A TEA PARTY.
The mending of the chairs had entirely changed Aunt Mercy's demeanor
toward us.
"I've given you money to make a great many muddles," said she; "but, so
far as I can learn, this is the first successful muddle you've
produced. However, this is fine enough to make up for all. And I want
you both to come and take tea with me Saturday evening."
Phaeton and Ned not only accepted the invitation with thanks, but asked
to have me included in it.
"Certainly," said Aunt Mercy; "it wouldn't do to separate you and him.
And if you have any other very particular friends among the boys, bring
them along too. Only let me know how many are coming."
Phaeton said he should like to invite Jimmy the Rhymer.
"Invite Jimmy," said Aunt Mercy.
"And Monkey Roe is awful lively company," said Ned.
"Invite Monkey," said Aunt Mercy.
"If we're going to have so many," said Phaeton, "I shouldn't like to
leave out Isaac Holman."
"It isn't exactly a spelling-match, but choose away," said Aunt Mercy.
"It's your turn now, Edmund Burton."
Ned chose Charley Garrison, and then Phaeton chose Patsy Rafferty, and
after some discussion they determined to let the list end there.
"You haven't mentioned a single girl," said Aunt Mercy.
"Sister May is too little," said Ned; "and besides that, I don't much
believe in girls, any way."
"That's complimentary to your mother and me," said his aunt.
"I don't think we know any girls well enough to ask them," said
Phaeton,--"unless it may be one," and he blushed a little.
"One will do," said Aunt Mercy; and so it was agreed that she should
invite Miss Glidden, whom she called "a very sweet girl."
The evening that had been designated was the evening of the day
recorded in the last chapter, and not one of the eight boys included in
the invitation forgot it.
We gravitated together, after a series of whistlings, and all went to
Aunt Mercy's in a crowd.
When we arrived at the house, Phaeton went up the steps first, and rang
the bell. There was no immediate response, and while we were waiting
for it, Ned and Monkey Roe, who had lagged behind a little, came up.
"Oh, pshaw!" said Ned, "don't fool around out here. Probably the girl's
cooking something that she can't leave right away; but Aunty expects
us--come in, boys," and he opened the door and led us into the hall.
"I ought to know the way around this house pretty well," he continued.
"Here's the place to hang your caps," and he pointed out the hat-rack
under the slope of the stairs.
With a soft, pattering noise, the eight caps almost instantly found
lodgment on the pegs, some being thrown with great precision by the
boys who were hindmost over the heads of the others.
"Now follow me, boys; I'll introduce you to Aunt Mercy; I'm perfectly
at home here," said Ned, and throwing open the parlor door, he ushered
us in there as unceremoniously as he had admitted us to the house.
The parlor was beautifully though not brilliantly lighted by an argand
lamp. Aunt Mercy was sitting on the sofa, and beside her--"awful near
together," as Ned expressed it--sat a tall gentleman, with a full beard
and a sun-browned face.
"Why! What does this mean?" said Aunt Mercy, as soon as she could get
her breath.
Ned was considerably abashed, and had fallen back so that he was almost
merged in the crowd of boys now huddled near the door. But he mustered
courage enough to say:
"We've come to tea."
Phaeton stepped forward, and relieved the situation:
"You remember, Aunty, you asked us to come to tea this evening, and
bring our friends. But, perhaps now it isn't convenient for you. We can
come some other day just as well."
"Really," said his aunt, "I made preparations for you to-day, and it's
perfectly convenient; but in the last two hours I had totally forgotten
it. You see I have an unexpected visitor."
Phaeton introduced those of the boys whom his aunt had never seen
before, and she then introduced us all to Mr. Burton. She had not the
least trouble in remembering Phaeton's name, and she called Mr.
Burton's attention especially to Ned as his namesake.
"Is this the Mr. Burton who was dead long ago?" said Ned.
"The very same one," said his aunt, laughing. "But he has suddenly come
to life again, after many strange adventures, which he has just been
telling me. I must ask him to tell them over again for you. But did
none of you call for Miss Glidden?"
We all looked blank.
"Then," said she, "Fayette must go after her now."
Phaeton took his cap and started at once. Three of the boys kindly
offered to go with him, fearing he would be lonesome, but he said he
didn't mind going alone.
While he was gone, we made the acquaintance of Mr. Burton very rapidly.
He seemed a good deal like Jack-in-the-Box in one respect--he liked
boys. In Ned he appeared to be particularly interested. Several times
over he asked him how old he was, and how tall he was. I suppose Ned
seemed to him to be a sort of visible measure of the time that had been
lost out of his life; for he must have disappeared from the knowledge
of his friends about the time that Ned was born.
Soon after Phaeton returned with Miss Glidden, tea was announced.
Both during the meal and afterward, Mr. Burton did the greater part of
the talking, and his conversation consisted mainly of a running account
of his adventures since he left his home, more than a dozen years
before. I give the story as nearly as possible in his own words. It was
of a nature to seize upon a boy's fancy; but I fear it has not lain in
my memory all these years without losing many of its nicest points.
"I was a tall and slender boy," said Mr. Burton,--"so slender that my
parents feared I would become consumptive, and I reached the age of
twenty without improving much in that respect. Our family physician
said a long sea-voyage might build me up and make a strong man of me,
and as my uncle owned a large interest in a whaler then fitting out, at
Nantucket, for a cruise in the North Pacific, it was arranged that I
should make the voyage. By my own choice, I shipped as a common sailor
before the mast, as it seemed to me that was the only way to get the
full benefit of the experience.
"I need not tell you the story of the tedious passage around Cape Horn,
against head winds and through rainy seas. You have all read it dozens
of times. The greenest hand on board was an accomplished sailor by the
time we reached the whaling-ground. We had a prosperous cruise, and I
calculated that though the hundred and twenty-fifth lay, which was to
be my share, would not make me rich, it would give me considerable
pocket-money when we got home.
"When we turned our prow southward for the long homeward voyage, our
troubles began. Week after week we labored against heavy gales and head
seas. It was many months since we had been in port, and we were not
well equipped for so long a strain. At last, when we were barely out of
the tropics, a terrific and long-continued easterly gale struck us, and
drove us helplessly before it. Just before daylight, one morning, she
struck heavily, with a shock that sent one of the masts overboard. Dawn
showed us that we were wrecked on a lonely island. As nearly as the
captain could calculate, this was in south latitude 27 degrees and
longitude 110 degrees west.
"We judged that the island must be about a dozen miles long. Three
volcanic peaks rose in plain sight, to a height of more than a thousand
feet, and between their branching ridges were green valleys sloping
down to the shore. If you ever see an old cart-wheel, with half its
spokes broken or missing, which has lain upon the ground till the grass
has sprung up through it, you may look upon it as a rude representation
of the appearance that island presented from the sea. The hub would be
the cone of an extinct volcano, the weather-beaten wood being about the
color of the volcanic rock, and the remaining spokes the irregular,
sharp ridges that radiated from it, some of them reaching to the
water's edge and others stopping half-way.
"An hour or two after daylight, we found there was no possibility of
saving the ship, though the storm was over. We launched the boats, but
could make no landing on that side of the island, which was steep and
rocky. So we pulled southward, and through a channel where two rocky
islets lay off the south-east point, and soon came to a pretty bay,
where we made a landing.
"Looking at the shore through the misty dawn, we had seen what looked
like giants standing on the flat roofs of their houses and watching us.
But they showed no signs of life, and the captain at length made them
out, through his glass, to be images of some sort. We afterward had
abundant opportunity to examine them, and found them to be stone
statues of colossal size. What we had taken for houses were three
platforms of solid masonry, built on ground that sloped toward and
overlooked the sea. Four of these great statues had originally stood on
each of the platforms, but most of the twelve were now overthrown. We
measured one that lay on the ground, and found it was fifteen feet high
and six feet across the shoulders.
"They were cut in gray stone, and each statue that was still standing
had on its head an immense red stone, smoothly cut to the shape of a
cylinder, at least a yard high,--as if it wore what you call a band-box
hat, but with no brim. We afterward found there were great numbers of
these statues in various places on the island, though mostly on the
east side. Few of them seemed to be finished. It was as if the sculptor
had taken the rough blocks and begun work at the top, and, after
bringing out the statue perhaps as far down as the waist, had left it
in that condition, and begun on the next one. The largest one we found
was over twenty-five feet high.
"It was two hours after our landing before we saw any living being.
Then we saw three children peeping at us from the top of a little hill.
When we discovered them, they scampered away, and pretty soon a crowd
of people appeared, led by an old man whose face was painted white, and
who carried a long spear.
"The captain made them understand that we were cast away, and wished to
be taken care of. They led us along the shore, to the entrance of one
of those green and beautiful valleys, where we found a village and were
made welcome. They kept saying '_Taya, taya_, which we found meant
'friends,' and gave us a feast of yams, bananas, and roast chicken. The
next day they went through a ceremony which we understood to mean that
they formally adopted us into their tribe, and considered us their
brothers. They also exchanged names with us. The man who adopted my
name (Burton) called it Obuttee, and his which he gave me in exchange
was Moaneena."
Mr. Burton gave a considerable account of his adventures on the island,
which we found very entertaining; but I cannot remember it with
sufficient accuracy to attempt repeating it. As we were walking home,
Monkey Roe pointed out what he thought were improbabilities in the
narrative too great to be believed,--especially the account of the
gigantic stone statues, which he said could not possibly have been made
by people who had no iron tools. I was inclined to share Monkey's
incredulity at the time; but I now know that Mr. Burton told the truth,
and that he must have been cast away on Easter Island, where Roggeween,
the Dutch navigator, had discovered the mysterious statuary more than a
century before.
"That little island," he continued, "was our home for nearly ten years.
It is far out of the usual track of ships, and as good water is very
scarce upon it, there is little temptation for them to go out of their
way to visit it. We had two small boats, but the coast of South America
was more than two thousand miles distant.
"At last a merchantman, driven out of her course by stress of weather,
came to anchor off the western shore, and sent in a boat, the crew of
which were naturally astonished at being greeted by white men.
"We were taken off, and carried to Melbourne, where every man took his
own way of getting home. About half of them went to the newly
discovered gold-fields. I got a chance after a while to ship before the
mast in a vessel going to Calcutta.
"There I made the acquaintance of a young man who, I found, was from my
native town; though I had not known him at home, as he was nearly, or
quite, ten years my junior. His name was Roderick Ayr. He offered to
lend me money, but I would take it only on condition that he receive my
watch as security, to be redeemed when we reached home. It was a
splendid watch, but had long since ceased to keep time, for want of
cleaning.
"Mr. Ayr had been educated at one of the older colleges, knew something
of engineering, had studied law, had spent a year in journalism, and
had done a little something in literature--in fact, I think he told me
he had published a small volume of poems, or essays. His talents were
so varied that he found it difficult to settle down to one occupation;
and so he had made a voyage to India, merely to see something of the
world, while he was growing a little older and finding out what he was
best fitted for.
"He was about to return home as a passenger, when I found an
opportunity to ship before the mast in the 'Emily Wentworth,' bound for
Boston. To keep me company, he shipped in the same capacity.
"We passed down the Hoogly, and wound through the horrible swamps and
jungles of the Sunderbunds, where tigers and crocodiles were an
every-day sight, till our pilot left us, on a sunny July morning, with
the deep blue waters of the Bay of Bengal before us, and a gentle
breeze from the north-east.
"Two days later we were struck by a cyclone, and the vessel was reduced
to a helpless wreck. Everybody on board seemed paralyzed with terror,
except Ayr and the captain, and the captain was soon swept away by a
heavy sea. Three of the men, headed by the second mate,--a fellow named
Hobbes,--managed to launch the only boat that had not been stove, threw
into it a keg of water, a few provisions, and the charts and
instruments, and were about to pull away and leave the rest of us to
our fate, when Ayr ordered them back. As they paid no attention to him,
he sprang into the boat and took Hobbes by the throat. Hobbes drew his
knife, but as quick as lightning Ayr gave him a blow that sent him
overboard. One of the sailors caught him and drew him in, and then they
all consented to return to the deck. The next sea swept away the boat.
"Ayr was now recognized as commander, by virtue of his natural
superiority, and the first mate, a well-meaning but forceless man, had
the good sense to resign his authority to the only one who could do
anything for us--if anything could be done at all.
"With a few volunteers to assist him, Ayr rigged and launched a raft,
upon which nine of us embarked. The remainder of the crew had already
been lost, or were afraid to leave the vessel, and some had lashed
themselves to her spars. Ayr was the last to leave her. He jumped
overboard, swam to the raft, cut the hawser, and we drifted away from
the hulk, which heeled and went down before we were out of sight.
"The raft floated low, and half the time we were up to our necks in
water, for all that day and all night heavy seas broke over her. Ayr,
who was a powerful swimmer, was swimming about the raft the greater
part of the time, sometimes tightening the fastenings where she
threatened to break apart, and often saving and hauling on board again
some poor wretch who had been swept off. But every few hours a man
would be carried away whom Ayr could not reach, and our little company
was continually growing smaller.
"As for myself, I was rather a poor swimmer, and either the exposure,
or some disease that I had previously contracted, caused an
uncomfortable swelling and puffiness in my fingers and toes. I took
off, with some difficulty, a ring which I had worn for a dozen years,
as it now begun to hurt me, and slipped it upon Ayr's finger, asking
him to keep it for me till some happier time.
"In the afternoon of the second day, it became evident that the raft
was too large for the strength of the ropes that held it together, and
that a smaller one must be made. Ayr set to work to build it almost
alone. Indeed, but four of us were now left--Simpson, an Englishman,
Hobbes the mate, Ayr, and I. Ayr had lost a great deal of his strength,
and his knife slipped from his hand and sank in the sea. I lent him
mine, for the other two men were destitute of knives; Hobbes had lost
his when Ayr knocked him out of the boat.
"Just as the new raft was ready to be cut loose, a great sea struck us,
and widely separated the two, leaving Ayr and Hobbes on what remained
of the old one, while Simpson and I were on the new. I saw Ayr plunge
into the water and strike out toward us; but after a few strokes he
turned back, either because he felt he had not strength to reach us, or
because he would not leave Hobbes helpless. The sudden night of the
tropics shut down upon us, and when morning dawned the old raft was
nowhere to be seen.
"The sea was now much less violent, and Simpson and I managed to
maintain our position in spite of our wasted strength. I felt that
another night would be our last. But an hour before sunset we were
picked up by a Dutch vessel, bound on an exploring voyage to the coasts
of Borneo and Celebes. We had not the luck to sight any vessel going in
the opposite direction, and so could only return after the explorations
had been made, which kept us away from home nearly two years longer.
"When at last I crossed my father's threshold again, a week ago, I
found that I was not only given up for dead, but was supposed to have
been murdered by my dearest friend, Roderick Ayr. He and Hobbes had
been picked up by a vessel bound for Liverpool.
"Hobbes, who, it seems, had never given up his grudge against Ayr,
passing through my native town on his way from Boston to his own home,
had stopped over a train for the purpose of setting afloat the story of
the wreck, in which he so far mingled truth and falsehood as to
represent that Ayr, in view of the scanty stock of provisions on the
raft, had successively murdered three of the men in their sleep,--of
whom I was one,--robbed them, and rolled their bodies off into the sea.
"When Ayr came along on the next train, a policeman's hand was laid
upon his arm before he stepped off from the platform. He was taken to
police headquarters and searched, and as my watch, my ring, and my
knife were found in his possession, the evidence against him seemed
conclusive. But the living, lying witness had disappeared, and could
not be found. Either he had felt that he would be unable to confront
Ayr and withstand cross-questioning, or else he had no desire to send
Ayr to the gallows, but only to disgrace him in the estimation of his
townsmen. In this he succeeded to a considerable extent. Ayr told the
straight story, which his nearest friends believed--except some who
feared he might have done, under the peculiar temptations of a wreck,
what he would not have done under any other circumstances; and as no
murder could be actually proved, he, of course, could not be held. But
most of the people ominously shook their heads, and refused to receive
his account of the watch, the ring, and the knife as anything but an
ingenious triple falsehood. It was more than he could stand, and
between two days he disappeared, his nearest relatives not knowing what
had become of him.
"When I suddenly appeared in the town a few days since, those overwise
people of two years ago were dumbfounded, and I hope by this time they
are sufficiently ashamed of themselves. But some one besides Roderick
Ayr had left the town during my absence. Miss Rogers had removed to
Detroit six years before, and I took the next train for that city, only
to learn that after a brief residence she had come here. So I retraced
my journey.
"As we were entering the city this afternoon, I put my head out of the
car-window in an idle way, and thought I saw a strange vision--a man
standing beside the track with a flag in his hand, who wore the
features of Roderick Ayr. In a moment it was gone, and I could not tell
whether it was fancy or reality, whether I had been dreaming or awake.
But as I was passing through the door of the railway station he
accosted me, and sure enough it was my friend."
"By jolly!" said Monkey Roe, and brought his fist down upon the table
with a whang that made every dish leap up an inch.
"_Johannes in perpetuo!_--Jack for ever!" said Isaac Holman.
"O-o-o-o-h!" said Ned, three times--once with his mouth, and once with
each eye.
Phaeton leapt to his feet, and waving his napkin over his head,
proposed "Three cheers for Roderick Jack-in-the-Box!"--whereupon all
the boys rose instantly and gave three terrific cheers and a handsome
tiger.
"Please excuse me, Aunty," said Phaeton; "I'm going to bring
Jack-in-the-Box," and he was off.
"I don't know what he means by that," said Aunt Mercy. "You see, Edmund
Burton, there's a gentleman connected with the railroad--either
president or one of the directors--Monsieur Thibaux, Jacquin Thibaux,
originally a Frenchman, who seems to have befriended these boys in some
way, and they talk a good deal about him. I always have to laugh at the
way they pronounce his name; as they don't understand French, they call
it Jack-in-the-Box. I believe Monsieur Thibaux is a very fine man, but
I don't know why my nephew should bring him here."
"The explanation is this," said Miss Glidden, "that Jack-in-the-Box,
Jacquin Thibaux, and Roderick Ayr are one and the same person."
"Then of course I shall be most happy to welcome him," said Aunt Mercy.
"But I confess I can't understand how a runaway young man could so soon
become president of a great railroad, nor why the president should be
waving a red flag, like a switch-tender."
The good lady had surpassed both of her nephews in making a muddle, and
before it could be cleared up to her satisfaction, Mr. Ayr was
announced.
The hostess rose to greet him, and "all the boys except Miss Glidden,"
as Patsy Rafferty expressed it, made a rush for him and wound
themselves around him like an anaconda.
"Where's Fay?" said Ned, as he looked about him when the anaconda had
loosened its folds.
"He's at the Box, managing the signals," said Jack.
The hero of the evening was now beset with inquiries, and nearly the
whole story was gone over again, by question and answer.
"I understand it all now," said Ned, "except one thing. Why did you
always refuse to look at a newspaper?"
"There were several reasons for that," said Jack. "One was, that the
paragraph about my supposed crime was constantly turning up. Another
was, that I thought my friends would advertise for me, and was afraid
some of them might attempt to decoy me with what they would consider a
justifiable fib,--as, that my mother was at the point of death, or
something of that sort. If such a thing appeared, I preferred not to
see it."