Wild Life in the Land of the Giants Part 19

Mamma was looking as well and beautiful as ever. She was on sick-leave; that was what the little yellow Malay lady wanted to convey.

What a happy, happy week that was. And every hour of it we spent with mother. The only drawback to our pleasure was that we could not see poor father. But when we came back--ah! then.

We had such good news at the end of the week, too--that is good news for Jill and me, not for the owners' profit, however, including Auntie Serapheema. It was simply that, owing to delay in lading and unlading, the _Salamander_ would not be ready for sea for another week. This was a respite we did not fail to take advantage of, and so we spent it in going everywhere and seeing everything, in company with mother, of course, and very often Peter.

I felt that I liked Peter now better than ever, because he was so deferential and polite to mamma. No Frenchman had more urbanity about him than Peter, when he concluded to show it.

How Jill and I wished that week had been a year. The Cape has always seemed to me a very delightful dreamy sort of a place. The scenery is so grand, there is health in every breeze, and the people do not hurry along in life as they do in the States of America, where one is surrounded by such a stream of fast-flowing life that he thinks he is behind the age if he does not sail with it. But at the Cape one can take time to vegetate and enjoy his existence.

Up anchor and away again. A few tears at parting, and hopes of a speedy reunion. It had felt funny, as Jill expressed it, to find mamma amidst such tropical surroundings, but there was a good time coming, and we might soon see her back in dear old Trafalgar Cottage.

Of course Peter and we had fun at the Cape, and Peter played a good many more of his monkey tricks; but one particular monkey trick was played on me by a smart-looking Portuguese fellow, whom I will not forget, but am never likely to meet, so I make a virtue of necessity by forgiving him.

It was on the forenoon of our sailing. Jill was already on board, and I myself was about to put off in the very last boat, when the man came up and politely touched his cap.

"I sent them all off, sir," he said, "and this is the little bill."

I glanced at it. One pound 5 s.h.i.+llings 6 pence for various little nick-nacks, chiefly preserved fruits and other eatables.

"Ha!" I said to myself, "this is strange." Then aloud: "I never ordered these things, my man."

"You forget, sir. Only last night, sir, and you gave me sixpence to be sure to take them off in time. Will you come with me to the store?"

"No, no," I said; "it was my brother, doubtless. Here you are, one pound six s.h.i.+llings. Keep the sixpence because I suspected you."

I did not see my brother to speak to till dinnertime.

"Fork over, old man," I said, throwing him the bill. "I paid that for you, and don't you forget your liabilities when next you leave a foreign port."

Jill glanced at the bit of paper, and his look of blank astonishment told me at once I had been very neatly victimised. So much for being a twin.

Peter exploded in a hearty fit of laughter, which went rippling round the table; and though I looked a little blank--Jill said "blue"--for a time, I presently joined in the mirth.

"You see, my boy," said Captain Coates, "that it is quite an expensive thing to keep a double."

"Long may he keep his double," said Mrs Coates.

I grew serious all at once. I glanced just once at poor Jill's innocent face, while a strange feeling of gloom rushed over my heart.

Keep my double! Why surely, I thought, it could never be otherwise. I must always have Jill--always, always. I could no more live without that brother of mine than I could exist without the air I breathe.

Perhaps dear Mrs Coates noticed the air of concern her words had inadvertently called up, for she made haste to change the subject. I do not know whether she did so very artistically or not, but very effectually.

"Have ever you seen oysters growing on trees, Mr Jeffries?" she asked.

How closely the sublime is ever a.s.sociated with the ridiculous in this world! Mirth itself or folly is never really very far away from grief.

The one merely turns its back to the other.

Oysters growing on a tree indeed! Yet I could not repress a smile, and I dare say Mrs Coates noticed she was victorious.

"Oysters growing on trees? Yes, years and years ago." I often noticed that peculiarity about Peter: he used to speak as if he were indeed a very old man. And, mind you, one's peculiarities should always be respected, even if they convey to your mind the idea that the owner is affected with pride. Because every one has peculiarities, and they are often faults; but all have faults.

I think in the present instance Peter would have been pleased if Jill or I had contradicted him, but we did not. Jill merely said:

"Wouldn't I like to have trees like these growing in my garden."

Then Captain Coates explained that Peter referred to the mangrove trees, with huge bare root-tops, that grew by the seash.o.r.e in Africa, and graciously permitted the succulent bivalves to cling to them.

I have heard it said, reader, that there was not much romance about the merchant service; that, like the glory of war, it all clung to the Royal Navy. This is not quite true, and were I but to describe one half the adventures--none _very_ wild, perhaps--and half the fun we had for the next four years of our life at sea, giving an account at the same time of the storms and dangers we encountered, and a pen-and-ink picture graphically told of the lovely lands and seas we made the acquaintance of, it would be one of the most readable books ever printed. But I have that to tell of poor Jill and myself which I believe will be far more absorbing than the every-day events in the life of a sailor.

Our voyage, then, to Bombay was all that could be desired. Now that Jill and I really felt ourselves to be seafarers in the strict sense of the word, we settled down to our life, and began to enjoy it.

This is a feeling that comes sooner or later to all who make going to sea their profession, and it is born of the fact that your s.h.i.+p becomes your home; so that on sh.o.r.e you always feel out for the day or the week, as the case may be, but as soon as your foot is on deck you feel back and settled down. It is this feeling I doubt not which makes every true sailor love his s.h.i.+p.

From Bombay we went to China, and thence to Sydney, and it was there the great grief found us, a grief which made Jill and I feel we had left our boyhood behind us and grown suddenly old.

We had lost our father!

He had died, as heroes die, fighting at the head of his regiment, sword and revolver in hand, against fearful odds.

I shall not dwell on this sorrow; it had better be imagined. It was Mrs Coates who broke the news to us, after taking us below to our cabin. She let us weep as young orphan brothers would, in each other's arms, unrestrained for a long time, before she broke gently in with the remark:

"Dear boys, G.o.d is good to you; you still have your mother."

Oh yes, we still had our mother, and when the first wild transports of our grief were past, our thoughts sorrowfully reverted to her, and her lonely life in auntie's cottage by the sea.

I think the first comfort we really had was in our manly resolves to do everything that was right, and to be everything that was brave and good, for the sake of this widowed mother of ours, and out of respect to the memory of our hero father.

But as I have said, the grief made us old, and mind you, age goes not with years; the poor miserable children that beg in the streets of London, half naked and in rags, whose parents are more unnatural than the wildest beasts, they, I say, are as old in spirit and heart, and often in wisdom, as happy young men and women of over twenty-one.

It was strange, too, that, children though we were, we could not help feeling that henceforward we would be our mother's protectors.

Ah, I have to confess, though, that, so hard was the blow to bear, so intense was the grief we experienced for father's death, we saw no silver lining to the cloud for many a day, and, at night, neither Jill nor I could get our hearts quite round those beautiful words in G.o.d's own prayer, "Thy will be done."

And so months and years flew by, and Jill and I grew big and strong, and at the age of sixteen we brothers took the position of second and third mates on the _Salamander_. There really was no such rating as third mate, but the captain and everyone else who had anything to do with the s.h.i.+p, knew well we would not be parted if possible.

In all these years we had only been twice home, for our s.h.i.+p had what might be called a roving commission. Captain Coates was part owner of her and the rest of the owners knew well he would do all for the best, so that when abroad he invariably took whatever turned uppermost in the shape of trade. When unlading at one port, he seldom knew where he would be sailing to next. Sometimes we would take several trips back and fore between the same two ports. In a word, Captain Coates despised no trade or trip either by which he saw his way to make an honest penny.

On our last return home, we found that mamma was much more cheerful and resigned, that Auntie Serapheema had not yet got married. It was not even rumoured that she had refused many offers. She seemed wholly bound up in mamma.

Mummy Gray, Sarah, and Robert, were just as we had left them, Robert and Trots the pony being both stiffening a trifle with age.

Mattie was grown almost out of "kenning," as the Scotch say. She had slipped up, but she was none the less wonderfully beautiful.