CHAPTER IX.

A VILLA IN CAPE COLONY.

From the South African College they drove out of town in the direction of the Wynbey Hill to a beautiful villa in the English style of architecture, closely shaded, with the brilliant native trees of the colony grouped with the imported old familiar trees of the mother country, and surrounded with gardens laid out in the English fashion. To the owner of this lovely home, the Rev. Mr. Burney, of the Presbyterian Church, Mr. Ely bore letters of introduction for himself and his whole party. And when their carriage had rolled through the beautifully ornamented grounds and up the poplar-shaded drive to the front of the villa, he left his companions in their seats and alighted and went in to present his credentials to the master of the house.

He was welcomed by Mr. Burney with that cordial hospitality which must be peculiar, I think, to colonists all over the world; but is perhaps most peculiar to those of the Cape of Good Hope.

He insisted that Mr. Ely should immediately bring in his whole party; and to enforce the execution of his plan, went with that gentleman to the carriage and put his head in at the window and shook hands with all its occupants, and then had them all out of it and in his own drawing-room before they knew what they were about.

Then he sent for his wife and daughters and presented them to his visitors.

“Mrs. Burney, Miss Burney, Miss Mary Burney.”

And then he presented his visitors to his family:

“The Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Ely, my dears. The Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Breton. The Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal.”

—“Miss Conyers—the young lady’s name is Conyers,” whispered Mrs. Breton, in a panic.

But of all the hurried, low-toned explanation the unfortunate host heard only the names, and he corrected his mistake and made matters worse by exclaiming:

“Bless my life and soul, yes! I beg your pardon, sir and madam.” Then, turning again to his family group, he presented the young people over again as—“My dears, the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Conyers.”

Britomarte’s cheeks were scarlet. But Justin smiled with perfect self-possession and some little amusement as he shook hands all around, saying as he did so:

“I am not so happy. The young lady by my side is Miss Conyers; but it is not the fault of Justin Rosenthal, at your service, that she is so.”

The good minister uttered another:

“Bless my life and soul!” And then he laughed and stretched forth his hand, saying: “But you see the mistake was so natural on my part. Here is a party of missionaries on the way to India! And here is one young couple and here is another young couple; and here are two more young people, and what so natural as to take them for a third young couple? But I beg your pardon, Miss Conyers, I am sure!”

“And he ‘won’t do so no more!’—will you, papa dear?” said Miss Mary, who seemed to be the privileged romp of the family.

“Indeed I will not; until you give me the right,” laughed the minister.

Miss Conyers responded by a grave, severe bow; she could not easily recover her equanimity.

But Justin begged to assure his host that he, for his part, suffered under no sense of injury.

Mr. Burney laughingly replied that he should imagine he did not.

And so the affair passed off.

When the party were all seated comfortably in the easy chairs and on the sofas of the drawing-room, that looked so exactly like their drawing-rooms at home that they could almost have supposed themselves transported by magic back to America, their host, with his hands upon his knees and his head bent eagerly forward, said:

“Your ship will be in port here some days, I hope?”

“No. We sail on Saturday.”

“Bless my life and soul!” exclaimed this good man, who was given to imploring benedictions upon his own head. “You sail on Saturday, and this is Thursday. Well, well! You must make the most of your time and we must make the most of you. You must remain with us while the ship is in port. Not a word now! I will take no denial.”

Nor did he, and, indeed, it required very little persuasion to induce the voyagers to share Mr. Burney’s hospitality. The intervening days were spent delightfully in sight-seeing, and it was with real regret they bade the good people adieu and returned to the ship.

For two weeks they were blessed with fine weather and a fair wind.

Then, when the moon was at the full, there were indications of a change. The wind gradually died away, or rose and blew in fitful puffs, and sank again. The ship, with all her canvas spread whenever it could catch the faintest breeze, made little or no progress. The weather grew intolerably hot and oppressive. The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky with consuming fierceness. The ladies were driven from the deck to seek shelter from the burning heat in the deep shades of the cabin, where they remained all day, or at least while the sun was above the horizon. After sunset they ventured upon deck to seek a breath of fresh air, which they very seldom found even there, for the atmosphere seemed oppressed with some deadly element that made it almost unfit for inhalation. And even the reflected light of the moon seemed to be reflected heat as well, and Mrs. Breton declared it looked as hot, and felt as hot, as ever the sun did in her own native clime.

The crisis came; the wind fell lower and still lower; and then the fitful puffs that had served to carry the ship forward a knot or two an hour, ceased altogether; the sea sank; and the ship lay like a log upon the glassy sea, under the burning sky.

Day and night for nearly a week this dead calm continued with most depressing monotony.

The heavens wore an ominous aspect. The sun had set, and every ray of his light had faded from the western horizon; yet the whole sky seemed to be illumined with supernatural light—a bronze-colored glare that made the moon and stars look pale and dim, and that was reflected by the sea, until the whole sphere seemed smouldering on the eve of bursting into a conflagration; while ever, at short intervals, came that low, deep, distant sigh, moan or sob, across the waters. As if in sympathetic answer to this mysterious sound of distress, the ship began to creak, groan and roll. And the whole circle of the sea began to boil up into a white foam.

The seamen also were very active and busy. Some were reefing the topsails; some were setting storm staysails; others were closing the portholes; and others again were securing the fastenings of the lifeboats.

“There’s something wrong a-brewing,” said Mrs. Ely to Miss Conyers, as they walked after Mrs. Breton, who had hurried to the stern where the anxious men stood grouped around the wheelhouse.

“What is coming, Captain McKenzie?” inquired Miss Conyers.

“Not much, I hope, my dear young lady; but I would recommend you and your companions to go down into the cabin.”

Even while the captain spoke, the dull bronze-colored glare grew darker and darker, and in the gloom the ripples of the sea gleamed in phosphorescent light, and the air was filled with a sulphurous odor.

“Will there be a hurricane?” Miss Conyers was about to ask, but in pity for Martha Breton, who was an exceedingly timid woman, she forbore the question.

“Oh, take me down, please! I know there’s something dreadful at hand; and I don’t see my husband anywhere at all! Please, take me down!” pleaded poor Martha.

Miss Conyers would have much preferred to remain on deck to watch the coming of the hurricane that she felt was almost upon them; but in compassion to her trembling friend she drew poor Martha’s arm within her own, and led her towards the cabin. They had scarcely reached the top of the ladder before the wind suddenly arose out of the northwest with a great blast, and then as suddenly fell, leaving the ship rolling from the impetus.

Miss Conyers hurried her helpless companion down the ladder and into the cabin.

“Oh, Britomarte, I know! I know! The captain and all of them expect a terrible storm! I saw it in their faces! and see how hard the sailors are at work making preparations to meet it! And only think, they have not even thought of supper, though it is past the hour! Not that I care for supper now! I am too frightened; but I know if there were not great danger, they would not forget it, or neglect to serve it!—and, oh! what a blast was there!” cried Martha Breton, as another gust of wind suddenly sprang up and blew with great violence for a few moments, and then again as suddenly subsided.

“You had better let me help you into your stateroom; where you can lie down on your berth and be quiet; and no doubt presently the stewardess will bring us some tea, which I will take in to you,” said Miss Conyers.

Meanwhile on deck all was anxious preparation to meet the danger. Some of the men were aloft, relieving the masts from everything that could cumber the action of the ship or be reft away by the wind. Others were seeing to the chains. Others again were clearing the deck from the lumber sent down from aloft. The captain, with two men, were at the wheel. The wind that had at first sprung up in fierce and fitful gusts now blew steadily, but with great and increasing violence, from the northeast, driving the ship furiously through the boiling waves. The sea, risen to a great height, dashed over the decks at intervals, carrying off all light matter that had been left there, and threatening at every return to wash off the crew. So strong and fierce was the wind, so high and heavy the sea, that it was all the man at the wheel could do to keep the helm.

As the night advanced the tempest increased in fury; the wind blew in fiercer blasts, howling and shrieking around the ship, as if all the accursed spirits in Tartarus had been let loose; had there been a square of canvas up, it must have been split to pieces; the very masts were bent like reeds. “Alps on Alps” of waves arose and broke in death-dealing blows upon the deck; scarcely any hour passed in which some unfortunate seaman was not torn from his holdings and swept overboard, and the utmost precautions taken could not prevent the waves rushing into the cabin, to the unutterable horror of Mrs. Breton, who could only gasp and sob, while even Mrs. Ely exclaimed in affright:

“We shall be drowned! Oh, my Heavens, we shall be drowned! drowned here in the cabin like blind kittens in a tub!”

“Ah, thin, bad luck to the kittens. I wish meself they were drowned entirely, for sure it was thimselves as brought this hurricane upon us, as the saymen foretold!” exclaimed Judith, the stewardess, who had only heard, in the din, something about drowning and kittens. At every wave that came rushing in, Mrs. Breton went into a spasm, and Mrs. Ely cried out for mercy, though before the words had left her lips, the wave had left the cabin.

At last one, heavier than any that had preceded it broke into the cabin, prostrating all its inmates, and then rushed out again.

“We are lost! Heaven and earth, we are lost!” cried Mrs. Ely, as soon as she could get her breath.

“Ah, be calm, we are immortal spirits; we cannot be lost! Think of that, and brace yourself to bear whatever comes! At worst it will be but a stormy passage to the other world!” said Miss Conyers, earnestly.

But her companions were unnerved beyond all hope of being strengthened.

And still, as the awful night deepened, the wind blew in more furious gusts, bending the masts like rods, the sea rose in higher waves, beating the ship with mortal blows; the thunder rolled in louder peals, and the lightning blazed with a more deadly glare. The ship was driven furiously through the darkness, and clear out of her course, and no one on board had any distinct idea of where she was.

So the night of horrors wore on.

“Oh, for daylight! oh, Heaven, for daylight!” was the frequently aspirated prayer in the dark cabin. And, “Oh, for daylight! oh, God, for daylight!” was the unuttered prayer on the quivering deck.