THE CHILDHOOD OF A HEROINE.
"Beautiful the children's faces,
Spite of all that mars and scars:
To my inmost heart appealing,
Calling forth love's tenderest feeling,
Steeping all my soul with tears.
"We are willing, we are ready:
We would learn if thou would teach:
We have hearts that yearn towards duty,
We have minds alive to beauty,
Souls that any heights can reach.
"We shall be what you will make us.
Make us wise, and make us good:
Make us strong for time of trial;
Teach us temperance, self-denial,
Patience, kindness, fortitude.
"Look into our childish faces!
See ye not our willing hearts?
Only love us, only lead us:
Only let us know you need us,
And we all will do our parts."--Mary Howitt
There is an old, old story, which always possesses a marvellous
fascination, both for the narrator and the listener. It has been told
by thousands of persons every year since, in the beautiful garden of
Eden, it was first told by him whom God made after his own likeness to
her who was to be the mother of all the nations of the earth. Almost
all the romance and poetry that have ever been written gather about
this old story; and yet it is the simplest thing in all the world to
tell; and may be compressed into the three words, I LOVE YOU! Unlike
many of the stories told in our world, this cannot be told without
affecting the lives of those by whom and to whom it is related. It is
more rousing than a trumpet call, more powerful than a royal edict. It
makes men tender and women brave. It gives to life zest and colour,
sweetness and grandeur; and those who hear it say no more that they are
desolate and lonely, but feel as if their spring-time of joy has come.
Moreover, it has the power of calling forth willing responses and
precious gifts; for she who hears it, frequently chooses as her answer
the pathetic words of Ruth, "Whither thou goest I will go; thy people
shall be my people, and thy God my God."
This old new story of love was told one day in the early part of the
present century by a young lighthouse-keeper, named William Darling.
It was not likely that Miss Horsley, to whom it was told, should
immediately give the wished-for reply, for she was a farmer's daughter,
living in a comfortable home, among safe fields, where the roar of the
sea could not reach her. The life of the wife of a lighthouse-keeper
must need be isolated and monotonous; and if she consented to take upon
herself the responsibility of such a post, she must be willing to
forego many of the pleasures to which she has been accustomed, to bear
long absences from the friends of her girlhood, and to be contented
with the society of her husband alone.
But such a prospect never yet frightened the loving heart of a devoted
woman, and Miss Horsley loved William Darling. Therefore she cared
very little where her home might be, if only she could share it with
him. To be his comforter and helpmeet, to cheer him when the days were
dark, and to enjoy his companionship, and brighten his home, were
pleasures enough to tempt her. So one bright afternoon, when William
was not needed in his lighthouse-tower, but was able to walk with her
about her father's meadows, or sit by her side at her father's hearth,
she told him that which he longed to hear.
It is a graver thing than it sometimes appears to the young people to
engage in such compacts. They have much to learn and unlearn in the
years that follow their first promises. They are not unfrequently
greatly mistaken in each other, and their after discoveries are not
always pleasing ones; and yet their entire lives are greatly moulded,
being hindered or helped to a very important extent, by the choice
which they make in their youth. Happily, for the peace of the
home-circle, and the well-being of the human family, the years often
mellow and ripen that which is good, and mould the character into
excellence. It was so in this case. When Miss Horsley became Mrs.
Darling, she found that her husband was an intelligent man, fond of
books, and having a thoughtful and cultivated mind. Moreover, he was a
Christian, and proved, by his life and conversation, that the old
truths that had been brought by Paulinus into Northumbria, had entered
info his heart. The young wife, though she might have left a happy
home near that wonderful old fortress at Bamborough, had chosen a good
man to love her in her new home, and had no cause to be afraid of the
future.
Still, it must have been a joy to them when children came to play about
the lonely house, and mingle their merry laughter with the sad sighing
sounds of the uncomplaining sea.
We may be sure that it did not enter into the mind of either of the
young couple to suppose, that a child of theirs would ever become so
celebrated that she would be talked of in all parts of the civilised
world; and that all classes of people would unite to do her honour. It
is well that they did not know it. There is a mystery about the future
of every child that is one of its greatest safe-guards. Those to whom
the care of training it for its coming life is committed, must exercise
faith in God and do their best, leaving results with him. This is what
the parents of Grace Darling did. And the sequel proves that though
they might not have been persons of wealth and culture, they had that
invaluable wisdom which enables parents rightly to train those
committed to their care.
It was in the year 1816 that our heroine was born. She was called
Grace Horsley Darling, the second name to perpetuate the maiden name of
her mother. It is said that William Darling was particularly rejoiced
when his little daughter came. Unlike many men, whose hearts are in
their business, and who are so entirely occupied by it that they have
neither time nor thought for their families, he had plenty of leisure,
which he delighted to employ for those whom he loved. When he was not
engaged in cleaning the lamps, or keeping them burning "from sunset to
sunrise," which is the first duty of a lighthouse-man, he liked to have
his children about him, that he might teach them all that he knew. And
when little Grace was added to the number, she, unconscious though she
was of it, found warm hearts and strong arms waiting her, and was
received with loving welcome.
Already that home among the rocks held sturdy brothers and sisters, who
were glad to make room for the little stranger, and who were quite
prepared to teach her the first lessons that she would have to learn.
These romping boys and girls, if they were less highly favoured in some
respects than other children, had at least some advantages over the
dwellers in towns. They had the rocks for a play-ground, and shells
and sea-weed for toys. They played games with the wind, which tossed
their hair about, and brought the colour to their faces. They braved
the sun, not caring that he took the delicacy from their skins and
bronzed them over. And as they leaped about among the rocks, and over
the weeds, their loud and merry laughter, mingled with the roar of the
sea, made the sweetest harmony of which the island could boast.
So, at least, thought two gentlemen who visited Longstone Rock, the
home of the Darlings, on the day after the birth of Grace. They came
in their little yacht to the island, having cruised about for health
and recreation, and landed on the Longstone, in order to explore it and
others of the Farne group. The children were having holiday, too, just
then, and as they scampered about, they attracted the attention of the
visitors.
"Whose children are you?"
"We are the lighthouse children; we belong to Mr. Darling. He lives in
the house yonder."
"You are shouting lustily enough for twice the number. Where is your
father?"
"We will fetch him."
The gentlemen looked in admiration at the rosy faces, bright eyes, and
strong limbs of the children; and when the father came out, they
expressed their pleasure.
"We do not often see such children, Darling. It shows that the life
among the rocks suits them. How old are they?"
William Darling was not loth to tell the gentlemen anything they wanted
to know of his children, for, with a father's pride, he naturally
thought none were like his.
"Would you like to hear them read?" he asked.
"Yes, very much."
The children were quite willing to show off their attainments. They
were not frightened. Surely rock children ought to be noted for their
fearlessness; and if they are not afraid of howling tempests, such as
cause their lighthouse-home to rock, they should not be timid before a
couple of gentlemen, even though one should be a Marquis.
They acquitted themselves so well that they received great praise.
"They have evidently been well taught, Mr. Darling; and yet there are
no schools on the island, to which you could send them. Who has been
their teacher?
"I am the teacher of my own children," said the lighthouse-man, a
little proudly.
"We teach them at home, I and my wife."
"You must be very good teachers, and I am glad that your scholars do
you so much credit. Really, that boy of yours is a fine fellow."
Thus encouraged, it is no wonder that Darling told them what had
happened in the night.
"I have a little girl a few hours old, would you like to see her?
"Yes, very much indeed, if it is not yet too early for the young lady
to begin receiving visitors."
"Oh no; if you will kindly come into the house, I will bring her to
you." The little bundle, so wonderfully perfect (as babies are), wrapt
closely in soft warm flannel, and looking an interesting, though a very
comical specimen of humanity, was then brought forward, and shown to
the admiring gaze of the gentlemen, who were profuse in their praises.
Men are almost always afraid to handle newly-born babies; they seem to
think they are among those articles that easily break, and are
labelled, "Glass, with care." But no sight is more beautiful than that
of a strong rough man touching the little things with the greatest
tenderness.
William Darling's pride in his newly-born daughter was very evident,
and when she had been safely taken back and laid in her mother's arms,
and the party went out to examine the island, and learn something of
its history and natural productions, they liked their intelligent guide
none the less because they had seen that he was a kind and affectionate
father.
Indeed, William Darling was known as a steady, intelligent, trustworthy
man. The post of the Longstone lighthouse-keeper was a very dangerous
one; and only such men as had proved their integrity, powers of
endurance, and fidelity to duty, were ever appointed to that position.
But he had given evidence that he was a man to be relied upon, who
would not shirk work, but faithfully perform it, and who might be
counted upon to be always at his post, whether others were likely to
know it or not. He was just such a man as we want Englishmen of to-day
to be--steadfast, patient, always alike in their performance of work,
always most careful, thorough, and conscientious. He had already
passed a time of probation, at a less important place, and then,
because he had shown himself diligent, honest, and true in it, he was
raised to the higher position of master of the Longstone lighthouse.
Let all young men who aspire to high positions, and are anxious to rise
above their fellows, be sure of this, that those who have the
apportioning of important and lucrative places of trust, judge in the
main by Christ's rule, "He that is faithful in that which is least is
faithful also in much."
Subsequent events proved that Grace Darling was worthy of such a
father. She was baptised at Bamborough Church, and received the name
of her maternal grandmother; and soon grew to be an interesting,
toddling little maiden, the joy of her father's heart. She was not the
youngest of the family, for there were twin-brothers born two years
after her, but it was said that Grace was the favourite always, and
that her winsome ways, and tractable and affectionate spirit, endeared
her greatly to her parents.
The Farne Isles would seem to have made rather a desolate home for the
girlhood of a romantic maiden.
Speaking of the time when St. Cuthbert dwelt there, Raine, in his
"History of Durham," says:--"Farne certainly afforded an excellent
place for retirement and meditation. Here the prayer or repose of the
hermit would be interrupted by the screaming of the water-fowl, or the
roaring of the winds or waves--not unfrequently, perhaps, would be
heard the thrilling cry of distress from a ship breaking to pieces on
the iron shore of the island, but this would more entirely win the
recluse from the world, by teaching him a practical lesson on the
vanity of man and his operations, when compared with the mighty works
of the Being who 'rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm.'"
Another writer says of it--"Looking at the situation and aspects of the
Farne Islands, of which Longstone is one, we cannot but be struck with
their extreme dreariness. Not a tree nor a bush, hardly a blade of
grass, is to be seen. The islands are twenty-five in number, many of
them with a sheer frontage to the sea of from six to eight hundred
feet. They mostly lie north and south, parallel with each other; a few
of the smaller ones extend to the north of the larger, thus rendering
the navigation in their neighbourhood still more dangerous. The sea
rushes at the rate of six or eight miles an hour through the channel
between the smaller islands; and previous to the erection of a
lighthouse there, many distressing shipwrecks occurred."
Howitt, in speaking of the Longstone Island, says--"It was like the
rest of these desolate isles, all of dark whinstone, cracked in every
direction, and worn with the action of winds, waves, and tempests,
since the world began. On the greatest part of it there was not a
blade of grass, nor a grain of earth, but bare and iron-like stones,
crusted round the coast, as far as high-water mark, with limpit, and
still smaller shells. We ascended wrinkled hills of black stone, and
descended into worn and dismal dells of the same--into some of which,
where the tide got entrance, it came pouring and roaring in raging
whiteness, and churning the loose fragments of the whinstone into round
pebbles, and piled them up into deep crevices with sea-weeds, like
great round ropes and heaps of fucus. Over our heads screamed hundreds
of birds, the gull mingling his laughter most wildly."
But the wild scream of the sea-fowl, and the thunder of the surf, were
such common things to the little Darlings that they took but small
notice of them. Grace, indeed, having them mingled with her mother's
cradle-song, would scarcely like to have missed the familiar sounds,
since they had lulled her to sleep at night, and awoke her in the dawn.
When it was time for her to begin her education, her father found the
task of teaching her an easy and a pleasant one; for Grace was quick
and intelligent. Moreover, she had that first and highest
qualification of a good scholar--the love of learning. It was no
difficulty to get her to bend all her powers to the pursuit of
knowledge, for she could not help doing so, the thoroughness that she
had inherited from her father urging her to overcome obstacles, and to
make herself perfect wherever perfection was within her reach.
She soon learned to read, and then a new world opened to her. Little
it matters to the reader whether he sits on the rock where the
sea-waves wash up to his feet, or reclines upon a velvet coach, with
all the appurtenances of luxury round about him. He lives in other
places and other times. He fights in the battles that have long ago
been ended. He climbs mountains that his eyes have never seen. He
sails over seas where the lights flash, and the scents of fragrant
islands come sweetly over him. In fact, if he be a passionate and
imaginative reader, he loses his life in that of his author, and is
filled with exquisite pleasure. Such a reader was Grace Darling. She
was not able to procure many books, for their library, though good, was
small, but those which were in her power she "read, marked, learned,
and inwardly digested." She had a retentive memory, and there is no
doubt that to read as she did, was really of more advantage to her than
it would have been had she subscribed to Mudie, and seen all the new
novels of the day. She was fond of romance, being romantic herself;
and the legends and traditions of heroic Northumberland were most dear
to her heart. She read and re-read those border ballads in which all
the world delights, feeling that the prowess described in them, the
sufferings endured, the struggles made, and the victories won, were
those of her own people. Had not Bamborough Castle, and its brave
inhabitants, witnessed it all, and could she not see the noble fortress
from her own bedroom window? A people with so much historic lore, with
such a wonderful past, full of glorious deeds and marvellous sorrows,
must needs have some of the heroic spirit in them; and as it was born
in Grace Darling, and fostered by the very leisure and solitariness of
her girlhood, we are not surprised that it flashed forth afterward, in
a deed as courageous as, and much more noble than, many war exploits of
her forefathers.
But dearly as she loved these old romances, Grace Darling was not
allowed, even as a girl, to let them fill her life. If the words were
not known to her, which have nerved many a girl to practical
usefulness, their spirit was--
"Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever,
Do noble deeds, not dream them all day long."
And she soon learned to take her share in the household duties and
difficulties. Her brothers were sent to the mainland to finish their
education, and to prepare for the honourable career of hard work that
was before them. But Grace could not be spared. She was so dear to
her father, and so necessary to her mother, that they decided that
whoever left the lighthouse-home Grace must not. She was quite willing
to remain, and was contented with her lot. She followed her father's
example, by doing what she could both well and cheerily. She had a
good voice, and she often sang at her work, so that her joy
communicated itself to others. Still it was a happy time for her when
the work of the day was done, and she was able to sit down by the
fireside, and read from her favourite books, while her mother worked.
One year, however, Grace had a holiday. It was beautiful weather, in
the end of the summer; and some of her friends sent to tell her how
lovely the corn-fields looked, and how sweet the air was on the
mainland around Bamborough. And they said more than that. All hands
were wanted to help with the ingathering; and as Grace was known to be
a young person who had strong arms, and was not afraid to use them, if
she could come and lend her assistance, she would receive a hearty
welcome.
Grace much wished to go, so she proceeded to endeavour to gain the
consent of her parents.
"Father, can you spare me for a holiday?"
"Why do you want a holiday, Grace?"
"The harvest is ready to be got in, and they have sent to me to go and
help."
"But that would not be a holiday, my child. Harvesting is very hard
work."
"It would be like a holiday to me, father. I should like to go very
much. I have not seen a corn-field all the summer, and I know the
country must be looking very beautiful now. I long to go. Do let me,
if you can possibly spare me."
"Well; we must not be selfish, Grace. You can go if you like, only
come back as soon as you can."
So Grace had her holiday that summer, nor did she return until she had
won golden opinions from the friends with whom she stayed, and among
whom she worked.
One old woman especially, who felt an affection for the girl, and who,
while they worked together, often received kindness and consideration
from her, esteemed so highly her young companion of the harvest-field,
that she always remembered her with fondness, and when, afterward, she
heard that she had saved the lives of some people, and made her name
honoured and beloved in all parts of the land, she declared that she
was not surprised, for she had known Grace Darling herself.
The girl was not allowed to remain long away, for she was wanted at
home. By this time most of the members of the family were out earning
their own living; and the house was quiet and desolate without Grace.
When the harvest was over, therefore, and the days were growing short
and dark, she returned with many a tale to tell of what she had seen
and heard on the mainland, and we may be sure that, on some evenings
during the next winter, her reminiscences kept the household from being
dull.
Grace was now growing up into womanhood. William Howitt, who saw her
afterward, thus describes her:--"She had the sweetest smile I have ever
seen in a person of her station and appearance. You perceive that she
is a thoroughly good creature, and that under her modest exterior lies
a spirit of the most exalted devotion--so entire, that daring is not so
much a quality of her nature, as that of the most perfect sympathy with
suffering or endangered humanity, swallowing up and annihilating
everything like fear or self-consideration."
It will be seen from this description of our heroine, that she was, in
a word, a good girl. She was dutiful and loving to her parents, and
kindly to all creatures. She could not see suffering without trying to
alleviate it; nor could she stay to consider whether or not she was
putting her own life in danger when others needed her assistance. From
all that we know of this northern maiden, we conclude that Mr. Howitt
was right. It was scarcely daring that prompted the heroic action that
made her famous, so much as a habit of feeling the most constant and
perfect sympathy with suffering.
It is not difficult to picture this girl on the rugged Farne Rocks,
casting her quiet, observant eyes over the wide sea, and praying for
the safety of those who were tossing about in ships. We can imagine
her, in her own mind, making heroes out of very common men, and rather
exaggerating than under-rating the sorrows of humanity. We are sure
that no storm-distressed bird ever came to the window of the
lighthouse-home for shelter and was denied by Grace, and no shipwrecked
sailor, clinging for life to the rocks, would be afraid of other than
most merciful treatment from the hands of such a woman. And God be
thanked that there are hundreds of thousands like her, not only along
our shores, but in every part of our land--women who fear God and love
the right, and delight in nothing so much as self-abnegation, if only
they can serve those who are needy or sad.
Let the girls of England resolve to join their ranks. It is better to
be poor and noble, than rich and worthless--to be the daughter of a
lighthouse-keeper, and fill the life with good deeds of diligence and
faithfulness, than to be the daughter of an Earl, and of no real good
to anybody. But the life of consecration to God and His service, and
for His sake, to all around, is lived only by those who are thoughtful
and Christian. Let the young people thus find their joy and strength
in prayer, and in earnest resolve that their lives, even if quiet,
shall be good, and we will not fear for the future of our world.
"Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs
Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;
And o'er your sleep, bright shadows from the wings
Of spirits visiting but youth be spread;
Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,
Is woman's tenderness--how soon her woe!
"Her lot is on you--silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour;
And sunless riches, from affection's deep,
To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower!
And to make idols, and to find them clay,
And to bewail that worship--therefore pray!
"Her lot is on you, to be found untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,
With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be rain,
Meekly to bear with wrong, and cheer decay,
And oh! to love through all things--therefore pray
"And take the thought of this calm vesper time,
With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,
On through the dark days, fading from their prime,
As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.
Earth will forsake--oh! happy to have given
Th' unbroken heart's first tenderness to heaven!"--Mrs. Hemans