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 prone 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 hardship, and frequent risk to life and limb; for, as is well known, our coastguardsmen not only perambulate our shores in all weathers, but often work the rocket apparatus for saving life from shipwreck, and are frequently called upon to assist 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 shore 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 breasts by the joy resulting from success in their heroic work. On the way, the party had to pass 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 circumstances, God 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 God;’ 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.
“Well, now,” he said, “what think you of this case? The skipper whom we rescued this afternoon, along with his wife, told me that he has been reduced to beggary. He owned the vessel which now lies out on the rocks there, a total wreck. It was his last venture. He had put all that he possessed into it, and not a scrap of the cargo will be saved. Having been a lucky man all his life previously, he said he had determined to ‘chance his luck’ this time, and did not insure vessel or cargo: so that all is gone. His wife and several children are dependent on him. He has no relatives rich enough, or willing enough, to help him; and, poor fellow, he has received injuries while being rescued, which will probably render him helpless for the rest of his life. Now, do you think that good will come out of all that?”
“I am sure it will,” returned Miss Millet confidently, “and good to him too if he seeks it; though of course I know not how or when.”
“But why are you so sure?”
“Because, Jeff, it is written that God does not ‘afflict the children of men willingly.’ He does it for their good, and that good cannot fail of accomplishment, unless they refuse the good and choose the evil.”
Again Jeff became silent and thoughtful. “I have meditated much of late,” he said, “about Captain Millet’s adventure in China—”
“By the way,” interrupted Miss Millet, “that reminds me that the captain’s little girl Rose—Rosebud, as he calls her—is to come here this very evening to stay with me for a week.”
“Indeed? that will be pleasant, auntie. I must come and see her as an old acquaintance.”
“Oh yes, you must, Jeff. You’ve no idea what a sweet girl she has become. I am quite charmed with her—so modest, and unselfish, and clever, and good, and—and, in short, I call her the four F’s, for she is fair, fragile, fervent, and funny.”
“What a catalogue!” exclaimed the youth, laughing; “you may well be charmed with her. But what do you mean by funny? Does she try to make people laugh?”
“Oh dear, no! In company she can scarce be made to speak at all, but she is so fond of fun—has such a lively appreciation of humour, and laughs so heartily. She has grown quite into a woman since I last saw her when her father went to sea. There she is!”
Miss Millet sprang from her chair with the agility almost of a young woman, and ran to open the door, for a cab was heard pulling up in front of the cottage.
There was a delighted little shriek from “Auntie!” and the warmest salutations of welcome; and the next moment Miss Millet, with the captain’s daughter, arm in arm, embracing one another, entered the parlour.
The coastguardsman was transfixed, for there, before him, flushed and panting, stood—
“A maid with eyes of heavenly blue,
And rippling hair of golden hue;
With parted lips of Coral too,
Disclosing pearls—and—”
All the rest of it! Yes, no wonder that Jeffrey Benson was transfixed. Still less wonder that Rosebud stood in much the same condition; for, a young giant in pilot-cloth, damp and dirty, dishevelled, bespattered with mud, tied up about the fingers and plastered over the nose, was not precisely what she had expected to find in Aunt Millet’s parlour.
They were soon introduced, however, and on the best of terms; for the shrinking from Jeff’s filthy appearance changed in a moment to hero-worship in the romantic heart of Rose, when she was told the cause of the youth’s condition, and heard all the details of the rescue from his own manly lips.
It was love at first sight with both of them; more than that, it was first love at first sight! We have profound sympathy with young people thus circumstanced, especially when they are reticent, and don’t give way to sentimental silliness. A good manly and womanly case of this sort of love, in which the parties concerned take a serious header and go deep down, without the smallest intention of ever coming up again, is pleasant to contemplate and agreeable to record.
Of course it must not be supposed that Rose Millet understood what had happened. She was fully aware, indeed, that something unusual had occurred within her inexperienced breast, but she quietly set it down to hero-worship. She had read Carlyle on that subject. She had seen occasional reference in newspapers and magazines to lifeboat work, and she had been thrilled by the record of noble deeds done by heroic seamen and coastguardsmen. At last it was her lot to come athwart one of those heroes. He quite came up to her conception—nay, more than came up to it! She regarded Jeff with feelings approaching to awe. The idea of love in connection with a damp, dirty, wounded, nose-plastered, hair-ravelled giant, with beard enough to make an average hearth-broom, never entered her fair head. If suggested to her she would have laughed it to scorn—had it been possible for one so bright and “funny” to become scornful.
As for Jeff—he more than suspected what had happened in regard to himself. His experience of life had been varied and extensive for his years—at least in a nautical direction—and that is saying a great deal.
“Done for!” he remarked to himself that evening, as he left the residence of Miss Millet and sauntered slowly homeward, divesting his fingers of the wrappings in an absent manner as he went along; but he forgot the plastered nose, and was taken to task about it by his comrades.
“Why, wherever did you get the stickin’-plaster?” asked David Bowers, an Anglo-Saxon much like himself in form and size, only that his locks and beard were yellow instead of dark brown.
“From a friend,” replied Jeff.
“A female friend?” asked Bowers, with a sly glance.
“Yes,” replied Jeff, so promptly, and with a look of such benignity, that the Anglo-Saxon felt constrained to give up his intended badinage.
That night curiously enough, Rose and Jeff were beset by dreams exactly similar in kind, though slightly modified in form. Both were in the midst of howling blasts and raging billows; but while the one was saving a fair and slender girl in circumstances of great but scorned risk, the other was being rescued by a young giant with a brown beard, in a style the most heroic, and in the midst of dangers the most appalling.
Next day, when Jeff—having got rid of the nose-plaster, and removed the mud, and brushed the dishevelled hair, and put on dry garments—paid another visit to Miss Millet, the Rosebud formed a more correct estimate of her condition, became alarmed, and shrank like a sensitive plant before the gaze of the coastguardsman; insomuch that she drove him to the conclusion that he had no hope whatever in that quarter, and that he was foolish to think of her seriously. What was she, after all? A mere chit of a school girl! It was ridiculous. He would heave her overboard forthwith, and trouble his head no more about her. He would not, however, give up visiting his old confidante on her account—oh dear, no!
It was wonderful what an amount of guarding seemed to be required by the coast in the vicinity of Miss Millet’s cottage during the following week! Any one observing the frequency of Jeff’s visits to it, and his prolonged earnest gazing at the sea, would have imagined that the ancient smuggling days had revived, or that the old tendency of the French to suddenly come o’er and find the Britons awaiting them on shore, was not yet extinct.
One evening our hero, after paying a little unwonted attention to his toilet prepared to set out for Miss Millet’s cottage. He had obtained leave of absence for the evening, and had made up his mind to spend an hour or two in metaphysical discussion. Rose had not yet left her aunt but no matter. If she could not assist in the conversation, she could at all events listen, and might be benefited.
In passing through the station, the officer on duty called to him.
“I want you, Benson, to take Wilson’s place to-night. He is unwell and off duty. We may possibly require all our force, for the barometer has suddenly fallen much lower than usual.”
No shade of disappointment betrayed itself on the grave countenance of the well-disciplined Jeff as he replied, “Very well, sir,” and went out; but profound disappointment nevertheless harrowed his broad bosom, for he had promised himself such a long and pleasant evening of discussion; possibly of benefit to the young girl for whom he cared nothing now—a mere passing fancy, pooh! But even while ejecting the “pooh!” he wondered why the disappointment was so severe. Was it possible that he was being taught by experience the lesson which Miss Millet’s reasoning powers had failed to inculcate?
It was blowing hard when Jeff reached the cliffs, and, bending forward to the increasing blast made his way to the rugged coast which was to be the scene of his night vigil. As he stood on the shore with hands in pockets and legs apart, to steady himself, and gazed out upon the darkening sea, he saw plainly enough that the prophetic barometer was right. Far out on the water a ledge of rocks, barely covered at high water, caught the billows as they rolled shoreward, broke them up, and sent them spouting into the air in volumes of foam. On the horizon the clouds were so black that the shrieking sea-birds passed athwart them like flakes of snow. Low muttering thunder was heard at intervals; and as night drew on, gleams of lightning flashed in the obscurity.
During one of these flashes Jeff thought he saw a vessel labouring heavily. He could not be quite sure, for by that time spray, borne on the whistling wind, was blinding him. Suddenly a red flash was seen, followed by a report. It was a signal of distress.
Every thought and feeling save that of duty was instantly banished from the mind of our coastguardsman, as he hurried away to give the alarm and join in the rescue.
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |