CHAPTER XVI.
AN EARLY DEATH.
"Grieve not that I die young—is it not well
To pass away ere life hath lost its brightness?
Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell
Of love and your kind words. List ye to me:
Here I am blessed, but I would more be free—
I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness.
Let me depart!
"Ah, who would linger till bright eyes grow dim,
Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold?
Till carking care, and toil, and anguish grim,
Cast their dark shadows o'er this fleeting world,
Till fancy's many-coloured wings are furled,
And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old!
I would depart!
"Thus would I pass away—yielding my soul
A joyous thank-offering to Him who gave
That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll.
Thus—thus exultingly would I depart,
Song on my lips, ecstasy in my heart.
Sisters—sweet sisters—bear me to my grave;
Let me depart!"—Lady Flora Hastings.
We may be sure that Grace Darling's friends greeted her birthday with the old fashioned, but significant wish, "Many happy returns of the day." She had become exceedingly dear to them, and they wanted to keep her with them. Life is not too bright at any time, but it becomes dark indeed when our friends die. There are some lives that seem necessary, not only to their own immediate circle, but to the world at large, and there are many who desire that they may live long. It was so in the case of our heroine. Wherever she appeared, she stirred men's hearts to deeds of heroism and courage, and the world seemed to need her stay in it. Moreover, for her own sake it appeared desirable that she should linger in a state in which she received so much honour, and was so greatly and universally beloved. As yet, she scarcely knew how sincerely she was appreciated, and how much good her simple unselfishness and devotedness had done. Had she lived until the shadows of old age crept on her, and she who had helped others needed help herself, then indeed she would have known how tenderly the people of England had enshrined her in their hearts. They wished it. It is a deeply-seated belief that long life is a blessing, and that to die early is a misfortune. The belief, popular as it is, may be a mistaken one; but it dwells in almost all hearts, and it would have kept Grace Darling here had it been possible.
But it was not. A voice, very low, but so clear and distinct that it was most plainly heard, was already speaking to the very soul of the lighthouse-girl. She heard it in those quiet evenings when her eyes looked over the sea, and she often wondered what the wild waves were saying. In the busy mornings, when her hands took up the household tasks, in order to lighten her mother's burdens, she received the summons which had surely been sent to her. And even then she prepared to go. Not for her were long years spent in the enjoyment of those comforts which kind friends had provided for her. Hers was to be the early fading of the flower, for the insidious disease which carries off so many beloved ones from our midst had already marked her for his prey. Says a writer of her—"She died in that beautiful period of her life when all seems hallowed, so that the heart turns to her in her loveliness, beauty, innocence, and purity, and venerates her as a gem of virtue and a true heroine;" and he adds, "We are apt to regret that one so deserving should be cut down so young." And all who contemplate the life of Grace Darling must feel the same. And yet we need not suppose that the prayers of her friends were unheard or unanswered. If that which we call death were really ceasing to live, then indeed we might well pray to have this life continued. But the Christian knows better; and to him there is great significance in those words written long ago—"He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest it him, even length of days for ever and ever." This life is but the beginning. It is continued under other circumstances, and in a better land; and in that land we may be sure Grace Darling has found a happy home.
She was never particularly robust. She had not a strong frame; and it will be remembered that in our description of her in these pages, it was remarked that she was of slight build, and had a clear complexion. In the year 1851 [Transcriber's note: 1851 is what is in the book, but since Grace Darling died in 1842, it should probably be 1841.], and when she had only for a short time enjoyed the fruit of her heroic deed, it became evident that her health was declining. There is always room for hope, however, when the patient is young, and when, as in the case of Grace, the disease is consumption. Its first attacks are so insidious that the danger is not always realised. The victim looks more lovely than ever, and so well besides, that it seems as if it cannot be anything great that is the matter. And the symptoms do not seem to be alarming. There is but a feeling of weakness and weariness—a pain in the side, not very bad, perhaps, and a cough, which may be only the result of a cold. There seems nothing to frighten one in such common-place symptoms. Only, unfortunately, these things are stubborn, and do not yield to treatment. And after a time, it is seen that the flesh wastes, the eyes become bright, and there are heavy night perspirations, especially towards morning. There is fever, loss of strength, and loss of appetite, and at last the sad truth is borne in upon the shrinking mind, that it is clearly a case of consumption.
We can imagine what consternation this sad conviction brought to the inmates of the Longstone lighthouse, for it is well known that there is but little hope that consumption is ever curable. The friends of Grace did the best they could; and toward the end of the year she removed to Bamborough, her medical attendant having advised her to do so.
The removal probably prolonged her life for a season, for it was not until the autumn of the following year that she died. But although she lived on it was evident, even to herself, that no real good was being done. She stayed some time, long enough to give the thing a fair trial, hoping and patiently waiting for a change, but no change came. Everything was done that could be to make the sufferer more comfortable, and to keep her hopeful and happy. Indeed, Grace was very tranquil, and even cheerful, though all this time she clung to life, and would gladly have prolonged it if it had been possible.