"Hi ya! missee! more bettah go shore,—belong shih tim cheong" (ten o'clock).
The poor girl seemed quite alarmed to find it so late, and told the boatwomen to pull ashore as fast as possible.
We soon reached the bank, but my interesting friend would not allow me to land with her, stating she lived close by; however, she promised to meet me at the spot we then occupied, the next evening. The China girls quickly pulled me off to my ship, and then I was alone to think over the singularity and probable issue of the adventure.
Poor Marie! would that I had never met her—that she had accepted the Chilianian, or some prophetic spirit had whispered a warning in time to save her from her sad fate. However, it was ordained otherwise, and all that is left me is her memory. True to her promise, she saw me the following evening; then the next; and so for several consecutive days. It happened that, fortunately for the fulfilment of our appointments, Marie's father never returned from the docks, at the opposite side of the river, till late in the evening. We were thus constantly thrown together, and who can wonder that we insensibly allowed ourselves to become deeply attached?
Upon the ninth day after our first meeting, my ship was undocked, and prepared to sail for Hong-Kong in the morning; the morning, too, that, as Marie told me with tears in her eyes, would usher in her bridal day. Although Marie and I had never till then spoken of love, we both knew that it was mutual, and at this moment of peril and uncertainty we threw off all disguise and expressed our true feelings for each other. She felt no regret at sacrificing all other ties for my sake—I was but too anxious to risk anything to save her. On the evening of this, the last day that was to separate us, Marie entered her cruel father's dwelling for the last time; and, having quickly made some slight preparations, rejoined me in the boat with which I awaited her.
This boat was the same in which I had first seen her, and the poor girls who worked it being slaves of one of the old Whampoa laundresses, I determined to rescue them from their doubtful future, and prevent them making any disclosure as to Marie's escape, by carrying them down to Hong-Kong with her, and there giving them liberty.
I had already made every preparation on board, and had taken the gunner and carpenter into my confidence, as I had decided to stow them away in the sail-room; and to do this rendered it necessary for them to pass the berths of those officers. About midnight, sending the quartermaster of the watch off the deck upon an errand to get him out of the way, I smuggled the girls aboard and secreted them at the back of the sail-room well hidden by spare topsails, &c., piled up before them.
Early in the morning we lighted fires, and soon after daybreak, with steam up, commenced to get under weigh. Just then, as I fully expected, off came Marie's father and the old laundress—the one to look for a daughter who vanished on her bridal morn, the other for her poor slave girls—with warrants from the British consul for the delivery of the three girls if found on board. I was in charge of the deck, and took care to receive the bereaved parties at the gangway. After hearing their complaints, I reported the case to the captain, and received his orders to have the ship searched. This duty I took upon myself, rousing all hands out, and searching every part of the ship except the sail-room, which I took care to allow no one to approach. By the time the unsuccessful search was concluded, the anchor had been weighed, and we immediately commenced to drop down the river.
When we reached Hong-Kong, Marie landed and went to reside with her friends. She had become my betrothed, and seemed truly happy in the thought that nothing now could cause our separation. Little either of us thought at that happy time how ruthlessly all these bright prospects would be altered, and what sadness was yet in store for us. Alas! how little at that happy time either thought how soon the ruthless destroyer would annihilate a bond we had sworn should last for ever.
Marie was very lovely. Rather darker than the generality of Macao women; her complexion was a beautifully clear deep olive; the skin delicately soft, with the rich blood mantling through upon the slightest emotion; her eyes large, jet-black, lustrous, and almond-shaped, as those of the Spanish creoles of South America—eyes which can form a language of their own, so deeply expressive, so ever changeful, and heart-speaking—were exquisitely fringed with long silken lashes and arching brows; her hair, dark as the raven's wing, waved in rich profusion round her finely tapered shoulders; the Grecian nose and delicately formed nostrils spoke of her high caste; while a short full upper lip, so richly coloured, adorned a mouth small but singularly expressive, and studded with teeth of pearly whiteness. This young creature, nurtured in a southern clime, could scarcely number sixteen summers, and yet her petite figure, lithe and graceful as it was, had attained its full development. She was, in truth, an unsophisticated child of nature—ardent, passionate—the very creature of impulse.