The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-05-21


Cod fisherman was this Mother
Anita" whose story / am going to
tell YOU, trauslating it from the rough
phrase Of the rude but kindly people
among whom I spent my last sum-
mer's vacation, into a few simple
words Of my own. I do not think
you will call if a sad story; it is not
such to me, although I traced It back
ward from its closing chapter written
on marble in the little graveyard.
MOTHER ANITA,
Age, rs.
Not sad, since death. coming how
ever early, cannot mar the proportions
of a beautiful life. The power Of the
iconoclast stops with outward form
the fair ideal remains for evermOre a
part of the world S incorTuptlble treas
ure.
Anita's sweet, foreign name suited
/ her we'll Perhaps It's choice had been
guided by some subtle mother instinct,
springing, arbUtus like, out of rough
soil and amidst the stern SHOWS Of
/ circumstances.
Her features were a rare study. COM
bining the beauty and nameless grace
/ for which we do not often look among
| those whose very life seems a cOntin-
ual war with hostile elements. But
/ Nature. In touching the face of her
/ child to a marvellous perfection, had
acted In tender obedience to the great
| law Of compensation, traceable
| through all the works and ways of GCd
for Anita was hopelessly bunch
| back. Her Geformity was the key to
all her life. Doomed to a certain
| solitude and isolation from the work
and play Of her sturdy brothers and
sisters, debarred from active partici-
/ patton in so many Of their interests,
! the child was thoughtful and sensi-
tive far beyond her years.
Some natures thus shut in by bod
/ lily infrmity have contracted upon
/ themselves, like the old torture
chambers of the Inquisition. l
/ shudder even now to recollect how
once upon solitary journey, as our
! stage coach drove up to the lonely inn
| which marked a little country station,
! / saw, standing in the road side, with
averted face, a small figure no taller
than an ordinary child of FIVE or six
years old, but strangely broad shout
/ dered, [ thought, for one so young
and as | still looked curiously, it
turned about with a slow defiant
movement, and a woman S face gaZed
up at me, dark, bitter, despairing-
| the black eyes, under their heavy
| brows, full Of the fierce fire which
marked the gradual starvation OF a
soul
Anita's face expressed a far differ
ent history. The sorrowful mystery
OF her lot weighed very heavily upon
her, but could not shake her simple
trust that God who made her. remem-
bered and loved her still. The rough
fishermen, who often looked after her
with tender whispers as she passed,
felt, perhaps, that her brow grew
sanity under the crown of suffering,
although they would hardly have put
the vague fancy in words.
The long, low reach of sandy coast,
| extending for many miles along the
Cape is always peculiarly dangerous
for vessels disabled by a northwest
gale; but the Oldest sailors could re-
member no more fatal season than the
Fall and Winter when Anita was eight
years old. As many as twenty sails
were known to go to pieces in a single
dreadful day upon the bar outside the
harbOr Of the little fishing village.
There was no lack OF brave hearts
and willing hands to give aid, when
aid was possible; but too often human
strength and sympathy stood power
less on the shore and saw the pitiless
surges engulf their victims. leaving
no trace behind.
Sometimes an incoming wave, like
some huge feline creature, would toss
its helpless prey, in cruel sport, far
up the sandy beach, and so it hap
pened that one night a spar, with the
form of a woman lashed upon it, was
dropped at the very feet of Anita S
father, sturdy John Grey When the
piece of sail cloth fastened about her
was unwound, a child was found
tightly clasOed IN the arms of the
poor dead mOther-a little boy per-
/ haps a year old. John Grey, feeling
hastily for the little heart, thought
he discerned some lingering thrill OF
life. and set off for his cottage at a
swinging run, leaving his companions
to follow more slowly with their sad
der and heavier burden.
Anita. who had been standin1 al
the window. straining her eyes into
darkness, and listening in awe-struck
silence to the boom of the breakers
and the rush and roar of the storm
outside, met him at the door with
outstretched arms, and look which
seemed to comprehend the situation
in moment Scarce knowing why
he did SO, the fisherman laid the child
IN her arms. A wonderful light broke