"Never bronze, nor slab of stone,May their sepulchre denote:O'er their burial place aloneShall the shifting sea-weed float.
"Not for them the quiet graveUnderneath the daisied turf;They rest below the restless wave,They sleep below the sleepless surf.
"O'er them shall the waters wrestleWith the whirlwind from the land,But their bones will only nestleCloser down into the sand;
"And for ever, wind and surge,Loud or low, shall be their dirge;And each idle wave that breaksHenceforth upon any shore,Shall be dearer for their sakes,Shall be holy evermore."—E. H. O.
Only they who have had to brave the dangers of the deep for many years, can understand what its perils really are. Unfortunately, as the reader knows, these are so great and frequent, that to describe a wreck is but to take one of many which have been still more sad and disastrous. But as the wreck of the "Forfarshire" deserves especial mention, because of the heroic conduct of the lighthouse-girl, it will be necessary that we should become acquainted with as many of its details as have been preserved.
The "Forfarshire" steamer was a vessel of about three hundred tons burden, and it was under the command of one, John Humble, who had formerly been master of the "Neptune," of Newcastle. The "Forfarshire" was to go from Hull to Dundee, with a valuable cargo of bale goods and sheet iron; and she sailed from Hull on Wednesday evening, September 5th, 1838, at about half-past six o'clock. Two other vessels left at the same time, the "Pegasus" and "Inisfail," both bound for Leith. The vessel might almost have been called a new one, for she was but two years old, but her boilers were in a very bad state of repair. They were examined before the ship left Hull; and a small leak which was detected was closed up, and it was hoped that the vessel had been made safe. Sixty-three persons sailed in her, including twenty passengers in the cabin, and nineteen in the steerage, Captain Humble, his wife, fourteen seamen, four firemen, two coal trimmers, and two stewards. Several persons noticed an unusual bustle on board, and found, on inquiring, that it was caused by the state of the boilers. This very naturally occasioned great anxiety on the part of those who were to sail in her, and one of the steerage passengers, Mrs. Dawson, was heard to say, that if her husband came down to the steamer in time, she would return with him, and not sail in the vessel at all.
Off Flamborough Head the leakage was again detected, and continued for six hours; but it did not appear to be very serious, inasmuch as the pumps were able to keep the vessel dry. Still it was enough to cause some alarm, for two of the fires were extinguished by it, and had to be relighted when the boilers had been temporarily repaired. Things were not very encouraging, since the vessel could only move slowly; and before she had proceeded more than a little way on her course, three other steamers passed her.
It would have been only wise and right if, under such circumstances, the vessel had not attempted to pursue her course, but had put into the nearest port. Such was not the case, however, and though she was known to be in a most inefficient state, she proceeded on her voyage. It was about six o'clock on Thursday evening when the "Forfarshire" passed through the Fairway, the water which lies between the Farne Island and the mainland. It was night when she entered Berwick Bay, and at that time the wind was blowing strong from the north, and the sea was running very high. Naturally enough the strain upon the vessel, caused by its greatly increased motion on account of the violence of the weather, widened the leak. The firemen reported that they could not keep the fires burning, as the leakage had increased to such an extent that the water put them out. The captain ordered two men to be employed in pumping water into the boilers, but no good came of that, for as fast as they pumped the water in it escaped again through the leak.
The storm continued to rage with unabated fury, and it was felt by all on board that they were in imminent danger. The captain strove to keep up the courage of the men and passengers, but their anxious faces told too surely of the sinking hearts within.
"Where are we now?" was the question asked at ten o'clock; and those who asked, would have given not a little to be in happy British homes, safe from the fury of the winds and sea.
"We are off St. Abb's Head," was the reply, shouted at the top of the man's voice, that it might be heard, for in the din and roar it was difficult to make each other understand.
Presently the enginemen, working hard at their engines, found that their efforts were entirely vain. They persevered until it was evident that perseverance was useless and then they represented the case to the captain.
"The engines will not work, sir," they said, "though we have done our best to make them."
The captain looked, and felt extremely anxious, for he knew that a terrible danger menaced the vessel, and all on board.
"Hoist the sails fore and aft," was the order, for it was well known that there was great probability of their drifting ashore. The vessel was put about, and every endeavour made to keep her before the wind, and away from the rocks. It was thought by some that an attempt would be made to anchor, but it was not so. The vessel was not long before it had become perfectly unmanageable; and those who were helpless to guide her felt, with dismay, how near they were to destruction and death. The tide was setting in to the south, and the ship drifted in that direction.
All this time it was raining heavily, and the fog was so thick that nothing could be distinctly seen. It was impossible to tell where they were; and in darkness and uncertainty, fearing the worst, and quaking with terror, the unhappy passengers and crew waited for their doom, as men and women have done so often under circumstances similarly appalling. There was nothing they could do but wait and pray; and they were the happiest who could keep alive in their bosoms the faintest spark of hope, and who, being ready either to live or die, had confidence in the strong arm and watchful care of Him who holds the waters in the hollow of His hand.
At length there was a startled cry, "Breakers to leeward!" and that discovery increased the excitement and terror a hundredfold. All eyes were strained in the endeavour to ascertain something of their position, and presently the Farne Lights became visible. After a moment's consultation, the awful truth made the men desperate. There was no doubt as to the imminent and immediate peril in which they were, for the dangerous character of the coast of the islands was well known. The captain and men, aroused to almost superhuman effort by the awful catastrophe that was coming upon them, tried to avert what seemed almost inevitable, by endeavouring to run the vessel through the channel that lies between the Farne Islands and the mainland. But the gloomy apprehensions of all who understood the state of the case were rather increased than diminished by the attempt; for the vessel would not answer her helm; and the furious, turbulent sea tossed her hither and thither, making her the sport of its own awful will.
It was between three and four o'clock when, with her bow foremost, the "Forfarshire" struck on the rock.
Those who are not acquainted with the Farne Islands can scarcely form an idea of the ruggedness of those rocks, which stand up in the ocean as if intent on destroying all that comes near them. The rock on which the "Forfarshire" struck is so sharp and rugged that it is scarcely possible for persons to stand erect upon it, even when it is dry, and it descends sheer down into the water more than a hundred fathoms deep.
The shock, therefore, and the awful scene that followed, may be imagined, but cannot be described. The night was round about the helpless passengers, and added to their danger and dismay. The sea was tremendously high, and the waves seemed to be so many graves rising to receive the bodies that must shortly drop into them. The noise and tumult were so great as to bewilder those who listened. The wind howled in its rage, and mingled with the thunder of the waters. The sea-gulls screamed as they flew madly about the ship, and towards the shore. The women shrieked so piercingly that their voices could be heard above all other sounds, and were by far the maddest and most mournful of all. Nor was this surprising, for the great vessel was lifted up by the action of the water, and again forced upon the jagged rock, while the beams and timbers gave way, and that to which the passengers and sailors had trusted their lives proved itself little better than a grave.
The bustle and confusion on board were naturally very great at this juncture. All tried to find their way on deck, but some did not live to reach it. Others, as soon as they had gained that which they hoped was a place of safety, were at once swept off into the great deep below.
At this time some of the crew, eager to save themselves, lowered the larboard quarter-boat, and sprang into it. Among these were James Duncan, the first mate, to whom some blame seems to have been attached, and Mr. Ruthven Ritchie, of Perthshire. It is little wonder that in such a crisis all should do what could be done to save themselves. But we have some memorable instances of unselfish heroism on the part of British sailors, who have even lost their own lives in saving those of others.
"It is the signal of death," was the hurried conclusion to which many came when they felt the shock of the vessel on the rock. Then followed a most heart-rending scene. The master lost all self-control in his anguish and terror; but, perhaps, that is not surprising when it is remembered that he had on board his own wife. It is so natural for a woman to think that her husband can save her from everything; and this woman clung to the master, and looked into his face with imploring eyes, "Oh, save me! save me! Surely you can do something! Do not let me drown. Oh, my beloved, will you not save me?" she cried, holding him in her arms, while the tears ran down her white face.
"Would to God that I could, my darling," was all the man could say, as he felt his utter helplessness to protect her, or any of those who had been committed to his care. Other women there were who called upon him, and upon the sailors, and most of all upon God, though their cries seemed altogether unavailing. The men were more quiet. They looked death in the face calmly, though still they clung to the doomed vessel, hoping against hope to the very last.
Many of the passengers were asleep in their berths when the vessel first struck. The steward ran down to give the alarm without loss of time.
"For God's sake, get up, all of you. The vessel is on the rocks, and we shall all be drowned."
What a terrible awakening it was for those who had gone calmly to sleep the night before! No warning had been given to them. They little knew how the angels wrote above their cabin, "There is but a step between thee and death." With busy brains, planning all sorts of work for future years, and dreaming of worldly success and prosperity, they laid down to sleep. While the night yet lasted came the terrible cry, "Behold, the bridegroom cometh: go ye forth to meet Him." And what terror and affright the message caused, only He knew who looked down from Heaven into the souls of the men and women. Was it not a pity that they had not thought of this before? If only they had been His friends, they would not have feared to see His face. But to those who had persistently turned deaf ears to His invitations, the cry, "Prepare to meet thy God," sounded like a summons to eternal doom.
To others, however, it was not so. They looked across the waters to another shore, where the lights are always burning, and where shining ones stand to welcome the weary voyagers who would safely gain it. As they saw the danger they knew that the shore they loved was not far away; and when they cried in strong faith, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly," they heard the still small voice of their God saying, "It is I, be not afraid." Death by drowning was for them only a short swift passage to the heavenly land, where "there shall be no more sea." And though life must have been dear to them—for every one had some tie to keep him below—still, there was not one Christian but would be willing "to depart and be with Christ, which is far better," and the summons, though it was brought by seething waters and howling winds, could not be unwelcome. For a few seconds there would be nothing but darkness, pain and bewilderment, but then all would be over, and their day would begin. "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more. The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them to living fountains of water, and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes." Happy, indeed, are they, for they "have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; and they shall serve Him day and night in His temple."
But what of them who have always been His despisers? In the days of their health they cried—"We will not have this man to reign over us;" and now, what could He be to them but a judge whom they feared? To them death by drowning was a very different thing from that which it was to those who were his friends. It gave them too little time to prepare. They wanted to pray, but the waters were over their heads, and in the darkness they could not find Him. They wanted to repent, but no space for repentance was given to them then. It was too late—too late! They had had time. For months and years the patient Spirit had been striving with them; but they had resisted Him. Christ had been saying—not as a judge, but as a pleading Saviour—"Come unto me, all ye that labour, and I will give you rest." "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any man will hear me, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." But it had been no use. Deaf ears, that would not hear His voice, blind eyes, that saw no beauty in Him that they should desire Him, unresponding lips that would give Him no invitation—these were all that the Lord had met with. And now it was too late, for that storm had burst, and the ship was settling down, and there remained for the rejecters of Christ nothing but hopeless desolation!
Does not this, and every shipwreck, cry aloud to the sons of men to be wise? "Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." "To day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." Death must come soon, and it may come any night, and, rousing the sleeper, may hurry him into eternity. Is it not folly to remain unprepared?
The "Forfarshire," soon after the first shock, was struck by a powerful wave, which lifted her for a moment off the rock, but only to dash the doomed ship on it again with greater violence than before. On this occasion, the sharp edge of the rock struck the vessel about midships aft of the paddle-boxes. Then the survivors rushed on deck, and about three minutes later, another shock cut the vessel completely in halves.
The part containing the stern, quarter-deck and cabin, was instantly carried away, with all who were upon it, and went rushing into the terrible current, known by the name of the "Piper Gut." This current is so tremendously strong, that, even in calm weather, it runs between the islands at the rate of six miles an hour; and the fate of those who, in a hurricane, were borne through the rapids, is indeed terrible to contemplate.
It has been said that the larboard quarter-boat was launched by the chief mate, James Duncan. Only one passenger was, however, saved—namely, Mr. Ritchie. He heard the steward's cry of alarm; and immediately sprang from his berth, and, seizing his trousers, rushed upon deck. He noticed that some of the sailors were leaping into a boat, and without loss of time, and with great presence of mind, he at once seized a rope, and by a marvellous effort swung himself into it. He afterwards looked upon his escape as nothing short of miraculous. Just as the boat was leaving the ship, two persons made frantic efforts to detain it. They were the aunt and uncle of Mr. Ritchie. They endeavoured to seek his place of safety, but perished in the attempt, for, instead of gaining an entrance into the boat, they fell into the water, and perished before the eyes of their nephew, who was powerless to aid them.
Those in the boat had a narrow escape. The night was dark and cold, but Mr. Ritchie had nothing on excepting his shirt and trousers. All the time he was in the boat he was occupied in baling out the water with a pair of shoes, for if this had not been perseveringly done, the boat would have sunk, and all in her have perished. No one knew how to steer; but Providence guided the men rightly, for there was but one means of escape from the dangerous breakers, which must have dashed the boat against the rocks. Not one of them could say where this outlet was; but they were guided through it unawares. Surely every man must have felt grateful to Him who had taken them safely through such dangerous waters! About eight o'clock on Saturday morning, they were picked up by a Montrose sloop, bound for Shields; and the whole nine who had embarked in the boat were saved. Mr. Ritchie had some money in his pocket, with which he was able to buy necessary food and clothing.
Those who had been left on the wreck were less fortunate. It has been stated that the fore-part of the vessel remained on the rock; but the situation of the poor wretches thus exposed was most perilous. Gigantic waves kept dashing over them; and one of these swept the captain and his wife away into the boiling sea. He had not been able to save her; but he died with her, as a brave man would do. Let us hope that they went together to the rest and joy in Heaven.
There were only nine left on the wreck which still stuck to the rock—four of the passengers, and five of the crew. Words cannot describe their sufferings while they held on for dear life; the waves, which had hurried away so many of their companions, continually rising, as if in a malicious endeavour to secure them also for their prey. While strength remained, they cried and screamed for help, though even as they did so, their hearts sank within them, for it seemed utterly vain to hope that their shrieks would be heard above the awful clamour of the winds and waves. Now and then they died into complete silence, and then one of the number would shout for help, while the others feebly, but with all their strength, seconded his endeavours. They were half-frozen by the cold; and the heavy seas that washed over them tore off their clothing, leaving them nearly naked. They made frantic exertions to hold on, and resist the fury of the waves, but, as the night wore slowly away, these endeavours quite exhausted the sufferers, and left them almost prostrate.
One spectacle was particularly agonising. It has been mentioned that Mrs. Dawson, one of the passengers, had declared before the vessel started, that, if she could, she would leave it, and would not sail. But her husband did not come in time, and she had therefore gone with the rest. She was among the number of those who were in the fore-part of the vessel, and which clung to the rock. She had with her two children, a boy and a girl, aged respectively eight and eleven years. She held them firmly, one by each hand, resolved to save them if a mother's love could do it. But they were delicate, and could not endure the continued buffeting of the waves. They were so beaten and battered by being thrust to and fro against the rock that they both died; but even after they were dead, Mrs. Dawson refused to believe it, and still held them firmly by the hand. The mother's heart might have broken quite had she known, but as it was she was eventually saved.
Scarcely less wonderful was the escape of a man named Donovan, one of the firemen of the ill-fated vessel. He lay on the rock for three hours in the greatest suffering, being beaten by the terrible waves as they washed over him, stripping him by the force of their blows. But all that time he held on to a strong spike-nail; and though his hands were bleeding, and almost raw, he would not let go, for he knew that if he did he would lose his only chance of safety.
So they waited and prayed for deliverance, while the terrible moments wore into hours. It must have seemed to them that God had forgotten to be gracious, and that they were forsaken both by Him and their fellow men. But many an agonising prayer rose to heaven, and at last, though they little expected it, succour was nigh. It is true that it came by a maiden's hands, but God was, indeed, the deliverer. His time often seems very late, and His coming long delayed, but, after all, He knows the right moment, and those who put their trust in Him will not be confounded. Over the stormy water came a little boat on an errand of mercy; and He, without whom not a sparrow can fall, was Himself in it, aiding and blessing His servants. Let us see how wonderfully He had cared for the few survivors on the Farne rocks, and by what enthusiastic heroism He had filled the breast of the youthful lighthouse-girl. And let us learn from it to trust in Him when our times of need come.
"Say not my soul, 'From whenceCan God relieve my care?'Remember that OmnipotenceHas servants everywhere."
"Thus her compassion woman shows,Beneath the line her acts are these;Nor the wide waste of Lapland snows,Can her warm flow of piety freeze.From some sad land the stranger comes,Where joys like ours are never found,Let's soothe him in our happy homes,Where freedom sits with plenty crowned.
"Man may the sterner virtues know,Determined justice, truth severe;But female hearts with pity glow,And women holds affliction dear;For guiltless woes her sorrow flows,And suffering vice compels her tear;'Tis hers to soothe the ills below,And bid life's fairer views appear.
"To woman's gentle kind we oweWhat comforts and delights us here;They, its gay hopes on youth bestow,And care they soothe, and age they cheer."—Crabbe.
That night Grace could not sleep. Had she been any other girl, indeed, there would have been nothing remarkable in that, for the storm was tremendous. But dwellers in lighthouses are so used to storms, that generally they take but little notice of them; and the fact that this storm really sent a thrill of solicitude to the hearts of the Darlings, is enough to convince us that it must have been of an unusually furious nature.
On this memorable 6th of September, 1838, when the "Forfarshire" sailed, a fisher boat came from North Sunderland to the Longstone rock, bringing packets and letters for the Darling family. At that time the weather was comparatively fine and the sea calm; and there wore no particular signs to warn them of any material change in the atmosphere. The day passed much as usual, but towards evening heavy masses of clouds collected, and those who were weather-wise knew that it was likely to become tempestuous. These surmises soon became certainties; and presently a tremendous wind arose, and beat around the rocks and the lighthouse that was upon them; and a deluge of rain began to fall. The storm grew worse every half-hour until even the calm spirit of Mr. Darling was perturbed.
"Oh, hark at the winds! I do not know when they have blown with so much fury," he said.
Mrs. Darling's face was pale, and Grace found it quite impossible even to concentrate her thoughts upon her favourite books, while the tumult raged outside.
"I hope it will soon be more quiet," she said. "Nobody could sleep in such a storm as this."
"May God have mercy upon the poor fellows at sea tonight," said her father; "for many a one is in great danger because of this gale."
"The wind seems to sigh in every cleft of the rocks tonight," said his wife. "I hope we are safe, William."
"Our tower will not be blown down," said her husband, smiling away her fears. "I wish all the sailors were as safe as we are."
"I am not afraid," said Grace; "but no one can listen to this awful wind without feeling some emotion and awe."
"It is, indeed, an awful wind," said Darling, "and one does not care to hear it, though his own home be as firm as a rock."
They sat together, scarcely speaking, until a late hour; but as the night advanced, the storm raged yet more furiously.
"It seems as if the very spirit of mischief is abroad," remarked Grace.
"But as we can do no good by staying up," said her mother, "we had better retire to rest."
Grace, however, was strangely loth to do so; and when, at last, she went to her own room, she could not sleep. Even when she was sinking into a doze, a terrible gust of wind would beat against the wall, and make the girl's heart leap within her, and cause her to listen in breathless attention to the mighty battle that was raging without. So she lay for several hours; and even when at last she fell asleep, her slumbers were very disturbed, and her dreams most uneasy.
In the morning, before daylight dawned, something awoke her. She rose hastily in bed, with wide-opened eyes, that seemed to listen intently.
"What was it that awoke me, I wonder! It might have been the wind; and yet it seemed to me more than the wind. It must have been human cries, but cries uttered in the most awful distress, or they could not have been heard above the gale."
So she said to herself, as with white face, and trembling pulses, she listened, and scarcely dared to breathe.
"Perhaps, after all, I was dreaming," she thought, as for a few moments she did not hear the sound she waited for. "The wailings of the winds might have deceived me, though I should not have thought they could do so, since I am so used to hear them."
Again she listened; and presently she heard piercing, penetrating cries of those whose agony had become almost unbearable.
Then she sprang out of bed, with some such thought as this—"O God, help me, and show me what is right to do." With trembling, agitated fingers, she hastened to dress, and then, without losing a moment needlessly, she hurried to her father.
"Why, Grace, what is the matter, child!" said he.
"Oh, father, I feel sure there has been a wreck near! I have heard the most awful shrieks that I ever in my life heard before; and I am sure some poor wretches are drowning."
"Nonsense, Grace! You were very nervous last night, and you look as if you have not slept. Your fears have mastered you. That which you thought a cry was only the wind. At least we may hope so; for I do not think you could hear screams, or anything else, in such a storm."
"But, father, I am sure that the cries came from human beings in extremity. Do believe me, for I know it is the truth, and not any foolish fancy of mine. Listen for yourself."
"It is no use, Grace; nothing can be heard but the wind."
"But, father, I know there is a wreck not far from the island."
Mr. Darling shook his head, and tried to appear indifferent.
"Even if it is so, Grace, we can do nothing," said he.
"Oh, yes, father, we must go to their rescue," replied his daughter.
"What is the use of your talking like that, Grace? If your brothers were at home, we might attempt it; but now it is altogether out of the question."
"No, indeed, father, it must not be out of the question. Can we let our fellow creatures perish without making an effort to save them? If we did so, I am sure we should never, either of us, be happy again. Do let us go, father! I can help you in the rowing of the boat, and God will protect us. Only think what it would be to save the lives of those poor half-drowned men and women?"
"But I don't think it can be right, Grace."
"Oh, father, why do you lose time? It cannot be right to hesitate," said the girl, in convincing tones.
Mr. Darling looked anxiously through his telescope. It was scarcely light, and there was a heavy mist hanging over the island. The wind was not as violent as it had been, but the sea was still very furious. William Darling strained his eyes as he looked through the good glass, and presently he saw that which he looked for. About half-a-mile away, there were the shipwrecked sufferers, still clinging to their only hope, the broken pieces of the ship. He thought for a moment or two, and Grace's earnest pleading prevailed. He knew that she never before had been called upon to render such assistance; but he knew too, that she was a brave girl, and would do her best.
"Very well, Grace; I will let you persuade me, though it is against my better judgment."
Grace joyfully kissed her father, and he began to prepare.
"What will your mother say, Grace?" he asked the next moment.
The loving girl dreaded her more than the waves. Mrs. Darling, when she heard of it, could not give her consent.
"Oh, William, I cannot believe that you will be so mad! If there has been a shipwreck, and lives lost, what is the use of your adding your own death to the number? Nothing can save you. The boat will not live ten minutes in such a sea."
"Oh yes, my dear; I think we will come back again all right. Don't make yourself miserable for nothing," said her husband.
"Do you not care, William, that you leave me a desolate widow, with none to provide for me? You are wicked to go. It is tempting Providence, and you ought to be afraid to do it," said the wife, through her tears.
"Hush! mother dear," said Grace. "Indeed, we must go. How can we remain quietly here, while our fellow creatures are crying out for help?"
"Grace, you are a foolish girl; you ought not to urge your father to lose his life, nor to be so willing to risk your own. Think of me, and what I shall do if both of you are drowned."
It was, after all, the natural cry of such a woman as Mrs. Darling. It is not every body that can bear to risk a beloved life, that the lives of strangers may be saved. The wife of the lighthouse-keeper was very sorry for the poor wretches who were clinging to the rock in the cold and rain; but why should her own home be put in jeopardy that they might be rescued! How many women, the wives of soldiers, or sailors, or missionaries, have felt the same? And yet it is generally the cause of right and humanity that wins the day.
Mrs. Darling clung to her husband as if she would not let him go, but Grace remained true and steadfast to her noble purpose, and only waited till the mother grew a little more calm, to press the matter again, and before long they could see that she half-yielded. That was enough!
"Good-bye, mother. God will bring us back to you in safety, never fear; and no doubt we shall bring some poor half-drowned creatures with us, so you had better get the beds warmed and have everything comfortable," said Grace, in strong, cheering tones.
Mrs. Darling found that all her beseeching was in vain; and she could only hope for the best, and keep herself as quiet as possible. She was, however, half-frantic with fear, as she bade them good-bye, and then watched, with streaming eyes, the fragile little boat venture out upon the awful waters. And yet she could not but feel that they were doing rightly, and at the last she had herself helped to launch the boat. But she wrung her hands as she saw them go, and prayed earnestly to God that he would indeed take care of them, and bring them safely back to her.
It is said that Grace was the first to seize an oar, and spring into the boat; but her father, who was a brave man, quickly followed, and the two were soon working together in harmony. They scarcely spoke at first, William Darling only giving Grace a few directions with regard to the management of the boat, and then both used their utmost endeavours to propel her towards the desired spot.
One moment we must linger to look at the heroic girl as she sits firmly in the boat, with a steady light in her eyes, lips firmly compressed, and strong brave heart. Could we have seen Grace Darling in more attractive guise? The thunderous waves were leaping and foaming around the little boat; the dark clouds were lowering, and the winds blowing furiously. The afrighted sea-birds looked at them, and screamed shrilly as they saw the boat rocked to and fro, now leaping on the top of a wave that tossed it high, and now sinking down, down, as if it were going to the very bottom of the deep. But Grace was not afraid. She scarcely thought of the danger; for her heart and sympathy were with those who were on the rock. Long before she got to them, her imagination pictured the patient faces, full of pain, which would grow bright when they saw her; and as she thought of them, her arm gained new strength, and she went on again more energetically than before. Was she, indeed, a girl? Had she sisters, who cried out if a pain touched them, and who were always helplessly appealing to men for help? Did she know what fear was? Yes; she knew that she would always be afraid of her own thoughts, if she did not what she could to rescue the shipwrecked strangers.
On they went, over the stormy waters, every minute being nearer their goal. The foam dashed in the face of the intrepid girl, and the salt water made her eyes smart; but she did not relax her efforts, but kept nobly and steadily at her work. Her father could not but admire her courage; and the sight of it gave him even more determination to succeed.
"Are you getting tired, my girl?" he asked presently.
"Not very, father. We shall do it," she replied.
"Yes, I really hope we shall. There they are, poor wretches, glad enough to see us, I know. It is a good thing it is an ebb tide. If it had not been, we could not have passed between the islands. It will be flowing when we come back; and if there are no sailors to help us, we may as well make up our minds to stay on the rocks with the others, for we shall not be able to get home again."
"Do not let us meet trouble half-way, father; the sailors will be able to help us."
They pulled hard a little longer, and then contrived to reach the rock on which the sufferers were waiting.
"Pray, take care, Grace."
"All right, father. Do not be afraid. I will not risk all by my mismanagement."
"If the coble is beaten against the rocks, she will be smashed to pieces."
"I will take care, father. Cannot you land now? See, there is a chance. Now, father!"
With a tremendous effort, Darling got on the rock, and immediately Grace rowed the boat back so as to keep her afloat on the water, and free of the dangerous reefs.
In the meantime, the sufferers on the rock had taken hope.
"There is a boat coming," one had shouted to the rest; and the very words had a miraculously quickening force in them. They looked eagerly out, but could scarcely believe that it would be in the power of those two occupants to rescue them.
"One is a woman," said a sailor, with moisture in his eyes. "God bless her; she is an angel sent from Heaven to succour us."
This man let the tears stream down his weather-beaten cheeks, while he watched the girl's heroic efforts, and prayed fervently that God would bless and prosper them.
William Darling could scarcely help weeping, too, while he looked at the sufferers, for their state was truly dreadful. They had strength enough left, however, to cry to him, and bless him and his; and he was thankful to find the sailors not so utterly exhausted, but that they were able to render some assistance.
"Who is to be the first?" cried Darling. "The boat is ready, and by God's help we shall save you all. Cheer up. Hope for the best, and help yourselves as much as possible."
His cheery words had a magic effect upon the sufferers, who immediately "took heart again," and rose to their feet in faith and hope.
The greatest care and caution were necessary, in order to get the survivors safely into the boat. Poor Mrs. Dawson, we may be sure, was one of the first, who, in a half-fainting, and very weak condition, and bemoaning the loss of her children, was safely placed in the coble by the kind assistance of Grace, her father, and the sailors. The bereaved mother found a friend and sympathiser in Grace, whose womanly pity flowed in tears, and whose kind heart was greatly touched by the signs of suffering that she saw. At present, however, she had no leisure to express her pity; for all her care was needed to assist in the escape of the others. As one by one they entered the little boat, and thanked God for their deliverance, Grace could not quite keep the tears of joy from her eyes.
"God bless you; but ye're a bonny English girl," said one poor fellow, as he looked most wondering at her; and the praise of the half-drowned man, whose life she had saved, was dearer to Grace Darling than any of the praises that were afterwards heaped upon her. Her young arms ached, and her back was full of pain, when the last sufferer was safely in the boat, and they prepared to row back to the land; but little cared she for that, since God had given her the joy she craved.
The return was even more perilous than the outward journey had been. The coble was full of precious human beings; but the sea abated none of its fury, that it might ride the more safely. But divine strength was behind that of the slender arms of William Darling's daughter, and the girl's matchless heroism did not fail her now. Her powers of endurance were great, her purpose good, and her devotion strong; and she did not relax her efforts until their own loved Longstone rock was reached.
Mrs. Darling, whose face bore signs of the most intense anxiety, went to the beach to meet them on their return, and eagerly embraced her husband and child, when they stepped from the boat. Surely, if ever a mother had reason to be proud of her daughter, it was the mother of Grace Darling.
"You are back in safety, then," said she, while the tears of welcome sprang to her eyes.
"Certainly, mother. Did I not tell you that God would take care of us! And see, we have brought nine persons from the rock."
"And saved nine lives!" exclaimed Mrs. Darling.
"That depends a little upon your nursing, mother. We have taken them from the rocks, but they are in a most deplorable condition," said Grace.
They were indeed; but the hospitable lighthouse-home was ready to receive them, and thither they were all conveyed.
At first, they were so hungry and tired, so bruised and broken, that they could not talk much. Besides, they had—many of them, at least—lost their friends and personal belongings, and were feeling sad and miserable enough. But Grace, though her limbs must have been aching, and she must have felt weary and exhausted, began to minister to their wants as soon as they were safely in her father's house; and for the next three days and three nights she found plenty of delightful occupation in soothing their sorrow, and nursing them back to health and strength. As these returned, the survivors became more and more conscious of the great debt which they owed to Grace Darling. They told her what their feelings were when they saw the boat coming toward them, and Grace herself, like an angel of mercy, in it. And Mrs. Darling explained that, but for Grace, their rescue would not have been attempted, since even the brave heart of her husband failed before the awful possibilities of venturing on such a sea with only two pair of hands. How must they, who owed their lives to the undaunted heroism of the kindly maiden, have loved and almost worshipped her, as they saw her moving, in most beautiful simplicity and modest unostentation, among them in her own home!
As for Grace; it may safely be said that she did not know that she had done anything at all remarkable until the world told her so. It is almost certain that she did it because she could not help it. We are sure that it did not enter into her mind to suppose that she was performing a deed of heroism for which all mankind would bless and laud her memory. She simply could not know of her fellow creatures in peril, without attempting to rescue them. Their sorrows and distresses found a ready echo in her own heart, and she must almost have wished for wings that she might fly at once to their succour.
And the maiden had her reward long before her deed of heroism had been published in the papers, and brought upon her the thanks and praises of the whole land. In the quiet recesses of her girl's loving heart there was great joy that night. She did not care whether or not anybody heard of her or her deeds. Nine persons had been saved from a watery grave through her strong persistance and courage. Nine lives were saved for usefulness and pleasure. Perhaps nine homes were preserved from sorrow and darkness, because an intrepid girl had ventured out upon the stormy sea. And as she thought of this, it was in no spirit of boasting, but rather in that of thankful humility, which drew her down to her knees, while she offered her devout prayer to God who had thus prospered her work. And surely, to complete her joy, there must have come to her before-hand the loving words of Him whose example Grace Darling had but copied. Did not the Master of all faithful souls come to "seek and to save that which was lost?" And would not He say to her, "Well done, good and faithful servant," and of her, "She hath done what she could?"
We cannot but praise her. Knowing what epithets of adulation were lavished upon her, we yet cannot help feeling that she deserved all the honest commendation which she received. It was a sublime deed of heroism; a splendid example of womanly unselfishness and love. That a timid girl should thus brave danger, by cleaving her way through the seas which she had thus grave reason to fear, with none but her father by her side, was indeed a matchless achievement. Grace Darling forgot herself, or she could not have done it. And she showed, on that day, how weakness can become strong, and timidity courageous; and it is little wonder, indeed, that even the cold world should have been stirred to give her most loyal admiration and praise.
Long, very long, indeed, may it be before the memory of the gallant deed shall die out! May hundreds of thousands of girls, alike in humble or lofty positions, be taught by it to be self-forgetful, brave, and eager to save others. And may many noble Englishwomen arise who shall have reason to thank God for the lesson which they learnt from the life of the heroine of the Farne Isles, Grace Darling!
It may be that to those who read these pages such an opportunity as that afforded to the lighthouse-maiden may never come. But none the less does every woman's life need the same qualities that she possessed; for courage, intrepidity, self-forgetfulness, and tender sympathy for the suffering, are the needs of each day.
"The trivial round, the common task,Will furnish all we ought to ask:Room to deny ourselves—a roadTo bring us daily nearer God."
And it is those who cultivate these higher qualities that will have presence of mind when any emergency arises to do promptly the very best that can be done. Only let our women simply do their duty, looking to Heaven for guidance, and if they are not Grace Darlings, they will be as true and good, and perhaps almost as useful as she.