Page:The New Monthly Magazine - Volume 102.djvu/88

76 clasped her hands, and cried in her agony of spirit, "Oh, my dear, dear child! where are you this fearful night?" Then she looked at his bed, which had so long stood empty. How willingly she would have cheated herself into the idea that all was a dream, and that it really was his fair little head she saw resting on his pillow; but it was fancy—only fancy—for no living form was there! There were none to speak one word of comfort to her; no human being near to console her; she raised her thoughts to heaven, and prayed to God to spare the life of her child in that terrific night; she prayed that she might once more be allowed to fold him in her arms, and earnestly did she farther pray—alas! for a mother's heart—that if he must die, his death -struggle might be brief!

And where was the boy while these anxious prayers were ascending to heaven on his behalf? Behold! yonder on the vast wild sea, where the tempest is lashing the waves into mountains, flies the slight bark with the lightning's speed! The subordinate has become the master: the wind, that but lately managed by the sailors' art wafted their vessel gently along, has suddenly burst forth in its might, and in its wanton fury assails them from every point. The heavens are darkened, and the sea casts up billows of foam. Now the ship seems engulphed by the raging waters; now borne aloft as if it were about to career in the air. Yet on these frail planks, which seem to be but as a toy to the elements, there is a will stronger than theirs. See how every stitch of canvas disappears from the towering masts! Look at the fearless, determined countenance of the man who holds the rudder in his strong grasp! See how boldly, how firmly yon sailors tread upon and hang among the swaying yards above! Oh, slip not, slip not! for ye hold life and death in your hands; place cautiously the searching foot; turn the swimming eye from yonder raging deep. Hark! what a frightful blast of wind! It seems to come howling from afar, then rolls with a hollow sound over the foaming waves. The ship trembles from stem to stern, and, as if battling with the ocean, it swings first to one side then to the other, and then it seems to rise and ride triumphant over the heaving billows. In its lightness lies its only hope of safety.

But what is that which has fallen from the maintopsail-yard down into the sea beneath? The bubbling foam conceals it for a moment, but it rises to the surface. From a break between the dark heavy clouds the moon casts a solitary ray, mild as a compassionate smile. It is the boy—the boy who loved the blue billows so much—he has fallen into their wild embrace, and they like him too well to give him up again. In vain do anxious faces bend over the side of the ship; in vain are ropes cast out; the small hands fight but a feeble battle for life; the fair curly head, over which his unseen mother's prayers and blessings are at that moment hovering, raises itself once more in the pale moonshine; but the struggle is soon over. Some few undefined thoughts flit through his soul: he fancies that he hears his mother's voice. Yes, peace be with you, child! She is praying for you at your hour of death. And he sinks down—down—calmly beneath the waves. The subsiding tempest chants his requiem, the moon sheds a farewell ray upon the spot where he sank, and the grave has closed over the sea-boy's corpse! The war of the elements is over, and the ship glides peacefully into its destined harbour.