53. CHAPTER LIII.
With a slight alteration, I might begin this chapter after
the manner of Livy, in the 24th section of his first book:—
“It happened, that in each family were three twin brothers,
between whom there was little disparity in point of age or of
strength.”
Among the steerage passengers of the Highlander, were
two women from Armagh, in Ireland, widows and sisters,
who had each three twin sons, born, as they said, on the
same day.
They were ten years old. Each three of these six cousins
were as like as the mutually reflected figures in a kaleidoscope;
and like the forms seen in a kaleidoscope, together, as
well as separately, they seemed to form a complete figure.
But, though besides this fraternal likeness, all six boys bore
a strong cousin-german resemblance to each other; yet, the
O'Briens were in disposition quite the reverse of the O'Regans.
The former were a timid, silent trio, who used to
revolve around their mother's waist, and seldom quit the maternal
orbit; whereas, the O'Regans were “broths of boys,”
full of mischief and fun, and given to all manner of devilment,
like the tails of the comets.
Early every morning, Mrs. O'Regan emerged from the steerage,
driving her spirited twins before her, like a riotous herd of
young steers; and made her way to the capacious deck-tub,
full of salt water, pumped up from the sea, for the purpose
of washing down the ship. Three splashes, and the three
boys were ducking and diving together in the brine; their
mother engaged in shampooing them, though it was haphazard
sort of work enough; a rub here, and a scrub there,
as she could manage to fasten on a stray limb.
“Pat, ye divil, hould still while I wash ye. Ah! but
it's you, Teddy, you rogue. Arrah, now, Mike, ye spalpeen,
don't be mixing your legs up with Pat's.”
The little rascals, leaping and scrambling with delight,
enjoyed the sport mightily; while this indefatigable, but
merry matron, manipulated them all over, as if it were a
matter of conscience.
Meanwhile, Mrs. O'Brien would be standing on the boat-swain's
locker—or rope and tar-pot pantry in the vessel's
bows—with a large old quarto Bible, black with age, laid
before her between the knight-heads, and reading aloud to
her three meek little lambs.
The sailors took much pleasure in the deck-tub performances
of the O'Regans, and greatly admired them always for
their archness and activity; but the tranquil O'Briens they
did not fancy so much. More especially they disliked the
grave matron herself; hooded in rusty black; and they had
a bitter grudge against her book. To that, and the incantations
muttered over it, they ascribed the head winds that
haunted us; and Blunt, our Irish cockney, really believed
that Mrs. O'Brien purposely came on deck every morning,
in order to secure a foul wind for the next ensuing twenty-four
hours.
At last, upon her coming forward one morning, Max the
Dutchman accosted her, saying he was sorry for it, but if
she went between the knight-heads again with her book, the
crew would throw it overboard for her.
Now, although contrasted in character, there existed a
great warmth of affection between the two families of twins,
which upon this occasion was curiously manifested.
Notwithstanding the rebuke and threat of the sailor, the
widow silently occupied her old place; and with her children
clustering round her, began her low, muttered reading,
standing right in the extreme bows of the ship and slightly
leaning over them, as if addressing the multitudinous waves
from a floating pulpit. Presently Max came behind her,
snatched the book from her hands, and threw it overboard.
The window gave a wail, and her boys set up a cry. Their
cousins, then ducking in the water close by, at once saw the
cause of the cry; and springing from the tub, like so many
dogs, seized Max by the legs, biting and striking at him:
which, the before timid little O'Briens no sooner perceived,
than they, too, threw themselves on the enemy, and the
amazed seaman found himself baited like a bull by all six
boys.
And here it gives me joy to record one good thing on the
part of the mate. He saw the fray, and its beginning; and
rushing forward, told Max that he would harm the boys at
his peril; while he cheered them on, as if rejoiced at their
giving the fellow such a tussle. At last Max, sorely
scratched, bit, pinched, and every way aggravated, though
of course without a serious bruise, cried out “enough!” and
the assailants were ordered to quit him; but though the
three O'Briens obeyed, the three O'Regans hung on to him
like leeches, and had to be dragged off.
“There now, you rascal,” cried the mate, “throw overboard
another Bible, and I'll send you after it without a
bowline.”
This event gave additional celebrity to the twins throughout
the vessel. That morning all six were invited to the
quarter-deck, and reviewed by the cabin-passengers, the ladies
manifesting particular interest in them, as they always do
concerning twins, which some of them show in public parks
and gardens, by stopping to look at them, and questioning
their nurses.
“And were you all born at one time?” asked an old lady,
letting her eye run in wonder along the even file of white heads.
“Indeed, an' we were,” said Teddy; “wasn't we, mother?”
Many more questions were asked and answered, when a
collection was taken up for their benefit among these magnanimous
cabin-passengers, which resulted in starting all six
boys in the world with a penny apiece.
I never could look at these little fellows without an inexplicable
feeling coming over me; and though there was
nothing so very remarkable or unprecedented about them,
except the singular coincidence of two sisters simultaneously
making the world such a generous present; yet, the mere fact
of there being twins always seemed curious; in fact, to me at
least, all twins are prodigies; and still I hardly know why
this should be; for all of us in our own persons furnish
numerous examples of the same phenomenon. Are not our
thumbs twins? A regular Castor and Pollux? And all of
our fingers? Are not our arms, hands, legs, feet, eyes, ears,
all twins; born at one birth, and as much alike as they
possibly can be?
Can it be, that the Greek grammarians invented their
dual number for the particular benefit of twins?
