A STORM ON THE COAST.
Summers _are_ short in Maine; still the autumn that year seemed in no
haste to begin its work. September came and went, bringing only
trifling frosts, and the equinoctial week passed without a storm. In
its place appeared an odd yellow mist, which wrapped the world in its
folds and made the most familiar objects look strange and unnatural.
Not a fog,--it was not dense enough for that. It seemed more like air
made visible, thickened just a little, and tinted with color, but
common air still, warm, thin, and quiet. The wind blew softly for many
days; there was a general hush over land and sea, and the sun blinked
through the golden haze like a bigger and hotter moon.
This strange atmosphere lasted so long that people grew accustomed and
ceased to wonder at it. Some of the old sailors shook their heads and
said it would end with a gale; but old sailors are fond of prophesying
gales, and nobody was frightened by the prediction, or saw any reason
for being so, as long as the weather remained thus warm and perfectly
calm.
The little steamer from Malachi to Portland made her last trip for the
season on the 30th of September; and the day before, Mr. Bright, who
had some potatoes to ship to market, went over with them to Malachi,
in a small sail-boat belonging to Captain Jim, Mr. Downs's brother's
son. They were not to return till next day, so it was arranged that
Eyebright should spend the night with Mrs. Downs, as papa did not like
to leave her alone on the island. She went with him as far as the
village, and kissed him for good-by on the dock, when the little cargo
was all on board and Captain Jim just ready to push off.
"I shall go home early to-morrow, and make some egg-toast and some
frizzled beef for your supper, papa, so mind you don't stop to tea
with Mrs. Downs," were her last words.
"All right--I won't," said her father; and Captain Jim laughed and
said:--
"You'd better not put the frying-pan on till you see us a-coming, for
with this light wind there's no knowing when we'll get over, and the
frizzle might be sp'iled."
Then the sail flapped and filled, and off they went over the yellow
sea. Eyebright watched till the boat passed behind the island, and out
of sight; then she walked up the road to the Downs's, saying to
herself,--
"What funny weather! I never saw any thing like it. It isn't a bit
like last September."
Next morning showed the same sultry mist, a little thicker if any
thing. Eyebright stayed with Mrs. Downs till after dinner, helped in
the weekly baking, hemmed two crash towels, told Benny a story, and
set out for home a little after four, carrying a blueberry pie in a
basket for papa's supper. As she toiled over the sand of the causeway
and up the steep path, she was conscious of a singular heaviness in
the air, and it struck her that the sea was making a sound such as she
had never heard before,--a sort of odd shuddering moan, as if some
great creature was in pain a long way out from shore. The water looked
glassy calm, and there did not seem to be much wind, which made the
sound even stranger and more startling. But she forgot about the sound
when she reached the house, for there was a great deal to do and not
much time to do it in, for Captain Jim expected to get back by six
o'clock or soon after. What with sweeping and dusting and fire-making,
an hour passed rapidly, when suddenly a dusky darkness settled over
the house, and at the same moment a blast of wind blew the door open
with a bang.
"Oh dear, there is going to be a thunder-storm," thought Eyebright.
She was afraid of thunder and lightning and did not like the idea at
all.
Going to the door to shut it, she stopped short, for she saw a strange
sight. One side of the heavens was still thick with the yellow haze,
but toward the sea a bank of black clouds was whirling rapidly up from
the horizon. It had nearly reached the zenith, and had already hidden
the sun and turned the afternoon into temporary twilight. The sea was
glassy smooth near the shore--as smooth as oil; but farther out, the
waves had begun to toss and tumble, and the moaning sound was become a
deep hollow boom, which might easily be imagined the very voice of the
approaching storm.
Filled with anxiety, Eyebright ran down to the cliff above the
bathing-beach and looked toward the long cape at the end of which lay
Malachi. The dots of houses showed plainer and whiter than usual
against the cape, which had turned of a deep slate-gray, almost black.
Two or three ships were in sight, but they were large ships far out at
sea, and the strange darkness and the confusion and tumble of the
waves, which every instant increased, made it difficult to detect any
object so small as a boat. She was just turning away, when a sudden
gleam of light showed what seemed to be a tiny sail far out in the
bay, but it disappeared and, at the same moment, a sudden, violent
wind swept in from the sea, and almost threw her down. She caught hold
of a sapling-stem to steady herself, and held tightly till the gust
passed. Next instant came a great roar of blinding rain, and she was
forced to run as fast as she could to the house. It took but two
minutes to reach it; but already she was drenched to the skin, and the
water was running in streams from her dress and the braids of her
hair.
She had to change all her clothes. As she sat before the fire, drying
her hair with a rough towel, she could hear the rain pouring on the
roof with a noise like thunder, and every few minutes great waves of
wind surged against the house, making it shake and tremble till the
rafters creaked. There were other sounds, too,--odd rattlings, deep
hollow notes like groans, and a throbbing as of some mighty
pulse,--but there was no thunder; indeed Eyebright doubted if she
could have heard it had there been any, so loud was the tumult of
noises.
She sat by the fire and dried her hair--what else was there to
do?--but feeling all the time as if she ought to be out in the rain
helping papa somehow. The tears ran down her cheeks; now and then she
wrung her hands tightly, and said, "O papa! O papa!" Never had she
felt so little and helpless and lost in all her life before. She tried
to say a prayer, but it seemed to her just then that God could not
hear a weak, small voice like hers through such a rage of storm. She
could not realize what it would have been such a comfort to
feel,--that God is never so near his children or so ready to listen,
as when storms are wildest and they need him most. And so she sat,
till by and by the clock struck six, and made her jump at the idea
that papa might come in soon and find no supper ready for him.
"I mustn't let _that_ happen," she thought, as, with shaking hands,
she mended the fire, laid the table, and set the kettle on to boil.
She would not allow herself to question the fact that papa would
come--_must_ come, though he might be a little late; and she shaved
the dried beef, broke the eggs, and sliced bread for toasting, so as
to be able to get supper as soon as possible after he should appear.
This helped her through with another hour. Still no sign of papa, and
still the storm raged, as it seemed, more furiously than ever.
Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, half-past ten. I don't know how that
evening passed. It seemed as long as two or three ordinary days. Many
times, thinking she heard a sound, Eyebright flew to the door, but
only to come back disappointed. At last the rain slackened, and,
unable to sit still any longer, she put on her water-proof and India
rubbers, tied a hood over her head, and, taking a lantern, went down
to the cliff again. It would have been of no use to carry an umbrella
in that wind, and the night was so dark that, even with the help of
the lantern, and well as she knew the path, she continually wandered
from it, and struck and bruised herself against stumps and branches
which there was not light to avoid.
At last she gained the top of the bank over the beach. The sea was
perfectly black; she could see nothing and hear nothing, except the
roar of waves and the rattle of the shingle below. Suddenly came a
flash of lightning. It lit the water for a minute, and revealed a dark
spot which might be a boat borne on the waves a little way out from
shore. Eyebright did not hesitate an instant, but tumbled and
scrambled down the bank at once, waving the lantern, and crying, "Here
I am, papa! this way, papa!" as loud as she could. She had scarcely
reached the beach, when another flash showed the object much nearer.
Next moment came a great tumbling wave, and out of the midst of it and
of the darkness, something plunged on to the beach; and then came the
lightning again. It was a boat--and a man in it.
Eyebright seized and held with all her might.
"Oh, hurry and get out, papa," she cried; for though she could not
see, she felt another wave coming. "I can't keep hold but a minute."
And then--she hardly knew how it happened--the man did get out--tumble
out rather--upon the sand; and, as she let go the boat and caught hold
of him, in sped the wave she had dreaded, with a loud roar, splashed
her from head to foot, and rolled back, carrying the boat with it. The
man lay on the beach as if unable to move, but by the sense of touch,
as well as the dim light of the lantern, Eyebright already knew that
it was not papa, but a stranger, whose arm she clutched.
"Get up, oh, do get up!" she screamed. "You'll be drowned if you
don't. Don't you see that you will? Oh, what shall I do?"
The man seemed to hear, for he slowly struggled up to his feet, but he
did not speak. It was terrible work getting him up the cliff. The wind
in furious moments seemed to seize and pin them down, and at such
times there was nothing to be done but to stand still, flatten
themselves against the bank, and wait till its force abated. Eyebright
was most thankful when at last they reached the top. She hurried the
stranger with what speed she could across the field to the house,
keeping the path better than when she came down, because the light in
the kitchen window now served her as a guide. The man stumbled
continually, and more than once almost fell down. As they entered the
kitchen he quite fell, and lay so long on the floor as to frighten
Eyebright extremely. She had never seen any one faint, and she feared
the man was dead. Not knowing in the least what she ought to do, she
ran for a pillow to lay under his head, covered him with a blanket,
and put some water on his forehead. This last was rather unnecessary,
considering his wet condition, but Bessie had always "brought to" the
Lady Jane in that way, so Eyebright thought it might be the right
thing. After a long time, she had the comfort of seeing him open his
eyes.
"Oh, you are better; I am so glad," she said, "Do try to get into the
rocking-chair. The floor is so hard. Here, I will help you."
And she took hold of his arm for the purpose. He winced and shrank.
"Not that arm--don't touch that arm, please," he said. "I have hurt it
in some way. It feels as if it were broken."
Then very slowly and painfully he got up from the floor and into the
rocking-chair which Eyebright had covered with a thick comfortable to
make it softer. She made haste to wet the tea, and presently brought
him a cup.
"Thank you," he said, faintly. "You are very kind."
She could see his face now. He was not a young man, at all. His hair
and beard were gray, and he seemed as old as papa; but he was so wet
and pale and wild-looking just then, that it was not easy to judge
what he was like. His voice was pleasant, and she did not feel at all
afraid of him. The tea seemed to revive him a little, for, after lying
quiet a while with his eyes closed, he sat up, and, fumbling with his
left hand in an inner pocket, produced a flat parcel tied in stout
paper, with a direction written upon it; and, beckoning Eyebright to
him, said:--
"My dear, it is a bad night to ask such a favor in, and I don't know
how far you may be from the village; but could you manage to send this
over to the stage-office at once? It is of great consequence to me, or
I would not ask it. Have you a hired man who could go? I will pay him
handsomely for taking it. He must give it to the driver of the stage
to put into the express-office at Gillsworth, and take a receipt for
it. Please ask him to be particular about that, as the parcel has
money in it."
"We haven't any hired man," said Eyebright. "I'm so sorry, sir. But
even if we had, he couldn't get across for ever so long."
"Get across?"
"Yes; this is an island. Didn't you know that? We can walk over to the
other shore at low tide; but the tide won't be low till after five,
even if we had a man. But there isn't anybody but just me."
"After five,--and the mail goes out at six," muttered the stranger.
"Then I must manage to go myself."
He tried to get up, but his arm fell helplessly by his side, he
groaned, and sank back again. Presently, to Eyebright's terror, he
began to talk rapidly to himself, not to her at all, as it seemed.
"It _must_ go," he said, in a quick, excited way. "I don't mind what I
pay or what risk I run. Do you think I'm going to lose every
thing?--lose every thing?--other people's money?--" A long pause;
then, "What's a wetting?"--he went on, in a loud tone--"that's nothing.
A wetting!--my good name is worth more than money to me."
He was silent after that for a long time. Eyebright hoped he had gone
to sleep, when suddenly he opened his eyes, and said, imploringly:
"Oh, if you knew how important it was, you _would_ make haste. I am
sure you would."
He did not say much more, but seemed asleep, or unconscious; only now
and then, roused for a moment, he muttered some word which showed him
to be still thinking about the parcel, and the necessity for sending
it to the office immediately.
Eyebright put another blanket round him, and fetched a chair for his
feet to rest upon. That seemed all she could do, except to sit and
watch him, getting up occasionally to put wood on the fire, or going
to the door to listen, in hopes of hearing papa's step in the path.
The parcel lay on the table where the stranger had put it. She looked
at it, and looked at it, and then at the clock. It was a quarter to
five. Again the broken, dreamy voice muttered: "It must go,--it must
go." A sudden, generous impulse seized her.
"I'll take it myself!" she cried. "Then it will be sure to be in time.
And I can come back when papa does."
Poor child, so sure still that papa must come!
It lacked less than three-quarters of an hour to low water. At that
state of the tide the causeway was usually pretty bare; but, as she
descended the hill, Eyebright, even in the darkness, could see that it
was not nearly bare now. She could hear the swish of the water on the
pebbles, and, by the light of her lantern, caught sight of more than
one long wave sweeping almost up to the crest of the ridge. She would
not wait, however, but set bravely forward. The water must be shallow,
she knew, and fast growing more so, and she dared not delay; for the
walk down the shore, in the wind, was sure to be a long one, "I
mustn't miss the stage," she kept saying, to encourage herself, and
struck in, feeling the way with the point of her umbrella, and holding
the lantern low, so as to see where she stepped. The water was only
two or three inches deep,--less than that in some places; but every
few minutes a wave would rush across and bury her feet above the
ankles. At such times, the sand would seem to give way and let her
down, and a sense of sinking and being carried off would seize upon
her and take away all her strength. She dared not move at these
moments, but stood still, dug her umbrella into the sand, and waited
till the water ran back.
As she got farther from the island, a new danger assailed her. It was
the wind, of which she now felt the full force. It bent and swayed her
about till she felt like a plaything in its grasp. Once it caught her
skirts and blew her over toward the deeper water. This was the most
dangerous moment of all; but she struggled back, and the gust relaxed
its grasp. More than once the fury of the blast was so great that she
dared not stand upright, but crouched on the wet sand, and made
herself as flat as possible, till it passed by. Oh, how she wished
herself back at home again. But going back was as dangerous as going
forward, and she kept on, firm in her purpose still, though drenched,
terrified, and half crying, till, little by little, wet sand instead
of water was under her feet, the waves sounded behind instead of
immediately beside her, and at last, stumbling over a clump of
blueberry bushes, she fell forward on her knees upon the other
shore,--a soggy, soaked, disagreeable shore enough, but a most welcome
sight just then.
So tired and spent was she, that for some minutes she lay under the
blueberry clump before she could gather strength to pull herself up
and go on. It was a very hard and painful walk, and the wind and the
darkness did all they could to keep her back; but the gallant little
heart did not fail, and, at last, just as the first dim dawn was
breaking, she gained the village and Mr. Downs's door.
Mrs. Downs had been up nearly all night, so great was her anxiety for
Captain Jim and Mr. Bright. She had just fallen asleep in her clothes,
when she was roused by a knock.
"That's them at last," she cried, jumping up, and hurrying to the
door.
Great was her surprise at the little soaked figure which met her eyes,
and greater still when she recognized Eyebright.
"Why, what in the name of--why!" was all she could say at first. Then,
regaining her wits, "Eyebright, my dear child, what has fetched you
out at this hour of day; and massy's sake, how did you come?"
"I came on the causeway. Oh, Mrs. Downs, is papa here?"
"Over the causeway!" cried Mrs. Downs. "Good land alive! What
possessed you to do such a fool hardy thing? I only wonder you were
not drowned outright."
"So do I. I was almost. But, Mrs. Downs, is papa here? Oh, do tell
me."
"No, they haven't got in yet," said Mrs. Downs, affecting an ease and
security which she did not feel. "The storm has delayed them, or,
what's more likely, they never started at all, and will be over
to-day. I guess that'll turn out to be the way of it. Jim's got too
good sense to put out in the teeth of a heavy squall like this has
been. An' he must ha' seen it was a-comin'. But, my dear, how wet you
are! And what did make you do such a crazy thing as to set out over
the causeway in such weather?"
"I couldn't help it," with a sob. "There's a poor man up at our house,
Mrs. Downs. He came in a boat, and was 'most drowned, and he's hurt
his arm dreadfully, and I'm afraid he's very sick beside; and he
wanted this parcel to go by the stage-driver. He said it must go, it
was something very important. So I brought it. The stage hasn't gone
yet, has it? I wanted so much to be in time."
"Well, I declare!" cried Mrs. Downs, furiously. "He must be a pretty
man to send you across the bar in the night and such a storm, to fetch
his mail. I'd like to throw it right straight in the water, that I
would, and serve him right. The idea!"
"Oh, he didn't mean that I should go,--he didn't know any thing about
it," protested Eyebright. "He asked me to send our hired man, and when
I told him we hadn't any hired man, he said then he would come
himself; but he was too sick. He said such queer things that I was
frightened. And then he went to sleep, and I came. Please tell me what
time it is; I must go to the office right away."
"Indeed you won't," said Mrs. Downs. "You'll come straight upstairs
and go to bed. I'll wake him up. He'll take it. There's plenty of
time. 'T isn't six yet, and the stage'll be late this morning, I'll
bet."
"Oh, I can't go to bed; I must go back to the island," Eyebright
pleaded. "The man who came is all alone there, and you can't think how
sick he is."
"Poor man or not, you'll go to bed," said Mrs. Downs, inexorably,
helping the tired child upstairs. "Me and Mr. Downs'll see to the poor
man. You ain't needed to carry the hull world on your back as long as
there's any grown folks left, you poor little mite. Go to bed and
sleep, and we'll look after your man."
Eyebright was too tired to resist.
"Oh, please ask Mr. Downs to take a receipt, the man was so particular
about that," was her only protest.
She fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, and knew
nothing more till after noon, when she opened her eyes, feeling for a
moment entirely bewildered as to where she was. Then, as it all came
back to her mind, she jumped up in a hurry. Her clothes, nicely dried,
lay on a chair beside the bed. She hurried them on, and ran
downstairs.
Nobody was visible except little Benny, who told her that his mother
had "gone along up to the island."
"She said you was to eat some breakfast," he added. "It's in the oven
a-keepin' warm. Shall I show you where it is?"
"Oh, never mind," cried Eyebright. "Never mind about breakfast, Benny.
I don't feel hungry."
"Ma said you _must_," declared Benny, opening the oven door and
disclosing a plate full of something very dry and black. "Oh, dear,
it's all got burned up."
"I'll drink some milk instead," said Eyebright. "Who's that coming up
the road, Benny?"
"It's Pa. I guess he's come back to get you," said Benny, running out
to meet him.
Mr. Downs had come to fetch Eyebright. He looked very grave, she
thought.
When she asked eagerly, had papa come yet, Mr. Downs shook his head.
Perhaps they had stayed over in Malachi, to avoid the storm, he said,
and would get in later. He helped Eyebright into the boat, and rowed
to the island without saying another word. The wind had abated, but
the sea was still very rough, and long lines of white surf were
breaking on the rocks and beaches.
The kitchen looked very queer and crowded, for Mr. Downs had brought
down a mattress from upstairs, and made a bed on the floor, upon which
Eyebright's "man" was now sleeping. His wet clothes had been changed
for some dry ones belonging to Mr. Bright, and, altogether, he looked
far less wild and forlorn than he had appeared to be the night before,
though he evidently was seriously ill. Mrs. Downs didn't think his arm
was broken; but she couldn't be sure, and "he" was sent up the shore
to fetch Dr. Treat, the "natural bone-setter." There was no regular
doctor at Scrapplehead.
The natural bone-setter pronounced the arm not broken, but badly cut
and bruised, and the shoulder dislocated. He tied it up with a
liniment of his own invention, but both fever and rheumatism followed,
and for some days the stranger tossed in pain and delirium. Mrs. Downs
stayed on the island to nurse him, and both she and Eyebright had
their hands full, which was well, for it helped them to endure the
suspense of the next week as nothing else could have done.
It was not for some time, even after that dreadful week, that they
gave up the hope that Captain Jim had waited over in Malachi and would
appear with the next fair wind. Then a sloop put in, bringing the
certain news that he and Mr. Bright had sailed about two hours before
the storm began. After that, the only chance--and that a vague
one--was, that the boat might have landed on the coast farther below,
or, blown out to sea, been picked up by some passing ship. Days passed
in this hope. Whenever Eyebright could be spared for a moment, she
always ran to the cliff on the sea-side, in the hope of seeing a ship
sailing in with papa on board, or news of him. She never spoke as if
there was any doubt that he would come in the end, and Mrs. Downs,
dreading to cloud her hopefulness, replied always as confidently as
she could, and tried to be hopeful, too.
So a fortnight passed over the busy, anxious household, and poor
Eyebright--though her words were still courageous--was losing heart,
and had begun to feel that a cold, dreadful wave of sorrow was poising
itself a little way off, and might presently break all over her, when,
one day, as she stood by the bedside of their patient,--much better
now and quite in his senses,--he looked at her with a sudden start of
recognition, and said:--
"Why, I know you. You are Mr. Bright's little girl,--are you not? You
are Eyebright! Why did I not recognize you before? Don't you recollect
me at all? Don't you know who I am?"
And, somehow, the words and the pleasant tone of voice, and the look
which accompanied them made him look different, all at once, to the
child, and natural, and Eyebright did know him.
It was Mr. Joyce!