Mr. Thinkwell said that he would like to very much.
“Having seen the flower of our nation in the bud,” Denis said to him, “you shall now see it full-blown, at work on its own constitution. I hope you’ll be impressed. For my part, I think we all talk a prodigious deal of nonsense in that parliament of ours.”
“You mustn’t mind my brother; he is something of a cynic,” Albert Edward said.
Mr. Thinkwell said that he was quite used to parliaments, having often been to Westminster, and knew pretty well what to expect.
Walking inland, they were soon arrived at a clearing of the woods where a long wooden shed stood, with “House of Parliament” carved over its door. Through this door the Mr. Smiths conducted Mr. Thinkwell, and handed him over to that Mr. Lane whom he had met last night at supper. Mr. Lane took him to a bench at one side of the shed, from whence he obtained an excellent view of the assembly who filled it. These were mostly gentlemen of a more or less Smith air, though in varying degrees. Particularly was this Smith appearance noticeable in those who, Mr. Thinkwell supposed, formed the cabinet—a group of five or six members sitting together in a prominent position near the Speaker’s chair. The Speaker was a gentleman with a strong look of Albert Edward Smith, and Mr. Thinkwell concluded that he was another brother. It was certainly kept well in the family, this government business.
Miss Smith had obviously been not unfamiliar with the constitution of her country; she had taught the island parliament that it was proper to begin with a few questions.
The Prime Minister (Mr. Albert Edward Smith) was asked whether he was aware that a party of visitors had landed on Orphan Island the day before yesterday, and whether arrangements were being made for the transportation of any of the community to another country.
The Prime Minister replied that he was aware of the fact mentioned, and that Miss Smith’s Government had the whole matter under consideration. A statement would be issued later, when arrangements were completed.
The Minister of the Interior was asked if he was aware that there had been a great deal of trespassing of late on private lands, and a good deal of robbery of the fruit and nut trees, and whether measures were being contemplated to safeguard land and property.
At this question Mr. Lane, who sat with Mr. Thinkwell, nodded agreement.
“Getting perfectly monstrous,” he said. “Scandalous. They’ve no regard whatever for private property, these people. Trample over any one’s land as soon as look at it.”
The Minister of the Interior said that measures were in hand for the more vigorous prosecution and punishment of trespassers. Mr. Lane said, “Hear, hear.”
Mr. Thinkwell asked him what claim the so-called owners of land had to it, over the other inhabitants of the island. Mr. Lane looked at him in surprise.
“Claim? How d’ye mean claim, sir? It’s a question of ownership. The land belongs to certain people—always has.”
“You mean, for the last fifty years or so, I suppose. But I must say I don’t quite see in what this alleged ownership consists. I should have thought that the land on which people live should be common property, or else more or less equally divided. Just as much as the air they breathe.”
“Gad, sir, you surprise me; indeed you do. Haven’t you private ownership of land in England? We were always brought up to suppose so.”
“Oh, yes. Certainly. And the same remarks apply there. But I should have thought, I must say, that on an island with so short a history as yours the land annexation system would scarcely have had time to become so developed. I am very much interested—and, if I may say so, rather shocked—to find that it is so. But let us listen. What is going on now?”
“The Bastardy laws are being tightened up and made more severe. People have been getting round ’em lately. We don’t let bastards own or rent any land, you know, nor go in for trade. By this new Bill they will all have to earn their living as hired workers. So will their parents.”
“Really! Why so?”
“Oh, just to teach ’em not to be bastards. And not to have bastards, neither. Must have social laws kept, of course. Else, where should we all be? Not that I approve of all this interference with marriage by the Government. The Old Lady’s much too apt to put her finger in the pie and forbid the parson to marry couples that want it. Of course one can’t expect people to stand that, and I don’t blame ’em. But apart from that there’s a prodigious deal too much casualness about the business. I don’t approve of it. I’m all for marriage or nothing. More respectable. Now, do you get much of that sort o’ thing in England?”
“Oh, yes. In all countries, no doubt.”
“Well, how is it regarded? What are your Bastardy laws?”
“We have no penal laws against bastards, nor against their parents.”
“Well, but good Gad, how in the world d’you keep ’em under, then?”
“I don’t know that we do. The male parent, if identified, has to maintain his offspring while young. And I suppose a certain social stigma attaches, particularly, I believe, to the female parent.… But, if you don’t mind, I should like to listen.”
The Bastardy Bill, which struck Mr. Thinkwell as an uncommonly savage piece of penal legislation, proceeded on its way, its clauses being discussed in the usual dilatory and tedious manner of parliaments.
It was followed by a discussion on the Fermented Liquors Bill, another piece of fierce legislation, directed against those who unlawfully manufactured or sold any kind of fermented drink.
“You make a monopoly of it, then,” said Mr. Thinkwell to Mr. Lane, who did not know that word, for he was not a very well informed man, and replied, “Oh, no, just wine to drink.”
An isolated voice was raised in favour of the total prohibition of the fermentation of liquor, but this found no support in the House.
“Poor fellow, he always suggests that,” said Mr. Lane, tapping a finger on his forehead. “We take no notice. Ever hear such a suggestion in your country?”
“Oh, yes, there is quite a party for it. Largely women, I believe.”
“Oh, women. Fortunately they don’t count. Or where should we be? Not that our women here want anything so crazy as that, but still, you can’t trust ’em.… That’s all they’re going to do with the Liquor Bill to-day. Now we have the Noxious Herbs, Roots, and Berries Bill.”
Mr. Thinkwell listened for a time to the discussion on this bill.
“Very paternal,” he commented. “Even impertinent.”
“Impertinent?”
“Certainly. It seems to be aimed at preventing people from chewing or eating things they desire to chew or eat. That is what I call impertinent”.
“Well, you know, you can’t let people make hogs of themselves as they please. Else where are you? They’ll chew themselves stupid with these roots and berries and things. Lie about, you know, good for nothing, doing no work. We can’t have that.”
“Why not? It seems their own business.”
“Well, ’pon my soul, that’s a rum way to look at it. Is it the English way?”
“Not, unfortunately, the way of the English Government. Our Government is just about as impertinent as yours. Governments mostly are, I believe.… Dear me, how they do talk, to be sure! Here as there.… And on somewhere about the same level of intelligence. How long do they go on?”
“We stop in good time for three o’clock dinner, whatever point we may have reached by then.”
“That, at any rate, is more sensible than they are in London. It is very near three now.”
A few minutes later, in the middle of a rather rambling speech by an elderly member on palm-root chewing orgies, in the middle, in fact, of a sentence, the Speaker rose, said loudly, “The House is up,” and walked away.
“Capital,” said Mr. Thinkwell, as the House dispersed. “A capital end. We might well take example by it. There are very few of our speakers but would not be better for being cut short halfway.”
Mr. Lane agreed that the majority
of speakers were like that. Then Mr. Albert Smith, looking parliamentary and important, and pleased that Mr. Thinkwell had seen him being a Prime Minister, joined them, and invited Mr. Thinkwell to dinner. Mr. Thinkwell accepted.
“But later in the day,” he thought, “I must make acquaintance with some of the working people. All these Smiths—I should very much like to learn the point of view of their poorer neighbours about them. Another thing I must do shortly is to visit Hibernia, where there seems always to be so much trouble.”
Chapter XVII
FLORA
1
WHILE Mr. Thinkwell observed the educational and constitutional customs of the island, Charles and Rosamond visited its commercial quarter, which they found to be on the eastern side, thus kept cool by the south-east trade winds, which blew for most of the season between March and October. This kept the fish, meat, and butter fresher than if they had been sold in the windlessness of the lee side.
Stalls for the sale of these provisions, as well as of fruits of all kinds, sweetmeats, cigarettes, roots for chewing, unfermented drinks, sugar, liquorice, soap, candles, oil, baskets, mats, screens, cocoa-nut and bark cloth, string, cushions, feathers, clothes, skin shoes, wooden toys, hats, skins, scents, and powders, pearls, medicines, coral and shell ornaments, tortoise shell, and many other useful and ornamental commodities, were set out in rows between the wood and the beach. The stall-keepers, of whom a considerable proportion had long and aquiline noses, smooth, sallow skins, and curly hair, pressed their wares on passers by, something after the manner of similarly featured shopkeepers in some districts of London.
The island was busy shopping, this Monday morning. The Thinkwells saw Mrs. Albert Edward Smith, with a large basket, examining fish at the fish stall and prodding sucking-pigs at the meat-shop. She did not, apparently, trust such important errands to her servants, but, like a good housewife, did her own marketing. The Thinkwells heard her putting those mysterious inquiries made by food-shoppers—“Is pig nice to-day?” “Can you recommend your tortoise-meat?” “Is crab really good this morning?” and so forth.
At another stall Mrs. Smith-Carter, in her palanquin, her monkey on her shoulder, was looking at green parokeets, of which she desired to buy a pair for pets. Her manner of shopping was prouder and nobler than her sister-in-law’s, and one remembered that she was Smith born, and Mrs. Albert Edward only Orphan. It is not really Smith to go shopping for food with a market bag; that is a servant’s job. Mrs. Smith-Carter only shopped for luxuries.
“These are very poor birds, Isaacs. Twenty corals each? The idea! Just look at their plumage—no sheen on it at all. Here, take ’em away. Birds like that ain’t any use to me. I want good looking birds, not scarecrows, I told you before. If you don’t take more pains to get the right articles, Isaacs, I shall see that you lose your licence. Pray have the birds for me by to-morrow. And I shan’t give twenty corals for them unless they’re worth it. The bark cloth stall next, Zacharies.”
“So you’ve come shopping too?”
The clear, half mocking voice of Flora spoke behind the Thinkwells, and there she stood at a perfumery stall, idly turning over closed shells of scent with her slim brown fingers, and examining coloured powders and fragrant lotions.
“But those metal discs of yours won’t go here, you know,” she added. “You’ll have to go and get some money before you can shop. Come to the sweet stall and we’ll buy sweetmeats. Rosamond likes sweetmeats, I know, and so do I. Better, really, than those silly lotions and powders. Do you like sweetmeats, Charles?”
Her light, cool, mocking glance held his; her dark eyes smiled at him between their fringes of black lash. Charles’s heart melted in his breast like wax before flame, and he followed her to the sweet stall. Rosamond followed too; she also was as wax in the flame. Flora bought sweetmeats and fruit and green-leaf cigarettes.
“There,” she said, “I’ve finished my money—all I have with me. Now I’ve a mind to go sailing. Will you come, Thinkwells? Where is William? I enjoy William; he must come too. And Heathcliff shall come and row for us if the wind drops. The sea looks as smooth as—oh, as what, Charles? You’re a poet, you should know.”
“As pearls,” said Charles. “As your voice.”
2
They went down to the sea, to where boats were pulled up on the shore—roughly made, almost square boats, of chestnut wood caulked with resin and pitch. Flora went up to one of them which had “Yams” painted on it, and carried a brown sail.
“This is ours. And there is Heathcliff on the isthmus, talking to—Oh, well, never mind him. Here is William coming down with his net. William, we are going for a sail. You’ll come?”
“As far as the reef,” said William. “I want to land on the reef and look for sea snakes. Mr. Lane told me there are plenty, and that they come into holes in the reef. I’ve been seeing his tortoises and pigs. But he went away to parliament; I don’t know why. Are Heathcliff and Conolly coming? They’re walking this way.”
“No,” said Flora coolly. “Come on, let’s get off.”
They ran the Yams down through creaming ripples into the lagoon, climbed in, and in a moment were beating out from shore before a soft, light breeze, Flora holding the sheet.
Heathcliff’s voice hailed them from shore.
“Where are you off to? Peter and I might come too.”
“You’re too late,” Flora called back, without turning her head.
They made for the gap in the reef, half a mile out from shore. Beyond the line of surf that broke there with its eternal crooning song, the sea ran in a light swell beneath the south-east trade. But the lagoon was still and smooth, still and clear and the colour of aquamarine, lightly smudged with wind on the surface. In its opal depths and down on its bright weedy floor, seen through swaying green lights, strange fishes swam. Once a sharp dark fin broke the surface with eddies.
“There’s a shark come in,” said Flora. “What a bore. That means we can only swim close to the shore till he’s caught. Lord, how happy I shall be to bathe in English seas, with no sharks!”
“You won’t be happy to bathe in English seas,” Charles said. “That gives no one happiness; it’s like plunging about in drifts of snow. Brave, but not agreeable.”
“Snow?”
“Oh, a horrid white stuff we have over there. It falls from the skies and lies on the ground. Disgusting.”
“Of course, I remember; they had it in Wuthering Heights. A droll country, England must be. Still, I mean to enjoy it.… Do you want to be put down here, William?”
They sidled up close to the reef, where it shelved gently down to the lagoon. William stepped out of the boat, slipped on wet coral, clung on with his hands, got his footing, and hoisted himself on to the reef.
“Do you get off too, Rosamond?” Flora asked. She was casual and indifferent, but Rosamond, who had meant to go sailing, stood up and said “Yes,” and climbed on to the reef. “Here,” said Flora, “catch,” and flung them a box of sweets.
The Yams swung away, and made straight for the gap, running adroitly between the two surfing points and so out to sea.
William began to hunt in holes for sea snakes, Rosamond to walk and crawl along the reef. They were both very happy, like absorbed little boys.
3
Charles was happy too, bounding on the open blue sea before the light wind with Flora. They ran straight out to sea, then tacked, and sailed round the island.
“Are you anxious for a proper dinner, Charles?” Flora asked him.
“Not particularly. Why?”
“Because, if you’re not, let’s picnic. We’ll run into the lagoon from this side and land in that cove there and picnic in the woods. There’s plenty of food there, and we have sweets and fruit with us in the boat. I shall prefer it vastly to dinner at the Yams. How tired I do get, to be sure, of my papa and mamma! Do you get tired of yours, Charles? Does every one?”
“A good many people do. My mother’s dead, and I don’t l
ive with my father now I’m grown up. But I quite like him. As fathers go, he’s not at all bad.”
“No. Only rather queer and dry. I like him. Now mine is not to be endured. Could you endure him, if he was your papa?”
“Certainly not. I can never endure Prime Ministers. And a Smith Prime Minister.… Has he always been like that?”
“Since I knew him. That’s twenty years.… England may improve him. He can’t be Prime Minister there, I suppose, can he?”
“No. But even if he was he wouldn’t be able to boss the whole island, as he does here. Is he looking forward to England?”
“Yes. I think he hopes to have some great position there.”
“Well, he won’t.”
“Don’t tell him that, or he may decide not to go.… Do you know, from what I heard papa saying to Uncle Denis yesterday, I don’t believe grandmamma is a bit pleased by your coming.”
“She’s an ungrateful old lady, your grandmamma. We noticed that. And selfish. Doesn’t want the Orphans to be rescued, whoever is.”
“I beliexe she’d rather we all went on as we are. You see, she has everything her own way here. She’ll never be so great again, poor grandma, and I suppose she half guesses it, in her clearer moments, when she’s not fancying herself Queen Victoria.”
They landed in the cove, and pulled up the boat on the sands, helped by two respectful fisher lads.
“Now for the woods,” said Flora. “It will be agreeable in the shade, I must say.… That brother and sister of yours will do very well without us; there are plenty of fishermen to row them in when they are tired of the reef.”
“Oh, they’ll be all right. William never gets tired of looking for animals, nor Rosamond of scrambling about. I’m glad they stayed there; I don’t want them with us, do you?”
“I don’t care.… They amuse me, Rosamond and William, though they aren’t chatterboxes like you. However.… Shall I make one of those men gather fruit for us to take up the hill? Johnson!”
Orphan Island Page 19
