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Twilight And Dawn by Caroline Pridham

C >> Caroline Pridham >> Twilight And Dawn




To those who have seen it all their lives there is nothing strange about
this, but when some brave Roman soldiers, who were accustomed to conquer
wherever they came, saw for the first time this ebb and flow of the tide,
they were more frightened than they would have been if they had seen an
army of savage men with spears and clubs rushing upon them with their
fierce war-cry. They were in the presence of a power which they could not
understand, and in terror they besought their general to lead them against
foes whom they could face, or to take them back to their own land!

By-and-by you will be interested in learning more about the tides, but I
will only tell you now that they are caused by the sun and moon. Two pair
of waves travel round the earth every day, the greater pair obedient to the
moon, which, because she is so much nearer to us, has a greater power of
drawing the water to herself than the sun has; the lesser pair obedient, in
like manner, to the attraction of the sun. This is all that I can tell you
now about a very difficult subject, and it is more than I told Chrissie or
Ernest when we were talking about the sea; but then you know we had not
much time for matters hard to be explained. One thing which I think we did
talk about was the depth of the sea, and I know there were some differences
of opinion about this as well as about its colour.

First of all, then, How deep is the "deep, deep sea"?

Actually, in some places, five miles deep, about the height of the loftiest
of mountain-peaks. I have heard that these far-away ocean-depths are very
quiet and still--no rolling waves ever break their stillness, and this is
proved in a very beautiful way. At the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, where
overhead great billows which seem mountain-high are in ceaseless motion,
there lie beds of delicate shells, so small that you need a microscope to
see their beauty, yet these shells are unbroken; no storm ever reaches
their quiet home; they are among the lovely things which the ocean hides in
its "treasure-caves," and they only come to light when the long line with a
clip at the end, which is used for deep-sea soundings, brings them to the
surface from those

"Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream."

These delicately "chambered" shells were once the homes of creatures which
lived in the sunless depths of the ocean, for though it is totally dark at
the bottom of the deep, deep sea, life is now known to exist at all depths
below the surface of the ocean; on the ocean-floor starfishes and their
relations abound, and some of those brought from a great depth are very
beautiful indeed--telling to those who have eyes to see, the same tale as
the little fern buried in the coal--that it is the glory of every created
thing to show forth something of its Creator, even in hidden places where
no human eye can trace its loveliness.

I am sure when we speak of the treasures of the sea, you are thinking of
places where pearls lie deep, hidden in the shell of the oyster--but I did
not know until lately that not only iron and copper, but also gold and
silver, are found in sea water.

And now what can we say of the colour of the sea? I used to think that
it was always a clear green, but that was because the sea which I knew
appeared to be that colour, for I had seen it only near the shore, where
the bottom was fine white sand, and the sunset light made the water shine
like an emerald. And so the sea was green to me, and I was often puzzled
and vexed to find that I could never catch this beautiful green water;
for you know that if you dip your bucket where the sea looks greenest
or bluest, all the lovely colour will seem to be left behind, and your
bucket-full will look as colourless as water drawn from a well. Where the
sea is dark blue, you may be sure that it is deep where it looks gold and
purple, the sun has tinged it with the glory of his rising and setting;
where it is grey and sad, it takes its sorrowful hue from the rain-clouds
overhead. These are some of the reasons why the sea is of such different
colours, but the water is sometimes coloured, to some extent, by myriads of
living things which give it a reddish tinge; in the cold Northern Ocean,
where the icebergs are, travellers tell us the sea is green because there
its tiny inhabitants are green; while those who have sailed in the South
American waters tell of countless swarms of minute creatures which make
them glow like fire on a dark night, lighting up the crest of every wave as
it rolls past the ship.

The sea is also coloured by those beautiful plants which we often call by
one common name--seaweeds, but which are almost as varied in their way as
the land plants are.

Columbus, when sailing sadly through unknown seas in search of the New
World of which he had dreamed so long, came upon water so covered with long
green weeds that it seemed like a floating meadow, while his vessels could
hardly make their way through the grassy tangles of what is now known as
the Gulf-weed.

I have seen the sea off the coast of Ireland green for miles, with long,
ribbon-like plants covering its sandy bottom, sheltering, and perhaps
helping to feed, the millions of crawling and running and swimming
creatures, many of them so small as to be nearly invisible, which find
their home there. This sea-grass, or Zostera, the only flowering plant to
be found in the sea, is very useful to the poor people who live near the
coast. They gather it when the tide is low, and dry it in the sun, and it
serves them for nice soft beds; though I should think they must always keep
a briny, fishy smell about them.

[Illustration: "O'ER BANKS OF BRIGHT SEAWEED, THE EBB-TIDE LEAVES DRY."]

The Irish fisher-folk also gather the common brown seaweed with pods, which
are really air-bladders, and serve to keep it afloat. I have many a time
watched the women and children wading among the pools, cutting it from the
rocks with sickles, and putting it into baskets, which they carry home
on their backs; for this precious harvest of the sea is what they depend
upon to make their potatoes grow well and yield a plentiful crop. There is
another kind of seaweed, of a pretty purple colour, which they eat, and
call it by an Irish name which means "leaf of the water."

But it is far away in the watery valleys of the great Pacific, where the
sea is very calm, that the ocean forests grow. I have read that there giant
leaves of the sea grow upon stems longer than those of our tallest trees,
and spread abroad like waving palms. Though you are not likely ever to
see such seaweeds as these, you will find, wherever you may be, though
much more abundantly on some shores than others, some of those beautiful
"weeds"--green, red, or brown--which have their use as well as their
beauty; for they help to purify the water, just as plants do the air.
Perhaps I should not promise more than the brown Tangle and the green Ulva,
with its bright lettuce-like leaves; for red seaweeds belong to deep water,
and are not easy to find. Many an hour have I spent peering and groping
in the little pools at low water in search of these same much-prized
rosy-tinted "flowers of the sea"; and many a disappointment I have had,
even after a fortunate find, in seeing how soon the lovely colour faded, in
spite of all my efforts to keep it.

We often speak of the "salt sea" or "the briny ocean," without perhaps
thinking how it comes to be salt. I used to think it was because there were
vast salt mines at the bottom of the sea; but that was only a guess at the
truth.

Let us think what happens when there is a heavy shower; how quickly the
raindrops gather force until they run down the street, making gutters on
each side! But how unlike the muddy water in these gutters is the rain as
it fell from the sky--how is this? It is the same water, but as it hurries
along each drop picks up and carries with it its own little grain of sand
or dust. If tiny gutters are tinged by the mud which they carry with them,
how much more must this be the case with the great rivers which empty
themselves into the ocean! They carry with them not only sand and earth,
but the minerals and salts which are contained in them, to form the bed of
the ocean. The salt which is thus washed out of the soil by streams and
rivers is not evaporated, but remains behind, for the sea has no outlet
through which it can again be carried away.

If you go to Switzerland, you will be able to see for yourself how a great
river as it rushes along its course washes away the soil. The Rhone, when
it enters the Lake of Geneva, is so laden with mud that its waters are
brown and turbid. For some distance you can trace the course of this brown
water as it makes its way through the deep blue of the lovely lake, not
mingling with it--but by the time the river reaches the other end of the
lake it has rid itself of its burden: the mud has sunk to the bottom, and
the Rhone flows out a clear stream. This is a strange and beautiful sight
which perhaps you may see some day.

Have you ever noticed how often the sea is mentioned in the New Testament?
We read of the Lord Jesus walking beside it, and sailing over it in the
boat with His disciples. And I daresay you remember how He once sat in the
boat upon the sea, while He taught the people who were upon the shore. The
Sea of Galilee must have been calm and quiet then, but it was not always
so. Travellers tell us a great deal about the beauty of this lake, when the
sky is clear, and the crimson bloom of the Oleanders is reflected in the
still water. But they speak also of the sudden and dangerous storms, which
rush down from the mountains, and turn the glassy lake into a raging sea.
In the gospel by Mark we read of just such a storm of wind, when the Lord
Jesus Christ was in the little boat with His disciples crossing over to the
other side. It was such a terrible storm, that the waves dashed into the
boat until it was filled with water.

"And all but One were sore afraid
Of sinking in the deep;
His head was on a pillow laid,
And He was fast asleep."

Yes, amid all the tumult and alarm, the Saviour who was often weary in this
sad world, was sleeping upon the cushion of the boat. He slept on until the
disciples came and awoke Him with their cry, "Master, carest Thou not that
we perish?" Then the voice of the Lord was heard above the rage of wind
and water, and their cry of terror, as He rose and rebuked the wind, and
said unto the sea, "Peace, be still." The proud waves obeyed that voice of
power, the wind was hushed, "and there was a great calm."

Do you remember what the Lord said to His disciples, and what they said to
one another, as they "feared exceedingly"?

Perhaps you wonder how anyone could be afraid, no matter how dreadful the
noise of the winds and waves might be, when the Lord Jesus was there. It
is true that in that little boat, tossing upon the dark stormy lake, was
the One who upholds all things by the word of His power, the One whose word
those stormy winds fulfil; but the disciples, though they had been so much
with Him, were now to learn a little more who their Master was, and to find
that there was no fear of perishing when the Lord of life was with them.
They seem to have forgotten, too, that He had said, before they launched
the boat, "Let us pass over unto the other side"; or they might well have
afforded to be quiet when He slept, for after He had said those words, they
were as sure of being there with Him as if already landed.

How kind it was of the Lord to put the disciples with Himself, and say,
"Let US pass over"; and how safe and free from fear of harm are those happy
people who have trusted themselves, with all they are, and all they have,
for this life and the long life that is to come, to this mighty, gracious
Saviour and Lord! One who knew this great happiness, once wrote these
beautiful verses about having Christ in the boat as he sailed over the
ocean of life, with its many storms. He said--

"My bark is wafted from the strand
By breath divine;
And on the helm there rests a hand
Other than mine.

"One who has known in storms to sail
I have on board;
Above the raging of the gale
I hear my Lord."

Once again in the same gospel by Mark we read of a tempest coming on while
the disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee; but this time their Master
was not with them in the boat. He had told them to go to the other side
while He sent away the crowds of people whom He had been feeding with the
five loaves and two fishes--and then He had gone into the hill-country to
pray.

The evening came on, the sky growing dark much more quickly than it does in
our country, and Jesus had not come to them. Still the disciples rowed, and
tried to get their boat to land, and still the storm grew louder.

"Fierce was the wild billow,
Dark was the night,
Oars laboured heavily,
Foam glimmered white."

How they must have longed to hear again that well-known voice rebuking the
rough wind, and saying to the angry waves, "Peace, be still!"

But the tired disciples rowed on; and Jesus had not come to them. They did
not know what we know, that their Master was watching them; He knew that
they could not bring their boat to land, and that they were worn out with
toiling at their oars, and were sad at heart too. And so, just at the
darkest, coldest hour of that night of fear, the Lord came to His beloved
ones. I have seen a picture of the weary men in their tossing boat, and
a shining figure which is meant for the Lord Jesus, as He came to them,
walking upon the white crests of the waves. But no picture can give a true
idea of that wonderful scene.

Do you remember how frightened all in the boat were before they knew that
it was the Lord?

They cried out for fear; and in answer to their cry they heard their
Master's own voice talking with them, and saying, "Be of good cheer: it is
I; be not afraid." Ah, what a change was there!

"Sorrow can never be--
Darkness must fly,
When saith the Light of light,
'Peace; it is I.'"

And now, before we come to the end of this "world of water" chapter, listen
to a wonderful story of the sea, told by the only one who could tell
it--the heroine of the tale.

Look at the map of Scotland, and you will find its most northerly county,
Shetland of the Hundred Isles, lying between the Atlantic Ocean and the
North Sea. Perhaps you know this part of the world mostly in connection
with the pretty little shaggy Shetland ponies which feed upon the young
heather, and are brought to England for children to ride; but those who
have visited it can tell very interesting stories about the wild country,
with its warm-hearted kindly fisher-folk, and they often bring home with
them beautiful shawls which the women and girls knit from the soft wool of
their sheep.

They tell us that of the hundred islands, about thirty are inhabited. Some
are large, but others so small that only one or two families live upon
them; and others are little more than rocks--the home of sea-fowl of every
wing.

In the largest island you will soon find Lerwick, the chief town. Now look
to the very south for the lofty cliff called Sumburgh Head, and near it
Grutness Harbour, where they catch the grey fish.

It was from this harbour that a small vessel, the _Columbine_, set sail on
Saturday, January 30th, 1886, intending to make the voyage--rough at all
times, but often very perilous in winter--along the coast to Lerwick.

Many a boat had perished on these cruel shores, even since lighthouses have
been placed to warn the seamen from the most dangerous rocks. If you had
asked the captain of the _Columbine_ about his route, he would have told
you that he must steer past Cape Noness, then close to the Isle of Mousa,
with its ancient castle built in the time of the Picts; Bressay Island
would next come in sight, and then the tall lighthouse which guards Lerwick
Harbour. He might have told you, too, that upon that January morning he was
starting with only one passenger on board--an elderly woman who was leaving
her home in the south of the island to go and see a doctor at Lerwick, as
she had been ill for some months.

The two men who formed the crew of the _Columbine_ returned the same day as
they had set sail, in an open boat belonging to their vessel. They said it
had been blowing hard when they started, and they had not got more than
four miles on the way when the captain was knocked overboard by a sudden
jerk of the boom. They quickly lowered the boat, and rowed hard to save
him; but, sad to tell, all their efforts were in vain, and they were at
length obliged to give up the attempt as hopeless, and were about to return
to the ship, when, to their dismay, they saw that she had drifted out to
sea, and, with her helpless passenger on board, was now far beyond their
reach.

The men pulled with all their strength; but the sea was so heavy, and
the _Columbine_ drifted so fast, that the distance between them rapidly
increased; and at last they had to turn and make for the shore, which they
reached with difficulty in their little open boat.

They told their tale, but nothing could be done to reach the drifting
vessel. Towards nightfall, some fishermen on the Isle of Mousa, where
opposing currents meet, and the sea is white with foam, saw the _Columbine_
pass, driven along by the wind. She was soon out of sight, and was heard of
no more upon the shores of Shetland.

And what became of Elizabeth Mouat, the sick and lonely passenger, who
shared the fate of the abandoned ship?

You must hear her story, for, wonderful to say, she lived to tell it; and
I know those who saw her safe and sound in her Shetland home, and heard it
from her own lips. But she had been to Norway meanwhile, a much longer
voyage than to Lerwick.

Below in the little cabin on that Saturday morning, weak from ill-health
and very sea-sick from the rolling of the vessel, Elizabeth heard the
alarm on deck caused by the accident to the captain, but knew not what had
happened. Presently she heard the boat suddenly lowered, and a terrible
fear took possession of her mind.

"I am deserted!" she said. "The men have gone off and left me alone in the
ship."

With the strength of despair she left her berth, and tried to get on deck;
but just as she was about to mount the ladder, it fell to the ground. She
had not power to lift it and put it in its place again, though she tried
hard and often. But although unable to get on deck, she was just tall
enough to look out of the open hatchway; and as she looked this way and
that, neither captain nor crew were to be seen, only the little boat, which
the _Columbine_ was fast leaving behind; and she knew that her worst fears
were realised, and she was indeed left alone.

Presently she began to consider what it was best for her to do, in her
solitary condition, as far removed from human aid as poor Robinson Crusoe
upon his island.

There was plenty of food on board, but it was impossible for her to reach
it, and she had with her in the cabin only a bottle of milk and two
biscuits.

As night came on, and the vessel still drifted, carried by the wind, she
knew not where, if Elizabeth had not known how to "cry unto the Lord" in
her trouble, how terrible her feelings would have been! As she stood with
her head just above the hatchway, ever keeping her anxious watch, and
searching the horizon in vain for a sail, the wild seas dashing over the
vessel often drenched her through and through. She knew that her cries
could reach no mortal ear; and still the masterless vessel drifted, drifted
on into the night. But Elizabeth had a strong Refuge. She quietly committed
herself and the ship to Him, who is "the confidence of all the ends of the
earth, and of them that are afar off upon the sea." And when the long night
wore through, and morning broke, again she searched the waste of waters
with eager eye, but in vain--no land was in sight, no friendly sail showed
white against the red dawn. Far as eye could reach, nothing could be seen
but the sky above, and the heaving ocean below.

But from that time, during the seven days and nights which followed,
Elizabeth never lost hope. When she told the story of those days, she
simply said that she put her trust in God, and that she believed He would
bring her safely to land. For a whole week she never slept, but every now
and then stood up and looked around for the sail which never appeared, or
for the light which, shining through the darkness, should give token that
help was at hand. Once indeed she saw the red light of a ship, and her
heart beat high; but the vessel went on its way, knowing nothing of the
lonely voyager.

The two biscuits were carefully hoarded, but at last not a crumb remained,
and for four days she was without food. But in telling her tale, Elizabeth
said that she suffered more from wet and from thirst than from hunger. To
allay her thirst, she used to lick the drops of rain from the window panes.
At last, becoming too weak to keep her constant watch, she tied herself
close to the hatchway, fearing lest she might roll away from her post of
observation, and be unable to get back to it. And so, for eight days, the
_Columbine_ and her passenger--so weak and helpless in herself, so strong
in her trust in God--drifted over the wild waves of the North Sea.

It was on Sunday morning, February 7th, that a vessel which had lost her
mast came ashore among the rocks near Aalesund, in sight of a crowd of
Norwegian villagers. As she drifted in, a woman's head was distinctly seen,
and a brave young fisherman, taking a rope with him, swam out to her,
climbed on board, and found Elizabeth tied to the hatchway, still alive,
still confident.

She was drawn ashore by the rope, and thus her long voyage to Norway ended.
She found herself among strangers truly, who spoke a tongue unknown to
her, but was kindly cared for at a farm-house, until she was sufficiently
recovered to be sent home to Shetland, where she received a letter which
must have, indeed surprised and pleased her. It was from our gracious
Queen, and contained a present for Elizabeth of twenty pounds. I am sure
you will like to read the letter, so here it is:

"WINDSOR CASTLE, _March 27th_, 1886.

"The Queen has been much touched by the account of the sufferings of Miss
Mouat, and was pleased to learn, by her brother's letter of the 20th, that
she is recovering her strength."

[Illustration: WINDSOR CASTLE.]

Do you not think Elizabeth must be very proud and pleased to show the
Queen's letter to those who ask her about her voyage to Norway?

A Norwegian gentleman, writing about the place where the dismasted,
unpiloted vessel drifted ashore, says:

"Had not the _Columbine_ been steered by an invisible but almighty Hand,
she would never have got clear of the thousands of rocks. So furious was
the storm that all the boats not taken ashore went down at their moorings;
and yet the _Columbine_ escaped the network of rocks and skerries, and
picked out the only place where she could have beached!"

Elizabeth did not see the Lord Jesus walking upon the waves, and drawing
near to her in the dark night, as the disciples did; but surely she heard
His voice through the storm, hushing her spirit, and saying to her, as He
did to them, "It is I; be not afraid."

I know a little girl, older than Sharley or May, who is fond of repeating
a beautiful poem about the storm on the Lake of Galilee. Perhaps you would
like to learn it for your next hymn. It is called

"TO YONDER SIDE."

"Behind the hills of Naphtali
The sun went slowly down,
Leaving on mountain, tower, and tree
A tinge of golden brown.

"The cooling breath of evening woke
The waves of Galilee,
Till on the shore the waters broke
In softest melody.

"'Now launch the bark,' the Saviour cried;
The chosen Twelve stood by;
'And let us cross to yonder side,
Where the hills are steep and high.'

"Gently the bark o'er the waters creeps,
While the swelling sail they spread;
And the wearied Saviour gently sleeps,
With a pillow 'neath His head.

"On downy bed the world seeks rest;
Sleep flies the guilty eye;
But he who leans on the Father's breast,
May sleep when storms are nigh.

"But soon the lowering sky grew dark
O'er Bashan's rocky brow;
The storm rushed down upon the bark,
And waves dashed o'er the prow.

"The pale disciples trembling spake,
While yawned the watery grave;
'We perish, Master--Master, wake;
Carest Thou not to save?'

"Calmly He rose with sovereign will,
And hushed the storm to rest;
'Ye waves,' He whispered, 'Peace, be still!'
They calmed like a pardoned breast.

"So have I seen a fearful storm
O'er wakened sinner roll,
Till Jesus' voice and Jesus' form
Said, 'Peace, thou weary soul'

"And now He bends His gentle eye
His wondering followers o'er;
'Why raise this unbelieving cry?
I said, To yonder shore.'

John Crace digests High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Review: The Thin Blue Line: How Humanitarianism Went to War by Conor FoleyAid worker Foley conducts a fascinating and important analysis of recent wars and disasters around the world, says Steven Poole

Review: Under Two Dictators: Prisoner of Stalin and Hitler by Margarete Buber-Neumann

He might be almost 90 years old in real terms, but Christopher Robin and his bear of very little brain are set to make a literary comeback after the estate of AA Milne agreed to authorise the first-ever official sequel to the much-loved children's books.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by author David Benedictus picks up from the poignant ending of Milne's last Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner, in which Christopher Robin is growing up and heading away to school. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred," he tells the bear, and they leave together.

The estates of Milne and EH Shepard, who provided the simple but enduring illustrations for the books, said they had been searching for a sequel that would do justice to the original stories for "a good many years".

Although Disney has franchised the characters in a number of films, there has not previously been an authorised literary sequel to Milne's books, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, first published in 1926 and 1928. Milne wrote the books for his son Christopher Robin, naming Pooh after his teddy bear.

The sequel, to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin imprint Dutton Children's Books in the US, is due out on 5 October, illustrated by Mark Burgess. Benedictus, who is familiar with the world of Winnie the Pooh after adapting and producing audio versions of the books starring Judi Dench, Stephen Fry and Jane Horrocks, did not reveal any more details, but promised that the book would both "complement and maintain Milne's idea that whatever happens, a little boy and his bear will always be playing".

Michael Brown, chairman of Pooh Properties, which manages the affairs of the Milne and Shepard estates, said the sequel would capture "the spirit and quality" of the original books.

Benedictus said all Milne's well-loved characters, from Tigger to Eeyore, would be making an appearance in his sequel, which features 10 stories and around 150 illustrations. The stories retain their original 1920s setting.

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Review: The Error World: An Affair with Stamps by Simon Garfield

One might say that Margarete Buber-Neumann had a charmed life, had it not been so horrible. She was fortunate - if that is the word - to be sent to a Soviet labour camp in 1939, during a momentary lull in the mass shooting of prisoners. Handed over to the Nazis in 1940, she was similarly lucky to be released from an SS concentration camp in 1945, just days before the remaining prisoners were forced on evacuation marches ending in death. It is a measure of the dismal times she lived through that such events marked her as fortunate, and it is a testament to her skill as a writer that this thoughtful, humane memoir (published in English in 1949) became an international bestseller. From the very first page we are with her, scurrying through Moscow surrounded by images of Stalin. We accompany her throughout the gruelling years ahead, encountering a host of characters, good and bad, and share in her dogged attempt to make sense of the madness of totalitarianism. This revised text is the definitive edition.

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