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The Story of Wild Will Enderby

Chapter I. On Her Majesty's Service

page 191

Chapter I. On Her Majesty's Service.

Mr. John Grey sat in his counting-house, in the City of Melbourne. Outside, the air was as a furnace blast, and the sun dimly glimmered through a dull lurid haze. And the dust stifled and blinded the passers-by; and clothing was felt to be a nuisance, and business a bore. And well-conditioned fat men envied their lank neighbours, and wished that it were possible to adopt Sydney Smith's humorous device, under similar circumstances—namely, to 'take off the flesh, and sit in the bones.'

But within the thick blue-stone walls of John Grey's warehouse, a delicious coolness prevailed. It was worth while to go out into the external heat occasionally, in order thoroughly to enjoy the contrast of the internal atmosphere.

Yet John Grey was himself far from being cool. Ordinarily so placid, he was unusually excited on the morning in question; insomuch that the clerks arched page 192their eyebrows, and winked at each other doubtfully and inquiringly, as mutely asking—"What can have happened?"

And then, with the smallness of small minds, each began to calculate the amount of salary due to himself, and to ponder on the means whereby to exact the uttermost farthing in the event of the collapse of the firm.

In his hand, John Grey held a letter—a broad official letter, stamped with the brand of authority thus,—"O.H.M.S.," and bearing the New Zealand postmark. And as he perused its contents, a pained look came into his clear frank eyes, and beads of perspiration, which were not originated by the temperature, stood upon his honest forehead.

Slowly, and as in deep thought, he passed through the counting-house, and into his private office. There, screened from observation, he allowed full play to his emotions.

"Bless my heart!" he exclaimed, "What have I done? Well! well! I'm sure I thought I was acting for the best. How could I have supposed that such a dreadful thing as this would happen. Dear! dear! What will Sister Sarah think of me? Mabel too? Ah! chut! chut! A pretty mess I've made of it."

You see, he spoke of his deceased sister as though she were actually cognisant of his deeds, and he deprecated her censure as if she were still in the flesh. For death in absence is more difficult to realize than the death that is painfully enforced upon the mind, by the lugubrious trappings of the undertaker, and the gloomy cares of the grave-digger.

Now in most emergencies he was accustomed to lean page 193greatly on his son. The energy and vigour of the young man, tempered by the prudence, and guided by the experience of the elder were potential elements of success in business matters. But the present difficulty seemed to be beyond the customary pale. For, as the result of his cogitations, he placed the letter in his breast-pocket, hurried through dust and heat to the Flinders Street railway station, and astounded the guard by returning to St. Kilda, during business hours;—a phenomenon entirely without parallel in the history of the line.

John Grey had gone to consult his best friend videlicet, his wife. Happy John!

"There's summut wrong, I know," said Lizzie, the Housemaid. "Master's come home in a terrible takin', and he's gone and shut hisself up wi' the missus in the little back parlour, and what 'tis about I can't think. I hope he han't been a-burnin' of his fingers wi' none o' they nasty mining shares, as is always a-goin' up and down like a see-saw."

"Min' yer ain wark, lassie," responded Janet the Cook. "It's no for ye tae pry intil the maister's business. Ilka ane hae their ain troubles tae fecht; and ane's ain is quite eneuch, withoot speerin' aboot ither bodies, forbye the maister's."

"Papa come home?" cried Mabel, when Annie communicated the tidings. "What can be the matter? No bad news from the run, I hope, or—or—"

The "or" was unexpressed. But her thoughts flew over the sea to the terra incognita of New Zealand, and to "Cousin Will." There were "wars and rumours of wars" with the Maories just then; and to page 194Mabel's untravelled mind, the geography of New Zealand was as a sealed book. Consequently, she was unable to dissever the war in the North Island from the notion of a cannibal feast on the Otago gold fields. Wherein Miss Mabel was not at all singular, as this story-teller has occasion to know.

Now the letter which had so greatly disturbed the equilibrium of John Grey's mind, and caused such a deviation from his ordinary business habits, was from our old friend the Commissioner, and ran thus:—

"Sir,

"I have the honor to inform you that a young man, known as Harry Grey, but whose real name, as I am informed, is William Enderby, is lying here dangerously ill, and delirious. He accuses himself of having caused the death of a person (name unknown), whose body was picked up in the Clutha river; and, of course he is at present under police surveillance. And it having been reported to me that he is your nephew, or other relation, I have deemed it my duty to communicate with you hereon.

"I may further inform you that a quantity of gold has been lodged with the authorities by one George Pratt, a partner of the young man referred to, as being the joint property of that person and your supposed relative.

"I have the honour to be, "&c., &c."

"What is to be done?" cried the merchant. "I declare I am at my wits' end. He is Sister Sarah's son, page 195you know. The young scamp! It is really shocking. We can't leave the poor fellow to sink or swim without help. Dear me! this is very vexatious. What do you advise, my dear?"

Mrs. Grey was wise in her generation. She ruled by submission. Her advice was so given as to seem her husband's suggestion rather than her own.

"Of course, you cannot go to New Zealand," she said.

"Of course not. There's the difficulty. I can't possibly leave my business just now. But something must be done, you know. As to his causing anyone's death, I don't believe it. He is ill, and does not know what he raves about. Bless my heart! What is to be done?'

"Some one must go down to the place, and look into it, as you say. Could Philip attend to it, do you think?"

"The very thing. I am glad you agree with me, my dear. Yes; that is the only course. Poor Will! Somebody must go. Certainly, somebody must go; and Philip it must be. Dear! dear! I wonder will that young scapegrace ever learn common sense?"

"Oh! John; the boy is young yet. You cannot expect everyone to be as steady as Philip. Let us be thankful it is not our own boy who is in this trouble."

"I am thankful, I hope. Philip is the pride of my life. But Sarah's son—how can I excuse myself for not taking better care of him. Chut! chut! Well, it's useless now to look back. Phil. shall go over and bring him home. Suffering from fever, I expect. He was always very excitable, you know. Humph! I page 196fear I have not quite done my duty properly by the lad."

"You have always done your duty, John," cried the wife; "and I will not have you disparage yourself."

"Well, yes, I have tried to do it; and one can only do one's best, you know, after all. But he is sowing his wild oats with a vengeance."

So it was arranged that Philip Grey should proceed to New Zealand and rescue his cousin from the hands of the Philistines.

Now I am unable to tell how it happened—for this is a part of the story upon which the parties concerned persistently refuse to enlighten me—but on the morning after the events just narrated, the family physician was called in to prescribe for Miss Mabel, who had suddenly been taken ill—very ill, the doctor averred. And after an interview with that young lady, he paid a visit to Mrs. Grey, whom he gravely assured that her daughter's health was very precarious. A sea voyage, he thought, would be advisable,—to a cooler climate, if possible. And when Mrs. Grey incidentally mentioned the projected visit of Philip to Otago, the doctor said that it was really a most fortunate coincidence—nothing could be more suitable. To Otago be it. By all means, let Mabel accompany her brother.

And Mrs. Grey assented, subject, of course, to John's approval. Need I say more?

"I do believe it's all about that harum-scarum Master Will, after all."—The opinion was that of Lizzie the Housemaid. "Lor'! what a fuss some folk do make page 197about a trumpery fellow. As though there ben't as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it."

"Bide till ye hae a fallow o' yer ain, Lizzie," answered Janet the Cook, "afore ye gie coonsel tae ithers. There gae mony herrin' tae ane saumont, ye ken; an' ilka lass thinks maist o' her ain laddie, as maybe ye'll fin' oot some day, wi' a sair hairt till the back o't."