A VILLA IN CAPE COLONY.
From the South African College they drove out of town in the direction
of the Wynbey Hill to a beautiful villa in the English style of
architecture, closely shaded, with the brilliant native trees of the
colony grouped with the imported old familiar trees of the mother
country, and surrounded with gardens laid out in the English fashion. To
the owner of this lovely home, the Rev. Mr. Burney, of the Presbyterian
Church, Mr. Ely bore letters of introduction for himself and his whole
party. And when their carriage had rolled through the beautifully
ornamented grounds and up the poplar-shaded drive to the front of the
villa, he left his companions in their seats and alighted and went in to
present his credentials to the master of the house.
He was welcomed by Mr. Burney with that cordial hospitality which must
be peculiar, I think, to colonists all over the world; but is perhaps
most peculiar to those of the Cape of Good Hope.
He insisted that Mr. Ely should immediately bring in his whole party;
and to enforce the execution of his plan, went with that gentleman to
the carriage and put his head in at the window and shook hands with all
its occupants, and then had them all out of it and in his own
drawing-room before they knew what they were about.
Then he sent for his wife and daughters and presented them to his
visitors.
“Mrs. Burney, Miss Burney, Miss Mary Burney.”
And then he presented his visitors to his family:
“The Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Ely, my dears. The Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Breton. The
Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal.”
—“Miss Conyers—the young lady’s name is Conyers,” whispered Mrs. Breton,
in a panic.
But of all the hurried, low-toned explanation the unfortunate host heard
only the names, and he corrected his mistake and made matters worse by
exclaiming:
“Bless my life and soul, yes! I beg your pardon, sir and madam.” Then,
turning again to his family group, he presented the young people over
again as—“My dears, the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Conyers.”
Britomarte’s cheeks were scarlet. But Justin smiled with perfect
self-possession and some little amusement as he shook hands all around,
saying as he did so:
“I am not so happy. The young lady by my side is Miss Conyers; but it is
not the fault of Justin Rosenthal, at your service, that she is so.”
The good minister uttered another:
“Bless my life and soul!” And then he laughed and stretched forth his
hand, saying: “But you see the mistake was so natural on my part. Here
is a party of missionaries on the way to India! And here is one young
couple and here is another young couple; and here are two more young
people, and what so natural as to take them for a third young couple?
But I beg your pardon, Miss Conyers, I am sure!”
“And he ‘won’t do so no more!’—will you, papa dear?” said Miss Mary, who
seemed to be the privileged romp of the family.
“Indeed I will not; until you give me the right,” laughed the minister.
Miss Conyers responded by a grave, severe bow; she could not easily
recover her equanimity.
But Justin begged to assure his host that he, for his part, suffered
under no sense of injury.
Mr. Burney laughingly replied that he should imagine he did not.
And so the affair passed off.
When the party were all seated comfortably in the easy chairs and on the
sofas of the drawing-room, that looked so exactly like their
drawing-rooms at home that they could almost have supposed themselves
transported by magic back to America, their host, with his hands upon
his knees and his head bent eagerly forward, said:
“Your ship will be in port here some days, I hope?”
“No. We sail on Saturday.”
“Bless my life and soul!” exclaimed this good man, who was given to
imploring benedictions upon his own head. “You sail on Saturday, and
this is Thursday. Well, well! You must make the most of your time and we
must make the most of you. You must remain with us while the ship is in
port. Not a word now! I will take no denial.”
Nor did he, and, indeed, it required very little persuasion to induce
the voyagers to share Mr. Burney’s hospitality. The intervening days
were spent delightfully in sight-seeing, and it was with real regret
they bade the good people adieu and returned to the ship.
For two weeks they were blessed with fine weather and a fair wind.
Then, when the moon was at the full, there were indications of a change.
The wind gradually died away, or rose and blew in fitful puffs, and sank
again. The ship, with all her canvas spread whenever it could catch the
faintest breeze, made little or no progress. The weather grew
intolerably hot and oppressive. The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky
with consuming fierceness. The ladies were driven from the deck to seek
shelter from the burning heat in the deep shades of the cabin, where
they remained all day, or at least while the sun was above the horizon.
After sunset they ventured upon deck to seek a breath of fresh air,
which they very seldom found even there, for the atmosphere seemed
oppressed with some deadly element that made it almost unfit for
inhalation. And even the reflected light of the moon seemed to be
reflected heat as well, and Mrs. Breton declared it looked as hot, and
felt as hot, as ever the sun did in her own native clime.
The crisis came; the wind fell lower and still lower; and then the
fitful puffs that had served to carry the ship forward a knot or two an
hour, ceased altogether; the sea sank; and the ship lay like a log upon
the glassy sea, under the burning sky.
Day and night for nearly a week this dead calm continued with most
depressing monotony.
The heavens wore an ominous aspect. The sun had set, and every ray of
his light had faded from the western horizon; yet the whole sky seemed
to be illumined with supernatural light—a bronze-colored glare that made
the moon and stars look pale and dim, and that was reflected by the sea,
until the whole sphere seemed smouldering on the eve of bursting into a
conflagration; while ever, at short intervals, came that low, deep,
distant sigh, moan or sob, across the waters. As if in sympathetic
answer to this mysterious sound of distress, the ship began to creak,
groan and roll. And the whole circle of the sea began to boil up into a
white foam.
The seamen also were very active and busy. Some were reefing the
topsails; some were setting storm staysails; others were closing the
portholes; and others again were securing the fastenings of the
lifeboats.
“There’s something wrong a-brewing,” said Mrs. Ely to Miss Conyers, as
they walked after Mrs. Breton, who had hurried to the stern where the
anxious men stood grouped around the wheelhouse.
“What is coming, Captain McKenzie?” inquired Miss Conyers.
“Not much, I hope, my dear young lady; but I would recommend you and
your companions to go down into the cabin.”
Even while the captain spoke, the dull bronze-colored glare grew darker
and darker, and in the gloom the ripples of the sea gleamed in
phosphorescent light, and the air was filled with a sulphurous odor.
“Will there be a hurricane?” Miss Conyers was about to ask, but in pity
for Martha Breton, who was an exceedingly timid woman, she forbore the
question.
“Oh, take me down, please! I know there’s something dreadful at hand;
and I don’t see my husband anywhere at all! Please, take me down!”
pleaded poor Martha.
Miss Conyers would have much preferred to remain on deck to watch the
coming of the hurricane that she felt was almost upon them; but in
compassion to her trembling friend she drew poor Martha’s arm within her
own, and led her towards the cabin. They had scarcely reached the top of
the ladder before the wind suddenly arose out of the northwest with a
great blast, and then as suddenly fell, leaving the ship rolling from
the impetus.
Miss Conyers hurried her helpless companion down the ladder and into the
cabin.
“Oh, Britomarte, I know! I know! The captain and all of them expect a
terrible storm! I saw it in their faces! and see how hard the sailors
are at work making preparations to meet it! And only think, they have
not even thought of supper, though it is past the hour! Not that I care
for supper now! I am too frightened; but I know if there were not great
danger, they would not forget it, or neglect to serve it!—and, oh! what
a blast was there!” cried Martha Breton, as another gust of wind
suddenly sprang up and blew with great violence for a few moments, and
then again as suddenly subsided.
“You had better let me help you into your stateroom; where you can lie
down on your berth and be quiet; and no doubt presently the stewardess
will bring us some tea, which I will take in to you,” said Miss Conyers.
Meanwhile on deck all was anxious preparation to meet the danger. Some
of the men were aloft, relieving the masts from everything that could
cumber the action of the ship or be reft away by the wind. Others were
seeing to the chains. Others again were clearing the deck from the
lumber sent down from aloft. The captain, with two men, were at the
wheel. The wind that had at first sprung up in fierce and fitful gusts
now blew steadily, but with great and increasing violence, from the
northeast, driving the ship furiously through the boiling waves. The
sea, risen to a great height, dashed over the decks at intervals,
carrying off all light matter that had been left there, and threatening
at every return to wash off the crew. So strong and fierce was the wind,
so high and heavy the sea, that it was all the man at the wheel could do
to keep the helm.
As the night advanced the tempest increased in fury; the wind blew in
fiercer blasts, howling and shrieking around the ship, as if all the
accursed spirits in Tartarus had been let loose; had there been a square
of canvas up, it must have been split to pieces; the very masts were
bent like reeds. “Alps on Alps” of waves arose and broke in
death-dealing blows upon the deck; scarcely any hour passed in which
some unfortunate seaman was not torn from his holdings and swept
overboard, and the utmost precautions taken could not prevent the waves
rushing into the cabin, to the unutterable horror of Mrs. Breton, who
could only gasp and sob, while even Mrs. Ely exclaimed in affright:
“We shall be drowned! Oh, my Heavens, we shall be drowned! drowned here
in the cabin like blind kittens in a tub!”
“Ah, thin, bad luck to the kittens. I wish meself they were drowned
entirely, for sure it was thimselves as brought this hurricane upon us,
as the saymen foretold!” exclaimed Judith, the stewardess, who had only
heard, in the din, something about drowning and kittens. At every wave
that came rushing in, Mrs. Breton went into a spasm, and Mrs. Ely cried
out for mercy, though before the words had left her lips, the wave had
left the cabin.
At last one, heavier than any that had preceded it broke into the cabin,
prostrating all its inmates, and then rushed out again.
“We are lost! Heaven and earth, we are lost!” cried Mrs. Ely, as soon as
she could get her breath.
“Ah, be calm, we are immortal spirits; we cannot be lost! Think of that,
and brace yourself to bear whatever comes! At worst it will be but a
stormy passage to the other world!” said Miss Conyers, earnestly.
But her companions were unnerved beyond all hope of being strengthened.
And still, as the awful night deepened, the wind blew in more furious
gusts, bending the masts like rods, the sea rose in higher waves,
beating the ship with mortal blows; the thunder rolled in louder peals,
and the lightning blazed with a more deadly glare. The ship was driven
furiously through the darkness, and clear out of her course, and no one
on board had any distinct idea of where she was.
So the night of horrors wore on.
“Oh, for daylight! oh, Heaven, for daylight!” was the frequently
aspirated prayer in the dark cabin. And, “Oh, for daylight! oh, God, for
daylight!” was the unuttered prayer on the quivering deck.