Proudly as she sailed on, how different were the spirits of those on board to what they had been at the commencement of the voyage. Jack Ivyleaf no longer spouted or sang his comic songs. The poor steerage passengers mourned for their lost friends. The seamen talked over the good qualities of Bill Windy, the late mate, who was a general favourite with them. The captain sincerely grieved for him, and felt his loss acutely. But Emma and May Dicey, perhaps more than any one else, had cause to mourn for their brother. Mr Paget endeavoured, with the most delicate attention, to comfort them; and even Mrs Clagget’s manner softened when she attempted to soothe the grief of the poor girls. Still her tongue would keep wagging, and they would frequently have been glad had she kept silence.
“You see, my dear Emily, you and May have been deprived of your brother, and I know what it is to lose a person one loves. When poor dear Mr Clagget was taken from me, I thought my heart would break; but it didn’t, you see, and I got over my grief in time. Now, according to my idea, it is wise to make the best of everything; and what I propose is, when we reach New Zealand, that we should set up house together. You cannot live alone, that’s very certain, and I have no wish to reside by myself. It is but natural, and right and proper, that an old friend of your family, as I am, should remain with you, and afford you that protection which you so much require.”
Notwithstanding Mrs Clagget’s kind intentions, neither Emily nor May had any wish to have the sound of her tongue always in their ears. They talked over her proposal, but agreed that they would rather do anything than be compelled to accept it. Mr Paget did not offer any advice on the subject, considering that there would be time enough to discuss the matter when they were nearer New Zealand. He probably thought that they would, when there, find some more desirable friend than the talkative lady appeared to be. What was passing in his own mind, indeed, he did not reveal. There were still so many sick on board that the young ladies’ services were almost as much required in attending to them as at first. In this occupation they found their best solace. After two or three days, they had aroused themselves to attend to their self-imposed duties. They were now never idle, although tears unbidden often came into their eyes when they thought of their young brother, cut off so suddenly in his youth and strength. They endeavoured, on such occasions, to turn their minds to the duties they had in hand, and, to the casual observer, they appeared very soon to have recovered from their loss.
“I have an idea,” said Mrs Clagget to the lady who occupied the next cabin to hers, “that it won’t be long after we arrive in New Zealand before my friend Emily replaces poor dear Charles. I should have given those two girls credit for having more feeling; but ah, my dear Mrs Jones, there’s wonderful elasticity in the spirits of youth. I am sure such was my case, when I was a girl—down one moment, up the next; weeping and sighing, laughing and dancing, within a few minutes. I was still in my youth when I was deprived of my dear Mr Clagget, and, as I was telling them the other day, I thought my heart would break; but I bore my loss with wonderful equanimity.”
“Yes; but then you are a wonderful woman,” observed Mrs Jones, who had long since become weary of her neighbour’s loquacity, and did not observe that the Miss Diceys showed any want of feeling at the loss they had suffered.
Although at first unwilling to encounter their fellow-passengers, the two poor girls, feeling the importance of taking the fresh air, used to come on deck at night, where they would stand, their hands clasped together, watching the beautiful constellations, and gazing over the dark ocean which they believed to be their beloved brother’s grave. The other passengers, respecting their grief, kept aloof from them, and allowed them the part of the deck they chose to themselves. The old captain and Mr Paget were the only people who spoke to them on such occasions, and then only to advise them to retire to their cabins, when the late hour made it desirable. Sometimes, notwithstanding this, Emily lingered, and Mr Paget, finding that he was not intruding on her sorrows, stood by her side, offering such subjects of consolation as he thought likely to produce a good impression upon her mind. Emily felt very grateful to him, and was thankful that she and her sister had a friend on whose calm judgment and sympathy they could so thoroughly rely.
The “Crusader” sailed on towards the east before a steady breeze. Often for days together not a sheet nor tack was started; the crew had seldom to go aloft, except to serve some of the rigging, or to keep the usual lookout.
Although the sickness on board did not increase, the captain still considered it necessary to put into Simon’s Bay for water. One fine calm morning, the passengers were scattered about in groups on deck, the women belonging to the steerage attending to various domestic concerns, the mothers dressing and nursing their children, the girls working or pretending to work with their needles. Three or four of the men were helping the cooks, some were mending their shoes, others were tailoring, a few of both sexes were reading, a greater number arguing some knotty point, or smoking their pipes, and several were sitting listlessly with their hands between their knees, already wishing that the voyage was over, and that they were once more engaged in the occupations to which they had been accustomed. The crew were all busy in their various duties about the ship. The captain was not a person to allow his men to be idle. The carpenter was at his bench, scattering white shavings around him; several were at work with heaps of oakum, spinning yarns. The sailmakers, with canvas spread before them, were plying their needles; others were making mats, or splicing or knotting ropes. The painters, with their pots and brushes, were giving touches to the bulwarks and other parts where the paint had been rubbed off; and every particle of brass was getting a fresh polish from the ship’s boys, who whistled as they worked. The cabin passengers were collected under the awning on the poop. In one part, Mr and Mrs Bolton, with their children around them, were holding school; the younger ladies were reading or working. Mr James Joel was laying down the law on some agricultural subject to the young farmer, Luke Gravel. Tom Loftus and Jack Ivyleaf were smoking their cigars, and arranging some plan of proceeding which Jack had proposed as certain of success. Mrs Clagget, though with work in her hands, had forgot all about it in her eagerness to employ her tongue on her reluctant hearer, poor Mrs Jones. Emily and May were reading together a book which Mr Paget had lent them. He had wisely judged that the best way to restore their spirits was to draw them off from themselves. He was standing near them, doing nothing, an unusual occurrence for him. Now and then he glanced over the page, and made some remark, and though perhaps he was not aware of it, he continued watching Emily’s countenance as she read.
“I thought so before, and now I am sure,” whispered Mrs Clagget to her companion. “Well, it’s the best thing that could happen.”
“But is he going to settle in New Zealand?” asked Mrs Jones. “He is a mere traveller I fancy, or perhaps he has a wife already.”