“How purer were earth, if all its martyrdoms,
If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice
Were swept away!”
E. HAMILTON KING.
NO tidings of Bernard and Angela. The suspense began to diminish into
“wanhope” or despair; and the brothers and sisters continued to say that
they were sorry above all for Phyllis, whose gentle sweetness had made
her one with them.
But at last, one forenoon, a telegram was put into Clement’s hand, dated
from Ewmouth:
_Muriel Ellen_, Ewmouth Harbour, October 14th. Blaine to Rev.
Underwood. Brother here. Come to infirmary.
Clement and Geraldine lost no time in driving to the infirmary, too
anxious to speak to one another. Blaine’s name was known to them as a
Gwenworth lad, who had gone to sea, and risen to be sailing master of the
_Muriel Ellen_, a trader plying between Londonderry and Bristol. He,
with another, who proved to be the American captain of the _Afra_, were
at the gate of the hospital, where an ambulance had just entered.
“Oh! Sir,” as Clement held out his hand, “I could not save her. I’d
have given my life!”
“My brother?” as Clement returned his grasp fervently.
“We’ve just got him in here, Sir. I hope! I hope! And here’s the
doctor.”
The house surgeon, who, of course, knew the Rector of Vale Leston, met
him with, “Best see him before we touch him, it will set his mind at
rest—You must be prepared, Sir—No, better not you, Mrs. Grinstead.”
Clement followed in silence, leaving Geraldine to the care of the matron.
All he was allowed to see was a ghastly, death-like face and form,
covered with rugs, lying prostrate on a mattress; but as he came in, at
the sound of his step, there was a quiver of recognition, the eyes opened
and looked up, the lips moved, and as Clement bent down with a kiss,
there was a faint sound gasped out, “Telegraph to Clipstone.”
“I will, I will at once.”
“It was noble!” Then was added, “She gave herself for the Bishop, for
me.” Then the eyes closed, and unconsciousness seemed to prevail. Some
one came and put Clement aside, saying—
“Go now, Sir; you shall hear!”
Clement, who thought it might be death, would have stayed at hand; but he
was turned away, and could only murmur an inarticulate blessing and
prayer, as he meant to fulfil the earnest desire that was thought to have
been conned over and over again by Bernard, as these half sentences
recurred again and again in semi-consciousness. His telegram despatched,
Clement returned to his sister, to hear from the two masters all they had
to tell. Captain Miller, of the _Afra_, had slight hurts, which had been
looked to before he should take the train for London; and Blaine had
waited to tell his story before pursuing his voyage to Bristol, both,
indeed, to hear the report of the patient, and likewise to collect the
news of the few who had been landed at Corncastle, to the great relief of
Captain Miller; but of the first boat there were no tidings, and Blaine
thought there was little probability that it had not sunk or been dashed
against the crags of the savage coast.
Captain Miller’s account was, that not long after leaving the Mersey,
there had set in an impenetrable fog, lasting for a night and a day.
There was perhaps some confusion as to charts, and the scarcely visible
lights upon the Maidens. At any rate, the _Afra_ had suddenly struck on
a reef, and, shifting at once, had been hopelessly rent, so as to leave
no hope save in the boats. Every one seemed to have behaved with the
resolute fortitude and unselfishness generally shown by English and
Americans in the like circumstances. The sea was not in a dangerous
state, and there was a steady east wind, so that the boats were lowered
without much difficulty, and most of the women disposed of in the first.
Before the second could be put off however, the water had reached the
fires; there was a violent lurch, the ship had heeled completely over,
washing many overboard, and of course causing a great confusion among
those who had been steady before, and making the deck almost
perpendicular. The captain, however, succeeded in lowering another boat,
and putting into it, as he trusted, the few remaining women, the Bishop,
and most of the men. This was, of course, that which had safely reached
Corncastle, and of which he only now heard. The last boat was so
overcrowded that he, with three of his crew, had thought it best to
remain for the almost desperate chance of being picked up before they
sank.
He had supposed Mr. Underwood had been washed overboard in the heeling
over of the ship, and that his sister had been put into the first boat;
but presently he heard a call.
“Oh, help me, please!” And he became aware that Sister Angela was
hanging over her brother, who lay crushed by a heavy chest which had
fallen on him, and thrown him against the gunwale, though a moan or two
showed him to be still alive. The remaining sailors removed the weight,
lifted him, and laid him in the best place and position they could, while
his sister hung over him and supported his head. To Miller’s dismayed
exclamation at finding a woman still on board, she replied—
“It was no fault of yours. I hid below. Other lives—the Bishop’s—were
what mattered! I am glad to be here!”
He believed that Mr. Underwood had revived enough to know his sister, for
he had heard her voice talking to him. Yes, and singing; but it was not
for very long. The wreck was in motion, being carried by current and
tide along the Channel, and if it did not sink, might be perceived now
that daylight had come, and a signal of distress might be seen by some
passing vessel.
Seen it was, in fact, and that there were persons to be rescued; and
Blaine, who was on his way from Londonderry to Bristol, in the _Muriel
Ellen_, a cattle-boat, possessed a boat in which to attempt a rescue.
All that experienced sailors could do in transferring the helpless and
unconscious form to the boat first, and then to the sloop had been done;
but it was no wonder that in the transit Angela, more heedful of her
brother’s safety than her own, had fallen between, and been lost in the
waves, to the extreme grief of Tom Blaine, who had been one of her
scholars, and devoted to her, as all the boys of Vale Leston were.
The cattle-boat had few facilities for comfort, and all he could do was
to let Mr. Bernard Underwood lie, as softly as could be contrived, on
deck, and make sail for Ewmouth, so as to land him as near home as
possible. How far he had been conscious it was impossible to say, though
once he had asked for Angela, but had seemed to understand from an
evasion, that she was missing, and had said no more, but muttered parts
of these requests, as if afraid of not being capable of them.
All this had been told or implied, while messages came down that the
surgeons did not think the injuries need be mortal, provided the
exhaustion and exposure had not fatal consequences. The left arm, two
ribs, and the leg had been broken, and were reduced before the doctors
ventured on a hopeful report with which to send home the brother and
sister. One sight, Clement was allowed of a more unconscious, but much
less distressed face, and one murmur, “Noble! Phyllis!” and he was
promised a telegram later in the day. The two hardly knew which to feel
most; grief or thankfulness, the loss or the mercy, and yet—and yet—after
the fitful, wayward, yet always devout life, with all its strains, there
was a sense of wistful acceptance of such a close.
They felt it all the more deeply when, a day or two later, Bernard was
able to say, at intervals, for the injury rendered speech difficult and
almost dangerous, as Clement leant over him—
“Yes! I woke to see her face over me, all bright in wavy hair just as
when we were children, and she said, ‘Bear! Bear! we are going
together!’ Then somehow she tried to help me to trust for Phyllis and
Lily.”
Then his voice sank, but presently he added, “There was more, but it is
like a dream. She was singing in her own, own voice. There was ‘Lead,
kindly Light!’ and when it came to ‘Angel faces smile’ there was a
cry—quite glad—‘There! there on the water! Felix! Coming for us! Oh!
and another One! Lord, into Thy hands.’ That is all I know—a kiss here,
and ‘Yes! thanks! For me!’ But the lifting hurt so much that I lost all
sense, when she must have fallen between the wreck and the boat. You are
glad for her! Mine own! mine Angel!”
“Safe home!” said Clement. “Oh, thankworthy!”