Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Heavily passed the night with the apprehensive mother: often did she approach the dizzy edge of the steep cliff; but no other sounds were heard besides the continued howling of the tempest and the roaring of the breakers. Fervently were her petitions offered up before the throne of Omnipotence; and amidst the appalling demonstrations of Almighty power, did the creature of his will plead with her Creator. His voice was heard upon the storm, proclaiming dominion and majesty; but hers mingled with it, as, in prostration of heart, she earnestly supplicated mercy.

  Morning appeared, but the desired vessel could not be distinguished. The sea presented one wide sheet of foam, with here and there a dark object driven like the ocean-weed upon the waters. At the close of the day, a dismasted ship, with a smack in company, was seen through the dim haze drifting towards the shore. They were yet several miles distant; but hope for the ship there was none, unless the gale abated. The intuitive eye of the mother readily recognized the little bark, that held, as she supposed, her father, her husband, and her two sons; and all the several relative bonds were linked more closely round her heart. Their occupation was manifest — they were waiting to assist fellow creatures in distress; and the abundant prayer for the safety of all spontaneously ascended from her lips.

  Night veiled them from observation; but the bold seamen of the neighbourhood, headed by the reverend pastor of the village, as a magistrate, remained in readiness to act as circumstances should require. Apprehension sat on many a furrowed countenance, and dark anticipations filled many a feeling breast. But language would fail to describe the agony which suspense and fearful agitation wrought in the mother’s heart.

  At length, about midnight, the report of a heavy gun echoed among the rocks, and told that the devoted ship was near at hand: the flash had pointed out her position, but nothing could yet be seen. The pastor, with his resolute band of determined boatmen, hastened to the shore: report followed report; fires were lighted on the rocks, to show that land was near; but still no object could be discerned.

  The storm came more heavily, and vivid lightnings rent the frowning clouds; then, when the glaring flash threw its stream of awful splendour on the feathery foam, that fated ship was seen struggling with the waves. As a last resource she had let go her anchors; and there she lay, like the soul of the mighty wrestling with despair. Another gun — and yet another — but help was hopeless. From the shore no assistance could be given; every attempt to get through the raging surf was useless; and the brave boatmen were compelled — an unusual circumstance — to be sad spectators of the scene.

  The ship rode heavily, as the long rolling waves came foaming in. Suddenly a shriek was heard upon the shore — a wild cry: the vessel had parted her cables, and the streaming lightning showed her careering towards the rocks with resistless force. Onward she came (as was now plainly visible) through the hissing foam. Still onward, onward, she urged her desperate course, till a tremendous crash — a loud yell — proclaimed that her stout timbers were shattered, and many a stouter heart was buried in the waves.

  The ship had struck on that part of the shore where the rocks were steepest; and the wreck remained wedged in firmly between two craggy knolls, not more than one hundred fathoms from perfect safety. But even that was a fearful space; for the heavy breakers rolled over the sunken rocks, and dashed with wild fury. Body after body came on the surge, and were thrown upon the land; but life had fled, and no effort could restore animation to the mangled and disfigured corpses.

  The inhabitants of the adjacent village, young and old, were crowded on the strand; and amidst the group was the venerable rector. Often, when the vivid flash illumined the foaming billows, and showed the deck of the rending vessel, he rushed with his horse towards the spot; but the barrier was impassable, and the bitter shriek rang upon his tortured ear. “Oh, that I could die for them!” he exclaimed. “Father of mercies, stretch forth thine hand and save!” Willingly would he have given his life for theirs; for he was prepared to meet his God, whilst they would be hurried into the presence of their Maker without a moment for repentance.

  Morning began to dawn, and dawned in horror; but with its earliest beam the smack was seen about a mile from the shore, under snug sail, and apparently in safety. The anxious mother was with the villagers, but the children remained at the house upon the cliff. Sleepless had been their night; and at the break of day, the terrified Jane, with William and the little Mary, stood upon the shelving rock, above the yawning gulph which had already entombed many of their fellow creatures. They could see the Fisherman’s Family, as the light became more clear; and it was evidently the intention of those on board to run for the Smugglers’ Gap — a small red flag having been hoisted at the mast-head, to require the boatmen on shore to hold themselves in readiness to give assistance.

  At this moment, whilst the children were standing gazing at the vessel, the heavens seemed to be rent asunder, and the red blaze of the forked lightning darted forth: it struck the smack, and masts and sails came tumbling down in one general wreck. “My father! my father!” shrieked the horror-stricken Jane, recoiling backward, and grasping her brother round the neck, as if she feared that he too would be torn away. The little Mary clung on the other side, and even the poor dog looked with instinctive dread towards the ocean.

  But, though the smack was dismasted, her hull still continued to float; and every wave drove her nearer to the shore. Oh, what an agonizing sight was that to the fond mother and her children! The former ran hurriedly about amongst the boatmen, exhorting and imploring them to use their best exertions to snatch her relatives from death. Her spirit seemed to rise in proportion as their peril increased; and she laboured to forward the preparations which were making as a last effort to rescue the little crew.

  The ship still continued grinding between the rocks, and victim after victim was hurried into eternity. From portions of the wreck which had drifted on shore, it was conjectured that she was a free trader from Calcutta; and the number of hands and passengers were calculated at seventy. The boatmen had made repeated attempts to get a rope from her, but all their efforts had failed. At length, part of a mast, with five individuals clinging to it, was seen to be rent away from the body of the wreck, and lifted by a mountain surge clear over the craggy rocks. Another wave came rolling in, but, just before it reached them, it raised its awful crest, and, with a tremendous roar, like the famished panther when seizing its prey, dashed furiously upon their heads. They were seen for a few moments, hurled confusedly amidst the bubbling eddies, and then disappeared. Once more the shattered mast floated, but there were now only three, who clung to it with desperate energy as they neared the shore, and hope of life revived. The next wave was still more raging than the last, but its fury was spent before it reached the swimmers; and “They are safe! they are safe!” was shouted from the shore. The boatmen plied their oars with redoubled strength, and in a few minutes the three men were hauled into the boat, which immediately stood for the safest landing-place.

  The villagers hurried to the spot, and the anxious mother, hoping to hear tidings of her family, stood foremost among them, as the boat ran upon the strand. But who can paint her joy and her terror, her delight and her agony, when she saw that one of the individuals saved was her husband! They were soon clasped in each other’s arms; but the bitter recollection that lives infinitely precious to them were still in jeopardy, with scarcely a hope of rescue, roused them to exertion. Richard turned to the boat, and assisted an elderly man to land. The moment the latter touched the ground, he fell upon his knees, and offered up a thanksgiving to the Creator: he then clung round the neck of Richard, and blessed him as the instrument of his preservation. “I should have sunk,” said he, “but you supported me: you snatched me from death, and —— but I have power to show my gratitude.”

  The other man saved was a seaman, who reported the ship to be the “Isabella,” from the East Indies. How many had perished he could not tell; but there were yet more than half of the crew a
nd nearly the whole of the passengers on board. By the aid of their glasses, the boatmen could discern the hapless creatures, as they watched the success of those who had been saved; and several launched themselves upon the fickle element, lashed to broken pieces of the wreck. The boats were again on the alert, and the boatmen had the satisfaction of picking up all that the billows allowed to come within their reach.

  But now the principal attention was devoted to the smack, as she neared the craggy barriers to security. The old man, with his two grandsons, and two men, who formed the crew, had been actively engaged in getting up a boat’s mast, on which they hoisted a small sail, so as to give the vessel steerage-way: and it seemed to answer the required purpose; for the little bark, with impetuous haste, rushed onward to the Smugglers’ Gap, as if bidding defiance to suspense.

  Pale anxiety sat on every countenance. “Is there any hope?” inquired the rector, addressing a grey-headed veteran, who from infancy had been inured to the tempest, and had the character of a bold intrepid sailor. Report made him the associate of a gang of smugglers; but, humane as he was brave, many a shipwrecked mariner was indebted to Donald Ferguson for his life. “Is there no hope?” inquired the rector. A look of melancholy anxiety was the only answer. The rector repeated his question.

  “Sailors never despair, sir,” replied Donald; “and if they once get well in the —— but stop; I have no right to disclose to any one, much more to you.”

  “Yet,” rejoined the rector, “when yon gallant ship has been lost, can so small a vessel be saved?”

  “Have hopes, sir,” replied Donald; and then turning away—”Ned!” he exclaimed to a rough hardy-looking fellow, well drenched with the surf, who immediately approached him. They whispered together for a few minutes, and then Ned ran from place to place, selecting the strongest and most daring of the boatmen for some particular purpose.

  “Ned,” exclaimed Donald again, “overhaul the hawser down, ship the capstan-bars, and be all ready. Remember, it is life or death, my hearty! I myself will hook her on.”

  “No, no,” said Richard, “that shall be my doing; you are old, Donald.”

  “But not feeble,” replied the veteran. “Your anxiety would betray you; besides, you have a wife and other children, but, if old Donald goes, nobody will miss him. Do as you are bid, my boy; and now for the marks!” He waved his hat, and two conspicuous objects were instantly raised at different distances on the rocks, to act as a guide to those in the smack where to make their passage.

  Who can describe the feelings of the spectators as they looked on with doubtful apprehension and silent astonishment? The smack was now so close to the shore, that every one was visible. No bustle or confusion prevailed: all seemed ready with cool intrepidity to attend to their several duties. The old man stood stationed at the helm, and, with steady gaze, kept his eyes fixed on the beacons. Now was she lifted up to heaven, and borne with amazing rapidity through the outer breakers; again she sunk, and disappeared between the hollow seas.

  “She’s gone! she’s gone!” exclaimed the rector; but, in an instant, the vessel again mounted on the topmost wave, and rushed with surprising swiftness through the foaming surge. At this moment a dreadful broken sea came raging with all its fury: it burst upon the deck, and seemed to bury the little craft in the dark abyss. Breathless agonizing fear filled every heart, and groans and shrieks mingled with the gale. But again the smack rose, though the helm was now deserted, and the vessel seemed abandoned to her fate. Once more, however, was hope revived; for young Edward, with cool determination, ran to the tiller, and directed her headlong course.

  The vessel had reached the secret channel, known only to the illicit trader: she neared the beach; the sea again struck her, and she was carried by its force through the inner breakers. A wild shout of joy arose from the shore, as the smack gained the smooth water, agitated only by the receding swell; but, at this instant, she struck the ground and rent in twain, the retiring surge carrying back the shattered remnants towards the rocks. And now the hardy race of brave boatmen, reckless of danger, plunged headlong in the waves. Old Donald took the lead: he grasped the arm of the lad James, and turned towards the shore; the surf threw them up with violence, and would again have returned them to the sea, but Donald seized the rope which had been overhauled down, and kept his firm grasp: in a few seconds more, they were safe on land. Richard succeeded in saving his father-in-law, aided by the boy Ned, who swam like a fish, and seemed to triumph in the element. Not a soul was lost of that little crew; and relatives and friends flocked round, rejoicing in their deliverance.

  The grandfather, with Richard, his wife, and the whole of the fisherman’s family, accompanied by the stranger who had been saved from the ship, hastened to the cottage on the cliff. They entered the abode amidst kind congratulations, and the stranger was ushered into the best apartment. He sat down, blessing his deliverer, and forming schemes, in his own mind, to testify his gratitude. Suddenly his eyes were rivetted on a picture that hung suspended over the mantel-piece: it was a portrait of the unkind father who had disinherited his son, through the false representations of a still more cruel brother; but it had been preserved by the old man as the last relic of his family. The stranger gazed upon it with earnestness, and he then eagerly turned to the aged fisherman. Their eyes met, and again both looked at the picture. The stranger covered his face with his hands, and groaned bitterly.

  “I do not value the loss of the vessel,” said Richard, “so that we all have met together again. But come, father,” he continued, “let us kneel and offer up our praises to the throne of grace.”

  “Stop, stop!” cried the stranger convulsively, “my presence would be a clog upon your prayers. I, too, had a father: that picture was his. Years have not effaced the remembrance from my mind. And you must be,” he continued, falling on his knees before the venerable old man, “you are, my noble-minded, my much-injured brother.”

  Oh, what a meeting was this! Animosity had long since subsided; and the word “brother” revived all the attachments of their boyish days.

  What need of saying more? they knelt together; and whilst without the storm raged — within the cottage,

  “The peace of God, beyond expression sweet, Fill’d every being humbled at his feet.”

  They rose, and the stranger — stranger now no longer — was received into the circle with delight. A man entered the room, announcing that several of the seamen, who had been saved from the wreck, were waiting outside the house, to know if they might take shelter in some out-buildings. The kind-hearted mother would not permit this, but succoured them under the same roof with her children, and gave them plentiful refreshment. The stranger went amongst them, and they instantly rose from their repast with the utmost respect. From them he learned that the whole of the remaining portion of the crew and passengers had quitted the ship. About thirty had perished, but the rest, nearly forty in number, were safe on land. Another man now entered, and addressed the stranger as “Sir William Russell.” Yes! he was great — he was wealthy; and, from that hour, his influence and his wealth were devoted to the promotion of the happiness and welfare of the “Fisherman’s Family.”

  THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

  OR, THE CONFIDING BOY.

  BY MRS. HOFLAND.

  “What will become of me? the sun is going down, the children are weary and hungry, and I have neither food nor shelter for them; would I had remained in my own country, and perished among my own kindred.”

  Such was the exclamation of Janet Ferguson, as she clasped the babes in her arms closer to her breast, and pressed with deep emotion the hand of her little Sandy, whose strength was failing, though his spirits were unsubdued. Like many others, she had been driven from the Highlands of Scotland, to seek a far distant home in Canada, and until within a few hours had never repented the step adopted by her excellent husband; but sudden misfortune had befallen her.