(_Last Monthly Story._)
One morning in the month of December, several years ago, there sailed
from the port of Liverpool a huge steamer, which had on board two
hundred persons, including a crew of sixty. The captain and nearly all
the sailors were English. Among the passengers there were several
Italians,--three gentlemen, a priest, and a company of musicians. The
steamer was bound for the island of Malta. The weather was threatening.
Among the third-class passengers forward, was an Italian lad of a dozen
years, small for his age, but robust; a bold, handsome, austere face,
of Sicilian type. He was alone near the fore-mast, seated on a coil of
cordage, beside a well-worn valise, which contained his effects, and
upon which he kept a hand. His face was brown, and his black and wavy
hair descended to his shoulders. He was meanly clad, and had a tattered
mantle thrown over his shoulders, and an old leather pouch on a
cross-belt. He gazed thoughtfully about him at the passengers, the ship,
the sailors who were running past, and at the restless sea. He had the
appearance of a boy who has recently issued from a great family
sorrow,--the face of a child, the expression of a man.
A little after their departure, one of the steamer's crew, an Italian
with gray hair, made his appearance on the bow, holding by the hand a
little girl; and coming to a halt in front of the little Sicilian, he
said to him:--
"Here's a travelling companion for you, Mario." Then he went away.
The girl seated herself on the pile of cordage beside the boy.
They surveyed each other.
"Where are you going?" asked the Sicilian.
The girl replied: "To Malta on the way of Naples." Then she added: "I am
going to see my father and mother, who are expecting me. My name is
Giulietta Faggiani."
The boy said nothing.
After the lapse of a few minutes, he drew some bread from his pouch, and
some dried fruit; the girl had some biscuits: they began to eat.
"Look sharp there!" shouted the Italian sailor, as he passed rapidly; "a
lively time is at hand!"
The wind continued to increase, the steamer pitched heavily; but the two
children, who did not suffer from seasickness, paid no heed to it. The
little girl smiled. She was about the same age as her companion, but was
considerably taller, brown of complexion, slender, somewhat sickly, and
dressed more than modestly. Her hair was short and curling, she wore a
red kerchief over her head, and two hoops of silver in her ears.
As they ate, they talked about themselves and their affairs. The boy had
no longer either father or mother. The father, an artisan, had died a
few days previously in Liverpool, leaving him alone; and the Italian
consul had sent him back to his country, to Palermo, where he had still
some distant relatives left. The little girl had been taken to London,
the year before, by a widowed aunt, who was very fond of her, and to
whom her parents--poor people--had given her for a time, trusting in a
promise of an inheritance; but the aunt had died a few months later, run
over by an omnibus, without leaving a centesimo; and then she too had
had recourse to the consul, who had shipped her to Italy. Both had been
recommended to the care of the Italian sailor.--"So," concluded the
little maid, "my father and mother thought that I would return rich, and
instead I am returning poor. But they will love me all the same. And so
will my brothers. I have four, all small. I am the oldest at home. I
dress them. They will be greatly delighted to see me. They will come in
on tiptoe--The sea is ugly!"