Ralph Denham's Adventures in Burma: A Tale of the Burmese Jungle

Mrs. Denham sat in her parlour, a two years old baby boy asleep upon her lap, and an anxious, mournful expression upon her face. She wore the dress of a widow,--a dress so new in its folds that it was evidently but a short time since the Dread Messenger had paused at her threshold to bear away its master and bread-winner.

The room was a shabby one; the fire but a handful of dusty ashes; rain fell without in the dreary street; it was growing dusk, and a soul-depressing cry of "Want chee-e-ep? Do ye want chee-e-eps?" arose ever and anon, as the ragged Irish chip boy wandered up and down.

It was a street of cheap houses in the suburbs of Liverpool, where the misery of poor gentility is perhaps more without alloy than in any other town.

But the door burst open, and a bright-faced, rosy, blue-eyed boy entered, with the freshness of out-of-doors upon him.

"All alone, mother?" said he. "Where's Agnes? Where are the little ones? Why, what a scurvy fire you have! let me cheer it up a little."

He began piling lumps of coal upon the embers in a scientific manner, to which a blaze quickly responded; when he swept up the hearth, and uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as he bent to kiss his mother's face.

"It requires a man to make up a fire," said he. "Where are all the others?"

"Agnes is giving the little ones their tea in the kitchen," replied Mrs. Denham. "I asked her to keep them out of the way for a while, because I want to talk to you, Ralph dear."

"All right, mother mine, fire away," said the boy, throwing himself down on the hearthrug, and resting one arm upon her knee.

"Ralph dear," resumed she, "your uncle Sam has come home; he has been here this afternoon."

"Uncle Sam? How jolly! When did the Pelican come in, mother? I did not know that she was even off Holyhead."

"The Pelican was docked last night, dear, upon the evening tide," said she; "and your uncle has been here a long time this afternoon."

"Was he not very sorry to hear about father?" asked Ralph in a low voice.

"Yes, dear; but he was prepared for the news by my last letter. He is a very kind brother; he has been giving my affairs his careful consideration all the way home, and has already offered some prospect of help; but this depends upon you, Ralph."

"Upon me, mother? I would be so proud to help. You may reckon upon me; but what can I do?"

"What it is a bitter pill for me to swallow, my boy, yet it would be such a help that I do not know how to refuse it."

"What is it, mother?"

"It is for you to go out to Burma, dear. When my last letter reached him, and he knew of your father's hopeless state of health, Uncle Sam secured for you the chance of a situation in a rice firm in Rangoon. He says that there would be a salary at once, upon which you could live with care, and which would soon improve into something much better, and into a position from which, in a few years, you might help one of your brothers. It is not in the house of Herford Brothers,--I wish it were,--but, as he sails for them, he will often see you, and bring us home news of you. It would not be as if you went to quite a strange place, where you would know nobody; and, Ralph, it would be an immense relief even to have your keep off my hands just at present. Dear Agnes maintains herself by her teaching; Lisa's scholarship provides for her education; and if you, my darling boy, were not here we might double up closer and spare another room for a second lodger, which would be a great help to me. But I do not know how to part with you, Ralph, my boy,--my dear, dear boy!"

The poor lady bent her face down upon the curly, tousled head at her knee, and wept sorrowfully.

Ralph passed his arm round her neck in silence, for tumultuous emotion choked him, and he could not speak at first. There had been a time, not so long before, when he would have been wild with delight at the thought of leaving school, going abroad, seeing new countries, being independent. But recent events had sobered his spirits and made him more thoughtful.

He pondered the scheme now without excitement or selfish pleasure; he tried to think whether it would be well for his mother were he to leave her. It seemed to him that it would be so.

"Mother," said he, "it is not as if Agnes were not older than I. Agnes is seventeen, and a companion to you, while I am not old enough to take father's place with Jack and Reggie. They would not attend to me nor obey me."

"No, dear."

"Then when father was dying he bade me do my best to help you, and I promised that I would. If this is the best for you, mother, I must do it."

There was a manly ring in his voice as he said this, echoing so plainly the sound of the voice that was gone, that his mother almost felt as if it were her husband speaking to her in her son.

They sat silent for a long time, hand clasped in hand; then the sleeping child awoke, and recalled Mrs. Denham to her busy life.

"Uncle Sam is coming back to supper, and wants to talk to you about this," said she.

"I will go out for a walk, to think it all over, if you don't mind, mother; I will come in again by supper time," said the boy.

"Do, dear; it is not a plan that should be carried out in a hurry," said she. And Ralph took up his cap and went out.

He strolled aimlessly up one street, down another, his hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the ground; then, with sudden determination, he changed his purposeless steps towards the town, and steadily pursued his road to meet his uncle.

So rapidly did he walk now, that he reached the lodging to which Captain Rogers always repaired when on shore just as he was emerging from the door.

"Halloa, my son!" called out the sailor in Cornish accents, "whither so fast?"

"I came to meet you, uncle. Mother has been telling me of your plan for me, and I wanted to talk to you about it while we could be alone."

"Ay, that's right. Men can settle things between themselves better than when there is a lot of soft-hearted women by, to cry over the Lord knows what. You are 'most a man now, Ralph. How you have grown since I've been away! How old are you now?"

"Fifteen, uncle. Fifteen and a half."

"Too old to be lopping about at your mother's apron strings. Old enough to be of some use and good, are you not?"

"Is this plan of use, uncle? Do you really think it would be good for mother?"

"Well, sonnie, to speak the plain truth I don't see no other way in which you are half as likely to keep off her hands. They are full enough, Ralph, without a great hearty fellow like you to be eating her out of house and home."

"That is so, uncle."

"I think that the Herfords would give you a free voyage out. I believe that I could work it so that they would. If they will, you cost her nothing more from this time. Agnes is a sensible maid, she can look after your mother better than you can. I will pay her rent for her, and take Jack to sea with me as soon as he is old enough; and then with a lodger or two, and the bit of money that she has, she may do fairly well. Be a man, Ralph, and do your part."