The Cameron Clan
Lorna had never realized before how much of life can be compressed into
a few days. The interval between her father's departure for Naples and
his return for the week-end was spent almost entirely with her friends.
It marked for her an altogether new phase of existence. She had read in
books about jolly families of brothers and sisters, and parties of young
people, but her own experience was strictly limited to school. Here in
Capri, for the first time she tasted the delights of which she had often
dreamed, and found herself cordially included in a charmed circle.
Though the Beverleys were mainly responsible for thus taking her up, the
Camerons also offered much kindness. "The Cameron Clan" as they called
themselves, consisted of father, mother, Jess, and two brothers, Angus
and Stewart, and almost every evening the young folk would meet at their
villa and gather round a wood fire in the salon. Though the days were so
warm the nights were chilly, and it was cheerful to watch the blazing
logs. What times they had together! It was an established rule that
everybody contributed some item to the general entertainment, and in
spite of fierce denials even the least accomplished were compelled to
perform. It brought out quite unexpected talent. Peachy, who had always
declared her music "wasn't up to anything," charmed the company by
lilting darkie melodies or pathetic Indian songs, Captain Preston
remembered conjuring tricks which he had learned in India, Mr. Roper
proved a genius at relating short stories, and Mrs. Cameron could recite
old ballads with the fervor of a medieval minstrel. The walls of the
Italian salon seemed to melt away and change to a wild moorland or a
northern castle as she declaimed "Fair Helen of Kirconnell," "The Lament
of the Border Widow," "Bartrum's Dirge," or "The Braes o' Yarrow."
"Modern people want more poetry in their veins," she insisted. "I've no
patience with the stuff most of them read. There's more romance in one
of those stories of ancient times than you'd find in a whole boxful of
the latest library books. People weren't ashamed of their feelings then,
and they put them into beautiful words. Nowadays it seems to me they've
neither the feelings nor the language to clothe them in. I'm a century
or two too late. I ought to have lived when the world was younger."
If his wife adored her native ballads Mr. Cameron, on his part, had a
good stock of Scottish songs, and would trill them out in a fine
baritone voice, the audience joining with enthusiasm in the choruses of
such favorites as "Bonny Dundee," "Charlie is my Darling," and "Over the
Sea to Skye."
"There's a ring about Jacobite melodies that absolutely grips you," said
Mrs. Beverley, begging for "Wha wad na fecht for Charlie," and "Farewell
Manchester." "Perhaps it's in my blood, for my ancestors were Jacobites.
One of them was a beautiful girl in 1745, and sat on a balcony to watch
her prince ride into Faircaster. The cavalcade came to a halt under her
window and 'Charlie' looked up and saw her, and asked her to dance at
the ball that was being given that night in the town. She was greatly
set up by the honor, and handed the tradition of it down the family as
something that must never be forgotten. Oh! I'd have fought for the
'Hieland laddie' myself if I'd been a man in his days. Is the spirit of
personal loyalty dead? We give patriotic devotion to our country, but
love such as that of an ancient Highlander for his hereditary chief
seems absolutely a thing of the past."
While their elders entertained the circle with northern legends or
border ballads the young people also did their share, and contributed
such choice morsels as ghost stories, adventures in foreign lands, or
weird tales of the occult. Stewart, who was an omnivorous reader of
magazines, tried to demonstrate the romance of modern literature, though
he could never convince his mother of its equality with old-world
favorites. Marjorie Anderson, who had a sweet voice, loved soldier
ditties, and caroled them much to the admiration of Captain Preston, who
always managed to contrive to get a seat near her particular corner of
the fireside.
"I believe those two are 'a match,'" whispered Peachy to Irene one
evening.
"So do I. They met first when Marjorie was at school. Dona told me all
about it, and it was quite romantic. They'd have seen more of each other
only, after the armistice, his regiment was ordered out to India. He's
home on leave now. He wrote to Marjorie all the time he was away,
regularly. She's tremendous friends with his sisters, and they asked her
to join them on this tour. Looks suspicious, doesn't it?"
"Rather! I hope it will really come off," answered Peachy, looking
sympathetically at the attractive pair whose chairs always seemed to
gravitate together. "She's pretty! And his brown eyes are the twinkliest
I've ever seen! Yes! I'm prepared to give them my blessing! I only wish
he'd get on with it. Why doesn't somebody give him a push over the brink
and make him propose? He's marking time, and for two cents I'd tell him
so myself. I guess his eyes would pop out, but I shouldn't care! Don't
be alarmed! I promise I won't interfere. But onlookers see the most of
the game, and with an affair like this under my very nose I'll be mad if
they don't fix-it up."
Captain Preston was hardly likely to conduct his love-making under full
fire of inquisitive eyes, but he generally managed to appropriate
Marjorie on walks or excursions; they strolled out together to admire
the moon, hunted for orchids on the hills, searched the beach for
shells, and saw enough of one another's society to satisfy the most
ardent matchmakers. It was an established fact that these two should
always sit together in boat or carriage, but the rest of the party
revolved like a kaleidoscope. Lorna sometimes found herself escorted by
Stewart or Angus, sometimes by Charlie or Michael Foard, the friends who
were staying with them, and oftener still by Vincent Beverley, whose
fair hair, blue eyes, and merry face--so like Irene's--specially
attracted her. She was so unaccustomed to have a cavalier at all that it
seemed wonderful to her that any one should take the trouble to carry
her basket, pick flowers that grew out of her reach, help her up
difficult steps or hand her into a rocking boat. This new aspect of the
world was very sweet. Insensibly it affected her.
"Lorna's growing so pretty," commented Peachy to Irene. "She's a queer
girl. At school she goes about looking almost plain and as dreary as an
owl. She's suddenly jumped into life here. Anybody who hadn't seen the
two sides of her wouldn't believe the difference. When she's animated
she's nearly beautiful."
"I don't think she's ever been really appreciated at the Villa
Camellia," replied Irene. "Mums likes her immensely. She says there's so
much in her, and that she only wants 'mothering' to bring her out. As
for Vin, his head's turned. He's made me vow faithfully to engineer that
he sits next to Lorna in the boat to-day. Are you going with Stewart?
Well, I've promised Michael if he's a particularly good boy I'll let him
row me in the little skiff. I dare say Charlie will be angry, but I
can't help it. The Foards are as alike as buttons in looks, but the
younger one is so infinitely nicer than the other."
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had slipped blissfully by. Except for
the few hours daily during which the steamer from Naples visited Capri,
with promenade deck filled with tourists, the little island was
wonderfully quiet, and by keeping away from the Marina Grande or the
highroads it was possible to avoid other holiday-makers. If they were
not on the sea "the clan," as the whole party liked to call themselves,
generally went up the hills to escape civilization. The natives had
begun to know them, and though they might be offered oranges, figs, or
dates by street vendors they were not continually pestered to take
carriages, engage guides or donkeys, or buy picture post-cards or long
strings of coral. Irene loved occasional excursions into the white town
on the rock. The strict rules and convent seclusion of the Villa
Camellia had given her no opportunity of sampling shops at Fossato, so,
except for her half-term holiday at Naples, this was her first
experience of marketing in Italy. The unfamiliar money and measures were
of course confusing, but the quaint little cakes, the lollipops wrapped
in fringed tissue paper of gay colors, the sugar hearts, the plaited
baskets, the inlaid boxes, the mosaic brooches, the beads, and the
hundred and one cheap trifles spread forth on stalls or in windows
fascinated her, and drew many lire from her purse. She only knew a few
words of colloquial Italian, but she used these to the best advantage,
and made up the rest with nods and smiles, a language well understood by
the kindly people of Capri, to whom a gesture is as eloquent as a whole
sentence. Vincent, whose talents ran more towards prowess at football
than a gift for languages, would often escort his sister, and conducted
his bargaining by pointing to what he wanted and counting the price in
lire on his five fingers, an operation that caused fits of amusement to
the shopkeepers, with whom the fair young Englishman became quite a
favorite. As long as Vincent could see what he wished for on sale and
indicate it with a finger he got along all right, but matters grew
complicated if he tried to explain himself. One day his mother, having
run short of methylated spirit, for her teakettle, sent him with a
bottle to buy some more. He looked the words up in a dictionary, entered
a chemist's, and demanded "alcohol for burning" in his best Italian. The
assistant seemed mystified, but suddenly a light flooded his intelligent
face, he flew to a series of neat little drawers behind the counter,
rummaged about, and in much triumph produced an "Alcock's porous
plaster," which he vehemently assured Vincent would be sure to burn, and
was a real English medicine, imported with great trouble and expense,
and certain to cure the ailment from which he was suffering. How Vincent
would have got out of the tangle, or convinced the chemist's assistant
that he was not in need of medical aid, is uncertain, but at that moment
Irene, who was walking with Lorna in the square, spied him through the
window, and brought her chum to the rescue. Lorna's Italian was
excellent; she soon unravelled the matter, returned the porous plaster
to the disappointed assistant, and explained to Vincent that the local
name for methylated spirit was "spirito," and that it was generally
procured from an oil colorman's.
"How was I to know?" grumbled Vincent dramatically. "A fellow goes by
the dictionary."
"It's always called 'alcohol' in Rome, and in some other places,"
pacified Lorna, who was still laughing at the mistake, "and I've bought
it at a chemist's myself in Naples. Come along round the corner and
we'll find the right shop. I had my own bottle filled there yesterday,
so I know where to go."
On the Friday, Mrs. Cameron, who by universal consent had constituted
herself organizer of the various joint expeditions, sent out invitations
for a grand gathering of the Clan to go and view the ruins of the villa
of Tiberius. This was one of the principal sights of the island, and, as
the Preston party were not staying over the following week, it would
have seemed a pity for them to miss it.
"It's a case of taking nose-bags and going for the day," said Stewart,
delivering his messages at the various villas. "Meeting-place, the
piazza in the town. Those who like to come up by the funicular can do
so. We'll wait for them. I think the Mater will take the train and save
herself some of the climb. She doesn't like these endless steps, and
it's certainly a pull from our place to the town. It's worth while
walking down to the Marina to get the railway."
Mrs. Beverley, Mrs. Roper, and Joyce Preston joined Mrs. Cameron in
taking advantage of the little "Ferrovia Funicolare" that connected the
harbor with the town, and arrived on the piazza cool and fresh compared
with those who had preferred to toil up the steep path.
"I told you to come with me, Renie child," chided Mrs. Beverley. "Look
how hot you are already. You'll be quite overdone before we get to the
summit."
"Oh, Mums darling, I'm not tired! I've saved the fare and bought this
swanky little cane instead. Look! Isn't it dinky?" protested Irene,
proudly exhibiting her newly purchased treasure. "It has a leather strap
and a tassel and a knob that one can suck."
"You baby," laughed her mother. "We shall have to buy you a tin trumpet.
I don't believe you're out of the nursery yet."
"Tin trumpet, Mums darling? Oh! You've given me such an idea," purred
Irene, running to Michael Foard and whispering some communication into
his sympathetic ear, which caused him to walk back to a certain street
stall and purchase nine tin whistles, with which the younger members of
the party armed themselves and immediately began a desperate attempt to
reproduce "The Bluebells of Scotland," hugely to the entertainment of
the natives, who flocked to their doors all smiles and amused
exclamations.
"Bairns! I think shame of you," declared Mrs. Cameron. "They'll take us
for a wandering circus. Put those unmusical instruments in your pockets
till we're clear of the town. I never heard a poor Scottish air so
mangled. You may practice your band on the hills and scare the goats.
Don't play it in my ears again till you catch the proper tune."
The musicians, after their first burst of enthusiasm was expended, were
glad to save their breath for the climb. When houses were left behind
their way wound between high walls, up, up, up, along a paved pathway
among orange groves, till at last the allotments disappeared, and they
were on the open hillside, among the low shrubs and the rough grass and
the beautiful flowers. Irene, running up a bank in quest of
bee-orchises, broke her new cane into four pieces, but was somewhat
consoled by a stick which Michael cut her from a chestnut tree.
"It hasn't a knob to suck," he laughed, "but I'll tie a stick of
peppermint on to the end of it if you like."
"Don't tease me, or I'll throw a squashy orange at you."
"I thought you were fond of peppermint."
"So I am, and if there's another of those creamy Neapolitans left in
your pocket I'll accept it and forgive you."
"Right you are, O Queen! There are two here. Does your Majesty prefer a
purple paper or a green?"
The ruins, which formed the goal of their expedition, were the remains
of a once splendid villa erected by the Emperor Tiberius, and used
constantly by him until his death in A.D. 37. Most of the party were
disappointed to find them, as Peachy expressed it, "so very ruiny." It
was difficult to picture what the original palace must have been like,
for nothing was left of all the grandeur but crumbling walls, over which
Nature had scattered ferns and flowers. At the very top some of the old
masonry had been used to build a tiny church; this was closed, but,
peeping through the grille in the door, the visitors could catch
glimpses of blue-painted roof and of little model ships, placed as
votive offerings by the sailors in gratitude for preservation from
danger at sea. Outside this chapel was a great stone monument built so
near the edge of the cliff that, when sitting on its steps, one could
look down a sheer drop of several hundred feet into the blue waters
below. The view from here was magnificent, and as the Clan, in turns,
scanned the neighboring coast of Italy with field glasses, they believed
they could even distinguish the Greek temples at Pæstum. The girls
described the glorious excursion they had taken there from school.
"You were lucky to be able to go all the way by char-à-banc," commented
Mrs. Cameron. "Dad and I went there on our honeymoon, years and years
ago, and traveled all the way from Naples by a terrible little jolting
train that carried cattle-trucks and luggage-trucks as well as passenger
carriages. I shan't ever forget that journey. We had to leave the
station at 6.30 and when we came downstairs we found it was a pouring
wet day. It was only the fact that the sleepy looking waiter at our
hotel must have roused himself at 5 A.M. to prepare our coffee, and that
we did not like to ask him to do it again another morning, that forced
us to set off in the rain. I never felt so disinclined for an excursion
in my life. Dad said afterwards if I'd given him the least hint he'd
have joyfully relinquished it, but each thought the other wanted to go,
so off we set. All the way to Cava it simply streamed, and we sat in our
corners of the carriage secretly calling ourselves idiots, and wondering
how we were going to look over temples in a deluge. But our heroism was
rewarded, for just as the train crossed the brigand's marsh the rain
stopped and the sun shone out, and the effect of blue sky and clouds was
simply glorious. We had a great joke at Pæstum. A mosquito had stung me
badly on one lid so that I looked as if I had a black eye. It was most
uncomfortable and painful, I remember. Well, a party of French tourists
were going round the temples, and as they passed us they glanced at my
eye and then at Daddy--a husband of three weeks' standing--and they
murmured something to one another. I couldn't catch their words, but
quite plainly they were saying: 'Oh, these dreadful English! He's
evidently given her a black eye, poor thing! That's how they treat their
wives!'
"The French people went on to the second temple, and Dad and I sat down
to eat our lunch. We were fearfully annoyed by dogs that sat in front of
us and watched every mouthful, and barked incessantly. (Did they trouble
you too! How funny! They must surely be the descendants of our dogs
who've inherited a bad habit.) Dad got so utterly exasperated that he
said he must and would get rid of them, so he seized my umbrella, shook
it furiously at them and yelled out '_Va via_' in the most awful and
blood-curdling voice he could command. Just at that moment the French
tourists came back round the corner. They turned to one another with
nods of comprehension, as if they were saying, 'There! Didn't I tell you
so! See what a brute he really is,' and they cast the most sympathetic
glances at me as they filed by. Isn't that true, Daddy?"
Mr. Cameron lazily removed his cigarette.
"It's a stock story, my dear, that you've told against me for the last
twenty years. I won't say that it's not exaggerated. Go on telling it if
you like. My back's broad enough to bear it. Shall I return good for
evil? Well, as I walked through the town to-day, waiting till you came
up by the funicular, I saw one of the Tarantella dancers, and I engaged
the whole troupe to come to the house to-night and give us a
performance. You said you wanted to see them. Will our friends here
honor us with their company and help to act audience?"
It seemed an appropriate ending to such a delightful day, and all the
party readily accepted the invitation. After twilight fell they
assembled at the Camerons' villa and took their places in the salon,
which had been temporarily cleared of some of its furniture. The
Tarantella dancers, who were accustomed to give their small exhibition
to visitors, brought their own orchestra with them, a thin youth who
played the violin, a stout individual who plucked the mandolin, and an
enthusiast who twanged the guitar. The performers were charmingly
dressed in the old native costumes of the country, the men in soft white
shirts, green sleeveless velvet coats, red plush knickers, silk
stockings and shoes with scarlet bows, while the girls wore gay skirts,
striped sashes, lace fichus, and aprons, and gold beads round their
shapely throats. They danced several sprightly measures, waving
tambourines and rattling castanets, or twining silk scarves together,
while the musicians fiddled and strummed their hardest; then six of them
stood aside and the two principal artists advanced to do a "star turn."
"Romeo" sang an impassioned love song, with his hand on his heart, while
"Juliette" plucked at her apron and appeared doubtful of the truth of
his protestations. Then the "funny man" had his innings. He sat in a
chair with a shoe in his hand and tried to smack the head of a humorist
who knelt in front but always managed neatly to avoid his blows, the
whole being punctuated by vigorous exclamations in Italian, and much
energetic music from the orchestra.
A pretty girl sauntered next on to the scene, and sang--in a rather
peacock voice--a little ditty lamenting the weather, at which a
velvet-coated cavalier came to the rescue, and chanting his offer of
help sheltered her with a huge green umbrella, under which they
proceeded to make love, and finally executed a dance beneath its
friendly shade. The whole of the little performance was very graceful
and attractive, savoring so thoroughly of Southern Italy and showing the
courteous manners and winning smiles to the utmost advantage. The
dancers themselves seemed to have enjoyed it, and stood with beaming
faces as they bowed their adieux and thanked the audience for their kind
attention.
"Aren't they just too perfect," commented Peachy.
"_I_ want to wear a velvet bodice and a green skirt with a yellow
border. I want to dance the tarantella with a tambourine in my hand."
"Won't a two-step content you?" said Angus. "Mater says since the
room is cleared we may just as well finish with a little hop ourselves.
May I have the pleasure? Thanks so much. Mrs. Beverley's going to play
for us. It's a beast of a piano but it's good enough to dance to. We
mustn't notice if the bass is out of tune."