Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure

The only discordant sounds that met the ears of those who voyaged in the bark Ocean Queen were the cacklings of a creature in the hen-coops which had laid an egg, or thought it had done so, or wished to do so, or, having been sea-sick up to that time, perhaps, endeavoured to revive its spirits by recalling the fact that it once did so, and might perhaps do so again! By the way there was also one other discord, in the form of a pugnacious baby, which whimpered continuously, and, from some unaccountable cause, refused to be comforted. But that was a discord which, as in some musical chords, seemed rather to improve the harmony—at least in its mother’s ears.

The Ocean Queen was an emigrant ship. In her capacious hull, besides other emigrants, there were upwards of seventy diamonds from the Beehive in Spitalfields on their way to seek their fortunes in the lands that are watered by such grand fresh-water seas as Lakes Superior and Huron and Michigan and Ontario, and such rivers as the Ottawa and the Saint Lawrence.

Robert Frog and Tim Lumpy were among those boys, so changed for the better in a few months that, as the former remarked, “their own mothers wouldn’t know ’em,” and not only improved in appearance, but in spirit, ay, and even to some small extent in language—so great had been the influence for good brought to bear on them by Christian women working out of love to God and souls.

“Ain’t it lovely?” said Tim.

“Splendacious!” replied Bob.

The reader will observe that we did not say the language had, at that time, been much improved! only to some small extent.

“I’ve seen pictur’s of ’em, Bob,” said Tim, leaning his arms on the vessel’s bulwarks as he gazed on the sleeping sea, “w’en a gen’l’man came to George Yard with a magic lantern, but I never thought they was so big, or that the holes in ’em was so blue.”

“Nor I neither,” said Bob.

They referred, of course, to the iceberg, the seams and especially the caverns in which graduated from the lightest azure to the deepest indigo.

“Why, I do believe,” continued Bobby, as the haze grew a little thinner, “that there’s rivers of water runnin’ down its sides, just like as if it was a mountain o’ loaf-sugar wi’ the fire-brigade a-pumpin’ on it. An’ see, there’s waterfalls too, bigger I do b’lieve than the one I once saw at a pantomime.”

“Ay, an’ far prettier too,” said Tim.

Bobby Frog did not quite see his way to assent to that. The waterfalls on the iceberg were bigger, he admitted, than those in the pantomime, but then, there was not so much glare and glitter around them.

“An’ I’m fond of glare an’ glitter,” he remarked, with a glance at his friend.

“So am I, Bob, but—”

At that instant the dinner-bell rang, and the eyes of both glittered—they almost glared—as they turned and made for the companion-hatch, Bob exclaiming, “Ah, that’s the thing that I’m fond of; glare an’ glitter’s all wery well in its way, but it can’t ’old a candle to grub!”

Timothy Lumpy seemed to have no difference of opinion with his friend on that point. Indeed the other sixty-eight boys seemed to be marvellously united in sentiment about it, for, without an exception, they responded to that dinner-bell with a promptitude quite equal to that secured by military discipline! There was a rattling of feet on decks and ladderways for a few seconds, and then all was quiet while a blessing was asked on the meal.

For many years Miss Annie Macpherson has herself conducted parties of such boys to Canada, but the party of which we write happened to be in charge of a gentleman whom we will name the Guardian; he was there to keep order, of course, but in truth this was not a difficult matter, for the affections of the boys had been enlisted, and they had already learned to practise self-restraint.

That same day a whale was seen. It produced a sensation among the boys that is not easily described. Considerately, and as if on purpose, it swam round the ship and displayed its gigantic proportions; then it spouted as though to show what it could do in that line, and then, as if to make the performance complete and reduce the Westminster Aquarium to insignificance, it tossed its mighty tail on high, brought it down with a clap like thunder, and finally dived into its native ocean followed by a yell of joyful surprise from the rescued waifs and strays.

There were little boys, perhaps even big ones, in that band, who that day received a lesson of faith from the whale. It taught them that pictures, even extravagant ones, represent great realities. The whale also taught them a lesson of error, as was proved by the remark of one waif to a brother stray:—

“I say, Piggie, it ain’t ’ard now, to b’lieve that the whale swallered Jonah.”

“You’re right, Konky.”

Strange interlacing of error with error traversed by truth in this sublunary sphere! Piggie was wrong in admitting that. Konky was right, for, as every one knows, or ought to know, it was not a whale at all that swallowed Jonah, but a “great fish” which was “prepared” for the purpose.

But the voyage of the Ocean Queen was not entirely made up of calms, and luminous fogs, and bergs, and whales, and food. A volume would be required to describe it all. There was much foul weather as well as fair, during which periods a certain proportion of the little flock, being not very good sailors, sank to depths of misery which they had never before experienced—not even in their tattered days—and even those of them who had got their “sea-legs on,” were not absolutely happy.

“I say, Piggie,” asked the waif before mentioned of his chum, (or dosser), Konky, “’ow long d’ee think little Mouse will go on at his present rate o’ heavin’?”

“I can’t say,” answered the stray, with a serious air; “I ain’t studied the ’uman frame wery much, but I should say, ’e’ll bust by to-morrow if ’e goes on like ’e’s bin doin’.”

A tremendous sound from little Mouse, who lay in a neighbouring bunk, seemed to justify the prophecy.

But little Mouse did not “bust.” He survived that storm, and got his sea-legs on before the next one.

The voyage, however, was on the whole propitious, and, what with school-lessons and Bible-lessons and hymn-singing, and romping, and games of various kinds instituted and engaged in by the Guardian, the time passed profitably as well as pleasantly, so that there were, perhaps, some feelings of regret when the voyage drew to an end, and they came in sight of that Great Land which the Norsemen of old discovered; which Columbus, re-discovering, introduced to the civilised world, and which, we think, ought in justice to have been named Columbia.

And now a new era of life began for those rescued waifs and strays—those east-end diamonds from the great London fields. Canada—with its mighty lakes and splendid rivers, its great forests and rich lands, its interesting past, prosperous present, and hopeful future—opened up to view. But there was a shadow on the prospect, not very extensive, it is true, but dark enough to some of them just then, for here the hitherto united band was to be gradually disunited and dispersed, and friendships that had begun to ripen under the sunshine of Christian influence were to be broken up, perhaps for ever. The Guardian, too, had to be left behind by each member as he was severed from his fellows and sent to a new home among total strangers.

Still there were to set off against these things several points of importance. One of these was that the Guardian would not part with a single boy until the character of his would-be employer was inquired into, and his intention to deal kindly and fairly ascertained. Another point was, that each boy, when handed over to an employer, was not to be left thereafter to care for himself, but his interests were to be watched over and himself visited at intervals by an emissary from the Beehive, so that he would not feel friendless or forsaken even though he should have the misfortune to fall into bad hands. The Guardian also took care to point out that, amid all these leave-takings and partings, there was One who would “never leave nor forsake” them, and to whom they were indebted for the first helping hand, when they were in their rags and misery, and forsaken of man.

At last the great gulf of Saint Lawrence was entered, and here the vessel was beset with ice, so that she could not advance at a greater rate than two or three miles an hour for a considerable distance.

Soon, however, those fields of frozen sea were passed, and the end of the voyage drew near. Then was there a marvellous outbreak of pens, ink, and paper, for the juvenile flock was smitten with a sudden desire to write home before going to the interior of the new land.

It was a sad truth that many of the poor boys had neither parent nor relative to correspond with, but these were none the less eager in their literary work, for had they not Miss Macpherson and the ladies of the Home to write to?

Soon after that, the party landed at the far-famed city of Quebec, each boy with his bag containing change of linen, and garments, a rug, etcetera; and there, under a shed, thanks were rendered to God for a happy voyage, and prayer offered for future guidance.

Then the Guardian commenced business. He had momentous work to do. The Home of Industry and its work are well-known in Canada. Dusty diamonds sent out from the Beehive were by that time appreciated, and therefore coveted; for the western land is vast, and the labourers are comparatively few. People were eager to get the boys, but the character of intending employers had to be inquired into, and this involved care. Then the suitability of boys to situations had to be considered. However, this was finally got over, and a few of the reclaimed waifs were left at Quebec. This was the beginning of the dispersion.

“I don’t like it at all,” said Bobby Frog to his friend Tim Lumpy, that evening in the sleeping car of the railway train that bore them onward to Montreal; “they’ll soon be partin’ you an’ me, an’ that’ll be worse than wallerin’ in the mud of Vitechapel.”

Bobby said this with such an expression of serious anxiety that his little friend was quite touched.

“I hope not, Bob,” he replied. “What d’ee say to axin’ our Guardian to put us both into the same sitivation?”

Bobby thought that this was not a bad idea, and as they rolled along these two little waifs gravely discussed their future prospects. It was the same with many others of the band, though not a few were content to gaze out of the carriage windows, pass a running commentary on the new country, and leave their future entirely to their Guardian. Soon, however, the busy little tongues and brains ceased to work, and ere long were steeped in slumber.

At midnight the train stopped, and great was the sighing and groaning, and earnest were the requests to be let alone, for a batch of the boys had to be dropped at a town by the way. At last they were aroused, and with their bags on their shoulders prepared to set off under a guide to their various homes. Soon the sleepiness wore off, and, when the train was about to start, the reality of the parting seemed to strike home, and the final handshakings and good wishes were earnest and hearty.

Thus, little by little, the band grew less and less.

Montreal swallowed up a good many. While there the whole band went out for a walk on the heights above the reservoir with their Guardian, guided by a young Scotsman.

“That’s a jolly-lookin’ ’ouse, Tim,” said Bob Frog to his friend.

The Scotsman overheard the remark.

“Yes,” said he, “it is a nice house, and a good jolly man owns it. He began life as a poor boy. And do you see that other villa—the white one with the green veranda among the trees? That was built by a man who came out from England just as you have done, only without anybody to take care of him; God however cared for him, and now you see his house. He began life without a penny, but he had three qualities which will make a man of any boy, no matter what circumstances he may be placed in. He was truthful, thorough, and trustworthy. Men knew that they might believe what he said, be sure of the quality of what he did, and could rely upon his promises. There was another thing much in his favour, he was a total abstainer. Drink in this country ruins hundreds of men and women, just as in England. Shun drink, boys, as you would a serpent.”

“I wouldn’t shun a drink o’ water just now if I could get it,” whispered Bobby to his friend, “for I’m uncommon thirsty.”

At this point the whole band were permitted to disperse in the woods, where they went about climbing and skipping like wild squirrels, for these novel sights, and scents, and circumstances were overwhelmingly delightful after the dirt and smoke of London.

When pretty well breathed—our waifs were grown too hardy by that time to be easily exhausted—the Guardian got them to sit round him and sing that sweet hymn:

“Shall we gather at the river?”

And tears bedewed many eyes, for they were reminded that there were yet many partings in store before that gathering should take place.