IN WHICH THE FATE OF FRANCONIA IS SEEN.
THE reader may remember that in a former chapter we left Annette and
Franconia, in company of the stranger, on board the steamer for
Wilmington, swiftly gliding on her course. Four bells struck as the
surging craft cleared the headlands and shaped her course. The
slender invalid, so neat of figure, and whose dress exhibited so
much good taste, has been suddenly transformed into a delicate girl
of some seventeen summers. As night spreads its shadows over the
briny scene, and the steaming craft surges onward over rolling
swells, this delicate girl may be seen emerging from her cabin
confines, leaning on Franconia's arm as she approaches the promenade
deck. Her fawn-coloured dress, setting as neatly as it is
chastefully cut, displays a rounded form nicely compact; and,
together with a drawn bonnet of green silk, simply arranged, and
adding to her fair oval face an air of peculiar delicacy, present
her with personal attractions of no ordinary character. And then her
soft blue eyes, and her almost golden hair, hanging in thick wavy
folds over her carnatic cheeks, add to the symmetry of her features
that sweetness which makes modesty more fascinating. And though she
has been but a slave, there is a glow of gentleness pervading her
countenance, over which a playful smile now sheds a glow of
vivacity, as if awakening within her bosom new hopes of the future.
The suddenness with which they embarked served to confuse and dispel
all traces of recognition; and even the stranger, as they advanced
toward him, hesitated ere he greeted Annette and extended his hand.
But they soon joined in conversation, promenaded and mingled with
the passengers. Cautious not to enter the main cabin, they remained,
supperless, on the upper deck, until near midnight. That social
prejudice which acts like a crushing weight upon the slave's mind
was no longer to deaden her faculties; no, she seemed like a new
being, as, with childish simplicity, her soul bounded forth in
rhapsody of praise and thankfulness. Holding Franconia by the hand,
she would kiss her, fondle her head on her bosom, and continue to
recount the pleasure she anticipated when meeting her long-lost
mother. "They'll sell me no more, Franconia, will they?" she would
exclaim, looking enquiringly in her face.
"No, my poor child; you won't be worth selling in a land of
freedom!" Franconia would answer, jocosely. After charging Maxwell
to be a father and a brother to the fugitive girl,--to remember that
a double duty was to be performed in his guardianship over the being
who had just escaped from slavery, they retired below, and on the
following morning found themselves safely landed at Wilmington,
where, after remaining about six hours, Franconia bid Annette and
Maxwell adieu! saw them on their way to New York, and returned to
Charleston by the same steamer.
On reaching her home, she was overjoyed at finding a letter from her
parents, who, as set forth, had many years resided on the west coast
of Mexico, and had amassed a considerable fortune through a
connection with some mining operations. Lorenzo, on the first
discovery of gold in California, having joined a marauding party who
were traversing that country, was amongst the earliest who enriched
themselves from its bountiful yield. They gave up their wild
pursuits, and with energy and prudence stored-up their diggings, and
resolved to lead a new life. With the result of one year's digging,
Lorenzo repaired to San Francisco, entered upon a lucrative
business, increased his fortune, and soon became a leading man of
the place. The hope that at some day he would have means wherewith
to return home, wipe away the stain which blotted his character, and
relieve his parents from the troubles into which his follies had
brought them, seemed like a guiding star ever before him. And then
there was his generous-hearted uncle in the hands of Graspum,--that
man who never lost an opportunity of enriching himself while
distressing others. And now, by one of those singularities of
fortune which give persons long separated a key to each other's
wayfaring, Lorenzo had found out the residence of his parents on the
west coast of Mexico. Yes; he was with them, enjoying the comforts
of their domicile, at the date of their letter. How happy they would
be to see their Franconia, to have her with them, and once more
enjoy their social re-unions so pleasantly given on brother
Marston's plantation! Numberless were the letters they had written
her, but not an answer to one had been received. This had been to
them a source of great misgiving; and as a last resource they had
sent this letter enclosed to a friend, through whose kindness it
reached her.
The happy intelligence brought by this letter so overjoyed Franconia
that she could with difficulty restrain her feelings. Tears of
gladness coursed down her cheeks, as she rested her head on Mrs.
Rosebrook's bosom, saying, "Oh, how happy I am! Sweet is the
forgiveness which awaits us,--strong is the hope that through
darkness carries us into brighter prospects of the future." Her
parents were yet alive-happy and prosperous; her brother, again an
honourable man, and regretting that error which cost him many a
tear, was with them. How inscrutable was the will of an all-wise
Providence: but how just! To be ever sanguine, and hope for the
best, is a passion none should be ashamed of, she thought. Thus
elated in spirits she could not resist the temptation of seeking
them out, and enjoying the comforts of their parental roof.
But we must here inform the reader that M'Carstrow no longer acted
the part of a husband towards Franconia. His conduct as a debauchee
had driven her to seek shelter under the roof of Rosebrook's
cottage, while he, a degraded libertine, having wasted his living
among cast-out gamblers, mingled only with their despicable society.
Stripped of all arts and disguises, and presented in its best form,
the result of Franconia's marriage with Colonel M'Carstrow was but
one of those very many unhappy connections so characteristic of
southern life.
Provided with funds which the generous Rosebrooks kindly furnished
her, a fortnight after the receipt of her father's letter found her
embarked on board a steamer bound for the Isthmus, from whence she
would seek her parents overland. With earnest resolution she had
taken a fond leave of the Rosebrooks, and bid adieu to that home and
its associations so dear to her childhood; and with God and happy
associations her guide and her protector, was bounding over the sea.
For three days the gallant ship sped swiftly onward, and the
passengers, among whom she made many friends, seemed to enjoy
themselves with one accord, mingling together for various
amusements, spreading their social influence for the good of all,
and, with elated spirits at the bright prospect, anticipating a
speedy voyage. All was bright, calm, and cheering-the monster
machines working smoothly, pressing the leviathan forward with
curling brine at her bows, until the afternoon of the fourth day,
when the wind in sharp gusts from the south-west, and the sudden
falling of the barometer, admonished the mariner of the approaching
heavy weather. At sunset a heavy bank in the west hung its
foreboding festoons along the horizon, while light, fleecy clouds
gathered over the heavens, and scudded swiftly into the east.
Steadily the wind increased, the sea became restless, and the sharp
chops thundering at the weather bow, veering the ship from her
course, rendering it necessary to keep her head a point nearer the
westward, betokened a gale. To leeward were the Bahamas, their
dangerous banks spreading awe among the passengers, and exciting the
fears of the more timid. On the starboard bow was Key West, with its
threatening and deceptive reefs, but far enough ahead to be out of
danger. At midnight, the wind, which had increased to a gale, howled
in threatening fierceness. Overhead, the leaden clouds hung low
their massive folds, and thick spray buried the decks and rigging;
beneath, the angry ocean spread out in resistless waves of
phosphorous light, and the gallant craft surged to and fro like a
thing of life on a plain of rolling fire. Now she yields to the
monster wave threatening her bow, over another she rides proudly,
and to a third her engines slowly rumble round, as with half-buried
deck she careens to its force. The man at the wheel, whose head we
see near a glimmering light at the stern, watches anxiously for the
word of command, and when received, executes it with quickness. An
intruding sea has driven the look-out from the knight-heads to a
post at the funnel, where, near the foremast, he clings with
tenacious grip. Near him is the first officer, a veteran seaman, who
has seen some twenty years' service, receiving orders from the
captain, who stands at the weather quarter. Noiselessly the men
proceed to execute their duties. There is not that bustle nor
display of seamanship, in preparing a steamer for encountering a
gale, so necessary in a sailing-ship; and all, save the angry
elements, move cautiously on. The engineer, in obedience to the
captain's orders, has slowed his engines. The ship can make but
little headway against the fierce sea; but still, obedient to her
command, it is thought better to maintain power just sufficient to
keep her head to the sea. The captain says it is necessary, as well
to ease her working as not to strain her machinery. He is supposed
the better judge, and to his counsel all give ear. Now and then a
more resolute passenger shoots from no one knows where, holds
struggling by the jerking shroud, and, wrapt in his storm cloak, his
amazed eyes, watching the scudding elements overhead, peer out upon
the raging sea: then he mutters, "What an awful sight! how madly
grand with briny light!" How sublimely terrific are the elements
here combined to wage war against the craft he thought safe from
their thunders! She is but a pigmy in their devouring sweep, a
feeble prey at their mercy. The starboard wheel rumbles as it turns
far out of water; the larboard is buried in a deep sea the ship
careens into. Through the fierce drear he sees the black funnel
vomiting its fiery vapour high aloft; he hears the chain braces
strain and creak in its support; he is jerked from his grasp,
becomes alarmed for his safety, and suddenly disappears. In the
cabin he tells his fellow voyagers how the storm rages fearfully:
but it needed not his word to confirm the fact: the sudden lurching,
creaking of panel-work, swinging to and fro of lamps, sliding from
larboard to starboard of furniture, the thumping of the sea against
the ship's sides, prostrate passengers made helpless by sea
sickness, uncouched and distributed about the floor, moaning
females, making those not ill sick with their wailings, timid
passengers in piteous accents making their lamentations in state
rooms, the half frightened waiter struggling timidly along, and the
wind's mournful music as it plays through the shrouds, tell the tale
but too forcibly. Hope, fear, and prayer, mingle in curious discord
on board this seemingly forlorn ship on an angry sea. Franconia lies
prostrate in her narrow berth, now bracing against the panels, then
startled by an angry sea striking at her pillow, like death with his
warning mallet announcing, "but sixteen inches separate us!"
Daylight dawns forth, much to the relief of mariners and passengers;
but neither the wind nor the sea have lessened their fierceness.
Slowly and steadily the engines work on; the good ship looks
defiantly at each threatening sea, as it sweeps along irresistibly;
the yards have been sent down, the topmasts are struck and housed;
everything that can render her easy in a sea has been stowed to the
snuggest compass; but the broad ocean is spread out a sheet of
raging foam. The drenched captain, his whiskers matted with saline,
and his face glowing and flushed (he has stood the deck all night),
may be seen in the main cabin, cheering and dispelling the fears of
his passengers. The storm cannot last-the wind will soon lull-the
sea at meridian will be as calm as any mill-pond-he has seen a
thousand worse gales; so says the mariner, who will pledge his
prophecy on his twenty years' experience. But in this one instance
his prophecy failed, for at noon the gale had increased to a
hurricane, the ship laboured fearfully, the engines strained and
worked unsteadily, while the sea at intervals made a breach of the
deck. At two o'clock a more gloomy spectacle presented itself; and
despondency seemed to have seized all on board, as a sharp,
cone-like sea boarded the ship abaft, carried away the quarter-boats
from the starboard davys, and started several stancheons. Scarcely
was the work of destruction complete, when the condenser of the
larboard engine gave out, rendering the machine useless, and
spreading dismay among the passengers. Thus, dragging the wheel in
so fearful a sea strained the ship more and more, and rendered her
almost unmanageable. Again a heavy, clanking noise was heard, the
steam rumbled from the funnel, thick vapour escaped from the
hatchways, the starboard engine stopped, and consternation reigned
triumphant, as a man in oily fustian approached the captain and
announced both engines disabled. The unmanageable monster now rolled
and surged at the sweep of each succeeding sea, which threatened to
engulph her in its sway. A piece of canvas is set in the main
rigging, and her helm put hard down, in the hope of keeping her head
to the wind. But she obeys not its direction. Suddenly she yaws off
into the trough of the sea, lurches broad on, and ere she regains
her way, a fierce sea sweeps the house from the decks, carrying
those within it into a watery grave. Shrieks and moans, for a
moment, mingle their painful discord with the murmuring wind, and
all is buried in the roar of the elements. By bracing the fore-yard
hard-a-starboard the unwieldy wreck is got before the wind; but the
smoke-funnel has followed the house, and so complete is the work of
demolition that it is with difficulty she can be kept afloat. Those
who were in the main, or lower cabin, startled at the sudden crash
which had removed the house above, and leaving the passages open,
exposing them to the rushing water that invaded their state-rooms,
seek the deck, where a more dismal sight is presented in the
fragments of wreck spread from knight-head to taffrail. The anxious
captain, having descended from the upper deck a few minutes before
the dire calamity, is saved to his passengers, with whom and his men
he labours to make safe what remains of his noble ship. Now more at
ease in the sea, with canvas brought from the store-rooms, are the
hatches and companions battened down, the splintered stancheons
cleared away, and extra pumps prepared for clearing the water fast
gaining in the lower hold. Lumbering moves the heavy mass over the
mounting surge; but a serious leak having sprung in the bow,
consternation and alarm seem on the point of adding to the sources
of danger. "Coolness is our safeguard," says the captain. Indeed,
the exercise of that all-important virtue when destruction threatens
would have saved thousands from watery graves.
His admonition was heeded,--all worked cheerfully, and for some time
the water was kept within bounds of subjection. As night approached
the sea became calmer, a bright streak gleamed along the western
horizon; hearts that had sorrowed gladdened with joy, as the murky
clouds overhead chased quickly into the east and dissolved, and the
blue arch of heaven-hung with pearly stars of hope-shed its peaceful
glows over the murmuring sea.
Again the night was passed in incessant labour of pumping and
clearing up the dismantled hull; but when daylight appeared, the
wind having veered and increased, the sea ran in short swells,
rocking the unwieldly hull, and fearfully straining every timber in
its frame. The leak now increased rapidly, as also did the water in
the hold, now beyond their exertions to clear. At ten o'clock all
hopes of keeping the wreck afloat had disappeared; and the last
alternative of a watery grave, or launching upon the broad ocean,
presented its stern terms for their acceptance. A council decided to
adopt the latter, when, as the hulk began to settle in the sea, and
with no little danger of swamping, boats were launched, supplied
with such stores as were at hand, the passengers and crew embarked,
and the frail barks sent away with their hapless freight to seek a
haven of safety. The leviathan hulk soon disappeared from sight.
Franconia, with twenty-five fellow unfortunates, five of whom were
females, had embarked in the mate's boat, which now shaped her
course for Nassau, the wind having veered into the north-west, and
that seeming the nearest and most available point. The clothing they
stood in was all they saved; but with that readiness to protect the
female, so characteristic and noble of the sailor, the mate and his
men lightened the sufferings of the women by giving them a portion
of their own: incasing them with their jackets and fearnoughts, they
would shield them from the night chill. For five days were
sufferings endured without a murmur that can only be appreciated by
those who have passed through shipwreck, or, tossed upon the ocean
in an open boat, been left to stare in the face grim hunger and
death. At noonday they sighted land ahead; and as each eager eye
strained for the welcome sight, it seemed rising from the ocean in a
dim line of haze. Slowly, as they neared, did it come bolder and
bolder to view, until it shone out a long belt of white panoramic
banks. Low, and to the unpractised eye deceptive of distance, the
mate pronounced it not many miles off, and, the wind freshening
fair, kept the little bark steadily on her course, hoping thereby to
gain it before night came on: but the sun sank in a heavy cloud when
yet some four miles intervened. Distinctly they saw a cluster of
houses on a projecting point nearly ahead; but not a sail was off
shore, to which the increasing wind was driving them with great
violence.
And now that object which had been sighted with so much welcome in
the morning-that had cheered many a drooping heart, and seemed a
haven of safety, threatened their destruction. The water shoaled;
the sea broke and surged in sharp cones; the little craft tippled
and yawed confusedly; the counter eddies twirled and whirled in
foaming concaves; and leaden clouds again hung their threatening
festoons over the awful sea. To lay her head to the sea was
impracticable-an attempt to "lay-to" under the little sail would be
madness; onward she rode, hurrying to an inevitable fate. Away she
swept through the white crests, as the wind murmured and the sea
roared, and the anxious countenance of the mate, still guiding the
craft with a steady hand, seemed masked in watchfulness. His hand
remained firm to the helm, his eyes peered into the black prospect
ahead: but not a word did he utter.
It was near ten o'clock, when a noise as of thunder rolling in the
distance, and re-echoing in booming accents, broke fearfully upon
their ears. The sea, every moment threatening to engulph the little
craft, to sweep its freight of human beings into eternity, and to
seal for ever all traces of their fate, was now the lesser enemy.
Not a word had escaped the lips of a being on board for several
minutes; all seemed resigned to whatever fate Providence awarded.
"The beach roars, Mr. Slade-"
The mate interrupted before the seaman in the sheets had time to
finish his sentence: "I have not been deaf to the breakers; but
there is no hope for us but upon the beach; and may heaven save us
there! Passengers, be calm! let me enjoin you to remain firm to your
places, and, if it be God's will that we strike, the curling surf
may be our deliverer. If it carry you to the sand in its sweep,
press quickly and resolutely forward, lest it drag you back in its
grasp, and bury you beneath its angry surge. Be firm, and hope for
the best!" he said, with great firmness. The man who first spoke sat
near Franconia, and during the five days they had been in the boat
exhibited great sympathy and kindness of heart. He had served her
with food, and, though a common sailor, displayed those traits of
tenderness for the suffering which it were well if those in higher
spheres of life did but imitate. As the mate ceased speaking, the
man took his pilot coat from his shoulder and placed it about
Franconia's, saying, "I will save this lady, or die with her in the
very same sea."
"That's well done, Mr. Higgins!" (for such was the man's name). "Let
the hardiest not forget the females who have shown so much fortitude
under trying circumstances; let the strong not forget the weak, but
all save who can," returned the mate, as he scanned through the
stormy elements ahead, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the
point.
Drenched with the briny spray that swept over the little bark, never
did woman exhibit fortitude more resolute. Franconia thanked the man
for his solicitude, laid her hand nervously upon his arm, and,
through the dark, watched his countenance as if her fate was in its
changes.
The din and murmur of the surf now rose high above the wail of the
sea. Fearful and gloomy, a fretted shore stood out before them,
extending from a bold jut on the starboard hand away into the
darkness on the left. Beneath it the angry surf beat and lashed
against the beach in a sheet of white foam, roaring in dismal
cadences.
"Hadn't you better put her broad on, Mr. Slade?" enquired the young
seaman, peering along the line of surf that bordered the shore with
its deluging bank.
"Ask no questions!" returned the mate, in a firm voice: "Act to the
moment, when she strikes-I will act until then." At the moment a
terrific rumbling broke forth; the din of elements seemed in battle
conflict; the little bark, as if by some unforeseen force, swept
through the lashing surge, over a high curling wave, and with a
fearful crash lay buried in the boiling sand. Agonising shrieks
sounded amid the rage of elements; and then fainter and fainter they
died away on the wind's murmurs. Another moment, and the young
sailor might have been seen, Franconia's slender form in his arms,
struggling against the devouring surf; but how vain against the
fierce monster were his noble efforts! The receding surge swept them
far from the shore, and buried them in its folds,--a watery grave
received the fair form of one whose life of love had been spotless,
just, and holy. The white wave was her winding-sheet,--the wind sang
a requiem over her watery grave,--and a just God received her spirit,
and enthroned it high among the angels.
Of the twenty-seven who embarked in the little craft, but two gained
the beach, where they stood drenched and forlorn, as if
contemplating the raging surf that had but a minute before swallowed
up their fellow voyagers. The boat had driven on a flat sandy beach
some two miles from the point on which stood the cluster of
dwellings before described; and from which two bright lights
glimmered, like beacons to guide the forlorn mariner. For them, the
escaped men-one a passenger, the other a seaman-shaped their course,
wet, and sad at heart.