_ CHAPTER THREE. SAFE TO LAND
As Adam Halliburt and his son sprang into the cabin, they saw in a small cot by the side of a larger one, a little girl, her light hair falling over her fair young neck. She lifted her head and gazed at them from her blue eyes with looks of astonishment mingled with terror.
"Is no one with you, my pretty maiden?" exclaimed Adam; "how came you to be left all alone here?"
"Ayah gone. I called, she no come back," answered the child.
"This is no place for you, my little dear, we will take care of you," said Adam, lifting her up and wrapping the bed clothes round her, for she was dressed only in her nightgown.
"Oh, let me go; I must stay here till my ayah comes back," cried the child; yet she did not struggle, comprehending, it seemed, from the kind expression of Adam's countenance, that he intended her no harm.
"The person you speak of won't come back, I fear; so you must come with us, little maid, and if God wills we will carry you safely on shore," answered Adam, folding the clothes tighter round the child, and grasping her securely in his left arm as a woman carries an infant, and leaving his right one at liberty, for this he knew he should require to hold on by, until having made his way across the heaving, slippery deck, he could take the necessary leap into the boat.
"It is wet and cold, we must cover you up," he said, adding to himself, "The child would otherwise see a sight enough to frighten her young heart."
The little girl did not again speak as Adam carried her through the cabins.
"You must let go those things, lads, and stand ready for lending me a hand to prevent any harm happening to this little dear," he said, as he mounted the companion-ladder.
Before reaching the deck he drew the blanket over the child's face, and then, with an activity no younger seaman could have surpassed, he sprang to the side of the ship and grasped a stanchion, to which he held on while he shouted to the crew of his boat, who had for safety's sake pulled her off a few fathoms from the wreck, keeping their oars going to retain their position.
"Pull up now, lads! We have got all there is time for," he cried out. "Ben and Tom, do you leap when I do. I have a little maid here, my lads, and we must take care no harm comes to her."
While he was speaking the boat was approaching. Now she sank down, almost touching the treacherous sands beneath her keel--now, as the sea rolled in, part of which broke over the wreck, she rose almost to a level with the deck. Adam, who had been calculating every movement she was about to make, sprang on board. Steadying himself by the shoulders of the men, he stepped aft with his charge. Ben and Tom followed him.
The men in the bows, immediately throwing out their starboard oars, pulled the boat's head round, and the next instant, the mast being stepped and the sail hoisted, the _Nancy_ was flying away before the following seas towards the shore. Adam steered with one hand while he still supported the child on his arm.
"You are all right now, my little maid," he said, looking down on her sweet face, the expression of which showed the alarm and bewilderment she felt, he having thrown off the blanket.
"We will soon have you safe on shore in the care of my good dame. She will be a mother to you, and you will soon forget all about the wreck and the things which have frightened you."
As Adam turned a glance astern, he was thankful that he had not delayed longer on board the wreck. The wind blew far more fiercely than before, and the big seas came hissing and foaming in, each with increased speed and force.
The _Nancy_ flew on before them. The windmill, the best landmark in the neighbourhood, could now be discerned through the mist and driving spray. Adam kept well to the nor'ard of it. The small house near the pier-head, which served to shelter pilots and beachmen who assembled there, next came into view, and the _Nancy_ continuing her course, guided by the experienced hand of her master, now mounting to the top of a high sea, now descending, glided into the mouth of the harbour, up which she speedily ran to her moorings.
Adam, anxious to get his little maid, as he called her, out of the cold and damp, and to place her in charge of his wife, sprang on shore. Jacob, who had been on the look-out for the return of the _Nancy_ since dawn, met him on the landing-place.
"Are all safe, father?" he asked, in an anxious tone.
"All safe, boy, praised be His name who took care of us, and no thanks to that poor creature, Mad Sal, who would have frightened the lads and me from going off, and allowed this little maid here to perish."
"What! have you brought her from the wreck?" inquired Jacob, eagerly, looking into the face of the child, who at that moment opened her large blue eyes and smiled, as she caught sight of the boy's good-natured countenance.
"Is she the only one you have brought on shore, father?" he added.
"The only living creature we found on board, more shame to those who deserted her, though it was God's ordering that she might be preserved," answered Adam. "But run on, Jacob, and see that the fire is blazing up brightly, we shall want it to dry her damp clothes and warm her cold feet, the little dear."
"The fire is burning well, father, I doubt not, for I put a couple of logs on before I came out; but I will run on and tell mother to be ready for you," answered Jacob, hastening away.
Adam followed with rapid strides.
The dame stood at the open door to welcome him as he entered.
"What, is it as Jacob says, a little maid you have got there?" she exclaimed, opening her arms to receive the child from her husband.
The dame was an elderly, motherly-looking woman, with a kindly smile and pleasant expression of countenance, which left little doubt that the child would be well cared for.
"Bless her sweet face, she is a little dear, and so she is!" exclaimed the dame, as she pressed her to her bosom. "Bless you, my sweet one, don't be frightened now you are among friends who love you!" she added, as she carried her towards the fire which blazed brightly on the hearth, and observed that the child was startled on finding herself transferred to the arms of another stranger.
"Bring the new blanket I bought at Christmas for your bed, Jacob, and I will take off her wet clothes and wrap her in it, and warm her pretty little feet. Don't cry, deary, don't cry!" for the child, not knowing what was going to happen, had now for the first time begun to sob and wail piteously.
"Maybe she is hungry, for she could have had nothing to eat since last night, little dear," observed Adam, who was standing by, his damp clothes steaming before the blazing fire.
"We will soon have something for her, then," answered the dame.
Jacob brought the blanket, which the dame gave Adam to warm before she wrapped it round the child.
"Run off to Mrs Carey's as fast as your legs can carry you, and bring threepenny-worth of milk," she said to her son. "Tell her why I want it; she must send her boy to bring in the cow; don't stop a moment longer than you can help."
Jacob, taking down a jug from the dresser, ran off, while the dame proceeded to disrobe the little stranger, kissing and trying to soothe her as she did so. Round her neck she discovered a gold chain and locket.
"I was sure from her looks that she was not a poor person's child, this also shows it," she observed to her husband; "and see what fine lace this is round her nightgown. It was a blessed thing, Adam, that you saved her life, the little cherub; though, for that matter, she looks as fit to be up in heaven as any bright angel there. But what can have become of those to whom she belongs? Of one thing I am very sure, neither father nor mother could have been aboard, for they would not have left her."
"I'll tell thee more about that anon," observed Adam, recollecting the poor coloured woman whose wretched fate he had discovered; "I think thou art right, mother."
The child had ceased sobbing while the dame was speaking, and now lay quietly in her arms enjoying the warmth of the fire.
"She will soon be asleep and forget her cares," observed the dame, watching the child's eyelids, which were gradually closing. "Now, Adam, go and get off thy wet clothes, and then cut me out a piece of crumb from one of the loaves I baked yestere'en, and bring the saucepan all ready for Jacob when he comes with the milk."
"I'll get the bread and saucepan before I take off my wet things," answered Adam, smiling. "The little maid must be the first looked to just now."
Jacob quickly returned, and the child seemed to enjoy the sweet bread-and-milk with which the dame liberally fed her.
A bed was then made up for her near the fire, and smiling her thanks for the kind treatment she received, her head was scarcely on the pillow before she was fast asleep. _