Фредерик Марриет
Masterman Ready
Chapter Sixty Seven.
The hurry and bustle of preparing for their departure from the island, and the rapid succession of events which had been crowded together within so very few days, had not allowed time for much thought or reflection to Mr and Mrs Seagrave and William; at length, however, every preparation had been made, and they were no longer urged by the commander of the schooner to hasten their packing up and arrangements; for everything had been sent on board during the afternoon, and it was proposed that they should sail on the following day.
Now they had time to feel, and bitterly did they lament the loss of their old friend, and deplore that he had not survived to sail with them to Sydney. They had always indulged the hope that one day they should be taken off the island, and in that hope they had ever looked forward to old Ready becoming a part of their future household. Now that their wishes had been granted—so much was the feeling of joy and gratitude mingled with regret—that could he have been restored to them, they felt as if they would have gladly remained on the island.
Captain Osborn, the commander, and the crew of the schooner had taken leave of them for the night, and had gone on board, having made arrangements for the interment of Ready, previous to their sailing, on the following day. The children had been put to bed, and Juno had quitted the house; Mr and Mrs Seagrave and William were sitting together in their now half-dismantled room, when Juno entered; the poor girl had evidently been weeping.
“Well, Juno,” observed Mr Seagrave, with a view to break the silence which had continued for some time previous to her entrance, “are you not glad to leave the island?”
“One time I think I would be very glad, but now I not care much,” replied Juno. “Island very nice place, all very happy till savage come. Suppose they not kill old Ready, I not care.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs Seagrave, “it is a sad blow to us all; I did hope to have fostered the good old man, and to have been able to have shown him our gratitude, but—”
“It is the will of Heaven that it should be otherwise,” continued Mr Seagrave; “I would give half that I am possessed of, that he had not perished.”
“Oh, Massa!” said Juno, “I sit by him just now; I take off the flag and look at his face, so calm, look so happy, so good, I almost tink he smile at me, and then I cry. Oh! Massa Tommy, all because you idle boy.”
“It adds much to my regret,” replied Mr Seagrave, “that his life should have been sacrificed through the thoughtlessness of one of my own children; what a lesson it will be to Tommy when he is old enough to comprehend the consequences of his conduct.”
“That he must not know, papa,” said William, who had been leaning mournfully over the table; “one of Ready’s last injunctions was that Tommy was never to be told of it.”
“His last wishes shall be religiously attended to, my dear boy,” replied Mr Seagrave; “for what do we not owe to that good old man? When others deserted us and left us to perish, he remained with us to share our fate. By his skill we were saved and landed in safety. He provided for our wants, added to our comforts, instructed us how to make the best use of our means. Without his precautions we should have perished by the spears of the savages. What an example of Christian fortitude and humility did he ever show us! and indeed, I may truly say, that by his example, sinful as I must ever be, I have become, I trust, a better man. Would that he were now sitting by us,—but the Lord’s will be done!”
“I feel as if I had lost a stay or prop,” replied Mrs Seagrave. “So accustomed have I been to look to him for advice since we have been on this island. Had he not been thus snatched from us—had he been spared to us a few years, and had we been permitted to surround his death-bed, and close his eyes in peace—” and Mrs Seagrave wept upon the shoulder of her husband.
After a time, Mrs Seagrave recovered herself; but silence ensued, only broken by an occasional sob from poor Juno. William’s heart was too full; he could not for a long while utter a word; at last he said in a low voice:
“I feel that, next to my dear father and mother, I have lost my best friend. I cannot forgive myself for allowing him to go for the water; it was my duty to go, and I ought to have gone.”
“And yet we could have ill spared you, my dear boy; you might have perished,” replied Mrs Seagrave.
“It would have been as God willed,” replied William; “I might have perished, or I might not.”
“We never know what the morrow may bring forth,” said Mr Seagrave, “or what may be in store for us. Had not this misfortune happened, had old Ready been spared to us, how joyfully should I and all of you have quitted this island, full of anticipation, and indulging in worldly prospects. What a check have I received! I now am all thought and anxiety. I have said to myself, ‘we have been happy on this island; our wants have been supplied; even our comforts have been great. We have been under no temptations, for we have been isolated from the world; am I so sure that I shall be as happy in future as I have been? Am I confident, now my long-wished-for return to the world is about to take place, that I shall have no cause to lament that I ever quitted this peaceful, quiet spot?’ I feel that it is a duty to my family that I should return to society, but I am far from feeling that our happiness may be increased. We have, however, a plain precept to follow, which is, to do our duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God to call us.”
“Yes,” replied Mrs Seagrave; “I feel the truth of all you have just said. We are in his hands; let us put our trust in him.”
“We will,” replied Mr Seagrave; “but it is late, and we have to rise early to-morrow morning. This is the last evening which we shall pass on this island; let us return our thanks for the happiness we have enjoyed here. We thought to have quitted this spot in joy,—it is his will that we should leave it in sorrow.”
Mr Seagrave took down the Bible, and after he had read a chapter, he poured forth a prayer suited to their feelings, and they all retired to repose.
The next morning they were up early, and packed up the few articles which still remained to go on board. Mr Seagrave read the prayers, and they went to breakfast. Few words were exchanged, for there was a solemn grief upon all of them. They waited for the arrival of Captain Osborn and the crew of the schooner to attend the funeral of poor old Ready. William, who had gone out occasionally to look at the vessel, now came in, and said that two boats were pulling on shore. A few minutes afterwards, Captain Osborn and the commander of the schooner soon made their appearance. The coffin had been brought on shore; the body of Ready was put into it, and it was screwed down.
In half an hour all was prepared, and the family were summoned from the house. The coffin, covered with the Union Jack as a pall, was raised on the shoulders of six of the seamen, and they bore it to the grave, followed by Mrs Seagrave and the children, the commander of the schooner, and several of the men. Mr Seagrave read the funeral service, the grave was filled up, and they all walked back in silence. At the request of William, the commander of the schooner had ordered the carpenter to prepare an oak paling to put round the grave, and a board on which was written the name of the deceased and day of his death. As soon as this had been fixed up, William, with a deep sigh, followed the commander of the schooner to the house to announce that all was finished, and that the boat waited for them to embark.
“Come, my dear,” said Mr Seagrave to his wife.
“I will, I will,” replied Mrs Seagrave, “but I don’t know how it is, now that the hour is come, I really feel such pain at quitting this dear island. Had it not been for poor Ready’s death, I really do think I should wish to remain.”
“I don’t doubt but that you feel sorrow, my dear, but we must not keep Captain Osborn waiting.”
As Mr Seagrave was aware that the commander of the schooner was anxious to get clear of the islands before night, he now led his wife down to the boat. They all embarked, and were soon on the deck of the schooner, from whence they continued to fix their eyes upon the island, while the men were heaving up the anchor. At last sail was made upon the vessel, the garden-point was cleared, and, as they ran away with a fair wind, each object on the shore became more indistinct. Still their eyes were turned in that direction.
As they ran down to the westward, they passed the cove where they had first landed, and Mr Seagrave directed Mrs Seagrave’s attention to it. She remained for some time looking at it in silence, and then said as she turned away:
“We shall never be more happy than we were on that island, Seagrave.”
“It will indeed be well, my dear, if we never are less happy,” replied her husband.
The schooner now ran fast through the water, and the island was every minute less distinct; after a time, the land was below the horizon, and the tops of the cocoa-nut trees only to be seen; these gradually disappeared. Juno watched on, and when at last nothing could be seen, she waved her handkerchief in the direction of the island, as if to bid it farewell, and then went down below to hide her grief.
The wind continued fair, and, after a favourable passage of little more than four weeks, they arrived at Sydney Cove, the port to which they were bound when they embarked from England on board of the good ship Pacific.
PS. As my young readers will probably wish to know a little more about the Seagrave family, I will inform them that Mr Seagrave, like the patriarch Job after his tribulation, found his flocks and herds greatly increased on his arrival at Sydney. Mr and Mrs Seagrave lived to see all their children grown up. William inherited the greater part of the property from his father, after having for many years assisted him in the management of it. Tommy, notwithstanding all his scrapes, grew up a very fine fellow, and entered the army. Caroline married a young clergyman, and made him an excellent wife; little Albert went into the navy, and is at present a commander.
Juno is still alive, and lives at Seagrave plantation with William, and her greatest pleasure is to take his children on her knee, and tell them long stories about the island, and make them cry when she goes through the history of old Ready’s death and burial.
