IN THE STORM.
The next morning, as Howard and Martin were coming up from the beach,
where they had been taking a swim, they saw Maurice and Eric standing
on the edge of a cliff looking out seaward, and they had not walked far
before Eric came hastily toward them.
"You've never seen a Shetland storm, young gentlemen," he said, "but
you may see one to-day and to-morrow, too, for I doubt if you will get
away from here as soon as you expected. I see the ladies coming out; it
might be well to go and tell them."
"Come along, Madeleine! Hurry, Ethel!" cried Martin; "you will soon see
the sight we have longed for--a storm at sea. Eric says there is one
brewing."
The ladies looked incredulous, and Mr. Morton put on his double
eye-glasses, and looked around with the air of one who more than half
suspects he is being taken in.
It was a still, lovely summer morning. The sea was as calm as a village
brook; the waves lazily played upon the shore, and the breeze scarcely
stirred the little flag which Eric had mounted on his boat in honor of
the visitors.
Presently, however, the dark clouds came up in rapid procession; the
surf began to sigh and moan; the sea-fowls caught the sound, and cried
as they only cry when the ocean is angry. The boats lying out hoisted
sail and scudded away for the nearest haven of shelter. Then a white
line of light rose up sharply against the black bank of clouds, and the
still sea became covered with white-crested waves. The quiet shore rang
again with the booming of waters, as they leapt against the rocks and
broke in foaming spray.
It was a grand sight. The whole aspect of sea and sky and land had
changed.
Ole, Maurice and Eric had withdrawn from the party of visitors and were
standing on an eminence, talking earnestly, and looking out to sea with
such evident anxiety, that Howard and Martin clambered up to them to
hear what was the matter.
"Well, sir, you see that ship out there, we can't make her out," said
Maurice. "We've watched her for an hour, and she hasn't shifted an inch
of sail."
"I don't see her at all," said Howard. "Do you, Martin?"
No, Martin could not, because he had not that wonderfully acute sight
which the discipline of constant experience gives to seamen.
However, with the aid of a glass he saw her clearly, and was seaman
enough to know that she was playing a dangerous game in carrying so
much canvas in such a gale.
"And what's the strangest part of all is, that she's making straight
for rocks, if she keeps the same course," said Ole.
"Can't you make out who or what she is?" asked Howard.
"I should say by her build she was a whaler," answered Maurice, taking
up the glass again and having a long look. Then he hastily passed it to
Ole and Ole to Eric.
"There's no time to be lost," said Ole, "the storm will be too heavy in
another hour for us to put off. She's in danger, there's no mistake,
and we must get to her. It seems to me there can't be any crew on
board, or if there is, they must be mad. It's the strangest thing I
ever saw."
In a few moments all was excitement; the news spread through the
village like wild-fire; every cottage was astir; old and young came out
to see and hear and speculate; while half a dozen stalwart fellows,
including the three brothers, made ready for the start. Howard and
Martin were among the first to volunteer to accompany them, but the
fishermen would not hear of it. There was no time to discuss the
matter; all was hurry and bustle.
See! the crew is ready; all hands are wanted for the launch. It is no
easy matter; the waves are beating in on the shore, and threaten to
swamp the boat almost before she starts on her perilous errand. Hurrah!
she rides! Ole is at the helm; a manly cheer comes to the now silent
watchers on the shore, and the little craft plunges through the waters,
now rising on a crested wave, now sinking into the valley of waters,
but speeding her devious way toward the mysterious ship.
Madeleine clings to the arm of Howard, pale with the excitement. Ethel
has hardly dared to speak, and Martin has not found it in his heart to
break the intense silence of those anxious moments as they watch the
departure.
But see! a group has gathered on the spot where Ole, Maurice and Eric
had stood. It is the favorite lookout. The glass is there, and an old
man has taken it in his steady hand, and is reporting the news by
little jerks of speech to the anxious throng around him. It is Ole
Hughson, the father of the three brothers.
"Can make out one man on board. He sees them. They've tacked again. It
aint so bad as it looked. Sea's quieter there. Hulloa! there goes a
sail to ribbons. They are tacking again. She has slackened sail. Good!
good!"
But other eyes can now make out the scene, for the ship draws nearer,
and the eyes that have gazed so long seem to have gained strength to
see further.
The Shetland boat nears the ship; it is near enough for the crew to
catch the cry that comes from the solitary man upon the deck.
See! the little boat tacks again, and is now close in the wake of the
ship. Good heavens! in that sea, with those waves running, will they
dare to attempt to board her?
Yes, a rope has been thrown to them. Thank God, it is caught! But the
little boat has sunk! No, she has but gone down in the great valley of
waters, and is riding safe and sound. Look! some one from the Shetland
boat has caught hold of the rudder-chains. He climbs the dangerous way.
He is on board. It is Eric--the brave, dauntless Eric. Another and
another follow, and all reach the ship in safety.
No sooner had the brave Shetlanders mounted the deck than they were at
work with a desperate will. A glance sufficed to show them that the
management of the vessel depended upon them; and in a moment they were
masters of the situation. Ole established himself at the wheel, and
thundered forth his orders.
As if by magic, the course of the vessel was altered; dangling spars
were cut away and thrown adrift, sail was taken in, and our friends on
the shore could see that they were endeavoring to bring the ship to
haven in the bay.
No time was to be lost with those who would witness the arrival and
disembarkation; for, although it would have been a comparatively short
distance if there had been a sea-coast and a calm sea, the haven was
cut off from the village by rugged rocks and headlands, which
necessitated a journey of some miles.
Howard and Martin, as soon as they saw that the ship was in the hands
of the fishermen, rushed off at the top of their speed to get ready the
first shelties they could lay their hands on, knowing, that in such a
time of excitement, everybody in the place being related, directly or
indirectly, to the six men who were on board, it was vain to put much
trust in the help of others.
That morning marked an epoch in the life of Mrs. Morton. She had always
been too languid to encounter any excitement of any sort, but she had
watched the events of this day with an interest which was as new to
herself as it was to all who knew her. And when the young folks
declared that they must see the end of the matter, come what might,
nothing could dissuade her, despite the fatigue, from making one of the
party.
There was a tedious delay in getting the ponies together and saddling
them for the journey. Those who had gone off on foot, and were
accustomed to fatigues, had gained a long march on the visitors, and
Howard had agreed with Martin that it would save time in the end if
they only took four ponies, for the ladies and Mr. Morton, and went
themselves on foot.
At last all was ready, and the start was made with the best speed
possible in the circumstances. But they labored under one or two great
disadvantages; the first was that they did not know the quickest route,
and the next was that they could not see the vessel, having to make an
inland journey to reach the haven.
When at last they came to the edge of a cliff, which they rightly
judged must overlook their destination, a scene broke upon their view
which staggered them.
The ship was at anchor; many people were upon the shore, and in little
knots they were kneeling round the bodies of men stretched upon the
strand, while boats were passing to and fro, freighted, as it would
seem, with the dying and the dead.
"This is no scene for you, my dears," said Mr. Morton, as he saw the
pallor on the faces of those around him, "we must return at once."
"Return?" cried Madeleine, "when perhaps the dead can be ministered
to, and the dying cheered. Oh! no, no!"
It was useless to resist such an appeal, nor was it necessary, for, as
she spoke, a woman, running, drew near to them.
"Tell me, what does it mean?" cried Howard to her.
"Near twenty men on board, dead and dying. The ship is half full of
water, and is sinking."
They urged their way along, passing groups in attendance on the
prostrate ones upon the shore. Howard and Martin led; the others
followed. The whole party gathered about a boat that had just come in,
and from which Eric was trying to lift the apparently lifeless body of
a young man.
All at once, Mrs. Morton threw up her arms, uttered a piercing cry, and
fell forward to the ground. Then, in quick succession, horror, surprise
and joy filled the hearts of the little group, as they, too, recognized
in Eric's burden the form and features of Digby Morton!
[IN THE ICE. [SEE PAGE 499.]]