The Mountain Sentinel

MISCELLANEOUS.

THE STRANDED SHIP.

BY HARRIET J. LOWELL.

"Will no one go off for her?--will no one go off for my child?" shrieked the miser, wringing his hands and running to and fro in the crowd. But all turned away. There was scarcely a soul present who, at one time or another, had not suffered in the hands of the hard-hearted money lender.

"Oh! for the love of God--you who are fathers think on me. My daughter will perish--will you not go off for her, Townsend--I'll give you any thing--any thing in reason."

"Go off for her!--not I," said the man, with a mocking laugh, shaking off the old man, "all your gold would not tempt me out on that boiling sea. Besides ain't I a father, too, and think you I'll sacrifice my life for another?--No, no, old hulk, you must take your gold to some other market."

"Oh! she will die, she will die--my child for whom I have saved all. Peter Jones you will go if I give you a thousand dollars."

"Not for ten thousand," gruffly said the person addressed, "a boat couldn't live in the breakers a minute."

"I will give ten thousand to any one," eagerly said the miser--ten thousand dollars. I know you will go for ten thousand dollars, Simon," and he seized one of the spectators by the button of his shaggy jacket, "Oh! go, and the blessings of a broken-hearted father will go with you."

"I can't think of it, for I'd never return to enjoy your money. No, old man," he said in a more feeling tone than the others had used, "your daughter must die."

"Must die! Oh! no--she shan't die. Take all I am worth, good sirs," he said, lifting up his hands imploringly, "but restore me my daughter, only--only I hope you'll spare a little for us to live on, if it's no more than a beggar enjoys."

"It's no use, old man," said the last speaker, "the whole would not tempt us to put out to sea in a storm like this. It's a hard lot you've got to bear, and I pity your daughter, for she was a sweet angel. But the packet will go to pieces in half an hour, and so you see there is no hope."

The father heard the speaker in stony silence. Then he turned and looked out at sea, where a few minutes before, the outline of the stranded packet, might have been seen through the approaching twilight, almost buried in the whirling foam that howled over the bar on which she lay; but the darkness had shut her in from view; and the only knowledge of her position was derived from the sound of her minute guns booming solemnly across the sea.

The old man groaned, and sinking down on a boulder, buried his face in his hands and rocked his body to and fro, occasionally pausing to listen to the guns or to gaze seaward, and then resuming his position, moaning continually. Five minutes might have thus passed when a young man burst through the crowd, and shaking the old man by the shoulder, said "Mr. Stelling, they say your daughter is on board the packet--is it so?"

"Yes, good youth, and you have come to rescue her," he exclaimed, starting up with eager joy; but when he recognized the speaker, he said in a tone of disappointment, "it's Harry Martin. Oh! surely young man, you have not come here to triumph over my distress."

"God forbid," was the fervent reply. "I come to aid you, if indeed mortal man can render aid in an extremity like this. Let bygones be bygones. Only answer me one question, for no time is to be lost--will you give me your daughter if I succeed in rescuing her?"

There was a momentary pause, and the muscles of the old man's face worked convulsively. All pressed forward to hear his answer, for the fury with which the old miser had pursued his daughter's lover, and his declaration that he would sooner see her dead than married to the young man were known to every listener. At length he gasped,

"Yes, yes, but go at once. Only save her and she shall be yours."

The youth paused no longer, but dashed through the crowd. In a minute his boat was afloat, and accompanied by a solitary individual--for but one fisherman, and he under great obligations to the young man, could be persuaded to risk his life with the lover--he set forth. The boat rose gallantly on the waves, shaking like a duck the spray from her sides, and for a few minutes was seen momentarily cutting the outline of the gloomy sky as she attained the summit of the billow; then she gradually passed into the darkness and was seen no more.

For more than an hour the crowd remained on the beach, almost incredulous of the lover's success, and lingering in the faint hope that he might return with his precious freight. That he had the good wishes of all was evident from the eagerness with which they strained their eyes into the gloom to see if he was returning, and from the audible prayers for his success which were breathed by more than one of the women. Apart from the general crowd stood the fisherman whom the miser had last appealed to, surrounded by a few kindred spirits who were discussing with him the chances of the young man's return.

"It was madness to attempt it," said the fisherman, "but when I found he would go I insisted that he should make his conditions with the old man before he ventured, for, you see, if his daughter was once restored to the usurer's arms, mighty little gratitude would he have for her preserver, and Harry would stand as poor a chance as ever. Between us, I believe she thought as much of the young man as he did of her; and if her father sent her away, and I more than suspect, to drive Harry Martin from her thoughts, her present danger looks something like the retribution of a higher power as punishment for his conduct. But hark, was not that a hallo?"

Every eye was turned seaward, in which direction the fisherman had indicated that he heard the hail; but nothing could be seen but the white foam of the breakers in the foreground, and the lowering clouds behind forming a chaotic mass of darkness. Nor was any sound save that of the roaring tempest borne to the ear.

"Hark," at length said one, "there it is again."

Every one listened, and now a hallo was heard faintly from the thick gloom seaward. One of the fishermen shouted, and a reply was distinctly caught in the lull of the tempest. A few moments of breathless suspense followed, during which every eye was strained to the utmost.

"There it is--there it is," at length cried one, "see--just rising on yonder wave!"

"I see it," shouted one.

"Here they come, huzza!--a miracle, a miracle--ah! how gallantly she breasts the surge," were the exclamations that followed from the crowd.

All rushed to the edge of the surf. But now the fear arose that the boat would be swamped in the breakers, and many a heart trembled as she arose and fell frightfully on the surge, showers of spray flying over, and the water continually pouring into her sides. The crowd watched her struggles with silent awe.

A few minutes removed all doubt, and saw the hardy crew and their lovely freight safely landed on the beach. The miser had started from his seat at the first intimation of the approaching boat, and stood trembling gazing at her as she buffeted the waves, and no sooner did she touch the ground than he rushed into the retiring surf, and clasping his daughter frantically, hung around her so that the fishermen were forced to carry both together to the dry land. There they would have separated the two for a moment, but when they spoke to the old man they found he was lifeless. The emotion of the last two hours had been too much for his enfeebled frame, and he had died in the revulsion from despair to joy.

The good folks of that seaboard village can yet tell you how after the accustomed period of mourning had passed, the miser's daughter gave her hand to Harry Martin, who received with her a fortune, whose extent even the most sanguine confessed to be beyond their expectations.--But this was the least part of the treasure brought him by his wife; and in her virtues he had ample recompense for the long years of opposition on the part of her parent.