Chapter V.

Otago Witness, Issue 1832, 31 December 1886, Page 6

Chapter V.

• Anybody here for the depot ? All for the depot step this way.' It was the busy platform of Plymouth station and noonday. Maiion Gale, for she was one among the many who had just left the crowded carriages of the North train, stood bewildered, and listened again, 'All for the depot this way,' the man shouted again. • You for the depot, miss ? Follow me.'

Her embarkation order had stated that she mußt present herself at the depot on this day, though she hadn't the least idea of what the depot was, and had expected some little trouble perhaps in finding out on her arrival at Plymouth. But here was a man ready and waiting to show her the way. How thought ful the emigration agent must be to think of Bending somebody to meet her, though she did wish by and by there had not been so many for the depot by this same train, for it was an unpleasant experience to be marshalled through busy streets along with a dozen more people whom she bad never Been before, and Borne of them she was sure were anything but desirable acquaintances. But it was all too strange, and she too bewildered and frightened to think much about it yet. Like one in a dream she followed the rest into the office at the entrance of the depot, answered the questions there put to her, gave up her embarkation order, and was hustled into the general room, where some two or three hundred were already assembled. Then came the news that the luggage had arrived from the last train, and those who had any amongst it were directed so attend in an adjoining apartment to superintend the searching of their boxes.

Marion joined in the rush, as Bho wa3 bidden, only dreading lest she should meet Mark in this crowd somewhere, and be Bent home again, for she never doubted that Mark was Bharing the same fate as herself in these preliminaries to the voyage. She had got some inkling from Frank Dawson that the life of an emigrant on boaid ship was considerably different to that of a paid passenger, but be, knowing nothing of the existence of depots, had never mentioned them, and Marion bad gone on supposing that all bound in the Doric for New Zealand must of necessity pass through this depot. It was a sourco of relief to her, therefore, when the inspection of tha boxes was over, and she was shown into the room for women only, without having been discovered. But her heart grew faint at the scene which met her eyes. It was dinner time, and the usual depot scene on such an occasion was being enacted. Those who have experienced it will need no description—those who have not would scarcely benefit by one Marion waß roughly given a ticket and pushed forward to a table where the specified number — ten — was not made up, and told *to look alive and get some dinner if she could.' Somebody pushed the dißh to her with its two compartments, one containing potatoes in their skins, the other what remained of a roughly-cooked joint of meat— whether mutton or beef, fop ever remained a mystery to her— and she tried to eat, but four d it impossible. Then followed the dreary afternoon among that motley crewof strangers— some pale, wearyfaced, but superior-looking, ike herself, but the most of them of a totally different stamp— singing, shouting, dancing, quarrelling for the

best seats, until the tea bell rang, and she found herself struggling with the rest for her allowance of bread, butter, and tea. Not that she felt hungry, only that she was told sharply to attend to herself, and after all it was a diversion, Then after another dreary hour or twos' sitting came bedtime. Her boots and the little handbag she carried, she found, bad to ba left uuder the table where her meals had been taken — her hat and jacket, which she had! never thought of taking off before, on a peg olose by, at the imminent peril of being mis taken for their own by a dozen others, and then she was ready to go with the crowd after the woman whose duty it was ■> o show them to the common Bleeping apartment above. If Marion's heart had been sick before, it was still more so when she saw where sha was to pass the night. Only one thought kept her from rushing in despair from the scene of confusion where this strange, noisy crowd seamed to be battling, shoulder to shoulder, for which each different one considered the most desirable of all those very undesirable-looking wooden berths which were to serve as beds for them during their stay in tha depot — the thought whioh was ever present like a glow of warmth in her aching, frozen soul, that all she was enduring now was for Mark's sake. If only she could have borne his share too 1 for still she supposed that somewhere not far away he was Buffering in like manner, and he was not strong like her. She stood patiently aside waiting until everyone should be accommodated, caring little which of all those wooden niches should fall to her share, if only she might get it quietly and unobserved. When a band was laid on her arm, and turning, she faced another girl, perhaps a year or two older than herself, quiet, and even lady-like in appearance, and looking almost as bewildered.

4 Have you anybody with you ?' the»stranger inquired, and on being answered in the negative, ' I thought you might not mind sleeping near me — there i<* a double berth in one of the top corners which nobody seems to have noticed, and I should not like .to share it with anyone.'

Marion eagerly acquiesed. They were nearly all double berths, and it might have fallen to her lot to share one with a much more objectionable companion than this seemed to be. A few brief words passed between them — Marion learnt that her newly made acquaintance was an orphan going to join a brother in Australia, and then, as if by_ mutual consent, they dropped the conversation, and in the darkness and hubbub around her Marion cried h^reelf quietly to sleep, thinking of her dear Yorkshire home and the father and mother who loved her so, and would be so soon expecting her back again. All nightlong she dreamed of them— dreamed that she was amongst them all, with Mark stronpr and well — Mark, who waa laughing as she told him of a dream she had had, that he was ill and leaving her for a land beyond the seas— until the loud clanging of a bell awoke her to the miserable reality and the fact that it was time to rise and begin another day of wearing uncertainty, for to an inquiry which she had made yesterday, the reply had been that nobody was certain to a day when the emigrants for the Doiic would be taken on board. The ship was not down from London then, but it was due and might arrive at any moment, and then thoy would in all probability be shipped at once.

Oh, how she hoped it would arrive today. Surely it would be better on board ship than in this miserable depot, and if it were not, Mark would be there — and no place could be unpleasant where he was. It would be all her happiness to minister to him — to make tolerable to him the dreary long sea voyage. She was out of bed (if it could be called so) before the last stroke of the bell had died away, rightly conjecturing that the only chance of performing a toilet in any degree respectable must consist in being up betimes, and before the common rush. This was easily accomplished, as the majority of the emigrants seemed intent upon remaining in their wretched berths as long as was permissible, and Marion was ready for whatever the day might bring forth before the last of them had risen.

The day followed pretty much as yesterday had been, and the next day, and Marion was almost mad with misery and impatience. At last, however, the relief came. On the morning of the fourth day the Doric was reported in the sound, and in the course of the day those who were to sail in her were taken off ; Marion was beside herself with joy. In the excitement of the prospect of so Boon meeting Mark again, and her anticipation of the pleasure it would give him to know how well she loved him, she almost forgot the father and mother whom she was leaving behind in her childhood's home.

But not for long did her gladneßs last. Ere daylight faded again she had learnt the difference which, through all that voyage, must exist between her position and Mark's, and how far removed from him she was in that little world aboard ship. She bad learnt that the barrier between a first saloon passenger and a free emigrant was a very real one— too real for her to Burmount. Never, while life lasted, did she quite forget the d'zzy faintnesa which came over her as she realised this, and saw the quarters in which her lot was cast for the next six weeks.

That morning her one hope and expectation had been to see Mark again — to hear him speak and feel his kisses on her face ; before evening foil her greatest wish was that she might keep her presence a secret from him until the voyage was over. She could not help him, Hiß quarter, were Arcadia in comparison with hers. She would not be allowed to go to him in any case; why then trouble him with the knowledge at all of what she had undertaken and was suffering for his sake ?

He would be very miserable, no doubt, from his recent separate n from his horne — would be crying in his heart for her, who, so far as he knew, he was leaving behind him, tooj but, judging from her own loving, unselfish heart, Marion Gale concluded that it would be far mere likely to comfort him — the supposition that she was safe with those who loveed her, than the knowledge that she was here taking her chance amongst 150 emigrants. So all through the confusion of those first dayß, and the horror of sea- sickness, her one comfort was that Mark had not seen her— that he was undergoing none of the inconveniences and hardships which were hers.

How she endured the long days and weeks until the coast of New Zealand was sighted she never knew, but they were coming to an end at last, and a new light came to her face —a new strength to her soul as the reward neared.

Soon, oh, very soon now, would she be with Mark sgain ! Soon she could go to him, and, with her head on his breast, could say : * See how I have loved you ! I have left home and friends and kindred— l have endured more than I can tell you. and am ready to endure still more for your dear Bake.'

It waß not exaotly clear to her yet what course ahe meant to pursue after that. Of

one thing she was determined— she would not saddle herself upon Mark, He might — he probably would— insist upon her becoming his wife at once, and sharing what ever fortune had in store for him, without delay under the circumstances. But, she would be firm against that. It would not be right in God's eyes to marry him, however much he wished it, to burden him with hur maintenance before his prospects were more favourable than they were now, even were he in perfect health, for his savings, she new, would be greatly diminished by the expenses of the voyage, and he would ba almost entirely dependent upon his unole for a start in the new country. No, Bhe had only her own strength and courage to depend upon, for a time at all events. But Burely work would be no hardship, done under Mark's loving and grateful eyes ? Her half -formed idea was to procure a situation near whare Mark would Hver-so near, if possible, that Bhe could watch over him and be at hand at any time he required her. And tha good ship neared its destination, Not once during the voyage had she seen Mark, keeping resolutely out of the way whan the possibility might have been hers of doing so, lest he, in his turn, should see her.

It was Bomewhere near Wellington, aha knew, where Mark's uncle lived, and it was for Wellington his passage and her's had been taken. So when the vessel stopped at Auckland and the intermediate ports. Marion Gale made no sign but remained quietly biding her time. At laßt into Wellington harbour the good ship steamed, and she knew the time had oome. She waa up betime^that morning, the one pretty dress which she had kept at band since Bhe left England for this occasion, donned, and Marion Gale looked more like herself than she had looked since Bhe tripped along her own green lanes or sang about her father's garden. The harbour was in full Bight, and everyone, old and young, rich and poor, was on deck in great good humour to hail the promised land, Marion was with the rest this time. There was no longer any need for concealment— indeed, the sooner Bhe made known her presence to Mark the better now, so Bhe even strove to single him out from the saloon passengers who were still on board, and when she failed she walked courageously up to the captain, who happened to come her way, and asked if she might be allowed an interview with Mr Mark Ardern.

' Ardern, Ardern,' the captain muttered reflectingly. ' Lat me see ? ' He hailed the first mate, and after or two with him, which the girl could not hear, he turned to her again, 'Mr Ardern went aßhore at Auckland. Hiß passage was taken for this port— most of his luggage, I believe is on board still, but he was met unexpectedly at Auckland 'and .'

But the girl had grown whiter and whiter with every word and now had fainted away. When shecame to herself she was in a more com-" fortable cabin than she had ever even seen before, and the chief stewardess was bending over her in kindly pity. The ship had stopped, but, even in the excitement of landing a fellow passenger of Mark's waa found, who having been more intimate with him than moßt others, happened to know exactly how he came to disembark at Auckland instead of coming on to Wellington. His uncle, whose home was in the latter district, had, from some chance or other, happened to be in Auckland on the arrival of the vessel, and had insisted upon his doing a tour of that dißtriot with him before proceeding home.

No, Mr Ardern was certainly no worse in health at the end than at the commencement of the voyage. Indeed, he, her informant, had good reasons to believe that the sea had done him a great deal of good ; and what the sea had begun the ship's doctor had confidently prophesied the New Zealand summer would complete. So x with this much consolation Marion dragged herself together again and prepared to face the immediate future.

Possessed of very little money, and so utterly a stranger in the land to which she had come, there seemed nothing for it but to go with the remainder of the emigrants to the depot— though Marion shuddered at tbe idea of a repetition of t-e depot experience at Plymouth. It would not be for long though, she said, in her inmost heart, for servants were in great demand and she was ready to take almost any kind of work which would keep her hands and thoughts busy. It seemed as if much more leisure weuld drive her mad. The remorse at leaving her home in such fashion— the agony at the thought of what the dear father and mother would ba suffering — the long miserable weeks on board ship, this last great disappointment, and the terrible sense of loneliness which she experienced now, with not one familiar voica orf riendly face to welcome her, may be better imagined than desoribed. It was telling upon her more than she would own, or was even aware of as yet,