THAT night the storm raged with terrible fury, and many were the anxious hearts in the valley, many the eyes that saw no sleep, but watched and prayed till morning light, “for those in peril on the sea.”
Daisy and her little companion lay awake all night listening to the waves lashing up against the shore, and to the hurricane which swept round the farmhouse. At times it seemed to them as if the house itself swayed to and fro, and they clung tremblingly to one another; but the old dwelling was built high up on the rock, and was protected by the hill behind, and when the light of day broke over it, it stood secure.
Farmer Morris was up before dawn, and calling his men together, assembled them for prayer in the old kitchen; and then telling them to lose no time in following him to the shore, he made his way down to the bay as speedily as possible. A sad sight greeted him there, a fine ship lying on her beam-ends, about a hundred yards from the shore, utterly dismasted, and going to pieces as fast as possible. Some groups of fishermen were busily engaged in trying to rescue portions of the cargo, which were being continually washed up on the shore; while others with their wives were intent on ministering to the half-drowned crew, all of whom by aid of the lifeboat had been rescued from a watery grave.
Mrs. Morris was not long in following her husband to the shore. She was well known in the fishermen’s huts, and was at all times a welcome visitor, for all knew that in trouble or trial of whatever kind, they had only to turn to the old farm under the shadow of the hill, and be sure of ready help and sympathy. As she stepped out of one of the cottages, a poor woman, the wife of one of the fishermen, came out of another close by, and said:
“Maybe you’ll be so good as to step into our house next, mistress. There’s a poor man, one of the crew that was saved last night, but I doubt he’s bound for a better shore; he was longer coming to than any of the others, and it seems, from what some of them say, he’s been ill a long time.”
Mrs. Morris went with her at once into the cottage, and on opening the door of the inner room stepped softly to the poor man’s bedside, and sat down by him. He was asleep; but one glance at his thin face and emaciated hands told only too plainly that the woman’s words were true, and that he was, as she expressed it, soon bound for a better shore.
After some time he awoke; and on seeing Mrs. Morris, he asked her if she would be so good as to read to him, pointing to a little well-worn Bible which lay on his pillow. Mrs. Morris turned to the thirty-second Psalm; and when she had finished reading it, and had spoken to him of Jesus as the sure refuge and only hiding-place for poor sinners, he looked up at her earnestly, and said:
“Blessed be God, I have found that refuge, through His grace and goodness, for never did any poor sinner have greater need of such a refuge and such a hiding-place.”
He spoke with difficulty, and the effort to say this seemed almost too much for him, for he sank back exhausted. Mrs. Morris did not press him to talk any more; but with a few soothing words, and an earnest prayer that Jesus would light for him the dark valley, the shadows of which were now gathering around him, she took leave of the poor man, desiring the woman in whose cottage he was to see that he wanted for nothing, and promising to return later in the day.