THE END OF THE VOYAGE.
For the week preceding the arrival of the raft, Emily Goodridge had been
improving in health, though she was still quite feeble. She sat up part
of the day, and spent an hour or two in the forenoon in the open air. As
we approached the city, the excitement of being so near home buoyed her
up, and seemed to give her an unnatural strength.
For my own part, I was in a whirl of excitement. The end of the voyage
was a tremendous event in itself; but, as I thought of the astonishment
of my brother when he should see Flora and me, and of the meeting
between Mr. Goodridge and his daughter, I could hardly contain myself.
The sights along the river, too, were sufficiently wonderful to keep my
eyes wide open, and my heart leaping. For the first time in my life I
saw a ship--hundreds of them, whose forest of masts and spars was as
strange to me as though I had been transported to the centre of the
Celestial Empire.
It seemed to me an age since I had left Torrentville; since, with
bounding bosom, I had guided the raft down the creek to the Wisconsin.
The events which had preceded our departure appeared to have occurred
years ago, and to be dwarfed into littleness by the lapse of time.
Captain Fishley, his wife, and Ham seemed almost like myths, so far
removed were they from me by distance and time. I had almost forgotten
that I had been charged with a base crime, and that I had fled to escape
unpleasant consequences.
There was the great city of New Orleans spread out before me; and there,
somewhere in the midst of its vast mass of heaving life, was my brother,
and Flora's brother. I knew not where to look for him. But my first duty
was to the poor girl, sick in body and sick at heart, who had voyaged
down the river with us; who had made us feel enough of Christ's spirit
to know that "it is more blessed to give than to receive."
Emily was in the chamber with Flora when Sim and I fastened the raft to
the post. My fellow-laborer had already indulged in unnumbered
"Hookies," and his eyes were set wide open by the wonders that
surrounded us. I left him to stare, and to be stared at by the idlers on
shore, and went into the house.
"Our journey is ended!" I exclaimed.
"And I am close to my father's house," added Emily, with convulsive
emotion.
As I looked into her pale face, I could not help fearing that she was
close to her Father's house in a higher sense than she meant the
words--close to that "house of many mansions, eternal in the heavens;"
for she seemed to have, in her weakness, but little hold upon this life.
"Where does your father live, Emily?" I asked.
"In Claiborne Street," she replied. "If you could get a carriage, I
would like to go there at once."
"Do you feel able to ride in the carriage?"
"O, yes--to go home."
I went ashore, and soon found a carriage. I need hardly say that Emily's
clothing was in very bad condition, though Flora had done what she
could to improve it. Fortunately, it was nearly dark, and her appearance
did not excite much attention. I could not permit her to go alone, and
she insisted that Flora should accompany her. I left Sim in charge of
the raft, with the promise to return soon. The carriage conveyed us to
the number in Claiborne Street indicated by Emily. It was an elegant
mansion, and I was abashed by the splendors that were presented to my
view as I entered.
The coming of Emily created a sensation among the servants; but her
father was not at home, though he was momentarily expected. Flora and I
were conducted to a magnificent parlor, whose splendors exceeded
anything of which I had ever dreamed. Emily went up stairs, to clothe
herself properly before her father came. The poor girl wept bitterly as
she entered the house which she had left three weeks before with her
mother. The torrent of grief was renewed as she gazed again upon the
familiar scenes which had always been so closely associated with the
dear one who was gone.
A mulatto servant-man came into the room where Flora and I were. He had
just greeted his young mistress, and his eyes were still filled with
tears.
"We have been expecting Miss Emily for several days," said he. "Her
father has suffered everything on her account."
"I am sorry she was delayed, but she would not leave my sister," I
replied.
"But how did she come? It was a very slow steamer," he added.
"It was not a steamer. Didn't she write to her father?"
"Yes; but she didn't say what she was coming in; only that she was with
very good friends, and should be home in a week or ten days."
"She came on a raft."
"On a raft!" exclaimed the man. "Miss Emily?"
"It was her own choice. I tried to have her take a steamer; but she
would not. But there was a house on the raft, and she had a good bed."
"Of course her father has felt very bad, and since the funeral he has
fretted a great deal about her."
"Since what funeral?" I asked.
"Her mother's. Poor Mrs. Goodridge was brought down from Cairo, packed
in ice, and the funeral was a week ago yesterday."
One of the many steamers which passed us on our way down the river had
brought the remains of Emily's mother, and they had already been
committed to their last resting-place.
The ringing of the door-bell called the servant from us. We heard the
heavy step of a man, as he went up stairs; but we did not witness the
first interview between Emily and her father. They had much to say, and
we did not see them for half an hour. When they entered the parlor
together, both of them were tolerably calm; but the traces of tears were
still visible in their eyes.
"Young man," said Mr. Goodridge, taking me by the hand, after Emily had
introduced Flora and me by name, "I am indebted to you for the life of
my child."
He wept, and could not utter what he evidently intended to say. My cheek
burned, for in my sympathy for the poor girl and her father I had quite
forgotten my hard swim after the disaster. I stammered some reply, and
did not even then know what I was saying.
"Under God, you saved her; and I shall bless you as long as I live for
the noble deed. It was hard to lose her who is gone; it would have been
doubly hard to lose both of them."
"O, I don't think anything of what I did," I replied. "My poor little
sister here has done a good deal more than I have for her."
Mr. Goodridge took the hand of Flora, and thanked her as he had thanked
me. I told him the story of our voyage down the river after Emily joined
us, as briefly as I could, giving my poor sister the credit for all her
careful and devoted nursing of the invalid.
"I must go now, sir," I added, when the narrative was finished.
"Indeed, you must not," said the grateful father, decidedly.
"I left Sim Gwynn on the raft. He is rather simple, and I am afraid
something will happen to him."
"Can't he leave the raft?"
"Not yet; my sister's clothes and other things are in the house."
He called the servant and ordered a carriage, saying he would go with me
himself to the raft, and employ a man to take charge of it. We drove to
the levee, where Mr. Goodridge sent for one of the porters in his
warehouse, who was ordered to sleep on board, and see that nothing was
stolen. Sim was directed to get into the carriage with us, and we went
back to the house of the merchant.
"Hookie!" almost screamed Sim, as we entered the elegant mansion.
"Shut up, Sim! Don't open your mouth again!" I whispered to him.
"Hookie!" replied he, in a suppressed tone.
"Well, Buckland," said our host, when we were seated in the parlor,--Sim
with his mouth open almost as wide as his eyes,--"I should like to know
something more about you. You have only told me what occurred after you
saved Emily. How happened you to be floating down the river on a raft?"
I told my story, from the day my father died, keeping back nothing
except the matter relating to Squire Fishley's infirmity.
"And your brother is here in New Orleans?" said he.
"Yes, sir. He has gone into business here."
"What is his name?"
"Clarence Bradford."
"Bradford! I thought your name was Buckland."
"John Buckland Bradford, sir."
"I know your brother very well. He is the junior partner in the firm of
Bent, La Motte, & Co. Their house is doing a fine business, too. I don't
think we can find your brother to-night, but we will in the morning."
"He will be very much astonished to see us here."
"No doubt of it; but your coming was a blessing to me. I have three
sons, but Emily is my only daughter, and the youngest child. She is my
pet. She is in delicate health, and I tremble at the thought of losing
her. You cannot understand what a service you have rendered me."
He was silent for several minutes, and I saw the tears starting in his
eyes again. He was thinking of her who was lost, or her who was
saved--of both, more likely.
"Shall you return to Torrentville again?" he asked, after walking across
the room two or three times, apparently to quiet his emotions.
"No, sir, I think not."
"Wherever you go, young man, I shall be your friend, with my money and
my influence."
"Thank you, sir."
"I will consult with your brother, to-morrow, in regard to what I can do
to serve you best; but my gratitude shall have a substantial
expression."
"O, sir, I don't ask anything for what I have done," I protested.
"You do not ask it; but that does not absolve me from doing something.
But, to change the subject, I do not quite like to have you accused of
robbing the mail."
"I didn't do it, sir."
"The gentleman who gave you the money ought to come forward and explain.
If you didn't open the letter, you should not suffer a day for it. I
will see your brother about that, too. It must be made right."
"I should be very glad to have it made right; but I can't tell who the
man was that gave me the money."
He insisted, in very complimentary terms, that one who had done what I
had could not be guilty of a crime, and that I must be cleared even from
the suspicion of evil.
Sim and I slept on beds of down that night. The next morning Mr.
Goodridge undertook to find Clarence. About the middle of the forenoon,
while our raft party were all gathered in the parlor with the
housekeeper, he was shown into the room. Not a word had been said to him
as to the nature of the business upon which he was called, and his eyes
opened almost as wide as Sim's when he saw Flora and me.