Kitabı oku: «The Coxswain's Bride; also, Jack Frost and Sons; and, A Double Rescue», sayfa 10
He was indeed lost, and more completely so, in the feeling of lonely isolation, perhaps, than he would have been if lost in the backwoods of America. Yet he was not utterly lost, for the tender Shepherd was on his track. Some such thought seemed to cross his mind; for he suddenly began to pray, and thoughts about the old home in Blackby and of the Grove family comforted him a little until he fell asleep on his hard bed.
But, for the time being, the poor boy was lost—lost in London! His disreputable face and discreditable coat argued a dissipated character—hence no one would employ him. Ere long necessity compelled him to accept the society of street arabs, and soon he became quite as sharp, though not quite as wicked, as they. But day by day he sank lower and lower, and evil at which he would have shuddered at first became at last familiar.
He did not sink without a struggle, however, and he would have returned to the place where his mother had died, to ask help of the young surgeon who had expressed sympathy with him, but, with the carelessness of boyhood, he had forgotten the name of the hospital, and did not know where, in the great wilderness of bricks and mortar, to search for it. As for the home from which he had fled, the memory of the landlord still kept him carefully clear of that.
But Jack’s mother was not dead! In hospitals—as in the best of well-regulated families—mistakes will sometimes happen. The report which had proved so disastrous to our poor hero referred to another woman who had died. A messenger had been at once sent, by the young surgeon before mentioned, to tell Jack of the error; but when the messenger arrived the boy had flown—as already described. Indeed, it was he whom Jack had passed on the stair.
It was long before Mrs Matterby recovered, for the disappearance of her boy caused a relapse; and when at last she left the hospital, feeble and homeless, she went about for many months, searching at once for work and for her lost treasure.
Christmas came again, and found Jack Matterby at nearly the lowest point in his downward career. It is due to him to say, however, that he had not up to that time, been guilty of any criminal act that could bring him with the grasp of human law; but in word and deed he had begun, more and more, to break the law of God: so that if poor Mrs Matterby had at that time succeeded in finding her son, it is probable that her joy would have been overwhelmed with terrible grief.
It was not exactly Christmas morning, but it was the Christmas season of the year, when our little hero, wearied in spirit and body with the hard struggle for life, sauntered down the now familiar Strand in the hope of finding some odd job to do. He paused before a confectioner’s shop, and, being very hungry, was debating with himself the propriety of giving up the struggle and coolly helping himself to a pie! You may be sure that bad invisible spirits were at his elbow just then to encourage him. But God sent a good angel also, and she was visible—being in the form of a thin little old lady.
“You’d like a bun, I know,” she said, putting a penny into Jack’s hand.
“God bless you, ma’am—yes,” burst from the astonished boy.
“Go in and buy one. Then, come and tell me all about you.”
The thin little old lady was one of those followers of the Lamb who do not wait for Christmas to unlock their sympathies. The river of her love and pity was always overflowing, so that there was no room for increase to a deluge at Christmas time—though she rejoiced to note the increase in the case of others, and wished that the flood might become perennial. To this lady Jack laid bare his inmost heart, and she led him back to the Saviour.
“Now, Jack, let me ask you one question,” she said; “would you like to go to Canada?”
With tremendous energy Jack answered, “Wouldn’t I!”
“Then,” said the old lady, “to Canada you shall go.”
Story 3 – Chapter 3.
The Double Rescue
And Jack Matterby went! But before he went he had to go through a preliminary training, for his regular schooling had ceased when his father died, and he had learned no trade.
In those days there were no splendid institutions for waifs and strays such as now exist, but it must not be supposed that there was no such thing as “hasting to the rescue.” Thin little old Mrs Seaford had struck out the idea for herself, and had acted on it for some years in her own vigorous way. She took Jack home, and lodged him in her own house with two or three other boys of the same stamp—waifs. Jack elected to learn the trade of a carpenter, and Mrs Seaford, finding that he had been pretty well grounded in English, taught him French, as that language, she told him, was much spoken in Canada. Above all, she taught him those principles of God’s law without which a human being is but poorly furnished even for the life that now is, to say nothing of that which is to come.
In a few months Jack was ready for exportation! A few months more, and he found himself apprenticed to a farmer, not far from the shores of that mighty fresh-water sea, Ontario. Time passed, and Jack Matterby became a trusted servant and a thorough farmer. He also became a big, dashing, and earnest boy. More time passed, and Jack became a handsome young man, the bosom friend of his employer. Yet a little more time winged its silent way, and Jack became John Matterby, Esquire, of Fair Creek Farm, heir to his former master’s property, and one of the wealthiest men of the province—not a common experience of poor emigrant waifs, doubtless, but, on the other hand, by no means unprecedented.
It must not be supposed that during all those years Jack forgot the scenes and people of the old land. On the contrary, the longer he absented himself from the old home the more firmly and tenderly did the old memories cling and cluster round his heart; and many a story and anecdote did he relate about these, especially during the Christmas season of each year, to his old master and to Nancy Briggs, in the log homestead of Ontario.
Nancy was a waif, who had been sent out by the same thin little old lady who had sent Jack out. She was very pretty, and possessed of delightfully amiable domestic qualities. She grew up to be a very handsome girl, and was a very bright sunbeam in the homestead. But Jack did not fall in love with her. All unknown to himself his heart was pre-occupied. Neither did Nancy fall in love with Jack. All unwittingly she was reserving herself for another lot. Of course our hero corresponded diligently with the thin little old lady, and gladdened her heart by showing and expressing strong sympathy with the waifs of the great city; more than once, in his earlier letters, mentioning one named Bob Snobbins, about whose fate he felt some curiosity, but in regard to whose home, if such existed, he could give no information.
Twice during those years Jack also wrote to the Grove family; but as he received no answer on either occasion, he concluded that the father must have been drowned, that old Nell was dead, and the family broken up. Need we add that the memory of his dear mother never faded or grew dim? But this was a sacred memory, in regard to which he opened his lips to no one.
At last there came a day when John Matterby, being in the prime of life, with ample means and time to spare, set his heart on a holiday and a visit to the old country—the thin little old lady being yet alive. It was not so easy, however, for our hero to get away from home as one might imagine; for, besides being a farmer, he was manager of a branch bank, secretary to several philanthropic societies, superintendent of a Sunday-school, and, generally, a helper of, and sympathiser with, all who loved the Lord and sought to benefit their fellow-men. But, being a man of resolution, he cut the cords that attached him to these things, appointed Miss Briggs to superintend the Sunday-school in his absence, and set sail for England—not in a steamer, as most rich men would have done, but in a sailing ship, because the vessel happened to be bound for the port of Blackby, the home of his childhood.
It was winter when he set sail, and the storms of winter were having high jinks and revels on the deep in the usual way at that season of the year. Jack’s vessel weathered them all till it reached the shores of old England. Then the storm-fiend broke loose with unwonted fury, and, as if out of spite, cast the good ship on the rocks lying a little to the eastward of the port of Blackby.
It was a tremendous storm! The oldest inhabitant of Blackby said, as well as his toothless gums would let him, that, “it wos the wust gale as had blow’d since he wos a leetle booy—an’ that warn’t yesterday—no, nor yet the day before!”
The gale was at its height, in the grey of early morning, when the ship struck, and all the manhood of the port and neighbouring village were out to render aid, if possible, and to gaze and sympathise. But who could render aid to a vessel which was rolling on those black rocks in a caldron of white foam, with a hundred yards of swirling breakers that raged and roared like a thousand lions between it and the base of the cliffs? Even the noble lifeboat would have been useless in such a place. But hark! a cry is raised—the coastguardmen and the rocket! Yes, there is one hope for them yet—under God. Far below the men are seen staggering along over the shingle, with their life-saving apparatus in a hand-cart.
Soon the tripod is set up, and the rocket is fired, but the line falls to leeward. Another is tried; it falls short. Still another—it goes far to windward. Again and again they try, but without success, until all their rockets are expended. But these bold men of the coastguard are not often or easily foiled. They send for more rockets to the next station. Meanwhile the terrible waves are doing their awful work, dashing the ship on the rocks as if she were a mere toy—as indeed she is, in their grasp. Can nothing be done?
“She’ll never hold together till the rockets come,” said a young seaman stepping out from the crowd. “Here, let me have the line, and stand by to pay out.”
“Don’t try it, lad, it’ll be your death.”
The youth paid no regard to this advice. “A man can only die once,” he remarked in a low voice, more as if speaking to himself than replying to the caution, while he quickly tied the end of the light rope round his waist and dashed into the sea.
Oh! it is grand and heart-stirring to see a stalwart youth imperilling life and limb for the sake of others; to see a powerful swimmer breasting the billows with a fixed purpose to do or die. But it is terrible and spirit-crushing to see such a one tossed by the breakers as if he were a mere baby, and hurled back helpless on the sand. Twice did the young sailor dash in, and twice was he caught up like a cork and hurled back, while the people on shore, finding their remonstrances useless, began to talk of using force.
The man’s object was to dive through the first wave. If he could manage this—and the second—the rest would not be beyond the power of a strong man. A third time he leaped into the rushing flood, and this time was successful. Soon he stood panting on the deck of the stranded vessel, almost unable to stand, and well he knew that there was not a moment to lose, for the ship was going to pieces! Jack Matterby, however, knew well what to do. He drew out the hawser of the rocket apparatus, fixed the various ropes, and signalled to those on shore to send out the sling life-buoy, and then the men of the coastguard began to haul the passengers and crew ashore, one at a time.
The young sailor, recovering in a few minutes, lent a hand. Jack knew him the instant he heard his voice, but took no notice of him, for it was a stern matter of life or death with them all just then.
When Jack and the captain stood at last awaiting their turn, and watching the last of the crew being dragged over the boiling surf, our hero turned suddenly, and, grasping the young sailor’s hand with the grip of a vice, said, “God bless you, Natty Grove!”
Nat gazed as if he had been stunned. “Can it be?” he exclaimed. “We had thought you dead years ago!”
“Thank God, I’m not only alive but hearty. Here comes the life-buoy. Your turn next. But one word before—old Nell; and—Nellie?”
“Both well, and living with your mother—”
“My—” Jack could not speak, a tremendous shock seemed to rend his heart. Young Grove felt that he had been too precipitate.
“Your mother is alive, Jack, and—”
He stopped, for the captain said quickly, “Now, then, get in. No time to lose.”
But Jack could not get in. If he had not been a strong man he must have fallen on the deck. As it was, he felt stunned and helpless.
“Here, captain,” cried Nat Grove, leaping into the life-buoy, “lift him into my arms. The ropes are strong enough for both.”
Scarce knowing what he did, Jack allowed himself to be half-lifted into the buoy in which his old friend held him fast. A few minutes more, and they were dragged safely to land and the ringing cheers and congratulations of the assembled multitude. The captain came last, so that, when the ship finally went to pieces, not a human life was lost—even the ship’s cat was among the number of the saved, the captain having carried it ashore in his arms.
Now, there are some scenes in this life which will not bear description in detail. Such was the meeting of our hero with his long-lost mother. We refrain from lifting the curtain here. But there is no reason why we should not re-introduce the joyful and grateful pair at a later period of that same eventful day, when, seated together by the bedside of old Nell, they recounted their experiences—yes, the same old woman, but thinner and wrinkleder, and smaller in every way; and the same bed, as far as appearance went, though softer and cosier, and bigger in all ways. On the other side of the bed sat the manly form of Natty Grove. But who is that fair girl with the curling golden hair, whose face exhibits one continuous blush, and whose entire body, soul and spirit is apparently enchained by an insignificant piece of needlework? Can that be Nellie Grove, whom we last saw with her eyes shut and her mouth open—howling? Yes, it is she, and—but let Mrs Matterby explain.
“Now, Jack,” said that lady in a firm tone, “it’s of no use your asking question after question of every one in this way, and not even waiting for answers, and everybody speaking at once—”
“Excuse me, dearest mother, Miss Nellie Grove has not yet spoken at all.”
“Miss Nellie, indeed! Times are changed,”—murmured Natty, with a look of surprise.
“Her not speaking proves her the wisest of us all,” resumed the widow, looking at Old Nell, who with tremulous head nodded violent approval. You must know, old Nell had become as deaf as a post, and, being incapable of understanding anything, she gratified her natural amiability by approving of everything—at least everything that was uttered by speakers with a visible smile. When they spoke with gravity, old Nell shook her tremulous head, and put on a look of alarmingly solemn sympathy. On the present occasion, however, the antique old thing seemed to have been affected with some absolutely new, and evidently quaint, ideas, for she laughed frequently and immoderately, especially when she gazed hard at Jack Matterby after having looked long at Nellie Grove!
“Now, Jack,” resumed the widow for the fiftieth time, “you must know that after I lost you, and had given you up for dead, I came back here, feeling an intense longing to see once more the old home, and I began a school. In course of years God sent me prosperity, notwithstanding the murmurings of rebellion which rose in my heart when I thought of you. The school became so big that I had to take a new house—that in which you now sit—and sought about for a teacher to help me. Long before that time poor Ned Grove had been drowned at sea. Your old friend Natty there had become the first mate to a merchantman, and helped to support his grandmother. Nellie, whose education I had begun, as you know, when you were a boy, had grown into a remarkably clever and pretty girl, as, no doubt, you will admit. She had become a daily governess in the family of a gentleman who had come to live in the neighbourhood. Thus she was enabled to assist her brother in keeping up the old home, and took care of granny.”
At this point our hero, as he looked at the fair face and modest carriage of his old playmate heartily admitted, (to himself), that she was much more than “pretty,” and felt that he now understood how a fisherman’s daughter had, to his intense surprise, grown up with so much of gentle manners, and such soft lady-like hands. But he said never a word!
“Most happily for me,” continued Mrs Matterby, “Nellie lost her situation at the time I speak of, owing to the death of her employer. Thus I had the chance of securing her at once. And now, here we have been together for some years, and I hope we may never part as long as we live. We had considerable difficulty in getting old Nell to quit the cottage and come here. Indeed, we should never have succeeded, I think, had it not been for Natty—”
“That’s true,” interrupted Nat, with a laugh.
“The dear old woman was too deaf to understand, and too obstinate to move: so one day I put the bed clothes over her head, gathered her and them up in my arms, and brought her up here bodily, very much as I carried you ashore, Jack, in the life-buoy, without asking leave. And she has been content and happy ever since.”
What more of this tale there is to tell shall be told, reader, by excerpts from our hero’s Christmas letter to thin little Mrs Seaford, as follows:—
“Pardon my seeming neglect, dear old friend. I meant to have run up to town to see you the instant I set foot in England, but you must admit that my dear, long-lost mother had prior claims. Pardon, also, my impudence in now asking you to come and see me. You must come. I will take no denial, for I want you to rejoice at my wedding! Yes, as old Nell once said to me, ‘God sends us a blessing sometimes when we least expect it.’ He has not only restored to me my mother, but has raised me from the lowest rung in the ladder to the very highest, and given me the sweetest, and most—. But enough. Come and see for yourself. Her name is Nellie. But I have more to astonish you with. Not only do I take Nellie back with me to my home in the new world, but I take my mother also, and Natty Grove, and old Nell herself! How we got her to understand what we want her to do, could not be told in less than four hundred pages of small type. Nat did it, by means of signs, symbols, and what he styles facial-logarithms. At all events she has agreed to go, and we hope to set sail next June. Moreover, I expect to get you to join us. Don’t laugh. I mean it. There is good work to be done. Canada needs philanthropic Christians as well as England.
“You will scarcely credit me when I say that I have become a match-maker—not one of those ‘little’ ones, in whose welfare you are so much interested, but a real one. My deep design is upon your partner, Natty Grove. Yes, your partner—for were not you the instrument used in rescuing my soul, and he my body? so that you have been partners in this double rescue. Well, it is my intention to introduce Natty Grove to Nancy Briggs, and abide the result! Once on a time I had meant her for Bob Snobbins, but as you have failed to hunt him up, he must be left to suffer the consequences. D’you know I have quite a pathetic feeling of tenderness for the memory of that too sharp little boy. Little does he know how gladly I would give him the best coat in my possession—if I could only find him!
“Now, dearest of old friends, I must stop. Nellie is sitting on one side of me, mother on the other, and old Nell in front—which will account to you, in some degree, for the madness of my condition.
“Once more, in the hope of a joyful meeting, I wish you ‘a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.’”
