The Water-Lily.
At sunrise the morning after she set sail, the “Martha Jane” was
dancing over the waves, far out of sight of mainland or island.
Daph was an early riser, and in the gray dawn she bestirred herself
with her usual waking thought--“This is a busy world, and Daph must be
up and at work.” Her first glance around showed her that she was not in
the southern kitchen, which had so long been her domain, and a merry
sound near her reminded her of the new duties she had undertaken.
Charlie was sitting up in the berth, his bright black eyes sparkling
with delight at the new scene in which he found himself.
“Pretty! pretty little bed!” were the first words that met Daph’s ear.
The hearty hug with which she responded to this pleasant greeting, and
the consequent laugh of the child, roused his fair sister.
Louise started up, and looked wildly around her; “Where are we, Daffy,”
she asked, anxiously. “We’s just on board a beauty ship, a-going to see
pretty countries over the water,” said Daph, coaxingly.
“But why do we go?” urged the child, by no means satisfied.
“Cause, cause,” said Daph, “cause de great Lord tinks it best.”
The face of little Louise instantly took a sobered and submissive
expression, and she said quietly, “Well, Daffy, Lou will try to be a
good girl; where’s Dinah?”
“I’se to be nurse now, Miss Lou,” answered Daph, promptly.
“Oh! how nice! No cross Dinah any more!” exclaimed the little girl,
clapping her hands with very great delight.
Charlie thought proper to clap his hands, too, and to cry out,
boisterously, “Caky! caky!”--a cry which Daph well understood, and for
which she was amply prepared.
She drew from one of her huge pockets some cakes for the children, and
then they all three began to chat as pleasantly as if they were at
their favorite resort, under the old tree that grew in front of Daph’s
southern kitchen.
Daph found it a difficult business to dress her young master and
mistress, but Louise was a helpful little creature, and was of great
assistance in enabling the new nurse to select the suitable garments,
from the store that had been hastily thrust into the great basket.
It was an easy matter to comb Louise’s soft, straight golden hair
off her fair forehead, but it was another thing to deal with master
Charlie’s mop of short, chestnut curls. The new bond between Daph and
the sturdy boy had well nigh been broken, by the smart pulls she gave,
in the course of her unskilful efforts.
When Captain Jones came into the cabin after his usual round on deck,
in the morning, he was greeted by the sound of merry young voices,
which struck strangely on his ear.
Daph gave one peep from the state-room, to be sure who was near at
hand, and then leading out the children, she bade them “go right to
the very kindest gentleman that anybody ever had for a friend.”
Charlie put out his arms towards the honest captain, who took the
little fellow warmly to his heart.
Louise held on to Daph’s apron with one hand, and the other she put out
timidly towards her new friend.
That small, soft, gentle hand was placed in the hard, dark palm of the
captain, quietly as a flower might fall on a wayside path. Captain
Jones bent tenderly down to the fair, slender child, and kissed her
smooth forehead. She loosened her hold of Daph, and nestled at his
side. Again those stranger-tears filled the captain’s eyes, but he did
not look the worse for them, or for the kindly smile that beamed from
his frank, sun-burnt face.
An odd looking party sat round the breakfast-table, in the cabin, that
morning. Captain Jones was at the head, with Charlie on his knee;
opposite him was perched the little Louise, while the weather-browned
faces of the mates appeared at the sides.
Daph had claimed the privilege of milking “Passenger,” the cow--which
Captain Jones had taken with him on many voyages, and on which he had
lavished much of the surplus affection of his bachelor-heart.
“Passenger,” would have found out that she had powerful rivals, if
she could have seen Charlie, enjoying his cup of fresh milk on the
captain’s knee, and Louise looking at him with mild trustful glances,
that went right to his heart.
Daph saw all this, if “Passenger” did not, and with her white teeth in
full sight she moved round the table, in the position of waiter, which
she had assumed to keep her darlings in view, and to have a care that
their new friends, in their abundant kindness, did not feed them too
freely with sailor’s fare.
That was a happy day to the children--that first day on board the
“Martha Jane,”--and the captain prophesied that Charlie would “stand
the sea like an old salt,” and Louise would be as much at home on it as
the “Martha Jane” herself.
There had been a fresh breeze all day, but towards evening the wind
grew stronger, and Daph would have found it hard to carry even a trifle
on that head of hers, which had so steadily borne many a heavy burden.
She began also to experience certain strange internal sensations, for
which she could not account; but the faithful creature bore up without
a complaint, though she staggered to and fro in a way which made the
rough sailors laugh merrily at her expense.
Poor Daph! Such sufferings as hers could not long be kept secret.
Through the live-long night she lay in the anguish of sea-sickness,
which can only be appreciated by those who have experienced its
miseries. In her ignorance, she supposed herself to have been seized by
some fearful malady, which must soon take her life.
“Daph would be glad to die, she so awsome sick,” she said to herself,
“but den, who will mind de babies? No, no! Daph wont die yet. De great
Lord wont let her; Daph knows he wont!”
For two days the poor negro wrestled mightily against the horrors
of sea-sickness, bearing up with the motive, “Daph must live for de
babies!”
Meanwhile, Captain Jones had all the charge of his new pets.
“Passenger” was quite forgotten, as the stout sailor walked the deck,
with Charlie peeping out from under his rough overcoat, and Louise
walking at his side, wrapped in the long soft shawl that Daph had
stowed away in that wonderful basket.
They had strange talks together--that strong man and those prattling
children--and they learned much from each other. He told of the wonders
of the sea--the great whales and the floating ice-bergs--and the
petrel, that the sailor never kills. Many long years, Captain Jones had
made the sea his home, and much he knew, which books had never taught
him, yet in little more than three short years, Louise had caught
a priceless secret, which he had never found in any land. He was
familiar with the wonders of nature, but to her the Great Creator, to
whom he was a stranger, was as a familiar, trusted friend. The marvels
which Captain Jones could tell of the ocean, but increased her wonder
at His power, who “made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all that
in them is,” and in her simple way she would “praise the Lord for all
his wonderful works.” Charlie little knew of the strong feelings which
agitated the breast to which he was clasped, while his little sister
lisped of the lessons learned at her mother’s knee.
Those days of Daph’s sickness were precious days to Captain Jones, and
he was almost sorry when the stout negro triumphed over her enemy, and
came on deck to resume her charge.
The air grew chill as the “Martha Jane” sped on her northward course,
and the white dresses of the children fluttered, most unseasonably, in
the cool breeze. The ship’s stores were ransacked for some material,
of which to make them more suitable, though extempore clothing. A
roll of red flannel was all that promised to answer the purpose. The
captain took the place of master-workman, and cut out what he called
“a handsome suit for a pair of sea-birds;” and Daph, with her clumsy
fingers, made the odd garments. She felt ready to cry as she put them
on, to see her pets so disfigured; but Captain Jones laughed at her
dolorous face, and said the red frock only made his “lily” look the
fairer, and turned Charlie into the sailor he should be.
The “Martha Jane” was nearing the familiar waters of her own northern
home, when the Captain called Daph into the cabin, one evening, to
consult with her on matters of importance.
With the happy disposition of the negro, Daph seemed to have forgotten
that she was not always to live on board the “Martha Jane,” and under
the kind protection of her sailor-friend; she was, therefore, not a
little startled, when he addressed to her the blunt question:
“Where are you going, Daph?”
Now, Daph had a most indistinct idea of the world at large, but, thus
brought suddenly to a decision, she promptly named the only northern
city of which she had heard. “I’se going to New York,” she said; “Miss
Elize, my dear missus, was born dere, and it seems de right sort of a
place to be takin de sweet babies to.”
“Daph,” said the honest captain, “we shall put in to New York
to-morrow, for I have freight to land there, but you had better go
on with me to old Boston. There I can look after you a little, and
put you under charge of my good mother; and a better woman never trod
shoe-leather, for all her son is none of the best. Shall it be so,
Daph?”
“Could n’t do it! Massa Cap’in. Boston! dat mus be mighty far off. I
nebber hear tell of such a place. New York’s de home for my babies,
just where missus was born. May be, some ob her grand cousins may be
turnin up da, to be friends to de pretty dears. Nobody would eber find
us, way off in Boston!”
It was in vain that the captain tried to change Daph’s resolution;
to New York she would go, and he now attacked her at another point,
asking, “What are you going to do when you get there, Daph? Have you
got any money?”
“Not so berry much to begin wid,” said Daph, producing a bit of rag
from her pocket, in which some small change, the result of her traffic
in chickens, was stored. “Not much money, Massa Cap’in, as you see for
yeself; but what do you tink ob dese?” Daph loosened her dress, and
showed on her black neck several gold chains, hung with rings of great
richness and value, and an old-fashioned necklace, set with precious
stones. “What do you tink ob dese, Massa Cap’in?” she repeated, as she
displayed her treasures to his astonished sight.
Daph had put her valuables on for safe-keeping, doubtless, yet not
without a certain satisfaction in wearing articles which so gratified
the love of finery common to the black race.
The captain looked at the jewelry with a sober, pitying expression, as
he said, compassionately, “Poor Daph! If you should offer one of those
rich chains for sale in New York, you might be hurried off to jail as a
thief, in a twinkling; then what would become of my pets?”
Daph betook herself to tears for a few moments, and then rallied, and
said, stoutly, “Daph can work for de babies. She’s a strong darky.
Heard massa say many a time, Daph would bring a big price. Daph will
make heaps of money, and keep young massa and missus libbing like great
folks, as dey should.”
At this idea, Daph’s face regained all its usual cheerfulness, and she
could not be shaken by the further doubts and fears brought forward by
Captain Jones.
“Keep what you have round your neck safely then, Daph,” said the honest
sailor, “and never try to sell them, unless you are ready to starve.
Here’s a little purse of solid gold, that I meant as a present for my
mother; she, good soul, would rather you had it, I know. This will keep
you till you can get a start, and then, may be, you can work for the
dear children, as you say. I have an acquaintance in New York, who may
let you a room or two, and if she can take you in, you may get along.”
“I knew de great Lord would look out for us. His name be praised!” said
the poor negro, gratefully, as she kissed the hand of Captain Jones.
“Ye wont lose your reward, Massa Cap’in; He’ll reckon wid ye!” and she
pointed reverently upwards.
“May He reckon with me in mercy, and not count up my sins!” the captain
said, solemnly, and then bade Daph “good-night.”