Natalie A Gem Among the Sea-Weeds Part 17

Supported by her grand-parent's arm, she gazed upon the waters; they were not angry. Peacefully sighing, they met her touch, as if they would welcome her home. "Mother," she breathed, with her last of mortal breath;--was it a farewell to that loved one of earth, or did she joyfully greet her sainted mother, who awaited the coming of her child to her home in the skies, where "the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters, and G.o.d shall wipe away all tears from their eyes?"

The blue waves rolled on, in their untiring way, and the sun went calmly down upon this day,--the twenty-seventh of September, eighteen hundred and fifty-four,--a day long to be remembered, both in the Eastern and Western world, for in it was the sundering of many mortal ties. Many a family circle wept as they looked upon the familiar places, which would know their lost ones no more; but ah, chide me not, kind reader, in thus leading you adown to the coldness of death, in setting before you that which causes your tender heart to shudder. Mourn not for these departed; for would we not wish to meet them there, when, ere long, this mortal shall have put on immortality? Grieve not because that gentle one has pa.s.sed away! say not that she met with an untimely end, when in her summer of life all was pleasantness before her. Think of her not as one gone far away, never to be on earth more; cast her not from your heart, where, during her little day here, in innocence she entwined herself within its recesses. Oh, no, for she is nearer to us now; she is not dead, but has pa.s.sed from death to life; and may her memory remain with us, in freshness as the ivy green, which loves best the churchyard's place of holy quietude,--and by her influence may we in spirit come to be more Christ-like.

CHAPTER XII.

ALONE.

"Shall I not listen to the sea-sh.e.l.l's moaning, That strangely vibrates like the swelling sea, And fancy it an echoed storm, intoning A solemn dirge in memory of thee?"

MISS MARY M. CHASE.

A lone man walks the sh.o.r.es of Nantucket; his n.o.ble form is slightly bent, and with the raven of his hair is blended the faintest tinge of gray, though he is evidently a man to whom the meridian of life is yet far in the distance; his fine countenance is sad, yet as he gazes far out o'er the sea, deep in his piercing eye is a subdued look of resignation, shedding light over his features, which a stranger might attribute to a mind of happiness; and yet that look of sadness is oftenest triumphant, leading those who meet him for the first time to ask from whence he came, for his countenance betrays that his has been not the common lot of man. Ah, who is he,--on whom young men and maidens look with pitying eye? to whom the old man lifts his hat, and little children cease from their sports as he pa.s.ses, and quietly slip the innocent daisy, or the sweet-scented arbutus into his hand, which they have culled from the wide commons, where, they have been told, the good Sea-flower loved to stray.

It is Clarence Delwood! his has been a bitter, bitter draught; yet its dregs have in a measure lost their power, for he has learned that 't is his Father holds the cup. Little, did he think, as they sat together there on that high bank, which overlooks the sea, upon that last evening spent with his cherished one in her island home, that it was to be the last forever! that her voice would no more be heard! in glad response to nature's shouts of joyousness. Yet, as alone he sits beneath the silent night, there where she last told to him her love, he fancies that the stars in pity smile upon him, and as one more gentle than the rest, leaves its place in the heavens and slowly descends, drawing nearer and nearer, finally resting upon the bosom of ocean,--he listens, for the music of her harp strikes upon his soul, and in the crested billows which play at his feet, a s.h.i.+ning form he sees, her robe all sparkling with the pearly drops of the sea. He would fain go to her, as she smiles upon him, as was ever her wont, but a voice he hears, saying, "not yet,"

and the bright one recedes from his view.

Reader, you may visit Nantucket's sea-girt isle, you may walk those peaceful sh.o.r.es where she loved to roam; you may meet there that lone man on the sh.o.r.e; you will approach him with feelings of deep regard, not unlike reverence; but do not hesitate to inquire of him for the grave of the Sea-flower. With eyes fixed upon the ocean's blue, pointing with his finger heavenward, he will direct you to a gra.s.sy mound, at whose head is a weeping willow, upon the broad trunk of which is wrought in letters of pearl,--"The Sea-flower awaits for thee." With a tear you turn away, with the resolve in your heart that you will henceforth so live, as that when this mortal life is ended, you may "attain everlasting joy and felicity, through Jesus Christ, our Lord."

You will seek the fireside of the widow Grosvenor, where from a mother's lips, you will be a.s.sured of the blessings which accompany a dutiful child. That fireside is not desolate, for the members of the household have been led to say,--"Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done." Mrs.

Grosvenor, though somewhat advanced in life, still retains that peculiar freshness of her earlier days; and as she proudly glances upon the young man by her side, calling him "my son," you can hardly recognize in his athletic form the little sailor-boy of other days; yet it is none other, although he has arrived to the dignity of captain, and as Sampson prophesied, a smarter man never sailed the ocean. But who is this witching beauty at his side, who would fain impress you with a belief that that mischief which will not remain concealed for the briefest period, is not her entire composition? Do you not mistrust? who other than Miss Winnie Santon? she who having tired of the gallants of the wild West, or rather of their numbers, came to the wise conclusion that a city life was designed for such as she; she the coquettish heiress, who once stood very much in doubt as to the state of civilization among these "poor fishermen."

Yes, it is our Winnie, and she is now the wife of Capt. Harry Grosvenor. And is she happy in this her choice? Ask her if she would exchange her brave husband for one of those superfine niceties, who suing for favor at her feet, had at the same time lined their vows of love and constancy with the yellow dust, which had they known the strong chest to have been at their backs, while in this humble posture, it were uncertain to which might have been made an apology,--the fair lady or her dowry.

But what is the cause of that little commotion among sundry flowered blankets, juvenile counterpanes, etc., etc., which you have but this moment discovered in a neighboring niche? Is it old Nep who has ensconced himself in this dainty little nest? No, for you left him sleeping under the shade of the weeping willow. Surely, those seven kits, with fourteen blue eyes, have not lived to this green old age! Ah, the mystery is solved, by the presence of a tiny hand, which elevates itself above the little heap of whiteness, and a smiling baby face has contrived to work its way into the no less smiling sunlight, the which baby must not partake of too freely; consequently the owner of said property appears, to alleviate the difficulty, which is done by giving miss baby a toss into mid-air, and with a ringing laugh, not unlike those wild bursts of merriment which were wont to be heard reverberating through the halls of Santon Mansion.

Yes, it is Winnie's child; and she tells you, while a more thoughtful look sits upon her countenance, that the name of the little one is "Natalie;" although she adds, "as earnestly as I love my child, I know there can never be another like _her_"--and pointing to a portrait, draped in white, she presses her child more closely to her heart.

You look long and earnestly upon that countenance of the Madonna,--the one face representing mother and child. The portrait is the property of Clarence Delwood, he who is now known as 'the lone man of the sh.o.r.e;'

and while you are yet gazing upon it, he enters, and pressing his lips to the canvas, he takes a bible from the case and reads. You accidentally observe the fly-leaf, upon which is written,--"To the Sea-flower, from her mother, on her second birthday;" and as he reads a smile lights up his countenance, for it is there written,--"thou shalt labor unto the Lord," and a more cheerful expression is his; for it is through his ready pen that the alms chest of the poor receives its liberal supplies.

Ere you depart, you inquire as to the fate of Mr. Sampson, learning that through his agency the widow Grosvenor has come in possession of a handsome fortune,--the daughter's gift to her mother,--so that now she is enabled to make comfortable many a cheerless fireside, where poverty, through the loss of a husband and father, as he went down to do business on the great deep, had reigned. Honest Mr. Sampson, after so many years spent upon the ocean, has concluded to live the remainder of his days on sh.o.r.e; and in the darkest night, when the hurricane roars, and the waves break high, the brilliant light entrusted to his care, may be seen for many miles around, by the voyager who may be sailing in the neighborhood of old Nantucket. Capt. Harry Grosvenor has also bade adieu to his much-loved home on the sea; for together with Winnie's entreaties, and the goodly amount of wealth, which she declares as rightly belonging to her husband as to herself, he has been induced to give his little wife the promise that he will sail the seas no more.

But there is one, who is no unimportant member of this happy family, for whom you have forgotten to inquire, so intent are you, as you pa.s.s out from them into the silent night, upon what you have seen and heard; but you are minded of this negligence by a voice near, and a negro, tottering from beneath the weight of years, whom you recognize at once as old Vingo, stands before you. His mind is much impaired, for he has attained his second childhood; yet from his disconnected remarks, it is evident that he still retains a pleasant remembrance of the past.

"Old Bingo neber want noting more," he replies to your question of what you can do for him; "n.o.body neber can do noting more for Bingo; for Missy Sea-flower hab gib Bingo, Phillis, and gib him Heaben, and what more does he want?"

"And where is your mistress's home?" you ask.

"Dar," said the negro, pointing to the skies, "dar is Heaben, dar am my missus's home; and dat is whar she tell me dat she wait for me if she go home first. If it hadn't been missy dat tole me, I couldn't beliebe dat such an ole brack fellow like me, go to dat white place; but I beliebes it now, for since missy gone home I's seen a new star up dar; and I knows it am her, for didn't she say she look down to me, jus' like ole Ma.s.sa Grobener and dat poor brack Injin look down upon her! Yes, I know dat I shall meet her dar, and what am better, Phillis am going dar too! only sometimes she get skeered like, when she remember what her ole cotton ma.s.sa tell her; for he tells her dat de hounds go to dat bright place, afore good for notin' n.i.g.g.ar like her get dar; and she's afeared dey remember dar ole habits and hunt her up, for she run away from her ole ma.s.sa, and gets sabed in dese free states, whar de folks don't mistake poor n.i.g.g.ar for someting else dan a man."

"Farewell, faithful Vingo, and may the remainder of your days shed peace along your way. Thy portion here has not indeed been to sit in 'kings'

courts,' yet thou hast so used the one talent lent unto thee, that at the last, when every 'island shall have fled away, and the mountains shall not be found,' thou shalt have a place at the right hand of that glorious throne, whose king is our G.o.d; thou shalt hear those blessed words,--'well done, good and faithful servant,' and the morning star shalt be thine; and there thou shalt again find that pure gem, who, in her little day on earth, led thee to the bright river of life, where thou hast sought and found that 'pearl of great price.'"

The blue waves have not yet tired of their unceasing sports; they still chase each other in mad glee from far over the sea, each striving to outdo his fellows, as they come tumbling in with deep-toned voices. The beaming beacon still keeps vigil over Nantucket's peaceful slumberers, while her little ones, in their gladsome dreams of childhood, wander up and down those sh.o.r.es, intent upon their search for the most delicate sea-mosses, exclaiming with each new found treasure,--"See! I have found a _gem_ among the sea-weeds."

Gentle reader, you are weary, and I will here seek to bid you adieu, with many thanks for your kind attention; and great is my joy, if haply any have been impressed in spirit with that meek and holy submission which shall lead them to say,--"Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done;"

and when loved ones shall be borne away from us, may we take up our cross with renewed love for Him who gave, and hath taken away,--and say, "blessed be the name of the Lord," forever.