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THE RIVAL CRUSOES;
OR, THE SHIPWRECK.
ALSO
A VOYAGE TO NORWAY;
AND THE FISHERMAN'S COTTAGE.
BY AGNES STRICKLAND,
AUTHOR OF THE "LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND," "TALES AND STORIES FROM
HISTORY," ETC.
SIXTH EDITION.
LONDON:
GRANT AND GRIFFITH,
SUCCESSORS TO
J. HARRIS, CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD.
MDCCCLI.
LONDON:
STEVENS AND CO., PRINTERS, BELL YARD,
TEMPLE BAR.
THE RIVAL CRUSOES;
OR, THE DESERT ISLAND.
"George! Harry!--lazy fellows that you are!--Why are you not in
attendance?" said Lord Robert Summers in an angry tone, throwing the
rein of his pony to his grooms, and rushing up the great staircase with
his handkerchief held close to his face.
"What is the matter with our young lord to-day?" said Harry; "he seems
in a marvellous ill mood."
"I suppose he has had another brush with Philip Harley to-day: did not
you see the blood on his handkerchief?" said the other.
"That Philip is a saucy young rascal," replied Harry; "but he will get
himself into a scrape before long. Lord Robert will be even with him, I
will answer; for he never takes an offence without returning
twenty-fold."
"They never meet now without a battle," returned the groom. "Lord Robert
has been so used to domineer over men twice his age, on board ship, that
he is more unbearable than any young man of rank I ever served. I wonder
who is to put up with all his tempers? If his elder brother, my young
lord, were half so hasty with his hands, or so flippant with his tongue,
I would leave his service to-morrow: however, he wont be with us
long--that's my comfort. It was but the other day I was airing the dogs,
and trod, by accident, on his favourite Neptune's toe. The plaguy beast
set up a yell. In an instant, I had a cuff of the head from the young
tyrant, and was called a careless rascal and scoundrel, while he had
breath to heap such epithets on me. I am glad the lad has given him a
dressing, and wish it had been twice as much; it might have done him
good."
With this wish, George led off the pony. The fact was, Lord Robert had
caught Philip Harley trespassing, according to custom, in the Park, and
had tried to horsewhip him out of the grounds, but had fairly got the
worst of it. Lord Robert, though a stout and courageous youth, was
pulled off his horse by the desperate young rustic, and in the fray
received several contusions on the face. Philip did not part without
some tokens of his enemy's vengeance; but he certainly remained victor
in the contest. Lord Robert was glad to regain his pony and make a hasty
retreat, much mortified, and in a very evil temper.
When he had reached his apartment, he washed the blood from his face,
and composed the swelling of his haughty spirit; and after smoothing his
ruffled plumes, he descended into the dining-room and joined the family
party. His mother made some inquiry respecting the bruises on his face;
but he turned it off with an evasive answer, as the effect of a fall he
had met with in the Park. No farther notice was taken, except a slight
sarcasm on the proverbial bad horsemanship of sailors.
At the dessert, the Marquis, his father, handed him a letter. "It is
from your uncle, Sir Henry. See, Robert, what a charming surprise he has
prepared for you! He spoils you, boy! I think you would not be so
petulant and imperious, if every wish of that wayward heart were not
gratified by his fond affection."
Lord Robert was so eager to read the letter from his beloved uncle, that
he scarcely heard this reproof, which, gentle as it was, at any other
time would have clouded his handsome brow with frowns.
Captain Sir Henry Stanley wrote to his brother-in-law, that he should
sail in the Diomede, from Portsmouth, in less than a month; when he
should expect his noble boy, his brave Robert, again to accompany him to
victory. "I think it long till we are afloat," continued he; "and so, I
dare say, does my dear nephew. However, that the time may not appear so
very tedious, I have sent him a little pleasure-brig, the most complete
that could be procured: he can sail and manoeuvre it on your lake; not
that I approve of freshwater sailing, but it is better than dancing
after horses and dogs, and such landsmen's amusements."
Lord Robert then heard that this fairy frigate had been safely landed
that day at a sea-port town, some little distance from his father's
domains. A waggon and team of horses had been despatched to bring it
home; and a servant soon afterwards entered to say that it had arrived,
and was carefully placed by the side of the lake, ready for launching,
which ceremony Lord Robert, full of impatient joy, sprang off to
superintend.
It sometimes happens that time and tide will not wait obsequiously even
on the children of prosperity. These stubborn powers will sometimes fret
and chafe the proud and great, and, frequently, are so unpolite as to
ruffle a rose-leaf on their couch of pleasure; but, as if the young lord
had suffered mortification enough in the morning, his cup of delight was
full in the evening. The pleasure was scarcely promised before it was
realized. The gay glittering frigate dashed bravely into the lake: she
bounded and danced on the waves, with as much spirit as the youthful
noble could wish. The bottle of claret was flung with great effect; and
she received her name amidst the applauses of the peasantry of the
neighbouring village, who, as a great favour, were permitted to behold
this sight at an awful distance.
Lord Robert sank to rest that night, anticipating the charming sail he
should take in the morning.
The eyes of the young lord were open before sunrise; but whilst his
valet was hastily dressing him, what was his indignation, on casting his
eyes towards the lake, to see his fairy frigate, his beautiful Ariel,
spreading her white sails to the breeze, and gliding on the lake as
gallantly as if her noble master were commanding her? Who could be the
person that had dared to unmoor her? Down flew Lord Robert, half
undressed; and the servants were summoned; but none of the household had
been guilty of such a piece of audacity. At last, a thought struck him,
that it could be no other than that contemner of all legal authority,
Philip Harley. Lord Robert was soon by the border of the lake; and there
he saw his young enemy reclined in the gilded pleasure-boat, sailing at
his ease, and coasting near enough for Lord Robert to behold the look of
calm defiance with which he surveyed his anger: and he continued to
manage the Ariel with as much coolness as if her lawful owner had not
been viewing her manoeuvres with the greatest indignation. Lord Robert
was still more provoked, when he recollected that he had no means of
reaching the offender, to expel him from the boat.
"Is there anything like a boat on the estate," exclaimed Lord Robert,
"that I may pursue that insolent young Harley, and take my property from
him?"
"No, my Lord," said Edwards, the old gardener; "there is nothing of the
kind on any of the pieces of water within a mile or two of the hall.
Your Lordship may remember that when you were very young, and took such
a fancy to everything relating to ships and sailing, my Lady had all the
boats destroyed, for fear you should endanger your life by venturing on
the water."
"And have they never been replaced?" asked Lord Robert.
"No, my Lord: there were two boats and a fishing-punt staved in by her
Ladyship's order," replied Edwards. "You may recollect that your
Lordship got into sad disgrace, the next day, by embarking on the lake
in a large washing-tub."
Lord Robert could not help laughing. "On my honour, Edwards," said he,
"I could find it in my heart to embark in a washing-tub at present, if I
thought it of any use."
"I think, my Lord," said his valet, "Captain Bently has a small boat on
the river, about a mile from the Park."
"Run, carry my compliments to Captain Bently, and ask him to lend it to
me for an hour."
Two or three messengers started with obedient speed to fulfil the wishes
of their master: but the land conveyance of a boat is a work of time;
and, long before their return, Philip, tired, as we may suppose, of his
amusement, steered the boat to the most distant part of the lake (which
happened to be nearest his own home), and jumped on shore, behind some
bushes, which jutted out and concealed his landing. He had walked
quietly through the Park, and arrived at the village, before Lord Robert
perceived, by the irregular drifting of the little vessel, that she was
deserted, and the culprit had escaped his vengeance.
Lord Robert was literally glowing with rage, when he met his father in
the breakfast-room. For some reason best known to himself, he had
hitherto concealed from the Marquis his encounters with Philip Harley;
but, in the moment of indignation, everything blazed forth; and, in all
the exaggeration of anger, he informed his father of every outrage
Philip had been guilty of towards him; adding, that the reason of their
first disagreement was, his interrupting Philip in the act of poaching.
The Marquis was a good and humane man; but the representations of Lord
Robert highly incensed him. That a young ruffian, exercising the lawless
pursuits of a poacher, should take every opportunity of insulting and
thwarting his son, and even of brutally assaulting him in his own park,
was too much to be endured, and called for the severest punishment.
Certainly, of all the species of theft (and it is _theft_), poaching is
considered with the least mercy by noblemen and gentlemen of landed
property. Perhaps the Marquis may be reckoned severe, but this was an
aggravated case.
It was then in the middle of the American war, and a press-gang paid
pretty frequent visits to the neighbouring sea-port town. His Lordship,
therefore, informed them that he wished to remove a noxious person from
the vicinity, and they took their measures accordingly.
Philip was partial to the sea: he was clever in the management of a
boat, and was in the habit of taking trips, now and then, with some
seafaring friends. He was preparing for one of these excursions, when
the press-gang caught him near the harbour, dressed in a blue jacket and
trousers; and the unfortunate youth was immediately dragged from his
native place, without even being suffered to bid farewell to his
parents; and it was with the greatest difficulty that he obtained leave
to inform them of what had befallen him. Indeed, the first news they
heard of him was, that he was on board a tender, and destined to sail in
the first fleet that left England.
Philip Harley has hitherto appeared in no very respectable light. That
he was a desperate trespasser and depredator is the most favourable
opinion that can be formed of him; yet there were people in the
neighbourhood, who, having known Philip from his infancy, ventured to
think that he had met with harsh treatment, and that his heart, once so
good and upright, must have undergone an extraordinary change, or that
he had received great provocation, to be guilty of such daring outrages.
There is an excellent saying, which, though old and trite, it is
sometimes necessary to bear in mind: namely, "That one story is good
till another is told."--There was, in truth, some little excuse for
Philip's conduct; though he certainly deserved blame, and even
punishment, for giving up every proper pursuit and feeling to the
gratification of resentment.
Before Lord Robert's return from his long voyage, Philip Harley was
considered as gentle in disposition, as he was manly and high-spirited.
At this time, he was just sixteen, and had begun to make himself useful
in his father's business, which was that of a carpenter.
His father was rather independent in his circumstances; and his whole
family consisted of two children--this Philip, and a lovely little blind
girl, called Kate. This unhappy sister (if a creature in the practice of
the most angelic patience can be called _unhappy_) was the darling of
Philip's heart. Every spare minute he devoted to amusing and caressing
this child, who was many years younger than himself; and she returned
his love with the most grateful affection. The cottage where they lived
fronted the west, and could be seen from the London road; and blind Kate
used to take her evening seat on the threshold, waiting to hear the
step of this beloved brother on his return from work; with her fair face
and glittering curls turned to the setting sun--with a divine expression
of hope and peace on her innocent countenance, that attracted the
admiration of every passenger.
Philip had a very large spaniel, one of the handsomest of that beautiful
species. This creature he had reared from a puppy, and taught to be
obedient to his sister; and in his absence Rover was her only source of
amusement; but he was, indeed, a most faithful and attached attendant,
serving both for a guard and guide.
Sometimes Kate would walk on the road before the cottage, with her fair
hands grasping Rover's silky coat, who would restrain his natural
vivacity to guide the darkling steps of his little mistress. At other
times, when the sun shone warm and bright, and the grass was soft and
thick, Kate was as full of frolic and play as Rover himself, and would
gambol with him a whole spring-day on the lawn in front of the cottage;
but as the evening approached, Kate and Rover took their station at the
cottage-door, and greeted the return of Philip with the utmost joy. Both
were most dear to Philip: he tenderly loved his suffering sister; and
he loved the faithful dog for her sake. It is not surprising, therefore,
that Philip was almost broken-hearted when Kate fell sick, and after a
few days expired. True, she was removed to a better place. Philip knew
that she was taken in mercy, as her lot in this world was one of
peculiar hardship; but he could not bear to lose her; and he and Rover
moped in the most cheerless manner for many days after the funeral.
It was some little time before this that Lord Robert returned to the
hall, after several years' absence. He had promised himself much
pleasure from the autumnal field-sports; but in this amusement, as in
every other occupation, he was too apt to suffer trifles to ruffle his
temper, and make him violent and unreasonable.
One gloomy October evening, Lord Robert was returning with his gun and
dogs through the park, attended by a gamekeeper. He had pursued his
amusement that day with very little success: everything had gone wrong;
the dogs had pointed badly, and his new fowling-piece, that had cost him
twenty guineas only the week before, had hung fire several times, at
the very moment when the game sprang before him the finest mark
possible. In short, he had suffered disappointment enough to vex the
heart of the most patient person in the world, who had never in his life
felt what real affliction was. At this unlucky minute, it was Philip
Harley's ill fortune to cross the park by a public footway that led
through the grounds. It was the first day Philip had resumed his work
since the death of his sister; and he was walking in a melancholy way,
carrying his basket of tools, with his eyes fixed on the ground,
attending very little to what was passing around him, and Rover was
trudging by his side, when, unluckily, just as Lord Robert came up to
him, a hare darted out of some bushes, and Rover scampered after it.
"That is the way all the game is poached off the estate!" exclaimed Lord
Robert in a fit of passion; and, yielding to the influence of temper, he
levelled his gun at the dog. The piece, that had so many times missed
fire that day, now rang sharp and true: the faithful creature was
mortally wounded; he crawled feebly to his master's feet, and expired.
Philip hung over his poor dog, while he saw him die, with anguish that
gave a painful sensation to Lord Robert; yet still, under the dominion
of temper, he said to his servant--
"What a fool the fellow makes of himself about a dog!"
Philip lifted the body of his poor favourite from the ground, and taking
it in his arms, rushed by the young lord, giving him a look of contempt
and indignation as he passed.
"It is the dog that used to lead about his blind sister," said the
humane gamekeeper. "She is just dead."
Lord Robert then remembered meeting Kate and the dog when he first came
home: he had patted her curly head and admired her beauty.
"Was it blind Kate's dog?" said Lord Robert. "Had I known that, he might
have destroyed every head of game on the estate before I would have shot
him."
Perhaps, had Philip heard this half acknowledgment of error, much evil
might have been prevented. The next time he met the young noble, it was
with the most bitter feelings. He considered that Lord Robert had
wantonly murdered the innocent companion of his sister; and all the
grief he felt for her loss was turned into rage. Contemptuous words
succeeded angry looks: and these ere not to be borne by Lord Robert's
untamed spirit; though he felt greatly displeased with himself, and
would have given half his fortune to have recalled the past, yet he
would not bear Philip's reproaches. A very little provoked him to strike
him, and a desperate encounter ensued. This was followed by many others;
for Philip neglected all his better pursuits to gratify his revenge; he
lay in wait to attack Lord Robert, and took every opportunity of defying
him; till the most ferocious hatred took place between the two youths,
which led to the consequences we have already seen. In one instance,
however, Philip was wrongfully accused, as he never had stained his
hands with dishonest practices. Lord Robert well knew that the dog's
accidentally chasing the hare was perfectly involuntary on the part of
Philip, who was scarcely conscious of it before the poor animal was put
to death.
This incident had given Lord Robert Summers great mental pain: he was as
angry with himself as with Philip Harley; he could not bear to think of
his conduct in this affair--he could not bear to recall any circumstance
relating to it; and only the _name_ of Philip Harley gave him the
greatest uneasiness. Yet he was not conscious that the whole of this
uneasiness sprang from giving the reins one moment to ungovernable
temper; for it was neither Philip nor his dog that had offended or
irritated him; but accidental circumstances had put him in a very ill
humour, and he vented his temper on the first beings that crossed his
path, and, by that means, he was induced to commit an act of cruelty and
oppression really foreign to his own disposition, and which outraged the
best feelings of a fellow-creature, already under the pressure of acute
affliction. If young people will look into their own hearts, they will
find that there is no frailty belonging to our erring nature so
deceptive as _temper_. Strange as it may appear, it often happens that
many individuals, when they express anger, generally wreak it on the
last person who would have thought of exciting it. Some unfortunate
servant, or still more unhappy dependant, is made the victim of ill
humour; which is not only in itself as blind and erring as it is unjust,
but also brings with it the additional pain of self-reproach. Yet the
heart is not always bad that gives way to its evil dominion; but it is
for want of self-examination--of saying, "I find myself mentally uneasy,
perhaps from accidental events, or even from indisposition of body; why
then should I make myself odious to this person, who is in my power, and
must endure my ill treatment, when a little patience and forbearance
will remove the cloud that rests on my mind, and my spirit will rise
bright and unclouded, rejoicing in the consciousness of having overcome
one of the most painful infirmities of human nature?" This
self-confession (if it may be so called) will bring mental health, and
rectify the most irritable disposition.
Never did a month seem so long, as the time appeared to Lord Robert
Summers while he remained on shore. He parted from his noble relatives
with the less regret as he longed to be at sea, to lose in active
employment the memory of these errors and mortifying reflections.
This young nobleman had passed his examination as lieutenant with the
greatest credit; and in a severe engagement between his uncle's ship and
a French man-of-war of superior force (which ended in the capture of the
Frenchman), Lord Robert Summers behaved with such distinguished valour,
that he was considered, both for intrepidity and nautical skill, a most
promising young officer; yet, on account of his youth, being but just
sixteen, he did not expect his commission for some time to come. In this
idea, however, he was agreeably deceived; for, before the Diomede put to
sea, he received his commission as lieutenant. Lord Robert was greatly
attached to his profession; and this early promotion, which he was
conscious was less the effect of interest than desert, seemed to him the
first fruits of a brilliant career of naval honours.
He was received with transport by Sir Henry Stanley; who, himself an
ornament to the British navy, foresaw, in the early valour of this
beloved nephew, the glory of a Vernon or a Rodney. The Diomede had
received sailing orders; Lord Robert, in high spirits, and joyful
expectation of future triumphs, was in one of his happiest humours, when
a boat from a tender came alongside the Diomede, with a supply of
pressed men to recruit the ship's company.
"Summers, are you ill?" asked a young officer, with whom Lord Robert was
gaily conversing; when a sudden alteration became observable in his
voice and manner, and his cheek was overspread with a deadly paleness.
Lord Robert did not hear him, being wholly occupied in watching the
progress of a young sailor up the ship's side.
Lieutenant Cary repeated the question, but received no answer; and,
supposing that Lord Robert was troubled with one of his occasional fits
of patrician haughtiness, and being to the full as high-spirited as
himself, left him to his contemplations. These were of no pleasant
nature; for though emaciated, ragged, and dirty, and in many respects
different from the handsome youth he had lately seen, the young sailor
(who by this time stood on the deck of the Diomede) was Philip Harley!
He now felt that his dislike and abhorrence had arisen to a more
intolerable degree than ever; he fretted at the perverse accident that
had thrown this hated object in his way, and actually proceeded some
paces to request his uncle to remove Philip Harley from the ship; but
then he recollected that he should most likely be forced to enter into
particulars that he detested to recall, besides giving his enemy reason
to suppose that the presence or absence of so abject a creature could
be of the least consequence to him.
"No," said he to himself, "let him remain; he will, in the discipline of
a man-of-war, be cured perhaps of his audacity, and learn submission to
proper authority." This was the result of Lord Robert's debate with
himself. At first, he had been a little touched by Philip's pale and
altered countenance; but, on a second glance, he found his enemy had
recognised him, and returned his glance with a look so full of reproach
and contempt, that Lord Robert vowed within himself that his haughty
spirit should be broken.
Alas, for Philip! he needed no worse enemy than himself. Instead of a
manly resignation to what he knew was unavoidable, and a determination
to perform his duties so well as to gain respect from the crew--instead
of pursuing this course, which would have partly defeated the hatred of
his enemy,--he continued so sullen and contrary, that no means, whether
good or bad, could bring him out of his fits of obstinacy. There needed
no interference of Lord Robert's to bring on him the most severe and
cruel punishments. But no bodily pain could subdue Philip; disgrace and
suffering only rendered him furious and desperate; and he was considered
mutinous and ungovernable to such a degree, that he passed the first
three months of a seafaring life in a succession of confinement and
punishment.
Had young Harley, instead of such headstrong conduct, exerted his real
abilities as a seaman, applied himself to his profession, and shown his
officers and commanders, that, though a mere youth, he could hand, reef,
and steer, as well as the most experienced seaman,--and this, added to
the sober and moral conduct natural to him, with an education and
manners far above his station in life, joined to a stout and active
body, and undaunted courage;--these qualifications would have created
respect in every one, and in no one more than his just and upright
commander; and his persecutor must have exposed his motives before he
could have injured him: _now_ he was fully in his power, and Lord Robert
vowed that he should most submissively implore his pardon for all his
transgressions, before he should find any mercy.
"I can't tell what to make of that lad," said Lieutenant Cary to Lord
Robert, as the boatswain was untying Harley from a gun, where he had
borne, with Spartan firmness, the infliction of a cruel punishment,
which his wilful disobedience had brought on him: "he neither drinks nor
swears, nor associates with the more dissolute part of the crew: but we
have more trouble with him than with the most abandoned reprobate. Yet
he seems to me to be meant for better things."
Cary said this as a sort of encouragement to the unfortunate youth,
whose manly endurance of extreme suffering had touched his heart.
"Oh!" returned Lord Robert, with a contemptuous laugh, "mutiny and
disobedience are nothing new to this fellow; his conduct at sea only
matches his behaviour on land--he was always what you now see him!"
"'Tis false! _You_ have made me what I am," said Philip, with a
withering look.
"False!" exclaimed Lord Robert, striking Philip as he spoke.
"Yes, oppressor, false!" repeated Philip, returning the blow.
Cary, from a principle of humanity, tried to stay his arm; but Philip
was too quick for him. "Madman!" said he, in a tone of regret, "you have
forfeited your life!"
"Then let him take it if he will! Thank God, it will be the last injury
he can do me!" said Philip, resigning his hands with composure to the
fetters with which he was immediately bound.
Harley was considered on board ship so desperate a mutineer, that it was
judged necessary to chain him down to the deck, lest, in his fits of
rage, as he seemed so careless of his own life, he should set fire to
the vessel, and destroy himself and the ship's company together. Here,
then, exposed to the sun by day and the dews by night, with less liberty
than the savage beast, the wretched youth awaited the certain fate to
which, on their arrival in the first port, the laws of war would doom
him, for striking an officer on duty.
At this period, the ship and her convoy were approaching the coast of
Brazil; they had hitherto enjoyed a prosperous voyage, with fair winds
and weather, and a healthy passage. The Diomede was destined to convoy a
fleet of merchant-ships bound for the Portuguese settlement of Rio de
Janeiro. Before they neared the Brazilian shore, they descried a sail,
which proved to be a French man-of-war, of nearly equal strength with
their own. Scarcely had the Diomede recognised her for an enemy, before
another sail appeared, which was soon known to be her consort. These
ships had been stationed to intercept our richly-freighted merchantmen.
The defenceless merchant-ships dispersed in every direction, leaving the
valiant Diomede to bear the thunders of the unequal combat. This
engagement was a fortunate circumstance for the unhappy Harley. I
believe it is a usual thing for seamen under confinement for mutiny to
be released before an engagement: however this may be, Philip was set at
liberty, by the orders of the Captain.
Lieutenant Cary was the officer appointed to set him free. "Harley,"
said he, "you have shown a bold spirit in a bad cause; let us now see
what you can do for your country. It will be my duty to head the
boarding-party. Let me see you near me!"
"You _shall_ see me near you!" said young Harley, grasping the cutlass
which Cary put into his hand: "I would do much for you! You are the only
man who has felt for me as a fellow-creature since I was torn from my
home."
By this time the decks were cleared; and, everything being prepared for
action on both sides, the Frenchmen approached pretty close. During the
awful pause, while this unequal force bore down upon them, perhaps even
some of the boldest hearts felt a chill of anxiety; for they were not
fighting now for wealth or conquest, but for life, liberty, and the
honour of their flag,--that flag which they had borne in triumph round
half the world, and which had never yet been lowered to a foe. True, the
odds against them were tremendous; but they were British seamen, and
would not doubt the result. Yet there was the heart of one amongst them
that throbbed high with desperate ardour for the combat, with the hope
of redeeming disgrace, and showing that he was worthy a better fate than
the death of a felon.
The engagement was long and sanguinary; but British valour at length
prevailed, and the French ships were forced to sheer off in a shattered
condition, leaving the Diomede little better than a wreck on the mid
ocean. The retreat of the enemy was, however, a glorious and hard-earned
triumph; and the brave officers and crew of the Diomede were conscious
of having performed their duty, and protected the charge committed to
their care by their country.
After matters were a little set to rights on deck, and the officers had
assembled round their gallant Captain, to congratulate him on the
retreat of the enemy, Sir Henry Stanley ordered the young mutineer to be
brought before him. Philip made his appearance, pale and bleeding, but
with a determined countenance.
"Young man," said Sir Henry, "you have done your duty to-day. I have to
thank you for twice saving the life of my friend, Lieutenant Cary: he
speaks highly of your conduct in boarding. Your offences are
forgiven--you may return to your duty; and, I hope, from this day, your
conduct will be as remarkable for obedience, as it has before been the
reverse."
Philip raised his eyes to his commander's face, and reading there an
expression of manly pity and candour, he was so completely softened by
conduct which he little expected from Lord Robert's uncle, that he said,
with tears, he had acted wrong, and would spend his best blood, or even
his life, if required, to amend his fault.
"Then," said Sir Henry, "ask pardon of Lord Robert Summers for the
outrage you have committed, and all will be well, if you persevere in
your good resolutions."
"I will ask _your_ pardon, Sir Henry, on my knees, for having rebelled
against so good and gracious a commander, and for having struck one of
_your_ officers; but I cannot ask forgiveness of Lord Robert Summers,
since he was the first to injure me, long before I saw this ship."
Lord Robert, who stood by his uncle's side, gave him a disdainful look;
Philip's eyes answered scorn with scorn.
"No conditions, sir!" said his captain; "they don't become you. But pray
how has my nephew injured you?"
"Lord Robert can inform you," said Philip.
"I perceive," said Sir Henry, "there has been some misunderstanding
between you and my nephew, before you came on board the Diomede; but
this is no excuse for your uniformly rebellious conduct. Had you done
your duty as a British sailor, you would have met with encouragement and
mild treatment. My nephew, dear as he is to me, could not have
influenced me to commit an act of injustice against any individual of my
ship's company. Go, and get your hurts examined; and let me have reason
to praise your future conduct."
Philip bowed to his commander with gratitude and respect, and retired.
It is certain that "misfortunes never come alone." Scarcely had the
convoy re-assembled, and the Diomede repaired some of the injuries she
had sustained in the action, when a furious gale sprang up, and
threatened the most mischievous consequences to the ship, in her
shattered condition.
Towards midnight, the ship sprang so much water, that all hands were
obliged to spell the pumps. About two in the morning, the wind lulled,
and they flattered themselves that the gale was breaking. Soon after,
there was much thunder and lightning, with rain; when it began to blow
strong in gusts of wind, which obliged them to haul up the main-sail,
the ship being then under bare poles. This was scarcely done, when a
gust of wind, exceeding everything of the kind they had ever any
conception of, laid the ship on her beam-ends. The water forsook the
hold and appeared between the decks, so as to fill the men's hammocks
to leeward; the ship lay motionless, and to all appearance irrecoverably
overset. The water increasing fast, the captain gave directions to cut
away the main and mizen masts,[1] hoping, when the ship righted, to wear
her. The mizen-mast went first, without the smallest effect on the ship.
The main-mast followed; and they had the mortification to see the
foremast and bow-sprit follow also. The ship, upon this, immediately
righted, but with great violence; and the motion was so quick, that it
was difficult for the people to work the pumps.
[Footnote 1: Cutting away the mast is nobly described by poor Falconer.
"'Haste, with your weapons cut the shrouds and stay,
And hew at once the mizen-mast away!'
He said: the attentive sailors on each side,
At his command the trembling cords divide.
Fast by the fated pine bold Rodmond stands,
Th' impatient axe hung gleaming in his hands:
Brandish'd on high, it fell with dreadful sound:
The tall mast groaning, felt the deadly wound."
_Shipwreck._]
Every moveable was destroyed, either by the shot thrown loose from the
lockers, or from the wreck of the deck. The masts had not been over the
side ten minutes, before the tiller broke short in the rudder-head; and
before the checks could be placed, the rudder itself was gone. Thus they
were as much disastered as possible, lying at the mercy of the wind.
These circumstances appeared sufficiently alarming; but upon opening the
after-hold, to get up some rum for the people, they found their
condition much more so in reality.
It will be necessary to mention, that the ship's hold was enclosed by a
bulk-head at the after-part of the well.[2] Here were all the dry
provisions, and the ship's rum, stowed upon ten chaldrons of coal,
which, unfortunately, had been started in this part of the ship, and by
them the pumps were continually choked. At this time it was observed
that the water had not a passage to the well; all the rum (twenty-six
puncheons), all the provisions in casks, were stove; having floated with
violence from side to side, until there was not a whole cask remaining:
even the staves, that were found upon clearing the hold, were most of
them broken in two or three pieces. In the fore-hold they had the
prospect of perishing. Should the ship swim, they had no water but what
remained in the ground tier; and over this all the wet provisions in
barrels were floating, with so much motion, that no man could go into
the hold without the risk of his life. There was nothing left, but to
try baling with buckets at the fore-hatchway and fish-room; and twelve
large canvas buckets were immediately employed in each. On opening the
fish-room, they were so fortunate as to discover that two puncheons of
rum had escaped. They were immediately got up, and served out in drams;
and had it not been for this relief, and some lime-juice, the people
would have dropped.
[Footnote 2: The well is an apartment in a ship's hold, serving to
enclose the pumps. It is sounded by dropping a measured iron rod down
into it by a long line; hence the increase or diminution of the leaks is
easily discovered.
"They sound the well, and, terrible to hear,
Five feet immersed along the line appear;
At either pump they ply the clanking brake,
And turn by turn the ungrateful office take."
FALCONER'S _Shipwreck_.]
They soon found their account in baling: a spare pump had been put down
the fore-hatchway, and a pump shifted to the fish-room; but the motion
of the ship had washed the coals so small, that they had reached every
part of the ship, and these pumps were soon choked. However, the water
by noon had considerably diminished by working the buckets; but there
appeared no prospect of saving the ship, if the gale continued. The
labour was too great to hold out without water, yet the people worked
without a murmur, and, indeed, with cheerfulness. But their sufferings
for want of water were very great, and many of them could not be
restrained from drinking salt water. They fired many guns of distress,
in hopes some of the merchant-ships might approach and give them some
supply; but on the beginning of the storm they had run before the wind,
and made some port on the coast of Brazil,--an example which the Diomede
would have been glad to follow before the hurricane began, but her
crippled state from the engagement rendered this impossible.
Towards morning, some of the most resolute of the seamen, rendered
desperate by thirst, went down into the hold, and found a whole
water-cask, which they contrived to heave up, and it afforded a
seasonable relief.
All the officers and boys, who were not of the profession of seamen, had
been employed that night in thrumming a sail, which was passed under
the ship's bottom with good effect. The spars were raised for the
foremast; the weather looked promising, and they had the prospect of a
fine day;--it proved so; and they were determined to make use of it,
with every possible exertion. The captain divided the ship's company,
with the officers attending them, into parties, to raise the jury
foremast, to heave overboard the lower deck guns,[3] to clear the wrecks
of the fore and after holds, to prepare a machine for steering the ship,
and to work the pumps. By night, as the leak was stopped, the after-hold
was quite clear, ten chaldrons of coals having been baled out since the
commencement of the gale.
[Footnote 3:
"While on the quivering deck, from van to rear,
Broad surges roll in terrible career,
Rodmond, Arion, and a chosen crew,
This office in the face of death pursue.
The wheel'd artillery o'er the deck to guide,
Rodmond descending, claim'd the weather side.
Fearless of heart, the chief his orders gave,
Fronting the rude attacks of every wave.
Meantime Arion traversing the waist, }
The cordage of the leeward guns embraced, }
And pointed crows beneath the metal placed. }
Watching the roll, their forelocks they withdrew,
And from their beds the reeling cannon threw.
Then from the windward battlements unbound,
Rodmond's associates wheel'd the artillery round;
Then, hurl'd from sounding hinges o'er the side,
Thundering they plunge into the flashing tide."
FALCONER'S _Shipwreck_.]
The standards of the cockpit, an immense quantity of staves and wood,
and part of the lining of the ship, were thrown overboard, that, if the
water should appear again in the hold, they might have no impediment in
baling.
The Diomede, in this condition, exhibited a scene seldom witnessed,--a
line-of-battle ship without masts or rudder, a mere shell in the midst
of the ocean. The casks of all sorts, floating from side to side, were
stove, and the magazines and store-rooms of every kind washed down.
By nightfall the foremast was secured, and the machine for steering
fixed; so that, if the moderate weather continued, they were in hopes of
steering the ship, the following day, for the coast of Brazil--the
violence of the wind having driven them far out of their course.
During this time of peril and hardship, Sir Henry Stanley could not help
observing with satisfaction the altered conduct of young Harley, who was
so active, enterprising, and courageous, that no difficulty could
overcome him, and no hardship make him complain. He seemed to think the
benign looks of Sir Henry Stanley, ever bent with peculiar complacency
on those who performed their duties with manly firmness, were a reward
for the most painful exertions. All the officers, indeed, noticed the
altered conduct of the young mutineer: no traces remained of his former
rebellion, except that of his returning the haughty glances of Lord
Robert Summers with equal fierceness, when they chanced to meet in the
performance of their arduous duties. But nothing could induce him to
return the taunts this young officer sometimes bestowed on him with
disrespectful language. Depending on the justice of his captain, he bore
all in unmoved silence; indeed, his Lordship (who considered Philip as
too much his inferior to give him the opportunity of joining in a
warfare of words) never condescended to address any provoking speeches
_to_ him, but always _at_ him. One would have thought that such
frightful circumstances would have tamed the haughtiest minds; but they
both required still severer trials to wring the black spot from their
hearts.
The ship, in this perilous state, was in the middle of the great
Atlantic, nearly under the equinoctial line, with the water-casks beat
to pieces, and most of the provisions spoiled; so that if, by especial
providence, the ship should swim, so as to reach a port on the Brazilian
coast, the crew would suffer the most cruel hardships from
thirst--painful at all times, but intolerable in these burning
latitudes. In this dilemma, some of the people descried land; and they
hoped it was one of those small islands on which the Portuguese have
little settlements to supply their ships, which trade to Africa, with
water and needful refreshments. This island, like those of St. Helena
and Ascension, appeared rocky and volcanic; but there were good hopes
that springs of water might be discovered on it, if any of the crew
could be found enterprising enough to effect a landing, with such a sea,
and on such a coast; for, though the gale had lulled, the breakers were
furiously high on the shore.
Lord Robert Summers, daring and ardent, and much preferring danger to
the lingering agonies of thirst, volunteered to command a boat, if any
of the crew would venture themselves under his guidance. Three of the
most experienced seamen offered to man the boat; but five hands were
indispensable. His Lordship said that he himself would steer the boat,
if one more seaman would venture. Philip Harley volunteered his
assistance. "Any one but him!" muttered Lord Robert between his shut
teeth, incensed that Philip should show that his courage was equal to
his own: however, as his services were offered for the public good, he
thought proper, although very unwillingly and ungraciously, to accept
them, and the boat was lowered. Sir Henry Stanley bade adieu to his
gallant nephew with pain; but he did not attempt to withhold him, dear
as he was, from the benefit he was proposing to render the ship's
company. When the boat got among the breakers, the prospect of landing
appeared so hazardous, that one of the oldest of the seamen, who rowed
the boat, proposed returning to the ship. Lord Robert, considering
himself accountable for the lives of the men under his care, would not
insist on their continuing their efforts, but said:
"My brave fellows! If the attempt seem to you hopeless, I will not urge
you to continue it; but if my single life only were at stake I would
willingly risk it to obtain a supply of water for our famishing
companions."
The sailors then determined to persevere, their recent sufferings from
thirst being fresh in their minds. At length, by a desperate effort,
they gained the shore, and landed their water-casks. They soon found a
pure spring, which gushed from a rocky hill at some little distance from
the shore: there was a large wooden cross erected on an eminence, at the
spring head; but they found no Portuguese guard at the spring, which is
usual in a settlement in those latitudes; so they presumed the island
was uninhabited. The land seemed barren, rocky, and desolate; but, after
some research, they found, in a sheltered valley, a few fine lime and
cocoa-nut trees, which had evidently been planted by some beneficent
navigator. Gathering cocoa-nuts is no very easy operation, as they
adhere in close bunches to the crown of the tree by tough ligaments; but
as young Harley had brought his axe and saw to cut wood for firing, he
climbed the trees, while his comrades were filling the water-casks, and
expeditiously obtained a good number, both of limes and cocoa-nuts,
which he considered would be an acceptable refreshment to his exhausted
companions on board the Diomede.
While they were thus employed, Lord Robert hailed them from the beach,
where he remained to watch the boat.
"Come, my lads!" said he, "the gale freshens every minute; let us get
afloat, or we shall scarcely reach the ship before nightfall."
The sailors hurried the water-casks and store of fruit into the boat,
and launched her among the breakers. With infinite toil, they got out of
the surf with safety, as the wind now blew off the shore; but the
furious gusts came every moment with increasing strength; and, at last,
a surge rose with such overwhelming violence, that, in spite of all
their efforts, the boat upset, and her unhappy crew were engulfed in the
roaring waters. Their fate was beheld from the ship; but no aid could be
given, as the renewed hurricane had rendered her state more deplorable
than ever: she was driven before the wind, and soon lost sight of this
fatal island.
Some of the boat's crew struggled a little time with the waves; but
three of them were old men, and had been exhausted by the fatigues they
had lately undergone. These speedily sank; but Lord Robert, being young
and robust, strove hard for life, and at length gained the shore, almost
exhausted by his contentions with the surfy breakers. When he had a
little recovered his breath, he climbed the hill on which the cross was
erected, and gazed towards the ship, which he saw driving before the
wind, surrounded by foaming billows, and with every appearance of
speedily sharing the fate he had so lately escaped. Wholly occupied in
the thoughts of the revered friend that ship contained, he forgot his
own desolate state, till the last appearance of the ship vanished, and
he found himself alone.
Oppressed with sad thoughts, he turned himself from the contemplation of
the wrathful ocean, now blackening with the sudden night of the torrid
zone, and after a little search, found a low arch in the rock, which was
the entrance to a natural hollow in its side. Into this place he crept,
to shelter himself from the inclemency of the storm, which increased
with tenfold fury after sunset.
In this situation he passed the night which succeeded this dismal day.
It was a night of peculiar horror--tempestuous, dark, and rainy; and
Lord Robert, though in a state of complete exhaustion, found that, in
his late struggle with the breakers, he had received so many bruises,
that to sleep was impossible. At intervals, as the lightning gleamed on
the stormy expanse of waters before him, he thought how many of his
brave companions, in all probability, slept beneath its roaring waves;
and at that moment, instead of returning thanks to Heaven for his own
preservation, he felt inclined to envy his comrades. To be entirely shut
out from all intercourse with his fellow-creatures, never again to hear
the sound of a human voice, and to be condemned, in the very bloom of
youth, to pine away existence in that desolate place, far from every
friend, appeared a doom so dreadful, that he was insensibly led to
reflect for what crime so heavy a punishment could have befallen him.