Natalie; Or, A Gem Among the Sea-Weeds

by Emma V. Hallett

"Dear mother, we are called upon to bear a heavy trial; this is indeed a bitter, bitter draught, yet we must not forget 'tis our Father holds the cup. You have taught me to smile upon his chastening rod, but in this dark hour of trial truly the flesh is weak; yet we will rest upon the strength of His arm, He will not forsake us; and, mother, His ways indeed are higher than our ways. How tenderly has he dealt with us, inasmuch as he has so ordered that our dear Harry should be spared to us; for as I look upon the past, I can see nothing but the kindly interference of his will, that my brother did not share the same grave with his father."

"My darling, your precious words shed light over my weary pathway. I fear that I have sinned in thus murmuring at God's will, for I would not see his loving kindness in sparing to me my boy. But it is so very hard,--so dreadful,--that in that hour when his spirit winged its way to that better land, we might not pause from our worldly pursuits, turning our eyes heavenward; craving strength to bear our cross; but your words of love, my child, remind me of that Being who is the fountain-head of loveliness, and I thank God for his gift of you."

"If I am a comfort to you, mother, it is through your influence, for you have taught me to walk in the paths of virtue."

"True, I have pointed out to you the ways of righteousness, but when you looked upon that bright river of life, I observed that its waters were no less tranquil, and mirrored upon its bosom was one more shining star; and it has been increasing in magnitude, till now its radiance illumes even the bright river itself."

So did the Sea-flower gather together the broken threads of this family, weaving them closer with that golden thread of tender remembrance of him who had gone to await them for a little in that happier home above; this family, of which she had never the slightest suspicion but that they were of her own flesh and blood; and as she sat with her hand clasped within that of her mother's, reading from that blessed book, "Come unto me all ye that are weary," Mrs. Grosvenor could not but notice the striking resemblance which she bore to those lovely features of the miniature, which was found within the golden band. The child was growing to resemble her unknown mother, and were there any who had ever known the parents, to see their child, they could not but have discovered her descent. As the thought came to Mrs. Grosvenor's mind, she shuddered; and she asked herself if it could ever be that her darling should be torn from her? if another cloud would arise, hiding one more cherished one from her sight? But why should she tremble at the thought? she well knew there could be nothing, not even the discovery of relatives, which could lessen her daughter's love for her mother. Not a word had ever been said to the child in regard to her mysterious parentage. Captain Grosvenor had thought it best not to reveal the fact until she should have become of a suitable age to fully realize her situation. Those who had known the circumstances of her discovery, had gradually come to look upon her as the child of those who treasured her as if she had been their own; and the playmates of her childhood days had never mistrusted there was a mystery hanging about her "romantic" name,--Sea-flower. Harry, indeed, had never forgotten his delight at having a new sister; and as they had grown up together, he had often looked into her dreamy eyes, and thought, "How unlike she is to any one else; she is too good to be my sister;" and as the reality came to him, he had banished the remembrance, ere it had taken to itself a form. The original Vingo had never lost sight of "that commentful" day, as he termed it; not a day passed but he made some allusion to "dat wee gem among de sea-weeds," and the Sea-flower would open wide her eyes, as from his wild laugh she caught his broken sentences, and would wonder why the negro's words should meet with such a response within her own bosom. The child's dress, together with the ornaments which had been found upon her, had been laid carefully away, reserved until she should have become familiar with her history. But Mrs. Grosvenor, since the loss of her husband, had weighed the question in her mind, whether she should still keep the secret from her, for the child's mind was much beyond her years, and she questioned whether it would be for the best to permit her to grow to maturer years thus undeceived; but she reflected that such had been the design of her husband, and, therefore, for the present, the subject was dismissed from her mind.

It was the close of the third year in which Harry had been from home. Mrs. Grosvenor had received four letters from him in that time. His last had stated they were doing well, that he was under one of the kindest of captains, and all that was wanting to make him perfectly happy, was to see his dear mother, and the rest of the family once more. Poor boy, he little thought that there was one of its members whom he would never see again, until he had passed over that sea from which no navigator ever returns! Harry had never written his mother of the brutal treatment which he had received from his first captain, but he had said that Neptune had been the means of saving his life, and that the old fellow was getting to be quite a sailor, inasmuch as he could take a turn on the quarter-deck with as much dignity as the captain himself. It had been some time since Harry's last letter had been received, and now Mrs. Grosvenor was anxiously looking for news from him, with a state of mind prepared for receiving almost anything, so fraught with sad events had been the last few years, when one day Vingo was seen far down the street, coaxing his time-wearied limbs into a run, and bursting into the room, he stood panting in the middle of the floor, grinning with delight, and holding at arm's length a letter, which Mrs. Grosvenor recognized as coming from her son. The Sea-flower read the letter aloud, and when Vingo learned that massa Harry was homeward bound, he could contain himself no longer; it seemed as if he would go beside himself at the thought of having his young massa home once more, for everything had appeared so different since he went away; there had been so many changes, that the fellow had really had his fears that it might be his turn next to be taken off, and he had often had visions of his old slave massa in nearer proximity than was at all consistent with his ideas of liberty.

"De good Lord be praised!" exclaimed the negro, as Sea-flower ceased reading; "dis am too good news for old black man live me! but I knew de bright sunshine not be contented to stay away from missy Sea-flower long. I tinks missy get along better widout him, dan he can widout her; but dar am some poor souls dat neber sees de shine, making dem feel as full ob sing as a camp-meeting!" and the negro gave a deep sigh at the remembrance of his poor old Phillis, who was, for aught he knew, still wearing the accursed yoke of slavery.

"Poor things! poor things!" sighed the Sea-flower; "I would willingly share with them my joys, were it in my power. Theirs would be a lighter burden to those who have learned of that glorious home, where the resplendent shining of its bright ones is forever! But they, alas, have no bright future to look forward to, giving them renewed strength to bear their cross; or if they ever hear of that All-Father who hears the cry of the most wretched of his children, their masters would have them believe that he is but the white man's God! Oh, Vingo, how could you have had the heart to believe that God would disown his children?"

"Dunno, missy; but 'pears like de slabe jus' no more chilen dan de oder animals; and I tinks old massa done teach de hounds about de big bible, sooner dan he niggers."

"What became of your wife, Vingo, when father took you away? Could you not prevail on your master to let her come with you?"