Jeff Benson, or the Young Coastguardsman, R. M. Ballantyne [best fiction novels .txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Jeff Benson, or the Young Coastguardsman, R. M. Ballantyne [best fiction novels .txt] 📗». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“‘Make fast to a bed-post,’ I roared, ‘or a table, or chest o’ drawers—anything big.’
“He understood me, I could see, and presently he looked over the window an’ shook his head. Then I could see the face of a dark-haired, beautiful girl. Even through the increasing smoke I could tell that she was deadly pale, and drew back with a shudder. By this time a big pile of straw lay under the window. I saw there was no hope of such an old man lettin’ himself or his girl down by a rope, so up I went hand over hand. Many a time had I done the sort o’ thing for a lark when I was a youngster; but bein’ out o’ practice, and a good deal heavier than in old days, I found it hard work, I can tell you. Hows’ever, I managed it and got in at the window, an’ didn’t my heart give a jump when I saw that the old chap had only made the rope fast to a light bedroom chair. If I’d bin a stone heavier, I’d have pulled that chair right over the window!
“‘God bless you!’ cried the tremblin’ old man; ‘save my Clara!’
“There was no time for pretty speeches. I made fast the end of the rope to the leg of a table, made a loop on the other end, threw it over the girl, caught her round the waist an’ swung her over the window. I was in such a hurry that the rope nearly took the skin off my hands; but I landed her safe on the straw below. The old man was heavier, and not so easy to manage; but I got him lowered safe, and then, slipping over myself, began to descend. The flames had by that time got headway, and were dartin’ like fiery serpents’ tongues out o’ the windows below. One o’ them gave me a wipe in passin’, an’ cleared eyelashes, eyebrows, and half the hair o’ my head away. Another twined round the rope and singed it; so that when I was half-way down, it snapped, and I came to the ground with a thud that damaged my canvas ducks, though they were by no means delicate. Hows’ever, the pile of straw broke the fall, and I was none the worse.
“The gratitude o’ that poor old man and his daughter knew no bounds, specially when he found I was the father of his Clara’s favourite schoolmate.
“‘Now, Captain Millet,’ says he at partin’, ‘nothin’ in this world can repay what we owe you. I know it would be insultin’ to offer you money for such service, but sometimes men like you like to help a good cause. Will you accept of five hundred pounds for such a purpose?’
“‘No sir,’ says I, ‘I won’t! But I’ve a sister at home who spends all her time in tryin’ to do good. If you’ll be kind enough to send it to her, she’ll consider it a blessed windfall, and will lay it out to the best possible advantage.’
“‘Good,’ said he, seizin’ his pen an’ writin’ out the cheque. ‘Is your sister well off?’
“‘She might be better off,’ said I.
“‘Then pray beg her in my name to accept of a few shares in an Australian tin-mine which came to me a few days ago. They are not worth much, but I don’t want to be troubled with them; indeed, will consider it a favour if she will take them off my hands.’
“The old fellow said this with a laugh—so there you are, Molly, 500 pounds to the credit of your charity account an’ I don’t know how much tin transferred to your own.”
“O brother, how good—how kind!” Miss Millet paused here, and gazed in silence at the cheque, for she had already begun to calculate how far that sum would go towards the library, and the church, and the town-hall, and the model-houses, and the gymnasium, and the swimming-bath.
“And now, young man,” said the captain, turning to our coastguardsman, “the missin’ of that steamer, at which I growled so much that day, turned out to be a great blessin’ after all, although it seemed such a misfortune. For it caused me to arrive just in the nick of time to save two human lives—besides givin’ the old girl here somethin’ to think about and work upon for the next twelvemonth to come—whereas, if I had arrived the day before, I would have bin sleepin’ in the house, and mayhap have bin burnt alive wi’ old Nibsworth and his daughter. Seems to me as if that little story had some sort o’ bearin’ on the subject you was discussin’ wi’ Molly. But I’m not good at drawin’ morals, so I’ll leave you to draw it for yourself.”
Whether Jeff Benson drew the moral of Captain Millet’s story for himself or not, we cannot tell; but it is certain that his mates found him after that date a man who was prone to solitary meditations, with occasional fits of absence of mind. They also found him a pleasant companion and a most active comrade in all the duties of his station.
Sometimes these duties involved great hardship, and frequent risk to life and limb; for, as is well known, our coastguardsmen not only perambulate our shores in all weathers, but often work the rocket apparatus for saving life from shipwreck, and are frequently called upon to assist the lifeboat-men by putting off to the rescue in their own boats when others are not available. In all these duties Jeffrey Benson did his work with tremendous energy, as might have been expected of one so strong, and with reckless disregard to personal safety, which was appropriate in a hero.
One evening, about a year after the period of which we have been writing, Jeff was returning along shore with a party in charge of the rocket-cart, after having rescued the crew of a small coasting vessel—four men and a boy, with the skipper’s wife. The service had been prolonged and pretty severe, but feelings of exhaustion were, for the time at least, banished from the coastguardsmen’s breasts by the joy resulting from success in their heroic work. On the way, the party had to pass close to Miss Millet’s cottage—her “cottage by the sea,” as the romantic old lady was fond of calling it.
Jeff—although fatigued and hungry, besides being drenched, dishevelled about the hair, bespattered with mud, and bruised, as well as lacerated somewhat about the hands—determined to pay a short visit to the cottage, being anxious to “have it out” with his confidante about that matter of good being made to come out of evil.
“O Jeff!” exclaimed the horrified old lady when he entered, “wounded? perhaps fatally!”
“Not quite so bad as that, auntie,” replied Jeff, with a hearty laugh, for Miss Millet’s power to express alarm was wonderful. “I’ll soon put myself to rights when I get back to the station. I ought to apologise for calling in such a plight, but I’ve been thinking much since I last saw you, and I want to have a talk.”
“Not till I have bound up all your wounds,” said Miss Millet firmly.
Knowing that he would gain his end more quickly by giving in, Jeff submitted to have several fingers of both hands done up with pieces of white rag, and a slight cut across the bridge of his handsome nose ornamented with black sticking-plaster. He not only enjoyed the operation with a sort of reckless joviality, but sought to gratify his friend by encouraging her to use her appliances to the utmost, intending to remove them all when he quitted the cottage. The earnest little woman availed herself fully of the encouragement, but could scarcely refrain from laughing when she surveyed him after the operation was completed.
“Now, auntie, have you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, tell me, do you really think that at all times, and in all circumstances, God causes events that are disastrous to work out good?”
“Indeed I do,” returned Miss Millet, becoming very serious and earnest as she sat down opposite her young friend. “No doubt there is much of mystery connected with the subject but I can’t help that any more than I can help my beliefs. Of course we know, because it is written, that ‘all things work together for good to them that love God;’ but even in the case of those who do not love Him, I think He often sends sorrow and trouble for the very purpose of driving them out of trust in themselves, and so clearing the way to bring them to the Saviour. And is it not written, ‘Surely the wrath of man shall praise Thee?’”
The young man remained silent for a few moments.
“Well, now,” he said, “what think you of this case? The skipper whom we rescued this afternoon, along with his wife, told me that he has been reduced to beggary. He owned the vessel which now lies out on the rocks there, a total wreck. It was his last venture. He had put all that he possessed into it, and not a scrap of the cargo will be saved. Having been a lucky man all his life previously, he said he had determined to ‘chance his luck’ this time, and did not insure vessel or cargo: so that all is gone. His wife and several children are dependent on him. He has no relatives rich enough, or willing enough, to help him; and, poor fellow, he has received injuries while being rescued, which will probably render him helpless for the rest of his life. Now, do you think that good will come out of all that?”
“I am sure it will,” returned Miss Millet confidently, “and good to him too if he seeks it; though of course I know not how or when.”
“But why are you so sure?”
“Because, Jeff, it is written that God does not ‘afflict the children of men willingly.’ He does it for their good, and that good cannot fail of accomplishment, unless they refuse the good and choose the evil.”
Again Jeff became silent and thoughtful. “I have meditated much of late,” he said, “about Captain Millet’s adventure in China—”
“By the way,” interrupted Miss Millet, “that reminds me that the captain’s little girl Rose—Rosebud, as he calls her—is to come here this very evening to stay with me for a week.”
“Indeed? that will be pleasant, auntie. I must come and see her as an old acquaintance.”
“Oh yes, you must, Jeff. You’ve no idea what a sweet girl she has become. I am quite charmed with her—so modest, and unselfish, and clever, and good, and—and, in short, I call her the four F’s, for she is fair, fragile, fervent, and funny.”
“What a catalogue!” exclaimed the youth, laughing; “you may well be charmed with her. But what do you mean by funny? Does she try to make people laugh?”
“Oh dear, no! In company she can scarce be made to speak at all, but she is so fond of fun—has such a lively appreciation of humour, and laughs so heartily. She has grown quite into a woman since I last saw her when her father went to sea. There she is!”
Miss Millet sprang from her chair with the agility almost of a young woman, and ran to open the door, for a cab was heard pulling up in front of the cottage.
There was a delighted little shriek from “Auntie!” and the warmest salutations of welcome; and the next moment Miss Millet, with the captain’s daughter, arm in arm, embracing one another, entered the parlour.
The coastguardsman was transfixed, for there, before him, flushed and panting, stood—
“A maid with eyes of heavenly blue,
And rippling hair of golden hue;
With parted lips of Coral too,
Disclosing pearls—and—”
All the rest of it! Yes, no wonder that
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