Grace Darling Part 16

The harvest fields of the Herberts presented a most lively appearance; for a large number of country girls, and active young men, were engaged in them. They reaped the fields in those days with the sickle; and had not come to our own times, when the work is mostly done by a machine, and all the music, poetry, and pleasure, seem to have gone out of the operation. Harvest-time used to be of all the year the most merry and joyous. Masters and men were then on the best of terms, and worked together in harmony. Friends.h.i.+p seems too often quite left out of the contract now, when people do their work by steam, and have not time, as they seem to think, to cultivate good fellows.h.i.+p.

In Grace Darling's time, as we have said, there were merry days in the harvest-field, and she herself very gladly helped. Indeed, all hands had to a.s.sist, and it was only by so doing that the harvest could be gathered in time. But the reaping, and binding into sheaves, and carrying home, as well as the gleaning, were done with so much merriment that it was like a pic-nic out of doors. Good bread and cheese, and brown ale, would be served to the labourers, and they would see by many signs that their employers felt a kindly sympathy with them, as well as a personal, and not altogether disinterested solicitude in their work.

And so the good harvest was gathered in, and then, when the last sheaf was set up, and the laden waggon went slowly away from the bare fields, the harvest-home was celebrated.

Who that has lived a country life for many years, does not remember with pleasure those merry feasts? The Herberts had one of the best, and really old-fas.h.i.+oned kind. Everybody was invited, and n.o.body thought of declining that invitation. Master and men met together as equals, and the tables were heaped with good cheer. No slow and solemn feasts were those of the harvest homes. Laughter, loud and long, was heard continually, and the hilarity became somewhat tumultuous as the evening advanced. Mr. Herbert's granary was taken possession of, and the party adjourned there for a dance. The two best fiddlers of the neighbourhood were engaged for the occasion, and they struck up a lively reel The young people were quite ready for a good country dance, and they indulged in it to their heart's content. Dance succeeded dance, until it was wonderful that they could longer continue, even at that pleasant pastime. But had they grown tired a new impetus would have been given to the festivities by the appearance of Mrs. Herbert, with her daughters and Grace. At the moment when they entered, George was leading to her seat a pretty rosy-cheeked girl, with whom he had been dancing, but, on seeing the lighthouse-maiden, he went immediately to her side, and solicited her to become his partner for the rest of the evening. After that the villagers began again, and kept up the mirth until late at night, when they returned to their homes much gratified with their pleasant entertainment.

Every girl has a romance, and Grace had her's. The attentions of George Herbert had been those of a brother, but during this visit they partook of a warmer character. He lingered by her side, occasionally pressing her hand with a warmth that brought the blood to her cheeks, and made her turn away from his glances. She understood what was meant; and it is almost certain that her heart was in a measure touched by that which she saw in him. But she did not mean to yield. She loved her home and her parents; and knowing what she was to them, she resolved not to encourage the attentions of any lover. George Herbert was generous and kind--too generous and kind for her to wish to give him pain, and she therefore contrived, as most women can, and all gentle and modest women will, if possible, under such circ.u.mstances, to prevent him from acknowledging his love. She must have refused him had he made a declaration; but he was her friend, and she did not wish to wound him. She therefore showed unmistakably that his feeling for her was not returned, and the young man was not slow to take the hint.

At length the holiday was over, and the time came for Grace to return home. She knew that her father would bring the boat over for her, and she therefore went down to the sh.o.r.e to meet him. When she saw him tears of joy came into her eyes; and as soon as he stepped on the beach, she clung to him with fondest emotion.

"Are you ready to come home, Grace?" he asked.

"Yes, father, quite ready. I have had a very happy time, but there is no place like home. How is mother, and has the time seemed long to her as to me?"

"She is well, but is wis.h.i.+ng for your return. Are Mr. and Mrs. Herbert at home?"

"Yes, and they are both waiting to receive you. Come with me."

He went, leaning on his daughter's arm, and feeling the exquisite pleasure of a parent whose children are lovely and good, and loving and beloved. When he reached the house, he was most warmly welcomed by the Herberts, who told him, however, that they did not like to spare Grace so soon; but as her father had the greatest right to her, they supposed they must submit.

"Come and look at my stacks, Darling," said Mr. Herbert; and the two men had a walk together. The lighthouse-keeper greatly enjoyed an opportunity of holding intercourse with his fellow men, and was not sorry to have this errand. George was busy preparing his fowling-piece for the next day, for it was the 12th of August, and he was much gratified at Mr. Darling's admiration of his spaniels, two beautiful creatures, that fawned about their master, and showed their attachment to him by caresses. George was unusually gay--too gay, indeed, to be quite natural and Grace sighed, as she saw him.

"There is nothing like shooting," he said; "I shall have some most happy hours on the moors with my gun and dog. There is nothing like a free unfettered life, such as the sportsman loves. I delight in it, and would exchange it for no other.

"He is not in the least distressed at my going away," thought Grace; "and yet he seemed to care for me. If he did, his love is not worth having; for if he were sincere and faithful, he could not so soon cast me off. I am glad I do not care for him, if such is his character."

But Grace sighed as she said it, even to herself. In thus judging, however, she did him great injustice; for a closer observer might have seen that his spirits were forced, and his gaiety a.s.sumed. He did feel, and most acutely; but he was a manly young fellow, and did not intend his heart to be broken by any girl. Therefore, not seeing that his affections were reciprocated, he determined, with a decision of character that was peculiar to him, to overcome the feelings that could only be productive of pain. He was resolved, too, that he would conceal from her the fact that he was affected by her indifference. He could not quite do as he wished, however, for he was too honest to be a good dissembler, and his voice faltered, and his hand trembled, as he uttered a hurried good-bye. His emotions imparted the most painful regret to Grace, whose eyes filled with tears when she turned to bid farewell to the rest. They--Ellen, Mary, and Henry, went down to the water, and there affectionately parted from their friend. Long after the boat had left the sh.o.r.e, she saw them watching its progress over the waves. But though she looked eagerly for George, she could not see him. Immediately after uttering his adieus he hastily disappeared; and though she would like to have had one more look, it was not to be.

That Grace was disappointed was evident from the deep sigh that escaped her; but like a sensible girl, she turned her thoughts away from this painful subject to the home-love that was waiting for her.

"I think, father," said she, "that our home on the Longstone rock, is the very best and loveliest that any one could have; and that I should be quite content to stay in it always."

"I am glad you feel so, Grace, for we do not want to lose you," said her father, fondly.

a.s.suredly that bright little island, which lay like a gem in the midst of the sunny ocean, was an object which was calculated to awaken admiration in a less partial and enthusiastic mind than that of Grace Darling. The laughing waves were flowing with a soft and tranquil motion, and gently laving the pebbly sh.o.r.e. Sea-birds were skimming the waves, their graceful plumage gilded by the setting sun, and ever and anon darting beneath the waters. The sky was serene and beautiful, tinged with the rich and glorious hues of a summer's evening; and the orb of light was retiring to rest, reflecting a bright and splendid halo around him.

The feelings of Grace became so animated and joyous as she neared home, that it was with difficulty that she could keep her seat. When at last she reached the sh.o.r.e, she bounded up the ragged pathway with a light step, and was soon within the well-known walls. She had never before thought her home looked so bright and cheerful; so true is it that there is a charm about the place where we dwell with our own kindred, however humble, which is never experienced anywhere else, even among the most beautiful and picturesque scenery.

"There blend the ties that strengthen Our hearts in hours of grief, The silver links that lengthen Joy's visits when most brief.

"Then dost thou sigh for pleasure?

Oh do not wildly roam; But seek that hidden treasure At home--dear home!"

It is a great safeguard to girls to love their homes. If they find their highest delight in contributing to the pleasure of brothers and sisters, and the comfort of those who have tended their infant years, it is a good sign. But those maidens who are impatient of the family restraints, and who cannot be happy unless they are enjoying the excitements of society, are in danger of losing the winning graces of true womanhood. It is at home that there is opportunity for the display of all that is sweet and good in the female life and character; and it is there that true goodness s.h.i.+nes the most brightly. Let English girls remain attached to their own home-circles, and deserve such praise as the wise man gives to the excellent woman--"Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all."

CHAPTER X.

THE PERILS OF THE OCEAN.

"Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell; Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave; Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to antic.i.p.ate their grave; And the sea yawned around her like a h.e.l.l, And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And tries to strangle him before he die.

"And first one universal shriek there rushed, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed, Save the wild wind, and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gushed, Accompanied by a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony."--Byron.

It seems a sudden transition to turn from summer pic-nics to s.h.i.+pwrecks; but every reader knows how often, even in the midst of the world's pleasures and gaieties, mankind is startled by thrilling stories of the tragic experiences of some of the great human family.

It has already been said that Grace Darling, in her lonely life upon the Longstone rocks, surrounded only by the changeful elements, must often have found in them her unconscious tutors. Who has not felt his soul expand under the influence of a boundless ocean-prospect! But it is the sea in storms, when it tosses about the s.h.i.+ps which have dared to invade it, as an angry child throws away its toys, that it is most grand and awful. And this object is the one that is often present to those who live by it. It may be that the best lessons which the sea taught the lighthouse girl were those connected with its angry hours; and that the repet.i.tion of startling casualties which she witnessed, or of which she heard, may have played an important part in schooling her to that degree of coolness and intrepidity which were necessary for the sublime act which made her famous.

It is only natural that, in our island, great interest should be manifested with regard to those who "go down to the sea in s.h.i.+ps," and it may not therefore be deemed out of place to make in this book a reference to some of the most remarkable, and saddest, of the marine disasters which have occurred to make the people of our nation mourn.

Every one who is at all acquainted with wreck returns will know how impossible it would be to notice, in the s.p.a.ce available, more than a hundredth part of such occurrences. But two or three examples will suffice.

The name of the "Royal George" will at once suggest itself to the reader's memory. On August 29th, 1782, this s.h.i.+p, with many hundred souls aboard, sunk, at anchor, in the broad glare of day and in full sight of all on land, in the roadstead at Spithead. The British sailors were exceedingly proud of this vessel, and amongst her commanders had been such men as Admirals Anson, Boscawen, Rodney, and Howe, and although she was not considered equal in appearance to many others, she was believed to outrival them in her powers of sailing.

The "Royal George" had seen very active service, and there had been some thought of putting her out of commission, and the officers of the Admiralty decided upon keeping her in dock for the winter, but during the August of 1782 she underwent repairs, with a view to sending her out once more. Accordingly, on Thursday morning, the 29th of the same month, the s.h.i.+p moored slowly out of harbour, bearing a freight of eight hundred men, with wives, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts, besides those who had been permitted to remain on board for a part of the day. It was a pleasant scene on deck, and the happiness and gaiety of the company seemed in harmony with the beauty of the morning. The mid-day meal was made ready and begun, when a quick movement was felt, and a flood of salt water came pouring through a port-hole that had been most carelessly left unclosed. A stiff breeze caught her broadside, and the "Royal George" turned slowly over and sank. As soon as the disaster was perceived, an officer ran to the s.h.i.+p's captain to inform him that it was capsizing. Kempenfelt, the admiral, was at his desk below deck; his c.o.xswain, notwithstanding the danger, attempted to reach him, but unsuccessfully, for the waters had already engulphed him. His loss was deplored in all the land; he was generally esteemed, and his great abilities were acknowledged by the State. And now the dauntless sea-warrior, who had met and repulsed many a foe, and had looked upon death in a variety of forms, found his own end, not in the force of the enemy's bullet, nor in the violence of the storm, but in a calm sea, on a bright August morning. A reward of one hundred pounds was offered for the body, but it was never recovered. An old journal, which appeared a few days after, in this way concludes the announcement of it--"Thus perished one of the most brave and amiable characters that ever filled either a private or public situation."

A few minutes after the "Royal George" sank, only her topmasts were visible. The greater part of the (one thousand two hundred) people, and chiefly the women and children, were in the cabins, and therefore immediately perished; but of over two hundred on deck, the majority were rescued. The efforts put forth to save the drowning were marked by another calamity. A victualling sloop, which had gone with other vessels to the rescue, was drawn into the vortex of a whirlpool caused by the sudden submersion of the "Royal George."

Many heart-rending accounts have been given on the Hard at Portsmouth, and by boatmen at Southsea, of the saddening spectacle around the s.h.i.+p as she sank. Human forms were discovered in every direction, and seen to sink, to rise no more. Many managed to keep afloat for a time, but having their strength buffetted out by the waves, threw up their hands in terror, and disappeared. Screams for aid mingled with wild prayers for mercy. Seventy are believed to have been picked up and saved by the boats. For days after corpses were seen, carried along by the tide, and secured, to be decently buried.

The news did not arrive in London until the day after, as in those times, there were no other means of transporting messages than the ordinary mail. Intelligence was received at the Admiralty with the deepest regret, and throughout the country a thrill was felt at the announcement. Subscription lists were immediately opened for the benefit of those who survived. We give a copy of one of the numerous appeals framed for a.s.sistance:--

"ROYAL GEORGE."

"Whereas, by the truly deplorable and hapless loss of His Majesty's s.h.i.+p, the 'Royal George,' wherein about seven hundred officers and sailors of heroic soul, Britain's pride, have shared an equal fate, it cannot but be that many widows and children are reduced to the most poignant distress. In order, therefore, to relieve in part their pangs of misery and despair, and actuated by that humanity which has ever characterised this nation, the gentlemen that frequent the 'Barley Mow'

in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, have entered into a voluntary subscription, in the hope that so laudable an example will soon be extended into every part of His Majesty's dominions.

"A subscription book will be kept open for two months at the bar of the 'Barley Mow,' in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, and at Mr. Mazzingby's, No 17, Chancery Lane; at the expiration thereof the money so subscribed shall be paid to the committee now appointed at 'New Lloyd's'

Coffeehouse, and by them appropriated to so charitable a plan."

Before long, rumours were heard, declaring the vessel to have been mismanaged, and Captain Waghorne was ordered to attend a court-martial on the 9th of the succeeding September, to be held on board the "Warspite." One of the s.h.i.+p's carpenters explained that he had just time enough to warn his brother before he made his own escape through a port-hole, and affirmed that the vessel was really unfit for service; but as its condition was not the immediate cause of the catastrophe, the charge against the captain was dismissed.

Hopes were still entertained that the s.h.i.+p might yet be restored, and made fit for service again. One man guaranteed to raise her for 20,000 pounds. But for years she remained in her watery bed, until, by reason of the obstruction caused to the pa.s.sage of other vessels, the matter again called for attention, and, in 1817, the divers concluded a protracted inspection. The decks were completely dislodged; and, in fact, all that remained of the once magnificent man-of-war, was a pile of disjointed and sodden timbers. All hopes of her restoration were abandoned after the accounts given by the divers of their survey; and the ruins were eventually dispersed by the force of powder.

Another memorable wreck was that of the "Halsewell," off Dorsets.h.i.+re, January 6, 1786, by which one hundred and sixty-six lives were sacrificed. Belonging to the East India Company, she was one of the finest and best of merchant men, made to carry seven hundred and fifty-eight tons, and under command of Mr. Richard Pierce. At the time of the disaster, she was making her third voyage out. A valuable cargo was taken in, as usual, at Gravesend, and she cleared the Downs on the first day of the New Year, bearing with her about four hundred and forty pa.s.sengers, amongst whom were a few ladies. With the captain were his two daughters, and two other young ladies connected with the family. Other ladies, who had been sent to England on account of their health, being restored, were about to return to their friends in India.

Some had just left school, some were going to seek a home abroad, and others a wider field of labour. A Mr. Schutz was intent upon gathering an acc.u.mulation of wealth, which he had acquired there previously, intending, on his return, to spend the rest of his days in quietness and comfort. As is generally the case with these vessels, the scarlet uniform of the military shone conspicuously, and the soldiers' wives and families contributed a large part of the total number of pa.s.sengers.

The day after starting a breeze sprang up, and an endeavour was made, by drawing in towards sh.o.r.e, to gain the beach for the pilot boat. The air became misty, and the winds blew contrary. As night drew on, with no fairer prospect, anchor was dropped, and every sign of a storm was visible--snow descended over the almost stationary vessel, and the sails could scarcely be furled by reason of the frost. At four o'clock in the morning, a hurricane blew. The vessel drove, and the command was given to weigh anchor, and steer for the open sea. The pilot, unable to be landed the preceding day, was now pa.s.sed over to a homeward bound brig, and the "Halsewell" proceeded on her perilous voyage, when she was met by a new gale from the south, and a deal of water was s.h.i.+pped, and, worse than all, a leak was found to have been made, which soon filled the vessel to the depth of five feet. Every pump was set to work, but mishaps followed one another, and the stream increased to such an extent that another two feet of water was rapidly made. It was a fearful condition to be in--in a treacherous channel, with a high wind, and vessel pretty well beyond control. The possibility of striking on one of the numerous rocks was obvious. In tearing away the masts, five of the seamen fell overboard and were drowned. About breakfast-time order began to be restored on the s.h.i.+p, and she managed to get into the wind's course, where she remained for a couple of hours, giving the terrified people courage to hope for the best, especially as they learned that the water in the hold was decreasing. The s.h.i.+p was, however, rapidly losing all power to withstand the elements, and it was settled to sail back to Portsmouth.

The gale increased on Thursday night, and with more serious effect.

Notwithstanding the combined endeavours of the men, the s.h.i.+p still rode for the sh.o.r.e, when, discovering their dangerous proximity to St.

Alban's Head, they dropped the anchor, and it became necessary to let fall another to hold the s.h.i.+p. Again she drove, when Captain Pierce, and Mr. Meriton, the chief officer, decided that all hope of saving her must be abandoned, and the best means were considered for preserving the lives of the pa.s.sengers. The captain, consumed with anguish as he thought of his own two daughters, begged Mr. Meriton to contrive some way of escape. The chief officer, having no particular interest to disengage him from the contemplation of what was his duty, replied that nothing could be done, until the emergency became inevitable and present. The captain, glancing up to heaven, avowed his readiness to follow the chief officer's advice, hoping that daylight might discover a more favourable state of affairs.

St. Alban's Head is so dangerous a reef that no vessel meeting it in collision could stand the shock. Immediately after the hurried conference before mentioned, the "Halsewell" ran violently up against the rock. The pa.s.sengers, who had been waiting together for death for some time, became excessively agitated, and many a shriek rose over the disturbed waters. Every soul rushed on deck, almost unable to distinguish the face of a friend in the dark gloom of that fearful morning. The sides of the vessel were being completely stove in as she was repeatedly beaten upon the rocks. The chief officer retained his presence of mind to the end; he proposed that all should keep to the side that presented itself to the sh.o.r.e, so that at any possible moment they might leap over in an endeavour to gain it. The ladies were discovered in the round-house, and the officers, exhibiting true manliness of character, strove to alleviate their sufferings, ignoring their own danger. The steep snowy cliffs that sparkle in the clear rays of the sun like crystal, and the bold promontories that inspire one with awe and delight, viewed from a safe point, were looked upon with dismay and terror by the occupants of the doomed s.h.i.+p. The light of another day broke, when the vessel was seen to be blocking up the entrance to a large cave scooped out by the continued force of the waves. With that gregarious feeling always experienced in times of danger, the people gathered silently and sadly together in the roundhouse, now and then disturbed by a piercing wail from one of three negresses who had sought refuge there. Various articles of furniture and other effects were strewed about in all directions. Such a picture greeted Mr. Meriton on leaving the deck. He at once struck a light, and sat down in their midst, until the issues of the morning should decide him on a course of action. Never oblivious of the comfort of others, while forgetful of his own, he managed to procure a few oranges to refresh the ladies.