OF THEIR UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCH FOR THE SUNKEN TREASURE—WEARYING AT
LENGTH OF THE UNDERTAKING, THEY PURSUE THEIR COURSE—THE LEGEND OF
‘NELL’S BEACON,’ OR THE ‘CORPUS SANT.’
For three weeks and better did the ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’ lie off and
on by the shoals. For three weeks the launch and shallop were
day by day employed searching and dragging the reefs, but we
found no treasure-wreck. The remains of the ship to which Bedloe
had conducted us were thoroughly searched, indeed the deck was
altogether torn up, and some trifling amount of Dutch coin, with
two good iron guns, and the small brass cannon were recovered, but
we gained no richer prize. Day after day, even when the glare of
the sun was at its fiercest, might our boats be seen floating along
the channels of the reef, two men at either bow, leaning over the
gunwale, so that their eyes were removed only an inch or so from
the water: but, save coral and sand, they saw nought besides. Still
I felt certain that the treasure lay upon the reefs, and we had
many disputes as to the possibility of the dwarf having managed, by
flinging certain fragments of rock, which we found upon the eastern
edge of the shoal, and each of which was the nucleus of immense
masses of clustering sea-weed, to hide the precious deposit from
strange eyes. We all agreed that little or nothing of the ship could
possibly be remaining; but, as it was likely that the treasure was
shipped in strong boxes either of iron, or secured with that metal,
it was quite possible that these lay in crevices of the rocks, their
great weight mooring them, and that the dwarf employed his leisure
time before our arrival in covering them with the sea-weed grown
stones of which I spoke. But all these opinions were but idle wind.
We knew not the truth. Some of the elder seamen would have it that
the whole was the work of the devil; that the dwarf was a demon who
haunted those lonely shelves to disturb and perplex poor mariners;
and in the evening, when we sat upon deck smoking and drinking in the
grateful twilight, many a dismal tale was rehearsed of phantoms of
the sea, and particularly of the unearthly creatures whom many of the
crew believed to dwell upon islands as yet unvisited by mariners, and
who try to scare away the human intruders upon their domains.
However, we at length got heartily tired of our sojourn amid the
reefs, and the more so as we began to fear that we might miss the
rich ship from Carthagena. A council was therefore held, at which
we all agreed that we had wasted too much time already, seeking
for the dwarf’s treasure, and that the sooner the ship’s head was
turned to the southward the better. Accordingly, the next sunrise
saw the boats hoisted up, our anchor safely catted at our bows, and
the schooner running gaily upon her original course. We had rough
weather and heavy seas ere we made the Samballas islands, to which we
first intended to repair, and one stormy night I saw, for the first
time, the appearance of that strange light which is sometimes seen on
board ships at sea, and which the Spanish and Portuguese seamen know
as the ‘corpus,’ or ‘corpus sant,’ and which our sailors sometimes
call ‘Nell’s Beacon.’ The Spanish word seems to me to be clearly a
corruption of ‘corpus sanctum’—the holy body—they tracing the light,
which I believe to be nothing else than a mere harmless wandering
meteor, to some religious or sacred origin. The night that the corpus
sant appeared on board the Will-o’-the-Wisp was stormy and unsettled,
the sky being piled with gloomy clouds, and the wind strong and
gusty. I was sitting by the steersman, when, looking aloft, I saw
something like a greenish-blue glare flickering along the weather end
of the main cross-trees, just as if some one at a distance had been
flashing a dark lantern through the rigging. I was rubbing my eyes,
doubtful whether I had seen aright, when all at once the pale glimmer
appeared, as it were, to become concentrated on one spot at the very
end of the cross-trees, where it gleamed with a dim yet steady light,
like a star.
The boatswain had the helm, and I pointed it out to him.
‘Nell’s Beacon,’ quoth he; ‘I know it well. When it burns high up in
the rigging, then it is a good omen, and a sign of fair weather; but
when it descends upon deck and moves to and fro then it is time for
all who see it to bethink themselves of their sins.’
Meanwhile the other men of the watch having also observed the light,
began to congratulate themselves thereupon, only expressing fears
that it would descend to the deck, for which cause they watched it
very anxiously. Determined, however, to examine the thing minutely,
I climbed up into the rigging, and although the boatswain tried to
dissuade me, I got upon the cross-trees, and gazed upon the meteor as
closely as I would do at the flame of a candle. The meteor surrounded
the end of the spar upon which it appeared, gleaming with a sort of
pale glow, which was not flame, but rather like the light produced by
flame, sometimes having a very ghastly blue colour, like the blaze of
burning spirits, and anon turning of a greenish tint. Although the
wind blew strong, the corpus sant did not waver or flicker like a
flame, and I passed my hand through and through it, without feeling
inconvenience. During the time I remained aloft, the meteor was
becoming more and more dim, and soon after I had descended to the
deck it disappeared. The remainder of the watch we passed discoursing
upon this phenomenon. Some of the sailors said it was a sort of sea
glow-worm, and others that it was a jelly which shone; but neither
of these opinions is correct. Upon asking what the Spanish and
Portuguese sailors said of it, one Thomas Lomax, who had been twice a
prisoner in a ship of the former nation, told us that the tradition
of the Spaniards was to this effect:—
A Spanish bark once set sail from Cadiz, bound for Sicily. They had
very calm weather, and they feared at last that their water would
run short. All the crew, therefore, made vows to St. Antonio, and
promised to place a silver candlestick upon his shrine if he would
send them a prosperous breeze. The captain of the ship alone refused
to join in their prayers, saying that St. Antonio could no more send
them a wind than a pig could see it, and vowing that at all events
if it were not so, the saint was a shabby fellow not to give poor
sailors a breeze without their having to rob their wives and families
to pay him for it. But day after day passed by, and the sails still
hung in unwinking folds from the lateen yards, and the reflection of
the ship could be seen in the sea as in a mirror. One evening, after
a very hot day, the air felt even closer than usual, and the captain
told the men that he must reduce still further their allowance of
water. That night, therefore, they redoubled their supplications to
the saint, and the captain who, by-the-by, was a Frenchman, redoubled
his abuse of him, swearing that St. Antonio could not muster as much
wind as would blow out a candle, far less urge on a ship. The words
had hardly been spoken when a great light shone upon the vessel, and,
running to the stern, they all saw St. Antonio, with a halo round his
head, coming walking upon the water towards them. At this they all
fell upon their knees, and even the French captain grew pale, and his
legs almost failed him. Meantime the saint walked upon the sea up to
the stern, and placing his hand upon the taffrail of the ship, said—
‘This to confound thy unbelief, thou contemner of holy men and
things!’
At the same giving the ship what appeared to be a slight push, but
which flung her forward as if she had been a stone hurled from a
sling. The saint having performed this feat, instantly vanished,
and at the same moment a fearful storm, the like of which was never
seen by man, suddenly arising, drove on the ship with the same
rapidity as that which the hand of the saint had imparted to her.
Meantime all the crew were on their knees praying to the Virgin to
intercede for them with St. Antonio, and expecting nothing less
than instant death. But the ship continued to drive with unearthly
rapidity, although without injury, and beginning to take courage,
they observed, on looking about, a bright light burning upon that
part of the taffrail which the saint had touched with his hand. For
three days and three nights the miraculous storm lasted. The ship
flew through the water quicker than birds cleave the air, and the
supernatural nature of the tempest was made still more evident by
the fact that it was not general over the sea, but that within half
a cable’s length from the ship the ocean and the air were either
perfectly at rest, or a pleasant breeze was blowing, and vessels
were sailing with a fair wind in the opposite direction to that in
which the saint-cursed ship was driven. Still, however, the mariners
did not cease to importune St. Antonio for pardon, and the captain
was loudest in his prayers, and most lavish in his vows. At length,
at midnight on the third night, the light, which had never ceased
to burn, suddenly moved from its place, and flitting to the mast,
began to ascend it. As the meteor rose into the air, the fury of
the storm lulled. The mariners, seeing this, fell upon their knees
and put up loud thanksgivings. The light continued to rise until it
glittered upon the highest point of the rigging, to wit, the end of
the great lateen yard, where having remained steady for some time,
it gave a sudden bright flash, and then soared into the air, until
the gazers could distinguish it no longer amid the stars. The wind
then fell as suddenly as it had risen, and the strained ship again
floated tranquilly upon unbroken water. When the day dawned, the
crew saw land barely a league a-head of them, and a fishing-boat
coming off soon after, they learned that they were off Cape Epiphane
in the island of Cyprus, having traversed, in an incredibly short
space of time, almost the whole length of the Mediterranean sea. A
pleasant breeze, however, soon sprang up from the east, and having
obtained what water and stores they needed, they turned the ship’s
head westward, and arrived without accident at their port in Sicily,
where great honours were paid to the shrine of St. Antonio. From that
time to this, say the mariners of Spain, the light which the touch of
a holy body—a corpus sanctum—created, has never been extinguished,
but floats over the ocean, appearing now as a warning of approaching
death, anon as a harbinger of hope to mariners.
This was the Spanish tale of the Corpus Sant, and I now asked for the
English legend of ‘Nell’s Beacon.’
‘Why,’ quoth the boatswain, ‘I never heard it told; but often I have
heard it sung both afloat and ashore, in the taverns at Limehouse or
Portsmouth Point, and aboard many a ship in many a sea.’ Thereupon,
all the watch desiring to hear the song, the boatswain, in a very
coarse gruff voice, chanted the following stanzas, which, rude as
they are, I put down just as I heard them:—
The Legend of ‘Nell’s Beacon.’
There are stormy seas do roll,
Which the boldest well may dread,
When the east wind whistles snell
On the cliffs of Beachy Head.
By that coast, tempest beaten,
On the sea-weed clustered stones,
Stout-hearted sailors many,
Have laid their weary bones.
From the sandy shores of Eastbourne,
Nigh the rocks whereof I sing,
Sailed a brave and lusty seaman,
And his name was Richard King.
He was captain of a trading sloop,
Which voyaged unto the Seine,
And ’twas Beachy Head he always made
When he returned again.
For there, from eve to dawning,
A beacon always shone
During the time, whate’er it was,
That Richard King was gone.
From the window of a cottage
That beam came, ever bright,
For there sat Nelly, Richard’s wife,
And trimmed the lamp all night.
She trimmed it, for she knew
That her husband dear would gaze,
When the white cliffs loomed a-head,
For those love-enkindled rays;
And when he saw them flicker,
Through the darkness of the night,
He would straightways cry right cheerily
‘There’s Nelly’s Beacon Light.’
But, ah! these long night watches,
They paled poor Nelly’s cheek;
Her eye was bright and fevered,
But her step grew slow and weak.
Her husband bent above her,
And she looked up in his face—
‘I’m wearing fast away,’ quoth she;
‘I go unto my place.
But you are bound to sea, dear,
To the stormy Spanish shore;
Look, Richard, look upon your Nell,
You ne’er may see her more!
But watch when you return, dear,
You will know that I am dead,
If no light shines out to greet you
From the top of Beachy Head.
‘Yet death shall never part us,
For, if it lawful be,
My soul shall fly to you, dear,
Athwart the roaring sea;
But not a ghastly sheeted corpse
Shall I appal your sight,
You will see an airy Beacon,
And my soul will be the Light.’
The storm roared loud at midnight,
With sleet, and wind, and rain;
The struggling ship tossed wildly
On the rocky coast of Spain:
When suddenly the captain cried—
‘Oh God, my wife is dead!’
Upon the topmast gleamed a light—
The Light of Beachy Head!
* * * * *
Two score of years went slowly by,
And again the storm-blast blew,
Old Richard King, with long grey hair,
Spake cheerily to the crew.
‘Oh look aloft, my gallant boys,
There’s hope within our sight,
A kindly spirit watches us—
There’s Nelly’s Beacon Light!’
But as he spoke, the Beacon
Came floating through the air,
The captain knew the sign—he knelt
In thanksgiving and prayer.
The tempest swept him from the deck,
But as he sunk like lead,
Above his forehead shone the light
Which gleamed from Beachy Head!
And still in time of tempest
Does Nelly’s Beacon burn,
Sometimes it shines aloft to cheer,
Sometimes alow to warn;
But it reads us all this lesson—
True love is never dead,
The symbol shines on every sea
That shone from Beachy Head!