CONCLUSION
Mr. Brudenel, as has been said, met Sunshine while on his morning ride,
and returned in desperate haste to gather up his men, and the
ammunition, etc., necessary for the skirmish which he knew was in store
for them.
He met his wife, who, perceiving that some unusual event had happened,
came anxiously to meet him.
"What is it, my dear?" asked she.
"Don't delay me, wifey," said he in violent hurry. "A girl has brought
in an account of a daring outbreak of dacoity. From her story I hope to
catch the fellow I have been looking out for this long time. Don't be
frightened if I don't come home to-night, the place is some way off, and
there will be a scrimmage; but all will go well, I hope."
"A scrimmage!" exclaimed Mrs. Brudenel in terror. "Oh, Harry!"
"Don't be a little goose, my dear; such things must come sometimes.
There, kiss me,--don't worry yourself, good-bye. Take care of the girl
till I come back," shouted he at the last moment, mounting his pony, and
calling back over his shoulder, preparing to follow his men out of the
compound.
He was gone, and his wife's eyes were so full of tears that she could
not see him to the very last. The clatter of the ponies' feet faded
away, and she re-entered the house. Mr. Gilchrist, who had been taking
an early ramble, met her. "What is all the excitement about?" asked he.
"I hardly know," replied she; "some Burmese girl has brought news of
dacoits, and Harry has gone to see about it. He expects to fight, and I
am so frightened."
The tears gathered again, and rolled down her white cheeks.
"Don't alarm yourself, my dear young lady," said Mr. Gilchrist kindly.
"Your husband has gone through such things a dozen times before safely,
and we will hope that all will be right again. Where is the girl? Shall
I talk to her and find out all about it?"
"Oh, I would be _so_ much obliged if you would! I cannot understand half
that the people say yet."
Sunshine was in the cook's house, being fed and comforted by the
servants. Mr. Gilchrist began to talk to her, and had not exchanged many
sentences before his interest deepened into great excitement.
"Osborn!--Wills!" he cried, "come here and listen. This girl says that
there are young Englishmen in the village, is it possible that one could
be our dear Ralph? What did you say they are called, my dear?"
But the soft nature of the Burmese language utterly refused to
accommodate itself to the harsh sounds of our friends' names. "Ralph"
had always been pronounced "Yabé," and "Kirke" had been quite
unmanageable, so he had proposed being called "Jamie," which was
rendered "Yamie."
"Yabé" and "Yamie" puzzled Mr. Gilchrist, who did not know that Kirke
was christened James. "What are the Englishmen like, girl?"
"Yamie is big, oh, so big!" said she. "He is good, but his eyes do not
laugh like those of Yabé. They have dark fire in them, and he has hair
all round," passing her hand about the lower part of her face. "It is
like the jungle bushes."
"What colour?" asked Wills.
"Like yours," said she.
Wills was black-haired and grizzled. His face fell. "He is old, then?"
asked he.
"No, young," replied Sunshine. "Young as a father."
"It cannot be Ralph," said he.
"That is what he calls the other," said Sunshine; "Yabé, that is what he
calls him. Moung Yabé, Moung Shway Yabé, I say, for he is good, oh, so
good! He came for me when the _thok'kee_ blazed, and all was on fire; he
saved me, and took Me Poh on his back, and saved her from those beloos
of thieves, and from the hot fire. Oh, Moung Yabé is strong and good, as
gold--fine gold. My dear Moung Shway Paya Yabé."
"Is he like me, too?" asked old Wills.
Sunshine laughed out all over her face, her eyes danced with merriment.
"Oh, no, no, no!" she cried. "Moung Yabé young, Moung Yabé beautiful! He
laugh like Sunshine; he gay, he play with little Sunshine, throw roses
at her, run after her--dance, sing. All the girls love Moung Yabé, my
Moung Shway Yabé! Oh," she resumed, breaking down all at once into
sorrow, "if the good soldiers are only in time to save my Moung Yabé
from those beloos!"
The men looked at each other. "Can it be Ralph?" they asked, hope
dawning upon each in turn.
"Is _his_ hair like the jungle bushes?" inquired Gilchrist.
"No, no!" said Sunshine, cheering up again. "Moung Yabé is Shway Yabé,
golden boy, white as the lady, no hair here," again passing her hand
over her face.
Sudden inspiration seized upon Osborn, "Does he sing like this?" asked
he, beginning Ralph's well-known "I'll bang my harp on a willow tree."
Sunshine laughed outright. "That is my Moung Yabé's music," said she;
and, making it into a literal song without words, she finished the air
with great glee.
"My God!--my God is merciful!" ejaculated Mr. Gilchrist. "Osborn, my
pony; quick, quick!"
"Oh! are you going to help Mr. Brudenel?" asked his wife. "How good of
you! You will keep him safe, won't you, and bring him back unhurt?"
"Tell her, Wills!" shouted Mr. Gilchrist, forgetting his manners utterly
as he rushed out to the stable.
Osborn was as excited as he; they snatched down their saddles, had them
upon their ponies in three minutes, and were tearing out of the compound
before Mrs. Brudenel comprehended anything of the matter.
Wills, indeed, forgot her interest, and the danger to her husband, in
his wistful longing to accompany them. "I wish, I do wish I could ha'
gone too," sighed he; but there was not a beast left in the stable now,
all had gone, and only the servants of the house remained.
By degrees the lady's questions recalled him to the present, and he told
her all. There was much mystery about Sunshine's story even now. Who the
Englishman was who had so much gold, and who had arrived in the village
alone, and been so ill there, was a great puzzle. Sunshine said that he
knew Moung Yabé, they were brothers,--"Dohs,"--whether "thway-thouks" or
blood-drinkers she did not know.
She here alluded to a peculiar custom among the Burmans, of two friends
swearing to be brothers to each other, and in some cases cementing the
alliance by drinking water mixed with drops of blood taken from each
others' arms.
Yabé, Sunshine said, had come across the river, naked, and had nothing
with him but a little packet of plants which must have been charmed,
and protected him from wild beasts in the jungle. He could not have come
naked through the wild jungle unless the "nats" had taken care of him.
Where he came from Sunshine did not know. Yamie had paid her mother for
making clothes for him such as he wore himself; made from native cloth,
but not "putsoes."
The plants seemed to point yet more directly to the stranger being
identical with Denham, but who could "Yamie" be? And how did Denham
arrive there, and in such a condition?
But Mrs. Brudenel was sure that it must be Ralph. She set herself to
make every possible preparation, and the occupation helped her to pass
that anxious day.
Sunshine, as soon as she had told all she knew, being well fed and made
comfortable, fell sound asleep on a mat in the verandah, and rested from
her fatigues.
Hour passed after hour, and none of the men returned. Mrs. Brudenel
became sick with apprehension, nor was old Wills much better. Neither of
them retired to rest that night, for they hoped that some of the party
would return every moment. They sat together, each trying to keep up a
brave face before the other, but neither of them much deceived.
Mrs. Brudenel went to her room, ever and anon, and sank on her knees to
pray for the beloved of her heart. Then she brought her Bible, and read
aloud to the old seaman soothing words of promise. It helped them both
more than anything else could have done.
With the earliest dawn breakfast was prepared, but no one came to
partake of it. The butler cleared it away, and laid tiffin, but no one
could touch it.
Mrs. Brudenel's ayah, who was much attached to her kind young mistress,
brought a glass of claret and a biscuit to her, and begged her to take
it so earnestly that she would not refuse, and she persuaded Wills to
have the same.
Then the long waiting recommenced, and then a restless pacing of the
verandah, the walks in the compound, the house itself. They could settle
to nothing.
At last a servant ran up to the drawing-room window, when Mrs.
Brudenel's eyes were bent down upon her Bible, and, for the twentieth
time, she was trying to calm her beating pulses with the words, "Let not
your heart be troubled."
"They come, lady! They come, missie! Master is come!"
She sprang to her feet. Yes, there was Mr. Brudenel at the head of his
men, crossing the ford in the valley beneath her feet. There was Mr.
Gilchrist, waving his hat frantically. There was Osborn, hand to mouth,
evidently yelling out "Hooray!" at the top of his voice, though still
too far off to be heard.
And who else? Behind Mr. Gilchrist appeared a slim, fair-haired lad, in
a loose dress of dark native cloth and a wide palm-leaf hat. He lifted
his head at Osborn's wild gestures, and waved his hat to Wills.
"Oh, my God, I thank Thee, I humbly thank Thee!" ejaculated the old man
fervently.
The servants almost tumbled over each other in their excited haste to
see, to prepare, to welcome. Mrs. Brudenel and old Wills shook hands,
with streaming eyes, under the relief from the intense strain upon their
spirits through so many hours.
The troop entered the compound, and was surrounded by the eager
household.
"We have him, Wills," was heard in Mr. Gilchrist's glad voice.
"My Yabé! My Moung Shway boy!" cried Sunshine.
"Oh, Harry! Harry!" sobbed Mrs. Brudenel, clinging to him.
"My boy, my boy! My dear young master!" exclaimed old Wills.
"Where are the dacoits' heads?" asked the men-servants.
"Was anyone hurt?" asked the ayah, mother to one of the men.
All spoke at once, no one answered anybody else. Ralph nearly wrung
Wills' hands off; Osborn thumped him on the back, and slapped his own
thighs with triumphant joy; while Mr. Gilchrist's face, as he presented
Ralph to Mrs. Brudenel, with his hand upon the lad's shoulder, was good
to see.
There were fervent thanksgivings in that house before the inmates
retired, but there was little explanation of all which had occurred
until, after a quiet night's rest, they all reassembled in the early
morning. Then Ralph, in a simple, straightforward manner, recounted his
adventures,--told of Kirke's repentance, his goodness to himself, his
bravery, and his gallant defence of the village.
"Oh, how well he redeemed the past!" mourned he. "What a fine fellow he
was after all, and he has gone without anyone knowing of what he did! I
loved him,--he earned the love of all, and the respect too."
The dacoits had been sent to Rangoon for trial, and were all hanged
eventually, many crimes being traced to their score.
Ralph's adventures were now at an end; Mr. Gilchrist gave up his
wanderings, and went down to Rangoon with him, under the escort of Mr.
Brudenel, when that gentleman went to give evidence against the tiger
dacoit. He went the more willingly inasmuch as Ralph's little orchids
proved to be of a hitherto unknown species, and very valuable.
Sunshine, plentifully rewarded, was restored safely to her friends, and
all the houses were rebuilt better and stronger than before.
Great treasures of English manufacture reached the place from time to
time; for Ralph never forgot the children with whom he had played, the
women who had tended him, the men who had fought by his side, or the
grave of him who had been his worst enemy and his greatest friend.
To that man's father he wrote, making light of his failings, but
detailing his gallantry at every point.
In course of time he received an answer, which ran as follows:--
"SIR,--I thank you for the comfort which you have given me
regarding my dear son. Your letter, with his confession, and
attempt to redeem his past, are an old man's greatest treasures,
and shall lie on his breast when life shall be no more."
Ralph rose to wealth and repute in Rangoon, and was always a comfort to
his mother, the joy of her heart.
Mr. Gilchrist became a great scientific botanist, and published many a
volume upon the jungles of Burma.
JULES VERNE
The romantic old French town of Nantes, near the estuary of the Loire,
and only thirty-five miles away from the sea, has the honour of having
been the birthplace of Jules Verne, the author of bewitching stories
that have now fascinated three generations of girls and boys.
Jules Verne was many years before he found where his strength lay. He
was educated at Nantes, and then he went to Paris to study law. Next he
began to write plays and comedies, some of which reached the stage; and
it was not until the year 1863, when he was thirty-five years of age,
that he went to a publisher in Paris, with a story entitled, _Five Weeks
in a Balloon_, and so began that very long list of books by which he has
become famous.
Jules Verne delighted to live in _Le Saint Michel_, a small yacht of
eight or ten tons, in which was a large chest that contained the boat's
library. On board this yacht Jules Verne thought out some of his
wonderful romances. Usually his trips were from Crotoy to Harve; but at
times he took in more provisions and fared forth to the coasts of
Normandy, Brittany, and even of England.
Each reader will decide for himself which of Jules Verne's captivating
stories he likes best; but the critics mention _Dropped from the Clouds_
and _Around the World in Eighty Days_ as the books which stand apart
from the others. Some of our most attractive stories are about islands:
_Robinson Crusoe_ and Robert Louis Stevenson's _Treasure Island_, and
Verne's _The Mysterious Island_ is fit to rank with these. Under this
one title we have a group of three separate volumes. First comes
_Dropped from the Clouds_, then _Abandoned_, and the whole narrative is
completed by _The Secret of the Island_. The boy who embarks upon the
reading of these three books has a long period of excitement and delight
stretching in front of him. The very numerous pictures, too, in these
three memorable volumes are very arresting.
Jules Verne died on March 24, 1905, at Amiens when he was seventy-seven
years of age, and he left a long list of books.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Golden is a term of approval or endearment.
[2] Pyin=lazy
[3] Native pony.