Chapter 3

Four years later Grace died, much lamented by all who knew her.

Doubtless many a time, before and since, faith as strong, and bravery as heroic, have been shown, and have passed unrecorded and unnoticed by men. But duty performed in simple faith and without expectation of reward brings inward peace and joy greater than any outward recognition can give.

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GRACE DARLING THE SECOND.

Whilst these pages were passing through the press the news came of the bravery of another Grace Darling in a far-off land.[1]

[Footnote 1: See letter of Rev. Ellis of Rangoon in _Times_ of 25th May, 1894.]

Miss Darling was head mistress of the Diocesan School at Amherst near Rangoon, and her pupils were bathing in the sea when one of them was bitten in the leg by a shark or alligator. Alarmed by this terrible shock she lost her balance and was being carried away by the tide when her sister and the head mistress both went to the rescue. Miss Grace Darling had succeeded in getting hold of her when she too was bitten and disappeared under the water. The sister behind cried out for help, at the same time seizing the head mistress and vainly endeavouring to keep her head above water. In the end some native sailors came to the rescue and dragged all three out, but Grace Darling and the favourite pupil whom she had endeavoured to save were both dead.

A FRIEND OF LEPERS.

THE STORY OF FATHER DAMIEN.

Of all forms of disease leprosy is perhaps the most terrible. The lepers of whom we read in the Bible were obliged to dwell alone outside the camp; and even king Uzziah, when smitten with leprosy, mighty monarch though he was, had to give up his throne and dwell by himself to the end of his days.

In the far-off Sandwich (or Hawaiian) Islands in the Pacific Ocean there are many lepers; but the leprosy from which they suffer is of a more fatal kind than that which is spoken of in the Bible.

So as to prevent the spread of the disease, the lepers are sent to one of the smaller islands, where there is a leper village, in which those who are afflicted remain until their death.

When a shipload of these poor creatures leaves Honolulu for the little Isle of Molokai there is great wailing by the relatives of those sent away, for they know the parting is final.

The disease is not slow in running its course. After about four years it usually attacks some vital organ, and the leper dies.

Until the year 1873 the lot of the lepers on their help them, that all hearts were turned in love towards him.

He first made the discovery when he had been at Molokai about ten years. He happened to drop some boiling water on his foot, and it gave him no pain. Then he knew he had the leprosy.

Yet he was not cast down when he became aware of the fact, for he had anticipated it.

"People pity me and think me unfortunate," he remarked; "but I think myself the happiest of missionaries."

In 1889, sixteen years after landing at Molokai, Father Damien died.

When he was nearing his end, he wrote of the disease as a "providential agent to detach the heart from all earthly affection, prompting much the desire of a Christian soul to be united--the sooner the better--with Him who is her only life".

During his last illness he suffered at times intensely; yet was patient, brave, and full of thoughtfulness for his people through it all, and looked forward with firm hope to spending Easter with his Maker. He died on the 15th April, 1889. "A happier death," wrote the brother who nursed him in his illness, "I never saw."

There, far away amongst those for whom he gave his life, lie the remains of one of the world's great examples, whose name will ever be whispered with reverence, and who possessed to a wonderful extent "the peace which the world cannot give".

A GREAT ARCTIC EXPLORER.

THE STORY OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

The passage to the North Pole is barred by ice fields and guarded by frost and snow more securely than Cerberus guarded the approach to the kingdom of Pluto.

For three centuries and more the brave and daring of all nations have tried to pass these barriers. Hundreds of men have been frozen to death, hundreds have died of starvation; and yet men continue to hazard their lives to find out this secret of Nature.

One of the bravest arctic explorers was Sir John Franklin, who, after many wonderful adventures, finally died with his companions amid the frozen seas of the north.

As a little boy, "life on the ocean wave" was to John Franklin a delightful day-dream. Once when at school he walked twelve miles to get a sight of the sea and a taste of the salt air; and such was his desire for a seafaring career that although his father was at first very much opposed to the idea, yet when he found how strongly Franklin had set his heart upon a sailor's life, he got him a place on a war-ship where John took part in the battle of Copenhagen.

Then he was shipwrecked on the coast of Australia, did some fighting in the Straits of Malacca, and was present at the great battle of Trafalgar.

After this he had his first taste of Arctic adventure, having received a commission from the Government to explore the Coppermine, one of the great rivers of Canada, which discharges its waters into the Arctic Ocean. Down this river sailed Franklin and his companions. They encountered rapids and falls, and all kinds of obstacles, and met with many dangers and disasters.

The first winter they were nearly starved to death. They stayed at Fort Enterprise; but, long before the spring returned, they found their food was all but finished, and the nearest place to get more was five hundred miles away, over a trackless desert of snow. One of their number, however, tramped the whole weary way, and brought back food to his starving leader and companions.

Next summer, Franklin descended the river to its mouth, and embarking in canoes he and his followers made towards Behring Strait, from which they were ere long driven back by their old dread enemy--starvation. For many days on their return journey they had nothing to live upon but rock moss, which barely kept them alive. They became so worn and ill that they could only cover a few miles a day, and Franklin fainted from exhaustion.

For eight days they waited on the banks of a river which it was necessary to pass, but which they had no means of crossing. One of the men tried to swim across and was nearly drowned, and despair seized on the party, for they thought the end had come. But there was one man among them who could not believe God would leave them to perish, and spurred on by this thought he gathered rock moss in sufficient quantities to preserve their lives; and, hope springing up again, they made a light raft on which they passed over to the other side.

Then Franklin set off with eight men to get assistance, whilst others remained to care for the sick. He and three companions only arrived at Fort Enterprise. They had to endure a fearful journey, during which they ate their very boots to preserve life. To their bitter disappointment when they got there they found the place deserted! Then they attempted to go to the next settlement; but Franklin utterly broke down on the way, and was with difficulty got back to Fort Enterprise. Here they were joined by two of the party who had been left behind, the others having perished on the way.

The night of their reunion, the six survivors had a grand feast. A partridge had been shot, and for the first time during an entire month these men tasted flesh food. Later on, sitting round the fire they had kindled, words of hope and comfort were read from the Bible, and the men joined heartily together in prayer and thanksgiving. Shortly after, friendly Indians arrived with supplies of food, and Franklin with the survivors of his party returned safely to England.

After this, Franklin made other expeditions, gaining fame and honour by his explorations, and was for seven years Lieutenant-Governor of Tasmania.

Then in 1845, when he was in his sixtieth year, he went out in the service of the Admiralty to attempt the passage through the Arctic Ocean. Leaving England in May, 1845, in command of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, with a body of the most staunch and experienced seamen, he sailed into the Arctic Seas. They were last seen by a whaler on the 26th of July that year, and then for years no word of their fate reached Great Britain.

Not that England waited all this time before she sent to discover what had befallen them. The Government was stirred into action by the pleadings of Lady Franklin. Expedition after expedition left our shores. America and France joined in the search. Five years later was discovered the place in which the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ had first wintered; but it was left for Dr. John Rae to find out from the Esquimaux in 1854 that the ships had been crushed in the ice, and that Franklin and his companions had died of fatigue and starvation.

The final relics of the Franklin Expedition were discovered by McClintock and a party of volunteers. Starting from England in a little vessel called _The Fox_ he and his crew passed through a hundred dangers from shipwreck, icebergs, and other perils. But at length, in April, 1858, they found on King William's Island the record which told plainly and fully the fate of Franklin and his companions.

The document contained two statements, one written in 1846, mentioning that Sir John Franklin and all were well; and a second, written in 1848, to say that they had been obliged to abandon the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, that Sir John Franklin had died in June, 1847, and that they had already lost nine officers and fifteen men.

Other traces of the sad end which overtook the expedition were also found. In a boat were discovered two skeletons; and amongst other books a Bible, numerous passages in which were underlined, showing that these gallant men in their last hours had the comfort of God's Word to support them when earthly hopes had passed away.

The object for which Sir John Franklin had sailed, viz., the discovery of the North West passage, had been attained, but no single man of the expedition, alas, lived to enjoy the fruits of the discovery.

A SAVIOUR OF SIX

THE STORY OF FIREMAN FORD.

In the waiting room at the head quarters of the London Fire Brigade, in Southwark Street, London, is an oak board on which are fixed a number of brass tablets, bearing the names of men who are entitled to a place on this "Roll of Honour".

From amongst these let us take one, and tell briefly what befell him. It will serve as a sample of the dangers which beset the fireman daily in the pursuit of his duty.

"Joseph Andrew Ford," so runs the official record, "lost his life at a fire which occurred at 98 Gray's Inn Road, at about 2 a.m. on the 7th of October, 1871.

"Ford was on duty with the fire escape stationed at Bedford Row, and he was called to the fire a few minutes before 2 a.m., and proceeded there with the utmost speed.

"Before he reached the fire, three persons had been rescued by the police, who took them down from the second-floor window by means of a builder's ladder; and, on his arrival, there were seven persons in the third floor, six in the left-hand window, and one in the right-hand window.

"He pitched his escape to the left-hand window, and with great difficulty and much exertion and skill succeeded in getting the six persons out safely (the woman in the right-hand window being in the meanwhile rescued by the next escape that arrived, in charge of fireman W. Attwood); and Ford was in the act of coming down himself when he became enveloped in flame and smoke, which burst out of the first-floor window; and, after some struggling in the wire netting, he fell to the pavement.

"Ford was evidently coming down the shoot when his axe handle or some of his accoutrements became entangled in the wire netting; so that, to clear himself, he had to break through, and, while struggling to do so, he got so severely burned that his recovery was hopeless.

"It was a work of no ordinary skill and difficulty to save so many persons in the few moments available for the purpose; and, when it is mentioned that some of them were very old and crippled, it is no exaggeration to say that it would be impossible to praise too highly Ford's conduct on this occasion, which has resulted so disastrously to himself.

"He was thirty-one years of age when he met his death, and he left a wife and two children to mourn his loss."

That's all the official record says--simple, calm, straightforward--like Joseph Ford's conduct on that night.

I suppose that next morning two pairs of bright little eyes were on the watch for Joseph Ford; and perchance four pattering feet ran to the door when the knock came; and that two little minds dimly realised that father had been called to a far-off country, where some day they would see him. And it may be that a brave woman, into whose life the sunlight had shined, was stricken with grief and bowed down. But all I know for certain is, that Joseph Ford died in the performance of his duty. He did a brave night's work. Six lives saved from the angry flames--old and crippled some of the terror-stricken folk were--and he took them down so carefully, so tenderly, and landed them all safely below.

His work was over. He had saved every life he could; and glad of heart, if weary of limb, he turned with a thankful mind to do just the simplest thing in the world--viz., to descend the escape he had been down so many times before.

He was young and strong; safety was only thirty feet or so below; and the people were waiting to welcome and cheer the victor.

Only thirty feet between him and safety! Yet the man was "fairly roasted" in the escape.

Men have been burnt at the stake and tortured, and limbs have been stretched on the rack, and people have been maimed by thumbscrews and bootscrews, and put inside iron figures with nails that tear and pierce. All this have they suffered in pursuit of duty, or at the bidding of conscience; and of such and of brave Joseph Ford there comes to us across the ages--a saying spoken long ago, to the effect that "he that loseth his life shall save it": and we need to remember that saying in such cases as that of Fireman Ford.

A BLIND HELPER OF THE BLIND.

THE STORY OF ELIZABETH GILBERT.

"A fine handsome child, with flashing black eyes!" Thus was Elizabeth Gilbert described at her birth in 1826; but at the age of three an attack of scarlet fever deprived her of eyesight; and thenceforth, for upwards of fifty years, the beautiful things in the world were seen by her no more.

Her parents were most anxious that she should take part in all that was going on in the household, in order that she should feel her misfortune as little as possible. So she lived in the midst of the family circle, sharing in their sports, their meals, and their entertainments, and being treated just as one of the others; yet with a special care and devotion by her father, Dr. Gilbert, whose heart went out in deep love towards his little sightless daughter.

Bessie was fond of romping games, and preferred by far getting a few knocks and bumps to being helped or guided by others when she was at play. She was by nature passionate, yet she gradually subdued this failing. She was a general favourite; and, when any petition had to be asked of father, it was always Bessie who was put forward to do it, as the children knew how good were her chances of being successful in her mission.

She was educated just like other girls, except that her lessons were read to her. She made great progress, and was a very apt pupil in French, German, and other subjects; but arithmetic she cordially disliked. Imagine for an instant the drudgery of working a long division sum with leaden type and raised, figures; think of all the difficulty of placing the figures, and the chances of doing the sum wrong; and then it will not cause surprise that the blind girl could never enjoy arithmetic, although in mental calculation she showed herself later on to be very clever.

When she was about ten years old, the Duchess of Kent and the Princess Victoria visited Oxford, where Bessie then lived with her parents. On her return home Bessie exclaimed: "Oh, mamma, I have _seen_ the Duchess of Kent, and she had on a brown silk dress". Indeed, the child had such a vivid imagination that she saw mentally the scenes and people described to her.

And, so though no glimmer of light from the sun reached her, the child was not dull or unhappy. She listened to the birds with delight, and knew their songs; she loved flowers and liked people to describe them to her; and she was fond of making expeditions to the fields and meadows.

But as Bessie grew up she began to feel some of the sadness and loneliness natural to her lot. Her sisters could no longer be constantly with her as in the nursery days; and though she made no complaint, nor spoke of it to those around her, yet she felt it none the less keenly.

By this time her father had become Bishop of Chichester.

When Bessie was twenty-seven years old an idea was suggested which was the means of giving her an object in life, and affording her an opportunity of doing a great work for the blind.

It was her sister Mary who first spoke about it, having seen with sorrow how changed the once happy blind sister had become, and longing to lighten her burden.

Bessie listened to the facts which were set before her of the need that existed for some one to give a helping hand to the blind in London. She made many inquiries into the condition of the sightless, and then thought out a scheme for helping them.

Some of her friends considered it a great mistake for her to undertake such a mission. "Don't work yourself to death," said one of her acquaintances.

"Work to death!" she replied with a happy laugh. "I am working to life."

But if a few were opposed, her parents, brothers, sisters, and the majority of those she loved, were in hearty sympathy.

So in May, 1854, Bessie commenced her life work. Seven blind men were given employment at their own homes in London; materials were supplied to them at cost price, they manufactured them, and received the full price that the articles were sold for.

This, of course, entailed a loss; but Bessie had been left a legacy by her godmother, which gave her an income of her own, and a large portion of this she continued to devote throughout her life to helping the blind.

A cellar was rented in New Turnstile Street, Holborn, at a charge of eighteenpence a week. A manager, named Levy, was engaged at a salary of half a crown a week and a commission on sales. He was a blind man himself, and a blind carpenter was engaged to assist in making the storehouse presentable.

It was a small beginning, certainly, but it was not long ere Levy's wages were largely increased, and trade began to grow in response to Miss Gilbert's efforts. From the cellar in Holborn a move was made to a better room, costing half a crown a week; and then, within little more than a year from the commencement, a house and shop were taken at a rent of £26 a year.

The increase in expenses as the scheme developed rendered it necessary to ask for public assistance. By the bishop's advice a committee was formed, and money collected.

By 1856, Miss Gilbert thought her work far enough advanced to bring it under the notice of Her Majesty, who, having asked for and received full particulars, sent a very kind letter of encouragement with a donation of £50.

This gracious acknowledgment of the work in which Miss Gilbert was engaged not only gave sincere pleasure to the blind lady herself, but helped on her scheme immensely. And the Queen did more than contribute money: orders for work were sent from Windsor Castle, Osborne and Balmoral; and the blind people delighted in saying that they were making brooms for the Queen. The benefit to the blind was not confined to what Miss Gilbert was doing herself, but general interest in their welfare was excited in all parts of the kingdom.

Naturally, many difficulties had to be encountered. Blind people applied for work who wished for alms instead; and arrangements necessary for carrying out so large a scheme entailed a good deal of labour on Miss Gilbert's part. Yet she was very happy in her mission, which attracted numerous friends occupying positions of eminence.

Miss Gilbert herself gave £2000 to the Association as an endowment fund, and others contributed liberally too. One day a strange old lady came to see her, and left with her £500 in bank notes. She did not even give her name; and a further gift of £500 was received the same year from a gentleman who felt interested in the work.

Up to the close of her life, which ended in 1885, Elizabeth Gilbert continued to take an active interest in the affairs of the Association. Notwithstanding her own weak and failing health she laboured on, winning the love and gratitude of the blind, and accomplishing a great work of which any one might feel justly proud.

A GREAT TRAVELLER IN THE AIR.

SOME ANECDOTES OF JAMES GLAISHER.

For many years past men of science have been engaged in ascending far up amongst the clouds for the purpose of finding out as much as possible about the various currents of air, the electrical state of the atmosphere, the different kinds of clouds, sound, temperature and such matters.

One of the most eminent balloonists of modern times, Mr. James Glaisher, was many times in danger of losing his life whilst in pursuit of knowledge miles above the earth.

His first ascent was made from Wolverhampton on the 17th of July, 1862. It was very stormy at the time of starting. Before he and Mr. Coxwell got fairly off they very nearly came to grief; for the balloon did not rise properly, but dragged the car along near the ground, so that if they had come against any chimney or high building they would probably have been killed.

However, fortunately, they got clear and were soon high up above the clouds, with a beautiful blue sky, and the air so pleasantly warm that they needed no extra clothing, as is usually the case when in the upper region of the atmosphere. When they were about four miles high Mr. Glaisher found the beating of his heart become very distinct, his hands and lips turned to a dark bluish colour, and he could hardly read the instruments. Between four and five miles high he felt a kind of sea sickness.

Mr. Coxwell began to think they might be getting too near the Wash for safety, and they therefore came down quickly, and reached the earth with such force that the scientific instruments were nearly all broken. In their descent they passed through a cloud 8000 feet (or over a mile and a half) thick!

On the 5th of September, 1862, Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell made one of the most remarkable ascents in the history of ballooning. It nearly proved fatal to both.

Up to the time they reached the fifth mile Mr. Glaisher felt pretty well. What happened afterwards is best described by himself.