Flora Lyndsay Volume I Part 18

Sunday came at last, and proved one of the loveliest mornings of that delightful season of spring and sunshine. The lark carolled high in the air, the swallows darted on light wings to and fro; and the sea, vast and beautiful, gently heaved and undulated against the sh.o.r.e, with scarcely a ripple to break the long line of golden light, which danced and sparkled on its breast. The church bells were chiming for morning prayer; and the cliffs were covered with happy groups in their holiday attire. Flora, surrounded by friends and relatives, strove to be cheerful; and the day was so promising, that it infused new life and spirit into her breast. All eyes were turned to that part of the horizon, on which the long, black trailing smoke of the steamer was first expected to appear. A small boat, which had been engaged to put them and their luggage on board, and which contained all their worldly chattels, lay rocking in the surf, and all was ready for a start.

In the midst of an animated discussion on their future prospects, the signal was given, that the steamer was in sight, and had already rounded the point. How audibly to herself did Flora's heart beat, as a small, black speck in the distance gradually increased to a black cloud; and not a doubt remained, that this was the expected vessel.

Then came the blinding tears, the re-enactment of the last pa.s.sionate adieus, and they were once more afloat upon the water.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FOG.

The human heart is made of elastic stuff; and can scarcely experience on the same subject an equal intensity of grief. Repet.i.tion had softened the anguish of this second parting; the bitterness of grief was already past; and the sun of hope was calmly rising above the clouds of sorrow, which had hung for the last weary days so loweringly above our emigrants. Mr. Hawke and his son alone accompanied them on this second expedition. Adam Mansel had had enough of the sea, during their late adventure, and thought it most prudent to make his adieus on sh.o.r.e.

James Hawke was in high spirits; antic.i.p.ating with boyish enthusiasm, the adventures which might fall to his share during a long voyage; and his sojourn in that distant land, which was to prove to him a very land of Goshen. Many gay hopes smiled upon him, which, like that bright sunny day, were doomed to have a gloomy ending, although at the beginning it promised so fair.

The owner of the boat, a morose old seaman, grumbled out his commands to the two sailors who managed the craft, in such a dogged, sulky tone, that it attracted the attention of the elder Hawke, and being naturally fond of fun, he endeavoured to draw him out. An abrupt monosyllable was the sole reply he could obtain to any one of his many questions.

Lyndsay was highly amused by his surly humour, and flattered himself that _he_ might prove more successful than his friend, by startling the sea-bear into a more lengthy growl.

"Friend," said he carelessly, "I have forgotten your name?"

"Sam Rogers," was the brief reply; uttered in a short grunt.

"Does the boat belong to you?"

"Yes."

"She looks as if she had seen hard service?"

"Yes; both of us are the worse for wear."

The ice once broken, Mr. Hawke chimed in-"Have you a wife, Captain Rogers?"

"She's in the churchyard," with a decided growl.

"So much the better for Mrs. Rogers," whispered Lyndsay to Flora.

"You had better let the animal alone," said Flora in the same tone: "'Tis sworn to silence."

"Have you any family, Captain Rogers?" recommenced the incorrigible Hawke.

"Ay; more than's good."

"Girls, or boys?"

"What's that to you? Too many of both. Why do you call me Captain? You knows well enough that I'm not a captain; never was a captain, and never wants to be."

After this rebuff, the surly Rogers was left to smoke his short black pipe in peace, and in a few minutes the little boat came alongside the huge Leviathan of the deep. A rope was thrown from her deck, which having been secured, the following brief dialogue ensued:

"The _City of Edinburgh_, for Edinburgh?"

"The _Queen of Scotland_, for Aberdeen, Captain Fraser."

This announcement was followed by a look of blank astonishment and disappointment from the party in the boat.

"Where is the _City of Edinburgh_?"

"We left her in the river. You had better take a pa.s.sage with us to Aberdeen," said Captain Fraser, advancing to the side of his vessel.

"Two hundred miles out of my way," said Lyndsay. "Fall off." The tow rope was cast loose, and the floating castle resumed her thundering course, leaving the party in the boat greatly disconcerted by the misadventure.

"The _City of Edinburgh_ must soon be here?" said Lyndsay, addressing himself once more to Sam Rogers. That sociable individual continued smoking his short pipe without deigning to notice the speaker. "Had we not better lay-to, and wait for her coming up?"

"No; we should be run down by her. Do you see yon?" pointing with his pipe, to a grey cloud that was rolling over the surface of the sea towards them; "that's the sea rake-in three minutes: in less than three minutes, you will not be able to discern objects three yards beyond your nose."

"Pleasant news," said Mr. Hawke, with rather a dolorous sigh. "This may turn out as bad as our last sc.r.a.pe. Lyndsay, you are an unlucky fellow.

If you go on as you have begun, it will be some months before you reach Canada."

In less time than the old man had prognosticated, the dense fog had rapidly spread itself over the water, blotting the sun from the heavens, and enfolding every object in its chilly embrace. The sh.o.r.es faded from their view, the very ocean on which they floated, was heard, but no longer seen. Nature seemed to have lost her ident.i.ty, covered with that white sheet, which enveloped her like a shroud. Flora strove in vain to pierce the thick misty curtain by which they were surrounded. Her whole world was now confined to the little boat and the persons it contained: the rest of creation had become a blank. The fog wetted like rain, and was more penetrating, and the constant efforts she made to see through it, made her eyes and head ache, and cast a damp upon her spirits which almost amounted to despondency.

"What is to be done?" asked Lyndsay, who shared the same feelings in common with his wife.

"Nothing, that I know of," responded Sam Rogers, "but to return."

As he spoke a dark shadow loomed through the fog, which proved to be a small trading vessel, bound from London to Yarmouth. The sailors hailed her, and with some difficulty ran the boat alongside.

"Have you pa.s.sed the _City of Edinburgh_?"

"We spake her in the river. She ran foul of the _Courier_ steamer, and unshipped her rudder. She put back for repairs, and won't be down till to-morrow morning."

"The devil!" muttered Sam Rogers.

"Agreeable tidings for us," sighed Flora. "This is worse than the storm; it is so unexpected. I should be quite disheartened, did I not believe that Providence directed these untoward events."

"I am inclined to be of your opinion, Flora," said Lyndsay, "in spite of my disbelief in signs and omens. There is something beyond mere accident in this second disappointment."

"Is it not a solemn warning to us, not to leave England?" said Flora.

"I was certain that would be your interpretation of the matter,"

returned her husband; "but having put my hand to the plough, Flora, I will not turn back."

The sailors now took to their oars, the dead calm precluding the use of the sail, and began to steer their course homewards. The fog was so dense and bewildering that they made little way, and the long day was spent in wandering to and fro without being able to ascertain where they were.

"Hark!" cried one of the men, laying his ear to the side of the boat, "I hear the flippers of the steamer."

"It is the roar of the accursed _Barnet_," cried the other. "I know its voice of old, having twice been wrecked upon the reef-we must change our course; we are on a wrong tack altogether."