And what of the watchers on South Head? Wal Jessop’s summons had been
obeyed, and a small knot of men, and one or two women, stood looking
out to sea at the doomed ship.
‘What is she, Wal?’ said one man. ‘Do you know her name?’
‘Not for certain; but I’m afraid it’s the _Distant Shore_,’ replied
Jessop.
‘Captain Manton? I hope not,’ was the reply.
‘She’s helpless,’ said Jessop. ‘There’s no control over that ship. It’s
awful! Here we are, and cannot lend a helping hand. No boat could live
in such a sea; no man could swim near those rocks.’
They saw the ship lifted upon the top of the waves, and then sink out
of sight again. The large vessel was no more to the merciless sea than
a mere cork.
‘It will not be many minutes now,’ said Jessop to his wife; and she
shuddered, and stepped back from the cliffs. ‘Go home, Mary,’ he said;
‘this is no place for you.’
‘I’ll face it now I’m here,’ she said; ‘the crash will be awful. Can
nothing be done to save them?’
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘We must wait and see what the morning brings
forth; the sea may have gone down by then. There’s very little hope
that anyone will be saved.’
They crowded dangerously near the edge of the cliffs, and strained
their eyes in the direction of the ship.
Suddenly the vessel shot upright under them, deep down below. She was
heaved forward with tremendous force on the waves, and then came the
crash, which seemed to shake the rock upon which they stood. It was an
awful sound, this rending of timbers, the grinding and splitting to
pieces of a fine ship, with her living freight, within a few yards of
the harbour.
Cries came up from this abyss and made strong men tremble and weep.
Cries for help, and they could not help, although there was not a man
amongst them but would have risked his life cheerfully had he thought
there was the slightest hope of saving those on board.
They heard the ship grinding on the rocks, they heard groans and
shrieks, and in a few moments there came an awful stillness. Even the
waves seemed awed by this terrible disaster, and there was a lull in
the storm. The wind dropped quickly and moaned dismally.
Wal Jessop lay flat down, and, while a man held his legs, peered into
the depths below, but he could see nothing but the white foam from the
waves. There was not a trace of the vessel, so far as he could make out.
‘We must wait till morning, but it’s weary work,’ he said. ‘Would to
God we could do something to help them! They’re beyond help now, I’m
afraid. Poor Manton!’
‘Then, you feel sure it’s the _Distant Shore_?’
‘I have a presentiment it is. She’s due shortly, and Manton always
liked to make a quick passage. If it is the _Distant Shore_, it will be
the last trip he will ever make,’ said Jessop.
‘What shall we do as soon as it’s light?’
Wal Jessop was always the man addressed; the others recognised him as
the guiding hand in this trouble.
‘We must have ropes ready,’ he said. ‘I’m going down the rocks as soon
as it’s light.’
‘No, no,’ said his wife; ‘you must not, Wal. It will mean death to you,
and then to me. If the rope broke you would be dashed to pieces. Wait
until you can row round through the Heads.’
‘Nay, my lass,’ he said kindly; ‘even if the gale drops, the sea will
be too rough for any boat to reach the rocks below. I must go down.
There’ll be no danger, with a stout rope and sturdy arms to hold me.
Think of it, lass--I might save a life. It’s worth the risk, if only
for the chance.’
She knew it would be useless to try and dissuade him; but she
determined to remain and watch.
It was weary work waiting for the light to come. Ropes had been
procured, and a heavy crowbar driven firmly down.
‘No danger of them breaking,’ said Wal Jessop as he handled the ropes.
‘You must keep the rope well away from the rock as you lower me down;
if it frays on a jagged sharp edge it might break.’
At last daylight began to appear, and in these climes there is not long
to wait before it is quite light.
As the men looked over the cliffs they could see no sign of any living
creature. Spars and timbers had been dashed upon the rocks, and
remained there, but they were the only signs of the wreck.
‘If timber can lodge there,’ said Jessop, ‘maybe some poor fellow has
managed to be cast up out of reach of the waves. Make ready quickly; we
must lose no time.’
The men set to work with a will. The stoutest rope was not long enough
to reach to the foot of the rocks, and another long one had to be
fastened on. The end was made fast to the iron bar, bags were put along
the edge of the cliff to prevent the rope fraying, and, when Wal Jessop
had inspected everything, and found all right, he tied the rope round
his waist, and stood ready to make the descent. It was a perilous task,
for the wind was still high and the face of the rocks dangerous, having
so many sharp projections against which he might be knocked as he was
lowered down.
He kissed his wife, and bade her think only of the duty he had to
perform; and if there was a spice of danger in it, why, so much the
better, and the more credit to a man for undertaking it.
‘You ought to be proud I’m going to do it,’ he said; ‘there’s not a
man here who does not envy me the job, and would like to take it on
himself.’
‘That’s so,’ said one of the men. ‘It’s because we have such respect
for your husband that we’re letting him have first turn. If he wants to
go down a second time, I reckon there’ll be a dispute about it.’
Wal Jessop crawled to the edge of the rocks, and then, taking a firm
hold of the rope, slipped quickly over. Two men held the rope near
the edge, the others were behind, and one man stood watching Jessop,
giving the signal when to stop and when to lower.
The wind was blowing strong from the sea, and it took Wal Jessop all
his time to keep himself clear of the rocks. He dared not push off with
his feet because the wind swung him back violently. He was bruised and
scratched, and his clothes were torn, when he reached a rock above the
level of the waves, and signalled to stop lowering.
‘He’s down,’ said the man giving orders to the others, ‘and in a safe
place, too.’
Mary Jessop felt thankful for this, but she would not be at rest until
her husband reached the top again.
Wal Jessop unfastened the rope and left it dangling. He then sat down
and looked around him. Those above could merely see a small figure
contemplating the scene. On all sides there was ample evidence of a
wreck, but it seemed to Wal Jessop the vessel had been shattered to
atoms.
‘Not much chance of anyone being saved,’ he thought sadly. ‘How could
they be dashed against these rocks and live?’
He scrambled along from rock to rock and found very little. A hat
or a coat he came across, lodged high up on some projection. There
was plenty of timber and odds and ends, but not a sign of any living
soul. He searched in one direction, towards the Heads, for about an
hour, and then began to make his way in the opposite direction. It was
hard work, for the sea was still rough and the wind high, and it was
difficult for him to obtain a firm foothold on the slippery slabs and
slanting rocks.
He was about to give up his search, when he caught sight of something
white lying on a high level piece of rock some distance away.
‘Wonder what that is?’ he thought. ‘A white jacket, or something of the
sort, I expect. Anyhow, now I am here, I may as well go and see.’
He scrambled along, and as he neared the object that had attracted his
attention, his heart began to beat fast. The white garment he fancied
covered a human form. Could it be possible? Had some poor fellow been
cast up by the sea on to a ledge of safety? He hurried on, in the hope
that after all he might be able to save a human life. What a feeling of
exultation comes over a man when he snatches a fellow-creature from the
jaws of death! Wal Jessop had saved men’s lives before this time, but
he was anxious to save someone from this fearful wreck if possible.
As he struggled on over the uneven rocks, he saw that the ledge upon
which the white object lay was out of the reach of the waves. His
practised eyes saw at a glance that, if a man had been cast up on to
this ledge, he would not be washed back by the receding waves. He
reached the foot of the rock, and found it a difficult matter to get
up the side. He walked round and found a better foothold on the other
side. It was not long before he reached the top, and there he saw a
sight that brought tears to his eyes.
Stretched on the rock lay a youth, calm and still--so still that Wal
Jessop thought him dead. It was a comely face he looked upon, a face he
knew would be fair, indeed, if life still remained to bring back light
to the closed eyes. Clasped in the left arm of the youth was a child,
and she also lay insensible.
Wal Jessop looked down upon them with great sorrow in his heart.
‘A brave lad this,’ he thought. ‘He must have fought hard to save that
little lass--a brave lad, indeed, to risk his life for a little child.’
He stooped over them. He had a flask of brandy in his coat-pocket.
He placed his hand on the youth’s heart and felt there was a slight
pulsation. He could not resist a loud cry of joy.
‘He’s alive yet!’ he shouted. Then he felt the child’s heart. Yes, it
still beat faintly.
‘Both alive!’ he cried. ‘Thank God, they may be saved!’
He forced some brandy into the youth’s mouth, and a few drops he gave
to the child. Then he pulled off his coat, wrapped the little girl in
it, and began to rub the youth’s limbs and body to try and restore
animation.
‘Not a case of half-drowned,’ he said. ‘They’ve been thrown up on to
this ledge and stunned. They must have been insensible for some hours.
He’s got a nasty cut at the back of his head, and the little one has a
big bruise on her temple.’
After rubbing the youth’s hand for some time Wal Jessop saw signs of
returning life. The sight gladdened him, and he redoubled his efforts.
Presently he heard a faint sigh, the youth’s eyes opened, and he gazed
wildly about him as though thinking of and looking for something. In a
few minutes he gasped:
‘The child! Little Eva--where----’
‘Safe, my lad. She’s here,’ said Wal Jessop.
A satisfied smile passed over the youth’s face, and he sank again into
insensibility.
‘A brave lad,’ muttered Wal Jessop again. ‘Thinks of naught but the
saving of that little one.’
A faint cry made him turn his head, and he saw a movement under his
coat.
‘The warmth has brought her round,’ he thought. ‘I’ll attend to her
first. He won’t come round again yet awhile.’
He took up the girl and she opened her eyes wide.
‘Where is I?’ she lisped. ‘Where’s my daddy and my mammy? Where’s Eddy?
Who is you?’ Then, as she caught sight of the sea and the rocks, she
began to cry.
‘I’ll take care of you, my lamb,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘Eddy’s
asleep--look.’
The girl looked at him and said quickly:
‘No wake him. Eddy very tired. He carried me long way.’
‘Then, I’ll take you home and come back for him,’ said Wal. ‘Give me a
kiss, little one.’
She put up her face and he kissed her tenderly. Then he took her up
in his arms and carried her as gently as possible over the rocks back
towards the rope. Tired and worn out, the child was soon fast asleep.
‘That’s well,’ said Wal Jessop as he hurried on; ‘she’ll not be
frightened as we are hauled up. There’ll be something for Mary to do
here. We’ve no young one of our own. Perhaps we are to have this one
from the sea. We’ll see about it when the lad can tell us all.’
When Wal Jessop reached the rope he gave a loud hallo, and held up the
sleeping child. He could hear the ringing cheers from those on the top.
Having made the rope fast and tied the child firmly round the waist, he
gave the signal to haul up, and soon reached the top without any mishap.
‘Here, lass, there’s a present for you,’ said Wal, as he laid the
sleeping child in his wife’s arms.
Mary Jessop kissed it fondly, and could find no words to express her
feelings.
‘There’s a lad down yonder,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘I must go back for him.
You take the child home, Mary. I’ll not be long. There’s no danger.
It’s a safe trip. I’ve been once, and I know the way. Now, lads, lower
me down again, and we’ll soon have the young fellow up here. He’s a
fine-looking chap, and I’m glad I’m the one to rescue him. Lower away,
boys!’