THE ISLAND IN THE RIVER.
It was just eight o'clock when we started, with the twilight coming on.
Our course lay up the river, with a strong current setting against us;
so we made but little way, and enjoyed the tranquil beauty of the
evening. The sky was pale and clear, somewhat greenish overhead and
deepening along the line of the horizon into amber and rose. Behind us
lay the town with every brown spire articulated against the sky and
every vane glittering in the last glow that streamed up from the west.
To our left rose a line of steep chalk cliffs, and before us lay the
river, winding away through meadow lands fringed with willows and
poplars, and interspersed with green islands wooded to the water's edge.
Presently the last flush faded, and one large planet, splendid and
solitary, like the first poet of a dark century, emerged from the
deepening gray.
My companions were in high spirits. They jested; they laughed; they
hummed scraps of songs; they had a greeting for every boat that passed.
By-and-by, we came to an island with a little landing-place where a
score or two of boats were moored against the alders by the water's
edge. A tall flag-staff gay with streamers peeped above the tree-tops,
and a cheerful sound of piping and fiddling, mingled with the hum of
many voices, came and went with the passing breeze. As Dalrymple rested
on his oars to listen, a boat which we had outstripped some minutes
before, shot past us to the landing-place, and its occupants, five in
number, alighted.
"Bet you ten to one that's a bridal party," said Mr. Sullivan.
"Say you so? Then suppose we follow, and have a look at the bride!"
exclaimed his friend. "The place is a public garden."
The proposition was carried unanimously, and we landed, having first
tied the boat to a willow. We found the island laid out very prettily;
intersected by numbers of little paths, with rustic seats here and there
among the trees, and variegated lamps gleaming out amid the grass, like
parti-colored glow-worms. Following one of these paths, we came
presently to an open space, brilliantly lighted and crowded by
holiday-makers. Here were refreshment stalls, and Russian swings, and
queer-looking merry-go-rounds, where each individual sat on a wooden
horse and went gravely round and round with a stick in his hand, trying
to knock off a ring from the top of a pole in the middle. Here, also,
was a band in a gaily decorated orchestra; a circular area roped off
for dancers; a mysterious tent with a fortune-teller inside; a
lottery-stall resplendent with vases and knick-knacks, which nobody was
ever known to win; in short, all kinds of attractions, stale enough, no
doubt, to my companions, but sufficiently novel and amusing to me.
We strolled about for some time among the stalls and promenaders and
amused ourselves by criticising the company, which was composed almost
entirely of peasants, soldiers, artisans in blue blouses and humble
tradespeople. The younger women were mostly handsome, with high Norman
caps, white kerchiefs and massive gold ear-rings. Many, in addition to
the ear-rings, wore a gold cross suspended round the neck by a piece of
black velvet; and some had a brooch to match. Here, sitting round a
table under a tree, we came upon a family group, consisting of a little
plump, bald-headed _bourgeois_ with his wife and two children--the wife
stout and rosy; the children noisy and authoritative. They were
discussing a dish of poached eggs and a bottle of red wine, to the music
of a polka close by.
"I should like to dance," said the little girl, drumming with her feet
against the leg of the table, and eating an egg with her fingers. "I may
dance presently with Phillippe, may I not, papa?"
"I won't dance," said Phillippe sulkily. "I want some oysters."
"Oysters, _mon enfant_! I have told you twice already that no one eats
oysters in July," observed his mother.
"I don't care for that," said Phillippe. "It's my _fête_ day, and Uncle
Jacques said I was to have whatever I fancied; I want some oysters."
"Your Uncle Jacques did not know what an unreasonable boy you are,"
replied the father angrily. "If you say another word about oysters, you
shall not ride in the _manège_ to-night."
Phillippe thrust his fists into his eyes and began to roar--so we walked
away.
In an arbor, a little further on, we saw two young people whispering
earnestly, and conscious of no eyes but each other's.
"A pair of lovers," said Sullivan.
"And a pair that seldom get the chance of meeting, if we may judge by
their untasted omelette," replied Dalrymple. "But where's the
bridal party?"
"Oh, we shall find them presently. You seem interested."
"I am. I mean to dance with the bride and make the bridegroom jealous."
We laughed and passed on, peeping into every arbor, observing every
group, and turning to stare at every pretty girl we met. My own aptitude
in the acquisition of these arts of gallantry astonished myself. Now, we
passed a couple of soldiers playing at dominoes; now a noisy party round
a table in the open air covered with bottles; now an arbor where half a
dozen young men and three or four girls were assembled round a bowl of
blazing punch. The girls were protesting they dare not drink it, but
were drinking it, nevertheless, with exceeding gusto.
"Grisettes and _commis voyageurs!_" said Dalrymple, contemptuously. "Let
us go and look at the dancers."
We went on, and stood in the shelter of some trees near the orchestra.
The players consisted of three violins, a clarionette and a big drum.
The big drum was an enthusiastic performer. He belabored his instrument
as heartily as if it had been his worst enemy, but with so much
independence of character that he never kept the same time as his
fellow-players for two minutes together. They were playing a polka for
the benefit of some twelve or fifteen couples, who were dancing with all
their might in the space before the orchestra. On they came, round and
round and never weary, two at a time--a mechanic and a grisette, a
rustic and a Normandy girl, a tall soldier and a short widow, a fat
tradesman and his wife, a couple of milliners assistants who preferred
dancing together to not dancing at all, and so forth.
"How I wish somebody would ask me, _ma mère_!" said a coquettish
brunette, close by, with a sidelong glance at ourselves."
"You shall dance with your brother Paul, my dear, as soon as he comes,"
replied her mother, a stout _bourgeoise_ with a green fan.
"But it is such dull work to dance with one's brother!" pouted the
brunette. "If it were one's cousin, even, it would be different."
Mr. Frank Sullivan flung away his cigar, and began buttoning up his
gloves.
"I'll take that damsel out immediately," said he. "A girl who objects to
dance with her brother deserves encouragement."
So away he went with his hat inclining jauntily on one side, and, having
obtained the mother's permission, whirled away with the pretty brunette
into the very thickest of the throng.
"There they are!" said Dalrymple, suddenly. "There's the wedding party.
_Per Bacco_! but our little bride is charming!"
"And the bridegroom is a handsome specimen of rusticity."
"Yes--a genuine pastoral pair, like a Dresden china shepherd and
shepherdess. See, the girl is looking up in his face--he shakes his
head. She is urging him to dance, and he refuses! Never mind, _ma
belle_--you shall have your valse, and Corydon may be as cross as
he pleases!"
"Don't flatter yourself that she will displease Corydon to dance with
your lordship!" I said, laughingly.
"Pshaw! she would displease fifty Corydons if I chose to make her do
so," said Dalrymple, with a smile of conscious power.
"True; but not on her wedding-day."
"Wedding-day or not, I beg to observe that in less than half an hour you
will see me whirling along with my arm round little Phillis's dainty
waist. Now come and see how I do it."
He made his way through the crowd, and I, half curious, half abashed,
went with him. The party was five in number, consisting of the bride and
bridegroom, a rosy, middle-aged peasant woman, evidently the mother of
the bride, and an elderly couple who looked like humble townsfolk, and
were probably related to one or other of the newly-married pair.
Dalrymple opened the attack by stumbling against the mother, and then
overwhelming her with elaborate apologies.
"In these crowded places, Madame," said he, in his fluent French, "one
is scarcely responsible for an impoliteness. I beg ten thousand pardons,
however. I hope I have not hurt you?"
"_Ma foi!_ no, M'sieur. It would take more than that to hurt me!"
"Nor injured your dress, I trust, Madame?"
"_Ah, par exemple_! do I wear muslins or gauzes that they should not
bear touching? No, no, no, M'sieur--thanking you all the same."
"You are very amiable, Madame, to say so."
"You are very polite, M'sieur, to think so much of a trifle."
"Nothing is a trifle, Madame, where a lady is concerned. At least, so we
Englishmen consider."
"Bah! M'sieur is not English?"
"Indeed, Madame, I am."
"_Mais, mon Dieu! c'est incroyable_. Suzette--brother Jacques--André, do
you hear this? M'sieur, here, swears that he is English, and yet he
speaks French like one of ourselves! Ah, what a fine thing learning is!"
"I may say with truth, Madame, that I never appreciate the advantages of
education so highly, as when they enable me to converse with ladies who
are not my own countrywomen," said Dalrymple, carrying on the
conversation with as much studied politeness as if his interlocutor had
been a duchess. "But--excuse the observation--you are here, I imagine,
upon a happy occasion?"
The mother laughed, and rubbed her hands.
"_Dâme_! one may see that," replied she, "with one's eyes shut! Yes,
M'sieur,--yes--their wedding-day, the dear children--their wedding-day!
They've been betrothed these two years."
"The bride is very like you, Madame," said Dalrymple, gravely. "Your
younger sister, I presume?"
"_Ah, quel farceur_! He takes my daughter for my sister! Suzette, do
you hear this? M'sieur is killing me with laughter!"
And the good lady chuckled, and gasped, and wiped her eyes, and dealt
Dalrymple a playful push between the shoulders, which would have upset
the balance of any less heavy dragoon.
"Your daughter, Madame!" said he. "Allow me to congratulate you. May I
also be permitted to congratulate the bride?" And with this he took off
his hat to Suzette and shook hands with André, who looked not
overpleased, and proceeded to introduce me as his friend Monsieur Basil
Arbuthnot, "a young English gentleman, _très distingué_"
The old lady then said her name was Madame Roquet, and that she rented a
small farm about a mile and a half from Rouen; that Suzette was her only
child; and that she had lost her "blessed man" about eight years ago.
She next introduced the elderly couple as her brother Jacques Robineau
and his wife, and informed us that Jacques was a tailor, and had a shop
opposite the church of St. Maclou, "_là bas_."
To judge of Monsieur Robineau's skill by his outward appearance, I
should have said that he was professionally unsuccessful, and supplied
his own wardrobe from the misfits returned by his customers. He wore a
waistcoat which was considerably too long for him, trousers which were
considerably too short, and a green cloth coat with a high velvet collar
which came up nearly to the tops of his ears. In respect of personal
characteristics, Monsieur Robineau and his wife were the most admirable
contrast imaginable. Monsieur Robineau was short; Madame Robineau was
tall. Monsieur Robineau was as plump and rosy as a robin; Madame
Robineau was pale and bony to behold. Monsieur Robineau looked the soul
of good nature, ready to chirrup over his _grog-au-vin,_ to smoke a pipe
with his neighbor, to cut a harmless joke or enjoy a harmless frolic, as
cheerfully as any little tailor that ever lived; Madame Robineau, on the
contrary, preserved a dreadful dignity, and looked as if she could laugh
at nothing on this side of the grave. Not to consider the question too
curiously, I should have said, at first sight, that Monsieur Robineau
stood in no little awe of his wife, and that Madame Robineau was the
very head and front of their domestic establishment.
It was wonderful and delightful to see how Captain Dalrymple placed
himself on the best of terms with all these good people--how he patted
Robineau on the back and complimented Madame, banished the cloud from
André's brow, and summoned a smile to the pretty cheek of Suzette. One
would have thought he had known them for years already, so thoroughly
was he at home with every member of the wedding party.
Presently, he asked Suzette to dance. She blushed scarlet, and cast a
pretty appealing look at her husband and her mother. I could almost
guess what she whispered to the former by the motion of her lips.
"Monsieur André will, I am sure, spare Madame for one gallop," said
Dalrymple, with that kind of courtesy which accepts no denial. It was
quite another tone, quite another manner. It was no longer the
persuasive suavity of one who is desirous only to please, but the
politeness of a gentleman to au inferior.
The cloud came back upon André's brow, and he hesitated; but Madame
Roquet interposed.
"Spare her!" she exclaimed. "_Dâme_! I should think so! She has never
left his arm all day. Here, my child, give me your shawl while you
dance, and bake care not to get too warm, for the evening air is
dangerous."
And so Suzette took off her shawl, and André was silenced, and
Dalrymple, in less than the half hour, was actually whirling away with
his arm round little Phillis's dainty waist.
I am afraid that I proved a very indifferent _locum tenens_ for my
brilliant friend, and that the good people thought me exceedingly
stupid. I tried to talk to them, but the language tripped me up at every
turn, and the right words never would come when they were wanted.
Besides, I felt uneasy without knowing exactly why. I could not keep
from watching Dalrymple and Suzette. I could not help noticing how
closely he held her; how he never ceased talking to her; and how the
smiles and blushes chased each other over her pretty face. That I should
have wit enough to observe these things proved that my education was
progressing rapidly; but then, to be sure, I was studying under an
accomplished teacher.
They danced for a long time. So long, that André became uneasy, and my
available French was quite exhausted. I was heartily glad when Dalrymple
brought back the little bride at last, flushed and panting, and (himself
as cool as a diplomatist) assisted her with her shawl and resigned her
to the protection of her husband.
"Why hast thou danced so long with that big Englishman?" murmured André,
discontentedly. "When _I_ asked thee, thou wast too tired, and now...."
"And now I am so happy to be near thee again," whispered Suzette.
André softened directly.
"But to dance for twenty minutes...." began he.
"Ah, but he danced so well, and I am so fond of waltzing, André!"
The cloud gathered again, and an impatient reply was coming, when
Dalrymple opportunely invited the whole party to a bowl of punch in an
adjoining arbor, and himself led the way with Madame Roquet. The arbor
was vacant, a waiter was placing the chairs, and the punch was blazing
in the bowl. It had evidently been ordered during one of the pauses in
the dance, that it might be ready to the moment--a little attention
which called forth exclamations of pleasure from both Madame Roquet and
Monsieur Robineau, and touched with something like a gleam of
satisfaction even the grim visage of Monsieur Robineau's wife.
Dalrymple took the head of the table, and stirred the punch into leaping
tongues of blue flame till it looked like a miniature Vesuvius.
"What diabolical-looking stuff!" I exclaimed. "You might, to all
appearance, be Lucifer's own cupbearer."
"A proof that it ought to be devilish good," replied Dalrymple, ladling
it out into the glasses. "Allow me, ladies and gentlemen, to propose the
health, happiness, and prosperity of the bride and bridegroom. May they
never die, and may they be remembered for ever after!"
We all laughed as if this was the best joke we had heard in our lives,
and Dalrymple filled the glasses up again.
"What, in the name of all that's mischievous, can have become of
Sullivan?" said he to me. "I have not caught so much as a glimpse of him
for the last hour."
"When I last saw him, he was dancing."
"Yes, with a pretty little dark-eyed girl in a blue dress. By Jove! that
fellow will be getting into trouble if left to himself!"
"But the girl has her mother with her!"
"All the stronger probability of a scrimmage," replied Dalrymple,
sipping his punch with a covert glance of salutation at Suzette.
"Shall I see if they are among the dancers?"
"Do--but make haste; for the punch is disappearing fast."
I left them, and went back to the platform where the indefatigable
public was now engaged in the performance of quadrilles. Never, surely,
were people so industrious in the pursuit of pleasure! They poussetted,
bowed, curtsied, joined hands, and threaded the mysteries of every
figure, as if their very lives depended on their agility.
"Look at Jean Thomas," said a young girl to her still younger companion.
"He dances like an angel!"
The one thus called upon to admire, looked at Jean Thomas, and sighed.
"He never asks me, by any chance," said she, sadly, "although his mother
and mine are good neighbors. I suppose I don't dance well enough--or
dress well enough," she added, glancing at her friend's gay shawl and
coquettish cap.
"He has danced with me twice this evening," said the first speaker
triumphantly; "and he danced with me twice last Sunday at the Jardin
d'Armide. Elise says...."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, and I heard no more. It was a passing
glimpse behind the curtain--a peep at one of the many dramas of real
life that are being played for ever around us. Here were all the
elements of romance--love, admiration, vanity, envy. Here was a hero in
humble life--a lady-killer in his own little sphere. He dances with one,
neglects another, and multiplies his conquests with all the
heartlessness of a gentleman.
I wandered round the platform once or twice, scrutinizing the dancers,
but without success. There was no sign of Sullivan, or of his partner,
or of his partner's mother, the _bourgeoise_ with the green fan. I then
went to the grotto of the fortune-teller, but it was full of noisy
rustics; and thence to the lottery hall, where there were plenty of
players, but not those of whom I was in search.
"Wheel of fortune, Messieurs et Mesdames," said the young lady behind
the counter. "Only fifty centimes each. All prizes, and no blanks--try
your fortune, _monsieur le capitaine!_ Put it once, _monsieur le
capitaine_; once for yourself, and once for madame. Only fifty centimes
each, and the certainty of winning!"
_Monsieur le capitaine_ was a great, rawboned corporal, with a pretty
little maid-servant on his arm. The flattery was not very delicate; but
it succeeded. He threw down a franc. The wheel flew round, the papers
were drawn, and the corporal won a needle-case, and the maid-servant a
cigar-holder. In the midst of the laugh to which this distribution gave
rise, I walked away in the direction of the refreshment stalls. Here
were parties supping substantially, dancers drinking orgeat and
lemonade, and little knots of tradesmen and mechanics sipping beer
ridiculously out of wine-glasses to an accompaniment of cakes and
sweet-biscuits. Still I could see no trace of Mr. Frank Sullivan.
At length I gave up the search in despair, and on my way back
encountered Master Philippe leaning against a tree, and looking
exceedingly helpless and unwell.
"You ate too many eggs, Philippe," said his mother. "I told you so at
the time."
"It--it wasn't the eggs," faltered the wretched Philippe. "It was the
Russian swing."
"And serve you rightly, too," said his father angrily. "I wish with all
my heart that you had had your favorite oysters as well!"
When I came back to the arbor, I found the little party immensely happy,
and a fresh bowl of punch just placed upon the table. André was sitting
next to Suzette, as proud as a king. Madame Roquet, volubly convivial,
was talking to every one. Madame Robineau was silently disposing of all
the biscuits and punch that came in her way. Monsieur Robineau, with his
hat a little pushed back and his thumb in the arm-hole of his waistcoat,
was telling a long story to which nobody listened; while Dalrymple,
sitting on the other side of the bride, was gallantly doing the duties
of entertainer.
He looked up--I shook my head, slipped back into my place, and listened
to the tangled threads of conversation going on around me.
"And so," said Monsieur Robineau, proceeding with his story, and staring
down into the bottom of his empty glass, "and so I said to myself,
'Robineau, _mon ami_, take care. One honest man is better than two
rogues; and if thou keepest thine eyes open, the devil himself stands
small chance of cheating thee!' So I buttoned up my coat--this very coat
I have on now, only that I have re-lined and re-cuffed it since then,
and changed the buttons for brass ones; and brass buttons for one's
holiday coat, you know, look so much more _comme il faut_--and said to
the landlord...."
"Another glass of punch, Monsieur Robineau," interrupted Dalrymple.
"Thank you, M'sieur, you are very good; well, as I was saying...."
"Ah, bah, brother Jacques!" exclaimed Madame Roquet, impatiently,
"don't give us that old story of the miller and the gray colt, this
evening! We've all heard it a hundred times already. Sing us a song
instead, _mon ami_!"
"I shall be happy to sing, sister Marie," replied Monsieur Robineau,
with somewhat husky dignity, "when I have finished my story. You may
have heard the story before. So may André--so may Suzette--so may my
wife. I admit it. But these gentlemen--these gentlemen who have never
heard it, and who have done me the honor...."
"Not to listen to a word of it," said Madame Robineau, sharply. "There,
you are answered, husband. Drink your punch, and hold your tongue."
Monsieur Robineau waved his hand majestically, and assumed a
Parliamentary air.
"Madame Robineau," he said, getting more and more husky, "be so obliging
as to wait till I ask for your advice. With regard to drinking my punch,
I have drunk it--" and here he again stared down into the bottom of his
glass, which was again empty--"and with regard to holding my tongue,
that is my business, and--and...."
"Monsieur Robineau," said Dalrymple, "allow me to offer you some more
punch."
"Not another drop, Jacques," said Madame, sternly. "You have had too
much already."
Poor Monsieur Robineau, who had put out his glass to be refilled, paused
and looked helplessly at his wife.
"_Mon cher ange_,...." he began; but she shook her head inflexibly, and
Monsieur Robineau submitted with the air of a man who knows that from
the sentence of the supreme court there is no appeal.
"_Dâme_!" whispered Madame Roquet, with a confidential attack upon my
ribs that gave me a pain in my side for half an hour after, "my brother
has the heart of a rabbit. He gives way to her in everything--so much
the worse for him. My blessed man, who was a saint of a husband, would
have broken the bowl over my ears if I had dared to interfere between
his glass and his mouth!"
Whereupon Madame Roquet filled her own glass and mine, and Madame
Robineau, less indulgent to her husband than herself, followed
our example.
Just at this moment, a confused hubbub of voices, and other sounds
expressive of a _fracas_, broke out in the direction of the trees behind
the orchestra. The dancers deserted their polka, the musicians stopped
fiddling, the noisy supper-party in the next arbor abandoned their cold
chicken and salad, and everybody ran to the scene of action. Dalrymple
was on his feet in a moment; but Suzette held André back with both hands
and implored him to stay.
"Some _mauvais sujets_, no doubt, who refuse to pay the score,"
suggested Madame Roquet.
"Or Sullivan, who has got into one of his infernal scrapes," muttered
Dalrymple, with a determined wrench at his moustache. "Come on, anyhow,
and let us see what is the matter!"
So we snatched up our hats and ran out, just as Monsieur Robineau seized
the opportunity to drink another tumbler of punch when his wife was
not looking.
Following in the direction of the rest, we took one of the paths behind
the orchestra, and came upon a noisy crowd gathered round a wooden
summer-house.
"It's a fight," said one.
"It's a pickpocket," said another.
"Bah! it's only a young fellow who has been making love to a girl,"
exclaimed a third.
We forced our way through, and there we saw Mr. Frank Sullivan with his
hat off, his arms crossed, and his back against the wall, presenting a
dauntless front to the gesticulations and threats of an exceedingly
enraged young man with red hair, who was abusing him furiously. The
amount of temper displayed by this young man was something unparalleled.
He was angry in every one of his limbs. He stamped, he shook his fist,
he shook his head. The very tips of his ears looked scarlet with rage.
Every now and then he faced round to the spectators, and appealed to
them--or to a stout woman with a green fan, who was almost as red and
angry as himself, and who always rushed forward when addressed, and
shook the green fan in Sullivan's face.
"You are an aristocrat!" stormed the young man. "A pampered, insolent
aristocrat! A dog of an Englishman! A _scélérat_! Don't suppose you are
to trample upon us for nothing! We are Frenchmen, you beggarly
islander--Frenchmen, do you hear?"
A growl of sympathetic indignation ran through the crowd, and "_à bas
les aristocrats_--_à bas les Anglais_!" broke out here and there.
"In the devil's name, Sullivan," said Dalrymple, shouldering his way up
to the object of these agreeable menaces, "what have you been after, to
bring this storm about your ears?"
"Pshaw! nothing at all," replied he with a mocking laugh, and a
contemptuous gesture. "I danced with a pretty girl, and treated her to
champagne afterwards. Her mother and brother hunted us out, and spoiled
our flirtation. That's the whole story."
Something in the laugh and gesture--something, too, perhaps in the
language which they could not understand, appeared to give the last
aggravation to both of Sullivan's assailants. I saw the young man raise
his arm to strike--I saw Dalrymple fell him with a blow that would have
stunned an ox--I saw the crowd close in, heard the storm break out on
every side, and, above it all, the deep, strong tones of Dalrymple's
voice, saying:--
"To the boat, boys! Follow me."
In another moment he had flung himself into the crowd, dealt one or two
sounding blows to left and right, cleared a passage for himself and us,
and sped away down one of the narrow walks leading to the river.
Presently, having taken one or two turnings, none of which seemed to
lead to the spot we sought, we came upon an open space full of piled-up
benches, pyramids of empty bottles, boxes, baskets, and all kinds of
lumber. Here we paused to listen and take breath.
We had left the crowd behind us, but they were still within hearing.
"By Jove!" said Dalrymple, "I don't know which way to go. I believe we
are on the wrong side of the island."
"And I believe they are after us," added Sullivan, peering into the
baskets. "By all that's fortunate, here are the fireworks! Has anybody
got a match? We'll take these with us, and go off in a blaze
of triumph!"
The suggestion was no sooner made than adopted. We filled our hats and
pockets with crackers and Catherine-wheels, piled the rest into one
great heap, threw a dozen or so of lighted fusees into the midst of
them, and just as the voices of our pursuers were growing momentarily
louder and nearer, darted away again down a fresh turning, and saw the
river gleaming at the end of it.
"Hurrah! here's a boat," shouted Sullivan, leaping into it, and we after
him.
It was not our boat, but we did not care for that. Ours was at the other
side of the island, far enough away, down by the landing-place. Just as
Dalrymple seized the oars, there burst forth a tremendous explosion. A
column of rockets shot up into the air, and instantly the place was as
light as day. Then a yell of discovery broke forth, and we were seen
almost as soon as we were fairly out of reach. We had secured the only
boat on that side of the island, and three or four of Dalrymple's
powerful strokes had already carried us well into the middle of the
stream. To let off our own store of fireworks--to pitch tokens of our
regard to our friends on the island in the shape of blazing crackers,
which fell sputtering and fizzing into the water half-way between the
boat and the shore--to stand up in the stern and bow politely--finally,
to row away singing "God save the Queen" with all our might, were feats
upon which we prided ourselves very considerably at the time, and the
recollection of which afforded us infinite amusement all the way home.
That evening we all supped together at the Chaval Blane, and of what we
did or said after supper I have but a confused remembrance. I believe
that I tried to smoke a cigar; and it is my impression that I made a
speech, in which I swore eternal friendship to both of my new friends;
but the only circumstance about which I cannot be mistaken is that I
awoke next morning with the worst specimen of headache that had yet come
within the limits of my experience.
* * * * *