Jeff Benson or the Young Coastguardsman Part 2

"Just so, old girl, an' it's yours."

"Mine!"

"Ay, I might have given it to you when I first came back, but I took a fancy to keep it as a little surprise for our last evenin' together, so that I might leave you with a good taste in your mouth. Now, listen, an' I'll spin you an' Jeff a yarn. But first fill up my cup. I'm fond o' tea--nat'rally, bein' a teetotaler. Up to the brim, Molly; I like a good bucketful. Thankee--now, let me see."

The captain put his hand to his rugged brow, became thoughtful for a few moments, and then resumed.

"Just before startin' on my last voyage to China I ran down to Folkestone to see Rosebud--that's my little daughter, Jeff. Surely you must have seen her when knocking about here?"

"You forget, Captain, I have not been in these parts for six years.

Nevertheless, I did see Rosebud some ten or twelve years ago with her nurse in this very room."

"Yes, so you did," chimed in Miss Millet. "She was six at that time, and the dearest little angel I ever saw."

"She was all that and a great deal more," said the enthusiastic father.

"It don't become me to have much of an opinion about the angels, but I wouldn't give my Rosebud for the whole lot o' them, an' all the cherubs throw'd into the bargain. Well, as I was sayin', I ran down to Folkestone to the school where she is, and as we were partin' she made me promise when I got to Hong-Kong to run up the river to see an old schoolmate o' hers that had gone out there with her father. I was to give Clara Rosebud's dear love, and her photograph, and get hers in exchange. I would have done this, of course, for my darlin', anyhow, but I promised all the more readily because I had some business to do with old Nibsworth, the father.

"Well, after I'd got to Hong-Kong an' seen the s.h.i.+p all snug, I thought of runnin' up the river in a small steamer that was ready to start. It so happened that I got a letter that very day from Nibsworth himself, who had heard of my arrival, askin' me to come without delay, as there was a grand chance of doin' a bit of business that might turn in some thousands of pounds. But it would have to be settled next day, or the chance would be lost. You may be sure I didn't waste time after readin'

this, but when I got to the river-side, I found that the steamer had started, and there wasn't another till next mornin'."

"_What_ a pity!" exclaimed the sympathetic sister and Jeff in the same breath.

"Yes, wasn't it? Of course it wasn't a personal loss, but it was the loss of a splendid out-o'-the-way chance to do a good turn to the owners. It was an ill wind--Jeff, almost a disaster. Hows'ever, I had to grin an' bear it. But I couldn't rest till next day; so I hired a native boat, determined to do my best in the circ.u.mstances, and you may be sure I wasn't in the best of humours, as we went creepin' slowly up that river, when I knew that the hours of opportunity were slippin'

away.

"It was not till the evenin' o' the next day that I reached old Nibsworth's house. Just before we rounded the bend of the river that brought it into view, I noticed smoke risin' pretty thick above the trees. Of course I thought nothin' of it till I found that it was the old man's house was a-fire! Didn't we bend to the oars then with a will!

"As we drew near, we found that all the servants and work-people about the place were runnin' here and there, shoutin' and yellin' for ropes and ladders. Most people seem to lose their heads in a fire. Anyhow those people had; for n.o.body could find a ladder long enough to reach a top window, where I could see that someone was waving his arms for help.

The moment we touched the beach, I jumped out o' the boat and ran up to the house. It was blazin' fiercely in the lower rooms, and I soon found that old Nibsworth and his daughter were inside--driven to the attics by the fire and smoke. They soon left the window where I had first seen the arms waving, and threw open another that was further from the fire.

"I saw that the old man was frail. The girl, they told me, was delicate. `Get straw, hay, branches--anything soft,' I shouted, `an'

pile 'em under the window.'

"`Him's too weak for jump,' gasped a native servant.

"`Do as I bid ye,' said I, with a glare that sent 'em all off double-quick. Happily I found a rope handy in a storehouse hard by. I made a coil of it. You know a seaman can usually heave a coil of rope pretty well. I made a splendid heave, an' sent it right in at the window. The old man caught it.

"`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!

"`G.o.d 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 pa.s.sin', 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 grat.i.tude 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."

CHAPTER THREE.

OUR COASTGUARDSMAN MEETS WITH A SERIOUS BUT VERY COMMON FALL.

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 p.r.o.ne 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 hards.h.i.+p, and frequent risk to life and limb; for, as is well known, our coastguardsmen not only perambulate our sh.o.r.es in all weathers, but often work the rocket apparatus for saving life from s.h.i.+pwreck, and are frequently called upon to a.s.sist 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 sh.o.r.e 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s by the joy resulting from success in their heroic work. On the way, the party had to pa.s.s 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 circ.u.mstances, G.o.d 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 G.o.d;' 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.