"From ocean's mist, the white-sailed fleet arose!
First, a ridge of clouds it seemed; but brighter
Shone the sun--and the distant ships stood forth,
Their wet sides glittering in all his beams!"
"Heavens!
Must I renounce honour, reputation?"
As the Glorious anchored in Cawsand Bay, in company with a numerous
fleet, the animated prospect which presented itself, especially in
its combined effect with the state of the atmosphere, uniting a
bright sunny glow with a fog, consequently, of a peculiar whiteness,
possessed a degree and style of beauty not easily imagined by any one
unaccustomed to harbour scenery.
It was the noon of a frosty day: the sun which, as we have observed,
shone brightly, gave to the face of the waters the appearance of a
sheet of light. The heights around, and all other distant objects,
were covered with the smoky veil of white fog, already noticed, which
reduced them to shades of the neutral tint; while, on the side of
the nearest hill, the clumps of wood and undulations of ground were
plainly visible, and along its topmost line some scattered trees stood
curiously and beautifully traced against the pale, even mistiness of
all behind. In the bay, too, the nearest range of ships, with all the
varied and still varying forms of their floating canvass, (for almost
all the fleet at this time were employed in furling their sails,) every
mast, every cord, each figure standing beneath the picturesque canopy
of a sail-boat, or stretching to the oars of a row-boat, were all
strongly defined, and appeared, from contrast with the snowy whiteness
of the fog behind them, black as ebony; while the more distant vessels,
being deeper and deeper sunk in the shrouding atmosphere, were more
and more faintly shown, till the farthest seemed but one degree more
palpable than the mist itself. The wind, soon after the fleet anchored,
died away entirely, and all that had been activity and bustle, changed
to the most peculiar repose; as though the beautiful picture, once
completed, was left to delight posterity; for nothing now moved as
far as the eye could reach, except that, from time to time, a gleam
reflected from the flat, wet oar of some row-boat, plying between ship
and ship, shot, like a flash of summer lightning, across the still and
shadowy scene.
During the anchoring of the fleet, one of the ships, by some
mischance, got aground, and all the others were ordered to send
boats immediately to her assistance. The task was laborious, and
much disorder occurred in the tiers of the stranded vessel, where
the sailors, taking advantage of the confusion which prevailed, had
broken into the spirit-room, and were regaling themselves with rum.
Towards evening, however, with the help of the tide, she was got off
the rocks, and the signal being given for the boats which had been
sent to her assistance to return alongside their respective ships,
Edmund and Henry, with their boats and crews, did not obey the signal
with their usual promptitude. Edmund, meanwhile, after going through
great exertion the whole day, was still on board the vessel so lately
got off, commanding his men in the most peremptory manner into his
boat, when Henry observing that he appeared heated and fatigued, and
thinking that, at such a time, a very little would overcome one not
accustomed to excess, drew towards him a second glass, (for he had
been drinking freely,) and filling both that and his own, said, "How
heated you are, Montgomery! you will kill yourself, if you don't take
something!" at the same time offering him one of the glasses. Edmund
answered instantly, and with indignation, that were it but water, and
were he expiring with fatigue, it should not, in such a place, and
at such a time, approach his lips! Henry stared at him, lifted the
glass to his head, and, with a laugh, swallowed its contents. Edmund
again remonstrated, and taking Henry, who was by this time very much
intoxicated, by the arm, endeavoured to draw him away. Henry staggered,
fell, dragged Edmund with him, and at the same time, seizing the
handle of a can of spirits, which stood on the cask, trailed it after
him, emptying its odoriferous contents on our hero's breast and face,
as he rolled with him on the floor.
At this unfortunate moment, a lieutenant, sent in search of the boats
and midshipmen, which were missing, entered, and seeing both officers
on the deck drenched in rum, two glasses on the barrel-head beside
them, the spirit-can in their arms, and, apparently, the object of
contention, as they struggled together on the floor while their men
stood round them drinking, laughing, and swearing, he very naturally
drew most unfavourable conclusions. Edmund, as soon as he could
release himself from Henry's grasp, arose; but so much heated, and so
thoroughly ashamed of the situation in which he had been found, that he
looked quite confused. He attempted to speak, but was silenced, and
very harshly repulsed by the lieutenant to whom he addressed himself,
who told him, with an air of the utmost contempt, at the same time
holding a handkerchief to his nose, that while he smelt of spirits in
so disgusting a manner, it was impossible to listen to him.
Our hero reddened with indignation, and repaired to his boat without
further attempt at explanation, not doubting, however, that he should
be able to justify himself ultimately. Henry was obliged to be carried
to his boat, and thus did all return to the ship. The necessary report
being made to Captain B., he was so much incensed, that he sent an
order for both young men to quit the ship in half an hour, directing
that, with their sea-chests beside them, they should be left on the
nearest beach, to find their way home as they might.
Edmund begged to be heard. The captain refused, sending him word that
it was impossible for him to permit gentlemen to remain in his ship,
who had disgraced themselves by carousing among the common sailors.
There was then no longer a hope! He must get into the boat. He did
so; and, as they pushed off, another boat, in which sat a midshipman,
(a stranger to Edmund,) passed them, and then ran alongside the ship,
taking up the position they had just quitted.
The sun, a moment before, had dropped below the horizon. Edmund folded
his arms, sighed, and resigned himself to his fate; then rested his
eyes almost unconsciously on the scene before him. The water in the
bay was still as a frozen lake, its face one sheet of cold transparent
light, marking, by contrast, the pitchy darkness which twilight had
already imparted to the hills that rose around it, and to every opaque
object laying or moving on its peaceful surface. Perpetual, though
imperceptibly wrought changes were each moment taking place in every
thing around. The clouds near the horizon breaking, the still illumined
western sky shed awhile a brilliant ray: the clouds closed again, and
left all darker than before. The trees on the western hill stood for a
few seconds strongly defined by the parting beam; then faded with the
fading light. Some of the larger vessels, more lately arrived than the
rest of the fleet, with majestic progress passed slowly to their places
of anchorage. Single-masted boats, (warned by the approach of evening,)
one by one drew smoothly towards the shore, changing, as they did so,
at each moment, the disposition of their sails; and, finally, taking
all down as they came to for the night under shelter of a projecting
point. Alongside the same point, numerous row-boats, having shipped
their oars as they drew near, fell silently; while the single figure
that had guided each, might shortly after be traced wandering homeward
along the extended beach.
When the boat in which our hero sat had gone about twenty yards, they
were hailed from their own ship, and desired by the officer of the
watch to lay on their oars till further orders. Some time of anxious
suspense followed, during which the approaches of night were as rapid
as they were silent, and all objects were visibly shrouding themselves
in that mysterious gloom which imagination loves to people with shadowy
forms, when the flash of the evening gun was seen from the admiral's
ship, followed by a report which, with startling effect, broke upon
the universal stillness, then rolled along like distant thunder up
the harbour. As the last sound died away, they were hailed again,
ordered to come alongside, and Mr. Montgomery to come on board. Our
hero obeyed the order, and was not a little surprised, on reaching
the deck, to find all the ship's company assembled there. In a few
minutes, the captain and officers, preceded by lights, and accompanied
by the strange midshipman who had passed the boat on its first quitting
the ship, ascended the hatchway, and arranged themselves on the
quarter-deck. Edmund was ordered to draw near. He did so; when the
captain, addressing the stranger, in a tone which showed he wished to
be heard by all present, said, "Lord Ormond, will you have the goodness
to repeat, in the hearing of my officers and the whole ship's company,
the deposition you have made to me respecting Mr. Montgomery."
The stranger, a mild-looking lad, about Edmund's own age, came forward
and said, that he had been in the tiers of the stranded vessel, calling
off his own men, when Mr. Montgomery came in to collect his; that his
attention had been fixed by that gentleman's very proper conduct, which
he here explained minutely, dwelling on our hero's effort to rescue
Henry; and his declaration, that were the beverage but water, he would
not, for example sake, suffer a glass to be seen approach his lips,
&c., till he came to where Edmund was pulled to the ground by the fall
of Henry. He then proceeded to say, that he himself was about to go to
his assistance, when, seeing the officer who came in search of both
young men enter, he had hurried to his own boat, it being late.
Here the captain again spoke, saying, that as all had had reason
to believe Mr. Montgomery's conduct disgraceful, he had deemed it
necessary that all should be thus publicly informed of his innocence,
as well as made sensible of his, the captain's, sufficient reasons
for so sudden a change of measures towards him. He then turned to our
hero, and expressed himself as highly gratified, to find the favourable
opinion he had formed of his character thus justified. Captain B. here
renewed the order to have Mr. St. Aubin immediately sent a-shore.
The stranger, Lord Ormond, who was the son of Admiral Lord Fitz-Ullin,
got himself presented to Mr. Montgomery; and Edmund, anxious to express
his gratitude, requested his new acquaintance to tell him by what
fortunate circumstance he had become his deliverer.
"If any one deserves that title," answered Ormond, "it is my father.
I fear I was rather negligent in not remaining to assist you; but I
had been already detained much too late. In my own justification, I
described the scene I had just witnessed, and the consequent interest
I could not avoid taking in what was passing; when, happening to say
that the other gentleman called you Montgomery, my father repeated the
name, and, after considering for a moment, exclaimed, 'Why, that is
the name of Lord L.'s young friend! If it be the same, he must be in
the Glorious, Captain B., which came in this morning with the Cadiz
fleet.' I mentioned about what age you appeared to be; upon which my
father started up, saying, 'I could almost venture to affirm, that that
young man has got into a serious scrape! You had better, Ormond,' he
continued, 'go instantly on board the Glorious, present my compliments
to Captain B., and recount all you witnessed of the business.'"
Before the young men parted, Ormond gave a message, of which he was the
bearer, inviting Mr. Montgomery to dine with Lord Fitz-Ullin on the
following day.