[Illustration: 9108]
ERTAIN unmistakable signs were in the wind by which anyone could have
told that, Thanksgiving Day was comparatively close at hand. There was
a vigorous stoning of raisins on the part of Mrs. Murray, an odour of
cider in the air which pointed plainly to the concoction of mincemeat,
and Nan was confident she detected the largest turkey scratching round
the yard in a nervous, timorous sort of way, as though he knew his days
were numbered. By the calendar the eventful occasion was still ten days
off, when one cold and blustering afternoon Captain Murray came home
from the Life-saving Station, and into the cosy kitchen.
[Illustration: 0109]
“If I'm not very much mistaken,” he said (and in the matter of weather
Captain Murray seldom was mistaken), “we are in for a pretty heavy
storm. We shall need to be on the look out, every man of us at the
Station, the whole night through. Give us a hearty supper, Mollie,
that'll keep a fellow well braced till morning.”
“Do I ever put you off with a poor supper, Epher?” asked Mrs. Murray,
reproachfully, pausing a moment in her mixing of some gingerbread in a
large yellow bowl.
“Never with a poor supper, mother, only you know what I mean. Give us
sort of an extra touch to-night.”
Mrs. Murray knew as well as could be what her good husband meant by “an
extra touch,” and soon the waffle-iron was taken from its hook and Harry
was on his way to the cellar to fill the maple syrup cup. It was one of
those nights when a cosy, comfortable home seems doubly comfortable and
cosy, and very reluctantly Captain Murray put on his great coat to go
back to the Station as soon as supper was over. The rain was falling
in torrents now, and as he opened the sitting-room door, a gust of wind
whipped in, sending the papers on the table whirling to the floor and
overturning the lamp, which fortunately went out as it fell. When order
was again restored, Sister Julia began reading a bright little story
aloud to the children by way of cheering them up a bit. Even Harry was
quite overawed by the violence of the storm, for by this time it was
violent. The wind was blowing a gale now, and it had grown so cold that
the fire had to be constantly replenished to keep the room comfortably
warm. At nine o'clock the children went upstairs, and were glad enough
to hurry into bed, for on such a night as this it was impossible to heat
the upper story of the little cottage.
“I'm glad there's a great big lighthouse at the Highlands,” Regie called
out after he had gotten into bed.
“So am I,” answered both Nan and Harry, and with this comforting thought
in mind they all fell asleep. But Sister Julia and Mrs. Murray scarcely
closed their eyes the whole night long. Sometimes it seemed as though
the little cottage could not hold its own against such a terrific blow.
At daybreak Mrs. Murray came up to Sister Julia's room, to find her
already dressed.
“I think there's something wrong at the Station,” she said. “Hereward
and Ned have been barking and bounding about in the most excited fashion
for the last half-hour. Then, when the wind dies down for a second, I
think I can hear the voices of the men calling to each other.”
“Yes, and look here,” answered Sister Julia, pressing her white face
close to the pane; “I imagine I can discover the masts of a schooner
near the beach.”
“Yes, surely; there must have been a wreck,” and Mrs. Murray threw open
the window to see more clearly. “Hark!” she added, “now don't you hear
the men?”
“Of course I do,” cried Sister Julia; “and I can stand it no longer. I
must bundle up and go down and see for myself.”
“Oh! my child, you ought never to go,” exclaimed Mrs. Murray, but at the
same time she helped her to hurry into her heavy ulster. “Oh, dear!
I've a good mind to go with you; but no, it will not do to leave the
children. Send one of the men up though, as soon as possible, to let me
know what has happened, and that you have reached the Station without
being blown away.”
So out into the storm went Sister Julia, and Hereward and Ned were at
her side in an instant. The rain had ceased falling, but the wind still
blew a hurricane, and in walking from the cottage to the station all her
strength was needed to bear up against it. She had gone but a little way
before she discovered that a schooner _had_ run ashore, and she tried to
quicken her steps, fearing and yet anxious to know the truth. Just here
I would tell my young reader that this story, so far as it relates to
the work done that morning by the Life-saving crew, is every word true.
Somebody, whom I choose to call Captain Murray, could show you a letter,
sent, in company with a gold medal, from the Government at Washington,
and written in appreciation of his gallant services and those of his
brave crew, and in which you could read a graphic narration of all that
happened that eventful November morning.
As Sister Julia neared the Station she heard the men shouting to each
other in such cheery tones that she felt sure no lives could have been
lost, and her heart grew lighter. The crew were at some sort of work
down on the beach, and unnoticed by anyone she entered the Station from
the landward side. The large room was empty, but the door stood open
into the kitchen, and there what a strange sight met her eyes! Four men
were huddled round the stove trying to get a little warmth into their
half-frozen bodies. On one blanket on the floor, covered by another, lay
a poor woman, who looked half-dead; and seated on a stool near her was
Captain Murray, endeavouring to remove the dripping clothing from a
screaming baby lying across his knees.
[Illustration: 0111]
“God bless you!” he exclaimed, looking up and discovering Sister Julia,
“you've come in the nick of time. We've just brought these poor wretches
in from the wreck yonder, and I've sent Burton up to the house to get
some dry duds for the woman and this baby,” and he laid the soaking
little specimen of humanity in Sister Julia's arms.
“Now, my hearties,” he said cheerily, turning to the men, “hurry up to
the loft, strip off your wet clothing, wrap yourselves in the blankets
you'll find there, and turn into the bunks. You'll have to stay there
till your clothes are dry, but I reckon you're tired enough to be
willing to. We'll get you up some breakfast as soon as possible. Now I'm
off,” he added, turning to Sister Julia. “I am needed on the beach more
than here.”
The shivering little company about the stove promptly and gladly obeyed
Captain Murray's orders, and Sister Julia, having succeeded in quieting
the baby, began to remove its draggled clothing. Just then someone came
in from the large room.
“There were no lives lost, were there?” she asked, eagerly, without
looking up, presuming it to be one of Captain Murray's crew, and in the
same instant the newcomer asked the same question of her.
“No, no lives lost,” answered the woman on the floor, in a weak,
exhausted voice. The new comer was Mr. Vale, who had come down to
Moorlow the night before, and Sister Julia was glad enough to welcome
him, for she needed someone to aid her.
“My poor woman, you ought to get that wet clothing off at once,” said
Mr. Vale, bending over her.
“I know it, sir, but I'm that weak.”
“I can attend to her now, if you'll take the baby,” said Sister Julia.
“With the greatest of pleasure,” and Mr. Vale took the blanketed
baby into his arms, with a knack that showed his love for children.
Straightway he went up aloft, with the little stranger gazing
comfortably over his shoulder, to enquire for the welfare of the men.
No sooner had he gone than Burton came hurrying in with the bundle of
clothing which Mrs. Murray had gotten together. Quickly and skilfully
Sister Julia helped the woman to make the change, and had but just
finished buttoning a warm flannel wrapper about her when, overcome by
fatigue, she fell asleep in the chair in which she was sitting.
“These good people had better have something to eat as soon as
possible,” said Mr. Vale, returning down the narrow stairway, “and if
you can show me a place to put this baby, for it is fast asleep, we'll
see about getting some food ready for them.”
“Here's a good place for it,” and Sister Julia let down a wide shelf
that was fastened against the wall, and with her ulster rolled up for
a pillow, made the little waif very comfortable, for it was too young a
baby to be in danger of rolling off. Captain Murray put his head in at
the door just then with a most anxious face.
“It is raining,” he said, “and the storm is increasing every moment.
I can't spare one of the men, for we must lose no time in getting the
life-saving tackle in order, though it is not probable we shall need to
make use of it twice in one morning. Do you think you can manage to get
a breakfast together, Sister Julia?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Mr. Vale, cheerily, “we'll attend to that.”
“That must be Nan's new friend,” thought Captain Murray, but he could
not take the time to find out, and hurried away, feeling that he had
left his shipwrecked party in good hands. Then Mr. Vale and Sister Julia
set right away to work to investigate the supply of provisions in the
Station. Mr. Vale peered into boxes, and Sister Julia lifted covers of
crocks and dishes, and then they looked at each other rather blankly,
for they were disappointed at the result.
“I have it,” said Sister Julia, after a moment's thought. “The best
thing, I think, would be for you to put on your coat and make your way
as best you can to Mrs. Murray's. She will have the oatmeal on the fire
by this time,” glancing at the clock on the high shelf overhead, “and it
would be just like her, remembering the hard work going on down here, to
have made a larger quantity than usual.”
Mr. Vale was off in a moment, and then Sister Julia made preparations
for boiling the coffee, carrying the coffee-mill into the larger room,
so as not to wake the baby and its mother with the clatter of the
grinding. Afterward she set the little table as best she could, and
slicing some stale bread she had found in the closet, placed it at
one side ready for toasting. So she busied herself about one thing and
another till there was nothing more to be done. It seemed to her as
though Mr. Vale would never come back, but in a really marvellously
short space of time there was a tramping outside the door, and in came
a little party, well laden with tin pails and baskets. They were all
there--Mrs. Murray and Nan, Reginald and Harry; and indeed all were
needed, to carry safely through such a storm as that the generous
breakfast which Mrs. Murray had prepared; and the whole family at
once set about serving it. The children trudged up and down the steep
stairway, carrying the steaming coffee and oatmeal to the men in the
loft.
“Bless your little heart!” said one of the men, as he took a brimming
cup from Nan's hand; but the others seemed too hungry to take time to
say so much as “thank you.” Sister Julia woke the tired mother, who fell
asleep again as soon as she had eaten a little, and then she quieted
the baby, who had begun to cry lustily, with a breakfast of warmed milk
served in a ginger-ale bottle. As soon as she could be spared, Mrs.
Murray put on her cloak and hurried down to the beach to see how that
good captain of hers was enduring all this excitement and fatigue. For
the captain, as he himself said, “was not so young as he once was,” and
could not stand up as well as in other days against wind and weather.
“Oh, Mollie!” he called, as soon as she came near enough for his voice
to reach her, “go back to the Station; you'll catch your death o' cold
in this driving wind.”
“No fears for me, Epher,” she called back, “but you must go right up to
the Station yourself, you and the men, and get some breakfast, or you'll
be down sick, every one of you.”
[Illustration: 0115]
All hands were only too glad to obey this order, for the lifesaving
apparatus was again intact, and they were very hungry. Filing into
the big room, they laid aside their tarpaulins, and then sat down to a
better breakfast than ever before graced their mess table. It did Mrs.
Murray's heart good to see how thoroughly they enjoyed it, and when the
captain said, “I'd like to see the wife that can compare with Mollie
Murray,” the colour flushed proudly into her face.
It was eight o'clock when the hungry party finished breakfast, and they
were just pushing their chairs back from the table when one of their
crew, who had been left on the beach on patrol duty, threw open the door
and called for aid.
“Can it be possible that we are to have another wreck this morning?”
thought the captain, as he and his men hurried into their tarpaulins,
and rushed out of the Station. But alas! it was possible, for a short
distance up the beach another vessel was stranded. In a moment the
little house was quite deserted. Calling for their clothes, the men who
had been rescued from the _Starling_ got into them, wet as they were,
and, accompanied by Mr. Vale, hastened to render what service they
could. Notwithstanding the commotion the mother and baby still slept
quietly on in the kitchen, while Sister Julia, Mrs. Murray, and the
children crowded into the seaward window of the loft, to watch as best
they could the terribly exciting scene taking place below them on the
beach.
[Illustration: 5116]
[Illustration: 0117]