The old gentleman had probably gone to make inquiries at the parents’ house, and finding the step-mother alone, the wicked woman, to justify herself for having turned the children out of doors, had told some horrible tale about them.
The poor wretches were looking forward with great fear to the approaching winter, when fortunately they heard of the committee which sent out young people to the Cape. They went at once to the office, and were accepted.
A girl who remains good and virtuous under such circumstances deserves the greatest respect and admiration. Mary continued, like a heroine, unspoiled by the bad step-mother, by starvation in the streets, or by the bad example on board. God grant poor Mary happiness and blessings, for surely she deserves them!
On the 19th of September a very strange incident took place. We were going quietly before the wind, when suddenly it changed and took us “all aback.” The sails could not be furled quickly enough to save one of the yards from being sprung and the sail torn to shreds. The whole affair was over in a few moments, and the passengers in the cabin knew nothing about it. The captain ascribed the occurrence to a great water-spout. We could not see it, but had probably come within the domain of the whirlwind it raised.
At the end of our passage, which was somewhat tedious and thoroughly uneventful, we had a death on board; the schoolmaster’s eldest child died of the croup. I was very disagreeably impressed on this occasion by the behavior of the mother. With the child on her lap—it had only died a few minutes before—the bereaved mother eagerly asked for bread, butter, and cheese, and a glass of water. When she began to drink the water, and found it was not sweetened, she scolded the girl, and sent her off for the sugar. After she had satisfied her hunger and thirst, the poor little child was dressed, and the scene of grief began. She took it in her arms, wept and sobbed, and seemed as if she could not part from it. A few hours afterward all signs of mourning had vanished, and one would have thought the poor child had never existed.
On the 16th of November, at noon, we at length cast anchor in front of Cape Town. For a description of this place, I refer my readers to my “Second Voyage round the World.”
It was Sunday, and I therefore refrained from going on shore. Where English people form the majority of the population, it is not customary to pay visits on this day; the good folks are all day long either at church, or praying at home, or supposed to be praying.
Cape Town is not so great but that the name of every stranger is known within a few hours after arrival; and on this first afternoon I received two friendly offers of hospitality for the time of my stay here—one from Madame Bloom, the other from Mr. Juritz, an apothecary.
On the morning of the 17th of November, I was engaged in packing up my few possessions before going ashore with the captain when a gentleman came on board and inquired for me. He introduced himself as Mr. Lambert, a Frenchman, and told me that he had been living in the island of Mauritius some years, and had, in fact, landed here on his return voyage to that island. He had heard in Paris of my intention of proceeding to Madagascar, and that I had been dissuaded from attempting the journey. Hearing yesterday of my arrival, he had hastened to invite me to go to Madagascar with him, if I had not entirely abandoned my project. He had been in the island about two years before, and was personally acquainted with the queen. He had written to her from Paris, requesting permission to pay a second visit, for no one is allowed to land in Madagascar without the queen’s consent. He hoped to find this permission awaiting him at the Mauritius, and would write immediately on his arrival to obtain a similar permission for me, which he had no doubt would be granted; only, if I intended to undertake the journey, I must make up my mind at once, as the steamer would start for the Mauritius on the following day. In consequence of the rainy season having set in at Madagascar, the voyage from the Mauritius thither could not be commenced until the beginning of April; but, in the interval, Mr. Lambert assured me I should find the heartiest welcome in his house.
It would be difficult to picture my surprise and joy at this. I had given up all hope of carrying out my plan, and now I should be able to do it, and, moreover, in the most agreeable and the safest way. I hardly knew what to say to Mr. Lambert. I felt ready to shout for joy, and tell every one I met of my good fortune. Yes, I have had good luck in my journeyings—never-ending luck. At Rotterdam I found a ship which was to touch at the Cape—a thing that hardly occurs twice in the course of a year, as the Dutch have scarcely any communication with the colony; and here at the Cape I arrive just in time to meet Mr. Lambert, who would have been gone had I landed twenty-four hours later. These are the happy chances one reads of frequently enough in novels, but they very seldom occur in actual life.