While the miner had been pursuing his toilsome work in the solitude and
silence of the level under the sea, as already described, a noble ship
was leaping over the Atlantic waves--homeward bound--to Old England.
She was an East-Indiaman, under close-reefed sails, and although she
bent low before the gale so that the waves almost curled over her lee
bulwarks, she rose buoyantly like a seagull, for she was a good ship,
stout of plank and sound of timber, with sails and cordage to match.
Naturally, in such a storm, those on board were anxious, for they knew
that they were drawing near to land, and that "dear Old England" had an
ugly seaboard in these parts--a coast not to be too closely hugged in
what the captain styled "dirty weather, with a whole gale from the
west'ard," so a good lookout was kept. Sharp eyes were in the foretop
looking out for the guiding rays of the Long-ships lighthouse, which
illumine that part of our rocky shores to warn the mariner of danger and
direct him to a safe harbour. The captain stood on the "foge's'l" with
stern gaze and compressed lip. The chart had been consulted, the
bearings correctly noted, calculations made, and leeway allowed for.
Everything in fact that could be done by a commander who knew his duty
had been done for the safety of the ship--so would the captain have said
probably, had he lived to be questioned as to the management of his
vessel. But everything had _not_ been done. The lead, strange to say,
had not been hove. It was ready to heave, but the order was delayed.
Unaccountable fatality! The only safe guide that remained to the good
ship on that wild night was held in abeyance. It was deemed unnecessary
to heave it yet, or it was troublesome, and they would wait till nearer
the land. No one now can tell the reasons that influenced the captain,
but _the lead was not used_. Owing to similar delay or neglect,
hundreds upon hundreds of ships have been lost, and thousands of human
lives have been sacrificed!
The ship passed like a dark phantom over the very head of the miner who
was at work many fathoms below the bottom of the sea.
"Land, ho!" came suddenly in a fierce, quick shout from the mast-head.
"Starboard! starboard--hard!" cried the captain, as the roar of breakers
ahead rose above the yelling of the storm.
Before the order was obeyed or another word spoken the ship struck, and
a shriek of human terror followed, as the foremast went by the board
with a fearful crash. The waves burst over the stern, sweeping the
decks fore and aft. Wave after wave lifted the great ship as though it
had been a child's toy, and dashed her down upon the rocks. Her bottom
was stove in, her planks and timbers were riven like matchwood. Far
down below man was destroying the flinty rock, while overhead the rock
was destroying the handiwork of man! But the destruction in the one
case was slow, in the other swift. A desperate but futile effort was
made by the crew to get out the boats, and the passengers, many of whom
were women and children, rushed frantically from the cabin to the deck,
and clung to anything they could lay hold of, until strength failed, and
the waves tore them away.
One man there was in the midst of all the terror-stricken crew who
retained his self-possession in that dread hour. He was a tall, stern
old man with silver locks--an Indian merchant, one who had spent his
youth and manhood in the wealthy land collecting gold--"making a
fortune," he was wont to say--and who was returning to his fatherland to
spend it. He was a thinking and calculating man, and in the
anticipation of some such catastrophe as had actually overtaken him, he
had secured some of his most costly jewels in a linen belt. This belt,
while others were rushing to the boats, the old man secured round his
waist, and then sprang on deck, to be swept, with a dozen of his
fellow-passengers, into the sea by the next wave that struck the doomed
vessel. There was no one on that rugged coast to lend a helping hand.
Lifeboats did not then, as now, nestle in little nooks on every part of
our dangerous coasts. No eye was there to see nor ear to hear, when,
twenty minutes after she struck, the East-Indiaman went to pieces, and
those of her crew and passengers who had retained their hold of her
uttered their last despairing cry, and their souls returned to God who
gave them.
It is a solemn thought that man may with such awful suddenness, and so
unexpectedly, be summoned into the presence of his Maker. Thrice happy
they who, when their hearts grow chill and their grasps relax as the
last plank is rending, can say, "Neither death, nor life, nor any other
creature, is able to separate us from the love of God, which is in
Christ Jesus our Lord."
The scene we have described was soon over, and the rich cargo of the
East-Indiaman was cast upon the sea and strewn upon the shore, affording
much work for many days to the coastguard, and greatly exciting the
people of the district--most of whom appeared to entertain an earnest
belief in the doctrine that everything cast by storms upon their coast
ought to be considered public property. Portions of the wreck had the
name "Trident" painted on them, and letters found in several chests
which were washed ashore proved that the ship had sailed from Calcutta,
and was bound for the port of London. One little boy alone escaped the
waves. He was found in a crevice of the cliffs the following day, with
just enough vitality left to give a few details of the wreck. Although
all possible care was bestowed on him, he died before night.
Thus sudden and complete was the end of as fine a ship as ever spread
her canvas to the breeze. At night she had been full of life--full of
wealth; in the morning she was gone--only a few bales and casks and
broken spars to represent the wealth, and stiffened corpses to tell of
the life departed. So she came and went, and in a short time all
remnants of her were carried away.
One morning, a few weeks after the night of the storm, Maggot the smith
turned himself in his bed at an early hour, and, feeling disinclined to
slumber, got up to look at the state of the weather. The sun was just
rising, and there was an inviting look about the morning which induced
the man to dress hastily and go out.
Maggot was a powerfully-built man, rough in his outer aspect as well as
in his inner man, but by no means what is usually termed a bad man,
although, morally speaking, he could not claim to be considered a good
one. In fact, he was a hearty, jolly, reckless fisherman, with warm
feelings, enthusiastic temperament, and no principle; a man who, though
very ready to do a kind act, had no particular objection to do one that
was decidedly objectionable when it suited his purpose or served his
present interest. He was regarded by his comrades as one of the
greatest madcaps in the district. Old Maggot was, as we have said, a
blacksmith to trade, but he had also been bred a miner, and was
something of a fisherman as well, besides being (like most of his
companions) an inveterate smuggler. He could turn his hand to almost
anything, and was "everything by turns, but nothing long."
Sauntering down to Priests Cove, on the south of Cape Cornwall, with his
hands in his pockets and his sou'-wester stuck carelessly on his shaggy
head, he fell in with a comrade, whom he hailed by the name of John
Cock. This man was also a fisherman, _et cetera_, and the bosom friend
and admirer of Maggot.
"Where bound to this mornin', Jack?" inquired Maggot.
"To fish," replied John.
"I go with 'ee, booy," said Maggot.
This was the extent of the conversation at that time. They were not
communicative, but walked side by side in silence to the beach, where
they launched their little boat and rowed out to sea.
Presently John Cock looked over his shoulder and exclaimed--"Maggot, I
see summat."
"Do 'ee?"
"Iss do I."
"What do un look like?"
"Like a dead corp."
"Aw, my dear," said Maggot, "lev us keep away. It can do no good to
we."
Acting on this opinion the men rowed past the object that was floating
on the sea, and soon after began to fish; but they had not fished long
when the dead body, drifted probably by some cross-current, appeared
close to them again. Seeing this they changed their position, but ere
long the body again appeared.
"P'raps," observed Maggot, "there's somethin' in its pockets."
As the same idea had occurred to John Cock, the men resolved to examine
the body, so they rowed up to it and found it to be that of an elderly
man, much decomposed, and nearly naked. A very short examination
sufficed to show that the pockets of such garments as were still upon it
were empty, and the men were about to let it go again, when Maggot
exclaimed--
"Hold fast, Jack, I see somethin' tied round the waist of he; a sort o'
belt it do seem."
The belt was quickly removed and the body released, when it sank with a
heavy plunge, but ere long reappeared on the surface. The fishermen
rowed a considerable distance away from it, and then shipped their oars
and examined the belt, which was made of linen. Maggot sliced it up as
he would have ripped up a fish, and laid bare, to the astonished gaze of
himself and his friend, a number of glittering gems of various colours,
neatly and firmly embedded in cotton, besides a variety of rings and
small brooches set with precious stones.
"Now, I tell 'ee," said Maggot, "'tis like as this here will make our
fortin', or else git we into trouble."
"Why, whatever shud we git into trouble 'bout it for?" said John Cock.
"'Tis like as not they ain't real--only painted glass, scarce wuth the
trouble o' car'in' ashore."
"Hould thy tongue, thee g'eat chucklehead," replied Maggot; "a man
wouldn't go for to tie such stuff round his waist to drown hisself with,
I do know, if they worn't real. Lev us car' 'em to Maister
Donnithorne."
John Cock replied with a nod, and the two men, packing up the jewels,
pulled in-shore as fast as possible. Hauling their boat beyond the
reach of the surf, they hastened to St. Just, and requested a private
audience of Mr Donnithorne. [See note 1.]
That excellent gentleman was not unaccustomed to give private audiences
to fishermen, and, as has been already hinted at the beginning of this
tale, was reported to have private dealings with them also--of a very
questionable nature. He received the two men, however, with the hearty
air of a man who knows that the suspicions entertained of him by the
calumnious world are false.
"Well, Maggot," said Mr Donnithorne, "what is your business with me?
You are not wont to be astir so early, if all be true that is reported
of 'ee."
"Plaise, sur," said Maggot, with a glance at Rose Ellis, who sat sewing
near the window, "I'm come to talk 'bout private matters--if--"
"Leave us, Rose dear, for a little," said the old gentleman.
As soon as she was out of the room Maggot locked the door, a proceeding
which surprised Mr Donnithorne not a little, but his surprise was much
greater when the man drew a small parcel from the breast of his rough
coat, and, unrolling it, displayed the glittering jewels of which he had
so unexpectedly become possessed.
"Where got you these?" inquired Mr Donnithorne, turning them over
carefully.
"Got 'em in the say--catched 'em, sure 'nough," said Maggot.
"Not with a baited hook, I warrant," said the old gentleman. "Come, my
son, let's hear all about it."
Maggot explained how he had obtained the jewels, and then asked what
they were worth.
"I can't tell that," said Mr Donnithorne, shaking his head gravely.
"Some of them are undoubtedly of value; the others, for all I know, may
not be worth much."
"Come now, sur," said Maggot, with a confidential leer, "it's not the
fust time we have done a bit o' business. I 'spose I cud claim salvage
on 'em?"
"I don't know that," said the old gentleman; "you cannot tell whom they
belonged to, and I suspect Government would claim them, if--But, by the
way, I suppose you found no letters--nothing in the shape of writing on
the body?"
"Nothin' whatsomever."
"Well, then, I fear that--"
"Come now, sur," said Maggot boldly; "'spose you gives John and me ten
pounds apaice an' kape 'em to yourself to make what 'ee can of 'em?"
Mr Donnithorne shook his head and hesitated. Often before had he
defrauded the revenue by knowingly purchasing smuggled brandy and
tobacco, and by providing the funds to enable others to smuggle them;
but then the morality of that day in regard to smuggling was very lax,
and there were men who, although in all other matters truly honest and
upright, could not be convinced of the sinfulness of smuggling, and
smiled when they were charged with the practice, but who, nevertheless,
would have scorned to steal or tell a downright lie. This, however, was
a very different matter from smuggling. The old gentleman shrank from
it at first, and could not meet the gaze of the smuggler with his usual
bold frank look. But the temptation was great. The jewels he suspected
were of immense value, and his heart readily replied to the objections
raised by his conscience, that after all there was no one left to claim
them, and he had a much better right to them, in equity if not in law,
than Government; and as to the fellows who found them--why, the sum they
asked would be a great and rich windfall to them, besides freeing them
from all further trouble, as well as transferring any risk that might
accrue from their shoulders to his own.
While the old gentleman was reasoning thus with himself, Maggot stood
anxiously watching his countenance and twisting the cloth that had
enclosed the jewellery into a tight rope, as he shifted his position
uneasily. At length old Mr Donnithorne said--
"Leave the jewels with me, and call again in an hour from this time.
You shall then have my answer."
Maggot and his friend consented to this delay, and left the room.
No sooner were they gone than the old gentleman called his wife, who
naturally exclaimed in great surprise on beholding the table covered
with such costly trinkets--
"Where _ever_ did you get these, Tom?"
Mr Donnithorne explained, and then asked what she thought of Maggot's
proposal.
"Refuse it," said she firmly.
"But, my dear--"
"Don't `but' about it, Tom. Whenever a man begins to `but' with sin, it
is sure to butt him over on his back. Have nothing to do with it, _I_
say."
"But, my dear, it is not dishonest--"
"I don't know that," interrupted Mrs Donnithorne vigorously; "you think
that smuggling is not dishonest, but I do, and so does the minister."
"What care _I_ for the minister?" cried the old gentleman, losing his
temper; "who made _him a_ judge of my doings?"
"He is an expounder of God's Word," said Mrs Donnithorne firmly, "and
holds that `Thou shalt not steal' is one of the Ten Commandments."
"Well, well, he and I don't agree, that's all; besides, has he never
expounded to you that obedience to your husband is a virtue? a
commandment, I may say, which you are--"
"Mr Donnithorne," said the lady with dignity, "I am here at your
request, and am now complying with your wishes in giving my opinion."
"There, there, Molly," said the subdued husband, giving his better half
a kiss, "don't be so sharp. You ought to have been a lawyer with your
powerful reasoning capacity. However, let me tell you that you don't
understand these matters--"
"Then why ask my advice, Tom?"
"Why, woman, because an inexplicable fatality leads me to consult you,
although I know well enough what the upshot will be. But I'm resolved
to close with Maggot."
"I knew you would," said Mrs Donnithorne quietly.
The last remark was the turning-point. Had the good lady condescended
to be _earnest_ in her entreaties that the bargain should not be
concluded, it is highly probable her husband would have given in; but
her last observation nettled him so much that he immediately hoisted a
flag of defiance, nailed it to the mast, and went out in great
indignation to search for Maggot. That individual was not far off. The
bargain was completed, the jewels were locked up in one of the old
gentleman's secret repositories, and the fishermen, with ten pounds
apiece in their pockets, returned home.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. It may be well here to inform the reader that the finding of
the jewels as here described, and the consequences which followed, are
founded on fact.