the last.
“geo’ge, your mudder wants you.”
such were the words which aroused george foster from a reverie one morning as he stood at the window of a villa on the coast of kent, fastening his necktie and contemplating the sea.
“nothing wrong, i hope,” said the middy, turning quickly round, and regarding with some anxiety the unusually solemn visage of peter the great.
“wheder dere’s anyfing wrong or not, ’snot for me to say, massa, but i t’ink dere’s suffin’ up, for she seems in a carfuffle.”
“tell her i shall be with her instantly.” completing his toilet hastily, our hero repaired to his mother’s apartment, where he found her seated in dishabille with an open letter in her hand, and some excitement in her face.
“is laronde better this morning?” she asked as her son sat down on a sofa at the foot of her bed.
“i don’t know, mother—haven’t been to his room this morning. why do you ask? has anything happened?”
“i will tell you presently, but first let me know what success you have had in your search.”
“nothing but failure,” said the middy, in a desponding tone. “if there had been anything good to tell you i would have come to your room last night despite the lateness of the hour. we were later than usual in arriving because a trace broke, and after that one of the horses cast a shoe.”
“where did you make inquiries, george?”
“at the solicitors’ office, of course. it is through them that we obtained what we hoped would be a clue, and it is to them that poor marie laronde used to go to inquire whether there was any chance of her husband being released for a smaller sum than was at first demanded. they had heard of a dressmaker who employed a girl or woman named laronde in the west end, so i hunted her up with rather sanguine expectations, but she turned out to be a girl of sixteen, dark instead of fair, and unmarried! but again i ask, mother, what news, for i see by your face that you have something to tell me. that is a letter from minnie, is it not?”
“it is, george, and i am very hopeful that while you have been away on the wrong scent in the west end of london, minnie has fallen, quite unexpectedly, on the right scent in one of the low quarters of liverpool. you know that she has been nursing aunt jeanette there for more than a fortnight.”
“yes, i know it only too well,” answered the middy. “it is too bad that aunt jeanette should take it into her head to get ill and send for minnie just three weeks after my return from slavery!—but what do you mean by her having fallen on the right scent? surely she has not found leisure and strength both to hunt and nurse at the same time!”
“yes, indeed, she has. our last winter in that charming south of france has so completely restored her—through the blessing of god—that she has found herself equal to almost anything. it happens that aunt jeanette has got a friend living close to her who is an enthusiastic worker amongst the poor of the town, and she has taken your sister several times to visit the districts where the very poor people live. it was while she was thus engaged, probably never thinking of poor laronde’s wife at all, that she—but here is the letter. read it for yourself, you need not trouble yourself to read the last page—just down to here.”
retiring to the window the middy read as follows:—
“darling mother,—i must begin at once with what my mind is full of, just remarking, by the way, that aunt jeanette is improving steadily, and that i hope to be home again in less than a week.
“well, i told you in my last that miss love—who is most appropriately named—had taken me out once or twice on her visits among the poor. and, do you know, it has opened up a new world of ideas and feelings to me. it is such a terrible revelation of the intensity of sorrow and suffering that is endured by a large mass of our fellow-creatures! i am persuaded that thousands of the well-to-do and the rich have no conception of it, for it must be seen to be understood. i feel as if my heart had become a great fountain of pity! and i can well—at least better—understand how our dear saviour, when he wanted to give evidence of the truth and character of his mission, said, ‘the poor have the gospel preached unto them,’ for if any class of beings on the face of this earth stand in need of good news it is the poor. god help and bless them!
“well, the other day miss love came to ask me to go out with her to visit some of her poor people, among others one—a very singular character—a woman who was reported to be a desperate miser, insomuch that she starved herself and her child for the sake of saving money. it was said that she was very ill at the time—thought to be dying—and seemed to be in a wretched state of destitution. her name, miss love told me, was lundy.
“as auntie was pretty well that day i gladly accompanied my friend to her district. and it was an awful place! i shudder even now when i think of the sights and sounds and dreadful language i saw and heard there—but i must not turn aside from what i have to tell. i pass over our visits to various families and come at once to the reputed miser. she was in bed, and from her flushed face and glittering eyes i could see that she was in high fever. she started, raised herself on an elbow, and glared at us as we entered.
“i was deeply interested in her from the first moment. although worn and thin, with lines of prolonged suffering indelibly stamped on her, she had a beautiful and refined face. her age appeared to be about thirty-five. a lovely, but wretchedly clothed girl, of about fourteen years of age, sat on a low stool at her bedside. and oh! such a bed it was. merely a heap of straw with a piece of sacking over it, on a broken bedstead. one worn blanket covered her thin form. besides these things, a small table, and a corner cupboard, there was literally nothing else in the room.
“the girl rose to receive us, and expressed regret that she had no chairs to offer. while miss love went forward and talked tenderly to the mother, i drew the girl aside, took her hand affectionately, and said, ‘you have not always been as poor as you now are?’
“‘no indeed,’ she said, while tears filled her eyes, ‘but work failed us in london, where we once lived, and mother came to liverpool to a brother, who said he would help her, but he died soon after our arrival, and then mother got ill and i had to begin and spend our savings—savings that darling mother had scraped and toiled so hard to gain—and this made her much worse, for she was so anxious to save money!’
“this last remark reminded me of the reports about the mother’s miserly nature, so i asked a question that made the poor girl reply quickly—
“‘oh! you mustn’t think that darling mother is a miser. people so often fall into that mistake! she has been saving for ever so many years to buy father back—’
“‘buy father back!’ i repeated, with a sudden start.
“‘yes, to buy him from the algerine pirates—’
“i waited for no more, but, running to the bedside, looked the poor woman steadily in the face. there could be no doubt about it. there was the fair hair, blue eyes, and clear complexion, though the last was sadly faded from ill-health.
“you should have seen the look of surprise she gave me. but i had been foolishly precipitate. her mind had been wandering a little before we came in. the shock seemed to throw it further off the balance, for she suddenly looked at me with a calm sweet smile.
“‘yes,’ she said, ‘he always called me marie, though my name was mary, being a frenchman, you know—his little marie he called me! i often think how pleased he will be to see another little marie grown big when we get him back—but oh! how long—how long they are about sending him, though i have sent the money over and over again. hush!’
“she looked round with a terrified expression and clutched my shawl with her thin hand. ‘you won’t tell, will you?’ she went on; ‘you have a kind face, i am sure you will not tell, but i have been saving—saving—saving, to send more money to the moors. i keep it in a bag here under my pillow, but i often fear that some one will discover and steal it. oh! these moors must have hard, hard hearts to keep him from me so long—so very long!’
“here she thrust me from her with unexpected violence, burst into a wild laugh, and began in her delirium to rave against the moors. yet, even in the midst of her reproaches, the poor thing prayed that god would soften their hearts and forgive her for being so revengeful.
“now, mother, i want to know what is to be done, for when we sent for a doctor he said that not a word must be said about the return of her husband until she is out of danger and restored to some degree of health.”
thus far the middy read the letter.
“mother,” he said, firmly, “the doctor may say what he likes, but i am convinced that the best cure for fever and every other disease under the sun is joy—administered judiciously, in small or large doses as the patient is able to bear it! now, the primary cause of poor marie’s illness is the loss of her husband, therefore the removal of the cause—that is, the recovery of her husband—”
“with god’s blessing,” interjected mrs foster.
“admitted—with the blessing of the great physician—that is the natural cure.”
“very true, george, but you wisely spoke of small doses. i am not sure that it would be safe to tell monsieur laronde that we have actually found his wife and child. he also is too weak to bear much agitation.”
“not so weak as you think, mother, though the sufferings of slave-life and subsequent anxiety have brought him very near to the grave. but i will break it to him judiciously. we will get my dear little hester to do it.”
“your hester!” exclaimed mrs foster, in surprise. “i trust, george, that you, a mere midshipman, have not dared to speak to that child of—”
“make your mind easy, mother,” replied the middy, with a laugh, “i have not said a word. haven’t required to. we have both spoken to each other with our eyes, and that is quite enough at present. i feel as sure of my little hester as if we were fairly spliced. there goes the breakfast-bell. will you be down soon?”
“no. i am too happy to-day to be able to eat in public, george. send it up to me.”
the breakfast-room in that seaside villa presented an interesting company, for the fugitives had stuck together with feelings of powerful sympathy since they had landed in england. hugh sommers was there, but it was not easy to recognise in the fine, massive, genial gentleman, in a shooting suit of grey, the ragged, wretched slave who, not long before, had struggled like a tiger with the janissaries on the walls of algiers. and hester was there, of course, with her sunny hair and sunny looks and general aspect of human sunniness all over, as unlike to the veiled and timid moorish lady, or the little thin-nosed negress, as chalk is to cheese! edouard laronde was also there, and he, like the others, had undergone wonderful transformation in the matter of clothing, but he had also changed in body, for a severe illness had seized him when he landed, and it required all mrs foster’s careful nursing to “pull him through,” as the middy styled it. brown the sailor was also there, for, being a pleasant as well as a sharp man, young foster resolved to get him into the navy, and, if possible, into the same ship with himself. meanwhile he retained him to assist in the search for marie laronde and her daughter. last, but by no means least, peter the great was there—not as one of the breakfast party, but as a waiter.
peter had from the first positively refused to sit down to meals in a dining-party room!
“no, geo’ge,” he said, when our middy proposed it to him, on the occasion of their arrival at his mother’s home—“no, geo’ge. i won’t do it. das flat! i’s not bin used to it. my proper speer is de kitchen. besides, do you t’ink i’d forsake my angelica an’ leabe her to feed alone downstairs, w’ile her husband was a-gorgin’ of his-self above? neber! it’s no use for you, geo’ge, to say you’d be happy to see her too, for she wouldn’t do it, an’ she’s as obsnit as me—an’ more! now you make your mind easy, i’ll be your mudder’s black flunkey—for lub, not for munny. so you hole your tongue, geo’ge!”
thus the arrangement came to be made—at least for a time.
the middy was unusually grave that morning as he sat down to breakfast. they were all aware that he had returned from london late the previous night, and were more or less eager to know the result of his visit, but on observing his gravity they forbore to ask questions. only the poor frenchman ventured to say sadly, “failed again, i see.”
“not absolutely,” said foster, who was anxious that the invalid should not have his breakfast spoilt by being excited. “the visit i paid to the solicitor did indeed turn out a failure, but—but i have still strong hopes,” he added cheerily.
“so hab i, geo’ge,” remarked peter the great, from behind the chair of miss sommers, who presided at the breakfast table, for although peter had resigned his right to equality as to feeding, he by no means gave up his claim to that of social intercourse.
“come, laronde. cheer up, my friend,” said hugh sommers heartily; “i feel sure that we’ll manage it amongst us, for we have all entered on the search heart and soul.”
“right you are, sir,” ejaculated brown, through a mouthful of buttered toast.
“it only requires patience,” said the middy, “for london is a big place, you know, and can’t be gone over in a week or two.”
“das so, geo’ge,” said peter, nodding approval.
after breakfast foster sought a private interview with hester, who undertook, with much fear, to communicate the news to laronde.
“you see, i think it will come best from you, hester,” said george in a grave fatherly manner, “because a woman always does these sort of things better than a man, and besides, poor laronde is uncommonly fond of you, as—”
he was going to have said “as everybody is,” but, with much sagacity, he stopped short and sneezed instead. he felt that a commonplace cough from a man with a sound chest would inevitably have betrayed him—so he sneezed. “a hyperkrite as usual!” he thought, and continued aloud—
“so, you see, hester, it is very important that you should undertake it, and it will be very kind of you, too.”
“i would gladly undertake a great deal more than that for the poor man,” said hester earnestly. “when must i do it?”
“now—at once. the sooner the better. he usually goes to the bower at the foot of the garden after breakfast.”
without a word, but with a glance that spoke volumes, the maiden ran to the bower.
what she said to the frenchman we need not write down in detail. it is sufficient to note the result. in the course of a short time after she had entered the bower, a loud shout was heard, and next moment laronde was seen rushing towards the house with a flushed countenance and the vigour of an athlete!
“my little girl has been too precipitate, i fear,” remarked hugh sommers to the middy.
“your little girl is never ‘too’—anything!” replied the middy to hugh, with much gravity.
the ex-bagnio slave smiled, but whether at the reply or at the rushing frenchman we cannot tell.
when laronde reached his room he found peter the great there, on his knees, packing a small valise.
“hallo! peter, what are you doing? i want that.”
“yes, eddard, i know dat. das why i’s packin’.”
“you’re a good fellow, peter, a true friend, but let me do it; i’m in terrible haste!”
“no, sar, you’s not in haste. dere’s lots ob time.” (he pulled out a watch of the warming-pan type and consulted it.) “de coach don’t start till one o’clock; it’s now eleben; so dere’s no hurry. you jest lie down on de bed an’ i’ll pack de bag.”
instead of lying down the poor frenchman fell on his knees beside the bed and laid his face in his hands.
“yes—das better. dere’s some sense in dat,” muttered the negro as he quietly continued to pack the valise.
two hours later and laronde was dashing across country as fast as four good horses could take him, with george foster on one side, peter the great on the other, and brown on the box-seat—the fo’c’sl, he called it—beside the red-coated driver.
whatever may be true of your modern forty-mile-an-hour iron horse, there can be no question that the ten-mile-an-hour of those days, behind a spanking team with clattering wheels, and swaying springs, and cracking whip, and sounding horn, felt uncommonly swift and satisfactory. laronde shut his eyes and enjoyed it at first. but the strength engendered by excitement soon began to fail. the long weary journey helped to make things worse, and when at last they arrived at the journey’s end, and went with miss love and minnie to the lodging, poor laronde had scarcely strength left to totter to his wife’s bedside. this was fortunate, however, for he was the better able to restrain his feelings.
“she has had a long satisfactory sleep—is still sleeping—and is much better,” was the nurse’s report as they entered. the daughter looked with surprise at the weak worn man who was led forward. laronde did not observe her. his eyes were fixed on the bed where the pale thin figure lay. one of marie’s hands lay outside the blanket. the husband knelt, took it gently and laid his cheek on it. then he began to stroke it softly. the action awoke the sleeper, but she did not open her eyes.
“go on,” she murmured gently; “you always used to do that when i was ill or tired—don’t stop it yet, as you always do now, and go away.”
the sound of her own voice seemed to awake her. she turned her head and her eyes opened wide while she gazed in his face with a steady stare. uttering a sharp cry she seized him round the neck, exclaiming, “praise the lord!”
“yes, marie—my own! praise the lord, for he has been merciful to me—a sinner.”
the unbeliever, whom lash, torture, toil, and woe could not soften, was broken now, for “the goodness of the lord had led him to repentance.”
did the middy, after all, marry hester, alias geo’giana sommers? no, of course, he did not! he was a full-fledged lieutenant in his majesty’s navy when he did that! but it was not long—only a couple of years after his return from slavery—when he threw little hester into a state of tremendous consternation one day by abruptly proposing that they should get spliced immediately, and thenceforward sail the sea of life in company. hester said timidly she couldn’t think of it. george said boldly he didn’t want her to think of it, but to do it!
this was putting the subject in quite a new light, so she smiled, blushed, and hurriedly hid her face on his shoulder!
of course all the fugitive slaves were at the wedding. there was likewise a large quantity of dark-blue cloth, gold lace, and brass buttons at it.
peter the great came out strong upon that occasion. although he consented to do menial work, he utterly refused to accept a menial position. indeed he claimed as much right to, and interest in, the bride as her own radiant “fadder,” for had he not been the chief instrument in “sabing dem bof from de moors?”
as no one ventured to deny the claim, peter retired to the privacy of the back kitchen, put his arm round angelica’s neck, told her that he had got a gift of enough money to “ransom his sister dinah,” laid his woolly head on her shoulder, and absolutely howled for joy.
it may be well to remark, in conclusion, that peter the great finally agreed to become mrs foster’s gardener, as being the surest way of seeing “geo’ge” during his periodical visits home. for much the same reason hugh sommers settled down in a small house near them. laronde obtained a situation as french master in an academy not far off, and his wife and daughter soon gave evidence that joy is indeed a wonderful medicine!
as for george foster himself, he rose to the top of his profession. how could it be otherwise with such an experience—and such a wife? and when, in after years, his sons and daughters clamoured, as they were often wont to do, for “stories from father,” he would invariably send for peter the great, in order that he might listen and corroborate or correct what he related of his wonderful adventures when he was a middy among the moors.
