THE OLD TOWER--CAPTAIN ASKEW'S FAMILY--THE SMUGGLERS--WHY JACK ASKEW
WENT TO SEA.
There was an old grey weather-beaten stone tower standing on the top of
a high rocky promontory, which formed the western side of a deep bay, on
the south coast of England. The promontory was known as the Stormy
Mount, which had gradually been abbreviated into Stormount, a very
appropriate name, for projecting, as it did, boldly out into the ocean,
many a fierce storm had, age after age, raged round its summit and
hurled the roaring, curling waves into masses of foam against its base,
while the white spray flew in showers far above its topmost height. To
the west of Stormount, the coast was rocky and fringed by numerous
reefs, while on the further side of the bay, also formed by a
promontory, less in height than that of Stormount, it consisted of
cliffs, broken considerably however by chines and other indentations,
and pierced here and there by caverns, some close down to the water, and
others high up and almost inaccessible from below. Inland, the country
was sparsely cultivated--open downs and fern and gorse-covered heaths
prevailing. The more sheltered nooks in the bay contained a few
fishermen's cottages, pitched here and there wherever the ground
favoured their erection, with very little regard to symmetry or order.
Nearer to the water were boat-sheds, and stakes, and spars, on which
nets were spread to dry or to be repaired.
But the old stone tower of Stormount claims our attention. It was of
considerable circumference, three stories in height, the walls massive
and substantial, the strongest gales could not shake it, nor any blasts
find entrance. The tower had been the donjon-keep of the ancient
castle, part of the wall of which attached to the tower, had of late
years been roofed over, and formed a portion of a dwelling-house and
offices, the main portion being in the keep itself. The appearance of
the tower from the outside, though highly picturesque, was bleak and
comfortless, and gave a stranger the idea that it was more fitted for
the habitation of sea-gulls and other wild fowl, than for the abode of
man. But those who had once entered within its portal came out with a
very different notion. And on a stormy, long winter night, when the
wind whistled and the waves roared, and all was darkness around, and the
entrance to the bay, easily enough seen in daylight, was difficult to be
found, a bright light streamed forth from an upper window of the old
tower, sending its rays far off over the troubled ocean, cheering the
passers by, a warning to some of neighbouring dangers, a guide and
welcome to those who might be seeking shelter from the gale.
People are occasionally met with in this world very like that old
tower--rough and weather-beaten on the outside, yet with warm hearts and
genial dispositions, cheering and encouraging the wanderer, blessings to
all with whom they come into contact. The old tower was inhabited, and
about its inmates we have still more to say than about the tower itself.
Five miles to the eastward of the tower was a Revenue Station, and
fifteen years or so before the time of our history commences, the
command was held by an old Lieutenant Cumming, who had obtained it, he
used with a touch of satire to tell his friends, as a recompense for
forty years' services and numerous wounds in fighting his country's
battles.
He was one day standing on the beach, when a cutter brought up in the
bay, and her boat soon afterwards came on shore with a passenger. No
sooner did the old lieutenant see him than he hurried to the boat, and
grasping his hand as he stepped on shore, exclaimed, "Welcome, welcome,
old shipmate; I knew, Askew, that you would find me out some day; and so
you have; come along!"
Towards his cottage near the beach the old lieutenant and his friend
bent their steps, the former assisting the new comer, who having lost a
leg, walked with difficulty--a seaman following with a small
well-battered valise. Didn't the old shipmates talk as they sat
together during their supper! Many a battle they fought over again, and
Commander Askew had besides to talk of his own doings since last they
parted. He told his friend how in lashing the enemy's bowsprit to the
mizen-mast of his own ship, his leg had been shattered, and how he held
on to the task till he had done it, and then sank fainting on the deck.
He did not utter an expression like a boast, though he thoroughly
possessed the characteristics of the true-hearted naval officers of the
old school, who feared God, did their duty like lions, and said very
little about it. He spoke, too, of a promise he had made to a brother
officer, who lay dying in the cot next to him, and how he had fulfilled
it (the request was common in those days), "Jack, you'll keep an eye on
my wife and little girl, I know you will."
"Cheer up, Tom, don't be cast down about that matter, God knows that
I'll try and do the best I can for them."
That was all that passed. John Askew did do his best. He found his
late friend's widow dying, and the orphan girl, not a child, but a young
woman, without a friend in the world besides him. He looked about to
find a husband for her. To those eyes who could only see the pure
bright loving spirit beaming through her countenance, she appeared
plain. In vain Jack looked for what he sought. "Why don't you marry
her yourself?" said a friend.
Jack said that he was much too old for Margaret Treherne. However, he
put the matter before her. Her heart leaped with joy as she thought how
she should now be able to devote her life to the comfort of her generous
benefactor. A truly happy couple were Captain and Mrs Askew. He had
lately got his promotion to the rank of Commander, and was now in search
of a house in sight of the ocean he loved so well, where he might live a
retired life and bring up the two children God had given him.
"Fit up Stormount Tower," said his friend, half in a joke, "the rent
will be nominal, and you'll have as much of the sea as you can desire."
The next day the two brother officers walked over to inspect the tower.
The captain decided that he could soon make it comfortable, and
accordingly went on to see the proprietor, Mr Ludlow. Mr Ludlow, who
resided on his somewhat extensive but barren estate, was glad to find a
tenant willing to help to keep the old walls from tumbling down, and who
might also prove a pleasant neighbour. In a short time the old tower,
under the captain's directions, was put into a habitable condition, and
well caulked, as he observed, when he surveyed the work. The furniture
was of a modest description, for the captain's means were small. When
all was ready, he went away and returned with his wife and two
children--one a boy, four years old, and the other a little girl. The
boy was named after his father, John, though he was generally known as
Jack Askew; the daughter was called Margaret, but more frequently spoken
of as Margery Askew. An old follower of the captain's came with him--
Tom Bowlby was a sailor of the old school, and knew as little of the
shore as a whale does of the inside of Saint Paul's. He loved the
captain as a father, and would have been ready to die to save his life.
He had saved it once, by interposing his own arm, which he lost in
consequence, and Captain Askew resolved that, should he ever have a
home, Tom should share it with him.
Jack Askew grew up a fine bold, generous-hearted boy, and what was
better still, fearing and loving God as did his father and mother. In
his childhood's days, when not with his parents, he was under Tom's
entire charge; but as he grew older the old sailor found it impossible
to follow him in his distant rambles, and Jack, who was of a sociable
disposition, soon made the acquaintance of every individual of the
surrounding population.
While Lieutenant Cumming remained at the revenue station, Jack was
constantly out with him and his men in their boats; he was equally
intimate with a class of men living on the coast, who, though they
professed to be fishermen, either made smuggling their chief business,
or were ready on all occasions to help the smugglers. Tom knew very
little about their proceedings; indeed, brought up as he had been, had
he done so, it is not likely that he would have looked on them with much
horror. Captain Askew, of course, knew that there was a good deal of
smuggling on the coast, but, except in the case of a few notorious
characters, he did not know who were the individuals engaged in it.
Jack was a favourite with both revenue men and smugglers, and the latter
knew that, should he by chance learn anything of their proceedings, he
would not betray them. He used to go off with them when they went out
fishing, sometimes with Tom, and sometimes alone, and soon became a very
expert boat sailor. One thing is very certain, that his associates did
Jack no good. We know from Scripture that "Evil communications corrupt
good manners," and, though undeservedly, he got the character of being a
wild lad, likely some day to get into trouble.
Such was the opinion formed of him by Mr Ludlow, his father's landlord,
who consequently seldom invited him to his house, nor did he encourage
any intimacy between him and his son, which he would probably otherwise
have done. Mr Ludlow, who was a country magistrate, was a stern,
self-opinionated, and narrow-minded man, with very little of the milk of
human kindness in his composition. He believed, among other things,
that he could put down smuggling by force, and he was engaged in an
effort to accomplish the task. Stephen, his son, was rather younger
than Jack, a good-looking boy, but he was conceited, headstrong, and not
good tempered.
He occasionally went over to Stormount, where he was always welcomed,
but he and Jack were not especially good friends; indeed, their pursuits
were so different, that even then they did not see much of each other.
It happened one day that Jack, having betaken himself to the beach,
found some of his friends going off a in boat, and begged to go with
them. One or two objected, others said--"Let him come, he's true as
gold, he'll not peach."
"Yes, yes, for do ye not see if we get into trouble, they'll not be hard
on us for his sake."
This decided the matter. Jack did not hear these remarks, and went.
The boat sailed off till she was out of sight of land, when she met with
a long white lugger, and out of her received a quantity of goods, bales
of silk, and ribbons, and lace, and then returned towards the shore.
Night had come on--certain lights were seen, a signal that all was
right, and without hesitation the smugglers pulled in towards the beach.
Suddenly from behind a point two revenue boats darted out and gave
chase. The smugglers' galley was put about and pulled away along the
coast. Jack's hitherto peaceable friends were suddenly transformed into
fierce savages. Their venture was a valuable one, and they swore that
sooner than yield it they would lose their own lives, or take those of
their opponents. Jack heartily wished that he had learned the object of
their expedition, and had avoided coming. He, by this time, knew enough
about the ways of smugglers to make him feel that he ought to have
suspected that his friends were about some unlawful work.
Scarcely had Jack left the tower than a post-chaise came rumbling up the
steep ascent which led to it. Had it come five minutes sooner Jack
would not have gone down to the beach. It contained an old friend of
his father's, Captain Summers, who had come to spend a few days at the
tower while his ship was refitting. She was a South Sea trader,
generally sailing to the western coasts of America and the islands of
the Pacific. Everybody in the household was so busy--Captain Askew in
talking to his friend, Mrs Askew and Margery in getting his room ready,
and Tom in preparing supper, that no one thought of Jack. It was not
till they were seated at their evening meal that Jack was missed. Tom
went out to make inquiries. He was not very well pleased when he at
length learned that Jack had been seen with Bob Herring and some other
men going off in Bill Starling's galley, Bill being, as Tom well knew,
one of the most determined smugglers belonging to Stormount Bay. "Well,
Bob Herring would give his life before any harm should come to the lad,
and Bill's a clever chap, and it's not likely that he'll be getting into
mischief," said Tom to himself as he returned homewards.
As long as daylight lasted Captain Askew or Tom had their eye at the
large telescope in the captain's own room, ranging over the ocean in
search of Bill Starling's galley, but no where was she to be seen, and
at length the captain became more anxious than he had ever before been
about Jack. He had done his best to prevent Mrs Askew from being
alarmed, but was on the point of going out himself to make inquiries
about the galley, when a ring was heard at the gate, and Becky Bott, the
maid, came to say that blind Peter, the pedlar, wanted to see the
captain. Blind Peter with his dog Trusty traversed the country round,
selling needles, thread, tape, and such like small wares. Peter seldom
failed, when he required it, to obtain a crust of bread, and a piece of
cheese, and a glass of cider for himself, and a few bones for his dog.
He had always met with a kind reception at the tower, and seemed to have
taken a very great fancy to little Margery. "It's her sweet gentle
voice I love to hear," he said one day talking to Becky. "That's what
goes to my heart."
"What brings you here, Peter, at this time of night?" asked Captain
Askew, with some anxiety in his voice.
"I wish, captain, I could say it was pleasant news I've brought you, and
yet when there's evil it is better to know it, that we may find a
remedy," answered the blind man. "I wouldn't like to frighten the
missus though--but it's just this--Master Jack has been taken with Bill
Starling, Bob Herring, and a lot of other chaps, by the coastguards'
men, with a cargo of contraband, and they are all now on their way to
Mr Ludlow's. He's long been wishing for such a haul, and he'll commit
one and all of them to prison, and Master Jack too, if you don't go and
bail him out."
Peter's news caused a considerable amount of anxiety, for Mr Ludlow's
stern character was well known. However, the only thing to be done was
to set off immediately to see him. Fortunately the post-chaise which
brought Captain Summers was still at the public-house in the village,
and the postboy sufficiently sober to undertake to drive to the hall.
The two captains found Mr Ludlow seated in magisterial state, with the
prisoners before him, making out their committal for trial.
"I am very sorry for this, Captain Askew, very sorry," he remarked, as
they were introduced. "The case is clear against all the party, and
your son was with them. He is young, and may have been led astray by
others, but a severe example is necessary, and he must suffer with the
rest. He will be sent to prison for a year, or to sea in a ship of
war." In vain Captain Askew and his friend pleaded for Jack. Mr
Ludlow would not listen to their explanations. Captain Summers, as a
last resource, offered to take Jack away with him to sea, and, to his
surprise, Mr Ludlow at once agreed to the proposal. Jack was
accordingly allowed to accompany his father and his friend home.
Jack, though he liked the thoughts of going to sea, was very sorry to
leave his father and mother and dear little Margery, but he bravely kept
up his spirits, that he might not grieve them more than he could help.
Not a word of complaint either did he utter against Mr Ludlow, or those
who had brought him into trouble. "It will be a lesson to me through
life to avoid associating with those who are doing wrong," he remarked,
and he said but little more on the subject.
There was a void not likely soon to be filled in the old tower, and a
greater still in the hearts of its inmates, when Jack Askew went to sea.
They occasionally received letters from him, not very often though, and
they found that many he had written had not reached them. The last
letter they received was dated from a port on the coast of Peru. The
ship was about to sail among some of the wide-scattered islands of the
Pacific, whose then still savage inhabitants were said to be addicted to
the worst vices which disgrace humanity. In vain they waited for
another letter--none came. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. Still
they hoped, and hoped on, that tidings would come some day or other.
At length rumours arrived that Captain Summers' ship, the _Truelove_,
with all hands, had been lost on a coral reef. Captain Askew would not
allow himself to believe the report, and he took a journey to London to
ascertain its truth. "God's will be done, dear wife," he said when he
came back. "He that gave has taken our child away." Many a pious
parent has repeated the same words, yet with anguish of heart. Still
they went on hoping against hope. However, at length it became too
certain that the _Truelove_ had been lost, and that not a trace of her
crew had been discovered, although a brother captain of Captain Summers
had made every inquiry in his power, and a ship of war had been sent to
search for them.
Margery was now the sole earthly object round which the affections of
Captain and Mrs Askew ere entwined. Tom Bowlby, too, had transferred
his love for her brother to her. She was a bright sunny little
creature, with light auburn hair, deep blue eyes, and a pure rich
glowing complexion, which might have vied with that of the lily, had it
not been burnt by the sun and sea breezes. No one who saw her, or heard
her joyous ringing laugh, or her voice so soft or gentle when moved by
pity or sorrow, could fail to love her. She had learned to think of
Jack as of a brother gone on a long, long voyage, whom she should meet
again, not for years perhaps, but some day certainly, and so she ceased
to mourn for him. The captain had seen so many of his companions
launched into watery graves, and knew so well that it is the fate for
which all who go to sea must be prepared, that he accepted his lot as
common to many another parent, though his gallant boy was not often out
of his thoughts. He and Tom seldom, as was once their wont, talked over
their adventures and battles, for Jack and his doings was the theme on
which, when together, they loved to speak, in subdued tones though, and
often with faltering voices and tears springing unexpectedly to their
eyes.
Margaret seldom spoke about her boy, but she did not think of him the
less, and there lingered yet in her mother's heart the hope--she knew it
was baseless, yet she dared not contradict it--that she should yet again
fold him to her heart on earth; she knew that she should meet him in
heaven. One thing Margaret bethought herself that she would do. She
might assist to save others from the fate which had befallen her own
dear boy. The day on which the sad tidings reached her she had retired
to an upper chamber of the tower which overlooked the sea, to pray that
strength might be given her to bear her deep affliction. To those who
pray aright, never are their petitions refused. By labouring for the
good of others, the sorrow-stricken heart is greatly relieved. "Surely,
if this tower could be seen by night as well as by day, it would show
the entrance to our sheltered bay," she said to herself. She possessed
a large bright lamp; filling it with oil and trimming it carefully, she
placed it in the window as the shades of evening closed over the then
tranquil ocean. Night after night, without fail, she did the same,
allowing no one, not even Margery, to share her task. By and by a
reflector and more powerful burners were obtained, and the rays of the
lamp were thrown still further over the sea. The fishermen out on the
waters soon learned whence the light came, and blessed the hand that
placed it there.