ALONE.
"Shall I not listen to the sea-shell's moaning,
That strangely vibrates like the swelling sea,
And fancy it an echoed storm, intoning
A solemn dirge in memory of thee?"
MISS MARY M. CHASE.
A lone man walks the shores of Nantucket; his noble form is slightly
bent, and with the raven of his hair is blended the faintest tinge of
gray, though he is evidently a man to whom the meridian of life is yet
far in the distance; his fine countenance is sad, yet as he gazes far
out o'er the sea, deep in his piercing eye is a subdued look of
resignation, shedding light over his features, which a stranger might
attribute to a mind of happiness; and yet that look of sadness is
oftenest triumphant, leading those who meet him for the first time to
ask from whence he came, for his countenance betrays that his has been
not the common lot of man. Ah, who is he,--on whom young men and maidens
look with pitying eye? to whom the old man lifts his hat, and little
children cease from their sports as he passes, and quietly slip the
innocent daisy, or the sweet-scented arbutus into his hand, which they
have culled from the wide commons, where, they have been told, the good
Sea-flower loved to stray.
It is Clarence Delwood! his has been a bitter, bitter draught; yet its
dregs have in a measure lost their power, for he has learned that 't is
his Father holds the cup. Little, did he think, as they sat together
there on that high bank, which overlooks the sea, upon that last evening
spent with his cherished one in her island home, that it was to be the
last forever! that her voice would no more be heard! in glad response to
nature's shouts of joyousness. Yet, as alone he sits beneath the silent
night, there where she last told to him her love, he fancies that the
stars in pity smile upon him, and as one more gentle than the rest,
leaves its place in the heavens and slowly descends, drawing nearer and
nearer, finally resting upon the bosom of ocean,--he listens, for the
music of her harp strikes upon his soul, and in the crested billows
which play at his feet, a shining form he sees, her robe all sparkling
with the pearly drops of the sea. He would fain go to her, as she smiles
upon him, as was ever her wont, but a voice he hears, saying, "not yet,"
and the bright one recedes from his view.
Reader, you may visit Nantucket's sea-girt isle, you may walk those
peaceful shores where she loved to roam; you may meet there that lone
man on the shore; you will approach him with feelings of deep regard,
not unlike reverence; but do not hesitate to inquire of him for the
grave of the Sea-flower. With eyes fixed upon the ocean's blue, pointing
with his finger heavenward, he will direct you to a grassy mound, at
whose head is a weeping willow, upon the broad trunk of which is wrought
in letters of pearl,--"The Sea-flower awaits for thee." With a tear you
turn away, with the resolve in your heart that you will henceforth so
live, as that when this mortal life is ended, you may "attain
everlasting joy and felicity, through Jesus Christ, our Lord."
You will seek the fireside of the widow Grosvenor, where from a mother's
lips, you will be assured of the blessings which accompany a dutiful
child. That fireside is not desolate, for the members of the household
have been led to say,--"Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done." Mrs.
Grosvenor, though somewhat advanced in life, still retains that peculiar
freshness of her earlier days; and as she proudly glances upon the young
man by her side, calling him "my son," you can hardly recognize in his
athletic form the little sailor-boy of other days; yet it is none other,
although he has arrived to the dignity of captain, and as Sampson
prophesied, a smarter man never sailed the ocean. But who is this
witching beauty at his side, who would fain impress you with a belief
that that mischief which will not remain concealed for the briefest
period, is not her entire composition? Do you not mistrust? who other
than Miss Winnie Santon? she who having tired of the gallants of the
wild West, or rather of their numbers, came to the wise conclusion that
a city life was designed for such as she; she the coquettish heiress,
who once stood very much in doubt as to the state of civilization among
these "poor fishermen."
Yes, it is our Winnie, and she is now the wife of Capt. Harry
Grosvenor. And is she happy in this her choice? Ask her if she would
exchange her brave husband for one of those superfine niceties, who
suing for favor at her feet, had at the same time lined their vows of
love and constancy with the yellow dust, which had they known the strong
chest to have been at their backs, while in this humble posture, it were
uncertain to which might have been made an apology,--the fair lady or
her dowry.
But what is the cause of that little commotion among sundry flowered
blankets, juvenile counterpanes, etc., etc., which you have but this
moment discovered in a neighboring niche? Is it old Nep who has
ensconced himself in this dainty little nest? No, for you left him
sleeping under the shade of the weeping willow. Surely, those seven
kits, with fourteen blue eyes, have not lived to this green old age! Ah,
the mystery is solved, by the presence of a tiny hand, which elevates
itself above the little heap of whiteness, and a smiling baby face has
contrived to work its way into the no less smiling sunlight, the which
baby must not partake of too freely; consequently the owner of said
property appears, to alleviate the difficulty, which is done by giving
miss baby a toss into mid-air, and with a ringing laugh, not unlike
those wild bursts of merriment which were wont to be heard reverberating
through the halls of Santon Mansion.
Yes, it is Winnie's child; and she tells you, while a more thoughtful
look sits upon her countenance, that the name of the little one is
"Natalie;" although she adds, "as earnestly as I love my child, I know
there can never be another like _her_"--and pointing to a portrait,
draped in white, she presses her child more closely to her heart.
You look long and earnestly upon that countenance of the Madonna,--the
one face representing mother and child. The portrait is the property of
Clarence Delwood, he who is now known as 'the lone man of the shore;'
and while you are yet gazing upon it, he enters, and pressing his lips
to the canvas, he takes a bible from the case and reads. You
accidentally observe the fly-leaf, upon which is written,--"To the
Sea-flower, from her mother, on her second birthday;" and as he reads a
smile lights up his countenance, for it is there written,--"thou shalt
labor unto the Lord," and a more cheerful expression is his; for it is
through his ready pen that the alms chest of the poor receives its
liberal supplies.
Ere you depart, you inquire as to the fate of Mr. Sampson, learning that
through his agency the widow Grosvenor has come in possession of a
handsome fortune,--the daughter's gift to her mother,--so that now she
is enabled to make comfortable many a cheerless fireside, where poverty,
through the loss of a husband and father, as he went down to do business
on the great deep, had reigned. Honest Mr. Sampson, after so many years
spent upon the ocean, has concluded to live the remainder of his days on
shore; and in the darkest night, when the hurricane roars, and the waves
break high, the brilliant light entrusted to his care, may be seen for
many miles around, by the voyager who may be sailing in the neighborhood
of old Nantucket. Capt. Harry Grosvenor has also bade adieu to his
much-loved home on the sea; for together with Winnie's entreaties, and
the goodly amount of wealth, which she declares as rightly belonging to
her husband as to herself, he has been induced to give his little wife
the promise that he will sail the seas no more.
But there is one, who is no unimportant member of this happy family, for
whom you have forgotten to inquire, so intent are you, as you pass out
from them into the silent night, upon what you have seen and heard; but
you are minded of this negligence by a voice near, and a negro,
tottering from beneath the weight of years, whom you recognize at once
as old Vingo, stands before you. His mind is much impaired, for he has
attained his second childhood; yet from his disconnected remarks, it is
evident that he still retains a pleasant remembrance of the past.
"Old Bingo neber want noting more," he replies to your question of what
you can do for him; "nobody neber can do noting more for Bingo; for
Missy Sea-flower hab gib Bingo, Phillis, and gib him Heaben, and what
more does he want?"
"And where is your mistress's home?" you ask.
"Dar," said the negro, pointing to the skies, "dar is Heaben, dar am my
missus's home; and dat is whar she tell me dat she wait for me if she
go home first. If it hadn't been missy dat tole me, I couldn't beliebe
dat such an ole brack fellow like me, go to dat white place; but I
beliebes it now, for since missy gone home I's seen a new star up dar;
and I knows it am her, for didn't she say she look down to me, jus' like
ole Massa Grobener and dat poor brack Injin look down upon her! Yes, I
know dat I shall meet her dar, and what am better, Phillis am going dar
too! only sometimes she get skeered like, when she remember what her ole
cotton massa tell her; for he tells her dat de hounds go to dat bright
place, afore good for notin' niggar like her get dar; and she's afeared
dey remember dar ole habits and hunt her up, for she run away from her
ole massa, and gets sabed in dese free states, whar de folks don't
mistake poor niggar for someting else dan a man."
"Farewell, faithful Vingo, and may the remainder of your days shed peace
along your way. Thy portion here has not indeed been to sit in 'kings'
courts,' yet thou hast so used the one talent lent unto thee, that at
the last, when every 'island shall have fled away, and the mountains
shall not be found,' thou shalt have a place at the right hand of that
glorious throne, whose king is our God; thou shalt hear those blessed
words,--'well done, good and faithful servant,' and the morning star
shalt be thine; and there thou shalt again find that pure gem, who, in
her little day on earth, led thee to the bright river of life, where
thou hast sought and found that 'pearl of great price.'"
The blue waves have not yet tired of their unceasing sports; they still
chase each other in mad glee from far over the sea, each striving to
outdo his fellows, as they come tumbling in with deep-toned voices. The
beaming beacon still keeps vigil over Nantucket's peaceful slumberers,
while her little ones, in their gladsome dreams of childhood, wander up
and down those shores, intent upon their search for the most delicate
sea-mosses, exclaiming with each new found treasure,--"See! I have found
a _gem_ among the sea-weeds."
Gentle reader, you are weary, and I will here seek to bid you adieu,
with many thanks for your kind attention; and great is my joy, if haply
any have been impressed in spirit with that meek and holy submission
which shall lead them to say,--"Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done;"
and when loved ones shall be borne away from us, may we take up our
cross with renewed love for Him who gave, and hath taken away,--and say,
"blessed be the name of the Lord," forever.