Chapter 8

The winter had set in unusually early. Along the bleak coast of Newfoundland, and through its dreary and sparsely inhabited islands, November blasts raged fiercely, lashing to fury the crested waves that beat against the giant rocks, which, standing sentinel-like on the shore, seemed to frown defiantly on them; or laving, far and wide, the long, flat sand beach, that afforded less obstruction to their impetuous progress. To a remote part of this dreary coast we would now direct the attention of our reader. Scarcely fair, even when Summer lavished upon it her fairest smiles, there, no traces of beauty invited the weary pilgrim to tarry and rest within their refreshing shade; no garden, gay with flowers, rang with childish laughter, as the little ones plucked their fragrant blossoms; but rugged hills, frowning rocks, and desolate sand beaches, assumed the place of waving woods, smiling corn-fields, and blooming orchards; while for the melodious notes of woodland songsters, was heard the wild cry of the stormy petrel, or the shrill scream of the large sea-gull.

But "Nature never fails the heart that loves her," and while destitute of the exuberant charms of more genial climes, the spot to which we allude was not without attraction to an admirer of the sublime and picturesque.

Nor was there wanting wild beauty in the scene which greeted the spectator, who might perchance on some lovely summer's morning ascend the steep hills, or pause for rest on one of the rocky eminences jutting out into the sea. Before him lay the wide expanse of ocean, reaching far beyond the keenest vision, calm at that moment as though it had never been lashed to fury by wailing tempests, and reflecting in its mirror-like surface the azure heavens that smiled brightly above. Beneath his feet the stunted herbage assumed its liveliest hue of emerald green, diversified here and there by some tiny, hardy wild flowers, while the distant sail, gleaming in the sunlight, and then passing beyond the eager vision,--the fishermen's huts, scattered here and there on the rugged and uneven land,--the fishing shallops, and boats of every variety, that dotted the waters, with their owners, some standing on the beach, and some in their vessels, but all engaged in the one occupation of securing and preserving the finny tribe, their only source of wealth, gave an air of animation to the scene, while the merry laugh of children, and the cheerful tones of women, as they hurried to the beach to assist the parent or husband, spoke of social ties, and seemed to say, that peace and contentment were not alone the associates of refinement, education, and luxury.

But quite a different aspect did that barren coast present when chilly Autumn and relentless Winter resumed their dreaded reign. Then, indeed, to the inhabitant of the city, dreary beyond description would a residence within one of its small yet hospitable huts appear, and he must possess resources in himself of no common order, or be sustained by a lofty sense of duty, who could cheerfully and contentedly remain through those cheerless seasons.

Standing somewhat isolated, and at a distance from the shore, yet commanding a fine view of the sea, was a cottage of larger dimensions, and of neater appearance than the generality of the fishermen's dwellings. It was built on an irregular tract of land, that sloped down to the shore, and behind it rose a ragged hill, in summer partially covered with coarse grass, that concealed its jagged rocks, and lent it an air of cheerfulness; but now its rude outline, no longer softened by the verdure and sunshine, presented a weird and desolate appearance. In front of the cottage, which contained four or five rooms, with a small attic above, used for storing away provisions, &c., was a piece of ground, enclosed by a wooden railing, where a few vegetables were planted each spring; but these had long ago been gathered in, and the land was now enjoying its Sabbath, to be continued for six long months, before it would again yield of its productions, for the benefit of its hardy and thrifty owners.

The interior of the dwelling, though roughly fashioned, and furnished in the most simple manner, was not uninviting, for there was that atmosphere of cleanliness and neatness about it, which renders the rudest spot more attractive than luxurious habitations, where it is found wanting. Through the centre ran a narrow hall, out of which opened the different rooms. On the right hand, just as you entered, was a door leading into a good-sized apartment, fulfilling the united duties of kitchen, parlor, and sitting-room, while at the opposite side were several chambers, small, but clean and airy.

In the sitting-room,--for by that term we shall designate the principal apartment,--a bright coal fire was blazing cheerily in the large open fire-place, casting its pleasant light over the spotless and carefully sanded floor, gleaming on the plastered walls, and lingering to see itself gaily reflected on the shining pewter, and brightly colored delf, that, neatly arranged on the bowed shelves of the snowy dresser, were evidently the pride of the housekeeper.

A white cloth covered the rude wooden table that stood in the centre of the room, and the mistress of the dwelling was hurrying to and fro, evidently intent on preparing the evening repast, while from the bake-kettle, that had just been taken from the fire, the fragrance of newly-baked bread ascended, filling the place with its odor; an odor by no means ungrateful to appetites, sharpened by manly labor and healthy sea-breezes.

While the busy matron was thus happily employed in her labors of love,--for such they emphatically were to her,--the daughter, a girl of eighteen years of age, and two younger sons, were with their father on the beach, assisting him in sorting, and putting in barrels, a quantity of fish, designed for the family's use during the winter.

"It will be a fearful night, father," said the girl, pausing from her labors, and looking out on the black, swollen waves, while the wind, as it swept furiously by, more than once obliged her to cling to the rock for support.

"It will be a fearful night, father," she repeated,--and, hesitating for a moment, she added, "and brother William is at sea."

"Ay," responded the brawny, stalwart, and good-humored looking man, "it will be, as you say, lass, a stormy night, and a terrible one, I reckon, to poor seamen,--for there is more than William on the ocean."

A faint flush tinged with a deeper hue the girl's countenance, already bronzed by exposure to sun and wind, while her dark grey eye grew moist with unshed tears. It was evident that there was something deeper in the old man's speech, than the mere words would seem to imply,--some covert allusion which thus called forth her emotion.

"The vessel was to have left more than a week ago; it ought to be near the coast by this time," said the fisherman, in a tone of uneasiness.

He turned to address his daughter, but she was no longer at his side; and, looking in the distance, he perceived her climbing a high and jutting rock, from which the ocean, for miles around, was distinctly visible. Ellen, for that was her name, having at length ascended, stood with agile yet firm feet on the eminence, shading, with one hand, the sun, which now, peering from behind a mass of dark purple clouds, lit up for a moment the turbid waves, and gleamed on rock and beach and fishermen's huts,--and with the other holding on to the sharp edge of a projecting rock, that still towered above her. Nor as she thus stood, was she, by any means, an unpicturesque object; the sunshine glancing on her neatly arranged brown hair, her tall figure, slight for that of a hardy fisherman's child, clad in a black skirt and crimson jacket, and every feature of her speaking countenance wearing a commingled expression of anxiety, hope, and tenderness.

How her eager vision seemed to catch, in a moment, each feature of the scene; the sandy beach--the rugged hill--her father's shallop--and he, standing in the position she had left him, gazing out into the sea; and with what a lingering, straining glance, did her eyes wander over that pathless ocean, while her heart sank within her, as she contemplated its angry and menacing appearance.

"Not a sail in sight," she murmured, "and the night coming on so fearfully black. Oh, Edward, shall I ever see you again!" was her exclamation, uttered in a tone full of wild pathos, while the hand, that had been upraised to shade the sun's rays, fell listless at her side.

"Oh, if you only come back safe again, I shall quarrel with you and tease you no more,--and you so patient and so good,"--and her quivering lip, and the expression of anguish that passed over her features, told how deep and true her emotion.

"It is no use lingering here," she mentally ejaculated, as a fresh blast of wind nearly swept her from the summit. "I may as well go down at once." Turning to descend, she paused to take a parting glance at the distant ocean, whose mercy she would fain have invoked for the loved ones it bore on its bosom, when something at a distance caught her eager eye. As one transfixed, she stood there, fearing almost to breathe, lest a breath might dissolve the vision.

"Yes, a sail is in sight; but, ah, is it the one I look for? Oh, this cruel suspense, how much longer must I bear it! Father, father," she cried, and the breeze bore the clear tones of her voice distinctly to his ear; "father, do come here, for I see a sail yonder, and I think it is the 'Darling,'" for so, by the lover captain,--doubtless to remind him of another =darling=, tarrying at home,--the little trim schooner was designated.

The man quickly obeyed her summons, and soon stood by her side, scanning, too, with eager eyes, the appearance of the vessel, that was now, favored by a strong breeze, veering rapidly towards them.

"It looks like her cut, Ellen," said the fisherman; "but we shall see shortly."

"Yes," said the girl, clapping her hands with delight, while her whole face was lighted up with joy; "it is her, sure enough, for I see her blue flag bordered with red, and the white square in the centre."

"Well," said the man, with a good-humored smile, "thine eyes must be a good deal sharper than mine, lass, for I can barely see a flag at all, much less its color; but certainly thou ought to know best, when it happens to be the work of thine own hands."

A merry laugh was the response. "I shall hurry down to tell mother,"--and with an agile step she bounded down the steep eminence, and in a few moments reached the door of the dwelling, while the fisherman hastened to the beach, to be first ready to greet the crew of the schooner with a hearty welcome home.