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FLORA LYNDSAY;
OR,
PASSAGES IN AN EVENTFUL LIFE.
BY MRS. MOODIE.
AUTHOR OF "ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH," "MARK HURDLESTONE,"
"LIFE IN THE CLEARINGS," ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1854.
LONDON:
R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL.
TO
MISS GOODING,
OF CROMER, IN THE COUNTY OF NORFOLK,
THESE VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY HER ATTACHED FRIEND,
SUSANNAH MOODIE.
BELLEVILLE, UPPER CANADA.
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE 1
CHAPTER II.
THE OLD CAPTAIN 10
CHAPTER III.
THE OLD CAPTAIN IN PERSON 16
CHAPTER IV.
A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE 25
CHAPTER V.
THE TRUE FRIEND 37
CHAPTER VI.
FLORA'S OUTFIT 43
CHAPTER VII.
HOW MISS WILHELMINA CARR AND FLORA BECAME ACQUAINTED 51
CHAPTER VIII.
MISS WILHELMINA CALLS UPON FLORA 65
CHAPTER IX.
FLORA GOES TO TEA WITH MISS CARR 79
CHAPTER X.
OLD JARVIS AND HIS DOG NEPTUNE 100
CHAPTER XI.
FLORA IN SEARCH OF A SERVANT, HEARS A REAL GHOST STORY 113
CHAPTER XII.
THE LAST HOURS AT HOME 141
CHAPTER XIII.
THE DEPARTURE 152
CHAPTER XIV.
AN OPEN BOAT AT SEA 163
CHAPTER XV.
ONCE MORE AT HOME 173
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FOG 179
CHAPTER XVII.
THE STEAM-BOAT 188
CHAPTER XVIII.
A PEEP INTO THE LADIES' CABIN 196
CHAPTER XIX.
MRS. DALTON 209
CHAPTER XX.
EDINBURGH 219
CHAPTER XXI.
MRS. WADDEL 226
CHAPTER XXII.
CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN 237
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BRIG ANNE 247
CHAPTER XXIV.
A VISIT TO THE SHIP OWNER 257
CHAPTER XXV.
FLORA'S DINNER 266
CHAPTER XXVI.
FEARS OF THE CHOLERA--DEPARTURE FROM SCOTLAND 273
CHAPTER XXVII.
A NEW SCENE AND STRANGE FACES 285
CHAPTER I.
A MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE.
"Flora, have you forgotten the talk we had about emigration, the morning
before our marriage?" was a question rather suddenly put to his young
wife, by Lieutenant Lyndsay, as he paused in his walk to and fro the
room. The fact is, that he had been pondering over that conversation for
the last hour.
It had long been forgotten by his wife; who, seated upon the sofa with a
young infant of three years old in her lap, was calmly watching its
sleeping face with inexpressible delight. She now left off her maternal
studies; and looked up at her husband, with an inquiring glance,--
"Why do you ask, dear John?"
"Are you turned Quaker, Flora, that you cannot give one a _direct_
answer?"
"I have not forgotten it. But we have been so happy ever since, that I
have never given it a second thought. What put it into your head just
now?"
"That child--and thinking how I could provide for her, in any other
way."
"Dear little pet! She cannot add much to our expenses." And the mother
bent over her sleeping child, and kissed its soft, velvet cheek, with a
zest that mothers alone know.
"Not at present. But the little pet will in time grow into a tall girl;
and other little pets may be treading upon her footsteps; and they must
all be clothed, and fed, and educated."
Flora, in her overflowing happiness, had dismissed all such cruel
realities from her mind.
"Emigration is a terrible word, John. I wish that it could be expunged
from our _English_ dictionary."
"I am afraid, my dear girl, that you are destined to learn a practical
illustration of its meaning. Nay, don't look so despondingly. If you
intended to remain in England, you should not have married a _poor_
man."
"Don't say that, John, or you will make me miserable. Our marriage made
me rich in treasures, which gold could never buy. But seriously, I do
not see this urgent necessity for taking such a hazardous step. I know
that we are not rich--that our expectations on that score for the
future are very limited. We are both the younger children of large
families, whose wealth and consequence is now a thing of the past. We
have nothing to hope or anticipate from rich relations; but we have
enough to be comfortable, and are surrounded with many blessings. Our
little girl, whose presence seems to have conjured before you the gaunt
image of poverty, has added greatly to our domestic happiness. Yes,
little Miss Innocence! you are awake, are you? Come, crow to papa, and
drive these ugly thoughts out of his head."
The good father kissed fondly the young thing seducingly held up to him.
But he did not yield to the temptation, or swerve from his purpose,
though Flora kissed _him_, with eyes brimful of tears.
"We are indeed happy, love. Too happy, I might say. But will it last?"
"Why not?"
"Our income is _very_ small?" with a deep sigh.
"It is enough for our present wants. And we have no debts."
"Thanks to your prudent management. Yes, we have no debts. But it has
been a hard battle, only gained by great self-denial, and much pinching.
We have kind friends, too. But Flora, I am too proud to be indebted to
friends for the common necessaries of life; and without doing something
to improve our scanty means, it might come to that. The narrow income
which has barely supplied our wants this year, without the incumbrance
of a family, will not do so next. There remains no alternative but to
_emigrate_!"
Flora felt that this was pressing her hard. All her affectionate
ingenuity could not furnish an argument against such home truths. "Let
us drop this hateful subject," said she, hastily; "I cannot bear to
think about it."
"But, my dear girl, we must force ourselves to think about it, calmly
and dispassionately; and having determined which is the path of duty, we
must follow it out, without any reference to our own likes and dislikes.
Our marriage would have been a most imprudent one, had it been
contracted on any other terms; and we are both to blame that we have
loitered away so many months of valuable time in happy ease, when we
should have been earning independence for ourselves and our family."
"You may be right, John,--yes, I know that you are right. But it is no
such easy matter to leave your home and country, and the dear friends
whose society renders life a blessing and poverty endurable--to abandon
a certain good for an uncertain better, to be sought for among untried
difficulties. I would rather live in a cottage in England, upon brown
bread and milk, than occupy a palace on the other side of the Atlantic."
"This sounds very prettily in poetry, Flora; but, my dear girl, life is
made up of stern realities, and it is absolutely necessary for us to
provide against the dark hour before it comes suddenly upon us. Our
future prospects press upon my heart and brain too forcibly to be
neglected. I have thought long and painfully upon the subject, and I
have come to the resolution to emigrate this spring."
"So soon?"
"The sooner the better. The longer we defer it, the more difficulties we
shall have to encounter. The legacy left you by your aunt will pay our
expenses out, and enable us, without touching my half-pay, to purchase a
farm in Canada."
"Canada!"
Flora's eye brightened.
"Oh, I am so glad that it is not to the Cape of Good Hope!"
"In this decision, Flora, I have yielded to _your_ wishes. My _own_
inclinations would lead me back to a country where I have dear friends,
a large tract of land, and where some of the happiest years of my life
were spent. You are not wise, Flora, to regard the Cape with such
horror. No person would delight more in the beautiful and romantic
scenery of that country than yourself. You have taken up a foolish
prejudice against the land I love."
"It is not that, dear John. But you know, I have such a terror of the
wild beasts--those dreadful snakes and lions! I never should dare to
stir beyond the garden, for fear of being stung or devoured. And then, I
have been bored to death about the Cape, by our good friends the
P----'s, till I hate the very name of the place!"
"You will perhaps one day find out your error, Flora; and your fears are
perfectly absurd! Not wishing to render your emigration more painful, by
taking you to a country to which you are so averse, I have made choice
of Canada, hoping that it might be more to your taste. The only obstacle
in the way, is the reluctance you feel at leaving your friends. Am I
less dear to you, Flora, than friends and country?"
This was said so kindly, and with such an affectionate earnestness for
her happiness more than his own--for it was no small sacrifice to
Lyndsay to give up going back to the Cape--that it overcame all Flora's
obstinate scruples.
"Oh, no, no!--you are more to me than all the world! I will try and
reconcile myself to any change, for your sake!"
"Shall I go first, and leave you with your mother until I have arranged
matters in Canada?"
"Such a separation would be worse than death! I would rather encounter a
thousand dangers, than remain in England without you! If it must be, I
will never say another word against it!"
Here followed a heavy sigh. The young husband kissed the tears from her
cheek, and whispered--
"That she was his dear, good girl."
And Flora would have followed him to the deserts of Arabia.
"I have had a long conversation with a very sensible, practical man,"
continued Lyndsay, "who has lately come to England upon colonial
business. He has been a settler for some years in Canada, and the
accounts he has given me of the colony are so favourable, and hold out
such encouragement of ultimate success and independence, that they have
decided me in my choice of making a trial of the backwoods. I promised
to meet him this morning at the Crown Inn (where he puts up), to look
over maps and plans, and have some further talk upon the subject. I
thought, dear, that it was better for me to consult you upon the matter
before I took any decided steps. You have borne the ill news better than
I expected: so keep up your spirits until I return, which will not be
long."
Flora remained in deep thought for some time after the door had closed
upon her husband. She could now recal every word of that eventful
conversation, which they had held together the morning before their
marriage, upon the subject of emigration. In the happy prospect of
becoming his wife, it had not then appeared to her so terrible.
Faithfully had he reminded her of the trials she must expect to
encounter, in uniting her destiny to a poor gentleman, and had pointed
out emigration as the only remedy for counteracting the imprudence of
such a step; and Flora, full of love and faith, was not hard to be
persuaded. She considered that to be his wife, endowed as he was by
nature with so many moral and intellectual qualities, with a fine face
and noble form, would make her the richest woman in the world: that
there was in him a mine of mental wealth, which could never decrease,
but which time and experience would augment, and come what might, she in
the end was sure to be the gainer.
She argued thus:--"Did I marry a man whom I could not love, merely for
his property, and the position he held in society, misfortune might
deprive him of these, and a disagreeable companion for life would remain
to remind me constantly of my choice. But a generous, talented man like
Lyndsay, by industry and prudence may become rich, and then the most
avaricious worlding would applaud the step I had taken."
We think after all, that Flora reasoned wisely, and, acting up to her
convictions, did right. The world, we know, would scarcely agree with
us; but in matters of the heart, the world is rarely consulted.
They were married, and, retiring to a pretty cottage upon the sea-coast,
confined their expenditure to their limited means, and were contented
and happy, and so much in love with each other and their humble lot,
that up to this period, all thoughts upon the dreaded subject of
emigration had been banished from one mind, at least. Flora knew her
husband too well to suspect him of changing a resolution he had once
formed on the suggestion of duty. She felt, too, that he was
right,--that painful as the struggle was, to part with all dear to her
on earth, save him, that it must be made. "Yes, I can, and will dare all
things, my beloved husband, for your sake," she said. "My heart may at
times rebel, but I will shut out all its weak complainings. I am ready
to follow you through good and ill,--to toil for our future maintenance,
or live at ease. England--my country! the worst trial will be to part
from you."