We were kindly welcomed and cared for on board the _Mary_, though we
subjected her passengers and crew to much inconvenience, and to no
little risk of starving, should her voyage be prolonged.
There were ladies who attended with gentle care to the women and
children, and aided also in nursing the men. Many of the passengers and
crew gave up their berths to the sick; but the greater number of our
people were compelled to remain on deck, sheltered, however, by every
means the kindness of our hosts could devise. There was one fair,
blue-eyed girl--can I ever forget her? What a pure, light-hearted young
creature she was! I felt at once that I could place the same confidence
in her that I could in my own sisters, and that she was a being superior
both to me and to any of those by whom I had been lately surrounded.
Her name was Mary Dean. She was the daughter of the master of the
_Mary_, and the ship was named after her. Mr Bell told the master of
my behaviour, which he was pleased to praise, and of my refusing to quit
the ship till he did; and Mary heard the tale. The mate also told him
that I was the son of a gentleman, and how I had been treated by Captain
Swales.
Captain Dean was a very different character to Captain Swales, with
whose conduct he was so thoroughly disgusted, that he refused to hold
any further communication with him than business actually required. I
had held out till I was in safety, and a severe attack of illness then
came on. Captain Dean had me removed to a berth in his own cabin, and
Mary became my nurse. Where there is sickness and misery, there will
the ministering hand of gentle woman be found. Mary Dean watched over
me as the ship which bore us steered her course for the mouth of the
Saint Lawrence. To her gentle care, under Providence, I owed my life.
Several of the emigrants died after they came on board the _Mary_, and
such would probably have been my fate under less watchful treatment.
I was in a low fever and unconscious. How long I remained so, I
scarcely know. I awoke one afternoon, and found Mary Dean sitting by my
side working with her needle. I fancied that I was dead, and that she
was an angel watching over me. Although I discovered that the first
part of the notion was a hallucination, I was every day more convinced
of the truth of the second. When I got rather better, she used to read
to me interesting and instructive works; and every morning she read some
portion of the Bible, and explained it to me in a manner which made me
comprehend it better than I had ever done before.
Ten days thus passed rapidly away before I was able to go on deck.
Captain Dean was very kind to me, and often came and spoke to me, and
gave me much useful instruction in seamanship, and also in navigation.
I then thought Mary Dean very beautiful, and I now know that she was so.
She was a child, it must be remembered, or little more than one; but
though very small, she was very graceful. She was beautifully fair,
with blue, truthful eyes, in which it was impossible guile could ever
find a dwelling-place. I have no doubt that my readers will picture her
to themselves as she sat in the cabin with a book on her lap, gravely
conning its contents, or skipped along the deck, a being of light and
life, the fair spirit of the summer sea. Such was Mary Dean as I first
saw her. Every one loved her. Her father's heart was wrapped up in
her. His crew would, to a man, have died rather than that harm should
have happened to her. On sailed the ship. There was much sickness, for
all hands were put on the smallest allowance of water and provisions it
was possible to subsist on; and we, unfortunately, fell in with no other
ship able to furnish us with a supply.
At length the welcome sound was heard of "Land ahead!" It was Cape
Breton, at the entrance of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Rounding the
cape, we stood towards the mouth of the river Saint Lawrence, that vast
stream, fed by those inland seas the lakes of Upper Canada, and
innumerable rivers and streams. On the north side of the gulf is the
large island of Newfoundland, celebrated for its cod fisheries. A
glance at the map will show our course far better than any description
of mine. I could scarcely believe that we were actually in the river
when we had already proceeded a hundred miles up it, so distant were the
opposite shores, and, till told of it, I fancied that we were still in
the open sea. I was much struck with the grand spectacle which Quebec
and its environs presented, as, the ship emerging from the narrow
channel of the river formed by the island of Orleans, the city first met
my view. It is at this point that the Saint Lawrence, taking a sudden
turn, expands, so as to assume the appearance of a broad lake.
The sun had just risen, and all nature looked fresh and green, rejoicing
in the genial warmth of a Canadian spring. On the left was the town,
the bright tin steeples and housetops of which, crowning the summit of
Cape Diamond, glittered in the rays of the glorious luminary. Ships of
all rigs and sizes lay close under the cliffs, and from their diminutive
appearance I calculated the great height of the promontory. About eight
miles off, on the right, I could see the falls of Montmorency,
descending in a sheet of milk-white foam over a lofty precipitous bank
into the stream, which, winding through a plain interspersed with
villages and studded with vegetation, finds its way into the Saint
Lawrence. Quebec is divided into two distinct parts.
The lower town, occupies a narrow strip of land between the precipitous
heights of Cape Diamond and the river. It is connected with the upper
town by means of a steep street, built in a ravine, which is commanded
by the guns of a strongly fortified gateway.
The lower town is principally inhabited by merchants; and so much
straitened are they for room, that many of their houses are built upon
wharfs, and other artificial ground. The streets of Quebec are very
narrow, and there is a general appearance of antiquity, not often to be
met with in an American town. The suburbs are situated on the shores of
the Saint Charles, without the fortifications. But I afterwards found
that the most magnificent prospect was from the summit of the Citadel on
Cape Diamond, whence one may look over the celebrated Plains of Abraham,
on which the gallant Wolfe gained the victory which gave Canada to
England, and where, fighting nobly, he fell in the hour of triumph. But
my object is rather to describe a few of the events of my early days
than the scenes I visited. It was a happy moment when we at length
dropped our anchor, and water was brought off to quench the thirst from
which all had more or less suffered. As soon as the necessary forms
were gone through, the emigrants went on shore, and, with few
exceptions, I saw them no more.
I was the only person on board who regretted that the voyage was over.
I wished to see the country, and the Indians, and the vast lakes and
boundless prairies; but far rather would I have remained with Mary and
her father--at least I thought so, as the time for quitting them,
probably for ever, arrived. I regretted much leaving Captain Dean, for
he had been very kind to me; indeed, he had treated me almost like a
son, and I felt grateful to him. It was evening. The ship was to haul
in the next morning alongside the quay to discharge her cargo. The
captain was on shore and all the emigrants. Except the anchor-watch on
deck, the crew were below. Mary and I were the only persons on the
quarter-deck.
"Mary," I said, as I took her hand--the words almost choked me while I
spoke--"to-morrow I must leave you to look out for a berth on board some
homeward-bound ship. You have been very, very kind to me, Mary; and I
am grateful, I am indeed, to you and to your father."
"But I do not see why you should leave us, Peter," answered Mary,
looking gravely up with a somewhat surprised air. "Has not my father
told you that he thinks of asking you to remain with him? And then,
some day, when you know more of seamanship, you will become his mate.
Think of that, Peter, how pleasant it will be! So you must not think of
leaving us."
"I have no wish to go, I can assure you, except that I am expected at
home," I replied. "But if I stay, what office are you to hold on board,
Mary?" I could not help asking.
"Oh, I suppose that I shall be another of the mates," she replied,
laughing. "Do you know, Peter, that if I have you to study with, I
think that I shall make a very good sailor in a short time. I can put
the ship about now in a very good style, let me tell you."
"That's more than I can do, I am afraid," I observed. "But then I can
go aloft, and hand and reef; so there I beat you."
"I should not be a bit afraid of going aloft, if I was dressed like you,
and papa would let me," she answered naively. "I often envy the men as
I see them lying out on the yards or at the mast-head when the ship is
rolling and pitching; and I fancy that next to the sensations of a bird
on the wing, theirs must be the most enjoyable."
"You are a true sailor's daughter, Mary," I answered, with more
enthusiasm than I had ever before felt. "But I don't think your father
would quite like to see you aloft; and, let me tell you, when there's
much sea on, and it's blowing hard, it's much more difficult to keep
there than it looks."
Thus we talked on, and touched on other topics; but they chiefly had
references to ourselves. Nearly the last words Mary uttered were, "Then
you will sail with father, if he asks you, Peter?"
I promised, and afterwards added, "For the sake of sailing with him,
Mary, my dear young sister, if you are on board, I would give up
kindred, home, and country. I would sail with you round and round the
world, and never wish again to see the shore, except you were there."
She was satisfied at having gained her point. We were very young, and
little knew the dangerous sea on which we were proposing to sail. I
called her sister, for I felt as if she were indeed my sister.