Original Stories from Real Life/Chapter 8
CHAP. VIII.
Summer Evening's Amuſement.—The Arrival of a Family of Haymakers.—Ridicule of perſonal Defects cenſured.—A Storm.—The Fear of Death.—The Cottage of honeſt Jack, the ſhipwrecked Sailor.—The Hiſtory of Jack, and his faithful Dog Pompey.
THE evening was pleasant; Mrs. Maſon and the children walked out; and many ruſtic noiſes ſtruck their ears. Some bells in a neighbouring village, ſoftened by the diſtance, ſounded pleaſingly; the beetles hummed, and the children purſued them, not to deſtroy them; but to obſerve their form, and aſk queſtions concerning their mode of living. Sheep were bleating and cattle lowing, the rivulet near them babbled along, while the ſound of the distant ocean died away on the ear—or they forgot it, liſtening to the whiſtling of the hay-makers, who were returning from the field. They met a whole family who came every year from another county where they could not find conſtant employment, and Mrs. Maſon allowed them to ſleep in her barn. The little ones knew their benefactreſs, and tried to catch a ſmile; and ſhe was ever ready to ſmile on thoſe whom ſhe obliged; for ſhe loved all her fellow creatures, and love lightens obligations. Beſides, ſhe thought that the poor who are willing to work, had a right to the comforts of life.
A few moments after, they met a deformed woman; the children ſtared her almoſt out of countenance; but Mrs. Maſon turned her head another way, and when the poor object was out of hearing, ſaid to Mary, I intended to reprove you this morning for a fault which I have frequently ſeen you commit; and this moment and the other evening it was particularly conſpicuous. When that deformed woman paſſed us, I involuntarily looked at ſomething elſe, and would not let her perceive that ſhe was a diſguſting figure, and attracted notice on that account. I ſay, I did it involuntarily, for I have accuſtomed myſelf to think of others, and what they will ſuffer on all occaſions: and this lothneſs to offend, or even to hurt the feelings of another, is an inſtantaneous ſpring which actuates my conduct, and makes me kindly affected to every thing that breathes. If I then am ſo careful not to wound a ſtranger, what ſhall I think of your behaviour, Mary, when you laughed at a reſpectable old woman, who beſide her virtues and her age, had been particularly civil to you. I have always ſeen perſons of the weakeſt underſtandings, and whoſe hearts benevolence ſeldom touched, ridicule bodily infirmities, and accidental defects. They could only reliſh the inferior kind of beauty, which I deſcribed this morning, and a ſilly joy has elated their empty ſouls, on finding, by compariſon, that they were ſuperiour to others in that reſpect, though the concluſion was erroneous, for merit, mental acquirements, can only give a juſt claim to ſuperiority. Had you poſſeſſed the ſmalleſt portion of diſcernment, you would ſoon have forgotten the tones, loſs of teeth made drawling, in liſtening to the chearful good ſenſe which that worthy woman's words conveyed. You laughed, becauſe you were ignorant, and I now excuſe you; but ſome years hence, if I were to ſee you in company, with such a propenſity, I ſhould ſtill think you a child, an overgrown one, whoſe mind did not expand as the body grew.
The ſky began to thicken, and the lowing of the cattle to have a melancholy cadence; the nightingale forgot her ſong, and fled to her neſt; and the ſea roared and laſhed the rocks. During the calm which portended an approaching ſtorm, every creature was running for ſhelter.—We muſt, if poſſible, said Mrs. Maſon, reach yon cottage on the cliff, for we ſhall ſoon have a violent thunder-ſtorm. They quickened their pace, but the hurricane overtook them. The hail-ſtones fell, the clouds ſeemed to open and diſcloſe the lightning, while loud peals of thunder ſhook the ground; the wind alſo in violent guſts ruſhed among the trees, tore off the ſlender branches and looſened the roots.
The children were terrified; but Mrs. Maſon gave them each a hand, and chatted with them to diſpel their fears. She informed them that ſtorms were neceſſary to diſſipate noxious vapours, and to anſwer many other purpoſes, which were not, perhaps, obvious to our weak underſtandings. But are you not afraid? cried the trembling Caroline. No, certainly, I am not afraid.—I walk with the ſame ſecurity as when the ſun enlivened the proſpect—God is ſtill preſent, and we are ſafe. Should the flaſh that paſſes by us strike me dead, it cannot hurt me, I fear not death!—I only fear that Being who can render death terrible, on whoſe providence I calmly reſt; and my confidence earthly ſorrows cannot deſtroy. A mind is never truly great, till the love of virtue overcomes the fear of death.
By this time they had mounted the cliff, and ſaw the tumultuous deep. The angry billows roſe, and daſhed against the ſhore; and the loud noiſe of the raging ſea reſounded from rock to rock.
They ran into the cottage; the poor woman who lived in it ſent her children for wood, and ſoon made a good fire to dry them.
The father of the family ſoon after came in, leaning on crutches; and over one eye there was a large patch. I am glad to ſee you honest Jack, said Mrs. Maſon, come and take your ſeat by the fire, and tell the children the ſtory of your ſhipwreck.
He inſtantly complied. I was very young, my dear ladies, ſaid Jack, when I went to ſea, and endured many hardſhips,—however I made a ſhift to weather them all; and whether the wind was fair or foul, I ran up the ſhrouds and ſung at the helm. I had always a good heart, no lad fore or aft had a better; when we were at ſea, I never was the firſt to flinch; and on ſhore I was as merry as the beſt of them. I married ſhe you ſee yonder, (lifting his crutch to point to his wife) and her work and my wages did together, till I was ſhipwrecked on these rocks. Oh! it was a dreadful night; this is nothing to it; but I am getting to the end of my ſtory before I begin it.
During the war, I went once or twice to New York. The laſt was a good voyage, and we were all returning with joy to dear England, when the ſtorm roſe; the veſſel was like a bird, it flew up and down, and ſeveral of our beſt hands were waſhed clean overboard—My poor captain! a better never plowed the ocean, he fell overboard too, and it was ſome time before we miſſed him; for it was quite dark, except that flaſhes of lightning now and then gave us light. I was at the helm, laſhing it to the ſide of the ſhip—a dreadful flaſh came acroſs me, and I loſt one of my precious eyes.—But thank God I have one left.
The weather cleared up next day, and, though we had been finely mauled, I began to hope, for I hate to be faint-hearted, and certainly we ſhould have got into the channel very ſoon, if we had not fell in with a French man of war, which took us; for we could not make any reſiſtance.
I had a dog, poor Pompey! with me. Pompey would not leave me, he was as fond of me as if he had been a chriſtian. I had loſt one eye by the lightning, the other had been ſore, ſo that I could hardly call it a peep-hole. Somehow I fell down the hatchway, and bruiſed one of my legs; but I did not mind it, do ye ſee, till we arrived at Breſt and were thrown into a French Priſon.
There I was worſe off than ever; the room we were all ſtowed in, was full of vermin, and our food very bad; mouldy biſcuits, and ſalt fiſh. The priſon was choke full, and many a morning did we find ſome honest fellow with his chops fallen—he was not to be waked any more!—he was gone to the other country, do ye ſee.
Yet the French have not ſuch hard hearts as people ſay they have! Several women brought us broth and wine; and one gave me ſome rags to wrap round my leg, it was very painful, I could not clean it, nor had I any plaiſter. One day I was looking ſorrowfully at it, thinking for certain I ſhould loſe my precious limb; when, would you believe it? Pompey ſaw what I was thinking about, and began to lick it.—And, I never knew ſuch a ſurprizing thing, it grew better and better every day, and at laſt was healed without any plaister.
After that I was very ſick, and the ſame tender-hearted creature who gave me the rags, took me to her houſe; and freſh air ſoon recovered me. I for certain ought to ſpeak well of the French; but for their kindneſs I ſhould have been in another port by this time. Mayhap I might have gone with a fair wind, yet I ſhould have been ſorry to have left my poor wife and her children. But I am letting all my line run out! Well, by-and-by, there was an exchange of priſoners, and we were once more in an Engliſh veſſel, and I made ſure of ſeeing my family again; but the weather was ſtill foul. Three days and nights we were in the greateſt diſtreſſ; and the fourth the ſhip was daſhed againſt theſe rocks. Oh! if you had heard the craſh! The water ruſhed in—the men ſcreamed, Lord have mercy on us! There was a woman in the ſhip, and, as I could ſwim, I tried to save her, and Pompey followed me; but I loſt him—poor fellow! I declare I cried like a child when I ſaw his dead body. However I brought the woman to ſhore; and aſſiſted ſome more of my meſs-mates; but, ſtanding in the water ſo long, I loſt the uſe of my limbs—yet Heaven was good to me; Madam, there, ſent a cart for us all, and took care of us; but I never recovered the uſe of my limbs. So ſhe aſked me all about my misfortunes, and ſent for wife, who came directly, and we have lived here ever ſince. We catch fiſh for Madam, and watch for a ſtorm, hoping ſome time or other to be as kind to a poor periſhing soul as she has been to me. Indeed we are very happy—I might now have been begging about the ſtreets, but for Madam, God bleſs her!
A tear ſtrayed down Mrs. Maſon's cheek, while a ſmile of benevolence lighted up her countenance—the little girls caught each hand—They were all ſilent a few minutes, when ſhe, willing to turn the diſcourſe, enquired whether they had any fiſh in the houſe? Some were produced, they were quickly dreſſed, and they all eat together. They had a chearful meal, and honeſt Jack ſung ſome of his ſeafaring ſongs, and did all he could to divert them and expreſs his gratitude. Getting up to reach the brown loaf, he limped very awkwardly, Mary was juſt beginning to laugh, when ſhe reſtrained herself; for ſhe recollected that his awkwardneſs made him truly reſpectable, becauſe he had loſt the uſe of his limbs when he was doing good, ſaving the lives of his fellow-creatures.
The weather cleared up, and they returned home. The children converſed gaily with each other all the way home, talking of the poor ſailor, and his faithful dog.