CAST UP BY THE SEA
One early autumn evening in 1865 the sun sank dull and coppery behind
banks of black clouds which held ominous portent of a coming storm.
The old admiral sat in a large arm-chair on the porch leaning his chin
upon his cane, peering out toward the horizon where the distant waters
already began to crisp and curl in white froth against the blackness
beyond. Emily, a neglected book in her lap, sat on the steps of the
porch at his feet, idly gazing seaward. The sharp report of the sunset
gun on the little platform on the brow of the hill had just broken the
oppressive stillness which preceded the outburst of the tempest.
Having carefully secured the piece with the thoroughness of a seaman
to whom a loose gun is a potential engine of terrible destruction,
Barry ran rapidly down the hill, clambered up on the high poop of the
ship, and hauled down the colors. As the flag, looking unusually
bright and brave against the dark background of the cloud-shrouded
sky, came floating down, the admiral rose painfully to his feet and
bared his gray hairs in reverent salute. Emily had been trained like
the rest, and, following the admiral's example, she laid aside her
book and stood gracefully erect, buoyant, and strong by her
grandfather's side.
Old age and bright youth, the past with its history, memories, and
associations, the future with all its possibilities and dreams, alike
saluted the flag.
They made a pretty picture, thought Captain Barry, as he unbent the
flag, belayed the halliards, and gathered up the folds of bunting upon
the deck, rolling the colors into a small bundle which he placed in a
chest standing against the rail at the foot of the staff. It was a
nightly ceremony which had not been intermitted since the two came to
the Point. Sometimes the admiral was unable to be present when the
flag was formally hoisted in the morning, but it was rare indeed that
night, however inclement the weather, did not find him on the porch at
evening colors.
The smoke of the discharge and the faint acrid smell of the
powder--both pleasant to the veterans--yet lingered in the still air
as Barry came up the hill. He stopped before the foot of the porch,
stood with his legs far apart, as if balancing to the roll of a ship,
knuckled his forehead in true sailor-like fashion, and solemnly
reported that the colors were down. The admiral acknowledged the
salute and, in a voice still strong in spite of his great age,
followed it with his nightly comment and question:
"Ay, Barry, and handsomely done. How is the ship?"
"She's all right, your honor."
"Nothing more gone?"
"No, sir."
"I thought I heard a crash last night in the gale."
"Not last night, sir. Everything's all ship-shape, leastways just as
it was since that last piece of the to'gallant fo'k'sl was carried
away last week."
"That's good, Barry. I suppose she's rotting though, still rotting."
"Ay, ay, sir, she is; an' some of the timbers you can stick your
finger into."
"But she's sound at the heart, Captain Barry," broke in Emily,
cheerily.
"Sound at the heart, Miss Emily, and always will be, I trust."
"Ay, lassie," said the old admiral, "we be all sound at the heart, we
three; but when the dry rot gets into the timber, sooner or later the
heart is bound to go. Now, to-night, see yonder, the storm is
approaching. How the wind will rack the old timbers! I lie awake o'
nights and hear it howling around the corners of the house and wait
for the sound of the crashing of the old ship. I've heard the singing
of the breeze through the top-hamper many a time, and have gone to
sleep under it when a boy; but the wind here, blowing through the
trees and about the ship, gets into my very vitals. Some of it will go
to-night, and I shall be nearer the snug harbor aloft in the morning."
"Oh, don't say that, grandfather! Sound at the heart, the old ship
will brave many a tempest, and you will, as well."
"Ay, girl, but not many like yonder brewing storm. Old things are for
still days, not for tempests. What think ye of the prospect, Barry?"
"It's got an ugly look, your honor, in the nor'west. There's wind a
plenty in them black clouds. I wish we'd a good frigate under us and
plenty o' sea room. I lies on the old ship sometimes an' feels her
shiver in the gale as if she was ashamed to be on shore. That'll be a
hard blow, sir."
"Ay," said the admiral, "I remember it was just such a night as this
once when I commanded the _Columbus_. She was a ship-of-the-line,
Emily, pierced for one hundred guns, and when we came into the
Mediterranean Admiral Dacres told me that he had never seen such a
splendid ship. I was uneasy and could not sleep,--good captains sleep
lightly, child,--so I came on deck about two bells in the mid-watch.
Young Farragut, God bless him! was officer of the watch. The night was
calm and quiet but very dark. It was black as pitch off to starboard.
There was not a star to be seen. 'Mr. Farragut,' I said, 'you'd better
get the canvas off the ship.' Just then a little puff struck me in the
cheek, and there was a sort of a deep sigh in the still night. Barry,
your father, old John, was at the wheel, and a better hand at steering
a ship I never saw. 'Call all hands, sir,' I said, sharply, 'we've no
time to spare,' and by gad,--excuse me, Emily,--we'd no more than
settled away the halliards when the squall struck us. If it hadn't
been for the quick handling and ready seamanship of that youngster,
and I saw that he was master of the thing and let him have his own
way, we'd have gone down with all standing. As it was----"
The speech of the old man was interrupted by a vivid flash of
lightning, followed by a distant clap of thunder. In another moment
the black water of the lake was churned into foam, and the wind swept
upon them with the violence of a hurricane. As soon as the storm burst
forth, Barry sprang upon the porch to assist the old admiral into the
house.
"No," he said; "I'm feeling rather well this evening. Let me face the
storm awhile. Fetch me my heavy cloak. That's well. Now pull the chair
forward where I can get it full and strong. How good it feels! 'Tis
like old times, man. Ah, if there were only a touch of salt in the
gale!"
Closely wrapped in a heavy old-fashioned boat cloak which Barry
brought him, he sat down near the railing of the porch, threw up his
old head, and drank in the fresh gale with long breaths which brought
with them pleasant recollections. The sailor stood on one side of the
veteran, Emily on the other; youth and strength, man and woman, at the
service of feeble age.
"See the ship!" muttered the old man; "how she sways, yet she rides it
out! Up with the helm!" he cried, suddenly, as if she were in a seaway
with the canvas on her. "Force your head around to it, ye old witch!
Drive into it! You're good for many a storm yet. Bless me," he added,
presently, "I forgot; yet 'tis still staunch. Ha, ha! Sound at the
heart, and will weather many a tempest yet!"
"Oh, grandfather, what's that?" cried the girl; "look yonder!"
She left the side of the admiral, sprang to the edge of the porch, and
pointed far out over the lake. A little sloop, its mainsail close
reefed, was beating in toward the harbor. The twilight had so far
faded in the storm that at the distance from them the boat then was
they could scarcely distinguish more than a slight blur of white upon
the water. But, flying toward them before the storm, she was fast
rising into view.
"Where is it, child?" asked the old man, looking out into the growing
darkness.
"There! Let your eye range across the ship; there, beyond the Point.
She's running straight upon the sunken rocks."
"I sees it, Miss Emily," cried Barry, shading his eyes with his hand;
"'tis a yacht, the mains'l's close reefed. She looks like a toy.
There's a man in it. He's on the port tack, thinkin' to make the
harbor without goin' about."
"He'll never do it," cried the girl, her voice shrill with
apprehension. "He can't see the sunken ledge running out from the
Point. He's a stranger to these waters, evidently."
"I see him, too," said the admiral. "God, what a storm! How he handles
that boat! The man's a sailor, every inch of him!"
The cutter was nearer now, so near that the man could easily be seen.
She was coming in with racing speed in spite of her small spread of
canvas. The lake was roaring all about her and the wind threatened to
rip the mast out of the little boat, but the man held her up to it
with consummate skill, evidently expecting to gain an entrance to the
harbor, where safety lay, on his present tack. This he could easily
have done had it not been for a long, dangerous ledge of sunken rocks
which extended out beyond Ship House Point. Being under water, it gave
little sign of its presence to a mariner until one was right upon it.
In his excitement the admiral scrambled to his feet, stepped to the
rail of the porch, and stood leaning over it. Presently he hollowed
his hand and shouted with a voice of astonishing power for so old a
man:
"Down with your helm, boy! Hard down!"
But the stranger, of course, could not hear him, and the veteran stood
looking with a grave frown upon his face as that human life, down on
the waters beneath him, struggled for existence. It was not the first
time he had watched life trembling in the balance--no; nor seen it go
in the end. Emily's voice broke in murmurs of prayer, while Barry
stared like the admiral.
Presently the man in the boat glanced up and caught sight of the
party. He was very near now and coming on gallantly. He waved his
hand, and was astonished to see them frantically gesture back at him.
A warning! What could their movements mean?
He peered ahead into the growing darkness; the way seemed to be clear,
yet something was evidently wrong. What could it be? Ah! He could not
weather the Point. With a seaman's quick decision, he jammed the helm
over.
"Oh, grandfather!" screamed Emily in the old man's ear; "can't
something be done?"
"Nothing, child; nothing! He can't hear, he can't see, he does not
know."
"It's awful to see him rush smilingly down to certain death!"
exclaimed the girl, wringing her hands. "Captain Barry, can't you do
something?"
"There goes his helm," said the admiral; "he realizes it at last.
About he goes! Too late! too late!"
"Oh, Captain Barry, you must do something!" cried Emily.
"There's nothin' to do, Miss Emily."
"Yes, there is. We'll get the boat," she answered, springing from the
steps as she spoke and running down the hill like a young fawn. The
sailor instantly followed her, and in a moment they disappeared under
the lee of the ship.