OUT OF THE SEA.
The fourth week after the shipwreck dragged slowly away,--spent in
watching and waiting for a sail. None came. The lack of good food was
getting to be a serious matter for both Culm folk and the inmates of
the stone house. Trafford's stores were well-nigh exhausted, and the
last day of that long fourth week was spent in company with Dirk
Sharp and some of his comrades, devising plans by which they might
communicate with Hastings. The master of the stone house walked
homeward after his conference with the fishermen, and paused in the
gathering dusk on the spot where he had stood that fearful night when
the "Gull" and her crew were on the rocks in the awful roar and
thunder of the tempest. How silent and peaceful it all lay now,--the
sea purpling in its calm and shadowy depths, its waves faintly
murmuring on the pebbles, and, overhead, the arch of silvery sky
bending down to the far horizon, full of the tender lights of the
after-glow! Only one month since that fearful night, yet how far in
the dim past the event seemed! What a great darkness and despair he
had struggled through! How full and real every minute of those four
weeks had been! And, as he stood there, such strong and tender
memories of the lad he had lost came back to him that he turned away
with a throbbing heart, and walked homeward along the sand with a
bowed head, and so failed to see the white gleaming of a sail which
rose out of the sea and stood toward the Rock. The lingering daylight
touched it with a rosy flush as the rising night-breeze bore it
steadily onward; but Trafford saw it not, and went up the
piazza-steps, and into the stone house, without turning his eyes
seaward.
He ate his scanty supper, which Hagar--poor heart!--had placed upon
the table with a wonderful display of dishes, as if to make up for the
lack of food by a board spread with cups and plates enough for a
feast, and then took his way to the silent library. He sat down at
his organ, and from its long-silent pipes drew soft and tender music
that filled the room and stole gently through the house. The tears
came into Hagar's eyes as she listened to it.
"'Pears as ef de angels was singin'," she said, wiping her cheeks.
"Hagar wonders ef de Lord'll gib her a voice like dat when she gets
ter glory."
It died away at last in gentle, tremulous whispers, and Trafford
walked to the window and looked out. Twilight had settled so thickly
that the sea was quite hidden, save a faint glimmer of ripples along
the sand. Deep quiet reigned over land and sea, and nowhere with such
undisputed sway as in the stone house. Trafford lit his study-lamp and
sat down, with no desire, however, to read or study. Hardly had he
seated himself, when, with startling suddenness, a shrill scream broke
upon the deep quiet. It was Hagar's voice, and the cry came from her
kitchen; and before Trafford had recovered from his surprise, there
was a little sound of commotion in her distant province,--doors were
thrown open, voices echoed, and then along the silent hall came a
sound--the rush of eager feet--that drove every trace of color from
Trafford's face, as well it might, and made his heart beat so loud and
wildly that he pressed his hands over it to stay its tumultuous
beating. He started up, gazing with wide-open eyes at the
library-door, while at every echo of those coming footsteps, he
started and trembled, and grew faint with anticipation. The door burst
open, and there stood--Noll Trafford!
[Illustration: "It's I, Uncle Richard" Page 421.]
One moment the boy paused, perhaps frightened by the white face of the
man who sat gazing motionlessly at him, then he bounded forward,
crying, "It's I, Uncle Richard!--your own Noll!"
Trafford's arms did not clasp the boy about; his tongue refused to
articulate; his heart could not take in this great, overwhelming joy.
But Noll's arms were about his neck, the boy's warm breath was upon
his cheek, and in his ears was the lad's whisper, "It's I,--I, Uncle
Richard! no one else!"
Then the man began to sigh, just as if he were awakening from a long
and troubled dream, and presently he put out his hand and touched the
boy's cheeks, as if to assure himself that it was not all a vision,
and then he said, chokingly, "My boy,--_mine_! O God! I don't deserve
this."
His arms clasped the lad in one long, fervent embrace. He bent his
head over the curly locks, and wept for joy, stroking the lad's
shoulders and pressing his hands the while, as if he were not yet sure
that the boy was a reality. He looked upon him as one from the dead.
Had the sea given him up?--had that terrible tempest spared him in its
wild fury? Why had the boy lingered so long? Where had he been
sojourning all these long weeks? But too happy in the consciousness
that it was really Noll, safe and unharmed, who was before him, to
care for aught further at present, he sat silently holding the boy's
hands, while his heart gave grateful thanks to God.
"Poor Uncle Richard!" said the boy, at last.
Trafford's lips moved, and with an effort he said, "No, no,--not
_poor_! I'm rich, rich!--_so_ rich! O God, help me! I can't believe my
own happiness."
"But it's really I, Uncle Richard!" said Noll, assuringly; "you've
felt my hands, my face, my shoulders, and aren't they alive and warm?"
"Yes, it is really you, thank God!" said Trafford, drawing a long
breath, while he gazed upon the merry face that he never more expected
to see on earth.
"Yes, and oh, Uncle Richard, you can't know how I longed to see you,
to tell you that I was alive and safe! I knew you would worry, but I
didn't think you'd think me dead. I didn't think _that_ till we got to
Culm, and Dirk and all the rest trembled, and were actually going to
run away from me!"
"Then you have not been harmed?" said Trafford: "but oh, my boy,
where were you on that awful night?"
"Safe and sound, with Ned Thorn, at Hastings, Uncle Richard, and not
even dreaming of danger or shipwreck. You see, the furniture was not
ready, and I hadn't found a teacher, and so I stayed. Ned and I went
down to the wharf the night before the 'Gull' was to sail, and carried
a letter to the skipper to give to you, telling you why I couldn't
come; but poor Ben never got here alive, and the letter was lost with
him, I suppose. Oh, Uncle Richard, if I _had_ started,--if the
furniture had been ready--"
"Thank God it was not!" interrupted Trafford, presently; "he watched
over you, he stayed your coming, and now he has brought you out of the
sea, as it were, to me. Oh, Noll!"
The boy looked up eagerly. "Have--have you found the Lord Jesus, Uncle
Richard?" he asked.
Trafford's hands rested tenderly on the boy's head. "Yes," he said,
with a great calm and peace in his voice, "I found him through great
sorrow and grief. I think God led me through all this suffering that
my heart might be softened and turned toward him. And now this Saviour
has brought you back to me!"
A deep silence followed, full of unutterable joy. Trafford reverently
bent his head, his lips quivering with emotion, and with his nephew's
hands clasped in his, silently thanked God for his goodness, for this
great joy which was come into his life, for this precious lad that was
dead and now was alive again. It seemed as if God had brought him out
of the sea to him. At last Noll said, taking up his explanation where
he had left it off,--
"After we had given the letter to the skipper, I thought no more about
it, and Ned and I were busy enough with seeing about the furniture for
a day or two, and we didn't notice the storm, or even think of the
'Gull' being in danger. And Mr. Gray helped me to find a teacher, and
we were so busy with plans that the time passed away before I knew it,
and when I came to go down on the wharf to engage a passage with Ben,
the men said the 'Gull' had never got back from her last trip, and
they were afraid it was lost. Ned didn't believe there had been a
shipwreck, neither did Mr. Gray. He said that most likely the skipper
had been kept by some business, or perhaps the 'Gull' had gone farther
down the coast than usual. Oh, Uncle Richard! we didn't think that
poor Ben was drowned, nor that you thought me wrecked with him."
Trafford said, "Those were fearful days for me. Go on, go on, Noll."
"We went down to the wharf every night till another week was gone, and
then, we began to be certain that Ben was either wrecked or sick, and
I began to be anxious to get some word to you. I thought that perhaps
you might be worried about me, though Mr. Gray said that if the 'Gull'
was wrecked anywhere near Culm, you could not help but know I was not
on board. We waited and waited till the three weeks were gone, and
then some of Ben's friends began to talk of going in search of him.
But it was only till last night that they were ready to go, and we
came off before daylight this morning. Oh, the time has seemed so
long, Uncle Richard! but here I am, safe and sound, once more."
Trafford looked at his nephew as if he could yet hardly believe his
eyes.
"And you should have seen Dirk and the rest!" continued Noll; "why, he
wouldn't speak to me at first, but was going to run away; but when he
did find that it was really I, he cried like a great child. He said
that you thought me dead,--you can't know how I felt when he said
that, Uncle Richard,--and so Ned and I didn't wait any longer, but ran
all the way here. I can think, now, why you looked so white when I
came in at the door!"
Trafford stroked the boy's hair, saying, "I never thought to hear the
echoes of your feet again. God knows. Oh, my boy, _you_ can never
know what this night has brought to me. He who led you thither only
can. But whose name did you mention?"
"Ned's; he came down with me, Uncle Richard, for it's vacation at
Hastings. We came up to the kitchen-door, because Hagar's light shone
so brightly, and what do you think? she threw up her hands and
screamed at the sight of me. But it didn't take long to make her
certain that I was real, and not a vision. And, oh, there's one thing
I'd forgotten! The new teacher is at Culm, waiting for Dirk to come
over with his trunks. It's one of papa's old scholars, Uncle Richard,
and his name is Henry Fields. He worked with papa in the old sea-town
where we lived, and he's come down to work here at Culm among our
fish-folk. I like him very much, and you can't help but like him,
too; and we've brought a cargo of benches and desks all ready to--"
The library-door began to swing softly open,--not so softly, however,
but that Noll heard and stopped.
"It's Ned," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Come in!"
Ned came shyly around to where they were sitting, his usually merry
face sobered by something which he perceived in the faces of his
friends before him. A silence fell upon them here. Ned leaned against
his friend, looking soberly at Trafford's rapt face, and wondering
where all the man's grimness and gloominess had gone. And just then a
sudden thought came into Noll's heart, and he said, looking up
brightly,--
"It's a year this very night since I came to you, Uncle Richard!
Don't you remember? What a long, long time!"
Trafford said, "Yes, I remember. Through all the days since then God
has been teaching me, and he has led me on to this; and, oh! my boy,
the sea may never divide us again, for, though through its dark floods
we go down to death, beyond there is light and God and heaven!" And in
his voice there was peace unutterable.
* * * * *
If this Story of a Year, and what it taught, is not already too long,
you may know that a schoolhouse was built at Culm, and that Henry
Fields proved a good and faithful teacher; that a stanch, new "White
Gull" was built, and one of Skipper Ben's sea-loving sons was its
captain; that the Culm children and their parents slowly improved in
more ways than one under the constant, unfailing care and effort of
Trafford and his nephew; that the Rock was not always Noll Trafford's
home, but exchanged for a pleasanter one in Hastings, though the old
stone house was often brightened by his presence, and never got to be
entirely gloomy and deserted again.