Hundreds of people hurrying to business in Sydney at an early hour in
the morning cast anxious eyes at the dull leaden sky, across which
heavy clouds rolled, hanging over the harbour and the city. They also
gazed in wonderment, and with feelings not devoid of awe, upon a mass
of peculiar white clouds banked up in an exactly opposite direction to
the harbour. These clouds were of a fleecy whiteness, balloon-shaped,
and clung together until they were heaped almost mountains high.
There was a peculiar stillness about the atmosphere--the calm that
usually precedes a storm. All day long the clouds hung suspended
overhead, and towards the middle of the afternoon it grew much darker.
People residing at harbour suburbs hurried home as fast as possible,
and were glad when they were ferried safely across the water.
The Watson’s Bay ferry-boat was throwing off from the landing-stage as
a well-built man in a pilot’s coat jumped on board.
‘Nearly missed it, Wal,’ said the skipper of the _Fairy_. ‘The next
boat will have a rough passage, I reckon.’
‘Yes; it’s been brewing all day,’ replied Walter Jessop. ‘We shall have
a terrible night, I fear. It will be dangerous near the coast to-night.
Luckily, there’s no vessel been sighted anywhere handy.’
The speaker was evidently a seaman. He had an honest, open face,
weather-beaten and tanned with exposure, and his hands were hard and
big and used to hard work.
Pilot Jessop was well known in Sydney. In years gone by he had done
good service as a pilot, and he still followed his calling, but
fortune had favoured him in the shape of a windfall from a rich
relation, and he only took on work when he felt inclined.
Walter Jessop knew the coast of Australia as well as any man, and he
had sailed up most of the harbours and rivers between Adelaide and
Normanton. Such a man was not likely to make many mistakes about the
weather, and he knew what these lowering clouds that had been hanging
about all day meant.
The _Fairy_ was one of the smallest ferry boats on the harbour, and at
this time Watson’s Bay was not such an important place as it is now.
Pilot Jessop, however, found it handy to live at Watson’s Bay, as it
was under the great shadows of South Head, beyond which lay the open
sea. Many a ship had he piloted to a safe anchorage in the harbour.
When the landing-stage was reached, he bade the skipper of the _Fairy_
good-night, and walked to his home, which nestled in a sheltered
position high up above the harbour.
A bright little woman, clad in a homely dress, gave him a hearty
welcome. Mrs. Jessop was just the wife for such a man, and they had
only one regret: they had no child to lavish their affection upon.
‘We’re in for a storm,’ said Wal Jessop, as he was generally called. ‘I
hope there’s no vessel making for the harbour; they’d better keep away
from our coast to-night.’
‘I’m right glad you have no occasion to go to sea on such nights,’ said
his wife. ‘It would make an old woman of me before my time if you were
out in these storms.’
‘I weathered a good many storms before I met you,’ said Wal Jessop,
‘but I don’t feel much inclined for it again when I come to such
comfortable quarters as these.’
A low murmuring sound could be heard, a door banged, and the windows
creaked ominously.
‘It’s coming,’ said Jessop. ‘Make everything snug, my lass; there’ll be
a perfect hurricane before morning.’
As Wal Jessop sat at the well-laden tea-table, he suddenly put down his
knife and fork, and drew a paper from his coat-pocket.
‘I’d quite forgotten,’ he said. ‘I hope they’re not making for Sydney
in such a gale as this will be.’
‘What ship do you mean?’ asked his wife.
‘The _Distant Shore_ is due here early next week. It’s Saturday, and
the agents expect her on Monday at the latest. I hope Captain Manton
has not made an extra quick passage. She’s a clipping sailer, is the
_Distant Shore_, and he’s a bit venturesome--likes to make a rapid run.
I shouldn’t wonder if she’s not far away to-night.’
‘I hope not,’ said Mrs. Jessop.
Captain Manton often paid a visit to the Jessops when in Sydney, and
the pilot and his wife were very fond of his company.
As the evening wore on the storm raged in all its fury. Every hour
seemed to add to the velocity of the gale. A great roar like distant
thunder could be heard in the cottage as the waves dashed against the
mighty rocks of South Head, and then rushed back, baffled and angry.
‘It’s beginning to rain,’ said Wal Jessop; ‘I’ll just see if the pony’s
all right before it comes on faster.’
‘Be quick in again,’ said his wife, ‘or you’ll be drenched.’
A fierce gust came in as he opened the door and quickly shut it again.
‘It doesn’t rain after all,’ he said, as he looked up at the dark
clouds through which the moon occasionally shone in fitful gleams.
As if to convince him he had made a mistake, and that his first surmise
was correct, a shower of heavy drops fell upon him. He stood still and
thought for a moment; then he touched the wet on his coat and tasted
it. It was salt, and he knew the waves outside were running high and
dashing showers of salt spray over the top of the rocks, and the wind
carried it across the village.
‘Such a sea is worth having a look at,’ he thought. ‘I’ll have a walk
up to the cliffs before I turn in.’
He told his wife it was the spray from the waves being dashed on the
rocks, and she knew it must be terrible out at sea.
Walter Jessop could not rest. He felt uneasy, and had an undefinable
feeling that some dire catastrophe was about to take place. He sat down
and tried to read the evening paper, but nothing in it interested
him. His pipe continually went out because he was so deep in thought
he failed to draw sufficiently to keep it alight. His wife watched
him with anxious eyes. She had seen him like this before when he had
been affected by a presentiment of evil. He got up from his chair and
restlessly paced about the room.
‘Have a glass of something,’ said his wife. ‘It’s getting on for
bedtime.’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what it is, lass: I fear
there’ll be something awful happen before the night’s over.’
‘It’s the storm makes you feel like that,’ said his wife. ‘This will do
you good.’ And she handed him a glass of toddy.
Wal Jessop drank it with evident relish. Then he looked at his watch,
and said:
‘Ten o’clock. I’ll just go up on the cliffs, and have a look out to
sea; I’ll never rest if I don’t.’
‘If you say you’ll go I know you mean it,’ said his wife; ‘but do be
careful. You might get blown over the rocks.’
‘There’s a moon,’ he said; ‘and I’m more likely to be blown away from
the rocks than over them. I’ll not be gone long. You go to bed.’
He put on a thick coat and slouch hat, kissed his wife, and then went
out into the stormy night.
‘If he fancies I’m going to bed until he comes home he’s mistaken,’
said Mrs. Jessop to herself. ‘Oh, these sailors! A furious gale seems
to tempt them outside when other folk are only too anxious to hide
their heads under the bedclothes.’
Wal Jessop felt the full force of the wind as he made his way up a
narrow path towards the top of the cliff. He battled with it, and
seemed to take a fierce delight in overcoming it. A terrific gust
nearly swept him off his feet, and he muttered:
‘Nearly had me that time, but I’ll beat the winds as I have done
before. There’s some satisfaction in fighting a gale like this, but I’d
sooner be doing it here than out at sea yonder.’
At last he reached the roadway, which he crossed, and then climbed up
again towards the top of the rocks. As he made his way slowly the salt
spray dashed into his face, and wetted him all over. He could hear the
waves thundering against the rocks, and every roar was followed by a
dense shower of spray. When he reached the top of the rocks the moon
came out from behind a cloud, and shed a pale light on the scene.
Wal Jessop looked out to sea, and saw nothing but a black mass of
tumultuous water and fierce waves chasing each other in mad sport. Then
he looked down below and saw masses of foam tossed about and flung
high into the air. He saw the great waves roll across the jutting
rock, then dash furiously against the solid mass opposed to them, and
cast up spray like a waterspout. This battle between the waves and the
rocks had been going on for centuries, and would, he knew, continue
for centuries more. The waves, constantly baffled and defeated, had
to retreat, but they returned again and again to the charge, bringing
up reinforcements from their mighty reserves, until at last the rocks
seemed to give way inch by inch, and their jagged, worn fronts bore
unmistakable testimony to the fierceness of the onslaught.
Pilot Jessop could not tear himself away from this scene of tumult and
fierce war. He stood alone upon the rocks, the spray drenching him,
and the wind whistling and whining in his ears. He knew there was a
warm bed awaiting him at home, and yet he could not leave the spot. He
peered out to sea, and saw an empty space. The moon was again hidden,
and all was black and desolate. Suddenly he started, and gave vent to
an exclamation. He thought he saw a tiny light sparkle far away out
in the gloom. He looked again and again, but could see nothing. Could
his eyes have deceived him? What could he have mistaken for a light
so far out at sea? There it was again. He could not mistake it this
time. There were two lights like stars; now he saw three. A cold, dull
feeling came over him, and froze the blood in his veins; his heart beat
loudly, and he put his hands to his head to think.
Was it a ship out at sea and heading for the harbour on such a night as
this? Surely no captain would be so mad and foolish as to risk passing
through that narrow strait between the Heads in such a gale! He looked
again and again, and the more he looked the more he was convinced it
was a vessel being driven on to the rocks. He knew if it was a ship she
would be dashed into a thousand pieces and not a soul on board could be
saved. Hoping against hope, he looked again. The light had gone, and he
breathed more freely. His eyesight must have deceived him.
He felt a tug at his sleeve, and turning quickly round, faced his wife.
‘I could bear it no longer,’ she said; ‘you have been out over three
hours. The suspense was terrible. I thought you were blown over the
rocks. Come home, Wal, you are wet through.’
‘Three hours!’ he exclaimed, then, knowing how he had been compelled to
struggle to reach the rocks, he took his wife in his arms, strained her
to his breast, kissed her fondly, and said:
‘You are a brave little woman, and I’m a brute for causing you anxiety.
We will go home at once. This is no fit place for you.’
‘Wal, Wal!’ she cried as she stared over his shoulder with wide,
terror-stricken eyes; ‘look, there’s a light; two lights, three! It’s a
ship! Lord have mercy on ’em!’
‘Good God, she’s seen it! Then my eyes have not deceived me. That’s
what I’ve been watching this hour,’ he said.
They looked together out across the furious ocean, and saw the lights
plainly now.
Mary Jessop hid her face on her husband’s shoulder and sobbed aloud.
She knew not a single man, woman, or child on the ill-fated vessel
could expect to live when the ship was shattered to pieces. As she
stood there in the rocks with the wind roaring around her, safe in her
husband’s strong arms, she offered up a prayer to the God who rules the
seas to save the ship from destruction.
As for Pilot Jessop, he seemed for the moment incapable of action. He
quickly recovered, and said in a hollow voice:
‘Suppose it’s the _Distant Shore_?’
His wife shuddered and said:
‘Can nothing be done to save her?’
‘No, Mary; she’s beyond control. No captain would be here on such
a night if he had control of his ship. She’s helpless, and we are
helpless; but we can rouse the folk and do all we can. Come.’
They went down the rocky path and hurried to the village, where,
despite the gale, the people were sleeping soundly.
They roused two or three men, and telling them to pass the word on,
they fought their way back to the top of the cliffs.