DESCRIBES HOME-COMING, AND SHOWS THAT MATTERS WHISPERED IN THE
DRAWING-ROOM ARE SOMETIMES LOUDLY PROCLAIMED BELOW-STAIRS.
It was late on a winter evening when our hero, William Osten, arrived in
England, in company with his two friends and former messmates, Bunco and
Larry O'Hale.
When a youth returns to his native land, after a long absence which
commenced with his running away to sea, he may perhaps experience some
anxieties on nearing the old home; but our hero was not thus troubled,
because, his father having died during his absence, and his mother
having always been tender-hearted and forgiving, he felt sure of a warm
reception.
Our hero was so anxious to see his mother, that he resolved to travel by
the night-coach to his native town of B--, leaving his companions to
follow by the mail in the morning. Railways, although in use throughout
the country, had not at that time cut their way to the town of B--.
Travellers who undertook to visit that part of the land did so with
feelings somewhat akin to those of discoverers about to set out on a
distant voyage. They laid in a stock of provisions for the journey, and
provided great supply of wraps for all weathers. When Will Osten
reached the coach-office, he found that all the inside places were
taken.
"You'll have to go aloft, sir," said the coachman, a stout and somewhat
facetiously inclined individual, who, observing something of the sailor
in Will's costume and gait, suited his language to his supposed
character; "there's only one berth left vacant, on the fogs'l 'longside
o' myself."
"Well, I'll take it," said Will.
Five minutes afterwards the guard shouted "all right," and they set off.
"Do you happen to know many of the people in the town of B--?" said Will
to the coachman, as they emerged from the suburbs and dashed out upon a
long tract of moorland.
"Know many of 'em, sir," said the man, tipping the off-leader on the
flank by way of keeping his hand in; "I should 'ope I does; it's two
year, this very day, since I came to this 'ere part o' the country, and
I've got married in B-- to a 'ooman as knows everythink and everybody,
so, of course, I knows everythink and everybody, too."
"Then you have heard of a Mrs Osten, no doubt, a widow lady?" said
Will.
"Wot, the widder o' that grumpy old gen'lman as died last year, leavin',
they say, a big estate in furrin parts?"
Will felt a tendency to seize the man by the throat, and tumble him off
his box into the road, but on second thoughts he restrained himself and
said--
"She is the widow of a gentleman with whom I was intimately acquainted.
I did not know anything about his having estates abroad."
"I axe your pardon, sir," said the man, a little abashed by Will's grave
manner; "didn't know they wos friends of yours. No offence, I 'ope.
The old lady is raither low since her husband's death--for it wos
somewhat sudden--an' they do say she's never got over the runnin' away
of her only son--at least so my wife says, an' she ought to know, for
she's bin intimate with the family for many years, an' knows the ooman
as nussed the boy--"
"What, Maryann?" exclaimed Will.
"The same. You seems to know 'em all, sir."
"Yes, I know them well. Is Maryann still with my--with Mrs Osten?"
"Yes, sir, she is, an' wot's more, she aint likely to quit in a 'urry.
W'y, sir, that 'ooman 'as 'ad no fewer than six hoffers of marriage, an'
'as refused 'em all for love of the old lady. My wife, she says to me
the other night, when she wos a-washin' of the baby in the big bread
can--you see, sir, the washin' tub's gone and sprung a leak, an' so
we're redoosed to the bread can--Well, as I wos a-sayin', my wife says
to me--`Richards,' says she, `it's my belief that Marryhann will never
marry, for her 'art an' soul is set upon Mrs Osten, an' she's got a
strange feelin' of sartinty that Master Will, as she calls the runaway
boy, will come back to comfort 'is mother an' look arter the furrin
estates. No, Richards, mark my words, Maryhann will never marry.'"
"`It may be so, Jemimar,' says I,--Did you speak, sir?" said the
coachman, turning sharp round on hearing Will utter an exclamation of
surprise.
"Is your wife's name Jemima?"
"Yes, it is; d'you 'appen to know her, too?"
"Well, I think I do, if she is the same person who used to attend upon
Mrs Osten--a tall and--thin--and and--somewhat--"
"Stiff sort of woman--hout with it, sir, you'll not 'urt my feelins. I
didn't marry Jemimar for her beauty, no, nor yet for her money nor her
youth, for she aint young, sir--older than myself a long way. I took
her for her _worth_, sir, her sterlin' qualities. _You_ know, sir, as
well as I do, that it aint the fattest an' youngest 'osses as is the
best. Jemimar is a trump, sir, without any nonsense about her. Her
capacity for fryin' 'am, sir, an' bilin' potatoes is marvellous, an' the
way she do dress up the baby (we've only got one, sir) is the
hadmiration of the neighbour'ood."
"You said something just now about the deceased Mr Osten's estate. Can
you tell me how he came by it?"
"No, sir, I can't. That's the only thing that my wife 'as failed to
fathom. There's somethink mysterious about it, I think, for Missis
Hosten she won't speak to Marryhann on the subjec', an' all she knows
about it is that the lawyer says there's an estate somewheres in furrin
parts as needs lookin' arter. The lawyer didn't say that to Maryhann,
sir, of course, but she's got a 'abit of hairin' 'er ears at key'oles
an' over'ears things now an' then."
Further conversation on this point was here stopped by the arrival of
the coach at the end of a stage, and when the journey was resumed with
fresh horses, Will felt inclined to sleep. He therefore buttoned up his
coat tight to the chin, fixed his hat well down on his brows, and put
himself into one of those numerous attitudes of torture with which
"outsides" were wont to beguile the weary hours of night in coaching
days. When the sun rose next morning, Will was still in that state of
semi-somnolence which causes the expression of the countenance to become
idiotic and the eyes owlish. At last the chimneys of his native town
became visible, and in a short time he found himself standing before the
well-remembered house tapping at the old door, whose panels--especially
near the foot--still bore the deep marks of his own juvenile toes.
It is not necessary to drag the reader through the affecting scene of
meeting between mother and son. Two days after his arrival we find them
both seated at tea in the old drawing-room drinking out of the old mug,
with the name "William" emblazoned on it, in which, in days gone by, he
was wont to dip his infantine lips and nose. Not that he had selected
this vessel of his own free will, but his mother, who was a romantic old
lady, insisted on his using it, in order to bring back to her more
vividly the days of his childhood, and Will, in the fulness of his
heart, said he would be glad to drink tea out of the coal-scuttle if
that would give her pleasure. The good lady even sent to the
lumber-room for the old arm-chair of his babyhood, but as neither
ingenuity nor perseverance could enable him to squeeze his stout person
into that, he was fain to content himself with an ordinary chair.
"Now, dear mother," said Will, commencing the fifth slice of toast,
under pressure (having eaten the fourth with difficulty), "you have not
yet told me about this wonderful estate which everybody seems to know of
except myself."
"Ah! darling Will," sighed Mrs Osten, "I have avoided the subject as
long as possible, for I know it is to be the cause of our being
separated again. But there is no help for it, because I promised your
dear father when he was dying that I would tell you his wishes in regard
to it, and that I would not attempt to dissuade you from doing your
duty. Well, you remember uncle Edward, I suppose?"
"His name--yes," said Will, "but I never knew anything else about him.
I had nothing to remember or to forget, except, indeed, that he got the
name of being a wild scapegrace, something like myself!"
"Like yourself, darling," exclaimed the old lady, with a look of
indignation--"no indeed! Have not you repented and come back, like a
good prodigal son; and didn't the dear beautiful letter that you wrote
from that awful island--what's its name--where you were all but eaten
alive--"
"The coral island," suggested Will.
"Yes, the coral island--didn't that dear letter give more delight to
your beloved father than any letter he ever received in his life, and
more than made up to him for your running away, and cheered him to his
last hour, whereas uncle Edward was wicked to the last--at least so it
is said, but I don't know, and it's not right to speak ill of the dead.
Well, as I was going to say, uncle Edward died in some outlandish place
in North America, I never can remember the name, but it's in the papers,
so you'll see it--somewhere on the other side of the something
mountains--I forget--"
"Rocky, perhaps."
"Yes, that's it, the Rocky Mountains, and I wish they were not so rocky,
for your sake, darling, for you've got to go there and take possession
(or serve yourself heir to, or something of that sort) of the property.
Not that it's large, so they say (I wish with all my heart it did not
exist at all), but they tell me there is gold on it, though whether it
is lying on the fields or down in holes I'm sure I don't know, and oh
dear, I don't care, for it entails your going away again, my darling
boy."
Here the poor old lady broke down, and, throwing her arms round Will's
neck--regardless of the fact that in so doing she upset and broke one of
her best china tea-cups--wept upon his bosom.
Such was the manner of the announcement of the news in the drawing-room.
In the kitchen the same subject was being discussed by a select party,
consisting of Maryann, Mr Richards the coachman, his spouse Jemima--
formerly Scrubbins--the baby Richards--who has already been referred to
as being reduced in the matter of his ablutions to a bread can--and
Larry O'Hale with his faithful Indian friend Bunco.
"To think," said Maryann, with a quiet laugh, as she handed a cup of tea
to Bunco--"to think that I should ever come for to sit at tea with a
live red Indian from Ameriky--not that he's red either, for I'm sure
that hany one with eyes in their 'ead could see that he's only brown."
"Ah, my dear, that's 'cause he's changed colour," said Larry, pushing in
his cup for more tea. "He wasn't always like that. Sure, when I first
know'd Bunco he was scarlet--pure scarlet, only he took a fancy one day,
when he was in a wild mood, to run his canoe over the falls of Niagara
for a wager, an', faix, when he came up out o' the wather after it he
was turned brown, an's bin that same ever since."
"Gammon," exclaimed Maryann.
"Sure ye don't misdoubt me word, Maryann," said Larry reproachfully;
"isn't it true, Bunco?"
"Yoos a norribable liar, Larry," answered Bunco with a broad grin.
Richards the coachman, who had been for some minutes too busy with the
buttered toast and bacon to do more than listen and chuckle, here burst
into a loud guffaw and choked himself partially. Jemima and Maryann
also laughed, whereupon the baby, not to be outdone, broke suddenly into
a tremendous crow, and waved its fat arms so furiously that it
overturned a tea-cup and sent the contents into Bunco's lap. This
created a momentary confusion, and when calm was restored, Mrs Richards
asked Maryann "if hanythink noo 'ad turned up in regard to the estate?"
which she seemed to know so much about, but in regard to which she was,
apparently, so unwilling to be communicative.
"Not so, Jemimar," said Maryann, with a look of offended dignity,
"_unwillin'_ to speak I am not, though _unable_ I may be--at least I was
so until yesterday, but I _have_ come to know a little more about it
since Master Will came 'ome while I chanced to be near--"
Maryann hesitated a moment, and Richards, through a mouthful of toast,
muttered "the keyhole."
"Did you speak, sir?" said Maryann, bridling.
"No, oh! no, not by no means," replied Richards, "only the crust o' this
'ere toast is rayther 'ard, and I'm apt to growl w'en that's so."
"If the crust is 'ard, Mr Richards, your teeth is 'arder, so you ought
to scrunch 'em without growling."
"Brayvo, my dear," exclaimed Larry, coming to the rescue; "you're more
nor match for him, so be marciful, like a good sowl, an' let's hear
about this estate, for it seems to me, from what I've heard, it must be
somewhere in the neighbourhood of Bunco's native place."
Maryann, darting a look of mingled defiance and triumph at Richards, who
became more than ever devoted to the toast and bacon, proceeded--
"Well, as I was a-sayin', I 'eard Mrs Osten say to Master Will that his
uncle Edward--as was a scape somethin' or other--had died an' left a
small estate behind the Rocky Mountains in Ameriky or Afriky, I aint
sure which."
"Ameriky, my dear," observed Larry.
"An' she said as 'ow they 'ad discovered gold on it, which could be
picked up in 'andfuls, an' it was somewhere near a place called Kally
somethin'--"
"Calliforny?" cried Larry.
"Yes, that was it."
"I towld ye that, Bunco!" exclaimed the Irishman, becoming excited; "go
on, dear."
"Well, it seems there's some difficulties in the matter, wich I'm sure
don't surprise _me_, for I never 'eard of things as 'ad to do with
estates and law as didn't create difficulties, and I'm thankful as I've
got nothin' to do with none of such things. Well, the end of it all is
that, w'en master was dyin', he made missis swear as she'd urge Master
Will to go to see after things hisself, an' missis, poor dear, she would
rather let the estate and all the gold go, if she could only keep the
dear boy at 'ome, but she's faithful to her promise, an' advises him to
go--the sooner the better--because that would let him come back to her
all the quicker. Master Will, he vowed at first that he would never
more leave her, and I b'lieve he was in earnest, but when she spoke of
his father's wish, he gave in an' said he would go, if she thought it
his dooty so for to do."
"Hooray!" shouted Larry, jumping up at this point, and performing a
species of war-dance for a few moments, and then sitting down and
demanding another supply of tea. "Didn't I tell ye, Bunco, that the
order would soon be up anchor an' away again! It's Wanderin' Will he's
been named, an' Wanderin' Will he'll remain, that's as plain as the nose
on me face."
"No doubt the nose on your face is very plain--the plainest I ever did
see," said Maryann sharply,--"but you're quite wrong about Master Will,
for he's very anxious to get married, I can tell you, an' wants to
settle down at 'ome, like a sensible man, though it does grieve my 'eart
to think of the creetur as has took him in in furrin parts."
"Get married!" exclaimed Larry, Jemima, and Richards in the same breath.
"Yes, get married," replied Maryann, very full of the importance of her
keyhole discoveries, and not willing to make them known too readily.
"How did you come to know that, Maryhann?" asked Jemima; "are you sure
of it?"
"How I came for to know it," replied the other, "is nobody's business
(she paused a moment and looked sternly at Richards, but that sensible
man continued to gaze steadfastly at his plate and to `scrunch' crusts
with grave abstraction), and, as to its bein' true, all I can say is I
had it from his own lips. Master Will has no objection to my knowing
what he tells his mother--as no more he shouldn't, for Jemimar, you can
bear me witness that I've been a second mother to him, an' used to love
him as if he were my own--though he _was_ a aggrawatin' hinfant, an'
used to bump his 'ead, an' skin his knees, an' tear his clothes, an' wet
his feet, in a way that often distracted me, though I did my very best
to prevent it; but nothink's of any use tryin' of w'en you can't do it;
as my 'usband, as was in the mutton-pie line, said to the doctor the
night afore he died--my 'eart used to be quite broke about him, so it
did; but that's all past an' gone--well, as I was a-sayin', Master Will
he told his mother as 'ow there was a young lady (so he called her) as
'ad won his 'art, an' she was a cannibal as lived on a coal island in
the Paphysic Ocean. Then he told her some stories about the coal island
as made my blood run cold, and said his Flora behaved like a heroine in
the midst of it all."
At this point Larry and Bunco exchanged meaning glances, and the former
gave vent to a soft whistle, which he accompanied with a wink.
"I'm sure," continued Maryann, "it's past my comprehension; for instead
of being dreadfully shocked, as I had expected, Mrs Osten threw her
arms round Master Will's neck and blessed him and the cannibal, too, and
said she hoped to be spared to see 'em united, though she wouldn't like
them to remain on the coal island in the Paphysic. I do assure you,
Jemimar," continued Maryann, putting the corner of her apron to her
eyes, "it quite gave me a turn, and I was nearly took bad w'en I 'eard
it. Master Will, he made his mother promise to keep it to herself, as,
he said, not a soul in the world knew of it but him and her--"
Mr Richards coughed at this point, and appeared to be engaged in a
severe conflict with an untractable crust, which caused Maryann to stop
suddenly and look at him. But Larry again came to the rescue by
saying--
"Why, Maryann, my dear, ye've bin an' mistook a good deal of what you've
heard, intirely. This Flora Westwood is no cannibal, but wan o' the
purtiest bit craturs I iver had the good luck to set eyes on; as white
as a lily, wid cheeks like the rose, not to spake of a smile an' a
timper of an angel. She's a parson's daughter, too, an' lives on a
coral island in the Pacific Ocean, where the people is cannibals, no
doubt, as I've good raison to know, for they ait up a lot o' me
shipmates, and it was by good luck they didn't ait up myself and Master
Will too--though I do belaive they'd have found me so tough that I'd
have blunted their teeth an' soured on their stummicks, bad luck to
them. But it's surprised that I am to hear about this. Ah, then,
Master Will, but ye're a sly dog--more cunnin' than I took ye for. Ye
threw dust in the eyes of Larry O'Hale, anyhow."
Poor Maryann appeared much relieved by this explanation, although she
felt it to be consistent with her dignity that she should throw
considerable doubt on Larry's statement, cross-question him pretty
severely, and allow herself to be convinced only after the accumulation
of an amount of evidence that could not be resisted.
"Well, now, that accounts for the way in which his mother received the
news," said Maryann.
"It is a strange story," remarked Jemima.
"Uncommon," observed Richards.
Bunco said nothing, but he grinned from ear to ear.
At that moment, as if it were aware of the climax at which the party had
arrived, the baby, without a single note of warning, set up a hideous
howl, in the midst of which the bell rang, and Maryann rose to answer
it.
"Master Will wants to speak to you, Mr Hale, and to Mr Bunco, too,"
she said on returning.
"Come along, _Mister_ Bunco," said Larry, "that'll be the order to trip
our anchors."
"My friends," said Will Osten, when the two were seated on the corners
of their respective chairs in the drawing-room, "I sent for you to say
that circumstances have occurred which render it necessary that I should
visit California. Do you feel inclined to join me in this trip, or do
you prefer to remain in England?"
"I'm yer man," said Larry.
"So's me," added Bunco.
"I thought so," said Will, smiling; "we have been comrades together too
long to part yet. But I must start without delay, and mean to go by the
plains and across the Rocky Mountains. Are you ready to set off on
short notice?"
"In half an hour av ye plaze, sur," said Larry.
Bunco grinned and nodded his head.
"The end of the week will do," said Will, laughing; "so be off and make
your preparations for a long and rough trip."
In pursuance of this plan, Will Osten and his two staunch followers,
soon after the date of the above conversation, crossed the Atlantic,
traversed the great Lakes of Canada to the centre of North America,
purchased, at the town of Saint Pauls, horses, guns, provisions, powder,
shot, etcetera, for a long journey, and found themselves, one beautiful
summer evening, galloping gaily over those wide prairies that roll
beyond the last of the backwood settlements, away into the wild recesses
of the Western Wilderness.