“MY CHUM.”

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 20, 12 August 1893, Page 13

“MY CHUM.”

A Story of the Diamond Fields. “I wonder you’ve never married’ Uncle ?” “ Do you, my boy, so have a good many people, I fancy ; ” and the speaker puffed meditatively at his pipe. They were sitting, uncle and nephew, in a cosy smoking-room, enjoying an after-dinner smoke. It was comfortably, if quietly furnished, many landscapes, chiefly African scenery, hung on the walls, while heavy racks, filled with guns and whips, stood about. The first speaker was a good-looking man of about five and twenty, with a fraifk, open face. Very different was his uncle, Martin Frere. Hair almost white,, though he was not yet fifty ; a face ■ bronzed by exposure to the,, sun, with lines .that told of suffering and disappointment. His eyes were bright and shining, giving a ybuthful appearance to the otherwise old face. ■ Presently he got up, and taking, a water-colour sketch-from a portfolio, gave it to his nephew. “ That, when;' you have heard the story —and this—” pulling something out of his pocket-book, ‘‘ will explain to you why I have never'married.” That was the sketch, of a wonderfully handsome man. The face, a little-feminineun its delicate colouring and absence of hair on. mouth, and chin' but the mouth was firm yet sweet, and the eyes larg-e. and dark. This: was a curl of chestnut hair with a glint of‘gold running’ through, it, fine and soft as spun silk. ■ The nephew .looked : inquiringly at his uncle, who Replied sadly“ “ That was Philip Darrel, my great chum, who .was murderedd at. Kimberley.-” ' ; ■' “ It’s not a long story, lad, and if you care to listen, I’ll tell you what no other mortal knows except my mother.” There was silence for a few minutes, and the speaker, after gazing thoughtfully into the fire, began thus : I was not always as rich as I am now; about five and twenty years ago, I was a medical student in London. My father was a country doctor, a poor man, who did his best to give his sons a good education, and as I had a taste for medicine, he wished me to follow in his steps. I had a had struggle, for my mother was an invalid, and the district was large but poor. I was in my last year when my father died, worn out, and when we looked into his affairs, it was found he was considerably in debt. He had insured his life for many thousands, the greater part of which was needed to pay his creditors, leaving barely enough to keep us from starving. My staying on at college was out of the question, and. it was just then that the rush for the diamond mines began, so I, with a youth’s sanguineness, thought I had only to go to Kimberly and I should become a millionaire immediately. Out of our scanty funds I purchased a modest “ kit,” and took my berth

in an Qigigrant ship, other., youths as hopeful as myself. Arriving, I made, for the, camp, and, as ill luck would, have.it, being young and' inexperienced, fell into the hands of a villain. He took me in completely, and before I had been a month in the camp, I woke to find myself ruined. My luck was bad, everything I put my hands to turned out ill, and I was rapidly going to the devil when one stepped in between me and hell. That one was Philip Darrel. It was a Saturday night. I had been drinking and gambling heavily with the few coins I had been able to pick up, and, when I rose from the table, 1 had not a single penny in the world. , . I was half mad, and reeled out of the camp, not caring or knowing what became of me. There was a small creek at the bottom of the hill that led to the saloon ; there had been much rain, and it was full to overflowing. I stumbled blindly down the hill, missed the bridge, and fell headlong into the water. To a man in his ordinary senses it w T ould not have been dangerous, but I struck my head against the woodwork, and became unconscious. When I came to myself I was lying on the bank, with some one bending over me. By the lantern’s light I could see it was a man. He said but little, helped me to my hut, and bound up my cut with the deftness and tenderness of a woman. By the morning’s light I saw he was a very hand some man, with deep blue, serious eyes. He told me he was a new chum, just arrived last night, and had been trying to light his lantern when he heard a splash. He took the empty hut next to mine and we became firm friends. His name was Philip Darrel. He was alone in the world; his only brother had died a short time before —they came to Africa together—and, being strangers in a far country, we clung to one another. With him my luck turned, and soon we became known as the Brothers Midas, only in our case it w r as diamonds, not gold. I was able to help those at home and place them out of want or care. Philp was clever and well read; others appreciated him as I did, and gradually the tone of the place rose; the men thought less of gambling or drinking. Bis influence was good, and he never abused or presumed upon it, but worked quietly and unostentatiously among them. “ That is the secret of success with others,” he said: “never let them think that it is you who improve them ; let them think it is by their own unaided efforts they rise. Hover presume on your influence with people; you may go too far, and the result is disastrous alike to them and you.” Sometime after, an unpleasant incident occurred. 1 caught the man who fleeced me, flogging a Kaffir. - How, if there is one thing I hate, it is to see a strong man abusing a weaker, and this man Moore was a cruel bully, and delighted in torturing the wretched blacks. I sprang upon him, wi’enched the whip out of his hand, and gave him the soundest whipping a man ever had. He was utterly cowed and made no resistance. ’Tis always the same with bullies, once subsided, their courage is gone; they are pitiful hounds. When I saw he had had enough, I flung him from me, and he lay grovelling and groaning. I turned, and was walking away when he rose and shrieked the vilest curses I ever heard, after me, and bade me look to myself, as he swore to be revenged. I strode home, and told Philip what I had done. He approved, but looked grave when 1 told him of Moore’s threat, and advised me to keep some weapon about me. Ah ! little did I think then, the thrashing I gave Moore would cause Philip’s death. It was one evening, several months after this incident, that Philip and I

Our conversation had taken . a serious "turn, love being the theme —a curious subject for diamond-seekers. Philip protested that the love of a woman passed that of a man. “A woman,’ ; ’ he said, “can love in secret, and the object of her affections may never know, while a man must make known his passion; he has rarely the strength to keep it hidden. It may be stronger, more passionate, but I doubt if it is more enduring, more faithful and patient than woman’s.” I gazed at him in silence. The rays of the setting sun came in through the doorway and turned his hair to living gold, till his face looked like some saint’s. Turning, he fixed his wonderful eyes on me, saying softly : “ Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.” At that moment he had never seemed so dear to me. I felt awed by him, he was so much above me — one to love and revere. I was crossing the room to him when, with a curious shrill cry, he flung himself in front of me, and at the same time there came a report and I saw him lying at my feet. Alarmed by the shot, the miners came flocking out of their huts; and seeing Philip, as they thought, dead, they, with one consent, made for Moore—it was he —who flew for his life ; and in a few moments he was hanging to the nearest tree. I bent over Philip —he was unconscious. My medical knowledge told me his wound was mortal, and I opened his shirt to staunch the bleeding. As long as I live I shall never forget that moment. Before me lay a woman ! Philip Darrel was no more, and in his place was Philippa, my love. I understood then her conversation of that afternoon —she had spoken of herself ; and 1 was to lose her, cut off in the flower of her gracious womanhood and beauty. She slowly recovered consciousness. I suppose my face must have told her I knew, for she looked at me half defiantly, I bent and kissed her forehead and the look faded from her face. “It was all true,” she gasped painfully, growing faint with the effort of speaking. “My brother died, and I saw no harm. I am' like him, and am tall for a woman, and knew I should be safer so than in my own dress. I am Philippa!” There was silence for a few minutes; my heart was too full to speak. “ Do not —despise me,” she murmured, lifting her heavy eyes to mine. “ Despise you,” I cried brokenly. “ Oh, Philippa, my poor darling, I love you!” A glad, radiant light broke over her face. “ You love me,” she said wistfully; “ I am happy,” and, half rising, flung her arms around me, and kissed and held me close. Then her arms relaxed, and she fell back dead. We buried her in a little forest some distance off under sweet-scented pines. A white stone, with “ Philippa,” marks where she lies. I kept her secret; none knew that she was not what she represented herself to be. After this, the place became hateful to me, and the news coming that an old relative had died intestate and I was wanted as next of kin hastened me home. Philippa had left all her money to me, and this and the new fortune made me rich for life. But of what good was it to me now ? The only thing I coveted was lost to me, and riches could not take its place. The two men shook hands silently, for it was a time when woids are superfluous, and silence best.—Ludgate Monthly.