"PREVENTION BETTER THAN CURE."
"What might be done, if men were wise,
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,
Would they unite
In love and right,
And cease their scorn of one another!
"Oppression's heart might be imbued
With kindling drops of loving kindness,
And knowledge pour,
From shore to shore,
Light on the eyes of mental blindness.
"All slavery, warfare, lies and wrongs,
All vice and crime, might die together;
And wine and corn
To each man born
Be free, as warmth in summer weather."--C. Mackay.
To attend to one's own business, and leave other people's alone, is a
maxim that should perhaps generally be obeyed; but not always. It
happens sometimes that, wrapping the cloak of selfishness about us, we
not only lose an opportunity of doing good, and so forfeit our right to
the joy that such an action always brings, but we are also the indirect
means of bringing sorrow upon our fellow creatures. Let not that man
who sees another going to destruction, either through ignorance, or
weakly yielding to temptation, say calmly--"It is no business of mine
to interfere." It is everybody's business to care for his brother, and
by all possible means help him. It is true that he who thus acts will
often find that the world is against him. He will meet with scorn and
abuse where he expected thanks; and even those who trust him most may
not understand him, or approve of his actions. But his duty is,
nevertheless, plain--he is to be a helper of mankind. So at least
thought the lighthouse-keeper, one day when his philanthropy was put to
the test.
Grace was looking from the window of their sitting-room across the sea,
when she saw a sight that interested her. All sorts of vessels came
within sight of the Farne Islands; but it was very seldom indeed that
she saw such a one as that on which her eyes delighted to gaze on this
occasion. She thought, indeed, that she had never seen so stately a
ship sailing on the waters, with sails all spread, and graceful motion,
and a look of wealth about every part of her.
"Father, see!" she cried. "Is not this East Indiaman a magnificent
ship? She sails along like a swan."
Mr. Darling looked, but just for a moment.
"Oh, what can they be thinking about!" he cried, in great
consternation. "That splendid vessel, Grace, is on the point of
destruction. In an hour's time there will not be water in the channel
to float her, and she will be stranded on the rocks."
He was right. Unless something could be done, and that quickly, the
ship was doomed; for she lay in a narrow channel which passes between
the islands, and which is covered with rocks, and has no great depth of
water.
Mr. Darling did not lose a moment, but hurried down to the beach,
sprang into his boat, and was soon sailing over the sea on his errand
of mercy. As he rowed towards the ship, he could not but admire her
noble build and stately bearing. "She is riding in proud security upon
the waves," he said to himself, "but, in a few minutes, she might be a
wreck, lying helplessly among the flinty rocks."
There was no sign of these rocks now, however, for they were covered by
the water; and when he neared the ship, it was plain to see that all
the crew were comfortable and happy, believing that things were right.
As soon as the lighthouse-keeper was observed, a rope was thrown to
him, with which he secured his boat, and then sprang upon deck.
"Can I speak to the captain?"
"No; he is engaged."
"But it is something of importance that I wish to communicate."
"You must wait, then, for he will not listen to you at present."
Darling waited what seemed to him a very weary time before he could get
the attention of the captain. At length the gentleman motioned to him
to come forward.
"Well?"
Darling lifted his hat, and spoke to the captain most respectfully.
"Will you excuse me, sir. You do not, perhaps, know the dangerous
character of this coast as well as I do; but your magnificent vessel is
in imminent peril."
"What do you mean?"
"There will not be water in another half-hour to float her. This is a
rocky channel, and the ship will be wrecked, unless you get her out
into the open sea while you have time."
The colour came into the captain's face, and an angry light into his
eyes, and he immediately began pouring upon the lighthouse-keeper a
volley of abuse.
"Be off, out of this ship at once, or I will have you thrown overboard!
Why do you come here, telling such lies for the sake of a reward? I
will report you to the authorities, my man, and make you wish you had
minded your own business. Get away, I tell you, or it will be the
worse for you."
For a moment, Darling was tempted to do as the captain told him; but
the man's love of duty and conscientiousness was strong within him. He
knew that the vessel, worth probably a hundred thousand pounds, would
certainly go to destruction if left to pursue its course, and how could
he, as a humane and honest man, allow that to occur because a captain
had abused him?
He waited until the wrath of the captain had spent itself, and then,
lifting his honest eyes to his face, he said--"Indeed, sir, you have
mistaken your man; but I do not ask you to act on my word alone. If
you examine the chart, or take soundings, I am sure you will be
convinced. I hope you will be so kind as to do so, if only to prove to
yourself that I am speaking the truth."
It was so reasonable, and the man seemed so much in earnest, that the
captain could not well refuse to accede to this request, so he gave the
order.
Darling, looking on, saw a change come over his face. He came to the
lighthouse-keeper to apologise.
"I see that you were right," he said, "and beg your pardon for my
rudeness. There is no time to lose; and as you are so well acquainted
with the shore, will you pilot us into safe water!"
"Certainly; I will do so with pleasure."
"Of course, you will be rewarded for your trouble."
Darling was glad to help in this emergency, and he had the great joy of
saving the ship and cargo. No man likes to see a valuable thing
destroyed, and it may safely be said that the lighthouse-keeper
experienced a most exquisite pleasure as he felt that he had been the
means of preventing a terrible catastrophe. It is well, however, that
'virtue is its own reward,' for he had very little beside.
When his work was done, he went to the captain again. "She is all
right now, sir, and there is no further danger, for the way is clear."
"Very good."
The captain then took from his pocket _half-a-crown_, and gave it as a
reward to the lighthouse-man for his solicitude and trouble!
One of the rules for the regulation of lighthouse-work is that the
keeper should record the particulars of all occurrences in a journal
which is provided for the purpose. Mr. Darling entered a full account
of the aid he had rendered to this vessel in his book; but it shows the
kindly character of the man that he did not say a word about the abuse,
or the meanness of the East Indiaman's captain.
William Darling was fitted to be the father of a heroine, for he longed
to do good for its own sake, and not for selfish reward. He minded his
own business well; but when he saw other people in danger, he could not
help wishing and trying to save them. He knew that "Prevention is
better than cure," and that to save a vessel from going on the rocks
was a far nobler thing to do than to assist in getting her off again,
and looking after the salvage. Nor was he to be deterred from his
humane and kindly purpose by scorn and lack of appreciation in others.
And this little incident is worthy of record, for it shows his
character, and teaches lessons to us all--lessons which, in these times
of eager ambition and selfishness, are very necessary. Let us go and
do likewise. If we cannot save a ship we can perhaps save a soul, if
only we are patient, persevering, and filled with a loving and
Christian sympathy. It is just this desire for usefulness, this
willingness to be servants or ministers, and to spend and be spent for
others, that the world wants now. It can do without many great men,
but it needs more than ever a multitude of kindly hearts, loving
spirits, and willing hands. Who will help to swell the number?
"Howe'er it be, it seems to me
'Tis only noble to be good;
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood."