Chapter 3

Grace loved to contemplate the indented coast of Northumberland, and to see with her naked eyes, of a clear day, the little hamlet where she was born; it was not that she regretted the fertile soil, the verdure, the wood she had seen when she was little. No! the Isle of Longstone, did it not contain in its rocky bosom what was dearest to Grace? Her sympathy extended, however, far beyond. She trembled with joy when she distinguished on board of a passing vessel boys and girls, young people and women. She waved her handkerchief to them, sent to them affectionate words which the wind blew away, but which eased her full heart. She had another more intimate tie to her fellow-beings, and to her native land, and this was the reading some good books, that inexhaustible source of elevated thought and profitable example.

When she at last appeared in the low hall where they waited for her, there was a general hurrah; the question was, who should first get his arms round her neck, who should embrace her, and who should congratulate her on her birthday. She showed herself as much surprised, as much delighted, as the young providers of the festival could desire. She praised the beauty of the lobster, the size of the shrimps, the wild taste of the omelet; but the rose touched her the most tenderly, and Jenny clapped her hands as she said,--

"I was very sure that you would love my poor little flower, which William despised because it was not good to eat."

"He is a little gourmand," said Grace, laughing, "whom I condemn for his punishment to eat my part of the cake."

"To the health of Grace," said the father. "We have just opened for her one of the bottles of old Bourdeaux, which the brave French captain gave us, who came near perishing down below at the end of the great reef of rocks, sixteen years ago."

"And whom you saved at the risk of your life," added his wife.

"I remember it all," said Grace, with a very serious look; "I was very small, yet I well remember that terrible night. I hear now the howling of the waves as they broke against the rocks, and made the lighthouse tremble."

"It was just such a night as this," said the father; "a Friday, the sixth of September. The sun set, just as it set to-night, in a cloud red as blood, which is never a sign of any thing good."

"It is a sign of a great wind," said James; "so much the better; the wild birds will come to the island for shelter."

"A great storm," said John, "always brings fish into my trap; besides, I love the storm."

"Let us play hit-hand," said Jenny. "Come, James, you begin; put your head in my lap, and hold your hand out. There! tell me who struck."

"That is not difficult; it was you."

"O! you looked!"

"No. Now it is your turn."

After this game came blind man's buff. The eldest sister gave herself up to all their wishes. She let them bandage her eyes, and sought fearfully the little fugitives; but notwithstanding her efforts, and the efforts of all to be amused, a cloud hung over the little assembly. Without, a thick fog enveloped the island, and veiled the friendly light.

"If I am not greatly deceived, this will be a very bad night," said the father. "There is, fortunately, no vessel in sight, if it is not, perhaps, the Hull packet, which will have had time, I think, to reach the Bay of Berwick, and which will have the discretion, I trust, to remain there; for the heavens speak in a loud voice this evening; the wind comes from below, and the waves run before it like a flock of frightened sheep."

"I should like to see a flock of sheep," said the little girl of five, whom Grace held in her lap, and whom she was getting to sleep.

"Hush! did I not hear something?" said the mother.

"It is the wind that sings us to sleep in the tower," said the little child.

Grace, who was just going up stairs, stopped and listened. "I only hear the sea which strikes and rages against the rocks," said she.

"Let it beat as it will, it will not wake me," said John. "I am too weary."

Good nights were exchanged, and they all betook themselves to bed; and, in a quarter of an hour after, every one slept, rocked by the storm which roared around the tower, beat against the lighthouse, shook its thick glass, and sought in vain to reach the flame. The tempest increased from hour to hour. It rose in mountainous waves, and broke against the rocks with a tremendous noise.

These sounds were heard in Grace's dreams; she thought she saw men and women struggling with the waves; they called her to their rescue; she held out her hand, and felt herself drawn into the gulf with them. Presently she heard a cry. She sat up in her bed; the day began to dawn; it might be four o'clock in the morning. The wind brought to her ear a cry shriller than the first. This time she was not mistaken; it was a human voice.

Her whole heart was agitated. Quickly as possible she climbed to the steps that led to the outer platform of the lighthouse. Her father was there before her. Clinging to the balustrade, he looked all around; but his eyes were unable to see through the fog and the rain; he saw nothing.

"Grace," said he, "you have good eyes; see if you can discover any thing."

The young girl took the spy glass, but the fog obscured the glasses. She calmly wiped them, and looked again.

"I perceive the top of a mast," said she.

"Where is it?"

"At the head of the long reef. O God, if the fog would only lift." And the young girl raised an earnest prayer to Heaven.

"Why, Father," she called suddenly, "I see something move. There are many of them; they are waiting for us; let us go."

"You do not think, my child," said her father; "stay here; I will go alone."

"Alone to meet those frightful waves, and no one to guide the helm? That would be to go to a certain death. I am stronger than you. Think of no such thing, Father. I shall go with you, and we will save them."

Her father looked in her face, and his eyes filled with tears.

"So be it," he said; "we will die together."

"We will live, and we will save them. Let us to the work."

She hurried on her father. In the twinkling of an eye, the boat, moored in a creek, was unfastened, and launched upon the boiling waves, when a voice cried from the shore,--

"And will you leave me behind? I have a right to run the same risks with you; I wish to take my part." The mother threw herself into the bark, which rose for a moment on the menacing crest of an enormous wave, then disappeared, swallowed up in the furrow left between two mountains of water.

In the mean while, the fog lifted, and a group of shipwrecked people were seen clinging to the sharp points of a ledge of rocks upon which beat the hull of a ship, split in two.

"They come nearer," cried one of them. "O, that terrible wave has carried them farther off."

"Let us thank God for that," said the captain; "it might have dashed them against the reef."

"They will arrive too late," said a poor mother who pressed to her heart an infant already stiff and motionless with cold.

"They are making superhuman efforts," said the captain. "Courage, brave hearts!" And he raised a white handkerchief.

The mother uttered a loud cry. She had just discovered that the child that she was trying to warm was dead.

At this moment, the bark made a desperate effort to land; but a furious wave carried it off for a third time. It whirled round and round, as if taken into one of those bottomless gulfs which the currents form around the rocks, and disappeared.

The group of shipwrecked sufferers, six men and five women, fell upon their knees at this awful moment. Suddenly they perceived the boat nearer to them than ever. It had rounded the reef, and gained a quieter sea. It was coming along the edge of the rock, which on that side sunk precipitately into the sea.

"Bless me," said the captain, "they are women."

"Angels come down from heaven to save us," cried a sailor.

Grace had already seized hold of the poor mother. She had gently taken the dead baby out of her arms, under the pretence of carrying it for her. She led her over the rough parts of the rock into the boat.

There was not a minute to lose; the tide was rising; a delay of a few moments might render a return impossible. The heroic young girl insisted only that she would remain on the reef till the skiff, which could only take half of the company, returned for the remainder.

God rewarded her faith and courage. All those who had been wrecked on the frightful reefs of Longstone were saved, and brought in safety into the small dwelling of the lighthouse.

The remains of the feast, the old wine opened in honor of Grace, helped to reanimate the poor shipwrecked sufferers who owed their lives to the young girl.

"Never was a birthday," as the good mother often said, "so full of terrible and joyful emotions; never was one more blessed."

"That is a right good story, Mother," said Harry. "Was Grace Darling a real person?"

"Yes," said his mother, "and many more beautiful stories are told of her, and all true. She was a noble creature."

"One more story, dear Mother," said the boys. "We have a good deal of time, yet."

"Many years ago," said the mother, "I was making a visit in a family where what I am going to relate to you took place. I wrote it all down, and I will now read it to you from my manuscript book."

A TRUE STORY.

One cold, stormy evening in the middle of winter, a family, consisting of four children and their parents, were gathered round a bright, blazing fire. One merry-looking little girl was sitting with a large, beautiful cat in her lap, which she was stroking, while Miss Puss was purring her satisfaction at her happy lot. An older girl was assisting her mother, who was employed at some needlework. The oldest boy was getting his lesson. The youngest was sitting on his father's knee. "How the wind roars!" said little Robert, as a tremendous blast came swelling and moaning over the fields and rushed against their dwelling, which, saving one old elm tree that bent its protecting branches over it, stood all alone, exposed to the shock of the wind against it. "Shan't we blow over, Father?" said the child. "No, dear; we have stood higher winds than this." "Now it dies away," said Helen, as, for a moment, she stopped caressing her favorite. "The storm is taking breath," said Ned; "now you can hear it a great way off; it sounds like a troop of horse galloping up--now it comes nearer and nearer. Hurrah! there it comes again! hurrah! Hear the poor old elm creak and groan, and hear the icicles rattling down. I hope none of the branches will break, but I am afraid the ice is too heavy for them." "Think of poor old Fanny to-night," said Julia, the elder girl, "in her little cottage, and the walls so thin. Mother, what will she do?" "Her house is so small that the wind seems to pass her by," said the mother, "and, when it is so cold as it is to-night, the poor soul goes to bed, and lies there till it is warmer. Many a time, I have found her in bed in the morning, and given her some breakfast, and advised her to lie there till she could get up with comfort." "It is so still now," said Robert, "that I can hear the flakes of snow on the window panes." "And so do I," said little Helen, "and the wind seems to say, Hush! hush!" "I should not think you could hear any thing while Puss is purring so loud in your ears," replied Ned. "Do put her out of the room; I would rather hear the loudest wind that ever blew than hear a cat purr, purr, purr so forever; it makes my head spin to hear it; hush, Puss! stop purring." Puss purred on all the same, for Ned's words were followed by no hostile act towards her. No one, much less Helen's pet, was ever treated inhospitably at Mr. Nelson's fireside.

Now there was a short silence in the happy group, and nothing was heard but the fitful wind without, the crackling of the fire, and the contented sound of the purring cat within. Mrs. Nelson was the first to speak. "Is it not time," said she, "for John to return from the village? I cannot help expecting a letter from James. If,"--and the color left her cheeks,--"if he was alive and well, I am sure he must have written, and we must have a letter by Captain S." "I hear John coming up the avenue now." In a moment Ned was gone to see what packages were brought from the office, and in another he was back again with a parcel in his hand. "Here, Father," said he, "here are the newspapers, and here, Mother, is a big letter from uncle John for you."

His mother opened her brother's letter. "A letter from Jemmy," said she, with a voice trembling with joy. "A letter from Jemmy," said all the children together, and in a moment each one was silent, in order to listen to its contents.

"Dear Mother: Here we are all safe and sound; but when you get this, you will, I know, thank God you have yet a son Jemmy. I have kept a sea journal which you and father can see when I get home; so I shall say nothing more about our voyage, except that I got along very well, considering I was a green hand, and that I made friends with the mates and all the sailors. O, they were so kind to me! and lucky it was for me that they did love me so well, as you'll see presently. Well, to my story. I hate to come to it, for it makes me feel so badly; but don't be frightened, Mother; here I am on shore, as lively as a cricket, and could make as much noise in your house now as I ever did. Well, dear Mother, all, as I said, went well with me, till one night, when we were on the Grand Bank; it was a rain storm, and the captain sent me up to the topmast to reef a sail; some one had been up, in the course of the day, and dropped some grease, and I think my foot slipped; I was confused, the rain beat in my face, I could not see any thing, and I fell. I must have been stunned, for I am sure some time must have passed before I found myself overboard, struggling to keep myself above water. In a moment, I saw my whole danger. I knew that the ship must have gone on some distance, and that it was useless to try to swim after her. I did not think the sailors would know I had fallen overboard, for some time, and I knew that, in such a dark, stormy night, it was almost impossible for them to do any thing to save me. You know, dear Mother, I am an excellent swimmer; but I immediately thought that my only chance was to save my strength as much as possible; so I turned over on my back and floated, and determined to keep myself as quiet as I could, so as not to exhaust myself before the boat could come for me, which was what I hoped for, though I knew there was small chance of it, on such a night. In a few moments I saw indistinctly one of those great birds that follow after vessels, hovering over me, and I felt his horrid wings brushing over my face. I used one of my arms to drive him away, while, with the other, I kept myself on the top of the water; the waves rolled high, and, as they broke over me, repeatedly filled my mouth with the bitter water, so that I could not scream to let any one know where I was. Presently more birds, smaller however, fluttered their frightful wings over me; but the large one, whose wings I am sure extended as far as I could stretch my arms, was the worst; he kept hovering over me; O, I can see the frightful creature now! Well, Mother, don't be scared, for here I am as well as ever. I found my strength began to fail me. I could not see the ship. The cold was terrible. The horrid birds were hovering, and the waves were rolling over me. I thought of you and father, my brothers and sisters, my dear home; and I felt as if I could not bear my sufferings any longer, and that I had better give up. I was about turning myself over and letting myself go, when I saw a black thing at a distance which I took for a porpoise. While I was looking to see what it was, I heard the words, 'Jemmy! Jemmy!' and I called out, 'Here I am!' This was the first sound I had been able to make from the time I had fallen over, for if I opened my mouth it filled with water. They soon had me in the boat, and, soon after, I was in the ship. Every thing was done for me, that love and kindness could do. I could not have held out much longer. It was three quarters of an hour that I had been in the water. They told me afterwards that when they found I had fallen overboard, they put the ship about; but as they heard no sound from me, and knew not whereabouts I had fallen, the captain said it was useless to do any thing to save me. The steward and cook and one of the men were getting out the boat, but it had a bad leak in it, and the captain advised them not to go. They would not listen to him; they said they would not give me up; and they lowered the boat. One of the men baled all the time, and as he had nothing else to stop the leak with, he put his foot in the place, and he kept the boat above water. By the merest chance they steered directly for the spot where I was. So you see, Mother, it was their love and their courage that saved my life."

"Now, dear Mother, you will not feel anxious about me any more, for I think you may be sure that nothing worse will happen to me than has happened already on this voyage. I hope to be with you in a month after you got this, and I don't think I shall want to go to sea again for one while. My love to father and the boys, and to Julia, and Helen, and the cat, and all inquiring friends. Glad enough I shall be to be with you all again. I never knew before, dear Mother, how much I loved you all. Your affectionate son, Jemmy."

"P.S. After my fall I could not stand for a fortnight, but they all took the kindest care of me, and I am now as well as possible."

It were vain to attempt to describe what passed in the hearts of these parents at hearing of the safety of their son after such a peril. The letter was read over and over again, and each one expressed his happiness in his own way; little Helen wondered he should have thought of Puss, but said it was just like Jemmy. "I would not believe such a story if I had it from any other but James himself," said his father. "Nothing, so uncommon as to save a person that falls overboard in such a way; and at night I never knew of it, and I have been many years at sea. Nothing but James's presence of mind and courage saved his life; he did the only thing that would have been of any avail; had he attempted to swim after the ship, he would have been lost. It seems now as if the story could not be true. His presence of mind, and his courage, and his knowledge of swimming would, however, have been of little use to him, if the love of the sailors for him had not been stronger than the love of their own lives, which they put in the greatest peril to save this poor boy who, a few weeks before, was an utter stranger to them. How noble! how beautiful! The glory of the wise and so-called great of this world fades away as we look at this simple act of self-devoted love. In the hearts of each of these men we see the angel that God has placed within us all, ever declaring, if we would listen, that love is greater than life, that there is no death to the soul."

The children, not long after, retired to bed; the thought of dear brother Jemmy made them insensible to the storm; all was sunshine and peace in their young hearts. The parents sat up many hours of that stormy night talking over and over again the story of their boy's imminent danger and of his miraculous escape.

The hoarse breathings of the wild storm, its alternate deep, far-off moaning and shrill piping, through every loophole and crevice in the house, sounded to these heaven-attuned souls like solemn music, and they joined in sweet accord in silent, grateful prayer to the Infinite Spirit.

Frank and Harry, with their mother, were now silent for a few moments. Soon, slowly and solemnly, the bell struck one, two, three, four, five, six, and so on to twelve, and the first moment of the new year began to be. They kissed each other, said "Happy New Year," and were soon fast asleep in bed.