A Sailors Lass | Page 3

They had not heard the
guns or seen a rocket thrown up for some time.
"They're all gone, poor fellows," said another, sadly; "we may as well
go back now, before the gale freshens again."
"Oh, stop a bit; we'll look among this rubbish, and see what there is
here; perhaps some of them are holding on to the floating timber," said
Coomber, who had frequently been out on a similar errand.
They raised their voices together, and cried "Hi! hi!" trying to
outscream the wind; but it was of no use; there was no answering call
for help, and after waiting about for some time, and going as near to the
dangerous sands as they dared, they at length reluctantly turned their
boat towards the shore, and began to row back. But before they had got
far on their way, they descried the gleam of something white floating in
front of them.
"Only a bit of sail-cloth," said one, as they paused in their rowing to

concentrate all their attention upon the object.
"Let's make sure, mates," said Coomber. "Steady, now; mind your oars;
let her float; it's coming this way, and we'll pick it up;" and in another
minute Coomber had reached over and seized the white bundle, which
he found to be carefully lashed to a spar.
"It's a child!" he exclaimed. "Mates, we ain't come out for nothing, after
all. Now row for dear life," he said, as he carefully laid the bundle in
the bottom of the boat. They could do nothing for it here, not even
ascertain whether it was dead or alive; and they pulled for the shore
with even greater eagerness than they had left it.
The dawn was breaking before they got back, and they were welcomed
with a shout from their waiting comrades, who were watching
anxiously for the return of the boat. There was disappointment,
however, in the little crowd of watchers when they saw only the brave
crew returning from the perilous journey.
"What, nothing!" exclaimed one of the men, as the boat drew close in
shore.
"Only a child, and that may be dead," shouted one of the crew.
"But I think it's alive," said Coomber. "Run, Peters, and rouse up your
missus; the womenfolk are better hands at such jobs than we are;" and
as soon as he could leave the boat, he picked up the white bundle, and
hurried after Peters, leaving his companions to tell the story of their
disappointment.
Mrs. Peters was a motherly woman, and had already lighted a fire to
prepare some breakfast for her husband, in readiness for his return from
the beach, so the wet clothes were soon taken off the child, and they
saw it was a little girl about five years old, fair and delicate-looking,
decently, but not richly clad, with a small silver medal hung round her
neck by a black ribbon. At first they feared the poor little thing was
dead, for it was not until Mrs. Peters had well-nigh exhausted all her
best-known methods for restoring the apparently drowned, that the little

waif showed any sign of returning life.
Coomber stood watching with silent but intense anxiety the efforts of
the dame to restore animation, not daring to join in the vigorous
chafings and slappings administered, for fear his rough horny hands
should hurt the tender blue-white limbs.
For some time the woman was too much occupied with her task to
notice his presence, but when her labour was rewarded by a faint sigh,
and a slightly-drawn breath parted the pale lips, she heard a grunt of
satisfaction behind her; and turning her head, she exclaimed, "What
gowks men are, to be sure."
"Eh, what is it, dame?" said Coomber, meekly; for he had conceived a
wonderful respect for Mrs. Peters during the last ten minutes.
"Ha' you been a-standing there like a post all this while, and never put
out yer hand to help save the child?" she said, reproachingly.
"I couldn't, dame, I couldn't with such hands as these; but I'll do
anything for you that I can," whispered the fisherman, as though he
feared to disturb the child.
"Well, I want a tub of hot water," snapped Mrs. Peters. "You'll find the
tub in the backyard, and the kettle's near on the boil. Look sharp and
get the tub, and then go upstairs and get a blanket off the bed."
Coomber soon brought the tub, and a pitcher of cold water that stood
near, but it was not so easy for him to grope his way upstairs. The
staircase was narrow and dark, and seemed specially contrived that the
uninitiated might bump and bruise themselves. Coomber, in his
boat-home, having no such convenience or inconvenience in general
use, found the ascent anything but