A GOLD-DIGGER'S STORY. FOUNDED ON FACT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 636, 7 June 1870, Page 3

A GOLD-DIGGER'S STORY. FOUNDED ON FACT.

♦ [Conclusion.] The breeze had fallen as the sun went down; The vessel glided over a waveless sea, O'er which the moon her silvery light had thrown — A night more beautiful could scarcely be. The dim faint outline of St Margaret's Isle Showed in the distance through a misty haze. The songs and shouts so boisterous erewhile Had ceased, and sleep o'er erery traveller's eye Its spell had cast, and a profound repose Above, below, on earth, and in the sky, Reigned undisturbed. The steersman and the mate Alone were watching in the Golden Gate. Hark to that sound I—that1 — that low, sharp, crackling noise Breaking the stillness of the noiseless night! Is it the stamping of the men and boys, Or the planks groaning 'neath the shiploads weight ? " Hoy 1 calj the captain, Bill," the steersman cries. The boatswain in a drowsy voice replies, " Why, he's asleep ! He's been in bed this hour." " See— see ! the blaze ! O God, the ship's on fire I" * * * * Then did the waveless sea, the tranquil night, And the calm heavens' cloudless majesty, Look down upon a scene of wild affright — Of fierce despair and speechless agony. The flames burst forth on every side, and threw A lurid light on the surrounding woe. Groans, prayers, and curses ring upon the ■ , deck— The ship has now become one blazing wreck. But some can swim, and land is near — And hope is strong, and so is fear; And men dash down the vessel's side, Or clinging to a rope they glide Beneath that burning vessel's lee Into the waters, calm and free. Straight to the hazy shore they swim, With all the strength of will and limb, And love of life, which most can brace, A man who sees death face to face. Jean Brizieux was the first to leap Into the dark and awful deep. E'en 'midst that bold athletic throng, He was the strongest of the strong; And, spite the heavy weight he felt From the gold sewn within his belt, He had no fear; he saw the strandLife, hope, and safety were at hand; And darting forwards towards the coast, He was the foremost of that host.

What was that faint cry calling " Hold ! " So faint and yet so piercing ? What is that white form on the wave, That gesture so appealing ? Oh ! turn not back, bold swimmer now! More than your gold— your life's at stake ! That voice again — more faint and low — " Oh ! for the Blessed Virgin's sake, Whose Son died for us, take the child 1" A strong hand grasped the babe; a wild, Impassioned blessing— last farewell — Came sounding in the swimmer's ears, As the ship's blazing rafters fell, And linger'd in his brain for years. The waves closed o'er the mother's breast, Her arms were crossed as if at rest; Deeper and deeper sank her head, Pillow'd upon its ocean-bed. That floating form no more was seen, Till on the shore next day, at c'en, 'Twas found the tide had wafted there A fair white corpse with flaxen hair. Whilst o'er the sea a lurid light The raging conflagration threw, " Their desperate way the swimmers make Across the waters dark and blue. With throbbing brow and heaving chest, Why lags behind them Jean Brizieux ? And why from his pale livid lips Breaks forth the cry, "Mon Dieu! — Mon Dieu I" The child ! the gold ! They drag him down; The twofold burthen who could bear ! " Ay, gold is gold, and life is life !" His own words thunder in his ear. 'Tis vain ! his arm no longer cleaves With wonted strength the yielding waves. The baby's tightening grasp around His gasping throat the swimmer feels, And heavier near his heart the belt Which holds his gold; one look he steals At the sweet smiling infant face; One glance at Fortune's sunny gleams; One short brief struggle . . , no, not that! He never for one instant dreams From his own shelt'ring arms to fling In the cold waves that living thing. The belt is losed — the gold is gone I The man and child swim on alone ! *** . * . The deed which that true man had done Approving eyes had seen; Full well 'twas felt by all how great The sacrifice had been. And when the wreck'd and ruin'd band Met on the lonely coast, They gather'd round their comrade brave, And made it all their boast, That one amongst them had preferr'd A human life to gold; And vow'd that wheresoe'er they roved The story should be told. More than a hundred fathers found The rescued babe that day. They called him " Moses ;" all the crew Delight in turn to play With their new plaything — their new pet— Their little living toy; 'Twas strange how all those rude men loved The curly-headed boy. They fed him from their scanty stores— Their scraps of precious food, Brought from the burning ship whilst yet Her blacken'd raftera stood. And baby had the best, and ruled O'er all his nurses rough, Who never thought the little sprite Had care or love enough. They bore him in their arms each day, As o'er the desert strand They marched to San Gregorio's port A sobered, saddened band. Jean Brizieux sailed direct for France, And worked his passage there ; His golden dreams were banished, all His castles in the air. A poorer, yet a richer man, He felt himself to be, His only wealth the little child He rescued from the sea. And when foreboding thoughts arose Of shame and durance vile, Of long dull prison days and nights, Uncheered by baby's smile ; He gave the boy a hug, and said, " Bah ! alors, comme alors !" And laughed to see the urchin crawl About the cabin-floor. ***** Pour your snowy blossoms forth, Peach and pear and almond trees ; Hang your rosy garlands o'er, Wave them with yon waving breeze ; Follow, follow, gather flowersFlowers of every shape and hue. Deck the church, and deck the bowers ; Sprigs of broom and pansies blue, Poppies, harebells, cowslips bright, Starry daisies, pink and white, With green leaves in garlands weave, 'Tis the Annunciation Eve. Girls in snow-white caps are flying O'er the orchards, o'er the fields ; Boys in hills and woods are running ; Nature all her treasure yields. 'Tis the great teast of the Sisters ; 'Tis the Annunciation Eve ; Garlands for St. Vincent's altar, Hearts and hands unite to weave. " O Sister Vincent ! sister dear, Come, sister, you are wanted here ; A weary footsore man has brought A child he picked up out at sea— The fairest, sweetest boy that e'er Your eyes or mine did ever see." It was a touching sight to see Jean Brizieux's honest face the while, The sisters gathered round the babe, And chafed its hands and made it smile. That baby bore a charmed life; Upon the distant desert shore, A hundred fathers he had found, — And now as many mothers more ! Jean told his tale ; the sisters grieved, For the poor soul who died at sea ; Ma Soeur,* with her bright tranquil look,

* In the Order of St. Vincent de Paul, the Superior is distinguished by the simple title of "MaSceur.".

So calmly gay, so sweetly free, Into her own arms took the boy, Who laughed and played with her black beads. " Tis Mary's gift," she said, and smiled, As one accustomed to good deeds. And Jean went on and slept that night Within a prison's narrow cell ; And on his saddened ear next day The words of his hard sentence fell. To be imprisoned for twelve months, And then of martial service due, With heaTy heart and blighted name, The weary, lengthy term go through. He bowed his head in mute assent, He urged no plea, made no defence, And owned it just the man should pay For the unheeding youth's offence. But then, an aged gray-haired man — One of the veterans known to fame, A soldier of the " Grande armee," Whose title-deeds are in their nameArose to plead the conscript's cause. He did not do much more than tell His story as 'twas told to him ; He told it briefly, told it well. In a short speech he set against The boy's offence, the man's good deed ; He carried with him the whole court, And Jean's acquittal was decreed. Loud deafening cheers the verdict hailed, And as the prisoner walked along, A thousand hearts, a thousand hands, Were raised to bless him 'midst that throng. In every mouth were words of praise, And tears in every mother's eyes. When round about St. Vincent's home, The crowd have gathered, lustier cheers Break forth, w Long live the sister's all I Long live the servants of the poor 1 Long live the man who spurned the gold, And brought the orphan child ashore." Then Breton homes were open thrown To the good youth who did this deed, And scarce a man in all the town But craved to aid him in his need. Subscriptions were Boon raised in Vanues, And all throughout the Morhiban, To pay a substitute and stock A farm for the brave conscript Jean. It was a grand day when he made His entrance in his native place ; The news as quick as lightning spread, Joy beamed in every kindred face. The bells of the old church were rung, The youths went out with flag and band, The men all waved their hats and grasped, With rough goodwill the wanderer's hand. And maidens stood at cottage doors, To see Jacques Brizieux'a handsome son ; And hear and tell, with smile and blush, The generous deed the youth had done. And Marie Jeanne, " la jolie blonde," The village heiress, ▼owed thak&*r> Did ho butrwbo, to wed the man Who flung the glittering dross away. His father's joys, his mother's tears, 'Tis not for lightsome verse to tell, Nor the deep thanksgivings offered In the church he loved so well. Hid beneath life's common surface, Undißcerned by human eye, Depths of meaning strangely woven, In men's stories often lie. Starting points, decisive hours, Stand aa landmarks in their way, And eternity foreshadowed, Turns upon one act or day. Geohoiana Fullebton. •—Temple Bar.