Our Home in the Silver West: A Story of Struggle and Adventure. Stables Gordon
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it was not castles in the air, either, we were piling up. We had health, strength, and determination, with a good share of honest ambition; and with these we believed we could gather wealth. The very thoughts of doing so filled me with a joy that was inexpressible. Not that I valued money for itself, but because wealth, if I could but gain it, would enable me to in some measure restore the fortunes of our fallen house.
We first consulted father. It was not difficult to secure his acquiescence to our scheme, and he even told mother that it was unnatural to expect birds to remain always in the parent nest.
I have no space to detail all the outs and ins of our arguments; suffice it to say they were successful, and preparations for our emigration were soon commenced. One stipulation of dear mother's we were obliged to give in to – namely, that Aunt Cecilia should go with us. Aunt was very wise, though very romantic withal – a strange mixture of poetry and common-sense. My father and mother, however, had very great faith in her. Moreover, she had already travelled all by herself half-way over the world. She had therefore the benefit of former experiences. But in every way we were fain to admit that aunt was eminently calculated to be our friend and mentor. She was and is clever. She could talk philosophy to us, even while darning our stockings or seeing after our linen; she could talk half a dozen languages, but she could talk common-sense to the cook as well; she was fitted to mix in the very best society, but she could also mix a salad. She played entrancingly on the harp, sang well, recited Ossian's poems by the league, had a beautiful face, and the heart of a lion, which well became the sister of a chief.
It is only fair to add that it was aunt who found the sinews of war – our war with fortune. She, however, made a sacrifice to our pride in promising to consider any and all moneys spent upon us as simply loans, to be repaid with interest when we grew rich, if not – and this was only an honest stipulation – worked off beforehand.
But poor dear aunt, her love of travel and adventure was quite wonderful, and she had a most childlike faith in the existence and reality of the El Dorado we were going in search of.
The parting with father, mother, and Flora was a terrible trial. I can hardly think of it yet without a feeling akin to melancholy. But we got away at last amid prayers and blessings and tears. A hundred times over Flora had begged us to write every week, and to make haste and get ready a place for her and mother and father and all in our new home in the West, for she would count the days until the summons came to follow.
Fain would honest, brawny Townley have gone with us. What an acquisition he would have proved! only, he told me somewhat significantly, he had work to do, and if he was successful he might follow on. I know, though, that parting with Aunt Cecilia almost broke his big brave heart.
There was so much to do when we arrived in London, from which port we were to sail, so much to buy, so much to be seen, and so many people to visit, that I and my brothers had little time to revert even to the grief of parting from all we held dear at home.
We did not forget to pay a visit to our forty-second cousins in their beautiful and aristocratic mansion at the West End. Archie Bateman was our favourite. My brothers and I were quite agreed as to that. The other cousin – who was also the elder – was far too much swamped in bon ton to please Highland lads such as we were.
But over and over again Archie made us tell him all we knew or had heard of the land we were going to. The first night Archie had said,
'Oh, I wish I were going too!'
The second evening his remark was,
'Why can't I go?'
But on the third and last day of our stay Archie took me boldly by the hand —
'Don't tell anybody,' he said, 'but I'm going to follow you very soon. Depend upon that. I'm only a younger son. Younger sons are nobodies in England. The eldest sons get all the pudding, and we have only the dish to scrape. They talk about making me a barrister. I don't mean to be made a barrister; I'd as soon be a bumbailiff. No, I'm going to follow you, cousin, so I sha'n't say good-bye – just au revoir.'
And when we drove away from the door, I really could not help admiring the handsome bold-looking English lad who stood in the porch waving his handkerchief and shouting,
'Au revoir – au revoir.'
CHAPTER VI.
THE PROMISED LAND AT LAST
'There is nothing more annoyin' than a hitch at the hin'eren'. What think you, young sir?'
'I beg pardon,' I replied, 'but I'm afraid I did not quite understand you.'
I had been standing all alone watching our preparations for dropping down stream with the tide. What a wearisome time it had been, too!
The Canton was advertised to sail the day before, but did not. We were assured, however, she would positively start at midnight, and we had gone to bed expecting to awake at sea. I had fallen asleep brimful of all kinds of romantic thoughts. But lo! I had been awakened early on the dark morning of this almost wintry day with the shouting of men, the rattling of chains, and puff-puff-puffing of that dreadful donkey-engine.
'Oh yes, we'll be off, sure enough, about eight bells.'
This is what the steward told us after breakfast, but all the forenoon had slipped away, and here we still were. The few people on shore who had stayed on, maugre wind and sleet, to see the very, very last of friends on board, looked very worn and miserable.
But surely we were going at last, for everything was shipped and everything was comparatively still – far too still, indeed, as it turned out!
'I said I couldn't stand a hitch at the hin'eren', young sir – any trouble at the tail o' the chapter.'
I looked up – I had to look up, for the speaker was a head and shoulders bigger than I – a broad-shouldered, brawny, brown-bearded Scotchman. A Highlander evidently by his brogue, but one who had travelled south, and therefore only put a Scotch word in here and there when talking – just, he told me afterwards, to make better sense of the English language.
'Do I understand you to mean that something has happened to delay the voyage?'
'I dinna care whether you understand me or not,' he replied, with almost fierce independence, 'but we're broken down.'
It was only too true, and the news soon went all over the ship – spread like wild-fire, in fact. Something had gone wrong in the engine-room, and it would take a whole week to make good repairs.
I went below to report matters to aunt and my brothers, and make preparations for disembarking again.
When we reached the deck we found the big Scot walking up and down with rapid, sturdy strides; but he stopped in front of me, smiling. He had an immense plaid thrown Highland-fashion across his chest and left shoulder, and clutched a huge piece of timber in his hand, which by courtesy might have been called a cane.
'You'll doubtless go on shore for a spell?' he said. 'A vera judicious arrangement. I'll go myself, and take my mither with me. And are these your two brotheries, and your sister? How d'ye do, miss?'
He lifted his huge tam-o'-shanter as he made these remarks – or, in other words, he seized it by the top and raised it into the form of a huge pyramid.
'My aunt,' I said, smiling.
'A thousand parrdons, ma'am!' he pleaded, once more making a pyramid of his 'bonnet,' while the colour mounted to his brow. 'A thousand parrdons!'
Like most of his countrymen, he spoke broader when taken off his guard or when excited. At such times the r's were thundered or rolled out.
Aunt Cecilia smiled most graciously, and I feel sure she did not object to be mistaken for our sister.
'It seems,' he added, 'we are to be fellow-passengers. My name is Moncrieff, and if ever I can be of the slightest service to you, pray command me.'
'You mentioned your mother,' said aunt, by way of saying something. 'Is the old – I mean, is she going with you?'
'What else, what else? And you wouldn't be wrong in calling