It was daylight by the time the Greyton lifeboat arrived at the scene of
action, but the thick, spray-charged atmosphere was almost as bad to see
through as the blackness of night.
"I'm afeared she's gone," shouted Slag to the coxswain, putting his hand
to his mouth to prevent the words being blown bodily away.
"No--I see her bearing sou'-west," was the brief reply, as Bob Massey
plied his steering oar.
A few minutes later, and the despairing people on the wreck, catching
sight of the boat, greeted her with a long, wild cheer of reviving hope.
"What is it?" asked the widow, faintly, for she had been growing
gradually weaker from prolonged exposure.
"The lifeboat, darling," said her father. "Did I not say that He would
not forsake us?"
"Thank God!" murmured the poor woman, fervently. "Look up, Lizzie; the
lifeboat is coming to save us!"
The child, who had been comparatively warm and sheltered, at the expense
of her mother, looked up and smiled.
Soon the boat was alongside, and much the same scene that we have
already described was re-enacted; but there were no rebels this time.
By the captain's resolute bearing at first many lives had probably been
saved.
When most of the people had been lowered into the boat--not without
great risk and many bruises--the widow, who, cowering with her father
and child under the forecastle, had been overlooked, was led to the side
with her child.
"Not together, ma'am," said the captain. "You'd likely drop her. Let
me lower the child down first; or come first yourself--that will be
better."
"Give Lizzie to me," said the grandfather. "I'll hold her till you are
safe, and ready to receive her."
"Look alive, ma'am," urged one of the lifeboat men, who had scrambled on
deck to render assistance.
The widow was soon in the boat, and held out her arms for little Lizzie.
Somehow--no one could tell how--the men made a bungle of it. Perhaps
the very fear of doing so was the cause. Instead of being caught by the
boatmen, Lizzie slipped between the boat and the vessel into the boiling
sea. Giving one agonised cry, the grandfather leaped after her, but the
surging boat swept in at the moment, and the old man fortunately fell
into that instead of the sea. He was not hurt, for strong arms had been
upraised to receive him. The little child rose above the foam as she
was whirled past the stern of the boat by a swift current. Bob Massey
saw her little out-stretched arms. There was no time for thought or
consideration. With one bound the coxswain was overboard. Next moment
the crew saw him far astern with the child in his arms.
"Get 'em all aboard _first_!" came back, even against the wind, in Bob's
powerful, deep-toned voice.
Another moment, and he was lost to sight in the boiling waste of waters.
Slag knew well what he meant. If they should cast off the rope before
rescuing all, for the purpose of picking up the coxswain, there would be
no possibility of getting back again to the schooner, for she was fast
breaking up. Every current and eddy about these sands was well known to
Joe Slag, also the set of the tides--besides, had not Bob got on his
lifebelt? He felt, nevertheless, that it was a tremendous risk to let
him go. But what could poor Slag do? To cast off at once would have
been to sacrifice about a dozen lives for the sake of saving two. It
was a fearful trial. Joe loved Bob as a brother. His heart well nigh
burst, but it stood the trial. He did his duty, and held on to the
wreck!
Duty, on that occasion, however, was done with a promptitude, and in a
fashion, that was not usual in one of his sedate nature. Fortunately,
none but men remained on the wreck by that time.
"Tumble 'em in--sharp!" cried Slag.
The lifeboat men obeyed literally, and tumbled them in with a celerity
that might almost have awakened surprise in a sack of potatoes!
To haul up the anchor would have been slow work. Slag--economical by
nature--became extravagant for once. An axe made short work of cable
and anchor.
"Let 'em go!" he growled, as the boat drifted away.
The sail was set with miraculous speed, for now the wind was in their
favour, and the gay lifeboat bounded off in the direction where Bob had
disappeared, as though it felt a lively interest in the recovery of its
coxswain. It seemed as if the very elements sympathised with their
anxiety, for just then the gale sensibly abated, and the rising sun
broke through a rift in the grey clouds.
"There he is--I see him!" shouted the man in the bow--pointing eagerly
ahead.
"It's on'y a bit o' wreck, boy," cried a comrade.
"Right you are," returned the bowman.
"There he is, though, an' no mistake, this time. Port!--port!
hard-a-port!"
As he spoke, the boat swept round into a sort of cross-current among the
waves, where an object resembling a man was observed spinning slowly
round like a lazy teetotum. They were soon alongside. A dozen
claw-like hands made a simultaneous grasp, and hauled the object on
board with a mighty cheer, for it was, indeed, the coxswain--alive,
though much exhausted--with his precious little curly-haired burden in
his arms.
The burden was also alive, and not much exhausted, for the weather was
comparatively warm at the time, and Bob had thrust her little head into
the luxuriant thicket of his beard and whiskers; and, spreading his
great hands and arms all over her little body, had also kept her well
out of the water--all which the great buoyancy of his lifebelt enabled
him easily to do.
Shall we describe the joy of the widow and the grandfather? No; there
are some sacred matters in life which are best left to the imagination.
The sunshine which had begun to scatter the clouds, and flood both land
and sea, was typical of the joy which could find no better means than
sobs wherewith to express gratitude to the God of mercy.
We have said that the gale had begun to abate. When the lifeboat
escaped from the turmoil of cross-seas that raged over the sands and got
into deep water, all difficulties and dangers were past, and she was
able to lay her course for Greyton harbour.
"Let's have another swig o' that cold tea," said Bob Massey, resuming
his rightful post at the helm. "It has done me a power o' good. I had
no notion that cold tea was so good for warmin' the cockles o' one's
heart."
Ah! Bob Massey, it was not the cold tea, but the saving of that little
girl that sent the life's blood careering so warmly through your veins!
However, there's no harm done in putting it down to the credit of the
cold tea. Had the tea been hot, there might have been some truth in
your fancy.
"What's the time?" asked Bob, with a sudden look of anxiety.
"Just gone ten," said Slag, consulting a chronometer that bore some
resemblance to an antique warming-pan.
The look of anxiety on the coxswain's countenance deepened.
"Ease off the sheet a bit," he said, looking sternly over the weather
quarter, and whistling for a fresher breeze, though most men would have
thought the breeze fresh enough already.
As if to accommodate him, and confirm the crew in the whistling
superstition, the breeze did increase at the moment, and sent the
lifeboat, as one of the men said, "snorin'" over the wild sea towards
the harbour of Greyton.
It was a grand sight to behold the pier of the little port on that
stormy morning. Of course, it had soon become known that the lifeboat
was out. Although at starting it had been seen by only a few of the old
salts--whose delight it was to recall the memory of grand stormy times
long past, by facing the gales at all hours in oiled coats and
sou'-westers--the greater part of the fishing village only became aware
of the fact on turning out to work in the morning. We have said that
the gale had moderated, and the sun had come out, so that the pier was
crowded, not only with fisher-folk, but with visitors to the port, and
other landsmen.
Great was the hope, and sanguine the expectation of the crowd, when,
after long and anxious waiting, the lifeboat was at last descried far
out at sea, making straight for the harbour.
"All right, Bill," exclaimed an old fisherman, who had been for some
time past sweeping the horizon with his glass, "the flag's a-flyin'."
"What does that mean?" asked a smart young lady, who had braved the
blast and run the risk of a salt-wash from the sprays at the pier-end in
her eager desire to see the boat arrive.
"It means, Miss, that they've managed to save somebody--how many, in
course, we can't tell till they come."
There was a strong disposition on the part of the crowd to cheer when
this was said.
After a few minutes' further observation, the old man with the glass
murmured, as if speaking to himself, "I do believe she's chock-full o'
people."
When this was repeated, the suppressed cheer broke forth, and the
excitement increased. Soon the people with good eyes could see for
themselves that the swiftly approaching boat was as full as she could
hold, of human beings. At the same time, those who were in the boat
could see the swarms of sympathisers on the pier who awaited their
arrival.
But there was one man who took no note of these things, and seemed
indifferent to everything around him. The coxswain of the lifeboat was
spiritually absent from the scene.
"You seem to've got the fidgets, Bob," remarked Joe Slag, looking
earnestly at his friend. "That swim has been too much for 'ee."
"'Taint that, Joe," replied Bob, quickly. "What's the time now, lad?"
Pulling out the antique warming-pan again, Slag said it was nigh a
quarter past ten, and added that he, (Bob), seemed to be "uncommon
consarned about the time o' day that mornin'."
"And so would you be, lad," returned the coxswain, in a low voice, as he
advanced his mouth to his comrade's ear, "if you was in my fix. I've
got to be spliced this day before twelve, an' the church is more'n two
miles inland!"
"That's awk'ard," returned Slag, with a troubled look. "But, I say,
Bob, you've kep' this uncommon close from us all--eh? I never heerd ye
was to be spliced so soon."
"Of course I kep' it close, 'cos I wanted to give you an' my mates a
surprise, but it strikes me I'll give some other people a surprise
to-day, for there's no time to put on clean toggery."
"You'll never manage it," said Slag, in a sympathetic tone, as he once
more consulted the warming-pan. "It's gettin' on for half arter ten
now, an' it takes a mortal time to rig out in them go-to-meetin' slops."
"Do I look anything like a bridegroom as I am?" asked the coxswain with
a curious glance.
"Sca'cely," replied Slag, surveying his friend with a grim smile--"(mind
your helm, Bob, there's a awk'ard run on the tide round the pier-head,
you know.) No; you're not wery much like one. Even if your toggery was
all ship-shape--which it ain't--it would stand dryin', and your hair
would be the better o' brushin'--to say nothin' o' your beard--an' it do
seem, too, as if a bit o' soap might improve your hands an' face arter
last night's work. No, Bob, I couldn't honestly say as you're exactly
ship-shape as you stand."
"Listen, Joe Slag," said Bob Massey, with sudden earnestness. "I've
never yet come in after a rescue without seein' the boat hauled up an'
made snug. `Dooty first, an' pleasure arter,' that's bin my motto, as
_you_ know. But dooty lies in another direction _this_ day, so you
promise to see her hauled up, an' cleaned, an' properly housed, won't
you?"
"In coorse I does."
"Well, then," continued Bob, in the same low, earnest tone, "arter
that's done, you'll go an' invite all our mates an' friends to a jolly
blow-out in the big shed alongside o' my old mother's house. Don't tell
who invites 'em, or anything about it, an' ask as many as like to come--
the shed's big enough to hold 'em all. Only be sure to make 'em
understand that they'll get no drink stronger than coffee an' tea. If
they can't enjoy themselves on that, they may go to the grog-shop, but
they needn't come to _me_. My mother will be there, and she'll keep 'em
in order!"
"What!" exclaimed Slag, with a look of slight surprise. "Your mother!
Her what's bin bed-ridden for years, an' hasn't got no legs at all--
leastwise not to speak of?"
"Just so, lad. We'll lift her in, bed an' all. Now you be off to the
bow. Oars out, lads; stand by the halyards!"
They were by that time close to the pier-head, where the people were
shouting and cheering, some of them even weeping, and waving hats,
'kerchiefs, sticks, and umbrellas, almost wild with joy at seeing so
many fellow-creatures rescued from the maw of the hungry sea.
The first man who leaped out when the lifeboat touched the pier was the
coxswain, dripping, dirty, and dishevelled.
"Bless you, my gallant fellow!" exclaimed an irrepressible old
enthusiast, stepping forward and attempting to grasp the coxswain's
hand.
But Bob Massey, brushing past him, ran along the pier, leaped a fence,
and sprang up the steep path that led to the cliffs, over the top of
which he was finally seen to bound and disappear.
"Poor fellow!" exclaimed the irrepressible enthusiast, looking aghast at
Slag, "exposure and excitement have driven him mad!"
"Looks like it!" replied Slag, with a quiet grin, as he stooped to
assist the widow and little Lizzie to land, while ready hands were
out-stretched to aid and congratulate the old grandfather, and the rest
of the rescued people.
The coxswain ran--ay, he ran as he had been wont to run when he was a
wild little fisher-boy--regardless alike of appearances and
consequences. The clock of the village steeple told him that the
appointed hour had almost arrived. Two miles was a long way to run in
heavy woollen garments and sea-boots, all soaked in sea-water. But Bob
was young, and strong, and active, and--you understand the rest, good
reader!
The church had purposely been selected at that distance from the village
to prevent Bob's comrades from knowing anything about the wedding until
it should be over. It was a somewhat strange fancy, but the coxswain
was a man who, having taken a fancy, was not easily turned from it.
In order to her being got comfortably ready in good time, Nellie Carr
had slept the night before at the house of an uncle, who was a farmer,
and lived near the church. The house was in a sheltered hollow, so that
the bride was scarcely aware of the gale that had been blowing so
fiercely out at sea. Besides, being much taken up with
cousin-bridesmaids and other matters, the thought of the lifeboat never
once entered her pretty head.
At the appointed hour, arrayed in all the splendour of a fisherman's
bride, she was led to the church, but no bridegroom was there!
"He won't be long. He's _never_ late," whispered a bridesmaid to
anxious Nellie.
Minutes flew by, and Nellie became alarmed. The clergyman also looked
perplexed.
"Something must have happened," said the farmer-uncle, apologetically.
Watches were consulted and compared.
At that moment a heavy rapid tread was heard outside. Another moment,
and Bob Massey sprang into the church, panting, flushed, dirty, wet,
wild, and, withal, grandly savage.
"Nellie!" he exclaimed, stopping short, with a joyful gaze of
admiration, for he had never seen her so like an angel before.
"Bob!" she cried in alarm, for she had never before seen him so like a
reprobate.
"Young man," began the clergyman, sternly, but he got no further; for,
without paying any attention to him whatever, Bob strode forward and
seized Nellie's hands.
"I dursen't kiss ye, Nell, for I'm all wet; but I hadn't one moment to
change. Bin out all night i' the lifeboat an' saved over thirty souls.
The Brentley boat's done as much. I'm ashamed, sir," he added, turning
to the clergyman, "for comin' here like this; but I couldn't help it. I
hope there's nothin' in Scriptur' agin' a man bein' spliced in wet
toggery?"
Whether the clergyman consulted his Cruden's Concordance with a view to
clear up that theological question, we have never been able to
ascertain; but it is abundantly clear that he did not allow the
coxswain's condition to interfere with the ceremony, for in the _Greyton
Journal_, of next day, there appeared a paragraph to the following
effect:
"The marriage of Robert Massey, the heroic coxswain of our lifeboat,
(which, with all its peculiar attendant circumstances, and the gallant
rescue that preceded it, will be found in another part of this day's
issue), was followed up in the afternoon by a feast, and what we may
style a jollification, which will live long in the memory of our
fisher-folk.
"Several circumstances combined to render this wedding-feast unique.
To say nothing of the singular beauty of the bride, who is well known
as one of the most thrifty and modest girls in the town, and the
stalwart appearance of our coxswain, who, although so young, has
already helped to save hundreds of human lives from the raging sea,
the gathering was graced by the presence of the bridegroom's
bed-ridden mother. Old Mrs Massey had been carried in, bed and all,
to the scene of festivity; and it is due to the invalid to state that,
despite rheumatics and the singularity of her position, she seemed to
enjoy herself exceedingly. Besides this, the friends and comrades of
the coxswain--backed by the enthusiastic groomsman, Joe Slag--would
not permit Massey to don wedding garments, but insisted on his dancing
himself dry, in the rough garb in which he had effected the rescue.
This he had no difficulty in doing, having already run himself more
than half dry in hastening from the lifeboat to the church, which
latter he reached only just in time.
"The little girl whom Massey personally saved was also present, with
her mother and grandfather; and one interesting episode of the evening
was the presentation to our coxswain of a gold watch and a purse of
fifty sovereigns by the grateful old grandfather. Another peculiarity
of the proceedings was that Massey insisted--although the clergyman
was present--on his old mother asking God's blessing on the feast
before it began. All who are acquainted with our liberal-minded vicar
will easily understand that he highly approved of the arrangement.
"To crown all, the feast was conducted on strictly teetotal
principles. We have frequently advocated the principles of total
abstinence in these columns--at least for the young, the healthy, and
the strong--and we are glad to acknowledge that this wedding has
greatly helped our cause; for the fun and hilarity in all, the vigour
of limb in dancing, and of lung in singing--in short, the general
jollity--could not have been surpassed if the guests had been swilling
rivers of beer and brandy, instead of oceans of tea. Yes, as one of
the Irish guests remarked, `It was a great occasion intoirely,' and it
will be long before the event is forgotten, for the noble deeds of our
Greyton lifeboat are, from this day forward, intimately and
inseparably connected with her coxswain's wedding!"
Thus spake the Greyton oracle; but, prophet though that journal
professed to be, the oracle failed to discern that from that time
forward the names of Robert Massey and Joe Slag would very soon cease to
be connected with the Greyton lifeboat.