THE STORM.
For several days after the fishing adventure, Flora was confined to her
berth with severe indisposition, and was, indeed, so alarmingly ill,
that at one time she thought that she would be consigned to the deep, as
food for the fishes, on the great banks of Newfoundland. She loathed the
bad water and food, and became so much reduced by sickness, that poor
little Josey had to be weaned.
It was a great blessing that the young, tender creature, suffered little
from the privation. She ate her meals of biscuit softened in the putrid
water, with an appetite that health and hunger alone can give, and
looked as rosy and as happy upon the coarse diet prepared by the kind
and attentive Sam Fraser, as if it had been compounded of the finest
white bread and new milk.
"Oh, what a blessing it is, my darling, that you continue so well!" said
Flora, on the fourth morning after her baby's natural sustenance had
been withdrawn. "I thought this illness would have been the death of
you."
"Dinna distress yersel about the wean," said Mrs. Muckleroy; "the gude
God takes care o' His ain. The wee cherub is as blithe as a lark. The
pure, fresh air, is baith meat an' drink to her."
Fortunately for Flora, the Captain had a consignment of old port on
board, a couple of tablespoonfuls of which, mixed with a little oatmeal,
twice a day, was all the nourishment she was able to take; but, in all
probability, it was the means of saving her life, and preventing her
from sinking from utter exhaustion.
When once more able to leave her bed and crawl upon deck, she looked the
mere shadow of her former self. The women, with whom she was a great
favourite, crowded round her to shake her by the hand, and offer their
congratulations on her recovery. Their simple and affectionate
expressions of regard and sympathy moved her very much.
"What depths of kindness there is in the human heart!" she thought. "How
little do we understand and appreciate the minds of uneducated people,
whom we are too apt to look down upon as inferiors. How far they surpass
the hackneyed children of the world in their generous devotion to those
they love. Unfettered by conventional selfishness, they dare to obey the
natural instincts of their humanity--to act and think with simplicity
and truth. We mistrust them, because we are unacquainted with their
mode of life, and the motives which influence their general conduct.
They look up to us, and have boundless faith in the superiority of our
position and intelligence. When will a higher Christianity than that
which at present rules the world break down the wall which pride and
bigotry have raised between children descended from one parent stock,
and bridge the gulf of poverty and ignorance that now separates them
from each other?"
"The time is coming," cries the philanthropic speculator; but adds, with
a sigh, "it will not be in our day. Yet it will surely come."
Three weeks the ship had been becalmed upon the banks, the dull monotony
of the dreary fog only relieved by the ringing of a large bell and the
blowing of horns, which were kept up at regular intervals during the day
and night, in order to prevent the ship being run down by some larger
vessel.
At length the morning came which brought a fair wind to fill the sails
of the _Anne_; and her passengers looked up to the blue heavens, and
blessed the light of the sun. Joy and hope again beamed from every face.
The little brown man's morose aspect alone remained unchanged.
The tall, lithe figure of Mr. Collins seemed to have grown two inches
higher, as he paced the deck with elastic steps and head erect. The
little tailor was at his post among the clouds at the mast-head, seeing
visions of green fields, and singing like a lark; Stephen Corrie was in
an ecstasy of mirth; and Tam Grant could not cross the deck without
cutting sundry mad capers which set all the rest laughing.
The women crept from their hiding-place in the dark depths of the
steerage, and sat smoking their black short pipes, and chatting in
lively tones to each other. Even Granny Williamson forgot to quarrel
with her daughter, and mounted a clean mutch on the occasion; the
soldier Mackenzie, to scold his diminutive wife; or Mistress Macdonald,
to annoy the Captain with threats of maternity, and bully her husband.
The Sultan of the deck--the dour Boreas himself--resigned for once his
dignity, and condescended to laugh and chat, and draw agreeable presages
of the future, from the fair wind and the smiling day.
Flora felt tranquilly happy, as she sat on a camp stool upon the deck,
with Josey nestled in her arms, and old Oscar basking in the warm sun at
her feet, rejoicing in the change which a few hours had made in their
prospects. The very waves that followed in their wake, and curled around
their prow, flashing and leaping in the sunlight, seemed to lift up
their voices and utter a strain of joyful merriment, in having escaped
the thrall of the dull, lethargic mist, which had so long held them in
silence and inactivity. Yesterday, and not a breath of air stirred the
leaden surface of the sea. No glance from the sun's bright eye looked
down upon them through the blinding, wildering white veil, suspended
between them and heaven. The mist penetrated every where--it hid the
sails, floated above the cold, damp, slippery deck, and entered the very
cabin, chilling their hearts with apathy and gloom.
Nature had suddenly started from her mesmeric trance, and was wide awake
once more; and all the human hearts imprisoned in the _Anne_ responded
to her electric touch. The very ship seemed endowed with living power,
and bounded over the long rolling surges as if she felt the impetus of
the fresh wind which filled her canvas in all her creaking timbers.
"This is glorious, Captain: shall we soon clear the banks?"
"We left them behind two hours ago."
"Shall we see land before night?"
He shook his head. "It's not in the breeks of the _Anne_. She is old,
and slow in her paces. With the same wind, we shall be fortunate if we
do so to-morrow."
Flora went to bed, hoping and praying for the fair wind to continue, and
fill their sails on the morrow.
The morrow came, and filled its appointed place in the long annals of
time; and still the ship held on her course, with the same blue skies
above, and the same blue desert of ocean, limitless and vast, around.
The nearer they approached the desired haven, the more contradictory and
morose Mr. Lootie became. The hope which inspired all with a flutter of
joyful anticipation, seemed to awaken no feelings of gratitude and
thankfulness in him. He grumbled and snarled at every one and every
thing.
At noon, a vessel hove in sight. It was the first that had crossed their
long and lonely path; and as she drew near, every one rushed to the deck
to look at the stranger. She passed so near, that there was but a narrow
path of waves between them; and her crew, in red flannel shirts and
worsted caps, seemed as much swayed by the excitement of the moment, as
the half-starved passengers on board the _Anne_.
The Captain bellowed through his trumpet to enquire her name, port, and
destination, as she glided by, and was answered, in the same trumpet
tones--
"The barque _Mary_ of London, Captain Jones; freight, timber; ten days
from Quebec--all well!"
In a few minutes she was gone, soon to become a mere speck on the
horizon.
Flora turned with a sigh, from following her track along the
deep. She was going home, and the very thought of that distant,
never-to-be-forgotten home, flooded her heart with sad memories.
"Don't look so grave, Mrs. Lyndsay," said old Boreas. "In ten days we
may reach Quebec. I hear Sam ringing the bell for dinner. I thought I
would give you a little treat, and have ordered the cook to prepare for
us a dog's body."
"A dog's body!--Captain, you could not be so cruel!" She glanced round
the deck. Oscar was lying near her, his red eyes gleaming affectionately
upon her through his tangled locks. "You have not, surely, ordered the
poor Northumbrian's brindled slut to be killed, to give a taste of fresh
meat?"
"Why not?" said Boreas, with a grin. "To be sure, she is not in prime
condition. But those three fine pups of hers are as fat as butter. The
Chinese eat dog, and why should not we?"
"You are not in earnest!"
"Ask Sam."
Flora was perplexed. She saw a smile on Lyndsay's face, and went to
Oscar's kennel to ascertain the fact.
Now Oscar, who had three times saved the Captain's life, rejoiced in a
fine greenhouse, which stood near the companion-ladder, and was taken as
much care of as any of the crew. The brindled slut had thought fit to
appropriate this handsome berth to herself, in which she had a fortnight
before brought forth three fine bull-dog pups, which Flora had
christened Triton, Boatswain, and Neptune.
Oscar had manifested the utmost indignation at this appropriation of his
property. He had tried to expel the female invader of his rights with
the most awful threats of vengeance, in the shape of snarls, barks, and
ferocious growls. But Madame Brindle had claimed the law of the
strongest, and, without having consulted Blackstone on the subject, had
found out that possession is nine parts of the law.
For a whole day Oscar had endeavoured to effect an ejectment; but the
brindled slut had very calmly looked out at the door and laughed at his
impotent rage, to the no small amusement of Flora. Oscar at length
abandoned the contest in disgust, and not only left Madame Brindle in
possession, but disdained to go near his old domicile, in which his foe
made herself quite at home, with her bottle-nosed family.
Flora peeped into the kennel, but Brindle had curled herself up for a
comfortable nap, and did not choose to be disturbed.
"I am glad he has not killed you, poor beast," said Flora; "but I don't
see the pups," and, full of anxiety, she followed the Captain down to
dinner.
The laugh was now against her; for the dog's body turned out to be a
pease pudding, of which she ate very heartily, while Boreas rubbed his
hands, and chuckled at the joke.
To while away the tedium of the voyage, she and Lyndsay would take it
by turns to play draughts with the Captain. They always were the
victors. He did not mind being beat by Lyndsay, but his pride was deeply
mortified, whenever Flora won the game.
"A man may beat a man," he would grumble out, "but, d---- it, I don't
like being thrashed by a woman. Mrs. Lyndsay, you have no right to beat
a sailor on his own deck, at checkers."
The Captain was by no means a bad-hearted man; but he had many odd
peculiarities. One of these was his insisting on keeping his pipe in the
large, flat-bottomed, greasy candlestick. This afternoon he missed it
from its usual place.
"Sam!" he thundered, in his stentorian voice--"Sam Fraser!--What the
devil have you done with my pipe?"
"It's in the cupboard, Sir," said Sam, obsequiously.
"How dared you put it in the cupboard, when I had found out such a
_clean_ place for it?"
"Why, Sir,--I thought, Sir, the cupboard was the best place for it."
"You thought! Sir, you have no business to think, without I give you
leave. If I had put it in the pitch-pot, you had no right to take it
out, unordered by me!"
Sam bowed with the gravity of a judge, handing him the black, greasy
pipe, with the deference due from a subject to his sovereign prince.
The Captain had lost his eye in a storm, in which his ship (not the
_Anne_) had suffered wreck. He had effected his escape through the
cabin-window, and a splinter of the glass had pierced his eye and
destroyed his sight. This was one of the occasions in which he had been
saved by the faithful Oscar, who kept him above water until a boat
picked him up. The splinter of glass was afterwards extracted by the
surgeon of a man-of-war; and Boreas kept it in a snuff-box, which he
always carried about his person, and looked upon it in the light of a
charm.
"While I can keep this and Oscar," he said, "I shall never suffer from
shipwreck again."
It would have been a difficult matter for any one to persuade him to
part with the one or the other of these precious relics.
A great many private letters had been entrusted to his care. This was
against the law. Boreas was aware of the fact, and took advantage of it.
Every dull day, Sundays especially, he brought these letters from the
depths of his huge sea-chest, and amused himself by spelling them over,
until he must have learned their contents by heart.
Lyndsay remonstrated with him on this dishonourable conduct.
"Hout! man," he said, "the writers of these letters cheated the
Government in sending them by me. It just serves them right. I shall
read them as often as I please."
This fact should be a useful hint to persons who, for the sake of saving
a trifling amount of postage, entrust letters of consequence to private
hands. These letters never reached their destination. After having
afforded entertainment to this rough seaman during the voyage, they were
thrown overboard before the vessel arrived at Quebec.
The next day the wind still continued fair, but the weather was hazy,
and sultry hot. The Captain promised the first man who should descry
land a dollar, and a double allowance of grog.
"I'll bet upon the little tailor," he cried, as he saw Sandy mounting
with alacrity to his lofty perch. "That fellow has a great soul, though
he wears a small pair of breeks. There's luck in his sharp face and keen
eye."
James Hawke determined not to be outdone by the tailor, and took up an
exalted position on the mast, while the rest of the passengers walked to
and fro the deck, straining their eyes, and looking in all directions
for the promised land. A bank of dull grey clouds obscured the distant
horizon, and for some time they looked in vain.
A warm resinous smell came at times upon the wind, and large masses of
sea-weed floated continually past. Flora was watching these with great
interest, when the little brown man, who had kept quiet for some days,
sauntered to her side.
He was in a more contradictory mood than ever.
"A fine day, Mrs. Lyndsay."
"Rather hazy.--It looks like rain."
"_Quite_ the reverse. The sky is _quite_ clear."
"Independent of that fog-bank."
"_Fog!_ I see no _fog_. You are blind, my dear Madam. The atmosphere is
_unusually_ clear."
Flora stared at him. "Could the man be in his senses?" Presently she
remarked, "that they must be near land, from the quantity of sea-weed
floating upon the water."
"_That's_ not sea-weed!"
"Mr. Lootie, I was born and brought up on the sea-coast: don't you think
I know sea-weed?"
"Not if you call pieces of reed and grass _sea-weed_. And as to being
_near_ land, that's all fudge. The Captain only says so to please you."
Lyndsay, who was standing near, now took Flora's arm, and walked to the
other side of the deck. "What a little contradictory, snarling creature
it is!" he said. "Why do you bandy words with him? Look, here is a piece
of twisted paper. I will go forward, and throw it overboard. It looks
like nothing but what it is. You return to Lootie, and when it passes,
say, 'There's a piece of white paper,' and just hear how he will
contradict the fact."
Flora did as she was told.
Presently the paper floated just beneath the spot where they were
standing.
"Ah!" cries Flora, with feigned surprise, "we must be near land.
See--there is a piece of white paper."
"Pshaw! _Paper indeed!_ where are your eyes? It is a _feather_--a white
_feather_, belonging to some sea-fowl or other."
"A _goosle_, perhaps, Mr. Lootie. But no, it is what I say, a piece of
paper."
"A _feather_, Madam, a _feather_!"
"Why, there's writing upon it; I see the letters."
"Nonsense, it is a _feather_, speckled with black and grey. I'll swear
it's a _feather_!" and his shrill voice rose almost to a scream.
Lyndsay joined the disputants, hardly able to keep from laughing in the
face of the angry little elf. "Flora, did you see the piece of paper I
flung overboard just now? I thought it would set you wondering?"
"Now, Mr. Lootie, what do you say to your _feather_?"
"That I hate senseless jokes, and the fools who make them," snarled the
ex-distiller, as he retired with a face as black as a thunder-cloud.
About four in the afternoon, the clouds cleared away, the sun came out
brilliantly, and the cry of "Land! land, to the left!" was sung out
lustily from the mast-head.
The little tailor had won the promised reward, and it was not many
minutes before he reached the deck to claim it.
Land was indeed in sight, not exactly that which they looked for. The
ship was considerably out of the usual track, and was rather too near
for safety, to the stern mountain peak of Cape Breton. The Captain
calculated it to be about fourteen miles distant before sunset, and the
dark outline of rock and forest was visible to the naked eye.
It was a warm, delicious summer evening, and the smell of the pine
forests was as rich as gales of Araby to the poor emigrants. The Captain
had treated all hands to a stiff glass of grog; and the Duncans had
tuned their fiddles, and young and old were assembled upon the deck for
a dance.
Flora was too much entranced with the sight of land, to heed the dancers
as they bounded past; shouting and laughing in their mad revel of mirth.
The moon had risen above the frowning Cape, and flooded the land and sea
with light. The jollity of the passengers and crew profaned the calm
grandeur of the night--the august and profound solitude of sea and sky.
Gladly would she have shut out all such sights and sounds, to commune
with her own heart, with nature, and with nature's God, while gazing
upon such a scene, at such an hour. "But fast and furious grew the fun,"
and a cry from her babe, whom she had left sleeping in her little cabin,
faint as it was, reached her maternal ear; and she left the revellers,
to attend to the wants of her child.
Josey was fretful and restless, and more than an hour elapsed before
she could hush her again to sleep. She was still lying beside her on her
berth, with the little creature's arms clasped tightly about her neck,
when the ship seemed to reel and lurch, as if suddenly struck by a
tremendous blow. Then came shouts and cries--the trampling of feet, the
creaking of ropes and chains; and still the ship plunged and tossed,
with such a violent motion, that she had to hold to the berth to keep
her feet. What could all this mean?--was she in a dream? Everything was
bright and beautiful above, when she quitted the deck. Whence then came
the confusion of sounds--the hoarse roaring of winds--the dashing of
waves--the fearful tossing to and fro of her ocean home? Flora gently
unclasped the clinging arms of her sleeping babe, and groping her way
through the dark cabin, with great difficulty succeeded in climbing the
companion-ladder, and bringing her head on a level with the deck.
She did not venture higher. She saw enough to convince her that women
had no place amid the horrors of such an awful scene. A sudden squall
from the mountains had struck the ship. The moon had withdrawn her
light; and vast masses of clouds covered the sky, which was before so
clear and brilliant. Vast sheets of foam enveloped the vessel, and huge
billows thundered upon her deck. Not a stitch of canvas was to be seen;
some of the sails had been rent from the mast by the gale; the rest were
close furled. Lyndsay and four other men were at the rudder, to keep
the ship in her course. The roaring of the winds and waves was
deafening. Flora's heart beat violently for a moment, then grew calm
before the grandeur of the scene.
"We are in the hands of God!" she thought; "in life and death we are
His. Submission to His will is the sublimity of faith!"
In the cabin everything was loose. Trunks rolled from side to side. The
mate had removed the light, and utter darkness prevailed. It was a long
time before she could regain her little domicile--the ship pitched with
such violence, that every step brought her to her knees; at length she
found the door, and lifting the mattress from her berth, into which she
found it impossible to climb, she took her baby in her arms, and lay
down upon the heaving floor, commending herself and her
fellow-passengers to the care of God.
To sleep was impossible; but her mind seemed sustained by a lofty
courage which made her feel calm in the midst of danger. This strength
was not her own; it was derived from a higher source--a firm reliance on
the unerring wisdom and providence of God. If death was His decree, she
would try to meet it with becoming fortitude. Resistance and
lamentations were alike useless; even prayers for self-preservation
appeared impious. She was in His keeping, and she felt confident that
whatever might befal her and those so dear to her was for the best.
The hurricane roared through the long starless night. Floods of rain
forced their way through the skylight, and drenched her bed. She buried
her head in the wet blankets, and shivered with cold. Yet Josey slept as
peacefully as ever on her mother's breast, happily unconscious of the
terrors of the hour.
About four o'clock in the morning, Lyndsay opened the door of her little
cabin. The water was streaming from his garments.
"Flora, are you awake?"
"Yes, darling," she cried, starting to a sitting posture; "who could
sleep in such a storm?"
"It has been a dreadful night. The danger is over. The ship is no longer
on the lee shore, but standing out to sea. At one time, we expected that
she would run upon the rocks and go down. The gale still continues, but
we have plenty of sea-room. I have been hard at work all night. The men
behaved like trumps--especially old Macdonald and the Dragoon. I am
going to change these wet clothes, and lie down for an hour. So content
yourself, my Flora. Thank God for our deliverance, and go to sleep."
Flora had silently done that already. In a few minutes she was
slumbering as peacefully as Josey--dreaming of green fields, and running
brooks, and wandering with dear familiar faces, among nature's quiet
haunts, in the memory-haunting eternity of the past.