CHAPTER FOUR.
IN WHICH INTRODUCTIONS STILL GO ON, AND COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWSBEFORE.
Mrs Maria Foster,--the widow of James Foster (formerly captain in themerchant service), the mother of Guy Foster (clerk in the firm ofDenham, Crumps, and Company), and the promoter or supporter of everygood cause,--was a little woman of five-and-forty or thereabouts, withmild blue eyes, a philanthropic heart, and pale blue ribbons in her cap.
Mrs Foster may be said to have been in easy circumstances. That is tosay, she had sufficient (being a thrifty and economical lady) to "makethe two ends meet," even to overlap somewhat, though not,--as a friendof ours once observed,--to tie in a handsome bow, so that she had alittle to spare for charitable purposes. It must not be supposed,however, that the good lady was possessed of a small fortune. The"circumstances," which were easy to her, would have proved remarkablyuneasy to many; but she possessed the rare and tailorly quality of beingable and willing to cut her coat according to her cloth. There was nodeeper mystery than that in the "ease" with which we have characterisedher "circumstances."
The coast of Kent was her locality; the environs of the town of Deal,her neighbourhood; and a small--almost miniature but pretty--cottage,her habitation. The cottage stood in the middle of a little garden,close to that wide extent of waste land, lying to the north of Deal,which is known by the name of the Sandhills, and on the seaward edge ofwhich formerly stood the pile--and now lie the remains--of SandownCastle.
Everything in and around the cottage was remarkably neat--including itsmistress, who, on the evening of the day in which her son sailed withBax in the "Nancy," was seated at a little table in her small parlour,summing up an account on a sheet of note-paper,--an operation whichappeared to cause her much perplexity, if one might judge from herknitted brows, her deep sighs, and her frequent remarks of "it won'tdo," and "what _can_ it be?"
These observations were apparently addressed to the cat, which sat infront of the fire, watching the tea-kettle and the buttered toast; butalthough the good lady was addicted to talking to her cat, in a generalway, about her love for it and its state of health, we cannot supposethat she really appealed to it on such a grave subject as arithmeticalcalculation. If she did she got no answer from the cat--not even a signof recognition; but she did from a bright-faced, fair-haired girl, ofabout eighteen, who at that moment entered the room, with a teapot inone hand, and a cream-jug in the other.
"What is it that puzzles you, mamma?" said the girl, setting down thepot and jug, and preparing to attend to the duties of the tea-table.
To this Mrs Foster replied, in an absent way, that she didn't know,that it was quite beyond her comprehension, and that she was utterlyperplexed; but that she _would_ find it out, if she should sit all nightover it. Whereupon she proceeded to state that "three and two madefive, and seven made--made"--she wasn't quite sure how much that made,until her companion told her it made twelve; which piece of informationshe received with an--"Oh! of course it does. Dear me, Amy, how silly Iam!"--just as if she had known the fact all her life, and had onlyforgotten it at that moment, unaccountably, for the first time! MrsFoster then went on to add a variety of other figures to this,--with anoccasional word of assistance from Amy,--until the whole amounted to thesum of one hundred and thirty-three.
"There," said Mrs Foster, with a pleased expression, as she put thefigures down, "now how many twelves are in that--eh? let me see. Twelvetimes twelve are a hundred and forty,--no, that's too much; twelve timeseleven--how much is twelve times eleven?"
Mrs Foster did not ask this of Amy; no, she gazed up at the ceiling,where an uncommonly large spider was affixing its web,--with the design,no doubt, of lowering itself down to the tea-table,--and demanded thesolution of the problem, apparently, from that creature.
"I think it is a hundred and thirty-two, mamma," said Amy, pouring outthe tea.
"Oh, _of course_, how stupid!" said Mrs Foster, who was quite struckwith the obviousness of the fact--on being told it. "There now, thatcomes to eleven shillings and one penny, which settles the Soup Kitchen.One pound two does the Hospital for the Blind, and there's one pounddue to the Sailors' Home. But still," continued Mrs Foster, with areturn of the perplexed expression, "that does not get me out of mydifficulty."
"Come to tea, dear," said Amy, "and we will try to clear it up togetherafterwards."
"Impossible, child. I could not eat with appetite while this ispuzzling my brain. Let me see; there were fifteen pounds, _apparently_,spent last year, when I put it on paper, and yet here is a sovereignover," said Mrs Foster, holding up the coin, and looking at itreproachfully, as if the blame lay with it and not with herself.
"Well, mamma," said Amy, laughing, "but where is your difficulty?"
"Don't you see, child? by rights I ought to give fifteen pounds away;well, my book tells me that fifteen pounds _have_ been given, and yethere is a sovereign left over to give!"
"Then don't give it, mamma, just put it back into your purse, and thatwill make the thing right, won't it?"
"No, dear, it won't, because, you see, the money _must_ be right, so thebook _must_ be wrong; oh! here it is. I declare I have forgot to carry_one_. There, that's right. Now, dear, we shall have tea."
It may be necessary to explain here, that although Amy called MrsFoster "mamma," she was in fact not related to her at all, being only anadopted daughter. Poor Amy Russell was a child of the sea.
Two years previous to the time of which we write, she, with her fatherand mother, had been wrecked on the coast of Kent while returning from along residence in New Zealand. Their vessel filled the moment shestruck, and the seas buried the hull so completely that passengers andcrew were obliged to take to the rigging. Here they remained all nightexposed to the fury of the storm. Many of the unfortunates, unable towithstand the exposure of that terrible night, fell or were washed outof the rigging and perished. Among these were Amy's father and mother.Amy herself was taken care of by the captain, with whom she was a greatfavourite, and, along with those who remained until the morning, wassaved by one of the lifeboats stationed on that coast.
They had a narrow escape from drowning even after being taken into theboat, for, just as they were approaching the entrance to the harbour,where crowds of the inhabitants of the town were anxiously watchingthem, a tremendous sea completely filled the boat, swept away thestarboard oars, and carried several of the wrecked passengers overboard,Amy being one of them. This happened close under the head of the pier.All the passengers were recovered by the lifeboat's crew in a fewseconds, with the exception of Amy, who, being exhausted by previousexposure, began to sink at once. The boatmen, in the turmoil of ragingwater and howling wind, did not observe this, and a cry of consternationwas uttered by the people on the pier, who saw the whole thing clearlyfrom their elevated position; but the cry was either drowned by thenoise of the tempest, or not understood by the boatmen.
At that moment a tall stripling on the pier raced to the edge of it,shot like a rocket head-foremost into the sea, and in a second or tworeappeared with the young girl in his arms. They were both dragged intothe lifeboat, amid ringing cheers of delight and admiration.
The stripling who did this brave deed was none other than our friend GuyFoster, who chanced to be lodging with his mother in the neighbouringtown at that time. Guy insisted on having Amy conveyed to his mother'splace of abode. Mrs Foster soon discovered that the poor orphan hadneither relations nor friends in England, and having taken a fancy toher, adopted her as a daughter. Thus did she come to call Mrs Foster"mamma," and to preside at the tea-table in Sandhill Cottage.
But, to return from this digression:--Mrs Foster was congratulatingherself on having discovered the error in her accounts, when the dooropened and a stout florid woman, of fifty or thereabouts, with a shinyred skin, presented herself and said:
"Please, ma'am, here's a gentleman as wants to see you, and won't goaway, though I told him you was at tea, w'ich is a fact, though it
hadno impression whatever on him, such is his imprence, goin' for toreflect on my character for truth, as never told a lie since I was ababy in long frocks, so I didn't; but it's always the way with these menthat go tax-gatherin', though I don't know that he's that neether, so Idon't; what shall I say, ma'am?"
Mrs Laker, having uttered the foregoing without pause or inflection ofvoice from beginning to end, came to an abrupt stop. Whether from wantof breath or ideas it is difficult to say; perhaps from both.
"Show the gentleman in, Laker," said Mrs Foster; "no doubt he has goodreason for wishing to see me."
Laker vanished. She was impulsive in her actions as well as in herwords. She was her mistress's factotum--her cook, housemaid,sempstress, and confidential adviser; in addition to which she wassomewhat of a bore, being stubborn and opinionated, but a good andfaithful servant on the whole.
The individual who was presently introduced was a bustling little oldgentleman with a shining bald head and a cheerful countenance.
"Excuse my rudeness--madam--" he began, bowing low, as he advanced witha hesitating step--"this intrusion, really--"
"Do not mention it, sir, pray be seated," said Mrs Foster; "you arewelcome--surely I have met with you before?"
She put on a pair of gold spectacles as she said this, and lookedearnestly at her visitor, who, having placed his hat on the floor andbowed to Amy, sat down and pulled out a bundle of papers.
"You have, madam," replied the visitor. "My name is Summers--DavidSummers, ma'am, at your service. I had the pleasure of being introducedto you at a meeting in a town not far distant, where an effort was beingmade to raise contributions towards the establishment of a lifeboat--"
"Oh! I recollect," cried Mrs Foster, whose sympathetic heart at onceopened to the man who had made (as she had thought) such an eloquentappeal at the meeting in question; "I am delighted to see you, MrSummers. If I mistake not, I invited you to come and see me when youshould visit this part of the coast."
"You were kind enough to do so, madam, hence my venturing to call atthis hour. I quit Deal to-morrow, early, and I am anxious to re-pleadmy old cause with you; but indeed I know this to be unnecessary, yourown sympathies being already enlisted in my favour."
Mrs Foster assured Mr Summers that he was right, but begged of him,notwithstanding, to plead with her as if she were an enemy, in orderthat she might hear all he had to say on the subject, adding, that shehoped he would stay and have a cup of tea.
Hereupon Mr Summers bowed, drew in his chair, remarked to Amy that thelifeboat service was one of the most interesting and important topics ofthe day, and the National Lifeboat Institution one of the most valuableinstitutions in the kingdom, and at once launched into his favouritetheme with all the gusto of an enthusiast who has gained the ear of asympathetic audience.
We will, however, spare the reader the details and statistics whichafforded so much pleasure to Mrs Foster and her adopted daughter,knowing full well that there is an immense difference between these whenset down in hard type, and when poured forth in rich energetic tones,backed by twinkling eyes and a beaming countenance.
"Do you really mean to tell me, Mr Summers," said Mrs Foster--when theold gentleman came to the end of a long statement, "that about athousand ships are wrecked, and nearly a thousand lives lost, besidesmore than a million pounds worth of property, on the shores of thiscountry _every year_?"
"It is a sad but incontrovertible fact," replied Mr Summers. "Officiallists are drawn up annually by the Board of Trade, which give the numberand positions of wrecks--cold dry lists they are too. Matter-of-factcolumns and figures, without a touch of softness about them. They arenot meant to appeal to the feelings; they are a mere record of facts.So many vessels went ashore in such and such a gale--they were sunk,dismasted, dashed to pieces. So many persons were saved, so manydrowned,--that is all. Ah! who can picture to himself the awfulrealities that are condensed in those brief accounts?
"When a magnificent steamer, after a fine voyage from the antipodes,comes within hail of port, is caught in a fearful hurricane, cast ashoreand dashed to pieces, leaving hundreds of passengers, men, women, andchildren, to perish in the dark night, grasping the very rocks of theirnative land, the event is too awful to escape notice. So numerous arethe crushed and broken hearts in the land, that their cry awakens publicattention, and the newspapers teem for a time with graphic details ofthe wreck; details which, graphic though they be, fall inconceivablyshort of the dread reality; but no notice is taken, except in the way ofbrief record, of the dozens of small coasting vessels that shared thefate of that steamer in the same terrific gale. No one reads the fateof yonder little schooner, one mast of which is seen just peeping out ofthe sea under that frowning cliff, and yet there is a terrible taleconnected with it. Who shall tell or conceive of the agonies endured,before the morning light came, by the skipper and his crew of four menand a boy, as their little ship was lifted and flung upon the rocks byeach succeeding wave? And who can conceive their feelings when thelonged for light _did_ come at last, and daring fishermen on the shoresought to render aid in vain, for their boats were overturned and castback upon the beach, and themselves barely escaped with their lives, andso the perishing men stood in helpless misery and gazed landward indespair until a mighty wave carried away the mast to which they clung,and, with a last wild shriek they sank in sight of friends and home,because _there was no lifeboat there_."
"Can this be true?" said Mrs Foster, in a tone of deep sympathy.
"True!" echoed Mr Summers, "would God that it were not. I havementioned but one case, yet it is a fact that for _every_ gale thatblows _dozens_ of wrecks take place on our coasts, each with its more orless tragic history. You remember the last gale? It is not three weekssince it blew. No fewer than one hundred and ninety-five wrecks tookplace on the shores of the United Kingdom on that night and thefollowing day, and six hundred and eighty-four lives were lost, many ofwhich would undoubtedly have been saved had there been a sufficientnumber of lifeboats stationed along our shores; for you must bear inremembrance, that although hundreds of lives are annually saved byordinary shore boats, and by ships' boats, hundreds also are saved bylifeboats in circumstances in which ordinary boats would be utterlyuseless.
"Here is a newspaper paragraph," continued the old gentleman, unfoldinga paper and preparing to read, "which shows the brief way in which thepublic prints at times notice events of the most stirring and heroicnature:--`On the morning of the 3rd December last, after a stormy andrainy night, the wind shifted to the North West and blew a hurricane.Many vessels got on shore near Holyhead, from various causes. Thelifeboat of the National Lifeboat Institution was launched and proceededto their assistance. She got ahead of one, a schooner, and anchored,but the intense violence of the wind blew her to leeward, anchor andall, and she was unable to communicate, and had great difficulty inreturning ashore. She again put off to the schooner _Elizabeth_ ofWhitehaven, which had a signal of distress flying, having parted onechain, and brought her crew of four men on shore. The hurricanecontinued unabated well into the night. The weather having moderated,the lifeboat was despatched at 2 a.m., and brought on shore twenty-threemen from the _Confiance_ of Liverpool; then again put off and broughtashore nineteen men from the barque _Elizabeth Morrow_ of Glasgow; nextproceeded to the schooner _L'Esperance_ of Nantes, and saved two men,making altogether a total of forty-eight lives saved by the lifeboat inthis hurricane only.'
"Dear madam," observed Mr Summers, looking at Mrs Foster over hisspectacles, "surely it is unnecessary for me to point out that thisbrief narrative does not give us the most distant conception of theterrors, the endurance, the heroism, incident to that night! Permit meto read you another paragraph. It is given more in detail and doesbetter justice to the scene."
The old gentleman selected another paper, opened it, and read asfollows:--
"`The sum of 9 pounds has recently been given by the National LifeboatInstitution to a boat's crew, in appreciation of their g
allant conductin putting off in a salmon-coble, during a heavy gale of wind, andrescuing, at great risk of life, the crew of four men of the schooner_Thankful_ of Sunderland, which was totally wrecked off Burghead, n.b.,on the 19th July. Every moment the position of the ship was becomingmore dangerous as the advancing tide drove her in among the small rocksat the back of the sea-wall, and no boat could live in the terriblesurge that was fast breaking up the vessel. The crew, four in number,along with the pilot, took to the fore-rigging, and in a short time thebeach was strewn with pieces of the wreck--the bulwarks were nearly alldestroyed--the boat washed overboard--and the deck broken up. Thoughonly forty yards from the pier, not the least assistance could berendered to the crew, whose faces were quite distinguishable as theyclung to the swaying rigging. At twenty minutes past six the fore-mastcracked, and its living freight had hardly time to crawl down to theonly bulwark above water (for the schooner now lay on her beam-ends withher bilge towards the sea), when it fell by the board. In about fiveminutes more the main-topmast was snapped by the gale as if it had beena reed, while the bowsprit and other gear were carried away, leavingnothing but the gutted hull with the mainmast standing. Another hour ofawful suspense passed, during which the five men lashed themselves tothe bulwark, the sea every other minute breaking over their heads inhuge masses. At half-past seven, one of the sailors, a young man, waswashed from the wreck, but fortunately succeeded in catching thefloating rigging, by which he was able to regain his former position.Another young heroic sailor seemed to be the life of the whole companyin this trying emergency, and his efforts to keep up the spirits of hiscompanions were signally successful. About eight o'clock the wavesbroke over the ship with renewed violence, but still those on the shorecould return no answer in the affirmative to the piercing cry that camefrom the wreck, "Can't we get a boat?" The voice was that of thegallant sailor already referred to; the others were too much exhaustedto utter a word. McIntosh, the pilot from Burghead, expired from sheercold and exhaustion. None who saw him perish soon forgot the fearfulagony of his daughter as she bade her father farewell from the parapetof the breakwater. After renewed efforts a boat was got over thebreakwater, and at great risk succeeded in saving the other men, whowere in a very exhausted condition.'
"And now, dear madam," pursued the old gentleman, tying up his papers,"I will not run the risk of wearying you with more details, but come tothe point at once by soliciting from you a contribution towards theestablishment of a lifeboat on the coast here, where I am sure you mustbe well aware there is very great need for one."
"I am sure there is," said Mrs Foster, opening her box; "alas! I fearthe wind is rising even now. The rattling of the window-frames willbring what you have told me to remembrance ever after this night. Howmuch does it require to establish a lifeboat?"
"Between five and six hundred pounds," replied Mr Summers. "Afterwhich about twenty pounds annually will suffice to maintain it inworking order."
"So much!" exclaimed Mrs Foster. "I fear that you will find itdifficult to raise so large a sum."
"I trust not, but if we raise a pretty large proportion of it, theLifeboat Institution will make up the balance. Perhaps"--here the oldgentleman paused and looked dubiously at Mrs Foster--"perhaps you wouldlike to know the precise nature of the objects for which the LifeboatInstitution has been founded. Will you do me the favour to listen forfive minutes longer? The operations of the Institution are of deepimportance to the national welfare."
Mrs Foster at once expressed her willingness to listen, and the oldgentleman, re-opening his bundle of papers, selected one from which heread sundry interesting details regarding the National LifeboatInstitution.
It need scarcely be said, that with such a sympathetic mind to addressas that of Mrs Foster, Mr Summers prolonged his visit for anotherhour, and it is perhaps equally unnecessary to say that the worthy ladyfound a suitable object on which to bestow the sovereign which hadperplexed her so much at an earlier part of the evening. She not onlygave the money with the air of a "cheerful giver," but she begged MrSummers to send her as many papers on the subject of lifeboats andwrecks as he happened to be possessed of, and promised to become anactive agent in pleading with her friends in behalf of the object he hadin view.
The wind was rising while the party in Sandhill Cottage were thusengaged. It came in ominous and heavy gusts, rattling the window-framesand moaning in the chimneys to such an extent that Mrs Laker, who wasof a timid and superstitious nature, was fain to sit outside the parlourdoor in order to be near the other inmates of the cottage.
"About a thousand lives lost in each year on the shores of thiskingdom!" thought Mrs Foster, as she lay in bed that night listening tothe rising storm with feelings of awe and solemnity which she had neverbefore experienced.
If Mrs Foster had been acquainted with the subject in detail, she mighthave had further food for solemn reflection in the fact that the greaterpart of those lives were lost _unnecessarily_; that their loss was owingnot nearly so much to the direct providence of God as to theincompetence, the ignorance, the false economy, and the culpablecarelessness of man.
Mrs Foster's head lay on a soft pillow while the tempest raged aroundher humble dwelling. She little thought that one around whom herheart-strings were entwined was out on the wild sea that night, exposedto its utmost fury and in urgent need of the aid of that species of boatwhich had filled her thoughts that evening, and still continued toinfluence her dreams.