Mr. Meeson’s Will

MR. MEESON’S WILL

grew plentifully upon the beams, and even on the floor; while great holes in the roof let in the wet, which lay in little slimy puddles beneath. Still, with all their drawbacks, they were decidedly better than the open beach; a very short experience of which, in that inclement climate, would certainly have killed them; and they thankfully decided to make the best of them. Accordingly, the smaller of the two huts was given up to Augusta and the boy Dick, while Mr. Meeson and the sailors took possession of the large one. Their next task was to move up their scanty belongings (the boat having first been carefully beached), and to clean out the huts and make them as habitable as possible by stretching the sails of the boat on the damp floors and covering up the holes in the roof as best they could with stones and bits of board from the bottom of the boat. The weather was, fortunately, dry, and as they all (with the exception of Mr. Meeson, who seemed to be quite prostrated) worked with a will, not excepting Master Dick – who toddled backwards and forwards after Augusta in high glee at finding himself on terra firma – and by midday everything that could be done was done. Then they made a fire of some drift-wood – for, fortunately, they had a few matches – and Augusta cooked the two fowls they had got out of the floating hen-coop as well as circumstances would allow – which, as a matter of fact, was not very well – and they had dinner, of which they all stood sadly in need.

After dinner they reckoned up their resources. Of water there was an ample supply, for not far from the huts a stream ran down into the fjord. For food they had the best part of a bag of biscuits weighing about a hundred pounds. Also there was

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the cask of rum, which the men had moved into their own hut. But that was not all, for there were plenty of shellfish about if they could find means to cook them, while the rocks around were covered with hundreds of penguins, including specimens of the great “King penguin,” which only required to be knocked on the head. There was, therefore, little fear of their perishing of starvation, as sometimes happens to ship wrecked people. Indeed, immediately after dinner, the two sailors went out and returned with as many birds’ eggs – mostly penguin – as they could carry in their hats. Scarcely had they got in, however, when the rain, which is the prevailing characteristic of these latitudes, set in, in the most pitiless fashion; and soon the great mountains with which they were surrounded, and those before them, were wrapped in dense veils of fleecy vapour. Hour after hour the rain fell without ceasing, penetrating through their miserable roof, and falling – drop, drip, drop – upon the sodden floor. Augusta sat by herself in the smaller hut, doing what she could to amuse little Dick by telling him stories. Nobody knows how hard she found it to have to invent stories when she was thus overwhelmed with misfortune; but it was the only way of keeping the poor child from crying, as the sense of cold and misery forced itself into his little heart. So she told him about Robinson Crusoe, and then she told him that they were playing at being Robinson Crusoe, to which the child very sensibly replied that he did not at all like the game, and wanted his mamma.

And meanwhile it grew darker and colder and damper hour by hour, till at last the light went out, and left her with nothing to keep her company but the moaning wind, the fall-

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MR. MEESON’S WILL

ing rain, and the wild cries of the sea-birds when something disturbed them from their rest. The child was asleep at last, wrapped up in a blanket and one of the smaller sails; and Augusta, feeling quite worn out with solitude and the pressure of heavy thoughts, began to think that the best thing she could do would be to try to follow his example, when suddenly there came a knock at the boards which served for a door to the shanty.

“Who is it?” she cried, with a start.

“Me – Mr. Meeson,” answered a voice. “Can I come in?” “Yes; if you like,” said Augusta, sharply, though in her

heart she was really glad to see him, or, rather, to hear him, for it was too dark to see anything. It is wonderful how, under the pressure of a great calamity, we forget our quarrels and our spites, and are ready to jump at the prospect of the human companionship of our deadliest enemy. And “the moral of that is,” as the White Queen says, that as we are all night and day face to face with the last dread calamity – Death – we should throughout our lives behave as though we saw the present shadow of his hand. But that will never happen in the world while human nature is human nature – and when will it become anything else?

“Put up the door again,” said Augusta, when, from a rather rawer rush of air than usual, she gathered that her visitor was within the hut.

Mr. Meeson obeyed, groaning audibly. “Those two brutes are getting drunk,” he said, “swallowing down rum by the gallon. I have come because I could not stop with them any longer – and I am so ill, Miss Smithers, so ill! I believe that I am

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going to die. Sometimes I feel as though all the marrow in my bones were ice, and – and – at others just as though somebody were shoving a red-hot wire up them. Can’t you do anything for me?”

“I don’t see what is to be done,” answered Augusta, gently, for the man’s misery touched her in spite of her dislike for him. “You had better lie down and try to go to sleep.”

“To sleep!” he moaned; “how can I sleep? My blanket is wringing wet and my clothes are damp,” and he fairly broke down and began to groan and sob.

“Try and go to sleep,” urged Augusta again.

He made no answer, but by degrees he grew quieter, overwhelmed, perhaps, by the solemn presence of the darkness. Augusta laid her head against the biscuit-bag, and at last sank into blissful oblivion; for to the young, sleep is a constant friend. Once or twice she woke, but only to drop off again; and when she finally opened her eyes it was quite light and the rain had ceased.

Her first care was for little Dick, who had slept soundly throughout the night and appeared to be none the worse. She took him outside the hut and washed his face and hands in the stream and then sat him down to a breakfast of biscuit. As she returned she met the two sailors, who, although they were now fairly sober, bore upon their faces the marks of a fearful debauch. Evidently they had been drinking heavily. She drew herself up and looked at them, and they slunk past her in silence.

Then she returned to the hut. Mr. Meeson was sitting up when she entered, and the bright light from the open door

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that he was going to die, and could touch nothing but some rum-and-water.

“Miss Smithers,” he said, as he sat shivering upon the rocks, “I am going to die in this horrible place, and I am not fit to die! To think of me,” he went on with a sudden burst of his old fire, “to think of me dying like a starved dog in the cold, when I have two millions of money waiting to be spent there in England! And I would give them all – yes, every farthing of them – to find myself safe at home again! By Jove! I would change places with any poor devil of a writer in the Hutches! Yes, I would turn author on twenty pounds a month! – that will give you some idea of my condition, Miss Smithers! To think that I should ever live to say that I would care to be a beggarly author, who could not make a thousand a year if he wrote till his fingers fell off! – oh! oh!” and he fairly sobbed at the horror and degradation of the thought.

Augusta looked at the poor wretch and then bethought her of the proud creature she had known, raging terribly through the obsequious ranks of clerks, and carrying desolation to the Hutches and the many-headed editorial department. She looked, and was filled with reflections on the mutability of human affairs.

Alas! how changed that Meeson!

“Yes,” he went on, recovering himself a little, “I am going to die in this horrible place, and all my money will not even give me a decent funeral. Addison and Roscoe will get it – confound them! – as though they had not got enough already. It makes me mad when I think of those Addison girls spending my money, or bribing Peers to marry them with it, or some-

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thing of that sort. I disinherited my own nephew, Eustace, and kicked him out to sink or swim; and now I can’t undo it, and I would give anything to alter it! We quarrelled about you, Miss Smithers, because I would not give you any more money for that book of yours. I wish I had given it to you – anything you wanted. I didn’t treat you well; but, Miss Smithers, a bargain is a bargain. It would never have done to give way, on principle. You must understand that, Miss Smithers. Don’t revenge yourself on me about it, now that I am helpless, because, you see, it was a matter of principle.”

“I am not in the habit of revenging myself, Mr. Meeson,” answered Augusta, with dignity; “but I think that you have done a very wicked thing to disinherit your nephew in that fashion, and I don’t wonder that you feel uncomfortable about it.”

The expression of this vigorous opinion served to disturb Mr. Meeson’s conscience all the more, and he burst out into laments and regrets.

“Well,” said Augusta at last, “if you don’t like your will you had better alter it. There are enough of us here to witness a will, and, if anything happens to you, it will override the other – will it not?”

This was a new idea, and the dying man jumped at it.

“Of course, of course,” he said; “I never thought of that before. I will do it at once, and cut Addison and Roscoe out altogether. Eustace shall have every farthing I never thought of that before. Come, give me your hand; I’ll get up and see about it.”

“Stop a minute,” said Augusta. “How are you going to write a will without pen or pencil, or paper or ink?”

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Mr. Meeson sank back with a groan. This difficulty had not occurred to him.

“Are you sure nobody has got a pencil and a bit of paper?” he asked. “It would do, so long as the writing remained legible.” “I don’t think so,” said Augusta, “but I will inquire.” Accordingly she went and asked Bill and Johnnie: but neither of them had a pencil or a single scrap of paper, and she returned

sadly to communicate the news.

“I have got it, I have got it,” said Mr. Meeson, as she approached the spot where he lay upon the rock. “If there is no paper or pen, we must write it in blood upon some linen. We can make a pen from the feathers of a bird. I read somewhere in a book of somebody who did that. It will do as well as anything else.”

Here was an idea, indeed, and one that Augusta jumped at. But in another moment her enthusiasm received a check. Where was there any linen to write on?

“Yes,” she said, “if you can find some linen. You have got on a flannel shirt, so have the two sailors, and little Dick is dressed in flannel, too.”

It was a fact. As it happened, not one of the party had a scrap of linen on them, or anything that would answer the purpose. Indeed, they had only one pocket-handkerchief between them, and it was a red rag full of holes. Augusta had had one, but it had blown overboard when they were in the boat. What would they not have given for that pocket-handkerchief now!

“Yes,” said Mr. Meeson, “it seems we have none. I haven’t even get a bank-note, or I might have written in blood upon that; though I have got a hundred sovereigns in gold – I grabbed them

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up before I bolted from the cabin. But I say – excuse me, Miss Smithers, but – um – ah – oh! hang modesty – haven’t you got some linen on, somewhere or other, that you could spare a bit of? You shan’t lose by giving it to me. There, I promise that I will tear up the agreement if ever I get out of this – which I shan’t – which I shan’t – and I will write on the linen that it is to be torn up. Yes, and that you are to have five thousand pounds legacy too, Miss Smithers. Surely you can spare me a little bit – just off the skirt, or somewhere, you know, Miss Smithers? It never will be missed, and it is so very important.”

Augusta blushed, and no wonder. “I am sorry to say I have nothing of the sort about me, Mr. Meeson – nothing except flannel,” she said. “I got up in the middle of the night before the collision, and there was no light in the cabin, and I put on whatever came first, meaning to come back and dress afterwards when it got light.”

“Stays!” said Mr. Meeson, desperately. “Forgive me for mentioning them, but surely you put on your stays? One could write on them, you know.”

“I am very sorry, Mr. Meeson,” she answered, “but I did not put any on.”

“Not a cuff or a collar?” he said, catching at a last straw of hope.

Augusta shook her head sadly.

“Then there is an end of it!” groaned Mr. Meeson. “Eustace must lose the money. Poor lad! poor lad! I have behaved very badly to him.”

Augusta stood still, racking her brain for some expedient, for she was determined that Eustace Meeson should not lose

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