Flora Lyndsay Volume I Part 12

"Is it to goor to Cannadah? Oh, oie 'spects tree punds o' month for the loike o' that."

"You must stay at home then, my good girl, and boil the dumplings," said Flora. "Indeed, I cannot imagine what induced you to come up here to offer me your services. You literally can do nothing, for which you expect exorbitant wages. Why do you wish to leave your friends, to go out with strangers to Canada?"

"That's moi consarn," said the girl, with one of her gigantic expansions of mouth. "Oie he'eard 'twas a mortal good place for maids getting married. Husbands are scearce here, so oise thought, oise might as well try moi chance as the rest o'un. Won't yah take oie?" Flora shook her head.

The girl twirled the strings of her checked ap.r.o.n, "Mayhap, yah won't get anoder so willin' to go, as I'se be."

"Perhaps not. But I want a person of some experience-one who has been used to service, and could bring a good character from her last employer."

"Karaktah! Karaktah!" said the girl contemptuously. "What need of a karaktah in such a place as Cannadah? Folk a' go there need na karaktah, or they might jeest as well bide to whome."

This last declaration settled the matter, and Flora, not without some difficulty, got rid of the promising candidate for matrimony and emigration. Her place was instantly supplied by a tall, hard-featured, middle-aged woman, who had been impatiently waiting for Miss Pack's dismissal, in the kitchen, and who now rushed upon the scene, followed by three rude children, from six to ten years of age, a girl, and two impudent-looking boys, who ranged themselves in front of Mrs. Lyndsay, with open mouths, and eyes distended with eager curiosity, in order to attract her observation, and indulge themselves in a downright stare.

"Well, my good woman, and what is your business with me?" said Flora, not at all prepossessed by any of the group.

"Are you the mistress?" asked the woman, dropping a curtsy.

Flora answered in the affirmative.

"My business is to go to Canady; but I have not the means. I am a poor widow; my husband died of the fever three years ago, and left me with these children to drag along the best way I could. We have had hard times, I can tell you, Ma'am, and I should be main glad to better my condition, which I think I might do, if I could get out to Canady. I heard that you wanted a nurse for your baby during the voyage, and I should be glad to engage with you, if we can agree as to the terms."

"What are your terms?"

"For you, Ma'am, to pay the pa.s.sage of me and the three children over, and I to attend upon you and the child."

"But, my good woman, I have only one little child for you to take charge of, and you cannot expect me, for the trifling services that you could render, to pay your pa.s.sage over, and that of your family?"

"Sure, you might be glad of the chance," said the st.u.r.dy dame. "It is not everybody that would take service with you to go there. I should not trouble you longer than the voyage. I have friends of my own at Montreal, who have written for me to come out to them; and so I would long ago, if I had had the means."

"If they want you, they may pay your pa.s.sage," said Flora, disgusted with the selfishness of her new acquaintance. "It would be less trouble to me to nurse my own child, than incur the responsibility of three that did not belong to me."

The woman collected her young barbarians from the different quarters of the room, where they were reconnoitring the attractions of the place, and withdrew with a scowl; and Flora's nurse, Mrs. Clarke, shortly after entered the room, with little Josephine in her arms.

"Well, nurse," said Flora, giving way to a hearty laugh, "did you see those queer people, who want me to take them out as a venture to Canada?"

"A losing speculation that would be, if we may judge by looks and manners," said the old lady; "but, indeed, Mrs. Lyndsay, it will be no easy matter to find just what you want. It is not every one to whom I would trust the dear baby."

Then sitting down in the nursing chair, and hushing Josey on her knee, she continued, "I have been thinking of you and the child a great deal since I heard you were bent on going to Canada; and if you think that I could be of any service to you, I would go with you, myself. I ask no wages-nothing of you, beyond a home for my old age."

Mrs. Clarke was a kind, amiable, good woman, but very feeble, nervous, and sickly, and very little qualified for the arduous and fatiguing life she had chosen.

"My dear nurse," said Flora, clasping her hand in her own, "I should only be too happy to have you. But you are old, and in delicate health; the climate would kill you; I much doubt whether you could stand the voyage. I cannot be so selfish as to take you from your home and friends at your time of life. But take off your hat and shawl, and we will talk the matter over."

The old woman laid the now sleeping babe in the cradle, and resumed her seat with a sigh.

"It is this want of a home which makes me anxious to go with you. It is hard to be dependent upon the caprice of brothers, in one's old age.

Thirty years ago and life wore for me a very different aspect."

"Nurse," said Flora, who was very fond of the good old body, who had attended her with the greatest care and tenderness, through a long and dangerous illness; "how comes it that such a pretty woman as you must have been did not marry in your youth? I can scarcely imagine that nature ever meant you for an old maid."

"Nature never made any woman to be an old maid," said Nurse; "G.o.d does nothing in vain. Women were sent into the world to be wives and mothers; and there are very few who don't entertain the hope of being so at some period of their lives. I should not be the forlorn, desolate creature I am to-day, if I had had a snug home, and a good husband to make the fireside cheery, and children together about my knees, and make me feel young again, while listening to their simple prattle.

"I thought to have been a happy wife once," continued Nurse, sadly; "a heavy calamity that broke another heart besides mine, laid all my hopes in the dust, and banished from my mind the idea of marriage for ever.

Did I never tell you the story, Ma'am? A few words will often contain the history of events that embittered a whole life. Whilst I am hemming this little pinafore for Miss Josey, I will tell you the tale of my early grief.

"My father was a native of this town, and captain of a small vessel employed in the coal-trade, which plied constantly between this port and Newcastle and Shields. He owned most of the shares in her, was reckoned an excellent sailor, and was so fortunate as to have escaped the usual dangers attendant upon the coast trade, never having been wrecked in his life,-which circ.u.mstance had won for him the nickname of 'Lucky Billy,'

by which he was generally known in all the seaport towns along the coast.

"I was the eldest of a large family, and the only girl. My mother died when I was fourteen years of age, and all the cares of the household early devolved upon me; my father was very fond of me, and so proud of my good looks, that his ship was christened the _Pretty Betsy_, in honour of me.

"Father not only earned a comfortable living, but saved enough to build those two neat stone cottages on the East-cliff. We lived in the one which my brother now occupies; the other, which is divided from it by a narrow alley, into which the back doors of both open, was rented for many years by the widow of a revenue officer and her two sons.

"Mrs. Arthur's husband had been killed in a fray with the smugglers, and she enjoyed a small Government pension, which enabled her to bring up her boys decently, and maintain a respectable appearance. My father tried his best to induce Mrs. Arthur to be his second wife, but she steadily refused his offer, though the family continued to live on terms of the strictest friendship.

"Mrs. Arthur's sons, John and David, were the handsomest and cleverest lads of their cla.s.s, between this and the port of Y--. They both followed the sea, and after serving their apprenticeships with my father, John got the command of the _Nancy_, a new vessel that was employed in the merchant trade, and made short voyages between this and London. David, who was two years younger, sailed with his brother as mate of the _Nancy_.

"David and I had been sweethearts from our school-days,-from a child in frocks and trowsers, he had always called me 'his dear little wife.'

Time only strengthened our attachment to each other, and my father and his mother were well-pleased with the match. It was settled by all parties, that we were to be married directly David could get captain of a ship.

"Mrs. Arthur was very proud of her sons; but David, who was by far the handsomest of the two, was her especial favourite. I never saw the young sailor leave the house without kissing his mother, or return from a voyage without bringing her a present. I used to tell him, 'There was only one person he loved better than me, and that was his mother;' and he would laugh, and say,-'Not better, Betsy,-but 'tis a different love altogether.'

"I must confess I was rather jealous of his mother. I did not wish him to love her less, but to love me more. Whenever he left us for sea, he used to tell me the very last thing-'Show your love to me, dear Betsy, by being kind to my dear old mother. When you are my wife, I will repay it with interest.'

"During his absence, I always went every day to see Mrs. Arthur, and to render her any little service in my power. She was very fond of me, always calling me 'her little daughter,-her own dear Betsy.' Her conversation was always about her sons, and David in particular, which rendered these visits very agreeable to me, who loved David better than anything else under heaven. He was never out of my thoughts, I worshipped him so completely.

"It was the latter end of February that the Arthurs made their last voyage together. David was to sail as captain, in a fine merchant-ship, the first of May; and everything had been arranged for our marriage, which was to take place the tenth of April; and I was to make a bridal tour to London with my husband in the new ship. I was wild with antic.i.p.ation and delight, and would let my work drop from my hands twenty times a-day, while building castles for the future. No other girl's husband would be able to rival my husband; no home could be as happy as my home; no bride so well beloved as me.

"It was the twentieth of March, 18-; I recollect it as well as if it were only yesterday. The day was bright, clear, and cold, with high winds and a very stormy sea. The _Nancy_ had been expected to make her port all that week, and Mrs. Arthur was very uneasy at her delay. She was never happy or contented when her sons were at sea, but in a constant fidget of anxiety and fear. She did not like both sailing in the same vessel. 'It is too much,' she would say-'the safety of two lives out of one family-to be trusted to one keel.' This morning she was more fretful and nervous than usual.

"'What can these foolish boys be thinking of, Betsy, to delay their voyage in this way? They will in all probability be caught in the equinoctial gales. David promised me faithfully to be back before the eighteenth. Dear me! how the wind blows! The very sound of it is enough to chill one's heart. What a stormy sea! I hope they will not sail till the day after to-morrow.'

"Now, I felt a certain conviction in my own mind that they had sailed, and were at that moment on the sea; but, I must confess, I apprehended no danger. It might be that her fears hindered me from indulging fears of my own.

"'Don't alarm yourself needlessly, dear Mother,' said I, kissing her cold, pale cheek. 'The _Nancy_ is a new ship,-the lads brave, experienced sailors. There is not the least cause for uneasiness. They have weathered far worse gales before now. They have, father says, the wind and tide in their favour. It is moonlight now o' nights; and I hope we shall see them merry and well before morning.'

"'G.o.d grant you may be right, Betsy! A mother's heart is a hot-bed of anxiety. Mine feels as heavy as lead. My dreams, too, were none of the brightest. I thought I was tossing in an open boat, in just such a stormy sea all night; and was constantly calling on David to save me from drowning; and I awoke shrieking, and struggling with the great billows that were dragging me down.'

"'Who cares for dreams?' I said. Hers, I would have it, was one of good omen; for though she fought with the storm all night, she was not drowned. So it would be with the lads: they might encounter a gale, and get a severe buffeting, but would arrive safe at last.

"'I wish it may be so,' she said, with a sigh. 'But I felt just the same sinking at the heart the night my husband was killed, when there appeared no cause for uneasiness.'

"I remained all day with the old lady, trying to raise her spirits. She paid very little attention to all my lively chat; but would stand for hours at her back-window, that commanded a view of the bay, gazing at the sea. The huge breakers came rolling and toiling to the sh.o.r.e, filling the air with their hoa.r.s.e din. A vessel hove in sight, running under close-reefed topsails, and made signals for a pilot.

"'Ah!' I exclaimed joyfully; 'that is Captain Penny's old ship, _Molly_.

If she has rode out the gale, you may dismiss your fears about the _Nancy_. They have launched the pilot-boat. See how she dances like a feather on the waves! Why, Mother dear,' I cried, turning to Mrs.

Arthur, who was watching the boat, with the large tears trickling down her cheeks, 'is it not weak, almost wicked of you, to doubt G.o.d's providence in this way?'

"'Ah! how I wish it were their vessel,' she sobbed.