SHIPWRECKED.
In the midst of this terrible confusion, the starboard lifeboat of the
_Pandora_ was taken from her chocks, and swung into the davit tackles.
Six sailors jumped quickly into her, and took their places on the
thwarts, and the third officer, Mr Sparkes, grasped the tiller in the
stern sheets. Then the women, with tear-stained faces and dishevelled
hair, were handed down, some moaning piteously with fright, others
murmuring prayers to Heaven for help, and clinging to their companions
in their distress. The first to enter the boat was Grace Vansittart,
wailing louder than the rest, and covering her face with her hands to
shut out the terrifying scene around her. Her usually blooming face
was white as marble, and her large brown eyes seemed to be starting
from their sockets. But her grief was all for herself. No thought,
in that awful hour, of the wretched man to whom she had been vowing
protestations of fidelity throughout the voyage occupied her mind.
She was too much alarmed on her own account to remember anybody else.
Father, mother, and lover had alike sunk into insignificance beside the
danger that threatened herself. There was no doubt but that, should
Miss Vansittart survive the wreck, she would soon enough be comforted
for the loss of Godfrey Harland. Mr and Mrs Vansittart were the next to
follow.
The old man had wished to remain behind, but his wife had clung to
him with so tenacious a grasp, that Vernon Blythe pushed them both in
together.
‘John! John!’ the poor woman had exclaimed; ‘we have lived together for
thirty years! Don’t let us die apart!’
And after all, as Vernon in the pride of his young manhood thought,
what was an old man but a woman!
Mrs Leyton followed with Alice, but not before they had both turned
round and given him a farewell kiss.
‘God bless you, dear boy,’ sobbed the mother, ‘for all you have done
for me and mine.’
‘Oh! Jack, Jack!’ cried Alice, ‘I have never left off loving you! How I
wish--’
‘All right, dear Mrs Leyton. All right, Alice,’ he replied cheerily.
‘Keep up your spirits! We shall meet again before long,’ and so passed
them into the boat.
‘Oh, Jack! come with me!’ screamed Alice, as she found herself rocking
on the deep, but the wind prevented her voice from reaching his ear, as
he busied himself with handing the baby into the arms of the shellbacks.
Poor little Winnie was as sorely frightened as the rest, and loud in
her lamentations. Then came Miss Vere, pale as a piece of Parian, but
calm and collected; and when her full complement was made up, the
lugger-rigged craft was pushed off, and headed for the harbour.
The remaining hands then cut away the lashings of the forward
jolly-boat, while others shipped the stanchions and rigged tackles. The
male passengers had partly recovered from their scare by this time, and
followed the good example of Vernon Blythe and the seamen, in trying
to launch the second boat. It was a very dangerous task. The seas
had smashed up the smoke-room as if it had been so much match-wood,
ripped up the main fiferail, and torn away the after end of the house
amidships. The after companion-ladder had also been swept away, and the
cabin could not be entered from the quarter-deck.
The port boats were stove in, and innumerable planks, sea-chests,
buckets, and blocks, were washing about the deck, making an incessant
clatter that was audible even above the howling of the gale.
Captain Robarts stood upon the poop, his agonised and distorted face
the very picture of despair. One cannot judge of a sailor’s qualities
until he is seen under circumstances of difficulty or danger. Then his
noblest or his weakest points alike stand out in bold relief. A sailor
may traverse the ocean for years, and never fall in with a mishap.
It is easy sailing to steer a craft in fine weather, with plenty of
sea room. But a heavy blow in the Channel, with land on either side,
and a forest of shipping to keep clear of,--or a stiff breeze and a
lee shore, with an untrustworthy vessel--these are the dangers which
the mariner has to look out for, and which will prove him a man to be
either esteemed or despised.
Standing by Captain Robarts’ side, with an excited look in her eye,
but no fear upon her face, was Iris Harland--the only woman left upon
the sinking ship. She had watched all the others depart, she had even
made a feint of following them, but, after all, had kept intentionally
in the background, and let the lifeboat go without her. But few knew
that she remained behind. Vernon Blythe fully believed she was on her
way to land. His first thought and inquiry had been for her, and one
of the sailors had told him she was lowered into the boat. And so he
had returned to his duty, with his mind at ease as far as Iris was
concerned. Yet she stood by the skipper’s side, watching his gallant
efforts to save the remainder of the passengers and crew--proud to
think that (after a fashion) he belonged to her, and resolved to stay
by his side to the very last, and die with him, if it was ordained that
he should die.
These two standing together--the old experienced man, and the young
untried woman--were the exponents of a rule which has but few
exceptions,--that love is strong as death. _She_, who was regarded as
the weaker vessel, made strong by reason of her love, stood calm and
courageous in the midst of danger and the sight of dissolution; whilst
_he_, who had but himself and his own credit to consider, caved in like
a coward under a responsibility too heavy for him.
The jolly-boat was launched, and a dozen passengers essayed to enter
her at once, pushing each other down in their effort to be first,
thinking only of their own safety, and not caring a rush for that of
their neighbours.
One man, however, looked round before he jumped into the boat, and
catching sight of Iris Harland on the poop, elbowed his way towards her
with an exclamation of horror. It was Will Farrell.
‘Miss Douglas!’ he cried excitedly, ‘why are you still here? Come!
come! before it is too late.’
But Iris did not stir.
‘Save yourself, Mr Farrell,’ she replied; ‘I shall remain behind
until--until the last.’
‘What! to court death? Don’t you know that before long the vessel must
be broken up,--that every moment may be your last? Miss Douglas, for my
sake--for Maggie’s sake--come with me.’
‘Do you think I have so much to live for that I should fear death?’ she
answered, smiling. ‘Pray, Mr Farrell, don’t waste time over me. I do
not intend to leave until the last boat goes.’
‘But there may not be another. Every minute renders it more difficult
to launch a boat.’
‘Then I shall die here,’ said Iris, with her soft eyes following every
movement of Vernon’s form.
‘You have lost your senses. Do you realise what you are saying? Mr
Blythe,’ shouted Farrell lustily, ‘_make_ Miss Douglas come in the boat
with us.’
In a moment he was by her side, trembling for her safety, when he had
never trembled for his own.
‘Oh, Iris, how is this? I thought you were in the lifeboat. How came
you to be left behind?’
‘I stayed of my own free will, Vernie,’ she said sweetly; ‘I stayed
to be _with you_. Don’t deny me this poor privilege. We cannot live
together, but if we are to die, oh! let me die by your side.’
‘_My darling!_’ he exclaimed; ‘I will guard your life with my own!’
‘Oh, Mr Blythe,’ said Farrell, ‘don’t let her throw that life away.
Persuade her--command her, to leave the vessel. You _know_ it cannot
live much longer in this sea.’
‘I know that our lives are in the hands of God,’ returned the young
sailor simply, ‘and that there is as good a chance for the next boat as
for this. If Mrs Harland prefers to remain with me, I shall not prevent
her from doing so.’
‘Then God help you both. I must go, or they will start without me;’
and without another word Will Farrell ran off to take his place in the
jolly-boat. As it pushed off, he found himself sitting next to Godfrey
Harland. The men glared at one another like savage beasts, but fear for
themselves had swallowed up for the time being even their desire for
revenge. Only one boat now remained that could be called seaworthy, and
that was the cutter--for the captain’s gig could not have lived in such
a storm--and all hands rushed towards the mainmast, and climbed up by
the crossjack braces, and along the mizen stay, towards the frail craft.
By the aid of the bridge, Vernon Blythe clambered again upon the poop,
where Iris was now standing alone, the captain having staggered to the
other side of the vessel, so paralysed by the scene before him as to be
unable apparently either to act or think.
‘Iris,’ exclaimed Vernon, as he took her in his arms for one mad
moment, ‘Iris, my own darling! you have risked your life to stay with
me.’
But words failed him. His heart beat high with joy, although the
murderous waves were leaping around them, as though they longed to
lick them both down together to a cruel death. The warm tears filled
his yearning eyes, and a strange choking sensation assailed his powers
of speech. After an effort at self-control, he resumed, hastily and
authoritatively,--
‘Come, dearest! this is the last boat, and you must be the first to
enter her. Hold your shawl closely over you, and I will see you lowered
into it.’
‘But, Vernie, _you_ will come, too?’ she asked anxiously.
‘I will come too. I will follow you. _I promise it_,’ he said.
Then he clasped her closely to him, and pressed a passionate kiss upon
her quivering lips, before he turned to superintend the lowering of the
cutter. With hatchets and sheath-knives the lashings were soon hacked
through, and with the main-topmast staysail halliards, they swung her
from her beds, and rove the patent lowering gear.
When Iris and the few men left on the fast-sinking _Pandora_ were
safely aboard, Vernon Blythe went to find the captain, and entreat him
to accompany them. Nothing more could be done for the ill-fated vessel,
and it was folly to throw away life without reason. But on reaching the
hatch, he was startled by hearing the report of a pistol, followed by
a heavy fall, and running to the foot of the mizenmast, he discovered
the body of his unfortunate commander, shot through the heart. The
wretched man, not daring to meet his employers, with the brand of shame
and failure on his brow, knowing well that all the blame for the loss
of the _Pandora_ would be laid upon his shoulders, that his certificate
would be suspended, and he would stand before the authorities a guilty
man, had put an end to his existence. The fact is, Captain Robarts’
whole soul had been wrapped up in his profession. His ship had been
his wife, his children, and his home, and without her he felt he had
nothing left to live for. This unexpected fatal calamity, which had
dashed his brightest hopes to the ground, in the very hour of their
fulfilment, had unsettled his mind, and transformed him at once into
an embittered, broken-down man, who saw no refuge before him except in
death.
Vernon Blythe knelt down by the side of his expiring commander, and,
raising his head upon his arm, caught his last faint orders.
‘_Here--here_--in _her_.’
What did he mean? Did he wish to be buried with his ship?
‘In the _Pandora_, sir?’ he asked. ‘Am I to leave you here?’
The dying man’s eyes opened with a last gleam of intelligence, and then
closed for ever.
There was no time to lose.
Dragging the now lifeless form to the pilot-house, Vernon Blythe laid
it on the spare bunk, and murmuring the prayer, ‘God have mercy on
him,’ covered the corpse with the house flag of the vessel, which he
took from the locker, and hastily closing the door, left the dead
sailor in his desired resting-place.
As he jumped into the cutter, the men, weary and dispirited as they had
become, received their gallant young officer with a cheer. But Vernon
only thought of one thing--that Iris was safe, and, for the time being,
they were _together_.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]