THE CASTAWAYS.
"'Tis very certain the desire of life
Prolongs it: this is obvious to physicians,
When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife,
Survive through very desperate conditions,
Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife,
Near shears of Atropus before their visions:
Despair of all recovery spoils longevity,
And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity."--BYRON.
We have related how the Earl of Ashkirk, as the only means of
avoiding death or recapture, had spread the lug-sail of his boat to
the western breeze, and was borne down the Firth of Forth.
The gale was freshening, and it blew the white foam from the waves,
as they rose and fell, and rose again in rapid succession, as if to
meet the sharp prow of the boat, which shot through them like an
arrow through a wreath of smoke. The boat of the Inch was left
behind; for unwilling to run the risk of being carried out to sea,
its crew gave up the pursuit in despair. The earl laughed in
triumph, and to his breast folded Sybil, who was trembling with
terror at the world of water that whirled around them.
Dim and distant, the hills of Fife and Lothian seemed soon to be afar
off; the isle the fugitives had left seemed also sinking fast, and
little trace of the shore remained, after the moon sank behind the
peaks of Stirlingshire. The earl now attempted to turn shoreward;
but in a moment found the impossibility of making the least headway
against the strong and increasing wind, the ebbing tide, and the
fierce current of the mighty Firth, which had there expanded to an
ocean.
"The shore--the shore now. Oh, good, my dear earl, turn towards the
shore!" implored Sybil, in great terror, as she clung to her
companion.
"It is impossible! Against such a wind as this, I should merely have
our boat upset, and this, dearest Sybil, would not be very pleasant."
"Mercy! we shall be swept out into the homeless ocean!" she
continued, with increasing fear, as the boat rose suddenly up, or
surged as swiftly down into a deep, dark, and watery hollow, while
the heaving of the waves increased every moment.
"Nay, now, Sybil, afraid!--thou a Douglas of Kilspindie? I will
never believe it. Let us bear right on towards the bonny Bay of
Aberlady, which will soon receive us, and lo! we shall find ourselves
just under your father's castle of Kilspindie."
"Better are we here," replied Sybil, with a kindling eye: "know you
not that, like Tantallon, it is garrisoned by a party of Hamiltons?"
"Now, God's malison be on this tribe, for they have come out of their
native Clydesdale to spread even as locusts over all the Lowlands."
"But there is many a crofter at Kilspindie, and many a stout
fisherman at Aberlady, who will shelter us for the love they bear our
grandsire Sir Archibald Douglas, and for the sake of the old race.
They are all leal men and true to the Douglas name."
"I have sufficiently perforated one Hamilton to-night, and have no
wish to come to handyblows with another, especially while having
thee, my little lady, to protect."
"And dost thou think, cousin Archibald, that I can neither fire a
petronel, or unwind a pistolette, as my aunt, your mother, doth?"
"Nay, Sybil, thou wouldst surely shut fast those black eyes of thine,
when the wheel whirled and the sulphuret sprung; for thou hast seen
less of blood and blows, of men unhorsed and armour riven, than the
countess, my mother; for thou never sawest the Douglas banner in its
glory, in the days of James IV., as she tells us many a time and oft.
Why, bethink thee, Sybil, two hundred gentlemen, Douglases, all
dubbed knights of name, and wearing spurs of gold, were found lying
slain on Flodden field--that fatal field where bold King James, with
ten thousand of the Scottish noblesse, fought till going down of the
sun, against six-and-twenty thousand Englishmen."
The earl spoke of these and other things to draw Sybil's attention
from their present danger; but the wind was still increasing, and he
had thrice lessened the sail since leaving Inchkeith; the moon was
gone, the waves were becoming gloomy, and though Sybil was too much
accustomed to boating to be sick, she trembled at the increasing
tumult of the Firth, and shuddered in the cold night wind that blew
over it, for the plaid in which the earl enveloped her failed as a
protection against the chill ocean atmosphere. This plaid--a plain
Border maud of black and white cheque, he had long worn as the best
of disguises, for it was a warm and ample, though a coarse and humble
garment.
For a full hour the boat beat fruitlessly against the wind, which now
blew off the land, and again the earl was forced to run her before
it, to avoid being swamped by the fierce and foam-headed waves, that
careered ahead and astern of her; and now the dark, shadowy outline
of Gulane Hill came out of the dusky vapour that rested on the face
of the water to the east. Aware that the little sandy Bay of
Aberlady lay below it, he trimmed the lessened sail and grasped the
tiller, in the hope of beaching the boat upon its level shore; but,
lo! the envious wind veered suddenly a few points more to the south,
and blew directly off the coast, and with such sudden fury, that the
boat was nearly overset.
Instantly securing the tiller by a rope, the earl rushed to the
lug-sail to take in its last reef, and fearing to be dashed on the
rocks that fringe the coast, he was now compelled to pass the
wished-for haven, and lie still further off, with his prow turned
towards the pathless waste of the German Sea. Then, but only when he
thought of Sybil and what she was suffering from cold and terror, did
his brave heart sink with apprehension. Muffled completely in the
plaid, she endeavoured to shut out the sight of the black tumbling
waves and their foam-flecked summits, the sound of the moaning wind
and the creaking of the labouring boat, but every instant the noise
increased, and every shower of spray that flew over her was heavier
than the last. She prayed with fervour; and the impetuous earl, who
was rather inclined to swear, both at the sea and wind, more than
once, amid the wild discord of the waves, heard her small soft voice
raised in prayer to God, and to St. Bryde of Douglas, the patron of
her race, the virgin of Kil-dara.
The castle of Kilspindie, with its great square tower and sandy
shore, the beautiful Bay of Aberlady, with its sheltered village,
were now astern; and nothing was seen but the bluff headland of
Gulane-ness, with the white foam rising like smoke against its
tremendous front of rocks.
Wan gleams of uncertain light shot over the desolate estuary; the
whole prospect was dreary and alarming. Strong, active, and
determined, Lord Ashkirk might have reached the shore by swimming,
but Sybil----
He struck his sail almost in despair, and now bent all his unwearying
energy to bale out his little craft; for she was filling fast, and he
fully expected to be swamped by every mountain-like wave, that with
its monstrous head curling aloft, and snowy with foam--a foam
rendered yet more terrible by the gloom and obscurity around
it--rolled on towards the rocks of Grulane-ness, drenching the
labouring skiff in its passage, and threatening to engulf it in an
abyss for ever.
He was without fear for himself; but when he beheld Sybil crouching
down beside him, his heart filled with anxiety and dread, with
suspense and remorse; and he reflected that were the catastrophe,
which he dreaded and expected every moment, to happen--he thrust away
the thought as too horrible to contemplate, and baled on with renewed
energy, pausing only to kiss the upturned brow of Sybil, or press her
trembling hands. They were becoming very cold.
A thousand thoughts of home and friends, of love and life, came
vividly on her mind; and Sybil reflected that she was happy even on
yonder closely guarded island, when she contrasted the security and
hope it afforded with the danger and hopelessness of their present
predicament.
Day began to dawn in the east, and with joy poor Sybil hailed it; for
though helpless and feeble, she had seen and admired the unwearying
energy of her lover, in keeping the boat alive in such a frightful
sea. His exertions were almost superhuman, for her existence
depended upon them.
They were now past that tremendous promontory.
Uninfluenced by its bold abutment, the waves were more smooth; and
again the earl spread his sail, and made another vain attempt to gain
the southern shore.
A sickly yellow glow spread over the east, as the sun arose from the
ocean enveloped in watery clouds; the wind had not yet spent its
fury; the whole aspect of the sky and water was dark and dreary The
summit of the land was veiled in mist; its shore was fringed with
rocks, on which the surf was beating; and from these rocks the wind
blew fierce and strong. No vessel was in sight; and not a living
thing was visible but the startled seamews and kitty-wakes, the
gannets and cormorants, that were whirled past them, screaming on the
wind, which often dashed them into the bosom of the upheaved water.
"Now Heaven be thy protection, my Sybil!" exclaimed the earl, as he
sank exhausted beside her; "for I can do no more."
Worn out by toil, and exhausted also by loss of blood from a flesh
wound received from the sword of Barncleugh, and still more overcome
by his frantic and unaided exertions during so many hours to trim the
boat and keep her floating, he now found himself conquered, and
completely overcome. He was pale as death, his hands trembled, his
eyes were bloodshot, and the blood that trickled from his nostrils
declared painfully how far he had overtasked his strength.
"God protect thee, Sybil!" he repeated, as he pressed his trembling
lips to her brow; "God protect thee, for all my poor strength has
failed me now."
He burst into tears, from excess of weakness; but this was the
emotion of a moment only; he smiled sadly, and encircling Sybil with
his arms endeavoured to warm her.
Again he gathered courage, and setting a few feet of sail, grasped
the tiller, and strove fruitlessly to keep the boat to the wind; but
filling fast with every wave, she laboured heavily; and now the
tumult of the water increased; for right ahead rose Ibris, Fidra, the
Lamb, and Craigleith, four little rugged isles that lie at the very
mouth of the Firth. On Fidra stood a little chapel, and amid its
ruins (which are yet visible) a myriad of gulls and gannets build
their nests, and thick as gnats in the sunshine the sea birds were
flying around its rocks on the stormy wind.
These four isles are but enormous masses of basalt; and against them
the Firth and ocean poured their adverse tides in ridges of foam;
then seeing the utter futility of attempting, in such a gale, to
weather them, the earl let slip his sail, and with a crack like the
report of a musket, the braces flew through the blocks, and the
nut-brown canvas vanished into the air.
He now resigned the boat to its fate, and expected every moment to
see it dashed upon the isle of Ibris, or swept through the little
channel that lay between it and the shore, and through which a strong
current was running.
By a miracle they passed these isles, and were swept to the seaward.
"A ship! a ship! dear Archibald--look, my lord--a ship!" exclaimed
Sybil, as, with an expression of the most extravagant joy, she threw
her arm towards it--"a rescue from the jaws of death!"
Eagerly the earl raised his drooping head; and lo! a stately merchant
ship, with her large foresail set, but her topsails and square
spritsail close reefed, was standing northward across the Firth from
the harbour of North Berwick. Ashkirk waved his grey plaid, and in a
few minutes, by the altered course of the vessel, it was evident they
had been observed by the mariners, who were seen crowding the high
forecastle, the still higher poop, and low waist, which was profusely
covered with religious emblems, and she had a large blue Scottish
cross painted in the centre of each of her sails.
"If it should be a ship of the king--one of Barton's fleet!" muttered
the earl; who, before her appearance, had been entertaining visions
of founding a chapel to St. Bryde of Douglas, on the bleak rocks of
Fidra, if they escaped from their present perils.
On came the ship, looming largely, with the water plashing under her
gilded bows, which rose and fell on the heaving water.
Manned by eight stout mariners, a boat shot off towards the
castaways, and in a short time the half-lifeless Sybil and the earl,
scarcely less exhausted, were conveyed on board the strange ship,
which proved to be the _Saint Adrian_, a large vessel belonging to
the monks of the May, who in those days possessed many trading barks,
and trafficked largely with the Hanse Towns, Flanders, and the
Baltic. Once safely on board, the necessity of caution prevailed
over the earl's piety, and concealing the rank of Sybil and himself
under feigned names, he merely stated that they had been accidentally
blown off the coast.
A run of a few hours brought the ship to the Isle of May, whose
cliffs of dark green rock, with the seafowl floating in clouds above
them, rise precipitously on the east, and descend to foam-beaten
reefs on the west.
On this verdant island stood a chapel dedicated to St. Adrian, who
had been murdered there in his hermitage, by the pagan Danes, in the
year 870; near it stood a priory belonging to St. Mary of Pittenween,
the monks of which received the rescued fugitives with every
hospitality; and there necessity compelled them to reside for several
weeks; for in that remote place there was seldom any intercourse with
the main land.
Of all that was passing in the capital Sybil and her lover were
happily ignorant.
Communication between places was slow in those days, and continued to
be so for many a generation after. Even a hundred and fifty years
later, the abdication of James VII. from the British throne was not
known in some parts of Scotland until four months after the usurper
had installed himself in his Palace of St. James.