The Coxswain's Bride by Robert Michael Ballantyne (top 20 books to read .TXT) 📕

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 THREE, 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