Happily, however, on this occasion Mrs. Darling's suspense was not of long duration; for her husband and son managed to row to the little imperilled yacht, and succeeded, though not without danger to themselves, in rescuing its occupants. A few minutes more, and they must have perished; and their joy and thankfulness at being saved at, as it seemed to them, the eleventh hour, may be better imagined than described.
Away to the friendly lighthouse rowed Mr. Darling and his son, and in a very short space of time they were safely sheltered from the storm. On the threshold of the home, they were met by Grace, who, with her mother, eagerly and kindly welcomed them.
"Come into the light and warmth," said Mrs. Darling, "and I will find you some warm clothing. Thank God that you are saved."
"Yes, indeed; and we shall never cease to feel thankful also to our kind deliverers, for their skill and courage in saving us from death."
The party consisted of four persons—a lady, two gentlemen, and the boatman; and were quite an addition to the little household, which was, however equal to the emergency.
"Come with me," said Grace to the lady, "and I will find you some dry clothing."
"Thank you," she said. "I could not have imagined any thing like the rain and spray with which we have been drenched; my face was quite stung with them as they beat against me."
"Yes, it is something dreadful during a storm; and of course it seems worse to those who are not used to it. If you take off everything that is wet, and exchange it for dry, I hope you will take no real harm."
The wardrobe of Grace Darling was not a very extensive one, but she spread her belongings before the visitor with the utmost readiness and kindness.
"Please take any article that can be of the least use to you. I am only sorry that I have no better ones to offer."
"Pray do not speak of that. It will be most delightful to feel warm and dry once more."
In the meantime, the two gentlemen were also supplied with some clothing that belonged to the absent brothers of Grace, and presently they all appeared in the room below, and joined the family. They could scarcely repress a smile as they saw each other arrayed in such unusual attire, but it was with deep feeling that they congratulated one another on their escape. The guests then introduced themselves as Mr. and Miss Dudley, and Mr. Morrington.
"We have been spending a holiday at Tynemouth," said one, "and have been there several weeks. This morning as the sea was calm, and the weather lovely, we came out for a sail, little thinking that in a few hours the scene would be so greatly changed. It is like our treacherous English climate."
"But we came farther than we had intended, for the sea was so thoroughly enjoyable."
"And the gale came up so suddenly that we had not time to seek a place of safety, and it was so very violent that we were driven quite out of our course."
"Had you no control over the vessel?" asked Mr. Darling.
"Not the least We were quite at the mercy of the winds, and waves."
"And they are most merciless," said one of the young men.
"I do not know how to thank you enough for your great kindness, Mr. Darling," said Miss Dudley. "Words are quite too weak to express the grateful feelings of my heart; but I shall ever remember your great courage, humanity, and kindness, in attempting and accomplishing our rescue from a watery grave."
"Nay, nay," said the kind lighthouse keeper, "do not say any more on the subject. I am sufficiently rewarded for any little trouble and risk by the happiness of knowing that I have been the means of preserving your lives, by the help of God."
"Your heroic conduct ought to be reported to the authorities."
"But we are placed here to keep the lamps burning; and though we are very glad to save lives, you understand that is not the work we are paid for doing."
"You are paid though, by the consciousness of having done a good deed, and the gratitude of those whom you have rescued."
"Certainly, but you must please excuse me now, as I must relieve my son, and take my turn in watching by the beacon."
"And now," said Mrs. Darling, "I am sure you will be glad of some refreshment."
Indeed they were; and Mrs. Darling, who was a good housekeeper, and had a few delicacies in her larder, knew how to satisfy the appetites of her guests. It was a very cheerful party that gathered around the lighthouse-table that evening, and when William Darling joined them there was no lack of conversation. The guests were evidently persons of gentle birth and habits, and the Darlings knew how to appreciate such society. The social Grace was especially delighted, and almost felt thankful for the storm that had brought such interesting and agreeable guests to the lighthouse-home. The two girls, differently reared as they had been, were yet able to fraternise, and find mutual pleasure in the society of each other; and the hours passed almost unheeded, while the storm, which had abated none of its tempestuous fury, raged violently without, and failed to disturb the happiness of those who were so pleasantly occupied.
It was very late before they could bring themselves to break up the social party, and retire to rest.
"We have not a spare room to offer you. Will you mind sharing mine?" asked Grace of Miss Dudley.
"Not at all. I shall be glad to do so. I am very tired, and do not think that even the storm will keep me awake," replied Caroline Dudley.
"You will sleep in the boys' bed," said Mrs. Darling to the gentlemen. "William will watch the light to-night, and so relieve his father."
The strangers slept soundly. It seemed that the storm did but rock them to sleep, for it was not until a late hour in the morning that they awoke. Miss Dudley found that her companion had already risen, and the sun was pouring into the little room its bright unclouded glory. But the sea was very rough; and as soon as she had asked the opinion of the weather-wise lighthouse-keeper as to the possibility of returning, she found that for that day at least they must remain on the island. A bountiful breakfast of tea, coffee, fish, and eggs, had been provided by the hostess, to which the visitors did ample justice.
"I am afraid, Mrs. Darling, that we shall have to encroach still further upon your hospitality," said Dudley; "Mr. Darling informs me that we cannot leave the island to-day, as the sea continues so rough."
"I am only too glad to have you for my guests," said Mrs. Darling, heartily.
"As for me," said Grace, turning to her newly-found but already beloved friend, "I could wish that the storm might last a very long time."
"I should be glad to stay too," said Miss Dudley, "if my father only knew of our safety. He is not strong, and the suspense may do him serious injury. He will be most anxious about us, I know. He was quite aware of the kind of vessel we sailed in, and when he saw how severe the storm was, he would naturally conclude that we were lost. I am afraid of the effect that the sorrow may have upon him in his weak state."
"He will surely not lose hope for some time," said Darling; "and to-morrow, if all is well, you will be able to return to him."
"But our boat was so injured by being beaten against the rocks, that I fear it is useless," remarked one of the gentlemen.
"I will take you across in my boat," said Darling, "so you need have no anxiety on that score."
"Oh, Mr. Darling, you make us more and more your debtors."
They were consoled, however, with the thought that the suspense of Mr. Dudley would be relieved before very long; and as nothing could be done on that day, they resigned themselves to their situation, and prepared to have a delightful holiday.
When breakfast was over, Grace took Caroline to the turret of the lighthouse to enjoy the extensive view which such a point of vantage afforded. A better day for the purpose could scarcely have been chosen, for the fleecy clouds floated gracefully, the air was calm, and the sun shone forth in splendour. The ocean had not recovered from the effects of the angry storm, and the wild white waves leaped up as if they would overwhelm and altogether destroy everything that offered the least opposition.
Miss Dudley gazed spell-bound on the scene, and could not find words in which to express her admiration; while Grace, to whom it was all very familiar, confessed that even the could never look upon it without feelings of wonder and delight. She pointed out the famous Castle of Bamborough, with its battlements and towers; then Holy Island, on which could be seen the ruins of its ancient priory; and also the Cheviot hills on the north.
"Have you ever heard any of the legends of our neighbourhood," inquired Grace? "No," replied Caroline; "but it will give me very great pleasure to listen to them."
Nothing could have pleased Grace better than to pour into the willing ears of the young lady who had so strangely been brought to her, and who had so attracted her affections, the old-world stories in which she herself so greatly delighted. But to Miss Dudley the pleasure was even greater. She was naturally romantic, being possessed of a warm poetic temperament; and what treat could have been greater to such a maiden than to sit in the lonely lighthouse tower of the weird Longstone Island, and listen to the mysterious fascinating legends of Northumbria, as told in melodious accents by the lips of the enthusiastic island girl? What wonder that as she listened, and the other talked, the two young hearts were drawn to each other in trustful and admiring friendship?
They were soon recalled, however, for the three young men, Dudley, Morrington, and William Darling, wished them to join them in a walk about the islands. They strolled together along the beach; and as the tide was ebbing, the sands were firm and pleasant. The two girls kept together, and Grace pointed out to her friend those objects which were the most interesting.
"That is the island on which St. Cuthbert lived, and we can see the hermitage he built. He came here from the priory of Lindisfarne, because he thought that a monastic life provided too many luxuries and enjoyments for the good and prosperity of his soul. He thought they distracted his mind, and prevented it from dwelling sufficiently on religious subjects."
"But it is not necessary to become a recluse in order to serve God?"
"No, for He has placed us in families, and given us social duties to perform. But I suppose St. Cuthbert thought differently; and so he came to spend his days on the island. He must have found discomfort and privation enough to satisfy even him, for it is said that there was neither water nor vegetation upon the island, which was then altogether barren and uninhabitable. Besides that, it had the reputation of being haunted by malignant demons, which took up their abode there. The saint, however, was not afraid of evil spirits, nor anything else, and the spot became very dear to him."
"But how could he live if there was nothing on the island to eat and drink?"
"Oh, of course he worked some miracles, and his wants were easily supplied; at least so the legend says. I have read a description of the marvellous change which came over the island while he lived upon it. 'The flinty rock bubbled with fresh water; the once barren soil, with prolific abundance, brought forth grain; trees and shrubs, bearing fruit, decked the smiling shores; the troubled waters clapped their hands for joy; the plains assumed a mantle of green, embroidered with flowers, the evil spirits were bound in eternal darkness, and angels of light communed with the saint!' Strange, if true, was it not?"
"It was indeed! But what has become of the remarkable verdure?"
"Oh, it is said that although the demons were never again allowed to return, the island became as sterile as before when St. Cuthbert died, and no more exerted his miraculous influence on its behalf."
"Are there any relics of this wonderful saint still remaining on the islands?"
"Yes, there are the ruins of a church, and in them is a stone coffin, which at one time contained the remains of the saint."
Caroline laughingly replied, that as the restless body occupied a large number of coffins before it finally found a home in Durham Cathedral, it was only fair that the Farne Islands should have one.
"Now, let me tell you about Holy Island," said Grace. "That also has the ruins of an ancient priory, and possesses more historical associations and wonderful legends than I could possibly repeat. It is a very beautiful island, though it is in decay, and has lost its former glory and importance. As early as the Saxon Heptarchy, there was a monastery on Lindisfarne. It was pillaged and burned by the Danes, those terrible sea-kings who caused our country so much suffering in the days of old, and who seemed to be so fond of Holy Island, that they came to it again and again."
"They were wonderfully persistent, were they not?"
"They were indeed! There are many other places of interest, Warkworth and Dunstanborough among the rest."
"I shall try to persuade my father to pay a visit to those places before we leave the neighbourhood," said Miss Dudley; "and now Grace, since you have told me so much that is interesting, I will try to tell you a little about the far different scenes among which I live."
"Do," said Grace, "I shall be glad to hear anything about your life."
Caroline's story was almost as strange to Grace as Grace's had been to Caroline, for it had to do with a class of society about which the young lighthouse girl knew nothing. Miss Dudley was used to shine in circles to which Grace Darling would not have been admitted, and her description of the habits of thought and modes of life of the people among whom she associated, was graphic, piquant, and most entertaining. Like many a merry, warm-hearted girl, she cherished a half-contemptuous opinion of much that was fashionable and gay; and to hear her speak of the crowded assemblies, the dreary dinner parties, the exciting balls, and the endless morning calls, was to give Grace both surprise and amusement.
The two girls, as they thus stood, talking to each other of their lives and associations, formed a very striking contrast. Miss Dudley was tall, dark and beautiful, with classic features and graceful form. Her mother was a Spanish lady, and from her the daughter had inherited the splendid dark eyes and hair, as also the ardent and romantic nature, which had thrown such a spell round Grace. Her intellect was of the highest order, and had been most carefully cultivated, so that her natural enthusiasm had been restrained and disciplined, but not subdued or weakened. She had only just left school, which was one of the highest class, where all the modern accomplishments necessary to a refined education had been thoroughly taught her; and as she had moved always in good society, her manners had acquired that easy grace and polish which can scarcely be obtained under other circumstances.
Grace Darling, on the contrary, had, as we know, received little if any instruction beyond that which her own father had imparted. But although her opportunities had been meagre, she had made the most of them, and was at this time a well-informed girl, with good natural abilities. She was possessed of that simple courtesy which has its root in self-forgetfulness, and an earnest desire to please, and which will always prevent its owner from breaking any of those rules of etiquette which make the wheels of society run so smoothly; and there was an easy winning grace, and guileless sweetness of manner, about the simple true-hearted lighthouse maiden, that won its way to all hearts. There is no such beautifier as thoughtful goodness; and the amiable character, and clear understanding of Grace Darling, shone through her hazel eyes, and added to her loveliness.
Grace was rather beneath the ordinary stature, and her figure was slender and graceful. She had a wreath of sunny brown curls, and a delicate clear complexion, which revealed the quick emotions of joy or sorrow that moved her. She was rich, too, in having a fund of good common sense, which would enable her, with the assistance of the ready presence of mind and dauntless courage which characterised her, to be equal to all the emergencies of life.
The two girls, so differently trained and constituted, who were thus brought together, would probably be the better for the short intercourse which they had; and it is certain that both would retain pleasant memories of their walks and talks in the island.
When evening came they all sat around the lighthouse fire, and hold a pleasant conversation. Nor were they content with this, but added the delights of music to their entertainment. Miss Dudley was prevailed on to sing the following ballad;[1]—
"The 'Morning Star'Sailed o'er the bar,Bound to the Baltic Sea:In the morning greyShe stretched away—'Twas a weary day to me.
"And many an hour,In sleet and shower,By the lighthouse rock I stray,And watch till darkFor the winged barkOf him that's far away.
"The Castle's boundI wander round,Among the grassy graves,But all I hearIs the north wind drear,And all I see—the waves."
"Oh, roam not there,Thou mourner fair,Nor pour the fruitless tear!The plaint of woe is all too low—The dead—they cannot hear!
"The Morning StarIs set afar,Set in the Baltic Sea;And the billows spreadO'er the sandy bedThat holds thy love from thee."
Mr. Morrington remarked that the Tynemouth Castle grounds were used as a burial place; and then calls were made upon the other members of the party for another song.
"William can sing," remarked Grace, looking at her brother.
"Of course he can," said Mr. Dudley; "whoever knew a light-hearted man, used to the sea, who could not sing. Will you please favour us, Mr. Darling!"
William, who was anxious, like the rest of the family, to make the time of their guests pass as pleasantly as possible, at once complied with their request. He sang his song to an old border tune, originally composed to the words, "When I was a bachelor fine and brave:"—
"Harold, the minstrel, was blithe and young;Many and strange were the lays he sung;But Harold neither had gold nor fee—His wealth was his harp o' the forest tree;And little he reck'd, as he troll'd his lay—'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"On him young Ella, the maiden, smiled;Never were notes like his wood-notes wild,Till the baron's broad lands and glittering storeDazzled her eye, and her love was o'er;Gold hushed the praise of the minstrel lay—'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"From the old church-tower the joy bells rung,Flowering wreaths were before her flung;Youth was gay, but the aged sighed—'She had better been the minstrel's bride;And Harold wept as he troll'd his lay—'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"Years have fled, and the moonbeams fallOn the roofless towers of the baron's hall;The owl hath built in the chapel aisle,And the bat in the silent campanile,And the whispering ivy seems to say—'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"Years have fled, and that soft light shinesOn a quiet cot where the woodbine twines.A lonely heart, in a distant clime,On that sweet cot thinks, and the warning rhyme,Treasures of earth will fade away—'Clouds come over the brightest day.'"
The next morning the sea was calm enough for to make it safe for the visitors to cross over, and they prepared to leave the island-home in which they had been so kindly and hospitably entertained. They did so with some reluctance, being sorry to lose the friends whom they had found. The parting was especially hard to Grace, who had been living in a new world during the last two days; but Miss Dudley comforted her, by expressing a hope that they would meet again.
"Will you come and stay with us, Grace, before we leave Tynemouth," she asked. "I should like to do so very much," said Grace, "if father and mother will consent."
"I will get the permission of Mr. and Mrs. Darling before I go," replied Miss Dudley.
She did so; and though the anticipations of the girls were not to be realised, the hope made the parting more easy than it would otherwise have been.
Mrs. Darling and Grace both went down to the beach to see the last of their friends, and it was not until after many loving farewells, that Miss Dudley could break away.
The two young men thanked Mrs. Darling most heartily, while they warmly shook hands with her, for her motherly care and kindness. Then Mr. Darling took his station in the boat, and William assisted the friends into it.
"Good-bye, good-bye, God bless you."
"Write to me soon, Grace."
The little boat went dancing away over the laughing waters, leaving behind—as boats so often do—loneliness and regret. Mrs. Darling went back to her work in the lighthouse, but Grace remained on the beach until the coble that bore her friend away had passed completely out of sight. She might be forgiven if, for that day, her usual cheerfulness forsook her, and she felt as if she could not settle down to the monotony of her life.
She was glad when toward evening her father and brother returned, and she could learn all the latest particulars of her friend. They described the rapturous joy of Major Dudley at the re-appearance of the son and daughter whom he had mourned as lost. At first the meeting seemed too much for him, and he trembled, and he turned pale; but afterward he caressed them most passionately, and loaded the Darlings with presents and thanks.
"When he heard of all that had been done for his son and daughter, and their friend, he would not let me come away without bringing presents for us. See," said the lighthouse keeper, exhibiting them, "this is for Mrs. Darling, and this for Grace."
"Miss Dudley has not sent a letter, I suppose, father?"
"No; but she has sent her love, and promises to write soon."
The letter came in a day or two, but it was not at all what Grace wished for. It brought the unwelcome intelligence that Major Dudley had been summoned to the south, and they were all obliged at once to accompany him thither, so that it was not possible for them to receive Grace as they had hoped to do. She therefore saw her friend no more; and for some days she could not help feeling very sad and lonely. But Mrs. Darling, sensible woman as she was, knew a good cure for melancholy.
"Grace," she said, "I want to make a few alterations in the house. One or two of the rooms must be thoroughly cleaned, and the furniture placed differently, and then I think it will be more comfortable for the winter. I shall want your help, my child."
Grace readily responded; and before very long her face grew bright under the influence of wholesome household work; and her parents were delighted to hear her clear voice once more singing her favourite airs.
When, a week later, William Darling went back to Alnwick, the lighthouse family returned to the usual quiet, even ways, which had lately been so pleasantly disturbed, and the lighthouse guests were hereafter little more than memories.
Does it seem that too much has been made of this little simple incident? Let it be remembered, that though on the mainland, in our busy towns and centres of population, the visits of strangers, and the joy of entertaining them, may be common occurrences, it was far different in the case of these dwellers on the lonely Farne Islands. We, who are used to receive the social calls of friends, and to spend many hours a week in "chit-chat," and pleasant recreation, can scarcely estimate the joy and refreshment which this episode brought to the Darlings. It was a great event to them, and was remembered and talked over for many years afterwards. Grace especially, though she never saw her friend again, never forgot her, and there is no doubt that the little intercourse she had had was not without its effects on the after-life and character of the heroic girl.
We cannot tell for what purpose in the all-wise providence of God strangers are brought to us whom we learn to love, and take to our hearts as dear friends, and who are then altogether removed from us. But we may be sure that some good end is kept in view, and perhaps hereafter that which is mysterious may be made plain.
This life is but the beginning of things, the continuation of them will be in heaven; and who knows but that it may be one of the pleasures that our Father has in store for us, that there, the old friendships may be renewed and perfected, and the scattered links all united? If it be so, perhaps Grace has already found her friend again.
[1] It was written at Tynemouth; and refers to the "Morning Star," a vessel belonging to the Tyne, which was lost, with all hands, in the Baltic.
"It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,From angels bending near the earthTo touch their harps of gold:'Peace on the earth, good-will to men,From heaven's all gracious King;'The world in solemn stillness lay,To hear the angels sing."
"Yet with the woes of sin and strifeThe world has suffered long;Beneath the angel-strain have rolledTwo thousand years of wrong;And man at war with man, hears notThe love-song which they bring—Oh, hush the noise, ye men of strife,And hear the angels sing."—E. H. Sears.
It does not matter very much where Christmas is kept, so long as all the family can get together, and all hearts be filled with His love, who came as a Babe in Bethlehem to bring blessings to the world. Under such circumstances, Christmas is a joyous time everywhere, and dear friends, meeting together for a few days of social intercourse, may well bless the season, and retain their old love for it.
It is interesting to think of the various scenes into which the grey head and kindly face of old Father Christmas are brought with shouts of welcome. He comes to the palace, where flowers and perfumes give him a taste of summer's months of gladness, and where men who occupy elevated positions are glad to rest them in his genial smile. He goes to the farm-house, in the country round which the bare fields lie, and the ground is as hard as if it never meant to be fruitful again; and the farmer feels the winter which has a Christmas in it is almost as good as a spring-time of promise. He goes to the tradesmen in the town, and the carol singers make even the busy streets melodious and suggestive of peace and good-will; and the shopkeeper blesses the prosperity of trade, that enables him to welcome the festive time with well-filled tables and good cheer. And best of all, he goes to ships at sea, and lonely lighthouses, and places where he is really needed, to cheer sad hearts and raise depressed spirits; and as to most places he brings the children with him, he is generally able very successfully to accomplish his kind mission.
At the Longstone lighthouse they kept Christmas most joyfully, and all the children, now growing to manhood and womanhood, came home to assist.
Great preparations were made beforehand by Mrs. Darling and Grace, that nothing might be wanting to add to the festivities of the happy re-union. If they could not deck the walls with holly and mistletoe grown on the island, they could have it brought from the mainland by the boys and girls when they came. Pictures, curtains, and books, were all made the most of; and to crown the whole, or rather, as the foundation of the whole, the house was made spotlessly clean—cleaner than usual, if that could be, for the joyous occasion.
But there was always one source of anxiety to trouble the Darlings during December. There was ever a chance that they could not travel. Such things have been heard of as coaches being snowed up, and even railways blocked with the innocent-looking snow. But when the travellers have to cross the sea in places where it is at no time very smooth, the risk of such a misfortune is always much greater. It was often utterly impossible for boats to reach the Farne Islands from the mainland; and no one could say, until the time came, that the Darlings would not be kept from home by stress of weather. It may be imagined, therefore, with what anxiety the sea was watched, and how eager they were to know which way the wind was, and what might be expected of the weather. And when, at last, the boat was seen bringing the dear ones to their home among the rocks, very deep were the thanksgivings that went up to God who had given them journeying mercies.
One Christmas they all met together, and were unusually happy.
"A week's holiday!" said one. "It will be like living at home again to be together so long."
"And to think that you are all safely here," said the mother.
"And not one of us has died during the year," added the father.
"Surely," said Grace, "we ought to be happy, if any family should, with so much to make us so."
"And we shall be," said Mary Ann; "at least I am not afraid of it myself."
There was a general smile at Mary Ann's expense. She had come home with most important news—she was going to be married, and she had already whispered to her sisters that she had heaps of things to tell about "him." It has been said that a woman has but one him (hymn), and that she is never tired of singing it! It seemed so indeed in Mary Ann's case, for she had scarcely reached home when she took her sisters Thomasin and Grace aside, and began to descant most eloquently upon the manliness and goodness, cleverness and handsomeness of her lover, whom she boldly declared to be "the best and most kind-hearted man in the world." "And I will tell you all about him," she added, "though indeed it will take the whole week to tell."
Her sisters were good-humoured and interested; and it was therefore evident that there would be no lack of conversation during those holidays.
If there had been, Elizabeth, the youngest, could have supplied it, for she had just been apprenticed; and youth always imagines its own affairs to be of most absorbing interest. Elizabeth was learning the millinery business, and though the making of hats and bonnets might seem to the general public an uninviting theme on which to dwell, anything is worth listening to that comes from lips that are beloved.
So the lighthouse-fires were kept burning brightly, and an air of comfort and neatness reigned around. The snug sitting-room, in which they had played when they were little ones, held them all now, and very delightful were the hours spent in it. Mr. and Mrs. Darling looked around on their blooming girls and manly sons, and felt that they were well repaid for all the anxiety and toil which their children had occasioned. And when in the evenings the room was cleared, and the merry games of blind-man's-buff and forfeits were engaged in, it may be questioned if any British household had lighter hearts and greater freedom from care than that of the dwellers in Longstone beacon.
"There is one thing needed to make the Christmas perfect," said Grace.
"What is that?" asked her brother William. "The presence of Miss Dudley?"
"No; I was not thinking of her. She has sent me some beautiful letters lately, and they are the most that I can expect. But I was thinking of peace and good-will to men. If we lived on the mainland, in one of the towns, we could send 'portions to those who have need!' There are no poor and helpless here. But it always seems to me that Christmas time should be filled with deeds of charity towards the suffering and poverty stricken."
"But if the weather should change, we could perhaps take our part in the works of Christian kindness, by succouring some poor shipwrecked fellow," said Mr. Darling.
"But I hope the weather will not change," said his wife, who never could quite overcome her terror of the sea when swept by tempests.
Her wish, however, was not realised, while Grace had the pleasure she wished for.
The clear frosty weather which they had enjoyed, passed away on the 27th of December, and gave place to something very different. The morning rose with clouds; the wind blew a heavy gale, and torrents of rain fell all day. The lighthouse-tower rocked before the fury of the tempest; and when the night came on, though the beacon was lighted as usual, Darling had very little hope of its being of much service, since the thick dashing rain would prevent the light from being seen. The gale did not abate during the whole night, and the wind and waves had terrific power, as they beat upon the windows and walls. William and Robert took their father's place at midnight, and watched and tended the light from that time till daylight. They looked over the sea, endeavouring to descry any vessel that might be near, but the atmosphere was so murky that they could see nothing.
A little before daybreak the violence of the storm somewhat abated, and the horizon became more distinct. The young men, keeping "a sharp look-out," thought they saw some object moving on the Naestone rock.
"It is some poor wretch shipwrecked," said William.
"Do you think it is," said Robert. "If so, we must go out and get him off, if possible. Shall I call father?"
"No; do not disturb him until we are quite certain. It will soon be light enough for us to see."
"I can see now! I am sure it is a man moving. It will not be a very safe undertaking, though."
"That does not matter. We cannot leave the poor fellow there to perish."
"Call father up, then. By the time he is ready, it will be safe to extinguish the light, and we can all go out together."
When Mr. Darling was awake, he did not hesitate for a moment.
"Get the coble ready, and we four will man it. It will be hard if we do not bring the poor fellow back to have a little of our Christmas cheer."
In a few minutes Darling and his three eldest sons were in the boat, and moving away.
"Pray, take care," shouted Grace. "It is a very perilous attempt to make."
"We know it," said Darling. "Pray for us, and have no fear."
The girl felt that to have no fear was more than could be expected of her; but she did her best to support and comfort her mother and sisters.
"Now, my lads," said Darling to his sons, "this will require all the nerve and courage we have. Are you ready?"
"Aye, ready," was the cheery answer; and then all hands set to work to propel the boat to the Naestone rock, on which the waves were leaping with awful fury.
"Hold hard, my boys."
The injunction was more easily uttered than obeyed. The young men could scarcely keep their seats, and were in momentary danger of being swept altogether from the boats.
"Why, there are two of them!"
Through the spray they could now see the Naestone; and there they saw two objects—one standing, earnestly watching the efforts of the Darlings to reach them, the other lying helplessly on the rocks, apparently benumbed.
The brave men put forth all their strength, and presently managed to bring their boat near the rock, then suddenly a tremendous wave dashed them back again, and they were almost buried beneath the waters. The boat rose, however, and the men, nowise daunted by the danger and difficulty, again strained every nerve to reach the rock. But a terrible billow again came over them, and this time two of their oars were snapped to pieces. Soon after a receding wave left a space around the rock uncovered, and Robert, eager to reach the sufferers, leaped across. But just then another huge wave swept the boat back, and Mr. Darling's fears were aroused lest they should not be able to get him off again. They made a most strenuous effort once more to get near the rock; and presently, while the perspiration was pouring from their faces, and their arms and backs were aching from fatigue, and they were feeling that they could not keep on much longer, they managed to get near enough to enable Robert, by plunging in the sea, to reach them, the brothers in the boat with great difficulty hauling him in.
"Did you speak to the men, Robert?" asked Mr. Darling, when the young man had a little recovered himself.
"I spoke to one, father; the other is dead!"
"There is but one to save, then?"
"That is all."
"Come my lads, we must get him off, if possible."
"The tide is making fast. If he is not away in an hour or two, his chances will all be gone, for the rock will lie under deep water."
They tried again and again to get near enough to the rock to allow of the man's escape, but they could not succeed.
"Throw him a rope! We can do nothing else."
After several vain attempts, they succeeded in throwing a rope to reach him. The man was so feeble that he seemed scarcely to understand what was going on.
"Lash yourself to it, man!"
"He has not strength to do it. Look at him! He is half-dead."
The Darlings shouted a word of cheer, and presently the man roused himself to his task. He was so weak that his hands could scarcely do the work; but after a time, his friends saw, with joy, that he had fastened the rope round his body.
"He has no power to help himself. We must drag him in."
"Now then, steadily."
They were afraid that he would get beaten against the rocks and destroyed; but, as carefully as they could, they dragged him into the boat. No sooner was he there, however, than he fell down in a state of complete exhaustion.
"Now for home."
But it seemed at least, doubtful whether they would ever get there, for the sea was so turbulent that their strength was as nothing to it; and the difficulty was greatly increased by the loss of the oars, which had been broken. They made the best use of the two remaining, and they hoisted their small sails, but the wind was against them; and if their hearts had not been very brave, they must have quailed then. But there was One who watched them, as long ago He watched His followers "toiling in rowing," and He cared for the courageous men who had gone out over the waters to save human life, and He helped them in this hour of their need. After a severe struggle, they reached the shore; and never were weary mariners more thankful to feel the friendly land under their feet than they were.
Mrs. Darling, Grace, and the others, had been watching them with intense anxiety, and they were on the beach, ready to welcome their return.
"We have brought the poor fellow off the rock, and landed him safely; but there is not much life left in him, I fancy," said Robert.
"I hope we may restore him. Bring him in carefully," said Grace. "He may have been sent to us for our help and compassion—a Christmas stranger!"
Did she think how, in return for their hospitality, the Saviour would himself say, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto Me!"
The sailor was soon laid in a warm bed, and restoratives were given to him. For a long time, however, the Darlings feared that their efforts would be in vain, but, after much patience and perseverance, he began to revive. The women of the household had now plenty of occupation, and Grace was one of the chief nurses of the forlorn shipwrecked man. Every kindness and attention was heaped upon him; and the festive season received just the pathetic touch it always wants to bring out the love of happy hearts towards those who are sad and wretched.
The Christmas was over, and the brothers and sisters had gone back to their various situations and occupations on the mainland before the man was sufficiently recovered to leave his temporary home on the Longstone. When he began to recover he had a relapse, and a low fever set in, which lasted for some time. As soon as he was able to give an account of himself he related a most pathetic tale, which quite touched the heart of the gentle, humane Grace, who had questioned him.
"My name, Miss? It is Logan, and I was born at Nithdale, in Scotland. I think no man has been more unfortunate than I. I have been shipwrecked several times—once, only a few weeks ago, at Sunderland. The whole crew would have been lost then, only that the Sunderland life-boatmen came out and rescued us. Soon after that, I got a situation as mate on board the 'Autumn,' but my usual fate overtook me. We were going to Peterhead, but had only been a day or two at sea, when a gale came on. The master made every effort to guide the vessel, but it was of no use, and at last she was dashed among the breakers. Then we tried to launch the boats, but could not do it, and, as a last resource, I and one other man clung to the mast for safety. We were in that situation for four hours."
"Four hours!" exclaimed Grace.
"Yes; and at last, when the tide went out, we found the Naestone rock uncovered, and the mast hanging over it, so we dropped on the rock. We had not much bettered our condition, however, for a heavy sea swept over the mast, and we could not see a vestige of it, though our only hope of safety depended upon it. I tried to get up a joke with my mate, but I could see that he was losing all hope. I told him that perhaps we should be discovered, but he only shook his head in despair. He talked about being resigned to his fate. 'I feel that I am dying,' said he. 'If you should be fetched off the rock, go and see my father and mother, and tell them how I died. Tell my mother that my last prayer was for her; and may God Almighty bless and comfort her.' 'Cheer up, man,' says I, 'you're not dead yet.' But he was too far gone to be consoled; and before he had been more than two hours on the rock, he died."
"Poor fellow!" said Grace, who was weeping tears of sorrow and sympathy. "Did you not feel worse still after he was gone?"
"Yes, indeed, I felt despairing, for all my hope died when my comrade died. The wind was still blowing furiously, and the spray kept dashing over me. I saw the tide getting higher and higher, and coming nearer and nearer, and wondered how long I had to live. At last the waves washed the place on which I stood, and I thought my last moments had come. But just then I saw your boat! I thought I should have gone frantic with joy; I did not know how to contain my feelings. Oh! Mr. Darling, God bless you and your family for your goodness to a poor shipwrecked sailor. May He reward you, for I am sure I never can."
The man broke down and could say no more, while Mr. Darling wrung his hand, and told him, what was the truth, that there was no greater joy than to rescue those who were in danger of death.
A day or two after Logan felt better and wished to say good-bye to his kind friends.
"I will go with you to Bamborough," said the lighthouse keeper. "If you go to Lord Crewe's institution, they will help you!"
"What sort of place is that, then?"
"A sailor's home, among other things. Bamborough Castle once belonged to him; and when he died, he left an immense fortune to be applied to good purposes. It is a splendid place. There are schools for educating children. There is a large library of books that are lent out to the people who live near. Goods are sold at a cheap rate to the poor. There is an infirmary, where thousands have been relieved, and besides all this, there are rooms for shipwrecked sailors. There is always a reward given to the first boat that puts off to the wreck; and those who have been ship-wrecked have money and clothing given to them, if they are destitute."
"There is some hope for me, then?"
"Yes, indeed."
"But you had better stay here until you are quite well," said Grace.
"Thank you, Miss! You are very kind, but I must go, for I am anxious to get settled again. I shall never forget the happy hours I have spent under this roof though, nor your great kindness to me."
He was not to be persuaded to remain, so Mr. Darling took him across to the castle, where he received the ship-wrecked sailor's relief. The governors gave to Darling the usual reward for saving the life of Logan, but that the generous lighthouse-keeper put into the sailor's bundle which he was carrying for him.
Mr. Darling accompanied Logan a few miles along the Berwick road, to which place Logan wished to go, and then they parted.
Grace Darling was right! Christmas is not all that it might be if it brings no opportunities of exercising Christian charity. Did not the Son of Man come as a stranger to this world, finding no room in the inn. But since He has made all our homes bright by the free salvation which is His gift, shall not we, in return, look after the homeless and comfortless ones, who it is never very difficult to find? It seems as if the angel's prophetic song is not yet fulfilled, for not yet is the earth filled with peace and good-will to men. But if we do only a little, by saving a shipwrecked mariner, or a destitute child, something at least is gained, and He receives it, who said of the loving woman, "She hath done what she could."