“A wretch worth fighting. A Chinese pirate who came out against us with forty junks, each junk carrying ten guns and a crew of fifty men. He had been blockading the island of Potoo, where many English ladies had taken refuge. It is not fit to name the deeds of these devils. We took from them sixty wretched captives, destroyed one hundred of their crafts and two hundred of their guns, and thus enabled a large number of merchant vessels which had been shut up in different rivers for ransom, to escape. There was even a worse state of affairs on the Sarabas. There we were assisted by an American ship called ‘The Manhattan,’ and with her aid 322 destroyed a piratical expedition numbering one hundred and twenty proas carrying more than twelve hundred men. These wretches before starting beheaded and mutilated all their women captives, and left their bodies with that of a child about six years old upon the beach. Snorro’s wrath that day was terrible. He shut his ears to every cry for mercy. I do not blame him; indeed, no.”
Thus they talked, until the minister said, “Now I must go to my own house, for Hamish is full of fears for me if I am late.” So Jan walked with him. It was midnight, but the moon was high in the zenith, and the larks singing rapturously in mid-air. A tender, mystical glow was over earth and sea, and both were as still as if they were a picture. Many good words were said on that walk, and the man who was saved and the man who saved him both lay down upon their beds that night with full and thankful hearts.
For two months, full of quiet joy, Jan and Margaret occupied their old home. They were almost as much alone as in their honeymoon; for little Jan spent most of his time with his friend Snorro, on board “The Lapwing.” 323 Snorro had been much pleased to join his old mates in the fishing boats, but he could not bear to put off, even for a day, his uniform. However, Jan and he and little Jan often sailed in advance of the fleet, and found the herring, and brought word back what course to steer. For this knowledge was a kind of instinct with Jan; he could stand and look east and west, north and south, and then by some occult premonition, strike the belt of fish.
Never had Jan dreamed of such happiness as came at last to him in that humble home of his early married life. It was a late harvest of joy, but it was a sure one. Margaret had wept tears of fond regret in all its rooms; its hearth had been an altar of perpetual repentance to her. But the sorrow had been followed by the joy of forgiveness, and the bliss of re-union. Its walls now echoed the fond words of mutual trust and affection, and the hearty communings of friendship. There was no stint in its hospitality; no worry over trivial matters. Margaret had learned that in true marriage the wife must give as well as take—give love and forbearance, and help and comfort.
Jan’s and Snorro’s visit was a kind of festival for Lerwick. Though it was the busy season, Peter and Suneva kept open house. Never had Peter been so generous both in friendship and in business; never had Suneva dressed so gayly, or set such plenteous feasts. She was very proud of Margaret’s position, and paid her unconsciously a vast respect; but she opened all her warm heart to little Jan, and every thing that was hers she determined to give him.
Dr. Balloch, in his quiet way, enjoyed the visit equally. He went very often to sea in the yacht with Jan and Snorro, and, in the happy intercourse with them, the long days were short ones to him. He saw the full fruition of his faith and charity, and was satisfied.
Fortunately, after this event Jan was never very long away at one time. Until the Russian war he made short cruises in the African seas, and Snorro had many opportunities of realizing the joy of liberating the slave, and punishing the oppressor. In the toil and suffering of the Crimea, Jan and Snorro bore their part bravely. Jan had charge of a naval brigade formed of contingents from the ships of the 325 allied fleets. No men did a greater variety of duties or behaved more gallantly than these blue jackets on shore. They dragged the heavy guns from their ships, and they fought in the batteries. They carried the scaling ladders in assaults. They landed the stores. They cheerfully worked as common laborers on that famous road between Balaclava and Sebastopol, for they knew that on its completion depended the lives of the brave men famishing and dying on the heights.
But after many happy, busy years, Jan came home one day and found only Margaret to welcome him. His son Jan was commanding his own vessel in Australian waters; his son Peter was in the East Indies. His daughters’ homes were far apart, Margaret, with fast silvering hair, and the heavy step of advancing years, longed greatly for the solace and strength of his constant presence; and Jan confessed that he was a little weary of the toil, and even of the glory of his life.
The fact once admitted, the desire for retirement grew with its discussion. In a little while Jan and Snorro returned to Shetland for the evening of their lives. They had been 326 twenty years away, but Lerwick was very little changed. The old world had not been invaded by the new one. Here and there the busy spirit of the age had left a finger-mark; no more. The changes were mostly those which under any circumstances would have come. Doctor Balloch had finished his work, and gone to his reward. Peter’s store was in another name, but Peter, though a very old man, was bright and hale, and quite able to take an almost childlike interest in all Jan’s plans and amusements.