UNCLE BILLY.
“He’s had misfortunes, great and sma’,
But aye a soul above them far;
He’ll be a credit to us a’,
We’ll a’ be proud o’ Willie!”—_Burns._
Mark Sutherland went on board the Victress, and almost immediately
betook himself to the solitude of the forsaken hurricane deck, there to
walk, and while the water breeze fanned his fevered brow, to reflect
upon the sinfulness, the danger, of an ungoverned lust of gold—upon the
crimes to which it often leads, and upon the felony made known to him
that evening. The orgies of a noisy party of card-players in the saloon
below occasionally broke upon his silence; and the sweet laughter of
young girls, walking on the guards of the ladies’ cabin, was borne
upwards on the wind. But the hurricane deck was lonely, and there he
paced up and down, wrapped in mournful thought, until the arrival of a
noisy set, who, weary of the heated saloon, sought the free, fresh air
above, and disturbed his solitude. Then he went below, and sought his
berth.
Early in the morning he arose from a sleepless couch, to find all the
officers and hands on the boat engaged in receiving last freight and
passengers, while the engine was getting up her steam to be off. Mark
Sutherland finished his morning toilet, and went out upon the guards,
just as the boat was beginning to move from the wharf. The usual crowd
of idlers, porters, and loafers, stood upon the shore, watching her
departure. And Mark Sutherland fixed himself in a favourable position
for watching the receding wharf of what might be called his native
village, when the figure of a fat man, in white linen jacket and
trousers, with his light hair blowing free behind his rosy face, waving
a straw hat, came running desperately towards the wharf. The boat
arrested her motions, the plank was thrown out, and Uncle Billy followed
by a man with his trunk and portmanteau, stepped on board. Panting and
blowing, and wiping his face, he hastened up to Mr. Sutherland,
exclaiming, “My dear boy! I liked to have missed you! Near as possible!
Wouldn’t have lost you for the world, my dearest lad! Stick to you as
long as I live, Mark, for your dear mother, my sister’s sake! Whew!
_Whew-ew!_ what a chase I’ve had! Only heard this morning, from Clement,
that you were going by the Victress! Running ain’t good for me.
Dangerous!” And so, talking and shaking his nephew’s hand, and wiping
his own rosy face, and blowing and panting, Mr. Bolling at last sat
down, and began to fan himself with his broad-brimmed straw hat.
Mark Sutherland received his relative’s demonstrations of attachment as
best he might; he welcomed him, and went to the captain’s office to see
if he could secure a state-room for his enforced travelling companion;
and by the time he had successfully accomplished his errand, the
passengers were summoned to the breakfast table, and the boat had
cleared the wharf and was well under way up the Mississippi.
It was a slow voyage up the river, and on the afternoon of the twelfth
day the steamer arrived at the wharf of Shelton. Mark Sutherland wished,
if possible, to get rid of his troublesome travelling companion for a
few hours, while he could go home quietly, and have an uninterrupted
meeting and talk with his dear Rosalie.
So, leaving all their baggage in the care of the clerk of the boat, Mark
drew Uncle Billy’s fat arm within his own, and conducted him to Col.
Garner’s hotel, to a private parlour, containing a comfortable lounge
and easy chair. Here he ordered a luncheon of cold ham, fowl, sardines,
pickled oysters, and next all the late newspapers the house could
muster; and having seen them all arranged upon the table, to which the
easy chair was drawn up, and while Uncle Billy stretched his lazy length
upon the lounge, Mr. Sutherland turned to Mr. Bolling, and said—
“And now, Uncle Billy, can you excuse me, and make yourself comfortable,
while I run down to Rosalie and prepare her for your arrival?”
“Eh? Yes; all right! Certainly! The child always was fond of me, and it
might give her too much of a shock to meet me suddenly, after so long a
separation! Very considerate of you, Mark, certainly—very!”
“Is there anything else I can order for you before I go?”
“Eh? No, nothing; I am much obliged to you, nephew.”
“Well, if you should think of anything after I am gone, you can ring for
it, you know.”
“Yes—yes.”
“Good afternoon for the present, I will come and fetch you at tea-time.”
“Yes; very well, I shall be ready. Hark ye, Mark! break my arrival to
your wife cautiously, do you hear? Joy kills sometimes.”
“I shall be careful not to endanger Rosalie’s life,” said Mark, smiling
as he left the room.
No sooner had the door closed behind his nephew, than, with a sigh of
profound satisfaction, Uncle Billy arose and sat down in the easy chair,
and drew the table towards him. In addition to everything else on the
table, there was a tall, black bottle, which Mr. Bolling took up,
uncorked, and put to his nose with a look of delightful anticipation. He
sat it down suddenly, with an expression of intense disgust—
“Tomato catsup, by all that is detestable, and I thought it was port
wine! Here, waiter!—(where the devil is the bell-rope?) Waiter, I say!”
A man in a linen apron put his head in at the door—
“Did you call, sir?”
“Yes; bring me a bottle of your best port wine.”
The man withdrew, and after a while returned with a black bottle of the
villanous drugged compound which is sold and bought as the best port
wine, and which _bon vivants_ like Mr. Bolling imbibe with perfect
faith.
We will leave Uncle Billy to the enjoyment of his beloved creature
comforts, and follow Mark Sutherland to his “sweet home.”