in which introductions still go on, and coming events cast their shadows before.
mrs maria foster,—the widow of james foster (formerly captain in the merchant service), the mother of guy foster (clerk in the firm of denham, crumps, and company), and the promoter or supporter of every good cause,—was a little woman of five-and-forty or thereabouts, with mild blue eyes, a philanthropic heart, and pale blue ribbons in her cap.
mrs foster may be said to have been in easy circumstances. that is to say, she had sufficient (being a thrifty and economical lady) to “make the two ends meet,” even to overlap somewhat, though not,—as a friend of ours once observed,—to tie in a handsome bow, so that she had a little to spare for charitable purposes. it must not be supposed, however, that the good lady was possessed of a small fortune. the “circumstances,” which were easy to her, would have proved remarkably uneasy to many; but she possessed the rare and tailorly quality of being able and willing to cut her coat according to her cloth. there was no deeper mystery than that in the “ease” with which we have characterised her “circumstances.”
the coast of kent was her locality; the environs of the town of deal, her neighbourhood; and a small—almost miniature but pretty—cottage, her habitation. the cottage stood in the middle of a little garden, close to that wide extent of waste land, lying to the north of deal, which is known by the name of the sandhills, and on the seaward edge of which formerly stood the pile—and now lie the remains—of sandown castle.
everything in and around the cottage was remarkably neat—including its mistress, who, on the evening of the day in which her son sailed with bax in the “nancy,” was seated at a little table in her small parlour, summing up an account on a sheet of note-paper,—an operation which appeared to cause her much perplexity, if one might judge from her knitted brows, her deep sighs, and her frequent remarks of “it won’t do,” and “what can it be?”
these observations were apparently addressed to the cat, which sat in front of the fire, watching the tea-kettle and the buttered toast; but although the good lady was addicted to talking to her cat, in a general way, about her love for it and its state of health, we cannot suppose that she really appealed to it on such a grave subject as arithmetical calculation. if she did she got no answer from the cat—not even a sign of recognition; but she did from a bright-faced, fair-haired girl, of about eighteen, who at that moment entered the room, with a teapot in one hand, and a cream-jug in the other.
“what is it that puzzles you, mamma?” said the girl, setting down the pot and jug, and preparing to attend to the duties of the tea-table.
to this mrs foster replied, in an absent way, that she didn’t know, that it was quite beyond her comprehension, and that she was utterly perplexed; but that she would find it out, if she should sit all night over it. whereupon she proceeded to state that “three and two made five, and seven made—made”—she wasn’t quite sure how much that made, until her companion told her it made twelve; which piece of information she received with an—“oh! of course it does. dear me, amy, how silly i am!”—just as if she had known the fact all her life, and had only forgotten it at that moment, unaccountably, for the first time! mrs foster then went on to add a variety of other figures to this,—with an occasional word of assistance from amy,—until the whole amounted to the sum of one hundred and thirty-three.
“there,” said mrs foster, with a pleased expression, as she put the figures down, “now how many twelves are in that—eh? let me see. twelve times twelve are a hundred and forty,—no, that’s too much; twelve times eleven—how much is twelve times eleven?”
mrs foster did not ask this of amy; no, she gazed up at the ceiling, where an uncommonly large spider was affixing its web,—with the design, no doubt, of lowering itself down to the tea-table,—and demanded the solution of the problem, apparently, from that creature.
“i think it is a hundred and thirty-two, mamma,” said amy, pouring out the tea.
“oh, of course, how stupid!” said mrs foster, who was quite struck with the obviousness of the fact—on being told it. “there now, that comes to eleven shillings and one penny, which settles the soup kitchen. one pound two does the hospital for the blind, and there’s one pound due to the sailors’ home. but still,” continued mrs foster, with a return of the perplexed expression, “that does not get me out of my difficulty.”
“come to tea, dear,” said amy, “and we will try to clear it up together afterwards.”
“impossible, child. i could not eat with appetite while this is puzzling my brain. let me see; there were fifteen pounds, apparently, spent last year, when i put it on paper, and yet here is a sovereign over,” said mrs foster, holding up the coin, and looking at it reproachfully, as if the blame lay with it and not with herself.
“well, mamma,” said amy, laughing, “but where is your difficulty?”
“don’t you see, child? by rights i ought to give fifteen pounds away; well, my book tells me that fifteen pounds have been given, and yet here is a sovereign left over to give!”
“then don’t give it, mamma, just put it back into your purse, and that will make the thing right, won’t it?”
“no, dear, it won’t, because, you see, the money must be right, so the book must be wrong; oh! here it is. i declare i have forgot to carry one. there, that’s right. now, dear, we shall have tea.”
it may be necessary to explain here, that although amy called mrs foster “mamma,” she was in fact not related to her at all, being only an adopted daughter. poor amy russell was a child of the sea.
two years previous to the time of which we write, she, with her father and mother, had been wrecked on the coast of kent while returning from a long residence in new zealand. their vessel filled the moment she struck, and the seas buried the hull so completely that passengers and crew were obliged to take to the rigging. here they remained all night exposed to the fury of the storm. many of the unfortunates, unable to withstand the exposure of that terrible night, fell or were washed out of the rigging and perished. among these were amy’s father and mother. amy herself was taken care of by the captain, with whom she was a great favourite, and, along with those who remained until the morning, was saved by one of the lifeboats stationed on that coast.
they had a narrow escape from drowning even after being taken into the boat, for, just as they were approaching the entrance to the harbour, where crowds of the inhabitants of the town were anxiously watching them, a tremendous sea completely filled the boat, swept away the starboard oars, and carried several of the wrecked passengers overboard, amy being one of them. this happened close under the head of the pier. all the passengers were recovered by the lifeboat’s crew in a few seconds, with the exception of amy, who, being exhausted by previous exposure, began to sink at once. the boatmen, in the turmoil of raging water and howling wind, did not observe this, and a cry of consternation was uttered by the people on the pier, who saw the whole thing clearly from their elevated position; but the cry was either drowned by the noise of the tempest, or not understood by the boatmen.
at that moment a tall stripling on the pier raced to the edge of it, shot like a rocket head-foremost into the sea, and in a second or two reappeared with the young girl in his arms. they were both dragged into the lifeboat, amid ringing cheers of delight and admiration.
the stripling who did this brave deed was none other than our friend guy foster, who chanced to be lodging with his mother in the neighbouring town at that time. guy insisted on having amy conveyed to his mother’s place of abode. mrs foster soon discovered that the poor orphan had neither relations nor friends in england, and having taken a fancy to her, adopted her as a daughter. thus did she come to call mrs foster “mamma,” and to preside at the tea-table in sandhill cottage.
but, to return from this digression:— mrs foster was congratulating herself on having discovered the error in her accounts, when the door opened and a stout florid woman, of fifty or thereabouts, with a shiny red skin, presented herself and said:
“please, ma’am, here’s a gentleman as wants to see you, and won’t go away, though i told him you was at tea, w’ich is a fact, though it had no impression whatever on him, such is his imprence, goin’ for to reflect on my character for truth, as never told a lie since i was a baby in long frocks, so i didn’t; but it’s always the way with these men that go tax-gatherin’, though i don’t know that he’s that neether, so i don’t; what shall i say, ma’am?”
mrs laker, having uttered the foregoing without pause or inflection of voice from beginning to end, came to an abrupt stop. whether from want of breath or ideas it is difficult to say; perhaps from both.
“show the gentleman in, laker,” said mrs foster; “no doubt he has good reason for wishing to see me.”
laker vanished. she was impulsive in her actions as well as in her words. she was her mistress’s factotum—her cook, housemaid, sempstress, and confidential adviser; in addition to which she was somewhat of a bore, being stubborn and opinionated, but a good and faithful servant on the whole.
the individual who was presently introduced was a bustling little old gentleman with a shining bald head and a cheerful countenance.
“excuse my rudeness—madam—” he began, bowing low, as he advanced with a hesitating step—“this intrusion, really—”
“do not mention it, sir, pray be seated,” said mrs foster; “you are welcome—surely i have met with you before?”
she put on a pair of gold spectacles as she said this, and looked earnestly at her visitor, who, having placed his hat on the floor and bowed to amy, sat down and pulled out a bundle of papers.
“you have, madam,” replied the visitor. “my name is summers—david summers, ma’am, at your service. i had the pleasure of being introduced to you at a meeting in a town not far distant, where an effort was being made to raise contributions towards the establishment of a lifeboat—”
“oh! i recollect,” cried mrs foster, whose sympathetic heart at once opened to the man who had made (as she had thought) such an eloquent appeal at the meeting in question; “i am delighted to see you, mr summers. if i mistake not, i invited you to come and see me when you should visit this part of the coast.”
“you were kind enough to do so, madam, hence my venturing to call at this hour. i quit deal to-morrow, early, and i am anxious to re-plead my old cause with you; but indeed i know this to be unnecessary, your own sympathies being already enlisted in my favour.”
mrs foster assured mr summers that he was right, but begged of him, notwithstanding, to plead with her as if she were an enemy, in order that she might hear all he had to say on the subject, adding, that she hoped he would stay and have a cup of tea.
hereupon mr summers bowed, drew in his chair, remarked to amy that the lifeboat service was one of the most interesting and important topics of the day, and the national lifeboat institution one of the most valuable institutions in the kingdom, and at once launched into his favourite theme with all the gusto of an enthusiast who has gained the ear of a sympathetic audience.
we will, however, spare the reader the details and statistics which afforded so much pleasure to mrs foster and her adopted daughter, knowing full well that there is an immense difference between these when set down in hard type, and when poured forth in rich energetic tones, backed by twinkling eyes and a beaming countenance.
“do you really mean to tell me, mr summers,” said mrs foster—when the old gentleman came to the end of a long statement, “that about a thousand ships are wrecked, and nearly a thousand lives lost, besides more than a million pounds worth of property, on the shores of this country every year?”
“it is a sad but incontrovertible fact,” replied mr summers. “official lists are drawn up annually by the board of trade, which give the number and positions of wrecks—cold dry lists they are too. matter-of-fact columns and figures, without a touch of softness about them. they are not meant to appeal to the feelings; they are a mere record of facts. so many vessels went ashore in such and such a gale—they were sunk, dismasted, dashed to pieces. so many persons were saved, so many drowned,—that is all. ah! who can picture to himself the awful realities that are condensed in those brief accounts?
“when a magnificent steamer, after a fine voyage from the antipodes, comes within hail of port, is caught in a fearful hurricane, cast ashore and dashed to pieces, leaving hundreds of passengers, men, women, and children, to perish in the dark night, grasping the very rocks of their native land, the event is too awful to escape notice. so numerous are the crushed and broken hearts in the land, that their cry awakens public attention, and the newspapers teem for a time with graphic details of the wreck; details which, graphic though they be, fall inconceivably short of the dread reality; but no notice is taken, except in the way of brief record, of the dozens of small coasting vessels that shared the fate of that steamer in the same terrific gale. no one reads the fate of yonder little schooner, one mast of which is seen just peeping out of the sea under that frowning cliff, and yet there is a terrible tale connected with it. who shall tell or conceive of the agonies endured, before the morning light came, by the skipper and his crew of four men and a boy, as their little ship was lifted and flung upon the rocks by each succeeding wave? and who can conceive their feelings when the longed for light did come at last, and daring fishermen on the shore sought to render aid in vain, for their boats were overturned and cast back upon the beach, and themselves barely escaped with their lives, and so the perishing men stood in helpless misery and gazed landward in despair until a mighty wave carried away the mast to which they clung, and, with a last wild shriek they sank in sight of friends and home, because there was no lifeboat there.”
“can this be true?” said mrs foster, in a tone of deep sympathy.
“true!” echoed mr summers, “would god that it were not. i have mentioned but one case, yet it is a fact that for every gale that blows dozens of wrecks take place on our coasts, each with its more or less tragic history. you remember the last gale? it is not three weeks since it blew. no fewer than one hundred and ninety-five wrecks took place on the shores of the united kingdom on that night and the following day, and six hundred and eighty-four lives were lost, many of which would undoubtedly have been saved had there been a sufficient number of lifeboats stationed along our shores; for you must bear in remembrance, that although hundreds of lives are annually saved by ordinary shore boats, and by ships’ boats, hundreds also are saved by lifeboats in circumstances in which ordinary boats would be utterly useless.
“here is a newspaper paragraph,” continued the old gentleman, unfolding a paper and preparing to read, “which shows the brief way in which the public prints at times notice events of the most stirring and heroic nature:— ‘on the morning of the 3rd december last, after a stormy and rainy night, the wind shifted to the north west and blew a hurricane. many vessels got on shore near holyhead, from various causes. the lifeboat of the national lifeboat institution was launched and proceeded to their assistance. she got ahead of one, a schooner, and anchored, but the intense violence of the wind blew her to leeward, anchor and all, and she was unable to communicate, and had great difficulty in returning ashore. she again put off to the schooner elizabeth of whitehaven, which had a signal of distress flying, having parted one chain, and brought her crew of four men on shore. the hurricane continued unabated well into the night. the weather having moderated, the lifeboat was despatched at 2 a.m., and brought on shore twenty-three men from the confiance of liverpool; then again put off and brought ashore nineteen men from the barque elizabeth morrow of glasgow; next proceeded to the schooner l’espérance of nantes, and saved two men, making altogether a total of forty-eight lives saved by the lifeboat in this hurricane only.’
“dear madam,” observed mr summers, looking at mrs foster over his spectacles, “surely it is unnecessary for me to point out that this brief narrative does not give us the most distant conception of the terrors, the endurance, the heroism, incident to that night! permit me to read you another paragraph. it is given more in detail and does better justice to the scene.”
the old gentleman selected another paper, opened it, and read as follows:—
“‘the sum of 9 pounds has recently been given by the national lifeboat institution to a boat’s crew, in appreciation of their gallant conduct in putting off in a salmon-coble, during a heavy gale of wind, and rescuing, at great risk of life, the crew of four men of the schooner thankful of sunderland, which was totally wrecked off burghead, n.b., on the 19th july. every moment the position of the ship was becoming more dangerous as the advancing tide drove her in among the small rocks at the back of the sea-wall, and no boat could live in the terrible surge that was fast breaking up the vessel. the crew, four in number, along with the pilot, took to the fore-rigging, and in a short time the beach was strewn with pieces of the wreck—the bulwarks were nearly all destroyed—the boat washed overboard—and the deck broken up. though only forty yards from the pier, not the least assistance could be rendered to the crew, whose faces were quite distinguishable as they clung to the swaying rigging. at twenty minutes past six the fore-mast cracked, and its living freight had hardly time to crawl down to the only bulwark above water (for the schooner now lay on her beam-ends with her bilge towards the sea), when it fell by the board. in about five minutes more the main-topmast was snapped by the gale as if it had been a reed, while the bowsprit and other gear were carried away, leaving nothing but the gutted hull with the mainmast standing. another hour of awful suspense passed, during which the five men lashed themselves to the bulwark, the sea every other minute breaking over their heads in huge masses. at half-past seven, one of the sailors, a young man, was washed from the wreck, but fortunately succeeded in catching the floating rigging, by which he was able to regain his former position. another young heroic sailor seemed to be the life of the whole company in this trying emergency, and his efforts to keep up the spirits of his companions were signally successful. about eight o’clock the waves broke over the ship with renewed violence, but still those on the shore could return no answer in the affirmative to the piercing cry that came from the wreck, “can’t we get a boat?” the voice was that of the gallant sailor already referred to; the others were too much exhausted to utter a word. mcintosh, the pilot from burghead, expired from sheer cold and exhaustion. none who saw him perish soon forgot the fearful agony of his daughter as she bade her father farewell from the parapet of the breakwater. after renewed efforts a boat was got over the breakwater, and at great risk succeeded in saving the other men, who were in a very exhausted condition.’
“and now, dear madam,” pursued the old gentleman, tying up his papers, “i will not run the risk of wearying you with more details, but come to the point at once by soliciting from you a contribution towards the establishment of a lifeboat on the coast here, where i am sure you must be well aware there is very great need for one.”
“i am sure there is,” said mrs foster, opening her box; “alas! i fear the wind is rising even now. the rattling of the window-frames will bring what you have told me to remembrance ever after this night. how much does it require to establish a lifeboat?”
“between five and six hundred pounds,” replied mr summers. “after which about twenty pounds annually will suffice to maintain it in working order.”
“so much!” exclaimed mrs foster. “i fear that you will find it difficult to raise so large a sum.”
“i trust not, but if we raise a pretty large proportion of it, the lifeboat institution will make up the balance. perhaps”—here the old gentleman paused and looked dubiously at mrs foster—“perhaps you would like to know the precise nature of the objects for which the lifeboat institution has been founded. will you do me the favour to listen for five minutes longer? the operations of the institution are of deep importance to the national welfare.”
mrs foster at once expressed her willingness to listen, and the old gentleman, re-opening his bundle of papers, selected one from which he read sundry interesting details regarding the national lifeboat institution.
it need scarcely be said, that with such a sympathetic mind to address as that of mrs foster, mr summers prolonged his visit for another hour, and it is perhaps equally unnecessary to say that the worthy lady found a suitable object on which to bestow the sovereign which had perplexed her so much at an earlier part of the evening. she not only gave the money with the air of a “cheerful giver,” but she begged mr summers to send her as many papers on the subject of lifeboats and wrecks as he happened to be possessed of, and promised to become an active agent in pleading with her friends in behalf of the object he had in view.
the wind was rising while the party in sandhill cottage were thus engaged. it came in ominous and heavy gusts, rattling the window-frames and moaning in the chimneys to such an extent that mrs laker, who was of a timid and superstitious nature, was fain to sit outside the parlour door in order to be near the other inmates of the cottage.
“about a thousand lives lost in each year on the shores of this kingdom!” thought mrs foster, as she lay in bed that night listening to the rising storm with feelings of awe and solemnity which she had never before experienced.
if mrs foster had been acquainted with the subject in detail, she might have had further food for solemn reflection in the fact that the greater part of those lives were lost unnecessarily; that their loss was owing not nearly so much to the direct providence of god as to the incompetence, the ignorance, the false economy, and the culpable carelessness of man.
mrs foster’s head lay on a soft pillow while the tempest raged around her humble dwelling. she little thought that one around whom her heart-strings were entwined was out on the wild sea that night, exposed to its utmost fury and in urgent need of the aid of that species of boat which had filled her thoughts that evening, and still continued to influence her dreams.
