In the harbour of Calais rode at anchor the ship “Espérance,” which was
taking on passengers and their goods for the long voyage to New Orleans.
Owing to the shallow water, the ship could not approach the quay, and
all the watermen of the town were busy carrying back and forth those
who, like our travellers, were outward bound, or those who came merely
to say a last farewell.
On the walls of the town were gathered a motley crew, who, not having
friends on board, sought to gain some excitement by watching the
partings of others; and as from time to time the chimes rang out from
the belfry behind the citadel, the little craft in the harbour became
even more animated, since they now carried out to the “Espérance” some
who had been belated on their way thither, and sought to get themselves
and their goods safely aboard before the turn of the tide should serve
to carry the ship out through the Straits into the English Channel.
Watching this scene from the cramped deck of the ship, Clemence and
Pierre stood together, the former giving free vent to her tears, which
rolled unheeded down her cheeks at the thought that she was leaving
behind her so much which had hitherto made her life joyful.
Her sadness was reflected in her husband’s face, and at last he spoke.
“Dear wife, ’tis not yet too late to return. Say one word, and I can
call one of those dingeys which shall carry us back to shore.”
“Nay, Pierre, I would go with you. But indeed I must weep, since never
again do these eyes expect to look on my beautiful France.”
“I pray your sacrifice may not cost too dear,” said Pierre, pressing her
hand; and as she wept she whispered,—
“The grief I feel at parting from France is naught compared to what I
should feel at parting from you.”
Even as she spoke, there began such a scene of bustle and confusion that
Clemence perforce dried her eyes to gaze upon it. The sailors were
running to and fro stowing the goods of passengers away, and piled on
the deck were feather-beds and pallets of straw, each passenger
providing such beds and covering as his station in life permitted, since
the ship provided only the room in which these might be laid. Boatloads
of people were leaving the ship, some merry, some grave, and above all
the noise rose the sharp commands of the Captain. At last sounded the
shrill notes of the boatswain’s whistle, and the crew began to man the
capstan bars. One of the sailors commenced to sing to ease the labour
off a bit, and at the sound of the well-known chorus,
“Ho, ho, batelier, batelier,
Tirez, tirez,
Ancre de flot,
Tirez Roget, tirez Notet,”
the crew joined in, so that the bars worked like magic, and the anchor
rose into sight, then came short up, and finally, with another drive of
the bars, swung all wet and dripping at the bows.
Ere this the huge sails had been bent into place, and now with the fresh
evening breeze began to draw, while from every side came the curious
creak and tugging noise which is present in every sailing craft. ’Twas
not many moments ere the “Espérance” had her nose pointed seaward, and
was bowling along with the white foam flying in her wake. All too
quickly the shores and buildings of the town receded from the sight of
those who gazed on them with tears, and even the belfry chimes had a
melancholy sound as they floated out over the water.
Pierre and Clemence stood by the rail, rather apart from the other
passengers, and when the purple twilight had swallowed up France, Pierre
said,—
“See, Clemence, a good omen. Look at the new moon.”
“It is a happy sign, and glad am I to see it. How silvery it looks, and
see the horn dips not at all, which argues well for a smooth voyage.”
Though the “Espérance” was not a swift craft, she was a steady one.
There were three weary months spent on board of her, and the moon proved
a false prophet, since they encountered storms and head winds, and in
addition had the alarm of pirates and the heat of the tropics. Worse
even than the perils of the Atlantic were those encountered when they
entered the Gulf of Mexico, where also pirates lay in wait, where there
were contrary currents, and worse than all, sandbars, upon which the
ship grounded. Many manœuvres were tried to ease her off, and there was
despair felt on all sides when it was ordered that the baggage should be
thrown overboard. Fortunately this sacrifice became unnecessary, as the
second high-tide floated her off, and slowly the “Espérance” glided into
deeper water. Pierre and Clemence heard with joy the rattle of the chain
as the anchor was thrown overboard in the harbour of the Belize,
thinking, poor souls, that the sufferings of the journey were over.
Clemence turned with a bright smile to poor Marie, who sat upon a pile
of bedding which lay on the deck, where it had been thrown in order to
be ready for departure from the ship. The old nurse had suffered greatly
during the long, tedious journey, and even now she looked sad and worn
as she sat there in the sunshine, holding little Annette on her knees.
“Come, Marie, look less sad; soon will we reach the spot where our home
is to be. Let me hold the little one.”
“Oh, Madame, little did I know of the horrors before us! Praise God that
we still live, we and the little cat.”
“Truly the little cat and Annette seem to have fared better than the
rest of us,” said Clemence, laughing. “Let us hope there will be fewer
mice than you expect.”
“But, Madame, a cat is so comfortable, and in this wild land there be
few enough comforts, I well know.”