Book: Elsie at Nantucket

M >> Martha Finley >> Elsie at Nantucket




Mean while Lulu had reached the top of the cliff, then the veranda where
the older members of the family party were seated, and, all out of
breath with fright and the exertion of climbing and running, she
faltered out, "Bob and Betty; they'll drown if they don't get help
quickly."

"What, are they in the water?" cried Mr. Dinsmore and Captain Raymond,
simultaneously springing to their feet; the latter adding, "I fear
they'll drown before we can possibly get help to them."

"Oh, yes; they're drowning now," sobbed Lulu; "but Harold's gone to help
them."

"Harold? He's lost if he tries it alone!" "The boy's mad to think of
such a thing!" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore and Edward in a breath, while
Elsie's cheek turned deathly pale, and her heart went up in an agonized
cry that her boy's life might be spared; the others also.

The gentlemen held a hasty consultation, then scattered, Mr. Dinsmore
hastening in search of other aid, while Captain Raymond and Edward
hurried to the beach, the ladies following with entreaties to them to be
careful.

But fortunately for the endangered ones, other aid had already reached
them--a boat that had come out from Nantucket for a moonlight sail, and
from the shore a noble Newfoundland dog belonging to a retired sea
captain. Strolling along the beach with his master, he heard the cries
for help, saw the struggling forms, and instantly plunging in among the
waves, swam to the rescue.

Seizing Betty by the hair, he held her head above water till the
sailboat drew near and strong arms caught hold of her and dragged her
in, pale, dripping, and seemingly lifeless.

They then picked up the young men, both entirely unconscious, and made
for the shore with all possible haste.

It was doubtful if the last spark of life had not been extinguished in
every one of the three; but the most prompt, wise, and vigorous measures
were instantly taken and continued for hours--hours of agonizing
suspense to those who loved them.

At length Bob gave unmistakable signs of life; and shortly after Betty
sighed, opened her eyes, and asked, feebly, "Where am I? what has
happened?"

But Harold still lay as one dead, and would have been given up as such
had not his mother clung to hope, and insisted that the efforts at
restoration should be continued.

Through the whole trying scene she had maintained an unbroken calmness
of demeanor, staying herself upon her God, lifting her heart to His
throne in never-ceasing petitions, and in the midst of her bitter grief
and anxiety rejoicing that if her boy were taken from her for a time, it
would be but to exchange the trials and cares of earth for the joys of
heaven; and the parting from him here would soon be followed by a
blissful reunion in that blessed land where sin and sorrow and suffering
can never enter.

But at length, when their efforts were rewarded so that he breathed and
spoke, and she knew that he was restored to her, the reaction came.

She had given him a gentle, tender kiss, had seen him fall into a
natural, refreshing sleep, and passing from his bedside into an
adjoining room, she fainted in her father's arms.

"My darling, my dear, brave darling!" he murmured, as he laid her down
upon a couch and bent over her in tenderest solicitude, while Mrs.
Dinsmore hastened to apply restoratives.

It was not a long faint; she presently opened her eyes and lifted them
with a bewildered look up into her father's face.

"What is it, papa?" she murmured; "have I been ill?"

"Only a short faint," he answered. "But you must be quite worn out."

"Oh, I remember!" she cried. "Harold, my dear son--"

"Is doing well, love. And now I want you to go to your bed and try to
get some rest. See, day is breaking, and you have had no sleep, no
rest."

"Nor have you, papa; do go and lie down; but I must watch over my poor
boy," she said, trying to rise from the couch.

"Lie still," he said, gently detaining her; "lie here, if you are not
willing to go to your bed. I am better able to sit up than you are, and
will see to Harold."

"His brothers are with him, mamma," said Zoe, standing by; "and Edward
says they will stay beside him as long as they are needed."

"Then you and I will both retire and try to take some rest, shall we
not?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, bending over Elsie and softly smoothing her
hair.

"Yes, papa; but I must first take one peep at the dear son so nearly
lost to me."

He helped her to rise; then she perceived that Captain Raymond and
Violet were in the room.

"Dearest mamma," said the latter, coming forward to embrace her, "how
glad I am that you are better, and our dear Harold spared to us!" She
broke down in sobs and tears.

"Yes, my child; oh, let us thank the Lord for His great goodness! But
this night has been quite too much for you. Do you go at once and try to
get some rest."

"I shall see that she obeys, mother," the captain said, in a tenderly
sportive tone, taking Elsie's hand and lifting it to his lips.

"I think I may trust you," she returned, with a faint smile. "You were
with Bob; how is he now?"

"Doing as well as possible under the circumstances; as is Betty also;
you need trouble your kind heart with no fear or care for them."

It had been a terrible night to all the family--the children the only
ones who had taken any rest or sleep--and days of nursing followed
before the three who had so narrowly escaped death were restored to
their wonted health and strength.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Elsie devoted themselves to that work, and
were often assisted in it by Zoe, Edward, and Herbert.

Harold was quite a hero with these last and with Max and Lulu; in fact,
with all who knew or heard of his brave deed, though he modestly
disclaimed any right to the praises heaped upon him, asserting that he
had done no more than any one with common courage and humanity would
have done in his place.

Bob and Betty were heartily ashamed of their escapade, and much sobered
at the thought of their narrow escape from sudden death. Both dreaded
the severe reproof they had reason to expect from their uncle, but he
was very forbearing, and thinking the fright and suffering entailed by
their folly sufficient to deter them from a repetition of it, kindly
refrained from lecturing them on the subject, though, when a suitable
opportunity offered, he did talk seriously and tenderly, with now one
and now the other, on the guilt and danger of putting off repentance
toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ, reminding them that
they had had a very solemn warning of the shortness and uncertainty of
life, and asking them to consider the question whether they were ready
for a sudden call into the immediate presence of their Judge.

"Really now, uncle," remarked Bob on one of these occasions, "there are
worse fellows in the world than I am--much worse."

"I am willing to admit that, my boy," returned Mr. Dinsmore; "but many
of those fellows have not enjoyed the privileges and teachings that you
have, and responsibility is largely in proportion to one's light and
opportunities.

"Jesus said, 'That servant, who knew his Lord's will, and prepared not
himself, neither did according to His will, shall be beaten with many
stripes. But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes,
shall be beaten with few stripes.'"

"Yes; and you think I'm one of the first class, I suppose?"

"I do, my boy; for you have been well instructed, both in the church and
in the family; also you have a Bible, and may study it for yourself as
often and carefully as you will."

"But I really have never done anything very bad, uncle."

"How can you say that, Robert, when you know that you have lived all
your life in utter neglect of God's appointed way of salvation? hearing
the gracious invitation of Him who died that you might live, 'Come unto
me,' and refusing to accept it?

"'God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son, that
whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting
life,' and having for years refused to believe, how can you assert that
you have done nothing very bad? 'How shall we escape, if we neglect so
great salvation?'"

Bob made no reply, but looked thoughtful, and his uncle went quietly
from the room, thinking it well to leave the lad to his own reflections.

Passing the door of the room where Harold lay, he was about to enter,
but perceiving that the boy and his mother were in earnest conversation,
he moved on, leaving them undisturbed.

"Mamma," Harold was saying, "I have been thinking much of sudden death
since my very narrow escape from it. You know, mamma, it comes sometimes
without a moment's warning; and as we all sin continually in thought and
feeling, if not in word and deed, as our very best deeds and services
are so stained with sin that they need to be repented of and forgiven,
how is it that even a true Christian can get to heaven if called away so
suddenly?"

"Because when one comes to Jesus Christ and accepts His offered
salvation, _all_ his sins, future as well as past and present, are
forgiven. 'The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all
sin.'

"Jesus said, 'He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.' 'I
give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall
any man pluck them out of my hand.'"

"But oh, mamma, I find myself so weak and sinful, so ready to yield to
temptation, that I sometimes fear I shall never be able to hold out to
the end!"

"My dear boy, let that fear lead you to cling all the closer to the
Master, who is able to save unto the uttermost. If our holding out
depended upon ourselves, our own weak wills, we might well be in
despair; but 'He will keep the feet of His saints.'

"'Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, according
to His abundant mercy, hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the
resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance
incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in
heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto
salvation.' Can they be in danger who are _kept by the power of God_?"




CHAPTER XIV.

"My Father's house on high,
Home of my soul, how near
At times to Faith's discerning eye
Thy pearly gates appear."


Harold and his cousins had scarcely more than fully recovered from the
effects of their almost drowning when Captain Raymond again received
orders to join his ship, and it was decided that the time had come for
all to leave the island.

Bob and Betty received letters from their brother and sister in
Louisiana, giving them a cordial invitation to their homes, Dick
proposing that Bob should study medicine with him, with a view to
becoming his partner, and Molly giving Betty a cordial invitation from
herself and husband to take up her residence at Magnolia Hall.

With the approval of their uncle and other relatives, these kind offers
were promptly accepted.

Letters came about the same time from Lansdale, Ohio, inviting the
Dinsmores, Travillas, and Raymonds to attend the celebration of Miss
Stanhope's one hundredth birthday, which was now near at hand.

Mr. Harry Duncan wrote for her, saying that she had a great longing to
see her nephews and nieces once more, and to make the acquaintance of
Violet's husband and his children.

The captain could not go, but it was decided that all the others should.
The necessary arrangements were quickly made, and the whole party left
the island together, not without some regret and a resolution to return
at some future day to enjoy its refreshing breezes and other delights
during the hot season.

On reaching New York they parted with the captain, whose vessel lay in
that harbor.

Bob and Betty left them farther on in the journey, and the remainder of
the little company travelled on to Lansdale, arriving the day before the
important occasion which called them there.

Mrs. Dinsmore's brother, Richard Allison, who, my readers may remember,
had married Elsie's old friend, Lottie King, shortly after the close of
the war of the rebellion, had taken up his abode in Lansdale years ago.

Both he and his sister May's husband, Harry Duncan, had prospered
greatly. Each had a large, handsome dwelling adjacent to Miss Stanhope's
cottage, in which she still kept house, having never yet seen the time
when she could bring herself to give up the comfort of living in a home
of her own.

She had attached and capable servants, and amid her multitude of nieces
and grand-nieces, there was almost always one or more who was
willing--nay, glad, to relieve her of the care and labor of
housekeeping, taking pleasure in making life's pathway smooth and easy
to the aged feet, and her last days bright and happy.

She still had possession of all her faculties, was very active for one
of her age, and felt unabated interest in the welfare of kindred and
friends. She had by no means outlived her usefulness or grown querulous
with age, but was ever the same bright, cheerful, happy Christian that
she had been in earlier years.

The birthday party was to be held under her own roof, and a numerous
company of near and dear relatives were gathering there and at the
houses of the Duncans and Allisons.

Richard and Lottie, Harry and May were at the depot to meet the train on
which our travellers arrived.

It was an altogether joyous meeting, after years of separation.

The whole party repaired at once to Miss Stanhope's cottage, to greet
and chat a little with her and others who had come before to the
gathering; prominently among them Mr. and Mrs. Keith from Pleasant
Plains, Indiana, with their daughters, Mrs. Landreth, Mrs. Ormsby, and
Annis, who was still unmarried.

Very glad indeed were Mrs. Keith and Mr. Dinsmore, Rose and Mildred,
Elsie and Annis to meet and renew the old intimacies of former days.

Time had wrought many changes since we first saw them together, more
than thirty years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Keith were now old and infirm, yet
bright and cheery, looking hopefully forward to that better country,
that Celestial City, toward which they were fast hastening, and with no
unwilling steps. Dr. and Mrs. Landreth and Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore had
changed from youthful married couples into elderly people, while Elsie
and Annis had left childhood far behind, and were now--the one a cheery,
happy maiden lady, whom aged parents leaned upon as their stay and
staff, brothers and sisters dearly loved, and nieces and nephews doated
upon; the other a mother whom her children blessed for her faithful love
and care, and delighted to honor.

This renewal of intercourse, and the reminiscences of early days which
it called up, were very delightful to both.

The gathering of relatives and friends of course formed far too large a
company for all to lodge in one house, but the three--Aunt Wealthy's and
those of the Duncans and Allisons--accommodated them comfortably for
the few days of their stay, or rather the nights, for during the day
they were very apt to assemble in the parlors and porches of the
cottage.

It was there Elsie and her younger children and Violet and hers took up
their quarters, by invitation, for the time of the visit.

"But where is the captain, your husband?" inquired Aunt Wealthy of
Violet on giving her a welcoming embrace. "I wanted particularly to see
him, and he should not have neglected the invitation of a woman a
hundred years old."

"Dear auntie, I assure you he did so only by compulsion; he would have
come gladly if Uncle Sam had not ordered him off in another direction,"
Violet answered, with pretty playfulness of look and tone.

"Ah, then, we must excuse him. But you brought the children, I hope. I
want to see them."

"Yes; this is his son," Violet said, motioning Max to approach; "and
here are the little girls," drawing Lulu and Grace forward.

The old lady shook hands with and kissed them, saying, "It will be
something for you to remember, dears, that you have seen a woman who has
lived a hundred years in this world, and can testify that goodness and
mercy have followed her all the days of her life. Trust in the Lord, my
children, and you, even if you should live as long as I have, will be
able to bear the same testimony that He is faithful to His promises.

"I say the same to you, too, Rosie and Walter, my Elsie's children," she
added, turning to them with a tenderly affectionate look and smile.

They gazed upon her with awe for a moment; then Rosie said, "You don't
look so very old, Aunt Wealthy; not older than some ladies of eighty
that I've seen."

"Perhaps not older than I did when I was only eighty, my dear; but I am
glad to know that I am a good deal nearer home now than I was then,"
Miss Stanhope responded, her face growing bright with joyous
anticipation.

"Are you really glad to know you must die before very long?" asked Max,
in wonder and surprise.

"Wouldn't it be strange if I were not?" she asked; "heaven is my home.

"'There my best friends, my kindred dwell,
There God my Saviour reigns.'

"I live in daily, hourly longing expectation of the call."

"And yet you are not weary of life? you are happy here, are you not,
dear Aunt Wealthy?" asked Mrs. Keith.

"Yes, Marcia; I am happy among my kind relatives and friends; and
entirely willing to stay till the Master sees fit to call me home, for I
know that His will is always best. Oh, the sweet peace and joy of
trusting in Him and leaving all to His care and direction! Who that has
experienced it could ever again want to choose for him or herself?"

"And you have been long in His service, Aunt Wealthy?" Mr. Dinsmore
said, half in assertion, half inquiringly.

"Since I was ten years old, Horace; and that is ninety years; and let me
bear testimony now, before you all, that I have ever found Him faithful
to His promises, and His service growing constantly sweeter and sweeter.
And so it shall be to all eternity. 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, and
my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.'"

Then turning to Mrs. Keith, "How is it with you, Marcia?" she asked;
"you have attained to your four-score years, and have been in the
service since early childhood. What have you to say for your Master
now?"

"Just what you have said, dear aunt; never have I had cause to repent of
choosing His service; it has been a blessed service to me, full of joy
and consolation--joy that even abounds more and more as I draw nearer
and nearer to my journey's end.

"I know it is the same with my husband," she added, giving him a look
of wifely affection; "and I doubt not with my cousins--Horace, Rose,
Elsie--with all here present who have had experience as soldiers and
servants of Jesus Christ."

"In that you are entirely right, Marcia," responded Mr. Dinsmore; "I can
speak for myself, my wife, and daughter."

Both ladies gave an unqualified confirmation of his words, while their
happy countenances testified to the truth of the assertion.

"And, Milly dear, you and your husband, your brothers and sisters, can
all say the same," remarked Miss Stanhope, laying her withered hand
affectionately upon Mrs. Landreth's arm as she sat in a low seat by her
side.

"We can indeed," Mildred said, with feeling. "What blessed people we
are! all knowing and loving the dear Master, and looking forward to an
eternity of bliss together at His right hand."

The interview between the aged saint and her long-absent relatives was
continued for a few moments more; then she dismissed them, with the
remark that doubtless they would all like to retire to their rooms for a
little, and she must take a short rest in order to be fresh for the
evening, when she hoped they would all gather about her again.

"I want you all to feel at home and to enjoy yourselves as much as you
can," she said, in conclusion. "Play about the grounds, children,
whenever you like."

Her cottage stood between the houses of the Duncans and Allisons; the
grounds of all three were extensive, highly cultivated, and adorned with
beautiful trees, shrubbery, and flowers, and there were no separating
fences or hedges, so that they seemed to form one large park or garden.

Rosie and Walter Travilla, and the young Raymonds were delighted with
the permission to roam at will about these lovely grounds, and hastened
to avail themselves of it as soon as the removal of the dust of travel
and a change of attire rendered them fit.

They found a Dutch gardener busied here and there, and presently opened
a conversation with him, quite winning his heart by unstinted praises of
the beauty of his plants and flowers.

"It must be a great deal of work to keep those large gardens in such
perfect order," remarked Rose.

"Dat it ish, miss," he said; "but I vorks pretty hard mineself, and my
son Shakey, he gifs me von leetle lift ven he ton't pees too much in
school."

"Do you live here?" asked little Grace.

"Here in dis garten? no, miss; I lifs oud boud t'ree mile in de
country."

"That's a long walk for you, isn't it?" said Lulu.

"Nein; I don't valks, miss; ven I ish god dings to pring--abbles or
botatoes or some dings else--I say to mine Shakey, 'Just hitch de
harness on de horse and hang him to de stable door;' or if I got nodings
to pring I tells de poy, 'Hitch him up a horseback;' den I comes in to
mine vork and I tash! I don't hafs to valk--nod a shtep."

"How funny he talks," whispered Grace to Lulu; "I can hardly understand
him."

"It's because he's Dutch," returned Lulu, in the same low tone. "But I
can tell almost all he says. His son's name must be Jakey; the short for
Jacob."

"What is your name?" asked Max.

"Hencle--Shon Hencle. I dinks you all pees come to see Miss Stanhope pe
von huntred years olt; ishn't you?"

"Yes," said Rosie. "It seems very wonderful to think that she has lived
so long."

The children, weary with their journey, were sent to bed early that
night. Lulu and Grace found they were to sleep together in a small room
opening into a larger one, where two beds had been placed for the time
to meet the unusual demand for sleeping quarters. These were to be
occupied by Grandma Elsie, Violet, Rosie, and Walter.

Timid little Grace heard, with great satisfaction, that all these were
to be so near; and Lulu, though not at all cowardly, was well pleased
with the arrangement. Yet she little thought how severely her courage
was to be tested that night.

She and Grace had scarcely laid their heads upon their pillows ere they
fell into profound slumber. Lulu did not know how long she had slept,
but all was darkness and silence within and without the house, when
something, she could not have told what, suddenly roused her completely.

She lay still, trying to recall the events of the past day and remember
where she was; and just as she succeeded in doing so a strange sound, as
of restless movements and the clanking of chains, came from beneath the
bed.

Her heart seemed to stand still with fear; she had never before, in all
her short life, felt so terrified and helpless.

"What can it be?" she asked herself. "An escaped criminal--a
murderer--or a maniac from an insane asylum, I suppose; for who else
would wear a clanking chain? and what can he want here but to kill
Gracie and me? I suppose he got in the house before they shut the doors
for the night, and hid under the bed till everybody should be fast
asleep, meaning to begin then to murder and rob. Oh, I do wish I'd
looked under the bed while all the gentlemen were about to catch him and
keep him from hurting us! But now what shall I do? If I try to get out
of the bed, he'll catch hold of my foot and kill me before anybody can
come; and if I scream for help, he'll do the same. The best plan is to
lie as quiet as I can, so he'll think I'm still asleep; for maybe he
only means to rob, and not murder, if nobody wakes up to see what he's
about and tell of him. Oh, I do hope Gracie won't wake! for she could
never help screaming; and then he'd jump out and kill us both."

So with heroic courage she lay there, perfectly quiet and hardly moving
a muscle for what seemed to her an age of suffering, every moment
expecting the creature under the bed to spring out upon her, and in
constant fear that Grace would awake and precipitate the calamity by a
scream of affright.

All was quiet again for some time, she lying there, straining her ears
for a repetition of the dreaded sounds; then, as they came again louder
than before, she had great difficulty in restraining herself from
springing from the bed and shrieking aloud, in a paroxysm of panic
terror.

But she did control herself, lay perfectly still, and allowed not the
slightest sound to escape her lips.

That last clanking noise had awakened Elsie, and she too now lay wide
awake, silent and still, while intently listening for a repetition of
it. She hardly knew whence the sound had come, or what it was; but when
repeated, as it was in a moment or two, she was satisfied that it issued
from the room where Lulu and Grace were, and her conjectures in regard
to its origin coincided with Lulu's.

She, too, was greatly alarmed, but did not lose her presence of mind.
Hoping the little girls were still asleep, and judging from the silence
that they were, she lay for a few minutes without moving, indeed
scarcely breathing, while she tried to decide upon the wisest course to
pursue, asking guidance and help from on high, as she always did in
every emergency.

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