A DISASTROUS NIGHT.
All day the _Firefly_ had run pretty swiftly along the coast of
France, and that of Belgium, low, flat, and sandy, was on her lee,
when a pitchy darkness fell upon the sea. The sky overhead was black
and starless, and most cheerless indeed seemed the gloom amid which
the yacht was sailing.
Muffled in her warmest wraps, Alison was lingering on deck, alone,
though the night was rather advanced, and she leant on, or rather
clung to, Tom Llanyard's arm as she promenaded the now damp and
somewhat slippery deck, walking restlessly to and fro, like a caged
animal, sometimes muttering to herself--
'Oh, if I could but tire myself out--utterly out--that I might get
some deep and dreamless sleep at night!'
The deck at that time was far from comfortable, but she preferred it
to the cabin, with the society of Cadbury, who believed in what
Hawley Smart calls, 'tobacco and moistened conversation,' and was
having a cigarette and brandy and water with Sir Ranald.
To the eastward some faint lights twinkled for a time far off and dim
in the distance, with black wave-tops rising opaquely between,
indicating the whereabouts of some Flemish village; but even these
melted out, and the darkness seemed to become deeper still.
To Alison's eye it was a positive relief to watch from time to time
the light of the binnacle-lamp as it streamed on the weather-beaten
visage of the man at the wheel, his figure swaying steadily with the
motion of the yacht, and his feet planted firmly on a wooden grating;
to watch the other light in the skylight of the warm and cosy cabin,
and the occasional showers of red sparks that came from the funnel of
its fire-place, and melted out, amid the gloom, to leeward.
'And England lies there?' said Alison, turning her face westward.
'Yes, Miss Cheyne,' replied Tom, who was greatly enchanted to have
the girl all to himself, and to feel her little hand clinging to his
arm. 'I should think that Harwich is well-nigh abeam of us now.'
'And how far off may it be?'
'Some sixty miles or so--too far,' he added, laughing, 'for us to
hear the clang of the Bell Buoy.'
'Too far, indeed!'
'Are you anxious to return homeward?'
'Oh, yes, I hope, I do hope we shall do so soon,' exclaimed Alison,
with a little sob in her throat.
Tom Llanyard heard the sound, and, kindly patting the hand that lay
on his arm, he said, laughingly, 'There is nothing in this world like
hope, to a sailor especially. What does the old song say?'
And Tom sung in a low, and not unmusical voice,
'Poor Jack saw his bark on the ocean of life
Now sink, now the billows o'ertop,
When despair would present him a bullet or knife,
He lays hold on the anchor of Hope.
'His chest and his trifles may sink in the wave,
Fore and aft a loved messmate may drop,
He may shed a salt tear for the loss of the brave,
But he leans on the anchor of Hope.
'"Heart of oak," sobs he, bluntly, "your fate I deplore,
Ne'er a smarter could splice me a rope,
Still, my lad, we must keep a good look-out afore,
And depend on the anchor of Hope."
Ere Alison could say a word of compliment to Tom on his singing, one
of the watch forward cried out,
'Light ahead!'
'Where away?' asked Tom.
'Right ahead, sir.'
'I can't see it.'
'Can't help that, sir--it was there a moment ago, a point or so on
the lee bow.'
Another man of the watch asserted the same thing. Tom Llanyard got
his night-glass, and swept the obscurity ahead with it, but in vain.
Intensely dark was the night--intensely black the sea through which
the yacht was running. The gurgle and wash of the billows could be
heard at the bows and under the counter, but nothing was seen of
them. There was no phosphorescent gleam--no pale streak of foam to
catch the eye or define the presence of the deep, and the imaginative
mind of Alison felt in its fullest sense all the mystery of the
hidden miles of water that were around her; while the keen and
ceaseless watch kept by those on deck impressed her with a curiously
mingled sense of security and danger--security in the skill and
courage of the crew; danger in the knowledge that there were shoals
and sands about her, and a sea alive with vessels.
Suddenly out of the darkness there came two wavering flames, then a
row of red round lights, all in a line, as a steamer swept past,
looming huge and dark, with a cloud of red sparks streaming to
leeward from her unseen funnel, and the commotion her screw propeller
and the pulsing her engines made in the water passed away with her,
and there seemed to be a deeper darkness all around the _Firefly_ as
she faded into the obscurity astern.
'That was the light you saw?' said Tom to the look-out man forward.
'It was _not_, sir,' replied the sailor, confidently, 'for there it
is again!'
At some undefinable distance a light, like that of a lantern,
flickering, feeble, and lambent, seemed to dance for a moment on the
waves, and then disappeared.
Suddenly a shout went from stem to stern.
'Something right ahead--something large and black, Captain Llanyard!'
cried the look-out man.
'Hard a-port--the helm--hard a-port,' thundered Llanyard, 'or we'll
be slap into her!'
Lord Cadbury and Sir Ranald now came rushing on deck, and quitting
the arm of Tom, who had now other work to do, Alison clung fearfully
to her father, whose arm went instinctively round her.
'Lights--lights alongside--where is she?--what is it, in the name of
God?' cried twenty voices, as a dreadful crash, followed by the sound
of splintering wood, was heard.
'All hands shorten sail!' cried Tom Llanyard; 'man the fore clew
garnets--stand by the top-gallant clew-lines--stand by the peak and
throat halyards--down with the jib--lift tacks and sheets--let go and
belay--look to the main gaff, and get out lights for God's sake!'
Tom's rapid orders were skilfully and speedily obeyed, and in a very
few minutes the sails were reduced and nearly furled, while the cold
night wind swept through the open rigging, and the _Firefly_ rose and
fell on the long rollers, with a terrible jarring and rasping sound,
as she was evidently foul of some vessel, but had not suffered
apparently, according to the carpenter's first report on the state of
the pumps.
She lay-to with only canvas enough on her for steering purposes.
A great flame now glared upward right under her bows, as the wavering
and streaming blaze from a flare-tin showed that she was foul of a
great Belgian fishing smack, of a tonnage equal to her own--her deck
to all appearance full of men, shrieking and gesticulating as only
Frenchmen or Belgians gesticulate and shriek, inspired by terror,
their pallid and excited faces, half seen in light, half hidden in
shadow, against the surrounding blackness, as the red glare from, the
upheld flare-tin fell on them, and on the head or berthing boards of
the lugger, which bore her name--_Le Chien Noir d'Ostende_--The Black
Hound of Ostend! The Black Hound! Was there a fatality in this?
Alison was sick with affright; her father looked grimly, sternly, and
pitifully on; but my Lord Cadbury's teeth (or what remained of them)
were clattering in his jaws like castanets.
'This is no fault of ours, my lord,' said Tom, 'we had our top-light,
as you see; these lubbers had none.'
As he spoke the red light from the flare-tin shed one more than
usually powerful glare of radiance on the crowd of appalled visages
that lined the hull and filled the rigging of the broken and battered
lugger, and then expired, leaving all in the blackness of night again.
Every lantern in the _Firefly_ was now brought on deck and bent on to
ropes, the boats were cleared away for hoisting out, fenders were
hung over the side, and life-buoys and belts cut away. Again came
the crashing, rasping sound, as the hull of the lugger, which was
evidently stove in, swerved alongside the yacht, across the deck of
which her mainmast fell with a crash, bringing down the fore-topmast
of the former with all its top hamper, making her for the time also a
helpless wreck.
A block swinging at the end of a rope struck Sir Ranald Cheyne and
hurled him on the deck. Alison bent over him in despair and terror
indescribable and unutterable, feeling scarcely able to restrain the
conviction that all this was really happening to herself.
'We are bulged forward, and water is rising fast below now, my lord,'
reported the carpenter, rushing up to Cadbury, who seemed paralysed
with terror.
'Stand by the fall-tackles, and lower away the boats,' ordered Tom
Llanyard, whose voice could scarcely be heard amid the hubbub on
board the lugger, which was still alongside.
Fully five minutes elapsed before this was done; one fall-tackle got
jammed in the davit-block, another boat was without its plug, and,
barely had the two boats of the _Firefly_ touched the water, when,
knife in hand, the terrified crew of the lugger began to crowd into
them.
By this time poor Alison had fainted, with little Daisy Prune
crawling close to her side, and was in blessed unconsciousness of the
awful scene around her presented by so many men struggling for life,
and drowning, as both vessels began apparently to settle gradually
down into the black and silent midnight sea.