One beautiful evening in autumn, many years ago, a sailor was observed
to approach an English village which lay embosomed among trees, near the
margin of a small stream whose waters gleamed in the rays of the setting
sun.
The village was an inland one, far removed alike from the roar and the
influences of the briny ocean. It must have cost the sailor some pain
to reach it; for he walked with a crutch, and one of his bare feet was
bandaged, and scarcely touched the ground at each step. He looked dusty
and fatigued, yet he was a stout, well-favoured, robust young fellow, so
that his hapless condition was evidently the result of recent misfortune
and accident--not of prolonged sickness or want. He wore the
picturesque blue jacket, wide trousers, and straw hat of a man-of-war's
man; and exposed a large amount of brown chest beneath his blue flannel
shirt, the broad collar of which was turned well over.
Going straight to the inn of the village, he begged for a night's food
and lodging. Told a sad story, in off-hand fashion, of how he had been
shipwrecked on the western isles of Scotland, where he had lost all he
possessed, and had well-nigh lost his life too; but a brave fisherman
had pulled him out of the surf by the hair of the head, and so he was
saved alive, though with a broken leg, which took many weeks to mend.
When he was able to travel, he had set out with his crutch, and had
walked two hundred miles on his way to Liverpool, where his poor wife
and two helpless children were living in painful ignorance of his sad
fate!
Of course this was enough to arouse all the sympathies of the villagers,
few of whom had ever seen a real sailor of any kind in their lives--much
less a shipwrecked one. So the poor fellow was received with open arms,
entreated hospitably, lodged and fed at the public expense, and in the
morning sent on his way rejoicing.
All the forenoon of that day the shipwrecked sailor limped on his way
through a populous district of old England in the midst of picturesque
scenery, gathering pence and victuals, ay, and silver and even gold too,
from the pitying inhabitants as he went along. Towards the afternoon he
came to a more thinly peopled district, and after leaving a small hamlet
in which he had reaped a rich harvest he limped to the brow of the hill
at the foot of which it lay, and gazed for a few minutes at the prospect
before him.
It was a wide stretch of moorland, across which the road went in almost
a straight line. There were slight undulations in the land, but no
houses or signs of the presence of man.
Having limped on until the village was quite hidden from view, the
sailor quietly put his crutch across his broad shoulder, and brightening
up wonderfully, walked across the moor at the rate of full five miles an
hour, whistling gaily in concert with the larks as he sped along.
An hour and a half of such walking brought him to a small patch of
scrubby underwood, from the neighbourhood of which a large town could be
seen looming against the evening sky in the far distance. The sailor
entered the underwood with the air of a man who had aimed at the spot as
a goal, and who meant to rest there a while. He reached an open space,
in the centre of which grew a stunted tree. Here he sat down, and
taking off his wallet, ate a hearty supper of scraps of excellent bread,
cheese, and meat, which he washed down with a draught of gin.
Afterwards he lit his pipe, and, while enjoying himself thus, reclining
at the foot of the tree, proceeded to increase his enjoyment by counting
out his gains.
While thus agreeably engaged, a rustling of the bushes caused him to
bundle the gains hastily up in a handkerchief, which he thrust into his
pocket, while he leaped nimbly to his feet, and seized his crutch.
"Oh, it's only you, Bill! why, I declare I thought it was--well, well,
never mind. How have ye got on?"
The individual addressed entered the enclosure, and sat down at the foot
of the tree with a sigh, which might, without much exaggeration, have
been termed a growl. Bill was also, strange to say, a sailor, and a
wounded one, (doubtless a shipwrecked one), because his left arm was in
a sling.
"It's tough work, Jim, an' little pay," said the newcomer. "Why, I've
walked twenty mile good, an' only realised two pun' ten. If it don't
improve, I'll take to a better trade."
"You're a discontented dog," replied Jim, spreading out his treasures.
"Here have I limped the same distance, an' bin an' got five pun' two."
"Whew!" whistled the other. "You don't say that? Well--we go 'alves,
so I'm better--'ere pass that bottle. I'll drink to your good 'ealth.
'Ow did you ever come by it, Bill?"
To this Bill replied that he had fallen in with several ladies, whose
hearts were so touched by his pitiful tale that most of them gave him
crown pieces, while two, who actually shed tears while he spoke, gave
him half a sovereign each!
"I drink to them 'ere two ladies," exclaimed Bill, applying the gin
bottle to his mouth, which was already full of bread and beef.
"So does I," said Jim, snatching the bottle from his comrade, "not so
much for the sake of them there ladies, 'owever, as to get my fair share
o' the tipple afore you."
The remainder of the sentence was drowned by gin; and after they had
finished the bottle, which was only a pint one however, these two men
sat down together to count their ill-gotten gains; for both of them were
vile impostors, who had never been on the salt water in the whole course
of their worthless lives.
"Now, madam," said I, pointedly addressing Miss Flouncer, who had
listened with rapt attention, "this circumstance happened _before_ the
existence of the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, and similar cases
happened frequently. In fact, the interior of our land was at that time
constantly visited by shipwrecked sailors of this kind."
"Indeed!" said Miss Flouncer, undulating to me, with a benignant smile.
"Yes, madam," said I. "Now observe another side of this picture."
Hereupon I resumed my address, the substance of which was as follows:
It chanced that when impostor Jim started away over the moor at the
slapping pace I have already referred to, he was observed by two of the
village boys, who were lying in a hollow by the road-side amusing
themselves. These urchins immediately ran home, and told what they had
seen. The gossips of the place congregated round the inn door, and
commented on the conduct of the pretended seaman in no measured terms--
at the same time expressing a wish that they only had him there, and
they would let him smell the peculiar odour of their horse-pond. At
this point the courage and the ire of three stout young ploughmen, who
had been drinking deeply, was stirred up so much that they vowed to be
revenged, and set off in pursuit of the offender. As they ran nearly
all the way, they soon came to the spot where Jim and Bill had been
enjoying themselves, and met these villains just as they were issuing
from the underwood to continue their journey.
A fight immediately ensued, but Jim made such play with his crutch that
the ploughmen were driven back. Bill, too, who had been a London
prize-fighter, unslung his left arm, and used it so vigorously that the
rustics, after having had all their eyes blackened and all their noses
bled, were fain to turn round and fly!
This event, as you may suppose, made a considerable sensation in the
neighbourhood; travellers and carriers conveyed the news of it along the
road from village to village; and the thing was thoroughly canvassed,
and the impostors duly condemned.
Well, about three weeks afterwards a great storm arose; a ship was
wrecked on the coast, and all the crew and passengers drowned except one
man--a powerful seaman, who chanced to be a good swimmer, and who nearly
lost his own life in his gallant efforts to save the life of the only
female who was on board. This man swam to the shore with one arm, while
with the other he supported the woman.
He could barely crawl up the beach through the heavy surf, dragging his
burden after him. But he succeeded, and then lay for some time
insensible. When he recovered, he found that the woman appeared to be
dead. Anxious, however, to do all in his power to restore her, he tried
to chafe her limbs; but seeing that he could make no impression, he
hastened away to search for human dwellings and send help. Four miles
did he stagger along before he came to a fishing village.
Here he told his tale; the men of the place hurried away to the scene of
the wreck, but arrived too late to be of any use.
The sailor remained some days with the fishermen, who received him
kindly, and gave him a few pence to help him on his way to the nearest
town, where he received a few shillings from some charitable persons,
and then set off to walk on foot to his native place, which happened to
be on the opposite coast of England.
The poor fellow got on very well until he came to the road which led to
the village where Jim had been so successful. All along this road he
was scouted as an impostor, and, but for his imposing size and physical
strength, would doubtless have received more kicks than halfpence. As
it was he was well-nigh starved.
Arriving one afternoon, famishing and almost knocked up, at the village,
he went in despair to the inn door, and began to tell his sorrowful
tale. He told it to unsympathetic ears. Among his auditors were the
three ploughmen who had been so roughly handled by Jim and Bill. These
only heard the first two or three sentences when they rushed upon the
sailor, calling on their comrades, who were numerous, to help them to
duck the rascal in the horse-pond.
The stout tar, although taken by surprise and overpowered, was not
disposed to submit without a struggle. He was a very Samson in
strength. Rising up by main force with two of his foes on his back, he
threw them off, drove his right fist into the eye of one, his foot into
the stomach of a second, flattened the nose of a third on his face with
a left-hander, and then wheeling round at random, plunged his elbow into
the chest of another who was coming on behind, and caused him to measure
his length on the ground. Before the rustics recovered from their
surprise at the suddenness of these movements, two more of their number
were sprawling in the dust, and the rest stood off aghast!
"Now, then," shouted the indignant tar, as he clapped his back to the
side of the inn, "come on! the whole of 'ee. I hope yer wills is made.
What! ye're afeard, are ye? Well, if ye won't come on I'll bid ye good
afternoon, ye low minded, cowardly land-lubbers!"
And with that he made a rush at them. They tumbled over each other in
heaps, trying to get out of his way, so that he could only get a passing
dig at one or two of them, and cleared away as fast as he could run.
They did not follow him far, so Jack soon stopped and sat down on the
road-side, in a very savage state of mind, to wipe the blood from his
face and knuckles.
While he was thus engaged, an elderly gentleman in the garb of a
clergyman approached him.
"What has happened to you, my man?" he asked.
"That's none o' your business," answered Jack with angry emphasis. "Ax
no questions, an' you'll be told no lies!"
"Excuse me, friend," replied the clergyman gently, "I did not mean to
annoy you; but you seem to have been badly wounded, and I would assist
you if you will allow me."
"I ax yer parding, sir," said Jack, a little softened, though by no
means restored to his wonted good-humour; "no offence meant, but I've
been shamefully abused by the scoundrels in yonder village, an' I am
riled a bit. It's only a scratch, sir, you don't need to consarn
yerself."
"It is more than a scratch, if I may judge from the flow of blood.
Permit me to examine."
"Oh, it'll be all right d'rectly," said Jack; but as he said so he fell
back on the grass, fainting from loss of blood which flowed from a large
wound on his head.
When the sailor's senses were restored, he found himself in a bed in the
clergyman's dwelling, with his head bandaged up, and his body a good
deal weaker than he had ever before felt it. The clergyman took care of
him until he recovered; and you may be sure that he did not miss the
opportunity to urge the sailor to think of his soul, and to come to
Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, whose name is Love, and whose
teaching is all summed up in this, "Do unto others as ye would that they
should do unto you."
When Jack was quite recovered, the clergyman gave him some money to
enable him to reach his home without begging his way.
Now this case also occurred _before_ the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society
was instituted. I cannot say that such cases of rough handling were
frequent; but cases in which true-blue shipwrecked tars were treated as
impostors were numerous, so that, in those days, knaves and rascals
often throve as wrecked seamen, while the genuine and unfortunate men
were often turned rudely from door to door. This state of things does
not exist now. It _cannot_ exist now, for honorary agents of the
society are to be found on every part of our coasts, so that the moment
a wrecked man touches the land, no matter whether he be a Briton or a
foreigner, he is at once taken care of, clothed, housed, fed, supplied
with a little money, and forwarded to his home, or to the nearest consul
of his nation. The society has therefore accomplished two great and
good objects, for which the entire nation owes it a debt of gratitude;
it has rid the land of begging impostors clad in sailors' clothes, and
it has provided relief and assistance to the shipwrecked among our brave
and hardy seamen who are in every sense the bulwarks of our island, and
without whose labours, in the most perilous of all callings, Great
Britain would be one of the poorest and most uninfluential kingdoms on
the face of the earth.
But the society does a great deal more than that, for it comforts and
assists with money and advice hundreds and thousands of widows and
orphans whose husbands, fathers, or brothers have been drowned; and this
it does from year to year regularly--as regularly as the storms come and
scatter death and destruction on our shores. It cannot be too earnestly
impressed on the people of England, and especially on those who dwell
inland, that at least a thousand lives are lost, two thousand ships are
wrecked, and two millions sterling are thrown away upon the coasts of
this country _every year_.
It is owing to the untiring energy of the National Lifeboat Institution
that those figures are not much, _very_ much higher; and it is the
Shipwrecked Mariners' Society that alleviates much, _very_ much, of the
woe resulting from storms and wrecks upon our shores. Sailors and
fishermen know this well, and support both institutions largely. I
would that ladies and gentlemen knew this better, and felt that they
have a positive duty incumbent on them in regard to these societies, for
they are not local but _national_.
"Now, madam," said I, again addressing myself pointedly to Miss
Flouncer, "would you like to hear a few interesting facts in reference
to the objects of this Society?"
Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated in order to express her readiness to
listen; at the same time she glanced at Sir Richard, who, I observed,
was sound asleep. I also noticed that Mrs Bingley sniffed impatiently;
but I felt that I had a duty to perform, so with unalterable resolution
I prepared to continue my address, when Miss Peppy, who had been nearly
asleep during the greater part of the time I was speaking, suddenly said
to Miss Flouncer--
"Well, it _is_ a most surprising state of things that people _will_ go
to sea and get wrecked just to let societies like these spring up like
mushrooms all over the land. For my part, I think I would rather do
without the things that ships bring to us from foreign lands than always
hear of those dreadful wrecks, and--but really one cannot expect the
world to alter just to please one, so I suppose people must go on being
drowned and saved by rocket-boats and lifeboats; so we had better retire
to the drawing-room, my dear."
The last observation was addressed to Mrs Bingley, who responded to it
with a bow of assent as she drew on her gloves.
Immediately after, the ladies rose, and I was thus constrained to
postpone my narration of interesting facts, until another opportunity
should offer.