"Can you make her out, Ned? My eyes are not so sharp as they used to
be, and I lost sight of the craft when came on."
"She has tacked, uncle; I see her masts in one, and she's standing to
the westward."
"I was afraid so; she must be a stranger, or she would have kept her
course. She'll not weather the head as she's now standing, and if it
doesn't clear and show her the land, she'll be on shore, as sure as my
name is John Pack."
The speaker was a strongly built man, dressed in a thick pea-coat
buttoned closely over his breast, the collar turned up to protect his
neck. A white, low-crowned, weather-beaten, broadish-brimmed hat
covered his head, and he held in his hand a thick stick, which he
pressed firmly on the ground as he walked, for he had been deprived of
one of his legs, its place being supplied by a wooden substitute
resembling a mop handle in shape. His appearance was decidedly
nautical, and though habited in plain clothes, he might have been known
at a glance to be a naval officer.
His companion, a boy of about fourteen years of age, though from his
height and breadth of shoulders he might have been supposed to be older,
wore a thick monkey jacket, a necessary protection against the strong
wind and dense masses of rain and mist which swept up from the ocean.
They stood on the top of a cliff on the southern coast of England,
which, circling round from the north-west to the south-east, formed a
broad deep bay, terminated on the further side by a bluff headland, and
on the other by a rocky point, a ledge partly under water extending
beyond it.
The bay was indeed a dangerous place to enter with so heavy a gale from
the south-west as was now blowing.
Lieutenant Pack and his young nephew Edward Garth were returning home
from an errand of mercy to an old fisherman who had been severely
injured by the upsetting of his boat, in a vain endeavour to go off to a
coaster in distress, which foundered in sight of land, when he was
washed on shore amid the fragments of his boat, narrowly escaping with
his life. Although the fisherman's cottage was upwards of two miles
off, the old lieutenant trudged daily over to see him, and on this
occasion had been accompanied by his nephew, carrying a basket
containing certain delicacies prepared by the kind hands of Miss Sarah
Pack, or sister Sally, as he was wont to call her. He and his nephew
had started later than usual, and the gloom of an autumn evening had
overtaken them when they were still some distance from home. He had
caught sight of the vessel, apparently a large brig, and had at once
perceived her dangerous position.
For some time he and his nephew stood watching the stranger from the
cliff.
"Here she comes again!" cried Ned.
"She made out the land sooner than I expected she would," observed the
lieutenant; "but she'll scarcely weather the point even now, unless the
wind shifts. She can't do it--she can't do it!" he cried, striking the
ground in his eagerness with his stick. "Run on, Ned, to the
coast-guard station. If you meet one of the men, tell him, in case he
hasn't seen her, that I think the vessel will be on shore before long.
But if you fall in with no one, go and let Lieutenant Hanson know what I
say, and he'll get his rockets ready, so as to be prepared to assist the
crew whenever the vessel may strike. Take care, Ned, though, not to
fall over the cliff--keep well away from it. On a dark night you cannot
see the path clearly, and in many spots, remember, it ends abruptly in
places where it wouldn't do to tumble down. I cannot spare you, my
boy."
While the lieutenant was shouting out these latter sentences, Edward,
eager to obey his uncle's directions, had got to a considerable
distance; he, however, very soon came back.
"I met one of the men, uncle," he said, "and he went on to the station
faster than I could in the dark, as he knows the short cuts."
"Come along then, we'll keep an eye on the brig as we walk homeward,"
said the lieutenant. "I pray that after all she may claw off the land,
although she will have a hard job to do it."
The old officer and the boy proceeded on the way they had previously
been pursuing. They had gone some distance when they saw a light
approaching them.
"Now, if my sister Sally hasn't sent Tom to look for us, or I am much
mistaken," he exclaimed to himself rather than to his companion. "Poor
soul! she's been in a precious quandary at our not returning sooner, and
has been fancying that we shall be melted by the rain, or carried off
the cliffs by the wind, though it blows directly on them."
The lieutenant was right in his conjectures; in another minute a voice
was heard shouting, "Dat you, Massa Pack an' Massa Ned?"
"Aye, aye," answered the lieutenant; "keep your lantern shaded from the
sea, or it may be mistaken for a signal."
Directly afterwards a tall figure could be discerned coming towards him.
"Missie Sarah in drea'ful way, cos you an' Massa Ned not come back when
de wind an' rain kick up such a hulabaloo," said the same voice which
had before spoken.
The lieutenant explained the cause of their delay, and bade Tom hasten
back and tell his mistress that they would soon be at home, but were
anxious to ascertain the fate of a vessel they had discovered closer
in-shore than she should be. "Beg her not to be alarmed; and, Tom, you
come back with a coil of rope and a couple of oars from the boat-house.
We may not want them, for I hope the coast-guard men will be up to the
spot in time to help, should the craft unfortunately come ashore, but it
is just as well to be prepared to render assistance in case of need."
Tom, handing the lantern to the boy, hurried back to execute the orders
he had received, the lieutenant and his young companion following at a
slower pace. The fast increasing darkness had now completely shut out
the brig from sight. When last perceived, however, her head was pointed
in a direction which, could she maintain, she might weather the rocks
under her lee. Presently the loud report of a gun was heard sounding
high above the roar of the seas which broke on the shore.
"That was fearfully near," observed Edward.
"It was indeed," said the lieutenant. "I hope that it will hurry Hanson
and his men. The master of the brig has discovered his danger. There
is no chance of her escaping, I fear."
"I can see her!" cried the boy; "one of her top-masts has gone, she's
drifting bodily on shore."
"Poor fellows! with a heavy sea beating on it; unless she's a stout
craft, she'll knock to pieces in a few minutes," observed the
lieutenant. "We'll go down to the beach and try what help we can
render."
A zig-zag pathway, well known to both of them, led downwards through an
opening in the cliff, a short distance from the spot they had reached.
The lieutenant and his nephew followed it without hesitation, the former
leading and feeling the way with his stick, for it required care to
avoid slipping over, and an ugly fall might have been the consequence of
a false step. They reached the bottom, however, in safety; and as they
hurried along the shingly beach, straining their eyes to discover the
whereabouts of the hapless brig, another and another gun was heard, the
loud reports rapidly succeeding the bright flashes, showing the nearness
of the vessel. The whistling of the wind and the roaring of the waves
overpowered all other sounds. They listened for another gun, but
listened in vain.
"I feared it would be so," exclaimed the lieutenant; "she must have
struck already."
"Yes, yes, I see a dark mass surrounded by foam; that must he her, and
not fifty yards off," cried Ned. As he spoke he could distinguish, in
imagination at all events, amid the wild foaming waters, the crash of
timbers, and hear the cries of the hapless crew imploring assistance.
For an instant, too, he fancied that he saw a smaller object floating on
the snowy crests of the waves, but before he could be certain that it
was what he supposed, it had disappeared.
"Would that the men with their rockets were here. What can have delayed
them? If they don't come soon, not a soul of the crew will be left
alive," exclaimed the lieutenant.
Just then a voice hailed, and Edward shouted in return. A dark figure
could be seen at the top of the cliff. It was Tom, who rapidly made his
way down to where they stood, carrying a pair of oars and a coil of
rope.
"The brig is driving in," cried Edward. "She's much nearer than when I
first saw her."
"You're right," answered the lieutenant. "In spite of my timber leg,
few men could once beat me at swimming; even now I've a mind to go off
to the wreck. I might be in time to save some of the people. Here,
Tom, hand me the end of the rope, and I'll make it fast round my waist,
and do you and Ned pay it out, and haul in again when I shout to you."
"Don't think of going," said Edward; "you have been ill lately, and are
not as strong as you were. Let me try. I can swim like a fish; you
have often seen me in rough water as well as in smooth. It won't matter
to any one if I am drowned."
"Won't it though! What would Aunt Sally say if I was to go back without
you, Ned?" exclaimed the lieutenant. "I should never be able to look
her in the face again."
"But I'll do my best not to come to harm," said Edward; "and you can
haul me back if I cannot make my way through the breakers."
"Let me go, massa," cried Tom, rapidly throwing off his clothes, and
beginning, without further ado, to fasten the rope round his own waist.
"Jis see him tight--not a slip-knot, massa. Tom Baraka swim tro' worse
seas dan dis on coast ob Africa, as you know. Stick de oar in de sand.
Tie de rope to it, Massa Pack; you pay out, and off him go."
And before the lieutenant or Ned had time to speak another word, the
black had plunged into the foaming seas, dragging out the rope which the
lieutenant quickly uncoiled. His dark head and back could be
distinguished amid the surging foam, as he made his way through the
breakers for some distance, when a huge wave rolling in beat him back
almost to the beach. The lieutenant hauled in the rope, fearing that
Tom's legs might be entangled, but the brave black again sprang forward.
He had, however, another danger besides the sea to encounter. Already
broken spars, planks, and masses of timber, with bales of all sorts,
were being hurled on shore, and a blow from some heavy piece of wreck
might in an instant disable him. It seemed useless indeed to proceed
further; not a human being was likely to have remained alive on the
shattered wreck. Probably the larger number were drowned when the boat
was upset. Another sea, still fiercer than the former, rushing on with
a loud roar, again drove Tom back.
"We must haul in the rope," cried the lieutenant. "I cannot let the
brave fellow further risk his life."
But once more it was found that Tom was dragging out the rope.
"I heard a cry, and I fancy I see some one not far from. Tom,"
exclaimed Edward. "Yes, yes! he is making towards the man. Ah, I fear
he has missed him; no, he has hold of him. Haul away, uncle, haul away;
let me go and help him, there's rope enough to spare," and Ned, securing
the slack end of the rope under his arms and seizing the spare oar,
dashed forward in time to grasp the man just as the black, exhausted by
his exertions, was on the point of letting him go. Another wave
breaking at the moment, and hissing as it rushed back in a sheet of foam
over the beach, would have swept away the almost rescued man, but
Edward, planting his oar deep in the sand, held on while the lieutenant
was engaged in hauling Tom out of danger, hastening, the moment he had
done so, to assist his nephew in landing the stranger. The latter still
breathed, and attempted to raise himself from the sand, though unable to
speak.
"You attend to him, Ned, while I look after Tom," said the lieutenant.
The black, however, required no assistance. He proposed, indeed, to
again swim off on the chance of finding some other human being
struggling for life; but this the lieutenant would not allow. Already
the breakers were covered with masses of wreck, amid which not a single
person could be seen, though they looked out eagerly, Tom pressing into
the seething foam as far as he dared venture, while the lieutenant held
up the lantern as a signal to any strong swimmer who might successfully
have buffeted with the waves; but he did so with little hope of success.
Every now and then he looked round, uttering an exclamation of regret
at the non-appearance of the coast-guard, though, had they arrived, it
was evident that they would be too late to be of use.
The sea continued to cast up fragments of wreck and cargo on the beach,
but the lieutenant and Tom searched in vain for any of their
fellow-creatures to whom they might render assistance.
"No use waiting longer, I fear," shouted the lieutenant. "I'll go and
look after the man we have saved; the sooner we get him under shelter
the better, or he'll be perishing of cold."
"Me stop just a little longer," answered the black.
"Take care though that the sea doesn't carry you off, Tom," cried the
lieutenant, even now trusting that someone else might be rescued.
On returning to the spot where Edward was tending the stranger, he bent
down by the side of the latter and felt his heart. "He is still
evidently in a very exhausted condition," he observed, holding up his
lantern so that the light fell on the man's countenance. "Poor fellow,
he does not look as if he were accustomed to a seaman's life."
"I have been rubbing his hands and chest, uncle, and trying what I could
do to revive him," said Edward. "We should get him home at once, I am
sure."
"Just what I was saying; we must not risk his life on the chance of
saving that of others," replied the lieutenant. "Come, Tom," he
shouted, "it is of no use, we must carry home this poor fellow; and may
be before we get far the coast-guard will be down here and take our
places."
At that instant a hail was heard. The lieutenant shouted in return. In
a few minutes a party of coast-guard men appeared, headed by their
lieutenant, who had heard the guns, and had been searching for the spot
where the vessel had struck. The man to whom Edward had given the
message had, however, not appeared, having, as was afterwards
discovered, fallen over the cliff and nearly lost his life. Lieutenant
Hanson said that he would remain on the spot, though his rockets would
be useless, as not a man could be clinging to the wreck.
"Let me have one of your people to assist in carrying this poor fellow
to my cottage then," said Lieutenant Pack; "it is more than Tom and I
can accomplish, seeing that my timber toe is apt to stick in the soft
sand as I trudge along."
"With all my heart," was the answer. "You shall have two, only send
them back without delay."
No further time was lost. The coast-guard men, wrapping the stranger in
their dry coats, lifted him on their shoulders, Ned and Tom taking his
feet, while the lieutenant led the way, lantern in hand, towards his
home.
Although a bright light beaming forth from the sitting-room of the
lieutenant's abode could alone be distinguished as the party approached,
it may be as well to describe it at once. Triton Cottage, as he called
it, from the name of the ship on board which he first went to sea, stood
on the side of a broad gap or opening in the cliff, some little distance
up from the beach, the ground around it being sufficiently level to
allow of a fair-sized garden and shrubbery. It was a building of
somewhat curious appearance, having no pretentions to what is considered
architectural beauty. The lieutenant, notwithstanding, was proud of it,
as the larger portion had been erected by his own hands from time to
time as he considered it necessary to increase its size, in order to
afford sufficient accommodation to its inmates, and to obtain a spare
room in which he could put up an old shipmate, or any other visitor to
whom his hospitable feelings might prompt him to give an invitation.
The original building had been a fisherman's cottage, to which he had
added another story, with a broad verandah in front, while on either
side wings had been attached, the upper portions composed of wood
obtained from wrecks, the bulkheads serving as wainscoting to the rooms.
Both from their size and the fittings they resembled the cabins of a
small vessel, being warmed also by ship's stoves, with high flues,
curiously topped, rising above the roof, exhibiting a variety of
contrivances to prevent the smoke from beating down. The tar-bucket and
paint-pot had been brought largely into requisition, the wood-work of
the lower story being covered with a shining coat of black, while
various colours adorned the walls both inside and out. The old
lieutenant might frequently have been seen, brush in hand, adorning his
mansion, and stopping up every crevice, so as to defy damp, or rain
driven against it by the fiercest of south-westerly gales. It was
substantially roofed with thick slabs of slate, obtained from a
neighbouring quarry, calculated to withstand the storms of winter or the
thickest downfall of snow. The building had, however, so slight an
appearance that it looked as if it might be carried by a strong wind
into the sea; but a closer inspection showed that the materials of which
it was composed were well seasoned and firmly put together, and though
gaily bedecked, fire was the only element it had to fear, and against
that the owner had taken all necessary precautions.
"Sally, sister Sally!" he shouted, as he neared the door, "I have
brought a guest who requires careful looking after, or he'll slip
through our fingers, for he's pretty well gone already."
As he spoke, the door opened, and a female appeared holding a shaded
lamp in her hand, which the wind threatened every instant to extinguish.
Her figure was short and slight, her dress a grey silk gown, a plain
lace cap confining her once dark hair, already sprinkled with grey,
drawn back from her forehead, on which not a wrinkle could be seen. A
kind expression beamed from her countenance, which, if it had never
possessed much beauty, must always have been pleasant to look upon.
"Thank Heaven you've come back at last, John! Tom frightened me by the
intelligence that a wreck was on shore, and I knew that you would be
exposing yourself to danger. Have many of the poor fellows been saved?"
"Only one, I fear," answered the lieutenant, pointing to the men who now
approached. "Take him into my room, Tom; the sooner he is in bed the
better, and mine is ready for him. Get some warm broth or a cup of tea
made in the meantime. He is terribly exhausted, and probably has not
tasted food for many hours."
The lieutenant made these remarks as Ned and Tom, with the coast-guard
men, conveyed the stranger into the room, when, speedily taking off his
wet garments, they placed him in bed.
"By his dress I suspect he is a gentleman," observed the lieutenant to
his nephew, as Tom gathered up his wet clothes. "Hand me his watch and
purse--it is a heavy one--and that pocket-book. Here is a small case
too, something of value probably. He will be glad to know that his
property is safe when he comes to. Run and see if the tea is ready. I
will get him, if I can, to take a little hot liquid. Tell your aunt and
Jane to stir up the fire and get the broth boiling; that will soon set
him on his legs I hope."
The lieutenant now managed to pour the warm tea down the throat of the
stranger, who opened his eyes, and looking about with an astonished gaze
murmured, "Thank you, thank you! Where am I?"
"All right and safe on shore, though you may take my room to be a ship's
cabin," answered the lieutenant. "We have got your property, in case
you are anxious about it; and after you have had a basin of broth I
would advise you to try and go to sleep. It will restore your strength
faster than any food we can give you."
The stranger again murmured his thanks, and soon after the broth was
brought, following his host's advice, he fell into a quiet slumber.
"He'll require a visit from the doctor perhaps, though I hope that he'll
do well enough now," observed the lieutenant, as he sat at supper with
his sister and Ned that evening after he had paid all the attention
necessary to his guest.
"I wonder who he can be?" observed Miss Sarah. "You say he was dressed
as a gentleman, and has a considerable amount of property in his
possession."
"Your female curiosity will probably be gratified to-morrow, when he is
able to give an account of himself," replied the lieutenant; "but it
matters very little as far as we are concerned. I suspect he'll thank
us for doing what it was our simple duty to do, and after he has gone
his way we shall probably hear no more of him. Had he been a seaman,
without a copper in his pocket, we should have treated him in the same
fashion I hope. Remember, Ned, the meaning of having no respect for
persons. It is not that we are not to respect those above us, but that
we are to treat our fellow-creatures alike, without expectation of
reward, and to pull a drowning man, whether a lord or an ordinary
seaman, out of the water when we can."