rested?
There was another thing which she had forgotten, or rather which she
had not considered, namely, how the boat was to be drawn in again; nor
had she observed that the rope, carelessly fastened in the beginning,
was slipping farther and farther from its hold upon the stone, as the
boat rocked to and fro.
The "funny ittle lanimal" proved to be a very small crab, which was
feeling about him with his claws, in an uncomfortable manner; and in
inquiring into his habits, and "poking him" about the bottom of the
boat, several moments passed away.
And as the movements of the children gave a little added motion, that
treacherous rope slid gradually from its stay, and--the boat was loose,
and at the mercy of the out-going tide!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IX.
_ADRIFT._
DRIFTING! drifting! slowly, but steadily, the boat floated out from the
shelter of the pier.
Quite absorbed by the droll movements of the tiny crab, Mamie did
not notice their danger, till, passing out from the shadow which the
breakwater had thrown upon it, the boat glided into the broad sunlight
which flooded the waves beyond.
Then, startled by the burst of sunshine which fell upon her, she raised
her head, and saw the dreadful truth.
Out on the waters, alone, alone! she and Lulu, two little helpless
children, with no eye to watch, no hand to help!
For a moment or two she sat perfectly stunned, motionless where she
was, crouched at the bottom of the boat, her eyes fixed upon the now
fast-receding shore, her lips seeming glued together with horror and
affright, a sick, faint feeling coming over her.
Out on the sea! out on the sea! alone! alone!
And so the precious moments were lost.
Little Lulu prattled away, all unconscious of fear or danger, and still
interested in her captive, and his efforts to escape. But presently she
too looked up.
"Where we doin', Mamie?" she asked, turning great eyes of wonder upon
her sister.
Then Mamie found voice and breath, and, clasping the little one in her
arms, shrieked aloud for help.
But none heard, although Lulu, terrified by her sister's cries, now
joined her own, seeing something was wrong, though she could not yet
understand their peril. For the wind, blowing as it did from the shore,
carried away the sound of their voices, and floated the piteous tones
far out over the sea.
[Illustration: Mamie. p. 174.]
Farther, still farther, and faster now, as the blue waves, crisping and
sparkling in the sunlight, toyed with the frail boat, and its precious,
helpless freight, and tossed it from one to another, but ever carrying
it farther from home!
Was there no one to see? no one to hear? Why was it that no one looked
out at that time over the dancing waters, and discovered what terrible
plaything they had seized upon?
Far off, so far off it seemed to poor Mamie's straining eyes, and
growing each moment more distant, figures were moving upon the shore;
some up and down the road; others, she could distinguish them well
at first, playing croquet upon the lawns; little children, like
themselves, running up and down the long piazzas of the hotels: but no
one, no one, turned an eye towards their peril, or lent an ear to
the frantic cries which rang from their lips.
Oh, how cruel, how cruel, it seemed!
The boat drifted onward till it was a long distance from the shore,
almost in a straight line, keeping directly in the flood of sunshine
which fell across the waters; and it may be that if any eye did turn
seaward, it was dazzled by the blaze of light, and, even if it saw the
boat, could notice nothing amiss. Kind hearts were there that would
almost have stood still at the thought of the fearful peril about
those little ones; feet which would have flown, hands which would have
strained every nerve to rescue them. But ah! to poor Mamie the whole
world seemed so heartless, so cruel!
On, on, till she could no longer distinguish any thing more than the
long line of hotels on the shore; the beach glistening on the one hand,
the bare, stern rocks upon the other.
What was to become of them, herself and Lulu? Would they toss gently
about in this way till they died of hunger, or would great fishes come
and eat them up? Or would some terrible storm arise, and the waves,
now so gentle and playful, grow high and fierce, as she had seen them
the other day, and swallow up their frail boat? And the night, the
night! What should they do when the darkness came, and the last faint,
lingering hope that some one would yet see them should be gone? The
sun was sinking towards the west even now; by and by it would be quite
dark. What would mamma do when she missed her little girls, and knew
not where to look? Would she ever know what had become of them? Would
they be found all dead and drowned?
She had ceased to cry aloud now, and sat crouched, in a kind of dumb,
helpless despair, at the bottom of the boat, with both arms clasped
fast about Lulu, who had also hushed her screams, and sat with
questioning, wistful eyes, wandering from Mamie's face over the waves,
up to the sky, and back again to her sister. She did not understand:
how could she? She only knew that Mamie had been frightened, and
cried; and so she had cried too.
It was well that they both sat quite still in the bottom of the boat,
or they might have fallen into the water; but Mamie, in the midst of
all her terror, had sense enough left to know that they were safer so,
and she would not suffer Lulu to stir from her encircling arms.
So on, still on, farther and farther out upon the lonely waters, away
from home and friends, drifted the little helpless ones.
What though all was now bustle and alarm in that home,--indeed,
throughout all the various houses on the shore; that Maria, missing her
charges, so shamefully neglected, had hunted for them in vain, first
about their own hotel, then in every other one, hoping that they might
have gone visiting, or been taken away by some friend; that, hearing
nothing of them, she had first alarmed the other servants of the house,
then the ladies, next roused the sick mother, who grew frantic and
desperate as moment after moment went by, and brought no news of her
darlings? Who dreamed of all the truth?
The alarm was general now; the news went forth like wildfire: two
little children lost! and so many dangerous places where they might
have come to harm!
Stony shore and sandy beach were searched in vain to their farthest
extent; one party explored the little river; others started for the
green, cultivated country lying back of the shore, thinking that the
stray lambs might have been tempted by its beauty to wander too far;
others again hurried down upon the rocks, hoping to find them, perhaps,
hidden in some of their many nooks or niches; the old pier, the dock,
the very bathing-houses, were all searched; but who thought of looking
out to sea, where the cockle-shell of a boat floated, floated far away?
It was not even missed, the little boat; for Mamie's brothers and Tom
Norris were all away, and probably they would not have guessed at the
truth, had they known of its loss.
And so hope grew fainter and fainter as one after another returned from
the fruitless search only to set forth again; and the dreadful fear
grew stronger and stronger that in some way the missing children had
fallen into the water, and would never be seen again; while the poor
mother went from one fainting fit into another, and those about her
scarcely cared to call her back to her misery.
And so the sun sank low in the west, and the twilight gathered, and
the night came down upon land and sea, and still no word came to those
anxious, aching hearts of the little lost ones for whom they watched
and waited.
How was it meanwhile with those poor little waifs?
With that dull, hopeless feeling that nothing could save them now
seeming to benumb her, Mamie sat silent a long time,--silent, that
is, but for the heavy, gasping sobs that struggled up from her poor
little bosom, her eyes fixed on the distant stretch of shore, now fast
receding into one gray, undistinguishable line; Lulu, awed by this
strange, new grief of her sister's into stillness likewise.
But the baby tired at last. She wanted home and mamma, or, at least,
her nurse. The boat and the water had been all very wonderful at first,
and had perhaps lent their charm to keep her quiet; but she was wearied
of them now. She fretted a little; then, finding this failed to draw
Mamie's attention, she spoke.
"Lulu want mamma. Lulu want no more water," she said plaintively.
"O darling! what shall I do? What will become of us?" answered Mamie,
roused by her words from the sort of stupor into which she had fallen.
"Tate Lulu home. Lulu want to do home. Lulu want mamma tate tare
of her," said the little child, whose vague feeling of trouble was
beginning to settle itself into a longing for her mother's care and
comforting.
"O Lulu, Lulu!" broke forth Mamie, "there's no one to take care of us,
there's no one to see us, there's no one to hear us. We're all alone,
all alone, all alone!" her voice dying away to a low murmur of despair.
Was there no Eye to see? Was there no Ear to hear? Was there no Hand to
save?
Whose Hand guided the fragile boat over the deep waters, and held their
waves in check that they might not deal too roughly with the slight
thing which was the sole refuge of those little ones? Whose was the Ear
which bent to hear those piteous tones? Whose the Eye which watched
them on their perilous way?
A few light clouds were sailing overhead on the deep blue sky; and,
as the sun sank in the west, they were tinged with purple, pink, and
gold, changing every instant from one hue to another. All around, on
sea, earth, and sky, poured a flood of golden glory, the little curling
waves breaking into a thousand diamond sparkles as they caught it on
their crests.
Lulu gazed wonderingly into Mamie's face as she spoke so piteously,
then put up a grieved lip; but, before breaking out into a cry again,
she looked about her as if questioning the truth of her words.
The beauty of the sky above caught her eye; a golden-edged cloud fixed
her attention for a moment, and her baby thoughts took a new turn.
Lulu had heard that God lived in the sky; she had been told, too, that
God loved her, and would take care of her; and the little creature
startled her sister with the words,--
"Mamie, where are Dod?"
And across Mamie's mind flashed her watchword. "The eyes of the Lord
are in every place, beholding the evil and the good."
"In every place!" Here, now, watching her and Lulu! For a moment it
seemed to bring new terror to her, speaking, as it did, to her guilty
conscience; but the next there came comfort in the thought.
Not all alone, if His eye watched them there.
"Where are Dod?" repeated Lulu.
"God is in the sky, but He sees us here," she said more calmly than she
had spoken before.
"Den He not tate tare of Mamie and Lulu?" questioned the little child.
"Yes, I think He will; I do believe He will," sobbed Mamie. "I b'lieve
He'll take care of you any way, Lulu darling, 'cause this wasn't your
fault, but only mine. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
"Tell him tate tare of us, tate de boat home to mamma," lisped the baby
lips. "Tell Him loud up in de sty, Mamie; and tell Him we so 'faid."
Innocent darling! she did not know why or of what she was afraid; only
that she and Mamie were in some great trouble, that she wanted mamma,
that mamma was not here, and that somehow the beauty of the sunset sky
had brought to her mind the thought of God and of His care, of which
she had been told.
"So afraid!"
Poor Mamie was indeed afraid, stricken with such awful dread as,
happily, seldom finds its way into childish heart; but Lulu's words
brought another verse into her mind. It almost seemed to her as if a
voice came over the water, and sounded it into her ear, so suddenly and
so strongly did it come to her.
"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee."
Bessie Bradford had told it to her one day in the early part of the
summer.
Mamie had a great terror of a thunder-storm; so had Bessie; but once,
when they had happened to be together when one was passing, the former
had shrieked and cried at every flash and peal, while the latter,
though pale and shrinking, had remained perfectly quiet. Afterwards
Mamie had said to her,--
"Bessie, how can you keep from crying when you are frightened in a
thunder-storm?"
And Bessie had answered,--
"When I am very much frightened, I try to think of a verse mamma taught
me to comfort me: 'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"
At the moment it had not made much impression on Mamie; but she had not
forgotten the words; and now, in her time of need, they came to her so
clearly, as I have said, that it almost seemed as if they were spoken
to her:--
"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee."
What a sense of hope and comfort, almost of relief, crept over the
poor, miserable little child with the recollection!
And "the eyes of the Lord are in every place."
How she clung to the thought now,--the thought that she had been so
ready to put from her for many a day past, which she had tried to
forget because it was a reproach to her conscience, a check upon the
purpose of disobedience which had led to such a terrible result!
"O God!" she said with quivering lips, "I am afraid, so afraid! please
let me trust in Thee; and take a great deal of care of my Lulu and me
on this dreadful water; and if there could be any way for us to go home
to mamma, let us; and help me not to be naughty and disobedient again;
and don't let mamma be very much frightened about us. Amen."
"Is mamma tomin' pitty soon now?" asked Lulu.
"I asked God, darling, to let us go back to her," moaned Mamie, "and He
can help people a great deal; but I don't know but this is 'most too
much even for Him."
Lulu understood, or noticed, only the first part of her speech, and
it satisfied her, at least for the time; and, nodding her pretty head
contentedly, she said,--
"Den Lulu will love Dod, an' be dood dirl."
Still the boat drifted onward, farther and farther from home and
safety, out from the friendly waters of the bay, and more and more
towards the open sea, where, on the distant horizon, hung a misty veil,
soft purplish gray beneath, brightening above into tints of pink and
amber which melted away again into the clear blue of the heaven above.
Not a sound was to be heard but the plashing of the water against the
sides and keel of their boat; not a living thing was to be seen save
their own two little selves. God's curtain of night was falling; and
still they were alone out on the sea!
The sun was gone now; even the glorious colors which he left painted
on the clouds after he had himself sunk from sight, had faded out; the
evening breeze, cool and refreshing on the land, came chilly and damp
over the water; and Lulu shivered as it struck through the thin muslin
covering upon her tiny shoulders.
She had sat uncomplainingly after Mamie had told her she had asked God
to take care of them, waiting in her own docile way to go to mamma; but
now her baby patience was exhausted, as it well might be; for she was
cold, hungry, and tired.
She broke into a pitiful cry.
"Lulu so told; Lulu want hupper; Lulu want mamma," she said appealingly
to her sister, with oh! such a grieved, piteous face and voice, that
Mamie's heart was quite broken; and now all thought of self was
forgotten; and she prayed, poor little soul, that darling Lulu, at
least, might be saved, and taken back to mamma, even if she might not.
Then she tried to speak words of comfort to her baby-sister. Ah, how
hard it was, and what a mockery they seemed! and, taking off her own
little jacket, she wrapped it about Lulu's shoulders, and, resting the
weary little head against her own bosom, petted and soothed, until the
long eyelashes drooped upon the dimpled cheek, and Lulu was asleep in
her arms.
And then it was so lonely, oh, so lonely! far more so than when Lulu
was awake, with her sweet voice prattling broken words now and then;
but so great was Mamie's sense of the wrong she had done to her
innocent sister, that she would not wake her, even for the comfort of
her voice and look.
She had no thought or wish for sleep herself; the child's senses were
all strained to the utmost, listening and watching for she knew not
what.
How still it was, how very still! and deeper and yet deeper grew
the dusky shadows, shrouding the distant white sails which all the
afternoon had specked the far horizon, shutting them out from sight,
and with them the last faint hope of help, which Mamie had somehow
connected with them, leaving her no ray of comfort to cling to but
those words:--
"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee."
And night was upon the sea where drifted the lost baby voyagers; but
"the eyes of the Lord are in every place."
[Illustration]
X.
_RESCUED_
A SHOUT, a loud halloo, broke the stillness; a hail so sharp and
sudden, so near at hand, that it startled Mamie into new terror for one
moment; then, as it was repeated, brought a fluttering of hope to her
sinking young heart.
A glimmer over the water; then, as she turned her head, and glanced
half fearfully over her shoulder, a light shining brightly through the
surrounding darkness, and coming nearer.
Another hail, to which she still made no answer; perhaps she did not
understand that she would be expected to do so; then a boat coming
near,--a boat from which shone the welcome light, a torch held high
above the head of the boy who carried it.
Then the stranger boat was close to her own, with two people in it,
an old man and a boy; and the light of the torch was falling over
the little figures crouched close together; over the white face and
straining eyes of the elder, over the peaceful, sleeping form of the
younger.
Exclamations of wonder were exchanged between the man and boy, and
questions poured upon her; this Mamie knew from the tone of voice in
which they were uttered, but not one word could she understand; and
their language seemed so harsh and rough to her that it almost made her
afraid of them.
The end of a rope was thrown towards her, but she did not know that she
was expected to catch it; and the directions the man and boy shouted
out only confused and frightened her the more.
Poor child! she did not know whether to look upon these rough creatures
as friends or foes.
Several times they threw the rope, but each time it fell with a dull
splash into the water; and at last a boat-hook was thrown out, and
grappled her own boat. All the while, she heard the man and boy talking
eagerly together in their own uncouth tongue, and she wondered what
they were going to do with her and her little sister. All manner of
wild fancies flitted through her over-excited brain, and made her poor
little frame quiver at one moment with dread, at another with hope.
Who were these people, and where were they taking her? To some far-off
foreign land, where every one spoke that strange, rough language, and
no one would understand a word she might say when she told who she was,
and begged to be taken back to her friends; or could it really be that
they were taking her home? No, that could not be, for they did not know
where she belonged, and she had no way of telling them, or so she
believed.
They had now made her boat fast to their own, and were drawing it
after them; the man was rowing, the boy steering; the light from their
torch falling over both figures, and casting a red glare upon the
waves around. It was a curious scene, and one so new to Mamie that she
watched it with a feeling of there being something unreal about it all.
"It's 'most like a fairy tale, or a book story," she said to herself.
"I wonder what they are going to do with us;" and she drew her arms
close about Lulu, who still slept quietly on her breast.
She wished that the daylight would come, and show her more plainly the
faces of those who now had her in their keeping; for she believed that
it must be nearly morning, so long did the time seem since the light
had died out of the far west; whereas it was scarcely an hour since
dark, and it was still comparatively early in the evening.
Except for the measured dash of the oars, and the ripple of the waters
as the two boats cut through the waves, it was almost as still now as
it had been before her new companions had appeared; for man and boy had
ceased talking, and rowed steadily forward without exchanging a word.
Oh, if she only could know whether these were kind and good people,
who would be ready to take her home, or if they were bad and cruel,
and would do something dreadful to her and Lulu! She thought of every
terrible thing which she had ever heard of as happening to children,
and tormented herself with imagining her little sister and herself in
like situations.
Then she tried to turn her thoughts another way, picturing to herself
the going home, back to her mamma, and how glad mamma would be to see
her and Lulu, and how she would forgive all her naughtiness for very
joy at seeing them. And then she thought how distressed mamma must be
now, and again a heavy sob shook her breast, and two or three scalding
tears ran down upon Lulu's head.
Oh! if she could but be with mamma once more, she would try so hard
never to vex and worry her again; and she was so sure that she would
always be attentive and obedient to her wishes.
But should she ever have the chance? She looked up to the sky, now
thickly studded with stars,--more stars than she had ever seen before;
and how bright and beautiful they were, seeming as if they looked down
upon her right out of heaven,--the heaven where God was! and again
there came to her the thought,--
"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee;" and once more she asked
that no further harm might befall her and Lulu, but that these people
into whose hands they had fallen might be kind to them, and find some
way to take them home.
By and by another light shone out of the darkness, burning unsteadily,
but more and more brightly as the boat moved on; and Mamie knew that
they were nearing it. Then a long, low line, growing each instant more
distinct; and presently she saw that the light came from a fire that
was built upon--yes, it was the shore! The land once more! the land
where mamma was! far off it might be, perhaps in another country even;
for it seemed to the poor little voyager that she had come from such a
distance; but still it was the _land_, and she felt as if she must be
nearer home than upon the water.
She could see two figures moving about the fire which cast its fitful
light upon shore and sea, now dying down, now flashing up brightly, but
serving always as a point to guide them landwards.
Not very far off, and burning with a clear, steady flame, was another
light which seemed high up, and looked to Mamie like that of the
light-house which she could see every evening from the piazza of the
hotel. Was it possible it was the same? It would seem almost like a
friend if it were so.
Now the man rowed slower and slower, and presently the foremost boat
made a harsh, grating sound upon the beach. The boy jumped out, and
then Mamie's boat was hauled up, and she and Lulu lifted out, while a
woman and a girl pressed eagerly forward with wondering faces to see
what strange cargo the men had brought to shore.
But alas! the hope that Mamie had felt that these females might
understand her was soon put to flight. They talked fast enough, pouring
out question after question; but she could not comprehend one word;
and when the man had put her down upon her feet on the beach, and she
turned to the woman, and begged, oh, so earnestly! to be taken home
to mamma, the latter shook her head, and only gazed helplessly and
wonderingly into her pitiful face.
Then Lulu, roused from her sleep by the change, and frightened by the
strange scene and faces about her, broke into a loud, distressed cry,
in which Mamie herself could not help joining, as she stretched out
her arms for her little sister, whom the man had now given into the
woman's care.
The woman did not give her up, but spoke a few words to Mamie in a
coaxing voice, and then set off with long, rapid strides, while the
girl seized upon Mamie's hand and followed, leaving the man and boy to
attend to the boats and their fish; for they were fishermen, as Mamie
afterwards found out.