E-text prepared by David Clarke, V. L. Simpson, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 21797-h.htm or 21797-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/7/9/21797/21797-h/21797-h.htm)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/7/9/21797/21797-h.zip)
A SAILOR'S LASS
by
EMMA LESLIE,
Author of "The Gipsy Queen,"
"Dearer Than Life,"
"Gytha's Message," Etc.
With Five Illustrations.
Second Edition.
London:
S.W. Partridge & Co.,
9, Paternoster Row.
[Illustration: "HE PICKED UP THE WHITE BUNDLE, AND HURRIED AFTER
PETERS."]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
ONE STORMY NIGHT 7
CHAPTER II.
THE FISHERMAN'S HOME 22
CHAPTER III.
TINY'S HOPE 41
CHAPTER IV.
TINY'S TREASURE 57
CHAPTER V.
ON THE SANDS 74
CHAPTER VI.
BAD TIMES 92
CHAPTER VII.
A TEA MEETING 110
CHAPTER VIII.
BRIGHTER DAYS 127
CHAPTER I.
ONE STORMY NIGHT.
"Mother, we're afloat agin." It was a gruff, sleepy voice that spoke,
and the old fisherman turned over and snored on, as though the fact of
their home being afloat was of no consequence to him. His wife, however,
was by no means so easy in her mind, for it was only during the
equinoctial gales and an unusually high tide that their home was lifted
from its moorings; and now it had been swinging and swaying for hours,
and the rusty chains that held it fast to some posts were creaking and
straining as though the next gust of wind would certainly carry them out
to sea or drive them up the river, where they would inevitably be
swamped in a very short time, for their boat-home was leaky at the
bottom--had been a water-logged boat before the fisherman took
possession of it and turned it into a quaint-looking cottage by running
up some wooden walls along the sides, and roofing it in with planks and
tarpaulin. Thus converted into a dwelling-house, the boat had been
secured, by four chains fixed to posts in the ground, on the top of a
mud-bank that formed the boundary of the mouth of the river.
The ocean itself was less than a quarter of a mile from where the old
boat was moored, and so the poor woman might well be excused for growing
more alarmed as the minutes went on and the gale increased, until the
boat fairly rocked, and the children in the adjoining cabin began crying
and screaming in their fright.
"Coomber! Coomber!" she said at last, shaking her husband, and starting
up in bed; for a sound more dreadful than the children's screams had
made itself heard above the din of the wind and waves.
"There's a ship, Coomber, close in shore; I can hear the guns!" screamed
his wife, giving him another vigorous shake.
"Ship! guns!" exclaimed the old fisherman, starting up in bed. The next
minute he was on his feet, and working himself into his clothes. "She
must be on the sand-bar if you heard the guns," he said.
A sudden lurch of the boat almost pitched the old man forward, and the
children's screams redoubled, while Mrs. Coomber hastily scrambled out
of bed and lighted the lantern that hung against the wall.
"What are yer going to do?" asked her husband, in some surprise; "women
ain't no good in such work as this."
"What are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Coomber, almost crying herself;
"the boat will soon be adrift with this wind and tide, and we shall all
be drowned like rats in a hole."
"Nay, nay, old woman, the boat was made taut enough before I brought you
here, and you think she wouldn't have broke away before this if she was
going to do it? Don't be a stupid lubber," he added.
"But the children, Coomber, the children. I ain't afraid for myself,"
said the mother, with a sob.
"Well, well, the old boat'll hold the boys for many a day yet," said the
fisherman; "you go in and stop their noise, while I get help for the
poor souls that are surely perishing out there."
"But what can you do for them?" asked his wife; "there ain't a boat
besides ours at Bermuda Point, nor a man to help you manage it besides
Bob."
"No, no; Bob and I couldn't manage the boat in such a sea as this; but
he shall go with me to Fellness. Bob! Bob!" called his father, in the
same breath.
"Aye, aye," came an answering shout from the adjoining cabin.
"Slip into your things as quick as you can; we must be off to Fellness;
there's a ship out there on the bar sands."
"I'm a'most ready, dad; I heard mother call yer, and thought you'd let
me go along," replied Bob.
Before the fisherman put on his sou'-wester he took a black bottle from
a recess, and after taking a hearty draught, he said, "It's lucky we've
got a drop to-night," as he handed it to his wife; and with a parting
word to her not to be afraid, he and Bob stepped out of the boat-house
door, to meet the full fury of the blast, that threatened at first to
carry them off their legs. The three miles' walk to the little fishing
village of Fellness was no easy task such a wild night as this, for
although the road was inland, it was fully exposed to the sea, and
between the wilder outbreaks of the wind and rain they could hear the
guns of distress, and occasionally see a rocket piercing the midnight
blackness of the sky, appealing for help for the drowning men.
At the coastguard station, midway between the Point and the village,
they found the men on the alert, and two volunteered to go with Coomber
and help man the boat. Then the four plodded silently along the slushy
road, for talking was next to impossible in such a gale, and it needed
all the strength and energy they could muster to fight the wind and
rain.
They made their way to the beach as soon as they reached Fellness, and,
as they expected, found most of the men gathered there, watching the
distressed vessel.
"Halloo! here's Coomber from the Point," said one, as the new-comers
pushed their way in among them.
"What are yer standing here for?" shouted Coomber, in some impatience;
"looking won't do her no good."
"We can't do nothing else," said the man; "we've got Rodwell's boat
here--she's the best craft on this coast for such a trip, and we've made
three tries in her, but it's no good; nothing could live in such a sea
as this; we've been beat back every time, and well-nigh swamped."
"Well, mates, I don't say nothing but what yer may have tried; but
suppose now one of yer had got a boy out in that there ship--_I've_ got
a boy in that, or another, if he ain't gone to where there's no more
sea," said the old fisherman, with a groan; and before he had done
speaking, one or two had moved to where the boat had been dragged on to
the low sandy shore.
"We'll try again," they said, in quiet but determined voices.
"Let the youngsters go," said Coomber, as two or three married men
pressed forward; "them as has got wives ain't no call to go on such a
trip as this. There'll be enough of us; there's me and Bob, and Rook and
White came with us a purpose, and----"
"But how about your wife, Coomber?" interrupted one of the men.
"Oh, never you fear, lads; she'll not grudge me if I save her boy. Now,
lads, look here; seven of us'll be enough, and we've got four."
There were so many volunteers for the three vacant places, that the men
seemed on the point of quarrelling among themselves now for the
privilege of joining in this dangerous errand; but by common consent
Coomber was constituted the leader of the party, and he chose three of
the most stalwart of the single men, and the rest were allowed to run
the boat down through the surf. Then, with a loud cheer from all who
stood on the shore, the seven brave men bent to their oars, and during a
slight lull in the wind, they made a little headway towards the wreck.
But the next minute they were beaten back again, and the boat well-nigh
swamped. Again they pushed off, but again were they driven back; and
five times was this repeated, and thus an hour was lost in the fruitless
endeavour to get away from the shore. At length the fury of the storm
somewhat abated, and they were able to get away, but it was a long time
before they could get near the dangerous bar sands, on which the vessel
had struck, and when they did get there, the ship had disappeared. There
was plenty of wreckage about--broken spars, fragments of masts and torn
sail-cloth.
"We're too late," groaned one of the men, as he peered through the
darkness, trying to descry the hull of the vessel. They had not heard
the guns or seen a rocket thrown up for some time.
"They're all gone, poor fellows," said another, sadly; "we may as well
go back now, before the gale freshens again."
"Oh, stop a bit; we'll look among this rubbish, and see what there is
here; perhaps some of them are holding on to the floating timber," said
Coomber, who had frequently been out on a similar errand.
They raised their voices together, and cried "Hi! hi!" trying to
outscream the wind; but it was of no use; there was no answering call
for help, and after waiting about for some time, and going as near to
the dangerous sands as they dared, they at length reluctantly turned
their boat towards the shore, and began to row back. But before they had
got far on their way, they descried the gleam of something white
floating in front of them.
"Only a bit of sail-cloth," said one, as they paused in their rowing to
concentrate all their attention upon the object.
"Let's make sure, mates," said Coomber. "Steady, now; mind your oars;
let her float; it's coming this way, and we'll pick it up;" and in
another minute Coomber had reached over and seized the white bundle,
which he found to be carefully lashed to a spar.
"It's a child!" he exclaimed. "Mates, we ain't come out for nothing,
after all. Now row for dear life," he said, as he carefully laid the
bundle in the bottom of the boat. They could do nothing for it here, not
even ascertain whether it was dead or alive; and they pulled for the
shore with even greater eagerness than they had left it.
The dawn was breaking before they got back, and they were welcomed with
a shout from their waiting comrades, who were watching anxiously for the
return of the boat. There was disappointment, however, in the little
crowd of watchers when they saw only the brave crew returning from the
perilous journey.
"What, nothing!" exclaimed one of the men, as the boat drew close in
shore.
"Only a child, and that may be dead," shouted one of the crew.
"But I think it's alive," said Coomber. "Run, Peters, and rouse up your
missus; the womenfolk are better hands at such jobs than we are;" and as
soon as he could leave the boat, he picked up the white bundle, and
hurried after Peters, leaving his companions to tell the story of their
disappointment.
Mrs. Peters was a motherly woman, and had already lighted a fire to
prepare some breakfast for her husband, in readiness for his return from
the beach, so the wet clothes were soon taken off the child, and they
saw it was a little girl about five years old, fair and
delicate-looking, decently, but not richly clad, with a small silver
medal hung round her neck by a black ribbon. At first they feared the
poor little thing was dead, for it was not until Mrs. Peters had
well-nigh exhausted all her best-known methods for restoring the
apparently drowned, that the little waif showed any sign of returning
life.
Coomber stood watching with silent but intense anxiety the efforts of
the dame to restore animation, not daring to join in the vigorous
chafings and slappings administered, for fear his rough horny hands
should hurt the tender blue-white limbs.
For some time the woman was too much occupied with her task to notice
his presence, but when her labour was rewarded by a faint sigh, and a
slightly-drawn breath parted the pale lips, she heard a grunt of
satisfaction behind her; and turning her head, she exclaimed, "What
gowks men are, to be sure."
"Eh, what is it, dame?" said Coomber, meekly; for he had conceived a
wonderful respect for Mrs. Peters during the last ten minutes.
"Ha' you been a-standing there like a post all this while, and never put
out yer hand to help save the child?" she said, reproachingly.
"I couldn't, dame, I couldn't with such hands as these; but I'll do
anything for you that I can," whispered the fisherman, as though he
feared to disturb the child.
"Well, I want a tub of hot water," snapped Mrs. Peters. "You'll find the
tub in the backyard, and the kettle's near on the boil. Look sharp and
get the tub, and then go upstairs and get a blanket off the bed."
Coomber soon brought the tub, and a pitcher of cold water that stood
near, but it was not so easy for him to grope his way upstairs. The
staircase was narrow and dark, and seemed specially contrived that the
uninitiated might bump and bruise themselves. Coomber, in his boat-home,
having no such convenience or inconvenience in general use, found the
ascent anything but easy, and the dame's sharp voice was heard calling
for the blanket long before he had groped his way to the bedroom door.
But what would he not do for that child whose faint wail now greeted his
ears? He pushed on, in spite of thumps and knocks against unexpected
corners, and when he had found the blanket, was not long in making his
way down with it.
"Now what's to be done with her?" demanded the woman, as she lifted the
little girl out of the water, and wrapped her in the blanket.
"Won't she drink some milk?" said Coomber, scratching his head
helplessly.
"I dessay she will presently; but who's to keep her? You say there ain't
none of the people saved from the wreck to tell who she belongs to?"
"No, there ain't none of 'em saved, so I think I'll take her myself,"
said Coomber.
"You take her!" exclaimed the woman; "what will your wife say, do you
think, to another mouth to fill, when there's barely enough now for what
you've got--four hearty boys, who are very sharks for eating?"
"Well, dame, I've had a little gal o' my own, but ain't likely to have
another unless I takes this one," said Coomber, with a little more
courage, "and so I ain't a-going to lose this chance; for I do want a
little gal."
"Oh, that's all very well; but you ain't no call to take this child
that's no ways your own. She can go to the workus, you know. Peters'll
take her by-and-by. Her clothes ain't much, so her belongings ain't
likely to trouble themselves much about her. Yer can see by this
trumpery medal she don't belong to rich folks; so my advice is, let her
go to the workus, where she'll be well provided for."
"No, no! the missus'll see things as I do, when I talk to her a bit. So
if you'll take care of her for an hour or two, while I go home and get
off these duds, and tell her about it, I'll be obliged;" and without
waiting for the dame's reply, Coomber left the cottage.
[Illustration]