Newton Forster | Page 4

a snug cottage to which he had retired upon his
half-pay, in consequence of a severe wound which had, for many years,
healed but to break out again each succeeding spring.
The locality of the cottage was not exactly so snug as it has been
described in itself and its interior; for it was situated on a hill which
terminated at a short distance in a precipitous cliff, beetling over that
portion of the Atlantic which lashes the shores of Cumberland under
the sub-denomination of the Irish Sea. But Forster had been all his
early life a sailor, and still felt the same pleasure in listening to the
moaning and whistling of the wind, as it rattled the shutters of his
cottage (like some importunate who would gain admittance), as he used
to experience when, lying in his hammock, he was awakened by the
howling of the blast, and shrouding himself in his blankets to resume
his nap, rejoiced that he was not exposed to its fury.
His finances did not allow him to indulge in luxuries, and the
distillation of the country was substituted for wine. With his feet upon
the fender and his glass of whiskey-toddy at his side, he had been led
into a train of thought by the book which he had been reading, some

passage of which had recalled to his memory scenes that had long
passed away--the scenes of youth and hope--the happy castle-building
of the fresh in heart, invariably overthrown by time and disappointment.
The night was tempestuous; the rain now pattered loud, then ceased as
if it had fed the wind, which renewed its violence, and forced its way
through every crevice. The carpet of his little room occasionally rose
from the floor, swelled up by the insidious entrance of the searching
blast; the solitary candle, which from neglect had not only elongated its
wick to an unusual extent, but had formed a sort of mushroom top, was
every moment in danger of extinction, while the chintz curtains of the
window waved solemnly to and fro. But the deep reverie of Edward
Forster was suddenly disturbed by the report of a gun, swept to leeward
by the impetuosity of the gale, which hurled it with violence against the
door and front windows of his cottage, for some moments causing them
to vibrate with the concussion. Forster started up, dropping his book
upon the hearth, and jerking the table with his elbow, so as to dash out
the larger proportion of the contents of his tumbler. The sooty coronal
of the wick also fell with the shock, and the candle, relieved from its
burden, poured forth a brighter gleam.
"Lord ha' mercy, Mr Forster; did you hear that noise?" cried the old
housekeeper (the only inhabitant of the cottage except himself), as she
bolted into the room, holding her apron in both hands.
"I did, indeed, Mrs Beazely," replied Forster; "it's the signal of a vessel
in distress, and she must be on a dead lee-shore. Give me my hat!" and
draining off the remainder in his tumbler, while the old lady reached
his hat off a peg in the passage, he darted out from the door of his
tenement.
The door, which faced to seaward, flew open with violence, as Forster
disappeared in the darkness of the night.
The old housekeeper, on whom had devolved the task of securing it,
found it no easy matter; and the rain, blown in by the sweeping gale,
proved an effectual and unwelcome shower-bath to one who
complained bitterly of the rheumatics. At last her object was
accomplished, and she repaired to the parlour to re-light the candle

which had been extinguished, and await the return of her master. After
sundry ejaculations and sundry wonders, she took possession of his
arm-chair, poked the fire, and helped herself to a glass of
whiskey-toddy. As soon as her clothes and her tumbler were again dry,
she announced by loud snores that she was in a happy state of oblivion;
in which we shall leave her, to follow the motions of Edward Forster.
It was about seven o'clock in the evening when Forster thus exposed
himself to the inclemency of the weather. But a few weeks before how
beautiful were the evenings at this hour; the sun disappearing beyond
the distant wave, and leaving a portion of his glory behind him, until
the stars, in obedience to the divine fiat, were lighted up to "shine by
night;" the sea rippling on the sand, or pouring into the crevices of the
rocks, changing its hue, as day-light slowly disappeared, to the more
sombre colours it reflected, from azure to each deeper tint of grey, until
darkness closed in, and its extent was scarcely to be defined by the
horizontal line.
Now all