A True Story.
'What a lovely day!' said Eileen, as she sat by her little brother's side, whilst John, the old boatman, rowed them across the bay. The rarest shells were only to be found at the Point, and both children were eager collectors.
'It seems always smooth water in this bay,' said Maurice—'so different from where we went last year in Cornwall. There the great, big waves seemed always dashing against the shore.'
'You wait a bit, Master Maurice!' said old John. 'You have only been here a week or two, and it has been fine weather all the time; but when a storm gets up, I will answer for it you would not know the place. There are no fiercer waves round England than those that beat against the cliffs yonder at times'—and the old man waved his hand at the cliffs just behind him.
'I should like to see a storm here,' said Maurice, as he clasped his hands round his knees and stared thoughtfully before him.
'Don't say that, sir,' answered John. 'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast; some poor vessel is sure to be dashed against the cruel cliffs in a storm, and then there are orphans and widows to mourn her loss.'
'Did you ever see a shipwreck?' asked Eileen.
'Many a one, Missy,' was the old man's quiet answer.
'But I mean, were you ever in a shipwreck?' pursued Eileen.
'I was, once,' said John, slowly.
'Oh, tell us about it, please!' begged Maurice.
'It's a long time ago now,' said the old boatman. 'I was a lad of twelve or thereabouts, on my first voyage. The vessel was the Hope, of Liverpool, and we had a cargo of Manchester goods. It was roughish weather when we started, and it kept on getting worse and worse, and by-and-bye such a storm arose as it seemed impossible for any ship to weather. Anyway, it was too much for the poor old Hope—she was driven on to the rocks off the Welsh coast and broke up like matches.'
'But the people on board! what became of them?' asked Eileen in an awe-struck tone.
'Drowned!' said old John, shortly.
'But,' said Eileen, suddenly, 'you were on that ship—you said so—and you are not drowned!'
'No, Missy, I am not,' said the old man suddenly. 'I had a most wonderful escape. It seems hard to believe that a little ignorant boy as I was should have been the only one saved out of that fine crew; but so it was.'
'Tell us about it,' said Maurice, fixing his eyes on the old man's weather-beaten face.
'When the storm was at its worst, and it was plain that the ship must founder, a kind-hearted sailor took me with him to the top of the main-mast. We had hardly got there before the ship gave a great lurch, and I believe the mast fell. Anyway, when next I knew anything, I found myself lying on the grass at the top of a low cliff, with the sea roaring below me. I had been thrown there as the mast fell.'
'Were you the only one saved?' asked Maurice.
'So they told me,' said old John. 'But come,' he said, in a different tone, and beginning to row at his utmost speed, 'we must get to the Point before high tide, or there will be no shells for you to-day.'
The mention of shells drove away the melancholy thoughts which John's story had occasioned, and the wreck of the Hope was forgotten as the children landed at the Point and began eagerly searching for new specimens.
"'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast.'"
SPY OR GUIDE?
'I believe this forest goes on to the end of the world!' exclaimed the Colonel of the 18th Hanoverian regiment at the close of an autumn day in the year 1750. 'I was told it was a six hours' journey to Schustadt, but it seems as if we must tramp right across Germany to reach it.'
'I wonder if we have taken a wrong track?' answered the Major, who was riding by his side, whilst behind trudged the men, their white breeches, scarlet coats, and three-cornered hats looking strangely out of place in that dense pine forest.
'We must find out somehow,' said the Colonel, reining up his horse. 'There must be a peasant of some sort in these regions—a wood-cutter or charcoal burner. Call a halt, Wenzler, and let the men scatter in different directions, and tell the first who finds any one capable of acting as guide to bring him straight to me.'
The halt was called, the order given, and the soldiers disappeared amongst the pine trunks, amidst laughter and declarations from each that he would be the first to find a guide. The discovery, however, fell to Schmidt, a young corporal, who had hardly gone a hundred yards into the forest before he came on a lad who was amusing himself by gathering raspberries.
Schmidt was fond of what he called a joke, and laying a rough hand on the lad's shoulder, he said, in a voice purposely very fierce, 'You are my prisoner! I am to bring you to our Colonel, and you will probably be shot as a spy.'
The boy looked up in surprise, and turned pale as he answered: 'I am no spy! I have come out from the town to gather raspberries!'
'I know nothing about raspberries,' answered the man, still enjoying his joke, and taking small heed of the lad's evident terror; 'I must bring you before my Colonel,' and he dragged the terrified boy along the track till he reached the spot where the two officers and some of the soldiers were standing.
'Well, Schmidt; first capture!' said the Colonel, in a pleased tone, for he had not expected him to find any one in so short a time.
'Yes, your honour,' said Schmidt, now releasing the boy, who, placing his hands behind him, now addressed the Colonel in as firm a voice as he could muster.
'Please, Colonel,' he said, 'do not shoot me! I am not a spy—indeed I am not! My name is Fritz Nestor, and I live with my mother in Schustadt.'
The men standing round could not resist smiling at this odd speech, for they knew nothing of Schmidt's 'joke,' and the Colonel, bending down so as to be more of a level with the little fellow, said in a half-puzzled tone:
'You surely cannot think we should shoot you! We are not in an enemy's country, and if we were we do not shoot children. What could have put such a ridiculous idea into your head?'
'He said so,' said the boy, pointing to the corporal, whose very pigtail quivered with fear at being thus brought to his Colonel's notice.
The Colonel straightened himself and looked full at the corporal, who was standing stiffly at his right hand. 'Next time you wish to play a practical joke, corporal,' he said sternly, 'let it be with a man, and not a child! Now, my little fellow,' he said, turning to the boy, 'you may take my word for it that no one will hurt you. Can you show us the right way to Schustadt? I suppose you know it?'
'Oh, yes, sir,' said the boy brightly. 'It is barely a mile away.'
'That is good hearing,' said the Colonel, and the men were quickly recalled, and the march began once more, the boy stepping out bravely in front of the column, much preferring the part of guide to that of a spy.
THE PROMISE OF THE STORM.
do not mind the hurricane,
And biting winter rain;
I love to watch them sweep across
The woodland and the plain;
For as they roar the trees among,
I fancy I can hear
A whisper like a fairy's song:
'The spring is drawing near.'
I do not mind the gloomy days,
When clouds are dark and low,
And rough winds from the meadows tear
Their tattered sheets of snow;
For through those ragged holes I've seen
A sight the heart to cheer,
The face of some sweet flower that tells,
'The spring is drawing near.'
O children big, and children small,
This wisdom bear in mind:
Frown not on any rains that fall,
Nor grumble at the wind;
And when the gloomy winter's day
Is far from blithe and warm,
Look well, and think, and you will find
A promise in the storm.