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 inferiour 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.
[Picture: Indeed we are very happy!]
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.