Chapter Twenty Eight.
The following morning, I went with Nero to take a couple of fish out of the pool. As soon as Nero had caught them, he went into the other part of the bathing-pool to amuse himself, while I cleaned the fish, which I generally did before I went up to the cabin, giving him the heads and insides for his share, if I did not require any portion for the birds. Nero was full of play that morning, and when I threw the heads to him, as he frolicked in the water, he brought them out to the rocks; but instead of eating them, as usual, he laid them at my feet. I threw them in several times, and he continued to bring them out, and my mother, coming down to me, was watching him.
“I think,” said she, “you must teach Nero to fetch and carry like a dog—try. Instead of the heads, throw in this piece of wood;” which she now broke off the boat-hook staff.
I did so, and Nero brought it out, as he had done the heads of the fish. I patted and coaxed the animal, and tried him again several times with success.
“Now,” said my mother, “you must accustom him to certain words when you send him for anything. Always say, ‘Fetch it, Nero!’ and point with your finger.”
“Why am I to do that, mother?” I asked.
“Because the object to be gained is, not that the animal should fetch out what you throw in, but what you send it to bring out which you have not thrown in. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” replied I. “You mean, if there were anything floating near on the sea, I should send him for it.”
“Exactly. Then Nero would be of some use.”
“I will soon teach him,” replied I; “to-morrow I will send him into the sea after the piece of spar. I’ve no fear that he will go away now.”
“I was thinking last night, Frank, whether they had taken the pail with them in the boat.”
“The pail,” said I; “I know where it is, but I quite forgot it. We left it up the ravine the last day we planted the potatoes.”
“We did so, now I recollect. I will go for it while you get the breakfast ready.”
We had now been for many weeks on a fish diet and I must confess that I was tired of it, which was not the case when I lived upon the dried birds during the whole of the year. Why so I cannot tell; but I was soon to learn to relish fish, if I could obtain them.
It was not often that the wind blew direct on the shore, but coming from the northward and eastward, it was in a slanting direction; but occasionally, and chiefly about the time of the equinoxes, the gales came on very heavy from the eastward, and then the wash of the seas upon the rocky coast was tremendous. Such was the case about this time. A fierce gale of wind from the eastward raised a sea which threw the surf and spray high over the loftiest of the rocks, and the violence of the wind bore the spray far inland. The gale had come on in the evening, and my mother and I, when we rose in the morning, were standing on the platform before the cabin, admiring the grandeur of the scene, but without the least idea that it was to be productive of so much misery to ourselves. My mother pointed out to me some passages in the Psalms and Old Testament bearing strongly upon the scene before us; after a time I called Nero, and went down with him to take fish out of the pool for our day’s consumption. At that time we had a large supply in the pool—more than ever, I should say. When I arrived at the pool, I found the waves several feet in height rolling in over the ledges, and the pool one mass of foam, the water in it being at least two or three feet higher than usual; still it never occurred to me that there was any mischief done, until I had sent Nero in for the fish, and found that, after floundering and diving for some time, he did not bring out one. My mind misgave me; and I ordered him in again. He remained some time and then returned without a fish, and I was then satisfied that from the rolling in of the waves, and the unusual quantity of the water in the pool, the whole of the fish had escaped, and that we were now without any provisions or means of subsistence, until the weather should settle, and enable us to catch some more.
Aghast at the discovery, I ran up to the cabin, and called to my mother, who was in her bedroom.
“Oh, mother, all the fish have got out of the pool, and we have nothing to eat. I told you we should be starved.”
“Take time, Frank, and take breath,” replied she, “and then tell me what has happened to cause this alarm and dismay, that you appear to be in.”
I explained to her what had happened, and that Nero could not find one fish.
“I fear that what you say must be correct,” replied she; “but we must put our trust in God. It is His will, and whatever He wills must be right.”
I cannot say I was Christian enough at the time to acknowledge the truth of her reply, and I answered, “If God is as good and as gracious as you say, will He allow us to starve? Does he know that we are starving?” continued I.
“Does He know, Frank?” replied my mother. “What does the Bible say—that not a sparrow falls to the ground without His knowledge; and of how much more worth are you than many sparrows? Shame upon you, Frank!” I was abashed, but not satisfied; I therefore replied quietly, “We have nothing to eat, mother.”
“Granted that we have lost all our fish, Frank, still we are not yet starving; the weather may moderate to-morrow, and we may catch some more, or even if it should not till the day afterwards, we can bear to be two days without food. Let us hope for the best and put our trust in God—let us pray to Him and ask him for his assistance. He can rebuke these stormy waters—He can always find means of helping those who put confidence in Him, and will send us aid when all hope appears gone. Pray, Frank, as I will do fervently, and believing that your prayer is heard—pray with faith, and your prayer will be answered.”
“It is not always so,” replied I; “you have told me of many people who have died of starvation.”
“I grant it, and for all-wise purposes they were permitted so to do; but the Almighty had reasons for permitting it, unknown to us, but which you may depend upon it, were good. We cannot fathom His decrees. He may even now decide that such is to be our fate; but if so, depend upon it, Frank, all is right, and what appears to you now as cruel and neglectful of you, would, if the future could be looked into by us, prove to have been an act of mercy.”
“Do you think, then, that we shall starve?”
“I do not—I have too much faith in God’s mercy, and I do not think that He would have preserved our lives by preventing the men from taking us into the boat if we were now to starve. God is not inconsistent; and I feel assured that, forlorn as our present position appears to be, and tried as our faith in Him may be, we shall still be preserved, and live to be monuments of his gracious love and kindness.”
These words of my mother and the implicit confidence which she appeared to have, much revived me. “Well,” said I, “I hope you are right, my dear mother; and now I think of it,” continued I, brightening up at the idea, “if the worst come to the worst, we can eat the birds; I don’t care much for them now, and if I did, you should not starve, mother.”
“I believe you would not hesitate to sacrifice the birds, Frank; but a greater sacrifice may be demanded of you.”
“What?” inquired I; and then after a little thought I said, “You don’t mean Nero, mother?”
“To tell the truth, I did mean Nero, Frank; for the birds will not be a support for more than a day or two.”
“I never could kill Nero, mother,” replied I, gloomily; and walking away into the cabin, I sat down very melancholy at the idea of my favourite being sacrificed; to me it appeared quite horrible, and my mother having referred to it, made her fall very much in my good opinion. Alas! I was indeed young and foolish, and little thought what a change would take place in my feelings. As for the birds, as I really did not care for them, I resolved to kill two of them for our day’s meal, and returning to the platform I had laid hold of the two that were there and had seized both by the neck, when my mother asked me what I was going to do.
“Kill them, and put them in the pot for our dinner,” replied I.
“Nay, Frank! You are too hasty. Let us make some little sacrifice, even for the poor birds. We surely can fast one day without very great suffering. To-morrow will be time enough.”
I dropped the birds from my hand, tacitly consenting to her proposal. It was not, however, for the sake of the birds that I did so, but because one day’s respite for the birds would be a day’s respite for Nero.
“Come,” said my mother, “let us go into the cabin and get some work. I will alter some of the clothes for you. What will you do?”
“I don’t know,” replied I, “but I will do whatever you tell me.”
“Well, then, I perceive that the two fishing-lines are much worn, and they may break very soon, and then we shall be without the means of taking fish, even if the weather is fine; so now we will cut off some of the whale-line, and when it is unravelled, I will show you how to lay it up again into fishing-line; and, perhaps, instead of altering the clothes, I had better help you, as fishing-lines are now of more consequence to us than anything else.”
This was an arrangement which I gladly consented to. In a short time the whale-line was unravelled, and my mother showed me how to lay it up in three yarns, so as to make a stout fishing-line. She assisted, and the time passed away more rapidly than I had expected it would.
“You are very clever, mother,” said I.
“No, my child, I am not, but I certainly do know many things which women in general are not acquainted with; but the reason of this is, I have lived a life of wandering, and occasional hardships. Often left to our own resources, when my husband and I were among strangers, we found the necessity of learning to do many things for ourselves, which those who have money usually employ others to do for them; but I have been in situations where even money was of no use, and had to trust entirely to myself. I have, therefore, always made it a rule to learn everything that I could; and as I have passed much of my life in sailing over the deep waters, I obtained much useful knowledge from the seamen, and this of laying up fishing-lines is one of the arts which they communicated to me. Now, you see, I reap the advantage of it.”
“Yes,” replied I; “and so do I. How lucky it was that you came to this island.”
“Lucky for me, do you mean, Frank?”
“No, mother! I mean how lucky for me.”
“I trust that I have been sent here to be useful, Frank, and with that feeling I cheerfully submit to the will of God. He has sent me that I may be useful to you, I do not doubt; and if by my means you are drawn towards Him, and, eventually, become one of His children, I shall have fulfilled my mission.”
“I do not understand you quite, mother.”
“No, you cannot as yet; but everything in season,” replied she, slowly musing. “‘First the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear.’”
“Mother,” said I, “I should like to hear the whole story of your life. You know I have told you all that I know about myself. Now, suppose you tell me your history, and that of your husband. You did say that perhaps one day you would. Do you recollect?”
“Yes, I do recollect that I did make a sort of promise, Frank, and I promise you now that some day I will fulfil it; but I am not sure that you will understand or profit by the history now, so much as you may by-and-bye.”
“Well, but mother, you can tell me the story twice, and I shall be glad to hear it again; so tell it to me now, to amuse me, and by-and-bye, that I may profit by it.”
My mother smiled, which she very seldom did, and said—
“Well, Frank, as I know you would at any time give up your dinner to listen to a story, and as you will have no dinner to-day, I think it is but fair that I should consent to your wish. Who shall I begin with—with my husband or with myself?”
“Pray begin with your own history,” replied I.