Books: Modern Broods

C >> Charlotte Mary Yonge >> Modern Broods

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"I find our disaster was on the Maiden Rocks, a horrible group, I
only wonder that any one gets past them. There are five of them, the
wicked Sirens, and three have lighthouses, but not very efficient
ones, and apt to disappear in the fog, and there are reefs beneath on
one of which we came to grief. The folk here think a wreck on these
Maidens absolutely fatal, so we cannot be but most thankful for being
alive, though it is a worse experience than the Rotuma earthquake.

"Fergus would think the place worth all we have undergone. The crags
are wonderful, chalk at the bottom, basalt above, and of course all
round to the Giant's Causeway it is finer still. Well may we, as the
Bishop is always doing, give thanks that we were taken, by the Divine
Hand guiding tide and current, to this milder and less inhospitable
opening.

"We can afford to dispense with less majesty, for one of those finer
cliffs would have been our destruction.

"This is going to Larne, where there is a railway station and
something of a town, and the Bishop has written to the doctor of the
place. I will write again when he has been here. I hope to send you
another and more cheery account to-morrow, or whenever post goes.

"Nag is writing to her sister. I trust you will have heard of
Bernard and Angela. Their boat was a better one than ours, and
certainly got off safely. Let us know as soon you can.

"Your most loving niece,

"D. M. MOHUN."

Agatha had also written to Magdalen, very briefly, to assure her of
her safety and thankfulness, and to say she could not leave Wilfred
till more efficient care arrived, or till she had means to come back
with. She was evidently too busy over her patient to have much
possibility of writing, even if she had paper, which seemed to be
scarce at Corncastle.

The Bishop also wrote to Clement, and to Sir Jasper and others; but
he also could say little, only that he trusted that Angela and
Bernard were safe elsewhere, having heard them called, and, as he
believed, seen them off in the first boat, so that probably they had
been already heard of before these letters arrived. Their own party
had been spared from being dashed against the rocks almost by a
miracle; and Agatha Prescott's courage and readiness, as now her
nursing faculties, were beyond all praise, as indeed was the brave
patience of Miss Mohun. He could only look on and be thankful, and
hope for tidings of those who were as his own children. The next
day's letters spoke of the doctor as so much perplexed about Wilfred,
and nothing had been heard at Larne of the other boats.

But no tidings came; there was too much cause to fear that the first
boat had been borne away by the currents and swamped. Lady
Merrifield could not leave Phyllis in such a crisis of suspense, and
Sir Jasper was hardly fit for such a journey, so that his wife was
much relieved when her brother, General Mohun, came to Clipstone, and
undertook to hasten out to Corncastle, with money and appliances,
including a nurse.

"Oh, Reggie, always good at need! I hardly dare to send my good old
Halfpenny--!"

"No, Mamma, send me. You know I had the ambulance lessons with Nag,"
said Mysie, "and we could get a real nurse from Belfast or Dublin, if
it was wanted."

So it was arranged, and uncle and niece started, but hope faded more
and more! Were those two precious young lives so early quenched?

CHAPTER XXXI--THE WRECK

"How purer were earth, if all its martyrdoms,
If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice
Were swept away!"
E. HAMILTON KING.

No tidings of Bernard and Angela. The suspense began to diminish
into "wanhope" or despair; and the brothers and sisters continued to
say that they were sorry above all for Phyllis, whose gentle
sweetness had made her one with them.

But at last, one forenoon, a telegram was put into Clement's hand,
dated from Ewmouth:

Muriel Ellen, Ewmouth Harbour, October 14th. Blaine to Rev.
Underwood. Brother here. Come to infirmary.

Clement and Geraldine lost no time in driving to the infirmary, too
anxious to speak to one another. Blaine's name was known to them as
a Gwenworth lad, who had gone to sea, and risen to be sailing master
of the Muriel Ellen, a trader plying between Londonderry and Bristol.
He, with another, who proved to be the American captain of the Afra,
were at the gate of the hospital, where an ambulance had just
entered.

"Oh! Sir," as Clement held out his hand, "I could not save her. I'd
have given my life!"

"My brother?" as Clement returned his grasp fervently.

"We've just got him in here, Sir. I hope! I hope! And here's the
doctor."

The house surgeon, who, of course, knew the Rector of Vale Leston,
met him with, "Best see him before we touch him, it will set his mind
at rest--You must be prepared, Sir--No, better not you, Mrs.
Grinstead."

Clement followed in silence, leaving Geraldine to the care of the
matron. All he was allowed to see was a ghastly, death-like face and
form, covered with rugs, lying prostrate on a mattress; but as he
came in, at the sound of his step, there was a quiver of recognition,
the eyes opened and looked up, the lips moved, and as Clement bent
down with a kiss, there was a faint sound gasped out, "Telegraph to
Clipstone."

"I will, I will at once."

"It was noble!" Then was added, "She gave herself for the Bishop,
for me." Then the eyes closed, and unconsciousness seemed to
prevail. Some one came and put Clement aside, saying -

"Go now, Sir; you shall hear!"

Clement, who thought it might be death, would have stayed at hand;
but he was turned away, and could only murmur an inarticulate
blessing and prayer, as he meant to fulfil the earnest desire that
was thought to have been conned over and over again by Bernard, as
these half sentences recurred again and again in semi-consciousness.
His telegram despatched, Clement returned to his sister, to hear from
the two masters all they had to tell. Captain Miller, of the Afra,
had slight hurts, which had been looked to before he should take the
train for London; and Blaine had waited to tell his story before
pursuing his voyage to Bristol, both, indeed, to hear the report of
the patient, and likewise to collect the news of the few who had been
landed at Corncastle, to the great relief of Captain Miller; but of
the first boat there were no tidings, and Blaine thought there was
little probability that it had not sunk or been dashed against the
crags of the savage coast.

Captain Miller's account was, that not long after leaving the Mersey,
there had set in an impenetrable fog, lasting for a night and a day.
There was perhaps some confusion as to charts, and the scarcely
visible lights upon the Maidens. At any rate, the Afra had suddenly
struck on a reef, and, shifting at once, had been hopelessly rent, so
as to leave no hope save in the boats. Every one seemed to have
behaved with the resolute fortitude and unselfishness generally shown
by English and Americans in the like circumstances. The sea was not
in a dangerous state, and there was a steady east wind, so that the
boats were lowered without much difficulty, and most of the women
disposed of in the first.

Before the second could be put off however, the water had reached the
fires; there was a violent lurch, the ship had heeled completely
over, washing many overboard, and of course causing a great confusion
among those who had been steady before, and making the deck almost
perpendicular. The captain, however, succeeded in lowering another
boat, and putting into it, as he trusted, the few remaining women,
the Bishop, and most of the men. This was, of course, that which had
safely reached Corncastle, and of which he only now heard. The last
boat was so overcrowded that he, with three of his crew, had thought
it best to remain for the almost desperate chance of being picked up
before they sank.

He had supposed Mr. Underwood had been washed overboard in the
heeling over of the ship, and that his sister had been put into the
first boat; but presently he heard a call.

"Oh, help me, please!" And he became aware that Sister Angela was
hanging over her brother, who lay crushed by a heavy chest which had
fallen on him, and thrown him against the gunwale, though a moan or
two showed him to be still alive. The remaining sailors removed the
weight, lifted him, and laid him in the best place and position they
could, while his sister hung over him and supported his head. To
Miller's dismayed exclamation at finding a woman still on board, she
replied -

"It was no fault of yours. I hid below. Other lives--the Bishop's--
were what mattered! I am glad to be here!"

He believed that Mr. Underwood had revived enough to know his sister,
for he had heard her voice talking to him. Yes, and singing; but it
was not for very long. The wreck was in motion, being carried by
current and tide along the Channel, and if it did not sink, might be
perceived now that daylight had come, and a signal of distress might
be seen by some passing vessel.

Seen it was, in fact, and that there were persons to be rescued; and
Blaine, who was on his way from Londonderry to Bristol, in the Muriel
Ellen, a cattle-boat, possessed a boat in which to attempt a rescue.

All that experienced sailors could do in transferring the helpless
and unconscious form to the boat first, and then to the sloop had
been done; but it was no wonder that in the transit Angela, more
heedful of her brother's safety than her own, had fallen between, and
been lost in the waves, to the extreme grief of Tom Blaine, who had
been one of her scholars, and devoted to her, as all the boys of Vale
Leston were.

The cattle-boat had few facilities for comfort, and all he could do
was to let Mr. Bernard Underwood lie, as softly as could be
contrived, on deck, and make sail for Ewmouth, so as to land him as
near home as possible. How far he had been conscious it was
impossible to say, though once he had asked for Angela, but had
seemed to understand from an evasion, that she was missing, and had
said no more, but muttered parts of these requests, as if afraid of
not being capable of them.

All this had been told or implied, while messages came down that the
surgeons did not think the injuries need be mortal, provided the
exhaustion and exposure had not fatal consequences. The left arm,
two ribs, and the leg had been broken, and were reduced before the
doctors ventured on a hopeful report with which to send home the
brother and sister. One sight, Clement was allowed of a more
unconscious, but much less distressed face, and one murmur, "Noble!
Phyllis!" and he was promised a telegram later in the day. The two
hardly knew which to feel most; grief or thankfulness, the loss or
the mercy, and yet--and yet--after the fitful, wayward, yet always
devout life, with all its strains, there was a sense of wistful
acceptance of such a close.

They felt it all the more deeply when, a day or two later, Bernard
was able to say, at intervals, for the injury rendered speech
difficult and almost dangerous, as Clement leant over him -

"Yes! I woke to see her face over me, all bright in wavy hair just
as when we were children, and she said, 'Bear! Bear! we are going
together!' Then somehow she tried to help me to trust for Phyllis
and Lily."

Then his voice sank, but presently he added, "There was more, but it
is like a dream. She was singing in her own, own voice. There was
'Lead, kindly Light!' and when it came to 'Angel faces smile' there
was a cry--quite glad--'There! there on the water! Felix! Coming
for us! Oh! and another One! Lord, into Thy hands.' That is all I
know--a kiss here, and 'Yes! thanks! For me!' But the lifting hurt
so much that I lost all sense, when she must have fallen between the
wreck and the boat. You are glad for her! Mine own! mine Angel!"

"Safe home!" said Clement. "Oh, thankworthy!"

CHAPTER XXXII--ANCHORED

"Safe home, safe home in port,
Rent cordage, shattered deck;
Torn sails, provision short,
And only not a wreck;
But all the joy upon the shore,
To tell our voyage the perils o'er!"

Safe home! It might be said in another sense for Bernard, for he was
naturally so strong and healthy that the effects of exposure and
exhaustion were not long in passing off, the injury to the chest
proved to be only temporary; and having cased him like a statue in
plaster of Paris, the surgeons decided, to the joy of his family,
that the more serious injuries would be better recovered from in the
fresh air of Vale Leston, than in the fishy, muddy atmosphere of
Ewmouth.

So he was transported thither, and installed in Felix's study, among
the familiar sights and sounds, and where another joy awaited him,
and where he lay in happy stillness.

Phyllis had borne up bravely through the suspense, never
relinquishing a strong assurance of hope; but when that hope was
actually crowned by the first telegram, the reaction set in, and she
had broken down so entirely that her mother durst not let her move at
first, and indeed accompanied her and her little girl as far as the
junction, being herself on the way to Larne.

And Geraldine's heart was at peace when she saw Phyllis sitting by
the bed, her hand in his, content to see and not to speak. Another
visitor appeared the following day, namely, the Bishop of
Albertstown, who had remained at Larne till he could see his fellow
passengers in safe hands. Then he had crossed to Bristol, and before
his hurried visit to his sisters he could not but come to see his
beloved old pupil, Clement, and share with him those reminiscences of
her, who, as he had only now learnt, had given her young
superabundant life for him, a man growing into age, whose work might
be nearly done.

He only saw Bernard in silence, but heard from Clement the account of
those last moments, which showed how entirely Angela had been
conscious of what she was doing, and how willingly she had devoted
herself to save those whom she loved and valued.

While yet they talked, there was a fresh arrival. Sir Ferdinand
Travis Underwood, who could not forbear the running down to hear
perfectly all that was to be heard, and to make arrangements that
might relieve Bernard's mind, if he were indeed on the way of
recovery.

In fact, almost the first thought after that of the wife and child
had been the security of the drenched, stained, and soiled pocket-
book; nor would the patient be satisfied till he had been allowed
himself to hand it over to the head of his firm, with, "There,
Fernan, safe, though smashed with me. Tell Brown."

"Never mind Brown or anything else but getting well, Bernard. I have
taken our passage for next week. I shall get things arranged so that
you need not think of being wanted again out there. We will find a
berth for you in the office in town, as soon as you are about again."

Bernard's eye lightened. "I hope--"

But Ferdinand would not let him either thank or hope, scarcely even
allow any words from Phyllis, who could not be grateful enough for
the relief. To Alda, who had received her old companion, since
Marilda seemed unable to let her husband out of her sight; it was
explained that she was going too, happen what would. Oh, yes, it was
true she was a shocking bad sailor, but she was not going to have
Fernan's ships running upon rocks or getting on fire, or anything of
that sort, without her. She wanted to see about Ludmilla
Schmetterling, who was reported to have found a lover while studying
at a class in the States, and she also meant to settle her own
especial niece Emilia, whose husband was to take Bernard's place in
Ceylon and who had become heartily tired of London's second-rate
gaieties.

Those thus concerned met at the memorial service in the morning
before the Bishop quitted them, where many parishioners gathered who
had been spellbound in Angela's freakish days of early girlhood, and
who were greatly touched when the committal to the deep was inserted
from the Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea.

It brought a deep sense of awe and thankfulness to those who had
feared and wondered through the stormy uncertain life, and now could
exult in what was almost a martyrdom, and had brought their beloved
one to the great pure grave, as her Baptism for eternity.

Some months later, while Bernard still lay on his couch, but could
speak and be glad, he rejoiced indeed, for a sore in his heart was
healed, when two fair babes were brought to him,--a boy who would be
as another firstborn son, and a little maiden who would bear that
name which had become dear and saintly in the peculiar calendar of
Vale Leston.

CHAPTER XXXIII--FAREWELL

"Nay, your pardon! Cry you, 'Forward.' Yours are youth, we hope--
but I?"
- BROWNING.

The visit of the Bishop of Albertstown had, in fact, been deferred
till he could quit his fellow-sufferers, especially Wilfred, who
could not well be left to the charge of the two girls, with the Larne
doctor evidently in difficulty about his case.

It was with great joy that a telegram was received with tidings that
General Mohun and Mysie were on the way, and also Magdalen Prescott,
who met them at Liverpool, being unable to stay away from Agatha
under such circumstances. At Belfast they obtained a trained nurse,
and a doctor was to follow them.

The joy of the meeting between Magdalen and Agatha was almost that of
mother and daughter, and nothing could be more entirely convincing
that they were one.

Indeed, Agatha was thoroughly worn out; for the main strain of
attendance had fallen upon her, since the Bishop was fully occupied
with some of the seriously hurt in other cottages; and though Dolores
tried to be helpful, it was chiefly in outside work, and attempts at
sick cookery, in which she was rather too scientific, and found the
lack of appliances very inconvenient. Besides, cousin though she
was, or perhaps for that very reason, Wilfred was far less amenable
to her voice than Agatha's; and if she attempted authority it was
sure to rouse all the resistance left in him. Agatha had been
constantly on the alert, liable to be called on every half-hour, to
soothe fretful distress over impossible impatience at delay, anger at
want of comforts, and dolefulness over the chances of improvements,
and abuse, whether just or not, of the only accessible doctor.

In fact, Magdalen, on seeing how utterly worn out she was, and how
little space the cottages afforded, thought it best, now that the
patient was in the hands of sister, uncle, and nurse, to carry her
off at once by the return car to Larne; and Dolores thought it best
to accompany them, after Mysie had hung on her as one restored from
death. But Mysie was absorbed in her brother, and Dolores had a
strong yearning to be with her father, so strong that she decided not
to return to England, but to procure a second outfit at Belfast, and
to set forth again from thence, nothing daunted, for, as she said
(not carelessly), such things did not happen immediately after, in a
second voyage. In fact, though thankful and impressed by the loss of
the others, she had gone through the crisis of the life of her heart
and affections, and she had likewise been once in imminent peril
through a convulsion of nature. Thus she was inclined to look on the
wreck and the Irish cliffs as an experience in the way of business,
so she was resolved to see the Giant's Causeway, and to make notes
upon it for her lectures.

But it was a different thing with Agatha. She had been brought face
to face with death; and though the actual time had been spent in
hurry and bustle, and even the subsequent tossing in the boat had
been not so much waiting and thinking as attending to others more
terrified and injured than herself, and there followed the incessant
waiting on Wilfred; still the experiences had worked in. She rested
very silently, dwelling little to Magdalen on her thoughts; but each
word she said, and her very countenance, showed that she had made a
great step in life and realised the spiritual world, which hitherto
had been outside her life--not disbelieved, but almost matter of
speculation and study.

She was not at all desirous of falling back from Dolores, whose grave
steadiness and fortitude, the result of a truly brave and deep trust,
had given her a sense of confidence and protection. So they wrote,
and arranged for their passage, and, with Magdalen, spent the
intermediate time in needful preparations at Belfast, and in an
expedition to the Causeway, where they laid in a stock of notes and
observations, all in a spirit that made Magdalen feel that she knew
both in a manner she had never done before, and loved them with a
deep value and confidence.

Wilfred meanwhile made very slow, if any, progress.

They took him to Belfast as soon as it was possible, and his mother
came to him. He was gentle and quiet, with little power of movement,
and scarcely any of thought; and in a consultation of doctors, the
verdict was given that he must be carefully tended for months, if not
for years to come; and though there might finally be full recovery,
yet it would depend on the most tender and careful treatment of body
and mind. London doctors, when he could be moved thither, confirmed
the decision, and he began a helpless invalid life, in which a
certain indifference and dulness made him a much less peevish and
trying patient than would have been anticipated. Mysie was his
willing, but intelligent slave; and his mother was not only thankful
to have him brought back to her at any price, but really--though she
would not have confessed it even to herself--was less troubled and
anxious about him than she had been since he had begun to "roam in
youth's uncertain wilds." Indeed, there were hopes that slow
recovery might find him a much changed person in character.

He had become so uninterested in his former predilections that he
heard with little emotion that Vera was to marry Petros White.

"I thought she would take up with some cad," he said. But his family
were really glad that this wedding was to take place at Rocca Marina,
whither the two sisters and Magdalen were invited.

Paulina would not go. She still resented the treatment of Hubert
Delrio, and she was devoted to her study of nursing at the Dearport
Sisterhood; but Magdalen thought it right to take Thekla, and give
her the advantages of improvement in languages, and the sight of fine
scenery.

And certainly Rocca Marina was a wonderful place for marriages.
Vera, handsome and happy and likely to turn into a fairly good
commonplace wife, had no sooner been sent off on a honeymoon tour to
Greece and Egypt, and Mrs. White had begged the other two to prolong
their visit, considering, perhaps, if one or the other aunt or niece
could not be promoted to the vacant post of lady-in-waiting, than
Hubert Delrio came to secure specimens of marble for some mosaic work
on which he was engaged. He was fast becoming a man of mark, whom
the Whites were delighted to receive and entertain, and who was
delighted to be with the old friends who had had so great an
influence on his life. And was it Magdalen alone to whom he chiefly
looked up as his helper and guide? So he thought; but before the
time of separation had come, he had found out that Thekla was far
prettier than ever Vera had been, and with a mind and principle--no
Flapsy, but a real sympathetic and poetic nature, which had grown up
in these years. Young as she was, their destinies were fixed.

And Magdalen? The railroad had obtained authority to pass through
the Goyle, and thus break up her home and shelter. Still she was not
tempted by Adeline White's desire to make her a companion; but rather
she accepted the plan on which Dolores had first started, and on
which Elizabeth Merrifield and Miss Arthuret were set, of making her
the head of their home at Penbeacon, partly a convalescent home, and
partly a training college for young women in need of technical
instruction in nursing or other possible feminine avocations. Tom
May was delighted with all it might set on foot, and Clement saw in
her leading the hopes that a high and pure spirit might inspire it.

Footnotes:

{100} It is Russian, and means Faith.

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