intelligence; she gasped for breath, and seemed as if about to faint;
but she immediately recovered herself, and looking upwards, with mild
resignation, she murmured, "It is a painful trial--but _His_ will be
done." By my advice she put on some warmer but lighter clothing, and I
then supported her to the quarterdeck. I felt the shuddering of her
frame when the awful sight of approaching destruction was before her.
The scene, altogether, was one to appal the bravest--to make the boldest
"hold his breath;" never will the remembrance of it be erased from my
mind; and, to this hour, it sometimes haunts my dreams. Scarcely
half-a-mile to leeward lay the coast--dark, frowning, precipitous, and
apparently inaccessible; its lower line completely hidden from our view;
but at intervals the dark and rugged summits of the rocks were seen
through the sheets of white foam dashed over them by the breakers. To
windward the prospect was as cheerless; darkness was beginning to settle
on the waters; and in the distance nothing was to be seen but the foam
of the crested seas, flashing indistinct and ghastly through the gloom.
Viewed by that uncertain light, and rising in such various waving forms,
they seemed to my overwrought fancy as if the sea had given up her
dead, and the spirits of the departed were assembling on the waters, to
witness our approaching fate. The ship was already almost a wreck; the
mizzenmast was still hanging alongside, having smashed the poop
hammock-nettings and bulwark in its fall; the stumps of the fore and
maintopmast were all that remained aloft; the giant seas were dashing
over the sides, deluging the decks fore and aft, and blinding us with
their thick showers of spray; the lower yardarms dipped into the water,
as the half-waterlogged ship rolled heavily and deeply, groaning and
trembling in every timber, like a living creature in its mortal agony.
And then the accompaniments!--oh, how often since have I in fancy heard
again the hollow, _ominous_ moaning of the gale, mourning, as it were,
over the wreck of its own violence; the roaring of the waters, as they
rose, and rushed, and dashed against our side; the dull, mournful,
dirge-like sound of our minute-guns; the shuddering cries of the timid;
the curses and imprecations of the hardened and desperate! Oh, if the
recollection of it be so appalling, what must have been the reality?
Some of the men were actively employed in endeavouring to clear away the
wreck of the mizzenmast; others cutting adrift the small booms and
spars, and all such light articles as might be instrumental in bearing
them to the shore; and the passengers, and those who were unemployed,
were gazing, in the gloomy silence of despair, upon their approaching
destruction. I saw that there was no hope, and that the last struggle
was fast approaching. I lashed the trembling and weeping Emily to a
spar, and whispered in her ear, "Pray to the Ruler of the winds and
waves, dearest Emily! _He_ can save when there is none other to help!"
She pressed my hand in silence, smiled through her tears, and looked
upwards.
We had only one resource left now, and that was one of feeble
promise--both bower anchors were cut away--the cables ran out to the
clinches, and snapped like threads; the sheet-cable shared the same
fate.
"I knew it," exclaimed the captain--"I knew it was in vain. No hemp that
ever was twisted could stand the strain of such a sea and breeze. It is
all over with us now! Every man look out for his own safety! You had
better lash yourselves to the spars, my lads!"
The momentary check given to the ship brought her broadside round to the
breakers. Never shall I forget the cold shudder which came over me when
the vessel rose upon the crest of an enormous sea, and seemed to be
balancing herself for a moment, as if loth to meet her doom; another
instant, and she struck with a shock that made us all start from the
deck, and a crash as if the whole fabric were falling to pieces beneath
us. Again she was lifted by the sea, and dashed on the rocks nearer the
shore, when she fell over on her side with her masts towards the beach,
along which parties of men were hurrying, dimly visible in the dusk of
evening, eager, but unable to afford us assistance; while the heights
above were thronged with country people, who had been attracted to the
spot by the report of our guns. The sea, which had dashed us on our
broadside, swept away with it the boats, booms, spars--everything, in
fact, from the upper deck; and bore its promiscuous prey onwards towards
the beach. What was my agony to see the spar to which Emily was lashed
sharing the fate of the rest! She tossed her arms wildly over her head,
gave one shrill and piercing scream, and was borne away and hidden from
my view by the following sea. "I will save her," I exclaimed, "or
perish."
The hull of the stranded ship formed a kind of breakwater, and the sea
was comparatively smooth under her lee. I had stripped myself, in
preparation for the coming struggle, of all superfluous clothing; and,
crawling out as far as possible on the mainmast, I committed myself
fearlessly to the sea, which was to me quite a familiar element. A few
vigorous strokes, and the friendly elevation of a rising wave gave me a
sight of Emily; I immediately swam towards her, and by partly supporting
myself on the spar, and directing it towards the shore, I was fortunate
enough to succeed in bearing my precious charge in safety to the beach,
against which we were dashed with great violence, but fortunately
without any injury. She was quite insensible, and lay on the sand so
still and pale that at first my heart died within me; I thought she was
gone for ever.
"Emily! dearest Emily!" I frantically exclaimed.
A faint sigh was the answer. The sudden revulsion from grief to
transport, at this assurance that life was not extinct, was almost too
much for me. Faintly, but fervently, did I breathe forth my
thanksgivings to a merciful Providence, and then, with the assistance of
some of the inhabitants, I bore the still unconscious form of my beloved
companion to a fisherman's hut, which was perched in a fissure of the
neighbouring rocks.
"Don't be afeared, sir," said the old fisherman who assisted me in
supporting Emily; "don't be afeared. Her cheek is a little pale or so;
but my ould ooman 'll soon bring the colour into it again. Bless her
ould heart, she's a famous doctor? But here we are," said he, giving a
thundering rattle against the door. "Betsy, Betsy, heave ahead, ould
woman!--this is no night to keep flesh and blood on the wrong side of
the house."
The door was cautiously opened, and, shading her candle with her hand
from the rude blast, a tidily-dressed, respectable-looking woman made
her appearance, who gave a cry of surprise and alarm when she saw the
apparently lifeless body of Emily. She began pouring out a whole string
of questions which her husband quickly cut short with--
"Come, come, Bet, there's no time for _backing_ and _filling_ now. Get
the poor thing stripped, ould ooman, and put her into a warm bed as
soon as ee can. There's a ship ashore below there, and this ere lady
comed ashore with this ere gentleman."
"For Heaven's sake be quick, my good woman," said I; "you shall be
handsomely rewarded for your trouble."
"Reward, sir!" replied the woman; "neither Bill nor me looks for reward
for doing our duty. More's the luck, there's a good fire in both ends of
the house to-night; bring her in here, poor thing."
In half-an-hour, thanks to blankets, hot water, and Schiedam, Emily was
in a quiet and placid slumber; and the fisherman and I, after having
fortified ourselves with a glass of good Hollands, hastened again to the
beach. The storm was still raging in all its fury; lights were flashing
along the shore, and parties of men were running up and down, some in
search of plunder, others with the more benevolent wish to afford
assistance to the shipwrecked crew of the Indiaman. The beach was
strewed with broken spars, hen-coops, chests of tea, and ship timber;
and every now and then the fisherman's light flashed upon a dead body,
lying extended partly on the sand and partly in the water. As we were
hurrying along, I stumbled, and nearly fell over something soft, which I
could not distinguish in the darkness, the fisherman being some paces
ahead of me with his lantern. I stooped down, and found it was a human
body.
"Poor fellow!" muttered I--"he sleeps sound; 'tis the sleep of death."
As I spoke, my hand touched the face, which, to my great surprise, was
still warm. "Ah, there is life here still!" And of this I soon had
startling conviction; for my finger was suddenly and sharply bitten,
and, at the same moment I saw a little, round, dim-looking bundle
rolling over and over with great rapidity along the beach. I was
startled at first; but quickly recovered myself, and gave chase to the
mysterious-looking object, calling out to the fisherman to join me. We
soon overtook the object of our pursuit; and, cold and wearied as we
both were, and surrounded by sights and sounds of horror, I could not
forbear laughing at the sight that met my eyes. There, rolled up like a
hedgehog, with his leather bottle by his side, and a red nightcap
fastened on with a pocket-handkerchief, his little round chubby face
buried in his hands, and his knees drawn up to his chin, lay the little
doctor, his whole body trembling with fright. I flashed the light across
his face, but he kept his eyes obstinately shut, and buried his face
deeper in his hands.
"Doctor!" said I, shaking him.
"Oh, oh," shuddered he, "don't kill me--that's a good fellow! I'll give
you my brandy bottle if you won't." I touched him in the ribs. "Oh! I am
a dead man," groaned he, recoiling from the touch; "drowned like an ass
at sea, and now going to be stuck like a pig on shore! Oh!"
"Doctor!"
"Never was one in my life!--my name's Posset. Drenched to the
skin!--cold--cold! Don't kill me--that's a good fellow. I am so cold."
"Don't you know me, doctor?" said I, almost crying with laughter; "don't
you know Wentworth?"
"Eh! What?" returned he, gradually uncoiling himself, till his little
thick legs were stretched to their full length (shortness, I should
say), and his sharp twinkling eyes stared full up in my face. "So it
_is_! Give me your hand, my boy--who'd have thought it? How did you
escape? Devil takes care of his own, eh?"
"So it seems, doctor," said I, laughing; "that accounts satisfactorily
for _your_ appearance here."
"Ha, ha, ha! have me there--eh, Wentworth? Help me to take the stopper
out of the bottle--that's a good fellow."
He raised himself on his elbow, turned his face to the sky, and held
deep communion with _his_ pocket-companion; but, happening to cast his
eyes upon _mine_, he started nimbly to his feet, and, edging close to
my side, muttered, with great trepidation--
"Who's your friend, eh? Not a wrecker, I hope? Sad fellows
those--cut-throats, and all that."
Having set the little gentleman's fears at rest on that score, we
returned to the cottage, which was now crowded with survivors from the
wreck, some dreadfully bruised, others only exhausted with cold and
fatigue. We heard that several others had taken shelter in another
cottage, about half-a-mile distant, and that a messenger had been
despatched to a neighbouring town for medical assistance. It was found,
on comparing notes, that only about fifty people were saved out of the
crew of one hundred and twenty. Sad and silent were the greetings of the
survivors; for the loud roaring of the wind, the rattling of the door
and casements, and the low, rumbling sound of the distant breakers,
recalled but too forcibly the horrors of the scenes they had just
witnessed, and the sad fate of their unfortunate shipmates. As soon as
the little doctor was revived by the heat, and by a dose of the
fisherman's restorative, he hastened to make himself useful in a
professional way; and his little rosy cheeks and merry chuckling laugh
had the effect of soon dispelling the gloom which hung over the party.
In a short time, we heard, in the intervals of the gale, the faint,
distant sound of a horse's hoofs, galloping along the beach.
"There comes the young doctor, I'll take my 'davy," said the fisherman.
"Never knowed him let the grass grow under his horse's feet in time of
need--blessings on his kind heart!" The door opened, and in walked the
expected visiter. He was quite a youth in appearance, but tall, and of a
most prepossessing exterior.
"I hope there has no serious accident happened, William."
"Serious enough, your honour," said the fisherman. "There's a fine ship
stranded just below; many of the poor fellows on the beach are beyond
the reach of your assistance; there is not so much as a broken bone
here, however--nothing but wet clothes and bruises. But there's a lady
in the other end of the house, doctor--you had better go to her first."
We were just going to knock at the door of Emily's room, when the
fisherman's wife opened it, and on seeing me, exclaimed--
"Your wife has just wakened from a sound sleep, sir, and looks quite
fresh and life-like."
I smiled at the good woman's mistake, which I did not see any occasion
to rectify; but I followed the young doctor into the room. I saw in an
instant that Emily had heard the woman's address to me; for as soon as
her eye caught mine she blushed deeply, and averted her face. I almost
flattered myself I heard a gentle sigh.
The young doctor, in the meantime, approached the bed, and was about
respectfully to feel her pulse, when, all at once, to my great surprise,
he exclaimed--
"Merciful Heaven! Emily, dear Emily!" And, without the slightest
ceremony, he printed kiss after kiss upon her fair cheek. My first
impulse was to spring forward to chastise him for his insolence; but I
felt my limbs tremble under me. I staggered against the wall, hid my
face in my hands, and absolutely groaned with anguish of spirit. There
was an end to all my bright visions; I had flattered myself that the cup
of happiness was just at my lips, and now it seemed to be dashed from
them for ever. I had saved Emily only for the arms of a happy rival!
Such were the thoughts that flashed through my mind with the rapidity of
lightning; and with them visions of ropes, and razors, and pistols. Two
words of Emily dispelled them, and raised me again from the depths of
despair into the seventh heaven of hope and happiness. These cabalistic
words were--"Dear brother!" The young doctor now turned round to me, and
said, hesitatingly--
"And this gentleman, Emily? Pray introduce me to him."
"Mr Wentworth, allow me to introduce to your notice and friendship, my
brother, Edward Walford."
"Wentworth!" said young Walford; "there is surely some mistake here,
Emily--I thought the woman called this gentleman your husband!"
"So she did, Edward," replied she, blushing; "but it was a mistake on
her part, and not a surprising one. I am more astonished at _your_
ignorance of my affairs than at hers. You cannot have received my two
last letters from the Cape."
She then informed him of the events which had taken place since she left
Madras; spoke kindly and affectionately of her late husband, who, she
said, had always behaved like a tender and considerate father to her;
and expressed the warmest gratitude to him for his liberal provision for
her future welfare. She hinted delicately that, though she grieved for
his loss as that of a dear and valued friend, her feelings towards him
had been chiefly those of gratitude and esteem. She gave a rapid and
graphic sketch of the voyage, and ended with an account of the
immediately preceding scenes of its fatal termination. Her cheek grew
pale, and her voice trembled, as she detailed the horrors of the wreck.
"Although I had thought myself perfectly resigned," she said, "to what
appeared to be my inevitable fate, yet, when that awful sea tore me away
from the deck, I felt as if my last earthly hope was wrested from me;
that moment, snatched as it were from the confines of a violent and
awful death, was crowded with the recollections of a lifetime, which
flashed, with lightning-like rapidity, across my memory. I thought of
all I had done and suffered, and then of the extinction of my fond
hopes of meeting and benefiting those dearest to my heart. There was
agony in the thought--I screamed, and became unconscious. The cold
dashing of the sea, while it half-drowned, revived me from my fit. I was
too faint and frightened to speak, but I was aware that Mr. Wentworth
was beside me; I felt that I was saved, and I relapsed into
unconsciousness. To this gentleman," she said turning her tearful eyes
towards me, "am I indebted, under Heaven, for my escape from a watery
grave. Oh, Mr. Wentworth! how can I ever adequately prove my gratitude
to you?"
"You owe me none," replied I. "The mere selfish impulses of our nature
prompt us to endeavour to save what we value most. I _thought_ I loved
you; but it was not till I saw you struggling in the waves that I knew
how _very_ dear you were to my heart. Pardon my abruptness; if you think
it presumption in a comparative stranger so _soon_ to talk of love, I
will wait months, years--only speak one word, Emily--say, may I hope?"
She was silent, but her eyes filled with tears, and she looked
beseechingly at her brother.
"I see how it is, Mr. Wentworth," said the doctor, laughing; "my sister
deputes me to act as her interpreter. Her eyes say to you, as plain as
they can speak (though you do not seem to understand their language),
'You saved my _life_--who has a better claim upon my hand and heart?' Am
I right, Emily?" said he, putting her small fair hand into mine.
She made no reply, but gently returned the pressure of my hand, and
looked up in my face with such a sweet smile, that I could not resist
the temptation to imprint the first fond seal of love upon her glowing
cheek.
"Come, Emily," said young Walford, "your _brother_ has given you to Mr.
Wentworth, and now your _doctor_ must take care of you for him. You are
too weak yet to bear more excitement; we will leave you to your
repose." He then took my arm, and bidding Emily adieu, we went into the
other room, where we found the most exhausted of the party stretched on
the floor in various attitudes, giving audible notice that their lungs
had not been materially injured by their late submersion; while the
shuddering moans and convulsive starts of some of the number showed that
fancy was busy within them, acting over again the dreadful scenes of the
night.
When day had begun to break, the whole party hastened out to the beach.
Not a vestige remained of our unfortunate ship: the hull was completely
broken up, and the shore was strewed for miles with portions of the
wreck. We found Captain Darby, Wildman, and the survivors who had taken
refuge in the other cottage, busily employed in the sad duty of
collecting the dead bodies of their less fortunate shipmates. Young
Walford and I had a long and interesting conversation together, in the
course of which he told me that his mother and the rest of the family
were living in the neighbouring town, in which he was practising as
surgeon. He was obliged to return home immediately, he said, to attend
to his professional avocations; and, leaving me to apologise to his
sister when she awoke, he promised either to come or send for her as
soon as possible. I returned to the cottage. Emily was sleeping, and
remained for three or four hours in a sound slumber, from which she had
only just awakened, when a post-chaise drove up to the door, a handsome
middle-aged lady stepped out, and in a moment Emily was in the arms of
her mother. For some time they embraced each other in silence; but their
lips were moving, and the tears were streaming down their cheeks.
"Dear, dear mother!" at last sobbed Emily.
"Blessings on my darling!" replied she, holding Emily from her, and then
hugging her to her heart; "let me look again on thy sweet face, my
child!" she continued, gazing earnestly and affectionately at her, and
then murmuring, "Oh, if I had lost you, Emily!" she again burst into an
agony of tears. At last recollecting herself, she exclaimed, "Edward has
told me all--where is _he_--where is the gallant man who saved your
life?"
"This is Mr Wentworth," said Emily.
Mrs Walford took my hand in both hers, and pressed it to her heart, and,
with a broken and trembling voice, she exclaimed--
"The blessing of a widowed mother be upon you, sir. You have saved my
grey hairs from going down in sorrow to the grave."
I was greatly affected by her warm expressions of gratitude, and by the
almost maternal cordiality with which she urged me to accompany them
home. This invitation, it may be readily supposed, I was not at all
unwilling to avail myself of; and, as none of the party were encumbered
with baggage, nothing having been saved from the wreck, we soon left the
cottage, carrying with us the good wishes and blessings of its inmates,
whom Mrs Walford had most liberally rewarded for their hospitality.
Three months afterwards, Emily Stacely became my wife; and, as I said
before, sir, I owe the greatest blessing of my life to a storm and its
consequences.
The steamboat soon afterwards entered the Mersey; and, when we parted on
the quay at Liverpool, it was with mutual regret, and with a promise to
renew our acquaintance as soon as possible. I have since had reason,
like Mr Wentworth, to bless a "storm and its consequences;" for the next
greatest blessing to a good wife is a good friend, and such he has ever
proved himself to be, since our "stormy" meeting in the steamboat.
THE HEIR OF INSHANNOCK.
The ill-fated struggle of the partisans of the House of Stuart, in the
year 1745, terminated, as our readers know, in the total ruin of almost
all who were engaged in that unfortunate rebellion. The scaffold was
deluged with the noblest blood in Scotland; and even those who were so
fortunate as to escape the axe of the executioner, became penniless
wanderers in a foreign land, meeting with little sympathy, and still
less relief.
Amongst those who preferred the risk of hanging in their own country, to
the certainty of starvation in a foreign one, was Reginald, or, as he
was usually called, Ranald Grahame of Inshannock--a gentleman who was
distantly connected with the Viscounts of Dundee. His estates were
extensive, although his rental was small. He resided in an old building
called the Tower of Gloom, which stood on a ridge of a terrific defile
overhanging Loch Lomond.
Great rewards were offered for his apprehension by the Duke of Argyle,
who entertained towards him a very hostile feeling, not founded in any
patriotic desire to put down a rebel, but from an old grudge, either
real or imaginary, which the great M'Callum Mor was not disposed to
stomach. Hitherto, every effort to capture Reginald had been fruitless;
for, secure in the devoted attachment of his tenantry, and the
difficulty of an approach to the tower, he laughed at the threats of the
chief of the Campbells, although backed by formidable government
proclamations. It was to this security that Reginald became a victim. In
his earlier years he had been intimate with Donald Campbell of Dungyle,
who, although the nominal proprietor of these lands, derived nothing
from them, as they were burdened by what is called, in Scottish
law-language, a wadset. Now, Donald found it somewhat inconvenient to
live upon nothing, or next to it; and he thought it no bad speculation
to exchange his nominal estate for a real one, by handing his friend
Reginald over to the tender mercies of the ministers of George II.; and,
in return, quietly taking his place in the Tower of Gloom.
Having thus made up his mind on the propriety of bettering his
condition, and having reconciled his conscience to the betrayal of his
friend, by assuming that, as Reginald would, one day or other, be
infallibly taken prisoner and executed, it was much better, although it
might shorten his life a few weeks or months, that a friend rather than
a stranger should get whatever recompense was to be got. Indeed, if any
scruples still lurked in his breast, his duties as a citizen at once put
an end to them, for, as he said, "a true patriot must sacrifice every
private feeling to the public good." Influenced by these mixed
considerations, he applied for, and obtained a promise, if he should be
able to surprise the Tower of Gloom and its proprietor, that he would be
rewarded with a gift of the forfeited estate of Inshannock.
Having made every arrangement, in the event of success, Donald Campbell,
with a body of retainers, proceeded to the Tower of Gloom. Hiding his
followers in a copse of wood in the immediate vicinity, Donald hastened
to the abode of his friend, and, claiming his hospitality, was readily
admitted as an inmate. The result may be easily anticipated: Reginald
found himself a prisoner, for the first time in his life. Resolved
rather to perish than surrender, the unfortunate laird ran to an
apartment overlooking the loch, and leaped from the window into the
water. His false friend, seeing his desperate efforts, threw him a rope
as if in kindness, to support him, while a boat came near.