"If this lasts, we shall have a glorious run," said Mr. Collins, laying down his knife and fork at dinner, "and shall most likely get clear of Anticosti before morning."

They pa.s.sed this dangerous island during the night.

"I am sorry," said Flora, "that we did not see it."

"You should rather thank G.o.d, Mrs. Lyndsay; but don't be too sure--we may see too much of it yet."

The Captain's words were prophetic. Three days of stormy weather and contrary winds found the vessel tossing between Charleroi Bay and the dismal coast, whose dreary aspect sailors view with such fear. The setting sun shone upon the white rocky cliffs of Cape Gaspe, and the fantastic rocks which surround that romantic bay; and his rising beams gleamed upon the sandy beach and desolate sh.o.r.es of Anticosti, with its grey forests of storm-stunted trees of horrid growth, that looked the fitting abode of the savage bear and wolf.

In Chaleur Bay they caught some fresh fish, which was indeed a seasonable mercy, as it had become painfully evident that their stock of provisions could not hold out many days longer.

On the 25th of August they took in a pilot off Cape Rosier, who brought some fresh provisions in his boat, and the fearful intelligence, that the cholera was raging at Quebec, and spreading into the Upper Province.

This piece of information threw a damp upon the spirits of all. They had escaped the dangers of the sea, only to encounter the more terrible peril of the pestilence. "What must be, must--we all know that," said Boreas. "No man that knows me would call me a coward; but I'll confess the truth--I'm afraid of this infernal cholera; I'll be d---- if I aren't."

Every one had some prophetic fear or foreboding on the subject. Persons who had not trembled during the storm, turned pale and shuddered when the pestilence was named.

Geordie Muckleroy alone seemed perfectly indifferent about it. "That man's sic a muckle sumph, he's no afeard o' onything," said Mrs.

Mackenzie, the dragoon's little drunken wife. "The night o' the storm he must put his heid above the gangway to spier about it; and sic a glour as he gied at the sea, I'se never forget to my deein day. 'What's a'

this muckle din?' quo' he. 'Why, man, we are a' like to be drown'd in the salt brine. It's an awfu' storm,' said my husband--'Come up, an'

lend a han' wi' the ropes.'"

"'The deil may tak' the ropes for what I care,' quo' he; 'I'll no fash mysel' about ropes, or ony thin' else, the night. I'll jest gang awa'

comfortably to my ain bed, an' tak' it easy.' An' to bed he went, sure eneugh, though his puir wife was tearing her hair, an' skirlin' for fear, the hale night."

The pilot, among the stores he brought on board, had nothing so tempting to Flora as a box of raisins, which Lyndsay purchased for her, and which were opened for the benefit of all in the cabin.

"You had better put those things out of sight, they'll give you the cholera," said Boreas. "They wouldn't be so bad in a pudding," he continued musingly--"Suppose you give some of them to Hanibal, to make into a plum-pudding. There is some flour left; it's a little musty, to be sure, but hungry dogs--you know the rest."

Flora piqued herself on making a good plum-pudding; she volunteered to prepare it for the cook, and Sam Fraser provided her with flour, water, and a board and pudding bag.

"I want eggs, Sam."

"Eggs, Ma'am?--no eggs to be had."

"Milk."

"The cow arn't calved that' to pervide that."

"Well, get me some suet."

"None in the ship. Only a little rancid b.u.t.ter."

"Take away the flour and the board. The idea of making a plum-pudding out of putrid water, musty flour, and raisins, is too ridiculous."

"Give me some of the raisins," said Sam, "and Hanibal will make a sea plum-pudding."

"I wonder what it will be like!" And Flora laughed, as she gave him as many raisins as he required.

It was amusing to watch the Captain at dinner, playing the petty tyrant over the poor French pilot, on to whose plate he chucked the outside slice of the hard, tough beef, as if he had been throwing a bone to a dog.

The pilot showed his white teeth, and his dark eyes blazed as he flashed them full in the Captain's face, and, throwing the meat back into the dish, he strode from the table.

"Brother," said Collins, a name he seldom applied to the Captain, and only when he wished to impress him particularly on any important subject, "you had better try anither tack wi' the pilot. That won't do.

He's a proud, high-spirited fellow; he'll no stand ony nonsense."

"He may sit it, then. I'll treat him as I please."

"Then he'll leave you to navigate the St. Lawrence alone."

The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing.

"Let me ca' him back to the table, and apologise."

"Call him back if you like; but, d---- the apology!"

"I'll mak' it straight," cried Collins; and, leaving the cabin, he soon returned with the Frenchman, followed by Sam and the sea-pudding, who, placing it before the Captain with a most impressive air, looked triumphantly across the table at Mrs. Lyndsay.

"A nice piece of duff that, Sam," said Boreas, striking his knife and fork into the fair sides of the jolly white pudding.

"Wery nice, Sir," responded Sam.

"This your manufacturing, Mrs. L.?"

Flora shook her head.--"I was not going to disgrace the national dish by compounding it of such materials."

"You have been stingy of the plums, Sam. They are scarcely within hail of each other."

"He should have told the cook to whistle while he was picking them,"

said Flora, laughing. "I gave out plenty for a large, rich pudding."

"I'll help the youngsters first," said Boreas, handing a large slice to James Hawke; "boys love duff."

The first mouthful was enough for poor Jim. He made a horrid face, and pushed back his plate.

"Hey! what's the matter with the lad?"

"Oh!" said Jim, hurrying from the table. "I shall never be able to eat plum-pudding again."

The pudding looked so clean and nice, that Flora was tempted to taste it. She no longer wondered at the boy's disgust. It was made with rancid fat, bad water, and boiled in the sea-brine. To a stomach unaccustomed to such dainties, it was unpalatable in the highest degree. Yet the Captain, Mate, and Pilot ate of it, and p.r.o.nounced it excellent.

"I knew how it would be," said Flora; "and yet I am baby enough to be disappointed at the result."

"The child has quarrelled with its pudding," said Boreas, "and left more for us. It's an ill wind that blows no one any good."

"Pray don't call it my pudding, Captain. I disown it altogether. There is nothing English about it."

Hannah, who had recovered her health and usefulness in a miraculous manner, since her master's quarrel with the Captain, at any rate showed an English appet.i.te while discussing the execrable mess. Flora, who was really hungry, and longing for wholesome food, envied her the zest with which she demolished slice after slice, and still kept sending up her plate for more.