Peterkin was ready to faint again with her great excitement. She wanted
to know what had become of the other little boys, and if Mr. Peterkin
had heard from Solomon John. But the small space was becoming more and
more crowded. The dragomans from the different parties with which the
Peterkins were connected came to announce their several luncheons, and
insisted upon their leaving the pyramid.
Mrs. Peterkin's dragoman wanted her to go on directly to the Sphinx, and
she still clung to the belief that only then would there be a complete
reunion of the family. Yet she could not separate herself from the rest.
They could not let her go, and they were all hungry, and she herself
felt the need of food.
But with the confusion of so many luncheons, and so much explanation to
be gone through with, it was difficult to get an answer to her
questions.
Elizabeth and her father were involved in a discussion as to whether
they should have met if he had not gone into the queen's chamber in the
pyramid. For if he had not gone to the queen's chamber he would have
left the inside of the pyramid before Mrs. Peterkin reached it, and
would have missed her, as he was too fatigued to make the ascent. And
Elizabeth Eliza, if she had not met her father, had planned going back
to the king's chamber in another search for the body of Chufu, in which
case she would have been too late to meet her mother. Mrs. Peterkin was
not much interested in this discussion; it was enough that they had met.
But she could not get answers to what she considered more important
questions; while Elizabeth Eliza, though delighted to meet again her
father and mother and brothers, and though interested in the fate of the
missing ones, was absorbed in the Egyptian question; and the mingling of
all their interests made satisfactory intercourse impracticable.
Where was Solomon John? What had become of the body of Chufu? Had
Solomon John been telegraphed to? When had Elizabeth Eliza seen him
last? Was he Chufu or Shufu, and why Cheops? and where were the other
little boys?
Mr. Peterkin attempted to explain that he had taken a steamer from
Messina to the south of Italy, and a southern route to Brindisi. By
mistake he had taken the steamer from Alexandria, on its way to Venice,
instead of the one that was leaving Brindisi for Alexandria at the same
hour. Indeed, just as he had discovered his mistake, and had seen the
other boat steaming off by his side in the other direction, too late he
fancied he saw the form of Elizabeth Eliza on deck, leaning over the
taffrail (if it was a taffrail). It was a tall lady, with a blue veil
wound around her hat. Was it possible? Could he have been in time to
reach Elizabeth Eliza? His explanation only served to increase the
number of questions.
Mrs. Peterkin had many more. How had Agamemnon reached them? Had he
come to Bordeaux with them? But Agamemnon and Elizabeth Eliza were
now discussing with others the number of feet that the Great Pyramid
measured. The remaining members of all the parties, too, whose hunger
and thirst were now fully satisfied, were ready to proceed to the
Sphinx, which only Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza had visited.
Side by side on their donkeys, Mrs. Peterkin attempted to learn
something from Mr. Peterkin about the other little boys. But his donkey
proved restive: now it bore him on in swift flight from Mrs. Peterkin;
now it would linger behind. His words were jerked out only at intervals.
All that could be said was that they were separated; the little boys
wanted to go to Vesuvius, but Mr. Peterkin felt they must hurry to
Brindisi. At a station where the two trains parted--one for Naples, the
other for Brindisi--he found suddenly, too late, that they were not with
him; they must have gone on to Naples. But where were they now?
VIII.
THE LAST OF THE PETERKINS.
The expedition up the Nile had taken place successfully. The Peterkin
family had reached Cairo again,--at least, its scattered remnant was
there, and they were now to consider what next.
Mrs. Peterkin would like to spend her life in the dahabieh,[1] though
she could not pronounce its name, and she still felt the strangeness
of the scenes about her. However, she had only to look out upon the
mud villages on the bank to see that she was in the veritable "Africa"
she had seen pictured in the geography of her childhood. If further
corroboration were required, had she not, only the day before, when
accompanied by no one but a little donkey-boy, shuddered to meet a
strange Nubian, attired principally in hair that stood out from his
savage face in frizzes at least half a yard long?
[Footnote 1: A boat used for transportation on the Nile.]
But oh the comforts of no trouble in housekeeping on board the dahabieh!
Never to know what they were to have for dinner, nor to be asked what
they would like, and yet always to have a dinner you could ask chance
friends to, knowing all would be perfectly served! Some of the party
with whom they had engaged their dahabieh had even brought canned baked
beans from New England, which seemed to make their happiness complete.
"Though we see beans here," said Mrs. Peterkin, "they are not 'Boston
beans'!"
She had fancied she would have to live on stuffed ostrich (ostrich
stuffed with iron filings, that the books tell of), or fried
hippopotamus, or boiled rhinoceros. But she met with none of these, and
day after day was rejoiced to find her native turkey appearing on the
table, with pigeons and chickens (though the chickens, to be sure, were
scarcely larger than the pigeons), and lamb that was really not more
tough than that of New Hampshire and the White Mountains.
If they dined with the Arabs, there was indeed a kind of dark
molasses-gingerbread-looking cake, with curds in it, that she found it
hard to eat. "But _they_ like it," she said complacently.
The remaining little boy, too, smiled over his pile of ripe bananas, as
he thought of the quarter-of-a-dollar-a-half-dozen green ones at that
moment waiting at the corners of the streets at home. Indeed, it was a
land for boys. There were the dates, both fresh and dried,--far more
juicy than those learned at school; and there was the gingerbread-nut
tree, the dôm palm, that bore a nut tasting "like baker's gingerbread
that has been kept a few days in the shop," as the remaining little boy
remarked. And he wished for his brothers when the live dinner came on
board their boat, at the stopping-places, in the form of good-sized
sheep struggling on the shoulders of stout Arabs, or an armful of live
hens and pigeons.
All the family (or as much of it as was present) agreed with Mrs.
Peterkin's views. Amanda at home had seemed quite a blessing, but at
this distance her services, compared with the attentions of their
Maltese dragoman and the devotion of their Arab servants, seemed of
doubtful value, and even Mrs. Peterkin dreaded returning to her tender
mercies.
"Just imagine inviting the Russian Count to dinner at home--and Amanda!"
exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza.
"And he came to dinner at least three times a week on board the boat,"
said the remaining little boy.
"The Arabs are so convenient about carrying one's umbrellas and shawls,"
said Elizabeth Eliza. "How I should miss Hassan in picking up my blue
veil!"
The family recalled many anecdotes of the shortcomings of Amanda, as
Mrs. Peterkin leaned back upon her divan and wafted a fly-whisk. Mr.
Peterkin had expended large sums in telegrams from every point where he
found the telegraph in operation; but there was no reply from Solomon
John, and none from the two little boys.
By a succession of telegrams they had learned that no one had fallen
into the crater of Vesuvius in the course of the last six months, not
even a little boy. This was consoling.
By letters from the lady from Philadelphia, they learned that she had
received Solomon John's telegram from Geneva at the time she heard
from the rest of the family, and one signed "L. Boys" from Naples. But
neither of these telegrams gave an address for return answers, which
she had, however, sent to Geneva and Naples, with the fatal omission by
the operator (as she afterward learned) of the date, as in the other
telegrams.
Mrs. Peterkin therefore disliked to be long away from the Sphinx, and
their excursion up the Nile had been shortened on this account. All
the Nubian guides near the pyramids had been furnished with additional
backsheesh and elaborate explanations from Mr. Peterkin as to how they
should send him information if Solomon John and the little boys should
turn up at the Sphinx,--for all the family agreed they would probably
appear in Egypt together.
Mrs. Peterkin regretted not having any photographs to leave with the
guides; but Elizabeth Eliza, alas! had lost at Brindisi the hand-bag
that contained the family photograph-book.
Mrs. Peterkin would have liked to take up her residence near the Sphinx
for the rest of the year. But every one warned her that the heat of an
Egyptian summer would not allow her to stay at Cairo,--scarcely even on
the sea-shore, at Alexandria.
How thankful was Mrs. Peterkin, a few months after, when the war in
Egypt broke out, that her wishes had not been yielded to! For many
nights she could not sleep, picturing how they all might have been
massacred by the terrible mob in Alexandria.
Intelligence of Solomon John led them to take their departure.
One day, they were discussing at the _table d'hôte_ their letters
from the lady from Philadelphia, and how they showed that Solomon John
had been at Geneva.
"Ah, there was his mistake!" said Elizabeth Eliza. "The Doolittles left
Marseilles with us, and were to branch off for Geneva, and we kept on to
Genoa, and Solomon John was always mistaking Genoa for Geneva, as we
planned our route. I remember there was a great confusion when they got
off."
"I always mix up Geneva and Genoa," said Mrs. Peterkin. "I feel as if
they were the same."
"They are quite different," said Elizabeth Eliza; "and Genoa lay in our
route, while Geneva took him into Switzerland."
An English gentleman, on the opposite side of the table, then spoke to
Mr. Peterkin.
"I beg pardon," he said. "I think I met one of your name in Athens.
He attracted our attention because he went every day to the same spot,
and he told us he expected to meet his family there,--that he had an
appointment by telegraph--"
"In Athens!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin.
"Was his name Solomon John?" asked Elizabeth Eliza.
"Were there two little boys?" inquired Mrs. Peterkin.
"His initials were the same as mine," replied the
Englishman,--"S.J.P.,--for some of his luggage came by mistake into my
room, and that is why I spoke of it."
"Is there a Sphinx in Athens?" Mrs. Peterkin inquired.
"There used to be one there," said Agamemnon.
"I beg your pardon," said the Englishman, "but that Sphinx never was in
Athens."
"But Solomon John may have made the mistake,--we all make our mistakes,"
said Mrs. Peterkin, tying her bonnet-strings, as if ready to go to meet
Solomon John at that moment.
"The Sphinx was at Thebes in the days of OEdipus," said the Englishman.
"No one would expect to find it anywhere in Greece at the present day."
"But was Solomon John inquiring for it?" asked Mr. Peterkin.
"Indeed, no!" answered the Englishman; "he went every day to the Pnyx, a
famous hill in Athens, where his telegram had warned him he should meet
his friends."
"The Pnyx!" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin; "and how do you spell it?"
"P-n-y-x!" cried Agamemnon,--"the same letters as in Sphinx!"
"All but the _s_ and the _h_ and the _y_" said Elizabeth Eliza.
"I often spell Sphinx with a _y_ myself," said Mr. Peterkin.
"And a telegraph-operator makes such mistakes!" said Agamemnon.
"His telegram had been forwarded to him from Switzerland," said the
Englishman; "it had followed him into the dolomite region, and must have
been translated many timed."
"And of course they could not all have been expected to keep the letters
in the right order," said Elizabeth Eliza.
"And were there two little boys with him?" repeated Mrs. Peterkin.
No; there were no little boys. But further inquiries satisfied the
family that Solomon John must be awaiting them in Athens. And how
natural the mistake! Mrs. Peterkin said that if she had known of a Pnyx,
she should surely have looked for the family there.
Should they then meet Solomon John at the Pnyx, or summon him to Egypt?
It seemed safer to go directly to Athens, especially as Mr. Peterkin and
Agamemnon were anxious to visit that city.
It was found that a steamer would leave Alexandria next day for Athens,
by way of Smyrna and Constantinople. This was a roundabout course;
but Mr. Peterkin was impatient to leave, and was glad to gain more
acquaintance with the world. Meanwhile they could telegraph their plans
to Solomon John, as the English gentleman could give them the address of
his hotel.
And Mrs. Peterkin did not now shrink from another voyage. Her experience
on the Nile had made her forget her sufferings in crossing the Atlantic,
and she no longer dreaded entering another steamboat. Their delight in
river navigation, indeed, had been so great that the whole family had
listened with interest to the descriptions given by their Russian
fellow-traveller of steamboat navigation on the Volga--"the most
beautiful river in the world," as he declared. Elizabeth Eliza and Mr.
Peterkin were eager to try it, and Agamemnon remarked that such a trip
would give them an opportunity to visit the renowned fair at
Nijninovgorod. Even Mrs. Peterkin had consented to this expedition,
provided they should meet Solomon John and the other little boys.
She started, therefore, on a fresh voyage without any dread, forgetting
that the Mediterranean, if not so wide as the Atlantic, is still a sea,
and often as tempestuous and uncomfortably "choppy." Alas! she was soon
to be awakened from her forgetfulness: the sea was the same old enemy.
As they passed up among the Ionian Isles, and she heard Agamemnon and
Elizabeth Eliza and their Russian friend (who was accompanying them to
Constantinople) talking of the old gods of Greece, she fancied that they
were living still, and that Neptune and the classic waves were wreaking
their vengeance on them, and pounding and punishing them for venturing
to rule them with steam. She was fairly terrified. As they entered
Smyrna she declared she would never enter any kind of a boat again, and
that Mr. Peterkin must find some way by which they could reach home by
land.
How delightful it was to draw near the shore, on a calm afternoon,--even
to trust herself to the charge of the boatmen in leaving the ship, and
to reach land once more and meet the tumult of voices and people! Here
were the screaming and shouting usual in the East, and the same bright
array of turbans and costumes in the crowd awaiting them. But a
well-known voice reached them, and from the crowd rose a well-known
face. Even before they reached the land they had recognized its owner.
With his American dress, he looked almost foreign in contrast to the
otherwise universal Eastern color. A tall figure on either side seemed,
also, each to have a familiar air.
Were there three Solomon Johns?
No; it was Solomon John and the two other little boys--but grown so that
they were no longer little boys. Even Mrs. Peterkin was unable to
recognize them at first. But the tones of their voices, their ways, were
as natural as ever. Each had a banana in his hand, and pockets stuffed
with oranges.
Questions and answers interrupted each other in a most confusing
manner:--
"Are you the little boys?"
"Where have you been?"
"Did you go to Vesuvius?"
"How did you get away?"
"Why didn't you come sooner?"
"Our India-rubber boots stuck in the hot lava."
"Have you been there all this time?"
"No; we left them there."
"Have you had fresh dates?"
"They are all gone now, but the dried ones are better than those
squeezed ones we have at home."
"How you have grown!"
"Why didn't you telegraph?"
"Why did you go to Vesuvius, when Papa said he couldn't?"
"Did you, too, think it was Pnyx?"
"Where have you been all winter?"
"Did you roast eggs in the crater?"
"When did you begin to grow?"
The little boys could not yet thoroughly explain themselves; they always
talked together and in foreign languages, interrupting each other, and
never agreeing as to dates.
Solomon John accounted for his appearance in Smyrna by explaining that
when he received his father's telegram in Athens, he decided to meet
them at Smyrna. He was tired of waiting at the Pnyx. He had but just
landed, and came near missing his family, and the little boys too, who
had reached Athens just as he was leaving it. None of the family wished
now to continue their journey to Athens, but they had the advice and
assistance of their Russian friend in planning to leave the steamer at
Constantinople; they would, by adopting this plan, be _en route_
for the proposed excursion to the Volga.
Mrs. Peterkin was overwhelmed with joy at having all her family together
once more; but with it a wave of homesickness surged over her. They were
all together; why not go home?
It was found that there was a sailing-vessel bound absolutely for Maine,
in which they might take passage. No more separation; no more mistakes;
no more tedious study of guide-books; no more weighing of baggage. Every
trunk and bag, every Peterkin, could be placed in the boat, and safely
landed on the shores of home. It was a temptation, and at one time Mrs.
Peterkin actually pleaded for it.
But there came a throbbing in her head, a swimming in her eyes, a
swaying of the very floor of the hotel. Could she bear it, day after
day, week after week? Would any of them be alive? And Constantinople not
seen, nor steam-navigation on the Volga!
And so new plans arose, and wonderful discoveries were made, and the
future of the Peterkin family was changed forever.
In the first place a strange stout gentleman in spectacles had followed
the Peterkin family to the hotel, had joined in the family councils, and
had rendered valuable service in negotiating with the officers of the
steamer for the cancellation of their through tickets to Athens. He
dined at the same table, and was consulted by the (formerly) little
boys.
Who was he?
They explained that he was their "preceptor." It appeared that after
they parted from their father, the little boys had become mixed up with
some pupils who were being taken by their preceptor to Vesuvius. For
some time he had not noticed that his party (consisting of boys of their
own age) had been enlarged; and after finding this out, he had concluded
they were the sons of an English family with whom he had been
corresponding. He was surprised that no further intelligence came with
them, and no extra baggage. They had, however, their hand-bags; and
after sending their telegram to the lady from Philadelphia, they assured
him that all would be right. But they were obliged to leave Naples the
very day of despatching the telegram, and left no address to which an
answer could be sent. The preceptor took them, with his pupils, directly
back to his institution in Gratz, Austria, from which he had taken them
on this little excursion.
It was not till the end of the winter that he discovered that his
youthful charges--whom he had been faithfully instructing, and who had
found the gymnasium and invigorating atmosphere so favorable to
growth--were not the sons of his English correspondent, whom he had
supposed, from their explanations, to be travelling in America.
He was, however, intending to take his pupils to Athens in the spring,
and by this time the little boys were able to explain themselves better
in his native language. They assured him they should meet their family
in the East, and the preceptor felt it safe to take them upon the track
proposed.
It was now that Mr. Peterkin prided himself upon the plan he had
insisted upon before leaving home. "Was it not well," he exclaimed,
"that I provided each of you with a bag of gold, for use in case of
emergency, hidden in the lining of your hand-bags?"
This had worked badly for Elizabeth Eliza, to be sure, who had left hers
at Brindisi; but the little boys had been able to pay some of their
expenses, which encouraged the preceptor to believe he might trust them
for the rest. So much pleased were all the family with the preceptor
that they decided that all three of the little boys should continue
under his instructions, and return with him to Gratz. This decision made
more easy the other plans of the family.
Both Agamemnon and Solomon John had decided they would like to be
foreign consuls. They did not much care where, and they would accept any
appointment; and both, it appeared, had written on the subject to the
Department at Washington. Agamemnon had put in a plea for a vacancy at
Madagascar, and Solomon John hoped for an opening at Rustchuk, Turkey;
if not there, at Aintab, Syria. Answers were expected, which were now
telegraphed for, to meet them in Constantinople.
Meanwhile Mr. Peterkin had been consulting the preceptor and the Russian
Count about a land-journey home. More and more Mrs. Peterkin determined
she could not and would not trust herself to another voyage, though she
consented to travel by steamer to Constantinople. If they went as far as
Nijninovgorod, which was now decided upon, why could they not persevere
through "Russia in Asia"?
Their Russian friend at first shook his head at this, but at last agreed
that it might be possible to go on from Novgorod comfortably to Tobolsk,
perhaps even from there to Yakoutsk, and then to Kamtschatka.
"And cross at Behring's Strait!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. "It looks so
narrow on the map."
"And then we are in Alaska," said Mr. Peterkin.
"And at home," exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, "and no more voyages."
But Elizabeth Eliza doubted about Kamtschatka and Behring's Strait, and
thought it would be very cold.
"But we can buy furs on our way," insisted Mrs. Peterkin.
"And if you do not find the journey agreeable," said their Russian
friend, "you can turn back from Yakoutsk, even from Tobolsk, and come to
visit us."
Yes--_us_! For Elizabeth Eliza was to marry the Russian Count!
He had been in a boat that was behind them on the Nile, had met them
often, had climbed the ruins with them, joined their excursions, and had
finally proposed at Edfu.
Elizabeth Eliza had then just written to consult the lady from
Philadelphia with regard to the offer of a German professor they had
met, and she could give no reply to the Count.
Now, however, it was necessary to make a decision. She had meanwhile
learned a few words of Russian. The Count spoke English moderately well,
made himself understood better than the Professor, and could understand
Elizabeth Eliza's French. Also the Count knew how to decide questions
readily, while the Professor had to consider both sides before he could
make up his mind.
Mrs. Peterkin objected strongly at first. She could not even pronounce
the Russian's name. "How should she be able to speak to him, or tell
anybody whom Elizabeth Eliza had married?" But finally the family all
gave their consent, won by the attention and devotion of Elizabeth
Eliza's last admirer.
The marriage took place in Constantinople, not at Santa Sophia, as
Elizabeth Eliza would have wished, as that was under a Mohammedan
dispensation. A number of American residents were present, and the
preceptor sent for his other pupils in Athens. Elizabeth Eliza wished
there was time to invite the lady from Philadelphia to be present, and
Ann Maria Bromwick. Would the name be spelled right in the newspapers?
All that could be done was to spell it by telegraph as accurately as
possible, as far as they themselves knew how, and then leave the papers
to do their best (or their worst) in their announcements of the wedding
"at the American Consulate, Constantinople, Turkey. No cards."
The last that was ever heard of the Peterkins, Agamemnon was on his way
to Madagascar, Solomon John was at Rustchuk, and the little boys at
Gratz; Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, in a comfortable sledge, were on their way
from Tobolsk to Yakoutsk; and Elizabeth Eliza was passing her honeymoon
in the neighborhood of Moscow.
* * * * *
OTHERS OF THEIR KIN.
* * * * *
IX.
LUCILLA'S DIARY.