Complete works of r m ba.., p.982
Complete Works of R M Ballantyne, page 982
“No, it’s not your looks,” said Mrs Bancroft with a laugh, as she raised her eyes from her knitting and looked at her sister Flo, who sat opposite, also knitting, and who took a smiling but comparatively indifferent view of the matter.
“Then it must be because I’m not owld enough. Sure if ye wait a year or two I’ll be as owld as yourself, every bit,” said O’Rook.
“No, it’s not that either,” said the widow.
“Ah, then, it can’t be because I’m poor,” persisted O’Rook, “for with this good business you don’t want money, an’ I’m great at cookin’, besides havin’ the willin’ hands that can turn to a’most anything. If ye’d seen me diggin’ for goold, bad luck to it, ye’d belaive what I tell ye. Ah!” he added with a sigh, “it’s a rich man I’d have been this day if that ship had only kep’ afloat a few hours longer. Well, well, I needn’t grumble, when me own comrades, that thought it so safe in the Blankow Bank, are about as badly off as me. When was it they began to suspec’ the bank was shaky?”
“Oh, long ago,” said Mrs Bancroft, “soon after the disappearance of Mr Luke, the cashier—”
“Mr who?” demanded O’Rook with a start.
“Mr Luke. Did you know him?”
“I’ve heard of such a man,” replied O’Rook with assumed carelessness; “what about him?”
“Well, it was supposed that he was goin’ deranged, poor fellow, and at last he suddenly disappeared, no one could tell why; but it’s clear enough now, for he was made to put the accounts all wrong, and I suppose the struggle in his mind drove him to suicide, for he was a long, thin, weakly sort of man, without much brains except for figures.”
Hereupon O’Rook told the widow all he knew about the strange passenger of that name with whom he had sailed to the Southern Seas and worked at the gold fields. The conclusion which they came to was that the gold-digging passenger was the absconded cashier. Having settled this, O’Rook renewed the siege on the widow’s heart but without success, though she did not cast him off altogether. The poor man, however, lost patience, and, finally, giving it up in despair, went off to sea.
“I’ve been too hard on him,” remarked the widow, sadly, to her sister Flo, after he was gone.
“You have,” was Flo’s comforting reply, as she rose to serve a clamorous customer of the Holly Tree.
Philosopher Jack from that time forth devoted himself heartily to study, and gradually ceased to think of the golden dreams which had for so long a time beset him by night and by day. He had now found the gold which cannot perish, and while he studied medicine and surgery to enable him to cure the bodies of men, he devoted much of his time to the study of the Book which would enable him to cure their souls.
The captain came and went across the seas in the course of his rough calling, and he never came without a heart full of love and hands full of foreign nick-nacks, which he conveyed to Polly in London, and never went away without a rousing nor’-wester.
Watty and his father worked on together in vigorous contentment and many a visit did the former pay to Bailie Trench, attracted by the strong resemblance in Susan to the bosom friend who had reached the “Better Land” before him.
Thus time rolled quietly on, until an event occurred which modified the career of more than one of those whose fortunes we have followed so long.
Chapter Twelve.
Conclusion of the Whole Matter.
If it be true that there is “many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip” — which we have no reason to doubt — it is not less true that many a cup of good fortune is, unexpectedly and unsought, raised to the lips of thankless man.
Captain Samson was seated one fine summer evening in his shore-going cabin, that used to be the abode of fishy smells, marine-stores, Polly, and bliss, but which now presented an unfurnished and desolate aspect. He had just returned from a voyage. Little “kickshaws” for Polly lay on the table before him, and a small fire burned in the grate, with a huge kettle thereon. A stormy sigh escaped the captain as he glanced round the old room.
“Come, come, Samson,” he exclaimed, apostrophising himself, “this will never do. You mustn’t give way to the blues. It’s true you haven’t got as much to leave to Polly when you slip your cable as you once had; but you have scraped together a little these few years past, and there’s lots of work in you yet, old boy. Besides, it’s His way of ordering events, and that way must be right, whatever it appears to me. Why, Samson, for all your preaching to others, your own faith isn’t as big as a grain of mustard seed. Ah! Polly, you’re a woman now a’most — and a beauty, I’ll be bound. I wish you’d come though. You’re not up to time, young ‘ooman. It’s as well you’ve got one or two faults, just to keep you in sympathy with other mortals. Ah, here you come.”
He hastened to answer a double knock at the door, and checked himself, not a moment too soon, from giving a warm embrace to the postman. Under a strong impulse to knock the man down he took a letter from him, flung it on the table, and shut the door. After pacing the room for some time impatiently he sat down, opened the letter, and read it aloud. It ran thus: —
“Sir — Having been for some years past engaged in diving operations at the wreck of the Rainbow — lost off the coast of Cornwall in 18 hundred and something, I write to say that I have recovered a large chest of gold with your name on the inside of it, and that of a man named Simon O’Rook. Most of the gold recovered from the Rainbow has been scattered about, but in all cases when ownership could be proved, I have handed over the property. If you can give such an account of the contents of the chest referred to as shall satisfy me that it is yours, the part of its contents which belongs to you shall be restored.
“I would feel obliged if you could give me any clew to the whereabouts of O’Rook. — I am, etcetera.”
“The whereabouts of O’Rook!” cried the captain, starting up and gazing at the letter; “why, he’s my own first mate, an’ close alongside at this good hour!”
“True for ye,” cried a man outside the window, as he flattened his nose against the glass, “an is it polite to kape yer own first mate rappin’ the skin off his knuckles at the door?”
The captain at once let in his follower, and showed him the letter. His surprise may be better imagined than described.
“But d’ee think it’s true, cap’n?”
“I haven’t a doubt of it, but we can settle that to-morrow by a visit to the writer of the letter.”
“That’s true,” said O’Rook; “which o’ the boxes, now, that belonged to us d’ee think it is?”
“It can only be one,” replied the captain, “that box of mine in which you asked me to stuff the remnant of the gold-dust that you hadn’t room for in your own boxes. It was the strongest box o’ the lot, which accounts for its not breakin’ up like the others.”
“It must be that. I rowled it up in an owld leather coat bought from an Injin the day before we left the diggin’s. It’s but a small remainder o’ me fortune — a thousand pounds, more or less, — but sure, it’s found money an comes handy this good day, which reminds me I’ve got some noose for ‘ee. What d’ee think, cap’n?” continued O’Rook, with a very conscious look.
“How can I think if ye don’t give me somethin’ to think about?”
“The widdy’s tuk me after all!” said O’Rook.
“What! widow Bancroft?”
O’Rook nodded impressively. “Moreover,” he said, “she’s tuk me as a poor beggar with nothin’ but his pay, for better and for worse, an’, sure now, it’s better I’ll be than she tuk me for.”
The captain was interrupted in his congratulations of the mate by another knock at the door. He opened it, and next moment was seized round the neck by a tall, graceful, beautiful, exquisite — oh! reader, you know who we mean.
“Why didn’t you come up to time, old girl?” demanded the captain, while O’Rook looked on in admiration.
“Oh, father,” gasped Polly, “don’t crush me so and I’ll tell you.”
When she had explained that delay in the train had caused her want of punctuality, she shook hands with O’Rook, with whom she had renewed acquaintance at the time of his being appointed first mate to her father’s ship. Then she was bid stand up in a corner to be “overhauled.” The captain retired to an opposite corner, and gazed at his daughter critically, as though she had been a fine portrait.
“Yes, Polly, you’ll do,” he said, while an approving smile wrinkled his vast countenance. “Fit for a queen any day. A lady — ha! ha! Have you done your duty to Aunt Maria, Polly, eh? Have you made a lady of her, eh? Have you infused into her something allied to the angelic, eh? Come, now, a rousing nor’-wester!”
With a laugh worthy of her girlhood, Polly ran out of her corner and obeyed orders.
“Now, my pet” said the captain, seating her on his knee, “here are some kickshaws from foreign parts for you; but before letting you look at ‘em, I must explain why I asked you to meet me here instead of going to see you as usual in London. The fact is, I had bin longing to take you with me my next voyage, and it would have been handier to have you by me here when we’re getting ready for sea, but — but, the fact is, things have taken a sudden turn, and — and — in short, circumstances have come about that I can’t speak of just now; only I’m not quite so sure about going to sea as I was an hour ago. But you don’t seem to jump at the notion, Polly. Surely you’d have liked to go — wouldn’t you?”
“Liked, father, of course. I should have been overjoyed to have gone with you, but — but — the truth is,” she said, with a little laugh and a glance at O’Rook, “circumstances have come about that I can’t speak of just now.”
“Well, my pet,” rejoined the captain, with a puzzled, anxious look, “we’ll not talk about ‘em. Now, you must know that I’ve got up a small party to meet you here to-night, and expect you to do me credit. The pastry-cook next door has undertaken to send in cakes, and tea, and hot sausages, and buns, at a moment’s notice. I expect his man here every minute to lay out the spread. Now, who d’ee think are coming? You’ll never guess. There’s Mr and Mrs John Jack, the father and mother of Edwin Jack — you remember him, Polly? Philosopher Jack we used to call him.”
“Yes,” replied Polly, in a low tone.
“Well, they happen to be in town just now with their family, and they’re all coming. Then there’s my first mate, Simon O’Rook; he would be coming, only he’s come already, a full hour before his time! Then there’s a Mr Burr and a Mr Buckley, both returned from California with fortunes—”
“A-rowlin’ in gold,” muttered O’Rook, in a low tone.
“You don’t really mean, father, that—”
“Yes I do, Polly. I mean that Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley are coming. I met ’em only two days ago in the streets, going about in chimney-pot hats and broadcloth like gentlemen — which they are, every inch of ‘em, if worth and well-doing and wisdom make the gentleman. So, knowing you were to be here, I made ’em promise to come. Well, then, there’s your old friend Watty Wilkins, who, by the way, is engaged to be married to Susan Trench. I tried to get Susan to come too, but she’s shy, and won’t. Besides these, there’s a doctor of medicine, whom I think you have met before, a very rising young man — quite celebrated, I may say. Got an enormous practice, and—”
The captain was interrupted by the rattle of wheels outside, and the pulling up of a carriage at the door.
Polly rose quickly, with a half-frightened look.
“Don’t be alarmed, Poll, it’s only the doctor,” he said, going out to the passage.
“Pardon my coming so much before the appointed time,” said a familiar voice; “but I have something to communicate before she comes — something very important and—”
Philosopher Jack stopped short, for he had entered the room and saw that Polly had already come. With one spring he was at her side, seized her in his arms, and imprinted on her lips what her father afterwards called the “stiffest nor’wester he’d ever seen.” At the time, however, the captain strode up to our philosopher with a frown.
“Come, come, doctor,” he said, sternly, “there is a limit to familiarity even among—”
“Pardon me,” said our hero, drawing Polly’s unresisting hand through his arm; “I had no intention of doing it until I had your consent; but somehow — I can’t tell how — it came upon me suddenly while I was paying my respects to her in London, not long ago, and before I knew where I was, it all came out, and she accepted me, on the understanding that I should consider it no engagement until I had obtained your consent. So now, I have to ask your forgiveness and your blessing — father.”
Captain Samson stood there, bereft of speech, and O’Rook stood there, the picture of benignity, in a corner. What the former would have said it is impossible to tell, for at that moment there came an impatient rapping at the door.
“Hurrah! captain, I could not help looking in before the time,” cried Watty Wilkins, “to tell you that Susan’s coming after all. The dear girl—”
He stopped suddenly, and stared at Polly, as if he had applied the term of endearment to her.
“The ghost of Polly Samson!” he exclaimed, after a breathless pause.
“Nothing of the sort, my boy,” said the captain, grasping his little friend’s hand, “but an enlarged and improved edition of Polly Samson, not yet full-bound, but goin’ to be, very soon, by Philosopher Jack.”
At that auspicious moment the pastry-cook made his appearance, and compelled the party to quit the premises. They therefore went for a stroll while he put things in order. When they returned, it was found that his wonderful powers had made a change little short of miraculous. The floor was swept. Chairs had been introduced on the scene. The table groaned, being weak in the legs, under a surfeit of viands. The hammock had been removed. The fire leaped high, as if desirous of going up the chimney altogether, and the huge kettle sat thereon, leaning back, with its spout in the air, pouring its very heart out in a joyous domestic song.
Need we say that the united party made the most of their opportunity? They spoke of the golden land, of their toils and joys, their successes and losses, and of their Heavenly Father’s guiding hand. The ex-gold-diggers, Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley, fought their battles over again, and sang the camp-fire songs. Philosopher Jack sat beside his mother, who was a little deaf, to explain the miners’ slang and point the jokes. Watty Wilkins became involved in Susan, and was comparatively useless; but he laughed at the jokes, whether he saw them or not, and joined with telling effect in the choruses. Polly sang, in a voice that corresponded with her sweet face, two or three of the hymns with which they had been wont to make vocal the palm grove on the coral island in the southern seas, and Philosopher Jack related the story of the slaying of the bear at Grizzly Bear Gulch. All this was a rare treat to the family from the lonely cottage on the Border, the younger members of which had by that time ascended, through Christian example and improved education, to a high level in the social scale. Dobbin, in particular, had become a strapping youth of gentlemanly mien, and would as soon have thought of shoe-blacking as of treacle to his bread. He retained a sneaking fondness for it, however, especially when presented in the form of golden syrup.
But we must not prolong the scene. It is sufficient to say that they had a glorious night of it, on strictly temperance principles, which culminated and drew to a close when Captain Samson, opening his Bible, and reading therefrom many precious promises, drew his friends’ minds from things seen and temporal to things unseen and eternal. Thereafter he prayed that neither he nor they should be permitted to forget that a loving Father holds the helm and guides the souls of his people, whether in joy or in sorrow, success or failure, through time into eternity.
And now it is incumbent on us to draw our story to a close.
On the day following the feast Captain Samson called with his chief mate on the writer of the important letter, and found that his principal chest of gold had indeed been fished up from the deep. He and O’Rook were able to give so correct an account of its contents that their claim was at once admitted, and thus the captain became possessor of gold to the value of about four thousand pounds sterling, while O’Rook recovered upwards of one thousand. This was only a fraction of their original fortune, but the interest of it was sufficient to supply their moderate wants.
Going straight off to the Holly Tree, of which a healthy shoot had been planted in the suburbs, O’Rook proceeded, according to use and wont, to “comfort the widdy.”
“It’s a rich man I am, darlin’, after all,” he said, on sitting down beside her.
“How so, Simon?”
Simon explained.
“An’ would you consider yourself a poor man if you had only me?” asked the widow, with a hurt air.
“Ah! then, it’s the women can twist their tongues, anyhow,” cried O’Rook. “Sure it’s about dirty goold I’m spakin’, isn’t it? I made no reference to the love of purty woman — did I, now? In regard of that I wouldn’t change places with the Shah of Pershy.”
“Well now, Simon, if it’s the women that can twist their tongues, it’s the Irishmen that can twist their consciences, so you an’ I will be well matched.”
“That’s well said, anyhow,” rejoined O’Rook. “An’ now, darlin’, will ye name the day?”
“No, Simon, I won’t; but I’ll think about it. There, now. Go home, it’s gettin’ late, and if ye happen to be passing this way to-morrow you may give us a call.”
Thus Simon O’Rook prosecuted his courtship. In process of time he married the widow, and was finally installed as master of the juvenile Holly Tree in the suburbs, while his wife conducted the parent stem in town. Vegetables and other country produce had to be conveyed to the town Tree regularly. For this purpose a pony-cart was set up, which travelled daily between it and the country branch. Thus it came to pass that O’Rook’s Californian dreams were realised, for “sure,” he was wont to say, “haven’t I got a house in the country an’ a mansion in the town, an’ if I don’t drive my carriage and four, I can always drive me cart an’ wan, anyhow, with a swate little widdy into the bargain.”
