The sight of two sail in the horizon one evening prepared us for seeing
them in harbour the next day. But conceive our indignation when the
captain told us that the other dirty, dingy, ill-looking, black vessel
was no other than our darling La Luna. To be sure she had not lost her
elegant shape, but in every other respect she was so altered not one of
us knew her. The little girls sat down and cried like fishes (if they do
cry), and Madame helped to swell the stream by a copious flow of tears;
while the indignation of the elder girls vented itself in anathemas and
threats against the pirates, that showed they had profited pretty
considerably by Smart's conversation and opinions. We were now obliged
to take to our burrows, and watched, with immense wrath and disgust, the
debarkation of the female pirates from the pretty cabins and berths of
our La Luna.
In appearance and manners they matched the men, but we agreed amongst
ourselves, tall and fierce as they looked, we were not afraid of them,
and had no objection to "settle them," as Smart called it. There were
fifteen women and about eleven children, while the pirates themselves
now amounted to forty-five. Fearful odds against us. Nevertheless, the
courage and determination of the army rose higher and higher. They had
only just time to get themselves into their houses and huts, and the
ships into winter quarters; ere the bad weather commenced. How they
spent their time on the island we never enquired. It was enough that we
were very happy within her friendly bosom, indulging in all sorts of
merriment and fun, knowing they were a good way off, close prisoners
like ourselves. And while in the pretty, elegant, and spacious
drawing-room once before mentioned, so replete with luxury, beauty, and
every comfort, mourners still sat and thought of and wept for the
long-lost, the mysteriously-doomed members of that once happy family;
each kind face bearing the traces of the anxious fear and thoughts
months but added to and time could not heal: how looked the little party
in the coral caverns of the Pacific? We will look at them once more, ere
we take our leave of them for good. Lying on a rude grass couch is an
elderly lady, her hair snow-white, and covered with a cambric
handkerchief to serve as a cap; she is reading. Not far from her are two
servants, in long blue rough dresses; they seem preparing a meal. On the
other side of them is seated, on a rude bench, a weather-beaten
white-haired man; a pretty graceful girl of twelve is watching him
concocting a pair of shoes, and as they are for herself, she diligently
assists. A little sparkling bright face peeps behind, and mischievously
adorns the captain's head with Hargrave's sad remains of a cap, which she
always carefully puts aside when doing anything likely to hurt it. Not
far from them is the fine, tall, athletic frame of the keeper, both boys
intently watching him making fishing lines, they dressed in loose white
shirts, open in front, and full white trousers; the elder boy imitating
the art of making lines, the little one exciting his parrot to abstract
Smart's apparatus, as fast as he puts one thing down after another,
which leads to sundry threats on Smart's part that he will "settle" both
young Master and parrot if they are not quiet. As this "settling" never
takes place, of course the delinquents go on, even to abstracting all
the treasures out of Smart's pockets. But you can see by Smart's eye a
day of reckoning is coming for those two. There are no less than nine
parrots making more or less noise in the cavern, who have each a
different owner, and whose voices they distinguish with wonderful
sagacity, and hop, crawl, and climb in their quaint manner whenever they
are called.
Two little, quiet, serious-looking monkeys are busily watching the
preparations for dinner, appropriating what they can to themselves in so
secret and sly a manner that Hargrave is totally ignorant of the real
thieves, and accuses Jenny wrathfully of misplacing her things. Jenny
laughs and shows her pretty white teeth, enjoying the joke as much as we
do.
Three fine, tall, becoming girls, each above the middle size, one fair
and bright-looking as the sun, another graceful as the fawn with eyes
and mouth the perfection of sweet gentle beauty, and the last a sort of
female Smart, strong as a young elephant, with mouth like rosebuds,
teeth like almonds, and eyes so bright in their dark beauty you could
hardly gaze into them; such were the dear girls, a sight, as the captain
said, such as he only thought to see in heaven. They are grouped
together over two weaving machines, and while one is employed removing
the broken threads that invariably occur in our clumsy machines, the
other two throw the shuttle to and fro. Not with much diligence though
for that ever-mischievous Gatty throws one impediment after another in
their way, so that I foresee the two sisters will suddenly set upon her,
and there will be a regular scuffle.
And who is that lying her full length on the ground, the flushed cheek
resting on one hand, the violet eyes closed, and the knitted stocking
that requires finishing that day has fallen from the little listless
hand? Oh Lilly, Lilly, idle Lilly, here are you soundly sleeping, and
there is your parrot conceitedly thinking he can do the work of his lazy
little mistress, and in another minute it will be all destroyed. Wake
up, little sleeper, wake up, and collect those long curls floating like
a raven curtain about you. Think what Madame will say if she catches but
a glimpse of you. A little apart from all stands one tall figure, taller
than all the rest, her dark hair folded back from her forehead, her
dark eyes watching each beloved group, while she spins unceasingly.
Close at her feet sits her shadow, clothed in the same sort of long
white dress, with the open sleeves disclosing the prettiest ivory arms
in the world. Short curling hair of a rich dark colour hangs round the
white neck and broad forehead of the sitter, and what are those little
pink and white fingers doing? Must I tell? A faithful historian must
recite plain facts, and, therefore, provided the secret goes no further,
I will allow she was cleaning pistols! And, according to Smart's
opinion, "she did 'em a sight better than many a man he had had under
him."
Now and then those clear dark eyes look up, and she says, "Now, June,
stop that everlasting wheel or I shall have you fainting with fatigue."
_Mother._--"Take my place then."
_Schillie._--"Good lack, spinning is such dull work. Let me finish my
pistols first."
And of course dinner is announced ere the pistols are pronounced
complete. A solemn grace said by the dear captain, whose "God be
thanked" comes slowly from the lips as if the heart was with it. Then a
merry dinner, Smart, and the maidens waiting on us, for nothing will
persuade Smart to sit down with us, and Jenny keeps him company, and
Hargrave, with a little hauteur condescends to do the same. All sorts of
pranks go on between Smart and the boys during dinner. Felix trying to
upset his solemn gravity, while Oscar sends him with preserved ginger
to Schillie's duck, roasted potatoes to Madame's tapioca pudding,
whereby he gets very shamefaced, as Schillie, with blunt sincerity,
points out his mistake. Then behind us he shakes his fist at the boys,
while they invent fresh nonsense to tease him. In the meantime the
dispute runs hot and high between the little girls as to who is to sit
next to their beloved captain, Gatty and Serena making believe that they
will assert their rights as Signori Priori, and take the coveted seats.
However dinner is over, and we all adjourned to the lowest cavern while
the servants eat theirs. Then we sing songs and tell stories.
_Felix._--"Cousin Schillie, you promised to tell us the story of the
jack-daws if we behaved well and obeyed our general."
_Schillie._--"Pooh! pooh! you have heard it a hundred times, boy."
_Felix._--"But the captain has not."
"I should like to hear it very much," said he.
_Mother._--"Then, Schillie, you will have to tell it again for the
hundred and first time, and you, captain, must not think that you are to
hear a very wonderful story, but, as it is the only one she was ever
known to tell, we are obliged to make her repeat it again and again. If
she would kindly tell us a fresh one we should be obliged, but, as she
won't, we will prepare ourselves to listen once more to the tale of
THE JACK-DAWS.
Once upon a time (this is too bad of you June) there stood an old church
in the middle of a village (making me tell this old story), and this
church had a very fine old tower (I wish you up in it now), and in this
tower lived a fine pair of jack-daws (fine company for you). Well! you
must know these jack-daws had a large family of greedy young children
(just like you). Now there lived in the village, (besides many other
brats) two boys, a big boy and a little boy. The big boy was a great big
stout hulking fellow, with a snubby nose and green eyes; and the little
fellow was a nice active chap, about the size of Tom Thumb, quick and
sharp as a needle. So one day these two boys sat in the church-yard, and
watched the jack-daws as they flew hither and thither and everywhere.
Says the little fellow, 'Them jack-daws must have a nest up there.' Says
the big chap, 'No doubt, and I would like to have the young ones,' (mind
children it's a wicked thing taking birds from their nests; look at all
of you away from your nests; go on, cousin, go on, the captain is quite
impatient). Well! so they agreed they would climb up the old church
tower, and get the young ones, which accordingly they did. Now you must
know the old jack-daws, being very knowing, had built their nest so that
it was outside the tower, just out of their reach, and there they could
see almost within grasp seven little jack-daws, all with their mouths
wide open, waiting for their father to pop in a delicious fat worm!
('Oh, cousin, how nasty,' says Winny). So the two boys were much
puzzled, but at last the big one takes hold of a plank, and, putting it
out of the little window, 'Now,' says he, 'go you and sit at that end
and I will push the plank out of the window, and you will just be able
to reach the nest.' 'Very well,' says the little fellow, 'but mind you
sit at the other end, lest the plank tilts up with me, and I go down.'
'All right,' says the big fellow, and away goes the little boy. 'I have
got them all seven,' says he, 'and very fine ones they are.' 'Very
well', says the big boy, 'mind four are mine, and three are yours.' 'No
such thing,' says the little one, 'I underwent the danger, so I'll have
the four, and you shall have the three.' 'No you shall not,' says big
bully. 'Yes I will,' says the little sturdy fellow. 'I will let you down
if you don't give me the four,' says the big rascal. 'Let away,' says
the small boy, 'I won't give them up.' So the young villain let go the
plank, and away went the little fellow, holding stoutly on by his little
birds. Well the seven jack-daws spread their wings and fluttered, and
the wind being high, it filled a great stout pinafore that he had on, so
that between the two, he was borne safely to the ground, when, looking
up at the window, out of which the big bully was watching his flight, he
shouted out, 'Now you shall have none of them.'