FARRELL’S REVENGE.
Once clear of the sinking vessel, and the spars that floated about her
stern, the cutter went prosperously on her way, but the jolly-boat had
not been so fortunate. Overladen by the rush of excited passengers
who crowded into her, she had but small chance in such a gale, and
when she was some little distance from the _Pandora_, a huge wave
took her suddenly on the wrong quarter, and she capsized with all her
living freight into the sea. In the dark, with the boisterous water
knocking the breath out of their bodies, what chance had the unhappy
passengers of saving themselves. Indeed, the immersion was so sudden
and unexpected, and they had been so thoroughly unnerved before it
occurred, that the majority of them were sucked under, almost before
they knew that they were drowning.
But when the _Pandora_ ran upon the scarp of rocks at the north-east
side of the bay, her fore-topgallant mast had gone over the side. The
sea had soon carried it away from the vessel, and when the luckless
jolly-boat capsized, it proved a harbour of refuge for three men. After
a brief struggle, one of them, a sailor, by name Jack Andy, managed
to grasp a rope, and pull himself towards the spar, which he hugged
with a grip of iron till he had recovered his breath, then perceiving
a shipmate in distress, who was attempting to reach it also, he tossed
him a line, and dragged Will Farrell from a watery grave.
Slowly the mast drifted towards the land, sometimes immersing the men
under the huge rollers, then bringing them up again, only to prepare
for another breathless dive.
‘God help the rest of ’em,’ observed Jack Andy, in one of these short
intervals, ‘for if ever _we_ get to shore, _they_ won’t, that’s
certain. They’re all in kingdom come by this time.’
‘They’re just as well there as here,’ replied Farrell, with teeth
chattering from the cold. ‘Hullo! here’s one of them, though.’
The moon had just beamed upon the water, and by her white light, he
could discern the features of a man who, though greatly exhausted, was
clinging to the heel end of the spar.
It was Godfrey Harland.
As Farrell recognised him, the anxiety for his own preservation seemed
entirely to disappear, and a cruel, vindictive spirit pervaded his
countenance. With the utmost difficulty, he sidled along the mast until
he faced his enemy.
‘Now, _Horace Cain_!’ he exclaimed loudly, ‘we meet face to face, and
my time has come at last.’
‘What would you do to me?’ cried Harland, in a voice of terror.
‘Do to you? _Kill you!_ as you killed my love. Make you taste the same
death you meted out to her. We have no weapons but our fast-failing
strength, but we stand on fair ground.’
Like all bullies, Harland was a coward, and his last remnant of courage
forsook him now.
‘Oh, God!’ he howled, ‘spare me--spare me! You are mad!’
‘I _am_ mad,’ replied Farrell, ‘mad for my revenge. You have wrested
from me all I cared for in this world, and laughed at the pain
you caused me. You have taken away my good name,--trampled on my
reputation,--killed the only woman for whom I cared. Yes, Godfrey
Harland, I could not _probe_ it perhaps in open court, but I _know_
you to be the murderer of Maggie Greet, and if the hangman is to be
cheated of his due, the sea shall do his work for him. You have wounded
my heart till the last drop of human blood has oozed from it, and
changed me from a man into a devil. Life is worth nothing to me now,
and I have sworn not to die until I have avenged _her_ death.’
As he spoke, Farrell crept nearer and nearer to his victim, and Harland
could see his long, lean fingers curling themselves in readiness to
clutch his throat as he approached.
‘Oh, mercy! mercy!’ whined the cowering wretch. ‘Farrell, I repent. I
will make amends. Have mercy on me, for Heaven’s sake!’
‘What mercy did you show to her?’ yelled Farrell. ‘Doubtless my poor
girl cried to you in her terror, as you cry to me, and how did you
reply? You cast her into the arms of the murderous sea, as may God give
me strength to cast you now. No, no! the fight is a fair one, and let
the best man win.’
And throwing out his arm to grasp his enemy, Farrell let go of the
spar, and the two men fell into the water together.
Jack Andy looked on from the other end of the floating mast in sheer
amazement at the scene that passed before him. The wind was too strong
to permit him to hear what they said to one another; but as the timber
to which he clung was carried each moment farther into the bay, the
water became calmer, and he was enabled to keep his head clear of the
rolling billows, and to watch everything that took place between his
companions.
‘Why, how’s this mates!’ he exclaimed, as he saw them relinquish their
grasp of the spar; ‘hold on, whatever you do! for we’ve the chance of
life afore us now for the first time.’
But they were deaf to every voice but that of their own evil passions.
Directly Jack Andy perceived their murderous intentions, he edged
towards them, with the idea of calling them to reason, or saving them
by main force. But he was too late. Godfrey Harland was the stronger of
the two, although he had been taken somewhat unawares, and as soon as
he realised that Farrell was about to strangle him, he prepared with
all his force to throw off his assailant.
But the younger man had fixed his nails so firmly in his throat that he
prevented his using his arms with any effect, and they both disappeared
beneath a heavy roller. When they rose up to the surface, they were
beyond Jack Andy’s reach. Harland’s face had turned purple, and the
whites of his eyes were staring upwards at the moon.
‘_Die!_’ hissed Farrell, in his own death struggle, ‘die, as _she_
died, and be cursed--_for ever!_’
Down they went again beneath the remorseless sea, who opened her arms
so willingly to receive them, locked together in a fierce embrace of
hate and revenge; and when Jack Andy looked back for the last time, he
saw the two men, gripped together in death, sink down to the bottom of
the deep.
* * * * *
The lifeboat and the cutter both got safe to land, and Mr Blythe and Mr
Sparkes, as the only two surviving officers of the ill-fated _Pandora_,
were bound to return to England by the first steamer, to report the
particulars of the wreck to their employers, and to stand their own
trial for the loss of the vessel--a trial which resulted in so much
credit to them both, for their promptitude, coolness, and courage, that
they were immediately re-appointed as first and second officers of the
_Hebe_, one of the finest ships in the possession of Messrs Stern &
Stales.
And when Vernon Blythe was forced to leave England again, which
(luckily for himself) did not take place for some months afterwards, he
had to say good-bye to his wife as well as his mother. For after that
time of trial and distress, he had felt that it was equally impossible
to leave Iris friendless and alone in New Zealand, or to bring her home
with him, unless she were his wife. And so they had been privately
married within a few days of landing, and the girl had felt as if she
had exchanged earth for heaven ever since.
‘Do you know, Vernie,’ she said, as she stood by the side of her
handsome young husband in the window of the Southsea cottage, on the
very day he brought home the news of his appointment to the _Hebe_--‘do
you know that I sometimes think I _must_ have died in the wreck of the
_Pandora_, and this is quite another woman who stands beside you now.’
‘I am very glad it is _not_ another woman, Iris,’ he answered, as he
stooped to kiss her.
‘But the world is all so changed for me. I feel as if I had passed
beyond every trouble, and landed in a haven of peace. Even my sorrow
at parting with you, darling,’ said Iris, with her bright eyes filled
with tears, ‘is tempered by knowing that your dear mother loves me, and
that it is a comfort both to you and her that I should be her daughter
whilst you are away. But, oh, you will come back to me, Vernie!’ she
added, in a sudden burst of grief, ‘you _will_ come back to me!’
‘I _will_ come back to you,’ he said, sweetly and solemnly, as he
folded her in his arms. ‘We are each other’s, dearest, for life or
death. Whether it be in this world or the next must be decided by a
wiser love than ours, but so long as my soul exists, _I will come back
to you_.’
THE END.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.