The hurry and bustle of preparing for their departure from the island,
and the rapid succession of events which had been crowded together
within so very few days, had not allowed time for much thought or
reflection to Mr and Mrs Seagrave and William; at length, however,
every preparation had been made, and they were no longer urged by the
commander of the schooner to hasten their packing up and arrangements;
for everything had been sent on board during the afternoon, and it was
proposed that they should sail on the following day.
Now they had time to feel, and bitterly did they lament the loss of
their old friend, and deplore that he had not survived to sail with them
to Sydney. They had always indulged the hope that one day they should
be taken off the island, and in that hope they had ever looked forward
to old Ready becoming a part of their future household. Now that their
wishes had been granted--so much was the feeling of joy and gratitude
mingled with regret--that could he have been restored to them, they felt
as if they would have gladly remained on the island.
Captain Osborn, the commander, and the crew of the schooner had taken
leave of them for the night, and had gone on board, having made
arrangements for the interment of Ready, previous to their sailing, on
the following day. The children had been put to bed, and Juno had
quitted the house; Mr and Mrs Seagrave and William were sitting
together in their now half-dismantled room, when Juno entered; the poor
girl had evidently been weeping.
"Well, Juno," observed Mr Seagrave, with a view to break the silence
which had continued for some time previous to her entrance, "are you not
glad to leave the island?"
"One time I think I would be very glad, but now I not care much,"
replied Juno. "Island very nice place, all very happy till savage come.
Suppose they not kill old Ready, I not care."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs Seagrave, "it is a sad blow to us all; I did
hope to have fostered the good old man, and to have been able to have
shown him our gratitude, but--"
"It is the will of Heaven that it should be otherwise," continued Mr
Seagrave; "I would give half that I am possessed of, that he had not
perished."
"Oh, Massa!" said Juno, "I sit by him just now; I take off the flag and
look at his face, so calm, look so happy, so good, I almost tink he
smile at me, and then I cry. Oh! Massa Tommy, all because you idle
boy."
"It adds much to my regret," replied Mr Seagrave, "that his life should
have been sacrificed through the thoughtlessness of one of my own
children; what a lesson it will be to Tommy when he is old enough to
comprehend the consequences of his conduct."
"That he must not know, papa," said William, who had been leaning
mournfully over the table; "one of Ready's last injunctions was that
Tommy was never to be told of it."
"His last wishes shall be religiously attended to, my dear boy," replied
Mr Seagrave; "for what do we not owe to that good old man? When others
deserted us and left us to perish, he remained with us to share our
fate. By his skill we were saved and landed in safety. He provided for
our wants, added to our comforts, instructed us how to make the best use
of our means. Without his precautions we should have perished by the
spears of the savages. What an example of Christian fortitude and
humility did he ever show us! and indeed, I may truly say, that by his
example, sinful as I must ever be, I have become, I trust, a better man.
Would that he were now sitting by us,--but the Lord's will be done!"
"I feel as if I had lost a stay or prop," replied Mrs Seagrave. "So
accustomed have I been to look to him for advice since we have been on
this island. Had he not been thus snatched from us--had he been spared
to us a few years, and had we been permitted to surround his death-bed,
and close his eyes in peace--" and Mrs Seagrave wept upon the shoulder
of her husband.
After a time, Mrs Seagrave recovered herself; but silence ensued, only
broken by an occasional sob from poor Juno. William's heart was too
full; he could not for a long while utter a word; at last he said in a
low voice:
"I feel that, next to my dear father and mother, I have lost my best
friend. I cannot forgive myself for allowing him to go for the water;
it was my duty to go, and I ought to have gone."
"And yet we could have ill spared you, my dear boy; you might have
perished," replied Mrs Seagrave.
"It would have been as God willed," replied William; "I might have
perished, or I might not."
"We never know what the morrow may bring forth," said Mr Seagrave, "or
what may be in store for us. Had not this misfortune happened, had old
Ready been spared to us, how joyfully should I and all of you have
quitted this island, full of anticipation, and indulging in worldly
prospects. What a check have I received! I now am all thought and
anxiety. I have said to myself, `we have been happy on this island; our
wants have been supplied; even our comforts have been great. We have
been under no temptations, for we have been isolated from the world; am
I so sure that I shall be as happy in future as I have been? Am I
confident, now my long-wished-for return to the world is about to take
place, that I shall have no cause to lament that I ever quitted this
peaceful, quiet spot?' I feel that it is a duty to my family that I
should return to society, but I am far from feeling that our happiness
may be increased. We have, however, a plain precept to follow, which
is, to do our duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God to
call us."
"Yes," replied Mrs Seagrave; "I feel the truth of all you have just
said. We are in his hands; let us put our trust in him."
"We will," replied Mr Seagrave; "but it is late, and we have to rise
early to-morrow morning. This is the last evening which we shall pass
on this island; let us return our thanks for the happiness we have
enjoyed here. We thought to have quitted this spot in joy,--it is his
will that we should leave it in sorrow."
Mr Seagrave took down the Bible, and after he had read a chapter, he
poured forth a prayer suited to their feelings, and they all retired to
repose.
The next morning they were up early, and packed up the few articles
which still remained to go on board. Mr Seagrave read the prayers, and
they went to breakfast. Few words were exchanged, for there was a
solemn grief upon all of them. They waited for the arrival of Captain
Osborn and the crew of the schooner to attend the funeral of poor old
Ready. William, who had gone out occasionally to look at the vessel,
now came in, and said that two boats were pulling on shore. A few
minutes afterwards, Captain Osborn and the commander of the schooner
soon made their appearance. The coffin had been brought on shore; the
body of Ready was put into it, and it was screwed down.
In half an hour all was prepared, and the family were summoned from the
house. The coffin, covered with the Union Jack as a pall, was raised on
the shoulders of six of the seamen, and they bore it to the grave,
followed by Mrs Seagrave and the children, the commander of the
schooner, and several of the men. Mr Seagrave read the funeral
service, the grave was filled up, and they all walked back in silence.
At the request of William, the commander of the schooner had ordered the
carpenter to prepare an oak paling to put round the grave, and a board
on which was written the name of the deceased and day of his death. As
soon as this had been fixed up, William, with a deep sigh, followed the
commander of the schooner to the house to announce that all was
finished, and that the boat waited for them to embark.
"Come, my dear," said Mr Seagrave to his wife.
"I will, I will," replied Mrs Seagrave, "but I don't know how it is,
now that the hour is come, I really feel such pain at quitting this dear
island. Had it not been for poor Ready's death, I really do think I
should wish to remain."
"I don't doubt but that you feel sorrow, my dear, but we must not keep
Captain Osborn waiting."
As Mr Seagrave was aware that the commander of the schooner was anxious
to get clear of the islands before night, he now led his wife down to
the boat. They all embarked, and were soon on the deck of the schooner,
from whence they continued to fix their eyes upon the island, while the
men were heaving up the anchor. At last sail was made upon the vessel,
the garden-point was cleared, and, as they ran away with a fair wind,
each object on the shore became more indistinct. Still their eyes were
turned in that direction.
As they ran down to the westward, they passed the cove where they had
first landed, and Mr Seagrave directed Mrs Seagrave's attention to it.
She remained for some time looking at it in silence, and then said as
she turned away:
"We shall never be more happy than we were on that island, Seagrave."
"It will indeed be well, my dear, if we never are less happy," replied
her husband.
The schooner now ran fast through the water, and the island was every
minute less distinct; after a time, the land was below the horizon, and
the tops of the cocoa-nut trees only to be seen; these gradually
disappeared. Juno watched on, and when at last nothing could be seen,
she waved her handkerchief in the direction of the island, as if to bid
it farewell, and then went down below to hide her grief.
The wind continued fair, and, after a favourable passage of little more
than four weeks, they arrived at Sydney Cove, the port to which they
were bound when they embarked from England on board of the good ship
Pacific.
PS. As my young readers will probably wish to know a little more about
the Seagrave family, I will inform them that Mr Seagrave, like the
patriarch Job after his tribulation, found his flocks and herds greatly
increased on his arrival at Sydney. Mr and Mrs Seagrave lived to see
all their children grown up. William inherited the greater part of the
property from his father, after having for many years assisted him in
the management of it. Tommy, notwithstanding all his scrapes, grew up a
very fine fellow, and entered the army. Caroline married a young
clergyman, and made him an excellent wife; little Albert went into the
navy, and is at present a commander.
Juno is still alive, and lives at Seagrave plantation with William, and
her greatest pleasure is to take his children on her knee, and tell them
long stories about the island, and make them cry when she goes through
the history of old Ready's death and burial.