THE WRECK OF _L'ETOILE_
"A gale coming—how dost thou know that?" demanded Gripwell anxiously.
"I have not been brought up to the sea these last six years for nothing,
monsieur," replied the fisher-lad. "In my mind I can feel the coming
storm. Moreover, did not Père Gobin tell old Sardeau, my patron, that
'twould be hazardous to put to sea yesternight? But, monsieur, since we
are likely to be caught out, we must needs meet danger with a stout
heart."
"Thou art a brave youth," observed Arnold approvingly. "What is thy
name?"
"Jean," replied the other simply.
"What would'st thou have us do with the craft?" continued the
man-at-arms. Bold and fearless as he was he recognized in the Norman lad
his superior in the shipman's art.
"We must hoist a smaller sail, monsieur. Even now the boat is pressed
over much."
As he spoke a vicious squall, the precursor of the storm, began to
thrash the water a bow-shot astern.
Without a moment's hesitation, Jean, whose thick skull had received a
blow that would have disabled many a man for days to come, ran forward
to the mast. Ere the hissing blast swept down upon the craft he had let
go the halyards, bringing the heavy yard, with its bellying sail, to
within a few feet of the deck.
Fortunately Gripwell had the sense to thrust his whole weight upon the
stout tiller to keep the vessel on her course dead before the wind. In a
few minutes the squall had passed.
Descending into the forehatch the Norman lad soon re-appeared, bearing a
small sail rolled up under his arm. This, with Geoffrey's aid, he bent
to the yard, in place of the larger canvas, and under easy sail the
_Etoile de St. Valery_—for such was the name of the stolen craft—tore
before the howling winds. Ugly, white-crested waves reared themselves on
either hand, but, thanks to her broad beam and comparative deep draught,
the threatening breakers swept harmlessly under her hull.
"Where are we?" asked Oswald dolefully, for he had succumbed to the
attacks of his old enemy, and was lying well-nigh helpless against the
low bulwarks.
"St. George be my aid: I know not," replied Gripwell. "But by yonder sun
that tells close on midday, I perceive we are holding a proper course,"
he added, pointing to a faint light in the fleeting clouds that marked
the position of the orb of day.
For the next hour or two the _Etoile de St. Valery_ flew before the
gale, heading blindly towards the as yet invisible shores of England.
Suddenly Geoffrey gave a warning cry, and pointed his finger towards the
boat's bow.
"I see land," he shouted, striving to make himself heard above the
roaring of the elements.
"Thou'rt right," agreed Gripwell, as an apparently unbroken wall of
glistening chalk cliffs loomed up through the mirk. "But 'twill be a
hard task to get into safety with this sea running. Certes, yesternight
I would have given a seven pound candle to the altar of the church of
St. Thomas à Becket at Warblington to be able to see yon cliffs, but now
I would willingly give one of a score pounds not to see them."
"How so?" asked Geoffrey.
"Since we know not on what part of the coast we have lighted, and not a
sheltering port is to be seen, methinks we shall have much ado to
prevent our corpses being washed ashore."
"Can we not cast anchor?"
"'Tis impossible, monsieur," replied the Norman lad, who had overheard
Geoffrey's question. "The stout rope that holds the anchor would be rent
asunder like a wisp of smouldering flax. Nay, monsieur, we must needs
push on, keep the boat's stem to the waves, and trust to be cast fairly
on shore. Alas for the _Etoile de St. Valery_!"
"Courage, comrades," shouted Gripwell. "I espy a place where the cliffs
dip somewhat. We will run the craft ashore at that point. Pull thyself
together, Master Oswald. E'en within an hour thou mayst set foot on dry
land."
As the _Etoile_ approached the shore the seas became shorter and steeper
owing to the shoaling bottom. No longer did the stout craft rise easily
to the rollers, but labouring heavily she took in water on all sides.
"There are men on the shore," said Geoffrey, as a number of people armed
with bows, swords and axes, ran down the steep gorge in the cliffs.
"And a warm welcome they will give us," replied Gripwell gloomily. "Not
a hand will they raise save to help themselves."
The old man-at-arms spoke truly. Every foreign ship—ay, and many a
luckless English craft as well—that had the misfortune to be cast on
shore was regarded by the lawless men of the coastwise hamlets as a
prize. In many cases not only were their crews left to their fate, but
any unfortunate man who reached the shore alive might be cruelly slain
for the sake of a few trifles on his person.
"Hold fast as she strikes!" shouted Gripwell. With feet placed wide
apart and body braced to meet the shock the man-at-arms gripped the
tiller.
Then with a crash that shook the craft from keel to masthead, the doomed
vessel grounded heavily on the shingle.
Thrice she pounded heavily, each time being cast nearer in shore, till
with her hold filled with water, the _Etoile_ settled firmly on a bed of
sand.
Desperately her crew held on, watching the callous spectators on shore,
who, in turn, were waiting for the wreckage to be cast at their feet.
Not a word was spoken by the shipwrecked men; all they could do was to
await the end in whatever form it might come.
After a considerable time had passed in this hazardous position Geoffrey
fancied that the shocks were becoming less violent. Cascades of foam
still swept over the craft, and already portions of the hull were
beginning to show signs of breaking-up. All but the stump of the mast
and the small spread of sail had vanished, having gone by the board soon
after the first shock.
Yes, now he was certain; the tide was falling.
Making his way along the steeply sloping deck to where Arnold was
standing Geoffrey communicated the discovery.
"Ay, it gives us hope," shouted Gripwell in reply. "The boat holds
together. In another half-an-hour we may essay the task."
So saying he whipped out his knife and began to sever one of the ropes
that trailed across the deck. It was a hazardous business, since he had
to release his grasp upon the coaming of the hatchway; but by dint of
working hard between the sweep of each succeeding breaker he contrived
to secure a goodly coil of cordage.
With this the four members of the crew were lashed together with a
distance of about twelve feet between them.
These preparations were observed by those on shore, for there was a
decidedly hostile movement on their part, some going so far as to string
their bows.
"Look at them," exclaimed Jean excitedly. "They are about to kill us."
"And these are Englishmen!" added Oswald.
Hoping to pacify the clamorous throng ashore, the man-at-arms shouted
that he and his comrades were Englishmen, but either the words were lost
in the howling of the wind and the roar of the breakers, or the shoremen
were convinced that since the wrecked craft was of foreign build the
crew must likewise be foreigners. But, whatever view they took of the
situation, the mob showed no signs of abating their hostility.
At this juncture a horseman appeared on the edge of the cliffs to the
right of the gorge. For a brief space he took in the strange scene
beneath him, then, unhesitatingly, he urged his steed down the steep
declivity. Often the intrepid rider was standing in his stirrups as the
horse slid on its haunches; more than once a mass of chalk slipped away
from under the beast's forefeet and came crashing on to the beach below;
but the daring horseman never ceased his downward way till he gained the
shore and tore up to the crowd of expectant wreckers.
Although the new-comer was evidently a man of some position he did not,
at first, have things his own way. Voices were raised in angry protest,
twice or thrice knives gleamed in the air, but by sheer force of will
the horseman succeeded in calming the more turbulent members of the
assembly.
This done he forced his horse through the waves, till up to the girths
in water, he came within a spear's length of the stranded craft.
"Throw me yon rope; follow me, your lives are safe!" he shouted.
With that Gripwell heaved the line, and struggling through the strong
under-tow the four members of the crew gained the land.
"Who are ye, and whence came ye?" demanded their rescuer.
"We are Englishmen escaped from France," replied Gripwell.
"There, did I not say so?" asked the horseman turning towards the still
surging crowd. "Fie on ye."
"But the boat is ourn by ancient rights," objected a bearded fisherman,
whose ears were pierced by a pair of gold earrings, probably part of the
spoil from some castaway.
"Let them have the craft by all means," quoth Gripwell. "I' faith, we
are right glad to see the last of her."
"Where were ye making for?" asked the horseman.
"Firstly to the shores of England, which, by St. George, we have made
far too forcibly to my mind. Secondly we belong to the Castle of
Warblington. Yonder stands Geoffrey Lysle, son of the Lord of
Warblington."
"Thou hast gone wide of the mark, good shipmaster," replied the horseman
with a merry laugh. "Now ye must needs foot it for nearly a score of
leagues ere ye reach Warblington. Ye are now at Birling Gap, midway on
the shore of Sussex. Hast money? Nay? Then here is a groat apiece.
Follow yon track and ye'll soon strike the great highway betwixt Dover
and Southampton. The rest of the way, though it be long, is not
difficult to find."
"One moment, fair sir," quoth Geoffrey. "To whom do we owe this right
courteous treatment?"
"It matters not," was the reply, as the horseman prepared to take his
departure. "But stay; if so be that ye have time to remember me in your
prayers, men call me Wild Dick o' Birling."