Grace Darling Part 22

"I wish you would come while Mr. Batty's company is there, Miss Darling. It would give me great pleasure to show you any of the lions of Edinburgh, or indeed to serve you in any way I could."

"You are very kind; I will think about it."

"Cannot you decide while I am here? Mr. Batty would himself be most delighted to see you! May I not say that we shall have the pleasure?

"Perhaps you may. I almost think I will accept the kind invitation."

"Thank you. It will give me the most intense satisfaction, you may be quite sure of that."

Before the gentleman went away, he said something which Grace seemed to consider in the light of a joke about her presenting herself in Mr.

Batty's circus. But the young woman did not of course seriously consider such a thing, nor even look at it in the light of a proposition.

Before he left the visitor handed a paper to Grace, requesting her to sign it. She ought to have read it, but not being well versed in the ways of the world, did not consider it necessary to do so; and only glanced at a word or two before writing her name, imagining that she was simply sending an acknowledgment of the money that Mr. Batty had forwarded.

Then the man left; but if he had only honestly declared his true errand, his reception would have been very different.

What this really was came to light a few days later, when an old and valued friend of the family visited the lighthouse. Grace went forward to greet him with a smile of warm welcome, when she was suddenly chilled by his very grave and cold manner.

"You are not pleased with me? What is the matter?" cried Grace.

But the friend turned to William Darling, and began to expostulate with him.

"I am not surprised that you should be carried away by the stream of admiration which has been lately pouring in upon you," he said, "but I never expected that you would consent to such a thing as this in connection with Batty. Grace might not know better, perhaps, but I cannot think how her father could ever give his consent to her submitting to the degradation of exposing herself in the area of a circus for any idle eyes that please to gaze upon her."

"What do you mean?" cried Mr. Darling, in horror. "I cannot understand you! I have given my consent to nothing of the kind!"

"Have you really done it without your father's permission?" said the friend, turning to Grace.

"I wish you would explain yourself," said she. "I do nothing without first consulting my father, and I am conscious of no wrong now."

"Yes, explain yourself," said Mr. Darling. "No man can be more anxious than I to protect his daughter. Grace never has, and never shall do anything that would compromise her fair fame. I will watch jealously over that."

William Darling felt warmly, and spoke as he felt, and the visitor hastened to explain.

"I am told on good authority, and indeed I know it to be true, that Mr.

Batty holds an agreement, signed by Grace, in which she pledges herself to appear in his circus!"

"Oh, Grace, you surely never did such a thing!" cried her father.

"No, father; indeed, I did not," said Grace, upon whom, however, a light flashed which caused her to suspect the urbane visitor of a few days before. "But, father, I did sign a paper, which I believed was nothing but an acknowledgment of the money that Mr. Batty sent me."

"Did you put your name at the bottom of the doc.u.ment without first reading it?"

"Yes, I did."

"A most foolish thing to do," remarked their friend; "but the conduct of the man who secured a promise in such a way, was most abominable."

"Certainly it was," replied Mr. Darling; "and such an agreement cannot be binding. Indeed, I will at once compel Mr. Batty to contradict the report which is afloat. What a shame it was!"

Grace coloured with vexation, and there was an indignant ring in her voice, which told how deeply the insult had hurt her.

"I could not help being flattered by the attentions he paid me," said Grace; "but now, that I see what they were for, I feel completely humiliated."

"I will write a letter to this Batty at once," said Mr. Darling, "and let him know what we think of his conduct."

"Do," replied his friend, "you cannot be too decided in such a matter."

Mr. Darling wrote, expressing, in strong terms, the indignation which they all felt at the deception which had been practised upon them, and insisted that Mr. Batty should at once contradict the false report which he had published.

The friend who had cared so much for the family as to come to the islands to expostulate with the Darlings on this subject, received the warmest thanks, both of Grace and her father, for his kindness and solicitude. Grace felt that she could scarcely forgive Mr. Batty; and never afterwards alluded to the circ.u.mstance, without giving expression to her feelings of mortification. She had been really humiliated; and the occurrence caused her to feel what every woman does feel in similar circ.u.mstances, that although good deeds draw the attention of the world upon herself, yet there is very much that is repugnant connected with publicity. The little glimpse that is here given of the character of Grace Darling's father is interesting. He was a member of the Church of England, and a good man. He was upright, honourable, and courageous, as we have already seen several times; and he was very particular with regard to the habits of the children. He did not allow cards nor dice in his household, nor believe that people could go to theatres without receiving some contamination. He wanted the young men and women of his family to be content with simple pleasures, and find their joy in doing their duty, and in the companions.h.i.+ps of their home.

He had a special wish that the girls should be modest and retiring; and although Grace had been forced to the front, he was still anxious that she should not lose any of her maidenly reserve. It can, therefore, be imagined how she was shocked and pained at the idea of her appearing in the circus.

Grace become more and more famous as the time went on. She paid a visit to the d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland, who sent for her, but such an event deserves a special chapter. She did not see the Queen, but Her Majesty was well acquainted with the heroic deed, and the following ballad is said to have been sung in the presence of our royal and beloved Lady:--

"The winds blew hard, the day looked dark, The clouds shot light'ning forth, But still the bold and vent'rous bark Sailed from the black'ning north.

To foam was dashed each threat'ning wave, As o'er the vessel flew; The sea yawned like a hungry grave Around the gallant crew.

"When night closed in the storm grew worse, The boldest heart did quail; The pious prayer--the wicked curse-- Were mingled with the gale.

On, on they flew, with fated force; They struck the deadly reef: They sank! and through the wind so hoa.r.s.e Was heard the shriek of grief.

"While many a manly spirit quenched Its life beneath the wave, A few from death a moment wrenched, Clung o'er an awful grave.

Their cries were heard from lonely tower, Unseen amidst the gloom; A simple girl was sent, with power To s.n.a.t.c.h them from the tomb.

"She urged her aged sire to ply, With her, the frail boat's oar; A father's love had mastery, He dared not leave the sh.o.r.e.

Her prayers prevailed--they forth were led By G.o.d's own helping hand; And those who were accounted dead Sang praises on the land.

"'Tis sad to think the ocean cave May hide a gem so pure-- But joy to feel 'tis ours to save Such worth from fate obscure.

Then let us sing 'The boatie rows,'

To tell of her fair fame, Who honour on the race bestows-- Grace Darling is her name.

"'The boatie rows, the boatie rows,'

In safety through the deep; For Grace on Mercy's mission goes, And angels watch shall keep."

Numerous songs in honour of the lighthouse-maiden were written and sung, some of which we shall give in these pages. Among the rest was the following, which both Grace and her father highly esteemed, as it was from the pen of Wordsworth:--

"Among the dwellers in the silent fields The natural heart was touched, and public way, And crowded street, resound with ballad strains, Inspired by one, whose very name bespeaks Favour divine, exalting human love, Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast, Known but to few, but prized as far as known, A single act endears to high and low Through the whole land--to manhood, moved in spite Of the world's freezing cares--to generous youth-- To infancy, that lisps her praise--and age, Whose eye reflects it, glistering through a tear Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds Do not imperishable record find Save in the rolls of heaven, where her's may live, A theme for angels, when they celebrate The high-soul'd virtues which forgetful earth Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak Of things which their united power call'd forth From the pure depths of her humanity!

A maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call, Firm and unflinching as the lighthouse reared.

On the island rock, her lonely dwelling place, Or like the invincible rock itself that braves, Age after age, the hostile elements, As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.

"All night the storm had raged, nor ceased nor paused, When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air, Espies far off a wreck, amid the surf, Beating on one of those disastrous isles.

Half of a vessel!--half--no more! The rest Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there Had for the common safety striven in vain, Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance Daughter and sire through optic gla.s.s discern, Clinging about the remnant of this s.h.i.+p, Creatures--how precious in the maiden's sight!

For whom, belike, the old man grieves still more Than for their fellow-sufferers engulphed Where every parting agony is hushed, And hope and fear mix not in further strife.

'But courage, father! let us out to sea-- A few may yet be saved.' The daughter's words, Her earnest tone and look, beaming with faith, Dispel the father's doubts; nor do they lack The n.o.ble-minded mother's helping hand To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheer'd, And inwardly sustained by silent prayer, Together they put forth, father and child!

Each grasps an oar, and, struggling, on they go-- Rivals in effort; and, alike intent Here to elude and there to surmount, they watch The billows lengthening, mutually cross'd And shattered, and regathering their might, As if the wrath and troubles of the sea Were by the Almighty's sufferance prolong'd That woman's fort.i.tude--so tried, so proved-- May brighten more and more!

"True to that mark, They stem the current of that perilous gorge, Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart, Though danger, as the wreck is neared, becomes More imminent. Nor unseen do they approach; And rapture, with varieties of fear Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frame Of those who, in that dauntless energy, Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturb'd Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives That of the pair--tossed on the waves to bring Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life-- One is a woman, a poor earthly sister; Or, be the visitant other than she seems!

A guardian spirit sent from pitying heaven, In woman's shape! But why prolong the tale, Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts Arm'd to repel them? Every hazard faced, And difficulty mastered, with resolve That no one breathing should be left to perish, This last remainder of the crew were all Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep Are safely borne, landed upon the beach, And in fulfilment of G.o.d's mercy, lodged Within the sheltering lighthouse. Shout, ye waves!