The hurry and bustle of preparing for their departure from the island, and the rapid succession of events which had been crowded together within so very few days, had not allowed time for much thought or reflection to Mr. and Mrs. Seagrave and William; at length, however, every preparation had been made, and they were no longer urged by the commander of the schooner to hasten their packing up and arrangements; for everything had been sent on board during the afternoon, and it was proposed that they should sail on the following day.
Now they had time to feel, and bitterly did they lament the loss of their old friend, and deplore that he had not survived to sail with them to Sydney. They had always indulged the hope that one day they should be taken off the island, and in that hope they had ever looked forward to old Ready becoming a part of their future household. Now that their wishes had been granted - so much was the feeling of joy and gratitude mingled with regret - that could he have been restored to them, they felt as if they would have gladly remained on the island.
Captain Osborn, the commander, and the crew of the schooner had taken leave of them for the night, and had gone on board, having made arrangements for the interment of Ready, previous to their sailing, on the following day. The children had been put to bed, and Juno had quitted the house; Mr. and Mrs. Seagrave and William were sitting together in their now half-dismantled room, when Juno entered; the poor girl had evidently been weeping.
"Well, Juno," observed Mr. Seagrave, with a view to break the silence which had continued for some time previous to her entrance, "are you not glad to leave the island?"
"One time I think I would be very glad, but now I not care much," replied Juno. "Island very nice place, all very happy till savage come.
Suppose they not kill old Ready, I not care."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Seagrave, "it is a sad blow to us all; I did hope to have fostered the good old man, and to have been able to have shown him our gratitude, but--"
"It is the will of Heaven that it should be otherwise," continued Mr. Seagrave; "I would give half that I am possessed of, that he had not perished."
"Oh, Massa!" said Juno, "I sit by him just now; I take off the flag and look at his face, so calm, look so happy, so good, I almost tink he smile at me, and then I cry. Oh! Massa Tommy, all because you idle boy."
"It adds much to my regret," replied Mr. Seagrave, "that his life should have been sacrificed through the thoughtlessness of one of my own children; what a lesson it will be to Tommy when he is old enough to comprehend the consequences of his conduct."
"That he must not know, papa," said William, who had been leaning mournfully over the table; "one of Ready's last injunctions was that Tommy was never to be told of it."
"His last wishes shall be religiously attended to, my dear boy," replied Mr. Seagrave; "for what do we not owe to that good old man?
When others deserted us and left us to perish, he remained with us to share our fate. By his skill we were saved and landed in safety. He provided for our wants, added to our comforts, instructed us how to make the best use of our means. Without his precautions we should have perished by the spears of the savages. What an example of Christian fortitude and humility did he ever show us! and indeed, I may truly say, that by his example, sinful as I must ever be, I have become, I trust, a better man. Would that he were now sitting by us, - but the Lord's will be done!"
"I feel as if I had lost a stay or prop," replied Mrs. Seagrave. "So accustomed have I been to look to him for advice since we have been on this island. Had he not been thus snatched from us - had he been spared to us a few years, and had we been permitted to surround his death-bed, and close his eyes in peace--" and Mrs. Seagrave wept upon the shoulder of her husband.
After a time, Mrs. Seagrave recovered herself; but silence ensued, only broken by an occasional sob from poor Juno. William's heart was too full; he could not for a long while utter a word; at last he said in a low voice:
"I feel that, next to my dear father and mother, I have lost my best friend. I cannot forgive myself for allowing him to go for the water; it was my duty to go, and I ought to have gone."
"And yet we could have ill spared you, my dear boy; you might have perished," replied Mrs. Seagrave.
"It would have been as God willed," replied William; "I might have perished, or I might not."
