by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XXII.
THE END OF THE VOYAGE.
For the week preceding the arrival of the raft, Emily Goodridge had beenimproving in health, though she was still quite feeble. She sat up partof the day, and spent an hour or two in the forenoon in the open air. Aswe approached the city, the excitement of being so near home buoyed herup, and seemed to give her an unnatural strength.
For my own part, I was in a whirl of excitement. The end of the voyagewas a tremendous event in itself; but, as I thought of the astonishmentof my brother when he should see Flora and me, and of the meetingbetween Mr. Goodridge and his daughter, I could hardly contain myself.The sights along the river, too, were sufficiently wonderful to keep myeyes wide open, and my heart leaping. For the first time in my life Isaw a ship--hundreds of them, whose forest of masts and spars was asstrange to me as though I had been transported to the centre of theCelestial Empire.
It seemed to me an age since I had left Torrentville; since, withbounding bosom, I had guided the raft down the creek to the Wisconsin.The events which had preceded our departure appeared to have occurredyears ago, and to be dwarfed into littleness by the lapse of time.Captain Fishley, his wife, and Ham seemed almost like myths, so farremoved were they from me by distance and time. I had almost forgottenthat I had been charged with a base crime, and that I had fled to escapeunpleasant consequences.
There was the great city of New Orleans spread out before me; and there,somewhere in the midst of its vast mass of heaving life, was my brother,and Flora's brother. I knew not where to look for him. But my first dutywas to the poor girl, sick in body and sick at heart, who had voyageddown the river with us; who had made us feel enough of Christ's spiritto know that "it is more blessed to give than to receive."
Emily was in the chamber with Flora when Sim and I fastened the raft tothe post. My fellow-laborer had already indulged in unnumbered"Hookies," and his eyes were set wide open by the wonders thatsurrounded us. I left him to stare, and to be stared at by the idlers onshore, and went into the house.
"Our journey is ended!" I exclaimed.
"And I am close to my father's house," added Emily, with convulsiveemotion.
As I looked into her pale face, I could not help fearing that she wasclose to her Father's house in a higher sense than she meant thewords--close to that "house of many mansions, eternal in the heavens;"for she seemed to have, in her weakness, but little hold upon this life.
"Where does your father live, Emily?" I asked.
"In Claiborne Street," she replied. "If you could get a carriage, Iwould like to go there at once."
"Do you feel able to ride in the carriage?"
"O, yes--to go home."
I went ashore, and soon found a carriage. I need hardly say that Emily'sclothing was in very bad condition, though Flora had done what shecould to improve it. Fortunately, it was nearly dark, and her appearancedid not excite much attention. I could not permit her to go alone, andshe insisted that Flora should accompany her. I left Sim in charge ofthe raft, with the promise to return soon. The carriage conveyed us tothe number in Claiborne Street indicated by Emily. It was an elegantmansion, and I was abashed by the splendors that were presented to myview as I entered.
The coming of Emily created a sensation among the servants; but herfather was not at home, though he was momentarily expected. Flora and Iwere conducted to a magnificent parlor, whose splendors exceededanything of which I had ever dreamed. Emily went up stairs, to clotheherself properly before her father came. The poor girl wept bitterly asshe entered the house which she had left three weeks before with hermother. The torrent of grief was renewed as she gazed again upon thefamiliar scenes which had always been so closely associated with thedear one who was gone.
A mulatto servant-man came into the room where Flora and I were. He hadjust greeted his young mistress, and his eyes were still filled withtears.
"We have been expecting Miss Emily for several days," said he. "Herfather has suffered everything on her account."
"I am sorry she was delayed, but she would not leave my sister," Ireplied.
"But how did she come? It was a very slow steamer," he added.
"It was not a steamer. Didn't she write to her father?"
"Yes; but she didn't say what she was coming in; only that she was withvery good friends, and should be home in a week or ten days."
"She came on a raft."
"On a raft!" exclaimed the man. "Miss Emily?"
"It was her own choice. I tried to have her take a steamer; but shewould not. But there was a house on the raft, and she had a good bed."
"Of course her father has felt very bad, and since the funeral he hasfretted a great deal about her."
"Since what funeral?" I asked.
"Her mother's. Poor Mrs. Goodridge was brought down from Cairo, packedin ice, and the funeral was a week ago yesterday."
One of the many steamers which passed us on our way down the river hadbrought the remains of Emily's mother, and they had already beencommitted to their last resting-place.
The ringing of the door-bell called the servant from us. We heard theheavy step of a man, as he went up stairs; but we did not witness thefirst interview between Emily and her father. They had much to say, andwe did not see them for half an hour. When they entered the parlortogether, both of them were tolerably calm; but the traces of tears werestill visible in their eyes.
"Young man," said Mr. Goodridge, taking me by the hand, after Emily hadintroduced Flora and me by name, "I am indebted to you for the life ofmy child."
He wept, and could not utter what he evidently intended to say. My cheekburned, for in my sympathy for the poor girl and her father I had quiteforgotten my hard swim after the disaster. I stammered some reply, anddid not even then know what I was saying.
"Under God, you saved her; and I shall bless you as long as I live forthe noble deed. It was hard to lose her who is gone; it would have beendoubly hard to lose both of them."
"O, I don't think anything of what I did," I replied. "My poor littlesister here has done a good deal more than I have for her."
Mr. Goodridge took the hand of Flora, and thanked her as he had thankedme. I told him the story of our voyage down the river after Emily joinedus, as briefly as I could, giving my poor sister the credit for all hercareful and devoted nursing of the invalid.
"I must go now, sir," I added, when the narrative was finished.
"Indeed, you must not," said the grateful father, decidedly.
"I left Sim Gwynn on the raft. He is rather simple, and I am afraidsomething will happen to him."
"Can't he leave the raft?"
"Not yet; my sister's clothes and other things are in the house."
He called the servant and ordered a carriage, saying he would go with mehimself to the raft, and employ a man to take charge of it. We drove tothe levee, where Mr. Goodridge sent for one of the porters in hiswarehouse, who was ordered to sleep on board, and see that nothing wasstolen. Sim was directed to get into the carriage with us, and we wentback to the house of the merchant.
"Hookie!" almost screamed Sim, as we entered the elegant mansion.
"Shut up, Sim! Don't open your mouth again!" I whispered to him.
"Hookie!" replied he, in a suppressed tone.
"Well, Buckland," said our host, when we were seated in the parlor,--Simwith his mouth open almost as wide as his eyes,--"I should like to knowsomething more about you. You have only told me what occurred after yousaved Emily. How happened you to be floating down the river on a raft?"
I told my story, from the day my father died, keeping back nothingexcept the matter relating to Squire Fishley's infirmity.
"And your brother is here in New Orleans?" said he.
"Yes, sir. He has gone into business here."
"What is his name?"
"Clarence Bradford."
"Bradford! I thought your name was Buckland."
"John Buckland Bradford, sir."
"I know your brother ve
ry well. He is the junior partner in the firm ofBent, La Motte, & Co. Their house is doing a fine business, too. I don'tthink we can find your brother to-night, but we will in the morning."
"He will be very much astonished to see us here."
"No doubt of it; but your coming was a blessing to me. I have threesons, but Emily is my only daughter, and the youngest child. She is mypet. She is in delicate health, and I tremble at the thought of losingher. You cannot understand what a service you have rendered me."
He was silent for several minutes, and I saw the tears starting in hiseyes again. He was thinking of her who was lost, or her who wassaved--of both, more likely.
"Shall you return to Torrentville again?" he asked, after walking acrossthe room two or three times, apparently to quiet his emotions.
"No, sir, I think not."
"Wherever you go, young man, I shall be your friend, with my money andmy influence."
"Thank you, sir."
"I will consult with your brother, to-morrow, in regard to what I can doto serve you best; but my gratitude shall have a substantialexpression."
"O, sir, I don't ask anything for what I have done," I protested.
"You do not ask it; but that does not absolve me from doing something.But, to change the subject, I do not quite like to have you accused ofrobbing the mail."
"I didn't do it, sir."
"The gentleman who gave you the money ought to come forward and explain.If you didn't open the letter, you should not suffer a day for it. Iwill see your brother about that, too. It must be made right."
"I should be very glad to have it made right; but I can't tell who theman was that gave me the money."
He insisted, in very complimentary terms, that one who had done what Ihad could not be guilty of a crime, and that I must be cleared even fromthe suspicion of evil.
Sim and I slept on beds of down that night. The next morning Mr.Goodridge undertook to find Clarence. About the middle of the forenoon,while our raft party were all gathered in the parlor with thehousekeeper, he was shown into the room. Not a word had been said to himas to the nature of the business upon which he was called, and his eyesopened almost as wide as Sim's when he saw Flora and me.