Chapter 12

The idea of having afforded their mother assistance, as well as having extended their benevolence towards a poor stranger in distress, gladdened their affectionate little hearts, and never was there a happier group.

"Ah, mamma, I am now convinced of the truth of what you said," continued Ferdinand, "that the departure of Edward is not a real evil. Do you not think it is very useful to see real sorrow sometimes?"

_Mrs. B._ Indeed, my dear boy, I do. It teaches us the true value of the blessings we enjoy, and, I should hope, would fill our minds with gratitude towards the Dispenser of so many favours.

In attention to their new charge, the children spent a most happy day, and in the evening, Emily and Louisa, according to the promise they had given Ferdinand, began to make the clothes for little Susan; whilst he read aloud to them the following account of the earthquake in Calabria, which had been the subject of their conversation during the morning walk.

"Having hired a boat, in company with four more, two friars of the order of St. Francis, and two seculars, we launched, on the twenty-fourth

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promontory of Pelorus. Our destination was for the city of Euphemia in Calabria, where we had some business to transact, and where we designed to tarry for some time. However, Providence seemed willing to cross our designs; for we were obliged to continue three days at Pelorus, on account of the weather; and though we often put out to sea, yet we were as often driven back. At length, however, wearied with delay, we resolved to prosecute our voyage; and although the sea seemed more than usually agitated, yet we ventured forwards. The gulph of Carybdis, which we approached, seemed whirled round in such a manner, as to form a vast hollow, verging to a point in the centre. Proceeding onwards, and turning my eyes to Etna, I saw it cast forth large volumes of smoke, of mountainous sizes, which entirely covered the whole island, and blotted out the very shores from my view. This, together with the dreadful noise, and the sulphureous stench which was strongly perceptible, filled me with apprehensions that some most dreadful calamity was impending. The sea itself seemed to wear a very unusual appearance: those who have seen a lake in a violent shower of rain, covered all over with bubbles, will conceive some idea of its agitations. My surprise was still increased by the calmness and serenity of the weather: not a breeze, not a cloud, which might be supposed to put all nature thus into motion. I therefore warned my companions that an earthquake was approaching; and, after some time, making for the shore with all possible diligence, we landed at Tropoea, happy and thankful for having escaped the threatening dangers of the sea.

"But our triumphs at land were of short duration; for we had scarcely arrived at the Jesuit's College in that city, when our ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of chariots driven fiercely forward, the wheels rattling and the thongs cracking. Soon after this, a most dreadful earthquake ensued; so that the whole track upon which we stood seemed to vibrate, as if we were in the scale of a balance that continued wavering. This motion, however, soon grew more violent, and being no longer able to keep my legs, I was thrown prostrate upon the ground. In the mean time, the universal ruin around me redoubled my amazement. The crash of falling houses, the tottering of towers, and the groans of the dying, all contributed to raise my terror and despair. On every side of me, I saw nothing but a scene of ruin, and danger threatening wherever I should fly. I commended myself to God, as my last great refuge. At that hour, Oh, how vain was every sublunary happiness! Wealth, honour, empire, wisdom, all were useless sounds, and as empty as the bubbles in the deep. Just standing on the threshold of eternity, nothing but God was my pleasure, and the nearer I approached, I only loved him the more. After some time, however, finding that I remained unhurt amidst the general confusion, I resolved to venture for safety, and running as fast as I could, reached the shore, but almost terrified out of my reason. I soon found the boat in which I had landed, and my companions also, whose terrors were even greater than mine. Our meeting was not of that kind where every one is desirous of telling his own happy escape; it was all silence, and a gloomy dread of impending terrors.

"Leaving this seat of desolation, we prosecuted our voyage along the coast, and the next day came to Rosetta, where we landed, although the earth still continued in violent agitation. But we were scarcely arrived at our inn, when we were once more obliged to return to the boat, and in about half an hour, we saw the greatest part of the town, and the inn at which we had set up, dashed to the ground, and burying all its inhabitants beneath its ruins.

"In this manner proceeding onwards in our little vessel, finding no safety on land, and yet, from the smallness of our boat, having but a very dangerous continuance at sea, we at length landed at Lopizium, a castle midway between Tropoea and Euphemia, the city to which, as I said before, we were bound. Here, wherever I turned my eyes, nothing but scenes of ruin and horror appeared; towns and castles levelled to the ground: Strombolo, though at sixty miles distance, belching forth flames in an unusual manner, and with a noise which I could distinctly hear. But my attention was quickly turned from more remote, to contiguous danger. The rumbling sound of an approaching earthquake, which we by this time were grown acquainted with, alarmed us for the consequences. It every moment seemed to grow louder, and to approach more near. The place on which we stood, now began to shake most dreadfully; so that being unable to stand, my companions and I caught hold of whatever shrub grew next us, and supported ourselves in that manner.

"After some time, this very violent paroxysm ceasing, we again stood up, in order to prosecute our voyage to Euphemia, that lay within sight. In the mean time, while we were preparing for this purpose, I turned my eyes towards the city, but could see only a frightful dark cloud, that seemed to rest upon the place. This the more surprised us, as the weather was so very serene. We waited, therefore, till the cloud was past away, then turning to look for the city, it was totally sunk. Wonderful to tell! nothing but a dismal and putrid lake was seen where it stood. We looked about to find some one that could tell us of its sad catastrophe, but could see none: all was become a melancholy solitude--a scene of hideous desolations. Thus proceeding pensively along, in quest of some human being that could give us some little information, we at length saw a boy sitting by the shore, and appearing stupified with terror. Of him, therefore, we enquired concerning the fate of the city; but he could not be prevailed upon to give us an answer. We entreated him, with every expression of tenderness and pity, to tell us; but his senses were quite wrapped up in the contemplation of the danger he had escaped. We offered him some victuals, but he seemed to loath the sight. We still persisted in our offices of kindness, but he only pointed to the place of the city, like one out of his senses; and then running up into the woods, was never heard of after. Such was the fate of the city of Euphemia; and as we continued our melancholy course along the shore, the whole coast, for the space of two hundred miles, presented nothing but the remains of cities, and men scattered, without a habitation, over the fields. Proceeding thus along, we at length ended our distressful voyage by arriving at Naples, after having escaped a thousand dangers, both at sea and land."

"The children were all highly interested by this extract, but a secret awe crept over their minds, as they listened to the account of this dreadful visitation, and they felt thankful that a gracious Providence had placed him in this happy isle, where such tremendous convulsions are but seldom felt.

"I learnt a passage from Cowper's 'Task,' the other day, mamma," said Emily, "in which he deplores a similar catastrophe, that occurred in Sicily some time ago: may I repeat it to my brother and sister?"

"Certainly, my dear," replied Mrs. Bernard.

Emily having received the approbation of her mother, immediately recited the following striking passage:

"Alas, for Sicily! rude fragments now Lie scatter'd, where the shapely column stood. Her palaces are dust. In all her streets, The voice of singing and the sprightly chord Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show, Suffer a syncope and solemn passe, While God performs upon the trembling stage Of his own works, his dreadful part alone, How does the earth receive him? With what signs Of gratulation and delight, her king. Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads? She quakes at his approach: her hollow womb Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. "The hills move lightly, and the mouontains smoke, For he hath touch'd them. From the extremest point Of elevation, down into the abyss. His wrath is busy, and his arm is felt. The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise: The rivers die into offensive pools, And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross And mortal nuisance into all the air. What solid was, by transformation strange, Grows fluid; and the fix'd and rooted earth, Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl, Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense The tumult and the overthrow; the pangs And agonies of human and of brute Multitudes, fugitive on every side, And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene Migrates uplifted, and with all its soil Alighting in far distant fields, finds out A new possessor, and survives the change. Ocean has caught the phrenzy; and upwrought To an enormous and o'erbearing height, Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore Resistless. Never such a sudden flood. Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge, Possess'd an inland scene. Where sow the throng That press'd the beach, and hasty to depart, Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone! Gone with the refluent wave into the deep, A prince with half his people! Ancient towers, And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes, Where beauty oft, and *etter'd worth, consume Life in the unproductive shades of death, Fall prone. The pale inhabitants come forth, And happy in their unforseen release From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy The terrors of the day that sets them free."

Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Bernard were conversing in this instructive and interesting manner, with their little family, they were interrupted by the arrival of Jane. She brough a good account of the poor woman, who was already considerably better, and felt her appetite in some measure returning.

"I think, Ma'am," continued Jane, "that a little sago or tapioca, or something of that kind, would be very nice and nourishing for her to take, before she settles for the night."

Mrs. Bernard quite approved this proposition: she desired Emily to bring a small jar of tapioca from the closet in the store-room, and giving Jane a sufficient quantity for the poor woman's supper, dismissed her again to her charge.

The children all rejoiced to hear so good an accouont, and begged their mother would allow them to walk to the cottage the following morning. She readily promised a compliance with their request, provided the weather should prove favourable.

Louisa, who had been for some minutes examining the tapioca, exclaimed: "Pray, mamma, what is this; I cannot make it out: it does not look like a seed, I think."

_Mrs. B_. It is, my dear, the produce of a plant, but not its seed. The plant is called cassada, and it grows in the Cape Verd Islands, as well as in Rio de Janeiro, and many other parts of South America. The root is a wholesome vegetable, but the expressed juice from it is a rank poison.

"How extraordinary!" said Ferdinand: "I should think they could not eat the root, without taking the juice also."

"You will be still more surprised," said his mother, "to hear that this very juice, after standing some time, deposits a sediment, which, when dried, is not only wholesome, but extremely nutritious: and, in fact, forms the tapioca which Louisa now holds in her hand."

"And sago, mamma," said Ferdinand, "is that the produce of a plant too?"

_Mrs. B_. Yes, my dear; it is obtained from a plant which grows in the East Indies: the medullary, or pithy part of which, is beaten with water, and made into cakes. These the Indians use as bread. This, when reduced into granules and dried, forms the sago we find so nourishing to persons of weakly and delicate constitutions. But it is now, my dear children, quite time to retire.

The children instantly arose, and putting away their work, took leave of their parents; and having peeped at their little charge, who were both in a sweet sleep, they retired to their pillows, and enjoyed that tranquil repose which generally visits the young and innocent.

CONVERSATION XII.

Contrary to the hopes of the children, the following morning was extremely wet, so that it was impossible they could walk to the cottage. They had, however, the pleasure of hearing that the poor woman had had a comfortable night's rest, and that she was so much refreshed, as to be able to sit up whilst Jane made her bed.

Several days elapsed without affording them their wished-for pleasure. This put their patience to a severe trial, as they were very anxious to hear the poor woman's story, and to make the dutiful and affectionate little Susan, the present their industry had prepared for her. Still, being fully convinced that impatience would not hasten the accomplishment of their wishes, they bore their disappointment with the greatest good-humour; and turning their attention to other objects, spent the time, which would otherwise have passed heavily away, in cheerful and improving occupations.

They began now each day to watch anxiously for the arrival of the postman, and on the sixth morning after Edward's departure, Emily received from him the following letter:

_Plymouth, Sept. 30, 1814._

"MY DEAR SISTER,

"If I had not bound myself by a promise to write to you, I am sure you would have received, by this post, a letter from me. Now I am at a distance from home, it is the only means of communication afforded me. I long for you every moment, to enjoy with me the many pleasures Mr. Dormer's kindness provides for me, and which would all be doubled, could you each share them with me.

"I have just thought of a riddle:--'What is that, which, the more you divide it, the greater it grows?' You will guess in a minute that I mean _pleasure_; for indeed, my dear Emily, at this distance from you all, when each delight is unshared by those I so dearly love, I seem to enjoy myself only by halves.

"I shall not detain you with a long account of my journey: we have read together a description of the delightful scenes in the south and west of England, I should therefore tell you nothing new, were I to describe them even in the most minute manner. It is enough to say, that, although my expectations were highly missed, I was not disappointed with the scenery.

"Mr. Dormer, last Saturday, promised me, that if the wind should prove favourable, he would take me on Monday to see the Eddystone Lighthouse. I was, as you may suppose, extremely delighted with the idea, and the moment I was out of bed in the morning, ran to the window, and very anxiously looked at the weather-cock, as my fate depended upon the point from which the wind should blow. To my great joy, I found it full north- west, which is the most favourable point of the compass for such an expedition.

"Whilst we were at breakfast, Mr. Dormer gave me some account of this wonderful building. It is constructed upon the Eddystone Rock. Before the construction of this lighthouse, many valuable vessels were wrecked upon this spot.

"The first lighthouse was built by a gentleman of the name of Winstanley. He was a very singular man, and had a peculiar turn for mechanics, which he frequently introduced into his furniture, in such a manner as to surprise, and often even to terrify, his visitors. He lived at Littlebury in Essex. In one of his rooms there was an old slipper, lying, as it were, carelessly upon the floor; if you gave it a kick with your foot, up started a ghastly-looking figure before you. If you sat down in one particular chair, although there was nothing in its appearance to distinguish it from others, a couple of arms would immediately clasp you, so as to render it impossible to disentangle yourself, till some one, who understood the trick, chose to set you at liberty. In his garden was an arbour, by the side of a canal, in which, if you unguardedly took a seat, forthwith you were sent afloat into the middle of the water, before you were at all aware; from whence it was impossible to escape, till the manager restored you to your former situation on dry ground.

"Mr. Dormer showed me a print of the lighthouse, which Mr. Winstanley erected upon the rock. It must have been a whimsical-looking thing; more like a fanciful Chinese temple, in my opinion, than an edifice that would have to encounter the boisterous waves of the angry ocean. He began the building in 1696, and it was four years before it was completed. In 1703 it was much damaged, and stood in need of great repair. Mr. Winstanley went himself to Plymouth, to superintend the work. Some gentleman mentioning it to him, that they thought it was not built upon a plan long to withstand the dreadful storms to which, from its exposed situation, it would be subject, this presumptuous man replied, that he was so well assured of the strength of his building, he should only wish to be there during the most dreadful storm that ever blew under the face of heaven, that he might see what effect it would have upon his structure. He was, alas! too fatally gratified in this presumptuous wish; for while he was there, with his workmen and light- keeper, on the 26th of November, one of the most tremendous storms began, which was ever known in great Britain. On the 27th, when the violence was somewhat abated, many went to look anxiously for the lighthouse; but not a remnant of it was remaining, nor were any of the unfortunate people, nor ever any of the materials, ever afterward found.

"The ravages occasioned by this tremendous tempest, were by no means confined to the Eddystone. In London, the loss sustained by it was calculated at one million sterling, and upwards of eight thousand persons were supposed to be drowned in the several inundations it occasioned. On one level, fifteen thousand sheep were lost; and a person counted seventeen thousand trees blown up by the roots, in Kent alone. What a happy thing is it for us, my dear sister, that these dreadful convulsions of nature are not more frequent in our favoured island. "Three years after the destruction of Mr. Winstanley's work, a similar one was undertaken by a Mr. Rudyerd. It was built of wood and upon a plan very different from the former, without any unnecessary ornament, and well calculated to resist the fury of the waves.

"Mr. Dormer related to me an anecdote of Louis the Fourteenth, king of France, which, as I think his conduct on the occasion much to his credit, I shall send to you. He was at war with the English at the time this building was begun; during its progress, a French privateer took the men at work on the rock prisoners, together with their tools, and carried them to France. The captain, no doubt, expected a handsome reward for his achievement. Whilst the captives lay in prison, the transaction reached the ears of Louis: he immediately ordered the prisoners to be released, and the men who had captured them to be put in their place, declaring, that although he was at war with England, he was not at war with all mankind. He therefore directed the men to be sent back to their work with presents; observing, that the Eddystone Lighthouse was so situated, as to be of equal service to all nations who had occasion to navigate the channel which divides England from France.

"I do not know, my dear Emily, whether you will feel as much interested as myself, in the fate of this lighthouse; but I scarcely ever recollect to have been more delighted, than with this ornament, and well calculated to resist the fury of the waves. "Mr. Dormer related to me an anecdote of Louis the Fourteenth, king of France, which, as I think his conduct on the occasion much to his credit, I shall send to you. He was at war with the English at the time this building was begun; during its progress, a French privateer took the men at work on the rock prisoners, together with their tools, and carried them to France. The captain, no doubt, expected a handsome reward for his achievement. Whilst the captives lay in prison, the transaction reached the ears of Louis: he immediately ordered the prisoners to be released, and the men who had captured them to be put in their place, declaring, that although he was at ware with England, he was not at war with all mankind. He therefore directed the men to be sent back to their work with presents; observing, that the Eddystone Lighthouse was so situated, as to be of equal service to all nations who had occasion to navigate the channel which divides England from France.

"I do not know, my dear Emily, whether you will feel as much interested as myself, in the fate of this lighthouse but I scarcely ever recollect to have been more delighted, than with this expedition, notwithstanding my having been in considerable danger, as I shall tell you in its proper place. The dread of that is, however, now over, and the information I have gained, upon subject of which I was before totally ignorant, will, I think, be a constant source of pleasure to me. I shall venture to give you another anecdote or two respecting the lighthouse; for as our tastes are, on many subjects, very similar, I am inclined to hope my account will not weary your patience, though I sometimes fear, the lively little Louisa may think I might have chosen a more interesting topic.