This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight.
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic.
Stand like harpers hoar with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced neighboring ocean,
Speaks and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
* * * * *
And thou too who so 'ere thou art
That readest this brief psalm
As one by one thy hopes depart
Be resolute and calm.
Oh fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know ere long,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
As the shipwrecked young lady lay on the cold, rough beach, amid the
dead bodies, with the hoarse roar of the ocean sounding in her ears, and
the heavy, wet clouds of mist clinging about her, indifferent to life or
death, the recollection of the ship being pursued by buccaneers and
driven far out of her course came back to her mind, and then being
caught in a hurricane and seeing another vessel battling with the
tempest, and both ships furiously hurried on toward a wild, rocky coast,
the vessels crashing on shore and rebounding again, and some one
lifting her into a boat, and then she remembered no more. While these
recollections were passing through her brain, she raised herself upon
her elbow and looked around. Death everywhere, the ocean with its
floating corpses and wreckage lay before her. On either hand a long
broken beach, with its gloomy rocks and its scattered dead. A scene
which at any other time in her life would have struck her with awe, she
now gazed at quietly, and questioned "Why am I the only one left, oh, if
I too could die." Turning to look behind her through the mist, she
observed that the land was hilly, and in some places rose to a
considerable height. The whole surface as far as she could make out was
covered by a thick growth of lofty pines, mingled with spruce and other
sorts of fir, among which sprung up an entanglement of various kinds of
undergrowth, all these trees and shrubs growing nearly down to the sea
and forming so thick a forest, that it was impossible for sight to
penetrate it further than a few yards. There was no building of any kind
to be seen, no sign of human habitation of either savage or civilized
life. The great abundance of pine trees, and the general appearance of
the forest, which strongly resembled the forests of Norway, instantly
called up the question in Anna Vyvyan's mind, can it be possible that
destiny has sent me back to the land of my mother's grave?
A low wail like the cry of a young child in distress, caused the only
hearer to start to her feet, and looking on the other side of a broken
rock close by, she saw stretched out white and still, a young lady by
the side of whom, in a half-standing position, and bending over her was
a beautiful golden-haired little girl of between two and three years. In
another instant Anna was also bending over the young mother, to whom she
found the child was tied by a crimson silk sash such as were worn by
military officers. The tearful little one turned up her sweet face,
without any apparent fear, but with a great deal of sorrow in it, and
said, in her baby language,
"Mama dorn seep," then she pressed her lips upon the cold white cheek,
and kissed it and stroked and patted the also beautiful mother, who lay
so mute and pallid and unconscious of all her little one's gentle love.
Again and again came the cry from the poor forlorn little creature, "Det
up, mama, det up, mama;" but the dear mamma was beyond the reach of the
sweet baby voice. Anna's first thought was to see if any sign of life
remained in the slender form before her, but she could find no pulse,
and the face and hands were as cold, as the rocks upon which she was
lying. Miss Vyvyan unfastened the child, and drew away the long sash,
which had tied her to her mother's waist. As she did so, she observed
the delicately formed features, which were so regular and proportionate
that they might have been chiseled in marble, to represent some Greek
goddess. She saw the masses of soft brown hair, and the long dark
eyelashes, which dropped upon the cheek like silken fringe. She
observed, too, the simple traveling habit, made of the finest material,
but perfectly free from any attempt at vulgar ornament. And as she took
the child into her arms, and looked down once more on the sweet white
face, which lay on the stones at her feet, and noted the refinement in
everything about her, she knew that the little one's mother came of
gentle blood. The child was willing to go to Anna, but not willing to be
removed out of sight of its mother. So Miss Vyvyan sat down where they
were with the little one in her lap, and shook out the silk sash with
the idea of wrapping it round the shivering child, but that, too, was
wet, every thing in the shape of clothing was wet, both on Anna and the
child. All that she could do for the moment to comfort the tiny thing,
was to fold it in her arms, and try by that means to keep it from
perishing with cold. It had probably been shielded by some heavy woolen
wrap, which was torn off by the breakers when they were cast on shore,
for as Anna shook out the silk sash, there fell from it a strip of thick
woolen fringe, which had the appearance of having belonged to a shawl.
But now the child was bareheaded, and wore a little white dress of
exceedingly fine embroidery, which also spoke of the mother's love, for
none but loving hands ever wrought work so dainty as that. Round its
neck was clasped a small gold chain of minute links of very fine
workmanship. So thin and delicately was it made, that it resembled a
thread of golden silk. Anna examined it carefully to see if she could
find any letter or name upon it, but none was there, then she spoke to
the child as it lay nestling its pretty head upon her arm, and still
talking to its mother, and said,
"Tell me, dear little one, what is your name?"
The child looked up, but evidently could not understand the meaning of
her words.
Anna tried again by laying one of her fingers on the child's shoulder
and saying, "Who's dat?"
"Mama's baby," answered the little one in an instant.
"Will Mama's baby tell me where papa is?"
"Dorn seep," replied the child.
"Tell me where dorn seep, sweet child."
"Down dare," answered she, pointing to a mass of human bodies which were
thrown together on the beach some distance below them, and which were
constantly kept in motion by the incoming tide.
Anna's desire to die no longer existed; as she held the beautiful little
creature to her heart and rocked it, all her thoughts concentrated in
the one question, what could she do to aid this sweet helpless one. The
ideas rushed through her mind with the rapidity that they come to us in
fever. It must have warmth and food, or it will perish. I cannot let it
die, it is so beautiful, and I love it. I must act this moment. Rising
with the child in her arms, she hastened along as rapidly as she could
among the wreckage, scrambling between bales and chests of all kinds, in
the hope of finding something, anything; she could not surmise what it
might be, but some sustenance must be had for the child. Although
hundreds of cases and bales were strewed about, they were all so
securely corded and nailed up, that it was impossible to procure
anything from them.
At last, far in on the land, she came to a large pile of freight, which
had struck so violently, that the greater number of the cases and bales,
had broken in two, or had burst open. The first object that met her
sight, was a broken chest full of table covers of rich cloth, evidently
the product of India and Persia, as the silk embroidered borders in
oriental needlework showed; happily everything was thrown in so far that
it was dry.
Taking one of the table covers, she wrapped it round the child, who in
the midst of its discomfort showed its gentle nature by saying,
"Pitty sing, pitty sing," and holding up its sweet face to kiss Anna.
"Yes, mama's baby shall have more pretty things soon," said Miss Vyvyan.
"Dinner," cried the child, "bing dinner, Dinah bing dinner."
"Yes, darling, we must find dinner for mama's baby."
"Dinah bing dinner?" again repeated the poor, hungry little thing, with
an expressive look of interrogation.
"Yes, dear, yes;" folding the soft woolen cover still more closely round
the child, Anna placed her in a sheltered spot. "Stay there a moment,
baby, while I bring dinner."
From the marks on the outside of the boxes it was plain that they had
come from some Mediterranean port, and contained fruits and other
edibles. With a heavy stone, Anna soon broke open a small box of candied
fruit, selecting some, she gave it to the half-starved child. One of the
baby hands held her fruit, the other one was instantly stretched out
toward the box.
"Mama, tandy, too," she cried.
"Mama is asleep, darling, she does not want candy."
"Oh mama, tandy, too," she repeated, with an earnestness that sent a
thrill through Anna's heart.
"Yes; mama's baby shall take some if she wishes to."
The child took a piece of the fruit, "Doe now," she said.
"Go where, baby?"
"Mama," answered the child, struggling among the folds of her wrap, to
get on to her feet and pointing in the direction of its mother. A nature
so full of love, shall not be pained or thwarted by me, mused Anna, as
she carried back the child who had already become precious to her. When
they reached the place where the cold white mother was lying, and Anna
was in the act of putting the little one on the ground as it desired, an
unusually large wave broke so close by, that the spray and foam dashed
against, and flowed over the sweet pale face. The child uttered a sharp
cry of distress, and disengaging itself from Anna's arms and darting to
its mother, threw itself down by her side, and, clasping her neck with
its tiny arms, covered with kisses the face that was so dear. The next
wave will carry the mother away, Anna thought. I cannot let the child
witness such a sight, it would break her loving little heart, and she
also felt that she, herself, could not give up to the all-devouring
ocean, the object of so much affection in the babe. Placing the little
one in safety, she took up the cold, white burden in her arms, and
carried it far back from the reach of the sea, putting it down on the
moss, at the root of a large pine. As it lay there so lone and sad and
beautiful, with the child standing by it, for the little soul had
followed with its swiftest steps, Anna bent over it and kissed the face.
Poor dear, she murmured in a whisper, as long as I exist, my love and my
life shall be devoted to your child. She bent again and kissed the cold
lips. Could it be possible that breath came lightly through them? It
was,--it was,--deeper and deeper drawn and more regular each time.
Merciful God, she lives, and the tears fell fast from eyes that had long
been dry with grief. A faint sigh, and the partial parting of the long
silken eyelashes, told that life was coming back still more and more. In
a few moments she feebly uttered, "My child."
"Your child is safe and with you," replied Anna, lifting the little one
closer to its mother's side.
"Dudley," she faltered.
"He has not come yet," said Anna, surmising for whom she was inquiring,
and pitying in her inmost soul the widowed heart that must so soon learn
to live without him.
When the poor mother opened her eyes, the scene of horror was more than
her delicate organization could endure, and a violent, fit of trembling
came upon her.
"Tote on," said the anxious, sensitive child.
The suggestion was acted upon, Anna ran to the pile of dry wreckage, and
soon returned, with an armful of table covers and a box.
"Tote on mama," cried the child hurriedly, as if it felt there was no
time to be lost.
"Yes, darling, a coat for mama," said Anna, improvising a pillow with
one, and wrapping several other warm covers about the shivering mother.
"Take this," said she, holding to her lips some cordial which she had
poured into a mussel shell, "It is buanaba, a very delicate restorative
made in Turkey, pray try to take it, it will keep you from shivering
so."
As we have already said, Anna possessed great vital energy, and with her
to think was to act. She saw that the delicate, slender young mother and
the child must both die, unless she could find some means of getting
them warm. There was an abundance of dead wood close by, if she could
only start the first spark of fire. Pushing her way a few yards into the
forest, she brought out a quantity of dead grass and resinous wood, and
continued striking two stones together until at last the spark came, and
a good fire soon blazed high, and sent out its glow toward the pine tree
beneath which they were lying. Some large stones were soon heated in the
hot embers, and rolled to the feet of the mother. Covering was brought
and held to the fire, and the lowly bed made so warm that the exhausted
mother and her little one fell into a natural and refreshing sleep. In
the meantime Anna was everywhere scrambling and climbing among the
freight, dragging what she could not carry, searching for anything that
might be appropriated as a covering against the cold, and looking after
the cases of eatables with a thought for the poor, starving ones under
the pine tree. It was late in the afternoon when the sleepers awoke. The
mist had in a great measure cleared away, and the sunlight was
straggling through the remaining clouds. A good fire was burning, and a
tin of water was boiling beside it. A long box cover, supported by
stones at each end, formed a table, other box lids made seats, and the
table was spread with food that would at least sustain life. Heaped up
under another pine tree, was a sufficient supply of both food and
covering, to provide for the ladies and child for some time to come.
There was no lack of tins of all shapes, so they were made use of to
cook in, and for holding food. As soon as the child was thoroughly
awake, it sat up in its bed, showing its sweet fair face, and smiling
with happiness at finding its mother awake by its side. Taking up a cup
of food made from sea moss and sweetened with the candied fruit, Anna
attempted to feed the child by means of a shell, but it turned its face
away, and said in tones full of distress, "Mama too, Dinah bing dinner."
When Anna took hot coffee from the fire and propped up the exhausted
mother and induced her to drink it, everything went well with the child.
It was perfectly satisfied, and took its own food, and laughed and
played with the pebbles and shells that were brought to it.
"I have tried often, very often to speak to you," said the mother,
addressing Anna for the first time; "I was conscious, but I could not
speak; I was too weak I suppose, and now my voice has come back to me, I
have no words, I do not know what I can say to you."
"Will you let me suggest what you shall say," asked Anna? "It is this;
say what I can do that would most help you and your lovely child; and
now try to rest while I think how you can be sheltered from the night
air, for night will be upon us in the course of two hours at furthest."
The fog and mist had now completely disappeared, and given way to the
sun, which, however, was nearing the horizon, and the trees cast long
shadows on the grass.
While the mother and child had been asleep in the afternoon, Anna had
built up a few broken boards and stones between them and the sea, that
they might not be pained on their first awaking by seeing the terrible
sight which was so near.
"I am better," said the mother. "I feel stronger. I cannot endure to see
you doing all. I want to help you. I do not need more rest now. But tell
me first, pray tell me the truth, whatever it may be. Is there any one
left alive here besides ourselves. Have you seen an officer in a
colonel's uniform? My husband was in the service of King James, he wore
the royal uniform, when he tied my child to my waist with his sash, and
lifted me into a boat. I cannot remember any more. I think I must have
been stunned. How long have we been here? I seem to have lost some of
the time, but I felt you take away my child, and I heard you speak
tenderly to it. Have we been here too long for my husband to be living?
Tell me, can it be possible that I may find him?"
Anna could not add to her anguish by repeating what the child had said
when questioned about its father, for she believed it had spoken truly
when it answered,
"Dorn seep, down dare."
"I do not think we have been here longer than to-day," she replied. "I
do not know exactly. It was early in the morning when our ship struck
the rocks, but it was broad daylight when I came to my senses on the
shore. The tide was coming in, it was very high, and now it must have
been going out for nearly four hours, so I think we must have been cast
on shore this morning."
"Then my husband may still be alive, I must seek him." With those words,
she rose to her feet, but nearly fainted with the effort.
"Your child is sleeping," said Anna. "Let me support you, if you will
attempt to walk. Tell me your husband's name, that I may call it aloud;
these rocks are very rugged and I can send my voice into places among
them, that it would be impossible to go into."
"Colonel Carleton," she replied.
"Lean on me, Mrs. Carleton. Shall we go down this way?"
The tide had carried out the mass of floating bodies to which the child
had pointed at noon, but numbers of others still remained in all
directions. Tottering and staggering among the dead, Mrs. Carleton
continued her search, until she had looked into every ghastly face that
lay there.
"Now will you call aloud for me," she said, "for I cannot, my strength
is gone."
Anna called, but the only sound that came back was the echo of her own
voice from the forest and the heavy rolling of the sea. They returned in
silence to the child, who was still asleep. The sun had nearly set, when
all at once a rich, bright glow from the west rose behind the forest and
flooded every object with golden light. Looking out to sea eastward,
they observed only a few miles away many islands, some of them covered
with forests down to the water's edge.
"Where can we be," they both ejaculated at the same time. There was no
habitation visible on any of them, nor any smoke rising from them.
"These trees remind me of Norway," said Anna. "Do you think we can be in
Norway?"
"I am unable to say," replied Mrs. Carleton, "but I am sure we are in a
northern clime by the growth both of trees and plants."
The ladies seated themselves by the sleeping child, trying to think what
it was best for them to do. There was no time for delay; it would soon
be dark, and the little group of three appeared to be the only living
human beings in the place, wherever that place might be. While they were
talking together, they had turned their backs to the sea and were
looking toward the sunset, and watching the varied rays of light which
here and there penetrated through the forest on the hill before them.
"I did not hear your name, Mrs. Carleton, on board the ship I sailed in
from England," said Anna.
"I did not come from England," she answered. "My parents settled in the
colony of Virginia long ago. I was born there, that is my home. My
husband as well as myself, had many relatives in England, and we were
going to visit them, and intended to have our child baptized there, that
its name might be registered among those of its forefathers. Sometime
after we sailed, we fell in with buccaneers; but our ship, the Sir
Walter Raleigh, was a fast sailor, and we got away from them; yet I was
told when the hurricane came on, that they were the cause of our being
out of our course, hence our calamity."
"We met the same destiny," said Anna, and then she told in a few words
whence she had sailed, and that her name was Vyvyan.
The hill in front of the ladies, rose too high for them to see the
actual setting of the sun, but the rich glow of gold and crimson now lit
up the whole forest, and defined the outline of the rising ground.
"What is that I see?" said Mrs. Carleton, shading her eyes with her
hands.
"'Tall pines' I think," answered Anna.
"No, it is a tower; look, Miss Vyvyan, in that direction, see on the
hill; it is a stone tower; look, now the light has changed; there are
windows, many of them, see on the right the building extends a great
way, it is very large."
Anna looked through the wood where Mrs. Carleton directed, and saw
distinctly in the rosy light of the sunset, an immense stone building,
with a massive tower capable of containing many rooms, and rising to the
height of two hundred feet. With the exception of the tower, the
building was very irregular, and gave the impression of having been
erected at different periods. It combined the characteristics of a
feudal castle and a fortress. It was old and gray, but by no means a
ruin, yet it had a gloomy and forbidding appearance. The ladies looked
at each other and hesitated, they did not speak for a few moments; the
same idea possessed the mind of each. They thought that good people
would not live in such a place, amid such wild surroundings, but neither
one of them would unnerve the other by saying so, for they knew in their
present situation they required all the courage that they could command,
in order that they might be ready to meet their uncertain fate.
While they continued looking almost spellbound the child awoke, and
observing their earnest gaze, added her own scrutiny to theirs. She bent
her little golden head forward and saw some of the windows upon which
the reflection of light glinted.
"Home," she exclaimed, smiling with childish glee, "doe home," taking
hold of her mother's dress to draw her in the direction of the building,
which was about half-way up the hill, and only a few hundred yards from
where they now stood.