THE WANDERER’S RETURN.
It was a delightful evening about the end of August. The sun, setting in a pure sky, illuminated the tops of the western hills, and tipped the opposite trees with a yellow lustre.
A traveller, with sunburnt cheeks and dusty feet, strong and active, having a knapsack at his back, had gained the summit of a steep ascent, and stood gazing on the plain below.
This was a wide tract of champaign country, checkered with villages, whose towers and spires peeped above the trees in which they were embosomed. The space between them was chiefly arable land, from which the last products of the harvest were busily carrying away.
A rivulet wound through the plain, its course marked with gray willows. On its banks were verdant meadows, covered with lowing herds, moving slowly to the milkmaids, who came tripping along with pails on their heads. A thick wood clothed the side of a gentle eminence rising from the water, crowned with the ruins of an ancient castle.
Edward (that was the traveller’s name) dropped on one knee, and clasping his hands, exclaimed, “Welcome, welcome, my dear native land. Many a sweet spot have I seen since I left thee, but none so sweet as thou! Never has thy dear image been out of my memory; and now with what transport do I retrace all thy charms! O, receive me again, never more to quit thee!” So saying, he threw himself on the turf; and having kissed it, rose and proceeded on his journey.
As he descended into the plain, he overtook a little group of children, merrily walking along the path, and stopping now and then to gather berries in the hedge.
“Where are you going, my dears?” said Edward.
“We are going home,” they all replied.
“And where is that?”
“Why, to Summerton, that town there among the trees, just before us. Don’t you see it?”
“I see it well,” answered Edward, the tear standing in his eye.
“And what is your name—and yours—and yours?”
The little innocents told their names. Edward’s heart leaped at the well-known sounds.
“And what is your name, my dear?” said he to a pretty girl, somewhat older than the rest, who hung back shyly, and held the hand of a ruddy, white-headed boy, just breeched.
“It is Rose Walsingham, and this is my younger brother, Roger.”
“Walsingham!” Edward clasped the girl round the neck, and surprised her with two or three very close kisses. He then lifted up little Roger, and almost devoured him. Roger seemed as if he wanted to be set down again, but Edward told him he would carry him home.
“And can you show me the house you live at, Rose?” said Edward.
“Yes—it is just there, beside the pond, with the great barn before it, and the orchard behind.”
“And will you take me home with you, Rose?”
“If you please,” answered Rose, hesitatingly.
They walked on; Edward said but little, for his heart was full, but he frequently kissed little Roger.
Coming at length to a stile from which a path led across a little close, “This is the way to our house,” said Rose.
The other children parted. Edward set down Roger, and got over the stile. He still, however, kept hold of the boy’s hand. He trembled, and looked wildly around him.
When they approached the house, an old mastiff came running to meet the children. He looked up at Edward rather sourly, and gave a little growl; when all at once his countenance changed; he leaped upon him, licked his hand, wagged his tail, murmured in a soft voice, and seemed quite overcome with joy. Edward stooped down, patted his head, and cried, “Poor Captain, what! are you alive, yet?” Rose was surprised that the stranger and their dog should know one another.
They all entered the house together. A good-looking middle-aged woman was busied in preparing articles of cookery, assisted by her grown-up daughter. She spoke to the children as they came in, and casting a look of some surprise on Edward, asked him what his business was.
Edward was some time silent; at length, with a faltering voice, he cried, “Have you forgot me, mother?”
“Edward! my son Edward!” exclaimed the good woman. And they were instantly locked in each other’s arms.
“My brother Edward!” said Molly; and took her turn for an embrace, as soon as her mother gave her room.
“Are you my brother?” said Rose.
“That I am,” replied Edward, with another kiss. Little Roger looked hard at him, but said nothing.
News of Edward’s arrival soon flew across the yard, and in came from the barn his father, his next brother, Thomas, and the third, William. The father fell on his neck, and sobbed out his welcome and blessing. Edward had not hands enough for them all to shake.
An aged, white-headed labourer came in, and held out his shrivelled hand. Edward gave it a hearty squeeze. “God bless you,” said old Isaac; “this is the best day I have seen this many a year.”
“And where have you been this long while?” cried the father. “Eight years and more,” added the mother.
His elder brother took off his knapsack; and Molly drew him a chair. Edward seated himself, and they all gathered round him; the old dog got within the circle and lay at his feet.
“O, how glad I am to see you all again!” were Edward’s first words. “How well you look, mother! but father grows thinner. As for the rest, I should have known none of you, unless it had been Thomas and old Isaac.”
“What a sunburnt face you have got!—but you look brave and hearty,” cried his mother.
“Ay, mother, I have been enough in the sun, I assure you. From seventeen to five-and-twenty I have been a wanderer upon the face of the earth, and I have seen more in that time than most men in the course of their lives.
“Our young landlord, you know, took such a liking to me at school, that he would have me go with him on his travels. We went through most of the countries of Europe, and at last to Naples, where my poor master took a fever and died. I never knew what grief was till then; and I believe the thoughts of leaving me in a strange country went as much to his heart as his illness. An intimate acquaintance of his, a rich young West Indian, seeing my distress, engaged me to go with him in a voyage he was about to make to Jamaica. We were too short a time in England before we sailed, for me to come and see you first, but I wrote you a letter from the Downs.”
“We never received it,” said his father.
“That was a pity,” returned Edward; “for you must have concluded I was either dead or had forgotten you. Well—we arrived safe in the West Indies, and there I stayed till I had buried that master, too; for young men die fast in that country. I was very well treated, but I could never like the place; and yet Jamaica is a very fine island, and has many good people in it. But for me, used to see freemen work cheerfully along with their masters—to behold nothing but droves of black slaves in the fields, toiling in the burning sun, under the constant dread of the lash of hard-hearted task-masters—it was what I could not bring myself to bear; and though I might have been made an overseer of a plantation, I chose rather to live in a town, and follow some domestic occupation. I could soon have got rich there; but I fell into a bad state of health, and people were dying all round me of the yellow fever; so I collected my little property, and though a war had broken out, I ventured to embark with it for England.
“The ship was taken, and carried into the Havana, and I lost my all and my liberty besides. However, I had the good fortune to ingratiate myself with a Spanish merchant whom I had known at Jamaica, and he took me with him to the continent of South America. I visited great part of this country, once possessed by flourishing and independent nations, but now groaning under the severe yoke of their haughty conquerers. I saw those famous gold and silver mines, where the poor natives worked naked, for ever shut out from the light of day, in order that the wealth of their unhappy land may go to spread luxury and corruption throughout the remotest regions of Europe.
“I accompanied my master across the great southern ocean, a voyage of some months, without the sight of anything but water and sky. We came to the rich city of Manilla, the capital of the Spanish settlements in those parts. There I had my liberty restored, along with a handsome reward for my services. I got thence to China; and from China to the English settlements in the East Indies, where the sight of my countrymen, and the sounds of my native tongue, made me fancy myself almost at home again, though still separated by half the globe.
“Here I saw a delightful country, swarming with industrious inhabitants, some cultivating the land, others employed in manufactures, but of so gentle and effeminate a disposition, that they have always fallen under the yoke of their invaders. Here how was I forced to blush for my countrymen, whose avarice and rapacity so often have laid waste this fair land, and brought on it all the horrors of famine and desolation! I have seen human creatures quarrelling like dogs for bare bones thrown upon a dunghill. I have seen fathers selling their families for a little rice, and mothers entreating strangers to take their children for slaves, that they might not die of hunger. In the midst of such scenes I saw pomp and luxury of which our country affords no examples.
“Having remained here a considerable time, I gladly at length set my face homeward, and joined a company who undertook the long and perilous journey to Europe over land. We crossed vast tracts both desert and cultivated; sandy plains parched with heat and drought, and infested with bands of ferocious plunderers. I have seen a well of muddy water more valued than ten camel-loads of treasure; and a few half-naked horsemen strike more terror than a king with all his guards. At length, after numberless hardships and dangers, we arrived at civilized Europe, and forgot all we had suffered. As I came nearer my native land, I grew more and more impatient to reach it; and when I had set foot on it, I was still more restless till I could see again my beloved home.
“Here I am at last—happy in bringing back a sound constitution and a clear conscience. I have also brought enough of the relics of my honest gains to furnish a little farm in the neighbourhood, where I mean to sit down and spend my days in the midst of those whom I love better than all the world besides.”
When Edward had finished, kisses and kind shakes of the hand were again repeated, and his mother brought out a large slice of harvest-cake, with a bottle of her nicest currant-wine, to refresh him after his day’s march. “You are come,” said his father, “at a lucky time, for this is our harvest-supper. We shall have some of our neighbours to make merry with us, who will be almost as glad to see you as we are—for you were always a favourite among them.”
It was not long before the visiters arrived. The young folks ran out to meet them, crying, “Our Edward’s come back—our Edward’s come home! Here he is—this is he;” and so without ceremony they introduced them.
“Welcome!—welcome!—God bless you!” sounded on all sides. Edward knew all the elderly ones at first sight, but the young people puzzled him for awhile. At length he recollected this to have been his schoolfellow, and that his companion in driving plough; and he was not long in finding out his favourite and playfellow Sally, of the next farmhouse, whom he left a romping girl of fifteen, and now saw a blooming full-formed young woman of three-and-twenty. He contrived in the evening to get next her: and though she was somewhat reserved at first, they had pretty well renewed their intimacy before the company broke up.
“Health to Edward, and a happy settlement among us!” was the parting toast. When all were retired, the Returned Wanderer went to rest in the very room in which he was born, having first paid fervent thanks to Heaven for preserving him to enjoy a blessing the dearest to his heart.
The Landlord’s Visit, p. [314]
EVENING XXVI.