual place in the captain's boat, next the bow-oar, just beside Tom Lokins, who was ready with his harpoons in the bow. Young Borders pulled the oar directly in front of me. The captain himself steered, and, as our crew was a picked one, we soon left the other two boats behind us.
Presently a small whale rose close beside us, and, sending a shower of spray over the boat, went down in a pool of foam. Before we had time to speak, another whale rose on the opposite side of the boat, and then another on our starboard bow. We had got into the middle of a shoal of whales, which commenced leaping and spouting all round us, little aware of the dangerous enemy that was so near.
In a few minutes more, up comes the big one again that we had first seen. He seemed very active and wild. After blowing on the surface once or twice, about a quarter of a mile off, he peaked his flukes, and pitched down head foremost.
"Now then, lads, he's down for a long dive," said the captain; "spring your oars like men, we'll get that fish for certain, if you'll only pull."
The captain was mistaken; the whale had only gone down deep in order to come up and breach, or spring out of the water, for the next minute he came up not a hundred yards from us, and leaped his whole length into the air.
A shout of surprise broke from the men, and no wonder, for this was the largest fish I ever saw or heard of, and he came up so clear of the water, that we could see him from head to tail, as he turned over in the air, exposing his white belly to view, and came down on his great side with a crash like thunder, that might have been heard six miles off. A splendid mass of pure white spray burst from the spot where he fell, and in another moment he was gone.
"I do believe it's _New Zealand Tom_," cried Bill Blunt, referring to an old bull whale that had become famous among the men who frequented these seas, for its immense size and fierceness, and for the great trouble it had given them, smashing some of their boats, and carrying away many of their harpoons.
"I don't know whether it's New Zealand Tom or not," said the captain, "but it's pretty clear that he's an old sperm bull. Give way, lads, we must get that whale, whatever it should cost us."
We did not need a second bidding; the size of the fish was so great that we felt more excited than we had yet been during the voyage, so we bent our oars till we almost pulled the boat out of the water. The other boats had got separated, chasing the little whales, so we had this one all to ourselves.
"There she blows!" said Tom Lokins, in a low voice, as the fish came up a short distance astern of us.
We had overshot our mark, so, turning about, we made for the whale, which kept for a considerable time near the top of the water, spouting now and then, and going slowly to windward. We at last got within a few feet of the monster, and the captain suddenly gave the word, "Stand up."
This was to our harpooner, Tom Lokins, who jumped up on the instant, and buried two harpoons deep in the blubber.
"Stern all!" was the next word, and we backed off with all our might. It was just in time, for, in his agony, the whale tossed his tail right over our heads, the flukes were so big that they could have completely covered the boat, and he brought them down flat on the sea with a clap that made our ears tingle, while a shower of spray drenched us to the skin. For one moment I thought it was all over with us, but we were soon out of immediate danger, and lay on our oars watching the writhings of the wounded monster as he lashed the ocean into foam. The water all round us soon became white like milk, and the foam near the whale was red with blood.
Suddenly this ceased, and, before we could pull up to lance him, he went down, taking the line out at such a rate that the boat spun round, and sparks of fire flew from the logger-head, from the chafing of the rope.
"Hold on!" cried the captain, and next moment we were tearing over the sea at a fearful rate, with a bank of white foam rolling before us, high above our bows, and away on each side of us like the track of a steamer, so that we expected it every moment to rush in-board and swamp us. I had never seen anything like this before. From the first I had a kind of feeling that some evil would befall us.
While we were tearing over the water in this way, we saw the other whales coming up every now and then, and blowing quite near to us, and presently we passed close enough to the first mate's boat to see that he was fast to a fish, and unable, therefore, to render us help if we should need it.
In a short time the line began to slack, so we hauled it in hand over hand, and Tom Lokins coiled it away in the tub in the stern of the boat, while the captain took his place in the bow to be ready with the lance. The whale soon came up, and we pulled with all our might towards him. Instead of making off again, however, he turned round and made straight at the boat. I now thought that destruction was certain, for, when I saw his great blunt forehead coming down on us like a steamboat, I felt that we could not escape. I was mistaken. The captain received him on the point of his lance, and the whale has such a dislike to pain, that even a small prick will sometimes turn him.
For some time we kept dodging round this fellow; but he was so old and wise, that he always turned his head to us, and prevented us from getting a chance to lance him. At last he turned a little to one side, and the captain plunged the lance deep into his vitals.
"Ha! that's touched his life," cried Tom, as a stream of blood flew up from his blow-holes, a sure sign that he was mortally wounded. But he was not yet conquered. After receiving the cruel stab with the lance, he pitched right down, head foremost, and once more the line began to fly out over the bow. We tried to hold on, but he was going so straight down that the boat was almost swamped, and we had to slack off to prevent our being pulled under water.
Before many yards of the line had run out, one of the coils in the tub became entangled.
"Look out, lads," cried Tom, and at once throwing the turn off the logger-head, he made an attempt to clear it. The captain, in trying to do the same thing, slipped and fell. Seeing this, I sprang up, and, grasping the coil as it flew past, tried to clear it. Before I could think, a turn whipped round my left wrist. I felt a wrench as if my arm had been torn out of the socket, and in a moment I was overboard, [see frontispiece] going down with almost lightning speed into the depths of the sea. Strange to say, I did not lose my presence of mind. I knew exactly what had happened. I felt myself rushing down, down, down, with terrific speed; a stream of fire seemed to be whizzing past my eyes; there was a dreadful pressure on my brain, and a roaring, as if of thunder, in my ears. Yet, even in that dread moment, thoughts of eternity, of my sins, and of meeting with my God, flashed into my mind, for thought is quicker than the lightning flash.
Of a sudden the roaring ceased, and I felt myself buffeting the water fiercely in my efforts to reach the surface. I know not how I got free, but I suppose the turn of the line must have slackened off somehow. All this happened within the space of a few brief moments; but oh! they seemed fearfully long to me. I do not think I could have held my breath a second longer.
When I came to the surface, and tried to look about me, I saw the boat not more than fifty yards off, and, being a good swimmer, I struck out for it, although I felt terribly exhausted. In a few minutes my comrades saw me, and, with a cheer put out the oars and began to row towards me. I saw that the line was slack, and that they were hauling it in--a sign that the whale had ceased running and would soon come to the surface again. Before they had pulled half-a-dozen strokes I saw the water open close beside the boat, and the monstrous head of the whale shot up like a great rock rising out of the deep.
He was not more than three feet from the boat, and he came up with such force, that more than half his gigantic length came out of the water right over the boat. I heard the captain's loud cry--"_Stern all_!" But it was too late, the whole weight of the monster's body fell upon the boat; there was a crash and a terrible cry, as the whale and boat went down together.
For a few moments he continued to lash the sea in his fury, and the fragments of the boat floated all round him. I thought that every man, of course, had been killed; but one after another their heads appeared in the midst of blood and foam, and they struck out for oars and pieces of the wreck.
Providentially, the whale, in his tossings, had shot a little away from the spot, else every man must certainly have been killed.
A feeling of horror filled my heart, as I beheld all this, and thought upon my position. Fortunately, I had succeeded in reaching a broken plank; for my strength was now so much exhausted, that I could not have kept my head above water any longer without its assistance. Just then I heard a cheer, and the next time I rose on the swell, I looked quickly round and saw the mate's boat making for the scene of action as fast as a stout and willing crew could pull. In a few minutes more I was clutched by the arm, and hauled into it. My comrades were next rescued, and we thanked God when we found that none were killed, although one of them had got a leg broken, and another an arm twisted out of joint. They all, however, seemed to think that my escape was much more wonderful than theirs; but I cannot say that I agreed with them in this.
We now turned our attention to the whale, which had dived again. As it was now loose, we did not know, of course, where it would come up, so we lay still awhile. Very soon up he came, not far from us, and as fierce as ever.
"Now, lads, we _must_ get that whale," cried the mate; "give way with a will."
The order was obeyed. The boat almost leaped over the swell, and, before long, another harpoon was in the whale's back.
"Fast again, hurrah!" shouted the mate, "now for the lance."
He gave the monster two deep stabs while he spoke, and spouting the red stream of life, it rolled on the sea in agony, obliging us to keep well out of its way.
I could not look upon the dying struggles of this enormous fish without feelings of regret and self-reproach, for helping to destroy it. I felt almost as if I were a murderer, and that the Creator would call me to account for taking part in the destruction of one of His grandest living creatures. But the thought passed quickly from my mind as the whale became more violent and went into its flurry. It began to lash the sea with such astonishing violence, that all the previous struggles seemed as nothing. The water all round became white like milk, with great streaks of red blood running through it, and the sound of the quick blows of its tail and fins resembled that of dull hollow thunder. We gazed at this scene in deep silence and with beating hearts.
All at once the struggles ceased. The great carcass rolled over belly up, and lay extended on the sea in death. To me it seemed as if a dead calm had suddenly fallen around us, after a long and furious storm, so great was the change when that whale at length parted with its huge life. The silence was suddenly broken by three hearty cheers, and then, fastening a rope to our prize, we commenced towing it to the ship, which operation occupied us the greater part of the night, for we had no fewer than eight miles to pull.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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8
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DEATH ON THE SEA.
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The whale which we had taken, as I have related in the last chapter, was our largest fish of that season. It produced ninety barrels of oil, and was worth about 500 pounds sterling, so that we did not grieve much over the loss of our boat.
But our next loss was of a kind that could not be made up for by oil or money, for it was the loss of a human life. In the whale-fishery men must, like soldiers, expect to risk their lives frequently, and they have too often, alas! to mourn over the loss of a shipmate or friend. Up to this time our voyage had gone prosperously. We had caught so many fish that nearly half our cargo was already completed, and if we should be as lucky the remainder of the voyage, we should be able to return home to Old England much sooner than we had expected.
Of course, during all this time we had met with some disappointments, for I am not describing everything that happened on that voyage. It would require a much thicker volume than this to tell the half of our adventures. We lost five or six fish by their sinking before we could get them made fast to the ship, and one or two bolted so fast that they broke loose and carried away a number of harpoons, and many a fathom of line. But such misfortunes were what we had to look for. Every whaler meets with similar changes of luck, and we did not expect to fare differently from our neighbours. These things did not cause us much regret beyond the time of their occurrence. But it was far otherwise with the loss that now befell us.
It happened one forenoon. I was standing close to the starboard gangway early that morning, looking over the side into the calm water, for there was not a breath of wind, and talking to the first mate, who was a gruff, surly man, but a good officer, and kind enough in his way when everything went smooth with him. But things don't go very smooth generally in whaling life, so the mate was oftener gruff than sweet.
"Bob Ledbury," said he, "have you got your cutting-in gear in order? I've got a notion that we'll `raise the oil' this day."
"All right, sir," said I, "you might shave yourself with the blubber-spades. That was a good fish we got last, sir, wasn't it?"
"Pretty good, though I've seen bigger."
"He gave us a deal of trouble too," said I. "Not so much as I've seen others give," said he. "When I was fishing in the Greenland Seas we made fast to a whale that cost us I don't know how many hundred dollars." (You must know the first mate was a Yankee, and he reckoned everything in dollars.)
"How was that, sir?" asked I. "Well, it was something in this fashion. We were floating about in the North Atlantic one calm, hot day, just something like this, only it was the afternoon, not the morning. We were doing nothing, and whistling for a breeze, when, all of a sudden, up comes five or six whales all round the ship, as if they had spied her from the bottom of the sea, and had come up to have a squint at her. Of course the boats were manned at once, and in less than no time we were tearing after them like all alive. But them whales were pretty wildish, I guess. They kept us pullin' the best part of five hours before we got a chance at them. My boat was out of sight of the ship before we made fast to a regular snorer, a hundred-barreller at the least. The moment he felt the iron, away he went like the shot out of a gun; but he didn't keep it up long, for soon after, another of our boats came up and made fast. Well, for some two or three hours we held fast, but could not haul on to him to use the lance, for the moment we came close up alongside of his tail he peaked flukes and dived, then up again, and away as fast as ever. It was about noon before we touched him again; but by that time two more harpoons were made fast, and two other boats cast tow-lines aboard of us, and were hauled along. That was four boats, and more than sixteen hundred fathoms of line, besides four harpoons that was fast to that whale, and yet, for all that, he went ahead as fast as we could have rowed, takin' us along with him quite easy.
"A breeze having sprung up, our ship overhauled us in the course of the afternoon, and towards evening we sent a line on board, to see if that would stop the big fish, and the topsails were lowered, so as to throw some of the ship's weight on him, but the irons drew out with the strain. However, we determined to try it again. Another line was sent aboard about eight o'clock, and the topsails were lowered, but the line snapped immediately. Well, we held on to that whale the whole of that night, and at four o'clock next morning, just thirty-six hours after he was first struck, two fast lines were taken aboard the ship. The breeze was fresh, and against us, so the top-gallant sails were taken in, the courses hauled up, and the topsails clewed down, yet, I assure you, that whale towed the ship dead against the wind for an hour and a half at the rate of two miles an hour, and all the while beating the water with his fins and tail, so that the sea was in a continual foam. We did not kill that fish till after forty hours of the hardest work I ever went through."
Some of my shipmates seemed to doubt the truth of this story; but, for my part, I believed it, because the mate was a grave, truthful man, though he was gruff, and never told lies, as far as I knew. Moreover, a case of the same kind happened some years afterwards, to a messmate of mine, while he was serving aboard the _Royal Bounty_, on the 28th of May 1817.
I know that some of the stories which I now tell must seem very wild and unlikely to landsmen; but those who have been to the whale-fishery will admit that I tell nothing but the truth, and if there are any of my readers who are still doubtful, I would say, go and read the works of Captain Scoresby. It is well known that this whaling captain was a truly religious man, who gave up the fishing, though it turned him in plenty of money, and became a minister of the gospel with a small income, so it is not likely that he would have told what was untrue. Well, in his works we find stories that are quite as remarkable as the one I have just told, some of them more so.
For instance, he tells us of one whale, in the Greenland Seas, which was not killed till it had drawn out ten thousand four hundred and forty yards, or about _six miles_ of line, fastened to fifteen harpoons, besides taking one of the boats entirely under water, which boat was never seen again.
The mate told us two or three more stories, and a lot of us were gathered round him, listening eagerly, for there is nothing Jack likes so much as a _good yarn_, when all of a sudden, the man at the mast-head sang out that a large sperm whale was spouting away two points off the lee-bow. Of course we were at our posts in a moment.
"There she blows! there she breaches!" sung the look-out.
"Lower away!" roared the captain.
The boats were in the water, and the men on their seats in a moment.
The whale we were after was a very large one; we could see that, for after two hours' hard pulling we got near enough to throw a harpoon, and after it was fixed he jumped clean out of the water. Then there was the usual battle. It was fierce and long; so long that I began to fear we would have to return empty handed to the ship. We put ten harpoons into him, one after another, and had a stiff run between the fixing of each.
It is astonishing the difference between the fish. One will give you no trouble at all. I have often seen a good big fellow killed in half an hour. Another will take you half a day, and perhaps you may lose him after all. The whale we were now after, at last took to showing fight. He made two or three runs at the boat, but the mate, who was in command, pricked him off with the lance cleverly. At last we gave him a severe wound, and immediately he dived.
"That was into his life," remarked Tom Lokins, as we sat waiting for him to come up again. The captain's boat was close to ours, about ten yards off. We had not to wait long. The sudden stoppage and slacking off of all the lines showed that the whale was coming up. All at once I saw a dark object rising directly under the captain's boat. Before I could make out what it was, almost before I could think, the boat flew up into the air, as if a powder magazine had exploded beneath it. The whale had come up, and hit it with his head right on the keel, so that it was knocked into pieces, and the men, oars, harpoons, lances, and tackle shot up in confusion into the air.
Immediately after that the whale went into his flurry, but we paid no attention to him, in our anxiety to pick up our companions. They all came to the surface quickly enough, but while some made for the boats vigorously, others swam slowly and with pain, showing that they were hurt, while one or two floated, as if dead, upon the water.
Most of the men had escaped with only a few cuts and bruises, but one poor fellow was hauled out of the water with a leg broken, and another was so badly knocked about the head that it was a long time before he was again fit for duty. The worst case, however, was that of poor Fred Borders. He had a leg broken, and a severe wound in the side from a harpoon which had been forced into the flesh over the barbs, so that we could hardly get it drawn out. We laid him in the stern of the boat, where he lay for some time insensible; but in a short time he revived, and spoke to us in a faint voice. His first words were--"I'm dying, messmates."
"Don't say that, Fred," said I, while my heart sank within me. "Cheer up, my boy, you'll live to be the death of many a whale yet. See, put your lips to this can--it will do you good."
He shook his head gently, being too weak to reply.
We had killed a big fish that day, and we knew that when he was "tried in" we should have completed our cargo; but there was no cheer given when the monster turned over on his side, and the pull to the ship that evening seemed to us the longest and heaviest we ever had, for our hearts were very sad.
Next day Fred was worse, and we all saw that his words would come true,--he was dying.
I was permitted to nurse my poor messmate, and I spent much of my time in reading the Bible to him, at his own request.
He lived about a week after the accident and then he died. We buried our shipmate in the usual sailor fashion. We wrapped him in his hammock, with a cannon-ball at his feet to sink him. The captain read the burial-service at the gangway, and then, in deep silence, we committed his corpse to the deep.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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9
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NEWS FROM HOME--A GAM.
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The death of poor Fred Borders cast a gloom over the ship for many days. Every one had respected, and many of us had loved the lad, so that we mourned for him long and truly. But a sailor's life is such a rough one, requiring so much energy and hearty good-will to his work, that he cannot afford to allow the sorrows of his heart to sit long on his countenance. In a day or two after no one would have supposed we had lost one of our best men. Whales appeared in great numbers around us. The old cry of "There she blows!" ran out frequently from the mast-head, and the answering cry from the captain, "Where away?" was followed by the "Stand by to lower! --lower away." Then came the chase, with all its dangers and excitement--the driving of the harpoon, the sudden rush of the struck fish, the smoke and sparks of fire from the logger-head, the plunging of the lance, the spouting blood, the "flurry" at the end, and the wild cheer as we beheld our prize floating calmly on the sea. And in the midst of such work we forgot for a time the solemn scene we had so recently witnessed. But our hearts were not so light as before, and although we did not show it, I knew full well that many a joke was checked, and many a laugh repressed, for the memory of our dead shipmate.
The man who was most affected by his death was the captain; but we were not prepared for the great change that soon appeared in his manner and conduct. After a time he laughed with the rest of us at a good joke, and cheered as loud as the best when a big fish turned belly up, but his behaviour to us became more gentle and kind, and he entirely gave up the habit of swearing. He also forbade working on Sunday. Many a whale have I seen sporting and spouting near us on that day, but never did we lower a boat or touch a harpoon on Sunday. Some of the men grumbled at this, and complained of it to each other, but they never spoke so as to let the captain hear, and they soon gave up their grumbling, for the most of us were well pleased with the change, and all of us had agreed to it.
The first Sunday after Fred's death, the captain assembled the crew on the quarter-deck, and spoke to us about it.
"My lads," said he, "I've called you aft to make a proposal that may perhaps surprise some of you. Up to this time, you know very well, there has been little difference aboard this ship between Saturday and Sunday. Since our poor shipmate died I have been thinkin' much on this matter, and I've come to the conclusion that we shall rest from all work on Sunday, except such as must be done to work the ship. Now, lads, you know me well enough by this time. I have never been a religious man all my life, and I don't pretend to say that I'm one now. I'm not very learned on this matter, and can't explain myself very well; but what think you, lads, shall we give the whales a rest on Sundays?"
We all agreed to this at once, for the effect of the captain's speech was great upon us. It was not so much what he said, as the way in which he said it. He was by nature a bold, determined man, who never flinched from danger or duty, and when we heard him talking in that way we could scarcely believe our ears.
This was all that was said about the matter between us and the captain, but we had many a hot discussion in the forecastle amongst ourselves after that. Some were in favour of the new move, and said, stoutly, that the captain was a sensible fellow. Others said he was becoming an old wife, and that no luck would follow the ship. In the course of time, however, we found the benefit of the change in every way; and the grumblers were silenced, because in spite of their wise shakings of the head, we filled the ship with oil as full as she could hold, much sooner than we had expected.
Shoregoing people have but little notion of the ease with which the heart of a jack-tar is made to rejoice when he is out on a long voyage. His pleasures and amusements are so few that he is thankful to make the most of whatever is thrown in his way. In the whale-fisheries, no doubt, he has more than enough of excitement, but after a time he gets used to this, and begins to long for a little variety--and of all the pleasures that fall to his lot, that which delights him most is to have a gam with another ship.
Now, a gam is the meeting of two or more whale-ships, their keeping company for a time, and the exchanging of visits by the crews. It is neither more nor less than a jollification on the sea,--the inviting of your friends to feast and make merry in your floating house. There is this difference, however, between a gam at sea and a party on land, that your _friends_ on the ocean are men whom you perhaps never saw before, and whom you will likely never meet again. There is also another difference--there are no ladies at a gam. This is a great want, for man is but a rugged creature when away from the refining influence of woman; but, in the circumstances, of course, it can't be helped.
We had a gam one day, on this voyage, with a Yankee whale-ship, and a first-rate gam it was, for, as the Yankee had gammed three days before with another English ship, we got a lot of news second-hand; and, as we had not seen a new face for many months, we felt towards those Yankees like brothers, and swallowed all they had to tell us like men starving for news.
It was on a fine calm morning, just after breakfast, that we fell in with this ship. We had seen no whales for a day or two, but we did not mind that, for our hold was almost full of oil-barrels. Tom Lokins and I were leaning over the starboard bulwarks, watching the small fish that every now and then darted through the clear-blue water like arrows, and smoking our pipes in silence. Tom looked uncommonly grave, and I knew that he was having some deep and knowing thoughts of his own, which would leak out in time. All at once he took his pipe from his mouth and stared earnestly at the horizon.
"Bob," said he, speaking very slowly, "if there ain't a ship right off the starboard beam, I'm a Dutchman."
"You don't mean it!" said I, starting with a feeling of excitement.
Before another word could be uttered, the cry of "Sail ho!" came ringing down from the mast-head. Instantly the quiet of the morning was broken; sleepers sprang up and rubbed their eyes, the men below rushed wildly up the hatchway, the cook came tearing out of his own private den, flourishing a soup-ladle in one hand and his tormentors in the other, the steward came tumbling up with a lump of dough in his fist that he had forgot to throw down in his haste, and the captain bolted up from the cabin without his hat.
"Where away?" cried he, with more than his usual energy.
"Right off the starboard beam, sir."
"Square the yards! Look alive, my hearties," was the next order; for although the calm sea was like a sheet of glass, a light air, just sufficient to fill our top-gallant sails, enabled us to creep through the water.
"Hurrah!" shouted the men as we sprang to obey.
"What does she look like?" roared the captain.
"A big ship, sir, I think," replied the look-out, "but I can only just make out the top of her main t-gallan' s'l."--(Sailors scorn to speak of _top-gallant sails_).
Gradually, one by one, the white sails of the stranger rose up like cloudlets out of the sea, and our hearts beat high with hope and expectation as we beheld the towering canvas of a full-rigged ship rise slowly into view.
"Show our colours," said the captain.
In a moment the Union Jack of Old England was waving at the mast-head in the gentle breeze, and we watched anxiously for a reply. The stranger was polite; his colours flew up a moment after, and displayed the Stripes and Stars of America.
"A Yankee!" exclaimed some of the men in a tone of slight disappointment.
I may remark, that our disappointment arose simply from the fact that there was no chance, as we supposed, of getting news from "home" out of a ship that must have sailed last from America. For the rest, we cared not whether they were Yankees or Britons--they were men who could speak the English tongue, that was enough for us.
"Never mind, boys," cried one, "we'll have a jolly gam; that's a fact."
"So we will," said another, "and I'll get news of my mad Irish cousin, Terrence O'Flannagan, who went out to seek his fortin in Ameriky with two shillin's and a broken knife in his pocket, and it's been said he's got into a government situation o' some sort connected with the jails,-- whether as captain, or leftenant o' police, or turnkey, I'm not rightly sure."
"More likely as a life-tenant of one of the cells," observed Bill Blunt, laughing.
"Don't speak ill of a better man than yerself behind his back," retorted the owner of the Irish cousin.
"Stand by to lower the jolly-boat," cried the captain.
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Lower away!"
In a few minutes we were leaping over the calm sea in the direction of the strange ship, for the breeze had died down, and we were too eager to meet with new faces, and to hear the sound of new voices, to wait for the wind.
To our joy we found that the Yankee had had a gam (as I have already said) with an English ship a few days before, so we returned to our vessel loaded with old newspapers from England, having invited the captain and crew of the Yankee to come aboard of us and spend the day.
While preparation was being made for the reception of our friends, we got hold of two of the old newspapers, and Tom Lokins seized one, while Bill Blunt got the other, and both men sat down on the windlass to retail the news to a crowd of eager men who tried hard to listen to both at once, and so could make nothing out of either.
"Hold hard, Tom Lokins," cried one. "What's that you say about the Emperor, Bill?"
"The Emperor of Roosia," said Bill Blunt, reading slowly, and with difficulty, "is--stop a bit, messmates, wot _can_ this word be? --the Emperor of Roosia is--" "Blowed up with gunpowder, and shattered to a thousand pieces," said Tom Lokins, raising his voice with excitement, as he read from _his_ paper an account of the blowing up of a mountain fortress in India.
"Oh! come, I say, one at a time, if you please," cried a harpooner; "a feller can't git a word of sense out of sich a jumble."
"Come, messmates," cried two or three voices, as Tom stopped suddenly, and looked hard at the paper, "go ahead! wot have ye got there that makes ye look as wise as an owl? Has war been and broke out with the French?"
"I do believe he's readin' the births, marriages, and deaths," said one of the men, peeping over Tom's shoulder.
"Read 'em out, then, can't ye?" cried another.
"I say, Bill Blunt, I think this consarns _you_," cried Tom: "isn't your sweetheart's name Susan Croft?"
"That's a fact," said Bill, looking up from his paper, "and who has got a word to say agin the prettiest lass in all Liverpool?"
"Nobody's got a word to say against her," replied Tom; "but she's married, that's all."
Bill Blunt leaped up as if he had been shot, and the blood rushed to his face, as he seized the paper, and tried to find the place.
"Where is it, Tom? let me see it with my own two eyes. Oh, here it is!"
The poor man's face grew paler and paler as he read the following words:-- "Married at Liverpool, on the 5th inst, by the Reverend Charles Manson, Edward Gordon, Esquire, to Susan, youngest daughter of Admiral Croft--" A perfect roar of laughter drowned the remainder of the sentence.
"Well done, Bill Blunt--Mister Blunt, we'll have to call him hereafter," said Tom, with a grim smile; "I had no notion you thought so much o' yourself as to aim at an admiral's daughter."
"All right, my hearties, chaff away!" said Bill, fetching a deep sigh of relief, while a broad grin played on his weather-beaten visage. "There's _two_ Susan Crofts, that's all; but I wouldn't give _my_ Susan for all the Admirals' daughters that ever walked in shoe-leather."
"Hallo! here come the Yankees," cried the captain, coming on deck at that moment.
Our newspapers were thrown down at once, and we prepared to receive our guests, who, we could see, had just put off from their ship in two boats. But before they had come within a mile of us, their attention, as well as ours, was riveted on a most extraordinary sight.
Not more than a hundred yards ahead of our ship, a whale came suddenly to the surface of the water, seeming, by its wild motions, to be in a state of terror. It continued for some time to struggle, and lash the whole sea around it into a white foam.
At once the boats were lowered from both ships, and we went after this fish, but his motions were so violent, that we found it utterly impossible to get near enough to throw a harpoon. When we had approached somewhat closely, we discovered that it had been attacked by a killer fish, which was fully twenty feet long, and stuck to it like a leech. The monster's struggles were made in trying to shake itself free of this tremendous enemy, but it could not accomplish this. The killer held him by the under jaw, and hung on there, while the whale threw himself out of the water in his agony, with his great mouth open like a huge cavern, and the blood flowing so fast from the wound that the sea was dyed for a long distance round. The killer fought like a bulldog. It held on until the whale was exhausted, but they passed away from us in such a confused struggle, that a harpoon could not be fixed for an hour after we first saw them. On this being done, the killer let go, and the whale, being already half dead, was soon killed.
The Yankee boats were the first to come up with this fish, so the prize belonged to them. We were well pleased at this, as we could afford to let them have it, seeing that we could scarcely have found room to stow away the oil in our hold. It was the Yankees' first fish, too, so they were in great spirits about it, and towed it to their ship, singing "Yankee-doodle" with all their might.
As they passed our boat the captain hailed them.
"I wish you joy of your first fish, sir," said he to the Yankee captain.
"Thank you, stranger. I guess we're in luck, though it ain't a big one. I say, what sort o' brute was that, that had hold of him? Never seed sich a crittur in all my life."
"He's a killer," said our captain.
"A killer! Guess he just is, and no mistake: if we hadn't helped him, he'd have done the job for himself! What does he kill him for?"
"To eat him, but I'm told he only eats the tongue. You'll not forget that you've promised to gam with us to-night," cried our captain, as they were about to commence pulling again.
"All right, stranger, one half will come to-night, before sundown; t'other half to-morrow, if the calm holds. Good-day. Give way, lads."
The men dipped their oars, and resumed their song, while we pulled back to our ship. We did not offer to help them, because the fish was a small one, and the distance they had to go not great.
It was near sunset when, according to promise, the Yankees came on board, and spent a long evening with us. They were a free, open-hearted, boastful, conceited, good-humoured set of fellows, and a jolly night we had of it in the forecastle, while the mates and captains were enjoying themselves and spinning their yarns in the cabin.
Of course, we began with demands for home news, and, when we had pumped out of them every drop they had, we began to sing songs and to spin yarns. And it was now that my friend Tom Lokins came out strong, and went on at such a rate, that he quite won the hearts of our guests. Tom was not noisy, and he was slow in his talk, but he had the knack of telling a good story; he never used a wrong word, or a word too many, and, having a great deal of humour, men could not help listening when he began to talk.
After this we had a dance, and here I became useful, being able to play Scotch reels and Irish jigs on the fiddle. Then we had songs and yarns again. Some could tell of furious fights with whales that made our blood boil; others could talk of the green fields at home, until we almost fancied we were boys again; and some could not tell stories at all. They had little to say, and that little they said ill; and I noticed that many of those who were perfect bores would cry loudest to be heard, though none of us wanted to hear them. We used to quench such fellows by calling loudly for a song with a rousing chorus.
It was not till the night was far spent, and the silver moon was sailing through the starry sky, that the Yankees left us, and rowed away with a parting cheer.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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10
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RETURN HOME.
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Six months after our "gam" with the Yankees Tom Lokins and I found ourselves seated once more in the little garret beside my dear old mother.
"Deary me, Robert, how changed ye are!"
"Changed, mother! I should think so! If you'd gone through all that I've done and seen since we last sat together in this room you'd be changed too."
"And have ye really seen the whales, my boy?" continued my mother, stroking my face with her old hand.
"Seen them? ay, and killed them too--many of them."
"You've been in danger, my son," said my mother earnestly, "but God has preserved you safe through it all."
"Ay, mother, He has preserved my life in the midst of many dangers," said I, "for which I am most thankful."
There was a short silence after this, during which my mother and I gazed earnestly at each other, and Tom Lokins smoked his pipe and stared at the fire.
"Robert, how big is a whale?" inquired my mother suddenly.
"How big? why, it's as big as a small ship, only it's longer, and not quite so fat."
"Robert," replied my mother gravely, "ye didn't used to tell untruths; ye must be jokin'."
"Joking, mother, I was never more in earnest in my life. Why, I tell you that I've seen, ay, and helped to cut up, whales that were more than sixty feet long, with heads so big that their mouths could have taken in a boat. Why, mother, I declare to you that you could put this room into a whale's mouth, and you and Tom and I could sit round this table and take our tea upon his tongue quite comfortable. Isn't that true, Tom?"
My mother looked at Tom, who removed his pipe, puffed a cloud of smoke, and nodded his head twice very decidedly.
"Moreover," said I, "a whale is so big and strong, that it can knock a boat right up into the air, and break in the sides of a ship. One day a whale fell right on top of one of our boats, and smashed it all to bits. Now that's a real truth!"
Again my mother looked at Tom Lokins, and again that worthy man puffed an immense cloud of smoke, and nodded his head more decidedly than before. Being anxious to put to flight all her doubts at once, he said solemnly, "Old ooman, that's a fact!"
"Robert," said my mother, "tell me something about the whales."
Just as she said this the door opened, and in came the good old gentleman with the nose like his cane-knob, and with as kind a heart as ever beat in a human breast. My mother had already told me that he came to see her regularly once a week, ever since I went to sea, except in summer, when he was away in the country, and that he had never allowed her to want for anything.
I need scarcely say that there was a hearty meeting between us three, and that we had much to say to each other. But in the midst of it all my mother turned to the old gentleman and said-- "Robert was just going to tell me something about his adventures with the whales."
"That's capital!" cried the old gentleman, rubbing his hands. "Come, Bob, my boy, let's hear about 'em."
Being thus invited, I consented to spin them a yarn. The old gentleman settled himself in his chair, my mother smoothed her apron, folded her hands, and looked meekly into my face. Tom Lokins filled his pipe, stretched out his foot to poke the fire with the toe of his shoe, and began to smoke like a steam-engine; then I cleared my throat and began my tale, and before I had done talking that night, I had told them all that I have told in this little book, almost word for word.
Thus ended my first voyage to the South Seas. Many and many a trip have I made since then, and many a wonderful sight have I seen, both in the south and in the north. But if I were to write an account of all my adventures, my little book would grow into a big one; I must therefore come to a close.
The profits of this voyage were so great, that I was enabled to place my mother in a position of comfort for the rest of her life, which, alas! was very short. She died about six months after my return. I nursed her to the end, and, when I laid her dear head in the grave, my heart seemed to die within me, for I felt that I had lost one of God's most precious gifts--an honest, gentle, pious mother.
I'm getting to be a old man now, but I am comfortable and happy, and as I have more than enough of this world's goods, and no family to care for, my chief occupation is to look after the poor, and particularly the old women who live in my neighbourhood. After the work of the day is done, I generally go and spend the evening with Tom Lokins, who lives near by, and is stout and hearty still; or he comes and spends it with me, and, while we smoke our pipes together, we often fall to talking about those stirring days when, in the strength and hope of youth, we sailed together to the South Seas, and took to--_Fighting the Whales_.
THE END.
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{
"id": "21731"
}
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1
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THE GARRET AND THE GARDEN OR LOW LIFE HIGH UP.
SUDDEN FRIENDSHIPS.
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In the midst of the great wilderness--we might almost say the wilds--of that comparatively unknown region which lies on the Surrey side of the Thames, just above London Bridge, there sauntered one fine day a big bronzed seaman of middle age. He turned into an alley, down which, nautically speaking, he rolled into a shabby little court. There he stood still for a few seconds and looked around him as if in quest of something.
It was a miserable poverty-stricken court, with nothing to commend it to the visitor save a certain air of partial-cleanliness and semi-respectability, which did not form a feature of the courts in its neighbourhood.
"I say, Capting," remarked a juvenile voice close at hand, "you've bin an sailed into the wrong port."
The sailor glanced in all directions, but was unable to see the owner of the voice until a slight cough--if not a suppressed laugh--caused him to look up, when he perceived the sharp, knowing, and dirty face of a small boy, who calmly contemplated him from a window not more than a foot above his head. Fun, mischief, intelligence, precocity sat enthroned on the countenance of that small boy, and suffering wrinkled his young brow.
"How d'ee know I'm in the wrong port--monkey?" demanded the sailor. " 'Cause there ain't no grog-shop in it--gorilla!" retorted the boy.
There is a mysterious but well-known power of attraction between kindred spirits which induces them to unite, like globules of quicksilver, at the first moment of contact. Brief as was this interchange of politenesses, it sufficed to knit together the souls of the seaman and the small boy. A mutual smile, nod, and wink sealed, as it were, the sudden friendship.
"Come now, younker," said the sailor, thrusting his hands into his coat-pockets, and leaning a little forward with legs well apart, as if in readiness to counteract the rolling of the court in a heavy sea, "there's no occasion for you an' me to go beatin' about--off an' on. Let's come to close quarters at once. I haven't putt in here to look for no grog-shop--" "W'ich I didn't say you 'ad," interrupted the boy.
"No more you did, youngster. Well, what I dropped in here for was to look arter an old woman."
"If you'd said a young 'un, now, I might 'ave b'lieved you," returned the pert urchin.
"You _may_ believe me, then, for I wants a young 'un too."
"Well, old salt," rejoined the boy, resting his ragged arms on the window-sill, and looking down on the weather-beaten man with an expression of patronising interest, "you've come to the right shop, anyhow, for that keemodity. In Lun'on we've got old women by the thousand, an' young uns by the million, to say nuffin o' middle-aged uns an' chicks. Have 'ee got a partikler pattern in yer eye, now, or d'ee on'y want samples?"
"What's your name, lad?" asked the sailor.
"That depends, old man. If a beak axes me, I've got a wariety o' names, an' gives 'im the first as comes to 'and. W'en a gen'leman axes me, I'm more partikler--I makes a s'lection."
"Bein' neither a beak nor a gentleman, lad, what would you say your name was to _me_?"
"Tommy Splint," replied the boy promptly. "Splint, 'cause w'en I was picked up, a small babby, at the work'us door, my left leg was broke, an' they 'ad to putt it up in splints; Tommy, 'cause they said I was like a he-cat; w'ich was a lie!"
"Is your father alive, Tommy?" " 'Ow should _I_ know? I've got no father nor mother--never had none as I knows on; an' what's more, I don't want any. I'm a horphing, _I_ am, an' I prefers it. Fathers an' mothers is often wery aggrawatin'; they're uncommon hard to manage w'en they're bad, an' a cause o' much wexation an' worry to child'n w'en they're good; so, on the whole, I think we're better without 'em. Chimleypot Liz is parent enough for me."
"And who may chimney-pot Liz be?" asked the sailor with sudden interest.
"H'm!" returned the boy with equally sudden caution and hesitancy. "I didn't say _chimney-pot_ but _chimley-pot_ Liz. W'at is she? W'y, she's the ugliest old ooman in this great meetropilis, an' she's got the jolliest old 'art in Lun'on. Her skin is wrinkled equal to the ry-nossris at the Zoo--I seed that beast once at a Sunday-school treat-- an' her nose has been tryin' for some years past to kiss her chin, w'ich it would 'ave managed long ago, too, but for a tooth she's got in the upper jaw. She's on'y got one; but, my, that _is_ a fang! so loose that you'd expect it to be blowed out every time she coughs. It's a reg'lar grinder an' cutter an' stabber all in one; an' the way it works-- sometimes in the mouth, sometimes outside the lip, now an' then straight out like a ship's bowsprit--is most amazin'; an' she drives it about like a nigger slave. Gives it no rest. I do declare I wouldn't be that there fang for ten thousand a year. She's got two black eyes, too, has old Liz, clear an' bright as beads--fit to bore holes through you w'en she ain't pleased; and er nose is ooked--. But, I say, before I tell you more about 'er, I wants to know wot you've got to do with 'er? An' w'at's your name? I've gave you mine. Fair exchange, you know."
"True, Tommy, that's only right an' fair. But I ain't used to lookin' up when discoorsin'. Couldn't you come down here an' lay alongside?"
"No, old salt, I couldn't; but you may come up here if you like. You'll be the better of a rise in the world, won't you? The gangway lays just round the corner; but mind your sky-scraper for the port's low. There's a seat in the winder here. Go ahead; starboard your helm, straight up, then 'ard-a-port, steady, mind your jib-boom, splice the main-brace, heave the main-deck overboard, and cast anchor 'longside o' me!"
Following these brief directions as far as was practicable, the sailor soon found himself on the landing of the stair, where Tommy was seated on a rickety packing-case awaiting him.
"Now, lad," said the man, seating himself beside his new friend, "from what you tells me, I think that chimney-pot--" "Chimley," remarked the boy, correcting.
"Well, then, chimley-pot Liz, from your account of her, must be the very woman I wants. I've sought for her far an' wide, alow and aloft, an' bin directed here an' there an' everywhere, except the right where, 'till now. But I'll explain." The man paused a moment as if to consider, and it became evident to the boy that his friend was labouring under some degree of excitement, which he erroneously put down to drink.
"My name," continued the sailor, "is Sam Blake--second mate o' the _Seacow_, not long in from China. I didn't ship as mate. Bein' a shipwrecked seaman, you see--" "Shipwrecked!" exclaimed the boy, with much interest expressed in his sharp countenance.
"Ay, lad, shipwrecked; an' not the first time neither, but I was keen to get home, havin' bin kep' a prisoner for an awful long spell by pirates--" "Pints!" interrupted the boy again, as he gazed in admiration at his stalwart friend; "but," he added, "I don't believe you. It's all barn. There ain't no pints now; an' you think you've got hold of a green un."
"Tommy!" said the sailor in a remonstrative tone, "did I ever deceive you?"
"Never," replied the boy fervently; "leastwise not since we 'come acquaint 'arf an hour back."
"Look here," said Sam Blake, baring his brawny left arm to the elbow and displaying sundry deep scars which once must have been painful wounds. "An' look at this," he added, opening his shirt-front and exposing a mighty chest that was seamed with similar scars in all directions. "That's what the pirates did to me an' my mates--torturin' of us afore killin' us."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed the urchin, in a tone in which sympathy was mingled with admiration; "tell us all about it, Sam."
"Not now, my lad; business first--pleasure arterwards."
"I prefers pleasure first an' business arter, Sam. 'Owever, 'ave it yer own way."
"Well, you see," continued the sailor, turning down his, "w'en I went to sea _that_ time, I left a wife an' a babby behind me; but soon arter I got out to China I got a letter tellin' me that my Susan was dead, and that the babby had bin took charge of by a old nurse in the family where Susan had been a housemaid. You may be sure my heart was well-nigh broke by the news, but I comforted myself wi' the thought o' gittin' home again an' takin' care o' the dear babby--a gal, it was, called Susan arter its mother. It was at that time I was took by the pirates in the Malay Seas--now fifteen long years gone by."
"W'at! an' you ain't bin 'ome or seed yer babby for fifteen years?" exclaimed Tommy Splint.
"Not for fifteen long year," replied his friend. "You see, Tommy, the pirates made a slave o' me, an' took me up country into the interior of one o' their biggest islands, where I hadn't a chance of escapin'. But I did manage to escape at last, through God's blessin', an' got to Hong-Kong in a small coaster; found a ship--the _Seacow_-about startin' for England short-handed, an' got a berth on board of her. On the voyage the second mate was washed overboard in a gale, so, as I was a handy chap, the cap'en he promoted me, an' now I'm huntin' about for my dear little one all over London. But it's a big place is London."
"Yes; an' I suspect that you'll find your little un raither a big un too by this time."
"No doubt," returned the seaman with an absent air; then, looking with sudden earnestness into his little companion's face, he added, "Well, Tommy Splint, as I said just now, I've cruised about far an' near after this old woman as took charge o' my babby without overhaulin' of her, for she seems to have changed her quarters pretty often; but I keep up my hopes, for I do feel as if I'd run her down at last--her name was Lizbeth Morley--" "Oho!" exclaimed Tommy Splint with a look of sharp intelligence; "so you think that chimleypot Liz may be your Lizbeth and our Susy your babby!"
"I'm more than half inclined to think that, my boy," returned the sailor, growing more excited. " _Is_ the old woman's name Morley?"
"Dun know. Never heard nobody call her nothin' but Liz."
"And how about Susan?"
"That's the babby?" said the boy with a grin.
"Yes--yes," said Sam anxiously.
"Well, that babby's about five fut four now, without 'er boots. You see 'uman creeturs are apt to grow considerable in fifteen years--ain't they?"
"But is her name Blake?" demanded the seaman. "Not as I knows of. Susy's wot we all calls 'er--so chimley-pot Liz calls 'er, an' so she calls 'erself, an' there ain't another Susy like her for five miles round. But come up, Sam, an' I'll introduce ee--they're both over'ead."
So saying the lively urchin grasped his new friend by the hand and led him by a rickety staircase to the "rookeries" above.
|
{
"id": "21737"
}
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2
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FLOWERS IN THE DESERT.
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Beauty and ugliness form a contrast which is presented to us every day of our lives, though, perhaps, we may not be much impressed by the fact. And this contrast is presented in ever-varying aspects.
We do not, however, draw the reader's attention to one of the striking aspects of the contrast--such as is presented by the hippopotamus and the gazelle, or the pug with the "bashed" nose and the Italian greyhound. It is to one of the more delicate phases that we would point--to that phase of the contrast wherein the fight between the two qualities is seen progressing towards victory, and ugliness is not only overborne but overwhelmed by beauty.
For this purpose we convey the reader to a scene of beauty that might compare favourably with any of the most romantic spots on this fair earth--on the Riviera, or among the Brazilian wilds, or, for that matter, in fairyland itself.
It is a garden--a remarkably small garden to be sure, but one that is arranged with a degree of taste and a display of fancy that betokens the gardener a genius. Among roses and mignonette, heliotrope, clematis and wallflower, chrysanthemums, verbenas and sweet-peas are intertwined, on rustic trellis-work, the rich green leaves of the ivy and the graceful Virginia creeper in such a manner that the surroundings of the miniature garden are completely hidden from view, and nothing but the bright blue sky is visible, save where one little opening in the foliage reveals the prospect of a grand glittering river, where leviathans of the deep and small fry of the shallows, of every shape and size, disport themselves in the blaze of a summer sun.
Beauty meets the eye wherever turned, but, let the head of the observer be extended ever so little beyond the charmed circle of that garden, and nearly all around is ugliness supreme! For this is a garden on the roof of an old house; the grand river is the Thames, alive with the shipping of its world-wide commerce, and all around lies that interminable forest of rookery chimneys, where wild ungainly forms tell of the insane and vain efforts of man to cope with smoke; where wild beasts--in the form of cats--hold their nightly revels, imitating the yells of agonised infants, filling the dreams of sleepers with ideas of internal thunder or combustion, and driving the sleepless mad!
Susy--our Susy--is the cause of this miracle of beauty in the midst of misery; this glowing gem in a setting of ugliness. It is her modest little head that has bent over the boxes of earth, which constitute her landed property; her pretty little fingers which have trained the stems and watered the roots and cherished the flowers until the barren house-top has been made to blossom like the rose. And love, as usual, has done it all--love to that very ugly old woman, chimney-pot Liz, who sits on the rustic chair in the midst of the garden enjoying it all.
For Liz has been a mother to that motherless bairn from her earliest years. She has guarded, fed, and clothed her from infancy; taught her from God's Book the old, old story of redeeming love, and led her to the feet of Jesus. It would be strange indeed if Susy did not love the ugly old woman, until at last she came to regard the wrinkles as veritable lines of beauty; the nut-cracker nose and chin as emblems of persistent goodness; the solitary wobbling tooth as a sign of unconquerable courage; and the dark eyes--well, it required no effort of imagination to change the character of the old woman's eyes, for they had always been good, kindly, expressive eyes, and were at that date as bright and lively as when she was sweet sixteen.
But chimney-pot Liz was poor--desperately poor, else she had not been there, for if heaven was around and within her, assuredly something very like pandemonium was underneath her, and it not unfrequently appeared as if the evil spirits below were surging to and fro in a fierce endeavour to burst up the whole place, and hurl the old woman with her garden into the river.
Evil spirits indeed formed the dread foundation of the old woman's abode; for, although her own court was to some extent free from the curse, this particular pile of building, of which the garden formed the apex, had a grog-shop, opening on another court, for its foundation-stone. From that sink of iniquity, literal and unmitigated-- though not unadulterated--spirits of evil rose like horrid fumes from the pit, and maddened the human spirits overhead. These, descending to the foundation-den, soaked themselves in the material spirit and carried it up, until the whole tenement seemed to reek and reel under its malign influence.
But, strange to say, the riot did not rise as high as the garden on the roof--only the echoes reached that little paradise.
Now it is a curious almost unaccountable fact, which no one would ever guess, that a teapot was the cause of this--at least a secondary cause-- for a teapot was the chief instrument in checking, if not turning, the tide of evil. Yes, chimney-pot Liz held her castle in the very midst of the enemy, almost single-handed, with no visible weapon of offence or defence but a teapot! We say visible, because Liz did indeed possess other and very powerful weapons which were not quite so obvious--such as, the Word of God in her memory, the love of God in her heart, and the Spirit of God in her soul.
To the outside world, however, the teapot was her weapon and shield.
We have read of such a weapon before, somewhere in the glorious annals of city missions, but just now we are concerned only with the teapot of our own Liz of chimney-pot notoriety.
Seated, as we have said, in a rustic chair, gazing through the foliage at the busy Thames, and plying her knitting needles briskly, while the sun seemed to lick up and clear away the fogs and smoke of the great city, chimney-pot Liz enjoyed her thoughts until a loud clatter announced that Susy had knocked over the watering-pot.
"Oh! granny" (thus she styled her), "I'm _so_ sorry! So stupid of me! Luckily there's no water in it."
"Never mind, dear," said the old woman in a soft voice, and with a smile which for a moment exposed the waste of gums in which the solitary fang stood, "I've got no nerves--never had any, and hope I never may have. By the way, that reminds me--Is the tea done, Susy?"
"Yes, not a particle left," replied the girl, rising from her floral labours and thereby showing that her graceful figure matched well with her pretty young face. It was a fair face, with golden hair divided in the middle and laid smooth over her white brow, not sticking confusedly out from it like the tangled scrub on a neglected common, or the frontal locks of a Highland bull.
"That's bad, Susy," remarked old Liz, pushing the fang about with her tongue for a few seconds. "You see, I had made up my mind to go down to-night and have a chat with Mrs Rampy, and I wouldn't like to visit her without my teapot. The dear old woman is so fond of a cup of tea, and she don't often get it good, poor thing. No, I shouldn't like to go without my teapot, it would disappoint her, you know--though I've no doubt she would be glad to see me even empty-handed."
"I should just think she would!" said Susy with a laugh, as she stooped to arrange some of the fastenings of her garden, "I should just think she would. Indeed, I doubt if that _dear_ old woman would be alive now but for you, granny."
The girl emphasised the "dear" laughingly, for Mrs Rampy was one of those middle-aged females of the destitute class whose hearts have been so steeled against their kind by suffering and drink as to render them callous to most influences. The proverbial "soft spot" in Mrs Rampy's heart was not reached until an assault had been made on it by chimney-pot Liz with her teapot. Even then it seemed as if the softness of the spot were only of the gutta-percha type.
"Perhaps not, perhaps not my dear," returned old Liz, with that pleased little smile with which she was wont to recognise a philanthropic success a smile which always had the effect of subduing the tooth, and rendering the plain face almost beautiful.
Although bordering on the lowest state of destitution--and that is a remarkably low state in London! --old Liz had an air of refinement about her tones, words, and manner which was very different from that of the poor people around her. This was not altogether, though partly, due to her Christianity. The fact is, the old woman had "seen better days." For fifty years she had been nurse in an amiable and wealthy family, the numerous children of which seemed to have been born to bloom for a few years in the rugged garden of this world, and then be transplanted to the better land. Only the youngest son survived. He entered the army and went to India--that deadly maelstrom which has swallowed up so much of British youth and blood and beauty! When the old couple became bankrupt and died, the old nurse found herself alone and almost destitute in the world.
It is not our purpose to detail here the sad steps by which she descended to the very bottom of the social ladder, taking along with her Susan, her adopted daughter and the child of a deceased fellow-servant. We merely tell thus much to account for her position and her partial refinement--both of which conditions she shared with Susan.
"Now then," said the latter, "I must go, granny. Stickle and Screw are not the men to overlook faults. If I'm a single minute late I shall have to pay for it."
"And quite right, Susy, quite right. Why should Stickle and Screw lose a minute of their people's work? Their people would be angry enough if they were to be paid a penny short of their wages! Besides, the firm employs over two hundred hands, and if every one of these was to be late a minute there would be two hundred minutes gone--nigh four hours, isn't it? You should be able to count that right off, Susy, havin' been so long at the Board-school."
"I don't dispute it, granny," said the girl with a light laugh, as she stood in front of a triangular bit of looking-glass tying on her poor but neatly made hat. "And I am usually three or four minutes before my time, but Stickle and Screw are hard on us in other ways, so different from Samson and Son, where Lily Hewat goes. Now, I'm off. I'll be sure to be back by half-past nine or soon after."
As the girl spoke, footsteps were heard ascending the creaky wooden stair. Another moment and Tommy Splint entering with a theatrical air, announced-- "A wisitor!"
He was closely followed by Sam Blake, who no sooner beheld Susy than he seemed to become paralysed, for he stood gazing at her as if in eager but helpless amazement.
Susy was a good deal surprised at this, but feeling that if she were to wait for the clearing up of the mystery she would infallibly be late in reaching the shop of the exacting Stickle and Screw, she swept lightly past the seaman with a short laugh, and ran down-stairs.
Without a word of explanation Sam sprang after her, but, although smart enough on the shrouds and ladders of shipboard, he failed to accommodate himself to the stairs of rookeries, and went down, as he afterwards expressed it, "by the run," coming to an anchor at the bottom in a sitting posture. Of course the lithe and active Susy escaped him, and also escaped being too late by only half a minute.
"Never mind, she'll be back again between nine and ten o'clock, unless they keep her late," said old Liz, after Sam had explained who he was, and found that Susy was indeed his daughter, and chimney-pot Liz the nurse who had tended his wife to her dying day, and afterwards adopted his child.
"I never was took aback so in all my life," said the seaman, sitting down beside the old woman, and drawing a sigh so long that it might have been likened to a moderate breeze. "She's the born image o' what her dear mother was when I first met her. _My_ Susy! Well, it's not every poor seaman as comes off a long voyage an' finds that he's fallen heir to a property like _that_!"
"You may well be proud of her," said old Liz, "and you'll be prouder yet when you come to know her."
"I know it, and I'm proud to shake your hand, mother, an' thankee kindly for takin' such care o' my helpless lassie. You say she'll be home about ten?"
"Yes, if she's not kep' late. She always comes home about that time. Meanwhile you'll have something to eat. Tommy, boy, fetch out the loaf and the cheese and the teapot. You know where to find 'em. Tommy's an orphan, Cap'n Blake, that I've lately taken in hand. He's a good boy is Tommy, but rather wild."
"Wot can you expect of a horphing?" said the boy with a grin, for he had overheard the latter remark, though it was intended only for the visitor's ear. "But I say, granny, there ain't no cheese here, 'cept a bit o' rind that even a mouse would scorn to look at."
"Never mind, bring out the loaf, Tommy."
"An' there ain't no use," continued the boy, "o' bringin' out the teapot, 'cause there ain't a grain o' tea nowheres."
"Oh! I forgot," returned old Liz, slightly confused; "I've just run out o' tea, Cap'n Blake, an' I haven't a copper at _present_ to buy any, but--" "Never mind that old girl; and I ain't quite captain yet, though trendin' in that direction. You come out along wi' me, Tommy. I'll soon putt these matters to rights."
Old Liz could not have remonstrated even if she had wished to do so, for her impulsive visitor was gone in a moment followed by his extremely willing little friend. They returned in quarter of an hour.
"There you are," said the seaman, taking the articles one by one from a basket carried by Tommy; "a big loaf, pound o' butter, ditto tea, three pound o' sugar, six eggs, hunk o' cheese, paper o' salt--forgot the pepper; never mind."
"You've bin an' forgot the sassengers too--but here they are," said Tommy, plucking the delectable viands from the bottom of the basket with a look of glee, and laying them on the table.
Chimney-pot Liz did not look surprised; she only smiled and nodded her head approvingly, for she felt that Sam Blake understood the right thing to do and did it.
Soon the celebrated teapot was going the round, full swing, while the air was redolent of fried sausage and cheese mingled with the perfume of roses and mignonette, for this meal, you must know, was eaten in the garden in the afternoon sunshine, while the cooking--done in the attic which opened on the garden--was accomplished by Sam assisted by Tommy.
"Well, you _air_ a trump," said the latter to the former as he sat down, greasy and glowing, beside the seaman at the small table where old Liz presided like a humble duchess.
We need hardly say that the conversation was animated, and that it bore largely on the life-history of the absent Susy.
"You're quite sure that she'll be here by ten?" asked the excited father for the fiftieth time that afternoon.
"Yes, I'm sure of it--unless she's kep' late," answered Liz.
But Susy did _not_ return at the usual hour, so her impatient father was forced to conclude that she _had_ been "kep' late"--too late. In his anxiety he resolved to sally forth under the guidance of Tommy Splint to inquire for the missing Susy at the well-known establishment of Stickle and Screw.
Let us anticipate him in that quest. At the usual hour that night the employes of Stickle and Screw left work and took their several ways home ward. Susy had the company of her friend Lily Hewat as far as Chancery Lane. Beyond that point she had to go alone. Being summer-time, the days were long, and Susy was one of those strong-hearted and strong-nerved creatures who have a tendency to fear nothing.
She had just passed over London Bridge and turned into a labyrinth of small streets on the Surrey side of the river, when a drunken man met her in a darkish and deserted alley through which she had to pass. The man seized her by the arm. Susy tried to free herself. In the struggle that ensued she fell with a loud shriek, and struck her head on the kerb-stone so violently that she was rendered insensible. Seeing this, the man proceeded to take from her the poor trinkets she had about her, and would have succeeded in robbing her but for the sudden appearance on the scene of a lowland Scot clad in a homespun suit of shepherd's plaid--a strapping ruddy youth of powerful frame, fresh from the braes of Yarrow.
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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3
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A VISITOR FROM THE NORTH.
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How that Lowland Scot came to the rescue just in the nick of time is soon told.
"Mither," said he one evening, striding into his father's dwelling--a simple cottage on a moor--and sitting down in front of a bright old woman in a black dress, whose head was adorned with that frilled and baggy affair which is called in Scotland a mutch, "I'm gawin' to Lun'on."
"Hoots! havers, David."
"It's no' havers, mither. Times are guid. We've saved a pickle siller. Faither can spare me for a wee while--sae I'm aff to Lun'on the morn's mornin'."
"An' what for?" demanded Mrs Laidlaw, letting her hands and the sock on which they were engaged drop on her lap, as she looked inquiringly into the grave countenance of her handsome son.
"To seek a wife, maybe," replied the youth, relaxing into that very slight smile with which grave and stern-featured men sometimes betray the presence of latent fun.
Mrs Laidlaw resumed her sock and needle with no further remark than "Hoots! ye're haverin'," for she knew that her son was only jesting in regard to the wife. Indeed nothing was further from that son's intention or thoughts at the time than marriage, so, allowing the ripple to pass from his naturally grave and earnest countenance, he continued-- "Ye see, mither, I'm twunty-three noo, an' I _wad_ like to see something o' the warld afore I grow aulder an' settle doon to my wark. As I said, faither can spare me a while, so I'll jist tak' my fit in my haund an' awa' to see the Great Bawbylon."
"Ye speak o' gaun to see the warld, laddie, as if 'ee was a gentleman."
"Div 'ee think, mother, that the warld was made only for _gentlemen_ to travel in?" demanded the youth, with the gentlest touch of scorn in his tone.
To this question the good woman made no reply; indeed her stalwart son evidently expected none, for he rose a few minutes later and proceeded to pack up his slender wardrobe in a shoulder-bag of huge size, which, however, was well suited to his own proportions.
Next day David Laidlaw took the road which so many men have taken before him--for good or ill. But, unlike most of his predecessors, he was borne towards it on the wings of steam, and found himself in Great Babylon early the following morning, with his mother's last caution ringing strangely in his ears.
"David," she had said, "I ken ye was only jokin', but dinna ye be ower sure o' yersel'. Although thae English lassies are a kine o' waux dolls, they have a sort o' way wi' them that might be dangerous to lads like you."
"H'm!" David had replied, in that short tone of self-sufficiency which conveys so much more than the syllable would seem to warrant.
The Scottish youth had neither kith nor kin in London, but he had one friend, an old school companion, who, several years before, had gone to seek his fortune in the great city, and whose address he knew. To this address he betook himself on the morning of his arrival, but found that his friend had changed his abode. The whole of that day did David spend in going about. He was sent from one place to another, in quest of his friend, and made diligent use of his long legs, but without success. Towards evening he was directed to a street on the Surrey side of the Thames, and it was while on his way thither that he chanced to enter the alley where poor Susan was assaulted.
Like most Scotsmen of his class and size David Laidlaw was somewhat leisurely and slow in his movements when not called to vigorous exertion, but when he heard the girl's shriek, and, a moment later, saw her fall, he sprang to her side with one lithe bound, like that of a Bengal tiger, and aimed a blow at her assailant, which, had it taken effect, would have interrupted for some time--if not terminated for ever--that rascal's career. But the thief, though drunk, was young, strong, and active. It is also probable that he was a professional pugilist for, instead of attempting to spring back from the blow--which he had not time to do--he merely put his head to one side and let it pass. At the same instant David received a stinging whack on the right eye, which although it failed to arrest his rush, filled his vision with starry coruscations.
The thief fell back and the Scot tripped over him. Before he could recover himself the thief was up like an acrobat and gone. At the same moment two policemen, rushing on the scene in answer to the girl's shriek, seized David by the collar and held him fast.
There was Highland as well as Lowland blood in the veins of young Laidlaw. This sanguinary mixture is generally believed to possess effervescing properties when stirred. It probably does. For one moment the strength of Goliath of Gath seemed to tingle in David's frame, and the vision of two policemen's heads battered together swam before his eyes--but he thought better of it and restrained himself!
"Tak' yer hands aff me, freens," he said, suddenly unclosing his fists and relaxing his brows. "Ye'd better see after the puir lassie. An' dinna fear for me. I'm no gawn to rin awa'!"
Perceiving the evident truth of this latter remark, the constables turned their attention to the girl, who was by that time beginning to recover.
"Where am I?" asked Susy, gazing into the face of her rescuer with a dazed look.
"Yer a' right, puir bairn. See, tak' ha'd o' my airm," said the Scot.
"That's the way, now, take hold of mine," said one of the constables in a kindly tone; "come along--you'll be all right in a minute. The station is close at hand."
Thus supported the girl was led to the nearest police station, where David Laidlaw gave a minute account of what had occurred to the rather suspicious inspector on duty. While he was talking, Susan, who had been provided with a seat and a glass of water, gazed at him with profound interest. She had by that time recovered sufficiently to give her account of the affair, and, as there was no reason for further investigation of the matter, she was asked if her home was far off, and a constable was ordered to see her safely there.
"Ye needna fash," said David carelessly, "I'm gawn that way mysel', an' if the puir lassie has nae objection I'll be glad to--" The abrupt stoppage in the youth's speech was caused by his turning to Susy and looking full and attentively in her face, which, now that the colour was restored and the dishevelled hair rearranged, had a very peculiar effect on him. His mother's idea of a "waux doll" instantly recurred to his mind, but the interest and intelligence in Susy's pretty face was very far indeed removed from the vacant imbecility which usually characterises that fancy article of juvenile luxury.
"Of course if the girl wishes you to see her home," said the inspector, "I have no objection, but I'll send a constable to help you to take care of her."
"Help _me_ to tak' care o' her!" exclaimed David, whose pride was sorely hurt by the distrust implied in these words; "man, I could putt her in my pooch an' _you_ alang wi' her."
Of this remark Mr Inspector, who had resumed his pen, took no notice whatever, but went on writing while one of the constables prepared to obey his superior's orders. In his indignation the young Scot resolved to fling out of the office and leave the police to do as they pleased in the matter, but, glancing at Susy as he turned round, he again met the gaze of her soft blue eyes.
"C'way, lassie, I _wull_ gang wi' ye," he said, advancing quickly and offering his arm.
Being weak from the effects of her fall, Susy accepted the offer willingly, and was supported on the other side by a policeman.
In a short time the trio ascended the rookery stair and presented themselves to the party in the garret-garden just as Sam Blake and Tommy Splint were about to leave it.
It is impossible to describe adequately the scene that ensued--the anxiety of the poor seaman to be recognised by his long lost "babby," the curious but not unnatural hesitancy of that "babby" to admit that he _was_ her father, though earnestly assured of the fact by chimney-pot Liz; the surprise of David Laidlaw, and even of the policeman, at being suddenly called to witness so interesting a domestic scene, and the gleeful ecstasy of Tommy Splint over the whole affair--flavoured as it was with the smell and memory of recent "sassengers."
When the constable at last bid them good-night and descended the stair, the young Scot turned to go, feeling, with intuitive delicacy, that he was in the way, but once again he met the soft blue eyes of Susy, and hesitated.
"Hallo, young man!" cried Sam Blake, on observing his intention, "you ain't agoin' to leave us--arter saving my gal's life, p'raps--anywise her property. No, no; you'll stop here all night an'--" He paused: "Well, I do declare I forgot I wasn't aboard my own ship, but--" again he paused and looked at old Liz.
"I've no room for any of you in the garret," said that uncompromising woman, "there ain't more than one compartment in it, and that's not too big for me an' Susy; but you're welcome, both of you, to sleep in the garden if you choose. Tommy sleeps there, under a big box, and a clever sea-farin' man like you could--" "All right, old lady," cried the seaman heartily. "I'll stop, an' thankee; we'll soon rig up a couple o' bunks. So you will stop too, young man--by the way, you--you didn't give us your name yet."
"My name is David Laidlaw; but I won't stop, thankee," replied the Scot with unexpected decision of manner. "Ye see, I've been lookin' a' this day for an auld freen' an' I _must_ find him afore the morn's mornin', if I should seek him a' nicht. But, but--maybe I'll come an' speer for 'ee in a day or twa--if I may."
"If you mean that you will come and call, Mr Laidlaw," said old Liz, "we will be delighted to see you at any time. Don't forget the address."
"Nae fear--I'll putt it i' my note-buik," said David, drawing a substantial volume from his breast pocket and entering the address--`Mrs Morley, Cherub Court'--therein.
Having shaken hands all round he descended the stair with a firm tread and compressed lips until he came out on the main thoroughfare, when he muttered to himself sternly: "Waux dolls, indeed! there's nane o' thae dolls'll git the better o' me. H'm! a bonny wee face, nae doot but what div _I_ care for bonny faces if the hairt's no' richt?"
"But suppose that the heart _is_ right?"
Who could have whispered that question? David Laidlaw could not stop to inquire, but began to hum-- "Oh, this is no my ain lassie, Kind though the lassie be,--" In a subdued tone, as he sauntered along the crowded street, which by that time was blazing with gas-light in the shop-windows and oil-lamps on the hucksters' barrows.
The song, however, died on his lips, and he moved slowly along, stopping now and then to observe the busy and to him novel scene, till he reached a comparatively quiet turning, which was dimly lighted by only one lamp. Here he felt a slight twitch at the bag which contained his little all. Like lightning he turned and seized by the wrist a man who had already opened the bag and laid hold of some of its contents. Grasping the poor wretch by the neck with his other hand he held him in a grip of iron.
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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4
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DANGERS THREATEN.
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The man who had been thus captured by David was one of those wretched forlorn creatures who seem to reach a lower depth of wretchedness and degradation in London than in any other city in the world. Although young and strongly made he was pale, gaunt and haggard, with a look about the eyes and mouth which denoted the habitual drunkard. The meanness of his attire is indescribable.
He trembled--whether from the effects of dissipation or fear we cannot say--as his captor led him under the lamp, with a grip on the collar that almost choked him, but when the light fell full on his haggard face a feeling of intense pity induced the Scot to relax his hold.
"Oh, ye puir meeserable crater!" he said, but stopped abruptly, for the man made a sudden and desperate effort to escape. He might as well have struggled in the grasp of a gorilla!
"Na, na, my man, ye'll no twust yersel' oot o' my grup sae easy! keep quiet noo, an' I'll no hurt 'ee. What gars ye gang aboot tryin' to steal like that?"
"Steal!" explained the man fiercely, "what else can I do? I _must_ live! I've just come out of prison, and am flung on the world to be kicked about like a dog and starve. Let me go, or I'll kill you!"
"Na, 'ee'll no kill me. I'm no sae easy killed as 'ee think," returned David, again tightening the grasp of his right hand while he thrust his left into his trousers-pocket.
At that moment the bull's-eye light of an advancing constable became visible, and the defiant air of the thief gave place to a look of anxious fear. It was evident that the dread of another period of prison life was strong upon the trembling wretch. Drawing out a handful of coppers, David thrust them quickly into the man's hand, and said-- "Hae, tak' them, an' aff ye go! an' ask the Lord to help 'ee to dae better."
The strong hand relaxed, another moment and the man, slipping round the corner like an unwholesome spirit, was gone.
"Can ye direck me, polisman," said the Scot to the constable, as he was about to pass, "t' Toor Street?"
"Never heard of it," said the constable brusquely, but civilly enough.
"That's queer noo. I was telt it was hereaboots--Toor Street."
"Oh, perhaps you mean _Tower_ Street" said the constable, with a patronising smile.
"Perhaps I div," returned the Scot, with that touch of cynicism which is occasionally seen in his race. "Can 'ee direck me tilt?"
"Yes, but it is on the other side of the river."
"Na--it's on _this_ side o' the river," said David quietly yet confidently.
The conversation was here cut short by the bursting on their ears of a sudden noise at some distance. The policeman turned quickly away, and when David advanced into the main street he observed that there was some excitement among its numerous and riotous occupants. The noise continued to increase, and it became evident that the cause of it was rapidly approaching, for the sound changed from a distant rumble into a steady roar, in the midst of which stentorian shouts were heard. Gradually the roar culminated, for in another moment there swept round the end of the street a pair of apparently runaway horses, with two powerful lamps gleaming, or rather glaring, above them. On each side of the driver of the galloping steeds stood a man, shouting like a maniac of the boatswain type. All three were brass-helmeted, like antique charioteers. Other helmets gleamed behind them. Little save the helmets and the glowing lamps could be seen through the dark and smoky atmosphere as the steam fire-engine went thundering by.
Now, if there was one thing more than another that David Laidlaw desired to see, it was a London fire. Often had he read about these fires, for he was a great reader of books, as well as newspapers, and deeply had his enthusiasm been stirred (though not expressed) by accounts of thrilling escapes and heroic deeds among the firemen. His eyes therefore flashed back the flame of the lamps as the engine went past him like a red thunderbolt, and he started off in pursuit of it.
But, as many people know, and all may believe, running in a crowded London street is difficult--even to an expert London thief. Our Scot found that out after a sixty-yards' run; then he had the wisdom to stop, just as a little boy leaped out of his way exclaiming-- "'Ullo, Goliah! mind w'ere you're a-goin' to. I wonder yer mother let you hout all alone!"
"Whar's the fire, laddie?" demanded David, with some impatience. " 'Ow should _I_ know, Scotty! I ain't a pleeceman, ham I? that I should be expected to know heverythink!"
As the engine had by that time vanished, no one could tell where the fire was, and as the street had reverted to its normal condition of noise and bustle, David Laidlaw gave up the search for it. He also gave up as hopeless further search for his friend that night, and resolved to avail himself of one of those numerous establishments in the windows of which it was announced that "good beds" were to be had within.
Entering one, the landlord of which had a round jovial countenance, he ordered tea, toast, and sausages, with pen, ink, and paper. Having heartily consumed the former, he devoted himself to the latter and proceeded to write a letter. Here is the epistle:-- "BAWBYLON, I dinna ken where. " _5th July_ 18--.
"DEAR MITHER--Here I am, in Lun'on, an' wow! but it _is_ an awfu' place! 'Ee'll no believe me, but I've been lost twa or three times a'ready, an' I've had a kine o' fecht an' a rescue, an' been taen to the polis office, an' made some freens, an' catched a thief (an' latten 'im aff wi' a caution an' a wheen bawbees), an' seen a fire-engine that lookit as if it was gawn full gallop to destruction. Ay, wumin, an' I've fawn in a'ready wi' a waux doll! But dinna ye fear, mither, I'm ower teugh to be gotten the better o' by the likes o' them. An' noo I'm gawn to my bed, sae as to be ready for mair adventurs the mornin'. Ye'll admit that I've done gey 'n' weel for the first day. At this rate I'll be able to write a story-buik when I git hame. Respecks to faither. Yer affectionate son, DAVID. " _P.S._--The lan'lord's just been in, an' I've had a lang crack wi' him aboot the puir folk an' the thieves o' this Great Bawbylon. Wow, but I _am_ wae for them. Seems to me they have na got a chance i' the battle o' life. He says he'll tak' me to see ane o' their low lodgin'-hooses the morn. Guid-nicht."
------------------------------------------------------------------------ We turn now to a very different scene--to a West End drawing-room, in which is to be found every appliance, in the way of comfort and luxurious ease, that ingenuity can devise or labour produce. An exceedingly dignified, large, self-possessed yet respectful footman, with magnificent calves in white stockings, has placed a silver tray, with three tiny cups and a tiny teapot thereon, near to the hand of a beautiful middle-aged lady--the mistress of the mansion. She is reading a letter with evident interest. A girl of seventeen, whose style of beauty tells of the closest relationship, sits beside her, eagerly awaiting the news which is evidently contained in the letter.
"Oh, I am _so_ glad, Rosa! they have found traces of her at last."
"Of who, mother--old nurse?" asked Rosa.
"Yes, your father's old nurse; indeed I may say mine also, for when I was a little girl I used to pay long visits to your grandfather's house. And it seems that she is in great poverty--almost destitute. Dear, _dear_ old nurse! you won't be long in poverty if I can help it!"
As she spoke, a handsome man of middle age and erect carriage entered the room. There was an expression of care and anxiety on his countenance, which, however, partly disappeared when the lady turned towards him with a triumphant look and held up the letter.
"Didn't I tell you, Jack, that your lawyer would find our old nurse if any one could? He writes me that she has been heard of, living in some very poor district on the south side of the Thames, and hopes to be able to send me her exact address very soon. I felt quite sure that Mr Lockhart would find her, he is such an obliging and amiable man, as well as clever. I declare that I can't bear to look at all the useless luxury in which we live when I think of the good and true creatures like old nurse who are perishing in absolute destitution."
"But being disgusted with our luxury and giving it all up would not mend matters, little wife," returned Jack with a faint smile. "Rich people are not called upon to give up their riches, but to _use_ them--to spend well within their means, so as to have plenty to spare in the way of helping those who are willing to help themselves, and sustaining those who cannot help themselves. The law of supply and demand has many phases, and the profits resulting therefrom are overruled by a Higher Power than the laws of Political Economy. There are righteous rich as well as poor; there are wicked poor as well as rich. What you and I have got to do in this perplexing world is to cut our particular coat according to our cloth."
"Just so," said the lady with energy. "Your last remark is to the point, whatever may be the worth of your previous statements, and I intend to cut off the whole of my superfluous skirts in order to clothe old nurse and such as she with them."
Rosa laughingly approved of this decision, for she was like-minded with her mother, but her father did not respond. The look of care had returned to his brow, and there was cause for it for Colonel Brentwood had just learned from his solicitor that he was a ruined man.
"It is hard to have to bring you such news, darling," he said, taking his wife's hand, "especially when you were so happily engaged in devising liberal things for the poor, but God knows what is best for us. He gave us this fortune, when He inclined uncle Richard to leave it to us, and now He has seen fit to take it away."
"But how--what do you mean by taking it away?" asked poor Mrs Brentwood, perceiving that her husband really had some bad news to tell.
"Listen; I will explain. When uncle Richard Weston died, unexpectedly, leaving to us his estate, we regarded it you know, as a gift from God, and came to England resolving to spend our wealth in His service. Well, yesterday Mr Lockhart informed me that another will has been found, of later date than that which made me uncle Richard's heir, in which the whole estate is left to a distant connection of whose very existence I had become oblivious."
"Well, Jack," returned the lady, with a valiant effort to appear reconciled, "but that is not _ruin_, you know. Your pay still remains to us."
"I--I fear not. That is to say, believing the estate to be mine, I have come under obligations which must be met and, besides, I have spent considerable sums which must be refunded--all of which, if I understand the law of the land rightly, means ruin."
For some moments Mrs Brentwood sat in silent meditation. "Well," she said at length, with the air of one who has made up her mind, "I don't understand much about the law of the land. All I know is that my purse is full of gold just now, so I will snap my fingers at the law of the land and go right off to visit and succour our dear old Liz."
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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5
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A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES.
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According to arrangement, David Laidlaw was taken the following evening by his landlord, Mr Spivin, to see one of the low lodging-houses of London.
Our adventurous Scot had often read and heard that some of the low quarters of London were dangerous for respectable men to enter without the escort of the police, but his natural courage and his thorough confidence in the strength of his bulky frame inclined him to smile at the idea of danger. Nevertheless, by the advice of his new friend the landlord, he left his watch and money, with the exception of a few coppers, behind him--carefully stowed under the pillow of his bed in his shoulder-bag. For further security the door of his room was locked and the key lung on a nail in an out-of-the-way corner, known only, as Mr Spivin pointed out, to "their two selves."
"But hoo dis it happen, Mr Speevin," asked David, as they walked along the streets together, "that _ye_ can gang safely amang the thieves withoot a polisman t' proteck ye?"
"Oh, as to that," replied the jolly landlord, "I'm connected with a religious society which sends agents down among them poor houtcasts to convert 'em. They hall knows me, bless you. But I ain't a-goin' with you myself. You see, I'm a very busy man, and engagements which I 'ad forgotten prevents me, but I've made an arrangement with one o' the converted thieves to take you to a few of the worst places in London. Of course he can pass you hevery where as one of his friends."
To this David made no reply, save with a slight "Humph!" as he looked earnestly at his companion. But Mr Spivin wore an expression of seraphic candour.
"Here he is," added the landlord, as they turned a corner and drew near to a man in mean attire, who seemed to be waiting for some one. "He's rather disreputable to look at, only just been converted, an' not 'avin' 'ad the chance yet to better himself. --But--hallo! --you seem to know him."
The last exclamation and remark were called forth by the look of surprise on Laidlaw's face, and the air almost of alarm on that of the mean-looking man--alarm which was by no means unnatural, seeing that he was none other than the fellow who had attempted to rob our Scotsman the previous night.
David, however, was quick to recover himself. "Know him!" he cried, with a hearty laugh, "ay, I ken him weel. I lent him a helpin' haund last nicht, no' far frae here."
"Surely he was not beggin'?" exclaimed Mr Spivin in tones of virtuous reproof, "for a noo convert to go a-beggin', you know, would be houtrageous!"
"Na, na," answered David, with a quiet and somewhat cynical smile, "he wasna beggin', puir lad, but I took peety on 'im, an' gee'd 'im some bawbees. So this is yer new convert, is he? an' he's to be my guide? He'll do. He'll do. Sae I'll bid ye guid-nicht, Mr Speevin."
As the Scot held out his hand in a very decided manner the landlord was obliged to depart without further enlightenment, after cautioning the "converted" thief to take good care of his friend.
When he was gone the Scotsman and the ex-convict stood looking silently at each other, the first with an earnest yet half-sarcastic smile, the other with a mingled expression of reckless amusement, in which, however, there was a trace of anxiety.
"Weel noo," said the former, "aren't ye an oot-an'-oot blagyird?"
"If you mean by that an out-and-out blackguard," answered the thief, "you're not far wrong."
"Ye're honest the noo, ony way," remarked the Scot, with a nod. "Noo, my man, look ye here. Ye are nae mair convertit than yer freen' Speevin is, though I took him for a rale honest man at first. But bein' a blagyird, as ye admit, I'm wullin' t' hire ye in that capacity for the nicht. Noo, what I want is t' see low life in Lun'on, an' if ye'll tak' me to what they may ca' the warst haunts o' vice, I'll mak' it worth yer while--an' I've got mair siller than ye think for, maybe."
A stern frown settled on the thief's face as David spoke.
"I suppose," he said, "that you want me to show you the misery and destitootion among the poor of London, that you may return to your 'ome in the North and boast that you 'ave `done the slums!'"
"Na--na, ye're quite mista'en, man," returned David quickly; "but I want t' see for mysel' what I've heard sae muckle aboot--to see if it's a' true, for I'm wae--I'm" (correcting himself) "sorry--for the puir craturs, an' wud fain help some o' them if I could. Noo, freen'," he continued, laying his huge hand gently on the man's shoulder, "if ye want to earn something, an'll tak' me t' where I want t' gang--guid. If no'--I'll bid ye guid-nicht."
"Do you know," said the man, with a furtive glance at David's kindly face, "the risk you run from the men who live in such places if you go alone and unprotected?"
"I ken the risk _they_ run if they daur t' meddle wi' _me_! Besides, I'll be naether alane nor unproteckit if I've _you_ wi' me, for I can trust ye!"
A peculiar smile played for a moment on the haggard features of the thief.
"Scotchman," he said, "whatever your name may be, I--" "My name is David Laidlaw, an' I've nae cause t' be ashamed o't." "Well, Mr Laidlaw," returned the thief, in vastly improved language and tone, "I'm indebted to you for a good supper and a warm bed last night. Besides, yours is the first friendly touch or kind voice that has greeted me since I was discharged, and you've said you can _trust_ me! So I'll do my best for you even though you should not give me a penny. But remember, you will go among a rough lot whom I have but little power to control."
"Hoots! c'way, man, an' dinna waste time haverin'."
Saying this, he grasped his guide by the arm in a friendly way and walked off, much to the surprise of a policeman with an aquiline nose, who turned his bull's-eye full on them as they passed, and then went on his way, shaking his head sagaciously.
As the ill-assorted pair advanced, the streets they traversed seemed to grow narrower and dirtier. The inhabitants partook of the character of their surroundings, and it struck our Scotsman that, as ordinary shops became fewer and meaner, grog-shops became more numerous and self-assertive. From out of these dens of debauchery there issued loud cries and curses and ribald songs, and occasionally one or two of the wretched revellers, male or female, were thrust out, that they might finish off a quarrel with a fight in the street, or because they insisted on having more drink without having the means to pay for it.
At one particular point a woman "in unwomanly rags" was seen leaning up against a lamp-post with an idiotical expression on her bloated face, making an impassioned speech to some imaginary person at her elbow. The speech came to an abrupt end when, losing her balance, she fell to the ground, and lay there in drunken contentment.
At the same moment the attention of our explorer was drawn to a riot close at hand, occasioned by two men engaged in a fierce encounter. They were loudly cheered and backed by their friends, until all were scattered by two powerful constables, who swooped suddenly on the scene and captured one of the combatants, while the other almost overturned David as he ran against him in passing, and escaped.
"Come down here," said the thief, turning sharp to the left and passing under a low archway.
It led to a narrow alley, which seemed to terminate in total darkness. Even Laidlaw's stout heart beat somewhat faster as he entered it, but he did not hesitate.
At the end of the passage a dim light appeared. It was thrown by a very dirty lamp, and disclosed a small court of unutterable meanness and inconceivable smells. One or two men had brushed past them, and David observed that his guide accosted these in a language, or slang, which he did not understand.
"I've got a friend in here," said his guide, opening a door and disclosing an extremely dirty room of about ten feet square. A woman with her back towards the door was busy at a wash-tub. Ragged clothes were drying on a clothes-line. A shattered bed, on which lay a bundle of straw and a torn blanket, stood in one corner; a rickety table in another. Water and soapsuds blotched the broken floor, amongst which played two little boys, absolutely naked.
"That's a woman that tries to keep respectable," whispered the thief, with something like a bitter laugh. "Hallo, Molly! here's a gen'lem'n as wants to bid 'ee good-night."
Molly raised herself, cleared the soapsuds from her thin arms, and turned a haggard but not dissipated face towards her visitor, who was almost choked, not only by the smell of the place, but by an uncontrollable gush of pity.
"My puir wumin!" he exclaimed, hastily thrusting his ever-ready hand into his pocket, "I didna mean t' come in on 'ee unawears. Hae, ye'll no' objec' to a wheen bawbees?"
He put all the coppers he possessed into the woman's hand and hurried out of the room.
"Weel, weel," muttered David, as they continued their walk through the miserable region, "I've gane an' gie'd her a' the siller I had i' my pouch. Pair thing! She'll need it, but I've naething left for onybody else!"
"It's just as well, for there's nothing left now for any one to steal," said his companion.
"Whar are 'ee gaun noo?" asked Laidlaw.
The question put was not answered, for his guide, bidding him wait a minute, turned into a doorway and engaged in a low-toned conversation with a man. Returning to his friend with an air of indecision about him, the thief was on the point of speaking when a small party of men and women--evidently of the better classes--came round the corner and approached.
"Oho!" exclaimed the thief, drawing his companion into the shade of the opposite doorway, "we're in luck. You see, this is what they call a low lodging-house, and the door-keeper thought that, respectable as you are in dress and looks, it might not be wise to take you in. But we'll go in now at the tail o' this lot, and nobody will take notice of you. Only follow close to me."
Two of the "lot" who approached appeared to be respectably-dressed young men, carrying something like a large box between them. There were five altogether in the party, two of whom seemed to be plainly-dressed ladies.
They entered the house at once with a quiet "good-night" to the door-keeper, and were followed by the thief and David. Entering a very large irregularly-formed room, they proceeded to the upper end, where a huge coal fire blazed. The room was crowded with men and boys of varied appearance and character. From every rank in society they had gravitated--but all were stamped with the same brand--destitution! They were not, however, destitute of lungs, as the babel of sounds proved-- nor of tobacco, as the clouds of smoke demonstrated.
Little notice was taken of the visitors. They were well known in that haunt of crime and woe. Angels of mercy they were, who, after the labours of each day, gave their spare time to the work of preaching salvation in Jesus to lost souls. To the surprise of Laidlaw, the box before referred to became a harmonium when opened up, and soon the harmony of praise to God ascended from the reeking den. Then followed prayer--brief and to the point--after which an earnest appeal was made to the sorrowing, the suffering, and the criminal to come and find deliverance and rest in the Saviour.
We may not dwell on this. Some listened carelessly, some earnestly, others not at all.
"Come now," whispered the thief to his friend, towards the close, "they'll have spotted you, and will want to have a talk. We've no time for that. Follow me."
David, who had been deeply interested, also wanted to have a talk with these servants of the King of kings, but his guide being already halfway down the room he was constrained to follow. Another moment and they were in the street.
|
{
"id": "21737"
}
|
6
|
ENEMIES TURNED TO FRIENDS.
|
"You want to see as much as you can, I suppose?" remarked the thief as he hastened along. "Come, I'll take you to our den."
It seemed as if the man were leading his companion into deeper and deeper depths, for the dark passage into which they finally turned, and along which they groped their way, seemed to be the very vestibule of Pandemonium; cries as of fierce and evil spirits being heard at the farther end of it.
"Now," said the thief, stopping, "whatever you do here, don't show fight. This is a thieves' den."
The passage at its farther end became absolutely dark, so that the thief had to lead our hero by the hand. Turning abruptly to the right, they came upon a door through which there issued sounds of terrible revelry. A knock produced no effect. A second and louder knock resulted in dead silence. Then a female voice was heard inside. To it our thief replied in the language of the slums. Immediately the door was opened just enough to let the two men glide in; then it was shut with a bang and bolted.
"Hallo, Trumps, who 'ave you got here?" "W'ere did you pick 'im up?" "Is he a noo member?" shouted several voices, amid general laughter.
The speakers were among a company of men and women whose general appearance and reckless expressions of countenance seemed to indicate that they were past redemption. The den in which they sat drinking, smoking, and gambling consisted of a dirty room fitted with narrow tables, out of which opened an inner apartment. The door of this had been removed--probably for firewood in a time of scarcity. Both rooms were lighted with dim oil-lamps. Some of the company were beggars and tramps of the lowest type, but most were evidently of the vicious and criminal order. There was a tendency to unpleasant curiosity in regard to the stranger, but the thief, whom we may now call Trumps, put an end to this with a few slang words, and led his friend to a seat in the inner room, whence he could observe nearly the whole party and all that went on.
Some of the more intoxicated among them objected to be snubbed by Trumps, and were beginning to scowl at the visitor, no doubt with sinister intentions, when the outer door was again opened, and a young thief, obviously familiar with the place, entered, closely followed by a respectable-looking man in a surtout and a light topcoat. It required no second look to tell that the new-comer was a city missionary. Like our Scot, he had gained admission to the place through the influence of a friendly thief.
"Hullo, _more_ visitors!" growled a big savage-looking man with an apron, who proved to be the landlord of the den.
Advancing quickly to this man, the missionary said, in a quiet gentle tone-- "You supply coffee, I see. May I have a cup?"
"No you mayn't, you spy! I know you, you canting wretch!"
He locked the door as he spoke, and then, striding forward in a towering rage, threatened vengeance on the intruder. The company, expecting a scene, rose _en masse_ to their feet, while those in the inner room crowded to the front. Laidlaw, who was for the moment forgotten in this new excitement, followed them. He was well enough informed in reference to the work of the London City Missionaries to understand at a glance that one of those fearless men had managed to worm his way into the thieves' den, and was perhaps in danger of his life. That the man realised his danger was apparent from the fact that he stood erect and closed his eyes for a moment--evidently in silent prayer for help in the hour of need. The act probably saved him, for the ferocious landlord, although ready enough to crush defiance with a savage blow, did not quite see his way to dash his great fist into a mild, manly face with shut eyes! It was such an unusual way of receiving his onset that he hesitated and lowered his fist. Suddenly the missionary drew out a pocket-Bible, and, pointing upwards with it, said, in loud solemn tones, "A great white throne will be set up among the stars above us. The Saviour who died for sinners will sit upon it, and the dead that are in their graves shall hear His voice and live. _We_ shall be there!"
At this the people were silenced, apparently under a spell--some gazing upwards as if to see the throne; others staring into the missionary's face in wonder.
"And I and you and you," he continued, pointing to one and another, "shall be there: `We must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.' I am not an enemy, or a spy, but a servant of the Lord Jesus, who will be your judge at the last day. He is now the Saviour of the ruined and lost, and in His name I offer you mercy through the blood He shed for you upon the Cross. In His blessed Book it is written, `Whosoever believeth on Him shall be saved.' I hope to come again before long to see you, friends. Now, landlord, open that door and let me out."
The landlord, who seemed to be thoroughly taken aback, unlocked the door with a trembling hand, and the missionary passed out. But that was not the end of this remarkable visit. It was only the beginning of a grand work for Christ which afterwards took place in and around that thieves' den. On this, however, we may not do more than touch here. Smitten in conscience, that landlord hurried out after the missionary and actually begged of him to repeat his visit. Then he returned to the den and found his people recovering somewhat from their surprise.
But, touched though the landlord was, he had by no means changed his character.
"Now, then," he demanded, going up to David Laidlaw, "are _you_ a missionary too?"
"Na, freen', I am not; but I 'maist wush that I was, for it's a graund wark t' carry help t' the destitute."
"Well, guv'nor," cried one fellow with a crushed nose and a huge black eye, "if that's wot you're a-'ankerin' arter you can go a-'ead 'ere an' 'elp us to yer 'eart's content, for we're all destitoot in this 'ere den. So, come along, table down all the cash you've got about you."
"I'll dae that wi' pleasure," said David, rising promptly, and turning all his pockets inside out. "Ye shall hae every bodle I possess."
A general laugh greeted this proceeding, and one young thief shouted, "Well done, checkers," (referring to his garments); "but 'ow comes it that you've bin cleaned out?"
"Plain as pea-soup," cried another. "Don't you see? He's bin keepin' company with Trumps!"
Here Trumps rose to explain. "No, pals, that's not the reason; but just before comin' here he gave away every rap he had to poor widow Grain."
"He's a brick!" cried one man, with a fierce oath.
"He's a fool!" shouted another, with a fiercer oath. Regardless of the interruption, Trumps went on to explain how he had attempted to rob our hero, and been caught by him, and let off with a mild reproof and a lot of coppers. He also explained how that black-hearted villain Tandy Spivin (meaning David's landlord) had hired him--Trumps--to take this "gen'lem'n" (pointing to David) "down into the den _for a purpus_--ahem! Of course, on bein' introdooced to him," continued Trumps, "I at once recognised the Scotchman I had tried to rob, and expected he would refuse to go with me; but I soon found that Scotty was a deep as well as a plucky cove, and wasn't to be done out of his fun by trifles, for he said he would go to the slums with me because he could _trust me--trust me_, pals--note that!"
A loud explosion of laughter interrupted the speaker at this point.
"What!" exclaimed several voices, "said 'e could trust _you_, Trumps?"
"Ay," cried the thief, looking suddenly fierce, "and why not? Isn't it said, `There's honour among thieves?'"
"Thrue for ye," cried a big burglarious-looking Irishman, "sure there's honour 'twixt the likes o' you an' me, Trumps, but that gen'lem'n an't a thief!"
"That's so, Bill," exclaimed another man, with bloodshot eyes and beetling brows; "an' it's my opinion that as the cove hain't got no browns 'e ought to contribute 'is checker suit to the good o' the 'ouse. It would fetch summat."
The interest in the missionary's words seemed to be passing away, for at this point the language and looks of some of the company made David Laidlaw feel that he was indeed in a ticklish position. The threats and noise were becoming louder and more furious, and he was beginning to think of the hopeless resource of using his fists, when a loud exclamation, followed by a dead silence, drew every eye to the door.
The girl to whom the keeping of it had been intrusted had neglected her duty for a moment. In letting one of the company out she incautiously stood looking through the open chink into the dark passage. That instant was seized by two tall and powerful limbs of the law, in cloth helmets and with bull's-eye lanterns, who pushed quietly but quickly into the room. Shutting the door, one of the constables stood with his back against it, while the other advanced and examined the faces of the company one by one.
There was dead silence, for the constables were men of business, not of words, while the criminals, some of whom became grave as well as silent, seemed very anxious not to attract undue attention.
The particular person "wanted," however, was not there at that time. On coming to David, who met the glare of the bull's-eye with his grave smile, the constable looked surprised.
"I think, young man," he said in a low voice, "you've come to the wrong shop here."
"That's _my_ business," replied David coolly.
"Well, you know best of course, but if you'll take my advice you'll come out of this place along with us."
"Na. I'll bide where I am. I'll _trust_ them."
"Brayvo! well done, Scotty!" burst from the company, whose courage quickly revived when they found that no one there was "wanted."
The policemen laughed and went out.
"Noo, freen's, I want to say a word," said David, rising. "I'm gaun awa', an' it's ower late t' mak' a speech the nicht, but I want t' ask leave t' come back here again an' hae a crack wi' ye. I want t' ask 'ee some questions, an' gie ye some guid advice. May I come?"
"Of course you may, Scotty," said the landlord, grasping David's hand and receiving a good-humoured squeeze that made him wince. "You're a trump, and we'll give you the freedom of the 'ouse. Won't we, pals?"
"Agreed, agreed," shouted the whole company; "and we've got two Trumps now!" added a wag, amid much laughter and staves of, "He's a jolly good fellow," during the singing of which Laidlaw and his friend took their departure.
Having marked the position of the den well and taken its bearings they said good-night cordially and separated, the thief to his lair, and the Scotsman to his lodging, where he fully expected that the "villain" Tandy Spivin had availed himself of the opportunity to rob him.
But he was wrong. He found his bag, with his watch and money and his little all, intact as he had left it.
|
{
"id": "21737"
}
|
7
|
MISCHIEF BREWING.
|
David Laidlaw was one of those comfortably constituted men who eat heartily, sleep profoundly, and lie thinking in bed in the mornings-- when awake--with philosophic intensity.
On the morning after his first day in London our hero's mind had to grapple with the perplexing question, whether it was possible that a man with a jovial face, a hearty manner, well-off to all appearance in a worldly point of view, and who chanced to have a man's money at his mercy yet did not take it, _could_ be a deceiver and in league with thieves. Impossible! Yet there were the damaging facts that Mr Spivin had introduced a thief to him as a true and converted man, and that this thief, besides denying his own conversion, had pronounced him--Spivin--a black-hearted villain!
"It bothers me!" said David at length, getting over the side of the bed, and sitting there for some time abstractedly stroking his chin.
Pondering the subject deeply, he dressed, called for breakfast, met Spivin with a quiet "guid-mornin', freen," said that he had had "a pleesant time o't i' the slums," and then went out to visit his friends in Cherub Court. Before going, however, he removed his money from his bag, put it in an inner breast-pocket, and paid his bill.
"You won't be back to dinner, I suppose," said the landlord in his genial manner.
"Na. I'm gaun to plowter aboot a' day an' see the toon. I may be late o' comin' in, but ye'll keep my bed for me, an' tak' care o' my bag."
Spivin said he would do so with such hearty goodwill that David said, mentally, "He's innocent."
At the moment a tall dark man with a sharp intelligent expression entered the house and bade the landlord good-morning. The latter started, laughed, winked, glanced expressively at the Scotsman, and returned the stranger's salute in a tone that induced David to say, mentally, "He's guilty."
Gravely pondering these contradictory opinions, our hero walked along until he found himself close to the alley which led into Cherub Court. A female yell issued from the alley as he came up, and Mrs Rampy suddenly appeared in a state of violent self-assertion. She was a strong, red-faced woman, who might have been born a man, perhaps, with advantage. She carried a broken-lipped jug, and was on her way to the shop which was at least the second cause of all her woes.
Standing aside to let the virago pass, Laidlaw proceeded to the court, where, to his great surprise, he found Tommy Splint sitting on a doorstep, not exactly in tears, but with disconsolation deeply impressed on his dirty young face.
"Eh, laddie, what's wrang?" exclaimed the Scot, his mind reverting anxiously, and strangely enough, to the "waux doll."
"O, Mr Laidlow" exclaimed the boy.
"Na, na," interrupted David, "I'm no laid _low_ yet, though the Lun'on folk hae done their best to bring me t' that condeetion. My name's Laid-law, laddie. Freen's ca' me David, an' ye may do the same; but for ony sake dinna use that English D_ai_vid. I canna thole that. Use the lang, braid, Bible a. But what's the maitter wi' ye?"
"Well, Mr Da-a-a-vid," returned the boy, unable to resist a touch of fun even in his distress, "they've bin an' dismissed our Susy, wot's as good as gold; so she's hout o' work, and chimley-pot Liz she's fit to break 'er hold 'art, 'cause she ain't able to earn enough now to pay the rent of 'er room, an' the landlord, what's a lawyer, 'e is, says two weeks' rent is overdue, and 'e'll turn 'er hout into the street to-morrer if it's not paid."
"That's bad news, Tammy," said Laidlaw, thrusting both hands into his pockets, and looking meditatively at the ground. "But why doesna Sam Blake, the waux--, I mean Susy's faither, lend them the siller?" " 'Cause he's gone to Liverpool for somethink or other about 'is wessel, an' left no address, an' won't be back for two or three days, an' the old ooman ain't got a friend on 'arth--leastwise not a rich 'un who can 'elp 'er."
"Hoots, laddie, ye're wrang! _I_ can help her."
"Ah, but," said the boy, still in tones of disconsolation, "you don't know chimley-pot Liz. She's proud, she is, an' won't take nuffin from strangers."
"Weel, weel, but I'm no'--a stranger, callant."
"I rather think you are!" replied the boy, with a knowing look.
"Ye may be richt. Weel, I'll no' gi'e them the chance to refuse. What's the name of the lawyer-body that's their landlord?"
"Lockhart. John would be 'is Christian name if 'e _wos_ a Christian. But a cove with a Christian name as is _not_ a Christian do seem an absurdity--don't it? They say 'e's about the greatest willian out o' Newgate. An' 'is office is somewhere near Chancery Lane."
"Weel, Christian or no Christian, I'll gi'e him a ca'," said David; "are they up there enow?" he added, with a significant motion of his head towards the garden on the roof.
"Yes, both of 'em--'owling. I couldn't stand it, so came down 'ere to veep alone."
"Weel, ye better stop where ye are, an' veep--as ye say--a wee while langer. I'll gang up to see them."
A minute more and David, tapping at the garret door, was bidden to enter by a sweet voice which caused the slightest imaginable sensation in his heart! Susan was there alone--not 'owling, as Tommy had expressed it, but with the traces of tears obviously about her eyes. She blushed deeply and looked a little confused as David entered, probably because of being caught with the signs aforesaid on her cheeks.
"Guid-mornin', Miss Blake," said David earnestly, giving the girl a warm shake of the hand. "O lassie, but I am sorry to hear that ye're in trouble! I do assure ye that if a pund or twa would help yer granny--" "'Sh, Mr Laidlaw!" said Susan, looking furtively round and speaking low. "Granny will hear! You must not offer her money. From father, indeed, if he were here, she would accept it, but not from a--a stranger."
"Am I, then, such a stranger?" asked David in a peculiar tone, for the word sounded cold and disagreeable.
Again Susan blushed, yet felt a tendency to laugh, as she replied, "Well, you know, although you _have_ helped me in trouble, it is not _very_ long since we met. But come and see granny; she's in the garden--and, please, don't speak of our troubles."
"Weel, weel, please yersel', lassie," returned the Scot, almost sternly, as he followed Susan into the garden on the roof, where old Liz sat in her rustic chair resting her head on her hand, and looking sadly at the sunlight, which flickered through the foliage on to the zinc floor. Despite Susan's caution Laidlaw sat down beside the old woman and took her hand.
"Noo, Mrs Morley," he said, "it's o' no use me tryin' to haud my tongue whan I want to speak. I'm a plain north-country man, an' I canna thole to see a puir auld body in trouble withoot offerin' t' help her. I've been telt o' Susy's misfortin' an' aboot the rent, and if ye'll accep'--" "No, sir, no," said old Liz firmly, but without any look of that pride with which she had been credited. "I will not accept money from--" "But I'm no' askin' ye," interrupted David, "to accep' money as a _gift_--only as a loan, ye ken, withoot interest of course."
"Not even as a loan," said the old woman. "Besides, young man, you must not fancy that I am altogether penniless. I 'appen to 'ave shares in an American Railway, which my landlord advised me to buy with my small savings. No doubt, just at present the dividend on the shares of the Washab and Roria Railway have fallen off terribly, but--" "What railway?" asked Laidlaw quickly.
"The Washab and Roria. Somewhere in the United States," said Liz.
"H'm! I was readin' the papers yestreen," said David. "Ye see, I'm fond o' fishin' aboot odd corners o' the papers--the money market, an' stocks, an' the like--an' I noticed that vera railway--owin' to its daft-like name, nae doot--an' its deevidends are first-rate. Ye could sell oot enow at a high profit gin ye like."
"Indeed? You must be mistaken, I think," replied the old woman, "for I 'ave 'ad almost nothink for a year or two. You see, my landlord, who takes charge of these matters for me--" "That's Mr Lockhart the lawyer, ye mean?"
"Yes. He says they're losing money now, and there was no dividend at all last half-year."
"H'm! that _is_ strange," said David, stroking his chin, "uncommon-- strange!"
"D'you think Mr Lockhart has made a mistake, Mr Laidlaw?" asked Susan hopefully.
"Ay, I think he _hes_ made a mistake. But 'oo'll see. An' noo, to change the subjec', I'll tell 'ee aboot some o' the adventur's I had last nicht."
From this point David Laidlaw entertained old Liz and Susy and Tommy Splint, who had by that time joined them, with a graphic account of his adventures in the slums, in the telling of which he kept his audience in fits of laughter, yet spoke at times with such pathos that Susan was almost moved to tears.
"Noo, I must away," he said at length, rising. "I've got partikler business in haund. Come wi' me, Tammy. I'll want 'ee, and I'll come back sune to see ye, auld Liz. Dinna ye tak' on aboot losin' yer place, Su--, Miss Blake, lass. Ye'll git a better place afore lang--tak' my word for 't." On the way down-stairs Laidlaw and his little companion passed a tall gentleman and two ladies who were ascending. Ere the foot of the stair was reached, loud exclamations of recognition and joy were heard in the regions above.
"I say!" exclaimed Tommy Splint, with wide-open eyes, "ain't they a-goin' of it up there? Let's go back an' listen."
"Na, ye wee rascal, we'll no' gang back. If ye want to be freen's wi' me ye'll no daur to putt yer lug to keyholes. Come awa'. It's nae business o' yours or mine."
They had not gone far in the direction of Chancery Lane when, to their surprise, they met Sam Blake, who had changed his mind about the visit to Liverpool. David at once seized him by the arm, and made him walk with them, while he explained the circumstances in which his daughter and old Liz had been so suddenly placed.
"Wouldn't it be better for me," said Sam, "to steer straight for the garden than to go along with you?"
"Na--ye'll gang wi' me. It's plain that they hae auld freen's veesitin' them at the gairden, sae we'd better lat them alane. Besides, I want ye for a wutness; I'm no much o' a polis man, nevertheless I'm gaun to try my haund at a bit o' detective business. Just you come wi' me, and niver say a word till ye're spoken to."
"Heave ahead then, skipper; you're in command," returned the sailor with a quiet laugh. It was echoed by little Tommy, who was hugely pleased with the semi-mysterious looks and nods of his Scottish friend, and regarded the turn affairs seemed to be taking as infinitely superior to mere ordinary mischief.
Arrived at Chancery Lane, they soon discovered the office of John Lockhart, Esquire, Solicitor. Entering, they found the principal seated at a table covered with papers and legal documents of all kinds. Both the lawyer and the farmer felt, but did not show, some surprise on looking at each other.
|
{
"id": "21737"
}
|
8
|
DARK DESIGNS.
|
The lawyer was first to speak. "It strikes me I have seen you before," he said, looking at Laidlaw with a sharp steady gaze.
"Ay, sir, an' I've seen _you_ before," returned the latter with an extremely simple look. "I saw ye whan I was comin' oot o' the hoose o' Mr Speevin, whar I'm lodgin'."
"Oh, exactly!" returned the lawyer with a bland smile; "pray be seated, gentlemen, and let me know your business."
They obeyed,--Sam Blake with an expression of stolid stupidity on his countenance, which was powerfully suggestive of a ship's figurehead-- Tommy with an air of meekness that was almost too perfect.
It would be tedious to detail the conversation that ensued. Suffice it to say that David said he was a Scotch farmer on a visit to London; that he possessed a good lot of spare cash, for which, at the time being, he got very small interest; that he did not understand business matters very well, but what he wanted to know was, how he should go about investing funds--in foreign railways, for instance, such as the Washab and Roria line.
At this point he was interrupted by Mr Lockhart who asked what had put that particular railway into his head, and was informed that the newspapers had done so by showing it to be the line whose shares produced very high dividends at that time.
"I'm richt I fancy?" said David.
"Yes, you are right, and I could easily put you in the way of investing in that railway."
"Have the shares been lang at this high figure?" asked Laidlaw.
"Yes; they have improved steadily for several years back."
"What say ye to that freend?" demanded David, turning to Sam with a triumphant look.
Sam turned on his friend a look as expressionless as that of a Dutch clock, and said sententiously, "_I_ says, go in an' win." " _I_ says ditto!" thought Tommy Splint, but he meekly and wisely held his tongue.
Meanwhile the lawyer went into another room, from which, returning after a short absence, he produced a bundle of Reports which fully bore out his statement as to the flourishing condition of the Washab and Roria Railway.
"Weel, I'll see aboot it," said David, after a few moments' consideration, with knitted brows. "In the meantime, sir, what have I to pay to you for yer information?"
Mr Lockhart said he had nothing to pay, and hoped he would have the pleasure of seeing him soon again.
"Noo, isn't _that_ a blagyird?" demanded Laidlaw, when they were again in the street.
"No doubt he is," replied Sam; "but how will you manage to haul him up and prove that he has been swindling the old woman?"
"Hoo can I tell? Am I a lawyer? But I'll fin' oot somehoo."
"Well, mate, while you are finding out," returned the sailor, "I'll go to Cherub Court. So, Tommy, will you go with Mr Laidlaw or with me?"
The boy looked first at one and then at the other with a curious "how-happy-could-I-be-with-either" expression on his sharp countenance, and then elected to accompany the sailor. On the way he told Sam of the "swell visitors" to the garret, whom Laidlaw had prevented him from going back to see.
"Quite right he was, Tommy, my boy," said his friend. "It is easy to see that you have not profited as much as you might from the example and teaching of my dear Susy an' chimney-pot Liz."
"Chimley-pot," murmured the boy, correcting him in a low tone. "Vell, you could 'ardly expect," he added, "that a child of my age should git the profit all at once. I suppose it's like a bad ease o' waxination-- it ha'n't took properly yet."
"Then we must have you re-vaccinated, my boy. But tell me, what were the swells like?"
The description of the swells occupied Tommy all the rest of the walk to Cherub Court, where they found old Liz and Susan in a state of great excitement about the visitors who had just left.
"Why, who d'ye think they was?" exclaimed the old woman, making the fang wobble with a degree of vigour that bid fair to unship it altogether, "it was my dear sweet little boy Jacky--" "Little boy! Granny!" cried Susan, with a merry laugh.
"Of course, child, I mean what he was and ever will be to me. He's a tall middle-aged gentleman now, an' with that nice wife that used to visit us--an' their sweet daughter--just like what the mother was, exceptin' those hideous curls tumblin' about her pretty brow as I detest more than I can tell. An' she's goin' to be married too, young as she is, to a clergyman down in Devonshire, where the family was used to go every summer (alongside o' their lawyer Mr Lockhart as they was so fond of, though the son as has the business now ain't like his father); the sweet child--dear, dear, how it do call up old times!"
"And didn't they," broke in Tommy, "never say a word about 'elpin' you, granny, to git hout of your troubles?" " 'Ow could they offer to 'elp me," returned old Liz sternly, "w'en they knew nothink about my troubles? an' I'm very glad they didn't, for it would have spoiled their visit altogether if they'd begun it by offerin' me assistance. For shame, Tommy. You're not yet cured o' greed, my dear."
"Did I say I _was_?" replied the urchin, with a hurt look.
Lest the reader should entertain Tommy's idea, we may here mention that Colonel Brentwood and his wife, knowing old Liz's character, had purposely refrained from spoiling their first visit by referring to money matters.
After a full and free discussion of the state of affairs--in which, however, no reference was made to the recent visit to the lawyer, or to the suspected foul play of that gentleman--the sailor went off to overhaul Messrs. Stickle and Screw in the hope of inducing that firm to retain Susy on its staff. Failing which, he resolved to pay a visit to Samson and Son. As for Tommy, he went off in a free-and-easy sort of way, without any definite designs, in search of adventures.
That evening old Liz filled her teapot, threw her apron over it, and descended to the court to visit Mrs Rampy.
"Well, you _are_ a good creetur," said that masculine female, looking up as her friend entered. "Come away; sit down; I was wantin' some one to cheer me up a bit, for I've just 'ad a scrimidge with Mrs Blathers, an' it's bin 'ard work. But she 'ave comed off second best, _I_ knows."
As a black eye, dishevelled hair, and a scratched nose constituted Mrs Rampy's share in the "scrimidge," Mrs Blathers's condition could not have been enviable. But it was evident from Mrs Rampy's tone and manner that a more powerful foe than Mrs Blathers had assaulted her that afternoon.
"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said her visitor, pouring out a cup of tea with a liberal allowance of sugar, "if you'd only give up that--" "Now, old Liz," interrupted her friend impressively, "don't you go for to preach me a sermon on drink. It's all very well to preach religion. That's nat'ral like, an' don't much signify. You're welcome. But, wotiver you do, old Liz, keep off the drink."
"Well, that's just what I do," replied Liz promptly, as she handed her friend a cup of hot tea, "and that's just what I was goin' to advise _you_ to do. Keep off the drink."
Feeling that she had slightly committed herself, Mrs Rampy gave a short laugh and proceeded to drink with much gusto, and with a preliminary "Here's luck!" from the force of habit.
"But what's the matter with you to-day, Liz?" she asked, setting her cup down empty and looking, if not asking, for more; "you looks dull."
"Do I? I shouldn't ought to, I'm sure, for there's more blessin's than sorrows in _my_ cup," said Liz.
"Just you put another lump o' sugar in _my_ cup, anyhow," returned her friend. "I likes it sweet, Liz. Thank 'ee. But what 'as 'appened to you?"
Old Liz explained her circumstances in a pitiful tone, yet without making very much phrase about it, though she could not refrain from expressing wonder that her railway dividends had dwindled down to nothing.
"Now look 'ee here, chimley-pot Liz," cried Mrs Rampy in a fierce voice, and bringing her clenched fist down on the table with a crash that made the tea-cups dance. "You ain't the only 'ooman as 'as got a tea-pot."
She rose, took a masculine stride towards a cupboard, and returned with a tea-pot of her own, which, though of the same quality as that of her friend, and with a similarly broken spout, was much larger. Taking off the lid she emptied its contents in a heap--silver and copper with one or two gold pieces intermixed--on the table.
"There! Them's my savin's, an' you're welcome to what you need, Liz. For as sure as you're alive and kickin', if you've got into the 'ands of Skinflint Lockhart, 'e'll sell you up, garding an' all! _I_ know 'im! Ah--I know 'im. So 'elp yourself, Liz."
Tears rose to the eyes of old Liz, and her heart swelled with joy, for was there not given to her here unquestionable evidence of her success in the application of loving-kindness? Assuredly it was no small triumph to have brought drunken, riotous, close-fisted, miserly, fierce Mrs Rampy to pour her hard-won savings at her feet, for which on her knees she thanked God that night fervently. Meanwhile, however, she said, with a grave shake of her head-- "Now, Mrs Rampy, that _is_ uncommon good of you, an' I would accept it at once, but I really won't require it, for now that Susy's father 'as returned, I can borrow it from him, an' sure he's better able to lend it than you are. Now, don't be angry, Mrs Rampy, but--'ave some more tea?"
While she was speaking her friend shovelled the money back into the teapot with violence, and replaced it in her cupboard with a bang.
"You won't git the hoffer twice," she said, sitting down again. "Now, Liz, let's 'ave another cup, an' don't spare the sugar."
"That I won't" said Liz, with a laugh, as she poured out her cheering but not inebriating beverage.
On the second day after the tea-party just described, John Lockhart, Esquire, and Mr Spivin met in a low public-house not far from Cherub Court. They drank sparingly and spoke in whispers. It may seem strange that two such men should choose a low tavern in such a neighbourhood for confidential intercourse, but when we explain that both were landlords of numerous half-decayed tenements there, the choice will not seem so peculiar. Lockhart frowned darkly at his companion.
"From what you have told me of his inquiries about me," he said, "this man's suspicions had certainly been roused, and he would not have rested until he had made undesirable discoveries. It is lucky that you managed to get the job so well done."
They put their heads together and whispered lower. From time to time Lockhart gave vent to a grim laugh, and Spivin displayed his feelings in a too-amiable smile.
|
{
"id": "21737"
}
|
9
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THE PLOT THICKENS.
|
In his remarkably eager and somewhat eccentric pursuit of pleasure--that pursuit which is so universal yet so diverse among men, to say nothing about boys--Tommy Splint used to go about town like a jovial lion-cub seeking whom he might terrify!
To do him justice, Tommy never had any settled intention of being wicked. His training at the hands of chimney-pot Liz and the gentle Susy had so far affected his arab spirit that he had learned, on the whole, to prefer what he styled upright to dishonourable mischief. For instance, he would not steal, but he had no objection to screen a thief or laugh at his deeds. His natural tenderness of heart prevented his being cruel to dogs or cats, but it did not prevent his ruffling some of the former into furious rage, and terrifying many of the latter into cataleptic fits.
One afternoon, having roved about for some time without aim, sometimes howling in at open doors and bolting, frequently heaping banter upon good-natured policemen, occasionally asking of mild old ladies the way to places he had never heard of, or demanding what o'clock it was of people who did not possess watches, and whistling most of the time with irritating intensity--our little hero at last came to the conclusion that felicity was not to be obtained by such courses--not at least, at that time. He was out of sorts, somehow, so he would return to the garden and comfort Susy and the old woman, i.e. find comfort to himself in their society. He went whistling along, therefore, until his steps were suddenly and violently arrested.
To account for this we must tell how, about this time, it chanced that a very drunk man of the very lowest London type, as far as appearance went, awoke from a heavy slumber which he had been enjoying under the seat of a compartment in a certain low gin-palace. He was about to stretch himself and give vent to a noisy yawn when the word "Laidlaw" smote his ear. Pale, worn-out, cadaverous, threadbare, inexpressibly mean, the man gently raised his dissolute form on one elbow and listened to two men in a box beside him. Their heads met almost over the spot where his own head rested. The men were Lockhart and Spivin, and the occasion was that on which we have already described them as engaged in plotting, or referring to, the downfall of the man from Scotland.
Trumps (for he was the listener), though well practised in the art of eavesdropping, could not gather the gist of the plotters' discourse. Only this he made out, that, in some way or other, they meant to do, or had done, mischief to the man who had spared and helped, and, above all, had _trusted him_! It was tantalising to hear so little, though so near, for, from his position under the seat, he could have grasped Mr Lockhart's ankles. But the plotters were much too knowing to speak in tones that could be easily overheard. Besides, other noisy people were arguing in the neighbouring and opposite compartments, so that the confusion of tongues rendered them, they thought, safe. Even the man under the seat although so very near, would have failed to catch the drift of a single sentence had not the name of Laidlaw sharpened his ears and faculties. One that he did catch, however, was suggestive, viz., "put the 50 pound note in his bag," or something to that effect.
When the two friends rose to depart, Trumps sank noiselessly on the ground like a filthy shadow, but the quick eye of the lawyer caught sight of his leg.
Lockhart started, turned aside, and gave Trumps a kick in the ribs. It was a sharp painful kick, but drew from him only a heavy snore. To make quite sure the man of law administered another kick. This caused the recumbent man to growl forth a savage oath which terminated in a snore so very natural that the lawyer fell into the trap, and went off with the contemptuous remark--"Dead drunk!"
Trumps, however, was very much the reverse. He was indeed all alive and greatly sobered by his nap as well as by what he had heard. He rose and followed the plotters, but missed them in the crowd outside. In his anxiety to overtake them he ran somewhat violently against Tommy Splint, and thus arrested him, as we have said, in the pursuit of pleasure.
"Hallo, Thunderbolt!" exclaimed the boy sternly, as he started back and doubled his fists, "who let _you_ out o' Noogate?"
The thief was about to pass without deigning a reply, when, glancing at the small questioner, he suddenly stopped and held out his hand.
"I say, Splint, is it _you_ I've run into?"
"Well, it's uncommon like me. Any'ow, not a twin brother, I s'pose it must be myself. But I hain't got the pleasure o' _your_ acquaintance as I knows on."
"What! Don't you remember Trumps?"
"No, I don't remember Trumps, an', wot's more, I don't b'lieve from the look of 'im that any of Trumps's family or friends wants to remember 'im."
The possibility that the boy might remember Trumps was not so unlikely after all, for, being of a highly social disposition, Tommy was pretty well acquainted with, and known to, nearly all the thieves and pickpockets of the locality. Indeed he would certainly have been one of themselves but for garret-garden influences.
"Well, Tommy," said the thief confidentially, "I remember _you_, an' I wants a little conversation with you."
"No, you don't" returned the boy, retreating; "you wants my wipe, or puss, or ticker, you do--or suthin' o' that sort--but you've come to the wrong shop, you have."
"But really, Tommy, I've got summat to say to 'ee about your noo friend from Scotland, David Laidlaw."
"How d'ee know he's _my_ friend?" asked Tommy, becoming suddenly interested. " 'Cause I've seen you jawin' with 'im; an' I've seen you go up together to visit chimney-pot Liz an' Susy; an'--" "Oh! you knows chimley-pot Liz an' Susy, do ye? But of course you does. Everybody as knows anythink knows _them_."
"Ay, lad, an' I knows lawyer Lockhart too," said Trumps, with a peculiar look; "him that owns the 'ouses 'ereabouts, an' draws the rents--" "_Draws_ the rents!" interrupted the boy, with a look of scorn; "_screws_ the rents, you mean."
"Jus' so, boy--screws 'em. Ah, 'e _is_ a thief, is lawyer Lockhart."
"Come, if that's so, you've no occasion to be 'ard on 'im, Trumps, for you're in the same boat, you know."
"No, I ain't," replied Trumps, with virtuous indignation, "for 'e's a _mean_ thief!"
"Oh, an' you're a 'ighminded one, I s'pose," returned the boy, with a hearty chuckle; "but come along, young man. If you've suthin' to tell me about Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw I'm your man. This way."
He led the man down the alley, across the court, round the corner, and up the stair to the landing.
"There you are," he said, "this is my snuggery--my boodwar, so to speak. Sot down, an' out with it."
Seated there, the thief, in low confidential and solemn tones, related what he had seen and heard in the public-house, and told of his own acquaintance with and interest in Laidlaw.
"The willains!" exclaimed Tommy. "An' wot d'ee think they're agoin' to do?"
"Screw 'im some'ow, an' git 'im out o' the way."
"But w'y?"
"That's wot I wants to ask _you_, lad. I knows nothing more than I've told 'ee."
"We must save Da-a-a-vid!" exclaimed Tommy in a tragic manner, clutching his hair and glaring.
Tommy's sense of the ludicrous was too strong for him, even in the most anxious times, and the notion of him and Trumps saving anybody overwhelmed him for a moment; nevertheless, he really was excited by what he had heard.
"Come--come with me," he cried, suddenly seizing Trumps by the sleeve of his shabby coat and half dragging him up to the garret, where he found old Liz and Susy in the garden on the roof.
"Allow me to introdooce a friend, granny. ' E ain't much to look at, but never mind, 'e's a good 'un to go."
Old Liz and Susy had become too much accustomed to low life in its worst phases to be much troubled by the appearance of their visitor, and when he had explained the object of his visit they became deeply interested.
"You think, then," said Liz, after listening to the whole story, "that lawyer Lockhart intends to hide a 50 pound note in Mr Laidlaw's travelling bag, and say he stole it?"
"Yes, ma'am; that's what I think."
"And for what purpose?" asked Susy with some anxiety.
"To git him convicted an' sent to prison, miss," replied Trumps promptly. "I know lawyer Lockhart--we call 'im liar Lockhart in the-- well, ahem! an' as I was sayin', 'e's a villain as'll stick at nothing. If 'e sets 'is 'art on gittin' Mr Laidlaw into prison 'e'll git 'im in; for what purpus, of course, _I_ don't know."
After further discussion of the subject it was finally arranged that Tommy Splint should go straight to the house of Mr Spivin, where the Scotsman lodged, and reconnoitre.
"And be sure, Tommy," whispered Susan at the head of the stair when he was about to leave, "that you find out all about this horrid plot. We _must_ save him. He saved _me_, you know," she added, with a blush.
"Yes, we _must_ save 'im," said the boy in a tone of determination that inspired confidence in the girl, even though it made her laugh.
Trumps accompanied Tommy part of the way, and told him that he knew some ugly things about lawyer Lockhart that might get that gentleman into difficulties if he could only prove them, but he couldn't quite see his way to that, not being learned enough in the law.
"You see, Tommy--" "Thomas, if you please," interrupted the urchin with dignity. "My hintimates calls me Tommy, but you ain't one o' _them_ yet, Mr Trumps. You ain't even on my wisitin' list. P'r'aps I may promote yer to that some day, but--it depends. Now, look 'ere, slimey-coat--if any one larned in the law was inclined to pump you, could you be pumped?"
With a remarkably sly look Trumps replied, "Yes--for a consideration!"
"All right, young man. Give me your card; or, if you hain't got one, let me know w'ere you 'ang hout."
Having been satisfied on this point, Tommy told the thief that he had no further use for him, and as he wished to cross London Bridge alone, he (Trumps) was free to make himself scarce.
|
{
"id": "21737"
}
|
10
|
DETECTIVE DOINGS.
|
For a considerable time the boy prowled about the house of Mr Spivin in the hope of seeing David Laidlaw go out or in; but our Scot did not appear. At last a servant-girl came to the open door with a broom in her hand to survey the aspect of things in general. Tommy walked smartly up to her, despite the stern gaze of a suspicious policeman on the opposite side of the street.
"My sweet gal," he said affably touching his cap, "is Capting Laidlaw within?"
"There's no _Captain_ Laidlaw here," answered the girl sharply; "there _was_ a Daivid Laidlaw, but--" "Da-a-a-vid, my dear, not Daivid. The gen'l'm'n hisself told me, and surely 'e knows 'ow to prenounce 'is own name best."
"You've a deal of cheek, boy--anyway, Laidlaw 'as bin took up, an' 'e's now in prison."
The sudden look of consternation on the boy's face caused the girl to laugh.
"D'ee know w'ere they've took 'im to?"
"No, I don't."
"But surely you don't b'lieve 'e's guilty?" said the boy, forgetting even his humorous tendencies in his anxiety about his friend.
"No, I don't" said the girl, becoming suddenly earnest, "for Mary an' me saw--" "Martha-a-a!" shouted a female voice from the interior of the house at that moment.
The girl ran in. At the same time the suspicious policeman came up with, "Now then, youngster, move on."
"Move off you mean, bobby. Hain't you been to school yet, stoopid?" cried the boy, applying his thumb to his nose and moving his fingers in what he styled a thumbetrical manner as he ran away.
But poor Tommy Splint was in no jesting mood. He had been impressed with the idea from infancy--rightly or wrongly--that once in the clutches of the law it was no easy matter to escape from them; and he was now utterly incapable of deciding what his next step should be. In this difficulty he was about to return disconsolate to Cherub Court when it occurred to him that it might be worth while to pay a visit to the good ship _Seacow_, and obtain the opinion of Sam Blake.
Although it was broad day and the sun was glowing gloriously in an unclouded sky, he found Sam down in a dark hole, which he styled his bunk, fast asleep.
Sam did not move when Tommy shook and woke him. He merely opened his eyes quietly and said, "All right, my lad; what's up?" After hearing the boy's story to the end he merely said, "Mind your helm--clear out!" flung off his blankets, and bounded to the floor like an acrobat.
Being already in his shirt, short drawers, and stockings, it did not take quite a minute to don trousers, vest and coat. Another minute sufficed for the drawing on of boots, fastening a necktie, running a broken comb through his front locks, and throwing on a glazed hat. Two minutes all told! Men whose lives often depend on speed acquire a wonderful power of calmly-rapid action.
"What d'ee say to it, Sam?" asked Tommy as they hurried along the streets.
"Hold on! avast! belay! I'm thinkin'!" said Sam. The boy accordingly held on, avasted, and belayed until his companion had thought it out.
"Yes, that's it," said the sailor at last. "I'll go an' see Colonel-- Colonel--what's 'is name? old Liz's friend--Burntwood, is it, or--" "Brentwood," said Tommy.
"That's it--Brentwood. You don't know his address, do you? No? Never mind; we'll go to Cherub Court an' get it, and then make sail for the Colonel's. I've no more notion which way to steer, lad, than the man in the moon; but the Colonel will be sure to know how to lay our course, an' he'll be willin', I've no doubt first for his own sake, seein' that this Lockhart is his own lawyer; second, for old Liz's sake, seein' that her affairs are involved in it; and third, for the sake of his country, if he's a good and true man."
The sailor was not disappointed. Colonel Brentwood did not indeed himself know exactly how to act but he knew that the best thing to do in the circumstances was to seek aid from those who did know. He therefore went straight to Scotland Yard--that celebrated centre of the London Police Force--and put the matter before the authorities there. A detective, named Dean, was appointed to take the job in hand.
"John," observed Mrs Brentwood to her husband, prophetically, after an interview with the detective at their own house, "you may depend upon it that Mr Dean will discover that more things are amiss than this affair of the Scotsman and dear old nurse."
"Possibly--indeed probably," returned the Colonel; "but what makes you think so?"
"The fact that no thorough scoundrel ever yet confined himself to one or two pieces of villainy."
"But Lockhart is not yet proved to be a thorough scoundrel. You have condemned the poor man, my dear, without trial, and on insufficient evidence."
"Insufficient evidence!" echoed Dora indignantly. "What more do you want? Has he not systematically robbed dear old Liz? Are not the Railway Share Lists and Reports open to inspection?"
"True, Dora, true. Be not indignant. I have admitted that you may be right. Our detective will soon find out. He has the calm, self-confident, penetrating look of a man who could, if possible, screw something out of nothing."
Whether or not Mr Dean possessed the power ascribed to him is yet to be seen. We have not space to follow him through the whole of the serpentine sinuosities of his investigations, but we will watch him at one or two salient points of his course.
First of all he visited Tommy Splint, who, in the privacy of his "boodwar" revealed to him, as he thought, every scrap of information about the affair that he possessed. To all of this Mr Dean listened in perfect silence, patiently, and with a smile of universal benevolence. He not only appreciated all the boy's commentaries and jests and prophecies on the situation, but encouraged the full development of his communicative disposition. Tommy was charmed. Never before had he met with such an audience--except, perhaps, in Susy.
When the boy had fairly run himself out Mr Dean proceeded to pump and squeeze, and the amount of relevant matter that he pumped and squeezed out of him, in cross-questioning, was so great, that Tommy was lost in a mixture of admiration and humility. You see, up to that time he had thought himself rather a knowing fellow; but Mr Dean managed to remove the scales from his eyes.
"Now, my boy," said the detective, after having squeezed him quite flat, and screwed the very last drop out of him, "you are quite sure, I suppose, as to Mr Trumps's words--namely, that he knew Mrs Morley-- chimney-pot Liz, as you call her--" "Parding. I never called her that--chimley-pot is her name."
"Well, chimley-pot be it--and that he had formerly known Mr Lockhart but did not say when or where he had first become acquainted with either; yet Trumps's peculiar look and manner when speaking of the lawyer led you to think he knew more about him than he chose to tell?"
"Right you air, sir. That's 'ow it stands."
"Good; and in reference to the servant-girl--you are sure that she became suddenly very earnest when she said she believed Laidlaw was not guilty, and that she and some one named Mary had `seen something,' but you don't know what, owing to a sudden interruption?"
"Right again, sir."
"Now, then," said Mr Dean, rising, "we will go up and see Mrs Morley."
They found the old woman alone, knitting in her rustic chair in her floral bower on the roof. Mr Dean sat down to have a chat and Tommy seated himself on a stool to gaze and listen, for he was fascinated, somehow, by the detective.
It was really interesting to observe the tact with which the man approached his subject and the extreme patience with which he listened to the somewhat garrulous old woman.
Being a Briton he began, of course, with the weather, but slid quickly and naturally from that prolific subject to the garden, in connection with which he displayed a considerable knowledge of horticulture--but this rather in the way of question than of comment. To slide from the garden to the gardener was very easy as well as natural; and here Mr Dean quite won the old woman's heart by his indirect praise of Susy's manipulation of plants and soils. To speak of Susy, without referring to Susy's early history, would have been to show want of interest in a very interesting subject. Mr Dean did not err in this respect. From Susy's mother he naturally referred to the family in which she and old Liz had been in service, and to the return of the only surviving member of it to England.
All this was very interesting, no doubt, but it did not throw much light into the mind of Mr Dean, until old Liz mentioned the fact that Mr Lockhart, besides being solicitor to the Brentwoods, was also solicitor to old Mr Weston, who had left his property to Colonel Brentwood. She also said that she feared, from what Mrs Brentwood had recently said to her, there was some difficulty about the will, which was a pity, as the only people she knew besides Mr Lockhart who knew anything about it were a footman named Rogers and a butler named Sutherland, both of whom had been witnesses to the will; but the footman had gone to the bad, and the butler had gone she knew not where.
Then Mr Dean began to smell another rat, besides that which he was just then in pursuit of, for the Colonel had incidentally mentioned to him the circumstance of the estate passing away from him, owing to a new will having been recently discovered. Although the matter was not the detective's present business, he made a mental note of it.
After quitting the garden, and promising soon to return, the detective had an interview with Mr Trumps in the parlour of the thieves' missionary. Many a fallen and apparently lost man and woman had been brought to the Saviour in that parlour by that missionary--the same whom we have introduced to the reader in the thieves' den. Through the medium of Tommy Splint the interview was brought about, and no sooner did Trumps ascertain the object that Dean had in view than he became suddenly confidential.
"Now, look here," he said, when he found himself alone with Mr Dean, "I knows more about them Brentwoods and Westons than you think for."
"No doubt you do; and I suppose you wish to sell your knowledge at the highest possible figure," said Dean, with a very slight smile.
"You're wrong for once," returned Trumps. "If you'd said that to me two days ago, I'd 'ave said `yes;' but I've 'eard things in this blessed room w'ich 'as made me change my mind. You're welcome to all I knows for nothing."
Mr Dean did not believe in sudden conversion, nevertheless he expressed gratification. Being what the Yankees call 'cute, he avoided anything like eagerness in gaining information.
"My business here, however," he said, "is to get information about that Scotsman, you know, and the charge of theft by Mr Lockhart. We believe Laidlaw to be innocent and, understanding that you think as we do, and that you know something about him, we hope you may be able to help us."
From this point Mr Dean began to pump and squeeze, and Trumps proved worthy of his name in the way he submitted to both processes. At last, when nothing more was to be got Mr Dean said, in a somewhat careless way, "You are acquainted, I believe, with old Mrs Morley--chimney-pot Liz, they call her--are you not?"
"Yes, I am. I've known her long. Knew her when I was footman in a family connected with the Brentwoods."
"Oho!" thought Mr Dean with sudden surprise, for he began to smell more of his second rat, but he looked stolid; said nothing; did not move a muscle; merely nodded his head gently as if to say, go on.
"Now I know what you're driving at," continued Trumps, with a very knowing wink, "an' I'll help you. First place, my name ain't Trumps."
"I know that--it's Rodgers," said the detective.
"Whew! how d'ee know _that_?" exclaimed the thief in extreme surprise.
"We detectives know everything," said Dean.
"Oh! then there's no need for me to tell you anything more," returned Trumps, _alias_ Rodgers, with a grin.
"Well, I don't know exactly everything," returned Dean; "but I do know-- at least I guess--that you were a footman in the service of Richard Weston, Esquire, of Weston Hall, in Kent; that the butler's name was Sutherland, and that you and he were witnesses to Mr Weston's will."
"Just so. You're right."
"Now, are you aware," said Mr Dean, "that Colonel Brentwood has lost, or is going to lose, his estate because a new will by Richard Weston has been found, leaving it to another man?"
"No, I did not know that, but that clears up to me the mystery of the will that I witnessed. You must know that when we were witnessing the will, Sutherland and me both noticed that it was eight pages of big paper, and that it seemed to have two beginnings--one bein' in the middle. Master couldn't see well, an' was very weak at the time--so weak that when he came to the last page the pen fell out of his hand and only half of the last name was signed. Mr Lockhart said that would do, however, an' we witnessed it. Master never completed the signature, for he took to his bed that very day, and no one ever saw him put pen to paper again. Sutherland often spoke to me about that, and wondered if a will with an imperfect signature would pass. Hows'ever, it was none of our business, so we forgot about it, and soon after Sutherland went to stay with a family in Pimlico as butler, where I think he is now. As for me--" "Yes, I know," said Dean significantly; "you need not recall that just now. Can you give me the name and address of the family in Pimlico?"
"Good; now then," said Mr Dean after booking his information, "I'll want to see you again, so don't get yourself into scrapes, and keep your tongue quiet. Your missionary will help you, I have no doubt. Meanwhile, I will go and pay a visit to a certain Martha who lives on the other side of the river."
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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11
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PUMPING AND SQUEEZING--THE GARRET CLASS, ETCETERA.
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When Mr Dean succeeded, with some difficulty, in obtaining a private interview with Mr Spivin's servant Martha, he proceeded with much politeness and subtlety to pump and squeeze her.
And it may be remarked here that Mr Dean had what Martha afterwards styled "a way with him" that was quite irresistible, insomuch that she was led, somehow, to speak of things she never meant to mention, and to reveal things she never intended to confess.
"You see, sir," she said, "it's the dooty of me an' Mary to do the bedrooms w'en the family's at breakfast. Well, that morning we went as usual to Mr Laidlaw's room first, because 'e's quick with 'is meals an' wants 'is boots put in 'is room so as he may get out immediately. Mr Laidlaw 'as no luggage, sir, only a shoulder-bag, an' it was lyin' open on the table, so me an' Mary looked into it just to--to--" "To see that nothing had tumbled out," suggested Mr Dean. "I understand."
"Just so, sir," assented Martha; "and there was nothink in it but a spare shirt rolled up, and a pair of socks, and a small Bible--no money or watch or anythink that would break even if it did tumble out,--'is shavin' things and all that being on the dressin'-table--so--" "So your mind was relieved, Martha--well, go on."
"But as we was agoin' to close the bag," continued the girl, "we observed an inner pocket, an' Mary says, p'raps there was a love-letter in it! I laughed an' said, `Let's look an' see.' So we looked an' saw nothink."
"You both looked and were quite sure of that?" asked Mr Dean.
"Yes, quite sure, for we both felt the pocket all round as well as looked into it."
"Well, go on."
"Then we shut the bag, and after we had finished the room, we was just goin' out, when master he ran up-stairs as if he was in a hurry. He came into the room with a bit of paper in 'is 'and, somethink like a bank note, but he started on seein' us, an' crumpled up the paper an' stuffed it in 'is pocket. At the same time 'e got very angry, scolded us for being so slow, and ordered us off to the other rooms. Not ten minutes after that in comes Mr Lockhart, the lawyer, with two policemen, an' seizes Mr Laidlaw, who was still at 'is breakfast. At first he got very angry an' shoved one policemen over the sofa and the other into the coal-scuttle, at the same time sayin' in a growly voice, `I think--'ee've--aw--geen--mad--thee--gither'--oh, I can't speak Scotch!" exclaimed Martha, bursting into a laugh.
"Better not try, my dear," said Dean, with a peculiar smile.
"Well, then," continued Martha, on recovering herself, "when the policemen got up again Mr Laidlaw said he had no intention of running away (only 'e said rinnin' awa'), and that he would go with them quietly if they'd only be civil ('e called it seevil!) , and assured them they had made a mistake. They _was_ more civil after that, for Mr Laidlaw 'ad doubled 'is fists an' looked, oh my! like a Bengal tiger robbed of its young ones. So they all went straight to the bedroom, and me an' Mary followed with master and missis and the waiters, an' they searched all round the room, coming to the bag last though it was the only thing on the table, and right under their noses, an sure enough they found a 50 pound note there in the little pocket!"
"And what said the Scotsman to that?" asked Mr Dean, with a slight grin.
"He said, turning to master, `It was you did that--'ee--blagyird!'" cried Martha, again bursting into laughter at her Scotch. "And then," continued Martha, "one of the policemen said 'e 'ad seen Mr Laidlaw not long ago in company with a well-known thief, and the other one swore 'e 'ad seen 'im the same night in a thieves' den, and that 'e was hevidently on a friendly footin' wi' them for 'e 'ad refused to quit the place, and was hinsolent. At this lawyer Lockhart shook 'is 'ead and said 'e thought it was a bad case, an' the poor Scotsman seemed so took aback that 'e said nothink--only stared from one to another, and went off quietly to prison."
After investigating the matter a little further, and obtaining, through Martha, a private interview with Mary, who corroborated all that her fellow-servant had said, Mr Dean went straight to Pimlico, and interviewed the butler who had been in the service of the Weston family. Thereafter he visited Colonel Brentwood, and, in the presence of his wife and daughter discussed the whole affair from beginning to end. We will spare the reader that discussion, and turn towards Newgate.
On the evening of that day poor David Laidlaw found himself in durance vile, with massive masonry around him, and a very Vesuvius of indignation within him. Fortunately, in the afternoon of the following day, which chanced to be Sunday, a safety valve--a sort of crater--was allowed to him in the shape of pen, ink, and paper. Using these materials, he employed his enforced leisure in writing to that receptacle of his early and later joys and woes--his mother.
"Whar d'ye think I've gotten t' noo, mither?" the letter began. "I'm in Newgate! It's an auld gate noo-a-days, an' a bad gate onyway, for it's a prison. Think o' that! If onybody had said I wad be in jail maist as soon as I got to Bawbylon I wad have said he was leein'! But here I am, hard an' fast, high and dry--uncom'on dry! --wi' naething but stane aroond me--stane wa's, stane ceilin', stane floor; my very hairt seems turned to stane. Losh, woman, it bates a'!
"It's no maner o' use gaun into the hale story. A buik wad scarce ha'd it a'. The details'll keep till you an' I meet again on the braes o' Yarrow--if we iver meet there, which is by no means sure, for thae Englishers'll be the death o' me afore I git hame, if they gang on as they've begood. Here's the ootline:-- "I've been thick wi' thieves, burglars, pickpockets, an' the like. Veesitin' at their dens, an' gaun aboot the streets wi' them, an' I've stolen a fifty-pun' note, an' it's been fund i' the pouch inside my bag. That's the warst o't; but it seems that I've also resistet the poliss in the dischairge o' their duty, which means that I flang ane ower a sofa an' stappit anither into a coal-scuttle--though I didna mean it, puir falla, for his breeks suffered in the way that ye've aften seen mine whan I was a wee laddie. But I was roused to that extent whan they first gruppit me that I couldna help it!
"I wadna mind it muckle if it wasna that I've no a freend to help me-- "I was interruptit to receive a veesiter--an' a rebuik at the same time, for he turned oot to be a freend, though a stranger, a Colonel Brentwud, wha's been cheetit by that blagyird lawyer that's tryin' to play the mischief wi' _me_. But he'll fin' that I'm teuch! The Colonel says they'll hae nae diffeeculty in clearin' me, so let that comfort ye, mither. --Yer ill-doin' son, DAVID.
"P.S.--There's a wee laddie I've faw'n in wi' since I cam' to Bawbylon, they ca' him Tammy Splint. O woman, but he _is_ a queer bairn. He's jist been to see me i' my cell, an' the moment he cam' in, though he was half greetin', he lookit roond an' said, `_Isn't_ this a sell!' Eh, but he _is_ auld-farrant! wi' mair gumption than mony full-grown men, to say naething o' women."
But David Laidlaw had more friends in London than he was aware of. At the very time that he was penning the foregoing epistle to his mother, a number of disreputable-looking men were bewailing his fate and discussing his affairs in the thieves' den, and two equally disreputable women were quarrelling over the same subject in a wretched dwelling in the presence of a third woman, who presided over a teapot.
One of the women, whose visage exhibited marks of recent violence, struck her fist on the table and exclaimed, "No, Mrs Rampy, you are wrong, as usual. The story I 'eard about 'im was quite different an' I believes it too, for them Scotsmen are a rough lot--no better than they _should_ be."
"Mrs Blathers," remarked Mrs Rampy, in a soft sarcastic tone which she was wont to assume when stung to the quick, and which her friend knew from experience was the prelude to a burst of passion, "I may be wrong _as usual_, but as you have never seen or conwersed with this Scotsman, an' don't know nothink about 'im, _perhaps_ you will condescend to give me an' Liz the kreckt wershion."
"Now, Mrs Rampy," interposed old Liz, grasping her teapot, "don't be angry, for Mrs Blathers _is_ right. Scotsmen _are_ no better than they _should_ be. Neither are English nor Irish nor Welshmen. In fact, there's none of us--men or women--nearly as good as we should be. Now, I am sure it won't be denied," continued Liz, in an argumentative tone, "that Mrs Blathers _might_ be better--" "Ha! _I_ won't deny it," said Mrs Rampy, with emphasis.
"Nor," continued Liz, hastening to equalise her illustration, "nor that Mrs Rampy might be better--" "Right you are," said Mrs Blathers, with sarcasm. "And I'm still surer," said Liz hurriedly--a little put out at the ready reception of her propositions--"that _I_ might be better--" "Not at all," interrupted both ladies at once; "you're a trump, Liz, you're a dear creetur!"
"Come, then," cried old Liz, with a laugh that set the fang wobbling, "you are at all events agreed upon _that_ point so--have another cup, Mrs Rampy."
"Thankee, Liz, and _plenty_ of sugar."
"H'm! you need it!" muttered Mrs Blathers; "no sugar at all for _me_, Liz."
"Well, now," cried Liz, rendered bold by desperation, "I do wonder that two such strong, warm-hearted women as you should so often fall out. Each of you loves _some_ one--don't I know! --with powerful affection, so, why couldn't you love each other?"
This tribute to their feelings so tickled the women that they set down their tea-cups and laughed prodigiously.
"Now, do,--there's a couple of dears! --shake hands over your tea, an' let's have a pleasant talk," said old Liz, following up her advantage.
The mollified women did not shake hands, but each raised her tea-cup to her lips and winked.
"Your 'ealth, Blathers."
"Same to you, Rampy."
"And now, Liz," said the latter, as she pushed in her cup for more, "let's 'ear all about it."
"Yes," said Mrs Blathers also pushing in her cup, "let's 'ave _your_ wersion, Liz."
While Liz gives her version of Laidlaw's misfortunes we will return to the garden, where, being Sunday afternoon, Susy Blake was busy with a small class of the most disreputable little ragged boys that the neighbourhood produced.
The boys were emphatically bad boys. They feared neither God nor man. The property of other people was their chief source of livelihood, and the streets, or the jails, were their homes. Nevertheless, when in the garden class, those boys were patterns of good behaviour, because each boy knew that if he did not behave and keep quiet he would infallibly be dismissed from the class, and this was a punishment which none of them could endure. Unlike many other teachers, Susy had not to go about enticing boys to her Sabbath class. Her chief difficulty was to prevent them coming in such numbers as would have overflowed the garden altogether.
And the secret of this was that Susy Blake possessed much of an unconscious influence called loving-kindness. No weapon of the spiritual armoury is equal to this. In the hands of a man it is tremendous. In those of a pretty girl it is irresistible. By means of it she brought the fiercest little arabs of the slums to listen to the story of Jesus and His love. She afterwards asked God, the Holy Spirit, to water the good seed sown, and the result was success.
But loving-kindness was not her only weapon. She had in addition quite a glittering little armoury in which were such weapons as play of fancy, lively imagination, fervent enthusiasm, resolute purpose, fund of anecdote, sparkling humour, intense earnestness, and the like, all of which she kept flashing around the heads of her devoted worshippers until they were almost beside themselves with astonishment, repentance, and good resolves. Of course, when away from her influence the astonishment was apt to diminish, the repentance to cease, and the good resolves to vanish away; but resolute purpose had kept Susy at them until in the course of time there was a perceptible improvement in the environment of Cherub Court, and a percentage of souls rescued from the ranks of the ragamuffins.
On this particular Sunday Tommy Splint, who was a regular attendant at the garden class, arrived late.
"Why, Tommy," said the teacher, turning herself from a little boy on whom she had been trying specially to impress some grand eternal truth, "this is not like you. Has anything happened to detain you?"
"No, Susy," answered the boy, slipping into his place--with a compound expression in which the spirit of fun, whom no one doubted, gave the lie to the spirit of penitence, in whom no one believed--"but I've bin to a sort o' Sunday class a'ready."
"Indeed, where have you been?"
"At Mrs Rampy's, w'ere I see'd a most hedifyin' spectacle--granny tryin' to bring Mrs Rampy an' Mrs Blathers to a 'eavenly state of mind over a cup of tea, an' them both resistin' of 'er like one o'clock!"
"Ah! my boy," said Susy, shaking her head and a finger at the urchin, "you've been eavesdropping again!"
"No, indeed, Susy, I ha'n't," returned the boy quite earnestly, "not since the time you nabbed me with my ear to the key-'ole of quarrelsome Tim's door. I was a-sittin' at Mrs Rampy's open door quite openly like--though not quite in sight, I dessay--an' they was pitchin' into each other quite openly too, an' granny a-tryin' to pour ile on the troubled waters! It was as good as a play. But w'en Mrs Rampy takes up her cup to drink the 'ealth of Mrs B an' says, with _sitch_ a look, `Your 'ealth, Blathers,' I could 'old on no longer. I split and bolted! That's wot brought me 'ere a little sooner than I might 'ave bin."
There was a tendency to laugh at this explanation, which Susy did not check, but after a few moments she held up a finger, which produced instant silence, while she drew a letter from her pocket.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you to-day, Tommy," she said, handing him the letter, "but I must send you with this to my father. Mr Brentwood called with it not half an hour since, saying it was of importance to have it delivered soon, as it was connected with the case of Mr Laidlaw. So be off with it as fast as you can. You know where to find father--on board the _Seacow_."
Tommy Splint was indeed disappointed at having to leave the garden class thus abruptly. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that he was perhaps doing important service to his friend Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw. He further consoled himself, on reaching the court below, by uttering a shriek which sent a cat that chanced to be reposing there in rampant alarm into the depths of a convenient cellar. Thereafter he went into a contemplative frame of mind to the docks, and found Sam Blake as usual in his bunk.
"I say, Sam, d'ee spend all yer time--night and day--in yer bunk?"
"Not exactly, lad," answered the seaman, with a smile, but without showing any intention to rise. "You see we sea-dogs have a hard time of it. What with bein' liable to be routed out at all hours, an' expected to work at any hour, we git into a way of making a grab at sleep when an where we gits the chance. I'm makin' up lee-way just now. Bin to church in the forenoon though. I ain't a heathen, Tommy."
"You looks uncommon like one, anyhow--with your 'air an' 'ead an' beard an' blankits mixed up together all of a mush. There's a letter for 'ee, old man."
Without a word the sailor took the epistle, read it slowly, while the boy watched him keenly, then thrust it under his pillow.
"You ain't agoin' to clear for action at once, then?" said the boy.
"No, not just yet."
"Any message for me?" asked Tommy.
"None wotsomedever."
Seeing that his friend did not intend to be communicative the boy wisely changed the subject.
"Now, Sam, about them pirits. W'ere was it they fust got 'old of you?"
"Down somewheres among the Philippine Islands," replied Sam, drawing the blankets more comfortably round him, "but to tell you the truth, lad, after they'd taken our ship an' made every man o' the crew walk the plank except me an' the skipper, they putt us in the hold, tied up hand an' futt so as we could scarce move. Why they spared us was a puzzle to me at the time, but I afterwards found out it was because somehow they'd got it into their heads that the skipper an' mate of our ship knew somethin' about where some treasure that they were after had been buried. Hand me that there pipe, Tommy--not the noo one; the short black fellow wi' the Turk's head on the bowl. Thankee."
"An' _did_ you know about the treasure?" asked Tommy, handing the pipe in question.
"Bless you, no," returned the seaman, proceeding to render the confined air of the bunk still more unbearable; "we know'd of no treasure. If we had we'd have bin arter it ourselves, double quick. As it was, they burnt us wi' hot irons an' tortered us in various ways to make us confess, but we had nothin' to confess, so had to grin an' bear it-- sometimes to yell an' bear it! You see, lad, they mistook me for the mate, so that's how I came to escape. He was a fine man was that mate," continued the seaman in a lower tone, "a strong, handsome, kind young officer, an' a great favourite. I've often wondered why he was taken an' me spared."
"P'raps it was for Susy's sake!" suggested Tommy.
Sam looked at the boy--a quick half-surprised glance. "Not a bad notion that, my lad. I shouldn't wonder if it _was_ for Susy's sake. I never thought o' that before. Anyhow I comfort myself sometimes when I think o' the poor mate that he was saved a deal o' torterin'; which, let me tell you, ain't easy to bear."
"But go a'ead, Sam, with more about the pirits," said Tommy.
"No, lad, no--not just now. I wants to snooze. So--you clap on all sail an' you'll be in time yet for the tail end o' Susy's lesson."
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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12
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THROUGH FIRE AND SMOKE TO FELICITY.
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Free once more, David Laidlaw naturally directed his steps towards Cherub Court.
His freedom was the result of Mr Dean's labours, for with the information which he had ferreted out that sedate individual found no difficulty in proving the innocence of our Scotsman, and the guilt, in more matters than one, of Mr John Lockhart. The latter was, however, too wide-awake for our detective, for when a warrant was obtained for his apprehension, and Mr Dean went to effect the capture, it was found that the bird had flown with a considerable amount of clients' property under his wing!
Although Laidlaw's period of incarceration had been unusually brief, it had afforded ample time for meditation. David's powers of meditation were strong--his powers of action even stronger. While in his cell he had opened his little Bible--the only book allowed him--and turned to the passage which states that, "it is not good that man should be alone." Then he turned to that which asserts that, "a good wife is from the Lord," after which he sat on his bench a long time with his eyes closed--it might be in meditation, perhaps in prayer. The only words that escaped him, however, were in a murmur.
"Ay, mither, ye're right. Ye've been right iver since _I_ kent ye. But ye'll be sair putt aboot, woman, whan ye hear that she's a waux doll! Doll, indeed! angel wad be mair like the truth. But haud ye there, David, ye've no gotten her yet."
With some such thoughts in his brain, and a fixed resolve in his heart, he presented himself in the garden on the roof, where he found old Liz, Susy, and Sam Blake assembled. They all seemed as if oppressed by some disappointment, but their looks changed instantly on the entrance of the visitor. Susy, especially, sprang up with a bright smile, but observing the readiness and the look with which Laidlaw advanced to meet her, she checked herself, blushed, and looked as well as felt confused.
"My poor little girl is greatly put about" said Sam Blake in explanation, "because she's just heard from Samson and Son that they've too many hands already, an' don't want her."
"Don't _want_ her?" exclaimed the Scot; "they're born eediots!"
The emphasis with which this was said caused Susy to laugh, and to discover that her skirt had been caught by a nail in one of the flower-boxes. At the same time a vague suspicion for the first time entered the head of old Liz, causing her to wobble the fang with vigour and look at Laidlaw with some anxiety.
At this critical moment feet were heard clattering and stumbling up the stair as if in tremendous haste. Next moment Tommy burst upon their vision in a full suit of superfine blue with brass buttons!
"Tommy!" exclaimed Susy in amazement.
"No, madam--no. Tummas, if _you_ please," said the boy with dignity, though almost bursting with suppressed excitement. "I'm man-servant to Colonel John Brentwood, Esquire, M.P., F.R.Z.Q.T., Feller of the Royal Society--an' good society, an' every other society. Salary not yet fixed; lodgin', washin', an' wittles found. Parkisites warious."
"But why didn't you tell us of this before?" asked Liz, patting the urchin's head and smiling benignantly. " 'Cause I wanted to screw you up vith surprise, an' I've done it too! But I've on'y jest entered on my dooties, and 'ave bin sent immedingtly with a message that you an Susy are expected to pay us a wisit, which is now doo, an' Mr Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw is to go there right away--vithout delay--as we say in the poetical vest end."
"And when are Susy and I expected?" asked Liz.
"To-morrer."
"But what _are_ you, Tommy? What are you engaged to do?" asked Susy.
"Play wi' the knives, amoose myself wi' the boots and shoes of a mornin', entertain wisitors at the door with brief conversations, take occasional strolls with messages, be a sorter companion to Miss Rosa, wots to be married in a veek or two, and, ginerally, to enjoy myself. I'm a tiger, I is, but I don't growl--oh no! I only purr. My name is Tummas, an' my 'ome is marble 'alls!"
Our Scotsman went off without delay in response to the message, and was thus prevented from carrying out his "fixed resolve" just then. However, he wouldn't give in, not he! he would soon find a more convenient opportunity.
Meanwhile Tommy Splint having particularly requested and obtained leave to spend the night--his last night before going to service--with his "granny," he and Sam set to work in the garden to rig up temporary sleeping arrangements _a la_ Robinson Crusoe, for it was arranged that they should have a grand supper in the garret in honour of the rescue of Laidlaw--the returned convict, _alias_ ticket-of-leave man, as Tommy called him--and that the males of the party should thereafter sleep in the garden.
Need we say that the supper-party was jovial? We think not. The "ticket-of-leave man" and the "tiger" were inimitable in their own lines, and Sam came out so strong on the "pirits" of the Philippine Islands that the tiger even declared himself to be satiated with blood! As for Susy--she would have been an amply sufficient audience for each of the party, had all the others been away, and the fang of old Liz became riotously demonstrative, though she herself remained silent gazing from one face to another with her glittering black eyes.
Finally the ladies retired to rest in the garret, and the gentlemen went to sleep in the garden.
Ah! how very old, yet ever new, is the word that man "knows not what an hour may bring forth!" Forces unseen, unthought of, are ever at work around us, from the effects of which, it may be, human strength is powerless to deliver.
That night, late--or rather, about the early hours of morning--a spark, which earlier in the night had fallen from the pipe of a drunkard in the public-house below, began to work its deadly way through the boarding of the floor. For a long time there was little smoke and no flame. Gradually, however, the spark grew to a burning mass, which created the draught of air that fanned it.
It chanced that night that, under the influence of some irresistible impulse or antagonistic affinity like a musical discord, Mrs Rampy and Mrs Blathers were discussing their friends and neighbours in the abode of the former, without the softening influence of the teapot and old Liz.
"I smells a smell!" exclaimed Mrs Rampy, sniffing.
"Wery likely," remarked Mrs Blathers; "your 'ouse ain't over-clean."
But the insinuation was lost on Mrs Rampy, who was naturally keen of scent. She rose, ran to the window, opened it, thrust out her dishevelled head, and exclaimed "_Fire_!"
"No, it ain't," said her friend; "it's on'y smoke."
Unfortunately the two women wondered for a few precious minutes and ran out to the court, into which, from a back window of the public-house, smoke was slowly streaming. Just then a slight glimmer was seen in the same window.
"Fire! fire!" yelled Mrs Rampy, now thoroughly alarmed.
"Smoke! smo-o-o-oke!" shrieked Mrs Blathers. The two women were gifted with eminently persuasive lungs. All the surrounding courts and streets were roused in a few minutes, and poured into the lanes and alleys which led to Cherub Court.
That extremely vigilant body, the London Fire Brigade, had their nearest engines out in two minutes. Many of the more distant men were roused by telegraph. Though in bed, partially clad and asleep, at one moment, the next moment they were leaping into boots and pantaloons which stood agape for them. Brass-helmeted, and like comets with a stream of fire behind them, they were flying to the rescue five minutes after the yell and shriek of "Fi-i-ire!" and "Smo-o-o-oke!"
Owing to the great elevation of the garden, and its being surrounded by stacks of chimneys, it was some minutes before the sleepers there were aroused. Then, like giants refreshed, David and Sam leapt from their bunks, and, like Jack-in-the-box, Tommy Splint shot from his kennel. There was no occasion to dress. In the circumstances the three had turned in, as Sam expressed it, "all standing."
They rushed at the door of the garret, but it was bolted on the inside. Susy, who had been awake, had heard the alarm and drawn the bolt so as to give time for hastily throwing on a few garments. The men thundered violently and tried to force the door, but the door was strong, and an instinctive feeling of delicacy restrained them for a few seconds from bursting it open.
"Susy! Susy!" roared the father; "open! Quick! Fire!"
"One moment, father. I'm dressing granny, and--" A loud shriek terminated the sentence, for the flames, gathering headway with wild rapidity, had burst-up some part of the liquor den at the basement and went roaring up the staircase, sending dense clouds of smoke in advance.
This was enough. Laidlaw threw his heavy bulk against the door, burst lock and hinge, and sent it flat on the garret floor. Blinding smoke met and almost choked him as he fell, and Sam, tumbling over him, caught up the first person his hands touched and bore her out. It was old Liz--half dressed, and wrapped in a blanket! Susy, also half dressed, and with a shawl wrapped round her shoulders, was carried out by Laidlaw. Both were unhurt, though half stifled by smoke, and greatly alarmed.
"Ye ken the hoose, Tammy; hoo shall we gang?"
"There's _no_ way to escape!" cried the poor boy, with a distracted look.
One glance at the staircase convinced Laidlaw that escape in that direction was impossible. Plunging into the garret again he seized the door and jammed it into its place, thus stopping the gush of black smoke, and giving them a few minutes breathing space.
"Is there a rope in the garret?" asked Sam eagerly.
"No--nothink o' the kind," gasped Tommy.
"No sheets,--blankets?" asked the Scot.
"Only two or three," replied Susan, who supported Liz in the rustic chair. "They're much worn, and not enough to reach _near_ the ground."
It was no time for useless talk. The two men said no more, but sprang on the parapet outside the garden, to find, if possible, a way of escape by the roofs of the neighbouring houses. The sight they beheld was sufficiently appalling. The fire which raged below them cast a noonday glare over the wilderness of chimney-stacks around, revealing the awful nature of their position, and, in one direction, thousands of upturned faces. The men were observed as they ran along the parapet, and a deep hoarse cry from the sympathetic multitude rose for a few moments above the roaring of the flames.
On two sides the walls of the building went sheer down, sixty feet or more, without a break, into a yard which bristled with broken wood and old lumber. Evidently death faced them in that direction. The third side was the gable-end of the garret. On the fourth side there was a descent of twelve feet or so on to the roof of the next block, which happened to be lower--but that block was already in flames.
"There is our chief hope," said the sailor, pointing to it.
"Nay," responded Laidlaw in a low voice, pointing upwards--"oor main hope is _there_! I thocht they had fire-escapes here," he added, turning to Tommy, who had joined them.
"So they 'ave, but no escape can be got down the yards 'ere. The halleys is too narrer."
"Come, I'll git a blankit to lower Susan and auld Liz," said Laidlaw, hastening back to the garden, where the trembling women awaited the result of their inspection.
While the Scotsman removed the door and dashed once again into the smoke-filled garret, the sailor hurriedly explained to the women what they were going to attempt, and impressed upon them the necessity of submitting entirely to whatever was required of them, "which will be," he said, "chiefly to shut your eyes an' keep quiet."
Laidlaw quickly returned with a couple of sheets and a blanket. Sam knotted the sheets together in sailor-like fashion, while his friend made a secure bundle of old Liz with the blanket. Sam was lowered first to the roof of the tenement which we have said was already on fire, and stood ready to receive Liz. She was safely let down and the sheet-rope was detached.
"We'll no mak' a bundle o' _you_," said David, turning to Susy; "jist putt it roond yer waist."
When she was safely lowered, Tommy was grasped by an arm and let down till his feet rested on Sam's head, whence he easily leaped to the roof, and then David let himself drop. To reach a place of temporary safety they had now to walk on the top of a partition of old brick, about eight inches wide, a fall from which, on one side, meant death, on the other side, broken bones at the least. They knew that a loose brick or a false step might be fatal, but there was no alternative.
Sam turned to his daughter: "Ye could never cross that, Susy?" he said.
Although no coward, the poor girl shrank from the giddy ledge, which was rendered more dangerous and terrible by being now surrounded by occasional puffs of smoke and clouds of steam from the water of a dozen hydrants which by that time were playing into the raging flames. To add to the horrors of the situation, beams and masses of masonry were heard occasionally crashing in the interior of the building.
Sam advanced to take Susy in his arms, but Laidlaw stepped between them.
"Leave her t' me," he said; "the auld woman's lichter, an' ye're no sae strong as me."
Saying which, he lifted the girl in his left arm as if she had been but a little child, and mounted the parapet keeping his right arm free to balance himself or cling to anything if need be. Sam, who was quite equal to the emergency, took old Liz into his arms and followed, but cast one glance back at Tommy.
"Never mind me, Sam," cried the boy, who, having got over his first panic, rose heroically to the occasion.
The crowd below saw what they were attempting, and gave them a cheer of encouragement, yet with bated breath, as if they dreaded the issue.
A few seconds and they were past that danger, but still stood on the burning house at another part of the roof. Here, being suddenly drenched by spray from one of the engines, Sam and Tommy made for the shelter of a chimney-stack. As there was not room behind it for more, Laidlaw carried his light burden to another stack, and looked hastily round to see what next could be done. Just at that moment there was a wild cheer below, in the midst of which a stentorian voice came to them, as it were, on the wings of fire and smoke--"Stay where you are a minute--the escape is coming!"
"Thank God!" exclaimed Laidlaw, looking down at the fair head which rested on his shoulder. The cheeks were deadly white and the eyes closed, but the pressure of her arms showed that the girl clung to him for very life. A bright shower of sparks at the moment flew around them. "Heeven an' pandemonium brought thegither!" he thought as he bent over to protect her. His face was very near to hers!
"My puir wee doo!" he muttered, and placed a timid kiss upon the pale cheek, which instantly coloured as if the fires around had suddenly kindled them.
"O lassie, forgi'e me! I didna mean to do _tha_--I railly--did--not,-- but I couldna help it! I wad hae waited till ye gie'd me leave. But after a'--what for no? I thought t' ask ye t' gie me the right this very day. And O lassie! if I might only hope that--" He stopped, and _something_ induced him to do _that_ again. At the same moment another mighty roar ascended from the crowd, and the head of the great fire-escape rose like a solemn spectre through smoke, fire, and steam, not ten yards from where he stood.
"Hooray!" shouted Tommy, for he felt that they were saved. Laidlaw said nothing, but sprang to the head of the ladder, got carefully upon it, and began steadily to descend with Susy. Sam was about to follow with old Liz, but glanced at Tommy.
"Go first, lad."
"Arter you, mate," said the boy, stepping politely back; "you see, tigers, like captings, are always last to leave a sinkin' ship."
It was neither the time nor place for ceremony. With something approaching almost to a laugh, the seaman got on the ladder as smartly as he would have taken to the shrouds of a ship, and Tommy followed.
Half-way down they met a swirl of smoke, with an occasional tongue of flame shooting through it from a shattered window. At the same moment they encountered a brass-helmeted fellow springing boldly up through the same to the rescue.
"Gang doon again, freen'," shouted Laidlaw, when his heel came in contact with the helmet. "We're a' safe here."
He paused just a moment to draw the shawl completely over Susy's head and arms, and to pull her dress well round her feet. Then, burying his face in the same shawl and shutting his eyes, he descended steadily but swiftly. For a moment or two the rounds of the ladder felt like heated iron bars, and there was a slight frizzling of his brown curly locks at the back. Then a fresh draught of air and a tremendous stream of water that nigh washed him off the ladder.
Next moment they were safe on the ground, in the midst of the wildly-cheering crowd, through which burst Mrs Rampy in a flood of joyful tears, and seized old Liz in her arms. Mrs Blathers followed close at her heels.
"My!" she exclaimed in sudden amazement, staring at old Liz's, "it's gone!"
"So it is," cried Mrs Rampy, for once agreeing.
And so it was! The last fang belonging to chimney-pot Liz had perished in that great conflagration!
Many were the offers that old Liz received of house accommodation that night, from the lowest of washerwomen to the highest of tradesmen, but Sam Blake, in her behalf, declined them all, and proceeded to the main street to hail a cab.
"She ain't 'urt, is she? You're not takin' 'er to a hospital?" cried one of the crowd. "You'll come back agin to stay with us, Liz--won't you?"
"No, we won't," cried a boy's voice. "We've come into our fortins, an' are a-goin' to live in the vest end for ever an' ever."
"Who's that blue spider?" asked a boy; "w'y--no--surely it ain't--yes--I do b'lieve it's Tommy Splint!"
"Don't believe Tommy, friends," said old Liz, as she was about to get into the cab. "I'll soon be back again to see you. Trust me!"
This was received with a tremendous cheer, as they all got inside except Laidlaw, who mounted the box.
"Stop!" said the latter, as the coachman was about to drive off. He pointed to the burning house, where the raging fire had reached the roof-tree. The crowd seemed awed into silence as they gazed.
One swirl more of the flaming tongues and the Garret was consumed-- another swirl, and the Garden was licked from the scene as effectually as though it had never been.
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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13
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THE LAST.
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How that wonderful man Detective Dean managed it all is best known to himself and those myrmidons of the law who aided and abetted him in his investigations, but certain it is that he prepared as pretty a little thunderbolt for John Lockhart, Esquire, as any man could wish to see.
He not only ferreted out all the details of the matter involving the Washab and Roria railway and chimney-pot Liz, but he obtained proof, through a clerk in the solicitor's office, and a stain in a sheet of paper, and a half-finished signature, that the will by which Mr Lockhart intended to despoil Colonel Brentwood was a curiously-contrived forgery. As men in search of the true and beautiful frequently stumble by accident on truths for which they did not search, and beauties of which they had formed no conception, so our detective unearthed a considerable number of smaller crimes of which the lawyer had been guilty--to the satisfaction of all concerned and the establishment of Mrs Brentwood's character as a prophetess, so that "didn't I tell you so, Jack?" became a familiar arrangement of household words in the ears of the poor Colonel for some time afterwards.
But the man of law did not await the discharge of the thunderbolt. As Mr Dean expressed it, he was too 'cute for that. By some occult means, known only to legal men, he discovered what was in the air, took time by the forelock, and retired into privacy--perhaps to the back settlements of Peru--with all the available cash that he could righteously, or otherwise, scrape together. By so doing, however, he delivered Colonel Brentwood from all hindrance to the enjoyment of his rightful property, and opened the eyes of chimney-pot Liz to the true value of shares in the Washab and Roria railway.
A few days after the culminating of these events--for things came rapidly to a head--Mrs Rampy of Cherub Court issued invitations for a small tea-party. This was the more surprising that Mrs Rampy was extremely poor, and had hitherto been economical to an extent which deprived her of a sufficiency of food even for herself. But the neighbours soon came to know that a line of telegraph had been recently set up between Cherub Court and the West End, through which flowed continuously a series of communications that were more or less astounding and agreeable to the inhabitants. The posts of this telegraph were invisible, the wires passed high overhead, very high, and the particular kind of electricity used was--sympathy.
It must be explained here that it was the northern side of the court which had been burned, so that Mrs Rampy, inhabiting the south side, still occupied her suite of apartments--a parlour and a coal-hole. The parlour, having once been a ware-room, was unusually large and well adapted for a tea-party. The coal-hole, having been a mere recess, was well adapted for puzzling the curious as to what had been the object of its architect in contriving it.
The party was not large, but it was select. It included a washerwoman with very red arms; a care-taker who had obviously failed to take care of herself; a couple of chimney-sweeps with partially washed faces; a charwoman with her friend the female greengrocer, who had been burned out of the opposite side of the court; two or three coster-mongers, a burglar, several thieves, a footman in resplendent livery, a few noted drunkards, and chimney-pot Liz with her teapot--not the original teapot of course--that had perished in the flames--but one indistinguishably like it, which had been presented to her by Colonel Brentwood. She had insisted on carrying it with her to Cherub Court on that occasion, on the ground that they would hardly recognise her without it, especially now that the fang was gone.
The resplendent footman had been the first guest to arrive, along with Liz, and was welcomed by the hostess and Mrs Blathers--who aided and abetted her friend on that occasion--with effusive demonstrations of goodwill and surprise. Thereafter the footman, who seemed to be eccentric, sat in a corner with his face buried in his hands, and did not move while the other guests were assembling. When the room was full and the tea poured out, Mrs Rampy looked at Liz with a sly awkward air which was quite foreign to her nature.
"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said Liz, "don't be ashamed."
"Lord, bless us--an' our wittles," said Mrs Rampy, suddenly shutting her eyes as she opened her mouth, to the intense surprise of her guests. "Now then," she added, in a tone of great relief, "go a-'ead w'en you've got the chance. There's more w'ere that come from. 'And about the cake, Mrs Blathers, like a good creetur. An' it ain't much o' this blow-hout you owes to me. I on'y supplied the sugar, 'cause that was in the 'ouse anyways."
"It is a good deed, Mrs Rampy," said old Liz, with a smile, "if you've supplied all the sweetness to the feast."
"That's a lie!" cried the hostess sharply. "It was _you_ that supplied it. If it 'adn't bin for you, Liz, I'd never 'ave--" Mrs Rampy broke down at this point and threw her apron over her head to conceal her feelings. At the same moment the eccentric footman raised his head, and something like a pistol-shot was heard as the burglar brought his palm down on his thigh, exclaiming-- "I know'd it! Trumps--or his ghost!" " 'E's too fat for a ghost," remarked a humorous thief.
"No, mate, I _ain't_ Trumps," said the resplendent man, rising before the admiring gaze of the party. "My name is Rodgers, footman to Colonel Brentwood of Weston 'All. I'm a noo man, houtside an' in; an' I've come ere a-purpuse to surprise you, not only wi' the change in my costoom, but wi' the noos that my master's comin' down 'ere to see arter you a bit, an' try if 'e can't 'elp us hout of our difficulties; an' e's agoin' to keep a missionary, hout of 'is own pocket, to wisit in this district an' they're both comin' 'ere this wery night to take tea with us. An' 'e's bringin' a lord with 'im--a live lord--" "Wot better is a live lord than any other man?" growled a thief with radical proclivities.
"Right you are, Jim Scroodger," said Trumps, turning sharply on the speaker; "a live lord is no better than any other man unless 'e _is_ better! Indeed, considerin' 'is circumstances, 'e's a good deal wuss if 'e's no better; but a live lord is better than a dead thief, w'ich you'll be soon, Jim, if you don't mend yer ways."
"Hear! hear!" and a laugh from the company.
"Moreover," continued Trumps, "the lord that's a-comin' _is_ better than most other men. He's a trump--" "Not a brother o' yourn--eh?" murmured the burglar. "W'y, Trumps, I thought you was a detective!"
"Not in _plain_ clo'es, surely," remarked the humorous thief. " 'Ave another cup o' tea, man, and shut up," cried Mrs Blathers, growing restive.
"Well, ladies and gen'lemen all," resumed Trumps, with a benignant smile, "_you_ know this lord that's a-comin'. Some o' you made 'im a present of a barrow an' a hass once--" "_I_ know 'im! Bless 'is 'eart," cried a coster-monger through a mouthful of cake.
At that moment the expected guests arrived.
But reader, we must not dwell upon what followed. There is no need. It is matter of history.
While the inhabitants of the slums were thus enjoying a social evening together, David Laidlaw was busy with one of his numerous epistles to that repository of all confidences--his mother.
"The deed is done, mither," he wrote, "an' the waux doll is mine, for better or waur, till death us do pairt. Of course I dinna mean that we're mairried yet. Na, na! That event must be celebrated on the Braes o' Yarrow, wi' _your_ help an' blessin'. But we're engaged, an' that's happiness enough the now. If I was to describe my state o' mind in ae word, I wud say--thankfu'. But losh, woman, that gies ye but a faint notion o' the whirligigs that hae been gaun on i' my heed an' hairt since I came to Bawbylon. Truly, it's a wonderfu' place--wi' its palaces and dens; its rich an' its puir; its miles upon miles o' hooses an' shops; its thoosands on thoosands o' respectable folk, an' its hundred o' thoosands o' thieves an' pickpockets an' burglars--to say naething o' its prisons an' lawyers an' waux dolls!
"But I'm haverin'. Ye'll be gled t' hear that Colonel Brentwood--him that befreended me--is a' richt. His lawyer turned oot to be a leear an' a swindler. The will that was to turn the Colonel oot o' a' his possessions is a forgery. His bonny bairn Rosa, is, like mysel', gaun' to be mairried; an' as the Colonel has nae mair bairns, he's gaun' to devote himsel'--so his wife says--to `considerin' the poor.' Frae my personal observation o' Lunnon, he'll hae mair than enough to consider, honest man!
"In my last letter I gied ye a full accoont o' the fire, but I didna tell 'e that it was amang the chimley-pots and bleezes that I was moved to what they ca' `pop the question' to my Susy. It was a daft-like thing to do, I confess, especially for a sedate kin' o' man like me; but, woman, a man's no jist himsel' at sik a time! After a', it was a graund climax to my somewhat queer sort o' coortin'. The only thing I'm feart o' in Bawbylon is that the wee crater Tammy Splint should come to ken aboot it, for I wad niver hear the end o't if he did. Ye see, though he was there a' the time, he didna ken what I was about. Speakin' o' that, the bairn has been made a flunkey by the Colonel--a teeger they ca' him. What's mair surprisin' yet is, that he has ta'en the puir thief Trumps--alias Rodgers--into his hoosehold likewise, and made _him_ a flunkey. Mrs Brentwood--Dory, as he ca's her--didna quite like the notion at first; but the Colonel's got a wonderfu' wheedlin' wey wi' him, an' whan he said, `If you an' I have been redeemed an' reinstated, why should not Rodgers?' Dory, like a wise woman, gied in. The argement, ye ken, was unanswerable. Onywie, he's in plush now, an white stockin's.
"An' that minds me that they've putt the wee laddie Splint into blue tights wi' brass buttons. He just looks like an uncanny sort o' speeder! It's a daft-like dress for onything but a puggy, but the bairn's as prood o't as if it was quite reasonable. It maitters little what he putts on, hooiver, for he wad joke an' cut capers, baith pheesical an' intellectual, I verily believe, if he was gaun to be hanged!
"My faither-in-law to be, Sam Blake, says he'll come to Scotland for the wadd'n, but he'll no' stop. He's that fond o' the sea that he canna leave 't. It's my opeenion that he'll no' rest till he gits a pirit's knife in his breed-baskit. Mair's the peety, for he's a fine man. But the best news I've got to tell 'e, mither, is, that Colonel Brentwood an' his wife an' daughter an' her guidman--a sensible sort o' chiel, though he _is_ English--are a' comin' doon to spend the autumn on the Braes o' Yarrow.
"Noo, I'll stop. Susy's waitin' for me, an' sends her love. --Yer affectionate son, DAVID LAIDLAW."
We must take the liberty now, good reader, of directing your attention to another time and place.
And, first, as regards time. One day, three weeks after the events which have just been narrated, Mrs Brentwood took Susan Blake through a stained glass door out upon a leaded roof and bade her look about her. The roof was not high up, however. It only covered the kitchen, which was a projection at the back of the Colonel's mansion.
Susan, somewhat surprised, looked inquiringly in the lady's face.
"A fine view, is it not?" asked Mrs Brentwood.
"Very fine indeed," said Susy, and she was strictly correct, for the back of the house commanded an extensive view of one of the most beautiful parts of Hampstead Heath.
"Does it not remind you, Susan, a little, a very little, of the views from the garret-garden?" asked the lady, with a curious expression in her handsome eyes.
"Well, hardly!" replied Susan, scarce able to repress a smile. "You see, there is no river or shipping, and one misses the chimney-pots!"
"Chimney-pots!" exclaimed Mrs Brentwood, "why, what do you call these?" pointing to a row of one-storey stables not far off, the roofs of which were variously ornamented with red pots and iron zigzag pipes. "As to the river, don't you see the glimmer of that sheet of water through the trees in the distance, a pond or canal it is, I'm not sure which, but I'm quite sure that the flag-staff of our eccentric naval neighbour is sufficiently suggestive of shipping, is it not?"
"Well, madam, if one tries to make believe _very_ much--" "Ah, Susan, I see you have not a powerful imagination! Perhaps it is as well! Now, I have brought you here to help me with a plot which is to be a great secret. You know it is arranged that dear old nurse is to spend the summer on the Braes of Yarrow with the Laidlaws, and the winter in London with me. So I want you to fit up this roof of the kitchen _exactly_ in the way you arranged the garden on the roof at Cherub Court. I will send a carpenter to measure the place for flower-boxes, and our gardener will furnish you with whatever seeds you may require. Now, remember, _exactly_ the same, even to the rustic chair if you can remember it."
You may be very sure that Susy entered with right goodwill into this little plot. She had been temporarily engaged by Mrs Brentwood as lady's-maid, so that she might have present employment and a home before her marriage, and then travel free of expense with the family to Scotland, where she should be handed over to her rightful owner. The office of lady's-maid was, however, a mere sinecure, so the bride had plenty of time to devote to the garden. Old Liz, meanwhile, was carefully confined to another part of the house so that she might not discover the plot, and the tiger, from whom no secrets could by any possibility be kept, was forbidden to "blab" on pain of instant death and dismissal.
"Now, Da-a-a-vid," remarked that Blue Spider, when he communicated the secret to _him_, "mum's the word. If you mentions it, the kernel's family will bu'st up. I will return to the streets from vich I came. Trumps, _alias_ Rodgers, to the den hout of vich 'e was 'auled. Susan will take the wail and retire to a loonatic asylum, an' Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw will be laid low for the rest of 'is mortial career."
"Ne'er fash yer heed about me, Tammy, my man, I'm as close as an eyster."
We pass now from the far south to the other side of the Borderland.
Great Bawbylon is far behind us. The breezy uplands around tell that we have reached the Braes of Yarrow. A huge travelling carriage is slowly toiling up the side of a hill. Inside are Colonel and Mrs Brentwood, Rosa and chimney-pot Liz. Beside the driver sits Trumps in travelling costume. In the rumble are Susan Blake and Tommy Splint. Rosa's husband and Sam Blake are to follow in a few days.
"Oh, what a lovely scene!" exclaimed Susy, as the carriage gained the summit of an eminence, and pulled up to breathe the horses.
"Yaas. Not so bad--for Scotland," said the tiger languidly.
"And what a pretty cottage!" added Susan, pointing to an eminence just beyond that on which they had halted, where a long low whitewashed dwelling lay bathed in sunshine.
"Yaas. And, I say, Susy, yonder is a native," said Tommy, becoming suddenly animated, "and--well--I do believe, _without_ a kilt! But he's got the reg'lar orthodox shepherd's--whew!"
A prolonged whistle ended the boy's sentence, as he glanced quickly in Susan's face. The flushed cheeks told eloquently that she also had made a discovery; and the rapid strides of the "native" showed that he was likewise affected in a similar way.
The Colonel's head,--thrust out at the carriage window, and exclaiming, "Why, Dora, we've arrived! Here is Mr Laidlaw himself!" --completed, as it were, the _tableau vivant_.
Another moment and hands were being heartily shaken with the insides. But David did not linger. Nodding pleasantly to the tiger, he held up both hands. Being so tall, he just managed to reach those of Susan, as she stood up in the rumble.
"Jump!" he said; "ye needna fear, my lassie."
Susan jumped, and was made to alight on Scottish soil like a feather of eider-down. Laidlaw stooped, apparently to whisper something in the girl's ear, but, to the unspeakable delight of the observant tiger, he failed to get past the mouth, and whispered it there!
"Go it, Da-a-a-vid!" exclaimed the urchin, with a patronising wink and a broad smile.
"Look there, Susy," said Laidlaw, pointing to the sun-bathed cottage.
"Home?" asked the maiden, with an inquiring glance.
"Hame!" responded David. "Mither is waiting for 'e there. Do ye see the track across the field where the burn rins? It's a short cut. The coach'll have to gang roond by the brig. Rin, lassie!"
He released Susy, who sprang down the bank, crossed the streamlet by a plank bridge, and ran into the cottage, where she found Mrs Laidlaw in the passage, with eager eyes, but labouring under powerful self-restraint.
"Mother!" exclaimed Susy, flinging her arms round the stout old woman's neck.
"Eh! --my bonnie wee doo!" said Mrs Laidlaw, as she looked kindly down on the little head and stroked the fair hair with her toil-worn hands, while a venerable old man stood beside her, looking somewhat imbecile, and blowing his nose.
Just then the carriage rolled up to the door, and Mrs Laidlaw, leaving her "auld man" for a few minutes to do the honours of the house, retired to her chamber, and there on her knees confessed, thankfully, that she, like her son, had been effectually conquered by a "waux doll!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------ Reader, what more can we say? Is it necessary to add that, the two principals in the business being well pleased, everybody else was satisfied? We think not. But it may not be uninteresting to state that, from that auspicious day, a regular system of annual visitation was established between Bawbylon and the Braes of Yarrow, which held good for many a year; one peculiarity of the visitation being that the Bawbylonians and their progeny revelled on the braes chiefly in summer, while the Yarrowites, with their bairns, always took their southern flight in winter. Thus our two old women, Mrs Laidlaw and chimney-pot Liz--who fought rather shy of each other at first, but became mutual admirers at last--led, as it were, a triple life; now on the sunny slopes and amid the sweet influences of the braes, anon in the smoke and the unsavoury odours of the slums, and sometimes amid the refinements and luxury of the "West End," in all of which situations they were fain to confess that "the ways of God are wonderful and past finding out."
Of course David Laidlaw did not fail to redeem his promise to revisit the thieves' den, and many a man and youth was he the means of plucking from the jaws of spiritual death during his occasional and frequent visits to London--in which work he was ably seconded by Tommy Splint, when that volatile spirit grew up to manhood. And among their coadjutors none were more helpful in the work of bringing souls to Christ than Mrs Rampy and her bosom-friend Mrs Blathers.
Strange to say, Liz came to her end in a garret after all. On a raw November day she went, under the care of Susy, to visit an old friend near Cherub Court, in a garret not very unlike her old home. While there she was struck down. There was no pain--apparently no disease; simply a sudden sinking of the vital powers. They laid the dear old woman on her friend's bed, and in half-an-hour she had passed away, while the faithful Susy held her hand and whispered words from the Master in her ear. Thus old Liz, having finished her grand work on earth, was transplanted from the Garret in the slums to the Garden of the Lord.
THE END.
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{
"id": "21737"
}
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1
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AN ALGERINE STORY.
THE HERO IS BLOWN AWAY, CAPTURED, CRUSHED, COMFORTED, AND ASTONISHED.
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One beautiful summer night, about the beginning of the present century, a young naval officer entered the public drawing-room of a hotel at Nice, and glanced round as if in search of some one.
Many people were assembled there--some in robust, others in delicate, health, many in that condition which rendered it doubtful to which class they belonged, but all engaged in the quiet buzz of conversation which, in such a place, is apt to set in after dinner.
The young Englishman, for such he evidently was, soon observed an elderly lady beckoning to him at the other end of the _salon_, and was quickly seated between her and a fragile girl whose hand he gently took hold of.
"Mother," he said, to the elderly lady, "I'm going to have a row on the Mediterranean. The night is splendid, the air balmy, the stars gorgeous."
"Now, George," interrupted the girl, with a little smile, "don't be flowery. We know all about that."
"Too bad," returned the youth; "I never rise to poetry in your presence, Minnie, without being snubbed. But you cannot cure me. Romance is too deeply ingrained in my soul. Poetry flows from me like--like anything! I am a midshipman in the British Navy, a position which affords scope for the wildest enthusiasm, and--and--I'll astonish you yet, see if I don't."
"I am sure you will, dear boy," said his mother; and she believed that he would!
"Of course you will," added his sister; and she at least hoped that he would.
To say truth, there was nothing about the youth--as regards appearance or character--which rendered either the assurance or the hope unwarrantable. He was not tall, but he was strong and active. He was not exactly handsome, but he was possessed of a genial, hearty disposition, a playful spirit, and an earnest soul; also a modestly reckless nature which was quite captivating.
"You won't be anxious about me, mother, if I don't return till pretty late," he said, rising. "I want a good long, refreshing pull, but I'll be back in time to say good-night to you, Minnie, before you go to sleep."
"Your leave expires on Thursday, mind," said his sister; "we cannot spare you long."
"I shall be back in good time, trust me. _Au revoir_," he said, with a pleasant nod, as he left the room.
And they did trust him; for our midshipman, George Foster, was trustworthy; but those "circumstances" over which people have "no control" are troublesome derangers of the affairs of man. That was the last the mother and sister saw of George for the space of nearly two years!
Taking his way to the pebbly shore, young Foster hired a small boat, or punt, from a man who knew him well, declined the owner's services, pushed off, seized the oars, and rowed swiftly out to sea. It was, as he had said, a splendid night. The stars bespangled the sky like diamond-dust. The water was as clear as a mirror, and the lights of Nice seemed to shoot far down into its depths. The hum of the city came off with ever-deepening softness as the distance from the shore increased. The occasional sound of oars was heard not far off, though boats and rowers were invisible, for there was no moon, and the night was dark notwithstanding the starlight.
There was no fear, however, of the young sailor losing himself while the city lights formed such a glorious beacon astern.
After pulling steadily for an hour or more he rested on his oars, gazed up at the bright heavens, and then at the land lights, which by that time resembled a twinkling line on the horizon.
"Must 'bout ship now," he muttered. "Won't do to keep Minnie waiting."
As he rowed leisurely landward a sudden gust of wind from the shore shivered the liquid mirror into fragments. It was the advance-guard of a squall which in a few minutes rushed down from the mountains of the Riviera and swept out upon the darkening sea.
Young Foster, as we have said, was strong. He was noted among his fellows as a splendid oarsman. The squall, therefore, did not disconcert him, though it checked his speed greatly. After one or two lulls the wind increased to a gale, and in half an hour the youth found, with some anxiety, that he was making no headway against it.
The shore at that point was so much of a straight line as to render the hope of being able to slant-in a faint one. As it was better, however, to attempt that than to row straight in the teeth of the gale, he diverged towards a point a little to the eastward of the port of Nice, and succeeded in making better way through the water, though he made no perceptible approach to land.
"Pooh! It's only a squall--be over in a minute," said the middy, by way of encouraging himself, as he glanced over his shoulder at the flickering lights, which were now barely visible.
He was wrong. The gale increased. Next time he glanced over his shoulder the lights were gone. Dark clouds were gathering up from the northward, and a short jabble of sea was rising which occasionally sent a spurt of spray inboard. Feeling now that his only chance of regaining the shore lay in a strong, steady, persevering pull straight towards it, he once more turned the bow of the little boat into the wind's eye, and gave way with a will.
But what could human muscle and human will, however powerful, do against a rampant nor'wester? Very soon our hero was forced to rest upon his oars from sheer exhaustion, while his boat drifted slowly out to sea. Then the thought of his mother and Minnie flashed upon him, and, with a sudden gush, as it were, of renewed strength he resumed his efforts, and strained his powers to the uttermost--but all in vain.
Something akin to despair now seized on him, for the alternative was to drift out into the open sea, where no friendly island lay between him and the shores of Africa. The necessity for active exertion, however, gave him no time either to rest or think. As the distance from land increased the seas rose higher, and broke so frequently over the boat that it began to fill. To stop rowing--at least, to the extent of keeping the bow to the wind--would have risked turning broadside-on, and being overturned or swamped; there was nothing, therefore, to be done in the circumstances except to keep the boat's head to the wind and drift.
In the midst of the rushing gale and surging seas he sat there, every gleam of hope almost extinguished, when there came to his mind a brief passage from the Bible--"Hope thou in God." Many a time had his mother tried, in days gone by, to impress that text on his mind, but apparently without success. Now it arose before him like a beacon-star. At the same time he thought of the possibility that he might be seen and picked up by a passing vessel.
He could not but feel, however, that the chances of this latter event occurring were small indeed, for a passing ship or boat would not only be going at great speed, but would be very unlikely to see his cockle-shell in the darkness, or to hear his cry in the roaring gale. Still he grasped that hope as the drowning man is said to clutch at a straw.
And the hope was quickly fulfilled, for scarcely had another half-hour elapsed when he observed a sail--the high-peaked sail peculiar to some Mediterranean craft--rise, ghost-like, out of the driving foam and spray. The vessel was making almost straight for him; he knew that it would pass before there could be time to heave a rope. At the risk of being run down he rowed the punt in front of it, as if courting destruction, but at the same time guided his little craft so skilfully that it passed close to leeward, where the vessel's bulwarks were dipping into the water. Our middy's aim was so exact that the vessel only grazed the boat as it flew past. In that moment young Foster sprang with the agility of a cat, capsized the boat with the impulse, caught the bulwarks and rigging of the vessel, and in another moment stood panting on her deck.
"Hallo! Neptune, what do _you_ want here?" cried a gruff voice at Foster's elbows. At the same time a powerful hand grasped his throat, and a lantern was thrust in his face.
"Let go, and I will tell you," gasped the youth, restraining his indignation at such unnecessary violence.
The grasp tightened, however, instead of relaxing.
"Speak out, baby-face," roared the voice, referring, in the latter expression, no doubt, to our hero's juvenility.
Instead of speaking out, George Foster hit out, and the voice with the lantern went down into the lee scuppers!
Then, the glare of the lantern being removed from his eyes, George saw, by the light of the binnacle lamp, that his adversary, a savage-looking Turk--at least in dress--was gathering himself up for a rush, and that the steersman, a huge negro, was grinning from ear to ear.
"Go below!" said a deep stern voice in the Arabic tongue.
The effect of this order was to cause the Turk with the broken lantern to change his mind, and retire with humility, while it solemnised the negro steersman's face almost miraculously.
The speaker was the captain of the vessel; a man of grave demeanour, herculean mould, and clothed in picturesque Eastern costume. Turning with quiet politeness to Foster, he asked him in broken French how he had come on board.
The youth explained in French quite as much broken as that of his interrogator.
"D'you speak English?" he added.
To this the captain replied in English, still more shattered than his French, that he could, "a ver' leetil," but that as he, (the youth), was a prisoner, there would be no occasion for speech at all, the proper attitude of a prisoner being that of absolute silence and obedience to orders.
"A prisoner!" ejaculated Foster, on recovering from the first shock of surprise. "Do you know that I am an officer in the Navy of his Majesty the King of Great Britain?"
A gleam of satisfaction lighted up the swarthy features of the Turk for a moment as he replied-- "Ver goot. Ransum all de more greater." As he spoke, a call from the look-out at the bow of the vessel induced him to hurry forward.
At the same instant a slight hissing sound caused Foster to turn to the steersman, whose black face was alive with intelligence, while an indescribable hitch up of his chin seemed to beckon the youth to approach with caution.
Foster perceived at once that the man wished his communication, whatever it was, to be unobserved by any one; he therefore moved towards him as if merely to glance at the compass.
"Massa," said the negro, without looking at Foster or changing a muscle of his now stolid visage, "you's in a dreffle fix. Dis yer am a pirit. But _I's_ not a pirit, bress you! I's wuss nor dat: I's a awrful hyperkrite! an' I wants to give you good adwice. Wotiver you doos, _don't resist_. You'll on'y git whacked if you do."
"Thank you, Sambo. But what if I do resist in spite of being whacked?"
"Den you bery soon change your mind, das all. Moreober, my name's not Sambo. It am Peter de Great."
As he said so Peter the Great drew himself up to his full height, and he drew himself up to six feet four when he did that!
The captain coming aft at that moment put an abrupt end to the conversation. Two powerful Moorish seamen accompanied him. These, without uttering a word, seized Foster by the arms. In the strength of his indignation our middy was on the point of commencing a tremendous struggle, when Peter the Great's "_don't resist_," and the emphasis with which it had been spoken, came to mind, and he suddenly gave in. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was led down into a small, dimly-lighted cabin, where, being permitted to sit down on a locker, he was left to his own reflections.
These were by no means agreeable, as may well be supposed, for he now knew that he had fallen into the hands of those pests, the Algerine pirates, who at that time infested the Mediterranean.
With the thoughtlessness of youth Foster had never troubled his mind much about the piratical city of Algiers. Of course he knew that it was a stronghold on the northern coast of Africa, inhabited by Moorish rascals, who, taking advantage of their position, issued from their port and pounced upon the merchantmen that entered the Mediterranean, confiscating their cargoes and enslaving their crews and passengers, or holding them to ransom. He also knew, or had heard, that some of the great maritime powers paid subsidies to the Dey of Algiers to allow the vessels of their respective nations to come and go unmolested, but he could scarcely credit the latter fact. It seemed to him, as indeed it was, preposterous. "For," said he to the brother middy who had given him the information, "would not the nations whom the Dey had the impudence to tax join their fleets together, pay him an afternoon visit one fine day, and blow him and his Moors and Turks and city into a heap of rubbish?"
What the middy replied we have now no means of knowing, but certain it is that his information was correct, for some of the principal nations did, at that time, submit to the degradation of this tax, and they did _not_ unite their fleets for the extinction of the pirates.
Poor George Foster now began to find out that the terrible truths which he had refused to believe were indeed great realities, and had now begun to affect himself. He experienced an awful sinking of the heart when it occurred to him that no one would ever know anything about his fate, for the little boat would be sure to be found bottom up, sooner or later, and it would of course be assumed that he had been drowned.
Shall it be said that the young midshipman was weak, or wanting in courage, because he bowed his head and wept when the full force of his condition came home to him? Nay, verily, for there was far more of grief for the prolonged agony that was in store for his mother and sister than for the fate that awaited himself. He prayed as well as wept. "God help me--and them!" he exclaimed aloud. The prayer was brief but sincere,--perhaps the more sincere because so brief. At all events it was that acknowledgment of utter helplessness which secures the help of the Almighty Arm.
Growing weary at last, he stretched himself on the locker, and, with the facility of robust health, fell into a sound sleep. Youth, strength, and health are not easily incommoded by wet garments! Besides, the weather was unusually warm at the time.
How long he slept he could not tell, but the sun was high when he awoke, and his clothes were quite dry. Other signs there were that he had slept long, such as the steadiness of the breeze and the more regular motion of the vessel, which showed that the gale was over and the sea going down. There was also a powerful sensation in what he styled his "bread-basket"--though it might, with equal truth, have been called his meat-and-vegetable basket--which told him more eloquently than anything else of the lapse of time.
Rising from his hard couch, and endeavouring to relieve the aching of the bound arms by change of position, he observed that the cabin hatch was open, and that nothing prevented his going on deck, if so disposed. Accordingly, he ascended, though with some difficulty, owing to his not having been trained to climb a ladder in a rough sea without the use of his hands.
A Moor, he observed, had taken his friend Peter the Great's place at the tiller, and the captain stood near the stern observing a passing vessel. A stiffish but steady breeze carried them swiftly over the waves, which, we might say, laughingly reflected the bright sunshine and the deep-blue sky. Several vessels of different rigs and nationalities were sailing in various directions, both near and far away.
Going straight to the captain with an air of good-humoured _sang froid_ which was peculiar to him, Foster said-- "Captain, don't you think I've had these bits of rope-yarn on my wrists long enough? I'm not used, you see, to walking the deck without the use of my hands; and a heavy lurch, as like as not, would send me slap into the lee scuppers--sailor though I be. Besides, I won't jump overboard without leave, you may rely upon that. Neither will I attempt, single-handed, to fight your whole crew, so you needn't be afraid."
The stern Moor evidently understood part of this speech, and he was so tickled with the last remark that his habitual gravity gave place to the faintest flicker of a smile, while a twinkle gleamed for a moment in his eye. Only for a moment, however. Pointing over the side, he bade his prisoner "look."
Foster looked, and beheld in the far distance a three-masted vessel that seemed to bear a strong resemblance to a British man-of-war.
"You promise," said the captain, "not shout or ro-ar."
"I promise," answered our middy, "neither to `Shout' nor `ro-ar'--for my doing either, even though like a bull of Bashan, would be of no earthly use at this distance."
"Inglesemans," said the captain, "niver brok the word!" After paying this scarcely-deserved compliment he gave an order to a sailor who was coiling up ropes near him, and the man at once proceeded to untie Foster's bonds.
"My good fellow," said the midshipman, observing that his liberator was the man whom he had knocked down the night before, "I'm sorry I had to floor you, but it was impossible to help it, you know. An Englishman is like a bull-dog. He won't suffer himself to be seized by the throat and choked if he can help it!"
The Turk, who was evidently a renegade Briton, made no reply whatever to this address; but, after casting the lashings loose, returned to his former occupation.
Foster proceeded to thank the captain for his courtesy and make him acquainted with the state of his appetite, but he was evidently not in a conversational frame of mind. Before a few words had been spoken the captain stopped him, and, pointing down the skylight, said, sharply-- "Brukfust! Go!"
Both look and tone admonished our hero to obey. He descended to the cabin, therefore, without finishing his sentence, and there discovered that "brukfust" consisted of two sea-biscuits and a mug of water. To these dainties he applied himself with infinite relish, for he had always been Spartan-like as to the quality of his food, and hunger makes almost any kind of dish agreeable.
While thus engaged he heard a hurried trampling of feet on deck, mingled with sharp orders from the captain. At first he thought the sounds might have reference to taking in a reef to prepare for a squall, but as the noise rather increased, his curiosity was roused, and he was about to return on deck when Peter the Great suddenly leaped into the cabin and took hurriedly from the opposite locker a brace of highly ornamented pistols and a scimitar.
"What's wrong, Peter?" asked Foster, starting up.
"We's a-goin' to fight!" groaned the negro.
"Oh! I's a awrful hyperkrite! You stop where you am, massa, else you'll get whacked."
Despite the risk of being "whacked," the youth would have followed the negro on deck, had not the hatch been slammed in his face and secured. Next moment he heard a volley of musketry on deck. It was instantly replied to by a distant volley, and immediately thereafter groans and curses showed that the firing had not been without effect.
That the pirate had engaged a vessel of some sort was evident, and our hero, being naturally anxious to see if not to share in the fight, tried hard to get out of his prison, but without success. He was obliged, therefore, to sit there inactive and listen to the wild confusion overhead. At last there came a crash, followed by fiercer shouts and cries. He knew that the vessels had met and that the pirates were boarding. In a few minutes comparative silence ensued, broken only by occasional footsteps and the groaning of the wounded.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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2
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AMONG PIRATES--ENSLAVED.
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When George Foster was again permitted to go on deck the sight that he beheld was not calculated to comfort him in his misfortunes.
Several Moorish seamen were going about with bared legs and arms, swishing water on the decks and swabbing up the blood, with which they were bespattered. Most of these men were more or less wounded and bandaged, for the crew of the merchantman they had attacked had offered a desperate resistance, knowing well the fate in store for them if captured.
The said merchantman, a large brig, sailed close alongside of the pirate vessel with a prize crew on board. Her own men, who were Russians, had been put in chains in the fore part of their vessel under the forecastle, so as to be out of sight. Her officers and several passengers had been removed to the pirate's quarter-deck. Among them were an old gentleman of dignified bearing, and an elderly lady who seemed to be supported, physically as well as mentally, by a tall, dark-complexioned, noble-looking girl, who was evidently the daughter of the old gentleman, though whether also the daughter of the elderly lady young Foster could not discover, there being little or no resemblance between them. The memory of his mother and sister strongly inclined the sympathetic midshipman to approach the party and offer words of consolation to the ladies. As he advanced to them for that purpose, a doubt as to which language he should use assailed him. French, he knew, was the language most likely to be understood, but a girl with such magnificent black eyes must certainly be Spanish! His knowledge of Spanish was about equal to that of an ill-trained parrot, but what of that? Was he not a Briton, whose chief characteristic is to go in for anything and stick at nothing?
We do not venture to write down what he said, but when he had said it the blank look of the elderly lady and the peculiar look of the girl induced him to repeat the speech in his broken--his very much broken-- French, whereupon the old gentleman turned to him gravely and said-- "My vife is Engleesh, an' my datter is Danish--no, not joost--vell, she is 'af-an'-'af. Speak to dem in your nattif tong." " _You_ are not English, anyhow, old boy," thought Foster, as he turned with a mingled feeling of confusion and recklessness to the elderly lady.
"Pardon me, madam," he said, "but from the appearance of--of--your--" He was interrupted at this point by the captain, who, flushed and blood-bespattered from the recent fight, came aft with a drawn scimitar in his hand, and sternly ordered the young midshipman to go forward.
It was a humiliating position to be placed in; yet, despite the "stick-at-nothing" spirit, he felt constrained to obey, but did so, nevertheless, with an air of defiant ferocity which relieved his feelings to some extent. The said feelings were utterly ignored by the pirate captain, who did not condescend even to look at him after the first glance, but turned to the other captives and ordered them, in rather less stern tones, to "go below," an order which was promptly obeyed.
On reaching the fore part of the vessel, Foster found several of the crew engaged in bandaging each other's wounds, and, from the clumsy way in which they went to work, it was very clear that they were much more accustomed to inflict wounds than to bandage them.
Now it must be told that, although George Foster was not a surgeon, he had an elder brother who was, and with whom he had associated constantly while he was studying and practising for his degree; hence he became acquainted with many useful facts and modes of action connected with the healing art, of which the world at large is ignorant. Perceiving that one of the pirates was bungling a very simple operation, he stepped forward, and, with that assurance which results naturally from the combination of conscious power and "cheek," took up the dressing of the wound.
At first the men seemed inclined to resent the interference, but when they saw that the "Christian" knew what he was about, and observed how well and swiftly he did the work, they stood aside and calmly submitted.
Foster was interrupted, however, in the midst of his philanthropic work by Peter the Great, who came forward and touched him on the shoulder.
"Sorry to 't'rupt you, sar, but you come wid me."
"Mayn't I finish this operation first?" said Foster, looking up.
"No, sar. My orders is prumptory."
Our amateur surgeon dropped the bandage indignantly and followed the negro, who led him down into the hold, at the further and dark end of which he saw several wounded men lying, and beside them one or two whose motionless and straightened figures seemed to indicate that death had relieved them from earthly troubles.
Amongst these men he spent the night and all next day, with only a couple of biscuits and a mug of water to sustain him. Next evening Peter the Great came down and bade him follow him to the other end of the hold.
"Now, sar, you go in dere," said the negro, stopping and pointing to a small door in the bulkhead, inside of which was profound darkness.
Foster hesitated and looked at his big conductor. " 'Bey orders, sar!" said the negro, in a loud, stern voice of command. Then, stooping as if to open the little door, he added, in a low voice, "Don' be a fool, massa. _Submit_! Das de word, if you don' want a whackin'. It's a friend advises you. Dere's one oder prisoner dere, but he's wounded, an' won't hurt you. _Go_ in! won't you?"
Peter the Great accompanied the last words with a violent thrust that sent the hapless middy headlong into the dark hole, but as he closed and fastened the door he muttered, "Don' mind my leetle ways, massa. You know I's bound to be a hyperkrite."
Having thus relieved his conscience, Peter returned to the deck, leaving the poor prisoner to rise and, as a first consequence, to hit his head on the beams above him.
The hole into which he had been thrust was truly a "black hole," though neither so hot nor so deadly as that of Calcutta. Extending his arms cautiously, he touched the side of the ship with his left hand; with the other he felt about for some time, but reached nothing until he had advanced a step, when his foot touched something on the floor, and he bent down to feel it, but shrank hastily back on touching what he perceived at once was a human form.
"Pardon me, friend, whoever you are," he said quickly, "I did not mean to--I did not know--are you badly hurt?"
But no reply came from the wounded man--not even a groan.
A vague suspicion crossed Foster's mind. The man might be dying of his wounds. He spoke to him again in French and Spanish, but still got no reply! Then he listened intently for his breathing, but all was as silent as the tomb. With an irresistible impulse, yet instinctive shudder, he laid his hand on the man and passed it up until it reached the face. The silence was then explained. The face was growing cold and rigid in death.
Drawing back hastily, the poor youth shouted to those outside to let them know what had occurred, but no one paid the least attention to him. He was about to renew his cries more loudly, when the thought occurred that perhaps they might attribute them to fear. This kept him quiet, and he made up his mind to endure in silence.
If there had been a ray of light, however feeble, in the hold, he thought his condition would have been more bearable, for then he could have faced the lifeless clay and looked at it; but to know that it was there, within a foot of him, without his being able to see it, or to form any idea of what it was like, made the case terrible indeed. Of course he drew back from it as far as the little space allowed, and crushed himself up against the side of the vessel; but that did no good, for the idea occurred to his excited brain that it might possibly come to life again, rise up, and plunge against him. At times this thought took such possession of him that he threw up his arms to defend himself from attack, and uttered a half-suppressed cry of terror.
At last nature asserted herself, and he slept, sitting on the floor and leaning partly against the vessel's side, partly against the bulkhead. But horrible dreams disturbed him. The corpse became visible, the eyes glared at him, the blood-stained face worked convulsively, and he awoke with a shriek, followed immediately by a sigh of relief on finding that it was all a dream. Then the horror came again, as he suddenly remembered that the dead man was still there, a terrible reality!
At last pure exhaustion threw him into a dreamless and profound slumber. The plunging of the little craft as it flew southward before a stiff breeze did not disturb him, and he did not awake until some one rudely seized his arm late on the following day. Then, in the firm belief that his dream had come true at last, he uttered a tremendous yell and struggled to rise, but a powerful hand held him down, and a dark lantern revealed a coal-black face gazing at him.
"Hallo! massa, hold on. I did tink you mus' be gone dead, for I holler'd in at you 'nuff to bust de kittle-drum ob your ear--if you hab one!"
"Look there, Peter," said Foster, pointing to the recumbent figure, while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Ah! poor feller. He gone de way ob all flesh; but he hoed sooner dan dere was any occasion for--tanks to de captain."
As he spoke he held the lantern over the dead man and revealed the face of a youth in Eastern garb, on whose head there was a terrible sword-cut. As they looked at the sad spectacle, and endeavoured to arrange the corpse, the negro explained that the poor fellow had been a Greek captive who to save his life had joined the pirates and become a Mussulman; but, on thinking over it, had returned to the Christian faith and refused to take part in the bloody work which they were required to do. It was his refusal to fight on the occasion of the recent attack on the merchantman that had induced the captain to cut him down. He had been put into the prison in the hold, and carelessly left there to bleed to death.
"Now, you come along, massa," said the negro, taking up the lantern, "we's all goin' on shore."
"On shore! Where have we got to?"
"To Algiers, de city ob pirits; de hotbed ob wickedness; de home ob de Moors an' Turks an' Cabyles, and de cuss ob de whole wurld."
Poor Foster's heart sank on hearing this, for he had heard of the hopeless slavery to which thousands of Christians had been consigned there in time past, and his recent experience of Moors had not tended to improve his opinion of them.
A feeling of despair impelled him to seize the negro by the arm as he was about to ascend the ladder and stop him.
"Peter," he said, "I think you have a friendly feeling towards me, because you've called me massa more than once, though you have no occasion to do so."
"Dat's 'cause I'm fond o' you. I always was fond o' a nice smood young babby face, an' I tooked a fancy to you de moment I see you knock Joe Spinks into de lee scuppers."
"So--he was an Englishman that I treated so badly, eh?"
"Yes, massa, on'y you didn't treat him bad 'nuff. But you obsarve dat I on'y calls you massa w'en we's alone an' friendly like. W'en we's in public I calls you `sar' an' speak gruff an' shove you into black holes."
"And why do you act so, Peter?" " 'Cause, don't you see, I's a hyperkrite. I tole you dat before."
"Well, I can guess what you mean. You don't want to appear too friendly? Just so. Well, now, I have got nobody to take my part here, so as you are a free man I wish you would keep an eye on me when we go ashore, and see where they send me, and speak a word for me when it is in your power. You see, they'll give me up for drowned at home and never find out that I'm here." " `A free man!'" repeated the negro, with an expansion of his mouth that is indescribable. "You tink I's a free man! but I's a slabe, same as yourself, on'y de diff'rence am dat dere's nobody to ransum _me_, so dey don't boder deir heads 'bout me s'long as I do my work. If I don't do my work I'm whacked; if I rebel and kick up a shindy I'm whacked wuss; if I tries to run away I'm whacked till I'm dead. Das all. But I's not free. No, no not at all! Hows'ever I's free-an'-easy, an' dat make de pirits fond o' me, which goes a long way, for dere's nuffin' like lub!"
Foster heartily agreed with the latter sentiment and added-- "Well, now, Peter, I will say no more, for as you profess to be fond of me, and as I can truly say the same in regard to you, we may be sure that each will help the other if he gets the chance. But, tell me, are you really one of the crew of this pirate vessel?"
"No, massa, only for dis viage. I b'longs to a old sinner called Hassan, what libs in de country, not far from de town. He not a bad feller, but he's obs'nit--oh! as obs'nit as a deaf an' dumb mule. If you want 'im to go one way just tell him to go toder way--an' you've got 'im."
At that moment the captain's voice was heard shouting down the hatchway, demanding to know what detained the negro and his prisoners. He spoke in that jumble of languages in use at that time among the Mediterranean nations called Lingua Franca, for the negro did not understand Arabic.
"Comin', captain, comin'," cried the negro, in his own peculiar English--which was, indeed, his mother tongue, for he had been born in the United States of America. "Now, den, sar," (to Foster), "w'en you goin' to move you stumps? Up wid you!"
Peter emphasised his orders with a real kick, which expedited his prisoner's ascent, and, at the same time, justified the negro's claim to be a thorough-paced "hyperkrite!"
"Where's the other one?" demanded the captain angrily.
"Escaped, captain!" answered Peter.
"How? You must have helped him," cried the captain, drawing his ever-ready sword and pointing it at the breast of the negro, who fell upon his knees, clasped his great hands, and rolled his eyes in an apparent agony of terror.
"Don't, captain. I isn't wuth killin', an' w'en I's gone, who'd cook for you like me? De man escaped by jumpin' out ob his body. He's gone dead!"
"Fool!" muttered the pirate, returning his sword to its sheath, "bind that prisoner, and have him and the others ready to go on shore directly."
In a few seconds all the prisoners were ranged between the cabin hatchway and the mast. The hands of most of the men were loosely tied, to prevent trouble in case desperation should impel any of them to assault their captors, but the old Dane and the women were left unfettered.
And now George Foster beheld, for the first time, the celebrated city, which was, at that period, the terror of the merchant vessels of all nations that had dealings with the Mediterranean shores. A small pier and breakwater enclosed a harbour which was crowded with boats and shipping. From this harbour the town rose abruptly on the side of a steep hill, and was surrounded by walls of great strength, which bristled with cannon. The houses were small and square-looking, and in the midst, here and there, clusters of date-palms told of the almost tropical character of the climate, while numerous domes, minarets, and crescents told of the Moor and the religion of Mohammed.
But religion in its true sense had little footing in that piratical city, which subsisted on robbery and violence, while cruelty and injustice of the grossest kind were rampant. Whatever Islamism may have taught them, it did not produce men or women who held the golden rule to be a virtue, and certainly few practised it. Yet we would not be understood to mean that there were none who did so. As there were Christians in days of old, even in Caesar's household, so there existed men and women who were distinguished by the Christian graces, even in the Pirate City. Even there God had not left Himself without a witness.
As the vessel slowly entered the harbour under a very light breeze, she was boarded by several stately officers in the picturesque costume-- turbans, red leathern boots, etcetera--peculiar to the country. After speaking a few minutes with the captain, one of the officers politely addressed the old Dane and his family through an interpreter; but as they spoke in subdued tones Foster could not make out what was said. Soon he was interrupted by a harsh order from an unknown Moor in an unknown tongue.
An angry order invariably raised in our hero the spirit of rebellion. He flushed and turned a fierce look on the Moor, but that haughty and grave individual was accustomed to such looks. He merely repeated his order in a quiet voice, at the same time translating it by pointing to the boat alongside. Foster felt that discretion was the better part of valour, all the more that there stood at the Moor's back five or six powerful Arabs, who seemed quite ready to enforce his instructions.
The poor middy glanced round to see if his only friend, Peter the Great, was visible, but he was not; so, with a flushed countenance at thus being compelled to put his pride in his pocket, he jumped into the boat, not caring very much whether he should break his neck by doing so with tied hands, or fall into the sea and end his life in a shark's maw!
In a few minutes he was landed on the mole or pier, and made to join a band of captives, apparently from many nations, who already stood waiting there.
Immediately afterwards the band was ordered to move on, and as they marched through the great gateway in the massive walls Foster felt as if he were entering the portals of Dante's Inferno, and had left all hope behind. But his feelings misled him. Hope, thank God! is not easily extinguished in the human breast. As he tramped along the narrow and winding streets, which seemed to him an absolute labyrinth, he began to take interest in the curious sights and sounds that greeted him on every side, and his mind was thus a little taken off himself.
And there was indeed much there to interest a youth who had never seen Eastern manners or customs before. Narrow and steep though the streets were--in some cases so steep that they formed flights of what may be styled broad and shallow stairs--they were crowded with bronzed men in varied Eastern costume; Moors in fez and gay vest and red morocco slippers; Turks with turban and pipe; Cabyles from the mountains; Arabs from the plains; water-carriers with jar on shoulder; Jews in sombre robes; Jewesses with rich shawls and silk kerchiefs as headgear; donkeys with panniers that almost blocked the way; camels, and veiled women, and many other strange sights that our hero had up to that time only seen in picture-books.
Presently the band of captives halted before a small door which was thickly studded with large nails. It seemed to form the only opening in a high dead wall, with the exception of two holes about a foot square, which served as windows. This was the Bagnio, or prison, in which the slaves were put each evening after the day's labour was over, there to feed and rest on the stone floor until daylight should call them forth again to renewed toil. It was a gloomy courtyard, with cells around it in which the captives slept. A fountain in the middle kept the floor damp and seemed to prove an attraction to various centipedes, scorpions, and other noisome creatures which were crawling about.
Here the captives just arrived had their bonds removed, and were left to their own devices, each having received two rolls of black bread before the jailor retired and locked them up for the night.
Taking possession of an empty cell, George Foster sat down on the stone floor and gazed at the wretched creatures around him, many of whom were devouring their black bread with ravenous haste. The poor youth could hardly believe his eyes, and it was some time before he could convince himself that the whole thing was not a dream but a terrible reality.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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3
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THE BAGNIO--OUR HERO SEES SOMETHING OF MISERY, AND IS SOLD AS A SLAVE.
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There are some things in this world so unbelievable that even when we know them to be true we still remain in a state of semi-scepticism.
When our unfortunate midshipman awoke next morning, raised himself on his elbow, and felt that all his bones and muscles were stiff and pained from lying on a stone floor, it was some time before he could make out where he was, or recall the events of the last few days. The first thing that revived his sluggish memory was the scuttling away, in anxious haste, of a scorpion that had sought and found comfortable quarters during the night under the lee of his right leg. Starting up, he crushed the reptile with his foot.
"You will get used to that," said a quietly sarcastic voice with a slightly foreign accent, close to him.
The speaker was a middle-aged man with grey hair, hollow cheeks, and deep sunken eyes.
"They trouble us a little at first," he continued, "but, as I have said, we get used to them. It is long since I cared for scorpions."
"Have you, then, been long here?" asked Foster.
"Yes. Twelve years."
"A prisoner? --a slave?" asked the midshipman anxiously.
"A prisoner, yes. A slave, yes--a mummified man; a dead thing with life enough to work, but not yet quite a brute, more's the pity, for then I should not care! But here I have been for twelve years--long, long years! It has seemed to me an eternity."
"It _is_ a long time to be a slave. God help you, poor man!" exclaimed Foster.
"You will have to offer that prayer for yourself, young man," returned the other; "you will need help more than I. At first we are fools, but time makes us wise. It even teaches Englishmen that they are not unconquerable."
The man spoke pointedly and in a harsh sarcastic tone which tended to check Foster's new-born compassion; nevertheless, he continued to address his fellow-sufferer in a sympathetic spirit.
"You are not an Englishman, I think," he said, "though you speak our language well."
"No, I am French, but my wife is English."
"Your wife! Is she here also?"
"Thank God--no," replied the Frenchman, with a sudden burst of seriousness which was evidently genuine. "She is in England, trying to make up the sum of my ransom. But she will never do it. She is poor. She has her daughter to provide for besides herself, and we have no friends. No, I have hoped for twelve years, and hope is now dead-- nearly dead."
The overwhelming thoughts that this information raised in Foster's mind rendered him silent for a few minutes. The idea of the poor wife in England, toiling for twelve years almost hopelessly to ransom her husband, filled his susceptible heart with pity. Then the thought of his mother and Minnie--who were also poor--toiling for years to procure his ransom, filled him with oppressive dread. To throw the depressing subject off his mind, he asked how the Frenchman had guessed that he was an Englishman before he had heard him speak.
"I know your countrymen," he answered, "by their bearing. Besides, you have been muttering in your sleep about `Mother and Minnie.' If the latter is, as I suppose, your sweetheart--your _fiancee_--the sooner you get her out of your mind the better, for you will never see her more."
Again Foster felt repelled by the harsh cynicism of the man, yet at the same time he felt strangely attracted to him, a fact which he showed more by his tones than his words when he said-- "My friend, you are not yet enrolled among the infallible prophets. Whether I shall ever again see those whom I love depends upon the will of God. But I don't wonder that with your sad experience you should give way to despair. For myself, I will cling to the hope that God will deliver me, and I would advise you to do the same."
"How many I have seen, who had the sanguine temperament, like yours, awakened and crushed," returned the Frenchman. "See, there is one of them," he added, pointing to a cell nearly opposite, in which a form was seen lying on its back, straight and motionless. "That young man was such another as you are when he first came here."
"Is he dead?" asked the midshipman, with a look of pity.
"Yes--he died in the night while you slept. It was attending to him in his last moments that kept me awake. He was nothing to me but a fellow-slave and sufferer, but I _was_ fond of him. He was hard to conquer, but they managed it at last, for they beat him to death."
"Then they did _not_ conquer him," exclaimed Foster with a gush of indignant pity. "To beat a man to death is to murder, not to conquer. But you called him a young man. The corpse that lies there has thin grey hair and a wrinkled brow."
"Nevertheless he was young--not more than twenty-seven--but six years of this life brought him to what you see. He might have lived longer, as I have, had he been submissive!"
Before Foster could reply, the grating of a rusty key in the door caused a movement as well as one or two sighs and groans among the slaves, for the keepers had come to summon them to work. The Frenchman rose and followed the others with a hook of sullen indifference. Most of them were without fetters, but a few strong young men wore chains and fetters more or less heavy, and Foster judged from this circumstance, as well as their expressions, that these were rebellious subjects whom it was difficult to tame.
Much to his surprise, the youth found that he was not called on to join his comrades in misfortune, but was left behind in solitude. While casting about in his mind as to what this could mean, he observed in a corner the two rolls of black bread which he had received the previous night, and which, not being hungry at the time, he had neglected. As a healthy appetite was by that time obtruding itself on his attention, he took hold of one and began to eat. It was not attractive, but, not being particular, he consumed it. He even took up the other and ate that also, after which he sighed and wished for more! As there was no more to be had, he went to the fountain in the court and washed his breakfast down with water.
About two hours later the door was again opened, and a man in the uniform of a janissary entered. Fixing a keen glance on the young captive, he bade him in broken English rise and follow.
By this time the lesson of submission had been sufficiently impressed on our hero to induce him to accord prompt obedience. He followed his guide into the street, where he walked along until they arrived at a square, on one side of which stood a large mosque. Here marketing was being carried on to a considerable extent, and, as he threaded his way through the various groups, he could not help being impressed with the extreme simplicity of the mode of procedure, for it seemed to him that all a man wanted to enable him to set himself up in trade was a few articles of any kind--old or new, it did not matter which--with a day's lease of about four feet square of the market pavement. There the retail trader squatted, smoked his pipe, and calmly awaited the decrees of Fate!
One of these small traders he noted particularly while his conductor stopped to converse with a friend. He was an old man, evidently a descendant of Ishmael, and clothed in what seemed to be a ragged cast-off suit that had belonged to Abraham or Isaac. He carried his shop on his arm in the shape of a basket, out of which he took a little bit of carpet, and spread it close to where they stood. On this he sat down and slowly extracted from his basket, and spread on the ground before him, a couple of old locks, several knives, an old brass candlestick, an assortment of rusty keys, a flat-iron, and half a dozen other articles of household furniture. Before any purchases were made, however, the janissary moved on, and Foster had to follow.
Passing through two or three tortuous and narrow lanes, which, however, were thickly studded with shops--that is, with holes in the wall, in which merchandise was displayed outside as well as in--they came to a door which was strictly guarded. Passing the guards, they found themselves in a court, beyond which they could see another court which looked like a hall of justice--or injustice, as the case might be. What strengthened Foster in the belief that such was its character, was the fact that, at the time they entered, an officer was sitting cross-legged on a bench, smoking comfortably, while in front of him a man lay on his face with his soles turned upwards, whilst an executioner was applying to them the punishment of the bastinado. The culprit could not have been a great offender, for, after a sharp yell or two, he was allowed to rise and limp away.
Our hero was led before the functionary who looked like a judge. He regarded the middy with no favour. We should have recorded that Foster, when blown out to sea, as already described, had leaped on the pirate's deck without coat or vest. As he was still in this dismantled condition, and had neither been washed nor combed since that event occurred, his appearance at this time was not prepossessing.
"Who are you, and where do you come from?" was the first question put by an interpreter.
Of course Foster told the exact truth about himself. After he had done so, the judge and interpreter consulted together, glancing darkly at their prisoner the while. Then the judge smiled significantly and nodded his head. The interpreter turned to a couple of negroes who stood ready to execute any commands, apparently, and said a few words to them. They at once took hold of Foster and fastened a rope to his wrist. As they did so, the interpreter turned to the poor youth and said-- "What you tell is all lies."
"Indeed, indeed, it is not," exclaimed the midshipman fervently.
"Go!" said the interpreter.
A twitch from the rope at the same moment recalled our hero to his right mind; and the remembrance of the poor wretch who had just suffered the bastinado, and also of Peter the Great's oft-repeated reference to "whacking," had the effect of crushing the spirit of rebellion which had just begun to arise in his breast. Thus he was conducted ignominiously into the street and back to the market-square, where he was made to stand with a number of other men, who, like himself, appeared to be slaves. For what they were there waiting he could not tell, but he was soon enlightened, as after half an hour, a dignified-looking Moor in flowing apparel came forward, examined one of the captives, felt his muscles, made him open his mouth, and otherwise show his paces, after which he paid a sum of money for him and a negro attendant led him away.
"I'm to be sold as a slave," Foster involuntarily groaned aloud.
"Like all the rest of us," growled a stout sailor-like man, who stood at his elbow.
Foster turned quickly to look at him, but a sudden movement in the group separated them after the first glance at each other.
By way of relieving his overcharged feelings he tried to interest himself in the passers-by. This, however, he found very difficult, until he observed a sturdy young Cabyle coming along with two enormous feathery bundles suspended over his right shoulder, one hanging before, the other behind. To his surprise these bundles turned out to be living fowls, tied by the legs and hanging with their heads down. There could not, he thought, have been fewer than thirty or forty birds in each bundle, and it occurred to him at once that they had probably been carried to market thus from some distance in the country. At all events, the young Cabyle seemed to be dusty and warm with walking. He even seemed fatigued, for, when about to pass the group of slaves, he stopped to rest and flung down his load. The shock of the fall must have snapped a number of legs, for a tremendous cackle burst from the bundles as they struck the ground.
This raised the thought in Foster's mind that he could hope for no mercy where such wanton cruelty was not even deemed worthy of notice by the bystanders; but the sound of a familiar voice put all other thoughts to flight.
"Dis way, massa, you's sure to git fuss-rate fellers here. We brought 'im in on'y yesterday--all fresh like new-laid eggs."
The speaker was Peter the Great. The man to whom he spoke was a Moor of tall stature and of somewhat advanced years.
Delighted more than he could express, in his degraded and forlorn condition, at this unlooked-for meeting with his black friend, Foster was about to claim acquaintance, when the negro advanced to the group among whom he stood, exclaiming loudly-- "Here dey am, massa, dis way." Then turning suddenly on Foster with a fierce expression, he shouted, "What you lookin' at, you babby-faced ijit? Hab you nebber seen a handsome nigger before dat you look all t'under-struck of a heap? Can't you hold your tongue, you chatterin' monkey?" and with that, although Foster had not uttered a syllable, the negro fetched him a sounding smack on the cheek, to the great amusement of the bystanders.
Well was it then for our middy that it flashed into his mind that Peter the Great, being the most astounding "hyperkrite" on earth, was at work in his deceptive way, else would he have certainly retaliated and brought on himself swift punishment--for slaves were not permitted to resent injuries or create riots. As it was, he cast down his eyes, flushed scarlet, and restrained himself.
"Now, massa," continued the negro, turning to the fine, sailor-like man who had spoken to Foster a few minutes before, "here's a nice-lookin' man. Strong an' healfy--fit for anyt'ing no doubt."
"Ask him if he understands gardening," said the Moor.
We may remark, in passing, that Peter the Great and his owner had a peculiar mode of carrying on conversation. The latter addressed his slave in the Lingua Franca, while Peter replied in his own nigger English, which the Moor appeared to understand perfectly. Why they carried it on thus we cannot explain, but it is our duty to record the fact.
"Understand gardening!" exclaimed the sailor, in supreme contempt, "I should think not. Wot d'you take me for, you black baboon! Do I look like a gardener? Ploughin' an' diggin' I knows nothin' about wotsomever, though I _have_ ploughed the waves many a day, an' I'm considered a fust-rate hand at diggin' into wittles."
"Oh! massa, das de man for your money! Buy him, quick!" cried the negro, with a look of earnest entreaty at his master. "He say he's ploughed many a day, an''s a fuss-rate hand at diggin'. _Do_ buy 'im!"
But the Moor would not buy him. Either he understood the sailor's language to some extent, or that inveterate obstinacy of which Peter had made mention as being part of his character was beginning to assert itself.
"Ask this one what he knows about it," said the Moor, pointing to a thin young man, whose sprightly expression showed that he had not yet fully realised what fate was in store for him in the pirates' stronghold.
"Wich is it you mean, massa, dis one?" said Peter, purposely mistaking and turning to Foster. "Oh! you needn't ask about _him_. He not wuff his salt. I could tell him at a mile off for a lazy, useless feller. Gib more trouble dan he's wuff. Dere now, dis looks a far better man," he added, laying hold of the thin sprightly youth and turning him round. "What d'ye t'ink ob dis one?"
"I _told_ you to ask that one," replied the Moor sharply.
"Can you do gardenin', you feller?" asked Peter.
"Oui, oui--un peu," replied the youth, who happened to be French, but understood English.
"None ob your wee-wees an' poo-poos to me. Can't you speak English?"
"Oui, yes, I gardin ver' leetle."
"Jus' so. Das de man for us, massa, if you won't hab de oder. I likes de look ob 'im. I don't t'ink he'll be hard on de wittles, an' he's so t'in dat he won't puspire much when he works in de sun in summer. Do buy _him_, massa."
But "massa" would not buy him, and looked hard for some time at our hero.
"I see how it am," said the negro, growing sulky. "You set your heart on dat useless ijit. Do come away, massa, it 'ud break my heart to lib wid sich a feller."
This seemed to clinch the matter, for the Moor purchased the objectionable slave, ordered Peter the Great to bring him along, and left the market-place.
"Didn't I tell you I's de greatest hyperkrite as ever was born?" said Peter, in a low voice, when sufficiently far in rear to prevent being overheard by his master.
"You certainly did," replied Foster, who felt something almost like satisfaction at this change in his fate; "you are the most perfect hypocrite that I ever came across, and I am not sorry for it. Only I hope you won't deceive your friends."
"Honour bright!" said the negro, with a roll of the eyes and a solemnity of expression that told far more than words could express.
"Can you tell me," asked the middy, as they walked along, "what has become of that fine-looking girl that was captured with her father and mother by your captain?"
"Don't say _my_ captain, sar," replied Peter sternly. "He no captain ob mine. I was on'y loaned to him. But I knows nuffin ob de gall. Bery likely she's de Dey's forty-second wife by dis time. Hush! look sulky," he added quickly, observing that his master was looking back.
Poor Foster found himself under the necessity of following his black friend's lead, and acting the "hyperkrite," in order to prevent their friendship being discovered. He did it with a bad grace, it is true, but felt that, for his friend's sake if not his own, he was bound to comply. So he put on an expression which his cheery face had not known since that period of infancy when his frequent demands for sugar were not gratified. Wheels worked within wheels, however, for he felt so disgusted with the part he had to play that he got into the sulks naturally!
"Fuss-rate!" whispered Peter, "you's a'most as good as myself."
By this time they had reached one of the eastern gates of the city. It was named Bab-Azoun. As they passed through it the negro told his brother-slave that the large iron hooks which ornamented the wall there were used for the purpose of having criminals cast on them; the wretched victims being left to hang there, by whatever parts of their bodies chanced to catch on the hooks, till they died.
Having reached the open country outside the walls, they walked along a beautiful road, from which were obtained here and there splendid views of the surrounding country. On one side lay the blue Mediterranean, with its picturesque boats and shipping, and the white city descending to the very edge of the sea; on the other side rose the wooded slopes of a suburb named Mustapha, with numerous white Moorish houses in the midst of luxuriant gardens, where palms, bananas, cypresses, aloes, lemon-trees, and orange groves perfumed the balmy air, and afforded grateful shade from the glare of the African sun.
Into one of those gardens the Moor at last turned and led the way to a house, which, if not in itself beautiful according to European notions of architecture, was at least rendered cheerful with whitewash, and stood in the midst of a beauty and luxuriance of vegetation that could not be surpassed.
Opening a door in this building, the Turk entered. His slaves followed, and Foster, to his surprise, found what may be styled a miniature garden in the courtyard within.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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4
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OUR MIDDY IS PUT TO WORK--ALSO PUT ON HIS "WORD-OF-HONOUR," AND RECEIVES
A GREAT SHOCK OF SURPRISE.
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George Foster soon found that his master and owner, Ben-Ahmed, was a stern and exacting, but by no means an ill-natured or cruel, man. He appeared to be considerably over sixty years of age, but showed no signs of abated vigour. In character he was amiable and just, according to his light, but dignified and reticent.
His first act, after seating himself cross-legged on a carpet in a marble and tessellated recess, was to call for a hookah. He smoked that for a few minutes and contemplated the courtyard on which the recess opened. It was a pleasant object of contemplation, being filled with young orange-trees and creeping plants of a tropical kind, which were watered by a stone fountain in the centre of the court. This fountain also served to replenish a marble bath, to cool the sultry air, and to make pleasant tinkling music. Of course the nose was not forgotten in this luxurious assemblage of things that were gratifying to ear and eye. Flowers of many kinds were scattered around, and sweet-scented plants perfumed the air.
Ben-Ahmed's next act, after having lighted his pipe, was to summon Peter the Great and his new slave--the former to act as interpreter, for it was a peculiarity of this Moor that though he appeared to understand English he would not condescend to speak it.
After asking several questions as to our hero's name, age, and calling in life, he told Peter to inform Foster that escape from that country was impossible, that any attempt to escape would be punished with flogging and other torture, that perseverance in such attempts would result in his being sent to work in chains with the Bagnio slaves and would probably end in death from excessive toil, torture, and partial starvation. Having said this, the Moor asked several questions--through the negro, and always in the Lingua Franca.
"Massa bids me ax," said Peter, "if you are a gentleman, an' if you know it am de custom in England for gentleman-pris'ners to give dere word-ob-honour dat dey not run away, an' den go about as if dey was free?"
"Tell him that every officer in the service of the King of England is considered a gentleman."
"Come now, sar," interrupted Peter sternly, "you know das not true. I bin in England myself--cook to a French rest'rung in London--an' I nebber hear dat a _pleece_ officer was a gentleman!"
"Well, I mean every commissioned officer in the army and navy," returned Foster, "and when such are taken prisoner I am aware that they are always allowed a certain amount of freedom of action on giving their word of honour that they will not attempt to escape."
When this was explained to Ben-Ahmed, he again said a few words to the negro, who translated as before.
"Massa say dat as you are a gentleman if you will gib your word-ob-honour not to escape, he will make you free. Not kite free, ob course, but free to work in de gardin widout chains; free to sleep in de out-house widout bein' locked up ob nights, an' free to enjoy you'self w'en you gits de chance."
Foster looked keenly at the negro, being uncertain whether or not he was jesting, but the solemn features of that arch "hyperkrite" were no index to the working of his eccentric mind--save when he permitted them to speak; then, indeed, they were almost more intelligible than the plainest language.
"And what if I refuse to pledge my word for the sake of such freedom?" asked our hero.
"W'y, den you'll git whacked, an' you'll 'sperience uncommon hard times, an' you'll change you mind bery soon, so I t'ink, on de whole, you better change 'im at once. Seems to me you's a remarkably obs'nit young feller!"
With a sad feeling that he was doing something equivalent to locking the door and throwing away the key, Foster gave the required promise, and was forthwith conducted into the garden and set to work.
His dark friend supplied him with a new striped cotton shirt--his own having been severely torn during his recent adventures--also with a pair of canvas trousers, a linen jacket, and a straw hat with a broad rim; all of which fitted him badly, and might have caused him some discomfort in other circumstances, but he was too much depressed just then to care much for anything. His duty that day consisted in digging up a piece of waste ground. To relieve his mind, he set to work with tremendous energy, insomuch that Peter the Great, who was looking on, exclaimed-- "Hi! what a digger you is! You'll bust up altogidder if you goes on like dat. De moles is nuffin' to you."
But Foster heeded not. The thought that he was now doomed to hopeless slavery, perhaps for life, was pressed home to him more powerfully than ever, and he felt that if he was to save himself from going mad he must work with his muscles like a tiger, and, if possible, cease to think. Accordingly, he went on toiling till the perspiration ran down his face, and all his sinews were strained.
"Poor boy!" muttered the negro in a low tone, "he's tryin' to dig his own grave. But he not succeed. Many a man try dat before now and failed. Howsomeber, it's blowin' a hard gale wid him just now--an' de harder it blow de sooner it's ober. Arter de storm comes de calm."
With these philosophic reflections, Peter the Great went off to his own work, leaving our hero turning over the soil like a steam-plough.
Strong though Foster was--both of muscle and will--he was but human after all. In course of time he stopped from sheer exhaustion, flung down the spade, and, raising himself with his hands stretched up and his face turned to the sky, he cried-- "God help me! what shall I do?"
Then, dropping his face on his hands, he stood for a considerable time quite motionless.
"What a fool I was to promise not to try to escape!" he thought, and a feeling of despair followed the thought, but a certain touch of relief came when he reflected that at any time he could go boldly to his master, withdraw the promise, and take the consequences.
He was still standing like a statue, with his hands covering his face, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was the negro who had returned to see how he was getting on.
"Look yar, now, Geo'ge," he said in quite a fatherly manner, "dis'll neber do. My massa buy you to work in de gardin, not to stand like a statoo washin' its face widout soap or water. We don't want no more statoos. Got more'n enuff ob marble ones all around. Besides, you don't make a good statoo--leastwise not wid dem slop clo'es on. Now, come yar, Geo'ge. I wants a little combersation wid you. I'll preach you a small sarmin if you'll allow me."
So saying, Peter led his assistant slave into a cool arbour, where Ben-Ahmed was wont at times to soothe his spirits with a pipe.
"Now, look yar, Geo'ge, dis won't do. I say it once and for all--dis _won't do_."
"I know it won't, Peter," replied the almost heart-broken middy, with a sad smile, "you're very kind. I know you take an interest in me, and I'll try to do better, but I'm not used to spade-work, you know, and--" "Spade-work!" shouted Peter, laying his huge black hand on Foster's shoulder, and giving him a squeeze that made him wince, "das not what I mean. Work! w'y you's done more'n a day's work in one hour, judging by de work ob or'nary slabes. No, das not it. What's wrong is dat you don't rightly understand your priv'leges. Das de word, your priv'leges. Now, look yar. I don't want you to break your heart before de time, an' fur dat purpus I would remind you dat while dar's life dar's hope. Moreober, you's got no notion what luck you're in. If a bad massa got hold ob you, he gib you no noo clo'es, he gib you hard, black bread 'stead o' de good grub what you gits yar. He make you work widout stoppin' all day, and whack you on de sole ob your foots if you dar say one word. Was you eber whacked on de sole ob your foots?"
"No, never," replied Foster, amused in spite of himself by the negro's earnest looks and manner.
"Ho! den you don't know yet what Paradise am."
"Paradise, Peter? You mean the other place, I suppose."
"No, sar, I mean not'ing ob de sort. I mean de Paradise what comes arter it's ober, an' you 'gins to git well again. Hah! but you'll find it out some day. But, to continoo, you's got eberyt'ing what's comfrable here. If you on'y sawd de Bagnio slabes at work--I'll take you to see 'em some day--den you'll be content an' pleased wid your lot till de time comes when you escape."
"Escape! How can I escape, Peter, now that I have given my word of honour not to try?"
"Not'ing easier," replied the negro calmly, "you's on'y got to break your word-ob-honour!"
"I'm sorry to hear you say that, my friend," returned Foster, "for it shakes my confidence in you. You must know that an English gentleman _never_ breaks his word--that is, he never _should_ break it--and you may rest assured that I will not break mine. If your view of such matters is so loose, Peter, what security have I that you won't deceive _me_ and betray _me_ when it is your interest or your whim to do so?"
"Security, Massa? I lub you! I's fond o' your smood babby face. Isn't dat security enough?"
Foster could not help admitting that it was, as long as it lasted! "But what," he asked, "what security has Ben-Ahmed that you won't be as false to him as you recommend me to be?"
"I lub massa too!" answered the negro, with a bland smile.
"What! love a man whom you have described to me as the most obstinate fellow you ever knew?"
"Ob course I do," returned Peter. "W'y not? A obs'nit man may be as good as anoder man what can be shoved about any way you please. Ha! you not know yit what it is to hab a _bad_ massa. Wait a bit; you find it out, p'r'aps, soon enough. Look yar."
He bared his bosom as he spoke, and displayed to his wondering and sympathetic friend a mass of old scars and gashes and healed-up sores.
"Dis what my last massa do to me, 'cause I not quite as smart as he wish. De back am wuss. Oh, if you know'd a bad massa, you'd be thankful to-day for gettin' a good un. Now, what I say is, nobody never knows what's a-goin' to turn up. You just keep quiet an' wait. Some slabes yar hab waited patiently for ten-fifteen year, an' more. What den? Sure to 'scape sooner or later. Many are ransum in a year or two. Oders longer. Lots ob 'em die, an' 'scape dat way. Keep up your heart, Geo'ge, whateber you do, and, if you won't break your word-ob-honour, something else'll be sure to turn up."
Although the negro's mode of affording comfort and encouragement was not based entirely on sound principles, his cheery and hopeful manner went a long way to lighten the load of care that had been settling down like a dead weight on young Foster's heart, and he returned to his work with a happier spirit than he had possessed since the day he leaped upon the deck of the pirate vessel. That night he spent under the same roof with his black friend and a number of the other slaves, none of whom, however, were his countrymen, or could speak any language that he understood. His bed was the tiled floor of an out-house, but there was plenty of straw on it. He had only one blanket, but the nights as well as days were warm, and his food, although of the simplest kind and chiefly vegetable, was good in quality and sufficient in quantity.
The next day, at the first blush of morning light, he was aroused with the other slaves by Peter the Great, who, he found, was the Moor's overseer of domestics. He was put to the same work as before, but that day his friend the negro was sent off on a mission that was to detain him several days from home. Another man took Peter's place, but, as he spoke neither English nor French, no communication passed between the overseer and slave except by signs. As, however, the particular job on which he had been put was simple, this did not matter. During the period of Peter's absence the poor youth felt the oppression of his isolated condition keenly. He sank to a lower condition than before, and when his friend returned, he was surprised to find how much of his happiness depended on the sight of his jovial black face!
"Now, Geo'ge," was the negro's first remark on seeing him, "you's down in de blues again!"
"Well, I confess I have not been very bright in your absence, Peter. Not a soul to speak a word to; nothing but my own thoughts to entertain me; and poor entertainment they have been. D'you know, Peter, I think I should die if it were not for you."
"Nebber a bit ob it, massa. You's too cheeky to die soon. I's noticed, in my 'sperience, dat de young slabes as has got most self-conceit an' imprence is allers hardest to kill."
"I scarce know whether to take that as encouragement or otherwise," returned Foster, with the first laugh he had given vent to for a long time.
"Take it how you please, Geo'ge, as de doctor said to de dyin' man-- won't matter much in de long-run. But come 'long wid me an' let's hab a talk ober it all. Let's go to de bower."
In the bower the poor middy found some consolation by pouring his sorrows into the great black sympathetic breast of Peter the Great, though it must be confessed that Peter occasionally took a strange way to comfort him. One of the negro's perplexities lay in the difficulty he had to convince our midshipman of his great good-fortune in having fallen into the hands of a kind master, and having escaped the terrible fate of the many who had cruel tyrants as their owners, who were tortured and beaten when too ill to work, who had bad food to eat and not too much of it, and who were whipped to death sometimes when they rebelled. Although Foster listened and considered attentively, he failed to appreciate what his friend sought to impress, and continued in a state of almost overwhelming depression because of the simple fact that he was a slave--a bought and sold slave!
"Now, look yar, Geo'ge," said the negro, remonstratively, "you _is_ a slabe; das a fact, an' no application ob fut rule or compasses, or the mul'plication table, or any oder table, kin change dat. Dere you am--a slabe! But you ain't a 'bused slabe, a whacked slabe, a tortered slabe, a dead slabe. You're all alibe an' kickin', Geo'ge! So you cheer up, an' somet'ing sure to come ob it; an' if not'ing comes ob it, w'y, de cheerin' up hab come ob it anyhow."
Foster smiled faintly at this philosophical view of his case, and did make a brave effort to follow the advice of his friend.
"Das right, now, Geo'ge; you laugh an' grow fat. Moreober, you go to work now, for if massa come an' find us here, he's bound to know de reason why! Go to work, Geo'ge, an' forgit your troubles. Das _my_ way--an' I's got a heap o' troubles, bress you!"
So saying, Peter the Great rose and left our forlorn midshipman sitting in the arbour, where he remained for some time ruminating on past, present, and future instead of going to work.
Apart from the fact of his being a slave, the youth's condition at the moment was by no means disagreeable, for he was seated in a garden which must have borne no little resemblance to the great original of Eden, in a climate that may well be described as heavenly, with a view before him of similar gardens which swept in all their rich luxuriance over the slopes in front of him until they terminated on the edge of the blue and sparkling sea.
While seated there, lost in reverie, he was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps--very different indeed from the heavy tread of his friend Peter. A guilty conscience made him glance round for a way of escape, but there was only one entrance to the bower. While he was hesitating how to act, an opening in the foliage afforded him a passing glimpse of a female in the rich dress of a Moorish lady.
He was greatly surprised, being well aware of the jealousy with which Mohammedans guard their ladies from the eyes of men. The explanation might lie in this, that Ben-Ahmed, being eccentric in this as in most other matters, afforded the inmates of his harem unusual liberty. Before he had time to think much on the subject, however, the lady in question turned into the arbour and stood before him.
If the word "thunderstruck" did justice in any degree to the state of mind which we wish to describe we would gladly use it, but it does not. Every language, from Gaelic to Chinese, equally fails to furnish an adequate word. We therefore avoid the impossible and proceed, merely remarking that from the expression of both faces it was evident that each had met with a crushing surprise.
We can understand somewhat the midshipman's state of mind, for the being who stood before him was--was--well, we are again nonplussed! Suffice it to say that she was a girl of fifteen summers--the other forty-five seasons being, of course, understood. Beauty of feature and complexion she had, but these were lost, as it were, and almost forgotten, in her beauty of expression--tenderness, gentleness, urbanity, simplicity, and benignity in a state of fusion! Now, do not run away, reader, with the idea of an Eastern princess, with gorgeous black eyes, raven hair, tall and graceful form, etcetera! This apparition was fair, blue-eyed, golden-haired, girlish, sylph-like. She was graceful, indeed, as the gazelle, but not tall, and with an air of suavity that was irresistibly attractive. She had a "good" face as well as a beautiful, and there was a slightly pitiful look about the eyebrows that seemed to want smoothing away.
How earnestly George Foster desired--with a gush of pity, or something of that sort--to smooth it away. But he had too much delicacy of feeling as well as common sense to offer his services just then.
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed the girl, in perfect English, as she hastily threw a thin gauze veil over her face, "forgive me! I did not know you were here--else--my veil--but why should _I_ mind such customs? You are an Englishman, I think?"
Foster did not feel quite sure at that moment whether he was English, Irish, Scotch, or Dutch, so he looked foolish and said-- "Y-yes."
"I knew it. I was sure of it! Oh! I am _so_ glad!" exclaimed the girl, clasping her delicate little hands together and bursting into tears.
This was such a very unexpected climax, and so closely resembled the conduct of a child, that it suddenly restored our midshipman to self-possession. Stepping quickly forward, he took one of the girl's hands in his, laid his other hand on her shoulder, and said-- "Don't cry, my poor child! If I can help you in any way, I'll be only too glad; but pray don't, _don't_ cry so."
"I--I--can't help it," sobbed the girl, pulling away her hand--not on account of propriety, by any means: that never entered her young head-- but for the purpose of searching for a kerchief in a pocket that was _always_ undiscoverable among bewildering folds. "If--if--you only knew how long, _long_ it is since I heard an English--(where _is_ that _thing_!) --an English voice, you would not wonder. And my father, my dear, dear, darling father--I have not heard of him for--for--" Here the poor thing broke down again and sobbed aloud, while the midshipman looked on, imbecile and helpless. "Pray, _don't_ cry," said Foster again earnestly. "Who are you? where did you come from? Who and where is your father? Do tell me, and how I can help you, for we may be interrupted?"
This last remark did more to quiet the girl than anything else he had said.
"You are right," she replied, drying her eyes quickly. "And, do you know the danger you run if found conversing with me?"
"No--not great danger, I hope?"
"The danger of being scourged to death, perhaps," she replied.
"Then pray _do_ be quick, for I'd rather not get such a whipping--even for _your_ sake!"
"But our owner is not cruel," continued the girl. "He is kind--" "Owner! Is he not, then, your husband?"
"Oh, no. He says he is keeping me for his son, who is away on a long voyage. I have never seen him--and--I have such a dread of his coming back!"
"But you are English, are you not?"
"Yes."
"And your father?"
"He is also English, and a slave. We have not met, nor have I heard of him, since we were parted on board ship many months ago. Listen!"
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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5
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THE MAIDEN'S STORY--PETER THE GREAT AND THE MIDDY GO FOR A HOLIDAY AND
SEE AWFUL THINGS.
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During the conversation detailed in the last chapter the young English girl had spoken with her veil down. She now threw it carelessly back, and, sitting down on a bench opposite our midshipman, folded her hands in her lap and remained silent for a few seconds, during which George Foster said--not aloud, but very privately to himself, "Although your eyes are swelled and your little nose is red with crying, I never--no I never--did see such a dear, sweet, pretty little innocent face in all my life!"
All unconscious of his thoughts, and still giving vent now and then to an irresistible sob, the poor child--for she was little more--looked up and began her sad tale.
"About eight months ago my dear father, who is a merchant, resolved to take me with him on a voyage to some of the Mediterranean ports. My father's name is Hugh Sommers--" "And yours?" asked Foster.
"Is Hester. We had only just entered the Mediterranean when one of those dreadful Algerine pirates took our vessel and made slaves of us all. My darling father, being a very big, strong, and brave man, fought like a tiger. Oh! I never imagined that his dear kind face _could_ have looked as it did that awful day. But although he knocked down and, I fear, killed many men, it was all of no use, they were so numerous and our men so few. The last I saw of my father was when they were lowering him into a boat in a state of insensibility, with an awful cut all down his brow and cheek, from which the blood was pouring in streams.
"I tried to get to him, but they held me back and took me down into the cabin. There I met our owner, who, when he saw me, threw a veil over my head and bade me sit still. I was too terrified and too despairing about my father to think of disobeying.
"I think Ben-Ahmed, our owner, must be a man of power, for everybody seemed to obey him that day as if he was the chief man, though he was not the captain of the ship. After a time he took my hand, put me into a small sailing boat, and took me ashore. I looked eagerly for my father on landing, but he was nowhere to be seen, and--I have not seen him since."
"Nor heard of or from him?" asked Foster.
"No."
At this point, as there were symptoms of another breakdown, our middy became anxious, and entreated Hester to go on. With a strong effort she controlled her feelings.
"Well, then, Ben-Ahmed brought me here, and, introducing me to his wives--he has four of them, only think! --said he had brought home a little wife for his son Osman. Of course I thought they were joking, for you know girls of my age are never allowed to marry in England; but after a time I began to see that they meant it, and, d'you know--By the way, what is your name?"
"Foster--George Foster."
"Well, Mr Foster, I was going to say that I _cannot_ help wishing and hoping that their son may _never_ come home! Isn't that sinful?"
"I don't know much about the sin of it," said Foster, "but I fervently hope the same thing from the very bottom of my heart."
"And, oh!" continued Hester, whimpering a little, "you can't think what a relief it is to be able to talk with you about it. It would have been a comfort to talk even to our big dog here about it, if it could only have understood English. But, now," continued the poor little creature, while the troubled look returned to her eyebrows, "what _is_ to be done?"
"Escape--somehow!" said Foster promptly.
"But nothing would induce me to even try to escape without my father," said Hester.
This was a damper to our midshipman. To rescue a little girl seemed to him a mere nothing, in the glowing state of his heroic soul at that moment, but to rescue her "very big, strong, and brave" father at the same time did not appear so easy. Still, something _must_ be attempted in that way.
"Tell me," he said, "what is your father like?"
"Tall, handsome, sweet, ex--" "Yes, yes. I know. But I mean colour of hair, kind of nose, etcetera; be more particular, and do be quick! I don't like to hurry you, but remember the possible scourging to death that hangs over me!"
"Well, he is very broad and strong, a Roman nose, large sweet mouth always smiling, large grey eyes--such loving eyes, too--with iron-grey hair, moustache, and beard. You see, although it is not the fashion in England to wear beards, my dear father thinks it right to do so, for he is fond, he says, of doing only those things that he can give a good reason for, and as he can see no reason whatever for shaving off his moustachios and beard, any more than the hair of his head and eyebrows, he lets them grow. I've heard people say that my father is wild in his notions, and some used to say, as if it was very awful, that," (she lowered her voice here), "he is a Radical! You know what a Radical is, I suppose?"
"Oh yes," said Foster, with the first laugh he had indulged in during the interview, "a Radical is a man who wants to have everything his own way; to have all the property in the world equally divided among everybody; who wants all the power to be equally shared, and, in short, who wants everything turned upside down!"
"Hush! don't laugh so loud!" said Hester, looking anxiously round, and holding up one of her pretty little fingers, "some one may hear you and find us! Strange," she added pensively, "surely you must be under some mistake, for I heard my dear father try to explain it once to a friend, who seemed to me unwilling to understand. I remember so well the quiet motion of his large, firm but sweet mouth as he spoke, and the look of his great, earnest eyes--`A Radical,' he said, `is one who wishes and tries to go to the root of every matter, and put all wrong things right without delay.'"
What George Foster might have said to this definition of a Radical, coming, as it did, from such innocent lips, we cannot say, for the abrupt closing of a door at the other end of the garden caused Hester to jump up and run swiftly out of the bower. Foster followed her example, and, returning to the scene of his labours, threw off his coat and began to dig with an amount of zeal worthy of his friend the incorrigible "hyperkrite" himself.
A few minutes later and Ben-Ahmed approached, in close conversation with Peter the Great.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the latter, in stern tones, as they came up, "what you bin about, sar? what you bin doin'? Not'ing done since I was here more an hour past--eh, sar?"
The midshipman explained, with a somewhat guilty look and blush, that he had been resting in the bower, and that he had stayed much longer than he had intended.
"You just hab, you rascal! But I cure you ob dat," said the negro, catching up a piece of cane that was lying on the ground, with which he was about to administer condign chastisement to the idle slave, when his master stopped him.
"Hurt him not," he said, raising his hand; "is not this his first offence?"
"Yes, massa, de bery fust."
"Well, tell him that the rod shall be applied next time he is found idling. Enough, follow me!"
With a stately step the amiable Moor passed on. With a much more stately port Peter the Great followed him, but as he did so he bestowed on Foster a momentary look so ineffably sly, yet solemn, that the latter was obliged to seize the spade and dig like a very sexton in order to check his tendency to laugh aloud.
Half an hour later the negro returned to him.
"What you bin do all dis time?" he asked in surprise. "I was more'n half t'ink you desarve a lickin'!"
"Perhaps I do, Peter," answered the young slave, in a tone so hearty and cheerful that the negro's great eyes increased considerably in size.
"Well, Geo'ge," he said, with a sudden change in his expression, "I wouldn't hab expeck it ob you; no, I wouldn't, if my own mudder was to tell me! To t'ink dat one so young, too, would go on de sly to de rum-bottle! But where you kin find 'im's more'n I kin tell."
"I have not been at the rum-bottle at all," returned the middy, resting on his spade, "but I have had something to raise my spirits and brace my energies, and take me out of myself. Come, let us go to the bower, and I will explain--that is, if we may safely go there."
"Go whar?"
"To the bower."
"Do you know, sar," replied Peter, drawing himself up and expanding his great chest--"do you know, sar, dat I's kimmander-in-chief ob de army in dis yar gardin, an' kin order 'em about whar I please, an' do what I like? Go up to de bower, you small Bri'sh officer, an' look sharp if you don't want a whackin'!"
The slave obeyed with alacrity, and when the two were seated he described his recent interview with Hester Sommers.
No words can do full justice to the varied expressions that flitted across the negro's face as the midshipman's narrative went on.
"So," he said slowly, when it was concluded, "you's bin an' had a long privit convissation wid one ob Ben-Ahmed's ladies! My! you know what dat means if it found out?"
"Well, Miss Sommers herself was good enough to tell me that it would probably mean flogging to death." " _Floggin'_ to deaf!" echoed Peter. "P'r'aps so wid massa, for he's a kind man; but wid most any oder man it 'ud mean roastin' alibe ober a slow fire! Geo'ge, you's little better'n a dead man!"
"I hope it's not so bad as that, for no one knows about it except the lady and yourself."
"Das so; an' you're in luck, let me tell you. Now you go to work, an' I'll retire for some meditation--see what's to come ob all dis."
Truly the changes that take place in the feelings and mind of man are not less sudden and complete than the physical changes which sometimes occur in lands that are swept by the tornado and desolated by the earthquake. That morning George Foster had risen from his straw bed a miserable white slave, hopeless, heartless, and down at spiritual zero-- or below it. That night he lay down on the same straw bed, a free man-- in soul, if not in body--a hero of the most ardent character--up at fever-heat in the spiritual thermometer, or above it, and all because his heart throbbed with a noble purpose--because an object worthy of his efforts was placed before him, and because he had made up his mind to do or die in a good cause!
What that cause was he would have found it difficult to define clearly in detail. Sufficient for him that an unknown but stalwart father, with Radical tendencies, and a well-known and lovely daughter, were at the foundation of it, and that "Escape!" was the talismanic word which formed a battery, as it were, with which to supply his heart with electric energy.
He lived on this diet for a week, with the hope of again seeing Hester; but he did not see her again for many weeks.
One morning Peter the Great came to him as he was going out to work in the garden and said-- "You git ready and come wid me into town dis day."
"Indeed," returned Foster, as much excited by the order as if it had been to go on some grand expedition. "For what purpose?"
"You 'bey orders, sar, an' make your mind easy about purpisses."
In a few minutes Foster was ready.
No part of his original costume now remained to him. A blue-striped cotton jacket, with pants too short and too wide for him; a broad-brimmed straw hat, deeply sunburnt face and hands, with a pair of old boots two sizes too large, made him as unlike a British naval officer as he could well be. But he had never been particularly vain of his personal appearance, and the high purpose by which he was now actuated set him above all such trifling considerations.
"Is your business a secret?" asked Foster, as he and his companion descended the picturesque road that led to the city.
"No, it am no secret, 'cause I's got no business."
"You seem to be in a mysterious mood this morning, Peter. What do you mean?"
"I mean dat you an' me's out for a holiday--two slabes out for a holiday! T'ink ob dat!"
The negro threw back his head, opened his capacious jaws, and gave vent to an almost silent chuckle.
"That does indeed mound strange," returned Foster; "how has such a wonderful event been brought about?"
"By lub, Geo'ge. Di'n't I tell you before dat hub am eberyt'ing?"
"Yes; and my dear old mother told me, long before you did, that `love is the fulfilling of the law.'"
"Well, I dun know much about law, 'xcep' dat I b'lieve it's a passel o' nonsense, for what we's got here an't o' no use--leastwise not for slabes."
"But my mother did not refer to human laws," returned Foster. "She quoted what the Bible says about God's laws."
"Oh! das a _bery_ diff'rent t'ing, massa, an' I s'pose your mudder was right. Anyway it was lub what obercame Ben-Ahmed. You see, I put it to 'im bery tender like. `Massa,' says I, `here I's bin wid you night an' day for six year, an' you's nebber say to me yet, "Peter de Great, go out for de day an' enjoy you'self." Now, massa, I wants to take dat small raskil Geo'ge Fuster to de town, an' show him a few t'ings as'll make him do his work better, an' dat'll make you lub 'im more, an' so we'll all be more comfrable.' Das what I say; an' when I was sayin' it, I see de wrinkles a-comin' round massa's eyes, so I feel sure; for w'en dem wrinkles come to de eyes, it is all right. An' massa, he say, `Go'--nuffin more; only `Go;' but ob course das nuff for me, so I hoed; an' now--we're bof goin'."
At this point in the conversation they came to a place where the road forked. Here they met a number of Arabs, hasting towards the town in a somewhat excited frame of mind. Following these very slowly on a mule rode another Arab, whose dignified gravity seemed to be proof against all excitement. He might have been the Dey of Algiers himself, to judge from his bearing and the calm serenity with which he smoked a cigar. Yet neither his occupation nor position warranted his dignified air, for he was merely a seller of oranges, and sat on a huge market-saddle, somewhat in the lady-fashion--side-wise, with the baskets of golden fruit on either side of him.
Going humbly towards this Arab, the negro asked him in Lingua Franca if there was anything unusual going on in the town?
The Arab replied by a calm stare and a puff of smoke as he rode by.
"I 'ope his pride won't bust 'im," muttered Peter, as he fell behind and rejoined his companion.
"Do you think anything has happened, then?"
"Dere's no sayin'. Wonderful geese dey is in dis city. Dey seem to t'ink robbery on the sea is just, an' robbery ob de poor an' helpless is just; but robbery ob de rich in Algiers--oh! dat awrful wicked! not to be tololerated on no account wa'somever. Konsikence is--de poor an' de helpless git some ob de strong an' de clebber to go on dere side, an' den dey bust up, strangle de Dey, rob de Jews, an' set up another guv'ment."
"Rob the Jews, Peter! Why do they do that?"
"Dun know, massa--" "Please don't call me massa any more, Peter, for I'm _not_ massa in any sense--being only your friend and fellow-slave."
"Well, I won't, Geo'ge. I's a-goin' to say I s'pose dey plunder de Jews 'cause dey's got lots o' money an' got no friends. Eberybody rob de Jews w'en dere's a big rumpus. But I don't t'ink dere's a row jus' now--only a scare."
The scare, if there was one, had passed away when they reached the town. On approaching the Bab-Azoun gate, Peter got ready their passports to show to the guard. As he did so, Foster observed, with a shudder, that shreds of a human carcass were still dangling from the large hooks on the wall.
Suddenly their steps were arrested by a shriek, and several men immediately appeared on the top of the wall, holding fast a struggling victim. But the poor wretch's struggles were vain. He was led to the edge of the wall by four strong men, and not hurled, but dropped over, so that he should not fail to be caught on one of the several hooks below.
Another shriek of terror burst from the man as he fell. It was followed by an appalling yell as one of the hooks caught him under the armpit, passed upwards right through his shoulder and into his jaws, while the blood poured down his convulsed and naked limbs. That yell was the poor man's last. The action of the hook had been mercifully directed, and after a few struggles, the body hung limp and lifeless.
Oh! it is terrible to think of the cruelty that man is capable of practising on his fellows. The sight was enough, one would think, to rouse to indignation a heart of stone, yet the crowds that beheld this did not seem to be much affected by it. True, there were several faces that showed traces of pity, but few words of disapproval were uttered.
"Come, come!" cried our midshipman, seizing his companion by the arm and dragging him away, "let us go. Horrible! They are not men but devils. Come away."
They passed through the gate and along the main street of the city a considerable distance, before Foster could find words to express his feelings, and then he had difficulty in restraining his indignation on finding that the negro was not nearly as much affected as he himself was by the tragedy which they had just witnessed.
"We's used to it, you know," said Peter in self-defence. "I's seen 'em hangin' alibe on dem hooks for hours. But dat's nuffin to what some on 'em do. Look dar; you see dat ole man a-sittin' ober dere wid de small t'ings for sale--him what's a-doin' nuffin, an' sayin' nuffin, an' almost expectin' nuffin? Well, I once saw dat ole man whacked for nuffin--or next to nuffin--on de sole ob his foots, so's he couldn't walk for 'bout two or t'ree mont's."
They had reached the market-square by that time, and Foster saw that the man referred to was the identical old fellow with the blue coat and hood, the white beard, and the miscellaneous old articles for sale, whom he had observed on his first visit to the square. The old Arab gave Peter the Great a bright look and a cheerful nod as they passed.
"He seems to know you," remarked Foster.
"Oh yes. He know me. I used to carry him on my back ebery mornin' to his place here dat time when he couldn't walk. Bress you! dar's lots o' peepil knows me here. Come, I'll 'troduce you to some more friends, an' we'll hab a cup o' coffee."
Saying this, he conducted our middy into a perfect labyrinth of narrow streets, through which he wended his way with a degree of certainty that told of intimate acquaintance. Foster observed that he nodded familiarly to many of those who crowded them--to Jews, Arabs, water-carriers, and negroes, as well as to the dignified men who kept little stalls and shops, many of which shops were mere niches in the sides of the houses. So close were the fronts of these houses to each other that in many places they almost met overhead and obscured much of the light.
At last the middy and his friend stopped in front of a stair which descended into what appeared to be a dark cellar. Entering it, they found themselves in a low Arab coffee-house.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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6
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OUR HERO SEES THE MOORS IN SEVERAL ASPECTS, AND MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY.
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Whatever may be said of Mohammedanism as a religion, there can be no question, we should think, that it has done much among the Eastern nations to advance the cause of Temperance.
We make no defence of Mohammed--very much the reverse--but we hold that even a false prophet cannot avoid teaching a certain modicum of truth in his system, and when Mohammed sternly put his foot down upon strong drink, and enforced the principle of total abstinence therefrom, he did signal service to a large portion of the human family. Although, for want of better teaching, Mohammedans cling to many vices, one never sees them howling through the streets in a state of wild ferocity, or staggering homewards in a condition of mild imbecility, from the effects of intoxicating drink.
Instead of entering a low den where riot and revelry, with bad language and quarrelling, might be expected to prevail, George Foster found himself in a small white-washed apartment, where there sat several grave and sedate men, wrapped in the voluminous folds of Eastern drapery, sipping very small cups of coffee, and enjoying very large pipes of tobacco.
The room was merely a cellar, the walls being thickly stuccoed and white-washed, and the ceiling arched; but, although plain, the place was reasonably clean and eminently quiet. The drinkers did not dispute. Conversation flowed in an undertone, and an air of respectability pervaded the whole place.
At the further end of the apartment there was a curious-looking fireplace, which seemed to have been formed without the use of square or plummet, and around which were scattered and hung in comfortable confusion the implements and utensils of cookery. Nothing of the cook was visible except his bare legs and feet, the rest of him being shrouded in a recess. Beside the fireplace an Arab sat cross-legged on a bench, sipping his coffee. Beyond him in a recess another Arab was seated. He appeared to be sewing while he conversed with a negro who stood beside him. Elsewhere, in more or less remote and dim distances, other customers were seated indulging in the prevailing beverage.
"You sit down here, Geo'ge; drink an' say not'ing, but wait for me."
With this admonition Peter the Great whispered a few words to the man who owned the establishment, and hurriedly left the place.
The middy naturally felt a little disconcerted at being thus left alone among strangers, but, knowing that in the circumstances he was absolutely helpless, he wisely and literally obeyed orders. Sitting down on a bench opposite the fire, from which point of observation he could see the entrance-door and all that went on around him, he waited and said nothing until the chief of the establishment presented him with a white cup of coffee, so very small that he felt almost equal to the swallowing of cup and coffee at one gulp. With a gracious bow and "Thank you," he accepted the attention, and began to sip. The dignified Arab who gave it to him did not condescend upon any reply, but turned to attend upon his other customers.
Foster's first impulse was to spit out the sip he had taken, for to his surprise the coffee was thick with grounds. He swallowed it, however, and wondered. Then, on taking another sip and considering it, he perceived that the grounds were not as grounds to which he had been accustomed, but were reduced--no doubt by severe pounding--to a pasty condition, which made the beverage resemble chocolate. "Coffee-soup! with sugar--but no milk!" he muttered, as he tried another sip. This third one convinced him that the ideas of Arabs regarding coffee did not coincide with those of Englishmen, so he finished the cup at the fourth sip, much as he would have taken a dose of physic, and thereafter amused himself with contemplating the other coffee-sippers.
At the time when our hero first arrived at Ben-Ahmed's home, he had been despoiled of his own garments while he was in bed--the slave costume having been left in their place. On application to his friend Peter, however, his pocket-knife, pencil, letters, and a few other things had been returned to him. Thus, while waiting, he was able to turn his time to account by making a sketch of the interior of the coffee-house, to the great surprise and gratification of the negroes there--perhaps, also, of the Moors--but these latter were too reticent and dignified to express any interest by word or look, whatever they might have felt.
He was thus engaged when Peter returned.
"Hallo, Geo'ge!" exclaimed the negro, "what you bin up to--makin' picturs?"
"Only a little sketch," said Foster, holding it up.
"A skitch!" repeated Peter, grasping the letter, and holding it out at arm's length with the air of a connoisseur, while he compared it with the original. "You call dis a skitch? Well! I neber see de like ob dis--no, neber. It's lubly. Dere's de kittles an' de pots an' de jars, an'--ha, ha! dere's de man wid de--de--wart on 'is nose! Oh! das fust-rate. Massa's awrful fond ob skitchin'. He wouldn't sell you now for ten t'ousand dollars."
Fortunately the Arab with the wart on his nose was ignorant of English, otherwise he might have had some objection to being thus transferred to paper, and brought, as Arabs think, under "the power of the evil eye." Before the exact nature of what had been done, however, was quite understood, Peter had paid for the coffee, and, with the amateur artist, had left the place.
"Nothing surprises me more," said Foster, as they walked along, "than to see such beautiful wells and fountains in streets so narrow that one actually has not enough room to step back and look at them properly. Look at that one now, with the negress, the Moor, and the water-carrier waiting their turn while the little girl fills her water-pot. See what labour has been thrown away on that fountain. What elegance of design, what columns of sculptured marble, and fine tessellated work stuck up where few people can see it, even when they try to."
"True, Geo'ge. De water would run as well out ob a ugly fountain as a pritty one."
"But it's not that I wonder at, Peter; it's the putting of such splendid work in such dark narrow lanes that surprises me. Why do they go to so much expense in such a place as this?"
"Oh! as to expense, Geo'ge. Dey don't go to none. You see, we hab no end ob slabes here, ob all kinds, an' trades an' purfessions, what cost nuffin but a leetle black bread to keep 'em alibe, an' a whackin' now an' den to make 'em work. Bress you! dem marble fountains an' t'ings cost the pirits nuffin. Now we's goin' up to see the Kasba."
"What is that, Peter?"
"What! you not know what de Kasba am? My, how ignorant you is! De Kasba is de citad'l--de fort--where all de money an' t'ings--treasure you call it--am kep' safe. Strong place, de Kasba--awrful strong."
"I'll be glad to see that," said Foster.
"Ho yes. You be glad to see it _wid me_," returned the negro significantly, "but not so glad if you go dere wid chains on you legs an' pick or shovel on you shoulder. See--dere dey go!"
As he spoke a band of slaves was seen advancing up the narrow street. Standing aside in a doorway to let them pass, Foster saw that the band was composed of men of many nations. Among them he observed the fair hair and blue eyes of the Saxon, the dark complexion and hair of the Spaniard and Italian, and the black skin of the negro--but all resembled each other in their looks and lines of care, and in the weary anxiety and suffering with which every countenance was stamped,--also in the more or less dejected air of the slaves, and the soiled ragged garments with which they were covered.
But if some of the resemblances between these poor creatures were strong, some of their differences were still more striking. Among them were men whose robust frames had not yet been broken down, whose vigorous spirits had not been quite tamed, and whose scowling eyes and compressed lips revealed the fact that they were "dangerous." These walked along with clanking chains on their limbs--chains which were more or less weighty, according to the strength and character of the wearer. Others there were so reduced in health, strength, and spirit, that the chain of their own feebleness was heavy enough for them to drag to their daily toil. Among these were some with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, whose weary pilgrimage was evidently drawing to a close; but all, whether strong or weak, fierce or subdued, were made to tramp smartly up the steep street, being kept up to the mark by drivers, whose cruel whips cracked frequently on the shoulders of the lagging and the lazy.
With a heart that felt as if ready to burst with conflicting emotions, the poor midshipman looked on, clenching his teeth to prevent unwise exclamations, and unclenching his fists to prevent the tendency to commit assault and battery!
"This is dreadful," he said, in a low voice, when the gang had passed.
"Yes, Geo'ge, it _is_ drefful--but we's used to it, you know. Come, we'll foller dis gang."
Keeping about twenty yards behind, they followed the slaves into the Kasba, where they met with no interruption from the guards, who seemed to be well acquainted with Peter the Great, though they did not condescend to notice him, except by a passing glance.
"How is it that every one lets you pass so easily?" asked Foster, when they had nearly reached the southern wall of the fortress.
"Eberybody knows me so well--das one reason," answered the negro, with a grin of self-satisfaction.
"I's quite a public krakter in dis yar city, you mus' know. Den, anoder t'ing is, dat our massa am a man ob power. He not got no partikler office in de state, 'cause he not require it, for he's a rich man, but he's got great power wid de Dey--we's bof got dat!"
"Indeed; how so?"
"Stand here, under dis doorway, and I tell you--dis way, where you can see de splendid view ob de whole city an' de harbour an' sea b'yond. We kin wait a bit here while de slabes are gittin' ready to work. You see de bit ob wall dat's damaged dere? Well, dey're goin' to repair dat. We'll go look at 'em by-an'-by."
As the incident which Peter narrated might prove tedious if given in his own language, we take the liberty of relating it for him.
One fine morning during the previous summer the Dey of Algiers mounted his horse--a fiery little Arab--and, attended by several of his courtiers, cantered away in the direction of the suburb which is now known by the name of Mustapha Superieur. When drawing near to the residence of Ben-Ahmed the Dey's horse became unmanageable and ran away. Being the best horse of the party, the courtiers were soon left far behind. It chanced that Ben-Ahmed and his man, Peter the Great, were walking together towards the city that day. On turning a sharp bend in the road where a high bank had shut out their view they saw a horseman approaching at a furious gallop.
"It is the Dey!" exclaimed Ben-Ahmed.
"So it am!" responded Peter.
"He can't make the turn of the road and live!" cried the Moor, all his dignified self-possession vanishing as he prepared for action.
"I will check the horse," he added, in a quick, low voice. "You break his fall, Peter. He'll come off on the left side."
"Das so, massa," said Peter, as he sprang to the other side of the narrow road.
He had barely done so, when the Dey came thundering towards them.
"Stand aside!" he shouted as he came on, for he was a fearless horseman and quite collected, though in such peril.
But Ben-Ahmed would not stand aside. Although an old man, he was still active and powerful. He seized the reins of the horse as it was passing, and, bringing his whole weight and strength to bear, checked it so far that it made a false step and stumbled. This had the effect of sending the Dey out of the saddle like a bomb from a mortar, and of hurling Ben-Ahmed to the ground. Ill would it have fared with the Dey at that moment if Peter the Great had not possessed a mechanical turn of mind, and a big, powerful body, as well as a keen, quick eye for possibilities. Correcting his distance in a moment by jumping back a couple of paces, he opened his arms and received the chief of Algiers into his broad black bosom!
The shock was tremendous, for the Dey was by no means a light weight, and Peter the Great went down before it in the dust, while the great man arose, shaken indeed, and confused, but unhurt by the accident.
Ben-Ahmed also arose uninjured, but Peter lay still where he had fallen.
"W'en I come-to to myself," continued Peter, on reaching this point in his narrative, "de fus' t'ing I t'ink was dat I'd been bu'sted. Den I look up, an' I sees our black cook. She's a nigger, like myself, only a she one. " `Hallo, Angelica!' says I; `wass de matter?' " `Matter!' says she; `you's dead--a'most, an' dey lef' you here wid me, wid strik orders to take care ob you.' " `Das good,' says I; `an' you better look out an' obey your orders, else de bowstring bery soon go round your pritty little neck. But tell me, Angelica, who brought me here?' " `De Dey ob Algiers an' all his court,' says she, wid a larf dat shut up her eyes an' showed what a _enormous_ mout' she hab. " `Is _he_ all safe, Angelica,' says I--`massa, I mean?' " `Oh, I t'ought you meant de Dey!' says she. `Oh yes; massa's all right; nuffin'll kill massa, he's tough. And de Dey, he's all right too.' " `Das good, Angelica,' says I, feelin' quite sweet, for I was beginnin' to remember what had took place. " `Yes, das _is_ good,' says she; `an', Peter, your fortin's made!' " `Das awk'ard,' says I, `for I ain't got no chest or strong box ready to put it in. But now tell me, Angelica, if my fortin's made, will you marry me, an' help to spend it?' " `Yes, I will,' says she.
"I was so took by surprise, Geo'ge, when she say dat, I sprung up on one elber, an' felled down agin wid a howl, for two o' my ribs had been broke. " `Neber mind de yells, Angelica,' says I, `it's only my leetle ways. But tell me why you allers refuse me before an' accep' me _now_. Is it--de--de fortin?' Oh, you should have seen her pout w'en I ax dat. Her mout' came out about two inch from her face. I could hab kissed it--but for de broken ribs. " `No, Peter, for shame!' says she, wid rijeous indignation. `De fortin hab nuffin to do wid it, but your own noble self-scarifyin' bravery in presentin' your buzzum to de Dey ob Algiers.' " `T'ank you, Angelica,' says I. `Das all comfrably settled. You's a good gall, kiss me now, an' go away.'
"So she gib me a kiss an' I turn round an' went sweetly to sleep on de back ob dat--for I was awrful tired, an' de ribs was creakin' badly."
"Did you marry Angelica?" asked our middy, with sympathetic interest.
"Marry her! ob course I did. Two year ago. Don' you know it's her as cooks all our wittles?"
"How could I know, Peter, for you never call her anything but `cook?' But I'm glad you have told me, for I'll regard her now with increased respect from this day forth."
"Das right, Geo'ge. You can't pay 'er too much respec'. Now we'll go an' look at de works."
The part of the wall which the slaves were repairing was built of great blocks of artificial stone or concrete, which were previously cast in wooden moulds, left to harden, and then put into their assigned places by slave-labour. As Foster was watching the conveyance of these blocks, it suddenly occurred to him that Hester Sommers's father might be amongst them, and he scanned every face keenly as the slaves passed to and fro, but saw no one who answered to the description given him by the daughter.
From this scrutiny he was suddenly turned by a sharp cry drawn from one of a group who were slowly carrying a heavy stone to its place. The cry was drawn forth by the infliction of a cruel lash on the shoulders of a slave. He was a thin delicate youth with evidences of fatal consumption upon him. He had become faint from over-exertion, and one of the drivers had applied the whip by way of stimulus. The effect on the poor youth was to cause him to stumble, and instead of making him lift better, made him rest his weight on the stone, thus overbalancing it, and bringing it down. In falling the block caught the ankle of the youth, who fell with a piercing shriek to the ground, where he lay in a state of insensibility.
At this a tall bearded man, with heavy fetters on his strong limbs, sprang to the young man's side, went down on his knees, and seized his hand.
"Oh! Henri, my son," he cried, in French; but before he could say more a whip touched his back with a report like a pistol-shot, and the torn cotton shirt that he wore was instantly crimsoned with his blood!
The man rose, and, making no more account of his fetters than if they had been straws, sprang like a tiger at the throat of his driver. He caught it, and the eyes and tongue of the cruel monster were protruding from his head before the enraged Frenchman could be torn away by four powerful janissaries. As it was, they had to bind him hand and foot ere they were able to carry him off--to torture, and probably to death. At the same time the poor, helpless form of Henri was borne from the place by two of his fellow-slaves.
Of course a scene like this could not be witnessed unmoved by our midshipman. Indeed he would infallibly have rushed to the rescue of the bearded Frenchman if Peter's powerful grip on his shoulder had not restrained him.
"Don't be a fool, Geo'ge," he whispered. "Remember, we _must_ submit!"
Fortunately for George, the guards around were too much interested in watching the struggle to observe his state of mind, and it is doubtful whether he would have been held back even by the negro if his attention had not at the moment been attracted by a tall man who came on the scene just then with another gang of slaves.
One glance sufficed to tell who the tall man was. Hester Sommers's portrait had been a true one--tall, handsome, strong; and even in the haggard, worn, and profoundly sad face, there shone a little of the "sweetness" which his daughter had emphasised. There were also the large grey eyes, the Roman nose, the iron-grey hair, moustache, and beard, and the large mouth, although the "smile" had fled from the face and the "lovingness" from the eyes. Foster was so sure of the man that, as he drew near to the place where he stood, he stepped forward and whispered "Sommers."
The man started and turned pale as he looked keenly at our hero's face.
"No time to explain," said the middy quickly. "Hester is well and _safe_! See you again! Hope on!"
"What are you saying there?" thundered one of the drivers in Arabic.
"What you say to dat feller? you raskil! you white slabe! Come 'long home!" cried Peter the Great, seizing Foster by the collar and dragging him forcibly away, at the same time administering several kicks so violent that his entire frame seemed to be dislocated, while the janissaries burst into a laugh at the big negro's seeming fury.
"Oh! Geo'ge, Geo'ge," continued Peter, as he dragged the middy along, shaking him from time to time, "you'll be de deaf ob me, an' ob yourself too, if you don't larn to _submit_. An' see, too, what a hyperkrite you make me! I's 'bliged to kick hard, or dey wouldn't b'lieve me in arnist."
"Well, well, Peter," returned our hero, who at once understood his friend's ruse to disarm suspicion, and get him away safely, "you need not call yourself a hypocrite this time, at all events, for your kicks and shakings have been uncommonly real--much too real for comfort."
"Didn't I say I was _'bleeged_ to do it?" retorted Peter, with a pout that might have emulated that of his wife on the occasion of their engagement. "D'you s'pose dem raskils don' know a real kick from a sham one? I was marciful too, for if I'd kicked as I _could_, dere wouldn't be a whole bone in your carcass at dis momint! You's got to larn to be grateful, Geo'ge. Come along."
Conversing thus pleasantly, the white slave and the black left the Kasba together and descended into the town.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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7
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THE MIDDY OBTAINS A DECIDED ADVANCE, AND MAKES PETER THE GREAT HIS
CONFIDANT.
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Many months passed, after the events narrated in the last chapter, before George Foster had the good-fortune to meet again with Hugh Sommers, and several weeks elapsed before he had the chance of another interview with the daughter.
Indeed, he was beginning to despair of ever again seeing either the one or the other, and it required the utmost energy and the most original suggestions of a hopeful nature on the part of his faithful friend to prevent his giving way altogether, and having, as Peter expressed it, "anoder fit ob de blues."
At last fortune favoured him. He was busy in the garden one day planting flowers, when Peter came to him and said-- "I's got news for you to-day, Geo'ge."
"Indeed," said the middy, with a weary sigh; "what may your news be?"
"You 'member dat pictur' ob de coffee-house in de town what you doo'd?"
"Yes, now you mention it, I do, though I had almost forgotten it."
"Ah! but I not forgit 'im! Well, yesterday I tuk it to massa, an' he bery much pleased. He say, bring you up to de house, an' he gib you some work to do."
"I wish," returned Foster, "that he'd ask me to make a portrait of little Hester Sommers."
"You forgit, Geo'ge, de Moors neber git deir portraits doo'd. Dey 'fraid ob de evil eye."
"Well, when are we to go up?"
"Now--I jist come for you."
Throwing down his garden tools, Foster followed the negro to the house, and was ushered into a small chamber, the light of which was rendered soft and mellow, by the stained glass windows through which it passed. These windows were exceedingly small--not more than a foot high by eight inches broad--and they were placed in the walls at a height of nine feet or more from the ground. The walls of the room were decorated with richly-coloured tiles, and the floor was of white marble, but the part that attracted our hero most was the ceiling, which was arched, according to Moorish form, and enriched with elaborate designs in stucco--if not in white marble, the difference being difficult to distinguish. On the marble floor lay several shawls, richly embroidered in coloured silk and gold, a pair of small scarlet slippers, covered with gold thread, a thin veil, and several cushions of different sizes. On one of these last reposed a little tame gazelle, whose bright eyes greeted the two slaves with an inquiring look as they entered.
From all these things Foster judged that this was one of the women's apartments, and wondered much that he had been admitted into such a jealously-guarded sanctuary, but relieved his mind by setting it down to that eccentricity for which Ben-Ahmed was noted.
He had just arrived at this conclusion when a door opened, and Ben-Ahmed himself entered with the sketch of the coffee-house in his hand.
"Tell him," said the Moor to Peter, "that I am much pleased with this drawing, and wish him to make one, a little larger in size, of this room. Let him put into it everything that he sees. He will find paper in that portfolio, and all else that he requires on this ottoman. Let him take time, and do it well. He need not work in the garden while thus employed."
Pointing to the various things to which he referred, the Moor turned and left the apartment.
"Now, Geo'ge, what you t'ink ob all dat?" asked Peter, with a broad grin, when he had translated the Moor's orders.
"Really I don't know what to think of it. Undoubtedly it is a step upwards, as compared with working in the garden; but then, don't you see, Peter, it will give me much less of your company, which will be a tremendous drawback?"
"Das well said. You's kite right. I hab notice from de fus' dat you hab a well-constitooted mind, an' appruciates de value ob friendship. I lub your smood face, Geo'ge!"
"I hope you love more of me than my smooth face, Peter," returned the middy, "otherwise your love won't continue, for there are certain indications on my upper lip which assure me that the smoothness won't last long."
"Hol' your tongue, sar! What you go on jabberin' so to me when you's got work to do, sar!" said Peter fiercely, with a threatening motion of his fist. "Go to work at once, you white slabe!"
Our hero was taken aback for a moment by this sudden explosion, but the presence of a negro girl, who had entered softly by a door at his back, at once revealed to him the truth that Peter the Great had donned the garb of the hypocrite. Although unused and very much averse to such costume, he felt compelled in some degree to adopt it, and, bowing his head, not only humbly, but in humiliation, he went silently towards his drawing materials, while the girl placed a tumbler of water on a small table and retired.
Turning round, he found that Peter had also disappeared from the scene.
At first he imagined that the water was meant for his refreshment, but on examining the materials on the ottoman he found a box of water-colour paints, which accounted for its being sent.
Although George Foster had never been instructed in painting, he possessed considerable natural talent, and was intensely fond of the art. It was, therefore, with feelings of delight which he had not experienced for many a day that he began to arrange his materials and set about this new and congenial work.
Among other things he found a small easel, which had a very Anglican aspect about it. Wondering how it had got there, he set it up, with a sheet of paper on it, tried various parts of the room, in order to find out the best position for a picture, and went through that interesting series of steppings back and puttings of the head on one side which seem to be inseparably connected with true art.
While thus engaged in the profound silence of that luxurious apartment, with its "dim religious light," now glancing at the rich ceiling, anon at the fair sheet of paper, he chanced to look below the margin of the latter and observed, through the legs of the easel, that the gorgeous eyes of the gazelle were fixed on him in apparent wonder.
He advanced to it at once, holding out a hand coaxingly. The pretty creature allowed him to approach within a few inches, and then bounded from its cushion like a thing of india-rubber to the other end of the room, where it faced about and gazed again.
"You gaze well, pretty creature," thought the embryo artist. "Perhaps that's the origin of your name! Humph! you won't come to me?"
The latter part of his thoughts he expressed aloud, but the animal made no response. It evidently threw the responsibility of taking the initiative on the man.
Our middy was naturally persevering in character. Laying aside his pencil, he sat down on the marble floor, put on his most seductive expression, held out his hand gently, and muttered soft encouragements-- such as, "Now then, Spunkie, come here, an' don't be silly--" and the like. But "Spunkie" still stood immovable and gazed.
Then the middy took to advancing in a sitting posture--after a manner known to infants--at the same time intensifying the urbanity of his look and the wheedlement of his tone. The gazelle suffered him to approach until his fingers were within an inch of its nose. There the middy stopped. He had studied animal nature. He was aware that it takes two to love as well as to quarrel. He resolved to wait. Seeing this, the gazelle timidly advanced its little nose and touched his finger. He scratched gently! Spunkie seemed to like it. He scratched progressively up its forehead. Spunkie evidently enjoyed it. He scratched behind its ear, and--the victory was gained! The gazelle, dismissing all fear, advanced and rubbed its graceful head on his shoulder.
"Well, you _are_ a nice little beast," said Foster, as he fondled it; "whoever owns you must be very kind to you, but I can't afford to waste more time with you. Must get to work."
He rose and returned to his easel while the gazelle trotted to its cushion and lay down--to sleep? perchance to dream? --no, to gaze, as before, but in mitigated wonder.
The amateur painter-slave now applied himself diligently to his work with ever-increasing interest; yet not altogether without an uncomfortable and humiliating conviction that if he did not do it with reasonable rapidity, and give moderate satisfaction, he ran the chance of being "whacked" if not worse!
Let not the reader imagine that we are drawing the longbow here, and making these Moors to be more cruel than they really were. Though Ben-Ahmed was an amiable specimen, he was not a typical Algerine, for cruelty of the most dreadful kind was often perpetrated by these monsters in the punishment of trivial offences in those days. At the present hour there stands in the great square of Algiers an imposing mosque, which was designed by a Christian slave--an architect--whose head was cut off because he had built it--whether intentionally or accidentally we know not--in the form of a cross!
For some hours Foster worked uninterruptedly with his pencil, for he believed, like our great Turner in his earlier days, (though Turner's sun had not yet arisen!) that the preliminary drawing for a picture cannot be too carefully or elaborately done.
After having bumped himself against the wall twice, and tripped over an ottoman once--to the gazelle's intense surprise--in his efforts to take an artistic view of his work, Foster at last laid down his pencil, stretched himself to his full height, with his hands in the air by way of relaxation, and was beginning to remember that midday meals were not unknown to man, when the negress before mentioned entered with a small round brass tray, on which were two covered dishes. The middy lowered his hands in prompt confusion, for he had not attained to the Moors' sublime indifference to the opinion or thought of slaves.
He was about to speak, but checked the impulse. It was wiser to hold his tongue! A kindliness of disposition, however, induced him to smile and nod--attentions which impelled the negress, as she retired, to display her teeth and gums to an extent that no one would believe if we were to describe it.
On examination it was found that one of the dishes contained a savoury compound of rice and chicken, with plenty of butter and other substances--some of which were sweet.
The other dish contained little rolls of bread. Both dishes appeared to Foster to be made of embossed gold--or brass, but he knew and cared not which. Coffee in a cup about the size and shape of an egg was his beverage. While engaged with the savoury and altogether unexpected meal, our hero felt his elbow touched. Looking round he saw the gazelle looking at him with an expression in its beautiful eyes that said plainly, "Give me my share."
"You shall have it, my dear," said the artist, handing the creature a roll, with which it retired contentedly to its cushion.
"Perhaps," thought the youth, as he pensively sipped his coffee, "this room may be sometimes used by Hester! It obviously forms part of the seraglio."
Strange old fellow, Ben-Ahmed, to allow men like me to invade such a place.
The thought of the ladies of the harem somehow suggested his mother and sister, and when poor George got upon this pair of rails he was apt to be run away with, and to forget time and place. The reverie into which he wandered was interrupted, however, by the gazelle asking for more. As there was no more, it was fain to content itself with a pat on the head as the painter rose to resume his work.
The drawing was by this time all pencilled in most elaborately, and the middy opened the water-colour box to examine the paints. As he did so, he again remarked on the familiar English look of the materials, and was about to begin rubbing down a little of one of the cakes--moist colours had not been invented--when he observed some writing in red paint on the back of the palette. He started and flushed, while his heart beat faster, for the writing was, "_Expect me. Rub this out. H.S_."
What could this mean? H.S? Hester Sommers of course. It was simple-- too simple. He wished for more--like the gazelle. Like it, too, he got no more. After gazing at the writing, until every letter was burnt into his memory, he obeyed the order and rubbed it out. Then, in a disturbed and anxious frame of mind, he tried to paint, casting many a glance, not only at his subject, but at the two doors which opened into the room.
At last one of the doors opened--not the one he happened to be looking at, however. He started up, overturned his stool, and all but knocked down the easel, as the negress re-entered to remove the refreshment-tray. She called to the gazelle as she went out. It bounded lightly after her, and the young painter was left alone to recover his composure.
"Ass that I am!" he said, knitting his brows, clenching his teeth, and putting a heavy dab of crimson-lake on the ceiling!
At that moment the other door opened, yet so gently and slightly that he would not have observed it but for the sharp line of light which it let through. Determined not to be again taken by surprise, he became absorbed in putting little unmeaning lines round the dab of lake--not so busily, however, as to prevent his casting rapid furtive glances at the opening door.
Gradually something white appeared in the aperture--it was a veil. Something blue--it was an eye. Something quite beyond description lovely--it was Hester herself, looking--if such be conceivable--like a scared angel!
"Oh, Mr Foster!" she exclaimed, in a half-whisper, running lightly in, and holding up a finger by way of caution, "I have so longed to see you--" "So have I," interrupted the delighted middy. "Dear H---ah--Miss Sommers, I mean, I felt sure that--that--this _must_ be your room--no, what's its name? boudoir; and the gazelle--" "Yes, yes--oh! never mind that," interrupted the girl impatiently. "My father--darling father! --any news of _him_."
Blushing with shame that he should have thought of his own feelings before her anxieties, Foster dropped the little hand which he had already grasped, and hastened to tell of the meeting with her father in the Kasba--the ease with which he had recognised him from her description, and the few hurried words of comfort he had been able to convey before the slave-driver interfered.
Tears were coursing each other rapidly down Hester's cheeks while he was speaking; yet they were not tears of unmingled grief.
"Oh, Mr Foster!" she said, seizing the middy's hand, and kissing it, "how shall I _ever_ thank you?"
Before she could add another word, an unlucky touch of Foster's heel laid the easel, with an amazing clatter, flat on the marble floor! Hester bounded through the doorway more swiftly than her own gazelle, slammed the door behind her, and vanished like a vision.
Poor Foster! Although young and enthusiastic, he was not a coxcomb. The thrill in the hand that had been kissed told him plainly that he was hopelessly in love! But a dull weight on his heart told him, he thought as plainly, that Hester was _not_ in the same condition.
"Dear child!" he said, as he slowly gathered up the drawing materials, "if that innocent, transparent, almost infantine creature had been old enough to fall in love she would sooner have hit me on the nose with her lovely fist than have kissed my great ugly paw--even though she _was_ overwhelmed with joy at hearing about her father."
Having replaced the easel and drawing, he seated himself on an ottoman, put his elbows on his knees, laid his forehead in his hands, and began to meditate aloud.
"Yes," he said, with a profound sigh, "I love her--that's as clear as daylight; and she does not love me--that's clearer than daylight. Unrequited love! That's what I've come to! Nevertheless, I'm not in wild despair. How's that? I don't want to shoot or drown myself. How's that? On the contrary, I want to live and rescue her. I could serve or die for that child with pleasure--without even the reward of a smile! There must be something peculiar here. Is it--can it be Platonic love? Of course that must be it. Yes, I've often heard and read of that sort of love before. I _know_ it now, and--and--I rather like it!"
"You don't look as if you did, Geo'ge," said a deep voice beside him.
George started up with a face of scarlet.
"Peter!" he exclaimed fiercely, "did you hear me speak? _What_ did you hear?"
"Halo! Geo'ge, don't squeeze my arm so! You's hurtin' me. I hear you say somet'ing 'bout plotummik lub, but what sort o' lub that may be is more'n I kin tell."
"Are you _sure_ that is all you--But come, Peter, I should have no secrets from _you_. The truth is," (he whispered low here), "I have seen Hester Sommers--here, in this room, not half an hour ago--and--and I feel that I am hopelessly in love with her--Platonically, that is--but I fear you won't understand what that means--" The midshipman stopped abruptly. For the first time since they became acquainted he saw a grave expression of decided disapproval on the face of his sable friend.
"Geo'ge," said Peter solemnly, "you tell me you hab took 'vantage ob bein' invited to your master's house to make lub--plo--plotummikilly or oderwise--to your master's slabe?"
"No, Peter, I told you nothing of the sort. The meeting with Hester was purely accidental--at least it was none of my seeking--and I did _not_ make love to her--" "Did _she_ make lub to you, Geo'ge--plo--plotummikilly."
"Certainly not. She came to ask about her poor father, and I saw that she is far too young to _think_ of falling in love at all. What I said was that _I_ have fallen hopelessly in love, and that as I cannot hope that she will ever be--be _mine_, I have made up my mind to love her hopelessly, but loyally, to the end of life, and serve or die for her if need be."
"Oh! das all right, Geo'ge. If dat's what you calls plo--plotummik lub--lub away, my boy, as hard's you kin. Same time, I's not kite so sure dat she's too young to hub. An' t'ings ain't allers as hopeless as dey seems. But now, what's dis you bin do here? My! How pritty. Oh! das _real_ bootiful. But what's you got in de ceiling--de sun, eh?"
He pointed to the dab of crimson-lake.
Foster explained that it was merely a "bit of colour."
"Ob course! A cow wid half an eye could see dat!"
"Well--but I mean--it's a sort of--a kind of--tone to paint up to."
"H'm! das strange now. I don't hear no sound nowhar!"
"Well, then, it's a shadow, Peter."
"Geo'ge," said the negro, with a look of surprise, "I do t'ink your plo-plotummik lub hab disagreed wid you. Come 'long to de kitchen an' hab your supper--it's all ready."
So saying, he went off with his friend and confidant to the culinary region, which was also the _salle a manger_ of the slaves.
|
{
"id": "21751"
}
|
8
|
A SEVERE TRIAL--SECRET COMMUNICATION UNDER DIFFICULTIES, AND SUDDEN
FLIGHT.
|
The devotion of our middy to the fine arts was so satisfactory in its results that Ben-Ahmed set him to work at various other apartments in his dwelling when the first drawing was nearly finished.
We say nearly finished, because, owing to some unaccountable whim, the Moor would not allow the first drawing to be completed. When Foster had finished a painting of the central court, his master was so pleased with the way in which he had drawn and coloured the various shrubs and flowers which grew there, that he ordered him forthwith to commence a series of drawings of the garden from various points of view. In one of these Foster introduced such a life-like portrait of Peter the Great that Ben-Ahmed was charmed, and immediately gave orders to have most of his slaves portrayed while engaged in their various occupations.
In work of this kind many months were spent, for Foster was a painstaking worker. He finished all his paintings with minute care, having no capacity for off-hand or rapid sketching. During this period the engrossing nature of his work--of which he was extremely fond-- tended to prevent his mind from dwelling too much on his condition of slavery, but it was chiefly the knowledge that Hester Sommers was under the same roof, and the expectation that at any moment he might encounter her, which reconciled him to his fate, and even made him cheerful under it.
But as week after week passed away, and month after month, without even a flutter of her dress being seen by him, his heart failed him again, and he began to fear that Ben-Ahmed's son Osman might have returned and carried her off as his bride, or that she might have been sold to some rich Moor--even to the Dey himself! Of course his black friend comforted him with the assurance that Osman had not returned, and that Ben-Ahmed was not the man to sell a slave he was fond of; but such assurances did not afford him much comfort. His mind was also burdened with anxiety about his mother and sister.
He was sitting one day while in this state at an angle of the garden trying to devote his entire mind to the portrayal of a tree-fern, and vainly endeavouring to prevent Hester Sommers from coming between him and the paper, when he was summoned to attend upon Ben-Ahmed. As this was an event of by no means uncommon occurrence, he listlessly gathered up his materials and went into the house.
He found the Moor seated cross-legged on a carpet, smoking his hookah, with only a negress in attendance. His easel, he found, was already placed, and, to his surprise, he observed that the original drawing with which his career as a painter had commenced was placed upon it.
"I wish you to finish that picture by introducing a figure," said Ben-Ahmed, with solemn gravity.
He spoke in Lingua Franca, which Foster understood pretty well by that time.
It now became evident to him why the drawing of the room had been left unfinished, and he thought it probable that modesty--or, perhaps, a difficulty in overcoming the Moslem's dislike to being transferred to canvas at all--had caused the delay.
"In what attitude do you wish to be painted?" asked the middy, as he moved the easel a little, and took a professional, head-on-one-side look at his subject.
"In no attitude," returned the Moor gravely.
"Pardon me," said Foster in surprise. "Did you not say that--that--" "I said that I wish you to finish the drawing by introducing a figure," returned Ben-Ahmed, taking a long draw at the hookah.
"Just so--and may I ask--" "The figure," resumed the Moor, taking no notice of the interruption, "is to be one of my women slaves."
Here he turned his head slightly and gave a brief order to the negress in waiting, who retired by the door behind her.
The middy stood silent for a minute or so, lost in wonder and expectation, when another door opened and a female entered. She was gorgeously dressed, and closely veiled, so that her face was entirely concealed; nevertheless, George Foster's heart seemed to bound into his throat and half choke him, for he knew the size, air, and general effect of that female as well as if she had been his own mother.
The Moor rose, led her to a cushion, and bade her sit down. She did so with the grace of Venus, and then the Moor removed her veil--looking fixedly at the painter as he did so.
But the middy had recovered self-possession by that time. He was surprised as well as deeply concerned to observe that Hester's beautiful face was very pale, and her eyes were red and swollen, as if from much crying, but not a muscle in his stolid countenance betrayed the slightest emotion. He put his head a little to one side, in the orthodox manner, and looked steadily at her. Then he looked at his painting and frowned, as if considering the best spot in which to place this "figure." Then he began to work.
Meanwhile the Moor sat down to smoke in such a position that he could see both painter and sitter.
It was a severe test of our middy's capacity to act the "hyperkrite!" His heart was thumping at his ribs like a sledge-hammer anxious to get out. His hand trembled so that he could scarcely draw a line, and he was driven nearly mad with the necessity of presenting a calm, thoughtful exterior when the effervescence within, as he afterwards admitted, almost blew his head off like a champagne cork.
By degrees he calmed down, ceased breaking the point of his pencil, and used his india-rubber less frequently. Then he took to colour and the brush, and here the tide began to turn in his favour. _Such_ a subject surely never before sat to painter since the world began! He became engrossed in his work. The eyes became intent, the hand steady, the heart regular, the whole man intense, while a tremendous frown and compressed lips told that he "meant business!"
Not less intense was the attention of the Moor. Of course we cannot tell what his thoughts were, but it seemed not improbable that his eccentric recklessness in violating all his Mohammedan habits and traditions as to the seclusion of women, by thus exposing Hester to the gaze of a young infidel, had aroused feelings of jealousy and suspicion, which were not natural to his kindly and un-Moorish cast of soul.
But while young Foster was employed in the application of his powers to energetic labour, the old Moor was engaged in the devotion of _his_ powers to the consumption of smoke. The natural results followed. While the painter became more and more absorbed, so as to forget all around save his sitter and his work, the Moor became more and more devoted to his hookah, till he forgot all around save the soporific influences of smoke. An almost oppressive silence ensued, broken only by the soft puffing of Ben-Ahmed's lips, and an occasional change in the attitude of the painter. And oh! how earnestly did that painter wish that Ben-Ahmed would retire--even for a minute--to give him a chance of exchanging a word or two with his subject.
But the Moor was steady as a rock. Indeed he was too steady, for the curtains of his eyes suddenly fell, and shut in the owlish glare with which he had been regarding the middy. At the same moment a sharp click and clatter sent an electric thrill to the hearts of all. The Moor's mouthpiece had fallen on the marble floor! Ben-Ahmed picked it up and replaced it with severe gravity, yet a faint flicker of red in his cheek, and a very slight air of confusion, showed that even a magnificent Moor objects to be caught napping by his slaves.
This incident turned Foster's thoughts into a new channel. If the Moor should again succumb to the demands of nature--or the influence of tobacco--how could he best make use of the opportunity? It was a puzzling question. To speak--in a whisper or otherwise--was not to be thought of. Detection would follow almost certainly. The dumb alphabet would have been splendid, though dangerous, but neither he nor Hester understood it. Signs might do. He would try signs, though he had never tried them before. What then? Did not "Never venture, never win," "Faint heart never won," etcetera, and a host of similar proverbs assure him that a midshipman, of all men, should "never say die."
A few minutes more gave him the chance. Again the mouthpiece fell, but this time it dropped on the folds of the Moor's dress, and in another minute steady breathing told that Ben-Ahmed was in the land of Nod--if not of dreams.
A sort of lightning change took place in the expressions of the young people. Hester's face beamed with intelligence. Foster's blazed with mute interrogation. The little maid clasped her little hands, gazed upwards anxiously, looked at the painter entreatingly, and glanced at the Moor dubiously.
Foster tried hard to talk to her "only with his eyes." He even added some amazing motions of the lips which were meant to convey--"What's the matter with you?" but they conveyed nothing, for Hester only shook her head and looked miserable.
A mild choke at that moment caused the maid to fall into statuesque composure, and the painter to put his frowning head tremendously to one side as he stepped back in order to make quite sure that the last touch was really equal, if not superior, to Michael Angelo himself!
The Moor resumed his mouthpiece with a suspicious glance at both slaves, and Foster, with the air of a man who feels that Michael was fairly overthrown, stepped forward to continue his work. Truly, if Peter the Great had been there at the time he might have felt that he also was fairly eclipsed in his own particular line!
Foster now became desperate, and his active mind began to rush wildly about in quest of useful ideas, while his steady hand pursued its labour until the Moor smoked himself into another slumber.
Availing himself of the renewed opportunity, the middy wrapped a small piece of pencil in a little bit of paper, and, with the reckless daring of a man who had boarded a pirate single-handed, flung it at his lady-love.
His aim was true--as that of a midshipman should be. The little bomb struck Hester on the nose and fell into her lap. She unrolled it quickly, and an expression of blank disappointment was the result, for the paper was blank and she had expected a communication. She looked up inquiringly, and beaming intelligence displaced the blank when she saw that Foster made as though he were writing large text on his drawing. She at once flattened the bit of paper on her knee--eyeing the Moor anxiously the while--and scribbled a few words on the paper.
A loud cough from Foster, followed by a violent sneeze, caused her to crush the paper in her hand and again become intensely statuesque. Prompt though she was, this would not have saved her from detection if the violence of Foster's sneeze had not drawn the Moor's first glance away from her and towards himself.
"Pardon me," said the middy, with a deprecatory air, "a sneeze is sometimes difficult to repress."
"Does painting give Englishmen colds?" asked the Moor sternly.
"Sometimes it does--especially if practised out of doors in bad weather," returned Foster softly.
"H'm! That will do for to-day. You may return to your painting in the garden. It will, perhaps, cure your cold. Go!" he added, turning to Hester, who immediately rose, pushed the paper under the cushion on which she had been sitting, and left the room with her eyes fixed on the ground.
As the cat watches the mouse, Foster had watched the girl's every movement while he bent over his paint-box. He saw where she put the paper. In conveying his materials from the room, strange to say, he slipped on the marble floor, close to the cushion, secured the paper as he rose, and, picking up his scattered things with an air of self-condemnation, retired humbly--yet elated--from the presence-chamber.
Need we say that in the first convenient spot he could find he eagerly unrolled the paper, and read-- "I am lost! Oh, save me! Osman has come! I have _seen_ him! _Hateful_! He comes to-morrow to--" The writing ended abruptly.
"My hideous sneeze did that!" growled Foster savagely. "But if I had been a moment later Ben-Ahmed might have--well, well; no matter. She _must_ be saved. She _shall_ be saved!"
Having said this, clenched his teeth and hands, and glared, he began to wonder _how_ she was to be saved. Not being able to arrive at any conclusion on this point, he went off in search of his friend Peter the Great.
He found that worthy man busy mending a rake in a tool-house, and in a few eager words explained how matters stood. At first the negro listened with his wonted, cheerful smile and helpful look, which hitherto had been a sort of beacon-light to the poor midshipman in his troubles, but when he came to the piece of paper and read its contents the smile vanished.
"Osman home!" he said. "If Osman come back it's a black look-out for poor Hester! And the paper says to-morrow," cried Foster; "to take her away and marry her, no doubt. Peter, I tell you, she must be saved _to-night_! You and I must save her. If you won't aid me I will do it alone--or die in the attempt."
"Geo'ge, if you was to die a t'ousan' times dat wouldn't sabe her. You know de Kasba?"
"Yes, yes--go on!"
"Well, if you was to take dat on your shoulders an' pitch 'im into de sea, _dat_ wouldn't sabe her."
"Yes it would, you faint-hearted nigger!" cried the middy, losing all patience, "for if I could do that I'd be able to wring the neck of every pirate in Algiers--and I'd do it too!"
"Now, Geo'ge, keep cool. I's on'y p'intin' out what you can't do; but p'r'aps somet'ing may be done. Yes," (he struck his forehead with his fist, as if to clinch a new idea),--"yes, I knows! I's hit it!"
"What!" cried Foster eagerly.
"Dat you's got nuffin to do wid," returned the negro decisively. "You must know not'ing, understand not'ing, hear an' see not'ing, for if you do you'll be whacked to deaf. Bery likely you'll be whacked anyhow, but dat not so bad. You must just shut your eyes an' mout' an' trust all to _me_. You understand, Geo'ge?"
"I think I do," said the relieved middy, seizing the negro's right hand and wringing it gratefully. "Bless your black face! I trust you from the bottom of my soul."
It was, indeed, a source of immense relief to poor Foster that his friend not only took up the matter with energy, but spoke in such a cheery, hopeful tone, for the more he thought of the subject the more hopeless did the case of poor Hester Sommers appear. He could of course die for her--and would, if need were--but this thought was always followed by the depressing question, "What good would that do to _her_?"
Two hours after the foregoing conversation occurred Peter the Great was seated in a dark little back court in a low coffee-house in one of the darkest, narrowest, and most intricate streets of Algiers. He sat on an empty packing-box. In front of him was seated a stout negress, in whom an Ethiopian might have traced some family likeness to Peter himself.
"Now, Dinah," said he, continuing an earnest conversation which had already lasted for some time, "you understand de case properly--eh?"
"Ob course I does," said Dinah.
"Well, den, you must go about it at once. Not a minute to lose. You'll find me at de gardin door. I'll let you in. You know who you's got to sabe, an' you must find out your own way to sabe her, an'--now, hol' your tongue! You's just a-goin' to speak--I must know nuffin'. Don' tell me one word about it. You's a cleber woman, Dinah."
"Yes, my brudder. I wasn't born yesterday--no, nor yet the day before."
"An', Samson, will you trust _him_?"
"My husband is as good as gold. I trust him wid eberyt'ing!" replied this pattern wife.
"An' Youssef--what ob him?"
"He's more'n t'ree quarters blind. Kin see not'ing, an' understan's less."
"Dinah, you's a good woman," remarked her appreciative brother, as he rose to depart. "Now, remember, dis am de most important job you an' I hab had to do since we was took by de pirits out ob de same ship. An' I do t'ink de Lord hab bin bery good to us, for He's gi'n us good massas at last, though we had some roughish ones at fust. Foller me as quick as you can."
Dinah, being a warm-hearted woman, and very sympathetic, did not waste time. She reached Ben-Ahmed's villa only half an hour later than her brother, with a basket of groceries and other provisions that Peter had purchased in town. Peter took care that the young negress, whom we have already introduced as an attendant in the house, should be sent to receive the basket, and Dinah took care that she should not return to the house until she had received a bouquet of flowers to present to the young English girl in the harem. Inside of this bouquet was a little note written by Peter. It ran thus-- "Tri an git owt to de gardin soons yoo kan." When Hester Sommers discovered this note, the first ray of hope entered into her fluttering heart, and she resolved to profit by it.
Meanwhile, Dinah, instead of quitting the place after delivering her basket, hid herself in the shrubbery. It was growing dark by that time, and Peter made a noisy demonstration of sending one of the slaves to see that the garden gate was locked for the night. Thereafter he remained all the rest of the evening in his own apartments in pretty loud conversation with the slaves.
Suddenly there was a cry raised, and several slaves belonging to the inner household rushed into the outer house with glaring eyes, shouting that the English girl could not be found.
"Not in de house?" cried Peter, starting up in wild excitement.
"No--nowhar in de house!"
"To de gardin, quick!" shouted Peter, leading the way, while Ben-Ahmed himself, with undignified haste, joined in the pursuit.
Lanterns were lighted, and were soon flitting like fireflies all over the garden, but no trace of the fugitive was found. Peter entered into the search with profound interest, being as yet utterly ignorant of the method of escape devised by his sister. Suddenly one of the slaves discovered it. A pile of empty casks, laid against the wall in the form of a giant staircase, showed how Hester had climbed, and a crushed bush on the other side testified to her mode of descent.
Ben-Ahmed and Peter ran up to the spot together. "Dey can't hab gone far, massa. You want de horses, eh?" asked the latter.
"Yes. Two horses, quick!"
Peter went off to the stables in hot haste, remarking as he ran-- "_What_ a hyperkrite I is, to be sure!"
|
{
"id": "21751"
}
|
9
|
HESTER INTRODUCED TO A NEW HOME AND NEW FRIENDS UNDER PECULIAR
CIRCUMSTANCES, AND A NEW NAME.
|
Long before their flight was discovered Hester Sommers and Dinah had penetrated into a dense thicket, where the negress proceeded to produce a wonderful metamorphosis.
"Now, my dear," she said, hastily undoing a large bundle which she carried, while Hester, panting and terrified, sat down on the grass beside her, "don't you be frighted. I's your fri'nd. I's Dinah, de sister ob Peter de Great, an' de fri'nd also ob Geo'ge. So you make your mind easy."
"My mind is quite easy," said Hester; "and even if you were not Peter's sister, I'd trust you, because of the tone of your kind voice. But who is Geo'ge?"
Dinah opened her eyes very wide at this question, for Peter had already enlightened her mind a little as to the middy's feelings towards Hester.
"You not know Geo'ge?" she asked.
"Never heard of him before, Dinah."
"Geo'ge Foster?"
"Oh, I understand! It was your way of pronouncing his name that puzzled me," returned the girl, with a faint smile. "I'm glad you are his friend, too, poor fellow!"
"Well, you _is_ a babby!" exclaimed Dinah, who had been mixing up what appeared to be black paint in a wooden bowl. "Now, look yar, don't you be frighted. It's a matter ob life an' deaf, you know, but _I's_ your fri'nd! Jest you do zackly what I tells you."
"Yes, Dinah," said Hester, alarmed, notwithstanding, by the earnestness and solemnity of her new friend, "what am I to do?"
"You come yar, an' don't moob whateber I does to you. Dere, I's goin' to make you a nigger!"
She applied a large brush to Hester's forehead, and drew it thence down her left cheek, under her chin, up the right cheek, and back to the starting point, thus producing a black band or circle two inches broad.
"Now shut your bootiful eyes," she said, and proceeded to fill up the circle.
In a quarter of an hour Hester was as black as the ace of spades--neck, hands, and arms, as well as face--her fair hair was effectually covered and concealed by a cotton kerchief, and then her dress was changed for the characteristic costume of negro women.
"Now your own mudder wouldn't know you," said Dinah, stepping back to survey her work, and, strange to say, putting her black head quite artistically a little on one side. "You's a'most as good-lookin' as myself--if you was on'y a little fatter. Now, mind, you's a dumb gal! Can't speak a word. Don't forgit dat. An' your name's Geo'giana. Come along."
Leaving her fine clothes concealed in a deep hole, Hester followed her companion as fast as she could. On returning to the road Dinah took her friend by the hand and helped her to run for a considerable distance. Then they walked, and then ran again, until poor Hester was almost exhausted.
Resuming their walk after a short rest, they gained the main road and met with several people, who paid no attention to them whatever, much to Hester's relief, for she had made sure of being detected. At last they reached the city gate, which was still open, as the sun had not yet set. Passing through unchallenged, Dinah at once dived into a maze of narrow streets, and, for the first time since starting, felt comparatively safe.
Fortunately for the success of their enterprise, the negress costume fitted loosely, so that the elegance of Hester's form was not revealed, and her exhaustion helped to damage the grace of her carriage!
"Now, dearie, you come in yar an' rest a bit," said Dinah, turning into a dark cellar-like hole, from which issued both sounds and smells that were not agreeable. It was the abode of one of Dinah's friends--also a negress--who received her with effusive goodwill.
Retiring to the coal-hole--or some such dark receptacle--Dinah held her friend in conversation for about a quarter of an hour, during which time several hearty Ethiopian chuckles were heard to burst forth. Then, returning to the cellar, Dinah introduced her friend to Hester as Missis Lilly, and Hester to Missis Lilly as Miss Geo'giana.
Wondering why her friend had selected for her the name--if she remembered rightly--of one of Blue Beard's wives, Hester bowed, and was about to speak when Dinah put her flat nose close to hers and sternly said, "Dumb."
"Moreober," she continued, "you mustn't bow like a lady, or you'll be diskivered 'mediately. You must bob. Sally!"
This last word was shouted. The instant effect was the abrupt stoppage of one of the disagreeable sounds before referred to--a sound as of pounding--and the appearance of a black girl who seemed to rise out of a pit in the floor at the darkest end of the cellar.
"Sally, show dis yar stoopid gal how to bob."
The girl instantly broke off, so to speak, at the knees for a moment, and then came straight again.
"Now, Geo'giana, you bob."
Hester entered into the spirit of the thing and broke off admirably, whereat Dinah and Lilly threw back their heads and shook their sides with laughter. Sally so far joined them as to show all her teeth and gums. Otherwise she was expressionless.
"Now you come yar wid me into dis room," said Dinah, taking Hester's hand and heading her along a passage which was so profoundly dark that the very walls and floor were invisible. Turning suddenly to the left, Dinah advanced a few paces and stood still.
"You stop where you is, Geo'giana, till I gits a light. Don't stir," she said, and left her.
A feeling of intense horror began to creep over the poor girl when she was thus left alone in such a horrible place, and she began almost to regret that she had forsaken the comfortable home of the Moor, and to blame herself for ingratitude. In her agony she was about to call aloud to her negro friend not to forsake her, when the words, "Call upon Me in the time of trouble," occurred to her, and, falling on her knees, she cast herself upon God.
She was not kept waiting long. Only a minute or two had elapsed when Dinah returned with a candle and revealed the fact that they stood in a small low-roofed room, the brick floor of which was partially covered with casks, packing-cases, and general lumber.
"Dis am to be your room, Geo'giana," said her friend, holding the candle over her head and surveying the place with much satisfaction.
Poor Hester shuddered.
"It is an awful place," she said faintly.
"Yes, it am a awrful good place," said Dinah, with satisfaction. "Not easy to find you yar; an' if dey did git dis lengt' widout breakin' dere legs, dere's a nice leetil hole yar what you could git in an' larf to youself."
She led the poor girl to the other end of the room, where, in a recess, there was a boarded part of the wall. Removing one of the boards, she disclosed an opening.
"Das a small hole, Geo'giana, but it's big enough to hold _you_, an' when you's inside you've on'y got to pull de board into its place, and fix it--so."
Setting down the candle, the woman stepped into the hole, and went through the performance that would devolve upon Hester in case of emergency.
"But why leave me here at all?" pleaded Hester, when Dinah had exhausted her eulogy of the hiding-place. "Why not take me to your own home?"
"Cause it's not so safe as dis," answered Dinah. "P'r'aps in time you may come dere--not now. Moreober, Missis Lilly is a fuss-rate creetur, most as good as myself, if her temper was a leetil more 'eavenly. But she's a winged serubim wid dem as don't rile 'er, an' she'll be awrful good to you for my sake an' Peter's. You see, we was all on us took by the pints at de same time, and we're all Christ'ns but ob course we don't say much about dat yar!"
"And am I to be always dumb--never to speak at all?" asked Hester, in a rather melancholy tone.
"Oh! no--bress you! It's on'y when you're in de front or outside dat you's dumb. When you's back yar you may speak to Lilly an' Sally much as you like, on'y not too loud; an' keep your eyes open, an' your ears sharp always. If you don't it's lost you will be. Don't forgit Osman!"
Hester shuddered again; said that she would _never_ forget Osman, and would be as careful and attentive to orders as possible.
"An' dey'll gib you a little work to do--not much--on'y a little. When peepil speak to you, just point to your ears and mout', an' shake your head. Das enuff. Dey won't boder you arter dat. Now, dearie, I must go. I'll come an' see you sometimes--neber fear. What's to become ob you in de long-run's more'n I kin tell, for it's Peter de Great as'll hab to settle dat kestion. You's in his hands. I knows not'ing, so you'll hab to be patient."
Patient, indeed! Little did that poor painted slave think what demands would yet be made upon her patience. Full two months elapsed before she again saw Peter, or heard anything about Ben-Ahmed and her former friends at Mustapha!
Meanwhile, Dinah having departed, she wisely set herself to make the most of her new friends.
Mrs Lilly she soon found to be quite as amiable as Dinah had described her. She and Sally were slaves to the Moor who dwelt in the house which formed the superstructure of their cellars; but, unlike white slaves, they were allowed a good deal of personal liberty; first, because there was no danger of their running away, as they had no place to run to; second, because their master wanted them to buy and sell vegetables and other things, in order that he might reap the profit; and, last, because, being an easy-going man, the said master had no objection to see slaves happy as long as their happiness did not interfere in any way with his pleasure.
"Now, Geo'giana," said Mrs Lilly, in the course of their first conversation, "my massa he neber come down yar, nor trouble his head about us, as long's I take him a leetle money ebery day, an' nobody else hab got a right to come, so you's pretty safe if dey don't send de janissaries to make a sarch--an' if dey do, you know whar to go. I'll tell massa we make more money if I gits anoder slabe-gal, an' he'll agree, for he agrees to eberyt'ing ob dat sort! Den he'll forgit all about it, an' den you an' Sally kin go about town what you like."
"But I fear, Mrs Lilly, that I won't be able to help you to make more money," objected Hester timidly.
"Oh yes, you will. You'll larn to 'broider de red an' blue slippers. Das pay well when neatly done, an' I kin see by de shape ob your fingers you do it neatly. You's hungry now, I darsay, so go to work at your grub, an' den I'll show you what to do."
Somewhat comforted by the kindly tone and motherly bearing of Mrs Lilly, Hester went into one of the dark cellar-like rooms of the interior of her new home, and found it to be a sort of kitchen, which borrowed its light from the outer room by means of a convenient wall that was white-washed for the purpose of transmitting it. This reflector was not an eminent success, but it rendered darkness visible. At the time we write of, however, the sun having set, the kitchen was lighted by a smoky oil-lamp of classic form and dimness. Here she found Sally busy with her evening meal.
Sally was apparently about as little of a human being as was consistent with the possession of a human form and the power of speech. Most of her qualities seemed to be negative--if we may say so. She was obviously not unamiable; she was not unkind; and she was not sulky, though very silent. In fact, she seemed to be the nearest possible approach to a human nonentity. She may be described as a black maid-of-all-work, but her chief occupation was the pounding of roasted coffee-beans. This operation she performed in the pit in the floor before mentioned, which may be described as a hole, into which you descended by four steps from the front room. As the front room itself was below the level of the street, it follows that the "pit" penetrated considerably deeper into the bowels of the earth. In this pit Sally laboured hard, almost day and night, pounding the coffee-beans in an iron mortar, with an iron pestle so heavy that she had to stand up and use it with both hands. She had got into the habit of relieving herself by an audible gasp each time she drove the pestle down. It was not a necessary gasp, only a remonstrative one, as it were, and conveyed more to the intelligent listener than most of the girl's average conversation did. This gasp was also one of the disagreeable sounds which had saluted the ears of Hester on her first entrance into the new home.
"Mrs Lilly is very kind," said Hester, as she sat down at a small table beside her fellow-slave.
Sally stopped eating for a moment and stared. Supposing that she had not understood the remark, Hester repeated it.
"Yes," assented Sally, and then stopped the vocal orifice with a huge wooden spoonful of rice.
Judging that her companion wished to eat in undisturbed silence, Hester helped herself to some rice, and quietly began supper. Sally eyed her all the time, but was too busy feeding herself to indulge in speech. At last she put down her spoon with a sigh of satisfaction, and said, "Das good!" with such an air of honest sincerity that Hester gave way to an irresistible laugh.
"Yes, it is very good indeed. Did you cook it?" asked Hester, anxious to atone for her impoliteness.
"Yes. I cook 'im. I do all de cookin' in dis yar ouse--an' most ob de eatin' too."
"By the way, Sally, what is it that you keep pounding so constantly in that--that hole off the front room?"
"Coffee," answered Sally, with a nod.
"Indeed! Surely not the household coffee. You cannot drink such a quantity!"
Sally stared for a minute; then opened her mouth, shut her eyes, threw back her head, and chuckled.
"No," she said, with sudden gravity; "if we drink'd it all we'd all bu'st right off. I pounds it, Missis Lilly sells it, an' massa pockets de money."
"Do you pound much?" asked Hester, in a tone of sympathy.
"Oh! housefuls," said Sally, opening her eyes wide. " 'Gin at daylight-- work till dark, 'cept when doin' oder t'ings. De Moors drink it. Awrful drinkers am de Moors. Mornin', noon, an' night dey swill leetle cups ob coffee. Das de reason dey's all so brown."
"Indeed? I never heard before that the brown-ness of their complexion was owing to that. Are you sure?"
"Oh yes; kite sure. Coffee comes troo de skin--das it," returned Sally, with perfect confidence of tone and manner.
Suddenly she was smitten with a new idea, and stared for some time at her fellow-slave. At last she got it out.
"Missis Lilly say dat you's dumb. How kin you speak so well if you's dumb?"
Poor Hester was greatly perplexed. She did not know how far her companion had been let into the secret reason of her being there, and was afraid to answer. At last she made up her mind.
"I am not really dumb, you know; I have only to be dumb when in the street, or when any visitor is in the house here; but when alone with Mrs Lilly or you I am allowed to speak low."
A gleam of intelligence beamed on the black girl's face as she said, "No, you's not dumb. Moreober, you's not black!"
"Oh, Sally!" exclaimed Hester, in quite a frightened tone; "how did you find that out?"
"Hasn't I got eyes an' ears?" demanded Sally. "Your voice ain't nigger, your 'plexion ain't nigger, an' your mout' an' nose ain't nigger. Does you t'ink Sally's an ass?"
"No, indeed, I am sure you are not; but--but, you--you won't betray me, Sally?"
"Whas dat?"
"You won't tell upon me? Oh, you can't think what dreadful punishment I shall get if I am found out! You won't tell on me, _dear_ Sally--won't you not?" entreated Hester, with tears in her eyes.
"Dere, stop dat! Don't cry! Das wuss dan speakin', for de tearz'll wash all de black off your face! Tell on you? Dee see dat?"
Hester certainly did see "dat," for Sally had suddenly protruded we fear to say how many inches of red flesh from her mouth.
"I cut dat off wid de carvin'-knife sooner dan tell on you, for you's my fri'nd, because Peter de Great am your fri'nd. But you muss be dumb-- dumb as you kin, anyhow--an' you mus' neber--neber cry!"
The earnestness of this remark caused Hester to laugh even when on the verge of weeping, so she grasped Sally's hand and shook it warmly, thus cementing the friendship which had so auspiciously begun.
After the meal Mrs Lilly took her lodger into the front room and gave her embroidery work to do. She found it by no means difficult, having learned something like it during her residence with Ben-Ahmed's household. At night she retired to the dark lumber-room, but as Sally owned one of the corners of it Hester did not feel as lonely as she had feared, and although her bed was only made of straw, it was by no means uncomfortable, being spread thickly and covered with two blankets.
She dreamed, of course, and it may easily be understood that her dreams were not pleasant, and that they partook largely of terrible flights from horrible dangers, and hairbreadth escapes from an ogre who, whatever shape he might assume, always displayed the head and features of the hated Osman.
Next morning, however, she arose pretty well refreshed, and inexpressibly thankful to find that she was still safe.
For a long time she remained thus in hiding. Then, as it was considered probable that search for her had been given up as useless, Mrs Lilly resolved to send her out with Sally to one of the obscurer market-places, to purchase some household necessaries.
"You see, chile," said the motherly woman, "you git sick on my hands if you not go out, an' dere's no danger. Just keep your shawl well ober your face, an' hold your tongue. Don't forgit dat. Let 'em kill you if dey likes, but don't speak!"
With this earnest caution ringing in her ears, Hester went forth with Sally to thread the mazes of the town. At first she was terribly frightened, and fancied that every one who looked at her saw through her disguise, but as time passed and no one took the least notice of her, her natural courage returned, and gradually she began to observe and take an interest in the strange persons and things she saw everywhere around her.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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10
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TORTURE IS APPLIED IN VAIN, AND TRUE LOVE IS NOT TO BE DECEIVED.
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We must return now to the residence of Ben-Ahmed at Mustapha.
When his son Osman--who had seen Hester only once and that for but a few minutes--discovered that the fair slave had fled, his rage knew no bounds. He immediately sent for Peter the Great and sternly asked him if he knew how the English girl had escaped. Their intercourse, we may remark, was carried on in the same curious manner as that referred to in connection with Ben-Ahmed. Osman spoke in Lingua Franca and Peter replied in his ordinary language.
"Oh yes, massa, I know," said the latter, with intense earnestness; "she escaped ober de wall."
"Blockhead!" exclaimed the irate Osman, who was a sturdy but ill-favoured specimen of Moslem humanity. "Of course I know that, but _how_ did she escape over the wall?"
"Don' know dat, massa. You see I's not dere at de time, so can't 'zactly say. Moreober, it was bery dark, an' eben if I's dar, I couldn't see peepil in de dark."
"You lie! you black scoundrel! and you know that you do. You could tell me much more about this if you chose."
"No, indeed, I don't lie--if a slabe may dar to counterdick his massa," returned Peter humbly. "But you's right when you say I could tell you much more. Oh! I could tell you _heaps_ more! In de fuss place I was sotin' wid de oder slabes in de kitchen, enjoyin' ourselves arter supper, w'en we hear a cry! Oh my! how my heart jump! Den all our legs jump, and out we hoed wid lanterns an--" "Fool! don't I know all that? Now, tell me the truth, has the English slave, George Fos--Fos--I forget his name--" "Geo'ge Foster," suggested the negro, with an amiable look.
"Yes; has Foster had no hand in the matter?"
"Unpossible, I t'ink," said Peter. "You see he was wid me and all de oder slabes when de girl hoed off, an' I don't t'ink eben a Englishman kin be in two places at one time. But you kin ax him; he's in de gardin."
"Go, fetch him," growled the young Moor, "and tell four of my men to come here. They are waiting outside."
The negro retired, and, soon after, four stout Moorish seamen entered. They seemed worthy of their gruff commander, who ordered them to stand at the inner end of the room. As he spoke he took up an iron instrument, somewhat like a poker, and thrust it into a brazier which contained a glowing charcoal fire.
Presently Peter the Great returned with young Foster. Osman did not condescend to speak directly to him, but held communication through the negro.
Of course our hero could throw no light on the subject, being utterly ignorant of everything--as Peter had wisely taken the precaution to ensure--except of the bare fact that Hester was gone.
"Now, it is my opinion," said Osman, with a savage frown, "that you are both deceiving me, and if you don't tell the truth I will take means to force it out of you."
Saying this he turned to the brazier and pulled out the iron poker to see that it was becoming red-hot. The countenance of the negro became very grave as he observed this, and the midshipman's heart sank within him.
"So you deliberately tell me," said the Moor abruptly, as he wheeled round and confronted Peter the Great, "that you have no knowledge as to where, or with whom, this girl is?"
"No, massa," answered the negro, with solemn sincerity. "If you was to skin me alive I not able to tell you whar she is or who she is wid."
Peter said no more than this aloud, but he added, internally, that he would sooner die than give any further information, even if he had it to give.
Osman made a motion with his hand as a signal to the four seamen, who, advancing quickly, seized the negro, and held him fast. One of the men then stripped off the poor man's shirt. At the same moment Osman drew the red-hot iron from the fire, and deliberately laid it on Peter's back, the skin of which hissed and almost caught fire, while a cloud of smoke arose from it.
The hapless victim did not struggle. He was well aware that resistance would be useless. He merely clenched his teeth and hands. But when Osman removed the iron and applied it to another part of his broad back a deep groan of agony burst from the poor fellow, and beads of perspiration rolled from his brow.
At first George Foster could scarcely believe his eyes. He was almost paralysed by an intense feeling of horror. Then there came a tremendous rebound. Rage, astonishment, indignation, fury, and a host of cognate passions, met and exploded in his bosom. Uttering a yell that harmonised therewith, he sprang forward, hit Osman a straight English left-hander between the eyes, and followed it up with a right-hander in the gullet, which sent the cruel monster flat on the floor, and his head saluted the bricks with an effective bump. In his fall the Moor overturned the brazier, and brought the glowing fire upon his bosom, which it set alight--his garments being made of cotton.
To leap up with a roar of pain and shake off the glowing cinders was the work of a moment. In the same moment two of the stout seamen threw themselves on the roused midshipman, and overcame him--not, however, before one of them had received a black eye and the other a bloody nose, for Moors do not understand the art of self-defence with the fists.
"Down with him!" shouted Osman, when he had extinguished the flames.
He seized a supple cane, or wand, as the seamen threw Foster down, and held his feet in the air, after tearing off his shoes.
Wild with fury, Osman brought the cane down on the poor youth's soles. It was his first taste of the bastinado. The agony took him by surprise, and extorted a sharp yell. Next moment his teeth were in the calf of one of the men's legs, and his right hand grasped the baggy trousers of the other. A compound kick and plunge overturned them both, and as they all fell into a heap, the cheek of one seaman received a stinging blow that was meant for the middy's soles.
Things had reached this crisis, and Peter the Great, having hurled aside his two assailants, was on the point of rushing to the rescue of his friend, when the door burst open, and Ben-Ahmed stood before them quivering with indignation.
"Is this your return for my forbearance? Be-gone!" he shouted to his son in a voice of thunder.
Osman knew his father too well to require a second bidding. He left the room angrily, and a look from Ben-Ahmed sent the four sailors after him.
The Moor was too well accustomed to his wild son's ways to require any explanation of the cause of the fracas. Just giving one glance at his slaves, to make sure that neither was killed, he left the room as hastily as he had entered it.
"My poor friend," exclaimed the middy, grasping the negro's hand with a gush of mingled enthusiasm and pity, "I trust you have not been much injured by that inhuman brute?"
"Oh, bress you! no. It do smart a bit," returned Peter, as he put on his shirt uneasily, "an' I's used to it, Geo'ge, you know. But how's your poo' feet?"
"Well, I'm not vary sure," replied Foster, making a wry face as he sat down to examine them. "How it did sting, Peter! I owe a heavy debt of gratitude to old Ben-Ahmed for cutting it short. No, the skin's not damaged, I see, but there are two or three most awful weals. D'you know, I never before this day felt sorry that I wasn't born a dog!"
"Why's dat, Geo'ge?"
Because then I should have been able to make my teeth meet in yon fellow's leg, and would have held on! Yes, I don't know what I would not have given just at that time to have been born a mastiff, or a huge Saint Bernard, or a thoroughbred British bull-dog, with double the usual allowance of canines and grinders!
The negro threw back his head and began one of his silent laughs, but suddenly stopped, opened his eyes wide, pursed his lips, and moved his broad shoulders uneasily.
"I mus' laugh _easy_ for some time to come," he remarked.
"Poor fellow!" said Foster, "I fear you must. I say--how my soles do sting!"
"Oh yes, _I_ knows," returned Peter, with a remarkably intelligent nod. "But come. We mus' go an' see what massa's a-goin' to do, for you bery sure he won't rest quiet till he's turned ebery stone to find Missy Hester."
Peter the Great left the room with a brave effort to suppress a groan; while our middy followed with an equally valorous determination not to limp. In both efforts they were but partially successful.
As Peter had prophesied, Ben-Ahmed did indeed leave no stone unturned to recover Hester Sommers, but there was one consideration which checked him a good deal, and prevented his undertaking the search as openly as he wished, and that was the fear that the Dey himself might get wind of what he was about, and so become inquisitive as to the cause of the stir which so noted a man was making about a runaway slave. For Ben-Ahmed feared--and so did Osman--that if the Dey saw Hester he might want to introduce her into his own household.
The caution which they had therefore to observe in prosecuting the search was all in favour of the runaway.
As time passed by, Hester, _alias_ Geo'giana, began to feel more at ease in her poor abode and among her new friends, who, although unrefined in manners, were full to overflowing with the milk of human kindness, so that at last the unfortunate English girl began to entertain positive affection for Mrs Lilly and her black handmaiden.
She also began to feel more at ease in traversing the intricate streets of the city, for the crowds that passed her daily had evidently too much to do attending to their own business to bestow more than an indifferent glance at two negro girls. And if the features of one of the two was not according to the familiar negro type, it is probable that all the inhabitants of Algiers were aware of the fact that some of the tribes of black people in the interior of Africa possess the well-formed features and comparatively thin lips of Europeans.
As Hester's anxieties about herself began to abate, however, her desire to find out where and how her father was became more and more intense. But the poor child was doomed to many months of hope deferred before that desire was gratified.
Peter the Great did indeed make a few efforts to meet with him again-- sometimes in company with George Foster, more frequently alone, and occasionally he visited Hester--having been informed by his sister Dinah where to find her--in order to tell of his want of success, and to comfort her with earnest assurances that he would "neber forsake her," but would keep up a constant look-out for her fadder an' an eye on herself.
Consideration for the girl's safety rendered it necessary that these visits should be few and far between, and, of course, owing to the same necessity, our middy was not permitted to visit her at all. Indeed, Peter refused to tell him even where she was hiding, all the information he condescended to give being that she was safe.
"You see, my dear," said Peter to Hester, in a paternal tone, on the occasion of the first of these visits, "if I was to come yar oftin, massa--spec'ally Osman--would 'gin to wonder, an' de moment a man 'gins to wonder he 'gins to suspec', an' den he 'gins to watch; an' if it comes to dat it's all up wid you an' me. So you mus' jest keep close an' say nuffin till de tide 'gins to turn an' de wind blow fair. De good Lord kin turn wind an' tide when He likes, so keep your heart up, Geo'giana!"
As he uttered the last word the negro put his great hand on the girl's shoulder and patted it. " _What_ a good name Geo'giana am," he continued, bringing his eyes to bear on the slender little black creature before him; "an' _what_ a good nigger you would make if on'y you had an elegant flat nose an' bootiful thick hips. Neber mind, you's better lookin' dan Sally, anyhow, an' no mortal could guess who you was, eben if he was told to look hard at you!"
"But oh, Peter, this is such an anxious, weary life," began Hester, with a trembling lip.
"Now, hold on dar!" interrupted the negro, almost sternly; "you _mus'_ _not_ cry, whateber you do, for it washes off de black. You mus' larn to cumtroul your feelin's."
"I will try," returned Hester, attempting to smile. "But it is not that I am discontented with my lot, for they are as kind to me here as if they were my mother and sister, and I like doing the embroidery work very much--it's not that. It is the weary waiting, and hoping for, and expecting news of my darling father--news which _never_ comes."
"Now, don't you t'ink like dat, Geo'giana, but larn to submit--submit-- das de word. De news'll come all in good time. An' news allers comes in a heap--suddently, so to speak. It _neber_ comes slow. Now, look yar. I wants you to make me a solum promise."
"What is that?" asked Hester, smiling in spite of herself at the intensity of her dark friend's look and manner.
"It am dis. Dat you will neber look surprised, nor speak surprised, no matter howeber much you may _feel_ surprised."
"You impose a difficult task on me, Peter."
"Ob course I do, Geo'giana, but as your life--an' p'r'aps mine, but dat ain't much--depends on it, you'll see de needcessity."
"I will certainly try--for your sake as well as my own," returned Hester fervently.
"Well, I t'ink you will, but it ain't easy, an' I'll test you some day."
It was more than a month after that before Peter the Great paid her another visit, and, to the poor girl's grief, he still came without news of her father. He had been all over the Kasba, he said, and many other places where the slaves worked, but he meant to persevere. The city was big, and it would take time, but "Geo'giana" was to cheer up, for he would _neber_ gib in.
One morning Peter announced to Foster that he was going into town to make purchases, and he wanted his assistance to carry the basket.
"Are we going to make another search for poor Mr Sommers?" asked the middy, as he walked along the road holding one handle of the empty basket.
"No, we's got no time for dat to-day. I mus' be back early. Got time on'y for one call on a friend ob mine. Das all."
As the negro did not seem inclined for conversation, Foster forebore to trouble him, but observed, without remarking on the circumstance, that, instead of taking their accustomed way to the market-place, they passed along many narrow, steep, and intricate streets until they reached what the midshipman conceived to be the very heart of the city.
"Dis am de house ob my friend," said Peter, stopping in front of an opening which descended into a cellar. "Foller me, Geo'ge, an' bring down de baskit wid you. Hallo, Missis Lilly! Is you widin?"
"Hi! Das you, Peter de Great?" came in shrill tones from below as they descended.
"Dumb!" exclaimed Peter, with peculiar emphasis on reaching the cellar. "How you do, Missis Lilly? Oberjoyed to see you lookin' so fresh. Just looked in to ax how you's gettin' along."
Need we say that Peter's warning word was not thrown away on Hester Sommers, who was seated in her corner embroidering with gold thread a pair of red morocco slippers. But, forewarned though she was, her presence of mind was put to a tremendous test when, all unexpectedly, George Foster descended the steps and stood before her. Fortunately, while the youth was bestowing a hearty nautical greeting on Mrs Lilly-- for his greeting was always hearty, as well to new acquaintances as to old friends--Hester had time to bend over her work and thus conceal the sudden pallor followed by an equally sudden flush which changed her complexion from a bluish grey to a burnt sienna. When George turned to glance carelessly at her she was totally absorbed in the slipper.
The negro watched the midshipman's glance with keen interest. When he saw that only a passing look was bestowed on Hester, and that he then turned his eyes with some interest to the hole where Sally was pounding coffee and gasping away with her wonted energy, he said to himself mentally, "Ho, Dinah, but you _am_ a cleber woman! Geo'ge don't rignise her more'n if she was a rigler coloured gal! I do b'lieve her own fadder wouldn't know her!"
He then proceeded to have a talk with Mrs Lilly, and while he was thus engaged the middy, who had an inquiring disposition, began to look round the cellar and take mental-artistic notes of its appearance. Then he went up to Hester, and, taking up one of the finished slippers, examined it.
"Most beautiful! Exquisite!" he said. "Does it take you long to do this sort of thing?"
The girl did not reply.
"She's dumb!" said Peter quickly.
"Ah, poor thing!" returned Foster, in a voice of pity. "Deaf, too, I suppose?"
"Well, I don't know as to dat, Geo'ge."
"Is this one dumb too?" asked the middy, pointing to the coffee-hole.
"Oh dear no!" interposed Lilly. "Sally a'n't dumb; she's awrful sharp with 'er tongue!"
"She ought to be deaf anyhow, considering the row she kicks up down there!"
"Come now, Geo'ge, it's time we was goin'. So pick up de baskit an' go ahead."
Bidding Mrs Lilly an affectionate adieu, the two shaves left the cellar, to the intense relief of poor Hester, who scarce knew whether to laugh or cry over the visit. She had been so eagerly anxious to speak to Foster, yet had managed to keep her promise in spite of the peculiarly trying circumstances.
"Peter," said the middy, when they had got well out of the town on their way home, "what made you say `dumb' so emphatically when you descended into that cellar?" " _Did_ I say `dumb?'" returned the negro, with an inquiring look at the clouds.
"You certainly did." " 'Phatically, too?"
"Yes, most emphatically."
"Well, now, das most remarkably strange!"
"Not so strange as my finding Hester Sommers in a coal-hole making golden slippers!"
At this Peter set down the basket, threw back his head, and took a prolonged silent laugh.
"Now dat _is_ de strangest t'ing ob all. Didn't I t'ink you not rignise her one bit!"
"Peter," returned the midshipman gravely, "you ought to know from experience that true love pierces every disguise."
"Das troo, Geo'ge," said Peter, as he lifted his end of the basket and resumed the journey. "Lub is a wonderful t'ing, an' I ain't sure what might come ob it if I was took unawares to see my Angelica arter she'd bin painted white. But dere's one t'ing as comforts me a leetle, an' dat is, dat Peter de Great ain't de biggest hyperkrite in de world arter all, for de way you purtended not to know dat gal, an' de way she purtended not to know _you_, hab took de wind out ob my sails altogidder!"
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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11
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DANGERS, VICISSITUDES, ESCAPES, NEW SURROUNDINGS, HOPES, AND FEARS.
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It was probably an advantage to Hester Sommers that she had been subjected to so severe a test at that time, for, not many weeks afterwards, she experienced a shock which put her powers of self-restraint to a much severer trial.
It happened thus. Sally and she were on their way home from market one day; the former with a large basket of vegetables on her head, and the latter with a lighter basket of oranges on her arm, for the use of the master at home. They had come to one of the wider of the narrow streets of the town, where the small shops were numerous, and the throng of passers-by was considerable--as also was the noise, for Jews, Moors, Cabyles, and negroes were conversing and jostling each other in all directions.
Presently a band of slaves approached, and, as it passed, Hester nearly fainted, for among them she beheld her father, with irons on his legs, and a shovel and pick on his shoulder.
"Father!" she exclaimed, in a faint voice, and, stretching out her arms, made an effort to run towards him.
Quick as lightning Sally grasped the situation, and, rising to the occasion with that prompt energy which betokens true genius, she seized Hester by the nape of the neck, hurled her to the ground, and sent her oranges flying in all directions! At the same time she began to storm at her with a volubility of invective that astonished herself as well as the amused bystanders. As for poor Hugh Sommers, the noise had prevented him from hearing the word "father!" and all that met his eyes was one black girl roughly using another. Alas! the poor man had been by that time so much accustomed to witness acts of cruelty that the incident gave him little concern. He passed doggedly onward to his thankless, unremitting toil, which had been rendered all the more severe of late in consequence of his despairing violence having compelled his drivers to put the heavy irons on his limbs.
Meanwhile Sally, having made Hester pick up some of the oranges, seized her by an arm and hurried her away. Nor did she desist scolding until she had her fairly down in the back regions of their cellar-home.
"I will never forgive you!" exclaimed Hester, with flashing eyes, doubling up her small fists, and apparently wishing that at least for one quarter of an hour she might be transformed into a female Samson.
"Oh yes, you will," returned the negress coolly; "you'll forgib me when I tells you dat I hab sab' your fadder's life, an' p'r'aps your own too!"
"How? What do you mean?" demanded Hester, relaxing her little fists slightly, though still coruscating in the region of the eyes.
"I means dat if you got hold ob yer fadder dat time, he bery likely grip you tight an' refuse to part wid you at no price ebermore; so den, ob course, dey tear him away, an' he kick up a shindy an' try to kill somebody--p'r'aps _do_ it! Oh, its's allers de way. I's oftin seen it wid the big strong men--an' your fadder am big. Dat was him, wasn't it, wid de broad shoulders an' de nice face--a leetle wild-like, p'r'aps, but no wonder--an' de grey beard?"
"Yes; that was him--my darling father!"
"Well, ob course dey take him away an' bastinado him till he die, or strangle him, or frow him on de hooks; an' dey take you right away back to Osman, or wuss. I doo'd it for de best, Geo'giana."
"Oh! Sally, dear, _dear_ Sally, forgive me! But it was such an awful disappointment to be hurried away so, _just_ as I saw him. I--I--am _very_ wicked, Sally, will you forgive me?" said poor little Hester, bursting suddenly into tears, throwing her arms round her friend's neck and kissing her.
"Forgib you, Geo'giana! Das not difficult to do, but I'll _neber_ forgib you if you go slobberin' like dat, an' dirtyin' my face wid your black cheeks. Dar now, I's got to polish you up again!"
This "polishing up," it may be remarked, was a duty which Sally was called on to perform rather frequently, in consequence of Hester's inveterate tendency to think of her father and shed tears! But her sable friend, whose stolid exterior concealed a wealth of affection, rather enjoyed the process of "polishing up," and while engaged in it broke out into quite eloquent dissertations as to the impropriety of washing one's face with tears when there was plenty of soap and water: coupled with earnest exhortations to "keep up heart," and recommendations not to "gib in," "neber to say die," and the like.
On this particular occasion the sympathetic Sally gave her friend inexpressible comfort by assuring her that, having at last seen her father and the gang to which he belonged, she could now easily follow them up and find out where they were set to work. "And so, Geo'giana," said she, in conclusion, "somet'ing may come ob dis meetin', p'r'aps more'n you t'ink."
Something certainly did come of it, as we shall see presently; but just now we must turn to another danger which threatened our English slave, and in regard to which the previous testing of her powers of self-restraint was but a trifle.
One morning Hester was seated in the usual corner, busily engaged with her embroidery, and with her mind still more busily employed in devising all sorts of impossible schemes for the deliverance of her father--for Sally had discovered the exact spot on the fortifications where Hugh Sommers was at work, and only prevented Hester from rushing out at once to see him by resolutely refusing for a time to tell where that spot was.
Mrs Lilly and Hester were alone at the time we refer to, Sally having gone out to the market.
"Dearie, I 'spec's Peter de Great dis arternoon," said Mrs Lilly, raising herself from a culinary pot to which she had been devoting her attention. "Dis am about de time he or'nar'ly comes to see you and tell you how de land lies. Now dat he knows you's seed your fadder, he'll likely hab somet'ing 'tickler to say to you."
"God grant that he may have something hopeful to suggest," said Hester, without looking up from her work.
"You may be sure dat prayer is answered, dearie, for you trust de Lord, an' no one does dat in vain."
As the woman spoke, the familiar voice was heard outside, "Hi, Missis Lilly! how's you all git along down dar?" At the same moment the opening to the street was darkened by Peter's bulky form as he descended the narrow stair.
Shaking hands with Hester, who rose eagerly to greet him, the negro was about to begin an earnest talk with her as to how she should act in regard to her father if she should again meet him, when a voice was heard that sent a deadly chill alike to the hearts of Hester and the negro.
"Is the cellar far from this?" asked the voice, which was that of Osman.
"No; here it is! Guard your feet; the second step is broken, and the place is rather dark," replied the owner of the house.
"Osman!" whispered Peter, glaring and clenching his fists in an agony of uncertainty how to act.
Mrs Lilly, however, black-woman-like, rose to the occasion.
"Go down dar, you black wretch!" she cried, thrusting Hester quickly down into the coffee-hole; "how you s'pose massa git his dollars if you not work? Go to work, or I'll skin you!"
Truly those negroes, male and female, seemed to possess most effective capacity for, and original methods of, coming to the rescue of their friends in moments of danger!
As Mrs Lilly uttered the last words the two visitors stood in the cellar. At the same instant the thud of the great pestle began, and so intelligently did Hester perform her part that the familiar gasp of Sally--admirably imitated--came up with every blow.
"What, Peter the Great! You here!" cried Osman, in extreme surprise.
"Yes, massa, I's here on a little bit ob business wid Missis Lilly. She's a fri'nd ob my sister Dinah," answered Peter humbly.
"Oh, indeed! With my father's permission, I suppose?"
"Yes, Massa Osman. I neber dar to come in de town widout your fadder's purmission."
Osman turned and addressed a few words in an undertone to the master of the house, who thereupon turned to Mrs Lilly.
"You are a wise woman, Lilly," he said, "so I have come to consult you. It seems that one of the slaves belonging to Ben-Ahmed of Mustapha has made her escape, and it is rumoured that she has taken refuge with some one in this very street, or in one not far from it. Now, as you are well acquainted with almost every one in the neighbourhood, I thought it best to come in the first place to you to ask your advice about the matter."
The gasp that came from the coffee-hole when this speech was made had something very real in it, and immediately afterwards the pounding was redoubled.
"Was the slabe white or black?" asked Mrs Lilly, with childlike simplicity, and more for the purpose of gaining time to think than anything else.
"She was white," interposed Osman, "and very beautiful,--in fact, one of the ladies of the harem."
On hearing this Mrs Lilly looked inquiringly upwards, as if she expected inspiration to flow from the bricks that formed the vaulted ceiling. Then she looked suddenly at Peter the Great, and said-- "Das mus' be de lady you was tole me about, Peter,--Ister--Hister--w'at you call 'er?"
"Yes--Hester! Das so. De same as I tole you all about her 'scape," answered Peter, quaking with anxiety and astonishment at the woman's calm boldness, yet ready to fall in with any plan that her words might suggest. At the same time the gasping in the hole became more and more genuine, and the pounding more and more emphatic.
"No, massa, I don' know of no white slabe as hab took refuge wid any ob our neighbours. Indeed I's kite sure dat none ob de neighbours knows not'ing at all about dis Is--Es--w'at you call her? Ester! Das so, Peter?"
"Yes, das so, Missis Lilly."
"Stop that horrible noise in the hole there! What is it?" said Osman impatiently.
"It is only one of my negro slaves," said the master of the house. "Call her up, Lilly, and set her to something quieter until we go."
Rendered desperate now, Peter the Great started forward with glaring eyes. "Massa," he said, "an idea hab just struck me. Will you come out a momint? I wants to tell you somet'ing _bery hard_."
The appearance, not less than the earnestness, of the negro, inclined Osman to comply with his request; but, hesitating, he said-- "Why not tell me here, Peter? We are all friends, you know."
"Oh yes, I know dat, Massa Osman; but womans can never be trusted wid t'ings ob importance, 'specially black womans! But ob course if you not 'fraid ob Missis Lilly, _I_ a'n't 'fraid ob her lettin' de secret out. I darsay she's as good a creetur as de best ob 'um."
This readiness to give in was a politic stroke. Osman agreed to go outside with the negro, and while the latter was ascending the short stair to the street, he was making superhuman efforts to invent something, for, as yet, he had not the faintest idea what his intended communication should be. But Peter the Great was a genius, and it is one of the characteristics of genius to be bold even to recklessness.
Trusting to some sort of inspiration, he began, with looks and tones of the deepest solemnity, "I s'pose you guess, Massa Osman, dat I've been inwestigatin' that coorious business ob de English gal what runned away?"
"No, I did not guess that," answered the Moor shortly.
"Oh! but it's true!" said Peter. "Eber since she flooed away I's bin goin' about dem suspekid places, lookin' arter her, and, do you know, Massa Osman, dat at last," (here he dropped his voice and looked unutterable things),--"at _last_ I's found--" "Well--found what?" asked the Moor eagerly.
"Found her _fadder_!"
"Bah! What do I care for her father, you fool?"
"Das troo, massa; but don't you t'ink dat p'r'aps she'd be likely to try for find her fadder; an' if she find 'im she'd be likely to remain _wid_ her fadder? An' so all dat we'd hab to do would be to find her fadder too. Ob course I don't say she's doo'd all dat; but suppose, for de sake ob argiment, dat she _hab_ doo'd it all, won't we--won't we--we-- No, I's lost de t'read ob my discoorse. I'll begin again fro' de beginning. Das de on'y way I kin--" "Is that all you had to tell me?" interrupted the Moor, in rising wrath.
"No--not kite all," returned Peter humbly. "Dey do say dat de fadder is at work on de for'fications on de sout' side ob de Kasba."
"Well, you are a greater fool than I took you for," said Osman, in whom contempt was quickly taking the place of anger.
"I s'pose I is, massa. An' I s'pose it am part ob my foolishness to be lookin' arter dis yar gal--but den, you see, I lubs Ben-Ahmed, so--" "Well, well, Peter, I believe you mean well--" "I's _sure_ I does, Massa Osman!"
"Don't interrupt me, you black villain! Can't you see that if Hester's father is a Bagnio slave there is no chance of her having found refuge with him?"
"Das true, massa. I do s'pose you's right. I's a born ijit altogidder. But, you know, when a man gits off de scent ob a t'ing, anyt'ing dat looks de least bit like a clue should be follered up. An' dere's no sayin' what might come ob seein' de fadder--for we's off de scent entirely jist now."
"There's little doubt of that, Peter," said Osman, pausing, and looking meditatively at the ground.
"Moreober," suggested the negro, "when a man wid a cleber head an' a purswavis tongue like you tackles a t'ing, it's bery strange indeed if not'ing comes ob it."
"Well, you may be right after all," returned the Moor slowly. "I will go and see this father. At all events it can do no harm."
"None whateber, massa. An' I better run back and send Ali arter you."
"Why? What has he to do with it?"
"Oh! I only t'ought dat you was huntin' togidder. It's ob no consikence. But I t'ink he knows de janissary officer what has charge ob de gang, an' if _you_ don't know him Ali might be useful."
"There is wisdom in what you say."
"Eben zough I _is_ a `fool?'" asked the negro simply.
Osman laughed.
"At all events you are an honest fool, Peter, and I'm sorry I burned your back the other day. You didn't deserve it."
"Oh, nebber mind dat," returned Peter, feeling really uneasy. "De back's all right now. Moreober I _did_ deserb it, for I's an awrful sinner! Wuss dan you t'ink! Now, if you keep right up as you go, an' when you comes to de Kasba turn to de right an' keep so till you comes to de right angle ob de sout' wall. De fadder he work dar. I'll send Ali arter you, quick's I can."
They parted, and while the Moor stalked sedately up the street, the negro hurried back to the cellar with a message to Ali to follow Osman without a moment's delay.
Meanwhile Ali had been cleverly engaged by the ready-witted Mrs Lilly, who, after fiercely ordering the coffee-pounder to "stop her noise," come out of the hole, and retire to the kitchen, drew forth a large leathern purse, which she wisely chinked, and, going towards the stairs, invited her master to "come to de light an' receibe de money which she hab made by de last sale ob slippers."
Of course the bait took--none other could have been half so successful. But Hester apparently had not courage to take advantage of the opportunity, for she did not quit the hole. Fortunately Peter arrived before the cash transaction was completed. On receiving Osman's message Ali balanced accounts promptly by thrusting the purse and its contents into his pocket and hastening away.
Then Peter the Great and Lilly sat down, took a long grave look at each other, threw back their heads, opened their cavernous mouths, and indulged in a quiet but hearty laugh.
"Now you kin come out, dearie," said Lilly, turning to the coffee-hole on recovering composure.
But no response came from the "vasty deep."
"De coast's cl'ar, my dear," said Peter, rising.
Still no response, so Peter descended the few steps, and found Hester lying insensible on a heap of coffee-beans, and still firmly grasping the big pestle. The trial had been too much for the poor child, who had fainted, and Peter emerged with her in his arms, and an expression of solemn anxiety on his countenance.
In a few minutes, however, she revived, and then Peter, hurrying her away from a locality which he felt was no longer safe, placed her under the charge of his sister Dinah--to the inexpressible regret of Mrs Lilly and her black maid-of-all-work.
In her new home the fugitive's circumstances were much improved. Dinah and her husband had great influence over their owner, Youssef, the proprietor of the small coffee-house already described. They not only managed most of its details for him, but were permitted a good deal of personal liberty. Among other things they had been allowed to select the top of the house as their abode.
To European ears this may sound rather strange, but those who have seen the flat roofs of Eastern lands will understand it. Youssef's house, like nearly all the other houses of the city, had a flat roof, with a surrounding parapet nearly breast-high. Here had been placed a few wooden boxes filled with earth and planted with flowering shrubs. These formed quite a little garden, to which Youssef had been wont to retreat of an evening for meditative and, we may add, smokative purposes. But as Youssef had grown old, his eyes had nearly, and his legs had quite, failed him. Hence, being unable to climb to his roof, he had latterly given it up entirely to the use of his black slaves, Samson and Dinah White.
There was a small excrescence or hut on the roof--about ten feet by six in dimensions--which formed--their residence. Behind this, hiding itself as it were and almost invisible, nestled a smaller excrescence or offshoot. It was a mere bandbox of a thing, measuring five feet by four; it had a window about twelve inches square, and was entered by a door inside the larger hut. This was the apartment now assigned to Hester, who was quietly introduced into the household without the knowledge or consent of its blind proprietor.
There was a little bed in the small room. True, it was only a trestle frame, and a straw-stuffed mattress with a couple of blankets, but it was clean, and the whole room was neat, and the sun shone brightly in at the small window at the moment that the new occupant was introduced. Poor Hester fell on her knees, laid her head on the bed, and thanked God fervently for the blessed change. Almost in the same moment she forgot herself, and prayed still more fervently for the deliverance of her father.
The view over the housetops from the little window was absolutely magnificent, including as it did domes, minarets, mosques, palm-trees, shipping, and sea! Here, for a considerable time, Hester worked at her former occupation, for Dinah had a private plan to make a little money for her own pocket by means of embroidery.
In this pleasant retreat our fugitive was visited one day by Peter the Great, the expression of whose visage betokened business. After some conversation, he said that he had come for the express purpose of taking Hester to see her father.
"But not to talk to him," he added quickly--"not eben to make you'self known to him, for if you did, not'ing would keep 'im quiet, an' you an' he would be parted _for eber_. Mind dat--for _eber_!"
"Yes, yes, I will remember," said the poor girl, who was profoundly agitated at the mere thought of such a meeting.
"But you mus' _promise_," said Peter solemnly.
"Promise on you' word ob honour dat you not say one word; not make a sound; not gib an unor'nary look; not try in any way to attrack his attention. Come--speak, else I go home ag'in."
"I promise," said Hester, in a low voice.
"An' you won't cry?"
"I'll try not to."
"Come 'long, den, wid me, an' see you' poor fadder."
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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12
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THE MIDDY, BECOMING DEFIANT AND VIOLENT, COMES TO GRIEF, AND HESTER'S
BLACK FRIENDS DEVISE STRANGE THINGS.
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On the afternoon of the day in which Peter the Great paid his visit to Hester Sommers in the little boudoir, Ben-Ahmed sent for George Foster and bade him make a portrait of a favourite dog.
It so happened that our artist had run short of some of his drawing materials, and said that he could not get on well without them.
"Go to the town, then, got a supply, and return quickly," said Ben-Ahmed, who was smoking his hookah in the court at the time and playing gently with the lost Hester's pet gazelle.
The graceful little creature had drooped since the departure of his mistress, as if he felt her loss keenly. Perhaps it was sympathy that drew it and Ben-Ahmed more together than in times past. Certainly there seemed to be a bond of some sort between them at that time which had not existed before, and the Moor was decidedly more silent and sad since Hester's flight. In his efforts to recover the runaway he had at first taken much trouble, but as time passed he left it in the hands of Osman, who seemed even more anxious than his father to recover the lost slave.
As the midshipman was leaving the court the Moor called him back, addressing him as usual in Lingua Franca, while the youth, taking his cue from Peter the Great, answered in English.
"You know something about this English girl?" he suddenly said, with a steady look at his slave.
"I--I--yes, I _do_ know something about her," replied Foster, in some confusion.
"Do you know where she hides?"
"N-no; I do not."
"I have been led to understand that British officers never tell lies," returned the Moor sternly.
The blood rushed to the middy's face as he replied boldly, "You have been correctly informed--at least, in regard to those officers who are true gentlemen."
"Why, then, do you hesitate?" retorted the Moor. "Do Englishmen blush and stammer when they tell the truth? Tell me the truth _now_. Do you know where the English girl hides?"
The Moor spoke very sternly, but his slave, instead of becoming more confused, suddenly drew himself up, and replied in a voice and with a look as stern as his own-- "Ben-Ahmed, I told you the truth at first. I do _not_ know where she is hiding. I _did_, indeed, know some time ago, but the place of her abode has been changed, and I do not know now. I may as well however say at once that, if I did know, nothing that you can do would induce me to tell you where she hides. You may imprison, torture, or slay me if you choose, but in regard to Hester Sommers I am from this moment dumb!"
There was a curious smile on the Moor's lips while the midshipman delivered this speech with flashing eyes and energetic action, but there was no anger in his tone as he replied-- "Englishman," he said quietly, "you _love_ this girl." If a bombshell had exploded under his feet our middy could hardly have been taken more by surprise. But he had been put on his mettle now, and scorned to show again a wavering front.
"Yes, Moor," he replied, "I _do_ love her, though I have never told her so, nor have I the slightest reason to believe that she cares a fig for _me_. But I now tell you plainly that I will take advantage of every opportunity that comes in my way to serve her and help her to escape. I now also recall the promise--the word of honour--I gave you, not to try to escape. There was a time," continued the middy, in a softened tone, "when I thought of recalling this promise with defiance to you to do your worst; but, Ben-Ahmed, I have lived to learn that, after a fashion, you have been kind to me; that I might have fallen into worse hands; therefore I am not ungrateful, and I now recall the promise only with regret. All the same, my resolve is fixed."
The curious smile still lingered on the Moor's lips as he said, almost in a jesting tone-- "But you will not try to escape to-day if I let you go into the town for colours?"
"I make no promise, Ben-Ahmed. Yet this I may safely say, that I will not try to clear off on my own account. Unless to save Hester I will not at present try to escape; so far you may be sure of my return; but if I get the chance I will either rescue her or die for her--God helping me."
The smile vanished from the Moor's lips as he turned, and said gravely-- "It is well, young man, that you confess to the true and only source of all help. You Christians, as you call yourselves, have ever seemed to me unwilling to mention the name of God save when cursing your fellows, and then you misuse it glibly enough. Yet there are some among you who are more consistent in their professions. Go, fulfil your commission. I will trust you."
"Thank you, Ben-Ahmed," returned the middy; "but remember, if I never return, you will understand that I have not broken my word of honour."
The Moor bowed his head in acquiescence, and took a long pull at his pipe as the midshipman went away.
George Foster was half-way to the town before he recovered from his astonishment at the strange and unexpected way in which Ben-Ahmed had received his very plain speaking. He had expected that chains and the bastinado, if not worse, would certainly follow, but he had made up his mind to go through with it--if need be to die--for Hester's sake. To find himself, therefore, free to go where he pleased, and to help Hester to escape if the opportunity to do so should come in his way, was an amazing state of things which he could scarcely bring himself to believe.
Of course, our hero had not the slightest expectation of encountering Hester that day, when he thus freed himself from his parole, and we need scarcely add that, even if he had met her, he could not have devised any sudden scheme for her deliverance. Nevertheless, the mere fact that he was at liberty to act as he pleased in her behalf had such an effect on him that he entered the town with a lighter heart than he had possessed for many a day. Humming a nautical air as he walked along, and almost if not quite, for the moment, oblivious of the fact of his condition of slavery, he became keenly interested in all that he saw as he passed through the crowded streets, now stopping to admire a picturesque group of figures with jars and pitchers, awaiting their turn to draw water from a public fountain, or pausing in front of a turner's shop to observe with curiosity and interest, the deft way in which the workman used his toes as well as his fingers in the operations of his trade.
He was thus engaged, in calm contemplation with his back to the street, when he was very slightly jostled by a passer-by. He scarcely noticed the incident, but if he had known who it was that touched him he would not have remained so placid, for it was Hester herself, in company with Peter the Great, on their way to the city walls.
As Hester's eyes were fixed on the ground and her thoughts on her father, while Foster's attention was concentrated on the turner's toes, neither observed the other, but Peter's sharp eyes had noted the middy, and he hurried past to prevent a recognition, which might be awkward, if not dangerous, at the moment.
Presently Foster's attention was attracted by a Moor who was riding along the street, sitting side-wise as was the wont of Algerines of the trading-class. What struck Foster particularly about this man and his donkey was that the latter was trotting very fast, although it was a very small animal, and the man on its back a very large one. He also observed that the donkey tossed its head and put back its ears as if it were suffering pain. As the Moor's hand rested on the donkey's haunch, the reason at once occurred to Foster, for he had noticed the same thing before. It was the practice, among cruel men, to create, and keep open, a small sore on the haunch of each animal, by irritating which with a little bit of stick they managed to make their donkeys go in a way that a spur or a thick stick could not accomplish!
Now, our middy possessed a tender heart, which shrank sensitively from the idea of giving pain to any living creature, and which almost exploded with indignation at the sight of wanton cruelty to dumb animals.
When, therefore, the Moor came alongside of him, Foster gave him a look of tremendous indignation, at the same time exclaiming, "Shame on you!"
The Moor turned on him a look of mingled surprise and scorn. At the same time muttering, "Christian dog!" he brought a stick smartly down on the middy's shoulders.
This was too much to bear meekly. The boiling blood in the youth's heart boiled over into his face. He leaped forward, seized the donkey's rein with one hand, caught the man's left leg with the other, and hurled the rider backward to the ground.
The bump with which the Moor's head came down had the effect of keeping it low, but the spectators of the incident, who were numerous, rushed upon the poor middy, seized him, and carried him straight to a court of justice.
They had a summary method of transacting business in those courts, especially in simple cases like that of which we treat. The investigation was rapid; the evidence of the witnesses emphatic. Almost before he had recovered breath our hero was thrown down, his feet were raised by two strong attendants, his shoes plucked off, and the soles of his feet made to tingle as if they had been set on fire.
After a few strokes, which he bore in silence, he was led to the common prison, thrust into it, and left to his meditations.
Meanwhile, Peter the Great conducted Hester to that part of the city wall where her father was at work among the other slaves. It chanced to be the hour when the wretched creatures were allowed to cease work for a brief space in order to rest and eat.
Poor Hugh Sommers chanced to have seated himself a little apart from the others, so as to get the benefit of a large stone for a seat. His figure was, therefore, prominent, as he sat there worn, weary, and dejected, consuming his allowance of black bread. Peter the Great knew him at once, having already, as the reader knows, seen him in his slave garb; but Hester's anxious eyes failed for a few moments to pick out the emaciated frame and strangely clad, ragged figure which represented her once jovial, stalwart, and well-clothed father.
"Das him," whispered Peter, as he loosely grasped the girl's arm by way of precaution.
"Where--oh, where?" asked the poor creature, glancing round among the slaves.
"Now, 'member your promise. Spoil eberyt'ing if you screech or run to him. Look, dis way! De man what's settin' on de stone!"
"Yes, yes, I see! Oh--" She stopped abruptly and trembled, for at the moment her father turned his woe-begone face unconsciously towards her. Even the much-increased grey tinge in the hair and beard, the lines of despair on the brow, and the hollow cheeks could not disguise the face that she loved so well. A sharp cry burst from her, and she made an attempt to rush towards him, but the iron grip of Peter restrained her.
"It's a dead man he'll be if you do!" he said, in a stern but low tone. "Don't you see de janissary? Your _promise_--" "Yes, yes! I'll restrain myself _now_, Peter. Do let me stay a minute--just to look--" "No, _no_! Come 'long wid you--idle t'ing!" he exclaimed, with sudden severity, and apparent though not real violence, for at the moment his watchful eye had observed one of the slave guards approaching them.
As the two went hurriedly past the place where Hugh Sommers was sitting, he looked up with an expression of pity.
"Poor thing!" he said. "The black scoundrel is cruel to you, and I am powerless to kick him!"
He clinked the fetters on his legs significantly as he spoke.
The mingled pathos and indignation of the loved voice was too much for poor Hester. She was on the point of exclaiming "Father!" when Peter's great black paw extinguished her mouth, and was not removed till they were out of danger.
"You's like all de rest ob de womans," said the negro, as they hurried through the streets; "awrful dif'cult to manidge. Come 'long, we'll go home and hab a talk ober it."
Hester was too miserable to reply. She did not again speak till they were both safe in the boudoir.
There she sat down on the bed, laid her face in her hands, and burst into a passion of tears, while Peter stood looking on, his head nearly touching the low ceiling, his bulky frame filling half the remainder of the little room, and two mighty unbidden tears in his great eyes.
"Das right, Geo'giana," he said, in a soft voice; "cry away, it'll do you good. Nuffin like cryin' w'en you's fit to bust! An' w'en you's got it ober we'll talk all about it."
"Oh, Peter!" cried Hester, drying her eyes somewhat impatiently; "how _could_ you be so cruel? Why--why could you not have waited just one minute to let me look at him?"
"Because, my dear, de man wid de whip was comin', an' he'd bery soon hab laid it across my back," replied the negro gently.
"And what if he had done so?" demanded Hester, with a slight touch of indignation; "could you not have suffered a little whipping for my sake?"
"Yes, Geo'giana," returned Peter, with much humility, "I could suffer great deal more'n dat for your sake; but dere's no sich t'ings as _little_ whippin's know'd ob in dis yar town. W'en de lash am goin' he usu'lly makes de hair fly. Moreober, dey whip womans as well as mans, an' if he was to took de bit out ob your pretty shoulder, I couldn't suffer dat, you know. Likewise," continued Peter, becoming more argumentative in his manner, "you was just a-goin' to took de bit in your teef; an' if you'd bin allowed to frow your arms round your fadder's neck an' rub all de black ober his face what would hab bin de consikence?"
Peter felt his position so strong at this point that he put the question almost triumphantly, and Hester was constrained to acknowledge that he had acted wisely after all.
"But," continued she, with still a little of reproach in her tone, "what was the use of taking me to see my darling father at all, if this is all that is to come of it?"
"You's a leetle obstropolous in you' fancies, Geo'giana. Dis am _not_ all what's to come ob it. You see, I has pity on your poo' heart, so I t'ink you might go ebery oder day an' hab a good look at your fadder; but how kin you go if you not know whar he works? So I tooked you to show you de way. But I's a'most sorry I did now, for you's got no self-'straint, an' if you goes by you'self you'll git took up for sartin', an' dey'll whip your fadder till he's dead, or frow him on de hooks, or skin him alive, or--" "Oh, horrible! Don't say such dreadful things, Peter!" exclaimed Hester, covering her face with her hands.
Feeling that he had said quite enough to impress the poor girl with the absolute necessity of being careful, he promised earnestly never again to allude to such dreadful things.
"But, Geo'giana," he added impressively, "you mus' promise me on your word ob honour, w'ich Geo'ge Foster says English gen'lemans _neber_ break--an' I s'pose he's right."
"Yes, quite right, Peter; true gentlemen _never_ break their word."
"An' I s'pose female gen'lemans am de same."
"Of course! Go on," replied the girl, with a faint smile.
"Well, as I was 'bout to say, you mus' promise me on your word ob honour, dat you'll neber go _alone_ to see your fadder, but allers in company wid Sally; dat you neber, neber speak to him, an' dat you neber make you'self know'd to him till de right time comes."
"These are hard conditions, Peter, but I see the reasonableness of them all, and promise--at least I promise to do my best."
"Das 'nuff, Geo'giana. Neezer man nor womans kin do more'n deir best. Now I mus' bid you good-day, so keep up your heart an' you'll see eberyt'ing come right in de end."
With these cheering words the sympathetic negro took his leave; and Hester, resuming her embroidery, sat down at her little window, not to work, but to gaze dreamily at the beautiful sea, and cast about in her mind how she should act in order to alleviate if possible her father's sad condition.
That very afternoon she received a visit from her stolid but affectionate friend Sally, who at once said that she knew of a splendid plan for doing him a great deal of good.
"And what is your plan?" asked Hester eagerly.
"Gib him two or t'ree biscuits," said Sally.
Her friend received the suggestion with a look of disappointment.
"What a stupid thing you are, Sally! How could that do him any good?"
Sally looked at her friend with an air of pity.
"Didn't you say he was awrful t'in?" she asked.
"Thin? Oh yes--dreadfully thin."
"Well, den, isn't dat 'cause he not hab 'nuff to eat? _I_ knows it, bress you! I's bin wid a missis as starved me. Sometimes I t'ink I could eat my shoes. Ob course I got awrful t'in--so t'in dat w'en I stood side-wise you could hardly see me. Well, what de way to get fat an' strong? Why, eat, ob course. Eat--eat--eat. Das de way. Now, your fadder git not'ing but black bread, an' not 'nuff ob dat; an' he git plenty hard work too, so he git t'in. So, what I prupposes is to gib him two good biskits ebery day. We couldn't gib him more'n two, 'cause he'd hab to hide what he couldn't eat at once, an' de drivers would be sure to diskiver 'em. But two biskits could be gobbled quick on de sly, an' would help to make him fat, an' to make you easy."
"So they would," said Hester, eagerly entertaining the idea after this explanation; "you're a clever girl, Sally--" "You say I's stoopid jest now!"
"So I did, Sally. Forgive me! I was stupid besides unkind for saying so. But how shall we manage it? Won't the guards see us doing it?"
"No fear, Geo'giana! De guards am fools--t'ink dere's nobody like 'em. Dey forgit. All de asses in Algiers am like 'em. Dis de way ob it. You an' me we'll go to markit ebery day wid baskits on our arms, an we'll ob course go round by de walls, where your fadder works. No doubt it's a roundabout way, but what ob dat? We'll go at de hour your fadder feeds wid de oder slabes, an' as we pass we'll drop de two biskits in his lap."
"But won't he be taken by surprise, Sally?"
"De fust time--yes; but dat won't prevent him gobblin' up de biskits quick. Neber fear, you an' me'll manidge it 'tween us."
"Thank you, dear Sally, I'll never, _never_ forget your kindness, and we will try your plan to-morrow."
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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13
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HESTER AND HER FATHER SEVERELY TESTED.
|
The very next day, accordingly, Hester Sommers and her friend sallied forth to present Hugh Sommers with a couple of biscuits!
It was arranged that the two girls should carry baskets of fruit on their heads, and that Hester should have the biscuits conveniently in her right hand, so as to be able to drop them into her father's lap without stopping or even checking her pace as they passed.
Of course, Hester was by this time thoroughly alive to the danger of her intended proceedings, both to herself and her father, and was firmly resolved to restrain her feelings. Nevertheless, she could not help trembling when she came in sight of the gang, with which her father worked.
Sally observed this and grasped her by the arm.
"Geo'giana," she said, "if you gibs way, or speaks, or trembles, or busts up in any way, I grips you by de neck, as I once did before, an' shobes you along wid scolds and whacks--so you look out!"
"Anxiety for my darling father will be a much more powerful restraint, Sally, than your threats," replied the poor girl.
Nevertheless, the threat was not without its effect, for it showed Hester that she must have been on the point of giving way, and impressed on her more than ever the necessity of self-restraint.
"W'ich am him? I don't see him," said the negress as they advanced.
"There he is, don't you see, just before us," replied Hester, in a low, hurried voice.
"No, I's growin' blind, I t'ink."
"There--look! by himself, on the stone. He seems always to sit on the same spot at dinner-time."
"Oh yes, I sees. Now you go on--stiddy. Mind what you's about!"
With a brief prayer for help to control herself, Hester went straight to where her father sat. He was languidly chewing a piece of the regulation black bread at the time, and looked up at her with the vacant indifference born of despair.
The desire to fall on his neck and kiss him was, need we say, almost irresistible, but the poor girl had received strength for the duty in hand. She went close to him--even brushed past him--and dropped the biscuits into his lap.
At first the poor man was so astonished that he gazed after the retiring figure and made no effort to conceal this unexpected addition to his meal. Fortunately, his wits revived before any of the guards observed him. He slid the biscuits into his shirt bosom with conjurer-like facility, and at the same moment broke off a large bit of one, which he devoured with unwonted satisfaction. The addition did not indeed furnish the unfortunate slave with a full meal, but it at least tended towards that desirable end, and sent him to work with a full heart, because of the assurance that there was in the city, at all events, one human being--and that being, strange to say, a negress! --who pitied him in his forlorn condition.
During the remainder of that day Hugh Sommers almost forgot his toils in consequence of his mind being so thoroughly taken up with meditation on the wonderful incident. At night, although wearied, almost worn out, and anxious to sleep, he found it impossible to rest in the dismal Bagnio. It chanced that he occupied the cell which had formerly been apportioned to George Foster on the occasion of his first visit to that cheerless prison, and his next neighbour was the despairing Frenchman who had given such poor comfort to the middy in his distress. Finding that this Frenchman spoke English so well, and that they worked together in the same gang during the day, Hugh Sommers had struck up an acquaintance with him, which, after they had spent some weeks together in toiling by day and groaning side by side at night, ripened into a curious sort of growling friendship.
This friendship began with a quarrel. The night in which they were first placed in neighbouring cells, or niches, followed a day in which Sommers had received an application of the bastinado, and been put into irons for fierce rebellion. Being a man of strong emotions, he had groaned a little as he lay trying to sleep in spite of his suffering feet. Failing of his purpose, he took to thinking about Hester, and the groans which had been but feeble for himself became more intense on her account.
"Can you not stop that noise?" growled the irate Frenchman, who was kept awake by it.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, friend," said Sommers gently, for he was really an unselfish man; "but if you knew all I've had to suffer you would excuse me."
"Oh, _I_ know what you have had to suffer!" said his comrade testily. "I saw you get the bastinado; I've had it often myself, but--it is bearable!"
"It's not that, man!" returned the Englishman, with a touch of indignation. "If I had nothing to worry me but the pain of my feet I'd have been asleep by now. I have worse things to groan about than you can guess, maybe."
"Well, well, monsieur," said the Frenchman, in a resigned tone, as he raised himself on one elbow and leaned his back against the stone wall, "since you have driven sleep from my eyes, perhaps you will give employment to my ears, by telling me for what it is that you groan?"
There was something so peculiar in the tone and manner in which this was said--so cool and off-hand, yet withal so kind--that Sommers at once agreed.
"I'll do it," he said, "if you will treat me to the same thing in return. Fair exchange! You see, I am by profession a merchant, and must have value for what I give."
And thus on that night the two unfortunates had exchanged confidences, and formed the friendship to which we have referred.
To this man, then--whose name was Edouard Laronde--Sommers related the incident that had occurred that day during the noontide period of rest.
"It is strange. I know not what to think," said Laronde, when his friend concluded. "If it had been a white girl I could have understood that it might be your daughter in disguise, though even in this case there would have been several reasons against the theory, for, in the first place, you tell me that your daughter--your Hester--is very pretty, and no pretty English girl could go about this city in any disguise without being discovered at once. Now you tell me that this girl was black--a negress?"
"Ay, as black as a coal," responded the merchant.
"Well, if, as you say, your Hester is pretty--" "Pretty, man! She's not pretty," interrupted the Englishman impatiently; "I tell you she is beautiful!"
"Of course, I understand," returned the other, with a smile that the darkness of the place concealed, "I should have said beautiful! Well, thick lips and flat nose and high cheek-bones and woolly hair are, you know, incompatible with beauty as understood by Englishmen--" "Or Frenchmen either," added Sommers. "That's quite true, Laronde, though I must confess that I paid no attention to her face when she was approaching me, and after she dropped the biscuits in my lap she was so far past that I only saw a bit of her black cheek and her back, which latter, you know, was enveloped from head to foot in that loose blue cotton thing which does not tell much about the wearer."
"True, true," returned the Frenchman; "and, after all, even if the girl's features had not been negro-like, you could not have been sure that it was her, for some of the blacks who come from the interior of Africa have features quite as classical as our own."
"Laronde," said the merchant impressively, "I wonder to hear you, who have a daughter of your own, suggest that I could fail to recognise my Hester in any disguise. Why, if she were to paint her face scarlet and her nose pea-green I'd see through it by the beautiful shape of the features and the sweet expression of her face."
"Forgive me, Monsieur Sommers, I doubt not that you would. As to your reference to _my_ daughter, you forget that she was a little child when I last saw her, so I have no experience of a father's powers of penetrating disguises."
Laronde sighed deeply at this point, and then hurriedly continued, as if to prevent further reference to his own sorrows.
"It is possible, however," he said, "that she may pass you again to-morrow, and so give you another opportunity of seeing her features. But let me ask, my friend, what will you do if you discover that she _is_ your Hester?"
"Do?" exclaimed the merchant, with an energetic action that caused his fetters to rattle. "I--I--I'll--well--I don't know what I'll do!"
"Of course you don't!" returned Laronde, with something of the old cynicism in his tone. "You Englishmen are always so cock-sure--as you express it--of success that you make no provision for defeat or failure. It may seem very heroic, but it is mere pride and folly. Now, if you will take a real friend's advice, you will go out to-morrow with the determination to curb yourself and refrain from taking any notice whatever of this girl, whether she turns out to be your daughter or not, and leave her to work out her plan, for you may be quite sure she has some end in view. Just consider what would be the consequence of your giving way to your feelings and embracing her. You would by so doing expose her disguise, cause her to be taken up and sent to the harem of some one of the notables, and get heavier irons put on yourself, besides another touch, perhaps, of the bastinado. Be wise, and consider well what you intend to do."
"Thank you, friend, for your warning. It is well timed. If you had not spoken I would certainly have gone forth to-morrow unprepared."
"But what is your preparation? What will you do?" persisted the Frenchman.
"What _can_ I do?" replied Sommers. "Have you not just shown me that I am utterly helpless? In such a case there is only one course left-- namely, to go to Him who can succour the helpless. I will ask counsel of God. The pride you have referred to I admit, though it is by no means confined to my own countrymen! Too long have I given way to it, and acted independently of my Maker. Perhaps God sent me here to convince me of my sin and helplessness."
"There is no God. I do not believe in a God," said Laronde calmly.
"Why not?" asked Sommers, in surprise.
"Because," replied Laronde bitterly, "if there was a God He could not stand by and see me suffering such prolonged and awful misery."
"If, instead of misery, you had been placed during the last twelve years in supreme felicity, would you have believed in a God?" asked Sommers.
Laronde was silent. He saw that the reason which he had given for disbelief was untenable, and he was too straightforward to quibble about it.
"I don't know," he said at last angrily. "No doubt there are hundreds of men in happy and favourable circumstances who say, as I do, that they don't believe in a God. I don't know. All I do know is that I am supremely miserable!"
"Now you are reasonable," returned the merchant, "for you talk of what you do know, and you admit that in regard to God you `don't know,' but you began by stating that `there is no God.' Ah, my friend, I sympathise with you in your terrible sorrow, even as you have sympathised with me in mine, but don't let us give way to despair and cast the only Refuge that remains to us behind our backs. I will not ask you to join me in praying to One, in whom you say you do not believe, but I will pray _for_ you."
Hugh Sommers got upon his knees and then and there--in the dark and dank prison-house--prayed most earnestly for guidance and spiritual light in the name of Jesus. At first the Frenchman listened with what we may style kindly contempt, and then with surprise, for the Englishman drew to the conclusion of his very brief prayer without any mention of his own name. Just at the close, however, Sommers said, "O God! show to my friend here that he is wrong, and that Thou art Love."
It was with eager and trembling heart next day that Hugh Sommers watched, during the noontide meal, for the coming of his mysterious black friend, and it was with no less anxiety and trembling of heart that Hester approached her father at the same hour.
"Now mind how you doos," said the doubtful Sally, as she glanced keenly at Hester's face. "Mind, I'll hab no marcy on you if you gibs way!"
Hester made no reply, for she was drawing near to her father, and saw that he was gazing at her with fixed intensity. She raised her heart to God and received strength to pass without a word or look, dropping the biscuits as on the previous day. The man, however, proved less capable of self-restraint than the girl, for he could not resist whispering, "Hester!"
The poor girl turned towards him as if by an irresistible impulse, but her black guardian angel was equal to the emergency. Seizing Hester by the shoulder, she pushed her violently forward, storming at her loudly as on the former occasion.
"What, you black t'ing! Hab you neber seen slabes before? You no better'n de white folk, wastin' ob your purcious time. My! won't you get a whackin' fro' missis w'en you gits home!"
Recovering herself, Hester at once submitted.
At first the poor father was about to start up and run to embrace his child, as well as to rescue her from her rude companion, but, being what is termed a "sharp man of business," he received into his mind, as it were, a flash of light, and sat still. If this flash had been analysed it would probably have produced the following thoughts--"biscuits! kindness! companion a friend! ignorance impossible! violence unaccountable! a ruse, perhaps! sit still!"
Thought, they say, is swifter than light. At all events, it was swift enough on the present occasion to prevent the shadow of a suspicion arising in the minds either of slaves or guards, who seemed to be rather amused at what they fancied was the bad temper of Sally.
Next day the biscuit-dropping was repeated without the scene that had followed, and so wisely was this affair managed by all the parties concerned, that it was carried on for several weeks without a hitch. Under the influence of hope and improved fare, Hugh Sommers became so much brighter in spirits and better in health, and so much more tractable, that his guards at length removed his heavy fetters and allowed him to toil with free limbs, like the majority of the slaves. Hester also became almost cheerful under the wonderful influence of hope. But Hester and her father were each overwhelmed, more or less, by a wet blanket at that time, and, strange to say, their wet blankets happened to be their best friends.
In the case of Hester, it was Sally. The more hopeful and cheery Hester became, the more did her black friend shake her woolly head and look dismal.
"Why, Sally, dear, what's the matter with you?" asked the former one day, as they sat together in the bower on the roof, after returning from their visit to the slave-gang.
A shake of the girl's head and an unutterable expression in her magnificent black eyes made Hester quite uneasy.
"Do tell me, Sally. Is there anything the matter with you?"
"De matter wid me? Oh no! Not'ing's neber de matter wid me--'cept when I eats too much--but it's you an' your fadder I's t'inkin' ob."
"But we are both getting on very well, Sally, are we not? I am quite safe here, and darling father is growing stronger and fatter every day, thank God! and then our hope is very strong. Why should you be anxious?"
Sally prefaced her reply with one of the professional gasps wherewith she was wont to bring down the iron pestle.
"Well, now, you white folks am de greatest ijits eber was born. Do you t'ink you'll deliber your fadder from de Moors by feedin' him on biscuits an' _hope_? What's de end ob all dis to come to? das what I want to know. Ob course you can't go on for eber. You sure to be cotched at last, and de whole affair'll bust up. You'll be tooked away, an' your fadder'll be t'rowed on de hooks or whacked to deaf. Oh! I's most mis'rable!"
The poor creature seemed inclined to howl at this point, but she constrained herself and didn't.
In the gloom of the cheerless Bagnio, Hugh Sommers found his wet blanket in Edouard Laronde.
"But it is unwise to look only at the bright side of things," said the Frenchman, after sympathising with his friend's joy in having discovered his daughter so unexpectedly and in such a curious manner. "No doubt, from her disguise, she must, as you say, be in hiding, and in comparative safety with friends, else she could not be moving so freely about this accursed city, but what is to be the end of it all?"
Laronde unconsciously echoed Sally's question to Hester, but Hugh Sommers had not as much to say in reply as his daughter, for he was too well acquainted with the possibilities of life to suppose that biscuits and hope would do much towards the "end," although valuable auxiliaries in the meantime.
"I see not the end, Laronde," he said, after a pause; "but the end is in the hands of God, and I will trust Him."
"So is the middle, and so is the beginning, as well as the end," returned Laronde cynically; "why, then, are you so perplexed and anxious about these if the end is, as you seem to think, so sure? Why don't you trust God all through?"
"I do trust God all through, my friend, but there is this difference-- that with the end I have nothing to do save to wait patiently and trustfully, whereas with the beginning and middle it is my duty to act and energise hopefully."
"But why your anxiety if the whole matter is under safe guidance?" persisted the Frenchman.
"Because, while I am absolutely certain that God will do His part wisely and well, I am by no means sure that I shall do my part either well or wisely. You forget, Laronde, that we are free agents as well as sinful and foolish, more or less, so that there is legitimate room for anxiety, which only becomes evil when we give way to it, or when it goes the length of questioning the love, wisdom, and power of the Creator!"
"All mystery, all mystery, Sommers; you are only theorising about what you do not, cannot, know anything. You have no ground for what you hold."
"As you confess never to have studied, or even seriously contemplated, the ground on which I hold it, there is--don't you think? --a slight touch of presumption on your part in criticising so severely what you do not, cannot, understand? I profess to have _good_ reasons for what I hold; you profess merely to disbelieve it. Is there not a vast difference here?"
"Perhaps there is, but I'm too sleepy to see it. Would you oblige me by putting your foot on that centipede? He has made three ineffectual attempts to pass the night under my wing. Make sure work of him. Thanks. Now I will try to sleep. Oh! the weary, heart-sickness of hope deferred! Good-night, Sommers."
"Good-night."
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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14
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A BRAVE DASH FOR LIFE AND FREEDOM.
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"Geo'ge, come wid me," said Peter the Great one afternoon, with face so solemn that the heart of the young midshipman beat faster as he followed his friend.
They were in Ben-Ahmed's garden at the time--for the middy had been returned to his owner after a night in the common prison, and a threat of much severer treatment if he should ever again venture to lay his infidel hands on one of the faithful.
Having led the middy to the familiar summer house, where most of their earnest or important confabulations were held, Peter sat down and groaned.
"What's wrong now?" asked the middy, with anxious looks.
"Oh! Geo'ge, eberyt'ing's wrong," he replied, flinging himself down on a rustic seat with a reckless air and rolling his eyes horribly. "Eberyt'ing's wrong. De world's all wrong togidder--upside down and inside out."
The middy might have laughed at Peter's expression if he had not been terribly alarmed.
"Come, Peter, tell me. Is Hester safe?"
"I don' know, Geo'ge."
"Don't know! Why d'you keep me in such anxiety? Speak, man, speak! What has happened?"
"How kin I speak, Geo'ge, w'en I's a'most busted wid runnin' out here to tell you?"
The perspiration that stood on Peter's sable brow, and the heaving of his mighty chest, told eloquently of the pace at which he had been running.
"Dis is de way ob it, Geo'ge. I had it all fro' de lips ob Sally herself, what saw de whole t'ing." As the narrative which Peter the Great had to tell is rather too long to be related in his own "lingo," we will set it down in ordinary language.
One day while Hester was, as usual, passing her father, and in the very act of dropping the customary supply of food, she observed that one of the slaves had drawn near and was watching her with keen interest. From the slave's garb and bearing any one at all acquainted with England could have seen at a glance that he was a British seaman, though hard service and severe treatment, with partial starvation, had changed him much. He was in truth the stout sailor-like man who had spoken a few words to Foster the day he landed in Algiers, and who had contemptuously asserted his utter ignorance of gardening.
The slaves, we need hardly say, were not permitted to hold intercourse with each other for fear of their combining to form plans of rebellion and escape, but it was beyond the power of their drivers to be perpetually on the alert, so that sometimes they did manage to exchange a word or two without being observed.
That afternoon it chanced that Sommers had to carry a stone to a certain part of the wall. It was too heavy for one man to lift, the sailor was therefore ordered to help him. While bearing the burden towards the wall, the following whispered conversation took place.
"I say, old man," observed the sailor, "the little girl that gives you biscuits every day is no more a nigger than I am."
"Right!" whispered the merchant anxiously, for he had supposed that no one had observed the daily gift; "she is my daughter."
"I guessed as much by the cut o' your jibs. But she's in danger, for I noticed that one o' the drivers looked at her suspiciously to-day, and once suspicion is roused the villains never rest. Is there no means of preventing her coming this way to-morrow?"
"None. I don't even know where she comes from or goes to. God help her! If suspected, she is lost, for she will be sure to come to-morrow."
"Don't break down, old man; they'll observe you. If she is taken are you willing to fight?"
"Yes," answered the merchant sternly.
"I am with you, then. Your name?"
"Sommers. Yours?"
"Brown."
A driver had been coming towards them, so that the last few words had been spoken in low whispers. A sharp cut of the whip on the shoulders of each showed that the driver had observed them talking. They received it in absolute silence and without any outward display of feeling. To that extent, at all events, they had both been "tamed."
But the stout seaman had been for many weeks acting a part. At first, like Sommers, he had been put in heavy irons on account of his violence and ferocity; but after many weeks of childlike submission on his part, the irons were removed. Despite the vigilance of the guards, a plot had been hatched by the gang to which Brown belonged, and it was almost, though not quite, ripe for execution when the events we are describing occurred. Poor Hester's action next day precipitated matters and caused the failure of the plot--at least to some extent.
She had gone as usual with Sally to visit the slave-gang, and had dropped her biscuits, when her anxious father said, in a low but hurried voice, "Pass quickly, and don't come again for some time!"
Hester involuntarily stopped.
"Darling father!" she said, restraining herself with difficulty from leaping into his arms, "why--oh! why am I not--" She had only got thus far when the janissary, whose suspicions had been aroused, pounced upon her, and, seizing her by the wrist, looked keenly into her face.
"Ho! ho!" he exclaimed, glancing from the girl to her sire, "what mystery have we here? Come, we must investigate this."
Poor Hester winced from the pain of the rude soldier's grip as he proceeded to drag her away. Her father, seeing that further concealment was impossible, and that final separation was inevitable, became desperate. With the bound of an enraged tiger he sprang on the soldier and throttled him. Both being powerful men they fell on the ground in a deadly struggle, at which sight Hester could only look on with clasped hands in helpless terror.
But the British seaman was at hand. He had feared that some such mischief would arise. Seeing that two other soldiers were running to the aid of their fallen comrade, he suddenly gave the signal for the revolt of the slaves. It was premature. Taken by surprise, the half-hearted among the conspirators paid no attention to it, while the timid stood more or less bewildered. Only a few of the resolute and reckless obeyed the call, but these furnished full employment for their guards, for, knowing that failure meant death, if not worse, they fought like fiends.
Meanwhile the first of the two soldiers who came running, sword in hand, towards Sommers, was met by Brown. With a piece of wood in his left hand, that worthy parried the blow that was delivered at his head. At the same time he sent his right fist into the countenance of his adversary with such force that he became limp and dropped like an empty topcoat. This was fortunate, for the companion janissary was close to him when he wheeled round. The blazing look of the seaman, however, induced so much caution in the Turk that, instead of using his sword, he drew a long pistol from his girdle and levelled it. Brown leaped upon him, caught the pistol as it exploded just in time to turn the muzzle aside, wrenched the weapon from his foe's grasp, and brought the butt of it down with such a whack on his head that it laid him beside his comrade.
Turning quickly to the still struggling pair, he saw that the janissary was black in the face, and that Sommers was compressing his throat with both hands and had his knee on his stomach, while Hester and Sally were looking on horrified, but hopeful. At the same time he saw fresh soldiers running up the street to reinforce the guard.
"Hester," he said sharply, and seizing the girl's hand, "come, bolt with me. I've knowed your father a good while. Quick!"
"Impossible!" she cried, drawing back. "I will not leave my father now!"
"You'll have to leave him anyhow," cried the sailor. "You can do him no good. If free you might--" A shout at the moment caused him to glance round. It proceeded both from slaves and guards, for both at the same moment caught sight of the approach of the reinforcements. The former scattered in all directions, and the latter gave chase, while pistol-shots and yells rent the air.
Instead of wasting more breath in useless entreaty, Brown seized the light form of Hester in his arms and ran with her to the ramparts. In the confusion of the general skirmish he was not observed--or, if observed, unheeded--by any one but Sally, who followed him in anxious haste, thinking that the man was mad, for there could be no possible way of escape, she thought, in that direction. She was wrong. There was method in Brown's madness. He had for a long time previously studied all the possibilities with reference to the meditated uprising, and had laid down for himself several courses which he might pursue according to the success, failure, or partial failure of their plans.
There was one part of the rampart they were engaged in repairing at that time which had given way and partly fallen into the ditch outside. The portion of the wall still remaining had been further demolished in order that a more secure foundation might be laid. The broken wall here had been but partially rebuilt, and was not nearly as high as the completed wall. A jump from this might be possible to a strong active man if the ground below were soft, or even level--though the risk of broken limbs was considerable.
Brown had observed, however, that at this place a small tree grew out from a mass of rock which had been incorporated as part of the wall, and that just below it there stood a huge bush of the cactus kind. To these two he had made up his mind to intrust himself in the event of things coming to the worst.
Accordingly it was to this part of the rampart he ran with Hester in his strong arms. We have said that Sally ran after the sailor with anxiety, but that feeling was deepened into dismay when she saw him approach the portion of the wall just described, and she gave out one of her loudest coffee-pestle gasps when she saw him jump straight off the wall without a moment's hesitation.
Craning her neck and gazing downward, she saw the sailor go crashing through the little tree and alight with a squash in the heart of the watery cactus, out of which he leaped with such agility that Sally was led to exclaim under her breath-- "Hoh! don't de spikes make 'im jump!"
Whether it was the spikes or other influences we cannot tell, but certain it is that Brown did jump with wonderful activity, considering the burden he carried, dashed up the opposite bank, cut across country like a hunted hare, and found shelter in a neighbouring wood before the revolt in the city was completely quelled.
Here he pulled up and set the terrified Hester down.
"You'll excuse me, miss," he said pantingly, as he wiped his brows with the sleeve of his shirt--which garment, with a pair of canvas trousers, a grass hat, and thin carpet shoes, constituted his costume. "I'm wery sorry to carry you off agin' your will, but you'll thank me for it yet, maybe, for if I had left you behind, you couldn't have helped your poor father, and they'd have took you off for sartin to be a slave. Now, d'ye see, if you an' I manage to escape, there's no sayin' what we may do in the way o' raisin' ransom to buy back your father. Anyway, he has been so anxious about you, an' afraid o' your bein' catched, an' the terrible fate in store for you if you are, that I made up my mind for _his_ sake to carry you off."
To this explanation Hester listened with varying feelings.
"I believe, from the honesty of your look and tone," she said, at last, "that you have acted for the best, whether wisely or not remains to be seen; but I thank you heartily for your intentions, and especially for your kind feelings towards my dear father; but now I must claim the right to use my own judgment. I will return to the city and succour my father, or perish with him. Yet, rest assured, I will never forget the brave seaman who has so nobly risked his life to save me. Your name is--" "Brown, miss--at your service."
"Well, good-bye, Brown, and God's blessing attend you," she said, extending her black little hand.
The seaman gently took it and gave it a timid pressure, as if he feared to crush it in his brawny hand.
"I'll shake hands with you," he said, "but I won't say good-bye, for I'll steer back to the city with you."
"Brown, this is sheer madness. There is no reason in what you propose to do. You cannot help me by sacrificing yourself."
"That's exactly what yer father would say to you, miss, if he was alongside of us--`You can't help me by sacrificin' of yerself.' Then, p'r'aps he would foller up that obsarvation by sayin', `but you may an' can help me if you go wi' that sailor-friend o' mine, who may be rough and ready, but is sartinly true-blue, who knows the coast hereaway an' all its hidin'-places, an' who'll wentur his life to do me a good turn, cause why? I once wentured my life to do him a good turn o' the same kind.'"
"Is this true, Brown? Did you know my father before meeting him here; and did he really render you some service?"
"Yes, indeed, miss; I have sailed in one o' your father's wessels, an' once I was washed overboard by a heavy sea, and he flung over a lifebuoy arter me, and jumped into the water himself to keep me afloat till a boat picked us up, for I couldn't swim. Now, look 'ere, miss, if you'll consent to sail under my orders for a short spell, you'll have a better chance o' doin' your father a sarvice than by returnin' to that nest o' pirates. Moreover, you'll have to make up your mind pretty quick, for we've lost too much time already."
"Go on, Brown, I will trust you," said Hester, placing her hand in that of the seaman, who, without another word, led her swiftly into the bush.
Now, all this, and a great deal more was afterwards related by Hester herself to her friends; but at the time all that was known to Sally--the only witness of the exploit--was that Hester Sommers had been carried off in the manner related by an apparently friendly British sailor. This she told soon after to Peter the Great, and this was the substance of the communication which Peter the Great, with glaring eyes and bated breath, made to George Foster, who received it with feelings and expressions that varied amazingly as the narrative proceeded.
"Is that all?" he asked, when the negro at length came to a decided stop.
"Das all--an' it's enuff too! 'Pears to me you's not so much cut up about dis leetle business as I 'spected you would be."
"I am anxious, of course, about Hester," returned the middy; "but at the same time greatly relieved, first, to know that she is in the hands of a respectable British sailor; and, second, that she is _not_ in the hands of these bloodthirsty piratical Moors. But what about her father? Nothing more, I suppose, is known about his fate?"
"Not'ing, on'y it's as sure as if we did know it. If his carcass isn't on de hooks by dis time it'll soon be."
As the negro spoke the midshipman started up with flashing eyes, exclaimed angrily, "It shall _never_ be," and ran out of the bower.
Entering the house, he went straight to Ben-Ahmed's private chamber, which he entered boldly, without even knocking at the door.
The Moor was seated cross-legs on a mat, solacing himself, as usual, with a pipe. He was not a little surprised, and at first was inclined to be angry, at the abrupt entrance of his slave.
"Ben-Ahmed," said the middy, with vehemence, "the father of the English girl you are so fond of--and whom I _love_--is in terrible danger, and if you are a true man--as I firmly believe you are--you will save him."
The Moor smiled very slightly at the youth's vehemence, pointed with the mouthpiece of his hookah to a cushion, and bade him sit down and tell him all about it.
The middy at once squatted _a la Turk_, not on the cushion, but on the floor, in front of his master, and, with earnest voice and gesture, related the story which Peter the Great had just told him.
Ben-Ahmed was visibly affected by it.
"But how can I save him?" he asked, with a look of perplexity.
"Did you not once save the life of the Dey?" asked Foster.
"I did. How came you to know that?"
"I heard it from Peter the Great, who aided you on the occasion. And he told me that the Dey has often since then offered to do you some good turn, but that you have always declined."
"That is true," said Ben-Ahmed, with the look of a man into whose mind a new idea had been introduced.
"Yes, something may be done in that way, and it would grieve me that the father of my poor little Hester should die. I will try. Go, have my horse saddled, and send Peter to me."
Our midshipman bounded rather than rose from the floor, and uttered an irresistible, "God bless you," as he vanished through the doorway on his errand.
"Peter," he cried--encountering that worthy as he ran--"we'll manage it! Go to Ben-Ahmed! He wants you--quick! I'm off to fetch his horse."
Foster was much too anxious to have the thing done quickly to give the order to the head groom. He ran direct to the stable, and, choosing the fleetest of the Moor's Arab steeds, quickly put on its crimson saddle, with its un-European peaks before and behind, and the other gay portions of harness with which Easterns are wont to caparison their horses.
In a wonderfully short space of time he had the steed round to the front door, and sent another slave to tell his master that it was ready.
The Moor had also caparisoned himself, if we may say so, for the intended visit, and he had evidently done it in haste. Nevertheless, his gait was stately, and his movements were slow, as he gravely mounted the horse and rode away. The impatience of the middy was somewhat relieved, however, when he saw that Ben-Ahmed, on reaching the main road, put spurs to his horse, and rode towards the city at full gallop.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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15
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A STRANGE VISIT, A STRANGE COMMISSION, AND A STRANGE DISPLAY OF TEMPER.
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After Ben-Ahmed had departed on his mission to the Dey of Algiers, George Foster and Peter the Great re-entered the house, and in the seclusion of the bower continued to discuss the hopes, fears, and possibilities connected with the situation.
"Dat was a clebber dodge ob yours, Geo'ge," remarked the negro, "an' I's got good hope dat somet'ing will come ob it, for massa's pretty sure to succeed w'en he take a t'ing in hand."
"I'm glad you think so, Peter. And, to say truth, I am myself very sanguine."
"But dere's one t'ing dat 'plexes me bery much. What is we to do about poo' Hester's fadder w'en he's pardoned? De Dey can spare his life, but he won't set him free--an' if he don't set him free de slabe-drivers 'll be sure to kill 'im out ob spite."
The middy was silent, for he could not see his way out of this difficulty.
"Perhaps," he said, "Ben-Ahmed may have thought of that, and will provide against it, for of course he knows all the outs and ins of Moorish life, and he is a thoughtful man."
"Das true, Geo'ge. He _am_ a t'oughtful man. Anyhow, we kin do not'ing more, 'cept wait an' see. But I's much more 'plexed about Hester, for eben if de sailor am a good an' true man, as you say, he can't keep her or his-self alibe on not'ing in de mountains, no more'n he could swim wid her on his back across de Mederainyon!"
Again the middy was silent for a time. He could by no means see his way out of this greater difficulty, and his heart almost failed him as he thought of the poor girl wandering in the wilderness without food or shelter.
"P'r'aps," suggested Peter, "she may manage to git into de town an' pass for a nigger as she's dood before, an' make tracks for her old place wid Missis Lilly--or wid Dinah."
"No doubt she may," cried Foster, grasping at the hope as a drowning man grasps at a plank. "Nothing more likely. Wouldn't it be a good plan for you to go into town at once and make inquiry?"
"Dessay it would," returned the negro. "Das just what I'll do, an' if she's not dere, Dinah may gib my int'lec' a jog. She's a wonderful woman, Dinah, for workin' up de human mind w'en it's like goin' to sleep. Poo' Samson hab diskivered dat many times. I'll go at once."
"Do, Peter, my fine fellow, and you'll lay me for ever under the deepest ob--" He was interrupted by a slave who at the moment approached the bower and said that a man wanted to see Peter the Great.
"To see Ben-Ahmed, you mean," said Peter.
"No--to see yourself," returned the slave.
"Sen' 'im here," said the negro, with a magnificent wave of the hand.
In a few minutes the slave returned accompanied by a negro, who limped so badly that he was obliged to use a stick, and whose head was bandaged up with a blue cloth. Arrived at the bower, he stood before Peter the Great and groaned.
"You may go," said Peter to the slave, who lingered as if anxious to hear the news of the visitor. When he was out of hearing, Peter turned to the lame man, looked him sharply in the face, and said-- "You's bery black in de face, my frind, but you's much blacker in de h'art. What business hab you to come here widout washin' your white face clean?"
"Well, you're a pretty smart chap for a nigger. An' I dare say you'll understand that I'd have had some difficulty in fetchin' this here port at all if I'd washed my face," answered the lame man, in excellent nautical English.
While he spoke, Foster ran towards him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and looked earnestly into his face.
"You are the British sailor," he said, "who rescued Hes--Miss Sommers from the janissaries?"
"That's me to a tee," replied the sailor, with a broad grin.
"Is Miss Sommers safe?" asked the middy anxiously.
"Ay! safe as any woman can be in this world. Leastwise, she's in a cave wi' three o' the toughest sea-dogs as any man could wish to see--one o' them bein' a Maltese an' the other two bein' true-blue John Bulls as well as Jack Tars. But Miss Sommers gave me orders to say my say to Peter the Great, so if this nigger is him, I'll be obleeged if he'll have a little private conversation wi' me."
"Did Miss Sommers say that I was not to hear the message?" asked the middy, in some surprise.
"She made no mention o' _you_, or anybody else at all, as I knows on," returned the sailor firmly, "an' as my orders was to Peter the Great, an' as this seems to be him, from Sally's description--a monstrous big, fine-lookin' nigger, with a lively face--I'll say my say to him _alone_, with your leave."
"You may say it where you is, for dis yar gen'lem'n is a frind ob mine, an' a hofficer in the Bri'sh navy, an' a most 'tickler friend of Hester Sommers, so we all frinds togidder."
"You'll excuse me, sir," said the seaman, touching his forelock, "but you don't look much like a' officer in your present costoom. Well, then, here's wot I've got to say--" "Don't waste your time, Brown, in spinning the yarn of your rescue of the girl," said Foster, interrupting; "we've heard all about it already from Sally, and can never sufficiently express our thanks to you for your brave conduct. Tell us, now, what happened after you disappeared from Sally's view."
The sailor thereupon told them all about his subsequent proceedings--how he had persuaded Hester to accompany him through the woods and by a round about route to a part of the coast where he expected ere long to find friends to rescue him. From some reason or other best known to himself, he was very secretive in regard to the way in which these friends had managed to communicate with him.
"You see I'm not free to speak out all I knows," he said. "But surely it's enough to say that my friends have not failed me; that I found them waitin' there with a small boat, so light that they had dragged it up an' concealed it among the rocks, an' that I'd have bin on my way to old England at this good hour if it hadn't bin for poor Miss Sommers, whom we couldn't think of desartin'."
"Then she refused to go with you?" said Foster.
"Refused! I should think she did! Nothing, she said, would indooce her to leave Algiers while her father was in it. One o' my mates was for forcing her into the boat, an' carryin' her off, willin' or not willin', but I stood out agin' him, as I'd done enough o' that to the poor thing already. Then she axed me to come along here an' ax Peter the Great if he knowed anything about her father. `But I don't know Peter the Great,' says I, `nor where he lives.' `Go to Sally,' says she, `an' you'll get all the information you need.' `But I'll never get the length o' Sally without being nabbed,' says I. `Oh!' says she, `no fear o' that. Just you let me make a nigger of you. I always keep the stuff about me in my pocket, for I so often cry it off that I need to renew it frequently.' An' with that she out with a parcel o' black stuff and made me into a nigger before you could say Jack Robinson. Fort'nately, I've got a pretty fat lump of a nose of my own, an' my lips are pretty thick by natur', so that with a little what you may call hard poutin' when I had to pass guards, janissaries, an' such like, I managed to get to where Missis Lilly an' Sally lived, an' they sent me on here. An' now the question is, what's to be done, for it's quite clear that my mates an' me can't remain for ever hidin' among the rocks. We must be off; an' I want to know, are we to take this poor gal with us, or are we to leave her behind, an', if so, what are her friends a-goin' to do for her?"
"There's no fear of your friends going off without you, I suppose?"
"Well, as they risked their precious lives to rescue me, it ain't likely," returned the seaman.
"Would it not be well to keep Brown here till Ben-Ahmed returns?" asked Foster, turning to Peter the Great.
The negro knitted his brows and looked vacantly up through the leafy roof of the bower, as if in profound meditation. Some of the brighter stars were beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky by that time, and one of them seemed to wink at him encouragingly, for he suddenly turned to the middy with all the energy of his nature, exclaiming, "I's got it!" and brought his great palm down on his greater thigh with a resounding slap.
"If it's in your breeches pocket you must have squashed it, then!" said Brown--referring to the slap. "Anyhow, if you've got it, hold on to it an' let's hear what it is."
"No--not now. All in good time. Patience, my frind, is a virtoo wuf cultivation--" "You needn't go for to tell _that_ to a Bagnio slave like me, Mister Peter. Your greatness might have made you aware o' that," returned the sailor quietly.
An eye-shutting grin was Peter's reply to this, and further converse was stopped by the sound of clattering hoofs.
"Massa!" exclaimed the negro, listening. "Das good. No time lost. Come wid me, you sham nigger, an' I's gib you somet'ing to tickle you stummik. You go an' look arter de hoss, Geo'ge."
While the middy ran to the gate to receive his master, Peter the Great led the sham nigger to the culinary regions, where, in a sequestered corner, he supplied him with a bowl containing a savoury compound of chicken and rice.
"I hope that all has gone well?" Foster ventured to ask as the Moor dismounted.
"All well. Send Peter to me immediately," he replied, and, without another word, hurried into the house.
Calling another slave and handing over the smoking horse to him, Foster ran to the kitchen.
"Peter, you're--" "Wanted 'meeditly--yes, yes--I knows dat. What a t'ing it is to be in'spensible to anybody! I don't know how he'll eber git along widout me."
Saying which he hurried away, leaving the middy to do the honours of the house to the sailor.
"I s'pose, sir, you haven't a notion what sort o' plans that nigger has got in his head?" asked the latter.
"Not the least idea. All I know is that he is a very clever fellow and never seems very confident about anything without good reason."
"Well, whatever he's a-goin' to do, I hope he'll look sharp about it, for poor Miss Sommers's fate and the lives o' my mates, to say nothin' of my own, is hangin' at this moment on a hair--so to speak," returned the sailor, as he carefully scraped up and consumed the very last grain of the savoury mess, murmuring, as he did so, that it was out o' sight the wery best blow-out he'd had since he enjoyed his last Christmas dinner in old England.
"Will you have some more?" asked the sympathetic middy.
"No more, sir, thankee. I'm loaded fairly down to the water-line. Another grain would bust up the hatches; but if I might ventur' to putt forth a wish now, a glass o'--no? well, no matter, a drop o' water'll do. I'm well used to it now, havin' drunk enough to float a seventy-four since I come to this city o' pirates."
"You will find coffee much more agreeable as well as better for you. I have learned that from experience," said the middy, pouring out a tiny cupful from an earthen coffee-pot that always stood simmering beside the charcoal fire.
"Another of that same, sir, if you please," said the seaman, tossing off the cupful, which, indeed, scarcely sufficed to fill his capacious mouth. "Why they should take their liquor in these parts out o' things that ain't much bigger than my old mother's thimble, passes my comprehension. You wouldn't mind another? --thankee."
"As many as you please, Brown," said the middy, laughing, as he poured out cupful after cupful; "there's no fear of your getting half-seas-over on that tipple!"
"I only wish I _was_ half-seas-over, or even a quarter that length. Your health, sir!" returned Brown, with a sigh, as he drained the last cup.
Just then Peter the Great burst into the kitchen in a very elated condition.
"Geo'ge," he cried, "you be off. Massa wants you--'meeditly. But fust, let me ax--you understan' de place among de rocks whar Brown's mates and de boat am hidden?"
"Yes, I know the place well."
"You knows how to get to it?"
"Of course I do."
"Das all right; now come along--come along, you sham nigger, wid me. Has you got enuff?"
"Bustin'--all but."
"Das good now; you follow me; do what you's tol'; hol' you tongue, an' look sharp, if you don' want your head cut off."
"Heave ahead, cap'n; I'm your man."
The two left the house together and took the road that led to the hill country in rear of the dwelling.
Meanwhile George Foster went to the chamber of the Moor. He found his master seated, as was his wont, with the hookah before him, but with the mouthpiece lying idly on his knee, and his forehead resting on one hand. So deeply was he absorbed in communing with his own thoughts, that he did not observe the entrance of his slave until he had been twice addressed. Then, looking up as if he had been slightly startled, he bade him sit down.
"George Foster," he began impressively, at the same time applying a light to his hookah and puffing sedately, "you will be glad to hear that I have been successful with my suit to the Dey. God has favoured me; but a great deal yet remains to be done, and that must be done by _you_--else--" He stopped here, looked pointedly at the middy, and delivered the remainder of his meaning in pufflets of smoke.
"I suppose you would say, sir, that unless it is done by me it won't be done at all?"
To this the Moor nodded twice emphatically, and blew a thin cloud towards the ceiling.
"Then you may count upon my doing my utmost, if that which I am to do is in the interest of Hester Sommers or her father, as no doubt it is."
"Yes, it is in their interest," rejoined Ben-Ahmed. "I have done my part, but dare not go further; for much though I love little Hester--who has been to me as a sweet daughter--I must not risk my neck for her unnecessarily. But, if I mistake not, you are not unwilling to risk that?"
"Ay, fifty necks would I risk for her sake if I had them," returned our middy with enthusiasm, for he was in that stage of love which glories in the acknowledgment of thraldom.
Ben-Ahmed looked at him with interest, sighed, and sought solace in the pipe.
After a few meditative puffs, he continued-- "After all, you run little risk, as you shall see. When I asked the Dey, with whom I am familiar, for the pardon of the slave Sommers, he did not seem pleased, and objected that there had been too many revolts of late; that this man's case was a bad one, and that it was necessary to make an example or two. " `Very true, your highness,' I replied, `but may I beg you to make an example of some other slaves, and forgive Sommers?' " `Why do you take so much interest in this man?' demanded the Dey, who seemed to me rather short in his temper at the time. " `Because he is the father of one of my female slaves, your highness,' I replied; `and it is the fear that they will be separated for ever that makes the man desperate and the girl miserable. If you will permit me, I should like to reunite them. Your highness has often expressed a wish to do me some kindness for the privilege I once had of saving your highness's life. Will you now refuse me this man's life?' `Nay, I will not refuse you, Ben-Ahmed. But I do not see that my granting your request will reunite the father and child, unless, indeed, you are prepared to purchase the man.' " `I am prepared to do so, your highness,' I said. " `In that case you are at liberty to go to the Bagnio and take him out. Here is my ring.'
"Now, Foster," continued the Moor, drawing the ring in question from his vest-pocket, "take this. Show it to the captain of the guard at the Bagnio, who will admit you. Tell him that I sent you for one of the slaves. After that your own intelligence must guide you. Go, and God go with you."
"I will do as you command, Ben-Ahmed," said Foster; "but I must tell you frankly that I will not--" "Silence!" thundered the Moor, with a look of ferocity which the amazed midshipman could not account for. "Have you not understood me?"
"Yes, sir, perfectly, but--" "When a slave receives a command," cried Ben-Ahmed in rising wrath, "it is his duty to obey in silence. Again I say--go!"
The middy bowed with feelings of indignation, but on reaching the door paused, and again essayed to speak.
"I give you fair warning, Ben-Ahmed, that I will _not_--" "Silence!" again roared the Moor, seizing an ornamental box and hurling it violently at his slave, who, dipping his head, allowed it to go crashing against the wall, while he went out and shut the door.
"Well, old boy, I'm absolved from any allegiance to _you_," he muttered, as he walked smartly down the garden walk towards the gate; "so if I do a good deal more than your bidding you mustn't be surprised. But your sudden burst of anger is incomprehensible. However, that's not my business now."
Had any one been there to observe the Moor after the middy had taken his departure, he would have seen that the passion he had displayed evaporated as rapidly as it had arisen, and that he resumed the amber mouthpiece of his hookah with a peculiar smile and an air of calm contentment. Thereafter he ordered out his horse, mounted it in his usual dignified manner, and quietly rode away into the darkness of the night.
It may be observed here our middy had improved greatly in the matter of costume since his appointment to the rank of limner to Ben-Ahmed. The old canvas jacket, straw hat, etcetera, had given place to a picturesque Moorish costume which, with the middy's fine figure and natural bearing, led people to suppose him a man of some note, so that his appearance was not unsuited to the mission he had in hand.
We need scarcely say that his spirit was greatly agitated, as he walked towards the town, by uncertainty as to how he ought to act in the present emergency, and his mind was much confused by the varied, and, to some extent, inexplicable incidents of the evening. His thoughts crystallised, however, as he went along, and he had finally made up his mind what to do by the time he passed the portals Bab-Azoun and entered the streets of Algiers.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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16
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MYSTERIOUS AND DARING DEEDS ARE CROWNED WITH SUCCESS.
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Threading his way carefully through the badly lighted streets, our middy went straight to the Kasba, and, rapping boldly at the gate, demanded admittance.
"Show me to the guard-room. I wish to speak with the officer in command," he said, in the tone of one accustomed to obedience.
The soldier who admitted him introduced him to the officer in charge for the night.
"I come, sir," said Foster, with quiet gentlemanly assurance, "to demand an escort for slaves."
"By whose orders?" asked the officer.
"The order of his Highness the Dey," answered Foster, producing the ring.
The officer examined it, touched his forehead with it in token of submission, and asked how many men were required.
"Six will do," returned the middy, in a slow, meditative manner, as if a little uncertain on the point--"yes, six will suffice. I only wish their escort beyond the gates. Friends might attempt a rescue in the town. When I have them a short distance beyond the gates I can manage without assistance."
He touched, as he spoke, the handle of a silver-mounted pistol which he carried in his belt. Of course, as he spoke Lingua Franca, the officer of the guard knew quite well that he was a foreigner, but as the notables and Deys of Algiers were in the habit of using all kinds of trusted messengers and agents to do their work, he saw nothing unusual in the circumstance. Six armed soldiers were at once turned out, and with these obedient, unquestioning slaves he marched down the tortuous streets to the Bagnio.
The ring procured him admittance at once, and the same talisman converted the head jailer into an obsequious servant.
"I have come for one of your slaves," said the middy, walking smartly into the court where most of the miserable creatures had already forgotten their wretchedness in the profound sleep of the weary. The tramp of the soldiers on the stone pavement and the clang of their arms awoke some of them. "The name of the man I want is Hugh Sommers."
On hearing this one of the slaves was observed to reach out his hand and shake another slave who still slumbered.
"Rouse up, Sommers! You are wanted, my poor friend."
"What say you, Laronde?" exclaimed the merchant, starting up and rubbing his eyes.
"Get up and follow me," said Foster, in a stern commanding tone.
"And who are _you_, that orders me as if I were a dog?" fiercely returned Sommers, who, since the day of the unsuccessful mutiny, had again become desperate, and was in consequence heavily ironed.
"The Dey of Algiers gives the order through me," replied Foster, pointing to the soldiers, "and it will be your highest wisdom to obey without question. Knock off his irons," he added, turning abruptly to the chief jailer.
The air of insolent authority which our `hipperkritical' middy assumed was so effective that even Sommers was slightly overawed. While the irons were being removed, the unhappy Frenchman, Edouard Laronde, sought to console him.
"I told you it would soon come to this," he said in English. "I only wish I was going to die with you."
"Knock off this man's irons also," said the middy, to whom a new idea had suddenly occurred, and who was glad to find that his altered costume and bearing proved such a complete disguise that his old comrade in sorrow did not recognise him.
"I thought," said the jailer, "that you said only one slave was wanted."
"I say _two_ slaves are wanted," growled the midshipman, with a look so fierce that the jailer promptly ordered the removal of Laronde's fetters.
"Did I not often tell you," muttered Hugh Sommers, "that your unguarded tongue would bring you to grief?"
"It matters not. I submit, and am ready," returned the Frenchman in a sad tone. "If it were not for my poor wife and child, the world would be well rid of such a useless rebel as I." When the two slaves were ready, Foster demanded a piece of rope with which he fastened the left and right wrists of the two men together. Then, placing them in the midst of the soldiers, he led them out of the prison and along the main street in the direction of the western gate of the city. Passing through this the little party advanced into the suburbs until they reached a part of the road beyond which pedestrians usually found it convenient not to travel after dark. Here Foster called a halt.
"I thank you," he said to the leader of the soldiers, at the same time giving him a piece of money. "There is no further occasion for your services, all danger of rescue being past. I can now take care of them myself, being armed, as you see, while they are bound. Convey my thanks and compliments to your commanding officer."
The soldier acknowledged the piece of money with a grave inclination of the head, ordered his men to right-about-face, and marched back to the Kasba, leaving the three slaves standing not far from the seashore, and gazing at each other in silence.
"You seem to have forgotten me, friends," said the middy in English, pulling a clasp-knife out of his pocket. "Yet you have both met me before when we were slaves." " _Were_ slaves!" repeated the Frenchman, who was the first to recover from his astonishment, "are we not still slaves?" he asked, glancing at the cords that bound their wrists.
"Not now," said Foster, cutting the cords with his knife--"at least we shall soon be free if we make good use of our opportunities."
"Free!" exclaimed both men together, with the energy of a sudden and almost overwhelming hope.
"Ay, free! But this is no time for explanation. Follow me closely, and in silence."
Scarcely crediting their senses, and more than half disposed to believe that the whole affair was one of their too familiar dreams, yet strangely convinced at the same time that it was a reality, the two men followed their young leader with alacrity.
The reader will remember that before parting from Foster that day Peter the Great had taken special care to ascertain that he knew the whereabouts of the rocks where the boat belonging to Brown and his friends was concealed. As Foster walked along in the dark he thought a good deal about this, and felt convinced that Peter must have had some idea of the event that was likely to follow from his mission to the Bagnio. But he was much perplexed in attempting to account for his reticence in the matter. Altogether, there was mystery about it which he could not see through, so he wisely gave up thinking about it, and braced his energies to the carrying out of his own little plot. This was, to lead Hugh Sommers to his daughter and assist them to escape in the boat, along with Brown the sailor and his companions--intending, of course, to escape along with them! His taking advantage of the opportunity to free Edouard Laronde was the result of a sudden inspiration--a mere afterthought!
The distance to the spot for which they were making was considerable, and at first the fugitives proceeded with caution and in silence, but as their distance from the pirate city increased, and the danger of pursuit diminished, the middy relaxed a little, gave his companions interjectional scraps of information, and finally revealed to them all that he knew and purposed.
Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the sight of something moving at the side of the road. It looked too small for a man, yet its movements seemed too intelligent for a dog or a stray donkey.
"Stay here, I will soon find out," whispered Foster, drawing his pistol, and bounding towards the object in question.
It ran from him, but our middy was swift of foot. He quickly overtook it, and seized firmly by the arm what in the dark he thought to be a boy.
A slight scream undeceived him, and at the same time caused his heart to bound.
"Oh, you hurt me!" exclaimed a well-remembered voice.
"Hester!" cried the youth, and next moment, folding her in his arms, he kissed her--quite unintentionally, but irresistibly.
Thrusting him away with indignation, the maiden said, with flashing eyes, "You forget yourself, sir, and take advantage of my defenceless position."
"No--no, indeed! I did not intend to frighten you, dear child," (in his desperation the middy assumed the paternal _role_). "Pray forgive me, it was only my joy at the prospect of reuniting you to your father, and--" "My father!" cried Hester, forgetting her offended dignity. "Where is he? You are alone! Peter the Great sent me here to meet him, but he did not say I should meet _you_."
"Peter the Great sent you here--and alone!" exclaimed Foster, in amazement.
"Yes; he went out first to make sure that my father was coming, and then sent me to meet him that we might be alone. But Peter is close at hand."
"Ho, yis! bery close at hand, Geo'ge!" said Peter himself, suddenly emerging from a place of concealment. "Now you come along wid me, sar, an' let dat poo' chile meet her fadder in private."
"But she cannot do that, Peter, for Edouard Laronde is with him."
"Who'n all de wurld's Eddard Larongd?"
Before Foster could reply Hester had bounded from his side, and next moment was locked in her father's arms.
"Come away, Geo'ge--an' you too, Eddard La--La-whatever-it-is!" cried the negro, grasping the latter by the arm and hurrying him along the road in the direction of the seashore, while the reunited father and child knelt down together and poured out their gratitude to God.
"Dey'll foller us in a minnit or two," continued the negro. "What kep' you so long, Geo'ge?"
"Couldn't manage it sooner. But can you guess, Peter, why Ben-Ahmed behaved in the strange way he has done? He got into a rage when I attempted to tell him honestly, that I did not intend to go back to him, or to take Sommers to his house, and that I'd try to escape along with him if I could, but he would not listen or let me say a word."
"Did you t'ink ob tellin' him all dat?" asked Peter.
"I certainly did."
"Well, you're not half such a hipperkrite as I t'ink you was."
"I'm glad to hear you say so, for I don't like to play the part of a hypocrite, Peter; I like to be all fair and above-board."
"Was it all fair an' above-board, Geo'ge, to kiss dat leetle gal when she was all alone and unpurtected? Was it all fair an' above-board to call her you dear _chile_, as if you was her fadder?"
"Come, come, Peter, `everything is fair,' you know, `in love and war.' But that's not the point. Can you guess, I ask, Ben-Ahmed's motive for acting so oddly?"
"Oh! yis, Geo'ge, I kin guess a'most anybody's motives, zough, p'r'aps, I mightn't guess right. I shouldn't wonder, now, if Ben-Ahmed will hab to account to do Dey for de tottle disappearance of Hugh Sommers--to say not'ing ob Eddard La--La--what's-'is-name--an' p'r'aps he'd like to be able to say he'd no notion o' what de man he sent to fetch de slabe was goin' to do. Now he couldn't hab say dat, you know, if he let you tell him all about it--like a goose as you was. So he let you go off, d'ye see, gib you your orders so far, an' labes de rest to your good sense-- zough dere wasn't too much ob dat to leab it to, or you wouldn't hab bring away Eddard La--La--t'ing-um-bob."
"But do you really mean to tell me, Peter, that Ben-Ahmed intended me and Hugh Sommers to escape?"
"Das really what I means to tell you, Geo'ge."
"Then why didn't you tell me all, this before, and save me from a deal of uncertainty?"
"Cause, in de fuss' place, I had no time to tell you; in de second place, I was ordered not to tell you; in de t'ird place, it's good for midshipmen to be put on deir mettle, an' lef' to find deir own way out ob diffikilties, an', in de fourf place, slabes hab no business to be axin' de outs an' ins, de whys an' de wherefores of deir massa's affairs."
"Well, I always knew Ben-Ahmed had a kind heart, but little thought it was so kind and self-sacrificing as to buy Sommers for the very purpose of setting him free. I regret, deeply, that I did not know this sooner, and that I cannot now have the chance of thanking him with all my heart and soul, and bidding the good man farewell. It is one comfort, however, that I'll be able to send a message back by you. And I'm also glad that I shall not have to part from you, my dear Peter, without telling you how much I love you and how sorry, very, _very_ sorry, I am to say good-bye."
"Geo'ge," returned the negro earnestly, "don't you count your cheekins afore dey's hatched! You're not away yit."
Foster made no reply. To say truth, he felt a little hurt by the way in which his protestations of regard were received, and, by way of changing the subject, he asked if Peter had ever heard anything about the old Dane and his wife and daughter who had been captured at the same time with himself.
"Dey's bin ransom'd, all ob dem. Got rich friends, you see. Hole your tongue now, Geo'ge, we's comin' to de place."
By that time Sommers and his daughter had overtaken the party. As they all proceeded silently along the road, wondering how the matter would end, they observed a figure, like that of a female, glide, as it were, out of the darkness, and, taking Peter quietly by the arm, walk along with him.
Impelled by curiosity, Foster went forward and looked into her face.
"Angelica!" he exclaimed in surprise.
"Ob course!" answered her husband for her, "you don't suppose de wife ob Peter de Great would let Geo'ge Foster go away widout comin' to de boat to see him off?"
Ere the middy could recover from his astonishment, the party came suddenly upon a small cavern in which a light glimmered. At its entrance lay a boat, and beside it, engaged in putting it to rights, were Brown and his three companions--the two British tars and the Maltese seaman.
"Is all right?" asked Brown, in a low voice, as they approached.
"All right," answered Peter.
"Now, Geo'ge, you go in."
The middy entered the cave, and with, if possible, increased surprise, he found Ben-Ahmed standing there!
"You are astonished, my friend," said the Moor with a gentle smile, as he extended his hand.
"I am indeed," returned the middy, heartily grasping and warmly shaking it, "but I am also rejoiced that I have the opportunity--which I had not hoped for--of thanking you for all your great kindness to me in time past--especially for this crowning act."
"You have not to thank me," returned the Moor, "you have to thank the little English girl;" as he spoke he made a graceful motion of the hand towards Hester, who, with her father, entered the cave at the moment. "Little Hester has taught me--not by word but by example--the grand lesson of your Christian Scriptures, that a man should do to others what he would have others do to him. I have resolved to keep no more slaves, and, as a first step, I now set you all free!"
"God's blessing rest on you for that, sir," said Hugh Sommers, stepping forward and grasping the hand that Foster had relinquished. "Have you, then, forsaken the faith of Mohammed and adopted that of Christ?"
"Be not over-curious," said the Moor reprovingly. "Sufficient for you to know that fresh water cannot spring from a salt fountain. We must not waste time. The boat is in the water by this time. Farewell. Kiss me, my child. We may not meet again on earth, but--we shall certainly meet hereafter!"
Hester, who saw the Moor assume all shapes and sizes through the tears that filled her eyes, ran to him, and, throwing her arms round his neck gave him a hug that made even her father jealous.
"Now, away, all of you," cried Ben-Ahmed, when he was released, "and may the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob go with you."
While he was yet speaking the clatter of horses' hoofs in the distance was heard. Instantly the party made for the boat. There was no time for last adieux. Ben-Ahmed helped to shove off the boat and bundle them in.
"You will hear pistol-shots," he cried, "but fear not for me. My horse can outrun the best in Algiers. I will only fire to decoy them away. Farewell!"
He ran up into the shrubbery that bordered the road, and next minute the sound of the horse's feet was heard in the distance, as the boat skimmed swiftly out to sea under the powerful impulse of its stalwart crew.
A few minutes later and, as the Moor had prophesied, pistol-shots were heard on shore. From the sound they appeared to come from a short distance in the interior of the land, but musket-shots were also heard among them, and from the flashes on the beach it became evident that the Moor had not succeeded in turning all their pursuers off the scent--a fact which was further illustrated by the skipping of a musket ball close past the boat.
Just then it struck George Foster that Peter the Great and his wife were seated beside him.
"Hallo, Peter!" he exclaimed; "how are you and Angelica to get on shore?"
"We's not goin' on shore at all, Geo'ge."
"What do you mean, Peter?"
"I means what I says. De fact is, Geo'ge, dat I's come to de conclusion dat I couldn't lib widout you. Angelica's ob de same opinion, so we's made up our minds, wid massa's purmission, to go wid you to ole England. We's all goin' togidder, Geo'ge. Ain't dat jolly?"
"But how can we ever get to England in a small boat like this?" asked the middy, in much anxiety, for in the hurry and excitement of the start the difficulty had not occurred to him.
"No fear about that, sir," answered Brown, who pulled the bow oar; "we ain't such fools as to make the voyage in a cockle-shell like this! The boat b'longs to a privateer as is owned by a friend o' mine, an' the wessel's lyin' off an' on waitin' for us."
"There she goes!" said one of the sailors. "Look out!"
As he spoke a large schooner loomed up against the dark sky, and was hailed. A gruff voice replied. Another moment the sails flapped, and the boat was towing alongside. Our middy was first to leap on deck--and not without a purpose in view, for he was thus in a position to hand up the passengers.
"Do you forgive me, Hester?" he whispered humbly, as he stooped to grasp her little hand.
"I forgive you!" she whispered timidly, as she passed him, and was led by her father into the vessel's cabin.
That night two of the swiftest of the piratical war-vessels were seen to warp out from the Mole, and put to sea, but long before the land breeze filled their peaked sails the privateer was cleaving her way, homeward bound, through the dark waters of the Mediterranean.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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17
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THE LAST.
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"Geo'ge, your mudder wants you."
Such were the words which aroused George Foster from a reverie one morning as he stood at the window of a villa on the coast of Kent, fastening his necktie and contemplating the sea.
"Nothing wrong, I hope," said the middy, turning quickly round, and regarding with some anxiety the unusually solemn visage of Peter the Great.
"Wheder dere's anyfing wrong or not, 'snot for me to say, massa, but I t'ink dere's suffin' up, for she seems in a carfuffle."
"Tell her I shall be with her instantly." Completing his toilet hastily, our hero repaired to his mother's apartment, where he found her seated in dishabille with an open letter in her hand, and some excitement in her face.
"Is Laronde better this morning?" she asked as her son sat down on a sofa at the foot of her bed.
"I don't know, mother--haven't been to his room this morning. Why do you ask? Has anything happened?"
"I will tell you presently, but first let me know what success you have had in your search."
"Nothing but failure," said the middy, in a desponding tone. "If there had been anything good to tell you I would have come to your room last night despite the lateness of the hour. We were later than usual in arriving because a trace broke, and after that one of the horses cast a shoe."
"Where did you make inquiries, George?"
"At the solicitors' office, of course. It is through them that we obtained what we hoped would be a clue, and it is to them that poor Marie Laronde used to go to inquire whether there was any chance of her husband being released for a smaller sum than was at first demanded. They had heard of a dressmaker who employed a girl or woman named Laronde in the West End, so I hunted her up with rather sanguine expectations, but she turned out to be a girl of sixteen, dark instead of fair, and unmarried! But again I ask, mother, what news, for I see by your face that you have something to tell me. That is a letter from Minnie, is it not?"
"It is, George, and I am very hopeful that while you have been away on the wrong scent in the West End of London, Minnie has fallen, quite unexpectedly, on the right scent in one of the low quarters of Liverpool. You know that she has been nursing Aunt Jeanette there for more than a fortnight."
"Yes, I know it only too well," answered the middy. "It is too bad that Aunt Jeanette should take it into her head to get ill and send for Minnie just three weeks after my return from slavery! --But what do you mean by her having fallen on the right scent? Surely she has not found leisure and strength both to hunt and nurse at the same time!"
"Yes, indeed, she has. Our last winter in that charming south of France has so completely restored her--through the blessing of God--that she has found herself equal to almost anything. It happens that Aunt Jeanette has got a friend living close to her who is an enthusiastic worker amongst the poor of the town, and she has taken your sister several times to visit the districts where the very poor people live. It was while she was thus engaged, probably never thinking of poor Laronde's wife at all, that she--but here is the letter. Read it for yourself, you need not trouble yourself to read the last page--just down to here."
Retiring to the window the middy read as follows:-- "Darling Mother,--I must begin at once with what my mind is full of, just remarking, by the way, that Aunt Jeanette is improving steadily, and that I hope to be home again in less than a week.
"Well, I told you in my last that Miss Love--who is most appropriately named--had taken me out once or twice on her visits among the poor. And, do you know, it has opened up a new world of ideas and feelings to me. It is such a terrible revelation of the intensity of sorrow and suffering that is endured by a large mass of our fellow-creatures! I am persuaded that thousands of the well-to-do and the rich have no conception of it, for it must be seen to be understood. I feel as if my heart had become a great fountain of pity! And I can well--at least better--understand how our dear Saviour, when He wanted to give evidence of the truth and character of His mission, said, `The poor have the gospel preached unto them,' for if any class of beings on the face of this earth stand in need of good news it is the poor. God help and bless them!
"Well, the other day Miss Love came to ask me to go out with her to visit some of her poor people, among others one--a very singular character--a woman who was reported to be a desperate miser, insomuch that she starved herself and her child for the sake of saving money. It was said that she was very ill at the time--thought to be dying-- and seemed to be in a wretched state of destitution. Her name, Miss Love told me, was Lundy.
"As Auntie was pretty well that day I gladly accompanied my friend to her district. And it _was_ an awful place! I shudder even now when I think of the sights and sounds and dreadful language I saw and heard there--but I must not turn aside from what I have to tell. I pass over our visits to various families and come at once to the reputed miser. She was in bed, and from her flushed face and glittering eyes I could see that she was in high fever. She started, raised herself on an elbow, and glared at us as we entered.
"I was deeply interested in her from the first moment. Although worn and thin, with lines of prolonged suffering indelibly stamped on her, she had a beautiful and refined face. Her age appeared to be about thirty-five. A lovely, but wretchedly clothed girl, of about fourteen years of age, sat on a low stool at her bedside. And oh! such a bed it was. Merely a heap of straw with a piece of sacking over it, on a broken bedstead. One worn blanket covered her thin form. Besides these things, a small table, and a corner cupboard, there was literally nothing else in the room.
"The girl rose to receive us, and expressed regret that she had no chairs to offer. While Miss Love went forward and talked tenderly to the mother, I drew the girl aside, took her hand affectionately, and said, `You have not always been as poor as you now are?' " `No indeed,' she said, while tears filled her eyes, `but work failed us in London, where we once lived, and mother came to Liverpool to a brother, who said he would help her, but he died soon after our arrival, and then mother got ill and I had to begin and spend our savings--savings that darling mother had scraped and toiled so hard to gain--and this made her much worse, for she was _so_ anxious to save money!'
"This last remark reminded me of the reports about the mother's miserly nature, so I asked a question that made the poor girl reply quickly-- "`Oh! you mustn't think that darling mother is a miser. People so often fall into that mistake! She has been saving for ever so many years to buy father back--' "`Buy father back!' I repeated, with a sudden start. " `Yes, to buy him from the Algerine pirates--' "I waited for no more, but, running to the bedside, looked the poor woman steadily in the face. There could be no doubt about it. There was the fair hair, blue eyes, and clear complexion, though the last was sadly faded from ill-health.
"You should have seen the look of surprise she gave me. But I had been foolishly precipitate. Her mind had been wandering a little before we came in. The shock seemed to throw it further off the balance, for she suddenly looked at me with a calm sweet smile. " `Yes,' she said, `he always called me Marie, though my name was Mary, being a Frenchman, you know--his little Marie he called me! I often think how pleased he will be to see another little Marie grown big when we get him back--but oh! how long--how _long_ they are about sending him, though I have sent the money over and over again. Hush!'
"She looked round with a terrified expression and clutched my shawl with her thin hand. `You won't tell, will you?' she went on; `you have a kind face, I am sure you will not tell, but I have been saving--saving--saving, to send more money to the Moors. I keep it in a bag here under my pillow, but I often fear that some one will discover and steal it. Oh! these Moors must have hard, hard hearts to keep him from me so long--so _very_ long!'
"Here she thrust me from her with unexpected violence, burst into a wild laugh, and began in her delirium to rave against the Moors. Yet, even in the midst of her reproaches, the poor thing prayed that God would soften their hearts and forgive her for being so revengeful.
"Now, mother, I want to know what is to be done, for when we sent for a doctor he said that not a word must be said about the return of her husband until she is out of danger and restored to some degree of health."
Thus far the middy read the letter.
"Mother," he said, firmly, "the doctor may say what he likes, but I am convinced that the best cure for fever and every other disease under the sun is joy--administered judiciously, in small or large doses as the patient is able to bear it! Now, the primary cause of poor Marie's illness is the loss of her husband, therefore the removal of the cause-- that is, the recovery of her husband--" "With God's blessing," interjected Mrs Foster.
"Admitted--with the blessing of the Great Physician--that is the natural cure."
"Very true, George, but you wisely spoke of small doses. I am not sure that it would be safe to tell Monsieur Laronde that we have actually found his wife and child. He also is too weak to bear much agitation."
"Not so weak as you think, mother, though the sufferings of slave-life and subsequent anxiety have brought him very near to the grave. But I will break it to him judiciously. We will get my dear little Hester to do it." " _Your_ Hester!" exclaimed Mrs Foster, in surprise. "I trust, George, that you, a mere midshipman, have not dared to speak to that child of--" "Make your mind easy, mother," replied the middy, with a laugh, "I have not said a word. Haven't required to. We have both spoken to each other with our eyes, and that is quite enough at present. I feel as sure of my little Hester as if we were fairly spliced. There goes the breakfast-bell. Will you be down soon?"
"No. I am too happy to-day to be able to eat in public, George. Send it up to me."
The breakfast-room in that seaside villa presented an interesting company, for the fugitives had stuck together with feelings of powerful sympathy since they had landed in England. Hugh Sommers was there, but it was not easy to recognise in the fine, massive, genial gentleman, in a shooting suit of grey, the ragged, wretched slave who, not long before, had struggled like a tiger with the janissaries on the walls of Algiers. And Hester was there, of course, with her sunny hair and sunny looks and general aspect of human sunniness all over, as unlike to the veiled and timid Moorish lady, or the little thin-nosed negress, as chalk is to cheese! Edouard Laronde was also there, and he, like the others, had undergone wonderful transformation in the matter of clothing, but he had also changed in body, for a severe illness had seized him when he landed, and it required all Mrs Foster's careful nursing to "pull him through," as the middy styled it. Brown the sailor was also there, for, being a pleasant as well as a sharp man, young Foster resolved to get him into the Navy, and, if possible, into the same ship with himself. Meanwhile he retained him to assist in the search for Marie Laronde and her daughter. Last, but by no means least, Peter the Great was there--not as one of the breakfast party, but as a waiter.
Peter had from the first positively refused to sit down to meals in a dining-party room!
"No, Geo'ge," he said, when our middy proposed it to him, on the occasion of their arrival at his mother's home--"No, Geo'ge. I _won't_ do it. Das flat! I's not bin used to it. My proper speer is de kitchen. Besides, do you t'ink I'd forsake my Angelica an' leabe her to feed alone downstairs, w'ile her husband was a-gorgin' of his-self above? Neber! It's no use for you, Geo'ge, to say you'd be happy to see her too, for she wouldn't do it, an' she's as obsnit as me--an' more! Now you make your mind easy, I'll be your mudder's black flunkey--for lub, not for munny. So you hole your tongue, Geo'ge!"
Thus the arrangement came to be made--at least for a time.
The middy was unusually grave that morning as he sat down to breakfast. They were all aware that he had returned from London late the previous night, and were more or less eager to know the result of his visit, but on observing his gravity they forbore to ask questions. Only the poor Frenchman ventured to say sadly, "Failed again, I see."
"Not absolutely," said Foster, who was anxious that the invalid should not have his breakfast spoilt by being excited. "The visit I paid to the solicitor did indeed turn out a failure, but--but I have still strong hopes," he added cheerily.
"So hab I, Geo'ge," remarked Peter the Great, from behind the chair of Miss Sommers, who presided at the breakfast table, for although Peter had resigned his right to equality as to feeding, he by no means gave up his claim to that of social intercourse.
"Come, Laronde. Cheer up, my friend," said Hugh Sommers heartily; "I feel sure that we'll manage it amongst us, for we have all entered on the search heart and soul."
"Right you are, sir," ejaculated Brown, through a mouthful of buttered toast.
"It only requires patience," said the middy, "for London is a big place, you know, and can't be gone over in a week or two."
"Das so, Geo'ge," said Peter, nodding approval.
After breakfast Foster sought a private interview with Hester, who undertook, with much fear, to communicate the news to Laronde.
"You see, I think it will come best from you, Hester," said George in a grave fatherly manner, "because a woman always does these sort of things better than a man, and besides, poor Laronde is uncommonly fond of you, as--" He was going to have said "as everybody is," but, with much sagacity, he stopped short and sneezed instead. He felt that a commonplace cough from a man with a sound chest would inevitably have betrayed him--so he sneezed. "A hyperkrite as usual!" he thought, and continued aloud-- "So, you see, Hester, it is very important that you should undertake it, and it will be very kind of you, too."
"I would gladly undertake a great deal more than that for the poor man," said Hester earnestly. "When must I do it?"
"Now--at once. The sooner the better. He usually goes to the bower at the foot of the garden after breakfast."
Without a word, but with a glance that spoke volumes, the maiden ran to the bower.
What she said to the Frenchman we need not write down in detail. It is sufficient to note the result. In the course of a short time after she had entered the bower, a loud shout was heard, and next moment Laronde was seen rushing towards the house with a flushed countenance and the vigour of an athlete!
"My little girl has been too precipitate, I fear," remarked Hugh Sommers to the middy.
"Your little girl is never `_too_'--anything!" replied the middy to Hugh, with much gravity.
The ex-Bagnio slave smiled, but whether at the reply or at the rushing Frenchman we cannot tell.
When Laronde reached his room he found Peter the Great there, on his knees, packing a small valise.
"Hallo! Peter, what are you doing? I want that."
"Yes, Eddard, I know dat. Das why I's packin'."
"You're a good fellow, Peter, a true friend, but let me do it; I'm in terrible haste!"
"No, sar, you's not in haste. Dere's lots ob time." (He pulled out a watch of the warming-pan type and consulted it.) "De coach don't start till one o'clock; it's now eleben; so dere's no hurry. You jest lie down on de bed an' I'll pack de bag."
Instead of lying down the poor Frenchman fell on his knees beside the bed and laid his face in his hands.
"Yes--das better. Dere's some sense in _dat_," muttered the negro as he quietly continued to pack the valise.
Two hours later and Laronde was dashing across country as fast as four good horses could take him, with George Foster on one side, Peter the Great on the other, and Brown on the box-seat--the fo'c'sl, he called it--beside the red-coated driver.
Whatever may be true of your modern forty-mile-an-hour iron horse, there can be no question that the ten-mile-an-hour of those days, behind a spanking team with clattering wheels, and swaying springs, and cracking whip, and sounding horn, _felt_ uncommonly swift and satisfactory. Laronde shut his eyes and enjoyed it at first. But the strength engendered by excitement soon began to fail. The long weary journey helped to make things worse, and when at last they arrived at the journey's end, and went with Miss Love and Minnie to the lodging, poor Laronde had scarcely strength left to totter to his wife's bedside. This was fortunate, however, for he was the better able to restrain his feelings.
"She has had a long satisfactory sleep--is still sleeping--and is much better," was the nurse's report as they entered. The daughter looked with surprise at the weak worn man who was led forward. Laronde did not observe her. His eyes were fixed on the bed where the pale thin figure lay. One of Marie's hands lay outside the blanket. The husband knelt, took it gently and laid his cheek on it. Then he began to stroke it softly. The action awoke the sleeper, but she did not open her eyes.
"Go on," she murmured gently; "you always used to do that when I was ill or tired--don't stop it yet, as you _always_ do now, and go away."
The sound of her own voice seemed to awake her. She turned her head and her eyes opened wide while she gazed in his face with a steady stare. Uttering a sharp cry she seized him round the neck, exclaiming, "Praise the Lord!"
"Yes, Marie--my own! Praise the Lord, for He has been merciful to me--a sinner."
The unbeliever, whom lash, torture, toil, and woe could not soften, was broken now, for "the goodness of the Lord had led him to repentance."
Did the middy, after all, marry Hester, _alias_ Geo'giana Sommers? No, of course, he did not! He was a full-fledged lieutenant in his Majesty's navy when he did that! But it was not long--only a couple of years after his return from slavery--when he threw little Hester into a state of tremendous consternation one day by abruptly proposing that they should get spliced immediately, and thenceforward sail the sea of life in company. Hester said timidly she couldn't think of it. George said boldly he didn't want her to _think_ of it, but to _do it_!
This was putting the subject in quite a new light, so she smiled, blushed, and hurriedly hid her face on his shoulder!
Of course all the fugitive slaves were at the wedding. There was likewise a large quantity of dark-blue cloth, gold lace, and brass buttons at it.
Peter the Great came out strong upon that occasion. Although he consented to do menial work, he utterly refused to accept a menial position. Indeed he claimed as much right to, and interest in, the bride as her own radiant "fadder," for had he not been the chief instrument in "sabing dem bof from de Moors?"
As no one ventured to deny the claim, Peter retired to the privacy of the back kitchen, put his arm round Angelica's neck, told her that he had got a gift of enough money to "ransom his sister Dinah," laid his woolly head on her shoulder, and absolutely howled for joy.
It may be well to remark, in conclusion, that Peter the Great finally agreed to become Mrs Foster's gardener, as being the surest way of seeing "Geo'ge" during his periodical visits home. For much the same reason Hugh Sommers settled down in a small house near them. Laronde obtained a situation as French master in an academy not far off, and his wife and daughter soon gave evidence that joy is indeed a wonderful medicine!
As for George Foster himself, he rose to the top of his profession. How could it be otherwise with such an experience--and such a wife? And when, in after years, his sons and daughters clamoured, as they were often wont to do, for "stories from father," he would invariably send for Peter the Great, in order that he might listen and corroborate or correct what he related of his wonderful adventures when he was a Middy among the Moors.
THE END.
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{
"id": "21751"
}
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1
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TREATS OF OUR HERO AND OTHERS.
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If the entire circuit of a friend's conversation were comprised in the words "Don't" and "Do,"--it might perhaps be taken for granted that his advice was not of much value; nevertheless, it is a fact that Philosopher Jack's most intimate and valuable--if not valued--friend never said anything to him beyond these two words. Nor did he ever condescend to reason. He listened, however, with unwearied patience to reasoning, but when Jack had finished reasoning and had stated his proposed course of action, he merely said to him, "Don't," or "Do."
"For what end was I created?" said the philosopher, gloomily.
Wise and momentous question when seriously put, but foolish remark, if not worse, when flung out in bitterness of soul!
Jack, whose other name was Edwin, and his age nineteen, was a student. Being of an argumentative turn of mind, his college companions had dubbed him Philosopher. Tall, strong, active, kindly, hilarious, earnest, reckless, and impulsive, he was a strange compound, with a handsome face, a brown fluff on either cheek, and a moustache like a lady's eyebrow. Moreover, he was a general favourite, yet this favoured youth, sitting at his table in his own room, sternly repeated the question--in varied form and with increased bitterness--"Why was I born at all?"
Deep wrinkles of perplexity sat on his youthful brow. Evidently he could not answer his own question, though in early life his father had carefully taught him the "Shorter Catechism with proofs," while his good old mother had enforced and exemplified the same. His taciturn friend was equally unable, or unwilling, to give a reply.
After prolonged meditation, Jack relieved his breast of a deep sigh and re-read a letter which lay open on his desk. Having read it a third time with knitted brows, he rose, went to the window, and gazed pathetically on the cat's parade, as he styled his prospect of slates and chimney cans.
"So," said he at last, "my dreams are over; prospects gone; hopes collapsed--all vanished like the baseless fabric of a vision."
He turned from the cat's parade, on which the shades of evening were descending, to the less romantic contemplation of his empty fire-grate.
"Now," said he, re-seating himself at his table and stretching his long legs under it, "the question is, What am I to do? shall I kick at fate, throw care, like physic, to the dogs, cut the whole concern, and go to sea?"
"Don't," said his taciturn friend, speaking distinctly for the first time.
"Or," continued Jack, "shall I meekly bow to circumstances, and struggle with my difficulties as best I may?"
"Do," replied his friend, whose name, by the way, was Conscience.
For a long time the student sat gazing at the open letter in silence. It was from his father, and ran thus:-- "Dear Teddie,--It's a long time now that I've been thinkin' to write you, and couldn't a-bear to give you such a heavy disappointment but can't putt it off no longer, and, as your mother, poor soul, says, it's the Lord's will and can't be helped--which, of course, it shouldn't be helped if that's true--but--well, howsomever, it's of no use beatin' about the bush no longer. The seasons have been bad for some years past, and it's all I've been able to do to make the two ends meet, with your mother slavin' like a nigger patchin' up the child'n's old rags till they're like Joseph's coat after the wild beast had done its worst on it--though we _are_ given to understand that the only wild beasts as had to do with that coat was Joseph's own brothers. Almost since ever I left the North of England--a small boy--and began to herd cattle on the Border hills, I've had a strange wish to be a learned man, and ever since I took to small farmin', and perceived that such was not to be my lot in life, I've had a powerful desire to see my eldest son--that's you, dear boy--trained in scientific pursoots, all the more that you seemed to have a natural thirst that way yourself. Your mother, good soul, in her own broad tongue--which I've picked up somethin' of myself through livin' twenty year with her--was used to say she `wad raither see her laddie trained in ways o' wisdom than o' book-learnin',' which I'm agreed to myself, though it seems to me the two are more or less mixed up. Howsomever, it's all up now, my boy; you'll have to fight your own battle and pay your own way, for I've not got one shillin' to rub on another, except what'll pay the rent; and, what with the grey mare breakin' her leg an' the turnips failin', the look-out ahead is darkish at the best."
The letter finished with some good advice and a blessing.
To be left thus without resources, just when the golden gates of knowledge were opening, and a few dazzling gleams of the glory had pierced his soul, was a crushing blow to the poor student. If he had been a true philosopher, he would have sought counsel on his knees, but his philosophy was limited; he only took counsel with himself and the immediate results were disastrous.
"Yes," said he, with an impulsive gush, "I'll go to sea."
"Don't," said his quiet friend.
But, regardless of this advice, Edwin Jack smote the table with his clenched fist so violently that his pen leapt out of its ink-bottle and wrote its own signature on one of his books. He rose in haste and rang the bell.
"Mrs Niven," he said to his landlady, "let me know how much I owe you. I'm about to leave town--and--and won't return."
"Ech! Maister Jack; what for?" exclaimed the astonished landlady.
"Because I'm a beggar," replied the youth, with a bitter smile, "and I mean to go to sea."
"Hoots! Maister Jack, ye're jokin'."
"Indeed I am very far from joking, Mrs Niven; I have no money, and no source of income. As I don't suppose you would give me board and lodging for nothing, I mean to leave."
"Toots! ye're haverin'," persisted Mrs Niven, who was wont to treat her "young men" with motherly familiarity. "Tak' time to think o't, an' ye'll be in anither mind the morn's mornin'. Nae doot ye're--" "Now, my good woman," interrupted Jack, firmly but kindly, "don't bother me with objections or advice, but do what I bid you--there's a good soul; be off."
Mrs Niven saw that she had no chance of impressing her lodger in his present mood; she therefore retired, while Jack put on a rough pilot-cloth coat and round straw hat in which he was wont at times to go boating. Thus clad, he went off to the docks of the city in which he dwelt; the name of which city it is not important that the reader should know.
In a humble abode near the said docks a bulky sea-captain lay stretched in his hammock, growling. The prevailing odours of the neighbourhood were tar, oil, fish, and marine-stores. The sea-captain's room partook largely of the same odours, and was crowded with more than an average share of the stores. It was a particularly small room, with charts, telescopes, speaking-trumpets, log-lines, sextants, portraits of ships, sou'-westers, oil-cloth coats and leggings on the walls; model ships suspended from the beams overhead; sea-boots, coils of rope, kegs, and handspikes on the floor; and great shells, earthenware ornaments, pagodas, and Chinese idols on the mantel-piece. In one corner stood a child's crib. The hammock swung across the room like a heavy cloud about to descend and overwhelm the whole. This simile was further borne out by the dense volumes of tobacco smoke in which the captain enveloped himself, and through which his red visage loomed over the edge of the hammock like a lurid setting sun.
For a few minutes the clouds continued to multiply and thicken. No sound broke the calm that prevailed, save a stertorous breathing, with an occasional hitch in it. Suddenly there was a convulsion in the clouds, and one of the hitches developed into a tremendous cough. There was something almost awe-inspiring in the cough. The captain was a huge and rugged man. His cough was a terrible compound of a choke, a gasp, a rend, and a roar. Only lungs of sole-leather could have weathered it. Each paroxysm suggested the idea that the man's vitals were being torn asunder; but not content with that, the exasperated mariner made matters worse by keeping up a continual growl of indignant remonstrance in a thunderous undertone.
"Hah! that _was_ a splitter. A few more hug--sh! ha! like that will burst the biler entirety. Polly--hallo!"
The lurid sun appeared to listen for a moment, then opening its mouth it shouted, "Polly--ahoy!" as if it were hailing the maintop of a seventy-four.
Immediately there was a slight movement in one corner of the room, and straightway from out a mass of marine-stores there emerged a fairy! At least, the little girl, of twelve or thereabouts, who suddenly appeared, with rich brown tumbling hair, pretty blue eyes, faultless figure, and ineffable sweetness in every lineament of her little face, might easily have passed for a fairy or an angel.
"What! caught you napping?" growled the captain in the midst of a paroxysm.
"Only a minute, father; I couldn't help it," replied Polly, with a little laugh, as she ran to the fireplace and took up a saucepan that simmered there.
"Here, look alive! shove along! hand it up! I'm chokin'!"
The child held the saucepan as high as she could towards the hammock. The captain, reaching down one of his great arms, caught it and took a steaming draught. It seemed to relieve him greatly.
"You're a trump for gruel, Polly," he growled, returning the saucepan. "Now then, up with the pyramid, and give us a nor'-wester."
The child returned the saucepan to the fireplace, and then actively placed a chair nearly underneath the hammock. Upon the chair she set a stool, and on the top she perched herself. Thus she was enabled to grasp the lurid sun by two enormous whiskers, and, putting her lips out, gave it a charming "nor'-wester," which was returned with hyperborean violence. Immediately after, Polly ducked her head, and thus escaped being blown away, like a Hindoo mutineer from a cannon's mouth, as the captain went off in another fit.
"Oh! father," said Polly, quite solemnly, as she descended and looked up from a comparatively safe distance, "isn't it awful?"
"Yes, Poll, it's about the wust 'un I've had since I came from Barbadoes; but the last panful has mollified it, I think, and your nor'-wester has Pollyfied it, so, turn into your bunk, old girl, an' take a nap. You've much need of it, poor thing."
"No, father, if I get into my crib I'll sleep so heavy that you won't be able to wake me. I'll just lie down where I was before."
"Well, well--among the rubbish if ye prefer it; no matter s'long as you have a snooze," growled the captain as he turned over, while the fairy disappeared into the dark recess from which she had risen.
Just then a tap was heard at the door. "Come in," roared the captain. A tall, broad-shouldered, nautical-looking man entered, took off his hat, and stood before the hammock, whence the captain gave him a stern, searching glance, and opened fire on him with his pipe.
"Forgive me if I intrude, Captain Samson," said the stranger; "I know you, although you don't know me. You start to-morrow or next day, I understand, for Melbourne?"
"Wind and weather permittin'," growled the captain. "Well, what then?"
"Have you completed your crew?" asked the stranger.
"Nearly. What then?" replied the captain with a touch of ferocity, for he felt sensations of an approaching paroxysm.
"Will you engage _me_?" asked Philosopher Jack, for it was he.
"In what capacity?" demanded the captain somewhat sarcastically.
"As an ordinary seaman--or a boy if you will," replied Edwin, with a smile.
"No," growled Samson, decisively, "I won't engage you; men with kid gloves and white hands don't suit me."
From the mere force of habit the young student had pulled on his gloves on leaving his lodging, and had only removed that of the right hand on entering the captain's dwelling. He now inserted a finger at the wrist of the left-hand glove, ripped it off, and flung it with its fellow under the grate. Thereafter he gathered some ashes and soot from the fireplace, with which he put his hands on a footing with those of a coal-heaver.
"Will you take me now, captain?" he said, returning to the hammock, and spreading out his hands.
The captain gave vent to a short laugh, which brought on a tremendous fit, at the conclusion of which he gasped, "Yes, my lad, p'r'aps I will; but first I must know something about you."
"Certainly," said the philosopher, and at once gave the captain a brief outline of his circumstances.
"Well, you know your own affairs best" said Captain Samson when he had finished; "I'm no judge of such a case, but as you're willin' to ship, I'm willin' to ship you. Come here before ten to-morrow. Good night. There, it's a-comin'--hash--k--!"
In the midst of another furious paroxysm Edwin Jack retired.
Not long after, the captain raised himself on one elbow, listened intently for a few seconds, and, having satisfied himself that Polly was asleep, slipped from his hammock--as only seamen know how--and proceeded to dress with the utmost caution. He was evidently afraid of the little sleeper among the rubbish. It was quite interesting to observe the quiet speed with which he thrust his great limbs into his ample garments, gazing anxiously all the time at Polly's corner.
Issuing from his own door with the step of an elephantine mouse, the captain went rapidly through several streets to the house of an intimate friend, whom he found at supper with his wife and family.
"Evenin', Bailie Trench; how are 'ee, Mrs T? how's everybody?" said the captain, in a hearty rasping voice, as he shook hands right and left, while one of his huge legs was taken possession of, and embraced, by the bailie's only daughter, a pretty little girl of six.
"Why, Samson," exclaimed the bailie, after quiet had been restored, and his friend had been thrust into a chair with little Susan on his knee, "I thought you were laid up with influenza--eh?"
"So I was, bailie, an' so I am," replied the captain; "leastwise I'm still on the sick-list, and was in my hammock till about half an hour ago, but I'm gettin' round fast. The night air seems to do me a world o' good--contrariwise to doctor's expectations."
"Have some supper?" said Mrs Trench, who was a weakish lady with watery eyes.
"No supper, Mrs T, thank 'ee; the fact is, I've come on business. I should be on my beam-ends by rights. I'm absent without leave, an' have only a few minutes to spare. The passenger I spoke of has changed his mind and his berth is free, so I'm glad to be able to take your son Ben after all. But he'll have to get ready quick, for the _Lively Poll_ sails the day after to-morrow or next day--all bein' well."
The eyes of young Benjamin Trench sparkled. He was a tall, thin, rather quiet lad of eighteen.
"I can be ready to-night if you wish it, Captain Samson," he said, with a flush on his usually pale face.
Beside Mrs Trench there sat a sturdy little boy. He was the bosom friend of Ben--a bright ruddy fellow of fourteen, overflowing with animal spirits, and with energy enough for three lads of his size. This youth's countenance fell so visibly when Ben spoke of going away, that Mrs Trench could not help noticing it.
"Why, what's the matter, Wilkins?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing!" returned the boy, "only I don't like to hear Ben speak of leaving us all and going to Australia. And I would give all the world to go with him. Won't you take me as a cabin boy, Captain Samson?"
"Sorry I can't, lad," said the captain, with a grin, "got a cabin boy already."
"Besides, your father would not let you," said Mrs Trench, "and it would never do to go without his leave. Only misfortune could come of that."
"Humph! it's very hard," pouted the boy. "I wanted him to get me into the navy, and he wouldn't; and now I want him to get me into the merchant service, and he won't. But I'll go in spite of him."
"No, you won't, Watty," said Ben, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Yes, Ben, I will," returned little Wilkins, with such an air of determination that every one except Ben laughed.
"Now, bailie," said the captain, rising, "I'm off. The truth is, I wouldn't have come if it had not been important to let you know at once to get your boy ready; but I had no one to send except Polly, and I wouldn't send her out at night by herself for all the wealth of Indy. Moreover, _she_ wouldn't have let me out to-night for any consideration whatever. She's very strict with me, is my little keeper. I wouldn't for the world she should wake and find me gone. So, good-night all."
Ten minutes more, and the guilty man entered his dwelling on tiptoe. In order to get into his hammock with extreme caution he forsook his ancient method of a spring, and mounted on an empty cask. The cask was not equal to the emergency. He went through the head of it with a hideous crash! Spurning it from him, he had just time to plunge into his place of repose and haul the clothes over him, when Polly emerged from her lair with wondering eyes.
"What ever was that, father?"
"Nothin', my dear, nothin' in partickler--only a cask I kicked over. Now, then, Poll, since you're keepin' me awake in this fashion, it's your dooty to soothe me with an extra panful, and another nor'-wester-- so, up wi' the pyramid; and after you've done it you must turn into your crib. I'll not want you again to-night; the cough's much better. There--thank 'ee. Pollyfy me now--that's right. Good-night."
Oh, base mariner! little did you merit such a pleasant termination to your evening's work; but you are not the only wicked man in this world who receives more than he deserves.
Two days after the incidents just related a noble ship spread her canvas to a favouring breeze, and bowing farewell to her port of departure, commenced the long long voyage to the Antipodes.
She was not a passenger ship, but a trader; nevertheless there were a few passengers on her quarter-deck, and among these towered the colossal figure of Captain Samson. Beside him, holding his hand, stood a fairy-like little creature with brown curls and pretty blue eyes. Not far from her, leaning over the bulwarks, Benjamin Trench frantically waved a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. The signal was responded to, with equal feeling, by the bailie, his wife, and little Susan. A good number of people, young and old, assembled at the pier-head, among whom many waved handkerchiefs, and hands, and scarfs, and hats to the crew.
Among the sailors who gazed wistfully towards the pier was one who made no farewell signal, and received no parting wave. Philosopher Jack had concealed his intention of going to sea from all his college chums, and a bitter feeling of loneliness oppressed his heart as he thought of his old father and mother, and the lowly cottage on the Border hills. He had not, indeed, acted in direct opposition to the wishes of his parents, but he had disobeyed the well-known Scripture command to do them "honour," for he had resolved on his course of action without consulting them, or asking their advice. He felt that he had very selfishly forsaken them in their old age; in the hour of their sore distress, and at a time when they stood woefully in need of his strong muscles, buoyant spirit, and energetic brain. In short, Edwin Jack began to feel that he required all his philosophy, and something more, to enable him to face the future with the unflinching courage of a man.
So the ship moved slowly on, revealing on her stern the "_Lively Poll_" in letters of burnished gold--past the pier-head, down the broad river, out upon the widening firth, beyond lighthouse, buoy, and beacon, until at last the fresh Atlantic breezes filled her snowy sails.
And ever as she rose and sank upon the rolling waves, their swish and thud fell strangely on the ear of one who lay deep down in the recesses of the hull, where--among barrels of pork, and casks of tar, and cans of oil, and coils of rope, and other unsavoury stores--he consorted with rats and mice and an uneasy conscience, in thick darkness. This was a "stowaway." He was a sturdy, bright, ruddy little fellow of fourteen. Down in that unwholesome place, with a few ship-biscuits and a bottle of water to keep him alive, he would have looked like a doubled-up overgrown hedgehog if there had been light enough to reveal him.
Thus, with its little world of hopes and fears, its cares and pleasures, and its brave, trembling, trusting, sorrowing, joyful, anxious, reckless hearts, the good ship passed from the shores of Britain, until her sails quivered like a petrel's wings on the horizon, and then vanished into the boundless bosom of the mighty sea.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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2
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TELLS OF A GHOST AND AN OVERWHELMING DISASTER.
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It may seem strange, nevertheless it is true, that ignorance is a misfortune which now and then results in good. Of course we do not make this remark in commendation of ignorance, but if Baldwin Burr had not been ignorant and densely stupid, Philosopher Jack would not have had the pleasure of instructing him, and the seaman himself would not have enjoyed that close intimacy which frequently subsists between teacher and pupil. Even Polly Samson derived benefit from Baldwin's want of knowledge, for, being remarkably intelligent for her years, and having been well taught, she took great pleasure in enlightening his darkness.
"How is it," she asked one day, while sitting on the cabin skylight and looking up in the man's rugged countenance, "how is it that you are so stupid?"
Burr, who was steering, gave the wheel a turn, looked up at the mast-head, then round the horizon, then down at his questioner with a bland smile, and said-- "Well now, Miss Polly, d'ee know, that's wot I can't exactly tell. P'r'aps it's 'cause of a nat'ral want of brains, or, maybe, 'cause the brains is too much imbedded in fat--for I'm a fleshy man, as you see-- or, p'r'aps it's 'cause I never went to school, my parients bein' poor, uncommon poor, though remarkably honest. I've sometimes thought, w'en meditatin' on the subject, that my havin' bin born of a Friday may have had somethin' to do with it."
"Oh, Baldwin," said Polly with a little laugh, "surely you can't believe that. Father says it's all nonsense about Friday being an unlucky day."
"P'r'aps it is, an' p'r'aps it ain't," returned the cautious seaman. "I regard your father, my dear, as a deeply learned man, and would give in, if I could, to wotever he says, but facts is facts, and opinions is opinions, you can't change that, nohow you fix it. Wot's the cap'n's opinions, now, as to ghosts?"
"He don't believe in 'em at all," was Polly's prompt answer. "No more do I, for father knows everything, and he's always right."
"He's a lucky man to have you, Polly, and there's a lucky boy knockin' about the world somewheres lookin' out for you. A good daughter, it's said, inwariably makes a good wife; which you don't understand just now, but you'll come to in course of time. Hows'ever, as I wos observin', I've been of the same opinion as your father till two nights ago, when I heard a ghost right under the deck, it seemed to me, blow my hammock, where there's nothin' but ship's stores and rats."
"Heard a ghost!" exclaimed Polly, with opening eyes.
"Ay, an' seed 'im too," said Burr. "Night before yesterday I heer'd 'im as plain as I hear myself. He wos groanin', an' it's quite impossible that a tar-barrel, or a cask, or a rat, could groan. The only thing that puzzled me wos that he seemed to snore; more than that he sneezed once or twice. Now, I never heard it said that a ghost could sleep or catch cold. Did you, Polly?"
Polly laughed and said that she never did, and asked eagerly what the ghost was like.
"It was wery much like an or'nary man of small size," said the seaman, "but it were too dark to make out its face. I know the figure of every soul in the ship by this time, an' I could swear before a maginstrate, or a bench of bishops, that the ghost is neither one of the crew nor a passenger."
"Why didn't you speak to it?" asked Polly.
"So I did speak to it, but it wouldn't answer; then I made a grab at it, but it was as active as a kitten, dodged round the mainmast, flew for'ed on inwisible wings, and went slap down the fore-scuttle, head first, with a crash that would have broke the neck of anything but a ghost."
At this interesting point the conversation was interrupted by Edwin Jack, whose turn it was to relieve the man at the wheel. He nodded to Polly as he came up, took his post, and received the ship's "course" from Burr, who thrust his hands into his pockets, and left the quarter-deck.
Edwin was by this time a considerably changed man, although but a few days at sea. The rough blue trousers, guernsey, and pea-jacket, took as naturally to his strong limbs as if he had been born and bred a sailor; and already some huge blisters, a few scars, and not a little tar, had rendered his hands creditable.
Steering at the time was a mere matter of form, as a dead calm prevailed. Our philosopher therefore amused himself and Polly with commentaries on the ghost-subject which Burr had raised.
Late that night, when the stars were shining in a cloudless sky, and winking at their reflections in the glassy ocean, the ghost appeared to Edwin Jack. It was on this wise: Jack, being one of the watch on deck, went to the port bulwarks near the foremast shrouds, leant over, and, gazing down into the reflected sky, thought sadly of past, present, and future. Tiring at last of his meditations, he went towards a man who appeared to be skulking under the shadow of the long-boat and remarked that it was a fine night, but the man made no reply.
"A most enjoyable night, shipmate," he said, going closer.
"I'm glad you think so," said the ghost, "it's anything but enjoyable to _me_. The state of the weather hasn't much effect, either one way or another, on a fellow who is half-dead with hunger, half-choked with a cold caught among the rats and stores, and half-killed by a tumble down the fore-scuttle, or whatever may be the name of that vile ladder that leads to the regions below."
"Surely," exclaimed Jack in surprise, seizing the ghost by the shoulders and looking close into its face, "I have heard your voice before now, and, eh? --no, I don't know you."
"Yes, Philosopher Jack, you do know me," returned the ghost; "I've had the honour of playing cricket with you on the green, though you've forgotten me, and no wonder, for I've suffered much from bad air and sea-sickness of late. My name is Walter, more familiarly Watty Wilkins."
"Little Wilkins!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise, "well, you _are_ changed; you don't mean to say that you've run away from home?"
"That's just what I've done," said the poor lad in a tone of despondency; "but you've no occasion to shake your head at me so solemnly, for, to all appearance, you have run away too."
"No, Wilkins, you are wrong, I have walked away, being my own master, and I have done it openly, though I admit somewhat hastily--" Jack was interrupted at that moment by Ben Trench laying a hand on his shoulder.
"It strikes me," he said, in some surprise, "that I recognise the voice of a townsman--Mister Jack, if I mistake not?"
"No, sir," replied the philosopher, "not _Mister_, only Edwin Jack, seaman aboard the _Lively Poll_. You are right, however, in styling me townsman. Allow me to introduce you to another townsman, Mr Watty Wilkins, stowaway on board of the same vessel!"
Trench had not, in the darkness, recognised his friend. He now seized him by both shoulders, and peering into his face, said-- "O Watty, Watty, have you really done it? I had thought better of you."
"I _said_ I would do it, and I've _done_ it," returned the little youth somewhat testily; "and now I want to know what is to be done next."
"Report yourself and take the consequences," said Jack, promptly.
This advice being seconded by Ben Trench, Watty Wilkins went aft to the captain, who had just come on deck, touched his cap, and confessed himself.
For some moments the captain spoke not a word, but looked at the young culprit with a portentous frown. Then, uttering something like a deep bass growl, he ordered the lad to follow him into his private cabin. When there, Captain Samson seated himself on a locker, and with a hand on each knee, glared at his prisoner so long and so fiercely from under his shaggy brows, that Watty, in spite of his recklessness, began to feel uneasy.
"So, youngster, you've run away?" he said at length, in deep solemnity.
"Yes, sir," replied Wilkins.
"And you think yourself a fine clever fellow, no doubt?"
"No, sir, I don't," said Watty, with much humility.
"I knew your father, boy," continued the captain, assuming a softer and more serious tone, "and I think he is a good man."
"He is, sir," returned the boy promptly.
"Ay, and he is a kind man; he has been kind to _you_, I think."
Watty hung his head.
"He has fed you, clothed you, educated you since you was a babby; nursed you, maybe, in sickness, and prayed for you, no doubt that God would make you a good, obedient and loving son."
The boy's head drooped still lower.
"And for all this," continued the captain, "you have repaid him by running away. Now, my lad, as you have made your bed you shall lie on it. I'll clap your nose to the grindstone, and keep it there. Steward!"
A smart little man answered to the call.
"Take this boy for'ed, and teach him to clean up. Don't spare him."
In obedience to this order the steward took little Wilkins forward and introduced him to the cook, who introduced him to the coppers and scrubbing brushes. From that day forward Master Watty became deeply versed in the dirty work and hard work of the ship, so that all the romance of a sea life was driven out of him, and its stern realities were implanted. In less than three weeks there was not a cup, saucer, or plate in the ship that Watty had not washed; not a "brass" that he had not polished and re-polished; not a copper that he had not scraped; not an inch of the deck that he had not swabbed. But it must not be supposed that he groaned under this labour. Although reckless, hasty, and inconsiderate, he was not mean-spirited. Making up his mind to do his best in the circumstances, he went cheerfully to his dirty work, and did it well.
"You see," said he to Philosopher Jack, as they chanced one dark night to have a few minutes' talk together near the weather gangway, where Watty paused on his way to the caboose with a soup-tureen, "as the captain says, I've made the bed myself, so I must lie on it and I'm resolved to lie straight, and not kick."
"Right, Watty, right," said Jack, with a sigh; "we have both been fools, so must grin and bear it."
Watty greeted this remark, to Jack's surprise, with a sudden and unexpected yell, as he received a cut from a rope's-end over the back.
"What, idling, eh?" cried the steward, flourishing the rope's-end again.
In a burst of rage the poor boy raised the soup-tureen, and would infallibly have shattered it on the man's head if Jack had not caught his arm.
"Come, Wilkins, mind what you're about," he said, pushing him towards the forepart of the ship to prevent a scuffle.
A moment's reflection sufficed to convince Wilkins of the folly, as well as uselessness, of rebellion. Pocketing his pride and burning with indignation, he walked forward, while the tyrannical steward went grumbling to his own private den.
It chanced that night that the captain, ignorant of what had occurred, sent for the unfortunate stowaway, for the mitigation of whose sorrows his friend Ben Trench had, more than once, pleaded earnestly, but in vain. The captain invariably replied that Watty had acted ungratefully and rebelliously to a kind father, and it was his duty to let him bear the full punishment of his conduct.
Watty was still smarting from the rope's-end when he entered the cabin.
"Youngster," said the captain, sternly, "I sent for you to tell you of a fact that came to my knowledge just before we left port. Your father told me that, being unwilling to disappoint you in your desires, he had managed to get a situation of some sort for you on board a well-known line of ocean steamers, and he only waited to get the thing fairly settled before letting you know about it. There, you may go for'ed and think what you have lost by running away."
Without a word of reply Watty left the cabin. His day's work had just been completed. He turned into his hammock, and, laying his head on his pillow, quietly wept himself to sleep.
"Ain't you rather hard on the poor boy, father?" said Polly, who had witnessed the interview.
"Not so hard as you think, little woman," answered the captain, stroking the child's head with his great hand; "that little rascal has committed a great sin. He has set out on the tracks of the prodigal son you've often read about, an' he's not sufficiently impressed with his guilt. When I get him into a proper frame o' mind I'll not be so hard on him. Now, Polly, go putt your doll to bed, and don't criticise your father."
Polly seized the huge whiskers of her sire, and giving him an unsolicited "nor'-wester," which was duly returned, went off to her little cot.
We do not mean to trouble the reader with all the incidents of a prolonged voyage to southern latitudes, during which Philosopher Jack formed a strong friendship with Ben Trench and Watty Wilkins; continued his instruction of the amiable and unfathomable Baldwin Burr, and became a general favourite with the crew of the _Lively Poll_. Suffice it to say that all went well, and the good ship sailed along under favouring breezes without mishap of any kind until she reached that great ocean whose unknown waters circle round the Southern Pole.
Here, however, good fortune forsook them, and contrary-gales baffling the _Lively Poll_ drove her out of her course, while tumbling billows buffeted her severely.
One night a dead calm prevailed. The air became hot, clouds rose rapidly over the sky, and the barometer--that faithful friend of the mariner--fell unusually low.
"How dreadfully dark it is getting," said Polly, in a low, half-frightened tone to Baldwin Burr, who was at the wheel.
"We're going to have a night of it, my dear," replied the seaman.
If he had said that the winds and waves were going to "have a night of it" Baldwin Burr would have been more strictly correct. He had scarcely uttered the words when the captain gave orders to close-reef the top-sails. Our philosopher, springing aloft with his comrades, was out on the top-sail yard in a few seconds. Scarcely had the sails been reefed when the gale burst upon the ship, and almost laid her flat upon the foaming sea. At first the very violence of the wind kept the waves down, but they gradually rose until the ship was tossed on their crests and engulfed in their hollows like a cork. As the force of the gale increased sail was further reduced, until nothing but a mere rag was left and even this at last was split and blown to ribbons. Inky clouds soon obscured the sky, and, as night descended on the wild scene, the darkness became so intense that nothing could be seen except the pale gleam of foaming billows as they flashed past over the bulwarks. In the midst of the turmoil there came a blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by a terrible crash of thunder. This was succeeded by a sound of rending which was not the result of elemental strife.
"Foremast gone, sir," cried one of the men, staggering aft.
Seizing an axe, the captain sprang forward. Edwin Jack followed. They found the ship's-carpenter already at work cutting the shrouds and other ropes that held the wreck of the mast. As flashes of lightning followed in quick succession they revealed a scene of ruin on the forepart of the vessel, with the tall figure of Edwin as he stood on the bulwarks wielding an axe. At last the wreck was cleared, but the seas were now bursting over the decks and sweeping away everything not made fast. Among other things the long-boat was carried away, and ere long all the other boats were torn from their fastenings or destroyed. It was a fearful night. Even the most reckless among the sailors were overawed by such a display of the terrors of God. At such times scoffers are wont to become tremblers, and those who "trust in God" find Him "a very present help in trouble."
The gale was as short-lived as it was fierce. By the dawn of the following day it had abated considerably, and it was found that less damage had been done to the ship than might have been expected.
"We're all right, Polly, thank God!" said the captain, earnestly, when he ventured to open the companion hatch and go below. "You prayed for us, dear, didn't you?"
"Yes, father, I did; I prayed that our lives might be spared, if He pleased."
"Well, Polly, our prayers have been answered," said the captain; "our lives are spared and the ship is safe, though we've lost the foremast and the boats. However, that can be putt to rights; we'll rig up a jury-mast and get on famously, so keep up your heart, old girl, and give us a nor'--. There, you'd better stay below yet awhile; it's dirty on deck."
The weather was not long of improving. A profound calm followed the storm. Bright sunshine banished the thunder-clouds. The contrast between the dangers just past and the peaceful condition that prevailed had the effect of raising the spirits of all on board the _Lively Poll_ to an unusual height, so that snatches of song, whistling, and cheery remarks, were heard on all sides among the busy crew as they rigged up a new mast, bent on new sails, and repaired the various damages. When night put a stop to their labours, and every one sought repose, except the watch and the captain and the man at the wheel, the same peaceful calm continued. Only the long undulating swell of ocean remained to tell of the recent storm, while the glassy surface reflected a universe of stars.
It was at this time of profound repose and fancied security that the death-knell of the _Lively Poll_ was sounded. In the southern seas there is a little creature, named the coral insect (of which we shall have more to say hereafter), which is ever at work building walls and ramparts on the bottom of the sea. These rise by degrees to the surface,--rise above it--and finally become some of the fairest isles of the Pacific. Charts tell of the isles, but no charts can tell the locality of coral reefs which have just, or barely, reached the surface. The _Lively Poll_ was forging slowly ahead under a puff of air that only bulged her top-sails as she rose and sank on the majestic swell. Presently she rose high, and was then let down on a coral reef with such violence that the jury-mast with the main-topmast and all the connected rigging, went over the side. Another swell lifted her off, and flung her on the ocean's breast a total wreck.
The scene that followed may be imagined. Whatever could be done by an able and active seaman in such an emergency was done by Captain Samson. Water was rushing in through the shattered hull. To pass a sail under the ship's bottom and check this was the first act. Then the pumps were rigged and worked by all on board. Besides Ben Trench there were three gentlemen passengers. These took their turn with the rest, but all was of no avail. The ship was sinking. The utmost efforts of those whose lives seemed dependent on her only delayed the final catastrophe.
"There is no hope," said the captain in a low tone to his chief mate, to whom he gave some rapid orders, and went below.
It was daybreak, and the first gleam of light that leaped over the glassy sea tinged the golden curls of Polly Samson as she lay sleeping on one of the cabin sofas. She awoke and started up.
"Lie still, darling, and rest as long as you may," said the captain in a low tender voice, "and pray, Polly, pray for us again. God is able to save to the uttermost, my pet."
He said this without pausing, as he went to his berth and brought out a sextant, with which he returned on deck.
Standing near the foot of the companion-ladder, Watty Wilkins had heard the words, "There is no hope," and the few sentences addressed to the child. His impressionable spirit leapt to the conclusion that the fate of all on board was sealed. He knew that the boats had all been swept away, and a feeling of profound despair seized him. This was quickly followed by contrition for his past conduct and pity for his father, under the impulse of which he sat down in a corner of the steward's pantry and groaned aloud. Then he wrote a few lines in pencil on a piece of paper, bidding farewell to his father. Often had he read of such messages from the sea being wafted ashore in bottles, but little did he expect ever to have occasion to write one. He had just put the paper in a bottle, corked it up, and dropped it out of one of the cabin windows, when he was summoned on deck, and found that a raft was being hastily prepared alongside. Already some casks of biscuits and water had been lowered on it, while the carpenter and several men were busily at work increasing its size and binding it together with iron clamps, hawsers, and chains.
There was urgent need for haste, as the ship was fast settling down.
"Now then, my lads, look alive!" cried the captain, as he lifted his little daughter over the side. "The ship can't float much longer. Here, Jack, catch hold."
Edwin sprang to the side of the raft, and, standing up, received Polly in his arms.
"Take care of her! Hold her tight!" cried the anxious father.
"Trust me," said Philosopher Jack.
The child was placed on the highest part of the raft with the passengers, and partially covered with a shawl. The crew were then ordered to leave the ship. Having seen every one out of it Captain Samson descended and gave the order to shove off. This was quickly done, and the distance was slowly increased by means of two large oars. The huge mass of spars and planks moved gradually away from the doomed vessel, whose deck was by that time little above the level of the sea. They had not got more than a few hundred yards off, when Baldwin Burr, who pulled one of the oars, uttered an exclamation. Edwin Jack and Ben Trench, who knelt close to him fastening a rope, looked up and saw the captain standing on the high part of the raft near Polly and little Wilkins, waving his right hand. He was bidding farewell to the old ship, which suddenly went down with a heavy roll. Another moment, and only a few ripples remained to mark the spot where the _Lively Poll_ had found an ocean tomb.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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3
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ADRIFT ON THE GREAT OCEAN.
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Sunshine gladdens the heart of man and causes him more or less to forget his sorrows. The day on which the _Lively Poll_ went down was bright and warm, as well as calm, so that some of those who were cast away on the raft--after the first shock had passed, and while busily employed in binding the spars and making other needful arrangements--began to feel sensations approaching almost to hilarity.
Polly Samson, in particular, being of a romantic turn of mind, soon dried her eyes, and when called on to assist in the construction of a little place of shelter for herself on the centre of the raft, by means of boxes and sails, she began to think that the life of a castaway might not be so disagreeable after all. When this shelter or hut was completed, and she sat in it with her father taking luncheon, she told him in confidence that she thought rafting was "very nice."
"Glad you find it so, Polly," replied the captain with a sad smile.
"Of course, you know," she continued, with great seriousness of look and tone, "I don't think it's nice that our ship is lost. I'm very very sorry--oh, you can't think how sorry! --for that, but this is such a funny little cabin, you know, and so snug, and the weather is _so_ fine; do you think it will last long, father?"
"I hope it may; God grant that it may, darling, but we can't be sure. If it does last, I daresay we shall manage to reach one of the islands, of which there are plenty in the Southern Seas, but--" A roar of laughter from the men arrested and surprised the captain. He raised the flap of sail which served as a door to the hut--Polly's bower, as the men styled it--and saw one of the passengers dragged from a hole or space between the spars of the raft, into which he had slipped up to the waist. Mr Luke, the passenger referred to, was considered a weak man, mind and body,--a sort of human nonentity, a harmless creature, with long legs and narrow shoulders. He took his cold bath with philosophic coolness, and acknowledged the laughter of the men with a bland smile. Regardless of his drenched condition, he sat down on a small keg and joined the crew at the meal of cold provisions which served that day for dinner.
"Lucky for us," said one of the sailors, making play with his clasp-knife on a junk of salt pork, "that we've got such a fine day to begin with."
"That's true, Bob," said another; "a raft ain't much of a sea-goin' craft. If it had blowed hard when we shoved off from the ship we might ha' bin tore to bits before we was well fixed together, but we've had time to make all taut now, and can stand a stiffish breeze. Shove along the breadbasket, mate."
"You've had your allowance, Bob; mind, we're on short commons now," said Baldwin Burr, who superintended the distribution of provisions, and served out a measured quantity to every man. "There's your grog for you."
Bob Corkey growled a little as he wiped his knife on his leg, and accepted the allowance of "grog," which, however, was only pure water.
"Are you sure the raft can stand a storm?" inquired Watty Wilkins of Philosopher Jack, who sat eating his poor meal beside him.
"Sure?" responded Jack, "we can be sure of nothing in this life."
"Except trouble," growled Corkey.
"Oh yes, you can be sure of more than that," said Baldwin Burr; "you can always be sure of folly coming out of a fool's mouth."
"Come, come, Baldwin, be civil," said Philosopher Jack; "it's cowardly, you know, to insult a man when you can't fight him."
"Can't fight him?" repeated Burr with a grin; "who said I couldn't fight him, eh? Why, I'm ready to fight him now, right off."
"Nevertheless, you can't," persisted the philosopher; "how could two men fight on a raft where there's not room for a fair stand-up scrimmage between two rats? Come now, don't argue, Burr, but answer little Wilkins's question if you can."
"Stowaways don't desarve to have their questions answered," said Corkey; "in fact, they don't desarve to live. If I had my way, I'd kill little Wilkins and salt him down to be ready for us when the pork and biscuit fail."
"Well, now, as to the safety of this here raft in a gale, small Wilkins," said Baldwin, regardless of Corkey's interruption, "that depends summat on the natur' o' the gale. If it was only a half-gale we'd weather it all right, I make no doubt; but, if it should come to blow hard, d'ee see, we have no occasion to kill and eat you, as we'd all be killed together and eaten by the sharks."
"Sharks!" exclaimed Mr Luke, whose damp garments were steaming under the powerful sun like a boiler on washing-day; "are there sharks here?"
"Ay," said Corkey, pointing to the sea astern, where the glassy surface was broken and rippled by a sharp angular object, "that's a shark a-follerin' of us now, leastwise the back fin of one. If you don't believe it, jump overboard and you'll soon be convinced."
This reference to the shark was overheard by Polly, who came out of her bower to see it. The monster of the deep came close up at that moment, as if to gratify the child, and, turning on its back, according to shark habit when about to seize any object, thrust its nose out of the water. For one moment its double row of teeth were exposed to view, then they closed on a lump of pork that had been accidentally knocked overboard by Corkey.
"Is that the way you take care of our provisions?" said the captain, sternly, to Baldwin.
"We've got a big hook, sir," said Edwin Jack, touching his cap; "shall we try to recover the pork?"
"You may try," returned the captain.
Little Wilkins uttered something like a war-whoop as he leaped up and assisted Jack to get out the shark-hook. It was soon baited with another piece of pork. Ben Trench, who had a strong leaning to natural history, became very eager; and the men generally, being ever ready for sport, looked on with interest and prepared to lend a hand. The shark, however, was cautious. It did indeed rush at the bait, and seemed about to swallow it, but suddenly changed its mind, swam round it once or twice, then fell slowly astern, and finally disappeared.
Although the fish was not caught, this little incident served to raise the spirits of every one, and as the calm sunny weather lasted the whole day, even the most thoughtful of the party found it difficult to realise their forlorn condition; but when evening drew near, the aspect of things quickly changed. The splendid ocean-mirror, which had reflected the golden crags and slopes, the towers and battlements of cloud-land, was shivered by a sudden breeze and became an opaque grey; the fair blue sky deepened to indigo; black and gathering clouds rose out of the horizon, and cold white crests gleamed on the darkening waves. The men gathered in anxious groups, and Polly sat in the entrance of her bower gazing on the gloomy scene, until her young heart sank slowly but steadily. Then, remembering her father's advice, she betook herself to God in prayer.
Young though she was, Polly was no sentimentalist in religion. She believed with all her heart in Jesus Christ as a living, loving Saviour. Her faith was very simple, and founded on experience. She had prayed, and had been answered. She had sought Jesus in sorrow, and had been comforted. The theologian can give the why and how and wherefore of this happy condition, but in practice he can arrive at it only by the same short road. One result of her prayer was that she went to sleep that night in perfect peace, while most of her companions in misfortune sat anxiously watching what appeared to be a gathering storm.
Before going to rest however, Polly had an earnest little talk with her father.
"Polly," said Captain Samson, sitting down under the shelter of the tarpaulin, and drawing the child's fair head on his breast, "I never spoke to you before on a subject that p'r'aps you won't understand, but I am forced to do it now. It's about money."
"About money!" exclaimed Polly in surprise; "oh, father, surely you forget! The very last night we spent on shore, you spoke to me about money; you gave me a half-sovereign, and said you meant to give a blow-out to old Mrs Brown before leaving, and told me to buy--stay, let me see--there was half a pound of tea, and four pounds of sugar, and three penn'orth of snuff, and--" "Yes, yes, Polly," interrupted the captain, with a smile, "but I meant about money in a business way, you know, because if you chanced, d'ee see, ever to be in England without me, you know,--it--" "But I'll never be there without you, father, will I?" asked the child with an earnest look.
"Of course not--that's to say, I _hope_ not--but you know, Polly, that God arranges all the affairs of this world, and sometimes in His love and wisdom He sees fit to separate people--for a time, you know, _only_ for a time--so that they don't always keep together. Now, my darling, if it should please Him to send me cruising to--to--anywhere in a different direction from you, and you chanced ever to be in England alone--in Scotland, that is--at your own home, you must go to Bailie Trench--you know him--our old friend and helper when we were in shoal water, my dear, and say to him that I handed all my savings over to Mr Wilkins--that's Watty's father, Poll--to be invested in the way he thought best. When you tell that to Bailie Trench he'll know what to do; he understands all about it. I might send you to Mr Wilkins direct but he's a very great man, d'ee see, and doesn't know you, and might refuse to give you the money."
"To give me the money, father! But what should I do with the money when I got it?"
"Keep it, my darling."
"Oh! I see, keep it safe for you till you came back?" said Polly.
"Just so, Poll, you're a clever girl; keep it for me till I come back, or rather take it to Bailie Trench and he'll tell you how to keep it. It's a good pot o' money, Poll, and has cost me the best part of a lifetime, workin' hard and spendin' little, to lay it by. Once I used to think," continued the captain in a sad soliloquising tone, "that I'd live to cast anchor near the old spot, and spend it with your mother, Polly, and you; but the Lord willed it otherwise, and He does all things well, blessed be His name! Now you understand what you're to do about the money, don't you, if you should ever find yourself without me in Scotland, eh?"
Polly did not quite clearly understand, but after a little further explanation she professed herself to be quite prepared for the transaction of that important piece of financial business.
Poor Captain Samson sought thus to secure, to the best of his ability, that the small savings of his life should go to Polly in the event of her being saved and himself lost. Moreover, he revealed the state of his finances to Philosopher Jack, Ben Trench, and Watty Wilkins, whom he found grouped apart at a corner of the raft in earnest conversation, and begged of them, if they or any of them should survive, to see his daughter's interest attended to.
"You see, my lads, although I would not for the world terrify the dear child uselessly, by telling her that we are in danger, it must be clear to you that if a gale springs up and our raft should be broken up, it's not likely that all of us would be saved. Yet Polly might escape, and some of you also. We are all in the Lord's hands, however, and have nothing to fear if we are His followers."
Ah! that "if" went home. The captain did not lay stress on it; nevertheless stress was laid on it somehow, for the three youths found it recurring again and again to memory that night, though they did not speak of it to each other.
As the night advanced, the threatening gale passed away; the stars came out in all their splendour, and the morning sun found the glassy sea again ready to reflect his image. Thus they floated for several days in comparative peace and comfort. But it came at last.
One evening a squall came rushing down on them, turning up the sea, and converting it to ink and foam as it approached. The rag of sail with which they had previously courted the breeze in vain was hastily taken in; the fastenings of everything were looked to. Polly was placed in her canvas bower, and the whole structure of the raft was strengthened with a network of hawsers and cordage.
When the squall struck them, the raft appeared to tremble. The seas broke clean over them, several articles not properly secured were swept off, and weak points in the main fastenings were made plain, as the spars, beams, and planks writhed and struggled to get free.
But Captain Samson and his men were equal to the occasion; an iron clamp here, and an extra turn of a chain or hawser there, made all fast, so that before the squall had time to raise the sea, the raft held well together, and yielded, without breaking, to the motions of the waves.
Of course every one was drenched, including poor little Polly, for although the tarpaulin turned off the waves and spray above, it could not prevent the water spirting up between the spars from below. But Polly was, according to Baldwin, "a true chip of the old block;" she bore her discomforts with heroism, and quite put to shame poor Mr Luke, whose nervous temperament caused him great suffering.
Thus was spent a night of anxiety. The next day was little better, and the night following was worse. In addition to the violence of the wind and constant breaking over them of heavy seas, the darkness became so intense that it was difficult to see where damage to the fastenings occurred, and repairs became almost impossible.
About midnight there was a terrible rending of wood in that part of the raft lying farthest from Polly's bower, and a great cry of fear was heard. The more courageous among the men sprang, by a natural impulse, to assist those in distress. It was found that a large portion of the raft had broken adrift, and was only held to it by a single rope. On this portion were two passengers and one of the crew. The former were apparently panic-stricken; the latter made frantic but futile attempts to haul in on the rope.
"Bear a hand, boys!" cried Edwin Jack, as he laid hold of the inner end of the rope.
Strong and willing hands were ready, but before they could lay hold the rope parted, and Jack was dragged violently into the sea. He rose like a cork. Little Wilkins lay down, and stretched out a helping hand. Jack caught it, and would infallibly have dragged the little fellow into the water if Ben Trench had not thrown himself on his legs and held on. Baldwin Burr seized hold of Ben, and the captain coming up at the moment, lent his powerful aid. Jack was saved, but the broken part of the raft, with its hapless occupants, was swept away and lost sight of.
This sad event had naturally a very depressing effect on every one. True, the portion of the raft which had broken away was large enough to sustain the unfortunates who were on it. Moreover, some of the provisions had also gone with them, so that there was hope of their holding out for a time and being picked up by a passing ship, but the hope was slight, and in the event of rougher weather, their fate would be certain.
For six days and nights the raft was tossed about on the open sea. It could scarcely be said that it sailed, although as large a mast and piece of canvas as they could set up urged it slowly though the water when the wind was strong. As to steering, that was next to impossible, and in truth it did not matter much how they steered.
Constant exposure by night and by day now began to tell on the less robust of the crew. Little Polly, however, was not one of these. She possessed a naturally good constitution, and was, besides, specially cared for by her father, who devoted all the powers of an inventive mind to the strengthening and improving of "the bower." In this he was ably assisted by Philosopher Jack, whose love for the child deepened daily as he watched the sweet contented manner with which she received every drenching--and she got many--and the anxious way in which she inquired for, and sought to help, those of the party whose health began to fail.
Among these latter was Ben Trench.
"Ah! Polly," said Ben one sultry forenoon when she brought him a glass of sweetened lime-juice and water, "you're a kind little nurse. I really don't know how I should get on without you."
"Upon my word," said little Wilkins, pouting, "you're a grateful fellow! Here have I been nursing you all the morning, yet you seem to think nothing of that in comparison with Polly's glass of lime-juice."
"Come, Watty, don't be jealous," said Ben; "it's not the glass of lime-juice, but Polly's sympathetic face beaming behind it, that does me so much good. Besides, you know, Polly's a girl, and a girl is always a better nurse than a man; you must admit that."
Watty was not at all prepared to admit that, but his being spoken of as a man did much to mollify his hurt feelings.
"But I do hope you feel better to-day," said Polly, observing with some anxiety the short, half-breathless manner in which the invalid spoke.
"Oh yes! I feel better--that is to say, I think I do. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. You know, Polly, I came on this voyage chiefly on account of my health, and of course I must expect to be a little damaged by so much exposure, though your good father has indeed done his best to shelter me. Why, do you know, I sometimes think the berth he has made for me between the logs here is a greater triumph of his inventive genius than your bower. I often think they spoiled a splendid engineer when they made your father a sailor."
Polly laughed at this, and Watty Wilkins tried to laugh, just by way of keeping up his friend's spirits and being what Baldwin called good company; but poor Watty could not laugh. He had loved and played with Ben Trench since ever he could remember, and when he looked at his pale face and listened to his weak voice, a dread foreboding came over him, and brought such a rush of feeling to his heart that he was fain to leap up and spring to the farthest end of the raft, where he fell to hauling and tightening one of the rope-fastenings with all the energy of his little body and soul.
"Land ho!" shouted one of the men at that moment from the top of a cask, which formed the outlook, where, every day and all day, a man was stationed to watch for a sail or a sign of land.
An electric shock could not have produced greater excitement than these two words.
"Where away?" exclaimed the captain, leaping up beside the look-out.
"On the port-bow, sir,--there!" pointing eagerly.
"I don't see it--oh--yes--no. It's only a cloud. Who ever heard of the port-bow of a raft? Bah! your eyes have been squintin'. Not a bit of it, I see it--low lyin'; why, I see the palms--and I see the nuts--ah, and the monkeys, no doubt a-eatin' of 'em--hip, hip, hurrah!"
Such were some of the exclamations, ending in a long, deep-toned, British cheer, with which the discovery of land was greeted.
In a short time all uncertainty was removed, and the land was clearly made out to be a small coral island with its narrow outlying reef, and a few cocoa-nut palms waving thereon.
The joy of the shipwrecked crew was excessive--somewhat in proportion to their previous depression. They shook bands, laughed, cheered, and in some cases wept, while a few clasped their hands, looked up, and audibly thanked God.
"You'll soon get ashore," said Polly, laying her hand on Ben Trench's arm.
"Ay, and the cocoa-nut milk will set you up and make you fat in no time," added Watty Wilkins.
"So it will," returned Ben, who had not risen like the others; "we'll have jolly times of it, won't we? Like Robinson Crusoe. Oh! how I wish that sister Susan was here! She would enjoy it so much. It's an island, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Edwin Jack, coming forward at the moment, "a coral island, with plenty of vegetation on it. So cheer up, Ben, we shall soon be ashore."
Not so soon, however, as they expected, for the wind was light, although favourable, the raft was heavy, and the two oars had but little influence on it. The sun sank and rose again before they drew near to the reef. Inside the reef, between it and the island-shore, there was a lake or lagoon of calm water, but outside, on the reef itself, a heavy swell broke with continuous roar. To get involved in those giant breakers would have been destruction to the raft, and probably death to most of those on board. One narrow opening, marked by a few shrubs and palms on either side, formed the only portal to the calm lagoon. The captain himself took the steering oar, and summoned our philosopher to his assistance.
"Give way now, lads, with a will."
As many men as could grasp the two oars laid hold of them, and bent their backs till the strong wood cracked again. Gradually the raft neared the opening. As it did so the ground-swell began to act on it. By degrees the towering billows--which seemed to rise out of a calm sea and rush to their destruction like walls of liquid glass--caught it, dragged it on a little, and then let it slip. At last one great wave began to curl in hissing foam underneath, caught the raft fairly, carried it forward on its boiling crest, and launched it with lightning speed into the opening. The space was too narrow! One of the projecting spars touched the reef. Instantly the fastenings were rent like pack-thread, and the raft was hurled forward in disconnected fragments. One of these turned completely over with several men on it. Another portion passed through the opening and swung round inside. The steering oar was wrenched from Jack's hands, and struck the captain into the water. As if by instinct, Jack sprang to the "bower," caught Polly in his arms, and leaped into the sea. At the same moment Wilkins ran to the rescue of his friend Ben. These two were on the part that had swung round to the calm side of the reef, and Watty waded to it with Ben on his back. The captain and all the rest were washed in a cataract of foam and wreckage through the opening into the lagoon, and pitched by curling eddies on the shore. In a few minutes they all stood in safety, panting, but uninjured, on the white sands of the coral reef.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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4
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THE CORAL ISLAND--PROCEEDINGS THEREIN.
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The island on which the raft with its occupants had been cast was of small size, not more than six miles in extent, and lay low in the water. Nevertheless it was covered with luxuriant vegetation, among which were several groves of cocoa-nut palms, the long feathery branches of which waved gracefully in a gentle breeze, as if beckoning an invitation to the castaways on the reef to cross the lagoon and find shelter there. But crossing the lagoon was not an easy matter.
"Shure it's a mile wide if it's a futt," said one of the men as they stood in a group on the reef, dripping and gazing at the isle.
"No, Simon O'Rook," said Bob Corkey, in that flat contradictions way to which some men are prone; "no, it's only half a mile if it's an inch."
"You're wrong, both of you," said Baldwin Burr, "it ain't more than quarter of a mile. Quite an easy swim for any of us."
"Except my Polly," observed the captain quietly.
"Ay, and those who are too weak to swim," said Watty Wilkins, with a glance at his friend Ben, who had lain down on the sand and listened with a calm untroubled look to the conversation.
"You don't seem at all anxious," whispered Polly to Ben.
"No, Polly, I'm not. I have lately been taught how to trust in God by your example."
"By mine!" exclaimed the child in extreme surprise.
Before Ben could reply the captain turned and called to Polly.
"Come here, my duckey; Edwin Jack offers to swim over the lagoon to the island with you on his back. Will you trust yourself to him?"
"Yes, father," answered the child promptly.
"But maybe there are sharks," suggested O'Rook.
There was a momentary silence. In the excitement of the occasion every one had forgotten sharks. What was to be done? The raft was utterly destroyed. Only a few of the logs which had formed it lay on the reef; the rest were floating on the lagoon at various distances, none nearer than fifty yards.
"There's nothing for it, then, but to reconstruct our raft," said the captain, throwing off his coat and shoes; "so these logs must be secured."
He had only taken two steps towards the water when Philosopher Jack grasped his arm.
"Stop, sir, it is your duty to look after Polly. Now lads, those who can swim come along!"
Another instant and he was in the sea, regardless of sharks, and striking out for the floating wreckage, closely followed by O'Rook, Corkey, Burr, and Watty Wilkins. Strange to say, eight other men of the crew could not swim, although they had managed somehow to scramble on the reef. Whether it was that the sharks were not there at the time, or that the number and energy of the swimmers frightened them, we cannot tell, but each man reached a log or plank in safety, and began pushing it towards the reef. It was when they drew near to this that the trial of their courage was most severe. The excitement and gush of daring with which they had plunged in was by that time expended, and the slow motion of the logs gave them time for reflection. O'Rook's lively fancy troubled him much.
"If the baists would only attack a man in front," he muttered, "it's little I'd mind 'em, but to come up behind, sneakin' like--hooroo!"
At that moment a branch of coral, which projected rather far from the bottom, touched O'Rook's toe and drew from him an uncontrollable yell of alarm. Baldwin Burr, who swam close behind, was humorously inclined as well as cool. He pushed the plank he was guiding close to his comrade's back, dipped the end of it, and thrust it down on O'Rook's legs.
The effect was even more powerful than he had hoped for.
"A shark! --a sha-a-a-rk!" howled O'Rook, and dived under the broken main-yard, which he was piloting ashore. Coming up on the other side, he tried to clamber on it, but it rolled round and dropped him. He went down with a gurgling cry. Again he rose, grasped the spar with his left arm, glared wildly round, and clenched his right hand as if ready to hit on the nose any creature--fish, flesh, or fowl--that should assail him.
"Take it easy, messmate," said Burr in a quiet tone; "sorry I touched you. Hope it didn't hurt much."
"Och! it was you, was it? Sure, I thought it was a shark; well, well, it's plaised I am to be let off so aisy."
With this philosophic reflection O'Rook landed with his piece of timber. Enough of material was soon collected to form a raft sufficiently large to ferry half of the party across the lagoon, and in two trips the whole were landed in safety on the island.
"You don't mean to tell me, Jack," said Baldwin Burr, "that this island was made by coral insects?"
"Yes, I do!" said Jack.
"From the top to the bottom?" asked Burr.
"From the bottom to the top," said Edwin.
Baldwin asked this question of the philosopher during a pause in their labours. They were, at the time, engaged in constructing a new bower for Polly among the flowering shrubs under the cocoa-nut palms. Polly herself was aiding them, and the rest of the party were scattered among the bushes, variously employed in breaking down branches, tearing up long grass, and otherwise clearing ground for an encampment.
"How could insects make an island?" asked Polly, sitting down on a bank to rest.
"Don't you know, Poll?" said Edwin; "why, I thought your father taught you about almost everything."
"Oh no," replied Polly, with an innocent smile, "not everything yet, you know, but I daresay he will in the course of time. Tell me about the insects."
"Well, let me see, how shall I begin?" said Jack, leaning against the bank, and crossing his arms on his breast. "The coral insects, Polly, are very small, some of them not larger than a pin's head. They are great builders. There is lime in sea-water. The insects, which are called corallines, have the power of attracting this lime to them; drawing it away from the water, so to speak, and fixing it round their own bodies, which is called secreting the lime. Thus they form shells, or houses, to themselves, which they fix at the bottom of the sea. Having laid the basements of their houses close together, they proceed to add upper storeys, and thus they add storey to storey, until they reach the surface of the sea. They work in such innumerable millions that, in course of time, they form reefs and islands, as you see."
"But I _don't_ see!" said Polly, looking round; "at least, I don't see corallines working."
"Ah, good," said Baldwin, with a nod of approval to the child, as if to say, "You have him there!"
"True," returned the philosopher, "because the corallines can only work under water. The moment they reach the surface they die; but those that remain continue their labours on the sides of the reef or island, and thus widen it. Then the waves break off masses of coral, and cast them, with drifting sea-weed and other things, up on the reef, which makes it higher; then sea-birds come to rest on it. The winds carry seeds of various plants to it, which take root, grow up, die; and thus thicken the soil by slow degrees, till at last, after a long, long time, the island becomes a pretty large and fertile one like this."
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Polly; "what a clever insect!"
"Clever indeed," returned Edwin; "especially when we consider that it has got no brains."
"No brains!" echoed Baldwin.
"No, it has little more than a stomach."
"Oh! come now," remonstrated Baldwin; "we can't believe that, can we, Miss Polly? Even a house-builder must think, much more an island-builder; and no fellow can think with his stomach, you know."
"Nevertheless, it is as I tell you," continued Jack, "and these little creatures manage to create hundreds of islands in the Southern Seas, by their perseverance, energy, and united action. Quite an example to man--eh, Baldwin?"
"Ha! just so--a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together. I think we'd better act on the principles of these corry-lines, else Miss Polly's bower won't be ready afore dark."
So saying, the seaman and our philosopher resumed their work with such united energy--aided by Polly herself--that a very comfortable habitation of boughs and large leaves was finished before the day closed. It resembled a large beehive, was overshadowed by dense foliage of a tropical kind, and carpeted with a species of fern.
Polly was profuse in her thanks, and when it was finished, called to her father to come and admire it. The stout mariner at once obeyed the summons. He quitted the pile of firewood on which he had been labouring, and with a violently red face and perspiring brow, appeared on the scene, bearing a mighty axe on his shoulder.
"Splendid!" he exclaimed, with beaming admiration. "It's fit for the queen of the coral isles."
"For whom it is intended!" said Philosopher Jack, quickly.
Polly laughed, for she understood the compliment, but suddenly became grave, as she remembered Ben Trench, and said, "No, no; it must be used as a shelter for Ben."
"That's kind of you, Polly," said Watty coming up with a huge bundle of grass and foliage for bedding at the moment; "but Ben has got friends to remember him as well as you. Bob Corkey and I have made him a hut on the other side of the bushes--there, you may see the top of it through the leaves."
"Does any one know where Mr Luke is?" asked the captain.
None of those assembled at the bower had seen him for some hours, and Captain Samson was on the point of organising a party to go in search of him, when one of the crew came in from the bush and said he had gone off with Simon O'Rook to the highest point of the low islet, to ascertain if possible its extent.
"He's all right if O'Rook is with him," said the captain to Polly, in confidence, when they went into the bower together; "but he's not to be trusted away by himself. I never saw a man more unfit to look after himself."
"And yet he is a good, kind man, father," said Polly.
"True, quite true, Poll," replied the captain, musingly. "I wonder why it is that some men seem as if they had been meant for women; maybe it is by way of balancing those women who seem to have been meant for men!"
Polly listened to this with a look of grave consideration, but not having formed an opinion on the subject, wisely held her tongue.
Meanwhile O'Rook led his companion towards the highest part of the islet, which, being clear of trees, seemed likely to afford them a good outlook. The sailor was a man of inquiring disposition, and, being of a free-and-easy nature, did not hesitate to speak out his mind on all occasions. After walking beside his tall companion and eyeing his thin figure and sad countenance in silence for some time, he said-- "You're a cadaverous sort o' man, Mr Luke."
"Think so?" said Mr Luke, gently.
"Of course; I can't help thinkin' so, because I see it," returned O'Rook. "Was it a fall, now, w'en you was a babby, that did it, or measles?"
"Neither, that I am aware of," replied Mr Luke, with a good-natured smile; "my father before me was cadaverous."
"Ah!" said O'Rook, with a look of sympathy, as he touched the region of his heart with his left thumb, "p'r'aps it was somethin' o' this sort, eh? I've bin through that myself in the ould country, where as purty a--well, well, it's all over now, but I've a fellow-feelin' for--" "No," interrupted Mr Luke, with a sigh, "it wasn't a disappointment, it was--oh! what a splendid view!"
They had reached the top of the ridge at the moment, and the view of the verdant islet that burst upon them might well have called forth admiration from men of coarser mould than they.
O'Rook forgot for a few minutes the subject of his curiosity, and compared the prospect to some of the beautiful scenery of Ireland, though there was no resemblance whatever between the two. He soon returned, however, to the previous subject of conversation, but Mr Luke had ceased to be communicative.
"What is that lying on the beach there?" he said, pointing in the direction referred to.
"It's more than I can tell," answered O'Rook; "looks like a boat, don't it?"
"Very," said Mr Luke, "and there is something lying beside it like a man. Come, let's go see."
The two explorers went rapidly down the gentle slope that led to the beach, and soon found that the object in question was indeed a boat, old, rotten, and blistered with the sun. Beside it lay the skeleton of a man, with a few rags of the garments that had once formed its clothing still clinging to it here and there. It was a pitiful sight. Evidently the unfortunate man had been cast away in an open boat, and had been thrown on that beach when too much exhausted to make a last struggle for life, for there was no sign of his having wandered from the boat or cut down bushes, or attempted to make a fire. His strength had apparently enabled him to get out of the boat, that was all, and there he had lain down to die.
For some time the two wanderers stood contemplating the sight in silence, and when at length they spoke it was in low, sad tones.
"Poor, poor fellow," said Mr Luke, "he must have been shipwrecked, like ourselves, and cast adrift in the boat. But I wonder that he is alone; one would expect that some of his comrades must have got into the boat along with him."
"No doubt," said O'Rook, "they was all starved at sea and throw'd overboard. Come, Mr Luke, let's bury him; it's all we can do for him now."
Saying this, O'Rook threw off his jacket and, with his companion's assistance, soon scraped a hole in the sand. Into this they were about to lift the skeleton, when they observed that its right hand covered a decayed remnant of rag, under which was seen a glittering substance. It turned out to be the clasp of a notebook, which, however, was so decayed and glued together that it could not be opened. O'Rook therefore wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then they buried the skeleton, and rolled a large mass of coral rock upon the grave to mark the spot.
A careful examination was next made of the old boat and the locality around it, but nothing whatever was found to throw light on the fate of the vessel to which the man had belonged.
Returning to the encampment, O'Rook and his companion found their friends busy preparing supper, which consisted of some provisions saved from the raft, and cocoa-nuts.
In a few seconds the whole party was assembled in front of Polly's bower, listening attentively, while O'Rook described the discovery of the skeleton to the captain, and produced the old notebook. Deep was the interest of every member of that little community as the captain attempted to open the book, and intense was the expression of disappointment on each countenance--especially on that of Polly--when, after a prolonged trial, he utterly failed.
"Let Philosopher Jack try it," exclaimed Watty Wilkins eagerly.
The captain at once handed the book to Jack with a smile.
"To be sure," said he, "a philosopher ought to understand the management of books better than a skipper; but when a book is glued hard and fast like that, it may puzzle even a philosopher to master its contents."
Jack made the attempt, however. He went to work with the calm deliberation of a thorough workman. By the aid of heat and gentle friction and a little moisture, and the judicious use of a penknife, he succeeded at last in opening the book in one or two places. While he was thus engaged, the rest of the party supped and speculated on the probable contents of the book.
"Here is a legible bit at last," said Jack, "but the writing is very faint. Let me see. It refers to the state of the weather and the wind. The poor man evidently kept a private journal. Ah! here, in the middle of the book, the damp has not had so much effect."
As he turned and separated the leaves with great care, Jack's audience gazed at him intently and forgot supper. At last he began to read:-- "`_Saturday, 4th_. --Have been three weeks now on short allowance. We are all getting perceptibly weaker. The captain, who is not a strong man, is sinking. The boat is overcrowded. If a gale should spring up we shall all perish. I don't like the looks of two of the men. They are powerful fellows, and the captain and I believe them to be quite capable of murdering the most of us, and throwing us overboard to save their own lives.'
"Here there is a blank," said Jack, "and the next date is the 8th, but there is no month or year given. The writing continues:-- "`I scarce know what has passed during the last few days. It is like a horrible dream. The two men made the attempt, and killed big George, whom they feared most, because of his courage and known fidelity to the captain; but, before they could do further mischief, the second mate shot them both. The boat floats lighter now, and, through God's mercy, the weather continues fine. Our last ration was served out this morning--two ounces of biscuit each, and a wine-glass of water. _Sunday, 11th_. --Two days without food. The captain read to us to-day some chapters out of the Bible, those describing the crucifixion of Jesus. Williams and Ranger were deeply impressed, and for the first time seemed to lament their sins, and to speak of themselves as crucifiers of Jesus. The captain's voice very weak, but he is cheerful and resigned. It is evident that _his_ trust is in the Lord. He exhorts us frequently. We feel the want of water more than food. _Wednesday_. --The captain and Williams died yesterday. Ranger drank sea water in desperation. He went mad soon after, and jumped overboard. We tried to save him, but failed. Only three of us are left. If we don't meet with a ship, or sight an island, it will soon be all over with us. _Thursday_. --I am alone now. An island is in sight, but I can scarcely raise myself to look at it. I will bind this book to my hand. If any one finds me, let him send it to my beloved wife, Lucy. It will comfort her to know that my last thoughts on earth were of her dear self, and that my soul is resting on my Redeemer. I grow very cold and faint. May God's best blessing rest--'" The voice of the reader stopped suddenly, and for some moments there was a solemn silence, broken only by a sob from Polly Samson.
"Why don't you go on?" asked the captain.
"There is nothing more," said Jack sadly. "His strength must have failed him suddenly. It is unfortunate, for, as he has neither signed his name nor given the address of his wife, it will not be possible to fulfil his wishes."
"Maybe," suggested O'Rook, "if you open some more o' the pages you'll find a name somewheres."
Jack searched as well as the condition of the book would admit of and found at last the name of David Ban--, the latter part of the surname being illegible. He also discovered a lump in one place, which, on being cut into, proved to be a lock of golden hair, in perfect preservation. It was evidently that of a young person.
"That's Lucy's hair," said O'Rook promptly. "Blessin's on her poor heart! Give it me, Philosopher Jack, as well as the book. They both belong to me by rights, 'cause I found 'em; an' if ever I set futt in old England again, I'll hunt her up and give 'em to her."
As no one disputed O'Rook's claim, the book and lock of hair were handed to him.
Soon afterwards Polly lay down to rest in her new bower, and her father, with his men, made to themselves comfortable couches around her, under the canopy of the luxuriant shrubs.
A week passed. During that period Captain Samson, with Polly, Jack, and Wilkins, walked over the island in all directions to ascertain its size and productions, while the crew of the _Lively Poll_ found full employment in erecting huts of boughs and broad leaves, and in collecting cocoa-nuts and a few other wild fruits and roots.
Meanwhile the bottle thrown overboard by Watty Wilkins, with its "message from the sea," began a long and slow but steady voyage.
It may not, perhaps, be known to the reader that there are two mighty currents in the ocean, which never cease to flow. The heated waters of the Equator flow north and south to get cooled at the Poles, and then flow back again from the Poles to get reheated at the Equator.
The form of continents, the effect of winds, the motion of the earth, and other influences, modify the flow of this great oceanic current and produce a variety of streams. One of these streams, a warm one, passing up the coast of Africa, is driven into the Gulf of Mexico, from which it crosses the Atlantic to the west coast of Britain, and is familiarly known as the Gulf Stream. If Watty Wilkins's bottle had been caught by this stream, it would, perhaps, in the course of many months, have been landed on the west of Ireland. If it had been caught by any of the other streams, it might have ended its career on the coasts of Japan, Australia, or any of the many "ends of the earth." But the bottle came under a more active influence than that of the ocean streams. It was picked up, one calm day, by a British ship, and carried straight to England, where its contents were immediately put into the newspapers, and circulated throughout the land.
The effect of little Wilkins's message from the sea on different minds was various. By some it was read with interest and pathos, while others glanced it over with total indifference. But there were a few on whom the message fell like a thunderbolt, as we shall now proceed to show.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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5
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TELLS OF PLOTTINGS AND TRIALS AT HOME, WITH DOINGS AND DANGERS ABROAD.
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In a dingy office, in a back street in one of the darkest quarters of the city, whose name we refrain from mentioning, an elderly man sat down one foggy morning, poked the fire, blew his nose, opened his newspaper, and began to read. This man was a part-owner of the _Lively Poll_. His name was Black. Black is a good wearing colour, and not a bad name, but it is not so suitable a term when applied to a man's character and surroundings. We cannot indeed, say positively that Mr Black's character was as black as his name, but we are safe in asserting that it was very dirty grey in tone. Mr Black was essentially a dirty little man. His hands and face were dirty, so dirty that his only clerk (a dirty little boy) held the firm belief that the famous soap which is said to wash black men white, could not cleanse his master. His office was dirty, so were his garments, and so was his mean little spirit, which occupied itself exclusively in scraping together a paltry little income, by means of little ways known only to its owner. Mr Black had a soul, he admitted that; but he had no regard for it, and paid no attention to it whatever. Into whatever corner of his being it had been thrust, he had so covered it over and buried it under heaps of rubbish that it was quite lost to sight and almost to memory. He had a conscience also, but had managed to sear it to such an extent that although still alive, it had almost ceased to feel.
Turning to the shipping news, Mr Black's eye was arrested by a message from the sea. He read it, and, as he did so, his hands closed on the newspaper convulsively; his eyes opened, so did his mouth, and his face grew deadly pale--that is to say, it became a light greenish grey.
"Anything wrong, sir?" asked the dirty clerk.
"The _Lively Poll_," gasped Mr Black, "is at the bottom of the sea!"
"She's in a lively position, then," thought the dirty clerk, who cared no more for the _Lively Poll_ than he did for her part-owner; but he only replied, "O dear!" with a solemn look of hypocritical sympathy.
Mr Black seized his hat, rushed out of his office, and paid a sudden visit to his neighbour, Mr Walter Wilkins, senior. That gentleman was in the act of running his eye over his newspaper. He was a wealthy merchant. Turning on his visitor a bland, kindly countenance, he bade him good-morning.
"I do hope--excuse me, my dear sir," said Mr Black excitedly, "I do hope you will see your way to grant me the accommodation I ventured to ask for yesterday. My business is in such a state that this disaster to the _Lively Poll_--" "The _Lively Poll_!" exclaimed Mr Wilkins, with a start.
"Oh, I beg pardon," said Mr Black, with a confused look, for his seared conscience became slightly sensitive at that moment. "I suppose you have not yet seen it (he pointed to the paragraph); but, excuse me, I cannot understand how you came to know that your son was on board-- pardon me--" Mr Wilkins had laid his face in his hands, and groaned aloud, then looking up suddenly, said, "I did not certainly know that my dear boy was on board, but I had too good reason to suspect it, for he had been talking much of the vessel, and disappeared on the day she sailed, and now this message from--" He rose hastily and put on his greatcoat.
"Excuse me, my dear sir," urged Mr Black; "at such a time it may seem selfish to press you on business affairs, but this is a matter of life and death to me--" "It is a matter of death to _me_," interrupted the other in a low tone, "but I grant your request. My clerk will arrange it with you."
He left the office abruptly, with a bowed head, and Mr Black having arranged matters to his satisfaction with the clerk, left it soon after, with a sigh of relief. He cared no more for Mr Wilkins's grief than did the dirty clerk for his master's troubles.
Returning to his dirty office, Mr Black then proceeded to do a stroke of very dingy business.
That morning, through some mysterious agency, he had learned that there were rumours of an unfavourable kind in reference to a certain bank in the city, which, for convenience, we shall name the Blankow Bank. Now, it so happened that Mr Black was intimately acquainted with one of the directors of that bank, in whom, as well as in the bank itself, he had the most implicit confidence. Mr Black happened to have a female relative in the city named Mrs Niven--the same Mrs Niven who had been landlady to Philosopher Jack. It was one of the root-principles of Mr Black's business character that he should make hay while the sun shone. He knew that Mrs Niven owned stock in the Blankow Bank; he knew that the Bank paid its shareholders a very handsome dividend, and he was aware that, owing to the unfavourable rumours then current, the value of the stock would fall very considerably. That, therefore, was the time for knowing men like Mr Black, who believed in the soundness of the bank, to buy. Accordingly he wrote a letter to Mrs Niven, advising her to sell her shares, and offering to transact the business for her, but he omitted to mention that he meant to buy them up himself. He added a postscript on the back, telling of the loss of the _Lively Poll_.
Mrs Niven was a kind-hearted woman, as the reader knows; moreover, she was a trusting soul.
"Very kind o' Maister Black," she observed to Peggy, her maid-of-all-work, on reading the letter. "The Blankow Bank gi'es a high dividend, nae doot, but I'm well enough off, and hae nae need to risk my siller for the sake o' a pund or twa mair income i' the year. Fetch me the ink, Peggy."
A letter was quickly written, in which worthy Mrs Niven agreed to her relative's proposal, and thanked him for the interest he took in her affairs. Having despatched Peggy with it to the post, she re-read Mr Black's epistle, and in doing so observed the postscript, which, being on the fourth page, had escaped her on the first perusal.
"Hoots!" said she, "that's stipid. I didna notice the PS." Reading in a low tone, and commenting parenthetically, she continued, "`By the way, did not one of your lodgers, a student, sail in the _Lively Poll_, (Atweel did he; he telt _me_, though he telt naebody else, an' gaed muckle again' _my_ wull) as a common sailor?' (Common indeed! na, na, he was an uncommon sailor, if he was onything.) `If so, you'll be sorry to learn that the _Lively Poll_ is lost, and all her crew and passengers have per--'" Instead of reading "perished" poor Mrs Niven finished the sentence with a shriek, and fell flat on the floor, where she was found soon after, and with difficulty restored to consciousness by the horrified Peggy.
That same morning, in his lowly cottage on the Scottish border, Mr John Jack opened a newspaper at the breakfast-table. Besides Mrs Jack there sat at the table four olive branches--two daughters and two sons--the youngest of whom, named Dobbin, was peculiarly noticeable as being up to the eyes in treacle, Dobbin's chief earthly joy being "treacle pieces."
Mr Jack's eye soon fell on the message from the sea. Of course he knew nothing of the writer, but recognised the name of the vessel as being that in which his son had sailed for the Southern Seas, for our hero had written to tell of his departure, although he had not asked or waited for advice. Mr Jack was a man of strong nerve. Rising quietly from the table, he left the room, but his wife noticed the expression of his face, and followed him into their bedroom.
"What's wrang, John?"
The poor man turned abruptly, drew his wife to him, and pressed her head on his breast.
"O Maggie!" he said, in a low husky voice, "`the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,' can you finish the sentence?"
"Ay, `blessed be the name o' the Lord,'" said Mrs Jack in a tremulous voice; "but what--" "Listen," said her husband, and he read out the fatal message.
"It canna be--oh! it canna be--that my Teddie is gone," said the stricken mother, clasping her hands; "I canna, I winna believe it. Are ye sure that was the ship's name?"
"Yes, too sure," answered her husband. "I've mislaid the dear boy's letter, but I'll go and see Mrs Niven. He mentioned it, I know, to her."
There was yet another house in Scotland into which the message carried profound grief; namely, that of Bailie Trench. Need we say that the supposed loss of an only son was a crushing blow, rendered all the more terrible by the thought that death had been met so suddenly in a voyage which had been undertaken in search of health?
But we will spare the reader further details, and return once more to the Coral Island, where we left the castaways making themselves as comfortable as the nature of the place would admit of.
And, truth to tell, there are many people in civilised lands much less comfortably situated than were these same castaways.
The weather, as O'Rook said, "was splendacious, almost equal to that of ould Ireland." Cocoa-nuts and other fruits were abundant. The lagoon swarmed with fish, including sharks, which rendered fishing an excitingly dangerous, as well as enjoyable, pastime. Polly Samson found gardens of coral and seaweed in crystal pools, which she could gaze at and admire for hours, though she could not walk in them. But she could, and did, sympathise with the little fish of varied size and colour which darted about in these water gardens, and Philosopher Jack found in them an inexhaustible theme for discourse to the teachable and inquisitive Baldwin Burr. The captain found enough of employment in directing and planning generally for the whole party. Cutting firewood, gathering nuts and wild fruit, fell to the lot of Bob Corkey; and Simon O'Rook slid naturally into the office of cook. The remainder of the men were employed at various jobs, according to circumstances.
Watty Wilkins was a passionate fisher. He divided his time between the lagoon and the couch of his sick friend Bell Trench, who soon began to improve on rest, sunshine, and cocoa-nut milk. As for Mr Luke, being fit for nothing, he was allowed to do very much what he pleased, except at meal times, when O'Rook made him wash the dishes, many of which were merely flat stones. In short, the place was, according to Polly, a sort of paradise, and would have been almost perfect, but for a tendency in one or two of the men to quarrel, and a powerful disposition in Bob Corkey and Simon O'Rook to argue. Though the arguing never quite degenerated into quarrelling, and the quarrelsome men never absolutely came to blows, their tendencies made this coral paradise imperfect.
Two of the most troublesome men, named respectively Bounce and Badger, were cured by the captain in the following manner:--They had been quarrelling verbally for half an hour one morning, calling each other names, and threatening, as usual, to fight, but not doing so.
"Come, lads, follow me," said the captain to them sternly, and much to their surprise.
He led the way to a neighbouring grove, where he stopped. "Now," said he, "this is a cool, shady spot. I want to know which of you two is the best man. Come, go to work and fight it out. I'll see fair play."
Bounce and Badger showed much unwillingness, whereupon the captain buttoned his coat, turned up his wristbands, doubled his enormous fists, and declared that they would have to fight with him if they would not fight with each other.
"But we don't want to fight, sir," said Bounce, humbly, seeing that the captain was thoroughly in earnest.
"Very well, then, shake hands," said the captain, in a tone so peremptory that the men were fain to obey.
"Now, go back to camp together," said the captain, "and let us have no more boasting--d'ee understand?"
They went off at once. After that there was less disagreement and no threatening to fight among the men.
One morning--it was a Sunday--the captain called the whole party together after breakfast, and announced the fact that he was going to preach them a sermon.
"You see, my lads," said he, "since you have agreed that I shall continue to be your captain on shore as well as at sea--to be the governor, in short, of this little colony--it is right that we should come to a distinct understanding as to our new position, and be guided by fixed laws. In time I will draw you up a code which I hope will be ratified by yourselves, and will work well. To-day I mean to start by preaching a sermon. I pr'pose to do so every Sunday, and to have family prayers every morning. Is that agreed to?"
"Agreed," said nearly every one. Bounce and Badger laughed, however, supposing that the captain was jesting.
But he was very far from jesting. Taking no notice of the laughter, he continued, in an earnest, impressive manner, which enforced respect while he pointed towards the other side of the island-- "My lads, the skeleton that lies over yonder furnishes me with a text: `One is taken, and another left.' That poor fellow was taken away from this life. You and I have been left behind. Assuredly we have been left for a good purpose, and the merciful God who has spared us means that we should henceforth live for His glory. My lads, you all know what a blessed thing is a state of peace, and you also know what a miserable thing it is to be for ever quarrelling. Since we landed on this island, we've had a little of both. I took in hand to stop the quarrelling the other day, in my own way. P'r'aps it wasn't altogether my own way either, for I've read in the Bible of smiting a scorner, that the simple might take warning. However, be that as it may, that system may serve a turn; but it's not the straight road to come to a state of peace. If we are to live happily here, my lads, to avoid quarrelling, to honour our Maker, and to prove to each other--as well as to angels and devils, who may be lookin' on for all that I know--that we stand on a higher level than the brutes, we must square our conduct by the rules and laws laid down by the Prince of Peace, whose desire is that on earth men should live together in peace and goodwill. I'll now read you some of these laws."
Here the captain drew a small Bible from his pocket, and slowly read the fifth chapter of Matthew's Gospel, pausing at each verse, and commenting thereon, after his own peculiar fashion, to the surprise of all who heard him; for although all knew the captain to be an upright man, they were not prepared, by his usually stern look and brusque off-hand manner, for the tender spirit and depth of feeling which he now displayed.
"Now, my lads," said he, shutting the book, "that's all I've got to say to you to-day, but before closing, let me ask you to think like men--not like children--about what we have been reading. The service of God is not a mere matter of ceremonies. Jesus Christ came to save you and me, not so much from punishment, as from sin itself. It is a great salvation. Those of you who may have been swimming with the current know and care nothing about the power of sin. If you think you do, my lads, turn up stream. Try to resist sin, and you'll learn something new. Only those who are made willing and strong by the Spirit of God can do it successfully. No doubt that remark will set adrift a lot o' thoughts and questions in your minds. To all of them I give you a short text as a good course to steer by: `Ask, and ye shall receive.' Ask light and ask wisdom.
"Now, cook," continued the captain, turning to O'Rook, "go to work and get your dinner under weigh, for talking makes one hungry. Meanwhile, I intend to go and have a short ramble on the sea-shore, and I want to know if there is any small female on this island who wants to go with me."
At this Polly jumped up with a laugh, put her little hand in that of her father, and stood on tiptoe, with upturned face. The captain stooped, received a stiff nor'-wester, and the two went off together.
The following night, as the party were seated round the fire finishing supper, Watty Wilkins surprised his friends by rising, clearing his throat, extending his right arm, after the manner of an orator, and delivering himself of the following speech:-- "Lady and gentlemen,--I rise on the present occasion, with or without your leave (`Order,' from Ben Trench), to make a few pertinent remarks (`Impertinent,' from Philosopher Jack) regarding our present strange and felicitous circumstances. (Hear, hear.) Our community is a republic--a glorious republic! Having constituted Captain Samson our governor, pastor, and lawgiver, it has occurred to me that we might, with great advantage to ourselves, institute a college of learning, and, without delay, elect professors. As a stowaway, I would not have presumed to make such a proposal, but, as a free and independent citizen of this republic, I claim the right to be heard; and I now move that we proceed to elect a professor of natural philosophy, natural history, and any other natural or unnatural science that any of us may happen to remember or invent. (Hear, hear, and laughter.) As a student is naturally allied to a professor, and somewhat resembles him--the only difference being that the one knows mostly everything, and the other next to nothing--I further propose that we appoint to this professorship Philosopher Jack, with a salary of gratitude depending on merit, and the duty of lecturing to us every night after supper for our entertainment."
Watty Wilkins sat down amid great applause, and Ben Trench seconded the motion, which was of course carried unanimously.
Philosopher Jack at once accepted the professorship, and proceeded then and there to deliver his inaugural address, in which he philosophised of things past, present, and to come, both seriously and humorously, in a way that filled his favourite pupil, Baldwin Burr, with inexpressible delight.
When he had finished, Bob Corkey rose, and with an air of intense solemnity said-- "Messmates, my lady, fathers, and brethren,--I begs to offer a observation or two. It seems to me that a college with only one professor ain't quite the thing for this great and enlightened republic. Seems to me; therefore, that we should appint a professor who could spin yarns for our amusement, not to say edification. And, for this end, I moves that we appint Simon O'Rook (great applause), whose gifts in the way o' story-tellin', or nat'ral lyin', so to speak, is unequalled by any nat'ral philosopher on the island." (Hear, hear, and cheers, mingled with laughter.)
This motion was seconded by Bounce, and the appointment was gracefully accepted by O'Rook, who, however, declined taking office till the following night as it was getting late, and he required time to compose his professional lies; but he ventured, as a free citizen of the "noo" republic, to move that the house should adjourn to bed.
The idea thus jestingly introduced was so far carried into effect in earnest, that Philosopher Jack did, on many evenings thereafter, amuse and interest his comrades round the camp-fire, by relating many a tale from history, both ancient and modern, with which his memory was well stored. He also proved to himself, as well as to others, the great value of even a small amount of scientific knowledge, by being able to comment on the objects of surrounding nature in a way that invested them with an interest which, to absolutely ignorant men, they could not have possessed.
O'Rook also fulfilled his engagements to some extent, being not only able, but willing, to spin long-winded yarns, which, when genuine material failed, he could invent with facility.
Thus the time passed pleasantly enough for several weeks, and the shipwrecked crew succeeded in keeping up their spirits, despite the undercurrent of heavy anxiety with which they were oppressed,--as indeed they could scarcely fail to be, when they reflected on the fact that the island, on which they had been cast, lay far out of the ordinary track of ships. This had been ascertained by the captain, who, it may be remembered, had taken his sextant from the ship, and who, the day before the destruction of the raft on the coral reef, had obtained a reliable observation, and fixed their position.
But this anxiety was deepened, and a darker gloom was cast over the party, by an incident which happened soon afterwards.
It has been said that Watty Wilkins was passionately fond of fishing. This business he prosecuted by means of a small raft, made from the remnants of the old one, which he pushed about with a long pole. But the raft was inconvenient; moreover, it had been more than once nearly upset by a shark. Watty therefore resolved to make a small boat out of the remains of the old boat beside which the skeleton had been found. In this he was so ably assisted by his friends Jack and Ben, that the boat--which was a very small one--was launched in the course of two weeks. A pair of light oars was also made, and in this boat the fishing was prosecuted with redoubled vigour. Sometimes the three friends went off in company; more frequently little Wilkins went out alone.
One day he pushed off by himself, and pulled to different parts of the lagoon, casting his line now and then with varying success. The day happened to be unusually calm and bright. When he passed the opening in the reef, the surf appeared less violent than usual, so that he was tempted to pull though it. The breakers were passed in safety, and he soon found himself with a sensation of great delight, floating on the gentle swell of the open sea. He pulled out for a considerable distance, and then cast his lines. So intent was he on these, that he did not observe the approach of a squall till it was almost upon him. Seizing the oars, he pulled towards the island, but he had drifted off shore a considerable distance. The wind, also, was against him. His efforts were vain. In short he was blown out to sea.
The desperate anxiety of the poor boy was changed to despair when the island gradually receded and finally disappeared. At first the little boat was nearly swamped, but by clever management of the oars Watty saved it. The squall was short-lived. Before long it again fell calm, and the sky cleared, but nothing was now to be seen save the unbroken circle of the horizon.
Who can tell the feelings of the poor youth when night descended on the sea? For hours he sat in the stern-sheets quite motionless, as if stunned. [Note: see frontispiece.] Rowing, he knew, would be of no use, as he might be pulling away from the island instead of towards it. Fastening his jacket to an oar, he set it up as a signal, and sat down helpless and inactive, but his mind was busy as he gazed into the depths of the moonlit sky. He thought of home, of the father whom he had so deeply injured, of the prospects that he had unwittingly blighted, of his comrade Ben Trench, and his other friends on the Coral Island. As he continued to think, conscience rose up and condemned him sternly. Wilkins bowed his head to the condemnation, and admitted that it was just.
"Oh!" he cried, in a passion of sudden remorse, "O God! spare me to return home and be a comfort to my father,--my dear, dear father!"
He put his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Sitting thus, overcome with sorrow and fatigue, he gradually sank lower and lower, until he slid to the bottom of the boat, and lay at last with his head on the thwart, in profound slumber. He dreamed of home and forgiveness as he floated there, the one solitary black spot on the dark breast of the solemn sea.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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6
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WATTY WILKINS IS TRIED, COMFORTED, RUN DOWN, RESCUED, AND RESTORED.
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When Watty Wilkins awoke from sleep, the sun was high in the heavens and the sea smooth as a mirror.
The poor boy raised himself on one elbow and looked about him, at first with a confused feeling of uncertainty as to where he was. Then the truth burst upon him with overwhelming force. Not only was he alone in a little, half-decayed boat without sail, rudder, or compass, on the great Pacific Ocean, but, with the exception of a few fish, he was without food, and, worst of all, he had not a drop of fresh water.
What was to be done? An unspoken prayer ascended from his heart to God, as he rose and seized the oars. A belief that it was needful to act vigorously and at once was strong upon him. For several minutes he relieved his feelings by rowing with all his might. Then he stopped abruptly, and his spirit sank almost in despair as he exclaimed aloud-- "What's the use? I don't know where the island is. I may only be pulling farther away from it. Oh! what shall I do?"
At that moment of extreme depression, the value of having had a God-fearing father who had taught him the Bible was unexpectedly realised, for there flashed into his mind, as if in reply to his question, the words, "Call upon me in the time of trouble; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me."
He pulled in the oars at once, fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands, prayed fervently. Watty had been taught a form of prayer in childhood, and had often used it with little or no regard to its meaning. Now, in his distress, he prayed in earnest. He meant what he said. It followed, also, that he said what he meant. The old form, being quite unsuitable to the occasion, was forgotten, and very homely language indeed was used, but it was sufficient for the purpose. The substance of it was a cry for pardon and deliverance. That which winged it to the Throne of Grace was the name of Jesus Christ.
Resuming the oars, he rowed gently; not for the sake of directing the boat, but because a state of inaction was disagreeable, and as he rowed he thought of the promise that had been sent to him. Strange to say, the latter part of it, "Thou shalt glorify me," seemed to take a stronger hold of his mind than the first. "Yes," he thought, "the whole promise is true. He will deliver me and make me to glorify Himself in some way or other. Perhaps He will let me live to return home, and be a comfort to my father."
The thought of the sorrow he had caused his father weighed heavier than ever in the poor boy's mind, and the desire to express his repentance, and, if possible, make his father glad again, became very intense. It seemed to him that a millstone would be removed from his heart if he could be allowed, even for one minute, to hold his father's hand and say, "Oh, I am so sorry, sorry, sorry that I ran away!" The millstone was not removed at that time, however; but in answer to prayer it was unquestionably lightened.
The exercise of rowing and the fresh morning air produced their natural effect ere long on the little castaway. He became ravenously hungry, and turned his eyes inquiringly on the few fish which surged about in the pool of dirty water that had gathered in the bottom of the boat. It was not an inviting breakfast. Watty turned his eyes away from it, looked up into the fair blue sky, and tried to think of other things! But the calls of nature were not to be silenced. Instead of thinking of other things, he somehow thought of bread and butter. He even fell into a species of argument with himself as to whether it would not be uncommonly pleasant in various supposable circumstances, to eat bread without butter. Then he found himself meditating on the delights of butter and jam together, which somehow suggested the scriptural figure of a land flowing with milk and honey.
"Oh!" he sighed at this point, "if the sea was only milk and honey--milk even without honey! --what a glorious prospect!"
He looked at it as if he half thought it would be transformed under the power of his intense wish. Then he looked again at the floating fish and shuddered. Well might he shudder, for they were contemptible little fish, most of them, with unnaturally large heads, and great staring eyes, as if they had failed, even in death, to get rid of their surprise at being caught. With their mouths opened to the uttermost, they seemed to wish to shout, but couldn't.
"I may as well take them out of the dirty water anyhow," he muttered, suiting the action to the word, and spreading the fish on the thwart in front of him. Liking their appearance still less in that position, he put them on the thwart behind him, and tried to forget them. Impossible! He might as well have tried to forget his own existence. At last, after holding out as long as possible, the poor boy made up his mind to eat a little. Then he thought, "If I could only cook them; oh! for only one small lump of live coal from the camp fire on--" The thought was checked abruptly, for he suddenly remembered that he had a burning-glass in his trousers pocket. He might perhaps be able to roast them with that--in a somewhat underdone fashion, no doubt--still, any sort of cooking would be better than none!
It need scarcely be said that the attempt failed. The only results were a burnt spot or two and a faint odour that served to intensify his hunger. At last he bit a mouthful out of the back of one of the fish, chewed it viciously, swallowed it in a hurry, and felt very sick. The ice was broken, however, and he got on better than he had expected. But when hunger was appeased, there came gradually upon him the far less endurable condition of thirst. He really felt as if he should choke, and once or twice he dipped his baling-dish over the side, but restrained himself on remembering the journal of the skeleton, wherein it was recorded that one of the men had gone mad after drinking salt water.
Towards the afternoon hope was revived in his breast by the appearance of clouds indicating rain. It came at last, in a soft gentle shower-- far too gentle, indeed, for it could not be collected. What dropped upon the wooden baling-dish seemed to sink into or evaporate off it. The few drops that fell upon his patiently protruded tongue served only to tantalise him. But Watty was not prone to give way to despair; at least, not to remain in that condition. He took off his jacket, spread it out so as to form a basin, and eagerly watched the result. Alas! the cloth was too soft. It acted like a sponge, into which the rain-drops disappeared.
When it became evident that the coat was a failure--refusing even to part with a single drop when wrung,--Watty chanced to cast down his eyes, and they naturally fell on his trousers. They were stiff canvas trousers, and very greasy from much service among the dishes. Instantly he had them off, and spread out as the coat had been. Joy inexpressible--they held water! To convert the body of them into a lake and the legs into two water-courses was not difficult for one whose ingenuity was beyond the average. But oh! the lake basin was slow to gather the precious drops! He caused the two legs to debouch into the baling-dish, and watched eagerly for half an hour, at the end of which period about a wineglassful was collected. He sucked it in, to the last drop, and waited for more. It seemed as if the very sky sympathised with the boy's distress, for soon afterwards the rain increased, then it poured, and finally, Watty Wilkins was more than satisfied, he was drenched. Fortunately the downpour was short-lived. It ceased suddenly; the clouds broke up, and the evening sun came out in full splendour, enabling him to partially dry his garments.
In the Southern Seas at that time, the weather was particularly warm, so that our castaway felt no inconvenience from his ducking, and spent the second night in comparative comfort, his dreams--if he had any--being untroubled with visions of food or drink. Once, indeed, he awoke, and, looking up, recalled so vividly the fate of the man who had been cast alone and dying on the Coral Island, that he became deeply depressed by the thought of meeting a similar fate; but the text of the previous day again recurred to him. Clinging to it, he again fell asleep, and did not wake till morning.
Looking over the side, he saw what sent a gush of hope and joy to his heart. A ship, under full sail, not half a mile off! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Was he dreaming? Could it be?
He sprang up with a cry of delight and gave vent to a long, loud cheer, as much to relieve his feelings as to attract attention. It was almost too good to be true, he thought. Then a voice within whispered, "Did you not ask for deliverance?" and the boy mentally responded, "Yes, thank God, I did."
While he was thinking, his hands were busy refastening his jacket (which he had taken down to sleep in) by a sleeve to its former place at the end of an oar. But there was no occasion to signal. The vessel, a barque, was running straight towards him before a light breeze under full sail--as Baldwin Burr would have said, with "stuns'ls slow and aloft." Believing that he had been observed, he ceased waving his flag of distress.
But soon a new idea sent a thrill through his heart. No sign of recognition was made to him as the ship drew near. Evidently the look-out was careless.
Leaping up, Watty seized the oar, waved his flag frantically, and yelled out his alarm. Still the ship bore majestically down on him, her huge bow bulking larger and higher as she drew near. Again Watty yelled, loud and long, and waved his flag furiously. The ship was close upon him--seemed almost towering over him. He saw a sailor appear lazily at the bow with his hands in his pockets. He saw the eyes of that seaman suddenly display their whites, and his hands, with the ten fingers extended, fly upwards. He heard a tremendous "Starboard ha-a-a-rd!" followed by a terrific "Starboard it is!" Then there was a crashing of rotten wood, a fearful rushing of water in his ears, a bursting desire to breathe, and a dreadful thrusting downwards into a dark abyss. Even in that moment of extremity the text of the morning flashed through his whirling brain--then all was still.
When Watty's mind resumed its office, its owner found himself in a comfortable berth between warm blankets with a hot bottle at his feet, and the taste of hot brandy-and-water in his mouth. A man with a rough hairy visage was gazing earnestly into his face.
"Wall, youngster, I guess," said the man, "that you'd pretty nigh slipped your cable."
Watty felt thankful that he had not quite slipped his cable, and said so.
"You went over me, I think," he added.
"Over you! Yes, I just think we did. You went down at the bows--I see'd you myself--and came up at the starn. The cap'n, he see'd you come up, an' said you bounced out o' the water like the cork of a soda-water bottle. But here he comes himself. He told me I wasn't to speak much to you."
The captain, who was an American, with a sharp-featured and firm but kindly countenance, entered the berth at the moment.
"Well, my boy, glad to see you revived. You had a narrow escape. Wouldn't have been so if it hadn't chanced that one of our worst men was the look-out--or rather wasn't the look-out. However, you're all right now. Your ship went down, I expect, not long since?"
"About three or four months ago," answered Watty.
"Come, boy, your mind hasn't got quite on the balance yet. It ain't possible that you could be as fat as a young pig after bein' three or four months at sea in an open boat. What was the name of your ship?"
"The _Lively Poll_."
"What! a Scotch ship?"
"Yes; part owned and commanded by Captain Samson." " _I_ know him; met him once in Glasgow. A big, rough-bearded, hearty fellow--six foot two or thereabouts. Didn't go down with his ship, did he?" asked the captain with a look of anxiety.
"No," replied Watty with increasing interest in the American; "we escaped on a raft to an island, off which I was blown, while alone in my boat only two days ago."
"Only two days ago, boy!" echoed the captain, starting up; "d'you happen to know the direction of that island?"
Watty did not know, of course, having had no compass in his boat; but he fortunately remembered what Captain Samson had said when he had ascertained the latitude and longitude of it.
"Mr Barnes," shouted the captain to the first mate, who stood on deck near the open skylight, "how's her head?"
"Sou'-sou'-west, sir."
"Put her about and lay your course west and by north. Now," said the captain, turning again to Watty, with a look of satisfaction, "we'll soon rescue Captain Samson and his crew. I'm sorry I won't be able to take you all back to England, because we are bound for San Francisco, but a trip to California is preferable to life on a coral island. Now, boy, I've talked enough to you. The steward will bring you some dinner. If you feel disposed, you may get up after that. Here are dry clothes for you. We ripped up your own to save time after hauling you out of the sea."
It was not usual for the gentle Polly Samson to alarm the camp with a shriek that would have done credit to a mad cockatoo, nevertheless, she did commit this outrage on the feelings of her companions on the afternoon of the day on which Watty was run down and rescued.
Her father and all the others were seated around the camp fire among the bushes at the time. Polly had left them, intending to pay a visit to one of her beautiful water-gardens on the beach, and had just emerged from the bushes and cast her eyes upon the sea, when she beheld the sight that drew from her the shriek referred to. She gave it forth in an ascending scale.
"Oh! Oh!! Oh!!! father! come here! quick! quick! oh!"
Never since he was a boy had the captain jumped so sharply from a sitting posture to his legs. Every man followed suit like a Jack-in-the-box. There was a rush as if of a tempest through the bushes, and next moment the whole party burst upon the scene, to find Polly--not as they had feared in some deadly peril, but--with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks waving her arms like a windmill, and shrieking with joy at a ship which was making straight for the island under full sail.
The captain greeted the sight with a bass roar, Philosopher Jack with a stentorian shout. Ben Trench did his best to follow Jack's example. Simon O'Rook uttered an Irish howl, threw his cap into the air, and forthwith began an impromptu hornpipe, in which he was joined by Bob Corkey. Baldwin Burr and his comrades vented their feelings in prolonged British cheers, and Mr Luke, uttering a squeak like a wounded rabbit, went about wanting to embrace everybody, but nobody would let him. In short every one went more or less mad with joy at this sudden realisation of "hope long deferred." Only then did they become fully aware of the depth of anxiety which had oppressed them at the thought of being left, perhaps for years, it might be to the end of their days, on that unknown island.
As the vessel approached, it became apparent that there was some one on board whose temporary insanity was as demonstrative as their own, so wild were his gesticulations.
"It's too fur off," said Baldwin, "to make out the crittur's phisog; but if it warn't for his size, I'd say he was a monkey."
"P'r'aps it's an ourang-outang," suggested Corkey.
"Or a gorilla," said O'Rook.
"Oh!" exclaimed Polly, in a low, eager voice of surprise, "I do believe it is Watty Wilkins!"
"Polly is right," said Philosopher Jack; "I'd know Watty's action among a thousand."
As he spoke, the vessel rounded-to outside the reef, backed her top-sails, and lowered a boat. At the same time the excited figure disappeared from her bow, and reappeared, wilder than ever, in the stern of the boat. As it crossed the lagoon, the voice of Watty became audible, and was responded to by a succession of hearty cheers, in the midst of which the boat was run ashore. The excited lad sprang on the beach, and was almost annihilated by the species of miscellaneous embracing that he immediately underwent.
Need we say that Captain Samson and his men were only too thankful to have such an opportunity of deliverance? They at once accepted the offer of the American captain, embarked in his ship the following morning, passed Cape Horn not long after, sailed up the coast of South America, and, in course of time, cast anchor in the renowned harbour of San Francisco.
At the time of which we write, the excitement about the gold-fields of California was at its highest pitch. Men were flocking to that region from all parts of the earth. Fortunes were being made by some in a few months, and lost by others, at the gaming-tables, in a few days, or even hours. While a few gained a competence, many gained only a bare subsistence; thousands lost their health, and not a few their lives. It was a strange play that men enacted there, embracing all the confusion, glitter, rapid change of scene, burlesque, and comedy of a pantomime, with many a dash of darkest tragedy intermingled. Tents were pitched in all directions, houses were hastily run up, restaurants of all kinds were opened, boats were turned keel up and converted into cottages, while ships were stranded or lying idle at their anchors for want of crews, who had made off to that mighty centre of attraction, the diggings.
Arrived at San Francisco, Captain Samson and his crew were landed one fine morning at an early hour, and went up to a modest-looking hotel, without any definite idea as to what was best to be done in their peculiar circumstances. Feeling a strange sensation of helplessness in the midst of so much turmoil and human energy, after their quiet sojourn on the Coral Island, they kept together like a flock of sheep, and wandered about the town. Then they returned to their hotel and had luncheon, for which so large a sum was demanded, that they resolved to return on board at once, and ask the American captain's advice.
They found their deliverer pacing his quarterdeck, with his hands in his pockets, and a stern frown on his countenance. He was quite alone, and the vessel wore an unusually quiet air.
"Nothing wrong, I hope," said Captain Samson, as he stepped over the gangway.
"Everything wrong," replied the American; "crew skedaddled."
"What! bolted?"
"Ay, every man, to the diggin's."
"What will you do?" asked Captain Samson, in a sympathetic tone.
"Sell off the ship and cargo for what they'll fetch, and go to the diggin's too," replied the other. "Moreover, I'd strongly recommend you to do the same."
"What say you to that advice, Philosopher Jack?" asked Captain Samson, turning to our hero, with a peculiar smile.
"I say," answered the philosopher, returning the smile, "that the advice requires consideration."
"Cautiously replied; and what says my Polly?" continued the captain.
"I say whatever you say, father."
"Ah! Poll, Poll, that sort of answer don't help one much. However, we'll call a council of war, and discuss the matter seriously; but, first of all, let's see how the wind blows. How do _you_ feel inclined, Ben Trench? Bein' the invalid of our party, so to speak, you're entitled, I think, to speak first."
"I say, Go," replied Ben.
"And I say ditto," burst from Watty Wilkins with powerful emphasis.
"You wasn't axed yet," observed Bob Corkey. "Besides, stowaways have no right to speak at all."
"What says Mr Luke!" continued the captain.
"Don't go," answered Mr Luke feebly.
"Now, lads," said the captain, after putting the question to the others, "we'll go in for the pros and cons."
They went in for the pros and cons accordingly, and after an animated debate, resolved that the path of duty, as well as that of interest and propriety, lay in the direction of the diggings.
Having settled the matter, and gathered together into a common fund the small amount of cash and property which each had saved from the wreck, they went ashore, purchased the articles necessary for their expedition, and followed the great stream of Californian gold-diggers.
We shall join them, but let not the reader suppose that we intend to bore him or her with the statistics and details of Californian gold-digging. It is our purpose only to touch lightly on those salient points in the adventures of our wanderers which had a more or less direct bearing on the great issues of their lives.
|
{
"id": "21756"
}
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7
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FAILURE.
|
There are times, probably, in the life of all when everything seems to go against one,--when plans and efforts turn out ill, or go wrong, and prospects look utterly black and hopeless. Such a time fell upon Philosopher Jack and his friends some months after their arrival at the gold-diggings.
At first they were moderately successful, and at that time what amazingly golden visions they did indulge!
"A carriage and pair," soliloquised Watty Wilkins, one evening at supper, while his eyes rested complacently on the proceeds of the day's labour--a little heap of nuggets and gold-dust, which lay on a sheet of paper beside him; "a carriage and pair, a town house in London, a country house near Bath or Tunbridge Wells, and a shooting-box in the Scotch Highlands. Such is my reasonable ambition."
"Not bad," said Philosopher Jack, "if you throw in a salmon river near the shooting-box, and the right to wear the bonnet, plaid, and kilt at pleasure."
"Not to mention bare legs an' rheumatiz," remarked Simon O'Rook, who was busy with the frying-pan. "Sure, if the good Queen herself was to order me to putt on such things, I'd take off me bonnet an' plaid in excuse that I'd be kilt entirely if she held me to it. All the same I'd obey her, for I'm a loyal subject."
"You're a bad cook, anyhow," said Baldwin Burr, "to burn the bacon like that."
"Burn it!" retorted O'Rook with an air of annoyance, "man alive, how can I help it? It hasn't fat enough to slide in, much less to swim. It's my belief that the pig as owned it was fed on mahogany-sawdust and steel filin's. There, ait it, an' howld yer tongue. It's good enough for a goold-digger, anyhow."
"In regard to that little bit of ambition o' your'n," said Bob Corkey, as the party continued their meal, "seems to me, Watty, that you might go in for a carriage an' four, or six, when you're at it."
"No, Corkey, no," returned the other, "that would be imitating the foibles of the great, which I scorn. What is _your_ particular ambition, now, Mr Luke? What will you buy when you've dug up your fortune?"
The cadaverous individual addressed, who had become thinner and more cadaverous than ever, looked up from his pewter plate, and, with a sickly smile, replied that he would give all the gold in the mines to purchase peace of mind.
This was received with a look of surprise, which was followed by a burst of laughter.
"Why, you ain't an escaped convict, are you?" exclaimed Baldwin Burr.
"No, I'm only an escaped man of business, escaped from the toils, and worries, and confinements of city life," returned Mr Luke, with another sickly smile, as he returned to his tough bacon.
"Well, Mr Luke, if contrast brings any blessing with it," said Edwin Jack, "you ought to revive here, for you have splendid fresh country air--by night as well as by day--a fine laborious occupation with pick and shovel, a healthy appetite, wet feet continually, mud up to the eyes, and gold to your heart's content. What more can you desire?"
"Nothing," replied the cadaverous man with a sigh.
The state of prosperity to which Jack referred did not last. Their first "claim," though rich, was soon worked out, and they were obliged to seek another. This turned out to be a poor one, yielding barely enough of the precious metal to enable them to pay their way, every article of clothing, tools, and food being excessively dear at the mines. Nevertheless, they worked on in hope, but what was termed their "luck" became worse and worse every day, so that at last they were obliged to run into debt.
This was not difficult to do, for the principal store-keeper, Higgins by name, saw that they were respectable, trustworthy men, and felt pretty safe in giving them supplies on credit. One bad result of the debt thus incurred was that the whole tone and spirit of the party was lowered.
"It's too bad," growled Philosopher Jack one evening, as he strode into the tent and flung down his tools; "got barely enough to keep the pot boiling."
"Better that than nothing," remarked Watty Wilkins, who was in the act of taking off his wet boots. " _I_ haven't got as much dust as would gild the end of a bumbee's nose. Hope some of the others have been more successful. None of them have come in yet except O'Rook, who is as unlucky as myself. He's off to the store for something for supper."
Watty sat down before the fire which burned in front of the tent, and sadly toasted his toes.
"I'll tell you what," said Jack, sitting down beside him, "I fear we were fools to come here."
"Not so sure of that" returned Wilkins, with a dubious shake of the head. "Every one, you know, cannot be lucky. Some succeed and some don't. We are down just now, that's all. The wheel of fortune is going round, and something will be sure to turn up soon."
"Nothing will turn up unless we turn it up for ourselves, you may depend upon that" said Philosopher Jack.
"The captain seemed to preach a different doctrine from that last Sunday, didn't he, when he remarked that God sometimes sends prosperity and riches to those who neither ask, work for, nor deserve them?"
"True, Watty, but these, he told us, were exceptional cases; the rule being, that those who labour with body or mind acquire possessions, while those who don't labour fall into poverty. The simple truth of that rule is partially veiled by the fact that thousands of laborious men labour unwisely, on the one hand, while, on the other hand, thousands of idle men live on the product of their forefathers' labours. Besides, didn't the captain also impress upon us that success is not success when it leads to evil, and failure is not failure when it results in good?"
"From all which," retorted Watty, "you bring forward strong proof that your present growling at bad luck is most unphilosophic, you cross-grained philosopher."
"Not at all," returned Jack. "The captain's principles may, or may not be correct. The mere statement of them does not prove that my ill luck just now is going to result in good. But the worst of it is, that during the time of our good fortune, I had been hoarding up in order to be able to send money to my poor father, and now it has all melted away."
"I'm sorry for you, Jack," said Watty, "but that is not the worst of it to my mind, bad though it be. What grieves me most is, that my dear friend and chum, Ben Trench, is surely losing his health under the strain of anxiety and hard work. You see, he is not gifted with the gutta-percha feelings and cast-iron frame of Philosopher Jack, neither has he the happy-go-lucky spirit and tough little corpus of Watty Wilkins, so that it tells on him heavily--very heavily."
Poor Watty said this half jestingly, yet with such a look of genuine feeling that Jack forgot his own troubles for the moment.
"Something _must_ be done," he said, gazing with a concerned look at the fire. "Did you observe that man Conway last night up at the store?"
"Yes; what of him?"
"He staked largely at the gaming-table last night--and won."
Little Wilkins glanced quickly in his friend's face. "Jack," he said, with a look and tone of earnestness quite unusual to him, "we must not think of _that_. Whatever straits we are reduced to, we must not gamble--I repeat, we _must_ not!"
"Why not, little man?" asked Jack, with an amused smile at what he considered an uncalled-for burst of seriousness.
"Because it is dishonourable," said Wilkins, promptly.
"I don't see it to be so," returned Jack. "If I am willing to stake my money on a chance of black or red turning up, and the banker is willing to take his chance, why should we not do it? the chances are equal; both willing to win or to lose, nothing dishonourable in that! Or, if I bet with you and you bet with me, we both agree to accept the consequences, having a right, of course, to do what we please with our own."
"Now, Jack," said Wilkins, "I'm not going to set up for a little preacher, or attempt to argue with a big philosopher, but I'll tell you what my father has impressed on me about this matter. One day, when we were passing some ragged boys playing pitch-and-toss on the street, he said to me, `Watty, my boy, no man should gamble, because it is dishonourable. To want money that does not belong to you is greedy. To try to get it from your neighbour without working for it is mean. To risk your money in the hope of increasing it by trade, or other fair means, and so benefit yourself and others, is right; but to risk it for nothing, with the certainty of impoverishing some one else if you win, or injuring yourself if you lose, is foolish and unfeeling. The fact that some one else is willing to bet with you, only proves that you have met with one as foolish and unfeeling as yourself, and the agreement of two unfeeling fools does not result in wisdom. You will hear it said, my boy, that a man has a right to do what he will with his own. That is not true. As far as the world at large is concerned, it is, indeed, partially true, but a man may only do what God allows with what He has lent him. He is strictly accountable to God for the spending of every penny. He is accountable, also, to his wife and his children, in a certain degree, ay, and to his tradesmen, if he owes them anything. Yes, Watty, gambling for money is dishonourable, believe me!' Now, Jack, I did, and I do believe him, from the bottom of my heart."
What Jack would have replied we cannot tell, for the conversation was interrupted at that moment by the abrupt appearance of Captain Samson. He led Polly by the hand. The child had an unwonted expression of sadness on her face.
"Come into the tent. Now then, darling," said the captain; "sit on my knee, and tell me all about it. Polly has seen something in her rambles that has made her cry," he explained to Jack, Wilkins, and the rest of the party who chanced to come in while he was speaking. "Let us hear about it."
"Oh! it is _so_ sad," said Polly, whimpering. "You know that good kind man Jacob Buckley, who lives up in Redman's Gap with his sick brother Daniel, who is so fond of me; well, I went up to the Gap this afternoon, when I had done cleaning up, to sit with the sick brother for a little. I found him in great anxiety and very ill. He told me that Jacob, who had always been such a good nurse to him, is much cast down by his bad luck, and has taken to drink, and that he has lost or spent all his money, and can't get credit at the store. He went out quite drunk last night, and has not returned since. Of course poor Daniel has had nothing to eat, for he can't leave his bed without help, and even if he could, there isn't a morsel of food in the house."
This story created much sympathy in the hearts of Polly's hearers.
"Well now, messmates, what's to be done in this case?" asked Captain Samson, looking round.
"Make a c'lection," said O'Rook.
"Here you are," said Watty, taking up his cap and dropping several small nuggets into it as he handed it to Jack.
The philosopher contributed a pretty large nugget, which, in his heart, he had intended to stake at the gaming-table. "Well," said he, "we are reduced to low enough circumstances just now, but we are rich compared with poor Buckley."
The entire party at that time numbered only nine, including Polly, Bounce, and Badger, the other members of the crew of the _Lively Poll_ having separated soon after leaving San Francisco. But as all of them were men of generous spirit, Watty's cap soon contained a very creditable "c'lection," which was made up forthwith into a bag, and carried with some cooked provisions by Polly to Redman's Gap, under the safe escort of her father and Baldwin Burr.
The following evening, after supper, Philosopher Jack quietly put his last bag of gold into his pocket and went off with it to Higgins' store. On the way up he entered into a debate with himself as to the rectitude of gambling. He seemed to himself to be composed of two persons, one of whom condemned, while the other defended gambling. But Jack had a strong will of his own. He was not to be lightly turned from a purpose, either by the disputants within him or by the arguments of his friend Wilkins. Being a good reasoner, our philosopher found that the condemner of gambling within him was rapidly getting the best of the argument; he therefore brought the matter to a point by suddenly exclaiming aloud, "Now, the question is, shall I do it?"
"Don't?" said his old, brusque, but faithful friend Conscience, with a promptitude that made him quite uncomfortable.
"Or," continued Jack slowly, "shall I go back and wait to see whether things will turn and mend?"
"Do!" answered his friend at once.
If Jack had put more questions, he would have received clear and emphatic replies, but he merely said, "Pooh!" and when a man says "pooh!" to conscience, he is in a very bad way indeed.
At Higgins' store gold-miners assembled to buy and sell, to talk and drink and gamble. As the necessaries of life were procured there, miners of all sorts, from the steady to the disreputable, were to be found assembled at times, but it was chiefly the latter who "hung about" the place. No notice was taken of Jack as he mingled with the crowd, except by one or two acquaintances, who gave him a passing nod of recognition.
At the bar there was assembled a boisterous group, who were laughing heartily at something. Jack joined it, and found a tall, half-tipsy man offering to bet with another. When men are smitten with the gambling spirit anything that affords a "chance" will serve their turn.
"See here, now," said the tall man, looking round, "I repeat, that I'll bet any man ten dollars--all I have in the world--that there's not any four of the men in this store can prevent my lifting this tumbler of water to my lips."
He held out a tumbler in his right hand as he spoke, and straightened his long sinewy arm.
Some of those present laughed, but one, a short, thick-set, powerful fellow, said "Done!" at once, and stepped forward.
"Well, stranger," said the tall man, with a smile, "lay hold. You ought to be strong enough to prevent me by yourself, but come on some more of you."
Three strong fellows rose and laughingly grasped the man's arm, while several of the lookers-on began to bet on the event.
"Now, hold fast," said the tall man, giving his arm a slight but vigorous shake, which had the effect of causing those who held it to tighten their grip powerfully.
"Oh! you're not strong enough," he added; "come, another of you!" Hereupon a fifth man rose, and laid hold of the arm amid much laughter.
At that moment a big, rough miner pushed his way through the crowd and demanded to know "what was up." On being told, he drew a bag from his pocket and exclaimed, "I'll bet you this bag of dust if you can match it, that these five men will prevent you easily. They are strong enough to hold Goliath himself, if he were here."
"Sorry that I can't match your bag, stranger," replied the tall man; "I'm only game for ten dollars, and that's already staked."
"But _I_ can match it," exclaimed Philosopher Jack, suddenly producing his bag, which was much the same size as that of the big miner.
"Now, then, hold fast, but don't break the bone if you can help it," said the tall man, giving his arm another shake.
The laugh with which this was received was changed into a roar of delight, when the tall man passed his left arm over the heads of those who held him, and with his left hand conveyed the tumbler to his lips.
There was a good deal of disputation immediately, as to the justice of paying up bets on what was obviously a "sell," but it was ruled that in this case they had been fairly lost and won, so that the big miner turned his back on his bag of gold, and, with a deep curse, left the store.
Never before had Edwin Jack felt so thoroughly ashamed of himself as when he went forward and took up the two bags of gold. He did it, how ever, and, hurriedly quitting the store, returned to his tent.
There was a small portion of the tent curtained off at the farther extremity, as a chamber for Polly Samson. Jack was relieved, on arriving, to find that she had retired to it for the night. He was also glad to observe that all his tired companions were asleep, with the exception of O'Rook. That worthy was busy clearing up his pots and pans for the night.
"It's late you are to-night," remarked O'Rook with a yawn.
"Yes, I've been to the store," said Jack; "hand me that candle; thanks."
Turning his back on his comrade, he opened the bag which he had won, and looked in. The first thing that met his astonished gaze was the identical nugget which he had contributed the evening before to the sick miner at Redman's Gap. There was a name inside the bag. Holding it near the candle, he read--"Buckley!"
"They must have been robbed!" he muttered to himself; then, rising, said to O'Rook, "I've taken a fancy to go up to the Gap to see the Buckleys. Don't mistake me for a thief when I return."
"No mistake at all if I did," returned O'Rook, "for you're stealin' a march on us all just now, an' isn't it robbin' yourself of your night's rest you are? ah! then, a wilful man must have his way; good luck go with ye."
Before the sentence and the yawn that followed it were finished, Jack was on his way to the Gap. He found the elder Buckley seated on a log by his brother's couch, with his face buried in his hands. A glance showed him that the sick man was dying. Jacob looked up quickly. His face was haggard from the combined effects of dissipation, grief, and watching. He seemed rather annoyed than pleased by Jack's visit.
"I'm grieved to see Daniel so ill," said Jack in a low voice, which, however, roused the attention of the invalid.
"Dying," said Jacob sternly, though in a voice that was scarcely audible. "What have you got there?" he added, almost fiercely, as he observed, and at once recognised, the bag in his visitor's hand.
"Your property," answered Jack. "Have you not missed it? I conclude, of course, that it has been stolen from you, because it was gambled away by a big rough fellow at Higgins' store this evening."
A peculiar smile flitted for a moment across the rugged face of Jacob Buckley as he said, "No, he didn't steal it. Not being able to leave my brother myself, I sent him with it to the store, to try his luck. It was my last throw, contained all I had, includin' the dust and nuggets you and your comrades sent me last night."
He said this in a hard, reckless, defiant manner, then looked suddenly in Jack's eyes, and inquired with an expression of curiosity how he came by the bag.
"I won it, God forgive me," said Jack, a deep flush of shame overspreading his face, "and I now come to return what I had no right to win."
A sound from the dying man attracted their attention at that moment.
"He wants to speak to you," said Jacob, who had stooped down to listen.
Jack bent over the sick man, who said in a low whisper, with occasional pauses for breath, for his strength was almost gone.
"God bless you! You've saved his life. He said if he lost that gold that he'd blow out his brains--and he'd have done it--he would; I know Jacob--he'd have done it. Read to me--the Word--the only true gold."
Jack looked round. Jacob had sat down, and again covered his face with his hands.
"I have not my Bible with me," said Jack, "but I can repeat passages from memory."
He began with the words, "They that trust in Him shall never be put to confusion," when the dying man roused himself, and with a strong effort whispered, "O, sir, I _do_ trust in Him! Will you try to save my brother from gambling and drink. Speak! --promise!"
"I will!" whispered Jack in his ear.
The man's energy left him at once, and he fell back on the pillow, from which he had partially risen, with a deep, prolonged sigh. Jacob heard it. Springing up, he fell on his knees by the bedside and seized his brother's hand.
"O Dan! dear Dan," he exclaimed, passionately, "don't give way like that. You'll get well soon, an we'll cut this infernal place altogether; we'll go home and work with the old folk. Dan, dear Dan! speak to me--" He stopped abruptly, and rose with a stony stare of hopelessness, for Dan's spirit had returned to God who gave it.
Without a word Jacob set to work to lay out the body, and Jack quietly assisted him. Having finished, the former put the recovered bag of gold in his pocket, stuck a revolver in his belt, and took up the door key of the hut.
"Come, Jacob," said Jack, purposely taking no notice of these actions, "you'll go home and spend the night with me. Dear Dan wants no tending now. We will return together, and see to his remains to-morrow. Come."
Buckley looked undecided.
"You haven't your flask, have you?" he asked eagerly.
Jack felt in his pockets, and with something like joy found that his flask was not there. "No," said he, "I haven't got it. But come, Jacob, you want rest. I'll give you something better than spirits to drink when we reach the tent. Come."
The man submitted. They went out and, locking the door, walked quickly and silently away.
Many and anxious were the thoughts that chased each other through the busy brain of our hero during that dreary midnight walk. Before it was ended, he had almost resolved upon a plan of action, which was further matured while he prepared a can of strong hot coffee for poor Jacob Buckley.
"This is how the matter stands," he said to Captain Samson next morning, during a private conversation, while Buckley and the others were at breakfast in the tent. "I, who am not a teetotaller, and who last night became a gambler, have pledged myself to do what I can to save Jacob Buckley from drink and gaming. To attempt that _here_ would be useless. Well, we are at our lowest ebb just now. To continue working here is equally useless. I will therefore leave you for a time, take Buckley and Wilkins with me, and go on a prospecting tour into the mountains. There it will be impossible to drink or gamble; time may cure Buckley, and perhaps we may find gold! Of course," he added, with a sad smile, "if we do, we'll return and let you know."
The captain approved of this plan. Jacob Buckley and Watty Wilkins at once agreed to go, and immediately after Daniel's burial, the prospecters set out. The entire party, including Polly, convoyed them as far as Redman's Gap, where, wishing them good-speed, they parted company. Then the three adventurers passed through the Gap, and were soon lost in the wild recesses of the mountain range.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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8
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SUCCESS.
|
For more than a month did the prospecting party wander among the Californian mountains in quest of gold, but found none--at least not in paying quantities.
At first the trip was to each of them full of romance, interest and hope. Even Buckley began to cheer up after a few days had passed. The craving for drink began to wear off, and grief for his lost brother-- whom he had truly loved--began to abate. The wild scenery through which they passed was in itself sufficient to rouse to a high pitch the enthusiasm of such youths as Philosopher Jack and Watty Wilkins, while their comrade, though not so impressionable in regard to the sublime and beautiful, was roused to sympathy by their irresistible ardour. The necessity of hunting, too, in order to obtain food, added excitement of a more stirring kind, and an occasional encounter with a grizzly bear introduced a spice of danger to which none of them objected. Their various washings of the soil and examination of river beds afforded a sufficient quantity of gold to foster hope, though not to pay expenses. Thus they progressed through many a scene of loveliness, where the hand of God had sown broadcast all the forms and hues of grace and beauty which render this world attractive; they also passed through many a savage defile and mountain gorge--dark, gloomy, almost repulsive--which served to enhance their enjoyment of the beautiful by contrast.
But as the time passed by they became accustomed to the life, and therefore less appreciative. They failed, also, to find gold in larger quantities, and as the finding of gold was their highest aim, they were proportionally disappointed and downcast. Watty, indeed, kept up his spirits pretty well. He experienced the benefit of the change that had taken place in his soul that time when he was alone with God in the little boat upon the sea. He prayed in secret for light, and tried to believe that "all things work together for good to them that love God;" but his faith was weak, and the old heart of unbelief was still very strong.
As for Philosopher Jack, his spirit was still engaged in rebellious warfare. He growled a good deal at his "luck," and was heartily seconded by Buckley. In addition to this, Jack's spirit was much troubled by his promise to Daniel Buckley on his deathbed. He shrank, with a strength of feeling that surprised himself, from speaking to Jacob about his infirmity, yet he felt the duty lying strong upon him, for he knew well that, if nothing was said, the man would certainly go back to his old habits on returning to the neighbourhood of the store where drink could be obtained.
"Shall I break the ice at once?" thought Jack. "Perhaps it would be well to wait till we know each other better."
"Don't," said the voice of his old laconic friend.
But Jack did wait, and the longer he waited the more disinclined to speak did he become. He held strongly, however, that a right promise once given should never be broken, and, under a feeling of desperation, said to himself one day, "Would it not be much better to end this matter by speaking without further delay?"
"Do," said conscience, approvingly.
And Jack did, then and there, the result being that Jacob Buckley did not take it well, but told him flatly to mind his own business. Jack flushed crimson and clenched his fist; then the absurdity of attempting to knock sobriety into a man struck him, and he laughed as he said-- "Well, Buckley, that is just what I am doing, for it _is_ my business to remonstrate with a comrade when I see him give way to a habit which will result in his destruction if not abandoned."
After this Buckley allowed him to talk a little on the subject, but Jack felt the work to be very distasteful. Eventually he gave it up, consoling himself with the reflection that at all events he had brought the man away on an expedition where nothing stronger than cold water and hot tea was to be had for love or money.
At last the tide turned. On the same day a piece of great good and bad fortune befell our explorers. It happened thus:-- Watty Wilkins roused himself from a golden dream one morning, threw off his blanket looked up at the bush which served him and his comrades as a canopy, and yawned. It was grey dawn. There was that clear sweet light in the sky which gives sure promise of a fine day. Seeing that his companions still slept, he drew from his breast a small Testament, read a few verses, and prayed. This had been his custom ever since his deliverance by the American ship.
Soon after, Jack moved his bulky frame, rolled round, threw out his arms, and yawned. The yawn awakened Buckley, who immediately followed suit--such is the force of example!
"I'll tell you what it is, mates," said the latter, sitting up, "that twist I gave my leg yesterday troubles me a little. I shall remain in camp to-day and smoke."
"Very good," said Jack, rising and putting the kettle on the fire with a view to breakfast. "Watty and I will go up that valley and prospect. We will expect that you'll eat no more than your share of the provisions during our absence, and that you'll have supper ready for us when we return."
The simple breakfast being disposed of and washed down with cans of hot tea, the two friends shouldered their guns and set off up the gorge or narrow mountain valley, near the mouth of which they had bivouacked. There was a belt of wood close to their camp; beyond that a small plain, after crossing which they entered a dense thicket, and began a toilsome march up the bed of a little mountain stream. The channel was nearly dry at the time, but the boulders, which were strewn about everywhere, showed that it was sometimes a formidable torrent.
"A likely place for gold," said Watty, with a hopeful look and tune.
"We've tried many such likely places," replied Jack, with a look and tone not quite so hopeful.
For several miles they advanced, washing out a panful of dirt here and there, and finding a little gold-dust as usual. Mid-day arrived, and they sat down to a cold dinner, consisting of a few scraps of meat left from breakfast. Little conversation was indulged in. They were too hungry for that--perhaps too much depressed by hope deferred.
"I'll try the banks higher up," said Jack, rising.
"And I'll try the bed of the stream lower down, just by way of opposition," said Watty.
They separated, and the latter soon found himself among the boulders, where he continued to search--actively at first, but more lazily as time passed by. Presently he came to a wild spot where the stream was overhung by bushes. He turned over a small stone. Beneath it was a hole or "pocket". He stooped quickly, and pulled out a nugget of gold about the size of a thimble. He stooped again, and, inserting his hand, pulled at something that would not come. His heart gave a jump and appeared to get into his throat, where it apparently remained, while the blood rushed to his forehead. Another pull, and out came a mass of solid gold, about the size of his own fist! A cheer rose to his lips, but he checked it. "P'r'aps there's more!" he said. Yes, the greedy little wretch said that! But there was no more in that pocket.
Quickly turning over several more stones, he found more pockets, with nuggets of various sizes in each. In a short time his specimen pouch was pretty well lined with the precious metal.
Meanwhile his friend Jack was equally successful, the chief difference between them being that the latter washed out the earth on the banks above, and found his gold in little grains and specks, but in such quantities that he felt as if his fortune were already made. Towards evening Watty hallooed and was replied to. As they walked rapidly towards the pre-arranged rendezvous, each hit on the same idea--that of deception!
"Well, what luck?" asked Watty with a careless air that ill concealed the elation of his heart.
"Only a little dust--nothing to speak of--at least not as compared with what some fellows get," said Jack, whose laughing eye gave the lie direct to his melancholy tones. "See here, Watty, this is all I've got."
As he spoke, the hypocrite poured the glittering contents of his pouch into his tin wash-pan.
"Well, _what_ a lucky fellow you are!" said Watty, with mouth expanded. "Just look here; this is all that I have got."
He opened his bag and displayed the nuggets, with the big one in the midst!
Need we say that these youths found it difficult to express their joy and astonishment? The fact was evident that they had at last discovered unusually rich ground, and they travelled back to the camp to tell their lazy comrade the good news.
It was near sunset when they reached the little plain or open space at the mouth of the gorge. Here Jack turned aside to cut a stick of peculiar form, which had caught his eye on the way up, and which he meant to keep as a souvenir of their discovery and the spot. Watty sauntered slowly across the plain.
He had just reached the wood on the other side, and turned to wait for his comrade, when he heard two shots in quick succession. There was nothing unusual in this, but when he heard the Philosopher utter a loud cry, he started, cocked his gun, and ran a few steps back to meet him. Next moment Jack burst from the thicket and ran across the plain at a speed that told of imminent danger. From the same thicket there also rushed a large grizzly bear, whose speed was greater than that of Jack, though it did not appear to be so.
All the blood in Watty Wilkins's body seemed to fly back to his heart, and immediately after it rushed to his brain and toes. Prompt action! no time to think! Life! death! Watty never afterwards could tell clearly what he felt or did on that tremendous occasion, but Jack could tell what he did, for he saw him do it.
Going down on one knee and resting his left arm on the other, in what is known to volunteers as the Hythe position, the little youth calmly levelled his double-barrelled gun. It was charged only with small shot, and he knew that that was useless at long range, therefore he restrained himself and waited.
Jack and the bear ran straight towards him.
"Up, Watty, up a tree," gasped Jack; "it's no use--shot won't hurt him-- quick!"
As he spoke he darted to the nearest tree, seized a large limb, and swung himself up among the branches. The bear passed under him, and, observing the kneeling figure in front, charged at once. When it was within three feet of him the youth let fly the contents of both barrels into the grizzly's mouth. So true was his aim that about six inches of the barrel followed the shot as the bear rushed upon it. This saved Watty, who was violently hurled aside by the stock of his own gun, while the bear went head-over-heels, vomiting blood and rage amid smoke and dust and scattered nuggets of gold!
"O Watty!" cried Jack, leaping down to the rescue with his drawn hunting-knife.
But before Jack reached him, or the bear had time to recover himself, Watty was on his active legs, and sprang up a tree like a monkey. Jack caught a branch of the same tree, and by sheer strength swung himself up, but on this occasion with so little time to spare, that the bear, standing on its hind legs, touched his heel lovingly with its protruded lips, as he drew himself out of reach.
We need scarcely say it was with beating and thankful hearts that the two friends looked down from their perch of safety on the formidable and bloody foe who kept pawing at the foot of the tree and looking hungrily up at them.
"What a mercy that the grizzly can't climb!" panted Watty, who had not yet recovered breath.
"But he can watch and keep us here all night," said Jack, "and we have no means of killing him. I fell and lost my gun in escaping, and yours is doubled up. We're in for a night of it, my boy. Why didn't you do what I bade you, get up into the tree with your gun when you saw us coming, and then we could have shot him at our leisure?"
"Why didn't you lend me your own cool head and clear brain," retorted the other, "and then we might have done something of the sort? But surely the shot I gave him must tell in the long-run."
"Pooh!" said Jack, "it's not much more to him than an over-dose of mustard would be to a cat. However, we've nothing for it but to wait. Perhaps Buckley may have heard our shots."
In this conjecture Jack was right. The gold-miner was enjoying an unsocial cup of tea at the time, and fortunately heard the distant shots and shouting. Buckley was a prompt man. Loading his double barrel with ball as he ran, he suddenly made his appearance on the field, saw at a glance how matters stood, and, being a good shot, put two balls in the bear's carcass with deadly effect. Grizzly bears are, however, remarkably tenacious of life. This one at once turned on his new foe, who, getting behind a tree, re-loaded as quickly as possible. As the animal passed he put two more balls in its heart and killed it.
"Splendidly done!" cried Jack, leaping to the ground and shaking Buckley by the hand, as he thanked him for his timely aid. Almost in the same breath he told of their unexpected good fortune.
"Now, then," he added, "we'll cut off the claws of this fellow as a trophy, and then to camp and supper."
"Stop a bit, not so fast," said Wilkins, who had descended the tree and was sitting on the ground with a most lugubrious countenance; "we must gather up my nuggets before going. Besides, it strikes me there's something wrong with my ankle."
This was found to be too true. In scrambling into the tree Watty had sprained his ankle badly, and in jumping down had made it so much worse that he could not bear to put even his toe to the ground. He was compelled, therefore, to accept the services of Jacob Buckley, who carried him into camp on his back.
Despite his sufferings poor Wilkins rejoiced that night with his comrades at their good fortune, and it was long before he or they could cease to talk over future plans and take needful rest. At length Buckley rolled himself in his blanket, and lay down.
"Poor fellow," said Jack, seeing Watty wince a little, "does it hurt much?"
"Yes, rather, but I'll be all right to-morrow. Now, Jack, I'm going to sleep. Do me a favour before turning in. Just make a pile of my nuggets close to my pillow here, with the big one on the top. There, thanks."
"What a covetous little wretch you are becoming!" said Jack with a laugh, as he lay down. "Have a care, Watty, that you don't become a miser."
Watty made no reply, but in the night, when he thought his comrades were asleep, he was overheard muttering in a low tone: "Yes, my dear old dad, you shall have them every one, big 'un as well; at least I'll send you every rap that they will fetch. Not that you need it. You're rich enough as it is, but this will show you, perhaps, that my first thoughts after my first luck were of you."
A long sigh followed the remark. Looking up soon afterwards, Jack saw that Watty was sound asleep, with the point of his nose reposing on the big nugget.
The poor lad's idea of a sprain was not quite correct. Instead of being "all right" next day, he found himself to be hopelessly lame, and was unable to move from the camp for a couple of weeks. During that period Jack and Buckley went forth to the new diggings every morning, and returned at night laden with gold, so that in a short time they had gathered as much as they could conveniently carry. Then they resolved to go for their comrades and return with them to continue their labours at what they named Grizzly Bear Gulch. As Watty was still unable to walk without great pain, they made a sort of litter of a blanket between two poles. In this contrivance they carried him, with their gold and their other belongings, back to the old diggings.
But here, on arrival, they found a wonderfully altered state of affairs.
"Immediately after you left," said Captain Samson, over a cup of tea, while Polly, who presided, listened with sympathetic delight, "we bought a new claim or two, without much hope, however, of bettering our circumstances. One of these claims we bought for you, Jack, with part of the money you left in our charge, one for Buckley, and another for Wilkins. Well, these claims all turned out splendidly, and we've been makin' our fortunes ever since! As you were off prospecting, as much for our benefit as your own, we agreed that it was the least we could do to work a little for you, so we gave your claims a rummage day about, and thus we've made your fortunes too, or part of 'em anyhow. We've bin sendin' home bills of exchange too, and knowin' your wish to help your father, Jack, I took upon me to send a small sum to him with your love. I did right didn't I?"
"Right!" exclaimed Jack, seizing the captain's hand and squeezing it; "need you ask? I'm only sorry I didn't dig the gold out with my own hand, and enclose the bill in my own letter. How much did you send?"
"Only 1000 pounds," replied the captain.
"Come, don't joke. I'm anxious to know, because he was very hard up when I left."
"More shame to you for leaving him, my young Philosopher," returned the captain, "but I tell you the truth; I sent him 1000 pounds sterling, and I believe there's as much lyin' here in gold-dust and nuggets that belongs to you. We've all done equally well, I'm thankful to say, and, better than that, good fortune seems to have brought us good health. Even Ben Trench there is able to dig like the rest of us."
"Not exactly," said Ben with a pleasant smile at his old friend Wilkins, "but I'm very well, thank God, and able to do a little. I wouldn't have been what I am now but for the care of this dear little nurse."
Polly was quite pleased with the compliment, and made a liberal offer to supply more tea to any of the company who might want it.
All this, and a great deal more, was corroborated by every one present; moreover, it was told them that there were many other claims which had suddenly turned out well, and that the whole aspect of these diggings had changed for the better.
"And what of Mr Luke?" asked Jack, glancing round the circle.
"Gone," said the captain, "nobody knows where. He became gloomier and stranger than ever after you went away, and one morning announced his intention to leave us and return to San Francisco. He left, and has not been heard of since. Bob Corkey, too, is off. He got restless and disappointed at our bad luck, said he'd go away prospectin' on his own hook, and went."
"Good luck go with him! He was altogether too fond of argifying," said Simon O'Rook.
"He's not the only one," remarked Baldwin Burr, with a grin.
After much consideration and consultation, it was agreed that, in the meantime, the party should remain where they were, and, when their claims began to fail, go off to Grizzly Bear Gulch.
This being decided, Jacob Buckley rose, saying that he was going to visit his friends at Higgins' store. Jack followed him. When they were alone he said-- "Now, Jacob, don't go, there's a good fellow. You saved my life, I may say, and that gives me a claim on you." Buckley frowned, but said nothing. "If you get among your old mates," continued Jack, "and begin to _taste_, you're a gone man. God has been very good to us. He has made us rich. We may live to be useful, Jacob. Think of it."
A half sarcastic smile flitted over Buckley's face as he said, "You didn't use to be a preacher, Jack; what makes you now so keen to save me, as you call it?"
"I'm not sure what it is that makes me anxious now," replied Jack, "but I know what made me anxious at first. It was your poor brother Daniel. That night he died, when he whispered in my ear, it was to make me promise to save you from drink and gambling if I could."
"Did he?" exclaimed the miner vehemently, as he clenched his hands. "O Dan! dear Dan, did you say that at such an hour? Look you, Jack," he added, turning sharply round, "I'll not go near the store, and if I _am_ saved it is Dan who has done it, mind that--not you."
And Buckley held to his word. For months after that he worked with the Samson party--as it was styled--and never once tasted a drop of anything stronger than tea.
During all that time success continued, but Philosopher Jack felt in his heart that no success in digging up gold was at all comparable to that of working with the Lord in helping a brother-sinner to turn from the error of his ways.
As their wealth accumulated, the different members of the party converted it into cash, sent some of it home to the assistance of friends or relatives, and the rest for safe and remunerative investment. For the latter purpose they committed it to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, who, being a trusty and well-known man of business, was left to his own discretion in the selection of investments. Simon O'Rook, however, did not follow the example of his friends. He preferred to keep his gold in his own hands, and, as its bulk increased, stowed it away in a small chest, which, for further security, he buried in a hole in the tent directly under his own sleeping corner.
In addition to his remittances to Mr Wilkins for investment, Edwin Jack sent large sums regularly to his father, for the purpose not only of getting him out of his difficulties, but of enabling him to extend his farming operations. The wheel of fortune, however, had turned upwards with Jack senior, and he did not require these sums, as we shall see.
While things were going on thus prosperously at the other side of the world, a wonderful change--intimately connected with gold--took place in the "Old Country", which materially altered the circumstances of some of those personages whose names have figured in our tale.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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9
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TREATS OF A CATASTROPHE AND RUIN.
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We return once again to the cottage on the Scottish Border. It is not quite so lowly as it was when first introduced to our readers. Although not extensively changed, there is a certain air of comfort and prosperity about it which gives it much the appearance of a dirty boy who has had his face washed and a suit of new clothes put on. It has been whitewashed and partially re-roofed. A trellis-work porch with creepers has been added. The garden bears marks of improvement, and in one part there are four little plots of flower-beds, so conspicuously different in culture and general treatment as to suggest the idea of four different gardens. Inside of Mr Jack's abode there are also many changes for the better. The rooms are better furnished than they used to be. Several cheap oleograph copies of beautiful pictures adorn the walls, and the best parlour, which used to be kept in a condition of deadly propriety for state occasions only, is evidently used in the course of daily life. A brand-new piano, with a pretty little girl seated before it, suggests advancing refinement, and the expression of the child's face, while she attempts the impossible task of stretching an octave, indicates despair. There is another little girl seated at a table darning with all the energy of a Martha-like character. She is engaged upon a pair of juvenile socks, which have apparently been worn last by a cart-horse. Books and drawing materials and mathematical instruments on the table betoken progressive education, and, in short, everything without and within the cottage tells, as we have said, of prosperity.
It must not be supposed, however, that all this is due to Philosopher Jack's good fortune and liberality. When the first letter came from California, telling of the safety of our hero and his friends, Mr Jack was indeed in great material distress, but there was no money in that letter. It was despatched from San Francisco at the time of the arrival of the party, along with letters from the other members, informing their various relations of their deliverance. But if the letter had contained tons of the finest gold it could not have added a feather's weight to the joy of the old couple, who, like the widow of Nain or the sisters of Bethany, had received their dear lost one direct from the Lord, and, as it were, back from the dead. Then, after an interval, came Captain Samson's letter enclosing the bill for 1000 pounds, and explaining why Philosopher Jack himself did not write with it. Mr Jack senior thankfully used two hundred of the amount, which was quite sufficient to extricate him from all his difficulties. The balance he put into the nearest bank, to be kept for "the dear boy" on his return.
From that date God sent prosperity to the cottage on the Border. Flocks increased, seasons were no longer bad, grey mares no longer broke their legs, turnips throve, and, in short, everything went well, so that, instead of using the large sums of money which his son frequently sent him, Mr Jack placed them all to "dear Teddie's" credit in the bank.
In one of these letters, his son mentioned that he had sent still larger sums to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, to be invested for himself. Mr Jack, having consulted with his faithful spouse, drew his son's gifts from the local bank, went to the city of Blankow, called on Mr Wilkins, and desired him to invest the money in the same concern with the rest. Mr Wilkins purchased shares with it in the Blankow Bank, telling Mr Jack that he considered it one of the best and safest investments in Scotland, that he had invested in it all the funds sent home by his own son and his comrades, and that he himself was a large shareholder. Thus did Mr Jack senior act with all the gifts that Jack junior sent him, saying to Mr Wilkins on each occasion, that, though the dear boy meant him to use the money, he had no occasion to do so, as the Lord had prospered him of late, and given him enough and to spare.
We re-introduce the Jack family to the reader at breakfast-time, not because that was the only noteworthy period of their day, but because it was the time when the parents of the family were wont to talk over the daily plans.
Mr Jack went to the door and shouted, "Breakfast!" in a sonorous tone. Instantly the octave was abandoned and the socks were dropped. Next moment there was a sound like the charge of a squadron of cavalry. It was the boys coming from the farm-yard. The extreme noise of the family's entry was rendered fully apparent by the appalling calm which ensued when Mr Jack opened the family Bible, and cleared his throat to begin worship. At breakfast the noise began again, but it was more subdued, appetite being too strong for it. In five minutes Dobbin was up to the eyes in a treacle-piece. This was a good opportunity for conversation.
"Maggie," said Mr Jack, looking up from his plate, "the last bill sent us from the diggin's by the dear boy makes the sum in my hands up to two thousand pounds. I'll go to town to-day and give it to Mr Wilkins to invest as usual."
"Very weel, John," replied Mrs Jack, "but it's been runnin' in my mind that it's no that safe to pit a' yer eggs in the same basket. Maybe ye might invest it in somethin' else."
"That's true, Maggie, we shall see," said Mr Jack, who was at all times a man of few words. As Dobbin became at the moment clamorous for more food, nothing further was said on the subject.
Arrived in the city, John Jack made his way to the office of Mr Wilkins. He found that gentleman with an expression of unwonted resignation on his countenance.
"I've brought you more money to invest, Mr Wilkins," said John Jack, sitting down after wiping his forehead, and producing a fat pocketbook; "I thought of doin' it in the old way, but my wife and I have been thinkin' that perhaps it might be wise to put some of the eggs in another basket."
A very sad and peculiar smile flitted for a moment across Mr Wilkins's face. "It is plain that you have not heard of the disastrous failure," he said. "Only last week the Blankow Bank suspended payment, and if the reports as to its liabilities be true, the result will be widespread ruin throughout the country."
"Do you mean to say that the Bank has failed?" asked Mr Jack, anxiously.
"Yes, and it is feared that most of the shareholders will be ruined. I am one, you know."
"Will _you_ be ruined, Mr Wilkins?"
"I fear that the first call will be more than I can meet. I trust that you are not personally involved."
"No, thank God, I'm not," said Mr Jack, with an increasingly anxious look. "But tell me, Mr Wilkins--for I don't understand banking matters very well--is my son's money all gone?"
"All," returned Mr Wilkins sadly, "and all that my own son has invested, as well as that of his friends!"
"How was it, sir," asked Mr Jack, in a reproachful tone, "that you were so confident in recommending the investment?"
"Because I thoroughly believed in the soundness of the bank and in the character of its directors. Investing my own funds so largely in its stock proves how I trusted it. But I was mistaken. It is a mystery which I cannot solve. Perhaps, when the examination of its affairs is completed, light may be thrown on the subject. I hope that no more of your relations or friends have stock in it?"
"None that I know of, except indeed my poor friend Mrs Niven, who was my son's landlady when he was at college. I'll go and inquire about her."
Mr Jack thrust the fat pocket-book into a breast pocket, and buttoned up his coat with the determined air of a man who means to keep hold of what he has got.
Bidding Mr Wilkins good-bye, he walked rapidly to Mrs Niven's house and pulled the bell rather violently. The summons was promptly answered by Peggy, who ushered him into a little parlour, where he was quickly joined by Mrs Niven.
"I'm very sorry to hear the bad news," said Mr Jack, pressing the good woman's hand in sympathy.
"What bad news?" asked Mrs Niven, in alarm.
"The bank, you know," said Mr Jack. "It's very hard, and to think that you're in the same boat with my dear boy, whose fortune is wrecked--" A little scream stopped him, for the word "wrecked" struck a chill to the poor woman's heart.
"What! wrecked again?" she cried, "on a bank, in a boat? Oh! don't tell me, don't tell me that he's drownded."
"No, no," cried Mr Jack, hastening to relieve her mind, while he supported her to a chair; "no, no; my dear boy's all right. It's the Blankow Bank I mean that's gone to wreck, you know, and all his money with it, and yours too, I suppose, for you told me you had shares in that bank."
"Oh! as to that," said Mrs Niven, greatly relieved, "you may mak' yer mind easy. I've got nae shares intilt noo. I selt them through Mr Black lang syne. He's a douce, clever, honest felly--a relation o' mine, and a first-rate business man; but for him I'd hae lost my siller, nae doot. He warned me that the bank was nae a right ane, and advised me to sell."
Mr Jack thought that such a clever, disinterested man-of-business, and a relation of Mrs Niven, might be just the person to give him sound advice at this crisis; he therefore obtained his address, and, after a long chat with the good woman, who would have listened for hours to the adventures of her "bonny lodger," took his departure, and in due time stood at the door of the dirty little office.
The dirty clerk ushered the visitor into the presence of Mr Black, whose presence was more repulsive than it used to be. He received Mr Jack rather gruffly, and asked his business.
"Oho! an eccentric character, gruff but honest," thought Mr Jack, who began by saying that he had just come from visiting his friend Mrs Niven.
Mr Black's face grew almost green at the name, and his brows scowled fiercely.
"Strange look for an honest, kindly man," thought Mr Jack, "but we must never judge from the outward appearance;" then he said aloud, "I went to see her about that bank failure--" "Ha!" growled Mr Black, interrupting, "but for that woman, and that--" he checked himself and said, "but you came here on some matter of business, I suppose. Will you state it?"
"A very eccentric man indeed, remarkably so, for a kindly, honest man," thought Mr Jack; but he only said, "I came here to consult you about the investment of two thousand pounds--" "Oh! indeed," said Mr Black, in quite an altered tone, as he rose and politely offered his visitor a chair.
"But," continued Mr Jack, rebuttoning his greatcoat which he had partly opened, "but, sir, I have changed my mind, and bid you good-day."
So saying, he went out, leaving Mr Black standing at the door in stupid amazement and his dirty clerk agonising with suppressed laughter behind his desk. Mr Black had been groaning and growling all the day at the thoughts of the ruin which had overtaken him--thoughts which were embittered by the knowledge that he had drawn it on himself through the instrumentality of Mrs Niven. The climax of Mr Jack's visit did not tend to restore him. Recovering from his amazement, and observing the condition of the clerk, he suddenly hurled the cash-book at him. Cleverly dodging it, the dirty little creature bolted from the office, and banged the door behind him.
Meanwhile Mr Jack cashed his last bill of exchange, returned home, and presented his wife with a bag of gold, which she deposited in the darkest recesses of the great family chest.
"That bank gives no interest," said John Jack, with a quiet chuckle, as he superintended the deposit, "but we shall always have the interest of knowing that it is there."
Long afterwards Mr Wilkins sought to combat Mr Jack's objection to invest in another Scotch bank. "This disaster," he said, "ought not to be called a bank _failure_; it is a bank _robbery_ committed by its own directors, as has been clearly proved, and no more touches the credit of Scotch banks in general than the failure of a commercial house, through the dishonesty of its principals, affects the other commercial houses of the kingdom."
"It may be as you say, sir," replied John Jack, gravely, "an' if it was my own money I might act on your advice. But I intend to take care of what's left of the dear boy's money myself."
So saying, the stout farmer threw his shepherd's plaid over his shoulder, and went off to his cottage on the Border.
But we must pass from this subject. Space forbids our going deeper into it, or touching on the terrible consequences of dishonesty coupled with unlimited liability. Fortunes were wrecked; the rich and the poor, the innocent and guilty, the confiding and the ignorant as well as the knowing and wise, fell in the general crash. Many homes were desolated, and many hearts were broken. May we not believe, also, that many hearts were purified in passing through the furnace of affliction!
"All is not evil that brings sorrow," may be quite as true as the proverb, "All is not gold that glitters." Some have been glad to say with the Psalmist, "It was good for me that I was afflicted." This truth, however, while it might strengthen some hearts to bear, did not lighten the load to be borne. The great Bank failure produced heart-rending and widespread distress. It also called forth deep and general sympathy.
Out among the mountain gorges of California the gold-hunters knew nothing of all this for many a day, and our adventurers continued to dig, and wash, and pile up the superstructure of their fortunes, all ignorant of the event which had crumbled away the entire foundations.
At last there came a day when these fortunate gold-miners cried, "Hold! enough!" an unwonted cry--not often uttered by human beings.
Standing beside the camp fire one evening, while some of the party were cooking and others were arranging things inside the tent Captain Samson looked around him with an unusually heavy sigh.
"It's a grand country, and I'll be sorry to leave it," he said.
"Troth, and so will meself," responded O'Rook.
It was indeed a grand country. They had lately changed the position of their tent to an elevated plateau near a huge mass of rock where a little mountain stream fell conveniently into a small basin. From this spot they could see the valley where it widened into a plain, and again narrowed as it entered the gloomy defile of the mountains, whose tops mingled magnificently with the clouds.
"You see, my lads," continued the captain, "it's of no use goin' on wastin' our lives here, diggin' away like navvies, when we've got more gold than we know what to do with. Besides, I'm not sure that we ain't gettin' into a covetous frame of mind, and if we go on devotin' our lives to the gettin' of gold that we don't need, it's not unlikely that it may be taken away from us. Moreover, many a man has dug his grave in California and bin buried, so to speak, in gold-dust, which is a fate that no sensible man ought to court--a fate, let me add, that seems to await Ben Trench if he continues at this sort o' thing much longer. And, lastly, it's not fair that my Polly should spend her prime in acting the part of cook and mender of old clothes to a set of rough miners. For all of which reasons I vote that we now break up our partnership, pack up the gold-dust that we've got, and return home."
To this speech Polly Samson replied, promptly, that nothing pleased her more than to be a cook and mender of old clothes to rough miners, and that she was willing to continue in that capacity as long as her father chose. Philosopher Jack also declared himself willing to remain, but added that he was equally willing to leave if the rest of the firm should decide to do so, as he was quite content with the fortune that had been sent him. Simon O'Rook, however, did not at first agree to the proposal.
"It's rich enough that I am already, no doubt," he said, "but sure, there's no harm in bein' richer. I may be able to kape me carriage an' pair at present, but why shudn't I kape me town house an' country house an' me carriage an four, if I can?"
"Because we won't stay to keep you company," answered Watty Wilkins, "and surely you wouldn't have the heart to remain here digging holes by yourself? Besides, my friend Ben is bound to go home. The work is evidently too hard for him, and he's so fond of gold that he won't give up digging."
"Ah! Watty," returned Ben with a sad smile, "you know it is not my fondness for gold that makes me dig. But I can't bear to be a burden on you, and you know well enough that what I do accomplish does little more than enable me to pay my expenses. Besides, a little digging does me good. It occupies my mind and exercises my muscles, an' prevents moping. Doesn't it, Polly?"
In this estimate of his case Ben Trench was wrong. The labour which he undertook and the exposure to damp, despite the remonstrances of his companions, were too much for a constitution already weakened by disease. It was plain to every one--even to himself--that a change was necessary. He therefore gladly agreed to the captain's proposal.
Baldwin Burr, however, dissented. He did not, indeed, object to the dissolution of the partnership of Samson and Company, but he refused to quit the gold-fields, saying that he had no one in the Old Country whom he cared for, and that he meant to settle in California.
It was finally agreed that the captain, Philosopher Jack, Watty Wilkins, Ben Trench, Simon O'Rook, and Polly should return home, while Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley should enter into a new partnership and remain at the fields.
Although, as we have said, most of our adventurers had sent their gold home in the form of bills of exchange for investment, they all had goodly sums on hand in dust and nuggets--the result of their more recent labours--for which strong boxes were made at Higgins's store. Simon O'Rook, in particular,--who, as we have said, did not send home any of his gold,--had made such a huge "pile" that several strong boxes were required to hold all his wealth. The packing of these treasure-chests occupied but a short time. Each man cut his name on the lid of his box inside, and printed it outside, and nailed and roped it tight, and took every means to make it secure. Then, mounting their mules and travelling in company with a trader and a considerable party of miners, they returned to San Francisco, having previously secured berths in a ship which was about to sail for England _via_ Cape Horn.
Baldwin Burr and Buckley convoyed them a day's journey on the way.
"I'm sorry you're goin', Miss Polly," said Baldwin, riding up alongside of our little heroine, who ambled along on a glossy black mule.
"I am _not_ sorry that we're going," replied Polly, "but I'm sorry--very sorry--that we are leaving you behind us, Baldwin. You're such a dear old goose, and I'm so fond of teaching you. I don't know how I shall be able to get on without you."
"Yes, that's it, Miss Polly," returned the bluff seaman, with a look of perplexity. "You're so cram full of knowledge, an' I'm sitch an empty cask, that it's bin quite a pleasure to let you run over into me, so to speak."
"Come, Baldwin, don't joke," said Polly, with a quick glance.
"I'm far from jokin', Miss Polly," returned the seaman; "I'm in downright earnest. An' then, to lose Philosopher Jack on the selfsame day. It comes hard on an old salt. The way that young man has strove to drive jogriffy, an' 'rithmetic, an navigation into my head is wonderful; an' all in vain too! It's a'most broke his heart--to say nothin' of my own. It's quite clear that I'll never make a good seaman. Howsever, it's a comfort to know that I've got edication enough for a landsman--ain't it, Miss Polly?"
Polly laughed, and admitted that that was indeed a consoling reflection.
While these two were conversing thus, Jack and Jacob Buckley were riding together in the rear of the party. They had been talking as if under some sort of restraint. At last Jack turned to his companion with a kind, straightforward look.
"It's of no use, Buckley, my beating about the bush longer. This is likely to be the last time that you and I shall meet on earth, and I can't part without saying how anxious I am that you should persevere in the course of temperance which you have begun."
"Thank you, Jack, thank you," said the miner heartily, "for the interest you take in me. I do intend to persevere."
"I know that, Jacob, I know it; but I want you to believe that you have no chance of success unless you first become a follower of Jesus Christ. He is the _only_ Saviour from sin. Your resolutions, without Him, cannot succeed. I have found that out, and I want you to believe it, Jacob."
"I _do_ believe it," said the miner earnestly. "Dear Dan used to tell me that--often--often. Dear Dan!"
"Now," added Jack, "we shall have to part soon. There is another thing I want to mention. There is a bag of gold with my name on it, worth some few hundred pounds, more or less. I want you to accept it, for I know that you have not been so successful as we have during our short--" "But I won't take it, Jack," interrupted Buckley.
"Yes you will, Jacob, from an old friend and comrade. It may tide you over a difficulty, who knows? Luck does not always last, as the saying goes."
Still Buckley shook his head.
"Well, then," continued Jack, "you can't help yourself, for I've left the bag under your own pillow in the tent!"
Buckley's reply was checked by a shout from Captain Samson. They had reached the parting point--a clump of trees on an eminence that overlooked a long stretch of undulating park-like region. Here they dismounted to shake hands and say farewell. Little was said at the time, but moistened eyes and the long grasp of hard muscular hands told something of feelings to which the lips could give no utterance.
The party could see that knoll for miles after leaving it, and whenever Polly reined up and looked back, she saw the sturdy forms of Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley waving a kerchief or a hat, standing side by side and gazing after them. At last they appeared like mere specks on the landscape, and the knoll itself finally faded from their view.
At San Francisco they found their vessel, the _Rainbow_, a large full-rigged ship, ready for sea. Embarking with their boxes of gold-dust they bade farewell to the golden shore, where so many young and vigorous men have landed in hopeful enthusiasm, to meet, too often, with disappointment, if not with death.
Our friends, being among the fortunate few, left it with joy.
The _Rainbow_ shook out her sails to a favouring breeze, and, sweeping out upon the great Pacific, was soon bowling along the western coast of South America, in the direction of Cape Horn.
|
{
"id": "21756"
}
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10
|
CHANGE OF SCENE AND FORTUNE.
|
The fair wind that swept the good ship _Rainbow_ away from California's golden shores carried her quickly into a fresh and purer atmosphere, moral as well as physical. It seemed to most, if not all, of the gold-finders as if their brains had been cleared of golden cobwebs. They felt like convalescents from whom a low fever had suddenly departed, leaving them subdued, restful, calm, and happy.
"It's more like a dream than a reality," observed Ben Trench one day, as he and Polly sat on the after part of the vessel, gazing out upon the tranquil sea.
"What seems like a dream?" asked Philosopher Jack, coming aft at the moment with Watty Wilkins, and sitting down beside them.
"Our recent life in California," replied Ben. "There was such constant bustle and toil, and restless, feverish activity, both of mind and body; and now everything is so calm and peaceful, and we are so delightfully idle. I can hardly persuade myself that it is not all a dream."
"Perhaps it is," said Philosopher Jack. "There are men, you know, who hold that everything is a dream; that matter is a mere fancy or conception, and that there is nothing real or actually in existence but mind."
"Bah!" exclaimed Watty with contempt; "what would these philosophers say if matter, in the shape of a fist, were to hit them on their ridiculous noses?"
"They'd say that they only imagined a fist and fancied a blow, I suppose," returned Jack.
"And would they say that the pain and the blood were imagination also?"
"I suppose they would."
"But what if I were to come on them slily behind and hit them on their pates before they had a chance to see or to exert their terribly real and powerful minds?" demanded Watty.
"You must ask one of themselves, Watty, for I don't know much about their views; indeed, I'm not sure that I have represented them correctly, though it's very likely I have, for there is no species of nonsense under the sun that men have not been found to hold and defend with more or less vigour."
"Would you not call that a proof of the Creator's intention that man should exercise the investigative powers of his mind?" asked Ben.
"I would call it a proof of man's depravity," said Wilkins.
"What does Polly think?" asked Jack, with an amused look at the child, whose fair brow wore an anxious little frown as she tried to understand.
"I think it's a proof of both," replied Polly, with a blush and a laugh; "we have got the power to think and speak and reason, and we are sometimes very naughty."
"Well said, Polly; we must call _you_ the philosopher in future," cried Watty. "But Jack," he added, with a perplexed air, "it seems to me that we live in such a world of confusion, both as to the limited amount of our knowledge, and the extent of our differences of opinion, while presumptuous incapacity attempts to teach us on the one hand, and designing iniquity, or pure prejudice, seeks to mislead us on the other, and misconception of one's meaning and motives all round makes such a muddle of the whole that--that--it seems to me the search after truth is almost hopeless, at least to ordinary minds."
"I admit it to be a great difficulty," replied Jack, "but it is by no means hopeless. We must not forget that the world is well supplied with extraordinary minds to keep the ordinary minds right."
"True, but when the extraordinary minds differ, what are the poor ordinary ones to do?" asked Watty.
"Use their brains, Watty, use their brains," said Captain Samson, who had come aft, and been listening to the conversation. "Your brains, whether good or bad, were given to be used, not to be sold. The power to reason is a gift that is not bestowed only on extraordinary minds. The unlearned are sometimes better reasoners than the learned, though, of course, they haven't got so many tools to work with. Still, they are sufficiently furnished with all that's needful to run the race that is set before them. God has given to every man--civilised and savage--a brain to think with, a heart to feel with, a frame to work with, a conscience to guide him, and a world, with all its wonderful stores, in which to do what he will. Conscience--which, I think, is well named the voice of God in man--tells him to do _right_, and forbids him to do _wrong_; his heart glows with a certain degree of pleasure when he does well, and sinks, more or less, when he does ill; his reason tells him, more or less correctly, _what_ is right, and _what_ is wrong. The Word of God is the great chart given to enlighten our understandings and guide us heavenward. As my reason tells me to go to my charts for safe direction at sea, so every man's reason will tell him to go to God's revealed Word, when he believes he has got it. There he will find that Jesus Christ is the centre of the Word, the sum and substance of it, that he cannot believe in or accept the Saviour except by the power of the Holy Spirit. He will also find the blessed truth that God has promised the Spirit to those who simply `ask' for Him. There is no difficulty in all this. The great and numberless difficulties by which we are undoubtedly surrounded are difficulties of detail, which we may be more or less successful in solving, according to our powers of mind, coupled with our submission to the revealed will of God. To some extent we fail and get into trouble because we lazily, or carelessly, let other men think for us, instead of making use of other men's thoughts to help us to think for ourselves. Depend upon it, Watty, we won't be able to justify ourselves at the judgment day by saying that things were too deep for us, that things seemed to be in such a muddle that it was of no use trying to clear 'em up. Why, what would you say of the mainspring of a watch if it were suddenly to exclaim, `I'll give up trying! Here am I--so powerful and energetic, and so well able to spin round-- checked, and hindered, and harassed by wheels and pinions and levers, some going this way, and some going that way, all at sixes and sevens, and all for no good end that I can see, buried as I am in this dark hole and scarcely allowed to move at all?' Would it be right or reasonable to charge the watchmaker with having made the watch in vain, or made it wrong? Of this I at least am convinced, that God is _perfect_, and that all things are working towards a _good_ end, God's sovereignty, our mysterious free-will and personal responsibility being among these `all things.'"
While Captain Samson was discoursing on these important subjects, the look-out on the forecastle reported a sail on the weather-bow.
"She's a whaler, I do believe, and her boats are after a sperm whale," said Simon O'Rook, who stood by the mizzen shrouds looking intently at her through his double glass. Simon, being now a rich man, had not only taken a cabin passage, but had bought for himself one of the best binocular telescopes to be had in San Francisco.
It was soon seen that O'Rook was right for the whale rose to blow, and swam towards the _Rainbow_, while the boats of the whaler immediately followed in pursuit.
Great was the excitement on board the _Rainbow_ as the men clustered on the forecastle, or ran up the rigging, to watch the chase, while the officers and passengers got out their telescopes.
"Come here, Polly," cried Jack; "look through my glass. It's a rare chance you've got of seeing what men have to go through in order to send oil to market."
Polly at once accepted the invitation. Jack assisted her to mount on the top of the capstan, and arranged the glass.
"There she blows!" shouted one of the men who had been an old whaler; "there she breaches!"
As he spoke the whale rose about three miles to windward of them, not far from the boat that led the chase. The men in the boat were seen to bend to their oars, as Captain Samson said, "with a will." Another moment and the harpooneer stood up in the bow. The spectators were too far off to see the weapon used, but they could perceive the man's action, and there was no possibility of mistake as to the result, when the tail of the enormous creature was suddenly flourished in the air, and came down on the sea like a clap of distant thunder.
"Oh! oh!!" shrieked the horrified Polly, "the boat is gone!"
But the boat was not gone. It had been quickly backed out of danger when the harpoon was thrown, and reappeared when the cataract of spray sent up had dispersed.
"He's pouring water on the rope now," said Jack, in a low excited voice, "to prevent its catching fire as it runs out. They're fast to the fish."
"Yes, I see," exclaimed Polly, squeezing her right eye against the glass and shutting the other with her hand.
But in a few minutes there was no need for telescopes, as the whale came straight towards the _Rainbow_, dragging the boat after it, while the other boats followed as fast as the men could pull. The whale-ship steered in the same direction, but there was scarcely wind enough to fill her top-sails.
Suddenly the leviathan came to the surface for breath, not far off, and sent up a grand spout of water on the _Rainbow's_ starboard bows. The boat pulled quickly up, and another harpoon was sent deep into the whale's side. It dived immediately, and, turning at an angle, darted off in an other direction. This time the excited onlookers could hear the cheer given by the whalers as the second "iron" was fixed, and replied to it with enthusiasm. Soon the boat was carried far away, and the telescopes became again necessary, but ere long the fish turned, and once more made for the ship. It could not have been more than five hundred yards distant when it came to the surface for the third time, and the harpooneer was distinctly seen to drive a lance deep into its side, from which fountains of blood flowed. He had struck its "life," as whalemen express it, and the whale soon went into its dying struggles, in the course of which it hit the boat, stove in its side, and overturned it.
There was a cry of consternation on board the _Rainbow_ at this. Instantly the order was given to lower the boats. Philosopher Jack and O'Rook sprang to obey, by an irresistible impulse, as if they had been part of the ship's crew. In a few seconds two boats were rowing at full speed to the rescue, while the boats belonging to the whale-ship--still far distant--made for the scene of disaster.
Ere long the rescue party had the great satisfaction of picking up the wrecked whalers, and found that not a man among them had received greater injury than a bruise or two and a ducking. Their boat, however, was completely destroyed. They were therefore taken on board the _Rainbow_, while the whaler's boats came up and secured their prize.
That night, while the stars twinkled at their own reflections in the sleeping sea, the crew of the whale-ship had a "gam" on board the _Rainbow_.
A "gam," good reader, may be described as a "small tea-party" on the sea. But it differs in many respects from such gatherings on shore, inasmuch as the revellers are not "a few friends", male and female, but are usually absolute strangers to each other, and of the male sex only. But the circumstances of their meeting--on the lone ocean, far from home and friends--have a marvellous effect in opening up the fountains of the human heart. The men and officers fraternised at once. The whalers were chiefly American, the Rainbowers principally English, with a slight mixture of Irish and Scotch. They all spoke the same language; that was enough. Soon after the arrival of their guests, powerful friendships were formed. While tea, or rather supper, was being discussed, these were cemented; and, when pipes were lit, confidences of the most touching nature were interchanged. Anecdotes and stories naturally followed the confidences, broke up the separate parties, and drew the company more together. The union was finally and effectually concentrated by one of the whalers' crew making a demand for a song.
"Come, O'Rook," cried one of the _Rainbow_ men, "let's have `The poor little pig wi' the purple nose.'"
O'Rook began at once, and sang with such fervour and pathos, that his auditors became quite uproarious in their admiration. But when the Irishman called on the whalers for a ditty, a fine-looking youth sang a song of the "Homeward Bound," in a voice so sweet and true, that the spirit of the men was changed, and many a moistened eye told that deep chords of sympathy had been touched.
"Can you play the fiddle?" asked one of the men of O'Rook, when the song was finished.
"Sure it's myself can do that same," he replied, with a modest air, which drew forth a peal of laughter. When the fiddle was produced and O'Rook struck up reels, and strathspeys, and hornpipes, with a precision of touch and time and perfection of tune that was far above the average of amateurs, the joy of the party could no longer find vent through eye and mouth. They were forced to open the safety-valves of heel and toe. For this purpose the quarter-deck was cleared, and flags were festooned round it; the officers joined, and Polly Samson was placed on the capstan, like the presiding angel of the scene.
Ah! reader, if you have not been for many months on the ocean, or in the lone wilderness, without seeing a new face, or hearing a sweet sound, or feeling the power of female influence, you cannot fully appreciate what we describe. There was no drink save coffee and tea at that feast. The _Rainbow_ was a temperance ship. But the men required no spirits. Each one had more than sufficient within himself. The presence of Polly, too, had a powerful effect. Every man there saw his own particular Polly or Susan or Nancy in her pretty laughing face and sparkling eyes.
"Your men are powerful fellows," said the captain of the _Rainbow_ to the captain of the whaler; "I've no doubt they'll be quite game for work to-morrow, though they should keep it up all night."
"They certainly would," replied the latter, "if called on to do duty; but they won't be required to work to-morrow, for we keep the Sabbath on board of our ship as a duty we owe to God, and we find that we are great gainers in health and strength, while we are no losers of fish by doing so."
"Ha! the great Captain Scoresby tried that before you, and said that he found keeping the Sabbath to be good both for body and soul," said the captain of the _Rainbow_.
"I know he did," replied the other, "and I am trying to follow in Scoresby's wake."
It was pretty late in the evening before the whalers could tear themselves away, and when at last they did so, they expressed a unanimous opinion that it had been the most successful gam they had ever had in their lives.
Not long after parting company from the whale-ship the _Rainbow_ sailed into the cold and variable regions south of Cape Horn. Here they experienced what the men styled "very dirty weather." The skies were seldom blue, and the decks were never dry, while it became necessary to keep the stove burning constantly in the cabin, and the berth-ports almost always shut.
The effect of all this on poor Ben Trench was to injure his health severely. His cough increased, and it soon became evident that his complaint, which at first had only threatened to grow worse, had now become chronic and serious.
"Watty," he said one day, while his friend sat beside his cot reading to him, "it's of no use shutting one's eyes to facts. I fear that I am now hopelessly ill, and that I shall never see father or mother or Susan again in this world."
"O Ben! don't speak like that," said Watty, laying down the book, and gently taking his friend's thin hand in both of his. "You mustn't do it. It will only make you worse. When we get out of this horrible region into the trade winds and the sunshine near the Line, you'll be a new man. Come now, cheer up, Ben, and don't let your good little nurse see you with such a sad face."
Polly's step was heard at the moment. She entered with a bowl of soup.
"Here, Ben, this will do you good," she said, handing him the bowl. "The cook says it's the stuff to stick to your ribs. There now, I can't stop to give it you, for father wants me, but you're all right when Watty's by. Are you better?"
"Well, not much," replied Ben with a smile; "but I'm always the better of seeing your little face. Don't be long of returning, Poll."
When she had left, Ben drank the soup, and then lay down with a sigh.
"It may be that the warm latitudes will do me good, Watty," he said, "but I don't feel as if they would. Still I'm resigned to God's will, though it seems sad to die so young, and just when I've come to know my dear Redeemer, and might, perhaps, have done some little work for Him. It seems so strange to be saved and not allowed time to _do_ anything."
"You _have_ done something," returned his friend with an earnest look; "if I have really turned to Jesus at all, it has been through your influence, Ben, and I'm sure that Jack would say the same of himself; and if he and I are spared to do any good work for our Lord, it will be all owing to you."
"Not to me, Watty, not to me," rejoined Ben, with a glad look; "but if God's holy Spirit has used me as an instrument in this, I shall have cause to praise Him for it throughout eternity. Oh! is it not strange that in a region where there is so little godliness, and while we were in the eager pursuit of gold, our eyes should have been opened to see and appreciate the true gold? But now, Watty," he added in a lower tone, "I want to ask you to do me a favour. I want you to go yourself to our house, without delay, and break it to mother."
He paused. Watty laid his face in the bedclothes, and wept silently.
"They are very fond of you," continued Ben, "and I should not like them to hear of it from any one but you. Be very tender to Susan, Watty. Poor Susan, she will need comfort, and you know how to direct her."
For some time Ben Trench continued talking, and then fell into a quiet slumber, in which his friend left him, while Polly watched by his side.
The warm latitudes did no good to the invalid. On the contrary, he suffered much from the heat, and became visibly weaker.
At last the shores of Old England drew nigh. A few days more and they should sight land. They sought to cheer him with this, but there was no answering sparkle in Ben's eyes.
"Yes," he said, faintly, "I shall see them all again, but not _here_."
Ben was dying when the _Rainbow_ approached the British Channel. The whole of the previous day a stiff gale had blown, and this had not much abated when night drew on. Liverpool was their port, and the captain carried on full sail--more than the good ship could well bear. It is not known whether he felt so sure of his course that he did not think it necessary to shorten sail on nearing the Land's End, or that he was anxious, at all hazards, to reach port before Ben Trench should die, but he held on recklessly, and, in the dead of night, ran the _Rainbow_ straight against the high cliffs not far from the Cornish town of Saint Just.
The wreck of the ship was complete in a few seconds. All her masts went over the side, and the waves overwhelmed her. She would have gone down in deep water if she had not been dashed between two rocks and held there. Time was thus given for one of the boats to be got out, but utter confusion reigned, for the captain had disappeared. No wonder that several of the men leaped into her, crying, "Every man for himself," and endeavoured to cast off.
"Have you got Polly?" cried Jack, as he dimly saw a figure staggering through the turmoil of wind and whirling spray.
"All safe!" gasped Captain Samson.
Jack instantly jumped into the boat and found O'Rook struggling to prevent one of the men from cutting the hawser. Jack knocked the man down, and, hauling the boat close alongside, shouted, "Jump, Captain, jump!" The captain did so at the right moment, and alighted safely, though with great violence. Just then Watty Wilkins was seen striving to lift Ben Trench over the bulwark of the ship. It was impossible to render him assistance, though Jack tried to do so, for at the moment a towering billow fell on the deck and tore the invalid from his grasp. With a shriek of despair Watty fell back into the sea, but was caught by one of the men and hauled into the boat which was then cut adrift. It was not a moment too soon, for the next wave dashed their ship to pieces.
As it was impossible to effect a landing among perpendicular cliffs which were lashed by roaring breakers, they were obliged to push out to sea, where they rowed till daylight, and succeeded in reaching Penzance harbour.
Leaving the others to report the news, Jack and Wilkins started off along the coast to the scene of the wreck. They found the spot, but not a vestige was to be seen of what had so long been their home, save a few broken spars, here and there far down in the clefts of inaccessible rocks. A fisherman, however, told them that several bodies had been thrown into a little bay, and were then lying in a shed near the spot. Hastening thither, they found five lying side by side. Among them were those of poor Ben Trench and the captain of the ship--the one strong, stalwart and still ruddy in the face, the other attenuated and ghastly, as might have been expected of one who had, as it were, died a double death.
We will not dwell on the terrible scene. While Jack and Captain Samson remained to attend to the dead, Wilkins set off, without delay, to be first, if possible, in breaking the sad news to his friend's family, according to promise.
In regard to the wreck, it is sufficient to say that she, with all her precious freight was scattered on the rugged coasts of Cornwall, and our adventurers stood once more on their native shores without even the means of paying their travelling expenses home. They did not like to speak of their invested wealth, fearing that their statements might be disbelieved. They therefore stood literally in the position of beggars.
In this extremity they found the hospitable men of Cornwall to be friends indeed and full of sympathy.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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11
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RETURN OF THE WANDERER.
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Great was the anxiety of Edwin Jack as he walked, with light foot and fluttering heart, over the Border hills and drew near to the old home. He had not heard from his father for nearly a year. Were they all well? had they struggled out of their difficulties with the funds he had sent them. Was there no empty chair? Such and similar thoughts hurried through his mind as he went along, until he was forced to run for relief. There was a rocky ridge of land in front of him. From the top of this he knew the cottage could be seen. Panting with exertion when he gained the top, he sat down on a mass of rock and gazed at the old place till tears disturbed his vision. There it stood as of yore--no change in the general aspect of things, though there did seem one or two improvements about the cottage. But he did not gaze long. Starting up again he hurried on.
At last he stood in the midst of the old home-circle--all well, and, thank God, not one absent!
Philosopher though he was, he could not reason down the tears of joy that blinded, and the lump in his throat that well-nigh choked him. After the first wild miscellaneous embrace all round was over, Jack (or Teddie, as the home-circle called him) found relief by catching up Dobbin and burying his face in his neck and curls, regardless of the treacle with which that gentleman was plentifully besmeared.
"I've got bad news for you, Teddie, my boy," said his father, after they had moderated a little.
"Nobody ill or--dead?" asked Jack, with a look of anxiety.
"No, nobody."
"Then I'm prepared for any other kind of bad news," said our philosopher with a quiet smile.
"The Blankow Bank," said his father, laying a hand impressively on his shoulder, "has failed, and every penny of your gold is gone!"
The family had become very grave. Jack looked from one to the other with a bewildered air.
"You are jesting, father."
"No, my boy; I would that it were not true. The distress that is abroad in the land because of this calamity is very great. Not only is all your fortune gone, Ted, but anything that you may have brought home with you will be taken to pay the creditors of the bank; and they require so much money that it would ruin you, though you had thousands upon thousands of pounds."
A strange smile flitted across the youth's face as he replied-- "What I brought home with me won't benefit them much, for it lies with the wreck of the _Rainbow_ at the bottom of the sea."
This was indeed a surprise to the old couple, who now learned, for the first time, that the wrecked ship, about which a rumour had just reached them, was that in which their son had come home.
"But, father," continued Jack, with a look of deepening anxiety, "if this be as you say, then my comrades must also be ruined, for their gold was all invested by Mr Wilkins in the same bank."
"All ruined," replied the old man in a sad tone. "Mr Wilkins himself is bankrupt--the first call brought him and many others down."
"And yourself father; I hope you had no shares in it."
"None, my boy, thank God. Prosperity has attended me ever since I got the first money you sent home. _That_ saved me, Teddie."
A gleam of joy overspread Philosopher Jack's countenance as he started to his feet.
"Then am I well and undeservedly rewarded, daddy," he exclaimed; "but all this news is pretty tough. I must go out to tackle it. I'll be back in a few minutes."
He sprang through the cottage door and sped away over the moor like a greyhound. Reaching the top of a rising ground--from which he could see a boundless stretch of border-land, with the sea in the far distance and the sun setting in a flood of golden light--he drew himself up, and pushing back the hair from his temples with both hands, stood gazing wistfully into the radiant glory.
"So like a dream--so like a dream!" he murmured. "It was God who gave; surely it is He who has taken away. Can there be anything but good in all this?"
His hands dropped to his side as he spoke, and he sauntered slowly down the slope on which he stood. Entering a small plantation of fir-trees at the foot of it, he disappeared.
When he returned to the cottage all trace of strong feeling was gone. "We won't talk of the bank to-night," he said, "let's be jolly," and jolly he was accordingly. Not only so, but he made Dobbin jolly too, by supplying him with such a number of treacle-pieces that the child could hardly gasp his refusal of the last slice offered, and was made sticky from the ends of his filthy fingers to the crown of his curly head.
It is not necessary, nor would it be pleasant to describe minutely the effect of the "bad news" on the other members of our gold-digging party. Captain Samson and Watty Wilkins took it well, but Polly and Simon O'Rook could not easily reconcile themselves to their fate. The former, it is true, sorrowed not for herself, but for her father. O'Rook, however, was more selfish, and came down very heavily on what he called his "luck."
"Sure it's a misfortunate pig I've been iver since I left Owld Ireland," he remarked to his pipe one day after dinner, being alone with that implement at the time; "an no sooner does the first stroke of good luck befall me, an me fortune's made intirely, than whoop! down goes the whole consarn to the bottom of the say. It's well, hows'ever, that ye didn't go down yerself along with it, Simon. Ye've raison to be thankful for that, anyhow."
If O'Rook's pipe did not offer him a comforting reply it appeared to console him with its fumes, for after a pause, during which the smoke played voluminously about his nose, he wrinkled his visage into a smile of good humour.
"Now, Simon," he said, rising and putting the black little implement in his pocket, "you're in a fit state to go an' comfort the widdy."
Saying which he went out of the cheap refreshment room in which he had dined, and betook himself to the principal street of the city, whose name we have already declined to mention.
To explain his remark, we may state here that after the most diligent inquiry without success, the Irishman had, by the merest chance, discovered the widow of David Ban--in this very city, to which he had accompanied Philosopher Jack and Captain Samson, after clearly ascertaining that every vestige of the wreck of the _Rainbow_ had disappeared, and that all his gold was irrevocably gone. Walking along the principal street one day, he had been attracted by a temperance eating-house named the "Holly Tree." Entering it for the purpose of, as he said, "revictualling the ship," he was rooted to the spot by hearing a customer call out, "Another cup of coffee, please, Mrs Bancroft," while at the same moment an assistant at the counter addressed the comely woman, who replied, "Yes, sir," by the name of "Lucy." Could proof be more conclusive? Upon inquiry "Lucy" turned out in very truth to be the widow of David Bancroft, and the lock of hair corresponded. Of course O'Rook revealed to her the sad circumstances connected with her husband's end. To say that Mrs Bancroft was overwhelmed with grief would not be true. She had long mourned him as dead, and although the information, corroborated as it afterwards was by Edwin Jack and Captain Samson, did re-open the old wound to some extent, she nevertheless bore it heroically, and took Simon O'Rook's comforting observations in good part. But we must not anticipate. Let us return to Watty Wilkins.
Having broken the news of Ben Trench's death to the Bailie and his family--and a terrible duty he found it to be,--Watty went straight to his father's house. We drop the curtain on the meeting. The joy of the elder Wilkins can only be fully understood by those who can say of an only son, "He was lost and is found."
"Now, Watty, dear boy," said Mr Wilkins when they came to talk of ordinary matters, "God has mingled mercy with my sorrows. My business has indeed been ruined, and I have passed through the bankruptcy court; but I am by no means so unfortunate as hundreds of people who have been reduced to absolute poverty by this crash. You remember my brother James--Uncle Jimmy? well, he has got a flourishing business in the West Indies. For some years past he had been meditating the establishment of an agency in connection with it in this city. The moment he heard of my failure he offered to make me his agent here, with a good salary. Of course I was only too glad and thankful to accept the offer, and after my affairs were wound up, entered upon the office. So now, you see, here I am, through God's goodness, still inhabiting the old house, which I now rent from the person who purchased it. Of course I can no longer keep a carriage, and it will cost me some calculation and economy to make the two ends meet, but these are small matters."
"Oh, father, I'm so glad and thankful!" said Watty with sparkling eyes.
"But," continued Mr Wilkins, with a look of profound gravity, "at present I happen to be troubled with a great difficulty."
"What's that?" asked his little son, with a ready sympathy that was natural to him, and which his recent experiences had rendered much more powerful.
"I find the nature of my duties too much for me," replied Mr Wilkins with a peculiar smile, "and it is almost impossible that I can get along without a clever, honest, intelligent clerk, or, shall we say, secretary--a character that is not easily found in these degenerate days. Can you recommend one, Watty?"
"O yes," cried the youth, springing up and seizing his father's hand in both of his; "you mean _me_! Don't you, now? You _can't_ get on without me."
Watty felt inclined to dance a hornpipe, but he sat down instead, and, covering his face with his hands, burst into tears of joy. Being a tender-hearted man, Mr Wilkins could not help joining him, but in a moderate degree. We will leave them thus engaged, merely remarking that if the act was a weakness, it nevertheless seemed to do them a world of good.
After a considerable time had elapsed, Philosopher Jack left the Border cottage one day, went up to town, and presented himself at his old lodgings to Mrs Niven. That lady's feelings, under the influence of surprise, had a tendency, as we have shown, to lay her flat on the floor. But the faithful Peggy had come to understand her tendencies, and was usually too much for her. When her old lodger made his appearance in her parlour, Mrs Niven exhibited symptoms which caused Peggy to glide swiftly forward and receive her in her arms, whence she was transferred to an easy-chair.
Recovering, she gave Jack what, in the circumstances, was a hearty welcome.
"Losh me, laddie, ye'll be the death o' me!"
"I hope not, Mrs Niven," said Jack, laughing, as he shook her hand heartily and sat down, "for my own sake as well as yours; because I have come to take my old room if it is vacant."
"Yer auld room, Maister Jack!" exclaimed the bewildered woman.
"Yes, if it is not already occupied."
"The yin wi' the reeky lum and the view o' chimbley-pots frae the wundy?"
"The same. I hope I can have it, for I'm going to college again, and I've an affection for the old place, despite the smoky chimney and the cans on the cats' parade."
"Yer jokin', Maister Jack."
"Indeed I am not, Mrs Niven."
"They telt me ye was in Callyforny, an had made 'eer fortin there by howkin' gold."
"Well, they told the truth, my good woman, but I happened to invest all in Blankow Bank shares, and--" "Wow! wow!" exclaimed Mrs Niven, whimpering, for she understood full well the meaning of that, "an' 'ee've been ruined! Oh dear! Weel, weel, ay, ay, an it's come to that. Jist like my kind freen' Maister Black. Losh me! man," she added in a sudden burst of indignation, "what for disna the Government order a penny subscription ower the hail kingdom to git the puir guiltless shareholders oot o' their diffeeculties?"
Philosopher Jack declined to enter upon so subtle a question, but after finding that his old room was vacant, retook it, and then went out to the region of the docks to pay a visit to Captain Samson. He found that old salt in possession of his old lodging, but it was wonderfully changed, and, perhaps, not for the better. Polly was there, however, and her presence would have made any place charming.
"Sit down. There is an empty keg to offer a friend," said the captain, looking round the almost empty room. "You see they've cleared me out. Had to sell everything a'most."
This was true. The marine stores, coils of rope, kegs, charts, telescopes, log-lines, sextants, foreign shells, model ships, Chinese idols--all were gone, excepting a table, a chair, a child's crib in a corner, and the hammock, which latter looked more like an overwhelmingly heavy cloud than ever, as it hung over the clean but desolate scene.
"But we're going to have _such_ a nice tea," said Polly, "and you shall stay and have some."
She bustled about the fire, but it had so little heart that even her coaxing nearly failed to make it burn. Jack offered to assist.
"Take care," said Polly with some anxiety; "if you cough or sneeze you'll put it out."
"But I promise neither to cough nor sneeze," said Jack.
Under their united efforts the fire blazed, and tea with buttered toast ere long smoked on the board.
"Polly's going to London," said the captain suddenly--almost fiercely.
"Yes," said Polly, hastening to explain; "you see, my aunt Maria has been so good as to offer to take me to live with her and put me to school."
"Ha!" said the captain, almost blowing the buttered toast out of his mouth with contempt, "and Aunt Maria says she'll make a lady of Polly! Think o' that, Jack; _make_ a lady out of an angel!"
The captain was so tickled with the idea that he went off into a roar of sarcastic laughter.
"I'll tell 'ee what it is, Jack," he continued on recovering, "I shouldn't wonder it in the course of a few months' residence with her, Polly was to make a lady out of Aunt Maria--supposin' that to be possible."
"Oh! father," remonstrated Polly.
"Come," cried the captain savagely, "give us a nor'-wester--that's it; another--thank 'ee. The fact is, I'm goin' in for nor'-westers durin' the next fortnight--goin' to have it blow a regular hurricane of 'em."
Philosopher Jack hoped, if at all allowable, that he might be permitted to come under the influence of the gale, and then asked why Polly was leaving her father.
"She's not leavin' me, bless you," said the captain, "it's me that's leavin' _her_. The fact is, I've got a ship. What's left of me is not over young, but it's uncommon tough, so I mean to use it up as long as it lasts for Polly. I'm off to the East Indies in two or three weeks. If it hadn't been for this Aunt Maria I shouldn't have known what to do for Polly, so I've no call to abuse the stupid old thing. A lady, indeed--ha!"
"You might have been quite sure that my father's house would have been open to Polly," said Jack quite warmly, "or Mr Wilkins's, for the matter of that."
"I know it lad, I know it" returned the captain, slapping his friend on the shoulder, "but after all, this Aunt Maria--this lady-like individual--is the most natural protector. But now, tell me, what of O'Rook?"
"I know nothing of him. Haven't seen him for several days. When I last met him he seemed to be much depressed, poor fellow. I don't wonder, considering the fortune he has lost. However, Wilkins's father is sure to do the best he can for him. He feels so deeply having led him and the rest of us into this--though it was no fault of his, and he went in and suffered along with us. I couldn't understand, however, what O'Rook meant by some wild remarks he made the other day about taking to the temperance line and going in for coffee and mutton chops up a holly-tree. I hope it hasn't unseated his reason, poor fellow."
While the trio were thus discussing O'Rook over a cup of tea, that bold Irishman was busily engaged "comforting the widdy" over a cup of coffee in Mrs Bancroft's private parlour.
It is only just to O'Rook to say that he originally sought the widow from a simple desire to tell her of her husband's sad end, which, as we have seen, had made a deep impression on his sympathetic heart. When, however, he found that the widow was young, cheery, and good-looking, his sympathy was naturally increased, and the feeling was not unnaturally intensified when he found her engaged in the management of so excellent an institution as the "Holly Tree Public House without Drink." At first O'Rook confined his visits to pure sympathy; then, when he had allowed a "raisonable" time to elapse, he made somewhat warmer approaches, and finally laid siege to the widow's heart. But the widow was obdurate.
"Why won't ye have me, now?" asked the poor man one evening, with a perplexed look; "sure it's not bad-lookin' I am, though I've no occasion to boast of gud looks neither."
"No, it's not your looks," said Mrs Bancroft with a laugh, as she raised her eyes from her knitting and looked at her sister Flo, who sat opposite, also knitting, and who took a smiling but comparatively indifferent view of the matter.
"Then it must be because I'm not owld enough. Sure if ye wait a year or two I'll be as owld as yourself, every bit," said O'Rook.
"No, it's not that either," said the widow.
"Ah, then, it can't be because I'm poor," persisted O'Rook, "for with this good business you don't want money, an' I'm great at cookin', besides havin' the willin' hands that can turn to a'most anything. If ye'd seen me diggin' for goold, bad luck to it, ye'd belaive what I tell ye. Ah!" he added with a sigh, "it's a rich man I'd have been this day if that ship had only kep' afloat a few hours longer. Well, well, I needn't grumble, when me own comrades, that thought it so safe in the Blankow Bank, are about as badly off as me. When was it they began to suspec' the bank was shaky?"
"Oh, long ago," said Mrs Bancroft, "soon after the disappearance of Mr Luke, the cashier--" "Mr who?" demanded O'Rook with a start.
"Mr Luke. Did you know him?"
"I've heard of such a man," replied O'Rook with assumed carelessness; "what about _him_?"
"Well, it was supposed that he was goin' deranged, poor fellow, and at last he suddenly disappeared, no one could tell why; but it's clear enough now, for he was made to put the accounts all wrong, and I suppose the struggle in his mind drove him to suicide, for he was a long, thin, weakly sort of man, without much brains except for figures."
Hereupon O'Rook told the widow all he knew about the strange passenger of that name with whom he had sailed to the Southern Seas and worked at the gold fields. The conclusion which they came to was that the gold-digging passenger was the absconded cashier. Having settled this, O'Rook renewed the siege on the widow's heart but without success, though she did not cast him off altogether. The poor man, however, lost patience, and, finally, giving it up in despair, went off to sea.
"I've been too hard on him," remarked the widow, sadly, to her sister Flo, after he was gone.
"You have," was Flo's comforting reply, as she rose to serve a clamorous customer of the Holly Tree.
Philosopher Jack from that time forth devoted himself heartily to study, and gradually ceased to think of the golden dreams which had for so long a time beset him by night and by day. He had now found the gold which cannot perish, and while he studied medicine and surgery to enable him to cure the bodies of men, he devoted much of his time to the study of the Book which would enable him to cure their souls.
The captain came and went across the seas in the course of his rough calling, and he never came without a heart full of love and hands full of foreign nick-nacks, which he conveyed to Polly in London, and never went away without a rousing nor'-wester.
Watty and his father worked on together in vigorous contentment and many a visit did the former pay to Bailie Trench, attracted by the strong resemblance in Susan to the bosom friend who had reached the "Better Land" before him.
Thus time rolled quietly on, until an event occurred which modified the career of more than one of those whose fortunes we have followed so long.
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{
"id": "21756"
}
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12
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CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER.
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If it be true that there is "many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip"-- which we have no reason to doubt--it is not less true that many a cup of good fortune is, unexpectedly and unsought, raised to the lips of thankless man.
Captain Samson was seated one fine summer evening in his shore-going cabin, that used to be the abode of fishy smells, marine-stores, Polly, and bliss, but which now presented an unfurnished and desolate aspect. He had just returned from a voyage. Little "kickshaws" for Polly lay on the table before him, and a small fire burned in the grate, with a huge kettle thereon. A stormy sigh escaped the captain as he glanced round the old room.
"Come, come, Samson," he exclaimed, apostrophising himself, "this will never do. You mustn't give way to the blues. It's true you haven't got as much to leave to Polly when you slip your cable as you once had; but you have scraped together a little these few years past, and there's lots of work in you yet, old boy. Besides, it's His way of ordering events, and that way _must_ be right, whatever it appears to me. Why, Samson, for all your preaching to others, your own faith isn't as big as a grain of mustard seed. Ah! Polly, you're a woman now a'most--and a beauty, I'll be bound. I wish you'd come though. You're not up to time, young 'ooman. It's as well you've got one or two faults, just to keep you in sympathy with other mortals. Ah, here you come."
He hastened to answer a double knock at the door, and checked himself, not a moment too soon, from giving a warm embrace to the postman. Under a strong impulse to knock the man down he took a letter from him, flung it on the table, and shut the door. After pacing the room for some time impatiently he sat down, opened the letter, and read it aloud. It ran thus:-- "Sir--Having been for some years past engaged in diving operations at the wreck of the _Rainbow_--lost off the coast of Cornwall in 18 hundred and something, I write to say that I have recovered a large chest of gold with your name on the inside of it, and that of a man named Simon O'Rook. Most of the gold recovered from the _Rainbow_ has been scattered about, but in all cases when ownership could be proved, I have handed over the property. If you can give such an account of the contents of the chest referred to as shall satisfy me that it is yours, the part of its contents which belongs to you shall be restored.
"I would feel obliged if you could give me any clew to the whereabouts of O'Rook. --I am, etcetera."
"The whereabouts of O'Rook!" cried the captain, starting up and gazing at the letter; "why, he's my own first mate, an' close alongside at this good hour!"
"True for ye," cried a man outside the window, as he flattened his nose against the glass, "an is it polite to kape yer own first mate rappin' the skin off his knuckles at the door?"
The captain at once let in his follower, and showed him the letter. His surprise may be better imagined than described.
"But d'ee think it's true, cap'n?"
"I haven't a doubt of it, but we can settle that to-morrow by a visit to the writer of the letter."
"That's true," said O'Rook; "which o' the boxes, now, that belonged to us d'ee think it is?"
"It can only be one," replied the captain, "that box of mine in which you asked me to stuff the remnant of the gold-dust that you hadn't room for in your own boxes. It was the strongest box o' the lot, which accounts for its not breakin' up like the others."
"It must be that. I rowled it up in an owld leather coat bought from an Injin the day before we left the diggin's. It's but a small remainder o' me fortune--a thousand pounds, more or less,--but sure, it's found money an comes handy this good day, which reminds me I've got some noose for 'ee. What d'ee think, cap'n?" continued O'Rook, with a very conscious look.
"How can I think if ye don't give me somethin' to think about?"
"The widdy's tuk me after all!" said O'Rook.
"What! widow Bancroft?"
O'Rook nodded impressively. "Moreover," he said, "she's tuk me as a poor beggar with nothin' but his pay, for better and for worse, an', sure now, it's better I'll be than she tuk me for."
The captain was interrupted in his congratulations of the mate by another knock at the door. He opened it, and next moment was seized round the neck by a tall, graceful, beautiful, exquisite--oh! reader, you know who we mean.
"Why didn't you come up to time, old girl?" demanded the captain, while O'Rook looked on in admiration.
"Oh, father," gasped Polly, "don't crush me so and I'll tell you."
When she had explained that delay in the train had caused her want of punctuality, she shook hands with O'Rook, with whom she had renewed acquaintance at the time of his being appointed first mate to her father's ship. Then she was bid stand up in a corner to be "overhauled." The captain retired to an opposite corner, and gazed at his daughter critically, as though she had been a fine portrait.
"Yes, Polly, you'll do," he said, while an approving smile wrinkled his vast countenance. "Fit for a queen any day. A _lady_--ha! ha! Have you done your duty to Aunt Maria, Polly, eh? Have you made a lady of her, eh? Have you infused into her something allied to the angelic, eh? Come, now, a rousing nor'-wester!"
With a laugh worthy of her girlhood, Polly ran out of her corner and obeyed orders.
"Now, my pet" said the captain, seating her on his knee, "here are some kickshaws from foreign parts for you; but before letting you look at 'em, I must explain why I asked you to meet me here instead of going to see you as usual in London. The fact is, I had bin longing to take you with me my next voyage, and it would have been handier to have you by me here when we're getting ready for sea, but--but, the fact is, things have taken a sudden turn, and--and--in short, circumstances have come about that I can't speak of just now; only I'm not quite so sure about going to sea as I was an hour ago. But you don't seem to jump at the notion, Polly. Surely you'd have liked to go--wouldn't you?"
"Liked, father, of _course_. I should have been overjoyed to have gone with you, but--but--the truth is," she said, with a little laugh and a glance at O'Rook, "circumstances have come about that _I_ can't speak of just now."
"Well, my pet," rejoined the captain, with a puzzled, anxious look, "we'll _not_ talk about 'em. Now, you must know that I've got up a small party to meet you here to-night, and expect you to do me credit. The pastry-cook next door has undertaken to send in cakes, and tea, and hot sausages, and buns, at a moment's notice. I expect his man here every minute to lay out the spread. Now, who d'ee think are coming? You'll never guess. There's Mr and Mrs John Jack, the father and mother of Edwin Jack--you remember him, Polly? Philosopher Jack we used to call him."
"Yes," replied Polly, in a low tone.
"Well, they happen to be in town just now with their family, and they're all coming. Then there's my first mate, Simon O'Rook; he would be coming, only he's come already, a full hour before his time! Then there's a Mr Burr and a Mr Buckley, both returned from California with fortunes--" "A-rowlin' in gold," muttered O'Rook, in a low tone.
"You don't _really_ mean, father, that--" "Yes I do, Polly. I mean that Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley are coming. I met 'em only two days ago in the streets, going about in chimney-pot hats and broadcloth like gentlemen--which they are, every inch of 'em, if worth and well-doing and wisdom make the gentleman. So, knowing you were to be here, I made 'em promise to come. Well, then, there's your old friend Watty Wilkins, who, by the way, is engaged to be married to Susan Trench. I tried to get Susan to come too, but she's shy, and won't. Besides these, there's a doctor of medicine, whom I think you have met before, a very rising young man--quite celebrated, I may say. Got an enormous practice, and--" The captain was interrupted by the rattle of wheels outside, and the pulling up of a carriage at the door.
Polly rose quickly, with a half-frightened look.
"Don't be alarmed, Poll, it's only the doctor," he said, going out to the passage.
"Pardon my coming so much before the appointed time," said a familiar voice; "but I have something to communicate before she comes--something very important and--" Philosopher Jack stopped short, for he had entered the room and saw that Polly had already come. With one spring he was at her side, seized her in his arms, and imprinted on her lips what her father afterwards called the "stiffest nor'wester he'd ever seen." At the time, however, the captain strode up to our philosopher with a frown.
"Come, come, doctor," he said, sternly, "there is a limit to familiarity even among--" "Pardon me," said our hero, drawing Polly's unresisting hand through his arm; "I had no intention of doing it until I had your consent; but somehow--I can't tell how--it came upon me suddenly while I was paying my respects to her in London, not long ago, and before I knew where I was, it all came out, and she accepted me, on the understanding that I should consider it no engagement until I had obtained your consent. So now, I have to ask your forgiveness and your blessing--father."
Captain Samson stood there, bereft of speech, and O'Rook stood there, the picture of benignity, in a corner. What the former would have said it is impossible to tell, for at that moment there came an impatient rapping at the door.
"Hurrah! captain, I could not help looking in before the time," cried Watty Wilkins, "to tell you that Susan's coming after all. The dear girl--" He stopped suddenly, and stared at Polly, as if he had applied the term of endearment to her.
"The ghost of Polly Samson!" he exclaimed, after a breathless pause.
"Nothing of the sort, my boy," said the captain, grasping his little friend's hand, "but an enlarged and improved edition of Polly Samson, not yet full-bound, but goin' to be, very soon, by Philosopher Jack."
At that auspicious moment the pastry-cook made his appearance, and compelled the party to quit the premises. They therefore went for a stroll while he put things in order. When they returned, it was found that his wonderful powers had made a change little short of miraculous. The floor was swept. Chairs had been introduced on the scene. The table groaned, being weak in the legs, under a surfeit of viands. The hammock had been removed. The fire leaped high, as if desirous of going up the chimney altogether, and the huge kettle sat thereon, leaning back, with its spout in the air, pouring its very heart out in a joyous domestic song.
Need we say that the united party made the most of their opportunity? They spoke of the golden land, of their toils and joys, their successes and losses, and of their Heavenly Father's guiding hand. The ex-gold-diggers, Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley, fought their battles over again, and sang the camp-fire songs. Philosopher Jack sat beside his mother, who was a little deaf, to explain the miners' slang and point the jokes. Watty Wilkins became involved in Susan, and was comparatively useless; but he laughed at the jokes, whether he saw them or not, and joined with telling effect in the choruses. Polly sang, in a voice that corresponded with her sweet face, two or three of the hymns with which they had been wont to make vocal the palm grove on the coral island in the southern seas, and Philosopher Jack related the story of the slaying of the bear at Grizzly Bear Gulch. All this was a rare treat to the family from the lonely cottage on the Border, the younger members of which had by that time ascended, through Christian example and improved education, to a high level in the social scale. Dobbin, in particular, had become a strapping youth of gentlemanly mien, and would as soon have thought of shoe-blacking as of treacle to his bread. He retained a sneaking fondness for it, however, especially when presented in the form of golden syrup.
But we must not prolong the scene. It is sufficient to say that they had a glorious night of it, on strictly temperance principles, which culminated and drew to a close when Captain Samson, opening his Bible, and reading therefrom many precious promises, drew his friends' minds from things seen and temporal to things unseen and eternal. Thereafter he prayed that neither he nor they should be permitted to forget that a loving Father holds the helm and guides the souls of his people, whether in joy or in sorrow, success or failure, through time into eternity.
And now it is incumbent on us to draw our story to a close.
On the day following the feast Captain Samson called with his chief mate on the writer of the important letter, and found that his principal chest of gold had indeed been fished up from the deep. He and O'Rook were able to give so correct an account of its contents that their claim was at once admitted, and thus the captain became possessor of gold to the value of about four thousand pounds sterling, while O'Rook recovered upwards of one thousand. This was only a fraction of their original fortune, but the interest of it was sufficient to supply their moderate wants.
Going straight off to the Holly Tree, of which a healthy shoot had been planted in the suburbs, O'Rook proceeded, according to use and wont, to "comfort the widdy."
"It's a rich man I am, darlin', after all," he said, on sitting down beside her.
"How so, Simon?"
Simon explained.
"An' would you consider yourself a poor man if you had only me?" asked the widow, with a hurt air.
"Ah! then, it's the women can twist their tongues, anyhow," cried O'Rook. "Sure it's about dirty goold I'm spakin', isn't it? I made no reference to the love of purty woman--did I, now? In regard of that I wouldn't change places with the Shah of Pershy."
"Well now, Simon, if it's the women that can twist their tongues, it's the Irishmen that can twist their consciences, so you an' I will be well matched."
"That's well said, anyhow," rejoined O'Rook. "An' now, darlin', will ye name the day?"
"No, Simon, I won't; but I'll think about it. There, now. Go home, it's gettin' late, and if ye happen to be passing this way to-morrow you may give us a call."
Thus Simon O'Rook prosecuted his courtship. In process of time he married the widow, and was finally installed as master of the juvenile Holly Tree in the suburbs, while his wife conducted the parent stem in town. Vegetables and other country produce had to be conveyed to the town Tree regularly. For this purpose a pony-cart was set up, which travelled daily between it and the country branch. Thus it came to pass that O'Rook's Californian dreams were realised, for "sure," he was wont to say, "haven't I got a house in the country an' a mansion in the town, an' if I don't drive my carriage and four, I can always drive me cart an' wan, anyhow, with a swate little widdy into the bargain."
It is, we suppose, almost superfluous to say that Doctor Jack and Polly Samson were united in due course, but it is necessary to record that, by special arrangement, Walter Wilkins, Esquire, and Susan Trench were married on the same day. More than that, the Doctor and Watty so contrived matters that they rented a double villa in the suburbs of the nameless city, one-half of which was occupied by Dr Jack's family, the other by that of Wilkins. Still further, it was so contrived by Philosopher Jack that a small cottage was built on an eminence in his garden, in which there was a room, precisely similar in all respects to that in which he had first met his father-in-law. There was a hammock in this room, slung as the original hammock had been, and although the old telescopes and sou'-westers and marine stores and charts had been sold and lost past redemption, a good many new things, bearing a strong resemblance to such articles, were purchased and placed on the walls and in the corners, so that almost the only difference between it and the old room was the absence of fishy smells. There was an improvement, also, in the view; for whereas, in the old room, the window commanded a prospect of about ten yards in extent, comprising a brick wall, a lamp-post, and a broken pump, the windows of the new room overlooked miles and miles of landscape, embracing villages, hamlets, fields, and forests, away to the horizon.
In this cottage Captain Samson took up his abode, rent free, and the money which he was thus enabled to save, or which Jack insisted on his saving, was spent in helping the poor all round his dwelling. Here the captain spent many happy hours in converse with Polly and her husband. To this room, as time rolled on, he brought a small child, to which, although not its nurse, he devoted much of his spare time, and called it "Polly."
And oh! it was a wonderful sight to see Polly the second, with her heart in her mouth and her hair flying in the air, riding the captain's foot "in a storm!"
Here, too, as time continued to roll on, he fabricated innumerable boats and ships for little boys, whose names were Teddie, Watty, Ben, Baldwin, and such like. In this room, also, every Sunday morning early, the captain was to be found with a large, eager, attentive class of little boys and girls, to whom he expounded the Word of God, with many an illustrative anecdote, while he sought to lead them to that dear Lord who had saved his soul, and whose Holy Spirit had enabled him to face the battles of life, in prosperity and adversity, and had made him "more than conqueror." Here, also, in the evenings of the same holy day, he was wont to gather a meeting of old people, to whom he discanted on the same "old, old story." In all which works he was aided and abetted by the families of the double house close by.
Besides his constant visitors among the young, the aged, and the poor, the captain had a few occasional visitors at his residence, which, by the way, was named Harmony Hall.
Among these were Bailie Trench and his wife, who were naturally attracted to that region by the presence there of a slender, loving, sprightly boy, whose name was Benjamin Walter Wilkins, and who bore--at least they thought he bore--a striking resemblance to their loved and lost son Ben. The family from the cottage on the Border also paid annual visits to Number 1 of the double house (which was the Doctor's), and the various members of that family, being very fond of a chat with the old sailor, often found themselves of an evening in "the old store-room" (as the boys styled it) of Harmony Hall.
These visits were regularly returned, chiefly in the summer-time, by the captain and the families of the double house, on which occasions the cottage on the Border was taxed to such an extent that Philosopher Jack was obliged to purchase a neighbouring barn, which he had fitted up as a dormitory that could accommodate almost a battalion of infantry. During these visits the trouting streams of the neighbourhood were so severely whipped that the fish knew the difference between a real and an artificial fly as well as their tormentors, but they were captured for all that.
Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley were also among the occasional visitors at the Hall; but their visits were few and far between, because of their having taken up their permanent abode in California. Only when they came home on business, once in the two years, had they an opportunity of seeing their old comrade, but they never failed to take advantage of such opportunities. These men were not prone to speak about themselves, but from various remarks they made, and from their general appearance, it was easy to see that they were substantial and influential members of society in foreign parts.
From Baldwin the captain heard that Bob Corkey had, during his wanderings, fallen in with Bounce and Badger, and that these three had formed a partnership, in which they tried their luck at gold-digging, farming, fur-trading, and many other sources of livelihood, but, up to the last news of them, without success. There was hope of them yet, however, so thought Baldwin Burr, because of the latest remarks made by them in the hearing of credible witnesses. Bob Corkey, having attained to the lowest depths of destitution and despair, had, it was said, made to his comrades the following observation: "Mates, it strikes me that we are three great fools;" whereupon Bounce had replied, "We're more than that Bob, we're three great sinners;" to which Badger had added, with considerable emphasis, "That's a fact," and when men come to this, there is hope for them.
The only personage of our tale who now remains to be mentioned is Mrs Niven.
That steady-going female continued her vocation of ministering to the wants of young students, some of whom treated her well, while others--to their shame, be it said--took advantage of her amiability. In regard to this latter fact, however, it may be recorded that Peggy proved a sharp-witted, tight-handed, and zealous defender of her mistress. Among Mrs Niven's other boarders there was one who was neither young nor a student. He came to reside with her in the following manner:-- One evening Peggy was heard in altercation with a man in the passage who seemed bent on forcing his way into the house. The students who chanced to be in their rooms at the time cocked their ears, like war-steeds snuffing the battle from afar, and hoped for a row. Mrs Niven, after opening the parlour door softly, and listening, called out, "Let the gentleman come up, Peggy."
"Gentleman indeed!" cried the irate Peggy, who had the intruder by the throat, "he's only a dirty auld blagyird."
"Niver ye mind, Peggy," returned Mrs Niven peremptorily; "I ken him. Let him up."
Immediately after, there walked into the parlour a bowed, mean-looking, dirty little old man, who, as he sat down on a chair, paid some doubtful compliments to Peggy.
"Oh, Maister Black, is it you!" said Mrs Niven, sitting down beside him.
Besides being all that we have said, Mr Black was ragged, dishevelled, haggard, and in every way disreputable.
"Yes, it's me, Mrs Niven," he replied harshly, "and you see I'm in a sorry plight."
"I see, I see," said the good woman, taking his hand and shedding tears. "I kent ye had lost a' by that fearfu' bank failure, but I didna ken ye had come doon sae low. And oh! to think that it was a' through me, an your kindness in offerin' to tak the shares aff my hands. Oh! Maister Black, my heart is wae when I look at ye. Is there onything I can dae for ye?"
Now, it was quite a new light to Mr Black that his relative had not found him out. He had called in a fit of desperation, for the purpose of extorting money from her by any means. He now changed his tactics, and resolved to board and lodge with her gratuitously. The proposition rather startled the poor woman, for she found it difficult to make the two ends meet, even when her house was full of lodgers. She had not the heart to refuse him, however, and thus Mr Black was fairly installed in the old room whose window opened on the cats' parade.
In her difficulty Mrs Niven went, as she was in the habit of doing, to Philosopher Jack, to whom she represented Mr Black as such a suffering and self-sacrificing man, that his heart was quite melted.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Mrs Niven," he said. "There is a sum of money in my father's possession, the interest of which enabled me to pay my way when I came back from the gold-fields. My father won't use that money himself and I won't accept it from him. We have therefore resolved to devote it to charitable purposes. Now, we will give Mr Black a small annuity out of it, for your sake, Mrs Niven."
Philosopher Jack was not, however, so easily deceived as Mrs Niven. He afterwards "found out" Mr Black, and told him so in very stern language. Nevertheless, he did not stop his allowance. Neither did he enlighten Mrs Niven as to the man's true character, though he kept a sharp eye on him.
Thus did Mr Black become a pensioner and a free boarder. There is no sinner on this side [of] the grave who is beyond redemption. That which prosperity and adversity had equally failed to accomplish, was finally brought about by unmerited kindness,--Mr Black's spirit was quietly and gradually, but surely, broken. The generous forbearance of Edwin Jack, and the loving Christian sympathy of his intended victim, proved too much for him. He confessed his sin to Jack, and offered to resign his pension; but Jack would not hear of it, as the pensioner was by that time too old and feeble to work. He also confessed to Mrs Niven, but that unsuspecting woman refused to believe that he ever did or could harbour so vile a design towards her, and she continued in that mind to her dying day.
Peggy, however, was made of sterner stuff. She not only believed his confession, but she refused to believe in his repentance, and continued to treat him with marked disrespect until her mistress died. After that however, she relented, and retired with him to a poorer residence, in the capacity of his servant. Peggy was eccentric in her behaviour. While she nursed him with the assiduous care and kindness of a rough but honest nature, she continued to call him a "dirty auld blagyird" to the last. The expression of this sentiment did not, however, prevent her from holding more polite intercourse. When his eyes grew dim, she read to him not only from the Bible, but from the Pilgrim's Progress and Robinson Crusoe, which were their favourites among the books of the little library furnished to them by Christian friends. And many sage and original remarks did Peggy make on those celebrated books. The topics of conversation which she broached with Mr Black from time to time were numerous, as a matter of course, for Peggy was loquacious; but that to which she most frequently recurred was the wonderful career of Philosopher Jack, for Peggy liked to sing his praises, and never tired of treating the old man to long-winded accounts of that hero's ever memorable voyage to the Southern Seas.
THE END.
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{
"id": "21756"
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The time was the year of grace 1779; the locality, Morristown, New Jersey.
It was bitterly cold. A northeasterly wind had been stiffening the mud of the morning's thaw into a rigid record of that day's wayfaring on the Baskingridge road. The hoof-prints of cavalry, the deep ruts left by baggage-wagons, and the deeper channels worn by artillery, lay stark and cold in the waning light of an April day. There were icicles on the fences, a rime of silver on the windward bark of maples, and occasional bare spots on the rocky protuberances of the road, as if Nature had worn herself out at the knees and elbows through long waiting for the tardy spring. A few leaves disinterred by the thaw became crisp again, and rustled in the wind, making the summer a thing so remote that all human hope and conjecture fled before them.
Here and there the wayside fences and walls were broken down or dismantled; and beyond them fields of snow downtrodden and discolored, and strewn with fragments of leather, camp equipage, harness, and cast-off clothing, showed traces of the recent encampment and congregation of men. On some there were still standing the ruins of rudely constructed cabins, or the semblance of fortification equally rude and incomplete. A fox stealing along a half-filled ditch, a wolf slinking behind an earthwork, typified the human abandonment and desolation.
One by one the faint sunset tints faded from the sky; the far-off crests of the Orange hills grew darker; the nearer files of pines on the Whatnong Mountain became a mere black background; and, with the coming-on of night, came too an icy silence that seemed to stiffen and arrest the very wind itself. The crisp leaves no longer rustled; the waving whips of alder and willow snapped no longer; the icicles no longer dropped a cold fruitage from barren branch and spray; and the roadside trees relapsed into stony quiet, so that the sound of horse's hoofs breaking through the thin, dull, lustreless films of ice that patched the furrowed road, might have been heard by the nearest Continental picket a mile away.
Either a knowledge of this, or the difficulties of the road, evidently irritated the viewless horseman. Long before he became visible, his voice was heard in half-suppressed objurgation of the road, of his beast, of the country folk, and the country generally. "Steady, you jade!" "Jump, you devil, jump!" "Curse the road, and the beggarly farmers that durst not mend it!" And then the moving bulk of horse and rider suddenly arose above the hill, floundered and splashed, and then as suddenly disappeared, and the rattling hoof-beats ceased.
The stranger had turned into a deserted lane still cushioned with untrodden snow. A stone wall on one hand--in better keeping and condition than the boundary monuments of the outlying fields--bespoke protection and exclusiveness. Half-way up the lane the rider checked his speed, and, dismounting, tied his horse to a wayside sapling. This done, he went cautiously forward toward the end of the lane, and a farm-house from whose gable window a light twinkled through the deepening night. Suddenly he stopped, hesitated, and uttered an impatient ejaculation. The light had disappeared. He turned sharply on his heel, and retraced his steps until opposite a farm-shed that stood a few paces from the wall. Hard by, a large elm cast the gaunt shadow of its leafless limbs on the wall and surrounding snow. The stranger stepped into this shadow, and at once seemed to become a part of its trembling intricacies.
At the present moment it was certainly a bleak place for a tryst. There was snow yet clinging to the trunk of the tree, and a film of ice on its bark; the adjacent wall was slippery with frost, and fringed with icicles. Yet in all there was a ludicrous suggestion of some sentiment past and unseasonable: several dislodged stones of the wall were so disposed as to form a bench and seats, and under the elm-tree's film of ice could still be seen carved on its bark the effigy of a heart, divers initials, and the legend, "Thine Forever."
The stranger, however, kept his eyes fixed only on the farm-shed and the open field beside it. Five minutes passed in fruitless expectancy. Ten minutes! And then the rising moon slowly lifted herself over the black range of the Orange hills, and looked at him, blushing a little, as if the appointment were her own.
The face and figure thus illuminated were those of a strongly built, handsome man of thirty, so soldierly in bearing that it needed not the buff epaulets and facings to show his captain's rank in the Continental army. Yet there was something in his facial expression that contradicted the manliness of his presence,--an irritation and querulousness that were inconsistent with his size and strength. This fretfulness increased as the moments went by without sign or motion in the faintly lit field beyond, until, in peevish exasperation, he began to kick the nearer stones against the wall.
"Moo-oo-w!"
The soldier started. Not that he was frightened, nor that he had failed to recognize in these prolonged syllables the deep-chested, half-drowsy low of a cow, but that it was so near him--evidently just beside the wall. If an object so bulky could have approached him so near without his knowledge, might not she-- "Moo-oo!"
He drew nearer the wall cautiously. "So, Cushy! Mooly! Come up, Bossy!" he said persuasively. "Moo"--but here the low unexpectedly broke down, and ended in a very human and rather musical little laugh.
"Thankful!" exclaimed the soldier, echoing the laugh a trifle uneasily and affectedly as a hooded little head arose above the wall.
"Well," replied the figure, supporting a prettily rounded chin on her hands, as she laid her elbows complacently on the wall,--"well, what did you expect? Did you want me to stand here all night, while you skulked moonstruck under a tree? Or did you look for me to call you by name? did you expect me to shout out, 'Capt. Allan Brewster--'" "Thankful, hush!"
"Capt. Allan Brewster of the Connecticut Contingent," continued the girl, with an affected raising of a low, pathetic voice that was, however, inaudible beyond the tree. "Capt. Brewster, behold me,--your obleeged and humble servant and sweetheart to command."
Capt. Brewster succeeded, after a slight skirmish at the wall, in possessing himself of the girl's hand; at which; although still struggling, she relented slightly.
"It isn't every lad that I'd low for," she said, with an affected pout, "and there may be others that would not take it amiss; though there be fine ladies enough at the assembly halls at Morristown as might think it hoydenish?"
"Nonsense, love," said the captain, who had by this time mounted the wall, and encircled the girl's waist with his arm. "Nonsense! you startled me only. But," he added, suddenly taking her round chin in his hand, and turning her face toward the moon with an uneasy half-suspicion, "why did you take that light from the window? What has happened?"
"We had unexpected guests, sweetheart," said Thankful: "the count just arrived."
"That infernal Hessian!" He stopped, and gazed questioningly into her face. The moon looked upon her at the same time: the face was as sweet, as placid, as truthful, as her own. Possibly these two inconstants understood each other.
"Nay, Allan, he is not a Hessian, but an exiled gentleman from abroad,--a nobleman--" "There are no noblemen now," sniffed the trooper contemptuously. "Congress has so decreed it. All men are born free and equal."
"But they are not, Allan," said Thankful, with a pretty trouble in her brows: "even cows are not born equal. Is yon calf that was dropped last night by Brindle the equal of my red heifer whose mother come by herself in a ship from Surrey? Do they look equal?"
"Titles are but breath," said Capt. Brewster doggedly. There was an ominous pause.
"Nay, there is one nobleman left," said Thankful; "and he is my own,--my nature's nobleman!"
Capt. Brewster did not reply. From certain arch gestures and wreathed smiles with which this forward young woman accompanied her statement, it would seem to be implied that the gentleman who stood before her was the nobleman alluded to. At least, he so accepted it, and embraced her closely, her arms and part of her mantle clinging around his neck. In this attitude they remained quiet for some moments, slightly rocking from side to side like a metronome; a movement, I fancy, peculiarly bucolic, pastoral, and idyllic, and as such, I wot, observed by Theocritus and Virgil.
At these supreme moments weak woman usually keeps her wits about her much better than your superior reasoning masculine animal; and, while the gallant captain was losing himself upon her perfect lips, Miss Thankful distinctly heard the farm-gate click, and otherwise noticed that the moon was getting high and obtrusive. She half released herself from the captain's arms, thoughtfully and tenderly--but firmly. "Tell me all about yourself, Allan dear," she said quietly, making room for him on the wall,--"all, everything."
She turned upon him her beautiful eyes,--eyes habitually earnest and even grave in expression, yet holding in their brave brown depths a sweet, childlike reliance and dependency; eyes with a certain tender, deprecating droop in the brown-fringed lids, and yet eyes that seemed to say to every man who looked upon them, "I am truthful: be frank with me." Indeed, I am convinced there is not one of my impressible sex, who, looking in those pleading eyes, would not have perjured himself on the spot rather than have disappointed their fair owner.
Capt. Brewster's mouth resumed its old expression of discontent.
"Everything is growing worse, Thankful, and the cause is lost. Congress does nothing, and Washington is not the man for the crisis. Instead of marching to Philadelphia, and forcing that wretched rabble of Hancock and Adams at the point of the bayonet, he writes letters."
"A dignified, formal old fool," interrupted Mistress Thankful indignantly; "and look at his wife! Didn't Mistress Ford and Mistress Baily, ay, and the best blood of Morris County, go down to his Excellency's in their finest bibs and tuckers, and didn't they find my lady in a pinafore doing chores? Vastly polite treatment, indeed! As if the whole world didn't know that the general was taken by surprise when my lady came riding up from Virginia with all those fine cavaliers, just to see what his Excellency was doing at these assembly balls. And fine doings, I dare say."
"This is but idle gossip, Thankful," said Capt. Brewster with the faintest appearance of self-consciousness; "the assembly balls are conceived by the general to strengthen the confidence of the townsfolk, and mitigate the rigors of the winter encampment. I go there myself rarely: I have but little taste for junketing and gavotting, with my country in such need. No, Thankful! What we want is a leader; and the men of Connecticut feel it keenly. If I have been spoken of in that regard," added the captain with a slight inflation of his manly breast, "it is because they know of my sacrifices,--because as New England yeomen they know my devotion to the cause. They know of my suffering--" The bright face that looked into his was suddenly afire with womanly sympathy, the pretty brow was knit, the sweet eyes overflowed with tenderness. "Forgive me, Allan. I forgot--perhaps, love--perhaps, dearest, you are hungry now."
"No, not now," replied Captain Brewster, with gloomy stoicism; "yet," he added, "it is nearly a week since I have tasted meat."
"I--I--brought a few things with me," continued the girl, with a certain hesitating timidity. She reached down, and produced a basket from the shadow of the wall. "These chickens"--she held up a pair of pullets--"the commander-in-chief himself could not buy: I kept them for MY commander! And this pot of marmalade, which I know my Allan loves, is the same I put up last summer. I thought [very tenderly] you might like a piece of that bacon you liked so once, dear. Ah, sweetheart, shall we ever sit down to our little board? Shall we ever see the end of this awful war? Don't you think, dear [very pleadingly], it would be best to give it up? King George is not such a very bad man, is he? I've thought, sweetheart [very confidently], that mayhap you and he might make it all up without the aid of those Washingtons, who do nothing but starve one to death. And if the king only knew you, Allan,--should see you as I do, sweetheart,--he'd do just as you say."
During this speech she handed him the several articles alluded to; and he received them, storing them away in such receptacles of his clothing as were convenient--with this notable difference, that with HER the act was graceful and picturesque: with him there was a ludicrousness of suggestion that his broad shoulders and uniform only heightened.
"I think not of myself, lass," he said, putting the eggs in his pocket, and buttoning the chickens within his martial breast. "I think not of myself, and perhaps I often spare that counsel which is but little heeded. But I have a duty to my men--to Connecticut. [He here tied the marmalade up in his handkerchief.] I confess I have sometimes thought I might, under provocation, be driven to extreme measures for the good of the cause. I make no pretence to leadership, but--" "With you at the head of the army," broke in Thankful enthusiastically, "peace would be declared within a fortnight."
There is no flattery, however outrageous, that a man will not accept from the woman whom he believes loves him. He will perhaps doubt its influence in the colder judgment of mankind; but he will consider that this poor creature, at least, understands him, and in some vague way represents the eternal but unrecognized verities. And when this is voiced by lips that are young and warm and red, it is somehow quite as convincing as the bloodless, remoter utterance of posterity.
Wherefore the trooper complacently buttoned the compliment over his chest with the pullets.
"I think you must go now, Allan," she said, looking at him with that pseudo-maternal air which the youngest of women sometimes assume to their lovers, as if the doll had suddenly changed sex, and grown to man's estate. "You must go now, dear; for it may so chance that father is considering my absence overmuch. You will come again a' Wednesday, sweetheart; and you will not go to the assemblies, nor visit Mistress Judith, nor take any girl pick-a-back again on your black horse; and you will let me know when you are hungry?"
She turned her brown eyes lovingly, yet with a certain pretty trouble in the brow, and such a searching, pleading inquiry in her glance, that the captain kissed her at once. Then came the final embrace, performed by the captain in a half-perfunctory, quiet manner, with a due regard for the friable nature of part of his provisions. Satisfying himself of the integrity of the eggs by feeling for them in his pocket, he waved a military salute with the other hand to Miss Thankful, and was gone. A few minutes later the sound of his horse's hoofs rang sharply from the icy hillside.
But, as he reached the summit, two horsemen wheeled suddenly from the shadow of the roadside, and bade him halt.
"Capt. Brewster, if this moon does not deceive me?" queried the foremost stranger with grave civility.
"The same. Major Van Zandt, I calculate?" returned Brewster querulously.
"Your calculation is quite right. I regret Capt. Brewster, that it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest."
"By whose orders?"
"The commander-in-chief's."
"For what?"
"Mutinous conduct, and disrespect of your superior officers."
The sword that Capt. Brewster had drawn at the sudden appearance of the strangers quivered for a moment in his strong hand. Then, sharply striking it across the pommel of his saddle, he snapped it in twain, and cast the pieces at the feet of the speaker.
"Go on," he said doggedly.
"Capt. Brewster," said Major Van Zandt, with infinite gravity, "it is not for me to point out the danger to you of this outspoken emotion, except practically in its effect upon the rations you have in your pocket. If I mistake not, they have suffered equally with your steel. Forward, march!"
Capt. Brewster looked down, and then dropped to the rear, as the discased yolks of Mistress Thankful's most precious gift slid slowly and pensively over his horse's flanks to the ground.
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{
"id": "2177"
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Mistress Thankful remained at the wall until her lover had disappeared. Then she turned, a mere lissom shadow in that uncertain light, and glided under the eaves of the shed, and thence from tree to tree of the orchard, lingering a moment under each as a trout lingers in the shadow of the bank in passing a shallow, and so reached the farmhouse and the kitchen door, where she entered. Thence by a back staircase she slipped to her own bower, from whose window half an hour before she had taken the signalling light. This she lit again and placed upon a chest of drawers; and, taking off her hood and a shapeless sleeveless mantle she had worn, went to the mirror, and proceeded to re-adjust a high horn comb that had been somewhat displaced by the captain's arm, and otherwise after the fashion of her sex to remove all traces of a previous lover. It may be here observed that a man is very apt to come from the smallest encounter with his dulcinea distrait, bored, or shame-faced; to forget that his cravat is awry, or that a long blond hair is adhering to his button. But as to Mademoiselle--well, looking at Miss Pussy's sleek paws and spotless face, would you ever know that she had been at the cream-jug?
Thankful was, I think, satisfied with her appearance. Small doubt but she had reason for it. And yet her gown was a mere slip of flowered chintz, gathered at the neck, and falling at an angle of fifteen degrees to within an inch of a short petticoat of gray flannel. But so surely is the complete mould of symmetry indicated in the poise or line of any single member, that looking at the erect carriage of her graceful brown head, or below to the curves that were lost in her shapely ankles, or the little feet that hid themselves in the broad-buckled shoes, you knew that the rest was as genuine and beautiful.
Mistress Thankful, after a pause, opened the door, and listened. Then she softly slipped down the back staircase to the front hall. It was dark; but the door of the "company-room," or parlor, was faintly indicated by the light that streamed beneath it. She stood still for a moment hesitatingly, when suddenly a hand grasped her own, and half led, half dragged her, into the sitting-room opposite. It was dark. There was a momentary fumbling for the tinder-box and flint, a muttered oath over one or two impeding articles of furniture, and Thankful laughed. And then the light was lit; and her father, a gray wrinkled man of sixty, still holding her hand, stood before her.
"You have been out, mistress!"
"I have," said Thankful.
"And not alone," growled the old man angrily.
"No," said Mistress Thankful, with a smile that began in the corners of her brown eyes, ran down into the dimpled curves of her mouth, and finally ended in the sudden revelation of her white teeth,--"no, not alone."
"With whom?" asked the old man, gradually weakening under her strong, saucy presence.
"Well, father," said Thankful, taking a seat on a table, and swinging her little feet somewhat ostentatiously toward him, "I was with Capt. Allan Brewster of the Connecticut Contingent."
"That man?"
"That man!"
"I forbid you seeing him again."
Thankful gripped the table with a hand on each side of her, to emphasize the statement, and swinging her feet replied,-- "I shall see him as often as I like, father."
"Thankful Blossom!"
"Abner Blossom!"
"I see you know not," said Mr. Blossom, abandoning the severely paternal mandatory air for one of confidential disclosure, "I see you know not his reputation. He is accused of inciting his regiment to revolt,--of being a traitor to the cause."
"And since when, Abner Blossom, have YOU felt such concern for the cause? Since you refused to sell supplies to the Continental commissary, except at double profits? since you told me you were glad I had not polities like Mistress Ford--" "Hush!" said the father, motioning to the parlor.
"Hush," echoed Thankful indignantly. "I won't be hushed! Everybody says 'Hush' to me. The count says 'Hush!' Allan says 'Hush!' You say 'Hush!' I'm a-weary of this hushing. Ah, if there was a man who didn't say it to me!" and Mistress Thankful lifted her fine eyes to the ceiling.
"You are unwise, Thankful,--foolish, indiscreet. That is why you require much monition."
Thankful swung her feet in silence for a few moments, then suddenly leaped from the table, and, seizing the old man by the lapels of his coat, fixed her eyes upon him, and said suspiciously. "Why did you keep me from going in the company-room? Why did you bring me in here?"
Blossom senior was staggered for a moment. "Because, you know, the count--" "And you were afraid the count should know I had a sweetheart? Well, I'll go in and tell him now," she said, marching toward the door.
"Then, why did you not tell him when you slipped out an hour ago? eh, lass?" queried the old man, grasping her hand. "But 'tis all one, Thankful: 'twas not for him I stopped you. There is a young spark with him,--ay, came even as you left, lass,--a likely young gallant; and he and the count are jabbering away in their own lingo, a kind of Italian, belike; eh, Thankful?"
"I know not," she said thoughtfully. "Which way came the other?" In fact, a fear that this young stranger might have witnessed the captain's embrace began to creep over her.
"From town, my lass."
Thankful turned to her father as if she had been waiting a reply to a long-asked question: "Well?"
"Were it not well to put on a few furbelows and a tucker?" queried the old man. " 'Tis a gallant young spark; none of your country folk."
"No," said Thankful, with the promptness of a woman who was looking her best, and knew it. And the old man, looking at her, accepted her judgment, and without another word led her to the parlor door, and, opening it, said briefly, "My daughter, Mistress Thankful Blossom."
With the opening of the door came the sound of earnest voices that instantly ceased upon the appearance of Mistress Thankful. Two gentlemen lolling before the fire arose instantly, and one came forward with an air of familiar yet respectful recognition.
"Nay, this is far too great happiness, Mistress Thankful," he said, with a strongly marked foreign accent, and a still more strongly marked foreign manner. "I have been in despair, and my friend here, the Baron Pomposo, likewise."
The slightest trace of a smile, and the swiftest of reproachful glances, lit up the dark face of the baron as he bowed low in the introduction. Thankful dropped the courtesy of the period,--i. e., a duck, with semicircular sweep of the right foot forward. But the right foot was so pretty, and the grace of the little figure so perfect, that the baron raised his eyes from the foot to the face in serious admiration. In the one rapid feminine glance she had given him, she had seen that he was handsome; in the second, which she could not help from his protracted silence, she saw that his beauty centred in his girlish, half fawn-like dark eyes.
"The baron," explained Mr. Blossom, rubbing his hands together as if through mere friction he was trying to impart a warmth to the reception which his hard face discountenanced,--"the baron visits us under discouragement. He comes from far countries. It is the custom of gentlefolk of--of foreign extraction to wander through strange lands, commenting upon the habits and doings of the peoples. He will find in Jersey," continued Mr. Blossom, apparently appealing to Thankful, yet really evading her contemptuous glance, "a hard-working yeomanry, ever ready to welcome the stranger, and account to him, penny for penny, for all his necessary expenditure; for which purpose, in these troublous times, he will provide for himself gold or other moneys not affected by these local disturbances."
"He will find, good friend Blossom," said the baron in a rapid, voluble way, utterly at variance with the soft, quiet gravity of his eyes, "Beauty, Grace, Accomplishment, and--eh--Santa Maria, what shall I say?" He turned appealingly to the count.
"Virtue," nodded the count.
"Truly, Birtoo! all in the fair lady of thees countries. Ah, believe me, honest friend Blossom, there is mooch more in thees than in thoss!"
So much of this speech was addressed to Mistress Thankful, that she had to show at least one dimple in reply, albeit her brows were slightly knit, and she had turned upon the speaker her honest, questioning eyes.
"And then the General Washington has been kind enough to offer his protection," added the count.
"Any fool--any one," supplemented Thankful hastily, with a slight blush--"may have the general's pass, ay, and his good word. But what of Mistress Prudence Bookstaver? --she that has a sweetheart in Knyphausen's brigade, ay,--I warrant a Hessian, but of gentle blood, as Mistress Prudence has often told me,--and, look you, all her letters stopped by the general, ay, I warrant, read by my Lady Washington too, as if 'twere HER fault that her lad was in arms against Congress. Riddle me that, now!" " 'Tis but prudence, lass," said Blossom, frowning on the girl. " 'Tis that she might disclose some movement of the army, tending to defeat the enemy."
"And why should she not try to save her lad from capture or ambuscade such as befell the Hessian commissary with the provisions that you--" Mr. Blossom, in an ostensible fatherly embrace, managed to pinch Mistress Thankful sharply. "Hush, lass," he said with simulated playfulness; "your tongue clacks like the Whippany mill. --My daughter has small concern--'tis the manner of womenfolk--in politics," he explained to his guests. "These dangersome days have given her sore affliction by way of parting comrades of her childhood, and others whom she has much affected. It has in some sort soured her."
Mr. Blossom would have recalled this speech as soon as it escaped him, lest it should lead to a revelation from the truthful Mistress Thankful of her relations with the Continental captain. But to his astonishment, and, I may add, to my own, she showed nothing of that disposition she had exhibited a few moments before. On the contrary, she blushed slightly, and said nothing.
And then the conversation changed,--upon the weather, the hard winter, the prospects of the Cause, a criticism upon the commander-in-chief's management of affairs, the attitude of Congress, etc., between Mr. Blossom and the count; characterized, I hardly need say, by that positiveness of opinion that distinguishes the unprofessional. In another part of the room, it so chanced that Mistress Thankful and the baron were talking about themselves; the assembly balls; who was the prettiest woman in Morristown; and whether Gen. Washington's attentions to Mistress Pyne were only perfunctory gallantry, or what; and if Lady Washington's hair was really gray; and if that young aide-de-camp, Major Van Zandt were really in love with Lady or whether his attentions were only the zeal of a subaltern,--in the midst of which a sudden gust of wind shook the house; and Mr. Blossom, going to the front door, came back with the announcement that it was snowing heavily.
And indeed, within that past hour, to their astonished eyes the whole face of nature had changed. The moon was gone, the sky hidden in a blinding, whirling swarm of stinging flakes. The wind, bitter and strong, had already fashioned white feathery drifts upon the threshold, over the painted benches on the porch, and against the door-posts.
Mistress Thankful and the baron had walked to the rear door--the baron with a slight tropical shudder--to view this meteorological change. As Mistress Thankful looked over the snowy landscape, it seemed to her that all record of her past experience had been effaced: her very footprints of an hour before were lost; the gray wall on which she leaned was white and spotless now; even the familiar farm-shed looked dim and strange and ghostly. Had she been there? had she seen the captain? was it all a fancy? She scarcely knew.
A sudden gust of wind closed the door behind them with a crash, and sent Mistress Thankful, with a slight feminine scream, forward into the outer darkness. But the baron caught her by the waist, and saved her from Heaven knows what imaginable disaster; and the scene ended in a half-hysterical laugh. But the wind then set upon them both with a malevolent fury; and the baron was, I presume, obliged to draw her closer to his side.
They were alone, save for the presence of those mischievous confederates, Nature and Opportunity. In the half-obscurity of the storm she could not help turning her mischievous eyes on his. But she was perhaps surprised to find them luminous, soft, and, as it seemed to her at that moment, grave beyond the occasion. An embarrassment utterly new and singular seized upon her; and when, as she half feared yet half expected, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers, she was for a moment powerless. But in the next instant she boxed his ears sharply, and vanished in the darkness. When Mr. Blossom opened the door to the baron he was surprised to find that gentleman alone, and still more surprised to find, when they re-entered the house, to see Mistress Thankful enter at the same moment, demurely, from the front door.
When Mr. Blossom knocked at his daughter's door the next morning it opened upon her completely dressed, but withal somewhat pale, and, if the truth must be told, a little surly.
"And you were stirring so early, Thankful," he said: "'twould have been but decent to have bidden God-speed to the guests, especially the baron, who seemed much concerned at your absence."
Miss Thankful blushed slightly, but answered with savage celerity, "And since when is it necessary that I should dance attendance upon every foreign jack-in-the-box that may lie at the house?"
"He has shown great courtesy to you, mistress, and is a gentleman."
"Courtesy, indeed!" said Mistress Thankful.
"He has not presumed?" said Mr. Blossom suddenly, bringing his cold gray eyes to bear upon his daughter's.
"No, no," said Thankful hurriedly, flaming a bright scarlet; "but--nothing. But what have you there? a letter?"
"Ay,--from the captain, I warrant," said Mr. Blossom, handing her a three-cornered bit of paper: "'twas left here by a camp-follower. Thankful," he continued, with a meaning glance, "you will heed my counsel in season. The captain is not meet for such as you."
Thankful suddenly grew pale and contemptuous again as she snatched the letter from his hand. When his retiring footsteps were lost on the stairs she regained her color, and opened the letter. It was slovenly written, grievously misspelled, and read as follows:-- "SWEETHEART: A tyranous Act, begotten in Envy and Jealousie, keeps me here a prisoner. Last night I was Basely arrested by Servile Hands for that Freedom of Thought and Expression for which I have already Sacrifized so much--aye all that Man hath but Love and Honour. But the End is Near. When for the Maintenance of Power, the Liberties of the Peoples are subdued by Martial Supremacy and the Dictates of Ambition the State is Lost. I lie in Vile Bondage here in Morristown under charge of Disrespeck--me that a twelvemonth past left a home and Respectable Connexions to serve my Country. Believe me still your own Love, albeit in the Power of Tyrants and condemned it may be to the scaffold.
"The Messenger is Trustworthy and will speed safely to me such as you may deliver unto him. The Provender sanktified by your Hands and made precious by yr. Love was wrested from me by Servil Hands and the Eggs, Sweetheart, were somewhat Addled. The Bacon is, methinks by this time on the Table of the Comr-in-Chief. Such is Tyranny and Ambition. Sweetheart, farewell, for the present.
ALLAN."
Mistress Thankful read this composition once, twice, and then tore it up. Then, reflecting that it was the first letter of her lover's that she had not kept, she tried to put together again the torn fragments, but vainly, and then in a pet, new to her, cast them from the window. During the rest of the day she was considerably distraite, and even manifested more temper than she was wont to do; and later, when her father rode away on his daily visit to Morristown, she felt strangely relieved. By noon the snow ceased, or rather turned into a driving sleet that again in turn gave way to rain. By this time she became absorbed in her household duties,--in which she was usually skilful,--and in her own thoughts that to-day had a novelty in their meaning. In the midst of this, at about dark, her room being in the rear of the house, she was perhaps unmindful of the trampling of horse without, or the sound of voices in the hall below. Neither was uncommon at that time. Although protected by the Continental army from forage or the rudeness of soldiery, the Blossom farm had always been a halting-place for passing troopers, commissary teamsters, and reconnoitring officers. Gen. Sullivan and Col. Hamilton had watered their horses at its broad, substantial wayside trough, and sat in the shade of its porch. Miss Thankful was only awakened from her daydream by the entrance of the negro farm-hand, Caesar.
"Fo' God, Missy Thankful, them sogers is g'wine into camp in the road, I reckon, for they's jest makin' theysevs free afo' the house, and they's an officer in the company-room with his spurs cocked on the table, readin' a book."
A quick flame leaped into Thankful's cheek, and her pretty brows knit themselves over darkening eyes. She arose from her work no longer the moody girl, but an indignant goddess, and, pushing the servant aside, swept down the stairs, and threw open the door.
An officer sitting by the fire in an easy, lounging attitude that justified the servant's criticism, arose instantly with an air of evident embarrassment and surprise that was, however, as quickly dominated and controlled by a gentleman's breeding.
"I beg your pardon," he said, with a deep inclination of his handsome head, "but I had no idea that there was any member of this household at home--at least, a lady." He hesitated a moment, catching in the raising of her brown-fringed lids a sudden revelation of her beauty, and partly losing his composure. "I am Major Van Zandt: I have the honor of addressing--" "Thankful Blossom," said Thankful a little proudly, divining with a woman's swift instinct the cause of the major's hesitation. But her triumph was checked by a new embarrassment visible in the face of the officer at the mention of her name.
"Thankful Blossom," repeated the officer quickly. "You are, then, the daughter of Abner Blossom?"
"Certainly," said Thankful, turning her inquiring eyes upon him. "He will be here betimes. He has gone only to Morristown." In a new fear that had taken possession of her, her questioning eyes asked, "Has he not?"
The officer, answering her eyes rather than her lips, came toward her gravely. "He will not return to-day, Mistress Thankful, nor perhaps even to-morrow. He is--a prisoner."
Thankful opened her brown eyes aggressively on the major. "A prisoner--for what?"
"For aiding and giving comfort to the enemy, and for harboring spies," replied the major with military curtness.
Mistress Thankful's cheek flushed slightly at the last sentence: a recollection of the scene on the porch and the baron's stolen kiss flashed across her, and for a moment she looked as guilty as if the man before her had been a witness to the deed. He saw it, and misinterpreted her confusion.
"Belike, then," said Mistress Thankful, slightly raising her voice, and standing squarely before the major, "belike, then, I should be a prisoner too; for the guests of this house, if they be spies, were MY guests, and, as my father's daughter, I was their hostess; ay, man, and right glad to be the hostess of such gallant gentlemen,--gentlemen, I warrant, too fine to insult a defenceless girl; gentlemen spies that did not cock their boots on the table, or turn an honest farmer's house into a tap-room."
An expression of half pain, half amusement, covered the face of the major, but he made no other reply than by a profound and graceful bow. Courteous and deprecatory as it was, it apparently exasperated Mistress Thankful only the more.
"And pray who are these spies, and who is the informer?" said Mistress Thankful, facing the soldier, with one hand truculently placed on her flexible hip, and the other slipped behind her. "Methinks 'tis only honest we should know when and how we have entertained both."
"Your father, Mistress Thankful," said Major Van Zandt gravely, "has long been suspected of favoring the enemy; but it has been the policy of the commander-in-chief to overlook the political preferences of non-combatants, and to strive to win their allegiance to the good cause by liberal privileges. But when it was lately discovered that two strangers, although bearing a pass from him, have been frequenters of this house under fictitious names--" "You mean Count Ferdinand and the Baron Pomposo," said Thankful quickly,--"two honest gentlefolk; and if they choose to pay their devoirs to a lass--although, perhaps, not a quality lady, yet an honest girl--" "Dear Mistress Thankful," said the major with a profound bow and smile, that, spite of its courtesy, drove Thankful to the verge of wrathful hysterics, "if you establish that fact,--and, from this slight acquaintance with your charms, I doubt not you will,--your father is safe from further inquiry or detention. The commander-in-chief is a gentleman who has never underrated the influence of your sex, nor held himself averse to its fascinations."
"What is the name of this informer?" broke in Mistress Thankful angrily. "Who is it that has dared--" "It is but king's evidence, mayhap, Mistress Thankful; for the informer is himself under arrest. It is on the information of Capt. Allan Brewster of the Connecticut Contingent."
Mistress Thankful whitened, then flushed, and then whitened again. Then she stood up to the major.
"It's a lie,--a cowardly lie!"
Major Van Zandt bowed. Mistress Thankful flew up stairs, and in another moment swept back again into the room in riding hat and habit.
"I suppose I can go and see--my father," she said, without lifting her eyes to the officer.
"You are free as air, Mistress Thankful. My orders and instructions, far from implicating you in your father's offences, do not even suggest your existence. Let me help you to your horse."
The girl did not reply. During that brief interval, however, Caesar had saddled her white mare, and brought it to the door. Mistress Thankful, disdaining the offered hand of the major, sprang to the saddle.
The major still held the reins. "One moment, Mistress Thankful."
"Let me go!" she said, with suppressed passion.
"One moment, I beg."
His hand still held her bridle-rein. The mare reared, nearly upsetting her. Crimson with rage and mortification, she raised her riding-whip, and laid it smartly over the face of the man before her.
He dropped the rein instantly. Then he raised to her a face calm and colorless, but for a red line extending from his eyebrow to his chin, and said quietly,-- "I had no desire to detain you. I only wished to say that when you see Gen. Washington I know you will be just enough to tell him that Major Van Zandt knew nothing of your wrongs, or even your presence here, until you presented them, and that since then he has treated you as became an officer and a gentleman."
Yet even as he spoke she was gone. At the moment that her fluttering skirt swept in a furious gallop down the hillside, the major turned, and re-entered the house. The few lounging troopers who were witnesses of the scene prudently turned their eyes from the white face and blazing eyes of their officer as he strode by them. Nevertheless, when the door closed behind him, contemporary criticism broke out:-- "'Tis a Tory jade, vexed that she cannot befool the major as she has the captain," muttered Sergeant Tibbitts.
"And going to try her tricks on the general," added Private Hicks.
Howbeit both these critics may have been wrong. For as Mistress Thankful thundered down the Morristown road she thought of many things. She thought of her sweetheart Allan, a prisoner, and pining for HER help and HER solicitude; and yet--how dared he--if he HAD really betrayed or misjudged her! And then she thought bitterly of the count and the baron, and burned to face the latter, and in some vague way charge the stolen kiss upon him as the cause of all her shame and mortification. And lastly she thought of her father, and began to hate everybody. But above all and through all, in her vague fears for her father, in her passionate indignation against the baron, in her fretful impatience of Allan, one thing was ever dominant and obtrusive; one thing she tried to put away, but could not,--the handsome, colorless face of Major Van Zandt, with the red welt of her riding-whip overlying its cold outlines.
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The rising wind, which had ridden much faster than Mistress Thankful, had increased to a gale by the time it reached Morristown. It swept through the leafless maples, and rattled the dry bones of the elms. It whistled through the quiet Presbyterian churchyard, as if trying to arouse the sleepers it had known in days gone by. It shook the blank, lustreless windows of the Assembly Rooms over the Freemasons' Tavern, and wrought in their gusty curtains moving shadows of those amply petticoated dames and tightly hosed cavaliers who had swung in "Sir Roger," or jigged in "Money Musk," the night before.
But I fancy it was around the isolated "Ford Mansion," better known as the "headquarters," that the wind wreaked its grotesque rage. It howled under its scant eaves, it sang under its bleak porch, it tweaked the peak of its front gable, it whistled through every chink and cranny of its square, solid, unpicturesque structure. Situated on a hillside that descended rapidly to the Whippany River, every summer zephyr that whispered through the porches of the Morristown farm-houses charged as a stiff breeze upon the swinging half doors and windows of the "Ford Mansion"; every wintry wind became a gale that threatened its security. The sentry who paced before its front porch knew from experience when to linger under its lee, and adjust his threadbare outer coat to the bitter north wind.
Within the house something of this cheerlessness prevailed. It had an ascetic gloom, which the scant firelight of the reception-room, and the dying embers on the dining-room hearth, failed to dissipate. The central hall was broad, and furnished plainly with a few rush-bottomed chairs, on one of which half dozed a black body-servant of the commander-in-chief. Two officers in the dining-room, drawn close by the chimney-corner, chatted in undertones, as if mindful that the door of the drawing-room was open, and their voices might break in upon its sacred privacy. The swinging light in the hall partly illuminated it, or rather glanced gloomily from the black polished furniture, the lustreless chairs, the quaint cabinet, the silent spinet, the skeleton-legged centre-table, and finally upon the motionless figure of a man seated by the fire.
It was a figure since so well known to the civilized world, since so celebrated in print and painting, as to need no description here. Its rare combination of gentle dignity with profound force, of a set resoluteness of purpose with a philosophical patience, have been so frequently delivered to a people not particularly remarkable for these qualities, that I fear it has too often provoked a spirit of playful aggression, in which the deeper underlying meaning was forgotten. So let me add that in manner, physical equipoise, and even in the mere details of dress, this figure indicated a certain aristocratic exclusiveness. It was the presentment of a king,--a king who by the irony of circumstances was just then waging war against all kingship; a ruler of men, who just then was fighting for the right of these men to govern themselves, but whom by his own inherent right he dominated. From the crown of his powdered head to the silver buckle of his shoe he was so royal that it was not strange that his brother George of England and Hanover--ruling by accident, otherwise impiously known as the "grace of God"--could find no better way of resisting his power than by calling him "Mr. Washington."
The sound of horses' hoofs, the formal challenge of sentry, the grave questioning of the officer of the guard, followed by footsteps upon the porch, did not apparently disturb his meditation. Nor did the opening of the outer door, and a charge of cold air into the hall that invaded even the privacy of the reception-room, and brightened the dying embers on the hearth, stir his calm pre-occupation. But an instant later there was the distinct rustle of a feminine skirt in the hall, a hurried whispering of men's voices, and then the sudden apparition of a smooth, fresh-faced young officer over the shoulder of the unconscious figure.
"I beg your pardon, general," said the officer doubtingly, "but--" "You are not intruding, Col. Hamilton," said the general quietly.
"There is a young lady without who wishes an audience of your Excellency. 'Tis Mistress Thankful Blossom,--the daughter of Abner Blossom, charged with treasonous practice and favoring the enemy, now in the guard-house at Morristown."
"Thankful Blossom?" repeated the general interrogatively.
"Your Excellency doubtless remembers a little provincial beauty and a famous toast of the country-side,--the Cressida of our Morristown epic, who led our gallant. Connecticut captain astray--" "You have the advantages, besides the better memory of a younger man, colonel," said Washington, with a playful smile that slightly reddened the cheek of his aide-de-camp. "Yet I think I HAVE heard of this phenomenon. By all means, admit her--and her escort."
"She is alone, general," responded the subordinate.
"Then the more reason why we should be polite," returned Washington, for the first time altering his easy posture, rising to his feet, and lightly clasping his ruffled hands before him. "We must not keep her waiting. Give her access, my dear colonel, at once; and even as she came,--ALONE."
The aide-de-camp bowed and withdrew. In another moment the half-opened door swung wide to Mistress Thankful Blossom.
She was so beautiful in her simple riding-dress, so quaint and original in that very beauty, and, above all, so teeming with a certain vital earnestness of purpose just positive and audacious enough to set off that beauty, that the grave gentleman before her did not content himself with the usual formal inclination of courtesy, but actually advanced, and, taking her cold little hand in his, graciously led her to the chair he had just vacated.
"Even if your name were not known to me, Mistress Thankful," said the commander-in-chief, looking down upon her with grave politeness, "nature has, methinks, spared you the necessity of any introduction to the courtesy of a gentleman. But how can I especially serve you?"
Alack! the blaze of Mistress Thankful's brown eyes had become somewhat dimmed in the grave half-lights of the room, in the graver, deeper dignity of the erect, soldier-like figure before her. The bright color born of the tempest within and without had somehow faded from her cheek; the sauciness begotten from bullying her horse in the last half-hour's rapid ride was so subdued by the actual presence of the man she had come to bully, that I fear she had to use all her self-control to keep down her inclination to whimper, and to keep back the tears, that, oddly enough, rose to her sweet eyes as she lifted them to the quietly critical yet placid glance of her interlocutor.
"I can readily conceive the motive of this visit, Miss Thankful," continued Washington, with a certain dignified kindliness that was more reassuring than the formal gallantry of the period; "and it is, I protest, to your credit. A father's welfare, however erring and weak that father may be, is most seemly in a maiden--" Thankful's eyes flashed again as she rose to her feet. Her upper lip, that had a moment before trembled in a pretty infantine distress, now stiffened and curled as she confronted the dignified figure before her. "It is not of my father I would speak," she said saucily: "I did not ride here alone to-night, in this weather, to talk of HIM; I warrant HE can speak for himself. I came here to speak of myself, of lies--ay, LIES told of me, a poor girl; ay, of cowardly gossip about me and my sweetheart, Capt. Brewster, now confined in prison because he hath loved me, a lass without polities or adherence to the cause--as if 'twere necessary every lad should ask the confidence or permission of yourself or, belike, my Lady Washington, in his preferences."
She paused a moment, out of breath. With a woman's quickness of intuition she saw the change in Washington's face,--saw a certain cold severity overshadowing it. With a woman's fateful persistency--a persistency which I humbly suggest might, on occasion, be honorably copied by our more politic sex--she went on to say what was in her, even if she were obliged, with a woman's honorable inconsistency, to unsay it an hour or two later; an inconsistency which I also humbly protest might be as honorably imitated by us--on occasion.
"It has been said," said Thankful Blossom quickly, "that my father has given entertainment knowingly to two spies,--two spies that, begging your Excellency's pardon, and the pardon of Congress, I know only as two honorable gentlemen who have as honorably tendered me their affections. It is said, and basely and most falsely too, that my sweetheart, Capt. Allan Brewster, has lodged this information. I have ridden here to deny it. I have ridden here to demand of you that an honest woman's reputation shall not be sacrificed to the interests of politics; that a prying mob of ragamuffins shall not be sent to an honest farmer's house to spy and spy--and turn a poor girl out of doors that they might do it. 'Tis shameful, so it is; there! 'tis most scandalous, so it is: there, now! Spies, indeed! what are THEY, pray?"
In the indignation which the recollection of her wrongs had slowly gathered in her, from the beginning of this speech, she had advanced her face, rosy with courage, and beautiful in its impertinence, within a few inches of the dignified features and quiet gray eyes of the great commander. To her utter stupefaction, he bent his head and kissed her, with a grave benignity, full on the centre of her audacious forehead.
"Be seated, I beg, Mistress Blossom," he said, taking her cold hand in his, and quietly replacing her in the unoccupied chair. "Be seated, I beg, and give me, if you can, your attention for a moment. The officer intrusted with the ungracious task of occupying your father's house is a member of my military family, and a gentleman. If he has so far forgotten himself--if he has so far disgraced himself and me as--" "No! no!" uttered Thankful, with feverish alacrity, "the gentleman was most considerate. On the contrary--mayhap--I"--she hesitated, and then came to a full stop, with a heightened color, as a vivid recollection of that gentleman's face, with the mark of her riding-whip lying across it, rose before her.
"I was about to say that Major Van Zandt, as a gentleman, has known how to fully excuse the natural impulses of a daughter," continued Washington, with a look of perfect understanding; "but let me now satisfy you on another point, where it would seem we greatly differ."
He walked to the door, and summoned his servant, to whom he gave an order. In another moment the fresh-faced young officer who had at first admitted her re-appeared with a file of official papers. He glanced slyly at Thankful Blossom's face with an amused look, as if he had already heard the colloquy between her and his superior officer, and had appreciated that which neither of the earnest actors in the scene had themselves felt,--a certain sense of humor in the situation.
Howbeit, standing before them, Col. Hamilton gravely turned over the file of papers. Thankful bit her lips in embarrassment. A slight feeling of awe, and a presentiment of some fast-coming shame; a new and strange consciousness of herself, her surroundings, of the dignity of the two men before her; an uneasy feeling of the presence of two ladies who had in some mysterious way entered the room from another door, and who seemed to be intently regarding her from afar with a curiosity as if she were some strange animal; and a wild premonition that her whole future life and happiness depended upon the events of the next few moments,--so took possession of her, that the brave girl trembled for a moment in her isolation and loneliness. In another instant Col. Hamilton, speaking to his superior, but looking obviously at one of the ladies who had entered, handed a paper to Washington, and said, "Here are the charges."
"Read them," said the general coldly.
Col. Hamilton, with a manifest consciousness of another hearer than Mistress Blossom and his general, read the paper. It was couched in phrases of military and legal precision, and related briefly, that upon the certain and personal knowledge of the writer, Abner Blossom of the "Blossom Farm" was in the habit of entertaining two gentlemen, namely, the "Count Ferdinand" and the "Baron Pomposo," suspected enemies of the cause, and possible traitors to the Continental army. It was signed by Allan Brewster, late captain in the Connecticut Contingent.
As Col. Hamilton exhibited the signature, Thankful Blossom had no difficulty in recognizing the familiar bad hand and equally familiar mis-spelling of her lover.
She rose to her feet. With eyes that showed her present trouble and perplexity as frankly as they had a moment before blazed with her indignation, she met, one by one, the glances of the group who now seemed to be closing round her. Yet with a woman's instinct she felt, I am constrained to say, more unfriendliness in the silent presence of the two women than in the possible outspoken criticism of our much-abused sex.
"Of course," said a voice which Thankful at once, by a woman's unerring instinct, recognized as the elder of the two ladies, and the legitimate keeper of the conscience of some one of the men who were present,--"of course Mistress Thankful will be able to elect which of her lovers among her country's enemies she will be able to cling to for support in her present emergency. She does not seem to have been so special in her favors as to have positively excluded any one."
"At least, dear Lady Washington, she will not give it to the man who has proven a traitor to HER," said the younger woman impulsively. "That is--I beg your ladyship's pardon"--she hesitated, observing in the dead silence that ensued that the two superior male beings present looked at each other in lofty astonishment.
"He that is trait'rous to his country," said Lady Washington coldly, "is apt to be trait'rous elsewhere." " 'Twere as honest to say that he that was trait'rous to his king was trait'rous to his country," said Mistress Thankful with sudden audacity, bending her knit brows on Lady Washington. But that lady turned dignifiedly away, and Mistress Thankful again faced the general.
"I ask your pardon," she said proudly, "for troubling you with my wrongs. But it seems to me that even if another and a greater wrong were done me by my sweetheart, through jealousy, it would not justify this accusation against me, even though," she added, darting a wicked glance at the placid brocaded back of Lady Washington, "even though that accusation came from one who knows that jealousy may belong to the wife of a patriot as well as a traitor." She was herself again after this speech, although her face was white with the blow she had taken and returned.
Col. Hamilton passed his hand across his mouth, and coughed slightly. Gen. Washington, standing by the fire with an impassive face, turned to Thankful gravely:-- "You are forgetting, Mistress Thankful, that you have not told me how I can serve you. It cannot be that you are still concerned in Capt. Brewster, who has given evidence against your other--FRIENDS, and tacitly against YOU. Nor can it be on their account, for I regret to say they are still free and unknown. If you come with any information exculpating them, and showing they are not spies or hostile to the cause, your father's release shall be certain and speedy. Let me ask you a single question: Why do you believe them honest?"
"Because," said Mistress Thankful, "they were--were--gentlemen."
"Many spies have been of excellent family, good address, and fair talents," said Washington gravely; "but you have, mayhap, some other reason."
"Because they talked only to ME," said Mistress Thankful, blushing mightily; "because they preferred my company to father's; because"--she hesitated a moment--"because they spoke not of politics, but--of--that which lads mainly talk of--and--and,"--here she broke down a little,--"and the baron I only saw once, but he"--here she broke down utterly--"I know they weren't spies: there, now!"
"I must ask you something more," said Washington, with grave kindness: "whether you give me the information or not, you will consider, that, if what you believe is true, it cannot in any way injure the gentlemen you speak of; while, on the other hand, it may relieve your father of suspicion. Will you give to Col. Hamilton, my secretary, a full description of them,--that fuller description which Capt. Brewster, for reasons best known to yourself, was unable to give?"
Mistress Thankful hesitated for a moment, and then, with one of her truthful glances at the commander-in-chief, began a detailed account of the outward semblance of the count. Why she began with him, I am unable to say; but possibly it was because it was easier, for when she came to describe the baron, she was, I regret to say, somewhat vague and figurative. Not so vague, however, but that Col. Hamilton suddenly started up with a look at his chief, who instantly checked it with a gesture of his ruffled hand.
"I thank you. Mistress Thankful," he said quite impassively, "but did this other gentleman, this baron--" "Pomposo," said Thankful proudly. A titter originated in the group of ladies by the window, and became visible on the fresh face of Col. Hamilton; but the dignified color of Washington's countenance was unmoved.
"May I ask if the baron made an honorable tender of his affections to you," he continued, with respectful gravity,--"if his attentions were known to your father, and were such as honest Mistress Blossom could receive?"
"Father introduced him to me, and wanted me to be kind to him. He--he kissed me, and I slapped his face," said Thankful quickly, with cheeks as red, I warrant, as the baron's might have been.
The moment the words had escaped her truthful lips, she would have given her life to recall them. To her astonishment, however, Col. Hamilton laughed outright, and the ladies turned and approached her, but were checked by a slight gesture from the otherwise impassive figure of the general.
"It is possible, Mistress Thankful," he resumed, with undisturbed composure, "that one at least of these gentlemen may be known to us, and that your instincts may be correct. At least rest assured that we shall fully inquire into it, and that your father shall have the benefit of that inquiry."
"I thank your Excellency," said Thankful, still reddening under the contemplation of her own late frankness, and retreating toward the door. "I--think--I--must--go--now. It is late, and I have far to ride."
To her surprise, however, Washington stepped forward, and, again taking her hands in his, said with a grave smile, "For that very reason, if for none other, you must be our guest to-night, Mistress Thankful Blossom. We still retain our Virginian ideas of hospitality, and are tyrannous enough to make strangers conform to them, even though we have but perchance the poorest of entertainment to offer them. Lady Washington will not permit Mistress Thankful Blossom to leave her roof to-night until she has partaken of her courtesy as well as her counsel."
"Mistress Thankful Blossom will make us believe that she has at least in so far trusted our desire to serve her justly, by accepting our poor hospitality for a single night," said Lady Washington, with a stately courtesy.
Thankful Blossom still stood irresolutely at the door. But the next moment a pair of youthful arms encircled her; and the younger gentlewoman, looking into her brown eyes with an honest frankness equal to her own, said caressingly, "Dear Mistress Thankful, though I am but a guest in her ladyship's house, let me, I pray you, add my voice to hers. I am Mistress Schuyler of Albany, at your service, Mistress Thankful, as Col. Hamilton here will bear me witness, did I need any interpreter to your honest heart. Believe me, dear Mistress Thankful, I sympathize with you, and only beg you to give me an opportunity to-night to serve you. You will stay, I know, and you will stay with me; and we shall talk over the faithlessness of that over-jealous Yankee captain who has proved himself, I doubt not, as unworthy of YOU as he is of his country."
Hateful to Thankful as was the idea of being commiserated, she nevertheless could not resist the gentle courtesy and gracious sympathy of Miss Schuyler. Besides, it must be confessed that for the first time in her life she felt a doubt of the power of her own independence, and a strange fascination for this young gentlewoman whose arms were around her, who could so thoroughly sympathize with her, and yet allow herself to be snubbed by Lady Washington.
"You have a mother, I doubt not?" said Thankful, raising her questioning eyes to Miss Schuyler.
Irrelevant as this question seemed to the two gentlemen, Miss Schuyler answered it with feminine intuition: "And you, dear Mistress Thankful--" "Have none," said Thankful; and here, I regret to say, she whimpered slightly, at which Miss Schuyler, with tears in her own fine eyes, bent her head suddenly to Thankful's ear, put her arm about the waist of the pretty stranger, and then, to the astonishment of Col. Hamilton, quietly swept her out of the august presence.
When the door had closed upon them, Col. Hamilton turned half-smilingly, half-inquiringly, to his chief. Washington returned his glance kindly but gravely, and then said quietly,-- "If your suspicions jump with mine, colonel, I need not remind you that it is a matter so delicate that it would be as well if you locked it in your own breast for the present; at least, that you should not intimate to the gentleman whom you may have suspected, aught that has passed this evening."
"As you will, general," said the subaltern respectfully; "but may I ask"--he hesitated--"if you believe that anything more than a passing fancy for a pretty girl--" "When I asked your silence, colonel," interrupted Washington kindly, laying his hand upon the shoulder of the younger man, "it was because I thought the matter sufficiently momentous to claim my own private and especial attention."
"I ask your Excellency's pardon," said the young man, reddening through his fresh complexion like a girl; "I only meant--" "That you would ask to be relieved to-night," interrupted Washington, with a benign smile, "forasmuch as you wished the more to show entertainment to our dear friend Miss Schuyler, and her guest; a wayward girl, colonel, but, methinks, an honest one. Treat her of your own quality, colonel, but discreetly, and not too kindly, lest we have Mistress Schuyler, another injured damsel, on our hands;" and with a half playful gesture peculiar to the man, and yet not inconsistent with his dignity, he half led, half pushed his youthful secretary from the room.
When the door had closed upon the colonel, Lady Washington rustled toward her husband, who stood still, quiet and passive, on the hearthstone.
"You surely see in this escapade nothing of political intrigue--no treachery?" she said hastily.
"No," said Washington quietly.
"Nothing more than an idle, wanton intrigue with a foolish, vain country girl?"
"Pardon me, my lady," said Washington gravely. "I doubt not we may misjudge her. 'Tis no common rustic lass that can thus stir the country side. 'Twere an insult to your sex to believe it. It is not yet sure that she has not captured even so high game as she has named. If she has, it would add another interest to a treaty of comity and alliance."
"That creature!" said Lady Washington,--"that light-o'-love with her Connecticut captain lover! Pardon me, but this is preposterous;" and with a stiff courtesy she swept from the room, leaving the central figure of history--as such central figures are apt to be left--alone.
Later in the evening Mistress Schuyler so far subdued the tears and emotions of Thankful, that she was enabled to dry her eyes, and re-arrange her brown hair in the quaint little mirror in Mistress Schuyler's chamber; Mistress Schuyler herself lending a touch and suggestion here and there, after the secret freemasonry of her sex. "You are well rid of this forsworn captain, dear Mistress Thankful; and methinks that with hair as beautiful as yours, the new style of wearing it, though a modish frivolity, is most becoming. I assure you 'tis much affected in New York and Philadelphia,--drawn straight back from the forehead, after this manner, as you see."
The result was, that an hour later Mistress Schuyler and Mistress Blossom presented themselves to Col. Hamilton in the reception-room, with a certain freshness and elaboration of toilet that not only quite shamed the young officer's affaire negligence, but caused him to open his eyes in astonishment. "Perhaps she would rather be alone, that she might indulge her grief," he said doubtingly, in an aside to Miss Schuyler, "rather than appear in company."
"Nonsense," quoth Mistress Schuyler. "Is a young woman to mope and sigh because her lover proves false?"
"But her father is a prisoner," said Hamilton in amazement.
"Can you look me in the face," said Mistress Schuyler mischievously, "and tell me that you don't know that in twenty-four hours her father will be cleared of these charges? Nonsense! Do you think I have no eyes in my head? Do you think I misread the general's face and your own?"
"But, my dear girl," said the officer in alarm.
"Oh! I told her so, but not WHY," responded Miss Schuyler with a wicked look in her dark eyes, "though I had warrant enough to do so, to serve you for keeping a secret from ME!"
And with this Parthian shot she returned to Mistress Thankful, who, with her face pressed against the window, was looking out on the moonlit slope beside the Whippany River.
For, by one of those freaks peculiar to the American springtide, the weather had again marvellously changed. The rain had ceased, and the ground was covered with an icing of sleet and snow, that now glittered under a clear sky and a brilliant moon. The northeast wind that shook the loose sashes of the windows had transformed each dripping tree and shrub to icy stalactites that silvered under the moon's cold touch. " 'Tis a beautiful sight, ladies," said a bluff, hearty, middle-aged man, joining the group by the window. "But God send the spring to us quickly, and spare us any more such cruel changes! My lady moon looks fine enough, glittering in yonder treetops; but I doubt not she looks down upon many a poor fellow shivering under his tattered blankets in the camp beyond. Had ye seen the Connecticut tatterdemalions file by last night, with arms reversed, showing their teeth at his Excellency, and yet not daring to bite; had ye watched these faint-hearts, these doubting Thomases, ripe for rebellion against his Excellency, against the cause, but chiefly against the weather,--ye would pray for a thaw that would melt the hearts of these men as it would these stubborn fields around us. Two weeks more of such weather would raise up not one Allan Brewster, but a dozen such malcontent puppies ripe for a drum-head court-martial."
"Yet 'tis a fine night, Gen. Sullivan," said Col. Hamilton, sharply nudging the ribs of his superior officer with his elbow. "There would be little trouble on such a night, I fancy, to track our ghostly visitant." Both of the ladies becoming interested, and Col. Hamilton having thus adroitly turned the flank of his superior officer, he went on, "You should know that the camp, and indeed the whole locality here, is said to be haunted by the apparition of a gray-coated figure, whose face is muffled and hidden in his collar, but who has the password pat to his lips, and whose identity hath baffled the sentries. This figure, it is said, forasmuch as it has been seen just before an assault, an attack, or some tribulation of the army, is believed by many to be the genius or guardian spirit of the cause, and, as such, has incited sentries and guards to greater vigilance, and has to some seemed a premonition of disaster. Before the last outbreak of the Connecticut militia, Master Graycoat haunted the outskirts of the weather-beaten and bedraggled camp, and, I doubt not, saw much of that preparation that sent that regiment of faint-hearted onion-gatherers to flaunt their woes and their wrongs in the face of the general himself."
Here Col. Hamilton, in turn, received a slight nudge from Mistress Schuyler, and ended his speech somewhat abruptly.
Mistress Thankful was not unmindful of both these allusions to her faithless lover, but only a consciousness of mortification and wounded pride was awakened by them. In fact, during the first tempest of her indignation at his arrest, still later at the arrest of her father, and finally at the discovery of his perfidy to her, she had forgotten that he was her lover; she had forgotten her previous tenderness toward him; and, now that her fire and indignation were spent, only a sense of numbness and vacancy remained. All that had gone before seemed not something to be regretted as her own act, but rather as the act of another Thankful Blossom, who had been lost that night in the snow-storm: she felt she had become, within the last twenty-four hours, not perhaps ANOTHER woman, but for the first time a WOMEN.
Yet it was singular that she felt more confused when, a few moments later, the conversation turned upon Major Van Zandt: it was still more singular that she even felt considerably frightened at that confusion. Finally she found herself listening with alternate irritability, shame, and curiosity, to praises of that gentleman, of his courage, his devotion, and his personal graces. For one wild moment Thankful felt like throwing herself on the breast of Mistress Schuyler, and confessing her rudeness to the major; but a conviction that Mistress Schuyler would share that secret with Col. Hamilton, that Major Van Zandt might not like that revelation, and, oddly enough associated with this, a feeling of unconquerable irritability toward that handsome and gentle young officer, kept her mouth closed. "Besides," she said to herself, "he ought to know, if he's such a fine gentleman as they say, just how I was feeling, and that I don't mean any rudeness to him;" and with this unanswerable feminine logic poor Thankful to some extent stilled her own honest little heart.
But not, I fear, entirely. The night was a restless one to her: like all impulsive natures, the season of reflection, and perhaps distrust, came to her upon acts that were already committed, and when reason seemed to light the way only to despair. She saw the folly of her intrusion at the headquarters, as she thought, only when it was too late to remedy it; she saw the gracelessness and discourtesy of her conduct to Major Van Zandt, only when distance and time rendered an apology weak and ineffectual. I think she cried a little to herself, lying in the strange gloomy chamber of the healthfully sleeping Mistress Schuyler, the sweet security of whose manifest goodness and kindness she alternately hated and envied; and at last, unable to stand it longer, slipped noiselessly from her bed, and stood very wretched and disconsolate before the window that looked out upon the slope toward the Whippany River. The moon on the new-fallen, frigid, and untrodden snow shone brightly. Far to the left it glittered on the bayonet of a sentry pacing beside the river-bank, and gave a sense of security to the girl that perhaps strengthened another idea that had grown up in her mind. Since she could not sleep, why should she not ramble about until she could? She had been accustomed to roam about the farm in all weathers and at all times and seasons. She recalled to herself the night--a tempestuous one--when she had risen in serious concern as to the lying-in of her favorite Alderney heifer, and how she had saved the life of the calf, a weakling, dropped apparently from the clouds in the tempest, as it lay beside the barn. With this in her mind, she donned her dress again, and, with Mistress Schuyler's mantle over her shoulders, noiselessly crept down the narrow staircase, passed the sleeping servant on the settee, and, opening the rear door, in another moment was inhaling the crisp air, and tripping down the crisp snow of the hillside.
But Mistress Thankful had overlooked one difference between her own farm and a military encampment. She had not proceeded a dozen yards before a figure apparently started out of the ground beneath her, and, levelling a bayoneted musket across her path, called, "Halt!"
The hot blood mounted to the girl's cheek at the first imperative command she had ever received in her life: nevertheless she halted unconsciously, and without a word confronted the challenger with her old audacity.
"Who comes there?" reiterated the sentry, still keeping his bayonet level with her breast.
"Thankful Blossom," she responded promptly.
The sentry brought his musket to a "present." "Pass, Thankful Blossom, and God send it soon and the spring with it, and good-night," he said, with a strong Milesian accent. And before the still-amazed girl could comprehend the meaning of his abrupt challenge, or his equally abrupt departure, he had resumed his monotonous pace in the moonlight. Indeed, as she stood looking after him, the whole episode, the odd unreality of the moonlit landscape, the novelty of her position, the morbid play of her thoughts, seemed to make it part of a dream which the morning light might dissipate, but could never fully explain.
With something of this feeling still upon her, she kept her way to the river. Its banks were still fringed with ice, through which its dark current flowed noiselessly. She knew it flowed through the camp where lay her faithless lover, and for an instant indulged the thought of following it, and facing him with the proof of his guilt; but even at the thought she recoiled with a new and sudden doubt in herself, and stood dreamily watching the shimmer of the moon on the icy banks, until another, and, it seemed to her, equally unreal vision suddenly stayed her feet, and drove the blood from her feverish cheeks.
A figure was slowly approaching from the direction of the sleeping encampment. Tall, erect, and habited in a gray surtout, with a hood partially concealing its face, it was the counterfeit presentment of the ghostly visitant she had heard described. Thankful scarcely breathed. The brave little heart that had not quailed before the sentry's levelled musket a moment before now faltered and stood still, as the phantom with a slow and majestic tread moved toward her. She had only time to gain the shelter of a tree before the figure, majestically unconscious of her presence, passed slowly by. Through all her terror Thankful was still true to a certain rustic habit of practical perception to observe that the tread of the phantom was quite audible over the crust of snow, and was visible and palpable as the imprint of a military boot.
The blood came back to Thankful's cheek, and with it her old audacity. In another instant she was out from the tree, and tracking with a light feline tread the apparition that now loomed up the hill before her. Slipping from tree to tree, she followed until it passed before the door of a low hut or farm-shed that stood midway up the hill. Here it entered, and the door closed behind it. With every sense feverishly alert, Thankful, from the secure advantage of a large maple, watched the door of the hut. In a few moments it re-opened to the same figure free of its gray enwrappings. Forgetful of every thing now, but detecting the face of the impostor, the fearless girl left the tree, and placed herself directly in the path of the figure. At the same moment it turned toward her inquiringly, and the moonlight fell full upon the calm, composed features of Gen. Washington.
In her consternation Thankful could only drop an embarrassed courtesy, and hang out two lovely signals of distress in her cheeks. The face of the pseudo ghost alone remained unmoved.
"You are wandering late, Mistress Thankful," he said at last, with a paternal gravity; "and I fear that the formal restraint of a military household has already given you some embarrassment. Yonder sentry, for instance, might have stopped you."
"Oh, he did!" said Thankful quickly; "but it's all right, please your Excellency. He asked me 'Who went there,' and I told him; and he was vastly polite, I assure you."
The grave features of the commander-in-chief relaxed in a smile. "You are more happy than most of your sex in turning a verbal compliment to practical account. For know then, dear young lady, that in honor of your visit to the headquarters, the password to-night through this encampment was none other than your own pretty patronymic,--'Thankful Blossom.'"
The tears glittered in the girl's eyes, and her lip trembled; but, with all her readiness of speech, she could only say, "Oh, your Excellency."
"Then you DID pass the sentry?" continued Washington, looking at her intently with a certain grave watchfulness in his gray eyes. "And doubtless you wandered at the river-bank. Although I myself, tempted by the night, sometimes extend my walk as far as yonder shed, it were a hazardous act for a young lady to pass beyond the protection of the line."
"Oh! I met no one, your Excellency," said the usually truthful Thankful hastily, rushing to her first lie with grateful impetuosity.
"And saw no one?" asked Washington quietly.
"No one," said Thankful, raising her brown eyes to the general's.
They both looked at each other,--the naturally most veracious young woman in the colonies, and the subsequent allegorical impersonation of truth in America,--and knew each other lied, and, I imagine, respected each other for it.
"I am glad to hear you say so, Mistress Thankful," said Washington quietly; "for 'twould have been natural for you to have sought an interview with your recreant lover in yonder camp, though the attempt would have been unwise and impossible."
"I had no such thought, your Excellency," said Thankful, who had really quite forgotten her late intention; "yet, if with your permission I could hold a few moments' converse with Capt. Brewster, it would greatly ease my mind." " 'Twould not be well for the present," said Washington thoughtfully. "But in a day or two Capt. Brewster will be tried by court-martial at Morristown. It shall be so ordered that when he is conveyed thither his guard shall halt at the Blossom Farm. I will see that the officer in command gives you an opportunity to see him. And I think I can promise also, Mistress Thankful, that your father shall be also present under his own roof, a free man."
They had reached the entrance to the mansion, and entered the hall. Thankful turned impulsively, and kissed the extended hand of the commander. "You are so good! I have been so foolish--so very, very wrong," she said, with a slight trembling of her lip. "And your Excellency believes my story; and those gentlemen were NOT spies, but even as they gave themselves to be."
"I said not that much," replied Washington with a kindly smile, "but no matter. Tell me rather, Mistress Thankful, how far your acquaintance with these gentlemen has gone; or did it end with the box on the ear that you gave the baron?"
"He had asked me to ride with him to the Baskingridge, and I--had said--yes," faltered Mistress Thankful.
"Unless I misjudge you, Mistress Thankful, you can without great sacrifice promise me that you will not see him until I give you my permission," said Washington, with grave playfulness.
The swinging light shone full in Thankful's truthful eyes as she lifted them to his.
"I do," she said quietly.
"Good-night," said the commander, with a formal bow.
"Good-night, your Excellency."
|
{
"id": "2177"
}
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4
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None
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The sun was high over the Short Hills when Mistress Thankful, the next day, drew up her sweating mare beside the Blossom Farm gate. She had never looked prettier, she had never felt more embarrassed, as she entered her own house. During her rapid ride she had already framed a speech of apology to Major Van Zandt, which, however, utterly fled from her lips as that officer showed himself respectfully on the threshold. Yet she permitted him to usurp the functions of the grinning Caesar, and help her from her horse; albeit she was conscious of exhibiting the awkward timidity of a bashful rustic, until at last, with a stammering, "Thank ye," she actually ran up stairs to hide her glowing face and far too conscious eyelids.
During the rest of that day Major Van Zandt quietly kept out of the way, without obtrusively seeming to avoid her. Yet, when they met casually in the performance of her household duties, the innocent Mistress Thankful noticed, under her downcast penitential eyelids, that the eyes of the officer followed her intently. And thereat she fell unconsciously to imitating him; and so they eyed each other furtively like cats, and rubbed themselves along the walls of rooms and passages when they met, lest they should seem designedly to come near each other, and enacted the gravest and most formal of genuflexions, courtesies, and bows, when they accidentally DID meet. And just at the close of the second day, as the elegant Major Van Zandt was feeling himself fast becoming a drivelling idiot and an awkward country booby, the arrival of a courier from headquarters saved that gentleman his self-respect forever.
Mistress Thankful was in her sitting-room when he knocked at her door. She opened it in sudden, conscious trepidation.
"I ask pardon for intruding, Mistress Thankful Blossom," he said gravely; "but I have here"--he held out a pretentious document--"a letter for you from headquarters. May I hope that it contains good news,--the release of your father. --and that it relieves you from my presence, and an espionage which I assure you cannot be more unpleasant to you than it has been to myself."
As he entered the room, Thankful had risen to her feet with the full intention of delivering to him her little set apology; but, as he ended his speech, she looked at him blankly, and burst out crying.
Of course he was in an instant at her side, and holding her cold little hand. Then she managed to say, between her tears, that she had been wanting to make an apology to him; that she had wanted to say ever since she arrived that she had been rude, very rude, and that she knew he never could forgive her; that she had been trying to say that she never could forget his gentle forbearance: "only," she added, suddenly raising her tear-fringed brown lids to the astonished man, "YOU WOULDN'T EVER LET ME!"
"Dear Mistress Thankful," said the major, in conscience-stricken horror, "if I have made myself distant to you, believe me it was only because I feared to intrude upon your sorrow. I really--dear Mistress Thankful--I--" "When you took all the pains to go round the hall instead of through the dining-room, lest I should ask you to forgive me," sobbed Mistress Thankful, "I thought--you--must--hate me, and preferred to--" "Perhaps this letter may mitigate your sorrow, Mistress Thankful," said the officer, pointing to the letter she still held unconsciously in her hand.
With a blush at her pre-occupation, Thankful opened the letter. It was a half-official document, and ran as follows:-- "The Commander-in-Chief is glad to inform Mistress Thankful Blossom that the charges preferred against her father have, upon fair examination, been found groundless and trivial. The Commander-in-Chief further begs to inform Mistress Blossom that the gentleman known to her under the name of the 'Baron Pomposo' was his Excellency Don Juan Morales, Ambassador and Envoy Extraordinary of the Court of Spain, and that the gentleman known to her as the 'Count Ferdinand' was Senor Godoy, Secretary to the Embassy. The Commander-in-Chief wishes to add that Mistress Thankful Blossom is relieved of any further obligation of hospitality toward these honorable gentlemen, as the Commander-in-Chief regrets to record the sudden and deeply-to-be-deplored death of his Excellency this morning by typhoid fever, and the possible speedy return of the Embassy.
"In conclusion, the Commander-in-Chief wishes to bear testimony to the Truthfulness, Intuition, and Discretion of Mistress Thankful Blossom.
"By order of his Excellency, "Gen. GEORGE WASHINGTON.
"ALEX. HAMILTON, Secretary.
"To Mistress THANKFUL BLOSSOM, of Blossom Farm."
Thankful Blossom was silent for a few moments, and then raised her abashed eyes to Major Van Zandt. A single glance satisfied her that he knew nothing of the imposture that had been practised upon her,--knew nothing of the trap into which her vanity and self-will had led her.
"Dear Mistress Thankful," said the major, seeing the distress in her face, "I trust the news is not ill. Surely I gathered from the sergeant that--" "What?" said Thankful, looking at him intently.
"That in twenty-four hours at furthest your father would be free, and that I should be relieved--" "I know that you are a-weary of your task, major," said Thankful bitterly: "rejoice, then, to know your information is correct, and that my father is exonerated--unless--unless this is a forgery, and Gen. Washington should turn out to be somebody else, and YOU should turn out to be somebody else--" And she stopped short, and hid her wet eyes in the window-curtains.
"Poor girl!" said Major Van Zandt to himself. "This trouble has undoubtedly frenzied her. Fool that I was to lay up the insult of one that sorrow and excitement had bereft of reason and responsibility! 'Twere better I should retire at once, and leave her to herself," and the young man slowly retreated toward the door.
But at this moment there were alarming symptoms of distress in the window-curtain; and the major paused as a voice from its dimity depths said plaintively, "And YOU are going without forgiving me!"
"Forgive YOU, Mistress Thankful," said the major, striding to the curtain, and seizing a little hand that was obtruded from its folds,--"forgive you? rather can you forgive me for the folly--the cruelty of mistaking--of--of"--and here the major, hitherto famous for facile compliments, utterly broke down. But the hand he held was no longer cold, but warm and intelligent; and in default of coherent speech he held fast by that as the thread of his discourse, until Mistress Thankful quietly withdrew it, thanked him for his forgiveness, and retired deeper behind the curtain.
When he had gone, she threw herself in a chair, and again gave way to a passionate flood of tears. In the last twenty-four hours her pride had been utterly humbled: the independent spirit of this self-willed little beauty had met for the first time with defeat. When she had got over her womanly shock at the news of the sham baron's death, she had, I fear, only a selfish regard at his taking off; believing that if living he would in some way show the world--which just then consisted of the headquarters and Major Van Zandt--that he had really made love to her, and possibly did honorably love her still, and might yet give her an opportunity to reject him. And now he was dead, and she was held up to the world as the conceited plaything of a fine gentleman's masquerading sport. That her father's cupidity and ambition made him sanction the imposture, in her bitterness she never doubted. No! Lover, friend, father--all had been false to her, and the only kindness she had received was from the men she had wantonly insulted. Poor little Blossom! indeed, a most premature Blossom; I fear a most unthankful Blossom, sitting there shivering in the first chill wind of adversity, rocking backward and forward, with the skirt of her dimity short-gown over her shoulders, and her little buckled shoes and clocked stockings pathetically crossed before her.
But healthy youth is re-active; and in an hour or two Thankful was down at the cow-shed, with her arms around the neck of her favorite heifer, to whom she poured out much of her woes, and from whom she won an intelligent sort of slobbering sympathy. And then she sharply scolded Caesar for nothing at all, and a moment after returned to the house with the air and face of a deeply injured angel, who had been disappointed in some celestial idea of setting this world right, but was still not above forgiveness,--a spectacle that sunk Major Van Zandt into the dark depths of remorse, and eventually sent him to smoke a pipe of Virginia with his men in the roadside camp; seeing which, Thankful went early to bed, and cried herself to sleep. And Nature possibly followed her example; for at sunset a great thaw set in, and by midnight the freed rivers and brooks were gurgling melodiously, and tree and shrub and fence were moist and dripping.
The red dawn at last struggled through the vaporous veil that hid the landscape. Then occurred one of those magical changes peculiar to the climate, yet perhaps pre-eminently notable during that historic winter and spring. By ten o'clock on that 3d of May, 1780, a fervent June-like sun had rent that vaporous veil, and poured its direct rays upon the gaunt and haggard profile of the Jersey hills. The chilled soil responded but feebly to that kiss; perhaps a few of the willows that yellowed the river-banks took on a deeper color. But the country folk were certain that spring had come at last; and even the correct and self-sustained Major Van Zandt came running in to announce to Mistress Thankful that one of his men had seen a violet in the meadow. In another moment Mistress Thankful had donned her cloak and pattens to view this firstling of the laggard summer. It was quite natural that Major Van Zandt should accompany her as she tripped on; and so, without a thought of their past differences, they ran like very children down the moist and rocky slope that led to the quaggy meadow. Such was the influence of the vernal season.
But the violets were hidden. Mistress Thankful, regardless of the wet leaves and her new gown, groped with her fingers among the withered grasses. Major Van Zandt leaned against a bowlder, and watched her with admiring eyes.
"You'll never find flowers that way," she said at last, looking up to him impatiently. "Go down on your knees like an honest man. There are some things in this world worth stooping for."
The major instantly dropped on his knees beside her. But at that moment Mistress Thankful found her posies, and rose to her feet. "Stay where you are," she said mischievously, as she stooped down, and placed a flower in the lapel of his coat. "That is to make amends for my rudeness. Now get up."
But the major did not rise. He caught the two little hands that had seemed to flutter like birds against his breast, and, looking up into the laughing face above him, said, "Dear Mistress Thankful, dare I remind you of your own words, that 'there be some things worth stooping for'? Think of my love, Mistress Thankful, as a flower,--mayhap not as gracious to you as your violets, but as honest and--and--and--as--" "Ready to spring up in a single night," laughed Thankful. "But no; get up, major! What would the fine ladies of Morristown say of your kneeling at the feet of a country girl,--the play and sport of every fine gentleman? What if Mistress Bolton should see her own cavalier, the modish Major Van Zandt, proffering his affections to the disgraced sweetheart of a perjured traitor? Leave go my hand, I pray you, major,--if you respect--" She was free, yet she faltered a moment beside him, with tears quivering on her long brown lashes. Then she said tremulously, "Rise up, major. Let us think no more of this. I pray you forgive me, if I have again been rude."
The major struggled to rise to his feet. But he could not. And then I regret to have to record that the fact became obvious that one of his shapely legs was in a bog-hole, and that he was perceptibly sinking out of sight. Whereat Mistress Thankful trilled out a three-syllabled laugh, looked demure and painfully concerned at his condition, and then laughed again. The major joined in her mirth, albeit his face was crimson. And then, with a little cry of alarm, she flew to his side, and put her arms around him.
"Keep away, keep away, for Heaven's sake, Mistress Blossom," he said quickly, "or I shall plunge you into my mishap, and make you as ridiculous as myself."
But the quick-witted girl had already leaped to an adjacent bowlder. "Take off your sash," she said quickly; "fasten it to your belt, and throw it to me." He did so. She straightened herself back on the rock. "Now, all together," she cried, with a preliminary strain on the sash; and then the cords of her well-trained muscles stood out on her rounded arms, and, with a long pull and a strong pull and a pull all together, she landed the major upon the rock. And then she laughed; and then, inconsistent as it may appear, she became grave, and at once proceeded to scrape him off, and rub him down with dried leaves, with fern-twigs, with her handkerchief, with the border of her mantle, as if he were a child, until he blushed with alternate shame and secret satisfaction.
They spoke but little on their return to the farm-house, for Mistress Thankful had again become grave. And yet the sun shone cheerily above them; the landscape was filled with the joy of resurrection and new and awakened life; the breeze whispered gentle promises of hope, and the fruition of their hopes in the summer to come. And these two fared on until they reached the porch, with a half-pleased, half-frightened consciousness that they were not the same beings who had left it a half-hour before.
Nevertheless at the porch Mistress Thankful regained something of her old audacity. As they stood together in the hall, she handed him back the sash she had kept with her. As she did so, she could not help saying, "There are some things worth stooping for, Major Van Zandt."
But she had not calculated upon the audacity of the man; and as she turned to fly she was caught by his strong arm, and pinioned to his side. She struggled, honestly I think, and perhaps more frightened at her own feelings than at his strength; but it is to be recorded that he kissed her in a moment of comparative yielding, and then, frightened himself, released her quickly, whereat she fled to her room, and threw herself panting and troubled upon her bed. For an hour or two she lay there, with flushed cheeks and conflicting thoughts. "He must never kiss me again," she said softly to herself, "unless"--but the interrupting thought said, "I shall die if he kiss me not again; and I never can kiss another." And then she was roused by a footstep upon the stair, which in that brief time she had learned to know and look for, and a knock at the door. She opened it to Major Van Zandt, white and so colorless as to bring out once more the faint red line made by her riding-whip two days before, as if it had risen again in accusation. The blood dropped out of her cheeks as she gazed at him in silence.
"An escort of dragoons," said Major Van Zandt slowly, and with military precision, "has just arrived, bringing with them one Capt. Allan Brewster, of the Connecticut Contingent, on his way to Morristown to be tried for mutiny and treason. A private note from Col. Hamilton instructs me to allow him to have a private audience with you--if YOU so wish it."
With a woman's swift and too often hopeless intuition, Thankful knew that this was not the sole contents of the letter, and that her relations with Capt. Brewster were known to the man before her. But she drew herself up a little proudly, and, turning her truthful eyes upon the major, said, "I DO so wish it."
"It shall be done as you desire, Mistress Blossom," returned the officer with cold politeness, as he turned upon his heel.
"One moment, Major Van Zandt," said Thankful swiftly.
The major turned quickly; but Thankful's eyes were gazing thoughtfully forward, and scarcely glanced at him. "I would prefer," she said timidly and hesitatingly, "that this interview should not take place under the roof where--where--where--my father lives. Half-way down the meadow there is a barn, and before it a broken part of the wall, fronting on a sycamore-tree. HE will know where it is. Tell him I will see him there in half an hour."
A smile, which the major had tried to make a careless one, curled his lip satirically as he bowed in reply. "It is the first time," he said dryly, "that I believe I have been honored with arranging a tryst for two lovers; but believe me, Mistress Thankful, I will do my best. In half an hour I will turn my prisoner over to you."
In half an hour the punctual Mistress Thankful, with a hood hiding her pale face, passed the officer in the hall, on the way to her rendezvous. An hour later Caesar came with a message that Mistress Thankful would like to see him. When the major entered the sitting-room, he was shocked to find her lying pale and motionless on the sofa; but as the door closed she rose to her feet, and confronted him.
"I do not know," she said slowly, "whether you are aware that the man I just now parted from was for a twelvemonth past my sweetheart, and that I believed I loved him, and KNEW I was true to him. If you have not heard it, I tell you now, for the time will come when you will hear part of it from the lips of others, and I would rather you should take the whole truth from mine. This man was false to me. He betrayed two friends of mine as spies. I could have forgiven it, had it been only foolish jealousy; but it was, I have since learned from his own lips, only that he might gratify his spite against the commander-in-chief by procuring their arrest, and making a serious difficulty in the American camp, by means of which he hoped to serve his own ends. He told me this, believing that I sympathized with him in his hatred of the commander-in-chief, and in his own wrongs and sufferings. I confess to my shame, Major Van Zandt, that two days ago I did believe him, and that I looked upon you as a mere catch-poll or bailiff of the tyrant. That I found out how I was deceived when I saw the commander-in-chief, you, major, who know him so well, need not be told. Nor was it necessary for me to tell this man that he had deceived me: for I felt that--that--was--not--the--only reason--why I could no longer return--his love."
She paused, as the major approached her earnestly, and waved him back with her hand. "He reproached me bitterly with my want of feeling for his misfortunes," she went on again: "he recalled my past protestations; he showed me my love-letters; and he told me that if I were still his true sweetheart I ought to help him. I told him if he would never call me by that name again; if he would give up all claim to me; if he would never speak, write to me, nor see me again; if he would hand me back my letters,--I would help him." She stopped: the blood rushed into her pale face. "You will remember, major, that I accepted this man's love as a young, foolish, trustful girl; but when I made him this offer--he--he accepted it."
"The dog!" said Major Van Zandt. "But in what way could you help this double traitor?"
"I HAVE helped him," said Thankful quietly.
"But how?" said Major Van Zandt.
"By becoming a traitor myself," she said, turning upon him almost fiercely. "Hear me! While you were quietly pacing these halls, while your men were laughing and talking in the road, Caesar was saddling my white mare, the fleetest in the country. He led her to the lane below. That mare is now two miles away, with Capt. Brewster on her back. Why do you not start, major? Look at me. I am a traitor, and this is my bribe;" and she drew a package of letters from her bosom, and flung them on the table.
She had been prepared for an outbreak or exclamation from the man before her, but not for his cold silence. "Speak," she cried at last, passionately. "Speak! Open your lips, if only to curse me! Order in your men to arrest me. I will proclaim myself guilty, and save your honor. But only speak!"
"May I ask," said Major Van Zandt coldly, "why you have twice honored me with a blow?"
"Because I loved you; because, when I first saw you I saw the only man that was my master, and I rebelled; because, when I found I could not help but love you, I knew I never had loved before, and I would wipe out with one stroke all the past that rose in judgment against me; because I would not have you ever confronted with one endearing word of mine that was not meant for you."
Major Van Zandt turned from the window where he had stood, and faced the girl with sad resignation. "If I have in my foolishness, Mistress Thankful, shown you how great was your power over me, when you descended to this artifice to spare my feelings by confessing your own love for me, you should have remembered that you were doing that which forever kept me from wooing or winning you. If you had really loved me your heart, as a woman's, would have warned you against that which my heart, as a gentleman's, has made a law of honor; when I tell you, as much for the sake of relieving your own conscience as for the sake of justifying mine, that if this man, a traitor, my prisoner, and your recognized lover, had escaped from my custody without your assistance, connivance, or even knowledge, I should have deemed it my duty to forsake you until I caught him, even if we had been standing before the altar."
Thankful heard him, but only as a strange voice in the distance, as she stood with fixed eyes, and breathless, parted lips before him. Yet even then I fear that, womanlike, she did not comprehend his rhetoric of honor, but only caught here and there a dull, benumbing idea that he despised her, and that in her effort to win his love she had killed it, and ruined him forever.
"If you think it strange," continued the major, "that, believing as I do, I stand here only to utter moral axioms when my duty calls me to pursue your lover, I beg you to believe that it is only for your sake. I wish to allow a reasonable time between your interview with him, and his escape, that shall save you from any suspicion of complicity. Do not think," he added with a sad smile, as the girl made an impatient step toward him, "do not think I am running any risk. The man cannot escape. A cordon of pickets surrounds the camp for many miles. He has not the countersign, and his face and crime are known."
"Yes," said Thankful eagerly, "but a part of his own regiment guards the Baskingridge road."
"How know you this?" said the major, seizing her hand.
"He told me."
Before she could fall on her knees, and beg his forgiveness, he had darted from the room, given an order, and returned with cheeks and eyes blazing.
"Hear me," he said rapidly, taking the girl's two hands, "you know not what you've done. I forgive you. But this is no longer a matter of duty, but my personal honor. I shall pursue this man alone. I shall return with him, or not at all. Farewell. God bless you!"
But before he reached the door she caught him again. "Only say you have forgiven me once more."
"I do."
"Guert!"
There was something in the girl's voice more than this first utterance of his Christian name, that made him pause.
"I told--a--lie--just--now. There is a fleeter horse in the stable than my mare; 'tis the roan filly in the second stall."
"God bless you!"
He was gone. She waited to hear the clatter of his horse's hoofs in the roadway. When Caesar came in a few moments later, to tell the news of Capt. Brewster's escape, the room was empty; but it was soon filled again by a dozen turbulent troopers.
"Of course she's gone," said Sergeant Tibbitts: "the jade flew with the captain."
"Ay, 'tis plain enough. Two horses are gone from the stable besides the major's," said Private Hicks.
Nor was this military criticism entirely a private one. When the courier arrived at headquarters the next morning, it was to bring the report that Mistress Thankful Blossom, after assisting her lover to escape had fled with him. "The renegade is well off our hands," said Gen. Sullivan gruffly: "he has saved us the public disgrace of a trial. But this is bad news of Major Van Zandt."
"What news of the major?" asked Washington quickly.
"He pursued the vagabond as far as Springfield, killing his horse, and falling himself insensible before Major Merton's quarters. Here he became speedily delirious, fever supervened, and the regimental surgeon, after a careful examination, pronounced his case one of small-pox."
A whisper of horror and pity went around the room. "Another gallant soldier, who should have died leading a charge, laid by the heels by a beggar's filthy distemper," growled Sullivan. "Where will it end?"
"God knows," said Hamilton. "Poor Van Zandt! But whither was he sent,--to the hospital?"
"No: a special permit was granted in his case; and 'tis said he was removed to the Blossom Farm,--it being remote from neighbors,--and the house placed under quarantine. Abner Blossom has prudently absented himself from the chances of infection, and the daughter has fled. The sick man is attended only by a black servant and an ancient crone; so that, if the poor major escapes with his life or without disfigurement, pretty Mistress Bolton of Morristown need not be scandalized or jealous."
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{
"id": "2177"
}
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5
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None
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The ancient crone alluded to in the last chapter had been standing behind the window-curtains of that bedroom which had been Thankful Blossom's in the weeks gone by. She did not move her head, but stood looking demurely, after the manner of ancient crones, over the summer landscape. For the summer had come before the tardy spring was scarce gone, and the elms before the window no longer lisped, but were eloquent in the softest zephyrs. There was the flash of birds in among the bushes, the occasional droning of bees in and out the open window, and a perpetually swinging censer of flower incense rising from below. The farm had put on its gayest bridal raiment; and looking at the old farm-house shadowed with foliage and green with creeping vines, it was difficult to conceive that snow had ever lain on its porches, or icicles swung from its mossy eaves.
"Thankful!" said a voice still tremulous with weakness.
The ancient crone turned, drew aside the curtains, and showed the sweet face of Thankful Blossom, more beautiful even in its paleness.
"Come here, darling," repeated the voice.
Thankful stepped to the sofa whereon lay the convalescent Major Van Zandt.
"Tell me, sweetheart," said the major, taking her hand in his, "when you married me, as you told the chaplain, that you might have the right to nurse me, did you never think that if death spared me I might be so disfigured that even you, dear love, would have turned from me with loathing?"
"That was why I did it, dear," said Thankful mischievously. "I knew that the pride, and the sense of honor, and self-devotion of some people, would have kept them from keeping their promises to a poor girl."
"But, darling," continued the major, raising her hand to his lips, "suppose the case had been reversed: suppose you had taken the disease, that I had recovered without disfigurement, but that this sweet face--" "I thought of that too," interrupted Thankful. "Well, what would you have done, dear?" said the major, with his old mischievous smile.
"I should have died," said Thankful gravely.
"But how?"
"Somehow. But you are to go to sleep, and not ask impertinent and frivolous questions; for father is coming to-morrow."
"Thankful, dear, do you know what the trees and the birds said to me as I lay there tossing with fever?"
"No, dear."
"Thankful Blossom! Thankful Blossom! Thankful Blossom is coming!"
"Do you know what I said, sweetheart, as I lifted your dear head from the ground when you reeled from your horse just as I overtook you at Springfield?"
"No, dear."
"There are some things in life worth stooping for."
And she winged this Parthian arrow home with a kiss.
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{
"id": "2177"
}
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1
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: "Something Like An Adventure."
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Had Mr. Tulloch, the headmaster and proprietor of a large school at Putney, been asked which was the most troublesome boy in his school, he would probably have replied, without hesitation, "Bob Repton."
But, being a just and fair-minded man, he would have hastened to qualify this remark, by adding: "Most troublesome, but by no means the worst boy. You must understand that. He is always in scrapes, always in mischief. In all my experience I have never before come across a boy who had such an aptitude for getting into trouble; but I have nothing else to say against him. He is straightforward and manly. I have never known him to tell a lie, to screen himself. He is an example to many others in that way. I like the boy, in spite of the endless trouble he gives, and yet there is scarcely a day passes that I am not obliged to cane him; and even that does him no good, as far as I can see, for he seems to forget it, five minutes after it is over. I wonder, sometimes, if he has really got hardened, and doesn't feel it.
"He is sharp, and does his lessons well. I have no difficulty with him, on that score; but he is a perfect imp of mischief."
With such characteristics, it need hardly be said that Bob Repton was one of the most popular boys at Tulloch's school.
School life was, in those days--for it was in August, 1778, that Bob was at Tulloch's--a very different thing to what it is, at present. Learning was thrashed into boys. It was supposed that it could only be instilled in this manner; and although some masters were, of course, more tyrannical and brutal than others, the cane was everywhere in use, and that frequently. Lads, then, had far less liberty and fewer sports than at present; but as boys' spirits cannot be altogether suppressed, even by the use of the cane, they found vent in other ways, and there was much more mischief, and more breaking out of bounds, than now take place. Boys were less trusted, and more harshly treated; in consequence of which there was a kind of warfare between the masters and the boys, in which the masters, in spite of their canes, did not always get the best of it.
Bob Repton was nearly fifteen. He was short, rather than tall for his age, but squarely built and strong. His hair could never be got to lie down, but bristled aggressively over his head. His nose was inclined to turn up, his gray eyes had a merry, mischievous expression, and his lips were generally parted in a smile. A casual observer would have said that he was a happy-go-lucky, merry, impudent-looking lad; but he was more than this. He was shrewd, intelligent, and exceptionally plucky; always ready to do a good turn to others, and to take more than his fair share of blame, for every scrape he got into. He had fought many battles, and that with boys older than himself, but he had never been beaten. The opinion, generally, among the boys was that he did not feel pain and, being caned so frequently, such punishment as he got in a fight was a mere trifle to him.
He was a thorn in the side of Mr. Purfleet, the usher who was generally in charge of the playground; who had learned by long experience that, whenever Bob Repton was quiet, he was certain to be planning some special piece of mischief. The usher was sitting now on a bench, with a book in his hand; but his attention was, at present, directed to a group of four boys who had drawn together in a corner of the playground.
"There is Repton, again," he said to himself. "I wonder what he is plotting, now. That boy will be the death of me. I am quite sure it was he who put that eel in my bed, last week; though of course, I could not prove it."
Mr. Purfleet prided himself on his nerve. He had been telling the boys some stories he had read of snakes, in India; among them, one of an officer who, when seated at table, had felt a snake winding itself round his leg, and who sat for several minutes without moving, until some friends brought a saucer of milk and placed it near, when the snake uncurled itself and went to drink.
"It must have required a lot of nerve, Mr. Purfleet," Bob Repton had said, "to sit as quiet as that."
"Not at all, not at all," the usher replied, confidently. "It was the natural thing to do. A man should always be calm, in case of sudden danger, Bob. The first thought in his mind should be, 'What is this?' the second, 'What had best be done, under the circumstances?' and, these two things being decided, a man of courage will deal coolly with the danger. I should despise myself, if I were to act otherwise."
It was two nights later that the usher, having walked down between the two rows of beds in the dormitory, and seeing that all the boys were quiet, and apparently asleep, proceeded to his own bed, which was at the end of the room, and partly screened off from the rest by a curtain. No sooner did he disappear behind this than half a dozen heads were raised. An oil lamp burned at the end of the room, affording light for the usher to undress; and enabling him, as he lay in bed, to command a general, if somewhat faint view of the dormitory. Five minutes after Mr. Purfleet had disappeared behind the curtain, the watching eyes saw the clothes at the end of the bed pulled down, and caught a partial view of Mr. Purfleet as he climbed in. A second later there was a yell of terror, and the usher leapt from the bed. Instantly, the dormitory was in an uproar.
"What is it, Mr. Purfleet--what is the matter, sir?" and several of the boys sprang from their beds, and ran towards him; the only exceptions to the general excitement being the four or five who were in the secret. These lay shaking with suppressed laughter, with the bedclothes or the corner of a pillow thrust into their mouths, to prevent them from breaking out into screams of delight.
"What is it, sir?"
It was some time before the usher could recover himself sufficiently to explain.
"There is a snake in my bed," he said.
"A snake!" the boys repeated, in astonishment, several of the more timid at once making off to their beds.
"Certainly, a snake," Mr. Purfleet panted. "I put my legs down, and they came against something cold, and it began to twist about. In a moment, if I had not leapt out, I should no doubt have received a fatal wound."
"Where did it come from?"
"What is to be done?"
And a variety of other questions burst from the boys.
"I will run down and get three or four hockey sticks, Mr. Purfleet," one of the elder boys said.
"That will be the best plan, Mason. Quick, quick! There, do you see it moving, under the clothes?"
There was certainly something wriggling, so there was a general movement back from the bed.
"We had better hold the clothes down, Mr. Purfleet," Bob Repton said, pushing himself forward. "If it were to crawl out at the top, and get on to the floor, it might bite a dozen of us. I will hold the clothes down tight, on one side, if someone will hold them on the other."
One of the other boys came forward, and the clothes were stretched tightly across the bed, by the pillow. In a minute or two, Mason ran up with four hockey sticks.
"Now, you must be careful," Mr. Purfleet said, "because if it should get out, the consequences might be terrible. Now, then, four of you take the sticks, and all hit together, as hard as you can--now."
The sticks descended together. There was a violent writhing and contortion beneath the clothes, but the blows rained down fast and, in a very short time, all movement ceased.
"It must be dead, now," Bob Repton said. "I think we can look at it now, sir."
"Well, draw the clothes down very gently; boys, and be ready to strike again, if you see the least movement."
The clothes were drawn down, till the creature was visible.
"It must be a cobra," the usher said, looking at it from a distance. "It is thick and short. It must have escaped from somewhere. Be very careful, all of you."
Mason approached cautiously, to get a nearer view; and then exclaimed: "Why, sir, it is an eel!"
There was a moment's silence, and then a perfect yell of laughter from the boys. For a moment the usher was dumbfounded, then he rallied.
"You will all go to your beds, at once," he said. "I shall report the matter to Mr. Tulloch, in the morning."
The boys retired, laughing, to their beds; but above the din the usher heard the words, in a muffled voice: "A man should always be calm, in sudden danger."
Another voice, equally disguised, said: "Yes, he should first ask himself 'What is this?' then 'What had best be done, under the circumstances?'"
A third voice then took it up: "It follows that a man of courage will deal coolly with the danger."
Then there was a chorus of half a dozen voices: "I should despise myself, if I were to act otherwise."
"Silence!" the usher shouted, rushing down the line between the beds. "I will thrash the first boy who speaks."
As Mr. Purfleet had one of the hockey sticks in his hand, the threat was sufficient to ensure silence.
To the relief of the two or three boys engaged in the affair, Mr. Purfleet made no report in the morning. Mr. Tulloch by no means spared the cane, but he always inquired before he flogged and, as the usher felt sure that the snake story would be brought forward, by way of excuse for the trick played upon him, he thought it better to drop it; making a mental note, however, that he would get even with Bob Repton, another time--for he made sure that he was at the bottom of the matter, especially as he had been one of those who had listened to the snake story.
Mr. Purfleet was held in but light respect by the boys. He was a pale young man, and looked as if he had been poorly fed, as a boy. He took the junior classes, and the belief was that he knew nothing of Latin.
Moffat, who took the upper classes, was much more severe, and sent up many more boys to be caned than did the junior usher; but the boys did not dislike him. Caning they considered their natural portion, and felt no ill will on that account; while they knew that Mr. Moffat was a capital scholar and, though strict, was always scrupulously just. Above all, he was not a sneak. If he reported them, he reported them openly, but brought no accusation against them behind their back; while Mr. Purfleet was always carrying tittle tattle to the headmaster. There was, therefore, little gratitude towards him for holding his tongue as to the eel; for the boys guessed the real reason of his silence, and put it down to dread of ridicule, and not to any kindliness of feeling.
"Purfleet would give sixpence to know what we are talking about, Bob," one of the group talking in the corner of the playground said.
"It is worth more than that, Jim; still, we shall have to be extra careful. He suspects it was our lot who played him the trick about the eel, and he will do his best to catch us out, in something.
"Well, as I was saying, Johnny Gibson has got a first-rate dog for rabbits, and he says there are lots of them up on the Common. I told him that I would come, and I expected two or three more; and we would meet him at the top of the hill, at four o'clock tomorrow morning. It will be getting light by that time. Of course, we shall get out in the usual way, and we can be back by half past six, and no one will be any the wiser. Old Thomas never comes down till a quarter to seven. I have heard him a dozen times. He just comes down in time to ring the bell for us to get up."
"Oh, I ain't afraid of Thomas," one of the others said, "but I am afraid of Purfleet."
"There need be no fear about him. He never wakes till the bell rings, and sleeps like a top. Why, he didn't wake, the other morning, when we had a scrimmage and you tumbled out of bed. Besides, we all sleep at the other end of the room and, even if he did wake up in the night, he wouldn't notice that we had gone; especially if we shoved something in the bed, to make a lump.
"My only fear is that we shan't wake. We ought to keep watch till it's time to get up, but I am sure we shouldn't keep awake. We must all make up our minds to wake at three, then one of us will be sure to do it. And mind, if one wakes, he must promise not to go to sleep again before he hears the hall clock strike, and knows what time it is. If it is before three, he can go off to sleep again. That way, one of us is sure to be awake, when it strikes three."
"I say, shan't we just be licked, if we are found out, Bob?"
"Of course we shall; but as we get licked pretty well every day, that won't make much difference, and we shall have had awful fun. Still, if any of you fellows don't like it, don't you go. I am going, but I don't want to persuade any of you."
"Of course we are going, if you are going, Bob. What are we going to do with the rabbits?"
"Oh, I settled Johnny Gibson should keep them. He is going to bring his dog, you know; besides, what could we do with them? We can't cook them, can we?"
As it was clear to all the party that this could not be managed, no objection was raised to this disposal of their game.
Bob Repton slept but little that night. They went to bed at eight, and he heard every hour strike after nine; dozing off occasionally, and waking up, each time, convinced that the clock would strike three next time. At last he heard the three welcome strokes, and at once got up and went to the beds of the other three boys.
They were all sound asleep, and required some shaking before they could be convinced that it was time to get up. Then each boy put his bolster in his bed, rolled up his night shirt into a ball and laid it on the pillow, and then partly covered it up with the clothes. Then they slipped on their shirts, breeches, and stockings and, taking their jackets and shoes in their hand, stole out of the door at their end of the room, and closed it behind them. They then crept downstairs to the room where their caps were kept, put on these and their jackets, and each boy got a hockey stick out of the cupboard in the corner in which they were kept. Then they very cautiously unfastened the shutter, raised the window, and slipped out. They pulled the shutter to behind them, closed the window, and then put on their shoes.
"That is managed first rate," Bob said. "There wasn't the least noise. I made sure Wharton would have dropped his shoes."
"Why should I drop them, more than anyone else?" Wharton asked in an aggrieved voice.
"I don't know, Billy. The idea occurred to me. I didn't think anyone else would do it, but I quite made up my mind that you would."
"Well, I wish you wouldn't be so fast about making up your mind, then," Wharton grumbled. "I ain't more clumsy than other people."
"You are all right," Jim Sankey put in. "Bob's only joking."
"Well, he might as well joke with somebody else, Jim. I don't see any joke in it."
"No, that is where the joke is, Billy," Bob said. "If you did see the joke, there wouldn't be any joke in it.
"Well, never mind, here is the walnut tree. Now, who will get over first?"
The walnut tree stood in the playground near the wall, and had often proved useful as a ladder to boys at Tulloch's. One of its branches extended over the wall and, from this, it was easy to drop down beyond it. The return was more difficult, and was only to be accomplished by means of an old ivy, which grew against the wall at some distance off. By its aid the wall could be scaled without much difficulty, and there was then the choice of dropping twelve feet into the playground, or of walking on the top of the wall until the walnut tree was reached.
Tulloch's stood some little distance along the Lower Richmond Road. There were but one or two houses, standing back from the road between it and the main road up the hill, and there was little fear of anyone being abroad at that time in the morning. There was, as yet, but a faint gleam of daylight in the sky; and it was dark in the road up the hill, as the trees growing in the grounds of the houses, on either side, stretched far over it.
"I say," Jim Sankey said, "won't it be a go, if Johnny Gibson isn't there, after all?"
"He will be up there by four," Bob said, confidently. "He said his father would be going out in his boat to fish, as soon as it began to be daylight--because the tide served at that hour--and that he would start, as soon as his father shoved off the boat.
"My eye, Jim, what is that ahead of us? It looks to me like a coach."
"It is a coach, or a carriage, or something of that sort."
"No, it isn't, it is a light cart. What can it be doing here, at this hour? Let us walk the other side of the road."
They crossed to the left, as they got abreast of the cart. A man, whom they had not noticed before, said sharply: "You are about early."
"Yes, we are off to work," Bob replied, and they walked steadily on.
"He couldn't see what we were like," Jim Sankey said, when they had got a hundred yards further.
"Not he," Bob said. "I could not make out his figure at all, and it is darker on this side of the road than it is on the other.
"I say, you fellows, I think he is up to no good."
"What do you mean, Bob?"
"Well, what should a cart be standing on the hill for, at this time in the morning? That's Admiral Langton's, I know; the door is just where the cart was stopping."
"Well, what has that got to do with it, Bob? The cart won't do him any harm."
"No, but there may be some fellows with it, who may be breaking into his house."
"Do you think so, Bob?"
"Well, it seems likely to me it may be his house, or one of the others."
"Well, what are we to do, Bob?"
"I vote we see about it, Jim. We have pretty nearly half an hour to spare, now, before Johnny Gibson will come along. We have got our hockey sticks, you know."
"But suppose there shouldn't be any men there, Bob, and we should be caught in the grounds; They would think we were going to steal something."
"That would be a go," Bob said, "but there isn't likely to be anyone about, at half past three; and if there were, I don't suppose he would be able to catch us. But we must risk something, anyhow. It will be a bit of fun, and it will be better than waiting at the top of the hill, with nothing to do till, Johnny Gibson comes."
They were now past the wall in front of Admiral Langton's, and far out of sight of the man in the cart.
"There is some ivy on this wall," Bob said. "We can climb over it, by that. Then we will make our way along, until we can find some place where we can climb over into the admiral's garden."
"Perhaps there are some dogs about," Wharton objected.
"Well, if there are, they are most likely chained up. We must risk something.
"Well, here goes. If you don't like it, Wharton, you can stay behind."
So saying, he put his hockey stick between his teeth, and then proceeded to climb up the wall, by means of the ivy.
The wall was but nine feet high and, as soon as he gained the top, Bob said: "Come on, you fellows. I am going to drop down."
In two minutes he was joined by the other three.
"There is a path, just beyond," Bob said; "let us go by that. Don't you fellows say a word. As Wharton says, there may be some dogs about."
Quietly they stole along the path, which ran parallel to the road, until it turned off at right angles.
"Now, the first tree that grows against the wall we will get over by," Bob whispered.
After going twenty yards, he stopped.
"This tree will do."
"But what are you going to do, if there should be some men?" Wharton asked, in a tone that showed he objected, altogether, to the proceeding.
"It depends upon how many of them there are," Bob replied. "Of course, the admiral has got some men in the house; and they will wake up, and help us, if we give the alarm. Anyhow, we ought to be able to be a match for two men, with these sticks, especially if we take them by surprise.
"What do you say, Jim?"
"I should think so," Jim replied. "Anyhow, if you are game to go on, I am.
"What do you say, Fullarton?"
"Oh, I am ready," Fullarton, who was a boy of few words, replied.
"Only, if there is anyone, Bob, and we get into a row with them, of course it will all come out about us; and then shan't we get it, just!"
"I suppose we shall," Bob admitted, "but I don't see we can help that.
"Well, we are in for it, now," and he began to climb the tree and, working along a limb which extended over the wall, he dropped down into the garden.
The others soon joined, Wharton being more afraid of staying behind, by himself, than of going with the rest.
"Now, what are we to do next?"
"I should say we ought to find out whether anyone has got into the house. That is the first thing. Then, if they have, we have got to try to wake up the people, and to frighten the men inside.
"Have you got some string in your pockets?"
"I have got some."
They all had string.
"What do you want string for, Bob?"
"String is always useful, Jim. We may want to tie their hands. But what I was thinking was, we might fasten it across the stairs, or some of the passages; and then set up a sudden shout, and they would think the watchmen had come, and would make a bolt; and when they got to the string over they would go, and then we would drop on them with these hockey sticks, before they could get up.
"Well, come on. There mayn't be anyone here, after all. Now we will go up to the house, and creep round."
The house stood thirty or forty yards away and, stepping as noiselessly as they could, the boys crossed the lawn and moved along the front. Suddenly, Tom Fullarton caught hold of Bob's arm.
"Look, Bob, there is a light in that room! Do you see--through the slit in the shutters?"
"So there is. Well, there is no mistake, now. There must be some fellows belonging to that cart inside. That must be the drawing room, or dining room, and they would never have lights there at this time of night.
"Now, let us find out where they got in. This is something like fun. It beats rabbit hunting all to nothing.
"Now mind, you fellows, if we do come upon them, and there is a fight, you remember the best place to hit, to begin with, is the ankle. You have only just got to fancy that it is a bung, and swipe at it with all your might. Anyone you hit there is sure to go down and, if he wants it, you can hit him over the head, afterwards.
"Now, come along. I expect they got in at the back of the house."
They soon came upon a door at the side of the house. It was open.
"That looks as if they had been let in," Bob whispered. "See, there is a light in there, somewhere! Come on.
"Now, let us take our shoes off."
The others were thoroughly excited now, and followed Bob without hesitation.
"Bob, is the key in the door?" Jim whispered.
"Yes, on the inside. They have been let in. I wish I dare lock it, and take the key away. Let me see if it turns easy."
Very gently he turned the key, and found the bolt shot noiselessly. It had doubtless been carefully oiled. He turned it again, shut the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
Then they crept on tiptoe along the passage. At the end were two large chests, strengthened with iron bands. A lighted lantern stood upon them. Bob peered round the corner into the hall. No one was to be seen, but he heard a noise through an open door, from which came a stream of light.
Motioning the others to stand still, he crept forward noiselessly till he could look into the room. A man was occupied in packing some articles of massive plate, clocks, and other valuables into a sack. He was alone.
Bob made his way back to the others.
"There's only one fellow there," he said. "If there are any more, they are upstairs. Let us have this one first--his back is to the door.
"Now, Wharton, you hold our handkerchiefs and the string. If he don't look round, I will jump on his back and have him down.
"The moment he is down, you two throw yourselves on him, and you shove the handkerchiefs into his mouth, Wharton. In the surprise, he won't know that we are only boys; and we will tie his hands before he has time to resist.
"Now, come on."
They were all plucky boys--for Wharton, although less morally courageous than the others, was no coward, physically. Their stockinged feet made no sound, and the man heard nothing until Bob sprang on to his back, the force sending him down on to his face. Bob's arm was tightly round his throat; and the other two threw themselves upon him, each seizing an arm, while Wharton crammed two handkerchiefs into his mouth. The man's hands were dragged behind his back, as he lay on his face, and his wrists tied firmly together. He was rendered utterly helpless before he had recovered from the first shock of surprise.
"Tie his ankles together with the other two handkerchiefs," Bob said, still lying across him.
"That is right. You are sure they are tight? There, he will do, now. I must lock him in."
This was done.
"Now, then, let's go upstairs.
"Now, fasten this last piece of string across between the banisters, six or eight steps up.
"Make haste," he added, as a faint cry was heard, above.
It did not take a second to fasten the string at each end; and then, grasping their sticks, the boys sprang upstairs. On gaining the landing, they heard voices proceeding from a room along a corridor and, as they crept up to it, they heard a man's voice say, angrily: "Now we ain't going to waste any more time. If you don't tell us where your money is, we will knock you and the girl on the head.
"No, you can't talk, but you can point out where it is. We know that you have got it.
"Very well, Bill, hit that young woman over the head with the butt of your pistol. Don't be afraid of hurting her.
"Ah! I thought you would change your mind. So it is under the bed.
"Look under, Dick. What is there?"
"A square box," another voice said.
"Well, haul it out."
"Come on," Bob Repton whispered to the others; "the moment we are in, shout."
Illustration: Bob and his Companions surprise the Burglars.
He stood for a moment in the doorway. A man was standing, with his back to him, holding a pistol in his hand. Another, similarly armed, stood by the side of a young woman who, in a loose dressing gown, sat shrinking in an armchair, into which she had evidently been thrust. A third was in the act of crawling under the bed. An elderly man, in his nightshirt, was standing up. A gag had been thrust into his mouth; and he was tightly bound, by a cord round his waist, to one of the bedposts.
Bob sprang forward, whirling his hockey stick round his head, and giving a loud shout of "Down with the villains!" the others joining, at the top of their voices.
Before the man had time to turn round, Bob's stick fell, with all the boy's strength, upon his ankle; and he went down as if he had been shot, his pistol exploding as he fell. Bob raised his stick again and brought it down, with a swinging blow, on the robber's head.
The others had made a rush, together, towards the man standing by the lady. Taken utterly by surprise, he discharged his pistol at random, and then sprang towards the door. Two blows fell on him, and Sankey and Fullarton tried to grapple with him; but he burst through them, and rushed out.
Bob and Wharton sprang on the kneeling man, before he could gain his feet; and rolled him over, throwing themselves upon him. He was struggling furiously, and would soon have shaken them off, when the other boys sprang to their assistance.
"You help them, Jim. I will get this cord off!" Fullarton said and, running to the bed, began to unknot the cord that bound the admiral.
The ruffian on the ground was a very powerful man, and the three boys had the greatest difficulty in holding him down; till Fullarton slipped a noose round one of his ankles and then, jumping on the bed, hauled upon it with all his strength--the admiral giving his assistance.
"Get off him, he is safe!" he shouted; but the others had the greatest difficulty in shaking themselves free from the man--who had, fortunately, laid his pistol on the bed, before he crawled under it to get at the box.
Jim Sankey was the first to shake himself free from him and, seeing what Fullarton was doing, he jumped on to the bed and gave him his assistance and, in half a minute, the ruffian's leg was lashed to the bedpost, at a height of five feet from the ground.
Just as this was done there was a rush of feet outside; and three men, one holding a cutlass and the other two armed with pokers, ran into the room. It was fortunate they did so, for the man whom Bob had first felled was just rising to his feet; but he was at once struck down again, by a heavy blow over the head with the cutlass. By this time the admiral had torn off the bandage across his mouth.
"Another of them ran downstairs, Jackson. Give chase. We can deal with these fellows."
The three men rushed off.
"Well, I don't know who you are," the admiral went on, turning to the boys, "but you turned up at the nick of time; and I am deeply indebted to you, not only for saving my money--although I should not have liked to lose that--but for having captured these pirates.
"That villain has not hurt you much, I hope?" for both Bob and Jim Sankey were bleeding freely, from the face, from the heavy blows the robber had dealt them.
"No, sir, we are not hurt to speak of," Bob said. "We belong to Tulloch's school."
"To the school!" the admiral exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here, at four o'clock in the morning?
"But never mind that now. What is it, Jackson, has he got away?"
"No, sir; he was lying in a heap, at the bottom of the stairs. There was a lanyard fastened across."
"We tied a string across, sir, as we came up," Bob explained.
"Well done, lads!
"Are there any more of them, Jackson?"
"Don't see any signs of any more, admiral. There are the two plate chests in the passage, as if they had been brought out from the butler's strong room, in readiness to take away."
"Where is the butler? He must have heard the pistol shots!" the admiral exclaimed angrily.
"He is not in his room, admiral. We looked in to bring him with us. The door was open, but he isn't there."
"There is another man in the drawing room, tied." Bob said. "He was putting a lot of things into a sack."
"The scoundrel! Perhaps that is the butler," the admiral said.
"Well, Emma, you had better go back to bed again.
"Jackson, you stand guard over these two villains here, and split their heads open, if they venture to move.
"Now, let us go and see to this other fellow."
The admiral proceeded downstairs, followed by the boys. The other two servants were standing beside the third robber, who was still insensible.
"You keep watch over him, John," the admiral said.
"William, you come with us. There is another man in the drawing room, but he is tied."
"There is the key, sir," Bob said, producing it. "We thought it safest to lock him up."
"Upon my word, young gentlemen, you seem to have thought of everything. If I were in command of a ship, I should like to have you all as midshipmen."
The door was opened. The man was still lying on the ground, but had rolled some distance from where they had left him. He had succeeded in getting his feet loosened from the handkerchief, but the whipcord round his wrists had resisted all his efforts to break or slacken it. He was panting heavily from the exertions he had made.
"It is Harper," the admiral said, in a tone of indignation and disgust.
"So, you treacherous scoundrel, it was you who let these men in, was it? Well, it is a hanging matter, my lad; and if any fellow deserves the rope, you do.
"You had better go and get some more cord, Williams, and tie all these four fellows up, securely. Let Jackson see to the knots.
"Where did the scoundrels get in?" he asked, turning to the boys.
"At the door at the end of the passage, sir, where the plate chests are standing. We found it open--here is the key of it. We locked it, after we came in, so as to prevent anyone from getting away.
"There is another man, with a cart, in the road."
"We will see to him, directly we have got the others all tied up safely," the admiral said. "That is the first thing to see to."
In five minutes, the four men were laid side by side in the hall, securely bound hand and foot.
"Now, Williams, you keep guard over them.
"Jackson, do you and John sally out. There is a cart standing outside the gate, and a fellow in it. Bring him in, and lay him alongside the others."
The boys followed the two men, to see the capture. The light had broadened out over the sky, and it was almost sunrise as they sallied out. They went quietly along, until they reached the gate--which stood ajar--then they flung it open and rushed out. To their disappointment, the cart was standing about fifty yards lower down the hill. The man was in it, with his whip in one hand and the reins in another, and was looking back; and the moment he saw them, he struck the horse and drove off at the top of his speed. The pace was such that it was hopeless for them to think of following him.
"I expect he heard the pistol shots," Jackson said, "and sheered off a bit, so as to be able to cut and run if he found his consorts were in trouble. Well, we cannot help it; we have taken four prizes out of the five, and I call that pretty fair."
"I think we had better go, now," Bob said. "We have got a friend waiting for us."
"Then he must wait a bit longer," Jackson said. "The admiral will want to ask you some more questions. But if your friend is anywhere near, one of you might run and tell him to back and fill a bit, till you come to him."
"Tell him to do what?" Jim Sankey asked.
"Tell him to wait a bit, lad."
"I will run up," Wharton said.
"Shall I tell him we shan't want him at all, today, Bob?"
"I think so, Wharton. You see it is four o'clock, now; and we mayn't be able to get away for half an hour, and it will be too late, then. Besides, Jim and I have been knocked about too much to care for rabbit hunting, now. You tell him we will go some other day."
"You needn't tell him that, Wharton," Fullarton put in. "It will be some time before we get a chance, you may be sure."
"All right! Tell him to go home then, Wharton. Tell him I will make it all right with him, for losing his morning's work. Of course, you will come in here, when you come down the hill again."
Wharton nodded, and started at a run up the hill; while his companions accompanied the two men into the house. The admiral was down in the hall again. He had now had time to add to his former, scanty costume.
"Get the shutters of the drawing room open, Jackson," he said, after hearing the report of the man's escape, "and tell the maids--I suppose they are all up--to light a fire and get some coffee ready, at once, and something to eat.
"Now, young gentlemen, sit down and tell me all about this business. Now, which of you will be spokesman?"
Jim nodded to Bob.
"It's his doing, sir. I mean about our coming in here. We should never have thought anything about the cart, if it hadn't been for Bob; and we didn't much like coming, only he pretty well made us, and he arranged it all."
"That's all rot," Bob said. "We were just all in it together, sir, and this is how it was."
And he told the whole story of what had taken place.
"Well, you couldn't have done better, if you had been officers in His Majesty's service," the admiral said. "You have saved me the loss of my two plate chests, of all the plate in this room--and that couldn't be counted in money, for they were most of the things given me, at different times, on service--and of 500 pounds I had in that box upstairs--altogether, at least 2000 pounds in money value. More than that, you prevented my being captured; and it would have been a sorer blow, to me, than the loss of the money, if those scoundrels had had their way, and had got off scot free.
"But you haven't told me, yet, how you happened to be going up the hill, at half past three o'clock in the morning. What on earth were you doing there? Surely your master does not allow you to ramble about, in the middle of the night."
"Well, no, sir, that is the worst of it," Bob said. "You see, I had arranged with one of the fishermen's boys, who has got a first-rate dog, that we could meet him upon the Common, and do some rabbit hunting. We slipped out from Tulloch's, and meant to have been back before anyone was up. And now I expect we shall get it nicely, because I suppose it must all come out."
The admiral laughed.
"You are four nice young scamps!" he said--for Wharton had rejoined them, before Bob had finished the story--"but it is not for me to blame you. It will certainly have to be told, lads, because you will have to appear as witnesses at the trial of these fellows; but I will go down myself, the first thing in the morning, and speak to your master."
"Thank you, sir," Bob said. "It won't make any difference about the thrashing; we are bound to get that. But we shan't mind that, we are pretty well accustomed to it. Still, if you speak for us, I expect we shall get off with that; otherwise I don't know what Tulloch would have done, when he found out that we had been slipping out at night."
"I expect it is not the first time you have done it?"
"Well, no, it is not, sir. We have been out two or three times, with one of the fishermen, in his boat."
"I expect you are nice young pickles," the admiral said. "Well, what time does school begin?"
"Half past seven, sir."
"Very well, then. I will be there at that hour, lads, and do my best for you. You see, with those faces of yours, you would be sure to be noticed, anyhow; and I hope you wouldn't, in any case, have been mean enough to screen yourselves by lying."
"That we shouldn't," Bob said. "I don't think there is a boy in the school who would tell a lie to Tulloch."
"That is right, lads. A gentleman will never tell a lie to screen himself, when he has got into a scrape. I wouldn't keep the smartest young officer in the service on board a ship of mine, if I caught him telling a lie; for I should know that he would not only be a blackguard, but a coward. Cowardice is at the bottom of half the lying of the world. I would overlook anything, except lying. Upon my word, I would rather that a boy were a thief than a liar.
"Well, here is breakfast. Now sit down and make yourselves at home, while I go up and see how my daughter is, after the fright she has had."
Half an hour later, after eating a hearty breakfast, the four boys started for school.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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2
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: A Great Change.
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It was just striking six when they again climbed over the wall, and descended by the tree. They had had a discussion whether they should wait until the doors were opened, and walk quietly in, or return as they left. They adopted the latter plan, because they thought that, if the matter was reported to Mr. Tulloch, he might proceed to administer punishment before the admiral arrived to give his version of the affair.
The door was still ajar. As they opened it, they gave an exclamation of surprise--for there, sitting on a chair in the passage, was Mr. Purfleet. He smiled unpleasantly.
"So here you are. You have had a pleasant ramble, no doubt; but I don't quite know what view Mr. Tulloch may take of it."
"It was very good of you to sit up for us, Mr. Purfleet," Bob said, quietly; "but you see, we had left the door open, and could have got in by ourselves. I hope you will not have caught cold, sitting there only in a dressing gown."
"You are an impudent young scamp!" Mr. Purfleet said, in a rage. "You will laugh with the other side of your mouth, presently. You and Sankey are nice-looking figures, ain't you, with your faces all cut and swollen?"
"We have been a little in the wars," Bob replied.
"I don't want to hear anything about it," the usher replied. "You will have to explain matters to Mr. Tulloch."
"So I suppose, Mr. Purfleet.
"Well, Jim, we'll go and have a good wash. The bell will be ringing, in half an hour."
So saying, Bob went into the lavatory, followed by his companions; while the usher returned upstairs. He was certainly disappointed. Quietly as the boys had dressed, the slight noise they had made in closing the door had woke him. He thought little of it but, just as he was going off to sleep again, he heard the bolts of the door below withdrawn. He at once got up and walked to the other end of the dormitory, and discovered that the four boys were missing.
Chuckling to himself that he should now be able to repay the grudge he owed to Bob, he put on his dressing gown and went downstairs; and had sat there for three hours, momentarily expecting their return. He had certainly felt chilly, but had borne it patiently; comforted by the joyful expectation of the utter dismay that would be felt, by the culprits, when they saw him. The meeting had not passed off at all as he had anticipated, and he could only console himself by thinking that his turn would come when he made his report to Mr. Tulloch.
The four boys did not return to the dormitory but, after they had washed, strolled about in the playground. There was quite a ferment, in the dormitory, when their absence was perceived, and the others noticed the four made-up figures in their place. The operation of dressing was got through with much greater alacrity than usual and, when they went downstairs and saw the four missing boys in the playground, these were at once surrounded by an excited throng. They refused, however, to answer any questions.
"You will hear it all, in good time," Bob said. "We have been out, and we have been caught. That is all I am going to tell you."
At the usual hour the bell rang, and the boys assembled in the schoolroom. The two ushers were in their places. They waited three or four minutes for Mr. Tulloch to appear; then the door opened, and the manservant entered and, walking up to Mr. Moffat, said a word or two. The latter nodded.
"Lessons will begin at once," he said, in a loud voice. "The first class will come up to me."
The boys of this class, who occupied the senior dormitory, at once began their lessons; while Mr. Purfleet took the lower class. The second class, including Bob and his friends, remained in their places. In a quarter of an hour the door opened, and Mr. Tulloch entered, accompanied by Admiral Langton. Mr. Tulloch was looking very serious, while the admiral looked hot and angry.
"We are going to catch it," Bob whispered, to Jim Sankey. "I knew the admiral wouldn't be able to get us off."
"I wish all the boys to return to their places, Mr. Moffat. I have something to say," Mr. Tulloch said, in a loud voice.
When the boys were all seated, he went on: "Admiral Langton has been telling me that four of my boys were out and about, soon after three o'clock this morning. The four boys in question will stand up.
"I do not say that this is the first time that such a serious infraction of the rules of the school has taken place. It has happened before. It may, for aught I know, have happened many times, without my knowledge; but upon the occasions when it has come to my knowledge, the offenders have been most severely punished. They must be punished, now.
"Admiral Langton has been telling me that the boys in question have behaved with very great courage, and have been the means of saving him from the loss of a large sum of money and plate, and of capturing four burglars."
A buzz of surprise passed round the school.
"That this conduct does them great credit I am fully prepared to admit. Had they been aware that this burglary was about to be committed, and had they broken out of the house in the middle of the night for the purpose of preventing it, I allow that it might have been pleaded as an excuse for their offence; but this was not so. It was an accident, that occurred to them when they were engaged in breaking the rules, and cannot be pleaded as a set-off against punishment.
"Admiral Langton has pleaded with me, very strongly, for a pardon for them; but I regret that I am unable to comply with his request. The admiral, as a sailor, is well aware that discipline must be maintained; and I am quite sure that, when he was in command of a ship, he would not have permitted his judgment to be biased, by anyone. I have put it to him in that way, and he acknowledges that to be so. The two matters stand distinct. The boys must be punished for this gross breach of the rules. They may be thanked, and applauded, for the courage they have shown, and the valuable service they have rendered to Admiral Langton.
"I have, however, so far yielded to his entreaties that, while I must administer a severe caning for the gross breach of the rules, I shall abstain from taking any further steps in the matter; and from writing to the boys' parents and guardians, requesting them to remove their sons from the school, at once, as I certainly otherwise would have done. At the same time, I am willing to hear anything that these boys may have to urge, in explanation or defence of their conduct. I have already been informed, by Admiral Langton, that their object, in so breaking out, was to hunt rabbits up on the Common."
"I wish to say, sir," Bob said, in a steady voice, "that it was entirely my doing. I made the arrangements, and persuaded the others to go; and I think it is only right that they should not be punished as severely as I am."
"We were all in it together, sir," Jim Sankey broke in. "I was just as keen on it as Bob was."
"So was I," Fullarton and Wharton said, together.
"Well, lads," Admiral Langton said, taking a step forward, and addressing the boys, in general, "as your master says, discipline is discipline; this is his ship, and he is on his own quarterdeck--but I wish to tell you all that, in my opinion, you have every reason to be proud of your schoolfellows. They behaved with the greatest pluck and gallantry and, were I again in command of a ship, I should be glad to have them serving me. I am only sorry that I cannot persuade Mr. Tulloch to see the matter in the same light as I do.
"Goodbye, lads!" and he walked across, and shook hands with the four boys. "I shall see you again, soon," and the admiral turned abruptly, and walked out of the schoolroom.
Mr. Tulloch at once proceeded to carry his sentence into effect, and the four boys received as severe a caning as ever they had had in their lives; and even Bob, case hardened as he was, had as much as he could do to prevent himself from uttering a sound, while it was being inflicted. Lessons were then continued, as usual, until eight o'clock, when the boys went in to breakfast. After that was over, they went into the playground, until nine; and the four culprits gave the rest a full account of the events of the night.
"I don't mind the thrashing," Bob said, "although Tulloch did lay it on hot. It was well worth it, if it had only been to see that sneak Purfleet's face, when the admiral told the story. I was watching him, when Tulloch came in; and saw how delighted he was, at the tale he was going to tell; and how satisfied he was that he should get no end of credit, for sitting three hours in his dressing gown, in order to catch us when we came in. It was an awful sell for him, when he saw that the admiral had come out with the whole story, and there was nothing, whatever, for him to tell."
When they went into school again, Mr. Tulloch said: "Boys, I hear that four of your number have behaved with great gallantry. They have prevented a serious robbery, and arrested the men engaged in it. I shall therefore give you a holiday, for the remainder of the day. The four boys in question will proceed, at once, to Admiral Langton's, as they will be required to accompany him to Kingston, where the prisoners will be brought up before the magistrates."
There was a general cheer from the boys, and then Bob and his companions hurried upstairs to put on their best clothes, and ran off to the admiral's.
"Well, boys, is it all over?" he asked, as they entered.
"All over, sir," they replied together.
"Well, boys, I think it was a shame; but I suppose discipline must be maintained in school, as well as on board a ship; but it vexes me, amazingly, to think that I have been the means of bringing you into it."
"It is just the other way, sir," Bob said, "and it is very lucky for us that we came in here, sir, instead of going up to the Common, as we intended. One of the ushers found out that we had gone, and sat up until we came back and, if it had not been for you, we should not only have got a thrashing, but should all have been expelled; so it is the luckiest thing possible that we came in here."
"Well, I am very glad to hear that, boys. It has taken a load off my mind, for I have been thinking that, if you had not come in to help me, you would have got back without being noticed.
"Emma, these are the four lads who did us such good service, last night. They caught sight of you, before, but you were hardly in a state to receive them formally."
The young lady laughed, as she came forward and shook hands with them.
"You need not have mentioned that, papa.
"Well, I am very much obliged to you all; for I have no doubt they meant to have my watch and jewels, as well as papa's money."
"Now, it is time for us to be off," the admiral said. "My carriage is at the door, and a fly. You two, who have been knocked about, had better come with my daughter and myself. The others can either ride inside the fly, or one can go on the box of each vehicle, as you like."
Wharton and Fullarton both said that they should prefer going outside; and in a few minutes they were on their way, the three menservants riding inside the fly. The prisoners had been sent off, two hours before, in a cart; under the charge of the two local constables.
The case lasted but an hour, the four men being all committed for trial. The party then returned to Putney, the admiral insisting upon the boys stopping to lunch with him. After the meal was over, he inquired what they were going to do, on leaving school, and what profession they intended to adopt.
Bob was the first questioned.
"I am going to be a wine merchant, sir," he said. "I have got no choice about it. I lost my father and mother, years ago; and my guardian, who is an uncle of mine, is in the wine trade, and he says I have got to go in, too. I think it is horrid, but there is no good talking to him. He is an awfully crusty old chap. I should like to be a soldier, or a sailor; but of course it is of no use thinking of it. My guardian has been very kind to me, even though he is so crusty, and it wouldn't be right not to do as he tells me; and I don't suppose the wine business is so very bad, when one is accustomed to it."
"Has your uncle any sons, lad?"
"No, sir, he is an old bachelor; and he says that, some day, I am to have his business."
"Then you can't do better than stick to it, lad," the admiral said. "A boy who has before him the prospect of a solid, substantial living, on shore, is simply a fool if he goes to sea. It is a rough life, and a hard one; and if you don't get shot, or drowned, you may get laid on the shelf with the loss of a limb, and a pension that won't find you in grog and tobacco.
"It is a pity, for you would have made a good officer, but you will be vastly better off, in all respects, at home; and I can tell you there is not one sailor out of five who would not jump at a berth on shore, if he could get the chance."
Sankey's father was a country clergyman and, at present, Jim had no particular prospect.
"Would you like to go to sea, boy?"
"Yes, sir, I should like it of all things."
"Very well; give me your father's name and address, and I will write to him about it."
Fullarton's father was a landed proprietor in Somersetshire, and he was the eldest son. Wharton was to be a lawyer, and was to begin in his father's office, in a year or two. Admiral Langton took notes of the addresses of the boys' relatives.
When he had done that, he said to them: "Now, lads, I know you would rather be off. I remember, when I was a midshipman, I was always glad enough to escape, when I had to dine with the captain."
A week later, a young man came down from a city watchmaker's, with four handsome gold watches and chains for the boys; with an inscription stating that they had been presented to them by Admiral Langton, in remembrance of their gallant conduct on the night of August 6th, 1778. They were immensely delighted with the gift; for watches were, in those days, far more expensive luxuries than at present, and their use was comparatively rare. With the watches were four short notes from the admiral, inviting them to come up on the following Saturday afternoon.
They had, by this time, received letters from their families, who had each received a communication from the admiral, expressing his warm commendation of their conduct, and his thanks for the services that the boys had rendered.
Jim Sankey's father wrote saying that the admiral had offered to procure him a berth as a midshipman, at once; and that he had written, thankfully accepting the offer, as he knew that it was what Jim had been most earnestly wishing--though, as he had no interest, whatever, among naval men, he had hitherto seen no chance of his being able to obtain such an appointment. This communication put Jim into a state of the wildest delight, and rendered him an object of envy to his schoolfellows.
Fullarton's father wrote his son a hearty letter, congratulating him on what he had done, and saying that he felt proud of the letter he had received from the admiral.
Wharton's father wrote to him sharply, saying that thief-taking was a business that had better be left to constables, and that he did not approve of freaks of that kind.
Mr. Bale wrote an irascible letter to Bob.
"My dear nephew," he began, "I am astonished, and most seriously displeased, at contents of communication I have received from a person signing himself J. Langton, admiral. I gather from it that, instead of pursuing your studies, you are wandering about at night, engaged in pursuits akin to poaching. I say akin, because I am not aware whether the wild animals upon the common are the property of the lord of the manor, or whether they are at the mercy of vagabonds. It appears to me that there can be no proper supervision exercised by your masters.
"I spoke to you when you were here, six weeks ago, as to your school reports which, although fairly satisfactory as to your abilities, said there was a great want of steadiness in your general conduct. I am convinced that you are doing no good for yourself, and that the sooner you settle down to a desk, in my office, the better. I have therefore written this morning, informing Mr. Tulloch that I shall remove you, at Michaelmas.
"Your sister has been here, with her husband, today. I am sorry to say that they do not view your wild and lawless conduct in the same light that I do, and that they are unable to see there is anything positively disreputable in your being mixed up in midnight adventures with burglars. I am glad to gather, from Admiral Langton's letter, that Mr. Tulloch has seen your conduct in the proper light, and has inflicted a well-merited punishment upon you.
"All this is a very bad preparation for your future career as a respectable trader, and I am most annoyed to hear that you will be called on to appear as a witness against the men who have been captured. I have written to Admiral Langton, acknowledging his letter, and expressing my surprise that a gentleman in his position should give any countenance, whatever, to a lad who has been engaged in breaking the rules of his school; and in wandering at night, like a vagabond, through the country."
Bob looked rather serious as he read through the letter for the first time but, after going through it again, he burst into a shout of laughter.
"What is it, Bob?" Tom Fullarton asked.
"Read this letter, Tom. I should like to have seen the admiral's face, as he read my uncle's letter. But it is too bad. You see, I have regularly done for myself. I was to have stopped here till a year come Christmas, and now I have to leave at Michaelmas. I call it a beastly shame."
It was some consolation to Bob to receive, next morning, a letter from his sister, saying she was delighted to hear how he had distinguished himself in the capture of the burglars.
"Of course, it was very wrong of you to get out at night; but Gerald says that boys are always up to tricks of that sort, and so I suppose that it wasn't so bad as it seems to me. Uncle John pretends to be in a terrible rage about it, but I don't think he is really as angry as he makes himself out to be. He blew me up, and said that I had always encouraged you--which of course I haven't--and when Gerald tried to say a good word for you, he turned upon him, and said something about fellow-feeling making men wondrous kind. Gerald only laughed, and said he was glad my uncle had such a good opinion of him, and that he should have liked to have been there, to lend a hand in the fight; and then uncle said something disagreeable, and we came away.
"But I feel almost sure that Uncle John is not really so angry as he seems; and I believe that, if Gerald and I had taken the other side, and had said that your conduct had been very wicked, he would have defended you. It was stupid of us not to think of it, for you know uncle always likes to disagree with other people--there is nothing he hates more than their agreeing with him. His bark is much worse than his bite, and you must not forget how good and kind he has been to us all.
"You know how angry he was with my marriage, and he said I had better have drowned myself, than have married a soldier; and I had better have hung myself, than have married an Irishman--specially when he had intended, all along, that I should marry the son of an old friend of his, a most excellent and well-conducted young man, with admirable prospects. But he came round in a month or two, and the first notice of it was a letter from his lawyer, saying that, in accordance with the instruction of his client, Mr. John Bale, he had drawn up and now enclosed a post-nuptial settlement, settling on me the sum of 5000 pounds consols; and that his client wished him to say that, had I married the person he had intended for me, that sum would have been doubled.
"The idea, when I never even saw the man! And when I wrote, thanking him, he made no allusion to what he had said before; but wrote that he should be glad, at all times, to see my husband and myself, whenever we came to town; but that, as I knew, his hours were regular, and the door always locked at ten o'clock--just as if Gerald was in the habit of coming in, drunk, in the middle of the night! Fortunately nothing puts Gerald out, and he screamed over it; and we went and stopped a week with uncle, a month afterwards, and he and Gerald got on capitally together, considering. Gerald said it was like a bear and a monkey in one cage, but it was really very funny.
"So I have no doubt he will come round, with you. Do try and not vex him more than you can help, Bob. You know how much we all owe him."
This was true. Bob's father had died when he was only three years old--he being a lawyer, with a good business, at Plymouth--but he had made no provision for his early death, and had left his wife and two children almost penniless. Mr. Bale had at once taken charge of them, and had made his sister an allowance that enabled her to live very comfortably. She had remained in Plymouth, as she had many friends there.
Her daughter Carrie--who was six years older than Bob--had, four years before, married Gerald O'Halloran, who was then a lieutenant in the 58th Regiment, which was in garrison there. He had a small income, derived from an estate in Ireland, besides his pay; but the young couple would have been obliged to live very economically, had it not been for the addition of the money settled on her by her uncle.
Her mother had died, a few months after the marriage; and Mr. Bale had at once placed Bob at the school, at Putney; and had announced his intention of taking him, in due time, into his business. The boy always spent one half of his holidays with his uncle, the other with his sister. The former had been a trial, both to him and to Mr. Bale. They saw but little of each other; for Mr. Bale, who, like most business men of the time, lived over his offices, went downstairs directly he had finished his breakfast, and did not come up again until his work was over when, at five o'clock, he dined. The meal over, he sometimes went out to the houses of friends, or to the halls of one or other of the city companies to which he belonged.
While Bob was with him, he told off one of the foremen in his business to go about with the boy. The days, therefore, passed pleasantly, as they generally went on excursions by water up or down the river or, sometimes, when it was not otherwise required, in a light cart used in the business, to Epping or Hainault Forest. Bob was expected to be back to dinner and, thanks to the foreman--who knew that his employer would not tolerate the smallest unpunctuality--he always succeeded in getting back in time to wash and change his clothes for dinner.
The meal was a very solemn one, Mr. Bale asking occasional questions, to which Bob returned brief answers. Once or twice the boy ventured upon some lively remark, but the surprise and displeasure expressed in his uncle's face, at this breach of the respectful silence then generally enforced upon the young, in the presence of their elders, deterred him from often trying the experiment.
Mr. Bale was as much bored as was Bob by these meals, and the evenings that sometimes followed them. He would have been glad to have chatted more freely with his nephew, but he was as ill at ease with him, as he would have been with a young monkey. There was nothing in common between them, and the few questions he asked were the result of severe cogitation. He used to glance at the boy from under his eyebrows, wonder what he was smiling to himself about, and wish that he understood him better. It did not occur to him that if he had drawn him out, and encouraged him to chatter as he liked, he should get underneath the surface, and might learn something of the nature hidden there. It was in sheer desperation, at finding nothing to say, that he would often seize his hat and go out, when he had quite made up his mind to stay indoors for the evening.
Bob put up, as well as he could, with his meals and the dull evenings, for the sake of the pleasant time he had during the day; but he eagerly counted the hours until the time when he was to take his place on the coach for Canterbury, where the 58th were now quartered. He looked forward with absolute dread to the time when he would have to enter his uncle's office.
"What is the use of being rich, Carrie," he would say to his sister, "if one lives as uncle does? I would rather work in the fields."
"Yes, Bob; but you see, when you get to be rich you needn't live in the same way, at all. You could live as some traders do, in the country at Hampstead, Dulwich, or Chelsea, and ride in to business; and you can, of course, marry and enjoy life. One needn't live like a hermit, all alone, because one is a trader in the city."
The one consolation Bob had was that his uncle had once said that he considered it was a great advantage, to any young man going into the wine trade, to go over to Spain or Portugal for two or three years; to learn the whole routine of business there, to study the different growths and know their values, and to form a connection among the growers and shippers. Bob had replied gravely that he thought this would certainly be a great advantage, and that he hoped his uncle would send him over there.
"I shall see, when the time comes, Robert. It will, of course, depend much upon the relations between this country and Spain and Portugal; and also upon yourself. I could not, of course, let you go out there until I was quite assured of your steadiness of conduct. So far, although I have nothing to complain of, myself, your schoolmaster's reports are by no means hopeful, on that head. Still, we must hope that you will improve."
It was terrible to Bob to learn that he was to go, fifteen months sooner than he had expected, to his uncle's; but he was somewhat relieved when, upon his arrival at the house at Philpot Lane, his uncle, after a very grave lecture on the enormity of his conduct at school, said: "I have been thinking, Robert, that it will be more pleasant, both for you and for me, that you should not, at present, take up your abode here. I am not accustomed to young people. It would worry me having you here and, after your companionship with boys of your own age, you might find it somewhat dull.
"I have therefore arranged with Mr. Medlin, my principal clerk, for you to board with him. He has, I believe, some boys and girls of about your own age. You will, I hope, be able to make yourself comfortable there."
"Thank you, uncle," Bob said, suppressing his impulse to give a shout of satisfaction, and looking as grave as possible. "I think that would be a very nice arrangement."
"Mr. Medlin is a very trustworthy person," Mr. Bale went on. "He has been with me for upwards of twenty years, and I have the greatest confidence in him.
"You had better sit down here, and take a book. At five o'clock come down into the counting house. Mr. Medlin will leave at that hour."
Bob had hitherto avoided the counting house. He had occasionally, on previous visits, slipped down to his friend the foreman; and had wandered through the great cellars, and watched the men at work bottling, and gazed in surprise at the long tiers of casks stacked up to the roof of the cellar, and the countless bottles stowed away in the bins. Once or twice he had gone down into the counting house, with his uncle; and waited there a few minutes, until the foreman was disengaged. He had noticed Mr. Medlin at work at his high desk, in one corner--keeping, as it seemed to him, his eye upon two young clerks, who sat on high stools at opposite sides of the desk, on the other side of the office.
Mr. Medlin had a little rail round the top of his desk, and curtains on rods that could be drawn round it. He was a man of six or seven and thirty; with a long face, smooth shaven. He always seemed absorbed in his work and, when spoken to by Mr. Bale, answered in the fewest possible words, in an even, mechanical voice. It had seemed to Bob that he had been entirely oblivious to his presence; and it did not appear to him now, as he sat with a book before him, waiting for the clock on the mantel to strike five, that existence at Mr. Medlin's promised to be a lively one. Still, as there were boys and girls, it must be more amusing than it would be at his uncle's and, at any rate, the clerk would not be so formidable a personage to deal with as Mr. Bale.
At one minute to five he went down, so as to open the counting house door as the clock struck. As he went in through the outer door, his uncle came out from the inner office.
"Ah! There you are, Robert.
"Mr. Medlin, this is my nephew who, as we have arranged, will take up his residence with you. I am afraid you will find him somewhat headstrong and troublesome. I have already informed you why it has been necessary to remove him from school. However, I trust that there will be no repetition of such follies; and that he will see the necessity of abandoning schoolboy pranks, and settling down to business."
"Yes, sir," Mr. Medlin replied, seeing that his employer expected an answer.
Bob had noticed that, although the clerk's eyes were directed upon him, there appeared to be no expression of interest or curiosity in them; but that they might as well have been fixed upon a blank wall.
"Your boxes have already been sent round in the cart to Mr. Medlin's, Robert. I don't know that there is anything else to say. Mr. Medlin will, of course, put you in the way of your duties here; but if you have anything to say to me--any questions to ask, or any remarks, connected with the business, or otherwise, you wish to make--I shall always be ready to listen to you, if you will come into the counting house at half past four."
So saying, Mr. Bale retired into his private room again. Mr. Medlin placed his papers inside his desk, locked it, took off his coat and hung it on a peg, put on another coat and his hat, and then turned to Bob.
"Ready?"
"Quite ready."
Mr. Medlin led the way out of the counting house, and Bob followed. Mr. Medlin walked fast, and Bob had to step out to keep up with him. The clerk appeared scarcely conscious of his presence, until they were beyond the more crowded thoroughfare, then he said: "Two miles, out Hackney way. Not too far!"
"Not at all," Bob replied. "The farther the better."
"No burglars there. Wouldn't pay."
And Bob thought that the shadow of a smile passed across his face.
"We can do without them," Bob said.
"Hate coming here, I suppose?"
"That I do," Bob said, cordially.
Mr. Medlin nodded.
"Not so bad as it looks," he said, and then walked on again, in silence.
Presently there was a break in the houses. They were getting beyond the confines of business London.
"Do you see this little garden?" Mr. Medlin asked, suddenly, in a tone so unlike that in which he had before spoken that Bob quite started.
The lad looked at the little patch of ground, with some stunted shrubs, but could see nothing remarkable in it.
"Yes, I see it, sir," he said.
"That, Bob," Mr. Medlin went on, "--for I suppose you are called Bob--marks the end of all things."
Bob opened his eyes in astonishment, and again examined the little garden.
"It marks, Bob, the delimitation between London and country, between slavery and freedom. Here, every morning, I leave myself behind; here, every evening, I recover myself--or, at least, a considerable portion of myself--at a further mark, half a mile on, I am completely restored.
"I suppose you used to find just the same thing, at the door of the schoolroom?"
"A good deal, sir," Bob said, in a much brighter tone than he had used, since he said goodbye to the fellows at Tulloch's.
"I am glad you feel like that. I expect you will get like that, as to the city, in time; but mind, lad, you must always find yourself again. You stick to that. You make a mark somewhere, leave yourself behind in the morning, and pick yourself up again when you come back. It is a bad thing for those who forget to do that. They might as well hang themselves--better.
"In there," and he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, "we are all machines, you know. It isn't us, not a bit of it. There is just the flesh, the muscle, the bones, and a frozen bit of our brains. The rest of us is left behind. If, as we come out, we forget to pick it up, we lose ourselves altogether, before long; and then there we are, machines to the end of our lives. You remember that, Bob. Keep it always in mind."
"It is a pity that my uncle didn't get the same advice, forty years ago, Mr. Medlin."
"It is a pity my employer did not marry. It is a pity my employer lives in that dull house, in that dull lane, all by himself," Mr. Medlin said, angrily.
"But he has not got rid of himself, altogether. He is a good deal frozen up; but he thaws out, sometimes. What a man he would be, if he would but live out somewhere, and pick himself up regularly, as I do, every day!
"This is my second mark, Bob, this tree growing out in the road. Now, you see, we are pretty well in the country.
"Can you run?"
"Yes, I can run pretty well, Mr. Medlin."
"Very well, Bob. You see that tree growing out beyond that garden wall, about four hundred yards on. It is four hundred and twenty, for I have measured it. Now then, you walk on fifty yards, and then run for your life. See if I don't catch you, before you are there."
Bob, wondering as he went along at the astounding change that had come over his companion, took fifty long steps; then he heard a shout of "Now!" and went off at the top of his speed. He was still a hundred yards from the mark, when he heard steps coming rapidly up behind him; and then the clerk dashed past him, and came in fully twenty yards ahead.
"You don't run badly," he said, as Bob stopped, panting. "My Jack generally comes to meet me, and I always give him seventy yards, and only beat him by about as much as I do you. He couldn't come, this afternoon. He is busy helping his mother to get things straight. I expect we shall meet him, presently.
"Well, what are you laughing at?"
"I was just thinking how astonished my uncle would be, if he were to see us."
Mr. Medlin gave a hearty laugh.
"Not so much as you would think, Bob. Five years ago, my employer suddenly asked me, just as we were shutting up one afternoon, if I was fond of fishing. I said that I used to be.
"He said, 'I am going down, for a fortnight, into Hampshire. I have no one to go with--suppose you come with me.'
"I said, 'I will.'
"He said, 'Coach tomorrow morning, eight o'clock, Black Horse Yard.'
"I was there. As we went over London Bridge I found myself, as usual; and he found himself. I explained to him that I could not help it. He said he didn't want me to help it. We had a glorious fortnight together, and we have been out every year, since. He never alludes to it, between times. No more do I. He is stiffer than usual for a bit. So am I. But we both know each other.
"You do not suppose that he would have sent you to me, if he hadn't known that I have got another side to me?"
"Well, I should not have thought," Bob said, "from the way he talked, when he introduced me to you, that he ever had such an idea in his mind."
"He was obliged to talk so," Mr. Medlin said, laughing. "We were just machines at the time, both of us. But he talked in quite a different way when we were down fishing together, three weeks ago. He said then you were rather a pickle, and that he didn't think you would do yourself any good where you were, so that he was going to bring you up to business. " 'I don't want him to turn out a dull blockhead,' he said, 'and so I propose that you should take charge of him, and teach him to keep himself young. I wish I had done it, myself.'
"And so it was settled.
"There is no better employer in the city than your uncle. There is not a man or boy about the place who isn't well paid, and contented. I used to think myself a lucky man, before we went out fishing together for the first time but, six months after that, he gave me a rise that pretty well took my breath away.
"Ah! Here come the young uns."
A couple of minutes later, four young people ran up. There was a boy about Bob's age, a girl a year younger, a boy, and another girl, in regular steps. They greeted their father with a joyous shout of welcome.
"So you have got everything done," he said. "I thought you would meet me somewhere here.
"This is Bob Repton, my employer's nephew, and future member of the firm. Treat him with all respect, and handle him gently. He is a desperate fellow, though he doesn't look it. This is the young gentleman I told you of, who made a night expedition and captured four burglars."
After this introduction, Bob was heartily shaken by the hand, all round; and the party proceeded on their way, the two girls holding their father's hand, the boys walking behind, with Bob, who was so surprised at the unexpected turn affairs had taken that, for a time, he almost lost his usual readiness of speech.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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3
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: An Unexpected Journey.
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Hawthorne Cottage, Mr. Medlin's abode, was a pretty little house, standing detached in a good-sized garden, surrounded by a high wall.
"Here we are, mother," the clerk said, as he led the way into a cozy room, where tea was laid upon the table, while a bright fire blazed in the grate.
A very pleasant-faced lady, who did not look to Bob more than thirty--although she must have been four or five years older--greeted her husband affectionately.
"My dear," he said, "in the exuberance of your feelings, you forget that I have brought you home a visitor. This is Mr. Robert Repton. While he is resident in the house, he may be greeted as Bob. We had a race, and he runs faster than Jack; fifty yards, in four hundred and twenty, is the utmost I can give him."
"What nonsense you do talk, Will!" his wife said, laughing. "I am sure Master Repton must think you out of your mind."
"It is a very jolly way of being out of his mind, Mrs. Medlin. You don't know how pleased I am."
"He thought I was an ogre, my dear, and that you were an ogress.
"Now let the banquet be served; for I am hungry, and I expect Bob is, too. As for the children, they are always hungry--at least, it seems so."
It was a merry meal, and Bob thought he had never enjoyed one as much, except at his sister's. After tea they had music; and he found that Mr. Medlin performed admirably on the violin, his wife played the spinet, Jack the clarionet, and Sophy--the eldest girl--the piccolo.
"She is going to learn the harp, presently," Mr. Medlin explained; "but for the present, when we have no visitors--and I don't count you one, after this evening--she plays the piccolo. She is a little shy about it, but shyness is the failing of my family."
"It is very jolly," Bob said. "I wish I could play an instrument."
"We will see about it, in time, Bob. We want a French horn; but I don't see, at present, where you are to practise."
"Has uncle ever been here?" Bob asked, late in the evening.
"Yes, he came here the evening we got back from our fishing expedition. He wanted to see the place, before he finally settled about you coming here. My wife was a little afraid of him; but there was no occasion, and everything went off capitally--except that Sophy would not produce her piccolo. I walked back with him, till he came upon a hackney coach.
"He said as he got in, 'I have spent a most pleasant evening, Medlin. You are a very lucky fellow.'
"I went back to work the next morning, and we both dropt into the old groove; and nothing more was said until yesterday, when he informed me that you would come, today."
"Oh, dear!" Bob said, as he started with the clerk, at eight o'clock on the following morning. "Now I am going to begin at that wretched counting house."
"No, you are not, Bob. You are not coming in there, at present. When your uncle and I were talking--when we were fishing, you know--he said that he saw no use in your going in there, at present; and thought it would be quite time for you to learn how the books are kept, in another three or four years; and that, till then, you could go into the cellar. You will learn bottling, and packing, and blending, and something about the quality and value of wines. You will find it much more pleasant than being shut up in a counting house, making out bills and keeping ledgers."
"A great deal," Bob said, joyfully. "I sha'n't mind that at all."
Bob observed a noticeable change in his companion's demeanour, when he arrived at the tree and, on passing the last garden, his face assumed a stolid expression; his brisk, springy walk settled down into a business pace; his words became few; and he was again a steady, and mechanical, clerk.
A fortnight later, Bob was summoned to the counting house.
"Mr. Bale wishes to see you," Mr. Medlin said.
Bob entered, wondering what he was wanted for.
"I received a subpoena, a week ago, Robert, for you to attend as a witness at Kingston tomorrow. These interruptions to business are very annoying. I did not mention it to you before for, if I had done so, you would be thinking of nothing else.
"This morning I have received a letter from Admiral Langton, requesting me to allow you to go down by the stage, this afternoon, and to sleep at his house. He will take you over, in the morning; and you will sleep there again, tomorrow night, and come back by the early stage.
"I trust that you will endeavour to curb your exuberance of spirits. This is a very grave matter, and anything like levity would be altogether out of place.
"The letter says that the stage leaves the Bell Tavern at four o'clock."
Bob replied, gravely, that he would be there in time; and went off to his work again, until twelve o'clock.
When he arrived at the admiral's, at a quarter to six, a lad in midshipman's uniform came rushing out into the hall.
"Hulloa, Bob!"
"Why, Jim! --but no, I suppose I ought to say Mr. James Sankey, to an officer of your importance. How comes it, sir, that you are so soon attired in His Majesty's uniform?"
"I will punch your head, Bob, if you go on with that nonsense.
"But I say, isn't it jolly? The very afternoon after you left came down a big letter, with a tremendous seal; and therein I was informed that I was appointed to His Majesty's ship Brilliant, and was ordered to join immediately. Of course, I did not know what to do, so I came up here; and who do you think I found here? Captain Langton, the admiral's son, who is in command of the Brilliant.
"Of course, it was he who had got me the appointment. He was very kind, and told me that I could not join until after this trial; so that I could go down home, and stop there, till today; and the admiral sent me straight off, to be measured for my uniform. When I started, next day, he gave me a letter to my father--an awfully nice letter it was, saying that he intended to present me with my first outfit. I got here about an hour ago, and have been putting on my uniform, to see how it fitted."
"You mean to see how you looked in it, Jim? It looks first rate. I wish I was in one too, and was going with you, instead of sticking in Philpot Lane."
"I am awfully sorry for you, Bob. It must be beastly."
"Well, it is not so bad as I expected, Jim, and uncle is turning out much better; and I don't live there, but with the head clerk, out at Hackney. He is an awfully jolly sort of fellow--you never saw such a rum chap. I will tell you all about it, afterwards.
"I suppose I ought to go in, and see the admiral."
"He is out, at present, Bob. He will be back at eight o'clock to supper, so you can come up and tell me all about it. Captain Langton is here, too."
Captain Langton spoke very kindly to Bob, when the two boys came down to supper; and told him that if, at any time, he changed his mind, and there was a vacancy for a midshipman on board his ship, he would give him the berth.
"I should be very glad to have you with me," he said, "after the service you rendered my father and sister."
On the following morning, Fullarton and Wharton came up from the school, and two carriages conveyed the witnesses over to Kingston. The prisoners, Bob heard, were notorious and desperate criminals, whom the authorities had long been anxious to lay hands on. The butler was one of the gang, and had obtained his post by means of a forged character. The trial only occupied two hours for, taken in the act as the men were, there was no defence whatever. All four were sentenced to be hung, and the judge warmly complimented the four boys upon their conduct in the matter.
The next morning, Bob returned to his work in the city.
For the next three months, his existence was a regular one. On arriving in the cellar, he took off his jacket and put on a large apron, that completely covered him; and from that time until five o'clock he worked with the other boys: bottling, packing, storing the bottles away in the bins, or taking them down as required. He learned, from the foreman, something of the localities from which the wine came, their value and prices; but had not begun to distinguish them by taste, or bouquet. Mr. Bale, the foreman said, had given strict orders that he was not to begin tasting, at present.
Three days before Christmas, one of the clerks brought him down word that Mr. Bale wished to see him in the office, at five o'clock.
During the three, months he had scarcely spoken to his uncle. The latter had nodded to him, whenever he came into the cellar; and had regularly said, "Well, Robert, how are you getting on?"
To which he had, as regularly, replied, "Very well, uncle."
He supposed that the present meeting was for the purpose of inviting him to dine at Philpot Lane, on Christmas Day; and although he knew that he should enjoy the festivity more, at Hackney, he was prepared to accept it very willingly.
"I have sent for you, Robert," Mr. Bale said, when he entered his office, "to say that your sister has written to ask me to go down to spend Christmas with her, at Portsmouth. As her husband's regiment is on the point of going abroad, I have decided on accepting her invitation and, for the same reason, I shall take you down with me. You will therefore have your box packed, tonight. I shall send down a cart to fetch it, tomorrow. You will sleep here tomorrow night, and we start the next morning."
"Thank you very much, uncle," Bob said, in delight; and then, seeing that nothing further was expected of him, he ran off to join Mr. Medlin, who was waiting for him outside.
"What do you think, Mr. Medlin? I am going down to spend Christmas at my sister's."
"Ah!" the clerk said, in a dull unsympathetic voice. "Well, mind how you walk, Mr. Robert. It does not look well, coming out from a place of business as if you were rushing out of school."
Bob knew well enough that it was no use, whatever, trying to get his companion to take any interest in matters unconnected with business, at present; so he dropped into his regular pace, and did not open his lips again, until they had passed the usual boundary.
Then Mr. Medlin said, briskly, "So you are going down to your sister's, Bob!"
"Yes, that will be first rate, won't it? Of course, I went down in the summer to Canterbury, and hardly expected to go again this year. As I have only been three months here, I did not even think of going.
"It will be the last holiday I shall have, for some time. You know Carrie said, when she wrote to me a month ago, that the regiment expected to be ordered abroad soon; and uncle said it is on the point of going, now.
"He is coming down with me."
His voice fell a little, at this part of the announcement.
"He is, eh? You think you will have to be on your best behaviour, Bob?"
"Before you told me about him, Mr. Medlin, I should have thought it would quite spoil the holiday. But I do not feel it so bad, now."
"He will be all right, Bob. You have never seen him outside the city, yet. Still, I shouldn't be up to any tricks with him, you know, if I were you--shouldn't put cobbler's wax on his pigtail, or anything of that sort."
"As if I should think of such a thing, Mr. Medlin!"
"Well, I don't know, Bob. You have made Jack pretty nearly as wild as you are, yourself. You are quite a scandal to the neighbourhood, you two. You nearly frightened those two ladies next door into fits, last week, by carrying in that snowman, and sticking it up in their garden, when you knew they were out. I thought they were both going to have fits, when they rushed in to tell me there was a ghost in their garden."
"I believe you suggested it yourself, Mr. Medlin," Bob said, indignantly. "Besides, it served them right, for coming in to complain that we had thrown stones and broken their window, when we had done nothing of the sort."
"It was rather lucky for you that they did so, Bob; for you see, we were all so indignant, then, that they didn't venture to accuse you of the snowman business--though I have no doubt they were convinced, in their own minds, that it was you. But that is only one out of twenty pranks that you and Jack have been up to."
"Jack and I and someone else, Mr Medlin. We carry them out, but I think someone else always suggests them."
"Not suggest, Bob--far from it. If I happen to say that it would be a most reprehensible thing if anyone were to do something, somehow or other that is the very thing that Jack and you do. It was only last week I said that it would be a very objectionable trick if anyone was to tie paper bands round the neck of the clergyman's black cat--who is always stealing our chickens--and to my surprise, the next morning, when we started for business, there was quite a crowd outside his house, watching the cat calmly sitting over the porch, with white bands round its neck. Now, that is an example of what I mean."
"Quite so, Mr. Medlin, that is just what I meant, too; and it was much better than throwing stones at him. It is a savage beast, though it does look so demure; and scratched Jack's hand and mine, horribly, when we were tying on the bands."
At the tree the others met them, and they laughed and chatted all the way back; the young ones expressing much regret, however, that Bob was to be away at Christmas.
At the appointed time, Mr. Bale and Bob took their places on the coach. The latter felt a little oppressed; for his uncle had, the evening before, been putting him through a sort of examination as to the value of wines; and had been exceedingly severe when Bob had not acquitted himself to his satisfaction, but had mixed up Malaga with Madeira, and had stated that a French wine was grown near Cadiz.
"I expect I shall know them better when I get to taste them," Bob had urged, in excuse. "When you don't know anything about the wines, it is very difficult to take an interest in them. It is like learning that a town in India is on the Ganges. You don't care anything about the town, and you don't care anything about the Ganges; and you are sure to mix it up, next time, with some other town on some other river."
"If those are your ideas, Robert, I think you had better go to bed," Mr. Bale had said, sternly; and Bob had gone to bed, and had thought what a nuisance it was that his uncle was going down to Portsmouth, just when he wanted to be jolly with Carrie and her husband for the last time.
Little had been said at breakfast, and it was not until the coach was rattling along the high road, and the last house had been left behind him, that Bob's spirits began to rise. There had been a thaw, a few days before, and the snow had disappeared; but it was now freezing sharply again.
"The air is brisk. Do you feel it cold, Robert?" Mr. Bale said, breaking silence for the first time.
"I feel cold about the toes, and about the ears and nose, uncle," Bob said, "but I am not very likely to feel cold, anywhere else."
His uncle looked down at the boy, who was wedged in between him and a stout woman.
"Well, no," he agreed; "you are pretty closely packed. You had better pull that muffler over your ears more. It was rather different weather when you went down to Canterbury in the summer."
"That it was," Bob replied, heartily. "It was hot and dusty, just; and there were a man and woman, sitting opposite, who kept on drinking out of a bottle, every five minutes. She had a baby with her, too, who screamed almost all the way. I consider I saved that baby's life."
"How was that, Robert?"
"Well you see, uncle, they had finished their bottle by the time we got to Sevenoaks; and we all got down for dinner there and, before we sat down, the man went to the bar and got it filled up again. A pint of gin, filled up with water--I heard him order it. He put it in the pocket of his coat, and hung the coat up on a peg when he sat down to dinner.
"I was not long over my dinner, and finished before they did; and I took the bottle out, and ran out to the yard and emptied it, and filled it up with water, and put it back in the pocket again, without his noticing it.
"You should have seen what a rage he was in, when he took his first sip from the bottle, after we had started. He thought the man at the inn had played him a trick, and he stood up and shouted to the coachman to turn back again; but of course he wasn't going to do that, and every one laughed--except the woman. I think she had had more than was good for her, already, and she cried for about an hour.
"The next two places where we changed horses, we did it so quick that the man hadn't time to get down. The third place he did and, though the guard said we shouldn't stop a minute, he went into the public house. The guard shouted, but he didn't come out, and off we went without him. Then he came out running, and waving his arms, but the coachman wouldn't stop. The woman got down, with the child, at the next place we changed horses; and I suppose they went on next day and, if they started sober, they did perhaps get to Dover all right."
"That was a very nasty trick," the woman, who was sitting next to Bob, said sharply.
Bob had noticed that she had already opened a basket on her lap, and had partaken of liquid refreshment.
"But you see, I saved the baby, ma'am," Bob said, humbly. "The woman was sitting at the end and, if she had taken her share of the second bottle, the chances are she would have dropped the baby. It was a question of saving life, you see."
Bob felt a sudden convulsion in his uncle's figure.
"It is all very well to talk in that way," the woman said, angrily. "It was just a piece of impudence, and you ought to have been flogged for it. I have no patience with such impudent doings. A wasting of good liquor, too."
"I don't think, madam," Mr. Bale said, "it was as much wasted as it would have been, had they swallowed it; for at least it did no harm. I cannot see myself why, because people get outside a coach, they should consider it necessary to turn themselves into hogs."
"I will trouble you to keep your insinuations to yourself," the woman said, in great indignation. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, at your age, encouraging a boy in such ways. There is them as can stand the cold, and there's them as can't; and a little good liquor helps them, wonderful. I am sich, myself."
And she defiantly took out her bottle from her basket, and applied it to her lips.
"I was not speaking personally, my good woman," Mr. Bale said.
"I would have you to know," the woman snapped, "that I ain't your good woman. I wouldn't demean myself to the like. I will ask this company if it is right as a unprotected female should be insulted, on the outside of one of His Majesty's mails?"
The other passengers, who had been struggling with their laughter, endeavoured to pacify her with the assurance that no insult had been meant; and as Mr. Bale made no reply, she subsided into silence, grumbling occasionally to herself.
"I am a-going down," she broke out, presently, "to meet my husband, and I don't mind who knows it. He is a warrant officer, he is, on board the Latona, as came in last week with two prizes. There ain't nothing to be ashamed of, in that.
"And I will thank you, boy," she said, turning sharply upon Bob, "not to be a-scrouging me so. I pay for my place, I do."
"I think you ought to pay for two places," Bob said. "I am sure you have got twice as much room as I have. And if there is any scrouging, it isn't me."
"Would you have any objection, sir," the woman said majestically, to a man sitting on the other side of her, "to change places with me? I ain't a-going to bear no longer with the insults of this boy, and of the person as calls himself a man, a-sitting next to him."
The change was effected, to Bob's great satisfaction.
"You see, Robert, what you have brought down upon me," Mr. Bale said. "This comes of your telling stories about bottles, when there is a woman with one in her basket next to you."
"I really was not thinking of her when I spoke, uncle. But I am glad, now, for I really could hardly breathe, before.
"Why, uncle, I had no idea you smoked!" he added, as Mr. Bale took a cigar case from his pocket.
"I do not smoke, when I am in the city, Robert; but I see no harm in a cigar--in fact I like one--at other times. I observed a long pipe on the mantelpiece, at Mr. Medlin's; and indeed, I have seen that gentleman smoke, when we have been out together, but I have never observed him indulging in that habit, in the city."
"Oh, yes! He smokes at home," Bob said.
"I have great confidence in Mr. Medlin, Robert. You have been comfortable with him, I hope?"
"Could not be more comfortable, sir."
"An excellent man of business, Robert, and most trustworthy. A serious-minded man."
Bob was looking up, and saw a little twinkle in Mr. Bale's eye.
"You don't find it dull, I hope?"
"Not at all dull, sir. Mr. Medlin and his family are very musical."
"Musical, are they, Robert?" Mr. Bale said, in a tone of surprise. "As far as I have seen in the counting house, I should not have taken him to be musical."
"No, I don't think you would, uncle. Just the same way as one wouldn't think it likely that you would smoke a cigar."
"Well, no, Robert. You see, one must not always go by appearances."
"No, sir; that is just what Mr. Medlin says," Bob replied, smiling.
"Oh, he says that, does he? I suppose he has been telling you that we go out fishing together?"
"He did mention that, sir."
"You must not always believe what Medlin says, Robert."
"No, sir? I thought you told me he was perfectly trustworthy?"
"In some points, boy; but it is notorious that, from all times, the narratives of fishermen must be received with a large amount of caution. The man who can be trusted with untold gold cannot be relied upon to give, with even an approach to accuracy, the weights of the fish he has caught; and indeed, all his statements with reference to the pursuit must be taken with a large discount.
"You were surprised, when you heard that I went fishing, Robert?"
"Not more surprised than I was when you lit your cigar, sir."
"Well, you know what Horace said, Robert. I forget what it was in the Latin, but it meant: "'He is a poor soul, who never rejoices.'
"The bow must be relaxed, Robert, or it loses its stiffness and spring. I, myself, always bear this in mind; and endeavour to forget that there is such a place as the city of London, or a place of business called Philpot Lane, directly I get away from it."
"Don't you think that you could forget, too, uncle, that the name I am known by in the city is Robert; and that my name, at all other times, is Bob?"
"I will try to do so, if you make a point of it," Mr. Bale said, gravely; "but at the same time, it appears to me that Bob is a name for a short-tailed sheepdog, rather than for a boy."
"I don't mind who else is called by it, uncle. Besides, sheepdogs are very useful animals."
"They differ from boys in one marked respect, Bob."
"What is that, uncle?"
"They always attend strictly to business, lad. They are most conscientious workers. Now, this is more than can be said for boys."
"But I don't suppose the sheepdogs do much, while they are puppies, uncle."
"Humph! I think you have me there, Bob. I suppose we must make allowances for them both.
"Well, we shall be at Guildford in half an hour, and will stop there for dinner. I shall not be sorry to get down to stamp my feet a bit. It is very cold here, in spite of these rugs."
It was seven o'clock in the evening when the coach drew up at the George Hotel, in Portsmouth. Captain O'Halloran was at the door to meet them.
"Well, Mr. Bale, you have had a coldish drive down, today.
"How are you, Bob?"
"At present, I am cold," Bob said. "The last two hours have been bitter."
"I have taken bedrooms here for you, Mr. Bale. There is no barrack accommodation, at present, for everyone is back from leave. Any other time, we could have put you up.
"Now, if you will point out your baggage, my man will see it taken up to your rooms; and you can come straight on to me. Carrie has got supper ready, and a big fire blazing. It is not three minutes' walk from here."
They were soon seated at table and, after the meal was over, they drew round the fire.
"So you have really become a man of business, Bob," his sister said. "I was very glad to hear, from your letter, that you liked it better than you expected."
"But it will be a long while, yet, before he is a man of business, niece. It is like having a monkey in a china shop. The other day I went down to the cellar, just in time to see him put down a bottle so carelessly that it tumbled over. Unfortunately there was a row of them he had just filled; and a dozen went down, like ninepins. The corks had not been put in, and half the contents were lost before they could be righted. And the wine was worth eighty shillings a dozen."
"And what can you expect of him, Mr. Bale?" Gerald O'Halloran said. "Is it a spalpeen like that you would trust with the handling of good wine? I would as soon set a cat to bottle milk."
"He is young for it, yet," Mr. Bale agreed. "But when a boy amuses himself by breaking out of school at three o'clock in the morning, and fighting burglars, what are you to do with him?"
"I should give him a medal, for his pluck, Mr. Bale; and let him do something where he would have a chance of showing his spirit."
"And make him as wild and harum-scarum as you are, yourself, O'Halloran; and then expect him to turn out a respectable merchant, afterwards? I am sure I don't wish to be troubled with him, till he has got rid of what you call his spirits; but what are you to do with such a pickle as this? There have been more bottles broken, since he came, than there ordinarily are in the course of a year; and I suspect him of corrupting my chief clerk, and am in mortal apprehension that he will be getting into some scrape, at Hackney, and make the place too hot for him.
"I never gave you credit for much brains, Carrie, but how it was you let your brother grow up like this is more than I can tell."
Although this all sounded serious, Bob did not feel at all alarmed. Carrie, however, thought that her uncle was greatly vexed, and tried to take up the cudgels in his defence.
"I am sure Bob does not mean any harm, uncle."
"I did not say that he did, niece; but if he does harm, it comes to the same thing.
"Well, we need not talk about that now. So I hear that you are going out to the Mediterranean?"
"Yes, uncle, to Gibraltar. It is a nice station, everyone says, and I am very pleased. There are so many places where there is fighting going on, now, that I think we are most fortunate in going there. I was so afraid the regiment might be sent either to America, or India."
"And I suppose you would rather have gone where there was fighting, O'Halloran?"
"I would," the officer said, promptly. "What is the use of your going into the army, if you don't fight?"
"I should say, what is the use of going into the army, at all?" Mr. Bale said, testily. "Still, I suppose someone must go."
"I suppose so, sir," Captain O'Halloran said, laughing. "If it were not for the army and navy, I fancy you trading gentlemen would very soon find the difference. Besides, there are some of us born to it. I should never have made a figure in the city, for instance."
"I fancy not," Mr. Bale said, dryly. "You will understand, O'Halloran, that I am not objecting in the slightest to your being in the army. My objection solely lies in the fact that you, being in the army, should have married my niece; and that, instead of coming to keep house for me, comfortably, she is going to wander about, with you, to the ends of the earth."
Carrie laughed.
"How do you know someone else would not have snapped me up, if he hadn't, uncle?"
"That is right, Carrie.
"You would have found her twice as difficult to manage as Bob, Mr. Bale. You would never have kept her in Philpot Lane, if I hadn't taken her. There are some people can be tamed down, and there are some who can't; and Carrie is one of the latter.
"I should pity you, from my heart, if you had her on your hands, Mr. Bale. If ever I get to be a colonel, it is she will command the regiment."
"Well, it is good that one of us should have sense, Gerald," his wife said, laughing. "And now, you had better put the whisky on the table, unless uncle would prefer some mulled port wine."
"Neither one nor the other, my dear. Your brother is half asleep, now, and it is as much as I can do to keep my eyes open. After the cold ride we have had, the sooner we get back to the George, the better.
"We will breakfast there, Carrie. I don't know what your hours are but, when I am away on a holiday, I always give myself a little extra sleep. Besides, your husband will, I suppose, have to be on duty; and I have no doubt it will suit you, as well as me, for us to breakfast at the George."
"Perhaps it will be better, uncle, if you don't mind. Gerald happens to be orderly officer for the day, and will have to get his breakfast as he can, and will be busy all the morning; but I shall be ready for you by ten."
At that hour Bob appeared, alone.
"Uncle won't come round till one o'clock, Carrie. He said he should take a quiet stroll round, by himself, and look at the ships; and that, no doubt, we should like to have a talk together."
"Is he very cross with you, Bob?" she asked, anxiously. "You know he really is kind at heart, very kind; but I am afraid he must be very hard, as a master."
"Not a bit, Carrie. I expected he was going to be so, but he isn't the least like that. He is very much liked by everyone there. He doesn't say much, and he certainly looks stiff and grim enough for anything; but he isn't so, really, not a bit."
"Didn't he scold you dreadfully about your upsetting those twelve bottles of wine?"
"He never said a word about it, and I did not know at the time he had seen me. John, the foreman--the one who used to take me out in the holidays--would not have said anything about it. He said, of course accidents did happen, sometimes, with the boys; and when they did, he himself blew them up, and there was no occasion to mention it to Mr. Bale, when it wasn't anything very serious. But of course, I could not have that; and said that either he must tell uncle, or I should.
"It really happened because my fingers were so cold I could not feel the bottle. Of course the cellar is not cold, but I had been outside, taking in a waggon load of bottles that had just arrived, and counting them, and my fingers got regularly numbed.
"So John went to the counting house, and told him about the wine being spilt. He said I wished him to tell him, and how it had happened."
"What did uncle say, Bob?"
"He said he was glad to hear that I told John to tell him; but that he knew it already, for he had just come down to the cellar when the bottles went over and, as he didn't wish to interfere with the foreman's work, had come back to the counting house without anyone noticing he had been there. He said, of course boys could not be trusted like men; and that, as he had chosen to put me there, he must put up with accidents. He never spoke about it to me, till last night."
"Well, he seemed very vexed about it, Bob, and made a great deal of it."
"He didn't mean it, Carrie; and he knew I knew he didn't mean it. He knows I am beginning to understand him."
That evening, Mr. Bale sent Bob back to the hotel by himself.
"I thought I would get him out of the way," he said, when Bob had left. "I wanted to have a chat with you about him.
"You see, Carrie, I acted hastily in taking him away from school; but it seemed to me that he must be getting into a very bad groove, to be playing such pranks as breaking out in the middle of the night. I was sorry, afterwards; partly because it had upset all my plans, partly because I was not sure that I had done the best thing by him.
"I had intended that he should have stopped for another year, at school; by that time he would be between sixteen and seventeen, and I thought of taking him into the office for six months or so, to begin with, for him to learn a little of the routine. Then I had intended to send him out to Oporto, for two years, and then to Cadiz for two years; so that he would have learnt Portuguese and Spanish well, got up all there was to learn about the different growths, and established friendly relations with my agents.
"Now, as it happens, all these plans have been upset. My agent at Oporto died, a month ago. His son succeeds him. He is a young man, and not yet married. In the first place, I don't suppose he would care about being bothered with Bob; and in the second place, boys of Bob's age are not likely to submit very quietly to the authority of a foreigner. Then, too, your brother is full of mischief and fun; and I don't suppose foreigners would understand him, in the least, and he would get into all manner of scrapes.
"My correspondent at Cadiz is an elderly man, without a family, and the same objection would arise in his case; and moreover, from what I hear from him and from other Spanish sources, there is a strong feeling against England in Spain and, now that we are at war with France, and have troubles in America, I think it likely enough they will join in against us. Of course my correspondent writes cautiously, but in his last letter he strongly advises me to buy largely, at once, as there is no saying about the future; and several of my friends in the trade have received similar advice.
"I have put the boy into the cellar for, at the moment, I could see nothing else to do with him. But really, the routine he is learning is of little importance, and there is no occasion for him to learn to do these things himself. He would pick up all he wants to know there, when he came back, in a very short time."
"Then what are you thinking of doing, uncle?" Carrie asked, after a pause, as she saw that Mr. Bale expected her to say something.
"It seems to me that a way has opened out of the difficulty. I don't want him to go back to school again. He knows quite as much Latin as is required, in an importer of wines. I want him to learn Spanish and Portuguese, and to become a gentleman, and a man of the world. I have stuck to Philpot Lane, all my life; but there is no reason why he should do so, after me. Things are changing in the city, and many of our merchants no longer live there, but have houses in the country, and drive or ride to them. Some people shake their heads over what they call newfangled notions. I think it is good for a man to get right away from his business, when he has done work.
"But this is not the point. Bob is too young to begin to learn the business abroad. Two years too young, at least. But there is no reason why he should not begin to learn Spanish. Now, I thought if I could find someone I could intrust him to, where his home would be bright and pleasant, he might go there for a couple of years. Naturally I should be prepared to pay a fair sum--say 200 pounds a year--for him, for of course no one is going to be bothered with a boy, without being paid for it."
Carrie listened for something further to come. Then her husband broke in: "I see what you are driving at, Mr. Bale, and Carrie and myself would be delighted to have him.
"Don't you see, Carrie? Your uncle means that Bob shall stop with us, and learn the language there."
"That would be delightful!" Carrie exclaimed, enthusiastically. "Do you really mean that, uncle?"
"That is really what I do mean, niece. It seems to me that that is the very best thing we could do with the young scamp."
"It would be capital!" Carrie went on. "It is what I should like above everything."
"A nicer arrangement couldn't be, Mr. Bale. It will suit us all. Bob will learn the language, he will be a companion to Carrie when I am on duty, and we will make a man of him. But he won't be able to go out with us, I am afraid. Officers' wives and families get their passages in the transports, but I am afraid it would be no use to ask for one for Bob. Besides, we sail in four days."
"No, I will arrange about his passage, and so on.
"Well, I am glad that my proposal suits you both. The matter has been worrying me for the last three months, and it is a comfort that it is off my mind.
"I will go back to my hotel now. I will send Bob round in the morning, and you can tell him about it."
|
{
"id": "21788"
}
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4
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: Preparations For A Voyage.
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Bob went round to the barracks at half past nine.
"Uncle says you have a piece of news to tell me, Carrie."
"My dear Bob," Captain O'Halloran said, "your uncle is a broth of a boy. He would do credit to Galway; and if anyone says anything to the contrary, I will have him out tomorrow morning."
"What has he been doing?" Bob asked.
"I told you, Carrie, yesterday, he wasn't a bit like what he seemed."
"Well, Bob, you are not going to stay at his place of business any longer."
"No! Where is he going to send me--to school again? I am not sure I should like that, Carrie. I didn't want to leave, but I don't think I should like to go back to Caesar, and Euclid, and all those wretched old books again."
"Well, you are not going, Bob."
"Hurry up, Carrie!" her husband said. "Don't you see that you are keeping the boy on thorns? Tell him the news, without beating about the bush."
"Well, it is just this, Bob. You are to come out for two years to live with us, at Gibraltar, and learn Spanish."
Bob threw his cap up to the ceiling, with a shout of delight; executed a wild dance, rushed at his sister and kissed her violently, and shook hands with her husband.
"That is glorious!" he said, when he had sufficiently recovered himself for speech. "I said uncle was a brick, didn't I? But I never dreamt of such a thing as this."
"He is going to pay, very handsomely, while you are with us, Bob, so it will be really a great help to us. Besides, we will like to have you with us. But you will have to work hard at Spanish, you know."
"Oh, I will work hard," Bob said, confidently.
"And be very steady," Captain O'Halloran said, gravely.
"Of course," Bob replied. "But who are you going to hire to teach me that?"
"You are an impudent boy, Bob," his sister said, while Captain O'Halloran burst out laughing.
"Sure, he has us both there, Carrie. I wonder your uncle did not make a proviso that we were to get one of the padres to look after him."
"As if I would let a Spanish priest look after me!" Bob said.
"I didn't mean a Spanish priest, Bob. I meant one of the army chaplains. We always call them padres.
"That would be worth thinking about, Carrie."
"Oh, I say," Bob exclaimed in alarm, "that would spoil it, altogether!"
"Well, we will see how you go on, Bob. We may not find it necessary, you know; but you will find you have to mind your P's and Q's, at Gib. It is a garrison place, you know, and they won't stand nonsense there. If you played any tricks, they would turn you outside the lines, or send you up to one of the caverns to live with the apes."
"Are there apes?" Bob asked, eagerly. "They would be awful fun, I should think. I have seen them at Exeter 'Change."
"There are apes, Bob; but if you think you are going to get near enough to put salt on their tails, you are mistaken."
"But am I going out with you?" Bob asked. "Why, tomorrow is Christmas Day, and you sail two days after, don't you? And I shouldn't have time even to go up to town, and down to Putney, to say goodbye to the fellows. I should like to do that, and tell them that I am going abroad."
"You are not going with us, Bob, and you will have time for all that. We could not take you in the transport, and uncle will arrange for a passage for you, in some ship going out. Of course, he knows all about vessels trading with Spain."
"Well, we sha'n't have to say goodbye, now," Bob said. "I haven't said much about it, but I have been thinking a lot about how horrid it would be, after being so jolly here, to have to say goodbye; knowing that I shouldn't see you again, for years and years. Now that is all over."
A few minutes later, Mr. Bale came in. He had assumed his most businesslike expression, but Bob rushed up to him.
"Oh, uncle, I am so obliged to you! It is awfully kind."
"I thought the arrangement would be a suitable one," Mr. Bale began.
"No, no, uncle," Bob broke in. "You would say that, if you were in Philpot Lane. Now you know you can say that you thought it would be the very jolliest thing that was ever heard of."
"I am afraid, niece, that the sentiment of respect for his elders is not strongly developed in Bob."
"I am afraid not, uncle; but you see, if elders set an example of being double-faced to their nephews, they must expect to forfeit their respect."
"And it is a lot better being liked than being respected, isn't it, uncle?"
"Perhaps it is, Bob, but the two things may go together."
"So they do, uncle. Only I keep my respect for Philpot Lane, and it is all liking, here."
They spent two more delightful days at Portsmouth; visited some of the ships of war, and the transport in which the 58th was to sail, and went over the dockyard. The next morning, Mr. Bale and Bob returned by the early coach to London, as the boxes and trunks and the portable furniture had to be sent off, early, on board.
Mr. Medlin was less surprised, at hearing that Bob was going to leave, than the latter had expected.
"You know, Bob, I was away one day last week. Well, I didn't tell you at the time where I was, because I was ordered not to; but your uncle said to me, the evening before: "'I am going to drive down by coach to Windsor, Mr. Medlin, and shall be glad if you will accompany me.'
"I guessed he wanted to talk about things outside the business, and so it was. We had a capital dinner down there, and then we had a long talk about you. I told him frankly that, though I was very glad to have you with me, I really did not see that it was of any use your being kept at that work. He said that he thought so, too, and had an idea on which he wanted my opinion. He was thinking of accepting your sister's invitation to go down and spend Christmas with her; and intended to ask her if they would take charge of you, for a couple of years, in order that you might learn Spanish. Of course, I said that it was the very best thing in the world for you; and would not be any loss of time because, if you could speak Spanish well, you would learn the business much more quickly when you went to Cadiz; and need not be so long abroad, then."
"I shall be awfully sorry to go away from you, Mr. Medlin, and from Mrs. Medlin and the others. It has been so jolly with you, and you have all been so kind."
"Yes, it has been very comfortable all round, Bob, and we shall all be sorry that you are going; but I did not expect we should have you long with us. I felt sure your uncle would see he had made a mistake, in taking you into the place so young; and when he finds out he has made a mistake, he says so. Some people won't; but I have known him own up he has been wrong, after blowing up one of the boys in the cellar for something he hadn't done. Now, there is not one employer in a hundred who would do that.
"Yes, I felt sure that he would change his mind about you, and either send you back to school again or make some other arrangement; so I wasn't a bit surprised when he spoke to me, last week. Still, we shall all be sorry, Bob."
Another fortnight, passed without Bob hearing more; except that he was taken by Mr. Medlin to various shops, and a large outfit was ordered.
"You will bear in mind two things, Mr. Medlin," his employer had said. "In the first place, that my nephew will grow, in the next two years. Therefore order some of his things to fit him, now, and some to be made larger and in more manly fashion. Give instructions that, when these are finished, they are to be put in tin cases and soldered down, so as to be kept distinct from the others.
"In the second place, you will bear in mind that clothes which would be perfectly right and suitable for him, here, will not be at all suitable for him, there. He will be living with an officer, and associating entirely with military men; and there must therefore be a certain cut and fashion about his things. Of course, I don't want him to look like a young fop; but you understand what I want. There will be no boys out there, it is therefore better that he should look a little older than he is. Besides, I think that boys--and men, too--to some extent live up to their clothes.
"I do not think that I have anything else to say, Mr. Medlin; except that, as he will not be able to replace any clothes he may destroy out there, and as he is sure to be climbing about and destroying them, in one way or another, it is necessary that an ample supply should be laid in."
Mr. Medlin had scrupulously carried out all these instructions, and Bob was almost alarmed at the extent of the wardrobe ordered.
"I know what I am doing, Mr. Robert,"--for they were in the city when Bob made his protest--"I am quite sure that my employer will make no objection to my ordering largely; but he would certainly be much displeased, if I did not order what he conceived to be sufficient."
At the end of the fortnight, Mr. Bale informed Bob that he had arranged for his passage to Gibraltar in the brig Antelope.
"She is bound to Valencia for fruit. She is a fast sailer, and is well armed. There will be no other passengers on board but, as I am acquainted with the captain--who has several times brought over cargoes for me, from Cadiz and Oporto--he has agreed to take you. I would rather you had gone in a ship sailing with a convoy but, as there was a very strong one went, at the time the transports sailed, there may not be another for some time. These small vessels do not wait for convoys, but trust to their speed.
"You can now discontinue your work here, as you will probably wish to go down to Putney, to say goodbye to your friends there. The brig will sail next Monday; but you will go down on Saturday, by coach, to Southampton, where she now is. I shall request Mr. Medlin to see you on board. He tells me that your outfit is completed; and your trunks, with the exception of what will be required upon the voyage, will be sent off by the carrier waggon, on Wednesday.
"On Thursday afternoon you will leave Mr. Medlin's, and stay here till you start."
The week passed quickly. Bob enjoyed his day at Putney where, after saying goodbye to his old schoolfellows, he called upon Admiral Langton, who was very glad to hear of the change in his prospects.
"It will do you good," he said, "to go out into the world, and see a little of life. It was a dull thing, for a lad of your age and spirits, to be cooped up in a counting house in the city; but now that you are going to Gibraltar, and afterwards to Cadiz and Oporto, and will not return to settle down to business until you are one-and-twenty or so, I think that the prospect before you is a very pleasant one; and I am glad that your uncle has proved altogether different to your anticipations of him.
"Well, you are sure to see my son at Gibraltar, sometimes. I shall write to him, and tell him that you are there; and as your friend Sankey is on board the Brilliant, it will be pleasant for both of you.
"Only don't lead him into scrapes, Bob. Midshipmen are up to mischief enough, on their own account."
"Everyone always seems to think I am getting into scrapes, admiral. I don't think I get into more than other fellows."
"I rather think you do, Bob. Mr. Tulloch certainly intimated, to me, that you had a remarkable talent that way, if in no other. Besides, your face tells its own story. Pickle is marked upon it, as plainly as if it were printed.
"Now you must have supper with us, at seven o'clock, and catch the eight o'clock stage. You can stay until then, I hope?"
"Yes, sir. I told Mr. Medlin that I might not come back until the last stage."
At parting, the admiral placed a case in Bob's hands.
"There, my lad, are a brace of pistols. You won't have any use for them for some years to come, I hope; but if you stay out in Spain and Portugal, they may prove useful. Those fellows are very handy with their knives; and it is always well to be armed if you go about, at night, among them. I should advise you to practise shooting, whenever you get an opportunity. A pistol is an excellent weapon, if you really know how to use it; but is of no use at all, if you don't.
"Another thing is, you may get involved in affairs of honour. I consider duelling to be a foolish practice, but it is no use one person standing up against a crowd. It is the fashion, in our days, to fight duels and, therefore, it is almost a necessity for a gentleman to be able to shoot straight; besides, although you might be able to avoid fighting a duel with any of your countrymen, there is no possibility of getting out of it, if you become involved in a quarrel with a foreigner. In that case, an Englishman who showed the white feather would be a disgrace to his country.
"Another advantage of being a good shot--I mean a really good shot--is that, if you get forced into an affair, and are desirous of giving a lesson, but no more, to an opponent, you have it in your power to wing him; whereas, if you are only a tolerably good shot, you can't pick your spot, and may--to your lasting regret--kill him.
"But all this is in the future, Bob. I have fought several duels, myself, with those very pistols, and I am happy to say I have never killed my man; and shall be glad to believe, Bob, that they will always be used in the same spirit."
Bob's last two evenings before sailing were more pleasant than he had expected. Mr. Bale seemed to forget that he was still in Philpot Lane, and chatted with him freely and confidentially.
"I hope that I am doing the best for you, Bob. I know this is an experiment, and I can only trust that it will turn out well. I believe you have plenty of sound sense, somewhere in your head; and that this association with a number of young military men will not have any bad effect upon you; but that, after four or five years abroad, you will not be less, but rather more inclined to settle down to business. I regard you as my son, and have indeed no relations whom I care for in any way, except you and your sister. I trust that, when you come back, you will apply yourself to business; without becoming, as I have done, a slave to it.
"I might, if I chose, make you altogether independent of it; but I am sure that would not be for your good. There is nothing more unfortunate for a young man, belonging to the middle classes, than to have no fixed occupation. The heir to large estates is in a different position. He has all sorts of responsibilities. He has the pursuits of a country gentleman, and the duties of a large landowner. But the young man of our class, who does not take to business, is almost certain to go in for reckless dissipation, or gambling. I have seen numbers of young men, sons of old friends of my own, who have been absolutely ruined by being left the fortunes their fathers had made, simply because they had nothing with which to occupy their minds.
"It is for this reason, Bob, that I chiefly wish you to succeed me in my business. It is a very good one. I doubt whether any other merchant imports such large quantities of wines as I do. During the next few years I shall endeavour to give up, as far as I can, what I may call private business, and deal entirely with the trade. I have been doing so for some time, but it is very difficult to give up customers who have dealt with me, and my father before me. However, I shall curtail the business in that direction, as much as I can; and you will then find it much more easily managed. Small orders require just as much trouble in their execution as large ones; and a wholesale business is, in all respects, more satisfactory than one in which private customers are supplied, as well as the trade.
"I am entering into arrangements, now, with several travellers, for the purpose of extending my dealings with the trade in the provinces; so that when it comes into your hands you will find it more compact, and at the same time more extensive, than it is now.
"I am glad that I have had you here, for the past four months. I have had my eye upon you, more closely than you suppose; and I am pleased to see that you have worked well and willingly--far more so than I expected from you. This has much encouraged me in the hope that you will, in time, settle down to business here; and not be contented to lead a purposeless and idle life. The happiest man, in my opinion, is he who has something to do--and yet, not too much; who can, by being free from anxieties regarding it, view his business as an occupation, and a pleasure; and who is its master, and not its slave.
"I am thinking of giving Mr. Medlin a small interest in the business. I mean to make a real effort to break a little loose from it, and I have seen enough of him to know that he will make a very valuable junior. He is a little eccentric, perhaps--a sort of exaggeration of myself--but I shall signify to him that, when he comes into the firm, I consider that it will be to its advantage that he should import a little of what we may call his 'extra-official' manner into it.
"In our business, as I am well aware--although I do not possess it, myself--a certain cheerfulness of disposition, and a generally pleasing manner, are of advantage. Buyers are apt to give larger orders than they otherwise would do, under the influence of pleasant and genial relations; and Mr. Medlin can, if he chooses, make up for my deficiencies in that way.
"But I am taking the step rather in your interest than in my own. It will relieve you of a considerable portion of the burden of the business, and will enable you to relax somewhat, when you are disposed, if you have a partner in whom you can place thorough confidence.
"I do not wish you to mention this matter to him. I would rather open it to him, myself. We will go on another fishing expedition together, and I think we can approach it, then, on a more pleasant footing than we could here. He has modelled himself so thoroughly upon me that the matter could only be approached in so intensely a businesslike way, here, that I feel sure we should not arrive at anything like such a satisfactory arrangement as we might do, elsewhere."
In the course of the week, Captain Lockett of the Antelope had called at the office, and Bob had been introduced to him by Mr. Bale. He was a hearty and energetic looking man, of some five-and-thirty years of age.
"I shall want you to go to Cadiz for me, next trip, Captain Lockett," Mr. Bale said. "I am having an unusually large cargo prepared for me--enough, I fancy, to fill up your brig." "All the better, sir," the sailor said. "There is nothing like having only one shipper--it saves time and trouble; but I should advise you to insure it for its full value, for the channel swarms with French privateers, at present; and the fellows are building them bigger, and mounting heavier guns than they used to do.
"I am mounting a long eighteen as a swivel gun, this voyage, in addition to those I carried before. But even with that, there are some of these French craft might prove very awkward customers, if they fell in with us. You see, their craft are crowded with men, and generally carry at least twice as many hands as ours. It is just the same with their fishing boats. It takes about three Frenchmen to do the work of an Englishman."
"Well, don't get caught, this time, Captain Lockett. I don't want my nephew to learn to speak French, instead of Spanish, for there is very little trade to be done in that quarter, at present; and what there is is all carried on by what I may call 'irregular' channels."
"I fancy there is a great deal of French wine comes into this country still, sir, in spite of the two nations being at war. It suits both governments to wink at the trade. We want French wine, and they want English money."
"That's so, Captain Lockett; but at any rate, we can't send English buyers out there, and must take what they choose to send."
On Saturday morning Bob said goodbye to his uncle, with an amount of feeling and regret he would have considered impossible, four months previously. Mr. Medlin accompanied him to Southampton, and the journey was a very lively one.
"Goodbye, Bob," the clerk said, as they shook hands on the deck of the Antelope. "You will be a man, when I see you again--that is, if you don't come home, for a bit, before going to the people at Cadiz and Oporto. You will be coming into the firm, then; and will be Mr. Robert, always."
"Not if we go out fishing expeditions together," Bob said, and laughed.
"Ah! Well, perhaps that will be an exception.
"Well, goodbye; a pleasant voyage to you, and don't get into more scrapes than you can help."
"Oh, I am growing out of that, Mr. Medlin!"
"Not you, Bob. They may be different sorts of scrapes, in the future; but scrapes there will be, or I am a Dutchman."
"Well, youngster, are you a good sailor?" the captain asked; as the Antelope, with all sail set, ran down Southampton water.
"I hope I am, captain, but I don't know, yet. I have gone out sailing in boats at Plymouth several times, in rough weather, and have never felt a bit ill; but I don't know how it will be, in a ship like this."
"If you can sail in rough water in a boat, without feeling ill, you ought to be all right here, lad. She is an easy craft, as well as a fast one; and makes good weather of it, in anything short of a gale.
"There is eight bells striking--that means eight o'clock, and breakfast. You had better lay in as good a store as you can. We shall be outside the Needles, if the wind holds, by dinnertime; and you may not feel so ready for it, then."
The second mate breakfasted in the cabin with the captain and Bob, the first mate remaining on deck. The second mate was a young man of three or four and twenty, a cousin of the captain. He was a frank, pleasant-faced young sailor, and Bob felt that he should like him.
"How many days do you expect to be in getting to Gibraltar, captain?"
"About ten, if we have luck; twenty if we haven't. There is never any saying."
"How many men do you carry?"
"Twenty-eight seamen, the cook, the steward, two mates, and myself; and there are three boys. Thirty-six all told."
"I see you have eight guns, besides the pivot gun."
"Yes. We have plenty of hands for working them, if we only have to fight one side at once; but we shouldn't be very strong handed, if we had to work both broadsides. There are four sixteen pounders, four twelves, and the pivot; so that gives three men to a gun, besides officers and idlers. Three men is enough for the twelves, but it makes rather slow work with the sixteens. However, we may hope that we sha'n't have to work both broadsides at once.
"We carry a letter of marque so that, in case of our having the luck to fall in with a French trader, we can bring her in. But that is not our business. We are peaceful traders, and don't want to show our teeth, unless we are interfered with."
To Bob's great satisfaction, he found that he was able to eat his dinner with unimpaired appetite; although the Antelope was clear of the island, and was bowing deeply to a lively sea. The first mate--a powerful looking man of forty, who had lost one eye, and whose face was deeply seamed by an explosion of powder in an engagement with a French privateer--came down to the meal, while the second mate took the duty on deck. Bob found some difficulty in keeping his dish before him, for the Antelope was lying well over, with a northerly wind abeam.
"She is travelling well, Probert," the captain said. "We have got her in capital trim, this time. Last time we were too light, and could not stand up to our sails.
"If this wind holds, we shall make a fast run of it. We will keep her well inshore, until we get down to the Scillys; and then stretch across the bay. The nearer we keep to the coast, the less fear there is of our running against one of those French privateers."
The wind held steady, and Bob enjoyed the voyage immensely, as the brig sailed along the coast. After passing Portland Bill they lost sight of land until, after eight hours' run, a bold headland appeared on the weather beam.
"That is the Start," the captain said. "When I get abeam of it we shall take our bearings, and then shape our course across the bay. If this wind does but hold, we shall make quick work of it."
Presently the tiller was put up and, as the brig's head paid off, the yards were braced square; and she ran rapidly along towards the southwest, with the wind nearly dead aft. The next morning when Bob went on deck he found that the wind had dropped, and the brig was scarcely moving through the water.
"This is a change, Mr. Probert," he said to the first mate, who was in charge of the deck.
"Yes, and not a pleasant one," the officer replied. "I don't like the look of the sky, either. I have just sent down to the captain, to ask him to step on deck."
Bob looked round. The sky was no longer bright and clear. There was a dull, heavy look overhead; and a smoky haze seemed to hang over the horizon, all round. Bob thought it looked dull, but wondered why the mate should send for the captain.
The latter came up on deck, in a minute or two.
"I don't much like the look of the sky, sir," the mate said. "The wind has died suddenly out, this last half hour; and the swell has got more kick in it than it had. I fancy the wind is going round to the southwest; and that, when it does come, it will come hard."
"I think you are right, Mr. Probert. I glanced at the glass, as I came up, and it has fallen half an inch since I was up on deck in the middle watch. I think you had better begin to take in sail, at once. Call the watch up from below. It is not coming yet; but we may as well strip her, at once."
The mate gave the order to the boatswain, whose shrill whistle sounded out, followed by the shout of "All hands to take in sail!"
The watch below tumbled up.
"Take the royals and topgallant sails off her, Mr. Probert. Double reef the topsails, and get in the courses."
Bob watched the men as they worked aloft, and marvelled at the seeming carelessness with which they hung on, where the slip of a foot or hand would mean sudden death; and wondered whether he could ever attain such steadiness of head. Three quarters of an hour's hard work and the mast was stripped, save for the reduced topsails.
"Get in two of the jibs, and brail up the spanker."
This was short work. When it was done the second mate, who had been working forward, looked to the captain for further orders. The latter had again gone below, but was now standing on the poop, talking earnestly with the first mate.
"Yes, I think you are right," Bob heard the captain say. "The glass is still falling and, very likely, it will be some time before we want these light spars again. There is nothing like being snug."
"Aloft again, lads!" the mate sung out, "and send down the yards and topgallant masts."
"Now she is ready for anything," the captain said, when the men again descended to the deck.
Bob, who had been so intently watching the men that he had not looked round at the sky, since they first went aloft, now had time to do so; and was startled with the change that had come over the sea, and sky. There was not a breath of wind. There was a dull, oily look on the water, as it heaved in long, regular waves, unbroken by the slightest ripple. Black clouds had banked up from the southwest, and extended in a heavy arch across the sky, but little ahead of the brig. From its edge ragged, fragments seemed to break off suddenly, and fly out ahead.
"It is going to blow, and no mistake," the captain said. "It is lucky that we have had plenty of time to get her into fighting trim.
"You had better get hold of something, lad, and clutch it tight. It will begin with a heavy squall and, like enough, lay her pretty well over on her beam ends, when it strikes her."
Higher and higher the threatening arch rose, till its edge stood over the mainmast. Then the captain cried: "Here it comes, lads. Hold on, every one!"
Looking ahead, Bob saw a white line. It approached with wonderful rapidity, and with a confused, rushing sound. Then in a moment he felt himself clinging, as if for life, to the stanchion of which he had taken hold. The wind almost wrenched him from his feet while, at the same moment, a perfect deluge of water came down upon him.
He felt the brig going further and further over, till the deck beneath his feet seemed almost perpendicular. The captain and first mate had both grasped the spokes of the wheel, and were aiding the helmsman in jamming it down. Bob had no longer a hold for his feet, and was hanging by his arms. Looking down, the sea seemed almost beneath him but, with a desperate effort, he got hold of the rail with one hand, and then hauled himself up under it, clinging tight to the main shrouds. Then he saw the second mate loose the jib halliards, while one of the sailors threw off the fore-staysail sheet, and the spanker slowly brought the brig's head up into the wind.
As it did so she righted, gradually, and Bob regained his place on deck; which was still, however, lying over at a very considerable angle. The captain raised his hand, and pointed to the main topsail; and the second mate at once made his way aft with some of the men and, laying out on the weather rigging, made his way aloft. The danger seemed, to Bob, so frightful that he dared not look up. He could hear, through the pauses of the blast, the mate shout to the men above him and, in a few minutes, they again descended to the deck.
Even Bob could feel how much the brig was relieved, when the pressure of the topsail was taken off. The lower planks of the deck rose from the water and, although this still rushed in and out through the scupper holes, and rose at times to the level of the bulwark rail, he felt that the worst was over.
One of the men was called to assist at the helm, and the captain and mate came forward to the poop rail.
"That was touch and go, youngster!" the former shouted to Bob.
"It was," Bob said. "More go than touch, I should say; for I thought she had gone, altogether."
"You had better go below, and change your things. Tell the steward to bring me my oilskins, out of my cabin. You had better keep below, until this rain has stopped."
Bob thought the advice was good; so he went down and got into dry clothes, and then lay down on the cabin sofa, to leeward--he could not have kept his place, on the other side. The rain was still falling so heavily, on deck, that it sounded like a waggon passing overhead; and mingled with this noise was the howl of the wind, and the swashing of the water against the ship's side. Gradually the motion of the vessel became more violent, and she quivered from bow to stern, as the waves struck her.
Although it was early in the afternoon, it became almost as dark as night in the cabin. The steward had brought him a glass of hot grog, as soon as he had changed his clothes and, in spite of the din, he presently fell off to sleep. When he woke the rain had ceased; but the uproar caused by the howling of the wind, the creaking of the spars, and the dashing of the waves was as loud as before.
He soon made his way up on deck, and found that a tremendous sea was running. The fore-topsail had been got off the ship, the weather sheets of the jib and fore-staysail hauled across, and the vessel was making comparatively little way through the water. She was, in fact--although Bob did not know it--lying to, under these sails and the spanker.
It all looked so terrible, to him, that he kept his place but a few minutes; and was then glad to return to the sofa, below. In a short time, the captain came down.
"How are you getting on, lad? All in the dark, eh?
"Steward, light the lamp, and bring me a tumbler of hot grog. Keep the water boiling; the other officers will be down, directly.
"Well, what do you think of it, young gentleman?"
"I don't like it, at all," Bob said. "I thought I should like to see a storm, but I never want to see one, again."
"I am not surprised at that," the captain said, with a laugh. "It is all very well to read about storms, but it is a very different thing to be caught in one."
"Is there any danger, sir?"
"There is always more or less danger, in a storm, lad; but I hope, and think, the worst is over. We are in for a heavy gale but, now that the brig has got through the first burst, there is not much fear of her weathering it. She is a capital sea boat, well found and in good trim; and we were fortunate enough in having sufficient warning to get her snug, before the first burst came.
"That is always the most dangerous point. When a ship has way on her, she can stand almost any gale; but when she is caught by a heavy squall, when she is lying becalmed, you have to look out. However, she got through that without losing anything; and she is lying to, now, under the smallest possible canvas and, if all goes well, there is no reason, whatever, for anxiety."
"What do you mean by 'if all goes well,' captain?"
"I mean as long as one of her masts isn't carried away, or anything of that sort. I daresay you think it rough, now, but it is nothing to what it will be by tomorrow morning. I should advise you to turn in, at once. You could see nothing, if you went up; and would run the risk of being washed overboard, or of getting a limb broken."
Bob's recollections of his position, as the ship heeled over when the storm struck her, were still far too vivid for him to have any desire for a repetition of it; and he accordingly took the captain's advice, and turned in at once.
When he got up in the morning and, with some difficulty, made his way on deck he found that, as the captain predicted, the sea was far heavier than the night before. Great ridges of water bore down upon the ship, each seeming as if it would overwhelm her; and for the first few minutes Bob expected to see the brig go, head foremost, and sink under his feet. It was not till he reflected that she had lived through it for hours that he began to view the scene with composure. Although the waves were much higher than when he had left the deck on the previous afternoon, the scene was really less terrifying.
The sky was covered with masses of gray cloud, ragged and torn, hurrying along with great velocity, apparently but a short distance above the masthead. When the vessel rose on a wave, it seemed to him that the clouds, in places, almost touched the water, and mingled with the masses of spray caught up by the waves. The scud, borne along by the wind, struck his face with a force that caused it to smart and, for a time, he was unable to face the gale even for a minute.
The decks were streaming with water. The boats had disappeared from the davits, and a clean sweep seemed to have been made of everything movable. Forward was a big gap in the bulwark and, as the brig met the great waves, masses of green water poured in through this, and swept along the deck waist deep. The brig was under the same sail as before, except that she now showed a closely-reefed fore-topsail.
When he became a little accustomed to the sea, and to the motion, he watched his time; and then made a rush across from the companion to the weather bulwark, and got a firm hold of one of the shrouds. The captain and the second mate were on the poop, near the wheel. The former made his way to him.
"Good morning, Master Repton! Managed to get some sleep?"
"Yes, I have slept all night, captain. I say, isn't this tremendous? I did not think anything could be like this. It is splendid, you know, but it takes one's breath away.
"I don't think it is blowing quite so hard, is it?"
"Every bit as hard, but it is more regular, and you are accustomed to it."
"But I see you have got up some more sail."
"Yes, that's to steady her. You see, when she gets into the trough between these great waves, the lower sails are almost becalmed; and we are obliged to show something above them, to keep a little way on her. We are still lying to, you see, and meet the waves head on. If her head was to fall off a few points, and one of these waves took her on the beam, she would go down like a stone.
"Yes, the brig is doing very handsomely. She has a fine run, more like a schooner than a brig; and she meets the waves easily, and rises to them as lightly as a feather. She is a beauty!
"If you are going to stay here, lad, you had better lash yourself; for it is not safe, standing as you are."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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5
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: A French Privateer.
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As he became more accustomed to the scene around him, and found that the waves were more terrible in appearance than reality, Bob began to enjoy it, and to take in its grandeur and wildness. The bareness of the deck had struck him, at once; and he now saw that four of the cannon were gone--the two forward guns, on each side--and he rightly supposed that these must have been run out, and tumbled overboard, to lighten the ship forward, and enable her to rise more easily to the waves.
An hour later, the second mate came along.
"You had better come down and get some breakfast," he said. "I am going down first."
Bob threw off the rope, and followed the mate down into the cabin. Mr. Probert had just turned out. He had been lying down for two or three hours, having gone down as daylight broke.
"The captain says you had better take something before you go on deck, Mr. Probert," the second mate said. "He will come down, afterwards, and turn in for an hour or two."
"No change, I suppose?"
"No. She goes over it like a duck. The seas are more regular, now, and she is making good weather of it."
Bob wondered, in his own mind, what she would do if she was making bad weather.
The meal was an irregular one. The steward brought in three large mugs, half filled with coffee; a basket of biscuits, and a ham. From this he cut off some slices, which he laid on biscuits; and each of them ate their breakfast, holding their mugs in one hand, and their biscuits and ham in the other.
As soon as they had finished, the two officers went on deck and, directly afterwards, the captain came down. Bob chatted with him until he had finished his breakfast, and then went up on deck again, for two or three hours. At the end of that time he felt so completely exhausted, from the force of the wind and the constant change of the angle at which he was standing, that he was glad to go below and lie down again.
There was no regular dinner, the officers coming below by turns, and taking a biscuit and a chunk of cold meat, standing. But at teatime the captain and second mate came down together; and Bob, who had again been up on deck for a bit, joined them in taking a large bowl of coffee.
"I think the wind is blowing harder than ever," he said to the captain.
"Yes, the glass has begun to rise a little, and that is generally a sign you are getting to the worst of it. I expect it is a three days' gale, and we shall have it at its worst, tonight. I hope by this time, tomorrow, we shall be beginning to shake out our reefs.
"You had better not go up, any more. It will be dark in half an hour, and your bunk is the best place for you."
Bob was not sorry to obey the order, for he felt that the scene would be a very terrible one, after dark. The night, however, seemed to him to be a miserably long one; for he was only able to doze off occasionally, the motion being so violent that he had to jam himself in his berth, to prevent himself from being thrown out. The blows with which the waves struck the ship were tremendous; and so deeply did she pitch that, more than once, he thought that she would never come up again; but go down, head foremost. Once he thought he heard a crash, and there were orders shouted, on the deck above him; but he resisted the desire to go up and see what it was, for he knew that he could do nothing; and that, in the darkness, he could see but little of what was going on.
With the first gleam of daylight, however, he got out of the bunk. He had not attempted to undress, having taken off his shoes, only, when he lay down. Having put these on again, he went up. There was but little change since the previous morning but, looking forward, he saw that the bowsprit was gone, and the fore-topmast had been carried away. The sea was as high as ever, but patches of blue sky showed overhead between the clouds, and the wind was blowing somewhat less violently.
"We have been in the wars, you see, youngster," the captain said, when Bob made his way aft; "but we may thank God it was no worse. We have had a pretty close squeak of it, but the worst is over, now. The wind is going down, and the gale will have blown itself out by this evening. It was touch-and-go several times during the night and, if she had had a few more tons of cargo in her, she would never have risen from some of those waves; but I think, now, we shall see Oporto safely--which was more than I expected, about midnight."
For some hours Bob, himself, had considerable doubts as to this, so deeply did the brig bury herself in the waves; but after twelve o'clock the wind fell rapidly and, although the waves showed no signs of decreasing in height, their surface was smoother, and they seemed to strike the vessel with less force and violence.
"Now, Mr. Probert," said the captain, "do you and Joe turn in, till first watch. I will take charge of the deck. After that, you can set regular watches again."
The main-topsail was already on her and, at six o'clock, the captain had two of its reefs shaken out; and the other reef was also loosed, when Mr. Probert came up and took charge of the first watch, at eight bells. That night Bob lay on the floor, for the motion was more violent than before--the vessel rolling, gunwale under--for the wind no longer pressed upon her sails, and kept her steady, and he would have found it impossible to maintain his position in his berth.
In the morning, he went up. The sun was rising in an unclouded sky. There was scarce a breath of wind. The waves came along in high, glassy rollers--smooth mounds of water which extended, right and left, in deep valleys and high ridges. The vessel was rolling tremendously, the lower yards sometimes touching the water. Bob had to wait some time before he could make a rush across to the bulwark and, when he did so, found it almost impossible to keep his feet. He could see that the men forward were no longer crouching for shelter under the break of the fo'castle, but were holding on by the shrouds or stays, smoking their pipes, and laughing and joking together. Until the motion abated somewhat, it was clearly impossible to commence the work of getting things in order.
"Did the bowsprit and mast both go, together?" Bob asked Joe Lockett, who was holding on to the bulwark, near him.
"Yes, the bowsprit went with the strain when she rose, having buried herself halfway up the waist; and the topmast snapped like a carrot, a moment later. That was the worst dive we made. There is no doubt that getting rid of the leverage of the bowsprit, right up in her eyes, eased her a good bit; and as the topmast was a pretty heavy spar, too, that also helped."
"How long will it be before the sea goes down?"
"If you mean goes down enough for us to get to work--a few hours. If you mean goes down altogether, it will be five or six days before this swell has quite flattened down, unless a wind springs up from some other quarter."
"I meant till the mast can be got up again."
"Well, this afternoon the captain may set the men at work; but I don't think they would do much good, and there would be a good chance of getting a limb broken. As long as this calm holds there is no hurry, one way or the other."
"You mean, because we couldn't be sailing, even if we had everything set?"
"Well, yes, that is something, but I didn't mean that. I am not thinking so much of our sailing, as of other people's. We are not very fit, as we are now, either for fighting or running, and I should be sorry to see a French privateer coming along; but as long as the calm continues, there is no fear of that; and I expect there have been few ships out, in this gale, who have not got repairs to do as well as we have."
After dinner, an effort was made to begin the work; but the captain soon ordered the men to desist.
"It is of no use, Mr. Probert. We shall only be getting some of the men killed. It wouldn't be possible to get half done before dark and, if the sea goes down a bit, tonight, they will get as much done in an hour's work, in the morning, as they would if they were to work from now to sunset.
"The carpenter might get some canvas, and nail it so as to hide those gaps in the bulwark. That will be something done. The boys can give it a coat of paint, in the morning. But as for the spar, we must leave it."
All hands were at work, next morning, with the first gleam of daylight. The rollers were still almost as high as the day before; but there was now a slight breath of wind, which sufficed to give the vessel steerage way. She was put head to the rollers, changing the motion from the tremendous rolling, when she was lying broadside to them, for a regular rise and fall that interfered but little with the work. A spare spar was fitted in the place of the bowsprit, the stump of the topmast was sent down, and the topgallant mast fitted in its place and, by midday, the light spars were all in their places again, and the brig was showing a fair spread of canvas; and a casual observer would, at a distance, have noticed but slight change in her appearance.
"That has been a good morning's work," the captain said, as they sat down to dinner. "We are a little short of head-sail, but that will make no great difference in our rate of sailing, especially if the wind is aft. We are ready to meet with another storm again, if it should come--which is not likely.
"We are ready for anything, in fact, except a heavily-armed privateer. The loss of four of our guns has crippled us. But there was no choice about the matter; it went against my heart to see them go overboard, but it was better to lose four guns than to lose the ship.
"I hope we shall meet with nothing till we get through the Straits. I may be able to pick up some guns, at Gibraltar. Prizes are often brought in there, and condemned, and there are sales of stores; so I hope to be able to get her into regular fighting trim, again, before I clear out from there.
"I should think you won't be sorry when we drop anchor off the Mole, youngster?"
"I am in no hurry, now," Bob said. "I would have given a good deal--if I had had it--two days ago, to have been on dry land but, now that we are all right again, I don't care how long we are, before we get there. It is very warm and pleasant, a wonderful change after what it was when we sailed.
"Whereabouts are we, captain?"
"We are a good bit farther to the east than I like," the captain replied. "We have been blown a long way into the bay. There is a great set of current, in here. We have drifted nearly fifty miles in, since noon yesterday. We are in 4 degrees 50 minutes west longitude, and 45 degrees latitude."
"I don't think that means anything to me."
"No, I suppose not," the captain laughed. "Well, it means we are nearly due west of Bordeaux, and about one hundred miles from the French coast, and a little more than eighty north of Santander, on the Spanish coast. As the wind is sou'-sou'west we can lay our course for Cape Ortegal and, once round there, we shall feel more comfortable."
"But don't you feel comfortable at present, captain?"
"Well, not altogether. We are a good deal too close in to the French coast; and we are just on the track of any privateer that may be making for Bordeaux, from the west or south, or going out in those directions. So, although I can't say I am absolutely uncomfortable, I shall be certainly glad when we are back again on the regular track of our own line of traffic for the Straits or Portugal. There are English cruisers on that line, and privateers on the lookout for the French, so that the sound of guns might bring something up to our assistance; but there is not much chance of meeting with a friendly craft, here--unless it has, like ourselves, been blown out of its course."
A lookout had already been placed aloft. Several sails were seen in the distance, in the course of the afternoon, but nothing that excited suspicion. The wind continued light and, although the brig had every sail set, she was not making more than five and a half knots an hour through the water. In the evening the wind dropped still more and, by nine o'clock, the brig had scarcely steerage way.
"It is enough to put a saint out of temper," the captain said, as he came down into the cabin, and mixed himself a glass of grog before turning in. "If the wind had held, we should have been pretty nearly off Finisterre, by morning. As it is, we haven't made more than forty knots since we took the observation, at noon."
Bob woke once in the night; and knew, by the rippling sound of water, and by the slight inclination of his berth, that the breeze had sprung up again. When he woke again the sun was shining brightly, and he got up and dressed leisurely; but as he went into the cabin he heard some orders given, in a sharp tone, by the captain on deck, and quickened his pace up the companion, to see what was going on.
"Good morning, Mr. Lockett!" he said to the second mate, who was standing close by, looking up at the sails.
"Good morning, Master Repton!" he replied, somewhat more shortly than usual.
"There is a nice breeze this morning," Bob went on. "We seem going on at a good rate."
"I wish she were going twice as fast," the mate said. "There is a gentleman over there who seems anxious to have a talk with us, and we don't want to make his acquaintance."
Bob looked round and saw, over the quarter, a large lugger some three miles away.
"What vessel is that?" he asked.
"That is a French privateer--at least, there is very little doubt about it. We must have passed each other in the dark for, when we first made him out, he was about four miles away, sailing northeast. He apparently sighted us, just as we made him out; and hauled his wind, at once. He has gained about a mile on us, in the last two hours. We have changed our course; and are sailing, as you see, northwest, so as to bring the wind on our quarter; and I don't think that fellow has come up much, since. Still, he does come up. We feel the loss of our sail, now."
It seemed to Bob, looking up, that there was already an immense amount of canvas on the brig. Stunsails had been set on her, and she was running very fast through the water.
"We seem to have more canvas set than that vessel behind us," he said.
"Yes, we have more, but those luggers sail like witches. They are splendid boats, but they want very big crews to work them. That is the reason why you scarcely ever see them, with us, except as fishing craft, or something of that sort. I daresay that lugger has a hundred men on board--eighty, anyhow--so it is no wonder we sometimes get the worst of it. They always carry three hands to our two and, very often, two to our one. Of course we are really a trader, though we do carry a letter of marque. If we were a regular privateer, we should carry twice as many hands as we do."
Walking to the poop rail, Bob saw that the men were bringing up shot, and putting them in the racks by the guns. The breech covers had been taken off. The first officer was overlooking the work.
"Well, lad," Captain Lockett said, coming up to him, "you see that unlucky calm has got us into a mess, after all and, unless the wind drops again, we are going to have to fight for it."
"Would the wind dropping help us, sir?"
"Yes, we have more canvas on her than the lugger carries and, if the breeze were lighter, should steal away from her. As it is, she doesn't gain much; but she does gain and, in another two or three hours, she will be sending a messenger to ask us to stop."
"And what will you do, captain?"
"We shall send another messenger back, to tell her to mind her own business. Then it will be a question of good shooting. If we can knock out one of her masts, we shall get off; if we can't, the chances are we shall see the inside of a French prison.
"If she once gets alongside, it is all up with us. She can carry us, by boarding; for she can throw three times our strength of men on to our deck."
There was but little talking on board the brig. When the men had finished their preparations, they stood waiting by the bulwarks; watching the vessel in chase of them, and occasionally speaking together in low tones.
"You may as well pipe the hands to breakfast, Mr. Probert. I have told the cook to give them an extra good meal. After that, I will say a few words to them.
"Now, Master Repton, we may as well have our meal. We mayn't get another good one, for some time; but I still hope that we shall be able to cripple that fellow. I have great faith in that long eighteen. The boatswain is an old man-o'-war's-man, and is a capital shot. I am a pretty good one, myself and, as the sea is smooth, and we have a good steady platform to fire from, I have good hope we shall cripple that fellow before he comes up to us."
There was more talking than usual, at breakfast. Captain Lockett and the second mate both laughed, and joked, over the approaching fight. Mr. Probert was always a man of few words, and he said but little, now.
"The sooner they come up, the better," he growled. "I hate this running away, especially when you can't run fastest."
"The men will all do their best, I suppose, Probert? You have been down among them."
The first mate nodded.
"They don't want to see the inside of a prison, captain, no more than I do. They will stick to the guns; but I fancy they know, well enough, it will be no use if it comes to boarding."
"No use at all, Probert. I quite agree with you, there. If she comes up alongside, we must haul down the flag. It is of no use throwing away the men's lives, by fighting against such odds as that. But we mustn't let her get up."
"That is it, sir. We have got to keep her off, if it can be done. We shall have to haul our wind a little, when we begin, so as to get that eighteen to bear on her."
"Yes, we must do that," the captain said. "Then we will get the other four guns over on the same side."
After breakfast was over, the captain went up and took his station at the poop rail. The men had finished their breakfast and, on seeing that the captain was about to address them, moved aft.
"My lads," he said, "that Frenchman behind will be within range, in the course of another hour. What we have got to do is to knock some of her spars out of her and, as she comes up slowly, we shall have plenty of time to do it. I daresay she carries a good many more guns than we do, but I do not suppose that they are heavier metal. If she got alongside of us, she would be more than our match; but I don't propose to let her get alongside and, as I don't imagine any of you wish to see the inside of a French prison, I know you will all do your best.
"Let there be no hurrying in your fire. Aim at her spars, and don't throw a shot away. The chances are all in our favour; for we can fight all our guns, while she can fight only her bow chasers--at any rate, until she bears up. She doesn't gain on us much now and, when she comes to get a few shot holes in her sails, it will make the difference. I shall give ten guineas to be divided among the men at the first gun that knocks away one of her spars; and five guineas, besides, to the man who lays the gun."
The men gave a cheer.
"Get the guns all over to the port side. I shall haul her wind, a little, as soon as we are within range."
By five bells, the lugger was within a mile and a half. The men were already clustered round the pivot gun.
"Put her helm down, a little," the captain ordered. "That is enough.
"Now, boatswain, you are well within range. Let us see what you can do. Fire when you have got her well on your sights."
A few seconds later there was a flash, and a roar. All eyes were directed on the lugger, which the captain was watching through his glass. There was a shout from the men. The ball had passed through the great foresail, a couple of feet from the mast.
"Very good," the captain said. "Give her a trifle more elevation, next time. If you can hit the yard, it will be just as good as hitting the mast.
"Ah! There she goes!"
Two puffs of white smoke broke out from the lugger's bow. One shot struck the water nearly abreast of the brig, at a distance of ten yards. The other fell short.
"Fourteens!" the captain said. "I thought she wouldn't have eighteens, so far forward."
Shot after shot was fired but, so far, no serious damage had been caused by them. The brig had been hulled once, and two shots had passed through her sails.
The captain went, himself, to the pivot gun; and laid it carefully. Bob stood watching the lugger intently, and gave a shout as he saw the foresail run rapidly down.
"It is only the slings cut," the second mate--who was standing by him--said. "They will have it up again, in a minute. If the shot had been the least bit lower, it would have smashed the yard."
The lugger came into the wind and, as she did so, eight guns flashed out from her side while, almost at the same moment, the four broadside guns of the Antelope were, for the first time, discharged. Bob felt horribly uncomfortable, for a moment, as the shot hummed overhead; cutting one of the stunsail booms in two, and making five fresh holes in the sails.
"Take the men from the small guns, Joe, and get that sail in," the captain said. "Its loss is of no consequence."
In half a minute, the lugger's foresail again rose; and she continued the chase, heading straight for the brig. "He doesn't like this game of long bowls, Probert," the captain said. "He intends to come up to board, instead of trusting to his guns.
"Now, boatswain, you try again."
The brig was now sailing somewhat across the lugger's bows, so that her broadside guns--trained as far as possible aft--could all play upon her; and a steady fire was kept up, to which she only replied by her two bow chasers. One of the men had been knocked down, and wounded, by a splinter from the bulwark; but no serious damage had so far been inflicted, while the sails of the lugger were spotted with shot holes.
Bob wished, heartily, that he had something to do; and would have been glad to have followed the first mate's example--that officer having thrown off his coat, and taken the place of the wounded man in working a gun--but he felt that he would only be in the way, did he try to assist. Steadily the lugger came up, until she was little more than a quarter of a mile behind them.
"Now, lads," the captain shouted, "double shot the guns--this is your last chance. Lay your guns carefully, and all fire together, when I give the word.
"Now, are you all ready? Fire!"
The five guns flashed out together, and the ten shot sped on their way. The splinters flew from the lugger's foremast, in two places; but a cry of disappointment rose, as it was seen that it was practically uninjured.
"Look, look!" the captain shouted. "Hurrah, lads!" and a cloud of white canvas fell over, to leeward of the lugger.
Her two masts were nearly in line, and the shot that had narrowly missed the foremast, and passed through the foresail, had struck the mainmast and brought it, and its sail, overboard. The crew of the brig raised a general cheer. A minute before a French prison had stared them in the face, and now they were free. The helm was instantly put up, and the brig bore straight away from her pursuer.
"What do you say, Probert? Shall we turn the tables, now, and give her a pounding?"
"I should like to, sir, nothing better; but it would be dangerous work. Directly she gets free of that hamper, she will be under command, and will be able to bring her broadside to play on us; and if she had luck, and knocked away one of our spars, she would turn the tables upon us. Besides, even if we made her strike her colours, we could never take her into port. Strong handed as she is, we should not dare to send a prize crew on board."
"You are right, Probert--though it does seem a pity to let her go scot free, when we have got her almost at our mercy."
"Not quite, sir. Look there."
The lugger had managed to bring her head sufficiently up into the wind for her broadside guns to bear, and the shot came hurtling overhead. The yard of the main-topsail was cut in sunder, and the peak halliard of the spanker severed, and the peak came down with a run. They could hear a faint cheer come across the water from the lugger.
"Leave the guns, lads, and repair damages!" the captain shouted.
"Throw off the throat halliards of the spanker, get her down, and send a hand up to reef a fresh rope through the blocks, Mr. Probert.
"Joe, take eight men with you, and stow away the topsail. Send the broken yard down.
"Carpenter, see if you have got a light spar that will do, instead of it. If not, get two small ones, and lash them so as to make a splice of it."
In a minute the guns of the lugger spoke out again but, although a few ropes were cut away, and some more holes made in the sails, no serious damage was inflicted and, before they were again loaded, the spanker was rehoisted. The lugger continued to fire, but the brig was now leaving her fast. As soon as the sail was up, the pivot gun was again set to work; and the lugger was hulled several times but, seeing that her chance of disabling the brig was small, she was again brought before the wind.
In half an hour a new topsail yard was ready, and that sail was again hoisted. The Antelope had now got three miles away from the lugger. As the sail sheeted home, the second mate shouted, from aloft: "There is a sail on the weather bow, sir! She is close hauled, and sailing across our head."
"I see her," the captain replied.
"We ought to have noticed her before, Mr. Probert. We have all been so busy that we haven't been keeping a lookout.
"What do you make her to be, Joe?" he said to the second mate.
"I should say she was a French frigate, sir."
The captain ascended the shrouds with his glass, remained there two or three minutes watching the ship, and then returned to the deck.
"She is a frigate, certainly, Mr. Probert, and by the cut of her sails I should say a Frenchman. We are in an awkward fix. She has got the weather gage of us. Do you think, if we put up helm and ran due north, we should come out ahead of her?"
The mate shook his head.
"Not if the wind freshens, sir, as I think it will. I should say we had best haul our wind, and make for one of the Spanish ports. We might get into Santander."
"Yes, that would be our best chance.
"All hands 'bout ship!"
The vessel's head was brought up into the wind, and payed off on the other tack, heading south--the frigate being, now, on her weather quarter. This course took the brig within a mile and a half of the lugger, which fired a few harmless shots at her. When she had passed beyond the range of her guns, she shaped her course southeast by east for Santander, the frigate being now dead astern. The men were then piped to dinner.
"Is she likely to catch us, sir?" Bob asked, as they sat down to table.
"I hope not, lad. I don't think she will, unless the wind freshens a good deal. If it did, she would come up hand over hand.
"I take it she is twelve miles off, now. It is four bells, and she has only got five hours' daylight, at most. However fast she is, she ought not to gain a knot and a half an hour, in this breeze and, if we are five or six miles ahead when it gets dark, we can change our course. There is no moon."
They were not long below.
"The lugger is under sail again, sir," the second mate, who was on duty, said as they gained the deck.
"They haven't been long getting up a jury mast," Captain Lockett said. "That is the best of a lug rig. Still, they have a smart crew on board."
He directed his glass towards the lugger, which was some five miles away.
"It is a good-sized spar," he said, "nearly as lofty as the foremast. She is carrying her mainsail with two reefs in it and, with the wind on her quarter, is travelling pretty nearly as fast as she did before. Still, she can't catch us, and she knows it.
"Do you see, Mr. Probert, she is bearing rather more to the north. She reckons, I fancy, that after it gets dark we may try to throw the frigate out; and may make up that way, in which case she would have a good chance of cutting us off. That is awkward, for the frigate will know that; and will guess that, instead of wearing round that way, we shall be more likely to make the other."
"That is so," the mate agreed. "Still, we shall have the choice of either hauling our wind and making south by west, or of running on, and she can't tell which we shall choose."
"That is right enough. It is just a toss up. If we run, and she runs, she will overtake us; if we haul up close into the wind, and she does the same, she will overtake us, again; but if we do one thing, and she does the other, we are safe.
"Then again, we may give her more westing, after it gets dark, and bear the same course the lugger is taking. She certainly won't gain on us, and I fancy we shall gain a bit on her. Then in the morning, if the frigate is out of sight, we can make for Santander, which will be pretty nearly due south of us, then; or, if the lugger is left well astern we can make a leg north, and then get on our old course again, for Cape Ortegal. The lugger would see it was of no use chasing us, any further."
"Yes, I think that is the best plan of the three, captain.
"I see the frigate is coming up. I can just make out the line of her hull. She must be a fast craft."
The hours passed on slowly. Fortunately the wind did not freshen, and the vessels maintained their respective positions towards each other. The frigate was coming up, but, when it began to get dusk, she was still some six miles astern. The lugger was five miles away, on the lee quarter, and three miles northeast of the frigate. She was still pursuing a line that would take her four miles to the north of the brig's present position. The coast of Spain could be seen stretching along to the southward. Another hour and it was perfectly dark and, even with the night glasses, the frigate could no longer be made out.
"Starboard your helm," the captain said, to the man at the wheel. "Lay her head due east."
"I fancy the wind is dying away, sir," Mr. Probert said.
"So long as it don't come a stark calm, I don't care," the captain replied. "That would be the worst thing that could happen, for we should have the frigate's boats after us; but a light breeze would suit us, admirably."
Two hours later, the wind had almost died out.
"We will take all the sails off her, Mr. Probert. If the frigate keeps on the course she was steering when we last saw her, she will go two miles to the south of us; and the lugger will go more than that to the north. If they hold on all night, they will be hull down before morning; and we shall be to windward of them and, with the wind light, the frigate would never catch us; and we know the lugger wouldn't, with her reduced sails."
In a few minutes all the sails were lowered, and the brig lay motionless. For the next two hours the closest watch was kept, but nothing was seen of the pursuing vessels.
"I fancy the frigate must have altered her course more to the south," the captain said, "thinking that, as the lugger was up north, we should be likely to haul our wind in that direction. We will wait another hour, and then get up sail again, and lay her head for Cape Ortegal."
When the morning broke, the brig was steering west. No sign of the lugger was visible but, from the tops, the upper sails of the frigate could be seen, close under the land, away to the southeast.
"Just as I thought," the captain said, rubbing his hands in high glee. "She hauled her wind, as soon as it was dark, and stood in for the coast, thinking we should do the same.
"We are well out of that scrape."
Two days later the brig dropped her anchor in the Tagus, where three English ships of war were lying. A part of the cargo had to be discharged, here; and the captain at once went ashore, to get a spar to replace the topmast carried away in the gale.
"We may fall in with another Frenchman, before we are through the Straits," he said, "and I am not going to put to sea again like a lame duck."
Bob went ashore with the captain, and was greatly amused at the scenes in the streets of Lisbon.
"You had better keep with me, as I shall be going on board, in an hour. Tomorrow you can come ashore and see the sights, and spend the day. I would let Joe come with you, but he will be too busy to be spared, so you will have to shift for yourself."
Before landing in the morning, the captain advised him not to go outside the town.
"You don't know the lingo, lad, and might get into trouble. You see, there are always sailors going ashore from our ships of war, and they get drunk and have sprees; and I don't fancy they are favourites with the lower class, here, although the shopkeepers, of course, are glad enough to have their money--but I don't think it would be safe for a lad like you, who can't speak a word of the language, to wander about outside the regular streets. There will be plenty for you to see, without going further."
As Bob was a good deal impressed with the narrow escape he had had from capture, he was by no means inclined to run any risk of getting into a scrape, and perhaps missing his passage out. He therefore strictly obeyed the captain's instructions; and when--just as he was going down to the landing stage, where the boat was to come ashore for him--he came upon a party of half drunken sailors, engaged in a vigorous fight with a number of Portuguese civil guards, he turned down a side street to avoid getting mixed up in the fray--repressing his strong impulse to join in by the side of his countrymen.
On his mentioning this to the captain, when he reached the brig, the latter said: "It is lucky that you kept clear of the row. It is all nonsense, talking about countrymen. It wasn't an affair of nationality, at all. Nobody would think of interfering, if he saw a party of drunken sailors in an English port fighting with the constables. If he did interfere, it ought to be on the side of the law. Why, then, should anyone take the part of drunken sailors, in a foreign port, against the guardians of the peace? To do so is an act of the grossest folly.
"In the first place, the chances are in favour of getting your head laid open with a sword cut. These fellows know they don't stand a chance against Englishmen's fists, and they very soon whip out their swords. In the second place, you would have to pass the night in a crowded lockup, where you would be half smothered before morning. And lastly, if you were lucky enough not to get a week's confinement in jail, you would have a smart fine to pay.
"There is plenty of fighting to be done, in days like these; but people should see that they fight on the right side, and not be taking the part of every drunken scamp who gets into trouble, simply because he happens to be an Englishman.
"You showed plenty of pluck, lad, when the balls were flying about the other day; and when I see your uncle, I am sure he will be pleased when I tell him how well you behaved, under fire; but I am equally certain he would not have been, by any means, gratified at hearing that I had had to leave you behind at Lisbon, either with a broken head or in prison, through getting into a street row, in which you had no possible concern, between drunken sailors and the Portuguese civil guards."
Bob saw that the captain was perfectly right, and said so, frankly.
"I see I should have been a fool, indeed, if I had got into the row, captain; and I shall remember what you say, in future. Still, you know, I didn't get into it."
"No, I give you credit for that, lad; but you acknowledge your strong impulse to do so. Now, in future you had better have an impulse just the other way and, when you find yourself in the midst of a row in which you have no personal concern, let your first thought be how to get out of it, as quickly as you can. I got into more than one scrape, myself, when I was a young fellow, from the conduct of messmates who had got too much liquor in them; but it did them no good, and did me harm.
"So, take my advice: fight your own battles, but never interfere to fight other people's, unless you are absolutely convinced that they are in the right. If you are, stick by them as long as you have a leg to stand upon."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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6
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: The Rock Fortress.
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On the third day after her arrival at Lisbon, the Antelope's anchor was hove up, and she dropped down the river. Half an hour later, a barque and another brig came out and joined her; the three captains having agreed, the day before, that they would sail in company, as they were all bound through the Straits. Captain Lockett had purchased two 14-pounder guns, at Lisbon; and the brig, therefore, now carried three guns on each side, besides her long 18 pounder. The barque carried fourteen guns, and the other brig ten; so that they felt confident of being able to beat off any French privateer they might meet, on the way.
One or two suspicious sails were sighted, as they ran down the coast; but none of these approached within gunshot, the three craft being, evidently, too strong to be meddled with. Rounding Cape St. Vincent at a short distance, they steered for the mouth of the Straits. After the bold cliffs of Portugal, Bob was disappointed with the aspect of the Spanish coast.
"Ah! It is all very well," the first mate replied, when he expressed his opinion. "Give me your low, sandy shores, and let those who like have what you call the fine, bold rocks.
"Mind, I don't mean coasts with sandbanks lying off them; but a coast with a shelving beach, and pretty deep water, right up to it. If you get cast on a coast like that of Portugal, it is certain death. Your ship will get smashed up like an eggshell, against those rocks you are talking of, and not a soul gets a chance of escape; while if you are blown on a flat coast, you may get carried within a ship's length of the beach before you strike, and it is hard if you can't get a line on shore; besides, it is ten to one the ship won't break up, for hours.
"No, you may get a landsman to admire your bold cliffs, but you won't get a sailor to agree with him."
"We seem to be going along fast, although there is not much wind."
"Yes, there is a strong current. You see, the rivers that fall into the Mediterranean ain't sufficient to make up for the loss by evaporation, and so there is always a current running in here. It is well enough for us, going east; but it is not so pleasant, when you want to come out. Then you have got to wait till you can get a breeze, from somewhere about east, to carry you out. I have been kept waiting, sometimes, for weeks; and it is no unusual thing to see two or three hundred ships anchored, waiting for the wind to change."
"Are there any pirates over on that side?" Bob asked, looking across at the African coast.
"Not about here. Ceuta lies over there. They are good friends with us, and Gibraltar gets most of its supplies from there. But once through the Straits we give that coast a wide berth; for the Algerine pirates are nearly as bad as ever, and would snap up any ship becalmed on their coast, or that had the bad luck to be blown ashore. I hope, some day, we shall send a fleet down, and blow the place about their ears. It makes one's blood boil, to think that there are hundreds and hundreds of Englishmen working, as slaves, among the Moors.
"There, do you see that projecting point with a fort on it, and a town lying behind? That is Tarifa. That used to be a great place, in the time when the Moors were masters in Spain."
"Yes," the captain, who had just joined them, said. "Tarif was a great Moorish commander, I have heard, and the place is named after him. Gibraltar is also named after a Moorish chief, called Tarik ibn Zeyad."
Bob looked surprised.
"I don't see that it is much like his name, captain."
"No, Master Repton, it doesn't sound much like it, now. The old name of the place was Gebel Tarik, which means Tank's Hill; and it is easy to see how Gebel Tarik got gradually changed into Gibraltar."
In another two hours the Straits were passed, and the Rock of Gibraltar appeared, rising across a bay to the left.
Illustration: View of Gibraltar from the Mediterranean.
View of Gibraltar from the Mediterranean.
"There is your destination, lad," the captain said. "It is a strong-looking place, isn't it?"
"It is, indeed, Captain," Bob said, taking the captain's glass from the top of the skylight, and examining the Rock.
"You see," the captain went on, "the Rock is divided from the mainland by that low spit of sand. It is only a few hundred yards wide, and the sea goes round at the back of the Rock, and along the other side of that spit--though you can't see it from here--so anything coming to attack it must advance along the spit, under the fire of the guns.
"There, do you see that building, standing up on the hill above the town? That is the old Moorish castle, and there are plenty of modern batteries scattered about near it, though you can't see them. You see, the Rock rises sheer up from the spit; and it is only on this side, close to the water's edge, that the place can be entered.
"The weak side of the place is along this sea face. On the other side, the Rock rises right out of the water; but on this side, as you see, it slopes gradually down. There are batteries, all along by the water's edge; but if the place were attacked by a fleet strong enough to knock those batteries to pieces, and silence their guns, a landing could be effected.
"At the southern end you see the rocks are bolder, and there is no landing there. That is called Europa Point, and there is a battery there, though you can't make it out, from here."
The scene was a very pretty one, and Bob watched it with the greatest interest. A frigate, and two men-of-war brigs, were anchored at some little distance from the Rock; and around them were some thirty or forty merchantmen, waiting for a change in the wind to enable them to sail out through the Straits. White-sailed boats were gliding about among them.
At the head of the bay were villages nestled among trees, while the country behind was broken and hilly. On the opposite side of the bay was a town of considerable size, which the captain told him was Algeciras. It was, he said, a large town at the time of the Moors, very much larger and more important than Gibraltar. The ground rose gradually behind it, and was completely covered with foliage, orchards, and orange groves.
The captain said: "You see that rock rising at the end of the bay from among the trees, lads. That is called 'the Queen of Spain's Chair.' It is said that, at a certain siege when the Moors were here, the then Queen of Spain took her seat on that rock, and declared she would never go away till Gibraltar was taken. She also took an oath never to change her linen, until it surrendered. I don't know how she managed about it, at last, for the place never did surrender. I suppose she got a dispensation, and was able to get into clean clothes again, some day.
"I have heard tell that the Spaniards have a colour that is called by her name--a sort of dirty yellow. It came out at that time. Of course, it would not have been etiquette for other ladies to wear white, when her majesty was obliged to wear dingy garments; so they all took to having their things dyed, so as to match hers; and the tint has borne her name, ever since."
"It is a very nasty idea," Bob said; "and I should think she took pretty good care, afterwards, not to take any oaths. It is hot enough, now; and I should think, in summer, it must be baking here."
"It is pretty hot, on the Rock, in summer. You know, they call the natives of the place Rock scorpions. Scorpions are supposed to like heat, though I don't know whether they do. You generally find them lying under pieces of loose rock; but whether they do it for heat, or to keep themselves cool, I can't say.
"Now, Mr. Probert, you may as well take some of the sail off her. We will anchor inside those craft, close to the New Mole. They may want to get her alongside, to unload the government stores we have brought out; and the nearer we are in, the less trouble it will be to warp her alongside, tomorrow morning. Of course, if the landing place is full, they will send lighters out to us."
Illustration: View of Gibraltar from the Bay.
View of Gibraltar from the Bay.
The sails were gradually got off the brig, and she had but little way on when her anchor was dropped, a cable's length from the end of the Mole. Scarcely had she brought up when a boat shot out from the end of the pier.
"Hooray!" Bob shouted. "There are my sister, and Gerald."
"I thought as much," the captain said. "We hoisted our number, as soon as we came round the point; and the signal station, on the top of the Rock, would send down the news directly they made out our colours."
"Well, Bob, it gave me quite a turn," his sister said, after the first greetings were over, "when we saw how the sails were all patched, and everyone said that the ship must have been in action. I was very anxious, till I saw your head above the bulwarks."
"Yes, we have been in a storm, and a fight, and we came pretty near being taken. Did you get out all right?"
"Yes, we had a very quiet voyage."
The captain then came up, and was introduced.
"I have a box or two for you, madam, in addition to your brother's kit. Mr. Bale sent them down, a couple of days before we sailed.
"At one time, it didn't seem likely that you would ever see their contents, for we had a very close shave of it. In the first place, we had about as bad a gale as I have met with, in crossing the bay; and were blown into the bight, with the loss of our bowsprit, fore-topmast and four of our guns, that we had to throw overboard to lighten her.
"Then a French lugger, that would have been a good deal more than a match for her, at any time, came up. We might have out sailed her, if we could have carried all our canvas; but with only a jury topmast, she was too fast for us. As you may see by our sails, we had a smart fight but, by the greatest good fortune, we knocked the mainmast out of her.
"Then we were chased by a French frigate, with the lugger to help her. However, we gave them the slip in the night, and here we are.
"I am afraid you won't get your brother's boxes, till tomorrow. Nothing can go ashore till the port officer has been on board, and the usual formalities gone through. I don't know, yet, whether we shall discharge into lighters, or go alongside; but I will have your boxes all put together, in readiness for you, the first thing in the morning, whichever way it is."
"We shall be very glad if you will dine with us, tomorrow," Captain O'Halloran said. "We dine at one o'clock or, if that would be inconvenient for you, come to supper at seven."
"I would rather do that, if you will let me," Captain Lockett replied. "I shall be pretty busy tomorrow, and you military gentlemen do give us such a lot of trouble--in the way of papers, documents, and signatures--that I never like leaving the ship, till I get rid of the last bale and box with the government brand on it."
"Very well, then; we shall expect you to supper."
"I shall come down first thing in the morning, captain," Bob said, "so I need not say goodbye to anyone, now."
"You had better bring only what you may want with you for the night, Bob," his sister put in, as he was about to run below. "The cart will take everything else up, together, in the morning."
"Then I shall be ready in a minute," Bob said, running below; and it was not much more before he reappeared, with a small handbag.
"I shall see you again tomorrow, Mr. Probert. I shall be here about our luggage;" and he took his place in the boat beside the others, who had already descended the ladder.
"And you have had a pleasant voyage, Bob?" Captain O'Halloran asked.
"Very jolly, Gerald; first rate. Captain Lockett was as kind as could be; and the first mate was very good, too, though I did not think he would be, when I first saw him; and Joe Lockett, the second mate, is a capital fellow."
"But how was it that you did not take that French privateer, Bob? With a fellow like you on board--the capturer of a gang of burglars, and all that sort of thing--I should have thought that, instead of running away, you would have gone straight at her; that you would have thrown yourself on her deck at the head of the boarders, would have beaten the Frenchmen below, killed their captain in single combat, and hauled down their flag."
"There is no saying what I might have done," Bob laughed, "if it had come to boarding; but as it was, I did not feel the least wish for a closer acquaintance with the privateer. It was too close to be pleasant, as it was--a good deal too close. It is a pity you were not there, to have set me an example."
"I am going to do that now, Bob, and I hope you will profit by it.
"Now then, you jump out first, and give Carrie your hand. That is it."
And, having settled with the boatman, Captain O'Halloran followed the others' steps. It was a busy scene. Three ships were discharging their cargoes, and the wharf was covered with boxes and bales, piles of shot and shell, guns, and cases of ammunition. Fatigue parties of artillery and infantry men were piling the goods, or stowing them in handcarts. Goods were being slung down from the ships, and were swinging in the air, or run down to the cry of "Look below!"
"Mind how you go, Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said, "or you will be getting what brains you have knocked out."
"If that is all the danger, Gerald," she laughed, "you are safe, anyhow.
"Now, Bob, do look out!" she broke off as, while glancing round, he tripped over a hawser and fell. "Are you hurt?"
"Never mind him, Carrie--look out for yourself. A boy never gets hurt.
"Now, keep your eyes about you, Bob. You can come and look at all this, any day."
At last they got to the end of the Mole. Then they passed under an archway, with a massive gate, at which stood a sentry; then they found themselves in a sort of yard, surrounded by a high wall, on the top of which two cannon were pointed down upon them. Crossing the yard, they passed through another gateway. The ground here rose sharply, and a hundred yards further back stood another battery; completely commanding the Mole, and the defences through which they had passed.
The ground here was comparatively level, rising gradually to the foot of the rock, which then rose steeply up. A few houses were scattered about, surrounded by gardens. Hedges of cactus lined the road. Parties of soldiers and sailors, natives with carts, and women in picturesque costumes passed along. The vegetation on the low ground was abundant, and Bob looked with delight at the semi-tropical foliage.
Turning to the right they followed the road, passed under an archway in a strong wall, and were in the town, itself.
"We are not living in barracks," Carrie said. "Fortunately there was no room there, and we draw lodging allowance, and have taken the upper portion of a Spanish house. It is much more pleasant. Besides, if we had had to live in quarters, we should have had no room for you."
"The streets are steep," Bob said. "I can't make out how these little donkeys keep their feet on the slippery stones, with those heavy loads.
"Oh! I say, there are two rum-looking chaps. What are they--Moors?"
"Yes. You will see lots of them here, Bob. They come across from Ceuta, and there are some of them established here, as traders. What with the Moors, and Spaniards, and Jews, and the sailors from the shipping, you can hear pretty nearly every European language spoken, in one walk through the streets."
"Oh, I say, isn't this hot?" Bob exclaimed, mopping his face; "and isn't there a glare from all these white walls, and houses! How much higher is it?"
"About another hundred yards, Bob. There, you see, we are getting beyond the streets now."
They had now reached a flat shoulder; and on this the houses were somewhat scattered, standing in little inclosures, with hedges of cactus and geranium, and embowered in shrubs and flowers.
"This is our house," Carrie said, stopping before a rickety wooden gateway, hung upon two massive posts of masonry. "You see, we have got a flight of steps outside, and we are quite cut off from the people below."
They ascended the stairs. At the top there was a sort of wide porch, with a wooden roof; which was completely covered with creepers, growing from two wooden tubs. Four or five plants, covered with blossoms, stood on the low walls; and two or three chairs showed that the little terrace was used as an open-air sitting room.
"In another hour, when the sun gets lower, Bob, we can come and sit here. It is a lovely view, isn't it?"
"Beautiful!" Bob said, leaning on the wall.
Below them lay the sea front, with its gardens and bright foliage and pretty houses, with Europa Point and the sea stretching away beyond it. A little to the right were the African hills; and then, turning slightly round, the Spanish coast, with Algeciras nestled in foliage, and the bay with all its shipping. The head of the bay was hidden, for the ground behind was higher than that on which the house stood.
"Come in, Bob," Captain O'Halloran said. "You had better get out of the sun. Of course, it is nothing to what it will be; but it is hot now, and we are none of us acclimatized, yet."
The rooms were of a fair size, but the light-coloured walls gave them a bare appearance, to Bob's eyes. They were, however, comfortably furnished, matting being laid down instead of carpets.
"It is cooler, and cheaper," Carrie said, seeing Bob looking at them.
"This is your room, and this is the kitchen," and she opened the door into what seemed to Bob a tiny place, indeed.
Across one end was a mass of brickwork, rather higher than an ordinary table. Several holes, a few inches deep, were scattered about over this. In some of these small charcoal fires were burning, and pots were placed over them. There were small openings from the front, leading to these tiny fireplaces; and a Spanish girl was driving the air into one of these, with a fan, when they entered.
"This is my brother, Manola," Mrs. O'Halloran said.
The girl smiled and nodded, and then continued her work.
"She speaks English?" Bob said, as they went out.
"She belongs to the Rock, Bob. Almost all the natives here talk a little English."
"Where do these steps lead to? I thought we were at the top of the house."
"Come up and see," Carrie said, leading the way.
Following her, Bob found himself on a flat terrace, extending over the whole of the house. Several orange trees--in tubs--and many flowers, and small shrubs in pots stood upon it; and three or four light cane-work lounging chairs stood apart.
"Here is where we come when the sun is down, Bob. There is no finer view, we flatter ourselves, anywhere in Gib. Here we receive our guests, in the evening. We have only begun yet, but we mean to make a perfect garden of it."
"It is splendid!" Bob said, as he walked round by the low parapet, and gazed at the view in all directions; "and we can see what everyone else is doing on their roofs, and no one can look down on us--except from the rock over there, behind us, and there are no houses there."
"No, the batteries commanding the neutral ground lie over that crest, Bob. We are quite shut in, on two sides; but we make up for it by the extent of our view, on the others. We are very lucky in getting the place. A regiment went home in the transport that brought us out. Gerald knew some of the officers, and one of them had been staying here, and told Gerald of it; and we took it at once. The other officers' wives are all quite jealous of me and, though some of them have very nice quarters, it is admitted that, as far as the view goes, this is by far the best. Besides, it is a great thing being out of the town, and it does not take Gerald more than three or four minutes longer to get down to the barracks.
"But now, let us go downstairs. I am sure you must want something to eat, and we sha'n't have supper for another three hours."
"I dined at twelve," Bob said, "just before we rounded the point, and I could certainly hold on until supper time Still, I daresay I could eat something, now."
"Oh, it is only a snack! It is some stewed chicken and some fruit. That won't spoil your supper, Bob?"
"You will be glad to hear, Bob," Captain O'Halloran said, as the lad was eating his meal, "that I have secured the services of a Spanish professor for you. He is to begin next Monday."
Bob's face fell.
"I don't see that there was need for such a hurry," he said, ruefully, laying down his knife and fork. "I don't see there was need for any hurry, at all. Besides, of course, I want to see the place."
"You will be able to see a good deal of it, in four days, Bob; and your time won't be entirely occupied, when you do begin. The days are pretty long here, everyone gets up early.
"He is to come at seven o'clock in the morning. You have a cup of coffee, and some bread and butter and fruit, before that. He will go at nine, then we have breakfast. Then you will have your time to yourself, till dinner at half past two. The assistant surgeon of our regiment--he is a Dublin man--will come to you for Latin, and what I may call general knowledge, for two hours. That is all; except, I suppose, that you will work a bit by yourself, of an evening.
"That is not so bad, is it?"
"What sort of man is the assistant surgeon?" Bob replied, cautiously. "It all depends how much he is going to give me to do, in the evening."
"I don't think he will give you anything to do, in the evening, Bob. Of course, the Spanish is the principal thing, and I told him that you will have to work at that."
"I don't think you need be afraid, Bob," his sister laughed. "You won't find Dr. Burke a very severe kind of instructor. Nobody but Gerald would ever have thought of choosing him."
"Sure, and didn't you agree with me, Carrie," her husband said, in an aggrieved voice, "that as we were not going to make the boy a parson, and as it was too much to expect him to learn Spanish, and a score of other things, at once; that we ought to get someone who would make his lessons pleasant for him, and not be worrying his soul out of his body with all sorts of useless balderdash?"
"Yes, we agreed that, Gerald; but there was a limit, and when you told me you had spoken to Teddy Burke about it, and arranged the matter with him, I thought you had gone beyond that limit, altogether."
"He is just the man for Bob, Carrie. That boy will find it mighty dull here, after a bit, and will want someone to cheer him up. I promised the old gentleman I would find him someone who could push Bob on in his humanities; and Teddy Burke has taken his degree at Dublin, and I will venture to say will get him on faster than a stiff starched man will do. Bob would always be playing tricks, with a fellow like that, and be getting into rows with him. There will be no playing tricks with Teddy Burke, for he is up to the whole thing, himself."
"I should think he is, Gerald. Well, we will see how it works, anyhow.
"Go on with your fowl, Bob. You will see all about it, in good time."
Bob felt satisfied that the teacher his brother-in-law had chosen for him was not a very formidable personage; and his curiosity as to what he would be like was satisfied, that evening. After he had finished his meal, he went for a stroll with Captain O'Halloran through the town, and round the batteries at that end of the Rock, returning to supper. After the meal was over, they went up to the terrace above. There was not a breath of wind, and a lamp on a table there burned without a flicker.
They had scarcely taken their seats when Manola announced Dr. Burke, and a minute later an officer in uniform made his appearance on the terrace. He wore a pair of blue spectacles, and advanced in a stiff and formal manner.
"I wish you a good evening, Mrs. O'Halloran. So this is our young friend!
"You are well, I hope, Master Repton; and are none the worse for the inconveniences I hear you have suffered on your voyage?"
Carrie, to Bob's surprise, burst into a fit of laughter.
"What is the matter, Mrs. O'Halloran?" Dr. Burke asked, looking at her with an air of mild amazement.
"I am laughing at you, Teddy Burke. How can you be so ridiculous?"
The doctor removed his spectacles.
"Now, Mrs. O'Halloran," he said, with a strong brogue. "Do you call that acting fairly by me? Didn't you talk to me yourself, half an hour yesterday, and impress upon me that I ought to be grave and steady, now that I was going to enter upon the duties of a pedagogue; and ain't I trying my best to act up to your instructions, and there you burst out laughing in my face, and spoil it all, entirely?
"Gerald said to me, 'Now mind, Teddy, it is a responsible affair. The boy is up to all sorts of divarsions, and divil a bit will he attend to ye, if he finds that you are as bad, if not worse, than he is himself.' " 'But,' said I, 'it's Latin and such like that you are wanting me to teach him; and not manners at all, at all.'
"And he says, 'It is all one. It is quiet and well behaved that you have got to be, Teddy. The missis has been houlding out about the iniquity of taking a spalpeen, like yourself; and it is for you to show her that she is mistaken, altogether.'
"So I said, 'You trust me, Gerald, I will be as grave as a doctor of divinity.'
"So I got out these glasses--which I bought because they told me that they would be wanted here, to keep out the glare of the sun--and I came here, and spoke as proper as might be; and then, Mrs. O'Halloran, you burst out laughing in my face, and destroy the whole effect of these spectacles, and all.
"Well, we must make the best of a bad business; and we will try, for a bit, anyhow. If he won't mind me, Gerald must go to the chaplain, as he intended to; and I pity the boy, then. I would rather be had up before the colonel, any day, than have any matter in dispute with him."
"You are too bad, Teddy Burke," Mrs. O'Halloran said, still laughing. "It was all very well for you to try and look sensible, but to put on that face was too absurd. You know you could not have kept it up for five minutes.
"No, I don't think it will do," and she looked serious now. "I always thought that it was out of the question, but this bad beginning settles it."
But Bob, who had been immensely amused, now broke in.
"Why not, Carrie? I am sure I should work better, for Dr. Burke, than I should for anyone who was very strict and stiff. One is always wanting to do something, with a man like that: to play tricks with his wig or pigtail, or something of that sort. You might let us try, anyhow; and if Dr. Burke finds that I am not attentive, and don't mind him, then you can put me with somebody else."
"Sure, we shall get on first rate, Mrs. O'Halloran. Gerald says the boy is a sensible boy, and that he has been working very well under an old uncle of yours. He knows for himself that it's no use his having a master, if he isn't going to try his best to get on. When I was at school, I used to get larrupped every day; and used to think, to myself, what a grand thing it would be to have a master just like what Dr. Burke, M.D., Dublin, is now; and I expect it is just about the same, with him. We sha'n't work any the worse because, maybe, we will joke over it, sometimes."
"Very well, then, we will try, Teddy; though I know the whole regiment will think Gerald and I have gone mad, when they hear about it. But I shall keep my eye upon you both."
"The more you keep your eye upon me, the better I shall be plazed, Mrs. O'Halloran; saving your husband's presence," the doctor said, insinuatingly.
"Do sit down and be reasonable, Teddy. There are cigars in that box on the table."
"The tobacco here almost reconciles one to living outside Ireland," Dr. Burke said, as he lit a cigar, and seated himself in one of the comfortable chairs. "Just about a quarter the price they are at home, and brandy at one shilling per bottle. It is lucky for the country that we don't get them at that price, in Ireland; for it is mighty few boys they would get to enlist, if they could get tobacco and spirits at such prices, at home."
"I have been telling Gerald that it will be much better for him to drink claret, out here," Mrs. O'Halloran said.
"And you are not far wrong," the doctor agreed; "but the native wines here are good enough for me, and you can get them at sixpence a quart. I was telling them, at mess yesterday, that we must not write home and tell them about it; or faith, there would be such an emigration that the Rock wouldn't hold the people--not if you were to build houses all over it. Sixpence a quart, and good sound tipple!
"Sure, and it was a mighty mistake of Providence that Ireland was not dropped down into the sea, off the coast of Spain. What a country it would have been!"
"I don't know, Teddy," Captain O'Halloran said. "As the people don't kill themselves with overwork, now, I doubt if they would ever work at all, if they had the excuse of a hot climate for doing nothing."
"There would not have been so much need, Gerald. They needn't have bothered about the thatch, when it only rains once in six months, or so; while as for clothes, it is little enough they would have needed. And the bogs would all have dried up, and they would have had crops without more trouble than just scratching the ground, and sowing in the seed; and they would have grown oranges, instead of praties. Oh, it would have been a great country, entirely!"
The doctor's three listeners all went off into a burst of laughter, at the seriousness with which he spoke.
"But you would have had trouble with your pigs," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "The Spanish pigs are wild, fierce-looking beasts, and would never be content to share the cottages."
"Ah! But we would have had Irish pigs just the same as now. Well, what do you think--" and he broke off suddenly, sitting upright, and dropping the brogue altogether--"they were saying, at mess, that the natives declare there are lots of Spanish troops moving down in this direction; and that a number of ships are expected, with stores, at Algeciras."
"Well, what of that?" Mrs. O'Halloran asked. "We are at peace with Spain. What does it matter where they move their troops, or land stores?"
"That is just the thing. We are at peace with them, sure enough; but that is no reason why we should be always at peace. You know how they hate seeing our flag flying over the Rock; and they may think that, now we have got our hands full with France, and the American colonists, it will be the right time for them to join in the scrimmage, and see if they can't get the Rock back again."
"But they would never go to war, without any ground of complaint!"
"I don't know, Mrs. O'Halloran. When one wants to pick a quarrel with a man, it is always a mighty easy thing to do so. You can tread on his toe, and ask him what he put it there for; or sit down on his hat, and swear that he put it on the chair on purpose; or tell him that you do not like the colour of his hair, or that his nose isn't the shape that pleases you. It is the easiest thing in the world to find something to quarrel about, when you have a mind for it."
"Are you quite serious, Teddy?"
"Never more serious in my life.
"Have you heard about it, Gerald?"
"I heard them saying something about it, when we were waiting for the colonel on parade, this morning; but I did not think much of it."
"Well, of course, it mayn't be true, Gerald; but the colonel and major both seemed to think that there was something in it. It seems, from what they said, that the governor has had letters that seemed to confirm the news that several regiments are on the march south; and that stores are being collected at Cadiz, and some of the other seaports. There is nothing, as far as we know, specially said about Gibraltar; but what else can they be getting ready for, unless it is to cross the Straits and attack the Moors--and they are at peace with them, at present, just as they are with us? I mean to think that they are coming here, till we are downright sure they are not. The news is so good, I mean to believe that it is true, as long as I can."
"For shame, Teddy!" Mrs. O'Halloran said. "You can't be so wicked as to hope that they are going to attack us?"
"And it is exactly that point of wickedness I have arrived at," the doctor said, again dropping into the brogue. "In the first place, sha'n't we need something, to kape us from dying entirely of nothing to do at all, at all, in this wearisome old place? We are fresh to it, and we are not tired, yet, of the oranges and the wine and the cigars, and the quare people you see in the streets; but the regiments that have been here some time are just sick of their lives. Then, in the second place, how am I going to learn my profession, if we are going to stop here, quiet and peaceful, for years? Didn't I come into the army to study gunshot wounds and, barring duels, divil a wound have I seen since I joined. It's getting rusty I am, entirely; and there is the elegant case of instruments my aunt gave me, that have never been opened. By the same token, I will have them out and oil them, in the morning."
"Don't talk in that way, Teddy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It seems to me that you are making a great to-do about nothing. Some soldiers have been marched somewhere in Spain, and all this talk is made up about it. They must know, very well, they can't take the Rock. They tried it once, and I should have thought they would not be in a hurry to try it again. I shall believe in it when I see it.
"You need not look so delighted, Bob. If there should be any trouble--and it seems nonsense even to think about such a thing--but if there should be any, we should put you on board the very first vessel sailing for England, and get you off our minds."
Bob laughed.
"I should go down and ship as a powder monkey, on one of the ships of war; or enlist as a drummer, in one of the regiments; and then I should be beyond your authority, altogether."
"I begin to think you are beyond my authority already, Bob.
"Gerald, I am afraid we did a very foolish thing in agreeing to have this boy out here."
"Well, we have got him on our hands now, Carrie; and it is early, yet, for you to find out your mistake.
"Well, if there should be a siege--" "You know there is no chance of it, Gerald."
"Well, I only say if, and we are cut off from all the world, he will be a companion to you, and keep you alive, while I am in the batteries."
"I won't hear such nonsense talked any more, Gerald; and if Teddy Burke is going to bring us every bit of absurd gossip that may be picked up from the peasants, he can stay away, altogether."
"Except when he comes to instruct his pupil, Mrs. O'Halloran."
"Oh, that is not likely to last long, Dr. Burke!"
"That is to be seen, Mrs. O'Halloran. It is a nice example you are setting him of want of respect for his instructor. I warn you that, before another six months have passed, you will have to confess that it has been just the very best arrangement that could have been made; and will thank your stars that Dr. Edward Burke, M.D., of Dublin, happened to be here, ready to your hand."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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7
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: Troubles Ahead.
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When Dr. Burke had left, Bob broke into an Indian war dance, expressive of the deepest satisfaction; and Captain O'Halloran burst into a shout of laughter at the contrast between the boy's vehement delight, and the dissatisfaction expressed in his wife's face.
"I am not at all pleased, Gerald, not at all; and I don't see that it is any laughing matter. I never heard a more ridiculous thing. Uncle intrusted Bob to our care, believing that we should do what was best for him; and here you go and engage the most feather-headed Irishman in the garrison--and that is saying a good deal, Gerald--to look after him."
It was so seldom that Carrie took matters seriously that her husband ceased laughing, at once.
"Well, Carrie, there is no occasion to put yourself out about it. The experiment can be tried for a fortnight; and if, at the end of that time, you are not satisfied, we will get someone else. But I am sure it will work well."
"So am I, Carrie," Bob put in. "I believe Dr. Burke and I will get on splendidly. You see, I have been with two people, both of whom looked as grave as judges, and one of them as cross as a bear; and yet they were both first-rate fellows. It seems to me that Dr. Burke is just the other way. He turns everything into fun; but I expect he will be just as sharp, when he is at lessons, as anyone else. At any rate, you may be sure that I will do my best with him; so as not to get put under some stiff old fellow, instead of him."
"Well, we shall see, Bob. I hope that it will turn out well, I am sure."
"Of course it will turn out well, Carrie. Why, didn't your uncle at first think I was the most harum-scarum fellow he ever saw; and now he sees that I am a downright model husband, with only one fault, and that is that I let you have your own way, altogether."
"It looks like it, on the present occasion, Gerald," his wife laughed. "I will give it, as you say, a fortnight's trial. I only hope that you have made a better choice for Bob's Spanish master."
"I hope so, my dear--that is, if it is possible. The professor, as I call him, has been teaching his language to officers, here, for the last thirty years. He is a queer, wizened-up little old chap, and has got out of the way of bowing and scraping that the senors generally indulge in; but he seems a cheery little old soul, and he has got to understand English ways and, at any rate, there is no fear of his leading Bob into mischief. The Spaniards don't understand that; and if you were to ruffle his dignity, he would throw up teaching him at once; and I have not heard of another man on the Rock who would be likely to suit."
On the following Monday, Bob began work with the professor; who called himself, on his card, Don Diaz Martos. He spoke English very fairly and, after the first half hour, Bob found that the lessons would be much more pleasant than he expected. The professor began by giving him a long sentence to learn by heart, thoroughly; and when Bob had done this, parsed each word with him, so that he perfectly understood its meaning. Then he made the lad say it after him a score of times, correcting his accent and inflection; and when he was satisfied with this, began to construct fresh sentences out of the original one, again making Bob repeat them, and form fresh ones himself.
Thus, by the time the first lesson was finished the lad, to his surprise, found himself able, without difficulty, to frame sentences from the words he had learned. Then the professor wrote down thirty nouns and verbs in common use.
"You will learn them this evening," he said, "and in the morning we shall be able to make up a number of sentences out of them and, by the end of a week, you will see we shall begin to talk to each other. After that, it will be easy. Thirty fresh words, every day, will be ample. In a month you will know seven or eight hundred; and seven or eight hundred are enough for a man to talk with, on common occasions."
"He is first rate," Bob reported to his sister, as they sat down to dinner, at one o'clock. "You would hardly believe that I can say a dozen little sentences, already; and can understand him, when he says them. He says, in a week, we shall be able to get to talk together.
"I wonder they don't teach Latin like that. Why, I shall know in two or three months as much Spanish--and more, ever so much more--than I do Latin, after grinding away at it for the last seven or eight years."
"Well, that is satisfactory. I only hope the other will turn out as well."
As Mrs. O'Halloran sat that evening, with her work in her hand, on the terrace; with her husband, smoking a cigar, beside her. She paused, several times, as she heard a burst of laughter.
"That doesn't sound like master and pupil," she said, sharply, after an unusually loud laugh from below.
"More the pity, Carrie. Why on earth shouldn't a master be capable of a joke? Do you think one does not learn all the faster, when the lecture is pleasant? I know I would, myself. I never could see why a man should look as if he was going to an execution, when he wants to instil knowledge."
"But it is not usual, Gerald," Carrie remonstrated, no other argument occurring to her.
"But that doesn't prove that it's wrong. Why a boy should be driven worse than a donkey, and thrashed until his life is a burden to him, and he hates his lessons and hates his master, beats me entirely. Some day they will go more sensibly to work.
"You see, in the old times, Carrie, men used to beat their wives; and you don't think the women were any the better for it, do you?"
"Of course they weren't," Carrie said, indignantly.
"But it was usual, you know, Carrie, just as you say that it is usual for masters to beat boys--as if they would do nothing, without being thrashed. I can't see any difference between the two things."
"I can see a great deal of difference, sir!"
"Well, what is the difference, Carrie?"
But Carrie disdained to give any answer. Still, as she sat sewing and thinking the matter over, she acknowledged to herself that she really could not see any good and efficient reason why boys should be beaten, any more than women.
"But women don't do bad things, like boys," she said, breaking silence at last.
"Don't they, Carrie? I am not so sure of that. I have heard of women who are always nagging their husbands, and giving them no peace of their lives. I have heard of women who think of nothing but dress, and who go about and leave their homes and children to shift for themselves. I have heard of women who spend all their time spreading scandal. I have heard of--" "There, that is enough," Carrie broke in hastily. "But you don't mean to say that they would be any the better for beating, Gerald?"
"I don't know, Carrie; I should think perhaps they might be, sometimes. At any rate, I think that they deserve a beating quite as much as a boy does, for neglecting to learn a lesson or for playing some prank--which comes just as naturally, to him, as mischief does to a kitten. For anything really bad, I would beat a boy as long as I could stand over him. For lying, or thieving, or any mean, dirty trick I would have no mercy on him. But that is a very different thing to keeping the cane always going, at school, as they do now.
"But here comes Bob. Well, Bob, is the doctor gone? Didn't you ask him to come up, and have a cigar?"
"Yes; but he said he had got two or three cases at the hospital he must see, and would wait until this evening."
"How have you got on, Bob?"
"Splendidly. I wonder why they don't teach at school, like that."
"It didn't sound much like teaching," Carrie said, severely.
"I don't suppose it did, Carrie; but it was teaching, for all that. Why, I have learned as much, this evening, as I did in a dozen lessons, in school. He explains everything so that you seem to understand it, at once; and he puts things, sometimes, in such a droll way, and brings in such funny comparisons, that you can't help laughing. But you understand it, for all that, and are not likely to forget it.
"Don't you be afraid, Carrie. If Dr. Burke teaches me, for the two years that I am going to be here, I shall know more than I should have done if I had stopped at Tulloch's till I was an old man. I used to learn lessons, there, and get through them, somehow, but I don't think I ever understood why things were so; while Dr. Burke explains everything so that you seem to understand all about it, at once. And he is pretty sharp, too. He takes a tremendous lot of pains, himself; but I can see he will expect me to take a tremendous lot of pains, too."
At the end of a fortnight, Carrie made no allusion to the subject of a change of masters. The laughing downstairs still scandalized her, a little; but she saw that Bob really enjoyed his lessons and, although she herself could not test what progress he was making, his assurances on that head satisfied her.
The Brilliant had sailed on a cruise, the morning after Bob's arrival; but as soon as he heard that she had again dropped anchor in the bay, he took a boat and went out to her; and returned on shore with Jim Sankey, who had obtained leave for the afternoon. The two spent hours in rambling about the Rock, and talking of old times at Tulloch's. Both agreed that the most fortunate thing that ever happened had been the burglary at Admiral Langton's; which had been the means of Jim's getting into the navy, and Bob's coming out to Gibraltar, to his sister.
Jim had lots to tell of his shipmates, and his life on board the Brilliant. He was disposed to pity Bob spending half his day at lessons; and was astonished to find that his friend really enjoyed it, and still more that he should already have begun to pick up a little Spanish.
"You can't help it, with Don Diaz," Bob said. "He makes you go over a sentence, fifty times, until you say it in exactly the same voice he does--I mean the same accent. He says it slow, at first, so that I can understand him; and then faster and faster, till he speaks in his regular voice. Then I have to make up another sentence, in answer. It is good fun, I can tell you; and yet one feels that one is getting on very fast. I thought it would take years before I should be able to get on anyhow in Spanish; but he says if I keep on sticking to it, I shall be able to speak pretty nearly like a native, in six months' time. I quite astonish Manola--that is our servant--by firing off sentences in Spanish at her. My sister Carrie says she shall take to learning with the Don, too."
"Have you had any fun since you landed, Bob?"
"No; not regular fun, you know. It has been very jolly. I go down with Gerald--Carrie's husband, you know--to the barracks, and I know most of the officers of his regiment now, and I walk about a bit by myself; but I have not gone beyond the Rock, yet."
"You must get a long day's leave, Bob; and we will go across the neutral ground, into Spain, together."
"Gerald said that, as I was working so steadily, I might have a holiday, sometimes, if I did not ask for it too often. I have been three weeks at it, now. I am sure I can go for a day, when I like, so it will depend on you."
"I sha'n't be able to come ashore for another four or five days, after having got away this afternoon. Let us see, this is Wednesday, I will try to get leave for Monday."
"Have you heard, Jim, there is a talk about Spanish troops moving down here, and that they think Spain is going to join France and try to take this place?"
"No, I haven't heard a word about it," Jim said, opening his eyes. "You don't really mean it?"
"Yes, that is what the officers say. Of course, they don't know for certain; but there is no doubt the country people have got the idea into their heads, and the natives on the Rock certainly believe it."
"Hooray! That would be fun," Jim said. "We have all been grumbling, on board the frigate, at being stuck down here without any chance of picking up prizes; or of falling in with a Frenchman, except we go on a cruise. Why, you have seen twice as much fun as we have, though you only came out in a trader. Except that we chased a craft that we took for a French privateer, we haven't seen an enemy since we came out from England; and we didn't see much of her, for she sailed right away from us. While you have had no end of fighting, and a very narrow escape of being taken to a French prison."
"Too narrow to be pleasant, Jim. I don't think there would be much fun to be got out of a French prison."
"I don't know, Bob. I suppose it would be dull, if you were alone; but if you and I were together, I feel sure we should have some fun, and should make our escape, somehow."
"Well, we might try," Bob said, doubtfully. "But you see, not many fellows do make their escape; and as sailors are up to climbing ropes, and getting over walls, and all that sort of thing, I should think they would do it, if it could be managed anyhow."
Upon the following day--when Bob was in the anteroom of the mess with Captain O'Halloran, looking at some papers that had been brought by a ship that had come in that morning--the colonel entered, accompanied by Captain Langton. The officers all stood up, and the colonel introduced them to Captain Langton--who was, he told them, going to dine at the mess that evening. After he had done this, Captain Langton's eye fell upon Bob; who smiled, and made a bow.
"I ought to know you," the captain said. "I have certainly seen your face somewhere."
"It was at Admiral Langton's, sir. My name is Bob Repton."
"Of course it is," the officer said, shaking him cordially by the hand. "But what on earth are you doing here? I thought you had settled down somewhere in the city; with an uncle, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir; but I have come out here to learn Spanish."
"Have you seen your friend Sankey?"
"Yes, sir. I went on board the frigate to see him, yesterday afternoon; and he got leave to come ashore with me, for two or three hours."
"He ought to have let me know that you were here," the captain said. "Who are you staying with, lad?"
"With Captain O'Halloran, sir, my brother-in-law," Bob said, indicating Gerald, who had already been introduced to Captain Langton.
"I daresay you are surprised at my knowing this young gentleman," he said, turning to Colonel Cochrane, "but he did my father, the admiral, a great service. He and three other lads, under his leadership, captured four of the most notorious burglars in London, when they were engaged in robbing my father's house. It was a most gallant affair, I can assure you; and the four burglars swung for it, a couple of months later. I have one of the lads as a midshipman, on board my ship; and I offered a berth to Repton but, very wisely, he decided to remain on shore, where his prospects were good."
"Why, O'Halloran, you never told me anything about this," the colonel said.
"No, sir. Bob asked me not to say anything about it. I think he is rather shy of having it talked about; and it is the only thing of which he is shy as far as I have discovered."
"Well, we must hear the story," the colonel said. "I hope you will dine at mess, this evening, and bring him with you. He shall tell us the story over our wine. I am curious to know how four boys can have made such a capture."
After mess that evening Bob told the story, as modestly as he could.
"There, colonel," Captain Langton said, when he had finished. "You see that, if these stories I hear are true, and the Spaniards are going to make a dash for Gibraltar, you have got a valuable addition to your garrison."
"Yes, indeed," the colonel laughed. "We will make a volunteer of him. He has had some little experience of standing fire, for O'Halloran told me that the brig he came out in had fought a sharp action with a privateer of superior force; and indeed, when she came in here, her sails were riddled with shot holes."
"Better and better," Captain Langton laughed.
"Well, Repton, remember whenever you are disposed for a cruise, I shall be glad to take you as passenger. Sankey will make you at home in the midshipmen's berth. If the Spaniards declare war with us, we shall have stirring times at sea, as well as on shore and, though you won't get any share in any prize money we may win, while you are on board, you will have part of the honour; and you see, making captures is quite in your line."
The next day, Captain O'Halloran and Bob dined on board the Brilliant. Captain Langton introduced the lad to his officers, telling them that he wished him to be considered as being free on board the ship, whether he himself happened to be on board or not, when he came off.
"But you must keep an eye on him, Mr. Hardy, while he is on board," he said to the first lieutenant.
"Mr. Sankey," and he nodded at Jim, who was among those invited, "is rather a pickle, but from what I hear Repton is worse. So you will have to keep a sharp eye upon them, when they are together; and if they are up to mischief, do not hesitate to masthead both of them. A passenger on board one of His Majesty's ships is amenable to discipline, like anyone else."
"I will see to it, sir," the lieutenant said, laughing. "Sankey knows the way up, already."
"Yes. I think I observed him taking a view of the shore from that elevation, this morning."
Jim coloured hotly.
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said. "The doctor made a complaint that his leeches had got out of their bottle, and were all over the ship; and I fancy one of them got into his bed, somehow. He had given Mr. Sankey a dose of physic in the morning; and remembered afterwards that, while he was making up the medicine, Sankey had been doing something in the corner where his bottles were. When I questioned Sankey about it, he admitted that he had observed the leeches, but declined to criminate himself farther. So I sent him aloft for an hour or two, to meditate upon the enormity of wasting His Majesty's medical stores."
"I hope, Captain O'Halloran," the captain said, "that you have less trouble with your brother-in-law than we have with his friend."
"Bob hasn't had much chance, yet," Captain O'Halloran said, laughing. "He is new to the place, as yet; and besides, he is really working hard, and hasn't much time for mischief; but I don't flatter myself that it is going to last."
"Well, Mr. Sankey, you may as well take your friend down, and introduce him formally to your messmates," the captain said; and Jim, who had been feeling extremely uncomfortable since the talk had turned on the subject of mastheading, rose and made his escape with Bob, leaving the elders to their wine.
The proposed excursion to the Spanish lines did not come off, as the Brilliant put to sea again, on the day fixed for it. She was away a fortnight and, on her return, the captain issued orders that none of the junior officers, when allowed leave, were to go beyond the lines; for the rumours of approaching troubles had become stronger and, as the peasantry were assuming a somewhat hostile attitude, any act of imprudence might result in trouble. Jim often had leave to come ashore in the afternoon and, as this was the time that Bob had to himself, they wandered together all over the Rock, climbed up the flagstaff, and made themselves acquainted with all the paths and precipices.
Their favourite place was the back of the Rock; where the cliff, in many places, fell sheer away for hundreds of feet down into the sea. They had many discussions as to the possibility of climbing up on that side, though both agreed that it would be impossible to climb down.
"I should like to try, awfully," Bob said, one day early in June, as they were leaning on a low wall looking down to the sea.
"But it would never do to risk getting into a scrape here. It wouldn't, indeed, Bob. They don't understand jokes at Gib. One would be had up before the big wigs, and court-martialled, and goodness knows what. Of course, it is jolly being ashore; but one never gets rid of the idea that one is a sort of prisoner. There are the regulations about what time you may come off, and what time the gate is closed and, if you are a minute late, there you are until next morning. Whichever way one turns there are sentries; and you can't pass one way, and you can't go back another way, and there are some of the batteries you can't go into, without a special order. It never would do to try any nonsense, here.
"Look at that sentry up there. I expect he has got his eye on us, now; and if he saw us trying to get down, he would take us for deserters and fire. There wouldn't be any fear of his hitting us; but the nearest guard would turn out, and we should be arrested and reported, and all sorts of things. It wouldn't matter so much for you, but I should get my leave stopped altogether, and should get into the captain's black books.
"No, no. I don't mind running a little risk of breaking my neck, but not here on the Rock. I would rather get into ten scrapes, on board the frigate, than one here."
"Yes, I suppose it can't be done," Bob agreed; "but I should have liked to swing myself down to one of those ledges. There would be such a scolding and shrieking among the birds."
"Yes, that would be fun; but as it might bring on the same sort of row among the authorities, I would rather leave it alone.
"I expect we shall soon get leave to go across the lines again. There doesn't seem to be any chance of a row with the dons; I expect it was all moonshine, from the first. Why, they say Spain is trying to patch up the quarrel between us and France. She would not be doing that, if she had any idea of going to war with us, herself."
"I don't know, Jim. Gerald and Dr. Burke were talking it over last night, and Gerald said just what you do; and then Dr. Burke said: "'You are wrong, entirely, Gerald. That is just the dangerous part of the affair. Why should Spain want to put a stop to the war between us and the frog eaters? Sure, wouldn't she look on with the greatest pleasure in life, while we cut each other's throats and blew up each other's ships, and put all the trade of the Mediterranean into her hands? Why, it is the very thing that suits her best.' " 'Then what is she after putting herself forward for, Teddy?' Gerald said. " 'Because she wants to have a finger in the pie, Gerald. It wouldn't be dacent for her to say to England: "'"It is in a hole you are, at present, wid your hands full; and so I am going to take the opportunity of pitching into you." " 'So she begins by stipping forward as the dear friend of both parties; and she says: "'"What are you breaking each other's heads for, boys? Make up your quarrel, and shake hands." " 'Then she sets to and proposes terms--which she knows mighty well we shall never agree to, for the letters we had, the other day said, that it was reported that the proposals of Spain were altogether unacceptable--and then, when we refuse, she turns round and says: "'"You have put yourself in the wrong, entirely. I gave you a chance of putting yourself in the right, and it is a grave insult to me for you to refuse to accept my proposals. So there is nothing for me to do, now, but just to join with France, and give you the bating you desarve."'
"That is Teddy Burke's idea, Jim; and though he is so full of fun, he is awfully clever, and has got no end of sense; and I'd take his opinion about anything. You see how he has got me on, in these four months, in Latin and things. Why, I have learnt more, with him, than I did all the time I was at Tulloch's. He says most likely the negotiations will be finished, one way or the other, by the middle of this month; and he offered to bet Gerald a gallon of whisky that there would be a declaration of war, by Spain, before the end of the month."
"Did he?" Jim said, in great delight. "Well, I do hope he is right. We are all getting precious tired, I can assure you, of broiling down there in the harbour. The decks are hot enough to cook a steak upon. When we started, today, we didn't see a creature in the streets. Everyone had gone off to bed, for two or three hours; and the shops were all closed, as if it had been two o'clock at night, instead of two o'clock in the day. Even the dogs were all asleep, in the shade. I think we shall have to give up our walks, till August is over. It is getting too hot for anything, in the afternoon."
"Well, it is hot," Bob agreed. "Carrie said I was mad, coming out in it today; and should get sunstroke, and all sort of things; and Gerald said at dinner that, if it were not against the regulations, he would like to shave his head, instead of plastering it all over with powder."
"I call it disgusting," Jim said, heartily. "That is the one thing I envy you in. I shouldn't like to be grinding away at books, as you do; and you don't have half the fun I do, on shore here without any fellows to have larks with; but not having to powder your hair almost makes up for it. I don't mind it, in winter, because it makes a sort of thatch for the head; but it is awful, now. I feel just as if I had got a pudding crust all over my head."
"Well, that is appropriate, Jim," laughed Bob; and then Jim chased him all along the path, till they got within sight of a sentry in a battery; and then his dignity as midshipman compelled them to desist, and the pair walked gravely down into the town.
That evening after lessons were over Dr. Burke, as usual, went up on to the terrace to smoke a cigar with Captain O'Halloran.
"It is a pity altogether, Mrs. O'Halloran," he said, as he stood by her side, looking over the moonlit bay, with the dark hulls of the ships and the faint lights across at Algeciras, "that we can't do away with the day, and have nothing but night of it, for four or five months in the year. I used to think it must be mighty unpleasant for the Esquimaux; but faith, I envy them now. Fancy five or six months without catching a glimpse of that burning old sun!"
"I don't suppose they think so," Mrs. O'Halloran laughed, "but it would be pleasant here. The heat has been dreadful, all day; and it is really only after sunset that one begins to enjoy life."
"You may well say that, Mrs. O'Halloran. Faith, I wish they would let me take off my coat, and do my work in my shirtsleeves down at the hospital. Sure, it is a strange idea these military men have got in their heads, that a man isn't fit for work unless he is buttoned so tightly up to the chin that he is red in the face. If nature had meant it, we should have been born in a suit of scale armour, like a crocodile.
"Well, there is one consolation--if there is a siege, I expect there will be an end of hair powder and cravats. It's the gineral rule, on a campaign; and it is worth standing to be shot at, to have a little comfort in one's life."
"Do you think that there is any chance at all of the Spaniards taking the place, if they do besiege us?" Bob asked, as Dr. Burke took his seat.
"None of taking the place by force, Bob. It has been besieged, over and over again; and it is pretty nearly always by hunger that it has fallen. That is where the pinch will come, if they besiege us in earnest: it's living on mice and grass you are like to be, before it is over."
"But the fleet will bring in provisions, surely, Dr. Burke?"
"The fleet will have all it can do to keep the sea, against the navies of France and Spain. They will do what they can, you may be sure; but the enemy well know that it is only by starving us out that they can hope to take the place, and I expect they will put such a fleet here that it will be mighty difficult for even a boat to find its way in between them."
"Do you know about the other sieges?" Mrs. O'Halloran asked. "Of course, I know something about the last siege; but I know nothing about the history of the Rock before that, and of course Gerald doesn't know."
"And why should I, Carrie? You don't suppose that when I was at school, at Athlone, they taught me the history of every bit of rock sticking up on the face of the globe? I had enough to do to learn about the old Romans--bad cess to them, and all their bothering doings!"
"I can tell you about it, Mrs. O'Halloran," Teddy Burke said. "Bob's professor, who comes to have a talk with me for half an hour every day, has been telling me all about it; and if Gerald will move himself, and mix me a glass of grog to moisten my throat, I will give you the whole story of it.
"You know, no doubt, that it was called Mount Calpe, by Gerald's friends the Romans; who called the hill opposite there Mount Abyla, and the two together the Pillars of Hercules. But beyond giving it a name, they don't seem to have concerned themselves with it; nor do the Phoenicians or Carthaginians, though all of them had cities out in the low country.
"It was when the Saracens began to play their games over here that we first hear of it. Roderic, you know, was king of the Goths, and seems to have been a thundering old tyrant; and one of his nobles, Julian--who had been badly treated by him--went across with his family into Africa, and put up Mousa, the Saracen governor of the province across there, to invade Spain. They first of all made a little expedition--that was in 711--with one hundred horse, and four hundred foot. They landed over there at Algeciras and, after doing some plundering and burning, sailed back again, with the news that the country could be conquered. So next year twelve thousand men, under a chief named Tarik, crossed and landed on the flat between the Rock and Spain. He left a party here to build the castle; and then marched away, defeated Roderic and his army at Xeres, and soon conquered the whole of Spain, except the mountains of the north.
"We don't hear much more of Gibraltar for another six hundred years. Algeciras had become a fortress of great strength and magnificence, and Gibraltar was a mere sort of outlying post. Ferdinand the Fourth of Spain besieged Algeciras for years, and could not take it; but a part of his army attacked Gibraltar, and captured it. The African Moors came over to help their friends, and Ferdinand had to fall back; but the Spaniards still held Gibraltar--a chap named Vasco Paez de Meira being in command.
"In 1333 Abomelique, son of the Emperor of Fez, came across with an army and besieged Gibraltar. Vasco held out for five months, and was then starved into surrender, just as Alonzo the Eleventh was approaching to his assistance. He arrived before the town, five days after it surrendered, and attacked the castle; but the Moors encamped on the neutral ground in his rear, and cut him off from his supplies; and he was obliged at last to negotiate, and was permitted to retire. He was not long away. Next time he attacked Algeciras; which, after a long siege, he took in 1343.
"In 1349 there were several wars in Africa, and he took advantage of this to besiege Gibraltar. He was some months over the business, and the garrison were nearly starved out; when pestilence broke out in the Spanish camp, by which the king and many of his soldiers died, and the rest retired.
"It was not until sixty years afterwards, in 1410, that there were fresh troubles; and then they were what might be called family squabbles. The Africans of Fez had held the place, till then; but the Moorish king of Grenada suddenly advanced upon it, and took it. A short time afterwards, the inhabitants rose against the Spanish Moors, and turned them out, and the Emperor of Morocco sent over an army to help them; but the Moors of Grenada besieged the place, and took it by famine.
"In 1435 the Christians had another slap at it; but Henry de Guzman, who attacked by sea, was defeated and killed. In 1462 the greater part of the garrison of Gibraltar was withdrawn to take part in some civil shindy, that was going on at Grenada; and in their absence the place was taken by John de Guzman, duke of Medina-Sidonia, and son of the Henry that was killed. In 1540 Gibraltar was surprised and pillaged by one of Barossa's captains; but as he was leaving some Christian galleys met him, and the corsairs were all killed or taken.
"This was really the only affair worth speaking of between 1462, when it fell into the hands of the Spaniards, and 1704, when it was captured by us. Sir George Rooke, who had gone out with a force to attack Cadiz--finding that there was not much chance of success in that direction--resolved, with Prince George of Hesse and Darmstadt--who commanded the troops on board the fleet--to make an attack on Gibraltar.
"On the 21st of July, 1704, the English and Dutch landed on the neutral ground and, at daybreak on the 23rd, the fleet opened fire. The Spaniards were driven from their guns on the Molehead Battery. The boats landed, and seized the battery, and held it in spite of the Spaniards springing a mine, which killed two lieutenants and about forty men. The Marquis de Salines, the governor, was then summoned, and capitulated. So you see, we made only a day's work of taking a place which the Spaniards thought that they had made impregnable. The professor made a strong point of it that the garrison consisted only of a hundred and fifty men; which certainly accounts for our success, for it is no use having guns and walls, if you haven't got soldiers to man them.
"The Prince of Hesse was left as governor; and it was not long before his mettle was tried for, in October, the Spanish army, with six battalions of Frenchmen, opened trenches against the town. Admiral Sir John Leake threw in reinforcements, and six months' provisions. At the end of the month, a forlorn hope of five hundred Spanish volunteers managed to climb up the Rock, by ropes and ladders, and surprised a battery; but were so furiously attacked that they were all killed, or taken prisoners. A heavy cannonade was kept up for another week, when a large number of transports with reinforcements and supplies arrived and, the garrison being now considered strong enough to resist any attack, the fleet sailed away.
"The siege went on till the middle of March, when Sir John Leake again arrived, drove away the French fleet, and captured or burnt five of them; and the siege was then discontinued, having cost the enemy ten thousand men. So, you see, there was some pretty hard fighting over it.
"The place was threatened in 1720 and, in the beginning of 1727, twenty thousand Spaniards again sat down before it. The fortifications had been made a good deal stronger, after the first siege; and the garrison was commanded by Lieutenant Governor Clayton. The siege lasted till May, when news arrived that the preliminaries of a general peace had been signed. There was a lot of firing; but the Spaniards must have shot mighty badly, for we had only three hundred killed and wounded. You would think that that was enough; but when I tell you that the cannon were so old and rotten that seventy cannon, and thirty mortars, burst during the siege, it seems to me that every one of those three hundred must have been damaged by our own cannon, and that the Spaniards did not succeed in hitting a single man.
"That is mighty encouraging for you, Mrs. O'Halloran; for I don't think that our cannon will burst this time and, if the Spaniards do not shoot better than they did before, it is little work, enough, that is likely to fall to the share of the surgeons."
"Thank you," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "You have told that very nicely, Teddy Burke. I did not know anything about it, before; and I had some idea that it was when the English were besieged here that the Queen of Spain sat on that rock which is called after her; but I see now that it was Ferdinand's Isabella, and that it was when the Moors were besieged here, hundreds of years before.
"Well, I am glad I know something about it. It is stupid to be in a place, and know nothing of its history. You are rising in my estimation fast, Dr. Burke."
"Mistress O'Halloran," the doctor said, rising and making a deep bow, "you overwhelm me, entirely; and now I must say goodnight, for I must look in at the hospital, before I turn in to my quarters."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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8
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: The Siege Begins.
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On the 19th of June General Eliott, accompanied by several of his officers, paid a visit to the Spanish lines to congratulate General Mendoza, who commanded there, on the promotion that he had just received. The visit lasted but a short time, and it was remarked that the Spanish officer seemed ill at ease. Scarcely had the party returned to Gibraltar than a Swedish frigate entered the bay, having on board Mr. Logie, H.M. Consul in Barbary, who had come across in her from Tangier. He reported that a Swedish brig had put in there. She reported that she had fallen in with the French fleet, of twenty-eight sail of the line, off Cape Finisterre; and that they were waiting there to be joined by the Spanish fleet, from Cadiz.
The news caused great excitement; but it was scarcely believed, for the Spanish general had given the most amicable assurances to the governor. On the 21st, however, the Spaniards, at their lines across the neutral ground, refused to permit the mail to pass; and a formal notification was sent in that intercourse between Gibraltar and Spain would no longer be permitted. This put an end to all doubt, and discussion. War must have been declared between Spain and England, or such a step would never have been taken.
In fact, although the garrison did not learn it until some time later, the Spanish ambassador in London had presented what was virtually a declaration of war, on the 16th. A messenger had been sent off on the same day from Madrid, ordering the cessation of intercourse with Gibraltar and, had he not been detained by accident on the road, he might have arrived during General Eliott's visit to the Spanish lines; a fact of which Mendoza had been doubtless forewarned, and which would account for his embarrassment at the governor's call.
Captain O'Halloran brought the news home, when he returned from parade.
"Get ready your sandbags, Carrie; examine your stock of provisions; prepare a store of lint, and plaster."
"What on earth are you talking about, Gerald?"
"It is war, Carrie. The Dons have refused to accept our mail, and have cut off all intercourse with the mainland."
Carrie turned a little pale. She had never really thought that the talk meant anything, or that the Spaniards could be really intending to declare war, without having any ground for quarrel with England.
"And does it really mean war, Gerald?"
"There is no doubt about it. The Spaniards are going to fight and, as their army can't swim across the Bay of Biscay, I take it it is here they mean to attack us. Faith, we are going to have some divarshun, at last."
"Divarshun! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gerald."
"Well, my dear, what have I come into the army for? To march about for four hours a day in a stiff stock, and powder and pigtail and a cocked hat, and a red coat? Not a bit of it. Didn't I enter the army to fight? And here have I been, without a chance of smelling powder, for the last ten years. It is the best news I have had since you told me that you were ready and willing to become Mrs. O'Halloran."
"And to think that we have got Bob out here with us!" his wife said, without taking any notice of the last words. "What will uncle say?"
"Faith, and it makes mighty little difference what he says, Carrie, seeing that he is altogether beyond shouting distance.
"As for Bob, he will be just delighted. Why, he has been working till his brain must all be in a muddle; and it is the best thing in the world for him, or he would be mixing up the Spaniards and the Romans, and the x's and y's and the tangents, and all the other things into a regular jumble--and it is a nice business that would have been. It is the best thing in the world for him, always supposing that he don't get his growth stopped, for want of victuals."
"You don't mean, really and seriously, Gerald, that we are likely to be short of food?"
"And that is exactly what I do mean. You may be sure that the Dons know, mighty well, that they have no chance of taking the place on the land side. They might just as well lay out their trenches against the moon. It is just starvation that they are going to try; and when they get the eighteen French sail of the line that Mr. Logie brought news of, and a score or so of Spanish men-of-war in the bay, you will see that it is likely you won't get your mutton and your butter and vegetables very regularly across from Tangier."
"Well, it is very serious, Gerald."
"Very serious, Carrie."
"I don't see anything to laugh at at all, Gerald."
"I didn't know that I was laughing."
"You were looking as if you wanted to laugh, which is just as bad. I suppose there is nothing to be done, Gerald?"
"Well, yes, I should go down to the town, and lay in a store of things that will keep. You see, if nothing comes of it we should not be losers. The regiment is likely to be here three or four years, so we should lose nothing by laying in a big stock of wine, and so on; while, if there is a siege, you will see everything will go up to ten times its ordinary price. That room through ours is not used for anything, and we might turn that into a storeroom.
"I don't mean that there is any hurry about it, today; but we ought certainly to lay in as large a store as we can, of things that will keep. Some things we may get cheaper, in a short time, than we can now. A lot of the Jew and native traders will be leaving, if they see there is really going to be a siege; for you see, the town is quite open to the guns of batteries, on the other side of the neutral ground.
"It was a mighty piece of luck we got this house. You see that rising ground behind will shelter us from shot. They may blaze away as much as they like, as far as we are concerned.
"Ah! There is Bob, coming out of his room with the professor."
"Well, take him out and tell him, Gerald. I want to sit down, and think. My head feels quite in a whirl."
Bob was, of course, greatly surprised at the news; and the professor, himself, was a good deal excited.
Illustration: The Professor gets excited.
"We have been living here for three hundred years," he said, "my fathers and grandfathers. When the English came and took this place--seventy-five years ago--my grandfather became a British subject, like all who remained here. My father, who was then but a boy, has told me that he remembers the great siege, and how the cannons roared night and day. It was in the year when I was born that the Spaniards attacked the Rock again; and a shell exploded in the house, and nearly killed us all. I was born a British subject, and shall do my duty in what way I can, if the place is attacked. They call us Rock scorpions. Well, they shall see we can live under fire, and will do our best to sting, if they put their finger on us. Ha, ha!"
"The little man is quite excited," Captain O'Halloran said, as the professor turned away, and marched off at a brisk pace towards his home. "It is rather hard on these Rock people. Of course, as he says, they are British subjects, and were born so. Still, you see, in race and language they are still Spaniards; and their sympathies must be divided, at any rate at present. When the shot and shell come whistling into the town, and knocking their houses about their ears, they will become a good deal more decided in their opinions than they can be, now.
"Come along, Bob, and let us get all the news. I came off as soon as I heard that our communication with Spain was cut off, and therefore it was certain war was declared. There will be lots of orders out, soon. It is a busy time we shall have of it, for the next month or two."
There were many officers in the anteroom when they entered.
"Any fresh news?" Captain O'Halloran asked.
"Lots of it, O'Halloran. All the Irish officers of the garrison are to be formed into an outlying force, to occupy the neutral ground. It is thought their appearance will be sufficient to terrify the Spaniards."
"Get out with you, Grant! If they were to take us at all, it would be because they knew that we were the boys to do the fighting."
"And the drinking, O'Halloran," another young officer put in.
"And the talking," said another.
"Now, drop it, boys, and be serious. What is the news, really?"
"There is a council of war going on, at the governor's, O'Halloran. Boyd, of course, and De la Motte, Colonel Green, the admiral, Mr. Logie, and two or three others. They say the governor has been gradually getting extra stores across from Tangier, ever since there was first a talk about this business; and of course that is the most important question, at present. I hear that Green and the Engineers have been marking out places for new batteries, for the last month; and I suppose fatigue work is going to be the order of the day. It is too bad of them choosing this time of the year to begin, for it will be awfully hot work.
"Everyone is wondering what will become of the officers who are living out with their families, at San Roque and the other villages across the Spanish lines; and besides, there are a lot of officers away on leave, in the interior. Of course they won't take them prisoners. That would be a dirty trick. But it is likely enough they may ship them straight back to England, instead of letting them return here.
"Well, it is lucky that we have got a pretty strong garrison. We have just been adding up the last field state. These are the figures--officers, noncommissioned officers, and men--artillery, 485; 12th Regiment, 599; 39th, 586; 56th, 587; 58th, 605; 72nd, 1046; the Hanoverian Brigade--of Hardenberg's, Reden's, and De la Motte's regiments--1352; and 122 Engineers under Colonel Green: which makes up, altogether, 5382 officers and men.
"That is strong enough for anything, but it would have been better if there had been five hundred more artillerymen; but I suppose they will be able to lend us some sailors, to help work the heavy guns.
"They will turn you into a powder monkey, Repton."
"I don't care what they turn me into," Bob said, "so long as I can do something."
"I think it is likely," Captain O'Halloran said gravely, "that all women and children will be turned out of the place, before fighting begins; except, of course, wives and children of officers."
There was a general laugh, at Bob.
"Well," he said quietly, "it will lessen the ranks of the subalterns, for there must be a considerable number who are not many months older than I am. I am just sixteen, and I know there are some not older than that."
This was a fact, for commissions were--in those days--given in the army to mere lads, and the ensigns were often no older than midshipmen.
Late in the afternoon, a procession of carts was seen crossing the neutral ground, from the Spanish lines; and it was soon seen that these were the English officers and merchants from San Roque, and the other villages. They had, that morning, received peremptory orders to leave before sunset. Some were fortunate enough to be able to hire carts, to bring in their effects; but several were compelled, from want of carriage, to leave everything behind them.
The guards had all been reinforced, at the northern batteries; pickets had been stationed across the neutral ground; the guard, at the work known as the Devil's Tower, were warned to be specially on the alert; and the artillery in the battery, on the rock above it, were to hold themselves in readiness to open fire upon the enemy, should they be perceived advancing towards it.
It was considered improbable, in the extreme, that the enemy would attack until a great force had been collected; but it was possible that a body of troops might have been collected secretly, somewhere in the neighbourhood, and that an attempt would be made to capture the place by surprise, before the garrison might be supposed to be taking precautions against attack.
The next morning orders were issued, and large working parties were told off to go on with the work of strengthening the fortifications; and notice was issued that all empty hogsheads and casks in the town would be bought, by the military authorities. These were to be filled with earth, and to take the places of fascines, for which there were no materials available on the Rock. Parties of men rolled or carried these up to the heights. Other parties collected earth, and piled it to be carried up in sacks on the back of mules--there being no earth, on the rocks where the batteries would be established--a fact which added very largely to the difficulties of the Engineers.
On the 24th the Childers, sloop of war, brought in two prizes from the west; one of which, an American, she had captured in the midst of the Spanish fleet. Some of the Spanish men-of-war had made threatening demonstrations, as if to prevent the sloop from interfering with her; but they had not fired a gun, and it was supposed that they had not received orders to commence hostilities. Two English frigates had been watching the fleet; and it was supposed to be on its way to join the French fleet, off Cape Finisterre.
The Spaniards were seen, now, to be at work dragging down guns from San Roque to arm their two forts--Saint Philip and Saint Barbara--which stood at the extremities of their lines: Saint Philip on the bay, and Saint Barbara upon the seashore, on the eastern side of the neutral side. In time of peace, only a few guns were mounted in these batteries.
Illustration: The Rock and Bay of Gibraltar.
Admiral Duff moved the men-of-war under his command, consisting of the Panther--of sixty guns--three frigates, and a sloop, from their usual anchorage off the Water Port--where they were exposed to the fire of the enemy's forts--to the New Mole, more to the southward.
Bob would have liked to be out all day, watching the busy preparations, and listening to the talk of the natives; who were greatly alarmed at the prospect of the siege, knowing that the guns from the Spanish forts, and especially from Fort Saint Philip, could throw their shot and shell into the town. But Captain O'Halloran agreed with his wife that it was much better he should continue his lessons with Don Diaz, of a morning; for that it would be absurd for him to be standing about in the sun, the whole day. The evening lessons were, however, discontinued from the first; as Dr. Burke had his hands full in superintending the preparations making, at the hospitals, for the reception of large numbers of wounded.
Bob did not so much mind this, for he had ceased to regard the time spent with the professor as lessons. After he had once mastered the conjugation of the verbs, and had learned an extensive vocabulary by heart, books had been laid aside, altogether; and the three hours with the professor had, for the last two months, been spent simply in conversation. They were no longer indoors, but sat in the garden on the shady side of the house; or, when the sky happened to be clouded and the morning was cool, walked together out to Europa Point; and would sit down there, looking over the sea, but always talking. Sometimes it was history--Roman, English, or Spanish--sometimes Bob's schooldays and life in London, sometimes general subjects. It mattered little what they talked about, so that the conversation was kept up.
Sometimes, when it was found that topics failed them, the professor would give Bob a Spanish book to glance through, and its subject would serve as a theme for talk on, the following day; and as it was five months since the lad had landed, he was now able to speak in Spanish almost as fluently as in English. As he had learnt almost entirely by ear, and any word mispronounced had had to be gone over, again and again, until Don Diaz was perfectly satisfied, his accent was excellent; and the professor had told him, a few days before the breaking out of the war, that in another month or two he should discontinue his lessons.
"It would be well for you to have one or two mornings a week, to keep up your accent. You can find plenty of practice talking to the people. I see you are good at making friends, and are ready to talk to labourers at work, to boys, to the market women, and to anyone you come across; but their accent is bad, and it would be well for you to keep on with me. But you speak, at present, much better Spanish than the people here and, if you were dressed up as a young Spaniard, you might go about Spain without anyone suspecting you to be English."
Indeed, by the professor's method of teaching--assisted by a natural aptitude, and three hours' daily conversation, for five months--Bob had made surprising progress, especially as he had supplemented his lesson by continually talking Spanish with Manola, with the Spanish woman and children living below them, and with everyone he could get to talk to.
He had seen little of Jim, since the trouble began; as leave was, for the most part, stopped--the ships of war being in readiness to proceed to sea, at a moment's notice, to engage an enemy, or to protect merchantmen coming in from the attacks of the Spanish ships and gunboats, across at Algeciras.
Bob generally got up at five o'clock, now, and went out for two or three hours before breakfast; for the heat had become too great for exercise, during the day. He greatly missed the market, for it had given him much amusement to watch the groups of peasant women--with their baskets of eggs, fowls, vegetables, oranges, and fruit of various kinds--bargaining with the townspeople, and joking and laughing with the soldiers. The streets were now almost deserted, and many of the little traders in vegetables and fruit had closed their shops. The fishermen, however, still carried on their work, and obtained a ready sale for their catch. There had, indeed, been a much greater demand than usual for fish, owing to the falling off in the fruit and vegetable supplies.
The cessation of trade was already beginning to tell upon the poorer part of the population; but employment was found for all willing to labour either at collecting earth for the batteries, or out on the neutral ground--where three hundred of them were employed by the Engineers in levelling sand hummocks, and other inequalities in the ground, that might afford any shelter to an enemy creeping up to assault the gates by the waterside.
Dr. Burke came in with Captain O'Halloran to dinner, ten days after the gates had been closed.
"You are quite a stranger, Teddy," Mrs. O'Halloran said.
"I am that," he replied; "but you are going to be bothered with me again, now; we have got everything in apple pie order, and are ready to take half the garrison under our charge. There has been lots to do. All the medical stores have been overhauled, and lists made out and sent home of everything that can be required--medicines and comforts, and lint and bandages, and splints and wooden legs; and goodness knows what, besides. We hope they will be out in the first convoy.
"There is a privateer going to sail, tomorrow; so if you want to send letters home, or to order anything to be sent out to you, you had better take the opportunity. Have you got everything you want, for the next two or three years?"
"Two or three years!" Carrie repeated, in tones of alarm. "You mean two or three months."
"Indeed, and I don't. If the French and the Dons have made up their mind to take this place, and once set to fairly to do it, they are bound to stick to it for a bit. I should say you ought to provide for three years."
"But that is downright nonsense, Teddy. Why, in three months there ought to be a fleet here that would drive all the French and Spaniards away."
"Well, if you say there ought to be, there ought," the doctor said, "but where is it to come from? I was talking to some of the naval men, yesterday; and they all say it will be a long business, if the French and Spanish are in earnest. The French navy is as strong as ours, and the Spaniards have got nearly as many ships as the French. We have got to protect our coasts and our trade, to convoy the East Indian fleets, and to be doing something all over the world; and they doubt whether it would be possible to get together a fleet that could hope to defeat the French and Spanish navies, combined.
"Well, have you been laying in stores, Mrs. O'Halloran?"
"Yes, we have bought two sacks of flour, and fifty pounds of sugar; ten pounds of tea, and a good many other things."
"If you will take my advice," the doctor said earnestly, "you will lay in five times as much. Say ten sacks of flour, two hundred-weight of sugar, and everything else in proportion. Those sort of things haven't got up in price, yet; but you will see, everything will rise as soon as the blockade begins in earnest."
"No, the prices of those things have not gone up much; but fruit is three times the price it was, a fortnight ago, and chickens and eggs are double, and vegetables are hardly to be bought."
"That is the worst of it," the doctor said. "It's the vegetables that I am thinking of."
"Well, we can do without vegetables," Mrs. O'Halloran laughed, "as long as we have plenty of bread."
"It is just that you can't do. You see, we shall be cut off from Tangier--maybe tomorrow, maybe a fortnight hence--but we shall be cut off. A ship may run in sometimes, at night, but you can't count upon that; and it is salt meat that we are going to live upon and, if you live on salt meat, you have got to have vegetables or fruit to keep you in health.
"Now, I tell you what I should do, Gerald, and I am not joking with you. In the first place, I would make an arrangement with the people downstairs, and I would hire their garden from them. I don't suppose they would want much for it, for they make no use of it, except to grow a few flowers. Then I would go down the town, and I would buy up all the chickens I could get. There are plenty of them to be picked up, if you look about for them, for most of the people who have got a bit of ground keep a few fowls. Get a hundred of them, if you can, and turn them into the garden. Buy up twenty sacks, if you like, of damaged biscuits. You can get them for an old song. The commissariat have been clearing out their stores, and there are a lot of damaged biscuits to be sold, by auction, tomorrow. You would get twenty sacks for a few shillings.
"That way you will get a good supply of eggs, if the siege lasts ever so long; and you can fence off a bit of the garden, and raise fowls there. That will give you a supply of fresh meat, and any eggs and poultry you can't eat yourselves you can sell for big prices. You could get a chicken, three weeks ago, at threepence. Never mind if you have to pay a shilling for them, now; they will be worth five shillings, before long.
"If you can rent another bit of garden, anywhere near, I would take it. If not, I would hire three or four men to collect earth, and bring it up here. This is a good, big place; I suppose it is thirty feet by sixty. Well, I would just leave a path from the door, there, up to this end; and a spare place, here, for your chairs; and I would cover the rest of it with earth, nine inches or a foot deep; and I would plant vegetables."
"Do you mane we are to grow cabbages here, Teddy?" Captain O'Halloran asked, with a burst of laughter.
"No, I wouldn't grow cabbages. I would just grow mustard, and cress, and radishes. If you eat plenty of them, they will keep off scurvy; and all you don't want for yourselves, I will guarantee you will be able to sell at any price you like to ask for them and, if nobody else will buy them, the hospitals will. They would be the saving of many a man's life."
"But they would want watering," Captain O'Halloran said, more seriously, for he saw how much the doctor was in earnest.
"They will that. You will have no difficulty in hiring a man to bring up water, and to tend to them and to look after the fowls. Men will be glad enough to work for next to nothing.
"I tell you, Gerald, if I wasn't in the service, I should hire every bit of land I could lay hands on, and employ as many labourers as it required; and I should look to be a rich man, before the end of the siege. I was speaking to the chief surgeon today about it; and he is going to put the convalescents to work, on a bit of spare ground there is at the back of the hospital, and to plant vegetables.
"I was asking down the town yesterday and I found that, at Blount's store, you can get as much vegetable seed as you like. You lay in a stock, today, of mustard and cress and radish. Don't be afraid of the expense--get twenty pounds of each of them. You will be always able to sell what you don't want, at ten times the price you give for it now. If you can get a piece more garden ground, take it at any price and raise other vegetables; but keep the top of the house here for what I tell you.
"Well, I said nine inches deep of earth; that is more than necessary. Four and a half will do for the radishes, and two is enough for the mustard and cress. That will grow on a blanket--it is really only water that it wants."
"What do you think, Carrie?" Captain O'Halloran asked.
"Well, Gerald, if you really believe the siege is going to last like that, I should think that it would be really worth while to do what Teddy Burke advises. Of course, you will be too busy to look after things, but Bob might do so."
"Of course I would," Bob broke in. "It will give me something to do."
"Well, we will set about it at once, then. I will speak to the man downstairs. You know he has got two or three horses and traps down in the town, and lets them to people driving out across the lines; but of course he has nothing to do, now, and I should think that he would be glad enough to arrange to look after the fowls and the things up here.
"The garden is a good size. I don't think anything could get out through that prickly pear hedge but, anyhow, any gaps there are can be stopped up with stakes. I think it is a really good idea and, if I can get a couple of hundred fowls, I will. I should think there was plenty of room for them, in the garden. I will set up as a poultry merchant."
"You might do worse, Gerald. I will bet you a gallon of whisky they will be selling at ten shillings a couple, before this business is over; and there is no reason in the world why you should not turn an honest penny--it will be a novelty to you."
"Well, I will go down the town, at once," Gerald said, "and get the seeds and the extra stores you advise, Teddy; and tomorrow I will go to the commissariat sale, and buy a ton or two of those damaged biscuits. We will take another room from them, downstairs, as a storeroom for that and the eggs; and I will get a carpenter to come up and put a fence, and make some runs and a bit of a shelter for the sitting hens, and the chickens. Bob shall do the purchasing.
"You had better get a boy with a big basket to go with you, Bob; and go round to the cottages, to buy up fowls. Mind, don't let them sell you nothing but cocks--one to every seven or eight hens is quite enough; and don't let them foist off old hens on you--the younger they are, the better. I should say that, at first, you had better take Manola with you, if Carrie can spare her; then you won't get taken in, and you will soon learn to tell the difference between an old hen and a young chicken."
"When you are buying the seed, O'Halloran," said Dr. Burke, "you would do well to get a few cucumbers, and melons, and pumpkins. They will grow on the roof, splendidly. And you can plant them near the parapet, where they will grow down over the sides, so they won't take up much room; and you can pick them with a ladder. The pumpkin is a good vegetable, and the fowls will thank you for a bit to pick, when you can spare one. They will all want manure, but you get plenty of that, from the fowl yard."
"Why, Teddy, there seems no end to your knowledge," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "First of all, you turn out to be a schoolmaster; and now you are a gardener, and poultry raiser. And to think I never gave you credit for knowing anything, except medicine."
"You haven't got to the bottom of it yet, Mrs. O'Halloran. My head is just stored with knowledge, only it isn't always that I have a chance of making it useful. I would be just the fellow to be cast on a desert island. There is no saying what I wouldn't do towards making myself comfortable there.
"But I do know about scurvy, for I made a voyage in a whaler, before I got His Majesty's commission to kill and slay in the army; and I know how necessary vegetables are. I only wish we had known what the Spaniards were up to, a month since. We would have got a cargo of oranges and lemons. They would have been worth their weight in silver."
"But they wouldn't have kept, Teddy."
"No, not for long; but we would have squeezed them, and put sugar into the juice, and bottled it off. If the general had consulted me, that is what he would have been after, instead of seeing about salt meat and biscuits. We shall get plenty of them, from ships that run in--I have no fear of that--but it is the acids will be wanting."
As soon as dinner was over, Captain O'Halloran went downstairs; and had no difficulty in arranging, with the man below, for the entire use of his garden. An inspection was made of the hedge, and the man agreed to close up all gaps that fowls could possibly creep through. He was also quite willing to let off a room for storage, and his wife undertook to superintend the management of the young broods, and sitting hens. Having arranged this, Captain O'Halloran went down into the town to make his purchases.
A quarter of an hour later Bob started with Manola, carrying a large basket, and both were much amused at their errand. Going among the cottages scattered over the hill above the town, they had no difficulty in obtaining chickens and fowls--the former at about five pence apiece, the latter at seven pence--such prices being more than double the usual rates. Manola's basket was soon full and, while she was taking her purchases back to the house, Bob hired two boys with baskets and, before evening, nearly a hundred fowls were running in the garden.
The next day Bob was considered sufficiently experienced to undertake the business alone and, in two more days, the entire number of two hundred had been made up. Three of the natives had been engaged in collecting baskets of earth among the rocks and, in a week, the terrace was converted into a garden ready for the seeds. As yet vegetables, although very dear, had not risen to famine prices; for although the town had depended chiefly upon the produce of the mainland, many of the natives had grown small patches of vegetables in their gardens for their own use, and these they now disposed of at prices that were highly satisfactory to themselves.
O'Halloran's farm--as they called it, as soon as they heard, from him, what he was doing--became quite a joke in the regiment; but several of the other married officers, who had similar facilities for keeping fowls, adopted the idea to some extent, and started with a score or so of fowls.
"I wonder you didn't think of pigs, O'Halloran," one of the captains said, laughing, as they were talking over the farm in the mess anteroom; "pigs and potatoes. The idea of you and Burke, both from the sod, starting a farm; and not thinking, first, of the two chief national products."
"There is not room for praties, Sinclair; and as for pigs, there are many reasons against it. In the first place, I doubt whether I could buy any. In the second, there isn't room for them. In the third, what should I give them to keep them alive? In the fourth, pigs are illigant bastes but, in a hot country like this, I should not care for a stye of them under my drawing room window. In the fifth--" "That will do, that will do, O'Halloran. We give way. We allow that you could not keep pigs, but it is a pity."
"It is that, Sinclair. There is nothing would please me better than to see a score of nice little pigs, with a nate stye, and a magazine of food big enough to keep them, say, for a year."
"Three months, O'Halloran, would be ample."
"Well, we shall see, Sinclair. Teddy Burke says three years, but I do hope it is not going to be as long as that."
"Begorra!" another Irish officer, Captain O'Moore, exclaimed; "if it is three years we are going to be here, we had best be killed and buried at once. I have been all the morning in the Queen's Battery, where my company has been slaving like haythens, with the sun coming down as if it would fry your brain in your skull pan; and if that is to go on, day after day, for three years, I should be dead in a month!"
"That is nothing, O'Moore. If the siege goes on, they say the officers will have to help at the work."
"I shall protest against it. There is not a word in the articles of war about officers working. I am willing enough to be shot by the Spaniards, but not to be killed by inches. No, sir, there is not an O'Moore ever did a stroke of work, since the flood; and I am not going to demean myself by beginning.
"What are you laughing at, young Repton?"
"I was only wondering, Captain O'Moore, how your ancestors got through the flood. Unless, indeed, Noah was an O'Moore."
"There is reason to believe that he was," the captain said, seriously. "It must have been that, if he hadn't a boat of his own, or found a mountain that the water didn't cover. I have got the tree of the family at home; and an old gentleman who was learned in these things came to the house, when I was a boy; and I remember right well that he said to my father, after reckoning them up, that the first of the house must have had a place there in Ireland well-nigh a thousand years before Adam.
"I don't think my father quite liked it but, for the life of me, I couldn't see why. It was just what I should expect from the O'Moores. Didn't they give kings to Ireland, for generations? And what should they want to be doing, out among those rivers in the East, when there was Ireland, ready to receive them?"
Captain O'Moore spoke so seriously that Bob did not venture to laugh, but listened with an air of gravity equal to that of the officer.
"You will kill me altogether, Phelim!" Captain O'Halloran exclaimed; amid a great shout of laughter, in which all the others joined.
The O'Moore looked round, speechless with indignation.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I shall expect satisfaction for this insult. The word of an O'Moore has never been doubted.
"Captain O'Halloran, my friend will call upon you, first."
"He may call as often as he likes, O'Moore, and I shall be happy to converse with any friend of yours but, at present, that is all the satisfaction you will get out of me. Duelling is strictly forbidden on the Rock, and there is no getting across the Spanish lines to fight--unless, indeed, you can persuade the governor to send out a flag of truce with us. So we must let the matter rest, till the siege is over; and then, if both of us are alive, and you have the same mind, we will talk about it."
"I think, O'Moore," Dr. Burke, who had entered the room two or three minutes before, said persuasively, "you will see that you are the last man who ought to maintain that the first of your race lived here, as far back as Adam. You see, we are all direct descendants of Adam--I mean, all the rest of us."
"No doubt you are," Captain O'Moore said, stiffly.
"And one has just as much right as another to claim that he is the heir, in a direct line."
"I suppose so, Burke," the officer said, "though, for the life of me, I can't see what you are driving at."
"What I mean is this. Suppose Adam and the O'Moore started at the same time, one in Ireland and the other in Eden; and they had an equal number of children, as was likely enough. Half the people in the world would be descendants of Adam, and the other half of the O'Moore and, you see, instead of your being the O'Moore--the genuine descendant, in the direct line, from the first of the family--half the world would have an equal claim to the title."
Captain O'Moore reflected for a minute or two.
"You are right, Dr. Burke," he said. "I never saw it in that light. It is clear enough that you are right, and that the less we say about the O'Moores before the first Irish king of that name, the better. There must have been some mistake about that tree I spoke of.
"Captain O'Halloran, I apologize. I was wrong."
The two officers shook hands, and peace was restored; but Captain O'Moore was evidently a good deal puzzled, and mortified, by the problem the doctor had set before him and, after remaining silent for some time, evidently in deep thought, he left the room. Some of the others watched him from the window, until he had entered the door of his own quarters; and then there was a general shout of laughter.
"The O'Moore will be the death of me!" Teddy Burke exclaimed, as he threw himself back in a chair, exhausted. "He is one of the best fellows going, but you can lead him on into anything. I don't suppose he ever gave a thought to the O'Moores, anywhere further back than those kings. He had a vague idea that they must have been going on, simply because it must have seemed to him that a world without an O'Moore in it would be necessarily imperfect. It was Bob Repton's questions, as to what they were doing at the time of the flood, that brought him suddenly up; then he didn't hesitate for a moment in taking them back to Adam, or before him. Just on the ancestry of the O'Moores, Phelim has got a tile a little loose; but on all other points, he is as sensible as anyone in the regiment."
"I wonder you didn't add, 'and that is not saying much,' doctor," one of the lieutenants said.
"I may have thought it, youngster; but you see, I must have made exceptions in favour of myself and the colonel, so I held my tongue. The fact that we are all here, under a sun hot enough to cook a beefsteak; and that for the next two or three years we are going to have to work like niggers, and to be shot at by the Spaniards, and to be pretty well--if not quite--starved, speaks for itself as to the amount of sense we have got between us.
"There go the drums! Now, gentlemen, you have got the pleasure of a couple of hours' drill before you, and I am due at the hospital."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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9
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: The Antelope.
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On the 3rd of July, a hundred and eighty volunteers from the infantry joined the artillery, who were not numerous enough to work all the guns of the batteries; and two days later a Spanish squadron of two men-of-war, five frigates, and eleven smaller vessels hove in sight from the west, and lay to off the entrance to the bay. Three privateers came in, and one of the Spanish schooners stood across to reconnoitre them; and a shot was fired at her from the batteries on Europa Point.
The Enterprise, frigate, had gone across to Tetuan to bring Mr. Logie over again. On her return, she was chased by the enemy's squadron; but succeeded in giving them the slip, in the dark. As she neared the Rock the captain, fearing to be discovered by the enemy, did not show the usual lights; and several shots were fired at the ship, but fortunately without effect.
On the following day letters were received from England, with the official news that hostilities had commenced between Great Britain and Spain; and the same evening a proclamation was published authorizing the capture of Spanish vessels, and letters of marque were given to the privateers in the bay, permitting them to capture Spanish as well as French vessels.
Among the privateers was the Antelope, which was one of those that had come in on the previous afternoon. Bob had not heard of her arrival, when he ran against Captain Lockett in the town, next morning. They had not met since Bob had landed, six months before.
"Well, Master Repton," the captain said, after they had shaken hands, "I was coming up to see you, after I had managed my business. I have letters, from Mr. Bale, for you and Mrs. O'Halloran."
"You are all well on board, I hope, captain?"
"Joe is well. He is first mate, now. Poor Probert is on his back in hospital, at Portsmouth. We had a sharp brush with a French privateer, but we beat her off. We had five men killed, and Probert had his leg taken off by an eighteen pound shot. We clapped on a tourniquet, but he had a very narrow escape of bleeding to death. Fortunately it was off Ushant and, the wind being favourable, we got into Portsmouth on the following morning; and the doctors think that they will pull him round.
"You have grown a good bit, since I saw you last."
"Not much, I am afraid," Bob replied dolefully, for his height was rather a sore point with him. "I get wider, but I don't think I have grown half an inch, since I came here."
"And how goes on the Spanish?"
"First rate. I can get on in it almost as well as in English."
"So you are in for some more fighting!"
"So they say," Bob replied, "but I don't think I am likely to have as close a shave, of a Spanish prison, as I had of a French one coming out here."
"No; we had a narrow squeak of it, that time."
"Was war declared when you came away?"
"No; the negotiations were broken off, and everyone knew that war was certain, and that the proclamation might be issued at any hour. I have not had a very fast run, and expected to have learned the news when I got here; but you are sure to hear it, in a day or two. That was why I came here. Freights were short for, with the ports of France and Spain both closed, there was little enough doing; so the owners agreed to let me drop trading and make straight for Gibraltar, so as to be ready to put out as soon as we get the declaration of war.
"There ought to be some first-rate pickings, along the coast. It isn't, here, as it is with France; where they have learned to be precious cautious, and where one daren't risk running in close to their coast on the chance of picking up a prize, for the waters swarm with their privateers. The Spaniards are a very slow set, and there is not much fear of their fitting out many privateers, for months to come; and the coasters will be a long time before they wake up to the fact that Spain is at war with us, and will go lumbering along from port to port, without the least fear of being captured. So it is a rare chance of making prize money.
"If you like a cruise, I shall be very happy to take you with me. I have seen you under fire, you know, and know that you are to be depended upon."
"I should like to go, above all things," Bob said; "but I don't know what my sister would say. I must get at her husband, first. If I can get him on my side, I think I shall be able to manage it with her.
"Well, will you come up to dinner?"
"No, I shall be busy all day. Here are the letters I was speaking of."
"Well, we have supper at seven. Will you come then?"
"With pleasure."
"Will Joe be able to come, too?"
"No; it wouldn't do for us both to leave the brig. The Spanish fleet may be sending in their boats, to try and cut some of our vessels out, and I should not feel comfortable if we were both ashore; but he will be very glad to see you, on board. We are anchored a cable length from the Water Port. You are pretty sure to see one of our boats alongside.
"The steward came off with me, to buy some soft tack and fresh meat. I saw him just before I met you. He told me he had got some bread, but that meat was at a ruinous price. I told him that he must get it, whatever price it was, and I expect by this time he has done so; so if you look sharp, you will get to the boat before it puts off with him."
The steward was in the act of getting into the boat, as Bob ran down.
"Glad to see you, Mister Repton," the man said, touching his hat. "Have you seen the captain, sir?"
"Yes, I have just left him. He told me I should catch you here."
"Thinking of having another cruise with us, sir?"
"I am thinking about it, Parker, but I don't know whether I shall be able to manage it."
They were soon alongside the Antelope.
"I thought it was you, Mister Repton, when I saw you run down to the boat," Joe Lockett said, as he shook hands with Bob.
"I am glad to see you again, Joe, and I am glad to hear you are first mate now; though of course, I am sorry for Mr. Probert."
"Yes, a bad job for him, a very bad job; but it won't be so bad, in his case, as in some. He has been talking, for the last two or three voyages, of retiring. An old uncle of his died, and left him a few acres of land down in Essex; and he has saved a bit of money out of his pay, and his share of the prizes we have made; and he talked about giving up the sea, and settling down on shore. So now, he will do it. He said as much as that, the night he was wounded. " 'Well,' he said, 'there won't be any more trouble about making up my mind, Joe. If I do get over this job, I have got to lay up as a dismantled hulk, for the rest of my life. I have been talking of it to you, but I doubt whether I should ever have brought myself to it, if it had not been for them Frenchmen's shot.'
"Well, will you come into the cabin, and take something?"
"No, thank you, Joe."
"Have they got the news about the declaration of war yet, Mister Repton?"
"No, it hasn't arrived yet."
"I expect we shall get some good pickings along the coast, directly it comes. We have been trading regularly, this last year; and we all of us want the chance of earning a bit of prize money. So I can tell you, we were very glad when we heard that we were going to take to that again, for a bit."
"Yes, the captain was telling me about it, and he has asked me to go for a trip with you."
"Well, I hope that you will be able to come, Mister Repton."
"I hope so, Joe. But there is one thing--if I do come, you must call me Bob. I hate being called Mister Repton."
"Well, it would be different if you come with us like that," the young mate said. "You see, you were a passenger, before; but if you came like this, you will be here as a friend, like. So it will come natural to call you Bob.
"And how do you like the place?"
"Oh, I like it well enough! I have been working very hard--at least, pretty hard--so I haven't had time to feel it dull; and of course I know all the officers in my brother-in-law's regiment. But I shall be very glad, indeed, of a cruise; especially as we are likely presently, by all they say, to be cut off here--some say for months, some say for years."
"But still, I expect there will be some lively work," the mate said, "if the Spaniards really mean to try and take this place."
"They will never take it," Bob said, "unless they are able to starve us out; and they ought not to be able to do that. Ships ought to be able to run in from the east, at any time; for the Spaniards dare not come across within range of the guns and, if the wind was strong, they could not get out from their side of the bay."
"That is true enough, and I expect you will find fast-sailing craft--privateers, and such like--will dodge in and out; but a merchantman won't like to venture over this side of the Straits, but will keep along the Moorish coasts. You see, they can't keep along the Spanish side without the risk of being picked up, by the gunboats and galleys with the blockading fleet. There are a dozen small craft lying over there, now, with the men-of-war.
"Still, I don't say none of them will make their way in here, because I daresay they will. They well know they will get big prices for their goods, if they can manage to run the blockade. We are safe to pick up some of the native craft, and bring them in; and so will the other privateers. I expect there will be a good many down here, before long. The worst of it is, there won't be any sale for the craft we capture."
"Except for firewood, Joe. That is one of the things I have heard we are sure to run very short of, if there is a long siege."
"Well, that will be something and, of course, any prizes we take laden with things likely to be useful, and sell here, we shall bring in; but the rest we shall have to send over to the other side, so as to be out of sight of their fleet, and then take them straight back to England.
"You see, we have shipped twice as many hands as we had on the voyage when you were with us. We had only a trader's crew, then; now we have a privateer's.
"Look there! There is a craft making in from the south. It is like enough she has got the despatches on board. There are two or three of those small Spanish craft getting under sail, to cut her off; but they won't do it. They could not head her, without getting under the fire of the guns of those batteries, on the point."
"Well, I will go ashore now, Joe, if you will let me have the boat. The captain is going to have supper with us, tonight. I wanted you to come too, but he said you could not both come on shore, together. I hope we shall see you tomorrow."
On landing, Bob made his way to the barrack, so as to intercept Gerald when he came off duty.
"Look here, Gerald," he said, when Captain O'Halloran came out of the orderly room, "I want you to back me up."
"Oh, you do? Then I am quite sure that you are up to some mischief or other, Bob, or you wouldn't want me to help you with Carrie."
"It is not mischief at all, Gerald. The Antelope came in last night, and I saw Captain Lockett this morning, and I have asked him to come to supper."
"Well, that is all right, Bob. We have plenty of food, at present."
"Yes, but that is not it, Gerald. He has invited me to go for a cruise with him. He is going to pick up some prizes, along the Spanish coast."
"Oh, that is it, is it? Well, you know very well Carrie won't let you go."
"Well, why shouldn't I, Gerald? You know that I have been working very well, here; and I am sure I have learnt as much Spanish, in six months, as uncle expected me to learn in two years--besides lots of Latin, and other things, from the doctor. Now, I do think that I have earned a holiday. A fellow at school always has a holiday. I am sure I have worked as hard as I did at school. I think it only fair that I should have a holiday. Besides, you see, I am past sixteen now and, being out here, I think I ought to have the chance of any fun there is; especially as we may be shut up here for ever so long."
"Well, there may be something in that, Bob. You certainly have stuck at it well; and you have not got into a single scrape since you came out, which is a deal more than I expected of you."
"Besides, you see, Gerald, if I had not made up my mind to stick to uncle's business, I might have been on board the Brilliant now, with Jim Sankey; and I think, after my giving up that chance, it would be only fair that I should be allowed to have a cruise, now that there is such a splendid opportunity."
"Well, Bob, I will do my best to persuade Carrie to let you go; but as far as you are concerned, you know, she is commanding officer."
Bob laughed, for he knew well enough that, not only in that but in all other matters, his sister generally had her own way.
"Well, I am very much obliged to you, Gerald. I am sure I should enjoy it, awfully."
"Don't thank me too soon, Bob. You have your sister to manage yet."
"Oh, we ought to be able to manage her, between us!" Bob said, confidently. "Look how you managed to have Dr. Burke for me, and you know how well that turned out."
"Yes, that was a triumph, Bob. Well, we will do our best."
"Why, Bob, where have you been all the morning?" his sister said. "The professor came at ten o'clock. He said he had arranged with you that he should be an hour later than usual, as he had another engagement, early."
"I forgot all about him, Carrie. He never came into my mind once, since breakfast. I met Captain Lockett down in the town, as soon as I went out, and I wanted him to come here to dinner. I knew you would be glad to see him, for you said you liked him very much; but he said he should be too busy, but he is coming up to supper, at seven. Then I went on board the Antelope and had a chat with his cousin Joe, who is first mate now."
When dinner was finished, Bob said: "Don't you think, Carrie, I am looking pale? What with the heat, and what with my sticking in and working so many hours a day, I begin to feel that it is too much for me."
His sister looked anxiously at him.
"Well, Bob, you are looking a little pale, but so is everybody else; and no wonder, with this heat. But I have not been noticing you, particularly. What do you feel, Bob?"
"I think Bob feels as if he wants a holiday," Captain O'Halloran put in.
"Well, then, we must tell the professor that we don't want him to come, for a bit. Of course, Teddy Burke has given up coming, already.
"But if you have a holiday, Bob, what will you do with yourself?"
"I don't think I shall get any better here, Carrie. I think I want change of air."
"Nonsense, Bob! You can't be as bad as all that; and you never said anything about it, before.
"If he is not well, you must ask Teddy Burke to come up to see him, Gerald. Besides, how can he have change of air? The only place he could go to would be Tetuan, and it would be hotter there than it is here."
"I think, Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said, "I can prescribe for him without calling Teddy Burke in. I fancy the very thing that would get Bob set up would be a sea voyage."
"A sea voyage!" his wife repeated. "Do you mean that he should go back to England? I don't see anything serious the matter with him. Surely there cannot be anything serious enough for that."
"No, not so serious as that, Carrie. Just a cruise for a bit--on board the Antelope, for example."
Mrs. O'Halloran looked from one to the other; and then, catching a twinkle in Bob's eye, the truth flashed across her.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gerald," she said, laughing in spite of herself. "You have quite frightened me. I see now. Captain Locket has invited Bob to go for a cruise with him, and all this about his being ill is nonsense, from beginning to end. You don't mean to say that you have been encouraging Bob in this ridiculous idea!"
"I don't know about encouraging, Carrie; but when he put it to me that he had been working very steadily, for the last six months; and that he had got into no scrapes; and that he had really earned a holiday, and that this would be a very jolly one; I did not see any particular reason why he shouldn't have it."
"No particular reason! Why, the Antelope is a privateer; and if she is going to cruise about, that means that she is going to fight, and he may get shot."
"So he may here, Carrie, if a ball happens to come the right way.
"I think Bob certainly deserves a reward for the way he has stuck to his lessons. You know you never expected he would do as he has done; and I am sure his uncle would be delighted, if he heard how well he speaks Spanish.
"As to his health, the boy is well enough; but there is no denying that this hot weather we are having takes it out of us all, and that it would be a mighty good thing if every soul on the Rock had the chance of a month's cruise at sea, to set him up.
"But seriously, Carrie, I don't see any reason, whatever, why he should not go. We didn't bring the boy out here to make a mollycoddle of him. He has got to settle down, some day, in a musty old office; and it seems to me that he ought to have his share in any fun and diversion that he has a chance of getting at, now. As to danger, sure you are a soldier's wife; and why shouldn't he have a share of it, just the same as if he had gone into the navy? You wouldn't have made any hullabaloo about it, if he had done that.
"This is Bob's good time, let him enjoy it. You are not going to keep a lad of his age tied to your apron strings. He has just got the chance of having two or three years of fighting, and adventure. It will be something for him to talk about, all his life; and my opinion is, that you had best let him go his own way. There are hundreds and hundreds of lads his age knocking about the world, and running all sorts of risks, without having elder sisters worrying over them."
"Very well, Gerald, if you and Bob have made up your minds about it, it is no use my saying no. I am sure I don't want to make a mollycoddle, as you call it, of him. Of course, uncle will blame me, if any harm comes of it."
"No, he won't, Carrie. Your uncle wants the boy to be a gentleman, and a man of the world. If you had said that a year ago, I would have agreed with you; but we know him better, now, and I will be bound he will like him to see as much life as he can, during this time. He has sent him out into the world.
"I will write to your uncle, myself, and tell him it is my doing entirely; and that I think it is a good thing Bob should take every chance he gets, and that I will answer for it that he won't be any the less ready, when the time comes, for buckling to at business."
"Well, if you really think that, Gerald, I have nothing more to say. You know I should like Bob to enjoy himself, as much as he can; only I seem to have the responsibility of him."
"I don't see why you worry about that, Carrie. If he had gone out to Cadiz or Oporto, as your uncle intended, you don't suppose the people there would have troubled themselves about him. He would just have gone his own way. You went your own way, didn't you? And it is mighty little you troubled yourself about what your uncle was likely to say, when you took up with an Irishman in a marching regiment; and I don't see why you should trouble now.
"The old gentleman means well with the boy but, after all, he is not either his father or his mother. You are his nearest relation and, though you are a married woman, you are not old enough, yet, to expect that a boy of Bob's age is going to treat you as if you were his mother, instead of his sister. There is not one boy in fifty would have minded us as he has done."
"Well, Bob, there is nothing more for me to say, after that," Carrie said, half laughing--though there were tears in her eyes.
"No, no, Carrie; I won't go, if you don't like," Bob said, impetuously.
"Yes, you shall go, Bob. Gerald is quite right. It is better you should begin to think for yourself; and I am sure I should like you to see things, and to enjoy yourself as much as you can. I don't know why I should fidget about you, for you showed you had much more good sense than I credited you with, when you gave up your chance of going to sea and went into uncle's office.
"I am sure I am the last person who ought to lecture you, after choosing to run about all over the world, and to take the risk of being starved here," and she smiled at her husband.
"You do as you like, Bob," she went on. "I won't worry about you, in future--only if you have to go back to England without a leg, or an arm, don't blame me; and be sure you tell uncle that I made as good a fight against it as I could."
And so it was settled.
"By the way," Bob exclaimed, presently, "I have got a letter from uncle to you, in my pocket; and one for myself, also. Captain Lockett gave them to me this morning, but I forgot all about them."
"Well, you are a boy!" his sister exclaimed.
"This is a nice sample, Gerald, of Bob's thoughtfulness.
"Well, give me the letter. Perhaps he writes saying you had better be sent home, by the first chance that offers itself."
Bob's face fell. He had, indeed, himself had some misgiving, ever since the troubles began, that his uncle might be writing to that effect.
"Well, look here, Carrie," he said, "here is the letter; but I think you had better not open it, till I have started on this cruise. Of course, if he says I must go back, I must; but I may as well have this trip, first."
Carrie laughed.
"What do you think, Gerald, shall I leave it till Bob has gone?"
"No, open it at once, Carrie. If he does say, 'send Bob on by the first vessel,' there is not likely to be one before he goes in the Antelope. Besides, that is all the more reason why he should go for a cruise, before he starts back for that grimy old place in Philpot Lane. We may as well see what the old gentleman says."
"I won't open mine till you have read yours, Carrie," Bob said. "I mean to go the cruise, anyhow; but if he says I must go after that, I will go. If he had been the old bear I used to think him, I would not mind it a snap; but he has been so kind that I shall certainly do what he wants."
Bob sat, with his hands deep in his pockets, watching his sister's face with the deepest anxiety as she glanced through the letter; Gerald standing by, and looking over her shoulder.
Illustration: 'The old gentleman is a brick,' exclaimed Gerald.
"The old gentleman is a brick!" Gerald, who was the first to arrive at the end, exclaimed. "I wish I had had such a sensible old relative, myself, but--barring an aunt who kept three parrots and a cat, and who put more store on the smallest of them than she did on me--never a relative did I have, in the world."
"Oh, tell me that afterwards!" Bob broke in.
"Do tell me what uncle says, Carrie."
His sister turned to the beginning again and read aloud: "My dear niece--" "Where does he write from?" Bob interrupted. "Is it from Philpot Lane, or from somewhere else?"
"He writes from Matlock, Derbyshire."
"That is all right," Bob said. "I thought, by what Gerald said, he could not have written from Philpot Lane."
"My dear niece," Carrie began again, "I duly received your letter, saying that Bob had arrived out safely; and also his more lengthy epistle, giving an account of the incidents of the voyage. I should be glad if you would impress upon him the necessity of being more particular in his punctuation, as also in the crossing of his t's and the dotting of his i's. I have also received your letter bearing date June 1st; and note, with great satisfaction, your statement that he has been most assiduous in his studies, and that he is already able to converse with some fluency in Spanish.
"Since that time the state of affairs between the two countries has much occupied my attention--both from its commercial aspect, which is serious, and in connection with Bob. As the issue of a declaration of war is hourly expected, as I write, the period of uncertainty may be considered as over, and the two countries may be looked upon as at war. I have reason to congratulate myself upon having followed the advice of my correspondent, and of having laid in a very large supply of Spanish wine; from which I shall, under the circumstances, reap considerable profits. I have naturally been debating, with myself, whether to send for Bob to return to England; or to proceed to Lisbon, and thence to Oporto, to the care of my correspondent there. I have consulted in this matter my junior partner, Mr. Medlin, who is staying with me here for a few days; and I am glad to say that his opinion coincides with that at which I had finally arrived--namely, to allow him to remain with you.
"His conduct when with me, and the perseverance with which--as you report--he is pursuing his studies, has shown me that he will not be found wanting in business qualities, when he enters the firm. I am, therefore, all the more willing that he should use the intervening time in qualifying himself, generally, for a good position in the city of London; especially for that of the head of a firm in the wine trade, in which an acquaintance with the world, and the manners of a gentleman, if not of a man of fashion--a matter in which my firm has been very deficient, heretofore--are specially valuable. It is probable, from what I hear, that Gibraltar will be besieged; and the event is likely to be a memorable one. It will be of advantage to him, and give him a certain standing, to have been present on such an occasion.
"And if he evinces any desire to place any services he is able to render, either as a volunteer or otherwise, at the disposal of the military authorities--and I learn, from Mr. Medlin, that it is by no means unusual for the civil inhabitants of a besieged town to be called upon, to aid in its defence--I should recommend that you should place no obstacle in his way. As a lad of spirit, he would naturally be glad of any opportunity to distinguish himself. I gathered, from him, that one of his schoolfellows was serving as a midshipman in a ship of war that would, not improbably, be stationed at Gibraltar; and Bob would naturally dislike remaining inactive, when his schoolfellow, and many other lads of the same age, were playing men's parts in an historical event of such importance. Therefore you will fully understand that you have my sanction, beforehand, to agree with any desire he should express in this direction, if it seems reasonable and proper to you and Captain O'Halloran.
"As it is probable that the prices of food, and other articles, will be extremely high during the siege, I have written, by this mail, to Messieurs James and William Johnston, merchants of Gibraltar--with whom I have had several transactions--authorizing them to honour drafts duly drawn by Captain O'Halloran, upon me, to the extent of 500 pounds; such sum being, of course, additional to the allowance agreed upon between us for the maintenance and education of your brother.
"I remain, my dear niece, your affectionate uncle, John Bale."
"Now I call that being a jewel of an uncle," Captain O'Halloran said, while Bob was loud in his exclamations of pleasure.
"Now you see what you brought on yourself, Bob, by your forgetfulness. Here we have had all the trouble in life to get Carrie to agree to your going while, had she read this letter first, she would not have had a leg to stand upon--at least, metaphorically speaking; practically, no one would doubt it, for a minute."
"Practically, you are a goose, Gerald; metaphorically, uncle is an angel. But I am very, very glad. That has relieved me from the responsibility, altogether; and you know, at heart, I am just as willing that Bob should enjoy himself as you are.
"Now, what does your uncle say to you, Bob?"
Bob opened and read his uncle's letter, and then handed it to his sister.
"It is just the same sort of thing, Carrie. I can see Mr. Medlin's hand in it, everywhere. He says that, for the time, I must regard my connection with the firm as of secondary importance; and take any opportunity that offers to show the spirit of an English gentleman, by doing all in my power to uphold the dignity of the British flag; and taking any becoming part that may offer, in the defence of the town. Of course he says he has heard, with pleasure, of my progress in Spanish; and that he and his junior partner look forward, with satisfaction, to the time when I shall enter the firm.'
"My dear Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said, "I will get a bottle of champagne from the mess; and this evening, at supper, we will drink your excellent uncle's health, with all the honours. I will ask Teddy Burke to come up and join us."
"Then I think, Gerald," his wife said, smiling, "that as Captain Lockett will be here, too, one bottle of champagne will not go very far."
"I put it tentatively, my dear; We will say two bottles, and we will make the first inroad on our poultry yard. We had twenty eggs, this morning; and the woman downstairs reports that two of the hens want to sit, though how they explained the matter to her is more than I know; anyhow, we can afford a couple of chickens."
It was a very jovial supper, especially as it was known that the news of the proclamation of war had been brought in, by the ship that had arrived that morning.
"By the way, Mrs. O'Halloran," Captain Lockett said, "I have a consignment for you. I will land it, the first thing in the morning, for I shall sail in the evening. We are to get our letters of marque, authorizing the capture of Spanish vessels, at ten o'clock in the morning."
"What is the consignment, captain?"
"It is from Mr. Bale, madam. I saw him in town, a week before I sailed, and told him I was likely to come on here, direct; and he sent off at once three cases of champagne, and six dozen of port, directed to you; and an eighteen gallon cask of Irish whisky, for Captain O'Halloran."
"My dear," Captain O'Halloran said solemnly, "I believe that you expressed, today, the opinion that your uncle was, metaphorically, an angel. I beg that the word metaphorically be omitted. If there was ever an angel in a pigtail, and a stiff cravat, that angel is Mr. John Bale, of Philpot Lane."
"It is very good of him," Carrie agreed. "We could have done very well without the whisky, but the port wine and the champagne may be very useful, if this siege is going to be the terrible thing you all seem to fancy."
"A drop of the craytur is not to be despised, Mrs. O'Halloran," Dr. Burke said; "taken with plenty of water it is a fine digestive and, when we run short of wine and beer, you will not be despising it, yourself."
"I did not know, Teddy Burke, that you had any experience, whatever, of whisky mixed with plenty of water."
"You are too hard on me, altogether," the doctor laughed. "There is no soberer man in the regiment than your humble servant."
"Well, it will do you all good, if you get on short allowance of wine, for a time. I can't think why men want to sit, after dinner, and drink bottle after bottle of port wine. It is all very well to say that everyone does it, but that is a very poor excuse. Why should they do it? Women don't do it, and I don't see why men should. I hope the time will come when it is considered just as disgraceful, for a man to drink, as it is for a woman.
"And now, Captain Lockett, about Bob. What time must he be on board?"
"He must be on board before gunfire, Mrs. O'Halloran, unless you get a special order from the town major. I was obliged to get one, myself, for this evening. The orders are strict, now; all the gates are closed at gunfire."
"Yes, and mighty strict they are," Captain O'Halloran said. "There was Major Corcoran, of the 72nd, and the doctor of the regiment were out fishing yesterday; and the wind fell, and the gun went just as they were landing, and divil a bit could they get in. The major is a peppery little man, and I would have given anything to have seen him. One of the Hanoverian regiments furnished the guard, at the water batteries; and the sentry told him, if he came a foot nearer in the boat they would fire and, in the end, he and the doctor had to cover themselves up with a sail, and lie there all night. I hear the major went to lodge a complaint, when he landed; but of course the men were only doing their duty, and I hear Eliott gave him a wigging, for endeavouring to make them disobey orders."
"I will be on board before gunfire, Captain Lockett. There is no fear of my missing it."
"How long do you expect to be away, Captain Lockett?" Mrs. O'Halloran asked.
"That depends on how we get on. If we are lucky, and pick up a number of prizes, we may bring them in in a week; if not we may be three weeks, especially if this calm weather lasts."
"I am sure I hope you won't be too lucky, at first, captain," Bob put in. "I don't want the cruise to finish in a week."
"Oh, I sha'n't consider the cruise is finished, merely because we come in, Bob!" the captain said. "We shall be going out again, and only put in here to bring in our prizes. The cruise will last as long as Captain O'Halloran and your sister will allow you to remain on board.
"I expect that I shall be able to make you very useful. I shall put you down in the ship's books as third mate. You won't be able to draw prize money, as an officer, because the number of officers entitled to prize money was entered when the crew signed articles; but if I put you down as supercargo you will share, with the men, in any prizes we take while you are away with us."
"That will be jolly, captain; not because of the money, you know, but because it will give one more interest in the cruise. Besides, I shall like something to do."
"Oh, I will give you something to do! I shall put you in Joe's watch, and then you will learn something. It is always as well to pick up knowledge, when you get a chance; and if we do take any prizes it will be your duty, as supercargo, to take an inventory of what they have on board."
The next morning Bob packed his trunks, the first thing; then he went round to the professor's, and told him that he was going away, for a fortnight or so, for a cruise; then he went down to the port, and met Joe Lockett when he landed, and brought him up to breakfast, as had been arranged with the captain the night before. After that, he went with him up the Rock to look at the Spaniards--whose tents were a good deal more numerous than they had been, and who were still at work, arming the forts.
"If I were the general," Joe said, "I would go out at night, with two or three regiments, and spike all those guns, and blow up the forts. The Dons wouldn't be expecting it; and it would be a good beginning, and would put the men in high spirits.
"Do you see, the Spanish fleet has drifted away almost out of sight, to the east. I thought what it would be, at sunset yesterday, when I saw that they did not enter the bay; for the current would be sure to drive them away, if the wind didn't spring up.
"Well, I hope we shall get a little, this evening. And now I must be going down, for there is a good deal to do, before we sail."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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10
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: A Cruise In A Privateer.
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Bob was on board the Antelope a quarter of an hour before gunfire. No movement was made until after sunset, for some of the gunboats over at Algeciras might have put out, had they seen any preparations for making sail; but as soon as it became dark the anchor was hove, the sails dropped and sheeted home, and the brig began to move slowly through the water. As she breasted Europa Point, her course was altered to east by north, and the Rock faded from sight in the darkness.
The first mate was on watch, and Bob walked up and down the deck with him.
"There is no occasion for you to keep up," Joe Lockett said. "You may just as well turn."
"Oh no, I mean to keep the watch with you!" Bob said. "The captain said that I was to be in your watch, and I want you to treat me just the same way as if I were a midshipman under you."
"Well, if you were a midshipman, there wouldn't be anything for you to do, now: still, if you like to keep up, of course you can do so. I shall be glad of your company, and you will help keep a sharp lookout for ships."
"There is no chance of our coming across any Spanish traders tonight, I suppose, Joe?"
"Not in the least. They would keep a deal farther out than we shall, if they were bound either for Algeciras or through the Straits. We are not likely to meet anything, till we get near Malaga. After that, of course, we shall be in the line of coasters. There are Almeria, and Cartagena, and Alicante, and a score of small ports between Alicante and Valencia."
"We don't seem to be going through the water very fast, Joe."
"No, not more than two or two and a half knots an hour. However, we are in no hurry. With a light wind like this, we don't want to get too close to the shore, or we might have some of their gunboats coming out after us. I expect that in the morning, if the wind holds light, the captain will take in our upper sails, and just drift along. Then, after it gets dark, he will clap on everything; and run in so as to strike the coast a few miles above Malaga. Then we will take in sail, and anchor as close in as we dare. Anything coming along, then, will take us for a craft that has come out from Malaga."
At midnight the second mate, whose name was Crofts, came up to relieve watch; and Bob, who was beginning to feel very sleepy, was by no means sorry to turn in. It hardly seemed to him that he had closed an eye, when he was aroused by a knocking at the cabin door.
"It's two bells, sir, and Mr. Lockett says you are to turn out."
Bob hurried on his things and went up, knowing that he was an hour late.
"I thought you wanted to keep watch, Bob. You ought to have been on deck at eight bells."
"So I should have been, if I had been woke," Bob said, indignantly. "I am not accustomed to wake up, just after I go to sleep. It doesn't seem to me that I have been in bed five minutes. If you wake me, tomorrow morning, you will see I will be up, sharp enough.
"There is hardly any wind."
"No, we have been only crawling along all night. There is Gib, you see, behind us."
"Why, it doesn't look ten miles off," Bob said, in surprise.
"It is twice that. It is two or three and twenty, I should say.
"Now, the best thing you can do is to go down to the waist, slip off your togs, and have a few buckets of water poured over you. That will wake you up, and you will feel ever so much more comfortable, afterwards. I have just told the steward to make us a couple of cups of coffee. They will be ready by the time you have had your wash."
Bob followed the advice and, after a bath, a cup of coffee, and a biscuit, he no longer felt the effects from the shortness of the night. The sun had already risen, and there was not a cloud upon the sky.
"What are those, over there?" he asked, pointing to the southeast. "They look like sails."
"They are sails. They are the upper sails of the Spanish fleet. I expect they are trying to work back into the bay again, but they won't do it, unless they get more wind. You see, I have taken the topgallant sails off the brig, so as not to be seen.
"There is the Spanish coast, you see, twelve or fourteen miles away, to port. If you like, you can take the glass and go up into the maintop, and see if you can make anything out on shore."
Bob came down in half an hour.
"There are some fishing boats," he said, "at least, they look like fishing boats, close inshore, just abreast of us."
"Yes, there are two or three little rivers on this side of Malaga. There is not water in them for craft of any size, but the fishing boats use them. There is a heavy swell sets in here, when the wind is from the east with a bit south in it, and they run up there for shelter."
Captain Lockett now came up on deck.
"Good morning, Bob! I did not see you here, when watch was changed."
"No, sir, I wasn't woke; but I mean to be up another morning."
"That is right, Bob. Joe and I agreed to give you an extra hour, this morning. Four hours are very short measure, to one who is not accustomed to it; but you will soon find that you can turn in and get a sleep, when your watch is over, whatever the time of day."
"It seems to me that this watch has the worst of it, Captain Lockett. We had from eight to twelve, and now from four to eight; and the other had only four hours on deck."
"Yours is considered the best watch, Bob. The middle watch, as the one that comes on at twelve o'clock is called, is always the most disliked. You see, at eight bells you go off and have your breakfast comfortably, and can then turn in till twelve o'clock; and you can get another caulk, from five or six till eight in the evening. Of course, if there is anything to do, bad weather or anything of that sort, both watches are on deck, all day."
"Well, I am almost sure I should like the other watch best," Bob said.
"You are wrong, lad, especially in summer. You see, it is not fairly dark till nine, and you wouldn't turn in till ten, anyhow; so that, really, you are only kept two hours out of your bunk, at that watch. It is getting light when you come up, at four; and at five we begin to wash decks, and there is plenty to occupy you, so that it doesn't seem long till eight bells. The others have to turn out at twelve o'clock, just when they are most sleepy; and to be on watch for the four dark hours, and then go down just as it is getting light.
"On a cold night in winter, in the channel, I think perhaps the advantage is the other way. But, in fact, men get so accustomed to the four hours in, and the four hours out, that it makes very little difference to them how it goes."
All day the brig kept on the same course, moving very slowly through the water, and passing the coast as much by aid of the current as by that of her sails.
"We are pretty well off Malaga," Captain Lockett said, in the afternoon. "If there had been any wind, we should have had a chance of picking up something making from there to the Straits; but there is no chance of that, today. People like making quick voyages, when there is a risk of falling in with an enemy; and they won't be putting out from port until there is some change in the weather. However, it looks to me as if there is a chance of a little breeze, from the south, when the sun goes down. I have seen a flaw or two on the water, that way."
"Yes, it seems to me darker over there," the mate said. "I will go up and have a look round.
"Yes, sir, there is certainly a breeze stirring, down to the south," he shouted, from aloft.
"That will just suit us," the captain said. "We must be twenty miles off the coast at least and, even if they had noticed us from above the town, we are too far off for them to make us out, at all; so it will be safe for us to run in to the land.
"We shall rely upon you, Bob, if we are hailed."
"I will do my best to throw dust in their eyes, captain. You must tell me, beforehand, all particulars; so that I can have the story pat."
"We will wait till we see what sort of craft is likely to hail us. A tale may be good enough, for the skipper of a coaster, that might not pass muster with the captain of a gunboat."
"What are the coasters likely to be laden with?"
"There is never any saying. Mostly fruit and wine, grain and olives. Then some of them would be taking goods, from the large ports, to the small towns and villages along the coast. Some of the coasters are well worth picking up; but of course, the craft we shall be chiefly on the lookout for will be those from abroad. Some of these have very valuable cargoes. They bring copper and lead, and sometimes silver from the mines of Mexico and South America. Some of them carry a good lot of silver, but it is too much to hope that we should run across such a prize as that. They bring over hides, too; they are worth money. Then, of course, there are ships that have been trading up the Mediterranean with France and Italy or the Levant.
"So, you see, there is a considerable variety in the chances of what we may light upon. Coasters are, of course, the staple, so to speak. If we have anything like luck, we shall not do badly, with them. The others we must look upon as the prizes in the lottery."
Before the sun set the breeze came up to them, and the brig was at once headed for the land. At ten o'clock the lights of Malaga were made out on the port beam, and the brig bore away a little to the east. Two hours later the land was looming, not far ahead.
Sail was got off her, and a man placed in the chains, and soundings taken. This was continued until the water shoaled to eight fathoms, when the brig was brought up, head to wind, and the anchor let go. Then an anchor watch of four men was set, and the rest of the crew allowed to turn in.
At daybreak the officers were out again, and it was found that the brig was lying within a quarter of a mile of the land, in a slight indentation of the coast. The wind had died away, and the sails were loosed, and suffered to fall against the masts.
"It could not be better," Captain Lockett said. "We look, now, as if we had been trying to make up or down the coast, and had been forced to come to anchor here. Fortunately there don't seem to be any villages near, so we are not likely to have anyone coming out to us."
"How far do you think we are from Malaga, captain?"
"About ten miles, I should say, Bob. Why do you ask?"
"I was only thinking whether it would be possible for me to make my way there, and find out what vessels there are in harbour, and whether any of them are likely to be coming this way. But if it is ten miles, I am afraid it is too far. I should have to pass through villages; and I might be questioned where I came from, and where I was going. I don't know that my Spanish would pass muster, if I were questioned like that.
"I should be all right, if I were once in a seaport. No one would be likely to ask me any questions. Then I could stroll about, and listen to what was said and, certainly, I could talk quite well enough to go in and get a meal, and all that sort of thing."
"I couldn't let you do that, Bob," the captain said. "It is a very plucky idea, but it wouldn't be right to let you carry it out. You would get hung as a spy, if you were detected."
"I don't think there is the least fear in the world of my being detected, in a seaport," Bob said, "and I should think it great fun; but I shouldn't like to try to cross the country. Perhaps we may have a better chance, later on."
The captain shook his head.
"You might go on board some ship, if one brings up at anchor anywhere near us, Bob. If you got detected, there, we would take her and rescue you. But that is a different thing to letting you go ashore."
Presently the sails of two fishing boats were seen, coming out from beyond a low point, three miles to the east.
"I suppose there is a fishing village, there," the mate said. "I am glad they are no nearer."
He examined the boats with a glass.
"They are working out with sweeps. I expect they hope to get a little wind, when they are in the offing."
Just as they were at breakfast the second mate, who was on deck, called down the skylight: "There are three craft to the west, sir. They have just come out from behind the point there. They are bringing a little breeze with them."
"What are they like, Mr. Crofts?"
"One is a polacre, another a xebec, and the third looks like a full-rigged craft; but as she is end on, I can't say for certain."
"All right, Mr. Crofts! I will be up in five minutes. We can do nothing until we get the wind, anyhow."
Breakfast was speedily finished, and they went on deck. The Spanish flag was already flying from the peak. The three craft were about two miles away.
"How are they sailing, Mr. Crofts?"
"I fancy the xebec is the fastest, sir. She was astern just now, and she is abreast of the polacre now, as near as I can make out. The ship, or brig--whichever it is--seems to me to be dropping astern."
"Heave away at the anchor, Joe. Get in all the slack, so as to be ready to hoist, as soon as the breeze reaches us. I don't want them to come up to us. The line they are taking, now, will carry them nearly half a mile outside us, which is fortunate. Run in six of the guns, and throw a tarpaulin over the eighteen pounder. Three guns, on each side, are about enough for us to show."
The breeze caught them when the three Spanish craft were nearly abeam.
"They have more wind, out there, than we shall have here," the captain said; "which is an advantage, for I don't want to run away from them.
"Now, get up the anchor, Joe. Don't take too many hands."
The watch below had already been ordered to sit down on the deck, and half the other watch were now told to do the same.
"Twelve or fourteen hands are quite enough to show," the captain said.
"The anchor's up, sir," Joe shouted.
"Let it hang there. We will get it aboard, presently.
"Now haul that fore-staysail across, ease off the spanker sheet.
"Now, as she comes round, haul on the braces and sheets, one by one. Do it in as lubberly a way as you can."
The brig, which had been riding with her head to the west, came slowly round; the yards being squared in a slow fashion, in strong contrast to the active way in which they were generally handled. The captain watched the other craft, carefully.
"The xebec and polacre are gaining on us, but we are going as fast through the water as the three master. When we get the wind a little more, we shall have the heels of them all.
"Get a sail overboard, Joe, and tow it under her port quarter. Don't give her too much rope, or they might catch sight of it, on board the ship. That will bring us down to her rate of sailing.
"I want to keep a bit astern of them. We dare not attack them in the daylight; they mount too many guns for us, altogether. That big fellow has got twelve on a side, the polacre has eight, and the xebec six, so between them they have fifty-two guns. We might try it, if they were well out at sea; but it would never do, here. There may be galleys or gunboats within hearing, so we must bide our time.
"I think we are in luck, this time, Joe. That ship must have come foreign; at least, I should say so by her appearance, though she may be from Cadiz. As to the other two, they may be anything. The xebec, no doubt, is a coast trader. The polacre may be one thing, or another, but I should hardly think she has come across the Atlantic. Likely enough she is from Bilbao or Santander. The ship is the fellow to get hold of, if we get a chance. I shall be quite content to leave the others alone."
"I should think so," Joe agreed. "The ship ought to be a valuable prize, wherever she comes from. If she is sound, and pretty new, she would fetch a good sum, if we can get her into an English port."
The wind continued to hold light, and the four vessels made but slow progress through the water. The two leaders, however, gradually improved their position. They were nearly matched, in point of sailing; and their captains were evidently making a race of it, hoisting every stitch of canvas they were able to show. By the afternoon they were fully two miles ahead of the ship, which was half a mile on the starboard bow of the brig. The wind died away to nothing, as the sun set. The three Spanish vessels had all been edging in towards shore, and the polacre anchored just before sunset. The ship held on for another hour, but was a mile astern of the other two when she, also, dropped her anchor.
The sail, that had been towing overboard from the brig, had been got on board again when the wind began to drop; and she had come up to within little more than a quarter of a mile of the ship. The anchor was let go, as soon as it was seen that the crew of the ship were preparing to anchor, so that the brig should be first to do so. Whether there had been any suspicions, on board the Spaniards, as to the character of the brig, they could not tell but, watching her closely, Captain Lockett saw that the order to anchor was countermanded, as soon as it was seen that the brig had done so.
A few minutes after the men again went forward, and the anchor was dropped; for the vessel was making no way whatever, through the water.
"Well, Joe, there we are, close to her, now. The question is, what are we to do next? If there was any wind, it would be simple enough. We would drop alongside, in the middle watch; and carry her by boarding, before the Dons had time to get out of their hammocks. But as it is, that is out of the question and, of course, we can't think of towing her up. On such a still night as this will be, they would hear the slightest noise."
"We might attack her in the boats," the mate said.
"Yes, that would be possible; but their watch would hear the oars, the instant we began to row. You see, by the number of guns she carries, she must be strongly manned."
"I expect most of them are small," Joe said, "and meant for show, rather than use. It is likely enough she may have taken half of them on board at Cadiz, or Malaga, so as to give her a formidable appearance, in case she should fall in with any craft of our description. If she has come across the Atlantic, she would never have carried anything like that number of guns, for Spain was not at war with anyone."
"No; but craft flying the black flag are still to be found in those waters, Joe, and she might carry her guns for defence against them. But it is not a question of guns, at present, it is a question of the crew. It isn't likely that she carries many more than we do and, if we could but get alongside her, there would be no fear about it, at all; but I own I don't like the risk of losing half my men, in an attack on a craft like that, unless we can have the advantage of a surprise."
"What do you say to my swimming off to her, as soon as it gets quite dark, captain?" Bob said. "I am a very good swimmer. We used to bathe regularly at Putney, where I was at school; and I have swum across the Thames and back, lots of times. There is sure to be a little mist on the water, presently, and they won't be keeping a very sharp lookout till it gets later. I can get hold of a cable and climb up; and get in over the bow, if there is no lookout there, and see what is going on. There is no danger in the thing for, if I am discovered, I have only got to dive and swim back again. There is no current to speak of, here; and there wouldn't be the least chance of their hitting me, in the dark. I should certainly be able to learn something, by listening to their talk."
"It would be a very risky thing, Bob," Captain Lockett said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't like to let you do it; though of course it would be a great thing, if we could learn something about her. I own I don't like her appearance, though I can't say why. Somehow or other, I don't think she is all right. Either all those guns are a mere pretence, and she is weak handed, or she must carry a very big crew."
"Well, I don't see there can be any possible harm in my trying to get on board her, captain. Of course, if I am hailed as I approach her, I shall turn and come back again. The night will be dark, but I shall have no difficulty in finding her, from the talking and noise on board.
"Well, Joe, what do you think?" the captain said, doubtfully.
"I think you might let Bob try," Joe said. "I should not mind trying at all but, as I can't speak Spanish, I should be able to learn nothing. They are not likely to be setting a watch, and keeping a sharp lookout, for some time; and I should think that he might, possibly, get on board unobserved. If they do make him out, he has only to keep on diving and, in the dark, there would be little chance of their hitting him. Besides, they certainly couldn't make out that it was a swimmer. If they noticed a ripple in the water, they would be sure to think it was a fish of some sort."
Bob continued to urge that he should be allowed to try it and, at last, Captain Lockett agreed to his doing so. It was already almost dark enough for the attempt to be made, and Bob prepared at once for the swim. He took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt; and put on a dark knitted jersey, fastened a belt tightly round his waist, over his breeches, and took off his shoes.
"If I am seen," he said, "you are sure to hear them hailing, or shouting; and then please show a lantern over the stern," for, slight as the current was, it sufficed to make the vessel swing head to west.
A rope was lowered over the side and, by this, he slipped down quietly into the water, which was perfectly warm. Then he struck off noiselessly, in the direction of the ship. He kept the two masts of the brig in one, as long as he could make them out but, owing to the mist on the water, he soon lost sight of her; but he had no difficulty in keeping a straight course, as he could plainly hear the sound of voices, ahead of him. Taking the greatest pains to avoid making the slightest splash, and often pausing to listen, Bob swam on until he saw a dark mass looming up in front of him.
Illustration: Bob swims off to the Spanish Warship.
He now did little more than float, giving a gentle stroke, occasionally, and drifting towards it until he grasped the cable.
He now listened intently. There were voices on the fo'castle, above him; and he determined, before trying to climb up there, to swim round the vessel--keeping close to her side, so that he could not be seen, unless someone leaned far over the bulwark. Halfway along he came upon a projection and, looking up, saw that slabs of wood, three inches wide, were fixed against the side, at intervals of a foot apart; so as to form an accommodation ladder, when it was not considered necessary to lower a gangway. Two hand ropes hung by the side of it.
His way was now easy. He drew himself out of the water by the ropes, and ascended the ladder; then crawled along outside the bulwark until he came to a porthole, from which a gun projected; then he crawled in there, and lay under the cannon.
Two or three lanterns were suspended above the deck and, by their light, Bob could at once see that he was on board a ship of war. Groups of sailors were sitting on the deck, among the guns; and he saw that most of these were run in, and that they were of heavy calibre, several of them being 32-pounders.
As the captain and Joe had both agreed that the guns were only 14-pounders, Bob had no difficulty in arriving at the fact that these must have been mere dummies, thrust out of the portholes to deceive any stranger as to her armament. He lay listening, for some time, to the talk of the sailors; and gathered that the ship had been purposely disguised, before putting out from Malaga, in order to deceive any English privateers she might come across as to her strength. He learned also that considerable doubts were entertained, as to the brig; and that the xebec and polacre had been signalled to go on ahead, so as to induce the brig--if she should be an enemy--to make an attack.
The reason why she had not been overhauled, during the day, was that the captain feared she might escape him in a light wind; for the watch had been vigilant, and had made out that she was towing something, to deaden her way. It was considered likely that, taking the ship for a merchantman, an attack would be made in boats during the night; and the men joked as to the surprise their assailants would get. Boarding pikes were piled in readiness; shot had been placed in the racks, ready to throw down into the boats as they came alongside; and the ship's boats had been swung out, in readiness for lowering--as it was intended to carry the brig, by boarding, after the repulse and destruction of her boats.
"We have had a narrow escape of catching a tartar," Bob said, to himself. "It is very lucky I came on board to reconnoitre. The Spaniards are not such duffers as we thought them. We fancied we were taking them in, and very nearly fell into a trap, ourselves."
Very quietly he crawled back under the porthole, made his way along outside the bulwark until his hand touched the rope, and then slid down by it into the water. As he knew there was more chance of a sharp watch being kept, in the eyes of the ship, than elsewhere, he swam straight out from her side until she became indistinct, and then headed for the brig. The lights on board the Spaniard served as a guide to him, for some time; but the distance seemed longer to him than it had before, and he was beginning to fancy he must have missed the brig, when he saw her looming up on his right. In three or four minutes he was alongside.
"The brig there!" he hailed. "Drop me a rope overboard."
There was a stir overhead, at once.
"Where are you, Bob?" Captain Lockett asked, leaning over the side.
"Just below you, sir."
A rope was dropped. Bob grasped it, and was hauled up.
"Thank God you are back again!" the captain said. "I have been blaming myself, ever since you started; though, as all was quiet, we felt pretty sure they hadn't made you out. Well, have you any news? Did you get on board?"
"You will get no prize money this time, captain. The Spaniard is a ship of war, mounting twenty-four guns; none of them smaller than eighteens, and ten of them thirty-twos."
"Impossible, Bob! We could not have been so mistaken. Joe and I were both certain that they were fourteens."
"Yes, sir; but those things you saw were dummies. The guns, themselves, are almost all drawn in. All the thirty-twos are, and most of the eighteens. She has been specially disguised, at Malaga, in hopes of tempting a craft like yours to attack her and, what is more, she has a shrewd suspicion of what you are;" and he related the whole of the conversation he had heard, and described the preparations for repulsing a boat attack and, in turn, carrying the brig in the ship's boats.
Captain Lockett was thunderstruck.
"The Spanish officer who commands her must be a smart fellow," he said, "and we have had a narrow escape of running our head into a noose--thanks to you, Bob; for Joe and I had quite made up our minds to attack her, in the middle watch.
"Well, the only thing for us to do is to get away from here, as soon as we can. If she finds we don't attack her, tonight, she is sure to send a boat to us, in the morning; and then, if we have an engagement, we could hardly hope to get off without losing some of our spars--even if we were not sunk--with such heavy metal as she carries. We should have the other two craft down on us, too, and our chances of getting away would be worth nothing.
"Well, I suppose, Joe, our best plan will be to tow her away?"
"I should think so, sir. When they hear us at it, they may send their boats out after us, but we can beat them off; and I should hardly think that they would try it, for they will be sure that, if we are a privateer, we have been playing the same game as they have, and hiding our guns, and will guess that we carry a strong crew."
"Send the crew aft, Joe. I will tell them how matters stand.
"We have had a narrow escape of catching a tartar, my lads," he said, when the men went aft. "You all know Mr. Repton swam off, an hour ago, to try and find out what the ship was like. Well, he has been on board, and brings back news that she is no trader, but a ship of war, disguised; and that she carries twenty-four guns--eighteen-pounders and thirty-twos. If we met while out at sea, we might make a fight of it; but it would never do, here, especially as her two consorts would be down upon us. She suspects what we are, although she is not certain; and everything is in readiness to repel a boat attack--her captain's intention being, if we tried, to sink or cripple the boats, and then to attack us with her guns.
"So you may thank Mr. Repton that you have had a narrow escape of seeing the inside of a Spanish prison.
"Now, what I propose to do is to tow her out. Get the four boats in the water, as quietly as you can. We have greased the falls, already. We will tow her straight ahead, at any rate for a bit. That craft won't be able to bring any guns to bear upon us, except perhaps a couple of bow chasers; and as she won't be able to see us, there is not much chance of our being hit. Pass the hawser along, from boat to boat, and row in a line ahead of her. The hull will shelter you. Then lay out heartily; but be ready, if you are hailed, to throw off the hawser and get back on board again, as soon as you can, for they may send their boats out after us. We shall get a start anyhow for, when they hear you rowing, they will think you are putting off to attack them; and it will be some minutes before they will find out their mistake.
"Joe, do you go in charge of the boats. I will take the helm. You must cut the cable. They would hear the clank of the windlass."
The operation of lowering boats was conducted very silently. Bob had taken his place at the taffrail, and stood listening for any sound that would show that the Spaniards had heard what was doing. The oars were scarcely dipped in the water, when he heard a sudden lull in the distant talking. A minute later, it broke out again.
"They have orders to pay no attention to the noises," Captain Lockett said, "so as to lead us to think that we shall take them unawares.
"There, she is moving now," he added, as he looked down into the water.
Four or five minutes elapsed; and then, in the stillness of the evening, they could hear a loud hail, in Spanish: "What ship is that? Cease rowing, or we will sink you!"
"Don't answer," Captain Lockett said. "They have nothing but the confused sound of the oars to tell them where we are."
The hail was repeated and, a minute later, there was the flash of a gun in the darkness, and a shot hummed through the air.
"Fire away!" the captain muttered. "You are only wasting ammunition."
For some minutes the Spaniard continued to fire her two bow guns. Then, after a pause, there was a crash; and twelve guns were discharged, together.
"We are getting farther off, every minute," the captain said, "and unless an unlucky shot should strike one of her spars, we are safe."
The broadside was repeated four times, and then all was silent.
"We are a mile away from them now, Bob; and though, I daresay, they can hear the sound of the oars, it must be mere guesswork as to our position."
He went forward to the bows, and hailed the boats.
"Take it easy now, Mr. Lockett. I don't think she will fire any more. When the men have got their wind, row on again. I shall head her out, now. We must give her a good three miles offing, before we stop."
The men in the four boats had been exerting themselves to their utmost, and it was five minutes before they began rowing again. For an hour and a half they continued their work, and then Captain Lockett said to the second mate: "You can go forward, and hail them to come on board. I think we have been moving through the water about two knots an hour, so we must be three miles seaward of him."
As soon as the men came on board, a tot of grog was served out, all round. Then the watch below turned in.
"You won't anchor, I suppose, captain?"
"No, there is a considerable depth of water here, and a rocky bottom. I don't want to lose another anchor, and it would take us something like half an hour to get it up again; besides, what current there is will drift us eastward.
"There is more of it, here, than we had inshore. I should say there must be nearly a knot an hour, which will take us a good distance away from those gentlemen, before morning.
"Now, Bob, you had better have a glass of grog, and then turn in. Joe will excuse you keeping watch, tonight."
"Oh, I feel all right!" Bob said. "The water was quite warm, and I slipped down and changed my clothes, directly they left off firing."
"Never mind, you turn in as you are told. You have done us good service, tonight; and have earned your keep on board the brig, if you were to stop here till she fell to pieces of old age."
When Bob went up in the morning, at five o'clock, the three Spanish vessels were still lying at anchor under the land, seven or eight miles away.
"There is a breeze coming," Joe said, "and it is from the south, so we shall get it long before they do. We shall see no more of them."
As soon as the breeze reached them, the sails were braced aft; and the brig kept as close to the wind as she would sail, lying almost directly off from the land.
"I want them to think that we are frightened," Captain Lockett said, in answer to a question from Bob as to the course, "and that we have decided to get away from their neighbourhood, altogether. I expect they are only going as far as Alicante. We will run on till we are well out of sight, then hold on for the rest of the day east and, in the night, head for land again, beyond Alicante. It would never do to risk those fellows coming upon us, again, when we are quietly at anchor. We might not be so lucky, next time."
An hour later the lookout in the top hailed the deck, and said that there was a sail in sight.
"What does she look like, Halkett?" Joe Lockett shouted, for the captain was below.
"As far as I can make out she is a two master--I should say, a brig." "How is she heading?"
"About northeast, sir. I should say, if we both hold on our courses, she will pass ahead of us."
The captain was now on deck, and he and the first mate went up to the top.
"Starboard your helm a bit!" the captain shouted, after examining the distant sail through his telescope. "Keep her about east."
"What do you think she is, captain?" Bob asked, when the two officers came down again to the poop.
"I should say that she was a craft about our own size, Bob; and I fancy she has come through the Straits, keeping well over the other side, so as to avoid our cruisers from Gib; and is now heading for Alicante. Now we are on our course again, parallel to the coast, there is no reason why she should suspect us of being anything but a trader. If she doesn't take the alarm, I hope we shall be alongside her in a few hours."
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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11
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: Cutting Out A Prize.
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The distant sail was anxiously watched from the Antelope. It closed in with them fast, running almost before the wind. In two hours, her hull could be seen from the deck.
Efforts had been made, by slacking the ropes and altering the set of the sails, to give the brig as slovenly an appearance as possible. The guns had been run in and the portholes closed and, as the Spaniard approached, the crew--with the exception of five or six men--were ordered to keep below the bulwarks.
The course that the Spaniard was taking would have brought her just under the stern of the Antelope when, suddenly, she was seen to change her course, and to bear up into the wind.
"Too late, my lady," the captain said; "you have blundered on too long.
"There is something in our cut that she doesn't like. Haul down that Spanish flag, and run the Union Jack up.
"Open ports, lads, and show them our teeth. Fire that bow gun across her forefoot!"
The guns were already loaded; and as soon as they were run out a shot was fired, as a message to the Spaniard to heave to. A minute later, as she paid no attention, a broadside followed. Three of the shots went crashing into the side of the Spaniard, and one of her boats was smashed.
A moment later the Spanish flag fluttered down, and a hearty cheer broke from the crew of the Antelope. The Spaniard was thrown up into the wind and, in a few minutes, the brig ranged up alongside, within pistol shot. The gig was lowered; and the captain rowed alongside her, taking Bob with him as interpreter.
The prize proved to be a brig, of about the same tonnage as the Antelope. She was from Cadiz, bound first to Alicante, and then to Valencia. She carried only six small guns, and a crew of eighteen men. Her cargo consisted of grain and olive oil.
"Not a bad prize," Captain Lockett said, as Bob read out the items of her bill of lading. "It is a pity that it is not full up, instead of only half laden. Still, it is not a bad beginning; and the craft herself is of a handy size and, if she won't sell at Gibraltar, will pay very well to take on to England. I should say she was fast."
An hour later the two brigs parted company, the second mate and twelve hands being placed on board the Spaniard. There was some discussion as to the prisoners, but it was finally agreed to leave them on board their ship.
"Keep them down in the hold, Mr. Crofts. See that you don't leave any knives with them. Keep a couple of sentries over the hatchway. If the wind holds, you will be in the bay by tomorrow evening. Keep pretty well inshore, and slip in as close to the point as you can. If you do that, you need not have much fear of their gunboats.
"I don't suppose the authorities will want to keep the prisoners, but of course you will report them on your arrival; and can give them one of the boats, to land across the bay, if they are not wanted. If the governor wants to buy the cargo for the garrison, let him have it, at once. Don't stand out for exorbitant terms, but take a fair price. It is just as well to be on good terms with the authorities. We might have to put in to refit, and want spars, etc., from the naval yard. If the governor doesn't want the cargo, don't sell it to anyone else till we return. There is no fear of prices going down. The longer we keep it, the more we shall get for it."
"Hadn't I better bring the ship's papers on board with us, Captain Lockett?"
"What for, Bob? I don't see that they would be any use to us, and the bills of lading will be useful for selling the cargo."
"I can copy them, sir, for Mr. Crofts.
"What I thought was this: the brig is just our own size and, if we should get becalmed anywhere near the shore, and a boat put off, we might possibly be able to pass, with her papers."
"That is a capital idea, Bob; capital! I will have a bit of canvas painted 'Alonzo, Cadiz,' in readiness to nail over our stern, should there be any occasion for it.
"Well, goodbye Mr. Crofts, and a safe journey to you. I needn't tell you to keep a sharp lookout."
"You may trust us for that, sir. We have no desire to rot in one of their prisons, till the end of the war."
The captain's gig took him back to the Antelope. The weather sheets of the fore-staysail were eased off, and the square sails swung round. As they drew, the two brigs got under way, heading in exactly opposite directions.
Before nightfall the captain pronounced that they were now abreast of Alicante and, under easy sail, the vessel's head was turned towards the land; and the next morning she was running along the shore, at a distance of three miles. Beyond fishing boats, and small craft hugging the land, nothing was met with, until they neared Cartagena. Then the sound of firing was heard ahead and, on rounding a headland, they saw a vessel of war chasing some five or six craft, nearer inshore.
"That is a British frigate," the captain exclaimed; "but I don't think she will get them. There is Cartagena only three or four miles ahead, and the frigate will not be able to cut them off, before they are under the guns of the batteries."
"They are not above a mile ahead of her," the first mate said. "If we could knock away a spar, with our long eighteen, we might get one of them."
"We shouldn't make much prize money, if we did, Joe; for the frigate would share and, as she has five or six times as many men and officers as we have got, it is not much we should get out of it.
"Hallo!" he broke out, as a shot came ricochetting along the water, "she is trying a shot at us. I forgot we had the Spanish colours up.
"Get that flag down, and run up the Union Jack, Joe."
"One moment, captain," Bob said.
"Well, what is it, Bob?"
"Well, it seems to me, sir, that if we keep the Spanish flag up--" "We may be sunk," the captain broke in.
"We might, sir, but it is very unlikely, especially if we run in more to the shore; but you see, if we are fired at by the frigate, it will never enter the minds of the Spaniards that we are anything but what we seem and, if we like, we can anchor right under their batteries, in the middle of their craft. It will be dark by the time we get in, and we might take our pick of them."
"That is a splendid idea, Bob!
"This boy is getting too sharp for us, altogether, Joe. He is as full of ideas as a ship's biscuit is of weevils.
"Keep her off, helmsman. That will do."
Again and again the frigate fired, but she was two miles away and, though the shot went skipping over the water near the brig, none of them struck her. The men, unable to understand why they were running the gauntlet of the frigate's fire, looked inquiringly towards the poop.
"It is all right, lads," the captain said. "There is not much fear of the frigate hitting us, and it is worth risking it. The Spaniards on shore will never dream that we are English, and we can bring up in the thick of them."
There was a good deal of laughing and amusement, among the men, as they understood the captain's motive in allowing the brig to be made a target of. As she drew in towards shore the frigate's fire ceased, and her course was changed off shore.
"No nearer," the captain said to the helmsman. "Keep her a little farther off shore.
"There is not much water here, Joe," for a man had been heaving the lead, ever since they had changed their course. "We have not got a fathom under her keel. You see, the frigate did not like to come any closer. She would have cut us off, if there had been deep water right up."
An hour later the brig dropped anchor off Cartagena, at little more than a quarter of a mile from one of the batteries that guarded the entrance to the port, and close to two or three of the craft that had been first chased by the frigate. These, as they were going on in the morning, had not entered the harbour with their consorts; for it was already getting dusk.
"Not much fear of their coming to ask any questions, this evening," Joe Lockett said. "The Spaniards are not given to troubling themselves unnecessarily and, as we are outside the port, we are no one's business in particular."
At this moment a hail came from the vessel anchored ahead of them. Bob went to the bulwark. The brig had swung head to wind, and was broadside on with the other craft.
"You have not suffered from the fire of that accursed ship, I hope?" the captain of the barque shouted.
"No, senor; not a shot struck us."
"You were fortunate. We were hulled twice, and had a man killed by a splinter.
"This is a rough welcome home to us. We have just returned from Lima, and have heard nothing about the war till we anchored off Alicante, yesterday. We heard some firing as we came through the Straits; but thought it was only one of the ships, or forts, practising at a mark. It was lucky we put in at Alicante; or we should have had no suspicion, and should have let that frigate sail up alongside of us, without trying to escape."
"You were fortunate, indeed," Bob shouted back "We had, ourselves, a narrow escape of being captured by a ship of war, near Malaga. The Alonzo is only from Cadiz, with grain and olive oil."
"Do you think there is any fear of that rascally Englishman trying to cut us out with his boats, tonight?"
"Not the slightest," Bob replied, confidently. "They would never venture on that. Those batteries on shore would blow them out of the water, and they would know very well they would not have a shadow of chance of taking us out for, even if they captured us, the batteries would send us to the bottom, in no time. Oh, no! you are perfectly safe from the frigate, here."
The Spanish captain raised his hat. Bob did the same, and both left the side of their ships.
"Well, what does he say, Bob?" the captain asked.
"I think you are in luck this time, captain, and no mistake."
"How is that, Bob?"
"She is from Lima."
"You don't say so!" the captain and Joe exclaimed, simultaneously. "Then she is something like a prize. She has got hides, no doubt; but the chances are she has a lot of lead, too, and maybe some silver.
"Ah! He is getting one of his boats in the water. I hope he is not coming off here.
"If he does, Joe, Bob must meet him at the gangway, and take him into the cabin. As he comes in, you and I will catch him by the throat, gag, and bind him; and then Bob must go and tell the men to return to their ship, that the captain is going to spend the evening with us, and that we will take him back in our boat."
"That would be the best thing that could happen," Joe said, "for in that way we could get alongside, without suspicion."
"So we could, Joe. I didn't think of that. Yes, I hope he is coming, now."
They saw, however, the boat row to a large polacre lying next to the Spaniard, on the other side. It remained there two or three minutes, and then rowed away towards the mouth of the harbour.
"Going to spend the evening on shore," the captain observed. "I am not surprised at that. It is likely enough they have been six months on their voyage from Lima. It is unlucky, though; I wish he had come here.
"Well, Bob, as you have got the best head among us, what scheme do you suggest for our getting on board that craft?"
"I think we could carry out Joe's idea, though in a different way," Bob said. "I should say we had better get a boat out; and put, say, twenty men on board. It is getting dark, but they might all lie down in the bottom, except six oarsmen. Then we should pull in towards the mouth of the harbour, just as they have done, and lay up somewhere under the rocks for a couple of hours; then row off again, and make for the barque. Of course, they would think it was the captain returning.
"Then ten of the men should spring on board, and they ought to be able to silence any men on deck before they could give the alarm. Directly the ten men got out, the boat would row across to the polacre; as there is no doubt her captain went ashore with the other. They would take her in the same way."
"You ought to be made Lord High Admiral of the Fleet, Bob! That will succeed, if anything will; only we must be sure to put off again before the Spaniards do.
"Well, Joe, you had better take charge of this expedition. You see, however quietly it is done, there is almost sure to be some shouting; and they will take the alarm at the batteries and, when they make out three of us suddenly getting up sail, they will be pretty certain that something is wrong, and will open fire on us. That, of course, we must risk; but the thing to be really afraid of is their gunboats. They are sure to have a couple of them in the port. They may be some little time in getting out, but they will come out."
The wind has died away, now, but the land breeze is just springing up; but we shall hardly get off before the gunboats can come to us. They row a lot of oars, you know. You must clap on all sail, on the prizes; and I shall hang behind a bit, and tackle the gunboats. You will see what guns there are on board the prizes; and may, perhaps, be able to lend me a hand; but that you will see. Of course you will take Bob with you, to answer the hails from the two Spaniards.
"Be careful when you bring up ashore. Let the men row very gently, after they once get away, so as not to attract any attention. Let them take cutlasses, but no pistols. If a shot were fired the batteries would be sure, at once, there was some mischief going on. A little shouting won't matter so much; it might be merely a quarrel. Of course, the instant you are on board you will cut the cables, and get up sail.
"You will remain on board the barque, Joe. Bob will have command of the party that attack the polacre. You had better take the jolly boat, and pick out twenty active fellows. Tell them to leave their shoes behind them; the less trampling and noise there is, the better. Tell them not to use their cutlasses, unless driven to it. There are not likely to be above four or five men on deck. They ought to be able to knock them down, and bind them, almost before they know what has happened."
In a few minutes the boat was lowered, and manned, and rowed away for the shore. As soon as they got well past the ships, the men were ordered to row as quietly and noiselessly as possible. Joe had brought with him six strips of canvas; and handed these to the men, and told them to wrap them round the oars, so as to muffle them in the rowlocks.
This was done, and the boat glided along silently. Keeping in the middle of the channel, they passed through the passage between the shore and the rocky island that protects the harbour; and then, sweeping round, stole up behind the latter and lay to, close to the rocks.
"So far, so good," Joe said, in a low voice. "I don't think the sharpest eyes could have seen us. Now the question is, how long to wait here. The longer we wait, the more of the Spaniards will have turned into their bunks but, upon the other hand, there is no saying how long the captains will remain on shore.
"There is a heavy dew falling, and that will help to send the sailors below. I should think an hour would be about the right time. The Dons are not likely to be off again, before that. It is some distance up the harbour to the landing place, and they would hardly have taken the trouble to go ashore, unless they meant to stay a couple of hours.
"What time is it now, Bob?"
Bob opened his watch case, and felt the hands.
"It is just a quarter past nine."
"Well, we will move at ten," Joe said.
The three-quarters of an hour passed very slowly, and Bob consulted his watch several times, before the minute hand got to twelve.
"Ten o'clock," he said, at last.
The oars had not been got in, so the boat glided off again, noiselessly, out through the entrance. There were lights burning at the sterns of the two Spanish ships, as a guide to the boat coming off and, when the boat had traversed half the distance, Joe ordered the oars to be unmuffled, and they rowed straight for the barque. There was no hail at their approach, but a man appeared at the top of the ladder.
As the boat came alongside, ten of the men rose noiselessly from the bottom of the boat, and followed the first mate up the ladder. As he reached the top, Joe sprang on the Spanish sailor, and seized him by the throat. The two sailors following thrust a gag into the man's mouth, bound his arms, and laid him down.
This was effected without the slightest noise. The other sailors had, by this time, clambered up from the boat and scattered over the deck. A group of seven or eight Spaniards were seated on the deck, forward; smoking by the light of a lantern, which hung above the fo'castle. They did not notice the approach of the sailors, with their naked feet; and the latter sprang upon them, threw them down, bound, and gagged them, without a sound--save a few short exclamations of surprise being uttered.
Illustration: They found the two Spanish mates playing at cards.
Three or four of the sailors now coiled a rope against the fo'castle door, to prevent its being opened. In the meantime Joe, with two men, entered the cabin aft, where they found the two Spanish mates playing at cards. The sudden apparition of three men, with drawn cutlasses, took them so completely by surprise that they were captured without any attempt at resistance; and were, like the rest, bound and gagged.
"You take the helm, Halkett," Joe said, and then hurried forward.
"Have you got them all?" he asked, as he reached the fo'castle.
"Every man Jack," one of the sailors said.
"Is there nobody on watch in the bows?"
"No, sir, not a man."
"Very well. Now then, to work.
"Cut the cable, Thompson.
"The rest of you, let fall the sails."
As these had only been loosely furled, when the vessel came to anchor, this was done in a very short time; and the vessel began to move through the water before the light breeze, which was dead aft.
The capture of the polacre had not been effected so silently. Bob had allowed the boatswain, who accompanied him, to mount the ladder first; but the man at the top of the gangway had a lantern and, as its light fell upon the sailor's face, he uttered an exclamation of surprise; which called the attention of those on deck and, as the sailors swarmed up the ladder, shouts of alarm were raised. But the Spaniards could not withstand the rush of the English, who beat them to the deck before they had time to seize their arms.
The noise, however, alarmed the watch below; who were just pouring up from the hatchway when they were attacked by the sailors with drawn cutlasses, and were speedily beaten below, and the hatches secured over them. Bob had posted himself, with two of the men, at the cabin door; and as the officers rushed out, on hearing the noise, they were knocked down and secured. As soon as this was effected, Bob looked round over the side.
"Hurrah!" he said, "the barque is under way already. Get the sails on her, lads, and cut the cable."
While this was being done Bob mounted the poop, placed one of the sailors at the helm, and then turned his eyes towards the battery, astern. He heard shouts, and had no doubt that the sound of the scuffle had been heard. Then lights appeared in several of the casements and, just as the sails were sheeted home, and the polacre began to move through the water, a rocket whizzed up from the battery, and burst overhead. By its light Bob saw the Antelope and the Spanish barque, two or three hundred yards ahead; with their crews getting up all sail, rapidly.
A minute later, twelve heavy guns flashed out astern, one after another. They were pointed too high, and the shot flew overhead, one or two passing through the sails. The boatswain's voice was heard, shouting: "Never mind the shot, lads! Look alive! Now then, up with those topgallant sails! The quicker you get them up, the quicker we shall be out of range!"
Another battery, higher up, now opened fire; but the shot did not come near them. Then rocket after rocket was sent up, and the battery astern again fired. One of the shot cut away the main-topsail yard; another struck the deck abreast of the foremast, and then tore through the bulwarks; but the polacre was now making good way. They felt the wind more, as they got farther from the shore; and had decreased their distance from the craft ahead.
The boatswain now joined Bob upon the poop.
"We have got everything set that will draw, now," he said. "She is walking along well. Another ten minutes and we shall be safe, if they don't knock away a spar.
"She is a fast craft, Mr. Repton. She is overhauling the other two, hand over hand."
"We had better bear away a bit, boatswain. The captain said we were to scatter as much as we could, so as to divide their fire."
"All right, sir!" and the boatswain gave the orders to the helmsman, and slightly altered the trim of the sails.
"I suppose we can do nothing with that broken yard, boatswain?"
"No, sir; and it don't matter much, going pretty nearly before the wind, as we are. The sails on the foremast draw all the better, so it don't make much difference.
"Look out, below!" he shouted, as there was a crash above; and the mizzenmast was cut in sunder, by a shot that struck it just above the topsail blocks; and the upper part came toppling down, striking the bulwark and falling overboard.
"Lay aft, lads, and out knives!" the boatswain shouted. "Cut away the wreck!
"It is lucky it wasn't two feet lower," he said to Bob, "or it would have brought the topsail down; and that would have been a serious loss, now the main-topsail is of no use."
He sprang to assist the men, when a round shot struck him, and almost carried off his head. Bob caught at the knife that fell from his hand, and set to work with the men.
"That is it, lads, cut away!" he shouted. "We sha'n't have many more of them on board. We are a good mile away, now."
Just as the work of getting rid of the wreck was accomplished, one of the men said, as a rocket burst overhead: "There are two of their gunboats coming out of the harbour, sir."
"We had better close with the others, then," Bob said. "The brig will engage them, when they come up. We shall be well beyond reach of the batteries, before they do.
"Now, lads, see what guns she carries. Break open the magazine, and get powder and ball up. We must lend the captain a hand, if we can."
The polacre mounted eight guns, all 14 pounders; and in a few minutes these were loaded. The batteries continued to fire; but their shooting was no longer accurate and, in another ten minutes, ceased altogether. The craft had now closed to within hailing distance of the brig. "Hallo, the polacre!" Captain Lockett shouted. "What damages?"
"The boatswain is killed, sir," Bob shouted back, "and we have lost two spars but, in spite of that, I think we are sailing as fast as you."
"What guns have you got?"
"Eight fourteen-pounders, sir. We are loaded and ready."
"Keep a little ahead of me," the captain shouted. "I am going to shorten sail a bit. We have got to fight those gunboats."
As he spoke, a heavy gun boomed out from the bow of one of the gunboats, and the shot went skipping between the two vessels. Directly after, the other gunboat fired, and the shot struck the quarter of the brig. Then there was a creaking of blocks as the sheets were hauled upon and, as the yards swung round, she came up into the wind, and a broadside was fired at the two gunboats. Then the helm was put down, and she payed off before the wind again.
The gunboats ceased rowing, for a minute. The discharge had staggered them, for they had not given the brig credit for carrying such heavy metal.
Then they began to row again. The swivel gun of the brig kept up a steady fire on them. Two of the guns of the polacre had been, by this time, shifted to the stern; and these opened fire, while the first mate's crew on board the barque were also at work. A fortunate shot smashed many of the oars of one of the gunboats and, while she stopped rowing in disorder, the brig was again rounded to and opened a steady fire, with her broadside guns, upon them.
As the gunboats were now little more than a quarter of a mile away, the effect of the brig's fire, aided by that of the two prizes, was very severe and, in a short time, the Spaniards put round and rowed towards the shore; while a hearty cheer broke from the brig, and her prizes.
There had been no more casualties on board the polacre, the fire of the gunboats having been directed entirely upon the brig; as the Spaniards knew that, if they could but destroy or capture her, they would be able to recover the prizes. The polacre was soon brought close alongside of the brig. "Have you suffered much, Captain Lockett?"
"I am sorry to say we have had six men killed, and five wounded. We have got a dozen shot in our stern. They were evidently trying to damage the rudder but, beyond knocking the cabin fittings to pieces, there is no more harm done than the carpenter can repair, in a few hours' work.
"You have not been hit again, have you?"
"No, sir; none of their shots came near."
"Well, examine the papers, and have a talk with the officers you made prisoners, and then come on board to report. I shall want you to go on board the barque with me, and see what she is laden with."
Bob went below. The two Spanish mates were unbound.
"I am sorry, senors," Bob said, "that we were obliged to treat you rather roughly; but you see, we were in a hurry, and there was no time for explanations. I shall be obliged if you will show me which is the captain's cabin, and hand me over the ship's papers and manifesto. What is her name?"
"The Braganza."
"Where are you from? And what do you carry?"
"We are from Cadiz, and are laden principally with wine. We were bound for Barcelona.
"You took us in nicely, senor. Who could have dreamt that you were English, when that frigate chased you under the guns of the battery?"
"She thought we were Spanish, as you did," Bob said.
By this time the other Spaniard had brought the papers out of the captain's cabin. Bob ran his eye down over the bill of lading, and was well satisfied with the result. She contained a very large consignment of wine.
"I am going on board the brig," he said, as he put the papers together. "I must ask you to give me your parole not to leave the cabin, until I return. I do not know whether my captain wishes you to remain here, or will transfer you to his own craft."
"Well, Master Bob, what is your prize?" the captain asked.
"It is a valuable one, sir. The polacre herself is, as I see by her papers, only two years old, and seems a fine craft. She is laden with wine, from Cadiz, to Barcelona."
"Capital, Bob; we are in luck, indeed! How many prisoners have you got?"
"The crew is put down at eighteen, sir; and there are the two mates."
"You had better send them on board here, presently. Where are they now?"
"They are in the cabin, captain. They gave me their promise not to leave it, till I return; but I put a man on sentry, outside, so as to make sure of them."
"Well, perhaps you had better go back again now; and we will shape our course for Gibraltar, at once. All this firing would have attracted the attention of any Spanish war vessel there might be about. We must leave the barque's manifesto till the morning.
"As you have lost the boatswain, I will send one of my best hands back with you, to act as your first mate. He must get that topsail yard of yours repaired, at once. It does not matter about the mizzenmast, but the yard is of importance. We may meet with Spanish cruisers, outside the Rock, and may have to show our heels."
"Yes, I shall be glad of a good man, captain. You see, I know nothing about it, and don't like giving any orders. It was all very well getting on board, and knocking down the crew; but when it comes to sailing her, it is perfectly ridiculous my giving orders, when the men know that I don't know anything about it."
"The men know you have plenty of pluck, Bob; and they know that it was entirely due to your swimming off to that Spanish ship that we escaped being captured, before; and they will obey you willingly, as far as you can give them orders. Still, of course, you do want somebody with you, to give orders as to the setting and taking in of the sails."
As soon as the last gun had been fired, the three vessels had been laid head to wind but, when Bob's boat reached the side of the polacre, they were again put on their course and headed southwest, keeping within a short distance of each other.
Bob's new first mate, an old sailor named Brown, at once set the crew to work to get up a fresh spar, in place of the broken yard. The men all worked with a will. They were in high spirits at the captures they had made; and the news which Brown gave them, that the polacre was laden with wine, assured to each of them a substantial sum in prize money.
Before morning the yard was in its place and the sail set and, except for the shortened mizzen, and a ragged hole through the bulwark, forward, the polacre showed no signs of the engagement of the evening before. Two or three men were slung over the stern of the brig; plugs had been driven through the shot holes and, over these, patches of canvas were nailed, and painted black.
Nothing, however, could be done with the sails, which were completely riddled with holes. The crew were set to work to shift some of the worst; cutting them away from the yards, and getting up spare sails from below. Bob had put a man on the lookout, to give him notice if any signal was made to him from the brig; which was a quarter of a mile ahead of him, the polacre's topgallant sails having been lowered after the main-topsail had been hoisted, as it was found that, with all sail set, she sailed considerably faster than the brig. Presently the man came aft, and reported that the captain was waving his hat from the taffrail.
"We had better get up the main-topgallant sail, Brown, and run up to her," Bob said.
The sail was soon hoisted and, in a quarter of an hour, they were alongside the brig. "That craft sails like a witch," Captain Lockett said, as they came abreast of him.
"Yes, sir, she seems very fast."
"It is a pity she is rigged as she is," the captain said. "It is an outlandish fashion. If she were barque rigged, I should be tempted to shift on board her.
"We will leave the barque alone, at present, Mr. Repton. Our curiosity must keep a bit. I don't want to lose any of this breeze. We will keep right on, as long as it lasts. If it drops, we will overhaul her."
The barque was the slowest craft of the three, and Joe Lockett had every stitch of canvas set, to enable him to keep up with the others. At noon, a large craft was seen, coming off from the land. Bob examined her with the telescope, and then handed the glass to Brown.
"She is a frigate," the sailor said. "It's the same that blazed away at us, yesterday. It's the Brilliant, I think."
"You are sure she is the same that chased us, yesterday?"
"Quite sure."
Captain Lockett was evidently of the same opinion, as no change was made in the course he was steering.
"We may as well speak the captain again," Bob said, and the polacre closed again with the brig. "Brown says that is the same frigate that fired at us, yesterday, Captain Lockett," Bob said, when they were within hailing distance.
"Yes, there is no doubt about that. I don't want to lose time, or I would stand out and try our speed with her."
"Why, sir?"
"Because I am afraid she will want to take some of our hands. Those frigates are always short of hands. Still, she may not, as we have got twelve men already away in a prize, and ten in each of these craft."
"I don't think you need be uneasy, sir. I know the captain of the Brilliant, and all the officers. If you like, I will keep the polacre on that side, so that they will come up to us first; and will go on board, and speak to the captain. I don't think, then, he would interfere with us."
"Very well, Mr. Repton; we will arrange it so."
The polacre had now taken its place to leeward of the other two vessels, and they held on in that order until the frigate was within half a mile; when she fired a gun across their bows, as signal for them to heave to. The brig was now flying the British colours; her prizes the British colours, with the Spanish underneath them. At the order to heave to, they were all thrown up into the wind.
The frigate reduced her sail as she came up and, as she neared the polacre, the order was shouted: "Send a boat alongside!"
The boat was already prepared for lowering. Four seamen got into her, and rowed Bob alongside the frigate. The first person he encountered, as he stepped on to the deck, was Jim Sankey; who stared at him in astonishment.
"Hullo, Bob! What in the world are you doing here?"
"I am in command of that polacre, Mr. Sankey," Bob replied.
"Eh--what?" Jim stammered, in astonishment; when the captain's voice from the quarterdeck came sharply down: "Now, Mr. Sankey, what are you waiting for? Bring that gentleman here."
Jim led the way up to the poop.
Bob saluted.
"Good morning, Captain Langton."
"Why, it's Repton!" the captain exclaimed, in surprise. "Why, where do you spring from, and what craft are these?"
"I am in command, at present, sir, of the polacre; which, with the barque, is a prize of the brig the Antelope, privateer."
"But what are you doing on board, Repton? And how is it that you are in command?"
"Well, sir, I was out on a cruise in the Antelope. The second mate was sent, with a prize crew, back to Gibraltar, in a craft we picked up off Malaga. We cut out the other two prizes from under the guns of Cartagena. The first mate was in command of the party that captured the barque and, as there was no one else to send, the captain put me in command of the party that captured the polacre."
"But how on earth did you manage it?" the captain asked. "I see the brig has been cut up a good deal, about the sails and rigging. You don't mean to say that she sailed right into Cartagena? Why, they would have blown her out of the water!"
"We didn't go in, sir. We anchored outside the port. We were not suspected, because one of His Majesty's frigates fired at us, as we were going in; and the consequence was the Dons never suspected that we were anything but a Spanish trader."
"Why, you don't mean to say," the captain exclaimed, "that this was the brig, flying Spanish colours, which we chased in under the guns of Cartagena, yesterday?"
"It is, sir," Bob said, smiling. "You did us a very good turn, although your intentions were not friendly. We were under Spanish colours, when you made us out; and it struck us that running the gauntlet of your fire, for a little while, would be an excellent introduction for us to the Spaniards.
"So it proved. We brought up close to those other two vessels, and I had a talk with the captain of one of them. The two captains both went ashore, after dark; so we put twenty men into a boat, and rowed in to the mouth of the port; waited there for a bit, and then rowed straight out to the ships. They thought, of course, it was their own officers returning; so we took them by surprise, and captured them pretty easily.
"Unfortunately there was some noise made, and they took the alarm on shore. However, we were under way before the batteries opened. It was rather unpleasant, for a bit, but we got safely out. Two gunboats came out after us; but the brig beat them off, and we helped as well as we could. The brig had five men killed, we had one, and there are several wounded."
"Well, it was a very dashing affair," the captain said; "very creditable, indeed. I hope you will get a share of the prize money."
"I only count as a hand," Bob said, laughing; "and I am sure that is as much as I deserve.
"But here comes the captain, sir. He will tell you more about it."
Captain Lockett now came on board; and Bob, seeing that he was not farther required, went off with Jim down to the cockpit. The captain had a long talk with Captain Lockett. When the latter had related, in full, the circumstances of his capture of his two prizes, he said: "There is a Spanish ship of war, sir, somewhere off Alicante, at present. She is got up as a merchantman, and took us in thoroughly; and we should probably have been caught, if it had not been for Mr. Repton," and he then related how Bob had swum on board, and discovered the supposed merchantman to be a ship of war.
"Thank you, Captain Lockett. I will go in and have a look after her. It is fortunate that you told me for, if I had seen her lying at anchor, under the land, I might have sent some boats in to cut her out; and might, as you nearly did, have caught a tartar.
"He is an uncommonly sharp young fellow, that Repton. I offered him a midshipman's berth here, when I first came out, but he refused it. By what you say, he must be a good officer lost to the service."
"He would have made a good officer, sir; he has his wits about him so thoroughly. It was his doing, our keeping the Spanish flag flying when you came upon us. I had ordered the colours to be run down, when he suggested our keeping them up, and running boldly in to Cartagena."
"I suppose you can't spare us a few hands, Captain Lockett?"
"Well, sir, I shall be very short, as it is. You see, I have a score away in a prize, I have had six killed, and some of the wounded won't be fit for work, for some time; and I mean to take these two prizes back with me, to England. They are both valuable, and I should not get anything like a fair price for them, at Gibraltar. I don't want to run the risk of their being picked up by privateers, on the way back, so I shall convoy them; and I certainly sha'n't have a man too many to fight my guns, when I have put crews on board them."
"No, I suppose not," the captain said. "Well, I must do without them, then.
"Now, as I suppose you want to be on your way, I will not detain you any longer."
Bob was sent for.
"Captain Lockett has been telling me that you were the means of preventing his getting into a nasty scrape, with that Spanish man-of-war, Mr. Repton. I consider there is great credit due to you. It is a pity you didn't come on to my quarterdeck."
"I should not have got the chances then, sir," Bob said.
"Well, no, I don't know that you would, lad; there is something in that.
"Well, goodbye. I shall write and tell the admiral all about it. I know he will be glad to hear of your doings."
A few minutes later, the privateer and her prizes were on their way towards Gibraltar; while the frigate was standing inshore again, to search for the Spanish ship of war.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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12
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: A Rich Prize.
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In the evening the wind died away, and the three vessels were becalmed. Captain Lockett rowed to the polacre, and examined his prize; and then, taking Bob in his boat, rowed to the barque.
"Well, Joe, have you made out what you have got on board?" the captain said, when he reached the deck.
"No, sir. Neither of the officers can speak a word of English. I have opened the hatches, and she is chock-full of hides; but what there is, underneath, I don't know."
"Come along, Bob, we will overhaul the papers," the captain said and, going to the cabin, they examined the bill of lading.
"Here it is, sir," Bob said, triumphantly. "Two hundred tons of lead."
"Splendid!" the captain exclaimed. "That is a prize worth having. Of course, that is stowed away at the bottom; and then she is filled up with hides, and they are worth a lot of money--but the lead, alone, is worth six thousand pounds, at twenty pounds per ton.
"Is there anything else, Bob?"
"Yes, sir. There are fifty boxes. It doesn't say what is in them."
"You don't say so, Bob! Perhaps it is silver. Let us ask the officers."
The Spanish first mate was called down.
"Where are these boxes?" Bob asked, "and what do they contain?"
"They are full of silver," the man said, sullenly. "They are stowed in the lazaretto, under this cabin."
"We will have one of them up, and look into it," the captain said.
"Joe, call a couple of hands down."
The trapdoor of the lazaretto was lifted. Joe and the two sailors descended the ladder and, with some difficulty, one of the boxes was hoisted up.
"That weighs over two hundredweight, I'm sure," Joe said.
Illustration: They find Boxes of Silver in the Lazaretto.
The box was broken open, and it was found to be filled with small bars of silver.
"Are they all the same size, Joe?" the captain asked.
"Yes, as far as I can see."
The captain took out his pocketbook, and made a rapid calculation.
"Then they are worth between thirty-two and thirty-three thousand pounds, Joe.
"Why, lad, she is worth forty thousand pounds, without the hides or the hull. That is something like a capture," and the two men shook hands, warmly.
"The best thing to do, Joe, will be to divide these boxes between the three ships; then, even if one of them gets picked up by the Spaniards or French, we shall still be in clover."
"I think that would be a good plan," Joe agreed.
"We will do it at once. There is nothing like making matters safe. Just get into the boat alongside, and row to the brig; and tell them to lower the jolly boat and send it alongside. We will get some of the boxes up, by the time you are back."
In an hour the silver was divided between the three ships; and the delight of the sailors was great, when they heard how valuable had been the capture.
"How do you divide?" Bob asked Captain Lockett, as they were watching the boxes lowered into the boat.
"The ship takes half," he said. "Of the other half I take twelve shares, Joe eight, the second mate six, the boatswain three, and the fifty hands one share each. So you may say there are eighty shares and, if the half of the prize is worth twenty thousand pounds, each man's share will be two hundred and fifty.
"It will be worth having, Bob; though it is a great shame you should not rate as an officer."
"I don't want the money," Bob laughed. "I should have no use for it, if I had it. My uncle has taken me in hand, and I am provided for."
"Yes, I understand that," the captain said. "If it were not so, I should have proposed to the crew that they should agree to your sharing the same as the second officer. I am sure they would have agreed, willingly; seeing that it is due to you that we were not captured, ourselves, in the first place; and entirely to your suggestion, that we should keep the Spanish flag flying and run into Cartagena, that we owe the capture of the prizes."
"Oh, I would much rather not, captain. I only came for a cruise, and it has been a splendid one; and it seems to be quite absurd that I should be getting anything at all. Still, it will be jolly, because I shall be able to make Carrie and Gerald nice presents, with my own money; and to send some home to Mr. Medlin and his family, and something to uncle, too, if I can think of anything he would like."
"Yes, it is all very well, Bob, for you; but I feel that it is not fair. However, as you really don't want the money, and are well satisfied, we will say nothing more about it, now."
The ships lay becalmed all night, but a brisk breeze from the east sprang up in the morning and, at noon, the Rock was visible in the distance. They held on for four hours; and then lay to, till after midnight. After that sail was again made and, soon after daybreak, they passed Europa Point, without having been seen by any of the Spanish cruisers. They were greeted by a hearty cheer from the vessels anchored near the new Mole, as they brought up amongst them with the British flags flying, above the Spanish, on board the prizes.
As soon as the morning gun was fired, and the gates opened, Bob landed and hurried up to his sister's. She and her husband were just partaking of their early coffee.
"Hallo, Bob!" Captain O'Halloran exclaimed. "What, back again? Why, I didn't expect you for another fortnight. You must have managed very badly, to have brought your cruise to an end, so soon."
"Well, I am very glad you are back, Bob," his sister said. "I have been fidgetting about you, ever since you were away."
"I am as glad to see you as your sister can be," Gerald put in. "If she has fidgetted, when you had only gone a week; you can imagine what I should have to bear, before the end of a month. I should have had to move into barracks. Life would have been insupportable, here."
"I am sure I have said very little about it, Gerald," his wife said, indignantly.
"No, Carrie, you have not said much, but your aspect has been generally tragic. You have taken but slight interest in your fowls, and there has been a marked deterioration in the meals. My remarks have been frequently unanswered; and you have got into a Sister Anne sort of way of going upon the roof, and staring out to sea.
"Your sister is a most estimable woman, Bob--I am the last person who would deny it--but I must admit that she has been a little trying, during the last week."
Carrie laughed.
"Well, it is only paying you back a little, in your own coin, Gerald.
"But what has brought you back so soon, Bob? We heard of you, three days ago; for Gerald went on board a brig that was brought in, as he heard that it was a prize of the Antelope's; and the officer told him about your cruise, up to when he had left you."
"Well, there wasn't much to tell, up till then," Bob said, "except that I was well, and my appetite was good. But there has been a good lot, since. We have come in with two more good prizes, this morning, and the brig is going to convoy them back to England."
"Oh, that is all right," Carrie said in a tone of pleasure.
So far, she had been afraid that Bob's return was only a temporary one; and that he might be setting out again, in a day or two.
"Well, let us hear all about it, Bob," her husband said. "I could see Carrie was on thorns, lest you were going off again. Now that she is satisfied, she may be able to listen to you, comfortably."
"Well, we really had some adventures, Gerald. We had a narrow escape from being captured by a Spanish ship of war, ever so much stronger than we were. She was got up as a merchantman, and regularly took us in. We anchored close to her, intending to board her in the dark. I thought I would swim off and reconnoitre a bit, before we attacked her; and, of course, I saw at once what she was, and we cut our cable, and were towed out in the dark. She fired away at us, but didn't do us any damage.
"The next day, late in the afternoon, we came upon the Brilliant chasing some Spanish craft into Cartagena and, as we had Spanish colours up, she took us for one of them, and blazed away at us."
"But why didn't you pull down the Spanish colours, at once, Bob? I never heard of anything so silly," Carrie said, indignantly.
"Well, you see, Carrie, they were some distance off, and weren't likely to damage us much; and we ran straight in, and anchored with the rest under the guns of the battery, outside Cartagena. Seeing us fired at, of course, they never suspected we were English. Then, at night, we captured the two vessels lying next to us, and put out to sea. The batteries blazed away at us, and it was not very pleasant till we got outside their range. They did not do us very much damage. Two gunboats came out after us, but the brig beat them back, and we helped."
"Who were we?" Captain O'Halloran asked.
"We were the prizes, of course. I was in command of one."
"Hooray, Bob!" Gerald exclaimed, with a great laugh, while Carrie uttered an exclamation of horror.
"Well, you see, the second mate had been sent off in the first prize, and there was only Joe Lockett and me; so he took the biggest of the two ships we cut out, and the captain put me in command of the men that took the other. I had the boatswain with me and, of course, he was the man who really commanded, in getting up the sails and all that sort of thing. He was killed by a shot from the battery, and was the only man hit on our vessel; but there were five killed, on board the brig, in the fight with the gunboats.
"We fell in with the Brilliant, on the way back, and I went on board; and you should have seen how Jim Sankey opened his eyes, when I said that I was in command of the prize. They are awfully good prizes, too, I can tell you. The one I got is laden with wine; and the big one was a barque from Lima, with hides, and two hundred tons of lead, and fifty boxes of silver--about thirty-three thousand pounds' worth.
"Just think of that! The captain said she was worth, altogether, at least forty thousand pounds. That is something like a prize, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is.
"What do you think, Carrie? I propose that I sell my commission, raise as much as I can on the old place in Ireland, and fit out a privateer. Bob will, of course, be captain; you shall be first mate; and I will be content with second mate's berth; and we will sail the salt ocean, and pick up our forty-thousand-pound prizes."
"Oh, what nonsense you do talk, to be sure, Gerald! Just when Bob's news is so interesting, too."
"I have told all my news, Carrie. Now I want to hear yours. The Spaniards haven't began to batter down the Rock, yet?"
"We have been very quiet, Bob. On the 11th a great convoy, of about sixty sail--protected by five xebecs, of from twenty to thirty guns each--came along. They must have come out from Malaga, the very night you passed there. They were taking supplies, for the use of the Spanish fleet; and the privateers captured three or four small craft; and the Panther, the Enterprise, and the Childers were kept at their anchor, all day. Why, no one but the admiral could say. We were all very much disappointed, for everyone expected to see pretty nearly all the Spanish vessels brought in."
"Yes," Captain O'Halloran said, "it has caused a deal of talk, I can tell you. The navy were furious. There they were, sixty vessels, all laden with the very things we wanted; pretty well becalmed, not more than a mile off Europa Point, with our batteries banging away at them; and nothing in the world to hinder the Panther, and the frigates, from fetching them all in. Half the town were out on the hill, and every soul who could get off duty at the Point; and there was the admiral, wasting the whole mortal day in trying to make up his mind. If you had heard the bad language that was used in relation to that old gentleman, it would have made your hair stand on end.
"Of course, just as it got dark the ships of war started; and equally, of course, the convoy all got away in the dark, except six bits of prizes, which were brought in in the morning. We have heard, since, that it was on purpose to protect this valuable fleet that the Spanish squadron arrived, before you went away; but as it didn't turn up, the squadron went off again, and we had nothing to do but just to pick it up."
After breakfast, Captain O'Halloran went off with Bob to the Antelope. He found all hands busy, bending on sails in place of those that had been damaged, taking those of the brig first captured for the purpose.
"They fit very well," Joe Lockett said, "and we have not time to lose. We sail again, this afternoon. The captain says there is nothing to prevent our going out, now; and as the Spanish squadron may be back any day, we might have to run the gauntlet to get out, if we lost the present chance. So he is not going to waste an hour.
"Crofts has already sold the grain, and discharged it. The hull is worth but little; and the captain has sold her, as she stands, to a trader for two hundred pounds. I expect he has bought her to break up for firewood, if the siege goes on. If it doesn't, he will sell her again, afterwards, at a good profit. Of course, it is a ridiculous price; but the captain wanted to get her off his hands, and would have taken a ten pound note, rather than be bothered with her.
"So by tonight we shall be across at Ceuta and, if the wind holds east but another day, we shall be through the Straits on our way home.
"They are going to shift two of our 18 pounders on board the barque, and I am going to command her, and to have fifteen men on board. Crofts commands the poleacre, with ten men. The rest, of course, go in the brig. We shall keep together, and steer well out west into the Atlantic, so as to give as wide a berth as possible to Spaniards and Frenchmen. If we meet with a privateer, we ought to be able to give a good account of him; if we run across a frigate, we shall scatter; and it will be hard luck if we don't manage to get two out of the three craft into port.
"We have been shifting some more of the silver again, this morning, from the barque into the other two vessels; otherwise, as she has the lead on board, she would be the most valuable prize. As it is now, the three are of about equal value."
"Well, we wish you a pleasant voyage," Captain O'Halloran said. "I suppose we shall see you back here again, before long."
"Yes, I should think so; but I don't know what the captain means to do. We have had no time to talk, this morning. I daresay you will meet him, on shore; he has gone to the post office, to get his papers signed. We have been quite pestered, this morning, by men coming on board to buy wine out of the polacre; but the captain wouldn't have the hatches taken off. The Spaniards may turn up, at any moment; and it is of the greatest importance our getting off, while the coast is clear. It is most unfortunate, now, that we did not run straight in, yesterday; instead of laying to, to wait for night."
They did not meet the captain in the town and, from the roof, Bob saw the three vessels get up sail, early in the afternoon, and make across for the African coast.
The doctor came in, in the evening.
"Well, Bob, so I hear you have been fighting, and commanding ships, and doing all sorts of things. I saw Captain Lockett in the town and, faith, if you had been a dozen admirals, rolled into one, he couldn't have spoken more highly of you.
"It seems, Mrs. O'Halloran, that Bob has been the special angel who has looked after poor Jack, on board the Antelope."
"What ridiculous nonsense, doctor!" Bob exclaimed, hotly.
"Not at all, Bob; it is too modest you are, entirely. It is yourself is the boy who has done the business, this time; and it is a silver tay service, or some such trifle as that, that the owners will be sending you, and small blame to them. Captain Lockett tells me he owns a third of the ship; and he reckons the ship's share of what they have taken, this little cruise, won't be less than five-and-twenty thousand.
"Think of that, Mrs. O'Halloran, five-and-twenty thousand pounds! And here is Edward Burke, M.D., working his sowl out, for a miserable eight or ten shillings a day."
"But what has Bob done?"
"I hadn't time to learn it all, Mrs. O'Halloran, for the captain was in a hurry. It seems to me that the question ought to be, what is it that he hasn't done?
"It all came in a heap, together, and I am not sure of the exact particulars; but it seems to me that he swam out and cut the cable of a Spanish sloop of war, and took the end in his mouth and towed her out to sea, while the guns were blazing in all directions at him. Never was such an affair!
"Then he humbugged the captain of an English frigate, and the commander of the Spanish forts, and stole a vessel chock full of silver; and did I don't know what, besides."
Bob went off into a shout of laughter, in which the others joined.
"But what is the meaning of all this nonsense, Teddy?" Carrie asked, as soon as she recovered her composure. "Is there anything in it, or is it all pure invention?"
"Is there anything in it? Haven't I been telling you that there is twenty-five thousand pounds in it, to the owners, and as much more to the crew; and didn't the captain vow and declare that, if it hadn't been for Bob, instead of going home to divide all this treasure up between them, every man Jack of them would be, at this moment, chained by the leg in a dirty Spanish prison, at Malaga!"
"Well, what does it all mean, Bob? There is no getting any sense out of Dr. Burke."
"It is exactly what I told you, Carrie. We anchored close to a craft that we thought was a merchantman, and that we meant to attack in our boats. I swam on board her in the dark--to see if they were keeping a good watch, and that sort of thing--and when I got on board, I found she was a ship of war, with a lot of heavy guns, and prepared to take us by surprise when we attacked her; so of course, when I swam back again with the news, Captain Lockett cut his cable and towed the brig out in the dark.
"As to the other affair that the doctor is talking about, I told you that, too; and it is exactly as I said it was. The only thing I had to do with it was that it happened to be my idea to keep the Spanish colours flying, and let the frigate keep on firing at us. The idea turned out well; but of course, if I had not thought of it somebody else would, so there was nothing in it, at all."
"Well, Bob, you may say what you like," Doctor Burke said, "but it is quite evident that the captain thought there was a good deal in it.
"And I think really, Gerald, that you and Mrs. O'Halloran have good reason to feel quite proud of him. I am not joking at all, when I say that Captain Lockett really spoke as if he considered that the good fortune they had had is very largely due to him. He said he hoped he should have Bob on board for another cruise."
"I certainly shall not go any more with him," Bob said, indignantly, "if he talks such nonsense about me, afterwards. As if there was anything in swimming two or three hundred yards, on a dark night; or in suggesting the keeping a flag up, instead of pulling it down."
When the Brilliant, however, came in two days later, Captain Langton called upon Mrs. O'Halloran; and told her that he did so in order to acquaint her with the extremely favourable report Captain Lockett had made, to him, of Bob's conduct; and that, from what he had said, it was evident that the lad had shown great courage in undertaking the swim to the Spanish vessel, and much promptness and ready wit in suggesting the device that had deceived him, as well as the Spaniards.
Captain Langton told the story, that evening, at General Eliott's dinner table; and said that although it was certainly a good joke, against himself, that he should have thus assisted a privateer to carry off two valuable prizes that had slipped through the frigate's hands, the story was too good not to be told. Thus, Bob's exploit became generally known among the officers of the garrison; and Captain O'Halloran was warmly congratulated upon the sharpness, and pluck, of his young brother-in-law.
Captain Lockett's decision, to be off without any delay, was fully justified by the appearance of a Spanish squadron in the bay, three days after his departure. It consisted of two seventy-fours, two frigates, five xebecs, and a number of galleys and small armed vessels. The men-of-war anchored off Algeciras; while the rest of the squadron kept a vigilant patrol at the mouth of the bay, and formed a complete blockade.
Towards the end of the month, the troops were delighted by the issue of an order that the use of powder for the hair was, henceforth, to be abandoned.
Vessels were now continually arriving from Algeciras, with troops and stores; and on the 26th the Spaniards began to form a camp, on the plain below San Roque, three miles from the garrison. This increased in size, daily, as fresh regiments arrived by land.
Orders were now issued that all horses in the garrison, except those whose owners had a store of at least one thousand pounds of grain, were either to be shot or turned out through the gates.
There was much excitement when two Dutch vessels, laden with rice and dried fruit, made their way in at night through the enemy's cruisers. Their cargoes were purchased for the troops; and these vessels, and a Venetian that had also got through, carried off with them a large number of Jewish, Genoese, and other traders, with their families, to ports in Barbary or Portugal. Indeed, from this time every vessel that went out carried away some of the inhabitants.
The position of these poor people was indeed serious. The standing order on the Rock was that every inhabitant, even in time of peace, should have in store six months' provisions; but the order had never been enforced, and few of them had any supplies of consequence. As they could not expect to be supplied from the garrison stores, the greater number had no resource but to leave the place. Some, however, who were better provided, obtained leave to erect wooden huts at the southern end of the Rock, so as to have a place of shelter to remove to, in case the enemy bombarded the town.
The Spaniards had, by this time, mounted their cannon in forts St. Philip and St. Barbara. Vast quantities of stores were landed at Point Mala, at the end of the bay. Some fifteen thousand men were under canvas, in their camp; and strong parties were constantly employed in erecting works near their forts. The garrison on their side were continually strengthening and adding to their batteries, erecting palisades and traverses, filling the magazines in the works, and preparing for an attack; and on the 11th of September some of the guns were opened upon the enemy's working parties and, for a time, compelled them to desist.
From the upper batteries on the Rock, a complete view was obtainable of all the enemy's operations and, as they were seen to be raising mortar batteries, preparations were made to diminish the effects of a bombardment of the town. For this purpose the pavement of the streets was removed, and the ground ploughed up; the towers and most conspicuous buildings taken down; and traverses carried across the streets, to permit communications to be carried on.
Early in October the Engineers and Artillery managed, with immense labour, to mount a gun on the summit of the Rock; and as, from this point, an almost bird's-eye view was obtained of the Spanish works, the fire of the gun annoyed them greatly at their work. This was maintained, however, steadily but, in spite of this interference with their operations, the Spaniards on the 20th of October opened thirty-five embrasures, in three batteries, in a line between their two forts.
Provisions of every kind were now becoming very dear. Fresh meat was from three to four shillings a pound, chickens twelve shillings a couple, ducks from fourteen to eighteen. Fish was equally dear; and vegetables hardly to be bought, at any price. Flour was running very short, and rice was served out instead of it.
On the 14th of November the privateer Buck, armed with twenty-four 9 pounders, was seen making into the bay. Two Spanish ships of the line, a frigate, two xebecs, and twenty-one small craft set out to intercept her. The cutter--seeing a whole Spanish squadron coming out--tacked and stood across towards the Barbary shore, pursued by the Spaniards. The wind was from the west; but the cutter, lying close hauled, was able just to stem the current, and hold her position; while the Spaniards, being square rigged and so unable to stand near the wind, drifted bodily away to leeward with the current; but the two men-of-war, perceiving what was happening, managed to make back into the bay.
As soon as the privateer saw the rest of the squadron drift away to leeward, she again headed for the Rock. The Spanish admiral, Barcelo, in a seventy-four gun ship, endeavoured to cut her off--firing two broadsides of grape and round shot at her--but, with the other man-of-war, was compelled to retire by the batteries at Europa; and the cutter made her way in triumphantly, insultingly returning the Spanish admiral's fire with her two little stern guns. The Spanish men-of-war drifted away after their small craft; and thus for the time the port was open again, thanks to the pluck of the little privateer--which had, it was found on her arrival, been some time at sea, and simply came in to get provisions.
As it could be seen, from the African coast, that the port was again open, two or three small craft came across, with bullocks and sheep. Four days later--the wind veering round to the southward--Admiral Barcelo, with his fleet, returned to the bay; and the blockade was renewed.
Already, Captain O'Halloran and his wife had the most ample reasons for congratulating themselves that they had taken Dr. Burke's advice, in the matter of vegetables and fowls. The little garden on the roof was the envy of all Carrie's female friends--many of whom, indeed, began imitations of it, on a small scale. Under the hot sun, and with careful watering, everything made astonishing progress. The cutting of the mustard and cress had, of course, begun in little more than a week from the time when the garden had been completed, and the seeds sown. The radishes were fit for pulling three weeks later and, as constant successions were sown, they had been amply supplied with an abundance of salad and, each morning, a trader in town came up and took all that they could spare--at prices that would, before the siege began, have appeared fabulous.
Along the edge of the parapet, and trailing over almost to the ground--covering the house in a bower of rich green foliage--the melons, cucumbers, and pumpkins blossomed and fruited luxuriantly and, for these, prices were obtained as high as those that the fruit would fetch, in Covent Garden, when out of season. But as melons, cucumbers, and pumpkins alike produce great quantities of seed, by the end of the year they were being grown, on a considerable scale, by all who possessed any facilities for cultivating them.
Later on, indeed, the governor--hearing, from the principal medical officer, how successful Captain O'Halloran had been--issued an order recommending all inhabitants to grow vegetables, and granting them every facility for so doing. All who chose to do so were allowed to fence in any little patches of earth they could discover, among the rocks or on unused ground; and it was not long before the poorer inhabitants spent much of their time in collecting earth, and establishing little garden plots, or in doing so for persons who could afford to pay for their labour.
The poultry venture was equally satisfactory. Already a considerable piece of rough and rocky ground, next to the garden, had been enclosed; thereby affording a much larger run for the fowls, and enabling a considerable portion of the garden to be devoted to the young broods. The damaged biscuits had been sold at a few shillings a ton and, at this price, Captain O'Halloran had bought the whole of the condemned lot--amounting to about ten tons--and there was, consequently, an ample supply of food for them, for an almost indefinite time. After supplying the house amply, there were at least a hundred eggs, a day, to sell; and Carrie, who now took immense interest in the poultry yard, calculated that they could dispose of ten couple a week, and still keep up their number from the young broods.
"The only thing you have to be afraid of is disease, Mrs. O'Halloran," said the doctor, who was her greatest adviser; "but there is little risk of that. Besides, you have only to hire one or two lads, of ten or twelve years old; and then you can put them out, when you like, from the farther inclosure, and let them wander about."
"But people don't generally watch fowls," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "Surely they would come back, at night, to roost."
"I have no doubt they would. When chickens are well fed, they can be trusted to find their way home at night. But you must remember that they are worth from twelve to fourteen shillings a couple, and what with the natives, and what with soldiers off duty, you would find that a good many would not turn up at all, unless they were watched. A couple of boys, at sixpence a day each, would keep them from straying too far, and prevent their being stolen, and would relieve you of a lot of anxiety about them."
So, after this, the fowls were turned out on to the Rock; where they wandered about, narrowly watched by two native boys, and were able to gather no small store of sustenance from the insects they found among the rocks, or on the low shrubs that grew among them.
Bob had, after his return from his cruise, fallen into his former habits; spending two hours every morning with Don Diaz, and reading for an hour or two in the evening with the doctor. It was now cool enough for exercise and enjoyment, in the day; and there were few afternoons when he did not climb up to the top of the Rock, and watch the Spanish soldiers labouring at their batteries, and wondering when they were going to begin to do something.
Occasionally they obtained news of what was passing in the enemy's lines, and the Spaniards were equally well informed of what was going on in the fortress, for desertions from both sides were not infrequent. Sometimes a soldier with the working parties, out in the neutral ground, would steal away and make for the Spanish lines; pursued by a musketry fire from his comrades, and saluted, perhaps, with a round or two of shot from the batteries above. But more frequently they made their escape from the back of the Rock, letting themselves down by ropes; although at least half the number who made the attempt were dashed to pieces among the precipices.
The majority of the deserters belonged to the Hanoverian regiments, but a good many British soldiers also deserted. In all cases these were reckless men who, having been punished for some offence or other, preferred risking death to remaining in the garrison. Some were caught in the attempt; while several, by getting into places where they could neither descend further nor return, were compelled at last, by hunger and thirst, to shout for assistance--preferring death by hanging to the slower agony of thirst.
The deserters from the Spanish lines principally belonged to the Walloon regiments in the Spanish service, or to regiments from Biscaya and other northern provinces. The troops were raised on the principle of our own militia, and objected strongly to service outside their own provinces; and it was this discontent that gave rise to their desertions to us. Some of them made their way at night, from the works where they were employed, through the lines of sentries. Others took to the water, either beyond Fort Barbara or at the head of the bay, and reached our lines by swimming.
Bob heartily congratulated himself, when he heard of the fate of some of the deserters who tried to make their way down at the back of the Rock, that he and Jim Sankey had not carried out their scheme of descending there, in search of birds. By this time he had come to know most of the young officers of the garrison and, although the time passed without any marked events, he had plenty of occupation and amusement. Sometimes they would get up fishing parties and, although they could not venture very far from the Rock, on account of the enemy's galleys and rowboats, they had a good deal of sport; and fish were welcome additions to the food, which consisted principally of salt rations--for Bob very soon tired of a diet of chicken.
There were some very heavy rains, in the last week of the year. These, they learned from deserters, greatly damaged the enemy's lines--filling their trenches, and washing down their banks. One advantage was that a great quantity of wood, cork, and other floating rubbish was washed down, by the rain, into the two rivers that fell into the bay and, as the wind was from the south, this was all blown over towards the Rock; where it was collected by boats, affording a most welcome supply of fuel, which had been, for some time, extremely scarce.
On the 8th of January a Neapolitan polacre was driven in under the guns, by the wind from the other side of the bay, and was obliged to drop anchor. Six thousand bushels of barley were found on board her, which was of inestimable value to the inhabitants, who were now suffering extremely; as were also the wives and children of the soldiers, whose rations--scanty for one--were wholly insufficient for the wants of a family. Fowls had now risen to eighteen shillings a couple, eggs were six pence each, and small cabbages fetched eighteen pence.
On the 12th the enemy fired ten shots into the town from Fort Saint Philip; causing a panic among the inhabitants, who at once began to remove to their huts at the other end of the Rock. A woman was wounded by a splinter of stone from one of the houses, being the first casualty that had taken place through the siege. The next day the admiral gave orders to the men-of-war that they should be in readiness, in case a convoy appeared, to afford protection to any ships that might attempt to come in. This order caused great joy among the garrison and inhabitants, as it seemed to signify that the governor had received information, in some manner, that a convoy was on its way out to relieve the town.
Two days later a brig, that was seen passing through the Straits to the east, suddenly changed her course and made for the Rock and, although the enemy tried to cut her off, she succeeded in getting into port. The welcome news soon spread that the brig was one of a large convoy that had sailed, late in December, for the relief of the town. She had parted company with the others in the Bay of Biscay and, on her way, had seen a Spanish squadron off Cadiz, which was supposed to be watching for the convoy. This caused much anxiety; but on the 16th a brig laden with flour arrived, with the news that Sir George Rodney had captured, off the coast of Portugal, six Spanish frigates, with seventeen merchantmen on their way from Bilbao to Cadiz; and that he had with him a fleet of twenty-one sail of the line, and a large convoy of merchantmen and transports.
The next day one of the prizes came in, and the midshipman in charge of her reported that, when he had left the convoy on the previous day, a battle was going on between the British fleet and the Spanish squadron. Late in the evening the convoy was in sight; and the Apollo, frigate, and one or two merchantmen got in, after dark, with the news that the Spaniards had been completely defeated--their admiral's flagship, with three others, captured; one blown up in the engagement, another driven ashore, and the rest dispersed.
The preparations for relieving the town had been so well concealed that the Spaniards had believed that the British men-of-war were destined for the West Indies, and had thought that the merchantmen would have fallen easy prizes to their squadron, which consisted of eleven men-of-war.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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13
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: Oranges And Lemons.
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There was great anxiety in Gibraltar that night, for the wind was very light and from the wrong direction and, in the morning, it was seen that the greater portion of the convoy had drifted far away to the east. Soon after noon, however, the Edgar managed to get in with the Spanish admiral's flagship--the Phoenix, of eighty guns--and in the evening the Prince George, with eleven or twelve ships, worked in round Europa Point; but Admiral Rodney, with the main body of the fleet and the prizes, was forced to anchor off Marbella--a Spanish town--fifteen leagues east of Gibraltar. It was not until seven or eight days later that the whole of the fleet and convoy arrived in the port.
On the 29th a transport came in with the 2nd battalion of the 73rd Regiment, with 944 rank and file. A large number of heavy cannon, from the prizes, were landed; and several hundreds of barrels of powder, in addition to those brought out with the convoy. Great stores of salt provisions and supplies of flour had been brought out but, unfortunately, little could be done towards providing the garrison with a supply of fresh meat. Had Admiral Rodney been able to remain with his fleet at Gibraltar, supplies could have been brought across from the African coast; but the British fleet was required elsewhere, and the relief afforded was a temporary one. The garrison was, however, relieved by a large number of the soldiers' wives and children being put on board the merchantmen, and sent home to England. Many of the poor inhabitants were also taken, either to Barbary or Portugal.
While the fleet was in port, the Spanish blockading squadron was moored close under the guns of Algeciras; and booms were laid round them, to prevent their being attacked by the boats of the British fleet. An opportunity was taken, of the presence of the Spanish admiral in Gibraltar, to arrange for an exchange of prisoners; and on the 13th of February the fleet sailed away, and the blockade was renewed by the Spaniards.
After the departure of the fleet, many months passed monotonously. The enemy were ever increasing and strengthening their works, which now mounted a great number of cannon; but beyond an occasional interchange of a few shots, hostilities were carried on languidly. The enemy made two endeavours to burn the British vessels, anchored under the guns of the batteries, by sending fire ships down upon them; but the crews of the ships of war manned the boats and, going out to meet them, towed them ashore; where they burned out without doing damage, and the hulls, being broken up, afforded a welcome supply of fuel.
The want of fresh meat and vegetables operated disastrously upon the garrison. Even before the arrival of the relieving fleet, scurvy had shown itself; and its ravages continued, and extended, as months went on. The hospitals became crowded with sufferers--a third of the force being unfit for any duty--while there were few but were more or less affected by it.
As soon as it became severe, Captain O'Halloran and his wife decided to sell no more vegetables; but sent the whole of their supply, beyond what was needed for their personal consumption, to the hospitals.
During these eight months, only a few small craft had managed to elude the vigilance of the enemy's cruisers and, frequently, for many weeks at a time, no news of any kind from without reached the besieged. The small supplies of fresh meat that had, during the early part of the siege, been brought across in small craft from Barbary, had for some time ceased altogether; for the Moors of Tangiers had, under pressure of the Spaniards, broken off their alliance with us and joined them and, in consequence, not only did supplies cease to arrive, but English vessels entering the Straits were no longer able to anchor, as they had before done, under the guns of the Moorish batteries for protection from the Spanish cruisers.
Several times there were discussions between Bob, his sister, and Captain O'Halloran as to whether it would not be better for him to take the first opportunity that offered of returning to England. Their argument was that he was wasting his time, but to this he would not at all agree.
"I am no more wasting it, here, than if I were in Philpot Lane," he said. "It will be plenty of time for me to begin to learn the routine of the business, when I am two or three and twenty. Uncle calculated I should be four years abroad, learning the languages and studying wines. Well, I can study wines at any time; besides, after all, it is the agents out here that choose them. I can speak Spanish, now, like a native, and there is nothing further to be done in that way; I have given up lessons now with the doctor, but I get plenty of books from the garrison library, and keep up my reading. As for society, we have twenty times as much here, with the officers and their families, as I should have in London; and I really don't see there would be any advantage, whatever, in my going back.
"Something must be done here, some day. And after all, the siege does not make much difference, in any way, except that we don't get fresh meat for dinner. Everything goes on just the same only, I suppose, in peace time we should make excursions, sometimes, into Spain. The only difference I can make out is that I am able to be more useful to you, now, with the garden and poultry, than I could have been if there had been no siege."
There was indeed no lack of society. The O'Hallorans' was perhaps the most popular house on the Rock. They were making quite a large income from their poultry, and spent it freely. Presents of eggs, chicken, and vegetables were constantly being sent to all their friends, where there was any sickness in the family; and as, even at the high prices prevailing, they were able to purchase supplies of wine, and such other luxuries as were obtainable, they kept almost open house and, twice a week, had regular gatherings with music; and the suppers were vastly more appreciated, by their guests, than is usually the case at such entertainments.
Early in September, when scurvy was still raging, the doctor was, one day, lamenting the impossibility of obtaining oranges and lemons.
"It makes one's heart ache," he said, "to see the children suffer. It is bad enough that strong men should be scarcely able to crawl about; but soldiers must take their chances, whether they come from shot or from scurvy; but it is lamentable to see the children fading away. We have tried everything--acids and drugs of all sorts--but nothing does any good. As I told you, I saw the scurvy on the whaling trip I went, and I am convinced that nothing but lemon juice, or an absolutely unlimited amount of vegetables, will do any good."
A week previously, a small privateer had come in with some mailbags, which she had brought on from Lisbon. Among them was a letter to Bob from the owners of the Antelope. It had been written months before, after the arrival of the brig and her two prizes in England. It said that the two vessels and their cargoes had been sold, and the prize-money divided; and that his share amounted to three hundred and thirty-two pounds, for which sum an order upon a firm of merchants at Gibraltar was inclosed. The writers also said that, after consultation with Captain Lockett, from whom they had heard of the valuable services he had rendered, the owners of the Antelope had decided--as a very small mark of their appreciation, and gratitude--to present him with a service of plate, to the value of five hundred pounds, and in such form as he might prefer on his return to England.
He had said nothing to his sister of this letter, as his intention was to surprise her with some present. But the doctor's words now determined him to carry into effect an idea that had before occurred to him, upon seeing so many sickly children among the families of the officers of their acquaintance.
"Look here, doctor," he said, "I mean to go out and try and get a few boxes of oranges and lemons; but mind, nobody but you and I must know anything about it."
"How on earth do you mean to do it, Bob?"
"Well, I have not settled, yet; but there can't be any difficulty about getting out. I might go down to the Old Mole, and swim from there to the head of the bay; or I might get some of the fishermen to go round the point, and land me to the east, well beyond the Spanish lines."
"You couldn't do that, Bob; there is too sharp a lookout kept on the batteries. No craft is allowed to go any distance from the Rock, as they are afraid of the Spaniards learning the state to which we are reduced, by illness. If you did swim to the head of the bay, as you talk about, you would be certain to be captured at once, by the Spaniards; and in that case you would, as likely as not, be shot as a spy."
"Still, deserters do get out, you know, doctor. There is scarcely a week that two or three don't manage to get away. I mean to try, anyhow. If you like to help me, of course it will make it easier; if not, I shall try by myself."
"Gerald and your sister would never forgive me, if anything happened to you, Bob."
"There is no occasion for them to know anything about it. Anyhow, I shall say nothing to them. I shall leave a note behind me, saying that I am going to make an attempt to get out, and bring back a boat full of oranges and lemons. I am past seventeen, now; and am old enough to act for myself. I don't think, if the thing is managed properly, there is any particular risk about it. I will think it over, by tomorrow, and tell you what plan I have fixed on."
On the following day, Bob told the doctor that there were two plans.
"The first is to be lowered by a rope, down at the back of the Rock. That is ever so much the simplest. Of course, there is no difficulty about it if the rope is long enough. Some of the deserters have failed because the rope has been too short, but I should take care to get one long enough. The only fear is the sentries; I know that there are lots of them posted about there, on purpose to prevent desertion."
"Quite so, Bob; and no one is allowed to go along the paths after dark, except on duty."
"Yes.
"Well, the other plan is to go out with the party that furnishes the sentries, down on the neutral ground; choose some dark night, manage to get separated from them, as they march out, and then make for the shore and take to the water. Of course, if one could arrange to have the officer with the party in the secret, it would make it easy enough."
"It might be done, that way," the doctor said, thoughtfully. "Have you quite made up your mind to do this thing, Bob?"
"I have quite made up my mind to try, anyhow."
"Well, if you mean to try, Bob, it is just as well that you shouldn't get shot, at the start. I have just been round to the orderly room. Our regiment furnishes the pickets on the neutral ground, tonight. Captain Antrobus commands the party. He is a good fellow and, as he is a married man, and all four of his children are bad with scurvy, he would feel an interest in your attempt.
"You know him as well as I do. If you like, I will go with you to his quarters, and see what we can do with him."
They at once set out.
"Look here, Antrobus," the doctor said, after asking that officer to come out for a chat with him, "if we don't get some lemon juice, I am afraid it will go very hard with a lot of the children."
"Yes, we have known that for some time, doctor."
"Well, Repton here has made up his mind to try to get out of the place, and make his way to Malaga, and get a boatload of fruit and try to bring it in. Of course he will go dressed as a native, and he speaks Spanish well enough to pass anywhere, without suspicion. So, once beyond the lines, I don't see much difficulty in his making his way to Malaga. Whether he will get back again is another matter, altogether. That is his business. He has plenty of money to purchase the fruit, when he arrives there; and to buy a boat, and all that sort of thing.
"The difficulty is in getting out. Now, nobody is going to know how he does this, except our three selves."
"But why do you come to me, Burke?"
"Because you command the guard, tonight, on the neutral ground. What he proposes is that he should put on a soldier's greatcoat and cap, and take a firelock and, in the dark, fall in with your party. When you get well out on the neutral ground, he could either slip away and take his chance or, what would be better still, he might be in the party you take forward to post as sentries, and you could take him along with you, so that he would go with you as far as the shore; and could then slip away, come back a bit, so as to be out of sight of the farthest sentry, and then take to the water.
"He can swim like a fish, and what current there is will be with him; so that, before it began to be light, he could land two or three miles beyond the Spanish lines. He is going to leave a note behind, for O'Halloran, saying he has left; but no one will know whether he got down at the back of the Rock, or swam across the bay, or how he has gone.
"I have tried to dissuade him; but he has made up his mind to try it and, seeing that--if he succeeds--it may save the lives of scores of children, I really cannot refuse to help him."
"Well, I don't know," Captain Antrobus said. "There certainly does not seem much risk in his going out, as you say. I should get a tremendous wigging, no doubt, if he is discovered, and it was known that I had a hand in it; but I would not mind risking that, for the sake of the children.
"But don't take a firelock, Repton. The sergeants would be sure to notice that there was an extra man. You had better join us, just as we set out. I will say a word or two to you, then do you follow on, in the dark. The men will suppose you are one of the drummers I am taking with me, to serve as a messenger, or something of that sort. That way you can follow close behind me, while I am posting the sentries after leaving the main body at the guardhouse. After posting the last man at the seashore, I can turn off with you for a few yards, as if giving you an order.
"Then I will go back and stay for a time with the last sentry, who will naturally think that the drummer has been sent back to the guardhouse. I will recommend him to be vigilant, and keep by him for some time, till I am pretty sure you have taken to the water and swam past; so that if the sentry should hear a splash, or anything, I can say it can only be a fish; and that, at any rate, it would not do to give an alarm, as it cannot be anything of consequence.
"You see, you don't belong to the garrison, and it is no question of assisting a deserter to escape. Anyhow, I will do it."
Thanking Captain Antrobus greatly, for his promise of assistance, Bob went off into the town; where he bought a suit of Spanish clothes, such as would be appropriate for a small farmer or trader. He then presented his letter of credit at the merchant's, and drew a hundred pounds, which he obtained in Spanish gold. This money and the clothes he put in an oilskin bag, of which the mouth was securely closed. This he left at the doctor's.
As soon as it became dark he went down again. The doctor had a greatcoat and hat in readiness for him--there being plenty of effects of men who had died in the hospital--and as soon as Bob had put them on, walked across--with Bob following him--to the spot where Captain Antrobus' company were falling in. Just as they were about to march, the doctor went up to the captain; who after a word or two with him said to Bob, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the noncommissioned officer, close to him: "Well, you will keep by me."
The night was a dark one, and the party made their way down to the gate, where the passwords were exchanged; and the company then moved along by the narrow pathway between the artificial inundation and the foot of the Rock. They continued their way until they arrived at the building that served as the main guard of the outlying pickets. Here two-thirds of the company were left; and the captain led the others out, an officer belonging to the regiment whose men he was relieving accompanying him. As the sentries were posted the men relieved fell in, under the orders of their officer and, as soon as the last had been relieved, they marched back to the guardhouse.
A minute later, Captain Antrobus turned to Bob.
"You need not wait," he said. "Go back to the guardhouse. Mind how you go."
Bob saluted and turned off, leaving the officer standing by the sentry. He went some distance back, then walked down the sand to the water's edge, and waded noiselessly into the water. The oilskin bag was, he knew, buoyant enough to give him ample support in the water.
When he was breast deep, he let his uniform cloak slip off his shoulders; allowed his shoes to sink to the bottom, and his three-cornered hat to float away. The doctor had advised him to do this.
"If you leave the things at the edge of the water, Bob, it will be thought that somebody has deserted; and then there will be a lot of questions, and inquiries. You had better take them well out into the sea with you, and then let them go. They will sink, and drift along under water and, if they are ever thrown up, it will be far beyond our lines. In that way, as the whole of the guard will answer to their names, when the roll is called tomorrow, no one will ever give a thought to the drummer who fell in at the last moment; or, if one of them does think of it, he will suppose that the captain sent him into the town, with a report."
The bag would have been a great encumbrance, had Bob wanted to swim fast. As it was, he simply placed his hands upon it, and struck out with his feet, making straight out from the shore. This he did for some ten minutes; and then, being certain that he was far beyond the sight of anyone on shore, he turned and, as nearly as he could, followed the line of the coast. The voices of the sentries calling to each other came across the sea, and he could make out a light or two in the great fort at the water's edge.
It was easy work. The water was, as nearly as possible, the temperature of his body; and he felt that he could remain for any time in it, without inconvenience. The lights in the fort served as a mark by which he could note his progress; and an hour after starting he was well abreast of them, and knew that the current must be helping him more than he had expected it would do.
Another hour, and he began to swim shorewards; as the current might, for aught he knew, be drifting him somewhat out into the bay. When he was able to make out the dark line ahead of him, he again resumed his former course. It was just eight o'clock when the guard had passed through the gate. He had started half an hour later. He swam what seemed to him a very long time, but he had no means of telling how the time passed.
When he thought it must be somewhere about twelve o'clock, he made for the shore. He was sure that, by this time, he must be at least three miles beyond the fort; and as the Spanish camps lay principally near San Roque, at the head of the bay, and there were no tents anywhere by the seashore, he felt sure that he could land, now, without the slightest danger.
Here, then, he waded ashore, stripped, tied his clothes in a bundle, waded a short distance back again, and dropped them in the sea. Then he returned, took up the bag, and carried it up the sandy beach. Opening it, he dressed himself in the complete set of clothes he had brought with him, put on the Spanish shoes and round turned-up hat, placed his money in his pocket; scraped a shallow hole in the sand, put the bag in it and covered it, and then started walking briskly along on the flat ground beyond the sand hills He kept on until he saw the first faint light in the sky; then he sat down among some bushes, until it was light enough for him to distinguish the features of the country.
Inland, the ground rose rapidly into hills--in many places covered with wood--and half an hour's walking took him to one of these. Looking back, he could see the Rock rising, as he judged, from twelve to fourteen miles away. He soon found a place with some thick undergrowth and, entering this, lay down and was soon sound asleep.
When he woke it was already late in the afternoon. He had brought with him, in the bag, some biscuits and hardboiled eggs; and of a portion of these he made a hearty meal. Then he pushed up over the hill until, after an hour's walking, he saw a road before him. This was all he wanted, and he sat down and waited until it became dark. A battalion of infantry passed along as he sat there, marching towards Gibraltar. Two or three long lines of laden carts passed by, in the same direction.
He had consulted a map before starting, and knew that the distance to Malaga was more than twenty leagues; and that the first place of any importance was Estepona, about eight leagues from Gibraltar, and that before the siege a large proportion of the supplies of fruit and vegetables were brought to Gibraltar from this town. Starting as soon as it became dark, he passed through Estepona at about ten o'clock; looked in at a wine shop, and sat down to a pint of wine and some bread; and then continued his journey until, taking it quietly, he was in sight of Marbella.
He slept in a grove of trees until daylight, and then entered the town, which was charmingly situated among orange groves. Going into a fonda--or tavern--he called for breakfast. When he had eaten this, he leisurely strolled down to the port and, taking his seat on a block of stone, on the pier, watched the boats. As, while walking down from the fonda, he had passed several shops with oranges and lemons, it seemed to him that it would in some respects be better for him to get the fruit here, instead of going on to Malaga.
In the first place, the distance to return was but half that from Malaga; and in the second it would probably be easier to get out, from a quiet little port like this, than from a large town like Malaga. The question which puzzled him was how was he to get his oranges on board. Where could he reasonably be going to take them?
Presently, a sailor came up and began to chat with him.
"Are you wanting a boat, senor?"
"I have not made up my mind, yet," he said. "I suppose you are busy here, now?"
"No, the times are dull. Usually we do a good deal of trade with Gibraltar but, at present, that is all stopped. It is hard on us but, when we turn out the English hereticos, I hope we shall have better times than ever. But who can say? They have plenty of money, the English; and are ready to pay good prices for everything."
"But I suppose you take things to our camp?"
The fisherman shook his head.
"They get their supplies direct from Malaga, by sea. There are many carts go through here, of course; but the roads are heavy, and it is cheaper to send things by water. If our camp had been on the seashore, instead of at San Roque, we might have taken fish and fruit to them; but it is a long way across and, of course, in small boats we cannot go round the great Rock, and run the risk of being shot at or taken prisoners.
"No; there is nothing for us to do here, now, but to carry what fish and fruit we do not want at Marbella across to Malaga; and we get poor prices, there, to what we used to get at Gibraltar; and no chance of turning an honest penny by smuggling away a few pounds of tobacco, as we come back. There was as much profit, in that, as there was in the sale of the goods; but one had to be very sharp, for they were always suspicious of boats coming back from there, and used to search us so that you would think one could not bring so much as a cigar on shore. But you know, there are ways of managing things.
"Are you thinking of going across to Malaga, senor?"
"Well, I have a little business there. I want to see how the new wines are selling; and whether it will be better for me to sell mine, now, or to keep them in my cellars for a few months. I am in no hurry. Tomorrow is as good as today. If there had been a boat going across, I might have taken a passage that way, instead of riding."
"I don't know, senor. There was a man asking, an hour ago, if anyone was going. He was wanting to take a few boxes of fruit across, but he did not care about hiring my boat for himself. That, you see, was reasonable enough; but if the senor wished to go, too, it might be managed if you took the boat between you. I would carry you cheaply, if you would be willing to wait for an hour or two; so that I could go round to the other fishermen, and get a few dozen fish from one and a few dozen from another, to sell for them over there. That is the way we manage."
"I could not very well go until the afternoon," Bob said.
"If you do not go until the afternoon, senor, it would be as well not to start until evening. The wind is very light, and we should have to row. If you start in the afternoon, we should get to Malaga at two or three o'clock in the morning, when everyone was asleep; but if you were to start in the evening, we should be in in reasonable time, just as the people were coming into the markets. That would suit us for the sale of our fish, and the man with his fruit. The nights are warm and, with a cloak and an old sail to keep off the night dew, the voyage would be more pleasant than in the heat of the day."
"That would do for me, very well," Bob said. "Nothing could be better. What charge would you make, for taking me across and bringing me back, tomorrow?"
"At what time would you want to return, senor?"
"It would matter little. I should be done with my business by noon, but I should be in no hurry. I could wait until evening, if that would suit you better."
"And we might bring other passengers back, and any cargo we might pick up?"
"Yes, so that you do not fill the boat so full that there would be no room for me to stretch my legs."
"Would the senor think four dollars too much? There will be my brother and myself, and it will be a long row."
"It is dear," Bob said, decidedly; "but I will give you three dollars and, if everything passes to my satisfaction, maybe I will make up the other dollar."
"Agreed, senor. I will see if I can find the man who was here, asking for a boat for his fruit."
"I will come back in an hour, and see," Bob said, getting up and walking leisurely away.
The fisherman was waiting for him.
"I can't find the man, senor, though I have searched all through the town. He must have gone off to his farm again."
"That is bad. How much did you reckon upon making from him?"
"I should have got another three dollars from him."
"Well, I tell you what," Bob said; "I have a good many friends, and people are always pleased with a present from the country. A box of fruit from Marbella is always welcome, for their flavour is considered excellent. It is well to throw a little fish, to catch a big one; and a present is like oil on the wheels of business. How many boxes of fruit will your boat carry? I suppose you could take twenty, and still have room to row?"
"Thirty, sir; that is the boat," and he pointed to one moored against the quay.
She was about twenty feet long, with a mast carrying a good-sized sail.
"Very well, then. I will hire the boat for myself. I will give you six dollars, and another dollar for drink money, if all goes pleasantly. You must be ready to come back, tomorrow evening; or the first thing next morning, if it should suit you to stay till then. You can carry what fish you can get to Malaga, and may take in a return cargo if you can get one. That will be extra profit for yourselves. But you and your brother must agree to carry down the boxes of fruit, and put them on board here. I am not going to pay porters for that.
"At what time will you start?"
"Shall we say six o'clock, senor?"
"That will suit me very well. You can come up with me, now, and bring the fruit down, and put it on board; or I will be down here at five o'clock, and you can go up and get it, then."
The man thought for a moment.
"I would rather do it now, senor, if it makes no difference to you. Then we can have our evening meals at home with our families, and come straight down here, and start."
"Very well; fetch your brother, and we will set about the matter at once; as I have to go out to my farm and make some arrangements, and tell them they may not see me again for three days."
In two or three minutes the fisherman came back, with his brother. Bob went with them to a trader in fruit, and bought twenty boxes of lemons and ten of oranges, and saw them carried down and put on board. Then he handed a dollar to the boatman.
"Get a loaf of white bread, and a nice piece of cooked meat, and a couple of bottles of good wine, and put them on board. We shall be hungry, before morning. I will be here at a few minutes before six."
Highly satisfied with the good fortune that had enabled him to get the fruit on board without the slightest difficulty, Bob returned into the town. It was but eleven o'clock now so--having had but a short sleep the night before, and no prospect of sleep the next night--he walked a mile along the road by the sea, then turned off among the sand hills and slept, till four in the afternoon; after which he returned to Marbella, and partook of a hearty meal.
Having finished this he strolled out, and was not long in discovering a shop where arms were sold. Here he bought a brace of long, heavy pistols, and two smaller ones; with powder and bullets, and also a long knife. They were all made into a parcel together and, on leaving the shop, he bought a small bag. Then he went a short distance out of the town again, carefully loaded the four pistols, and placed them and the knife in the bag.
As he went back, the thought struck him that the voyage might probably last longer than they expected and, buying a basket, he stored it with another piece of meat, three loaves, and two more bottles of wine, and gave it to a boy to carry down to the boat.
It was a few minutes before six when he got there. The two sailors were standing by the boat, and a considerable pile of fish in the bow showed that they had been successful in getting a consignment from the other fishermen of the port. They looked surprised at the second supply of provisions.
"Why, senor, we have got the things you ordered."
"Yes, yes, I do not doubt that; but I have heard, before now, of headwinds springing up, and boats not being able to make their passage, and being blown off land; and I am not fond of fasting. I daresay you won't mind eating, tomorrow, anything that is not consumed by the time we reach port."
"We will undertake that, senor," the man said, laughing, highly satisfied at the liberality of their employer.
"Is there wind enough for the sail?" Bob asked, as he stepped into the stern of the boat.
"It is very light, senor, but I daresay it will help us a bit. We shall get out the oars."
"I will take the helm, if you sail," Bob said. "You can tell me which side to push it. It will be an amusement, and keep me awake."
The sun was just setting, as they started. There was scarcely a breath of wind. The light breeze that had been blowing, during the day, had dropped with the sun; and the evening breeze had not yet sprung up. The two fishermen rowed, and the boat went slowly through the water; for the men knew that they had a long row before them, and were by no means inclined to exert themselves--especially as they hoped that, in a short time, they would get wind enough to take them on their way, without the oars.
Bob chatted with them until it became dark. As soon as he was perfectly sure that the boat could not be seen from the land, he quietly opened his bag, and changed the conversation.
"My men," he said, "I wonder that you are content with earning small wages, here, when you could get a lot of money by making a trip, occasionally, round to Gibraltar with fruit. It would be quite easy; for you could keep well out from the coast till it became dark, and then row in close under the Rock; and keep along round the Point, and into the town, without the least risk of being seen by any of our cruisers. You talked about making money by smuggling in tobacco from there, but that is nothing to what you could get by taking fruit into Gibraltar. These oranges cost a dollar and a half, a box; and they would fetch ten dollars a box, easily, there. Indeed, I think they would fetch twenty dollars a box. Why, that would give a profit, on the thirty boxes, of six or seven hundred dollars. Just think of that!"
"Would they give such a price as that?" the men said, in surprise.
"They would. They are suffering from want of fresh meat, and there is illness among them; and oranges and lemons are the things to cure them. It is all very well for men to suffer, but no one wants women and children to do so; and it would be the act of good Christians to relieve them, besides making as much money, in one little short trip, as you would make in a year's work."
"That is true," the men said, "but we might be sunk by the guns, going there; and we should certainly be hung, when we got back, if they found out where we had been."
"Why should they find out?" Bob asked. "You would put out directly it got dark, and row round close under the Rock, and then make out to sea; and in the morning you would be somewhere off Marbella, but eight or ten miles out, with your fishing nets down; and who is to know that you have been to Gibraltar?"
The men were silent. The prospect certainly seemed a tempting one. Bob allowed them to turn it over in their minds for a few minutes, and then spoke again.
"Now, my men, I will speak to you frankly. It is just this business that I am bent upon, now. I have come out from Gibraltar to do a little trade in fruit. It is sad to see women and children suffering; and there is, as I told you, lots of money to be made out of it. Now, I will make you a fair offer. You put the boat's head round, now, and sail for Gibraltar. If the wind helps us a bit, we shall be off the Rock by daylight. When we get there, I will give you a hundred dollars, apiece."
"It is too much risk," one of the men said, after a long pause.
"There is no risk at all," Bob said, firmly. "You will get in there tomorrow, and you can start again, as soon as it becomes dark; and in the morning you will be able to sail into Marbella, and who is to know that you haven't been across to Malaga, as you intended?
"I tell you what, I will give you another fifty dollars for your fish; or you can sell them there, yourselves--they will fetch you quite that."
The men still hesitated, and spoke together in a low voice.
"Look here, men," Bob said, as he took the two heavy pistols from his bag, "I have come out from the Rock to do this, and I am going to do it. The question is, 'Which do you choose--to earn two hundred and fifty dollars for a couple of days' work, or to be shot and thrown overboard?' This boat is going there, whether you go in her or not. I don't want to hurt you--I would rather pay the two hundred and fifty dollars--but that fruit may save the lives of many women, and little children, and I am bound to do it.
"You can make another trip or not, just as you please. Now, I think you will be very foolish, if you don't agree; for you will make three times as much as I offer you, every thirty boxes of fruit that you can take in there; but the boat has got to go there now, and you have got to take your choice whether you go in her, or not."
"How do we know that you will pay us the money, when we get there?" one of the Spaniards asked.
Bob put his hand into his pocket.
"There," he said. "There are twenty gold pieces, that is, a hundred dollars. That is a proof I mean what I say. Put them into your pockets. You shall have the rest, when you get there. But mind, no nonsense; no attempts at treachery. If I see the smallest sign of that, I will shoot you down without hesitation.
"Now, row, and I'll put her head round."
The men said a few words in an undertone to each other.
"You guarantee that no harm shall come to us at Gibraltar, and that we shall be allowed to leave again?"
"Yes, I promise you that, faithfully.
"Now, you have got to row a good bit harder than you have been rowing, up till now. We must be past Fort Santa Barbara before daylight."
The boat's head was round, by this time, and the men began to row steadily. At present, they hardly knew whether they were satisfied, or not. Two hundred and fifty dollars was, to them, an enormous sum; but the risk was great. It was not that they feared that any suspicion would fall upon them, on their return. They had often smuggled tobacco from Gibraltar, and had no high opinion of the acuteness of the authorities. What really alarmed them was the fear of being sunk, either by the Spanish or British guns. However, they saw that, for the present at any rate, they had no option but to obey the orders of a passenger possessed of such powerful arguments as those he held in his hands.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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14
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: A Welcome Cargo.
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After the men had been rowing for an hour, Bob felt a slight breeze springing up from off the land, and said: "You may as well get up the sail. It will help you along a bit."
The sail was a large one, for the size of the boat; and Bob felt a distinct increase in her pace, as soon as the men began to row again. He could make out the line of the hills against the sky; and had, therefore, no difficulty in keeping the course. They were soon back opposite Marbella, the lights of which he could clearly make out. Little by little the breeze gathered strength, and the rowers had comparatively easy work of it, as the boat slipped away lightly before the wind.
"What do you make it--twelve leagues from Marbella to the Rock?"
"About that," the man replied. "If the wind holds like this, we shall not be very far from the Rock by daylight. We are going along about a league an hour."
"Well, stretch out to it, lads, for your own sakes. I have no fear of a shot from Santa Barbara. The only thing I am afraid of is that we should be seen by any Spanish boats that may be cruising round that side, before we get under shelter of the guns of the Rock."
The fishermen needed no warning as to the danger of being caught, and bent again more strongly to their oars. After they had rowed two hours longer, Bob told them to pull the oars in.
"You had better have a quarter of an hour's rest, and some supper and a bottle of wine," he said. "You have got your own basket, forward. I will take mine out of this by my side."
As their passenger had paid for it, the boatmen had got a very superior wine to that they ordinarily drank. After eating their supper--bread, meat, and onions--and drinking half a bottle of wine, each, they were disposed to look at the situation in a more cheerful light. Two hundred and fifty dollars was certainly well worth running a little risk for. Why, it would make them independent of bad weather; and they would be able to freight their boat themselves, with fish or fruit, and to trade on their own account.
They were surprised at the enterprise of this young trader, whom they supposed to be a native of Gibraltar; for Bob thought that it was as well that they should remain in ignorance of his nationality, as they might have felt more strongly that they were rendering assistance to the enemy, did they know that he was English.
Hour after hour passed. The wind did not increase in force nor, on the other hand, did it die away. There was just enough to keep the sail full, and take much of the weight of the boat off the arms of the rowers. The men, knowing the outline of the hills, were able to tell what progress they were making; and told Bob when they were passing Estepona. Two or three times there was a short pause, for the men to have a draught of wine. With that exception, they rowed on steadily.
"It will be a near thing, senor," one of them said, towards morning. "The current counts for three or four miles against us. If it hadn't been for that, we should certainly have done it. As it is, it is doubtful."
"I think we are about a mile off shore, are we not?" Bob asked. "That is about the distance I want to keep. If there are any cruisers, they are sure to be further out than that; and as for Santa Barbara, if they see us and take the trouble to fire at us, there is not much chance of their hitting such a mark as this, a mile away. Besides, almost all their guns are on the land side."
The men made no reply. To them, the thought of being fired at by big guns was much more alarming than that of being picked up by a cruiser of their own nation; although they saw there might be a good deal of difficulty in persuading the authorities that they had taken part, perforce, in the attempt to get fruit into the beleaguered garrison. Daylight was just beginning to break, when one of the fishermen pointed out a dark mass inshore, but somewhat ahead of them.
"That is Santa Barbara," he said.
They had already, for some time, made out the outline of the Rock; and Bob gazed anxiously seaward but could, as yet, see no signs of the enemy's cruisers.
"Row away, lads," he said. "They won't see us for some time and, in another half hour, we shall be safe."
The Spaniards bent to their oars with all their strength, now; from time to time looking anxiously over their shoulders at the fort. Rapidly the daylight stole across the sky, and they were just opposite Santa Barbara when a gun boomed out, and a shot flew over their heads and struck the water, a quarter of a mile beyond them. With a yell of fear, the two Spaniards threw themselves at the bottom of the boat.
"Get up, you fools!" Bob shouted. "You will be no safer, down there, than if you were rowing. If a shot strikes her she will be smashed up, whether you are rowing or lying down. If you stay there, it will be an hour before we get out of range of their guns while, if you row like men, we shall get further and further away every minute, and be safe in a quarter of an hour."
It was only, however, after he threatened to shoot them, if they did not set to work again, that the Spaniards resumed their oars; but when they did they rowed desperately. Another shot from the fort struck the water a short distance astern, exciting a fresh yell of agony from the men.
"There, you see," Bob said; "if you hadn't been sending her faster through the water, that would have hit us.
"Ah! They are beginning from that sloop, out at sea."
This was a small craft that Bob had made out, as the light increased, a mile and a half seaward. She had changed her course, and was heading in their direction.
Retaining his hold of his pistols Bob moved forward, put out a spare oar, and set to to row. Shot after shot came from the fort, and several from the sloop; but a boat, at that distance, presents but a small mark and, although a shot went through the sail, none struck her. Presently a gun boomed out ahead of them, high in the air; and a shot fell near the sloop, which at once hauled her wind, and stood out to sea.
"We have got rid of her," Bob said, "and we are a mile and a half from the fort, now. You can take it easy, men. They won't waste many more shot upon us."
Indeed, only one more gun was fired by the Spaniards; and then the boat pursued her course unmolested, Bob returning to his seat at the helm.
"They will be on the lookout for us, as we go back," one of the Spaniards said.
"They won't see you in the dark," Bob replied. "Besides, as likely as not they will think that you are one of the Rock fishing boats, that has ventured out too far, and failed to get back by daylight."
Once out of reach of the shot from the fort, the sailors laid in their oars--having been rowing for more than ten hours--and the boat glided along quietly, at a distance of a few hundred feet from the foot of the cliff.
"Which are you going to do?" Bob asked them; "take fifty dollars for your fish, or sell them for what you can get for them?"
The fishermen at once said they would take the fifty dollars for, although they had collected all that had been brought in by the other fishermen--amounting to some five hundred pounds in weight--they could not imagine that fish, for which they would not have got more than ten dollars--at the outside--at Malaga, could sell for fifty at Gibraltar.
As they rounded Europa Point there was a hail from above and, looking up, Bob saw Captain O'Halloran and the doctor.
"Hulloa, Bob!"
"Hulloa!" Bob shouted back, and waved his hat.
"All right, Bob?"
"All right. I have got thirty boxes!"
"Hurrah!" the doctor shouted, waving his hat over his head. "We will meet you at the New Mole.
"That is something like a boy, Gerald!"
"It is all very well for you," Captain O'Halloran said. "You are not responsible for him, and you are not married to his sister."
"Put yourself in the way of a cannonball, Gerald, and I will be married to her a week after--if she will have me."
His companion laughed.
"It is all very well, Teddy; but it is just as well, for you, that you did not show your face up at the house during the last three days. It is not Bob who has been blamed. It has been entirely you and me, especially you. The moment she read his letter, she said at once that you were at the bottom of it, and that it never would have entered Bob's mind to do such a mad thing, if you had not put him up to it; and of course, when I came back from seeing you, and said that you admitted that you knew what he was doing, it made the case infinitely worse. It will be a long time before she takes you into favour again."
"About an hour," the doctor said, calmly. "As soon as she finds that Bob has come back again, with the fruit; and that he has as good as saved the lives of scores of women and children; she will be so proud of him that she will greet me as part author of the credit he has gained--though really, as I told you, I had nothing to do with it except that, when I saw that Bob had made up his mind to try, whether I helped him or not, I thought it best to help him, as far as I could, to get away.
"Now, we must get some porters to carry the boxes up to your house, or wherever he wants them sent.
"Ah! Here is the governor. He will be pleased to hear that Bob has got safely back."
Captain O'Halloran had, when he found Bob's letter in his room on the morning after he had left, felt it his duty to go to the town major's office to mention his absence; and it had been reported to the general, who had sent for Gerald to inquire about the circumstances of the lad's leaving. Captain O'Halloran had assured him that he knew nothing, whatever, of his intention; and that it was only when he found the letter on his table, saying that he had made up his mind to get beyond the Spanish lines, somehow, and to bring in a boatload of oranges, for the use of the women and children who were suffering from scurvy, that he knew his brother-in-law had any such idea in his mind.
"It is a very gallant attempt, Captain O'Halloran--although, of course, I should not have permitted it to be made, had I been aware of his intentions."
"Nor should I, sir," Captain O'Halloran said. "My wife is, naturally, very much upset."
"That is natural enough," the governor said. "Still, she has every reason to be proud of her brother. A man could risk his life for no higher object than that for which Mr. Repton has undertaken this expedition.
"How do you suppose he got away?"
"I have no idea, sir. He may have got down by ropes, from the back of the Rock--the way the deserters generally choose."
"Yes; but if he got down without breaking his neck, he would still have to pass our line of sentries, and also through the Spaniards."
"He is a very good swimmer, general; and may have struck out, and landed beyond the Spanish forts. Of course, he may have started from the Old Mole, and swam across to the head of the bay. He is sure to have thought the matter well out. He is very sharp and, if anyone could get through, I should say Bob could. He speaks the language like a native."
"I have heard of him before," the governor said, smiling. "Captain Langton told us of the boy's doings, when he was away in that privateer brig; and how he took in the frigate, and was the means of the brig capturing those two valuable prizes, and how he had swam on board a Spanish sloop of war. He said that no officer could have shown greater pluck, and coolness.
"I sincerely hope that no harm will come to him; but how--even if he succeeds in getting through the Spanish lines--he can manage, single handed, to get back here in a boat, is more than I can see. Well, I sincerely trust that no harm will come to him."
As the governor, with two or three of his staff, now came along, Captain O'Halloran went up to him.
"I am glad to say, sir," he said, "that young Repton has just returned, and that he has brought in thirty cases of fruit."
"I am extremely glad to hear it, Captain O'Halloran," the governor said, warmly. "When it was reported to me, an hour since, that the Spanish fort and one of their cruisers were firing at a small boat, that was making her way in from the east, the thought struck me that it might be your brother-in-law.
"Where is he?"
"He is just coming round to the Mole, sir. Doctor Burke and myself are going to meet him."
"I will go down with you," the governor said. "Those oranges are worth a thousand pounds a box, to the sick."
The party reached the Mole before the boat came in; for after rounding the Point she had been becalmed, and the fishermen had lowered the sail and betaken themselves to their oars again. Bob felt a little uncomfortable when, as the boat rowed up to the landing stairs, he saw General Eliott, with a group of officers, standing at the top. He was relieved when, on ascending the steps, the governor stepped forward and shook him warmly by the hand.
"I ought to begin by scolding you, for breaking out of the fortress without leave; but I am too pleased with the success of your venture, and too much gratified at the spirit that prompted you to undertake it, to say a word. Captain O'Halloran tells me that you have brought in thirty cases of fruit."
"Yes, sir. I have ten cases of oranges, and twenty of lemons. I propose, with your permission, to send half of these up to the hospitals, for the use of the sick there. The others I intend for the use of the women and children of the garrison, and townspeople. Doctor Burke will see for me that they are distributed where they will do most good."
"Well, my lad, I thank you most cordially for your noble gift to the troops; and there is not a man here who will not feel grateful to you, for the relief it will afford to the women and children. I shall be very glad if you will dine with me, today; and you can then tell me how you have managed what I thought, when I first heard of your absence, was a sheer impossibility.
"Captain O'Halloran, I trust that you and Mrs. O'Halloran will also give me the pleasure of your company, at dinner, today."
"If you please, sir," Bob said, "will you give these two boatmen a pass, permitting them to go out after dark, tonight. I promised them that they should not be detained. It is of the greatest importance to them that they should get back before their absence is discovered."
"Certainly," the governor said; and at once ordered one of the officers of the staff to see that the pass was given; and orders issued, to the officers of the batteries, to allow the boat to pass out in the dark, unquestioned.
As soon as the governor walked away, with his staff, Bob was heartily greeted by Captain O'Halloran and the doctor.
"You have given us a fine fright, Bob," the former said, "and your sister has been in a desperate way about you. However, now that you have come back safe, I suppose she will forgive you.
"But what about all those fish? Are they yours? Why, there must be half a ton of them!"
"No; the men say there are five or six hundred pounds.
"Yes, they are mine. I thought of keeping a few for ourselves, and dividing the rest between the ten regiments; and sending them up, with your compliments, to their messes."
"Not with my compliments, Bob; that would be ridiculous. Send them up with your own compliments. It will be a mighty acceptable present. But you had better pick out two or three of the finest fish, and send them up to the governor.
"Now then, let us set to work. Here are plenty of porters but, first of all, we had better get ten men from the officer of the guard here; and send one off, with each of the porters with the fish, to the regiments--or the chances are that these baskets will be a good bit lighter, by the time they arrive there, than when they start. I will go and ask the officer; while you are getting the fish up here, and divided."
In a quarter of an hour the ten porters started, each with about half a hundredweight, and under the charge of a soldier. The doctor took charge of the porters with the fifteen boxes of fruit, for the various hospitals; and then--after Bob had paid the boatmen the two hundred and fifty dollars due to them, and had told them they would get the permit to enable them to sail again, as soon as it became dark--he and Captain O'Halloran started for the house, with the men in charge of the other fifteen boxes, and with one carrying the remaining fish--which weighed about the same as the other parcels.
"How did you and the doctor happen to be at Europa Point, Gerald?" Bob asked, as they went along.
"The doctor said he felt sure that whenever you did come--that is, if you came at all--you would get here somewhere about daylight; and he arranged with the officer in charge of the upper battery to send a man down, with the news, if there was a boat in sight. Directly he heard that the Spaniards were firing at a boat, he came over and called me; and we went round to the back of the Rock. We couldn't be sure that it was you from that height but, as we could make out the boxes, we thought it must be you; and so walked down to the Point, to catch you there."
"Does Carrie know that a boat was in sight?"
"No, I wouldn't say anything to her about it. She had only just dropped off to sleep, when I was called. She woke up, and asked what it was; but I said that I supposed I was wanted on duty, and she went off again before I was dressed. I was glad she did, for she hadn't closed her eyes before, since you started."
Carrie was on the terrace when she saw Bob and Gerald, followed by a procession of porters, coming up the hill. With a cry of joy she ran down into the house, and out to meet them.
"You bad boy!" she cried, as she threw her arms round Bob's neck. "How could you frighten us so? It is very cruel and wicked of you, Bob, and I am not going to forgive you; though I can't help being glad to see you, which is more than you deserve."
"You mustn't scold him, Carrie," her husband said. "Even the governor didn't scold him; and he has thanked him, in the name of the whole garrison, and he has asked him to dine with him; and you and I are to dine there too, Carrie. There is an honour for you! But what is better than honour is that there isn't a woman and child on the Rock who won't be feeling deeply grateful to Bob, before the day is over."
"Has he really got some fruit?"
"Yes. Don't you see the boxes, Carrie?"
"Oh, I saw something coming along, but I didn't see anything clearly but Bob. What are these boxes--oranges?"
"Oranges and lemons--five of oranges and ten of lemons--and there are as many more that have gone up to the hospital, for the use of the men.
"There, let us see them taken into the storeroom. You can open two of them at once, and send Manola off with a big basket; and tell her to give half a dozen of each, with your love, to each of the ladies you know. The doctor will take charge of the rest, and see about their division among all the women on the Rock. It will be quite a business, but he won't mind it."
"What is all this--fish?"
"Well, my dear, you are to take as much as you want; and you are to pick out two or three of the best, and send them to the governor, with your compliments; and the rest you can divide and send out, with the fruit, to your special friends."
"But how has Bob done it?" Carrie asked, quite overwhelmed at the sight of all those welcome stores.
"Ah, that he must tell you, himself. I have no more idea than the man in the moon."
"It has all been quite simple," Bob said. "But see about sending these things off first, Carrie. Doctor Burke will be here, after he has seen the others taken safely to the hospital; and I shall have to tell it all over again, then."
"I am very angry with the doctor," Mrs. O'Halloran said.
"Then the sooner you get over being angry, the better, Carrie. The doctor had nothing whatever to do with my going; but when he saw that I had made up my mind to go, he helped me, and I am extremely obliged to him. Now, you may have an orange for yourself, if you are good."
"That I won't," Carrie said. "Thanks to our eggs and vegetables we are perfectly well and, when there are so many people really in want of the oranges, it would be downright wicked to eat them merely because we like them."
In a short time Manola--with two of the children from downstairs, carrying baskets--started, with the presents of fruit and fish, to all the ladies of Carrie's acquaintance. Soon after she had left, Doctor Burke arrived.
"I was not going to speak to you, Teddy Burke," Mrs. O'Halloran said, shaking her head at him. "I had lost confidence in you; but with Bob back again, and all this fruit for the poor creatures who want it, I will forgive you."
"I am glad you have grace enough for that, Mrs. O'Halloran. It is down on your knees you ought to go, to thank me, if I had my rights. Isn't Bob a hero? And hasn't he received the thanks of the governor? And hasn't he saved scores of lives, this blessed day? And although it is little enough I had to do with it, isn't it the thanks of the whole garrison ought to be given me, for even the little bit of a share I had in it?"
"We have been waiting for you to come, Teddy," Captain O'Halloran said, "to hear Bob's story."
"Well then, you will have to wait a bit longer," the doctor said. "I have sent orderlies from the hospital to all the regiments--including, of course, the Artillery and Engineers--asking them to send me lists of the numbers of the women and children of the noncommissioned officers and privates, and also of officers' wives and families; and to send with the lists, here, two orderlies from each regiment, with baskets. I have been down to the town major, and got a list of the number of women and children in the town. When we get the returns from the regiments, we will reckon up the totals; and see how many there will be, for each. I think that each of the boxes holds about five hundred."
The work of counting out the oranges and lemons for the various regiments, and the townspeople, occupied some time; and it was not until the orderlies had started, with their supplies, that Bob sat down to tell his story.
"Nothing could have been easier," he said, when he finished.
"It was easy enough, as you say, Bob," the doctor said; "but it required a lot of coolness, and presence of mind. Events certainly turned out fortunately for you, but you took advantage of them. That is always the point. Nobody could have done it better, and most people would have done worse. I have been wondering myself a great deal, since you have been gone, what plan you could possibly hit on to get the oranges into a boat; and how, when you had got them in, you would manage to get them here. It seems all easy enough, now you have done it; but that is all the more creditable to you, for hitting on a plan that worked so well."
Similar praise was given to Bob when he had again to tell his story, at the governor's.
"So you managed, you say, to slip out with the reliefs?" the governor said.
"Yes, sir. I had got a military cloak, and hat."
"Still, it is curious that they did not notice an addition to their party. I fancy you must have had a friend there?"
"That, general, is a point that I would rather not say anything about. That is the way that I did go out and, when I took to the water, I let the coat and hat float away for, had they been found, it might have been supposed that somebody had deserted."
"I wish you could have brought in a shipload, instead of a boatload, of fruit, Mr. Repton. They will be of immense benefit to the sick but, unfortunately, there is scarcely a person on the Rock that is not more or less affected and, if your thirty boxes were multiplied by a hundred, it would be none too much for our needs."
The oranges and lemons did, however, for a time have a marked effect in checking the progress of the scurvy--especially among the children, who came in for a larger share than that which fell to the sick soldiers--but in another month the condition of those in hospital, and indeed of many who still managed to do duty, was again pitiable.
On the 11th of October, however, some of the boats of the fleet went out, during a fog, and boarded a Danish craft from Malaga--laden with oranges and lemons--and brought her in. The cargo was at once bought by the governor, and distributed.
The beneficial effects were immediate. Cases which had, but a few days before, appeared hopeless were cured, as if by magic; and the health of the whole garrison was reestablished. Heavy rains setting in at the same time, the gardens--upon which, for months, great attention had been bestowed--came rapidly into bearing and, henceforth, throughout the siege the supply of vegetables, if not ample for the needs of the garrison and inhabitants, was sufficient to prevent scurvy from getting any strong hold again.
A few days after the ship with oranges was brought in, an orderly came in to Captain O'Halloran with a message that the governor wished to speak to Mr. Repton. Bob was out at the time, but went up to the castle as soon as he returned, and was at once shown in to the governor.
Illustration: Bob receives a Commission from the Governor.
"Mr. Repton," the latter began, "after the spirit you showed, the other day, I shall be glad to utilize your services still farther, if you are willing."
"I shall be very glad to be useful in any work upon which you may think fit to employ me, sir."
"I wish to communicate with Mr. Logie, at Tangiers," the governor said. "It is a month, now, since we have had any news from him. At the time he last wrote, he said that the Emperor of Morocco was manifesting an unfriendly spirit towards us; and that he was certainly in close communication with the Spaniards, and had allowed their ships to take more than one English vessel lying under the guns of the town. His own position was, he said, little better than that of a prisoner--for he was closely watched.
"He still hoped, however, to bring the emperor round again to our side; as he had, for years, exercised a considerable influence over him. If he would grant him an interview, Mr. Logie thought that he might still be able to clear up any doubts of us that the Spaniards might have infused in his mind. Since that letter we have heard nothing from him, and we are ignorant how matters stand, over there.
"The matter is important; for although, while the enemy's cruisers are as vigilant as at present, there is little hope of our getting fresh meat over from there, I am unable to give any directions to such privateers, or others, as may find their way in here. It makes all the difference to them whether the Morocco ports are open to them, or not. Until lately, when chased they could run in there, wait for a brisk east wind, and then start after dark, and be fairly through the Straits before morning.
"I am very desirous, therefore, of communicating with Mr. Logie. I am also anxious, not only about his safety, but of that of several English families there; among whom are those of some of the officers of the garrison who--thinking that they would be perfectly safe in Tangiers, and avoid the hardships and dangers of the siege--despatched them across the Straits by the native craft that came in, when first the port was closed.
"Thinking it over, it appeared to me that you would be far more fitted than most for this mission, if you would accept it. You have already shown yourself able to pass as a Spaniard and, should you find that things have gone badly in Tangiers, and that the Moors have openly joined the Spaniards; you might be able to get a passage to Lisbon, in a neutral ship, and to return thence in the first privateer, or ship of war, bound for this port. I would of course provide you with a document, requesting the officer in command of any such ship to give you a passage. Should no such neutral ship come along, I should trust to you to find your way across to Tarifa or Algeciras; and thence to manage in some way, which I must leave to your own ingenuity, to make your way in.
"I do not disguise from you that the commission is a very dangerous, as well as an honourable one; as were you, an Englishman, detected on Spanish soil, you would almost certainly be executed as a spy."
"I am ready to undertake the commission, sir, and I am much obliged to you for affording me the opportunity of being of service. It is irksome for me to remain here, in idleness, when there are many young officers of my own age doing duty in the batteries. As to the risk, I am quite prepared to run it. It will be exactly such an adventure as I should choose."
"Very well, Mr. Repton. Then I will send you the despatches, this evening; together with a letter recommending you to all British officers and authorities. Both will be written on the smallest pieces of paper possible, so that you may conceal them more easily.
"Now, as to the means. There are many of the fishermen here would be glad to leave. The firing in the bay has frightened the greater part of the fish away and, besides, the boats dare not go any distance from the Rock. I have caused inquiries to be made, and have given permits to three men to leave the Rock in a boat, after nightfall, and to take their chance of getting through the enemy's cruisers. It is likely to be a very dark night. I have arranged with them to take a passenger across to Tangiers, and have given them permission to take two others with them. We know that there are many Jews, and others, most anxious to leave the town before the enemy begin to bombard it; and the men will doubtless get a good price, from two of these, to carry them across the Straits.
"You will form an idea, for yourself, whether these boatmen are trustworthy. If you conclude that they are, you can make a bargain with them, or with any others, to bring you back direct. I authorize you to offer them a hundred pounds for doing so.
"Come up here at eight o'clock this evening. I will have the despatches ready for you then. You will understand that if you find the Moors have become absolutely hostile, and have a difficulty in getting at Mr. Logie, you are not to run any risk in trying to deliver the despatches; as the information you will be able to obtain will be sufficient for me, without any confirmation from him."
After further conversation, Bob took his leave of the governor. On his return home, Carrie was very vexed, when she heard the mission that Bob had undertaken and, at first, it needed all her husband's persuasions to prevent her going off to the governor's, to protest against it.
"Why, my dear, you would make both yourself and Bob ridiculous. Surely he is of an age, now, to go his own way without petticoat government. He has already gained great credit, both in his affair with the privateer, and in fetching in the oranges the other day. This is far less dangerous. Here he has only got to smuggle himself in, there he had to bring back something like a ton of oranges. It is a great honour for the governor to have chosen him. And as to you opposing it, the idea is absurd!"
"I shall go round to Major Harcourt," Bob said. "Mrs. Harcourt is terribly anxious about her daughter, and I am sure she will be glad to send a letter over to her."
"Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said gravely, "I have become a sudden convert to your opinion regarding this expedition. Suppose that Bob, instead of coming back, were to carry Amy Harcourt off to England? It would be terrible! I believe that Mr. Logie, as His Majesty's consul, could perform the necessary ceremony before they sailed."
Bob laughed.
"I should doubt whether Mr. Logie would have power to officiate, in the case of minors. Besides, there is an English church, where the banns could be duly published. No, I think we must put that off, Gerald."
Amy Harcourt was the daughter of one of the O'Hallorans' most intimate friends: and the girl, who was about fifteen years old, was often at their house with her mother. She had suffered much from the heat, early in June; and her parents had, at a time when the Spanish cruisers had somewhat relaxed their vigilance, sent her across to Tangiers in one of the traders. She was in the charge of Mrs. Colomb, the wife of an officer of the regiment, who was also going across for her health. They intended to stay at Tangiers only for a month, or six weeks; but Mrs. Colomb had become worse, and was, when the last news came across, too ill to be moved.
Major and Mrs. Harcourt had consequently become very anxious about Amy, the feeling being much heightened by the rumours of the hostile attitude of the emperor towards the English. Mrs. Harcourt gladly availed herself of the opportunity that Bob's mission offered.
"I shall be glad, indeed, if you will take a letter, Mr. Repton. I am in great trouble about her. If anything should happen to Mrs. Colomb, her position would be extremely awkward. I know that Mr. Logie will do the best he can for her but, for aught we know, he and all the English there may, at present, be prisoners among the Moors. I need not say how bitterly her father and I have regretted that we let her go; and yet, it seemed by far the best thing, at the time, for she would get an abundance of fresh meat, food and vegetables.
"Of course, you will see how she is situated, when you get there; and I am sure you will give her the best advice you can, as to what she is to do. Not knowing how they are placed there, we can do literally nothing; and you managed that fruit business so splendidly that I feel very great confidence in you."
"I am sure I shall be glad to do anything that I can, Mrs. Harcourt; and if it had been a boy, I daresay we could have managed something between us--but you see, girls are different."
"Oh, you won't find any difficulty with her. I often tell her she is as much of a boy, at present, as she is a girl. Amy has plenty of sense. I shall tell her, in my letter, about your going out to fetch in the fruit for the women and children. She is inclined to look up to you very much, already, owing to the share you had in the capture of those Spanish vessels; and I am sure she will listen to any advice you give her."
"Well, I will do my best, Mrs. Harcourt," Bob said, meekly; "but I have never had anything to do with girls, except my sister; and she gives the advice, always, and not me."
"By what she says, Bob, I don't think you always take it," Mrs. Harcourt said, smiling.
"Well, not quite always," Bob admitted. "Women are constantly afraid that you are going to hurt yourself, or something, just as if a boy had got no sense.
"Well, I will do what I can, Mrs. Harcourt. I am sure I hope that I shall find them all right, over there."
"I hope so, too," Mrs. Harcourt said. "I will see Captain Colomb. He will be sure to give you a letter for his wife. I shall talk it over with him and, if he thinks that she had better go straight home, if any opportunity offers, I shall tell Amy to go with her; and stay with my sister, at Gloucester, till the siege is over, and then she can come out again to us. I will bring you down the letters, myself, at seven o'clock."
From her, Bob went to Dr. Burke.
"I have just come from your house, Bob. I found your sister in a despondent state about you. I assured her you had as many lives as a cat; and could only be considered to have used up two or three of them, yet, and were safe for some years to come. I hinted that you had more to fear from a rope than either drowning or shooting. That made her angry, and did her good. However, it was better for me to be off; and I thought, most likely, that you would be coming round for a talk.
"So you are going officially, this time. Well, what disguise are you going to take?"
"That is what I have been thinking of. What would you recommend, doctor?"
"Well, the choice is not a very extensive one. You can hardly go as you are because, if the Moors have joined the Spaniards, you would be arrested as soon as you landed. Gerald tells me that, probably, two of the Jew traders will go away with you. If so, I should say you could not do better than dress in their style. There are many of them Rock scorpions, and talk Spanish and English equally well; but I should say that you had better take another disguise."
"That is what I was thinking," Bob said. "The boatman will know that I have something to do with the governor, and the two Jews will certainly know that I don't belong to the Rock. If they find that the Moors have joined the Spaniards, these Jews may try to get through, themselves, by denouncing me. I should say I had better get clothes with which I can pass as a Spanish sailor, or fisherman. There are almost sure to be Spanish ships, in there. There is a good deal of trade between Tangiers and Spain.
"Then again, I shall want my own clothes if I have to take passage in a neutral, to Lisbon. So I should say that I had better go down to the town, and get a sort of trader's suit, and a fisherman's, at one of the low slop shops. Then I will go as a trader, to start with; and carry the other two suits in a bag."
"That will be a very good plan, Bob. You are not likely to be noticed much, when you land. There are always ships anchored there, waiting for a wind to carry them out. They must be accustomed to sailors, of all sorts of nationalities, in the streets. However, I hope you will find no occasion for any clothes, after you land, but your own. The Moors have always been good friends of ours; and the emperor must know that the Spaniards are very much more dangerous neighbours than we are, and I can hardly believe he will be fool enough to throw us over.
"I will go down with you, to buy these things."
Bob had no difficulty in procuring the clothes he required at a secondhand shop, and then took the lot home with him. Carrie had, by this time, become more reconciled to what could not be avoided; and she laughed when Dr. Burke came in.
"You are like a bad penny, Teddy Burke. It is no use trying to get rid of you."
"Not the least bit in the world, Mrs. O'Halloran. Fortunately, I know that, however hard you are upon me, you don't mean what you say."
"I do mean it, very much; but after you are gone I say to myself, 'It is only Teddy Burke,' and think no more of it."
That evening, at nine o'clock, Bob embarked on board the fishing boat, at the New Mole. One of the governor's aides-de-camp accompanied him, to pass him through all the guards; and orders had been sent, to the officers in command of the various batteries, that the boat was not to be challenged. It was to show a light from a lantern, as it went along, in order that it might be known. The other two passengers and the boatmen had been sitting there since before gunfire, and they were glad enough when Bob came down and took his seat in the stern, taking the tiller ropes.
The oars had been muffled, and they put off noiselessly. When they got past Europa Point they found a light breeze blowing, and at once laid in their oars, and hoisted sail. A vigilant lookout was kept. Once or twice they thought they made out the hulls of anchored vessels, but they gave these a wide berth and, when the morning broke, were halfway across the Strait, heading directly for Tangiers. In another six hours they entered the port. There were half a dozen vessels lying in the harbour. Four of these were flying Spanish colours, one was a Dane, and the other a Dutchman.
From the time morning broke, Bob had been narrowly examining his fellow passengers, and the boatmen; and came to the conclusion that none of them were to be trusted. As soon as he stepped ashore, with his bag in his hand, he walked swiftly away and, passing through the principal streets, which were crowded with Moors, held steadily on, without speaking to anyone, until he reached the outskirts of the town; and then struck off among the hedges and gardens.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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15
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: Bob's Mission.
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As soon as he found a secluded spot, he stripped off the clothes he wore and put on those of a Spanish sailor; and then, placing the others in the bag, buried it in the sandy soil--taking particular note of its position, in regard to trees and surrounding objects, so as to be able to find it again. Then he turned to the right, and skirted the town till he came down to the seashore again; and then strolled quietly back to the quays. In passing by the ships at anchor he had noticed the names of the four Spaniards and, after wandering about for a short time, he entered a wine shop and seated himself at a table, near one at which three Spanish sailors sat drinking.
From their talk, he learned that the British were shortly to be turned out of Tangiers; that the town was to be given up to the Spaniards; and that the British consul had, the day before, been taken to Sallee, where the emperor now was. The English in the town had not yet been made prisoners, but it was believed that they would be seized and handed over to the Spaniards, without delay.
Having obtained this information, Bob saw that--at any rate, for the present--he might, if he chose, appear in his own character; and regretted that he had buried his clothes, before knowing how matters stood. However, there was no help for it but to go back again, to the place where he had hidden them. This he did and, having put on his own clothes, he went straight to the consulate, which was a large house facing the port. A clerk was sitting in the office.
"I understand Mr. Logie is away," Bob said.
The clerk looked surprised, for he knew the whole of the small body of British residents well, and he could not understand how Bob could have arrived.
"I am the bearer of letters to him, from Governor Eliott," Bob said. "I came across by boat, and landed two hours ago; but I was in disguise, not knowing how matters stood here, and have but now ascertained that, so far, the English are not prisoners."
"Not at present," the clerk said. "But will you come into the house, sir? We may be disturbed here."
"In the first place," Bob asked, when they were seated in an inner room, "when do you expect Mr. Logie back, and what is the real situation? My orders are, if I cannot see Mr. Logie himself, that I am to obtain as accurate a statement as possible as to how matters are going on here; as it is important that the governor should be able to inform vessels sailing from Gibraltar, east, whether they can or can not put safely into the Moorish ports. Of course, we know that vessels have been several times taken by the Spaniards, while at anchor close to the towns; but they might risk that, if there were no danger from the Moors, themselves. But if the reports last sent by Mr. Logie are confirmed, the Moors would be openly at war with us; and would, themselves, seize and make prizes of vessels anchoring. The danger would, of course, be vastly greater than that of merely running the risk of capture, if a Spanish vessel of war happened to come into a port where they were at anchor. Of course, I am merely expressing the views of the governor."
"I am sorry to say," the clerk said, "that there is no doubt the Moors are about to join the Spaniards in formal alliance against us. Englishmen are liable to insult as they go through the street. This, however, would not go for much, by itself; but last week a number of soldiers rushed into the office, seized Mr. Logie, violently assaulted him, spat upon him, and otherwise insulted him--acting, as they said, by the express order of the emperor, himself. He is now practically a prisoner, having been taken under an escort to Sallee and, at any moment, the whole of the British colony here may be seized, and thrown into prison; and if you know what Moorish prisons are, you would know that that would mean death to most of them--certainly, I should say, to all the ladies."
"But can they not leave, in neutral vessels?"
"No. The strictest orders have been issued against any Englishman leaving; they are, in fact, so far prisoners, although nominally at liberty to move about the town.
"I believe that the greater part of the Moors regret, extremely, the course their emperor has taken. Many have come in here, after dark, to assure Mr. Logie how deeply averse they were to this course; for that the sympathies of the population, in general, were naturally with the English in their struggle against the Spaniards who had, for all time, been the deadly foe of the Moors. Unfortunately, the emperor has supreme power, and anyone who ventured to murmur against his will would have his head stuck up over a gate, in no time; so that the sympathy of the population does not count for much."
"How many English are there, altogether?"
"A hundred and four. We made up the list last week. Of course that includes men, women, and children. There are some ten merchants, most of whom have one or two clerks. The rest of the men are small traders, and shopkeepers. Some of them make their living by supplying ships that put in here with necessaries. A few, at ordinary times, trade with the Rock in livestock. Half a dozen or so keep stores, where they sell English goods to the natives."
"I have a mission to discharge to a Mrs. Colomb, or at least to a young lady living with her."
"Mrs. Colomb, I regret to say, died three weeks ago," the clerk said. "Miss Harcourt--who is, I suppose, the young lady you mean--is now, with Mrs. Colomb's servant, staying here. Mr. Logie had placed them in lodgings in the house of a Moorish trader, just outside the town; but the young lady could not remain there, alone, after Mrs. Colomb's death. I will ring the bell, and tell the servant to inform her that you are here."
Two minutes later, Bob was shown into a large sitting room on the first floor, with a verandah overlooking the sea.
"Oh, Bob Repton, I am glad to see you!" Amy Harcourt exclaimed, coming forward impulsively, with both hands held out. "It is dreadfully lonely here. Mr. Logie is away, and poor Mrs. Colomb is dead and, as for Mrs. Williams, she does nothing but cry, and say we are all going to be shut up, and starved, in a Moorish prison.
"But first, how are father and mother, and everyone at the Rock?"
"They are all quite well, Amy; though your mother has been in a great state of anxiety about you, since she got your letter saying how ill Mrs. Colomb was. Here is a letter she has given me, for you."
He handed the girl the letter, and went out on to the verandah while she read it.
"Mamma says I am to act upon Mr. Logie's advice; and that, if by any means he should not be in a position to advise me, I am to take your advice, if Mrs. Colomb is dead."
"I don't think I am in a position to give you advice, Amy. What did Mr. Logie say about the state of affairs, before he went away?"
"He seemed to think things were going on very badly. You know the soldiers rushed in here and assaulted him, one day last week. They said they had orders from the emperor to do so; and Mr. Logie said they certainly would not have dared to molest the British consul, if it hadn't been by the emperor's orders. He was talking to me about it, the day before they took him away to Sallee; and he said he would give anything, if he could get me away to the Rock, for that the position here was very precarious; and that the emperor might, at any moment, order all the English to be thrown into prison, and I know that the servants expect we shall all be killed, by the populace.
"They have frightened Mrs. Williams nearly out of her senses. I never saw such a foolish woman. She does nothing but cry. She is the wife, you know, of Captain Colomb's soldier servant.
"Well, what do you advise, Bob?"
"I am sure I don't know what to advise, Amy. This seems a regular fix, doesn't it?"
"But you are just as badly off as I am," she said. "If they seize everyone else, of course they will seize you, now you are here."
"Oh, I could get away, easily enough," Bob said. "I should dress myself up as a Spanish sailor. I have got the clothes here, and should boldly go on board one of the Spanish ships, and take passage across to any port they are going to; and then manage to work round into Gibraltar, again. But of course, you can't do that."
"I couldn't go as a Spanish sailor, of course," the girl said, "but I might dress up and go, somehow. Anything would be better than waiting here, and then being thrown into one of their dreadful prisons. They say they are awful places.
"Do take me, Bob Repton. I do so want to get back to father and mother again, and I am quite well and strong now--as well as ever I was."
Bob looked at the girl, with a puzzled expression of face. He had promised her mother to do the best thing he could for her. The question was, 'What was the best thing?' It certainly seemed that the position here was a very perilous one. If he left her here, and harm befell her, what would her parents say to him? But, on the other hand, how on earth was he to get her away?
"I tell you what, Amy," he said, after a time. "Who were the ladies Mrs. Colomb saw most of? I suppose she knew some of the people here?"
"Oh, yes, she knew several; but she was most intimate with Mrs. Hamber. She is the wife of one of the principal merchants, and is very kind. She offered to take me in, when Mrs. Colomb died; but her husband lives out of the town, and Mr. Logie had promised Mrs. Colomb that he would look after me, until he could send me across--besides, Mrs. Hamber's child is very ill, with fever--and so he brought me here."
"Well, I will go and consult her," Bob said. "I daresay the clerk downstairs will send a man with me, to show me her house."
Mrs. Hamber listened to Bob's account of his mission; asking a question now and again, in a straightforward and decided way, which gave Bob an idea that she was a resolute sort of woman, with plenty of common sense.
"Well, Mr. Repton," she said, when he had finished, "it is a difficult matter for anyone but the girl's mother to form an opinion upon. I remember hearing, from Mrs. Colomb, about your going out and bringing in fruit when the scurvy was so bad, two months ago. She had received the news, no doubt, from her husband and, therefore, it seems to me that you must be a very capable young gentleman, with plenty of courage and coolness. The fact that Mrs. Harcourt gave you such a message as she did, regarding her daughter, shows that she has every confidence in you. If the girl were a year or two older, I should say it would be quite out of the question for her to attempt to make her way back to Gibraltar, under your protection; but as she is still a mere child, and as you possess her mother's confidence, I don't see that this matters so much.
"If you are both taken prisoners, there is no reason for supposing that she would not be treated honourably by the Spaniards. They must have taken numbers of women, in the vessels they have captured lately, and I suppose the girl would be placed with them. She would, at any rate, be far better off in a Spanish prison than in a Moorish one. Besides, I really consider that all our lives are in danger, here. After the assault on Mr. Logie, it is just as likely the emperor may order us all to be massacred, as thrown into prison; or he might sell us as slaves, as they do at Algiers. There is no saying. I think that, if I were in the position of the girl's mother at Gibraltar, I should say that it was better for her to run the risk of capture, with you; than to remain here, where there is no saying what may happen--she having every confidence in your honour, young gentleman."
"I thank you, Mrs. Hamber. I have no idea, at present, what plan I shall form. I may not see any possible way of getting out but, if I do, we will certainly attempt it. Major Harcourt belongs to the same regiment as my brother-in-law, and his wife and my sister are great friends; which is why, I suppose, she has confidence in me. I have known Amy, now, for a year and a half; and she is very often at my sister's. I will take care of her just the same as if she were a young sister of my own. I don't see how I could go back and tell her mother that I left her here, with things in the state they are. I only hope they may not turn out so badly as you fear; and that, at the worst, the Moors will only hand you over as prisoners to the Spaniards."
Bob went back to the consulate, and told Amy the result of his conversation with Mrs. Hamber.
"I consider that has taken the responsibility off my shoulders, Amy. You referred me to Mrs. Hamber as the lady you knew best here. She is of opinion that, if she were your mother, she would advise your trying to get away with me. So, now, we have only to decide how it is to be done--that is, if you still wish to try."
"Certainly I do," the girl said. "Anything is better than waiting here; expecting the Moors to rush in, as they did the other day, and carry one off to prison, or kill one.
"Mr. Parrot--that is the gentleman you saw downstairs--said that you would stay here, and ordered a room to be prepared for you; and dinner is ready. I am sure you must be terribly hungry."
Bob remembered, now, that he had had nothing to eat--save some biscuits on board the boat, and a piece of bread at the wine shop--since he left Gibraltar, and that he really was desperately hungry. Amy had already had her dinner; but she sat by him, and they talked about their friends at the Rock.
"Now," he said, when he had finished, "let us have a regular council of war. It was my intention to get a passage to Malaga, if I could, because I know something of the road back from there; but I could not do that, with you."
"Why not, Bob?"
"Because the voyage is too long. Someone would be certain to speak to you before you got across and, as you can't talk Spanish, the cat would be out of the bag, directly. If possible, we must manage to cross to Tarifa. It is only a few hours across to there, even if we go in an open boat and, now that the Spaniards are friends with the Moors, there ought to be no difficulty in getting a passage across there, or to Algeciras.
"Of course, you can't go as you are," he said, looking at her rather ruefully.
"No, of course not," she said. "I am not so silly as that. I should think I had better dress up like a boy, Bob."
"That would be a great deal the best plan, if you would not mind it," Bob said, greatly relieved that the suggestion came from her. "It is the only thing that I can think of. There didn't seem any story one could invent, to account for a Spanish girl being over here; but a ship's boy will be natural enough. If asked questions, of course, our story will be that we had been left behind here. There could be lots of reasons for that. Either we might have been on shore, and the vessel gone on without us; or you might have been sent ashore ill, and I might have been left to nurse you. That wouldn't be a bad story.
"What we must do, when we get to the other side, must depend upon where we land. I mean, whether we try to get straight in by boat, or to wait about until a chance comes. Once over there, you will have to pretend to be deaf and dumb; and then you can dress up as a Spanish girl--of course, a peasant--which will be much more pleasant than going about as a boy, and better in lots of ways. So if I were you, I should take a bundle of things with me, so that we should have nothing to buy there. It is all very well buying disguises for myself, but I could never go into a shop to ask for all sorts of girls' clothes."
Amy went off in a fit of laughter, at the thought of Bob having to purchase feminine garments.
"It is all very well to laugh," Bob said. "These are the sort of little things that are so difficult to work in. It is easy enough to make a general plan, but the difficulty is to get everything to fit in.
"I will have a talk with Mr. Parrot, in the morning, about the boats. He will know what boats have been trading with the Rock, and what men to trust."
"You can talk to him now, if you like," the girl said. "He and Mr. Logie's other clerk have the top storey of the house."
"Oh, then I will go up and see him, at once; the sooner it is arranged, the better. If things are in the state that everyone says, you might all be seized and imprisoned, any day."
Bob went up at once to Mr. Parrot's rooms, and had a long talk with him. The clerk quite agreed that anything would be better than for a young girl to be shut up in a Moorish prison, but he did not see how it was possible for them to find their way across to Gibraltar.
"Many of our fishermen are most courageous fellows, and have run great risks in taking letters from Mr. Logie across to Gibraltar. I do not suppose that the blockade is very much more strict than it was; and indeed, the fact that you got through shows that, with good luck, the thing is possible enough. But that is not the difficulty. The strictest order has been issued that no boat is to take Englishmen across to the Rock, or is to cross the Straits on any pretence, whatever; and that anyone evading this law will be executed, and his goods forfeited to the state. That is how it is Mr. Logie has been able to send no letters, for the last month; and why none of the merchants, here, have tried to get across to the Rock. No bribe would be sufficient to tempt the boatmen. It would mean not only death to themselves, if they ever returned; but the vengeance of the authorities would fall on their relations, here. I am afraid that there is nothing to be done, that way, at all."
"There are the three men who brought me across, this morning," Bob said. "They might be bribed to take us back. The governor authorized me to offer a hundred pounds. I own that I don't like their looks."
"You would have some difficulty in finding them, to begin with," Mr. Parrot said; "and I don't think a hundred pounds would be likely to tempt them to run the risk."
"I would not mind giving them two hundred more," Bob said. "I have got that money, of my own, at Gibraltar; and I am sure, if it were necessary, Major Harcourt would gladly pay as much more to get his daughter back."
"Three hundred would be ample. If they would not run the risk for a hundred apiece, nothing would tempt them. I should say your best plan would be to go down, early tomorrow, and see if you can find one of them. They are likely to be loitering about by the quays, as they have their boat there.
"The question is, are they to be trusted? They know that you have been sent out by the governor, and that you are here on some special business; and they may very well think that the Spaniards will give a higher reward, for you, than you can give to be taken back. They will, by this time, know of the order against boats crossing; and might betray you to the Moors. If you were going by yourself, of course, you could take all sorts of risks; but with this young lady under your protection, it would be different."
"Yes, I see that, Mr. Parrot. Rather than run any risk, I should prefer being put ashore at any Spanish port, by one of the ships in the harbour. If you give me the name of any Spanish merchantman who was here, say, a fortnight ago; my story that we were left behind, owing to one of us being ill, would be so simple that there need be no suspicion, whatever, excited. Tarifa or Algeciras would, of course, be the best places, as we should only be on board a few hours; and Miss Harcourt could very well pretend to be still ill and weak, and could lie down in a corner, and I could cover her up with a blanket till we got there.
"Once across, I don't so much mind. Even if we were detected, we should simply be two fugitives from here, trying to make our way to Gibraltar; and I don't think there would be any question of my being a spy. We should probably be sent to wherever they keep the English prisoners they have taken in ships; and there would be nothing very dreadful in that, even for her. We should probably be exchanged, before long. There have been several batches sent in to the Rock, in exchange for prisoners taken in prizes brought in by privateers."
"Well, I really think that that would be the best way, Mr. Repton. As you say, there will be nothing very dreadful in detention for a while, with the Spaniards; while there is no saying what may happen here. If you like, I will send one of the consulate servants out, the first thing in the morning, to inquire what ports the Spanish craft are bound for, and when they are likely to sail. They seldom stop more than two or three days, here. Most of them are taking livestock across for the use of the Spanish army and, though Algeciras would be an awkward place for you to land at because, if detected there, you would be more likely to be treated as a spy; still, in a busy place like that, no one would notice a couple of young sailors, and it would be no great distance for you to walk over to Tarifa, or any of the villages on the Straits.
"But how do you propose to get in from there? That is what seems to me the great difficulty."
"Well, I got in before," Bob said, "and do not think that there ought to be much difficulty in getting hold of a boat. If I did, I should sail round the Point and, keeping well outside the line of cruisers, come down on the coast the other side of Gibraltar; and so work along at night, just as I did before. If I found it absolutely impossible to get a boat, of course, I could not--with the girl with me--try to swim across from the head of the bay to the Rock; which is what I should have done, had I been alone. So I should then go to the authorities and give myself up; and say that, being afraid that the Moors intend to massacre all the English at Tangiers, I had come across with this young lady, who is the daughter of an officer of the garrison, to put her into Spanish hands; knowing that there she would receive honourable treatment, till she could be passed in at the next exchange of prisoners."
"I think that would be your very best course to pursue, unless you find everything turn out just as you would wish, Mr. Repton."
When Bob came down in the morning, he at once went into the office below; and Mr. Parrot told him that one of the Spanish craft would start for Algeciras, at noon.
"Then I must ask you to send one of the servants out, to buy some clothes such as are worn by a Spanish sailor boy, Mr. Parrot. I have my own suit upstairs, and will go off and arrange for a passage across, directly after breakfast."
"I will see to it," Mr. Parrot said. "The ship's decks will be crowded up with cattle. She is a small craft, and I hear she will take as many as can be packed on her deck. She is alongside now, taking them in. There is not much likelihood of any attention, whatever, being paid to you and your companion."
Amy turned a little pale, when Bob told her that the attempt was to be made at once; but she said bravely: "I am glad there is to be no waiting. I do so long to be out of this town. I daresay I shall be a little nervous at first, but I shall try not to show it; and I sha'n't be really frightened, for I know that you will take care of me."
As soon as breakfast was over, Bob changed his things and went down to the quay. He stopped at the vessel taking cattle on board. She was a polacre brig, of about a hundred and fifty tons. The captain was smoking a cigar, aft; while the mate was seeing to the storing of the cattle. Bob went on board, and told his story to the captain.
"I was left behind in charge of a cabin boy from the Esmeralda, a fortnight ago. The boy had fever, and the captain thought it might be infectious, and put him ashore; but he soon got well. We want to be taken across, as our friends live not many miles from Tarifa. We will pay a dollar, apiece, for our passage."
The captain nodded.
"Be on board by noon; we shall not be a minute later."
Bob went ashore, and told Amy that everything was arranged, without the slightest difficulty. He then went down to inspect the clothes.
"They will do very well," he said, "except that they are a great deal cleaner than anything ever seen on a Spanish sailor. Those canvas trousers will never do, as they are."
He accordingly took some ashes, and rubbed them well into the canvas; got some grease from the kitchen, and poured two or three large patches over the trousers.
"That is more like it," he said. "The shirt will do well enough, but there must be a patch or two of grease upon the jacket, and some smears of dirt, of some kind."
When he had done them to his satisfaction, he took them upstairs.
"What horrid, dirty looking things!" Amy exclaimed, in disgust.
"They are clean enough inside, child. They are quite new; but I have been dirtying them, outside, to make them look natural.
"You must be dressed by half past eleven, and you can tuck your hair up under that red nightcap; but you must manage to dirty your face, neck, and hands. You really ought to have some brown stain, but I don't suppose it is to be got. I will speak to Mr. Parrot."
"There is no stain, that I know of," Mr. Parrot said; "but I know Mr. Logie paints a little. I think you will find a box of colours, upstairs. If you mix some Vandyke brown in water, and paint her with it, and let it dry on, I should think it would do very well; though of course, it wouldn't stand washing."
Bob found the paintbox, and soon mixed some paint. At half past eleven Amy came into the room, laughing a little shyly.
"That will do very well," Bob said, encouragingly, "except that you are a great deal too fair and clean.
"Look here, I have been mixing some paint. I think a wash of that will make all the difference. Now, sit down while I colour you.
"That will do capitally!" he said, when he finished. "I think, when it dries, it will be just about the right shade for a Spanish sailor boy.
"Have you got your bundle?
"That is right. Now here is my bag, and a couple of black Moorish blankets. I will bring Mr. Parrot up, to say goodbye.
"Have you told your servant?"
"No, I said nothing to her about it. She would make such a terrible fuss, there would be no getting away from her. We must ask Mr. Parrot to tell her, after the vessel has set sail."
Mr. Parrot pronounced the disguise excellent, and said that he should not have the slightest suspicion that she was anything but what she seemed to be. Amy felt very shy, as she sallied out with Bob; but she gained courage as she saw that no one noticed her.
When they arrived at the brig, the cattle were nearly all on board. Bob led the way across the gangway, and went up on to the fo'castle. There he laid one of the blankets down against a stanchion; wrapped Amy in the other, so that her face was almost hidden; and told her to sit down and close her eyes, as if weak or asleep. Then he took up his post beside her.
In a quarter of an hour the last bullock was on board. The gangway was at once hauled in, the hawsers thrown off, and the sails let drop and, in another minute, the vessel was gliding away from the wharf. The wind was nearly due west, and the sheets were hauled in as she was headed across the Straits. It was half an hour before the sailors' work was all done. Several of them came up on to the fo'castle and began twisting cigarettes, and one at once entered into conversation with Bob.
"Is the boy ill?" he said.
"Yes, he has been ill, but is better now. It would have been better if he could have stopped a few days longer, but he was pining to get home. He won't have far to go when we get to Algeciras and, no doubt, I shall be able to get him a lift in some cart that will be bringing provisions to the camp."
The talk at once turned on the siege, the sailors expressing their certainty that the Rock would soon be taken. Bob had moved away from Amy, as if to allow her to sleep, undisturbed by the conversation.
"There is a brig running down the Straits, at a good speed," one of the sailors said, when they were half way across. "It is a nice breeze for her."
Bob looked at the craft. She was about a mile away, and by the course they were steering--almost at right angles--would come very near to them. There was something familiar in her appearance, and he looked at her intently, examining every sail and shroud. Then doubt became certainty, as his eye fell upon a small patch in one of the cloths of the topgallant sail.
It was the Antelope. One of the Spanish shot had passed through the topgallant sail and--as that was the only injury that sail had received--the bit had been cut out, and a fresh one put in, before she sailed again from Gibraltar. She was flying Spanish colours.
His heart beat fast. Would she overhaul them, or pass without taking notice of them--seeing that the polacre was a small one, and not likely to be a valuable prize?
The vessels approached each other quickly. The course the Antelope was taking would carry her some length or two behind the Spaniard. Bob hesitated whether to hail her, as she came along. If his hail was not heard he would, of course, be detected, and his plans entirely spoilt; and with the wind blowing straight across, and he in the bow, it would be by no means certain that his hail would be distinguished. Suddenly, to his delight, when the brig was within a hundred yards of the polacre he saw her head come up, while the crew began to haul upon the sheets.
An exclamation of surprise and alarm broke from the Spaniards as, in another minute, the Antelope was running parallel with them, a cable's length to windward. Then the portholes were opened, and eight guns run out. The Spanish flag was run down and the British hoisted to the peak; and a summons to strike their flag shouted to the Spaniards. As the latter carried only four small guns, resistance was out of the question. The Spanish flag was lowered and, in obedience to the gesticulations, rather than the words, of an officer on board the English brig, the halliards were thrown off, and the sails came down with a run.
The Spanish sailors were frantic with rage, swearing by all the saints in the calendar. Bob had moved, at once, across to Amy.
"Lie still, Amy. We are going to be captured by an English ship. It is the same privateer that I was in before. Don't make any sign, until they come on board. In the fury that these Spaniards are in, they might stick their knives into us, if they knew we were English."
The brig had been thrown up into the wind as soon as the polacre's sails had been lowered and, in three minutes, a boat came alongside. Then Joe Lockett, followed by half a dozen sailors armed with pistol and cutlass, scrambled on board.
"Now, follow me, Amy," and, descending the ladder, Bob made his way along the narrow gangway between the lines of cattle, and then mounted to the poop.
"Well, Joe, how are you?"
The first mate of the Antelope started back, in astonishment.
"Why, Bob Repton!" he exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here, masquerading as a Spanish sailor?"
"I am trying to get across to Gibraltar," he said.
"Why, is this fellow bound for Gibraltar? In that case we have not got a prize, as we fancied."
"She is a fair prize, Joe; she is bound for Algeciras. I was going to make my way in from there, as best I could."
"That is all right then. What has she got on board?"
"Nothing beyond these cattle, and some vegetables, I expect; but they are worth a lot of money, on the Rock."
"Well, you will be able to tell us all about things, Bob. I will hail the captain to send Crofts on board, with a dozen men to take charge, here; and then I will take you on board."
"I have a friend here," Bob said, turning to Amy, who was standing timidly behind him, "so you must take him with me."
"All right!" Joe said, carelessly.
In five minutes, Bob stood again on the deck of the Antelope, and a hearty greeting was exchanged between him and Captain Lockett.
"Before I tell you anything, Captain, which cabin am I to have? I will tell you why, afterwards. I suppose it will be my old one?"
"Yes; that is our one spare cabin, Bob. But I don't know why you are in such a hurry about it."
"I will tell you presently," Bob laughed, and led the way below.
"There, Amy," he said, "you can go in there, and put on your own things again. I thought it would be more comfortable, for you, for them not to know it until you are properly dressed, in your own clothes. You have brought a frock, of course?"
"Yes; I thought I had better bring one, in case we should be made prisoners."
"That is all right. When you are dressed, come upon deck. I will explain all about it, before you appear."
Bob, as briefly as possible, told his story to Captain Lockett and Joe; who were much amused to find that Bob's friend was a young lady.
"You are coming out in quite a new light, Bob, as a squire of dames. But I won't laugh at you, now; I want to hear the last news. I overhauled that craft, not so much to capture her, as to get the last news. There were reports, before I started, that the Moors were joining the Spaniards, and that their ports were closed to us; and what you say confirms that. That was one of the points I wanted to know, as I could not tell whether I could run in there safely, were I chased. Now, as to getting into the Rock, are their cruisers active, at present?"
"Well, there are lots of them about. I think your best plan will be to run in close to the Point, and hold on as if you were going into Algeciras. In that way, they won't suspect you. Then, when you get right up the bay, haul across to the town. The wind is in your favour, because you will have to tack to work up the bay and, if you make pretty long tacks, they won't suspect you, when you start across, until you have got pretty well away and, with this breeze, there will be no chance of their catching you before you are under our guns."
"That seems hopeful enough. At any rate, we will try it. I will send six more men on board the polacre. They will want to be handy with her sails. I will go myself, and give Crofts orders. He had better keep ahead of us for, if we are chased by their gunboats, we can protect him."
Just as sail was again got up, and the two vessels were under way, Amy Harcourt came on deck; and was soon laughing and chatting merrily with the captain. At four in the afternoon they rounded the Point, the polacre a few hundred yards ahead, and both flying Spanish colours. There were several Spanish cruisers, and some gunboats, outside them; but these paid no attention to their movements, and both beat up the bay, keeping close into the Spanish shore, but holding somewhat farther out, at each tack.
"Now," Captain Lockett, said when they were within half a mile of Algeciras, "we will run out this tack. There are two gunboats in our way, I see, but we must take our chance of them.
"Go and wave a handkerchief from the bow, Joe. Mr. Crofts will be on the lookout for the signal."
The two vessels held away on the port tack. As the polacre approached the gunboats, a sudden bustle was observed on board them.
"They begin to smell a rat," Captain Lockett said.
"Hoist the topgallant sails," for the brig had been under easy sail, to enable her to hold her place with the polacre.
The men were already at quarters, and the ports were opened and the guns run out. Just as the gunboat nearest the polacre--finding the hail, for her to bring to, unheeded--fired a shot into her, the brig's head paid off, and she poured a broadside into the two gunboats. One of them was struck amidships. For a minute there was great confusion on board, and then she made for her companion, evidently in a sinking condition.
Several shots were now fired from the forts but, though they fell near, the brig was uninjured. The second gunboat did not venture to attack so formidable an opponent and, half an hour later, the Antelope and her prize dropped anchor off the Mole.
Bob had already run down and put on his usual clothes, and he and Amy were at once rowed ashore, and made their way to Major Harcourt's quarters. The delight of Amy's father and mother, as she rushed into the room, was extreme. Bob did not enter with her, but left her to tell her own story; and proceeded straight to the governor's, to whom he reported the state of affairs at Tangier.
"It is bad news," the governor said. "However, I am extremely obliged to you, for the valuable service that you have rendered and, as I had the pleasure of before doing, when you brought in the oranges, I shall place your name in the orders of the day for having, as a volunteer, rendered signal service by carrying despatches, at great risk, across to the Barbary coast."
Bob then returned home. Captain Lockett had already been to the house, and informed the O'Hallorans of his arrival.
"There you see, Carrie," Bob said, after his sister's first greetings were over; "there was nothing to have been so terribly alarmed about."
"It isn't because you got through it safely, Bob, that there was no danger," his sister replied. "It was a very foolish thing to do, and nothing will change my opinion as to that.
"Captain Lockett tells me you brought Amy Harcourt back with you, dressed up as a boy. I never heard of such a thing, Bob! The idea of a boy like you--not eighteen yet--taking charge, in that way, of a young girl!"
"Well, there was nothing else to do, Carrie, that I could see. I went to Mrs. Hamber, who was Mrs. Colomb's most intimate friend, and asked her opinion as to what I had better do; and she advised me to get Amy away, if I possibly could do so. I can't see what difference it makes, whether it is a boy or a girl. It seems to me that people are always so stupid about that sort of thing."
Carrie laughed.
"Well, never mind, Bob. Amy Harcourt is a very nice girl. A little too boyish, perhaps; but I suppose that is natural, being brought up in the regiment. I am very glad that you have brought her back again, and it will be an immense relief to her father and mother. Her mother has been here three or four times, during these two days you have been away; and I am in no way surprised at her anxiety. They will be in here this evening, certainly, to thank you."
"Very well; then I shall be round smoking a cigar, with the doctor," Bob said. "I am very glad to have been of use to them, and to have got Amy back again; but I don't want to be thanked, and you tell them so. I hate being made a fuss about."
And so, beyond a warm grasp of the hand, on the part of Major Harcourt; and two or three words of hearty thanks, on that of his wife, the next time they met; Bob escaped any expression of gratitude. But the occurrence drew the two families together more closely, and Amy often came round with her father and mother, in the evening; and there were many little confidential talks between Carrie and Mrs. Harcourt.
It was some time before the anxiety as to the fate of the English inhabitants, at Tangier, was allayed. They were, at the beginning of December, forced to remove to Marteen, a few miles from Tetuan--abandoning their houses and all their property, which was estimated at the value of sixty thousand pounds--and, three days afterwards, were handed over as prisoners to the Spaniards. They were then put on board a ship, and taken to Algeciras--where they were kept, for nearly a month, prisoners on board ship--but were, on the 11th of January, 1781, sent across to Gibraltar.
The next five months passed slowly and heavily. Occasionally, privateers and other craft ran through the blockade of the Spanish cruisers, and succeeded in getting into port. Some of these brought wine and sugar--of both of which the garrison were extremely short--and occasionally a few head of cattle and other provisions. All of these were sold by public auction, the governor considering that to be the fairest way of disposing of them.
On the 12th of April another great convoy, under Admiral Darby, entered the port. It consisted of about a hundred merchantmen, under the protection of a powerful fleet. The joy of the garrison and inhabitants was intense although, among the latter, this was mingled with a certain feeling of uneasiness. Deserters had at various times brought in reports that, should Gibraltar be again relieved, it was the purpose of the Spaniards to bombard the town. Hopes were entertained that so wanton an act of cruelty would not be carried out, for the entire destruction of the town would not advance, in the smallest degree, the progress of the siege.
At a quarter to eleven, just as the van of the convoy came to an anchor off the New Mole, Fort San Philip opened fire upon the town and, at the signal, the whole of the batteries in the forts and lines followed suit. A hundred and fourteen guns and mortars rained their shot and shell upon the town, and the guns of the batteries of the garrison at once responded.
Several of the officers of the 58th, and their wives, had come up to Captain O'Halloran's to enjoy, from the terrace, the view of the great convoy entering the port. All were in the highest spirits, at the thought of the abundant supplies that would now be at their disposal; and in the belief that the Spaniards, seeing that the garrison was again amply provisioned, would abandon the siege, which had now lasted for twenty-two months. Suddenly there came upon the air the deep sound of the guns of San Philip, followed by a prolonged roar as the whole of the Spanish batteries opened fire. The hum of shot could be heard, followed by the explosion of shells, the fall of masonry, and screams and cries.
"The bombardment has begun, at last!" Captain O'Halloran exclaimed.
The greatest consternation reigned among the ladies. Several of them had left children in their quarters and, although the barracks were so placed as to be, to a great extent, sheltered from the enemy's fire from the land side, they were still terribly anxious as to their safety. Two of them had, like the O'Hallorans, quarters in the town itself; and the husbands of these ladies, accompanied by Captain O'Halloran and Bob, at once set out to bring the children up to the house, which was perfectly sheltered.
The scene in the town was a pitiful one. Men, women, and children were flying, in the wildest alarm, towards the gate looking south; and thence out to the huts that the more prudent ones had erected, many months before, near Europa Point. Shot and shell were raining down, while chimneys and portions of masonry fell clattering in the streets. Sick people were being carried out, on doors or planks; and most of the inhabitants were laden with what few articles of value they could snatch up, at the first alarm. The children were soon brought up to the O'Hallorans' and then, for a time, there was nothing to do but to listen to the roar of artillery.
The officers and Bob ascended the Rock, to a point near one of the batteries, whence they could command a view of the Spanish lines. The flashes of smoke were bursting forth almost incessantly; but were answered shot for shot from the English batteries, which had already almost silenced the San Carlos Battery, which mounted a large number of mortars, and against which the fire of the English guns was concentrated.
Between one and two o'clock the Spanish fire abated, and soon ceased altogether. The inhabitants took advantage of the lull to hurry back to their houses, whence they removed the lighter and more portable articles; but the heavy stores--of which it now appeared many of them had large quantities concealed--they were, of course, unable to take away.
The discovery of these stores excited much indignation among the troops. The inhabitants had been constantly representing themselves as reduced to the last point of hunger, and had frequently received provisions from the scanty supplies of the garrison; and the soldiers were exasperated on finding that, all this time, they possessed great stores of wine, flour, and other articles; which they were hoarding to produce, and sell, when prices should rise to even more exorbitant heights than they had already reached.
At five o'clock the enemy's batteries opened again; and the firing continued, without intermission, all that night. As several casualties had taken place, in the barracks and quarters; marquees were, on the following morning, served out to all the officers whose quarters were exposed to fire, and these were pitched near Europa Point, as were also a large number of tents for the use of the inhabitants.
A considerable body of troops were kept under arms, near the northern gate, in case the Spaniards should attempt to make an assault under cover of their fire; and five hundred officers and men were told off, to assist in the work of getting the supplies up from the wharves, as fast as they were landed from the transports.
The bombardment continued during the whole of the next two days. The mortars still poured their shells upon the town; but the guns were now directed at our batteries, and their fire was remarkably accurate.
On the 14th the unloading parties were increased to a thousand men, and strong detachments of troops were told off to extinguish the fires in the town; as the enemy were now discharging shell filled with a composition that burned with great fury, igniting everything with which it came in contact. The troops engaged upon this duty were not long in broaching the casks of wine found, in such abundance, in many of the ruined houses. For two years they had been living almost entirely on salt provisions, and wine had been selling at prices vastly beyond their means. It was scarcely surprising, then, that they should take advantage of this opportunity.
The stores were practically lost, for the whole town was crumbling to pieces beneath the fire of the enemy's mortars, and was on fire in several places; and little, if any, of the liquor and stores consumed could, in any case, have been saved. However, for a time insubordination reigned. The troops carried off liquor to their quarters, barricaded themselves there, and got drunk; and it was two or three days before discipline was restored. Up to this time the conduct of the soldiers had been most exemplary, and they had borne their prolonged hardships without a murmur; and this outbreak was due as much to a spirit of revenge against the inhabitants, for hiding away great stores of provisions and liquor, with a view to making exorbitant profits, as from a desire to indulge in a luxury of which they had been so long deprived.
On the 15th the enemy's fire was hotter than ever; and the guns were withdrawn from our batteries, as they produced but little effect upon the Spanish batteries, and the men working them suffered a good deal from the besiegers' fire. Two officers were dangerously wounded, in one of the casemates of the King's Bastion; and the fire was so heavy, around some of the barracks, that all the troops who could not be disposed of, in the casemates and bomb-proofs, were sent out of the town and encamped southward and, the next day, all the women and children who had gone with their husbands and fathers into the casemates were also removed, and placed under canvas. All this gave incessant work to the troops, for there was no level ground upon which the tents could be pitched and, as it was therefore necessary to level all the ground into terraces, it was some days before the camps were ranged in anything like order.
Each day the enemy sent out their gunboats to harass the merchantmen, but these were always driven back by the guns of the fleet. On the 17th the besiegers' shells set fire to the Spanish church, which had been used as a storehouse. Strong parties were sent down to remove the provisions, which consisted largely of barrels of flour. These were carried up and piled, so as to afford protection to the casemates, which had been frequently entered by the enemy's shots--several men having been killed there. They proved a valuable defence; and afforded, moreover, great amusement to the soldiers who, whenever a barrel was smashed by a shell, carried off the contents and quickly converted them into pancakes, until so many casks had been emptied that the whole structure came toppling down.
On the 18th a shell came through the arch of one of the casemates, killing two and wounding four men and, in consequence, a good many more of the troops were sent under canvas.
On the 20th the work of unloading the greater portion of the transports was completed; and the admiral, who was most anxious to take advantage of the easterly wind, that was blowing, to sail out of the Straits, gave the signal for departure. Many of the merchantmen, whose cargoes were consigned to merchants and traders on the Rock, carried them back to England; as the merchants, having no place, whatever, in which to store goods--for the town was now almost entirely destroyed--refused to accept them. The transports, with ordnance stores, were brought in behind the New Mole to be discharged at leisure; while several colliers were run close in, and scuttled, so that their cargoes could be removed as required.
A great many of the inhabitants, and of the officers' wives and families, embarked on board the fleet before it left. The enemy's fire still continued very heavy; and their guns and mortar boats, on the 23rd, came boldly out and opened fire upon the working parties, who were stacking the barrels and stores at the south end of the Rock. The wife of a soldier was killed, and several men wounded.
On the 26th the governor determined sternly to repress the drunkenness that still prevailed, owing to the soldiers going down among the ruins of the town, where they occasionally discovered uninjured casks of wine. An order was therefore issued, on that day, that any soldier convicted of being drunk, asleep at his post, or marauding, should be immediately shot.
On the 27th a convoy of twenty ships, in charge of the Brilliant and three other frigates, came in from Minorca; where the governor had ordered provisions to be purchased, in case the convoy expected from England did not arrive. The arrival of these ships largely added to the stores at the disposal of the garrison.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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16
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: A Cruise In The Brilliant.
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While the bombardment continued, Bob had been constantly occupied. He had, some time before, put down his name as a volunteer for service, if required; and he and several others, who had similarly enrolled themselves, had been appointed to assist in looking after the removal of the soldiers' wives and children to the tents erected for them, and to seeing to their comfort there. He had also been in charge of bodies of labourers, employed by the governor in the work of levelling the ground and transporting stores.
Captain O'Halloran was constantly away on duty and, soon after the bombardment began, it was found necessary to drive the whole of the poultry into the lower part of the house; the Spaniards retaining only one room for their own accommodation. Had not this step been taken, the chickens would speedily have been stolen by marauders as, in the absence of Captain O'Halloran and Bob, there was no one to protect them. After the issue of the governor's proclamation, discipline was speedily restored, and there was no longer any occasion to keep them under shelter.
The bombardment was followed by heavy rains, which caused very great discomfort to the troops. The water, pouring in torrents down the face of the hills, swept away the newly raised banks; and brought down the tents, the soldiers having to turn out in the wet--and as the troops, owing to their heavy duties, were only one night out of three in bed, the discomfort and annoyance were very great. Great quantities of the provisions, too, were damaged; as these were all stacked in the open air, with no other covering than that afforded by the sails of the colliers, which were cut off and used for the purpose. Until the end of the month the downfall of rain was incessant, and was accompanied with heavy storms of thunder and lightning. The batteries required constant repair, and the labours of the troops were very severe.
Since the departure of Admiral Darby's fleet, the enemy appeared to have given up all hopes of compelling the place to surrender by hunger. The convoy from Minorca had not been interfered with and, on the 2nd of May, two native craft came in from Algiers with sheep, wine, and brandy, unmolested by the enemy's cruisers.
The enemy's fire had never entirely ceased, since the commencement of the bombardment, and now amounted to about fifteen hundred rounds, every twenty-four hours; the gunboats generally coming out, every day, and sending their missiles into the town and batteries--the latter being specially the mark of the enemy's land guns, which reached even the highest batteries on the Rock. All through May and June the enemy's fire continued; dropping, towards the end of the latter month, to about five hundred shot and shell a day. The gunboats were specially annoying, directing their fire against the south end of the Rock, and causing great alarm and distress among the fugitives from the town encamped there. Occasionally they directed their fire towards the houses that had escaped the fire of the land batteries; and several shot and shell fell near the O'Hallorans' but, fortunately, without hitting the house.
The volunteers had now been released from duty, and Bob was free to wander about as he pleased. As, since his exploit in fetching in the fruit, he had become known to every officer in the garrison; he was a privileged person, and was able to enter any of the batteries, and to watch the effects of their fire against the enemy's forts and lines. He often spent the day on board the Brilliant. At the end of June the frigate went away for a fortnight's cruise, and the captain invited Bob to accompany them.
"We shall all expect great things from you, Mr. Repton. As you managed to capture some fifty thousand pounds' worth of prizes, when you were on board that privateer brig, you ought to put the frigate into the way of taking at least four times as much."
"It is easy to turn a brig into anything, Captain Langton; but there is no making one of His Majesty's frigates look other but what she is. The mere sight of your topsails is enough to send every Spanish craft into port."
For three or four days the frigate sailed along the coast; keeping well out during the day, and closing with the land in the evening. Two or three small coasters were picked up by the boats, but they were scarcely worth sending into Gibraltar. On the fifth day a large barque was seen, making in from the south. All sail was made, but the barque had the weather gage and, crossing her, ran into the shore and anchored under the shelter of a battery.
"That would be a prize worth having, Bob," Jim Sankey said. "I wonder what she has got on board? Perhaps she is like that craft you captured, choke-full of lead and silver, from Lima."
"I think I can tell you what she is full of," Bob, who had been examining her through a glass he had borrowed from the third lieutenant, replied.
"How do you mean you can tell, Bob? She has not got her bill of lading stuck upon her broadside, I suppose?"
"She has not, Jim. But I can tell you, without that."
"Well, what has she got on board?"
"She has got a very strong crew, Jim, and twenty-four guns."
"Why, how on earth did you know that, Bob?" he asked, staring at his friend in surprise.
"Because, Jim, I have been on board, and counted the guns. That is the craft I swam off to, nearly two years ago. You hunted for her, then, you know; but I suppose she had gone into one of the ports. But that is her, I can almost swear.
"I don't know whether there is a better glass than this on board but, if there is, I should be glad to have a look through it. Yet I feel certain, without that. Her stern is of rather peculiar shape, and that stern gallery looks as if it was pinched out of her, instead of being added on. We particularly noticed that, when we were sailing with her. I can't be mistaken about it."
"I think the captain ought to know, then," Jim said. "I will speak to Mr. Rawdon. He is in charge of the watch."
Jim went up on to the quarterdeck, touched his hat, and informed the second lieutenant what Bob had told him. Mr. Rawdon went up at once to the captain, who was talking to the first lieutenant, and examining the barque and battery through his glass.
"Mr. Sankey has reported to me, sir, that Mr. Repton is very strongly of opinion that the barque, there, is the Spanish ship of war he boarded by night, just after the beginning of hostilities. He told us about it, sir, and we spent two or three days in looking for her."
"Of course I remember," the captain said. "Have the kindness to pass the word for Mr. Repton to come aft."
Bob soon stood before the captain.
"Mr. Rawdon tells me that you are of opinion that the barque, in there, is the disguised Spanish sloop you boarded, two years ago?"
"Yes, sir, I am almost sure of it; but I should like to have another look at her, through your glass, before I speak with certainty."
The captain handed his glass, which was a remarkably good one, to Bob.
"That is her," Bob said, after a minute's examination. "I could swear to her, anywhere;" and he then pointed out, to the captain, the peculiarities he had noticed.
"I can make out her figurehead, too," he said. "It is a saint, though I don't know what saint; but if you notice, sir, you will see that, instead of standing nearly upright, he leans much more forward than usual. I remember the captain saying he looked as if he was going to take a header. So with that, and the stern gallery, there is no possibility of mistaking her."
The captain again examined the barque through his glass.
"Yes, I notice both the points you mention. Well, I am much obliged to you for the news. It is very important. I was thinking of cutting her out, tonight; and should have fallen into the same error you so nearly did, in the privateer."
Bob bowed and retired.
"We should have caught a tartar, Mr. Lyons, if we had sent the force we were talking about to cut her out; but I think we must have her, somehow."
"I hope so, sir. We have had a very dull time of it; with nothing to do but to exchange shots, occasionally, with those gunboats; and to get under sail, now and then, to escort some craft or other into port. The navy hasn't done much to boast of, during this siege; and it has been very hard on us, being cooped up there in Gibraltar, while the fleet all over the world are picking up prizes, and fighting the French and Spanish. Why, we haven't made enough prize money, in the last two years, to pay for pipe clay and powder."
"Yes, we all feel that, Mr. Lyons. We have certainly been terribly out of luck. That privateer Mr. Repton was on board did more, in her week's cruise, than all His Majesty's ships in Gibraltar have done, in the last two years.
"We must take that craft, inshore, if we can. There is no doubt she is ably commanded, for she is so well disguised that we never suspected her for a moment; therefore there is not the least chance of our catching her napping. She is a formidable craft to cut out with the boats, even if she hadn't the aid of the battery."
"There is no doubt about that, sir. I think Mr. Repton reported, before, that she carried twenty-four guns, and all heavy metal. As far as I can make out, with the glass, the battery mounts twelve guns."
"Yes, that is the number. Besides, you see, we dare not take the frigate in nearer than a mile; and a mile and a quarter would be safer. So that we could not be of any assistance, beyond annoying the battery with long shot. It seems to me that there is only one chance."
"What is that, sir?"
"We must land a strong party, some distance along the shore; and make an attack upon the battery, and carry it by surprise. I can make out some huts behind it. I suppose they wouldn't have less than a hundred soldiers there--perhaps a hundred and fifty. If we can drive them off, and capture the battery, we can open fire down upon the ship. At that distance, we could fairly sweep her deck with grape.
"The rest of our boats would be lying ahead and astern of her and, as soon as the battery opened, they could make a dash for her. The crew of the barque would be so disorganized, by the fire of the battery, that they should hardly be able to make very much of a fight of it."
"That seems a capital plan, sir. The only question is the number of hands. Suppose you send eighty to take the battery; we should only have as many more to spare, for the boat attack on the ship; and that would leave us with only a hundred, on board. I should think she would carry a fighting crew of two hundred, at least. These Spaniards are always very strongly manned."
"I should think that would be about it. They are long odds, but not too long, I think, Mr. Lyons. At any rate, we will try.
"Lay her off the land, Mr. Lyons, then we will go into my cabin, and make all the arrangements."
There was much talk and excitement among the crew, for the general opinion was that the captain would try to cut out the craft lying under the Spanish battery. The navy had, for a long time, been very sore at their inactivity; and had fretted that no attempts had been made to cut out the Spanish vessels, across the bay. The admiral had steadily set his face against all such attempts, considering that the benefits to be gained did not justify the risks; for, had any of his small squadron been damaged, or sunk, by the guns of the batteries, the consequences would have been very serious, as the Spanish gunboats would then have been able to carry on their operations, without check, and it would have been next to impossible for vessels to run the blockade.
The information Bob had given was soon known to all the officers, and was not long before it permeated through the crew, and added to their anxiety to cut the Spaniard out; for although the prize money would be less than if she had been a richly laden merchantman, the honour and glory was proportionately greater. The undertaking would be a serious one, but the prospect of danger is never deterrent to a British sailor.
There was great satisfaction when, presently, it became known that the crews of the whole of the boats were to muster. Arms were inspected, cutlasses ground, and everything prepared. It was early in the morning when the Spanish barque had been first discovered; and ten o'clock when the frigate had sailed away from land, as if considering the Spanish craft too strongly protected to be attacked. When five miles away from land, her course was laid east and, under easy sail, she maintained the same distance on the coast.
The plan of operations was that the first lieutenant, with thirty marines and as many sailors, should land at a spot some two miles from the battery; and should make their way inland, and come down upon the position from the rear. A hundred men, in the rest of the boats, should make for the barque, direct. This party was to act in two divisions, under the second and third lieutenants, respectively; and were to lie, one to the east and the other to the west of the barque, and remain there until the guns of the battery opened upon her. Then they were to row for her at all speed; a blue light being burned, by each division, when they were within a hundred yards of the enemy, as a warning to their friends in the battery; who were then to fire round shot, instead of grape. The frigate was to venture in as closely as she dared, anchor broadside on, and open fire at the enemy.
Jim Sankey was told off to the landing party, and Bob went up to the captain, and requested leave to accompany him, as a volunteer.
"You see, sir," he said, "we may fall in with peasants, or be challenged by sentries, as we approach the battery, and my ability to speak Spanish might be an advantage."
"It would, undoubtedly," the captain said. "Well, Mr. Repton, I shall be very glad to accept your services."
At four in the afternoon, the frigate's head was again turned west and, at ten o'clock, the boats for the landing party were lowered and, the men taking their places in them, rowed away for the shore, which was some two miles distant. The night was dark; but Mr. Lyons had with him a pocket compass and had, before embarking, taken the exact bearings of the battery, from the spot where they would land. He was therefore able to shape his course to a point half a mile in its rear.
The strictest silence had been enjoined, and the little body of sailors made their way inland, until they came upon a road running parallel with the shore. They followed this for about half a mile, and then struck off inland, again. The country was highly cultivated, with orchards, vineyards, and orange groves. Their progress was slow; for they had, many times, to cut a passage through the hedges of prickly pear. At last, they reached a spot where they believed themselves to be directly behind the battery. Here there was a path, leading in the direction which they wished to follow.
In a quarter of an hour they made out some lights ahead of them, and the lieutenant halted his men, and again repeated the orders they had before received.
"You are to go straight at the huts. As you approach them you are to break up into parties of ten, as already formed. Each party is to attack one hut, cut down all who resist, seize and carry away all arms. Never mind the men, if you have once got their arms. They cannot trouble us, afterwards. Waste no time but, directly you have got all the firelocks in one hut, make for another. As soon as all have been cleared out, make for the battery.
"Now, let the officers told off to command parties each fall in, at the head of his ten men.
"Mr. Repton, you will keep beside me, to answer a challenge."
They were within fifty yards of the huts when a sentinel challenged: "Who goes there?"
"Soldiers of the king," Bob answered, in Spanish, "with reinforcements for you."
"Halt till I call an officer," the sentry said.
But the lieutenant gave the word, and the whole party dashed forward at a run. The sentry hesitated in surprise, for a moment, and then discharged his piece. The sailors gave a cheer, and rushed at the huts. Taken utterly by surprise, the Spaniards at first offered no resistance, whatever, as the sailors rushed in. Indeed, few of them attempted to get out of bed. The blue lights, with which one man in each party was provided, were lighted as they entered; and the arms were collected without a moment's delay, and they were off again before the Spaniards were fairly awake to what had happened.
There were ten huts, each containing twenty men. Two or three shots were fired, as they entered the last two huts; but the Spaniards were overpowered in an instant, as they were here vastly outnumbered. The officers were made prisoners and, ten men being placed over them, the rest of the force, now carrying three muskets each, ran down into the battery. The sentries here threw down their arms, at once, and were allowed to go where they pleased.
"Pile the arms you have captured!" Lieutenant Lyons ordered. "Run the ramrods down them, and see if they are loaded. The Spaniards are not likely to rally but, if they do, we can give them a hot reception.
"Now, gunner, break open the magazine, there, and load with grape."
By this time the drum was beating to arms, in the vessel below--the shots fired having given the alarm--and lights were seen to flash along the deck. In two minutes the guns were loaded; and these opened with a fire of grape upon the deck of the vessel, which was near enough to be distinctly seen, by the glare of the blue lights. As the first gun was fired, an answering flash came from sea, as the frigate also opened fire. For five minutes the guns were worked fast, then two lights burst out in close succession, ahead and astern of the barque.
"Cease firing grape. Load with round shot!" the lieutenant shouted but, a moment later, a loud cheer broke from the sailors as, by the lights in the boats, the Spanish ensign was seen to run up to the peak of the barque, and then at once to fall again to the deck. The barque had surrendered.
"Now, gunner, spike the guns," the lieutenant ordered, "and then tumble them off the carriages."
This was soon done.
"Now let each man take one of the muskets, and throw the rest of them over the parapet down the rocks.
"That is right. Now, fall in!"
The sailors fell in, and marched back to the huts. The Spanish officers were placed in the midst, and twenty men were told off to fire the huts. This was soon done. The lieutenant waited until they were well alight, and then gave the order to march. They took the coast road, this time, for two miles; and then struck off to the shore and saw, a few hundred yards away, the lantern that had been hoisted on one of the boats, as a signal.
They were challenged by the boat keeper, who had moored the boats twenty yards from the shore. A cheer broke out, as the answer was given. The grapnels were pulled up, and the boats were soon alongside. The party, embarking, rowed out in the direction where they knew the frigate to be and, as soon as they were fairly out from the shore, they saw the three lights she had hoisted as a signal. In half an hour they were alongside.
"I need not ask if you have succeeded, Mr. Lyons," the captain said, as the boats came up, "for we have seen that. You have not had many casualties, I hope?"
"Only one, sir. One of the marines has a ball in his shoulder. There were only five or six shots fired, in all, and no one else has as much as a scratch."
"I am truly glad to hear it," the captain said. "It has been a most successful surprise. I don't think the boats can have suffered, either."
"I don't think there was a shot fired at them, sir," the lieutenant said. "The Spaniard ran up his colours and dropped them again, directly the boats showed their lights. I fancy they must have suffered very heavily from our fire. You see, they were almost under our guns, and we must have pretty well torn up their decks."
"We shall soon hear," the captain said. "The boats are towing the Spaniard out. She will be alongside in a few minutes."
The wind had entirely dropped now and, in a short time, the Spaniard was brought close alongside the frigate, and Mr. Rawdon came on board to report.
"The ship is the San Joaquin, mounting twenty-four guns, with a crew of two hundred and twenty men, sir. Her casualties are very heavy. The men had just poured up on deck, it seems, when the battery opened fire. The captain, first lieutenant, and fifty-six men are killed, and there are forty-three wounded. We have no casualties. Their flag came down, just as we got alongside."
"Then, as far as we are concerned," the captain said, "this is one of the most bloodless victories on record. There will be no death promotions this time, gentlemen, but I am sure you won't mind that. It has been a most admirably managed affair, altogether; and I am sure that it will be appreciated by my lords of the admiralty.
"You will take command of her at present, Mr. Lyons, with the crew now on board. Dr. Colfax and his assistant will go off with you, to attend to the wounded, and will remain on board until we get into Gibraltar.
"Mr. Rawdon, you will be acting first, and I can only say that I hope you will be confirmed."
The frigate and her prize at once sailed for Gibraltar. On their arrival there, the captain took some pains--by sending up larger yards, and by repainting the broad white streaks showing the portholes--to restore the prize to its proper appearance as a ship of war.
"We should not get half so much credit for her capture, if you took her into Portsmouth looking like a lubberly merchantman," the captain said to Mr. Lyons. "I don't care about patching up all those shot holes in the bulwarks. That gives her the appearance of having been taken after a sharp action, and the deck looks almost like a ploughed field.
"I shall give you fifty men, Mr. Lyons, I can't spare more than that."
"That will do, sir. Nothing smaller than ourselves is likely to interfere with us and, if a large frigate engaged us, we should not have more chance with a hundred men on board than with fifty. In that case we shall have to trust to our legs. Of course, if we fall in with two or three of the enemy's ships, I should run up the Spanish flag. I will find out if I can, from the prisoners, what is her private number. If I hoist that, and a Spanish flag, it ought to deceive them. I will get her back to England, if possible, sir."
"You will, of course, take home my report, Mr. Lyons. It is sure to give you your step, I think."
Next day the San Joaquin sailed and, six weeks later, a sloop of war brought despatches to the admiral. Among them was a letter from the admiralty to Captain Langton, expressing their gratification at the very able arrangements by which he had captured and silenced a Spanish battery; and cut out the sloop of war, San Joaquin, anchored under its guns, without any loss of life. It was, they said, a feat almost without parallel. They stated that they had, in accordance with his recommendation, promoted Mr. Lyons to the rank of commander; and they confirmed Mr. Rawdon in rank of first lieutenant, the third lieutenant becoming second, and the senior passed midshipman, Mr. Outram, being promoted to that of third lieutenant.
No change of any importance had taken place at Gibraltar, during the absence of the Brilliant; except that the governor had determined to retaliate for the nightly annoyance of the gunboats and, accordingly, six guns were fixed at a very considerable elevation behind the Old Mole, and shells fired from them. These reached the enemy's camp; and caused, as could be seen from the heights, great alarm and confusion. It was determined that in future, when the enemy's gunboats bombarded our camps and huts, we should retaliate by throwing shells into their camp.
The day after the Brilliant returned the Helena, sloop of war--with fourteen small guns--was seen working in towards the Rock. The wind, however, was so light that she scarcely moved through the water. Fourteen Spanish gunboats came out to cut her off. For a time she maintained a gallant contest, against odds that seemed overwhelming; although the garrison gave her up as lost. But when the wind suddenly freshened, she sailed through her opponents into the port; where she was received, with ringing cheers, by the soldiers lining the batteries.
Week after week passed in minor hostilities. There was a constant exchange of fire between our batteries and those of the enemy. The gunboats continued their operations; and we, in return, shelled their camp. Fresh works were erected, on both sides. Casualties took place almost daily, but both troops and inhabitants were now so accustomed to the continual firing that they went about their ordinary avocations, without paying any attention to the shot and shell, unless one of the latter fell close at hand.
November came in and, in spite of the heavy fire maintained by our batteries, the enemy's works continually advanced towards the Rock; and when, in the middle of the month, it was seen that the new batteries were being armed and placed in readiness to open fire, the governor determined to take the offensive. Accordingly, after gunfire on the evening of the twenty-sixth, an order was issued for all the grenadier and light infantry companies--with the 12th, and Hardenberg's Regiment--to assemble, at twelve o'clock at night--with a party of Engineers, and two hundred workmen from the line regiments--for a sortie upon the enemy's batteries. The 39th and 59th Regiments were to parade, at the same hour, to act as support to the attacking party. A hundred sailors from the ships of war were to accompany them. The attacking party numbered 1014 rank and file, besides officers and noncommissioned officers. This was exclusive of the two regiments forming the supports. The attacking force was divided into three columns.
At a quarter to three in the morning, the column moved out. The enemy's pickets discovered the advance, as soon as it passed the outlying work known as Forbes' Barrier and, after firing, fell back. Lieutenant Colonel Hugo's column, which was in front, pushed on rapidly; and entered the enemy's lines without opposition, when the pioneers began to dismantle the work. Hardenberg's Regiment and the central column attacked and carried the tremendous work known as the San Carlos Battery. The enemy were unable to withstand, for a moment, the fierce attack of the troops and, in a very short time, the whole of the advanced works were in our hands.
The leading corps formed up, to resist any attempt the enemy might make to repel the sortie; and the working parties began to destroy the enemy's work. Faggots dipped in tar were laid against the fascines and gabions and, in a short time, columns of fire and smoke rose from all parts of the works occupied. In an hour, the object of the sortie was effected. Trains were laid to the magazines, and the troops fell back. Just as they reached the town, the principal magazine blew up, with a tremendous explosion.
The enemy appeared to have been wholly confounded, at this sudden attack upon their advanced works--the fugitives from which created a panic throughout the whole army--and although the main Spanish lines, mounting a hundred and thirty-five heavy pieces of artillery, were but a few hundred yards behind the works attacked, not a single shot was fired at the troops engaged. The batteries continued burning for three days and, when they ceased to smoke, nothing but heaps of sand remained of the works that had cost the enemy months of labour to erect.
It was some days before the Spaniards appeared to come to any definite conclusion as to their next step. Then large numbers of men set to work, to reestablish their batteries; and things fell into their old routine, again. Every day shots were exchanged, occasionally. Vessels made their way in and out; being sometimes briskly chased by the enemy's gunboats, sometimes passing in with little interference--for, by this time, the Spaniards must have recognized that there was no hope, whatever, of reducing Gibraltar by blockade. There was a great deal of sickness in the garrison; but comparatively little of this was due to scurvy, for every available corner of ground was now cultivated, and the supply of vegetables--if not absolutely sufficient to counteract the effects of so long and monotonous a diet of salt meat--was yet ample to prevent any serious outbreak of scurvy recurring.
In February, fresh activity was manifested among the besiegers. Vast numbers of mules were seen, bringing fascines to their works. At the end of March the Vernon store ship arrived and, a few hours later, four transports with the 97th Regiment, under the convoy of two frigates, came in.
A singular series of casualties was caused by a single shot, which entered an embrasure in Willis's Battery, took both legs off two men, one leg off another, and wounded another man in both legs; thus four men had seven legs taken off, or wounded, by one shot. These casualties were caused by the inattention of the men to the warning of a boy who was looking out for shot. There were two boys in the garrison whose eyesight was so keen that they could see the enemy's shot coming, and both were employed in the batteries especially exposed to the enemy's fire, to warn the men to withdraw themselves into shelter, when shot were coming.
This quickness of eyesight was altogether exceptional. Standing behind a gun--and knowing, therefore, the exact course the shot will take--it is comparatively easy for a quick-sighted man to follow it; but there are few, indeed, who can see a shot coming towards them. In this respect, the ear is a far better index than the eye. A person possessed of a fair amount of nerve can judge, to within a few yards, the line that a shot coming towards him will take. When first heard, the sound is as a faint murmur; increasing, as it approaches, to a sound resembling the blowing off of steam by an express engine, as it rushes through a station. At first, the keenest ear could not tell the direction in which the shot is travelling but, as it approaches, the difference in the angle becomes perceptible to the ear, and a calm listener will distinguish whether it will pass within twenty or thirty yards, to the right or left. It would require an extraordinary acute ear to determine more closely than this, the angle of flight being so very small, until the shot approaches almost within striking distance.
The garrison had been trying experiments with carcasses and red-hot shot. A carcass is a hollow shot, or shell, pierced with holes; but instead of being charged with powder, to explode it either by means of a fuse or by percussion, it is filled with a fierce-burning composition so that, upon falling, it will set on fire anything inflammable near it. Red-hot shot are fired by putting a wet wad in over the dry wad, next to the powder. The red-hot shot is then run into the gun, and rammed against the wet wad; and the gun fired in the usual way. The carcasses several times set fire to the enemy's works, but the use of the red-hot shot was reserved for a pressing emergency. A number of furnaces were constructed, in the various batteries, for heating the shot; which necessarily required a considerable amount of time, to bring them to a white heat.
News came, in April, that great preparations were making, at Cadiz and other Mediterranean ports, for a fresh and vigorous attack on Gibraltar; and that the Duc de Crillon--who had lately captured Minorca--would bring twenty thousand French and Spanish troops, in addition to those at present engaged in the siege; that a large fleet would also be present, and that the principal attack would be made by means of ships turned into floating batteries, and protected by an immense thickness of cork, or other wood.
On the 9th of May, the ships began to arrive. Among them were seven large vessels, which appeared to be old men-of-war. A large number of workmen immediately went on board them, and began to lower the topmasts. This confirmed the news in respect to the floating batteries.
About this time, three store ships fortunately arrived from England, with powder, shell, and other stores. As there could be no longer any doubt that the attack was, this time, to be delivered on the sea face; strong working parties were employed in strengthening the water batteries, in erecting lines of palisades, to prevent a landing from boats, and in building furnaces for the heating of shot in these batteries, also. At this time the Engineers began to drive a gallery through the Rock, facing the neutral ground, in order to place guns there. This work was carried on to the end of the siege, and the batteries thus erected are now among the strongest of the defences of Gibraltar.
At the end of the month a great fleet, consisting of upwards of a hundred sail, entered the bay and anchored off Algeciras. Some nine or ten thousand troops were landed and, from that time, scarce a day passed without fresh vessels, laden with stores and materials for the siege, arriving in the bay.
Early in May twelve gunboats, that had been sent out in pieces from England, were completed and launched. Each carried one gun, and was manned by twenty-one men. Six of these drew their crews from the Brilliant, five from the Porcupine, and one from the Speedwell, cutter. These craft had been specially designed for the purpose of engaging the enemy's gunboats, and for convoying ships into the port.
On the 11th of June a shell from the enemy burst, just at the door of one of the magazines of Willis's Battery. This instantly blew up, and the explosion was so violent that it seemed to shake the whole Rock. Fourteen men were killed, and fifteen wounded, and a great deal of injury done to the battery; but strong parties at once set to work to repair it. A few days later a French convoy of sixty sail and three frigates anchored in the bay and, from these, another five thousand French troops landed.
At the end of the month the Duc de Crillon arrived, and took command of the besiegers. A private letter, that was brought in by a privateer that had captured a merchantman, on her way, gave the garrison an idea of the method in which the attack was to be made. It stated that ten ships were to be fortified, six or seven feet thick, with green timber bolted with iron, and covered with cork, junk, and raw hides. They were to carry guns of heavy metal, and to be bombproof on the top, with a descent for the shells to slide off. These vessels, which they supposed would be impregnable, were to be moored within half gunshot of the walls with iron chains; and large boats, with mantlets, were to lie off at some distance, full of troops ready to take advantage of occurrences; that the mantlets of these boats were to be formed with hinges, to fall down to facilitate their landing. There would, by that time, be forty thousand men in camp, but the principal attack was to be made by sea, to be covered by a squadron of men-of-war with bomb ketches, floating batteries, gun and mortar boats, etc.; and that the Comte D'Artois--brother to the King of France--with other great personages, was to be present at the attack.
At this time the enemy fired but little, and the garrison were able to turn their whole attention to strengthen the points most threatened. The activity of the enemy on their offensive works on the neutral ground continued and, in one night, a strong and lofty work, five hundred yards long, with a communication thirteen hundred yards long to the works, was raised. It was calculated that ten thousand men, at least, must have been employed upon it; and no less than a million and a half sandbags used in its construction.
There could be no doubt, now, that the critical moment was approaching; and that, ere long, the garrison would be exposed to the most tremendous fire ever opened upon a besieged place.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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17
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: The Floating Batteries.
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In spite of the unremitting work, of the daily cannonade, of illness and hardship, life on the Rock had not been unpleasant to the O'Hallorans. Although many of the officers' wives had, at one time or another, taken advantage of ships sailing from the port to return home--or rather, to endeavour to do so, for a considerable number of the vessels that left were captured by the Spaniards, before getting through the Straits--there still remained sufficient for agreeable society; and the O'Hallorans' was, more than any other house, the general meeting place.
From its position in the hollow, it was sheltered from the fire of all the shore batteries--whose long distance shots searched all the lower parts of the Rock--while the resources of the establishment enabled the O'Hallorans to afford an open-handed hospitality that would have been wholly beyond the means of others. They had long since given up selling any of their produce, distributing all their surplus eggs among families where there was illness, or sending them up to the hospitals; and doing the same with their chickens, and vegetables. The greatest care was bestowed upon the poultry, fresh broods being constantly raised, so that they could kill eight or ten couple a week, and still keep up their stock to its full strength. Thus, with gatherings two evenings a week at their own house, and usually as many at the houses of their friends; while Captain O'Halloran and Bob frequently dined at the mess of their own, or other regiments, the time passed pleasantly.
While Carrie was fully occupied with the care of the house, and a general superintendence of what they called their farm; Bob was never at a loss for amusement. There was always something to see, some fresh work being executed, some fresh development in the defences; while he was on terms of friendship with almost every officer in the garrison. It was two years and a half since he had come out, and he was now eighteen. His constant intercourse with people older than himself, and with the officers of the garrison, together with the exceptional position in which he found himself, made him in some respects seem older than he was; but he still retained his liveliness, and love of fun. His spirits never flagged, and he was a general favourite with all who knew him.
On the 19th of August, a boat with a flag of truce brought in a complimentary letter from the Duc de Crillon to the governor, informing him of the arrival of the Comte D'Artois and the Duc de Bourbon in his camp, and sending him a present of ice, fruit, partridges, and other delicacies. The governor returned a letter in similar complimentary terms, thanking the Duke for his letter and the presents; but declining with thanks the supplies that had been offered, saying that he never received, for himself, anything beyond what was common to the garrison.
The sailors of the ships of war now pitched tents ashore, for their use when they should be ordered to land to take part in the defence; and the heavy guns were, for the most part, moved down from the upper batteries to the sea lines. Day after day passed, the bombardment being constantly expected; but the damage inflicted, by fire, on the enemy's works by our carcasses delayed the attack.
On the 8th of September a tremendous fire was suddenly opened, with red hot shot and carcasses, upon the enemy's works. The Mahon Battery was burned, while the San Carlos and San Marten Batteries were so damaged that they had almost to be rebuilt. The enemy, as on previous occasions, showed extreme bravery in their efforts to extinguish the fire and to repair damages; and it was afterwards known that the French troops, alone, had a hundred and forty killed and wounded. The damage done probably convinced the Duc de Crillon that no advantage could be hoped for by trying further to increase his works and, at half past five next morning, a volley of sixty shells was fired by their mortar batteries, followed by the discharge of one hundred and seventy pieces of heavy artillery.
This tremendous fire was kept up for some time, while nine line-of-battle ships, supported by fifteen gun and mortar boats, passed to and fro along the sea face, pouring in their fire upon us. At nightfall the enemy's guns ceased firing, but their mortars kept up their shell fire all night. The next day the ships of war renewed their attack, as did the land batteries. In the course of the day the Brilliant and Porcupine frigates were scuttled by the navy, alongside the New Mole, and their crews landed.
On the following day the enemy's fire was principally directed against the barrier and chevaux de frise in front of the land port and, in the afternoon, these barriers and palisades were all in flames; and the troops at that end of the Rock got under arms, in case an attack should be made.
On the morning of the 12th the combined fleets of France and Spain, consisting of thirty-eight men-of-war, three frigates, and a number of smaller craft, sailed into the bay and anchored near Algeciras. Their fleet now consisted of forty-seven men-of-war, ten battering ships--considered invincible, and carrying two hundred and twelve guns--and innumerable frigates and small ships of war; while on the land side were batteries mounting two hundred heavy guns, and an army of forty thousand men. Tremendous odds, indeed, against a fortress whose garrison consisted of seven thousand effective men, including the Marine Brigade.
For some days past Bob had been engaged, with their landlord and some hired labourers, in bringing in earth and filling up the lower rooms four feet deep, in order to render the cellars bomb proof. Some beds and furniture were taken below, so that Carrie, the servants, and the Spanish family could retire there, in case the enemy's shells fell thickly round the house.
It was noticed as a curious incident that, just as the combined fleet entered the bay an eagle, after circling round it, perched for a few minutes upon the summit of the flag post, on the highest point of the Rock; an omen of victory which would have been considered decisive, by the Romans, and which did, in fact, help to raise the spirits and confidence of the garrison.
On the morning of the 13th the enemy's battering ships got under way, with a gentle breeze from the northwest and, at a little past nine o'clock anchored, in admirable order, in line of the sea face. The nearest was about nine hundred yards from the King's Bastion, the most distant being about eleven hundred yards. Not a shot was fired before the enemy anchored, and then the whole of the batteries that commanded them opened fire, to which the battering ships and the artillery in their lines at once replied.
Bob was standing on the roof of the house, with his sister.
"What a magnificent sight, Carrie!" he exclaimed. "It is well worth all the waiting, to be here to see it."
"It is terrible!" Carrie said. "It is like one great roar of thunder. How awfully the men must be suffering, in the batteries!"
"I don't suppose it is as bad as it looks," Bob said. "At any rate, you needn't be uneasy about Gerald. All the troops except those working the guns are in shelter, and won't be called out unless the enemy attempt to land.
"I wonder their fleet don't come across, to help their batteries. I suppose they are afraid of the carcasses, and red hot shot.
"Well, there is one comfort, Carrie: none of their shot are coming this way. Their floating batteries, evidently, are firing only at our batteries by the water. As to the others, we know that we are safe enough from them though, certainly, the shot do make a most unpleasant noise as they fly overhead.
"I wish there was a little more wind, to blow away the smoke, so that we could see what effect our fire is having on those hulks. I shouldn't think that we had begun with red hot shot, yet. It takes three hours to get them hot enough. As far as I can see, whenever the wind blows the smoke away a little, our shot and shell roll off the roofs and sides, without doing any damage to speak of."
About noon the enemy's mortar boats and ketches attempted to come across, and assist their battering ships; but the wind had changed and had worked round to the southwest, blowing a smart breeze and bringing in a heavy swell, so that they were prevented from taking part in the action. Our own gunboats were hindered, by the same cause, from putting out and opening a flanking fire upon the battering ships.
The northern batteries, by the water, suffered heavily from the fire of the Spanish lines; which took them in flank and, indeed, some of the batteries in reverse, causing many casualties. The Artillery, however, refused to let their attention be diverted from the battering ships.
By two o'clock the furnaces had heated the shot in all the batteries and, although some of them had been firing these missiles for upwards of an hour, it was not until two that their use became general. Soon afterwards--when the wind cleared away the smoke from the ships--men could be seen on their sloping roofs, directing streams of water from the pumps upon small wreaths of smoke that curled up, here and there. Up to this time, the defenders had begun to fear that the craft were indeed as invulnerable as the Spaniards believed them to be; but these evidences that the red hot shot were doing their work greatly roused their spirits, and cheers frequently rose, as the men toiled at their heavy guns.
As the afternoon went on, the smoke from the upper part of the Spanish admiral's flagship rose more and more thickly and, although numbers of men continued to bring up and throw water over the roof--working with extraordinary bravery, in spite of the hail of projectiles poured upon them--it was clear that the fire was making steady progress.
Bob had, long before this, gone down to the works by the sea face--where considerable bodies of troops were lying, in the bombproof casemates, in readiness for action if called upon--and from time to time he went out with Captain O'Halloran, and other officers, to see how matters were going on.
In sheltered places behind the batteries, some of the surgeons were at work; temporarily binding up the wounds of artillerymen struck with shell, or splinters; after which they were carried, by stretcher parties of the infantry, up to the hospitals. Dr. Burke was thus engaged, in the battery where his regiment was stationed. He had, since the first bombardment commenced, ceased to complain of the want of opportunities for exercising himself in his professional work; and had been indefatigable in his attendance on the wounded. Among them he was an immense favourite. He had a word, and a joke, for every man who came under his hands; while his confident manner and cheery talk kept up the spirits of the men. He was, too, a very skilful operator; and many of the poor fellows in hospital had urgently requested that, if they must lose a limb, it should be under the hands of Dr. Burke.
"It is much better to make men laugh, than to make them cry," he would say to Bob. "It is half the battle gained, when you can keep up a patient's spirit. It is wonderful how some of them stand pain. The hard work they have been doing is all in their favour."
Bob several times went out to him, and assisted him as far as he could, by handing him bandages, sponges, etc.
"You ought to have been an assistant, from the beginning, Bob," he said. "By this time you would have been quite a decent surgeon--only you have a silly way of turning pale. There, hand me that bandage.
"All right, my man! We will have you patched up in no time.
"No, I don't think you can go back to your gun again. You will have to eat and drink a bit, and make fresh blood, before you will be much use at a thirty-two pounder again.
"What is this--a scalp wound? Splinter of a shell, eh? Well, it is lucky for you, lad, that you have been hardening your skull a bit, before you enlisted. A few clips from a blackthorn are capital preparation. I don't think you will come to much harm. You are not more hurt than you would be in a good, lively faction fight.
"There, you had better put down that sponge, Bob, and go into the casemate, for a bit. You are getting white again.
"I think we are over the worst now; for if, as you tell me, the smoke is beginning to come up from some of those floating batteries, their fire will soon slacken a bit. As long as they keep out the shot, those defences of theirs are first rate but, as soon as the shot begin to embed themselves in the roof, they are worse than nothing--for they can neither dig out the shot, nor get at them with the water. Once establish a fire, and it is pretty sure to spread."
Bob was glad to get back again into the bombproof casemates; for there was comparative quiet while, outside, the constant roar of the guns, the howl of shot, the explosion of shell, and the crash of masonry created a din that was almost bewildering.
Presently a cheer was heard in the battery, and Bob went out to see what it was; and returned with the news that the ship next to the Spanish admiral's was also smoking, in several places. As the afternoon went on, confusion was apparent on board several of the battering ships and, by the evening, their fire had slackened considerably. Before eight o'clock it had almost entirely ceased, except from one or two ships to the northward of the line which, being somewhat farther from the shore, had suffered less than the others.
At sunset the Artillery in our batteries were relieved--the Naval Brigade taking their place--and the fire was continued, without relaxation. As soon as it became dark, rockets were fired by several of the battering ships. These were answered by the Spanish men-of-war, and many boats rowed across to the floating batteries. By ten o'clock the flames began to burst out from the admiral's battering ship and, by midnight, she was completely in flames. The light assisted our gunners--who were able to lay their cannon with as much accuracy as during the daytime--and the whole Rock was illuminated by the flames. These presently burst out, vigorously, from the next ship and, between three and four o'clock, points of light appeared upon six of the other hulks.
At three o'clock Brigadier Curtis--who commanded the Naval Brigade encamped at Europa Point--finding that the sea had gone down, manned the gunboats and, rowing out for some distance, opened a heavy flanking fire upon the battering ships; compelling the boats that were lying in shelter behind them to retire. As the day broke he captured two of the enemy's launches and, finding from the prisoners that there were still numbers of men on board the hulks, rowed out to rescue them. While he was employed at this work, at five o'clock, one of the battering ships to the northward blew up, with a tremendous explosion and, a quarter of an hour later, another in the centre of the line also blew up. The wreck was scattered over a wide extent of water.
One of the gunboats was sunk, and another seriously injured; and the Brigadier, fearing other explosions, ordered the boats to draw off towards the town. On the way, however, he visited two of the other burning ships; and rescued some more of those left behind--landing, in all, nine officers, two priests, and three hundred and thirty-four soldiers and seamen. Besides these, one officer and eleven Frenchmen had floated ashore, the evening before, on the shattered fragments of a launch.
While the boats in the navy were thus endeavouring to save their foes, the land batteries--which had ceased firing on the previous evening--again opened on the garrison; but as, from some of the camps, the boats could be perceived at their humane work, orders were despatched to the batteries to cease fire; and a dead silence succeeded the din that had gone on for nearly twenty-four hours.
Of the six battering ships still in flames, three blew up before eleven o'clock. The other three burned to the water's edge--the magazines having been drowned, by the Spaniards, before they left the ships in their boats. The garrison hoped that the two remaining battering ships might be saved, to be sent home as trophies of the victory but, about noon, one of them suddenly burst into flames, and presently blew up. The other was examined by the men-of-war boats, and found to be so injured that she could not be saved. She was accordingly set fire to, and also destroyed. Thus, the whole of the ten vessels, that were considered by their constructors to be invincible, were destroyed.
The loss of the enemy, in killed and prisoners, was estimated at two thousand; while the casualties of the garrison were astonishingly small, consisting only of one officer and fifteen non-commissioned officers and men killed, and five officers and sixty-three men wounded. Very little damage was done to the works. It is supposed that the smoke enveloping the vessels prevented accurate aim. The chief object of the attack was to silence the King's Bastion and, upon this, two of the largest ships concentrated their fire; while the rest endeavoured to effect a breach in the wall between that battery, and the battery next to it.
The enemy had three hundred heavy cannon engaged, while the garrison had a hundred and six cannon and mortars. The distance at which the batteries were moored from the shore was greatly in favour of the efforts of our artillery; as the range was almost point blank, and the guns did not require to be elevated. Thus, the necessity for using two wads between the powder and the red-hot balls was obviated, and the gunners were able to fire much more rapidly than they would otherwise have done. The number of the Spanish soldiers on board the battery ships was 5260, in addition to the sailors required to work the ships.
Great activity was manifested, by the Spaniards, on the day following the failure of their bombardment; and large numbers of men were employed in bringing up fresh ammunition to their batteries. Many of the men-of-war also got under way. Major Harcourt, Doctor Burke, and two or three other officers stood watching the movements from the O'Hallorans' terrace.
"I should have thought that they had had enough of it," Doctor Burke said. "If those battering ships couldn't withstand our fire, what chance would their men-of-war have?
"See! They are just as busy on the land side, and the 71st has been ordered to send down extra guards to the land port. I should have thought they had given it up, as a bad job, this time."
"I have no doubt they have given it up, doctor," Major Harcourt said; "but they are not likely to say so, just yet. After all the preparations that have been made; and the certainty expressed, about our capture, by the allied armies and navies of France and Spain; and having two or three royal princes down here, to grace the victory; you don't suppose they are going to acknowledge to the world that they are beaten. I should have thought you would have known human nature better than that, doctor.
"You will see De Crillon will send a pompous report of the affair; saying that the battering ships were found, owing to faults in their construction, to be of far less utility than had been expected and that, therefore, they had been burned. They had, however, inflicted enormous loss upon the garrison and defences; and the siege would now be taken up by the army and fleet, and vigorously pushed to a successful termination.
"That will be the sort of thing, I would bet a month's pay. The last thing a Spanish commander will confess is that he is beaten; and I think it likely enough that they will carry on the siege for months, yet, so as to keep up appearances. In fact, committed as they are to it, I don't see how they can give it up, without making themselves the laughingstock of Europe. But, now that they find they have no chance of getting the object for which they went to war, I fancy you will see, before very long, they will begin to negotiate for peace."
The major's anticipations were verified. For some time the siege was carried on with considerable vigour--from a thousand to twelve hundred shots being fired, daily, into the fortress. Their works on the neutral ground were pushed forward; and an attempt was made, at night, to blow out a portion of the face of the Rock, by placing powder in a cave--but the attempt was detected.
The position of the garrison became more comfortable after a British fleet arrived, with two more regiments and a large convoy of merchantmen; but nothing of any importance took place till, on the 2d of February, 1782, the Duc de Crillon sent in to say that the preliminaries of a general peace had been signed, by Great Britain, France, and Spain and, three days later, the blockade at sea was discontinued, and the port of Gibraltar again open.
Bob Repton, however, was not present at the concluding scenes of the great drama. Satisfied, after the failure of the bombardment, that there would be no more serious fighting, and that the interest of the siege was at an end; he took advantage of the arrival of the Antelope in the bay, a few days after the engagement, to return in her to England. He had now been two years and eight months on the Rock, and felt that he ought to go home, to take his place with his uncle.
He had benefited greatly by his stay in Gibraltar. He had acquired the Spanish language thoroughly and, in other respects, had carried on his studies under the direction of Doctor Burke; and had employed much of his leisure time with instructive reading. Mixing so much with the officers of the garrison, he had acquired a good manner and address. He had been present at the most memorable siege of the times, and had gained the credit of having--though but a volunteer--his name twice placed in general orders for good services. He had landed a school boy; he was now a well-built young fellow, of medium height and powerful frame; but he had retained his boyish, frank good humour, and his love of fun.
"I trust that we shall be back in England, before long," his sister said to him. "Everyone expects that Spain will make peace, before many months are over, and it is likely that the regiments who have gone through the hardships of the siege will soon be relieved; so I hope that, in a year or two, we may be ordered home again."
There was a great deal of regret expressed, when it was known that Bob Repton was going home; for he had always been ready to do any acts of kindness in his power--especially to children, of whom he was very fond--and it was not forgotten that his daring enterprise, in going out alone to fetch in fruit, had saved many of their lives. Amy Harcourt's eyes were very red, when he went up to say goodbye to her and her mother, an hour before he sailed; and the farewells were spoken with quivering lips.
The Antelope evaded the enemy's cruisers near the Rock, and made a quick passage to England, without adventure. She had made two or three good prizes, up the Spanish coast, before she put into Gibraltar on her way home. Captain Lockett, therefore, did not go out of his way to look for more.
On arriving at Portsmouth, Bob at once went up to London by coach. He had no lack of clothes, having purchased the effects of an officer, of nearly his own build and stature, who had been killed a short time before. On alighting from the coach he walked to Philpot Lane, and went straight into the counting house. His old acquaintance, Jack Medlin, was sitting on the stool his father had formerly occupied; and Bob was greatly amused at the air of gravity on his face.
"Do you wish to see Mr. Bale, or Mr. Medlin, sir?" he asked, "Or can I take your orders?"
"You are a capital imitator of your father, Jack," Bob said, as he brought his hand down heavily on the shoulder of the young clerk; who stared at him in astonishment.
"Why, it is Bob--I mean, Mr. Repton!" he exclaimed.
"It's Bob Repton, Jack, sure enough; and glad I am to see you. Why, it is nearly three years since we met; and we have both altered a good bit, since then.
"Well, is my uncle in?"
"No, he is out, at present; but my father is in the inner office."
Bob strode into the inner office, and greeted Mr. Medlin as heartily as he had done his son; and Mr. Medlin, for the first time since he had entered Philpot Lane, as a boy, forgot that he was within the sacred precincts of the city and, for at least ten minutes, laughed and talked as freely and unrestrainedly as if he had been out at Highgate.
"Your uncle will be delighted to see you back," he said. "He is for ever talking about you; and there wasn't a prouder man in the city of London than he was, when the despatches were published and your name appeared, twice, as having rendered great service. He became a little afraid, at one time, that you might take to soldiering, altogether. But I told him that I thought there was no fear of that. After you had once refused to take a midshipman's berth--with its prospect of getting away from school--I did not think it likely that you would be tempted, now."
"No; the General told Captain O'Halloran that he would get me a commission, if I liked; but I had not the least ambition that way. I have had a fine opportunity of seeing war, and have had a jolly time of it; and now I am quite ready to settle down, here."
Mr. Bale was delighted, on his return, to find Bob. It was just the hour for closing, and he insisted upon Mr. Medlin stopping to take supper with him. Bob had written, whenever there was an opportunity of sending letters; but many of these had never come to hand, and there was much to tell, and talk about.
"Well, I am thoroughly satisfied with the success of our experiment, Mr. Medlin," Mr. Bale said, next day. "Bob has turned out exactly what I hoped he would--a fine young fellow, and a gentleman. He has excellent manners, and yet there is nothing foppish, or affected about him."
"I had no fear of that, with Bob, Mr. Bale; and indeed, Gibraltar during the siege must have been a bad school for anyone to learn that sort of thing. Military men may amuse themselves with follies of that kind, when they have nothing better to do; but it is thrown aside, and their best qualities come out, when they have such work to do as they have had there.
"Yes, I agree with you, sir. The experiment has turned out capitally; and your nephew is, in every respect, a far better man than he would have been, if he had been kept mewed up here these three years. He is a young fellow that anyone--I don't care who he is--might feel proud of."
So Bob took up his duties in the office, and his only complaint there was that he could hardly find enough to do. Mr. Bale had relaxed his close attention to the business, since he had taken Mr. Medlin into the firm; but as that gentleman was perfectly capable of carrying it on, single handed, Bob's share of it was easy enough. It was not long before he complained to his uncle that he really did not find enough to do.
"Well, Bob, you shall come down with me to a place I have bought, out by Chislehurst. It is a tidy little estate. I bought it a year ago. It is a nice distance from town--just a pleasant ride, or drive, up. I am thinking of moving my establishment down there, altogether; and as you will have it some day, I should like your opinion of it. It isn't quite ready, yet. I have been having it thoroughly done up, but the men will be out in a week or two."
Bob was greatly pleased with the house, which was a fine one, and very pleasantly situated, in large grounds.
"There are seventy or eighty acres of land," Mr. Bale said. "They are let to a farmer, at present. He only has them by the year; and I think it will be an amusement to you to take them in hand, and look after them yourself. I know a good many people living about here, and I have no doubt we shall have quite as much society as we care for."
Another month and they were established at Chislehurst, and Bob found the life there very pleasant. He generally drove his uncle up to town in the morning; getting to the office at ten o'clock, and leaving it at five in the afternoon. On his return home there was the garden to see about, and the stables. Very often his uncle brought a city friend or two home with him, for the night; and they soon had a large circle of acquaintances in the neighbourhood.
"I should like you to marry young, Bob," Mr. Bale said to him one day. "I did not marry young; and so, you see, I have never married at all; and have wasted my life shockingly, in consequence. When you are ready to marry, I am ready to give you the means. Don't forget that."
"I won't forget it, sir," Bob said, smiling; "and I will try to meet your wishes."
Mr. Bale looked at him sharply. Carrie's letters were long and chatty; and it may be that Mr. Bale had gleaned, from them, some notion of an idea that Carrie and Mrs. Harcourt had in their heads.
Three years later Mr. Bale remarked, as they were driving home: "By the way, Bob, I was glad to see, in the paper today, that the 58th is ordered home."
"Is it, sir?" Bob asked, eagerly. "I have not looked at the paper today. I am glad to hear that. I thought it wouldn't be long. But there is never any saying--they might have been sent somewhere else, instead of being sent home."
"I hope they will be quartered somewhere within reach," Mr. Bale said. "If they are stationed at Cork, or some outlandish place in Ireland, they might almost as well be at Gibraltar, for anything we shall see of them."
"Oh, we can manage to run over to Cork, uncle."
"There will be no occasion to do that, Bob. Captain O'Halloran will be getting leave, soon after he comes over, and then he can bring Carrie here."
And he smiled slily to himself.
"He mayn't be able to get leave for some time," Bob said. "I think, uncle, I shall run over, directly they arrive."
"Perhaps the firm won't be able to spare you," Mr. Bale remarked.
"It is my opinion the firm would get on just as well, without me, for an indefinite time, uncle."
"Not at all, Bob. Mr. Medlin was saying, only a few days ago, that you do quite your share of the work; and that he generally leaves it to you, now, to see country customers when I am out, and thinks the change has been an advantage to the business. However, if the regiment does go to Ireland--as is likely enough--I suppose we must manage to spare you."
It was indeed soon known that the 58th were, in the first place, to be disembarked at Cork and, one day, Mr. Bale came into the office.
"I have just seen your friend Lockett, Bob; I mean the younger one. He commands the Antelope now, you know. His uncle has retired, and bought a place near Southampton, and settled down there. Young Lockett came up from Portsmouth by the night coach. He put in at Gibraltar on his way home, and the 58th were to embark three days after he left. So if you want to meet them when they arrive at Cork, you had better lose no time; but start by the night coach for Bristol, and cross in the packet from there."
It was a month before Bob returned. The evening that he did so, he said to his uncle: "I think, uncle, you said that you were anxious that I should marry young."
"That is so, Bob," Mr. Bale said, gravely.
"Well, uncle, I have been doing my best to carry out your wishes."
"You don't mean to say, Bob," Mr. Bale said, in affected alarm, "that you are going to marry a soldier's daughter?"
"Well, yes, sir," Bob said, a little taken aback; "but I don't know how you guessed it. It is a young lady I knew in Gibraltar."
"What, Bob! Not that girl who went running about with you, dressed up as a boy?"
As this was a portion of his adventures upon which Bob had been altogether reticent, he sat for a moment, confounded.
"Don't be ashamed of it, Bob," Mr. Bale said, with a smile, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder. "Your sister Carrie is an excellent young woman, and it is not difficult to read her thoughts in her letters. Of course, she told me about your adventure with Miss Harcourt, and she has mentioned her a good many times, since; and it did not need a great deal of discernment to see what Carrie's opinion was regarding the young lady. Carrie has her weak points--as, for example, when she took up with that wild Irishman--but she has plenty of good sense; and I am sure, by the way she wrote about this Miss Harcourt, that she must be a very charming girl; and I think, Bob, I have been looking forward almost as much, to the regiment coming home, as you have.
"Regarding you as I do, as my son, there is nothing I should like so much as having a bright, pretty daughter-in-law; so you have my hearty consent and approval, even before you ask for it.
"And you found her very nice, Bob--eh?"
"Very nice, sir," Bob said, smiling.
"And very pretty, Bob?"
"Very pretty, sir. I never thought that she would have grown up so pretty."
"And her head has not been turned by the compliments that she has, of course, received?"
"I don't think so, sir. She said her mind has been made up, ever since I brought her back to Gibraltar; so you see, the compliments did not go for much."
"Well, Bob, I will write to Major Harcourt. I shall hand you over this place, altogether, and settle down in my old quarters in Philpot Lane."
"No, no, sir," Bob said.
"But I say yes, Bob. I shall keep a room here, and I dare say I shall often use it. But I have been rather like a fish out of water, since I came here, and shall be well content to fall into my old ways again; knowing that, if I want any change, and bright society, I can come down here. If I find I am restless there--which is not likely--I can buy a little place, and settle down beside you. As I told you long ago, I am a rich man--I have been doing nothing but save money, all my life--and though, as I then said, I should like you to carry on the firm, after I am gone; there will, as far as money goes, be no occasion for you to do so."
Two months later the three members of the firm went over to Cork, and there a gay wedding was celebrated; and when, at the termination of the honeymoon, Bob returned to Chislehurst, he found Captain O'Halloran and Carrie established there on a month's leave and, a day or two later, the party was increased by the arrival of Doctor Burke.
Mr. Bale lived for twenty years after Bob's marriage; the last fifteen of which were passed in a little place he bought, adjoining that of the Reptons and, before he died, he saw four grandchildren--as he called them--fast growing up.
General and Mrs. Harcourt also settled down in the neighbourhood, to be near their only daughter, a few years before Mr. Bale's death.
Doctor Burke remained with the regiment for some years, and then bought a practice in Dublin but, to the end of his life, he paid a visit every three or four years to his former pupil.
Captain O'Halloran obtained the rank of colonel but, losing an arm at the capture of Martinique, in 1794, he retired from the army and settled at Woolwich--where Carrie was within easy reach of Chislehurst--having his pension, and a comfortable income which Mr. Bale settled upon Carrie. At Mr. Bale's death, it was found that he had left his house at Chislehurst to Carrie; and she and her husband accordingly established themselves there.
Bob, to the end of his life, declared that--although in all things he had been an exceptionally happy, and fortunate man--the most fortunate occurrence that ever happened to him was that he should have taken part in the famous Siege of Gibraltar.
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{
"id": "21788"
}
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1
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WE BUY A PLACE
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It was either Plato the Athenian, or Confucius the Chinese, or Andromachus the Cretan--or some other philosopher whose name I disremember--that remarked once upon a time, and the time was many centuries ago, that no woman was happy until she got herself a home. It really makes no difference who first uttered this truth, the truth itself is and always has been recognized as one possessing nearly all the virtues of an axiom.
I recall that one of the first wishes I heard Alice express during our honeymoon was that we should sometime be rich enough to be able to build a dear little house for ourselves. We were poor, of course; otherwise our air castle would not have been "a dear little house"; it would have been a palatial residence with a dance-hall at the top and a wine-cellar at the bottom thereof. I have always observed that when the money comes in the poetry flies out. Bread and cheese and kisses are all well enough for poverty-stricken romance, but as soon as a poor man receives a windfall his thoughts turn inevitably to a contemplation of the probability of terrapin and canvasbacks.
I encouraged Alice in her fond day-dreaming, and we decided between us that the dear little house should be a cottage, about which the roses and the honeysuckles should clamber in summer, and which in winter should be banked up with straw and leaves, for Alice and I were both of New England origin. I must confess that we had some reason for indulging these pleasing speculations, for at that time my Aunt Susan was living, and she was reputed as rich as mud (whatever that may mean), and this simile was by her neighbors coupled with another, which represented Aunt Susan as being as close as a clapboard on a house. Whatever her reputation was, I happened to be Aunt Susan's nearest of kin, and although I never so far lost my presence of mind as to intimate even indirectly that I had any expectations, I wrote regularly to Aunt Susan once a month, and every fall I sent her a box of game, which I told her I had shot in the woods near our boarding-house, but which actually I had bought of a commission merchant in South Water Street.
With the legacy which we were to receive from Aunt Susan, Alice and I had it all fixed up that we should build a cottage like one which Alice had seen one time at Sweet Springs while convalescing at that fashionable Missouri watering-place from an attack of the jaundice. This cottage was, as I was informed, an ingenious combination of Gothic decadence and Norman renaissance architecture. Being somewhat of an antiquarian by nature, I was gratified by the promise of archaism which Alice's picture of our future home presented. We picked out a corner lot in,--well, no matter where; that delectable dream, with its Gothic and Norman features, came to an untimely end all too soon. At its very height Aunt Susan up and died, and a fortnight later we learned that, after bequeathing the bulk of her property to foreign missions, she had left me, whom she had condescended to refer to as her "beloved nephew," nine hundred dollars in cash and her favorite flower-piece in wax, a hideous thing which for thirty years had occupied the corner of honor in the front spare chamber.
I do not know what Alice did with the wax-flowers. As for the nine hundred dollars, I appropriated it to laudable purposes. Some of it went for a new silk dress for Alice; the rest I spent for books, and I recall my thrill of delight when I saw ensconced upon my shelves a splendid copy of Audubon's "Birds" with its life-size pictures of turkeys, buzzards, and other fowl done in impossible colors.
After that experience "our house" simmered and shrivelled down from the Norman-Gothic to plain, everyday, fin-de-siècle architecture. We concluded that we could get along with five rooms (although six would be better), and we transferred our affections from that corner lot in the avenue which had engaged our attention during the decadent-renaissance phase of our enthusiasm to a modest point in Slocum's Addition, a locality originally known as Slocum's Slough, but now advertised and heralded by the press and rehabilitated in public opinion as Paradise Park. This pleasing mania lasted about two years. Then it was forever abated by the awful discovery that Paradise Park was the breeding spot of typhoid fever, and, furthermore, that old man Slocum's title to the property was defective in every essential particular.
Alice and I did not find it in our power either to overlook or to combat these trifling objections; with unabated optimism we cast our eyes elsewhere, and within a month we found another delectable biding place--this time some distance from the city--in fact, in one of the new and booming suburbs. Elmdale was then new to fame. I suppose they called it Elmdale because it had neither an elm nor a dale. It was fourteen miles from town, but its railroad transportation facilities were unique. The five-o'clock milk-train took passengers in to business every morning, and the eight-o'clock accommodation brought them home again every evening; moreover, the noon freight stopped at Elmdale to take up passengers every other Wednesday, and it was the practice of every other train to whistle and to slack up in speed to thirty miles an hour while passing through this promising suburb.
I did not care particularly for Elmdale, but Alice took a mighty fancy to it. Our twin boys (Galileo and Herschel, named after the astronomers of blessed memory!) were now three years old, and Alice insisted that they required the pure air and the wholesome freedom of rural life. Galileo had, in fact, never quite been himself since he swallowed the pincushion.
We did not go to Elmdale at once; we never went there. Elmdale was simply another one of those curious phases in which our dream of a home abounded. With the Elmdale phase "our house" underwent another change. But this was natural enough. You see that in none of our other plans had we contemplated the possibility of a growing family. Now we had two uproarious boys, and their coming had naturally put us into pleasing doubt as to what similar emergencies might transpire in the future. So our five-room cottage had acquired (in our minds) two more rooms--seven altogether--and numerous little changes in the plans and decorations of "our house" had gradually been evolved.
As I now remember, it was about this time that Alice made up her mind that the reception-room should be treated in blue. Her birth had occurred in December, and therefore turquoise was her birth-stone and the blue thereof was her favorite color. I am not much of a believer in such things--in fact, I discredit all superstitions except such as involve black cats and the rabbit's foot, and these exceptions are wholly reasonable, for my family lived for many years in Salem, Mass. But I have always conceded that Alice has as good a right to her superstitions as I to mine. I bought her the prettiest turquoise ring I could afford, and I approved her determination to treat the reception-room in blue. I rather enjoyed the prospect of the luxury of a reception-room; it had ground the iron into my soul that, ever since we married and settled down, Alice and I had been compelled in winter months to entertain our callers in the same room where we ate our meals. In summer this humiliation did not afflict us, for then we always sat of an evening on the front porch.
The blue room met with a curious fate. One Christmas our beneficent friend, Colonel Mullaly, presented Alice and me with a beautiful and valuable lamp. Alice went to Burley's the next week and priced one (not half as handsome) and was told that it cost sixty dollars. It was a tall, shapely lamp, with an alabaster and Italian marble pedestal cunningly polished; a magnificent yellow silk shade served as the crowning glory to this superb creation.
For a week, perhaps, Alice was abstracted; then she told me that she had been thinking it all over and had about made up her mind that when we got our new house she would have the reception-room treated in a delicate canary shade.
"But why abandon the blue, my dear?" I asked. "I think it would be so pretty to have the decoration of the room match your turquoise ring."
"That 's just like a man!" said Alice. "Reuben, dear, could you possibly imagine anything else so perfectly horrid as a yellow lampshade in a blue room?"
"You are right, sweetheart," said I. "That is something I had never thought of before. You are right; canary color it shall be, and when we have moved in I 'll buy you a dear little canary bird in a lovely gold cage, and we 'll hang it in the front window right over the lamp, so that everybody can see our treasures from the street and envy our happiness!"
"You dear, sweet boy!" cried Alice, and she reached up and pulled my head down and kissed her dear, sweet boy on his bald spot. Alice is an angel!
I fear I am wearying you with the prolixity of my narrative. So let me pass rapidly over the ten years that succeeded to the yellow-lamp epoch. Ten hard but sweet years! Years full of struggle and hopes, touched with bereavement and sorrow, but precious years, for troubles, like those we have had, sanctify human lives. Children came to us, and of these priceless treasures we lost two. If I thought Alice would ever see these lines I should not say to you now that from the two great sorrows of those years my heart has never been and never shall be weaned. I would not have Alice know this, for it would open afresh the wounds her dear, tender mother-heart has suffered.
Galileo and Herschel are strapping fellows. They have survived their juvenile ambitions to be milkmen, policemen, lamp-lighters, butchers, grocerymen, etc., respectively. Both are now in the manual-training school. Fanny, Josephine and Erasmus--I have not mentioned them before,--these are the children that are left to us of those that have come in the later years. And, my! how they are growing! What changes have taken place in them and all about us! My affairs have prospered; if it had n't been for the depression that set in two years ago I should have had one thousand dollars in bank by this time. My salary has increased steadily year by year; it has now reached a sum that enables me to hope for speedy relief from those financial worries which encompass the head of a numerous household. By the practice of rigid economy in family expenses I have been able to accumulate a large number of black-letter books and a fine collection of curios, including some fifty pieces of mediaeval armor. We have lived in rented houses all these years, but at no time has Alice abandoned the hope and the ambition of having a home of her own. "Our house" has been the burthen of her song from one year's end to the other. I understand that this becomes a monomania with a woman who lives in a rented house.
And, gracious! what changes has "our house" undergone since first dear Alice pictured it as a possibility to me! It has passed through every character, form, and style of architecture conceivable. From five rooms it has grown to fourteen. The reception parlor, chameleon-like, has changed color eight times. There have duly loomed up bewildering visions of a library, a drawing-room, a butler's pantry, a nursery, a laundry--oh, it quite takes my breath away to recall and recount the possibilities which Alice's hopes and fancies conjured up.
But, just two months ago to-day Alice burst in upon me. I was in my study over the kitchen figuring upon the probable date of the conjunction of Venus and Saturn in the year 1963.
"Reuben, dear," cried Alice, "I 've done it! I 've bought a place!"
"Alice Fothergill Baker," says I, "what _do_ you mean!"
She was all out of breath--so transported with delight was she that she could hardly speak. Yet presently she found breath to say: "You know the old Schmittheimer place--the house that sets back from the street and has lovely trees in the yard? You remember how often we 've gone by there and wished we had a home like it? Well, I 've bought it! Do you understand, Reuben dear? I 've bought it, and we 've got a home at last!"
"Have you _paid_ for it, darling?" I asked.
"N-n-no, not yet," she answered, "but I 'm going to, and you 're going to help me, are n't you, Reuben?"
"Alice," says I, going to her and putting my arms about her, "I don't know what you 've done, but of course I 'll help you--yes, dearest, I 'll back you to the last breath of my life!"
Then she made me put on my boots and overcoat and hat and go with her to see her new purchase--"our house!"
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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2
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OURSELVES AND OUR NEIGHBORS
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Everybody's house is better made by his neighbors. This philosophical utterance occurs in one of those black-letter volumes which I purchased with the money left me by my Aunt Susan (of blessed memory!) . Even if Alice and I had not fully made up our minds, after nineteen years of planning and figuring, what kind of a house we wanted, we could have referred the important matter to our neighbors in the confident assurance that these amiable folk were much more intimately acquainted with our needs and our desires than we ourselves were. The utter disinterestedness of a neighbor qualifies him to judge dispassionately of your requirements. When he tells you that you ought to do so and so or ought to have such and such a thing, his counsel should be heeded, because the probabilities are that he has made a careful study of you and he has unselfishly arrived at conclusions which intelligently contemplate your welfare. In planning for oneself one is too likely to be directed by narrow prejudices and selfish considerations.
Alice and I have always thought much of our neighbors. I suspect that my neighbors are my most salient weaknesses. I confess that I enjoy nothing else more than an informal call upon the Baylors, the Tiltmans, the Rushes, the Denslows and the other good people who constitute the best element in society in that part of the city where Alice and I and our interesting family have been living in rented quarters for the last six years. This informality of which I am so fond has often grieved and offended Alice. It is that gentle lady's opinion that a man at my time of life should have too much dignity to make a practice of "bolting into people's houses" (I quote her words exactly) when I know as well as I know anything that they are at dinner, and that a dessert in the shape of a rhubarb pie or a Strawberry shortcake is about to be served.
There was a time when Alice overlooked this idiosyncrasy upon my part; that was before I achieved what Alice terms a national reputation by my discovery of a satellite to the star Gamma in the tail of the constellation Leo. Alice does not stop to consider that our neighbors have never read the royal octavo volume I wrote upon the subject of that discovery; Alice herself has never read that book. Alice simply knows that I wrote that book and paid a printer one thousand one hundred dollars to print it; this is sufficient to give me a high and broad status in her opinion, bless her loyal little heart!
But what do our neighbors know or care about that book? What, for that matter, do they know or care about the constellation Leo, to say nothing of its tail and the satellites to the stellar component parts thereof? I thank God that my hospitable neighbor, Mrs. Baylor, has never suffered a passion for astronomical research to lead her into a neglect of the noble art of compounding rhubarb pies, and I am equally grateful that no similar passion has stood in the way of good Mrs. Rush's enthusiastic and artistic construction of the most delicious shortcake ever put into the human mouth.
The Denslows, the Baylors, the Rushes, the Tiltmans and the rest have taken a great interest in us, and they have shared the enthusiasm (I had almost said rapture) with which Alice and I discoursed of "the house" which we were going to have "sometime." They did not, however, agree with us, nor did they agree with one another, as to the kind of house this particular house of ours ought to be. Each one had a house for sale, and each one insisted that his or her house was particularly suited to our requirements. The merits of each of these houses were eloquently paraded by the owners thereof, and the demerits were as eloquently pointed out by others who had houses of their own to sell "on easy terms and at long time."
It was not long, as you can well suppose, before Alice and I were intimately acquainted with all the weak points in our neighbors' residences. We knew all about the Baylors' leaky roof, the Denslows' cracked plastering, the Tiltmans' back stairway, the Rushes' exposed water pipes, the Bollingers' defective chimney, the Dobells' rickety foundation, and a thousand other scandalous details which had been dinged into us and which we treasured up to serve as a warning to us when we came to have a house--"_the_ house" which we had talked about so many years.
I can readily understand that there were those who regarded our talk and our planning simply as so much effervescence. We had harped upon the same old string so long--or at least Alice had--that, not unfrequently, even we smilingly asked ourselves whether it were likely that our day-dreaming would ever be realized. I dimly recall that upon several occasions I went so far as to indulge in amiable sarcasms upon Alice's exuberant mania. I do not remember just what these witticisms were, but I daresay they were bright enough, for I never yet have indulged in repartee without having bestowed much preliminary study and thought upon it.
I have mentioned our youngest son, Erasmus; he was born to us while we were members of Plymouth Church, and we gave him that name in consideration of the wishes of our beloved pastor, who was deeply learned in and a profound admirer of the philosophical works of Erasmus the original. Both Alice and I hoped that our son would incline to follow in the footsteps of the mighty genius whose name he bore. But from his very infancy he developed traits widely different from those of the stern philosopher whom we had set up before him as the paragon of human excellence. I have always suspected that little Erasmus inherited his frivolous disposition from his uncle (his mother's brother), Lemuel Fothergill, who at the early age of nineteen ran away from the farm in Maine to travel with a thrashing machine, and who subsequently achieved somewhat of a local reputation as a singer of comic songs in the Barnabee Concert Troupe on the Connecticut river circuit.
Erasmus' sense of humor is hampered by no sentiment of reverence. For the last five years he has caused his mother and me much humiliation by his ribald treatment of the subject that is nearest and dearest to our hearts. In fact, we have come to be ashamed of speaking of "the house" in Erasmus' hearing, for that would give the child a chance to indulge in humor at the expense of a matter which he seems to regard as visionary as the merest fairy tale. Now Galileo and Herschel are very different boys; they are making famous progress at the manual training school. Galileo has already invented a churn of exceptional merit, and Herschel is so deft at carpentering that I have determined to let him build the observatory which I am going to have on the roof of the new house one of these days. Galileo and Herschel are unusually proper, steady boys. And our daughters--ah! that reminds me.
Fanny is our oldest girl. She is going on fifteen now. She favors the Bakers in appearance, but her character is more like her mother's side of the family. If I do say it myself, Fanny is a beautiful girl. If I could have _my_ way Fanny would be less given to the social amenities of life, but the truth is that the dear creature naturally loves gayety and is bound to have it at all times and under all conditions. Her merry disposition makes her a favorite with all, and particularly with her schoolmates.
Now that I think of it, Willie Sears has been to see Fanny every evening for the last week. I wonder whether Alice has noticed it; I think I shall have to speak to her about it. Yet the probability is that Alice will resent the suggestion which my mention of the matter will convey. Alice has been saying all along that one particular reason why our new house should be a large one is that there would then be a room where Fanny could receive her company without being mortified almost to death by Erasmus' horrid intrusion and still more horrid remarks. At such times I forgive and adore Erasmus. It seems only yesterday that I bought her a bisque doll at the World's Fair, a bisque doll with pink eyes and blue hair, and now--oh, Fanny, are you no longer our little girl?
Still, we have Josephine, and I am sure she will honor us; for she was born six years ago under the conjunction of Jupiter and Venus, and while Mars was at perihelion. Moreover, she is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and there are those who believe that there is especial virtue in that. I named her after the French empress, not because I am a particular admirer of that remarkable but unfortunate woman's character, but for the reason that upon one occasion she secured a pension of eight hundred francs for the astronomer LeBanc, who had already added to the sum of human happiness by locating an asteroid near the left limb of the sun, and who subsequently discovered a greenish yellow spot on the outer ring of the planet Saturn. I never hear my dear little girl's voice or see her sweet face that I do not think of the planet Saturn; and never in the solemn stillness of night do I contemplate the scintillating glories of the ringed orb without being reminded of the fair, innocent babe asleep in her little white iron bedstead downstairs.
This sentimental association of objects widely separated in space has served to convince me that there is nothing, either in the heavens above or in the earth beneath, that has not its use, both profitable and pleasant.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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3
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WE MAKE OUR BARGAIN KNOWN
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The Schmittheimer place has occasioned Alice and me many heartburnings of envy the last three years. I recall that the first time we passed it Alice exclaimed: "There, Reuben, is just the place for us!" I agreed entirely with this proposition. The house stood back a goodly distance from the street upon a prominence that gave it an extended survey of the landscape, and afforded an exceptionally noble opportunity for an unobstructed view of the heavens upon cloudless nights. Alice particularly admired the lawn, for already she pictured to herself the pleasing sight of little Josephine and little Erasmus at play in the cool grass under the umbrageous trees.
And now, having yearned and pined for this particular abiding-place a many days, it was really ours! Alice told me about it--how she had comprehended the bargain (for it was indeed a bargain!) --as we proceeded together to inspect our new home. It seems that that very morning, worn out with waiting and inflamed by a determination to do Now or to perish in the attempt, Alice had sallied forth in quest of the precious game. She had gone directly to the owner, had subtly ingratiated herself in the confidence of Mrs. Schmittheimer, and, in less than fifteen minutes' time, had made terms with that amiable woman. And _such_ terms! My head fairly swims when I think of it.
Mrs. Schmittheimer is a widow. Since her husband's demise two years ago come next September, she has lived in comparative solitude in the old home. She was not wholly alone, for with characteristic Teutonic thrift she had rented the lower part of the house to a small family, consisting of a mechanic, his wife, their baby, and a small dog. Mrs. Schmittheimer herself lived and moved and had her being in the second story, doing her own cooking and other housework, her only companion being her faithful omnipresent cat, the sex of which (I state this for a reason which will hereinafter transpire) was feminine. Although the good Mrs. Schmittheimer was not unfrequently visited by female compatriots who condoled with her and drank her coffee and ate her kuchen, after the fashion of sympathetic, suffering womanhood, she wearied of this loneliness; she was, in fact, as anxious to get away from the old place as Alice and I were to get into it.
So Alice and Mrs. Schmittheimer had little trouble in coming to an understanding mutually agreeable. The late Mr. Schmittheimer had always demanded the round sum of ten thousand dollars for the property under discussion, but the prevalence of hard times and the persuasive eloquence of my dear diplomatic Alice induced the late Mr. Schmittheimer's relict to consent to a reduction of the price to nine thousand five hundred dollars, "one thousand dollars in cash and the balance in five years at six per cent. interest, payable semi-annually."
"You see," said Alice to me, "that we practically get the place for five years by simply paying rent. We pay one thousand dollars down and fifty dollars a month interest. In five years there are sixty months. and in that time we shall have paid for this place four thousand dollars, which is but four hundred dollars more than we should have to pay if we remained in the house we are now living in at sixty dollars a month rental! You see, I have figured it all out, and figures can't lie!"
You will agree with me when I tell you right here that my wife Alice is a superior woman.
"Now we must be very careful," said Alice, "not to breathe a word about this to anybody until all the papers have been signed and the property has been transferred."
I suggested that in so serious a proceeding it might be wise to have the counsel of the more intimate of our neighbors; the Baylors, the Rushes and the Tiltmans had had experience in such matters, and might be of important service to us in this particular undertaking.
"No," said Alice, "we must guard against every possibility of failure. Our plan might leak out and reach the ears of the real-estate dealers, and then we should be hopelessly lost. Our neighbors mean well, but they are human. No, the only people I shall consult are the Denslows."
I saw at once the wisdom of this determination. The Denslows are most estimable folk and I admire and love them. Mrs. Denslow is of an exceptionally warm, generous, and liberal nature, while, upon the other hand, Mr. Denslow has the reputation of being the most cautious business man in our city; the consequence is that in the administration of affairs in the Denslow household you meet with that conservative happy medium which is beautiful to contemplate. Alice was right; our precious secret would be secure with the Denslows. In fact the Denslows would be of distinct help to us in the vast enterprise in which we had embarked. Mrs. Denslow would be prepared at all times to provide sympathy and enthusiasm, and Mr. Denslow would be constituted at once absolute engineer and watchdog of the business details of the affair.
But--I make the confession amid blushes--I cannot prevaricate, neither can I dissemble. Alice knew the guilelessness and singleness of my nature, and she should not have imposed that dreadful oath of secrecy upon me. I would not for all the wealth of the Indies live over again the awful four hours which followed my solemn promise to Alice not to reveal the blissful tidings that we had bought the old Schmittheimer place! I felt as if I had committed a crime; I was as a haunted man must be. I dared not look my neighbors in the face lest they should read the sweet truth in my honest eyes.
Finally I broke completely down, for I could not stand it any longer. I actually believe that if I had kept silent another hour the dreadful consciousness of guilt would have swelled within me to such a bulk as to have burst me into fragments, which would now be travelling around aimlessly in space, like the lost Pleiad, or like the dismembered and stray tail of a comet. So I called my next neighbor, Rush, out behind his barn, and, under oath of secrecy, revealed the good news to him, and then I did likewise by neighbor Tiltman, and so on, in seemly progression, by all the other neighbors, until at last my confidence had been securely reposed in every one.
I cannot tell you what sweet relief I found in this proceeding. To my killing consciousness of guilt succeeded a peace which passeth all human understanding. There was a world of satisfaction, too, in being assured by each of those dear neighbors that we (Alice and I) had got the greatest bargain ever heard of, that we were the luckiest couple on earth, that the old Schmittheimer place was just exactly what we wanted, that the property would enhance double in value in less than a year, etc., etc., etc. Oh, it is good to have such neighbors as ours are!
The Denslows were quite as glad as the others were to hear of our bargain. Mrs. Denslow (bless her kind heart) began at once to picture the veritable paradise into which it were possible to transform the front lawn. In the exuberance of her fancy she portrayed winding gravel walks among rose bushes and beds of gay flowers; rustic bowers over which honeysuckle and ivy clambered; picturesque miniature Swiss cottages in the trees for birds to nest in; an artificial lake well stocked with goldfishes, and upon whose tranquil bosom a swan or two would glide majestically through the mist of the fountain that perennially would shower down its tinkling grace.
It was very pleasing to hear Mrs. Denslow and Alice talk about these things with that enthusiasm peculiar to their sex. Until "our house" became a probability I did not really know with what rapidity it were possible for women-folk to discuss and to decide even the most insignificant details of the subject matter of their enthusiasm. As I recall, in less than fifteen minutes' time after Alice had confided our secret to Mrs. Denslow those two amiable and superior women had it definitely settled what the color of the window shades was to be and just how many brass-headed tacks would be required to fasten down the new Japanese rug with which it was proposed to adorn the hardwood floor of the library in the first story of "the addition" which had already been determined upon. But Mrs. Denslow was no more prolific of lovely suggestions than was Alice's widowed sister Adah, who has made her home with us for the last two years. Adah's one o'ermastering ambition in life has been to build a house. In the autumn of 1881 she saw in a copy of "The National Architect" the picture and plans of a villa owned by a plutocrat at Narragansett Pier. She preserved this paper as sacredly as if it were one of the family archives, and upon the slightest pretext she brought it forth and exhibited it and dilated in extenso upon the surpassing advantages and beauties of the plutocratic villa.
When Adah learned that Alice and I had actually bought a place at last she fairly wept for joy, and she excitedly produced her creased and worn copy of "The National Architect" and besought us to remodel the old Schmittheimer "rookery"--that is what she dared to call it--into a villa! And when she was made to understand by means of numerous long and earnest representations that a villa could not even be dreamed of by poor folk, Adah was prepared to compromise the affair upon a basis involving our promise to build a colonial house like Maria's house in St. Jo.
This Maria, whose name is forever upon Adah's tongue, had been Adah's schoolmate back in St. Joseph, Missouri. Their friendship extended through the blissful years of their early wedded life. And at the present time they are as dear to each other as of yore. Adah presupposes that everybody else knows who Maria is, and so everybody is regaled perennially with Adah's loyal tributes to Maria's transcendent virtues. Occasionally Alice (who is without doubt the sweetest-natured creature in all the world) rebels against the example of Maria which Adah continually holds forth.
I have an instance just at hand. It could not have been more than half an hour ago that I heard Adah say: "Alice, do you know I 've been thinking about it all the morning, and I don't see how you 're going to get along without a closet in that little east room up-stairs."
"But," said Alice, "there seems to be no way of putting a closet into that room."
"Well, I think I 've hit on a plan," said Adah, and she produced a Mme. Demorest pattern of a sleeve, upon which, with infinite pains, she had traced certain lines with the wreck of a pencil which little Josephine had tried to sharpen with the scissors.
"Yes, I see," said Alice, amiably; "but that would cut in upon the hall."
"Well, Maria had to do the same thing when she made her house over," said Adah, "and you 've no idea how nice it is."
"I don't care _what_ Maria did," said Alice, bridling up. "This is _my_ house, and I 'm not going to spoil a good hall by building any skimpy little closets! That room will do for Erasmus, and he does n't need any closet. So that is settled, once and forever!"
I heard all this, myself, from the next room. I did not interfere at all, for I make it a rule never to interpose in other people's disagreements. I will admit, however, that it rather wounded me to hear Alice call it "_my_ house" instead of _our_ house.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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4
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THE FIRST PAYMENT
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As for Mr. Denslow, he agreed with other friends and neighbors that in our new old house we had secured a genuine bargain. But, as I have already indicated, Mr. Denslow was no day-dreamer; he had a way of viewing things that was severe in its practicality.
Now, I am in no sense a business man; you may already have suspected this truth. I am very far from being a fool, as those who have read my numerous treatises (particularly my "Essay to Prove the Probability of the Existence of an Atmosphere on the Other Side of the Moon") will testify; but, having had little to do with the operations and methods of trade and commerce, I am not (I admit it freely) an expert in what in this great, bustling city of Chicago are termed affairs of the world.
Mr. Denslow, upon the other hand, is keenly in touch with these affairs; brought hourly during the day into contact and competition with scheming--and not always scrupulous--men, he has acquired an extensive knowledge of human nature of the rapacious type, and this knowledge has made him wary, alert, prudent, and reserved. It is perhaps this wide difference in our natures and our pursuits that has attracted Mr. Denslow and me to each other; at any rate our friendship has been profitable to both. Mr. Denslow's counsel upon several important occasions has been of vast value to me, and I flatter myself that upon one occasion at least I served Mr. Denslow to excellent purpose. This was two years ago, when, as perhaps you remember, my sun-spot theory was widely discussed by the newspaper press. I then told Mr. Denslow that the recurrence of the sun spots would surely induce a drought upon this planet, thereby causing a shortage in the crops; whereupon Mr. Denslow "cornered the wheat market" (as the saying is) and realized a handsome sum of money.
Alice has long recognized Mr. Denslow's merits as a man of business; she, too, has what, in lieu of a better term, our New England people call faculty. So it was natural that after having drunk deep (so to speak) at the fountain of Mrs. Denslow's enthusiasm, we should turn for serious advice and practical counsel to _Mr._ Denslow.
"This opportunity," said Mr. Denslow, "is one that comes only once in a lifetime. You must not let it escape you. We should go at once to Mrs. Schmittheimer and get her to sign an agreement to part with the property upon the terms specified. In order to bind the agreement we should pay her a small sum of money--oh, say one hundred dollars. The receipt, in the form of an agreement or contract signed by her, will bind the bargain in the contemplation of the law."
"But it is after dark already," said Alice. "Wouldn't it seem rather burglarious to make a descent upon the old lady at this hour?"
"And what is more to the point," said I, "the detail (trifling as it may appear) of planking down one hundred dollars is one which I happen just at this moment to be unprepared to provide for."
"The matter should be closed at once," said Mr. Denslow. "In a deal of this kind delay is too often disastrous. As for the one hundred dollars, I will lend you that amount, for a small cash payment is really necessary to bind the bargain."
My heart went out in gratitude to this noble gentleman. Never before had I felt more keenly the value of neighborly friendship.
"As this business is to be transacted in Mrs. Baker's name," said Mr. Denslow to me, "it would be better for you not to go with us to see Mrs. Schmittheimer. The presence of too many strangers might make the old lady shy of doing what we want her to do. See?"
Yes, I comprehended the intent of the suggestion, and I approved it. While it was far from my desire to take any advantage of the Widow Schmittheimer or of anybody else, I recognized the propriety of conserving our own interests to the extent of suffering no rights of our own to be either lost or jeoparded. So while Mr. Denslow and Alice went upon their business mission I remained with Mrs. Denslow and her interesting children and elucidated my theory of the ice-caps of the planet Mars. In less than an hour Mr. Denslow and Alice returned and exhibited with delight a receipt signed by Katherine Elizabeth Schmittheimer, which receipt, I was glad to see, was practically a contract to sell the property upon the terms specified in her original talk with Alice.
"The terms are certainly exceptionally advantageous!" said Mr. Denslow. "It will take some time--perhaps a week or ten days--to investigate the title; when this detail is satisfactorily disposed of you can pay down your one thousand dollars and take possession of the premises."
Pay down one thousand dollars? Ah, I had quite forgotten about that. In my enthusiasm over the prospect of a home of our own, and in the delirium induced by the delightful chatter about the paradise into which that front lawn and that old rookery (as Adah called it) were to be transformed, I had suffered all thought of the essential and inevitable first payment of one thousand dollars to slip quite out of my mind. Now this awful consideration, from which there could be no escape, took complete and exclusive possession of me. Where in the wide, wide world was I to get the one thousand dollars?
This was the question I put to Alice on the way home from the Denslows' that memorable evening. Alice knew as well as I did that my salary was sufficient only to cover the current expenses of the family. She knew as well as I did that the royalties from my books the last year were as follows: "The Star Gamma in Leo and Its Satellite" . . . . . $1.60 "Mars and Its Ice-Caps" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .75 "Probable Depth of the Bottle-Neck Seas as Indicated by the Spectroscope" . . . . . . . . . .30 "Logarithms for the Nursery" . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.15 "Alphabetical Catalogue of Binary Stars" . . . . . . .65 ----- Total $4.45 Alice knew, too, as well as I did, that the whole amount of money I received from my lectures before the West Side Society for the Diffusion of Knowledge did not exceed seventy dollars last year. She knew all these things, and I told her so, and then I asked her where or how she fancied we were going to raise the one thousand dollars for the first payment on "our house." To my surprise, Alice was prepared--or at least she seemed to be prepared for this question.
"Reuben," said she, "I remember having heard Mr. Black say one day during his visit to us last summer that we ought to have a home, and that if we ever decided to buy one he would try his best to help us."
Now that Alice spoke of it I, too, recalled that friendly remark of Mr. Black's. A man who is drowning will catch at a straw. A man who has bought a house with nothing to pay for it is also predisposed to clutch. Our old friend Mr. Black now loomed up as my only sure salvation.
Mr. Black is upward of seventy years of age. He and my father went to school together in Maine, and subsequently they lived near each other in Cincinnati. Mr. Black had been a merchant; he had retired from business rich. After my father's death, while I was still a boy, this kind old friend was good to me, taking an interest in my work and my welfare. He had no children of his own, and, if he did not regard me almost as a son, I certainly grew to regard him almost as a father. Mr. Black knew the value of money and respected it. He gave freely, but only where he was assured it was deserved and would do actual good. A prudent, careful, economical man himself, he encouraged prudence and thrift in others. He never quite condoned what he regarded as extravagance upon my part in buying my fifty pieces of mediaeval armor, although it is to his munificence that I am indebted for the six-foot telescope with which I am wont to scan the face of the heavens.
The upshot of talks with Alice and Adah and the Denslows--to say nothing of other neighbors with whom I confidentially consulted--the upshot of these talks was that I determined to go to Cincinnati to confer with Mr. Black upon the propriety of his advancing to me the money wherewith Alice should make the first payment upon her--I mean our house. To make short of a long story (for if there is one thing that I despise above all others it is prolixity), I went to Cincinnati and unfolded my business to my aged friend. Mr. Black appeared to be in no indecent haste to satiate my craving. He is not, and never was, a man of exuberant enthusiasms. I was rather pained when, upon learning of the unparalleled bargain we had secured in the Schmittheimer place, he did not go into raptures as did Mrs. Denslow, and Mrs. Baylor, and Mrs. Tiltman and the rest of our neighbors at home. So far from being carried away by any whirlwind of enthusiasm, Mr. Black maintained a placidity of demeanor amounting to stoicism; he plied me with questions about "titles," and "abstracts," and "indentures," and "mortgages," and "liens," and "incumbrances," and other things that I actually knew no more about than the veriest Bushman knows about the theory of Nebulae.
To add to my embarrassment he solicited explicit information about the Schmittheimer place, in what subdivision it was located, and in what township. Had I been a veritable human encyclopaedia I could hardly have satisfied that man's greed for information touching that particular spot. What knew I of tracts, of townships, of quarter sections or of subdivisions? Were I filled with a knowledge of these humdrum commonplaces, should I know aught of that enthusiasm which thrills the being who, after many and long years of weary hoping and waiting, sees the object of his desires just within his grasp? Should Moses just in sight of the promised land be expected to give the dimensions of that delectable spot, and to locate it and bound it and map it off with the accuracy of a Rand & McNally township guide?
I suppose that this conservatism is natural with some people--this lack of fervor, this absence of enthusiasm. Still I will admit Mr. Black's tranquillity--nay, his glacial composure--under the circumstances surprised and grieved me. I did not understand why the prospect and the promise of "our house" did not set Mr. Black--and, for that matter, all the rest of humanity--into the selfsame transports of delight which I experienced. Mind you, now, I am not complaining of nor am I finding fault with Mr. Black. I am simply chronicling happenings and observations. Mr. Black is a benevolent and beneficent man. He said to me at last: "Well, you can tell Alice that I will send her a draft for the money she needs, and within a fortnight I shall run up to take a look at your purchase."
I was in Cincinnati three days. I should have been there but two. A curious happening detained me. As I was going to the railway station from Mr. Black's house the evening of the second day I saw a man with a reflector telescope selling views of the moon at five cents apiece. The night was so auspicious for this diversion that I could not resist the temptation. Thus seduced, the time sped so quickly and the intoxication of the enjoyment was so complete that two hours slipped away before I awakened to a realization of my folly, which cost me somewhat over a dollar and a half, and compelled me to postpone my departure for home to the next day.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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5
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WE NEGOTIATE A MORTGAGE
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Alice and I supposed that as soon as we made that first payment upon the old Schmittheimer place we should take possession of it. We had hastened negotiations because naturally enough we were anxious to share the delights of the Eden which was to be ours. It transpired all too early in the proceedings, however, that the processes of the law are exceedingly exacting and provokingly tedious. With the one thousand dollars which Mr. Black gave us we fancied that we should be able to say to the widow Schmittheimer: "Here is your money; now let us move in."
It seems that the business is not done in that business-like way. As soon as the widow Schmittheimer contracted to part with her property at a stated price and upon stated terms she awoke to a realization of the fact that she ought to have the coöperation and counsel of a lawyer--although for the life of me I cannot see what there was left for a lawyer to do. With a magnanimity and generosity which bespoke the largeness of his nature, Mr. Denslow volunteered his services as counsellor to the wary widow, and I confess that I should have interposed no objection to having this versatile friend serve in this capacity. But the widow chose to decline the gratuitous services of Mr. Denslow, and to pay fifty dollars for the professional advice of a certain Lawyer Meisterbaum, not a bad fellow, but one of those carping, superficial people who pretend to a conscientiousness and a prudence and a zeal which they actually do not possess.
After repeated meetings and the most annoying delays, Alice plainly told this Lawyer Meisterbaum that he had more than earned his fee by his puerile interferences with a prompt and amicable adjustment of the affair. Alice and Mr. Denslow and I agreed that, if we had been left to ourselves, we could have settled the business with the widow Schmittheimer in half a day. However, I suppose that the lawyers must have a chance to make a living, and I can readily understand how a really conscientious lawyer might have the lingering remnant or suggestion of a desire to impress his client with the suspicion that he was earning his fee.
For fully a fortnight after my return from Cincinnati we were harassed by the delays of the law, or, more exactly speaking, by the exasperating crochets of the lawyer. Meanwhile there came letters of anxious inquiry from our munificent friend Mr. Black, for that estimable person, being aware of my predilection for ancient armor and other curios, found it difficult to disabuse his mind of the suspicion that his one thousand dollars might have been diverted from its original purpose, and misappropriated to what he esteemed the uses of folly. So it was with a feeling of great relief that finally I apprised our generous friend by telegraph that the transaction had been closed.
This end had not been reached, however, until Alice had put her signature and her seal to a curiously-phrased document which served (as I was told) as security to the widow Schmittheimer in case of "default in payment of interest or principal." This instrument is called, as I remember, a deed of trust, which seems to be another and a more polite name for a mortgage.
I protested against Alice's putting her signature to this document, which I still recognize as a covert foe to our happiness and prosperity. But Mr. Denslow assured us that the proceeding was wholly proper and businesslike, and Alice paid no heed to my expostulations. Never before had I had any experience in matters or with instruments of this kind, and I will admit that I have not even now any idea of what the purport of the document in question is, further than a distinct intuition that its involved syntax and complex and cloudy phraseology bode no good.
As soon as the transaction was closed the widow Schmittheimer burst into tears and loudly bewailed having parted with her home. I then learned that for the last ten days she had been almost constantly besieged by old friends of hers--the same who had been wont to consume her coffee and her kuchen and who now regaled her (in compensation, as it were, for her past hospitality) with reproachful assurances that she had been virtually swindled out of her beautiful property. The grief of this lonely and amiable woman touched me to the core, and I sought to assuage her melancholy by telling her that we should expect her to visit us, to which she replied amid tears and seeming gratitude that she would be sure to call every September and March, these being the months (as I afterward learned) in which the semi-annual interest, so called, fell due.
As you may suppose, while Alice and I, under the direction of Mr. Denslow, were worrying ourselves nearly to death over the miserable details of "closing" this transaction, our neighbors and Adah (Alice's sister) busied themselves with planning improvements in and for our new home. It was during this period that Adah met with one of those sorrows which benumb the sensitive feminine heart. In a moment of vandalism ever to be deprecated, little Erasmus discovered and took possession of that copy of "The National Architect" which contained the picture of the plutocratic villa at Narragansett Pier. This precious relic was put by the heedless boy to the base use of serving as a tail to a kite, and during one of the high winds the kite blew away, and there was an end to Adah's most precious possession! Thus perished the link that united Adah to the sweetest dream of her maturer years.
However, this mishap did not wholly abate Adah's interest in our affairs. In answer to Adah's solicitation a long letter had come from Maria, bearing the blissful promise that a carefully made plan of Maria's house of St. Joe (drawn by Maria herself upon a fly leaf excerpted from Maria's favorite volume, "The Life of Mary Lyon") would soon be forwarded for our enlightenment and delectation. Maria felt kindly toward us, and her sympathies had been awakened to their very depths by a tender souvenir Adah had sent her--a leaf plucked from one of the lilac bushes on the old Schmittheimer place. Both Adah and Maria belong to that old-school class of proper feminine folk who never pick but always pluck flowers.
Well, Adah and the neighbors kept as busy as a bee in a bottle planning changes that they deemed necessary in our house. When we got through with that dilly-dallying, shilly-shallying Lawyer Meisterbaum, Alice and I found out that Adah and the neighbors had left little for us to do except to approve their plans and pay for the execution thereof.
There had been a kind of tacit understanding all along that such changes as we made in the Schmittheimer house should be superintended by an architect-carpenter who was cordially recommended by Mrs. Denslow. This important person's name was Silas Plum, and he had a shop in Osgood Avenue, opposite one of our most fashionable and most prosperous cemeteries. Mrs. Denslow always called him Uncle Si, and this circumstance rather prejudiced me in favor of him. The facts, too, that Uncle Si was not overcrowded with business, that he was considerate in his charges, and that he was of so great versatility that he could boss the plumbing as well as the carpentering--these facts confirmed us in the opinion that Uncle Si was just the man for our needs.
I went with Mrs. Denslow to call upon this gifted and honest son of toil. His modest place of business was indicated to the passer-by by this insinuating sign: SILAS PLUM, CARPENTER & BUILDER. COFFIN BOXES A SPECIALITY.
I am not a superstitious person. I think I have already told you so. Still I have instincts and intuitions; and you, who are not wholly dead to the subtle influences of the more delicate sentiments, will probably sympathize with me when I admit that Mr. Plum's sign did not inspire me with that enthusiasm which is at least comforting to the possessor. The reference to Mr. Plum's "speciality" was what cast a temporary gloom over me, but Mrs. Denslow was not one of those who suffer a detail so insignificant as this to stand in her way; so I was bounced into Uncle Si's shop and presented to Uncle Si in propria persona.
Uncle Si impressed me as being a very trustworthy man. He looked not unlike myself; his gaunt, sinewy frame betokened severe practicability, and his calm blue eyes and large straight mouth combined to give his face an unmistakable and convincing expression of candor. Of speech he was monosyllabic, and this peculiarity pleased me, for I have always admired and always cultivated directness and terseness, there being nothing else more distasteful to me than the prolixity, diffuseness, pleonasm, amplification, redundance, and copia verborum of some people. I told Uncle Si all about the new purchase we had made, and I drew upon a pine board a fairly correct plan of the Schmittheimer house as it now stood. I gave him to understand that numerous and important changes were required, and that I desired to secure from him an estimate as to the cost of those changes.
"I can't tell how much it will be till I know what you want," said Uncle Si.
I recognized the justness of this remark, yet at the same time I felt bitter toward Uncle Si for not knowing without being told. To tell the truth, _I_ didn't know. I had heard Alice and Adah talking in a general way about "closets" and a "new hall," and "hardwood floors" and--and--and things of that kind; I remembered having heard some discussion of a prospective "addition," and--yes--I now recalled that the front porch would have to be rebuilt. Hoping to conceal my utter ignorance, I told Uncle Si that we wanted "lots of changes," but this would not satisfy the exasperating man; he insisted upon particulars, upon "specifications," as he termed them.
Of course I was unable to give them; so was Mrs. Denslow. The only really distinct idea Mrs. Denslow had of the transformation contemplated by Alice was one concerning the front lawn, and involving gravel walks between flower beds and under umbrageous trees; exotics perennially in bloom; Swiss tree boxes, from which the lark carolled by day and the nightingale warbled at night; an artificial lake, in which goldfishes swam and upon whose translucent bosom majestic swans glided gracefully--I assure you that Mrs. Denslow has the soul of a poet!
But these delightful fancies did not interest Uncle Si, because they did not concern him or his trade. So we compromised the matter by appointing an hour that evening for Uncle Si to call and talk it all over with Alice. This was, seemingly, the only way out of the dilemma. All I knew was what I didn't want, or, rather, what _we_ didn't want. Our many and long and earnest conversations with the neighbors had determined numerous important points. We didn't want a roof like the Baylors' roof; nor water-pipes like the Rushes'; nor backstairs like the Tiltmans'; nor plastering like the Denslows'; nor dormer-windows like the Carters'; nor a kitchen sink like the Plunkers'; nor smoky chimneys like the Bollingers'; nor a skimpy little conservatory like the Mayhews'--in fact, there were so many things we _didn't_ want that it seemed to me that if Uncle Si had been moderately ingenious or had given his imagination full rein, he might have guessed what we _did_ want, and so have gone ahead without fear of incurring our displeasure.
It was perhaps better, however, that, before undertaking his task, Uncle Si should require some hint or intimation of what would be expected of him. I am the last man in the world to discourage what is ordinarily regarded and accepted as reasonable precaution against embarrassment and adversity.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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6
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I AM BESOUGHT TO BUY THINGS
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Alice had her talk with Uncle Si and issued therefrom with the conviction that Uncle Si was a paragon of integrity and carpentering skill. As for Uncle Si, he must have gathered together a pretty fair general idea of what Alice wanted, for he promised to return the next day with plans and details and with an estimate of what the contemplated improvements would cost.
Meanwhile another complication had arisen. The people to whom the widow Schmittheimer had rented the lower part of the house declined to vacate the premises unless we paid them a bonus of fifteen dollars. Alice indignantly protested that we had no fifteen dollars to throw away, and I recognized the truth of this proposition. Still, a visit to the recalcitrant tenants convinced me that they were poor folk and could ill afford to bear the expense of moving. Another circumstance that made me feel rather kindly toward these people was that their name was Mitchell, and, although they made no such claim, it pleased me to fancy that they were of kin to that distinguished family which has contributed so largely to the glory of native astronomical research.
Actuated, therefore, by the most honorable impulses, I gave these people fifteen dollars which I borrowed for that purpose from my most estimable neighbor, Mrs. Tiltman, upon the understanding that I should pay it back when I heard from "The Sidereal Torch," to which publication I had sent a carefully prepared essay on Encke's comet. In this wise a matter which might have caused us much delay and vexation was quickly and amicably disposed of. I did not tell Alice of what I had done, for although Alice is (as I have already assured you) the most amiable of her sex, she cannot brook what she regards as an imposition, and this inclination to resent seeming overbearance in others has not unfrequently put us to expense and involved us in embarrassment.
Another episode which is still fresh in my memory I cannot forbear relating. Alice came to me one day not long ago--it was perhaps three weeks since--and insisted that I should attend to having the correct name of the avenue in which we were to live put upon the lamp-posts at the corners of that avenue. I could not guess what Alice meant until she informed me that, although the name of that thoroughfare had by ordinance of the City Council been changed from Mush Street to Clarendon Avenue, the old name of Mush Street had (by a singular inadvertence) been suffered to remain upon the lamp-posts along that highway.
"The idea!" cried Alice, indignantly. "Do you suppose I would live upon Mush Street? Do you suppose I ever would have bought that house and lot if I had suspected even for a moment that they were not in Clarendon Avenue? Mush Street is just horrid--everybody else thinks so, and I know it! I won't have it Mush Street; it's Clarendon Avenue, and I 'm going to have Clarendon Avenue engraved on my cards! Reuben, you must see at once that the lamp-posts are changed."
I confess that so far as I myself am concerned it matters not whether my abiding place be in Mush Street or in Clarendon Avenue so long as I am comfortably bedded and fed and my family are well provided for. Names are, at best, arbitrary things. Moreover, I was well aware (and you will see for yourself if you consult a map of our city) that that thoroughfare which has been renamed Clarendon Avenue is actually Mush Street, or, at any rate, a continuation of Mush Street. However, I had a regard for that sense of feminine pride which made Alice revolt against Mush Street. I am aware that the conspicuous characteristics of Mush Street for many miles are goats and fortune-tellers and coal yards and rumshops and midwiveries; these glaring features are by no means such as the élite of our society care to affect. Conceding that my indifference to these idiosyncrasies should not be suffered to stand in the way of the natural current of Alice's womanly pride, I promised to do my best toward effecting what Alice required, and I am now engaged upon a memorial to the Mayor and the Board of Aldermen praying that the lamp-posts in Clarendon Avenue be purged of that lettering which suggests the commonplace antecedents of that thoroughfare.
I find that Alice is not alone in her wretchedness. It appears that our friends Lawyer Miles and Mr. Redleigh and their families are at present engaged in the momentous task of getting the name of the street in which they live changed from Cemetery Avenue to Sportland Place. And our other friends two blocks west of us are greatly agitated just now because the name of their aristocratic thoroughfare has, by a whim of the municipal authorities, been changed from Alexander Avenue to Osgood Street. I have mentioned these facts to Alice, but no sense of that sympathy which is said to arise from the companionship of misery seems to reconcile my dear wife to the plebeian association which the mere mention of Mush Street suggests.
The Sunday morning after we had actually bought the Schmittheimer place the city newspapers made a record of the event in their "society column," and added that it was "understood that in their beautiful new home Prof. and Mrs. Baker would entertain lavishly." I was inclined to take exception to this item, which I regarded as a vulgar parade of our private affairs; moreover, the innuendo was wholly untruthful. Alice and I did not intend to "entertain" at all; we could not afford to "entertain." What would Mr. Black say if by chance he were to get hold of a copy of any of those Sunday morning newspapers and read that mendacious paragraph? He would not only lament the one thousand dollars which he had just advanced; worse than that, he would forever shut down on those other acts of similar generosity which, I am free to say, Alice and I counted among the pleasing probabilities of the near future.
I repeat that this untruthful notoriety through the medium of the "society column" displeased me, and I am sure I should have spoken my mind very freely about it if I had not heard Alice reading the item with evident gusto to her sister Adah. My amazement was increased when Alice asked me to secure a dozen extra papers for her, as she wished to send marked copies to certain fashionable society acquaintances and to several other relatives in Maine! I can picture the rural astonishment with which Cousin Jabez Fothergill of Biddeford Pool and the Strattons of North Moosehead will read of our good fortune. I more than half suspect that in a moment of triumphant revenge and in a spirit of cruel malice Alice sent a copy of the paper to Miss Mears at Pocatapaug. Miss Mears is little to me now, but once I called her Hepsival, and even after these many years of separation I would fain undo any act of spite which her successful rival, Alice, might attempt.
The Monday following the publication of this strangely malevolent item was an unusually busy day with me. I seemed suddenly to have become the target of every man who had anything to sell. I was waited upon by fruit-tree venders, lightning-rod agents, fire underwriters, plumbers, gas-fitters, painters, and an innumerable army of persons having horses, cows, pigs, chickens, shade trees, patent hitching posts, smoke-consumers, Pasteur filters, shrubbery, lawn statuary, fancy poultry, garden utensils, and patent paving to dispose of. I really cannot realize how I got rid of them all, for a more affable and persuasive lot of gentlemen I never before had met with. Come to think of it, I have not got rid of them. They continue to cultivate my acquaintance and on account of their attentions (polite but persistent) I have been compelled to lay aside temporarily my investigation into the character of the atmosphere around Aldebaran, a most delicate work upon which I am hoping to rear the superstructure of my fame.
I admit that these attentions rather flatter me; it is possible that after a time--say a year or two--I may weary of the courteous gentleman who is now seeking to sell me a dozen apple-trees, one-third cash, balance in ten years. I may, in the lapse of time, become indifferent to the blandishments of him who daily for the last two months has been trying to convince me that I cannot reach the summum bonum of human happiness until I have invested four dollars in Perkins' patent automatic garden rake and step-ladder combination. The gentleman who has the smoke-consumer, the gentleman who deals in shrubbery, the gentleman who advocates lightning rods, and the other gentlemen who represent the tantamount interests of lawn statuary, fancy poultry, patent paving, etc., etc., etc.--I may, in the flight of years, become insensible to their charms, for there is no change that is not rendered possible by the capricious offices of Time. But at present I can hardly realize how these people can ever be other than they now are--near to me, as I know, and dear to me, as I feel.
I did not suspect, before I became a householder, that the mere possession of property was capable of making a man an object of such unflagging interest to his fellow creatures. I find it very pleasing--the solicitude with which these newly-made acquaintances (the venders, agents, and other polite gentlemen) regard me, and attend upon me, and seek to gain my approval. It is sweet to be beloved.
In the very height of this enjoyment, however, there are considerations which serve to cause me feelings of disquietude. My conscience constantly reproves me for the deception which I am practising upon these people. It occurred to me several weeks ago that I had no right to pose as the proprietor of our new house. The new house and its circumadjacent real estate belong not to me, but to Alice and to her heirs and assigns forever. I have no proprietary rights in that house or upon that expansive lawn; If I am there, it is simply as a piece of furniture, like the stove, or the clock, or the centre-table. I am simply tolerated, perhaps as an object of ornament, perhaps as an object of use. This is a humiliating confession; the thought that it is actually true pains me poignantly.
I never supposed I was a moral coward, but I must be; otherwise I would weeks ago have called an open-air mass-meeting of the apple-tree agents, the fire-underwriters, the patent pavers and the others, and confessed to them that their attentions were misdirected, and that I was not in fact _the_ fortunate being whose lot they sought to better.
A strangely craven consideration withheld me from this manly course. I suspected that as soon as I divulged the truth I would be forsaken by this troupe--this retinue of unctuous courtiers. In my imaginings I beheld myself deserted and alone, while the vast army of my quondam attendants and flatterers tagged after and surrounded and fawned upon Alice, the real purchaser and actual owner of our new place!
I make a candid exposition of these things, not more for the purpose of relieving my conscience of its long pent-up misery than for the purpose of disclosing that which may happily serve as a warning to my fellow-beings. I long ago discovered that one of the compensations of human folly is the example which that folly affords for the discreet guidance of others.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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7
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OUR PLANS FOR IMPROVEMENTS
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The result of the numerous conferences between Alice and Uncle Si was rather surprising to me. It involved the expenditure of somewhat more than three thousand dollars. However, a letter had been received from our beneficent friend, Mr. Black, in which that estimable gentleman expressed the conviction that we ought not to try to live in a house that did not have the ordinary conveniences of a modern city home, and that we should add whatever improvements we deemed necessary to our comfort; these pleasing expressions of opinion were supplemented by the still more pleasing intimation that Mr. Black would advance us whatever sum was necessary to the provision of the changes and innovations we deemed expedient. It was evident that Mr. Black was most kindly disposed toward us; at the same time our munificent patron took occasion to caution us against extravagance and to impress upon us a sense of the necessity of constant and rigorous economy--"especially and particularly in the direction of those vanities which simply gratify an individual whim, and are of no practical value whatsoever."
Alice read this last sentence aloud to me several times, for it expressed exactly her opinion of my fondness for mediaeval armor. I am making no complaint of the sly satisfaction which Alice seemingly takes in twitting me with my weakness. I expect to have a glorious revenge by and by when we move into our new house, and when Alice discovers how very appropriate and ornamental my mediaeval armor will be, set up against the walls and in the corners of the front hall.
Fortified by the letter from Mr. Black, we had little difficulty in planning the most charming improvements. I make use of the plural personal pronoun, although if I were testifying upon oath I should feel compelled to admit that I myself had precious little to do with the planning. It grieved me considerably to observe that while the neighbors generally, and Mrs. Denslow particularly, were diligently consulted as to every detail of the new house, an expression of my wishes, views, and advice was not only not solicited, but, when volunteered, seemed to be regarded as an impertinence. It occurred to me at such times that prosperity by no means improved Alice's temper, but I should perhaps have taken into consideration the circumstance that this particular period was one of exceptional excitement, and that had the same sense of responsibility which burdened Alice been put upon me, I, too, should have exhibited an irritability wholly foreign to my nature under normal conditions and environments.
It was determined to reconstruct certain parts of the old Schmittheimer residence and to build an addition of two stories, the first-floor room to be devoted to the purposes of a library or living room, and the room in the second story to be Alice's bed-chamber. A vast number of closets were contemplated, for, as you are presumably aware, woman-kind are passionately fond of closets, and happy, thrice happy, is the husband who is accorded the inestimable boon of suspending his Sunday suit from a nail therein. As for myself, I have always regarded the average closet as an ingenious device of the evil one for the propagation and encouragement of moths.
Among other contemplated innovations were a butler's pantry and a conservatory. I approved of the latter, but not of the former. I foresaw in that butler's pantry a pretext, if not a reason, for the purchase of china, crockery, and glassware, to be used only when we had company and to be hidden away at other times until broken by careless servants.
A conservatory had for years been one of my most pleasing desires. Although I know little of them, I am fond of flowers, particularly of those which others care for and which do not breed or abound in creeping things. But the use to which I was ambitious to put my--or our--conservatory was that of an aviary. I love all pet birds, and one of my sweetest day dreams has been that which possessed me of a large glass room or bower well stocked with canaries, linnets, bullfinches, robins, wrens, Java sparrows, love birds, and paroquets. I have often pictured to myself the delight I should experience in entering into this heaven of song and in caressing these feathered pets, in feeding them and in teaching them pretty tricks and games. I recall those pleasant boyhood days when a pet crow, and a flock of pigeons, and two baby hawks afforded me rapture and solicitude combined. Then followed an experience with a matronly hen and her brood of chicks.
I am not ashamed to say that I loved these friends of my youth and that I still reverence their memories. Nor am I ashamed to tell you that for several years after I reached maturity a particular object of my affections was a wee canary bird that sang sweet songs to me and played daintily with my finger whenever I thrust it into the little rascal's cage. Alice insists that I actually cried when that silly little creature died; may be I did, for I am a very, very foolish fellow.
One of the things I have never been able to understand is why Alice, with all her gentleness and tenderness, has so violent an antipathy to bird and brute pets. Alice actually seems to dislike birds and dogs with the same zeal with which I love them. At times--you will hardly believe it--Alice has exhibited Neronian cruelty and hardness of heart. I remember that on one occasion she caught a harmless, innocent little blue mouse in the pantry. She fully intended to drown the helpless creature--as if this world were not big enough for mice and men to live and be happy in! I had great difficulty in rescuing the tiny rodent from his captor, and I remember the satisfaction I had in giving him his liberty under the kitchen porch of neighbor Rush's house next door.
At first Alice was kindly disposed toward the conservatory scheme, but in an unguarded moment one day I chanced to breathe a suggestion that a combination conservatory-bird cage would do very nicely, and that settled the fate of my pleasant dreamings forever.
But I seldom argue these things with Alice. The conservatory is now a shattered dream, and the butler's pantry is inevitable. The graceful alcove, which was to have been the conservatory (with aviary features), is to be provided with a permanent, stationary seat which Adah is to upholster in a pattern which Maria has promised to send from St. Joe. Whenever I think of it there rise up before my mind's eye visions of stolen meetings in that alcove, and whispered interviews, in which I fancy I see our daughter Fanny figuring as an active participant, and then I devoutly pray that little Erasmus' vigilance may be increased a thousand-fold.
I was informed in good time that the library was to be virtually the living-room for the family. It was here that casual callers were to be received and entertained; here the errand boys who delivered packages from the downtown shops were to leave their goods and get their receipts; here the laundryman was to wait every Monday morning while Adah gathered up my hebdomadal bundle of linen for the wash; here were the children to gather for a frolic every evening after the humble vesper meal.
I am wondering whether Alice and Adah and the neighbors will approve of my dearly cherished plan to have one of the tall clocks stationed in one corner, and my very old Suffolk oak table in another corner, and in still another the curious old sofa which Aunt 'Gusty has promised to send me from Darien, Georgia. I am painfully aware that Alice and Adah and the neighbors regard the beautiful furniture in which I delight as "old trumpery."
When we first looked at the Schmittheimer place Alice exclaimed, upon being ushered into one of the rooms: "Now this is just the room for Reuben and his old trumpery!" It is twenty-two feet long and eighteen feet wide, and there are windows to the north, west, and south. Curiously enough, the chimney runs up through the middle of this room, presenting an appearance at once novel and grotesque. Alice assures me that this will prove a unique and charming feature, for she intends to put innumerable shelves around the chimney, and place thereon the interesting and valuable curios, the purchase of which has kept me involved in financial embarrassment for the last twenty years.
Alice has settled it in her own mind just where in my new room each bit of my beloved furniture shall be located--the mahogany chest of drawers, the old secretary, the four-post bedstead, the haircloth trunk, the oak book-case, the corn-husk rocker, the cuckoo clock, the Dutch cabinet--yes, each blessed piece has already had its place assigned to it, even to the old red cricket which Miss Anna Rice sent me from her Connecticut home twelve years ago. I am indeed the most fortunate of men; for who but my Alice _could_ be so sweet and self-abnegatory as to take upon her own dear little shoulders the burden of responsibilities that elsewise would weigh upon her husband?
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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8
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THE VANDALS BEGIN THEIR WORK
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At the regular April meeting of the Lake Shore Society of Antiquarians I met my old and valued friend, Belville Rock, and told him of the important venture which Alice had made. He seemed greatly pleased at the prospect of our having a home of our own, and after making careful inquiries into the extent and character of the improvements we contemplated he bade me tell Alice that he wanted to pay the bill for the painting of the exterior of the house. "I desire to do somewhat toward beautifying your premises," said he, "and I don't know that I can do better than to paint the house. You understand, of course, that my long and intimate acquaintance with you and Alice warrants me in proposing as a friendly act what elsewise might be regarded as an impertinence."
I hastened to assure Mr. Rock that both Alice and I knew him to be utterly incapable of any word or deed that could by any means be misconstrued into an impertinence. We had known this amiable gentleman for the period of twenty years. It was he who proposed me for membership of the Lake Shore Society of Antiquarians, and it was he who provided the means wherewith I published my first book, entitled "A Critical View of the Causes of Eclamptic and Traumatic Idiocy."
This was at the time in my career when I supposed I had good reason to believe that all human mental and physical ills are directly traceable to the influence of the moon, which theory was suggested to me by the discovery that cabbages thrive when planted in the first quarter of the moon and invariably pine when planted in the full of the moon. I am still more or less of a believer in this theory, and it is my purpose to renew my investigations and experiments in this direction, particularly so far as cabbages are involved, for I mean to have a kitchen garden (with Alice's permission) as soon as we move into our new place in Mush Street--pardon me, I mean Clarendon Avenue.
Belville Rock has always exhibited a friendly interest in me and my welfare. He is president of a savings bank and is concerned in numerous mercantile and speculative enterprises. He belongs to many clubs and social organizations, and is president of the Sons of Vermont, the Sons of New York, the Sons of Rhode Island, the Sons of Michigan, and the other Sons who have effected formal organizations in this city. He is treasurer of most of the current enterprises and he is recognized as a leader of distinct influence in the several political parties which control public affairs locally.
Mr. Rock commands the happy faculty of divorcing himself wholly from business during those hours which he has dedicated to sociability. He declines to discuss monetary matters outside his room at the bank. I recall how, upon several occasions when I have approached him upon the delicate subject of negotiating a trifling temporary loan, he has dismissed the matter by reminding me that he had certain days which he set apart for business of this character, and that at other times he devoted himself exclusively to the consideration of other things.
I recall, too, that after persistent inquiry (having, possibly, selfish ends in view), I learned from Cashier Bolton, who is Mr. Rock's marble-hearted alter ego, that Mr. Rock's hours for the consideration of all applications for personal accommodations were from 7.55 to 8 a.m., every other Thursday. This may strike the average person as a unique singularity, but I find it easy to understand how a man so numerously interested in affairs as Mr. Rock is should find it imperative to regulate his business and social conduct with the most methodical and most exacting system.
You can depend upon it that I lost no time in apprising Alice and Adah and our neighbors of Mr. Rock's munificent proposition, and I hardly need assure you that by all Mr. Rock's generosity was warmly applauded. The incident gave rise to a new phase in the sequence of events, for immediately a discussion arose as to the color which we ought to paint our new house, and this discussion continued with increasing vigor for several days. Adah was characteristically earnest in her advocacy of a soft cream yellow, that being the shade adopted by Maria when she repainted her St. Joe domicile--a soft cream yellow, with the blinds in a delicate brown, that was Adah's choice as inspired by her memory of Maria's habitation. The Baylors suggested a poetic grayish tint, which they insisted would look specially pretty through the foliage of the fine old trees in the front yard. The Tiltmans preferred a light brown, and the Rushes a bright yellow. As for Mrs. Denslow, she raised her voice in favor of "white, with green blinds," for, as she wisely argued, it was not possible to find a more appropriate combination for a house that had been a farmhouse and that would retain (even after we had rehabilitated it) the most salient characteristics of a farmhouse.
Alice and I agreed with Mrs. Denslow (as we generally do), and our determination was confirmed when we subsequently learned, upon inquiry of Mr. Krome, the painter, that white paint was as expensive a paint as could be selected. It was our desire, in our choice of paint, to do nothing likely to lessen or to detract from the lustre of the princeliness of Mr. Rock's liberality. Mr. Rock had set no limitations to his munificence; far be it from us to do that which might be construed wrongfully as inappreciation of that munificence. It was the part of friendship to premise that Mr. Rock's intentions were large, and then it behooved us to see that those intentions were carried out upon a scale of equal scope. We decided, therefore, that the paint should be white, and that it should be carriage paint.
Uncle Si had advised us to have plenty of light and air admitted to "the addition" by means of numerous windows. According to the rude plan he submitted for Alice's approval, "the addition" when completed would have looked like a collection of windows of every size and shape. This was before Mr. Rock offered to paint the house. After Mr. Rock's proposal was made to and accepted by us it occurred to us that it would result in a considerable saving to us if we were to limit the number of windows and devote the space (thus economized) to clapboarding. This would involve a larger expense upon Mr. Rock's part, but it could not be denied that Mr. Rock could better afford paying for paint than we could afford paying for window frames and glass.
I think it likely that I should have called on Mr. Rock to learn his preference in the matter had the "every other Thursday" been nearer at hand. But Mr. Krome, the painter, and Uncle Si, the boss carpenter, required a speedy decision, and so we went ahead without consulting our munificent friend. Mr. Krome thereupon volunteered to do our painting by the square yard, instead of by the square foot (as is the customary proceeding); he admitted, with a candor rarely met with in his profession, he could as well afford to do our house in white carriage paint by the square yard as other rival painters could afford to do it in common white lead by the square foot. I assured Mr. Krome of my determination to spare no pains to coöperate with him in every honest and ambitious endeavor at Mr. Rock's expense.
So now, the widow Schmittheimer having vacated the premises, the work of rehabilitation began in earnest. Men with wheelbarrows and spades and picks made their appearance and started in to demolish walls and to excavate sand at a marvelous rate. Presently a cavernous space yawned where it was proposed to locate the cellar where the steam-heating apparatus was to stand. The sand taken from this spot was harrowed out and dumped in a pile over the horse-radish bed in the back yard.
This was the first piece of vandalism I noticed, and I protested against it. Not long thereafter I discovered that the workmen engaged at battering down the partitions in the upper part of the house were piling up the refuse scantling and laths on the currant and gooseberry bushes in the side yard. I protested again, and so I kept on protesting, for hardly a day passed that I did not detect the workmen about that house at some piece of lawlessness jeoparding the cherry trees, or the lilac bushes, or the tulips, or the roses, or the peonies, or the asparagus bed.
Cui bono--to what good? With as much effect might the wild man of Borneo rail at Capella because her silvery, twinkling light is seventy-one years in reaching this distant planet.
I am unalterably opposed to the wanton destruction of life. Moreover, it seems to me that the trees, the shrubbery, the vines and the flowers on the Schmittheimer place have certain rights which the invaders ought to respect. At any rate, I spent the better part of two days transplanting a number of the currant and gooseberry bushes, and although I had a stiff neck and a very lame back for a considerable time thereafter I felt more than compensated therefor by the conviction that I had saved the lives of friends who would duly give me practical proof of their gratitude.
There were certain acts of lawlessness that I could neither prevent nor repair. One grieved me particularly. The plumber hitched his horse to a tree in the front yard one morning, and, before the damage he had done was discovered, the herbivorous beast had eaten up a white lilac bush and a snowball bush, thus completing a destruction for which there would seem to be no compensation. Upon another occasion a stray cow invaded the premises and laid waste the tulip bed and chewed off the tender buds on the choicest of the rose bushes.
But the most extensive and the most hideous depredations were committed by human beings under pretext of necessity and of interest in my behalf. I refer now to those remorseless men who came first and tore up the beautiful lawn and cut away the roots of trees and digged a deep, long pit in which to lay sewer pipes; who came again and committed another similar atrocity under plea of laying a water-pipe; who came still again and for the third time abused and seared and seamed and blighted that lawn for the alleged purpose of laying a gas-pipe! O civilization! what crimes are committed in thy name!
These experiences sobered and saddened me to a degree that was strangely new to me. At times I felt embittered against all the world. But as there is no cloud that has not its silver lining, so there were pleasant little happenings which ever and anon seemed to relieve my despondency. On one occasion Uncle Si said to me cheerily: "We 're going to have good luck from this time on." "What do you mean?" I asked. "Come along with me and see for yourself," said he.
Uncle Si led the way into the house and down into the basement. He pointed to an old valise that, spread open, lay under the stairs amid the débris which the masons had left.
"That 's what I mean," said Uncle Si, "and it brings good luck every time!"
I saw that the old and abandoned valise contained a tabby cat at whose generous dugs six wee kittens were tugging industriously. The widow Schmittheimer had left her home and gone elsewhere, but faithful tabby remained behind, true to that instinct which makes the feline unalterably loyal to locality.
I never before liked cats; I have always positively disliked them because they kill birds. Yet, do you know, I actually felt my heart go out in tenderness to this particular mother tabby and her mewing kits. It occurred to me, as she lay there, blinking and purring in apparent amiability and in evident pride, that here at least was a cat that would not kill birds; if so, I would adopt her, and as for the kittens--yes, I would adopt them, too.
I made up my mind that I would name the kittens after my most intimate neighbors; one should be Baylor, another Tiltman, another Rush, a fourth Denslow, the fifth Browe, and the sixth Roth. I am sorry there are not two more, for I should like to honor my two munificent patrons, Mr. Black and Mr. Rock. But there must be a limit to human possibilities. As for the mother cat herself, there was but one thing for me to do; I had to name her Alice, of course.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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9
|
NEIGHBOR MACLEOD'S THISTLE
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The incident of the tabby cat's appearance with six kittens may have been a portent either of good or of evil. As you know, I am not a superstitious person. I smile at those whimsical fancies which figure so conspicuously in many people's lives, such as the howling of dogs, the flickering of a candle, the arrangement of the grounds in a cup, the cracking of a mirror, the sudden stopping of the clock, the crowing of hens, the chirping of crickets, the hooting of an owl, the fall of a family portrait, the spilling of salt, a dream of the toothache, etc., etc., etc. If this particular cat had been black instead of tabby I should have regarded her advent as a prognostic, for it is conceded by all scientists that there is a mysteriously subtle virtue in a black cat.
The fact, however, that she was tabby dispossessed her of all power either for evil or for good, and I could not help regarding Uncle Si with pity for the seeming veneration in which he held this harmless and innocent beast. Still I determined to watch and note events with a view to confuting the superstition which foresaw good luck in the presence of this cat and her offspring.
While the work of rehabilitating the old house was at its height I received a letter from my friend Byron Tinkle of Kansas City, congratulating me upon having secured so lovely a home after so many years of patient waiting. "And now," said he, "I am anxious to be represented by some bit of furniture in your new place. It has occurred to me that a handsome library table might be acceptable, and it would certainly delight me to present you with an object which would serve to remind you of your old schoolmate, whose affection for you has been abated neither by separation nor by the lapse of time."
Mr. Tinkle then went on to say that he had hit upon a very appropriate design for a library table--a design full of historical and mythological allusion. Four figures of Atlas supporting the world were to serve as the legs of this table, and around the sides of the top were to be carved scenes illustrative of the progress of civilization since the building of Solomon's temple. Upon the four edges of the top were to be inlaid mosaic portraits of the most famous scientists, including Aesculapius, Moses, Galileo, Darwin, Herschel, Mitchell, Huxley, Harvey, Jenner, etc., and the top itself was to represent a cunningly devised map of the world, in which my native town of Biddeford, Maine, was to appear as the central and most conspicuous figure.
I felt very grateful to my old friend Tinkle for his generosity, but I said nothing of it to Alice. Recalling the experience with Colonel Mullaly's yellow lamp, I suspected that if Alice were to hear of this promised addition to our furniture she would surely change the whole architectural scheme of our new home in order to adapt it to the new centre table.
Mr. Tinkle's princely offer was but the beginning of a series of handsome and useful gifts. It seemed as if our friends no sooner heard of our purchase of a home than they became possessed of a desire to contribute toward embellishing that home. Another Kansas City friend, Colonel Gustave Gerton, late of the Bavarian Guards, telegraphed me that a dozen young apple trees, carefully picked from his Nonpareil Nursery, awaited my order. The Janowins, who have a prosperous farm in Kentucky, duly apprised us that when we were ready to stock our place they would send us a heifer and a litter of pigs. Cousin Jabez Fothergill forwarded to us all the way from Maine a box which was found to contain a pint of Hubbard squash seeds, a dozen daffodil sprouts, and a goodly collection of catnip roots. Offers of dogs came from numerous quarters--dogs representing the mastiff, bloodhound, Newfoundland, beagle, setter, pointer, St. Bernard, terrier, bull, Spitz, dachshund, spaniel, colly, pug, and poodle families. Had we contemplated a perennial bench show, instead of a quiet home, we could hardly have been more favored. With a discretion begotten of twenty years' experience as a husband, I referred all these proffers of canine gifts to Alice with power to act, and I dimly surmise that consideration of them has been postponed indefinitely.
As soon as our neighbors realized what horticultural possibilities our noble expanse of front yard offered they fairly overwhelmed us with floral and arboreal gifts. During that unusually warm spell we had about two months ago there was scarcely an hour of the day that a wheelbarrow or a man servant or both did not arrive bearing lilac sprouts from the Leets, or Japanese ivy slips from the Sissons, or peonies from the old Doller homestead, or mignonette from Mrs. Roth, or dahlias from Mrs. Knox, or marigolds from the Baylors, or pansies from the Haynes, or tulip bulbs from Mrs. Redd, or something or another from somebody else.
You can depend upon it that all this kept me wondrously busy. I broke four trowels and raised a dozen ugly blisters on my right hand in my attempt to get these tender tokens of friendship transplanted before they withered. One day Mrs. Baylor and Mrs. Rush took me to a neighboring greenhouse with them; they wanted to purchase some vines to train over their front porches. The man at the greenhouse showed me an innumerable assortment of beautiful rose-bushes, which I bought in the fond delusion that they would vastly embellish our front lawn. I recall the pride with which I told Alice and Adah that I guessed I had purchased enough flowers to fill the whole yard. I recall also the sense of humiliation I experienced when, after that innumerable assortment had been set out in the yard, I discovered that there was not enough of them to make an impression even upon the most susceptible eye.
I am not yet quite sure whether neighbor Macleod was in earnest or whether he meant it in fun when he sent us a magnificent thistle, with the suggestion that we plant it in our lawn. But, out of respect to neighbor Macleod's patriotism as a loyal son of Caledonia, I did plant the thistle in amiable compliance with my friend's suggestion. Other neighbors protested against this, but I imputed their objections to that natural feeling of jealousy which is too likely to manifest itself when the interests of other neighbors are involved. The thistle was an uncommonly large and active one, and I suffered somewhat from its teeth before I finally got it comfortably located in a patch of succulent turf under one of our willow-trees.
The unusually warm spell to which I have referred was followed (as you will doubtless recollect), by a period of bitterly cold weather. With an anguish which I am utterly incapable of describing, I saw my marigolds and mignonette and roses and peonies and dahlias and pansies and other leafy pets wither and droop and shrivel. In less than forty-eight hours' time they were all apparently as dead as that side of the moon which is invisible to us. The only flower or shrub in all that once blooming lawn which remained unshorn of its beauty by the bitter hyperborean blasts was the Macleod thistle. Proudly it reared itself amid that desolation, and defiantly it exhibited its fangs to foe and friend alike.
I cannot tell you how heartily I rejoiced that I had not yielded to the importunities of the Baylors, the Tiltmans, the Browes, and the Denslows when, in an ebullition of neighborly jealousy, they sought the destruction of that sturdy plant. But my delight was of short duration. One morning before I arrived to pursue my horticultural avocation a remorseless policeman invaded the premises and pulled up the bristling emblem of Scotia and cast it into the hard highway under the pretext that by so doing he was complying with a provision of the revised statutes. I learned that this policeman is a Swede, and I can justify his conduct only upon the hypothesis of heredity, although it is hard to conceive that the malignant feeling which existed centuries ago among the Norsemen who were wont to harry the Scottish coast should exhibit itself at this remote period in the demeanor of a naturalized Swede who presumably does not know the difference between a viking and a meteorite.
If I had been of a sarcastic or of a bitter nature, I might have imputed this curious train of mishaps to the malign influence of that maternal tabby cat which Uncle Si had hailed as a harbinger of good luck. As it was, I could not resist giving play to my desire for retaliation when Uncle Si confided to me one morning that some unscrupulous person or persons had invaded the premises the night before and had carried off about six thousand feet of choice lumber. I was disposed to be very wroth at first, but when I gathered from Uncle Si's remarks that the loss would fall upon him and not upon me my anger was assuaged to a degree that admitted of my suggesting to Uncle Si that perhaps this incident might be reckoned as a part of that "good luck" which the advent of the tabby cat and her kits had prognosticated.
Having unbosomed myself of this perhaps too savage thrust, I gave Uncle Si a cigar and in my most cordial tones bade him "never mind and be of good cheer." I make it a practice never to say or do that which is likely to occasion pain or humiliation without accompanying the word or the deed with somewhat that shall serve as an antidote thereunto. For I bear ill will to none, and it is constantly my endeavor to make life pleasant and dear not only to myself but also to my fellow beings.
My consideration for Uncle Si's feelings was almost immediately rewarded, for as I left Uncle Si smoking his cigar in a comforted mood I beheld my neighbor, Colonel Bobbett Doller, coming up the driveway and beckoning to me. If you know the colonel as I do, you know him to be a gentleman of wealth, of position, and of influence. Moreover, Colonel Doller is a man of large sympathies. He had heard of our recent acquisition and had come to congratulate me. We shook hands warmly.
"You have here," said Colonel Doller, cordially, "a magnificent property, and I heartily rejoice to learn that you acquired it at a merely nominal price. Has it occurred to you, my dear sir, that this tract, with its majestic sweep of lawn and its picturesque glory of shade trees, presents tremendous possibilities--in fact, secures to you the opportunity of comprehending riches beyond the dreams of avarice? Let us be seated upon this pile of bricks while I unfold to you a panorama of potentialities."
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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10
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COLONEL DOLLER'S GREAT IDEA
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Colonel Bobbett Doller and I sat down, side by side, on the pile of bricks, and the colonel proceeded straightway to disclose pleasing visions to my mind's eye.
"You are doubtless aware," said the colonel, "that you are not, in the severest acceptation of the term, a business man?"
"Alas," said I, "I am compelled in all candor to admit that lamentable fact."
"Then," continued the colonel, "you probably do not know that this noble expanse of high ground upon which your stately residence is reared is the exact centre of a radius of eighty miles. In other words, did the power of your vision extend eighty miles you would be able to see for yourself from the roof of your superb house that this point is in fact the centre of a radius representing a stretch in any and every direction of eighty miles."
"No, I had never supposed it possible," said I. "It is, nevertheless, a demonstrable fact," said Colonel Doller. "It is more notorious, however, that this property of yours (designated in the records as the south half of lot 16, Terhune's addition, section 9, township of Pond View)"---- "Page 273, volume 105," said I, interrupting him; for I suddenly recalled the superscription on the warranty deed.
"Exactly," said Colonel Doller, with a genial smile. "Now, as I was about to remark, it is notorious that this property of yours is situate in the very heart of the delectable tract known to the world as the North Shore. I do not exaggerate when I say, in the language of my popular brochure entitled, 'Homes for the Homeless,' that the North Shore offers inducements, both for the living and for the dead, which are not met with in any other part of our growing community. Recognizing the merit of these inducements, immigration has turned its tide toward the North Shore. Ten years ago there was naught but desolation where now the dandelion blooms and the voice of the tree-toad is heard in song. What do we see about us to-day? To the north of us the roof of Martin Howard's new barn glistens under the smiling noonday sun. Turning our gaze westward we behold the turrets of the palatial residence which neighbor Bales has erected in Razzle Street. Yonder in the southeast horizon we detect the tall, lithe flagpole which Major Ryson has set up as a graceful tribute to the memory of the late lamented yacht club. Cast your eyes where you will and you will see convincing evidences of the onward, irresistible march of civilization.
"This noble property of yours," continued Colonel Doller, "is the very heart of all this pulsing, throbbing, bustling, teeming civilization. Why, my dear Baker, I would not exchange (if I were you) the opportunities now within your grasp for any other conceivable thing--not even though millions were placed in the opposing scale!"
"I don't believe I understand you," said I. "I will be more explicit," said Colonel Doller. "The tide of immigration has already overwhelmed this section; a great commercial wave is closely following it. Trade will soon locate its emporiums in the midst of us. Already two blocks to the south of this property a commercial mart has begun to invite the attention and the patronage of our public."
"You refer to Pusheck's grocery store?"
"The same," said Colonel Doller. "Presently a barber-shop and a banana stand will follow; then a bicycle repair-shop will spring up in our midst, and from that moment our status as a commercial centre will be assured."
As I was in no sense a business man I could not deny this. To be frank with you, it all looked very plausible to me.
"There is nothing else," continued Colonel Doller, "more practicable or of greater value than foreseeing events and being prepared for them. Now, here you are in the very midst of this flood of immigration, and with the tidal wave of commerce at your very door. Is your property in a position to avail you handsomely in case you accede to the demands of reason and conclude to yield to the persuasions of immigration and commerce? The consideration which should be paramount with you is this: 'Having secured this property, how can I get rid of it to the best advantage?'"
"But it is n't for sale," said I. "True, quite true," answered Colonel Doller, with a weary, patient smile, "but it will be. What is North Shore property for if not for sale? You certainly do not intend to violate all the customs and traditions of the community by holding out against an opportunity to benefit yourself? That, my dear Baker, would be folly."
"But nobody has asked us to sell," said I, apologetically.
"That is because your property is not in desirable shape," said the colonel. "If it were, you would have chances to enrich yourself in less than a month. You see your lot fronts one hundred feet on Clarendon Avenue, and runs back two hundred and thirty-nine feet to a prospective alley; this gives you one hundred feet of salable property, but with a depth that actually involves a wicked waste of land. Now suppose you were to buy the twenty-five feet that lies to the south on Clarendon Avenue just between your lot and Sandpile Terrace. That would give you a frontage of two hundred and thirty-nine feet on the terrace, with a depth altogether of one hundred and twenty-five feet! Do you follow me?"
"Yes, I see," said I, as this good and shrewd man's meaning gradually stole upon me.
"With that additional twenty-five feet," resumed Colonel Doller, "you could divide up the whole property into what you might call (if you chose) Baker's Subdivision: then you could parcel it off into twenty-foot lots with frontage on Sandpile Terrace--and there you are, a rich man almost before you know it."
"Gracious me! That _is_ a great idea!" said I, and I whistled softly to myself.
"Great? Well, I should say so!" exclaimed Colonel Doller. "I knew it would appeal to you, for you are a man of intelligence and capable of foreseeing and appreciating potentialities."
"Who owns that strip?" I asked, referring to the twenty-five feet adjoining our lot to the south.
"Well, it happens to be mine," said Colonel Doller. "As soon as I heard that you had purchased this place it occurred to me that you ought to have that twenty-five feet in order to make the rest of your property available. So, without saying a word about it to anybody else, I 've stepped over here to tell you that if you want it I 'll throw that strip in to you at one hundred and twenty-five dollars per front foot."
"We gave only one hundred dollars a foot for this lot," said I. "Very true," said Colonel Doller, "but _my_ lot admits of giving you a frontage of two hundred and thirty-nine feet on Sandpile Terrace."
"To be sure it does," said I. "For the moment I quite lost sight of that. Well, I think very favorably of it, and I suspect Mr. Black would insist upon my closing with you at once. I 'll speak to Alice about it."
"Be careful not to breathe a word of it to anybody else," suggested Colonel Doller in a low, mysterious tone, "and whatever else you do, don't let my partner, Leet, have even so much as an inkling of the fact that we 've had a talk! You understand?"
"It shall be kept a profound secret!" said I, with solemn earnestness.
Colonel Doller patted me reassuringly on the shoulder as he arose to depart.
"Baker," said he, kindly, "you are as good as a rich man already! You get that extra twenty-five feet and make a subdivision of this property, and you 'll have so much money you won't know what to do with it! Why, the next thing we'll hear of you, you'll be living in a castle on a hill, with an observatory--just think of it, Baker, old man! an observatory and a twelve-foot telescope capable of discovering a new comet every night, rain or shine!"
The kind gentleman's enthusiasm quite took my breath away. As I watched him departing down the shady drive my heart overflowed with gratitude, and again I thanked the providential Power that had given me so many kind, solicitous, and self-sacrificing friends.
My conversation with Colonel Doller set me to indulging in thoughts which were entirely new to me, and which pleased me with their novelty and brilliancy. I fancied myself already possessed of a wealth which permitted me to pursue unreservedly those studies and investigations which have been my delight since youth. In imagination I pictured myself the owner of a sightly residence surmounted by a spacious observatory, in which was located a magnificent reflector-telescope operated by the newest and nicest mechanism. It was pleasing to be rich, even in fancy. My thoughts reverted to the children.
"Dear pampered darlings," I murmured, "they little know the lives of independence and of ease that are before them. They will never know what it is to toil and to economize. And Alice--sweet girl--this will put an end to her worry about grocery bills!"
It is curious how completely I lost interest in our new house as soon as the prospect of getting rich dawned upon me. You will not believe it, but after that talk with Colonel Doller I looked with actual disdain upon the old Schmittheimer home and its broad, velvety lawn under the noble trees. I was so possessed with the fascinating scheme suggested by Colonel Doller that I was even tempted to bid Uncle Si and his men quit work until I had consulted with Alice as to the feasibility of abandoning the proposed improvements and investing the rest of Mr. Black's three thousand dollars in the twenty-five-foot strip to the south of us. I am glad now that the still small voice within me prevailed, and that I saw Alice before saying anything to Uncle Si.
"Reuben Baker," exclaimed Alice, "that property is _mine_ and I bought it for a home, _not_ to _sell_. If you and Colonel Doller want to speculate, you need n't think you 're going to rope me into any of your schemes."
"But, Alice, darling--" "I sha' n't listen to a word of such nonsense," persisted Alice. "So, there."
I was inclined to remonstrate, but just at that moment the front door bell rang and a telegraphic message was handed in. The message was from Cincinnati and it read in this wise: "Shall be there to-morrow morning to look things over. _Luther M. Black_."
In the prospect of a visit from our patron, Mr. Black, I speedily forgot all about Colonel Bobbett Doller and his pleasing panorama of potentialities. In this we see illustrated the wisdom of Providence in so dispensing human events as to soothe the wounds of disappointment with the balm of anticipation.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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11
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I MAKE A STAND FOR MY RIGHTS
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Shortly after Mr. Black's arrival that worthy gentleman was escorted with all due formality to the old Schmittheimer place in Clarendon Avenue. Recognizing the fact that first impressions are lasting, we determined that Mr. Black's first impressions of our purchase should be favorable. So we conducted him to our property by a rather circuitous route. The approach to the old Schmittheimer place from the north is by all means the most agreeable; it leads by Mr. Rink's fine colonial house and Martin Howard's new place and through an embowered avenue of weeping willows, which, out of deference to his melancholy profession, Mr. Dimmons, landscape gardener of our most prosperous cemetery, has constructed in front of his beautiful residence in Thistle Patch Court; a turn is then made upon Dandelion Place, and just one block this side of Mr. Allworth's bowlder house (famous as the greatest bargain ever acquired on the North Shore) another turn to the right brings you in sight and within a few yards of our property.
Mr. Black was pleased with the neighborhood. He is not a man of enthusiasms; in all the years of my acquaintance with him I have never known him to give way to an ebullition of any kind. Yet upon this occasion there was an expression upon his face when he first set eyes upon our property which gave me to understand that he approved of our purchase. I hastened to clinch this favorable impression by apprising him briefly of the proposition Colonel Bobbett Doller had made to me the previous afternoon, and I flatter myself that, between us, Alice and I made a pretty fair presentation of the merits of our new place.
"You seem to have begun reconstructing the house," said Mr. Black. "Who is your architect?"
"We have no real architect," said I. "In order to save expense we have employed a boss carpenter capable not only of designing plans, but also of executing them. His name is Silas Plum."
"Plum? That is a very familiar name to me," said Mr. Black. "I wonder whether he is any kin to the Plum family of Maine. There was an Elnathan Plum, who used to live in Aroostook, and I went to school with him at Pocatapaug Academy in the winter of 1827. The last time I visited Maine I was told that he had moved west in 1840, or thereabouts. He married a third cousin of mine whose maiden name was Eastman--Euphemia Eastman, as I recall it."
Of course I was unable to say what Uncle Si's antecedents were, but I felt pretty certain that, if left to himself, Mr. Black would find out all about them, for of all the people I ever met with Mr. Black surely has the most astounding faculty for acquiring and remembering genealogical data.
Our worthy friend consumed fully a half-hour's time inspecting our front lawn, examining into the condition of the fence, learning what kind of trees we had, and ascertaining the character and depth of the soil. I do not hesitate to affirm that he knew more about these things at the end of that half-hour than I shall know at the end of ten years' daily association with them. I took pains, however, to make the most of what small knowledge I had, and with considerable flourish I called Mr. Black's attention to our lilac and gooseberry bushes, and with conscious pride pointed out the wild grape vine in the corner of the yard. I told Mr. Black that it was our intention to have a kitchen garden back of the house, and that among other things we should cultivate onions of the choicest quality. I had an object in specifying the onions particularly, for I knew that Mr. Black had a fondness (amounting almost to a passion) for this succulent fruit.
In all that I pointed out and in all that I said Mr. Black appeared to take more than common interest. One thing that seemed to please him particularly was the discovery that three of our currant bushes had escaped the malice of the workmen, and he promised Alice to write to his niece at Biddeford for her recipe for making currant wine, a beverage which, he assured us, would cheer but not inebriate.
Alice and I had made it up beforehand that we would leave Mr. Black and Uncle Si together for a spell after we had introduced them to each other; for we wanted our patron to learn for himself (unembarrassed by our presence) just what had been done and how it had been done. I take it for granted that the two enjoyed their three hours' confabulation, but I more than half suspect they spent precious little of that time in a discussion of our affairs. Mr. Black told me afterward that he had ascertained that Uncle Si (or Silas, as he called him) was, as he had surmised, a son of Elnathan Plum of Aroostook.
"Silas looks more like his mother's side of the family," said Mr. Black. "The Eastmans, as I remember them, were tall and spare, with blue eyes and straight noses. We have an Eastman in Cincinnati who looks enough like Silas to be his brother, although he belongs to the Ebenezer Eastman branch of the family, who located in Westboro, Mass,, in 1765. Tooker Eastman, the Cincinnati representative of the family, is pastor of the First Church; he married Sukey, the widow of Amos Sears, who (that is to say, Amos) was a son of Calvin Sears, who was postmaster at Biddeford while I was a young man in that town."
From this and other similar morsels of information which Mr. Black let fall in my hearing I gathered that Mr. Black's talk with Uncle Si had been rather of a historical and reminiscent than of a business character. But this mattered not to me; it was clear that Mr. Black approved of our purchase and of the improvements we contemplated, and that was enough to insure our entire satisfaction.
When I came down from my study that evening I found Mr. Black and Alice sitting in the parlor, looking mysteriously solemn.
"I have been advising your wife to make a will," said Mr. Black.
"Why, Alice dear, are you ill?" I asked, in genuine alarm.
Alice laughingly answered that she had never before felt heartier or in finer spirits.
"Then why make a will?" I asked. "Who ever heard of a person's making a will unless he was sick?"
"You are laboring under a delusion too common to humanity," said Mr. Black. "In the midst of life we are in death. It is during health and while we are in full possession of our physical and mental faculties that we should provide against that penalty which we all alike as debtors are sooner or later to pay to nature. Your wife has recently become possessed by purchase of property that may eventually be of large value. It seems proper that she should draw a will indicating her desires as to the disposal of this property in the event of her demise."
"But what," I cried with honest feeling, "what would be lands or gold without my Alice?"
"Calm your agitation, Reuben dear," said Alice. "The suggestion which Mr. Black has made does not involve you to the extent of making you an heir."
"No," said Mr. Black, "it is proper that you should have a life estate in the property, but the property itself should ultimately go to the children."
"Still," said Alice, thoughtfully, "if Reuben were to survive me it would be just like him to marry again, and I believe I should just rise up in my grave if I thought another woman was living on the premises which I myself had earned."
"Oh, but Alice, that is very unfair!" I expostulated. "It is _I_ who am earning the money--or, at least, it is I who expect to earn the money wherewith to repay our dear friend, Mr. Black, the sums he has advanced and may advance for our property!"
"There! I suspected it all the time," cried Alice, indignantly. "You are already claiming the property--you are already preparing for my death--I daresay you have your eyes already on the woman who is to step into my place when I am gone! But I won't die--no, I just won't! But I 'll make a will and I 'll give everything to the children, and you sha' n't have a thing when I do die--not a thing, not even a life estate--so there!"
Mr. Black and I were trying to soothe the dear creature, when there came a knock at the front door. Alice popped up and made her escape into the dining-room. The front door opened and the ruddy, smiling face of neighbor Denslow appeared.
"Pardon my informality," said Mr. Denslow, cheerily; "can I come in?"
"By all means," I cried. "You are in good season to meet my old and valued friend, Mr. Black."
Mr. Denslow greeted Mr. Black effusively. All my neighbors had heard me speak of my generous patron, and they all took a really noble neighborly pride in promoting my interests with him. Mr. Denslow began at once to dilate in eloquent terms upon the bargain Alice and I had secured in the old Schmittheimer place.
"And, by the way," said Mr. Denslow, turning to me, "the mention of your bargain reminds me of the object of my call. August Schmittheimer, a son of the widow, came to my office to-day to tell me that he is prepared to let you have the thirty-three feet in the rear of your lot at a merely nominal price--say two hundred dollars."
I had cast envious eyes upon this particular strip of ground several times. Alice had remarked that it would afford an ideal spot upon which to hang out the washing on Monday mornings; at other times it would serve as a convenient playground for Josephine and little Erasmus. It really seemed like a special Providence that what we had been wishing for should unexpectedly be thrust within our very grasp.
"I think that we should have that extra strip by all means," said I; and then I added, by way of demonstrating the wisdom of my opinion to Mr. Black: "We shall thus be enabled to enlarge our onion bed to pretentious proportions."
This argument must have convinced Mr. Black, for he remarked at once that he recognized the wisdom of acquiring the extra piece of land at the bargain price suggested.
"If it pleases you, then," said Mr. Denslow, "I will attend the first thing in the morning to having the investigation into the title begun, and I suppose that within the next three days the deal can be consummated and the property duly transferred to Mrs. Baker."
Too often I do not think of the bright and felicitous thing to say or do until it is too late. On this occasion, however, a really shrewd and happy thought occurred to me. The somewhat malicious purpose it contemplated was justified, I claim, by the context (so to speak) of events.
"Neighbor Denslow," said I, confidentially, "when it comes to the transfer of that property please be so kind as to have the warranty deed made to me."
Mr. Denslow looked so surprised, and so did Mr. Black, that I deemed an explanation necessary.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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12
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I AM DECEIVED IN MR. WAX
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I went on to say that it seemed to me to be unwise to invest too much power in Alice's hands; that _I_ had certain rights which should be protected, and that if I was not to be assured a life estate in Alice's property I ought to have at least thirty-three feet to which I could, in an emergency, retire to spend the evening of my existence in peace and security.
"Possessed of that thirty-three feet," said I, "I make no question that I shall soon be able to bring Alice to terms. Give me the power to stand on my own patch of ground and defy Alice every Monday morning when the weekly wash is ready to be hung out, and I will cheerfully risk the future."
Mr. Denslow and Mr. Black are sensible and loyal men; they recognized the propriety of standing by me in this emergency, and it was agreed that the extra piece of ground should be conveyed to me.
That night I dreamed that Alice had been called to her heavenly reward and that I had been turned out of doors by our heartless children. I was an aged and tottering man. The wind blew lustily and a storm was raging. I drew my threadbare coat closer about me, for I was shivering with the cold.
"Alas," I cried (in my dream), "whither shall I turn? Is there no spot on earth where I can die in peace?"
Then, O joy! it occurred to me (in my dream) that I owned the thirty-three feet back of the dear old home. Two years' taxes were due on it, but it was still mine--all mine!
"The snow is deep and clean and hospitable there," I cried (still in my dream), "and it is all mine own! To that snowbank will I make my way, and there will I lie down to sleep my last sleep."
But just then I awoke to discover that it was only a dream. Had I been of a superstitious nature I might have read in this dream divers premonitions and strange significances. As it was, it merely confirmed me in my belief that I had done wisely in securing that thirty-three-foot strip.
Mr. Black went back home next day, and nothing more was said for the nonce about a "will" or a "life estate," or any matter thereunto appertaining, and disagreeable to Alice and to me alike. The cold weather having melted away into sunshine and warmth, I once more began to be deeply interested in horticulture and floriculture, and this, too, in spite of the ineffaceable scars which the spade-wielding vandals had left in the large front yard in the alleged interest of the sewer, water, and gas-pipes.
This enthusiasm of mine in behalf of matters of which I knew absolutely nothing was retired by my respected neighbor, Fadda Pierce, who is so learned in all affairs involving flowers and shrubbery that I actually believe that what he does n't know about them is n't worth knowing. Fadda's cottage is covered with every variety of dainty and luxurious vine, and in his yard bloom all kinds of rare and beautiful flowers. He is so famed for his fondness for and luck with flowers that I felt grateful to the dear old gentleman when he visited me with a view to advising me as to the kind of flowers I ought to plant in my lawn and around the house.
It was then that I learned of the existence of shrubs, vines, and flowers of which I had never before heard. It is indeed amazing that an ordinarily intelligent man can reach the age of forty-five years without being able to profess truthfully a more or less intimate acquaintance with hydrangeas, fuchsias, taraxacums, syringas, sisymbriums, gilliflowers, kentaphyllons, maydenheer, chrysanthemums, orchids, geraniums, lichens, laburnums, jasmines, heliotropes, gentians, eucalyptuses, crocuses, carnations, dahlias, cactuses, billybuttons, anemones, anthropomorphons, amaranths, etc., etc. Fadda Pierce did not chide me for my heathenish ignorance; he seemed to take it for granted that I had been too busy acquiring knowledge in other lines to have time to devote to research in botany. He was much more considerate than neighbor Roth was when he pulled up his team in front of my house one day and asked me how far it was to Glencoe. I answered that I did not know; whereupon he shrugged his shoulders and muttered: "I thought as much, by gosh! You can tell how fur 't is to the sun, the moon, an' the stars, but you can't tell how fur 't is to Glencoe!"
Fadda Pierce advised me to set out about two dozen cobies (I think he called them) around our new colonial front porch, and then he kindly designated certain spots in the yard where beds ought to be constructed for certain flowers, the names of which he wrote down on a slip of paper. Some of these beds were to be circular, some square, and some oblong. Fadda told me that I would require at least three loads of black dirt, and he gave me the address of a person who dealt in this precious commodity at one dollar and a half a load. I called upon this person at once and ordered the three loads of black dirt to be delivered immediately. I then bethought myself that I required an outfit of garden tools; so I made my way to the nearest hardware shop and purchased a spade, a hoe, a rake, a wheelbarrow, a watering can, a trowel, and a pruning-knife. I trundled the barrow home, with the other purchases in it.
The day was exceedingly warm, and my appearance in this new rôle excited the derision of my neighbors; but I felt rather flattered to be called Farmer Baker, and I was glad to give the Baylors, the Edwardses, the Dollers, the Tiltmans, the Rushes, the Sissons, and the rest to understand that I by no means disdained to condescend to the humble plane of an agriculturist. Now that I come to think of it, I remember to have read somewhere that Galileo took his recreation at hoeing and grubbing in the vineyard adjoining his observatory.
As I trundled the barrow up the winding road of the Schmittheimer place I became aware that a man was following me. So I stopped and waited for him to overtake me. His appearance indicated poverty and all its attendant miseries.
"Good sir," said the stranger, "pardon me for this intrusion, but misfortunes of a most grievous character compel me to thrust myself upon your mercy. You behold in me, sir, one of the most hapless of creatures, one whom adversity has buffeted with cruel pertinacity, and finally driven out to become a homeless and friendless wanderer upon the face of the earth. My name, sir, is Percival Wax, born and reared under the auspices of riches, but now forced by the reverses of remorseless fate to importune you for the wherewithal to procure food and lodging."
"Mr. Wax," said I, "your appearance by no means belies your words. Your raiment is torn and soiled; your shoes are not mates, and your hat was evidently made for a larger head than yours. I also read in your dim eyes, your unkempt beard, and your dishevelled hair corroboration of your claims to intimacy with adversity. While I sympathize with you in your misfortune, I cannot break one of the imperative rules which govern the conduct of my life; if you are willing to work I will gladly provide you with the means of relief from your embarrassment."
"Work? Ah, kind sir," said Mr. Wax, eagerly, "it is that which I have vainly sought for weeks. I have been out of employment ever since the combined efforts of our National Administration and of our incompetent Congress succeeded in sowing the seeds of distrust in every mind, thereby stagnating business and precipitating a financial crisis, from the débris of which I can never hope to arise."
"Can you make flower-beds, Mr. Wax?" I asked.
"Kind gentleman," he answered, "my profession before financial ruin overwhelmed me was that of a landscape gardener."
This was, indeed, a marvellously pleasing coincidence. Here was the very man I needed.
"Take up the barrow, Mr. Wax, and follow me," said I. I showed him where I wanted the flowerbeds made--the circular, the square, and the oblong. He was first to remove the turf and then fill in and square up the beds with black dirt. I found him quick to understand, and he seemed to be anxious to get to work.
"You can begin as soon as you please," said I. "Meanwhile I shall go to luncheon, and on my return I shall bring you three or four mustard sandwiches and some hard-boiled eggs to stay you until you have finished your task."
"Thank you, kind sir," said Mr. Wax with tears of gratitude in his voice.
I was gone an hour or more. At luncheon I told Alice of what I had done, but she did not seem to share my enthusiasm at having provided Mr. Wax with an opportunity to turn an honest penny or two. She very clearly indicated to me her distrust of all tramps, to which class she was sure Mr. Wax belonged. Thereupon I warned Alice against the inhumanity and wickedness of insensibility to the sufferings of others, and I was glad that the children were at the table with us to hear my remarks in praise of that charity which has compassion for all conditions of misery.
Upon my return to the Schmittheimer place I was disappointed to find that no progress had been made with the flower-beds.
"I wonder where Mr. Wax is?" said I to Uncle Si.
"Do you mean that ---- tramp that was here about noon?" asked Uncle Si.
"He may have been a tramp," said I, purposely ignoring Uncle Si's profane epithet (for I do not approve of profanity).
"He went away shortly after you went," said Uncle Si. "I asked him where he was going with the wheelbarrow and the garden tools, and he said you had hired him to take them over to your house in Heavenward Avenue for you."
"Mr. Wax lied to you," said I. "He has stolen that barrow and those tools."
Uncle Si consoled me by telling me that in all human probability Mr. Wax had sold his stealings by this time and was already squandering his ill-gotten gains in a barroom. I lamented not only the ingratitude and dishonesty of this man whom I had sought to befriend, but also the loss of my barrow and my garden tools. There was, however, some consolation in the thought that my experience would serve me to good purpose in the future.
The three mustard sandwiches and the two hard-boiled eggs which I had brought from home for Mr. Wax's luncheon I now took down into the cellar and fed to Alice, the mother cat. Had I been a superstitious person I should not have performed this kind deed by one whom many might have regarded as the prognostic (if not actually the cause) of the many evils which had befallen me of late. As it was, I took a kind of spiteful satisfaction in observing that the gaunt beast did not exhibit that exuberant fondness for mustard sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs which might be confidently looked for in the mother of six healthy and always hungry kittens.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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13
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EDITOR WOODSIT A TRUE FRIEND
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One morning--it was a Thursday morning, as I distinctly recall--I was much surprised to find that work upon the house had practically been suspended. I was sure there could not have been a strike, for I told the workmen at the beginning that whenever they felt as if they were not getting enough pay they must come to me about it and I would raise their wages. They had already been to me three times and received an increase of pay each time. So I felt moderately secure against a strike. Uncle Si explained the situation briefly.
"The plasterers were to have begun today," said he, "but there is no water for them; so I had to send them away."
"No water?" I cried. "No water? Then tell me, I pray, why this noble front yard of ours has been converted into a dreary waste by those vandals with their spades and picks? Why is that deep, wide, ragged ditch still yawning in our faces and threatening the death of every tree at whose roots it crawls? And why did I pay Sibley the plumber forty-five dollars last Saturday night, if it were not for the laying of water pipe in that hideous ditch? No water, indeed!"
"It is nobody's fault but the city's," explained Uncle Si. "The pipe is all laid and nothing remains but for the city to make the connection with the main in the street. You see _we_ can't tap the main; that is for the city to do."
"Then why does n't the city do it?" I asked.
Uncle Si shrugged his shoulders.
"The city _ought_ to do a good many things it _does n't_ do," said he. "They promised to have that main tapped at eight o'clock last Monday morning, and here it is ten o'clock Thursday morning and not a drop of water on the place! There is n't any use kicking, for those politicians down at the City Hall do things their own way and take their own time doing 'em!"
I saw that argument with Uncle Si meant simply a waste of time, so I determined to go down-town to the City Hall myself to see whether no eloquence or indignation of my own would move the derelict officers to a performance of their duty. On the train I fell in with Mr. Leet, who was on his way to his place of business. He had not seen me since our purchase of the Schmittheimer property, and he took this first occasion to congratulate me upon what he called one of those bargains which occur at rare intervals in a century. Finding me in a felicitous mood, Mr. Leet went on to say that the property we already possessed would be enhanced in value an hundred-fold and would be rendered marketable instantaneously by the further acquisition of the twenty-five feet adjoining it upon the north.
"Yes," said I, "Mr. Doller spoke to me about that twenty-five-foot strip some time ago."
"Aha, so Doller has been approaching you, has he?" said Mr. Leet, softly. "Well, Doller is very cunning--very cunning, indeed. But he has nothing to do with the _north_ strip. _He_ owns the twenty-five feet to the _south_ of your property, the piece fronting on Sandpile Terrace, and a very malarious location it is, too. I pledge you my word, Mr. Baker, I have seen mosquitos hovering over that Doller strip at night as big as bats!"
I could neither deny nor affirm the truth of this assertion.
"My twenty-five-foot strip to the north," continued Mr. Leet, "is high and dry and sightly. The view it commands of the Water Works is indescribably fine. You are surely practical enough to see, Mr. Baker, that by purchasing that strip and throwing it in with yours you will have a subdivision fronting upon Dandelion Place which would offer unparalleled inducements to the seeker after suburban property. What is more," added Mr. Leet in a confidential whisper, "it would not surprise me a bit if there were coal deposits in the twenty-five-foot strip of mine. I have very distinct suspicions, but the paramount importance of my other business interests has prevented me from making the investigation which might enrich me beyond all calculation. Now, you have time, and if you feel disposed to take that property I 'll let you have it at the merely nominal price of one hundred and twenty-five dollars a front foot."
This seemed reasonable enough, particularly when I considered the chances of there being a coal mine on the property. However, as I had told Mr. Doller, so I now told Mr. Leet: I would first have to speak to Alice about the matter. Then I confided to Mr. Leet the object of my mission down-town. Presumably in the hope of insuring and clinching my devotion to his interests as represented in his twenty-five-foot lot, Mr. Leet manifested solicitude in my behalf and inveighed bitterly against the shiftlessness of the municipal administration as illustrated in the neglect to tap the water main for the benefit of my property.
"The most aggravatingly exasperating part of it all," says I, "is that I am a Republican and have been one for thirty years. Moreover, I am a reformer, having helped to organize the Civic Federation and having served for somewhat more than a year as chairman of the Special Committee on Ash Barrels and Garbage Boxes in the third precinct of the Twenty-fifth Ward. I made several addresses during the last campaign in advocacy of civil-service reform and all those other reforms which are invariably advocated and promised by the party which is not in power but wants to be. In the thirty years that I have been a Republican I have never asked a favor of my party, and it does seem just a bit ungrateful that the Republican reform municipal administration which I helped to elect should seize with apparent avidity upon its first opportunity to snub me by refusing to tap the public water main in front of my property."
"You should see Mayor Speedy about it," suggested Mr. Leet.
"I thought of doing so," said I, "but as I had already determined to approach him with reference to changing the name of Mush Street to Clarendon Avenue, I concluded that I ought not to call upon him with this complaint about the water. I particularly wish to avoid all appearance of hampering the administration with importunities and complaints of a personal nature."
"A man of your reputation," said Mr. Leet, "should certainly have the strongest kind of a pull at the City Hall."
"You may not believe it," said I, "but I do not know a man in the City Hall. I visit the place but twice a year, and my dealings on those occasions are restricted to a haughty young foreigner, who graciously permits me to pay him the amount of my water tax and then waves me to another foreigner who in turn waves me to the door. No, I have no influence at the City Hall, and as I was telling Editor Woodsit last week--" "Do you know Editor Woodsit?" asked Mr. Leet, interrupting me.
"Indeed I do," said I; "he has promised to print my essay on the nebular hypothesis of Professor Lecouvrier as soon as his contract with the monometallist college professors expires. He is one of the most intimate friends I have."
"Then he is just the one to fix that City Hall matter for you," said Mr. Leet. "Woodsit is the most potent political influence in the midst of us."
It was hard to understand why a potent political influence should be invoked in order to secure the tapping of a water main. However, I determined to enlist the coöperation of my journalistic friend. Twenty or thirty people were waiting outside Editor Woodsit's door. This number included noted clergymen, poets, authors, politicians, jurists, merchants, etc., etc. By some means or another, Editor Woodsit learned I was among the waiting throng, and he sent for me to come in. His private office is spacious and elegantly furnished. The walls are hung with splendid tapestries and costly oil paintings. Over Editor Woodsit's desk appears the legend, "The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword." Near the desk are rows of nickel-plated tubes, about six feet in height and two feet in diameter; the lids or covers to these tubes are opened by means of a keyboard in front of the editor. The tubes themselves contain the heads of the departments of the State and municipal governments.
"What you tell me pains me deeply," said Mr. Woodsit, after he heard my story. "But there is no need of going to the City Hall about it; the matter can be attended to here. I never trifle with underlings when the responsible heads are at hand."
Editor Woodsit reached over and touched a button on the keyboard; it was button No. 9. Immediately the lid or top of tube No. 9 flew open and the head and face of a man appeared; it was the head and face of Commissioner Dent.
"This friend of mine," said Editor Woodsit, sternly, "complains that he can't get your department to connect the pipe with the water main in front of his property. My friend is a Republican, Dent, and he is a reformer. What excuse have you to offer for neglecting him?"
Commissioner Dent turned very pale and he vainly tried to stammer an apology.
"This is a pretty kind of reform!" cried Editor Woodsit, savagely. "If a similar complaint occurs again I shall have your case investigated by my legal and spiritual counsellor, Joshua Selah, and may be have you impeached. Now see that Mr. Baker's reasonable demands are complied with at once."
With these words Editor Woodsit touched another button, and the head and face of Commissioner Dent disappeared and the top closed down over the box. It was all the work of two or three minutes, and it was certainly the most marvellous experience I had ever met with. My wonderment increased when I learned an hour later, upon my arrival home, that less than fifteen minutes (as I figure it) after I left Editor Woodsit's office an employé of Commissioner Dent's department came galloping up to my place on a foam-flecked steed, and, vaulting from his saddle, unswung his melting-furnace, soldering-irons, and other tools, and, quicker than you could say a pater noster, tapped the water main and made the desired connection with the pipe that fed my premises.
"I guess you must have a pull at the City Hall," said Uncle Si; and then he went on to tell me how people who have no pull have to wait weeks, sometimes, before their just requirements are answered by the municipal authorities. If what Uncle Si tells me is true I cannot be too glad that I have what is even more efficacious than a pull at the City Hall--a friend in Editor Woodsit.
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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14
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THE VICTIM OF AN ORDINANCE.
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And now that a plentiful supply of water was provided, it seemed proper to celebrate by giving the lawn (poor abused thing!) a deluge of the refreshing element. The exceeding ardor of the sun and the absence of rain had wrought havoc with the grass and shrubbery. The drought seemed determined to finish the work of destruction which the workmen, with their picks and spades, had begun. With a joyous heart, therefore, I applied myself to the task of rescuing the fainting vegetation. I borrowed Mr. Tiltman's hose because it was the best and longest in the neighborhood and was provided with a patent nozzle which was so versatile that there was actually no detail in its business which it did not perform in a most masterly way. I shall never forget the feeling of exultation with which I stood on that expansive lawn and sprayed the parched grass and drooping shrubbery. I fancied I could see the thirsty blades and leaves reach up to drink in the restoring element. My thoughts while I was thus engaged were similar, I suppose, to those of benevolent men who hasten to the succor of their suffering fellow-beings. I can imagine that it was with some such inspiring feelings that relief was borne to Livingstone in Africa and to Greely in the Arctic Circle. To the good man it is always a pleasure to do an act of magnanimity, and the fact that my considerate regard for our lawn involved no danger or privation did not serve in the least to abate my satisfaction in the performance of my task.
While I was thus engaged I observed a stranger coming up the lawn toward me. I bade him a very good morning, but he seemed disinclined to exchange civilities with me. He was a low-browed, roughish-looking fellow, and I conceived an immediate dislike for him.
"You 'll have to give me your name," said he, very gruffly.
"For what purpose?" I asked, for his tone and manner nettled me.
"I 'm a detective," said he, exhibiting a silver star on his vest front, "and I 'm on the trail of you ducks that sprinkle your lawns after legal hours. Oh, I 'm onto your racket."
"Sir," said I, indignantly, "I have made no racket. I am a quiet, law-abiding citizen, and this is my own lawn to do with as I please."
"Come, now," said he, insolently, "don't give me any funny business. You 're sprinklin' after hours and I 'm going to report you to police headquarters. There 's no use of kickin', so you 'd better give me your name an' save trouble."
"Sir," I cried, "Reuben Baker is not a name to be ashamed of, and if you think that by any of your underhand hocus pocus you can trespass on my premises and prevent my caring for my own property you are grandly mistaken."
"You 'll sing a different song to-morrer," said the fellow, and I am sure I heard him chuckling to himself as he walked away.
Later in the day I learned from neighbor Baylor that I had indeed transgressed the law by operating the lawn hose at ten o'clock in the morning. It seems that there is an ordinance imposing a fine upon all who sprinkle their lawns between eight o'clock in the morning and five o'clock in the afternoon.
I declared in very vigorous English that I would never submit to any such outrage, and my indignation touched the boiling point when, still later in the day, a policeman came to my house and handed me a document apprising me that I must give a good and sufficient bond for my appearance the next morning before his honor, Justice Fatty, to answer to the charge of having maliciously, etc., defied, disobeyed and broken the ordinance, etc. I went at once to seek the counsel of Lawyer Miles, for whose legal acumen and forensic eloquence I had harbored the profoundest veneration ever since I had heard his prosecution of a man named Tackleton for causing the death of neighbor Baylor's pet dog. I recall that on that occasion there was not a dry eye in the court and that even the defendant himself wept copiously; whereupon the presiding justice, fearing that he might be unduly influenced by the emotion of the auditors, ordered the constable to clear the room of everybody not a party to the cause. At this supreme moment Lawyer Miles, with streaming eyes and amid choking sobs, cried out: "Mercy, your honor; in the name of the tenderest and holiest of human considerations I appeal for mercy! Turn out the men-folks if you will, but spare, oh, spare the women and children."
Ever since this memorable occasion I have regarded Lawyer Miles as the foremost of living jurists, and it was the most natural thing in the world that I should determine to confide to him any legal business of mine that might arise--in which determination I was confirmed by a suspicion that Lawyer Miles never charged his neighbors any fee for his professional services.
I was not a little surprised when, having heard my story, Lawyer Miles counselled me to plead guilty to the charge and to pay the regulation fine, which together with the costs (so called), amounted to seven dollars and fifty cents. It was in vain that I represented to Lawyer Miles the outrage of punishing a man for seeking to beautify his premises, and thereby to contribute to the comfort and delectation of the public generally. Lawyer Miles took the narrow view that the ordinance had been violated, and that, therefore, the fine should be paid. "The ordinance may be an unwise one," said he. "In that event we should elect a city council that will repeal it. But so long as the law exists it should be enforced."
The advice of Lawyer Miles, coupled with the tears of Alice, finally prevailed. Alice fancied that I was in danger of being committed to prison, and she hysterically represented to me the horror of the ignominy which would ever thereafter attach to our family name. In one breath she proposed to send post haste for our pastor, the Rev. Dr. Sungaulus, in the hope that by means of his spiritual ministrations I might be dissuaded from further defiance of the law; in the next breath she conjured me by every regard I had for the future of our children--Galileo, Herschel, Fanny, Erasmus, and Josephine--to listen to the Voice of Reason. At the mention of Josephine's name I weakened, for, as I have already intimated to you, the innocent babe has acquired a powerful hold upon the tendrils of my heart. In an instant my anger departed.
"It shall be as you say, Alice: I will pay the fine and costs. But from this moment I consecrate my life to the election of councilmen from the Twenty-fifth Ward who will repeal that odious ordinance and make it legal for property-owners to sprinkle their lawns when and how they please."
In looking back over the short period of the history of "our house" I find no other incident so disagreeable as this one which I have just narrated. Even at this remote date I cannot refer to it without feeling my gorge rise. By nature I am peaceful, and I am exceeding slow to wrath. But anything that savors of injustice exasperates me to the degree of frenzy. I am still fixed in my determination to secure the repeal of the ordinance which robbed me of seven dollars and fifty cents and is jeoparding the lives of my lilac bushes, my peonies, my twin cherry-trees (George and Martha), and my grass. I intend to see that the matter is brought up at the next quarterly meeting of the Buena Park Benevolent and Protective Citizens' Association, and you can depend upon it that when that association speaks its tones are heard around the world and go thundering down the ages.
This affair of mine with the odious ordinance was duly reported in the daily newspapers through the delectable medium of the column headed "Minor Criminal Items." It did not conduce to my equanimity to see my name catalogued with persons arrested for sneak thievery, pocket-picking, drunkenness, brawling, and mayhem. I never before suspected that my friends made a practice of perusing the criminal calendar, but after the appearance of that disagreeable item in print I began to get letters from old acquaintances condoling with me and asking whether they could be of any service to me in my trouble. Some of these letters must have been dispatched in a spirit of humor, but I see nothing mirthfull in the association of an honest man's name with crime, and the people who have sought to poke fun at me in this unpleasant affair need not be at all surprised if I do not bow to them the next time we meet.
Another class of people I have no sympathy with are those who do not recognize in our purchase of a home a cause for general joy and congratulation. You may not believe it, but it is nevertheless a fact that within the last two months I have met people and apprised them of our purchase and they have never so much as expressed even the least bit of delight. My old friend Slashon Tomsing, who makes considerable pretense to being interested in the public welfare--why, when I met him at the Civic Federation rooms not long ago and began to tell him of our new home, instead of being swept away (as it were) upon a tidal wave of rapture, he immediately changed the theme of conversation and asked my opinion of bimetallism. I gave him to understand very distinctly that the public was in very poor business if it suffered itself to become interested in bimetallism or in any other ism so long as it had an opportunity to discuss "our new house" as a living, absorbing, and burning theme.
Another friend, my old and particularly valued friend, Professor Sniff, curator of Mahon's Museum of Marvels--but I'll let that affair pass; for Professor Sniff certainly did not intend to wound my feelings by his apparent indifference; moreover, he has promised to send me for my private collection all the duplicates that occur in section E of his museum, which section is devoted exclusively to dried centipedes, tarantulas, and beetles and to Mexican lizards in bottles of alcohol.
All who have ever engaged in the enterprise of a new house will agree with me when I say that nothing else wounds one more deeply than the indifference of the rest of humanity to what is nearest and dearest to his heart. When I walk the street nowadays I actually pity the crowds of people I see, because, forsooth, they know nothing of the great joy I have acquired in that blessed house. Alice made me take her to hear a Mme. Melba in Italian opera last month at the Auditorium. As we came away Alice asked: "Was n't it grand?"
"Yes," I answered, "and yet amid it all I was oppressed by a feeling of sadness. For, of all the six thousand souls in that splendid building, only you and I, dear Alice, were aware that the old Schmittheimer place had passed into the possession of the two happiest people on earth."
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{
"id": "21808"
}
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