Kitabı oku: «Home Influence: A Tale for Mothers and Daughters», sayfa 32
CHAPTER XI.
THE LOSS OF THE SIREN
From that day, Ellen's recovery, though a sad trial of patience both to the young invalid and her affectionate nurses, was surely progressive, without any of those painful relapses which had so tried Mr. Maitland's skill before. She no longer shrunk from the society of her relations, receiving Caroline's and Miss Harcourt's many kind attentions with surprise indeed, for she could not imagine what could so have altered their feelings toward her, but with that evident gratitude and pleasure, which encourages a continuance of kindness. Emmeline was always kind, but it was indeed happiness to feel she might talk with and share her amusements, as in former days; and that, instead of thinking she ought not to receive her aunt's affection, the only thing she asked in return was her full confidence. The inexpressible rest to poor Ellen which that conversation gave is not to be described. It was so blessed, so soothing, that it seemed too unnatural to last, and the secret dread that her uncle would not feel toward her and Edward as her aunt did was its only alloy. Edward, too, was cheerful, and almost happy when with her; and a long conversation with Mr. Howard, which that worthy man insisted upon having as soon as she was strong enough, to remove the false impressions which his severity had given, and which never ceased to grieve and reproach him, caused his almost daily visits to be anticipated by her with as much gladness as they had before brought dread.
"And now that anxiety for Ellen is at end, I must have you take more care of yourself, Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband's last injunctions, were, that I should never pass a week without calling once or twice at Oakwood to know how all was going on, and what would he say to me if he could see you now?"
"He little thought how my strength would be tried, my good friend, and so will quite acquit you. I assure you that, physically, I am perfectly well" – (the worthy doctor shook his head most unbelievingly) – "but even with one great anxiety calmed, there remains another, which every week increases. It is more than double the usual time of hearing from my husband. We have never had any answer to the letters detailing Ellen's danger and Edward's return, and the answers have been due a full month."
"But the weather has been so unusually tempestuous, it may have been impossible for the Siren to ply to and fro from Feroe to Scotland, as Hamilton wished, and no ships are likely to touch at those islands in the winter. I really think you need not be anxious on that score; none but Arthur Hamilton's head could have contrived your hearing as regularly from such an outlandish place as you have done. No news is good news, depend upon it. He may be anxious on your account, and returning himself."
"God forbid!" answered Mrs. Hamilton, turning very pale; "better the anxiety of not hearing from him than the thought of his being at sea in this season."
Oakwood had resumed its regular happy aspect, though Ellen was still up-stairs. Morris and Ellis had once more the happiness of their beloved mistress's superintendence, and proud were they both, as if Caroline had been their own child, to show all she had done, and so unostentatiously, to save her mother trouble when she had been too anxious to think of any thing but Ellen; and the mother's heart swelled with a delicious feeling of gratitude to Him who, if in making her so acutely sensible of her solemn responsibility had deepened and extended anxiety, had yet in the same measure heightened and spiritualized joy. The fruit was indeed worth the nurture, though it might have been often washed with tears. Intensely anxious as she felt herself, as did also Mr. Howard and Mr. Maitland, and, in fact, all Arthur Hamilton's friends, she yet tried to sustain the spirits of her children, for the young men had evidently grown anxious on the subject too. It was not unlikely that the seas round Feroe, always stormy, should prevent any ship leaving the island, and the young people eagerly grasped the idea: so painful is it to youth to realize a cause for anxiety; but even they, at times, grew unconsciously sad and meditating, as the usually joyous season of Christmas and New Year passed, and still there was no letter. Ellen and Edward both in secret dreaded the arrival of the answer to the latter's confession; but still their affection for Mrs. Hamilton was too powerful to permit any thought of self interfering with the wish that her anxiety might be calmed.
In January the weather changed; the tremendous winds gave place to an almost unnatural calm, and to such excessive mildness and closeness of atmosphere, that it affected the health of many who were strong, and not only made Ellen very languid, but frequently recalled those dreadful headaches which were in themselves an illness. Business called Mr. Howard to Dartmouth near the end of the month, and he prevailed on Edward to accompany him, for whenever his sister was more than usually suffering his gloom redoubled. The first few days were so fine that the change renovated him; Mr. Howard declared it was the sight of old ocean, and Edward did not deny it; for though it was good for the permanence of his repentance and resolution to amend, to have the influence of his home sufficiently long, his spirit inwardly chafed at his detention, and yearned to be at sea again, and giving proof of his determination to become indeed a British sailor.
The third day of their visit, the lull and heaviness of the air increased so strangely and closely, for January, as to seem almost portentous. Edward and Mr. Howard lingered on the beach; the well-practiced eye of the former tracing in many little things unseen to landsmen, the slow, but sure approach of a fearful storm.
"It is strange for the season, but there is certainly electricity in the air," he said, directing Mr. Howard's attention to ridges of white-fringed clouds floating under the heavens, whose murky hue was becoming denser and denser; and ever and anon, as lashed by some as yet silent and invisible blast, the ocean heaved and foamed, and gave sure evidence of approaching fury; "there will be, I fear, a terrible storm to-night; and look at those birds" (several sea-gulls were skimming along the waves almost bathing their white plumage in the blackened waters) "strange how they always herald tempest! Emmeline would call them spirits of the blast, reveling in the destruction it foretells!"
"It is approaching already," rejoined Mr. Howard, as a long hollow blast moaned and shivered round them, followed by the roar of a mountainous wave bursting on the beach. "God have mercy on all exposed to its fury!" and he gladly turned more inland, while Edward remained watching its progress with an almost pleasurable feeling of excitement, only wishing he could but be on the sea, to enjoy it as such a storm deserved to be.
As the day drew to a close it increased, and as darkness set in, its fury became appalling. Blasts, long and loud as the reverberation of artillery, succeeded one another with awful rapidity, tearing up huge trees by the roots, and tiles from the roofs. Now and then, at distant intervals, blue lightning played through the black heavens, betraying that thunder had mingled with the wind, though it was impossible to distinguish the one sound from the other; and as the gusts passed onward, streaks of white and spots of strange unnatural blue gleamed through the gloom for a moment's space, leaving deeper darkness as they disappeared. The ocean, lashed to wildest fury, rolled in huge mountains of troubled waters, throwing up showers of snowy foam, contrasting strangely with the darkness of earth and heaven, and bursting with a sound that deadened for the time even the wild roar of the blast. To read or even to converse, in their comfortable quarters in the hotel, which overlooked the sea, became as impossible to Mr. Howard as to Edward. About eleven o'clock, however, the wind suddenly veered and lulled, only sending forth now and then a long sobbing wail, as if regretful that its work of destruction was even checked; but the sea raged with equal fury, presenting a spectacle as magnificent, as awful, and giving no appearance of a calm. A sharp report sounded suddenly from the sea – whether it was the first, or that others might have been lost in the tumult of the winds and waves, who might answer? Another, and another, at such rapid intervals, that the danger was evidently imminent, and Edward started to his feet. Again – and he could bear it no longer. Hurriedly exclaiming, "They are signals of distress and close at hand! Something must be done; no sailor can sit still, and see sailors perish!" he rushed to the beach, closely followed by Mr. Howard, who was resolved on preventing any mad attempt. Crowds of fishermen and townsmen had congregated on the beach, drawn by that fearful sound, which, by the light from the guns seemed scarcely half a mile distant; and yet so perilous was the present appearance of the ocean, that to go to their assistance seemed impossible. Suddenly, however, Edward's voice exclaimed, with the glad and eager tone of perfect confidence, "They can be saved! – a strong boat and two willing rowers, and I will undertake to reach the vessel, and bring the crew safe to shore. Who among you," he continued turning eagerly to the group of hardy fishermen, "will be my assistants in this act of common humanity? who possesses willing hearts and able hands, and will lend them?"
"No one who cares for his life!" was the sullen answer from one of those he addressed, and the rest stood silent, eyeing, half disdainfully half admiringly, the slight figure of the young sailor, revealed as it was, in the fitful light of the many torches scattered by the various groups along the beach. "It is well for boys to talk, we can not expect old heads on young shoulders; but not a boat with my consent leaves the harbor to-night; it would be willful murder."
"I tell you I will stake my life on the venture," answered Edward, his passion rising high. "Am I speaking to sailors, and can they hesitate when they hear such sounds? Give me but a boat, and I will go by myself: and when you need aid, may you find those to give it! you will scarce dare ask it, if that vessel perish before your eyes. Lend me a boat, I say, fitted for such a sea, and the lender shall be rewarded handsomely. If there be such risk, I ask none to share it; my life is my own, and I will peril it."
It would have made a fine scene for a painter, that young, slight form and boyish face, surrounded by those weather-beaten men, every countenance expressing some different emotion, yet almost all unwilling admiration; the torches' glare, so lurid on the pitchy darkness; the sheets of foam, rising and falling like showers of dazzling snow; the craggy background; and, out at sea, the unfortunate vessel, a perfect wreck, struggling still with the fast-rising waters. Mr. Howard saw all, but with no thought of the picturesque, his mind was far otherwise engaged.
"By Neptune! but your honor shall not go alone! I have neither parent, nor sister, nor wife to pipe for me, if I go; so my life must be of less moment than yours, and if you can so peril it, why should not I?" exclaimed a stalwart young fisherman, advancing, and Edward eagerly grasped his rough hand, conjuring him to get his boat at once, there was not a moment to lose; but the example was infectious, and an old man hastily stepped forward, declaring the youngsters had taught him his duty, and he would do it.
"Great God! what do they say?" exclaimed Edward, as his younger companion hastened down the beach to bring his boat to the leeward of the cliff, to launch it more securely, and a rumor ran through the crowds, whence arising it was impossible to discover. "The Siren – Captain Harvey – my uncle's ship! – and he must be in her – she would never leave Feroe without him. What foundation is there for this rumor? let me know, for God's sake!"
But none could tell more than that a vessel, entering the harbor just before the gale, had hailed the Siren, about twenty miles distant, and she seemed laboring heavily, and in such a distressed state that a very little would finish her. Not a word escaped Edward's lips which grew for the moment blanched as marble. Mr. Howard to whom the rumor had brought the most intense agony, for not a doubt of its truth would come to relieve him, was at his side, grasping his hand, and murmuring, hoarsely —
"Edward, my poor boy, must your life be periled too? – both – both – this is awful!"
"Let me but save him, and if I perish it will be in a good cause. Tell aunt Emmeline, I know she will comfort my poor Ellen; and that the boy she has saved from worse misery than death, did all he could to save her husband! and if I fail" – he stopped, in strong emotion, then added – "give Ellen this, and this," he cut off a lock of his hair with his dirk, and placed it and his watch in Mr. Howard's trembling hand. – "And now, my friend, God bless you and reward you, too!" He threw himself a moment in Mr. Howard's arms, kissed his cheek, and, darting down the beach, leaped into the boat, which was dancing like a nutshell on the water. It was several minutes, ere they could succeed in getting her off, the waves seeming determined to cast her back; but they were fairly launched at length, and then they heeded not that one minute they rode high on a mountain wave, seeming as if nothing could save them from being dashed in the abyss below; the next were buried in a deep valley, surrounded by huge walls of water, threatening to burst and overwhelm them. For a boat to live in such a sea at all seemed miraculous; and old Collins always declared that unless some angel sat at the helm with Edward, no human arm could have taken them in safety. If it were an angel, it was the pure thought, the faith-winged prayer, that he might be the instrument in the Eternal's hand, of turning aside death and misery from that beloved home, in which even his errors had been met with love, and conquered by forgiveness.
With every effort, and they were such as to bid the perspiration stream down the face and arms of those strong men, and almost exhaust Edward, for he took an oar in turn, it was full an hour from their leaving the shore before they reached the ship. She had ceased firing, for by the lights on shore they had discovered the boat's departure, and watched her progress by the lantern at her head, as only those can watch who feel, one short hour more, and their ship will float no longer!
Collins was spokesman, for Edward, as they grappled the boat alongside, had sunk down for the moment powerless by the helm; roused, however, effectually by the answer —
"The Siren – bound to Dartmouth – from Feroe – owner Arthur Hamilton, passenger – now on board – nine in crew."
"In with you all then – that is Captain Harvey's voice, I'll be sworn; the rumor was only too true."
"Ay, old Collins!" returned the captain; "we thought to perish in sight of our own homes; now, Mr. Hamilton, not a man will stir till you are safe!"
His companion leaped into the boat without reply, and, sinking on one of the benches, drew his cloak closely round his face. Peril was indeed still around him, but compared with the – even to that Heaven-directed heart – terrible struggle of beholding death, rising slowly but surely round him in the water-filling ship, almost within sight and sound of his home, his beloved ones, the mere hope of life seemed almost overpowering. The crew of the hapless Siren quickly deserted her. Captain Harvey was the last to descend, and, as he did so, a block of iron, loosened from its place, fell cornerwise, and struck sharply on Edward's forehead, almost stunning him for the moment, as he watched the captain's descent. He felt the blood slowly trickling down his temple and cheek; but he was not one to be daunted by pain: he resumed his station at the helm in unbroken silence, only speaking when directions were absolutely necessary, and then only in a few brief sailor-terms. They had scarcely proceeded a third of their way, when the waters boiled and foamed as tossed by some strange whirlpool, and it required all Edward's address and skill as steersman to prevent the frail boat from being drawn into the vortex. The cause was soon displayed, and every heart shuddered, for ten minutes later, and help would indeed have been in vain. The unfortunate vessel had sunk – been swallowed up in those rushing waters; the suction of so large a mass, producing for a brief interval the effect of a whirlpool. The silence of awe and of intense thankfulness, fell on the heart of every man, and more than all on his, who had so far recovered his first emotion as to gaze wonderingly and admiringly on the boyish figure at the helm, whose voice was utterly unknown, and whose features the fitful light, and the youth's steadfast gaze on his rowers, prevented his tracing with any certainty.
The crowds had increased on the shore, watching with intense eagerness the return of the boat; but the expectation was too deep for sound, silence almost portentous reigned. A huge sea had concealed her for several minutes, and Mr. Howard, who during these two long hours had remained spell-bound on the beach, groaned aloud in his agony; again she was visible, driven on with fearful velocity by the tide, nearer, nearer still. He thought he could distinguish the figure of his friend: he was sure he could hear the voice of Edward, urging, commanding, directing a landing somewhere, in contradiction to the opinion of others. They were within a dozen yards of the shore, but still not a sound of gratulation was heard. Every eye was fixed, as in the fascination of terror, on a wave in the distance, increasing in size and fury as it rapidly approached. It neared the boat – it stood impending over the frail thing as a mighty avalanche of waters – it burst; the boat was seen no longer, and a wild and terrible cry sounded far and near along the beach!
CHAPTER XII.
FOREBODINGS
The whole of the day Mrs. Hamilton had vainly tried to shake off a most unwonted gloom. Convinced herself that it was greatly physical, from the unusual oppressiveness of the weather relaxing the nerves, which had so many months been overstrained, yet her thoughts would cling to Mr. Maitland's words, that her husband might be coming home himself; but if the accounts of Ellen's danger and Edward's confession had recalled him, he ought to have arrived full two or three weeks previous. The gale that swept round her – the awful and unnatural darkness – the remarkable phenomena, at that season, of lightning – and the long, loud thunder-claps4 which inland could be fearfully distinguished from the gale, appalled the whole household; and therefore it was not much wonder that the vague idea of her husband's having left Feroe, and exposure to such a tempest, should become in that fearful anxiety almost a certainty of agony. It was well, perhaps, that her unselfish nature had an object to draw her in some slight degree out of herself, for her firmness, her trust beyond the accidents of earth, all seemed about to fail her, and make her for the time being most wretched. As the storm and closeness increased, so did Ellen's feverish restlessness; her nerves, not yet fully restored, felt strung almost to torture with every flash, and clap, and blast. She tried to laugh at her own folly; for, though often terrified, when a little child, at the storms in India, those of England had never affected her at all, and she could not understand why she should feel this so childishly. But argument is of little moment in such cases; and Mrs. Hamilton, satisfying her that she could no more help her present sensation than her physical weakness, tried to soothe and amuse her, and in so doing partially cheered herself. She did not leave her till past midnight; and then desiring Mrs. Langford to sit up with her till she was comfortably asleep, retired to her own bed-room. Never since her husband's absence had its solitude felt so vast – so heavily oppressive; thought after thought of him thronged her mind till she fairly gave up the effort to struggle with them. "Will his voice ever sound here again, his heart give me the support I need?" rose to her lips, as she gazed round her, and the deep stillness, the gloom only broken by a small silver lamp, and the fitful light of the fire, seemed but a solemn answer. She buried her face in her clasped hands, and the clock struck two before that inward conflict permitted her once more to lift up heart and brow in meek, trusting faith to Him who still watched over her and her beloved ones; and after an earnest, voiceless prayer, she drew her little table, with its books of devotion, to the fire, and read thoughtfully, prayerfully, for another hour, and then sought her couch. But she could not sleep; the wind had again arisen, and fearing to lie awake and listen to it would only renew her unusual agitation, she rose at four, dressed herself, and throwing on a large shawl, softly traversed the passage, and entered her niece's room; finding her, as she fully expected, as wakeful and restless as herself, with the addition of an intense headache. She had persuaded nurse Langford to go to bed, but the pain had come on since then, and made her more restless and feverish than before. She could not lie in any posture to get ease, till at last, about six o'clock, completely exhausted, she fell asleep, sitting almost upright in her aunt's arms, her head leaning against her, as she stood by the bedside. Fearing to disturb her, Mrs. Hamilton would not move, desiring the morning prayers to be said without her, and Miss Harcourt and her daughters not to wait breakfast, as she would have it with Ellen when she awoke. That she was stiff and exhausted with three hours' standing in one position, she did not heed, perhaps scarcely felt, for woman's loveliest attribute, that of a tender and utterly unselfish nurse, was hers to perfection. But she did not refuse the cup of chocolate Caroline brought her herself, and with affectionate earnestness entreated her to take.
"You look so fatigued and so pale, dearest mother, I wish you would let me take your place; I would be so quiet, so gentle, Ellen would not even know her change of nurses."
"I do not doubt your care, love, but I fear the least movement will disturb this poor child, and she has had such a restless night, I want her to sleep as long as she can. Your thoughtful care has so refreshed me, that I feel quite strong again, so go and finish your breakfast in comfort, dearest."
Caroline very unwillingly obeyed, and about a quarter of an hour afterward, Mrs. Hamilton was startled by the sound of a carriage advancing with unusual velocity to the house. It stopped at the main entrance, and she had scarcely time to wonder who could be such very early visitors, when a loud scream, in the voice of Emmeline, rung in her ears; whether of joy or grief she could not distinguish, but it was the voice of her child, and the already tortured nerves of the wife and mother could not bear it without a sensation of terror, amounting to absolute agony. She laid Ellen's head tenderly on the pillow, watched over her, though her limbs so trembled she could scarcely support herself, saw with intense relief that the movement had not disturbed her quiet sleep, and calling Mrs. Langford from an adjoining room, hastily descended the stairs, though how she did so, and entered the breakfast-room, she always said she never knew. Many and eager and glad voices were speaking at once; the very servants thronged the hall and threshold of the room, but all made way for her.
"Arthur! – my husband!" she did find voice to exclaim, but every object but his figure reeled before her, and she fainted in his arms.
It was some time before she recovered, for mind and frame had been too long overtasked; and Mr. Hamilton, as he clasped her in his arms, beseeching her only to speak to him, and gazed on her deathlike countenance, felt in a moment that great as his anxiety had been for her, he had not imagined one-half she had endured. His voice – his kiss – seemed to rouse the scattered senses, even more effectually than Miss Harcourt's anxiously proffered remedies; but she could not speak, she only looked up in his face, as if to be quite, quite sure he had indeed returned; that her vague fancies of danger, even if they had foundation, had merged in the most blissful reality, that she was no longer alone; and leaning her head on his bosom, was only conscious of a thankfulness too deep for words; a repose that, since his departure, she had not known for a single day. Neither she nor her husband could believe that it was only six months since they had been separated. It seemed, and to Mrs. Hamilton especially, as if she must have lived through years in that time, it had been so fraught with sorrow.
"Not one word, my own dearest! and only these pallid cheeks and heavy eyes to greet me. Must I reproach you directly I come home, for, as usual, not thinking enough of yourself; forgetting how precious is that self to so many, your husband above all?"
"Nay, papa, you shall not scold mamma," said Emmeline, eagerly, as her mother tried to smile and speak in answer. "She ought to scold you, for not sending us one line to prepare us for your unexpected presence, and frightening us all by coming so suddenly upon us, and making mamma faint, as I never saw her do before. Indeed I do not like it, mother darling!" continued the affectionate girl, kneeling down by her mother, and clinging to her, adding, in a suppressed, terrified voice, "It was so like death."
Mrs. Hamilton read in a moment that Emmeline's playfulness was only assumed to hide strong emotion; that she was trying very hard for complete control, but so trembling, that she knelt down, literally because she could not stand. It was such a proof of her endeavor to profit by her mother's gentle lessons, that even at that moment it not only gave her the sweetest gratification, but helped her to rouse herself.
"Indeed, I think you are perfectly right, Emmy," she said, quite in her usual voice, as she pressed her child a moment to her, and kissed her cheek, which was almost as pale as her own. "I will not submit to any scolding, when papa himself is answerable for my unusual weakness; but as we wanted him so very much, why, we will be lenient with him, and only keep him prisoner with us for some time to come. But get him breakfast quickly, Caroline, love; such an early visitor must want it. When did you arrive, dearest Arthur?" she added, looking earnestly in his face, and half wondering at the expression upon it, it seemed to speak so many things; "surely not this morning? You were not at sea in yesterday's awful storm?"
"I was indeed, my Emmeline; can you bear to hear it, or have you been agitated enough already? I have been in danger, great danger, but our Father's infinite mercy has preserved me to you all, making the instrument of my preservation so young a lad and slight a frame, I know not how sufficiently to bless God, or to thank my preserver."
Mrs. Hamilton's hand closed convulsively on her husband's; her eyes riveted on his countenance as if she would grasp his whole meaning at once, but little did she guess the whole.
"I did not come alone," he added, striving for composure, and even playfulness, "though it seems I was such an important personage, as to be the only one seen or thought about."
"By-the-by, I did see, or fancied I saw, Edward," rejoined Caroline, who, at the news of her father having been in danger, had left the breakfast-table, unable to keep away from him, even that short distance, but neither she, nor either of the others, connecting her cousin with Mr. Hamilton's words, and not quite understanding why he should have so interrupted the most interesting subject. "He has gone to see Ellen, I suppose, and so we have missed him. Was he your companion, papa? How and where did you meet him?"
"Let him answer for himself!" replied Mr. Hamilton, still determinately hiding his feelings under a tone and manner of jest, and leaving his wife's side for a moment, he drew Edward from the recess of the window, where all this time he had been standing quite unobserved, and led him forward.
"Good heavens! Edward, what have you been about?" exclaimed Miss Harcourt, and her exclamation was echoed by Caroline and Emmeline, while Mrs. Hamilton gazed at him in bewildered alarm. He was deadly pale, with every appearance of exhaustion, and a most disfiguring patch on his left brow, which he had tried in vain to hide with his hair.
"You have been fighting."
"Only with the elements, Miss Harcourt, and they have rather tired me, that is all; I shall be well in a day or two. Don't look so terrified, dear aunt," he answered, with the same attempt at jest as his uncle, and throwing himself lightly on an ottoman by Mrs. Hamilton, he laid his head very quietly on her lap.
"Fighting – and with the elements? Arthur, dearest Arthur, for pity's sake tell me the whole truth at once; it can not be – "
"And why should it not, my beloved?" (there was no attempt at jest now). "He to whom your care has preserved a sister – whom your indulgent love has given courage to resolve that error shall be conquered, and he will become all we can wish him – whom you took to your heart and home when motherless – God has mercifully made the instrument of saving your husband from a watery grave, and giving back their father to your children!"
"To be associated in your heart with other thoughts than those of ingratitude, and cruelty, and sin! Oh, aunt Emmeline, I can not thank God enough for permitting me this great mercy," were the only words poor Edward could speak, when the first intensity of his aunt's emotion was in some degree conquered, and she could look in his young face, though her eyes were almost blinded with tears, and putting back the bright hair which the rain and spray had so uncurled, as to lay heavy and damp upon his pale forehead, she imprinted a long, silent kiss upon it, and looking alternately at him and her husband, seemed powerless to realize any other thought.
