Palm Tree Island

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER THE FIRST

  OF MY UNCLE AND HIS OF HIS CONVERSATIONS WITH TWO MARINERS

  I was rising four years old when my parents died, both within one week,of the small-pox; and the day of their funeral is the furthermost of myrecollections. My nurse, having tied up the sleeves of my pinaforewith black, held me with her in the great room down-stairs as themourners assembled. Their solemn faces and whispered words, and thedreadful black garments, drove me into a state of terror, and I was notfar from screaming among them when there entered a big man with a jollyred face, at whom the company rose and bowed very respectfully. Themoment he was within the room his eye lit on me, and seeing at a glancehow matters stood, he thrust one hand into his great pocket, and drewit forth full of sugar-plums, which he laid in my pinafore, and thenbade the nurse take me away.

  'Twas my uncle Stephen, said Nurse, and a kind good man. Certainly Iliked him well enough, and when, two or three days thereafter, he setme before him on his saddle, and rode away humming the rhyme of"Banbury Cross," I laughed very joyously, never believing but thatafter I had seen the lady with the tinkling toes, Uncle Stephen wouldbring me home again, and that by that time my mother would havereturned from heaven, whither they told me she had gone.

  I did not see my childhood's home again for near thirty years.

  My uncle took me to live with him, in his own house not a great wayfrom Stafford. He was an elder brother of my father's, and till thenhad been a bachelor; but having now a small nephew to nourish and breedup, he did not delay to seek a wife, and wed a fine young woman ofBurslem. She was very kind to me, and even when there were two boys ofher own to engage her affections, her kindness did not alter. So Igrew up in great happiness, having had few troubles, the greatest ofthem being, perhaps, those that beset my first steps to learning inDame Johnson's little school. As for my subsequent search afterknowledge on the benches of the Grammar School at Stafford, the lesssaid the better: the master once declared, in Latin, that I was "onlynot a fool."

  The light esteem in which the pedagogue held my intellects did not givemy uncle any concern. He was bad at the books himself, saving in onekind I am to mention hereafter. He was a master potter, in asubstantial way of business, and held in some repute among men of histrade. Indeed, it was the belief of many in our parts that he mighthave become as famous in the world as Mr. Wedgwood himself, had he notbeen afflicted with a hobby.

  I will not follow the example of the ingenious Mr. Sterne, and writehere a chapter upon hobby-horses; though I do believe I could saysomething on that subject, if not with his incomparable humour, yetwith a certain truth of observation. Why is a man's hobby often atsuch variance with other parts of his character? Why did the late Mr.Selwyn, to wit, take the greatest pleasure in life in seeing menhanged, drawn, and quartered? Who that knew John Steer (I knew himwell) only as he stood with knife and cleaver in his butcher's shop,would believe that 'twas his delight, after slaughtering his sheep andoxen, to solace his evenings with warbling on the German flute? Myuncle's hobby was no less extraordinary. He was inland bred, and I dobelieve, until the year of his great adventure, had never gone abovetwenty miles from his native town; yet he had a wondrous passion forthe sea and all that pertained to it. I am sure that he never saw thesea until he and I together looked upon it at Tilbury, and there, to besure, the salt water is much qualified with fresh; yet, after businesshours, he was for ever talking of it and reading about it and thedoings of sailor men. He would pore for long hours upon the pages ofthe _Sailor's Waggoner_, and con by heart the rules and instructions ofthe _Sailor's Vade Mecum_. He was deeply learned in the _PrincipalNavigations_ of Mr. Hakluyt; he could tell you all that befell GeorgeCavendish in the _Desire_ and Sir Richard Hawkins in the _Dainty_, andwould hold me spell-bound as he recited with infinite gusto the starkdoings of the Buccaneers. And when Mr. Cadell, the bookseller in theStrand in London, sent him the great volumes containing the discoveriesof Commodore Byron, and those gallant captains Carteret, Wallis, andCook in the southern hemisphere, the days were a weariness to him untilhe could light his candle and put on his spectacles and feast on thoseenthralling narratives. Many's the time, as I lay awake in my bed,have I heard my aunt Susan call down the stairs through the open doorof her room, "Steve, Steve, when be a-coming to bed, man?" and hisjolly voice rolling up, "Yes, my dear, I am near the end of thechapter"; and there he would sit, and finish the chapter, and beginanother, and read on and on, until I might be stirred from a doze bythe sound of him shuffling past in his stockings, and grumbling becausethere was but an inch of guttering candle left.

  My uncle was a sturdy patriot, and took a great delight in knowing thatthe most of the navigators of those far-off seas were Englishmen. Iremember how he fumed and fretted when his bookseller in London senthim the volume of Monsieur de Bougainville's voyage round the world.What had these French apes, he cried, to do with voyages of discovery?And when he read later, in Dr. Hawkesworth's book, of the trick whichMonsieur de Bougainville played on Captain Wallis--how, meeting thecaptain on his homeward way, he sought with feigning to worm out of himthe secrets of his expedition--my uncle smote the table with his greatfist, and used such fiery language that my aunt turned pale and mylittle cousins began to blubber.

  At this time I was in my seventeenth year, and had been for some monthsin my uncle's factory, learning the rudiments of his trade. 'Twastaken for granted that I should become a partner with him when I was ofage, for the business was good enough to support both me and my eldercousin Thomas; while as for the younger, James, my aunt had set herheart on making a parson of him. But it was ordained that, in my case,things should fall out quite contrary to the intention, as you shallhear.

  One fine Sunday we were walking home from church, my uncle and I,across the fields, as our practice was, when we saw that the last stilebefore we reached our road was occupied. A big fellow, clad in a dressthat was strange to our part of the country, sat athwart the rail ofthe fence, with his feet on the upper step. Another man sprawled onthe grass beside the fence, lying stretched on his back with his handsunder his head, and a hat of black glazed straw tilted over his eyes.As we drew nearer, I saw that the man on the stile had a big fat face,his red cheeks so puffed out that his eyes were scarce visible, hismouth loose and watery, with an underhung chin, a thick fringe of blackhair encircling it from ear to ear.

  Seeing us approach, he began with uncouth and clumsy movements todescend from his perch; but he gave my uncle a hard look as we came upwith him, and then, spitting upon the ground, he said,

  "Bless my eyes--surely 'tis--ain't your name Stephen Brent, sir?"

  My uncle looked at the man in the way of one who is puzzled, and forsome while stood thus, the man smiling at him. Then of a sudden hisface partly cleared, and he said--

  "You are never Nick Wabberley?"

  "The same, sir, Nick and Wabberley, as you knowed five and twenty yearago."

  "Why, man, I am glad to see you," says my uncle heartily, offering hishand, which the man took, not however before he had rubbed his own handupon the back of his breeches.

  "Same to you, sir, and very glad I am to see you so hearty. After fiveand twenty year at sea----"

  "You have been to sea!" cries my uncle, his jolly face beaming. "Thenyou must come up to my house to supper and tell me all about it."

  "Why, d'ye see, sir, there's my messmate," said the man, with a glanceat the prone figure, which had not moved; indeed, there came frombeneath the hat a succession of snores, as untuneful as ever I heard."We're in tow, d'ye see," added the big man.

  "Bring him too," says my uncle. "We have plenty of bread and bacon,thank God."

  Whereupon the man went to his sleeping comrade, and neatly kicked hishat into the air, bidding him wake, with a strange oath that startledme. The sleeper did not at once open his eyes, but his mouth beingalready open, he let forth a volley of curses, and demanded his hat,avouching that if he suffered a sunstroke he would "this" and "that"the other: hi
s actual words I cannot write. My uncle's face showinghis reprobation of such language, especially on the Sabbath, the bigman excused his comrade, saying that 'twas only Joshua Chick's way, andhe was really a good soul, and very obliging. At this the prostrateman opened his eyes, and, seeing my uncle, got upon his feet, and whenhe was told of the invitation to supper, he touched his forelock andsaid he was always ready to oblige. If the looks of Nick Wabberley didnot take my fancy, still less did those of Joshua Chick, who was asmall man, very lean and swarthy, and his eyes squinted so dreadfullythat he seemed to be looking at my uncle and myself at one and the sametime.

  After a few more words we parted, the men promising to be at our houseprompt at eight o'clock. And as we continued our walk home, my unclesatisfied my curiosity, telling me that the big man, Nick Wabberley,who was, as I had already guessed, the brother of Tom Wabberley, thatowned Lowcote Farm some two miles from our door, had been aschool-fellow of his, and the idlest boy in the whole countryside. Henever got through a day without a flogging. The master birched him;his father leathered him; but neither did him any good: he remained anincorrigible dunce and truant, and no one was very sorry when onemorning it was found that he had slipped out of his bedroom windowduring the night and run away. He had never since been heard of, butnow that after twenty-five years he had returned to his native place,my uncle's heart warmed towards him because he had been to sea.Sailors were not often seen in our inland parts, and the prospect ofdiscourse with a man who had actually beheld what he had only readabout filled my uncle with delight.

  Prompt on the stroke of eight Nick Wabberley arrived, accompanied byhis messmate Joshua Chick. They proved to be excellent trenchermen:indeed, they prolonged the meal longer than either my uncle or my auntliked, the former being impatient to hear stories of the sea, thelatter watching with concern the disappearance of her viands. Butsupper was over at last, and then my uncle bade the visitors draw theirchairs to the fire, gave them each a long pipe and a sneaker of punch,and settled himself in his arm-chair to drink in the tale of theiradventures. Being near seventeen I was allowed to make one of thecompany, to the envy of my young cousins, who hung about the room forsome time, but being at last detected were bundled off to bed.

  It needs not to tell how late we sat up, nor how many tumblers ofbrandy-punch the two sailors tossed off between them before theydeparted, steady enough on their legs, but a trifle thick in theirspeech. My uncle was abstemious himself, and held a toper to besomething less than a man; at an ordinary time he would have avoided toply his visitors with liquor, but the truth is that on this occasionhis whole soul was rapt away into a kind of wonderland by NickWabberley's tales, so that the men were able to replenish their glassesat intervals, unperceived. I have heard many a mariner's yarn since,and know them to be works of fancy and imagination as often as not; atthat time I was as credulous as a babe, and my uncle scarcely less, andI doubt not we gulped down all the marvels we heard as greedily as thetrout gapes at a fly. Certainly Nick Wabberley was a masterlystory-teller, spinning yarns, as they say, as easily as a spider spinsher web, and never at a loss for a word. Joshua Chick took but amodest part in the conversation, being very well occupied inreplenishing the glasses; but every now and again he would slip in aword to correct some statement of his comrade, Nick accepting it withgreat composure. I noticed that these occasional contributions ofJoshua's tended most often towards embellishment, and the level tonesin which he related the most astonishing marvels, at the same timefixing one eye on my uncle and the other on me (keeping his hand on thebrandy-bottle), made a wonderful impression on us.

  It appeared that the two sailors had been members of the company whichsailed with Captain Cook (he was then lieutenant) on his first voyageinto the southern hemisphere. My uncle knew by heart the story of thisvoyage as it is given in Dr. Hawkesworth's book, and expressed greatsurprise that so many of the incidents and particulars related by NickWabberley were not mentioned in that worthy doctor's pages. He evenventured at one point to controvert a statement of Nick's, adducing thedoctor as his authority, at which Nick waxed mightily indignant. "Why,d'ye see, warn't I there?" he said. "Warn't I there, Josh?"

  "You was," says Chick firmly.

  "And warn't you there?" says Wabberley, his moist lips quivering withindignation.

  "I were," replies Chick, with vehemence.

  "Then what the blazes has any landlubber of a doctor got to do with it,what don't know one end of a ship from t'other!"

  There was nothing to be said in answer to this, and my uncle afterwardsconfided to me his opinion that Captain Cook's own journals contained agood many things which Dr. Hawkesworth had not seen fit to print.

  My uncle was so well pleased with the conversation of the seamen thathe invited them to come and see him again, and before long it becametheir regular custom to drop in about supper-time, much to theannoyance of Aunt Susan. She called Nick Wabberley a lazy lubber, andas for Joshua Chick, she said his eyes made her feel creepy, and he ateenough for four decent men. But my uncle was fairly mounted on hishobby, and he asked her rather warmly whether she grudged a bite and asup to worthy mariners who had braved the perils of the deep (not tospeak of the appetites of cannibals) in the service of their country.'Twas in vain she said that she knew Farmer Wabberley wished hisbrother at Jericho--the great fat lubber lolloping about doing nothingbut eat and drink, when there were fields to hoe, and Joshua Chicklooking two ways at once, one eye on bacon and the other on beer; 'twasa mercy he hadn't got two mouths as well, she said. My uncle wouldhear nothing against them; always kindly and indulgent, he reminded herthat a gammon rasher and home-baked bread must be the most delectableof dainties to men who for months at a time ate nothing but salt junkand ship's biscuit.

  He never tired--nor, I must own, did I--of listening to Nick Wabberley.His face fairly glowed as he heard of those favoured islands of thesouth where food grew without labour and wealth was to be had almostwithout lifting a finger. Wabberley described the ease with whichpearls might be obtained in the Pacific: how he had seen the nativesdive into the water and bring up oysters, every tenth of themcontaining a gem, so little valued by the finders that the present of afour-penny nail or a glass bead would purchase a handful of them.Wabberley heaved a great sigh as he deplored his desperate bad luck innot being permitted to trade. "The Captain, d'ye see, warn't atrader," he said; "he was always thinking of taking soundings andmarking charts and discovering that there southern continent, which Idon't believe there ain't no such thing, though they do say as how theworld 'ud topple over if there warn't summat over yonder to keep itsteady. And as often as not, when we come to a island, we was sodesperate pushed for provisions, and vegetables to cure us of thescurvy, that he hadn't no thought except for stocking the ship. Oh!'twas cruel, when we might all ha' been as rich as lords, and allvittles found in the bargain."

  In those days I remarked a certain restlessness in my uncle. He wouldgo to the door of an evening and look down the road for the two seamen,and if they did not appear, which was seldom, he would walk up anddown, in and out of the house, with hands in pockets, melancholywhistlings issuing from his lips. He read even more closely than usualthe pages of the _Vade Mecum_, and pored for hours on the maps thatembellish Dr. Hawkesworth's volumes. For the most part he was silentand abstracted, but ever and anon he would startle me with some suddenexclamation, some remark or question addressed, it seemed, to himself."Tugwell is a good man: I can trust him.... What will Susan say? ... Amatter of a year or two: what's that? ... I haven't a grey hair in myhead." I was somewhat concerned when I listened to these mutterings,and wondered whether much brooding on oversea adventures had turned myuncle's brain. And I was not at all prepared for the revelation thatcame one night, when, looking up from his book, which lay open on hisknees, he waved his long pipe in the air and cried, "I'll do it, assure as my name is Stephen Brent."

  And then he poured out upon my astonished ears the full tale of hisimaginings. He was bent on making
a voyage round the world. The SouthSeas had cast a spell upon him. He longed to see the lands of whichthe sailor-men had spoken; he was athirst for discovery. Perhaps hemight light upon this Southern Continent which had eluded the search ofothers, and if he could forestall the French, what a feather it wouldbe in his cap, and how glorious for old England! And in these dreamshe was not less a man of business. There was vast wealth to be had bybold adventurers; why should not he obtain a share of it, and amass asecond fortune for his boys?

  The greatness of this scheme as he unrolled it before me took my breathaway. When I asked how his business would fare in his absence he sweptthe air with his pipe and declared that Tugwell, his manager, was soberand trustworthy, and he had no fears on that score. I spoke of theperils of shipwreck and pirates, of the Sallee rovers, of thenumberless accidents that might befall; but he brushed them all away asthings of no account. And then I myself took fire from his ownenthusiasm and begged that I might go with him. "No, no, Harry, myboy," he said, kindly enough. "You must stay at home to look afteryour aunt and the boys. Tugwell is a good man, but growing old; and ifanything happens to me you will be at hand to look to things; you areseventeen, and pretty near a man."

  That night at supper, with much hemming and hawing, he broached hisproject to my aunt. You should have heard her laugh! 'twas plain shedid not believe him to be serious; she said it was all gammon, and shewondered what next indeed. But when he assured her that he meant everyword of it, she was first alarmed and then angry. She talked about amaggot in his head, and asked what she was to do, a widow and not awidow, with two growing boys that would run wild without their father;and she wondered how a respectable man nigh fifty years old shouldthink of such a thing, and there wasn't a woman in the country whowould put up with such a pack of nonsense. To which he replied thatCaptain Cook was a respectable man with a wife and family, and if thecaptain's lady could part with her husband for a year or two, for thehonour and profit of England, surely 'twas not becoming in Mrs. StephenBrent to make an outcry over such a trifling matter. This made my auntonly the more angry, and, for the first time in all my knowledge ofthem, the good people looked unkindly upon each other.

  That my uncle's mind was firmly made up was plain to us next day.Bidding me say nought of his intentions, which he wished to be keptsecret, lest they came to the ears of the French, he set off forLondon, and was absent for a matter of ten days, much to thedispleasure of Nick Wabberley and Joshua Chick, who came to the houseevening after evening and went very disconsolate away, my auntdetesting them both, and refusing to feed the men to whom sheattributed this mad whimsy of her husband. Her anger somewhatmoderated while he was away, and after a week or so she could smile athis rubbish, declaring to me that she was sure he would think better ofit: he would be like a fish out of water in London Town, and thesensible folks there would laugh him out of his foolishness, that theywould. She smiled and tossed her head even when he came back and toldus with great heartiness that he had bought a vessel--a north-countrycollier of near four hundred tons, stout in her timbers and broad inthe beam, built for strength rather than speed--just such a vessel asCaptain Cook had sailed in. "Go along with you, Steve," she said."Don't tell me! You'll never go rampaging over the seas--a man of yourage: and 'tis a mercy, I'm sure, that you're a warm man and won't ruinyourself, for you won't get half what you gave for it when you sellyour precious vessel again." She told me privately that she was sure,when the time came, the foolish man would never venture himself on aship; what would _he_ do on a ship, she'd like to know, when hecouldn't ride a dozen miles in a coach, as he had told us, withoutbecoming squeamish and feeling as if his inside didn't belong to him!The news that he had engaged a captain--a seasoned skipper, by nameEzekiel Corke--only made her lift her hands and cry out, "Well, did youever see!" I am sure that her air of disbelief, and amusement mingledwith it, was a sore trial to my uncle.

  As for him, good man, he was in earnest, if ever a man was. One dayafter he returned he rode over with me to Lowcote Farm, where we foundthose two mariners, Chick and Wabberley, gloomily sucking straws on afive-barred gate, and idly looking on at a busy scene ofsheep-shearing. Their dull faces brightened at the sight of him, andwhen he told them what he had been doing, and asked if they would joinhis crew, they smote each other on the back and swore lustily for veryjoy. They asked him many questions about the ship and the captain,talked very knowingly of spars and armaments and the various articlesit behoved to carry for trading with the natives, and offered to go atonce to London--my uncle paying their coach fares--and seek out oldmessmates who should form the finest crew that ever foregathered in afoc'sle. My uncle showed great pleasure at their willingness, andarranged that they should accompany him when he next went to London tomake his preparations for the voyage.

  The news of my uncle's enterprise soon spread through our town, and itbecame a nine days' wonder among our neighbours and the townsfolk. Hisfriends accosted him in the streets; some poked fun at him for enteringon a new branch of business at his time of life; others, with the bestintentions in the world, addressed to him the most solemn warnings,taking him by the buttonhole and expatiating on the risks he was aboutto run, doubting whether any money was to be made at sea, and advisinghim very earnestly to stick to the clay. He bore their pleasantriesand their counsels with great good nature, declaring that he knew whathe was about, and they would see if they lived long enough. But Icould not help feeling sometimes that he was not quite so confident ashe liked to appear, and that the drawbacks and dangers he had shut hiseyes to in the first flush of his enthusiasm were now looming larger inthe prospect. Yet, whatever his qualms may have been, he pushed on hispreparations with vigour. He spent another fortnight in London,collecting a crew with the aid of Wabberley and Chick, purchasingstores, and laying in a cargo, and then he returned to take leave ofhis family and friends.

  All this time I was beset with a great longing. The making of potteryin a quiet town seemed to me a very tame and spiritless occupation: Ifelt an immense stirring towards a life of activity and adventure, andwished with all my heart that my uncle would change his mind and takeme with him. Against this, however, he was resolute, and the utmost hewould concede was that I should accompany him when he departed finallyfrom Stafford, and see the vessel in which he was to sail forth.Accordingly, one fine August day ('twas the year 1775), I took passagewith him in the London coach. All Stafford had gathered to speed him.He parted from my aunt and his boys at the inn door: up to the verylast she had held to the belief that he would draw back; and even whenhe left her side and mounted into the coach she whispered to me, "Idon't believe it. I won't believe it! He'll never go. He neverwill!" But the coach rumbled off, the crowd cheered, some one flung anold shoe after us for luck, and I had never a doubt that before themonth was out my uncle would be afloat on the wide ocean, fairlycommitted to his wonderful adventure in the southern seas.