As evening
closed in, they came to a broad arm of the sea thrust inland through the
beach, and halted at the edge. Beyond it, in the darkness, they could
distinguish the yet darker shapes of the wigwams, and savages gathered
about two or three enormous fires that threw long red lines of glare
into the sea-fog. "As we stood there for many Hour's Time," says
Jonathan Dickenson, "we were assured these Dreadful Fires were prepared
for us."
Of all the sad little company that stand out against the far-off dimness
of the past, in that long watch upon the beach, the low-voiced,
sweet-tempered Quaker lady comes nearest and is the most real to us. The
sailors had chosen a life of peril years ago; her husband, with all his
suspicious bigotry, had, when pushed to extremes, an admirable tough
courage with which to face the dangers of sea and night and death; and
the white-headed old man, who stood apart and calm, had received, as
much as Elijah of old, a Divine word to speak in the wilderness, and the
life in it would sustain him through death. But Mary Dickenson was only
a gentle, commonplace woman, whose life had been spent on a quiet farm,
whose highest ambition was to take care of her snug little house, and
all of whose brighter thoughts or romance or passion began and ended in
this staid Quaker and the baby that was a part of them both.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225