Joshua Marvel

CHAPTER XXII

NEVER TO RETURN

Could a map be made of the mental life of a man whose career has been marked by the commonest of commonplace incidents, and from that map a tale were woven, it would transcend in interest the most eventful story that can be found in the wonder-world of fiction. Space matter, and all the abstract relations of the Great System, affect the meanest order of mind, and produce the strangest of contrasts between the outer and inner life of men. Not more strange perhaps, but certainly more beautiful, are the contrasts presented in men of a high order of intelligence. As in the case of Dan. Quiet as were the grooves in which his material life moved, compassed as it was by a few narrow streets, his ideal life was a romance. It glowed with poetic beauty, and was filled with graceful images, like a peaceful lake in whose waters are reflected the glories of grand sunsets and the delicate lines and colors of night clouds and overhanging trees. Had it been Dan's fate to mix with the world, his sensitive nature would have rendered him the most unhappy of beings. The selfishness with which the world abounds, and with which he would have been brought in contact, would have made his life a misery. Wishful to see good in every thing, he would have seen its reverse in so many things, that his enduring faith in the purity and goodness of those upon whom he fixed his affections might have been weakened. His friends were few, but all his heart was theirs, and no doubt of their truth found place in his mind. Not to suspect belonged to the nobility of his nature.

Otherwise, he might have found cause for suspicion in what was occurring around him. Three days before Joshua's final departure from home, Basil Kindred locked himself in his room, and denied himself and Minnie to every person but Susan. She, and she only, attended to his wants, and faithfully obeyed his wishes. To all inquiries the one answer received, through Susan's lips, was, that he was too ill to be seen, and that he required the constant attendance of his daughter, who could not leave his room. Even Mrs. Marvel could not shake his resolution, and was surprised to find that Susan encouraged him, and would not assist her in her kind endeavors.

"It is not good for Minnie," remonstrated Mrs. Marvel, "to be cooped-up in that room all day. She can nurse her father-it is only right she should-but her health will suffer if she does not have fresh air."

"Mr. Kindred knows what is best for himself and Minnie," returned Susan in a voice that trembled, despite her efforts to be firm. "He has asked me to nurse him, and to keep everybody out of his room until he is better; and I mean to do it. If I can't do it here, I shall take him away where he won't be disturbed."

"Let me go up and see him," persisted Mrs. Marvel. "I may be able to do him some good."

"You can't do him a bit of good," replied Susan uncompromisingly, "and he won't let anybody but me go into his room."

"Sick people don't always know what is best for them, my dear. We are all of us very much distressed and anxious about Minnie and her father. They are more than friends to us, and perhaps you do not guess what Minnie is to" – But Mrs. Marvel was stopped in her speech by a fierce exclamation from Susan. The good mother was not sorry for the interruption; she had been about to refer to Dan's love for Minnie, which her delicate and keen instinct had discovered, and the thought came to her that perhaps it would not be wise to speak of it. She was not the less surprised at Susan's agitation, and at the frightened look which immediately afterwards flashed into Susan's eyes-a look which asked, "What have I said? Have I betrayed my trust?" But the next moment Susan resumed her determined manner, and no entreaties of Mrs. Marvel could move her. When Mrs. Marvel told her husband of the interview, he said he was sure that Basil Kindred was not right in his head, and that the best thing to do would be to let the sick man have his own way. As for Susan, Mr. Marvel said, she was always strange-they were a pair, she and Basil Kindred.

So no further attempt was made by any of them to see Basil Kindred and Minnie until the day when Joshua was going to sea. On that day Joshua went to Basil's room, and knocked. Susan came out of the room into the passage, and stood with her back to the door.

"I have come to say good-by," said Joshua; "and I should like much to speak to Minnie and Mr. Kindred before I leave. Go in Susey, and ask him to see me."

Susan returned the usual answer, but Joshua's entreaties caused her to waver. She re-entered the room, and Joshua heard Basil's voice speaking to her. Then Susan came out again, and said, -

"Mr. Kindred is too ill to see you-he told me to say so."

"And Minnie?"

"Minnie!" echoed Susan; and then in a low troubled voice, "Minnie is asleep."

Joshua was inexpressibly pained.

"I must be content, I suppose," he said, sighing; "but I am deeply grieved. Something seems to have come between us lately, and shall go away leaving a mystery behind. I wonder sometimes if am the cause of this estrangement. If I am, I hope all will be set right when I am out of the way."

"I hope so," said Susan, with a singularly earnest look.

"You hope so! Then I am the cause, and you believe it. Take care, Susan that you are not assisting in bringing unhappiness among us."

"It is for you to take care," said Susan, with bitter emphasis, "that you do not do so."

"What do you mean?" asked Joshua, in amazement. "Tell me. I have a right to ask, Susan, for you will one day be my sister."

Joshua had taken her hand as he spoke, but she snatched it from him angrily.

"I can tell you nothing that you do not know," she said hurriedly. "If I am to be your sister, I have only one thing to say to you."

"Well?" he inquired, in an offended tone, for he was angered by Susan's manner.

"Be true to Ellen," she said, with quivering lips and in a softer voice.

"Is that your fear?" he exclaimed almost gayly. "Be true to Ellen! Why, Susey, I love her with all my heart and soul. But there! words go for nothing. Time will show. Bid Minnie and Mr. Kindred good-by for me, and say I was sorry I could not see them before I went away."

He put out his hand, and mechanically she took it in hers; but she unloosed it immediately with a shudder, and left him abruptly. He was compelled to be content with that good-by, unsatisfactory as it was, and he walked to his home, where Dan had been staying for the last few days, eating there, and sleeping, in Joshua's room. Sitting in their bedroom alone on those last few nights, when all but themselves in the house were sleeping the friends renewed their vows of faithful love, and spoke of many things in the future which both of them desired. In one of these conversations Joshua put into Dan's hands a written paper, which made Dan and Joshua's father masters of his small savings and of wages that would be due to him from the London owners of the "Merry Andrew."

"In case any thing happens to me," said Joshua, in explanation.

"Not for any other reason, Jo," said Dan, "for I shall never want the money."

"Father may want a little. It is all his and yours. As to your never wanting money, I wish I could feel sure of it."

"You may, Jo; I am earning quite enough with my birds. Mr. Fewster gave me an order yesterday for four canaries thoroughly trained to do all the best and newest tricks."

Joshua uttered a dissatisfied "Hm!" at the mention of Mr. Fewster's name. Dan understood it, for Joshua had contracted what Dan said was an unreasonable dislike for Solomon Fewster. Now, in reply to a remonstrance from Dan, Joshua said, -

"But you don't like him, Dan."

"I don't know that," said Dan, considering. "When you put it to me so plainly, I am rather inclined to say I do like him; for I cannot give a reason for not doing so. I can give a reason for liking him; he buys my birds" -

"And sells them at a profit, I'll be bound."

"Perhaps; he has a right to do so, if he pleases. I did think at first that he bought them for himself, but of course I was mistaken. However, whatever he does with them, he buys them and pays for them: that's enough for me. You could give as good a reason for liking him. He was kind to you when you were ill."

"Oh, yes! brought me jellies and things" -

"And you ate them and relished them," said Dan, laughing.

"I didn't know that he had brought them, or I wouldn't have touched them. I remember in one of our coasting-trips we had a passenger on board who wrote for newspapers, and who was said to be a very clever man. Certainly he talked like one. He used to talk to me, as much perhaps because I was a good listener, as for any other reason. Well, a favorite subject with him was what he called magnetic sympathy. He would just have suited you, Dan! He said that the natural magnetism which makes persons like or dislike one another, without apparent reason, is never wrongly directed."

"A kind of instinct," remarked Dan reflectively.

"He said, too, that as there are certain things in chemicals that won't mix, being opposed in their natures, so there are persons who have natural antipathies" -

"And won't mix-like you and Mr. Fewster," interpolated Dan.

"Just so. Besides that, I have a good many little reasons for not liking Mr. Fewster.

"Firstly," prompted Dan.

"He never looks me in the face."

"Secondly."

"He has a horribly smooth voice."

"Thirdly."

"He has flat feet-ugly flat feet. I shall always hate men with flat feet. Then every thing about him shifts and shuffles. But don't let us talk about him any more. I can't keep my temper when he is in my thoughts."

The conversation drifted into other subjects, and Solomon Fewster was dismissed.

It was Dan's whim to have all his birds on a table for Joshua's inspection on the morning of his friend's departure.

"Although we are men now, Jo," he said, "I should wish us to keep our boyish fancies fresh and green always in our hearts. There is plenty of room for them, notwithstanding that life is a more serious thing to us than it was."

There they were, the modest linnets, the saucy tomtits, the defiant blackbirds, the handsome canaries. Among the latter were four which Dan pronounced to be "real beauties;" they were of a beautiful orange color, and the feathers in their tails and wings were of a deep black. These were the canaries which Dan had spoken of as having been "ordered" for Solomon Fewster. As they were admiring them, Solomon Fewster's step was heard in the passage, and the man himself entered to wish Joshua good-by. He was profuse in his good wishes, to which Joshua listened in silence, uttering no word but "good-by" as Fewster quitted the room. It so happened that, during the pauses in his expressions of good will to Joshua, Solomon Fewster looked at the canaries which Dan had purchased for him, and handled them with words of approval. When he was gone, Joshua who had thrown his handkerchief carelessly upon the table, said, -

"That man hates me, Dan, more than I hate him."

"My dear Jo," said Dan, "how can you be so fanciful?

"Forewarned is fore-armed, Dan. I beg of you not to trust him; I beg of you not to believe he is any thing but a cruel false man. He wishes me ill-else why do I instinctively shrink from the touch of his hand? He wishes me ill-else why is this?" Joshua removed his handkerchief, and Dan saw one of his beautiful canaries dead upon the table. "As he talked to me with his smooth tongue," continued Joshua, "wishing me well in his hateful voice, he crushed the life out of this poor bird. Is that no sign of a false bad heart? Had his thoughts been as gentle as his words, would this have happened?" Dan was silent; he could not defend Solomon Fewster by another word. "Let us say good-by here, dear Dan. Mother and father are waiting for me, and many of the neighbors also, to give me God-speed in a better fashion and with kinder hearts than that cruel man. Good-by, dearest friend. God send you all that your heart desires!"

"Thank you, dear friend. You know the one thing I desire to render me perfectly happy-Minnie's love. Say, 'God speed you in that venture!' Jo."

"God speed you! Dan, it comes upon me now to ask you one question. You do not doubt me, do you?"

"Doubt you, Jo! No, nor never can."

"The answer is from your heart. I should not have asked but that some things have distressed me lately, and I should indeed be unhappy if I thought you had the shadow of a doubt of me. It may be that our voyage will not be prosperous; it may be that I may never live to return. If I do not-nay, Dan, I am impelled to speak thus-if I do not, believe me to have been always the same to you. Believe that I never wavered in my love or my truth, and that to the last I held you in my heart, as I hold you now, gentlest, dearest, best of friends."

Dan drew Joshua's face to his and kissed it.

"We are one, Jo," he said softly; "nothing can divide our hearts. God bless and protect you, and bring you safely back."

The leave-taking between Joshua and his parents was of a very different nature from the last, when he was leaving home for the first time in his life. Then Mr. and Mrs. Marvel were beset with doubts as to whether the step Joshua was about to take was for the best. Now, these doubts were dissolved. He had gone on his venture a bright happy boy, and had returned a bright happy man. He had started on the lowest round of the ladder, and had already mounted many steps. Third mate already! What might he not attain to? They were proud of him, and with just cause. All the neighbors were proud of him, too; he was a prince among them. The family were quite a distinguished family in the neighborhood, as having for their representative a young man who had been all over the world-a man who had not only seen the sea, but who had been on it. A little crowd of neighbors had gathered about the house to give Joshua a parting handshake. The information of their having gathered for that purpose was imparted to Joshua by his father with an air of pride.

"I've lived in this neighborhood for nearly fifty years, Josh," said George Marvel, "and I've never but once seen so many of the neighbors on the lookout at one time."

"When was that, father?" asked Joshua, humoring his father's vanity.

"That was when a carriage with two white horses came through the street, and stopped in it for full five minutes. It was the first carriage that ever was seen here, and the last, for that matter. You remember, mother!

"Yes, George."

"I wish you could have stopped with us until the last minute, Josh," continued George Marvel; "but Mr. Meddler was so mightily anxious that you should spend tonight and to-morrow with him at Gravesend, that he couldn't well be refused, being so good a friend. Do you think your ship will sail to-morrow?"

"To-morrow or next day, daddy." And Joshua put his arm round his mother's neck, and she looked up at her big son with affectionate pride.

"In three or four months you'll be among the savages again," observed George Marvel contemplatively and admiringly.

"I shall see plenty of them, I dare say, father. They come down to Sydney from what the people call the interior."

"And they are black all over, eh, Josh?" asked George Marvel, who was never tired of a repetition of Joshua's adventures.

"A kind of brown-black rather," answered Joshua, "with eyes like pieces of lighted coal."

"And not a bit of clothing?"

"An old blanket, some of them; nothing at all, a good many. A sailor gave one a pair of trousers, and the fellow tied them round his neck by the legs."

"D'ye see what strange things there are in the world, mother, that we never knew of?" observed George Marvel to his wife. "That comes of being a wood-turner all one's life. – Josh, if you have children, don't make wood-turners of 'em."

"I won't, father," said Joshua, laughing; "but I'm not certain either that I'd make sailors of them."

"There, father!" Mrs. Marvel could not help saying triumphantly, "what do you say to that? Joshua is coming round to my old way of thinking."

"Now, one would think," said George Marvel, appealing to an invisible audience, "that Joshua's done a bad thing by being a sailor."

"Well, no," said Joshua; "I've nothing to grumble at; I've been very lucky, and I'm thankful for it. But it is a hard life for a common sailor. He's bullied here and buffeted there, and is obliged to be up at all times of the night and day sometimes, and he gets soaked and soaked until he hasn't a dry thing to put on. Then, when he's dead-beat and turns in, he hasn't been asleep an hour perhaps when all the watches are called on deck, and there he is again, half dead with sleep, wondering whether he is dreaming or not, till he is woke up with a vengeance by the water trickling down his back, and the wind blowing as if it would blow his eyes clean out of his head."

Mrs. Marvel shivered with apprehension at Joshua's description; and he with ready tact continued, -

"But that's not often; and even when an inexperienced man would suppose there was great danger, there really is none at all. For the most part, it is fair and beautiful; and when you are bowling along under a steady breeze, with all sails set, surrounded by a bright cloud and bright water, there isn't a more glorious life in the world. If you were to see the ship, mother dear, on a calm day, with the sails like birds' white wings, with a deck as clean as this kitchen and the sailors sitting about mending sails and splicing ropes, while the grand albatrosses are flying over us, and shoals of beautiful fish are leaping like deer in the sea-if you were to see it then, you would almost wish you had been a man, so that you might be a sailor. And through all 'there's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, to keep watch for the life of poor Jack.'"

"Indeed, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Marvel, satisfied with the sentiment of the quotation, though its meaning was not quite clear to her; "I'm glad to hear that."

"Dear old mother!" said Joshua, in secret delight at her simplicity, kissing her.

"But the best of it all is," said George Marvel, "it makes a man of you; your muscle's like a bit of iron. Feel mine, Josh-like a bit of soft putty. That comes of being a wood-turner."

"Ellen and Mr. Meddler went down to Gravesend two hours ago," said Mrs. Marvel to Joshua, who was tying his accordion in his pocket-handkerchief.

Joshua nodded. Brave as he had intended to be, spasms were rising in his throat.

"You have all your things, dear?"

"Yes, every thing."

He turned to take a last look at the homely kitchen, noting in that momentary glance the position of every piece of furniture and of the crockery on the dresser. The yellow-haired cat was too old now to do any thing but lie on the hearth before the fire; and Joshua stooped and patted its head. When he rose and put his hand on the back of a chair, it seemed to him as if that common piece of wood and every other inanimate thing in the room were familiar friends. The very shape of the room was dear to him. The dear old kitchen! how many happy hours had he passed in it! He could have knelt and kissed the floor, his heart was so tender. As it was, he touched the table and the mantle-shelf; over which the bright saucepan-lids were hanging, lovingly with his fingers, and with dim eyes walked slowly away. His arm was round his mother's waist as they went up stairs to the street-door, and he put his face to her neck and kissed it-a favorite trick of his when he was a child. It brought to her suddenly the fancy that her son was a baby-boy still; and she caressed his curly head as a young mother might have done. Mr. Marvel of course was too manly to give way to such weakness; but nevertheless he clasped Joshua's hand with a clinging fondness, and the tune he was humming in proof of his manliness came rather huskily from his throat. It was a triumphant moment for him when he opened the street-door, and stood on the step with his wife and Joshua; for there in the street were many of his neighbors, who pushed forward to shake Joshua's hand, and to wish him God-speed; while some of the women slyly gave him "a lucky touch."

"One word, dear mother," said Joshua, drawing mother and father into the passage, whereat all the neighbors fell away, and turned their backs to the door, there being nothing there really worth noticing. "Take care of my darling Ellen for me. And Dan too; he may need it."

"They are our children, Joshua, next to you," said Mrs. Marvel.

"You think to yourself, when you are away, Josh," said Mr. Marvel, with his finger in a button-hole in Joshua's jacket. "'There is Ellen, my wife that is to be; and there is Dan, my dearest friend; and there is father and mother with them every day, loving them almost as much as they love me and almost as proud of them.' You think that, Josh, and you'll think right."

"I am sure of it. Once more, good-by; God bless you all!"

And so, with tender embraces, hearty neighborly farewells, and waving of hands, Joshua, with his accordion under his arm, bade farewell to his dear old humble home.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS STRAIGHT

Having made over the whole of his worldly property to Joshua and Ellen "for better or worse," it was reasonable that Praiseworthy Meddler should have considerable weight in the family council of the Marvels. The arrangement whereby Joshua left his home a day before his ship was to sail was entirely of the Old Sailor's making; he and he alone was responsible for it. Naturally enough, when he had at first proposed it, he had met with opposition-especially from Mrs. Marvel, who wished Joshua to remain with them until the last moment. But, after a private conversation with the Old Sailor, she had yielded to his wish, and had even used arguments to induce Joshua's readier compliance. That being obtained, the Old Sailor informed them that he had a lady-friend at Gravesend, name Mrs. Eliza Friswell, who was a married woman herself with a family, and who kept a respectable boarding-house, with whom he had arranged that Ellen should stay until the anchor of the "Merry Andrew" was weighed; substantiating his statement by a letter from Mrs. Eliza Friswell to Mrs. Marvel, in which Mrs. Eliza-as the Old Sailor called her-undertook to look after Ellen as "one of her own." On the morning of Joshua's departure from Stepney, the Old Sailor, dressed in his best, and decorated with a bunch of flowers in honor of Ellen, had called for his pretty lass and had taken her away, leaving a message that if Joshua did not arrive at Gravesend exactly at the appointed time, Ellen had consented to run away with him-to wit, Praiseworthy Meddler-and get married. Very proud was the Old Sailor of his charge, and very tender and confidential was the nature of his communications to her as they made their way to Gravesend. What it was that made her blush and laugh and cry in turns-what it was that made her serious one moment and glad the next-was known only to themselves. Certainly no one was taken into their confidence until they arrived at Mrs. Eliza's, when, with a fatherly kiss, he delivered Ellen into the charge of that estimable matron. Mrs. Eliza's husband was a boatman, rough and strong as a boatman should be: with a great red face and great red hands, and with a voice that rumbled from his great deep chest with such thunderous power as to render such a thing as a whisper physically impossible. He was the owner of a fleet of four boats, which had been bought and paid for in shrimps and watercresses, or, at all events, with the profits made by Mrs. Eliza out of those delicacies, which she purveyed to the easily-satisfied amorous British public, with stale bread-and-butter and an imitation of tea, at nine pence per head.