They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind grew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
--SIR PATRICK SPENS.--(Old Ballad.)
Guy’s evening with the Ashfords threw down many of the barriers in the
way of intimacy. He soon made friends with the children, beginning with
the two years old baby, and ending with gaining even the shy and sturdy
Robin, who could not hold out any longer, when it appeared that Sir
Guy could tell him the best place for finding sea-urchins, the present
objects of his affections.
‘But we should have to go through the park,’ said Edward,
disconsolately, when Guy had described the locality.
‘Well, why not?’
‘We must not go into the park!’ cried the children, in chorus.
‘Not go into the park!’ exclaimed Guy, looking at Mrs. Ashford, in
amazement; then, as it flashed on him that it was his part to give
leave, he added,--‘I did not know I was such a dog in the manger. I
thought all the parish walked naturally in the park. I don’t know what
else it is good for. If Markham will lock it up, I must tell him to give
you a key.’
The boys were to come the next day--to be shown the way to the bay of
urchins, and thenceforth they became his constant followers to such a
degree, that their parents feared they were very troublesome, but he
assured them to the contrary; and no mother in the world could have
found it in her heart to keep them away from so much happiness. There
was continually a rushing home with a joyous outcry,--‘Mamma! Sir Guy
gave me a ride on his horse!’ ‘Mamma! Sir Guy helped us to the top of
that great rock!’ ‘Oh, papa! Sir Guy says we may come out shooting with
him to-morrow, if you will let us!’ ‘Mamma! papa! look! Do you see? I
shot this rabbit my own self with Sir Guy’s gun!’ ‘Papa! papa! Sir Guy
showed us his boat, and he says he will take us out to the Shag Rock, if
you will give us leave!’
This was beyond what papa, still further beyond what mamma, could like,
since the sea was often very rough in parts near the Shag; there were
a good many sunken rocks, and boys, water, and rocks, did not appear by
any means a safe conjunction, so Mrs. Ashford put the matter off for the
present by the unseasonableness of the weather; and Mr. Ashford asked
one or two of the fishermen how far they thought landing on the Shag a
prudent attempt.
They did not profess to have often tried, they always avoided those
rocks; but it could hardly be very dangerous, they said, for when Sir
Guy was a boy, he used to be about there for ever, at first with an
old boatman, and afterwards alone in his little boat. They had often
wondered he was trusted there; but if any one knew the rocks, he did.
Still, Mrs. Ashford could not make up her mind to like the idea, and the
boys came to Sir Guy in a state of great discomposure.
‘Never mind’ he said, ‘perhaps we shall manage it in the summer. We will
get your father to go out with us himself; and, in the meantime, who
likes to come with me after the rabbits in Cliffstone Copse? Farmer
Holt will thank Robin for killing a dozen or so, for he makes grievous
complaints of them.’
Guy conducted the boys out of sight of the sea, and, to console them,
gave them so much more use of the gun than usual, that it might be
considered as a wonder that he escaped being shot. Yet it did not
prevent a few sighs being spent on the boating.
‘Can’t you forget it?’ said Guy, smiling. ‘You have no loss, after all,
for we are likely to have no boating weather this long time. Hark! don’t
you hear the ground-swell?’
‘What’s that?’ said the boys, standing still to listen to the distant
surge, like a continuous low moan, or roar, far, far away, though there
was no wind, and the sea was calm.
‘It is the sound that comes before stormy weather,’ said Guy. ‘It is as
if the sea was gathering up its forces for the tempest.’
‘But what?--how? Tell me what it really is,’ said Robin.
‘I suppose it is the wind on the sea before it has reached us,’ said
Guy. ‘How solemn it is!’
Too solemn for the boys, who began all manner of antics and noises, by
way of silencing the impression of awfulness. Guy laughed, and joined in
their fun; but as soon as they were gone home, he stood in silence for
a long time, listening to the sound, and recalling the mysterious dreams
and fancies with which it was connected in his boyhood, and which he had
never wished thus to drive away.
The storm he had predicted came on; and by the evening of the following
day, sea and wind were thundering, in their might, against the foot of
the crags. Guy looked from the window, the last thing at night, and
saw the stars twinkling overhead, with that extreme brilliancy which
is often seen in the intervals of fitful storms, and which suggested
thoughts that sent him to sleep in a vague, soothing dream.
He was wakened by one tremendous continued roar of sea, wind, and
thunder combined. Such was the darkness, that he could not see the form
of the window, till a sheet of pale blue lightning brought it fully out
for the moment. He sat up, and listened to the ‘glorious voice’ that
followed it, thought what an awful night at sea, and remembered when he
used to fancy it would be the height of felicity to have a shipwreck at
Redclyffe, and shocked Mrs. Bernard by inhuman wishes that a ship would
only come and be wrecked. How often had he watched, through sounds like
these, for a minute gun! Nay, he had once actually called up poor Arnaud
in the middle of the night for an imaginary signal. Redclyffe Bay was
a very dangerous one; a fine place for a wreck, with its precipitous
crags, its single safe landing-place, and the great Shag Stone, on the
eastern side, with a whole progeny of nearly sunken rocks, dreaded
in rough weather by the fishermen themselves; but it was out of the
ordinary track of vessels, and there were only a few traditions of
terrible wrecks long before his time.
It seemed as if he had worked up his fancy again, for the sound of a gun
was for a moment in his ear. It was lost in the rush of hail against the
window, and the moaning of the wind round the old house; but presently
it returned too surely to be imaginary. He sprang to the window, and the
broad, flickering glare of lightning revealed the black cliff and pale
sea-line; then all was dark and still, while the storm was holding
its breath for the thunder-burst which in a few more seconds rolled
overhead, shaking door and window throughout the house. As the awful
sound died away, in a moment’s lull, came the gun again. He threw up the
window, and as the blast of wind and rain swept howling into the room,
it brought another report.
To close the window, light his candle, throw on his clothes, and hasten
down-stairs, was the work of a very few seconds. Luckily, the key of
the boat-house was lying on the table in the hall, where he had left it,
after showing the boat to the Ashford boys; he seized it, caught up the
pocket telescope, put on a rough coat, and proceeded to undo the endless
fastenings of the hall-door, a very patience-trying occupation; and,
when completed, the gusts that were eddying round the house, ready to
force their way in everywhere, took advantage of the first opening to
blow out his candle.
However, they had in one way done good service, for the shower had
been as brief as it was violent, and the inky cloud was drifting away
furiously towards the east, leaving the moon visible, near her setting,
and allowing her white cold light to shine forth, contrasting with the
distant sheets of pale lightning, growing fainter and fainter.
Guy ran across the court, round to the west side of the house, and
struggled up the slope in the face of the wind, which almost swept him
down again; and when at length he had gained the summit, came rushing
against him with such force that he could hardly stand. He did, however,
keep his ground, and gazed out over the sea. The swell was fearful;
marked by the silver light on one side, where it caught the moonbeams,
and the black shade on the other, ever alternating, so that the eye
could, not fix on them for a moment; the spray leapt high in its
whiteness, and the Shag stood up hard, bold, and black. The waves
thundered, bursting on the cliff and, high as he stood, the spray dashed
almost blinding in his face, while the wind howled round him, as if
gathering its might for the very purpose of wrenching him from the
cliff; but he stood firm, and looked out again, to discern clearly
what he thought he had seen. It was the mast of a vessel, seen plainly
against the light silvery distance of sea on the reef west of the Shag.
It was in a slanting direction, and did not move; he could not doubt
that the ship had struck on the dangerous rocks at the entrance of the
bay; and as his eyes became more accustomed to the unusual light, and
made out what objects were or were not familiar, he could perceive the
ship herself. He looked with the glass, but could see no one on board,
nor were any boats in sight; but observing some of the lesser rocks,
he beheld some moving figures on them. Help!--instant help!--was his
thought; and he looked towards the Cove. Lights were in the cottage
windows, and a few sounds came up to him, as if the fishing population
were astir.
He hastened to the side of the cliff, which was partly clothed with
brushwood. There was a descent--it could hardly be called a path--which
no one ventured to attempt but himself and a few of the boldest
birds’-nesting boys of the village; but he could lose no time, and
scrambling, leaping, swinging himself by the branches, he reached the
foot of the cliff in safety, and in five minutes more was on the little
quay at the end of the steep street of the Cove.
The quay was crowded with the fisher-people, and there was a strange
confusion of voices; some saying all was lost; some that the crew had
got to the rock; others, that some one ought to put off and help them;
others, that a boat would never live in such a sea; and an old telescope
was in great requisition.
Ben Robinson, a tall, hardy young man, of five-and-twenty, wild,
reckless, high-spirited and full of mischief and adventure, was standing
on a pile at the extreme verge above the foaming water, daring the
others to go with him to the rescue; and, though Jonas Ledbury, a feeble
old man, was declaring, in a piteous tone, it was a sin and a shame to
let so many poor creatures be lost in sight, without one man stirring to
help them; yet all stood irresolute, watching the white breakers dashing
on the Shag, and the high waves that swelled and rolled between.
‘Do you know where the crew are?’ exclaimed Guy, shouting as loud as he
could, for the noise of the winds and waves was tremendous.
‘There, sir, on the flat black stone,’ said the fortunate possessor
of the telescope. ‘Some ten or eleven of them, I fancy, all huddled
together.’
‘Ay, ay!’ said old Ledbury. ‘Poor creatures! there they be; and what
is to be done, I can’t say! I never saw a boat in such a sea, since the
night poor Jack, my brother, was lost, and Will Ray with him.’
‘I see them,’ said Guy, who had in the meantime looked through his
glass. ‘How soon is high water?’
It was an important question, for the rocks round the Shag were covered
before full tide, even when the water was still. There was a looking up
at the moon, and then Guy and the fishermen simultaneously exclaimed,
that it would be in three hours; which gave scarcely an hour to spare.
Without another word, Guy sprang from the quay to the boat-house,
unlocked it, and, by example, showed that the largest boat was to be
brought out. The men helped him vigorously, and it stood on the narrow
pebbly beach, the only safe landing-place in the whole bay; he
threw into it a coil of rope, and called out in his clear commanding
voice--‘Five to go with me!’
Hanging back was at an end. They were brave men, who had wanted nothing
but a leader, and with Sir Guy at their head, were ready for anything.
Not five, but five-and-twenty were at his command; and even in the hurry
of the moment, a strong, affectionate feeling filled his eyes with tears
as he saw these poor fellows ready to trust their lives in his hands.
‘Thank you--thank you!’ he exclaimed. ‘Not all, though; you, Ben
Robinson, Harry Ray, Charles Ray, Ben Ledbury, Wat Green.’
They were all young men, without families, such as could best be spared;
and each, as his name was called, answered, ‘Here, Sir Guy!’ and came
forward with a resolute satisfied air.
‘It would be best to have a second boat,’ said Guy. ‘Mr. Brown,’ to the
owner of the telescope, ‘will you lend yours? ‘tis the strongest and
lightest. Thank you. Martin had best steer it, he knows the rocks;’ and
he went on to name the rest of the crew; but at the last there was a
moment’s pause, as if he doubted.
A tall athletic young fisherman took advantage of it to press forward.
‘Please your honour, Sir Guy, may not I go?’
‘Better not, Jem,’ answered Guy. ‘Remember,’ in a lower voice, ‘your
mother has no one but you. Here!’ he called, cheerfully, ‘Jack Horn, you
pull a good oar! Now, then, are we ready?’
‘All ready,--yes, sir!’
The boat was launched, not without great difficulty, in the face of such
a sea. The men stoutly took their oars, casting a look forward at the
rocks, then at the quay, and on the face of their young steersman.
Little they guessed the intense emotion that swelled in his breast as he
took the helm, to save life or to lose it; enjoying the enterprise, yet
with the thought that his lot might be early death; glad it was right
thus to venture, earnest to save those who had freely trusted to him,
and rapidly, though most earnestly, recalling his own repentance.
All this was in his mind, though nothing was on his face but cheerful
resolution.
Night though it was, tidings of the wreck had reached the upper part
of the village; and Mr. Ashford, putting his head out of his window to
learn the cause of the sounds in the street, was informed by many voices
that a ship was on the Shag reef, and that all were lost. To hasten
to the Cove to learn the truth, and see if any assistance could yet
be afforded, was his instant thought; and he had not taken many steps
before he was overtaken by a square, sturdy figure, wrapped in an
immense great-coat.
‘So, Mr. Markham, you are on your way to see about this wreck.’
‘Why, ay,’ said Markham, roughly, though not with the repellent manner
usual with him towards Mr. Ashford, ‘I must be there, or that boy will
be in the thickest of it. Wherever is mischief, there is he. I only
wonder he has not broken his neck long ago.’
‘By mischief, you mean danger?’
‘Yes. I hope he has not heard of this wreck, for if he has, no power on
earth would keep him back from it.’
Comparing the reports they had heard, the clergyman and steward walked
on, Markham’s anxiety actually making him friendly. They reached the top
of the steep street of the Cove; but though there was a good view of the
sea from thence, they could distinguish nothing, for another cloud was
rising, and had obscured the moon. They were soon on the quay, now still
more crowded, and heard the exclamations of those who were striving to
keep their eyes on the boats.
‘There’s one!’ ‘No!’ ‘Yes, ‘tis!’ ‘That’s Sir Guy’s!’
‘Sir Guy!’ exclaimed Markham. ‘You don’t mean he is gone? Then I am too
late! What could you be thinking of, you old fool, Jonas, to let that
boy go? You’ll never see him again, I can tell you. Mercy! Here comes
another squall! There’s an end of it, then!’
Markham seemed to derive some relief from railing at the fishermen,
singly and collectively, while Mr. Ashford tried to learn the real
facts, and gather opinions as to the chance of safety. The old fishermen
held that there was frightful risk, though the attempt was far from
hopeless; they said the young men were all good at their oars, Sir Guy
knew the rocks very well, and the chief fear was, that he might not know
how to steer in such a sea; but they had seen that, though daring,
he was not rash. They listened submissively to Mr. Markham, but
communicated in an under-tone to the vicar, how vain it would have been
to attempt to restrain Sir Guy.
‘Why, sir,’ said old James Robinson, ‘he spoke just like the captain of
a man-of-war, and for all Mr. Markham says, I don’t believe he’d have
been able to gainsay him.’
‘Your son is gone with him?’
‘Ay, sir; and I would not say one word to stop him. I know Sir Guy won’t
run him into risk for nothing; and I hope, please God, if Ben comes back
safe, it may be the steadying of him.’
‘’Twas he that volunteered to go before Sir Guy came, they say?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the old man, with a pleased yet melancholy look. ‘Ben’s
brave enough; but there’s the difference. He’d have done it for the
lark, and to dare the rest; but Sir Guy does it with thought, and
because it is right. I wish it may be the steadying of Ben!’
The shower rushed over them again, shorter and less violent than the
former one, but driving in most of the crowd, and only leaving on the
quay the vicar, the steward, and a few of the most anxious fishermen.
They could see nothing; for the dark slanting line of rain swept over
the waves, joining together the sea and thick low cloud; and the roaring
of the sea and moaning of the wind were fearful. No one spoke, till
at last the black edges of the Shag loomed clearer, the moon began to
glance through the skirts of the cloud, and the heaving and tossing of
the sea, became more discernible.
‘There!--there!’ shouted young Jem, the widow’s son.
‘The boats?’
‘One!’
‘Where?--where?--for heaven’s sake! That’s nothing!’ cried Markham.
‘Yes--yes! I see both,’ said Jem. ‘The glass! Where’s Mr. Brown’s
glass!’
Markham was trying to fix his own, but neither hand nor eye were
steady enough; he muttered,--‘Hang the glass!’ and paced up and down
in uncontrollable anxiety. Mr. Ashford turned with him, trying to
speak consolingly, and entirely liking the old man. Markham was not
ungrateful, but he was almost in despair.
‘It is the same over again!’ said he. ‘He is the age his father was,
though Mr. Morville never was such as he--never--how should he? He is
the last of them--the best--he would have been--he was. Would to heaven
I were with him, that, if he is lost, we might all go together.’
‘There, sir,’ called Jem, who, being forbidden to do anything but watch,
did so earnestly; ‘they be as far now as opposite West Cove. Don’t you
see them, in that light place?’
The moon had by this time gone down, but the first great light of dawn
was beginning to fall on the tall Shag, and show its fissures and dark
shades, instead of leaving it one hard, unbroken mass. Now and then Jem
thought he saw the boats; but never so distinctly as to convince the
watchers that they had not been swamped among the huge waves that
tumbled and foamed in that dangerous tract.
Mr. Ashford had borrowed Markham’s telescope, and was looking towards
the rock, where the shipwrecked crew had taken refuge.
‘There is some one out of the boat, climbing on the rocks. Can you make
him out, Jem?’
‘I see--I see,’ said Mr. Brown; ‘there are two of them. They are
climbing along the lee-side of the long ridge of rocks.’
‘Ay, ay,’ said old Ledbury; ‘they can’t get in a boat close to the flat
rocks, they must take out a line. Bold fellows!’
‘Where are the boats?’ asked Mr. Ashford.
‘I can tell that,’ said Ledbury; ‘they must have got under the lee of
the lesser Shag. There’s a ring there that Sir Guy had put in to moor
his boat to. They’ll be made fast there, and those two must be taking
the rope along that ledge, so as for the poor fellows on the rock to
have a hold of, as they creep along to where the boats are.’
‘Those broken rocks!’ said Mr. Ashford. ‘Can there be a footing, and in
such a sea?’
‘Can you give a guess who they be, sir?’ asked Robinson, earnestly. ‘If
you’d only let Jem have a look, maybe he could guess.’
Markham’s glass was at his service.
‘Hullo! what a sea! I see them now. That’s Ben going last--I know his
red cap. And the first--why, ‘tis Sir Guy himself!’
‘Don’t be such a fool, Jem’ cried Markham, angrily. ‘Sir Guy knows
better. Give me the glass.’
But when it was restored, Markham went on spying in silence, while
Brown, keeping fast possession of his own telescope, communicated his
observations.
‘Ay, I see them. Where are they? He’s climbing now. There’s a breaker
just there, will wash them off, as sure as they’re alive! I don’t see
‘em. Yes, I do--there’s Redcap! There’s something stirring on the rock!’
So they watched till, after an interval, in which the boats
disappeared behind the rocks, they were seen advancing over the waters
again--one--yes--both, and loaded. They came fast, they were in sight
of all, growing larger each moment, mounting on the crest of the huge
rolling waves, then plunged in the trough so long as to seem as if
they were lost, then rising--rising high as mountains. Over the roaring
waters came at length the sound of voices, a cheer, pitched in a
different key from the thunder of wind and wave; they almost fancied
they knew the voice that led the shout. Such a cheer as rose in answer,
from all the Redclyffe villagers, densely crowded on quay, and beach,
and every corner of standing ground!
The sun was just up, his beams gilded the crests of the leaping waves,
and the spray danced up, white and gay, round the tall rocks, whose
shadow was reflected in deep green, broken by the ever-moving swell. The
Shag and its attendant rocks, and the broken vessel, were bathed in the
clear morning light; the sky was of a beautiful blue, with magnificent
masses of dark cloud, the edges, where touched by the sunbeams, of a
pearly white; and across the bay, tracing behind them glittering streams
of light, came up the two boats with their freight of rescued lives.
Martin’s boat was the first to touch the landing-place.
‘All saved,’ he said; ‘all owing to him,’ pointing back to Sir Guy.
There was no time for questions; the wan, drenched sailors had to be
helped on shore, and the boat hauled up out of the way. In the meantime,
Guy, as he steered in past the quay, smiled and nodded to Mr. Ashford
and Markham, and renewed the call, ‘All safe!’ Mr. Ashford thought that
he had never seen anything brighter than his face--the eyes radiant in
the morning sun, the damp hair hanging round it, and life, energy, and
promptitude in every feature and movement.
The boat came in, the sailors were assisted out, partly by their
rescuers, partly by the spectators. Guy stood up, and, with one foot on
the seat, supported on his knee and against his arm a little boy, round
whom his great-coat was wrapped.
‘Here, Jem!’ he shouted, to his rejected volunteer, who had been very
active in bringing in the boat, ‘here’s something for you to do. This
poor little fellow has got a broken arm. Will you ask your mother to
take him in? She’s the best nurse in the parish. And send up for Mr.
Gregson.’
Jem received the boy as tenderly as he was given; and, with one bound,
Guy was by the side of his two friends. Mr. Ashford shook hands with
heartfelt gratulation; Markham exclaimed,--
‘There, Sir Guy, after the old fashion! Never was man so mad in this
world! I’ve done talking! You’ll never be content till you have got your
death. As if no one could do anything without you.’
‘Was it you who carried out the line on the rock?’ said Mr. Ashford.
‘Ben Robinson and I. I had often been there, after sea anemones and
weeds, and I had a rope round me, so don’t be angry, Markham.’
‘I have no more to say,’ answered Markham, almost surly. ‘I might as
well talk to a sea-gull at once. As if you had any right to throw away
your life!’
‘I enjoyed it too much to have anything to say for myself,’ said Guy;
‘besides, we must see after these poor men. There were two or three
nearly drowned. Is no one gone for Mr. Gregson?’
Mr. Gregson, the doctor, was already present, and no one who had
any authority could do anything but attend to the disposal of the
shipwrecked crew. Mr. Ashford went one way, Markham another, Guy a
third; but, between one cottage and another, Mr. Ashford learnt some
particulars. The crew had been found on a flat rock and the fishermen
had at first thought all their perils in vain, for it was impossible
to bring the boats up, on account of the rocks, which ran out in a long
reef. Sir Guy, who knew the place, steered to the sheltered spot where
he had been used to make fast his own little boat, and undertook to
make his way from thence to the rock where the crew had taken refuge,
carrying a rope to serve as a kind of hand-rail, when fastened from one
rock to the other. Ben insisted on sharing his peril, and they had
crept along the slippery, broken reefs, lashed by the surge, for such
a distance, that the fishermen shuddered as they spoke of the danger of
being torn off by the force of the waves, and dashed against the rocks.
Nothing else could have saved the crew. They had hardly accomplished the
passage through the rising tide, even with the aid of the rope and the
guidance of Sir Guy and Ben, and, before the boats had gone half a mile
on their return, the surge was tumbling furiously over the stones where
they had been found.
The sailors were safely disposed of, in bed, or by the fireside, the
fishers vying in services to them. Mr. Ashford went to the cottage of
Charity Ledbury, Jem’s mother, to inquire for the boy with the broken
arm. As he entered the empty kitchen, the opposite door of the stairs
was opened, and Guy appeared, stepping softly, and speaking low.
‘Poor little fellow!’ he said; ‘he is just going to sleep. He bore it
famously!’
‘The setting his arm?’
‘Yes. He was quite sensible, and very patient, and that old Charity
Ledbury is a capital old woman. She and Jem are delighted to have him,
and will nurse him excellently. How are all the others? Has that poor
man come to his senses?’
‘Yes. I saw him safe in bed at old Robinson’s. The captain is at the
Browns’.’
‘I wonder what time of day it is?’
‘Past eight. Ah! there is the bell beginning. I was thinking of going
to tell Master Ray we are not too much excited to remember church-going
this morning; but I am glad he has found it out only ten minutes too
late. I must make haste. Good-bye!’
‘May not I come, too, or am I too strange a figure?’ said Guy, looking
at his dress, thrown on in haste, and saturated with sea-water.
‘May you?’ said Mr. Ashford, smiling. ‘Is it wise, with all your wet
things?’
‘I am not given to colds,’ answered Guy, and they walked on quickly
for some minutes; after which he said, in a low voice and hurried
manner,--‘would you make some mention of it in the Thanksgiving?’
‘Of course I will’ said Mr. Ashford, with much emotion. ‘The danger must
have been great.’
‘It was,’ said Guy, as if the strong feeling would show itself. ‘It was
most merciful. That little boat felt like a toy at the will of the winds
and waves, till one recollected who held the storm in His hand.’
He spoke very simply, as if he could not help it, with his eye fixed
on the clear eastern sky, and with a tone of grave awe and thankfulness
which greatly struck Mr. Ashford, from the complete absence of
self-consciousness, or from any attempt either to magnify or depreciate
his sense of the danger.
‘You thought the storm a more dangerous time than your expedition on the
rock?’
‘It was not. The fishermen, who were used to such things, did not think
much of it; but I am glad to have been out on such a night, if only for
the magnificent sensation it gives to realize one’s own powerlessness
and His might. As for the rock, there was something to do to look to
one’s footing, and cling on; no time to think.’
‘It was a desperate thing!’
‘Not so bad as it looked. One step at a time is all one wants, you know,
and that there always was. But what a fine fellow Ben Robinson is! He
behaved like a regular hero--it was the thorough contempt and love of
danger one reads of. There must be a great deal of good in him, if one
only knew how to get hold of it.’
‘Look there!’ was Mr. Ashford’s answer, as he turned his head at the
church wicket; and, at a short distance behind, Guy saw Ben himself
walking up the path, with his thankful, happy father, a sight that had
not been seen for months, nay, for years.
‘Ay,’ he said, ‘such a night as this, and such a good old man as the
father, could not fail to bring out all the good in a man.’
‘Yes,’ thought Mr. Ashford, ‘such a night, under such a leader! The
sight of so much courage based on that foundation is what may best touch
and save that man.’
After church, Guy walked fast away; Mr. Ashford went home, made a long
breakfast, having the whole story to tell, and was on to the scene
of action again, where he found the master, quite restored, and was
presently joined by Markham. Of Sir Guy, there was no news, except that
Jem Ledbury said he had looked in after church to know how the cabin boy
was going on, and the master, understanding that he had been the leader
in the rescue, was very anxious to thank him, and walked up to the house
with Markham and Mr. Ashford.
Markham conducted them straight to the library, the door of which was
open. He crossed the room, smiled, and made a sign to Mr. Ashford, who
looked in some surprise and amusement. It has been already said that
the room was so spacious that the inhabited part looked like a little
encampment by the fire, though the round table was large, and the green
leather sofa and arm chair were cumbrous.
However, old Sir Guy’s arm-chair was never used by his grandson; Markham
might sit there, and Bustle did sometimes, but Guy always used one of
the unpretending, unluxurious chairs, which were the staple of the room.
This, however, was vacant, and on the table before it stood the remains
of breakfast, a loaf reduced to half its dimensions, an empty plate and
coffee-cup. The fire was burnt down to a single log, and on the sofa,
on all the various books with which it was strewed, lay Guy, in anything
but a comfortable position, his head on a great dictionary, fairly
overcome with sleep, his very thick, black eyelashes resting on his
fresh, bright cheek, and the relaxation of the grave expression of his
features making him look even younger than he really was. He was so
sound asleep that it was not till some movement of Markham’s that he
awoke, and started up, exclaiming,--
‘What a horrid shame! I am very sorry!’
‘Sorry! what for?’ said Markham. ‘I am glad, at any rate, you have been
wise enough to change your things, and eat some breakfast.’
‘I meant to have done so much,’ said Guy; ‘but sea-wind makes one so
sleepy!’ Then, perceiving the captain, he came forward, hoping he was
quite recovered.
The captain stood mystified, for he could not believe this slim youth
could be the Sir Guy of whose name he had heard so much, and, after
answering the inquiry, he began,--
‘If I could have the honour of seeing Sir Guy--’
‘Well?’ said Guy.
‘I beg your pardon, sir!’ said the captain, while they all laughed, ‘I
did not guess you could be so young a gentleman. I am sure, sir, ‘tis
what any man might be proud of having done, and--I never saw anything
like it!’ he added, with a fresh start, ‘and it will do you honour
everywhere. All our lives are owing to you, sir.’
Guy did not cut him short, though very glad when it was over. He felt he
should not, in the captain’s place, like to have his thanks shortened,
and besides, if ever there was happiness or exultation, it was in the
glistening eyes of old Markham, the first time he had ever been able
to be justly proud of one of the family, whom he loved with so much
faithfulness and devotion.