Yr Ynys Unyg | Page 2

She was
about 12, with the wit, the quickness, the sense of 20, and I had almost
said the size, for so large a proportion of flesh, blood, and bones rarely
fall to the lot of male or female at that age. She was alternately the soul
of fun and merriment or the plague and torment of every one about her.
She had the judgment of mature age and the nonsense of the greatest
baby in her. The mother alone obtained unlimited obedience from her. I
am afraid I have discovered the "unruly one," but all the characters
shall speak for themselves. The mother's own children were three in
number. Oscar, a fine tall active boy, with a grave quick demeanour,
but the open brow and frank sweet smile won him the love of every one.
Lilly, the little girl, was about 6, a little, loving, winning thing, with
eyes like violets, and long dark rich curls floating all round her, from
the middle of which was uplifted a little rosy face, almost perfect in its
childish beauty. Felix, the youngest boy and child, was a little, delicate,
spoilt fellow, whose face seemed made up of naught but eyes and
eyelashes. They were all three quick and clever children; and it was
partly for the improvement of the little boy's health the voyage took
place, the incidents of which are mentioned in this book. Zoë and
Winifred were two little nieces. The former a grave, little, quiet picture
of a sweet Madonna, and the latter a little, sparkling, merry pet, with
the quick action and grace of a fairy. Madame does not know it, or
think we guess it, but Winny is certainly her pet. Mrs. Hargrave, the
lady's maid, and Jenny, the little pet nurse, concluded the females;
while a fine, tall, handsome, athletic gamekeeper formed their only
male attendant. Now, having said my say, I leave you; but you must be
answerable for the faults of this journal if you will publish it; nothing
could be more irregular and hasty than its compilation. With this
burden on your shoulders, dear friend, believe me, thine in all pity and

affection,
A FRIEND.
CHAPTER I.
On the 3rd of May, 183--, we embarked on board our pretty yacht, "La
Luna," the crew of which included all the party mentioned in the
preceding pages, besides those necessary to work her. These consisted
of a captain, two mates, a boatswain, fourteen seamen, a cook, a
steward, and my son's gamekeeper. Captain MacNab was a remarkably
nice, active, bluff, plain-spoken man. It was easy to be seen that he was
not too much pleased at commanding a company composed so entirely
of women and children; neither do I think he would have undertaken
the charge had we not expected Sir Walter Mayton, my children's
guardian, and Mr. B., their tutor, to make part of the live stock. The
former was prevented accompanying us by domestic matters; the latter
from his father's death. But we made arrangements for both to join us at
Madeira, for it was not deemed advisable to wait the month it would
take Mr. B. to settle his father's affairs and provide a home for his
sisters. The weather was so beautiful it was thought we could easily
spend a month in the Mediterranean, previously to extending our
voyage across the Atlantic; besides I was anxious to see the promised
roses restored to my little son's face, and, without being foolhardy or
presumptuous, I could not entertain the least idea of danger. Our first
mate, Mr. Skead, was not only extremely skilful, but the nicest merriest
person on board, being quite as ready to be the boys' play-fellow as
they could be to have him. Mr. Austin was the second mate, a grave
religious person, who kindly acted chaplain for us. Of the seamen I
need say nothing, but that they were all picked men. Alas, when I recall
that day, and see so vividly before me all their rough but honest manly
faces, and remember the close intimacy that, being sharers in one
common home, participators in all things alike, engendered, I cannot
but mourn over each face as I recall it to memory. In the few months
we were together each seemed a part of the family, and in the sudden
severing of our lives and fates mournful thoughts will arise as to what
can have been the fate of those in whom we were so interested. But I

must not anticipate, and, moreover, my task is a long one, and I have no
time to spare lingering over the past. Our cook was a black man, called
Benjie, which rather disturbed the peace of the little girls. They could
not think the white rolls were really made by his