CHAPTER II.

KATE AYLESFORD

“I love that dear old house! my mother lived there

Her first sweet marriage years. * * * *

The sunlight there seems to me brighter far

Than wheresoever else. I know the forms

Of every tree and mountain, hill and dell:

Its waters jingle like a tongue I know:

It is my home.” —Mrs. Frances K. Butler.

Kate Aylesford was an only child and an orphan. It had been her

misfortune to lose her mother, at so early a period of life, that she

retained no distinct remembrance of her, and could only recall a mild,

sweet face, which, as in a dream, seemed to have looked down on her, far

away in the past, like a Madonna in a picture.

Eighty years ago, when our story opens, the facilities for female

education were small anywhere, for it was a generation when Hannah More

was considered a prodigy and when to be able to write grammatically was

regarded as all-sufficient, even for a gentlewoman. There were few good

schools for girls in England, and none at all in America. Mr. Aylesford,

the father of Kate, held a different, and as would be said in this day,

a worthier estimate of woman, from that which was popular among his

generation. He looked back with regret to the time when ladies studied

Greek and read Virgil in the original. The story told of Lady Jane Grey,

that she preferred to stay with her tutor, Ascham, and read Plato,

rather than join the chase, was one of his favorites. He early resolved,

accordingly, that his daughter should be educated in a better manner

than was the fashion of the day. He declared she should be capable, as

he phrased it, of being a companion for a husband, instead of a mere

plaything: that is, he added, with the reverent piety which, without

being Pharisaical, formed a main ingredient of his character, “if God

willed she should be so blessed.” For, among his other old-fashioned

notions, Mr. Aylesford held that a woman is never so fortunate as when a

happy wife and mother.

Hence it was, that though he desired his daughter’s intellect to be

cultivated, he took care that her moral qualities, using that word in

its widest sense, should not run to waste. In order to have her properly

educated, he had determined that she should go to England; but unwilling

to trust her to a public school, he had sent out with her his sister, an

elderly widow lady, the relict of an officer in the army. It was a hard

trial for him to separate from his only child, and one so winning as

Kate; for not only the fond father, but every one who knew her, declared

her to be the life of the house. To the sweetness of her mother’s

disposition, she added the gay heart which had distinguished her

surviving parent when young. Fearless by nature, the life which she

necessarily led, in a then comparatively wild district of the province

of New Jersey, had given to her a courage and self-reliance above her

sex and years: for not only at an age when girls generally are still in

the nursery, had she learned to ride, so as to often accompany her

father, but frequently, with no attendant but one or two stag-hounds,

she galloped for half a morning through the woods. It was, perhaps, to

her having spent her early years in this manner, that she owed her

present blooming health and elastic step. Beauty is oftener the result

of fresh air and exercise than of cosmetics.

Three years after her arrival in England, Mr. Aylesford died, leaving

Kate one of the richest heiresses in the colonies. In part, her property

consisted of houses and stores in the city of Philadelphia, and in part

of vast tracts of land in the middle counties of West Jersey. The war

between the colonies and mother country soon after broke out, and, for a

while, it seemed as if the heiress was destined never to see her native

land again. Her guardians were averse to her return to a country

distracted by war, and her aunt, who, in spite of being an officer’s

widow, was timorous to the last degree, seconded them. But Kate

inherited the resolute spirit of her father, and had early resolved to

return, as soon as she became mistress of herself. Her fixed

determination at last influenced her guardians, so that, after she had

left school and been presented at court, a favorable opportunity

offering, they had consented to her wish. They were the more willing to

concede the point, because, at that time, the royal arms seemed about to

triumph; New York was in undisturbed possession of Sir Henry Clinton;

and the portion of New Jersey, where her estates lay, was, according to

the current reports in London, free from the presence of the enemy. We

need not add that these guardians, as well as her aunt, were warm

friends of the king. It was on this return voyage, after a successful

run of thirty days, and when, as the captain calculated, forty-eight

hours would bring them within sight of Neversink, that we have

introduced Miss Aylesford to the reader.

A long time elapsed, even after she had retired to her berth, before

Kate could sleep. A vague presentiment seemed to oppress her. In vain

she closed her eyes. The gradually increasing wind, and the rush of the

waters alongside, prevented slumber. Once or twice she forgot herself in

a doze, but a louder shriek of the rising gale, or a sudden dash of some

huge billow against the timbers at her head, roused her with a start.

Still, as there was nothing of fear in her nature, these things did not

agitate her. She never even thought that anything serious impended, for

she had heard such sounds often before during the voyage. Finally, long

after her aunt was lost in slumber, she fell asleep.

She was roused suddenly, some hours after, by the noise of her relative.

“Wake up, my child, wake, wake,” cried the good lady in accents of

terror. “We are all going to the bottom. Oh! what shall we do?”

Kate sat up in bed and looked around. She and her aunt occupied the

after cabin of the ship, which had been engaged exclusively for them;

and this apartment was now lighted by a swinging lamp, which threw a

faint yellowish hue on the surrounding objects. The floor of the cabin,

rising almost perpendicularly, and then sinking again, showed that the

ship pitched and rolled with unusual severity. Kate had never seen

anything like it. Her aunt was dressing as rapidly as a person could,

who had always to hold on to something with one hand, and often with

two.

On deck, the hurrying of feet, the rattling of blocks, the creaking of

yards, the sharp whistling of wind through the cordage, the quick, loud

word of command, and other noisy and tumultuous sounds, betokened some

important crisis. The roar of the sea had become almost deafening. It

was, however, occasionally exceeded by the thunder of the gale, which

now dying partially away, swelled again into a volume that overpowered

everything else. At rare intervals, when other noises partially

subsided, Kate fancied she could distinguish the rushing sound of rain.

The terror of her aunt called up all the courage of Miss Aylesford.

Hastily attiring herself, she staggered across the cabin floor to her

relative, and began to assist the latter’s shaking hands.

“They have fastened us down here, too, I suppose,” cried Mrs.

Warren, in a tremulous voice. “We shall be drowned, without having a

chance to get on deck.”

Kate herself knew not but that, in another moment, the ship might sink.

Certainly, all she had ever read, or imagined, of a storm at sea, was

nothing to this. She felt that if there was something tangible to meet,

if she could only get on deck and see what was going on, she would be

better able to face the peril.

“We are in God’s hands, you know, aunt. If you are not afraid of

being left alone, I will try to reach the deck, and learn what is the

matter—”

“Don’t, for mercy’s sake, leave me,” cried Mrs. Warren, clinging

to her niece. “What shall I do down here alone?” But a tremendous

surge, almost heaving the ship on her beam ends, a new terror overcame

the dread of being left for a moment, and she cried, suddenly, “Yes,

yes, go, go, and see what is the matter. Tell the captain we are in no

hurry. Perhaps it’s his carrying so much sail, as he calls it, that

makes the ship lean over so. Dear me, if I once get on dry land, I’ll

never trust myself at sea again.”

Kate did not wait for a second permission. She crept along towards the

forward cabin, which served for the dining room, reached the stairs, and

clambered up with difficulty. A moment after she stood upon the deck.

The night was now pitch dark. A cold, heavy rain was falling, hissing

and dancing as it struck the deck, and occasionally driving wildly past

in an almost horizontal direction. But Kate did not for a while even

know that it rained. Her entire energies were demanded to keep her feet,

for between the violent motion of the ship, and the fury of the wind,

she was nearly prostrated. When at last she had gained a slightly

sheltered position, and found something to hold on by, she looked

anxiously around.

The wide expanse of waters was black as ink, except where, here and

there, the white caps flashed up. Miss Aylesford, in that first

impressive moment, forgot all thought of possible peril, so overpowered

was she by the dread majesty of the scene before her. She could liken it

to nothing but the abyss of woe, surging its black waters from depths

that no plummet could ever sound, impiously against heaven, which

frowned in awful anger back; and the illusion was sustained by the white

and ghastly objects which flitted across the vision, like spectres cast

up from the profound below, and driven remorselessly past by inexorable

fates.

But this feeling of awe and admiration lasted only for a moment. She

remembered her terror-struck aunt below, and looked around to see if

there was any person of whom she could inquire. But everybody seemed

engaged in a struggle for life or death. A dim figure, in which she

fancied she recognized the captain, stood at the helm, with a speaking

trumpet at its mouth; while two stalwart forms grasped the spokes of the

wheel; and other vague shapes hurried hither and thither across the deck

through the darkness and storm. There was a wild confusion of orders,

given so rapidly that she could distinguish no words, and of noises

compounded of the wind and sea, so that she was almost stunned.

This rapid survey consumed but a moment. Looking down the sloping deck,

she saw close under the lee of the ship what seemed a vortex of foaming

water; and now, for the first time, she recognized a dull, sullen roar,

which she knew to be that of breakers. At once the whole peril of their

situation flashed upon her. Instead of being a hundred miles at sea, as

Captain Powell had supposed, they were close upon the coast; and these

superhuman exertions, which she saw master and crew making, were

designed to get an offing for the vessel.

Suddenly a loud report was heard, like the discharge of a cannon in the

air, and looking up, Kate saw what seemed a white cloud flying down to

leeward.

“God have mercy on us,” she heard a voice cry, its sharp tone of

agony rising over all the roar of wind and waters, “the main-topsail

is gone. Look out, she strikes!”

At the same instant, Kate felt a shock, which precipitated her on her

face, and instantaneously what appeared an ocean of water rushed over

and submerged her.

Kate Aylesford: A Story of the Refugees · 第 2 / 51 章