Old Wonder-Eyes, and Other Stories for Children

by L. K. Lippincott; Grace Greenwood

"Impossible, my child—no boat could live in such a sea. We must leave them in God's hands!"

"No, papa, God has given them into ours; and He will protect us in seeking to rescue them—we can but try."

So Grace won over her father to her noble undertaking, and they two launched the boat, and rowed off bravely toward the wreck. Mrs. Darling not only did not object to their going, though she knew all the dreadful peril of their enterprise, but helped to launch the boat. I think she was not less heroic than either her husband or her daughter.

It was ebb tide, or the boat could not have passed between the islands—but it would be flowing before they could hope to return, which would render it impossible for them to row up to their island alone—so unless they could reach the wreck, and get rowers from there, they would be obliged to stay outside till the next ebb tide, exposed to the greatest peril. All this they knew.

The most serious danger they incurred was that of their boat being dashed by the furious waves so violently against the rock on which the ship had struck, as to break it to pieces instantly. As they drew near, Grace's firm lips moved in prayer, and her father's weather-browned face grew pale. But the same good God who had guided them through the wild white surf, and over the treacherous hidden reefs, sent a smooth strong wave, that gently lifted the prow of their boat on to the rock.

They reached the wreck in safety, to the unspeakable joy and amazement of the poor people there. In the cabin they found Mrs. Dawson, nearly dead, with her arms clasped about her two children, both quite dead. All were lowered into the boat, and safely rowed to the Longstone, where Mrs. Darling received them warmly, and cared for them with motherly tenderness.

Grace, when she reached the lighthouse, was much exhausted with rowing, and almost fell into her mother's arms as she stepped ashore. But she roused her energies, and nerved her noble heart anew, for the sake of the poor sufferers. Without waiting to remove her own wet clothes, or even to wring the sea-water from her long dark hair, she devoted herself to their relief and comfort. She gathered them around the fire—she gave them food, warm drink and dry clothing. Very tenderly she consoled those who had lost property and friends by the wreck. She took the hands of old seamen who had grown as weak as women through suffering, and told them of One who pitied them, "even as a father pitieth his children." She took the childless Mrs. Dawson in her arms, laid her poor distracted head on her breast, and wept with her.

The storm continued so violent that the sufferers were obliged to remain at the lighthouse for several days, as were also a boat's crew who came to their rescue from North Sunderland, too late, and could not return. Yet all were treated most hospitably and kindly—Grace gave up her bed to poor Mrs. Dawson, and slept on a table.

At last the storm passed over, and was succeeded by calm and sunshine—the ship-wrecked guests went to their homes, some rejoicing and some sorrowing, but all bearing hearts warm with gratitude toward their deliverers. Doubtless some of those rescued men and women are yet living, and perhaps on stormy nights, when the winds roar and the sea thunders against the rocky shore, they gather their children or grandchildren about them and tell the story of the wreck of the Forfarshire, of their awful peril and wonderful deliverance.