THE SPANISH MAN-OF-WAR OFF SHETLAND--A CALM--THE "SAINT CECILIA" IN
DANGER--THE PILOT--BRASSAY SOUND.
"Land! land on the larboard bow!" The cry was uttered in a foreign
tongue from the masthead of a corvette of twenty guns, a beautiful long,
low, flush-decked craft with dark hull, taunt raking masts, and square
yards, which, under all the sails she could carry with a southerly
breeze right aft, was gliding rapidly over the now smooth surface of the
northern ocean. The haughty flag of old Spain, and the language spoken
on board, showed that she belonged to that nation. The crew sat
clustered about on the forecastle with their arms folded in a listless,
inactive way--some asleep--others smoking cigarillos or playing games of
chance between the guns, while a few were disputing on some trivial
points with a vehemence which proved the fiery tempers hidden under
those calm exteriors. The officers lolled against the bulwarks, sat on
the guns, or paced slowly backwards and forwards; but rather more
etiquette was kept up on the quarter deck than appeared to be the case
among the men forward. The captain walked backwards and forwards with
his first lieutenant on the starboard side; they crossed occasionally,
and lifted their hands to their eyes to watch the land just sighted as
the ship approached and glided by it at the distance of two or three
miles. The captain's appearance was in his favour. He was tall and
graceful, with the clear olive-complexion, the pointed beard, the thin
moustache, and the large pensive eyes, so frequently seen in portraits
of high-born Spaniards. Still, though his features were handsome and
very intelligent, there was an expression in them not altogether
satisfactory. His companion was a short, thick-set man, dark and
bearded, with a daring look in his countenance and a firmness in his
month which might raise a suspicion that in cases of emergency he would
be likely to take the command in the place of his superior.
"That land out there should be of some interest to us, Alvarez," said
the captain, pointing to the little conical-shaped islets the ship was
passing. "It was there, so history tells us, that one of the grandees
of Spain, the great Duke of Medina Sidonia, was wrecked when he sailed
in command of that mighty Armada which would have assuredly crushed the
power of England had it not been so completely baffled by the wonderful
opposition of the elements. Many of his crew after being saved from the
fury of the tempest were cruelly murdered by the barbarous inhabitants,
and he and a small remnant only escaped to the main island of Shetland,
whither we are bound."
"Ah! I have heard say that the people in those parts are little better
than cannibals," answered the lieutenant; "we may as well, at all
events, keep our guns run out and double-shotted while we lie here, that
we may be prepared for them should they attempt to play us any tricks."
"Oh! they are tolerably civilised now, I fancy," answered the captain.
"I myself have some Shetland blood in my veins, so I have been told,
though it must be tolerably diluted by this time."
"You sir! I thought that in your veins flowed none but the purest of
Castilian streams," answered the lieutenant, with a slight sneer in his
tone. It was so slight, however, that his captain did not perceive it.
"How came that about, Don Hernan?"
"I will tell you," answered the captain: "an ancestor of mine--in our
family tree he appears quite a modern one--commanded one of the ships of
the holy Armada. She, like that of the Admiral, was driven north, and
ultimately wrecked and totally lost on the land we shall soon make to
the northward, called Shetland. He and his crew were kindly treated by
the chief of the little island on which they were driven. The crew
built a chapel to show their gratitude, and having nearly produced a
famine in the district, were conveyed home with honour; while he, to
prove his, married the old Udaller's daughter, and thinking it likely
that his head might be chopped off as a sacrifice to assuage the rage of
our pious monarch Philip, settled on the island, and did not return home
till towards the end of a long life. His son, who accompanied him,
having recovered his ancestral estates, remained in Spain; but he, when
advanced in years, in consequence of being implicated in some political
plot, fled the country, and naturally took refuge in that of his mother,
where he was cordially welcomed. He was afterwards joined by his son,
who, curiously enough, married a Shetland lady, and thus, even in the
days of my father, who was his grandson, a constant communication was
kept up with our Norse connections. I, also, have more than once heard
of them since my father's death, and have determined to become more
intimately acquainted with my relatives during this northern voyage of
ours. But where are we getting to? What with the strong tide, and the
favourable breeze, we positively fly by the land. Send for the chart on
deck, Alvarez, and let me have a look at its bearings."
The first lieutenant beckoned to a midshipman, who soon returned with a
large sea-chart, which the captain spread out on the capstan head.
"Ah! here we have this small rock--Fate Island, I see the natives call
it--away to the south-west; and that lofty bluff headland, north by
west, now shining so white, as if formed of marble, is Fitfiel Head, or
the _White Mountain_, I see by a note--not an unfit name either; and
that high point to the south-east again is Sumburgh Head. What bleak
and barren hills appear to the northward again! What a dreadful coast
to make during the long nights of winter!" The captain shuddered.
"Unless we find the interior more attractive, I shall wonder how my
ancestors could have had so much partiality for such a country."
"Summer or winter, in stormy weather it is not a coast a seaman would
wish to hug too closely," observed Lieutenant Alvarez; "the crews of the
ships of our great Armada found that to their cost. However, there
appear to be some good roadsteads, where, should bad weather come on, we
may be secure."
"Numbers. See what a curious shape has the mainland," observed the
captain, pointing to the chart. "It is fully twenty leagues long, and
yet there does not appear to be a point where it is more than a league
across from sea to sea. Those voes run up for a league or more, and
make it appear like some huge insect. Then what innumerable islands of
all shapes and sizes! The people should be amphibious, who live here,
to enable them to visit their neighbours: in a southern clime what a
delightful spot it might be! but in this hyperborean region, existence
must be a penalty."
"As to that, my fancy is for a southern clime," answered the lieutenant,
who, by-the-by, did not clearly comprehend all his captain's remarks;
"but I suppose as there are some animals, polar bears and arctic foxes,
who delight in snow and frost, so there are human beings who are content
to live on in this cheerless region."
"Not a bad notion, Alvarez," observed the captain, who continued walking
the deck, and talking much in the same strain with his officer. The
contrast between the two was very considerable. The captain, Don Hernan
Escalante, was a refined, highly-educated man. His knowledge on most
matters was extensive, if not profound; he spoke several languages, and
among them English, with a fluency few Spaniards attain. Few Spaniards
indeed of that day were equally accomplished. His first lieutenant,
Pedro Alvarez, was every inch a seaman, and like many seamen despised
all who were not so. Again the captain stopped before the chart, and
placing his finger on it, observed: "Here I hope we may anchor to-night,
opposite the capital, Lerwick. See, there is a long wide sound marked
with good anchorage, called Brassay Sound, formed by the mainland and
the island of Brassay. I wonder what sort of a city is Lerwick! It of
course has theatres, hotels, billiard-rooms, and balls; these northern
people are fond of dancing, I have read. We shall have ample amusement
with the fair islanders."
"The dances will be something like those of the North American Indians,
I suspect," answered the lieutenant, who might have thought that his
captain was laughing at him, when he talked of such amusements in a
country he believed so barbarous.
The corvette had got close in with Sumburgh Head, when her sails gave
several loud flaps against the masts, bulged out, then again collapsed,
and she speedily lost all steerage way. The head of the vessel, instead
of pointing, as heretofore, towards the north, now began slowly to turn
round west, and south, and east, and then, as if some secret power had
seized her keel, away she was whirled, now to the westward, and then to
the north in the direction of the towering heights of Fitfiel Head.
As the ship lay rocking to and fro under this lofty headland, which they
at length arrived at, the sea-birds flew forth in myriads from the
ledges and caverns, where, for ages past, in storm and sunshine, in
winter and summer, they have roosted undisturbed, wheeling and circling
with discordant cries round the stranger, as if to inquire why she had
thus come to intrude on their domain. The Spanish seamen, accustomed
chiefly to southern climes, gazed with superstitious wonder at the
frowning cliff and the screeching birds, and fully believed that those
winged denizens of the wild sea-coast were evil spirits sent out by the
witches of the country to trick and torment them, and perchance to lead
them to destruction.
"Shall we anchor, Alvarez?" asked the captain, anxiously looking around
seaward, and then at the frowning height above their heads.
"Anchor!" exclaimed the lieutenant, "as well anchor in the middle of the
Bay of Biscay as in the Roust of Sumburgh with such a current as this,
even if the depth would allow. We might get the boats out and tow, and
perchance, by gaining time, obtain a breeze to carry us free."
"By all means do so," was the answer. The boats were lowered, and their
crews were soon lustily tugging at their oars with the head of the
corvette to the westward, while long sweeps were got out and run through
the ports to impel her yet more rapidly through the water. Suddenly,
however, she seemed to be once more seized upon and carried completely
out of their control. Her head was to the westward, but she herself was
swept away as fast as before to the southward; while so tumbling and
breaking was the sea, that it was not without danger of being swamped
that the boats were again hoisted in. The crew cast frowning glances
towards the shore.
"What are we to do, Alvarez?" asked the captain, not at all liking the
condition of his ship.
"Let her drive backwards and forwards till a breeze springs up, I
suppose," answered the lieutenant. "Should a westerly gale catch us
before we again get to the southward of Sumburgh Head, and should we
fail to weather some of those ugly-looking points, I doubt much whether
Saint Cecilia herself, after whom our pretty craft is called, could
prevent every one of us from sharing the fate which has befallen many a
bold seaman before us. However, we'll hope for the best."
"You do not seem to like the prospects of this northern cruise of ours,
Alvarez," observed the captain. "You have not been in good humour since
we entered the British Channel, and have done nothing but predict
disaster."
"Pardon me, captain," answered the lieutenant, "I am not now predicting
disaster--though it requires no seer to foretell the fate of the ship,
if not of our lives, should certain not unlikely contingencies occur.
However, here comes a breeze, I verily believe from the westward too,
and if it will but fill our sails for a short half-hour, we may double
yon ugly-looking Sumburgh Head, and getting out of the Roust, the tide
will carry us along to our anchorage."
The boats being once more lowered, towed the head of the corvette round
to the westward, though all the time several hands were bailing to keep
them free of the water, which bubbled and tumbled hissing into them over
the sides. The breeze which Pedro Alvarez had observed playing on the
surface in the distance, at length filled her sails, and stemming the
current, she again got into smooth water and the influence of the tide,
making to the northward. The wind also drew round to the southward, and
all sails being made, the corvette, with her wide spread of canvas,
glided on as smoothly and majestically as before, till the island of
Mousa, with its Pictie tower, bore west on her larboard beam. A signal
was flying for a pilot, and a long, light boat, pulling six oars, was
seen coming off from Fladbister, a town--in reality a little fishing
village--on the shore. The heads of her crew were visible a long way
off, by the bright hues of their long pendant worsted caps. They wore
large sheepskin coats, coming down to the knee over their worsted
shirts, and high boots of yellow untanned leather. The corvette was
about to shorten sail, but they making signals that that was
unnecessary, the boat shot alongside, and two of them sprang on board.
"Those fellows would be unpleasant customers if they came as enemies to
attack our ship, from the active way in which they leaped up our sides,"
observed the captain. "They would be as difficult to keep out as wild
cats."
One of the two pilots was a man advanced in life, the other was very
much younger, and habited in the quaint costume which has been
described; his dress, though rough, differed much from the rest, while
his easy, unembarrassed manner showed that he was an officer rather than
an ordinary seaman. With a brisk step the men came aft, inquiring, as
they did so, of the officers if any of them could speak English. They
were referred to Don Hernan, who politely returned the salute as they
touched their hats to him.
"Well, my men," said he, "will you take charge of the ship, and bring
her to an anchor in Brassay Sound to-night?"
"That will we, captain, right gladly," answered the younger of the two,
glancing aloft with the eye of a seaman. "She is as pretty a craft as
any one has ever seen in these waters, and well worth taking care of.
What is her name? where are you from? and whither are you bound,
captain? Pardon me for asking, but it is my duty so to do. They are
the questions we always put in these waters."
"As to that, of course you are perfectly right," answered the captain.
"Her name is the `Saint Cecilia,' her commander Don Hernan de Escalante,
and she carries, as you see, twenty guns. We sailed from Cadiz, and
have touched at two or three French ports, and the British port of
Plymouth; after visiting Lerwick, we are bound round the north of your
island, into the Atlantic again. You see that we have nothing to
conceal. The character of this ship is above all suspicion; and you
will find, my friend, that you have lost nothing by navigating her in
safety wherever we may wish to go."
"Very likely, captain," answered the pilot, looking up into the
captain's countenance. "I entertain no doubt about the matter, and if
the provost and bailies of Lerwick are satisfied, I am sure that I shall
be: keep her as she goes now for the Bard of Brassay. The tide will
shoot her into the sound rapidly enough as we draw near it."
When in a short time the corvette was off the Bard or Beard of Brassay,
as the ragged-looking southern end of that island is called, a turn of
the helm to starboard sent the vessel into the Sound, and up she flew
with smooth green heights on either side, here and there a few white
buildings showing, and numerous rocks visible, till the pilot warned the
captain that it was time to shorten sail. At a word the sailors were
seen swarming aloft; studding-sails came in as if by magic, royals and
top-gallant sails were handed, topsails clewed up, and with her taunt
tapering masts and square yards alone, surrounded by the intricate
tracery of their rigging, the beautiful fabric glided up to an anchorage
off the town of Lerwick.
"Friend, you brought the ship to an anchor in true seamanlike style,"
said Captain Don Hernan, touching the young pilot on the shoulder. "You
have not been a simple pilot all your life."
"No, indeed, captain," answered the pilot, "I have been afloat since my
earliest days in southern seas, as well as engaged in the Greenland
fishery. Lately I have been mate of a whaler, and maybe my next voyage
I shall have charge of a ship as master. You have hit the right nail on
the head--this is the first summer that I ever spent on shore."
"Can I trust you, then, to take charge of the ship round the coast?"
asked the captain. "Perhaps, however, you are not well acquainted with
that?"
The pilot smiled. "There is not a point or headland, a rock, or shoal,
or island, which I have not as clearly mapped down in my memory, as are
the hues on yonder chart, and more correctly, too, I doubt not."
"That will do--I will trust you," said Don Hernan. "What is your name,
friend, that I may send for you when you are wanted?"
"Rolf Morton," was the answer; "but my home is some way to the
northward, on the island of Whalsey. There you have it on your chart.
Those who live on it boast that it is the finest of the outlying
islands; and well I know that such a castle as we have is not to be
found in all Shetland."
"Ah, it is your native place," observed the captain. "You therefore
think so highly of it."
"Not exactly, though I remember no other spot of earth before I put eyes
on Whalsey. I was, so I have been told, picked up, when a child, from a
wreck at sea; and the men I was with called me Rolf Morton, the name
which has stuck to me for want of a better. I know nothing more of my
history; but I am prating of myself, and shall weary you, captain."
"Far from it, friend; I delight in a little romance," answered the
captain. "How comes it, though, that you remained on shore this
summer?--but I need not ask--one of your fair islanders, of whom I have
heard so much, was your attraction."
"Yes, in truth," said the pilot, laughing; "she has become my wife,
though; and as I could not bring myself to quit her, I bethought me I
would try to gain my livelihood by turning pilot. Yours is one of the
first ships I have taken charge of. There--I have been frank with you,
captain, and told you all my history from beginning to end."
"And I thank you for it. I saw at a glance that you were above the
ordinary style of a pilot. I wanted to find a man like yourself, who
would give me the information I require about the country, the habits
and customs of the people. I would wish to win their regard. But you
have, I suppose, few good families here?"
Don Hernan well knew that the islander's pride would tempt him to launch
out in a full description of all the families of consequence in the
group, and that he should thus easily obtain, without apparently seeking
for it, all the information of that description which he required.
Morton unsuspectingly answered exactly in the tone for which he was
prepared.
"Indeed, captain, you are out of your latitude. We have the Edmonstones
of Unst, and the Lord Dundas, and the Mouats, and the Ogilvys, and Scott
of Scalloway, and Braces of Sandwick, and also of Symbister; and
Spences, and Duncans, and the Nicolson family; baronets of old date, all
honourable men, and of ancient lineage; besides many others I have not
named, standing equally well in the estimation of the country; and then
there is the Lunnasting family of Lunnasting Castle, of which I spoke to
you. The owner is Sir Marcus Wardhill, who succeeded to his property by
right of his wife, the Lady Margaret Brindister; one of the most ancient
of our Shetland families, descended, so it is said, from one of the
former chiefs, the Udallers of old. They are very great and important
people, at all events when in their own castle, and of course have
little communication with a man of my humble rank. Maybe I hear more of
them than do others, because my wife's mother was for long the companion
of the Lady Margaret, and the nurse to her children. I believe she
loved them as her own. Indeed, although but called a nurse in the
family, she is nearly akin to the Lady Margaret. But these are matters
about which a stranger can have no interest."
"A stranger might not, but I must not be considered in that light,"
answered the captain. "Strange as it may appear to you, I am connected
with that very family of which you are speaking. An ancestress of mine
was a Brindister. I must claim relationship with the occupants of
Lunnasting. It will, in truth, be pleasant in this remote region to
find friends so nearly related to me."
The reserve which the pilot had hitherto maintained seemed to vanish on
hearing the assertion made by Don Hernan.
"I have no doubt, captain, that they would have given you a warm
northern welcome," he answered. "But Sir Marcus Wardhill himself, and
his second daughter, are in the south, travelling, I have heard, among
French and Germans, and it is said that they purpose remaining some time
in the big city of London, a place among all my wanderings I have never
seen."
"The Lady Margaret, of whom you speak, and her elder daughter are there,
I hope; or is the castle shut up?" asked Don Hernan.
"The Lady Margaret, as we called her, Lady Wardhill, is dead, but her
elder daughter, Miss Hilda Wardhill, lives at Lunnasting, and manages
the Shetland estates, they say as well as any man would do."
"Ho, ho! I should like to become acquainted with this talented cousin
of mine," said Don Hernan. "Is she handsome as well as clever?"
Thus appealed to, Morton replied with even more hesitation than before.
"As to an eye for the look of a ship aloft, or for her build or trim,
I'll yield to no man; and maybe I like the faces of some women more than
others. This I'll say, sir; it's my belief that there are not many in
this world like the Lady Hilda."
"You have probably heard of the Spanish connection of the family."
"Yes, once or twice, maybe," answered Morton; "my wife's mother often
speaks of them. In her father's time they constantly corresponded, and
exchanged presents--Shetland shawls and stockings for Spanish silks and
brocades. It was said that, during his travels, Sir Marcus thought of
visiting his connections in Spain."
After some further conversation, the captain observed, "I would pay my
respects to the governor or authorities of the town. As you have proved
so good a pilot afloat, you shall accompany me as my guide on shore."