A very early fairy tale based around the Blowhole at Kiama by F. S. Wilson (Frederick Sydney Wilson, 1830-1901) who was a journalist and poet who contributed pieces to various colonial publications until the mid-1870s when he joined the Anglican ministry later becoming Archdeacon of Bourke, New South Wales.
"To thee the love of women hath gone down.
Dark roll thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown;
Yet
must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead !
Earth shall reclaim her precious
things from thee;
Restore, restore the dead, thou Sea!" HEMANS
The sunlight glinted right joyously over the undulating line
of western hills rilling in the background as you glanced from seaward
over the quiet little town of Kiama. Here, the dusty red band of road leading
inland, stretched abruptly from the foot of the town to the ridge of Pike's
Hill, and then fell away quite as suddenly to the green mountain belted slopes
and flats of Jamberoo. At different heights on the hill overlooking Kiama, cottages
peeped archly from snug coverts of orange trees, and sent up curling lines of
smoke to tremble and melt in the breezy air. Over some of the paddocks, shuffling herds of cattle were
lazily jogging home to be milked ; while a few bullock teams were leaving the
steamer's wharf, on the route to Jamberoo or Gerringong, trotting along to the
rough music of the jangling dray-bells, the shouting of the drivers, and the
lusty barking of the cattle dogs.
The harbour slumbered in the snowy arms of the sand-beaches,
heaving softly up and down, as if just breathing in its sleep; and a little
line of glittering waves fondled the rocks, and lifted the sea-weed clinging to
them, as tenderly as a lover would pass his fingers beneath a shower of sunny
curls. Leaving these, the eye could travel along the coast,
catching glimpses of white and patches of brilliant green, dashed out, here and
there by abrupt masses of sombre rock, round which - the sea waves began to
curl in an angrier mood, till the vision was bounded by the faint line of reef
trending away far to the north, where the steamer bound for Sydney had already
disappeared.
Leaving the group of idlers on the wharf, and passing
through the crowd clustering about the horse-yards and verandah of the Steam
Packet Inn, we rise on the Flagstaff Hill until the fresh sea-wind scatters the
curls from our faces, and the smell of brine and the sound of tumbling waters
washing among caverned rocks, and the deep music of wives dripping and gurgling
among the hidden nooks, falls pleasantly on the senses. Towards the extreme eastern point is situated that
remarkable natural curiosity, commonly known to residents in the district as
the Thunder Cave, or Blow Hole, a spot well calculated to inspire the
beholder with feelings of awe, and fill him with pleasurable wonderment.
The action of the rollers heaving in from the Pacific for
successive ages has caused huge blocks of rock to fall from their places, and
fragment after fragment has yielded to wind and wave, until the sea, forcing
its way along a subterranean tunnel, has burst through the end, where the land
now slopes in an irregular basin-like hollow towards the rude aperture. Even in the calmest weather lies fathoms deep along the
fractured floor of the cavern, looking sombre and gloomy enough when viewed
from above; but when the heavy roll of the Pacific sets in, the huge billows
filling the passage from floor to floor, rush through the intense darkness,
tearing bunches of leathery kelp from the slippery sides, and, dashing through
the Blow Hole, cast up a glittering tower of spray, thirty to fifty feet in height, sending its thunder for miles along shore, while the sparkling mist
comes sifting landwards.
Down by this fantastic piece of Nature's handiwork sat Milly
Grafford on the evening in which my story opens, thinking of Christmas days
long since passed, and faces long since seen, but fresh in memory. Her face was
one of those on which the searcher for beauty, after gazing for some time,
might pass his opinion, that "there was nothing in it;" but it
possessed a look of indefinable sweet-ness that attracted you without your
scarcely knowing why, and filled you with ambition to get a merrier curl on
those quiet lips, and a merrier twinkle from those full hazel eyes, down-drop
and tender.
A straw hat hung from her arm by its broad ribbon-strings,
and the gusts of salt wind didn't at all seem to like her dark hair smoothed in
such matronly folds; so, furtively shaking out one or two glossy locks, it
whistled and chuckled right mischievously, as if it had never been brought up
to any thing sober, staid, and serious! Very pleasant it was, though, for all
that, and so was the charming touch of sunshine that shimmered like a saintly
halo around her head!
Everything and everybody it seems loved gentle Aunt Milly,
and the blustering breeze and glorious sunbeam formed no exception to the
general rule. Full and deep was the sorrow that had tested her heart, and
settled that calm cloud of melancholy over her face; and as she gazed out to
seaward where the blue line of horizon already seemed fading into purple
shadow, she could only compare with it the closing shadows of her own weariful
existence. The vessel carrying the rich freight of her heart's holiest and
deepest affections had faded far out beyond that dim outline of tossing waters; and after it her memory wandered in ceaseless search, returning oft and again
to her tireless heart, having found no rest for the sole of its foot.
How bright and happy Nature looked without-how sad and lonely
she felt within yet, as the wind floated about the cliffs, she fancied she
could almost hear it singing the words, 'Wait for the morrow-wait for the
morrow," and the waves tumbling over each other got up a tremendous song,
full of hope and heart cheer, singing of how they went and ever returned,
constant as true love, and every tiny ripple joined its tinkling voice, and
chorussed, "So he will return so he
will come back." Their friendly faces began to peer from rocky crannies,
whispering comfort to Aunt Milly, of fadeless love and bright Christmas days to
come.
The drifting spray from the Blow Hole, rapidly increasing in
volume under the auspices of a rising southerly gale, bore on its misty
particles an arch of glowing prismatic splendour; and as Aunt Milly looked at
it, leaning back in a convenient rocky hollow, she began to read the cheering
words, 'Hope on, hope ever!" in every glorious band of its dazzling
colours.
Suddenly the chime of dashing waters resolved themselves
into delicious music-a deep, solemn strain of harmony, like the grand swelling
notes of a cathedral organ-a thunder of sweet low sounds ; then came the burst
of mighty sea-bells, mingled with the chimes of smaller ones, whose tinkling
melody sung, "Welcome to the merry Christmastime!" At it they went,
clashing and clanging, and chinkling and rumbling, loudly and lustily, nearer
and nearer, until they seemed to be approaching the storm-worn aperture of the
cavern! Then came trooping forth crowds of sea fairies with golden hair flecked
with ocean spray, and robes curiously wrought of the sunny sea-serge; some had
their tresses looped up with twigs of blood-red or snowy coral and sparkling
sea blossoms, while others were girdled with feathery garlands of sea ferns,
gold and green; and all bore shells of every imaginable shape, size, and
colour, from which they rang out the most enchanting melody in a right glad
welcome song to merry, merry Christmas !
In the midst of this
cloud of airy beings, one ascended who seemed to command the reverence and
obedience of the remainder: for while two or three placed a light
mother-o'-pearl throne on the cavern's edge, the rest drew round it, glancing
curiously at Aunt Milly, and awaiting their leader's pleasure. This personage
was a fairy fragile-looking girl, whose limbs were most exquisitely
proportioned, and whoso features bore the impress of queenly beauty. The gold
washed from the creeks of Australia was not brighter than the ringlets of this
fair being; and they played about her snowy arms and shoulders until they
fondled a waist zoned by a blue girdle, on the centre of which shone five
dazzling stars-the Southern Cross of this sunny land!
Her robe was formed of a gauzy texture, woven from the
rainbow-bubbles of the ocean-surf; and the play of her polished limbs could be
discerned under its half-transparent folds. Bunches of coral and
delicately-tinted sea-flowers gemmed with spray-drops were looped about it at
intervals, aud a wreath of pearls, twined among her golden curls, rested lightly
on her forehead. In her hand she carried a tapering wand, formed of
glittering gems, and surmounted with a diamond, which shot forth flashes of
brilliant light, and seemed to possess the power of calling every feature upon
which it rested into good humour and kindliness.
All this time the attendants of this ocean-nymph had been
untiringly chiming out their Christmas music; but when she lightly waved her
wand, the melody ceased, and all turned their gaze to Aunt Milly. Inexpressible love and gentleness beamed in the eyes, and
twinkled about the mouth, of the fairy queen, as she looked on that pale,
patient face, and addressed Aunt Milly in a voice soft as the wind passing
through a shell: "Mortal! what dost thou here? and why wear so sad a
countenance in a season consecrated to joy and happiness ?" This demand so completely surprised the person to whom it
was addressed, that she could not reply; but her questioner, scarcely pausing,
continued in a still gentler tone: "Never mind! I know your troubles and
your sorrows, and can fully sympathise with you. Nay, more-I may have it in my
power to flush that pale cheek with startling tidings, and bring back, sensible
to sight and feeling, that which can only how be regarded as a sorrowful
remembrance !"
At these words Aunt Milly so far mastered her amazement as
to inquire the nature of the strange being who stood before her. "Who am I ?" repeated the fairy being - breaking
into a silvery laugh, at which all her attendants rang a merry peal upon their
bells" I am Christmas !"-the Australian Christmas queen of the
brightest land the sunshine ever gladdened! This is my palace home - but once
a-year, at this hallowed season, I girdle the mighty coasts, and send this
darting light into the hearts of old and young, sad and gay. See! mark its brilliance!" she continued, twirling her starry wand, "it's light is love. Waved over the saddest spirit it heals it for the
time, and infuses a merrier feeling into the hearts of the merriest! But my
task for the next four-and-twenty hours is one which will . not admit of
loitering: before to-morrow night falls thousands will have felt the influence
I bear about with me-thousands who have suffered three hundred and sixty-four
days of wretchedness will And in their dark lives a gleam of joy tomorrow!-thousands who have cherished dark, revengeful, and forgiving thoughts
through the past year will find them sunned away to-morrow! Thousands who
have waited and watched through years of almost hopeless love will find their
clouds dispersed tomorrow ! Among the last there is yourself patiently, with
fond and trustful love, you have watched and waited through the night of many
years: but Christmas brings a balm for you, as well as for others. No heart
ever loved on, in firm undying faith, that did not receive its reward at last;
and I know you, Milly Grafford, that through many, many months of sickening
hope-destroying doubt you have been true to the last!"
At these words the whole troop of Australian Christmas
spirits caught up the refrain "True to the last! true to the last!"
ringing it out musically from the bells ; and one tiny imp gave vent to such
exuberant mirth that he lost his balance, and tunbled into the cavern's yawning
mouth, from whence he was speedily ejected by a mighty billow, covered with
spray!
"Time hastens," pursued Christmas, "and so must we. It will not allow of a long story in words but watch these pictures
as they pass and fade -they will tell their own tale." Standing on the
verge of the chasm she waved her wand until the sheet of filmy spray thickened
into a dazzling screen, illumined with a pale golden light. As she struck her wand over the screen, as a painter would
work before his canvas, shadows began to flit across it ; and these quickly
resolved themselves into light and color, till a picture intensely real hovered
upon it. There was an old school-house, a long red-brick-ed building,
with little diamond panes in the casement, so long and narrow as if they were
trying to squeeze through slits in the wall, to get away from the pleasant
warmth glisten-ing within, to where the cold dark glossy leaves of the ivy were clustering without. It seemed to be Christmas long, long ago in a far-off distant land; for though the sound of merry bells came floating through the air, the
snow spread its white sheet over the land, and rested in heavy clots on the
leafless trees and fences. Two children stood by the door of the schoolhouse, with tears resting on their ruddy cheeks, and childish hearts big with,
sorrow. The girl was leaving for home, and her companion, the lonely boy of the school, was to remain to
drag out the wearisome holidays, so full of fun and happiness to other people.
Kisses-warm, pure kisses, such as only childhood knows were
given on trembling lips; then the girl was lifted into a chaize, the wheels
whirled rapidly through the snow, and the boy stood by the gate-alone! Quickly the picture grew dim and hazy, and where the
semblance of the schoolhouse had been, a long blue line of sea spread out;
with stately ships and fishing crafts lifting on the waves, and boats drawn up
on the shingly beach. A girl, whose features, though shadowed by sickness, wore
the counterpart (of the child's face seen in the former picture, reclined in an
invalid's chair, and glanced out at the sea so full of life and motion, and so
strangely different to the pulseless languour she herself experienced. A man
servant, who drew the vehicle, was humouring the watery propensities of an
unruly Newfoundland dog, who persisted in bringing out everything that was thrown in the tide, and ever and anon shook the water virgorously from his shaggy coat. The figure of a youth,
strangely like the lonely boy at the school, passed the beach, and, after
questioning the servant, advanced to the sick girl, clasping her hand with wild
energy; a few fervent words were interchanged, and the light of love was suffusing their faces as the scene
changed and showed a vessel crowded with sail, winging her flight to Australia,
and leaving the white shores of England in the distance.
These gradually melted in the gathering mist, and the ship
seemed to traverse many hundred miles of her outward voyage, when suddenly a
streak of smoke curled up quietly from the hatch, accompanied by an alarmed
crowd of passengers, and these again were followed by tongues of glittering
flame, which twisted themselves like flying fiery serpents about the tarry
cordage, and leaped from shroud to shroud ! Hoarse voices shouted commands, to
obey which was utterly impossible; and these, mingled with the screams of
women and children, surging wildly up in the dark, smoke-laden air.
Men sang away cheerily enough, and drew water to cast it on
the deck, while others cleared away the boats, hitrriedly storing them, and
lowering into them a timid freight of women and children. Still nothing stayed
the fire-patches of burning canvas whirled off into the night-masts and spars
toppled and fell, till at last the flames seemed licking up the very ocean!
Then there was a dull roaring explosion, and only fragments of charred timbers,
together with three heavily-laden boats, dotted the dull waste of waters.
Again the sunlight seemed to breathe over the picture,
brightening it into daylight, and disclosing the boats drifting heavily along. This seemed to be their situation for many weary days, until
exposure and famine had thinned the boats of their sickliest passengers then a
white speck, bike a sea-gull's wing, rose on the horizon, gradually shaping
into a brig, until attracted by their signal she bore down upon them, and took
on board the survivors of the ill-fated 'Agenoria'.
"These are phantoms of a few incidents occurring in
your own life, and in the life of one far dearer than self to you ! said the
Spirit of Christmas. But patience and unswerving affection shall be rewarded. A
mighty power has held the golden cords that bound your loving hearts together;
and now the twining ends, for many years so far apart, are beginning to enfold
and draw towards each other. Ah! if all hearts were as faithful as your own,
dear Milly, many sorrows that now shadow the world would melt into brightness !
"But time speeds; I must away to other business, none
of I which will be more pleasurable than that I am now transacting. Here, Milly, is something to hold in trust, as an earnest of something better to come. It is an Australian Christmas-box, and with it
accept the blessings of one who, although a spirit, loves those mortals who are true to the last!"
As she spoke, Christmas placed a packet at Aunt Milly's
feet, and then retreating into the cloud of misty spray, she floated softly
into the cavern followed by her attendants, who each and all saluted wondering
Aunt Milly with a parting smile and a. merry peal on their sea-bells, as they
sank from sight.
When they had entirely vanished, Milly Grafford rubbed her
eyes to satisfy herself that she had not been dreaming. The sunshine shot over
the rocks in a perfect flood of glory, and the sparkling spray rose from the
Blow Hole like a snowy tower surmounted, spanned by a rainbow of dazzling
beauty. All this was real and right enough, just as it had been when she sat herself first beside the cave. Nothing was wanting but Christmas and her
train of fairy followers !
Aunt Milly sighed involuntarily, to think how fancy had
cheated her senses; then feeling cramped at having reclined so-long in one
position on a rough couch of rock, she rose to wend her way home again before
the sim sank behind the ridge of western hills. As she turned to depart her eyes encountered an object lying
at her feet, that drove the life-blood back from its veins, and almost chilled
it at its fountain!
Apparently it was something cast up by the waves, and rested wet and dripping on the verge of the Blow Hole. On
examination, it proved to be a bottle clustered with seaweeds and barnacles, as if it had drifted for months to and fro on the waves, at the mercy of' changing currents ; still through
its slime covered sides. Aunt Milly could perceive that it contained papers and
snatching it up, she fled homewards with a wild tremor fluttering her heart,
confident that she was on the verge of some important discovery.
And an important discovery was made when the cork was
extracted from the ocean waif, and sundry
papers were released from their glassy prison, papers penned, or rather pencilled, by the
very fingers of the missing Fred Langholme! They gave a rough, guess at the
vessel's position on the chart-no observation having been taken and were
brief announcements of peril and suffering: "Ship Agenoria,
Wilfington, commander; sailed from London August 23, 18-; now burnt to water's edge. Passengers and crew all safe
at present, stowed in three boats, but dreadfully crowded.
Provisions scanty. Only chance of safety, being picked up by a passing vessel.
God send help soon ! FRED LANGHOLME. "
"Thank Heaven there is a chance of his still being
alive!" cried Milly, bursting into tears, and clasping this roughly written, mean-looking scrap of paper as if it constituted her prize ticket in
the lottery of Hope and Love. Mr. Grafford gave it as his opinion that there was a very strong possibility of young Langholme
having escaped; and Mr. Phelim O'Grady, who happened to be in the room, asserted
that there was no "chance about it at all at all, but all sure sartinty :
'cause why? thim fairies had pledged their word to bring all fair an' square ;
and who-ever heard of the fairy folk bein' guilty of falsehood ? Not he, no,
nor any one who ever had any dalings wid thim !"
As for the possibility of Aunt Milly having dreamed all
about the Christmas spirits, Mr. Phelim indignantly repudiated any
such idea. "Sure an' they cudn't be no dhramin' about it ! There was what
they had said and showed about the vessel bein' burnt at say ! an' there was
the bottle of papers to the fore to prove it a dumb witness spakin' as if to
the truth of all that the good people had said!"
In fact, when some of the other servants in the kitchen
ventured to hint that Miss Milly had fallen asleep, Phelim wrathfully quitted
the company of such unbelievers, and went to the lucky spot (as he termed
the Blow Hole), to try whether he himself couldn't dream some piece of good
fortune relative to the exact latitude and longtitude of the pot of gold he had
once dreamed of before.
But, after all, he only dreamt that he had fallen out of
bed, and found his dream verified and himself lying several feet below where he had perched himself, with a
thundering blimp on the back of his head, never before idefined by
phrenologists.
And as to the bright sunny Christmas morning, when it came,
who do you think came with it ? Well, there's no use in making story longer
than necessary, and I, for one, dislike keeping people in suspense, so I may as well tell you at once,
that when the 'Kiama ' ran alongside the buoy and took up her moorings, a sun
burnt-looking sailor-fellow came ashore with the other passengers, and made
enquiries for Mr. Grafford's house.
Yes ! just as you have guessed dear reader, it was none
other - than Fred Langholme! I did not intend to tell you, until he had met
Aunt Milly, and she had fainted in his arms, and then laughed, and cried
herself into composure again; but such scenes when the one long-loved and
mourned for comes back, as it were from the dead, are too holy and sacred for
other eyes to gaze upon.
Mr. Phelim O'Grady was one of the first to get wind of the
new arrival, and he cried "Hooray for Miss Milly! and hooray for the
lost shape, Mister Fred! and hooray for everybody especially hooray for the
good people of the sea - the Australian Christmas Spirits!" and, finally,
Mr. Phelim was discovered by his master on the landing, kissing Mary, and certainly never foretold by the fairies, although Mr O'Grady wisely laid all
the blame on "them, the crathurs !"
If my province extended so far, I could go on to tell you
how Milly Grafford and Fred Langholme were married, but I am afraid such an
interesting event would claim a whole chapter to itself. One thing I am bound
to add, that when the ceremony was performed the health of the newly wedded
pair was drunk in wine poured from the bottle that had conveyed Fred's despatches.
Moreover, one and all joined in this toast "When adversity, time, or
distance would widen the gulf between two loving hearts, may each one prove
true to the last!"
THE END.
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