There are times in the lives, probably, of all men, when the conscience
awakes and induces a spirit of self-accusation and repentance. Such a
time had arrived in the experience of Mr John Webster. He had obtained
a glimpse of himself in his true colours, and the sight had filled him
with dismay. He thought, as he sat in the old chair in the old office,
of the wasted life that was behind him, and the little of life that lay,
perchance, before. His right hand, from long habit, fumbled with the
coin in his trousers-pocket. Taking out a sovereign he laid it on the
desk, and gazed at it for some time in silence.
"For your sake," he murmured, "I have all but sold myself, body and
soul. For the love of you I have undermined my health, neglected my
child, ruined the fortunes of hundreds of men and women, and committed
m--"
He could not bring himself to say the word, but he could not help
thinking it, and the thought filled him with horror. The memory of that
dread hour when he expected every instant to be whelmed in the raging
sea rushed upon him vividly. He passed from that to the period of his
sickness, when he used to fancy he was struggling fiercely in the
seething brine with drowning men--men whom he had brought to that pass,
and who strove revengefully to drag him down along with them. He
clasped his hands over his eyes as if he thought to shut out those
dreadful memories, and groaned in spirit. Despair would have seized
upon the gold-lover at that time, had not his guardian angel risen
before his agonised mind. Annie's soft tones recurred to him. He
thought of the words she had spoken to him, the passages from God's Word
that she had read, and, for the first time in his long life, the sordid
man of business exclaimed, "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"
No other word escaped him, but when, after remaining motionless for a
long time, he removed his hands from his face, the subdued expression
that rested there might have led an observer to believe that the prayer
had been answered.
A knock at the office-door caused him to start and endeavour to resume
his ordinary professional expression and composure as he said, "Come
in."
Harry Boyns, however, had not waited for the answer. He was already in
the room, hat in hand.
"Now, sir," he said, eagerly, "are you ready to start? The train leaves
in half an hour, and we must not risk losing it _to-day_."
"Losing it!" said Mr Webster, as he rose and slowly put on his
greatcoat, assisted by Harry, "why, it just takes me five minutes to
walk to the station. How do you propose to spend the remaining
twenty-five?--But I say, Harry," he added with a peculiar smile, "how
uncommonly spruce you are to-day!"
"Not an unusual condition for a man to be in on his wedding-day,"
retorted Harry; "and I am sure that I can return you the compliment with
interest!"
This was true, for Mr Webster had "got himself up" that morning with
elaborate care. His morning coat still smelt of the brown paper in
which it had come home. His waistcoat was immaculately white. His
pearl-grey trousers were palpably new. His lavender kid-gloves were
painfully clean. His patent-leather boots were glitteringly black, and
his _tout ensemble_ such as to suggest the idea that a band-box was his
appropriate and native home.
"Don't be impatient, boy," he said, putting some books into an iron
safe, "I must attend to business first, you know."
"You have no right to attend to business at all, after making it over to
me, as you formally did yesterday," said Harry. "If you come here
again, sir, and meddle with my department, I shall be compelled to
dissolve partnership at once!"
"Please, sir," said Mr Grinder, appearing suddenly at the door, in a
costume which was remarkable for its splendour and the badness of its
fit--for Grinder's was a figure that no ordinary tailor could
understand, "Captain Daniel Boyns is at the door."
"Send him in," said Webster.
"He won't come, sir; he's afraid of being late for the train."
"Well, well," said Webster, with a laugh, "come along. Are you ready,
Grinder?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, lock the office-door, and don't forget to take out the key."
So saying, the old gentleman took Harry's arm, and, accompanied by
Grinder and Captain Boyns senior, hurried to the train; was whirled in
due course to Covelly, and shortly after found himself seated at a
wedding-breakfast, along with our hero Harry Boyns, and our heroine
Annie Webster, who was costumed as a bride, and looked inexpressibly
bewitching. Besides these there were present excellent Mrs Boyns--
happily no longer a widow!--and Grinder, whose susceptible nature
rendered it difficult for him to refrain from shedding tears; and a bevy
of bride's-maids, so beautiful and sweet that it seemed quite
preposterous to suppose that they could remain another day in the estate
of spinsterhood. Mr Joseph Dowler was also there, self-important as
ever, and ready for action at a moment's notice; besides a number of
friends of the bride and bridegroom, among whom was a pert young
gentleman, friend of Mr Dowler, and a Mr Crashington, friend of Mr
Webster,--an earnest, enthusiastic old gentleman, who held the opinion
that most things in the world were wrong, and who wondered incessantly
"why in the world people would not set to work at once to put them all
right!" Niven, the old nurse, was there too, of course all excitement
and tears, and so was Bob Gaston, whose appearance was powerfully
suggestive of the individual styled in the ballad, "the jolly young
waterman."
Now, it would take a whole volume, good reader, to give you the details
of all that was said and done by that wedding-party before that
breakfast was over. But it is not necessary that we should go into full
details. You know quite well, that when the health of the happy couple
was drunk, Annie blushed and looked down, and Harry tried to look at
ease, but failed to do so, in consequence of the speech which had cost
him such agonising thought the night before, which he had prepared with
such extreme care, which contained such an inconceivable amount of
sentimental nonsense, which he fortunately forgot every word of at the
critical moment of delivery, and, instead thereof, delivered a few
short, earnest, stammering sentences, which were full of bad grammar and
blunders, but which, nevertheless, admirably conveyed the true, manly
sentiments of his heart. You also know, doubtless, that the groom's-man
rose to propose the health of the bride's-maids, but you cannot be
supposed to know that Dowler rose at the same time, having been told by
his pert young friend that he was expected to perform that duty in
consequence of the groom's-man being "unaccustomed to public speaking!"
Dowler, although not easily put down, was, after some trouble, convinced
that he had made a mistake, and sat down without making an apology, and
with a mental resolve to strike in at the first favourable opportunity.
When these and various other toasts had been drunk and replied to, the
health of Mr Crashington, as a very old friend of the bride's family,
was proposed. Hereupon Crashington started to his feet. Dowler, who
was slightly deaf, and had only caught something about "old friend of
the family," also started up, and announced to the company that that was
the happiest moment of his life; an announcement which the company
received with an explosion of laughter so loud and long that the two
"old friends of the family" stood gazing in speechless amazement at the
company, and at each other for three or four minutes. At last silence
was obtained, and Dowler exclaimed, "Sir," to which Crashington replied,
"Sir," and several of the company cried, laughingly, "Sit down, Dowler."
It is certain that Dowler would not have obeyed the order, had not his
pert young friend caught him by the coat-tails and pulled him down with
such violence that he sat still astonished!
Then Crashington, ignoring him altogether, turned to Mr Webster, and
said vehemently--
"Sir, and Ladies and Gentlemen, if this is not the happiest moment of
_my_ life, it is at least the proudest. I am proud to be recognised as
an old friend of the family to which our beautiful bride belongs; proud
to see my dear Annie wedded to a man who, besides possessing many great
and good qualities of mind, has shown himself pre-eminently capable of
cherishing and protecting his wife, by the frequency and success with
which he has risked his own life to save the lives of others. But,
Ladies and Gentlemen, things more serious than proposing toasts and
paying compliments are before us to-day. I regard this as a lifeboat
wedding, if I may be allowed the expression. In early life the blooming
bride of to-day was saved by a lifeboat, and the brave man who steered
that boat, and dived into the sea to rescue the child, now sits on my
left hand. Again, years after, a lifeboat saved, not only the bride,
but her father and her father's ship; which last, although comparatively
insignificant, was, nevertheless, the means of preventing the fortunes
of the family from being utterly wrecked, and the man who steered the
boat on that occasion, as you all know, was the bridegroom? But--to
turn from the particular to the general question--I am sure, Ladies and
Gentlemen, that you will bear with me while I descant for a little on
the wrong that is done to society by the present state of our laws in
reference to the saving of life from shipwreck. Despite the activity of
our noble Lifeboat Institution; despite the efficiency of her splendid
boats, and the courage of those who man them; despite the vigour and
zeal of our coastguardmen, whose working of the rocket apparatus cannot
be too highly praised; despite all this, I say, hundreds of lives are
lost annually on our coasts which might be saved; and I feel assured
that if the British public will continue their earnest support to our
great National Institution, this death-roll must continue to be
diminished. My friends sometimes tell me that I am a visionary--that
many of my opinions are ridiculous. Is it ridiculous that I should
regard the annual loss of nearly 600 lives, and above two millions of
money, as being worthy of the serious attention of every friend of his
country?
"Excuse me if I refrain from inflicting on you my own opinions, and,
instead, quote those of a correspondent of the _Times_..."
Here the old gentleman hastily unfolded a newspaper, and read as
follows:--
"`Why should not such an amount of information be obtained as will not
only induce, but enable the Board of Trade immediately to frame some
plain, practical measure, the enforcement of which would tend to lighten
the appalling yearly death-list from shipwreck? The plan I would
suggest is that the Board of Trade should prepare a chart of the British
and Irish coasts, on which every lifeboat, rocket-apparatus, and mortar
station should be laid down and along with this a sort of guide-book,
with instructions giving every particular connected with them,--such as,
their distances from each other, whether they are stationary or
transportable, and the probable time that would elapse before one or the
other could be brought to work with a view to the rescue of the
shipwrecked crew. To illustrate my idea more plainly, I will take the
eastern shore of Mounts Bay in Cornwall. A vessel has been driven on
shore at Gunwalloe; the captain, having this chart, would find that
there is a lifeboat at Mullion, on the south, and a transporting
lifeboat at Porthleven, on the north of him, as well as a
rocket-apparatus at each place. Referring to his book of instructions,
he would find something like this:--"The Mullion lifeboat will drop down
on you from Mullion Island. The Porthleven boat will most likely be
launched from the beach opposite. All going well, one or other of the
boats will be alongside in less than an hour and a half. Look out and
get ready for the rocket lines in an hour after striking." The very
knowledge even that the means of saving life are at hand would enable
the captain to maintain a certain amount of discipline, while passengers
and crew alike would retain in a great measure their presence of mind,
and be prepared for every emergency. And again, as is often the case,
if a captain is compelled to run his ship ashore, with the view of
saving the lives intrusted to him, he would at once find from his chart
and book of instructions the safest and nearest point from which he
could obtain the desired assistance. It should be imperative (not
optional, as at present) for every vessel to carry a certain number of
lifebelts. The cork jacket recommended by the Royal National
Institution is by far the best yet introduced, not only on account of
its simplicity and cheapness, but because it affords, also, warmth and
protection to the body.'
"Now, Ladies and Gentlemen," continued Crashington earnestly, "here you
have the opinions of a man with whom I entirely agree, for, while much
is done by philanthropists, too little is done by Government to rescue
those who are in peril on our shores. In conclusion, let me thank you,
Ladies and Gentlemen, for drinking my health, and permit me also to
reiterate my hope that the happy pair who have this day been united may
long live to support the lifeboat cause, and never require the services
of a lifeboat."
Although Crashington's remarks were regarded by some of the
wedding-party as being somewhat out of place, Mr John Webster listened
to them with marked attention, and replied to them with deep feeling.
After commenting slightly on the kind manner in which he had referred to
the heroic deeds of his son-in-law, and expressing his belief and hope,
that, now that he had married Annie, and become a member of the firm of
Webster and Company, a life of usefulness and happiness lay before him,
he went on to say--
"I heartily sympathise with you, sir, in designating this a
lifeboat-wedding, because, under God, my daughter and I owe our lives to
the lifeboat. You are also right in stating that the lifeboat has been
the means of preserving my fortunes from being wrecked, because the
saving of the _Ocean Queen_ was a momentous turning-point in my affairs.
But a far higher and more blessed result has accrued to myself than the
saving of life or fortune, for these events have been made the means of
opening my eyes to the truth of God, and inducing me to accept the offer
of free forgiveness held out to me by that blessed Saviour to whom my
dear Annie has clung for many a year, while I was altogether immersed in
business. I feel myself justified, therefore, in saying, with deep
humility and gratitude, that _I_ have been saved by the lifeboat--body
and soul."