“Daph would be glad to die, she so awsome sick,” she said to herself, “but den, who will mind de babies? No, no! Daph wont die yet. De great Lord wont let her; Daph knows he wont!”
For two days the poor negro wrestled mightily against the horrors of sea-sickness, bearing up with the motive, “Daph must live for de babies!”
Meanwhile, Captain Jones had all the charge of his new pets. “Passenger” was quite forgotten, as the stout sailor walked the deck, with Charlie peeping out from under his rough overcoat, and Louise walking at his side, wrapped in the long soft shawl that Daph had stowed away in that wonderful basket.
They had strange talks together—that strong man and those prattling children—and they learned much from each other. He told of the wonders of the sea—the great whales and the floating ice-bergs—and the petrel, that the sailor never kills. Many long years, Captain Jones had made the sea his home, and much he knew, which books had never taught him, yet in little more than three short years, Louise had caught a priceless secret, which he had never found in any land. He was familiar with the wonders of nature, but to her the Great Creator, to whom he was a stranger, was as a familiar, trusted friend. The marvels which Captain Jones could tell of the ocean, but increased her wonder at His power, who “made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all that in them is,” and in her simple way she would “praise the Lord for all his wonderful works.” Charlie little knew of the strong feelings which agitated the breast to which he was clasped, while his little sister lisped of the lessons learned at her mother’s knee.
Those days of Daph’s sickness were precious days to Captain Jones, and he was almost sorry when the stout negro triumphed over her enemy, and came on deck to resume her charge.
The air grew chill as the “Martha Jane” sped on her northward course, and the white dresses of the children fluttered, most unseasonably, in the cool breeze. The ship’s stores were ransacked for some material, of which to make them more suitable, though extempore clothing. A roll of red flannel was all that promised to answer the purpose. The captain took the place of master-workman, and cut out what he called “a handsome suit for a pair of sea-birds;” and Daph, with her clumsy fingers, made the odd garments. She felt ready to cry as she put them on, to see her pets so disfigured; but Captain Jones laughed at her dolorous face, and said the red frock only made his “lily” look the fairer, and turned Charlie into the sailor he should be.
The “Martha Jane” was nearing the familiar waters of her own northern home, when the Captain called Daph into the cabin, one evening, to consult with her on matters of importance.
With the happy disposition of the negro, Daph seemed to have forgotten that she was not always to live on board the “Martha Jane,” and under the kind protection of her sailor-friend; she was, therefore, not a little startled, when he addressed to her the blunt question:
Now, Daph had a most indistinct idea of the world at large, but, thus brought suddenly to a decision, she promptly named the only northern city of which she had heard. “I’se going to New York,” she said; “Miss Elize, my dear missus, was born dere, and it seems de right sort of a place to be takin de sweet babies to.”