I hear that Herr Jongeneel is to have a post as a missionary at the Cape. What is to be expected from such a man? He began the voyage with a falsehood. He had assured the committee he had no children, yet came on board with a child, and his wife was daily expecting another, which duly arrived on the 3d of September.
Under these circumstances, it was, of course, impossible for me to sleep in the girls’ cabin. Captain Juta, a very good, obliging man, saw this, and as there was no other vacant place, he had a berth arranged for me on a settle in the chief cabin. It was not very comfortable, for the seat was not more than a foot broad, and it was a very difficult matter to maintain my place upon it, particularly when the ship rolled.
The rest of the company consisted—besides the young wife, her step-daughter, and myself—of eight or nine gentlemen, who were not the most eligible of fellow-passengers. They were generally very fond of seizing every opportunity of conversing with the girls, in a very sailor-like style. In the evening there was often such a disturbance that we quiet women could not find a peaceful spot on the deck where we might enjoy a little fresh air. The gentlemen and the girls raced wildly round the decks, pricked one another with needles, and shouted, laughed, and screamed like denizens of the lowest public houses. Mr. Schumann, a young chemist, was an honorable exception.
It was not till the 4th of September that a slight breeze arose, aided by which (and a little steam-tug) we made our way into the North Sea. The sails soon began to fill, and on the 5th we entered the English Channel, through which we sailed in two days and a half—the quickest run through this dangerous passage I have ever made in a sailing-vessel.
The 7th of September was a Sunday. The schoolmaster and missionary expectant read the service with half-closed eyes, and with such an appearance of unction and importance that one would have thought he had been born a priest. His address or sermon was so dry and bald as to be fit only for savages, who would not understand a word, good or bad. At the dinner-table he seemed more at home—ye powers, what an appetite he had! In the afternoon we had almost a calm. The captain, who was ever ready to give pleasure to all, had a fine organ on board. He had it brought on deck, and played, that the young people might dance. It was quite a little festival. Every one was in good spirits, cheerful, and decorous, for the captain remained present the whole time. The sailors also sang, and danced among themselves or with the girls. The boys clambered about the rigging, played with each other, or executed all kinds of gymnastic feats. We passengers stood about in groups, watching the gambols of the merry youngsters.
One of the girls took no part in the general hilarity. The poor thing seemed the only one who felt how mournful it was to go forth into the wide world without staff or stay. On the very first night which I passed in the girls’ cabin I had been struck by her mournful countenance; she had cried herself to sleep, called for her mother in her dreams, and in the morning when she awoke, and saw all the strange faces round her, she seemed to lose all courage, cowered in a corner, and wept long and bitterly. Great indeed must have been the poverty of the parents that induced them to part with a child who clung with such passionate tenderness to the remembrance of home, and bitter the parting of the poor mother from the child that was going to the far country with such a slender prospect of returning. Surely there is a sharper sting in such a parting than in following the remains of a beloved relative to the church-yard. In the one case there is the consoling belief that the soul is safe from harm, but alas for the perils that encompass soul and body on a life-long journey among strange faces!
Oh, that all into whose houses these orphan children come would endeavor to make up to them, by a little love, the mighty loss these poor creatures have sustained! I tried to console the girl as well as I could, and the good captain spoke kind words to her, and promised to take her back to Europe if she did not feel happy at the Cape. But as the girl’s sorrow wore off from day to day, she began to take pleasure—as we find is too frequently the case—in the conduct of her companions, and in a few weeks home and parents were alike forgotten.
The only girl on board whose behavior was uniformly good was one from whom I should least have expected propriety of conduct. Mary, as they called her, was the daughter, by a first marriage, of a man who had married again shortly after the death of his first wife. There was a son by this marriage, two years younger than Mary. The second wife disliked her step-children, scolded them continually, and frequently ill treated them, particularly when she had taken too much brandy, which she appeared to do pretty frequently. When Mary had reached her eighteenth, and her brother his sixteenth year, she declared that they were old enough to earn their own living, and turned them out of the house. For three months the poor creatures slept in the streets or in any corner where they could get shelter; no one would receive them, no one would take pity on the poor, ragged, half-starved wretches. They had learned nothing, and could barely manage by begging, and by little earnings now and then, to get a few farthings to buy bread. Once they had a hope of seeing their condition improved. One evening, as they stood at the corner of a street, they saw an elderly man crossing the road, and leading a little girl by the hand. A merry boy of seven or eight years of age was following them; he had loitered a few paces behind, playing with his hoop. Just when he was in the middle of the road a carriage came round the corner. The startled boy tried to spring aside, but fell over his hoop, and would probably have been crushed by the wheels, or trampled under foot by the horses, if Mary’s brother, who happened to be close by, had not rushed toward him, and dragged him out of the way.
The old gentleman came hurrying up, took the boy in his arms, examined him carefully, and could scarcely believe he had escaped entirely without injury. As a crowd had begun to gather round, he beckoned Mary’s brother to follow him, and went toward his own house accompanied by the children. He made the two beggars—for Mary had kept close to her brother—come in with him, and asked where they lived. They told him their history in a few words. The old gentleman seemed touched, wrote down the address of their father, and dismissed them with a small gratuity and a direction to call again on the following evening.
They were quite overjoyed; for the first time in three months they could enjoy a warm meal and sleep under a roof, and they hoped that next evening the good gentleman would find them work, and perhaps even take them into his house. With what impatience they waited for the appointed hour! At last the evening came, and with beating hearts they knocked at the door. An old servant appeared, and desired them to wait; after a short absence he reappeared, put a few guilders into their hands, and said that his master could do nothing more for them. Great was the disappointment of the poor children; but they did not dare to question the servant, and went away weeping silently.