CHAPTER III.
“THE FEARFULNESS OF OUR SITUATION CAN HARDLY BE REALIZED.”
UNCLE ROBERT sat for some little time with his eyes fixed on those burning logs before he commenced to speak, the firelight flickering on his face. But bygone scenes were being recalled, and events long past were being re-enacted in his memory as he sat thus.
He spoke at length; quietly at first, dreamily almost, as if unconscious of the presence of anyone near him, apparently addressing himself to no one, unless it were to the faces in the fire:—
Six years!—six years ago, and only six, and yet it seems like a lifetime, because I, who have been a rover and a wanderer since my boyhood, have come to settle down on this peaceful farm. Yet I have been happy, quietly happy, in my sister’s family, and with the companionship of her dear children; but the afternoon of a sailor’s existence must ever be a somewhat restless one. Like the sea over which he has sailed so long, it is seldom he can be perfectly still. In spite of himself he feels a longing at times to revisit scenes of former days, and the lovely lands and sunny climes that time has hallowed and softened till they resemble more the phantasies of some beautiful dream than anything real and earthly.
A vision like this rises up before me even now, as I sit here. The wintry winds are howling round the house, but I hear them not, nor noise of hail or softer snow driving against the window panes. I am far away from Scotland, I am in a land whose rocky shores are laved by the blue rolling waves of the Pacific, I am in Ecuador. Ecuador! land of the equator; land of equal day and night; land that the swift-setting sun leaves to be plunged into darkness Cimmerian, or bathed in moonlight more tranquil and lovely than poets elsewhere can ever dream of; land of mighty mountains, whose snow-capped summits are lost in the blue vault of heaven or buried in clouds of rolling mist; land of ever-blazing volcanic fires, wreathing smoke, and muttering thunders; land of vast plains and prairies; land of swamps that seem boundless; land of forests whose depths are dark by daylight—forests that bathe the valleys, the cañons, the glens with a foliage that is green, violet, and purple by turns, darkling as they climb the hills half-way to their rugged crests; land of waterfalls and foaming torrents, over which in the sunlight rainbows play against the moss-grown rocks or beetling cliffs beyond; land of mighty rivers, now sweeping through dreamy woods, now roaring green over the lava rocks, now broadening out into peaceful lakes or inland seas, with shores of silvery sand; land of tribal savages, wild and warlike or peaceful and uncouth; land of the Amazons; land of the fern, the moss, and the wild-flower; land of giant butterflies, with wings of bronzy silken velvet, or wings of colours more radiant than the humming-bird itself, or wings of transparent gauze that quiver and shimmer in the sunlight like plates of mica; land of strange birds; land of the vampire or blood-sucking bat, the tarantula, the centiped, and many a creeping horror besides; land, too, of the condor, the puma, the jaguar, the peccary, the tapir, the sloth, and agouti; land of romance, and a history going back, back, back into the remotest regions of the past;—truly a strange and wondrous land! I seem to see it all, everything, among those blazing logs to-night.
I lived in Ecuador for many, many months. I roughed it with the Indians, the Zaparos, the Napos, and Jivaros; I wandered over forest-land and plain and by the banks of the streams; I hunted in the jungle and on the prairies, and after escaping many a danger I returned to the sea-coast, laden with skins and curios and a wealth of specimens that would have made the eyes of a naturalist sparkle with very joy.
During all my long wanderings my servants had been faithful; and although our lives had oftentimes been in danger from wild beasts and wilder men, here we were once more at Guayaquil safe and sound.
I was lucky enough to find a small Spanish vessel to take me and my treasures to Callao; and here, at this somewhat loud-smelling seaport, my good star was once more in the ascendant; and though I had arrived three weeks before my promised time, the Southern Hope was lying waiting for me.
My welcome on board was a very joyful and gratifying one. Captain Herbert himself met me in the gangway, and behind him was little Bernard. The boy was not content with shaking hands. He must jump joyfully into my arms and up and on to my shoulder; and thus he rode me aft to where good little Mrs. Herbert sat in her deck-chair nursing baby, with Lala, her sable ayah, standing near.
“Now, don’t rise,” I cried. “I won’t permit it. How well you look, Mrs. Herbert! The roses have quite returned to your once wan cheeks.”