“Winds drive along the clouds: on wings of fire,
The lightnings fly!”
It was late one hazy afternoon, when the Euphrasia made the land near
the entrance of the Frith of Forth. As it did not appear possible to
get to Leith that evening, Fitz-Ullin proposed to the pilots to lay-to
till morning. They declared, however, that they could take the ship in
by night as well as by day, the lights being sufficient to guide them.
Accordingly, they stood in for port; about an hour after, when they
supposed themselves still some miles from land, it was announced from
the forecastle that there was a ship at anchor ahead. Almost immediately
afterwards, however, it was discovered that the object they were
approaching was a huge rock. In the greatest confusion the ship was now
tacked about, but hardly were her sails turned, when it was found that
she was getting into shoal water, and at the same moment land appeared
just under her lee. Fitz-Ullin now fearing that the pilots were quite
unfit for their duty, gave immediate orders to let go the anchor. During
the short time thus occupied, there was scarcely a breath drawn, all,
each moment expecting that the ship would strike. The anchor dropt, the
sails were furled, and the clouds, breaking a little, there was just
starlight sufficient to enable Fitz-Ullin to ascertain that they lay
between the Bass rock and Tantallon castle, in a little steep-sided
bay, the mouth of which, except at one small outlet, was closed by a
very dangerous looking reef. He sent a boat with the master and another
officer to sound, on which it was discovered, that the ship was actually
anchored on a ledge of rocks; yet was it judged advisable, as there was
very little wind, not to attempt quitting this perilous situation before
morning; for, the clouds having closed again thicker than ever, the
darkness had become quite impenetrable.
Our hero remained on deck, giving every precautionary and preparatory
order, till the night was far advanced; when, much fatigued, and finding
that nothing more could be done till daylight, he went below, and lay
down on a sofa for a short time, leaving directions with the officer of
the watch to call him half an hour before dawn. All was soon perfectly
still: every one seemed to have forgotten, in “nature’s sweet restorer,
balmy sleep,” both the dangers they had so lately passed, and those which
still threatened them.
After some little time spent in uneasy reflections, a sort of stupor,
occasioned by excessive fatigue both of mind and body, stole over the
senses of Fitz-Ullin. His slumbers were at first much broken; but, at
length, after telling himself for the hundredth time that nothing could
be done till daylight, they assumed somewhat more the character of
repose. He had not enjoyed such quite an hour when a low murmuring sound
arose, at first apparently at an immense distance, as though the lulled
winds were awaking and whispering together at the furthest extremity of
space: a gloomy imagination could fancy them secretly conspiring, at this
dead hour of the night, the destruction of those who thus unconsciously
slept. The sound grew louder.
It approached—it became a howl—it drew nearer and nearer still. At length
the ominous blast, sweeping through the rigging of the vessel, shrieked
wildly, and passed away. Fitz-Ullin sat upright for a moment: but the
demon of the storm had sounded his signal cry, and was hushed! A pause
of breathless silence followed. Our hero listened for some seconds, and
finding all still, concluded that some startling dream must have awakened
him, and yielded again to repose. The distant murmur recommenced,
increased, and grew by gusts impetuous; the howling blast drew near
again, but instead of retiring as before, was pursued by another, and
yet another, as it were urging each other forward, till their united and
accumulated roar became, in an incredibly short time, tremendous.
Fitz-Ullin dreamed of a tempest; but for a few troubled moments, did
not again awake; when, suddenly opening his eyes, he leaped up, and,
bewildered by the universal uproar which now reigned, without waiting to
collect his scattered thoughts, hastened on deck.
It was by this time blowing a gale, the ship beginning to labour
excessively, and the darkness so impenetrable, that while his sense of
hearing was thus assailed on every side, his sight was strained in vain
to discover any object around him, and he was made sensible of being on
the upper deck only by the buffeting of the winds, and still rougher
salutation of a heavy sea, which, as it passed over the ship, threatened
to carry him with it; yet nothing could be done or attempted till day
dawned. He remained on deck however. It was the longest hour he had ever
passed. From time to time he cast impatient glances towards the east,
which looked, he thought, if possible, blacker than the rest of the
horizon! At length the sky in that quarter assumed a greyish cast, and
gradually it became evident that objects might have been in some degree
discernible, but for the thickness of the haze which covered every thing,
causing a cruel prolongation of suspense. In a little time, however,
one yellow streak appeared near the horizon; then the clouds broke in
that direction, and seemed tumbling and boiling round the spot; then,
plunging among them, the rising sun was seen at last, for one moment
only; it resembled a ball of fire; it seemed to roll past the opening;
it disappeared again, and the dense masses of cloud closed immediately.
There was now a visible increase of light. A rush of the tempest swept
a part of the mist away, while the rocks, looking black and gigantic
through what remained, appeared quite close to the ship, as she rode at
single anchor.
The waves, notwithstanding the confined area of the little bay, rose
with a tremendous swell; though so far unlike the alternate mountain
and valley of the open ocean, that the whole body of water which the
basin contained, seemed to swing at once to and fro with a simultaneous
movement, which every time threatened to dash the frigate against the
perpendicular sides of the cliff. At another moment, would the hurricane
seize, as it were, the helpless vessel in its stupendous grasp, and
appear about to lift her from the water. She seemed, in short, the sole
object of contention to the warring element; while they, in their fury,
appeared resolved to tear her in a thousand pieces and part her among
them, rather than give up the struggle. Fitz-Ullin saw that any effort
to get out of this dangerous bay or creek, must, at present, prove
impossible, as the wind blew directly in; and it was quite evident that
the reef must bring them up, before sufficient canvas could be set, to
give the ship headway. He summoned however the officers and crew around
him, to afford them the usual privilege of giving their opinion in a case
of so much emergency. Some were for cutting away the masts and making the
boats ready; but this would be forsaking the post of duty too soon. Some
recommended attempting to get under way; but this, as had been shown,
with the wind right ahead, would have been madness. Fitz-Ullin therefore
rejected each of those suggestions, and finally decided on clinging, as
long as the cable held, to the only rational hope which remained, that of
the wind chancing to abate, or shift a little in their favour before any
fatal catastrophe should take place.