"That project is knocked over as if it were a card house," said Duncan
Leslie, as he reached home, and sat thinking of Louise and her brother.
He looked out to see that in a very short time the total aspect of the
sea had changed. The sky had become overcast, and in the dim light the
white horses of the Atlantic were displaying their manes.
"Very awkward run for the harbour to-night," he said, as he returned to
his seat. "Can't be pleasant to be a ship-owner. I wonder whether Miss
Marguerite Vine would consider that a more honourable way of making
money?"
"Yes, a tradesman, I suppose. Well, why not? Better than being a
descendant of some feudal gentleman whose sole idea of right was might."
"My word!" he exclaimed; "what a sudden gale to have sprung up. Heavy
consumption of coal in the furnaces to-night. How this wind will make
them roar."
He faced round to the window and sat listening as the wind shrieked, and
howled, and beat at the panes, every now and then sending the raindrops
pattering almost as loudly as hail. "Hope it will not blow down my
chimney on the top yonder. Hah! I ought to be glad that I have no ship
to trouble me on a night like this."
"No," he said firmly, just as the wind had hurled itself with redoubled
fury against the house; "no, she does not give me a second thought. But
I take heart of grace, for I can feel that she has never had that gentle
little heart troubled by such thoughts. The Frenchman has not won her,
and he never shall if I can help it. It's a fair race for both of us,
and only one can win."
"My word! What a night!"
He walked to the window and looked out at the sombre sky, and listened
to the roar of the rumbling billows before closing his casement and
ringing.
"Is all fastened?" he said to the servant. "You need not sit up.--I
don't believe a dog would be out to-night, let alone a human being."
He was wrong; for just as he spoke a dark figure encased in oilskins was
sturdily making its way down the cliff-path to the town. It was hard
work, and in places on the exposed cliff-side even dangerous, for the
wind seemed to pounce upon the figure and try to tear it off; but after
a few moments' pause the walk was continued, the town reached, and the
wind-swept streets traversed without a soul being passed.
The figure passed on by the wharves and warehouses, and sheltered now
from the wind made good way till, some distance ahead, a door was
opened, a broad patch of light shone out on the wet cobble stones,
Crampton's voice said, "Good-night," and the figure drew back into a
deep doorway, and waited.
The old clerk had been to the principal inn, where, once a week, he
visited his club, and drank one glass of Hollands and water, and smoked
one pipe, talking mostly to one friend, to whom if urged he would relate
one old story.
This was his one dissipation; and afterwards he performed one regular
duty which took him close up to the watching figure which remained there
almost breathless till Crampton had performed his regular duty and gone
home.
It was ten minutes or a quarter of an hour before he passed that
watching figure, which seemed to have sunk away in the darkness that
grew more dense as the gale increased.
Morning at last, a slowly breaking dawn, and with it the various
sea-going men slowly leaving their homes, to direct their steps in a
long procession towards one point where the high cliff face formed a
shelter from the southwest wind, and the great billows which rolled
heavily in beneath the leaden sky. These came on with the regularity of
machinery, to charge the cliffs at which they leaped with a hiss and a
roar, and a boom like thunder, followed by a peculiar rattling,
grumbling sound, as if the peal of thunder had been broken up into heavy
pieces which were rolling over each other back toward the sea.
They were not pieces of thunder but huge boulders, which had been rolled
over and over for generations to batter the cliffs, and then fall back
down an inclined plane.
Quite a crowd had gathered on the broad, glistening patch of rugged
granite, as soon as the day broke, and this crowd was ever augmenting,
till quite a phalanx of oilskin coats and tarpaulin hats presented its
face to the thundering sea, while men shouted to each other, and swept
the lead-coloured horizon with heavy glasses, or the naked hand-shaded
eye, in search of some vessel trying to make the harbour, or in
distress.
"She bites, this morning," said one old fisherman, shaking the spray
from his dripping face after looking round the corner of a mass of
sheltering rock.
"Ay, mate, and it aren't in me to tell you how glad I am my boat's up
the harbour with her nose fast to a buoy," said another.
"There'll be widders and orphans in some ports 'fore nightfall."
"And thank the Lord that won't be in Hakemouth."
"I dunno so much about that," growled a heavy-looking man, with a fringe
of white hair round his face. "Every boat that sails out of this
harbour arn't in port."
"That it is. Why, what's yer thinking about?"
"'Bout Van Heldre's brig, my lad."
"Ah," chorused half-a-dozen voices, "we didn't think o' she."
"Been doo days and days," said the white-fringed old fisherman; "and if
she's out yonder, I say, Lord ha' mercy on 'em all, Amen."
"Not had such a storm this time o' year since the Cape mail were wrecked
off the Long Chain."
"Ah, and that warn't so bad as this. Bound to say the brig has put into
Mount's Bay."
"And not a nice place either with the wind this how. Well, my lads, I
say there's blessings and blessings, and we ought all to be werry
thankful as we arn't ship-owners with wessels out yonder."
This was from the first man who had spoken; but his words were not
received with much favour, and as in a lull of the wind one of the men
had to use a glass, he growled out,
"Well, I dunno 'bout sending one's ship to sea in such a storm, but I
don't see as it's such a very great blessing not to have one of your
own, speshly if she happened to be a brig like Mast' Van Heldre's!"
"Hold your row," said a man beside him, as he drove his elbow into his
ribs, and gave a side jerk of his head.
The man thus adjured turned sharply, and saw close to him a
sturdy-looking figure clothed from head to foot in black mackintosh,
which glistened as it dripped with the showery spray.
"Ugly day, my lads."
"Ay, ay, sir; much snugger in port than out yonder."
_Boom_! came a heavy blow from a wave, and the offing seemed to be
obscured now by the drifting spray.
Van Heldre focussed a heavy binocular, and gazed out to sea long and
carefully.
"Any one been up to the look-out?" he said, as he lowered his glass.
"Two on us tried it, sir," said one of the men, "but the wind's offle up
yonder, and you can't see nothing."
"Going to try it, sir?" said another of the group.
Van Heldre nodded; and he was on his way to a roughly-formed flight of
granite steps which led up to the ruins of the old castle which had once
defended the mouth of the harbour, when another mackintosh-clothed
figure came up.
"Ah, Mr Leslie," said Van Heldre, looking at the new-comer searchingly.
"Good morning," was the reply, "or I should say bad morning. There'll
be some mischief after this."
Van Heldre nodded, for conversation was painful, and passed on.
"Going up yonder?" shouted Leslie.
There was another nod, and under the circumstances, not pausing to ask
permission, Leslie followed the old merchant, climbing the rough stone
steps, and holding on tightly by the rail.
"Best look out, master," shouted one of the group. "Soon as you get
atop roosh acrost and kneel down behind the old parry-putt."
It was a difficult climb and full of risk, for as they went higher they
were more exposed, till as they reached the rough top which formed a
platform, the wind seemed to rush at them as interlopers which it strove
to sweep off and out to sea.
Van Heldre stood, glass in hand, holding on by a block of granite, his
mackintosh tightly pressed to his figure in front, and filling out
behind till it had a balloon-like aspect that seemed grotesque.
"I dare say I look as bad," Leslie muttered, as, taking the rough
fisherman's advice, he bent down and crept under the shelter of the
ancient parapet, a dwarf breastwork, with traces of the old crude
bastions just visible, and here, to some extent, he was screened from
the violence of the wind, and signed to Van Heldre to join him.
Leslie placed his hands to his mouth, and shouted through them,
"Hadn't you better come here, sir?" For the position seemed terribly
insecure. They were on the summit of the rocky headland, with the sides
going on three sides sheer down to the shore, on two of which sides the
sea kept hurling huge waves of water, which seemed to make the rock
quiver to its foundations. One side of the platform was protected by
the old breastwork; on the opposite the stones had crumbled away or
fallen, and here there was a swift slope of about thirty feet to the
cliff edge.
It was at the top of this slope that Van Heldre stood gazing out to sea.
Leslie, as he watched him, felt a curious premonition of danger, and
gathered himself together involuntarily, ready for a spring.
The danger he anticipated was not long in making its demand upon him,
for all at once there was a tremendous gust, as if an atmospheric wave
had risen up to spring at the man standing on high as if daring the fury
of the tempest; and in spite of Van Heldre's sturdy frame he completely
lost his balance. He staggered for a moment, and, but for his presence
of mind in throwing himself down, he would have been swept headlong down
the swift slope to destruction.
As it was he managed to cling to the rocks, as the wind swept furiously
over, and checked his downward progress for the moment. This would have
been of little avail, for, buffeted by the wind, he was gliding slowly
down, and but for Leslie's quickly rendered aid, it would only have been
a matter of moments before he had been hurled down upon the rocks below.
Even as he staggered, Leslie mastered the peculiar feeling of inertia
which attacked him, and, creeping rapidly over the intervening space,
made a dash at the fluttering overcoat, caught it, twisted it rapidly,
and held on.
Then for a space neither moved, for it was as if the storm was raging
with redoubled fury at the chance of its victim being snatched away.
The lull seemed as if it would never come; and when it did Leslie felt
afraid to stir lest the fragile material by which he supported his
companion should give way. In a few moments, however, he was himself,
and shouting so as to make his voice plainly heard--for, close as he
was, his words seemed to be swept away as uttered--he uttered a few
short clear orders, which were not obeyed.
"Do you hear?" he cried again, "Mr Van Heldre--quick!"
Still there was no reply by voice or action, and it seemed as if the
weight upon Leslie's wrists was growing heavier moment by moment. He
yelled to him now, to act; and what seemed to be a terrible time elapsed
before Van Heldre said hoarsely--
"One moment: better now. I felt paralysed."
There was another terrible pause, during which the storm beat upon them,
the waves thundered at the base of the rock, and even at that height
there came a rain of spray which had run up the face of the rock and
swept over to where they lay.
"Now, quick!" said Van Heldre, as he lay face downward, spread-eagled,
as a sailor would term it, against the face of the sloping granite.
What followed seemed to be a struggling scramble, a tremendous effort,
and then with the wind shrieking round them, Van Heldre reached the
level, and crept slowly to the shelter of the parapet.
"Great heavens!" panted Leslie, as he lay there exhausted, and gazed
wildly at his companion. "What an escape!"
There was no reply. Leslie thought that Van Heldre had fainted, for his
eyes were nearly closed, and his face seemed to be drawn. Then he
realised that his lips were moving slowly, as if in prayer.
"Hah!" the rescued man said at last, his words faintly heard in the
tempest's din. "Thank God! For their sake--for their sake."
Then, holding out his hand, he pressed Leslie's in a firm strong grip.
"Leslie," he said, with his lips close to his companion's ear, "you have
saved my life."
Neither spoke much after that, but they crouched there--in turn using
the glass.
Once Van Heldre grasped his companion's arm, and pointed out to sea.
"A ship?" cried Leslie.
"No. Come down now."
Waiting till the wind had dropped for the moment, they reached the rough
flight of steps, and on returning to the level found that the crowd had
greatly increased; and among them Leslie saw Harry Vine and his
companion.
"Can't see un, sir, can you?" shouted one of the men.
Van Heldre shook his head.
"I thought you wouldn't, sir," shouted another. "Capt'n Muskerry's too
good a sailor to try and make this port in such a storm."
"Ay," shouted another. "She's safe behind the harbour wall at
Penzaunce."
"I pray she may be," said Van Heldre. "Come up to my place and have
some breakfast, Leslie, but not a word, mind, about the slip. I'll tell
that my way."
"Then I decline to come," said Leslie, and after a hearty grip of the
hand they parted.
"I thought he meant Vine's girl," said Van Heldre, as he walked along
the wharves street, "but there is no accounting for these things."
"I ought to explain to him how it was I came to be walking with Miss Van
Heldre," said Leslie to himself. "Good morning."
He had suddenly found himself face to face with Harry, who walked by,
arm in arm with Pradelle, frowning and without a word, when just as they
passed a corner the wind came with a tremendous burst, and but for
Leslie's hand Harry Vine must have gone over into the harbour.
It was but the business of a moment, and Harry seemed to shake off the
hand which held him with a tremendous grip and passed on.
"Might have said thank you," said Leslie, smiling. "I seem to be doing
quite a business in saving people this morning, only they are of the
wrong sex--there is no heroism. Hallo, Mr Luke Vine. Come down to
look at the storm?"
"Couldn't I have seen it better up at home?" shouted the old man. "Ugh!
what a wind. Thought I was going to be blown off the cliff. I see your
chimney still stands, worse luck. Going home?"
"No, no. One feels so much unsettled at such a time."
"Don't go home then. Stop with me."
Leslie looked at the quaint old man in rather an amused way, and then
stopped with him to watch the tumbling billows off the point where his
companion so often fished.
Volume 1, Chapter XVII.