"Die Welt kann dir nichts darbieten, was sie von dir nicht
empfinge."--SCHILLER, _Der Menschenfeind_.
After Alister had done the captain's business, he made his way to the
post-office and got our letters, thinking, as he cannily observed, that
in widespread misfortunes the big are implicated with the little, that
fire spares public buildings no more than private residences, and that
if the post-office was overtaken by the flames, we might lose not only
words of affection, but perhaps enclosures of value. In short, he had
brought our letters, and dearly welcome they were.
I had three; one from my father, one from my mother (with a postscript
by Jem), and a long one from Charlie. I read my father's first; the
others were sure to be tender and chatty, and I could enjoy them at
leisure.
My father's letter was, for him, a wonderful effort of composition, and
it was far kinder than I had expected or deserved. He blamed me; but he
took some blame to himself for our misunderstandings, which he hoped
would never recur. He said (very justly) that if he had spoken harshly,
he had acted as he believed to be best for me. Uncle Henry's office was
an opening many parents envied for their sons, and he had not really
believed that my fancy for the sea was more than a boyish whim. He was
the last man in the world to thwart a real vocation, and no doubt (as my
Uncle Henry and he had agreed, and, thank GOD, they had had a very
pleasant brotherly bit of chat over old times, and a glass of my
grandfather's 1815 port) every Briton had a natural tendency to rule the
waves, and it was stronger in some lads than others, as _Robinson
Crusoe_ alone would prove, a book which my uncle remembered had nearly
cost him his life on a badly-made raft on the mill-dam, when he was a
lad, and which would be read by boys with the real stuff in them, when
half these modern books the Woods littered the farm parlour with were
lighting the fire. My Uncle Henry had come forward in a very gratifying
way. He had mentioned that Benson, an exceedingly intelligent clerk of
his, had spoken of me in the highest terms, and seemed to think that
there was hardly anything in the way of distinction in an adventurous
career which might not be open to me. I was not to be made vain by
this, as Benson appeared to be an affectionate fellow, with a respect
for the family of his employer very rare in these days. It had been a
great comfort to my father, this visit from Uncle Henry. They were both
greyheaded now, and Jem and I were all they had to come after them.
Blood was thicker than water. As to my poor mother--
For a few minutes the letter danced up and down as if writ in water;
then I dried my eyes, and found that she bore up pretty well in hopes of
my return, and that Uncle Henry was communicating by this mail with a
man of business in Halifax, N.S., who was instructed to take a passage
home for me in a good vessel, and to defray any expenses of a reasonable
nature in connection with my affairs. When I was safe home, my father
added, he would take the best advice as to sending me to sea in a proper
and suitable way. Dr. Brown had some relatives who were large
ship-owners, and he seemed to be much interested in my career, out of
regard to the family. I was to let nothing hinder me from coming home at
once, as I valued the love and blessing of my affectionate father.
My mother's letter was infinitely tender, and it was curiously strong.
Not a reproach or a lamentation, but some good counsel, shrewd as well
as noble, and plenty of home news. Only at the end did she even speak
of herself: "You see, my son, I have never had men belonging to me who
earned their livelihood in foreign countries and by dangerous ways, but
you may trust your old mother to learn to do and bear what other mothers
go through with. She will learn to love the sea because you are a
sailor, but, Jack, you must always give her a woman's bitter-sweet
privilege of saying good-bye, and of packing up your things. I am
getting the time over till you come back with socks. I am afraid they
will blister your feet. Martha does not like them because they are like
what the boys wear in the coal-pits, but Dr. Brown declares they are
just right. He chose the worsted when we went to see Miss Bennet's
mother at the Berlin shop, and left it himself as he drove home, with a
bottle of red lavender for my palpitations. I shall never forget his
kindness. He sat here for an hour and a half on Sunday, and spoke of you
to your father as if you had been his own son; and he said himself as he
walked up and down Miss Bennet's, right through the shop and into the
back parlour and out again, talking about you, till the place was quite
full, and Mrs. Simpson could not remember what she had dropped in for,
which, as Dr. Brown said, was not to be wondered at, considering Miss
Bennet completely forgot to take him up-stairs to see her mother, and
it never crossed his own mind till he stopped at our door and found the
old lady's sleeping draught with my red drops. He says he called at your
Uncle Henry's office, and congratulated him on having a nephew of
spirit, and it was market day, so the office was full. Jem says I am to
leave room for him, as he can't think of enough to say to fill a letter
of his own, so I will only say GOD bless you! my darling boy, and bring
you safe home to your poor mother.
"P.S.--If you love me come as quick as you can. You shall go off again."
This was Charlie's letter:
"MY DEAR JACK--I was so glad to get your letter. I knew you had gone off
at last. It did not surprise me, for I was sure you would go some day. I
believe I have a very mean spirit, for I felt rather hurt at first that
you did not tell me; but Mr. Wood gave me a good scolding, and said I
was not fit to have a friend if I could not trust him out of sight or
out of hearing. And that's quite true. Besides, I think I knew more
about it after Jem had been down. He has been so jolly to me since you
left. It must be a splendid life on board ship, and I am glad you have
been in the rigging, and didn't fall off. I wish you had seen an iceberg
or a water-spout, but perhaps you will. For two days and two nights I
was very miserable, and then Jenny rode down on Shag, and brought me a
book that did me a great deal of good, and I'll tell you why. It's about
a man whose friend is going to travel round the world, like you, and he
has to be left behind, like me. Well, what does he do but make up his
mind to travel round his own garden, and write a history of his
adventures, just as if he had been abroad. And that's the book; and you
can't tell what a jolly one it is. I mean to do the same, only as you
are at sea I shall call it a Log, 'Log of a Voyage round the Garden, the
Croft, and the Orchard, by the Friend he left behind him.' That's good,
isn't it? I've been rather bothered about whether I should have separate
books for each, or mix them all up; and then, besides, I've got to
consider how to manage about the different times of year, for you know,
of course, the plants and the beasts and everything are different at
different times; but if I have a log of each place for each month, it
would not be done by the time you come home. I think perhaps I shall
have note-books for the four seasons, and that'll take a good while. Two
of the best chapters in Jenny's book are called 'on my face' and 'on my
back,' and they are about what he sees lying on his face and then on his
back. I'm going to do the same, and put down everything, just as it
comes; beetles, chrysalises, flowers, funguses, mosses, earth-nuts, and
land-snails, all just as I find them. If one began with different
note-books for the creatures, and the plants, and the shells, it would
be quite endless. I think I shall start at that place in the hedge in
the croft where we found the bumble-bee's nest. I should like to find a
mole-cricket, but I don't know if they live about here. Perhaps our soil
isn't light enough for them to make their tunnels in, but one ought to
find no end of curious burrowing creatures when one is on one's face,
besides grubs of moths to hatch afterwards. When I am on my back, I
fancy what I shall see most of are spiders. You can't conceive what a
lot of spiders there are in the world, all sorts and sizes. They are
divided into hunters, wanderers, weavers, and swimmers. I expect you'll
see some queer ones, if you go to hot places. And oh, Jack! talking of
burrows, of course you're in Nova Scotia, and that's where Cape Sable
is, where the stormy petrels make their houses in the sand. They are
what sailors call Mother Carey's chickens, you know. I'm sure we've read
about them in adventure books; they always come with storms, and sailors
think they build their nests on the wave. But they don't, Jack, so _you_
mustn't think so. They make burrows in the sand, and all day they are
out on the wing, picking up what the storms toss to the top, and what
the cooks throw overboard, and then they go home, miles and miles and
miles at night, and feed their young. They don't take the trouble to
make houses if they can find any old rabbit-burrows near enough to the
sea, Mr. Wood says; like the puffins. Do you know, one evening when old
Isaac came to see me, I made him laugh about the puffins till the tears
ran down his face. It was with showing him that old stuffed puffin, and
telling him how the puffin gets into a rabbit-burrow, and when the
rabbit comes back they set to and fight, and the puffin generally gets
the best of it with having such a great hooked nose. Isaac _was_ so
funny. He said he'd seen the rabbits out on the spree many and many a
moonlight night when sober folks were in bed; and then he smacked his
knees and said, 'But I'd give owt to see one on 'em just nip home and
find a Pooffin upon t' hearthstun.' And, my dear Jack, who else has been
to see me, do you think? Fancy! Lorraine! You remember our hearing the
poor Colonel was dead, and had left Lorraine all that he had? Well, do
you know it is a great deal more than we thought. I mean he's got a
regular estate and a big house with old pictures inside, and old trees
outside. Quite a swell. Poor Lorraine! I don't mean poor because of the
estate, because he's rich, of course; but do you know, I think he's
sadder than ever. He's very much cut up that the Colonel died, of
course, but he seems desperate about everything, and talks more about
suicide than he did at Snuffy's, Jem says. One thing he is quite changed
about; he's so clean! and quite a dandy. He looked awfully handsome, and
Jenny said he was beautifully dressed. She says his pocket-handkerchief
and his tie matched, and that his clothes fitted him so splendidly,
though they were rough. Well, he's got a straight back, Jack; like you!
It's hard he can't be happy. But I'm so sorry for him. He went on
dreadfully because you'd gone, and said that was just his luck, and then
he wished to Heaven he were with you, and said you were a lucky dog, to
be leading a devil-me-care life in the open air, with nothing to bother
you. He didn't tell me what he'd got to bother him. Lots of things, he
said. And he said life was a wretched affair, all round, and the only
comfort was none of his family lived to be old.
"_Wednesday._ I had to stop on Monday, my head and back were so bad, and
all yesterday too. Dr. Brown came to see me, and talked a lot about you.
I am better to-day. I think I had rather wound up my head with
note-books. You know I do like having lists of everything, and my
sisters have been very good. They got a lot of ruled paper very cheap,
and have made me no end of books with brown-paper backs, and Dr. Brown
has given me a packet of bottle labels. You've only got to lick them and
stick them on, and write the titles. He gave me some before, you
remember, to cut into strips to fasten the specimens in my fern
collection. I've got a dozen and a half books, but there will not be one
too many. You see eight will go at once, with the four seasons 'on my
face,' and the four 'on my back.' Then I want two or three for the
garden. For one thing I must have a list of our perennials. I am
collecting a good lot. Old Isaac has brought me no end of new ones out
of different gardens in the village, and now the villagers know I want
them, they bring me plants from all kinds of out-of-the-way places, when
they go to see their friends. I've taken to it a good deal the last few
weeks, and I'll tell you why. It was the week before you ran away that
Bob Furniss came up one evening, and for a long time I could not think
what he was after. He brought me a Jack-in-the-green polyanthus and a
crimson Bergamot from his mother, and he set them and watered them, and
said he 'reckoned flowers was a nice pastime for any one that was
afflicted,' but I felt sure he'd got something more to say, and at last
it came out. He is vexed that he used to play truant so at school and
never learned anything. He can't read a newspaper, and he can't write or
reckon, and he said he was 'shamed' to go to school and learn among
little boys, and he knew I was a good scholar, and he'd come to ask if I
would teach him now and then in the evening, and he would work in the
garden for me in return. I told him I'd teach him without that, but he
said he 'liked things square and fair,' and Mr. Wood said I was to let
him; so he comes up after work-hours one night and I teach him, and then
he comes up the next evening and works in the garden. It's very jolly,
because now I can plot things out my own way, and do them without
hurting my back. I'm going to clear all the old rose-bushes out of the
shady border. The trees are so big now, it's so shady that the roses
never come to anything but blight, and I mean to make a fernery there
instead. Bob says there's a little wood belonging to Lord Beckwith that
the trustees have cut down completely, and it's going to be ploughed up.
They're stubbing up the stumps now, and we can have as many as we like
for the carting away. Nothing makes such good ferneries, you get so many
crannies and corners. Bob says it's not far from the canal, and he
thinks he could borrow a hand-cart from the man that keeps the
post-office up there, and get a load or two down to the canal-bank, and
then fetch them down to our place in the _Adela_. Oh, how I wish you
were here to help! Jem's going to. He's awfully kind to me now you're
gone. Talking of the _Adela_ if you are very long away (and some
voyages last two or three years), I think I shall finish the garden, and
the croft and the orchard, or at any rate one journey round them; and I
think for another of your voyages I will do the log of the _Adela_ on
the canal, for with water-plants, and shells, and larvæ, and beasts that
live in the banks, it would be splendid. Do you know, one might give a
whole book up easily to a list of nothing but willows and osiers, and
the different kinds of birds and insects that live in them. But the
number of kinds there are of some things is quite wonderful. What do you
think of more than a hundred species of iris, and I've only got five in
the garden, but one of them is white. I don't suppose you'll have much
time to collect things, but I keep hoping that some day, if I live,
you'll command a ship of your own, and take me with you, as they do take
scientific men some voyages. I hope I shall live. I don't think I get
any worse. Cripples do sometimes live a long time. I asked Dr. Brown if
he believed any cripple had ever lived to be a hundred, and he said he
didn't know of one, nor yet ninety, nor eighty, for I asked him. But
he's sure cripples have lived to be seventy. If I do, I've got
fifty-four years yet. That sounds pretty well, but it soon goes, if one
has a lot to do. Mr. Wood doesn't think it likely you could command a
vessel for twenty years at least. That only leaves thirty-four for
scientific research, and all the arranging at home besides. I've given
up one of my books to plotting this out in the rough, and I see that
there's plenty of English work for twenty years, even if I could count
on all my time, which (that's the worst of having a bad back and head!)
I can't. There's one thing I should like to find out, if ever you think
of going to Japan, and that's how they dwarf big plants like white
lilacs, and get them to flower in tiny pots. Isaac says he thinks it
must be continual shifting that does it--shifting and forcing. But I
fancy they must have some dodge of taking very small cuttings from
particular growths of the wood. I mean to try some experiments. I am
marking your journeys on a map, and where anything happens to you I put
A, for adventure, in red ink. I have put A where you picked up Dennis
O'Moore. He must be very nice. Tell him I hope I shall see him some day,
and your Scotch friend too; I hope they won't make you quite forget your
poor friend Charlie.
"P.S.--Since I finished, a parcel came. What do you think Lorraine has
done? He has paid for me to be a life member of a great London library,
and sent me the catalogue. I can have out fifteen books at a time. There
are hundreds of volumes. I can't write any more, my back aches so with
putting crosses against the books I want to read. The catalogue is
rather heavy. I think I shall use one of my books to make a list in of
what I want to read during this year. Isn't it good of Lorraine? Poor
Lorraine!"
Having devoured my own letters, I looked up to see how my comrades were
enjoying their share of the budget which the Halifax postmaster had
faithfully forwarded.
The expression on Dennis O'Moore's face was so mixed that it puzzled me,
but he did not look satisfied with his letter, for he kept drawing it
out again, and shaking it, and peeping into the envelope as if he had
lost something. At last he put the whole thing into his pocket with a
resigned air, and drove his hands through his black curls, saying,
"The squire all over, GOD help him!"
"What has he done now?" I asked.
"Sent me twenty pounds, and forgotten to enclose it!"