In Which The Fate Of Franconia Is Seen

THE reader may remember that in a former chapter we left Annette and Franconia, in company of the stranger, on board the steamer for Wilmington, swiftly gliding on her course. Four bells struck as the surging craft cleared the headlands and shaped her course. The slender invalid, so neat of figure, and whose dress exhibited so much good taste, has been suddenly transformed into a delicate girl of some seventeen summers. As night spreads its shadows over the briny scene, and the steaming craft surges onward over rolling swells, this delicate girl may be seen emerging from her cabin confines, leaning on Franconia's arm as she approaches the promenade deck. Her fawn-coloured dress, setting as neatly as it is chastefully cut, displays a rounded form nicely compact; and, together with a drawn bonnet of green silk, simply arranged, and adding to her fair oval face an air of peculiar delicacy, present her with personal attractions of no ordinary character. And then her soft blue eyes, and her almost golden hair, hanging in thick wavy folds over her carnatic cheeks, add to the symmetry of her features that sweetness which makes modesty more fascinating. And though she has been but a slave, there is a glow of gentleness pervading her countenance, over which a playful smile now sheds a glow of vivacity, as if awakening within her bosom new hopes of the future.

The suddenness with which they embarked served to confuse and dispel all traces of recognition; and even the stranger, as they advanced toward him, hesitated ere he greeted Annette and extended his hand. But they soon joined in conversation, promenaded and mingled with the passengers. Cautious not to enter the main cabin, they remained, supperless, on the upper deck, until near midnight. That social prejudice which acts like a crushing weight upon the slave's mind was no longer to deaden her faculties; no, she seemed like a new being, as, with childish simplicity, her soul bounded forth in rhapsody of praise and thankfulness. Holding Franconia by the hand, she would kiss her, fondle her head on her bosom, and continue to recount the pleasure she anticipated when meeting her long-lost mother. "They'll sell me no more, Franconia, will they?" she would exclaim, looking enquiringly in her face.

"No, my poor child; you won't be worth selling in a land of freedom!" Franconia would answer, jocosely. After charging Maxwell to be a father and a brother to the fugitive girl,--to remember that a double duty was to be performed in his guardianship over the being who had just escaped from slavery, they retired below, and on the following morning found themselves safely landed at Wilmington, where, after remaining about six hours, Franconia bid Annette and Maxwell adieu! saw them on their way to New York, and returned to Charleston by the same steamer.

On reaching her home, she was overjoyed at finding a letter from her parents, who, as set forth, had many years resided on the west coast of Mexico, and had amassed a considerable fortune through a connection with some mining operations. Lorenzo, on the first discovery of gold in California, having joined a marauding party who were traversing that country, was amongst the earliest who enriched themselves from its bountiful yield. They gave up their wild pursuits, and with energy and prudence stored-up their diggings, and resolved to lead a new life. With the result of one year's digging, Lorenzo repaired to San Francisco, entered upon a lucrative business, increased his fortune, and soon became a leading man of the place. The hope that at some day he would have means wherewith to return home, wipe away the stain which blotted his character, and relieve his parents from the troubles into which his follies had brought them, seemed like a guiding star ever before him. And then there was his generous-hearted uncle in the hands of Graspum,--that man who never lost an opportunity of enriching himself while distressing others. And now, by one of those singularities of fortune which give persons long separated a key to each other's wayfaring, Lorenzo had found out the residence of his parents on the west coast of Mexico. Yes; he was with them, enjoying the comforts of their domicile, at the date of their letter. How happy they would be to see their Franconia, to have her with them, and once more enjoy their social re-unions so pleasantly given on brother Marston's plantation! Numberless were the letters they had written her, but not an answer to one had been received. This had been to them a source of great misgiving; and as a last resource they had sent this letter enclosed to a friend, through whose kindness it reached her.

The happy intelligence brought by this letter so overjoyed Franconia that she could with difficulty restrain her feelings. Tears of gladness coursed down her cheeks, as she rested her head on Mrs. Rosebrook's bosom, saying, "Oh, how happy I am! Sweet is the forgiveness which awaits us,--strong is the hope that through darkness carries us into brighter prospects of the future." Her parents were yet alive-happy and prosperous; her brother, again an honourable man, and regretting that error which cost him many a tear, was with them. How inscrutable was the will of an all-wise Providence: but how just! To be ever sanguine, and hope for the best, is a passion none should be ashamed of, she thought. Thus elated in spirits she could not resist the temptation of seeking them out, and enjoying the comforts of their parental roof.

But we must here inform the reader that M'Carstrow no longer acted the part of a husband towards Franconia. His conduct as a debauchee had driven her to seek shelter under the roof of Rosebrook's cottage, while he, a degraded libertine, having wasted his living among cast-out gamblers, mingled only with their despicable society. Stripped of all arts and disguises, and presented in its best form, the result of Franconia's marriage with Colonel M'Carstrow was but one of those very many unhappy connections so characteristic of southern life.

Provided with funds which the generous Rosebrooks kindly furnished her, a fortnight after the receipt of her father's letter found her embarked on board a steamer bound for the Isthmus, from whence she would seek her parents overland. With earnest resolution she had taken a fond leave of the Rosebrooks, and bid adieu to that home and its associations so dear to her childhood; and with God and happy associations her guide and her protector, was bounding over the sea. For three days the gallant ship sped swiftly onward, and the passengers, among whom she made many friends, seemed to enjoy themselves with one accord, mingling together for various amusements, spreading their social influence for the good of all, and, with elated spirits at the bright prospect, anticipating a speedy voyage. All was bright, calm, and cheering-the monster machines working smoothly, pressing the leviathan forward with curling brine at her bows, until the afternoon of the fourth day, when the wind in sharp gusts from the south-west, and the sudden falling of the barometer, admonished the mariner of the approaching heavy weather. At sunset a heavy bank in the west hung its foreboding festoons along the horizon, while light, fleecy clouds gathered over the heavens, and scudded swiftly into the east. Steadily the wind increased, the sea became restless, and the sharp chops thundering at the weather bow, veering the ship from her course, rendering it necessary to keep her head a point nearer the westward, betokened a gale. To leeward were the Bahamas, their dangerous banks spreading awe among the passengers, and exciting the fears of the more timid. On the starboard bow was Key West, with its threatening and deceptive reefs, but far enough ahead to be out of danger. At midnight, the wind, which had increased to a gale, howled in threatening fierceness. Overhead, the leaden clouds hung low their massive folds, and thick spray buried the decks and rigging; beneath, the angry ocean spread out in resistless waves of phosphorous light, and the gallant craft surged to and fro like a thing of life on a plain of rolling fire. Now she yields to the monster wave threatening her bow, over another she rides proudly, and to a third her engines slowly rumble round, as with half-buried deck she careens to its force. The man at the wheel, whose head we see near a glimmering light at the stern, watches anxiously for the word of command, and when received, executes it with quickness. An intruding sea has driven the look-out from the knight-heads to a post at the funnel, where, near the foremast, he clings with tenacious grip. Near him is the first officer, a veteran seaman, who has seen some twenty years' service, receiving orders from the captain, who stands at the weather quarter. Noiselessly the men proceed to execute their duties. There is not that bustle nor display of seamanship, in preparing a steamer for encountering a gale, so necessary in a sailing-ship; and all, save the angry elements, move cautiously on. The engineer, in obedience to the captain's orders, has slowed his engines. The ship can make but little headway against the fierce sea; but still, obedient to her command, it is thought better to maintain power just sufficient to keep her head to the sea. The captain says it is necessary, as well to ease her working as not to strain her machinery. He is supposed the better judge, and to his counsel all give ear. Now and then a more resolute passenger shoots from no one knows where, holds struggling by the jerking shroud, and, wrapt in his storm cloak, his amazed eyes, watching the scudding elements overhead, peer out upon the raging sea: then he mutters, "What an awful sight! how madly grand with briny light!" How sublimely terrific are the elements here combined to wage war against the craft he thought safe from their thunders! She is but a pigmy in their devouring sweep, a feeble prey at their mercy. The starboard wheel rumbles as it turns far out of water; the larboard is buried in a deep sea the ship careens into. Through the fierce drear he sees the black funnel vomiting its fiery vapour high aloft; he hears the chain braces strain and creak in its support; he is jerked from his grasp, becomes alarmed for his safety, and suddenly disappears. In the cabin he tells his fellow voyagers how the storm rages fearfully: but it needed not his word to confirm the fact: the sudden lurching, creaking of panel-work, swinging to and fro of lamps, sliding from larboard to starboard of furniture, the thumping of the sea against the ship's sides, prostrate passengers made helpless by sea sickness, uncouched and distributed about the floor, moaning females, making those not ill sick with their wailings, timid passengers in piteous accents making their lamentations in state rooms, the half frightened waiter struggling timidly along, and the wind's mournful music as it plays through the shrouds, tell the tale but too forcibly. Hope, fear, and prayer, mingle in curious discord on board this seemingly forlorn ship on an angry sea. Franconia lies prostrate in her narrow berth, now bracing against the panels, then startled by an angry sea striking at her pillow, like death with his warning mallet announcing, "but sixteen inches separate us!"

Daylight dawns forth, much to the relief of mariners and passengers; but neither the wind nor the sea have lessened their fierceness. Slowly and steadily the engines work on; the good ship looks defiantly at each threatening sea, as it sweeps along irresistibly; the yards have been sent down, the topmast............