Old Mrs. Presgrave had not been startled once by the sound of a sudden shout or a heavy fall, and volumes were drawn from their corners in the bookcase by hands that seldom had opened books but from necessity. Mrs. Gore had found it difficult to proceed in her needle-work, so numerous were the interruptions from the literary juveniles. Thrice had she to rise to search for books, and ten times to stop to mend a pen, innumerable were the applications for aid in spelling; and when at last the young party assembled after dinner, Willy's story was written on cream-tinted paper, in the hand of his indulgent mother.
Jessy needed a copy-book—Julia ruled lines—every inkstand in the house was in requisition, and Louis and Tom, disputing over theirs, managed to upset it between them. At length, however, the last page was written, poor Jessy bringing up the rear; and, some neat, some blotted, some long, some short, the stories were placed in the hand of Mr. Presgrave.
Little Julia had drawn a footstool for his feet, had patted up his cushion with her plump little hands, and picked up the spectacle-case thrown down by Tom. Then slowly the "silver eyes" were adjusted in their proper place—quiet succeeded to the hum of voices, a smile of expectation was in every face, and as Julia seated herself at the old man's feet, in a clear, distinct voice he began:
Jessy's Tale.
THE SHIP ON FIRE.
"JAMES MAXWELL, a native of Stirlingshire, was pilot of a fine steam-vessel called the 'Clydesdale,' sailing between the Clyde and the west coast of Ireland. And one evening, after setting out on the voyage across the Channel, with between seventy and eighty passengers, Maxwell became sensible, at intervals, of the smell of fire, and wont about anxiously endeavouring to discover whence it originated. On communicating with the master, he found that he too had perceived it; but neither of them could form the least conjecture as to where it arose. A gentleman passenger also observed this alarming vapour, which alternately rose and passed away, leaving them in doubt of its being a reality. About eleven o'clock at night this gentleman went to bed, confident of safety; but while Maxwell was at the helm, the master ceased not an instant to search from place to place, as the air became more and more impregnated with the odour of burning timber."
"At last he sprung up on deck, exclaiming, 'Maxwell, the flames have burst out at the paddle-box!'"
"James calmly inquired, 'Then shall I put about?'"
"Turner's order was to proceed. Maxwell struck one hand upon his heart, as he flung the other above his head, and with uplifted eyes uttered, 'O God Almighty! enable me to do my duty! and O God! Provide for my wife, my mother, and my child!'"
"Whether it was the thoughts of the dreadful nature of the Galloway coast, girded as it is with perpendicular masses of rock, which influenced the master in his decision to press forwards, we cannot tell. But as there was only the wide ocean before and around them, the pilot did not long persist in this hopeless course. He put the boat about, sternly subduing every expression of emotion, and standing with his eyes fixed on the point for which he wished to steer. The fire, which the exertions of all the men could not keep under, soon raged with ungovernable fury, and keeping the engine in violent action, the vessel, at the time one of the fleetest that had ever been built, flew through the water with incredible speed. All the passengers were gathered to the bow, the rapid flight of the vessel keeping that part clear of the flames, while it carried the fire, flames, and smoke backwards to the quarter-gallery, where the self-devoted pilot stood like a martyr at the stake. Everything possible was done by the master and crew to keep the place on which he stood deluged with water; but this became every moment more difficult and more hopeless; for, in spite of all that could be done, the devouring fire seized the cabin under him, and the spot on which he stood immovable became intensely heated. Still, still the hero never flinched!"