The Emigrants
"Oh, Nealie, it is a most beautiful ship, and bigger than Bodstead
Church!" cried Ducky, rushing up to her eldest sister and flinging
herself into the arms held out to her. She and Sylvia had rushed below
to find their berths, while Nealie was still standing on deck by the
side of Mr. Runciman, who had himself escorted them to London to see
them safely on board the big liner which was to take them to Sydney.
Events had marched so fast in the last fortnight that sometimes Nealie
had wondered if she were really dreaming. For the first time in her life
she was realizing what a lot of things money can do. Mr. Runciman had
told her that Aunt Judith had left a little money to be used for the
benefit of the seven. He had not told her how much it was, but had
merely said it would be enough to cover the cost of their journey, and
so they could start as soon as they pleased. And because of the fear
there was in her heart lest her father should send word they were not
to come, she had declared that she was ready to set off as soon as
berths could be secured for them.
Perhaps Mr. Runciman was also afraid that Dr. Plumstead would cable that
they were not to come, for he certainly spared neither time nor money to
facilitate their going, using so much energy in the preparations that
his servants were about equally divided in calling him hard names for
his eagerness to rid himself of a heavy burden and in praising his
generosity in making the way so easy for the seven to go to their
father.
Just at the last it had been quite hard to say goodbye to the old home
at Beechleigh and all the people they had known there. So standing on
the deck of the ocean-going liner Nealie was thankful that it was all
over, and that at last she was free from the necessity to say any more
goodbyes. Any more save one, that is, for there was still the farewell
to Mr. Runciman to be faced, and she was dreading this with a very real
shrinking as she stood so quietly by his side, while the others ran up
and down exploring their new quarters and exclaiming in delight at the
bustle and novelty all around them.
"Now mind, Cornelia, if when you land at Sydney you find that you have
not sufficient money, you must not hesitate to cable to me, and I shall
be most willing to cable you back what you may require," said Mr.
Runciman impressively, and because of the kindness in his tone Nealie
forgave him calling her Cornelia.
"Thank you very much, but I am sure that we ought not to need any more,
and I will be very, very careful not to waste our funds," she said,
smiling up at him, but her lips quivered a little in spite of her
determination to maintain a Spartan-like control of her emotions.
"Money melts when you are travelling, and you are all such babies in the
matter of finance. Let me see what I have in my pocket," he said,
thrusting his hand in and tugging out a bulky purse from some mysterious
inner depths. "Three, five, seven, ten. Yes, I can let you have ten
pounds. Put it in your pocket and say nothing about it. If you do not
need it for your journey you can keep it as a little gift from me and
spend it for your own pleasure."
"You are so very kind, I cannot think what we should have done without
you in getting away; you seem to have forgotten nothing, and I am sure
that Father will be most grateful to you," she said, looking at him with
so much trust and affection in her eyes that his conscience pricked him
dreadfully for what he knew to be his selfish eagerness to shift a heavy
burden on to the shoulders of someone else.
[Illustration: SAYING GOODBYE TO MR. RUNCIMAN]
"It is no great virtue to be kind to you, child; indeed it would be a
hard heart that would be anything else," he said in a deeply moved tone;
and because the bell began to ring then, in warning to people to leave
the ship, he took both her hands in his, and, leaning down, kissed her
on the forehead; then with a nod in the direction of the others, who at
the sound of the bell had gathered round to bid him a civil goodbye, he
disappeared down the gangway and was lost to view in the crowd.
"The old chappy cut up quite decent at the last. I expect it was that
little poem of mine which fetched him," said Rumple, who was strutting
round like a peacock in a new suit of clothes and feeling himself
someone of importance.
"Hush, dear, don't call him names, I do not like it," said Nealie with
gentle dignity, while she struggled with her tears.
"Are you crying over saying goodbye to Mr. Runciman?" asked Sylvia in a
wondering tone. "I thought we all made up our minds ages ago that he was
really an unmitigated nuisance?"
"We have had to suspend judgment a bit of late in his direction," put in
Rupert, coming to the rescue, for he guessed that Nealie did not want to
talk just then, not even in defence of Mr. Runciman.
"I think there is more in him than we know," said Rumple in a
patronizing tone. "At any rate he had the sense to like my verses, and
that shows that he is not altogether callous; he even said that it was
clever of me to find such a nice rhyme for Runciman."
"How does that first line go?" asked Rupert, still intent on shielding
Nealie, who had walked to the side, and, with tear-blinded eyes, was
watching the gangways being lifted.
Rumple instantly struck an attitude, screwed his face into what he
called an intense expression, and, waving one arm like a semaphore,
declaimed in loud, clear tones:
"Oh, Runciman, dear Runciman,
You've proved yourself a gentleman,
Both in pocket and in sense,
For your care to send us hence;
And we join in three times three,
May your shadow ne'er less be."
"Hip, hip, hooray!" yelled Billykins, waving his cap; then Don and Ducky
cheered lustily also, and the sound of the jubilant shouting reached the
ears of Mr. Runciman as he stood on the shore and watched the big ship
glide slowly from the land.
Nealie went down to the cabin then, meaning to have a hearty good cry by
way of relieving her feelings; but Ducky ran down with her to show her
how delightfully cosy their quarters were, and there was so much to be
seen and admired on every hand that, on second thoughts, Nealie decided
to let the crying stand over until she went to bed, by which time she
was so sleepy that she entirely forgot about it.
By the kindness of Mr. Runciman the three girls had a four-berth cabin
to themselves; for, realizing how trying it would be for them to have a
stranger thrust in among them, he had paid the extra so that they might
be undisturbed. The four boys had also a four-berth cabin, which opened
a little farther along the lower deck; so they were all quite near
together, and speedily made themselves at home.
Don and Billykins made up their minds to be sailors long before they
were out of the Thames, and although they changed their minds when they
got a terrific tossing in the Bay of Biscay, their bearing was strictly
nautical right through the voyage.
Rupert and Sylvia were the only two who did not suffer from seasickness,
but, as Sylvia remarked, it was not all fun being immune, because they
had such hard work in waiting upon the others. However, the end of the
week found them all upon their feet again, and very much disposed to
enjoy the novelty of life at sea.
Nealie and Don sang duets, to which Rupert played accompaniments on the
banjo, while Ducky and Billykins led the applause, and Sylvia posed as
audience, aping the languid, bored look of a fine lady at a concert with
such inimitable mimicry that she came in for nearly as much applause as
the proper performers from such of the other passengers as gathered
round to hear.
Then Rumple would do his share towards entertaining the company by
declaiming his own poetry, and he was so funny to look at when he stood
on one foot, with his face screwed into puckers, and his arms waving
wildly above his head, that his performance used to evoke shouts of
laughter.
"I can't think what makes the silly goats guffaw at such a rate when I
recite my 'Ode to a Dying Sparrow'," he said in a petulant tone to
Nealie, one day when his audience had been more than usually convulsed.
"It must be shocking bad form to double up in public as they did; a
photograph of them would have served as an up-to-date advertisement of
the latest thing in gramaphones, and when I came to that touching line,
about the poor bird sighing out its last feeble chirp ere it closed its
eyes and died, those two very fat women simply howled."
"Dear, they could not help it, you did look so funny, and--I don't think
that dying birds sigh, at least I never heard them, and I have seen
quite a lot of Mrs. Puffin's chickens die," replied Nealie, who was
struggling with her own laughter at the remembrance of the comic
attitude which Rumple had struck. He was a queer-looking boy at the
best, and then he always went in for the most extraordinary gestures,
so it was not wonderful that people found food for mirth in watching
him.
"I shall not go in for pathetic poetry with an audience who cannot
appreciate fine shades of feeling," he said in a disgusted fashion. "I
will just get away by myself and throw a few thoughts together which may
prove suitable to their intelligence."
"That would be a good idea," said Nealie in a rather choky voice, and
then, when he had gone, she put her head down on her hands, laughing and
laughing, until someone touched her shoulder, to ask her in kindly pity
what she was crying for.
That was really the last straw, and Nealie gurgled and choked as if she
were going to have a very bad fit of hysterics, which made the
sympathizer--a kind-looking elderly man--still more concerned on her
account.
"My dear, shall I call the stewardess, or one of your friends, to help
you?" he asked, with so much anxiety on her account that Nealie was
instantly sobered, and proceeded to explain the situation.
"You see, Rumple, that is my brother, always does take himself and his
poetry so seriously; but the worst of it is that everyone who hears him
recite his own things fancies it is the latest idea in comedy, and they
laugh accordingly."
"And I have been watching you for the last five minutes, until I could
no longer bear to see you, as I thought, in such trouble, and that was
why I spoke to you," the gentleman said, scarcely able to make up his
mind whether he was vexed with her for having so innocently deceived
him, or whether he was only relieved to find himself mistaken.
"You must think us all very foolish and childish, I am afraid," Nealie
murmured in apology. "But the children must have amusement, and we are
always interested in what we can each do. Some of Rumple's verses are
quite nice, although, of course, others are pure nonsense."
"Just so, just so; young folks must have something to amuse them, and it
is very much to the credit of you all that you are so thoroughly amused
by it, and I do not remember that I have ever heard you quarrel since
you came on board," the gentleman said in a musing tone.
"We do not quarrel," rejoined Nealie with quite crushing dignity, for
really the idea sounded almost insulting in her ears.
"Then you as a family must be the eighth wonder of the world, I should
think, for I never heard of a family yet who did not have an occasional
row," he said in an amused tone.
"Oh, but we are different; and besides we only have each other, and so
we cannot afford to disagree," she replied earnestly.
"Are you orphans, and going to Australia alone?" he asked in great
surprise.
"Oh no, we are not orphans; that is, our father is living in New South
Wales, and we are going out to him, but we have not seen him for seven
years. Indeed, Ducky, that is my youngest sister, may be said not to
have seen him at all, as she was only four weeks old when he went away;
the little boys do not remember him very well either. But Rupert,
Sylvia, and I can remember him perfectly," replied Nealie.
"It is certain that he will not know you if he has not seen you for
seven years," said the gentleman; and then he asked, with a great deal
of interest in his tone: "and are you travelling all that distance
without a chaperon of any sort?"
"I have my brothers, and I do not need anyone else," she answered,
looking up at him in surprise at his question. "I have always had to
take care of myself, for our great-aunt, with whom we lived, was very
old and feeble; for two years before she died she did not leave her
room, so it would not have done for me to require taking care of, seeing
that it was not possible for anyone to spare time to look after me."
"I think that you must be a very remarkable young lady, for I thought
that all girls required someone to take care of them, unless they were
colonials that is, and you are not that," he said, in the manner of one
who seeks information.
"No, we are only going to be," she said, with a happy little laugh, for
it was fine to have achieved one's heart's desire with so little delay
in the getting, and she was setting her face towards the new and untried
life with radiant happiness in her heart.
"I am going to Cape Town, so I shall have to say goodbye to you when
your voyage is only half done, although it would have been a great
pleasure to me to have seen you safely ashore and in the care of your
father. Does he meet you in Sydney?" asked the gentleman, when he had
told Nealie that his name was Melrose, and that he was at the bottom as
English as she was herself.
"I don't know; I suppose he will, for Mr. Runciman would have written to
tell him the name of the ship we were coming by," said Nealie; but now
there was a dubious note in her tone, for she was trying to remember
whether Mr. Runciman had said anything about having written to her
father. She had thought of writing herself, but had refrained from doing
it because of the feeling of hurt pride which was still strong upon her,
as it had been ever since she read the letter which was not meant for
her.
"What will you do if he does not?" asked Mr. Melrose.
"Oh, we shall find our way out to Hammerville! That is the name of the
place where he lives. There are seven of us, you see; it is not as if we
were just one or two," she answered brightly.
"Hammerville? I wonder whether that is the Hammerville in the
Murrumbidgee district, where Tom Fletcher went to live?" said Mr.
Melrose in a musing fashion. "They have a little way of repeating names
in these colonial places which is rather distracting. But Fletcher told
me that the Hammerville to which he went was nearly three hundred miles
from Sydney."
"I suppose there is a railway?" queried Nealie, knitting her brows, and
wondering how they were all to be transported for three hundred miles
across an unknown country, in the event of there being no railway by
which they could travel.
"I suppose the rail would go a point nearer than three hundred miles,
unless indeed the place is quite at the back of beyond, as some of those
Australian towns are," replied Mr. Melrose. "But Fletcher told me that
he hired a horse and wagon and drove the whole distance, sleeping in the
wagon at night to save hotel charges."
"Oh, what a perfectly charming thing to do!" cried Sylvia, who had come
up behind and was leaning over the back of Nealie's chair. "If Father is
not waiting to meet us when we reach Sydney, shall we hire a horse and a
wagon and drive out to Hammerville, Nealie?"
"It would be very jolly," said Nealie, with shining eyes. "I have always
longed to go caravanning, but I expect the difficulty would be to find
anyone willing to hire a horse and wagon to entire strangers like
ourselves; and if Hammerville is so far from Sydney, Father would hardly
be known so far away, even though he is a doctor."
"Did you say your father is a doctor?" asked Mr. Melrose, who was very
much interested in this adventurous family, who seemed so well able to
take care of themselves, and were roaming about the world without even
the pretence of a guardian to look after them.
"Yes; he is Dr. Plumstead. Have you heard of him?" asked Sylvia, with
the happy belief in her father's greatness which was characteristic of
them all.
"I used to know a Dr. Plumstead some years ago, but I do not expect it
was the same," said Mr. Melrose, looking as if he were going to say
something more, and then suddenly changing his mind.
It was some days later, and they were nearing Cape Town, which was the
halfway house of their journey, when Mr. Melrose, who had been keeping
his cabin from illness, appeared again on deck, and, seeking Nealie out,
laid an addressed envelope in her hand.
"It is the privilege of friends to help each other," he said quietly. "I
know a man in Sydney who lets horses and wagons on hire, and I have
ventured to give you a letter to him from myself, so that you may have
no difficulty in hiring a conveyance for the journey to Hammerville if
your father does not meet you."
"How very kind you are!" exclaimed Nealie.
He waved an impatient hand. "It is nothing, nothing. I may even be
coming to New South Wales next year, if only my health is better, and
then I shall do myself the pleasure of finding you out and renewing our
acquaintance," he said.
"That will be very pleasant," replied Nealie, her hand closing upon the
letter. "Then we can introduce you to Father, and tell him how kind you
have been to us."
"We shall see; but I fancy the indebtedness is on my side," he answered,
and then he turned abruptly away.
Nealie looked at him a little wistfully. He was so very friendly and
kind up to a certain point; but when that was reached he was in the
habit of retiring into himself, and she was left out in the cold.
"What is the matter, old girl?" asked Rupert, who came up at that
moment, and noticed the cloud on Nealie's face.
"I was only thinking how much nicer it would be if we could know what
was in the minds of people, and whether they were really friendly all
through, or only pretending," she answered, with a sigh.
"Rather a tall order that would be," said Rupert, laughing. "Why, all
the rogues would stand betrayed, and honest folk would get the credit of
their good intentions. The world would be turned upside down in short!"
"I suppose it would," replied Nealie, shaking her head, and then she
laughed too.