"Darling Mother,--I must begin at once with what my mind is full of,
just remarking, by the way, that Aunt Jeanette is improving steadily,
and that I hope to be home again in less than a week.
"Well, I told you in my last that Miss Love--who is most appropriately
named--had taken me out once or twice on her visits among the poor.
And, do you know, it has opened up a new world of ideas and feelings
to me. It is such a terrible revelation of the intensity of sorrow
and suffering that is endured by a large mass of our fellow-creatures!
I am persuaded that thousands of the well-to-do and the rich have no
conception of it, for it must be seen to be understood. I feel as if
my heart had become a great fountain of pity! And I can well--at
least better--understand how our dear Saviour, when He wanted to give
evidence of the truth and character of His mission, said, `The poor
have the gospel preached unto them,' for if any class of beings on the
face of this earth stand in need of good news it is the poor. God
help and bless them!
"Well, the other day Miss Love came to ask me to go out with her to
visit some of her poor people, among others one--a very singular
character--a woman who was reported to be a desperate miser, insomuch
that she starved herself and her child for the sake of saving money.
It was said that she was very ill at the time--thought to be dying--
and seemed to be in a wretched state of destitution. Her name, Miss
Love told me, was Lundy.
"As Auntie was pretty well that day I gladly accompanied my friend to
her district. And it _was_ an awful place! I shudder even now when I
think of the sights and sounds and dreadful language I saw and heard
there--but I must not turn aside from what I have to tell. I pass
over our visits to various families and come at once to the reputed
miser. She was in bed, and from her flushed face and glittering eyes
I could see that she was in high fever. She started, raised herself
on an elbow, and glared at us as we entered.
"I was deeply interested in her from the first moment. Although worn
and thin, with lines of prolonged suffering indelibly stamped on her,
she had a beautiful and refined face. Her age appeared to be about
thirty-five. A lovely, but wretchedly clothed girl, of about fourteen
years of age, sat on a low stool at her bedside. And oh! such a bed
it was. Merely a heap of straw with a piece of sacking over it, on a
broken bedstead. One worn blanket covered her thin form. Besides
these things, a small table, and a corner cupboard, there was
literally nothing else in the room.
"The girl rose to receive us, and expressed regret that she had no
chairs to offer. While Miss Love went forward and talked tenderly to
the mother, I drew the girl aside, took her hand affectionately, and
said, `You have not always been as poor as you now are?'
"`No indeed,' she said, while tears filled her eyes, `but work failed
us in London, where we once lived, and mother came to Liverpool to a
brother, who said he would help her, but he died soon after our
arrival, and then mother got ill and I had to begin and spend our
savings--savings that darling mother had scraped and toiled so hard to
gain--and this made her much worse, for she was _so_ anxious to save
money!'
"This last remark reminded me of the reports about the mother's
miserly nature, so I asked a question that made the poor girl reply
quickly--
"`Oh! you mustn't think that darling mother is a miser. People so
often fall into that mistake! She has been saving for ever so many
years to buy father back--'
"`Buy father back!' I repeated, with a sudden start.
"`Yes, to buy him from the Algerine pirates--'
"I waited for no more, but, running to the bedside, looked the poor
woman steadily in the face. There could be no doubt about it. There
was the fair hair, blue eyes, and clear complexion, though the last
was sadly faded from ill-health.
"You should have seen the look of surprise she gave me. But I had
been foolishly precipitate. Her mind had been wandering a little
before we came in. The shock seemed to throw it further off the
balance, for she suddenly looked at me with a calm sweet smile.
"`Yes,' she said, `he always called me Marie, though my name was Mary,
being a Frenchman, you know--his little Marie he called me! I often
think how pleased he will be to see another little Marie grown big
when we get him back--but oh! how long--how _long_ they are about
sending him, though I have sent the money over and over again. Hush!'
"She looked round with a terrified expression and clutched my shawl
with her thin hand. `You won't tell, will you?' she went on; `you
have a kind face, I am sure you will not tell, but I have been
saving--saving--saving, to send more money to the Moors. I keep it in
a bag here under my pillow, but I often fear that some one will
discover and steal it. Oh! these Moors must have hard, hard hearts to
keep him from me so long--so _very_ long!'
"Here she thrust me from her with unexpected violence, burst into a
wild laugh, and began in her delirium to rave against the Moors. Yet,
even in the midst of her reproaches, the poor thing prayed that God
would soften their hearts and forgive her for being so revengeful.
"Now, mother, I want to know what is to be done, for when we sent for
a doctor he said that not a word must be said about the return of her
husband until she is out of danger and restored to some degree of
health."
Thus far the middy read the letter.
"Mother," he said, firmly, "the doctor may say what he likes, but I am
convinced that the best cure for fever and every other disease under the
sun is joy--administered judiciously, in small or large doses as the
patient is able to bear it! Now, the primary cause of poor Marie's
illness is the loss of her husband, therefore the removal of the cause--
that is, the recovery of her husband--"
"With God's blessing," interjected Mrs Foster.
"Admitted--with the blessing of the Great Physician--that is the natural
cure."
"Very true, George, but you wisely spoke of small doses. I am not sure
that it would be safe to tell Monsieur Laronde that we have actually
found his wife and child. He also is too weak to bear much agitation."
"Not so weak as you think, mother, though the sufferings of slave-life
and subsequent anxiety have brought him very near to the grave. But I
will break it to him judiciously. We will get my dear little Hester to
do it."
"_Your_ Hester!" exclaimed Mrs Foster, in surprise. "I trust, George,
that you, a mere midshipman, have not dared to speak to that child of--"
"Make your mind easy, mother," replied the middy, with a laugh, "I have
not said a word. Haven't required to. We have both spoken to each
other with our eyes, and that is quite enough at present. I feel as
sure of my little Hester as if we were fairly spliced. There goes the
breakfast-bell. Will you be down soon?"
"No. I am too happy to-day to be able to eat in public, George. Send
it up to me."
The breakfast-room in that seaside villa presented an interesting
company, for the fugitives had stuck together with feelings of powerful
sympathy since they had landed in England. Hugh Sommers was there, but
it was not easy to recognise in the fine, massive, genial gentleman, in
a shooting suit of grey, the ragged, wretched slave who, not long
before, had struggled like a tiger with the janissaries on the walls of
Algiers. And Hester was there, of course, with her sunny hair and sunny
looks and general aspect of human sunniness all over, as unlike to the
veiled and timid Moorish lady, or the little thin-nosed negress, as
chalk is to cheese! Edouard Laronde was also there, and he, like the
others, had undergone wonderful transformation in the matter of
clothing, but he had also changed in body, for a severe illness had
seized him when he landed, and it required all Mrs Foster's careful
nursing to "pull him through," as the middy styled it. Brown the sailor
was also there, for, being a pleasant as well as a sharp man, young
Foster resolved to get him into the Navy, and, if possible, into the
same ship with himself. Meanwhile he retained him to assist in the
search for Marie Laronde and her daughter. Last, but by no means least,
Peter the Great was there--not as one of the breakfast party, but as a
waiter.
Peter had from the first positively refused to sit down to meals in a
dining-party room!
"No, Geo'ge," he said, when our middy proposed it to him, on the
occasion of their arrival at his mother's home--"No, Geo'ge. I _won't_
do it. Das flat! I's not bin used to it. My proper speer is de
kitchen. Besides, do you t'ink I'd forsake my Angelica an' leabe her to
feed alone downstairs, w'ile her husband was a-gorgin' of his-self
above? Neber! It's no use for you, Geo'ge, to say you'd be happy to
see her too, for she wouldn't do it, an' she's as obsnit as me--an'
more! Now you make your mind easy, I'll be your mudder's black
flunkey--for lub, not for munny. So you hole your tongue, Geo'ge!"
Thus the arrangement came to be made--at least for a time.
The middy was unusually grave that morning as he sat down to breakfast.
They were all aware that he had returned from London late the previous
night, and were more or less eager to know the result of his visit, but
on observing his gravity they forbore to ask questions. Only the poor
Frenchman ventured to say sadly, "Failed again, I see."
"Not absolutely," said Foster, who was anxious that the invalid should
not have his breakfast spoilt by being excited. "The visit I paid to
the solicitor did indeed turn out a failure, but--but I have still
strong hopes," he added cheerily.
"So hab I, Geo'ge," remarked Peter the Great, from behind the chair of
Miss Sommers, who presided at the breakfast table, for although Peter
had resigned his right to equality as to feeding, he by no means gave up
his claim to that of social intercourse.
"Come, Laronde. Cheer up, my friend," said Hugh Sommers heartily; "I
feel sure that we'll manage it amongst us, for we have all entered on
the search heart and soul."
"Right you are, sir," ejaculated Brown, through a mouthful of buttered
toast.
"It only requires patience," said the middy, "for London is a big place,
you know, and can't be gone over in a week or two."
"Das so, Geo'ge," said Peter, nodding approval.
After breakfast Foster sought a private interview with Hester, who
undertook, with much fear, to communicate the news to Laronde.
"You see, I think it will come best from you, Hester," said George in a
grave fatherly manner, "because a woman always does these sort of things
better than a man, and besides, poor Laronde is uncommonly fond of you,
as--"
He was going to have said "as everybody is," but, with much sagacity, he
stopped short and sneezed instead. He felt that a commonplace cough
from a man with a sound chest would inevitably have betrayed him--so he
sneezed. "A hyperkrite as usual!" he thought, and continued aloud--
"So, you see, Hester, it is very important that you should undertake it,
and it will be very kind of you, too."
"I would gladly undertake a great deal more than that for the poor man,"
said Hester earnestly. "When must I do it?"
"Now--at once. The sooner the better. He usually goes to the bower at
the foot of the garden after breakfast."
Without a word, but with a glance that spoke volumes, the maiden ran to
the bower.
What she said to the Frenchman we need not write down in detail. It is
sufficient to note the result. In the course of a short time after she
had entered the bower, a loud shout was heard, and next moment Laronde
was seen rushing towards the house with a flushed countenance and the
vigour of an athlete!
"My little girl has been too precipitate, I fear," remarked Hugh Sommers
to the middy.
"Your little girl is never `_too_'--anything!" replied the middy to
Hugh, with much gravity.
The ex-Bagnio slave smiled, but whether at the reply or at the rushing
Frenchman we cannot tell.
When Laronde reached his room he found Peter the Great there, on his
knees, packing a small valise.
"Hallo! Peter, what are you doing? I want that."
"Yes, Eddard, I know dat. Das why I's packin'."
"You're a good fellow, Peter, a true friend, but let me do it; I'm in
terrible haste!"
"No, sar, you's not in haste. Dere's lots ob time." (He pulled out a
watch of the warming-pan type and consulted it.) "De coach don't start
till one o'clock; it's now eleben; so dere's no hurry. You jest lie
down on de bed an' I'll pack de bag."
Instead of lying down the poor Frenchman fell on his knees beside the
bed and laid his face in his hands.
"Yes--das better. Dere's some sense in _dat_," muttered the negro as he
quietly continued to pack the valise.
Two hours later and Laronde was dashing across country as fast as four
good horses could take him, with George Foster on one side, Peter the
Great on the other, and Brown on the box-seat--the fo'c'sl, he called
it--beside the red-coated driver.
Whatever may be true of your modern forty-mile-an-hour iron horse, there
can be no question that the ten-mile-an-hour of those days, behind a
spanking team with clattering wheels, and swaying springs, and cracking
whip, and sounding horn, _felt_ uncommonly swift and satisfactory.
Laronde shut his eyes and enjoyed it at first. But the strength
engendered by excitement soon began to fail. The long weary journey
helped to make things worse, and when at last they arrived at the
journey's end, and went with Miss Love and Minnie to the lodging, poor
Laronde had scarcely strength left to totter to his wife's bedside.
This was fortunate, however, for he was the better able to restrain his
feelings.
"She has had a long satisfactory sleep--is still sleeping--and is much
better," was the nurse's report as they entered. The daughter looked
with surprise at the weak worn man who was led forward. Laronde did not
observe her. His eyes were fixed on the bed where the pale thin figure
lay. One of Marie's hands lay outside the blanket. The husband knelt,
took it gently and laid his cheek on it. Then he began to stroke it
softly. The action awoke the sleeper, but she did not open her eyes.
"Go on," she murmured gently; "you always used to do that when I was ill
or tired--don't stop it yet, as you _always_ do now, and go away."
The sound of her own voice seemed to awake her. She turned her head and
her eyes opened wide while she gazed in his face with a steady stare.
Uttering a sharp cry she seized him round the neck, exclaiming, "Praise
the Lord!"
"Yes, Marie--my own! Praise the Lord, for He has been merciful to me--a
sinner."
The unbeliever, whom lash, torture, toil, and woe could not soften, was
broken now, for "the goodness of the Lord had led him to repentance."
Did the middy, after all, marry Hester, _alias_ Geo'giana Sommers? No,
of course, he did not! He was a full-fledged lieutenant in his
Majesty's navy when he did that! But it was not long--only a couple of
years after his return from slavery--when he threw little Hester into a
state of tremendous consternation one day by abruptly proposing that
they should get spliced immediately, and thenceforward sail the sea of
life in company. Hester said timidly she couldn't think of it. George
said boldly he didn't want her to _think_ of it, but to _do it_!
This was putting the subject in quite a new light, so she smiled,
blushed, and hurriedly hid her face on his shoulder!
Of course all the fugitive slaves were at the wedding. There was
likewise a large quantity of dark-blue cloth, gold lace, and brass
buttons at it.
Peter the Great came out strong upon that occasion. Although he
consented to do menial work, he utterly refused to accept a menial
position. Indeed he claimed as much right to, and interest in, the
bride as her own radiant "fadder," for had he not been the chief
instrument in "sabing dem bof from de Moors?"
As no one ventured to deny the claim, Peter retired to the privacy of
the back kitchen, put his arm round Angelica's neck, told her that he
had got a gift of enough money to "ransom his sister Dinah," laid his
woolly head on her shoulder, and absolutely howled for joy.
It may be well to remark, in conclusion, that Peter the Great finally
agreed to become Mrs Foster's gardener, as being the surest way of
seeing "Geo'ge" during his periodical visits home. For much the same
reason Hugh Sommers settled down in a small house near them. Laronde
obtained a situation as French master in an academy not far off, and his
wife and daughter soon gave evidence that joy is indeed a wonderful
medicine!
As for George Foster himself, he rose to the top of his profession. How
could it be otherwise with such an experience--and such a wife? And
when, in after years, his sons and daughters clamoured, as they were
often wont to do, for "stories from father," he would invariably send
for Peter the Great, in order that he might listen and corroborate or
correct what he related of his wonderful adventures when he was a Middy
among the Moors.