Grace Darling, Eva Hope [free ebook reader for pc TXT] 📗

The storm continued to rage with unabated fury, and it was felt by all on board that they were in imminent danger. The captain strove to keep up the courage of the men and passengers, but their anxious faces told too surely of the sinking hearts within.

"Where are we now?" was the question asked at ten o'clock; and those who asked, would have given not a little to be in happy British homes, safe from the fury of the winds and sea.

"We are off St. Abb's Head," was the reply, shouted at the top of the man's voice, that it might be heard, for in the din and roar it was difficult to make each other understand.

Presently the enginemen, working hard at their engines, found that their efforts were entirely vain. They persevered until it was evident that perseverance was useless and then they represented the case to the captain.

"The engines will not work, sir," they said, "though we have done our best to make them."

The captain looked, and felt extremely anxious, for he knew that a terrible danger menaced the vessel, and all on board.

"Hoist the sails fore and aft," was the order, for it was well known that there was great probability of their drifting ashore. The vessel was put about, and every endeavour made to keep her before the wind, and away from the rocks. It was thought by some that an attempt would be made to anchor, but it was not so. The vessel was not long before it had become perfectly unmanageable; and those who were helpless to guide her felt, with dismay, how near they were to destruction and death. The tide was setting in to the south, and the ship drifted in that direction.

All this time it was raining heavily, and the fog was so thick that nothing could be distinctly seen. It was impossible to tell where they were; and in darkness and uncertainty, fearing the worst, and quaking with terror, the unhappy passengers and crew waited for their doom, as men and women have done so often under circumstances similarly appalling. There was nothing they could do but wait and pray; and they were the happiest who could keep alive in their bosoms the faintest spark of hope, and who, being ready either to live or die, had confidence in the strong arm and watchful care of Him who holds the waters in the hollow of His hand.

At length there was a startled cry, "Breakers to leeward!" and that discovery increased the excitement and terror a hundredfold. All eyes were strained in the endeavour to ascertain something of their position, and presently the Farne Lights became visible. After a moment's consultation, the awful truth made the men desperate. There was no doubt as to the imminent and immediate peril in which they were, for the dangerous character of the coast of the islands was well known. The captain and men, aroused to almost superhuman effort by the awful catastrophe that was coming upon them, tried to avert what seemed almost inevitable, by endeavouring to run the vessel through the channel that lies between the Farne Islands and the mainland. But the gloomy apprehensions of all who understood the state of the case were rather increased than diminished by the attempt; for the vessel would not answer her helm; and the furious, turbulent sea tossed her hither and thither, making her the sport of its own awful will.

It was between three and four o'clock when, with her bow foremost, the "Forfarshire" struck on the rock.

Those who are not acquainted with the Farne Islands can scarcely form an idea of the ruggedness of those rocks, which stand up in the ocean as if intent on destroying all that comes near them. The rock on which the "Forfarshire" struck is so sharp and rugged that it is scarcely possible for persons to stand erect upon it, even when it is dry, and it descends sheer down into the water more than a hundred fathoms deep.

The shock, therefore, and the awful scene that followed, may be imagined, but cannot be described. The night was round about the helpless passengers, and added to their danger and dismay. The sea was tremendously high, and the waves seemed to be so many graves rising to receive the bodies that must shortly drop into them. The noise and tumult were so great as to bewilder those who listened. The wind howled in its rage, and mingled with the thunder of the waters. The sea-gulls screamed as they flew madly about the ship, and towards the shore. The women shrieked so piercingly that their voices could be heard above all other sounds, and were by far the maddest and most mournful of all. Nor was this surprising, for the great vessel was lifted up by the action of the water, and again forced upon the jagged rock, while the beams and timbers gave way, and that to which the passengers and sailors had trusted their lives proved itself little better than a grave.

The bustle and confusion on board were naturally very great at this juncture. All tried to find their way on deck, but some did not live to reach it. Others, as soon as they had gained that which they hoped was a place of safety, were at once swept off into the great deep below.

At this time some of the crew, eager to save themselves, lowered the larboard quarter-boat, and sprang into it. Among these were James Duncan, the first mate, to whom some blame seems to have been attached, and Mr. Ruthven Ritchie, of Perthshire. It is little wonder that in such a crisis all should do what could be done to save themselves. But we have some memorable instances of unselfish heroism on the part of British sailors, who have even lost their own lives in saving those of others.

"It is the signal of death," was the hurried conclusion to which many came when they felt the shock of the vessel on the rock. Then followed a most heart-rending scene. The master lost all self-control in his anguish and terror; but, perhaps, that is not surprising when it is remembered that he had on board his own wife. It is so natural for a woman to think that her husband can save her from everything; and this woman clung to the master, and looked into his face with imploring eyes, "Oh, save me! save me! Surely you can do something! Do not let me drown. Oh, my beloved, will you not save me?" she cried, holding him in her arms, while the tears ran down her white face.

"Would to God that I could, my darling," was all the man could say, as he felt his utter helplessness to protect her, or any of those who had been committed to his care. Other women there were who called upon him, and upon the sailors, and most of all upon God, though their cries seemed altogether unavailing. The men were more quiet. They looked death in the face calmly, though still they clung to the doomed vessel, hoping against hope to the very last.

Many of the passengers were asleep in their berths when the vessel first struck. The steward ran down to give the alarm without loss of time.

"For God's sake, get up, all of you. The vessel is on the rocks, and we shall all be drowned."

What a terrible awakening it was for those who had gone calmly to sleep the night before! No warning had been given to them. They little knew how the angels wrote above their cabin, "There is but a step between thee and death." With busy brains, planning all sorts of work for future years, and dreaming of worldly success and prosperity, they laid down to sleep. While the night yet lasted came the terrible cry, "Behold, the bridegroom cometh: go ye forth to meet Him." And what terror and affright the message caused, only He knew who looked down from Heaven into the souls of the men and women. Was it not a pity that they had not thought of this before? If only they had been His friends, they would not have feared to see His face. But to those who had persistently turned deaf ears to His invitations, the cry, "Prepare to meet thy God," sounded like a summons to eternal doom.

To others, however, it was not so. They looked across the waters to another shore, where the lights are always burning, and where shining ones stand to welcome the weary voyagers who would safely gain it. As they saw the danger they knew that the shore they loved was not far away; and when they cried in strong faith, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly," they heard the still small voice of their God saying, "It is I, be not afraid." Death by drowning was for them only a short swift passage to the heavenly land, where "there shall be no more sea." And though life must have been dear to them—for every one had some tie to keep him below—still, there was not one Christian but would be willing "to depart and be with Christ, which is far better," and the summons, though it was brought by seething waters and howling winds, could not be unwelcome. For a few seconds there would be nothing but darkness, pain and bewilderment, but then all would be over, and their day would begin. "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more. The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them to living fountains of water, and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes." Happy, indeed, are they, for they "have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; and they shall serve Him day and night in His temple."

But what of them who have always been His despisers? In the days of their health they cried—"We will not have this man to reign over us;" and now, what could He be to them but a judge whom they feared? To them death by drowning was a very different thing from that which it was to those who were his friends. It gave them too little time to prepare. They wanted to pray, but the waters were over their heads, and in the darkness they could not find Him. They wanted to repent, but no space for repentance was given to them then. It was too late—too late! They had had time. For months and years the patient Spirit had been striving with them; but they had resisted Him. Christ had been saying—not as a judge, but as a pleading Saviour—"Come unto me, all ye that labour, and I will give you rest." "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any man will hear me, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." But it had been no use. Deaf ears, that would not hear His voice, blind eyes, that saw no beauty in Him that they should desire Him, unresponding lips that would give Him no invitation—these were all that the Lord had met with. And now it was too late, for that storm had burst, and the ship was settling down, and there remained for the rejecters of Christ nothing but hopeless desolation!

Does not this, and every shipwreck, cry aloud to the sons of men to be wise? "Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." "To day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." Death must come soon, and it may come any night, and, rousing the sleeper, may hurry him into eternity. Is it not folly to remain unprepared?

The "Forfarshire," soon after the first shock, was struck by a powerful wave, which lifted her for a