Saved by the Lifeboat by the Lifeboat by R. M. Ballantyne (story books for 5 year olds .TXT) 📗
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Need we tell you, good reader, that Mr Webster and his daughter, and Mrs Niven, spent that night under the roof of hospitable Mrs Boyns? who—partly because of the melancholy that ever rested like a soft cloud on her mild countenance, and partly because the cap happened to suit her cast of features—looked a very charming widow indeed. Is it necessary to state that Mr Webster changed his sentiments in regard to young Captain Boyns, and that, from regarding him first with dislike and then with indifference, he came to look upon him as one of the best fellows that ever lived, and was rather pleased than otherwise when he saw him go out, on the first morning after the rescue above recorded, to walk with his daughter among the romantic cliffs of Covelly!
Surely not! It would be an insult to your understanding to suppose that you required such information.
It may be, however, necessary to let you know that, not many weeks after these events, widow Boyns received a letter telling her that Captain Daniel Boyns was still alive and well, and that she might expect to see him within a very short period of time!
On reading thus far, poor Mrs Boyns fell flat on the sofa in a dead faint, and, being alone at the time, remained in that condition till she recovered, when she eagerly resumed the letter, which went on to say that, after the bottle containing the message from the sea had been cast overboard, the pirates had put himself and his remaining companions—six in number—into a small boat, and left them to perish on the open sea, instead of making them walk the plank, as they had at first threatened. That, providentially, a whale-ship had picked them up two days afterwards, and carried them off on a three years’ cruise to the South Seas, where she was wrecked on an uninhabited island. That there they had dwelt from that time to the present date without seeing a single sail—the island being far out of the track of merchant vessels. That at last a ship had been blown out of its course near the island, had taken them on board, and, finally, that here he was, and she might even expect to see him in a few hours!
This epistle was written in a curiously shaky hand, and was much blotted, yet, strange to say, it did not seem to have travelled far, it being quite clean and fresh!
The fact was that Captain Boyns was a considerate man. He had gone into a public-house, not ten yards distant from his own dwelling, to pen this letter, fearing that the shock would be too much for his wife if not broken gradually to her. But his impatience was great. He delivered the letter at his own door, and stood behind it just long enough, as he thought, to give her plenty of time to read it, and then burst in upon her just as she was recovering somewhat of her wonted self-possession.
Over the scene that followed we drop the curtain, and return to Mr Webster, who is once again seated in the old chair in the old office, gazing contemplatively at the portrait of his deceased wife’s father.
There are times in the lives, probably, of all men, when the conscience awakes and induces a spirit of self-accusation and repentance. Such a time had arrived in the experience of Mr John Webster. He had obtained a glimpse of himself in his true colours, and the sight had filled him with dismay. He thought, as he sat in the old chair in the old office, of the wasted life that was behind him, and the little of life that lay, perchance, before. His right hand, from long habit, fumbled with the coin in his trousers-pocket. Taking out a sovereign he laid it on the desk, and gazed at it for some time in silence.
“For your sake,” he murmured, “I have all but sold myself, body and soul. For the love of you I have undermined my health, neglected my child, ruined the fortunes of hundreds of men and women, and committed m—”
He could not bring himself to say the word, but he could not help thinking it, and the thought filled him with horror. The memory of that dread hour when he expected every instant to be whelmed in the raging sea rushed upon him vividly. He passed from that to the period of his sickness, when he used to fancy he was struggling fiercely in the seething brine with drowning men—men whom he had brought to that pass, and who strove revengefully to drag him down along with them. He clasped his hands over his eyes as if he thought to shut out those dreadful memories, and groaned in spirit. Despair would have seized upon the gold-lover at that time, had not his guardian angel risen before his agonised mind. Annie’s soft tones recurred to him. He thought of the words she had spoken to him, the passages from God’s Word that she had read, and, for the first time in his long life, the sordid man of business exclaimed, “God be merciful to me, a sinner!”
No other word escaped him, but when, after remaining motionless for a long time, he removed his hands from his face, the subdued expression that rested there might have led an observer to believe that the prayer had been answered.
A knock at the office-door caused him to start and endeavour to resume his ordinary professional expression and composure as he said, “Come in.”
Harry Boyns, however, had not waited for the answer. He was already in the room, hat in hand.
“Now, sir,” he said, eagerly, “are you ready to start? The train leaves in half an hour, and we must not risk losing it to-day.”
“Losing it!” said Mr Webster, as he rose and slowly put on his greatcoat, assisted by Harry, “why, it just takes me five minutes to walk to the station. How do you propose to spend the remaining twenty-five?—But I say, Harry,” he added with a peculiar smile, “how uncommonly spruce you are to-day!”
“Not an unusual condition for a man to be in on his wedding-day,” retorted Harry; “and I am sure that I can return you the compliment with interest!”
This was true, for Mr Webster had “got himself up” that morning with elaborate care. His morning coat still smelt of the brown paper in which it had come home. His waistcoat was immaculately white. His pearl-grey trousers were palpably new. His lavender kid-gloves were painfully clean. His patent-leather boots were glitteringly black, and his tout ensemble such as to suggest the idea that a band-box was his appropriate and native home.
“Don’t be impatient, boy,” he said, putting some books into an iron safe, “I must attend to business first, you know.”
“You have no right to attend to business at all, after making it over to me, as you formally did yesterday,” said Harry. “If you come here again, sir, and meddle with my department, I shall be compelled to dissolve partnership at once!”
“Please, sir,” said Mr Grinder, appearing suddenly at the door, in a costume which was remarkable for its splendour and the badness of its fit—for Grinder’s was a figure that no ordinary tailor could understand, “Captain Daniel Boyns is at the door.”
“Send him in,” said Webster.
“He won’t come, sir; he’s afraid of being late for the train.”
“Well, well,” said Webster, with a laugh, “come along. Are you ready, Grinder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, lock the office-door, and don’t forget to take out the key.”
So saying, the old gentleman took Harry’s arm, and, accompanied by Grinder and Captain Boyns senior, hurried to the train; was whirled in due course to Covelly, and shortly after found himself seated at a wedding-breakfast, along with our hero Harry Boyns, and our heroine Annie Webster, who was costumed as a bride, and looked inexpressibly bewitching. Besides these there were present excellent Mrs Boyns—happily no longer a widow!—and Grinder, whose susceptible nature rendered it difficult for him to refrain from shedding tears; and a bevy of bride’s-maids, so beautiful and sweet that it seemed quite preposterous to suppose that they could remain another day in the estate of spinsterhood. Mr Joseph Dowler was also there, self-important as ever, and ready for action at a moment’s notice; besides a number of friends of the bride and bridegroom, among whom was a pert young gentleman, friend of Mr Dowler, and a Mr Crashington, friend of Mr Webster,—an earnest, enthusiastic old gentleman, who held the opinion that most things in the world were wrong, and who wondered incessantly “why in the world people would not set to work at once to put them all right!” Niven, the old nurse, was there too, of course all excitement and tears, and so was Bob Gaston, whose appearance was powerfully suggestive of the individual styled in the ballad, “the jolly young waterman.”
Now, it would take a whole volume, good reader, to give you the details of all that was said and done by that wedding-party before that breakfast was over. But it is not necessary that we should go into full details. You know quite well, that when the health of the happy couple was drunk, Annie blushed and looked down, and Harry tried to look at ease, but failed to do so, in consequence of the speech which had cost him such agonising thought the night before, which he had prepared with such extreme care, which contained such an inconceivable amount of sentimental nonsense, which he fortunately forgot every word of at the critical moment of delivery, and, instead thereof, delivered a few short, earnest, stammering sentences, which were full of bad grammar and blunders, but which, nevertheless, admirably conveyed the true, manly sentiments of his heart. You also know, doubtless, that the groom’s-man rose to propose the health of the bride’s-maids, but you cannot be supposed to know that Dowler rose at the same time, having been told by his pert young friend that he was expected to perform that duty in consequence of the groom’s-man being “unaccustomed to public speaking!” Dowler, although not easily put down, was, after some trouble, convinced that he had made a mistake, and sat down without making an apology, and with a mental resolve to strike in at the first favourable opportunity.
When these and various other toasts had been drunk and replied to, the health of Mr Crashington, as a very old friend of the bride’s family, was proposed. Hereupon Crashington started to his feet. Dowler, who was slightly deaf, and had only caught something about “old friend of the family,” also started up, and announced to the company that that was the happiest moment of his life; an announcement which the company received with an explosion of laughter so loud and long that the two “old friends of the family” stood gazing in speechless amazement at the company, and at each other for three or four minutes. At last silence was obtained, and Dowler exclaimed, “Sir,” to which Crashington replied, “Sir,” and several of the company cried, laughingly, “Sit down, Dowler.”
It is certain that Dowler would not have obeyed the order, had not his pert young friend caught him by the coat-tails and pulled him down with such violence that he sat still astonished!
Then Crashington, ignoring him altogether, turned to Mr Webster, and said vehemently—
“Sir, and Ladies and Gentlemen, if this is not the happiest moment of my life, it is at least the proudest. I am proud to be recognised as an old friend of the family to which our beautiful bride belongs; proud to see my dear Annie wedded to a man who, besides possessing many great and good qualities of mind, has shown himself pre-eminently capable of cherishing and protecting his wife, by the frequency and success with which he has risked his own life to
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