The Twa Miss Dawsons

by Margaret M. Robertson

They had encountered a succession of storms, which had so strained and shattered the good ship “Ben Nevis,” that there seemed a fairer chance of escaping with life by betaking themselves to the boats than by remaining with the ship. There were not many passengers on board, only seventeen all told. Nine of these, with four sailors, were in the boat which the American had saved when they had been five days away from the wreck.

They could say nothing of those whom they had left on board, though they had still seen the ship afloat in the distance on the second day. There was no familiar name in the list of the rescued, but it was said that the weather had moderated while they were in the vicinity of the ship, and there seemed no reason to doubt that the rest of the passengers and crew had been able to save themselves.

Captain Calderwood’s name was mentioned in terms that brought tears of pride and sorrow to the eyes of those who loved him. His courage and kindness and patience had never failed through all the terrible days of storm. Discipline had been maintained through all, as perfectly as during the summer calm that preceded those awful days; and the last sight which the rescued saw as they drew off from the ship, to await the manning of the other boats, was their captain standing on the deck encouraging them with hand and voice.

And that was all. But that was much, and now they could wait for further tidings with patience. On the whole they kept in good heart for a while. But as time went on, the suspense and anxiety of the days that went before, seemed to pass into each new day as it came. For they knew that each passing day without tidings mocked the hope they had so long cherished.

Through all the mother waited quietly. Never quite without hope that she would see her son again, but after a while the poor pretence of cheerfulness for which she had striven, because of Marion, failed beyond her power to help it. The silent patience which had been the habit of her life under other troubles, stood her in good stead now. And when this failed her, and the restlessness, of a slowly dying hope came upon her, she would go away by herself till she could hide all tokens of her pain again.

Sometimes she went to Miss Jean’s for comfort, but often when her daughter believed her to be there, she was walking up and down the wet sands, or sitting in some sheltered nook among the rocks, striving for calmness to bear to the end. She had gone through it all before, and now she seemed to be waiting again and longing and fearing for his father, while she waited for her only son. When other eyes were upon her she was calm enough, and troubled no one with her trouble, but she needed the rest which solitude gave her to carry her through the lengthening days.

Marion bore the long suspense well, they all said. She was young, and it was her nature to look for brightness rather than gloom, and no such trouble had come upon her as had darkened the life of her mother. There were only hopeful views expressed in her presence, and though she knew that cheerfulness was encouraged and often assumed for her sake, she had the sense and courage to respond to the efforts of those who loved her, and to keep herself quiet and patient for their sakes.

One good came to Mrs Calderwood out of the trouble of those days. She had forgiven Mr Dawson the hard words and unreasonable anger of the old days, or she believed that she had, but even to herself she could not say that she had forgotten them. She was never quite at her ease in his presence. It was not so much that she disliked him, as that she could not convince herself that he did not dislike her. The sight of her could only, she thought, recall to him much that he could not but wish to forget; and if she could do so, without remark, she generally chose to be out of the way during his frequent visits to the house.

But whatever he might feel towards her, there could be no doubt as to the esteem in which he held her son, or as to the anxiety which he shared with them all. He was not, as a general thing, ready with words of sympathy, but she had seen tears in his eyes more than once as he spoke her son’s name, and her heart could not but soften towards him, and a real friendliness, which in other circumstances might have come but slowly, grew up in this troubled time between them.

There was no lack of sympathy. Not a man or woman in Portie, but felt deeply for the trouble of Willie Calderwood’s mother and sister, though they were for the most part shy as to any expression of it. Indeed Mrs Calderwood kept out of the way of words. George guarded his wife from the hearing of any thing that would move her out of her usual quiet, and when he was not at hand, Jean guarded her as carefully for his sake.