The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands Part 23

again to the boys next him, an' drawed monkey-faces on his slate. But that spider, I wos told, could do figurin' like one o'clock, an' could spell like Johnson's Dictionairy.

"Well," continued d.i.c.k, after a few moments' devotion to a bowl of coffee, "I 'anded Billy Towler over to the superintendent, tellin' 'im 'ee wos a 'omeless boy as 'adn't got no parients nor relations, an wos werry much in need o' bein' looked arter. So 'ee took 'im in, an' I bade him good-bye."

d.i.c.k Moy then went on to tell how that the superintendent of the Grotto showed him all over the place, and told him numerous anecdotes regarding the boys who had been trained there; that one had gone into the army and become a sergeant, and had written many long interesting letters to the inst.i.tution, which he still loved as being his early and only "home;"

that another had become an artilleryman; another a man-of-war's man; and another a city missionary, who commended the blessed gospel of Jesus Christ to those very outcasts from among whom he had himself been plucked. The superintendent also explained to his rugged but much interested and intelligent visitor that they had a flouris.h.i.+ng Ragged School in connection with the inst.i.tution; also a Sunday-school and a "Band of Hope"--which latter had been thought particularly necessary, because they found that many of the neglected young creatures that came to them had already been tempted and taught by their parents and by publicans to drink, so that the foundation of that dreadful craving disease had been laid, and those desires had begun to grow which, if not checked, would certainly end in swift and awful destruction. One blessed result of this was that the children had not only themselves joined, but had in some instances induced their drunken parents to attend the weekly addresses.

All this, and a great deal more, was related by d.i.c.k Moy with the wonted enthusiasm and energy of his big nature, and with much gesticulation of his tremendous fist--to the evident anxiety of Nora, who, like an economical housewife as she was, had a feeling of tenderness for the crockery, even although it was not her own. d.i.c.k wound up by saying that if _he_ was a rich man, "'ee'd give some of 'is superfloous cash to that there Grotto, he would."

"Perhaps you wouldn't," said Nora. "I've heard one rich man say that the applications made to him for money were so numerous that he was quite annoyed, and felt as if he was goin' to become bankrupt!"

"Nora," said d.i.c.k, smiting the table emphatically, "I'm not a rich man myself, an' wot's more, I never 'xpect to be, so I can't be said to 'ave no personal notions at all, d'ye see, about wot they feels; but I've also heerd a rich man give 'is opinion on that pint, and I've no manner of doubt that _my_ rich man is as good as your'n--better for the matter of that; anyway he knowed wot was wot. Well, says 'ee to me, w'en I went an' begged parding for axin' 'im for a subscription to this 'ere werry Grotto--which, by the way, is supported by woluntary contribootions--'ee says, `d.i.c.k Moy,' says 'ee, `you've no occasion for to ax my parding,' says 'ee. `'Ere's 'ow it is. I've got _so_ much cash to spare out of my hincome. Werry good; I goes an' writes down a list of all the charities. First of all comes the church--which ain't a charity, by the way, but a debt owin' to the Lord--an' the missionary societies, an the Lifeboat Inst.i.tootion, an' the s.h.i.+pwrecked Mariners'

Society, and such like, which are the great _National_ inst.i.tootions of the country that _every_ Christian ought to give a helpin' 'and to.

Then there's the poor among one's own relations and friends; then the hospitals an' various charities o' the city or town in which one dwells, and the poor of the same. Well, arter that's all down,' says 'ee, `I consider w'ich o' them ere desarves an' _needs_ most support from me; an' so I claps down somethin' to each, an' adds it all up, an' wot is left over I holds ready for chance applicants. If their causes are good I give to 'em heartily; if not, I bow 'em politely out o' the 'ouse.

That's w'ere it is,' says 'ee. `An' do you know, d.i.c.k Moy,' says 'ee, `the first time I tried that plan, and put down wot I thought a fair liberal sum to each, I wos amazed--I wos stunned for to find that the total wos so small and left so werry much of my spare cash yet to be disposed of, so I went over it all again, and had to double and treble the amount to be given to each. Ah, d.i.c.k,' says _my_ rich man, `if people who don't keep cashbooks would only mark down wot they _think_ they can afford to give away in a year, an' wot they _do_ give away, they would be surprised. It's not always unwillingness to give that's the evil. Often it's ignorance o' what is actooally given--no account bein' kep'.'

"`Wot d'ye think, d.i.c.k,' _my_ rich man goes on to say, `there are some churches in this country which are dependent on the people for support, an' the contents o' the plates at the doors o' these churches on Sundays is used partly for cleanin' and lightin' of 'em; partly for payin' their precentors, and partly for repairs to the buildins, and partly for helpin' out the small incomes of their ministers; an' wot d'ye think most o' the people--not many but _most_ of 'em--gives a week, d.i.c.k, for such important purposes?'

"`I don' know, sir,' says I.

"`One penny, d.i.c.k,' says 'ee, `which comes exactly to four s.h.i.+llins and fourpence a year,' says 'ee. `An' they ain't paupers; d.i.c.k! If they wos paupers, it wouldn't be a big sum for 'em to give out o' any pocket-money they might chance to git from their pauper friends, but they're well-dressed people, d.i.c.k, and they seems to be well off! Four an' fourpence a year! think o' that--not to mention the deduction w'en they goes for a month or two to the country each summer. Four an'

fourpence a year, d.i.c.k! Some of 'em even goes so low as a halfpenny, which makes two an' twopence a year--7 pounds, 11 s.h.i.+llings, 8 pence in a seventy-year _lifetime_, d.i.c.k, supposin' their liberality began to flow the day they wos born!'

"At this _my_ rich man fell to laughing till I thought 'ee'd a busted hisself; but he pulled up sudden, an' axed me all about the Grotto, and said it was a first-rate inst.i.tootion, an' gave me a ten-pun' note on the spot. Now, Nora, _my_ rich man is a friend o' yours--Mr Durant, of Yarmouth, who came to Ramsgate a short time ago for to spend the autumn, an' I got introdooced to him through knowin' Jim Welton, who got aboord of one of his s.h.i.+ps through knowin' young Mr Stanley Hall, d'ye see?

That's where it is."

After this somewhat lengthened speech, d.i.c.k Moy swallowed a slop-bowlful of coffee at a draught--he always used a slop-bowl--and applied himself with renewed zest to a Norfolk dumpling, in the making of which delicacy his wife had no equal.

"I believe that Mr Durant is a kind good man," said Nora, feeding the infant with a crust dipped in milk, "and I am quite sure that he has got the sweetest daughter that ever a man was blessed with--Miss Katie; you know her, I suppose?"

"'Aven't seed 'er yet," was d.i.c.k's curt reply.

"She's a dear creature," continued Nora--still doing her best to choke the infant--"she found out where I lived while she was in search of a sick boy in Yarmouth, who, she said, was the brother of a poor ragged boy named Billy Towler, she had once met with. Of course I had to tell her that Billy had been deceiving her and had no brother. Oh! you should have seen her kind face, d.i.c.k, when I told her this. I do think that up to that time she had lived under the belief that a young boy with a good-looking face and an honest look could not be a deceiver."

"Poor thing," said d.i.c.k, with a sad shake of the head, as if pitying her ignorance.

"Yes," continued Nora--still attempting to choke the infant--"she could not say a word at that time, but went away with her eyes full of tears.

I saw her often afterwards, and tried to convince her there might be some good in Billy after all, but she was not easily encouraged, for her belief in appearances had got a shake that she seemed to find it difficult to get over. That was when Billy was lying ill in hospital.

I have not seen much of her since then, she and her father having been away in London."

"H'm, I'm raither inclined to jine her in thinkin' that no good'll come o' that young scamp. He's too sharp by half," said d.i.c.k with a frown.

"Depend upon it, Nora, w'en a boy 'as gone a great length in wickedness there's no chance o' reclaimin' him."

"d.i.c.k," exclaimed Nora, with sudden energy, "depend upon it that _that's_ not true, for it does not correspond with the Bible, which says that our Lord came not to call the righteous but _sinners_ to repentance."

"There's truth in _that_, anyhow," replied d.i.c.k, gazing thoughtfully into Nora's countenance, as if the truth had come home to him for the first time. What his further observations on the point might have been we know not, as at that moment the door opened and one of his mates entered, saying that he had come to go down with him to the buoy-store, as the superintendent had given orders that he and Moy should overhaul the old North Goodwin buoy, and give her a fresh coat of paint. d.i.c.k therefore rose, wiped his mouth, kissed the entire family, beginning with the infant and ending with "the missis," after which he shook hands with Nora and went out.

The storm which had for some time past been brewing, had fairly brewed itself up at last, and the wild sea was covered with foam. Although only an early autumn storm, it was, like many a thing out of season, not the less violent on that account. It was one of the few autumn storms that might have been transferred to winter with perfect propriety. It performed its work of devastation as effectively as though it had come forth at its proper season. On land chimney stacks and trees were levelled. At sea vessels great and small were dismasted and destroyed, and the east coast of the kingdom was strewn with wreckage and dead bodies. Full many a n.o.ble s.h.i.+p went down that night! Wealth that might have supported all the charities in London for a twelvemonth was sent to the bottom of the sea that night and lost for ever. Lives that had scarce begun and lives that were all but done, were cut abruptly short, leaving broken hearts and darkened lives in many a home, not only on the sea-coast but inland, where the sound of the great sea's roar is never heard. Deeds of daring were done that night,--by men of the lifeboat service and the coast-guard,--which seemed almost beyond the might of human skill and courage--resulting in lives saved from that same great sea--lives young and lives old--the salvation of which caused many a heart in the land, from that night forward, to bless G.o.d and sing for joy.

But of all the wide-spread and far-reaching turmoil; the wreck and rescue, the rending and relieving of hearts, the desperate daring, and dread disasters of that night we shall say nothing at all, save in regard to that which occurred on and in the neighbourhood of the Goodwin Sands.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A NIGHT OF WRECK AND DISASTER--THE GULL "COMES TO GRIEF."

When the storm began to brew that night, George Welton, the mate of the floating light, walked the deck of his boiled-lobster-like vessel, and examined the sky and sea with that critical expression peculiar to seafaring men, which conveys to landsmen the rea.s.suring impression that they know exactly what is coming, precisely what ought to be done, and certainly what will be the result of whatever happens!

After some minutes spent in profound meditation, during which Mr Welton frowned inquiringly at the dark driving clouds above him, he said, "It'll be pretty stiff."

This remark was made to himself, or to the clouds, but, happening to be overheard by Jerry MacGowl, who was at his elbow, it was answered by that excellent man.

"True for ye; it'll blow great guns before midnight. The sands is showin' their teeth already."

The latter part of this remark had reference to brilliant white lines and dots on the seaward horizon, which indicated breakers on the Goodwin sands.

"Luk at that now," said Jerry, pointing to one of those huge clumsy vessels that are so frequently met with at sea, even in the present day, as to lead one to imagine that some of the s.h.i.+pbuilders in the time of Noah must have come alive again and gone to work at their old trade on the old plans and drawings. "Luk at that, now. Did iver ye see sitch a tub--straight up and down the side, and as big at the bow as the stern."

"She's not clipper built," answered the mate; "they make that sort o'

s.h.i.+p by the mile and sell her by the fathom,--cuttin' off from the piece just what is required. It don't take long to plaster up the ends and stick a mast or two into 'em."

"It's in luck she is to git into the Downs before the gale breaks, and it's to be hoped she has good ground-tackle," said Jerry.

The mate hoped so too in a careless way, and, remarking that he would go and see that all was made snug, went forward.

At that moment there came up the fore-hatch a yell, as if from the throat of a North American savage. It terminated in the couplet, tunefully sung--

"Oh my! oh my!

O mammy, don't you let the baby cry!"

Jack Shales, following his voice, immediately after came on deck.

"Have 'ee got that work-box done?" asked Jerry as his mate joined him.

"Not quite done yet, boy, but I'll get it finished after the lights are up. Duty first, pleasure afterwards, you know."

"Come now, Jack, confess that you're makin' it for a pretty girl."

"Well, so I am, but it ain't for my own pretty girl. It's for that sweet little Nora Jones, who came lately to live in Ramsgate. You see I know she's goin' to be spliced to Jim Welton, and as Jim is a good sort of fellow, I want to make this little gift to his future bride."

The gift referred to was a well-made work-box, such as the men of the floating light were at that time, and doubtless still are, in the habit of constructing in leisure hours. It was beautifully inlaid with wood of various kinds and colours, and possessed a mark peculiarly characteristic of floating-light boxes and desks, namely, two flags inlaid on the lid--one of these being the Union Jack. Most of the men on board displayed much skill and taste in the making of those boxes and desks, although they were all self-taught, and wrought with very simple tools in a not very commodious workshop.

"A great change from yesterday in the look o' things, Jerry," observed Shales, surveying the Downs, where, despite the stiff and ever increasing breeze amounting almost to a gale, numerous little pilot-boats were seen dancing on the waves, showing a mere shred of canvas, and looking out for a job. "Yesterday was all suns.h.i.+ne and calm, with pleasure-boats round us, and visitors heaving noospapers aboard. To-day it's all gloom, with gales brewin' and pilots bobbin'

about like Mother Cary's chickens."

"That's true, Jack," replied Jerry, whose poetic soul was fired by the thought:--

"`Timpest an' turmoil to-day, With lots a' salt-wather an' sorrow.

Blue little waves on the say, An' sunny contintment to-morrow.'