 | CHAPTER XV. The monikins |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
Explanations—A leave-taking—Love—Confessions, but no
penitence.
A night of sweet repose left me refreshed, and
with a pulse that denoted less agitation than on the
preceding day. I awoke early, had a bath, and sent
for Captain Poke to take his coffee with me, before
we parted; for it had been settled, the previous
evening, that he was to proceed towards Stunin'tun,
forthwith. My old messmate, colleague, co-adventurer,
and fellow-traveller, was not slow in obeying
the summons. I confess his presence was a comfort
to me, for I did not like looking at objects that
had been so inexplicably replaced before my eyes,
unsupported by the countenance of one who had
gone through so many grave scenes in my company.
“This has been a very extraordinary voyage of
ours, Captain Poke,” I remarked, after the worthy
sealer had swallowed sixteen eggs, an omelette,
seven cotelettes, and divers accessaries. “Do you
think of publishing your private journal?”
“Why, in my opinion, Sir John, the less that
either of us says of v'y'ge the better.”
“And why so? We have had the discoveries of
Columbus, Cook, Vancouver and Hudson—why
not those of Captain Poke?”
“To own the truth, we sealers do not like to
speak of our cruising grounds—and, as for these
monikins, after all, what are they good for? A
thousand of them wouldn't make a quart of 'ile, and
by all accounts their fur is worth next to nothin'.”
“Do you account their philosophy for nothing?
and their jurisprudence?—you, who were so near
losing your head, and who did actually lose your
tail, by the axe of the executioner?”
Noah placed a hand behind him, fumbling
about the seat of reason, with evident uneasiness.
Satisfied that no harm had been done, he very
coolly placed half a muffin in what he called his
“provision-hatchway.”
“You will give me this pretty model of our good
old Walrus, Captain?”
“Take it, o' Heaven's sake, Sir John, and good
luck to you with it. You, who give me a full-grown
schooner, will be but poorly paid with a toy.”
“It's as like the dear old craft, as one pea is like
another!”
“I dare say it may be. I never knew a model
that hadn't suthin' of the original in it.”
“Well, my good shipmate, we must part. You
know I am to go and see the lady who is soon to
be my wife, and the diligence will be ready to take
you to Havre, before I return.”
“God bless you! Sir John, God bless you!”
Noah blew his nose till it rung like a French horn.
I thought his little coals of eyes were glittering,
too, more than common, most probably with
moisture. “You're a droll navigator, and make no
more of the ice than a colt makes of a rail. But
though the man at the wheel is not always awake,
the heart seldom sleeps.”
“When the Debby and Dolly is fairly in the
know it.”
“Count on me, Sir John. Before we part, I have,
however, a small favor to ask.”
“Name it.”
Here Noah drew out of his pocket a sort of basso
relievo carved in pine. It represented Neptune
armed with a harpoon instead of a trident; the Captain
always contending that the god of the seas
should never carry the latter, but that, in its place,
he should be armed either with the weapon he had
given him, or with a boat-hook. On the right of
Neptune was an English gentleman holding out a
bag of guineas. On the other was a female who,
I was told, represented the goddess of Liberty,
while it was secretly a rather flattering likeness of
Miss Poke. The face of Neptune was supposed
to have some similitude to that of her husband.
The Captain, with the modesty which is invariably
the companion of merit in the arts, asked permission
to have a copy of this design placed on the
schooner's stern. It would have been churlish to
refuse such a compliment; and I now offered Noah
my hand, as the time for parting had arrived. The
sealer grasped me rather tightly, and seemed disposed
to say more than adieu.
“You are going to see an angel, Sir John.”
“How!—Do you know anything of Miss Etherington?”
“I should be as blind as an old bum-boat else.
During our late v'y'ge, I saw her often.”
“This is strange!—But there is evidently something
on your mind, my friend: speak freely.”
“Well, then, Sir John, talk of anything but of our
v'y'ge, to the dear crittur. I do not think she is
quite prepared yet to hear of all the wonders we
saw.”
I promised to be prudent; and the Captain,
shaking me cordially by the hand, finally wished
me farewell. There were some rude touches of
feeling in his manner, which reacted on certain
chords in my own system; and he had been gone
several minutes before I recollected that it was time
to go to the Hotel de Castile. Too impatient to
wait for the carriage, I flew along the streets on
foot, believing that my own fiery speed would outstrip
the zig-zag movement of a fiacre or a cabriolet
de place.
Dr. Etherington met me at the door of his appartement,
and led me to an inner room without
speaking. Here he stood gazing, for some time,
in my face, with parental concern.
“She expects you, Jack, and believes that you
rang the bell.”
“So much the better, dear sir. Let us not lose
a moment; let me fly and throw myself at her feet,
and implore her pardon.”
“For what, my good boy?”
“For believing that any social-stake can equal
that which a man feels in the nearest, dearest, ties
of earth!”
The excellent rector smiled, but he wished to
curb my impatience.
“You have already every stake in society, Sir
John Goldencalf,” he answered, assuming the air
which human beings have, by a general convention,
settled shall be dignified, “that any reasonable man
can desire. The large fortune left by your late
father, raises you, in this respect, to the height
of the richest in the land; and now that you are a
baronet, no one will dispute your claim to participate
in the councils of the nation. It would perhaps
be better, did your creation date a century or two
nearer the commencement of the monarchy; but,
they are, and not as we might wish to have them.”
I rubbed my forehead, for the Doctor had incidentally
thrown out an embarrassing idea.
“On your principle, my dear sir, society would
be obliged to begin with its great-grandfathers to
qualify itself for its own government.”
“Pardon me, Jack, if I have said anything disagreeable—no
doubt all will come right in Heaven.
Anna will be uneasy at our delay.”
This suggestion drove all recollection of the
good rector's social-stake system, which was exactly
the converse of the social-stake system of
my late ancestor, quite out of my head. Springing
forward, I gave him reason to see that he would
have no farther trouble in changing the subject.
When we had passed an ante-chamber, he pointed
to a door, and admonishing me to be prudent,
withdrew.
My hand trembled as it touched the door-knob,
but the lock yielded. Anna was standing in the
middle of the room, (she had heard my footstep,)
an image of womanly loveliness, womanly faith,
and womanly feeling. By a desperate effort she
was, however, mistress of her emotions. Though
her pure soul seemed willing to fly to meet me, she
obviously restrained the impulse, in order to spare
my nerves.
“Dear Jack!”—and both her soft, white, pretty
little hands met me, as I eagerly approached.
“Anna!—dearest Anna!”—I covered the rosy
fingers with kisses.
“Let us be tranquil, Jack, and, if possible, endeavor
to be reasonable, too.”
“If I thought this could really cost one habitually
discreet as you an effort, Anna!”
“One habitually discreet as I, is as likely to feel
strongly on meeting an old friend, as another.”
“I think it would make me perfectly happy, could
I see thee weep.”
As if waiting only for this hint, Anna burst into
a flood of tears. I was frightened, for her sobs
became hysterical and convulsed. Those precious
sentiments which had been so long imprisoned in
her gentle bosom, obtained the mastery, and I
was well paid for my selfishness, by experiencing
an alarm little less violent than her own outpouring
of feeling.
Touching the incidents, emotions, and language
of the next half-hour, it is not my intention to be
very communicative. Anna was ingenuous, unreserved,
and, if I might judge by the rosy blushes
that suffused her sweet face, and the manner in
which she extricated herself from my protecting
arms, I believe I must add she deemed herself
indiscreet in that she had been so unreserved and
ingenuous.
“We can now converse more calmly, Jack,” the
dear creature resumed, after she had erased the
signs of emotion from her cheeks—“more calmly,
if not more sensibly.”
“The wisdom of Solomon is not half so precious
as the words I have just heard—and as for the
music of the spheres—”
“It is a melody that angels only enjoy.”
“And art not thou an angel!”
“No, Jack, only a poor, confiding girl; one
instinct with the affections and weaknesses of her
sex, and one whom it must be your part to sustain
and direct. If we begin by calling each other by
these superhuman epithets, we may awake from
the delusion sooner than if we commence with believing
ourselves to be no other than what we
and generous heart, Jack; and as for these poetical
beings, they are rather proverbial, I believe, for
having no hearts at all.”
As Anna mildly checked my exaggeration of
language—after ten years of marriage I am unwilling
to admit there was any exaggeration of idea—
she placed her little velvet hand in mine again,
smiling away all the severity of the reproof.
“Of one thing, I think you may rest perfectly
assured, dear girl,” I resumed after a moment's reflection.
“All my old opinions concerning expansion
and contraction are radically changed. I have
carried out the principle of the social-stake system
in the extreme, and cannot say that I have been at
all satisfied with its success. At this moment I am
the proprietor of vested interests which are scattered
over half the world. So far from finding that
I love my kind any more for all these social stakes,
I am compelled to see that the wish to protect one,
is constantly driving me into acts of injustice against
all the others. There is something wrong, depend
on it, Anna, in the old dogmas of the political economists!”
“I know little of these things, Sir John, but to
one ignorant as myself, it would appear that the
most certain security for the righteous exercise of
power is to be found in just principles.”
“If available, beyond a question. They who
contend that the debased and ignorant are unfit to
express their opinions concerning the public weal,
are obliged to own that they can only be restrained
by force. Now, as knowledge is power, their first
precaution is to keep them ignorant; and then they
quote this very ignorance, with all its debasing consequences,
as an argument against their participation
in authority with themselves. I believe there
of the whole principle—”
“You should remember, dear Goldencalf, that
this is a subject on which I know but little. It ought
to be sufficient for us that we find things as they
are; if change is actually necessary, we should
endeavor to effect it with prudence and a proper
regard to justice.”
Anna, while kindly leading me back from my
speculations, looked both anxious and pained.
“True—true”—I hurriedly rejoined, for a world
would not tempt me to prolong her suffering for a
moment. “I am foolish and forgetful, to be talking
thus, at such a moment; but I have endured too
much to be altogether unmindful of ancient theories.
I thought it might be grateful to you, at
least, to know, Anna, that I have ceased to look
for happiness in my affections for all, and am only
so much the better disposed to turn in search of it
to one.”
“To love our neighbor as ourself, is the latest
and highest of the divine commands,” the dear
girl answered, looking a thousand times more
lovely than ever, for my conclusion was very far
from being displeasing to her. “I do not know
that this object is to be attained by centering in
our persons as many of the goods of life as possible;
but I do think, Jack, that the heart which loves
one truly, will be so much the better disposed to
entertain kind feelings towards all others.”
I kissed the hand she had given me, and we now
began to talk a little more like people of the world,
concerning our movements. The interview lasted
an hour longer, when the good Doctor interposed
and sent me home, to prepare for our return to
England.
In a week we were again in the old island. Anna
was left in town, busied with lawyers, and looking
after the results of my numerous investments.
Contrary to what many people will be apt to
suppose, most of them had been successful. On the
whole, I was richer for the adventures; and with
such prospects accompanying the risks, I had little
difficulty in disposing of them to advantage. The
proceeds, together with a large balance of dividends
that had accrued during my absence, was
lodged with my banker, and I advertised for further
landed property.
Knowing the taste of Anna, I purchased one of
those town residences which look out on St. James's
Park, where the sight of fragrant shrubbery and
verdant fields will be constantly before her serene
eyes, during the period of what is called a
London winter,—or from the Easter holidays to
midsummer.
I had a long and friendly interview with my
Lord Pledge, who was not a man to abandon a
ministry, but who continued in place just as active,
as respectable, as logical and as useful as ever.
Indeed, so conspicuous was he for the third of
these qualities, that I caught myself peeping, once
or twice, to see if he were actually destitute of a
cauda. He gave me the comfortable assurance
that all had gone on well in parliament during my
absence, politely intimating, at the same time, that
he did not believe I had been missed. We settled
certain preliminaries together, which will be explained
in the next chapter; when I hurried, on the
wings of love, alias, in a post-chaise and four, towards
the rectory, and to the sweetest, kindest, gentlest,
truest girl in an island which has so many
of the sweet, the kind, the gentle and the true.
| CHAPTER XV. The monikins | |