At long last—glorious sight to those sea-weary mariners—Cape pigeons came flying about, and pieces of dark drifting seaweed; and then gulls appeared to greet them; and then the mountains of Cape Colony appeared, like a cloud in the nor'-eastern horizon. The men hailed them with three cheers.
The ship would lie for a whole fortnight at Cape Town, and they all expected letters from home; besides, Captain Cawdor was by no means niggardly in the matter of leave; so the hands expected a good spell on shore, and plenty of fun and dancing.
It was Fred's second visit to the Cape, but it had been winter when he was here before; that is, it was in the middle of June. This is really a pleasant time, for no snow lies in these regions, and indeed I have never seen it fall. The air, however, is cool and bracing, and there are clouds to temper the sunshine, while morning and evening sunrises are lovely in the extreme.
Now it was summer in these latitudes, and the sun, though tempered by ocean breezes, was almost fiercely hot; the sea was blue, and the sky was almost cloudless; while the great and glorious mountains seemed to simmer in the quivering naze.
All the first day of the ship's arrival Fred had to stick fast on board, for both the mate and Captain Cawdor were busy on shore, and cargo and specie both were being landed.
In the evening when he returned the captain brought letters from home for the ship's crew, and there were several for Fred. As soon as possible he hurried below and lit his cabin swing-candle, and, sitting down prepared to devour them. There was a very long letter from Daddy Pop, and one from Mammy Mop as well. Both contained much kindly and good advice. Then there was a long, delightful letter from Toddie. Poor Toddie was in grief, for not only was poor old Tip dead, but Bunko's Keelie too; for though dogs love us much, they cannot live for ever.
These letters were all loving and homely. As he read them the tears came welling into the lad's eyes, as the humble little fisher cottage rose up before him, the little whitewashed village among the green, drooping silver birch trees. He seemed to sit once more, as he used to do, in that charmed circle by the low hearth, with Eean in his arm-chair, Toddie on her low stool, and Eppie at the spinning-wheel. He thought he could hear the crackle of the blazing logs and the birr—rr—rr of the wheel, and see the firelight flicker on the old bard's face and glance upon the dark rafters, from which the brown hams hung, and the homely strings of onions.
He sighed, and I'm not sure a tear did not fall. He would have given a good deal just then to be able to visit but for one half hour the little cottage by the sea. He put the letters away in his desk, and walked on deck. Strange as it may appear, he believed so thoroughly in his vivid dream that he had really expected a letter from his friend Frank Fielding.
The captain took him on shore with him next day, and as they walked along the principal streets, Fred would not have been a bit surprised to have met Frank, just as he had met him in his dream.
The captain and he dined together well and heartily at one of the best hotels, and were sitting talking together over the dessert, when a tall, white-haired gentleman drew near to the table.