OUR NED.
"I always feel inclined," began Mr Arnold, "to pity a boy who has no
friend or companion to whom he can look up with admiration and love,
and whom he regards as quite a hero. It is a good thing ever to have
something or some one above us, at whom we can gaze, and after whom we
can strive. It should be our aim through life to look up, and not
down; men do not climb to great heights by keeping their eyes intently
fixed on the ground, but, on the contrary, by looking forward and
upward. And no one can say he is in want of a hero to imitate and
love, when the greatest hero of all the world is perpetually before
him.
"'Our Ned' was my hero, and though some people would have it he was a
trifle wild, I never found him so, and certainly, after all these
years, cannot bring my mind to think so now. He was the boldest,
bravest, kindest, most true-hearted and generous boy, that man, woman,
or child ever set eyes on. True, he loved a bit of harmless mischief
for the fun of the thing, but was far too noble-spirited to do a mean
or cowardly action, and would scorn to take an unjust and bullying
advantage over a boy who was weaker or younger than himself. Some boys
think they are exhibiting a manliness of character if they tease and
torment those who are unable to protect themselves, instead of which
they are doing just about as mean a thing as boys can do. What is the
use of possessing strength if we exercise it in oppressing others? A
true boy, or man, should reserve his strength to protect those who are
unable to take care of themselves; and as you go through the world,
you will find plenty of that sort.
"I loved our Ned second only to my mother, and I know he loved me in
return. We did not express the love we cherished for each other like
girls at a boarding-school, by hugging and kissing, and 'dearing' and
'ducking' at every spare moment; no, boys show their love after a
different fashion, and kisses with them go for very little, and are
considered rather a nuisance than otherwise. If he had a shilling,
half of it was mine; I might use his books, pencils, marbles, bat,
ball, or, for that matter, anything that was his, and he in his turn
was welcome to anything I possessed. If he saw a big boy bullying me,
he wasted no words in useless remonstrances, but instead, off with his
jacket and fought him at once. You must not think him a quarrelsome
boy, who always wanted to be fighting; nothing of the sort, but he
cherished a firm conviction--and I don't think he was far wrong--that
big, hulking bullies deserved no better treatment than that contained
in good, hard, knockdown blows, and these he never hesitated to give,
did the occasion warrant it. Of course, he sometimes got the worst of
it, but he never minded an atom, not he; he would pick himself up on
such occasions, spitting the blood and dirt from his mouth, and
cheerily say, as he saw my look of concern: 'All right, Archie, not
dead yet; better luck next time!' And his jacket would be on, and he
walking by my side as calmly as possible, without once alluding to
his wounds and bruises.
"Yes, Ned was a brave fellow. I remember his coming home one afternoon
with a fearfully nasty bite in his left arm, some stingy, big brute of
a cur had given him, because he would not let it worry a little girl
carrying a big basket, whom it was terrifying into convulsions with
yelping and snarling, and making sudden and ferocious grabs at her
bare little legs. He gave the beast a kick, and it turned and fastened
its long yellow-looking teeth in his arm, and almost bit it through.
Our mother was in a terrible way, and wanted to have the dog killed,
but nobody knew whose it was, or where it had gone. The doctor burned
the wound; and although he turned pale, our Ned did not cry out, but
stood it, as the doctor admiringly said, 'like a hero.' When it was
bandaged up he put on his jacket, saying, 'Well, that's over.' Mother
did not appear to think so; she looked troubled and anxious, shook her
head doubtfully, and said, 'I am afraid not.' Then brushing back his
hair caressingly with her hand, kissing his forehead, and looking into
his dark brown, honest, and fearless eyes, added, half chidingly,
half admiringly, 'Ned, my boy, though I would not for the world that
you should be different from what you are, a brave, true-hearted lad,
yet I sadly fear your high spirit will get you into many a trouble.'
"'Never mind the trouble, mamma,' replied our Ned, 'so long as it
keeps me from doing a mean or cowardly action.'
"He was very nearly getting into trouble once, however, for
interfering between a brutal tramp and his wife. There was no
principle our Ned adhered to so firmly, as that no provocation,
however great, justified a boy in striking a girl, or a man a woman;
he held to this as staunchly as kings to the doctrine of divine right.
'Depend upon it, Archie,' he would say, 'a boy who would strike a girl
is a mean-spirited puppy, and a man who would strike a woman is a
cowardly cur, and one deserves drowning, and the other hanging! Why, I
read that even dogs respect the sex, and no respectable dog would so
far forget himself as to attack his female companion. I can't say
whether the feminines are quite so particular; I am not so certain on
that point, but then you must make every allowance, they have a deal
to put up with. No, no, Archie; rest assured there is nothing so mean
and cowardly as striking women and girls.'
"Thinking thus, boys, it will not surprise you to learn that 'our Ned'
was in continual hot water by making himself the champion of every
girl he saw ill-treated. Was some little girl having her hair pulled,
or her arms pinched, by a thoughtless or cruel urchin, directly she
caught sight of my brother, she ran to him for protection, while her
tormentor scuttled away equally fast in an opposite direction, his
ears tingling in anticipation of the coming correction. Was a larger
and older girl threatened by some ill-natured brother, or brother's
chum, she felt herself safe if our Ned made his appearance. In short,
he was always ready, at whatever odds, to do battle for the 'weaker
sex,' as he jestingly called them. This trait in his character
procured for him the name of the 'Young Don Quixote,' and he was as
frequently called the 'young Don' as he was by his baptismal name.
"But to return to the tramp. We were walking home one afternoon from
school, when, just as we turned a bend in the road, we came close upon
a man and woman quarrelling; the man was in the act of striking the
woman with a stick as we hove in sight. Our Ned's face flushed up as
he saw the man's action, and clenching his hands, he was rushing
forward, when I caught him by the jacket, imploring him to stay. He
flashed a look, half indignant, half surprised, back at me,
exclaiming, 'What, Archie?' and was off. The stick had descended
before he reached the scene of contention, but he thrust himself
between the victim and her tyrant, who was preparing for a repetition
of the blow. 'You big, cowardly brute!' he cried; 'haven't you manhood
enough left in you not to strike a woman?'
"The fellow seemed actually paralysed with surprise at Ned's audacity;
he gazed at him for a moment or two with amazement, while the stick
which had been in the act of descending remained suspended in the air.
The man, however, soon recovered himself, and looked so fierce and
brutal that I trembled with apprehension for Ned's safety.
"'Get out of the way, you young fool, or I'll be the death of you,'
said the man, trying to thrust him on one side.
"'Not unless you promise not to strike the woman,' replied Ned,
undauntedly.
"'What?' roared the infuriated fellow; 'why, she's my own wife!'
"'More shame, then, for you to touch her.'
"The man swore a terrible oath, seized Ned by the throat, struck
fiercly at him with the stick, and finally threw him to the other side
of the road, where he fell all in a heap, after which the fellow
walked off in the direction of the town we had just left. I hastened
to my brother, and seeing him lie there so still, and with his face
discoloured, I concluded he was dead, and cried out with a great burst
of grief, 'He's killed, he's killed!'
"'Hush! laddie, he's not done for,' said a rough but kindly voice, and
looking up I saw the woman, on whose behalf he had done battle,
bending over him. 'He's not dead; untie his neckerchief, and give him
some air; he's only dazed a bit; he's a brave laddie though. There,
see, he's coming round! But I must be off. A brave laddie that!'
"Ned was soon able to rise to his feet and resume his walk homeward;
he was a little shaky on the legs, and was compelled to lean heavily
on my shoulder as he limped along.
"'You see, Archie,' he said, 'it was such a choker; the beast griped
so hard, I couldn't get a chance to kick his shins; it was all grip
and tumble. I think he must have hit me on the head, it feels rather
sore.' Brave old Ned, throat and head both bore marks of the fellow's
violence for more than a week after.
"Such was 'our Ned.' He was always doing something to make my heart
throb with pride, and a look of pleasure kindled in our mother's eyes.
He was a brother to be proud of, I can tell you.
"Once every year we shut up house and paid a visit to a brother of my
father's, who resided by the sea shore, on the eastern coast of our
island. This visit was always a source of pleasure to Ned and myself.
Living inland, the sight of Old Father Ocean, in calm or in storm, was
like the face of a dear old friend which we hail with delight. We
usually contrived to make the best of our six weeks' stay, and would
crowd as much pleasure as it was possible into every day; no moment
hung heavily on our hands, the time passed only too rapidly, so that
at the end of each visit we appeared to have been there but three,
instead of six weeks.
"Our Uncle was an uncle that would gladden any boy's heart; he
delighted to have us staying in the house; he said it made the old
place cheery and pleasant, for he had the misfortune to be a bachelor;
and with the exception of his old housekeeper--whom we boys half
worried to death--and his female servants, he saw no 'women folk,' all
the year round, but our mother. He was one of the right sort, always
planning pic-nics, fishing and rowing excursions; and kept his purse
continually in his hand, ready to tip us handsomely, for he appeared
to have an instinct that money burnt a hole in our pockets.
"But it was seldom we were in the house, except at meals and to sleep;
the cliffs and beach proved too attractive, and we were soon 'hail
well met!' with all the fishermen, and speedily became acquainted with
the inside of each cottage, and the respective qualities of each boat,
as we were with the humours and dispositions of their several owners.
Many were the rows, and sails the fishermen gave us; morning, noon,
and night, we were ever welcome.
"One of our chief pleasures was to go out fishing with them in the
early mornings. Provided the weather was fine, we would be up, and
out, and down on the beach long before any of our uncle's domestics
were astir, and as soon as the boatmen appeared with whom we were
going, it was in boat, out oars, and away we went, skimming joyously
over the waters, which already sparkled with the beams of the rising
sun.
"Ah, what happy mornings those were. How joyously we laughed, and
joked, and shouted; how full of life and health we were; no sorrow as
yet had chilled our hearts, wrinkled our brows, or made our spirits
look sadly from out our eyes; no, everything was bright, and tipped
with the golden light of the morning of life. All the world lay before
us, and the unknown and untried future seemed to beckon us onward, and
we were only too eager to follow and see what it had in store.
"It was during one of these visits paid to our uncle, and near to its
close, that we lost 'our Ned.' The weather had been unusually fine
for September, the sun had been hot and bright, and the sky cloudless.
Week after week had glided by, and there had been no rain, or cloud;
things inland began to look brown and scorched, while the ground
showed great gaps and fissures, as though the earth were thirsty, and
was opening its mouth for water. But for a visit to the sea coast the
weather could not have been more suitable, at least so Ned and I
thought. We had but a week longer to stay, when, one evening, the
weather gave unmistakable signs of a change. 'There will be a storm
to-night,' said the fishermen, as they hauled their boats up high and
dry upon the beach beyond reach of the sea. The sea-gulls flew
screaming hither and thither; the wind began a low moaning wail, as of
pain, because of the fury gathering within its bosom, and the sea fell
with a sullen kind of roar upon the sands, while the clouds gathered
darker and blacker along the horizon, presently spreading in thick
heavy masses over the face of the sky.
"About six the storm burst in all its fury. I had never witnessed such
an one before, and trembled with apprehension as I heard the frantic
howling of the wind, and the fearful roaring of the sea, which
gathered itself up in mighty waves and dashed against the tall cliffs
as if with the intention of washing the whole earth away, added to
which the thunder pealed over head, and the livid lightning gleamed
and flashed round the sky. 'What a night!' cried our mother. 'God have
mercy on our poor men at sea!'
"Ned and myself could not rest in the house; we felt we must be out
battling with the storm, and out we accordingly went. It was hard work
to keep our feet, the force of the wind was such that, two or three
times we were compelled to hold by each other to prevent ourselves
from being blown down. As we made our way slowly to the beach, we
became aware that something of interest was occurring, for we noticed
a cluster of men making frantic gestures, and pointing eagerly
seaward. Following with our eyes the direction their hands indicated,
we were startled by seeing a large vessel driving rapidly on shore.
She was in evident and imminent peril, the wind had torn what canvass
she carried into ribbons, while the crew appeared to have lost all
control over her movements, the vessel not answering to her helm. We
could see some of them cutting away at one of the masts, and others
employed in loading a gun, which was presently fired as a signal of
distress. We took all this in at a glance, yet not very distinctly, as
darkness was settling down over sea and land; but the vivid flashing
of the lightning enabled us to obtain glimpses of the state of affairs
on board the doomed ship.
"We soon joined the group of fishermen on the beach--among whom were
several women with cheeks blanched to a deadly whiteness, and a kind
of wild light glowing in their eyes--who were discussing the propriety
of launching a boat to aid in rescuing those who, if no help speedily
reached them, would in all certainty find a watery grave. The men were
divided among themselves, some being for, and some against making the
attempt; and words ran high, while gun after gun came booming across
the water, each sounding nearer than its predecessor. At length one
old boatman shouted: 'It shall never be said I stood by and saw my
fellow-creatures drown before my eyes without making an effort to save
them. Those who are for trying, follow me!' And away he ran, followed
by some three or four others, who with much difficulty launched a boat
on the troubled waters, into which they sprang; and seating
themselves, each man seized his oar, while the old boatman took the
helm, and with a shout from those on the beach, they commenced their
dangerous task.
"In the excitement of the moment I had forgotten Ned, and was greatly
terrified by seeing him jump into the boat after the men. I shouted to
him to come back, but I doubt whether he heard my voice, so fearfully
loud roared both wind and sea. Just at that moment my uncle came up
and inquired for Ned. I could make no answer, but pointed to the fast
receding boat, which at one moment could be discerned riding on the
top of a huge wave, and the next hid from sight in its hollow.
"'You don't mean to say,' shouted my uncle, frantically, 'that Ned's
in that boat?'
"'What's that you say?' screamed a voice behind us.
"We turned hastily round, and there stood my mother, without bonnet or
shawl, her long hair loose, and streaming in the wind, and both hands
clasped tightly over her bosom. Boys, I shall never forget that face.
Years and years have gone by since then, but that white face, so full
of horror, haunts me still. We tried to get her to go back home, but
we might as well have tried to move a mountain; she would not stir
from the beach, and all we could do was to try and infuse into her
hope which, alas! we did not ourselves possess.
"Meanwhile the boat was steadily approaching the doomed vessel, which
had struck, and over which the waves dashed; a flash of lightning for
an instant revealed one of the men standing in the bows of the boat in
the act of throwing a rope to those on board, and another showed that
some were being transported from the vessel into the boat; then the
rope was seen to be cast off and the men commenced rowing back to
shore. Would they ever reach it in safety? How long the time appeared.
At length the boat was discerned nearing the beach, and men had
already rushed breast high into the sea in readiness to seize it and
aid in drawing it safely to shore, when a huge wave was seen to
overwhelm and swamp it in an instant.
"A cry of horror rose high above the noise of the tempest; and men
and women ran frantically hither and thither, unable to lend a helping
hand to those drowning close to land. A rope was tied round the body
of one, who, rushing into the boiling surf, firmly clasped one poor
wretch in his arms, and both were drawn safely to shore. Again, and
yet again, did the noble fellow rush into the angry sea, each time
rescuing one from death. How eagerly we bent over each, as they were
brought to shore, to see if our Ned was the fortunate one, and how
heavy grew our hearts as each inspection proved fruitless. Seven had
been thus rescued from a watery grave--a woman among the number--ere
our Ned was brought to shore, and then the sea had beaten the brave
life out of him, and it was only the senseless body we received, while
in his arms, and held so tightly in his death grip, that she could not
be removed, was a little three-year-old girl. We afterwards learnt
that when the heavy sea struck the boat, Ned was seen to snatch up the
child and clasp it firmly in his arms. And now both were dead. Ours
was a sorrowful home that night; my mother's grief was something awful
to see, and such as I never wish to witness again, and over which I
will draw a veil of silence.
"Our Ned was buried in a little churchyard not far from the sea, and
all the fishermen along the coast turned out and followed the coffin
to the grave, and stood reverently round, with their caps in their
hand, and their weather-beaten features working convulsively, while
the clergyman read the burial service. The little child was laid in
the same grave; she was the daughter of the rescued woman, and the
master of the ill-fated ship--who with many another went to his long
home on that awful night.
"My mother, boys, never recovered from the shock poor Ned's death gave
her: she drooped and drooped, until God's messenger came to lead her
to her lost son.
"One of my companions, who had a turn for verse-making, put into my
hand a few lines which he said were suggested by poor Ned's death.
They were not of much account, but I learnt them, and sometimes even
now repeat them as a trifling memento of a lost brother:
Autumn winds are in the sky;
Autumn leaves are whirling by;
Autumn rain falls pattering;
Autumn time goes clattering
On in storm,
While onward borne
To desolate shore,
Billows rage and roar:
On dark waters tost,
A plaything lost,
The big ship creaks and groans,
Starts and moans.
And sailors' oaths, and sailors' prayers,
To wild night cast,
With sea-bird's screams,
Are carried by the blast,
To happy home, where
A mother dreams;
While the son she bore,
Lies still on the shore.
At break of day,
The salt sea spray
Is washing the sand
From the clenched hand;
And the breezes twirl
The glossy curl;
And the silent face,
Without a trace
Of life, lies
Upturned to the skies.
And the sightless eyes,
Their last work done,
Stare up at the sun.
"That, boys, was the end of poor Ned. Those who die young escape much
sorrow, says the proverb; and the old heathens used to say that those
who died young the gods loved; but we hear a more sure voice saying,
'_Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord._'"