Yr Ynys Unyg Part 12

CHAPTER XXII.

And so it was quite ready, and with what pride and satisfaction we viewed it. We took little private excursions around it; we made innumerable drives into it; we gave it affectionate little pattings, as if it was a child; we smoothed down little inequalities; we utterly denied the existence of a smell of paint, an idea hazarded by Madame.

Schillie had a doubt it was rather on one side, which doubt was driven to the winds. Sybil suggested a wish that it had been made higher, for which she was scouted by the older ones, and nearly tickled to death by the younger ones. Not even the remembrance of our home put us out of conceit of our new, but certainly most clumsy mansion. Oh home! That lovely home? Are we to see it again, or is it only to be seen in a dream of the past; and our kith and kin, our kind good neighbours, all that we loved so much, were we to see them no more? But this was Christmas-day.

The young ones had swept and decorated our church, as well as they could in imitation of the churches at home. Certainly nothing could be more gorgeous than the long trailing creepers that hung suspended all round, some with scarlet flowers, some bright blue, the magnificent hibiscus, the beautiful bell-shaped datura, with innumerable others, to which we could give no names.

This was to be a complete holiday. We dressed in silks and satins, we exchanged gifts, we offered to each other the proper Christmas greeting.

Can I say that no heart was sad, that no remembrance of past Christmases haunted the celebration of this day? It is but too true that sad thoughts arose, but they were not for ourselves.

I must, however, proceed with the opening of the new house, which was also to have a name given it. After church we all helped to get dinner ready. Schillie cooked with Jenny, being determined to have some superb turtle soup. I made by her orders some lime punch, Hargrave boiled vegetables of all kinds, the girls got fruit and flowers, Madame arranged them, and the boys were getting the fish. I went into the kitchen to ask Schillie some question relative to the punch, and was sent out with a word and a blow almost. Her face was blazing like a warming pan, the soup was at its most important crisis. Gatty hearing the explosion of wrath, came as was her usual custom to join in the _melee_, also got a shower of invectives, but, knowing the soup-pot could not be left, she stood her ground, and occupied herself in various petty acts of mischief. For instance, the new cook had a perfect series of cloths and such like articles pinned to her when she made her appearance. Hargrave found all the gourds and pipkins into which she had put the vegetables changed, and, not being naturally sweet tempered, she declared, "Miss Gertrude was the most aggravatingest creature she ever met, and she would not serve her for a pound a day." But all ended well, and the dinner was served. We had boiled chickens at the top, and roast chickens at the bottom, and we had roast ducks on both sides, and the great bowl of turtle soup was in the middle, with two jugs of lime punch each side, and we had guava jelly in two places, and a pumpkin pie, and roasted yams, and rice and fruit mixed together of all kinds. In fact, it was a perfect Lord Mayor's feast. Schillie had insisted on dining like Christians, as she called it, with dinner napkins and finger gla.s.ses. The rest of the dinner table was covered with fruits and flowers, such as I am sure no Lord Mayor ever saw at his table. Grace was said. Schillie, with the dinner napkin spread out with an air, her face still glowing, but bland in the extreme knowing that she had achieved a triumph of cookery, proceeded to serve the soup. I being the first to taste it p.r.o.nounced it delicious. Madame thought it the best she had ever tasted! when we heard an exclamation from Schillie, "In the name of all that's ridiculous what's in the soup?" said she, turning wrathfully to Jenny. "Indeed, Madam, you poured it out of the pan yourself, and I only brought it in." "What can it be, here is something hard at the bottom rolling about, and I declare everything was stewed to a sponge when I last stirred it," continued she in rising choler.

_Gatty_ (rising with great alacrity).--"If you please, little Mother, shall I try to fish it out?"

_Schillie._--"Fish fiddlesticks out, indeed, Miss Gatty. Ah you may look as demure as you like, I'll be bound you are at the bottom of this mischief. I remember now, when I was taking off these rags you pinned on me, my back was turned. Now, tell me this instant, you young crocodile, what have you been putting in the soup?"

_Gatty._--"If you please, little Mother, don't be so angry, it's only a stone, and I washed it quite clean."

_Schillie._--"Then take that stone for your dinner, Miss, and nothing else shall you have."

This threat of course went for nothing, and Gatty had as much dinner as any of us, and, perhaps, rather more, considering that she was nearly the biggest of us all, and also never being still, she required more nourishment to keep up the demand upon the const.i.tution.

We made Jenny and Hargrave dine with us. Hargrave mincing her words, looking dignified, and eating next to nothing, because she thought it more ladylike; while Jenny sat between her two dear boys, and made nearly as much noise as they did, swallowing all they made her taste out of their own plates, though she was helped out of the same dishes they were. The chattering on all sides could only equal the eating. I proposed the health of the new house with the first gla.s.s of lime punch.

This was drank with great applause, and a discussion ensued as to what we should call it.

_Schillie_ (with her mouth full of turtle).--"Pooh, pooh, use your brains for some other purpose. It's a house, is it not? Then why not call it a house!"

_Sybil._--"But all houses have names to distinguish them."

_Schillie._--"Alack, if you are not a young noodle. Pray, who has got a house here besides? A great boon it would be to have some neighbours to whom one could talk common sense."

_Serena._--"Oh, we will talk as much common sense as you like, little Mother; and the first thing I shall say is, though there is but one house in the island, we may just as well make it as like home as we can, and call it the same name."

I nodded approvingly to the dear girl for her nice thought. Madame's pocket handkerchief was in requisition, while Schillie, who seemed to favour Serena's remarks with more attention than any of the others, said, "Call it any name you like, my dear child, if it gives you the smallest pleasure; only you will see house it is, and house it will be called, until a hurricane blows it down."

"Oh don't, my dear Madam," murmured Madame. "Hurricanes will come,"

repeated Schillie. "I would oblige you if I could, but in this particular I am not clerk of the works, and have no control."

"Then," said Sybil, "we will call it Maescelyn."

"No," said Oscar, "I won't have it called that. The real Maescelyn is a castle, very large, airy, and handsome to look at, and this is a dingy little house, with no windows in it."

What a start we all gave. It was too true. Even the clerk of the works looked quite silly. The house that had cost us such infinite labour, on which we looked with such pride and affection, had no windows of any kind or sort in its princ.i.p.al room. It is true the door was very wide, it is true that floods of light poured in through it, but, suppose we had to shut the door (that is when we had made one) what could we do then? It is true the little bed-rooms had each their little pigeon holes for light and ventilation, and that the back kitchen was very airy, but our hall, dining-room, drawing-room, school-room (the pride of our hearts and delight of our eyes) had no windows whatever. No wonder we all felt the remark was true. Felix spoke first, but only in a whisper, which whisper pa.s.sed round among the young ones, and marvellously restored their equanimity. "There was no possibility of doing lessons in the dark." As Madame became aware of this telegraphic dispatch, and saw its effect, she grew quite nervous, which always caused her to lose her voice. In vain she attempted an expostulation, and, what between her efforts and the rising exultation, I began to apprehend she would have a fit, so I comforted her, and said, "Never mind, Madame, we will have a window without doubt somewhere, and at present you see we don't want one, for the door throws in so much light, that we never found out we ought to have windows." I don't think the clerk of the works spoke for the next half hour, she was so annoyed; but, what we thought a great misfortune proved afterwards a very desirable thing, for it was most refres.h.i.+ng in the glaring suns.h.i.+ne and hot baking air to come into the dark cool house, the walls of which being so thick, and filled up with clay, preventing the heat penetrating into it.

So we carried on the discussion about the name; Madame, Sybil, Serena, and Winifred all for calling it Maescelyn. Oscar, Felix, Lilly, and Jenny all against it. The little Mother, not having recovered herself gave no name, Gatty was waiting for her opinion before she gave any, for, though in constant warfare, their similarity of tastes made them in reality sworn friends. Hargrave also would give no name, princ.i.p.ally because she said, "It was a 'orrifying place, and very outrageous," by which we suppose she meant outlandish. Though urged by the little ones, whom she suspected were laughing at her, to explain, she would not, but went off into a discussion upon dress, and, bidding the young ladies to look at her Mistress dressed in Christmas robes, with her hair so beautifully plaited in a basket plait, and her curls so smooth and bright, and her black satin gown sitting and hanging so becomingly and well. "And then to think she could like such a 'ole of an hisland, where no one could see how she 'ad hattired her Mistress, and to give such a 'eathen place a name too, was more than she could bear." So the girls who loved to tease her, declared her Mistress did not look one bit better than the rest of the party, and that Madame's neat plain white cap was the prettiest thing at the dinner table, or Jenny's smart blue one, with bows and ends all over it. As she was too-matter-of-fact to see any joke in this, and as her Mistress's hair was her weak point, she waxed wrath, and began a splendid description, misplacing all the h's, and making such a sad havoc amongst her parts of speech, that it was difficult to make out what she wished us must to admire, whether her Mistress, or diamonds, or black velvet, herself or hair. I had the casting vote in giving a name to the house, but, previously, I thought it as well that we should give a name to our island. "Certainly, certainly," was said on all sides, and also most voices decided it should be a Welsh name; therefore, in a gla.s.s of lime punch, after a long discussion, we christened our island "YR YNYS UNYG," the last word, Unyg, being p.r.o.nounced as inig. This in English signified "The Lonely Island." Much as I wished all my dear companions to feel happy, and to be as much at home in our painful situation as circ.u.mstances would allow, and, much also as I liked the notion of our calling everything about us by home names, I yet shrunk from giving the name of our beloved home to the hut in which we now seemed doomed to pa.s.s our days.

Several times I attempted to begin upon the subject, but it was too painful and I dared not trust my voice, lest its faltering should show my companions that this Christmas-day was not one of unmixed pleasure, and I was the more anxious to restrain my feelings as I could easily perceive that a little was only wanting to turn our day of feasting into one of mourning. It was not, therefore, until repeated entreaties had been urged, that, at last, I said somewhat shortly, and with an effort of hilarity, "I think we will call our house 'Cartref Pellenig,' or 'The Distant Home,' because--because--"

_Schillie._--"Well, why, because."

"Oh hush, hush, cousin Schillie," said Lilly, who was always impetuous, and, throwing her arms round me, she continued, "Don't, dear Mama, my own Mother, don't cry, I cannot bear it. We shall see home again, we shall not always live here, we will be so good, we will do everything to please you. Oh Mother, my own darling Mother, don't cry so."

And so all my efforts were in vain, we were all upset, and the little house, so late the scene of merriment, now was filled with the voices of lamentation and woe. Each in their different way mourned and wept, but, as I said before, it was not so much for ourselves as for others.

We had been so busy, and had so much on our minds that we had thought of little else than mending our own condition, and doing all we could to make ourselves comfortable. To the olden heads it had been a time of great anxiety and trouble, while the younger ones had been forced out of their proper sphere of dependance, into that of companions, helpers, and advisers. We had, therefore, but little time to think of those who, it now struck us, on this Christmas-day, for the first time, would be suffering under fear and anxiety for our fate.

The same feelings that were so forcibly striking us of the relations, friends, and neighbours with whom we had always exchanged the happy Christmas greetings, would, we now began to feel, also strike them. In our family what gaps would be seen in the heretofore merry Christmas party. I looked round, Schillie was separated from her children, Gatty, Zoe, Winifred, Madame, even the poor servants, how many mourning households would there be? Not because we were missing from the Christmas party, as that was expected, but because they must be aware that something had occurred. They must now be suffering under that worst of all fears, doubt and apprehension. Eight months had pa.s.sed since we had seen them, and six must have gone by since they had heard from us.

There could be no doubt that, painful as our feelings were, they were now most to be pitied. Oh how we longed for the wings of a bird to fly over, and set them at rest. How the more we wept and talked about them, the more unbearable and painful grew this feeling. All that we had undergone; all that we seemed likely to undergo, appeared but as a drop on the ocean compared to the mourning and sorrow which we knew were filling the hearts of so many households, weeping, as they would be at the mysterious and unknown fate of those they loved so much. We were safe, we were well, we were comparatively happy, yet we could not tell this, and, perhaps at the time, the very time, we were celebrating our housewarming and Christmas dinner, they were lamenting us as dead.

Will it be wondered at that our Christmas-day ended in sorrow, and that we wept for those weeping for us. We talked over all they might be thinking and doing. Every speech, every sentence ending, "Oh if we could only tell them, if they could only peep into the rude hut, and see the healthy blooming faces contained therein, albeit each face was bedewed with tears, each voice was choking with sorrow." This picture would they see. The rustic rough house, with its wide open entrance, showing the table strewn with the wrecks of our feast, but brilliant with flowers and fruit. Lying on a rude gra.s.s cus.h.i.+on was the Mother, her hair all dishevelled with sorrow, her face lengthened with woe; close by her, with her face hidden from sight, was the little Mother; Madame leaning far back in her chair, with a handkerchief over her face, was weeping bitterly behind it; the six girls, in various groups, about the two Mothers, were each, though deeply sorrowful, trying in their own sweet ways, to speak of hope and comfort; the two boys, at a little distance, were sitting on the ground, Oscar grave and sorrowful, Felix weeping and crying while he fed his monkey to keep it quiet; the servants had retired. Beyond, through the door, was seen the deep blue quiet sea, over which we were so anxious to fly, while the rich dark foliage of the trees appeared cool and refres.h.i.+ng against the glowing sky. But this sadness could not last long in a party animated by christian hopes, sustained by christian faith; ere the hour for evening service arrived our sorrow grew lighter, each seemed to feel in the stored words an individual comfort, and we retired to rest committing the consolation of all near and dear to us to Him who had preserved _us_ through so many and great dangers, for the sake of His Son Jesus Christ. Thus we sat for hours on this Christmas-day, but what was going on at home?

CHAPTER XXIII.

In a distant county, in the North of England, there was situated in a quiet country parish a rural rectory, surrounded by a garden, and adorned with the only good trees in the neighbourhood; it stood sheltered at the foot of a hill, the only rising ground to be seen amidst a flat and smoke-dried country. Within that rectory lived a venerable and venerated father, with a loving and adored mother, who had hitherto been surrounded at Christmas by the happy faces and smiling countenances of thirteen children, with their numerous offsprings.

A bright blazing fire is sending a gloomy tint all over the pretty drawing room, hung with green, and adorned with bright flowers, worked by skilful fingers. Various beautiful and rare specimens of Foreign workmans.h.i.+p ornament every part of the room, chairs and sofas of ease and luxury pervade the apartment, nothing seems wanting to render this room the beau ideal of an English home at Christmas time, for the bright green holly with its scarlet berries is hung in every direction. It is well inhabited too. In the high-backed old-fas.h.i.+oned chair sits a sweet and dignified lady, but her face had a painful expression, her eyes were fixed on nothing, her delicate white fingers were half clasped together, her thoughts seemed far away. On the opposite side of the fire sat a girl writing, whose pretty figure bent over the paper until the long chestnut curls lay resting on the table, but they quite concealed the face. A tall slim figure was busily winding silk, with her back to the fire, her dark hair, beautifully plaited in a thick Grecian plait, shewing her small head to great advantage. In full front of the fire sat another girl, whose pretty sweet face was bedewed with tears, which every now and then she wiped away. A step was heard on the stairs, the sweet Mother's eyes recovered their animation, the winder stopped from her occupation, the writer raised a pale and care-worn face, each advanced to the door as it opened to admit the grey-headed Father. He bore a packet of letters, but his face was mournful as he said, "No, none from them." "Alas, alas," said the sorrowful Mother, sinking back into her chair, "what are we to think? I see, I see, all this heap of letters, and not one contains the news we pine for. They are only repet.i.tions of what we have already had; anxious enquiries from still more anxious parents, painful to read, still more painful to answer. I cannot read them, I cannot bear them in my sight." As they tried to comfort her, rapid wheels and fast-trotting horses' feet were heard, and the next minute a carriage with four breathless and smoking horses turned into the drive, and stood at the front door. Before they had stopped, a gentleman sprung from the carriage and bounded up stairs in a minute, his figure being concealed in a travelling cloak. As he raised his hat, he shewed the fine bald head and handsome countenance of Sir Walter Mayton. The aged father raised one hand, the sorrowful mother clasped the other, as they exclaimed, "What news, what news. Have you heard of our lost ones?" He could not bring himself to speak the negative that his sorrowful shake of the hand indicated, but another person was behind him, having come in the same carriage. Who could mistake that kind and loving face, the n.o.ble features so handsome in their regularity, so beneficent, so benign, the snow-white hair, the merry kind blue eye, the upright figure. The weeping Mother threw herself into his arms. "Don't cry, don't cry, my dear Emily," said he, the tears rolling down his rich ruddy cheek, "we shall find them again.

We will go in search of them. Remember, I too am a sufferer. Have I not lost my right hand, the sunbeam of my house, my sweet, little, mischievous, pretty, fidgety Gatty," and he raised his eyes reverently to heaven, as if to invoke a blessing on his lost child; and this was Gatty's Father, who had left his court, and had come down purposely with Sir Walter Mayton to consult on the best mode of discovering the lost party, and taking the advice of all those nearly and dearly interested in them.

"Now," said Sir Walter Mayton, seeing that the painfulness of the meeting was nearly over, "now let us proceed to business. First of all, will you allow me to ring the bell for some dinner, as I can tell my story while it is getting ready, and we must leave immediately after."

That matter being arranged, he proceeded, "You are aware that I, according to directions that I received from our lost party, dated Madeira, followed them to Rio Janeiro by the next packet. I had a capital voyage, and was so speedy in my movements that I was not surprised at finding La Luna not in port when I arrived. I waited patiently for a week during which time I hired a house and made preparations for their seeing all that was worth seeing in the country.

At the end of that time your son's s.h.i.+p came into port, and she had not reported herself five minutes ere I was on board. He, with me, expressed great disappointment at the non-arrival of our party, and, from being rather fidgety before, I became doubly so at seeing his anxiety.

Accordingly, we left orders and persons ready to receive them should they arrive by any means unknown to us; and I, at his request, accompanied him on his cruise up and down the coast, thinking, in my impatience, that I should hear of them sooner; and at all events, it was some employment, for, I frankly own, I could not have waited another week doing nothing, and suffering such anxiety.

"We were out a fortnight, and all we heard was that there had been a tremendous gale, for those vessels that were only in the tail of it suffered considerably. But, your son had no fear of La Luna riding it out, knowing what a good sea-boat she was; except, indeed, she had by some misfortune got into the circle of the storm, by which she would not only have the worst of it, but be violently exposed for many more days than otherwise. Our anxiety grew with the weeks, so at the end of the fortnight we put into Rio again, and consulted the best authorities. We all agreed on one subject, namely, that having good sea-room, which we calculated she must have had when the storm overtook her, she could not have foundered or been lost. We had then to think what else could have occurred, and in making up our minds to wait patiently another fortnight, we calculated that ladies do sometimes change their minds, and that they might have been seduced into landing on some of the numerous and lonely islands with which the Atlantic abounds.

"But, it was sorry work this waiting, I determined to make them pay dearly for breaking their promise, should it be the case, and for putting me into such a painful state."

"I can well believe it, Sir, I can well believe it," said the grey-headed Father. "Thank you, thank you for all your kind interest."

"Nay, Sir, thank me not. I own I have neither chick nor child, and so may not be expected to feel as much as a parent would do on such an occasion; but, Sir, I feel for my wards as tenderly as any Father can, I would rather a thousand ills occurred to me than that a hair of their heads should be injured." His strong voice faltered, "But, enough, I came here to tell my tale, and not to indulge in unavailing sorrow. Let it suffice to tell you I left not a port unexplored on the coast of America; I left not a stone unturned to learn their fate; I rested not day or night; your son had permission from the admiral to devote as much time to the same search, as his duties would permit. I mentally resolved I would not leave the spot until I heard something of them."

"How kind, how good you are," said the listeners.

"And I should have kept my promise, had it not been for a letter from Mr. M., who you know is co-trustee and joint guardian with me of your grandchildren. Of course the loss of such a party soon became known, in fact our anxiety, and all we did, and the sympathy we met with, and the help we obtained, would detain you much too long were I to tell you. But you will not be surprised to hear that the next heir to my wards'

estates has intimated his knowledge that some dire misfortune has occurred to the three children on whom the property is entailed, your grandchildren. I, therefore, came home at once. I have consulted Mr. M., I have taken the ablest advice, and where could I have better than from him who is so interested in the matter, and so high in his profession?"

Bowing to Gatty's Father. "Also I have seen the once-hasty heir, and settled his business, I have put everything into the hands of Mr. M.

regarding the property, and in such training that nothing can be done for a year or two by the next heir, and now I am come down to see you, and take your orders and wishes, and to-morrow I sail for America to prosecute my search, and not leave it until I find them dead or alive."

"You are too kind, too good, one might expect such devotion in one of their relations, but not in one barely connected with them. We know not how to thank you."

With such speeches the whole party were proceeding, but Sir Walter interrupted them, saying, "Nay, nay, say no more, I am not acting so disinterestedly as you think, my conscience would not suffer me to rest easy did I not do my duty to the children of one of my oldest and dearest friends. At his dying request I undertook the charge, and only with life do I mean to relinquish my care over them. Besides, look round amongst all who are now mourning the loss of those I am about to seek; have they not ties of home, children, professions? I have none. I had but to guard the property of my wards, superintend their education, and prevent their mother spoiling them, and, by this sad event that business is over. It is my duty to seek for them; as a military man and acquainted with the world, I am fitted for adventure and all its consequences. I go with a cheerful heart and hopeful expectations. I have but one sorrow, and that is the mad permission I gave them to go without me." Thus saying, he arose and paced the room rapidly. Gatty's Father rose also, and, taking his hand, solemnly thanked him for what he was about to do as regarded the welfare of his lost child, continuing in this strain, "Your language and energy, Sir Walter, make me wish I could accompany you, but that you know is impossible, serving her Majesty in the capacity I do. But my heart and prayers go with you, and remember that as I cannot indulge my wish to join you in your search, you must command my purse. Ah my Gatty, my pretty darling, did your Father reckon your value by his purse, what worlds could contain the treasure I would give for thee? The merciful G.o.d preserve my dear child, and restore her to my arms." All were too much affected to speak for some little time, but the meal being announced as ready, they entered once more into conversation as they ate it.

Emily, the active winder, asked if they had escaped the tempest, what probable fate could have detained them so long? Sir Walter looked up, quickly laid down his knife and fork, and was about to say something, when he corrected himself, and said instead, "You shall know all I can learn when I get to America."

"But," said Charlotte, looking up from between her long curls, with great anxiety, "you do know more only you are afraid to tell us. Pray be kind to us, and tell us all you know." "Why should I tell you what would add to your sorrow, when there may be nothing but conjecture in the idea?" "Oh," said the eager Mother, "tell us all, we are so bewildered and lost in conjectures, that nothing you can tell us could add to the anxiety we are in. Moreover, I think I know what you mean. I have already hinted such a thing to my husband. Are you not afraid they have been captured by the pirates, whose depredations my son has been ordered to subdue?" "Just so, my dear Madam, it was the common opinion of every one, when I left Rio, that they had fallen into the hands of the gang of pirates now infesting those seas. This knowledge has added an additional spur to your son's exertions, though he did not want it, for the Admiral had been laughing at him, and calling his s.h.i.+p a 'Will o' the Wisp,' she seemed to be in every port every day. I can a.s.sure you, Sir," turning to the Father, "you may, amidst all your sorrow, congratulate yourself on having for a son one of the most promising officers in Her Majesty's service, and it is well known too." The dear beloved parents needed such a balm to their hara.s.sed minds. "But, can you," said Gatty's Father, "form any conjecture as to what would be their fate, say they were in the hands of the pirates?" "I took good care, Sir, before I left Rio, to offer very tempting ransoms, and to publish them in all quarters, and it is well known they are a very needy set, and that so much money will be too difficult for them to refuse. So I have every hope, and now I must be off."