"REMEMBER, WE SHALL ALL MEET AGAIN SOME
CHRISTMAS EVE ON HIGH."
Captain Gillespie of H.M.S. _Gurnet_ was a somewhat shy man. Some
sailors are. But all sailors are gallant; therefore when at Scutari,
on her way home _viâ_ Malta and Gibraltar, the _Gurnet_ lay for a few
days, and the worthy commander heard from Jack one evening that his
sister and Sister Mary were waiting passage home, he looked over to
Sturdy, who, with our young hero, was dining with him that night.
"I say, Sturdy, you know," he said, "though I think petticoats are
very much out of place on board a man-o'-war, still--"
"I know what you're going to say, sir, and I quite agree with you. I
myself, Captain Gillespie, both on shore and afloat, always port my
helm if I see a lady; but still--"
"Yes, as I said, Sturdy, _still_--"
Nothing more definite was said about the matter. Nevertheless, when
at last the _Gurnet_ steamed down the Bosphorus, she had on board not
only Jack's sister and Sister Mary, but Cousin Llewellyn also. The
ladies had Captain Gillespie's cabin, and Jack gave up his little
place to his cousin. Poor Llewellyn had been severely wounded in a
brave attempt at saving the life of his friend Grant. This promising
young officer, however, was shot through the heart in Llewellyn's
arms; it was the same bullet, the surgeon said, that killed the one
and wounded the other. There is a sad story connected with the life
of young Grant and with his death.*
* True, but the name of this young hero I have altered.--AUTHOR.
When the war was declared, his father had forced him against his will
to become a soldier, even rating him as deficient in courage because
he hung back.
"As you think I lack courage," he had replied, "I'll go; but mind I
have no hankering after a soldier's life."
Poor fellow! a score of times he had proved how brave he was, and it
was while leading a charge against fearful odds that he fell, only
wounded at first, but slain by another bullet as Llewellyn was trying
to drag him into shelter.
The saddest thing about it is this. A letter he had some time before
received from his parents was pierced by the bullet and stained with
the hero's life-blood. This was sent home to the father. Surely a
sad memento.
* * * * *
Away down the beautiful Mediterranean sailed the _Gurnet_ on the
wings of a spanking breeze. The weather was everything that could be
desired, and every stitch of canvas that could be carried was set.
After the first few days, even Sturdy got used to the desecrating
innovation of chairs upon the quarter-deck. But it had seemed odd
and dreadful at first. Yet, than Sister Mary and Maggie Mackenzie,
no more interesting or pretty persons had surely ever sat on the deck
of a man-o'-war.
Dr. Reikie devoted himself specially to Maggie, and a score of times
a day Paddy O'Rayne was sent to see if she wanted anything.
Paddy O'Rayne, the doctor's red marine, was the same old Paddy.
All the time he had been out, although constantly in danger in the
trenches and attending to the sick and wounded, he had, to use his
own expression, "never been sick nor sorry, sorr." I must tell you,
however, that he was slightly disappointed because he hadn't had an
opportunity of saving Dr. Reikie's life.
"Troth sure," he told our old friend the bos'n, "it was the bad luck
was in it entoirely. It's niver out av danger the dhoctor was, but
niver a chance did I have to show me gratitude. If a cannon-ball had
only taken his leg off, I'd have nursed him like a baby; but no such
luck for poor Paddy O'Rayne."
I daresay Paddy O'Rayne could see as far through a mile-stone as a
mason, so he was not long in discovering that Dr. Reikie had lost his
heart to bonnie Maggie, as this Scottish surgeon called her--I mean
as he called her when talking to his pillow. But having made what he
considered a very interesting discovery, Paddy O'Rayne thought he
could see his way to do the doctor a good turn, and pave the road, as
it were, for the advancement of his suit. So frequently, when he
found Maggie reading by herself, either leaning over the bulwarks or
in her chair, he would advance respectfully and salute military
fashion. Then he would address her in a form of which the following
is merely a specimen:--
"If ye plaze, miss, the dhoctor sends me to inquire if there's
anything in the wide worrld you stand in nade av. Nothing at all, at
all, miss? Sure and you'd better think again. There's nothing my
master wouldn't do to plaze you. A dhrop o' wine and a biscuit,
miss, a pill or a plaster, or a taste o' quinine in a tay-cup? Well,
well, miss, but sure you're not to be shy, and it's swate my master
is on you altogether. Well, I'm going, miss; but he'd shave his head
if ye tould him to, and it's the blissed truth I'm telling ye."
* * * * *
One day while standing aft near the binnacle, Sister Mary let fall
her book, a volume of Burns. Sturdy, who was walking near with his
telescope, man-o'-war fashion, under his left arm, stooped to pick it
up. As she smiled her thanks, Sturdy "took two observations," as he
phrased it. First he noticed how red her lips were, and secondly
that she had a very white wee hand.
Next day--all by chance, I suppose--he found himself walking on the
weather side of Sister Mary. The day after, Dr. Reikie saw him
deliberately place her chair on the sunny side of the mizzen, and put
a camp-stool beside it for himself. Sailors, you may say, are very
daring. Yes, granted, but then Sturdy had begun to see the beauties
of Burns, and there were many words and expressions in it that were a
stumbling-block to him; what more natural, then, than that he should
ask this Scotch lassie to help him to their meaning? And so day
after day--but there, I won't go any further.
* * * * *
While Sturdy was studying Burns, honest Dr. Reikie took every
opportunity of showing Miss Mackenzie his specimens. For during all
the time he was in the Crimea, hardly a day passed that this born
naturalist did not add to his collection. And now he and she dragged
the sea together with little gauze nets, and she showed herself most
deft in arranging microscopic creatures on cards.
A.P. Gribble, down in their own mess, poked lots of fun at Auld
Reikie, and now and then Lord Tomfoozle had a shot at the doctor also
in the way of chaff; but Reikie told them both he didn't care a
boddle preen* what they said.
* A shawl or plaid pin.
Tomfoozle--Fitzgerald, you know--was in fine form. I'm afraid he was
somewhat worldly; for about six months ago he had heard of his
brother's death, and was now determined to leave the service and keep
hunters.
I'm greatly afraid, also, that Robert Burns, the ploughman-poet, and
the study of natural history and arranging of specimens, had much to
account for; because before the _Gurnet_ had reached the stormy Bay
of Biscay, Sturdy was engaged to Sister Mary, and Auld Reikie was
brother-in-law-to-be to our hero, Jack Mackenzie.
Out of respect, perhaps, to the ladies on board, the Bay of Biscay
was not on this particular occasion by any means stormy. It was
smiling and sweet-tempered, just as if the deep sea-bottom of it were
not bedded with men's bones.
* * * * *
"I say, Dawson," said Tom Morgan one day, "I hear that the _Gurnet_
has passed Gibraltar, and may be expected in Plymouth Sound in a
week. Suppose we take a run down and meet Jack?"
Hale and hearty old Dawson smiled.
"I'm with you, lad," he said. "It will do us both good. But first
and foremost I must write to the old lady and tell her we are going.
She will be delighted, I'm sure."
And thus, reader, it happened that when Jack Mackenzie and his friend
Reikie were passing the door of the Mount Edgecombe Hotel--let us
call it--just a day after the _Gurnet_ had arrived, who should be
standing smoking a cigar at the door thereof but big, brown-bearded
Tom Morgan.
The greetings were joyous and mutual.
"But why, Jack lad, I should never have known you. Big and strong,
and as brown as the back of Little Peter's fiddle. Won't your mother
be proud!"
"By the way," said Jack, a minute or two after, "how is my old friend
Little Peter?"
"Oh, beautiful. He is teaching classes, and doing well. Won't he be
glad to see you!"
"And the Malonies?"
"Never better; in fact, never so well. For Malony has been a changed
man since he took the pledge. They have a nice little house now in
the suburbs, and Peter lives with them as a lodger."
That very evening there was a large dinner-party given at the Mount
Edgecombe, both Reikie and Jack being guests. I need hardly say that
Maggie and Sister Mary were there also, and that everybody was
happier than everybody else. Paddy O'Rayne himself waited behind the
doctor's chair, and paid particular attention to the ladies.
But just a fortnight after this, a much larger and a much merrier
party was held at Tom's father's house.
It was Christmas time once more--Christmas eve, in fact. There never
had been so large a party of friends and relations at Morgan's
mansion before. And--will it be believed?--old Mrs. Mackenzie of
Drumglen was there herself, and, you may be sure, occupied a place of
honour.
The grandam had indeed softened as she had grown older, and was
nearing the end of her journey here below. "In my Father's house are
many mansions," said our Saviour. May it not be that, figuratively
speaking, as we draw closer that house on high, a glimmering ray of
light falls from the windows thereof, to cheer and soften the hearts
of weary pilgrims heavenward bent?
Mrs. Mackenzie after dinner had the biggest chair in the cosiest
corner by the drawing-room fire.
"Come and sit by me, dear," she said to Jack's mother. "Take the
stool there, and give me your hand in my lap. You are still young
and beautiful. Ah! I wish I had known you long, long ago. And you
dearly loved my boy?"
There were tears in Jack's mother's eyes and a lump in her throat, so
she could not answer.
"Ah, machree, what you must have suffered! But look," added the old
lady, by way of changing the subject--"look at our young sailor, your
boy. See, he is making love in a quiet way to little Tottie."
This was true. But Violet was very shy.
"What nonsense!" she was saying, with a bonnie blush. "I used to
write you when a baby. I hope you burned all my silly letters."
"Oh, religiously," said Jack, laughing,--"in the fire of my heart."
They were standing by the window, the very window that looked out
upon the lawn where, years and years ago, he, Jack, a barefooted,
ragged lad, had stood in the snow looking in at the fairies, as he
had called them, dancing round the Christmas tree. The snow was
falling there now; the lawn was white, and the bushes draped like
statues.
Jack sighed. "What a change," he thought, "a few years has made!"
* * * * *
Yes, dear reader mine, time works changes on us all. In a few years'
time you--but there! I will neither preach nor moralize.
Only let me draw up the curtain once more before its final fall on
this my "ower true" story.
It is years after. Where now are all our heroes and heroines? Well,
they are scattered somewhat, and some are dead and gone. Let me
speak of the dead before the living.
Just one year, then, after that happy reunion at Morgan's house, the
old grandam breathed her last in her tall four-post bed at Drumglen,
and in the presence of the Morgans and her son Donald's wife. Her
last words were these,--"Remember, we shall all meet again some
Christmas eve on high."
Jack and Llewellyn had both taken part in the Indian Mutiny. Poor
Llewellyn was killed at Lucknow, and died a hero's death.
Jack for his services to his country won not only his epaulettes, but
the Victoria Cross. He was severely wounded, however, and had to
retire from the service on his laurels.
Dr. Reikie is now a practising physician in Glasgow, and Paddy
O'Rayne is his servant. He married Maggie, and so, it is needless to
say, he is a frequent visitor at Drumglen, where Jack and his
wife--_née_ Violet Morgan--are avowedly the best Highland laird and
lady in all the wide Highlands.
Poor Gribble was drowned at sea.
Fitzgerald still keeps his hunters, and has grown very stout. I saw
him only yesterday. "Sixteen stone and over." he said, laughing.
"It takes a good horse to carry me."
Fitzgerald is over fifty, but he says he'll hunt for thirty years to
come yet.
As for Sturdy, he married Sister Mary; or, to use his own English, he
got spliced. When Captain Gillespie heard of it, he sighed.
"Heigh-ho!" he said. "Another good man gone wrong. When an officer
gets married, what I say is this: he is of no further use in the
service."
But as for Sturdy, he stuck to the service, and erelong became a
post-captain.
Jack did not forget the friends of his boyhood. He found for Malony
a comfortable shop of his own in the neighbouring village to
Drumglen, and Mrs. Malony renewed her age.
As for Little Peter, well, he is as prosperous as any teacher of
music in great Glasgow; but twice a year he spends a whole month at
the mansion-house of bonnie Drumglen.
And so my story ends, and the curtain falls.
THE END.