And Jack Matterby went! But before he went he had to go through a
preliminary training, for his regular schooling had ceased when his
father died, and he had learned no trade.
In those days there were no splendid institutions for waifs and strays
such as now exist, but it must not be supposed that there was no such
thing as "hasting to the rescue." Thin little old Mrs Seaford had
struck out the idea for herself, and had acted on it for some years in
her own vigorous way. She took Jack home, and lodged him in her own
house with two or three other boys of the same stamp--waifs. Jack
elected to learn the trade of a carpenter, and Mrs Seaford, finding
that he had been pretty well grounded in English, taught him French, as
that language, she told him, was much spoken in Canada. Above all, she
taught him those principles of God's law without which a human being is
but poorly furnished even for the life that now is, to say nothing of
that which is to come.
In a few months Jack was ready for exportation! A few months more, and
he found himself apprenticed to a farmer, not far from the shores of
that mighty fresh-water sea, Ontario. Time passed, and Jack Matterby
became a trusted servant and a thorough farmer. He also became a big,
dashing, and earnest boy. More time passed, and Jack became a handsome
young man, the bosom friend of his employer. Yet a little more time
winged its silent way, and Jack became John Matterby, Esquire, of Fair
Creek Farm, heir to his former master's property, and one of the
wealthiest men of the province--not a common experience of poor emigrant
waifs, doubtless, but, on the other hand, by no means unprecedented.
It must not be supposed that during all those years Jack forgot the
scenes and people of the old land. On the contrary, the longer he
absented himself from the old home the more firmly and tenderly did the
old memories cling and cluster round his heart; and many a story and
anecdote did he relate about these, especially during the Christmas
season of each year, to his old master and to Nancy Briggs, in the log
homestead of Ontario.
Nancy was a waif, who had been sent out by the same thin little old lady
who had sent Jack out. She was very pretty, and possessed of
delightfully amiable domestic qualities. She grew up to be a very
handsome girl, and was a very bright sunbeam in the homestead. But Jack
did not fall in love with her. All unknown to himself his heart was
pre-occupied. Neither did Nancy fall in love with Jack. All
unwittingly she was reserving herself for another lot. Of course our
hero corresponded diligently with the thin little old lady, and
gladdened her heart by showing and expressing strong sympathy with the
waifs of the great city; more than once, in his earlier letters,
mentioning one named Bob Snobbins, about whose fate he felt some
curiosity, but in regard to whose home, if such existed, he could give
no information.
Twice during those years Jack also wrote to the Grove family; but as he
received no answer on either occasion, he concluded that the father must
have been drowned, that old Nell was dead, and the family broken up.
Need we add that the memory of his dear mother never faded or grew dim?
But this was a sacred memory, in regard to which he opened his lips to
no one.
At last there came a day when John Matterby, being in the prime of life,
with ample means and time to spare, set his heart on a holiday and a
visit to the old country--the thin little old lady being yet alive. It
was not so easy, however, for our hero to get away from home as one
might imagine; for, besides being a farmer, he was manager of a branch
bank, secretary to several philanthropic societies, superintendent of a
Sunday-school, and, generally, a helper of, and sympathiser with, all
who loved the Lord and sought to benefit their fellow-men. But, being a
man of resolution, he cut the cords that attached him to these things,
appointed Miss Briggs to superintend the Sunday-school in his absence,
and set sail for England--not in a steamer, as most rich men would have
done, but in a sailing ship, because the vessel happened to be bound for
the port of Blackby, the home of his childhood.
It was winter when he set sail, and the storms of winter were having
high jinks and revels on the deep in the usual way at that season of the
year. Jack's vessel weathered them all till it reached the shores of
old England. Then the storm-fiend broke loose with unwonted fury, and,
as if out of spite, cast the good ship on the rocks lying a little to
the eastward of the port of Blackby.
It was a tremendous storm! The oldest inhabitant of Blackby said, as
well as his toothless gums would let him, that, "it wos the wust gale as
had blow'd since he wos a leetle booy--an' that warn't yesterday--no,
nor yet the day before!"
The gale was at its height, in the grey of early morning, when the ship
struck, and all the manhood of the port and neighbouring village were
out to render aid, if possible, and to gaze and sympathise. But who
could render aid to a vessel which was rolling on those black rocks in a
caldron of white foam, with a hundred yards of swirling breakers that
raged and roared like a thousand lions between it and the base of the
cliffs? Even the noble lifeboat would have been useless in such a
place. But hark! a cry is raised--the coastguardmen and the rocket!
Yes, there is one hope for them yet--under God. Far below the men are
seen staggering along over the shingle, with their life-saving apparatus
in a hand-cart.
Soon the tripod is set up, and the rocket is fired, but the line falls
to leeward. Another is tried; it falls short. Still another--it goes
far to windward. Again and again they try, but without success, until
all their rockets are expended. But these bold men of the coastguard
are not often or easily foiled. They send for more rockets to the next
station. Meanwhile the terrible waves are doing their awful work,
dashing the ship on the rocks as if she were a mere toy--as indeed she
is, in their grasp. Can nothing be done?
"She'll never hold together till the rockets come," said a young seaman
stepping out from the crowd. "Here, let me have the line, and stand by
to pay out."
"Don't try it, lad, it'll be your death."
The youth paid no regard to this advice. "A man can only die once," he
remarked in a low voice, more as if speaking to himself than replying to
the caution, while he quickly tied the end of the light rope round his
waist and dashed into the sea.
Oh! it is grand and heart-stirring to see a stalwart youth imperilling
life and limb for the sake of others; to see a powerful swimmer
breasting the billows with a fixed purpose to do or die. But it is
terrible and spirit-crushing to see such a one tossed by the breakers as
if he were a mere baby, and hurled back helpless on the sand. Twice did
the young sailor dash in, and twice was he caught up like a cork and
hurled back, while the people on shore, finding their remonstrances
useless, began to talk of using force.
The man's object was to dive _through_ the first wave. If he could
manage this--and the second--the rest would not be beyond the power of a
strong man. A third time he leaped into the rushing flood, and this
time was successful. Soon he stood panting on the deck of the stranded
vessel, almost unable to stand, and well he knew that there was not a
moment to lose, for the ship was going to pieces! Jack Matterby,
however, knew well what to do. He drew out the hawser of the rocket
apparatus, fixed the various ropes, and signalled to those on shore to
send out the sling life-buoy, and then the men of the coastguard began
to haul the passengers and crew ashore, one at a time.
The young sailor, recovering in a few minutes, lent a hand. Jack knew
him the instant he heard his voice, but took no notice of him, for it
was a stern matter of life or death with them all just then.
When Jack and the captain stood at last awaiting their turn, and
watching the last of the crew being dragged over the boiling surf, our
hero turned suddenly, and, grasping the young sailor's hand with the
grip of a vice, said, "God bless you, Natty Grove!"
Nat gazed as if he had been stunned. "_Can_ it be?" he exclaimed. "We
had thought you dead years ago!"
"Thank God, I'm not only alive but hearty. Here comes the life-buoy.
Your turn next. But one word before--old Nell; and--Nellie?"
"Both well, and living with your mother--"
"My--" Jack could not speak, a tremendous shock seemed to rend his
heart. Young Grove felt that he had been too precipitate.
"Your mother is alive, Jack, and--"
He stopped, for the captain said quickly, "Now, then, get in. No time
to lose."
But Jack could not get in. If he had not been a strong man he must have
fallen on the deck. As it was, he felt stunned and helpless.
"Here, captain," cried Nat Grove, leaping into the life-buoy, "lift him
into my arms. The ropes are strong enough for both."
Scarce knowing what he did, Jack allowed himself to be half-lifted into
the buoy, in which his old friend held him fast. A few minutes more,
and they were dragged safely to land and the ringing cheers and
congratulations of the assembled multitude. The captain came last, so
that, when the ship finally went to pieces, not a human life was lost--
even the ship's cat was among the number of the saved, the captain
having carried it ashore in his arms.
Now, there are some scenes in this life which will not bear description
in detail. Such was the meeting of our hero with his long-lost mother.
We refrain from lifting the curtain here. But there is no reason why we
should not re-introduce the joyful and grateful pair at a later period
of that same eventful day, when, seated together by the bedside of old
Nell, they recounted their experiences--yes, the same old woman, but
thinner and wrinkleder, and smaller in every way; and the same bed, as
far as appearance went, though softer and cosier, and bigger in all
ways. On the other side of the bed sat the manly form of Natty Grove.
But who is that fair girl with the curling golden hair, whose face
exhibits one continuous blush, and whose entire body, soul and spirit is
apparently enchained by an insignificant piece of needlework? Can that
be Nellie Grove, whom we last saw with her eyes shut and her mouth
open--howling? Yes, it is she, and--but let Mrs Matterby explain.
"Now, Jack," said that lady in a firm tone, "it's of no use your asking
question after question of every one in this way, and not even waiting
for answers, and everybody speaking at once--"
"Excuse me, dearest mother, Miss Nellie Grove has not yet spoken at
all."
"_Miss_ Nellie, indeed! Times are changed,"--murmured Natty, with a
look of surprise.
"Her not speaking proves her the wisest of us all," resumed the widow,
looking at Old Nell, who with tremulous head nodded violent approval.
You must know, old Nell had become as deaf as a post, and, being
incapable of understanding anything, she gratified her natural
amiability by approving of everything--at least everything that was
uttered by speakers with a visible smile. When they spoke with gravity,
old Nell shook her tremulous head, and put on a look of alarmingly
solemn sympathy. On the present occasion, however, the antique old
thing seemed to have been affected with some absolutely new, and
evidently quaint, ideas, for she laughed frequently and immoderately,
especially when she gazed hard at Jack Matterby after having looked long
at Nellie Grove!
"Now, Jack," resumed the widow for the fiftieth time, "you must know
that after I lost you, and had given you up for dead, I came back here,
feeling an intense longing to see once more the old home, and I began a
school. In course of years God sent me prosperity, notwithstanding the
murmurings of rebellion which rose in my heart when I thought of _you_.
The school became so big that I had to take a new house--that in which
you now sit--and sought about for a teacher to help me. Long before
that time poor Ned Grove had been drowned at sea. Your old friend Natty
there had become the first mate to a merchantman, and helped to support
his grandmother. Nellie, whose education I had begun, as you know, when
you were a boy, had grown into a remarkably clever and pretty girl, as,
no doubt, you will admit. She had become a daily governess in the
family of a gentleman who had come to live in the neighbourhood. Thus
she was enabled to assist her brother in keeping up the old home, and
took care of granny."
At this point our hero, as he looked at the fair face and modest
carriage of his old playmate heartily admitted, (to himself), that she
was much more than "pretty," and felt that he now understood how a
fisherman's daughter had, to his intense surprise, grown up with so much
of gentle manners, and such soft lady-like hands. But he said never a
word!
"Most happily for me," continued Mrs Matterby, "Nellie lost her
situation at the time I speak of, owing to the death of her employer.
Thus I had the chance of securing her at once. And now, here we have
been together for some years, and I hope we may never part as long as we
live. We had considerable difficulty in getting old Nell to quit the
cottage and come here. Indeed, we should never have succeeded, I think,
had it not been for Natty--"
"That's true," interrupted Nat, with a laugh.
"The dear old woman was too deaf to understand, and too obstinate to
move: so one day I put the bed clothes over her head, gathered her and
them up in my arms, and brought her up here bodily, very much as I
carried _you_ ashore, Jack, in the life-buoy, without asking leave. And
she has been content and happy ever since."
What more of this tale there is to tell shall be told, reader, by
excerpts from our hero's Christmas letter to thin little Mrs Seaford,
as follows:--
"Pardon my seeming neglect, dear old friend. I meant to have run up
to town to see you the instant I set foot in England, but you must
admit that my dear, long-lost mother had prior claims. Pardon, also,
my impudence in now asking you to come and see _me_. You _must_ come.
I will take no denial, for I want you to rejoice at my wedding! Yes,
as old Nell once said to me, `God sends us a blessing sometimes when
we least expect it.' He has not only restored to me my mother, but
has raised me from the lowest rung in the ladder to the very highest,
and given me the sweetest, and most--. But enough. Come and see for
yourself. Her name is Nellie. But I have more to astonish you with.
Not only do I take Nellie back with me to my home in the new world,
but I take my mother also, and Natty Grove, and _old Nell herself_!
How we got her to understand what we want her to do, could not be told
in less than four hundred pages of small type. Nat did it, by means
of signs, symbols, and what _he_ styles facial-logarithms. At all
events she has agreed to go, and we hope to set sail next June.
Moreover, I expect to get _you_ to join us. Don't laugh. I mean it.
There is good work to be done. Canada needs philanthropic Christians
as well as England.
"You will scarcely credit me when I say that I have become a
match-maker--not one of those `little' ones, in whose welfare you are
so much interested, but a real one. My deep design is upon your
partner, Natty Grove. Yes, your _partner_--for were not _you_ the
instrument used in rescuing my soul, and _he_ my body? so that you
have been partners in this double rescue. Well, it is my intention to
introduce Natty Grove to Nancy Briggs, and abide the result! Once on
a time I had meant her for Bob Snobbins, but as you have failed to
hunt him up, he must be left to suffer the consequences. D'you know I
have quite a pathetic feeling of tenderness for the memory of that too
sharp little boy. Little does he know how gladly I would give him the
best coat in my possession--if I could only find him!
"Now, dearest of old friends, I must stop. Nellie is sitting on one
side of me, mother on the other, and old Nell in front--which will
account to you, in some degree, for the madness of my condition.
"Once more, in the hope of a joyful meeting, I wish you `a merry
Christmas and a happy New Year.'"