Chapter Twenty Three.
I heard what she said, but my head was too confused to weigh the words. I remained silent, where I was. A few seconds elapsed, and she spoke again:
“Frank Henniker, rise, and listen to me.”
“We shall starve,” muttered I.
As I said this, one of the male birds returned from the sea with a large fish, of which Mrs Reichardt took possession, as she had seen me do, and the gannet flew away again to obtain more. Immediately afterwards, the other two birds returned with fish, which were in the like way secured by my companion.
“See how unjust and ungrateful you are,” observed she. “Here are the birds feeding us, as the ravens did Elijah in the wilderness, at the very time that you are doubting the goodness and mercy of God. There is a meal for us provided already.”
“My head! My head!” exclaimed I, “it is bursting, and there is a heavy weight rolling in it—I cannot see anything.”
And such was the fact: the excitement had brought on a determination of blood to the head, and my senses were rapidly departing. Mrs Reichardt knelt by my side, and perceiving that what I had said was the case, went into the cabin and brought out a cloth, which she wetted with water from the spring, and laid across my forehead and temples. I remained motionless and nearly senseless for half an hour, during which, she continued to apply fresh cold water to the cloth, and by degrees I recovered from my stupor. In the mean time, the weather being so fine and the water smooth, the gannets continued to return with the fish they caught, almost all of which were taken from them by my companion, until she had collected more than a dozen fish, from half a pound to a pound weight, which she put away, so that the birds and seal might not devour them.
I was still in a half-dozing state, when the breathing and cold nose of Nero touched my cheek, and the murmurings of my favourite roused me up, and I opened my eyes.
“I am better now,” said I, to Mrs Reichardt. “How kind you have been.”
“Yes, you are better; but still, you must remain quiet. Do you think that you could walk to your bed-place?”
“I’ll try,” replied I, and with her assistance I rose up; but, when I afterwards gained my feet, I should have fallen if she had not supported me; but, assisted by her, I gained my bed and sank down again.
She raised my head higher, and then applied the linen cloth and cold water as before.
“Try now,” said she, “if you cannot go to sleep. When you awake again, I will have some dinner ready for you.”
I thanked her and shut my eyes. Nero crawled to my bed-place, and with my hand upon his head, I fell asleep, and remained so till near sunset, when I awoke with very little pain in my head, and much refreshed. I found Mrs Reichardt by my side.
“You are better now,” said she. “Can you eat any dinner? I must make friends with Nero, for he has been disputing my right to come near your bedside, and his teeth are rather formidable. However, I gave him the inside of the fish when I cleaned them, and we are better friends already. There is your dinner.”
Mrs Reichardt placed before me some of the fish, broiled on the embers, and I ate very heartily.
“It is very kind of you,” said I, “to be working for me, when I ought to be working for you—but you must not do it again.”
“Only my share of the work when you are well,” replied she; “but my share I always shall do. I cannot be idle, and I am strong enough to do a great deal; but we will talk about that to-morrow morning. You will be quite well by that time, I hope.”
“Oh! I feel well now,” replied I, “only I am very weak.”
“You must put your trust in God, my poor boy. Do you ever pray to Him?”
“Yes, I try a little sometimes—but I don’t know how. Jackson never taught me that.”
“Then I will. Shall I pray now for both of us?”
“Will God hear you? What was it that you said just before I forgot everything this morning?”
“I told you that there was another here besides ourselves, a good and gracious God, who is always with us and always ready to come to our assistance if we call upon Him.”
“You told me God lived beyond the stars.”
“My poor boy, as if He were a God who was afar off and did not attend to our prayers! Such is not the case. He is with us always in spirit, listening to all our prayers, and reading every secret thought of our hearts.”
I was silent for some time, thinking upon what she had told me; at last I said—“Then pray to Him.”
Mrs Reichardt knelt down and prayed in a clear and fervent voice, without hesitation or stop. She prayed for protection and support in our desolate condition, that we might be supplied with all things needful for our sustenance, and have a happy deliverance from our present position. She prayed that we might be contented and resigned until it should please Him to rescue us—that we might put our whole trust and confidence in Him, and submit without murmuring to whatever might be His will. She prayed for health and strength, for an increase of faith and gratitude towards Him for all His mercies. She thanked him for our having been preserved by being left on the desolate rock, instead of having left it in the boat with the seamen. (This surprised me.) And then she prayed for me, entreating that she might be the humble instrument of leading me to my Heavenly Father, and that He would be pleased to pour down upon me His Holy Spirit, so that I might by faith in Christ, be accepted, and become a child of God and an inheritor of eternal bliss.
There was something so novel to me and so beautiful in her fervency of prayer, that the tears came into my eyes, and about a minute after she had finished, I said—
“I now recollect, at least, I think I do—for the memory of it is very confused—that my mother used to kneel down by me and pray just as you have done. Oh, how I wish I had a mother!”
“My child,” replied she, “promise me that you will be a good and obedient son, and I will be a mother to you.”
“Will you? Oh! How kind of you. Yes, I will be all you wish; I will work for you day and night if it is necessary. I will do everything, if you will but be my mother.”
“I will do my duty to you as a mother most strictly,” replied she; “so that is agreed upon. Now, you had better go to sleep, if you can.”
“But I must first ask you a question. Why did you thank God for the seamen having left us here, instead of taking us with them?”
“Because the boat was overloaded as it was; because the men, having liquor, would become careless and desperate, and submit to no control; and therefore I think there is little or no chance of their ever arriving anywhere safe, but that they will perish miserably in some way or another. This, I consider, is the probability, unless the Almighty in His mercy, should be pleased to come to their assistance, and allow them to fall in with some vessel soon after their departure.”
“Do you think, then, that God prevented our going with them on purpose that we might not share their fate?”
“I do! God regulates everything. Had it been better for us that we should have gone, He would have permitted it; but He willed it otherwise, and we must bow to His will with a full faith, that He orders everything for the best.”
“And you say that God will give us all that we ask for in our prayers?”
“Yes, if we pray fervently and in faith, and ask it in the name of Jesus Christ; that is, He will grant all we pray for that is good for us, but not what is not good for us; but when we ask anything, we do not know that we are asking what is proper or not—but He does. We may ask what would be hurtful to us, and then, in His love for us, He denies it. For instance, suppose you had been accustomed to pray, you must have prayed God that He would permit you to leave this island in the boat, as you are so anxious to go away; but supposing that boat is lost, as I imagine it will be, surely it would have been a kindness in God, who knew that it would be lost, not to grant your prayer. Is it not so?”
“Yes, I see now, thank you; now I will go to sleep—good night.”