Two Festivals
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Eliza Lee Follen >> Two Festivals
"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.