The spot where the wreck of the _Seagull_ lay was a peaceful sequestered
cove or bay on the coast of Anglesea. The general aspect of the
neighbouring land was bleak. There were no trees, and few bushes.
Indeed, the spire of a solitary little church on an adjoining hill was
the most prominent object in the scene. The parsonage belonging to it
was concealed by a rise in the ground, and the very small hamlet
connected with it was hid like a rabbit in the clefts of some rugged
cliffs. The little church was one of those temples which are meant to
meet the wants of a rural district, and which cause a feeling of
surprise in the minds of town visitors as to where the congregation can
come from that fills them.
But, bleak though the country was, the immediate shore was interesting
and romantic in its form. In one place perpendicular cliffs, cut up by
ragged gorges, descended sheer down into deep water, and meeting the
constant roll of the Irish Channel, even in calm weather, fringed
themselves with lace-work of foam, as if in cool defiance of the ocean.
In another place a mass of boulders and shattered rocks stretched out
into the sea as if still resistant though for the time subdued.
Elsewhere a half-moon of yellow sand received the ripples with a kiss,
suggestive of utter conquest and the end of strife.
As we have said, the spot was peaceful, for, at the time to which we
refer, ocean and air were still, but ah! Those who have not dwelt near
the great deep and beheld its fury when roused can form but a faint
conception of the scene that occurred there on the night in which the
_Seagull_ went down!
Mr Hazlit thought of the place as something like the region of a "bad
debt,"--where a portion of his wealth had been wrecked. Some knew it as
the hated spot where they had suffered the loss of all their fortune;
but others there were, who, untouched by the thought of material gain or
loss, knew it as the scene of the wreck of all their earthly hopes--for
the _Seagull_ had been a passenger-ship, and in that quiet bay God in
His providence had dealt some of the most awful blows that human beings
are capable of bearing.
Close to a bald cliff on the northern shore the foretopmast of the wreck
rose a few feet above the calm water. In a cove of the cliff the
remains of a mast or yard lay parallel with a deep and thick mass of
wreckage, which had surged out and into that cove on the fatal night
with such violence that it now lay in small pieces, like giant
matchwood. On a patch of gravel not far from that cliff a husband and
father had wandered for many days, after being saved--he knew not how--
gazing wistfully, hopelessly at the sea which had swallowed up wife and
children and fortune. He had been a "successful" gold-digger! On that
patch of gravel scenes of terrible suspense had been enacted. Expectant
ones had come to inquire whether those whom they sought had _really_
embarked in that vessel, while grave and sympathetic but worn-out or
weary men of the Coast-guard, stood ready to give information or to
defend the wreck.
In the church on the hill there were dreadful marks on the floor, where
the recovered bodies had lain for a time, while frantic relations came
and went day by day to search for and claim their dead. Ah, reader, we
are not mocking you with fiction. What we refer to is fact. We saw it
with our eyes. Peaceful though that spot looked--and often looks--it
was once the scene of the wildest of storms, the most terrible of
mercantile disasters, and the deepest of human woe.
But we are mingling thoughts with memories. The wreck which has crept
into our mind is that of the _Royal Charter_. The _Seagull_, although a
passenger-ship, and wrecked near the same region, does not resemble
_that_!
At the time of which we write, Joe Baldwin and his men had already saved
a considerable portion of the cargo, but during his submarine
explorations and meditations Joe had conceived the idea that there was
some possibility of saving the vessel itself, for, having recoiled from
its first shock and sunk in deep water, the hull was comparatively
uninjured.
But Joe, although a good diver, was not a practical engineer. He knew
himself to be not a very good judge of such matters, and was too modest
to suggest anything to competent submarine engineers. He could not,
however, help casting the thing about in his mind for some time. At
last, one evening while reading a newspaper that had been got from a
passing boat, he observed the return of the ship in which his young
friend Edgar Berrington had gone to India. At once he wrote the
following letter:--
"My dear Mister Edgar,--I'm in a fix here. It's my opinion there's a
chance of savin' a wreck if only good brains was set to work to do it.
It would pay if we was to succeed. If you happen to be on the loose
just now, as is likely, run over an' see what you think of it.--Yours
to command,
"J.B."
Our hero received the letter, at once acted on it, and in a few days was
on the spot.
"What a change there is in you, my dear sir!" said Joe, looking with
admiration at the browned, stalwart youth before him; "why, you've grown
moustaches!"
"I couldn't help it, Joe," replied Edgar; "they _would_ come, and I had
no time to shave on board.--But now, tell me about this wreck."
When Edgar heard that the vessel belonged to Mr Hazlit his first
impulse was to have nothing to do with it. He felt that any
interference in regard to it would seem like a desire to thrust himself
before the merchant's notice--and that, too, in a needy manner, as if he
sought employment at his hands; but on consideration he came to the
conclusion that he might act as a wire-puller, give Baldwin the benefit
of his knowledge, and allow him to reap the credit and the emoluments.
But for a long time the honest diver would not listen to such a
suggestion, and was only constrained to give in at last when Edgar
threatened to leave him altogether.
"By the way, have you seen Miss Aileen since you came home?" asked
Baldwin, while the two friends were seated in the cabin of the diver's
vessel poring, pencil in hand, over several sheets of paper on which
were sundry mysterious designs.
"No; I was on the point of paying a visit to my good aunt Miss Pritty,
with ulterior ends in view, when your letter reached me and brought me
here. To say truth, your note arrived very opportunely, for I was
engaged at the time in rather a hard struggle between inclination and
duty--not feeling quite sure whether it was right or wise to throw
myself in her way just now, for, as you may easily believe, I have not,
during my comparatively short absence, made a fortune that is at all
likely to satisfy the requirements of her father."
"I suppose not," returned the diver. "No doubt, at gold-diggin's an'
diamond-fields an' such-like one does hear of a man makin' a find that
enables him to set up his carriage an' four, and ride, mayhap at a
tremendous pace, straight on to ruin by means of it, but as a rule
people don't pick up sovereigns like stones either at home or abroad.
It's the experience of most men, that steady perseverance leads by the
shortest road to competence, if not to wealth.--But that's beside the
question. I think you did right, Mister Eddy--excuse an old servant,
sir, if it's taking too much liberty to use the old familiar name,--you
did right in coming here instead of going there."
"So thought I, Baldy--you see that I too can take liberties,--else I
should not have come. Your letter solved the difficulty, for, when I
was at the very height of the struggle before mentioned--at equipoise so
to speak,--and knew not whether to go to the right or to the left,
_that_ decided me. I regarded it as a leading of Providence."
Baldwin turned a rather sudden look of surprise on his young companion.
"A leading of Providence, Mr Eddy! I never heard you use such an
expression before."
"True, but I have learned to use it since I went to sea," replied our
hero quietly.
"That's strange," rejoined the diver in a low voice, as if he feared to
scare the young man from a subject that was very near his own heart,
"very strange, for goin' to sea has not often the effect of makin'
careless young fellows serious--though it sometimes has, no doubt. How
was it, if I--"
"Yes, Baldy," interrupted Edgar, with a pleasant smile, laying his hand
on the diver's huge shoulder, "I don't mind making a confidant of you in
this as in other matters. I'll tell you,--the story is short enough.
When I parted from Aileen, she made me a present of a New Testament from
a pile that she happened to have by her to give to the poor people. To
be more particular, I asked for one, and she consented to let me have
it. You see I wanted a keepsake! Well, when at sea, I read the
Testament regularly, night and morning, for Aileen's sake, but God in
His great love led me at last to read it for the sake of Him whose
blessed life and death it records."
"Then you've fairly hauled down the enemy's colours and hoisted those of
the Lord?" asked Baldwin.
"I have been led to do so," replied the youth modestly but firmly.
"Bless the Lord!" said the diver in a low tone as he grasped Edgar's
hand, while he bowed his head for a moment.
Presently he looked up, and seemed about to resume the subject of
conversation when Edgar interrupted him--
"Have you seen or heard anything of Aileen since I left?"
"Nothing, except that she's been somewhat out of sorts, and her father
has sent her up to London for a change."
"Has he gone to London with her?"
"No, I believe not; he's taken up a good deal wi' the cargo o' this
ship, and comes down to see us now and then, but for the most part he
remains at home attendin' to business."
"Have you spoken to him about raising the hull of the ship?"
"Not yet. He evidently thinks the thing impossible--besides, I wanted
to hear your opinion on the matter before sayin' anything about it."
"Well, come, let us go into it at once," said the youth, turning to the
sheets of paper before him and taking up a pencil. "You see, Baldwin,
this trip of mine as second engineer has been of good service to me in
many ways, for, besides becoming practically acquainted with everything
connected with marine engines, I have acquired considerable knowledge of
things relating to ships in general, and am all the more able to afford
you some help in this matter of raising the ship. I've been studying a
book written by a member of the firm whose dresses you patronise, [Note.
`_The Conquest of the Sea_', by Henry Siebe.] which gives a thorough
account in detail of everything connected with diving, and in it there
is reference to the various modes that have hitherto been successful in
the raising of sunken vessels."
"I've heard of it, but not seen it," said Baldwin. "Of course I know
somewhat about raisin' ships, havin' once or twice lent a hand, but I've
no head for engineerin'. What are the various modes you speak of?
_That's_ not one of 'em, is it?"
He pointed, with a grave smile as he spoke, to the outline of a female
head which Edgar had been absently tracing on the paper.
"Well, no," replied the youth, scribbling out the head, "that's not one
of Siebe and Gorman's appliances, and yet I venture to prophesy that
that head will have a good deal to do with the raising of the _Seagull_!
However, don't let's waste more time. Here you are. The first
method,--that of putting empty casks in the hold so as to give the hull
a floating tendency, and then mooring lighters over it and pushing
chains under it,--we may dismiss at once, as being suitable only for
small vessels; but the second method is worth considering, namely, that
of fixing air-bags of india-rubber in the hold, attaching them to the
sides, and then inflating them all at the same time by means of a
powerful air-pump. We could get your divers to pass chains under her,
and, when she began to rise could haul on these chains by means of
lighters moored above, and so move the wreck inshore till she grounded.
What say you to that?"