"It was far away in the Greenland seas I was, sailing northwards towards
Spitzbergen. I was second mate of the bonnie barque _Scotia's Queen_.
Well, one dark night we were ploughing away on a bit of a beam wind,
doing maybe about an eight knots, maybe not so much. There was very
little ice about, and as I had eight hours _in_ that night, I went early
to my bunk, and was soon fast asleep. It must have been well on to two
bells in the middle watch--the spectioneer's--when I awoke all of a
sudden like. I don't know, no more than Adam, what I could have been
thinking about, but I crept out of my bunk in the state-room, where also
the doctor and steward slept, and up on deck I went. I wondered to
myself more than once if I really was in a dream. But there were sails
and rigging, and the stars all shining, and the ship bobbing and
curtseying to the dark waters, that went swishing and lapping alongside
of her, and all awfully real for a dream. I could hear the men talking
round the fo'c's'le, and smell their tobacco, too.
"Well, Leonard, I went to the weatherside, and leant over to calculate,
sailor fashion, our rate of speed, when I noticed something like a
square dark shadow on the water at the gangway. There was nothing above
to cause so strange a shadow, but while I was yet wondering a face
appeared in the middle of it, the face of a lovely woman. I saw it as
plain as I see dear wee Effie's at this present moment. The long yellow
hair was floating on the top of the water, and a fair hand beckoned me,
and a sweet voice said, `Come.' I thought of nothing but how to save
the life of what I took to be a drowning woman. I sprang over at once,
though I never could swim a stroke, and down I sank like lead. There
was a surging roar of water in my ears, and I remembered nothing more
till I found myself at the bottom of the sea, with a strange green light
from a window in a rock a kind of dazzling my eyes. The woman's face
and long yellow hair were close beside me, and the fair arms were round
me.
"I tried to pray, but I was speechless. Then the rock in front seemed
to open of its own accord, and next minute I was inside. But oh! what a
gorgeous hall--what a home of delight! There were other mermaids
there--ay, scores of them. There was light and warmth all around us,
that appeared to come from the precious stones of which the walls were
built, and the glittering pillars that supported the roof.
"Such flowers, too, as grew in snow-white vases I had never seen before!
"Then music began to float through the hall, slow and solemn at first,
then quicker and quicker, and all at once the marble floor was filled
with fairies--the loveliest elves imagination could paint--all mingling
and mixing in a mazy dance with waving arms and floating hair, and all
keeping time to the music. The mermaids, too, left the couches of pearl
on which they had been reclining, and were carried through and through
the air, the ends of their bodies covered with long floating drapery of
green and crimson. Then some of these strange creatures brought me
fruit and wine, and bade me eat and drink. I fain would have spoken,
but all my attempts were in vain.
"Suddenly our ship's bell rang out clear enough, ting-ting, ting-ting,
ting-ting, _ting_. It was seven bells, and all the mermaids and fairies
melted away before me, the music died away as if drowned, the surging of
water returned to my ears, and next moment my head was above the sea,
and I could see the stars shining down, and looking so large and near
and clear, as they always do in those northern seas. In a minute I had
caught the chains, and swung myself on board. I went to bed. In the
morning I awoke, and laughed to myself as I thought of my dream, but my
laughing was changed to wonder when I found every stitch of my clothing
wringing with salt water, and when the spectioneer told me that he had
seen me with his own eyes come on deck at two bells and go below at
seven. Then I told him and the rest the story, and we all agreed that
it was something far more than a dream."
Effie sat looking into the fire for some time in silence; then she
said,--
"Were there no mermen in that lovely hall, and were they very
noble-looking and gallant, like my dear papa in uniform?"
"_No_," said old Grindlay, "I don't think mermen would have been
admitted into such a place any more than the great sea-serpent would."
"Why not?"
"Because, missie, they are such ugly old customers. I've never seen
one, that I know of, but a mate that sailed with me said he had, and
that it was uglier than the faces we sometimes see on door-knockers, and
uglier than any baboon that ever grinned and gibbered in an African
forest."
"How terrible!" said Effie.
"Oh, I should like to meet one of those!" said Leonard. "And I've been
told that the mermaids wouldn't live anywhere near where these mermen
are, and that instead of dwelling down in coral caves and marble halls
at the bottom of the green sea, where the sunbeams flash by day, and the
moon shines all the way down at night, these mermen live at the bottom
of the darkest, deepest pits of the ocean, where there is nothing but
mud and slime, and where the young sea-serpents and the devil-fish grow.
No, the beautiful mermaids I don't think ever do any harm, but the
mermen are bad--bad!"
"Granny," said Effie to Mrs Grindlay, after a pause, "tell us a pretty
story to dream upon."
"Did I ever tell you the story of _But--but--but_?"
"No, never. Do tell us about `_But--But--But_,' and begin, `Once upon a
time.'"
"Well, then, once upon a time there lived, far away up on the top of a
mountain, a little old, old woman, and this little old woman had a very
lovely young daughter, who lived with her in a cave on the mountain top.
And one day her mother said,--
"`Dear love, all the provisions are done. I must go away down to the
plains and buy some. I have no money, but shall take a small bagful of
precious stones.'
"So away she went, leaning on her stick and carrying a basket. She
looked very feeble, her old cloak was ragged and worn, and, as she crept
along, she kept saying to herself, `_but--but--but_.'
"Well, at last she got down to the village, and entered a grocer's shop.
"`What can I get for you, ma'am?' said the grocer.
"`I want some nice ham, and some nice eggs, and some fresh butter. I
have no money--but--but--but--'
"`Oh! get out of here with your "buts,"' cried the man. `Who would
trust the like of you, with your old age and your rags?'
"So he chased her away.
"Then the old woman crept away to the fishmonger's.
"`I want,' she said, `some nice fresh salmon, and some nice prawns, and
a delicious lobster. I've no money--but--but--but--'
"`Oh, get out of here!' cried the fishmonger, `with your "buts." Who
would trust you with your old age and your rags?'
"And he chased her down the street.
"Then she entered the butcher's.
"`Give me a tender joint of mutton,' she said. `I've no money--but--
but--but--'
"`Oh!' cried the butcher, `get out of here, with your "buts." Who would
trust you with your old age and your rags?'
"And he called his dogs, and they chased away the poor old woman, and
tore her cloak worse than before.
"Then she went into the baker's.
"`I want a loaf or two of bread,' she said. `I've no money, but--but--
but--'
"`Don't say another word,' said the baker. `Here are two nice new ones,
and some new-laid eggs. Don't thank me. I respect old age, and I pity
rags.'
"So the old, old woman crept back to the mountain top, and she and her
beautiful daughter had a nice supper.
"And now the strangest part of the story begins, for although the
baker's trade increased every day, his store of flour appeared never to
diminish. He got richer and richer every month, and was soon in a
position to buy a pretty little cottage and furnish it in the prettiest
style imaginable; and when he had done so he went and laid his fortune
at the feet of Mary the Maid of the Mill. In other words, he went
wooing the miller's daughter.
"After a modest pause for thought and consideration she consented,
saying as she did so,--
"`I don't marry you for sake of your money, John, because I have quite a
deal of gold and silver.'
"`What! you?' said John.
"`Yes, me,' said Mary.
"`But--but--but--' said John.
"`But, how did I get it? Well, I'll tell you. A poor old woman,
crawling on a stick and all in rags, called the other night, when the
wind blew high and the snow was falling fast, and because I took her in,
and sheltered her--just only what anybody would do, John--she left me a
bagful of pretty stones. She said she didn't want them, as she knew a
hill where they grew, and I took them to the jeweller's, and they paid
me so much for them that I am quite wealthy, and I'm going to marry for
love.'
"So John was indeed a happy man.
"But that same evening, first the butcher called, and then the
fishmonger, and then the grocer, all dressed up in their Sunday clothes.
"So John hid behind a curtain, and as soon as they came into the room,
all three proposed to marry Mary the Maid of the Mill.
"Then Mary looked down at them, and laughed and said,--
"`Really, gentlemen, you do me too much honour, but--but--but--'
"`But _I'm_ the happy man,' cried John suddenly, popping out from behind
the curtain.
"`_You_!' they all shouted in disdain.
"`Yes, I. I'm very sorry for you, but--but--but--'
"`But what?' they all cried.
"`But I'm going to kick you all out,' said John; `that's the "but."'
"Then Mary ran and opened the door, and as they ran out John kicked the
grocer, then the fishmonger, and last of all the butcher, and they all
fell in a heap on the pavement.
"Well, Mary and John got married, and a merrier wedding never was in the
village, and when it was all over a gilded coach drove up to the door
and took them away to spend the honeymoon in a beautiful seaside
village.
"And the old lady was in the carriage and her pretty daughter, but the
ragged old cloak was gone, and in its place a robe of ermine and
scarlet.
"And Mary and John lived happy together ever after."
"Of course," said Effie, "the old lady was a good fairy."
"Oh yes!" said Mrs Grindlay, "but--but--but--"
"But what, Mrs Grindlay?"
"But it's time for bed."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
What a terrible night it was. The wind blew and roared around the
building till the whole island seemed to shake, the waves beat and
dashed against the rocks, and the spray flew far over the lighthouse
itself, and every now and then, high over the howling of the storm and
the boom of the seas, rose that strange, eerie scream, like the cry of
the sea-bird, but it sounded far more plaintive and pitiful, like--
"The drowning cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony."
And one sentence was mingled with the prayers of Leonard and Effie
before they sought their couch--
"God save all at sea to-night."
Book 1--CHAPTER EIGHT.
"THE WRECK! THE WRECK!"
"The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.
"She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool;
But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides
Like the horns of an angry bull."
Longfellow.
Scene: The lighthouse island on the morning after the storm. The sea
all around it, still covered with foam-capped waves. The wind dying
away, but rising every now and then in uncertain gusts. No vessels in
sight, but a long, low, rakish craft wedged in the rocks beneath the
lighthouse, and fast breaking up. The whole scene bleak and desolate in
the extreme.
"It is the lugger, sure enough," said old Grindlay. "Heigho! what an
awful affair, to be sure! And there can't be a living soul on board.
Captain Bland and all must have gone to their account."
"And she is breaking up," said his wife. "Goodness grant she may
disappear entirely before the young ones see her."
"Oh!" cried Leonard, rushing into the kitchen; "the wreck! the wreck!
It is the lugger. Oh the poor robber chief!"
"He is dead, my dear," said Mrs Grindlay solemnly. "_No_, no; I can
see him from our window, where Effie is crying. He is under the wreck
of the masts amidships and alive, for he waved his hand to us. Oh, save
him, Mr Grindlay, if you can!"
"Ah, lad, I fear nothing can be done!"
"I'll go, I'll go! Effie is not afraid; she says I may go. I've gone
over worse rocks than that with a rope. He is alive, and I will save
him. Quick, bring the rope, and an axe and saw."
"The boy is a hero," exclaimed Mrs Grindlay. "Do as he bids you, old
man; the lad is in God's own hands."
"I am no hero. I only want to save the captain. He could not help
kidnapping us, and he was so kind to Effie."
The forepart of the lugger was wedged into a cave, close under a black
beetling cliff, fully fifty feet in height. It was over here Leonard
was going. There was no denying him. He had already thrown down the
axe and saw to the wreck, and now, both Mr and Mrs Grindlay assisting,
the rope was wound twice round an iron stanchion at the cliff top, which
might have been used before for a similar purpose, or by men in search
of eggs. Leonard's legs were through the bight, and next minute he had
disappeared over the cliff, and was gradually lowered down, and though
half drowned with the driving spray speedily reached the deck.
Effie stood in tears at her window, praying. It was all the child could
do.
Leonard staggered aft and knelt by the side of Captain Bland, and poured
some brandy from a flask into his mouth.
"Heaven bless you, boy!" he muttered, "and if the prayer of such as I am
can avail, Heaven will."
Leonard hardly heard him, but he knew his meaning, and now set to work
with axe and saw. It was a long and tedious job, but it was finished at
last, and the smuggler chief was clear, and sprang to his feet, but
staggered and almost fell again.
After a while, however, his numbed legs gathered fresh strength, and,
helped by the boy, he settled himself in the bight of the rope, and was
drawn to bank safe and sound.
The rope was again lowered, and Leonard mounted next, and not a minute
too soon.
"Look, look, look!" cried Bland, pointing away to windward. "Run for
our lives!"
A strange sight it was, that awful coming squall. Right away in the
wind's eye was a long dark cloud, fringed beneath with a line of white.
Forked lightning played incessantly across it, or fell through it like
streams of blood or fire. It grew higher and higher as it came nearer
and nearer; then with a rush and a roar it swept upon the island, and
the very lighthouse seemed to rock in the awful embrace.
It was the last effort of one of the most terrible gales of wind that
ever strewed our coast with wreckage, and with the bodies of unfortunate
men. When it disappeared at length, and went howling away over the
mountains, the sun shone out. It shone down upon the place where the
lugger had lain, but not a timber of her was now to be seen.