Noble Deeds of the World's Heroines

by Henry Charles Moore

Anna Gurney was a cripple from her birth. Unable to walk, and consequently debarred nearly all the pleasures of childhood, it would not have been surprising had she become a sad, peevish woman. The fact that her parents were rich, and able to supply her with comforts such as poor cripples could not receive, may have prevented her from becoming depressed, but it must be remembered also that the knowledge that they were in a position to give her every reasonable pleasure a girl could desire might well have caused her to be continually deploring her crippled condition.

She did not, however, brood over her infirmity, and although she was never entirely free from pain, she was always bright and happy. Intellectually clever, she was ever anxious for self-improvement, and her knowledge of languages was remarkable. No sooner had she become thoroughly conversant with one than she began to learn another.

Early in life she became deeply interested in foreign missions, and in after years was a generous supporter of them. Her desire to do good was not, however, satisfied by the money she gave to various societies, and being unable to offer herself as a missionary to the heathen, she found a sphere of usefulness in working to improve the moral and spiritual condition of the poor of Cromer. She invited the mothers to her home, North Repps Cottage, and held classes for young men, young women and children. Humble visitors were continually calling to tell her of their joys or sorrows, and were never refused admittance. She might be busy in her library or suffering acute pain, but with a bright smile she would wheel herself forward in her mechanical chair to greet her visitor.

The fishermen along the coast regarded her with reverence, for she was their friend, adviser and patron. For many years she could be seen almost daily on the foreshore with a little group of weather-beaten men around her. She knew the dangers and disappointments of their calling, and was genuinely delighted whenever she heard that the fleet had returned with a good catch. And when the boats were out and a storm sprang up, she was anxious as any fish-wife for their safety. At her own expense she provided a lifeboat and complete apparatus for saving life, and, with the thoroughness characteristic of her, she made herself at once acquainted with the proper working of it.

Whenever there was a shipwreck, she would be down on the shore giving directions for the rescue of the people aboard the vessel. No matter the weather or the hour, she was always on the spot. Many a time the news came to her in the middle of the night that there was a ship in distress, and in a few minutes her man was wheeling her quickly down to the shore. The wind might be howling, the rain falling in torrents, but this did not deter her from being at her self-appointed post. When she first came out in rough weather, the fishermen begged her to return home, but they soon discovered that she was determined to remain.

When the boat had been launched she would remain in the cold, waiting anxiously for its return. Often she was in great pain, but only her attendant was aware of this. To the fisher-folk she would be cheerful, and express confidence that her lifeboat would rescue all aboard the ship. And when the lifeboat did return with the rescued people, who were sometimes half dead from exposure, there was more self-imposed work for her. She superintended the treatment of the shipwrecked folk, and arranged where they were to be taken. Many were removed to her own house, and kept there until they were able to proceed to their homes or to London. So kindly were the rescued people treated, that it became a saying along the East Coast, that to be taken care of by Miss Gurney, it was worth while being shipwrecked.

Anna Gurney died at Cromer in June, 1857, aged sixty-one. She was buried in Overstrand Churchyard, being carried to her last resting-place by fishermen who had known and loved her for many years. The news of her death had spread rapidly along the coast, and over a thousand fishermen were present at her funeral. Their sorrow was great, and they were not ashamed to show it.

The following lines, written by Anna Gurney on the death of a friend whom she dearly loved, might truly have been her own epitaph;—

Within this frame, by Jesu's grace,
High gifts and holy held their place;
A noble heart, a mighty mind,
Were here in bonds of clay confined.