LETTER FROM MY UNCLE--CHASE OF MYERS--SUPPOSED LOSS IN PORTLAND RACE--
GOOD ADVICE--THE ARIADNE MISSING--MR. VERNON'S ANXIETY.
Two days after this, much shorn of the pride and beauty with which we
left it, we entered Malta harbour. As may be supposed, Mr Vernon
hastened to the post-office as soon as he could get on shore. I
accompanied him, with a note Captain Poynder had to send to the
governor. His eye brightened as it glanced at the superscription of a
letter which was handed to him. He read it over eagerly.
"I hope, sir, that you have good accounts from your friends," I said.
"They have had most provoking light winds and calms; and, when this
letter was written, had not made good half the distance. Heaven grant
that the _Ariadne_ may have escaped any squall such as crippled us."
"Indeed, sir, I trust so," I replied; but as he again turned to his
letter, I made no further remark. I found a letter also for myself, to
my no little surprise, for I thought no one would take the trouble of
writing to me. I did not deserve a letter, I felt, for I had not
written a line to any one since I left England. It was from my uncle.
I put it in my pocket, to read at my leisure when I returned on board.
It ran as follows:--
"My Dear Nephew,--As a word or two now and then from those who are
deeply interested in your welfare, will but tend to keep them in your
remembrance, and to cheer your spirits, should you find yourself
surrounded by troubles or hardships, your aunt and I hope occasionally
to send you a sheet of paper, with an account of what is going on at
home; and I must beg you in return to let us know how the world speeds
with you. Your aunt and cousins are well, and one day passes with them
so like another, that I have little to tell of them. Terence grows
apace, and seems resolved to go to sea. I will not baulk the lad of his
wish when he is big enough; and I hope better times will come in the
navy, both for you and him, than I have seen for some time past. I have
given the cutter plenty of work, and have made several captures; but the
prize I most covet, that villain Myers, has again slipped through my
fingers. I must tell you all about it. It is supposed, indeed, that he
has at length gone to render up his final account in another world; but
even now I can scarcely believe but that he will yet turn up somewhere
or another in this. I had received notice that he had been again seen
in England, and that he had got command of a cutter of about sixty
tons,--a very fast craft, which nothing could come up to; so, of course,
I resolved to try and catch him. I soon found that he was visiting his
old haunts. I conclude that he fancied no one would believe he would
have the audacity to go there after all the crimes he had committed, and
that therefore no one would be on the watch for him. He had succeeded
in running two cargoes, and all the goods were got up to London. He had
gone away for a third, and I learned that preparations were made to
receive it in West Bay, not far from Beere. For two days and nights we
had been cruising about, just far enough out not to be seen from the
shore, in the best spot for cutting him off, when it came on to blow
very hard from the north-west. It had blown long enough to kick up a
heavy sea, when, just as it had gone three bells, in the middle watch,
we caught sight of a cutter standing in for the shore, and going along
at a tremendous rate, not the eighth of a mile to the eastward of us.
We were on the larboard tack; but we were instantly about, and in chase
of her. We could just make her out through the darkness; but I do not
think many eyes could have seen her, but those long accustomed to such
work as ours. It was some time before she perceived us; for, from the
way we were standing, we were end on to her. As soon, however, as she
saw us, she kept away, and off she went like a shot before the wind. We
packed everything on the cutter she could carry, and rather more canvas,
as you may suppose, than under ordinary circumstances I should like to
set; but the stranger, at all events, seemed resolved not to be outdone;
and though by this time it was blowing half a gale of wind, had not only
his whole mainsail, but his square-sail and gaff-topsail all set. This
circumstance made me pretty certain that Myers was on board, for he knew
well that a halter would be his lot if he was caught. I think he would
have done better by keeping on a wind, for before the wind her larger
size gave the _Serpent_ a decided advantage over him. After an hour's
chase, if we had not overhauled him, he certainly had not increased his
distance from us; and we had great hopes, should the wind increase, or
the sea get up any more, that we should at last catch him. It was a
trial of the strength of our sticks, and the goodness of our rigging. I
had every confidence in ours; but I also knew that the smuggler would
not fail to have got a tough stick for a mast, and sound rigging also.
Another half-hour passed, and Hanks agreed with me that we were
certainly gaining on the chase. To give us a chance of winging him, we
now ran a gun forward; but with the heavy sea there was, and the way
both vessels were pitching into it, there was very little probability
that we should do so. We, however, fired several times; but with no
effect. Only think! the fellow had the audacity to run out a couple of
guns, and to return the fire. To be sure, it was his only chance of
escaping; for if he could manage to knock away any of our spars, he
would, he thought, show us a clean pair of heels. His practice was not
a bit better than ours; indeed, it would only have been by chance that a
shot could have hit its mark. However, we both of us kept blazing away
at each other with hearty good-will. In the meantime the wind and sea,
already high, were getting up very much. At any other time I should
have hove the cutter to; but now, follow I must; and I hoped, from our
greater power, we should be able to hold out the longest, and that at
last the smuggler must give in. We were now nearing Portland Race, and
never in my life had I observed the sea running higher on it than it now
did. `The fellows will never attempt to cross it,' observed Hanks:
`they'll be swamped if they do; and if they haul up to round it, we
shall catch them to a certainty.' `Cross it they will try, at all
events,' I replied; `they can never carry canvas on a wind, in a breeze
and with a sea like this. See, they are standing into the very thickest
of the breakers.' Sure enough, there was the cutter approaching the
most dangerous part of the Race. The spring-tide was making down, and
the wind, meeting it, threw the foaming breakers higher up than usual.
Still it was possible, if everything was battened down, that the cutter
might shove through them. We all held our breath. If she got through,
we also must follow. We had everything secured, and were better
prepared than she was. On she went--her white sails appearing against
the dark sky--her whole hull enveloped in foam. For some seconds she
pushed on bravely. I never took my eye off her. Suddenly the white
canvas seemed to bend low down--the breakers danced on as before. I
rubbed my eyes, but without avail: the sail had disappeared. There was
a cry of horror on board the cutter, but no shout of triumph, though our
long-sought-for foe was no more. He and everybody on board must have
been swallowed up in those foaming billows. We had barely time to
shorten sail and to haul off, to avoid sharing the same fate; for I
scarcely think, on that day, that even we could have run through the
race. Some days after this I was on shore on Portland Bill, and the
lighthouse-keeper told me that he had witnessed the catastrophe. He
told me, also, that several planks and spars had shortly after come on
shore, and with these the body of a man. When, however, he went down to
the beach to look for the body, he could nowhere find it; so he
concluded that it had been swept away by the tide. Such is the fate of
the smuggler Myers, and certainly no one ever deserved it more richly.
I have no other events to narrate.
"I should like to give you some good advice, Neil; but I am so little
accustomed to lecture others, I cannot find words to do it. I will try,
however. Never forget that you were sent into this world to do your
duty to Heaven and to man; not to amuse yourself, but to obey God's
laws,--to prepare for another world, which will last for ever. Remember
always that this world is only a place of trial--of probation. Trials
of all sorts are sent on purpose to prove us. When man, through
disobedience, fell, and sin entered the world, the devil was allowed to
have power over him. He would have gained entire power, and man in his
fallen state would have been inextricably lost for ever; but Christ in
his mercy interfered, and by His obedience, His sufferings on earth,--by
His death on the cross,--was accepted by God as a recompense for all
sinners who believe in Him. By His resurrection, He became a mediator
for us, showing us also that we too shall rise, like Him, from the dead,
in the bodies in which we died. Thus a pure and just God, who cannot
otherwise than hate sin, was able at the same time to show forth his
justice and his mercy,--to punish those who go on in their wickedness,
but to pardon those who believe in their great Mediator, and repent of
their sins. I remind you of these important truths, Neil, because I
know all men are too apt to forget them. Endeavour always to remember
them, and I am sure that they will keep you from evil more than any
other safeguards which I can offer you. I do not tell you, my boy, not
to do this, or not to do that; but I remind you that Christ came down on
earth, on account of the sins of mankind, to teach men His laws; that He
suffered pain, toil, and disgrace, and a dreadful death; and that, in
gratitude to Him, we are bound to do our utmost to obey Him. Read your
Bible constantly--not now and then, but every day; learn what His will
is, and do your best to follow it. Remember, also, that the devil is
ever at your elbow, endeavouring to persuade you not to follow it,--
telling you that sin is sweet and pleasant; that God will not be angry
with you if you sin a little; that hell is far off; that God would not
be so cruel as to send you there; and that it is cowardly to be afraid.
Oh, my boy, let me entreat you to pray to God for grace to enable you to
resist those temptations. Come they will, assuredly; and never trust in
your own strength to resist them. Christ will give you strength. Fly
to Him in prayer. Go to your Bible,--read that, and you will be strong
to resist all temptations. Of course, never mind what your companions
may say or think on the subject. I ask, are you to be biassed by the
opinions of poor, weak, sinful mortals; or to obey the laws of the great
all-powerful God, who made the whole universe--the innumerable globes
you see in the sky--the world we inhabit, with all its wonders--man,
with his proud intellect--the animals of the forest, the birds of the
air, the creeping things innumerable, scarcely the nature of one of
which you can comprehend,--of the merciful Saviour, who died for you,
and who is eager to preserve you and all who believe on him? Still I
know that, with a full consciousness of God's greatness and goodness--of
Christ's mercy--man is so weak that nothing but constant prayer for
grace will enable him to keep in the right way. I feel, my dear nephew,
that I could not write too much on this all-important subject; but still
I must conclude. Keep my letter by you, and look at it at times when
you are inclined to forget its advice. Your aunt joins me in earnest
prayer for your welfare.
"Your affectionate uncle,--
"Terence O'Flaherty."
I am most grateful to my kind uncle for having sent this letter to me.
It had a very beneficial effect on my mind. I do not mean to say that
at the time I received it I thought as seriously of its contents as I
did afterwards; yet I tried somewhat to follow its advice,--not as I
might have done; but I read my Bible more frequently, and prayed more
earnestly than I had ever done before. I do not mean to say that I
knelt down by the side of my hammock to pray, as those on shore are able
to do by the side of their beds; but I found many an opportunity to
offer up my prayers during a watch on deck at night, and on those
occasions I felt more freedom and earnestness. Also I often would do so
after I had turned into my hammock, and before I turned out in a
morning. I own that when I was first observed to read my Bible I was
frequently called by my messmates a Methodist and a saint, and Dicky
Sharpe was especially liberal in his application of such epithets to me;
but Adam Stallman soon silenced him as well as others.
"Let me ask you, Master Dicky, what you mean by a Methodist?" he
inquired. "If it is applied to a man who acts the part of a consistent
Christian, and does his duty methodically--with system, and not by fits
and starts,--it is a very high compliment you pay him; and as for the
term saint, let me assure you that those who do not become saints have
their souls in a very perilous condition."
These remarks of Stallman's, though my young messmate tried to look
unconcerned and indifferent to them at the time, had, I believe, a very
beneficial effect on him. I will not, however, dwell longer on this
subject, important though it is, or my readers may declare that, instead
of writing my adventures for their amusement, I am giving them a book of
sermons. I will not do that; but still I must urge them to pay
attention to what I have said--never to be ashamed of their religion;
far, far rather to be proud of it, and ever to make God's word the rule
of their conduct.--To return to my narrative. The repairs of the
frigate having been completed, we once more put to sea, and made sail
for Tripoli and Tunis. Our poor Italian master, Signor Mezzi, had
declared most positively that nothing would ever again tempt him to
venture on the treacherous ocean; but a few weeks on the smooth water of
Malta harbour had wonderfully reassured him, and he continued therefore
with us, to our somewhat problematical benefit. Nothing occurred on our
passage to and from those places.
We were once more entering Malta harbour. Mr Vernon at once went on
shore, and I again accompanied him. He repaired to the post-office, but
there were, to his evident disappointment, no letters for him. He
considered for a moment. "We'll go to the agents of the _Ariadne_; she
must have arrived at Gibraltar long before the last mails left."
The agent's office was close to the harbour. We threaded our way to it
among bales, and casks, and packages.
The senior partner, Mr Dunnage, received us very politely; and when Mr
Vernon inquired for the brig, his countenance assumed a grave look.
"We must hope for the best," he replied; "but she is, I own, very long
overdue, and we have had no tidings whatever of her. She may have put
into some little-frequented port, with the loss of her spars or masts,
and the master may not have been able to communicate with us."
"Nay, I am sure it must be so," he continued, seeing the agitation into
which the information had thrown my lieutenant.
"Was the master a steady and good seaman?" asked Mr Vernon, in a voice
husky with emotion.
"Not a steadier man nor a better seaman comes to this port," replied Mr
Dunnage. "If his craft was caught by a squall, or got into any other
difficulty, I am sure he would have done all that could be done for
her."
"We fell in with a terrific squall soon after she was at sea," mused Mr
Vernon. "Heaven grant that she was not exposed to it."
"It is impossible to say," answered the merchant in a kind tone. "I
feel more than usually anxious, on account of her passengers, I own.
Sailors are accustomed to hardships; they expect to meet them in their
career; and they are aware, when they go afloat, that they must be
prepared to lose their lives in the gale or the battle."
Mr Vernon shuddered. He began to realise the possibility of the loss--
the dreadful death of her he loved. Still he was a right-minded, brave
man, and what is more, a sincere Christian; and he resolved not to give
way to despair.
Mr Dunnage perceived, at length, the effect his information had
produced, and he now did his best to mitigate the anxiety of my
lieutenant, entering warmly into all his plans for gaining information
as to the fate of the brig.
It was agreed that he should write round to all the ports on the shores
of the Mediterranean, near which it was possible the _Ariadne_ could
have been driven; and that his correspondents there should send boats
along the coast from port to port, so that no part should remain
unexplored.
"I should advise you also to see the Admiral; he will, I am sure, take a
warm interest in the matter."
No sooner said than done. When sensible men are in earnest about an
affair, they do not lose time by talking, the plan of action being at
once decided on.
Mr Dunnage having penned the draft of a circular letter to be sent to
the ports, left it to be copied by his clerks, while we set forth to see
the Admiral, who was, fortunately, at Malta.
The worthy old man at once entered into all the proposed plans for
searching for the brig, and suggested others.
"We'll send the _Harold_ to sea at once; and I'll despatch all the small
craft I can spare on the search. Stay,--you shall take an order to
Captain Poynder to sail forthwith. I suppose he's ready to go?" said he
to Mr Vernon.
"We are well supplied with provisions, and can soon fill up with water;
we can be off this evening, I know," replied Mr Vernon.
"Away with you! and may your search be prosperous," said the Admiral,
with much feeling.
The order to go to sea again was at first received with no little
surprise on board; but the fact that the _Ariadne_ was missing being
generally known on shore, and the blue-peter being hoisted, the officers
who had gone on leave came hurrying back.
That night, with a fine breeze we had run Malta out of sight.