Flora looked anxiously from her husband to her child, and then at the black, pouring sky, and the raging waters.

"There is no danger, Flora," said Lyndsay. "These fine boats can live in almost any sea. But the rain will make it very uncomfortable for you and the child."

"The discomfort will only last a few minutes, Mrs. Lyndsay," said old Kitson. "Those chaps will put you on board before you can say Jack Robinson."

"It is better to bear a ducking than lose our pa.s.sage in the _Chieftain_," said Flora. "There cannot be much to apprehend from the violence of the storm, or twelve men would never risk their lives for the value of forty shillings. Our trunks are all in the boat-house, our servants discharged, and our friends gone; we have no longer a home, and I am impatient to commence our voyage."

"You are right, Flora. Dress yourself and the child, and I will engage the boat immediately." And away bounded Lyndsay to make their final arrangements, and see the luggage safely stowed away in the pilot-boat.

Captain Kitson seated himself at the table, and began discussing a beefsteak with all the earnestness of a hungry man. From time to time, as his appet.i.te began to slacken, he addressed a word of comfort or encouragement to Mrs. Lyndsay, who was busy wrapping up the baby for her perilous voyage.

"That's right, my dear. Take care of the young one; 'tis the most troublesome piece of lumber you have with you. A child and a cat are two things which never ought to come on board a ship. But take courage, my dear. Be like our brave Nelson; never look behind you after entering upon difficulties; it only makes bad worse, and does no manner of good.

You will encounter rougher gales than this before you have crossed the Atlantic."

"I hope that we shall not have to wait long for the steamer," said Flora. "I dread this drenching rain for the poor babe, far more than the stormy sea."

"Wait," responded the old man, "the steamer will be rattling down in no time; it is within an hour of her usual time. But Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear,"-hastily pushing from him his empty plate, and speaking with his mouth full-"I have one word to say to you in private, before you go."

Flora followed the gallant captain into the kitchen, marvelling in her own mind what this private communication could be. The old man shut the door carefully behind him; then said, in a mysterious whisper-"The old clothes; do you remember what I said to you last night?"

Taken by surprise, Flora looked down, coloured, and hesitated; she was afraid of wounding his feelings. Simple woman! the man was without delicacy, and had no feelings to wound.

"There is a bundle of things, Captain Kitson," she faltered out at last, "in the press in my bedroom, for Mr. Charles-coats, trowsers, and other things. I was ashamed to mention to you such trifles."

"Never mind-never mind, my dear; I am past blushing at my time of life; and reelly-(he always called it reelly)-I am much obliged to you."

After a pause, in which both looked supremely foolish, the old man continued-"There was a china cup and two plates-pity to spoil the set-that your careless maid broke the other day in the washhouse. Did Mrs. K. mention them to you, my dear?"

"Yes, sir, and they are _paid_ for," said Flora, turning with disgust from the sordid old man. "Have you anything else to communicate?"

"All right," said the Captain. "Here is your husband looking for you.

The boat is ready."

"Flora, we only wait for you," said Lyndsay. Flora placed the precious babe in her father's arms, and they descended the steep flight of steps that led from the cliff to the beach.

In spite of the inclemency of the weather a crowd of old and young had a.s.sembled on the beach to witness their embarcation, and bid them farewell.

The hearty "G.o.d bless you! G.o.d grant you a prosperous voyage, and a better home than the one you leave, on the other side of the Atlantic!"

burst from the lips of many an honest tar; and brought the tears into Flora's eyes, as the sailors crowded round the emigrants, to shake hands with them before they stepped into the n.o.ble boat that lay rocking in the surf.

Precious to Flora and Lyndsay were the pressure of those hard rough hands. They expressed the honest sympathy felt, by a true-hearted set of poor men, in their present situation and future welfare.

"You are not going without one parting word with me!" cried Mary Parnell, springing down the steep bank of stones, against which thundered the tremendous surf. The wind had blown her straw bonnet back upon her shoulders, and scattered her fair hair in beautiful confusion round her lovely face.

The weeping, agitated girl was alternately clasped in the arms of Lyndsay and his wife.

"Why did you expose yourself, dear Mary, to weather like this?"

"Don't talk of weather," sobbed Mary; "I only know that we must part. Do you begrudge me the last look? Good-bye! G.o.d bless you both!"

Before Flora could speak another word, she was caught up in the arms of a stout seaman, who safely deposited both the mother and her child in the boat. Lyndsay, Mr. Hawke, his son, Adam Mansel, and lastly Hannah, followed. Three cheers arose from the sailors on the beach. The gallant boat dashed through the surf, and was soon bounding over the giant billows.

Mr. Hawke and friend Adam had never been on the sea before, but they determined not to bid adieu to the emigrants until they saw them safe on board the steamer.

"I will never take a last look of the dear home in which I have pa.s.sed so many happy hours," said Flora, resolutely turning her back to the sh.o.r.e. "I cannot yet realize the thought that I am never to see it again."

CHAPTER XIV.

AN OPEN BOAT AT SEA.

Flora's spirits rose in proportion to the novelty and danger of her situation. All useless regrets and repinings were banished from her breast the moment she embarked upon that stormy ocean. The parting, which, when far off, had weighed so heavily on her heart, was over; the present was full of excitement and interest; the time for action had arrived; and the consciousness that they were actually on their way to a distant clime, braced her mind to bear with becoming fort.i.tude this great epoch of her life.

The gale lulled for a few minutes, and Flora looked up to the leaden sky, in the hope of catching one bright gleam from the sun. He seemed to have abdicated his throne that day, and refused to cast even a glimpse upon the dark, storm-tossed waters, or cheer with his presence the departure of the emigrants.

The gentlemen made an effort to be lively. The conversation turned on the conduct of women under trying circ.u.mstances-the courage and constancy they had shown in situations of great peril-animating the men to fresh exertions by their patient endurance of suffering and privation. Mr. Hawke said, "That all travellers had agreed in their observations upon the conduct of females to strangers; and that, when travelling, they had never had occasion to complain of the women."

At this speech, Lyndsay, who began to feel all the horrible nausea of sea-sickness, raised his head from between his hands, and replied with a smile, "That it was the very reverse with women, for, when they travelled, they had most reason to complain of the men."

The effects of the stormy weather soon became very apparent among the pa.s.sengers in the pilot-boat-sickness laid its leaden grasp upon all the fresh-water sailors. Even Lyndsay, a hardy Islander, and used to boats and boating all his life, yielded pa.s.sively to the attacks of the relentless fiend of the salt waters, with rigid features, and a face pale as the faces of the dead. He sat with his head bowed between his hands, as motionless as if he had suddenly been frozen into stone. Flora often lifted the cape of the cloak which partially concealed his face, to ascertain that he was still alive.

The anxiety she felt in endeavouring to protect her infant from the pouring rain, perhaps acted as an antidote to this distressing malady, for, though only just out of a sick bed, she did not feel the least qualmish.

Hannah, the servant, lay stretched at the bottom of the boat, her head supported by the ballast-bags, in a state too miserable to describe; while James Hawke, the lad who was to accompany them in their long voyage, had sunk into a state of happy unconsciousness, after having vainly wished, for the hundredth time, that he was safe on sh.o.r.e, scampering over the village green with his twelve brothers and sisters, and not tempting the angry main in an open boat, with the windows of heaven discharging waters enough upon his defenceless head to drown him-without speaking of the big waves that every moment burst into the boat, giving him a salt bath upon a gigantic scale.

After an hour's hard rowing, the _King William_ (for so their boat was called), cast anchor in the roadstead, distant about eight miles from the town, and lay to, waiting for the coming-up of the steamer.

Hours pa.s.sed away,-the day wore slowly onward,-but still the vessel they expected did not appear. The storm, which had lulled till noon, increased in violence, until it blew "great guns," to use the sailors'

nautical phraseology; and signs of uneasiness began to be manifested by the hardy crew of the pilot-boat.

"Some accident must have befallen the steamer," said Palmer, the captain of the boat, to Craigie, a fine, handsome young seaman, as he handed him the bucket to bale the water from their vessel. "I don't like this; I'll be -- if I do! If the wind increases, and remains in the present quarter, a pretty kettle of fish it will make of us. We may be thankful if we escape with our lives."

"Is there any danger?" demanded Flora eagerly, as she clasped her wet, cold baby closer to her breast. The child had been crying piteously for the last hour.

"Yes, Madam," he replied respectfully; "we have been in considerable danger all day. The wind is increasing with the coming in of the tide; and I see no prospect of its clearing up. As the night comes on, do ye see, and if we do not fall in with the _Soho_, we shall have to haul up the anchor, and run before the gale; and, with all my knowledge of the coast, we may be driven ash.o.r.e, and the boat swamped in the surf."

Flora sighed, and wished herself safe at home, in her dear, snug, little parlour; the baby asleep in the cradle, and Lyndsay reading aloud to her as she worked, or playing on his flute.

The rain again burst down in torrents,-the thunder roared over their heads,-and the black, lurid sky, looked as if it contained a second deluge. Flora shivered with cold and exhaustion, and bent more closely over the child, to protect her as much as possible, by the exposure of her own person, from the drenching rain and spray.

"Ah! this is sad work for women and children!" said the honest tar, drawing a large tarpaulin over the mother and child. Blinded and drenched by the pelting of the pitiless shower, Flora crouched down in the bottom of the boat, in patient endurance of what might befal. The wind blew piercingly cold; and the spray of the huge billows which burst continually over them, enveloped the small craft in a feathery cloud, effectually concealing from her weary pa.s.sengers the black waste of raging waters which roared around and beneath them.

The poor infant was starving with hunger, and all Flora's efforts to keep it quiet proved unavailing. The gentlemen were as sick and helpless as the baby, and nothing could well increase their wretchedness. They had now been ten hours at sea; and, not expecting the least detention from the non-arrival of the steamer, nothing in the way of refreshment had formed any part of their luggage. Those who had escaped the horrors of sea-sickness, of which Flora was one, were suffering from thirst, while the keen air had sharpened their appet.i.tes to a ravenous degree.

In spite of their forlorn situation, Flora could not help being amused by the gay, careless manner, in which the crew of the boat contended with these difficulties.