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HAND;. AT THE
' -\IVI RSH V OF TOROMo PRESS
M R. M EESON'S Wl I.I..
.1G\: the same Butbcr.
CE TYWAYO AND HIS WHITE NEIGHBOURS.
DAWN.
THE WITCH'S HEAD.
KING SOLOMON'S MINES.
SHE.
JESS.
ALLAN QUATERMAIN.
MAIWA'S REVENGE.
m
Alalia
■^usta set her t>:cth and endured in silence." — Page 137.
X>w»
MR. MEESONS WILL
BY
H. RIDER HAGGARD
AUTHOR OF "KING SOLOMON'S MINES," "DAWN, " Mil. WITCH'S HEAD, "ALLAN QUATERMAIN," LTC.
WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIO.XS
LONDON SPENCER BLACK E I 1
Successor to .1. & 18 flfl o^rll MILTON HOUS] :. BRIDE STREET, E.C
1 888
PR
IN
RECOLLECTION OF MUCH COURTESY AND K1NI >:.
I (without permission)
De&fcate
THIS SOLEMN AND VERACIOUS NARRATIVE
TO
ALL MY LI I RIENDS 0] I Ml
PROBATE BAR
PRE FA C E.
LETTER received from a member of an eminent publishing firm who seems to take Mr. Meeson very solemnly, suggests that it may be well to preface this story with a few explanatory words. I cannot begin them better than by saying that Mr. Meeson and his vast establishment exist, so far ;. am aware, in the regions of romance alone. There is no class of men more exposed to unjust accusations than are publishers, unless indeed we may give the palm to gentlemen connected with the legal professions. As a matter of fact, my experience is that publishers are in the main just and frequently generous in their dealings. Per- haps I may be allowed to give an example. Some time ago I sold a book to a well-known and respected firm a certain moderate sum of money. The book succeeded, and that firm, to my considerable astonishment, voluntarily doubled the amount that they had agi fur it.
Such houses as this, however, or as that with which I
x PREFACE.
have the honour to be chiefly connected, need no testi- mony from me.
But among the numbers who practise publishing, as in every other branch of trade, there are " sweaters " to be found, who deal almost as harshly with the inexperienced producers of the raw literary material as Mr. Mecson dealt with Augusta.
The only part of this humble skit, however, that is meant to be taken seriously, is the chapter which tells of the loss of the R.M.S. Kangaroo. I believe it to be a fair, and in the main an accurate account of what must, and one day will happen upon a large and crowded liner in the event of such a collision as that described, or of her rapid foundering from any other cause ; and it is a remarkable thing that people who for the most part set a sufficient value on their lives, daily consent to go to sea in ships, the boats of which could not on emergency possibly con- tain half their number.
It may be well to state that the story of the tattooed will had its origin in a trick which was played with some success upon a certain learned Q.C. by his own irreverent pupils, and not, as has been suggested, in any French tale whatsoever. I never even heard of the very foreign story from which I am accused of borrowing an idea till long after " Mr. Meeson's Will " was written, and to this hour I have not seen it. This is not said, however, by way of claim- ing or disclaiming originality of incident, but merely in order to save a certain class of critics the labour of further research. Possibly the personage in Greek history who
PRE] ACE
\i
tattooed the head of his slave may have been original, but it is more probable that he " plagiarised " the idea from the
I Iittite. Tattooing stories, like most other tales, have I been the common property of the world. I for one should not be in the least surprised to learn that leg! d some
time or other, had actually passed under such a will.
Perhaps I may be allowed to take this opportunity to add a few words about the accusations of plagiarism which are now so freely brought against authors. Were they all true there would be no great harm done, but for the most part they are quite devoid of truth. As a rule thi y are laid on double lines. One is the time-honoured method of parallel columns, by which it is sought to prove that the accused author has boldly copied from some given work ; the second resolves itself into a charge against him of having borrowed the leading idea, or a portion of the leading idea of his book, from a source other than his own brain. To take the last of these charges first, it will be obvious to any thinking person, that at this period of the world's history absolute originality has become a little difficult There is no such thing as a new passion or even a new thought ; and the motives that sway our hearts swayed those of all the generations that are gone. This being so, the writers of to-ti only describe what has been described before. For in- stance : an author invents an immortal woman living in a cave, and prematurely rejoices, thinking that at last he I found a new thing. A little reflection shows his Homer found such a woman in the Odysscan myth, and
xii PREFACE.
sung of Calypso ; and doubtless the framers of the myth found her in some long-lost legend. So it is with every- thing ; rare indeed is the book that is not a partial plagiarism, if by plagiarism is meant the dealing with what in some way has been dealt with before. Thus if the anti-plagiaristic code of morals is to be adopted in all its severity, it would seem that the manufacture of fiction must come to an end. We have already in this nine- teenth century reached a stage in which the use, whether by chance or design, of an incident recorded in a book of travels, is held up as an offence deserving the contempt and hatred of society. What fate then is in store for the unborn novelists of the twentieth ?
But if the guardians of literary morals are by any chance driven from this position of the stolen idea, they fall back upon the parallel-column test. The two or more works in question are carefully searched, and some half dozen sentences (about three are sufficient to support a charge of plagiarism) are discovered, which, when stripped of their context and properly manipulated or even falsified, have some resemblance to each other. These are printed side by side ; the exposure of the sinner is assumed to be complete, and he is duly dealt with in the article or in a series of articles. I verily believe that any practitioner of the literary detective's sorry craft could in this fashion prove that Blackstone's Commentaries were plagiarised from the Book of Job, or the Book of Job from Blackstone's Commentaries. When applied to two works dealing with kindred subjects, the results are almost certain, and, to
PREFACE xiii
those who wish to be deceived, convincii If, how-
ever, the incriminating sentences are difficult to find, nearly the same effect can be produced by a very simple method. Thus, not long ago I received what I may justly call a malignant newspaper attack upon myself, in the course of which certain points of my book, and of another from which I was accused of having plagiari were summed up and printed in parallel columns in such fashion as to resemble verbatim extracts to the eye of a careless reader. I handed the article to a friend. Presently he looked up doubtfully. " Certainly," he said, "these quotations are very similar." It is probable that many other people made the same remark and re- mained undeceived.*
Still, it is to be hoped that readers are left who hold that a book should be judged according to its me: and the skill with which its central ideas are hand] and not by the test of whether or no something can be
* These and kindred exercises in the art of criticism are by no means new. Gautier, in his preface to " Mademoiselle de Mauj which was published in 1830, alludes to them in these "Jusqu'ici, lorsqu'on avait voulu deprdcier un ouvragc quelcon on avait fait des citations fausses ou perlidement isoldes ; on avait tronque' des phrases de facon que 1'auteur lui-meme se fut trouvd le plus ridicule du monde, on lid avait intent,! naires ; on rapprochait des passages de son livre avec des / d\iuteurs anciens on modernes qui riy avaient pas rapport ; on l'accusait en style de cuisiniorc, et avec force solccismes de ne pas savoir sa langue, .... on assurait sdrieuscment que son ouvrage poussait a l'anthropopagic, et que lea lectcu; naient immanquablement cannibales."
XIV
PREFACE.
raked from the literature of all times and countries that has a family resemblance to one or more of those ideas. If this hope is baseless novelists may throw aside their pens, and betake themselves to some more peaceful occupation.
CONTENTS.
CHAT.
I. AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISHES II. HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERITED
III. AUGUSTA'S LITTLE SISTER
IV. AUGUSTA'S DECISION V. THE K.M.S. "KANGAROO"
VI. MR. TOMBEY GOES FORWARD VII. Till CATASTROPHE. VIII. KERG1 ELI V LAND . IX. AUGUSTA TO THE RESCUE X. HIE LAST OF MR. M XL RESCUED XII. SOUTHAMPTON QUAY
XIII. EUSTACE BUYS A PAPER
XIV. AT HANOVER SQUARE XV. EUSTACE I I TS A I WW I R
XVI. SHORT ON LEGAL I.I I v XVII. U< ■ A\ AUl ' - I A W \- I li I D XVIII. AUGUSTA I
[9
3'
60 70 84
1 Of)
'-5 '45
1
/ 1
-1 ;
XVI
CONTEXTS.
CHAP.
XIX. MEESON V. ADDISON AND ANOTHER
XX. JAMES BREAKS DOWN
XXI. GRANT AS PRAYED.
XXII. ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE .
xxin. meeson's once again .
PAGE 224
233
247
264 276
LIS! OF [LLUSTRA1 I« >NS
•• Augusta set her tee-.h and endured in silence "
•■ And to think that all this comes out of the brains cf chaps
like you "
Mr. Meeson tearing his Will . . . .; i
npadour Ha'.l ...... -45
The Street where Augusta lived ......
. igusta gently lifted the sheet, revealing the s\\
.c Jeannie in her coffin" . .....
"A mighty vessel steamed majestically out of the mi
the Thames "........
'oo at Sea .......
— by George, she's going! ' said an
Johnnie i i i
" Right into this beautiful fjord th ...
•• Nothing but the white wave-horses, across which
cormorants steered their swift, ur._ . •
"O Auntie ! Auntie !" Dick sang out i:
big ship comin g along ''...-•
Michael
'• Down went the books with a crash a;.d a bang, and, c
away by their weight, down went Mi . .
. jgusta turned her back to the Judge, in o: bt
examir.e what was written on ....
"Just as the men came u;
lopking very foolish " . • • •
MR. MEESON'S WILL.
CHAPTER I.
AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISH! .
jVERYBODY who has any connection with Birmingham will be acquainted with the vast publishing establishment still known by the short title of " Meeson's," which is perhaps the most remarkable institution of the sort in Euro; There
arc — or rather there were, at the date of the beginning of this history — three partners in Meeson's — Meeson himself, the managing partner ; Mr. Addison, and Mr. Roscoe — and people in Birmingham used to say that ther interested in the affair, for Meeson's was a company.
However this may be, Meeson & Co. wen- undoubtedly a commercial marvel. The firm employed more than t thousand hands; and its works, lit throughout with electric light, cover two acres and a quarter <>f land. One hundred commercial travellers, at three pound week and a commission, went forth east and west, and north and south, to sell the books i son (which were
largely religious in their nature) in all lands; and live-and-
20 MR. MEESON'S WILL
twenty tame authors (who were illustrated by thirteen tame artists) sat — at salaries ranging from one to five hundred a year — in vault-like hutches in the basement, and week by week poured out that hat-work * for which Meeson's was justly famous. Then there were editors and vice-editors, and he|ds of the various departments, and sub-heads, and financial secretaries, and readers, and many managers ; but what their names were no man knew, because at Meeson's all the employes of the great house were known by numbers ; personalities and personal responsibility being the abomination of the firm. Nor was it allowed to any one having dealings with these items ever to see the same number twice, presumably for fear lest the numb"er should remember that he was a man and a brother, and his heart should melt towards the unfortunate, and the financial interests of Meeson's should suffer. In short, Meeson's was an establishment created for and devoted to money-making, and the fact was kept studiously and even insolently before the eyes of everybody connected with it — which was, of course, as it should be, in this happy land of commerce. After all that has been written, the reader will not be surprised to learn that the partners in Meeson's were rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Their palaces would have been a wonder even in ancient Babylon, and would have excited admiration in the corruptest and most luxurious days of Rome. Where could one see such horses, such carriages, such galleries of sculpture, or such collec- tions of costly gems as at the palatial halls of Messrs. Mceson, Addison, and Roscoe ?
"And to think," as the mighty Mecson himself would say, with a lordly wave of his right hand, to some asto-
* Hat-work, il is perhaps necessary to explain, is work with no head in it.
AUGUSTA AND II! R PUBLISHER. 31
nishcd wretch of an author whom he has chosen to over- whelm with the sight of this magnificeno "I think that all this comes out of the brains of chaps like you ! Why,
young man, I tell you that if all the money that has !• paid to you scribblers since the days of Elizabeth were added together it would not come up to my little pile ; hut, mind you, it ain't so much fiction that has done the trick — it's religion. It's piety as pays, especially when it's printed."
Then the unsophisticated youth would go away, his 1 too full for words, but pondering how these things were, and by-and-by he would pass into the Mecson melting- ajad learn something about it.
One day King Mecson sat in his counting-house counting out his money, or, at least, looking over the books of the firm. He was in a very bad temper, and his heavy brows were wrinkled up in a way calculated to make the counting- house clerks shake on their stools. Mccson's had a branch establishment at Sydney, in Australia, which establishmi nt had, until lately, been paying — it is true not as well as tin- English one, but still fifteen or twenty p< r c< lit. But 1 a wonder had come to p^s. A great An,' rican publish- ing firm had started an opposition house in Mel bom and their "cuteness" was more than the "cut " of
Meeson. Did Meeson's publish an edition of the works of any standard author at threepence per volume, the oppo- sition company brought out the same work at twi halfpenny ; did Meeson's subsidise a newspaper to puff their undertakings, the opposition firm subsidised two to cry them down, and so on. And now the results of all this were becoming apparent : for the financial y< r ended the Australian branch had barely earned a beggarly net dividend of seven per cent.
22 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
No wonder Mr. Meeson was furious, and no wonder that the clerks shook upon their stools.
" This must be seen into, No. 3," said Mr. Meeson, bringing his fist down with a bang on to the balance-sheet.
No. 3 was one of the editors : a mild-eyed little man with blue spectacles. He had once been a writer of promise ; but somehow Meeson's had got him for its own, and turned him into a publisher's hack.
" Quite so, sir," he said humbly. " It is very bad — it is dreadful to think of Meeson's coming down to seven per cent. — seven per cent. ! " and he held up his hands.
" Don't stand there like a stuck pig, No. 3," said Mr. Meeson fiercely ; " but suggest something."
" Well, sir," said No. 3 more humbly than ever, for he was terribly afraid of his employer ; " I think, perhaps, that somebody had better go to Australia, and see what can be done."
" I know one thing that can be done," said Mr. Meeson, with a snarl : " all those fools out there can be sacked, and sacked they shall be ; and, what's more, I'll go and sack them myself. That will do, No. 3 ; that will do ; " and No. 3 departed, and glad enough he was to go.
As he went a clerk arrived, and gave a card to the great man.
" Miss Augusta Smithers," he read ; then, with a grunt, " show Miss Augusta Smithers in."
Presently Miss Augusta Smithers arrived. She was a tall, well-formed young lady of about twenty-four, with pretty golden hair, deep grey eyes, a fine forehead, and a delicate mouth ; just now, however, she looked very nervous.
" Well, Miss Smithers, what is it ? " asked the publisher.
" I came, Mr. Meeson — I came about my book."
"Your book, Miss Smithers?" this was an affectation of
" And to think that nil this comes out of the brains of chr-
AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISHER. 25
forgetfulness ; "let me sec? — forgive mc, but we publish so many books. Oh, yes, I remember: 'Jemima's V Oh, well, I believe it is going on fairly."
"I saw you advertised the sixteenth thousand the other day," put in Miss Smithers apologetically.
" Did we — did we ? ah, then, you know more about it than I do," and he looked at his visitor in a way that conveyed urly enough that he considered the interview was en
Miss Smithers rose, and then, with a spi ic effort,
sat down again. "The fact is, Mr. Meeson," she said — "the fact is, I thought that, perhaps, a- 'Jemima's V< had been such a great success, you might, perhaps — in short, you might be inclined to give me some small sum in addition to what I have received."
Mr. Meeson looked up. His forehead was wrinkled till the shaggy eyebrows nearly hid the sharp little e; "What!" he said. " What!"
At this moment the door opened, and a young gentleman came slowly in. lie was a very nice-looking young man, tall and well-shaped, with a fair skin and jolly blue eyes — in short, a typical young Englishman of the better sort, atatc suo twenty-four. I have said that he came slowly in, but that scarcely conveys the gay and digage air of in- dependence which pervaded this young man, and w! would certainly have struck any observer as little short of shocking, when contrasted with the worm-like attitude "I those who crept round the feet of Meeson. This you man had not, indeed, even taken the trouble to remove his hat, which was perched upon the back of his head, his ha' were in his pockets, a sacrilegious whistle hovered <>n his lips, and he opened the door of the sanctum sanctorum of the Meeson establishment with a hide !
"How do, uncle?" he said to the Commercial I
26 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
who was sitting there behind his formidable books, address- ing him even as though he were an ordinary man. " Why, what's up ? "
Just then, however, he caught sight of the very hand- some young lady who was seated in the office, and his whole demeanour underwent a most remarkable change ; out came the hands from his pockets, off went the hat, and, turning, he bowed, really rather nicely, considering how impromptu the whole performance was.
" What is it, Eustace ? " asked Mr. Meeson sharply.
" Oh, nothing, uncle ; nothing — it can bide," and, without waiting for an invitation, he took a chair, and sat down in such a position that he could see Miss Smithers without being seen of his uncle.
" I was saying, Miss Smithers, or, rather, I was going to say," went on the elder Meeson, " that, in short, I do not in the least understand what you can mean. You will remember that you were paid a sum of fifty pounds for the copyright of ' Jemima's Vow.' "
" Great Heavens ! " murmured Master Eustace, behind ; " what a do ! "
" At the time an alternative agreement, offering you seven per cent, on the published price of the book, was submitted to you, and had you accepted it, you would, doubtless, have realised a larger sum," and Mr. Meeson contracted his hairy eyebrows and gazed at the poor girl in a way that was, to say the least, alarming. But Augusta, though she felt sadly inclined to flee, still stood to her guns, for, to tell the truth, her need was very great.
" I could not afford to wait for the seven per cent., Mr. Meeson," she said humbly.
" Oh, ye gods ! seven per cent., when he makes about thirty-five!" murmured Eustace, in the background.
AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISHER. 37
" Possibly, Miss Sraithers ; possibly," went on th . man. "You must really forgive me if I am not acquaii
with the exact condition of your private affairs. I am, however, aware from experience that the money mal most writing people are a little embarrassed."
Augusta winced, and Mr. Meeson, rising heavily fr his chair, went to a large safe which stood and
extracted from it a bundle of agreements. These he § ' at one by one till he found what he was looking for.
" Here is the agreement," he said; ''let me see? ah, I thought so — copyright fifty pounds, half proceeds of riyhts of translation, and a clause binding you to offer any future- work you may produce during the next five to our house on the seven per cent, agreement, or a sum not ceeding one hundred pounds for the copyright. Now, Miss Smithers, what have you to say? You signed this pa of your own free will. It so happens that we have m a large profit on your book : indeed, I don't mind telling you that we have got as much as we gave you back from America for the sale of the American rights ; but that is no ground for your coming to ask more 1 than ■ agreed to accept. I never heard of such a thing in the whole course of my professional experience; never!" and he paused, and once more eyed her st< inly.
" At any rate, there ought to be something I nc
to me from the rights of translation — I saw in the pap- r that the book was to be translated into French and German," said Augusta faintly.
"Oh! yes, no doubt — Eustace, oblig by ton
the bell."
The young gentleman did so, and a tall, melancholy- looking clerk appeared.
"No. 18/' snarled Mr. Meeson, In the t
28 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
amiability that he reserved for his employes, " make out the translation account of 'jemima's Vow,' and fill up a cheque of balance due to the author."
No. iS vanished like a thin, unhappy ghost, and Mr. Mceson once more addressed the girl before him. " If you want money, Miss Smithcrs," he said, " you had better write us another book. I am not going to deny that your work is good work — a little too deep, and not quite orthodox enough, perhaps ; but still good. I tested it myself, when it came to hand — which is a thing I don't often do— and saw it was good selling quality, and you see I didn't make a mistake. I believe ' Jemima's Vow ' will sell twenty thousand without stopping— here's the account."
As he spoke the spectre-like clerk put down a neatly-ruled bit of paper and an unsigned cheque on the desk before his employer, and then smiled a shadowy smile and vanished.
Mr. Meeson glanced through the account, signed the cheque, and handed it, together with the account, to Augusta, who proceeded to read it. It ran thus : —
Augusta Smithers in account with Meeson & Co.
To Sale of Right of Translation of ) "Jemima's Vow" into French 1
Do. do. do. into German
£> >. d.
o o
£*\
£ s. d.
Less amount due to Messrs. Meeson, )
f 700 being one half of net proceeds )
Less Commission, &c, . . . . 3 19 o
Balance due to Author, as per cheque
herewith
AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISHER
Augusta looked, and then slowly crumpled up the ch- in her hand.
"If I understand, Mr. Meeson," .she said, "you have sold the two rights of translation of my book, which you
-suaded me to leave in your hands, for^'i ; ; • ut of which I am to receive £3, is.?"
" Yes, Miss Smithers. Will you be so kind as to sign the receipt ; the fact is that I have a good deal of business to attend to."
" No, Mr. Meeson," said Augusta, rising to her feet and looking exceedingly handsome and imposing in her anger. " No ; I will not sign the receipt, and I will not take this cheque. And, what is more, I will not write you any more books. You have entrapped me. You have taken advan- tage of my ignorance and inexperience, and entrapped me so that for five years I shall be nothing but a slave to you, and, although I am now one of the most popular writers in the country, shall be obliged to accept a sum for my books upon which I cannot live. Do you know that yesti was offered a thousand pounds for the copyright of a book like ' Jemima's You ' ? — it's a large sum ; but I have the letter. Yes, and 1 have the book in manuscript now ; and if I could publish it 1 should be lifted out of poverty, to- gether with my poor little si.-t< r ! " and she gave a e " But," she went on, " I cannot publish it, and I will ;i"t let you have it and be treated like thi- : 1 had ratlx 1 I will publish nothing for five years, ami I will write to the papers and say why — because I have been cheated, Mr. Meeson ! "
" Cheated ! " thundered the great man. " !)<• car young lady ; mind what you are saying. I have a witness — Eustace, you hear, 'cheated!1 Kustacc, 'cheated!'
" I hear," said Eustace grimly.
3o MR. MEESON'S WILL.
"Yes, Mr. Meeson, I said 'cheated;' and I will repeat it, whether I am locked up for it or not. Good morning, Mr. Meeson," and she bowed to him, and then suddenly burst into a flood of tears.
In a minute Eustace was by her side.
" Don't cry, Miss Smithers ; for Heaven's sake, don't. I can't bear to see it," he said.
She looked up, her beautiful grey eyes full of tears, and tried to smile.
" Thank you," she said ; " I am very silly, but I am so
disappointed. If you oniy knew There, I will go.
Thank you," and in another instant she had drawn herself up and left the room.
"Well," said. Mr. Meeson, senior, who had been sitting at his desk with his great mouth open, apparently too much astonished to speak. " Well, there is a vixen for you. But she'll come round. I've known them to do that sort of thing before — there are one or two down there," and he jerked his thumb in the direction where the twenty and five tame authors sat each like a rabbit in his little hutch and did hat-work by the yard, " who carried on like that. But they are quiet enough now — they don't show much spirit now. I know how to deal with that sort of thing — half-pay and a double talc of copy — that's the ticket. Why, that girl will be worth fifteen hundred a year to the house. What do you think of it, young man, eh ? "
" I think," answered his nephew, on whose good-tempered face a curious look of contempt and anger had gathered, " 1 think that you ought to be ashamed of yourself ! "
CHAPTER II.
IlUW EUSTACE WAS DIS1MIEKI1
|HERE was a pause — a dreadful pause. The
flash had left the cloud, but the answering
thunder had not burst upon the ear. Mr.
Meeson gasped. Then he took up the cheque
which Augusta had thrown upon the tabic and slowly
crumpled it.
" What did you say, young man ? " he said at last, in a cold, hard voice.
" I said that you ought to be ashamed of yourself," answered his nephew, standing his ground bravely ; " and, what is more, I meant it ! "
"Oh ! Now will you be so kind as to explain exactly why you said that, and why you meant it?"
" I meant it," answered his nephew, speaking in a full, strong voice, " because that girl was right when she said that you had cheated her, and you know that she was right. I have seen the accounts of ' Jemin Vow' — I saw them this morning -and you have ali< made more than a thousand pounds clear profit on I book. And then when she comes to ask you for son -
32 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
thing over the beggarly fifty pounds which you doled out to her, you refuse, and offer her three pounds as her share of the translation rights — three pounds as against your eleven ! "
" Go on," interrupted his uncle ; " pray go on." " All right ; I am going. That is not all : you actually avail yourself of a disgraceful trick to entrap this unfortu- nate girl into an agreement, whereby she becomes a literary bondslave for five years ! As soon as you see that she has genius, you tell her that the expense of bringing out her book, and of advertising up her name, &c, &c, &c, will be very great — so great, indeed, that you cannot under- take it, unless, indeed, she agrees to let you have the first offer of everything she writes for five years to come, at somewhere about a fourth of the usual rate of a successful author's pay — though, of course, you don't tell her that. You take advantage of her inexperience to bind her by this iniquitous contract, knowing that the end of it will be that you will advance her a little money and get her into your power, and then will send her down there to the Hutches, where all the spirit and originality and genius will be crushed out of her work, and she will become a hat-writer like the rest of them — for Meeson's is a strictly commercial undertaking, you know, and Meeson's public don't like genius, they like their literature dull and holy ! — and it's an infernal shame ! that's what it is, uncle ! " and the young man, whose blue eyes were by this time flashing fire, for he had worked himself up as he went along, brought his fist down with a bang upon the writing-table by way of emphasising his words.
" I lave you done ? " said his uncle.
"Yes, I've done; and I hope that I have put it plain."
" Very well ; and now might I ask you, supposing that
HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERI1 E I >.
you should ever come to manage this business, if J sentiments accurately represent the system upon which would proceed ? "
" Of course they do. I am not going to turn di for anybody."
"Thank you. They seem to have taught you the art plain speaking up at Oxford — though, it appears," with a sneer, "they taught you very little else. Well, now it is my turn to speak ; and I tell you what it is, young man : you will either instantly beg my pardon for what you have said, or you will leave Meeson's for j_ and all."
" I won't beg your pardon for speaking the truth." said Eustace hotly; "the fact is, that hen.- you never hear the truth: all these poor devils and ci I
about you, and daren't call their souls their own. I shall be devilish glad to get out of this place, I can t> II you. I hate it. The place reeks of sharp pi money-making — money-making by fair means <>r foul."
The elder man had, up till now, at all events to outv. appearance, kept his temper; but this last flower >ii^
English was altogether too much for one whom tin- i session of so much money had for many years shielded from hearing unpleasant truths put roughly. His grew like a devil's, his thick eyebrows contracted tb selves, and his pale lips quivered with fury. I seconds he could not speak, so great was his emol When, at length, he did, his voice was as thick ami laden with rage as a dense mist is with rain.
'■ You impudent young ra-cal ! " he began, " you Ul ful foundling! Do you suppose that when my brotl you to starve — which was all that \ I
*;ed you out of the gutter for this : that you should !
34 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
the insolence to come and tell me how to conduct my business ? Now, young man, I'll just tell you what it is. You can be off and conduct a business of your own on whatever principles you choose. Get out of Meeson's, sir ; and never dare to show your nose here again, or I'll give the porters orders to hustle you off the premises ! And, now, that isn't all. I've done with you, never you look to me for another sixpence ! I'm not going to support you any longer, I can tell you. And, what's more, do you know what I am going to do just now ? I'm going off to old Todd — that's my lawyer — and I'm going to tell him to make another will and to leave every farthing I have — and that isn't much short of two millions, one way and another — to Addison and Roscoe. They don't want it, but that don't matter. You sha'n't have it — no, not a farthing of it ; and I won't have a pile like that frittered away in charities and mismanagement. There now, my fine young gentleman, just be off and see if your new business principles will get you a living."
" All right, uncle ; I'm going," said the young man quietly. " I quite understand what our quarrel means for me, and, to tell you the truth, I am not sorry. I have never wished to be dependent on you, or to have anything to do with a business carried on as Meeson's is. I have a hundred a year my mother left me, and, with the help of that and my education, I hope to make a living. Still, I don't want to part from you in anger, because you have been very kind to me at times, and, as you remind me, you picked me out of the gutter when I was orphaned or not far from it. So I hope you will shake hands before I go.
" Ah ! " snarled his uncle ; " you want to pipe down now, do you? But that won't do. Off you go! and mind you
HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERIT!
don't set foot in Pompadour Hall" — Mr. Meeson's seat — " unless it is to get your clothes. Come, cut I "
" You misunderstand me," said Eustace, with a touch of native dignity which became him very well. " IV we shall not meet again, and I did not wish to part in anger, that was all. Good morning." And he bowed and left the office.
" Confound him ! " muttered his uncle as the door cl< " he's a good plucked one — showed spirit. But I'll si spirit, too. Meeson is a man of his word. Cut hitn off with a shilling ? not I ; cut him off with nothing at all ! And yet, curse it, I like the lad. Well, I've dune with him, thanks to that minx of a Smithers girl. Perhaps ! sweet on her? then they can go and starve tog< and
be hanged to them ! She had better keep out of my v. for she shall smart for this, so sure as my name is Jonathan Meeson. I'll keep her up to the letter of th. and, if she tries to publish a book inside of this country out of it, I'll crush her — yes, I'll crush her, if it COS) five thousand to do it ! " and, with a snarl, he drop; fist heavily upon the table before him.
Then he rose, put poor Augusta's agreement c •. back into the safe, which he shut with a savage snap, and proceeded to visit the various departments of fa lishment, and to make such hay therein as had before been dreamt of in the classic halls
To this hour the clerks of the great house talk of I dreadful day with bated breath — for as bloody H- through the Greeks, so did the might on rage t:
his hundred departments. In the very fir-t off a wretched clerk eating sardine sandwiches. With- moment's hesitation he took the sandwiches and threw them through the window.
36 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
" Do you suppose I pay you to come and eat your filthy sandwiches here ? " he asked savagely. " There, now you can go and look for them ; and see you here : don't trouble to come back, you idle, worthless fellow. Off you go 1 and remember you need not send to me for a character. Now then — double quick ! "
The unfortunate departed, feebly remonstrating, and Meeson, having glared round at the other clerks and warned them that unless they were careful — very careful — they would soon follow in his tracks, proceeded on his path of devastation.
Presently he met an editor, No. 7 it was, who was bringing him an agreement to sign. He snatched it from him and glanced through it.
" What do you mean by bringing me a thing like this ? " he said ; " it's all wrong."
"It is exactly as you dictated it to me yesterday, sir/' said the editor indignantly.
" What, do you dare to contradict me ? " roared Meeson. " Look here, No. 7, you and I had better part. Now, no words ; your salary will be paid to you till the end of the month, and if you would like to bring an action for wrong- ful dismissal, why, I'm your man. Good morning, No. 7 ; good morning."
Next he crossed a courtyard where, by slipping stealthily round a corner, he came upon a jolly little errand boy, who was enjoying a solitary game of marbles.
Whack came his cane across the seat of that errand boy's trousers, and in another minute he had followed the editor and the sandwich-devouring clerk.
And so the merry game went on for half-an-hour or more, till at last Mr. Meeson was fain to cease his troub- ling, being too exhausted to continue his destroying course.
HOW EUSTACE was DISINHERIT]
But next morning there was promotion going "ii in th< great publishing house : eleven vacancil S had to b< hi led.
A couple of glasses of brown sh< rry and ;i f« w & wiches, which he hastily swallowed at a neighbouring restaurant, quickly restored him, however; and, jumping into a cab, he drove post haste to his lawyers', Mes Todd & James.
"Is Mr. Todd in?" he said to the managing clerk, who came forward bowing obsequiously to the richest man in Birmingham.
" Mr. Todd will be disengaged in a few minutes, he said. " May I offer you the Times .' "
"Damn the Times/" was the polite answer; "I don't come here to read newspapers. Tell Mr. Todd that I must see him at once, or else I shall go elscwhei
"I am much afraid, sir" began the managing
clerk.
Mr. Mceson jumped up and grabbed his hat. " .' ■ then, which is it to be ? " he said.
"Oh, certainly, sir; pray be seated," answered th<- manager in great alarm- -Meeson's business w.is not a thing to be lightly lost. "I will see Mr. Todd instantly," and he vanished.
Almost simultaneously with his departure an old lady was unceremoniously bundled out of an inm i rq Ml, clutch- ing feebly at a reticule full of papers ami proclaiming loudly that her head was going round and round. Tin- pour old soul was just altering her will for the eighteenth time in air of a bran new charity, highl) i mmendi
. alty; and to be suddenly shot from the sence of her lawyer into the outer darkness of the office, was really too much for her.
38 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
In another minute, Mr. Meeson was being warmly, even enthusiastically, greeted by Mr. Todd himself. Mr. Todd was a nervous-looking, jumpy little man, who spoke in jerks and gushes in such a way as to remind one of a fire-hose through which water was being pumped inter- mittently.
" How do you do, my dear sir ? Delighted to have this pleasure," he began with a sudden gush, and then sud- denly dried up as he noticed the ominous expression on the great man's brow. " I am sure I am very sorry that you were kept waiting, my dear sir ; but I was at the moment engaged with an excellent and most Christian testator "
Here he suddenly jumped and dried up again, for Mr. Meeson, without the slightest warning, ejaculated: "Curse your Christian testator ! And look here, Todd, just you see that it does not happen again. I'm a Christian testator, too ; and Christians of my cut aren't accustomed to be kept standing about just like office-boys or authors. Sec that it don't happen again, Todd."
" I am sure I am exceedingly grieved. Circum- stances "
" Oh, never mind all that — I want my will."
" Will — will Forgive me — a little confused, that's
all. Your manner is so full of hearty old middle-age's
kind of vigour "
Here he stopped, more suddenly even than usual, for Mr. Meeson fixed him with his savage eye, and then jerked himself out of the room to look for the document in question.
" Little idiot ! " muttered Meeson ; " I'll give him the sack, too, if he isn't more careful. By Jove ! why should I not have my own resident solicitor ? I could get a
HOW 1 I M ACE WAS DISINHERIT]
sharp hand with a dan
a year, and I pay that old Todd quit' jo. Th<
is a vacant place in the Hutches that 1 could turn .
an office. Hang me, if I don't du it. I will
little chirping grasshopper jump to some purpose, I'll
warrant," and he chuckled at the id
Just then Mr. Todd returned with the will, and ' he could begin to make any explanations his employer cut him short with a sharp order to read t I of it.
This the lawyer went on to do. It and, with the exception of a few ting in
all to about twenty thousand pounds, bequeathed the testator's vast fortune and i . including his (by far
the largest) interest in the great publishing hou his palace, with the paint: ind other valuable contents,
known as Pompadour Hall, to his nephew, E H,
Meeson.
"Very well," he said, when the reading was finish " now give it to me."
Mr. Todd obeyed, and handed the document to
tron, who deliberately rent it into fragments with strong fingers, and then completed its destruction by t
g it with his big white teeth. lis done, he mix-
little pieces up, threw them on the floor, and - them with an air of malignity that almost fright little Mr. Todd.
" Now then," he said grimly. " there's an love; so let's on with the n< Take your
receive my instructions for my will."
Mr. Todd did as he was told.
" I leave all my property, real .. divided in equal shares between my two partm Tom Addison and Cecil Spooner K
4o MR. MEESON'S WILL.
short and sweet, and, one way and another, it means a couple of millions."
" Good Heavens ! sir," jerked out Mr. Todd. " Why, do you mean to quite cut out your nephew — and the other legatees ? " he added, by way of an afterthought.
" Of course I do ; that is, as regards my nephew. The legatees may stand as before."
" Well, all I have to say," went on the little man, astonished into honesty, " is that it is the most shameful thing I ever heard of!"
" Indeed, Mr. Todd, is it? Well, now may I ask you : am I leaving this property or are you ? Don't trouble yourself to answer that, however, but just attend. Either you draw up that, will at once, while I wait, or you say good-bye to about £2000 a year ; for that's what Mee- son's business is worth, I reckon. Now you take your choice."
Mr. Todd did take his choice. In under an hour the will, which was very short, was drawn and engrossed.
" Now then," said Meeson, addressing himself to Mr. Todd and the managing clerk, as he took the quill between his fingers to sign, "do you two bear in mind that at the moment I execute this will I am of sound mind, memory, and understanding. There you are; now do you two witness."
• >••••
It was night, and King Capital, in the shape of Mr. Meeson, sat alone at dinner in his palatial dining-room at Pompadour. Dinner was over. The powdered footmen had d< parted with stately tread, and the head butler was just placing the decanters of richly coloured wine before this solitary lord of all. The dinner had been a melan- choly failure. Dish after dish, the cost of any one of which
MR. UEESON TEABIM
HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERIT] I ».
would have fed a poor child for a month, had been brought up and handed to the master only to be found lank with and sent away. On that night Mr. Meeson had appetite.
"Johnston," he said to the butler, when he was sure the footmen could not hear him, "has Mr. Eustace been here?"
"Yes, sir."
" Has he gone ? "
" Yes, sir. He came to fetch his things, and then went away in a cab."
"Where to?"
"I don't know, sir. lie told the man to drive t" Birmingham."
" Did he leave any message? "
" Yes, sir; he bade me say that you should not be troubled with him again ; but that he was sorry that had parted from him in anger."
" Why did you not give me that message before ? "
" Because Mr. Eustace said I was not to give it un you asked after him."
" Very good. Johnston ! "
" Yes, sir."
"You will give orders that Mr. Eustace's name is not to be mentioned in this house again. Any servant mentioning Mr. Eustace's name will be dismissed."
" Very good, sir ; " and Johnston went.
Mr. Meeson gazed round him. He looked at tl array of glass and silver, at the spot flowers. He looked at the walls hung with works which, whatever else they might be, were sive ; at the mirrors and the soft wax-light- ; at I mantelpieces and the bright warm tires (for it
44 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
November) ; at the rich wall paper, and the soft, deep- hued carpet ; and reflected that they were all his. And then he sighed, and his coarse, heavy face sank in and grew sad. Of what use was this last extremity of luxury to him ? He had nobody to leave it to, and, to speak the truth, it gave him but little pleasure. Such pleasure as he had in life was derived from making money, not from spending it. The only times when he was really happy were when he sat in his counting-house, directing the enterprises of his vast establishment, and adding sovereign by sovereign to his enormous accumulations. That had been his one joy for forty years, and it was still his joy.
And then he fell to thinking of his nephew, the only son of his brother whom he had once loved, before he lost himself in publishing books and making money, and sighed again. He had been attached to the lad in his own coarse way, and it was a blow to him to cut himself loose from him. But Eustace had defied him, and — what was worse — he had told him the truth, which he, of all men, could not bear. He had said that his system of trade was dishonest, that he took more than his due, and it was so. He knew it ; but he could not tolerate that it should be told him, and that his whole life should thereby be discredited, and even his accumulated gold tarnished — stamped as ill-gotten ; least of all could he bear it from his dependant. He was not altogether a bad man ; nobody is : he was only a coarse, vulgar tradesman, hardened and defiled by a long career of sharp dealing. At the bottom he had his feelings like other men, but he could not tolerate exposure or even con- tradiction ; therefore, he had revenged himself. And yet as he sat there, in solitary glory, he realised that to revenge does not bring happiness, and could even find it in his heart
HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERIT! 47
to envy the steadfast honesty that had defied him at the cost of its own ruin.
Not that he meant to relent or alter his determination. Mr. Meeson never relented, and never changed his mind ; had he done so he would not at that moment hav< the master of two millions of money.
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CHAPTER III.
/417GC7S7V4'S LITTLE SISTER.
|HEN Augusta left Meeson's she was in a very sad condition of mind, to explain which it will be necessary to say a word or two about that accomplished young lady's previous history. Her father had been a clergyman, and, like most clergy- men, not overburdened with the good things of this world. When Mr. Smithers — or, rather, the Rev. James Smithers —died he left behind him a widow and two children — Augusta, aged fourteen, and Jeannie, aged four. There had been two others, both boys, who had come into the world between Augusta and Jeannie, but they had both preceded their father to the land of shadows. Mrs. Smithers had, fortunately for herself, a life interest in a sum of £7000, which, being well invested, brought her in £350 a year ; and, in order to turn this little income to the best possible account and give her two girls all educa- tional opportunities possible under the circumstances, on her husband's death she moved from the village where he had for many years been curate, into the city of Bir- mingham. Here she lived in absolute retirement for some
AUGUSTA'S LITTLE SISTER
five years and then suddenly died, leaving the two girls, then respectively nineteen and nine years • mourn
her loss, and, friendless as they w< re, to fight their way in the hard world.
Mrs. Sraithers had been a saving woman, and, on her
th, it was found that, after paying all debts, ti. remained a sum of £600 for the two girls to live on, nothing else; for their mother's fortune died with I
•. . it will be obvious that the inl arising from
£600 is not sufficient to support two young people, and therefore Augusta was f upon the principal.
From an early age, however, she had shown a str literary tendency, and shortly after her m< death
she published her first book, at her own - It ■
a dead failure, and co<t her fifty-two pounds, the balai between the profit and loss account. Afti ver,
gusta recovered from this blow, and v 'Jemil
Vow," which was 1 up by Meeson's ; and Strang
may seem, proved the success of the year. ( H the nal of the agreement into which she entered with Mi the
reader is already informed, and he will not th< surprised to learn that under its cruel provisions, notwith- standing her name and fame, Augusta was absolutely pro hibited from reaping the fruits of her success. S ould
only publish with Meeson's, and at the fixed pay ol
cent, on the advertised price of 1 k. Now,
thing over three years had elapsed since ti ii of M
and it will therefore be obvious that th- not much remaining of the £600 which she had left behind her. The two girls had, : lived ccoi ugh
in a couple of small rooms in a back ieir
expenses had been enormously in< I by t!
illness, from a pulmonary complaint, of little Jeannic, now
50 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
a child between twelve and thirteen years of age. On that very morning, Augusta had seen the doctor and been crushed into the dust by the expression of his conviction, that, unless her sister was moved to a warmer climate, for a period of at least a year, she would not live through the winter, and might die at any moment.
Take Jeannie to a warmer climate! He might as well have told Augusta to take her to the moon. Alas, she had not the money and did not know where to turn to get it 1 Reader, pray to Heaven that it may never be your lot to see your best beloved die for the want of a little miserable money wherewith to save her life !
It was in this terrible emergency that she had — driven thereto by her agony of mind — tried to get something beyond her strict and legal due out of Meeson's — Meeson's, that had made hundreds and hundreds out of her book and paid her fifty pounds. We know how she fared in that attempt. On leaving their office, Augusta bethought her of her banker. Perhaps he might be willing to advance something. It was a horrible task, but she determined to undertake it ; so she walked to the bank and asked to see the manager. He was out, but would be in at three o'clock. She went to a shop near and got a bun and glass of milk, and waited till she was ashamed, to wait any longer, and then walked about the streets till three o'clock. At the stroke of the hour she returned, and was shown into the manager's private room, where a dry, unsympathetic- looking little man was sitting before a big book. It was not the same man whom Augusta had met before, and her heart sank proportionately.
What followed need not be repeated here. The manager listened to her faltering tale with a few stereotyped expres- sions of sympathy, and, when she had done, " regretted "
AUGUS1 MS llll ll. SISTER.
that speculative loans were contrary to the custom of the bank, and politely bowed her out.
It v it o'clock upon drizzlinj
noon, a November afternoon that hung like a living mis
r the black slush of the Birmingham ts, and would
in itself have sufficed to bring the lightest-hearted, happ mortal to the very gates of despair, when Augusta, wet,
iried, and almost crying, at last entered the door of their little sitting-room. She came in very quietly, for the maid-of-all-work had met her in the passage and I her that Miss Jeannie was asleep. She had been cou.
very much about dinner-time, but now she was asleep.
- a fire in the grate, a small one, for the ■ was economised by means of two large tire-bricks, and on a table (Augusta's writing-table), placed at the further side of the room, was a paraffin-lamp turned low. Drawn up in front, but a little to one side of the fire, w. sofa, covered with red rep, and on the sofa lay a lair- haired little form, so thin and fragile that it looked like the ghost or outline of a girl, rather than a girl i it was Jeannie, her sick sister, and she was asl< ta stole softly up to look at her. It was a s\ little face that her eyes fell on, although it was so shock- ingly thin, with long curved lashes, delicate nostrils, and a mouth shaped like a bow. All the lines and groo. which the chisel of Pain knows so well how to carve, v. smoothed out of it now, and in their place lay the sha<: of a smile.
^usta looked at her and clenched her lump rose in her throat, and tears. How could she get the money to save h- The
r before a rich man, a man who was detestable to
MR. MEESON'S WILL.
had wanted to marry her, and she would have nothing to say to him. He had gone abroad, else she would have gone back to him and married him — at a price. Marry him ? yes she would marry him : she would do anything for money to take her sister away ! What did she care for herself when her darling was dying — dying for the want of two hundred pounds !
Just then Jeannie woke up, and stretched her arms out to her.
" So you are back at last, dear," she said in her sweet childish voice. " It has been so lonely without you. Why, how wet you are! Take off your jacket at once, Gussie, or
you will soon be as ill as " and here she broke out
into a terrible fit "of coughing, that seemed to shake her tender frame as the wind shakes a reed.
Her sister turned and obeyed, and then came and sat by the sofa and took the thin little hand in hers.
"Well, Gussie, and how did you get on with the Printer- il " (this was her impolite name for the great Meeson) ; " will he give you any more money? "
" No, dear ; we quarrelled, that was all, and I came nwny."
"Then I suppose that we can't go abroad ?"
Augusta was too moved to answer ; she only shook her head. The child buried her face in the pillow and gave a sob or two. Presently she grew quiet, and lifted it again. "Gussie, love," she said, "don't be angry, but I want to speak to you. Listen, my sweet Gussie, my angel. Oh, ( 5ie, you don't know how I love you ! It is all of no good, it is useless struggling against it. I must die sooner or later ; though I am only twelve, and you think me such a child, I am old enough to understand that. I think," she added, after pausing to cough, " that pain makes one old:
AUGUSTA'S Mil! I. SIS! ER. 55
It- though I were fifty. Well, so you sec 1 may
I ve up fighting against it and die at once. I am only a burden and an anxiety to you — I may
once and go to sleep."
" Don't, Jeannie! don't!" said her sister, in a sort cry ; "you are killing me ! "
Jeannie laid her hot hand upon Augusta's arm. "Try and listen to me, dear," she said, "even it" it hurts, because I do so want to say something. Why should you be so frightened about me ? Can any place that I may go to be worse than this place ? Can I suffer more pain anvwl, or be more hurt when I see you crying? Think how wretched it has all been. There has only been one beauti- ful thing in our lives for years and years, and that was your book. Even when I am feeling worst — when my chest aches, you know — I grow quite happy when I think of what the papers wrote about you: the Times and the Saturday Review, and the Spectator, and the rest of them. They said that you had genius — true genius, you remem! and that they expected one day to see you at the head <>( the literature of the time, or near it. The Printer-d< vil can't take away that, Gussie. He can take the money, but he can't say that he wrote the book ; though," she added, with a touch of childish spite and vivacity, " I have no doubt that he would if he could. And then there were those letters from the great authors up in London ; y< 3, I
.; think of them too. Well, dearest old girl, the best of it is that I know it to be all true. I know, I can't tell you how, that you will be a great woman in spite of all the Meesons in creation ; for somehow you will get out of his
rer, and, if you don't, five years is not all one's life — at least, not if people have a life. At the worst, he can only take the money. And then, when you are y: .:
56 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
and rich and famous, and more beautiful than ever, and when the people turn their heads as you come into the room, like we used to at school when the missionary came to lecture, I know that you will think of me (because you won't forget me as some sisters do), and of how, years and years before, so long ago that the time looks quite small when you think of it, I told you that it would be so just before I died."
Here the girl, who had been speaking with a curious air of certainty, and with a gravity and deliberation extra- ordinary for one so young, suddenly broke off to cough. Her sister threw herself on her knees beside her, and, clasping her in her arms, implored her in broken accents not to talk of dying. Jeannie drew Augusta's golden head down on to her breast and stroked it.
'Very well, Gussie, I won't say any more about it," she said; ''but it is no good hiding the truth, dear. I am tired of fighting against it; it is no good — none at all. Anyhow, we have loved each other very much, dear; and
perhaps — somewhere else — we may again " And the
brave little heart broke down, and, overcome by the pres- cience of approaching separation, they both sobbed bitterly upon the sofa. Presently there was a knock at the door, and Augusta sprang up and turned to hide her tears. It was the maid-of-all-work bringing the tea ; and, as she came blundering in, a sense of the irony of things forced itself into Augusta's soul. Here they were plunged into the most terrible sorrow, weeping at the inevitable approach of that chill end, and still appearances must be kept up, even befort.a maid-of-all-work. Society, even when repre- sented by a maid-of-all-work, cannot away with the intru- sion of domestic griefs, or any other griefs, and in our hearts we know it and act up to it. Far gone, indeed,
. AUGUSTA'S l.l l l I E SISTER. 57
must we he in mental or physical agony before w< abam the attempt to keep up appearances.
Augusta drank a little tea and ate a very small bit of bread and butter. As in the case of Mr. Meeson, the events o[ the day had not tended to increase her appetite. Jeannie drank a little milk, but ate nothing. Winn this form had been gone through, and the maid-of-all-work had once more made her appearance and cleared the table, Ji annie spoke again.
" Gus," she said, " I want you to put me to bed and then come and read to me out of ' Jemima's Vow ' — where poor Jemima dies, you know. It is the most beautiful thing in the book, and I want to hear it again."
Her sister did as she wished, and taking clown " Jemima Vow," Jeannie's own copy as it was called, being the very first that had come into the house, she opened it at the ; Jeannie had asked for and read aloud, keeping her v steady as she could. As a matter of fact, however, the scene itself was as powerful as it was pathetic, and quite sufficient to account for any unseemly exhibitions of feel- ing on the part of the reader. However, she struggled through it till the last sentence was reached. It ran thi "And so Jemima stretched out her hand to him and -aid ' Good-bye.' And presently knowing that she had now kept her promise, and being happy because she had done so, she went to sleep."
"Ah!" murmured the blue-eyed child who listened. " I wish that I was as good as Jemima. But though I have no vow to keep I can say 'Good-bye,' and I can to sleep."
<usta made no answer, and presently Jeanni< off. Her sister looked at her with eager affection. is giving up," she said to herself, "and, if she gives up,
58 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
she will die. I know it, it is because we are not going away. I low can I get the money, now that that horrible man has gone? how can I get it?" and she buried her head in her hand and thought. Presently an idea struck her : she might go back to Mceson and eat her words, and sell him the copyright of her new book for ^"IOO, as the agreement provided. That would not be enough, however ; for travelling with an invalid is expensive ; but she might cltcr to bind herself over to him for a term of years as a tame author, like those who worked in the Hutches. She was sure that he would be glad to get her, if only he could do so at his own price. It would be slavery worse than any penal servitude, and even now she shuddered at the prospect of prostituting her great abilities to the necessities of such work as Meeson's made their thousands out of — work out of which every spark of originality was stamped into nothingness, as though it were the mark of the Beast. Yes, it would be dreadful — it would break her heart ; but she was prepared to have her heart broken and her genius wrung out of her by inches, if only she could get two hundred pounds wherewith to take Jeannie away to the South of France before the east wind came. Mr. Meeson would, no doubt, make a hard bargain — the hardest he could ; but still, if she would consent to bind herself for a sufficient number of years at. a sufficiently low salary, he would probably advance her a hundred pounds, besides the hundred for the copyright of the new book.
And so, having made up her mind to the sacrifice, with a sigh she went to bed, and, wearied out with misery, to sleep. And even as she slept, a Presence that she could not see was standing near her bed, and a Voice that she could ml hear was calling through the gloom. Another mortal had bent low at the feet of that Unknown God
AUGUSTAS I I 1 Hi. SISTER. sg
whom men name Death, and been borne <>n hi> rushing pinions into the spaces of the Hid. One more human item lay still and stitV, one nunc account was closed for good or evil, the echo of uiie more tread had passed from the earth for ever. The old million -numbered
gedy in which all must take a part had repeated itself once more down to its last and most awful scene. N the grim farce was played out, and the little actor Jeannie white in death !
Just at the dawn, Augusta dreamed that somebody with cold breath was breathing on her face, and woke up with a start and listened. Jeannie's bed was on the other side of the room, and she could generally hear her movements plainly enough, for the sick child was a restless sleeper. But now she could hear nothing, not even the faint vibra- tion of her sister's breath. The silence was absolute and appalling ; it struck tangibly upon her sense, as the dark- ness struck upon her eye-balls, and filled her with a numb, unreasoning terror. She slipped out of bed and struck a match. In another few seconds she was standing by white little bed, waiting for the wick of the candle to burn up. Presently the light grew. Jeannie was lying on her side, her white face resting on her whit- arm. Il> r ey< - were wide open ; but when Augusta held the candle near her she did not shut them or flinch. Her hand, too — oh, Heavens ! the fingers were nearly cold.
Then Augusta understood, and lifting up her arms in agony, she shrieked till the whole house rang.
CHAPTER IV.
AUGUSTA'S DECISION.
fN the second day following the death of poor little Jeannie Smithers, Mr. Eustace Meeson was strolling about Birmingham with his hands in his pockets, and an air of indecision on his; decidedly agreeable and gentlemanlike countenance. Eustace Meeson was not particularly cast down by the extraordinary reverse of fortune which he had recently experienced. He was a young gentleman of a cheerful nature ; and, besides, it did not so very much matter to him. He was in a blessed condition of celibacy, and had no wife and children dependent upon him, and he knew that it would go hard if, with the help of the one hundred a year that he had of his own, he did not manage, with his education, to get a living by hook or by crook. So it was not the loss of the society of his respected uncle, or of the prospective enjoyment of two millions of money, which was troubling him. Indeed, r he had once cleared his goods and chattels out of Pompadour Hall and settled them in a room in an hotel, he had not given the matter much thought. But he had
AUGUSTA'S DECISIl IN 61
given a good many thoughts to Augusta Smithers' g
and, by way of getting an insight into her char-
r, he had at once invested in a copy of "Jemima's
Vow," thereby, somewhat against his will, swelling the
is of M< 1 son's to the extent of several shillings. Now "Jemima's Vow," though simple and homely, was a most striking and powerful book, which fully deserved the reputation that it had gained, and it affected Eustace — who was in so much different from most young men of his age that he really did know the difference between good work and bad — more strongly than he would have liked to own. Indeed, at the termination of the story, what between the beauty of Augusta's pages, the men; of Augusta's eyes, and the knowledge of A 's wr< tigs,
Mr. Eustace Meeson began to feel very much as though he had fallen in love. Accordingly, he went out walking, and, meeting a clerk whom he had known in the Meeson establishment — one of those who had been discharged on the same day as himself — he obtained from him Miss Smithers' address, and n to reflect as to whether or
no he should call upon her. Unable to make up his mind, he continued his walk till he reached the quiet street where Augusta lived, and, suddenly perceiving the house
which the clerk had told him, yielded to temptation and rang.
The door was answered by the maid-of-a!l-work, who looked at him a little curiously, but said that Miss Smithers was in, and then conducted him to a door which was half open, and left him there in the kindly and able fashion that maids-of-all-work have. Eustace was per-
.ed, and, looking through the door to see if any one v. in the room, discovered Augusta herself, dressed in some dark material, seated in a chair, her hands folded on her
62 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
lap, her pale face set like a stone, and her eyes gazing into vacancy. He paused, wondering what could be the matter, and as he did so his umbrella slipped from his hand, making a noise that rendered it necessary for him to declare himself.
Augusta rose as he advanced, and looked at him with a puzzled air, as though she were striving to recall his name or where she had met him.
" I beg your pardon," he stammered, " I must introduce myself, as the girl has deserted me — I am Eustace Meeson."
Augusta's face hardened at the name. "If you have
come to me from Messrs. Meeson & Co." she said
quickly, and then broke off, as though struck by some new idea.
" Indeed, no," said Eustace. " I have nothing in common with Messrs. Meeson now, except my name ; and i have only come to tell you how sorry I was to see you treated as you were by my uncle. You remember, I was m the office ? "
" Yes," she said, with a suspicion of a blush, " I !< member you were very kind."
" Well, you see," he went on, " I had a great row with my uncle after that, and it ended in his turning me out of the place, bag and baggage, and informing me that he was Lining to cut me oft' with a shilling, which," he added n tli i lively, " he has probably done by now."
" Do I understand you, Mr. Meeson, to mean that you quarrelled with your uncle about me and my books?"
" Yes ; that is so," he said.
" It was very chivalrous of you," she answered, looking
at him with a new-born curiosity. Augusta was not
ustomed to find knights-errant thus prepared, at such
AUGUSTA'S DECISION. 63
cost to themselves, to break a lance in her cause. Least
all was she prepared to find that knight b< aring the hateful crest of Meeson — if, indeed, Meeson had a crest.
" I ought to apolt'- -he went on presently, after an
awkward pause, " for making such a scene in the ofl but I wanted money so dreadfully, and it was so hard to be refused. But it does not matter now. It is all done with."
There was a dull, hopeless ring about her voice that awoke his curiosity. For what could she have wanted money, and why did she no longer want it f
" I am sorry," he said. " Will yen tell me what you wanted it so much for J "
>he looked at him, and then, acting upon impulse rather than reflection, said in a low voice —
" If you like 1 will si: ;."
lie bowed, wondering what was coming next. Rising from her chair, Augusta led the way to a door which opened out of the sitting-room, and gently turning the handle, entered, Eustace following her. The room was a small bed-room, of which the faded calico blind had been pulled down ; but as it happened, the sunlight, such 5, beat full upon the blind, and came through it in yellow bai They fell upon the furniture of the
bare little room ; they fell upon the iron bedstead, and upon something lying on it, which Ik- did not at first ootice, because it was covered with a sheet.
Augusta walked up to the bed and gently lifted the revealing the sweet face, fringed round about with g den hair, of little Jeannie in her coffin.
Eustace gave an exclamation, and started back violently. He had not been prepared for such a sight ; i.' leed, it was the first such sight that he had ever s^en, and it
64 MR. MEESON'S WILE.
shocked him beyond words. Augusta, familiarised as she was herself with the companionship of this beauteous clay- cold Terror, had forgotten that, suddenly and without warning, to bring the living into the presence of the dead, is not the wisest or the kindest thing to do. For, to the living, and more especially to the young, the sight of death is horrible. It is such a fearsome comment on their health and strength. Youth and strength are merry ; but who can be merry with yon dead thing in the upper chamber ? Take it away ! thrust it under ground ! it is an insult to us; it reminds us that we, too, die like others. What business has its pallor to show itself against our ruddy cheeks ?
" I beg your pardon," whispered Augusta, realising some- thing of all this in a flash, " I forgot ; you do not know — you must be shocked ■ Forgive me ! "
" Who is it? " he said, gasping to get back his breath.
" My sister," she answered. " It was to try and save her life that I wanted the money. When I told her that I could not get it, she gave up and died. Your uncle killed her. Come."
Greatly shocked, he followed her back into the sitting- room, and then — as soon as he recovered his composure — apologised for having intruded himself upon her in such an hour of desolation.
" I am glad to see you," she said simply ; " I have seen nobody except the doctor once, and the undertaker twice. It is dreadful to sit alone hour after hour face to face with the irretrievable. H I had not been so foolish as to enter into that agreement with Messrs. Meeson, I could have got the money by selling my new book easily enough ; and I should have been able to take Jeannie abroad, and I believe that she would have lived — at least I hoped so. But now it is finished, and cannot be helped."
AUGUSTA'S DECISION. 65
" I wish I had known," blundered Eustace. " I could have lent you the money. I have a hundred and fifty pounds."
" You are very good," she answered gently ; " but it is no use talking about it now, it is finished."
Then Eustace rose and went away ; and it was not till he found himself in the street that he remembered that he had never asked Augusta what her plans were. Indeed, the sight of poor Jeannie had put everything else out of his head. However, he consoled himself with the reflec- tion that he could call again a week or ten days after the funeral.
Two days later, Augusta followed the remains of her dearly loved sister to their last resting-place, and then came home on foot (for she was the only mourner), and sat in her black gown before the little fire, reflecting upon her position. What was she to do ? She could not stay in these rooms. It made her heart ache every time that her eyes fell upon the empty sofa opposite, dinted as it was with the accustomed weight of poor Jeannie's frame. Where was she to go, and what was she to do ? She might get literary employment, but then her agreement with Messrs. Meeson stared her in the face. That agree- ment was very widely drawn. It bound her to offer all literary work of any sort, that might come from her pen during the next five years, to Messrs. Meeson at the fixed rate of seven per cent, on the published price. Obviously, as it seemed to her, though perhaps erroneously, this clause might be stretched to include even a newspaper article ; and she knew the malignant nature of Mr. Meeson well enough to be quite certain that, if possible, this would be done. She might manage, it was true, to make a bare living out of her work, even at the beggarly pay of seven per
66 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
cent. ; but Augusta was a person of spirit, and she was determined that she would rather starve than that Meeson's should again make huge profits out of her labour. This avenue being closed to her, she turned her mind elsewhere ; but, look where she might, the prospect was equally dark.
Augusta's remarkable literary success had not been of much practical advantage to her, for in this country literary success does not mean so much as it does in some others. As a matter of fact, indeed, the average Briton has, at heart, a considerable contempt, if not for literature, at least fot those who produce it. Literature, in his mind, is connected with the idea of garrets and extreme poverty ; and there- fore, having the national respect for money, he in secret, if not in public, despises it. A tree is known by its fruits, says he. Let a man succeed at the Bar, and he makes thousands upon thousands a year, and is promoted to the highest offices in the State. Let a man succeed in art, and he will be paid one or two thousand pounds apiece for his most " pot-boilery " portraits. But your literary men — why, with a few fortunate exceptions, the best of them barely make a living. What can literature be worth, if a man can't make a fortune out of it ? So argues the Briton — no doubt with some of his sound common-sense. Not that he has no respect for genius. All men bow to true genius, even when they fear and envy it. But he thinks a good deal more of genius dead than genius living. That is a thing to revile and throw stones at. However this may be, there is no doubt but that if through any cause — such, for instance, as the sudden discovery by the great and highly civilised American people that the eighth com- mandment was probably intended for the protection of authors, amongst the. rest of the world — the pecuniary re- wards of literary labour should be put more upon an equality
" Augusiu. genii} liitcxl ine sheet, revealing uie sweet iai_c oi little Jeannie in her coffin.— Page 63."
AUGUSTA'S DECISION.
with those of other trades, literature — as a profession — will go up many steps in popular esteem. At present, if a member of a family has betaken himself to the high and hono calling of letters (for, surely, it is both), his friends and re- lations are apt to talk about him in a shy and diffident, not to apologetic, manner ; much as they would had he adopted another sprt of book-making as a means of livelihood.
Thus it was that, notwithstanding her success, Augusta had nowhere to turn in her difficulty. She had absolutely no literary connection. Nobody had called upon her, or sought her out in consequence of her book. One or t authors in London, and a few unknown people from dif- ferent parts of the country and abroad, had written to her — that was all. Had she lived in town it might have been different ; but, unfortunately for her, she did not.
The more she thought, the less clear did her path become ; until, at last, she found inspiration. Why not leave England altogether ? There was nothing to keep her here. She had a cousin — a clergyman — in New Zealand, whom she had never seen, but who had read "Jemin Vow," and written her a kind letter about it. That the one delightful thing about writing books : one made friends all over the world. Surely he would take ln-r in for a while, and put her in the way of earning a li . where Meeson would not be to molest her ? Why should she not go? She had twenty pounds left, and the furni- ture (which included an expensive invalid chair; and b<< would fetch another thirty or so — enough to pay for a second-class passage and leave a few pounds in her pocket. At the worst it would be a change, and she could n<>: through more there than she did here, so that wry night she sat down and wrote to her clergyman cousin.
CHAPTER V.
THE R.M.S. "KANGAROO."
|T was on a Tuesday evening that a mighty vessel steamed majestically out of the mouth of the Thames, and shaped her imposing course straight towards the setting sun. Many people will remember reading descriptions of the steam- ship Kangaroo, and being astonished at the power of her engines, the beauty of her fittings, and the extraor- dinary speed — about eighteen knots — which she developed in her trials, with an unusually low expenditure of coal. For the benefit of those who have not, however, it may be stated that the Kangaroo, " The Little Kangaroo," as she was ironically named among sailor men, was the very latest development of the science of modern ship- building. Everything about her, from the electric light and boiler tubes up, was on a new and patent system.
Four hundred feet and more she measured from stem to stern, and in that space were crowded and packed all the luxuries of a palace, and all the conveniences of an American hotel. She was a beautiful and a wonderful thing to look on ; as, with her holds full of costly mer-
THE R.M.S. "KANGARCM I 71
chandise, and her d - crowded with her living freij of about a thousand human be: steamed slowly
out to sea, as though loth to leave the land when born. But presently she seemed to gather up h< 1 and to grow conscious of the thousands and I miles of wide tossing seas, which ed between her
and the far-off harbour where her mighty heart should cease from beating and be for a while at rest. Quicker and quicker she sped along, and spurned the churning water from her swift sides. She was running under a full head of steam now, and the coast-line of England grew faint and low in the faint, low light, till at last it almost vanished from the gaze of a tall, slim girl, v. stood forward, clinging to the starboard bulwark netti and looking with deep grey eyes across the waste of waters. Presently Augusta, for it was she, could see the shore no more, and turned to watch the other pas- and think. She was sad at heart, poor girl, and felt what she was — a very waif upon the sea of life. Not t; had much to regret upon the vanished coast-line. A little g ve with a white cross over it — that was all. She had left no friends to weep for her, none. But thought it, a recollection rose up in her mind of 1 Meeson's pleasant, handsome face, and of his kind and with it came a pang as she reflected that, in all probability, she should never see the one nor hear the other again. Why, she wondered, had he- see her again ? She should have liked to bid him " bye," and had half a mind to send him a note and tell him of her going. This, on second thoughts, hov. had decided not to do; for one tl: his address, and — well, there was an end of it. Could she by the means of clairvoyance ha.
72 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
Eustace's face and heard his words, she would have regretted her decision. For even as that great vessel plunged on her fierce way right into the heart of the gathering darkness, he was standing at the door of the lodging-house in the little street in Birmingham.
" Gone ! " he was saying. " Miss Smithers gone to New Zealand ! What is her address ? "
" She didn't leave no address, sir," replies the dirty maid-of-all-work with a grin. " She went from here two days ago, and was going on to the ship in Lonaon."
" What was the name of the ship ? " he asks, in despair.
" Kan — Kon — Conger-eel," replies the girl in triumph, and shuts the door in his face.
Poor Eustace ! he had gone to London to try and get some employment, and having, after some difficulty, suc- ceeded in obtaining a billet as reader in Latin, French, and old English to a publishing house of good repute, at the salary of ;£i8o a year, he had hurried back to Birmingham for the sole purpose of seeing Miss Augusta Smithers, with whom, if the whole truth must be told, he had, to his credit be it said, fallen deeply, truly, and violently in love. Indeed, so far was he in this way gone, that he determined to make all the progress that he could, and if he thought that there was any prospect of success, to declare his passion. This was, perhaps, a little pre- mature ; but then in these matters people are apt to be more premature than is generally supposed. Human nature is very swift in coming to conclusions in matters in which that strange mixture we call the affections are involved ; perhaps because, although the conclusion is not altogether a pleasing one, the affections, at any rate in their beginning, are largely dependent on the senses.
Pity a poor young man ! To come from London to
o
-=
^
-3
u
*-*>
THE R.M.s. "KANGAROO." 75
Birmingham to woo one's grey-eyed mistress, in a third class carriage too, and find her gone to New Zealand, whither circumstances prevented him from following her, without leaving a word or a line, or even an address behind her ! It was too bad. W< II, there was no remedy in the matter ; so he walked to the railway station, and groaned and swore all the way back to London.
Augusta on board the Kangaroo was, however, in utter ignorance of this act of devotion on the part of her admirer ; indeed, she did not even know that he was her admirer. Feeling a curious sinking sensation within her, she was about to go below to her cabin, which she shared with a lady's-maid, not knowing whether to attribute it to sentimental qualms incidental to her lonely departure from the land of her birth, or to other qualms connected with a first experience of life upon the ocean wave. About that moment, however, a burly quartermaster addressed her in gruff tones, and informed her that if she wanted to see the last of " hold Halbion," she had better go aft a bit, and look over the port side, and she would see the something or other light. Accordingly, more to prove to herself that she was not sea-sick than for any other reason, she did so ; and, standing as far aft as the second- class passengers were allowed to go, stared at the quick flashes of the lighthouse as, second by second, they sent their message across the great waste of sea.
As she stood there, holding on to a stanchion to steady herself, for the vessel, large as she was, had begun to - a bit of a roll on, she was suddenly aware of the bulky figure of a man, which came running, or rather reeling, against the bulwarks alongside of her, where it — or rath< r he — was instantly and violently ill. Augusta was, nut unnaturally, almost horrified into following the figure's
76 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
example, when suddenly, growing faint or from some other cause, it loosed its hold and rolled into the scuppers, where it lay feebly swearing. Augusta, obeying a tender impulse of humanity, hurried forward and stretched out the hand of succour, and presently, between her help and that of the bulwark nettings, the man struggled to his feet. As he did so, his face came close to hers, and in the dim light she recognised the fat coarse features, now blanched with misery, of Mr. Meeson, the publisher. There was no doubt about it, it was her enemy : the man whose behaviour had indirectly, as she believed, caused the death of her little sister. She dropped his hand with an excla- mation of disgust and dismay, and as she did so he recognised who she was.
" Hullo ! " he said, with a faint and rather feeble attempt to assume his fine old crusted publishing-company manners. " Hullo ! Miss Jemima — Smithers, I mean ; what on earth are you doing here ? "
" I am going to New Zealand, Mr. Meeson," she answered sharply ; " and I certainly did not expect to have the plea- sure of your company on the voyage."
" Going to New Zealand," he said, " are you ? Why, so am I ; at least, I am going there first, then to Australia. What do you mean to do there — try and run round our little agreement, eh ? It won't be any good, I tell you plainly. We have our agents in New Zealand, and a house in Australia, and if you try to get the better of Meeson's
there, Meeson's will be even with you, Miss Smithers
Oh, Heavens ! I feel as though I were coming to pieces."
" Don't alarm yourself, Mr. Meeson," she answered, " I am not going to publish any more books at present."
" That is a pity," he said, " because your stuff is good
THE R.M.S. "KANGAROO." 77
selling stuff. Any publisher would find money in it. I suppose you are second-class, Miss Smithers, so we sha'n't see much of each other; and, perhaps, if we should meet, it might be as well if we didn't seem to have any acquaint- ance. It don't look well for a man in my position to know second-class passengers, especially young lady passengers who write novels."
"You need not be afraid, Mr. Meeson ; I have no wish to claim your acquaintance," said Augusta.
At this point, her enemy was taken violently worse again, and, being unable to bear the sight and sound of his writhing and groaning, she fled forward ; and, reflecting on this strange and awkward meeting, went down to her own berth, where, with lucid intervals, she remained helpless and half stupid for the next three days. On the fourth day, however, she reappeared on deck quite recovered, and with an excellent appetite. She had her breakfast, and then went and sat forward in as quiet a place as she could find. She did not want to see Mr. Meeson any more, and she did want to escape from the stories of her cabin-mate, the lady's-maid. This good person would, after the manner of her kind, insist upon repeating to her a succession of histories connected with members of the families with whom she had lived, many of which were sufficient to make the hair of a respectable young lady like Augusta stand posi- tively on end. No doubt they were interesting to her in her capacity of a novelist ; but, as they were all of the same colour, and as their tendency was to absolutely destroy any belief she might have in virtue as an inherent quality in highly developed woman, or honour in man, Augusta soon wearied of these chroniques scaudaleuses. So she went forward, and was sitting looking at the " white horses " chasing each other across the watery plain, and reflecting
78 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
upon what the condition of mind of those ladies whose histories she had recently heard would be if they knew that their most secret, and in some cases disgraceful and tragic, love affairs were the common talk of a dozen servants'-halls, when suddenly she was astonished by the appearance of a splendid official bearing a book. At first, from the quantity of gold lace with which his uniform was adorned, Augusta took him to be the captain ; but it presently transpired that he was only the chief steward.
" Please, Miss," he said, touching his hat and holding out the book in his hand towards her, " the captain sends his compliments, and wants to know if you are the young lady who wrote this."
Augusta glanced at the work. It was a copy of "Jemima's Vow." Then she replied that she was the writer of it, and the steward vanished.
Later in the morning came another surprise. The gorgeous official again appeared, touched his cap, and said that the captain desired him to say that orders had been given to have her things moved to a cabin further aft. At first Augusta demurred to this, not from any love of the lady's-maid, but because she had a truly British objection to being ordered about.
"Captain's orders, Miss," said the man, touching his cap again ; and she yielded.
Nor had she any cause to regret doing so ; for, to her huge delight, she found herself moved into a charming deck-cabin on the starboard side of the vessel, some little way abaft the engine-room. It was evidently an officer's cabin, for there, over the head of the bed, was the picture of the young lady he adored, and also some neatly fitted shelves of books, a rack of telescopes, and other seaman- like contrivances.
THE R.M.S. "KANGAROO." ; .
"Am I to have this cabin to myself ?" asked Augusta of the steward.
" Yes, Miss; those are the captain's orders. It is Mr. Jones's cabin. Mr. Jones is the second officer; but he lias turned in with Mr. Thomas, the first officer, and given up the cabin to you."
" I am sure it is very kind of Mr. Jones," murmured Augusta, not knowing what to make of this turn of fortune. But surprises were not to end there. A few minutes afterwards, just as she was leaving the cabin, a gentleman in uniform came up, in whom she recognised the captain. He was accompanied by a pretty fair-haired woman very becomingly dressed.
"Excuse me; Miss Smithers, I believe?" he said, with a bow.
" Yes."
" I am Captain Alton. I hope you like your new cabin. Let me introduce you to Lady Holmhurst, wife of Lord Holmhurst, the New Zealand Governor, you know. Lady Holmhurst, this is Miss Smithers, whose book you were talking so much about."
" Oh ! I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Smithers," said the great lady, in a manner that evidently was not assumed. " Captain Alton has promised that I shall sit next to you at dinner, and then we can have a good talk. I don't know when I have been so much de- lighted with anything as 1 was with your book. I have read it three times; what do you think of that for a busy woman ? "
" I think there is some mistake," said Augusta, hurriedly and with a slight blush. " 1 am a second-class passenger on board this ship, and therefore cannot have the pleasure of sitting next to Lady Holmhurst."
80 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
" Oh, that is all right, Miss Smithers," said the captain, with a jolly laugh. " You are my guest, and I shall take no denial."
" When for once in our lives we find genius, we are not going to lose the opportunity of sitting at its feet," added Lady Holmhurst, with a little movement towards her which was neither curtsey nor bow, but rather a happy combina- tion of both. The compliment was, Augusta felt, sincere, however much it exaggerated the measure of her poor capacities, and, putting other things aside, coming as it did from one woman to another, was peculiarly graceful and surprising. She blushed and bowed, scarcely knowing what to say, when suddenly Mr. Meeson's harsh tones, pitched just now in a respectful key, broke upon her ear. Mr. Meeson was addressing no less a person than Lord Holmhurst, G.C.M.G. Lord Holmhurst was a stout, short, dark little man, with a somewhat pompous manner, and a kindly face. He was a Colonial Governor of the first water, and perfectly aware of the fact.
Now a Colonial Governor, even though he be a G.C.M.G., is not a name to conjure with when he is at home, and does not fill an exclusive place in the eye of the English world. There are many Colonial Governors in the present and past tense to be found in the purlieus of South Ken- sington, where their presence creates no unusual excite- ment. But when one of this honourable corps sets foot upon the vessel destined to bear him to the shores that he shall rule, all changes. He puts off the body of the ordinary betitled individual, and puts on the body of the celestial brotherhood. In short, from being nobody out of the common he becomes, and very properly so, a great man. Nobody knew this better than Lord Holmhurst, and, to a person fond of observing such things, nothing
THE R.M.S. "KANGAROO." Si
could have been more curious to notice than the small, but gradual increase in the pomposity of his manner, the great ship day by day steamed further from England and nearer to the country where he was King. It went up, degree by degree, like a thermometer which is taken down into the bowels of the earth or gradually removed into the sunlight. At present, however, the thermometei was only rising.
" I was repeating, my Lord," said the harsh voice of Mr. Meeson, " that the principle of an hereditary peerage is the grandest principle our country has yet developed. It gives us something to look forward to. In one generation we make the money ; in the next we take the title which the money buys. Look at your lordship. Your lordship in now in a proud position ; but, as 1 have underst your lordship's father was a trader like me."
" Hum ! — well, not exactly, Mr. Meeson," broke in Lord Holmhurst. "Dear me, 1 wonder who that exceeding]} nice-looking girl Lady Holmhurst is talking to can be ? "
" Now, your lordship, to put a case," went on the re- morseless Meeson, who, like most people of his stamp, had an almost superstitious veneration for the aristocracy, " I have made a great deal of money, as I do not mind telling your lordship; what is there to prevent my successor — supposing I have a successor — from taking advantage of that money, and rising on it to a similar position to that so worthily occupied by your lordship
" Exactly, Mr. Meeson. A most excellent idea for your successor. Excuse me, but I see Lady Holmhurst beckon- ing to me." And he fled precipitately, -till followed by Mr. Meeson.
"John, my dear," said Lady Holmhurst, " I want to introduce you to Miss Smithers — ///'• Miss Smithers whom
82 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
we have all been talking about, and whose book 3'ou have been reading. Miss Smithers, my husband ! "
Lord Holmhurst, who, when he was not deep in the affairs of State, had a considerable eye for a pretty girl — and what man worthy of the name has not ? — bowed most politely, and was proceeding to tell Augusta, in very charm- ing language, how delighted he was to make her acquaint- ance, when Mr. Meeson arrived on the scene and saw Augusta for the first time. Quite taken aback at finding her, apparently upon the very best of terms with people of such quality, he hesitated to consider what course to adopt ; whereon Lady Holmhurst mistaking his hesitation, in a somewhat formal way, for she was not very fond of Mr. Meeson, went on to introduce him. Thereupon, all in a moment, as we do sometimes take such resolutions, Augusta came to a determination. She would have nothing more to do with Mr. Meeson — she would repudiate him then and there, come what would of it.
So, as he advanced upon her with outstretched hand, she drew herself up, and in a cold and determined voice said, "1 already know Mr. Meeson, Lady Holmhurst; and I do not wish to have anything more to do with him. Mr. Meeson has not behaved well to me."
" 'Pon my word," murmured Lord Holmhurst to himself, " I don't wonder she has had enough of him. Sensible young woman, that ! "
Lady Holmhurst looked a little astonished and a little amused. Suddenly, however, a light broke upon her.
" Oh ! I see," she said. " I suppose that Mr. Meeson published 'Jemima's Vow.' Of course that accounts for it. Why, I declare there is the dinner-bell ! Come along, Miss Smithers, or we shall lose the place that the captain has promised us." And, accordingly, they went, leaving Mr.
THE R.M.S. "KANGAROO."
Meeson, who had not yet fully realised the unprecedented nature of the position, positively gasping on the deck. And on board the Kangaroo then- were no clerks and editors on whom he could wreak his wrath !
"And now, my dear Miss Smithers," said Lady Holm- hurst, when, dinner being over, they were sitting together in the moonlight, near the wheel, "perhaps you will tell me why you* don't like Mr. Meeson, whom, by the v. I personally detest. But don't, if you don't wish to, you know."
But Augusta did wish to, and then and there she- poured her whole sad story into her new-found friend's sympathetic ear ; and glad enough the poor girl was to find a confidante to whom she could unbosom her sorrows.
" Well, upon my word ! " said Lady Holmhurst, when she had listened with tears in her eyes to the history of poor little Jeannie's death, " upon my word, of all the horrid men I ever heard of, I think that this publisher of yours is the worst ! I will cut him, and get my hus- band to cut him too. But no, I have a better plan than that. He shall tear up that agreement, so sure as my name is Bessie Holmhurst ; he shall tear it up, or —
or" and she nodded her little head with an air of
infinite wisdom.
CHAPTER VI. MR. TOMBEY GOES FORWARD. ROM th.it day forward, the voyage on the Kan-
garoo was, until the last dread catastrophe, a very happy one for Augusta. Lord and Lady Holmhurst made much of her, and all the rest of the first-class passengers followed suit, and soon she found herself the most popular character on board. The two copies of her book that there were on the ship were passed on from hand to hand, till they would hardly hang together, and, really, at last, she got quite tired of hearing of her own creations. But this was not all ; Augusta was, it will be remembered, an exceedingly pretty woman, and melancholy as the fact may seem, it still remains a fact that a pretty woman is in the eyes of most people a more interesting object than a man, or than a lady who is not " built that way." Thus it came to pass that what between her youth, her beauty, her talent, and her misfortunes — for Lady Holmhurst had not exactly kept that history to herself — Augusta was all of a sudden elevated into the position of a perfect heroine. It really almost frightened the poor girl, who had been accustomed to nothing but
MR. TOMBEY GOES I ORWARD. 85
sorrow, ill-treatment, and grinding poverty, to suddenly
find herself in this strange position, with every man board that great \< ssel .it her beck and call. But she was human, and, therefore, of course, she enjoyed it. It is oething when one has been wandering for hour aft* r hour in the w<.t and melancholy night, suddenly t<j the fair dawn breaking and burning overhead, and to know that the worst is over, for now there will be light whereby to set our feet. It is something, even to the most Christian soul, to utterly and completely triumph over one who had done all in his power to crush and destroy you ; whose grasping greed has indirectly been th< of the death of the person you loved best in the whole- round world. And Augusta did triumph. As the story of Mr. Meeson's conduct to her got about, the little society of the ship — which was, after all, a very fair example of society in miniature — fell away from this publishing prince, and not even the jingling of his money-bags could hue it back. He the great, the practically omnipotent, the owner of two millions, and the hard master of hun- dreds upon whose toil he battened, was practically cut. Even the clerk, who was going out on a chance of getting a place in a New Zealand bank, would have nothing to say to him. And, what is more, he felt it even m than an ordinary individual would have done. He, the " I'rinter-devil," as poor little Jeannie used to call him, to be slighted and flouted by a pack of people whom could buy up three times over, and all on account wr< authoress — an authoress, if you plea.- It
made Mr. Meeson very wild — a state of affairs which brought to a climax when one morning Lord Hohnhu: who had for several days been showing a gi iike
to his society, actually almost cut him dead ; that is, he
86 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
did not notice his outstretched hand, and passed him with a slight bow.
" Never mind, my Lord — never mind ! " muttered Mr. Meeson after that somewhat pompous but amiable noble- man's retreating form. " We'll see if I can't come square with you. I'm a dog who can pull a string or two in the English press, I am ! Those who have the money and have got a hold of people, so that they must write what they tell them, ain't the sort to be cut by any Colonial Governor, my Lord ! " And in his anger he fairly shook his fist at the unconscious peer.
" Seem to be a little out of temper, Mr. Meeson," said a voice at his elbow, the owner of which was a big young man with hard but kindly features and a large moustache. "What has the Governor been doing to you? "
" Doing, Mr. Tombey ? He's been cutting me, that's all — me, Meeson ! — cutting me dead, or something like it. I held out my hand, and he looked right over it, and marched by."
"Ah!" said Mr. Tombey, who was a wealthy New Zealand landowner ; " and now, why do you suppose he did that?"
"Why? I'll tell you why. It's all about that girl."
"Miss Smithers, do you mean?" said Tombey the big, with a curious flash of his deep-set eyes.
" Yes, Miss Smithers. She wrote a book, and I bought the book for fifty pounds, and stuck a clause in that she should give me the right to publish anything she wrote for five years at a price— a common sort of thing enough in one way and another, when you are dealing with some idiot who don't know any better. Well, as it happened, this book sold like wildfire ; and, in time, the young lady • comes to me and wants more money, -wants to get out of
MR. TOMBEY GOES 1 ORWARD.
the hanging clause in the . :nt, want . thing, like
a female Oliver Twist; and when I say, ' No, you don't/ loses her temper and makes a scene. And it turns out that what she wanted the money for was to take a sick sister, or cousin, or aunt, or some one, out of England ; and when she could not i.\o it, and the relation died, th- n emigrates, and goes and tells the people on board ship that it is all my' fault."
" And I suppose that that is a conclusion which you do not feel drawn to, Mr. Meeson ? "
" No, Tombey, I don't. Business is business ; and if I happen to have got to windward of the young woman, why, so much the better for me. She's getting her e.\j>< ri< that's all ; and she ain't the first, ami won't be tin- last. But if she goes saying much more about me, I go for her for slander, that's sure."
" On the legal ground that the greater the truth, the greater the libel, 1 presume ? "
" Confound her ! " went on Meeson, without noticing his remark, and contracting his heavy eyebrows, "there's no end to the trouble she has brought on me. I quarrelled with my nephew about her, and now she's dragging my name through the dirt here, and I'll bet the story will go all over New Zealand and Australia."
"Yes," said Mr. Tombey, "I fancy you will find it take a lot of choking; and now, Mr. Meeson, with your permission I will say a word, and try ami throw a light upon a very perplexing matter. It never seems to have occurred to you what you are, so I may as put it to you plainly. If you are not a thief, you at least, a very well-coloured imitation. 1 take a
girl's book and make hundreds upon hundreds it,
and give her fifty. You tie her down, so as to provide
88 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
for successful swindling of the same sort during future years, and then, when she comes to beg a few pounds of you, you show her the door. And now you wonder, Mr. Meeson, that respectable people will have nothing to do with you ! Well, I tell you, my opinion is that the only society to which you would be really suited is that of a cow-hide. Good-morning," and the large young man walked off, his very mustachios curling with wrath and contempt. Thus, for a second time, did the great Mr. Mecsor hear the truth from the lips of babes and sucklings, and the worst of it was that he could not disinherit Number Two as he had Number One.
Now this, it is obvious, was very warm, and indeed exagge- rated advocacy on the part of Mr. Tombey, who, being called in to console and bless, cursed with such extraordinary vigour. It may even strike the discerning reader — and all readers, or, at least, nearly all readers, are of course discerning : fat too much so, indeed — that there must have been a reason for it ; and the discerning reader will be right. Augusta's grey eyes had been too much for Mr. Tombey, as they had been too much for Eustace Meeson before him. His passion had sprung up and ripened in that peculiarly rapid and vigorous fashion that passions affect on board ship. A passenger-steamer is Cupid's own hot-bed, and in this way differs from a sailing-ship. On the sailing-ship, indeed, the preliminary stages are the same. The seed roots as strongly, and grows and flowers with vigour ; but here comes the melancholy part — it withers and decays with equal rapidity. The voyage is too long. Too much is mutually revealed. The matrimonial iron cannot be struck while it is hot, and long before the weary ninety days are over it is once more cold and black, or at the best glows with but a feeble heat. But on the steam-ship there
MR. TOMBEY GOES 1 < >k\\'.\kl>. S9
is no time for this, as any traveller knows. Myself — I, the historian — have with my own eyes seen a couple meet for the first time at Madeira, get married at the Cape, and go on as man ami wife in the same vessel to Natal. And, therefore, it came to pass that this very evening, a touch- ing, and on the whole melancholy, little scene was enacted near the smoke-stack of the Kangaroo.
Mr. Tomb'ey and Miss Augusta Smithers were leaning together over the bulwarks and watching the phosphores- cent foam go flashing past. Mr. Tombey was nervous and ill at ease ; Miss Smithers very much at ease, and reflecting that her companion's mustachios would well become the villain in a novel.
Mr. Tombey looked at the star-spangled sky, on which the Southern Cross hung low, and he looked at the phos- phorescent sea ; but from neither did inspiration come. Inspiration is from within, and not from without. At last, however, he made a gallant and a desperate effort.
" Miss Smithers," he said, in a voice trembling with agitation.
"Yes, Mr. Tombey," answered Augusta quietly ; "what is it ?
" Miss Smithers," he went on — " Miss Augusta, I don't know what you will think of me, but I must tell you, I can't keep it in any longer. I love you ! "
Augusta <airly jumped. Mr. Tombey had be- n very, < ven markedly, polite, and she, not being a fool, had & en that he admired her; but she had never expected this, and the suddenness with which the shut was fired was some- what bewildering.
"Why, Mr. Tombey," she said in a surprised voice, "you have only known me for a little more than a fort- night."
9o MR. MEESON'S WILL.
" I fell in love with you when 1 had only known you for an hour," he answered with evident sincerity. " Please listen to me. I know I am not worthy of you ! But I do love you so very dearly, and I would make you a good husband ; indeed I would. I am well off; though, of course, that is nothing ; and if you don't like New Zealand, I would give it up and go to live in England. Do you think that you can take me? If you only knew how dearly I love you, I am sure you would."
Augusta collected her wits as well as she could. The man evidently did love her ; there was no doubting the sincerity of his words, and she liked him, and he was a gentleman. If she married him there would be an end of all her worries and troubles, and she could rest con- tentedly on his strong arm. Woman, even gifted woman, is not made to fight the world with her own hand, and the prospect had allurements. But while she thought, Eustace Meeson's bonny face rose before her eyes, and, as it did so, a faint feeling of repulsion to the man who was pleading with her took form and colour in her breast. Eustace Meeson, of course, was nothing to her ; no word or sign of affection had passed between them ; and the probability was that she would never set her eyes upon him again. And yet that face rose up between her and this man who was pleading at her side. Many women have seen some such vision from the past and have disregarded it, only to find too late that that which is thrust aside is not necessarily dead ; for alas ! those faces of our departed youth have an uncanny trick of rising from the tomb of our forgetfulness. But Augusta was not of the great order of opportunists. Because a thing might be expedient, it did not, according to the dictates of her moral sense, follow that it was lawful.
MR. TOMBEY GOES FORWARD. 91
Therefore, she was a woman to be respected. For a woman who, except under most exceptional eircumstan gives her instincts the lie in order to pander to her con- venience or her desire for wealth and social ease, is nut altogether a woman to be respected.
In a very few seconds she had made up her mind.
" I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Tombey," she said ; u you have done me a great honour, the greatest honour a man can do to a woman ; but I cannot marry you."
"Are you sure ?" gasped the unfortunate Tombey, for his hopes had been high. " Is there no hope for me ? Perhaps there is somebody else ! "
" There is nobody else, Mr. Tombey ; but, I am sorry to say, you don't know how much it pains me to say it, I cannot hold out any prospect that I shall change my mind."
He dropped his head upon his hands for a minute, and then lifted it again.
" Very well," he said slowly ; " it can't be helped. I never loved any woman before, and I never shall again. It is a pity" — (with a hard, little laugh) — "that so much first-class affection should be wasted. But, there you are ; it is all part and parcel of the pleasant experiences which make up our lives. Good-bye, Miss Smithers ; at least, good-bye as a friend ! "
" We can still be friends," she faltered.
" Oh, no," he answered, with another laugh ; " that is an exploded notion. Friendship of that nature is not very safe under any circumstances, certainly nut under these. The relationship is antagonistic to the tacts of life, and the friends, or one or other of them, will drift either into indifference and dislike, or — something wanner.
92 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
You are a novelist, Miss Smithers ; perhaps some day you will write a book to explain why people fall in love where their affection is not wanted, and what purpose their distress can possibly serve. And now, once more, good-bye ! " and he lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it, and then, with a bow, turned and went.
From all of which it will be clearly seen that Mr. Tombey was decidedly a young man above the average, and one who took punishment very well. Augusta looked after him, sighed deeply, and even wiped away a tear. Then she turned and walked aft, to where Lady Holm- hurst was sitting chatting to the captain and enjoying the balmy southern air, through which the great ship was rushing with outspread sails like some huge white bird. As she came up, the captain made his bow and went, saying that he had something to see to, and for a minute Lady Holmhurst and Augusta were left alone.
" Well, Augusta?" said Lady Holmhurst, for she called her "Augusta" now.
" Well, Lady Holmhurst 1 " said Augusta.
"And what have you done with that young man, Mr. Tombey — that very nice young man ? " she added with emphasis.
" I think that Mr. Tombey went forward," said Augusta.
The two women looked at each other, and, woman-like, each understood what the other meant. Lady Holmhurst had not been altogether innocent in the Tombey affair.
" Lady Holmhurst," said Augusta, taking the bull by the horns, " Mr. Tombey has been speaking to me, and has "
'•' Proposed to you," suggested Lady Holmhurst, admir- ing the Southern Cross through her eye-glasses. " You said he went forward, you know."
^
TUT. KA
MR. TOMBEY GOES FORWARD. 95
" Has proposed to me," answered Augusta, ignoring the little joke. " I regret," she went on hurriedly, " that 1 have not been able to fall in with Mr. Tomb' plar -
I Lady Holmhurst ; "I am sorry, for some things. Mr. Tom bey is such a nice young man, and so very gentlemanlike. I thought that perhaps it might suit your views, and it would have simplified your future arrangements. But, of course, while you are in New Zealand, I shall be able to see to them. By the way, it is understood that you come to stay with us for a few months at Government House, before you hunt up your cousin."
"You are very good to me, Lady Holmhurst," said Augusta, with something like a sob.
Suppose, my dear." answered the great lady, laying
her little hand upon Augusta's beautiful hair, "that you
were to drop the ' Lady Holmhurst ' and call me ' Bessie ' ?
Dunds so much more sociable, you know, and, besides,
;t is shorter, and does not waste so much breath."
Then Augusta sobbed outright, for her nerves were shaken : " You don't know what your kindness means to me," she said ; " I have never had a friend, and since my darling died I have been so very lonely ! "
CHAPTER VII.
THE CATASTROPHE.
ND so the?e two fair women talked, making plans for the future as though all things endured for ever, and all plans were destined to be realised. But even as they talked, somewhere up in the high heavens the Voice that rules the world spoke a word, and the Messenger of Fate rushed forth to do its bidding. On board the great ship were music and laughter and the sweet voices of singing women ; but above it hung a pall of doom. Not the most timid heart dreamed of danger. What danger could there be aboard of that grand ship, which sped across the waves with the lightness and confidence of the swallow? There was naught to fear. A prosperous voyage was drawing to its end, and mothers put their babes to sleep with as sure a heart as though they were on solid English ground. Oh ! surely, when his overflowing load of sorrows and dire miseries was meted out to man, some gentle Spirit pleaded for him — that he should not have foresight added to the tale, that he should not see the falling knife or hear the water lapping that one day shall entomb him ? Or, was
THE CATASTROPHE, 97
it kept back because man, having knowledge, would be man without reason ? — for terror would make him mad, and he would end his fears by hurrying their fulfilment ! At least, we are blind to the future, and let us be thank- ful for it.
Presently Lady Holmhurst got up from her chair, and said that she was going to bed, but that, first of all, she must kiss Dick, her little boy, who slept with his nurse in another cabin. Augusta rose and went with her, and they both kissed the sleeping child, a bonny boy of five, and then they kissed each other and separated for the night.
Some hours afterwards, Augusta woke up, feeling very restless. For an hour or more she lay thinking of Mr. Tombey and many other things, and listening to the swift " lap, lap," of the water as it slipped past the vessel's sides, and the occasional tramp of the watch as they set fresh sails. At last her feeling of unrest became too much for her, and she rose and partially, very partially, dressed herself — for in the gloom she could only find her flannel vest and petticoat — twisted her long hair in a coil round her head, put on a hat and a thick ulster that hung upon the door — for they were running into chilly latitudes — and slipped out on deck.
It was growing towards dawn, but the night was still dark. Looking up, Augusta could only just make out the outlines of the huge bellying sails, for the Kangaroo was rushing along before the westerly wind under a full head of steam, and with every inch of her canvas set to ease the screw. There was something very exhilarating about the movement, the freshness of the night, and the wild sweet song of the wind as it sang amongst the rigging. Augusta turned her face towards it, and, being
98 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
alone, stretched out her arms as though to catch it. The whole scene awoke some answering greatness in her heart : something that slumbers in the bosoms of the higher race of human beings, and only stirs — and then but faintly — when the passions move them, or when Nature communes with her nobler children. She felt that at that moment she could write as she had never written yet. All sorts of beautiful ideas, all sorts of aspirations after that noble calm, and purity of thought and life for which we pray and long, but are not allowed to reach, came flowing into her heart. She almost thought that she could hear her lost Jeannie's voice calling down the gale, and her strong imagination began to paint her hovering like a sea-bird upon white wings high above the mainmast's taper point, and gazing through the darkness into the soul of her she loved. Then, by those faint and imperceptible degrees with which ideas fade one into another, from Jeannie her thought got round to Eustace Meeson. She wondered if he had ever called at the lodgings at Birmingham after she left ? Somehow, she had an idea that she was not altogether indifferent to him ; there had been a look in his eyes she did not quite understand. She almost wished now that she had sent him a line or a message. Perhaps she would do so from New Zealand.
Just then her meditations were interrupted by a step, and, turning round, she found herself face to face with the captain.
"Why, Miss Smithers ! " he said, "what on earth are you doing here at this hour — making up romances ? "
" Yes," she answered, laughing, and with perfect truth. " The fact of the matter is, I could not sleep, so I came on deck : and very pleasant it is ! "
" Yes," said the captain, " if you want something to
THE CATASTROPHE. 99
put into your stories you won't find anything better than this. The Kangaroo is showing her heels, isn't she, Miss Smithers ? That's the beauty of her, sne can sail as well as steam ; and when she has a strong wind like this abaft, it would have to be something very quick that could catch her. I believe that we have been running over seventeen knots an hour ever since midnight. I hope to 'make Kerguelen Island by seven o'clock to correct my chronometers."
" What is Kerguelen Island ? " asked Augusta.
11 Oh ! it is a desert place where nobody goes, except now and then a whaler to fill up with water. I believe that the astronomers sent an expedition there a few years ago, to observe the transit of Venus : but it was a failure because the weather was so misty — it is nearly always misty there. Well, I must be off, Miss Smithers. Good night ; or, rather, good morning.
Before the words were well out of his mouth, there was a wild shout forward — " Ship ahead!" Then came an awful yell from about a dozen voices —
" Starboard ! Hard a-starboard, for GocCs sake ! "
With a fierce leap, like the leap of a man suddenly shot, the captain left her side and rushed on to the bridge. At the same instant the engine-bell rang and the steering-chains began to rattle furiously on the rollers at her fee*-, as the steam steering-gear did its work. Then came another yell —
" It's a whaler/ — no lights!" and an answering shriek of terror from some big black object that loomed ahead. Before the echoes had died away, before the great ship could even answer to her helm, there was a crash, such as Augusta had never heard, and a sickening shock, that threw her on her hands and knees on to the deck,
ioo MR. MEESON'S WILL.
shaking the iron masts till they trembled as though they were willow wands, and making the huge sails flap and for an instant fly aback. The great vessel, rushing along at her frightful speed of seventeen knots, had plunged into the ship ahead with such hideous energy that she cut her clean in two — cut her in two and passed over her, as though she were a pleasure-boat !
Shriek upon shriek of despair rent the gloomy night, and then, as Augusta struggled to her feet, she felt a horrible succession of bumps, which were accompanied by a crushing grinding noise. It was the Kangaroo driving right over the remains of the whaler 1
In a very few seconds it was done, and looking astern, Augusta could just make out something black that seemed to float for a second or two upon the water, and then disappear into its depths. It was the shattered hull of the whaler.
Then there arose a faint murmuring sound, that grew first into a hum, then into a roar, and then into a clamour that shook the skies, and up from every hatchway and cabin in the great ship, human beings — men, women, and children — came rushing and tumbling, with faces white with terror — white as their night-gear. Some were almost naked, having slipped off their night- dress and had no time to put on anything else ; some wore ulsters and greatcoats, others had blankets thrown round them or carried their clothes in their hands. Up they came, hundreds and hundreds of them (for there were a thousand souls on board the Kangaroo), pouring aft like terrified spirits flying from the mouth of hell, and from them arose such a hideous clamour as few have lived to hear.
Augusta clung to the nettings to let the rush go by,
THE CATASTROPHE. 101
trying to collect her scattered senses and to prevent her- self from catching the dreadful contagion of the panic. Being a brave and cool-headed woman, she presently succeeded, and with her returning clearness of vision realised that she and all on board were in great peril. It was plain that so frightful a collision could not have taken place without injury to their own vessel. Nothing short of an ironclad ram could have stood such a shock. Pro- bably they would founder in a few minutes, and all be drowned. In a few minutes she might be dead ! Her heart stood still at the horror of the thought, but once more she recovered herself. Well, after all, life had not been pleasant ; and she had nothing to fear from another world, she had done no wrong. Then suddenly she began to think of the others. Where was Lady Holmhurst : and where were the boy and the nurse ? Acting upon an impulse she did not stay to realise, she ran to the saloon hatchway. It was fairly clear now, for most of the people were on deck, and she found her way to the child's cabin with but little difficulty. There was a light in it, and the first glance showed her that the nurse had gone ; gone, and deserted the child — for there he lay, asleep, with a smile upon his little round face. The shock had scarcely wakened the boy, and, knowing nothing of shipwrecks, he had just shut his eyes and gone to sleep again.
"Dick, Dick!" she said, shaking him.
He yawned and sat up, and then threw himself down again saying, " Dick sleepy."
" Yes, but Dick must wake up, and Auntie" (he called her "auntie") "will take him up on deck to look for Mummy. Won't it be nice to go on deck in the dark ? "
" Yes," said Dick, with confidence ; and Augusta took him on her knee and hurried him as quickly as she could
102 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
into such of his clothes as came handy. On the cabin door was a warm little pea-jacket which the child wore when it was cold. This she put on over his blouse and flannel shirt, and then, by an afterthought, took the two blankets off his bunk and wrapped them round him. At the foot of the nurse's bed were a box of biscuits and some milk. The biscuits she emptied into the pockets of her ulster, and having given the child as much of the milk as he would drink, swallowed the rest herself. Then, pinning a shawl which lay about round her own shoulders, she took up the child and made her way with him on to the deck. At the head of the companion she met Lord Holmhurst himself, rushing down to look after the child.
" I have got him, Lord Holmhurst," she cried ; " the nurse has run away. Where is your wife ? "
" Bless you ! " he said fervently ; " you are a good girl. Bessie is aft somewhere; I would not let her come. They are trying to keep the people off the boats — they are all mad!"
" Are we sinking ? " she asked faintly.
" God knows — ah ! here is the captain," pointing to a man who was walking, or rather pushing his way, rapidly towards them through the maddened, screeching mob. Lord Holmhurst caught him by the arm.
" Let me go," he said roughly, trying to shake himself loose. " Oh ! it is you, Lord Holmhurst."
" Yes ; step in here for one second and tell us the worst. Speak up, man, and let us know all ! "
" Very well, Lord Holmhurst, I will. We have run down a whaler of about five hundred tons, which was cruising along under reduced canvas and showing no lights. Our fore compartment is stove right in, bulging out the plates on each side of the cut-water, and loosening the fore
THE CATASTROPHE. 103
bulkhead. The carpenter and his mates are doing their best to shore it up from the inside with balks of timber, but the water is coming in like a mill race, and I fear that there are other injuries. All the pumps are at work, but there's a deal of water, and if the bulkhead goes "
" We shall go too," said Lord Holmhurst calmly. " Well, we must take to the boats. Is that all ? "
" In Heaven's name, is not that enough ? " said the captain, looking up, so that the light that was fixed in the companion threw his ghastly face into bold relief. " No, Lord Holmhurst, it is not all. The boats will hold some- thing over three hundred people. There are about one thousand souls aboard the Kangaroo, of whom more than three hundred are women and children."
" Therefore the men must drown," said Lord Holmhurst quietly. " God's will be done ! "
" Your Lordship will, of course, take a place in the boats ? " said the captain hurriedly. " I have ordered them to be prepared, and, fortunately, day is breaking. I rely upon you to explain matters to the owners if you escape, and clear my character. The boats must make for Kerguelen Land. It is about seventy miles to the east- ward."
" You must give your message to some one else, captain," was the answer; "I shall stay and share the fate of the other men."
There was no pomposity about Lord Holmhurst now — all that had gone — and nothing but the simple gallant nature of the English gentleman remained.
" No, no," said the captain, as they hurried aft, pushing their way through the fear-distracted crowd. " Have you got your revolver ? "
" Yes."
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" Well, then, keep it handy ; you may have to use it presently : they will try and rush the boats."
By this time the grey dawn was slowly breaking in cold and ghastly light upon the hideous scene of terror. Round about the boats were gathered the officers and some of the crew, doing their best to prepare them for lowering. Indeed, one had already been got away. In it were Lady Holmhurst, who had been thrown there against her will, shrieking for her child and husband, and about a score or women and children, together with half-a-dozen sailors and an officer.
Augusta caught sight of her friend's face in the faint light. " Bessie ! Bessie ! Lady Holmhurst ! " she cried, " I have got the boy. It is all right — I have got the boy ! "
She heard her, and waved her hand wildly towards her ; and then the men in the boat gave way, and in a second it was out of earshot. Just then a tall form seized Augusta by the arm. She looked up : it was Mr. Tombey, and she saw that in his other hand he held a revolver.
" Thank God ! " he shouted in her ear, " I have found you ! This way — this way, quick ! " And he dragged her aft to where two sailors, standing by the davits that supported a small boat, were lowering her to the level of the bulwarks.
" Now then, women ! " shouted an officer who was in charge of the operation. Some men made a rush.
" Women first ! Women first ! "
" I am in no hurry," said Augusta, stepping forward with the trembling child in her arms; and her action for a few seconds produced a calming effect, for the men stopped.
" Come on ! " said Mr. Tombey, stooping to lift her
THE CATASTROPHE. 105
over the side, only to be nearly knocked down by a man who made a desperate effort to get into the boat. It was Mr. Meeson, and, recognising him, Mr. Tombey dealt him a blow that sent him spinning back.
"A thousand pounds for a place!" he roared. "Ten thousand pounds for a seat in a boat ! " And once more he scrambled up at the bulwarks, trampling down a child as he did so, and was once more thrown back.
Mr. Tombey took Augusta and the child into his strong arms and put them into the boat. As he did so he kissed her forehead and murmured, " God bless you ; good-bye ! "
At that instant there was a loud report forward, and the stern of the vessel lifted perceptibly. The bulkhead had a'iven way, and there arose such a yell as surely was seldom heard before. To Augusta's ears it seemed to shape itself into the word " Sinking/"
Up from the bowels of the ship poured the firemen, the appearance of whose blackened faces, lined with white streaks of perspiration, added a new impulse of terror to the panic-stricken throng. Aft they came, accompanied by a crowd of sailors and emigrants.
" Rush the boats," sung out a coarse voice, " or we'll be drowned ! "
Taking the hint, the maddened mob burst towards the boats like a flood, blaspheming and shrieking as it came. In a moment the women and children who were waiting to take to the boat in which Augusta and the two seamen were already, were swept aside, and a determined effort was made to rush it, headed by a great raw-boned navvy, the same who had called out.
Augusta saw Mr. Tombey, Lord Holmhurst, who had come up, and the officer lift their pistols, which exploded
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almost simultaneously, and the navvy and another man pitched forward on to their hands and knees.
" Never mind the pistols, lads," shouted a voice ; " as well be shot as drown. There isn't room for half of us in the boats ; come on ! " And a second fearful rush was made, which bore the three gentlemen, firing as they went, back against the bulwark nettings.
" Bill," halloaed the man who was holding on to the foremost tackle, " lower away ; we shall be rushed and swamped ! "
Bill obeyed with heart and soul, and down sank the boat below the level of the upper decks, just as the mob was getting the mastery. In five seconds more they were hanging close over the water, and while they were in this position a man leapt at the boat from the bulwarks. He struck on the thwarts, rolled off into the water, and was no more seen. A lady, the wife of a Colonial Judge, threw her child ; Augusta tried to catch it, but missed, and the boy sank and was lost. In another moment the two sailors had shoved off from the ship's side. As they did so, the stern of the Kangaroo lifted right out of the water so that they could see under her rudderpost. Just then, too, with a yell of terror, Mr. Meeson, in whom the elementary principle of self-preservation at all costs was strongly developed, cast himself from the ship's side and fell with a splash within a few feet of the boat. Rising to the surface, he clutched hold of the gunwale, and implored to be taken in.
" Knock the old varmint over the knuckles, Bill," shouted the other man ; " he'll upset us ! "
" No ! no ! " cried Augusta, her heart moved at seeing her old enemy in such a case. " There is plenty of room in the boat."
THE CATASTROPHE. 107
" Hold on then," said the man addressed, whose name was Johnnie; "when we get clear we'll haul you in."
And, the reader may be sure, Mr. Mecson did hold on pretty tight till, after rowing about fifty yards, the two men halted, and proceeded, not without some risk and trouble — for there was a considerable sea running — to hoist Mr. Meeson's large form over the gunwale of the boat.
Meanwhile, the horrors on board the doomed ship were redoubling, as she slowly settled to her watery grave. Forward, the steam fog-horn was going unceasingly, bel- lowing like a thousand furious bulls ; while, now and again, a rocket still shot up through the misty morning air. Round the boats a hideous war was being waged. Augusta saw a great number of men jump into one of the largest life-boats, which was still hanging to the davits, having evidently got the better of those who were attempting to fill it with the women and children. The next second they lowered the after tackle, but, by some hitch or misunderstanding, not the foremost one ; with the result that the stern of the boat fell while the bow remained fixed, and every soul in it — they numbered forty or fifty — was shot out into the water. Another one, full of women and children, got to the water safely, but re- mained fastened to the ship by the bow tackle. When, a couple of minutes afterwards, the Kangaroo went down, nobody had a knife at hand wherewith to cut the rope, the boat was dragged down with her, and all its occu- pants drowned.* The remaining boats, with the excep- tion of the one in which Lady Holmhurst was, and which had been got away before the rush began were
* A similar incident occurred in the case of the Teuton, which foundered some years ago on the South African coast
108 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
never lowered at all, or sank as soon as lowered. It was impossible to lower them owing to the mad behaviour of the panic-stricken crowds, who fought like wild beasts for a place in them. A few gentlemen and sober-headed sailors could do nothing against a mob of frantic creatures, each bent on saving his own life, even if it cost the lives of all else on board.
And thus it was exactly twenty minutes from the time that the Kangaroo sank the whaler (for, although these events have taken some time to describe, they did not take long to enact) that her own hour came, and, with the exception of some eight-and-twenty souls, all told, the hour also of every living creature who had taken passage in her.
CHAPTER VIII.
KERGUELEN LAND.
S soon as Mr. Mecson, saved from drowning by her intervention, lay gasping at the bottom of the boat, Augusta, overcome by a momen- tary faintness, let her head fall forward on to the bundle of blankets in which she had wrapped up the child she had rescued, and who, too terrified to speak or cry, stared about him with widely-opened and frightened eyes. When she lifted it, a few seconds later, a ray from the rising sun had pierced the mist, and striking full on the sinking ship, as, her stern well out of the water and her bow well under it, she rolled sullenly to and fro in the trough of the sea, seemed to wrap her from hull to truck in wild and stormy light.
11 She's going ! — by George, she's going ! " said the seaman Johnnie ; and as he said it the mighty ship slowly reared herself up on end. Slowly — very slowly, amidst the hideous and despairing shrieks of the doomed wretches on board of her, she lifted her stern higher and higher, and plunged her bows deeper and deeper. They shrieked, they cried to Heaven for help ; but
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Heaven heeded them not, for man's agony cannot avert man's doom. Now, for a space, she was standing almost upright upon the water, out of which more than a hun- dred feet of her vast length towered like some monstrous ocean growth, whilst, like flies benumbed by frost, men fell from her in showers, down into the churning foam beneath. Then suddenly, with a swift and awful rush, with a rending sound of breaking spars, a loud explosion of her boilers, and a smothered boom of bursting bulk- heads, she plunged down into the fathomless and was seen no more for ever.
The water closed in over where she had been, boiling and foaming and sucking down all things in the wake of her last journey, while the steam and prisoned air came up in huge hissing jets and bubbles that exploded into spray on the surface.
The men groaned, the child stared stupefied, and Augusta cried out, "Ok! oh!" like one in pain.
" Row back ! " she gasped, " row back and see if we cannot pick some of them up."
" No ! no ! " shouted Meeson ; " they will sink the boat ! "
'"T ain't much use anyway," said Johnnie. "I doubt that precious few of them will come up again. They have gone too deep ! "
However, they got the boat's head round again — slowly enough, Augusta thought — and as they did so heard a feeble cry or two. But by the time that they had reached the spot where the Kangaroo went down, there was no living creature to be seen ; nothing but the wash of the great waves, over which the mist once more closed thick and heavy as a pall. They shouted, and once they heard a faint answer, and rowed
" ' She's going ! — by George, she's going ! ' said the seaman Johnnie." — Page 109.
KKRGUELEN LAND. nj
towards it ; but when they got to the spot whence the sound seemed to proceed, they could see nothing except some wreckage. They were all dead, their agony was done, their cries no more ascended to the pitiless heavens ; and wind, and sky, and sea were just as they had been.
" Oh, my God ! my God ! " wept Augusta, clinging to the thwarts of the tossing boat.
" One boat got away — where is it ? " asked Mr. Meeson, who, a wet and wretched figure, was huddled up in the stern-sheets, as he rolled his wild eyes round, striving to pierce the curtain of the mist.
"There's something," said Johnnie, pointing through a fog-dog in the mist, that seemed to grow denser rather than otherwise as the light increased, at a round, boat- like object which had suddenly appeared to the starboard of them.
They rowed up to it ; it was a boat, but empty and floating bottom upwards. Closer examination showed that it was the cutter, which, when full of women and children, had been fastened to the vessel and dragged down with her as she sank. At a certain depth the pressure of the water had torn the ring in the bow bodily out of her, so that she returned to the sur- face. But those in her did not return — at least, not yet. Once more, two or three days hence, they would arise from the watery depths and look upon the skies with eyes that could not see, and then vanish for ever.
Turning from this awful and most moving sight, they rowed slowly through quantities of floating wreckage — barrels, hencoops (in one of these they found two drowned fowls, which they secured), and many other articles, such as oars and wicker deck-chairs — and began to shout
H
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vigorously in the hope of attracting the attention of the survivors in the other boat, which they imagined could not be far off. Their efforts, however, proved fruitless, since owing to the thickness of the fog, and in the consider- able sea which was running, it was impossible to see more than twenty yards or so. Also, what between the wind, and the wash and turmoil of the water, the sound of their voices did not travel far. The ocean is a large place, and a rowing boat is easily lost sight of upon its furrowed surface ; therefore it is not wonderful that, although the two boats were at the moment within half a mile of each other, they never met, and each took its separate course in the hope of escaping the fate of the vessel. The boat in which were Lady Holmhurst and some twenty other passengers, together with the second officer and a crew of six men, after seeing the Kangaroo sink and picking up one survivor, shaped a course for Kerguelen Land, believing that they, and they alone, remained to tell the tale of that awful shipwreck. And here it may be convenient to state that before nightfall they were picked up by a sealing-whaler, that sailed with them to Albany, on the coast of Australia. Thence an account of the disaster, which, as the reader will remember, created a deep impression, was telegraphed home, and thence, in clue course, the widowed Lady Holmhurst and most of the other women who escaped were taken back to England.
To return to our heroine and Mr. Meeson.
The occupants of the little boat sat looking at each other with white scared faces, till at last the man called Johnnie, who, by the way, was not a tar of a very amiable cast of countenance, possibly owing to the fact that his nose was knocked almost flat against the side of his face,
KERGUELEN LAND. 115
swore violently, and said " It was no good stopping there all the etceteraed day." Thereupon Bill, who was a more jovial-looking man, remarked " that he, Johnnie, was et- ceteraed well right, so they had better hoist the foresail."
At this point Augusta interposed, and told them that the captain, just as the vessel came into collision, had informed her that he was making Kerguelen Land, which was not more than sixty or seventy miles away. They had a compass in the boat, and they knew the course the Kangaroo was steering when she sank. Accordingly, without wasting further time, they got as much sail up as the little boat could carry in the stiff breeze, and ran nearly due east before the steady westerly wind. All day long they ran across the misty ocean, the little boat behaving splendidly, without sighting any living thing, till, at last, the night closed in again. There were, for- tunately, a bag of biscuits in the boat, and a breaker of water ; also there was, unfortunately, a breaker of rum, from which the two sailors, Bill and Johnnie, were already taking quite as much as was good for them. Conse- quently, though they were cold and wet with the spray, they had not to face the added horrors of starvation and thirst. At sundown they shortened sail considerably, only leaving enough canvas up to keep the boat ahead of the sea.
Somehow the long night wore away. Augusta scarcely closed her eyes ; but little Dick slept like a top upon her bosom, sheltered by her arms and the blanket from the cold and penetrating spray. In the bottom of the boat lay Mr. Meeson, to whom Augusta, pitying his con- dition— for he was shivering dreadfully — had given the other blanket, keeping nothing for herself except the woollen shawl.
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At last, however, there came a faint glow in the east, and the daylight began to break over the stormy sea. Augusta turned her head and stared through the mist.
" What is that ? " she said, in a voice trembling with excitement, to the sailor Bill, who was taking his turn at the tiller ; and she pointed to a dark mass that loomed up almost over them.
The man looked, looked again ; and then halloaed out joyfully, "Land — land ahead ! "
Up struggled Mr. Meeson on to his knees — his legs were so stiff that he could not stand — and began to stare wildly about him.
" Thank God ! " he cried. " Where is it ? Is it New Zealand ? If ever I get there, I'll stop there. I'll never go on a ship again ! "
"New Zealand!" growled the sailor. "Are you a fool ? It's Kerguelen Land, that's what it is — where it rains all day, and nobody lives — not even a nigger. It's like enough that you'll stop there, though ; for I don't reckon that anybody will come to take you off in a hurry."
Mr. Meeson collapsed with a groan, and a few minutes afterwards the sun rose, while the mist grew less and less, till at last it almost disappeared, revealing a grand panorama to the occupants of the boat. For before them were line upon line of jagged and lofty peaks, stretching as far as the eye could reach, till far away they gradually melted into the cold white gleam of snow. Bill slightly altered the boat's course to the southward, and, sailing round a point, she came into comparatively calm water. Then, due north of them, running into the land, they saw the mouth of a great fjord, bounded on either side by
KERGUELEN LAND. n;
towering mountain banks, so steep as to be almost pre- cipitous, around whose lofty cliffs thousands of sea-fowl wheeled, awaking the echoes with their clamour. Right into this beautiful fjord they sailed, past a line of flat rocks on which sat huge fantastic monsters that the sailors said were sea-lions, along the line of beetling cliff, till they came to a spot where the shore, on which grew a rank, sodden-looking grass, shelved gently up from the water's edge to the frowning and precipitous background. And here, to their delight, they discovered two huts roughly built of old ship's timbers placed within a score of yards of each other, and at a distance of some fifty paces from the water's edge.
"Well, there's a house, anyway," said the flat-nosed Johnnie, " though it don't look as though it had paid rates and taxes lately."
" Let us land, and get out of this horrible boat," said Mr. Meeson feebly : a proposition that Augusta seconded heartily enough. Accordingly, the sail was lowered, and, getting out the oars, the two sailors rowed the boat into a little natural harbour that opened out of the main creek. In ten minutes her occupants were once more stretch- ing their legs upon dry land ; that is, if any land in Kerguelen Island, that region of perpetual wet, could be said to be dry.
Their first care was to go up to the huts and examine them, with a result that could scarcely be called encourag- ing. The huts had been built some years — whether by the expedition which, in 1874, came thither to observe the transit of Venus, or by former parties of shipwrecked mariners, they never discovered — and were now in a state of ruin. Mosses and lichens grew plentifully upon the beams, and even on the floor ; while great holes in the
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roof let in the wet, which lay in little slimy puddles be- neath. Still, with all their drawbacks, they were decidedly better than the open beach ; a very short experience of which, in that inclement climate, would certainly have killed them ; and they thankfully decided to make the best of them. Accordingly, the smaller of the two huts was given up to Augusta and the boy Dick, while Mr. Meeson and the sailors took possession of the large one. Their next task was to move up their scanty belongings (the boat having first been carefully beached), and to clean out the huts and make them as habitable as possible by stretching the sails of the boat over the damp floors and covering up the holes in the roof as best they could with stones and bits of board from the bottom of the boat. The weather was, fortunately, dry, and as they all (with the exception of Mr. Meeson, who seemed to be quite prostrated) worked with a will, not excepting Master Dick — who toddled backwards and forwards after Augusta in high glee at finding himself on terra firma — by mid-day everything that could be done was done. Then they made a fire of some drift-wood — for, fortunately, they had a few matches — and Augusta cooked the two fowls they had recovered from the floating hen-coop, as well as cir- cumstances would allow — which, as a matter of fact, was not very well — and they had dinner, of which they all stood sadly in need.
After dinner they reckoned up their resources. Of water there was an ample supply, for not far from the huts a stream ran down into the fjord. For food they had the best part of a bag of biscuits weighing about a hundred pounds. Also there was the cask of rum, which the men moved into their own hut. But that was not all, for there were plenty of shellfish about if they could find
Right into this beautiful fjord they sailed."— Page 117.
KERGUELEN LAND. 121
means to cook them, and the rocks around were covered with hundreds of penguins, including specimens of the great " King penguin," which only required to be knocked on the head. There was, therefore, little fear of their perishing of starvation, as sometimes happens to ship- wrecked people. Indeed, immediately after dinner, the two sailors went out and returned with as many birds' eggs — mostly penguin — as they could carry in their hats. Scarcely had they got in, however, when the rain, which is the prevailing characteristic of these latitudes, came on in the most pitiless fashion ; and soon the great mountains with which they were surrounded were wrapped in dense veils of fleecy vapour. Hour after hour the rain fell without ceasing, penetrating through their miserable roofs, and falling — drop, drip, drop, — upon the sodden floor. Augusta sat by herself in the smaller hut, doing what she could to amuse little Dick by telling him stories. Nobody knows how hard she found it to have to invent stories when she was thus overwhelmed with misfortune ; but it was the only way of keeping the poor child from crying, as the sense of cold and misery forced itself into his little heart. So she told him about Robinson Crusoe, and then she told him that they were playing at being Robinson Crusoe, to which the child very sensibly replied that he did not at all like the game, and wanted his mamma.
And meanwhile it grew darker and colder and damper hour by hour, till at length the light went out of the sky and left her with nothing to keep her company but the moaning wind, the falling rain, and the wild cries of the sea-birds when something disturbed them from their rest. The child was asleep at last, wrapped up in a blanket and one of the smaller sails; and Augusta, feeling quite
122 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
worn out with solitude and the pressure of heavy thoughts, began to think that the best thing she could do would be to try to follow his example, when suddenly there came a knock at the boards which served as a door to the shanty.
" Who is it ? " she cried, with a start.
" Me — Mr. Meeson," answered a voice. " Can I come in ? "
" Yes ; if you like," said Augusta sharply, though in her heart she was really glad to see him, or rather, to hear him, for it was too dark to see anything. It is wonderful how, under the pressure of great calamity, we forget our quarrels and our spites, and are ready to jump at the pros- pect of the human companionship of our deadliest enemy. And " the moral of that is," as the White Queen says, that as we are all night and day face to face with the last dread calamity — Death — we should throughout our lives behave as though we saw the present shadow of his hand. But that will rarely happen in the world while human nature is human nature — and when will it become anything else ?
" Put up the door again," said Augusta, when, from a rather rawer rush of air than usual, she gathered that her visitor was within the hut.
Mr. Meeson obeyed, groaning audibly. "Those two brutes are getting drunk," he said, " swallowing down rum by the gallon. I have come because I could not stop with them any longer — and I am so ill, Miss Smithers, so ill ! I believe that I am going to die. Sometimes I feel as though all the marrow in my bones were ice, and — and — at others just as if somebody were shoving a red-hot wire up them. Can't you do anything for me ? "
" I don't see what is to be done," answered Augusta
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gently, for the man's misery touched her in spite of her dislike of him. " You had better lie down and try to to sleep."
"To sleep!" he moaned; "how can I sleep? My blanket is wringing wet and my clothes are damp," and he fairly broke down and began to groan and sob.
"Try and go to sleep," urged Augusta again.
He made no answer, but by degrees grew quieter, over- whelmed, perhaps, by the solemn presence of the dark- ness. Augusta laid her head against the biscuit-bag, and at last sank into blissful oblivion ; for to the young, sleep is a constant friend. Once or twice she woke, but only to drop off again : and when she finally opened her eyes it was quite light and the rain had ceased.
Her first care was for little Dick, who had slept soundly throughout the night and appeared to be none the worse. She took him outside the hut and washed his face and hands in the stream, and then sat down to a breakfast of biscuit. As she returned she met the two sailors, who, although they were now fairly sober, bore upon their faces the marks of a fearful debauch. Evidently they had been drinking heavily. She drew herself up and looked at them, and they slunk past her in silence.
Then she returned to the hut. Mr. Meeson was sitting up when she entered, and the bright light from the open door fell full upon his face. His appearance fairly shocked her. The heavy cheeks had faJlen in, there were great purple rings round the hollow eyes, and his whole aspect was that of a man in the last stage of illness.
" 1 have had such a night ! " he said. " Oh, Heaven ! such a night ! I don't believe that I shall live through another."
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" Nonsense ! " said Augusta, "eat some biscuit and you will feel better."
He took a piece of the biscuit which she gave him, and attempted to swallow it, but could not.
" It is of no use," he said ; "lama dying man. Sitting in those wet clothes in the boat has finished me."
And Augusta, looking at his face, could not but believe him.
CHAPTER IX.
AUGUSTA TO THE RESCUE.
FTER breakfast — that is, after Augusta had eaten some biscuit and a wing that remained from the chickens she had managed to cook upon the previous day — Bill and Johnnie, the two sailors, set to work, at her suggestion, to fix up a long fragment of drift-wood on a point of rock, and to bind on to it a flag that they happened to find in the locker of the boat. There was not much chance of its being seen by anybody in that mist-laden atmosphere, even if anybody came there to see it, of which there was still less chance; still they did it as a sort of duty. By the time this task was finished it was midday, and, for a wonder, there was little wind, and the sun shone brightly. On returning to the huts Augusta got the blankets out to dry, and set the two sailors to roast some of the eggs they had found on the previous day. This they did willingly enough, for they were now quite sober, and very much ashamed of themselves. Then, after giving Dick some more biscuit and four roasted eggs, which he took to wonderfully, she went to Mr. Meeson, who was lying groaning in the
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hut, and persuaded him to come and sit out in the warmth.
By this time the wretched man's condition was pitiable, for, though his strength was still whole in him, he was persuaded that he was going to die, and could touch nothing but some rum-and-water.
" Miss Smithers," he said, as he sat shivering upon the rocks, " I am going to die in this horrible place, and I am not fit to die ! To think of me," he went on with a sudden burst of his old fire, " to think of my dying like a starved dog in the cold, when I have two millions of money wait- ing to be spent there in England ! And I would give them all — yes, every farthing of them — to find myself safe at home again ! By Jove ! I would change places with any poor devil of a writer in the Hutches ! Yes, I would turn author on twenty pounds a month ! — that will give you some idea of my condition, Miss Smithers ! To think that I should ever live to say that I would care to be a beggarly author, who could not make a thousand a year if he wrote till his fingers fell off! — oh ! oh ! " and he fairly sobbed at the horror and degradation of the thought.
Augusta looked at the poor wretch, and then bethought her of the proud creature she had known, raging terribly through the obsequious ranks of clerks, and carrying desolation to the Hutches and the many-headed Editorial Department. She looked and was filled with reflections on the mutability of human affairs.
Alas ! how changed that Meeson !
" Yes," he went on, recovering himself a little, " I am going to die in this horrible place, and all my money will not even give me a decent funeral. Addison and Roscoe will get it — confound them ! — as though they had not got enough already. It makes me mad when I think of those
AUGUSTA TO THE RESCUE. 127
Addison girls spending my money, and bribing peers to marry them with it, or something of that sort. I disin- herited my own nephew, Eustace, and kicked him out to sink or swim ; and now I can't undo it, and I would give anything to alter that ! We quarrelled about you, Miss Smithers, because I would not give you any more money for that book of yours. I wish I had given it to you — anything you wanted. I didn't treat you well ; but, Miss Smithers, a bargain is a bargain. It would never have done to give way, on principle. You must understand that, Miss Smithers. Don't revenge yourself on me about it, now that I am helpless, because, you see, it was a matter of principle."
" I am not in the habit of revenging myself, Mr. Meeson," answered Augusta, with dignity ; " but I think that you have done a very wicked thing to disinherit your nephew in this fashion, and I don't wonder that you feel uncomfortable about it."
The expression of this vigorous opinion served to dis- turb Mr. Meeson's conscience all the more, and he burst out into laments and regrets.
" Well," said Augusta at last, " if you don't like your will you had better alter it. There are enough of us here to witness a will, and, if anything happens to you, it will override the other — will it not ? "
This was a new idea, and the dying man jumped at it.
" Of course, of course," he said ; " I never thought of that before. 1 will do it at once, and cut Addison and Roscoe out altogether. Eustace shall have every farthing. I never thought of that before. Come, give me your hand ; I'll get up and see about it."
" Stop a minute," said Augusta. " How are you
i28 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
going to write a will without pen or pencil, paper or ink?"
Mr. Meeson sank back with a groan. This difficulty had not occurred to him.
" Are you sure nobody has got a pencil and a bit of paper ? " he asked. " It would do, so long as the writing remained legible."
" I don't think so," said Augusta, " but I will in- quire." Accordingly she went and asked Bill and Johnnie : but neither of them had a pencil or a single scrap of paper, and she returned sadly to communicate the news.
" I have got it, I have got it," said Mr. Meeson, as she approached the spot where he lay upon the rock. " If there is no paper or pen, we must write it in blood upon some linen. We can make a pen from the feathers of a bird. I read somewhere in a book of somebody who did that. It will do as well as anything else."
Here was an idea, indeed, and one that Augusta jumped at. But in another moment her enthusiasm re- ceived a check. Where was there any linen to write on ?
" Yes," she said, " if you can find some linen. You have got on a flannel shirt, so have the two sailors, and little Dick is dressed in flannel, too."
It was a fact. As it happened, not one of the party had a scrap of linen on them, or anything that would answer the purpose. Indeed, they had only one pocket- handkerchief between them, and it was a red rag full of holes. Augusta had had one, but it had blown overboard when they were in the boat. What would they not have given for that pocket-handkerchief now !
" Yes," said Mr. Meeson, " it seems we have none. I haven't even got a bank-note, or I might have written in
AUGUS1 AH) THE RESCt I 129
blood upon that : though I have got a hundred sovereigns in gold — I grabbed them up before I bolted from the cabin. But I say — excuse me, Miss Sm it hers, but — um — ah — oli ! hang modesty — haven't you got some linen on, somewhi re or other, that you could spare a bit of ? You sha'n't lose by giving it to me. There, I promise that I will tear up the agreement if ever I get out of this — which I sha'n't — which I sha'n't — and I will write on the linen that it is to be torn up. Yes, and that you are to have live thousand pounds legacy too, Miss Smithers. Surely you can spare me a little bit — just off the skirt, or somewhere, you know, Miss Smithers ? It never will be missed, and it is so very important."
Augusta blushed, and no wonder. " I am sorry to say I have nothing of the sort about me, Mr. Meeson — nothing except flannel," she said. " I got up in the middle of the night before the collision, and there was no light in the cabin, and I put on whatever came first, meaning to come back and dress afterwards when it got light."
"Not a cuff or a collar? Haven't you got a cuff or a collar?" he said desperately, catching at a last straw of hope.
Augusta shook her head sadly.
"Then there is an end of it!" groaned Mr. Meeson. " Eustace must lose the money. Poor lad ! poor lad ! I have behaved very badly to him."
Augusta stood still, racking her brain for some expedient, for she was determined that Eustace Meeson should not lose the chance of that colossal fortune if she could help it. It was but a poor chance at the best, for Mr. Meeson might not be dying, after all. And if he did die, it was pro- bable that his fate would be their fate also, and no record
i3o MR. MEESON'S WILL.
would remain of them or of Mr. Meeson's testamentary wishes. As things looked at present, there was every prospect of their all perishing miserably on that desolate shore.
Just then the sailor Bill, who had been up to the flag-staff on the rock on the chance of catching sight of some passing vessel, walked past. His flannel shirt- sleeves were rolled up to the elbows of his brawny arms, and as he stopped to speak to Augusta she noticed something that made her start, and gave her an idea.
" There ain't nothing to be seen," said the man roughly ; "and it's my belief that there won't be neither. Here we are, and here we stops till we dies and rots."
"Ah, I hope not," said Augusta. "By the way, Mr. Bill, will you let me look at the tattoo on your arm ? "
" Certainly, Miss," said Bill, with alacrity, holding his great arm within an inch of her nose. It was covered with various tattoos : flags, ships, and what not, in the middle of which, written in small letters along the side of the forearm, was the sailor's name — Bill Jones.
" Who did it, Mr. Bill ? " asked Augusta.
" Who did it ? Why, I did it myself. A mate of mine made me a bet that I could not tattoo my name on my own arm, so I showed him ; and a poor sort of hand I should have been at tattooing if I could not."
Augusta said no more till Bill had gone on, then she spoke.
" Now, Mr. Mecson, do you sec how you can make your will ? " she said quietly.
"See? No," he answered, "I don't."
"Well, I do: you can tattoo it — or, rather, get the sailor to tattoo it. It need not be very long."
AUGUSTA L'O THE RESCU] 131
"Tattoo it! What on, and what with?" he asked, lished.
"You can have it tattooed on the back of the other sailor, Johnnie, if he will allow yuii ; and as for material, you have some revolver cartridges ; if the gunpowder is mixed with water, it would do, I should think."
"'Poll my word," said Mr. Meeson, "you are a won- derful woman ! Whoever would have thought of such a thing except a woman ? Go and ask the man Johnnie, there's a good girl, if he would mind my will being tattooed upon his back."
" Well," said Augusta ; " it's a queer sort of message ; but I'll try." Accordingly, taking little Dick by the hand, she went across to where the two sailors were sitting outside their hut, and putting on her sweetest smile, first of all asked Mr. Bill if he would mind doing a little tattooing for her. To this Mr. Bill, finding time hang heavy upon his hands, and wishing to be kept from temptation of the rum-cask, graciously assented, saying that he had seen some sharp fish-bones lying about which would be the very thing, though he shook his head at the idea of using gunpowder as the medium, lb- said it would not do at all well, and then, as though suddenly seized by an inspiration, started off down to the shore.
Then Augusta, as gently and nicely as she could, approached the question with Johnnie, who was sitting with his back against the hut, his battered countenance- wearing a peculiarly ill-favoured expression, probably owing to the fact that he was suffering from severe pain in his head, as a result of the debauch of the previous night.
Slowly and with great difficulty, for his understanding
i32 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
was none of the clearest, she explained to him what was required ; and that it was suggested that he should pro- vide the necessary corpus vile upon which it was proposed that the experiment should be made. When at last he understood what it was asked that he should do, Johnnie's countenance was a sight to see, and his language more striking than correct. The upshot of it was, however, that he would see Mr. Meeson collectively, and Mr. Meeson's various members separately, especially his eyes, somewhere first.
Augusta retreated till his wrath had spent itself, and then once more returned to the charge.
She was sure, she said, that Mr. Johnnie would not mind witnessing the document, if anybody else could be found to submit to the pain of the tattooing. All that would be necessary would be for him to touch the hand of the operator while his (Johnnie's) name was tattooed as witness to the will. " Well," he said, " I don't know how as I mind doing that, since it's you as asked me, Miss, and not that old hulks of a Meeson. I would not lift a finger to save him from 'ell, Miss, and that's a fact."
"Then that is a promise, Mr. Johnnie?" said Augusta, sweetly ignoring the garnishing with which the promise was adorned ; and on Mr. Johnnie stating that he looked at it in that light, she returned to Mr. Meeson. On her way she met Bill, carrying in his hands a loathsome-look- ing fish, with long feelers and a head like a parrot, in fact, a cuttle-fish.
" Now, here's luck, Miss," said Bill exultingly, " I saw this gentleman lying down on the beach there this morn- ing. He's a cuttle, that's what he is; and I'll have his ink-bag out of him in a brace of shakes ; just the ticket
AUGUSTA TO THE RESCUE. i
.->.•)
for tattooing, Miss, as good as the best Indian-ink — gun- powder is a fool to it."
By this time they had reached Mr. Mceson, and here the whole matter, including Johnnie's obstinate refusal to be tattooed, was explained to Bill.
" Well," said Augusta at length, " it seems that's the only thing to be done ; but the question is, how to do it ? I can only suggest, Mr. Meeson, that the will should be tattooed on you."
"Oh !" said Mr. Meeson feebly, "on met Me tattooed like a savage — tattooed with my own will ! "
"It wouldn't be much use, either, governor, begging your pardon," said Bill, " that is, if you is agoing to croak, as you says ; 'cause where would the will be then ? We might skin you with a sharp stone, perhaps, after you've done the trick, you know," he added reflectively. " But then we have no salt, so I doubt if you'd keep ; and if we set your hide in the sun, I reckon the writing would shrivel up so that all the courts of law in London could not make head nor tail of it."
Mr. Meeson groaned loudly, as well he might. These frank remarks would have been trying to any man ; much more were they so to this opulent merchant-prince, who had always set the highest value on what Bill rudely called his " hide."
" I'll' ; j's the infant," went on Bill meditatively. " He's young and white, and I fancy his top-crust would work wonderful easy ; but you'd have to hold him, for I expect that he'd yell proper."
" Yes," said Mr. Meeson ; "let the will be tattooed upon the child. He'd be some use that way."
" Yes," said Bill ; " and there'd alius be something left to remind him of a very queer time, provided he lives to
i34 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
get out of it, which is doubtful. Cuttle-ink won't rub out, I'll warrant."
" I won't have Dick touched," said Augusta indig- nantly. "It would frighten the child into fits; and, besides, nobody has a right to mark him for life in that way."
" Well, then, there's about an end of the question," said Bill ; " and this gentleman's money must go wherever it is he don't want it to."
" No," said Augusta, with a sudden flush, " there is not. Mr. Eustace Meeson was once very kind to me, and rather than he should lose the chance of getting what he ought to have, I — I will be tattooed."
" Well, bust me ! " said Bill, with enthusiasm, " bust me ! if you ain't a good-plucked one for a female woman ; and if I was that there young man I should make bold to tell you so."
" Yes," said Mr. Meeson, " that is an excellent idea. You are young and strong, and as there is lots of food here, I daresay that you will take a long time to die. You might even live for some months. Let us begin at once. 1 feel dreadfully weak. I don't think that I can live through the night, and if I know that I have done all I can to make sure that Eustace gets his own, perhaps dying will be a little easier!"
CHAPTER X.
THE LAST OF MR. MEESON.
IUGUSTA turned from the old man with a gesture of impatience not unmixed with dis- gust. His selfishness was of an order that revolted her.
" I suppose," she said sharply to Bill, " that 1 must have this will tattooed upon my neck."
"Yes, Miss; that's it," said Bill. "You see, Miss, one wants space for a doccymint. If it were a ship or a flag, now, or a fancy pictur of your young man, I might manage it on your arm ; but there must be breadth for a legal doccymint, more especially as I should like to make a good job of it while I is about it. I don't want n< of them larycrs a-turning up their noses at Bill Jones' tattooing."
" Very well," said Augusta, with an inward sinking of the heart ; " I will go and get ready."
Accordingly she adjourned into the hut and removed the body of her dress and turned down the flannel gar- ment underneath it in such a fashion as to leave as much of her neck bare as is to be seen when a lady wears a
136 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
moderately low dress. Then she came out again, dressed, or rather undressed, for the sacrifice. Meanwhile, Bill had drawn out the ink-bag of the cuttle, prepared a little round fragment of wood which he sharpened like a pencil by rubbing it against a stone, and put a keen edge on to a long white fishbone that he had selected.
" Now, Mr. Bill, 1 am read}'," said Augusta, seating herself resolutely upon a flat stone and setting her teeth.
" My word, Miss ; you are a plucky one ! " said the sailor, contemplating her neck with the eye of an artist. " I never had such a bit of material to work on afore. Hang me if it ain't almost a pity to mark it ! Not but what high-class tattooing is an ornimint to anybody, from a princess clown ; and in that you are fortunit, Miss, for I larnt tattooing from them as can tattoo, I did."
Augusta bit her lip, and the tears came into her eyes. She was only a woman, and had a woman's little weakness ; and, though she had never appeared in a low dress in her life, she knew that her neck was one of her greatest beauties, and was proud of it. It was hard to think that she would be marked all her life with this ridiculous will — that is, if she escaped— and, what was more, for the benefit of a young man who had no claim upon her at all.
That was what she said to herself; but as she said it, something in her told her that it was not true. Some- thing told her that this young Mr. Eustace Meeson had a claim upon her — the highest claim that a man can have upon a woman, for the truth must out — she loved him. It seemed to have come home to her quite clearly here in this dreadful desolate place, here in the very shadow of an awful death, that she did love him, truly and deeply. And that being so, she would not have been what she was — a
Till: LAST OF MR. MEESON. i
0/
gentle-natured, devoted woman — had she not at heart re- joiced at this opportunity of self-sacrifice, even though that self-sacrifice was of the hardest sort, seeing that it involved what all women hate — the endurance of a ridiculous posi- tion. For love can do all things : it can even make its votaries brave ridicule.
" Go on," she said sharply, " and let us get it over as soon as possible."
" Very well, Miss. What is it to be, old gentleman ? Cut it short, you know."
" ' / leave all my properly to Eustace H. Meeson,' that's as short as I can get it; and if properly witnessed, I think that it will cover everything," said Mr. Meeson, with a feeble air of triumph. "Anyhow, I never heard of a will that is to carry about two millions being got into nine words before."
Bill poised his fishbone, and, next second, Augusta gave a start and a little shriek, for the operation had begun.
"Never mind, Miss," said Bill consolingly; "you'll soon get used to it."
After that Augusta set her teeth and endured in silence, though it really hurt her very much, for Bill was more careful of the artistic effect and the permanence of the work than of the feelings of his subject. Fiat txperimentum in corpore vlli, he would have said, had he been conversant with the classics, without much consideration for the corpus vile. So he pricked and dug away with his fishbone, which he dipped continually in the cuttle-ink, and also with the sharp piece of wood, till Augusta began to feel per- fectly faint.
For three hours the work continued, and at the end of that time the body of the will was finished — for Bill was a
1 38 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
rapid worker — being written in medium-sized letters right across her shoulders. But the signatures yet remained to be affixed.
Bill asked her if she would like to let them stand over till the morrow ? — but this, although she felt ill with the pain, she declined to do. She was marked now, marked with the ineffaceable mark of Bill, so she might as well be marked to some purpose. If she put off the signing of the document till the morrow, it might be too late ; Mr. Meeson might be dead, Johnnie might have changed his mind, or a hundred things. So she told them to go on and finish it as quickly as possible, for there were only about two hours more daylight.
Fortunately Mr. Meeson was more or less acquainted with the formalities that are necessary in the execution of a will, namely, that the testator and the two witnesses should all sign in the presence of each other. He also knew that it was sufficient, if, in cases of illness, some third person held the pen between the testator's fingers and assisted him to write his name, or even if some one signed for the testator in his presence and by his direc- tion ; and, arguing from this knowledge, he came to the conclusion — afterwards justified in the great case of Meeson v. Addison and Another — that it would be suffi- cient if he inflicted the first prick of his signature, and then kept his hand upon Bill's while the rest was done. This accordingly he did, clumsily running the point of the sharp bone so deep into the unfortunate Augusta that she cried aloud, and then keeping his hand upon the sailor's arm while he worked in the rest of the signature, "/• Meeson."
When it was done, the turn of Johnnie came. Johnnie had at length aroused himself to some interest in what
THE LAST OF MR. MEESON. 139
was going on, and had stood by watching all the time, since Mr. Meeson, having laid his finger upon Augusta's shoulder, had solemnly declared the writing thereon to be his last will and testament. As he (Johnnie) could not tattoo, the same process was gone through with reference to his signature, as in the case of Mr. Meeson. Then Bill Jones signed his own name, as the second witness to the will ; and just as the light went out of the sky the document was finally executed — the date of the cution being alone omitted. Augusta got up off the flat stone where, for something like five hours, she had been seated during this torture, and staggering into the hut, threw herself down upon the sail, and went off into a dead faint It was indeed only by a very strong exercise of the will that she had kept herself from fainting long before.
The next thing she was conscious of was a dreadful smarting in her back, and opened her eyes to find that it was quite dark in the hut. So weary was she, however, that after stretching out her hand to assure herself that Dick was safe by her side, she shut her eyes again and went fast asleep. When she woke, the day- light was creeping into the damp and squalid hut, revealing the heavy form of Mr. Meeson tossing to and fro in a troubled slumber on the further side. She got up, feel- ing dreadfully sore and weak; awoke the child, and taking him out to the stream of water washed him and her- self as well as she could. It was very cold outside ; so cold that Dick cried, and the rain-clouds were coming up fast, so she hurried back to the hut, and, together with Dick, made her breakfast off some biscuit and some roast penguin's eggs, which were not at all bad eating. She was, indeed, quite faint with hunger, having
i4° MR. MEESON'S WILL.
swallowed no food for many hours, and felt proportionately better after it.
Then she turned to examine the condition of Mr. Meeson. The will had been executed none too soon, for it was evident to her that he was in a very bad way indeed. His face was sunken and hectic with fever, his teeth were chattering, and his talk, though he was now awake, was quite incoherent. She tried to get him to take some food ; but he would swallow nothing but water. Having done all that she could for him, she went out to see the sailors, and met them coming down from the flag- staff. They had evidently, though not to any great extent, been at the rum-cask again, for Bill looked sheepish and shaky, while the ill-favoured Johnnie was more sulky than ever. She gazed at them reproachfully, and then asked them to collect some more penguin's eggs, which Johnnie refused point-blank to do, saying that he wasn't going to collect eggs for landlubbers to eat ; she might collect eggs for herself. Bill, however, started on the errand, and in about an hour's time returned, just as the rain set in in good earnest, bearing six or seven dozen fresh eggs tied up in his coat.
Augusta, with the child by her, sat in the miserable hut attending to Mr. Meeson ; while outside the pitiless rain poured down in a steady unceasing sheet of water that came through the wretched roof in streams. She did her best to keep the dying man dry, but it proved to be almost an impossibility, for even when she succeeded in preventing the wet from falling on him from above, it got underneath him from the reeking floor, while the heavy damp of the air gathered on his garments till they were quite sodden.
As the hours went on his consciousness came back to
THE LAST OF MR. MEESON. [41
him, and with it his tenor for the end and hi.s remorse for his past life, for, alas ! the millions he had amas could not avail him now.
" I am going to die ! " he groaned. " I am going to die, and I've been a bad man : I've been the head of a publishing company all my life ! "
Augusta gently pointed out to him " that publishing was a very • respectable business when fairly and properly carried on, and not one that ought to weigh heavily upon a man at the last like the record of a career of successful usury or burgling."
He shook his heavy head. " Yes, yes," he groaned ; " but you don't know Meeson's — you don't know the customs of the trade at Meeson's.
Augusta reflected that she knew a good deal more about Meeson's than she liked.
" Listen," he said, with desperate energy, sitting up upon the sail, "and I will tell you — I must tell you."
Asterisks, so dear to the heart of the lady novelist, will best represent the confession that followed ; words are not equal to the task.
Augusta listened with rising hair, and realised how very trying must be the life of a private confessor.
" Oh, please stop ! " she said faintly, at last. " I can't bear it — I can't, indeed."
•Ah!" he said, as he sank back exhausted. "1 thought that when you understood the customs at Meeson's you would feel for me in my present position. Think, girl, think what I must suffer, with such a past, standing face to face with an unknown future ! "
Then came a silence.
" Take him away ! Take him away!" suddenly shouted
1 42 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
out Mr. Mceson, staring around him with frightened eyes.
" Who ? " asked Augusta ; " who ? "
" Him — the tall, thin man, with the big book ! I know him ; he used to be Number 25 — he died years ago. Listen ! he's talking ! Don't you hear him ? Oh, Heavens ! He says that I am going to be an author, and he is going to publish for me for a thousand years — going to publish on the quarter-profit system, with an annual account, the usual trade deductions, and no vouchers. Oh ! oh ! Look ! — they are all coming ! — they are pouring out of the Hutches ! they are going to murder me! — keep them off! keep them off!" and he beat the air with his hands.
Augusta, utterly overcome by this strange sight, knelt down by his side and tried to quiet him, but in vain. He went on beating the air as though he were trying to keep off the ghostly train, till at last he suddenly fell back dead.
And that was the end of Mecson. And the works that he published, and the money that he made, and the house that he built, and the evil that he did — are they not written in the Book of the Commercial Kings ?
" Well," said Augusta faintly to herself when she had got her breath back a little, "I am glad that it is over; anyway, I do hope that I may never be called on to nurse the head of another publishing company."
"Auntie! Auntie !" gasped Dick, " why do the gentle- men shout so ? "
Then, taking the frightened child by the hand, Augusta made her way through the rain to the other hut, in order to tell the two sailors what had come to pass. It had
THE LAST 01 MR MEESl >N. 143
no door, and she paused on the threshold to prospect. The faint foggy light was so dim that at first she could see nothing. Presently, however, her eyes got accus- tomed to it, and she made out Bill and Johnnie sitting opposite to each other on the ground. Between them
- the breaker of rum. Bill had a large shell in his hand, which he had just filled from the cask ; for Augi him in the act of replacing the spigot.
" My go ! — curse you, my go ! " said Johnnie, as Bill lifted the shell of spirits to his lips. " You've had seven goes and I've only had six ! "
"You be blowed ! " said Bill, swallowing the liquor in a couple of great gulps. " Ah ! that's better ! Now I'll fill for you, mate ; fair does, I says, fair does and no favour," and he filled accordingly.
" Mr. Meeson is dead," said Augusta, screwing up her courage to interrupt this orgie.
The two men stared at her in drunken surprise, which Johnnie broke.
" Now is he, Miss ? " he said, with a hiccough ; '• is he ? Well, a good job too, says I ; a useless old land- lubber he was. I doubt he's off to a warmer place than this 'ere Kerguelen Land, and I drinks his health, which,
the way, I never had the occasion to do before. If lie health of the departed," and he swallowed the shell- ful of rum at a draught.
"Your sentiment I echoes," said Bill. "Johnnie, the shell ; give us the shell to drink the 'ealth of the dear departed."
Then Augusta returned to her hut with a heavy heart. She covered up the body as best as she could, telling little Dick that Mr. Meeson was gone by-by, and then sat down in that chill and awful company. It was very
i44 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
depressing ; but she comforted herself somewhat with the reflection that, on the whole, Mr. Meeson dead was not so bad as Mr. Meeson in the animated flesh.
Presently the night set in once more, and, worn out with all that she had gone through, Augusta said her prayers and went to sleep with little Dick fast locked in her arms.
Some hours afterwards she was awakened by loud and uproarious shouts, made up of snatches of drunken songs and that peculiar class of English that hovers ever round the lips of the British tar. Evidently Bill and Johnnie were raging drunk, and in this condition were taking the midnight air.
The sound of shouting and swearing went reeling away towards the water's edge, and then, all of a sudden, it culminated in a fearful yell — after which came silence.
What could it mean ? wondered Augusta, and whilst she was still wondering dropped off to sleep again.
CHAPTER XI.
RESCUED.
'GUSTA woke up just as the dawn was stealing across the sodden sky. She rose, leaving Dick yet asleep, and, remembering the tur- moil of the night, hurried to the other hut. It was empty.
She turned and looked about her. About fifteen paces from where she was lay the shell that the two drunkards had used as a cup. Going forward, she picked it up. It still smelt disgustingly of spirits. Evidently the two men had dropped it in the course of their midnight walk, or rather roll. Where had they gone to ?
Straight in front of her a rocky promontory ran out fifty paces or more into the waters of the fjord-like bay. She walked along it aimlessly, till presently she perceived one of the sailors' hats lying on the ground, or, rather, floating in a pool of water. Clearly they had gone this way. On she went to the point of the little headland, sheer over the wat< r. There was nothing to be seen, not a single vestige of Bill and Johnnie. Aimlessly enough she leant
i46 MR. MEESON'S WILL.
forward, stared over the rocky wall down into the clear water, and then started back with a little cry.
No wonder that she started, for there on the sand, beneath a fathom and a half of quiet water, lay the bodies of the two ill-fated men. They were locked in each other's arms, and lay as though they were asleep upon that ocean bed. How they came to their end she never knew. Perhaps they quarrelled in their drunken anger and fell over the little cliff; or perhaps they stumbled and fell, not knowing whither they were going. Who can say? At any rate, there they were, and there they remained, till the outgoing tide floated them off to join the great army of their companions who had gone down with the Kangaroo, and so Augusta was left alone.
With a heavy heart she returned to the hut, pressed down by the weight of solitude, and the sense that in the midst of so much death she could not hope to escape. There was no human creature left alive in that vast lonely land, except the child and herself, and so far as she could see, their fate would soon be as the fate of the others. When she got back to the hut, Dick was awake and was crying for her.
The still stiff form of Mr. Meeson, stretched out beneath the sail, frightened the little lad, he did not know why. Augusta took him into her arms and kissed him pas- sionately. She loved the child for his own sake ; and, besides, he, and he alone, stood between her and utter solitude. Then she took him across to the other hut, which had been vacated by the sailors, for it was impos- sible to stay in the one with the body, which was too heavy for her to move. In the centre of the sailors' hut stood the cask of rum which had been the cause of their destruction. It was nearly empty now — so light, indeed,
Nothing but the white wave-horses, across which the black cormorants steered their swift, unerring flight."—/',;^ 149.
RESCUED. 149
that she had no difficulty in rolling it to one side. She cleaned out the place as well as she could, and, returning to where Mr. Meeson's body lay, fetched the bag of bis- cuits and the roasted eggs, after which they had their breakfast.
Fortunately, there was but little rain that morning, so Augusta took Dick out to look for eggs, not because they wanted any more, but in order to employ them- selves. Together they climbed up on to a rocky head- land, where the flag was flying, and looked out across the troubled ocean. There was nothing in sight so far as the eye could see — nothing but the white wave-horses, across which the black cormorants steered their swift, unerring flight. She looked and looked till her heart sank within her.
" Will Mummy soon come in a boat to take Dick away ? " asked the child at her side ; and then she burst into tears.
When she had recovered herself they set to collecting s, an occupation which delighted Dick