Returning Home

by Anthony Trollope

It is generally supposed that people who live at home,--gooddomestic people, who love tea and their arm-chairs, and who keep theparlour hearth-rug ever warm,--it is generally supposed that theseare the people who value home the most, and best appreciate all thecomforts of that cherished institution. I am inclined to doubtthis. It is, I think, to those who live farthest away from home, tothose who find the greatest difficulty in visiting home, that theword conveys the sweetest idea. In some distant parts of the worldit may be that an Englishman acknowledges his permanent restingplace; but there are many others in which he will not call his dailyhouse, his home. He would, in his own idea, desecrate the word bydoing so. His home is across the blue waters, in the littlenorthern island, which perhaps he may visit no more; which he hasleft, at any rate, for half his life; from which circumstances, andthe necessity of living, have banished him. His home is still inEngland, and when he speaks of home his thoughts are there.No one can understand the intensity of this feeling who has not seenor felt the absence of interest in life which falls to the lot ofmany who have to eat their bread on distant soils. We are all aptto think that a life in strange countries will be a life ofexcitement, of stirring enterprise, and varied scenes;--that inabandoning the comforts of home, we shall receive in exchange moreof movement and of adventure than would come in our way in our owntame country; and this feeling has, I am sure, sent many a young manroaming. Take any spirited fellow of twenty, and ask him whether hewould like to go to Mexico for the next ten years! Prudence and hisfather may ultimately save him from such banishment, but he will notrefuse without a pang of regret.Alas! it is a mistake. Bread may be earned, and fortunes, perhaps,made in such countries; and as it is the destiny of our race tospread itself over the wide face of the globe, it is well that thereshould be something to gild and paint the outward face of that lotwhich so many are called upon to choose. But for a life of dailyexcitement, there is no life like life in England; and the fartherthat one goes from England the more stagnant, I think, do the watersof existence become.But if it be so for men, it is ten times more so for women. AnEnglishman, if he be at Guatemala or Belize, must work for hisbread, and that work will find him in thought and excitement. Butwhat of his wife? Where will she find excitement? By what pursuitwill she repay herself for all that she has left behind her at hermother's fireside? She will love her husband. Yes; that at least!If there be not that, there will be a hell, indeed. Then she willnurse her children, and talk of her--home. When the time shall comethat her promised return thither is within a year or two of itsaccomplishment, her thoughts will all be fixed on that comingpleasure, as are the thoughts of a young girl on her first ball forthe fortnight before that event comes off.On the central plain of that portion of Central America which iscalled Costa Rica stands the city of San Jose. It is the capital ofthe Republic,--for Costa Rica is a Republic,--and, for CentralAmerica, is a town of some importance. It is in the middle of thecoffee district, surrounded by rich soil on which the sugar-cane isproduced, is blessed with a climate only moderately hot, and thenative inhabitants are neither cut-throats nor cannibals. It may besaid, therefore, that by comparison with some other spots to whichEnglishmen and others are congregated for the gathering together ofmoney, San Jose may be considered as a happy region; but,nevertheless, a life there is not in every way desirable. It is adull place, with little to interest either the eye or the ear.Although the heat of the tropics is but little felt there on accountof its altitude, men and women become too lifeless for muchenterprise. There is no society. There are a few Germans and a fewEnglishmen in the place, who see each other on matters of businessduring the day; but, sombre as life generally is, they seem to carelittle for each other's company on any other footing. I know not towhat point the aspirations of the Germans may stretch themselves,but to the English the one idea that gives salt to life is the ideaof home. On some day, however distant it may be, they will oncemore turn their faces towards the little northern island, and thenall will be well with them.To a certain Englishman there, and to his dear little wife, thisprospect came some few years since somewhat suddenly. Events andtidings, it matters not which or what, brought it about that theyresolved between themselves that they would start immediately;--almost immediately. They would pack up and leave San Jose withinfour months of the day on which their purpose was first formed. AtSan Jose a period of only four months for such a purpose wasimmediately. It creates a feeling of instant excitement, anecessity for instant doing, a consciousness that there was in thosefew weeks ample work both for the hands and thoughts,--work almostmore than ample. The dear little wife, who for the last two yearshad been so listless, felt herself flurried."Harry," she said to her husband, "how shall we ever be ready?" Andher pretty face was lighted up with unusual brightness at the happythought of so much haste with such an object. "And baby's thingstoo," she said, as she thought of all the various little articles ofdress that would be needed. A journey from San Jose to Southamptoncannot in truth be made as easily as one from London to Liverpool.Let us think of a month to be passed without any aid from thewasherwoman, and the greatest part of that month amidst thesweltering heats of the West Indian tropics!In the first month of her hurry and flurry Mrs. Arkwright was ahappy woman. She would see her mother again and her sisters. Itwas now four years since she had left them on the quay atSouthampton, while all their hearts were broken at the parting. Shewas a young bride then, going forth with her new lord to meet thestern world. He had then been home to look for a wife, and he hadfound what he looked for in the younger sister of his partner. Forhe, Henry Arkwright, and his wife's brother, Abel Ring, hadestablished themselves together in San Jose. And now, she thought,how there would be another meeting on those quays at which thereshould be no broken hearts; at which there should be love withoutsorrow, and kisses, sweet with the sweetness of welcome, not bitterwith the bitterness of parting. And people told her,--the fewneighbours around her,--how happy, how fortunate she was to get homethus early in her life. They had been out some ten,--some twentyyears, and still the day of their return was distant. And then shepressed her living baby to her breast, and wiped away a tear as shethought of the other darling whom she would leave beneath thatdistant sod.And then came the question as to the route home. San Jose stands inthe middle of the high plain of Costa Rica, half way between thePacific and the Atlantic. The journey thence down to the Pacificis, by comparison, easy. There is a road, and the mules on whichthe travellers must ride go steadily and easily down to PuntaArenas, the port on that ocean. There are inns, too, on the way,--places of public entertainment at which refreshment may be obtained,and beds, or fair substitutes for beds. But then by this route thetraveller must take a long additional sea voyage. He must conveyhimself and his weary baggage down to that wretched place on thePacific, there wait for a steamer to take him to Panama, cross theisthmus, and reship himself in the other waters for his long journeyhome. That terrible unshipping and reshipping is a sore burden tothe unaccustomed traveller. When it is absolutely necessary,--thenindeed it is done without much thought; but in the case of theArkwrights it was not absolutely necessary. And there was anotherreason which turned Mrs. Arkwright's heart against that journey byPunt' Arenas. The place is unhealthy, having at certain seasons avery bad name;--and here on their outward journey her husband hadbeen taken ill. She had never ceased to think of the fortnight shehad spent there among uncouth strangers, during a portion of whichhis life had trembled in the balance. Early, therefore, in thosefour months she begged that she might not be taken round by Punt'Arenas. There was another route. "Harry, if you love me, let me goby the Serapiqui." As to Harry's loving her, there was no doubtabout that, as she well knew.There was this other route by the Serapiqui river, and by Greytown.Greytown, it is true, is quite as unhealthy as Punt' Arenas, and bythat route one's baggage must be shipped and unshipped into smallboats. There are all manner of difficulties attached to it.Perhaps no direct road to and from any city on the world's surfaceis subject to sharper fatigue while it lasts. Journeying by thisroute also, the traveller leaves San Jose mounted on his mule, andso mounted he makes his way through the vast primeval forests downto the banks of the Serapiqui river. That there is a track for himis of course true; but it is simply a track, and during nine monthsof the twelve is so deep in mud that the mules sink in it to theirbellies. Then, when the river has been reached, the traveller seatshim in his canoe, and for two days is paddled down,--down along theSerapiqui, into the San Juan River, and down along the San Juan tillhe reaches Greytown, passing one night at some hut on the riverside. At Greytown he waits for the steamer which will carry him hisfirst stage on his road towards Southampton. He must be aconnoisseur in disagreeables of every kind who can say with anyprecision whether Greytown or Punt' Arenas is the better place for aweek's sojourn.For a full month Mr. Arkwright would not give way to his wife. Atfirst he all but conquered her by declaring that the Serapiquijourney would be dangerous for the baby; but she heard from some onethat it could be made less fatiguing for the baby than the otherroute. A baby had been carried down in a litter strapped on to amule's back. A guide at the mule's head would be necessary, andthat was all. When once in her boat the baby would be as well as inher cradle. What purpose cannot a woman gain by perseverance? Herpurpose in this instance Mrs. Arkwright did at last gain bypersevering.And then their preparations for the journey went on with muchflurrying and hot haste. To us at home, who live and feel our lifeevery day, the manufacture of endless baby-linen and the packing ofmountains of clothes does not give an idea of much pleasurableexcitement; but at San Jose, where there was scarcely motion enoughin existence to prevent its waters from becoming foul withstagnation, this packing of baby-linen was delightful, and for amonth or so the days went by with happy wings.But by degrees reports began to reach both Arkwright and his wife asto this new route, which made them uneasy. The wet season had beenprolonged, and even though they might not be deluged by rainthemselves, the path would be in such a state of mud as to renderthe labour incessant. One or two people declared that the road wasunfit at any time for a woman,--and then the river would be muchswollen. These tidings did not reach Arkwright and his wifetogether, or at any rate not till late amidst their preparations, ora change might still have been made. As it was, after all herentreaties, Mrs. Arkwright did not like to ask him again to alterhis plans; and he, having altered them once, was averse to changethem again. So things went on till the mules and the boats had beenhired, and things had gone so far that no change could then be madewithout much cost and trouble.During the last ten days of their sojourn at San Jose, Mrs.Arkwright had lost all that appearance of joy which had cheered upher sweet face during the last few months. Terror at that terriblejourney obliterated in her mind all the happiness which had arisenfrom the hope of being soon at home. She was thoroughly cowed bythe danger to be encountered, and would gladly have gone down toPunt' Arenas, had it been now possible that she could so arrange it.It rained, and rained, and still rained, when there was now only aweek from the time they started. Oh! if they could only wait foranother month! But this she said to no one. After what had passedbetween her and her husband, she had not the heart to say such wordsto him. Arkwright himself was a man not given to much talking, asilent thoughtful man, stern withal in his outward bearing, buttender-hearted and loving in his nature. The sweet young wife whohad left all, and come with him out to that dull distant place, wasvery dear to him,--dearer than she herself was aware, and in thesedays he was thinking much of her coming troubles. Why had he givenway to her foolish prayers? Ah, why indeed? And thus the last fewdays of their sojourn in San Jose passed away from them. Once ortwice during these days she did speak out, expressing her fears.Her feelings were too much for her, and she could not restrainherself. "Poor mamma," she said, "I shall never see her!" And thenagain, "Harry, I know I shall never reach home alive.""Fanny, my darling, that is nonsense." But in order that his spokenword might not sound stern to her, he took her in his arms andkissed her."You must behave well, Fanny," he said to her the day before theystarted. Though her heart was then very low within her, shepromised him that she would do her best, and then she made a greatresolution. Though she should be dying on the road, she would notcomplain beyond the absolute necessity of her nature. She fullyrecognised his thoughtful tender kindness, for though he thuscautioned her, he never told her that the dangers which she fearedwere the result of her own choice. He never threw in her teeththose prayers which she had made, in yielding to which he knew thathe had been weak.Then came the morning of their departure. The party of travellersconsisted of four besides the baby. There was Mr. Arkwright, hiswife, and an English nurse, who was going to England with them, andher brother, Abel Ring, who was to accompany them as far as theSerapiqui River. When they had reached that, the real labour of thejourney would be over.They had eight mules; four for the four travellers, one for thebaby, a spare mule laden simply with blankets, so that Mrs.Arkwright might change in order that she should not be fatigued bythe fatigue of her beast, and two for their luggage. The portion oftheir baggage had already been sent off by Punt' Arenas, and wouldmeet them at the other side of the Isthmus of Panama.For the last four days the rain had ceased,--had ceased at any rateat San Jose. Those who knew the country well, would know that itmight still be raining over those vast forests; but now as thematter was settled, they would hope for the best. On that morningon which they started the sun shone fairly, and they accepted thisas an omen of good. Baby seemed to lay comfortably on her pile ofblankets on the mule's back, and the face of the tall Indian guidewho took his place at that mule's head pleased the anxious mother."Not leave him ever," he said in Spanish, laying his hand on thecord which was fastened to the beast's head; and not for one momentdid he leave his charge, though the labour of sticking close to himwas very great.They had four attendants or guides, all of whom made the journey onfoot. That they were all men of mixed race was probable; but threeof them would have been called Spaniards, Spaniards, that is, ofCosta Rica, and the other would be called an Indian. One of theSpaniards was the leader, or chief man of the party, but the othersseemed to stand on an equal footing with each other; and indeed theplace of greatest care had been given to the Indian.For the first four or five miles their route lay along the high roadwhich leads from San Jose to Punt' Arenas, and so far a group ofacquaintances followed them, all mounted on mules. Here, where theways forked, their road leading through the great forests to theAtlantic, they separated, and many tears were shed on each side.What might be the future life of the Arkwrights had not beenabsolutely fixed, but there was a strong hope on their part thatthey might never be forced to return to Costa Rica. Those from whomthey now parted had not seemed to be dear to them in any especialdegree while they all lived together in the same small town, seeingeach other day by day; but now,--now that they might never meetagain, a certain love sprang up for the old familiar faces, andwomen kissed each other who hitherto had hardly cared to enter eachother's houses.And then the party of the Arkwrights again started, and its steadywork began. In the whole of the first day the way beneath theirfeet was tolerably good, and the weather continued fine. It was onelong gradual ascent from the plain where the roads parted, but therewas no real labour in travelling. Mrs. Arkwright rode beside herbaby's mule, at the head of which the Indian always walked, and thetwo men went together in front. The husband had found that his wifewould prefer this, as long as the road allowed of such anarrangement. Her heart was too full to admit of much speaking, andso they went on in silence.The first night was passed in a hut by the roadside, which seemed tobe deserted,--a hut or rancho as it is called in that country.Their food they had, of course, brought with them; and here, bycommon consent, they endeavoured in some sort to make themselvesmerry."Fanny," Arkwright said to her, "it is not so bad after all; eh, mydarling?""No," she answered; "only that the mule tires one so. Will all thedays be as long as that?"He had not the heart to tell her that as regarded hours of work,that first day must of necessity be the shortest. They had risen toa considerable altitude, and the night was very cold; but baby wasenveloped among a pile of coloured blankets, and things did not govery badly with them; only this, that when Fanny Arkwright rose fromher hard bed, her limbs were more weary and much more stiff thanthey had been when Arkwright had lifted her from her mule.On the second morning they mounted before the day had quite broken,in order that they might breakfast on the summit of the ridge whichseparates the two oceans. At this spot the good road comes to anend, and the forest track begins; and here also, they would, intruth, enter the forest, though their path had for some time beenamong straggling trees and bushes. And now, again, they rode twoand two, up to this place of halting, Arkwright and Ring wellknowing that from hence their labours would in truth commence.Poor Mrs. Arkwright, when she reached this resting-place, would fainhave remained there for the rest of the day. One word, in her low,plaintive voice, she said, asking whether they might not sleep inthe large shed which stands there. But this was manifestlyimpossible. At such a pace they would never reach Greytown; and shespoke no further word when he told her that they must go on.At about noon that day the file of travellers formed itself into theline which it afterwards kept during the whole of the journey, andthen started by the narrow path into the forest. First walked theleader of the guides, then another man following him; Abel Ring camenext, and behind him the maid-servant; then the baby's mule, withthe Indian ever at its head; close at his heels followed Mrs.Arkwright, so that the mother's eye might be always on her child;and after her her husband; then another guide on foot completed thenumber of the travellers. In this way they went on and on, dayafter day, till they reached the banks of the Serapiqui, never oncevarying their places in the procession. As they started in themorning, so they went on till their noon-day's rest, and so againthey made their evening march. In that journey there was no idea ofvariety, no searching after the pleasures of scenery, no attempts atconversation with any object of interest or amusement. What wordswere spoken were those simply needful, or produced by sympathy forsuffering. So they journeyed, always in the same places, with oneexception. They began their work with two guides leading them, butbefore the first day was over one of them had fallen back to theside of Mrs. Arkwright, for she was unable to sit on her mulewithout support.Their daily work was divided into two stages, so as to give somehours for rest in the middle of the day. It had been arranged thatthe distance for each day should not be long,--should be very shortas was thought by them all when they talked it over at San Jose; butnow the hours which they passed in the saddle seemed to be endless.Their descent began from that ridge of which I have spoken, and theyhad no sooner turned their faces down upon the mountain slopeslooking towards the Atlantic, than that passage of mud began towhich there was no cessation till they found themselves on the banksof the Serapiqui river. I doubt whether it be possible to convey inwords an adequate idea of the labour of riding over such a path. Itis not that any active exertion is necessary,--that there isanything which requires doing. The traveller has before him thesimple task of sitting on his mule from hour to hour, and of seeingthat his knees do not get themselves jammed against the trees; butat every step the beast he rides has to drag his legs out from thedeep clinging mud, and the body of the rider never knows one momentof ease. Why the mules do not die on the road, I cannot say. Theylive through it, and do not appear to suffer. They have their ownway in everything, for no exertion on the rider's part will makethem walk either faster or slower than is their wont.On the day on which they entered the forest,--that being the secondof their journey,--Mrs. Arkwright had asked for mercy, forpermission to escape that second stage. On the next she allowedherself to be lifted into her saddle after her mid-day rest withouta word. She had tried to sleep, but in vain; and had sat within alittle hut, looking out upon the desolate scene before her, with herbaby in her lap. She had this one comfort, that of all thetravellers, she, the baby, suffered the least. They had now leftthe high grounds, and the heat was becoming great, though not as yetintense. And then, the Indian guide, looking out slowly over theforest, saw that the rain was not yet over. He spoke a word or twoto one of his companions in a low voice and in a patois which Mrs.Arkwright did not understand, and then going after the husband, toldhim that the heavens were threatening."We have only two leagues," said Arkwright, "and it may perhaps holdup.""It will begin in an hour," said the Indian, "and the two leaguesare four hours.""And to-morrow," asked Arkwright."To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow it will still rain," saidthe guide, looking as he spoke up over the huge primeval forest."Then we had better start at once," said Arkwright, "before thefirst falling drops frighten the women." So the mules were broughtout, and he lifted his uncomplaining wife on to the blankets whichformed her pillion. The file again formed itself, and slowly theywound their way out from the small enclosure by which the hut wassurrounded;--out from the enclosure on to a rough scrap of undrainedpasture ground from which the trees had been cleared. In a fewminutes they were once more struggling through the mud.The name of the spot which our travellers had just left isCarablanco. There they found a woman living all alone. Her husbandwas away, she told them, at San Jose, but would be back to her whenthe dry weather came, to look up the young cattle which werestraying in the forest. What a life for a woman! Nevertheless, intalking with Mrs. Arkwright she made no complaint of her own lot,but had done what little she could to comfort the poor lady who wasso little able to bear the fatigues of her journey."Is the road very bad?" Mrs. Arkwright asked her in a whisper."Ah, yes; it is a bad road.""And when shall we be at the river?""It took me four days," said the woman."Then I shall never see my mother again," and as she spoke Mrs.Arkwright pressed her baby to her bosom. Immediately after that herhusband came in, and they started.Their path now led away across the slope of a mountain which seemedto fall from the very top of that central ridge in an unbrokendescent down to the valley at its foot. Hitherto, since they hadentered the forest, they had had nothing before their eyes but thetrees and bushes which grew close around them. But now a prospectof unrivalled grandeur was opened before them, if only had they beenable to enjoy it. At the bottom of the valley ran a river, which,so great was the depth, looked like a moving silver cord; and on theother side of this there arose another mountain, steep but unbrokenlike that which they were passing,--unbroken, so that the eye couldstretch from the river up to the very summit. Not a spot on thatmountain side or on their side either was left uncovered by thickforest, which had stood there untouched by man since nature firstproduced it.But all this was nothing to our travellers, nor was the clang of themacaws anything, or the roaring of the little congo ape. Nothingwas gained by them from beautiful scenery, nor was there any fearfrom the beasts of prey. The immediate pain of each step of thejourney drove all other feelings from them, and their thoughts werebounded by an intense desire for the evening halt.And then, as the guide had prophesied, the rain began. At first itcame in such small soft drops that it was found to be refreshing,but the clouds soon gathered and poured forth their collected watersas though it had not rained for months among those mountains. Notthat it came in big drops, or with the violence which wind can giveit, beating hither and thither, breaking branches from the trees,and rising up again as it pattered against the ground. There was noviolence in the rain. It fell softly in a long, continuous,noiseless stream, sinking into everything that it touched,converting the deep rich earth on all sides into mud.Not a word was said by any of them as it came on. The Indiancovered the baby with her blanket, closer than she was coveredbefore, and the guide who walked by Mrs. Arkwright's side drew hercloak around her knees. But such efforts were in vain. There is arain that will penetrate everything, and such was the rain whichfell upon them now. Nevertheless, as I have said, hardly a word wasspoken. The poor woman, finding that the heat of her cloakincreased her sufferings, threw it open again."Fanny," said her husband, "you had better let him protect you aswell as he can."She answered him merely by an impatient wave of her hand, intendingto signify that she could not speak, but that in this matter shemust have her way.After that her husband made no further attempt to control her. Hecould see, however, that ever and again she would have slippedforward from her mule and fallen, had not the man by her sidesteadied her with his hand. At every tree he protected her kneesand feet, though there was hardly room for him to move between thebeast and the bank against which he was thrust.And then, at last, that day's work was also over, and FannyArkwright slipped from her pillion down into her husband's arms atthe door of another rancho in the forest. Here there lived a largefamily adding from year to year to the patch of ground which theyhad rescued from the wood, and valiantly doing their part in theextension of civilisation. Our party was but a few steps from thedoor when they left their mules, but Mrs. Arkwright did not now asheretofore hasten to receive her baby in her arms. When placed uponthe ground, she still leaned against the mule, and her husband sawthat he must carry her into the hut. This he did, and then, wet,mud-laden, dishevelled as she was, she laid herself down upon theplanks that were to form her bed, and there stretched out her armsfor her infant. On that evening they undressed and tended her likea child; and then when she was alone with her husband, she repeatedto him her sad foreboding."Harry," she said, "I shall never see my mother again.""Oh, yes, Fanny, you will see her and talk over all these troubleswith pleasure. It is very bad, I know; but we shall live through ityet.""You will, of course; and you will take baby home to her.""And face her without you! No, my darling. Three more days'riding, or rather two and a half, will bring us to the river, andthen your trouble will be over. All will be easy after that.""Ah, Harry, you do not know.""I do know that it is very bad, my girl, but you must cheer up. Weshall be laughing at all this in a month's time."On the following morning she allowed herself to be lifted up,speaking no word of remonstrance. Indeed she was like a child intheir hands, having dropped all the dignity and authority of awoman's demeanour. It rained again during the whole of this day,and the heat was becoming oppressive as every hour they weredescending nearer and nearer to the sea level. During this firststage hardly a word was spoken by any one; but when she was againtaken from her mule she was in tears. The poor servant-girl, too,was almost prostrate with fatigue, and absolutely unable to waitupon her mistress, or even to do anything for herself. Neverthelessthey did make the second stage, seeing that their mid-day restingplace had been under the trees of the forest. Had there been anyhut there, they would have remained for the night.On the following day they rested altogether, though the place atwhich they remained had but few attractions. It was another foresthut inhabited by an old Spanish couple who were by no means willingto give them room, although they paid for their accommodation atexorbitant rates. It is one singularity of places strange and outof the way like such forest tracks as these, that money in smallsums is hardly valued. Dollars there were not appreciated assixpences are in this rich country. But there they stayed for aday, and the guides employed themselves in making a litter with longpoles so that they might carry Mrs. Arkwright over a portion of theground. Poor fellows! When once she had thus changed her mode ofconveyance, she never again was lifted on to the mule.There was strong reason against this day's delay. They were to godown the Serapiqui along with the post, which would overtake them onits banks. But if the post should pass them before they got there,it could not wait; and then they would be deprived of the best canoeon the water. Then also it was possible, if they encounteredfurther delay, that the steamer might sail from Greytown withoutthem, and a month's residence at that frightful place be thus madenecessary.The day's rest apparently did little to relieve Mrs. Arkwright'ssufferings. On the following day she allowed herself to be put uponthe mule, but after the first hour the beasts were stopped and shewas taken off it. During that hour they had travelled hardly overhalf a league. At that time she so sobbed and moaned that Arkwrightabsolutely feared that she would perish in the forest, and heimplored the guides to use the poles which they had prepared. Shehad declared to him over and over again that she felt sure that sheshould die, and, half-delirious with weariness and suffering, hadbegged him to leave her at the last hut. They had not yet come tothe flat ground over which a litter might be carried withcomparative ease; but nevertheless the men yielded, and she wasplaced in a recumbent position upon blankets, supported by boughs oftrees. In this way she went through that day with somewhat less ofsuffering than before, and without that necessity for self-exertionwhich had been worse to her than any suffering.There were places between that and the river at which one would havesaid that it was impossible that a litter should be carried, or evenimpossible that a mule should walk with a load on his back. Butstill they went on, and the men carried their burden withoutcomplaining. Not a word was said about money, or extra pay;--not aword, at least by them; and when Arkwright was profuse in his offer,their leader told him that they would not have done it for money.But for the poor suffering Senora they would make exertions which nomoney would have bought from them.On the next day about noon the post did pass them, consisting ofthree strong men carrying great weights on their backs, suspended bybands from their foreheads. They travelled much quicker than ourfriends, and would reach the banks of the river that evening. Intheir ordinary course they would start down the river close upondaybreak on the following day; but, after some consultation with theguides, they agreed to wait till noon. Poor Mrs. Arkwright knewnothing of hours or of any such arrangements now, but her husbandgreatly doubted their power of catching this mail despatch.However, it did not much depend on their exertions that afternoon.Their resting-place was marked out for them, and they could not gobeyond it, unless indeed they could make the whole journey, whichwas impossible.But towards evening matters seemed to improve with them. They hadnow got on to ground which was more open, and the men who carriedthe litter could walk with greater ease. Mrs. Arkwright alsocomplained less, and when they reached their resting-place on thatnight, said nothing of a wish to be left there to her fate. Thiswas a place called Padregal, a cacao plantation, which had beencleared in the forest with much labour. There was a house herecontaining three rooms, and some forty or fifty acres round it hadbeen stripped of the forest trees. But nevertheless the adventurehad not been a prosperous one, for the place was at that timedeserted. There were the cacao plants, but there was no one to pickthe cacao. There was a certain melancholy beauty about the place.A few grand trees had been left standing near the house, and thegrass around was rich and park-like. But it was deserted, andnothing was heard but the roaring of the congos. Ah me! Indeed itwas a melancholy place as it was seen by some of that partyafterwards.On the following morning they were astir very early, and Mrs.Arkwright was so much better that she offered to sit again upon hermule. The men, however, declared that they would finish their task,and she was placed again upon the litter. And then with slow andweary step they did make their way to the river bank. It was notyet noon when they saw the mud fort which stands there, and as theydrew into the enclosure round a small house which stands close bythe river side, they saw the three postmen still busy about theirpackages."Thank God!" said Arkwright."Thank God, indeed!" said his brother. "All will be right with younow.""Well, Fanny," said her husband, as he took her very gently from thelitter and seated her on a bench which stood outside the door. "Itis all over now,--is it not?"She answered him by a shower of tears, but they were tears whichbrought her relief. He was aware of this, and therefore stood byher, still holding her by both her hands while her head restedagainst his side. "You will find the motion of the boat verygentle," he said; "indeed there will be no motion, and you and babywill sleep all the way down to Greytown." She did not answer him inwords, but she looked up into his face, and he could see that herspirit was recovering itself.There was almost a crowd of people collected on the spot,preparatory to the departure of the canoes. In the first placethere was the commandant of the fort, to whom the small housebelonged. He was looking to the passports of our friends, and withdue diligence endeavouring to make something of the occasion, bydiscovering fatal legal impediments to the further prosecution oftheir voyage, which impediments would disappear on the payment ofcertain dollars. And then there were half a dozen Costa Ricansoldiers, men with coloured caps and old muskets, ready to supportthe dignity and authority of the commandant. There were the guidestaking payment from Abel Ring for their past work, and the postmenpreparing their boats for the further journey. And then there was acertain German there, with a German servant, to whom the boatsbelonged. He also was very busy preparing for the river voyage. Hewas not going down with them, but it was his business to see themwell started. A singular looking man was he, with a huge shaggybeard, and shaggy uncombed hair, but with bright blue eyes, whichgave to his face a remarkable look of sweetness. He was an uncouthman to the eye, and yet a child would have trusted herself with himin a forest.At this place they remained some two hours. Coffee was preparedhere, and Mrs. Arkwright refreshed herself and her child. Theywashed and arranged their clothes, and when she stepped down thesteep bank, clinging to her husband's arm as she made her waytowards the boat, she smiled upon him as he looked at her."It is all over now,--is it not, my girl?"--he said, encouragingher."Oh, Harry, do not talk about it," she answered, shuddering."But I want you to say a word to me to let me know that you arebetter.""I am better,--much better.""And you will see your mother again; will you not; and give baby toher yourself?"To this she made no immediate answer, for she was on a level withthe river, and the canoe was close at her feet. And then she had tobid farewell to her brother. He was now the unfortunate one of theparty, for his destiny required that he should go back to San Josealone,--go back and remain there perhaps some ten years longerbefore he might look for the happiness of home."God bless you, dearest Abel," she said, kissing him and sobbing asshe spoke."Good-bye, Fanny," he said, "and do not let them forget me inEngland. It is a great comfort to think that the worst of yourtroubles are over.""Oh,--she's all right now," said Arkwright. "Good-bye, old boy,"--and the two brothers-in-law grasped each other's hands heartily."Keep up your spirits, and we'll have you home before long.""Oh, I'm all right," said the other. But from the tone of thevoices, it was clear that poor Ring was despondent at the thoughtsof his coming solitude, and that Arkwright was already triumphing inhis emancipation.And then, with much care, Fanny Arkwright was stowed away in theboat. There was a great contest about the baby, but at last it wasarranged, that at any rate for the first few hours she should beplaced in the boat with the servant. The mother was told that bythis plan she would feel herself at liberty to sleep during the heatof the day, and then she might hope to have strength to look to thechild when they should be on shore during the night. In this waytherefore they prepared to start, while Abel Ring stood on the banklooking at them with wishful eyes. In the first boat were twoIndians paddling, and a third man steering with another paddle. Inthe middle there was much luggage, and near the luggage so as to beunder shade, was the baby's soft bed. If nothing evil happened tothe boat, the child could not be more safe in the best cradle thatwas ever rocked. With her was the maid-servant and some strangerwho was also going down to Greytown.In the second boat were the same number of men to paddle, the Indianguide being one of them, and there were the mails placed. Thenthere was a seat arranged with blankets, cloaks, and cushions, forMrs. Arkwright, so that she might lean back and sleep withoutfatigue, and immediately opposite to her her husband placed himself."You all look very comfortable," said poor Abel from the bank."We shall do very well now," said Arkwright."And I do think I shall see mamma again," said his wife."That's right, old girl;--of course you will see her. Now then,--weare all ready." And with some little assistance from the German onthe bank, the first boat was pushed off into the stream.The river in this place is rapid, because the full course of thewater is somewhat impeded by a bank of earth jutting out from theopposite side of the river into the stream; but it is not so rapidas to make any recognised danger in the embarkation. Below thisbank, which is opposite to the spot at which the boats were entered,there were four or five broken trees in the water, some of theshattered boughs of which showed themselves above the surface.These are called snags, and are very dangerous if they are met within the course of the stream; but in this instance no danger wasapprehended from them, as they lay considerably to the left of thepassage which the boats would take. The first canoe was pushed offby the German, and went rapidly away. The waters were strong withrain, and it was pretty to see with what velocity the boat wascarried on some hundred of yards in advance of the other by theforce of the first effort of the paddle. The German, however, fromthe bank holloaed to the first men in Spanish, bidding them relaxtheir efforts for awhile; and then he said a word or two of cautionto those who were now on the point of starting.The boat then was pushed steadily forward, the man at the sternkeeping it with his paddle a little farther away from the bank atwhich they had embarked. It was close under the land that thestream ran the fastest, and in obedience to the directions given tohim he made his course somewhat nearer to the sunken trees. It wasbut one turn of his hand that gave the light boat its direction, butthat turn of the hand was too strong. Had the anxious master of thecanoes been but a thought less anxious, all might have been well;but, as it was, the prow of the boat was caught by some slighthidden branch which impeded its course and turned it round in therapid river. The whole lengths of the canoe was thus broughtagainst the sunken tree, and in half a minute the five occupants ofthe boat were struggling in the stream.Abel Ring and the German were both standing on the bank close to thewater when this happened, and each for a moment looked into theother's face. "Stand where you are," shouted the German, "so thatyou may assist them from the shore. I will go in." And then,throwing from him his boots and coat, he plunged into the river.The canoe had been swept round so as to be brought by the force ofthe waters absolutely in among the upturned roots and broken stumpsof the trees which impeded the river, and thus, when the party wasupset, they were at first to be seen scrambling among the branches.But unfortunately there was much more wood below the water thanabove it, and the force of the stream was so great, that those whocaught hold of the timber were not able to support themselves by itabove the surface. Arkwright was soon to be seen some forty yardsdown, having been carried clear of the trees, and here he got out ofthe river on the farther bank. The distance to him was not aboveforty yards, but from the nature of the ground he could not get uptowards his wife, unless he could have forced his way against thestream.The Indian who had had charge of the baby rose quickly to thesurface, was carried once round in the eddy, with his head highabove the water, and then was seen to throw himself among the brokenwood. He had seen the dress of the poor woman, and made his effortto save her. The other two men were so caught by the fragments ofthe boughs, that they could not extricate themselves so as to makeany exertions; ultimately, however, they also got out on the furtherbank.Mrs. Arkwright had sunk at once on being precipitated into thewater, but the buoyancy of her clothes had brought her for a momentagain to the surface. She had risen for a moment, and then hadagain gone down, immediately below the forked trunk of a huge tree;--had gone down, alas, alas! never to rise again with life within herbosom. The poor Indian made two attempts to save her, and then cameup himself, incapable of further effort.It was then that the German, the owner of the canoes, who had foughthis way with great efforts across the violence of the waters, andindeed up against the stream for some few yards, made his effort tosave the life of that poor frail creature. He had watched the spotat which she had gone down, and even while struggling across theriver, had seen how the Indian had followed her and had failed. Itwas now his turn. His life was in his hand, and he was prepared tothrow it away in that attempt. Having succeeded in placing himselfa little above the large tree, he turned his face towards the bottomof the river, and dived down among the branches. And he also, afterthat, was never again seen with the life-blood flowing round hisheart.When the sun set that night, the two swollen corpses were lying inthe Commandant's hut, and Abel Ring and Arkwright were sittingbeside them. Arkwright had his baby sleeping in his arms, but hesat there for hours,--into the middle of the long night,--withoutspeaking a word to any one."Harry," said his brother at last, "come away and lay down. It willbe good for you to sleep.""Nothing ever will be good again for me," said he."You must bear up against your sorrow as other men do," said Ring."Why am I not sleeping with her as the poor German sleeps? Why didI let another man take my place in dying for her?" And then hewalked away that the other might not see the tears on his face.It was a sad night,--that at the Commandant's hut, and a sad morningfollowed upon it. It must be remembered that they had there none ofthose appurtenances which are so necessary to make woe decent andmisfortune comfortable. They sat through the night in the smallhut, and in the morning they came forth with their clothes still wetand dirty, with their haggard faces, and weary stiff limbs,encumbered with the horrid task of burying that loved body among theforest trees. And then, to keep life in them till it was done, thebrandy flask passed from hand to hand; and after that, with slow butresolute efforts, they reformed the litter on which the living womanhad been carried thither, and took her body back to the wildplantation at Padregal. There they dug for her her grave, andrepeating over her some portion of the service for the dead, lefther to sleep the sleep of death. But before they left her, theyerected a pallisade of timber round the grave, so that the beasts ofthe forest should not tear the body from its resting-place.When that was done Arkwright and his brother made their slow journeyback to San Jose. The widowed husband could not face his darling'smother with such a tale upon his tongue as that.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *

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