and by the flashes of lightning, which, though fainter and less
frequent, still at intervals broke the total darkness of the night, they
soon discerned a ship of considerable size, now very near the shore; her
sails rent in pieces, and scarcely a mast standing, driving towards
them, and firing minute guns as signals of distress. They all saw that
to prevent her being stranded on that rocky and impracticable coast was
totally impossible, and therefore some of the men were dispatched to the
village for ropes and other articles which might be used in saving the
lives of the crew. In the meantime, those remaining on the shore
collected all the rubbish they could find, and lighted two or three
large fires, shouting when the wind lulled a little, to encourage the
sailors, which a minute after was answered by a shout from the men on
board.
In less than an hour after their arrival, the ship was driven on a ledge
of rocks, almost at the foot of the cliff on which St. Aubyn and his
party stood; and they saw some of the crew crowding into two small
boats, and others coming on shore on pieces of timber, or whatever they
could find. At intervals they rose or disappeared, as the waves were
more or less powerful; but in the end, a considerable number, more dead
than alive, were thrown on the land.
Several of the men, cheered by large promises from St. Aubyn, waded as
far as possible into the sea, and assisted some of the crew with ropes
and by other means, so that at last more than fifty men were saved.
To paint the gratitude of these poor creatures, their mingled
exclamations of joy for their escape, and horror at the recollection of
their danger, would be a vain attempt. Some of them appeared to be
foreigners, and two or three wore the dress of Turks. Amid the darkness
and confusion that prevailed, however, it was scarcely possible to
distinguish one person from another. Several of the English sailors (for
the ship had evidently been English, and the foreigners were apparently
prisoners of war), were busily engaged in succouring a man who had come
to shore with scarcely any signs of life, and about whom they appeared
very assiduous.
St. Aubyn's people had brought spirits and other cordials to the
sea-shore, and after administering such present refreshment as their
wants seemed to require, he now put all that were able to walk under the
care of Griffiths, desiring him not to take them to the Farm, fearing
lest the sight should be too affecting to its female inhabitants, but
dispose of them in the best manner he could, amongst the cottages or
barns belonging to the farmhouses; for in the abodes of all, his bounty
and kindness had procured a welcome reception for any whom he chose to
send; he requested Griffiths also just to shew himself at the Farm, to
say they were safe, and then return again. Some of his party he
dispatched for carts, with blankets, &c. to convey to the village such
of the men who were unable to walk.
The storm by this time had nearly subsided, and a late moon began to
struggle through the black clouds which still hung upon the horizon:
pieces of the unfortunate vessel, with seamens' chests and other
articles, were from time to time thrown ashore; several bodies also came
to land, and St. Aubyn found, though at least fifty had been saved,
several lives were unfortunately lost.
St. Aubyn now saw that the young man, about whom the sailors had been so
assiduous, and whom they called Captain, was beginning to revive, and
approached to speak some words of consolation and kindness. One of the
sailors was giving him a glass of wine, while another held a lantern
almost close to him; for the faint light of the moon hardly served to
distinguish objects. But what was the surprize, what the tumultuous
emotions of St. Aubyn, when, as the light fell full upon the
shipwrecked, half-expiring object before him, he retraced the features
of Charles Ross!--of him, for whom, but two hours before, his mother had
expressed so many tender fears, and poured so many fervent prayers,
though not even imagining he shared the actual danger which excited
them.
St. Aubyn started, but with tender caution, lest the surprize should
overpower the unfortunate man, whispered to his servants not to name him
or the place where they were; and approaching still nearer, he took
Charles's cold hand, and drawing his own hat over his face, bade him be
comforted, for all would yet be well.
The poor young man, too languid to do more than glance his eyes over the
person who addressed him, spoke a few words in a faint voice, expressive
of his thanks, and then feebly murmured a request to know on what coast
he and his friends had been thrown.
"On no unfriendly, no inhospitable shore, assure yourself," replied St.
Aubyn. "Whatever property the sea spares will be cautiously protected
for you and your followers. Many chests have been thrown on shore; and
as the weather is becoming calm, when the morning dawns, the boats of
your ship shall go off to the wreck, and every thing of value, if
possible, be saved."
"I am then on English ground?"
"On the coast of Wales."
"Of Wales! Oh, heavens!----What part of Wales?"
"Be not impatient: you shall know all in good time."
"That voice," said Charles--"surely I have heard that voice before."
"I have been a great traveller," replied St. Aubyn: "we may have met
elsewhere."
Charles asked a few more questions, to which St. Aubyn cautiously
replied; and a cart being by this time arrived from the village, Charles
and two or three others were placed in it, under the escort of
Griffiths, to whom the Earl recounted the late interesting discovery,
requesting him to take care that Charles was not too suddenly surprised
with a knowledge of where he was.
Griffiths saw him safely lodged in the best place that could be found
for him; and leaving St. Aubyn's valet to watch by him, and take care
that no one spoke to him till his return, hastened with Lord St. Aubyn
to Powis's, where they found the whole family had been up all night,
anxious beyond expression; and when Ellen saw St. Aubyn dripping wet,
his hat and great coat heavy with the rain and spray of the sea, she
tenderly reproached him for so exposing himself, while Joanna's looks
read the same lecture to Griffiths: but both were so rejoiced at the
good their exertions had effected, that the chiding was little heeded;
and soon, by the assistance of dry clothing, they made a more
comfortable appearance; and after dispatching as many necessaries as
could be collected to the poor mariners, and above all to Charles
(though yet his being so near was kept a profound secret to his parents
and friends), the whole party retired to rest, which indeed the fatigues
of the night rendered extremely necessary to all.
CHAP. VIII.
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye: that close aspect of his
Does shew the mood of a much-troubled heart!
KING JOHN.
St. Aubyn would not disturb the repose of Ellen that night, or rather
that morning, for the sun had risen before they retired, by mentioning
the discovery of Charles amongst the shipwrecked mariners; but his own
anxiety how best to break the matter to Ross and his wife would not
allow him to sleep late, in spite of the fatigue he had undergone.
As soon as he was drest, he went to the cottage where Charles had been
placed, and found him greatly recovered: he had been greatly exhausted
during the storm, which had lasted longer at sea than at land: he had
laboured with unceasing activity to save the ship, of which he was the
commander, though he had not the rank of captain, and had not left her
till all hope of her escaping was lost: he was also considerably
bruised, for he would not embark in the boats, but had floated to land
on a piece of timber. Rest, however, had in some measure recruited his
strength, and though still languid, he hoped to be able to rise in the
course of the day, and see what could be done to save his property, and
that of his shipmates.
All this St. Aubyn learned from his valet, who sat by the young man, and
prevented any one from approaching who might too suddenly have informed
him his parents were so near.
St. Aubyn, however, now judged it proper this information should reach
him: he went therefore to the little room where Charles lay--it was
darkened as much as possible; and St. Aubyn sat down by his bed-side
without being recognized. He inquired with great kindness for the health
of the invalid, to which Charles replied he was better: "But surely,"
added he, "I have heard that voice before: even amid the horrors of last
night, when it was so generously exerted in comforting me, and directing
others for the comfort of my poor shipmates, it struck me as one deeply
engraved on my memory, though I cannot recollect the name of its owner."
"It is a voice," said St. Aubyn, "you certainly have heard before: I
recognize your's also, and know your name--it is Ross."
"It is, indeed," said Charles: "pray tell me your's, for it is cheering
to think I am not quite amongst strangers."
"You will be convinced you are not, when I tell you my name is St.
Aubyn."
"St. Aubyn? _Lord_ St. Aubyn?"
"The same."
"Oh, how much do I owe to you!" exclaimed Charles: "I blush to remember
my former ingratitude and folly."
"Speak no more of it--it is quite forgotten."
"Ah, my Lord, how good you are. But did you not say last night we were
on the coast of Wales? Tell me, I beseech you, on what part of that
coast. I begin to hope, knowing Lady St. Aubyn's former residence."
He paused breathless, with contending emotions.
"Lady St. Aubyn and myself," replied St. Aubyn calmly, "are on a visit
to some _friends_ in this neighbourhood. The storm of last night, and
the hearing a ship was in distress, induced me to take out my servants
and some others to see if we could be of any service to the unfortunate
mariners. One of the friends we were with blessed me, and prayed that my
undertaking might prosper. Her prayers were heard: they were the fervent
supplication of a _mother_ for her _son_, though then she knew not nor
could believe he was implicated in the danger."
"Ah! Heavens!" exclaimed Charles, "it was _my_ mother! Speak, my Lord,
speak! Are we not at, or near Llanwyllan?"
"Be composed, and I will tell you."
"I am composed, and able to hear all."
"You are at Llanwyllan. Your father, mother, and Joanna, were obliged by
the storm of last night to remain at Powis's: there I left them sleeping
in peace, not knowing or imagining their son and brother was so near."
The tears ran down the cheeks of Charles, and his heart swelled high
with thankfulness both to his earthly and heavenly preserver.
After a few minutes, for St. Aubyn was glad to see his emotions find a
relief so desirable, and would not interrupt him, he grasped the hand
which the Earl had given him, and would have said something expressive
of his gratitude, but St. Aubyn prevented him by saying:
"Not a word on that score, Mr. Ross: mine was the impulse of mere
humanity, and I rejoice truly that it led me to save a life so dear to
friends greatly respected by me and Lady St. Aubyn. Make your mind easy.
I hope in the course of the day you will be in a state to be placed
beneath your father's roof; in the meantime I will prepare his mind, and
those of your mother and sister, for a meeting so tender; and there is
also another friend at Llanwyllan who will be glad to see you: your
former playmate and youthful companion, Ellen, will rejoice in your
safety. Be at rest; all will go well, and I trust even your property
will go secured, for boats are already gone off to the wreck, and I have
sent such persons as I can depend on, to see all that is saved protected
from depredation."
"You are too good, my Lord; too good!" said Charles, quite overpowered.
"I must now leave you," said St. Aubyn: "our mutual friends will expect
me, and I have an arduous task in prospect, for I dread the effect on
the minds of your parents of the disclosure I must now make to them."
He now took his leave, directing every possible care to be taken of the
invalid.
St. Aubyn waited till after breakfast to unfold to Ross and his wife the
late events; when that meal was concluded, they talked of returning to
the Parsonage, but he requested them not to go, for he had something of
great consequence to tell them: he then in the gentlest and most
judicious manner revealed to them the discovery of the night before, and
they supported the communication better than he had expected.
The pious Ross lifted his eyes and heart to Heaven in thankfulness for
his son's wonderful escape, while Mrs. Ross and Joanna sobbed upon each
others bosom, and mingled tears with their expressions of joy and
gratitude. Ellen dropt a tear of tender sympathy, and rejoiced, without
fear of offending the no longer jealous St. Aubyn, in the safety of her
early friend.
In the afternoon, Charles found himself able to rise, and St. Aubyn sent
his carriage to convey him to the Parsonage, where Ellen and himself
were ready to receive him, and to support the spirits of his venerable
parents and tender sister.
They all bore the meeting with tolerable composure, and, the first
emotions past, were eager to hear how Charles, whom they had supposed to
be cruising near Gibraltar, happened to be exposed to the fury of a
storm on the coast of North Wales.
He told them, that almost immediately after the date of the last letters
he wrote to them, orders had been received for the return of the vessel
he commanded to England, and after refitting at Falmouth to join a small
squadron which was cruising off the coast of France: that on his return
homeward he had fallen in with a French frigate, superior to his own in
force, but which, after an obstinate battle, during which his own vessel
had been much injured he had succeeded in taking; that he had put some
of his own officers and men aboard the prize, and had taken some of the
French and some Algerines, whom they had previously captured, on board
his own ship; that the violence of the storm and the disabled state of
his vessel, prevented him from making the port he wished to have done,
and finally had driven him on that coast, the darkness of the night not
allowing him to ascertain where-abouts he was: what was become of his
prize he knew not, but as she was a better sailer than his own ship, it
was probable she had reached some port on the coast of Cornwall in
safety.
"And now, my dear mother," said Charles, "if we can but secure my chest,
we shall find in it a snug little hoard of dollars, and a few pretty
valuable jewels, which I intend to dispose of as a marriage portion for
Joanna, if any body will have her," (and he glanced archly at Griffiths,
whose tender solicitude about his sister had not escaped him) "and if
not, I shall be entitled to a tolerable share of prize-money, for which
I have fought hard, and will serve to make you and my father easy. To be
sure I must stand a court-martial for the loss of his Majesty's ship,
but that is only a matter of form, and I am sure that my men will bear
witness I did all in my power to save her--and a pretty creature she
was: I never wish to sail in a better, but she was not lost through my
fault, so I must be contented."
They smiled at his sailor-like nonchalance, and were very glad to hear
his sea-chest and all its contents were safely landed.
Amongst St. Aubyn's humane cares for his own countrymen, the unfortunate
prisoners thus cast on a strange shore were not forgotten. He saw that
their more immediate wants were supplied, and wrote to the proper
persons in London to know what was to be their future lot, contenting
himself in the meantime with having a slight guard kept over them;
though of their attempting to escape in their present state, some
wounded, all weak and helpless, there was not much probability.
One of the French captives turned out to be a Catholic priest, a
venerable and respectable man, who had been for many years resident at
Gibraltar, from whence, learning he might now with safety return to
France, he had embarked in the vessel Charles Ross had captured, hoping
to end his days where he had begun them, on the banks of the Garonne.
This circumstance had not been known till two days after the shipwreck,
and the good Ross considering this unfortunate man as the servant of the
same master, though speaking another language, and differing in many
points of belief, had invited him to share his own table; and Mrs. Ross
had, like the pious Shunamite, prepared for him "a little chamber with a
bed," where he might be at rest.
On the evening of that day, the weather being extremely fine, Lady St.
Aubyn and Joanna expressed a wish to walk to the sea-shore to look at
the wreck, and see the place where Charles and his friends had landed.
All the more painful vestiges of the shipwreck had been removed, and the
bodies of the unfortunate sailors which had floated on shore had been
interred in the church-yard, where Griffiths had read the funeral
service.
St. Aubyn and Charles had some little business relative to the survivors
to transact, but they desired Griffiths to attend the ladies, and they
would shortly follow. Mrs. Bayfield also wished to see the place where
the shipwreck happened, and Ellen desired her little Constantine might
go also, as she thought the sea air did him good. They set out therefore
early in the evening, for the storm had cooled the air, and they wished
to spend some time on the shore.
They soon reached the beach, and found the sea so calm, so beautiful, it
seemed unlike the same element which had wrought such destruction the
night before.
Griffiths pointed out to them the wreck, which, as it was now low water,
appeared very near the shore, and shewed them the precise spot where
Charles and the rest had landed.
They both shuddered and turned pale at the painful retrospection, and
Joanna again expressed her thankfulness to St. Aubyn and Griffiths,
whose exertions had saved them.
While they were walking up and down the beach, they met two or three of
the English sailors, who were upon the look-out for any other articles
the sea might have left upon the sands, and speaking to them received
their thanks and blessings for the care and kindness they had
experienced.
On a large piece of timber near the edge of the water sat one of the
Algerines: he looked excessively weak and sickly, and as they approached
him, he surveyed them with a look of gloomy despair.
"How ill that man looks," said Ellen to one of the sailors: "he seems
likely to die."
"Yes, my Lady, and die he will, for he with difficulty crawled hither,
he is so ill; and the woman where he lodges says he bewails himself all
night, and takes no rest."
"Poor creature!" said Ellen: "he laments, doubtless, his native land,
and the friends he has left behind."
"I believe, my Lady," replied the sailor, "he laments his crimes, for
one of the French prisoners that speaks a little English tells me this
fellow owns he has been a great sinner, and that he was bred a
Christian, but renounced his religion and denied his God for the lucre
of gain, amongst the Turks, and Mahometans, and such like."
"Horrible!" said Ellen: "are there such wretches?"
As she spoke, the poor miserable being approached her with feeble steps,
and in French asked her if she would have the goodness to purchase a
trinket he had to sell--all he had left of better days.
Ellen spoke French but imperfectly: she could read and understand it
pretty well, but did not attempt to converse in it; she knew, however,
what he said, and though her nature shuddered at a being of whom she had
heard such a shocking account, endeavoured to answer him with civility:
her voice, however, was low, and her accent not perfectly intelligible
to the Algerine; and thinking she intended to accept his offer, he drew
from his bosom a cross, composed of large rubies set in gold, and put it
into her hand: he sighed heavily; and the sight of this ornament, which
seemed to corroborate the story that this man had been bred a Christian,
gave to Ellen a painful sensation: she endeavoured to make him
understand that his wants should be relieved without his parting from
the trinket, which she offered again to him.
At that moment Mrs. Bayfield, with the nurses and little Constantine,
came towards them: she cast her eyes upon the Algerine--she trembled,
again she looked; she caught the glance of his dark gloomy eyes, and the
sound of his voice met her ears: instantly she exclaimed:
"_That_ wretch!" and snatching the infant from his nurse, she folded him
to her bosom and fled away, crying as she ran--"Come, my Lady, oh, come
for God's sake! leave that monster: come, Miss Ross--run! fly! he will
murder us all."
Wild and extraordinary as this panic seemed to Ellen, her feet
involuntarily obeyed, and with the cross still in her hand, she suddenly
fled from this poor sickly wretch, who, unable to follow, stood amazed
at their apparently frantic demeanour.
Joanna and Griffiths ran after the Countess; though still no one knew
the cause of this extraordinary alarm; and so eagerly did the affrighted
Bayfield speed, that though encumbered with the child, and advanced as
she was in years, they could not easily overtake her.
While they hastened on, each unable to account for the strange terror
which had seized them all, they were met by St. Aubyn and Charles Ross,
who, passing Bayfield at some little distance, were unobserved by her,
and seeing Ellen and Joanna apparently terrified, ran by a shorter cut
to meet them.
"What on earth has happened?" said St. Aubyn, seeing them pale and
almost breathless. "Ellen! Joanna! what has happened? Has any one
frightened you? Griffiths, what has alarmed them thus?"
"Indeed, my Lord," said Griffiths, "I am as ignorant as you are; the
ladies were talking to the poor sick Turk on the shore, and Mrs.
Bayfield on a sudden seized the child from his nurse, ran away, and
called to us to follow, for we should be all murdered: Lady St. Aubyn
and Joanna instantly obeyed, and I followed, but why, or what was the
cause of the alarm, I am unable to imagine."
"I believe--I think," panted Ellen, "that Bayfield knew something of the
man we were speaking to, for she trembled as she looked at him, and said
he would murder us, or words to that effect."
"What is that in your hand, Ellen?" said St. Aubyn. "Heavenly powers!
What is it?"
His limbs trembled, and he grew so pale, she thought he was fainting.
"It is a cross, my Lord," she replied, "a cross that the man--the
Turk--offered to sell to me.--I forgot that I had it in my hand."
She gave it to him; he cast his eyes upon it and exclaimed:--
"That man! Where is he? Merciful heaven! Can it be!"
And suddenly recovering himself, he darted towards the place where the
sick Algerine was slowly endeavouring to follow them.
"Go with him," said Ellen; "follow him, Charles; go, Mr. Griffiths:
surely he cannot know this man; perhaps some mischief may ensue."
They instantly obeyed; and now Ellen and Joanna standing still and
looking earnestly after St. Aubyn, saw him with the rapidity of
lightning fly to the Algerine: what he said they could not hear, but
with an action of the most eager impatience, they saw him with one hand
tear the turban from the brow of the Turk, and with the other seized him
violently by the collar, while the poor trembling wretch sunk prostrate
on the ground before him. By this time Griffiths and Charles Ross had
reached them. St. Aubyn spoke, and instantly they seized the Algerine,
raised, or rather dragged him from the ground, but kept him from moving,
though indeed to move far was not in his power.
Ellen, unable longer to restrain her impatience to learn the meaning of
this scene, now hastened towards them, though trembling so much Joanna
could scarcely support her. As they approached, St. Aubyn exclaimed in a
voice hoarse with contending passions:--
"Come not here, my Ellen; let not purity like thine breathe the air
contaminated by that monster!
"Robber! Murderer! Vile apostate from thy God!" he cried, with gestures
almost frantic, to the shaking wretch before him. "The hand of vengeance
has at length overtaken thee, and long and dreadful is the account thou
now must render. Yes, look at me; I am the man you so deeply injured; I
am St. Aubyn.
"Go, Ellen," again he cried, "leave us; Joanna, go with her; Griffiths,
attend them; Charles and I are enough to secure this villain; besides
here are sailors who will assist us."
Ellen obeyed in silence as fast as her terrors would permit, for now she
no longer doubted of the cause of all this scene, which to Joanna and
Griffiths appeared as if some sudden madness had seized first Bayfield
and then St. Aubyn.
CHAP. IX.