THE WRECK ON THE GORTON SANDS.
"How hard the lot for sailors cast,
That they should roam
For years, to perish thus at last
In sight of home."--DIBDIN.
"Yes, sir; and she has dropped anchor at the tail of the Gorton
Sands."
"Her skipper's mad," cried Bob; "as mad as a March hare. Why it's
coming on to blow big guns from the south-east, or soon will be, and
if he doesn't trip it and be off, there won't be a stick of him left
together by moon-set. Don't look at him, Tom, he's no sailor."
"Five yawls, sir, tacking through Hewett's Channel. Foremost has got
into the blue, filled, and is running north away."
"Thank you, Tom. Fishermen, I suppose."
"There's a three-masted ship, sir, coming straight in from the east,
under all sail. But there isn't above a capful of wind."
"Did you say a ship, Tom? Now, be careful."
"Yes, sir; I'll look again. Now she's gone about, and I can see
she's a barque."
"Bravo, Tom! But mind you this, lad, I've seen a man had down from
aloft and receive four dozen at the grating, for just such a trifling
mistake as that."
"Now," continued Tom, "I can just raise the topga'nt sails of a ship
far away north. It is a ship right enough, sir. Appears to be on
the la'board tack, and standing over for the French coast."
"Fiddlesticks, Tom! She'll be about in half-an-hour."
"Why, sir," cried Tom presently, "four of the fishermen are crowding
all sail to the nor'ard, but the fifth----"
"Yes, Tom. What's the matter?"
"She's luffed, and hugging the Gortons!"
"See anything strange about her, Tom?"
"Never saw a yawl so deep in the water before. She can't be going
fishing, uncle. I see something else, sir, now."
"Well, Tom?"
"But what are you whistling for, Uncle Bob?"
"I'm whistling for the wind, lad."
"Oh, you needn't, sir! That--that--strange craft is bringing it up
with her. But I can't quite make her out. She is long and low, not
big; and carries a press of fore-and-aft sail on two thin masts."
"That isn't a very lucid nor very seaman-like description, Tom,"
cried Bob, laughing. "Has she any top-masts?"
"Ye--es, but----"
"But what?"
"But I can hardly see them. She seems in a hurry, but doesn't carry
topsails. She puzzles me."
"Ah, lad, she's playing a game! She's the d----l in disguise, Tom."
"Oh, uncle, if Ruth heard you!"
"That's what shore folks call these craft, Tom. Now the brig must
see the strange sail. What are they doing?"
"Why, they're signalling to the yawl, I think."
At this moment the trees caught the wind. The cedar rattled its
great limbs as if in proud defiance of any blast that could blow.
The pine trees waved their dark heads like the plumes on a
Highlander's bonnet. The elm trees rustled, then roared, and the
tapering poplars bent like fishing-rods before the force of the
breeze.
Uncle Bob laughed aloud.
"Hold firm there, lad," he shouted. His long illness had not
weakened his voice. "Don't get emptied out. I knew that I could
bring the wind by whistling."
"It is only a squall, I suppose, Uncle Bob?"
"That's all; but there's another to follow, and one or two more to
follow that. Then it'll settle down for a dirty night and blow a
sneezer. Look at the blackhead gulls going shrieking round your
head, Tom."
"But now, lad, tell me what's doing at sea. How does the sea itself
look, Tom?"
"Waves all flecked with froth, sir."
"With foam, Tom."
"Yes, foam I mean."
"Well, Tom, say so, else I'll have you down, sir, and introduce you
to the gunner's daughter. Liken the waves to white-maned horses if
you please, but not to quarts o' beer with good heads on them."
Tom was very busy up in the nest for the next few minutes. There was
some little difficulty in holding the telescope steady, owing to the
breeze, and Bob noticed that first he would direct it east and by
south, then south-east, then east by north.
"Oh, Uncle Bob," cried Tom at last, talking excitedly, "I do wish you
could come up here for a few minutes."
"Ah! lad, I wish I could. I'd give my left eye for that pleasure."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot you couldn't walk."
"Never mind. What's doing, my boy?"
"Why, sir, they've all gone mad."
"The brig was mad before, else she wouldn't have got so close to the
Gorton bank. What is she doing now?"
"Shaking loose her sails. And she's getting up anchor to be off."
"And the yawl, the deep one, uncle, has put right about, and is
driving north after the fishermen. Wind's gone two points more to
the south'ard now."
"I notice that, lad. It's only the play o' the squall. What about
the d----l in disguise, Tom?"
"She's mad too. Instead of taking in sail she has hoisted her
topsails, and she's heeling over till she looks like a paper kite, or
a kite's wake."
"How's her head?"
"She's close hauled, sir, and bearing down towards the brig."
"And the brig?"
"Just ready, sir. Going off on the sta'board tack."
"Close work, won't it be, Tom?"
"At least, I think she is----. Oh-h-h, uncle!"
"What is it, Tom? Speak, boy; tell me, quick."
"Why, she has----yes, Uncle Bob, she has missed stays, and is driving
on to the Corton sands. Oh, it's awful, awful!"
A pause of some minutes.
"Now she has struck. Down go the masts, and the seas are leaping
over her like wild hyenas."
"Heaven help the poor ship," said Uncle Bob. "What a lubber of a
skipper. I told him, Tom--I told him--at least, I told you. I don't
know exactly what I'm saying, Tom. But what's the yawl doing?"
"Carrying on, sir, heading right away north. But it's getting so
dark, what with the rising clouds and the dusk, that----."
"You're sure, Tom, the yawl is cracking on?"
"Sure, sir."
"The dastard, not to help her consort."
Tom looked down from aloft.
"The wind caught the last word, Uncle Bob," he shouted. "I didn't."
"I said 'consort,' Tom," cried Bob. "You don't understand the drama
that's being enacted before your eyes. Tom, it's a tragedy now.
That brig is or was a smuggler. They're not so likely to suspect
lubberly brigs of playing that game. The yawl was coming down with a
cargo to her. See, Tom. And the d----l in disguise is a government
sloop."
"I understand now. But, sir, I can just see that a boat has been
lowered from her, and is making straight for the wreck with a bit of
sail set."
"Bravo! bravo! I hope they'll save the men. The skipper deserves to
be choked in the Gorton sands. Now, lad, come below. Here is Ruth,
just heaving in sight at the other side of the bridge. Ah! Ruth,
lass, there is terrible news. The brig we talked about in the
morning has gone on shore on the tail of the Gorton bank. Heaven
help them, little sweetheart; but I fear by this time it is a sad
case."
Ruth put the end of her apron up to her eyes as if to shut out the
terrible vision of breaking spars and timbers, rolling surf, and
waves more than houses high.
"Come, Ruth," said Tom, touching the girl on the shoulder, "let us
wheel Uncle Bob home over the bridge. There is no time to lose."
"Why what does the boy mean?" said Uncle Bob.
"Wait, uncle, till you're in the house, and I'll tell you. Come,
Ruth, you pull and I'll shove. Heave-o-ee. There she goes. A
little more to sta'board, Ruth. That's it. Now then, steady as you
go; a long pull and a strong pull. Ruth, you're a beauty. What a
capital sailor's wife you'll make!"
Talking thus, with Bob smiling in spite of himself, in spite of the
tragedy he knew was at that moment being enacted on the Gorton sands,
Tom and Ruth speedily wheeled the invalid's cot towards and right
into his own wing of the cottage.
If ever a helpless man had a kind and thoughtful brother that man was
Uncle Bob. The whole aim and object of Daniel Brundell's life,
indeed, seemed to be to make the lad--as he often called Bob--happy
and snug; and in this good work he had a most faithful helpmeet in
his wife. As regards inventing invalids' comforts, I do believe that
such a man as Dan would in our days make his fortune. Let us follow
the cot on wheels for instance. Not into the house by the main
doorway was it taken, for it could not have been turned, but into
what was called 'Uncle's wing,' the door of which, although
surrounded by a rustic jasmine-covered porch, opened straight into
the room. Once inside, the cot was wheeled broadside on to a small
bed of the same height, a block and tackle were attached to the upper
or hammock portion of Bob's cot, both at the head and at the feet,
Ruth hoisted one end and Mrs. Brundell the other, and lo! in ten
seconds uncle was raised and swung easily and carefully on to his bed.
Then the cot was wheeled out to a dry shed till it should again be
required; the invalid's head and shoulders were raised, and he was
snug and happy for the evening. As a rule Tom fed the poor fellow,
but to-night the lad had something else on his mind.
"I'm going to drink a pint of milk," he said, "and put some bread and
cheese in my pocket to eat by the way, then run all the road to
Lunton Cave, and get Ashley's yawl under way to go round Gorton.
They'll meet the navy boat, won't they, uncle?"
"Why, boy," said Bob, "as soon as the navy boat saves whom she can
off the brig she'll stand off for the sloop, and be picked up."
"That she won't, uncle. I saw what you didn't."
"Well, boy?"
"Just before I came down I had another look, and could see that the
Government craft had filled sail, and was standing right away north
in pursuit of the yawl. So, of course, her boat will run in shore
and try to land at Gorton, or head away for the north pier at
Gorleston. Am I right, uncle?"
"Why, lad, I'm proud o' you! My own bringing up too. Right? Yes;
an admiral of the fleet couldn't be righter. Well, God speed you,
Tom. Strikes me, though, that the disguised sloop has all her work
cut out if she means to overhaul that yawl. They'll slip their cargo
over the bows without being seen, and the lighter she is the faster
she'll fly. Besides in the dark and storm----"
"Not so dark, though, uncle. There's a big round moon peeping up
already. But, good-bye, uncle, mother, and Ruth--I'm off."
And away he went, and certainly very little grass grew under his feet
ere he reached the fisherman's cave.
Ashley was there himself, and his two sons also, and Davies, a Welsh
fisherman, who lived at the cave. The yawl too was all ready in a
little artificial harbour the men had dug close to the cave in which
they lived.
Tom soon told his story, and the men were in no way loth to try their
luck at piloting, as they phrased it.
"But," said Ashley, "it'll be a dirty night, and we'll have to work
every inch o' the way to windward. Never mind, boys, it's to save
precious life!"
"Yes, yes," said Davies, "and doubtless we will have the king's money
too, into the bargain, Mr. Ashley."
Old Ashley looked at the man and laughed.
"Take care," he said, "you don't have to take the king's money in a
way you'd little relish, now you've married a nice young wife."
Ashley's sons laughed, and the Welshman was silent. The owner of the
yawl went up the steps to the door of the cave, which by-the-way had
once been a smuggler's den, but was now a comfortably-furnished
house, high above the sea-level, except during very high tides.
"You're surely not going fishing to-night!" cried Mrs. Ashley, a
tall, lanky woman, as brown as a gipsy.
"What if I were, good wife?" answered the old man gruffly. "Haven't
I been out on many a dirtier? See to it that you have plenty of hot
water, and some supper. We're expecting company."
"Maggie," he added, addressing a young and pretty woman, "you help
mother. There's been a wreck on the Gorton, and we're going to bear
a hand in saving life."
"All right, daddy," said Mrs. Davies.
He beckoned to her, and she followed him out.
"Is the brick cave safe?" he asked.
"Yes, daddy," she answered, surprise and alarm depicted on her face.
"But----are they _friends_?"
"No, not quite. Revenue."
Maggie nodded and smiled, and went indoors.
In a few minutes more the sail--all that could be carried--was
hoisted, and the yawl rushing out into the mist and darkness of a
squall, the spray dashing inward over the bows, while the cutwater,
rising and falling, struck angrily at each advancing wave.
The _Fairy_ yawl was a handy little craft, and, _sub rosâ_, had been
found handy in many ways as well as in fishing. The Ashleys used to
boast openly in Yarmouth harbour, that in the _Fairy_ they could go
anywhere and do anything, high water or low, blow or fine. And
everybody admitted that the _Fairy's_ crew were just as daring as
they looked.
It really wasn't all for the sake of gain, however, that the _Fairy_
was now braving the dangers of this ugly night, nor had Ashley
anything at all to do with the brig that had gone on shore. The old
man really had a good heart of his own, and he could not have borne
the thoughts of men drowning or clinging to the hull of a wreck
without his doing his best to save them.
"I don't think you should have come, boy," he said kindly to Tom.
"Here, get inside this spare oilskin, or bury yourself in the cuddy."
"Thank you, Mr. Ashley," said Tom, putting on the oilskin and an old
sou'wester, "but I like to look about me."
The sky soon cleared, and the moon was now well above the horizon,
and as they bore away on the sta'board tack everything around seemed
as bright as day. Indeed to Tom the cliffs on the shore they were
soon approaching looked most dangerously near.
But to old Ashley at the helm all was plain sailing. He could read
the sea around here, and the wild sand banks, and rock or cliff and
cloud, as one reads a book.