The _Sea-Gull_ Pilot-boat, hailing from Penzance, and owned and
commanded by old Paul Petherwick, lay hove-to, one winter's day many
years back, in the chops of the Channel. The dark-green seas rose up
like walls capped with snow on either side of the little craft; now she
floated on the foaming, hissing summit of one of them, again to sink
down into the deep watery trench from which she had risen. Thus, as
rising and falling, her white staysail glancing brightly, she looked not
unlike the sea-bird whose name she bore.
Old Paul was the only person on deck, and he had lashed himself to the
bulwarks. His white hair, escaping from under his "sou'-wester,"
streamed in the wind, and ever and anon he turned his head aside to
avoid the showers of spray which flew over him, covering his flushing
coat with wet. Again he would look out in search of any homeward-bound
vessel which might need his services. His heart was heavy, for the
previous night a fearful sea had struck the cutter, and washed his mate,
Peter Buddock, and another man overboard. The latter had seized a rope,
but it had slipped from his grasp; and poor Buddock was carried far
away, his shriek of despair as he sank beneath the waves being his last
utterance which reached the ears of his shipmates.
Another of Paul's crew, an old hand, had been injured by a blow from a
block, and the rest were young men, willing and active enough, but not
able to take entire charge of the cutter. Still, old Paul was a
determined man, and as long as there was a chance of meeting a vessel to
pilot up Channel, and as long as the cutter could keep the sea, he would
not give in.
Hour after hour passed by. Suddenly the crew, sitting round the stove
in the little after-cabin, heard a loud report, followed by a deep
groan. The trysail gaff had parted, and, falling, had struck the old
pilot to the deck. They carried him below, and placed him in his berth.
Not a moment was to be lost if their own lives were to be saved. The
helm was put up, and the little craft, paying off under her head-sail,
before the rough sea, which came roaring onwards, had reached her, was
running up Channel towards the Cornish coast. Old Paul continued to
groan, seeming unconscious, and evidently suffering great pain. One or
other of his young crew every now and then went below to ask him the
right course to steer, for not even the outline of the coast could be
seen. It was getting very dark, and thick flakes of snow were beginning
to fall. The old pilot probably did not comprehend them; not a word
could he utter. They endeavoured, therefore, to rig a spar on which to
set the trysail; but no sooner did they hoist it than it was carried
away, and at length they gave up the attempt in despair. They could
not, therefore, heave the cutter to, and were obliged to run on. One of
them went below, and endeavoured by every means he could think of to
bring the old man to consciousness. The darkness increased as the night
advanced, and the snow came down thicker and thicker. On flew the
cutter.
"We must be nearing the land," said Jacob Pinner, the best seaman of the
crew. "I wish that the old man would rouse up. I don't like the look
of things, mates, that I don't."
Scarcely had he spoken when a deep, sullen roar, easily distinguished by
a seaman amid the howling of the tempest, struck on the ears of the
crew. "Breakers! breakers ahead!" they shouted.
"Port the helm--hard a-port!" cried a deep voice. It was that of the
old pilot. The sound of the breakers had reached his ears even below,
and roused him up. The order came too late. At that moment there was a
loud crash; the cutter struck, and her rudder was carried away. The
following sea lifted her and carried her on, while other seas came
roaring up, and hissed and foamed round her. Though they covered her
with sheets of spray, her crew were still able to cling to the rigging
and preserve their lives. Providentially, most of the hours of the
night were already spent, for they could not long have endured the cold
and wet to which they were exposed. When daylight broke they found that
they were near the end of a reef, about a mile from the shore. The gale
had greatly abated. The tide was low. Inside of the reef there was
smooth water. If they could launch their boat, which had remained on
deck uninjured, they might save themselves before the return of the
tide, when the cutter would be sure to go to pieces. Though the little
boat narrowly escaped being stove in, the attempt was successful. The
shore was reached. It was close to Paul Petherwick's house, some miles
to the eastward of the port to which the cutter belonged.
Close to the spot where Paul and his crew landed, on the shore of a
romantic bay, stood the residence of Sir Baldwin Treherne, known as the
Manor House. Sir Baldwin was lord of the manor--a kind, warm-hearted,
generous man. He had himself been at sea in his youth, but on coming
into his estate had given up the profession. He had learned when at
sea, probably from experiencing some of the hardships sailors have to
endure, to sympathise with them, and to feel for their sufferings. He
had seen through his telescope, while dressing in the morning, the wreck
on the reef, and had immediately set off to find out what assistance
could be rendered to the crew. He met the old pilot and his people not
far from the shore, and insisted on their coming at once to the Manor
House to be warmed and fed. Paul Petherwick would indeed have been
unable to have reached his own home, as his strength and spirits were
already exhausted. As the day advanced the wind again increased, and
when the tide rose the _Sea-Gull_, battered by the waves, was seen
quickly to disappear.
Great was old Paul's grief as he watched the destruction of the vessel.
"God's will be done," he said, bowing his head. "My poor wife and
children, what will become of them? With her goes all the means I have
of supporting them, and part of her cost is still unpaid."
The kind baronet overheard him. "Paul, we have known each other a good
many long years," he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I should
like to make you a Christmas-box. Let you and me go off to Plymouth
to-morrow, and see if we cannot fall in with as fine a cutter as the
_Sea-Gull_. It won't do to be letting our ships knock about the chops
of the Channel this winter weather without you to show them the way up;
so I'll find you a craft, and may she have better luck than the poor
_Sea-Gull_!"
"Oh, Sir Baldwin, you are very good; so good, I shall never be able to
repay you," exclaimed Paul Petherwick, respectfully pressing the kind
baronet's hand.
"I am paid beforehand with all the blessings I enjoy," answered Sir
Baldwin. "They came to me without my having toiled for them, far less
deserved them; I am bound to make the best use of them in my power, so
say no more about the matter."
A new cutter was found and purchased, and named the _Lady Isabel_, after
Sir Baldwin's wife; and for many a day, in summer and winter, Paul
Petherwick sailed her in pursuit of his calling.
Story 9--Chapter 2.
There was not a finer lad in the country round than Sir Baldwin's third
son, his blue-eyed, light-haired, merry, laughing boy Harry. When he
came home from school for the summer holidays, Harry declared his fixed
intention of going to sea. Sir Baldwin, after several conversations
with his son, felt convinced that it was his settled wish to enter the
navy, and forthwith set about obtaining a berth for him as a midshipman
on board a man-of-war. There was but little difficulty in doing this;
for, after a short peace, England was again at war with France and Spain
and other countries, and ships were being fitted out as fast as they
could be got ready. Harry was in high glee. The dream of his life was
to be realised. He had not talked about the matter. People often, when
they are very earnest in wishing for a thing, do not talk about it. Sir
Baldwin took him to Plymouth; his outfit was soon procured, and he was
entered on board the _Phoenix_, a dashing 36-gun frigate, destined for
the West India station; a part of the world where there was every chance
of her having plenty of fighting. Captain Butler, her brave commander,
lost no time in getting his crew into an efficient state by exercising
them constantly at their guns, and in shortening and making sail. Harry
Treherne thus rapidly acquired a knowledge of the profession he had
chosen. He had determined to be a good sailor; he gave his mind to the
work, and considered no details beneath his notice; consequently,
everybody was ready to give him instruction; he gained the confidence of
the officers and the respect of the men.
"A sail on the lee bow!" shouted the look-out man at the mast-head.
The cry made the captain and officers on deck turn their glasses in the
direction indicated. The helm was put up, and at length, through the
haze of a warm summer morning, the stranger was discovered, with her
mizen topsail aback and her main topsail shivering, evidently awaiting
the arrival of the _Phoenix_. She was clearly an enemy's frigate,
heavily armed. The _Phoenix_ had been disguised to look as much as
possible like a corvette, a much smaller class of vessel, and it was
more than possible that the Frenchmen might find that they had caught a
Tartar.
"We shall have some glorious fighting," cried little Tommy Butts, the
smallest midshipman on board. "We shall thrash 'em in quarter less no
time. I hope that we shall have to board; that's the way I should like
to take the enemy."
"Why, your cutlass would run away with you, Tommy," said a big mate, who
delighted to sneer at Tommy. "It is a shame to send such children as
you to sea."
"His spirit may run away with him," observed Harry. "Never mind what
old Hulks says; Nelson was a little chap, and he did a few things to be
proud of."
Many a joke and laugh were indulged in as the men, stripped to the
waist, stood at their guns, while the frigate approached her powerful
antagonist. At length, as she got within range, the Frenchman opened
his fire, the shot flying through the sails and wounding severely the
masts, yards, and rigging. Not a gun, however, was discharged on board
the _Phoenix_ in return till it could take deadly effect. The _Didon_,
the French frigate, however, from fast sailing and clever manoeuvring,
always managed to keep in such a position that the guns of the _Phoenix_
could not bear on her. At length the English losing patience, ran right
down on the _Didon_ to windward, and thus the two antagonists were
brought broadside to broadside.
This was the longed-for moment, and the British crew made up for the
previous delay by working their guns with a rapidity which soon strewed
the decks of the enemy with the dead and wounded, damaged her hull, and
cut up her rigging.
Again the French ship got clear; but, as she had lost several of her
sails, the _Phoenix_ was more of a match for her. Once more the
antagonists closed, this time in a deadly embrace, the bow of the
_Didon_ running into the quarter of the _Phoenix_.
"We have you now," cried the gallant captain, lashing, with the help of
some of his men, the bowsprit of the enemy to his own mizen mast.
While he was so employed, Harry Treherne and Tommy Butts saw a Frenchman
taking deliberate aim at him. Tommy had got hold of the musket of a
marine who had fallen wounded.
"See, Harry, what a little chap can do!" he exclaimed; at the same
moment firing at the Frenchman, who fell, his musket going off and
sending the bullet flying just above the captain's head.
Captain Butler saw the act, and nodded his thanks, for he had no time to
speak. The next proceeding was to bring a heavy gun to fire through a
port which had been formed by enlarging one of the cabin windows.
Several seamen fell, picked off by the French marines, till the gun was
in its place. When, however, it once opened fire, its effects were
terrible indeed, full twenty of the Frenchmen being struck down at the
first discharge.
Meantime the English marines kept up so hot a fire on the _Didon's_
forecastle, that the seamen could not venture on it to fire the gun
which had been placed there. At length, however, the antagonists
separated, both presenting a woeful appearance.
Instead of the clouds of canvas swelling proudly to the breeze with
which they had entered into action, rope-ends and riddled sails hung
drooping down from every mast and yard. The fight was not over; the
crew of the _Phoenix_ busily employed themselves in repairing damages,
and, having knotted and spliced the rigging, and trimmed sails, she
stood towards the _Didon_.
With the first fresh puff of wind the foremast of her opponent went over
the side, and at the moment she was about to open her fire the brave
captain of the _Didon_ hauled down her colours, finding that he could
neither escape nor fight with any prospect of success. Loud cheers
burst from the British crew. This was Harry's first fight. It was
indeed a hard-fought one. Twelve men had been killed and twenty-eight
wounded of the crew; while the _Didon_ had lost no less than
twenty-seven officers and men killed, and forty-four wounded, out of a
crew of 330, while the _Phoenix_ went into action with only 245 men.
She and her prize arrived safely at Plymouth. She only remained long
enough to refit, and once more was at sea, and on her way back to the
West Indies.
Harry's next exploit was of a different character. Passing near the
Isle of Pines, two schooners and a brig were discovered far up a bight,
protected by a battery. There was little doubt that they were
privateers, and likely to do damage to British shipping.
"We must cut those vessels out," observed the captain.
The frigate stood off the land as if she was going away, but at night
once more stood back. As soon as she was well in with the land she
hove-to, and three boats were manned and lowered. Harry was appointed
to go in one of them. They were to pull up the harbour and attack the
three vessels, and, if necessary, one boat's crew was to land and storm
the fort. With muffled oars they pulled up the harbour. They could
just make out the vessels as they lay floating in silence on the calm
water, a light wind blowing off-shore. The boats got close up to the
brig before they were discovered. The enemy then, who had rushed to
their guns, which were run out, opened a hot fire from them, with
muskets and pistols; but the boats being close the shots passed over the
heads of their crews. With loud cheers the British sprang up the sides
of the brig. The crew bravely stood to their arms, but were speedily
overpowered by the impetuosity of the boarders, and were cut down or
driven below, some in their terror leaping overboard.
While Harry Treherne and his crew remained on board, the other two boats
proceeded to the attack of the schooners. He, meantime, having secured
the prisoners below, sent some of his hands aloft to loose sails while
the cable was cut, and in a few minutes the captured brig was standing
out of the harbour. The roar of the guns, the clashing of steel, and
the rattle of musketry had aroused the garrison of the fort, which
opened fire on the brig. The shots fell around her, and several went
through her sails, but no one was hurt. As he passed near the schooners
he listened anxiously for the signal which was to announce their
capture. First one loud cheer and then another told him that the work
was done, and they were soon perceived following under all sail, little
heeding the fire from the fort. Harry Treherne, with all the officers
and men engaged, was warmly commended for the spirited way in which the
exploit had been performed. It was not the only deed of naval daring in
which he took an active part.
At length the frigate was ordered to Bermuda on her way home. Within a
short distance of that island a suspicious vessel was seen from the
mast-head. Sail was made in chase. The stranger on discovering the
frigate did her utmost to escape, steering to the eastward, the wind
being from the west. A stern chase is a long chase. The night was
clear and the stranger was kept in sight. When morning dawned the
frigate had scarcely gained on her. This made the captain still more
eager to overtake her. All that day the chase continued--the frigate
gaining, however, somewhat on the stranger, a large fore-and-aft
schooner. At length, at sundown, it fell calm, and fears were
entertained that, should a mist rise, the schooner might escape during
the night. The captain therefore, sent three of the boats to capture
her. They had been discovered some time before they got alongside.
Boarding nettings were up, small-arm men were stationed at the bow and
stern, and as they drew near the guns opened a hot fire with grape and
canister. Still the British seamen, not to be daunted, dashed on, and,
climbing up the sides and cutting their way through the nettings, in
another minute the schooner's deck was won. She proved to be a Spanish
privateer, a very fine new vessel. A light breeze at daybreak enabled
the frigate to come up with her. The prisoners were transferred to the
frigate, and the command of the prize given to old Hulks, the mate, who
had been Tommy Butt's tyrant; and Harry Treherne was sent as his second
in command, with orders to proceed to Plymouth.
Old Hulks had several failings: whenever spirits came in his way he
could not refrain from them. Harry had, therefore, the chief charge of
the schooner. It was the winter season, and as they approached the
chops of the Channel the weather became very bad. Old Hulks, however,
declared that he must be home by Christmas, and ordered Harry to crack
on all the sail the schooner could carry night and day. Harry had taken
his observations as long as the sun could be seen, but for some days the
sky had been obscured by clouds. He believed that they were not far
from the Land's End, and well over to the British coast. Old Hulks
insisted that they were too far to the southward, and ordered the
schooner to be headed more to the northward. Night was approaching. It
was Christmas Eve. The wind was strong, and a heavy snowstorm prevented
the possibility of their sighting the land.
"Never mind, Harry; we shall see it in the morning,--about Plymouth, I
take it, and I shall be at home in plenty of time for our Christmas
dinner, and you shall dine with me, as you won't be able to get to your
own place."
"I wish that I could think so. We are nearer the English coast than you
suppose," said Harry.
"Well, heave the schooner to at midnight," answered old Hulks. "I shall
go below--call me then; it's fearfully cold."
Harry was compelled to obey the orders of his superior. He, however,
kept as good a look-out as he possibly could, wishing anxiously for
midnight. The hour was approaching. The wind blew stronger and
stronger, and the snow came down, covering the deck, and making it
impossible to see beyond the bowsprit end. Suddenly there was a loud
crash--the vessel groaned from stem to stern, the foremast went by the
board. Loud cries arose: "We are on the rocks! We are on the rocks!
Heaven protect us!"--was echoed from mouth to mouth.
Story 9--Chapter 3.
A large merry Christmas party was assembled under Sir Baldwin Treherne's
hospitable roof. All sorts of games had been carried on till a late
hour, and everybody was in high spirits.
"Oh, if dear Harry was here it would be perfect," exclaimed one of his
sisters, the gentle Mary, who had been his chief playmate in his
childhood.
"Oh, Harry is all right, enjoying the warm weather in the West Indies,
instead of being frozen as we are here."
"Lucky dog!" said one of his brothers.
They all went to bed at last. More than one prayer in the house was
offered up that night for young Harry's safety.
Christmas morning came. The sky was overcast, the snow was falling
thickly. Sir Baldwin had promised to visit during the day a poor
family; the mother lay dying.
"I cannot begin this blessed day better than by a work of love," he said
to himself, as he looked out on the snow-covered landscape. "If I put
it off till the afternoon she may no longer be here."
He never allowed the weather to prevent him from going out. With a
thick greatcoat on, a stout stick in one hand, he set forth through the
snow on his errand of mercy, long before the rest of the family had left
their rooms. He was just going into the cottage when he met Paul
Petherwick, with his pilot-coat, sea-boots, and a spy-glass under his
arm, accompanied by several of his crew, carrying oars and coils of rope
and other ship's gear.
"What, Paul, are you going to sea such a morning as this--Christmas
morning, too?" asked the baronet, in a tone of surprise.
"Yes, Sir Baldwin, that I am; for you see, sir, I was one Christmas day,
as you will remember, tossing about on yon stormy sea till my craft was
driven on shore, and I and my crew well-nigh lost. I should have been
thankful if any brother pilot had been out on that morning to have towed
the _Sea-Gull_ into port. For what I know, there are some poor fellows
out of their reckoning; and if I can fall in with them, and pilot them
up Channel, I shall be doing as I should like to be done by."
"You are right, my friend. Heaven protect and prosper you," said the
baronet. "You'll come up in the evening to hear the carol-singers.
There'll be a cup of mead ready for you, and for your people, too, if
they will come."
"Thank ye, Sir Baldwin; we'll come," said several voices, and the
pilot's crew hurried down to their boat.
The pilot vessel made several tacks along shore before stretching out to
sea. She had made her last tack, and was standing off the land when,
near the very reef on which the _Sea-Gull_ was lost, Paul thought he saw
the mast of a vessel. He called for his spy-glass. The boy brought it
to him. Just then the snow cleared off somewhat.
"There are some poor fellows clinging to it, too," he exclaimed. "Ease
off the jib-sheet! Down with the helm! we must beat up to them."
"Poor fellows! poor fellows! I hope that they will hold on till we
reach them," he exclaimed several times, as he himself went to the helm,
that he might make the vessel do her best, for tide and wind were
against her. Just then a large ship hove in sight, with a signal for a
pilot. "She can wait; these poor fellows cannot," he said, as he looked
towards her. "She would have paid us heavy pilotage, too."
As the _Lady Isabel_ drew near the wreck, one of the people on the mast
was seen waving a hat feebly. The others appeared to be lashed to it,
but unable to move. The cutter was hove-to and the boat lowered. There
was a broken sea running, and it was a work of difficulty and danger.
Six men were clinging to the mast, most of them more dead than alive
from the wet and cold.
"Take our young officer off first, pilot," said one of the men; "he's
furthest gone."
Two of the most active of the pilot's crew climbed the mast, and brought
down the almost lifeless form of a young midshipman. Only two other men
could be carried in the small pilot-boat at a time.
"Why, if it isn't Master Harry Treherne!" exclaimed old Paul Petherwick,
as he received the lad in his arms, and deposited him in the bottom of
the boat. "Pull, my sons, pull! the sooner we get him between the warm
blankets the better."
Harry Treherne, for it was indeed he, was quickly conveyed on board the
_Lady Isabel_, and placed in the old pilot's bed, where, with the aid of
a glass of grog (the sailor's specific in all maladies--in this instance
the best that could be applied), he soon regained his consciousness.
His first inquiries were for the rest of his crew. Five had been saved,
but the rest, with old Hulks, had been lost. The cutter was now rapidly
nearing the small harbour close to the manor house.
Sir Baldwin saw her coming, and having observed her manoeuvres near the
wreck, was sure that she was bringing some shipwrecked seamen on shore.
"We have got some one here who will be glad to see you, Sir Baldwin,"
said Paul, as he and his men lifted a sailor wrapped up in blankets out
of the boat.
"Father, dear father, I am all right! don't be alarmed. Only rather
weak from having been out in the cold all night," cried a voice which
Sir Baldwin recognised as that of his son Harry.
"Paul, you have repaid me, and more than repaid me," exclaimed the
baronet, after the first greetings with Harry were over. "I knew that
you would. Do what is right and kind on all occasions, and good will
come out of it somehow or other, though we do not always exactly see how
it is to be. That is what I have always said, and what has happened is
a strong proof that what I have said is true."
The shipwrecked seamen were received into the manor house, and carefully
tended. Harry was almost himself again by the evening, and all agreed
that that Christmas Day, if not as merry, was as happy as any that the
family had spent. They had many great blessings to be thankful for, and
among them, not the least to the parents' hearts, was that their
sailor-boy, after all the perils he had gone through, had once more been
restored to them in safety.